"Dream Walker"
He walked down a street in the dead of night. The only thing he could hear was the occasional barking dog and the sound of a blowing aluminium can unseen in the wind. It was like the entire neighbourhood—wherever he was—had gone into complete lockdown.
Suddenly he was confronted by a dark figure that abruptly blocked his path and halted him in his tracks. He demanded it move, but it refused—quite harshly.
It then reached out and attacked him. He defended himself against a brutal onslaught, but nothing he did stopped it. It then started to strangle him with an invisible grip.
Choking him—
And everything went black!
Damian snapped open his eyes as he jolted up in bed, he was saturated in warm sweat. He withheld a cry, because he didn't want anyone to know he had had just had a nightmare. It was a mild sort and nothing like the kind Grayson experienced, but it was a bad dream.
He felt his face and wiped sweat off with a single motion, then he got up and crossed to the on-suite bathroom, turning on the light. He looked in the mirror, and washed his face.
A knock came on the bathroom door. He turned startled.
Richard Grayson opened the bathroom door. "What the heck are doing in my room, Grayson?" Damian took a towel from the counter and began to dry his face.
"I heard you talking in your sleep again," Grayson said.
"Again?" said Damian. "What do you mean? I don't talk in my sleep!"
"Then tell me how I know you're having nightmares about a sinister, dark creature?"
Damian's face went pale. "H-how do you..."
"I was walking in the hall one night last week when I heard your voice through your door. I peaked in and you were talking in your sleep. I listened in for a little while, and heard you again two nights ago, just like a few minutes ago. Same dream. How many times have you had it?"
Damian looked back in the bathroom mirror and into his tired eyes, then turned around, and said, "You're mistaken. I just ate too much last night. Pennyworth sometimes likes to pack on the feed bag too much. Says it's for a growing boy."
"Stop lying to me, Damian. Tell me about it."
Damian sighed. "It won't stop, but I'm not concerned. I was once a member for the League of Assassins and I've been through a hell of a lot more than you think."
"Stop deflecting and tell me."
"Never mind. I'll deal with it myself." Damian tossed the towel back on the counter, passed Grayson, went to go back to the bedroom.
"Damian, you can't handle it yourself. You're exhausted. I can see it in your eyes. And you've been making a lot of mistakes in the field lately. Do you think I haven't noticed? If you're not at 100%, one mistake can cause you your life. You can't hide this from me. I already know."
"I'm...fine. Crime is increasing in Gotham and Todd is being an ass causing more clean up for us. Concern yourself with him instead of me, Grayson. Riddler and Bane have been causing a lot of issues lately. Focus on them. Leave me alone. Well, Kent's been annoying me lately."
"Jon Kent?"
Damian turned and faced Grayson. "Yeah, he's being a brat, an irritant, but nothing I can't handle. Maybe it's him."
"Okay, aside from Jon, let me ask you something. What do you think your dream means? You must have some idea?"
"It's so vague that it can't mean anything."
"Dreams are from the subconscious mind telling a person something is amiss; the conscious mind can't ether figure it out without a hint or that person can't accept something as truth," Grayson said. "I'm no expert, but I have had experience with dream therapy."
"Your night terrors," Damian said.
Grayson nodded. "Yes," he said. "So, tell me about your dream. Maybe we can figure it out together. I promise, this will stay between us."
Damian hesitated, then said, "Fine."
"You're encountering a dark figure in your dream, right? And it chokes you before you can defend yourself—which it not like you in real life."
"How much of my dream do you know? How long have you been listening in?"
"Never mind that," Dick said. "From basic imaginary, it might mean you're encountering something you fear powerless against. Next time you encounter it, ask it what it wants. Maybe a revelation will strike you."
"A revelation? Ask it for advise?" Damian said sarcastically. "I'm sure any psychiatrist worth their salt would say that's load of crap. Next thing you'll say it has something to do with my mother."
"And why would you say that? Does it?"
"You're a moron. And you're no Sigmund Fraud."
"Sigmund Freud," Grayson corrected.
"I know," Damian said, rolling his eyes. "This dream has nothing to do with my mother."
Suddenly Damian froze in place and his mind raced back to the dark figure in his dream. He remembered a detail. Damian looked straight ahead.
"What's the matter?" Grayson asked.
"In my dream, the dark figure has a sword."
"Your mother, Talia, is known to cause a lot of trouble for us, and a sword is a weapon of violence."
"Or defence," Damian said. "I use a sword."
"Could that mean something?"
