logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

characters: everyone.
location: around town.
date/time: october 9-17.
content: the hallucinations begin...
warnings: psychological horror. please cw tags appropriately.

it's probably something that shouldn't be said out loud

October 9 feels like a normal day at first, save for the red lighthouse beam cutting through the darkness overhead. You know by now—or you've heard—that the lighthouse is only active during ferry arrivals and events... And there's definitely no ferry docked at the, er. Beach. The town is quiet, the forest spirits behave business-as-usual, Rastus doesn't know what's up. Whatever's going on, you'll have to figure it out for yourself.

And you will, though the hallucinations are subtle at first: objects moving when they shouldn't, people's proportions looking just a bit off, voices in an empty room, and so on. Is it just your mind playing tricks in the darkness? Might be! Will did warn you all about the effects of living without a sun and a proper day/night cycle.

As the days go on, the hallucinations are harder to ignore, no matter how much you may wish to wave them off as flukes. What's wrong with everyone's faces? When did all the howling start? Who do you hold onto when the world drops out from under you? And those hands...

While you might know it can't be real, it certainly feels real. But at least it can't last forever!

...Right?

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"No," Aziraphale says, not realizing that he hasn't stopped playing with Crowley's hair. "Because you've never wanted to talk about it. It's not something I need to know, and it doesn't impact what I think of you. I don't want you to think that it does."

"Plus, it was so long ago..." He frowns. "I suppose I never asked if you'd like to tell me. Would you?"

"She said I should help rebuild the docks," the Soldier explains. "To make up for what we did. You could be right, but it doesn't make a lot of sense, unless she doesn't make sense." Also possible. "It could be related to the world. None of us are native here. We could be reacting badly to some compound here."

"I just----"

He's spent so long justifying it to himself and blaming others for his Fall. Saying he just asked a lot of questions, saying he just hung around with the wrong people. He didn't mean to Fall, he knows that much. He just doesn't really remember where it all went wrong.

"Yes," he says, finally. "I will."

"No, I've had a few bad trips in my time," Crowley says. He turns to the human soldier person. "Woodstock. Anyway, this is nothing like that. This is too real, too persistent. This is far more than just a bad trip."

He doesn't know what it is, but he doesn't like it at all.

"And I can't block it out. I can't use my abilities and make myself tell what's real and what isn't."

"Or it could be the Forest Spirits," she says casually. "They aren't above this and there are rumors about some spirit that messes with everyone's head." She rubs her hands together and blows at them, "This entire place is fucked up, can't blame it on just one person." Even though she really wants to.

Her eyes land on the feather he pulls out and her expression softens. It's from that guy that got her in bed when she got drunk a week ago, huh? Fitting.

"I know but... you just have to trust him that he can handle it."

"Then ask someone," the Soldier says seriously. "None of us share hallucinations. They're all just ours. So if you see or hear something that doesn't make sense, or that frightens you-- or makes you worry about someone else--" Since Crowley is so specifically Not Scared, and all. "--ask someone if they see it, too."

"Well, alright," Aziraphale says. "I'm all ears," he explains, now practically giving Crowley a scalp massage by complete accident. Seems that if Crowley should hiss while he forgets himself, Aziraphale would accidentally become much more physically affectionate when he forgot himself.

[At this point Jason was stubbornly refusing to change his normal routine. Something had to be causing this, causing everyone here to see things, and he wasn't going to let that stop him. Although it was getting harder to ignore it and he was starting to worry about what would happen when someone got pushed too far. After all, even before this someone had been going around busting up churches, crashing into docks, and destroying boat docks and that was arguably when they'd all had their wits about them.

Still, it was easier to ignore the moving objects, the bark-skinned people, and the hands pushing out of the ground when he was working on something else. At least it had been before they started also grabbing and moving his tools around. He really should have known better than to be digging, not when all of his hallucinations seemed to be centered on the earth.

Jason jabbed the shovel into the soil, purposefully stabbing at one of the hands. It gripped the spade and pulled it down. Jason grunted and had to use all of his strength not to fall to the ground. He could feel the ground starting to become muddy and bit at his lip. He tells himself: She's not here. She's scattered and can't reform. She's not here.

But a voice whispers from the ground, dust swirling and making faces at his feet]

Oh but I am here Jason Grace. Little Roman soldier far from either home, eh? Come, let m---

[It's cut off by a cry and Jason's eyes shoot up in time to catch sight of Kol taking off into the woods.]

Huh? Kol?

[Jason blinks and the ground settles. He shakes off the caked dirt and the hands from his shovel. He snatches up his lantern and takes off after him.]

Kol! Wait!

