And in this state, being followed feels more natural than being alone He's very used to having someone behind him--whether from the deeply-rooted days of his childhood, or the constant, looming feeling that one of his ghosts is watching the world over his shoulder.

Vincent's room does not have a doorknob. It maybe never had a doorknob--it just shoves into the frame and mostly stays there, with an empty hole where a knob once was. Robin grabs it, pulls it open with surprising stealth, and easily steps past the couple of feet it takes to get to Vincent's bed.

The man has long since fallen asleep, oblivious under his own mismatched pile of blankets. Robin creeps up onto the bed, crawling up to him, reaching out to shake the man's shoulder.

"Hey, Vincent..." Robin whispers. Vincent shifts with a questioning, irritated grunt.

"Listen, I had a dream..." Robin goes on, reaching back to keep a hold of Phalanx, taking an arm or a hand protectively. "...There was a lot of bad things, and I think I was buried, and there was scratching that went on and on, and..."

Vincent grumbles again, lifting the blankets up, maybe hoping it'll shut Robin up long enough for him to go back to sleeping. Like a giant bird lifting its wing, in a funny sort of way. Robin leans back and gives Phalanx a little nudge, nodding for them to go first.