goingtobeunwell

The sky turns that telltale green, sickly instead of beautiful like the Aurora, the air grows suffocating and thick, and a persistent feeling doom seems to hang over the town of Milton. Crozier knows it's seeping slowly into his veins, like the lead from the poorly-soldered tins, that chill turning everything around him into ice, including the warmth of the cabin he's turned into a little home.

Normally he can stave it off, rather they can stave it off, keeping all that dread and horror outside their walls together, but as the green sky becomes more and more oppressive it begins to seep into the cabin.

The night the Darkwalker comes that overwhelming sense of terror wakes Crozier up in the middle of the night with a start. He throws off his portion of the blanket and grasps his chest, doubling over as his breath begins to come in quick little panicked pants. He isn't certain if he woke Raju or if the fear has gotten a hold of him too - he's too frightened to do anything but look down at his own lap.

He's only ever felt this way at times like this. The feeling isn't his. He'll realise that later. He'll realise, too, that he's going to have nightmares about this, the way that he always does afterward; not about what's coming, but about feeling his mind and body too frozen inside themselves to fight it. He doesn't know that's what he's feeling, now. His limbs are heavy and stiff. A thought finally comes to him: he wants to pull the blanket over his head and lay as still as he can. He finds himself remembering it, being a boy and wanting that on waking up but knowing who was sleeping beside him, vulnerable to it and needing him, and shoving himself up.

There's someone sleeping near him now. Someone with one hand, who hasn't ever trained to fight, who's only just learned, really, how to shoot. Raju knows how to push himself, to shove at stiff limbs until they're forced to move to his orders. But he hadn't been able to do it before in the Hall, knowing that the worst was coming, laying stiff and frozen in that folding bed next to more of the cheap, temporary things full of people he didn't really know. He pushes at his body anyway. He tries. There's someone here, now, who needs him to try.

He notices the blanket sliding down into his lap. He realises that he's sitting up. He's out in the open now. He realises that he's gasping, trying to shove enough air into lungs that are suddenly too small for it, that his chest is pressed smaller, that it hurts, but nothing like that has ever mattered before and this, whatever it is, doesn't matter either. He knows it without knowing it, feels it without acknowledging the sensations at all. Francis is there, doubled over. The fire that had been in the fireplace has gone out and the only light to cover him washes in sickly green over his shoulders and knuckles and bowed head, over his hair, and then Raju is close to him, watching his own hand clutching over Francis', over the hand Francis is holding pressed against his own chest. A moment later Raju feels it happening, notices the feeling when the tips of his fingers had scraped against Francis' chest and his shirt.

He wants his friend to straighten up, or look up so Raju can see his face. Raju's other hand must be on Francis somewhere, he can feel something solid that gives a little under his grip. He opens his mouth to tell him so, tell him to look up, to look at him, and wonders why his voice isn't coming out, and realises that his throat hurts, compressed in on itself the same way his chest is. It's a struggling, strangled noise that comes out. If they were any further apart, it would be too quiet to hear.

He’s not proud of startled gasp he lets slip when a warm hand is suddenly grasping his - or in theory would find the moment embarrassing, except absolutely everything is too overwhelming to overthink. The fear is paralyzing, the hold over him only just allowing for desperate breaths and trembling. His head does raise, vision shaky under the green glow, and it’s just enough to hear Raju’s little noise of suppressed agony.

His limbs are lead now, heavy and unwieldy, but the smallest, tiniest part of him wants to twist and grab onto him. It’s such a quiet voice that it has to scream over all the other scraping, grinding noises to be heard, but hear it Crozier does eventually. He breaks from the paralytic hold just long enough to pull his hand away and latch onto that warm body beside his, arms moving tight around his waist and around his back.

He doesn’t have to say anything, they both know. It’s coming, it’s coming again for one of them, maybe more, and they’re powerless to stop it.

But he doesn’t want it to take Raju. Therein lies the source of his fear, that someone he loves will be taken from him (his men, oh god, he hopes they’re safe, he can’t protect them from this-), and Raju is right here and their door seems so, so flimsy now.

