Everyone had changed-- Maybe Dick had changed most of all. Something inside him snapped. Seeing the scraps of Robin's costume, no trace of him in sight; Barbara had... tried to doubt the worst possible outcome. But there was no trace of him, no sign of communication or survival or his whereabouts, and they'd been monitoring the entire world throughout the riots. If he was still around, he would've done something, someone would've spotted him. Tim was smart like that; but that didn't mean anything to the Joker.
It never did. After Jason, after Barbara and now after Tim, he wasn't going to let anyone else be a victim anymore. The psycho had been dead by the time anyone else arrived at the church. After that... there was just a sinking feeling in Nightwing's chest, when he realized what he'd done. He found it hard to look Batman in the eye; and maybe Bruce found it hard to look at him too.
He didn't look at anyone after that. He'd run back to Bludhaven with his tail between his legs, ignoring he didn't even know how many calls from Barbara and Alfred, on both civilian and family comm-lines. But at least with the Joker gone, the world could finish cleaning up and picking itself back up again.
Some part of him had to feel better about it. A part of him was-- because the Joker was unrepentant and cruel. He'd already hurt their family too many times, hurt hundreds of families too much. Now he wouldn't hurt anyone again, and a part of him enjoyed that, a part of him that thought-- that it was better this way. But nothing really felt better when he knew Tim was never coming home now, that the Drakes had lost their only son, and Bruce would probably never tell them the truth as to why.
Dick hadn't been out as Nightwing ever since; wasn't sure he quite deserved it, certainly not right now. But he'd ended up yelling at Babs when she'd come all the way to Bludhaven to talk to him-- and that didn't make him feel better either, he regretted it in minutes. He still hadn't apologized. He tried to think about work instead, because Dick Grayson was unrelated, and still had to report for duty. He didn't want to go back to his apartment after his shift, because he wasn't sure if Babs would still be waiting for him or not-- so instead he'd stolen away back to Gotham, to sneak into the cave while Bruce was on his patrol to get more of the anti-serum for the Joker's final gag, for a few of the infected the BPD was trying to keep contained.
He was lingering around the lab equipment, still dressed in his police uniform and devoid of any mask, when he hears a voice-- a voice that wasn't Alfred or Bruce, a voice that on first thought, totally belonged but one that he thought he'd never hear again. A face, hidden as it is, that he'd never thought he see again.]
Tim--?
[He stares, long and hard. No, he-- maybe he was finally going crazy. Maybe he couldn't just let this go. Maybe it was Scarecrow gas? It had to be a hallucination-- there was no way this was real.
So-- in the end he turns away, shakes his head and looks back to the samples he needs, one hand coming up to cradle the side of his head.]
No-- No way. You're not real-- I'm not talking to you. I'm not that far gone yet.
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Everyone had changed-- Maybe Dick had changed most of all. Something inside him snapped. Seeing the scraps of Robin's costume, no trace of him in sight; Barbara had... tried to doubt the worst possible outcome. But there was no trace of him, no sign of communication or survival or his whereabouts, and they'd been monitoring the entire world throughout the riots. If he was still around, he would've done something, someone would've spotted him. Tim was smart like that; but that didn't mean anything to the Joker.
It never did. After Jason, after Barbara and now after Tim, he wasn't going to let anyone else be a victim anymore. The psycho had been dead by the time anyone else arrived at the church. After that... there was just a sinking feeling in Nightwing's chest, when he realized what he'd done. He found it hard to look Batman in the eye; and maybe Bruce found it hard to look at him too.
He didn't look at anyone after that. He'd run back to Bludhaven with his tail between his legs, ignoring he didn't even know how many calls from Barbara and Alfred, on both civilian and family comm-lines. But at least with the Joker gone, the world could finish cleaning up and picking itself back up again.
Some part of him had to feel better about it. A part of him was-- because the Joker was unrepentant and cruel. He'd already hurt their family too many times, hurt hundreds of families too much. Now he wouldn't hurt anyone again, and a part of him enjoyed that, a part of him that thought-- that it was better this way. But nothing really felt better when he knew Tim was never coming home now, that the Drakes had lost their only son, and Bruce would probably never tell them the truth as to why.
Dick hadn't been out as Nightwing ever since; wasn't sure he quite deserved it, certainly not right now. But he'd ended up yelling at Babs when she'd come all the way to Bludhaven to talk to him-- and that didn't make him feel better either, he regretted it in minutes. He still hadn't apologized. He tried to think about work instead, because Dick Grayson was unrelated, and still had to report for duty. He didn't want to go back to his apartment after his shift, because he wasn't sure if Babs would still be waiting for him or not-- so instead he'd stolen away back to Gotham, to sneak into the cave while Bruce was on his patrol to get more of the anti-serum for the Joker's final gag, for a few of the infected the BPD was trying to keep contained.
He was lingering around the lab equipment, still dressed in his police uniform and devoid of any mask, when he hears a voice-- a voice that wasn't Alfred or Bruce, a voice that on first thought, totally belonged but one that he thought he'd never hear again. A face, hidden as it is, that he'd never thought he see again.]
Tim--?
[He stares, long and hard. No, he-- maybe he was finally going crazy. Maybe he couldn't just let this go. Maybe it was Scarecrow gas? It had to be a hallucination-- there was no way this was real.
So-- in the end he turns away, shakes his head and looks back to the samples he needs, one hand coming up to cradle the side of his head.]
No-- No way. You're not real-- I'm not talking to you. I'm not that far gone yet.