ansa vilt í náttini svørtu // catch-all // semi-open

[lunchbreaks]

characters: Aziraphale and... you?
location: Miner's Castle #3, or your home, or town square
date/time: Jan 7th-25th ish?
content: Catch-all up to the total blackout event (??? i forgot what this was called again and i just looked it up)
warnings: Extremely fussy angel



It's cold outside (open)
[ Aziraphale took all of the vegetables and the meats and seasonings that Crowley had gotten from the grocery - braved the cold to go retrieve him, bless - and naturally used it to make soup. A lot of soup. Way too much soup. In fact, this is a miraculous amount of soup for the ingredients used, and quite tasty. It helps that it's been bulked up by some sort of grain - rice, noodles, perhaps both. It's not as hearty as a stew, but it manages to fill container upon container.

Which means that, naturally, at your door, stands a snowman-looking being. He has pale blue eyes and frosty eyelashes peeking up over his scarf. He appears to have either fashioned a coat out of a comforter, or just to be wearing one tied around himself, since he looks more marshmallow than human at the moment.

But what is really, really important, is that he is holding an impossibly hot container in his hands. ]

May I come in? I've made some soup for your household.

Let's stay in (closed to Miner's Castle #3 Residents)
[ It's cold outside, so once everyone's in and there appears to be enough supplies for everyone to hunker down for duration of the cold snap, Aziraphale starts to place pieces of fabric or fuzz or whatever is available around the sides of windows, around the edges of doors, to try and fill in the gaps.

He frowns at the sheer amount of items needing covered, wonders if he shouldn't just draw the curtains and tape them shut. Occasionally he'll either enlist the help of one of his housemates, or go check up on them to make sure they're not in need of tea or a blanket. ]

You'll catch cold like that.

[ He'll say this, regardless of how warmly the other is dressed.

Eventually, he might pull out a boardgame from a previous resident, and blow off the dust, set up the pieces, and see if his family would like to stay snowed-in and play. ]

Oh look, yarn! (open)
[ Aziraphale can't knit or crochet to save his life. But what he can do is make frames out of sticks, and wrap the yarn around them to make snowshoes. It doesn't look like this is going to melt anytime soon, or quickly, so he thinks this might be a pertinent venture. If you ask, he'll make you a pair. Or, he'll teach you! ]

Comments

[worthallthis]

The Soldier... makes a face at the word trauma. An actual face, like it's a distasteful word. (Look at you, actually showing a real expression! Shut up, Sergeant. I make expressions.) It's not trauma, dammit, it's just. Shitty maintenance. (Keep telling yourself that, pal.) "Sometimes they are," they mutter, mostly to themselves, and maybe a little to the Sergeant.

But then, a little more clearly, they prompt, "Something else?"

[lunchbreaks]

"Why don't we practice?" he suggests instead. "Here, you be-- you, I'll be someone angry." He nods. "But I won't really be angry, it's just practice. I want you to analyze the situation and tell me what's going on. Okay?"

[worthallthis]

Practice. The Soldier isn't entirely sure about Aziraphale's acting skills, but maybe if it's really terrible acting it won't prompt a reaction they don't want. And if it's good acting skills... maybe it will, and Aziraphale will know what to do. So they nod, hesitantly. "Okay."

[lunchbreaks]

Aziraphale nods curtly and then crosses his arms over his chest. "I can't believe this," he starts. And then he realizes he's not angry and needs to come up with something to be angry about.

"It's just. It's terrible, isn't it?"

[worthallthis]

That is officially not great acting skills. Maybe not as terrible as they could be, possibly enhanced by the fact that the Soldier is still, despite everything, a little nervous about Aziraphale in general. (Someone who tries that hard to be nice, they've gotta be hiding something. You know he aint. No, we don't know.)

It's not enough, though. They look back at him, torn between embarrassment and frustration. "What is." Maybe if they prompt, he'll find something to actually be angry about, and it will work enough that they can get an idea of how to deal with it?

