|The D.C Collection | Imagines, One-Shots, Preferences, and More |

She Made Me | Damian Wayne x Reader

Description: You have a mission. Damian has one too, but it doesn't involve you.

Words: 2182

Notes: I didn't post the request because it will spoil this one's end, but @mocimori this is for you!

_

It hurt to breathe. Every time you inhaled came the sting of iron and the smoke, clawing up your throat in its descent into your bleeding lungs. You felt like you were running through mud with how heavy your legs were. They were aching with a pain you barely processed in your desperation, but when had any of that pain registered? There was only terror rooted in the deepest part of your being, it's icy tendrils freezing your thoughts, but never deterred you from your mission even if your body was cut to oblivion and a battle was rocking the Earth beneath you.

You weren't part of this battle. You knew you never would be, not in the way that the Justice League was. It was only smoke and smog for miles in the evacuated city of Gotham, sharp blasts of red and flying bodies slicing through the clouds and the fire. The only clarity you had was your mission, and even it's source was starting to blur. You could scarcely recall Diana being thrown through two buildings, and Bruce shaking you from your shock and demanding you get to the chapel where Damian and Jon were.

"Talia has Damian," Bruce said. His voice was coarse and impossibly level-headed in the middle of such a disaster. You had always seen Clark as a force of good, but today had taught you that good could be manipulated and washed away with the power of Talia Al Ghul's latest brainwashing technology. As the Man of Steel tore apart your city, the Justice League barely holding against him and the League of Assassin's forces, Bruce commanded,"You have to get to him before he makes this all worse. Before he can't reverse what he's done. I know you can fix this, Y/N. There has to be a way."

That leads to you running. Running far, away from the ringing cries of war and pain. You ducked under the arch of the entry garden, falling against the crusted metal and panting. When had this even begun? How did Talia even accomplish this? Why Damian? Because she knew if she got a hold of Jon, Clark could possibly break him out of it and end her plans? Because she knew he couldn't hurt Damian? Wouldn't hurt Damian? There's no time to contemplate. You start running again, and sometimes you feel that's all you ever do.

The chapel is crumbled. The entire East wing lays in ruin, flooded by broken plumbing and deserted in darkness. It's just a corpse of the beautiful building it once was, and you step over its bones in order to reach the main hall, the one intact piece of a place so undeserving of this torture. You wince when your steps echo on the crumbling marble. But your foot catches on the thick fissure under the main archway, scraping your hands for the fourth time when you fall. When you look up, there is a blinding green glow.

"Damian, this isn't you," Jon said. He slowly dragged himself backward, a fine trail of crimson tracing his path. He clutched a deep wound on his side, but his other hand was raised toward his best friend, welcoming instead of defending. His uniform had been torn, the crest of the House of El on his chest crossed out by a blade and leaving a gloss of staining blood down his chest. His eyes shone green against the long Kryptonite blade held against him.

"Nonsense, Kent," Damian said Jon's last name as he always had, sharpening the t as he always did, like nothing was wrong and you were all just hanging around under the tree behind Jon's house. Damian loosely swung at Jon, barely missing his collarbones and sending the boy another drag backward. Then, he planted a boot on Jon's chest and pressed the tip of the sword over his heart. He slowly pressed it deeper into Jon's skin, smirking smugly to himself at the scream torn from the throat of his companion,"I'm more 'me' than I've ever been."