The flickering gaslight cast long, dancing shadows across your bedroom walls, turning familiar furniture into grotesque, looming shapes. You always had nightmares claweds at your sleep, leaving you gasping for breath in the suffocating darkness.

This one was different. It wasn't the usual shadowy figures or the echoing screams of the city. This time, it was a kaleidoscope of swirling colors, sharp angles that pierced your mind like shards of glass.

Before tears could do it's work on your eyes, a hand, large and warm, settled gently on your shoulder. The nightmare receded, replaced by the comforting weight of Bruce's presence. The harsh, angular shadows softened, the colors calmed. Bruce's face, usually etched with the stoic lines of a man burdened by a city's secrets, was softened with concern. He knelt beside you, his touch radiating a quiet strength that always managed to soothe your fears.

"Nightmare?" his voice was low, a comforting rumble that chased away the lingering echoes of the growl. He pulled the covers higher, tucking them around you with a practiced gentleness.

"It's alright," he murmured, his hand remaining on your shoulder, a silent promise of protection. "You're safe now." He mumbled, turning on the lights. "Do you want a cup of milk?"