logsinthenight | Losing Family [Catch-all Log

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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

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."

"I don't know. But I like petting it." They're tactile, but people are still sources of anxiety. So petting little plastic ghosts is a not-really-good-enough substitute, but it's better than nothing. (They might, in the privacy of their own room, even hug the owl-headed forest spirit plushie they won at the Night Market way back in December.)

They do, however, nudge the little ghost figurine a little closer to Misty, in case she would like to try. While they collect the cocoa and cradle it in both hands, up against their chest, like they're trying to absorb up the warmth.

Makes sense. Most definitely cute, there. Let her love you, Soldat.

Try she does, one finger gingerly tapping it thrice before moving to a proper pet. Odd little thing. Odd sensation. But it gets cuter once she's part of the activity.

"Do they have a name?"

"Crowley never said one. Never even really talked about it." And Soldat is not really one to spontaneously name things. So... nope, no name. They sip their cocoa, sinking back a little into the couch cushions, now that Misty has taken over giving the ghost attention.

The little ghost bobbles, and then... hovers up a little and floats closer by about two inches, before settling back down. Do that again, Misty, it likes it.

"Do they want one?" Asked to the ghost, as much as Soldat. Not sounding like there would be much sign even if they did, but - can't hurt to ask. She'd want one.

It gets another round of tapping, and a smile. Alright, she's an easy sell. Cute little pal.

"Won't be a hard place to find attention, at least."

It's a toss-up whether the plastic ghosts understands, cares, or can answer. It bobbles and glows with its plastic smile, but it doesn't make any noise and its hard to tell if the bobbing is the equivalent of a nod or a headshake or anything at all.

"As long as we don't call them Ghost or Spirit," Soldat offers. The former because that was one of their own "names" during their time with HYDRA, and the latter because, you know, confusing.

More than sound reasoning.

"I'll mull on it awhile then, see if anything good jumps out at me. Huh?" Another tap, a marginal widening of her smile. Friend ghost. One glance is shot sideways to Soldat. "Drink doing you any good?"

They nod a bit. Kind of wearily. "It's warm."

After another sip, they say, even more wearily, "This is turning into a routine." One of them freaks out over something-- usually Soldat-- the other makes cocoa and sits somewhere close by but not quite touching.

"Not a bad one, though," she murmurs optimistically. Too sad a necessity to be quite called comfortable, burdened with stipulations that don't diminish, but absolutely dilute. But a routine in itself is nice in chaotic times. Consistency. Foundation.

"Builds up an immunity, gets a little cozier with time. Hopefully there stops being so much dire cause for it, and it can just be about unwinding. Cause I don't think there's anything worth complaining about, you and cocoa and radio sometimes."

"Be nice to just skip to the cocoa and music part," Soldat says. Mumbles, really. They're so tired of all this emotion. But the alternative was mostly just hiding it all the time; even the Asset feels things, just... mostly not great things. It would probably have a screaming meltdown all the time if it knew how, too.

"We can do that all the time, to be fair." A grin, if small. "It's...not fun, but it's good to get the big blowups out in the open. Know someone's around to listen. Healthy. And I really don't mind sitting with you through it - it's actually nice to be able to. People need support, and I like being that for you."

And little ghost, evidently.

Well. Okay, yes, that is something they can do now, without the emotional slams first. Because they live here now. They can sit on the couch in socks and sweaters and drink cocoa and then go to bed without worrying about anyone else wondering where they are. Because there's no one at the other house, now, to worry.

Soldat might be too tired for anything too disruptively emotional, but apparently there's still a couple tears in there. They stare unhappily down at their cocoa, not bothering to wipe them away. Maybe Misty's right and they should just go to bed. Might even sleep. Sleep sounds kind of nice. At least they're probably not going to fuckin' cry in their sleep. Probably.

They finish off the cocoa and climb back to their feet, scooping up the ghost figurine. "C'mon little guy. Bedtime. No bothering Misty all night."

"They're more'n welcome to, of course, but I think they could use the rest too."

Likely not. But Soldat could use some silent, cute, harmless company, and that's more important than anything else. A good roommate, she imagines. Less nerve wracking than she is, however unintentionally. Collecting his mug, she'll send him off with a smile.

"Sleep well."

The ghost has been their only roommate most nights for the past two weeks. They're used to each other. Soldat pauses at the foot of the stairs, watching her out of the corner of their eye. Shifting position just a little.

It's an old signal. They haven't actually used the subtle sign for "come with me" or at the very least "come here" in a long time, generally feeling comfortable enough to either ask or actually beckon, or Misty following automatically. But there it is, and if Misty is looking, she ought to recognize it.

It's caught, of course, and she's openly intrigued. No immediate cause for it, really. Not expecting any kind of tuck-in but being wildly unopposed to it, it's actual seconds before she's joining him, prepared to trail along.

Silently, of course, in keeping with the means of catching attention. Lead away.

Losing Family [Catch-all Log - Open]

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