Damian waved it off. "No more coincidence that anything," he said. "Forget it. I'm going back to bed." He straightened the sheets to get back in bed as they had been tossed, no doubt it happened while having the bad dream.
"Come in, Damian, you have remember something else," Dick pressed.
"I don't, let it go! I want to go back to sleep." But truthfully Damian didn't. He was afraid to go back to sleep because he would probably have the dream again, but he didn't want to tell Grayson that. He just wanted the pest gone. "Get out of the room. Don't you have some other place to be? Like your own bed? You're here for a few nights while your apartment downtown is getting fumigated for pests. If it was up to me, I'd lock up Todd in your apartment with a lethal doze of pesticide."
Grayson shook his head. "You're not going to escape me until we talk more about your dream. What else do you remember? Think hard."
"I told you–"
"I know what you told me, but you now have me curious about this dream. I want to help you discover its meaning."
"Maybe it doesn't have one. Ever think of that?"
"All dreams have meaning. Just because it's not obvious to you, doesn't mean there isn't one. Now tell me more about this dark figure with the sword."
Damian signed. He sat on the edge of the bed. He was too tired to argue. "Okay—it's dark, and I'm walking down an unmarked street, when suddenly this dark figure jumps out in front of me, attacks me, and starts choking me. Then I wake up. That's how the dream always ends."
Dick cupped his hips and gave Damian a hard stare. He looked tame in a white shirt and striped pyjama bottoms unlike his Nightwing persona. "You must recall something else. Go back to the beginning and start picking out images, no matter how vague."
"What are you, some sort of dream analyst now?"
"I know more about nightmares than most people. I want to help you, Damian, like I help you with your training. We're teammates and family and this is what we do. We help each other."
"Are you sure there's no alternative motive for your sudden interest?"
"And what does that mean?"
"I don't know, like, perhaps, if you'll find out some deep dark secret of mine, then blabber it to Todd and Drake and they'll laugh at me; mock me with it."
"You know me better than that, Damian. And I'm being serious. I'm not going to tell anyone. Whatever's bothering you, it obviously has a deeper meaning for your subconscious to keep giving you a reoccurring nightmare about it, suffering from it night after night. Now, go through your dream again, focus on an image, any image, and start from there."
Damian took a deep breath with a heavy sigh. "Fine…" He closed his eyes. He ran through his dream. "Alone on the street...dark figure...choking me…Nope! Anything else?"
"You always do this!"
Damian opened his eyes. "What? What do I always do?"
"Push people away, erect defensive walls. I'm trying to help you."
"I don't want your help!"
Grayson made a frustrated noise under his breath. Damian knew Grayson always played the diplomate and rarely got angry. It was impressive that he didn't get more angry at times of stress. Damian knew he was being defiant. And Damian knew it was his very nature to keep silent. It was the way he was brought up. Fight through the pain and put on a brave face.
"Do you hate me? Is that why you refuse to tell me?" Grayson asked. "We've had our difficulties in the past, but we've always got through them. Why won't you let me in?"
Damian was taken aback and was temporarily speechless. No, he didn't hate Grayson. The guy could be annoying sometimes, but truthfully, Damian respected Richard Grayson more than any other person. More than his own father. Grayson was more accepting of his faults.
"That's...not it," Damian said with some confusion. "I just can't remember anything else."
"Fine; you remember the sword...Maybe if you think harder, you can remember other aspects of the dream. Instead of imaginary, how about feelings? When you were encountering the dark figure, how were you feeling? Anxious…scared…"
Come to think of it, Damian was. "Yeah, I was feeling both those things," he said.
"Close your eyes again," Dick said.
Damian did. He saw the vivid image of the dark figure again. "Wait, I can remember something else. Something about the figure: it's translucent, like a phantom."
"Is it glowing?"
"No, it's very dark, but...not completely. There is some light..."
"Is the moon out?"
"No, it's cloudy. I remember now, it's becoming more clear. I can see the dark figure with a silhouette around it, almost like there is a light—blacking the figure out."
"You mentioned the sword, what else about the dark figure can you distinguish?"
"White eyes." Damian opened his eyes.
"Good! Now, how about a body?"
"It looks like wings! Like a—" Damian gasped. "Like a bat."
"Are they spread out or do the wings hang at the side?"
"They are spread out like appendages, then it uses them to choke me."
Grayson mused for a moment. "Go on," he said. "Does it wrap them around you?"
"Yes," Damian revealed.
