logsinthenight | Losing Family [Catch-all Log

Entry tags:

Losing Family [Catch-all Log - Open]

characters: Bucky/Soldat and OPEN
location: Aziraphale and Crowley's house, around Beacon, the church, etc
date/time: First half of March, up to the Wild Heart event
content: Soldat lost some really important people and is reacting poorly
warnings: Excessive sadness, a temper tantrum at one point, varying levels of ability to actually verbalize, and the usual disassociation for a Soldat post

I. Ferry Fears (Open)

It's normal to visit the ferry on the day it arrives. Soldat always helps unload, and this month they have things they badly want, anyway. They frown at the smell wafting off the lake as the ferry drifts up through the melting ice. They know that smell-- they know it very well. Why does the ferry smell like weeks-old dead bodies?

Well, that's a question quickly answered. Leaping on board even before the ferry docks-- thanks, superserum!-- Soldat is faced with... actual weeks-old dead bodies! What a surprise. They crouch to investigate them, because of course they do, looking for signs of cause of death, alert for potential danger still on board. And that facial structure and rotting clothing is... familiar. That curl of blonde hair. That--

"--holy shitting fuck," Soldat whines, scrambling back with a start. That would be the decaying body of one Misty Day, right there. But they saw her just this morning. She's fine. They, uh, dash out a quick text message to her on their tablet (Misty please tell me you are okay) and then pick themselves up. Gingerly. And start looking at more bodies, giving that one a wide berth but keeping it in the corner of their eye anyway. Other bodies reveal themselves to be other friends, including a Crowley and Aziraphale, and, wedged into a corner of one cabin room, their own rotting corpse-- metal arm still shiny and undecayed because the damn thing doesn't even rust.

"What the fuck," they mutter to themselves, before finally, warily getting busy hauling getting supplies off the boat. Maybe a little more quickly than usual. They wanna see people's faces in person, after this.

II. Frantic Searching (Open)

Only there are a few faces missing. Aziraphale is nowhere to be found (again) and Crowley is missing from his bed and Mewtwo is not at the armory. Soldat checks in with the others-- Sora, Misty, Ellever, anyone they actually know and find comfortable to talk with actually-- with one of the questions: "Have you seen Crowley? Tall, copper hair, kind of an asshole?" "Have you seen Aziraphale? Kind of round, white curls, awful bowtie?" "Have you seen a tall blue cat-like person that floats and talks in your head?"

Even after the weekly bulletin with Lucius and Aziraphale confirmed in the obituaries, that doesn't mean they're not coming back. Right? And Aziraphale will be pissed as hell if Soldat managed to lose Crowley hours after his untimely demise. So they keep looking, keep asking around, keep checking the various outlying buildings and holding up their lantern fully unshuttered to the dark woods in search of a glimpse, an echo of a voice, a goddamn scent of Crowley or Mewtwo. (Fully unshuttered means anybody passing by can catch a glimpse of that little green crack, too, for those inclined to be nosy and who might know what that means.)

III. Church Vigils (Open)

When the search falls short after a few days, Soldat's routine changes. Patrols are cut a little short. Visits to handlers are brief, a quick assurance for Misty and dropping off a meal for Javert. Lunches or dinners at the Invincible are made to go. Meals, network scrolling, and weapon maintenance all take place in the church, a pew near the back, while Soldat waits for Aziraphale. And maybe Crowley. And maybe Mewtwo. Maybe even Lucius.

After the first week, it's Crowley and maybe Mewtwo. And a fixed, carefully neutral expression. They go through two notebooks, writing not memories of before they died, but memories of a former handler and technician. Those are precious, too.

IV. Rattling Around the House (Semi-open, close CR only)

Four hours twice a day are set aside for sleep. Mostly, in the empty house, Soldat does not in fact sleep. They pace around. They make little armies of origami animals. They cook mounds of food and plow through it without tasting it, to make up for the nervous energy and the lack of sleeping.

