( // 🐛 - An intense nightmare that made them wake up in a cold sweat - note: my Dick has undiagnosed schizophrenia, as well as internalized ableism when it comes to this, these things are referenced within this post. as well as derealization, death, and blood.)
Dick didn't realize it was a dream at first, because it all felt so real. Honestly, he's always been bad at distinguishing things from reality and some sort of fantasy or...fakeness. He knows it's unhealthy, and how crazy it makes him sound really. Not being able to know when things around him are real and just a hallucination or some sort of delusion.
Sometimes it's almost normal, nice even...a conversation with a friend that he has before realizing that friend has been long dead or had never even come over. Hearing words from loved ones he never thinks the real versions of them would ever say.
But most of the time, it's hard. It's evil and terrifying and he wants to rip his skin off, to try and run from the things that are within his head. Dick despises those times. Usually when he's able to actually get some sleep, usually by taking some sort of sleep medicine or drinking enough he passes out, he's free of these types of things.
Tonight he's not so lucky.
The dream is normal at first. He's standing in the batcave with everyone else, going through a mission debrief though Dick has no idea what the mission even was. He's tapping his fingers against his arms, looking around at his siblings who all are listening to Bruce drone on and on with bored looks.
"Dick." Dick jumps, he looks towards Bruce. He's still in the batsuit, cowl and all, and his arms are folded over his chest. He's glaring at Dick in a way that Dick hasn't seen from the man in ages.
"Y-yeah?" Dick responds with hesitance.
"Are you even listening to me?" Bruce returns, sounding angry, his voice monotone in a way still but Dick can tell.
"I- I was just...I mean it's about the mission right? We got that one down, did well, everything's good." Dick says.
"No, we didn't. Damians dead." Bruce says, spitting it out with venom. Dick freezes, flinches back as Bruce steps forwards. "Tim, Duke, Cass, Steph, Babs...they're all dead. Jason's been dead for years. What the hell did you do?"
"Wh-What? No- they..." Dick looks to the side but no one else is standing there and he's not sure if they ever were. Instead, a boy in the robin suit stands in their place, he's small, young...eight years old. He's gripping his cape with a vice. He stares at Dick with watery eyes, his arm is bleeding from a gun shot wound. He looks familiar. He looks like Dick.
"You were supposed to save them!!" Bruce yells, and he grabs at the front of Dick's suit to haul him forwards, screaming in his face. Dick shrinks back.
"This is your fault! My children are dead because of you!!" Bruce shouts and Dick tries hard to not cry but there are tears in his eyes. "Get out of my face." Bruce lets him go and shoves him back.
"But- Dad I-" Dick is shocked to even hear the title come out of his mouth, like he isn't able to control himself.
"I've never been your father, and I never will be. Leave. Don't come back. I've never wanted you here." Dick is shaking. He can't move. Bruce turns away. Dick opens his mouth then closes it, unable to breathe.
"But...B I- I can still help-"
"No...you- you can't." Bruce stutters and that's what makes Dick confused, having never heard Bruce so uncertain before but then he stumbles, clutching his stomach and Dick's eyes widen. Bruce looks back at him and suddenly his cowl is off and he's in his civilian clothes, covered in blood and clutching a wound in his torso. "You can never help us, you'll never be...be enough." Bruce's voice gets ragged and he coughs up blood.
Dick's eyes fly open and he gasps for air, grabbing at his sheets and blinking fiercely. He stares up at the ceiling of his apartment. He fell asleep on the couch again, his back hurts. He rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands and groans. Stupid nightmare.
