Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

Drowning in Shadows

Rain poured down, cold and unrelenting, as it always did in Gotham. The city seemed to absorb the darkness, amplifying every shadow and muffling every sound until even the hum of distant traffic felt like a faint whisper. Tonight, Gotham's skyline blurred through the heavy rain, and the streets lay empty beneath a blanket of mist.

But above it all, on Gotham Bridge, Damian Wayne stood alone, rain streaming down his face, his clothes soaked through, clinging to his skin. The bridge lights cast a dim glow over him, illuminating the water far below, where waves crashed against the pillars in a relentless rhythm.

He had slipped out hours ago, moving quietly through the shadows of the manor, his steps muffled as he left behind the only life he had known. No mask, no cape. Just himself, stripped bare and raw, weighed down by thoughts he couldn't shake. The mission had gone wrong, or at least that's what Bruce had told him, though the words had felt more like accusations than explanations. "Reckless," "dangerous," "out of control"—each word seemed to hit harder than the last, digging into Damian's mind until he could practically feel the sting of them in his chest, like small, relentless cuts that refused to heal.

Every single word echoed in his head, growing louder, until it felt like they were filling every corner of his mind, a harsh reminder that no matter how hard he tried, it was never enough. Damian knew Bruce's voice would be hard to ignore, knew that his disappointment would linger long after he had left the cave. But this time, the words hurt more, dug in deeper, like Bruce had found a way to reach inside and pull out all the things Damian tried so hard to bury. He could still hear it—Bruce's voice, so calm and cold, carrying the same edge of disappointment that Damian had felt a hundred times before. It was sharper than any blade he had faced, the kind of cut that didn't bleed but still left a mark.

He had lost count of how many times he had heard those same words, or something close. Reckless. Dangerous. Disobedient. Each accusation was etched into his mind, reminders of every time he had fallen short of his father's impossible expectations. No matter how many missions he completed, no matter how many times he proved himself, it was always the same. His methods were wrong, his tactics too brutal, his instincts too unforgiving. Too much. He had heard it so often that it was hard to imagine a time when he didn't feel like an outsider in his own family. And yet, somehow, each time it hurt worse than the last. Somehow, he still found himself wishing, hoping, that maybe—just maybe—things would be different this time.

But instead, they had argued. Again. The words had come fast, sharp, each one laced with frustration and the unspoken resentment that had been simmering between them for what felt like forever. Damian had tried to explain himself, to make Bruce understand why he did what he did, why he fought the way he did, why he had chosen the path he believed would get results, regardless of the rules. But Bruce hadn't listened, hadn't even seemed to try. Every word Damian spoke had been met with that same stern gaze, that same controlled expression that felt more like a wall than anything else. And with each response, each clipped sentence, it felt like he was being pushed further and further away.

In the end, Bruce had simply walked away, his footsteps echoing in the dim, cold light of the cave, leaving Damian standing there, alone and suffocating under the weight of everything left unsaid. He hadn't followed him. He couldn't. There was something too raw, too sharp inside him, like a wound that hadn't closed, a wound that hurt too much to touch. And as he stood there, the silence pressing in around him, he could feel that ache settle in, deep and unyielding, cutting into a part of him he wasn't sure could ever heal.

And so he had come here, to the bridge—the only place that felt quiet enough for him to think. It was late, the kind of late where even Gotham's streets seemed to pause, the world around him hushed in an eerie calm. Rain pattered against his shoulders, dripping down his face, blurring his vision as it mingled with the tears he hadn't even realized had started to fall. The cold bite of the wind pressed through his soaked clothes, each gust reminding him of how raw he felt, how close he was to unraveling. His hands gripped the railing tightly, knuckles white against the cold, slick metal as he stared down at the churning water below. The river was a restless, dark mass, surging and crashing against the bridge's supports like the thoughts swirling in his mind, thoughts he could no longer hold back.