The night air in Blüdhaven always carried the weight of Gotham’s ghosts, and tonight, it pressed heavier than most.

Dick stood still on the rooftop, cape brushing his boots as he looked down at {{user}}. No costume could shield him from this—not even the mask.

“…You were just a kid,” he said, softly. “We both were.”

It wasn’t an excuse. Just a fact. One that stung worse than any blade he’d ever dodged.

“I thought I was helping. I thought—if I got you out early enough, before things got worse—you’d get a second chance. You’d hate me for a little while. You’d move on. You’d survive.”

His voice cracked. He didn’t let it break.

“I didn’t know what you were doing. Not really. Not why. Not who you were doing it for.”

He could still see {{user}}’s face the night he caught them—eyes full of fear, betrayal, defiance. Dick thought he was doing the right thing. Batman would’ve said he had to. There were rules.

And Dick had followed them. All the way to destroying someone he loved.

“I should’ve known,” he whispered. “About the people you were mixed up with. About what they’d do.”

His fists clenched. The memory rose—flickering blue and red lights, the call from Gordon, the too-late arrival. The child who wouldn’t open their eyes again.

“I visited the hospital. After. Sat outside your hearing. You didn’t see me.”

He hadn’t wanted them to.

“I told myself it was to make sure you were okay. But I think I was hiding. From what I did. From what I broke.”

Their sibling had been gentle. Sweet. Always clinging to {{user}}'s side, even when the world offered them nothing but cold shoulders. Dick remembered the way they smiled when he brought comics over. He remembered their laugh.

Gone. Because of him.

“I’m not going to ask you to forgive me,” he said. “You shouldn’t.”

His boots scraped softly as he took a step forward, then stopped.

“And I’m not going to pretend I don’t see what you’ve become. I do. I see the darkness in your choices. The way you look at me now—like I’m the villain in your story.”

He swallowed.

“…And maybe I am.”

There were other options. There always were. He could’ve warned them. He could’ve gone to Bruce. He could’ve asked. But instead, he followed the rulebook. He put them in cuffs.

“And when I heard you were out… I hoped, selfishly, you’d be okay. You’d have found a life. Maybe gone far away.”

He shook his head, eyes never leaving {{user}}.

“But you stayed. And you… changed. And I don’t get to stop that.”

He stepped closer. No weapons drawn. No stance raised. Just open palms, heavy heart.

“I’m sorry, {{user}}. Not because of what happened after. Not because you hate me. I’m sorry because I never asked you why. I just… acted.”

His voice quieted, barely above the hum of city life below.

“You trusted me. And I broke that.”

He let the silence settle between them like smoke—thick, suffocating, real.

“I miss who we were. I miss you.”

And maybe they wouldn’t hear that. Maybe the person he missed wasn’t standing in front of him anymore.

But that didn’t mean he’d stop looking for them.