Harry has nightmares (Patreon)

Just something soft for the cold! I hope you are all doing fantastic! :D 

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i.

Harry has nightmares.

Not every night; they are episodic in nature, appearing in times of great stress. If Harry was meant to have a busy week or so, Y/N mentally prepared to be woken in the middle of the night by his thrashing body, or the murmured, incoherent whimpers of panic. He had a habit too where he would grab ahold of her in his sleep and hold on just a touch too tight -- she’d often wake to his hand clasped around her forearm even if no other body part of his is touching her. The blankets may be pressed off of him because he’s sweating, or curled so tightly around his body that she was left with the fan whipping cold air on her goosebump riddled body.

The conditions were not completely favorable to rest in all the time, but she would never leave for the couch. His thrashing or cries would happen for a moment, wake her, and in turn, she would coax him awake as gently as she could. She would pull him from the dream until his eyes fluttered open and he looked at her all dazed and confused, the dream an uncoordinated mess of imagery he could never make sense of to explain. By morning he never really remembered it, but within the first few minutes of being awake, he was still a bit shaken, so Y/N would cuddle him close and ground him. The thought of Harry waking up alone after one of his nightmares makes her heart ache, so there was no way she could ever leave the bed for the night knowing that he was having one. It’s what most people did to him, Harry had once told her, and she had never heard of something so cruel.

This is why, as soon as he told her on Sunday about the upcoming week he was going to have, she took care to set things up beforehand. She had the tea ready to be steeped in water, the toaster set up so she could make him a chocolate chip waffle, a flannel was already on the basin of the sink in the bathroom ready to be wet with cool water for his sweaty head. The rest was really dependent on how he was when he woke -- if he got cold after the tea and waffle, she would have warm, fuzzy socks to keep his feet cozy. If he sweats a lot, she would change his pillowcase to a clean cool one that she keeps on their dresser every night. Maybe his nose will be stuffy -- it usually is when he’s just woken up -- so she has a vial of peppermint oil for him to sniff to clear him right up.

It helped to have it set up, so then she could take care of him quickly, and she didn’t mind it because she knew he would do the same. She doesn’t tell him about the care and thought she puts into it if she feels he may have a nightmare, because she doesn’t want him to feel bad or like he is any sort of burden. As of now, Harry just thought she was super quick and incredibly sufficient in always knowing exactly where everything is and exactly what to do.

So she was more than prepared by 2 AM, when her eyes flutter open to the darkroom and her ears tune in to the distinct whimpers of Harry amidst a nightmare. They are pitiful as always and make her heartache enough that she is never in the least bit upset with him, even on the days that she has to wake up early. Luckily, tomorrow she was off work and really if it took him an hour or two to fall back asleep it hurt her none because she could sleep the day away if she so chooses.

Still, that doesn’t make her any less prompt in laying her hand on his shoulder and giving him a proper little shake, “Hey,” she starts, though it's scratchy, and just barely above a whisper so she clears her throat, “Harry, Sweetheart, come on,” she gives him another shake, “Wake up, you’re having a nightmare.” It takes a little coaxing but eventually his eyes to blink open, with his brows deepened in a furrow and his mouth in a small pout -- nobody likes nightmares, but when Harry realizes he’s just been woken up from one, he’s more so upset that she’s awake. It doesn’t matter to him how many times she assures him that she doesn’t mind it -- that she would rather be up and able to help him rather than him being stuck in a shitty dream -- he still feels guilty each time.

“You were having a nightmare, Bunny,” she tells him, brushing the strands of hair that clung to his forehead away from his face, back into the mass of curls that flopped around his head, “Are you up right now or is sleep you staring at me?”

A small smile twitched at his mouth, “M’up.”

“Good,” she murmurs, “Do you feel like you could fall back asleep soon, or do you want some tea?”

He takes a moment, blinking a couple of times, each a little harder than the last like he’s trying to fully alert his brain and focus his gaze. Bringing his lips in, he lulls his tongue over his dry mouth and stretches his arms away from his body, “I -- I don’t know,” he answers, reaching up to rub at his eye a little, then scratching at his brow, “I may get up to make myself some tea?”