They can be found here during the two four-hour segments of the day they normally sleep, if anyone wants to come by. Only close friends get an answer at the door, though. People Soldat doesn't feel comfortable being nervous and only partially verbal around don't get to come in.

V. Packing Up (Semi-open, close CR only)

After the second week of church vigils, Soldat stops going. Because no one stays dead that long unless they really are dead. After that, patrols and handler visits don't happen at all for about three days. One of those days is spent out in the woods behind the village punching trees and making a big, noisy fuss outside of the immediate earshot of anyone who might worry. One is spent in blank moroseness, locked up in the house, out of energy to make a fuss.

The third day is spent slowly packing up all the personal things that belonged to Crowley, Aziraphale, and themselves. (Including a weird-ass little ghost thing that seems to like being petted on top of the head and occasionally followed them around the house during their pacing. It's kind of cute, and it used to be Crowley's, so apparently Soldat is looking after it now.) Friends can come in this day, too, if they want to help in the packing.

Packing complete, Soldat starts sadly carrying armfuls of things to Misty's cabin or back to the general store.

VI. Back to Normal? (Open)

After that, things even out. Soldat is staying at Misty's house now, though the torch remains in front of Aziraphale and Crowley's house since she has her own. Their routine resumes, exactly as if they never stopped it. Patrols are on time and thorough, meals happen actually at the Invincible, they return to practicing at the gymnasium on days when there's no combat classes, and they actually sleep again.

Still kind of quiet, though, with little casual conversation and no singing under their breath, and there's been no catching various friends with a song and a dance like had maybe seemed like it was becoming a thing now and then. Soldat's going to be a while actually getting back to happy, sorry friends, but they never turn down company.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's what you do when someone comes to the house. Tea or coffee or. Water, I guess.

[Not just because they fuss over people in general. They start water heating up, anyway. There's no actual coffeemaker here, since Aziraphale preferred to do it the old fashioned way, and liked tea better anyhow. At the very least, they can have some themselves.]

I've sorted through some. Aziraphale had so many papers. Translations and things. Got to get everything taken care of. Can't fit all of it at Misty's.

[Which would be where they're going, after this, even though they're distracted and unhappy enough that they missed the first question.]

Well, you do not need to do so for me.

( Even if he does like coffee. He drinks it quite often at the Invincible, in the morning before his patrol and afterward, when he's filling out a report. It's all he ever consumes when he's too busy to cook for himself. He glances around at the books and frowns, picking one up and inspecting the cover. )

What do you wish to keep? Perhaps I can sift through it. I'm not not much useful for anything else.

[You're getting coffee, Javert, it's too late. At least this isn't fussing over Javert in particular, it's just... anxiety manifesting in feeding people, which may or may not be better. Be glad there's no actual meal in the offing.

They don't bother with the bean grinder. The experiences with the memory stones gave Soldat the idea of using their metal hand to smash other things. Like coffee beans. Between the hand, tightly sealed against crumbs, and a clean cutting board, they get grinds for the coffee.]

I want to keep things that might have been important to someone. To Aziraphale. Personal things. Anything not personal can go to the store or library.

[They tip grinds into filters, then rinse off the metal hand.]

All the plants are coming. Misty likes plants. Unless you want one.

No.

( He sets the book down, arranging himself on the couch in the space that Soldat cleared for him. There are papers and books everywhere. He doesn't know where to begin, so he picks up a pile of them from the nearest stack and begins flipping through them, frowning. )

That would delight that old fool far too much. It is better that you keep it. Mademoiselle Misty will take care of it far better than I ever could.

( He leans his cane against the armrest and shrugs out his coat. This may take a while. )

[Soldat pours the hot water into the mugs and lets the coffee steep, bringing both mugs over to the coffee table for Javert and themselves. They can take another stack, sitting to one side in-- well, in Aziraphale's favorite armchair. It's a little comforting.]

You and Aziraphale. You spoke?

[Soldat hadn't been privy to any of their conversations. They overheard one or two with Crowley, during the siege, but not Aziraphale's. They might be sneaky and have little real idea of "stalking is bad" but even they can't be everywhere, all the time.]

