Taking in Strays [Closed log]

[worthallthis]

characters: Bucky, Crowley, and Aziraphale
location: Miner's Castle 3
date/time: Sept 3, evening
content: Somebody's getting a roof over his head (finally)
warnings: Just Bucky being his usual Soldier-y self for now


So far, the Soldier had mostly been dozing in trees and behind the church, not able to settle down at any of the empty houses. They felt too big and rattling, but at the same time too small and confining. Not secure. Not right.

But then the string bean handler offered, and that felt a little more right.

So here it is, approaching the house at Miner's Castle 3, lantern in hand and the single blanket its collected so far (it gets chilly in a tree, okay) folded over its shoulder, trying not to look anxious at the idea of meeting the handler's "flatmate" (what the fuck does that even mean) or being in an enclosed space with two semi-strangers. Good thing the Soldier has a lot of training in not looking anxious, so it pretty much just looks blank.

It stands outside the door for a long couple of minutes, waiting to be acknowledged, before some ancient memory finally rises up and it knocks the back of the metal hand on the wood.

Comments

[worthallthis]

The tea kettle whistle gets a twitch, but then somehow the Soldier recognizes the sound. From somewhere. From a long time ago. (Tea. Not as good as coffee. But warm, which will be good.)

With Aziraphale moving away, the Soldier can get itself back together a little more. If these were a proper handler and tech, there would have been punishment by now for falling apart like this. Then the Chair. Or cold storage. So it finally does get its breathing and expression back under control, locking it down. The Soldier operates with fear in the background all the time. It can do this. It can explain some of the rules, in answer to Handler Crowley's question.

"Handlers provide missions and targets, give orders, and dispense punishment," the Soldier says, voice calmer now, almost flat. Its face is turned in Crowley's direction for that, though it doesn't quite look at him. "Technicians repair the arm and the body, determine usage of the Chair and cryofreeze, run experiments." That comes with a slight turn of its head in Aziraphale's direction while the angel pours tea. It looks down, then, at the cabin's floor. "I failed my mission. Punishment was expected. And then cryofreeze for repairs."

[sauntered_downward]

"Punishment?" Crowley says, and his voice sounds more than a bit knowing. "Got quite a bit of punishment in Hell, especially when orders aren't followed. I'm living proof of that. Well, dead proof of that."

He doesn't like the sound of the Chair or cryofreeze, or experiments. Crowley gives a look to Aziraphale, and then back to the human soldier person. What sort of life did this man have to live before he died? What sort of torment did his handlers and technicians put him through?

And, more importantly, why?

"Wait, you think we're the handler and technician?" Crowley says. He raises an eyebrow. This could actually be a bit useful, if he thinks about it. If the human soldier person is afraid of him, he could follow orders, get them what they need, help get them out of there with very little resistance. Definitely a plus. But on the flip side, Crowley isn't certain he wants to be associated with someone who puts people in chairs and hurts them. That's more Hastur's schtick. Crowley goes more in for low-level mischief than torture.

[lunchbreaks]

The daggers Aziraphale has shot at Crowley could've nailed him to the wall by now. "I don't have any cryofreeze, so you're off the hook on that one, dear boy." But Lord, what have they done to this man? He brings him his tea, and then brings Crowley a teacup too.

While he's up, he leans in and whispers, "do you really think this is a good idea? He's a man, not a robot. You can't just... program people like this," he warns.

[worthallthis]

The Soldier can absolutely hear that, you know. It politely pretends not to, though at some point sooner than later it absolutely needs to correct that. It's not a man. It's not a person. "Yes," it answers Crowley, and it does accept the tea, in its right hand. The metal one isn't particularly trustworthy around breakables at the moment, it decides. The warmth of the porcelain feels nice against its fingers. "You did say it sounded like I was in Hell before I died."

Unsurprisingly, the Soldier kinda agrees with that sentiment.

But that doesn't mean it has any idea what to do with itself without missions. So before Aziraphale tries to talk Crowley out of the idea, it explains, "A Soldier needs a handler for instructions. If there are no instructions, then I will just protect you both."

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley gestures to the human soldier person at his words, while looking at Aziraphale. He glances briefly down at the tea, which he still has no interest in, and then back up at the pair with him.

"See, instructions are good. We can----instruct as much as necessary. But not so much as he's not himself, am I right? Let him live his own life."

He looks at the human soldier person seriously. "When was the last time you were allowed to live your own life? Do---you know, anything you wanted? Besides just instructions?"

[lunchbreaks]

Aziraphale looks at him with stunned confusion. Still, he hangs back to drink his tea, and monitor Bucky with Crowley. Yes, better go make himself busy while all this goes on around him, he thinks he might go attempt to raid through their kitchen cabinets for something suitable to present to eat.