Francis’ arms are tight and secure around him. He thinks, When it comes, I can fight it and the thought is washed away. He tries again, imagining it coming, and the thought is gone before he finishes it carried in a tide of fear. His arms are around Francis now. His legs aren’t his own, they belong to the feeling that’s stealing everything else, wouldn’t support him for a second even if he tried to make them stand. But he can turn in his friend’s grip and shift his own until he’s facing the door, arms behind his back looking for whatever kind of grip on Francis they can reach.

His bow is too far away from him. The arrows are, too. The bodies it’s already killed hadn’t been fighting back at all. He can feel his body trembling with every gasping breath in and every breath he pushes out. It doesn’t last long, does it? Once it comes, it shows itself right away? Raju can’t remember. It feels like it’s been years already. Francis is behind him. He’ll be ready when it comes. He has to be.

He mistakes the twisting for pulling away entirely, tries to latch on a little tighter to prevent him from leaving, only to realize he’s just trying to face the door.

Face it down. That’s what Raju intends to do, it’s so plain to him now in his body language, the movement, the defiant yet frightened watch over their door. Crozier refuses to think of that thing bursting through the door and annihilating his friend first, but that’s exactly what will happen. Raju will be devoured first, then himself, their corpses found just like this, frozen in fear for all eternity.

It’s cowardly to hide behind someone, not a noble death at all, but what choice does he have now? He can barely move for the terror, and the only bit of strength he does muster is to drop his head into the nape of Raju’s neck. The trembling is even more obvious that way; he’ll hate himself for this later, but for now all he can do is stay stuck like a terrified statue, clinging to a younger man who fought through to be defiant to the end.

There’s a weight against the back of his neck, a spot of warmth in all the cold; Francis’ face, his breath against Raju’s skin. It firms up something at the core of Raju, something that’d started shaking lose with all his trembling. The trembling doesn’t stop, but Raju feels just a little more anchored underneath it.

He needs that anchor, a moment later. A howl cuts through the night, a sound that moves through the mind as much as it does the ears, a noise no mortal throat could make. Then a long, low groan. Not here, not here yet, but somewhere. The thought of fighting, weak as it was, looses its footing and washes away for good in the sound.

I’m going to die, the fear tells him. And the good man who’s counting on me afterward, when I fail. All that fighting for all those years is coming to nothing after all, second chance in this place or not. Everyone who matters is going to die in front of me. It’s going to happen again.

He knows how it’s going to look when it happens, the way Francis face will be when it hits the dirt, everything that used to light the blue eyes empty. He knows it. The breaths that he’s shoving out through his tight throat are starting to sound more like sobs. But Raju stays the way he is, fingers pulling at the fabric of Francis’ shirt when his fists tighten, arms tightening their protective cage around the man behind him in a shield for as long as he can be one. He feels breath precious and alive on the back of his neck and the empty air at the front of him, feels the yawning gap of nothing between himself and the door, and feels his body, feels all of him held with everything sharp and coiled inside him as if he really could fight the thing anyway. He doesn’t know how to do anything else.

He expects to hear soft huffs as the Darkwalker moves unencumbered by the forest, grunts and sniffs as though it were some sort of beast and not a thing that has the capacity to taunt them. He knows the tuunbaq, a thing that thinks like a human but acts like an animal, a protector of the land through vicious and terrifying means, but the Darkwalker is a devourer, a taker, and nothing else. It torments and destroys and eats, and Crozier can feel hate without purpose, fear for pleasure, anger without reason.

His arms creep around to Raju’s front, hand and what’s left of his left wrist splayed out to cover as much of his heart as possible. The Darkwalker’s footsteps seem to fade instead of growing loud in its approach, but Crozier keeps his hold - if he lets go then it might turn around, stalk its way back towards their little cabin instead of pursue another person. And it’s an awful, selfish thought, to let someone else bear the brunt of this, but he’s desperate not to lose again.

He shudders and holds his breath, waiting for that final shriek when the Darkwalker finally finds its prey. There’s silence, terrible silence, and then the scream comes. Crozier lets out a quiet sob.

The arms over Raju’s chest, the hand over his heart, almost make it worse; Francis trying to care for him still, as well as he can, and Raju can’t even see his face. If he turns to look at Francis now, he doesn’t know whether he’d have the strength to face this thing head on again. His friend is putting the one hand that he has left over Raju’s heart, and the next time Raju sees his face, if he lives to see it at all, it’s going to be slack and still and empty.