Yes.

( Both times had been in Bonfire Square, out in the open, in front of everyone. It's possible he was already on patrol somewhere else, and never saw or heard. Javert certainly would never speak of it. He lets out a huff, and continues disgruntledly, )

He insisted on getting me a Christmas present, after trying to convince me to celebrate.

( He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, made of silk and embroidered with the fleur-de-lis on each corner. All this time, he's kept it with him, in his pocket. )

[As much as they'd like to be all-knowing, occasionally Soldat does need to sleep, do maintenance on the arm, or be Downtown or at the armory or somesuch. Plenty of times to miss a couple of conversations, sadly.]

That's very pretty. And you kept it.

[Which Soldat assumes means something. (Not as good as the sword sheath, though.) They regard it a moment, torn between a the familiar heavy sadness and a kind of bitter amusement.]

Nicer than the thing he gave me.

[Why couldn't Aziraphale have given them a pretty handkerchief? That sweater vest is so ugly.]

What did he give you?

( Javert looks at him, his expression almost insulted. Why would that meddlesome man give him something better than what he gave Soldat? It's a good thing he's not in Beacon any longer, or Javert would give him a piece of his mind on the matter.

His does appreciate the sword sheath a little bit more, though. He carries that with him wherever he goes as well, as Soldat's surely noticed. )

[They have and feel a little tiny bit of pride every time they see it. The sweater vest, on the other hand.... Soldat gets up and moves over to the box where they'd half-heartedly started tossing their own things, and pulls out the really ugly article of clothing.]

It feels nice. But I mean. Look at it.

[It's more furry than it rightfully should be, it's fucking argyle patterned, and the colors don't even match themselves. Plus the colors are all wrong for Soldat. The thing makes them look like they're at death's door when worn.]

Aziraphale's taste. Not always great.

( Javert doesn't even try to hide the disdain that spread across his face. His nose wrinkles, taking in the argyle pattern, which is a monstrosity in itself, and the colors, which clash. He understands now why Soldat dislikes it so much. Without a care for sentimental value, he suggests, )

You should throw it into the bonfire. At least then it won't be an assault to everyone's eyes.

[Soldat blinks, then looks somewhere between amused and offended.]

Sir. It is a gift.

[They pause as a realization hits them, and then admit faintly, drifting back into sad,]

Though at least now I can keep it at the bottom of my trunk. And Aziraphale won't be offended that I never wear it.

What does that have to do with it?

( He frowns faintly. He doesn't understand why Soldat can't bear the thought of throwing it away, or why not having to wear it would make the other man so morose. Sentimentality is a feeling quite unfamiliar to him, and he huffs a bit at it. )

You should not deceive your friends.

[Well, that stings a little. It's not deceit to not hurt somebody's honest feelings. Soldat, for all they're just a murder machine, does still have tact.]

He put thought into this. It's ugly, sure, but. I'm not throwing it away.

[They actually fold it gently back into its box. They may not want to wear it, but it reminds them of Aziraphale. Just like the dumb shoe Crowley gave them, from the Christmas candy tradition, is still upstairs in their trunk of precious things.]

I don't have very many things, anyway. It doesn't take up much room.

Hmph.

( It's not a very eloquent answer. Javert doesn't care all that much what he does with it. He still thinks it quite foolish to hang onto something that he'll never use. He returns his attention to the stack of papers instead, resting on his lap.

He pries the leather gloves off of his hands delicately, so as not to pull on the bandages. Misty and Sora may have tended to him with their magic, but Rosalind was the one who bandaged him afterward, wrapping his arms, hands, and torso and disinfecting the wounds. He flips through the pages quietly, separating them out into two piles. )

[Soldat knows Javert had been hurt. They'd seen it happen, horrified and unable to stop it, as the other spirit charged Fjord and forced them out of their sniper nest. Seen him at the door after they came back. Turning back from the box to see the damage again makes them pause and swallow at the lump of guilt in their throat. Javert had insisted it wasn't their fault, but they haven't been able to shake the feeling of failure.