“Don’t worry about it, Bunny, I’ll go make it,” she’s already thrown the covers away from her body before he could protest, “Do you want a bath?”

“No, no, I’m -- I’m okay. Need’a wee though.”

“Right then, have your wee, and I’ll meet you back up here.” She slips on her slippers -- the bear pair that Harry had a matching pair of on his side of the bed, but that’s truly her only defense against the attack of the cold house. They tried to keep it warm, but it was hard to heat up a place as big as this one, Y/N was soon to find out when she moved in with him. There were a lot of things Y/N had to get used to that Harry had long since been used to living in a big home -- one of which is the amount of time it took to get to the kitchen from their bedroom. Another thing is how, if not decorated with much in a space, there was a bit of an echo. While most of the home was decorated in a way that made it feel cozy and homelike (Harry was good at that) there were bits that it was just hard to make like that. She couldn’t remember the last time she was in a kitchen she considered homely.

Still, she still got nervous walking around in the dark just because that’s who she was. She’d seen far too many movies where quiet big halls at night were probably the worst place to be -- but she lets go of this fear in times like this. Harry needed just those small bits of comfort to ease his mind into a restful sleep, and she would go toe-to-toe with a demon if it meant she could make him comfortable.

The kettle is already set on the stove she fills it, fixes the mug she had set up and opens the sleepy time tea bag he liked (“Don’t let anyone know I like this brand, I might get my Brit card revoked.”). While she waits for the water to boil, she makes a judgement call and pulls out one of the chocolate chip waffles and plunks two in the toaster. It was very hard to get Harry to ask for what he wanted in times like these, so through a lot of trial and error, and plenty of guesses, she could kind of figure where he was. If he’s getting up for a wee, then he’ll be up for at least 20 minutes and in that time if she isn’t up with him, he’ll toss and turn. But he’ll never ask her to stay up with him, so she brings two waffles with his tea under the guise that she wanted the waffles and made one for him just in case. Then she’ll nibble and bite at the waffle while he eats his and drinks his tea, so technically she has a reason to be up apart from him being awake.

It’s just one of those things -- the fact that Harry never asks, only makes her want to do it more. She knows he’s miserable if he’s ever alone with his nightmares and trying to fall back asleep afterward, so why would she let him be miserable when she’s sat right beside him. And he appreciates it so clearly and so wholeheartedly, she can see it in his eyes, and in the tender way he murmurs ‘I love you’s’ before they both fall back asleep.

Harry was like that. He liked to be the person who took care of everyone -- if he could cater to the whole world, she knew that he would -- but he forgets about himself. And, even if people don’t mean to, it’s so easy to suckle at that softhearted side of him without extending the same courtesy. So her waking up for an hour to help Harry get back to sleep after a bad dream is in no way a burden, because she knows he would do the same for her in a heartbeat. He had done the same for her.

Y/N wasn’t plagued with nightmares but when she had them, they were bad, and she always woke up pretty frazzled and a little incoherent to the situation around her. She didn’t really know this though because it was rare she had someone over when it would happen. Nothing triggered them, her subconscious just loved to hum a hymn of horror every now and again.

One night, she’d been having one and Harry had already been awake tapping on his keyboard (she fell asleep while they were sat on his bed, the TV playing low in the back), and he was quick to wake her. He shook her awake when she gave a distressed cry and while she was blurry and confused and didn’t understand why she was frightened, she was so unbelievably comforted by him she didn’t know what to do. Her brain didn’t even have time to go through its usual tirade of fright, because she felt so safe -- he shut his computer, moved it off the bed, and immediately pulled her in for a snuggle, “Darling, I’m sorry to wake you but you were having a bad dream,” he had murmured, “Silly little thing, let’s get you back to sleep, hm? Do you need anything?”

He was always so warm and gentle; he exuded benevolence from his pores, she’d told him once, that’s why his skin was so nice.

Y/N is amidst her reverie when a soft, “Boo,” makes her jump, but she only rolls her eyes when she realizes that Harry’s come downstairs, “Baby if I was a werewolf would you still love me?”

“What are you doing down here, Goose? I told you I’d meet you back in bed.” She questioned him as the kettle whistled brightly.

