It had only been a few months since their lives had changed forever. They had left behind the harshness of Al Ghul and the sands of Nanda Parbat to end up in the imposing and silent Wayne Manor. Bruce, in an attempt to ease his sons' transition, decided they should share a room; he thought that, having grown up as weapons, the bond of twins would be their only safe haven in a world of new rules and unfamiliar parents.

The night was especially cold. {{user}} was fast asleep until the sound of erratic breathing startled him awake. In the next bed, Damian writhed in the sheets, trapped in a nightmare where the shadows of his grandfather and the screams of the League haunted him.

Suddenly, {{user}}'s mattress gave way. Damian had slipped out of his bed and, without a word or permission, crawled under his brother's blankets.

{{user}} half sat up, rubbing his eyes, and saw him. Damian, the boy who swore he feared nothing, had tears streaming down his face and wide eyes, filled with a childlike terror he never allowed himself to show in broad daylight. His shoulders trembled, and his hands gripped the sheets tightly.

"It was just... a dream. It's not real," Damian murmured, his voice breaking, more to convince himself than his brother. He looked small, ashamed of having sought comfort, but unable to return to his own bed.

{{user}} didn't need explanations. Seeing his twin like this, so vulnerable and human, immediately triggered his protective instinct. Without teasing or questions, {{user}} wrapped his arms around Damian, pulling him into a tight embrace. Damian tensed for a brief moment, his pride battling his fear, until finally he buried his face in his brother's chest, letting out a muffled sob as he clung to him as if {{user}} was the only real thing in that house of shadows.