The sobbing noises of Raju’s exhales are rougher, should be loud in his ears but seem drowned out by the howling, the moaning that seems to reach out from the deep centre of the world, the footsteps…

…the footsteps that are growing distant now. Or maybe only quieter; he needs to breathe but he still can’t breathe, his chest hurts and the tips of his fingers are tingling, wound so tightly in Francis’ clothes. His head lolls dizzily with every heaving movement of his chest and the edges of the room are going dark, some black film creeping in between his vision and what little sickly light there is.

But he hears an indescribable noise, distant but somehow intense enough that he can almost feel it, and laughter…

Francis sobs behind him. Raju can’t connect the noise to anything; he can’t think why Francis is doing it, and any curiosity about it is distant.Everything is distant but the fear.

A moment later, an eternity later, Raju realises: the certain knowledge that he is about to die — the deep down certainty that it’s going to happen again, Francis’ face slack, body laying still on the floor in front of him — has drifted away while he wasn’t looking at it.

It’s over. The fear is draining away, its current only deep and strong instead of paralysing, and the thing killed someone else.

There isn’t room for anything but dim relief. The vice around his lungs has gone but their rhythm is irregular now, all stuttering stops and starts, and he doesn’t know how long it’s going to take him to force them into working order.

It’s gone. It’s gone. Fear lingers only like rivulets running through mud after a hard rain, but the light, the sky—

He only knows the fear is gone. The noises are gone. One hand reaches quick and desperate up to Francis’ hand and clutches at it, wraps itself tightly. And they’re alive. Raju looks over to a window, past the darkness at the edges of his view to the green light oozing dimly through it, and tries to breathe, and focuses on the feeling of Francis’ hand.

Crozier chokes back another sob as he listens to the gnashing teeth and wide maw snapping shut, paying witness to the indescribable horror of one of their own being eaten alive. The laughter follows, a mocking, disgusting thing, the fear ebbing, but the horror and slow onset of sorrow remaining.

He waits for the footsteps to return, head lifting to listen for the telltale sounds of the Darkwalker seeking its next victim. One hadn’t been enough the last time, its hunger almost insatiable with the amount of their number it had massacred. He listens for those signs they’re being stalked again, willing his heart to slow, knuckles turning white from the intensity of his grip. He can barely breathe for the stillness, but one moment drifts into the next and then again into the next.

It’s moved on. The sky is still green, but the world no longer seems to yield entirely to its influence. The fear is still fresh and raw, but he can feel that in a moment it’ll move back into an afterthought - lingering as much as the gnawing of hunger or thirst or cold might in their minds and bodies.

But oh, someone’s died. Someone’s gone, and it could be absolutely anyone. The Darkwalker had seemed to head towards the lake - Harry and Thomas are out there, the young girl, Ruby, Wynonna, possibly Edward too. He pulls his left arm back to dab at his eyes, working through the catastrophic loss that they now might face. He doesn’t let go of Raju though, needing him right where he is, wanting that reminder that he’s made it through and this isn’t some hallucination.

One arm moves away from him and Raju shifts to follow it, a part of him marvelling dimly at something like this happening without much conscious thought at all, at movement without having to push everything he has into forcing himself out of cowering. He tries to breathe and watches Francis touching his arm to his face, and looks at his face, the first time seeing it living after knowing he was never going to look on it again.

He notices his own tears only when one journeys far enough down through his beard to tickle at the corner of his lips and for an instant the old instinct tries to stir to stop it, find any way to hide it that he can — but the barracks and everything in them seem very long ago, and very far away, and it doesn't matter if he's caught at it now. What matters is Francis' hand, which he's let go of to turn and now clutches at again, and his other hand sets itself over Francis' chest so he can try to follow his friend's breathing. The door is at his back. It doesn't matter that the door is at his back. The deep down knowledge that he's about to die is gone, and he can see Francis' face.

"You're... still alive," he manages around his breathing, and makes a noise that starts life convinced it's going to be a laugh, and then isn't.

Relief and pain tangled up together, that's Raju's not-laugh, agony and fright that had been tamped down like gunpower in his chest suddenly exploding from a lit match. He shares the sentiment, feels it viscerally, though he can't make his tongue and teeth form those exact words. He settles for nodding very slowly; yes, he's still alive, and so is Raju, they've somehow survived again.