He scrunches his nose with a snuffle, before running his index finger over the scruffy hair that he’d grown above his lip, “I know you don’t like being down here by yourself,” he tells her, before adding, “You didn’t answer my question.”

Her heart swells in her chest, “That depends -- are you a Michael J. Fox werewolf or a Twilight werewolf?”

He seems to consider this for a moment, before responding, “Twilight werewolf, but none of the like -- embarrassing creepy bits.”

“I’d consider it,” she teases as she pours the hot water into the mug, the steam swirling in the air around her face, “As long as you didn’t shed on the couch.”

Harry pouts his mouth, and the waffles pop from the toaster. He walks toward it and carefully removes them, placing them on the plate she had already set up for them, “You’re the one who does the shedding, and you don’t even have to be a wolf for it -- think your hair is all over this place. Can’t go anywhere without having a strand of it on me.”

“Like I don’t have brown hair all over me when you have your head in my lap.”

“If you’re yanking my tangles out, then yeah you’ll have some!” He defends himself, but Y/N can only giggle as finishes stirring in the milk to his tea, and  she grabs herself a water, “You’re not drinking tea?”

“Not today bug, there was only one left.” She tells him, starting to lead their way back to the bedroom.

“We’ll share it then,” he says decisively, and Y/N doesn’t bother fighting him on it -- when he says something with that much conviction, it was hopeless to argue.

They crawl back into their bed, Y/N inconspicuously feels his pillow to see if he’d sweat on it but she was pleased to find it dry -- that usually means she woke up pretty quickly and could stop it before it had gotten too bad. Harry sets the plate of waffles on a decorative pillow that had practically been kicked off the bed in their sleep, and holds out the mug, “Have the first sip.”

This is a subtle way Harry shows her his love. The first sip was the best sip, Harry was a firm believer, and he savored that first little drink he got of anything. When he was offering it to her, he was offering something that was important to him, no matter how small, and any time he does it, she thinks she could gush about it for weeks. It’s why she leans forward, pushes a kiss to the corner of his mouth before placing her hand on the mug and maneuvering it back to him, “You have the first sip Bunny, please. Made it for you.”

She grabs a waffle instead and begins to nibble on it while he smiled and reveled in the first sip he takes, after bringing the lip of the mug to his mouth, “D’ya wanna come with me tomorrow?” Harry asks her, and she looks over him - his eyes puffy from sleep, and his hair tossed every which way, “S’for pictures but they’ve got a nice complimentary table. Biggest, softest muffins I reckon I’ve ever had -- and we can do lunch after, before my meeting. . .you could come ot that too.”

Y/N laughs a bit, “Do you want me to go?”

“Only if you want to go.” He rushes to say, and Y/N pinches at the muscle on his thigh, just right of his tiger tattoo, “If you wanna stay home and enjoy your off day, I get that too.”

“I won’t be in the way?” She clarifies, because sometimes Harry doesn’t really think through her being involved when there’s a project he’s in, that every bit of free space on the set is filled and she’s wandering around, attempt not to be a speed bump for anyone rushing around.

Harry grins, “Course not! This one’s a small thing with Helene, yeah? So it’s not such a. . .stiff, and professional kinda thing.”

“Yeah, I’ll go,” she nudges his foot with her own, “As long as you don’t try to ambush me with any pictures.”

“I make no promises.”

After they’ve finished, Y/N sets the dishes on bedside table and turns to find Harry was holding up the covers for her to crawl beneath. She tuts her tongue though as she snuggles beneath them, sitting higher up on the mountain of pillows, “You’ve been demoted to little spoon for the night, Bunny,” she tells him, holding out her arms, but Harry cuddles close to her without even a breath of a thought.

“Not a demotion when I love it so much,” Y/N chuckles, letting her eyes flutter shut as she danced her fingers along his shoulder. After a moment, he murmurs, “Baby?” He begins and she hums her response, to let him know she was still awake, “I love you.”

Y/N nestles her face in his curls, “Love you more.”

Harry groans, “Don’t even start this fight, m’too tired,” he grumbles.

Only a moment passes before he speaks again.

“I love you more though.”