Bruce sat down in front of his computer, and clicked an empty word document. "When? When? When? When?" he muttered to himself quietly before he started typing.

-Start Journal entry 7.16.11-

I wonder once again why I haven't deleted this file, after all, it contains personal information. Then again, it might not be too personal, but anything that pertains to me is too personal for anyone to know.

Alfred's making me write again, I woke up in a bigger panic than normal I suppose, and instead of letting me go patrolling, he's making me sit down and type…

... I don't know what to type anymore, so I guess I should write what woke me up.

I had that nightmare again, the one with Barbara. It started out like it always did.

I was patrolling the city, trying to locate Joker; I heard that he was once again on the move. Heard he was interested in real estate.

It took me awhile to get the call, and when I did it I was too late.

I should have known something was wrong.

I should have checked up on the Gordons.

I should have done a lot of things, but I didn't.

I didn't have time to change, and Bruce didn't have a reason to see Barbara, so I stayed in costume. I entered her room quietly, trying not to show too much interest in Barbara, there were people around.

The hospital room was plain looking; there weren't any flowers there yet. It was quiet, very quiet. Even the doctors spoke as if they were afraid to break the silence. The doctors told me that the Joker did this.

The Joker shot her point blank. The bullet went through her spin, and hit the couch behind her.

The doctor explained that she would most likely never walk again, and if she did, it'd be a miracle. The doctors and nurses left quietly.

I didn't know what to do. I just stared at Barbara, lying in the hospital bed. She looked so fragile, and pale. I can't believe that this was the girl that, at one time, demanded that I let her join the team.

I never should have let her join.

She would have been safer that way.

She could have been able to walk still.

She could have had a normal life; worrying about boys and zits rather than the Joker and bullet wounds.

I did this. It was my fault.

My dream changed the reality of the moment. Instead of Barbara waking up and telling me that she was afraid, and that it was Joker; she woke up angry.

She glared at me for a full minute before speaking to me.

"Why didn't you save me Bruce?" she said quietly before yelling. "This is all your fault Bruce! You did this! You ruined my life! I can never walk now! I will never be able to have a normal life because of you! I hate you! I hate you!" I didn't know how to respond. I tried to mumble an apology but that seemed to only make her more angry.

"I'm sorry? I'm sorry!? Is that all you have to say for yourself! You killed your parents, you created the Joker, you caused Harvey Dent to go insane, you created half the villains of Gotham, you destroyed half the city on several occasions, you destroyed my life, Dick's, Tim's and Jason's, and all you have to say is 'I'm sorry'? When will you stop ruining everyone's lives Bruce? When!?"

I woke up at this part. Alfred came rushing in my room a second later, and he pulled me down to the Batcave, demanding that I write.

It all feels useless really; writing out my dreams…

I have work to do now

-End Journal Entry-

Bruce pushed his chair away from the computer after he saved the document. He turned his chair away from his computer and placed his face in his hands. "When?" he whispered out loud a final time. He pushed the dream, and question far from his mind as he prepared for a boring day for Bruce Wayne.