This is for the "anybody but a cannon coupling" challenge. Unbetad. As usual, I own nothing but my, uh, PJ's.

Matching Pajama Set

Dick needed a nap. Well, he needed breakfast before he needed a nap, he decided. Hence the raiding of Bruce's pantry. He was in town, it was early morning, and he was hungry. Perfect reason to be digging around in a dark pantry.

Of course, he'd shut the door behind him, and one of the two lights had promptly flickered and burnt out. Of course, it had to be the one toward the rear of the pantry, where all the good stuff was. Using the light from his iPod, he opened a new box of frosted shredded wheat (Alfie only kept it because he liked it). He'd just meant to munch on it while he was digging around the kitchen either looking for something to make for real, or for Alfred to rescue him from the stove.

But it was good and he was hungry, so he ate like ten handfuls before he got thirsty and busted into the bottled water. By then, he had a hankering for chocolate, and the chocolate chips were right there… And he couldn't leave half a bag in the pantry. Then he'd get busted for being up to no-good. So he finished the entire one pound bag. He was good for it, though. The Justice League and the JSA had been called out the night before, and he'd been bouncing back and forth between Bludhaven and Gotham, and so not only did the world owe him a pound of chocolate chips, but it wasn't like it'd go to his ass or anything. It was at that moment, Dick decided to never ever stop being a super hero, because he liked junk food too damned much.

While he slammed back the rest of the chips, he bobbed his head like a chicken to the tune playing on his iPod. Yes. Life owed him classic rock and chocolate chips.

Two bottles of water, half a box of sugar-coated wheat and an entire bag of semi-sweet morsels later, he opened the door to the pantry, empty bag stashed in his jeans pocket. Alfred inventoried that stuff, but if he wasn't caught in the act, they couldn't pin it on him.

Closing the door quietly behind him, he mouthed the words to the song dramatically as he turned around, stopping in the middle of the word "lo-o-ove" with his jaw hanging opened.

Blinking twice, he rubbed his eyes, looked at the chocolate stains on his fingers, paused the iPod, and went back to staring. "That's crazy," he said out loud. He was concussed. It was the only explanation. Cuz, if he wasn't concussed, possibly hallucinating and maybe poisoned or mind-controlled, he'd be thinking that he was staring at Bruce in his PJ bottoms, the ones Dick had given him for Christmas last year…sitting across the kitchen table from, uh, a blonde busty lady wearing his night shirt, who looked like…(but that was CRAZY)…Power Girl.

Maybe she got blown up, and had a problem with her scanty white outfit, and Bruce was, uh, being chivalrous. Maybe it was a hallucination. Because, both of their hair was tussled and stuff, and that was weird, and was really detracting from the wardrobe malfunction theory.

And they were giving him that "rip your leg off and beat you to death with it" glare. In tandem, even. It was as uncanny as it was spooky. But hey, none of this was happening, right? "Bruce… you really need to do something about the chocolate chips in the pantry, and the hallucinatory properties. Cuz, like, dude. That's messed up."

Calmly walking over to the refrigerator, he took the gallon of milk off the top shelf, and walked out of the room.

THE END.