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.
Cans. Not nearly large enough. Not for what he's thinking. And no handle, he'll have to either burn his hand holding it, if it burns as hot as he means it to, or risk damaging one of the mittens that he's been so careful to keep in good condition all this time.
It's his own fault. He should have anticipated needing to do this. But he hadn't wanted to. Hasn't wanted to practice it at all. And so he hadn't thought he'd need to. Hadn't thought Francis would need him to. He hadn't wanted to think it.
"It'll have to," he says in a flat voice, then turns and looks around for Francis' pack, moves with quick, efficient movements to find a can inside it and straightens up. He looks down into it. In the sick green light, the hollow inside looks as deep and dark as everything else. He wants to tap his fingers, his feet. He sets the can down and takes the mittens off him instead, puts them in the pockets of the blanket, takes that off and the parka beneath it. He holds the parka out to Francis, frowning and impatient and unwilling to get the precious thing dirty by putting it onto the ground.
"You'll have to stay back," he says, already starting to shiver. It isn't dangerous to be cold right now, he thinks, or Francis wouldn't have offered this to Raju instead of wearing it himself. It only feels terrible. And it'll be easier this way than it would warm and comfortable, the way he can very nearly be with what he's forced to call warmer temperatures and Francis' fine, odd coat on top of that as one of all of Raju's layers. He won't take something so valuable of Francis' only to risk burning it by keeping it on crossing that bridge. And it would be harder to do what he needs to, feeling like that. "But it'll burn bright enough to keep you safe. I have to make sure it... stays in the right place."
Crozier takes the parka with barely-concealed confusion painted on his face. Surely Raju isn't going to attempt when he thinks he's going to attempt. Surely he's not going to try to call on the flames that he works so diligently to keep in check. Surely he's not going to try to manipulate something he actively fears?
But of course he is. Raju knows how desperately he wants to get to Lakeside, how quickly he'd moved overland compared to his usual sort of careful plodding. Raju has been supportive the moment he'd said he was going; like hell is a treacherous crossing going to stop them.
But even still - "You don't have to do this."
He frowns, shifting the heavy parka over his shoulder. "We can make a couple of torches and move slowly. You don't have to attempt this."
Raju frowns at him, troubled. And tempted. That in itself makes it easier to shake his head. This needs to be done; that's what matters, and that's all. That should be all. "That won't be bright enough. Not here. You shouldn't have to take more risks just because I'm afraid."
Raju realises what he's said the moment it finishes coming out of his mouth. For a moment he doesn't move, eyes on Francis, businesslike expression cracking just long enough for surprise and shame to try showing through. Then he turns, the movements of his hands wrapping the blanket back around him and slinging his things around his back a little less efficient, less graceful and moving more quickly. He picks the can up. He puts the can down and takes out the fingerless gloves he's sewn out from a spare shirt and tugs them on. He reaches out for the can again, then stops and wraps the blanket around his face. Francis will only be able to see his eyes. That's better than nothing.
He tries not to give himself another moment of hesitation, picks the can up quickly, walks with long, fast strides over to where he thinks the right part of the bridge begins. But when he gets there...
For a long, strange moment, Raju is still. His fingers are cold. He realises he's breathing hard. Where's the blank, empty thing that used to make anything like this easy? He's been trying for it, but he realises now it hasn't come. Considering what he's wanting to do, that's probably for the best. His fingers tighten on the can, then loosen, then tighten again. He closes his eyes.
It's always here, isn't it? That's why he dreams of it so much. It must be here. Somewhere.
He frowns. He finds himself shying away from the memories, feeling around their edges in that easier, more familiar way, and not sure how to venture in it any further.
Alright. Something more recent, then. Kneeling in the snow. The cold that he feels in his fingers now but in his feet, painful at first, then numb. He remembers what he'd felt then, what he hasn't allowed himself to think on except that night, when he'd been forced to. All the time he's wasted here. How easy it was, once it'd happened, to welcome it, to let everything drain out of the punctures in his arm and away from him, and end up here after. But fingers large around his, slicking his hand with blood. The people waiting for him, even now, hoping and needing and waiting while he hasn't sent word for years, while he's here, while he let himself end up here, while he wants to stay here and happy and doing nothing while the desperate people who gave everything for him wait and wait, and wait forever. I'm sorry, baba.
He opens his eyes with a sharp breath, shaking his free hand. In the instant when his mind is too far away to expect it not to, the fire drips away from his hand's movement like water, spilling into the open can with the rest of itself. The light chases the dark back and forth as the can trembles in his unsteady grip, the movement that should be too small to see magnified by the size of the long moving shadows.
But it fits very neatly into the can. He'd intended it to be bigger. He doesn't know if— it's hard to think.
"Francis." His reach for a businesslike tone stretches tightly around what wants to be a shake in his voice. "Is this enough? It should be... bigger. Brighter. I-I think."
Selfish. He's selfish, being here, asking instead of doing, wanting to hear a yes so he can stop at only this instead of making it bigger and brighter and better than it is. He takes an unsteady breath and thinks it and narrows his eyes at the metal in his hand, and the flame in it grows. A little. His fingers are starting to feel the heat.
He understands. He hates it, hates seeing the look cross Raju’s face like he wants the earth to swallow him whole, hates that he’s doing this only to make the crossing safer for him, but he understands.
He must be tired too of always being a little bit afraid.
Raju starts and stops, then starts and stops, and God, Crozier wishes there was some other way. The flames come from distress, at least they do for him; what must possibly be going through his mind? And for his sake, some old man who couldn’t wait a day to find out something he can’t even change. Would a day have made any real difference? Dead is dead, urgency won’t undo what’s just been done.
Raju is insistent. Crozier won’t ask again to stop, even if he wants to.
