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froggyfics · 1 year

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How We Became Strangers

Prequel to Strangers

We used to be close.

Me likely angst :)

Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to message me privately or comment below to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Pairing: Damian Wayne x gn!reader

Theme: Angst

Word Count: 3,410

“Can you talk some sense into him?”

“You’re the only one that can reason with him.”

“He listens to you the most, ya know?”

You used to think it was a compliment when people would recognize your impact on Damian. You were constantly commended for your efforts to tame the wild beast. It used to send a shiver down your spine that felt so good.

But lately, those compliments made your stomach churn. You found yourself gritting your teeth, clenching your hands into a fist, curling your toes – anything to distract you from the pang within.

As childish naivety slipped from your fingers, the blindfold you had on began to slip dangerously. These weren’t compliments. According to the dictionary, a compliment is defined as “a polite expression of praise or admiration”.

Bruce wasn’t complimenting you when you convinced Damian not to pursue case leads by himself. He was simply tired of being the one to discipline his son over and over and over again.

Tim wasn’t complimenting you when you pried Damian off him, preventing an all-out brawl. He was just glad that the fight didn’t become serious enough to invoke a conversation with Bruce.

And Alfred, sweet ol’ Alfred, wasn’t complimenting you when you persuaded Damian to join you for a nighttime excursion around town. He was worked to the bone, and only wanted one night to himself in the manor with minimal distractions.

Their compliments were not compliments. They were transfers of responsibilities. Bless Damian - he was an honorable man, but stuck in his own ways, nonetheless. When you came around, Damian was poached onto you.

And you took that as a form of flattery. You thought it was because everyone understood that you and Damian were two peas in a pod, Bobbsey twins…friends. Best friends. So, it was natural for people to want to hand Damian over to you.

You were so utterly wrong. You simply had the best temperament and the most patience to deal with him. Nothing more, and nothing less. You were his unequivocal buffer to society. No one wanted to take accountability for his actions, so the task was transferred over to you.

“Oh no, he didn’t mean it like that,” you comforted Jason. “He’s just tired from patrol.”

“Please excuse his behavior. He’s had a bad day.” You slid the waitress a large cash tip.

“He does love you! He just has a funny way of showing it,” you said as you comfortingly patted his ex-girlfriend on the back.

Excuses, excuses, excuses. You made so many excuses for him. You were unsure when exactly you fell into this…unique role, but it had become exhausting. You were longer just Damian’s friend - you had become so much more. Too much more. There was not a single word that could encompass the responsibilities that fell upon you. You were his therapist, his lackey, his moral compass, his PR firm, his friend, his supporter, and ultimately, his enabler.

There has no doubt been some extra tension between the two of you recently. You’ve had arguments before, but they used to be few and far between. Lately, your temper flares at a moment’s notice. Your patience runs thin like sand between your fingers. There’s something tickling the back of your throat. There’s something you’ve been meaning to say to Damian, even if it falls on deaf ears.

But you can’t. You’re…scared. It pains you to realize it, but Damian is violent. Not with his fists like he is with criminals. No, not like that at all. He’s violent with his words. They leave invisible scars that are only visible to you. If Damian has taught you anything, it’s that you’re not a strong person. Your mental state is like wet paper, floating on by until it meets the slightest force to rip it into shreds.

You want to say something to him. It’s masochistic to continue living like this. But it feels like barbed wire surrounds your throat every time you attempt to be brave enough to say anything.

It’s just you two out here on the grassy hill. Lately, your mind is a haze of anxiety and self-doubt. But for some strange reason, the night sky brings you and your cognizance a calming synergy. You lay shoulder-to-shoulder, your hands snug underneath your head, facing towards the starry night. Your hand travels from behind your head, stretching upwards, as if you could touch the stars above. It’s peaceful out here. It’s finally a moment of calm between you and Damian, which is much needed after weeks of brewing tension.

Damian’s talking about a fight he had with Tim. You can hear his garbled voice in your ear, but your ringing ears mask most of the conversation.

