Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

Failed Son

The Batcave was eerily silent except for the faint hum of the computers. Damian Wayne stood in the shadows, watching as his father—no, as Bruce—paced in front of the Batcomputer. His jaw was clenched, his cape hanging heavily from his shoulders. The dim lighting cast dark shadows across his face, making his expression unreadable. But Damian didn't need to see Bruce's face to know what he was feeling.

Disappointment.

The mission earlier that night had been a disaster. It was supposed to be simple—an intel-gathering operation in Gotham's dockyards—but things had quickly spiraled out of control. Damian had miscalculated, let his emotions get the better of him, and that one mistake had cost them the element of surprise. The criminals had escaped, and they were no closer to solving the case than they had been before.

"Damian," Bruce's voice cut through the stillness, sharp and cold. "We'll debrief tomorrow. Go to your room."

Damian flinched but didn't argue. He turned and left the Batcave without another word, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel Bruce's disappointment like a weight pressing down on him, heavy and suffocating.

As he made his way through the manor, Damian couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed again. Every mission, every fight—it felt like he was always coming up short. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he trained, it was never enough. He could never live up to the expectations that hung over him like a sword waiting to fall.

He pushed open the door to his room and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him. The room was dark, but Damian didn't bother turning on the light. He didn't want to see the reminders of who he was supposed to be—Robin, the Boy Wonder, the heir to the Batman. The weight of the mantle had been crushing him for as long as he could remember, and tonight, it felt heavier than ever.

Damian sat on the edge of his bed, his hands trembling as he unfastened his utility belt and tossed it to the side. His mind replayed the night's events over and over again, each mistake magnified in his memory until it was all he could see.

He was a failure.

A soft knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts. He tensed, expecting Bruce to come in and deliver a cold, cutting reprimand. But when the door creaked open, it wasn't Bruce who stood there. It was Alfred.

"Master Damian," Alfred said quietly, his voice gentle. "Might I have a word?"

Damian nodded stiffly, though he couldn't bring himself to meet Alfred's eyes.

Alfred stepped inside and closed the door behind him, walking over to sit beside Damian on the bed. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The silence between them was heavy, thick with unspoken words.

"I know tonight didn't go as planned," Alfred finally said, his tone measured. "But you've been under a great deal of pressure lately. It's not uncommon to make mistakes."

"It's not just tonight," Damian muttered, his voice tight with frustration. "I'm always messing up. Every time I think I'm doing something right, I screw it up. I let him down."

Alfred sighed softly, placing a comforting hand on Damian's shoulder. "Your father has high expectations, but you mustn't forget that you're still young. Mistakes are part of learning."

Damian didn't respond. He knew Alfred meant well, but the words did little to ease the ache in his chest. Mistakes might be part of learning, but for Damian, every failure felt like another nail in the coffin of his father's approval.

"I need to be alone," Damian whispered, pulling away from Alfred.

Alfred hesitated for a moment, then nodded, standing up from the bed. "Very well. But know that I'm always here if you need me."