In the dark he can just barely make out his form, but the way he holds himself, stiff shoulders now a little rounded as though cringing or wincing, still like a statue as he concentrates on whatever terrible thing he has to conjure to call forth the fire. He holds himself back and waits, breath catching in his throat, seconds ticking by slowly until the shadows begin to flicker and dance. He’s done it.
He’s done it!
What started as a concerned frown quickly softens, then brightens as he starts to smile. That nervous little breath expels with a soft laugh, making room for the pride that swells in his chest.
“My god, look at that,” he says, for a moment forgetting to answer him. He’s too pleased, too happy for Raju and his accomplishment. His joy is soft and measured though; he doesn’t leap forward to grab his shoulder or raise his voice beyond his very quiet astonishment. Raju is still frightened, he needs to remember that. “That’s incredible. A marvel. You just poured fire into a tin from nothing.”
Crozier laughs again, awed. But then again, he shouldn’t be so surprised at the success; Raju is a capable man with a well of strength and self-discipline. It was only a matter of time before he mastered this whole ‘fire conjuring’ business.
“Does it need to be more than that? How far can you see ahead of you now?”
Raju raises his eyes and looks over, surprised, at Francis’ laugh, his admiration. It’s the perfect opposite to what Raju’s feeling. Francis sounds proud.
When he looks back at his hand the fire is dimmer, and he grimaces. Damn it. Francis is too… too kind, too soothing. He’s too used to the way it feels looking at him, and that feeling is only going to help. Which isn’t what they need right now.
He tilts the can, aiming the light more toward the ground. Alright, but not enough. It would be enough, wouldn’t it, if he had practiced, but he’s grown lazy here, forgotten how to push himself and Francis isn’t the only person who’s going to suffer for it and Raju knows that, he knows that. He needs to do better. The feeling sitting heavy at the bottom of his stomach reaches up and squeezes at the base of his throat, and—
There. Better, anyway, if not quite as bright as it was. But he can’t let himself think that way for too long or he’s going to relax. His mind doesn’t want to hold onto any of these thoughts, and forcing them from slipping away into their usual place closer to the back of his mind is going to take constant attention.
“I’ll see farther if you stop being so damn kind to me,” he mutters, voice pitched low with irritation that doesn’t belong where he’s putting it, that feels wrong to aim that way but he can see the way that wrong feeling is helping and that’s the only part that matters, and the rest is a problem for later.
Cruel to be kind, is that it? He can't say anything positive, or Raju would lose the thing that fuels the flame. God only knows what that means exactly, what memories or dire thoughts he's subjected himself to.
It'd be wrong to let him languish for his sake, morally - and for a more selfish part of himself - emotionally. He's fond of this man, he doesn't want him to have to suffer for goddamned fire, but he said he wouldn't try to talk him out of it again.
He tries on an apologetic smile and nods. "I'll be quiet and let you morb then."
Raju’s stops himself from glancing over at Francis as his head’s already turning to do it. He focuses fiercely on the fire instead, tilts it toward the ground, walks forward.
He tries to mine his dreams first, the ones he’s had in the past about that thing coming, lying on the dirt with his finger over the trigger frozen, because the thing is coming, knowing the people counting on him are exactly who it’s come for, knowing that it’s here. He tries to mine the memory of when it’d come this morning. He remembers the man he… the man he tortured, what feels like a very long time ago. He remembers other things. Standing in uniform feeling nothing but a pressure somewhere deep inside him, and following orders.
It’s hard to hold onto, all of it, oddly difficult to keep any of it at the front of his mind and the light dims periodically, more thick smoke and tight pressure inside him than fire until it reignites with one particularly pointed thought or another so he keeps jumping from thought to thought, his feet moving over the tracks, fire large enough to illuminate a great deal of the bridge around both their feet when it’s bright, large enough at least to be aimed in front of Francis whenever it starts dimming.
It’s easy to think that the thoughts aren’t doing much. It feels like they’re not doing much. But he realises there’s land beside the tracks now, that they’ve finished crossing the bridge, and then realises that his eyes are stinging, that despite the gap for his sight he’d left in the blanket over his face that it’s been hard to see the tracks for a while, they’ve been blurring in front of him, realises that his eyelashes are wet. He realises that he’s breathing faster, that his heart is beating hard. The fire is more smoke now with flames which keep trying to grow and keep failing all compressed in on themselves somewhere underneath it but the can is hot even through the fabric over his palm, is hurting his bare fingers. The metal is thin, discoloured, growing holes near the bottom where the fire’s coming through, that none of it’s reached his hand yet but it’s been hurting to hold it. Raju stops walking. He keeps staring at it. He keeps breathing, becoming aware of the distant, scattered details of his body and trying to think whether he’s supposed to he putting the can and its fire down yet.
A hand touches Raju’s wrist, surprisingly-warm fingers cupping his hand and a thumb swiping across his palm. Crozier stands behind him, safe and sound on solid ground.
“Drop it,” he murmurs, voice soft but adamant. He sweeps his thumb again, heat from the fire making even frostbitten fingers start to burn. “You did so well. Let the tin fall into the snow now.”
Crozier had followed him across the ravine with bated breath, equal parts terrified and awed. It was exceedingly precarious at times, the holes in the bridge black windows into the long drop below, but never once did he feel unsteady on his feet. Now as he stands close he can see the tears on his eyelashes, proof of the hell he’s put himself through for them.
He squeezes his hand, thumb accidentally landing on his pulse but not moving an inch when he feels it fluttering against his skin.
Edited (Pressed enter too soon!!! ) Date: 2024-06-08 12:21 am (UTC)
Francis' voice, behind him. He'd known Francis was behind him through the walk, but hearing is different from knowing it. More real. It's Francis' hand that was touching his wrist, that's moving over his hand now. He forgets about the heat of the metal on his skin, and about the wet feeling blurring everything in front of his eyes. There isn't room for all of it. Francis wants him to drop the can; he watches it fall, watches it while the snow hisses and steams around it.