Crowley can do all the questions, like he should have in the first place, and Aziraphale will pop open a can of pineapple and try to make it presentable.

He's got a maraschino cherry in the middle of each ring, but on the plate, they're still floating a bit in juice. "There you are," he says, placing it down on the coffee table.

[worthallthis]

The Soldier's expression is one of blank incomprehension for the question. "Whenever there wasn't a mission, training, or testing, I was in cold storage. This is the longest I have been out of cryofreeze without the Chair for recalibration in." Pause. Trying to remember specifics is hard. "A very long time." So... never. Not that it can recall. It definitely never got to live its own life. It wouldn't even know what to do with a life.

The Soldier has a belated sip of tea (warm, good for the throat, but definitely not coffee), mostly to fortify itself against their gaze, but then it looks up at them both. It even meets each of their eyes (albeit briefly and with another tremor in the plates of the metal arm), and says, slowly and carefully, so that they can't misunderstand and they will start treating it properly: "I am not a person. I am a weapon."

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley glances in Aziraphale's direction.

"Not a person," he repeats. "They told you that you're not a person."

Yeah, that definitely sounds like Hell to Crowley. He imagines the human soldier person's life, being only treated like a weapon, and thinks about some of the creatures in Hell that are only treated as pawns, or as fodder for War. That's no way to live.

"Do you ever want to remember what it was like to...you know, be a person?"

[lunchbreaks]

Yes, this is the absolute worst case of brainwashing that Aziraphale has ever seen, and he's seen quite a lot of it in his day. He looks on incredulously but lets Crowley be the one to ask the questions, hanging back trying to put snacks together.

He does, however, cut in to say: "There's no chair here, not for recalibration purposes. And the closest thing we have to cryofreeze is the refrigerator, I hope you don't need any to sleep in."

[worthallthis]

Aziraphale's reassurance, (the Soldier guesses that's what it is supposed to be, and it kind of is, because fuck the Chair, it never wants to see that Chair again) gets a glance, while the Soldier's mind is trying to grapple with Crowley's question.

It isn't a person.

Can't be a person.

If it's a person--

If it can remember--

No. No. The Soldier rolls the teacup in its fingers, then focuses off into the middle distance, presses its mouth together, and shakes its head slowly. It does not want to know. The very thought makes its brain buzz with more fear, more hurt. "Just let me keep you safe," it says.

[sauntered_downward]

"Yeah, definitely," Crowley says. "Because, believe me, I want us to be safe. Lots of unsafe things out here, not a fan of them at all----"

He hops to his feet suddenly, and gives the angel a look.

"Angel, a word?"

Not exactly nice to talk about the human soldier person in front of him, but Crowley needs to see if Aziraphale is seeing what he is seeing.

[lunchbreaks]

"Yes," he says, pulling away from his task to pull Crowley into the next room. "You know," he starts, in perfect Celestial language, though his voice still low because it does sound rather ethereal to humans. "This might be easier. What is it?"

He assumes it has to do with their new houseguest. He is a little uncomfortable trusting Bucky to his objective. He's programmed to it, but. It just seems wrong to take advantage.

[worthallthis]

The Soldier knows a lot of languages. That isn't one of them. If it were any less wound up right now, it might even be curious. As it is, assuming they're after privacy and perfectly okay with them presumably talking about it (they're politer about it than HYDRA, anyway), the Soldier just focuses for the moment on the tea, the weird fruit thing the tech gave it, and getting it's stupid emotions back under control. The break in having to converse is honestly a relief.

[sauntered_downward]

Oh, shit. Celestial language. Crowley knows it, but he's terrible at it. He much prefers English, which isn't as complicated and doesn't do such strange things to its verbs. He concentrates on Aziraphale's words and takes them in, translating them in his head.

"I'm guessing the human soldier person needs a bit of help," he says. His Celestial is not horrific, but it has a harsh, demonic tongue to it. "The kind that I'm thinking a heavenly body might be able to give?"

He gestures to Aziraphale. "Calming of the spirit and all that?"

[lunchbreaks]

"Crawly," he says, because he has never say Crowley in Celestial language and only remembers this name. "I can calm him down, but the crux of the problem is the brainwashing." It sounds so strange in Celestial language, brain and washing he translates directly, since there is no such word. "And you know I can't just bring his memories back all at once, I don't think his form could take it. Even a little at a time; it's delicate work."

He heaves a sigh. "I'll calm him. But we'll have to figure something else out for the long run. And he's scared of me."

He looks back into the other room and then makes his way over to Bucky. "Hello," he says, in a smooth, deep voice. Back to Russian. "Soldier. How do you feel?"

