"There is at least a year and a half of future. Unless we do something stupid," the Soldier says. That's more future than they're used to having, honestly, and it's still hard to conceptualize that far ahead. "And I knew what the dreidels were, and that nobody is playing the game quite right." Even if the stupid brain hasn't given them any pictures to go with them yet, despite several games played each day. Figures that the one time they actually want a memory is the one time it won't show itself.

Because the Soldier's feelings about not having very many memories are decidedly mixed. The vast majority of the ones they do have are horrible, and the good ones take a lot of help to bring back. But they're still theirs, if they're not too cowardly to claim them. So. Mixed feelings. Most of which stay shuttered behind a calm expression, regardless.

They shrug a little, finally, and say, "I'll remember your tradition. And Crowley's, with the candy inside shoes. And the gift-giving. They all seem like good ones. I wanted to ask you about patrols, too."