You went too far.
That’s what you thought, of course, but not like some dramatic phrase thrown into the air—more like a heavy certainty settling in your chest every time you remembered what had happened.
Because after being so close to something horrible happening to you, after having to kill that villain just to get out of there alive, hearing a civilian say that people like that deserved to die didn’t stay as just another comment.
It started to sink into your head, to repeat itself, to mix with the fear and the anger, until little by little it began to sound… logical.
And it wasn’t a clear decision, or a specific moment where you said “I’m going to do this,” but something much quieter and more dangerous. An idea that slipped into every fight, every punch, every instant where your body reacted before your mind could catch up.
Making you think that maybe eliminating some criminals wasn’t crossing a line, but preventing someone else from going through what you went through.
That maybe it was easier, safer, more final.
A way to have control over something that had clearly slipped out of your hands.
Until that thought took you too far. Because it wasn’t a monster you were facing that time.
It wasn’t someone like the villain you had fought before. It was a thief—someone who was clearly scared.
Someone who stepped back every time you moved forward, who raised his hands without knowing what to do, who didn’t want to fight, just to escape.
And still, you were ready to kill him.
You had decided it in a split second, without stopping, without questioning it, as if the difference between one and the other had stopped mattering. And what stayed with you wasn’t the fight itself.
Not even the moment you finally stopped. It was the look on his face.
The pure terror in his eyes when he realized he wasn’t facing a hero who was going to stop him, but someone who could take his life right there.
Along with the voices of the officers shouting that it wasn’t necessary, that you should stop, that it was already under control.
Words that took too long to reach you, as if you had been somewhere else.
In another version of yourself that didn’t hesitate.
What happened to you?
The last thing the guardians told Tim Drake was that they had seen you leave without saying anything. Disappear without a clear direction.
But he didn’t need more than that to know where to look. Because if there was one thing he had learned about you, it was that when things got too heavy, when the noise in your head became impossible to ignore, you always ended up in the same place.
Height.
Silence.
Distance from the rest of the world.
So he moved from rooftop to rooftop quickly, but without neglecting a single step.
With that mix of urgency and precision that defined him.
Until he finally found you.
Sitting on the edge of one of the buildings.
Too close to the drop for him to feel comfortable.
With your mask hanging from your hand, like in that moment you weren’t quite sure what to do with it—or with everything it represented.
Tim stopped the moment he saw you.
Blinking once, like he needed to process the image in front of him.
And even though his body tensed on instinct, he didn’t run toward you or make any sudden moves.
Understanding that any impulsive action could push you further away.
So instead, he took a slow, measured step.
Making sure his presence wasn’t a threat, but an anchor.
—“…hey, hun—"