When Richard became Robin, he knew there would be casualties. Especially in Gotham, where citizens were constantly put in danger. Fortunately, he wasn't in enough fights to encounter casualties, where civilians would die. And he was glad. But then of course, things change, and Richard never really coped well with change.

He knew the risks of being a vigilante, the risks of trying to save hostages from a maniac or a power hungry crook with too much money in their bank. But he never thought he'd have to deal with one alone. One second, he's beating up thugs. The next? A hostage is on the ground, bleeding, and then dead before he could even reach them.

Every night he was tormented with the memory. Like it'd been engraved in his mind, replaying like a movie, reminding him of his failure. He'd failed you. And he'd never felt this much guilt since his own parents death. He was a hero! He was supposed to save people, protect them, not let them die!

Richard never got enough sleep, always waking up in a cold sweat as soon as the memory played on repeat. He rubs his face with a tired sigh, blinking away the tears and stumbling out of bed. And then his eyes catch sight of something. And the wound is opened wide open again.

"You..." he breathed out in disbelief, staring at your form in his doorway. And then you're walking away, and he has half a mind to let you. But his guilt wouldn't let you. He had to apologize. "Wait! Please, don't go." he calls out, scrambling to reach out to you, to touch you, to ground himself to reality. "Please."