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]

You didn't even see them, Aziraphale, just got a mental earful of them bickering with each other. But the Soldier wants it to be true. Wants to find out more, even if it's fragile and strange. Even if it's dangerous. "Okay. Okay, yes."

[lunchbreaks]

Well, maybe not, but he does feel love. It radiates its warmth. "Yes, alright. Just close your eyes for me, and try to think about the memory we just found. It'll be a good starting off point, I think."

[worthallthis]

They do so. The Daylight memory that sparked the association is strong, and the very brief flash of the earnest little girl is much less so, but they try to hold onto it. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Pink ribbon in her hair. Not smiling-- serious, holding out her finger to hook into-- into his, because back then it was still "he". It was only a flash, but there are little details to fixate on. Just no context.

Aziraphale can find the context, though it takes a minute of hunting, following the train of thought, and tossing back more malicious memories. It's a little less happy than the last, but it's clearly the right one:

"You have to pinky swear," Becca says soberly. She's all of six years old, and she's very serious about this.

He understands. He's a whole seven and a half, and he's serious about this, too. He has to be a good big brother, especially since their Ma is so sad right now she's not even cussing, and their Pa is mostly not talking to anybody at all. "I swear," he says, letting her take his hand and hook their pinkies together. "I won't go nowheres."

"Me, neither," she says, and shakes their joined hands together. "Swear you'll help take care of Susie and Jeanie, too."

"Aw, Becca," he whines.

"Swear!"

"Okay, okay. I promise." It's the least he can do. Little Toby's gone to the heaven now, or so their Pa said, but even so it feels like nobody's going to be happy again. The least he can do is look after his sisters until his Ma and Pa feel better. Hopefully they feel better.

Like last time, though, the second wanted memory comes with something much less savory right on its heels. The Soldier was half-expecting it, though, and manages to scramble back and out of angellic range before he can get more than a sensation of smoke everywhere, overlaying the smell of death, the sound of sirens growing in the distance, a flash of the metal hand pulling someone small and clearly dead out of a pile of rubble.

[lunchbreaks]

He still smells acrid death singing his nostrils when Bucky pulls away abruptly, but he also did live through six thousand years of humanity, so it's not a new sensation. It's always an unwelcome guest.

He chooses to focus on the positive. "Susie and Jean. Lovely names for good, strong girls." He surveys Bucky for a moment, trying to gauge if he'll be alright.

[worthallthis]

They're okay. Well, all right, they're not okay, but they will be. It's enough like last time that they have a baseline for this kind of thing. They're wedged against the wall, but that's normal, that's fine. Sorting through the more complete memory, the Soldier answers automatically, "They. Yeah. Good names. Good kids. They were really young when Toby... died."

Maybe that's the connection. Dead children. Jesus, what a fucking awful mission that was. They can't let Aziraphale think they wanted to do that shit. "I didn't know there would be kids. On the mission. When the building blew. Briefing didn't say that. Tried to get some out before the handlers came for me."

[lunchbreaks]

"I'm sorry," he says. "I know you didn't want to harm children." It's something no normal person would want. He can see why the Soldier wouldn't want to remember something like that.

He takes a breath. "Let's take a break; I'll get you a tea." He thinks they should take it easy for a little bit.

[worthallthis]

Tea. One of these days they'll convince Aziraphale that cocoa is much better for soothing. But they're gonna sit there on the floor, by the door now, and get themselves in order and let him make whatever he wants. Something warm in a warm cup will feel nice, either way.

Two incidents doesn't quite make a pattern, but it's enough for the Soldier. Feels like two memories is the hard limit for this kind of thing, if they don't want the worst things to break loose. "Most of my missions I killed people," they say quietly after a moment, half to themselves, only about half to Aziraphale. "That's what I was for. Does it even matter that much. If they were adults or kids."

[lunchbreaks]

"But it wasn't you," he says. "It wasn't your idea, and you didn't want to do it. They put you in a state where you couldn't refuse; this wasn't your fault," he says. "Those lives, you regret taking them. If you had been in your right mind, you would never have done it."

[worthallthis]

The Soldier rests their elbows on their knees and tucks their head between their arms. Hiding, just a little, hair covering what little of their face would otherwise still be visible. It's gotten really long. "Still did it." That's still on them. It's still in their head. They're pretty sure they're still capable of doing it again.

They'd really felt good during the siege, when they were fighting again in earnest.

[lunchbreaks]

"You weren't even given a choice to take another option," he says. "But come now. Milk? Sugar?" he asks, pouring hot water into cups.