“He said I needed therapy,” he scoffs. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”

Your head rips to the side. Damian copies your movement to return your gaze.

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

You gulp nervously. “Need therapy. Do you…need therapy?”

“No,” he sneers. He lets out a taut chuckle. “I’m not crazy.”

You say absolutely nothing and continue to stargaze. You wonder what it would be like to be there – up there – and not down here. Not with Damian. Not even with yourself. Just…outside of it all. Outside of responsibilities. Outside of loyalties.

You can sense Damian’s change in position. His once relaxed position is exchanged for a rigid, upright one. He’s still seated, but hovers over you. His eyes are sharply boring into your face.

The alarm bells start to ring in your head. Panic arises from your stomach and burns into your esophagus. You did something wrong. You said something wrong. What did you do wrong this time?

“Do you think I need therapy?”

Oh, no. Not this question. Anything, but this question. Has your mouth ever been this dry before?

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” you finally reply. Yeah, that’s a good response. Because it truly doesn’t matter what you think. Not to Damian, at least.

“Yes, it does,” he sharply corrects.

“Damian, please, not tonight,” you groan. You mimic him by shifting your body into a seated position. “Let’s just relax.”

A few seconds pass before he replies. “I don’t need therapy,” he emphasizes.

Yes, you freaking do. But you don’t say that. At least not out loud. Your face on the other hand, reveals your innermost thoughts.

He looks out into the distance. He wants to see anything, but your face.

“Damian, look,” you reach out to him, but he pulls back. The rejection leaves your hands burning, so you twiddle your fingers on your shirt instead. Your hands twist the cotton fabric, but despite his rebuff, you’d rather touch his scarred hands instead. “I’m not saying that you’re crazy. Alright? Going to therapy doesn’t mean that at all.”

“Might as well,” he interjects.

“No, Damian! Look, I love you. And because I love you, I have to say this. You asked what I thought earlier, and…” You trail off, unaware of how to finish the sentence. “I just think therapy would be good for you.”

“Damian,” you whisper as his silence greets you. You breathe in every molecule of air around you to gather the courage. “I’ve been going to therapy myself recently and it’s been help –“

“Therapy?” Damian whips his head towards you so quickly, an audible – POP! – resounds in the air from his neck joints. “Is everything alright with you?”

His concern with your wellbeing makes your beam internally. This is how Damian shows his love and affection. It’s short and simple, but oh, so sweet. It’s the little crumbs that he gave you that kept you coming back for more.

“I’m fine, Damian.” You hold your hands to your chest for emphasis until you realize the dishonesty in your statement. Your hands drop into your lap. “Actually, I’m not. I’ve been dealing with some intense anxiety lately. Ya know, ‘catastrophizing’ or whatever my therapist calls it.”

Damian motions for you to continue. “I’m just really struggling.” Your voice quivers and you’re teetering on an emotional breakdown. “It’s honestly really hard. The panic attacks that I have sometimes…it feels like I’m dying in that moment.” A tear drops onto your hand, but you can’t even feel it. Your limbs are slowly turning numb, and your anxiety pushes outwards to become the center of your world.

Damian’s voice chips at your withdrawal. He says your name and you ask him to repeat himself.

“What happened?” he grabs your hands tightly, protecting them from whatever forces that dare try to harm you. “Did something happen?”

You squeeze his hands to ground yourself. Talking about your mental health was new, even for you. But this is Damian, and if there is anyone you should talk to about it, it’s with him.

“I – I’m not sure,” you admit. “I can’t pinpoint where it all began. I just know that it’s this overwhelming feeling that I get. Like I can’t breathe.” You look up at Damian to stare into his mossy colored eyes. “My chest would burn, my stomach will twist into knots…my sleep schedule just goes out the window!”

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. What were you talking about? Therapy for Damian, right.

