It might have been just him, but there was something about that man Dick had run into on his first day that felt weird.

Dick pulled himself up from a stretch and bent back down. It was right before lights out when everyone was settling down and the screaming had stopped that Dick was left to his thoughts. He'd been here for about a month, and the consistent regimen got old on the third day. Everyone did the same things, wore the same clothes, and ate the same food. Everyone except him.

The man with the janitor was the only one in the joint who seemed to have his own schedule. Dick noticed that the blander the environment, the more often the man would appear accompanied by the janitor and the weird lady doctor.

'Lights out!' The guard outside the inmates' rooms called out.

'That means you, Grayson.' The guard rapped his knuckles on Dick's door. Grumbling, Dick straightened up and plodded over to the bed. Throwing himself down on the flimsy mattress, Dick rolled over and listened to the lights in the hallway shut off one by one.

A heavy silence settled over the inmates of Hallway C. Other hallways were loud with rambling inmates and the occasional madman screaming bloody murder. Dick turned back over and waited for sleep to take him.

But it didn't.

It had to have been hours he'd been lying on his mattress, listening to inmate after inmate quiet down until the asylum was empty. Dick shuddered. The silence was suffocating. Tossing his blanket off of him, Dick rolled over hoping to find another position. Sleep had never eluded him like this before.

Squeak

At first Dick thought he'd just imagined it, but he kept hearing it as it grew closer.

Squeak

Squeak

Silently dropping out of bed, Dick pushed himself against the door and peered out the slot that the guards used to be sure that the inmates were in their rooms. It hadn't originally opened from both sides, but Dick took some liberty with his new room and tampered with a few things.

Squeak

It was almost outside his door. Dick slowly put his face closer to the slot. The squeaking noise had stopped, but a lone wheelchair had been stationed outside; there was someone in it. The man! Dick traded the safer position of standing by the door to stand in front of it.

It was definitely the man. Right? Something was off, though. More than usual. The man was limp, it looked like he was buckled into the wheelchair. He wasn't using a wheelchair earlier – he didn't seem to need one either.

Actually, now that Dick thought about it, he hadn't seen the man in almost a week. Dick shook himself out of his thoughts and focused back on the man.

His head was floppy, his face hidden by his hair. His body was shaking and he seemed a bit thinner than Dick remembered.

'Hey!' Dick whisper yelled at the man. 'Hey! Are you okay?'

The man didn't answer. Dick backed away from the door and looked around the room for something long that he could use to poke the man. He couldn't be dead, could he? No, he was shaking.

Failing to find any tools, Dick peered through the slot again.

'Hey! Old man!'

No answer. Dick grumbled beneath his breath; he was about to call again when the man's head shot up suddenly. Shakily searching around his new environment, the man locked eyes with Dick.

'Hi?' Dick whispered hesitantly.

'Who are you.' It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement. The man obviously expected an answer.

'Uh, Dick. Dick Grayson.'

The man studied him. 'Do you know where we are?'

Dick squinted. 'Arkham Asylum.'

The man cursed. 'Then he's gotten his hands on you and me. He has to be stopped. His plans are too deadly for me to allow him to succeed.'

'That's…nice.' Dick said dubiously. The man was obviously crazy. Dick studied the him while he continued muttering to himself. The guy's clothes were dirty, he shook and rambled. And his eyes were rolling around in his head.

'…. it's his fault that- '

'Who's "he"?' Dick interrupted. While he wasn't normally the type of guy to listen to this nut, something about the man demanded one to listen to his words.

The man looked at him again. 'Him. The Joker.'

Joker. Joker. Wait, wasn't that one guy…. What was he called? Carr?

'You mean Dr. Carr?'

'That's his alias.' The man solemnly responded.

'Okaaay?'

'Bruce!' A new voice interrupted the man, who had opened his mouth to speak. The janitor rushed over to the man's – no, to Bruce's side and began fretting over him.

'Oh, Bruce, how many times have I told you not to wheel away? Don't stress your body by pushing your wheelchair! And honestly, how did you even get here? Oh!'

The janitor paused his scolding when he saw Dick.

