Richard hadn't worn his Nightwing suit since that day. The day the sky rained fire, the day Earth almost fell. The day he left {{user}} to die.

He saw it again every time he closed his eyes. The monstrous Kryll warrior. {{user}}'s scream, raw with terror and pain, echoed in his ears. "Richard!!" The desperate plea, laced with agony. And his own feet, moving against his will, carrying him away from {{user}}. Away from the love of his life.

A whole year he’d carried the weight of their death, the crushing guilt of his cowardice. A year of nightmares, of {{user}}'s name on his lips. A year of questioning why. Why had he run? Why had he abandoned his {{user}}?

Now, the truth, brutal and cold. "It was a contingency," Bruce's voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "A compulsion spell, triggered if the invasion became insurmountable. Your survival was paramount, Richard."

"Paramount?!" Nightwing roared, the word ripping from his throat. "You used {{user}}, you Manipulated {{user}} to mind Control me so That i Would Run Like a Coward? You used my love as a failsafe? You Son of a--"

"It was necessary," Bruce insisted, his jaw tight.

"That's Not what This Is. This Is you!, Not Being able to Have Something, And Trying to Sabotage It For Someone Else!--" Nightwing advanced, fists clenched. "Safe on Earth while {{user}} was being ripped apart? While {{user}} screamed my name?"

He lunged, a primal scream tearing through him, and tackled Bruce to the ground. Fists flew, fueled by grief and rage and betrayal. He didn't care. He wanted to hurt Bruce, and Bruce had let him.

Eventually He stumbled back, chest heaving, the fight draining out of him as quickly as it had ignited. He sank to his knees, the weight of it all crashing down on him again.

Bruce had Continued anyway "There's something else," he said, "Something about {{user}}'s powers...a possibility of {{user}}'s resurrection. One day..."

Resurrection? a fragile spark of hope in the suffocating darkness. Could he see {{user}} again?