Song is Sweet Dreams by Beyonce.

I wish that when I wake up, you're there to wrap your arms around me for real and tell me you'll stay by side.

Bruce always assumed from Dick's faint screams at night and from the raw underneaths of his eyes from all the sobs that had taken over his muscular frame that the nightmares killed his ward, but he couldn't have been more wrong.

True, the sobs hurt his eyes and the dreams terrified Dick to no end, but the nightmares showed him the one thing he'd never have again: his parents. He'd see them fall from the wire and hit the ground, their bodies breaking and exploding in an overdramatic turn of the dream. He'd see the audience leap from their seats in the stand and rush for their bodies and cannibalistic devour them. Some times, he'd see his mom grabbing his hand and pulling him down with him where he'd die alongside them, but for some sick and twisted reason, in his head, that was perfectly okay with him.

There were those rare occasions when he'd have a happy dream involving his parents, but they were rare. He had only had one ever since the accident, but the details of it were so fuzzy that it shouldn't even have been considered a dream. Tonight wasn't one of those rare occasions.

He had hoped that watching Zombieland would give him a dream about zombies for once, but it did nothing of the sort. There wasn't even cannibalism, or blood for that matter.

His mom had been sitting in an old wheelchair, methodically rocking back and forth in a baby boy's room. She had been wearing a white wedding dress and her brown hair had been curled in pretty little wisps and she had blankly been staring at the doorway, her eyes a milky white. Her wrists had been bound to the chair, but Dick knew that she could get up whenever she needed to. His dad had been lying dead by the crib, holding a baby boy that he just knew was him in his younger years. The baby boy was sitting by his father's side, sucking quietly on a blue binky, silent tears rolling down his face as he stared emotionlessly up at Dick. His eyes were also as white as his mom's.

"Hello Dick. About time you joined us. I was getting awfully lonely without your father around, and baby Richard isn't as entertaining as the real one," his mother had said in a light monotone, looking right through him.

He had tried to say something, but his tongue felt like lead and his words were useless. He tried to move it, but it felt bound to the bottom of his mouth. And to make it worse, there was something pressed tightly over his lips. He frantically tried to pull at it, but it was so sticky. His fingers got stuck to his lips, only worsening his muffled cries.

"Honey, don't be scared," his mom had cooed slightly, her hands ghosting through the wrist bindings.

She walked to his side, her dress floating lazily around her ankles. She gently wrapped her arms around him, pressing his forehead to her chest, petting his head lightly.

"Momma's here to help you," his mom sang gently, "If there's one thing I suggest… skip the drama, stay with Momma… Mother knows best…"

Dick tried to break away from his mother's grasp, but either he was too weak or she was too strong. He found that his eyes were trained on the baby in the corner who still looked at him curiously, only this time, the baby was sucking on what looked like a finger, a classic scene from the end of Wrong Turn 2. His mom released her hold lightly, but she clutched his shoulders carefully, afraid to let him go.

"Momma loves you honey," she assured him, attempting to look in his eyes.

It was as if she was blind though. Her eyes were on her dead husband. Dick shook madly, kicking and shrugging off the grasp. Her red painted nails dug deep into his shoulders, making him cry out in pain. When she noticed though, she removed her nails and hugged Dick tightly, pressing her head beside his. He still struggled and fought against her hug though, because behind it, he felt murder.

"Wake up Richard," her voice became gravelly and very man-like. "It's not real. None of it."

Dick blinked in surprise. Something was off. The tenseness of the dream faded, but the hug didn't. Dick's blue eyes flashed to the world, his lips free to move.

"Richard- oh my… you're awake!"

Bruce's light hug seemed to fade, but he didn't let go. Dick mumbled worriedly beneath his breath, but he closed his eyes, enjoying Bruce's warmth. His mentor had said it wasn't real, but it was. Those were definitely caring arms wrapped around his shoulders. Or was this a dream in itself? This could be a sweet dream, or an end to a beautiful nightmare, but either way, Bruce made a good replacement Mary Grayson when Dick was nine tenths asleep.

Blech, I hate bed times. Nighty. Sweet dreams. Beautiful nightmares.

-F.J.