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Being jolted back into wakefulness by Oswald isn't an entirely novel experience.
When they had shared Ed's apartment it had happened more than once. Ed had awoken to the sound of Oswald’s muffled sniffles and sobs several times and found the man curled up beneath protective cocoon of his quilt, but come morning Oswald had always staunchly pretended that nothing had happened so Ed had done his best to bite back any comments that had threatened to trip off his tongue. The glares that had been periodically levelled at him when he had tried broaching the subject had certainly helped to head him off.
But now, with a trip to Arkham behind each of them and a few walls between them, Oswald’s hoarse screaming is enough to send Ed bolting upright and scrambling back against the headboard, heart lodged somewhere in his throat.
The screaming, Ed decides when he pieces together that he isn’t back inside Arkham, is much worse to wake up to.
Though the interruption to what was shaping up to be a nightmare is welcome, the execution of said interruption is less so. Gritting his teeth, he wards off the flashes of pointed, yellow teeth snapping at him and the echoes of his own screams and untangles himself from the sheets twisted around his legs. A shudder works itself down his spine as another scream rings out and he stumbles for the door, remembering at the last minute to double back and snatch his glasses off the bedside table.
It only takes a few long strides to cross the hallway and reach Oswald’s door, but despite his initial burst of determination Ed falters when he reaches it, hand hovering awkwardly over the doorknob. Entering without knocking sits oddly with him, and he almost does knock, but Oswald chooses that moment to let out a noise that verges on a howl and Ed grimaces at the ragged sound of it before letting himself in.
In the dim moonlight spilling from behind drawn curtains he can see Oswald twisting and thrashing, and when he gets closer he finally makes out the panic scrawled across his face, though his eyes are still squeezed firmly shut.
“Oswald,” he tries, voice coming out in a croak before he clears his throat. “Oswald!”
The other man only seems to grow more agitated, the flailing of his limbs turning frenzied.
Barely avoiding an arm that sweeps right past his face, Ed sucks in a breath and lunges forward to grab at Oswald’s shoulders in the hopes of stilling him. That seems to startle Oswald awake, but Ed barely gets to register the sight of Oswald’s eyes snapping open before there are hands fisting themselves in his t-shirt and he’s being dragged with alarming force onto the bed as Oswald rears up. Hands flying up to shield his face as his glasses slip off his nose, the air stutters out of Ed’s lungs and he can feel himself going pale when Oswald snarls at him, eyes unseeing yet bordering on feral.
“No! You’re not taking me back there, I’m—I’m never getting back into that torture device again, you—”
“Oswald! I’m not—You’re having a nightmare, you’re safe! I-it’s me, Ed! We’re not in Arkham anymore, just—just…” Ed’s voice cracks as he shrinks down against the mattress with Oswald’s weight bearing down on him. “O-Oswald, don’t—”
And then the pressure on his chest is gone all at once and Ed gasps in relief, blinking back the stinging in his eyes.
“Ed? What—”
Sitting up slowly, Ed glances at the other man but keeps his face angled downwards, letting out a slow, shaky breath as Oswald looks at him with growing, if blurry, horror.
“D-did I hurt you? Ed, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I—I didn’t know it was you, I thought—” Oswald starts rambling, scooting himself closer to look Ed over.
“I’m fine,” Ed reassures shakily, allowing Oswald to pat at his chest for a few seconds before turning to feel around for his glasses. “I’ve—” had worse, he doesn’t say, biting the inside of his cheek. “I heard you screaming from my room.”
His glasses appear in front of his face and Ed takes them gratefully. When the world comes back into focus and he feels that it’s safe to look up, his eyes have adjusted to the darkness and Oswald is staring at him with a mix of concern and self-consciousness.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he offers lamely, doing a bad job of suppressing a wince. “It’s just… ever since Arkham, the nightmares are always there but sometimes they’re worse, and well…” Barking out a strained laugh, Oswald shrugs. “It’s hard to know how loudly you’re screaming until someone lives with you.”
“I’m… familiar with the nightmares. Not fun,” Ed agrees with a nod, mouth twitching into a small smile when Oswald allows himself a scoff that’s half laughter at his assessment. Giving a start when he hears Oswald give a pained grunt, he ends up moving down the bed to accommodate Oswald’s sudden shift as the man extends his bad leg from where it had come to be curled awkwardly underneath him during their scuffle. He watches in silence for a minute as Oswald presses the heel of his hand just above his knee, then blurts out: “What did they do to you in there?”
The question has been rattling around his brain since the night Oswald had had him released, before that even, but he’s avoided asking it for several reasons, among which is the guilty pang that accompanies the memory of a docile, tarred, and feathered Oswald asking for his help, only to be turned away.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Ed,” comes the sharp reply, but it’s followed by a quiet sigh. “Not now, at least. It’s,” Oswald pauses, casting a look around the room for the nearest clock only to find it too dark to read the time, “late. Or early. I don’t know.”
Nodding again, Ed swallows the impulse to yawn at the reminder of the time. “Later, then?”
Oswald seems to consider him for a drawn out moment before finally giving a single nod. “Later. We can trade war stories.”
Satisfied, Ed stands with a hum, turning to help Oswald back under the covers just to have the man wave him off with a grumble about not being his patient anymore.
He’s almost to the door when he hears his name being called, almost too quietly for him to catch. Looking back, he’s almost alarmed by how small Oswald looks in his bed. “Yes?”
“I—no, nothing. Goodnight, Ed.”
Ed lingers, brow furrowing briefly, but when Oswald doesn’t speak again he writes it off.
