The sheets were tangled around your legs, soaked in sweat. Your breathing hitched as your body twisted, chased by something your mind couldn't outrun.

“Bruce—” you whimpered, the name broken.

He was awake in an instant. Years of conditioning meant sleep never came too deep — especially not with you beside him. One look at your face, contorted in distress, and his heart clenched.

He leaned over, brushing a gentle hand against your temple. “Y/N,” he murmured. “Hey. Wake up. I’m here.”

You flinched at his touch, gasping awake like surfacing from drowning. Your eyes flew open and locked onto his.

“Y-you were gone,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “I was alone. You never came back.”

Bruce’s expression softened immediately. “It was just a dream.”

“No,” you shook your head, tears sliding down your cheeks. “It felt real. You—God, you died. And I couldn’t stop it.”

He pulled you into his chest without a word, his arms strong and steady around you. You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the world.

“I’m right here,” he whispered into your hair. “You hear me? I’m not going anywhere.”

You buried your face against him, heartbeat beginning to settle.

And he held you until morning — like his life depended on it.