AN: Stop! Before you read this story go check out Black Eyes by David Wirsig. This story revolves around the tune, lyrics, cadence, and atmosphere established by this song. A shout out to Welcome to Nightvale where I found this song. It was featured as the weather on episode 75. Obviously I don't own Batman, but it should be said that I can take no credit for Nightvale or Black Eyes.

Dick stood tall and proud, waving to the crowd in his glittering leotard. The spot light was on him and he cracked his knuckles in preparation for his daring performance. His hands were covered in chalk, ready to grab the trapeze bar when his father swung towards him. It was a practiced routine, one they had performed flawlessly many times. It had been so well rehearsed that the catch net was hardly needed.

His mother and father worked together flawlessly swinging flying from hand to bar to hand. The crowd ate it up and Dick smiled. The music sped up, the lights flared, it was his cue. Here came his father with his hand outstretched, strong and sure. He stepped forward.

Then everything changed. In a twinkling of an eye, everything went wrong. Time slowed down. The audience noise dropped to nothing. His fathers' hands were falling away from him. He stood at the top of the pole, just him, his father and the spotlight nearly blinding, drowning him.

It's that old recurring dream where you're drowning…

No! He reached out to his Dad. He could reach him. He could save him!

Flailing your arms out…

The fingers passed by, just missing his hand and the man plummeted downward. Dicks heart pounded and stuttered.

Fearful and frantic…

His Father disappeared into the mists below him which were thick and curling and wispy. He looked up. Where was his mother? Was she alright? She stood on the other platform watching with a stoic look as though she hadn't been affected. Then with swan like grace she dove straight down into those dark treacherous mists below. Oh Dear God please, this couldn't be happening.

As she hit the mists it splashed and pushed the gray mist upwards. It engulfed him. He struggled upwards to the top. Reaching it he gagged and choked. When he caught his breath he looked around to see nothing but a sea of gray. The water was surging and rolling without respite and he felt his muscles straining to stay afloat.

And black waves are curling and pounding down onto your head, somewhere in the Atlantic…

He looked forced himself to take note of everything that was around him. He had survived this sea of despair, maybe his family had too. They had to have. They were all he had. He looked in every direction and found nothing. But presently he became aware that he was not entirely alone. The was a presence, a force that was becoming more malevolent by the moment. Something dark peeled off from the gray backdrop that had once been the audience. The shadow shifted and disappeared. He tried to trace it with his eyes, to keep the danger in his line of sight. Where was it? Below him!

Through the fathoms below you a shadow is gliding up towards you…

The thing, the malevolence, was coming closer. It had spied him. Had probably been watching from the beginning. It meant him, and his whole family, harm.

With singular purpose.

He couldn't do anything to stop it. Who could do anything against something so hateful? It wanted him, to do to him as it had his parents. Was this thing, that was practically radiating with evil, really so difficult to spot from his seat among the audience?

Then it broke over the top. It was a hideous being. It was a dark grotesque thing desiring death with its many tentacles. It was clearly a monster. And the knowledge of its mere existence was practically overwhelming. And Dick began to choke once more as he slowly lost his battle to stay afloat as he disturbed the already unsettled waters.

And hundreds of thousands of gallons of ocean froth and foam, as it breaks the surface.

But the worst part of this situation, to Dick, were those eyes. Black and merciless. A beast it may be, but it had a human intelligence that shone in those black soulless eyes. And they had locked onto Dick.

It's black eyes find you almost at once. It's black eyes find you almost at once.

And Dick, being little more than a child, despite his heart's greatest desire to be otherwise, was little more than a child. He could do nothing.

You can't hide, swim away, or take air into you lungs to scream…

Dick gasped through the water that was forcing its way into his lungs, desperately clinging to life. Help! He pleaded wordlessly, soundlessly. Please, won't someone help?

For help that won't come.

Bruce woke suddenly and was immediately aware, without the grogginess of sleep plaguing his mind. He had heard a scream coming from up the stairs and he was already mentally preparing for whatever was happening. He absently noticed that the clock showed the time to be three a.m.

And oftentimes I am awoken at three in the morning by screams in the attic.

