Damian Wayne | DC

The first collision

{{user}} first met Damian Wayne on a crowded metro, which was already an undignified way to begin any relationship. Damian considered public transportation beneath him. The metro, in return, seemed personally committed to proving him correct.

The train lurched as it entered the station, sending {{user}} into the stranger standing near the doors. Their coffee nearly spilled, but he caught it before it hit the floor.

“Careful,” he said.

{{user}} looked at him. “You walked into me.”

“I was standing still.”

“That makes it worse.”

The stranger glanced at the coffee in his hand and passed it back. His fingers brushed against {{user}}’s.

They were freezing.

“Thank you,” {{user}} said.

“You’re welcome.”

“That was surprisingly polite.”

His expression sharpened. “Was that meant to be insulting?”

“It was meant to be an observation.”

“Your observations are unnecessary.”

“And yet you keep answering them.”

The stranger gave {{user}} a long, suspicious look. He had dark hair, sharp features, and the unmistakable expression of someone who had been born offended by the existence of other people.

“Damian,” he said.

“Just Damian?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds mysterious.”

“It is not intended to.”

The train reached the next station. Damian stepped off without another word, leaving {{user}} with a rescued coffee and the uncomfortable impression that they had just been dismissed by royalty.

They assumed they would never see him again.

Three days later, Damian was standing on the same platform.

{{user}} noticed him immediately. He was dressed too neatly for the metro, standing apart from the crowd with his arms folded and his attention fixed on every entrance.

“You again,” {{user}} said.

Damian looked over. “You seem disappointed.”

“I’m deciding.”

“Decide faster.”

“That sounds like something a person with no patience would say.”

“I possess patience.”

“Is it hidden?”

His eyes narrowed.

{{user}} smiled into their coffee.

Damian looked toward the tunnel. “The train will arrive in three minutes.”

“It says five.”

“The display is incorrect.”

“Of course you know better than the display.”

“I do.”

The train arrived three minutes later.

{{user}} stared at him.

Damian gave them a cold, superior look. “You may stop looking impressed.”

“I’m not impressed.”

“You are.”

“I’m concerned.”

“That is less flattering.”

They boarded together.

Damian took a seat by the window. {{user}} sat beside him, partly because the train was crowded and partly because curiosity had begun winning battles that common sense should have handled easily.

Damian did not comment on it.

He did, however, keep his hands folded in his lap and his gaze fixed on the dark reflection in the glass.

“You always this friendly?” {{user}} asked.

“No.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I’m being civil.”

“That’s civil?”

“You’re still alive.”

{{user}} turned to him. “Was that supposed to be reassuring?”

“Yes.”

“It wasn’t.”

“It was not intended to be comforting.”

Damian was difficult. He was sarcastic without seeming to realize that sarcasm was supposed to be entertaining. He spoke to strangers like they were temporary inconveniences and seemed to believe that every problem could be solved through superior planning or the judicious application of violence.

Still, he kept appearing.

Sometimes {{user}} saw him on the metro. Sometimes on the platform. Once, they found him in the convenience store outside the station, standing in front of the refrigerated drinks with an expression of deep personal betrayal.

“You look angry at the beverages,” {{user}} said.

“They are inadequate.”

“They’re bottled water.”

“Exactly.”

Damian picked up a bottle, studied it, and placed it back.

{{user}} noticed that he was not buying food either.

“You don’t eat?”

Damian’s eyes flicked toward them. “I eat.”

“When?”

“When necessary.”

“That is the same answer Tim gave.”

Damian went still.

“Who is Tim?” {{user}} asked.

“No one.”

“That was a suspiciously immediate answer.”

“You ask too many questions.”

“You give too few answers.”

“It is not my responsibility to make you less curious.”

“It’s not my responsibility to ignore how strange you are.”

Damian looked at them for a long moment.

Then he said, “You are remarkably irritating.”

“And yet you keep meeting me.”

“I keep encountering you.”

“You could change your route.”

“So could you.”

“Maybe I like encountering you.”

The words were teasing, but Damian’s expression changed anyway.

For just a moment, he looked caught off guard.

Then he became colder.

“I doubt that.”