“All I’m saying is that it’s really helped me so far. With my anxiety. And I think it would help you, too. You have a lot of unresolved trauma from your childhood and even now. I mean, pummeling people’s heads in every night can’t be great for your mental health! Right?”

Damian yanks his hands away from yours in a fury. “I don’t need therapy.”

You smack your forehead with your hand. This is so typical. He’s so bullheaded that he refuses to be told what to do, even if it might be beneficial for him.

“I’m not your mother, but –“

“You sure as hell aren’t,” he mutters under his breath.

“ – I can’t continue like this with you. You’re always looking for a fight or an argument. Why can’t you accept that you need help?”

“I don’t need help!” His tone becomes increasingly more strained.

“Yes, you do! Everyone needs help, sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not you.” He stands up and pats his body down to rid himself of dirt and grass. “I don’t need to run to my little therapist after my order comes out wrong at a restaurant or – or – or when my boss doesn’t let me leave five minutes early. I can handle myself.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You stand yourself and puff your chest out. Your primal instinct to fight, flight, or freeze clearly chooses fight. You’re unsure why, as Damian could easily break you.

“You heard me.” He looks up and down in disdain.

It was as if someone poured ice cold water on you. The chill of your anger froze every inch of your body. You couldn’t shiver even if you wanted to.

“You’re being mean, Damian,” you grit. Your teeth grind together, barely opening your mouth to speak to him.

He rolls his eyes. “Maybe you’re just being too sensitive. I hope you and your therapist talk about me the next time you go.”

“You’re insufferable.” The nerve signals from your brain begin firing again. You move way too quickly, grabbing your personal items off the ground and walking away. Your head spins at just how fast you’re going, but you can’t bare to spend another second in his presence.

You make it a few steps away before a hand grabs your upper arm. You spin to face Damian, again, so quickly that your world seems out of focus until you concentrate on his green eyes.

“Stop. Let’s just forget about all this.”

You violently shake your head. It’s too much. He’s too much. “No, Damian. Absolutely not. I have been belittled, disrespected, and humiliated by you for far too long.” You point an accusatory finger at him and step forward until it indents his shirt.

He faintly calls your name, but you’re too far gone. Years of resentment has infected you until the pus could no longer be contained by your body. It oozes out as you look at him with fiery eyes and speak to him with a sharp tongue.

“You treat me like garbage when all I’ve ever done is love you!”

“I love you, too,” he insists, stepping towards you, driving your fingernail through his shirt and practically into his skin.

“I know you love me! Trust me, I know you do. Which is why it hurts even more. How can you love me and still hurt me like this? Why is this so easy for you?”

He pouts like a child, and if this was any other moment, you would comment on how cute he looked. This would be despite his insistence that he cannot be cute and instead should be referred to as “handsome”.

“I don’t know where all this is coming from,” he inquiries. “We were fine just ten minutes ago.”

“We haven’t been fine in a long, long time,” you seethe. “The way you speak to me…it’s just unbelievable. Everything I do or say is criticized. I can never be right about anything. It hurts to even be around you sometimes. It hurts to even breathe.”

You’re definitely crying. You can feel the tears pouring down your face, but your voice has never been so steady. The pang in your heart is so evident that you can practically feel it bleeding out.

Your chest heaves due to your incensed speech. This was a first. Sure, you’ve had fights with him before, but never like this. Your own anger surprised you. The feelings that swirled inside you were unfamiliar – was that hatred you felt? You weren’t sure if the hatred was directed to Damian or to yourself. Perhaps both.

He reaches out to you. His arms are ready to engulf you and save you from yourself. But this time, you know better. You can see the mirage in front of you.

“You need help,” you reiterate. “I can’t hold your hand any longer.”

His rescinds his arms quickly and throws his arms in the air dramatically. You scoff at his theatrical display. Damian has been known for his stoicism, but you knew he was quite melodramatic at his core. “You know what? Fine!”

“Fine!” you bite back.

“Fine!”

“Fin – you know what.” He paces back and forth with his hands on his hips. “I don’t need this.” He throws his hand up to silence you when you attempt to reply. “And I don’t need you.”

