Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

Judgement Day

The courtroom loomed vast and eerie, an intimidating expanse cloaked in deep, almost suffocating shadows. It was as if the very air around Damian had thickened, pressing in on him, amplifying the unnatural, deafening silence. Every corner of the room seemed lost in darkness, a black void that swallowed every inch of light, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable at the center. He looked around, his pulse quickening, only to realize that there was no escape—no door to slip through, no hidden passage to take him away from this strange, foreboding place. Each shadow seemed to stretch out, reaching toward him, as if eager to drag him deeper into this oppressive emptiness.

Then, one by one, figures began to emerge from the murky gloom surrounding him. His family—Bruce, Tim, Dick, Jason, Alfred, and even Barbara—appeared like silent specters, taking their places in a half-circle around him, watching him with expressions that were blank but somehow still sharp, as though assessing him with quiet but piercing intensity. Their eyes held no trace of warmth or kindness; instead, they bore down on him with a strange, almost clinical detachment. The lack of emotion cut deeper than any scolding or reprimand could have. He could see disappointment etched across their faces, mingling with a trace of anger, and, perhaps worst of all, a cold indifference that twisted his stomach.

The weight of their collective gaze bore down on him, his heart clenching painfully under their scrutiny. He tried to steady himself, but a shiver snaked down his spine, settling heavily in the pit of his stomach. In that moment, he felt small, isolated, as if every past mistake, every failed expectation, was laid bare for them to judge, with no room for him to defend himself.

"Damian Wayne," Bruce's voice cut through the oppressive silence, echoing off the walls with a weight that seemed to fill every corner of the room. His tone was low, stern, each word deliberate, carrying the authority of a judge issuing a verdict. "You stand here today to answer for your actions—every reckless decision, every thoughtless mistake, every failure."

Damian felt his throat tighten, his mouth suddenly dry as if all the moisture had been drained by the intensity of his father's words. He fought to steady himself, to suppress the urge to look away, and forced himself to lift his gaze. But as his eyes met Bruce's, he felt the pit of his stomach sink, a cold, gnawing dread building with each passing second. This wasn't just any reprimand—it was his own family, the people he'd longed to impress, scrutinizing every flaw, every misstep, and finding him lacking.

Around him, the rest of them stood motionless, unyielding. Dick's usually warm eyes were distant, hardened; Tim's sharp gaze flickered with disappointment, as though he'd expected more from his little brother. Jason's expression was unreadable, but his lips were pressed into a tight line. Even Alfred's usual gentle understanding seemed absent, replaced by a reserved, impenetrable stare. Damian realized with a sinking heart that, right now, he wasn't a son, a teammate, or even a fellow vigilante to them. He was simply a defendant, standing trial before a family whose judgment weighed heavier on him than anything else in the world. And as their eyes remained fixed on him, silent and unrelenting, he wasn't sure if he could bear the weight of it.

Dick was the first to step forward, his face a mixture of sorrow and frustration. The warmth Damian had come to rely on, the easy smiles and the unwavering support, was gone. Instead, Dick's gaze bore into him, piercing through the shield Damian had tried to hold up. "I trusted you, Damian," he began, his voice tight, weighed down by a deep, cutting disappointment. "I believed in you, in what you could become, but every single time I gave you that chance, you let me down." Dick shook his head, a flicker of pain crossing his face. "You pushed everyone away, broke every rule that was meant to protect you. It's like you think you're above us—as if this family, our values, our trust, meant nothing to you."