Whenever Alfred watched scary movies, he had nightmares of things in his room. Dark things, masses that didn't quite have shape, like they were stuck between forms and too lazy to finish changing. They had eyes made of fire, smelled like brimstone and sulfur. Gravity seemed a trivial thing to them, something to be batted away as easily as a fly as they crawled along his ceiling.

He could deal with it though, because as they moved closer and Alfred's fear grew, turned into an ugly, cold lump in his chest, he would wake up. The only problem this time was was that things weren't going according to plan. This time the thing had a form, something human, and it smelled not of Hell but of the cold. The red eyes had instead been replaced with something more muted, a deep lavender that glowed instead of burned. It didn't crawl along so much as it flowed, like fog rolling along a frozen lake.

But worst of all, Alfred decided, as his heart fluttered fast and sweat beaded on his brow and he stared straight up at it, was that he wasn't waking up.

It was hard to blink with the thing in the room. Every time Alfred shut his eyes it seemed to move closer and closer until it was directly above his head. It moved like a spider in small, easy bursts. Alfred took to blinking one eye at a time. As he watched the thing, he tried to figure out when the dream had started.

He'd been all set and ready for bed, curled up cozy-like with two pillows under his head and half a dozen blankets piled on him. He'd hidden his magazines between his mattresses, warm and sated and sleepy. Sure he was in the middle of nowhere with a grouchy brother and no internet, but tomorrow they were going to head into town and the sooner he slept, the sooner tomorrow came.

That was when he noticed the chill, the tickling of cool air at his nose. His hair had been ruffled by a breeze, bangs falling into his face. The summer cabin was old, sure, but it was never drafty, and the insulation wasn't half bad. And Arthur was ever so strict about not turning the air conditioning on at night.

With a groggy huff Alfred had reached out for his glasses, fumbling them between clumsy fingers before he looked around, the room dimly lit by the light of the stars. Nothing looked to be out of place. His clothes were still strewn about, his luggage lying on the floor, full and waiting to be unpacked. The mobile of a solar system that hung from the ceiling spun gently, wobbling as a gust of wind blew through the open window.

That was it, Alfred decided. That was the start of the nightmare, because he never left his window open at night. That was like asking spiders to crawl into your mouth while you slept.

And as he stared at the window the thing came in, viscous and fluid and dark, and Alfred couldn't believe it. He'd been able to do nothing but stare and breathe and wonder what he was even looking at. He hadn't thought about rolling out of bed, of running from the room in a rush of adrenaline. He only thought of waking up, because that was how it was supposed to end.

When he realized this time was different, that this time there was no waking up before the attack, like a dream in which you fall and don't snap awake before the impact of the ground, that he decided he couldn't just lie around. He was seventeen and three-quarters, had a driver's permit, and sometimes he even drank beer. He could handle a stupid monster on his wall.

"Shoo," Alfred hissed. "Go on, get."

The thing stayed on the ceiling, though its form seemed to ebb, shrinking for a moment before it reverted to its original shape. A knot strung itself along in Alfred's throat, bobbing when he swallowed, tight and scratchy and constricting his words.

"I said beat it," Alfred said, but this time there was a wavering in his voice he couldn't suppress, and he was sure he saw a smile in the creature's eyes. "You don't even want to mess with me, I was on the wrestling team in seventh grade and I kicked major ass."

When the creature showed no sign of fear, no sign that Alfred's wrestling talents or shaky voice were any kind of deterrent, Alfred went to plan B. He hollered for Arthur. He'd barely opened his mouth to scream when the thing dropped.

It was like being instantly buried beneath an avalanche, the weight impossibly heavy. All the warmth in Alfred's body was leeched from him, replaced with nothing but a pulsing cold that sank into the marrow of his bones. He kept up his screaming, Arthur's name turning into a gibberish cry as Alfred found he no longer knew where his body ended and the creature's began.

But then as quickly as the creature was on him it was gone, Alfred's scream tapering off as his door flew open, the knob slamming back against the wall. Alfred lay as still as he could on the bed, fingers fisted in the sheets, eyes fixed into a wide, terrified stare as his chest heaved.

"Alfred. Alfred, what are you going on about in here?" Arthur said as he bolted to the bed. His hands found their way to Alfred's shoulders, gripping them tightly. "Were you having another one of your dreams? You're shaking like a leaf," he tutted softly.

"There was something on the ceiling," Alfred gasped out. "It got in through the window─ it opened the window."

"Shh," Arthur soothed as he turned on the bedside lamp. "Nothing is in here Alfred, it was a nightmare. The window─" Arthur's head turned for a moment before snapping back. "─ is not even open."

Alfred scrubbed a hand over his face, his skin slick with a clammy sweat. He didn't try arguing with Arthur, didn't try to tell him how cold it had been and how heavy it was. Nightmares were only a weight on the mind, but this one had been too physical, too real. But no matter how Alfred argued, Arthur would brush it off as he always had in the past.

Arthur sat quietly by as Alfred slowly settled himself, a certain sincerity and anxiousness in the green depths of his eyes. He always spoke with his eyes, not his words. He had a penchant for being blunt and obtuse, for having a sharp tongue and a quick wit that burned like acid even when he had the best of intentions. So Alfred didn't mind that Arthur said nothing, but instead watched him, patting his forearm from time to time.

"Why don't I make you a cuppa?" was all Arthur said when he did manage to speak. "It'll do your nerves good."

Alfred nodded, didn't bother telling Arthur he wasn't shaking from the fear, but the chill that lingered in his blood. Instead he scrabbled out from under the sheets, hands going to his glasses, playing nervously with the arms. He stood when Arthur did, worked up a courage that wasn't there and held his chin high.

"D'you mind if I sleep with you tonight?" Alfred asked, head turning to glance at the window. It was closed, just as Arthur had said.

"Of course, lad," Arthur said as he passed through the doorway.

Alfred watched him go before looking to the ceiling. He expected some kind of sign, a hint, a clue that it'd been more than a nightmare. There was nothing. Not a smudge or a scratch, a splotch of black or a hint of scent. It was Alfred's small, stupid room in their small, stupid cabin.

He did have to wonder though, as he made to follow Arthur, if the closet had been wide open when he'd gone to bed.

A/N:

-Part two will be up in a week or so! It's already done, but golly, I just like to tease. Awesome fanart for this fic was done by Green Tape and can be seen here: greentape(DOT)tumblr(DOT)com/post/7066986156/sorry-couldnt-help-myself-had-to-draw-some-fan

Thanks for reading a reviewing!