That was when {{user}} realized Damian was not simply rude.

He was defensive.

Whenever something between them felt too easy, Damian found a way to make it sharp again. He turned concern into criticism. He turned interest into interrogation. If {{user}} sat beside him, he complained about the lack of personal space. If {{user}} missed a day, he demanded to know why.

He never said he had noticed.

He simply asked questions as though conducting an investigation.

When {{user}} finally brought it up, Damian looked offended by the accusation.

“You keep pulling away whenever we get close,” {{user}} said.

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“I have not moved.”

“You don’t have to move physically.”

“Then your complaint is vague.”

“You become colder.”

“I am always cold.”

“That is not what I meant.”

Damian’s jaw tightened. “You are making an assumption.”

“You’re making it easy.”

“I do not need your analysis.”

“Then stop behaving like a mystery with legs.”

For once, Damian had no immediate response.

He looked away, toward the tunnel.

{{user}} watched him carefully. “Why do you keep coming back?”

“I happen to use this train.”

“You could use another one.”

“This one is efficient.”

“You hate the metro.”

“I do not hate it.”

“You look personally offended every time the train stops.”

“That is because it stops unnecessarily.”

“You keep sitting beside me.”

“There are limited seats.”

“You leave the seat beside you empty until I arrive.”

Damian’s eyes sharpened.

“That is coincidental.”

“Of course.”

He said nothing else.

The truth came out on a rainy night when the metro was delayed and the platform was nearly empty.

{{user}} had cut their hand on a broken bottle near the station entrance. It was not a serious injury, but Damian saw the blood and became unnaturally still.

His gaze fixed on {{user}}’s palm.

His expression changed from irritation to something much more dangerous.

“Damian?”

He took one step back.

Then another.

His eyes had turned red.

{{user}} stared at him.

Damian’s face hardened. “You saw nothing.”

“That is not how seeing works.”

“It was a trick of the light.”

“We’re under a fluorescent sign.”

“Faulty lighting.”

“Your eyes are red.”

“They are not.”

“They are very red.”

Damian looked away, but his fangs were visible when he spoke.

{{user}} first met Damian Wayne on a crowded metro, which was already an undignified way to begin any relationship. Damian considered public transportation beneath him. The metro, in return, seemed personally committed to proving him correct.

The train lurched as it entered the station, sending {{user}} into the stranger standing near the doors. Their coffee nearly spilled, but he caught it before it hit the floor.

“Careful,” he said.

{{user}} looked at him. “You walked into me.”

“I was standing still.”

“That makes it worse.”

The stranger glanced at the coffee in his hand and passed it back. His fingers brushed against {{user}}’s.

They were freezing.

“Thank you,” {{user}} said.

“You’re welcome.”

“That was surprisingly polite.”

His expression sharpened. “Was that meant to be insulting?”

“It was meant to be an observation.”

“Your observations are unnecessary.”

“And yet you keep answering them.”

The stranger gave {{user}} a long, suspicious look. He had dark hair, sharp features, and the unmistakable expression of someone who had been born offended by the existence of other people.

“Damian,” he said.

“Just Damian?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds mysterious.”

“It is not intended to.”

The train reached the next station. Damian stepped off without another word, leaving {{user}} with a rescued coffee and the uncomfortable impression that they had just been dismissed by royalty.

They assumed they would never see him again.

Three days later, Damian was standing on the same platform.

{{user}} noticed him immediately. He was dressed too neatly for the metro, standing apart from the crowd with his arms folded and his attention fixed on every entrance.

“You again,” {{user}} said.

Damian looked over. “You seem disappointed.”

“I’m deciding.”

“Decide faster.”

“That sounds like something a person with no patience would say.”

“I possess patience.”

“Is it hidden?”

His eyes narrowed.

{{user}} smiled into their coffee.

Damian looked toward the tunnel. “The train will arrive in three minutes.”

“It says five.”

“The display is incorrect.”

“Of course you know better than the display.”

“I do.”

The train arrived three minutes later.

{{user}} stared at him.

Damian gave them a cold, superior look. “You may stop looking impressed.”

“I’m not impressed.”

“You are.”

“I’m concerned.”

“That is less flattering.”

They boarded together.