Francis' thumb is on his wrist. Francis thinks that he did well. Things feel better with it there, some cool and soothing thing spreading out from the heat of his friend's skin against his. Raju lets a breath out from between his lips, half-noticing the cloud of warmth it makes as it the air catches in the blanket wrapped over his mouth. The line of his shoulders starts to sag and his hand sags, arm starting to trust Francis to hold its weight up or let it drop. The mass of smoke rising out of the can's various holes begins to thin.
At home, it had been easy to operate this way. There had been orders, and when there weren't orders, there was routine. Raju looks up and around for his purpose, lacking anything that'd used to do in Delhi, but catches himself before he finds Francis' face and turns back to stare down at the can and the fire again. His hand hurts. It's important to keep his focus on the ground just there, on where it'd all dropped to, keep everything where it's supposed to be so nothing spreads. If anything else needs to be done Francis will tell him, and if there's anyone who won't tell him to do anything that's... Well, that's Francis again, so this is better than being home in that way, really. The thought floats there without anything to settle on and Raju lets it stay there, focuses on the fire again.
The snow sizzles and the flames pop, light from the tin shivering in short shadows against the ground as the fire starts to go out. Raju’s relinquished control; there’s no more need to linger in whatever he’s managed to dredge up from his memories. Not that he’ll automatically snap back into someone less lost, but Raju always seems more comfortable when he’s in full control of himself.
Crozier keeps his fingers on his wrist for just a beat or two longer than strictly necessary, lowering his arm as he feels that rigidity in his body start to loosen. When it seems enough he takes his hand back and passes Raju the parka which he so sorely needs, even if he doesn’t feel the full effect of the cold air just yet. He will soon, and then that’ll be yet another issue that he doesn’t need Raju to suffer through on his behalf.
He fills his lungs with the acrid smell of smoke, with narrowed eyes scouts the dimly-lit path up ahead. His gaze eventually falls back on Raju, and he makes a decision.
“We’ll make camp just up ahead.” He gestures to the soft sloping hill in front of them and stoops down to unceremoniously retrieve the tin can from the snow. Never good to waste a resource here.
“If I recall correctly there are some empty box cars not too far from here.” Good source of kindling and, joy of joys, a roof over their heads.
He looks back at Raju again and nods, guiding him into taking that first step forward. They can walk side-by-side here, Raju can press shoulder against his if he likes, lean on him a bit just like Crozier’s been metaphorically leaning on him this entire journey. He doesn’t know what he would do without him - and he really doesn’t want to think of what it would be like if that were the case.
Wearing fur had always seemed like a matter of vanity before, superiority. A pointed gesture, at home, and tasteless on top of it. He watches his fingers bury themselves in the dense fur of the coat. The parka, that's what Francis calls it. It hurts, a little, against the fingertips that'd been holding that can. He buries his fingers a little deeper, realising he's doing it because it's soft. He thinks it might be softer than anything he's ever felt. And warmer. He remembers opening his eyes after a long and terrible night and seeing what's in his hands resting over him, and watching Francis' back as he walked away.
Francis is saying something. He's been saying something. Raju looks up.
Whatever it was, it'd been something about box cars. If that's where Francis wants to go, that's where they'll go. Then Francis nods him forward, so Raju walks. Unthinkingly, he settles his stride close enough to Francis to press their arms together, looking at the fur in his hands and then over at Francis' hand, at the tin can in it.
"I'll need that," he says, after a moment of looking at it. His voice is brisk and efficient, matter of fact and flat. "There's no sense in ruining anything else."
“You didn’t ruin anything.” He’s warm and supportive, a stark contrast to Raju’s own somewhat bland tone. “You found a new purpose for something.”
He smiles and steps closer to him, guiding him in the right direction with a few well-placed bumps and pushes with his arm. He’s navigating by landmarks alone - curve of the path and the crossing of the tracks, that one tree that’s hunched over like an old woman, a large cliff of boulders or twin pines. Thankfully their destination isn’t too far, and soon the derailed box cars, some tipped onto their sides and twisted, quickly make an appearance in the tree line.
Crozier selects the best box car of the bunch - and look, there’s already a barrel for a fire - and has the two of them start to make camp. He gives Raju a few simple but direct orders, mostly collecting the firewood and spreading out the bedrolls, to keep his body occupied while his mind continues to be trapped in those bad thoughts. He focuses on the kindling and the cooking, setting out bowls of warm, fish stew and water once they’re sufficiently settled in for the night.
But once the work is over, the stillness returns. He sits close to Raju, keeping the quiet if that’s what’s needed, or idly chatting if a distraction seems called for.
Raju frowns down at the stew in his bowl. It's warm between his hands, and warm inside him — he hasn't wanted to risk the parka by wearing it yet, and he's hunched into the blanket wrapped around him— but it isn't sitting well enough to have any more. He hadn't expected it to. A tiny flame lights up one of the bits of fish as he watches, flaring out of nowhere before the fish sinks down under the surface again and the flame goes out with a little hiss. Raju grimaces, irritated, and pushes the bowl to one side, picking up the remains of the tin can to hold between his hands instead. Smoke curls lazily out of the holes burnt in its side, floating up from nowhere. He doesn't fidget with it. His fingers don't tap at its sides, his hands don't roll the metal between them. He's still. It's easy to be still, this way.
"I should keep watch for a while. After you sleep." He looks over at Francis and then pauses, surprised, by how close they are. Had he moved himself this close to Francis while he hadn't been paying attention? It's alright, of course, because it's Francis. But he hadn't expected it.
After a moment he goes on. "There's no telling what's going to be out there, on a night like this. Or, a day like—" It hasn't been a full day since they woke up this morning, has it? Raju sighs, looking back down at the stillness of his hands and giving up on the right word, and shakes his head. He got across what he needed to. The right word doesn't matter.
