"You killed him?" Bruce breathed in disbelief as he watched your bitter, angry expression only grow.

You had killed him. The Joker. The man was dead. And his blood was on your hands. You had broken Bruce's one rule. No killing. But he wasn't truly sure if he should be surprised.

You weren't human. You, like Clark or Starfire, were an alien. Though you looked and acted completely human. You possessed abilities mankind did not. You could fly... and you could create life... and death in your palm. Flowers either bloomed or withered in your presence, depending on your mood. And that had always concerned Bruce. Since the day he found you and took you in.

You had become a vital member of the Justice League and a hero to Gotham... but everything came to a screeching halt when Joker had discovered Bruce Wayne's identity. He attacked him when he was vulnerable and made sure Bruce was beaten to an inch of his life... before the Joker shot Bruce and left him for dead.

You had fallen for the cold, distant human man, despite all efforts not to... so when he was in the hospital in a coma, he never woke from? You snapped and broke the rule.

You killed the Joker.

Bruce shook his head, sitting up in his hospital bed, his eyes wide with disbelief and anger...