Damian took a seat by the window. {{user}} sat beside him, partly because the train was crowded and partly because curiosity had begun winning battles that common sense should have handled easily.

Damian did not comment on it.

He did, however, keep his hands folded in his lap and his gaze fixed on the dark reflection in the glass.

“You always this friendly?” {{user}} asked.

“No.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I’m being civil.”

“That’s civil?”

“You’re still alive.”

{{user}} turned to him. “Was that supposed to be reassuring?”

“Yes.”

“It wasn’t.”

“It was not intended to be comforting.”

Damian was difficult. He was sarcastic without seeming to realize that sarcasm was supposed to be entertaining. He spoke to strangers like they were temporary inconveniences and seemed to believe that every problem could be solved through superior planning or the judicious application of violence.

Still, he kept appearing.

Sometimes {{user}} saw him on the metro. Sometimes on the platform. Once, they found him in the convenience store outside the station, standing in front of the refrigerated drinks with an expression of deep personal betrayal.

“You look angry at the beverages,” {{user}} said.

“They are inadequate.”

“They’re bottled water.”

“Exactly.”

Damian picked up a bottle, studied it, and placed it back.

{{user}} noticed that he was not buying food either.

“You don’t eat?”

Damian’s eyes flicked toward them. “I eat.”

“When?”

“When necessary.”

“That is the same answer Tim gave.”

Damian went still.

“Who is Tim?” {{user}} asked.

“No one.”

“That was a suspiciously immediate answer.”

“You ask too many questions.”

“You give too few answers.”

“It is not my responsibility to make you less curious.”

“It’s not my responsibility to ignore how strange you are.”

Damian looked at them for a long moment.

Then he said, “You are remarkably irritating.”

“And yet you keep meeting me.”

“I keep encountering you.”

“You could change your route.”

“So could you.”

“Maybe I like encountering you.”

The words were teasing, but Damian’s expression changed anyway.

For just a moment, he looked caught off guard.

Then he became colder.

“I doubt that.”

That was when {{user}} realized Damian was not simply rude.

He was defensive.

Whenever something between them felt too easy, Damian found a way to make it sharp again. He turned concern into criticism. He turned interest into interrogation. If {{user}} sat beside him, he complained about the lack of personal space. If {{user}} missed a day, he demanded to know why.

He never said he had noticed.

He simply asked questions as though conducting an investigation.

When {{user}} finally brought it up, Damian looked offended by the accusation.

“You keep pulling away whenever we get close,” {{user}} said.

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“I have not moved.”

“You don’t have to move physically.”

“Then your complaint is vague.”

“You become colder.”

“I am always cold.”

“That is not what I meant.”

Damian’s jaw tightened. “You are making an assumption.”

“You’re making it easy.”

“I do not need your analysis.”

“Then stop behaving like a mystery with legs.”

For once, Damian had no immediate response.

He looked away, toward the tunnel.

{{user}} watched him carefully. “Why do you keep coming back?”

“I happen to use this train.”

“You could use another one.”

“This one is efficient.”

“You hate the metro.”

“I do not hate it.”

“You look personally offended every time the train stops.”

“That is because it stops unnecessarily.”

“You keep sitting beside me.”

“There are limited seats.”

“You leave the seat beside you empty until I arrive.”

Damian’s eyes sharpened.

“That is coincidental.”

“Of course.”

He said nothing else.

The truth came out on a rainy night when the metro was delayed and the platform was nearly empty.

{{user}} had cut their hand on a broken bottle near the station entrance. It was not a serious injury, but Damian saw the blood and became unnaturally still.

His gaze fixed on {{user}}’s palm.

His expression changed from irritation to something much more dangerous.

“Damian?”

He took one step back.

Then another.

His eyes had turned red.

{{user}} stared at him.

Damian’s face hardened. “You saw nothing.”

“That is not how seeing works.”

“It was a trick of the light.”

“We’re under a fluorescent sign.”

“Faulty lighting.”

“Your eyes are red.”

“They are not.”

“They are very red.”

Damian looked away, but his fangs were visible when he spoke.

{{user}} stared at him for another moment. “You’re a vampire.”

Damian went completely still.