Crozier smiles, a touch of sadness in it. It’s as though Raju hasn’t even realized he’s been kept company this entire time.
Raju won’t sleep, and if he does he’ll have nightmares. There’s no doubt in his mind this is why he’s offering to take first watch. If he can avoid sleep for as long as physically possible then he can keep control of the flames in the tin.
Crozier places his hand on Raju’s shoulder. “When you’re tired come to bed.” No reinforcing the quiet explanations, just a simple statement. When he’s ready Crozier will be expecting him.
He nods softly and shifts away, ready to rest his bones a while. He’s also plagued by dreams, horrible ones, but he knows his will never leave him so long as he keeps breathing. Living with them is the only way to move forward, but lord, are they exhausting sometimes. They’re abstract now - large soup pots with human-like limbs simmering away inside of them, scattered papers fluttering away across a barren landscape, rusty chains cutting into disintegrating limbs.
He falls asleep trying to think about more pleasant things. Glittering stars, gently-rolling waves, a book of pretty poetry, the man behind him. He doesn’t tend to wake from his nightmares, even when he is in the throes of it, whimpering or moaning or listing an old muster roll in his delirium. He won’t wake from it tonight, though it’s particularly severe, a large beast with three heads crushing skulls underfoot like dead leaves, pausing only long enough for the next human in line to scream.
Raju sits by the slightly-opened door of the boxcar so the smoke can drift out. It isn't thick enough to give them away if any of those odd people are around somewhere watching, particularly not in this dark. He watches the smoke, wondering at how long it's taking to go away while Francis sleeps behind him.
There was a room, he'd set one up in his rooms in the city too, where he could go to move, to feel leather against his fists, to work something out of his body when he needed to. He hasn't needed it in quite this way since he'd ended up in this bizarre place. The fire flares a few times as the world grows sharp. He smells the snow outside, and the musty smell of the rusted metal and dirt inside of the boxcar, and he feels the cold. He pushes up his sleeve to see gooseflesh there, notices his foot tapping. He remembers that he'd been afraid before they'd crossed the bridge — he remembers that he'd said so — and tries to decide whether the fear, or wariness, or whatever it had been had been justified or not. His mind feels uncomfortable, too full.
He breathes. Slow breaths, bringing the bite of the cold into himself, warming it inside his body, pushing it slowly out of his mouth. He tries to think only of that, tries to let everything else inside him flow around it. He starts to look down at the tin to see whether it's working — the smoke would be starting to thin — and Francis whimpers behind him. Raju turns to look at his friend instead, shadows of the real fire inside its barrel lighting up the soft, strong curves of his face.
It's easy to know what's happening, easy to assume. Seetha had had nightmares, too, and old habit has Raju, unthinking just now, setting down the tin and easing over. He studies Francis' expression, raises a hand to smooth it over one side of Francis' brow and into his hair to smooth away the tension there. Habit tells him to touch carefully and gently, to ease into something more firm if the touch goes well, or doesn't seem to do anything at all. He'll have to watch Francis to see. But the touch isn't what it should be; Raju frowns at his hand and then tugs at the fingerless gloves impatiently, pulling the useless things off and tossing them some place behind him, and then smoothing his hand from Francis' brow to his hairline again.
There. The wellbeing that spreads out from Francis' skin to his, like liquid warmth. That's more like touching him should be. Satisfied, Raju settles on his knees, his hand light over Francis' hair, to watch him.
As the dream continues the Darkwalker’s green breath curls from its three heads, sinking low and spreading across the forest floor, withering everything it touches. Plants curl and decay, animals wither away, and people - vague amalgamations of his men, the Netsilik families who cared for him, the people here - begin to rot from the inside out. Their teeth start to fall from their heads and their foreheads trickle blood like Christ’s crown of thorns. They reach for him, claw at him, mouths gaping wide as mandibles loosen and then fall away completely.
Crozier’s distress increases, brow furrowing as sweat pools on his brow. It’s still mild discomfort at the most, until something particularly horrific twists his face into a grimace and he exhales a soft, shuddering sob.
Raju frowns, setting his hand along the side of Francis' face. His touch is still careful, and when he raises his other hand toward Francis' shoulder it stops before it gets there. Seetha hadn't liked too much touch at once, those nights; she'd been grabbed that day, carried away from them to safety, and more of that before she was even awake to realise what the touch was for hadn't ever helped. But he doesn't know the first thing about Francis' nightmares.
He's aware of an emotion now, clear and simple: frustration. He doesn't know enough about Francis yet, and it surprises him as if it's new, every time he finds himself needing to be familiar and realising over again that he's not. But he's going to do something.
"Francis," he murmurs, free hand settling for a light touch against the man's upper arm. "Francis," he says again, still quiet but more firmly: "Wake up now."
Crozier is typically easy to rouse by virtue of that naval structure and routine, but he’s been caught mid-dream and is slow to fully come back to himself. He grunts quietly and attempts to turn away, stuck in the in-between for a half a minute longer before it finally registers that he’s being woken.
Awareness sets in. He’s asleep in a box car, they’re out in the wilderness, vulnerable to all the insanity that lingers out this way. He bolts upright. “Raju,” he gasps, suddenly on high alert. “What‘s the matter?”
Raju's touch on him is light enough that Raju's hands fall away easily when Francis bolts up that way. Francis is sitting up, he is awake, and Raju takes him in; Francis doesn't know why Raju woke him up. Raju's gaze goes to the floor for a moment as the hint of a grimace moves onto his face. He sighs quietly.
"Nothing. You were dreaming," he says as he looks back up at Francis. He realises the hand that'd been on Francis' face is still hovering like it wants to reach again and he curls its fingers instead, rubbing his thumb into his fingertips to keep them busy. The grimace shifts into a similarly subtle wry smile that waits in the background of his expression, in the set of his eyebrows and at the corners of his lips. It feels wrong to just ask — he should have this figured out already — but he has to ask, doesn't he? So he does, even though his expression says he's already anticipating the answer being yes and he's preparing himself to apologise, preemptively. "Should I have let you get more sleep?"
