︵‿︵‿✰𝙳𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚆𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎¹✰‿︵‿︵

The air in the room no longer seemed the same.

He lay motionless, his breath ragged, as if his body couldn't quite grasp what his eyes had already witnessed. The silence was heavy, unbearable, broken only by the distant echo of the chaos still raging outside in Gotham. He no longer responded. Damian clenched his fists. For a second, his pride tried to rise up, as it always did, to mask what he felt, to transform it into rage. But it didn't work.

"No..." she whispered, almost voiceless. It wasn't an order. It wasn't a threat. It was denial.

The presence of Alfred was still felt in the place, but Damian didn't look at him. He couldn't. His gaze was fixed on Alfred, as if waiting for him to get up was the only possible option.

But nothing changed.

The weight in his chest grew, uncomfortable, unfamiliar. It wasn't a wound he could fight. It wasn't an enemy he could strike.

It was a loss.

And for the first time, Damian didn't know what to do with her. He had lost the only person who cared about him, the only one who had been able to see beneath his mask of pride. He couldn't do anything to save him; he knew it inside and out. He had lost his only hope of becoming a better person, and he knew it.

Hours earlier, Bane had captured him and then Alfred, whom he used as a hostage against Batman. If only Damian had been stronger, he would have saved him. But he couldn't; he was forced to watch as Damian's neck was broken, deeply traumatized.

The mansion felt empty, unfamiliar, and tense. Bruce was in the cave, punching punching bags until he bled, while the others headed there. Damian sat on his bed, lost in thought, still in shock. His doorbell rang, once, twice, until it opened. {{user}} was there, almost in shock too. He looked at Damian, who had his head down.

"Damian?..." whispered {{user}} trembling. When Damian looked up, his trembling was noticeable, and for the first time, he didn't know how to handle it.