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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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.

No, that's Crowley's answer to everything. Mine is food, but I don't think that will work for you.

Food always works. I'd rather eat than sleep any day.

[He runs both hands through his hair, trying to settle it back into place after his scare.]

Misty's been teaching me to cook, you know. I made Crowley a fuckin'. Grilled cheese sandwich. He liked it, too.

[This may possibly be an attempt at changing the subject from Aziraphale asking about what exactly is going on.]

I never really understood why you grill cheese. Is that an American thing? I do quite like toasted sandwiches, perhaps with some meat. Oh, or cucumbers... but not toasted...

[ It's working. ]

[The Sergeant actually gives a little wheezing laugh at the irony.]

That's what I thought it was when Misty first said that's what we were making. Couldn't figure out how to make cheese grill without it melting. It's what you said, a toasted sandwich made with cheese, and other stuff.

[(See, maybe you're not that out of touch after all, pal.) Still no response from the back of his brain, which really is starting to get concerning.]

There's always bread cheese. I do love a good bread cheese, particularly the way they used to-- the way they put jam on it up north and eat it with thick bread for breakfast. Delicious.

[ Whoops, does Bucky know he's 6000? Better keep that under wraps. ]

[Bread cheese. It's not like "grilled cheese sandwich" is really any better, but it just sounds ridiculous. The Sergeant drops his head into his hands, still laughing, though it's a rough sound like he hasn't done a lot of it recently.]

Yeah. Yeah, that. Sounds great.

[And it kind of does! Jam on grilled cheese might be something to experiment with! But it's just so dumb-sounding he can't help but laugh weakly. Into his hands. Okay, and a lot of that is stress finding an awkward outlet, but still. (Better than hitting things, right?)

And no, he doesn't know you're 6000 years old, Aziraphale. Just older than you look, but then again, so is he.]

I... I'm not sure what's so funny.

[ He blinks owlishly, as if missing a joke, but he goes to prepare coffee anyway.

Does it seem familiar, having someone to grind the beans by crank? Hardly anyone does it anymore. ]

It's not. It's not, really. Sorry.

[He takes a breath, makes himself slow down and cut it out. It did help, a little, though. He doesn't feel quite as much like he wants to break the coffee table in half just to try and pull the Soldier back out again.

The sound of the coffee prep is, in fact, soothing for no reason he understands, but which he's not going to question. That helps, too.]

[ Maybe it's the sound, or perhaps it might be the smell. Aziraphale has herbs sprouting in cups, waiting to take root in order to be placed into Misty's garden. Or perhaps just into pots, to be taking up less space.

There are certain spices about, and remnants of the scent of things having been cooked. He's been getting better at it lately. ]

No need to apologize.

[ He goes to heat up some water. ]

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