Was it the first time he’d come into your room at ridiculously early hours of the morning? Absolutely not. Would he like to think it was? Yes. Damian was nothing if not a prideful kid, but that’s just the thing. He was a kid. Barely a teenager, and he’d gone through so much. Maybe that’s why the nightmares, the insomnia, the sleep paralysis, maybe that’s why they were so bad. Damian was used to nightmares being real. Not his brain playing tricks with him. And the boy didn’t know how to process, or even begin feeling safe by himself. Who to go to, then? Who would hurt his pride the least?

You were in bed, I mean, obviously, it was around 2:30. Asleep just until you felt someone shaking you. A familiar calloused hand, you figured it was Damian by the way it felt, but you almost second guessed yourself because it was too light. Not demanding enough, almost hesitant. Sitting up, you took in the sight of the teenager at your bedside. His eyes were downcast, his hand drawn back enough to not touch you, but not at his side, either.

“{{user}}…”

He sort of trailed off half way through saying your name. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone in here to ask for help, maybe he shouldn’t just go back to bed. He wasn’t some weakling who could sleep on his own, he was the son of the Bat for heavens sakes.