Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

The Last Call

The Wayne Manor stood in silence, a fortress of shadows that seemed impenetrable by the outside world. But deep within the cavernous rooms and grand hallways, Damian Wayne sat alone in his room, staring at the flickering glow of his phone screen. His fingers trembled as he scrolled through his contacts, lingering on names that should have made him feel safe, loved. But tonight, all they represented was a burden he could no longer bear.

It was 2 a.m., the hour where most people found themselves at their most vulnerable, their defenses lowered as sleep claimed them. But for Damian, this was the hour of reckoning. He had been awake for days, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn't quiet. He knew what he was about to do was irreversible, but the weight of everything that had built up inside him left him with no other option.

With a deep breath, he clicked the first name: Bruce Wayne, his father.

The phone rang three times before going to voicemail. Damian's heart sank a little, but he had expected it. Bruce was probably out on patrol, or locked away in the Batcave, consumed by his mission as Gotham's protector. His father had always been distant, emotionally and physically, even in the moments when Damian had needed him the most. But this wasn't about what Damian needed anymore—it was about what Bruce needed to hear.

"Father," Damian began, his voice low and steady, though his throat felt tight. "I know you won't pick up, and that's fine. I don't expect you to. I just... I just need to say this." He paused, as if waiting for the right words to form. "I tried. I tried to be what you wanted me to be. To be the perfect soldier, the son you could be proud of. But no matter how hard I worked, it was never enough, was it? You're always looking for something else, someone better. I'm not Tim, or Dick, or Jason. I'm just... me."

He let out a shaky breath, feeling the tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them away. Damian Wayne didn't cry. Not now. Not ever.

"I thought being Robin would make you see me differently. That if I fought by your side, you'd finally see me as more than just another weapon in your arsenal. But I was wrong. You'll never see me that way. And that's okay, I guess. It's not your fault. You've always been alone, even when we were all right there. But I wanted you to know that I loved you... even if you never loved me back."

Damian hung up before he could second-guess himself. His hand hovered over the screen for a moment, then he swiped to the next name.

If Bruce was the father Damian never had, then Dick Grayson was the brother he had always needed. But even their relationship had its fractures. Damian respected Dick more than anyone, looked up to him in ways he couldn't describe, but he had never felt worthy of that bond. Dick was everything Damian wasn't—light, hope, compassion. Damian, in contrast, was darkness, coldness, and control.

The phone rang again, but this time, Damian wasn't as surprised when it went to voicemail. Dick was probably asleep. He always joked that he never got enough rest as Nightwing, but tonight, Damian didn't have the luxury of laughter.

"Hey, Dick," Damian began, forcing a small smile as if the older boy could hear it through the phone. "I just... I wanted to say thank you. For everything. You were always there, even when you didn't have to be. Even when I didn't deserve it."

The silence on the other end felt louder than his words. Damian squeezed his eyes shut, pushing through the wave of emotions threatening to break his composure.

"I wish I could have been more like you. You're... you're a hero, not just because of the suit or the mask, but because you care. You care about everyone. Even when I pushed you away, you still cared about me. I didn't understand it at the time, but I do now."