A/N: I threw in the Frank Sinatra thing because I was inspired by NerdySkeleton's "His and Her Broken Bones."
Val: age 13
A wisteria is for steadfastness...
When the nightmares came, Valkyrie was powerless. She writhed in her bed, cold sweat breaking out across her skin and soaking her sheets. Her muscles tensed and she ground her teeth hard and her hands clenched the mattress and tore at her hair and clothes and it was a wonder she got any sleep at all.
Skulduggery was worried about her, and she knew it. It was written all over his face—as much as can be written on the face of a skeleton—when he would show up at her window in the middle of the night to get her for a case.
She hated that he was worried about her, that she seemed weak because she couldn't handle the horrific dreams that haunted her at night. But what she hated more was the fact that the dreams made her seem that way. But there was nothing she could do.
Sometimes Skulduggery would bring her home and he would stay with her. Occasionally she would ask him too; most nights she wouldn't. Regardless, his presence put her mind at ease—even if half the time it was unwanted—and she could fall asleep much easier if he was seated beside her bed.
Every night he would do this she would thank him, and he would just tilt his head and nod in acknowledgement.
Sometimes he would talk her to sleep. He would tell her stories about cases he had been, about people he'd met and places he'd been, about things he had done. Usually he would have her giggling so badly she would forget about all the bad things in her life and they wouldn't ever cross her mind. Occasionally her heart would be pounding with the suspense, but he usually ended this by making her giggle again. Then, once he'd got her drowsy enough, she would drift into slumber.
She knew that this wasn't the end of his watch, because there were many times when she would wake up panting or screaming and he would be there, hugging her and rocking her back and forth and telling her she was all right.
"Go back to sleep," he'd murmur.
"I don't want to," she'd reply, although that was all she'd say. The words perched on the tip of her tongue were never spoken, but they never needed to be.
I'm scared.
"I'll be here Valkyrie. No one will get you, I promise." He'd lay her back down, fluff her pillows, and hum a few lines from a Frank Sinatra song, which had a strange, soothing effect on her.
"Hey, Skulduggery?" she'd murmur sleepily, even as her eyes were closing again.
"Hmm?"
No matter the reason, her answer was always the same. "Thank you."
And so was his. "You're welcome."