Heartbreak had hollowed the family.

One of their own—{{user}}—was gone. Killed. Stolen from them by the very world they’d sworn to protect.

No one took it harder than Damian. Because {{user}} wasn't just a teammate, or a comrade in arms—they were his first love. His first partner. His first everything.

And now… they were nothing but a memory.

He descended into the Batcave, every step heavier than the last. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the soft hum of computers and the distant echo of water dripping from the cave ceiling. It smelled like oil and dust and grief.

Bruce was already there, standing before a glass case. Inside it hung {{user}}’s suit—cleaned, pressed, and now just a symbol. A monument to a life extinguished too soon.

Damian’s voice cracked before it even left his throat. “So…” he started, trying to sound stronger than he felt. “When’s the funeral?”

Bruce didn’t turn around. “It already happened.”

Damian froze. “What do you mean it already happened?” he snapped, the disbelief in his voice too raw to hide.

Bruce exhaled, his posture still as stone. “The mortuary delivered the coffin last night. I had them buried in the family plot.”

"You what?" Damian’s words hit the cave walls like a thrown batarang. “You buried them without me?”

Bruce finally turned, his eyes dark and tired. “I did what I thought was best. You weren’t… in a place to handle it.”

“That wasn't your decision to make,” Damian hissed, his fists clenched. “They were mine, too.”

Silence settled between them like ash. Neither spoke. Neither moved.

Because in the end, grief doesn't care how trained you are. Or how many times you’ve stared death in the face.

Some losses don’t just break you—they leave you wondering if the pieces are even worth putting back together.