Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

Fallen Leaves

Damian Wayne walked alone through Gotham City's central park, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his dark jacket. The crunch of fallen leaves beneath his feet echoed in his ears, blending with the distant sounds of children laughing and the quiet murmur of conversations drifting from groups of people scattered across the park. The sky was a washed-out gray, with the sun hidden behind thick clouds, casting a dull light over everything. The air had the cool bite of autumn, but the chill wasn't what caused Damian to pull his jacket tighter around his shoulders.

It was the silence within him.

For someone who had been raised in a world of intense discipline and unrelenting expectations, the park felt both foreign and strange to him. Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne, Gotham's famed billionaire, and also the most recent Robin, the Boy Wonder who fought beside Batman to protect the city from criminals. But even with his prestigious lineage, the truth was that Damian never felt truly at home anywhere. Not with his father, not with the League of Assassins where he had spent much of his childhood, and certainly not here, walking through a park filled with normal families enjoying a peaceful afternoon.

He watched them as he walked by—people living their lives, unaware of the shadows that lurked in Gotham's corners or the constant threat of danger. Damian wasn't like them. He had seen too much, done too much. He was born into a life where love was conditional, where success was measured by how well you could fight, strategize, and win. And though his father tried to teach him about justice and morality, the boy often found himself questioning whether he could ever truly belong in this world.

As he passed a wide, open field in the park, Damian noticed a family sitting under the shade of a large oak tree. A blanket was spread out beneath them, with baskets of food, cups, and plates scattered around. The parents were smiling, their faces glowing with warmth as they watched their two children chase each other around the tree. The kids' laughter was loud, bright, and full of joy that seemed contagious. The mother leaned into the father's shoulder, and they shared a smile that spoke of a deep bond Damian could hardly understand.

Damian slowed his pace as he observed them, a strange feeling pulling at his chest. His gaze fixed on the boy and girl, both younger than him, their faces flushed with the excitement of play. The boy was chasing his sister with a toy airplane, his footsteps light as he leaped over patches of leaves, trying to catch her. The girl squealed with delight, her pigtails bouncing as she ran, her laughter like music in the cool autumn air.

It should have been an ordinary scene—one he could just ignore, like so many others in this park—but something about it gripped Damian in a way that surprised him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the family. It was as though he was seeing something he had never truly known, something that felt distant and out of reach, like a memory that wasn't his.

Love. Warmth. Connection. These were things Damian had never fully experienced, at least not in the way most people did. Sure, his father loved him. Bruce Wayne cared deeply about his son, but it was a different kind of love—a love that came with expectations, responsibilities, and sometimes, distance. Damian knew his father's love was buried under layers of duty and the weight of being Batman. As for his mother, Talia al Ghul, her love was tied to ambition and control. She wanted him to be a warrior, a leader of the League of Assassins, nothing less. There was no space for the kind of affection he saw in the park that day.

Damian's chest tightened, and an ache spread through him as he stood frozen, staring at the family. His mind raced with thoughts he couldn't quite articulate, a mix of jealousy, anger, and something he didn't want to admit: longing.

For as long as he could remember, he had been told he was special. He was the heir to both the League of Assassins and Wayne Enterprises. He had been trained in combat, tactics, and strategy since he could walk, molded into a weapon. But none of that could fill the hollow space inside him—the emptiness that had grown with each year of his life, like a wound that refused to heal. Seeing this family, with their carefree joy and affection, made that wound throb painfully.