Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

All in Vain

The city was quiet now, the kind of quiet that only comes after the storm. Gotham's streets, usually filled with noise, chaos, and the echo of crimes being committed in every darkened corner, were eerily still. The flickering streetlights cast long shadows over the debris that littered the ground, remnants of the battle that had raged just hours ago. Shattered glass crunched beneath Damian's boots as he walked along the rooftop of Wayne Tower, his eyes scanning the city he had just saved. Every breath felt like a struggle, his chest rising and falling with exhaustion as the adrenaline slowly drained from his system.

He had done it. He had stopped her—the mastermind behind Gotham's most recent terror wave. The woman had orchestrated a series of brutal, well-planned attacks across the city, creating chaos and fear in every corner of Gotham. Her endgame had been devastating—a coordinated strike that would have taken thousands of lives and brought the city to its knees.

But Damian had stopped her. Alone.

The rest of the Bat family had been spread thin, each grappling with their own crises in different parts of the city. Tim was battling a hostage situation at the Gotham Metro, his focus solely on preventing further casualties. Nightwing had been on the other side of town, desperately trying to prevent a mercenary group from detonating explosives at the city's power grid. And Bruce—Bruce had been chasing another lead, hoping to corner the mastermind herself before she could enact her final plan.

But by the time Damian arrived at the primary attack site, it had already been too late for any of them to help. It had been up to him, and only him, to stop the destruction that loomed over Gotham. He had fought through her soldiers, neutralizing them with brutal efficiency. And when he finally faced the mastermind, there had been no hesitation, no second-guessing. He had done what needed to be done.

He had killed her.

Now, as Damian stood atop the city, the wind tugging at his bloodstained cape, he didn't feel the sense of victory he had anticipated. The fight had been long, brutal, and costly, but he had won. He had saved Gotham. He had saved thousands of lives. Yet, all he felt was a hollowness creeping into his chest, gnawing at him from the inside.

The flicker of streetlights below cast a dim glow on the streets, but Damian didn't move. The battle was over, the city safe, but the weight of everything he had done pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. Blood trickled down his forehead from a gash that hadn't yet clotted, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the feeling clawing at his insides. This was supposed to be a moment of triumph, but all he could feel was the growing emptiness.

Hours later, back at the Batcave, Damian was waiting.

He stood in the middle of the training room, still in his bloodied uniform, every inch of him bruised and battered from the fight. His body ached, and his muscles screamed in protest, but he stood tall, his face stoic, as he waited for the others to return. He wanted to hear the praise that should be coming. After all, he had done what none of them could. He had stopped the threat. He had saved the city.

When Bruce entered, Damian's heart quickened in anticipation, though he kept his face unreadable. Bruce was followed by Tim, Nightwing, and Barbara, each of them tired, each carrying their own battle scars from the night's events. Damian could feel their eyes on him as they walked into the room, assessing him, reading him, but their expressions weren't ones of admiration or pride. No, there was something else in their eyes. Something colder.

"Damian," Bruce began, his voice low and controlled, as always. "We need to talk about what happened tonight."

Damian straightened his posture, pushing down the wave of exhaustion threatening to overcome him. This was it. The moment they acknowledged that, for once, he had been right. That he had done what needed to be done.