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The black shadow approached the door, always slightly open, and entered the dark room. The kid wasn't sleeping and they knew that, but he was weirdly quiet, his breathing nearly nonexistent. The Nightmare said nothing, however, and watched as small glimpse of bright blue eyes could be seem between the blankets.
"It's been a while since I've felt this much pain", he confessed weakly, his small cheek filled with tears. Oliver felt that his throat had finally dried out, and it made speaking even more painful. The boy was curled in his bed, arms wrapped around himself, seeking comfort.
There was that constant wonder, constant fear that Oliver would die, even if the accident happened a year ago, but Nightmare was unpleased with any mention of it. Their kid wasn't going to die. Not under their watch. Nightmare lowered so their face reached the level of her kid's face. The reddish light was illuminating the small face and he fought the urge to keep his eyes closed till the bear touched him. The tender touch was Nightmare's way of saying that everything was alright, Nightmare's way of saying she loved him. She rarely talked and, when they did, it had a dry, hoarse tone in it. Nightmarionne once mentioned it was because their voice box was damaged, but Oliver never had the courage to ask about it. Maybe tomorrow he could sneak into his father's room and replace it. It wasn't like dad was going to notice. He never did. The child sighed, his hand searching for the monster's face in the pity black bedroom, till he gently touched it. The thin fingers were hidden between the animatronic's fur and Oliver could make small curls on it.
The child was precious to them, even if she didn't understand this feeling.
Maybe it was it: feeling. They never thought they would be able to feel an burning fire in her soul, that she could sacrifice herself for his child. But they would.
He was their son after all, their family, and Nightmare wouldn't change it in a billion years.