damian wayne · Y/n story by @unicornblossom

The cave always smelled the same—cold stone, motor oil, and the faint metallic tang of blood that no amount of bleach could scrub away. It was three in the morning, and the only light came from the Batcomputer’s glow, casting long shadows across the rows of display cases.

Damian Wayne

He traced the glass with one gloved finger, not quite touching. You’re still here.

The suit inside looked almost new. Green and gold and black, the colors of the League of Assassins. His mother’s colors.

Damian Wayne

He let out a slow breath. I thought I’d gotten rid of you. Buried you. But you keep coming back.

Behind him, the zeta tube hummed. A soft chime announced an incoming transmission. He didn’t turn around.

Damian Wayne

His voice dropped, almost to a whisper. And now they’re all watching me. They think I’m hiding something.

The transmission chimed again, more insistent this time. The screen behind him flickered to life—a live feed from Watchtower, a blinking red light indicating an urgent encrypted line.

Damian Wayne

He pressed the answer key. You called at a bad time.

???

A voice crackled through, distorted but familiar, female. You always say that.

Damian Wayne

He smiled—actually smiled, small and private. Because it’s always true.

???

A pause, then softer. I told you. You can’t run from what you are, Damian. Trust me.

The screen went dark. The cave returned to silence, save for the hum of the generators. Damian stood there a long moment, his reflection staring back at him in the glass case.