[worthallthis]

"Both, please." If they're having tea, they're having sweet, creamy tea. They stay in their comfortably curled position until Aziraphale comes back out of the kitchen, at which point they unwind and climb back to their feet. "Thanks, Aziraphale." And not just for the tea. They've got six additional memories-- three good, one okay, two bad; better than even trade-- because of him.

[lunchbreaks]

"Oh, it's no problem," Aziraphale responds, understanding he doesn't mean the tea. "As I said, I'm happy to help. You know that, or I hope you know that, you are a friend of mine."

[worthallthis]

The Soldier did not. Generally one is not friends with technicians, no matter how friendly they might be, how much said technicians wished to be liked. And there's been that lingering certainty that Aziraphale would be happier if they'd never come to live on his couch in the first place. They blink at him owlishly over the teacup, looking flummoxed and actually a little bit lost at the idea. "I am?"

[lunchbreaks]

Aziraphale blinks, also owlishly, both of them confusingly looking at each other like they didn't make sense.

"Yes?" he says, more questioning than anything.

"Are we not ...friends?"

[worthallthis]

"You're my technician," the Soldier says slowly. "It's a position of. Respect." That isn't quite enough of an explanation anymore, though, so they add, "And you were so annoyed when Crowley brought me here."

Look, first impressions are a thing, particularly when first impression are literal first impressions, and the Soldier didn't have a lot to compare those impressions to at the time.

[lunchbreaks]

"Well, yes, because he hadn't asked me and we didn't even know each other at the time, and because I had asked him for your name, and he didn't have one to give. I thought that was rather rude of him, but it had nothing to do with you, my dear. I would've been annoyed no matter who it was he brought home."

Then, realization dawns on him and his face softens. "Oh, have you thought all this time that I was angry with you?"

[worthallthis]

Angry might be overstating it, but... "A little. Yes. Or just didn't want me here. I'm not easy to live with." Screaming nightmares multiple times a week. The strictly regimented schedule and difficulty deviating from it except in cases of emergency. The time spent cleaning guns and sharpening knives, though at least now they can do that in their own room instead of the kitchen table. The fact that they're a large human-shaped thing taking up space in a not super big house.

There's good things, too, of course... but the Soldier is not really great at recognizing those as benefits to their housemates.

[lunchbreaks]

"Oh, my dear boy. Well, I am glad that you are living with us," he says. After all, he cooks all the time, and he uses the bathroom so the pipes always work, and he has a soothing presence on Crowley, Aziraphale always feels. "I'm so sorry I made you think you were unwelcome."

Oh, now he's sad. "I'm happy to have... cleared that up, at least."

[worthallthis]

The Soldier tries a smile, worn out now, but kind of relieved. If that's true, then maybe they're just over-reacting. Associating too strongly with the doctor with the bow tie. Interpreting cues incorrectly. It's possible, especially with an angel that might show things differently than a human would, right? "It's okay. I tend to over-react, too." Hence the whole shut-down problem. The tendency bleeds over into most things.

[lunchbreaks]

"Yes, well, hopefully we can avoid miscommunications like this in the future," he says, still with a look of guilt all over his face. "We must, anyway, what with.... Crowley still asleep."

[worthallthis]

This would be a great time to give Aziraphale a reassuring pat. The Soldier even considers it, tries making their hand move. But after the practice with shut-down, the three memories, and the brief confessional, they can't make themselves do it. "Yeah. How. Long does he usually do this for." Aziraphale would know. And asking after Crowley might make that look go away. They're really not used to causing looks like that on people's faces; nobody should feel guilty because of them, damn.

[lunchbreaks]

He looks down at that, shyly. "Oh... generally only for a night... but," he trails off, looking towards the distance, blowing out a breath as casual as can be for someone who's always nervous. "Once he was asleep for, oh, about..."

"...a hundred years..."

[worthallthis]

Talk as quietly as you like, Aziraphale, you're crouched basically right in front of the Soldier and they have enhanced hearing. They stare at him. "A hundred years," they repeat, incredulous. Then they look in the direction of the stairs, alarmed. "Why."

[lunchbreaks]

"Well, I don't know, sometimes it just happens. I didn't check up on him afterwards. Sometimes we didn't see each other for that long, you know. In the beginning, we'd gone a thousand years before running into each other," he says. "So he might've had a longer nap than that. He just... likes his sleep, is all."

[worthallthis]

There's a pause while the Soldier tries to comprehend that. They'd wanted to go back to cold storage, sometimes, and maybe not come out again. But that was less because they liked it, and more because it was the only place that didn't hurt. Does Crowley find living that horrible that he has to willingly sleep away decades, centuries, of his life?

They stare into their teacup before asking, in a maybe kind of small voice, "He's not gonna sleep that long here, is he?"