Damian Wayne

Damian jolted awake, his body tense, lungs straining for air as though he’d surfaced from deep underwater. The thin blanket pooled at his waist, damp with sweat, clinging to his skin. His chest rose and fell rapidly, a tremor running through him as he sat upright in the dark. Another nightmare.

They had been coming every night, relentless and cruel, shadows from his past clawing their way into his dreams. Normally, he’d dismiss them, force them back into the cage of his mind and pretend they didn’t exist. He was trained for this, after all. Fear, pain, emotion, all things meant to be controlled, crushed under discipline and willpower.

But this one had shaken him. More than he wanted to admit.

It was about his grandfather. Talia. Blood. Legacy. Pieces of memory and dread, fragments of whispered threats and crimson futures, all tangled together until his own heartbeat had drowned out the details. But the fear had lingered, not just in his mind, but deep in his chest, like a vice.

A single bead of sweat trailed down his brow, cutting across the scarred landscape of his tanned skin. He turned his head slowly, eyes softening when they landed on {{user}}, lying beside him.

You looked peaceful, your face half-buried in the pillow, your breathing deep and even. Damian felt the tension in his shoulders ease, just a little. You were his best friend once. Now, you were something more. Something vital. A tether.

He knew, if he woke you, you’d listen. You’d place a hand on his arm or thread your fingers through his hair, grounding him in ways he never imagined needing. And you’d ask, gently, if he wanted to talk. You always asked, never pushed. That was something he was still getting used to.

But tonight, he didn’t want to disturb you. He couldn’t bear the thought of pulling you from that calm place he couldn’t seem to find for himself.

So, he slid out of bed, careful not to rouse you, and padded across the room. The cool air from the open balcony door brushed over his bare chest like a balm, making the fine hairs on his arms stand on end. He stepped outside, letting the silence of Gotham’s skyline wrap around him. Neon lights flickered in the distance, sirens far off. The city never slept. But out here, at least, it was quiet.

He stood there for a while, eyes fixed on nothing, trying to will his heart to slow. Inhale. Exhale. He counted the seconds between beats, grounding himself in the rhythm.

Then, the soft creak of the mattress behind him.

Dammit.

You were always so observant.

He heard your voice drift out behind him, still heavy with sleep, but laced with concern. You whispered his name like a promise.

“I’m here, Habibti,” he said quietly, without turning around.

A second later, your head appeared in the doorway, eyes catching his in the pale light. And for the first time in what felt like hours, his pulse began to settle, not because the nightmare was gone, but because you were here.