"Okay, what else can you remember about the dark figure?" Grayson asked. "The sword, for instance, what do you think it means? This dark, winged figure chokes you, but it has a sword. Why not use the sword to attack you? Why use its 'wings'"
"I don't know. Maybe it's personal? Direct contact. Hatred or disdain?"
"Maybe it's not a sword then, maybe it's something else."
"No, it's a sword. It's just not using it."
"Then you try to use it. Try to consciously enter your waking dream."
Damian shook his head. "The dark figure's too tall and my arms are too short."
"Okay, now we know the figure is tall. What's its size, or maybe its bulk? Is it big?"
"It's large around the waste, I can see it now. No, it's more muscular."
Grayson looked at a picture on the nightstand. Damian turned and looked at the same picture of himself and his father, side by side.
"Like heavy body armour?" Grayson asked loosely.
Damian was not stupid. "What are you trying to say, Grayson? That this dream is about my father and that the sword is an appendage, not a weapon?"
Grayson shrugged. "Could be? Do you feel like Bruce is using you in his battle against evil, Damian? The sword is you."
Damian frowned. "I think you're reading too much into this, Grayson."
"Am I? Or do you believe deep down you think I'm right?"
"Enough!"
"Don't be angry, Damian. We might be getting to the nub of the dream here. Subconsciously, you do feel this way?"
Damian folded his arms and remained silent.
"Why do you feel so powerless against this dark figure? Do you feel somehow powerless against your father? With your father's legacy? That you may not be able to rise to the occasion and don the cowl if the time came? It was difficult for me."
"How the hell should I know?" Damian said, his voice elevated a little higher than he wanted it. Then he realized the slip. "I mean, I'm not!"
"Maybe, you just don't want to openly admit to yourself."
"Let's forget about it. Leave me alone."
"No, let's run through it again, and this time, I want you to go through it in detail, with a fine tooth comb, everything you see, like a detective solving a murder case."
"You are annoying, Richard."
Grayson smiled. "I'm getting to you," he said. "You called me Richard, not Grayson."
"I could call you something else, but it would be by way of some rude context."
"I love you, too," Dick said. "Now, to the dream."
An hour passed and they were still without any further results.
Damian couldn't remember anything else from the dream and he could see Grayson was getting tired. His eyes were droopy and he was fighting to stay awake. "Maybe we should continue this some other time, you're tried," Damian observed.
"No..." Dick said, slapping the sides of his face. "Ow! I wanna get to the bottom or your dream," he said, yawning.
"Forget it, you're tired, and I can't remember anything else. My mind is foggy. Go back to bed, it's nearly dawn."
"No, I…" Dick started to say. "Maybe, you're right. Without a clear head, we won't be able to figure the dream out. Let's discuss this later. I do want to help you, Damian."
"I know. Good night, Richard," Damian said. Dick smiled, then left.
Damian went back to bed.
When Damian awoke a few hours later, he felt refreshed.
He washed his face, then he went down to the main floor, and wandered out to the back courtyard terrace, where he found Richard Grayson, alone, sipping a mug of coffee or tea, looking out onto the back grounds. It was a sunny day.
Damian felt good. The dream didn't make another appearance.
He sat down in seat at a table. "Richard..."
Grayson sipped the mug and turned. "Good morning," he said pleasantly. "How did you sleep? Any further dreams?
"I think I understand now," Damian said. "And yes, sometimes I do feel father is using me for his own personal agenda. But after thinking about what he may have gone through in losing his parents, the trauma he went through, father may just be trying to toughen me up because he doesn't want the same thing to happen to me when and if I ever have a family. He did the same to you after your parents were killed."
"Yes, he did," Grayson said. "I thought about that afterwards, but I wanted you to reason it out for yourself. It's all part of dream therapy. That's the methodology of a dream, for the host to figure what it means so it stops torturing them. Many times I've struggled with the same."
Richard Grayson put a hand in Damian's shoulder, and smiled. "It's a start," he said. "You can come to me any time with any problems, any other dreams, Damian."
Damian wasn't sure he had it right. Richard Grayson wasn't a dream analyst, but it was a start. He tried to put the pieces of his dream together on his own, but it took Grayson to look at it from a different perspective.
Damian should have seen it as it was—the dark figure was Batman, his father, lurking over him—the shadow of a bat. He was, after all, the son of Batman. And it wasn't choking him, per se, but reaching out to him, sword in hand—like passing a torch. Only Damian assumed it was an attack.
"I think I can handle things from now on," Damian said proudly. "But thanks, Richard. I appreciate it. I think I can walk this dream alone now and no longer be--afraid."
END