But Raju had thrown himself in front of him, faced down the door with the intent of...

Now that control is being returned to them, he lingers on the thought. His intent was to spare him? Save him? Be the first to die? This man, this friend, this dear, dear friend, had been mired in the same terror as him, but he'd still managed to act selflessly. It's remarkable.

Fresh tears threaten to spill onto his cheeks as his hand snakes away from his friend's. It finds the streaks left behind on his cheeks, tracing down from cheekbone to moustache before dropping to pull him into an embrace, chest against chest.

"You..." Ah, there's his voice. It's watery and rough, but at least it's back. He wants very much to tease him for throwing himself into harm's way or make some sort of joke about being horrendously outmatched by the Darkwalker, but sincerity wins out, especially when he feels his chest rise and fall against his. "You're still alive. I was convinced...it felt like the end of things. And you put yourself between me and the door."

Raju nods, quick and fervent, turning his face against Francis’ hair as the hand that isn’t pressed between them wraps tightly around Francis’ back. He can’t see Francis anymore this way but he can feel the solid reality of his body, his motion and warmth, the movement of his chest with his breath. He can’t tell whether he’s still crying and it’s a strange kind of freedom that he can afford not to care. His friend doesn’t need him to put it away and reassure, or to hold him up any more than Francis is holding Raju, or to be anything right now but alive and here.

“You have… to be close enough,” he manages. “Next time. So I can do it again. I don’t have to just… just watch. I can— I can do something.”

“Oh,” he murmurs, just as stricken to hear him admit it out loud. Only Raju would try to fight down a supernatural being for a friend. Others may try, but he would do.

They would have still died and died together though. Crozier inhales, a sputtering breath from an overworked pair of lungs, and brings his hand to the back of Raju’s neck.

“You’d try.” That’s all that would matter. “I wasn’t ready. I…I wasn’t ready to bid farewell to all of this.”

He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Raju, who still has so much life left in him.

Raju nods again, even though ready isn’t exactly the right word, for him. After a certain point some part of him has always expected everything to end in that way, very suddenly and without any warning at all. Like that night, long ago now, the man — brave, Raju can afford to think it now, noble and brave — and the snake, and sinking down to sit with all the fight already draining out of him.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking of it now, with his friend warm and real against him, watery voice rough, accent curling earnestly into his ear. The way Raju had felt then couldn’t have been more different. Raju hadn’t been surprised either this time or that one, but he had been ready for it, then.

His mind is quiet for a moment. Francis’ hair brushes against Raju’s cheek and then away from it as he breathes. It’s tickling against his cheek a little more regularly now, almost rhythmically. He feels Francis’ chest moving against Raju’s own with their breath, and the space between his ribs doesn’t hurt so much. A thought quietly filters in.

“You want to stay.” Raju’s voice is rough— his throat isn’t tight the way it was but it hurts a little, still — but it’s strong, happy with realization, proud. He pulls back just far enough to smile into Francis’ face. He isn’t certain how to explain, for a moment. He tries to. “I wanted you to stay, when Hickey— remember? And you aren’t ready to go.”

That’s what he said, he wants to stay —

Ah. That’s right. He’d been so willing to give up and just let the violent end come for him. Raju was so cross with him that night - a sharp contrast to the brilliant smile on his face now.

He wants to live. Yes, he suppose he does. It seems even more than a ‘want’ at this point, but a deep desire to keep this life just as it is, waking up to this very face every single morning.

Crozier pulls back just a little more, hand slipping down to cup Raju’s elbow. “I’m not,” he says again. “There’s still some life in me yet.”

Thanks to him.

Despite the heavy dread still lingering in the ait and the anxiety of not knowing who they’d just lost, he feels some of the warmth slowly begin to return back into his limbs. “…it was in Lakeside, wasn’t it?”

I'm not. There's still some life in me yet.

Raju's expression softens, if it can be called softening when there's still that thrill to it, that pleasure. It doesn't seem strange, to feel this way after being as frightened as he's ever been in his life; there's momentum in the pendulum still, and Francis wants to live, and so it's swinging back. It isn't a metaphor that really works, he hurts, he wonders if he's going to spend the next few days sore from nothing again. But he can breathe, and Francis is close and alive and touching him and wants to live. The hand that'd been between them had slid downward when Francis had pulled further back and it straightens its fingers and presses gently against Francis' stomach there, wanting to touch, not interested in very much distance just yet.