[worthallthis]

The Soldier blinks once at him (what the hell is he doing with his voice?) but it answers in the same language. "Functional. Thank you for the tea." It's also gone now. So is about half of the stack of pineapple slices, even though it's only been a minute or two. It has a lot of caloric needs, okay. It's almost always hungry.

It doesn't say that, though. The Soldier's functional even if it's hungry and scared, that's just about its normal baseline. And there's still more pineapple to go.

[sauntered_downward]

Oh, no. They're back to Russian again. Crowley can't do a damn thing while they're speaking in Russian. He wants to say something like, Oh, I'll just sit over here and be useless, shall I?, but he did ask Aziraphale to help the human soldier person, and that's really what Aziraphale is trying to do.

He goes to his cup of tea and waves his hand over it, turning it into bland Chardonnay. Better than nothing.

He lounges against the kitchen table, waiting.

[lunchbreaks]

Functional. He sighs, sensing that Bucky is still extremely tense. Doesn't take an empath to know that, just anyone with eyes who's spent a modicum of time around living creatures.

For Crowley, he looks at Bucky and says, "you are safe here, my dear, please calm yourself down." And casts a soothing blessing on him, which should at least subdue him for the moment.

[worthallthis]

Tense is pretty much the Soldier's default state, worse when it's stuck in an enclosed space in the dark with a pair of near-strangers. So the slow unwinding of tension in its neck and shoulders is... weird. Even weirder is the sensation of maybe not needing to keep an eye on every exit, every minute. Or duck its head away from Aziraphale. (Well, that's still a little bit there, but that's too ingrained to go away even with a blessing. At least it manages not to do it.)

Weird. ... not horrible, though.

What is it supposed to say to that comment, though? There's not an obvious answer, though for once the Soldier doesn't really agonize over what the safest response might be. "If you say so," it says gravely.

[sauntered_downward]

"What sort of people do you usually protect?" Crowley asks, taking a sip out of his mug. "You seemed pretty certain we needed protecting."

Crowley would be offended at that, actually, except he's not entirely not self aware. He gives a brief glance to Aziraphale, and then a short glance at the dark room around them. He's pretty sure despite their abilities, they may be the two most incompetent people in this town.

"Which, don't get me wrong, we're probably going to need around here."

[lunchbreaks]

Aziraphale tosses Crowley a glare. Didn't Crowley say he recruited Soldat? They are going to have to have a chat about that later.

But instead, he nudges the pineapple closer a little. "I hope you don't mind the state of our home. Do please make yourself comfortable."

[worthallthis]

Hey, technically the Soldier offered, Crowley just took advantage off the offer and did a good job of giving instructions so that it stuck. Not like it minds even the slightest bit, at this point.

"It's fine," it tells Aziraphale. "Better than an empty one." Which is a big part of why it's here, at all. The empty ones felt all wrong. This one slowly getting better.

The Soldier doesn't even really need encouragement to keep eating. After another slice of the pineapple, it answers Crowley: "All sorts. Scientists. Politicians. Persons of interest. Handlers, backup. Skinny little punks." Wait. What? It shakes itself a little, and finishes, "Anyone I am told to protect or which the mission requires I keep alive."

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley also told Aziraphale he had a network of spies and informants which included exactly only Shadwell. Crowley says things sometimes.

Crowley likes the term 'skinny little punks'. It's the first time he's really seen the human soldier person show disdain that wasn't for feeling things. Maybe there's something in there. Maybe Aziraphale's presence is helping.

"Why us?" Crowley asks. "You didn't know me until the other day on the ferry. Had a mutual desire to get out of here----still going to go forward on that, by the way, can't forget. But I'm not part of a mission."

[lunchbreaks]

Skinny little punks. That's odd, and also not how one would talk about an authority.

But he isn't about to question it, particularly since Crowley's moved on.

"Yes, my dear, I think he's impressed upon you and believes you're his mission." He rubs his temple. "What is it that I am to you, then, I wonder, Soldier?"

[worthallthis]

That's because it wasn't an authority; there's nothing about that phrase that makes it remotely nervous-- rather, more like fond and exasperated. The Soldier is actually baffled as to where that came from, and weirdly a little sad, until it pushes the feeling away. (Get back in your box, emotions.)

Aziraphale's blessing helps enough that it can give Crowley a look with a not-blank and not-afraid expression. The exasperation for the "skinny little punk", in fact, bleeds into the look to the handler. "Protecting you is a mission now. Both of you." It has another slice of pineapple and adds, "You're a good handler so far."

Okay, stop. It really, really should not be expressing opinions about its handlers. What the hell. Did the technician drug its tea or something? It gives the teacup a suspicious look.