[lunchbreaks]

"The, um," he starts. "The all of it!" he exclaims. "I know that Robin or Will have more information they won't tell us. And the spirits! The church spirit, they know so much and they won't tell us. Why are they keeping us from the lighthouse!"

It's much easier to get into a tizzy when it's something he is actually upset about. Except when he's angry, he's more... annoyed.

[worthallthis]

It's good enough. The upped volume an increased irritation coming from someone with a technician designation brings an immediate spike of fear, which they translate into looking down and away, going still, smoothing out their expression. (He's not mad at you. Doesn't matter. Could still take it out on me. He's just pretending, pal. I. Know. I know, I asked for this.)

Which is the only thing that allows the Soldier to actually speak up in something other than an offer to help or to placate: "That worked."

[lunchbreaks]

Aziraphale is taking a breath to start another rant, when-- "Oh." His eyebrows lift almost comically as his face softens. "Oh, really? Excellent!" And relieving, because goodness knows Aziraphale doesn't like to actually be mad.

[worthallthis]

And what was the point of this? Aziraphale had said practice, but practice what exactly? It's not like they did anything different than usual. Besides maybe expect it, think about it, and pay closer attention, maybe. Enough time to have an internal conversation with the Sergeant.

Huh. Actually.

"Not being mad at me doesn't matter," they realize, frowning. "Just a loud voice and anger."

[lunchbreaks]

"Yes, but I think you handled yourself remarkably well," he responds. "For your complaints otherwise. Do you care to have another go? Honestly I think Crowley is better at this bit..."

[worthallthis]

"Crowley doesn't frighten me," the Soldier says, shaking their head a little. "Not anymore." They've done this to Crowley a couple times, now, but the last time Crowley got irritated in their general direction, they finally believed that he wasn't actually going to hurt them. That he was more frightened and worried than angry, himself.

In some people, that might not have mattered, because even frightened-angry people could still lash out, but it was Crowley. Really, they have a hard time understanding how anyone could believe Crowley to be actually dangerous. They have a hard time picturing him finding Robin and harming her in any way, like he'd threatened. Even his attacks on the green-eyed spirits had all been to restrain and deter, not to kill. Crowley is a terrible demon.

[lunchbreaks]

"Well, it's not going to work with me then, because-- wait." He pause.

Record scratch, would be looking directly into the camera.

"What do you mean, I frighten you?"

[worthallthis]

Aziraphale, are you kidding. The Soldier looks somewhere between resigned and embarrassed. "Aziraphale. Most people frighten me. That's why I do this thing that I want to stop doing." Which is, after all, true. And might be an okay deflection for dealing with feelings about the angel in particular.

[lunchbreaks]

"But not Crowley? But that's... but he tries so hard!" he exclaims. "To be frightening, you know. Don't let him cotton on that you're not afraid," he adds. "I think it would hurt his feelings to know."

[worthallthis]

That makes the Soldier shake their head again. "He already knows. I think he's okay with it. Think he'd be upset if he thought he frightened me." They're actually pretty sure Crowley doesn't really want to scare anyone, and is actually pleased when people see through the disguise and care for him despite he act. So they say, with fondness, "He's getting better."

[lunchbreaks]

"Oh, well. I certainly hope so. I think he deserves it. A break from being... evil." And scary. But to be fair, Aziraphale has always been reluctant to change, and Aziraphale has never quite shaken the whole... angel business.

[worthallthis]

"He does." That's not a hard agreement to make. Crowley deserves lots of good things. They still think Crowley would be happier if he stopped trying to hard to be mean, but like Aziraphale said: small steps.

They debate a moment, gauging their level of lingering anxiety and unhappiness. No more anger-management practice, maybe. But. "Do you want to try to find a memory for me?" They might be able to handle that. And it's compliant with the resolutions, too.

[lunchbreaks]

"Oh," he says. "Yes, I'd love to. Are you quite certain?" he asks, because he knows that it's brave for the Soldier to want to seek these kinds of things knowing the sorts of minefields he keeps locked in his head, especially since he just explained that Aziraphale doesn't fall under the umbrella of individual he isn't scared of.