He made his way up the stairs to his new ward's room. It was the third time this had happened that week and the initial panic never left him. He knocked on the door and yelled out Dick's name. No answer was given. He pounded harder and felt a trickle of sweat worm its way down his back. Nothing. He braced himself and pushed with his shoulder and forced the door out of his way.

I'll run upstairs, wrench the door open, call out a warning (and try not to sound panicked)…

There he was, tangled in the sheets, his face scrunched up in fearful sleep. His mouth would gape open in silent screams unable to wake from the nightmare. "Dick", he called again. "Wake up, it's just a dream. You're okay. Wake up". The boy moaned and turned toward him without opening his eyes. Bruce shook his shoulder and the boy slowly slip his eye open breathing hard. He looked around the room wildly and confused. Bruce lowered his voice to a calming timbre. "It's me, Bruce. You're in my house remember? You're safe now.

The door which had been roughly handled squeaked announcing the presence of another. Alfred stood in the doorjamb watching them. "Everything alright, Master Bruce?"

He nodded at the old man. "Yes, just a bad dream." The butler nodded sagely. "I see. Perhaps some warm milk and cookies are in order? I'll be back shortly" The man left to retrieve the sweets and the young man in Bruce's arms slowly calmed down, his breathing slowing and becoming more regular. He looked up at him with wet red eyes.

"You okay?" Bruce asked. Dick only nodded as he clung to Bruce's sleeves. Bruce gave him a pat on the back and pulled away slightly to pour him a glass of water from the night stand. He could feel the large, bright blue eyes on him the entire time. He turned back and handed the glass to his new ward. It was accepted and quickly drained.

"Do you want to talk about it?" A shake of the head was the only answer he received. With a sigh he sank down to sit on the bed next to the boy, and silence claimed them both. Then Bruce spoke again. "I have them too." The kid jerked his head to look at his guardian. "The nightmares used to be worse. They get better with time, but I still have them. It's like your being slowly swallowed alive when they have their way."

The boy looked down at his lap just listening.

"When thing like this happen to us, it can shake you confidence in all the world. Challenging your faith that anything can be good or decent. But we have to recognize those whispered words for what they are. Nothing but ghosts who wish us ill. They can't do anything but haunt your mind. They cry out in voices of accusation telling us that we are not enough. Tempting us to anger. We have to meet those voices with the right response. Anger with love, fear with faith. It's the weapons we are given to fight back."

But my hammering heart hears the voices of spirits that tempt us, the scorn that they've spoken

He turned to see the boy was watching him intently once more. "Do you understand?"

The boy thought deeply for a moment then answered, the first time he had spoken that night. "I think so. Thank you Bruce." He nodded then turned towards the door. There stood Alfred with his tray of cookies and milk, and two mugs of hot chocolate. They were set on the nightstand as Alfred made his way over to the two masters. He leaned over Dick and gave him a once over.

"You're looking better already", was the assessment. He gave the child a smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're going to be just fine." He turned toward the door and Bruce followed him holding the spare mug of chocolate. The walked out the door that would need to be replaced soon.

As Alfred made to head down the stairs, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you Alfred."

The man's faded blue eyes made contact with the piercing blue ones of his master. "Think nothing of it Master Wayne. It's nothing I haven't done many nights before." With a smile, the man walked away leaving Bruce with his thoughts.

Those thoughts took him many years to the past where another dark haired blue eyed boy shivered in his bed in the middle of the night, quaking with uncertainty. Nightmares ran rampant in his mind as he struggled to determine if he was awake or still asleep. Then the soft light of a lamp clicked on by the confident and much loved butler of Wayne Manor, as he held a plate of cookies and hot chocolate.

"Do you want to talk about it young master?" A shake of the head which was greeted with a soft smile.

I'll remember the sad frightened noises, of an old friend who dreamt once, of storms of the ocean.

The thoughts shifted to the present and more present dangers. Thoughts of The Joker and Twoface and Bane. He remembered red blood shot eyes seeking vengeance. And Bruce forced himself from these thoughts and called out words of hope to combat the tormenting spirits plaguing him.

And black eyes looking up from below.