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Simon jolted awake, a scream on his lips as he lashed out at the shape before him. His fist connected and there was a grunt of pain, but it only brought more fear with it as Simon kicked the covers off and scrambled back against the headboard, crammed into the corner.
It was dark. Too dark. Tommy was there, somewhere, and there was still blood on Simon’s hands and he needed to help him, but he could only scream.
The figure shifted and Simon jerked, his body frozen while his mind demanded him to run, but then the light on his bedside table switched on. He threw an arm over his head, blinded.
“Help!” he cried out, though he knew none would come. He was the help; he was supposed to help mum and Tommy, protect them and keep them safe, but he was terrified. A broken sob formed in his throat and he shook his head. He had failed them. “I’m sorry!”
The bed dipped under new weight, and moments later there was a hand on his wrist, gently pulling it away from his face.
“No, nono! Please!” Simon’s head struck the wall in his haste to get away, but there was nowhere to go. He had inadvertently trapped himself in the corner. Another sob clawed its way out of him.
“Simon, it’s okay. You’re safe.” A firm voice said. A familiar voice. Simon’s breath hitched, but he didn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t. He was too scared.
Weak. Pathetic.
“It was a nightmare. You’re safe, Simon, I promise.”
“John?” Simon whispered with a trembling voice.
“Yeah, kiddo, it’s me.” John’s voice was soft and gentle. There was no trace of anger. “You with me?”
Simon took a shaky breath before slowly opening his eyes. The light no longer hurt his eyes, but it took a moment for his vision to adjust. John smiled at him, a small but comforting little thing, but Simon’s attention was soon drawn to the reddening mark under his left eye.
He had done that.
He had hit John.
Ice flooded Simon’s veins and a strangled sound tore past his lips. “I didn’t– I didn’t mean to– to–”
He lurched forward, nearly falling off the bed as he scrambled to his feet. He couldn’t breathe. John called out after him, but Simon rushed out of the room and into the bathroom across the hall, his shoulder clipping the door frame. He reached the toilet just in time to avoid making a mess as the contents of his stomach came back up.
He had hit John.
“‘m sorry, I’m sorry,” he cried out, trembling violently when he heard John step into the bathroom. “‘m– I didn’t mean to! I thought– Please don’t hurt me!”
John sat down next to him, leaning against the sink. “I’m not going to hurt you, son. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“But I–”
“No buts,” John shook his head and carefully, giving Simon the time to move away, placed a hand on his shoulder. “You were having a nightmare, it happens. It’s not the first time I’ve caught a punch or two after waking up people – a few times without nightmares being involved, too.”
Simon drew in a shaky breath, shuffling closer to John when he was convinced there was nothing left in his stomach to come up. “You’re not mad?”
“Of course not,” John huffed. He put his arm out silently, and after a moment of hesitation, Simon curled against his side. “I’m proud of you, really. That was one hell of a punch.”
Simon sniffled softly, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. The fear and adrenaline were finally beginning to fade and he was left feeling drained. He wanted to stand up and wash away the awful taste from his mouth, but he didn’t want to move. John was warm and safe. Not angry. Nothing like his father.
A small, sad sound left his lips. “I saw Tommy. Or– I thought I did. He needed my help, but suddenly I wasn’t there anymore and– I failed him. I was supposed to protect him!”
“Oh, son.” John tucked Simon’s head under his chin. “You did everything you could, but you were just a child. You should never have been put in that position in the first place.”
“He didn’t– he didn’t deserve to–” He was crying again, full on sobbing as he clung to John and got his shirt wet. “I miss him!”
“I know you do, son, I know,” John murmured, placing a brief kiss on the crown of his head.
“I think–I think he'd have liked you, a lot.”
John just hugged him tighter, holding him through his tears. His hugs were safe. They were warm and secure, and there was no threat of violence, of punishment of any kind.
“I think we should go downstairs, make some hot chocolate, and watch some late night film together,” John said, once Simon’s sobs had quieted into sniffles and he had regained some semblance of control over his breathing.
“But don’t you have work in the morning?” Simon peered up at him through his lashes, cautiously hopeful. He didn’t think he was going to be able to fall asleep again tonight, his brain far too frazzled after the nightmare.
“I think they can survive without me for one day.” John gave him a soft smile before giving his back a pat. “C’mon, I’m too old to be sitting on the floor for this long. Can you grab us a few blankets while I go and get the hot chocolate started?”
“Thanks,” Simon murmured and hugged John one more time, then reluctantly let go of him to get back to his feet. “For, you know…”
“Anytime, son.” John waited until he was steadily back on his feet before following suit, his knees popping loud enough to draw a brief grin from Simon. “Not a word, unless you want your hot chocolate without marshmallows.”
Simon’s grin widened, a bit of shine back in his eyes, and he offered John a mock salute as he slipped out of the room to fetch some blankets for them.
Less than ten minutes later they found themselves on the couch, buried under what John insisted was too many blankets – which was simply not possible. The warmth from the mug John had passed over to Simon helped him feel calmer, grounded, and he gently blew into it. John hadn’t lied, there was practically a mountain of marshmallows on top, and it made him feel oddly warm. Loved.
“Can we watch Alien?” Simon asked, smiling into his drink when John’s gaze snapped to him.
“Absolutely not.” John shook his head. “You muppet. I’m going to introduce you to Monty Python’s Life of Brian.”
“Isn’t that, like, super old?”
John’s eyes narrowed; the innocent look on Simon’s face didn’t appear to fool him. “I regret giving you all those marshmallows. Life of Brian is a classic.”
“I’ll bite if you try to take away my marshmallows.”
John huffed a laugh and bumped shoulders with Simon. “Shush, the film’s starting – and drink your hot chocolate before it goes cold.”
Simon took a careful sip, melting into the cushions at the sweet taste of chocolate. The nightmare was gone from his mind, and the combination of the blankets, the hot chocolate, and John’s presence left him feeling warm and content.
Safe.