Your daughter can't even sleep in her own bed, and she's five and she's so little and has the same blue eyes as him, and it makes him even more protective of her and makes him hate storms a little more because it's scaring her. "I got you," he reminds her, voice soft and patient, his bigger hands holding her tinier hands in just one, "I'm right here, see? Aren't I? Daddy's here. I'm not going anywhere." He says little things like these, reminding her that he's not going anywhere and that'll he protect her from all harm. He'll protect her from boys, and bad guys, and monsters, and even little storms like these.
Your daughter is crying, tearful eyes causing him too much pain to be able to sleep through the night. "Shhh, shhh," he tries to soothe over and over again, though to no avail does it work. He then has to pick up the bundle in his arms, bringing her to the edge of the bed where he sits down and cradles her in his arms, rocking her back and forth. Soon, a hum becomes profound under his breath, and the hum is soon loud enough to hush his baby back to bed. He ignores the lightning and the thunder and only focuses on her -- the most beautiful girl in the world, his girl, his tiny little baby girl whom he loves.
Your daughter wakes up due to the lightning and immediately runs down the stairs and to the living room, where she knows he's still awake and staring at the brightly lit T.V. She doesn't say anything, just makes her way up the couch and curls herself up in his lap, wrapping her tinier arms around his neck and squeezing tight. "Daddy, I'm scared," -- and her little voice makes his heart break -- "and I can't sleep." He hugs her back gently, big hands placed on her upper back. "Okay," he soothes gently, "Okay, you can watch with me until you fall asleep. There's nothing to be scared of; I'm right here."
Your daughter's cold feet is all he feels when he first wakes up to her crawling into bed with him curled up around you. "Dad," she whispers, and it's enough to get him to pull away from you for just a moment, sitting up in bed before his arms find her. He pulls her close, noticing the way her eyes go wide underneath the bright flash of lightning. He runs his fingers through her short hair, nodding his head because he understands. "I'm scared, too," he says as just an itty bitty lie, but places her inbetween you and him, putting his arm around the two of you protectively, "But I know it won't hurt us at all."
Your daughter stays by his side all night, under his arm and against his chest with her eyes squeezed shut and her tiny fists balled up into his t-shirt. "Okay," he whispers, "Shhh, it's alright." He murmurs this every time there is a boom of thunder or a strike of lightning. He moves his hand up and down her back when she shakes, never once leaving the spot he is in, because it's job to make her feel safe. He's a daddy, so of course he has to be the big man of the house, and of course he has to stay up during the night just to make sure his little girl is okay. He'll do this for however many years.