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It’s him again.
Every night, at the foot of his bed, he sees him. Then he shuts his eyes and pretends to go back to sleep. Nightmare is sure he’s past the age of being afraid of imaginary strangers in his room, but this scary dream- the man in black- has watched over him for as long as he can remember. It’s just that he always goes away before his brother can see him, and only shows up when Nightmare is supposed to be asleep.
When he’s alone.
He hasn’t tried to speak to him before. Nightmare’s too scared to try talking to him, and the man hasn’t said a single word. But no one knows about him, and no one has ever mentioned a monster like him. Dream knows he exists, but he can never catch him. His brother is always asleep before the shadow man shows up.
It’s dangerous, but Nightmare feels safe around him.
Of every person he’s ever known besides his brother, the shadow man has never hurt him. Not like the villagers have. Not even like how his brother has. All the man does is watch, with that big blue eye, slitted like a cat and lidded almost sleepily. Perhaps Nightmare is just projecting onto him, though. He feels close to him, like he knows him well despite how their meetings are limited always to the shadows of his room past the late hours, that heavy gaze resting comfortably on his form under the quilt like an added blanket.
Nightmare sometimes has silly daydreams about him, when he’s gone. Of the shadow man taking him away from this horrible, wretched place, and keeping him safe and treating him like a son or a little brother, of taking care of him and kissing his scrapes or bruises and hurting the people who hurt him. He dreams of the shadow man defending them, standing up for his brother where Nightmare fails, loving them both as a new family. He wants it. It’s a stupid, worthless fantasy, but it gives him peace. He knows after a day of being beaten down into the mud or getting pushed into rocks, that the shadows will always be there- waiting, patiently, in the corner of his room. They have shown up every night for him, always watching.
He knows that if the stranger wanted to hurt him, he would have done so by now. Dream was once afraid of him, and so was Nightmare. But they were never harmed, and so Nightmare trusted him. Most of all, he just wanted for there to be someone, anyone he could trust not to hurt him.
His eyes are heavy again, but he fights them, wanting to ensure the man is there. He knows he’s real, he can feel his emotions and the way they lazily flow from bemusement and curiosity. Perhaps he should be bothered by how the man always invades their privacy, but Nightmare finds it comforting as well. To know someone will at least shelter them when Nightmare can’t keep watch for Dream.
“Goodnight,” the word slips out, barely audible in the thick blanket of silence in the room. Nightmare lets his eyes shut, sighing out softly against the pillow. At his back, Dream snores softly, tired and worn out from a long day in the fields. Nightmare scoots up against his brother to steal his warmth, and settles with another soft exhale.
In the soothing darkness behind his eyelids, he hears and senses for the first time- movement. Again the soft and warm glow of bemusement, before it changes to something close to the same affection he’s sensed from Dream. Nightmare is too tired to be hopeful that it’s real, slipping too quickly into the gentle embrace of slumber to realize how close the shade has come to his bedside, removed from his post in the corner.
Something cool brushes against his brow.
“Goodnight.” A low voice murmurs.