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

"No."

No apologies. Holding fast and firm to this rule. She flops to her side, sighing. One self-pitying moment, to tide her over.

"You haven't done anything wrong. You're fine."

"If I didn't you didn't either," Soldat counters with, albeit a bit weakly. "Accident. Now you know." And now she can avoid that goddamn word. They're a minefield of fun and exciting new death-traps, and now Misty knows one more. "Daylight sent me a message about Solis. Ages ago. Called her doctor. Showed up at his cabin with the gun soon's I read it to make sure she wasn't there ready to. Do experiments. Or something. Ain't exactly rational."

Though at least they're finally putting the gun down.

"I'd say it's rational, just...only your circumstances." He's no loon, he's just been creatively beaten down for a very long time. Far be it from she to begrudge bizarre hot buttons.

"What I was getting at, is you don't have to be appreciative yet. Or ever, really. Helping's right. Nobody expects you to be focusing on gratitude when you've got something to work through."

They're gonna just leave the damn doctor thing be. It's a reaction all out of proportion to the stimulus, and they know that, but it's also not really hurting anyone but themselves, and even then it's more stupid and embarrassing than actually a problem. So long as nobody comes at them with syringe or a scalpel, no one's actually going to get shot over it.

It's the other part that actually hurts. And now they're on the floor across the room, where they can't get their hair petted. Both good-- because not deserved-- and bad-- because want.

"Feels selfish," they mumble. "And I don't deserve it. Don't deserve you."

"Ain't about deserving. It's comfort. Someone needs it and someone else wants to give it, that should be the long and short of it. You do deserve it, obviously, but I don't expect to tip those scales right now."

Steady. Patient.

"You're allowed to need things, and I want to help."

They're not sure if she's stubborn, she's coming at this from some weird angle they're not considering, or she's just that determined to write off every bad trait and bit of history they have to care anyway. But Soldat only has so much energy to argue in earnest, and their reserves are so low they're in the negatives right now anyway. And they want. If she's going to be this insistent, Soldat is going to take it.

So for now, they're just done. They leave the gun on the floor where it is, take the shortest route to the bed-- hands and knees, because fuck standing up-- and rest their cheek and their right arm on the mattress, holding onto it, looking at her. Actually looking: for this there is eye contact. "Misty. You have to be careful. Not die. Not run away alone. I don't. I don't think I could take it."

Edited (missed a comma) 2020-03-06 22:04 (UTC)

She's willful. It's in the blood, Soldat. That she's absolutely just seeing things from a different perspective, at the end of the day, is only as important. It stings a little to see him crawling, but it's nice enough seeing him at rest again. Hand meets hair. Careful brushes.

"I'm not going anywhere." His gaze is held, if sadly. "Nothing in this place is taking me out of commission, and I'm too smart for fool's errands. I'll be right here."

Don't read too much into it, Misty, they're just worn out, and standing up would have taken more effort, especially since it was only like four steps and they were planning on just sitting back down at the other end, anyway. Never let it be said that the Winter Soldier wastes movement or effort when there's no point to doing so.

They shudder out a little sigh, and shut their eyes. She won't let herself be killed. She won't make any stupid sacrifices. She's confident. That's going to have to be good enough. "Okay. Okay, good." Without Crowley and Aziraphale, Misty is all they have left. There are others who matter, but none of them are the same pillars of Soldat's stability like those three.

They can register that it might not be a great idea to lean all that on one person, no matter how strong, but it's not exactly a conscious process. Even less than handler or technician selection. So for now, this is going to have to do, and they just can't lose her.

"Not getting rid of me that easy, Soldat." It's the closest she can possibly come to a joke, here. She's not smiling, but it's there in spirit. "Or discouraged. You're stuck with me fussing and loving you pretty much forever." Stroke shifts briefly to ruffle, careful not to muss his hair, but something a little lively and affectionate to counteract all the deserved sulking.

"So, deep breath, and try to relax however much you can. Let yourself be what you need to be, and worry about nonsense like worthiness and gratitude later."

Their hair is getting so long, and the healthier parts are so thick, that it's both kind of hard to muss and at the same time extremely easy. The bulk of it stays put, for the most part, unless she gets really vigorous and starts flopping it everyhwere... but the top gets frizzy and the front winds up in their eyes. Soldat's are closed, still, but they wrinkle their face up at the tickling anyway, and then blow out a breath to at least get it off their nose.

"Thank you. Just." Cracking one eye, though it focuses more on the hair in their face than on her. "Let me know when you need things, too. Yeah? Can't be me-me-me all the time." They can't let this be totally uneven. They can't. It's not... healthy? They have no idea what healthy is supposed to look like, but they know it's not comfortable to feel like they can't reciprocate.

"If you think this is you-you-you and not very clearly just someone reeling who needs a little extra, I'm not sure what to tell you," Misty gently cautions, so thrown by the thought it's almost funny. "It's not like I'm even rolling out the full red carpet as-is. This is all I can do, so I'm gonna do it. Anything you want to do back is fine, but I'm not going to ask for much until you're in better shape. Focus on getting better, that's the priority."

This is the full red carpet. This is more than the Soldier, the Asset, or even Bucky Barnes ever got. Everything was about the sisters, about Steve, about the handler, about the target. This is unfamiliar in so many ways, to every part of them.