So their voice is low when they take another stack of Aziraphale's papers-- translations, mostly, and transcriptions, a few notes for Crowley and friends around Beacon-- settle down on the floor, and ask,]

How are you healing up?

( The question seems to take him by surprise, absorbed as he is in his work. He glances up at Soldat, then down at his hands, his fingers curling reflexively against the pages before spreading out. He lets out an audible huff. )

I am fine.

( He flips through a few more pages resolutely, setting them in their respective piles before saying, )

It will scar, I am sure, but there is little to be done about that.

( Not unless he wishes to drink more of Kol's blood. Javert's not convinced the shame is worth it enough to ask. )

[If Crowley or Aziraphale were here, they could heal it more... but they're not. And Sora already did what healing he could. Sigh.]

There might be something to help it heal faster. And with less damage, so it won't hurt to stretch the skin. In the store or on the next ferry.

[There's anti-scar creams and shit, right? Soldat has never had to worry about that, not with the serum and cryo, but other people. They'll look into it. Maybe ask Misty.]

Is there truly no one here who knows anything past basic field medicine?

( It's a question that's been on his mind for a while. Whatever medics or healers they've had, they don't seem to stay around for too long. There's no clinic for them to take the wounded, nor anyone who's willing to charge of such an endeavour. The only thing they have is Javert's first aid lessons, at the gym after combat training. It's something, but it isn't much, and Javert wishes they could do more. )

Miss Lutece seems to know something. Blood types. Medical things. There was a woman during the siege, but she's gone now. We have magical healers.

[It's kind of bad, in that way. Field medicine is all Soldat knows, too-- they're good at field medicine, but that doesn't mean it's enough in all cases. Fjord's broken ribs needed Sora to heal them.]

Someone should learn. There may be books.

[A pause, as they realize:]

Someone who is not me. I would. But I don't think I can.

Madam Lutece is a scientist. I cannot imagine she would ever leave her lab long enough to begin a clinic.

( She's a little too selfish for that. Gathering information is what she's good at, though, and collecting everyone's blood type had been a helpful first step toward something. He considers the other man's suggestion, and wonders, )

Whyever not?

[Rosalind must not have told him about their little panic attack at her lab. Soldat is almost embarrassed to admit it to Javert, who probably understands even less about PTSD and panic response than Soldat themself.]

I was. Experimented on. Extensively. Medical shit freaks me out, now. I can do basic things myself, but can't watch anyone else do it. Couldn't see pictures in books. Couldn't even walk into Madam Lutece's lab.

( He stops, looking up from the stack of papers to offer Soldat a very concerned expression. He had no idea the other man was so terrified of medical treatment, and he feels quite foolish for not having found out sooner. )

What do you do when you are injured? Must you tend to yourself?

[Well, mostly before, handlers just mostly let them bleed and then slung them into cryo, and they'd come out in one piece. But here:]

Yes. That's one reason I've gotten pretty good at it. Though magic healing doesn't bother me. So Misty and Sora have been very helpful.

[And Crowley and Aziraphale. Who are now gone. Point is, there's options here. They get by.]

( He's silent for several moments, uncertain of what to say, or how to react beyond that of his initial outrage. Comfort is still a difficult thing for him, and he and Soldat are not so close for him to attempt it. He fumbles for a moment, trying to searchsomething to say to him, before finally answering sternly, )

I will ask it of you, then. The burden may fall onto me, if no one else wishes for it.

[It's okay. Comfort is for Misty and Sora. Javert offering it would probably be weird. Besides, this is a normal thing. They're used to working around their problems with doctors.]

We can ask. There's a lot of people here. Some of them might like to learn. Might be learning already, just not told you or me.

[Probably some kind of network post. Ugh.

Ironic conversation, almost, given the later events of the month and the Wild Hunt coming to try and teach people field medicine. Not enough, but a start.]

Losing Family [Catch-all Log - Open]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)