A dying man needs to die, as a sleepy man needs to sleep, and there comes a time when it is wrong, as well as useless, to resist. –Stewart Alsop
Their personal ones made them as unique as the costumes in which they chose to fight. Their own insight into a world of darkness and cruelty molded them, and shaped an individual out look that could never be fully understood by anyone else.
But this…this was not a tragedy.
No, Dick thought it to be an indescribably simple impossibility.
"Richard…Richard are you still there?"
He ignored the question allowing the lightning to jam his pathetically cheap comm link, static drowning out Clark's emotionally overwhelmed voice.
Why couldn't anyone ever just be whelmed? Dick thought vaguely, allowing his curiosity and sense of humor to shield his mind from the terrible truth.
The impossible was possible, tonight it had become a reality, Batman was dead.
Dick for the time being had refused to acknowledge the fact that The Bat and Bruce were one and the same. That when one went so did the other. He couldn't afford to make that connection, one that would send him to his knees. When faced with a patrol that called forth Bludhaven's worst he did not have the luxury of simply taking a moment to break, to mourn.
But when the night quieted, as much as it possibly could, he allowed some measure of the situation to sink in.
Before dawn had even broken, before a new day had the chance to be christened weary black boots found the worn surface of asphalt. Dick hadn't taken the time to shower, patch himself up or even change into some civvies, only a beaten leather jacket.
From Bludhaven he walked, simply walked with no direction in mind.
He knew where he'd end up before he got there, and no thought had to be put into his steps. Mile after mile rolled by and while the distance was short the thought of explaining the events as Clark had dictated them to him was something that weighed down his every move.
In the fading kiss of twilight Dick finally found himself greeting a skyline that for the past months had been no more than a memory.
No matter where he started, all roads led to Gotham.