'Ah, I'm sorry if he woke you.'

'Nah, I was up. Why was he alone?' Dick blurted out.

The janitor colored, 'I was momentarily preoccupied. It was my fault, I wholeheartedly apologize. And,' he paused pulling out an old pocket watch. 'It seems we're late, Bruce. Please, excuse us Richard.'

'Alfred, you can't call him that.' Bruce chided.

Alfred looked down at his companion briefly before looking back to Dick. 'Oh, I'm sorry…'

'Dick.'

'…Dick.'

'Alfred! He'll hear!' Bruce growled, peering past Alfred into the hallway.

'I've told you, he's not a threat. He's a friend. Dr. Carr is trying to help you Bruce.' Alfred soothed.

'No NO NO. That's not my name! Joker will hear! We need to evacuate the civilians and face Joker on equal turf. Gotham isn't safe if I can't protect it! These straps! Wh-where did they….no never mind. That's not the point. Alfred, I'm missing my utility belt, I need you to find something to help me break my bonds. I…can't…. get…themmm ...' Bruce began straining against his bonds.

Alfred quickly moved behind the wheelchair and began pushing Bruce down the hall. 'Come along, Bruce, we mustn't be late for your medication.'

'Alfred! I need to save Gotham! Joker must be stopped! I must get to the Bat-Cave; the city needs Batman!'

'Shh, shhh, it's alright Bruce. It'll be okay.' Alfred hushed.

'NoNONONONO!'

Dick mutely watched Bruce begin struggling against his restraints, the chair and even Alfred, who was trying to calm him – a futile effort.

Alfred began quickly moving down the hallway, half pushing half carrying Bruce in the wheelchair. Right before he was swallowed by the darkness' gaping maw, Bruce twisted and locked eyes with Dick.

'Be strong, don't let him break you! I'll find you Robin!'

Dick stared up at his ceiling. Bruce and Alfred had disappeared and despite Bruce's outbursts the other patients didn't seem to have woken up. Despite the excitement, Dick still hadn't managed to fall asleep. He couldn't stop thinking about Bruce and his panicked claims.

And calling him Robin, what was up with that? Maybe the guy thought he was someone else? No, he knew who Alfred was. He knew Dr. Carr, just by another name.

Dick huffed and tossed around on the stupid mattress. What was it about that guy? Everyone here was a certified wacko – even him, but something about that guy.

'Aauuugh.' Dick groaned into his pillow. He was never going to get to sleep was he? Stupid Bruce.

Despite himself, Dick couldn't help but want to talk to the guy more. He was kind of interesting, what with his weird personalities and strange schedule. And the medication that Alfred guy talked about? Why would Bruce need medication in the middle of the night? Dr. Eyve didn't live at the Asylum (as funny as Dick thought that would be, a crazy lady giving drugs to crazy people) so she must be going out of her way to medicate Bruce.

And that was when Dick Grayson decided to sneak out of his room and follow Bruce and Alfred to see what this 'medication' was. He didn't have the tools or a plan, so he'd have to come up with something. Fine, he'd done that stuff before.

So Dick Grayson lay there, staring at his ceiling and plotted a jailbreak. Asylumbreak. Who cares? And along with his plans, the numerous questions he had swirled around in his mind like a runaway tornado.

Why? Why Bruce? What was special about him? What was this medication? Why was it secret? Why were the doctors going so far out of their schedules? Why is Bruce strapped to a wheelchair? Why, no How did he deteriorate so quickly in a week? The shaking, the rolling eyes, the ramblings? The panicked looks? He wasn't like this before, was he? No, at least nowhere near this bad. So what caused him to crash? Why why why?

There were too many questions. Dick screamed into his pillow. This stupid place! With its stupid secrets and stupid staff and stupid Bruce and this. Stupid. Mattress.

It could drive someone mad.

AN: Hi guys! I am so sorry about the super long wait. This story requires my full attention so I can't do it halfway. And since my mind is usually split between a few subjects at all times, it's hard to find a good time to write.

But I did it! It's a little shorter than usual, but eh. An update is an update, no?

I hope you like it!

#LetDickSleep