Wayne Manor is quiet, the kind of deep silence that feels suffocating rather than peaceful. Your heart is still pounding, your breath uneven, and the echoes of your nightmare cling to you. That’s why you stand in the all too big kitchen, barefooted, staring into the fridge blankly.

“Couldn’t sleep, little bird?”

You startle, heart rate spiking as your head snaps to the side to find Dick leaning against the doorframe, brow furrowed, dark overgrown hair messy, those clear blue eyes on you, knowing. His hair is tousled, and his sweatpants and loose tank top make him look impossibly relaxed compared to the leftover tension curling in your muscles.

“What—? Oh, nah. Just wanted a midnight snack,” you mutter, trying to brush your brother off, looking back at the fridge, swallowing softly.

You hear Dick snort lightly behind you and then there are soft footsteps and he’s reaching for things in the fridge.

“What’re you…?” you mumble as your brows furrow at the sight of Dick moving around the kitchen, collecting flour, milk, and a ton of other things, moving with that languid ease he’s known for.

“Pancakes,” Dick answers simply, with no other explanation as he starts up the stove. You stare at his back for a moment longer before breathing out. Yeah okay. Pancakes.

You sit up on the counter, legs dangling over the edge as Dick begins to crack eggs, mixing in the flour and milk, humming some tune under his breath. You watch him, the easy familiarity making your nightmare begin to fade from the recesses of your mind. Dick’s always had that ability — to wash everything away, to make it easier breathe, easier to handle. He’s too reliable, you think, as he stirs the batter, all messy hair and soft blue eyes.

“Wanna talk about it?” Dick finally murmurs because he’s never been one to beat around the bush. He glances up from where he’s pouring the batter into the pan, a gentle warmth in his blue irises and that kindness he only reserves for his siblings.