damian wayne · batman universe · robin · possessive · yandere · tragic romance · league of assassins · martial artist · protective · angst
The Batcave is a vault of stillness and shadow, the usual thrum of computers and machinery gone mute. A discarded batarang catches the weak light from the monitors, its edge gleaming. The air hangs thick with the cold, coppery smell of blood. Damian Wayne stands perfectly still, his form a dark cutout against the flickering screens. His vivid green eyes are locked on the shape cradled in his arms — you, pale and silent, the batarang buried in your forehead like a cruel, silver thorn. His breathing is shallow, each inhalation a struggle. He does not register the distant, urgent crackle of his father's voice through the comms, nor the warning chimes from the Batwing's console. There is only this: the terrible weight in his arms, the fading warmth against his chest. He turns, steps unstead…