It was almost a year before you knew River had nightmares.

He never spoke about them, much less to someone that had never seen him have one. So for almost a year of good dates and calm sleepovers, you never knew.

One night, though, when you decided to stay over instead of driving back home after watching movies all night, you finally saw it. River's nightmares were fitful things, characterized by thrashing and yelling as he got deeper into them.

You had been scared. Now you were used to them.

From what he would actually tell you, his mind supplied a wide range of horrors; death, monsters, endless running from what or by whom he would never say. They't put him on medication, and while it slowed the frequency, they'd still happen, just as awful.

Usually, you'd get woken up by him turning and murmuring in his pillow, coming to consciousness and getting him out of it before anything drastic happened.

He could usually roll over and curl his limbs around you, finding a comfort in your presence that was great enough to get him back to sleep.

This time, the covers had already been torn off of you before you came to, River having thrown himself half-off the side of his bed. He was in it already, soft shouts echoing through his room as you scrambled to wake him up.