“Goodnight, Oswald.”
His bed is cold by the time he gets back to his room and perches at the very edge of it. Staring blankly at the mess of blankets and sheets and not feeling particularly keen on returning to the nightmares lurking in the corners of his mind just yet, Ed settles for remaking his bed, only stopping when he’s certain that everything is meticulously back where it should be and there's nothing else for him to do.
Even then, he finds himself hesitating before lying down at last, discarding his glasses and flopping onto his side so he can squint at the faintly outlined curtains, blankets yanked securely up to his chin. He isn’t quite sure how long he lies there for. It’s long enough for his shoulder to start to feel sore but despite how heavy his eyes are he is no closer to falling back asleep than he had been earlier, eyes darting around the room whenever he thinks he sees a shadow shift. Ed is in the middle of debating whether turning on a lamp would keep him from sleeping when he hears a quiet knock.
The door creaks open and as soon as Ed rolls over to peer at it a fuzzy shadow blocks whatever weak light had been filtering in from the hallway.
“Ed?”
“Oswald?”
“You’re awake, good. Well, no, not good, but…”
Ed sits up, blinking owlishly in the darkness as Oswald steps fully into the room.
“Is something wrong?” When there’s no immediate answer a dozen different scenarios pop into his head and he’s already throwing the blankets off of himself when an embarrassed laugh stops him.
Oswald seems to be shifting awkwardly and slowly shuffling back the way he’d come. “No, no, don’t get out of bed. I-I… you know what? I’m sorry, Ed, I shouldn’t have come in here.”
Interest piqued, Ed leans forward. “You’re already here, Oswald,” he feels obligated to point out. “Might as well not waste the trip.”
The other man appears to consider that for a second.
“I can’t sleep,” Oswald tells him. Ed cocks his head, but Oswald doesn’t elaborate.
Sweeping a hand through the air to indicate them both, Ed offers his friend a half smile, though he's not sure if it can even be seen. “That would make two of us.”
As Oswald haltingly approaches the bed Ed can finally make out the familiar robe wrapped securely around the other man and the tense slant to his shoulders. Oswald’s head turns so that he’s looking somewhere off to Ed’s left when he speaks, words spilling out of him in a rush.
“Can I sleep here? With you?”
Taken aback, Ed gives a small start. “Oh. Well, that’s…” He trails off, glancing down at his bed then back up at Oswald. Wordlessly, he moves from the centre of the bed and pats the spot beside him.
Oswald moves stiffly as he sheds his robe and gets under the covers, and Ed shifts to make more room, keeping several inches of space between them as they settle down. They’re both unnaturally still, lying on their backs, and Ed is acutely aware of the breath he’s holding for no particular reason.
“Goodnight, Ed,” Oswald murmurs beside him, though when Ed turns his head to squint at him, he can see that his friend’s eyes are still open and staring straight ahead.
And then the tension seeps out of Ed and he bursts into a fit of laughter, the situation and Oswald’s behaviour striking him as unexpectedly bizarre and inexplicably funny. He rolls so that he’s facing the other man, pillowing his head on one arm.
“What? What’s so funny?” Oswald demands, attention snapping over to him and causing Ed to grin widely.
“Do you always sleep with your eyes open?” He asks between bouts of giggles.
Oswald huffs at him in response and returns his attention to the ceiling. “...no,” he answers after several seconds of silence where Ed continues to stare expectantly.
He’s relaxing, Ed notes.
Another thought flits through Ed’s mind and he does a poor job of fighting back the resulting smirk that starts to tug at his mouth. “You know,” he starts conversationally, “you’re really reminding me of those rumours I’ve heard about you being a vampire.”
“It’s nighttime, Ed,” Oswald sighs. “Aren’t vampires nocturnal?”
“Depends on which interpretation you subscribe to.” Ed shrugs. “In any case, I was referring more to the fact that you’re sleeping on your back. That, combined with your complexion and hair... if you just crossed your arms—”
A quiet snort reaches his ears. “I’m going back to my room,” Oswald announces, making as if he’s about to get up, but Ed spots the small smile on his face as he turns away. “You talk too much. How am I supposed to sleep like this?”
Ed smothers another laugh and shoots a hand out, catching Oswald by a sleeve and giving it a tug. “No, no, I’ll be quiet now, promise.”
Oswald gives him what he assumes to be a skeptical look but he lies back down nevertheless, the space between them shrinking by a couple of inches. He doesn’t dislodge Ed’s hand from where it comes to rest, curled around his wrist, and Ed doesn’t take it back.
Silence settles over them, but it’s serene this time, familiar and relaxed. Focused more on the rise and fall of Oswald’s chest in front of him and the faint pulse under his fingertips than on the shadows that had been keeping him alert earlier, Ed finally feels his eyes start to droop, suddenly overwhelmed by the night’s emotional twists.
He has no idea when he drifts off to sleep but when he wakes up feeling unusually rested, a few hours too early judging by the grey light filling the room, Ed has his face pressed to Oswald’s shoulder. Somehow having managed to slip down the bed and curl into the other man, he’s also succeeded in throwing an arm across Oswald’s stomach. There’s a warm weight on top of it, and a minute shift of his head and a quick glance downwards confirms that one of Oswald’s hands is resting on his forearm.
Nonplussed and only half awake, Ed considers untangling himself and getting up to start the day early. Oswald chooses that moment to sigh in his sleep, and Ed feels it ruffle his hair.
Tucking his face back into the warmth of Oswald’s shoulder, he decides to stay in bed.