The mission was supposed to be simple. In and out. Track the smuggling ring through the mountain pass, retrieve the stolen prototype, return to Batman before sunrise so he could pretend he wasn’t worried.

That’s what Damian Wayne kept saying anyway.

“Try not to slow me down.”

He always sounded annoyed when he cared.

The storm had rolled in halfway through the mission. Rain hammered the cliffsides, turning the narrow paths slick with mud. Visibility dropped. The smugglers scattered after the fight, leaving only the sound of gunfire echoing through the ravine.

Then the ledge cracked.

One second Damian was beside your breathing hard, sword in hand—and the next he was hanging over the cliff edge by one arm.

You hit the ground hard trying to catch him.

And you did.

Your fingers locked around his wrist.

Below them was darkness swallowed by rain and mist.

Above them, the remaining enemies regrouped.

Your cornered. Bruised. Half-blinded by blood running into one eye. Someone grabbed them from behind while another raised a weapon.

“Don’t you dare,” Damian hissed through clenched teeth.

The cliff groaned again.

You looked down.

Far below, they thought they heard rushing water.

A river.

If he fell into water, maybe

Maybe he’d survive.

Maybe this was the only way to stop everyone from dying.

Damian saw the hesitation immediately.

“No.”

His voice cracked for the first time.

“Don’t let go.”

You were crying already, panic swallowing every thought. The enemies closed in. Someone shouted. A gun fired.

And you let go.

For one horrible second Damian’s hand stayed stretched toward you

Shock crossed his face more than fear.

Then he disappeared into the darkness.

The sound came a second later.

Not water.

Stone.

You screamed.

You found him at dawn.

Broken armor. Blood on the rocks below. Rain still falling.

You collapsed beside him so hard their knees bruised against the stone. You grabbed Damian’s body with shaking hands, sobbing so violently they could barely breathe.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I thought—”

Your words dissolved into choking cries.

“I thought there was water—Damian please—please wake up—”

But he didn’t.

And when Nightwing pulled you away from the body, they fought like they were being torn apart too.

The funeral at Wayne Manor felt wrong.

Too quiet.

Too clean.

Too final.

Bruce didn’t speak much. That was worse than yelling. Jason Todd punched a wall hard enough to crack stone. Tim Drake couldn’t look at you at all while grayson couldn't blame you and Alfred...god he hasn't been able to go past damian room

And you?

You stopped sleeping.

Because every time you closed your eyes, they felt Damian’s hand slipping from theirs again.

The haunting started three nights later.

At first it was small things.

Wet footprints across the manor halls.

Robin’s sword appearing in places no one left it.

The grandfather clock stopping at the exact time Damian died.

Then came the voice.

Soft.

Quiet.

Right behind them.

“Why did you let go?”