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 a nice name. Something for finding ways. Soldat sets their (larger, more full) bowl on the table at the seat opposite Sora's, and settles into the chair there. They don't eat, though, still frowning at Sora's hand and then at the icy curls of metal. "If you just burned your hand doing that. I ain't gonna be best pleased."

Sora looks at his hand while feeling around for his share of pasta with the other. A little red, but no blisters this time. "All good. I don't really, uh, have a better way to figure out if it's hot enough. I'll get the timing down and then I won't have to do it like this anymore." He could also just, like, do timed test runs, but this way is faster. Or something. Listen, no one ever asked Sora for help in the brains department, okay? "Got plenty of time to figure it out. They're gonna be Christmas presents."

Soldat holds up their metal hand and bends the fingers with a pointedly loud mechanical noise, while looking equally pointedly in Sora's direction. Remember this, Sora? This thing that can gauge temperature exactly when touching something, and which they use to touch hot things all the time? Why risk yourself when there's a perfectly good alternative right the fuck there? Christ.

"Got a long time until Christmas." No no point to rushing and rising himself.

"It's a Christmas present for you," Sora says, making a face. "And, well, for everyone else, but you're getting one too. I have to do this by myself! Or, well, I'd have to make yours by myself, but if I figure that out, then I'd have everyone else's figured out."

He's over making Christmas presents a surprise - years of living with a caring but mostly disparate family with no illusions about Santa Claus will do that to a guy - but he still fervently believes in the act of giving a gift itself with all of the tradition to go with it. After getting Halloweentown and Christmastown back last week? Yeah, no going back on that.

... ugh. Fine. They understand the desire to make gifts themselves. They spent a few weeks being secretive and busy making gifts, themselves, in the run-up to last Christmas. The looks on their friends' and handlers' faces when given their gifts had been well worth it.

But they can't back down entirely. Sora doesn't have a healing factor. "Then wear gloves," Soldat says sternly. "And take it slow. You got nine more months until Christmas. You got time."

"Yes, dad," Sora says drily, but relents. There are probably some heavier gloves at the general store, right? Either that or he can trade for them at the thrift store, or ask Rastus for them. Plenty of options.

Sora picks up his fork and begins shoving food in his mouth. Good as usual. "Gotta start early. Give myself plenty of chances to mess up. Besides, if I get 'em done early... you guys can have them early too." He doesn't have any illusions about not doing something stupid and accidentally dying in the next year. He'd like to make sure these get done before something happens to him.

Dude, say that out loud. We fuckin' dare you. See what happens if you even suggest to Soldat that you might die.

"Then what will you do for Christmas," Soldat points out. They start in on their own meal, looking kind of like they're not even tasting it, which is unusual, given Soldat generally enjoys eating. At this point they're just focused on calories, not flavor, too distracted to even really care what they're eating. The only reason they made something nice tonight was for Sora.

And, because they're curious: "Do they really help people find ways?"

That'll be a conversation that comes up sooner of later. He makes it no secret that he considers himself pretty disposable! Just give it some time.

Sora stares. Given their dynamic, he's not sure if he should point out that things usually taste better when you slow down enough to taste them, especially since he also has a tendency to hoover meals up at times. "I'll think of something else. I like giving presents."

Sora tilts his head from side to side at the second question. "Back on the islands, it's a tradition for folks on shore to make them for sailors. They're supposed to help them find their way home, even if they get shipwrecked or something." He looks up at them. "Nothing magical about them, anyone can make one. So, on one hand, it's a superstition."

He looks back down at his ice chunk again, thoughtfully putting food in his mouth. "On the other hand, sometimes it's nice to have a reminder that someone's waiting for you to come back. That can help you find your way home too, if you wanna get technical."

Edited (grammar AND me forgetting whole phrases) 2020-03-10 00:03 (UTC)

Well, Soldat can understand that. They, too, like giving presents. They've got no idea what they're going to do for next Christmas yet, but thankfully there's nine months still to think about it. Hopefully the number of people they care about doesn't continue to balloon the way it has in the past six months, or they'll have to spend a lot more time putting those gifts together.