Crozier presses the heel of his palm into his eyes and exhales. Here 'dreaming' implies that whatever sort of resting he was doing had been noisy and quite possibly disruptive. Frankly he's just surprised it hasn't woken or bothered Raju before.
"It's fine," he mutters, picking his head back up. His hand drops heavily onto his blankets and he looks at the fire, at the doorway, at the warped planks that serve as the floor - anywhere but Raju himself. "Talking in my sleep, was it? Maybe tossing and turning - whatever it was I'm sorry if it disturbed you."
He finally looks at the space beside him, realizing that Raju hasn't come to bed yet. Maybe it hasn't been too long since he'd fallen asleep, but he doubts it.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-06-06 02:02 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2024-06-06 07:08 pm (UTC)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.”
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Date: 2024-06-07 12:05 am (UTC)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.
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Date: 2024-06-07 03:13 am (UTC)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."
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Date: 2024-06-07 12:00 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2024-06-07 12:53 pm (UTC)It's his own fault. He should have anticipated needing to do this. But he hadn't wanted to. Hasn't wanted to practice it at all. And so he hadn't thought he'd need to. Hadn't thought Francis would need him to. He hadn't wanted to think it.
"It'll have to," he says in a flat voice, then turns and looks around for Francis' pack, moves with quick, efficient movements to find a can inside it and straightens up. He looks down into it. In the sick green light, the hollow inside looks as deep and dark as everything else. He wants to tap his fingers, his feet. He sets the can down and takes the mittens off him instead, puts them in the pockets of the blanket, takes that off and the parka beneath it. He holds the parka out to Francis, frowning and impatient and unwilling to get the precious thing dirty by putting it onto the ground.
"You'll have to stay back," he says, already starting to shiver. It isn't dangerous to be cold right now, he thinks, or Francis wouldn't have offered this to Raju instead of wearing it himself. It only feels terrible. And it'll be easier this way than it would warm and comfortable, the way he can very nearly be with what he's forced to call warmer temperatures and Francis' fine, odd coat on top of that as one of all of Raju's layers. He won't take something so valuable of Francis' only to risk burning it by keeping it on crossing that bridge. And it would be harder to do what he needs to, feeling like that. "But it'll burn bright enough to keep you safe. I have to make sure it... stays in the right place."
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Date: 2024-06-07 02:13 pm (UTC)Crozier takes the parka with barely-concealed confusion painted on his face. Surely Raju isn't going to attempt when he thinks he's going to attempt. Surely he's not going to try to call on the flames that he works so diligently to keep in check. Surely he's not going to try to manipulate something he actively fears?
But of course he is. Raju knows how desperately he wants to get to Lakeside, how quickly he'd moved overland compared to his usual sort of careful plodding. Raju has been supportive the moment he'd said he was going; like hell is a treacherous crossing going to stop them.
But even still - "You don't have to do this."
He frowns, shifting the heavy parka over his shoulder. "We can make a couple of torches and move slowly. You don't have to attempt this."
cw vague vague mention of suicide ideation
Date: 2024-06-07 03:29 pm (UTC)Raju realises what he's said the moment it finishes coming out of his mouth. For a moment he doesn't move, eyes on Francis, businesslike expression cracking just long enough for surprise and shame to try showing through. Then he turns, the movements of his hands wrapping the blanket back around him and slinging his things around his back a little less efficient, less graceful and moving more quickly. He picks the can up. He puts the can down and takes out the fingerless gloves he's sewn out from a spare shirt and tugs them on. He reaches out for the can again, then stops and wraps the blanket around his face. Francis will only be able to see his eyes. That's better than nothing.
He tries not to give himself another moment of hesitation, picks the can up quickly, walks with long, fast strides over to where he thinks the right part of the bridge begins. But when he gets there...
For a long, strange moment, Raju is still. His fingers are cold. He realises he's breathing hard. Where's the blank, empty thing that used to make anything like this easy? He's been trying for it, but he realises now it hasn't come. Considering what he's wanting to do, that's probably for the best. His fingers tighten on the can, then loosen, then tighten again. He closes his eyes.
It's always here, isn't it? That's why he dreams of it so much. It must be here. Somewhere.
He frowns. He finds himself shying away from the memories, feeling around their edges in that easier, more familiar way, and not sure how to venture in it any further.
Alright. Something more recent, then. Kneeling in the snow. The cold that he feels in his fingers now but in his feet, painful at first, then numb. He remembers what he'd felt then, what he hasn't allowed himself to think on except that night, when he'd been forced to. All the time he's wasted here. How easy it was, once it'd happened, to welcome it, to let everything drain out of the punctures in his arm and away from him, and end up here after. But fingers large around his, slicking his hand with blood. The people waiting for him, even now, hoping and needing and waiting while he hasn't sent word for years, while he's here, while he let himself end up here, while he wants to stay here and happy and doing nothing while the desperate people who gave everything for him wait and wait, and wait forever. I'm sorry, baba.
He opens his eyes with a sharp breath, shaking his free hand. In the instant when his mind is too far away to expect it not to, the fire drips away from his hand's movement like water, spilling into the open can with the rest of itself. The light chases the dark back and forth as the can trembles in his unsteady grip, the movement that should be too small to see magnified by the size of the long moving shadows.
But it fits very neatly into the can. He'd intended it to be bigger. He doesn't know if— it's hard to think.
"Francis." His reach for a businesslike tone stretches tightly around what wants to be a shake in his voice. "Is this enough? It should be... bigger. Brighter. I-I think."
