Saracen's cries permeated the house, moreover, the sound spread upstairs to Dexter's room. Dexter, alerted, ran downstairs. His mind raced with all of the possibilities. Was Saracen hurt? Did someone break in? He stopped when he saw what was happening.
Although asleep, Saracen was wriggling beneath his blankets. He reached his hands out frantically, grasping for anything he could touch. Tears streaked his cheeks. "No no no," he gasped, "Stop. Stop, please. Stop!" His cries were irregular, bursting out impromptu. He shook his head crazily. Whatever his nightmare, it was making him hysterical and frightened.
"D- Stop! Dexter!" He sobbed, "Dexter, please."
Dexter ran over to him and pulled him out of his blankets, hugging him in his arms. "I'm here," he breathed, brushing a hand through Saracen's hair, "Don't worry, I'm here." Saracen opened his red, puffy eyes, "Dexter?" he asked weakly.
"Hey," Dexter said gently, "Don't worry. You're okay." Gratefully, Saracen sank into Dexter's chest. He balled Dexter's shirt in his fists, and tightened his grip in an attempt to steady his trembling hands. He cried into Dexter, the leftover fearfulness from his nightmare still hung over him like a shadow. But he felt safe in Dexter's arms.
"Dex.." he choked, his words cut short by the lump in his throat.
"It's okay. It's alright, you don't need to speak," Dexter said; he stroked Saracen's
cheekbone. Saracen leaned as deeply into him as he could, curling up into a ball on Dexter's lap. His sobs were heavy and tortuous. It pained Dexter to listen, but all he could do was cradle him.
"It's going to be okay," Dexter whispered.