Author's Note: It's either good or it's not. Please decide. Set after Bruce returns from his jaunt through time to rescue the family from Doctor Hurt and ninety-nine fiends. Dick is having nightmares about the worse things and goes to a newly returned Bruce for some comfort and advice. Please Read and Review. Enjoy.

Dreamer 2

I'm walking down to the cave. When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I find Bruce sat in the command chair, analysing something or other, with his back to me. I announce myself but he ignores me completely. So I draw in closer. I greet him again, but he still ignores me. When I lean around the chair to look him in the eye and get his full attention, I find nothing but a glassy-eyed corpse in the chair. His fingers continue to move on the keyboard, but the guy is definitely dead, a horror show of grey skin and a mould-covered bat-suit. His mouth is agape and his face frozen in a contortion of indescribable agony by his last breath. And still his fingers type away. Even in death, the mission is apparently not over for Bruce. I desperately try to prise his fingers away, to get him to just stop punishing himself and rest, but they're still too strong for me. I beg and plead with him to rest but he can't hear anything or see anything but the work. I turn away in disgust.

When I look back, there is nothing but a cowl-covered skeleton sitting in the chair. And still it types. It has no eyes, no ears and no voice, but it's still goddamn typing. I go to run only to discover there are no stairs to flee this nightmare, only blackness. There is nothing but darkness on all sides now, the only light source emanating from the computer screen. So I look at the screen to see what the hell is being worked on. I see my own face on the screen. To the left is my obituary. The skeleton, Bruce, is writing my obituary. It claims I was killed in the line of duty and that I was not a good soldier: I was a failure. It claims my parents were not murdered, but committed suicide rather than raise me. I try to look away, but I can't. It says Jason died and became the Red Hood because I was a terrible role model. All his murders are listed as my own. My eyes won't close no matter how hard I try to make them. The obituary says Bruce killed himself because he knew I would succeed him one day and Gotham would lie in ruins because of it. I know it's all lies, but I'm starting to believe them the longer I stand trapped in this hell with whatever is left of Bruce.

Suddenly a hand is on my shoulder. I look over to find Alfie stood next to me, looking over a thousand-years-old and wearing a mortician's apron.

"You should not be wandering around. Get back in your box." His raspy, clotted voice says in disapproval whilst he shakily gestures to the left of us. On the ground is an empty casket. My name is on the lid that sits nearby. Underneath that, all that is written is FAILURE. "Join the others."

I wake up before the nightmare gets to its worst scene. I've seen it often enough to know the rest of the sequence by heart. Basically Tim, Barbara, Damian and everyone else I care about are rotting corpses holding each other's hands and dancing in a circle around the casket. They laugh and tell me to join in the fun. Barbara can't dance and her lifeless legs scrape and drag along the floor as they move around and around as various parts of them flake or fall off. That's the breaking point of the whole thing. I always wake up after that if I don't beforehand. I've had the same nightmare every other week since Bruce 'died' last year and I had to rescue Gotham from Jason and his crazed ideas of entitlement.

I've told Alfie about it all before, Babs too. I've taken anti-anxiety meds and sleeping pills and tried all sorts of other methods to get rid of it, but nothing's taken. When I wake up this time, I'm massively confused. I'm not at my apartment: I'm at the house, back in my old room. For a moment, I think I might still be dreaming, but then it all comes back to me. Doctor Hurt, ninety-nine fiends, a bullet in the skull and Bruce emerging from the fireplace to succeed in having conquered time itself to return. I feel the bandage on the back of my head to make sure I'm not going mad…or at least madder than usual. Oh yeah, the impossible happened yet again. I get out of bed and go straight downstairs.

I'm walking down to the cave. When I get down there, I find Bruce in the command chair with his back to me. I almost turn around right there and head back to the house because this setup is just too familiar and creepy, but I make myself approach him. I have to know it's really him this time, not a new trick. I get within touching distance of the chair but he still doesn't turn around. I'm getting scared as I round the chair to look him in the eye. This time there isn't a corpse staring back, just the big guy's stoic expression. He looks from the screen to me and stands up. Before I can say anything, his hand is on my shoulder to appraise my current condition. He already knows its nightmares. He knows me too well to think it's anything else. But he says nothing. Instead, he indicates the screen. I have to take a moment before I stare down the screen. At this stage, the sight of another obituary would just destroy me. But I do look eventually.

On the screen are half-a-dozen videos of me in action during the last year reported by the media. They show me, and sometimes Damian, kicking the crap out of criminal scum like the whole thing is a choreographed dance number. I see myself smiling under the cowl during the few close-up shots the cameramen have and await the big man's verdict on my performance as his creation. I feel him squeeze my shoulder as I continue to watch myself work in total freedom.

"You are remarkable." He tells me. I shake my head.

"No I'm not. I just…filled in while you were…wherever."

"You are not an understudy, Dick. You are the Batman." I know I shouldn't disagree with him again, but I do and shake my head again.

"No, I'm a Batman: you're the Batman. Nothing I've done has changed that."

