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It's becoming harder to sleep at night. Oswald wakes at 2, 3, 4 in the morning with a head full of monsters and a mouth full of bile. He's started to have nightmares, night terrors even, dreaming of his mother, of Fish Mooney, of Jim Gordon pointing a gun at his head and pulling the trigger. He dreams of Ed with a bleeding mouth, unable to speak let alone tell riddles.
He now goes to the kitchen when he wakes up in the early hours of the morning, to make himself a cup of cocoa and to stare out of the window at the moon. The moon grounds him, tells him he's in the real world, that he's safe. If the real world is even safe any more.
He always tries to be quiet, so that he doesn't wake up Ed, passed out on the sofa with an antique blanket draped over him, but one night he turns, and catches the gleam of Ed's eyes in the moonlight. They stare at one another for a moment, before Oswald sharply turns, and goes back to bed, abandoning his mug on the side. In the morning it's washed up, and Ed has left a a packet of sleeping pills.
I weaken all men for hours each day.
I show you strange visions while you are away.
I take you by night, by day take you back,
None suffer to have me, but do from my lack.
What am I? Sleep.
Oswald laughs dryly and places the pills in his coat pocket. All throughout the day he slides his hand inside his pocket, just to make sure they're there, that it wasn't a dream. He presses his finger against the edge of the aluminium packet until it hurts, and then sucks his finger into his mouth to stem the pain.
The pills do not work.
It's a couple of weeks later when Oswald has the Nightmare, with a capital N. He dreams of his mother with her throat slit open, croaking out to him for help, spraying him with crimson blood. He dreams of drowning in Gotham dock, of ghostly hands holding him down so he'll never reach the surface. He dreams of his first kill, only he is the victim, and a fish hook is lodged in his gullet.
He wakes, screaming, to Ed shaking him awake. It takes a couple of moments for him to orient himself, trying to push Ed away, but Ed holds him firm, mumbling something that Oswald can't understand.
“It's okay.” Ed murmurs, his fingers digging into Oswald's shoulders, “I'm here.”
It isn't much of a comfort but Oswald takes it, closing his eyes tight but the visions only swim up from his brain. He forces his eyes open, focussing on Ed instead, on his spectacles, his drawn together eyebrows, his mouth-
“Don't touch me.” He snaps, pushing Ed away successfully. “I'm not a child.”
Ed doesn't reply, merely sitting down on the edge of the bed, staring at Oswald. “Your nightmares are getting worse.” He says finally, and Oswald scoffs.
“They're nothing.” He says, and runs a hand through his sweat drenched hair. “Nothing to fear.”
“I make you weak at the worst of all times.” Ed starts, and Oswald rolls his eyes at the riddle. “I keep you safe, I keep you fine. I make your hands sweat, and your heart grow cold, I visit the weak, but seldom the bold. What am I?”
“Annoying.” Oswald replies, and Ed sighs.
“Answer properly.” He orders, and Oswald thinks for a moment, running over in his head what Ed has just told him.
“Hands sweat, visit weak, and never the bold.” He repeats, and then looks up at Ed. “I'm fear.”
Ed breaks into a grin, and Oswald could throw a pillow at him if he had the energy. “Congratulations.”
“You're welcome.” Oswald replies sarcastically, and then settles himself back in bed. “Now, go back to the couch. I don't need you any more.”
Ed raises his eyebrow. Oswald raises his back.
“Very well.” Ed replies, and then pulls the covers over Oswald like a mother hen. “Good night Mr Cobblepot.”
“My name is Oswald!” Oswald calls after him, but Ed has already slunk back to the couch, and Oswald is alone.
Sleep swallows him up that night, like a hungry serpent.