It's something Bruce is all too used to;

Waking up with his pulse racing, and the fear that sits in the pit of his stomach hitting him like a freight train of nausea.

It's late, or early, depending. In the middle of the night either way. The book Bruce had still been reading an hour and a half ago, had slipped out of his grip meanwhile, then smacks onto the floor as he wakes with a rather forceful start.

Skaar, puny, doesn't realize any of it though; curled under his father's arm beside him on the couch. Just breathing softly.

..Bruce hadn't realized what a blessed sound simply that could be… He doesn't care for the book by his feet, or how his heart had been trying to get out of his rib cage a moment ago.

It's hardly actually comfortable, with how he's half sliding off of the sofa, but that moment is real.. and frankly it's perfect.
And before Bruce can let the worry, that it might all only be taken away from him again, reach him—
He keeps watching his son's chest rise and fall. Come what may, if he could just stay right here.. he's happy…