They regard her with the usual not-quite-focused stare. Then they creakily push back to their feet, metal arm buzzing, though not in a disturbed kind of way. They move around the bed to the trunk, lift the lid, and fish around a moment until they pull out a folded piece of notebook paper.

And head downstairs with it. Sorry, Misty, something came into their head and they gotta do something about it. If you wanna see what it is, better come with.

Oh-- Was something--

Blinking after him, it takes a moment to follow. Difficult to gauge at a retreating glance sometimes what she's meant to do, or welcomed.

"Hey-"

Of course she's following. What's going on here.

By the time she gets down the stairs, Soldat has gotten to the kitchen, and put up the piece of paper on the fridge with a magnet-- a pair of magnets, top and bottom, to keep it smooth. The list is Aziraphale's ridiculous list of New Years Resolutions, and to one side of Aziraphale's flowery script, a small handful of resolutions in a much plainer, somewhat messier script. They read: "Regain more good memories" and "Stop shut-down" and "Never forget again"

Once up on the fridge and flattened out, Soldat pulls a pencil from a hidden knife sheath and adds below the first three: "Get better."

There. Now they can't forget or try to pretend it's not something they're going to do.

And just like that, the ground underfoot feels a little more solid. Funny how that happens.

"Fine list. Priorities in order," she notes, warmly. Out scuffs a chair, for either party. "Feel up to trying something to drink? Something warm, see if you can get a nap in."

It was an impressive bout of tears, after all, and he'd be within his rights to feel heavier for it. And if not, well, all the more intake she's personally seen. "Taking good care of ourselves. That's the immediate focus."

After tucking the pencil away again, Soldat spends a long moment staring at the list. Both lists. Aziraphale didn't get to do any of those things. They're not sure they'll do much better than the angel did, but at least they're still here to try.

Only after that moment to the really process that Misty spoke, and they need to answer. Easier to just agree, and something warm to drink usually sounds good. "Okay," they say, and for a moment look like they might try to do it themselves. They manage to put the kettle on, anyway, but then wind up just kind of standing in the middle of the kitchen, forgetting what they'd been about to do, distracted by a sudden "not the right kettle" moment, even though it clearly is because they know Misty's kettle as well as Aziraphale's, by now.

Might want to push them out of the kitchen to sit, and take over from there, Misty.

Precisely what she does. No real contact, however easy it would be to steer someone dazed. The gesture ends up being close to it, a very telegraphed miming nudge that never makes contact. Gentler than a shooing. Into the living room, thankfully still within full eyesight of one another owing to the layout.

There's another little pet, however, before she retreats to scrounge up mugs.

"Tea or cocoa?" Former's better for sleep, latter's indulgent at a time he could use indulgence. And at any rate, nice to provide the choice.

"Cocoa. Calories are good. And the sugar won't bother me." And yeah, it's more comforting. Tea is an Aziraphale thing, anyway. Stupid grandpa drink.

They go, sinking down on the couch and dropping their head into their hands wearily. For most of the cocoa-making, they'll just sit like that, not moving. Until at one point Misty turns away for a minute or so, and when she turns back will find one hand dropped from their face to use one finger to pet the top of a little... plastic ghost figurine? That absolutely wasn't sitting on the coffee table a minute ago?

Best get her introduced to man's new best friend early, anyway, since it's as much a new houseguest as Soldat is. The ghost is slightly less needy, though.

That's...odd, but clearly not a threat if he's being nice to it. Worth a double-take, still.

"That, uh, come along during the move that I didn't notice?" It's floating, and she can't recall any other bricabrac that floats. Drinks finished, she can step closer to peer more effectively.

"What is it?"

"Crowley's. Came from the gatcha machine. He's had it as long as I lived at their house, just kept it in his room." That's not entirely an answer, Soldat actually doesn't know what it is besides an animated little ghost made out of plastic, as Crowley had not managed to keep the identification card that came with it. "Used to pet it when it started fussing, while Crowley slept. Started following me around. After. It's kinda cute." It's not really all that cute, Soldat just has really weird definitions of the concept.

"It fusses?" There's no shortage of toys meant to simulate something living where she's from, after all. Not convincingly, but facsimile enough to entertain children. Wouldn't be much of a stretch to imagine that's what this is - but fussing and following sound suspiciously beyond that.

"Is it alive? Does it need to, like, eat? Sleep?"

"No, it just needs to have attention now and then. At least, it never ate anything I've tried offering, and nothing's ever gone missing." You seriously think Soldat had a little critter-toy-thing following them around and they didn't try to feed it? Ye of little faith. "If it were dangerous, Crowley never would've kept it in the same room with Aziraphale. So I figure it's okay."

"Can it...communicate? How do you know when it's fussy?" It clearly just lives with them now, and that's a punch she can roll with - in a bizarre way, maybe even just because it's small and amiable, it does pass for cute - but this means she must get a rough idea of how to care for it.

"Doesn't make noise, really. Flails its plastic chain links around and follows more when it needs petting." The petting results in bobbling, like whatever the little ghost is sitting on includes springs, but the plastic chains are not rattling so maybe it's content. Hard to tell with a plastic expression and faintly glowy eyes.

"Does it need petting specifically, or just people around?" Joining him on the couch, she peers, openly quizzical. The benign weirdness of the place will never stop throwing her for a loop. Chains aren't usually a sign of anything good, but if it's been around so long without incident - and sure doesn't look upset--

"Cute."

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