Damian didn’t need anyone.

That was the lie he’d carved into his bones, repeated like prayer, sharper than any blade he carried.

And then there was {{user}}.

They were patience where he was steel, softness where he was fire. They stayed—stayed—through every refusal, every lashing word meant to drive them away. And somehow, impossibly, they’d slipped beneath his defenses, curled themselves around his heart like ivy. He hated it. He needed it. He—

—ruined it.

The last thing he’d said to them echoed in the walls of the training room like the ghost of a blade striking bone.

“You cling like a parasite. I don’t need you. You think you matter to me?”

It wasn’t true.

It wasn’t true.

His fist connected with the wooden post again. Blood smeared from his knuckles, again and again, but the pain didn’t quiet the sound of their breath catching—choked, trembling—right before they fled the room.

They hadn’t even looked at him.

“Idiot,” he growled to himself, breathless, pacing the floor like a caged animal. “You knew they were delicate with you. You knew what they’ve done to stay—how hard it was for them to trust anyone, let alone you—”

The comm crackled.

He froze.

“—Damian. It’s about {{user}}.”

Tension coiled tight in his chest.

“What about them?” he snapped, too fast, too loud. He already knew. His body knew.

“They’re missing.”

He couldn’t breathe.

Missing.

Not hiding. Not ignoring him. Gone.

No.

No, no, no.

He was moving before the call ended, grabbing his sword, his belt, ignoring the blood dripping from his raw fists.

“This is your fault,” he hissed to himself, voice cold and shaking. “You pushed them. You broke them.”

Outside the manor, the air was bitter. Gotham’s skyline blurred past as he launched into the night, cape snapping behind him. The shadows swallowed him whole, but they didn’t offer comfort—not tonight.

He checked every rooftop, every alleyway they’d liked. He stalked their favorite bookstore, the park bench they always lingered at with tea in hand. Empty. Everything was empty.

His comm buzzed again.

Another negative. No leads.

He stood alone beneath a flickering streetlamp, teeth clenched.

“You always said I didn’t trust people,” he muttered aloud, glaring at the ground like it had wronged him. “You were right. I trusted you, and then I proved you never should’ve trusted me.”

A cat mewed behind him. He didn’t turn. His eyes stayed fixed on the distance, on some point he couldn’t reach.

“You’re not gone,” he said, like saying it would make it true. “You wouldn’t leave me like that. Not without—without a word. Not unless I hurt you so badly you had to.”

His voice broke.

It was barely audible, but it cracked through the silence like thunder.

“I didn’t mean it. None of it.”

He pressed his forehead to the cold brick of a nearby wall, breath fogging in the air.

“I miss you.”

The city didn’t answer.

He stayed there a long time. Just breathing. Just bleeding. Just waiting.