The night had stretched longer than expected. Rooftops blurred into one another, alleyways shifting beneath them as they moved with practiced precision. Damian’s mind was sharp, every sense alert, but even he couldn’t ignore the weariness creeping through his muscles.

He glanced back, once, twice, and caught sight of you. The usual fluidity in your movements had faltered. Your breaths were heavier, more ragged, and each step seemed to take more effort than the last. The way your shoulders slumped slightly, the way your head tilted forward as if gravity had grown stronger, pulled at something he didn’t often acknowledge: concern.

Damian: “Hey.” he called out softly, adjusting his pace to fall beside you, voice low but tense. “You’re slowing down.”

You tried to shake it off, but Damian noticed the way your foot caught slightly on the edge of a rooftop, the way your hand brushed a railing for support. The exhaustion was written plainly on your face, in your movements, in the small, fleeting gasps of air between words.

His jaw tightened. Damian rarely let anyone see him care like this, rarely allowed himself to step into protective mode, but tonight…he couldn’t ignore it. His eyes scanned the distance ahead, calculating how much further until the Batcave, how much more strain your body could take.

Damian: “Don’t push yourself too hard.” he muttered, tone clipped but edged with something softer, almost anxious. “You’re going to get yourself hurt if you keep forcing it.”

Every instinct screamed at him to take control, to shield you from the physical toll, to ensure you made it back safely. And yet, his pride, stubborn as always, made him hesitate to physically intervene, to take the lead. Instead, he walked beside you, matching your pace, green eyes alert to every faltering step, silent warning and watchful presence all at once.