Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

Lost Causes

Damian felt the weight pressing down on him, not just on his shoulders but deep in his chest, filling him with an unbearable heaviness that made every breath feel like a struggle. This weight wasn't something he could ignore or shrug off anymore. It gnawed at him, a relentless ache that had crept into every part of his being. The emptiness, frustration, and sadness had somehow fused together, creating a constant, suffocating pressure that clung to him like a shadow he couldn't shake. No matter how hard he tried, it was always there, pressing closer, consuming his mind and heart.

He had spent years building himself to withstand pain, to endure bruises and broken bones, to fight through physical exhaustion without flinching. Every mission, every grueling hour of training, every scar—he had faced them all without hesitation. He was supposed to be tough, resilient, immune to weakness. But this—this was something different. It was a kind of pain he couldn't train for, couldn't punch away or overpower. It was an invisible enemy, lurking in his thoughts, twisting his emotions, making him feel powerless in a way he had never known. The ache wasn't just a feeling; it was like a hollow place inside him, an emptiness that seemed to grow no matter what he did. And no amount of skill or willpower could silence it.

For the first time, Damian considered that maybe he needed something beyond his strength and skill. He didn't want to admit it, not even to himself, but he felt lost. Alone. He needed help—just this once. A part of him clung to the hope that his family would understand, that they would see beyond his tough exterior, past his pride and arrogance, and recognize the person he was underneath: a boy who was struggling, a boy who just wanted to feel something other than the emptiness pressing down on him.

The thought of asking them for help felt like surrender, but this time he was willing to try. For once, he was ready to let down the walls he had spent so long building. To reach out, to admit that he couldn't handle this on his own. The vulnerability terrified him, but he convinced himself that maybe, just maybe, they would listen. Maybe they'd see his pain, see that he was trying to reach them, and they would care.

Dick

Dick was the first person Damian tried to reach. After all, Dick had always been the one who treated him with a gentler hand, who showed patience and understanding, even when Damian made it nearly impossible. There was something about Dick's warmth, his natural openness, that made Damian hope he'd understand. Dick wasn't just another member of the family; he was Damian's first real mentor, the one who had taken him under his wing and shown him a different way to live, a way that wasn't built on violence and isolation. He had taught Damian about teamwork, about trust, and even about the kind of forgiveness Damian thought he didn't deserve. Maybe—just maybe—that trust was still there, waiting to be reignited.

Damian found him in the training room, mid-kick, his movements fluid and precise, his focus intense. For a moment, Damian hesitated at the door, watching his older brother move with a calm assurance that made Damian feel small and uncertain in comparison. He took a breath, the weight of his decision pressing down even harder, but he forced himself to walk forward, steps slow and cautious. When he was close enough, he spoke, his voice quiet, almost tentative—an unusual tone for him. "Dick... can we talk?"

Dick paused mid-movement, glancing over his shoulder, his usual bright smile lighting up his face. "Sure, what's up?" he asked, his tone casual, welcoming, like he expected this to be nothing more than a quick question or some simple advice.

But as Damian opened his mouth, all the words he had practiced, all the thoughts he had tried to gather, seemed to scatter. How could he even begin to explain the darkness that had taken root inside him? How could he put into words the constant ache, the feeling of drifting further and further away? Every sentence he thought of sounded clumsy, inadequate, as if no words could fully capture the turmoil he felt. His voice barely a whisper, he managed, "I... I haven't been feeling right."