Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

Shattered Mask

The Batcave was darker than usual, the usual hum of technology feeling more ominous tonight. Damian Wayne, the youngest member of the Bat-family, stood motionless near the Batcomputer. His small hands were clenched into fists so tight that his knuckles had turned white, and his teeth were gritted as he stared at the monitors, which displayed a recent Gotham City crime report. However, his focus wasn't on the report or even the city. His mind was elsewhere, somewhere deeper, buried beneath layers of resentment, pain, and something he would never admit aloud—loneliness.

The piercing silence of the cave was shattered by the sound of approaching footsteps. Damian tensed. His father, Bruce Wayne—the Batman—strode into the cavern, his cape flowing behind him with an air of power and control. To the rest of the world, Bruce was a symbol of strength, someone who could always be relied upon, but to Damian, he was something else entirely—absent.

"Damian," Bruce said, his voice cool and detached as he approached his son. "There's been another attack. I need you to suit up."

It was a typical request, one Damian was used to hearing. Batman, ever the strategist, never showed a hint of doubt or emotion when it came to business. But tonight, something inside Damian had snapped. He couldn't pinpoint exactly when the breaking point had come, whether it was the countless nights spent waiting for a word of acknowledgment or the growing distance between himself and the rest of the Bat-family, but it didn't matter anymore.

"No," Damian said quietly, but there was a tremor in his voice that made Bruce stop and look at him fully for the first time in what felt like weeks.

"What did you say?" Bruce's voice had a warning tone, a tone that would have made any criminal cower. But Damian wasn't just any criminal. He was Bruce's son, the heir to the Wayne legacy and the grandson of Ra's al Ghul, leader of the League of Assassins. Fear wasn't in his nature.

"I said no," Damian repeated, louder this time, his fists shaking at his sides.

Bruce narrowed his eyes, his calm exterior cracking slightly. "This isn't a request, Damian. Gotham needs us—"

"Gotham needs you!" Damian suddenly shouted, his voice echoing through the cave. His chest heaved as his emotions boiled to the surface, emotions he had buried deep for far too long. "Not me. It's always about you. You're Batman, and the rest of us? We're just... tools. Pieces on your chessboard."

Bruce's jaw tightened, his posture rigid as if preparing for a fight. "Damian, you know that's not true. We're a team—"

"A team?" Damian's laugh was bitter, hollow. "What kind of team is this? No one cares about me. Not you, not Grayson, not Drake, not even Todd! I'm just the son of your enemy, aren't I? The mistake you have to deal with every day."

His words stung. Bruce's face remained unreadable, but Damian knew he had struck a nerve. Still, Bruce remained composed, his voice measured. "You're not a mistake, Damian."

"Then why don't you treat me like I matter?" Damian's voice cracked as the floodgates finally opened. "You never talk to me unless it's about missions. You never ask how I'm doing, what I'm feeling. You don't care about me! None of you do!"

For the first time, Damian felt vulnerable in a way he had never allowed himself to be before. His emotions, once carefully controlled, now ran wild. And with them came the realization that he had been hiding behind a mask of strength, pretending like the Bat-family's indifference didn't hurt him, like he didn't crave the affection he had been denied for so long.

Bruce's silence only fueled his anger. "All my life," Damian continued, "I've been trained to be the perfect warrior, the perfect soldier. And I thought—I thought—when I came here, it would be different. That I'd finally have a family. But this? This is worse. At least with the League, I knew where I stood. But here, I'm nothing more than another soldier in your war."