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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[Darn. Ah, well. At least he's not going to think to ask.

The Sergeant doesn't sigh. The house is further than the Invincible, which means making conversation for longer, and possibly making Aziraphale more weirded out. Well. For coffee, he'll do it. Better not let him down, angel.]

Sure thing.

[And he swats vaguely at a hand grabbing for his hair. He combed that shit clean today, no messing it up. At least he understands chatting better than the Soldier does.]

How's the arm? Please tell me you're taking better care of it than Crowley is his leg.

I think I'd have to be actively bashing it against the wall to be taking care of it less well than Crowley is taking care of his leg.

But yes, I think I'll make a full recovery soon. Watch.

[ He wiggles his fingers. This is new. ]

--I really hope these hands go away, they are truly disturbing--

--You aren't hurt, are you?

[ He doesn't mean just physically. ]

Hey, that's great. Getting range of motion and everything. Just take it slow, right?

[He gives another swat around his head, looking put upon.]

I've just got hands fucking with my hair. Less disturbing, more annoying. That's all-- right now, at least.

[Yeah, the usual Soldier doesn't give a shit about its hair, as long as it's not accidentally eating it. The Sergeant cares a little bit more. He's also really trying to avoid telling Aziraphale what's actually going on, but if the angel keeps pushing, he's not sure he'll be able to manage. He's not the Soldier, but some of that conditioning still runs deep, and they do share the same brain.]

[ He only pushes because he cares, and because he's somehow taken the role of parent. Definitely not the more present parent, but parent nonetheless. ]

Oh, well. I'll let you know if you're acting strangely or seeing things that aren't there.

Wouldn't want you to hurt anyone. I don't mean that accusingly, I don't want to hurt anyone either.

Trust me, I don't, either. Havin' you looking out for that, too, is a good thing.

[It's... right. Technicians also help keep it in line. (Ugh, shut up, Soldier-brain. I'm not a fucking "it", even if you are.) He doesn't quite hit the side of his head in response to that intrusive thought, but he does knuckle it firmly, scowling.]

Though to hear Crowley talk, you couldn't hurt a fly.

[Not even the Sergeant believes that one.]

[ He doesn't say "that's only because he's sweet on me," but honestly it's only because Crowley is sweet on him. ]

Not on purpose, anyway. But I don't think you want to be hurting anything on purpose, either.

[ That's something they have in common, at least. That, and the drinking. That's always a good place to start. ]

Not without orders, no. And nobody around here seems to like giving those kinds of orders.

[No complaining, there, even if it's kind of weird. Even the Sergeant agreea it's nice to not be killing people all the time, and he only vaguely remembers the Before HYDRA time as even existing, but he's half sure there was a lot of killing people then, too.]

I should think not.

Would it help? If I counter-ordered, should it happen? Or is your objective already set?

[ Also, why is it so much easier to talk to Bucky right now? How is he so much more coherent? ]

[That's what happens when you're talking to the ghost of a 1940s army man, Aziraphale. He's the only one who remembers even a little about how to be a person.

He does look a little awkward now, though. This is more the Soldier's brain than his.]

Well. Depends on who it came from, I think. Handlers get obeyed first, then technicians, then. You know, anybody else.

[Unless there's a malfunction. But it's still deeply ingrained not to talk about that to a technician, fake or not, even if the Sergeant thinks it might actually help to talk about it. (Why do I have to be hampered by your fucking brain. ... sorry. Yeah, I bet you are.)]

Oh, well.

I'll be sure to make Crowley take back anything that might make you attack someone else.

[ He looks so concerned at the moment. ]

I never want you to come to and think you'd been used as a tool, you know. A weapon. It's the-- cruelest thing. I've always wanted to tell you.

Crowley's not. Shit, he's not a handler anymore. He was never any good at it, and he asked, and... he's fine, he's not going to order me to kill anyone, anyway. It's just Handler Misty and Inspector Javert, now, and I don't think either of them would order that.

[A lot of the time, he (and the Soldier) manage to leave of Misty's title. Today apparently even the Brooklyn can't keep it off. Maybe it's just the nature of the conversation, or that he's having it with someone that other half of him refuses to stop deferring to and ducking away from.]

I'm... okay, for now. Unless another handler shows up. Just don't worry about me. Really. That's what I'm for.

[Fucking Soldier-brain. He hates that things like that just pop out of his mouth, too. They're still part of each other, both operating under the same stupid protocols, even if the Sergeant at least misses the increased capacity for independent thought and personhood.]

No, I'm afraid I'm already too busy worrying about you currently to stop doing so, dear boy.

[ His admissions about Misty and Javert don't really help. ]

How will you know when another handler shows up?

I. Don't?

[The Sergeant shrugs helplessly.]

It just kind of... happens.

[Which sounds dumb as all hell, but the Sergeant literally hasn't been present for any of the handler impressions so far. He doesn't actually know how it works. Honestly, the Soldier couldn't really explain it very well, either.]

...Oh.

[ Well that sounds exhausting. ]

I'm very sorry.

[ But on the bright side, they're at the house. ]

You know what might help? A long pour of whiskey for that coffee.

[It is what it is. He shrugs the apology off.]

Remember what I said about not getting drunk? Seriously, just the coffee will be--

[As he steps forward to open the door for Aziraphale, he hears-- something. And stops short, looking momentarily blank again. It's a word, a Word, and it bounces around in his skull for a long moment before disappearing somewhere in the darker corners. Where the Soldier is hiding.

Ow. Ow, that actually fucking hurt. He unfreezes, winces, and puts his flesh hand to the side of his head. What the fuck was that.]

Are you alright?

What has happened?

[ He goes over to move his hand to get a good look at his head. ]

[At first, all he can see is a hand coming towards him, and he shies violently to one side, banging into the open door. It takes a second past that to recognize Aziraphale again.]

Sorry. Sorry. Hallucination, I think. Except I just heard it this time.

[And it fucking hurt, what the hell. (Hey, Soldier? You okay in there?) No answer, but that's not... necessarily a sign of trouble.]

What in the world did you hear?

Let me look at that.

[ He goes to inspect his side for any injuries. ]

My goodness.

[This time he manages not to dive away, and holds still obediently. There's no injuries, or anything, at least-- he might bruise, but it won't last longer than a few hours.]

A-- a Word. In Russian, I think. I don't-- fucking speak Russian right now, I have no idea what it was.

[(Come on, buddy. Fill me in here.) Still nothing, but there's the sense of something like fear. Not actually all that helpful, since there's usually a lot of that back there.]

...What do you mean, you don't speak Russian?

I have heard you speak Russian. It's quite good. Better than mine, even. Just very... modern.

[Oh shit. Oh shit he did not just say that.]

I don't speak it right now. Fuck. I. It's complicated.

[The Sergeant is not quite the ball of terror that the Soldier is, but right then, he is absolutely afraid. Even if he's not the damn Soldier he still has that horror of having what little memory and personality he's got back taken away again. And Aziraphale can do it.]

No, no. Let's get inside, dear.

[ He tries to usher Bucky inside where he thinks it'll be safer, maybe get him to sit down and possibly take a nap or something. ]

Calm down, everything will be alright.

[He goes, at least, mostly to avoid being actually physically ushered. (Coffee. There's coffee in here and you're allowed to have it. Focus on that, you jerk.) He even goes to the couch to sit down, putting his aching head into his hands.]

[ He definitely goes to start making coffee for Bucky, who he is increasingly worried over. ]

Perhaps you should have a lie-down after this.

[The Sergeant makes a sound that could be construed as amusement. Pained amusement, but still.]

That's your answer to everything, ain't it.

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