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A part of him was still hoping this was a literal nightmare. That the time since the heist on that rainy night never actually happened. Never saw that accursed mask, nor spoke with the one behind it. Never met his on. Never learned everything.

At least then he wouldn’t be hurting so much right now.

He’d anticipated the chance the man wouldn’t listen. Nightmare had been working with and manipulating criminals for so long, it was inevitable that some of the darkness had grown too much, that he was too desperate to achieve his goal. Why should he listen to the words of a thief telling him to stop?

But the voice of the boy who was the reason behind Nightmare echoing though the building /did/ catch the thief off guard. And, apparently, the one aiming a gun at him.

Even with being in danger himself, it wasn’t until the man started to fall that he felt his heart stop. He didn’t need to think. Not about the gun, the fact that someone he cared about had been threatened by the other, that he’d killed people who had worked with him before, just because they learned his name.

He didn’t deserve death.

Finger wrapped tightly around the other’s hand. The sound of the gun hitting the ground below could barely be heard over the sound of blood rushing through his ears and his heart pounding in his chest. He strained to keep his grip on both the man below him and the broken railing beside him, knowing that there was a good chance he could be pulled over as well. If he could just convince the stubborn fool to let go of the opals and grab on with the other hand, then maybe-

His blood turned cold as he felt the glove slide off, eyes widening as he could only watch, helplessly, while the the man fell, cringing when his body hit the floor and blood started to pool behind his head.

There was no time to think, however. People were coming. The police, the detective, and…

Pain tore through him when he saw the boy, and he quickly brought up his card gun and took aim below.

A child, so much like himself in some ways, did not need to know that his father, whom he had admired so much and aspired to be like, was the very detested crime planner he was supposed to be stopping.

Especially not if there was a possibility of him learning /why/ Nightmare existed in the first place…

He fired the gun, knocking the mask of the criminal away to leave the man who had cared so much about his son that he had gone too far down into darkness.

The ace of spades.

How fitting, to mark the end of Nightmare.

But there was no humour in the thought. Not much thinking at all, really. As soon as he’d shot, the thief turned away and ran, jumping back into the sky from where he’d come in. Once he’d gotten a fair distance away, he lowered his head.

Coward.

All he could do was escape. He couldn’t do anything to help, couldn’t even face the boy whose life had just been broken. Broken like his was so long ago.

Except this time, if anyone was too be blamed for the death, it was him. If he’d just acted like the selfish criminal and not gotten involved, ignored how much they’d reminded him of his experiences, or had managed to convince the man to think of his own life at that moment…

When he finally managed to get home, the thief barely remembered to even lock the door before making his way to his room in a daze. He just wanted to sleep. Fall into an oblivion where he didn’t have to think about what had happened that night. It wouldn’t last long, and he’d have to face it again in the morning. Or afternoon. Whenever he felt he’d be able to get up again.

But for now, he climbed onto the bed, only removing his hat before pulling a pillow over to curl around, not even caring about being in full costume as his mind faded into welcome nothingness.