Raju's expression fades a little behind a thoughtful, distant look when Francis goes on. He's been out that way once, has a sense of where it sits in relation to where they are now, and he's confident that sense is accurate. It's the memory of that thing's noises that are more difficult to go over. Determination settles over Raju's face as his gaze goes distant. He can remember it however he wants; the thing isn't pumping fear into his mind now.

"I wouldn't be surprised," he decides, and studies Francis' face. That sobbing noise that he'd heard from behind him is making sense now, now that he can look back on it without terror crowding out all the space he needs to actually think. Francis cares. Cares enough to mourn whoever it was, even then, feeling the way they had. "Do you want to go that way? It'll be tricky in this dark, but you won't have to wait so long to find out what's happened."

There's a need and a want at play. He needs to know what happened to the Darkwalker's victim in Lakeside, but he wants to stay in the hunting cabin and not brave the cold just yet. As difficult as it is to weigh pros and cons in this moment, and logic ultimately wins out and he manages a shake of the head.

"No, it wouldn't be wise to leave right now." It's too dark to travel, the world too still.

He knows he won't be able to sleep again though.The Darkwalker's laugh is in his head and the world feels wrong; not quite upside down, but crooked in a way that seems unmendable. Someone's died tonight. Someone could die tomorrow too.

His eyes fall on Raju's hand just idly touching. He's glad he's here, even if he isn't necessarily happy that this delightful person is also fodder for some wretched beast. "If the sun comes up then we'll go," he adds, thumb rubbing the gathered fabric at Raju's elbow. "And if it doesn't, we'll gather what we can and head out together."

Raju nods. Something is pressing on him too heavily just yet to let this out by moving, tapping his fingers, jittering his feet. The weight of what’s happened.
He wants to stand and pace and do push ups, pull ups, work all of this out of him until he can sit still without it pushing at him, rest a little. He wants to stay here and keep touching Francis so he remembers his friend is alive.

He stays where he is, takes a slow breath — he can do that now — lets it out, feels his back under the one hand and as he speaks watches Francis’ front under the other. For all it feels easy to assume he’s familiar with all of Francis by now, he doesn’t usually touch him here, in this way, just settled like this. It feels better to think about than what he’s actually saying. But Francis should know. “The last time this happened, I— when it came to the church. That was when I left the Community Hall. Because I had a nightmare about it, and— well. There’s going to be more, I think. A little more often. For a time.”

Raju’s frowning, watching his hand curl, its thumb moving back and forth. The fit of the seal skin is than any other material, and the feel of it is smooth. He tries to keep his focus on it. It’s almost like he can feel Francis’ skin underneath his, this way. Francis hasn’t complained about that fire and panic in the mornings yet, or shown even a hint of impatience or real frustration about the times he’s woken up that way. Somehow, he hasn’t. Raju doesn’t understand it. But he still deserves the warning, particularly if they’re going to be travelling. It might effect where they can sleep, if nothing else.

His head dips down. It seems strange that there was a point in time when Raju wasn't living here with him. He recognizes that isn't the point of what he's trying to say, but it still strikes him all the same, as though it's unnatural for Raju to be anywhere else.

His brow furrows and he wets his lips, pondering their predicament. He isn't aware of Raju's touch; at least no more than usual at this point. "We'll prepare," he decides. "Our cabin as well as where we choose to sleep." If nightmares after an attack are a pattern, as is loss of control, then they can mitigate the damage done.

A fleeting image flashes through his mind: comforting a distraught Raju, holding him through the night to calm the nightmares, but as quickly as it'd come it disappears. He'll be charred to a crisp if he attempted that.

Hell, he'd be charred to a crisp if he attempted any other form of comfort, he's damn well sure of that.

Raju nods. If Raju's lack of control has to be a burden on them that way at least the person with him is Francis, who he can trust to bear the weight. If his friend is anything, he's prepared, and this is no different. He shouldn't have to be, not for this, but Raju's still a better choice to go with him for this particular journey than most anyone else would be. And he wants it to be him who sees Francis to Lakeside safely.

