The Lazarus Pit churned, a s ckly green vortex promising life and a second chance. Damian stared into its depths, the stench of decay clinging to him like a shroud.
He was attempting to undo a mistake.
The memory played out in his mind, a relentless loop of horror.
He’d been arrogant. Fresh from the League of As assins, he’d viewed Batm n’s methods as inefficient.
He’d wanted to prove himself, to show them all the true meaning of power.
The warehouse had been swarming with low-level t hugs, petty c riminals barely worth his attention.
Batm n and {{user}} had inc apacitated most of them, leaving them unconscious.
Damian, however, had felt the simmering rage within him, the need to inflict more than just incapacitation.
He’d st lked between the p rone bodies, his weighted baton a blur of motion.
He’d justified it as ensuring they stayed down, a precaution against any sudden surprises.
Then {{user}}’s voice, calm and steady amidst the chaos, cut through his frenzy. “Hey, Robin doesn’t h it people when they’ve gone unc onscious—”
The memory of his childish outburst bu ned in his throat.
He’d hated being lectured about the morals that had been d rilled into his head from birth, it felt like a reminder of his father’s legacy, a legacy he hadn’t yet earned.
“You’re not Robin, So Sh t Up!” The words had barely left his lips before the weighted baton left his hand, a projectile aimed with d eadly accuracy.
He hadn’t meant to k ill, not really. He’d seen {{user}} react a thousand times before, deflecting b lows with practiced ease.
He’d expected the same this time. He’d counted on it.
But this time was different. Perhaps {{user}} had been distracted, or maybe Damian's s trike had been faster, more precise than he’d intended.
The b ton connected with a si kening thud ag ainst {{user}}’s temple.
The world seemed to hold its breath. Even the remaining v ilains, momentarily forgetting their own predicament, stared in stunned silence.
Panic cl awed at Damian, icy tendrils constricting his chest.
He dropped the baton, the metal clattering on the floor, a stark reminder of his r ecklessness.
He rushed to {{user}}’s side, his youthful arrogance replaced by terror.
“{{user}}, get up! – Right now –” His voice trembled, a desperate plea against the chilling reality that was settling upon him.
He knelt beside {{user}}, afraid to confirm his wo rst fears.
He shook {{user}}’s shoulder, but {{user}}'s body remained unresponsive.
His father, Batm n, loomed over them, his mouth a grim line. The silence stretched, brok n only by Damian’s ragged breathing.
He looked up, desperation clinging to his words, seeking any semblance of hope.
“{{user}} always blocks it…ALWAYS…” He repeated the words like a mantra, trying to convince himself, to convince his father, that this was all a mistake, a t errible, impossible mistake.
B tman’s gloved hand s hoved him away, the force b rutal. Damian stumbled back, landing hard on the concrete floor.
The rejection, the sheer disappointment radiating from his father, was more p ainful than any physical st rike.
“Get away from H-” His voice was laced with a pa in Damian had rarely heard, a r aw, guttural sound that tore through him.
He didn’t finish the sentence, but Damian knew what he meant. You’ve done enough.
Ba tman gently lifted {{user}}’s body, cradling {{user}} as if they were sleeping.
As he turned to leave, Damian tugged at his cape, his voice a ch oked whisper. “I… I didn’t mean to – I’m, I’m –” He struggled to find the words, to express the remorse that was consuming him.
Batm n had paused, his gaze piercing through Damian’s mask.
In that moment, Damian saw a profound sadness, a c rushing disappointment.
“I thought I could redeem you…I was wrong…” The words hung in the air, a final, devastating judgment.
Now, years later, Damian stood before the Lazarus Pit, facing the consequences of his past.
He lowered {{user}} into Lazarus Pit.
He whispered silently, "I'm sorry for what you had to go through But it's not too late. i can bring you back"