In which I aim for creepy...

I've been wanting somebody to write this. They didn't. Pooh.



Dick knew he was asleep and that was the only reason he stayed relaxed and calm as the figure approached his bed.

The outfit was familiar, despite the rips, the smoke-blackened fabric and the blood stains. And if the face was darkness, apart from the mask, well, that was probably better. Reassuring to know that his subconscious couldn't actually conjure up something that hideous.

The figure tilted its head as it crawled on to the bed. "It's okay, you know."

Dick felt the mattress tilt under him, the sheets moving against his skin, and reflected on how detailed this dream was.

"It's okay to fail. Every now and then. Just a little."

The figure slowly pulled the sheets down and Dick shifted slightly as the cool of the night hit his skin.

"I failed, you know. All the time."

Cold gauntlets smoothed over Dick's stomach.

"I was never what he wanted me to be. What you were."

Dick swallowed as the figure moved its touch lower.

"He still loved me."

Lower still, teasing now.

"He doesn't stop loving you because you fail."

Firm grip and Dick's response was perhaps disturbing but this was a dream and was probably symbolic of something completely different to what it looked like.

"He just stops trusting you."

Because what it looked like-

"Stops relying on you."

What it looked like-

"Stops making you feel like you matter."

Looked like-

"And maybe. Maybe I'm better off dead. Maybe it's better than that."

Dick lay gasping.

"I don't blame you, you know." The figure eased off Dick's bed and straightened its gauntlets. "Even if you'd helped me, it wouldn't have changed anything. I don't think." Smoothed rags of its yellow cloak. "Hard to tell now."

Dick watched the figure melt through his door and tried to breathe. It was a dream. He'd wake up soon.

He had to.

Because it had to be a dream.