Nightwing couldn't take it. His best friend was dead. It was his fault. Months of fighting against the Reach had ended with a funeral, and the burial of an empty casket. No matter what anyone said, Dick knew it was his fault. He was the one who pulled them back into the hero life. He was the one who put Artemis behind enemy lines. He was the one who didn't know about the Reach's backup plan. He was the one who made all the wrong decision, and it had cost Wally his life. There was no one else to blame.
Of course, everyone else tried to tell him differently. Nobody had known about the Reach's backup plan. The League and Team had been short on heroes who could go undercover and not be missed. Artemis had chosen to let herself be put behind enemy lines. There was no way to tell what decisions had been right, and what decisions had been wrong. Every hero knew there might be a day where they would have to offer up their lives for the greater good. Nightwing had been focused on saving as many lives as possible from the Reach. Wally understood that, and had lived a hero's life to the end. Nightwing couldn't be blamed for that. Wally had gone down fighting, which is what he'd always wanted.
Dick just couldn't make himself believe that. He'd fought a battle inside of himself for months, but had finally come to the decision to leave. Death followed him wherever he went. Bad luck and bad decisions were always right around the corner. He couldn't go two weeks without being injured, captured, or losing a civilian. It was time for him to end the hopeless cycle. No longer would people suffer because of his choices. No longer would sons be buried because of him. Nightwing was a stain on the Justice League's reputation, and it was time to be washed off. He wouldn't let himself hurt the people he loved anymore. Never again would they be killed trying to help him.
Dick packed the last of his clothes in the small duffle bag. He needed to go home. He needed to go to a place where they wouldn't look. If the League knew he was leaving the hero life, they'd never let him leave. They'd track him down and make him pour his heart out. Dick didn't want that. He just wanted to disappear. He wanted to live a life where nobody depended on him to save them. He just wanted to be left alone. He wanted to be a person that didn't hold the world in his hands. People always fantasized about that, but he knew better. The world was a fragile thing, easily thrown out of balance and hard to contain. Dick felt like Atlas, trapped under a weight he never chose. Dick didn't want to feel that anymore. He couldn't feel that anymore.
Dick took one last look around his room. The Manor seemed so cold now. It had once been warm and full of life, always welcoming to the young acrobat. Now it felt dead, as if it would constantly reject him no matter what. This was no place for him anymore. The walls were barren now, like Dick had never been there. The only thing on the bed was a small black box, something left from his last hero adventure. It felt empty and bare. It felt like lost childhood dreams, like a child who'd been forced to grow up too early. The feelings were drowning him, were suffocating him to the point of insanity. It was hard, keeping a mask up around the people you loved. It weighed on your soul, pushed it to break when you knew you couldn't handle it. It pushed the shards apart, kept them from ever coming back together.
Dick walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. That wasn't his life anymore. He wasn't Nightwing, the hero who always had a smile on his face. He wasn't the hero that sent villains running for the hills. But he also wasn't Richard Grayson, the foster son of Bruce Wayne that made ladies swoon with a wink. He wasn't the poor circus boy who'd been given everything by a considerate man after his parents died. He was just Dick, a boy who had been broken and lost. He was a boy who'd lost all purpose in his life. It was time for him to stop hurting people.
Dick made his way to the garage, heading towards his familiar motorcycle. At least it still felt familiar. A voice interrupted his thoughts. "I presume you are leaving, Master Dick." Alfred was standing next to the Wayne Limo, a sad look on his face. "I'm sorry, Alfred. I just...I can't let myself hurt anyone again." Dick bit his lip. Alfred must hate him. The butler walked closer, putting a hand on Dick's arms. "I understand, Master Dick. I hope you call, but I will not be disappointed if you don't. I do hope you know where you're going?" Dick nodded. "I know. I'm going to a place where the heroes don't look." Alfred cocked an eyebrow. "But you are a hero, Master Dick." Dick chuckled as he put his helmet on. "Not anymore, Alfred. Not anymore."
