The first example Daniel's mind flies to is the bit with the cats and the wrapping paper and all the associated terror besides, but that, unfortunately, doesn't really count as the most recent.

Like a sledgehammer the memory hits him all over again and his stretching abruptly shrinks, his eyes dropping, downcast. It's warm and pleasant by the fireplace, surrounded by books and blankets and Seth, but ice creeps into his veins regardless, Daniel being made to relive things he never wanted to relive.

Daniel swallows hard, suddenly wishing very hard that he hadn't brought it up. He hadn't been thinking.

"Just," he says, and the word comes out a little too pained so he swallows, breathes, and starts over. "Just a, um. Bad dream. Bad memories."

That's close enough.