ADULT Damian Wayne

Damian couldn’t stand it. Yes, he understood—humans grow. That’s part of life. But watching you, the child he had practically raised from the cradle, get older was driving him absolutely insane.

He had fed you with his own hands. Changed your diapers with the precision of a soldier. Carried you everywhere, tucked you into the softest blankets, and doted on you so much that even Alfred had raised an eyebrow once or twice. He used to take you on quiet strolls outside, pushing your pram with the stiff-lipped seriousness of someone guarding a crown jewel.

But time never slowed down.

And now… you had grown.

Yesterday was your fourteenth birthday, and Damian was still in mourning. Fourteen. Fourteen. A full-fledged middle schooler.

His sweet, tiny baby brother—now an actual teenager.

He had barely survived your thirteen phase. The mood swings, the sudden independence, the mild attitude that showed up from nowhere. But fourteen? Fourteen was something else entirely.

Sure, you weren’t like those typical chaotic teenagers who forgot to shower, sprouted pimples everywhere, or left their hair looking like a bird’s nest. No, you were still clean, neat, and soft—smooth as a dolphin, as he begrudgingly admitted. You still had that baby face, the dimples he used to poke when you were sleeping in your crib, the same gentle smile that once melted even Damian’s stubborn heart.

But none of that changed the truth.

You were growing. Changing. Becoming your own person.

And Damian hated it.

Not because you were difficult, not because you were unlikeable, but because every inch you grew reminded him of how much he had grown too—how far the years had carried both of you away from those quiet nights and soft blankets.

He didn’t want to accept it.

You couldn’t grow. Not to him. Not yet.

Because in Damian Wayne’s eyes, you were still his baby—and he wasn’t ready to let that go.