[worthallthis]

"Yes. It worked okay last time." Two good memories for the price of one terrible one. They're only going to look for one, this time. And it's not like they need to not be afraid to try things. They do that all the time.

Besides, how many other technicians do they have? And maybe more practice with someone helping them will make it easier to try on their own, eventually.

[lunchbreaks]

"Oh, alright. Well, let's have a seat then," he says, as he smiles reassuringly and then moves over to somewhere more comfortable for the two of them.

[worthallthis]

Like last time, the Soldier settles on their knees on the floor in front of the couch, letting Aziraphale sit on the couch. They don't really need a calming blessing this time; despite the general undercurrent of fear, the spike from a moment ago is gone, and they've done this before. It's not an unfamiliar thing.

And they want. The memories of Hannukah. Of family. Of something. If it comes with something bad, this time they're ready for it, and accept that sometimes good just comes with bad attached. It's fine. They want to see how it's done, and only practice will help them do that.

So they kneel, and wait expectantly. Hopefully, even.

[lunchbreaks]

Aziraphale takes a seat and looks at Bucky with the sort of scrutiny that seems to be too intimate for anyone, but there's nothing unsavory behind his eyes.

He steadies himself before he dips into the memories as if putting a toe in a pool, guiding himself gently towards the lightest memories, those of Hanukkah or family or anything that might have Steve in it.

He doesn't know what he'll find this time.

[worthallthis]

Like before, the Soldier's mind is pretty clearly divided between accessible and inaccessible memories. Compared to Aziraphale's last trip inside, though, the barrier between the two spaces is... fraying, a little. The holes are easier to find and a little bigger, both the darkness and the light of life before Beacon leaking out a little more than before. It's not a flood, but there's definitely a noticeable change. The Soldier's mental presence still can't follow through, though they try their damndest to try and feel what Aziraphale is doing anyway.

Whether both of them thinking about what they want to find helps, or the recent knowledge dump sifted them closer to the surface, what Aziraphale is after is surprisingly close and ready to bring to light. Steve, plus family, plus holiday leads to:

He's dragging a ten year old Steve to the house, trying to explain again as they go. "You don't have to do any of it," he's saying. "If you don't want to. But it's fun. Pa and Becca only do the fun stuff, not the fasting stuff, since Pa isn't Jewish or anything and Becca's a whiner. Ma made a good dinner, you can have that either way."

"I don't know," Steve says, reluctant, even though he's walking after him, hasn't yanked his hand away or turned back, even though the last friend he'd tried to bring along for a non-Catholic holiday hadn't even gotten this far. "You're sure your folks won't mind?"

"They said I should invite you," he repeats, stamping one foot a little harder on the next step, as if that will emphasize the point. "And I want you to."

"Well, if you want me to, sure," Steve drawls, and he lets Steve's hand go to punch him in the shoulder, but they're both grinning.

"We even got chocolate for the dreidel game," he says, pushing open the front door to the apartment, letting out heat from the oven, noise from three little sisters all yelling at each other, and Ma yelling at them to shut up. Steve looks overwhelmed. He just grins harder. "It'll be great, you'll see. Ma, Pa, I brought Steve!"

That's where it ends, and the Soldier sits blinking on the floor, digesting it, trying to settle the idea that they had sisters, parents, people who wanted to know their friends. People he came from.

[lunchbreaks]

When it's all over, Aziraphale wipes a tear away from his eye. "Thank you for sharing that with me," he says, quietly. "It was a beautiful memory." His family had never been like that, or much of anything at all. Sure, he loved all of them dearly, but it was in the way angels loved everything. The only one he'd personally loved more than strictly necessary was God Herself.

"I think we should have-- should've looked for these sooner," he says. "We could've helped you celebrate Hanukkah." Well, without a menorah. They could've made an attempt.

[worthallthis]

"You shared it with me." And now the Soldier is wiping their eyes, too. "Wouldn't have found it without your help." And now they know, at some point, some time in the distant past... they had sisters, a mother and a father. They know something more concrete about... heritage. Whatever that means, exactly.