The Man in my Doorway

Bad Dreams

The winter night was chilly and silent, blue shadows cast across sparkling sidewalks as the moon reached its peak over Gotham.

Blearily, Dick fumbled for the glass on his nightstand. Empty. He always forgot to fill it up when he got back from patrol. Reluctantly, he sat up, and began crawling out from the warmth of his covers.

He was nearly out of bed when he saw it.

Alfred? No—Alfred didn't move like that. Instantly, Dick felt the hairs on his arm prickle upwards, watching half-asleep as the figure in the hall swayed towards Bruce's room. This was not Alfred, and it was definitely not Bruce; whoever, whatever this was, was slender and tall, its shadow silhouetted against the wall from the shine of Dick's nightlight.

It was only when the shadow's hand sealed around the handle of Bruce's door that the weight of the situation hit him.

"Hey!" He exclaimed, voice cracking in surprise. The figure jerked in his direction and then took off towards the stairs. Dick leapt out of bed, toppling onto the floor from his tangled covers. "Get back here!" He cried. Legs still numb, the boy tore after the figure, flying down the stairs.

He shot around the corner, socks skidding on the hardwood floor. His tiny body hit the floor, but in less than a second he was back on his feet. The shadow had gone into the kitchen, they were cornered.

Cautiously, Dick crept through the door. The world stood still as he assessed the chilly, moonlit room.

"Dick?" A voice called. Somewhere above, footsteps thundered down the stairs. "Dick!" Bruce rounded the corner, groggy and disheveled. "What's wrong?"

"There's someone in the manor!" The boy exclaimed, running to his side.

"What?"

"I woke up, and-- and I saw someone out in the hall," Dick did his best to explain, tripping over his words as they all tried to get out at once. "So I chased 'em down here!"

Bruce studied the kitchen intently. "You're sure they went in here?"

"Positive."

Bruce peaked into the dining room, then he checked behind the large pantry door. "Nothing set the alarm off..."

The kitchen lights flicked on above them. "Whatever is going on here?" Alfred demanded, as trim and prepared as he was during broad daylight, save the nightcap perched atop his head. "What is master Dick doing out of bed?"

"It's fine, Alfred." Bruce rested a hand on the boy's head. "I think Dick just had a bad dream."

"It wasn't a dream! There's someone down here!"

"Alright," Bruce interrupted. "How about I have a look around down here, see if I find them?"

The boy felt a wave of relief. Whatever it was, Bruce could handle it. "Okay."

"Alfred, get Dick back to bed, would you?" He sighed, stretching. "I'll check the downstairs for intruders."

"Be thorough," Dick advised as he was shepherded upstairs. "Look under the couch! And the closet!"

Bruce smiled a sliver and began half-heartedly searching for the boogeyman.

The next morning was frosty, a chill in the air despite the central heating, everyone was bundled up around the breakfast table.

"The kitchen window was open!"

"Alfred left it cracked to air out the kitchen, remember?" Bruce replied, not for the first time that morning.