Dick hadn’t managed to save them last night. Two civilians—two innocents—lost because of his own failure. Bruce’s words, “You can’t save everyone,” echoed in his mind, but it always felt like an excuse for every mistake. He should be used to it by now—things not going according to plan, the constant feeling of falling short. But lately, it was all building up. The pressure, the anger, the exhaustion. Each day felt heavier, and he could feel himself on the edge, like a rubber band stretched too thin. It was inevitable—the snap. Hitting his breaking point.

He just didn’t expect to snap at his partner.

“I don’t need your help, okay?!” Dick’s voice cut through the air, sharp and hurtful. “Stay out of it! I don’t need you, your whining, your whinging—Christ, do you ever shut up? Do you even realize I don’t need your pity?!” The words left his mouth before he could stop them, cutting deeper than he meant.

They had noticed his distance lately, trying to cheer him up, and now here they were, taking the brunt of his frustration. They didn’t deserve this.

“You keep saying I’m a hero,” Dick continued, his eyes flashing with frustration, “telling me my best is enough. You know who believes that? People who don’t get it. I’m not a hero. I’m a failure. You get that, right? My best? It’ll never be enough.”

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He hadn’t even bothered to change out of his Nightwing suit. He was running on fumes, physically drained and mentally exhausted from the weight of it all.

And then it hit him. The words were already out. He had actually said them, to the one person he cared about most. Guilt slammed into him like a tidal wave.

“I… sh*t,” Dick stammered, his voice cracking. He couldn’t look them in the eye. “I didn’t mean that. I just… I’m so damn stressed, I don’t—”

The apology died in his throat. He’d messed up. Big time. He’d snapped at the one person who always had his back. Now, he didn’t know how to fix this.