For a moment, you think a thunderstorm has rolled around, but you soon realize that the booming sound is coming from your own head in the form of a headache. The energy is zapped out of you suddenly and you can feel your genuine tiredness start to creep in.

I don’t need you.

His voice echoes in your head. You dryly laugh at his proclamation. “You don’t need me? Ha, nice joke. Real good one, Damian. You sure sounded like you needed me at that gala your dad dragged you to. The one where you begged me stay so that you could have company the entire night.”

Damian turns around with a shake of his head, but you’re not done with him. “What about when there’s nothing to do on patrol and you call me ‘cuz you’re bored? Huh?” You step around to face him again.

It’s ironic that for someone who faced supervillains and low-life criminals every night, Damian sure was intimidated by your confrontation.

“Ooh, how about when you cried in my arms when you saw Tim nearly bleed to death? Hmm? You sure looked like you needed me then.”

There was no escaping your cutthroat stare and your steely words. Every word you spoke felt like a ton of bricks dropped off your shoulder to make room for your confidence.

“So, tell me again, Damian. Look me in my eyes and tell me that you don’t need me.”

You’re somewhat shocked when he complies. He looks at you with the sweetest doe-eyes you’ve ever see. You don’t think you’ve ever been more intimately connected to him than in that moment. Despite the tension and the fury and the sadness of it all, you see him.

Damian Wayne: the son of two dueling personalities, balancing two difference legacies on his shoulders. The only Robin who still hasn’t figured out how to escape the Robin persona. If that’s even what he wants to do. The boy who has so many role models to look up to – Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Jason, yes, even Tim, Stephanie, Cassandra – but can’t see the good in himself like he sees in others. The child who can’t seem to break through the glass ceiling that he installed for himself in an attempt to surpass the superheroes that came before him. He’s sensitive and insecure in the most intense ways possible. He's human, despite his attempts to turn off his humanity.

And in a flash, the mask pulls up again. His emotions are replaced with an indifferent expression. The Damian that the rest of the world sees comes alive in that moment. It terrifies you at just how quickly he could put up a front. You used to think he had only one another persona – Robin, but watching him now, you see that he had more than one. There was Damian, and then there was the Damian that the world had become accustomed to.

He opens his mouth and his lips curl upwards mockingly. “I…”

Oh, no. You were in for it now.

“Don’t…”

Please don’t, you pleaded. You were silent, but you were hoping that your eyes would express everything for you.

“Need…”

Your eyes widen exponentially. You were simply challenging Damian, kind of how an amateur athlete defies an experienced one. It was just for the experience, but now, you were about to be humbled.

“You.”

The stars bear witness to his cruelty. If they were living creatures, they’d probably shed a tear for you. But unluckily for you, there was no one to share your hurt and disappointment with. Unfortunately, that was all reserved for you.

Well, I need you, you wanted to say. You wanted to scream it at him! I can’t live without you, you wanted to declare.

Although - it was getting kind of late. You just didn’t have it in you to continue the conversation. Your eyelids drooped dangerously low in exhaustion. Fighting with Damian was a subscription that you wanted to cancel, but could only be done in the messiest way possible.

You hold your hands up in defeat. If you had a white flag, you’d have waved it prominently. He didn’t try to stop you this time when you drifted away. You weren’t sure if you even wanted him to, but it still hurt, nonetheless.

You can’t even remember how you made it home before stumbling into your room. Your bedtime routine was ignored for the comfort of your bed.

Who are you without this man? Who are you without all this hurt? What was Damian to you now? You were unsure of how to answer these questions, but for now, you chose to close your eyes to escape your reality.

Your body begins to float as it drifts deeper into sleep, dreaming of a familiar stranger with dark black hair and enchanting green eyes. You couldn't escape his grasp on you, even if you tried.

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x gn!reader #damian wayne x gender neutral reader #damian wayne angst #damian wayne x you #dc comics

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