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It wasn't the first time Danny was thankful his mother was a light sleeper. He didn't have the energy to wonder if she felt thankful as well. Not when his throat was raw from screaming and terrible things lurked behind his eyes. When his mother burst through the door of his bedroom and wrapped her arms around him while she murmured reassuring words into his ear, it always made the dark seem less terrifying.
Turning on his side, Danny leaned his aching head against his mother's knee. Breath still seemed too hard to come by, a commodity chased away by dream demons, and his lungs laboured to drag enough air into them. "Shit," he managed to gasp eventually. "Shit."
He felt his mother relax a little, clearly sure he was awake. Sometimes it took Danny a while to come out of his dreams and he would thrash dangerously against unseen hands. All she could do when that happened, was stand out of the way; a lesson learned from one too many black eyes. "It's four-thirty," he heard his mother say.
Four-thirty. Four-three-oh. "Fell asleep watching Simpsons," he said softly. The burning in his lungs seemed to have subsided somewhat. "Maybe an hour ago. Maybe a little more." Some nights he managed to sleep longer before the terrors began, and some nights they didn't come at all. Then there were nights like this, where he spent the entirety of the following day feeling shaken and exhausted. At least he hadn't soiled his bed in a few months. That always made everything so much worse.
"Do you want to talk about it?" his mother suggested.
"No." He had therapists and doctors and dream journals for that. His mother hardly needed to be regaled with the tales of the things her half-brother did to Danny in his sleep. Fighting the urge to cry, Danny finally pulled himself up so he was sitting beside his mother. "You?"
When his mother smiled, Danny always felt just a little bit better and now was no exception. She bumped him lightly with her shoulder and shook her head. "Okay," he nodded. "I'm not going back to bed. Ice cream?" He made sure to use his most earnest and puppy-dog expression then. It probably looked a little strange, since his face was still pale and slightly pinched with residual horror, but she was more than used to that. When she laughed, he knew that meant yes.
Through all the horror lurking in his dreams, at least he had this to wake up to.
Turning on his side, Danny leaned his aching head against his mother's knee. Breath still seemed too hard to come by, a commodity chased away by dream demons, and his lungs laboured to drag enough air into them. "Shit," he managed to gasp eventually. "Shit."
He felt his mother relax a little, clearly sure he was awake. Sometimes it took Danny a while to come out of his dreams and he would thrash dangerously against unseen hands. All she could do when that happened, was stand out of the way; a lesson learned from one too many black eyes. "It's four-thirty," he heard his mother say.
Four-thirty. Four-three-oh. "Fell asleep watching Simpsons," he said softly. The burning in his lungs seemed to have subsided somewhat. "Maybe an hour ago. Maybe a little more." Some nights he managed to sleep longer before the terrors began, and some nights they didn't come at all. Then there were nights like this, where he spent the entirety of the following day feeling shaken and exhausted. At least he hadn't soiled his bed in a few months. That always made everything so much worse.
"Do you want to talk about it?" his mother suggested.
"No." He had therapists and doctors and dream journals for that. His mother hardly needed to be regaled with the tales of the things her half-brother did to Danny in his sleep. Fighting the urge to cry, Danny finally pulled himself up so he was sitting beside his mother. "You?"
When his mother smiled, Danny always felt just a little bit better and now was no exception. She bumped him lightly with her shoulder and shook her head. "Okay," he nodded. "I'm not going back to bed. Ice cream?" He made sure to use his most earnest and puppy-dog expression then. It probably looked a little strange, since his face was still pale and slightly pinched with residual horror, but she was more than used to that. When she laughed, he knew that meant yes.
Through all the horror lurking in his dreams, at least he had this to wake up to.
