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.
The reaction Raju gets isn't the ease he'd been expecting, which would have been something to apologise for. A man at peace with his nightmares would have been one Raju should have left alone. Instead Raju gets... shame? Raju's expression is clear and sharp, and focused on Francis as he decides what he's seeing. It's easy to think now, for this, and he doesn't entirely mind what he finds: Francis' reaction might be unfamiliar too, but the shame of a strong, good man whose compassion's led Raju through things it would have eaten through him for anyone else to see, that's something Raju can handle.
While Francis looks down beside him Raju uncurls his hand and sets it around the back of Francis' neck. "You didn't disturb me," he murmurs, ducking his head enough to try to find Francis' gaze, ready to meet it whenever Francis looks back up. "Did you want to keep sleeping? I should, ah— You said we're still learning each other, so I should know. I can wake you next time too, if, ah... if I'm awake for it. If you want me to."
At least he didn't wake him. That's the bright side in all of this, and it makes it easier for him to lift his head up and meet that intense gaze he knows is waiting for him.
Ah, yes, there it is, furrowed brow and dark eyes, long lashes framing the whole visage as though he's more baby fawn than grown man. He attempts to sit back, but he's weak in spirit and reluctant to pull away from Raju's hand on the back of his neck. "If I woke every time I had an unpleasant dream, I'd never sleep," he admits.
It's an unsatisfactory answer, and he knows it. He should give him something. "If I start talking in my sleep, then by all means, please wake me. As for the rest...I can manage." It's unpleasant, but he doesn't start fires when he's distressed by them.
Raju nods, focused, watching Francis and filing it away into the growing files he's building of what he knows about his friend. Nightmares more the rule than the exception. Raju takes that in solemnly, but it doesn't surprise him. For all the two of them don't understand about one another yet, there are some things they do. He feels a faint, sharp pull at the fact he hadn't known that already, sleeps too deeply to have noticed— but he learned that about himself a long time ago, and there's no point in thinking too much on it now. If Francis talks in his sleep he does want Raju to wake him, and that's more worth noticing.
And if this happens again, his friend dreaming badly but not speaking, Raju doesn't have to just sit there and watch it. Putting his hand on Francis' face hadn't woken him just now, had it? So maybe there's something he can do.
Another night. For now, Francis is awake already. Raju's grip squeezes very gently over the muscles of Francis' neck. "Do you think you could go back to sleep? We aren't done walking yet, and we woke up early. I... think. The rest of it will go easier with more rest."
The initial jolt of adrenaline has long-since disappeared. His exhaustion is tenfold now, being pulled mid REM-cycle destroying what little there was to gain from his short sleep. He nods tired. "Oh, yes," he says quietly. "I most certainly can go back to sleep."
But more rest goes for both of them, not just himself. Raju needs a reset, a fresh start; he needs to rest his body and at least attempt to let his mind drift away from his troubles.
"Do you think you could sleep now?"
Crozier can't bat his eyelashes. He wishes he could, and look alluring and sweet in his pleading, instead of just kind of odd, but he must play with the cards he's been dealt. He smiles, tries a little head tilt, inviting him to join him so they both won't be so miserable tonight.
Raju huffs out a breath, the invitation making him smile a little, wearily. The gesture is an inviting one, a tempting one, but—
—but what? Raju frowns a little, reaching for an answer and finding nothing where he expects something to be. There's no work to do. He's stuck here in Canada, and there's no work anyone needs him to do. They've already gathered all the supplies they're going to need for the trip, thanks mostly to Francis' work catching and drying their food, and despite what Raju had thought of as keeping watch, two people isn't enough to set a watch, not unless things are desperate enough to go without half a night's sleep. The question and the gesture is tempting, and there's no reason not to say yes to it.
Raju's smile widens, the alert lines of his posture starting to relax. He nods, pleased, and crawls around behind Francis to the free space in his blankets instead of toward the door and slipping his legs underneath. He keeps sitting up, watching Francis to see how he settles in, and so how Raju should settle in, but the extra layer over the lower half of him is a relief. It's warm underneath with Francis' body heat, and Raju had known that he was cold, but he hadn't known it, not until a little part of that cold started threatening to go away. He shivers a little as the hint of warmth tries seeping into him.