"That is simply not true. Not only do I not believe that, I know for a fact you don't either. I could not be more proud of you than I am now." I finally turn away from the screen to look at him again. The big man is smiling at me. "You make being Batman actually look like fun as opposed to work. It is a skill I have never mastered." He's trying to cheer me up, trying to shift my focus away from the nightmares. I think Alfie might have told him about them, maybe Barbara. Maybe both of them. I shrug.

"Being that way's nearly got me killed a few times, Two-Face being the most obvious candidate." Despite my pretty depressing attitude, his hand is still on my shoulder. I need it right now.

"It has also brought hope back to Gotham during some of its darkest days. I feel that it's important you realise that I am not being coerced into saying this out of guilt for my absence or to help ease your nightmares. I mean every word I'm saying. Your tenure thus far has been exemplary." I frown at this final statement.

"Thus far? You mean, I'm keeping the gig?"

"You are Gotham City's Batman. Whilst I am busy founding Batman Incorporated, Gotham will need stability. That will come from you and Damian continuing in your current roles for the foreseeable future…and perhaps beyond." The big guy tells me without any kind of reluctance at all. It means a lot to hear him say it in the flesh. I've heard it in my head when things were bleak, but this isn't coming from my imagination: this is real. And so is he. I put my hand on his forearm to make sure. Underneath the dressing gown is the same thick, sinewy arm I remember as a kid. Even skating into the entirety of time and middle-age haven't changed him. I nod my head.

"Thanks for the pep talk, Bruce. It means a lot, really. I…" I stop myself from saying more. Explaining how tormented I was by his apparent death, how distraught I was having to face down Jason alone, isn't going to do anything good for either of us. So I hold my tongue and just thank him again. His hand moves off my shoulder and opts for my hair, combing through it once despite how damp and tangled it is right now.

"I know you've had a hard time recently. I know that things have not always been easy to manage. But please remember that you are never too old to confide in me. You are my son and I love you." He tells me without wanting a similar response of feeling from me. That he's said it out loud without me having to prise it out of his impossibly tight jaws is a landmark. Whatever happened to him out there in time, whatever he experienced, I think it made him more human. That's a good thing. That's actually a really good thing. He just wants me to know how things are. When his hand slips away from my head and retreats back to his gown pocket, I muster a smile for him trying so hard to give me a boost.

"You know you're insane right? You just took a trip from the beginning of time to the end of existence, died getting back here, and instantly, after taking down Doctor Hurt again, you're ready to go globetrotting. You are, without doubt, the most ridiculous man I have ever met." He inclines his head in agreement.

"Yes, I probably am. But I am still your father and you are just as absurd and surreal a person as I am. I may set the pace but you stay with me the whole way. You are remarkable."

"You said that already."

"I know. It is wholly worth repeating." He says to give me one of the warmest feelings I've had in a long while. My smile turns into a grin. God I love this man.

"This is getting weird now. I must be dreaming or something to hear you speak so nicely about me without a hard-assed prompt."

"It has rarely been difficult to say something nice about you. Let's go back up to the house."

It's like my childhood all over again as he accompanies me up to the house and then my room. He waits outside while I take a quick shower and change clothes. I kind of pause at the door when I go to let him in, remembering that I'm closer to thirty than twenty now, and wonder how appropriate this all is. Then I remember the nightmares and the pain of grief and how badly I wanted this exact scenario on the worst nights of my life without him. I still try to half-heartedly discourage him when I do open the door though.

"You don't have to do this, you know. I'm pretty much the same age you were when we met." I say already drifting towards the bed. The big guy shadows me in.

"I am aware of that. However, I would still like to. I've missed you." That means something coming from him. Everything he's saying tonight means something. Just hearing his voice does more to soothe my mounting nerves than the last year of constant talks with Babs and Alfie. It sounds terrible to say, especially when I love both of them more than words could ever express, but this is Bruce. The guy rarely ever admits missing anybody unless it's absolutely necessary for the mission or the greater good. But this time it's only for me, for my benefit. That feels good too. I want to tell him the exact same thing…but in a crazy, stalker-ish kind of way that makes me sound paranoid, obsessed and needy all at the same time. So I just hold my tongue, again. I'm about to get into bed when his big hand clamps down on my shoulder. "Not yet." He gestures to the human-shaped sweat stain covering most of the mattress and I get the message.

He changes the bedsheets for me, just like he used to. He pulls back the fresh covers for me, just like he used to so many times. I never thought this moment would ever exist anywhere but my imagination and memories ever again. But he's back. He's really here. I get under the duvet and he replaces it before sitting down beside me.

"Has Alfie or Babs told you about the nightmares I'm having?"

"No. They would never betray your confidence so brazenly." He assures me. I'm not convinced.

"Yeah, normally, but it's you. Seriously: they didn't tell you anything?"

"No, but I can imagine they share some link with me and my…death. I would venture that I feature in them as a corpse to reinforce the idea that I am dead and you are alone." You can tell this is reality and not a dream: five minutes on the job and the big man's sussed out all the details like I'm a toddler's jigsaw puzzle. I sigh.

