Clara rolled out of bed and shuffled down the corridor to the bathroom, yawning widely. Behind her she heard Danny snoring lightly. On her way back to bed, she looked into both her children's rooms. Four year old Chloe was sprawled on her stomach with one arm strangling her teddy bear with her thumb in her mouth. But when she peered round the door of six year old Luke's room, she saw the light glinting on a pair of grey blue eyes.
"Hey sweetie, what's wrong?" she whispered, tiptoeing into the room. Luke pulled the duvet down from underneath his eyes.
"I think there's something under the bed," he replied, eyes wide. Clara smiled gently, reminded of two other little boys she'd once known. "Don't stand too close! It'll grab you."
"Come here," she said.
She slid onto the floor and lifted up the covers. Hesitantly Luke slipped down beside her. Together they lay down on their stomachs and looked under the bed. There was an old shoebox, an action man, an assorted collection of lego bricks, a lone sock that had been missing for a month and a slightly mouldy half eaten jammy dodger.
"See. There's nothing here," she said. They sat up and Luke climbed onto her lap. Clara stroked his hair. "It's okay to be scared you know," she added.
"Boys aren't sposed to be scared," he mumbled. "That's what Josh said."
"Boys are scared all the time. You think your dad's never scared?"
"Only of you."
"Cheeky." Clara smirked, pinching his cheek. The boy wrapped his arms around her neck. "Did you know that fear is a superpower?"
Luke sat back and looked at her skeptically.
"Like Superman?"
"Exactly. There is so much blood pumping round your body right now. You can run faster, fight harder, jump higher than anyone else. Fear doesn't have to make you cruel or cowardly. Fear can make you kind. Fear makes you stronger, cleverer, faster," she explained. "That's why it's a superpower. You're always scared. But that's okay. Because fear is like a companion. And that means we're never alone. Fear makes companions of us all. Now, back to bed. It's far too late for little boys to be awake."
Once back in her own bed, Clara lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She remembered the little boy in the barn who was afraid of the dark, but who would rather be alone than let anyone else see him cry. The same little boy who would grow up to travel the stars throughout his many different faces until eventually he'd had a face with the same grey blue eyes and eyebrows as the boy she'd just tucked into bed.