"I could try. It's hard without... I don't know. Being more tired. But we've been walking for hours. Maybe that will be enough."
Thank god, no further argument necessary. It was definitely the head tilt and the smile that did it too, not the softness or heat that awaits his chilly friend if he crawls into the blankets.
Crozier sinks down slowly, twisting onto his side facing inwards. It’s warmer this way. That’s what he’ll tell himself. It’s not because he wants him close enough to keep an eye on him, or because he is still a little rattled by the Darkwalker and his subsequent nightmare.
One of those horrified faces awaiting the Darkwalker had been Raju’s. If he just wants to keep his within arm’s reach for a while, who could possibly blame him?
“Lie down,” he murmurs, looking up at him one final time and then closing his eyes. “I’ll tell you the story of when I met the last survivor of the HMS Bounty mutiny and all their descendants.”
Eagerness lights up Raju's face. It's a good thing Francis already has his eyes closed, though, because: "You should be sleeping," he says as he slides further down into the comforting promise of warmth under the blankets, trying to mirror Francis' pose. Most certainly means he's probably closer to it than Raju's I'll try, and the longer until Francis is able to look for sleep, the harder it'll be to find it. Raju pulls the blanket over his chest and shivers once, then again, and lets out a quiet huff at himself, embarrassed that that's only happening now, as if the cold is only trying to fight him now on its way out. He focuses on rolling the end of the blanket up to lay under his head instead. "I already woke you up once. You can tell me the story tomorrow, while we're walking."
Crozier raises his arm - his left, the one without the hand - and lays it over Raju in response to his shivering.
He should be sleeping, but he won’t until Raju’s comfortable and stops his shivering. He’ll tell him about someplace warm and tropical, and perhaps it’ll transport them both for a little while.
“It’s best to begin with the story of the Bounty,” he says, voice low and relaxed, blatantly ignoring Raju’s suggestion. “You must know it. A famously cruel captain and a crew that’s finally suffered all the abuses it can stand. It didn’t begin that way though, as the sailors who lived through it would recount later. Bligh, the captain, and Christian, the head mutineer, were initially on good, even friendly terms.”
Crozier continues, describing the day-to-day of the crew of the Bounty with details only a sailor could know. He tells the story of the drunken surgeon, and floggings that eventually became more and more frequent in the journey. All was well in the initial stretch of the voyage though, a typically strict time at sea under the usual Royal Navy guidance, structured watches and calisthenics, horrible food, boredom. But then there was Tahiti, and the crew got their first taste of freedom.
The story gets a little bawdy, and Crozier even chuckles quietly when he describes the check for venereal diseases when they left port some months later. The crew was sorry to say goodbye to the bonny lasses and fresh food of the island, and things only got worse from there.
“Well, as you know Fletcher Christian reached the end of his rope with the paranoid Captain Bligh. They set upon the Captain in the middle of the night. Under threat of murder they bodily placed him, a very sad amount of supplies, and the remaining crew loyal to Bligh on a jolly boat and cut him adrift. The mutineers kept the Bounty for themselves of course, and turned her back around to Tahiti.”
From here Crozier speaks a little more softly, a little quieter. From there the story becomes one of Bligh’s treacherous open-boat journey on the sea, the Royal Navy hunting down and trying the mutineers, and the legacy left behind by the mutineers and their Tahitian families. When he reaches the point that it’s clear he’ll enter the story next he pauses.
The arm over Raju surprises, then pleases him, and the story pleases him, and he laughs a little when Francis starts telling it without even deigning to say no to Raju telling him to sleep. He tugs the blanket higher over himself and moves closer to Francis and it feels natural to be there, makes it easier for Francis' arm to lay over him and brings him closer to the source of all the warmth that's gathered under here. At first he shivers now and then, his body not used to the warmth, but the story and Francis' attention to it, instead of pointing out anything Raju's doing, makes the embarrassment easier to let go as Raju's attention follows where Francis is leading it.
