Dick's nightmares weren't dramatic. They didn't crescendo and they didn't crack like lightning. Within them the world moved in slow motion. All was silent. All except for the sickening thud! thud! One. Then two. No build. No warning. The leap, the snap, the free fall. All in crushing silence. There was only the thud! thud! that followed. Then Dick would wake up, his scream trapped deep in his chest.
Bruce's nightmares were frantic. They thundered like ocean waves crashing against cliffside rock. The sharp snap of a string of pearls. Cracking gunshots. One. Then two. They echoed off the alley walls and never stopped. Ringing and ringing and ringing. His could hear his name. A screaming whisper that pierced his skull. Then Bruce would awake, as if from drowning, gasping for air.
Alfred's nightmares spoke softly, like acquaintances at a wake. And when all had left and the house was empty, he was alone. The boy and the man in his care were gone, vanished into mist. One. Then two. He was immortal, outliving the young. Cursed forever to haunt a cavernous mansion alone. Then Alfred would blink awake, greeted by his beating heart steadily ticking like a clock.