Selfish. He's selfish, being here, asking instead of doing, wanting to hear a yes so he can stop at only this instead of making it bigger and brighter and better than it is. He takes an unsteady breath and thinks it and narrows his eyes at the metal in his hand, and the flame in it grows. A little. His fingers are starting to feel the heat.
no subject
Date: 2024-06-07 03:57 pm (UTC)He understands. He hates it, hates seeing the look cross Raju’s face like he wants the earth to swallow him whole, hates that he’s doing this only to make the crossing safer for him, but he understands.
He must be tired too of always being a little bit afraid.
Raju starts and stops, then starts and stops, and God, Crozier wishes there was some other way. The flames come from distress, at least they do for him; what must possibly be going through his mind? And for his sake, some old man who couldn’t wait a day to find out something he can’t even change. Would a day have made any real difference? Dead is dead, urgency won’t undo what’s just been done.
Raju is insistent. Crozier won’t ask again to stop, even if he wants to.
In the dark he can just barely make out his form, but the way he holds himself, stiff shoulders now a little rounded as though cringing or wincing, still like a statue as he concentrates on whatever terrible thing he has to conjure to call forth the fire. He holds himself back and waits, breath catching in his throat, seconds ticking by slowly until the shadows begin to flicker and dance. He’s done it.
He’s done it!
What started as a concerned frown quickly softens, then brightens as he starts to smile. That nervous little breath expels with a soft laugh, making room for the pride that swells in his chest.
“My god, look at that,” he says, for a moment forgetting to answer him. He’s too pleased, too happy for Raju and his accomplishment. His joy is soft and measured though; he doesn’t leap forward to grab his shoulder or raise his voice beyond his very quiet astonishment. Raju is still frightened, he needs to remember that. “That’s incredible. A marvel. You just poured fire into a tin from nothing.”
Crozier laughs again, awed. But then again, he shouldn’t be so surprised at the success; Raju is a capable man with a well of strength and self-discipline. It was only a matter of time before he mastered this whole ‘fire conjuring’ business.
“Does it need to be more than that? How far can you see ahead of you now?”
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Date: 2024-06-07 07:08 pm (UTC)When he looks back at his hand the fire is dimmer, and he grimaces. Damn it. Francis is too… too kind, too soothing. He’s too used to the way it feels looking at him, and that feeling is only going to help. Which isn’t what they need right now.
He tilts the can, aiming the light more toward the ground. Alright, but not enough. It would be enough, wouldn’t it, if he had practiced, but he’s grown lazy here, forgotten how to push himself and Francis isn’t the only person who’s going to suffer for it and Raju knows that, he knows that. He needs to do better. The feeling sitting heavy at the bottom of his stomach reaches up and squeezes at the base of his throat, and—
There. Better, anyway, if not quite as bright as it was. But he can’t let himself think that way for too long or he’s going to relax. His mind doesn’t want to hold onto any of these thoughts, and forcing them from slipping away into their usual place closer to the back of his mind is going to take constant attention.
“I’ll see farther if you stop being so damn kind to me,” he mutters, voice pitched low with irritation that doesn’t belong where he’s putting it, that feels wrong to aim that way but he can see the way that wrong feeling is helping and that’s the only part that matters, and the rest is a problem for later.
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Date: 2024-06-07 08:11 pm (UTC)Cruel to be kind, is that it? He can't say anything positive, or Raju would lose the thing that fuels the flame. God only knows what that means exactly, what memories or dire thoughts he's subjected himself to.
It'd be wrong to let him languish for his sake, morally - and for a more selfish part of himself - emotionally. He's fond of this man, he doesn't want him to have to suffer for goddamned fire, but he said he wouldn't try to talk him out of it again.
He tries on an apologetic smile and nods. "I'll be quiet and let you morb then."
no subject
Date: 2024-06-07 11:29 pm (UTC)He tries to mine his dreams first, the ones he’s had in the past about that thing coming, lying on the dirt with his finger over the trigger frozen, because the thing is coming, knowing the people counting on him are exactly who it’s come for, knowing that it’s here. He tries to mine the memory of when it’d come this morning. He remembers the man he… the man he tortured, what feels like a very long time ago. He remembers other things. Standing in uniform feeling nothing but a pressure somewhere deep inside him, and following orders.
It’s hard to hold onto, all of it, oddly difficult to keep any of it at the front of his mind and the light dims periodically, more thick smoke and tight pressure inside him than fire until it reignites with one particularly pointed thought or another so he keeps jumping from thought to thought, his feet moving over the tracks, fire large enough to illuminate a great deal of the bridge around both their feet when it’s bright, large enough at least to be aimed in front of Francis whenever it starts dimming.
It’s easy to think that the thoughts aren’t doing much. It feels like they’re not doing much. But he realises there’s land beside the tracks now, that they’ve finished crossing the bridge, and then realises that his eyes are stinging, that despite the gap for his sight he’d left in the blanket over his face that it’s been hard to see the tracks for a while, they’ve been blurring in front of him, realises that his eyelashes are wet. He realises that he’s breathing faster, that his heart is beating hard. The fire is more smoke now with flames which keep trying to grow and keep failing all compressed in on themselves somewhere underneath it but the can is hot even through the fabric over his palm, is hurting his bare fingers. The metal is thin, discoloured, growing holes near the bottom where the fire’s coming through, that none of it’s reached his hand yet but it’s been hurting to hold it. Raju stops walking. He keeps staring at it. He keeps breathing, becoming aware of the distant, scattered details of his body and trying to think whether he’s supposed to he putting the can and its fire down yet.
no subject
Date: 2024-06-08 12:19 am (UTC)A hand touches Raju’s wrist, surprisingly-warm fingers cupping his hand and a thumb swiping across his palm. Crozier stands behind him, safe and sound on solid ground.
“Drop it,” he murmurs, voice soft but adamant. He sweeps his thumb again, heat from the fire making even frostbitten fingers start to burn. “You did so well. Let the tin fall into the snow now.”