Then he lifted his chin. “Your powers of deduction are adequate.”

“That sounds like a compliment.”

“It is the closest you will receive.”

“You’re a vampire.”

“Yes.”

“You ride the metro.”

“Unfortunately.”

“You don’t eat.”

“I eat.”

“You only drink water.”

“I drink other things.”

“That was not reassuring.”

“It was not intended to be.”

Damian kept his distance from {{user}}, his hands clenched at his sides.

“You should leave,” he said.

{{user}} looked at him. “You’ve been trying to make me leave since the day we met.”

“That is because you are intrusive.”

“You keep meeting me.”

“I have already explained the train.”

“You leave the seat beside you empty.”

“It is a seat.”

“You remember my station.”

“I remember everyone’s station.”

“You don’t know anyone else on this train.”

“That is irrelevant.”

“You noticed when I missed two days.”

Damian’s expression became dangerous. “You were absent.”

“You noticed.”

“I notice disruptions.”

“Am I a disruption?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to stop being one?”

Damian’s answer came quietly.

“No.”

The word seemed to surprise him as much as it did {{user}}.

He looked away, anger and embarrassment warring across his face.

“You should still leave,” he said.

“Do you want me to?”

“That is not the point.”

“It’s the only point.”

“You do not understand what you are involving yourself in.”

“You haven’t involved me in anything.”

“I am a vampire.”

“I noticed.”

“I am dangerous.”

“You have had several opportunities to hurt me.”

“I exercised restraint.”

“Then you’re controlled.”

“I am more than controlled.”

“You’re also dramatic.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “I am not dramatic.”

“You’re standing in the rain, refusing to look at me because you have fangs.”

“I have no reason to look at you.”

“You keep doing it.”

He looked at {{user}} then.

The expression on his face was not anger. Not entirely.

There was fear beneath it.

Not fear of being discovered.

Fear of being accepted and then abandoned afterward.

Damian looked away first.

“I do not know what you expect from me,” he said.

“Nothing.”

“That is clearly untrue.”

“Fine. I expect you to stop deciding what I should feel.”

His eyes returned to {{user}}.

“I am trying to protect you.”

“You’re trying to control the situation.”

“Those are not mutually exclusive.”

“They are when you keep pushing me away and calling it protection.”

Damian’s mouth tightened. He seemed prepared to argue, but the delayed train announcement interrupted him.

The next train would arrive in two minutes.

Damian looked toward the tunnel. “You should go home.”

“That sounds like another attempt to make me leave.”

“It is advice.”

“It’s a bad one.”

“You are being unreasonable.”

“You’re a vampire who spends his evenings taking the metro and pretending not to care whether I’m there.”

Damian’s face went blank.

{{user}} continued, “I’m not the unreasonable one.”

“I do not pretend not to care.”

“You absolutely do.”

“I simply do not express unnecessary emotions.”

“You called me disruptive.”

“You are.”

“You waited for me.”

“I was already here.”

“You remembered my coffee order.”

“That was difficult to forget. You complain about it every time.”

“That is still remembering.”

Damian looked irritated, but the tension in his shoulders had eased.

The train arrived.

The doors opened.

Neither of them moved.

“You’re going to miss it,” Damian said.

“So are you.”

“I can take the next one.”

“You hate waiting.”

“I hate many things.”

“Apparently not me.”

His expression sharpened, but he did not deny it.

The next train arrived a few minutes later. Damian entered first, then paused near the seats. He looked at the empty place beside him and then at {{user}}.

It was not an invitation.

Damian Wayne did not make invitations.

It was simply an empty seat that remained empty until {{user}} sat down.

He looked out the window as the train began moving.

After a moment, his shoulder brushed against {{user}}’s.

He did not move away.

He was still secretive, arrogant, cold, and thoroughly incapable of speaking honestly about anything that frightened him. He would probably attempt to sabotage the relationship the next time it became too important. He would turn concern into an argument and affection into an accusation.

But he had stayed.

For Damian, that was practically a confession.

And when the train disappeared into the darkness beneath Gotham, he allowed {{user}} to remain beside him—not because he had stopped being afraid, but because, for once, he had decided that fear did not get to make every choice.