Chapter Text
The tower, for all its towering steel and buzzing security, was never really silent at night. Between the hum of cooling systems, distant elevator pings, and the occasional thud of someone having a midnight snack —usually Alexei—, the place had its own bit of insomnia.
It was somewhere in the third week of living together that Y/N found herself awake at 2 a.m. again, tangled in sheets, her skin damp from a nightmare she didn’t remember but could still feel. She could still feel the chill of the room AC, the cheap fabric of the lab pajamas against her skin, her short hair pulled back in the ponytail the Caretakers insisted the girls wear. The sensations brought more distress than the nightmare itself, making her believe that she was there again.
Y/N rolled around in bed once, twice—tangled in her sheets like a restless ghost. She closed her eyes and tried to will the darkness to pull her under. She counted sheep, one after the other, picturing soft, woolly forms leaping over fences into oblivion. She lulled herself. Nothing helped. The silence of the room pressed in around her, broken only by the ticking of the clock and the occasional creak of the building settling. She even tried the breathing exercises she'd read in a book years ago—inhale for four counts, hold for seven, exhale for eight. But her mind wouldn’t quiet. Sleep remained distant, shimmering just out of reach.
She padded barefoot to the kitchen in silence, the floor cool beneath her feet, arms wrapped tightly around herself like a shield. The tower was hushed, holding its breath in the dark. She was able to heat the water in a kettle, moving on instinct, her motions quiet, fluid—reaching for a familiar mug, the chipped one with the constellation print. Steam began to rise in soft spirals, warming her face as she watched the dark color staining the water.
That’s when she heard it.
A faint creak. Then the unmistakable sound of footsteps—slow, deliberate—coming down the hallway toward the kitchen.
Bob.
He appeared like a shadow, settling onto the far end of the island without a word. He didn’t speak, just stared at her with an expression caught somewhere between surprise at seeing her there and the guilt of having been caught himself. The silence between them thickened, stretched, as if the kitchen itself were waiting to see who would break it first.
"Hey..." Y/N muttered, blinking away the tiredness. "Didn't peg you for a fellow 3 a.m. sleepless."
Bob looked up, slightly surprised that she was talking to him. Since they met at the incinerator, Y/N hadn't made any effort to get close to anyone in the group, but she seemed more reluctant with Bob.
Why? He didn't know.
"Didn't peg you for one either. But here we are." He answered after a few seconds, as if he realized he had to say something.
She nodded, sliding onto the stool next to his, her tea floating behind and settling in her hand. Bob moved toward the fridge and took out a bottle of water, keeping his movements quiet, like he didn’t want to disturb whatever fragile peace existed between them.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, voice low and uncertain.
"Rarely do. You?"
"Same. It's been... Bad lately. Dreams, more like nightmares—or whatever the hell they are. Just keeps me wired."
Y/N looked at him from the corner of her eye. He looked exhausted—more than exhausted. He looked like someone who was waiting for something bad to appear around the corner. And something about that look tugged at a part of her she rarely acknowledged. She remembered what it had been like, those first few weeks after escaping NEST, when every dream was a trap and every shadow reminded her of the lab.
And maybe, just maybe, this was her chance to give someone else the lifeline she’d needed back then and never get. She didn’t owe Bob anything, not really. They weren’t close, not yet. But she saw in him the same kind of quiet drowning she’d carried alone for too long.
Y/N took a sip. Then, after a beat: "I could help."
He turned, brows slightly raised while he was closing the fridge. "Like, knock me out with a frying pan kind of help, or—"
She snort, setting the mug down. “With the nightmares. I can influence dreams and sleep. If I'm focused enough.”
Bob looked at her like she’d offered him a foreign object and expected him to use it. “You’d do that?”
She shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”
“But it is,” he said quietly. “That’s… That’s kind of huge.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not like I’m digging around in your head. I just smooth the edges a little. Make it easier to rest.”
He hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why offer?”
Y/N shrugged, answering without thinking too much. "I've helped a few people on the team already. Yelena, once. Bucky. It’s not hard for me."
Bob took a drink of water, weighing her offer. The tension in his shoulders shifted, not gone, just lighter.
"Would it hurt you? Doing it, I mean?"
Y/N smiled, a soft, tired thing. "I wouldn't offer if it did."
That wasn’t exactly the truth. It didn’t hurt per se. But it did cost her. A poor restful sleep, poor capacity for everything the next morning. But nothing she couldn’t manage. Nothing she wouldn’t give to help.
Bob gave a quiet exhale, more relief than breath. "Alright. Let's try."
She met his eyes then, and something passed between them—tentative, uncertain, but genuine.
“Come on,” she said. “It’ll be easier if you’re lying down.”
Bob looked momentarily stunned, then nodded, setting his water down and following her out of the kitchen. They didn’t speak much as they walked down the quiet hallway all the way down to Bob's room.
The room was neat, military-style neat, like he didn’t know what to do with the idea of a home that wasn’t temporary. They both stood in silence for a few seconds, just infront of the closed door, as if weighing up everything that was going to happen. Y/N moved first, approaching the bed, standing at the edge, she gestured for him to lie down, and he obeyed, nervous but trusting.
“Just close your eyes,” she said softly, kneeling beside him once he settled into bed, closing his eyes slightly. “Breathe.”
He did. His breaths were shaky at first, but they steadied.
She placed her fingers gently on his temple. Her touch was feather-light, barely there. Then she closed her eyes too.
"You don’t have to worry about what I see," she murmured. "I won’t go digging. Just help you sleep."
"I trust you," he said, and it struck something sharp and sweet in her chest.
Her power slipped between the cracks of his mind like silk. She reached—not deep, just enough. Enough to feel the jagged edges of his fear, the flickers of dark memory that threatened to rise. She didn’t erase all of them. She couldn’t. But she could wrap them in warmth, dampen the sharpness, guide him toward something softer.
Within minutes, Bob’s breathing evened out. His features relaxed.
He slept.
Y/N sat beside him for a long time, watching. Guarding. Making sure the nightmares didn’t come back. Making sure the peace held.
She told herself it wasn’t a big deal.
But as she looked down at him, this boy who always smiled too easily and tried too hard to pretend he wasn’t hurting, she felt something stir in her chest.
Maybe it was a big deal.
⋆★⋆
The next morning, she found him in the kitchen, planned to eat something light before training. He looked alive. Awake in a way she hadn’t seen him since they moved in.
That was great, because she had fallen asleep as soon as she returned to her room after Bob fell deeply asleep. Although as she expected, her brain did not allow her to rest properly after helping him.
"Morning," he said, handing her a cup of coffee he’d already made. "I slept. Really slept. For the first time in... In a long time."
"Thanks Bob." Y/N accepted the cup, forcing a grateful smile, trying to ignore the memories the smell brought back. "If you need my help again just tell me."
He hesitated, looking around the kitchen like it might have ears. The rest of the team was still sleeping or preparing for training, so they were in a safe space.
"Actually uh... Can we keep doing that? Just—Just between us? I don’t want the others thinking I need some psychic lullaby every night or something. But—yeah, I just—"
She gave a short laugh. "Sure. Your secret's safe with me."
"Thanks, Y/N. Really."
And just like that, it began. Every few nights, when the tower slept and the noise in his head screamed too loud, Y/N would slip into his room or Bob would slip into her's. Quiet, careful, unseen.
And she'd always guide him to sleep.
Neither of them said it out loud, but both felt it: The silence between them wasn't empty.
It was safe.