He sighs, then looks up from his hands at a window. "How many hours, do you think? Until the sun should rise?" No matter how much practice he's had being stuck inside, he never likes it. He'll start pacing soon, or do his best to train, find some excuse to move. They've been stuck inside here through blizzards before, he knows that Francis knows that's why he asks. It might help to know how long he's got. He should make a fire, too, as soon as it stops feeling so important to keep Francis where he knows he's here. Now that the terror and everything behind it is draining away, he's starting to notice how cold it is. His shoulders hunch and he slumps a little, leaning in toward Francis and his body heat. Odd to realise he'd forgotten the one thing he never can in this place, but only after the fact.

It's hard to tell with that sickly green miasma still hanging in the air. Crozier squints and reluctantly pulls himself away from Raju to tentatively looking out the window, hoping to see the moons or stars or something beyond the clouds. There really isn't much to see, and he can't help but scowl, slightly vexed but mostly anxious. There's so much outside of their control right now.

"I'd say four or five." It's a guess; he can't tell by his usual methods. But he knows Raju, and that's far too long to expect him to putter around and wait for action. "We'll wait for three."

And in the meantime he can keep Raju busy. They'll build the fire and cook a little, gather their supplies for the journey, eat and drink and bathe and then dress to head out into the cold air.

So they build up the fire, they prepare. The hours pass, and the sky stays its dim, foreboding green. In as many layers as he can still move in, with his bow slung at his side and arrows alongside the blanket and food slung across his back, Raju starts the walk up to the mines. They’ve made the walk together to Lakeside and back once before, and Raju remembers how often Francis tends to need to take breaks, though there’s a little more urgency now. The way through the mines goes well; down there it’s expected that it’s going to be dark, and the little fires inside makeshift torches reflect off the smaller space, off the ceiling and the walls, and light their way.

It’s just as well the torches stay in the mine where they’re useful, Raju thinks, looking down into the ravine he knows is below him. They wouldn’t do any good here.

He looks over the bridge. He knows the railway is there, but mostly because he’s been this way recently enough to remember what it looks like.

He looks back at Francis. “Someone fell here the first time they tried to cross,” he says. “And that was in the daylight. I think. But if the sun hasn’t come up by now, it isn’t going to.”

Ah. Fantastic. He remembers how treacherous this ravine was the first and second time around, and that was without the green haze that’s now continuously hovering above them.

Crozier pauses to set down his pack. He’s traveling lighter now, just in the inner seal tunic and trousers, the parka too warm now even if the thaw hasn’t yet come. His boots feel too heavy still though, the tunic a bit too much. Come summer proper he’ll likely be wanting his shirtsleeves again.

He sighs. They’ve been keeping a good pace, though he knows Raju’s slowing himself up for his sake. He wants to keep going while he still has the stamina; he’s ready, willing, and able.

“What’s our plan?” he ponders aloud, looking about as though another path might materialize.

For a moment Raju doesn't answer, frowning out at everything that he can't see. There are sturdy ways to cross that bridge, when they can be seen. And the ravine is very deep.

It was hours ago now when whoever it was had died but he remembers Francis behind him, the noises he'd made. He knows at least one of Francis' men is down in Lakeside, the men he keeps himself so isolated from, the men he worries over, the men whose deaths he carries such terrible guilt for, the responsibility of it heavy enough over his shoulders that Francis isn't always sure he's strong enough to keep his feet under the weight. The men who need him.

Raju's fingers curl into fists. The mittens keep his fingernails from cutting into his palms the way that he needs them to. He pushes a heavy breath out of his nose. He realises, dimly, that his jaw is tense, his teeth are clenched together. He holds himself that way, and he is still.

Francis needs light. He's going to need a lot of light.

"We should have something like a torch." He says it without looking around. His voice is solid and businesslike, a voice more used to giving orders than chatting, or laughing, or thinking very much beyond the things that it needs to. "Something that can carry a flame without burning up. A... bucket? Something metal? Wood won't do."

Should have. They have matches, kindling. There are branches they could fasten into something useable. They're more than able to cobble together something workable. If Raju was wanting something like a lantern though -

"We have some cans for melt water. Will that do?"

A torch would give off a fair amount of light, enough to at least see their feet. It wouldn't be the safest method, but there's not enough they can do otherwise. They have to get across the ravine. He needs to know, he just needs to know.

Open RP

Singillatim - June Event, early in the month

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