"Cry At Night, It's Alright"
Dick really thought that he had kicked these damn nightmares to the curb.
Yet his eyelids are suddenly flying open and he's lunging forward, sitting upright within a second, heart hammering against his chest. His hair is disheveled and a tad bit sweaty, so is the rest of him, actually. His eyes flicker over to the digital clock on the nightstand. 4:22 AM. He kind of just sits there for a minute or two to let his heartbeats and breathing fall back into a more normal rate.
When he seems calmer, he disentangles his legs from the sheets. He kicks around a lot; Wally found that out the hard way when they were little and had a sleep over at the Wayne Mansion.
The Mansion… That's probably what this was all about.
He normally sleeps at the Mansion, unlike Kaldur, M'gann, and Superboy, who all sleep here. He, Wally, and Artemis all have their homes to return to each night.
But their missions keep getting longer, more elaborate, extending further and further into the night. It's a good thing, actually, because the League is obviously seeing their growth and is allowing them to take more difficult missions. On the flip side, however, they return home far more drained, and at odd hours.
For this mission, they didn't get home until 2AM, so Kaldur convinced the three of them to stay in the spare rooms reserved at the Mountain instead.
Dick lets out a groan and kicks his feet over the side of his bed, standing up and creeping out of his room. He walks the long hallway to the kitchen, hoping to get something to drink, or eat; whatever he needs to fill him up enough to crash again. If he was being honest with himself, not being in his room at the Mansion is probably why he got the nightmares again.
Damn. It makes him feel like a helpless little kid.
It's the same nightmare from when he was a little kid, too. He always dreams of a circus, being up on a high wire or trapeze, soaring. Then he would find himself falling, seeing his parents' faces fly by as the circus goes up in flames, the sounds of gunfire and maniacal laughter getting louder and louder until he forces himself awake. It's pathetic, really.
"No, it's not. It's not pathetic at all."
Of course it is! He's Robin, the Boy Wonder, cunning partner of Batman; nightmares aren't supposed to get to him like this. He's supposed to be brave, isn't he?
"You don't always have to be brave, you know. Bruce has his fears, too. He also knows that if you don't allow yourself to cry, you'll never really be able to smile."
He nearly drops the glass he has in his hand when he realizes what's going on, and whips his head around.
Was that M'gann he had just been talking to? Maybe she sensed him awake and heard his thoughts. It definitely sounded like something she would do.
But, no. No, he knows that voice, and it's not at all M'gann's.
He (though sometimes quite vaguely) remembers when he was that nine-year-old boy who spent a lot of time wandering the halls of the Watchtower whenever Batman had business that ended up running longer than expected. He didn't mind, of course. Whenever he was left at the mansion he always had Alfred, but getting to spend time with everyone in the League was a nice change, too.
But not even the entire League, with their collective strengths and abilities, could keep away the nightmares any better than Alfred could.
They still kept coming, and he didn't want any of them to know.
He would just wake up suddenly in tears, and would dart for the kitchen to wipe them with a napkin. Bruce would notice if he had wiped them on his cape, and he didn't want that to happen. Every time someone stumbled upon him awake at such a ridiculous how, he would just say he was hungry, always hungry; sometimes thirsty.
But whoever it was, they would get him snacks or drinks and stay with him, chat, make him laugh, tell him stories. It helped. Maybe that's where this idea of eating to fall back asleep came from.
It was just… hard, even as a little kid, to not tell someone. He told Alfred about it, occasionally. But he couldn't tell the League! It was just… ridiculous. How would they ever take him seriously after crying over and getting freaked out by something so childish?
So he wouldn't say anything.
He would've gotten away with it, too, if it hadn't been for Diana.
Somehow he managed to fall asleep on the couch rather than in Batman's office where he usually slept and Diana must've stayed with him instead of moving him. Because when he woke up, yelping softly, his hand reached out to catch his mother's and instead of grasping air, he grasped something warm. He looked at her in surprise, and she had an equally stunned expression as well.
"Robin?" she breathed, forehead creasing. He pulled his hand from her arm and mumbled an apology, rubbing his eyes at an attempt to quickly wipe the tears. But she had already seen. "What's wrong?"
"N-nothing," he sniffled.
"Obviously not," she insisted. "Robin," she continued, reaching for him, but he pulled away.
