The mattress gives out a squeak, which is enough to wake him up. Noises are scarce in the rectory at night, and Jason has never been a heavy sleeper. Even if now his new function comes in theory with long and peaceful nights of undisturbed silence, that's something that he cannot –wants not to– change. He straightens quickly, already clear from any sleep haze. His jaw tightens at the sight of what –who– is responsible for this perturbation. Him again, just sitting there at the end of the bed. He ought to stop dreaming about him. Again for the third time now, he sees him sitting there, smiling at him. It's getting repetitive.

"You again, uh?" he says in a sigh, knowing that he is probably just talking to some crazy nostalgic brainfarting part of his mind.

"Of course", the other retorts like it's a normal thing for him to be there. But it is not. Dick Grayson should not be sitting at the end of his bed. This dream doesn't take long to irritate him. Jason grumbles, also sitting on the creaky old mattress.

"Why am I even asking you?"

It's a dream, just a stupid dream of Grayson he's tired of having. Yet again , asking his own brain to reveal to him the mysteries of life using the imaginary mouth of the first Robin is utterly vain. He doesn't like dreams anyways. When he wakes up covered in icy sticky sweat in the middle of the night not even knowing what the hell the scream dying strangled in his throat was about, he remembers how he hates them. This one is no exception, despite its lack of crowbar and explosives. He tries to focus on waking up, but it seems that he just cannot escape that strangely too lucid older man chuckles while getting himself on his feet.

"It's weird."

Even his dreams agree with him. Common sense wants him to simply close his eyes, waiting for this corny phantasy to end, but Jason finds himself asking wearily:

"What is?"

Well, that was stupid to ask. Maybe he's mumbling in his sleep. That makes him glad he sleeps alone.

"You know… You being a priest and all."

If he believed any of this subconscious mumbo jumbo, he could almost think that this is some concealed truth about himself. But he prefers to rely on facts.

"It isn't and you know why" he replies, more harshly that he intended to.

Maybe what is angering him is the expression on his face, those blue eyes pinned on him like he's telling something important. That is some true to lifedream thought, as annoying as the real thing.

"No, I don't. You tell me."

Jason glares as the cold tone makes his voice sharp.

"No."

He is not telling his own dream the story of his life for fu– Oh yeah, that's right. He's supposed to stop swearing. Not an easy task. That answer seems to disappoint the imaginary Grayson who starts to pace across the room after a short scowl.

"I see there is no improvement in you social skills."

That rebuke sounds pawky;Jason knows that it takes more to hurt him, way, way more. But there's no way Dick Grayson is in his rectory right now, pokingthe cross on the wall.

"You're a dream. Why should I bother?"

The smirk coming across Dick's face,still twiddling the crucifix like some goddamn interior decorator, doesn't please him one bit. Crap, that's right, no more swears.

"Am I now?" the older one replies, trying to look wicked without succeeding to cast away that natural honest smile of his.

That dream is taking too long, far too long. Jason skips from mild annoyance to a deeper irritation. He has seen enough of this.

"Shut up" he rumbles as the other seems finally satisfied with the cross hanging upside down.

Tired of being there, spurning his own imagination, he buries stubbornly his face in the pillow, wishing to be alone again next time he'll open his eyes. Those dreams always leave him waking in gloom. But at least they're not about crowbars and digging himself out of a tiny box. Weird, this thought does not lighten him up at all.