When you came to you became aware of thunder rumbling outside. Lightning crackled across the sky, illuminating Gotham's clock tower. But that wasn't what woke you. You were awoken by the sound of whimpering against your chest.

"Bruce..." you mouthed, voice barely audible. You were still wading through the fog of sleep, shaking off fragments of sweet dreams.

Bruce laid on your chest like a weighted blanket. His hair was a mess and there was faint shadows of eyeliner under his eyelids that he'd missed with the makeup remover. The media would have a heart attack if they saw the reclusive billionaire in such a state, but this was your Bruce. The Bruce you bumped into in the library and had been attached to since.

"Bruce," you cooed a little louder, smoothing a finger over the worry lines on his brow. "Wake up."

Bruce roused from his nightmare, the same nightmare since he was a little boy. You'd think the reaccuring dream would be less scary as years passed. But Bruce's eyes were still watery and his breathing fast.