She frowned. "Richard," she tried again, and this time when she reached, he actually crawled towards her. She pulled him onto her lap and reached for his mask, though he let out a noise of protest, and her fingers automatically curled back. "Why not?" she asked.
"I don't… I don't like crying…" he mumbled. "I – I'm hungry."
She sighed. "You always say that when you're awake in the middle of the night. Is that what this has been about?"
He shook his head stubbornly, though he already knew she knew the correct answer.
"Ah, I get it," she said suddenly, forming a small, knowing smile, "Our little hero. Can't be bothered with nightmares, right?" He nodded.
"Heroes aren't afraid of nightmares. It's pathetic."
She blinked. "Where did you learn that word? Never mind, where did you learn that, Robin?" He sniffled but shook his head furiously. "Robin…" She nudged him a little. He continued to stare forward, or at least that's what his mask made her assume. "Robin," she tried again. There was still no budge. "Richard Grayson, look at me," she whispered fiercely. And, surprisingly, he did this time.
"No, it's not pathetic," she corrected. "It's not pathetic at all. There's nothing wrong with being afraid of something, alright? Nightmares happen to anyone and everyone."
He hesitated. "Even to the bravest? Even to—" He stopped himself, but she already knew him well enough to know what he had been about to say.
Even to Batman?
"Even to the bravest," she nodded. "And that's the thing. You don't always have to be brave, you know. Bruce has his fears, too. He also knows that if you don't allow yourself to cry, you'll never really be able to smile." She ran her fingers gently through his disheveled hair and then placed them on his mark again. Instead of protesting, however, his lower lip quivered and he continued to look up at her.
So she pulled it off and dropped it onto his lap. His bright blue eyes were glassy with tears, a little red, a little puffy.
She ran her thumb across his cheek and wiped away the tears as they fell. "You're warm like her," he mumbled, shifting to press his head against her shoulder. "You smell nice like her, too." He wrapped his arms around her neck, tightly, and she placed a hand on his trembling back. "You're really pretty like her, too," he murmured against her skin. "You really, really look like her…"
"Like who, Richard?" she whispered.
She thought he had fallen asleep already, because he didn't answer right away. It felt like hours had passed by when he finally yawned and run his fingers through her hair, sighing. "Momma…"
"Robin?" he hears her gasp as he is stepping through the transporter. She is across the room, sitting on that very same couch. It's like nothing's changed.
He smiles as he walks towards her, and she returns it with an amused laugh as she gets off of the couch and meets him halfway. She pulls him into a quick hug, squeezing, and then holds him at arm's length to get a look at him. "What are you doing here at this hour?" she asks, running her fingers through his hair and tucking them under his chin. "Did something happen? Is something wrong?"
He lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head, clearing his throat a little. "Everything's fine, we just got back two hours ago."
"Everyone's in bed?" He nods. "Okay. What about you?"
He chews on the inside of his lip hesitantly, and then meets her eyes through his mask. "I'm… I'm hungry."
Her breath catches a little, and he knows by the way her eyes become slightly glassier that she instantly understands.
"Okay," she whispers, and she walks them both back to the couch. As they sit down, she smiles a small smile at him and removes his mask.
Their eyes lock and she runs her thumb across his cheek, wiping a tear from his face before it can roll all the way down. She lets out a little sigh and leans back against the couch, and he automatically brings his feet up and rests his head in her lap, bringing his knees close to his chest. She drapes his cape slightly over his body before running a hand through his hair again while the other rests on his back.
"You're warm," he mumbles. Another tear rolls down his cheek, which she wipes before it can drip, and he shifts. "And you smell nice, too…" She chuckles lightly, faintly.
He turns his head to look up at her, and she looks down at him, her hair falling over her shoulder.
"You're really pretty," he whispers. He reaches up to play with her hair a bit, and she blinks, covering her eyelashes with tears. She grasps his hand and presses his palm to her cheek. "Just like her…"
"Like who, Richard?"
He smiles sleepily and closes his eyes, pulling his hand back to tuck them underneath his head. "You're like…" He yawns. "…my Momma."
A/n: Robin is my absolute favorite, and I love the idea of Robin and Diana having that mother-son relationship since (when I'm not hardcore-shipping Bat/Cat) I ship WonderBat.
So you read it. Love it? Hate it? Please review it!