Crozier had followed him across the ravine with bated breath, equal parts terrified and awed. It was exceedingly precarious at times, the holes in the bridge black windows into the long drop below, but never once did he feel unsteady on his feet. Now as he stands close he can see the tears on his eyelashes, proof of the hell he’s put himself through for them.
He squeezes his hand, thumb accidentally landing on his pulse but not moving an inch when he feels it fluttering against his skin.
no subject
Date: 2024-06-08 02:55 am (UTC)Francis' thumb is on his wrist. Francis thinks that he did well. Things feel better with it there, some cool and soothing thing spreading out from the heat of his friend's skin against his. Raju lets a breath out from between his lips, half-noticing the cloud of warmth it makes as it the air catches in the blanket wrapped over his mouth. The line of his shoulders starts to sag and his hand sags, arm starting to trust Francis to hold its weight up or let it drop. The mass of smoke rising out of the can's various holes begins to thin.
At home, it had been easy to operate this way. There had been orders, and when there weren't orders, there was routine. Raju looks up and around for his purpose, lacking anything that'd used to do in Delhi, but catches himself before he finds Francis' face and turns back to stare down at the can and the fire again. His hand hurts. It's important to keep his focus on the ground just there, on where it'd all dropped to, keep everything where it's supposed to be so nothing spreads. If anything else needs to be done Francis will tell him, and if there's anyone who won't tell him to do anything that's... Well, that's Francis again, so this is better than being home in that way, really. The thought floats there without anything to settle on and Raju lets it stay there, focuses on the fire again.
no subject
Date: 2024-06-08 03:45 am (UTC)The snow sizzles and the flames pop, light from the tin shivering in short shadows against the ground as the fire starts to go out. Raju’s relinquished control; there’s no more need to linger in whatever he’s managed to dredge up from his memories. Not that he’ll automatically snap back into someone less lost, but Raju always seems more comfortable when he’s in full control of himself.
Crozier keeps his fingers on his wrist for just a beat or two longer than strictly necessary, lowering his arm as he feels that rigidity in his body start to loosen. When it seems enough he takes his hand back and passes Raju the parka which he so sorely needs, even if he doesn’t feel the full effect of the cold air just yet. He will soon, and then that’ll be yet another issue that he doesn’t need Raju to suffer through on his behalf.
He fills his lungs with the acrid smell of smoke, with narrowed eyes scouts the dimly-lit path up ahead. His gaze eventually falls back on Raju, and he makes a decision.
“We’ll make camp just up ahead.” He gestures to the soft sloping hill in front of them and stoops down to unceremoniously retrieve the tin can from the snow. Never good to waste a resource here.
“If I recall correctly there are some empty box cars not too far from here.” Good source of kindling and, joy of joys, a roof over their heads.
He looks back at Raju again and nods, guiding him into taking that first step forward. They can walk side-by-side here, Raju can press shoulder against his if he likes, lean on him a bit just like Crozier’s been metaphorically leaning on him this entire journey. He doesn’t know what he would do without him - and he really doesn’t want to think of what it would be like if that were the case.
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Date: 2024-06-08 12:10 pm (UTC)Francis is saying something. He's been saying something. Raju looks up.
Whatever it was, it'd been something about box cars. If that's where Francis wants to go, that's where they'll go. Then Francis nods him forward, so Raju walks. Unthinkingly, he settles his stride close enough to Francis to press their arms together, looking at the fur in his hands and then over at Francis' hand, at the tin can in it.
"I'll need that," he says, after a moment of looking at it. His voice is brisk and efficient, matter of fact and flat. "There's no sense in ruining anything else."
no subject
Date: 2024-06-08 01:40 pm (UTC)“You didn’t ruin anything.” He’s warm and supportive, a stark contrast to Raju’s own somewhat bland tone. “You found a new purpose for something.”
He smiles and steps closer to him, guiding him in the right direction with a few well-placed bumps and pushes with his arm. He’s navigating by landmarks alone - curve of the path and the crossing of the tracks, that one tree that’s hunched over like an old woman, a large cliff of boulders or twin pines. Thankfully their destination isn’t too far, and soon the derailed box cars, some tipped onto their sides and twisted, quickly make an appearance in the tree line.
Crozier selects the best box car of the bunch - and look, there’s already a barrel for a fire - and has the two of them start to make camp. He gives Raju a few simple but direct orders, mostly collecting the firewood and spreading out the bedrolls, to keep his body occupied while his mind continues to be trapped in those bad thoughts. He focuses on the kindling and the cooking, setting out bowls of warm, fish stew and water once they’re sufficiently settled in for the night.
But once the work is over, the stillness returns. He sits close to Raju, keeping the quiet if that’s what’s needed, or idly chatting if a distraction seems called for.
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Date: 2024-06-08 02:27 pm (UTC)"I should keep watch for a while. After you sleep." He looks over at Francis and then pauses, surprised, by how close they are. Had he moved himself this close to Francis while he hadn't been paying attention? It's alright, of course, because it's Francis. But he hadn't expected it.
After a moment he goes on. "There's no telling what's going to be out there, on a night like this. Or, a day like—" It hasn't been a full day since they woke up this morning, has it? Raju sighs, looking back down at the stillness of his hands and giving up on the right word, and shakes his head. He got across what he needed to. The right word doesn't matter.
no subject
Date: 2024-06-08 03:43 pm (UTC)Crozier smiles, a touch of sadness in it. It’s as though Raju hasn’t even realized he’s been kept company this entire time.
Raju won’t sleep, and if he does he’ll have nightmares. There’s no doubt in his mind this is why he’s offering to take first watch. If he can avoid sleep for as long as physically possible then he can keep control of the flames in the tin.
Crozier places his hand on Raju’s shoulder. “When you’re tired come to bed.” No reinforcing the quiet explanations, just a simple statement. When he’s ready Crozier will be expecting him.
