Bruce often can't remember when he falls asleep. He's so busy, both at day and at night; so it's understandable. But one thing is certain, one thing that he wishes he could do when he does drift off. He wishes he could easily awaken from his dreams.
His dreams are never the same. Well let's be honest, they aren't dreams at all. They're nightmares; nightmares that leave his heart racing and his sheets wet from sweat. He dreams of those he failed to save, those he saved but were horribly disfigured in the process, those who curse at him for not getting rid of those freaks that haunt the streets of Gotham.
If he were to sit and really think about it; he'd notice that those weren't even his worse nightmares. The worst ones....the worst ones are when his family are the ones that are in them. Yes, he often has to sit and replay the death of his parents, Jason's death, or any other time his family has been hurt, nearly killed.
Yet his mind, his horribly, twisted mind has a way of making it worse. Maybe it was left over problems from Scarecrow's fear toxin, maybe not; but it still didn't make it better. See, Bruce's mind liked to torture him, liked to fuck him over anyway possible.
There are times where he's surrounded by darkness, and out of nowhere a spotlight will appear; followed shortly by a body falling and colliding with the ground. He can't move as Dick's body lay twisted and broken on the ground. His once vibrant blue eyes a dull shade of their former selves. Those eyes stared back at him, as if blaming him.
Then he hears the sound of bones breaking, flesh tearing, and another spotlight is there. There was Jason, or, what was left of him. His usually cocky smirk, and confident attitude was replaced by pain and fear. Jason was on the ground, bones sticking out of his back and one arm and his entire lower half missing. And the blood, oh god the blood, it was everywhere.
Another spotlight shone on Tim' body, skewered by a metal rod and hanging limply from a building. His head hung low and his legs were gone, seemingly ripped off. Then came Damian's....head, rolling from the shadows with a knife lodged in his cheek; the other end sticking out the other side.
It just got worse as he went. Stephanie's chard body, Barbara's body sawed in half from the head to her waist, Cassandra's bottom jaw ripped wide open and a gaping hole in her stomach, and Alfred's horribly disfigured face, burned away by acid.
But that didn't even compare to the voices, the screams. They haunted him every waking day.
"You....didn't catch me...."
"You were too late again...."
"I did as you said, I didn't crack when they cut my legs off..."
"I refused to give up information father. They said I was being 'cheeky'...."
"I burned again Bruce...."
"I felt every inch of my skin rip..."
"You didn't stop him, master Wayne...."
"YOU DIDN'T SAVE US. WHERE WERE YOU BRUCE? WHY DIDN'T YOU SAVE US? WE BELIEVED IN YOU. WE THOUGHT YOU WERE COMING....THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT..."
Every time, every fucking time, he was too late, too weak, too afraid. He failed them, he let this happen, and he wasn't there for them. He couldn't ever stop the scream that left him as he watched them all die in different ways; their bodies piling up around him and their voices becoming more, and more distorted.
"Bruce! Bruce wake up!"
Bruce's eyes snapped open and he shot up in a haste, only to cringe at the bright lights in his eyes.
Tired blue eyes looked over and met eight pairs of worried eyes. The person talking, Dick, placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright. You got pretty banged up when Killer Croc threw you out of that window. You landed on a broken pipe....it went through your side." he explained.
So it was a dream again. That was fine, that was how it should be. "Yeah....yeah, it'll be fine." he muttered. As long as he was able to wake up from those nightmares, it would always be fine.