"I'm just see-through to you, aren't I? Is it like looking through a window when I'm in front of you?"

"Not quite as transparent as that. I just know you, Dick. It's been almost thirteen years since we first met. Your nightmares as a child featured me letting Judge Watkins bury you alive: it simply stands to reason that your nightmares as an adult would also feature me in some capacity, likely as Batman and some allusion to you not being worthy of the mantle." He offers with a slight, knowing smile I'm really glad to see again. No-one does subtlety like Bruce. I smile back.

"What else is in my nightmare?"

"I would not like to speculate if you would rather I drop the matter." He says. I want to see full-blown detective from him. It feels like an ice-age since he last went all Sherlock Holmes on my psyche. So I push the issue.

"Name three things other than the stuff you just mentioned that you think is in this current nightmare of mine." I say. He sighs lethargically and again tries to skirt around it.

"Dick, this is a pointless exercise: there could be hundreds of possible objects, persons or settings within your nightmare. Statistically…"

"Just show off already. It's been a while since I saw the old magic. Three things. Go." I think he's just teasing me now, getting me all amped up for the showpiece to come. He nods his head in agreement. There's a brief pause while he considers and then he just starts to roll.

"Alfred as a thousand-year-old man, a row of coffins and…" He pauses to scrutinise my eyes. I try to give him nothing to work with. "Your own obituary." He finishes to make me marvel at his knowledge of me all over again. With anybody else, I'd be calling cheat. I'd be convinced either Alfie or Barbara blabbed to him and he was just playing parlour tricks. But this is Bruce. I nod.

"So break down how you guessed those things."

"Alfred as a thousand-year-old man was a nightmare you had once when you were twelve and just out of training as Robin. He was a recurring motif on four other occasions. A row of coffins has appeared in twelve separate nightmares when you were between the ages of thirteen and fifteen. Your own obituary is a mechanism that has become more prevalent since adopting your Nightwing persona and joining the Teen Titans. In total, that has been a factor in seven different nightmare scenarios since you turned eighteen…"

"Seriously? How many times have I gone to you after a nightmare?" I say in utter exasperation of what he's just done. This time he answers immediately.

"Directly the number is twenty-three. Indirectly, i.e. on the phone or by video link, the number is…"

"Okay stop. I get it. You know everything about my nightmares. I thought you never retained anything useless in your memory palace. I thought it was all important." He always said if it's not an operation, plan or useful to the mission, dump it from your memory. I ignored him of course because I want a social life that isn't like a colossal game of chess. For him to keep information like that…

"Your sleeping troubles are of critical importance to me. Keeping detailed accounts of your nightmares and statistical data on what they contain helps me better handle the problem and offer better advice."

"Yeah, but I don't remember telling you half of this crap: how come you do?"

"Because you were the first child who ever opened up to me. You let me into the most intimate parts of your mind willingly and wanted my advice and my assurances. Because it was a new experience for me, having the trust of a child, I remember all of it quite vividly. I am always glad I do." He tells me sincerely. I get that warm feeling of security again. In fact, I'm feeling so warm and safe at the moment that I go ahead and tell him how bad things got.

"Thinking you'd died, were dead, was the most painful thing I've ever experienced in my whole life. Even my folks didn't tear me apart inside like losing you did. It sounds horrible, but it's true. I almost lost my mind when we thought you bought the farm." He pats my hand.

"But you didn't lose your mind. You got through it, all of it. You saved Gotham, Tim, Damian, Alfred, and Barbara…everybody from a potential apocalypse. You've repelled all attacks since then, from all sides. You have kept the city and everybody in it safe. And all this, after thinking you had lost me to the abyss. When are you going to realise how strong you really are? How exceptional a man you have become in my absence? You are everything I hoped you would be. Everything, Dick." I just stare at him for the longest time after that without saying a word. There's nothing I can say back without sounding too syrupy. I never want him to go ever again. I always want him here to keep me sane. I just nod and mumble my thanks. He inclines his head. "You rest now. You'll feel much better in the morning I'm sure."

"One more thing, before you go?"

"Yes?"

I lunge up from the bed and hug him like I'm never letting go. This time he doesn't stiffen at all in response to my surprise stunt. It's almost like he expects them now. He hugs me back and just like that, all my fears and doubts and craziness seems to melt away. There's only me and Bruce here now: all our combined baggage, emotional or otherwise, has been left outside this moment. The big guy is alive. He's more human than ever but still a total badass if his insane performance against Doctor Hurt was anything to go by. Right now the kid inside me, the one squeezing Bruce like a teddy bear and loving it, never wants this moment to end. But it does end because regardless of what I've seen that suggests otherwise, I live in the real world. And so does Bruce. I let go first and he follows suit. I lie back down on the mattress and close my eyes.

"Night Bruce." I feel his hand run through my hair once and his weight completely leave the bed. The light is out a second later with an audible click.

"Goodnight…Batman."