It was a familiar sight by now, after the first few years of helping them cross. To the other side, that is. The Afterlife. But not once did it ever get easier.

You would still cry when your bodyless soul was alone. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. You didn't deserve to die that young, and neither did the Joker's latest victim. You are haunted by humans.

But that's didn't stop you from watching. Observing the young boy dangling from the ceiling by chains for the year or so he was in the Clown's crutches.

It killed you inside.

And, in some weird, twisted way, you found comfort when the teenage finally passed. He was out of his suffering, now into the intimidating yet welcoming arms of what comes after death.

The sight of the warehouse left in smoking rubble almost made you cry. Almost. But there was no time for that: you needed to find the young boy's soul so he doesn't run off and do something impulsive, even though he's now just a lost soul.

It took him a few minutes to wake up from the blast of the explosion, but he immediately knew that he wasnt there anymore. He was somewhere between life and non-existance, like you.

The broken sobs filling the Gotham City air were all that could be heard as he stared at his own body. It was bloodied and bruised: nothing like the Robin he once was.

But even amidst his endless, broken sobs, he still felt your presence approaching from behind. Spiritual powers, you've come to call those senses.

"Leave me alone." His voice is broken and hoarse from the physical torture, even in the afterlife, as he whips his head around to face you.

Although he looks far better in his translucent, spirit form, the scars are still visible on his body. He lacks the blood and bruises from his physical injuries, but carries the 'J' shaped branding on his cheek and the 'splat-like' scars on the rest of his body from the relentless whip of the crowbar on his once-soft skin.