The description does make them pause in their own meal-hoovering-- though they're not eating super-fast exactly, just mechanically, with clear distraction-- to actually consider, then smile a bit. First smile of the visit, even if it's small. "Yeah. It can."

If only Aziraphale or Crowley had one-- and oh, damn, there goes the smile. It falls off again into something more sad, and they go back to shoveling in food.

The plastic ghost is drifting again, from where it had come to rest on the kitchen floor after Sora arrived. It bumps into Sora's food, plastic chains rattling a little.

Yeah, it figures. It's difficult to be in a place where death can come so easily and quickly, and it must be doubly difficult to handle it if you've only recently come to terms with the enormity of death itself. Most people had to deal with death at the door. Soldat... probably needed some time.

Sora's going to eat slowly, enjoying the food and poking a little at the ghost. "Hey. You're a little friend, right? You can eat some, if you like."

He eats thoughtfully for a moment, watching them go at their food without much commentary. Nutrition versus quality of life is having a duel upstairs at the moment.

"It's a superstition," Sora reminds them gently. "It doesn't always work. Like the paopu fruit." Like friendship. Hey, what is friendship but a mass hallucination of closeness, anyway?

Soldat doesn't look up from their bowl. "It doesn't eat. I've tried. Pet the top of its head, instead."

And... they know it's superstition. The bit they'd reacted to was how it reminded people to come back. With something to remind them of their soldier, maybe it would have been enough to keep them from running off and getting killed. "I know," they say, voice low, poking at the food a moment rather than eating it.

Huh? Sora looks down at the little ghost... then will obediently pat it on the head with a finger. That's really nice. Like a pet. Like Zero. (Sora remembers Zero now. Faithful companion to Jack, King of Halloween Town. It's nice.)

Sometimes, the thought isn't enough, either. Sora thinks for a moment, wondering if he should say that or not. If it'll help here in the moment.

"You did what you could," is what he decides to say. "The rest is just gonna take some time." No matter how this ends up shaking out.

The little plastic ghost apparently has springs in it, because it actually bobbles with the pet. Then, apparently satisfied, it disappears under the table.

Soldat just sighs, and props their head up on the metal hand, cheekbone to fist, not yet having another bite but staring at the bowl as if not quite seeing it. Looks pretty human for a murder machine. "I. Don't think they're coming back," they admit quietly. "Not after this much time. Gonna give it another day or two, but."

But. It's been ten days since Aziraphale's bulletin notice. Three since Crowley's, but Crowley had clearly been gone the same amount of time. Surely dead close to as long.

(And then they're gonna go get killed the day they give up. And after that, have their three days of breakdown and packing. Timeline has been established.)

Adorable!! Sora will actually follow it a little, just to see where it went, but Beacon's darkness swallows it up pretty fast. Aw. He sits his ass back at the table, hoping it'll come back.

Sora feels sick for them. He'd only ever really talked to Aziraphale a few times, and Crowley only a couple, but that... hurts. For Soldat to lose his closest friends in one go like that... That really hurts.

That's happened to Sora once. Every single one of his friends. Gone.

"What happens after that," Sora asks quietly. There has to be a plan. For after. (Apparently, people do that. Have a plan for after. He trusts that Soldat has one. Maybe.)

(Sora would be upset to know about the death plans, but he would be an enormous hypocrite to be angry about it.)

(Thankfully, dying is not actually the plan. Soldat has only ever been actively suicidal once, and it was a very very long time ago. The plan is to kill things that need killing. The dying is an accident.)

"I don't know yet. Probably cry. I do that a lot lately. I'll have to deal with their things. I have a box of Scarlett's things under my bed. I'll do the same with theirs." It sounds like utter misery, staying in this house alone.

The ghost is behind the couch now. It'll come out when it wants more attention.

(Well, Sora's not happy about that either, but it's more about principle than anything more dire.)

