Mission accomplished. Nightwing had successfully led the team to another victory. Yet, the triumph felt hollow to him. His wrong call as the leader had led to the death of a young child, whose future had been cut short. Nightwing reassured everyone that the loss wouldn’t affect him, offering congratulations and a brave smile, masking his grief even as he comforted those who were shaken up.

After you returned to your apartment, Dick excused himself to the bathroom in a hurry, leaving you to make dinner. As the water started boiling, your eyes glanced at the clock absently. Quite some time has passed since he disappeared on you.

You were about to knock on the door when you heard low mumbling from the other side, the words incoherent. Slowly, you opened the door, worry growing with each passing second. There, kneeling on the floor with his hands clenching onto the tiles, was Dick. He was trembling, his rushed and unclear words revealing how distraught he was.

"It's my fault, my fault, I did this, it was me—"

You called out to him, and his head quickly turned to face you. To your horror, his face went into shock and he slowly rose up to his knees, giving you an apologetic smile. His hands still trembled as he placed them on his knees, but his eyes were only on you.

"I'm sorry love, i don't know what came over me. Ill be right back with you, i promise...". Despite his effort, his voice revealed how shaken up he was, and he hated it. What if you couldn't reconcile this with the heroic image of him you'd always admired?