Nights were dreamless these days. Since he'd fallen into the hands of those Titans, Phobos hadn't slept much, and when he did exhaustion punched him into a black hole that took away a handful of hours of his life without giving him anything in exchange except more fatigue.
The faint scent of blood tugged at him, tickled him, hit him over the head. Thinking it was his own that might be sullying Ares' couch, the boy's eyes flew open and he sat up, a slightly panicked look on his face, as he stared at his hands. Clean bandages. Nothing to worry about.