"I was never a very good angel," he says. "Questioned too much. Vocally. Regularly. Asked until I made friends who also asked. And----well, that was it, wasn't it? That was all it took back then. Questioning too much. Not having enough faith. I never had enough faith."

He thinks often if he had as much faith in God that he has in Aziraphale, he'd never have Fallen.

"It was never much, back then, to Fall."

"Oh. I don't know why you thought not to tell me that," he responds. "Seems unfair you should've Fallen at all." Lord knows Aziraphale has done more questionable things, he just never asked. Always did first, and requested forgiveness instead of permission.

Or, just. Never explained.

"I suppose that you were always curious," he says. "And I was always ready to accept things as they were."

[ There's a creature reaching for her, though it doesn't attack when Kettara dodges away. Her vision is still blurry around the edges but she's learned to recover fast. The warrior who lingers over an injury is a warrior who dies, and she has no intention of doing that twice. Not when she has an enemy to fight, one with flames and ash adoring their shape --

There's no fire. There ought to be fire everywhere and there isn't. ]

What - I don't understand.

[ She squints at the creature. ]

Do I know you?

"Not always," Crowley says. "You questioned enough, but you were better than I was. Much better."

He gazes up at Aziraphale and lets out a sigh. He could stay forever like this, he thinks. Just being touched by Aziraphale, being reminded that things are safe.

"Have you seen any hallucinations?" he asks.

"But you see the hands," Crowley says, gripping a little harder. "They can't be real, too, can they?"

Hearing that reaction, feeling Crowley relaxing, he digs the pads of his fingers against Crowley's scalp, getting him all the way from the front to the crown and then the temples.

"Yes, but none so terrible. Except the hands. Oh, I don't like the hands," he explains.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Xayah, but I can blame whoever I want," he says. "And right now, she's the person with all the power. She can take some of the blame until she proves otherwise."

After all, why else would the Lighthouse be on?

Crowley spins the feather in his hand, and then tucks it away.

"I don't know if I can," he says. "These hallucinations get into your head."

"Everyone sees the hands," Crowley says. "The human soldier person says no hallucinations are shared except the hands---think that's because they're real?"

He shuts his eyes again, focusing on the feel of Aziraphale's fingers on his scalp, on the gentle, intimate touch. Crowley has never been touched like this, he thinks. Not in his entire life.

Oh, he's just like a cat. Aziraphale likes this very much, he thinks. Much better than Crowley freaking out about his owl features and his eye falling out. Or whatever.

"The hands are real? They can't be. That doesn't make sense. Wait-- you've seen the hands and this is the first other thing you've seen?"

"Not the same hands," the Soldier says, shaking its head. It doesn't grip harder, because it's possible if it did it might hurt the guy. Metal arms are tough. But it does stay steady. "You don't see the ones I see, I don't see the ones you see. You should stay with people. At the Invincible, or with Aziraphale. You can ask each other."

"I thought I'd seen Hastur," he says. "In the woods. Human soldier person got me away from there. Nothing like---"

He vaguely gestures around the now-not-burning room.

"This was...intense."

"I don't stay with people," Crowley says, because that's his usual default response to being told to stay with a group. "I'm better on my own."

But maybe not with this. Maybe being able to know what's real or not will require people to help him, like the human soldier person is suggesting.

"But this is why you needed your fear removed."

"Yes, I know dear. It's alright." And then, after a second. "How's your leg?" he asks, his voice softening, smooth like butter. He doesn't want to remind Crowley of the memory of what just happened, only ease him elsewhere.

It's quite indulgent, to see him like this, like every time he gets to witness Crowley sleeping. Except, he has caused this directly. It's a gift.

"It's----doing all right," he says. It's not strictly a lie. It's certainly done worse. Spending the last few days off it has been a blessing, at least.

He reaches up, touching the angel's tartan sling. "What about you?"

"Oh, it's alright," he responds. "Healing up pretty nicely." Then he'd be able to put two hands into Crowley's hair.

"I give it a week or two more in the sling, I think. And it still hurts to laugh, but breathing is alright," he comments.

Crowley thinks about that, about Aziraphale's hands in his hair, and his heart flutters at the thought. He immediately tells it to stop that because that's a ridiculous way for a demon's heart to behave.

"I-I'm sorry," he says. "That everything went so wrong with the ferry. I didn't think----it should've been planned better."

Crowley isn't one for apologizing. His mouth practically burns with the attempt.

"Dear, I'm not the one you should be apologizing to," he responds. "But I appreciate the thought." He could put both hands in Crowley's hair and really mess it up, as it were. Give himself the wrong impression looking in the mirror.

"Let's just-- let's not be hasty, alright?"

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EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

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