He nods softly and shifts away, ready to rest his bones a while. He’s also plagued by dreams, horrible ones, but he knows his will never leave him so long as he keeps breathing. Living with them is the only way to move forward, but lord, are they exhausting sometimes. They’re abstract now - large soup pots with human-like limbs simmering away inside of them, scattered papers fluttering away across a barren landscape, rusty chains cutting into disintegrating limbs.
He falls asleep trying to think about more pleasant things. Glittering stars, gently-rolling waves, a book of pretty poetry, the man behind him. He doesn’t tend to wake from his nightmares, even when he is in the throes of it, whimpering or moaning or listing an old muster roll in his delirium. He won’t wake from it tonight, though it’s particularly severe, a large beast with three heads crushing skulls underfoot like dead leaves, pausing only long enough for the next human in line to scream.
no subject
Date: 2024-06-08 07:23 pm (UTC)There was a room, he'd set one up in his rooms in the city too, where he could go to move, to feel leather against his fists, to work something out of his body when he needed to. He hasn't needed it in quite this way since he'd ended up in this bizarre place. The fire flares a few times as the world grows sharp. He smells the snow outside, and the musty smell of the rusted metal and dirt inside of the boxcar, and he feels the cold. He pushes up his sleeve to see gooseflesh there, notices his foot tapping. He remembers that he'd been afraid before they'd crossed the bridge — he remembers that he'd said so — and tries to decide whether the fear, or wariness, or whatever it had been had been justified or not. His mind feels uncomfortable, too full.
He breathes. Slow breaths, bringing the bite of the cold into himself, warming it inside his body, pushing it slowly out of his mouth. He tries to think only of that, tries to let everything else inside him flow around it. He starts to look down at the tin to see whether it's working — the smoke would be starting to thin — and Francis whimpers behind him. Raju turns to look at his friend instead, shadows of the real fire inside its barrel lighting up the soft, strong curves of his face.
It's easy to know what's happening, easy to assume. Seetha had had nightmares, too, and old habit has Raju, unthinking just now, setting down the tin and easing over. He studies Francis' expression, raises a hand to smooth it over one side of Francis' brow and into his hair to smooth away the tension there. Habit tells him to touch carefully and gently, to ease into something more firm if the touch goes well, or doesn't seem to do anything at all. He'll have to watch Francis to see. But the touch isn't what it should be; Raju frowns at his hand and then tugs at the fingerless gloves impatiently, pulling the useless things off and tossing them some place behind him, and then smoothing his hand from Francis' brow to his hairline again.
There. The wellbeing that spreads out from Francis' skin to his, like liquid warmth. That's more like touching him should be. Satisfied, Raju settles on his knees, his hand light over Francis' hair, to watch him.
cw: body horror
Date: 2024-06-08 10:43 pm (UTC)As the dream continues the Darkwalker’s green breath curls from its three heads, sinking low and spreading across the forest floor, withering everything it touches. Plants curl and decay, animals wither away, and people - vague amalgamations of his men, the Netsilik families who cared for him, the people here - begin to rot from the inside out. Their teeth start to fall from their heads and their foreheads trickle blood like Christ’s crown of thorns. They reach for him, claw at him, mouths gaping wide as mandibles loosen and then fall away completely.
Crozier’s distress increases, brow furrowing as sweat pools on his brow. It’s still mild discomfort at the most, until something particularly horrific twists his face into a grimace and he exhales a soft, shuddering sob.
no subject
Date: 2024-06-08 11:06 pm (UTC)He's aware of an emotion now, clear and simple: frustration. He doesn't know enough about Francis yet, and it surprises him as if it's new, every time he finds himself needing to be familiar and realising over again that he's not. But he's going to do something.
"Francis," he murmurs, free hand settling for a light touch against the man's upper arm. "Francis," he says again, still quiet but more firmly: "Wake up now."
no subject
Date: 2024-06-08 11:52 pm (UTC)Crozier is typically easy to rouse by virtue of that naval structure and routine, but he’s been caught mid-dream and is slow to fully come back to himself. He grunts quietly and attempts to turn away, stuck in the in-between for a half a minute longer before it finally registers that he’s being woken.
Awareness sets in. He’s asleep in a box car, they’re out in the wilderness, vulnerable to all the insanity that lingers out this way. He bolts upright. “Raju,” he gasps, suddenly on high alert. “What‘s the matter?”
no subject
Date: 2024-06-09 12:26 am (UTC)"Nothing. You were dreaming," he says as he looks back up at Francis. He realises the hand that'd been on Francis' face is still hovering like it wants to reach again and he curls its fingers instead, rubbing his thumb into his fingertips to keep them busy. The grimace shifts into a similarly subtle wry smile that waits in the background of his expression, in the set of his eyebrows and at the corners of his lips. It feels wrong to just ask — he should have this figured out already — but he has to ask, doesn't he? So he does, even though his expression says he's already anticipating the answer being yes and he's preparing himself to apologise, preemptively. "Should I have let you get more sleep?"
no subject
Date: 2024-06-09 12:47 am (UTC)Crozier presses the heel of his palm into his eyes and exhales. Here 'dreaming' implies that whatever sort of resting he was doing had been noisy and quite possibly disruptive. Frankly he's just surprised it hasn't woken or bothered Raju before.
"It's fine," he mutters, picking his head back up. His hand drops heavily onto his blankets and he looks at the fire, at the doorway, at the warped planks that serve as the floor - anywhere but Raju himself. "Talking in my sleep, was it? Maybe tossing and turning - whatever it was I'm sorry if it disturbed you."
He finally looks at the space beside him, realizing that Raju hasn't come to bed yet. Maybe it hasn't been too long since he'd fallen asleep, but he doubts it.
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From:Time Skip - a week or so after the Darkwalker attack
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