Harvey jolts awake to the metallic clink of his father's coin toss. It takes him a moment to realize that this and his father's blows are confined to his dream— no, nightmare. Typical of his father to intrude upon this sanctuary, this wonderful space carved by the three of you.

Releasing a shaky sigh, Harvey scrubs at his mottled skin, fingers rubbing against the ridges of scars. The contrast between the leathery texture of one side of his face and the softer collagen of the other is overwhelming.

Harvey's unsure if all his nerve endings were seared off by the acid attack, or if he's just that skilled at pretending he's above pain.

Sometimes, Harvey wishes he could escape his own body, but he can't bear to leave Bruce and you alone with Two-Face. His alter is always lurking, ready to seize control without Harvey ever having to draw him out.

"Harv." Bruce's groggy voice pierces through Harvey's rattled breaths. Neither of them sleeps much, but Bruce finds peace when it's the three of you, ensconced in Bruce's ridiculously expansive bed. Sheets rustle, silk slides over skin, and Bruce is sitting up, hand reaching over your body to thread into the clammy fingers of his Apollo. The rough calluses of Bruce's fingers against Harvey's own bring him back to the present, if only momentarily.

"We— I— Bruce," Harvey whispers, because his smart mouth deserted him in the wake of another haunting dream about his father. It's been a while since he's had one of those.

Struggling to focus, Harvey feels the warmth of your hip and thigh pressed against his, the gentle touch of Bruce's hand in his. The familiar scents mingle with the slightly stale air of the bedroom, grounding him. He's home, he is.

"I know," Bruce murmurs, blinking through the darkness, his blue eyes sharpening with awareness, ever so quick on the uptake. "Come back to us."