"Yeah. I know how that feels." Sora nabs the little twist of metal in its ice, actually, sticks it in the sink. He was going to just melt it out, but he'll just wait until he has gloves. To make Soldat happy.

"Don't think I've ever had to go through a friend's things, though." That sounds really hard. He's never wanted to think about that in his life. Bent over backward to prevent something like that from happening, actually. "Do you need help with that?"

They'll nag some simple piece of operational and personal safety into you yet, Sora. Unfortuntely, they're distracted enough to not give him an approving nod.

"No. Thank you. I don't think so. Most of their things were. Magic. They didn't have clothes beside what I made them. Didn't wash their hair. It's mostly books and plants, dishes in the kitchen. Random crap they collected. It's the books and papers I have to go through. Not gonna subject you to that."

All good. He's starting to get the hang of not needing approval for things.

A wry sort of tug to his mouth. Gee, they really have him read, don't they? "Thanks. But what if I just want to make sure you're not alone?"

Sorry, kiddo, you're pretty clear about not really enjoying reading that much. In this case, Soldat doesn't blame ya. It's going to be Azirapale's books and paper which, given Aziraphale himself, are probably going to be super boring and/or difficult to sift through, anyway. "Then bring me lunch. But you don't have to help. Or stay. I'll be fine."

Fine, huh. Sora shoves some food in his mouth, chewing slowly. (He's trying this reading thing, okay? If the Librarian wants him to read and all of his friends here are, like, smart and stuff, reading's the least he can do to keep up.)

"I'll bring you lunch. And music. We can dance if you get tired of sitting down. I haven't made you listen to Beyoncé yet." Sora looks into his bowl. "Will that help?"

"Not sure if I'll be in the mood for dancing." It's a nice thought, but nope, not gonna be feeling like dancing when sorting through their not-quite-acknowledge'd family's belongings. "But music is good. What's Beyonce?"

"You are forgiven, child, you're innocent," Sora deadpans like a priest at confessional. "The queen of pop in 2016." Everything she does is perfect. He is absolutely going to go into her post 2016 career just to prep for this.

Anyway. "Then I'll be over. I'll bring music and work and stuff. You won't be alone. Okay?"

"I died in 2014. So I wouldn't have known even if I wasn't a murder machine," Soldat says with a nod, and finally have another bite of their dinner. Still mechanical, still not quite like they're tasting it, but at least eating again.

Then: "Thank you, kid. You're a good friend." All the people checking on them... just because they're sad. It's crazy. It's unbelievable. They like it, but it sometimes just feels like they're dreaming. That surely all these people have some ulterior motive, somehow.

"She's been around since I was born!" Sora actually doesn't know much about Destiny's Child, but he's here and has plenty of time to do research on Queen Bey. He knows that there's a song there they'll like. She's been around too long to not make something that they wouldn't dig.

Still... Sora scratches his face. Man, that's too much. "I just wish I could do more." The thought of feeling their feelings for them comes to mind, but he remembers the horror with which they reacted when he mentioned feeling Skyler's and Roxas' feelings for them. He decides to just leave it? Even if he could handle it. Even if that's what he does.

Anyway, those are their feelings. They belong to them, and Sora shouldn't take that from them. Feelings help you change and grow. Sora wants that for them.

"You'd do the same for me. And even if you wouldn't... I care about you a lot. I want you to be okay."

It's not what you do anymore, Sora. Worry about your own feelings. You've got plenty all on your own without taking on someone else's. And they might not be great feelings, but Soldat definitely wants to keep them-- for that same reason. They're theirs.

Sora does get a warmer sort of look. "I know. You do plenty. Honestly. More than anyone's really ever done." The people of Beacon are pretty great, honestly. Sora, Misty, Crowley and Aziraphale when they were here... Ellever, Javert, Eleven. Fjord and Quentin and Daylight. Just... so many good people, who all seem to care so much. About them. Why.

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rushing and HURTING himself, can't even blame the phone for that one

you know, i was wondering about that....... it's okay tho we gucci

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