I own nothing but my fics…technically speakin'. Yeap.

It wasn't until long after Eustace had fallen asleep that Lucy would dare to creep from her own sleeping quarters, sneaking quietly on over to his, where - of course - Edmund also slept. Her tendencies to creep to his room would come almost nightly as of late, especially if she had just awoken from a bad night scare or two. Sometimes the dreams would involve battles, sometimes they featured the White Witch. Sometimes they were simply haunted by phantoms and goblins made of her own unconscious imagination. Whatever the reason behind them, they scared her, and rightly so. So she'd sneak from her room, dressed in her evening gown, and tiptoe on into where Edmund and Eustace's were.

When she felt particularly brave, she'd step right on up to Edmund's , she happened to be feeling just so brave. Peering down at her brother, she'd, as always, swallow back a strange, unnerving urge to cry. A tightness in her chest almost always arising at this time - and again tonight - the petite, brunette young woman would reach outward with a shaking hand, wishing she were younger. If only she were, then she might not feel so odd to be here, nearing tears at her brother's bedside, wishing to be held; to be comforted.

But she was not younger - definitely no longer a child. She had no business crying, had no business desiring the arms of Edmund. In fact, in a way, it felt quite queer to her. The way her blood moved through her veins at these times - snakelike, uncertain, ready to spring upon her with unexpected thoughts and palpatations of pulse - it was quite strange to her, to say the least. It was as if she was unnerved to the point of no return, shaking, trembling - the only thing that would steady her would be his comforting touch. But all the same, the coiling blood in her body jerked at her chest, shortening her breathing at the thought of doing such a thing, of crawling beneath the covers with him.

Wrong… the word would echo throughout her mind. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong; simply wrong.

Why exactly it was wrong, she could never quite answer herself. She simply felt that it was. And yet, she wanted it all the same. She wished so dearly that her brother would open his arms up, open his bed to her - hold her, tell her everything would be alright.

This was no magic place - this was cold, harsh reality, but at the very least, reality provided the safety of not allowing simple dreams to become reality. No phantom goblin witches could truly touch her here, but she needed to hear this from Edmund somehow, for some reason. Otherwise, they might very well be able to come and grab her, kidnapping her, taking her far, far away, never to see her brother again…

And then came the tears, at long last, in earnest. They felt warm and yet somehow crude as they slipped down her cheeks, drop by drop, curling down beneath her chin as her hands continued to shake. Why did she feel so strange, so inwardly tormented? Why couldn't she simply reach her hand further, shaking Edmund awake, letting him know that something was wrong with her? Maybe she feared that even more - the thought of him realizing just how twisted and confused and corrupt she was deep down inside.

Wrong.

"Lucy?"

Nearly jumping out of her own skin at the unexpected sound of Edmund's voice, the pale-skinned young woman darted her eyes downward, to stare at the moonlit face of her dear brother. "Yes, Edmund?" she managed to whisper, her tears still falling.

Giving a yawn, the dark-haired young man shook his head a bit as he leant up slightly beneath his covers. "What are you doing in here? Are you crying? What's happened?"

So many questions from him, so little reasoning to work with to actually answer him within her. Feeling all the more overwhelmed, poor Lucy simply collapsed down at the side of his bed, coming to sit down atop the edge of the covers, in spite of her ongoing, inward wrong mantra.

"I don't even know where to begin, Edmund," she whispered in a shaky voice, moving her hands frantically to wipe away at her ever-falling tears.

"Did you have a bad dream or something?" the older brother ventured to ask, sitting up just a bit more as he moved a hand out, stroking his sister's hair in a gentle, comforting fashion.

"Do you have to be such a good guesser?" Lucy replied, turning her head away from him. "I guess I came in here because of the bad dream, but then I wasn't sure I should wake you…"

"Why not?" Edmund asked, continued to stroke her hair. "Times can be scary now and then, especially lately. You can come to me. I'm not always the kindest about these things, I know, but, I don't want to see you so upset either, Luce'."

"Are you sure I'm not just a bother?" she asked him in return, moving to slip beneath the covers with him as he lifted them for her, inviting her toward him.

"Well," he answered, as he moved his arms around her, hugging her as he planted a kiss against her forehead. "Not all of the time, you're not."

Smiling as she snuggled more against Edmund, into his arms, Lucy felt relieved almost at once. Her trembling was coming to an end, and her tears were beginning to slow to a stop, as well.

"Why didn't you just wake me up before you got yourself all worked up?" Edmund murmured to her, rubbing her back soothingly as he held her.

"I - it probably sounds silly now, but, I just figured I was too old to come to you after all this time, crying about nightmares and such."

Thinking this over for a moment, Edmund finally answered her, "Nah, you're never too old for me to hold, Lucy. You can get that idea out of your head."

"Okay, Edmund, I'll try to," she replied, snuggling in just a bit more next to him, before closing her eyes, eventually drifting back off to a more peaceful sleep.