Just Go To Sleep - Fourth Night
Rating: Gen || Chapter Word Count: 1k Chapter Content Warnings: night terrors, panic attack, hurt/comfort, slow burn, tension
Masterlist || Previous || Next || AO3 Work Link
Taglist: @averagecrastinator, @ilikemymendarkandfictional, @deny-the-issue, @popoisatan DM me to be added to the taglist! <3
Summary:
Hard times fall upon you and your apartment is unlivable. You have no one to ask for help other than your boss, Silco. Luckily, he's got some space for you.
Something keeps pushing you, pushing and waking you up.
Your eyes flutter open and you’re vaguely aware of the body next to you squirming.
What is he doing?
You sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and glance over at Silco.
He’s writhing, tossing and turning, and your ears are now registering the harsh whistling of his breath, heavy and panicked. He rolls over in a rush, brows furrowed and lips parted around a pained grimace.
Is he… having a nightmare?
Silco’s hands shoot up to his throat, clawing and scratching–gripping–and all you can do is reach over and try to wake him up.
You give a light shove to his shoulders. Nothing. Another shove. Nothing. His mouth opens around a soundless cry of, “Please,” and you shove harder, shaking him now until finally he jolts awake.
His bright cerulean eye lights up in fear and locks onto you, arms working so that he scrambles as far from you as he can, nearly falling off the mattress.
“Stop, stop,” he whispers, voice hoarse and trembling. His knees are up to his chest which heaves with every breath, rising and falling at a rapid, terrified pace. He is scared of you.
You hold your hands up and he flinches, and through your speechless fumbling over words, a look of realization dawns over Silco’s face. He seems to relax, but not enough. His shoulders drop but his breathing is still heavy and his hands come up to his chest, clutching the front of his shirt as panic continues to wrack his body.
You’re at his side in less than a second, one hand on his back, the ridges of his spine shifting beneath your fingers with every breathless gasp. He doesn’t even look at you, you don’t think he can. Everything in his body is screaming out a fight or flight response, but he’s not fighting and there is nowhere to run.
“Take a deep breath with me,” you whisper, drawing an obvious inhale and encouraging Silco to follow your lead. Through his nose, a shaky breath, interrupted by every hitch that his lungs give, and then out through his mouth.
“Good,” you praise, letting your hand rub tender circles into his back, “in and out, just like that. Do another one with me.”
You guide him, speaking in low, patient tones. The least you can do. He trembles under your hand but his frantic panting evens out until he’s only exhausted and strung up with tension.
You ease back from him, your hand slipping away from the warmth of his body as he continues to take long, slow breaths.
“Hey,” you begin again, “can you tell me five things you see around you?”
Silco doesn’t look at you and his brows furrow in question, but you see him glancing around the room.
“Closet. Table. Door. Wardrobe… pillows.”
You offer a smile that he doesn’t see. “Good. How about four things you feel?”
Silco’s hands fall to his sides, blue eye falling shut as he brushes his fingers along the bed sheets. “Pillows again, my clothes, bed, blankets.”
You nod and Silco watches you now, his gaze a calm thing as you take him through your last instruction.
“Three things you hear?”
“My heartbeat, my breathing, your breathing.”
“Good,” you hum, “I’m going to get you some water,” but when you get up, Silco’s hand shoots out quick as a whip to grab your wrist.
Normally you would be frightened. Normally Silco would be angry. But “normally” doesn’t look like this. Silco’s blue eye is wide, brows furrowed, and even though his eyepatch covers that molten eye of the abyss, you can see its urgent, pleading glow peeking out.
“Don’t go,” he whispers, voice weak but still painfully desperate, “Please.”
I can’t leave him, even for a second. Not like this.
You let your weight fall back onto the bed and Silco’s fingers ease up, but he does not let go.
Everything falls into silence. The quiet of the room is only filled by you and Silco’s breathing. You shift your hand out of his loose grip to come over top in a gentle hold.
Your voice is hushed as you assure him, “You’re safe here,” worried you’ll scare him again if you’re too loud.
He says something back, too quiet to hear, and when you lean in he whispers, “I don’t remember them.”
“The nightmares?” you ask, and Silco nods.
“The doctor calls them ‘night terrors’,” he mumbles, taking off his eyepatch and running a hand through his bed-ridden hair.
He’s a mess. Face sickly pale, hair askew and ruffled, dark circles under his eyes. Even that usually bright, fiery red eye has dimmed its glow.
You’ve seen Silco in a lot of different situations, seen the many facets of his stress and pressure, but this is completely different.
There’s no mask, only a pale aura of sorrow; a haunting look.
“Regardless, I think I very well know what they are about,” he says.
It’s easy to pick up what he’s putting down: Vander. Plenty of people, especially Silco’s closer circle of employees like yourself know the story of two brothers. The story of an attempted murder. The story of an attempted renewal. The story of revenge. As if any of that wasn’t clear, the remaining marks that Silco left on his own throat with his panicked clawing are enough to send the same message.
Silco leans back, resting against the headboard with a long sigh. A pool of red and black cuts over at you, a passive, unblinking glance that you couldn’t read even if you tried.
In a second that glance is gone. Silco dons his eyepatch again and rolls over, letting a thick silence settle over the room as you try to process everything that’s happened.
Okay, nightmare about his brother, panic attack, back to sleep. I guess we’ll talk about it in the morning?
You can’t do anything but try to go back to sleep as well. But as you slip under the covers and turn away from Silco, there’s a lingering feeling that neither of you will be getting much shut eye.
