It was dark.

This frustrated and annoyed Mrs. Lovett to no end, as she had always been under the impression that when one dreamt, one should be able to see the things one dreamt of. Nevertheless, she made her way down dark, musty corridors, through black-painted doors whose handles rattled and turned of their own accord under her hands, and over misty plains under starless skies.

Also, something was chasing her. She didn't know exactly what it was, but she could guess. It breathed flakes of pastry down her neck, hissed and coughed in a way that suggested it had been gargling blood, and when it got too close, Mrs. Lovett could smell the stench of burning flesh on its breath.

Dreaming, or more specifically the burning need not to dream, was the main reason Nellie Lovett dreaded sleep. And yet here she was, crouched in a dark corner, as a monstrous devil that was somehow a union of a meat pie and a razor sniffed about the shop and took a bite out of one of the windows. Crunching glass and spitting blood, the demon at last turned on Mrs. Lovett, who had no choice but to scream.

…

Toby had fallen asleep on the parlour floor again, curled protectively around a bottle of gin. Mrs. Lovett's scream woke him, as screams often do, and he sat up, groggy and disoriented. It was only when she screamed a second time that Toby realised there was something wrong, and the noise hadn't been transplanted from his own dreams.

Pushing the bottle aside, Toby got up and cautiously poked his head around Mrs. Lovett's bedroom door. Growing up in the workhouse had not been kind to the young boy's manners, and he had no more reservations about interrupting a lady's privacy (for Mrs. Lovett was the most like a lady Toby had ever encountered) than he did about stepping on a cockroach.

Mrs. Lovett lay thrashing in her bed, no longer screaming but moaning. As Toby tiptoed to her bedside, she whimpered incoherently and fell still, a single tear making its way innocently down her cheek and into her ear.

"Mum," Toby whispered, gently prodding her shoulder. "Mum, wake up. You're having a nightmare."

"Back, you horrible thing!" Mrs. Lovett cried suddenly. "I won't be having with none of that, not in my shop!"

"Mum!" Toby cried, beginning to panic, as Mrs. Lovett's face was becoming drawn and white with either fear or rage, he was unsure which. "It's only a dream, mum!"

In desperation, he ran to the kitchen and filled a pitcher with water, staying out of the room for just long enough that he missed Mrs. Lovett letting out a string of curses.

Toby clumsily slopped the water over Mrs. Lovett's face, and she exploded into consciousness with a shout, sitting up and flinging her arms out wildly.

"Toby dear!" she managed, once she had sufficiently regained sense as well as wakefulness. "What's all this then, love?"

Toby looked at the pitcher in his hand guiltily. "I… You was having a nightmare, mum. I had to wake you."

Mrs. Lovett smiled. "Oh, love. You're a sweet little thing and no mistake, ain't you? Now back to bed with you, and we'll sort this mess out in the morning, eh?"

"Alright, mum," Toby agreed. He looked around the room for a moment, and decided to deposit the pitcher next to the bed.

Mrs. Lovett moved to the other side of the bed she had once shared with Albert- Mr. Todd was asleep upstairs on her only clean bedding- and blinked drowsily at Toby, who persisted in standing in the doorway.

"Off with you now, darling," she yawned. "Go on."

Toby approached the end of the bed. "I think I should stay here," he said. "The nightmare might come back."

"Alright then, love," Mrs. Lovett consented. "I ain't nothing you should be fussing over, but…"

Sleep claimed the rest of her sentence, and she found herself looking not at Toby but at some bastard son of Mr. Todd and old Mister Whatshisface, the Eye-talian. The man looked at her maliciously, raised a razor to strike-

- And was gone, replaced by something Mrs. Lovett couldn't quite name, but something that was warm and complete.

…

Toby huddled closer to Mrs. Lovett, putting his arms around her as best he could. He hoped the contact would comfort her somehow. And even if it didn't, he was glad of the company.

...

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