And once he's started to settle in the arm that isn't pressed against the blanket under him needs a place to go, doesn't it? It feels natural to mirror Francis' posture here too and set his arm over Francis' side and, gradually, paying more attention to the story while the comfort and the warmth spread slowly inside of him, move closer as he listens, and closer, until his knuckles are brushing blanket on the floor beneath Francis' head and the tips of his fingers have started brushing fondly against the back of Francis' neck.
And tomorrow I'll tell you the rest, Francis says and Raju smiles, gaze alert and clear and fixed on the familiar face, the pitted, soft-looking plains of his cheek, the graceful swoop of his nose, the curve of his upper lip as he murmurs the end of the tale. The end of it for tonight. His voice — suited, Raju thinks, for stories, for listening to hours at a time without ever growing tired of the sound — is quieter now, either in deference to some perceived tiredness in Raju or quiet with his own. The latter, Raju hopes; a story before bed had never worked the way it was supposed to when he was a boy, either. If anything, it's only ever woken him up, and at least one of them should be about to get some sleep. But Raju feels good, he feels—
He doesn't know how to describe it. Light and sharp and, and something. Something he could feel spreading with the weight of the arm over his side while Francis spoke and spoke, that can feel now humming in every part of him. He feels it in the skin of his fingertips barely touching the skin at the back of Francis' neck. "Tomorrow," he murmurs, voice as warm as the rest of him, deeper than he realises it's going to be before he hears it coming out. "Thank you, Francis. It really is time for you to sleep, now."
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timeasmymeasure
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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.
no subject
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."
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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."
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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.
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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.
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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."
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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?”
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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?"
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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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Date: 2024-06-09 01:47 am (UTC)While Francis looks down beside him Raju uncurls his hand and sets it around the back of Francis' neck. "You didn't disturb me," he murmurs, ducking his head enough to try to find Francis' gaze, ready to meet it whenever Francis looks back up. "Did you want to keep sleeping? I should, ah— You said we're still learning each other, so I should know. I can wake you next time too, if, ah... if I'm awake for it. If you want me to."
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Date: 2024-06-09 02:11 am (UTC)At least he didn't wake him. That's the bright side in all of this, and it makes it easier for him to lift his head up and meet that intense gaze he knows is waiting for him.
Ah, yes, there it is, furrowed brow and dark eyes, long lashes framing the whole visage as though he's more baby fawn than grown man. He attempts to sit back, but he's weak in spirit and reluctant to pull away from Raju's hand on the back of his neck. "If I woke every time I had an unpleasant dream, I'd never sleep," he admits.
It's an unsatisfactory answer, and he knows it. He should give him something. "If I start talking in my sleep, then by all means, please wake me. As for the rest...I can manage." It's unpleasant, but he doesn't start fires when he's distressed by them.
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Date: 2024-06-09 02:43 am (UTC)And if this happens again, his friend dreaming badly but not speaking, Raju doesn't have to just sit there and watch it. Putting his hand on Francis' face hadn't woken him just now, had it? So maybe there's something he can do.
Another night. For now, Francis is awake already. Raju's grip squeezes very gently over the muscles of Francis' neck. "Do you think you could go back to sleep? We aren't done walking yet, and we woke up early. I... think. The rest of it will go easier with more rest."
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Date: 2024-06-09 03:14 am (UTC)The initial jolt of adrenaline has long-since disappeared. His exhaustion is tenfold now, being pulled mid REM-cycle destroying what little there was to gain from his short sleep. He nods tired. "Oh, yes," he says quietly. "I most certainly can go back to sleep."
But more rest goes for both of them, not just himself. Raju needs a reset, a fresh start; he needs to rest his body and at least attempt to let his mind drift away from his troubles.
"Do you think you could sleep now?"
Crozier can't bat his eyelashes. He wishes he could, and look alluring and sweet in his pleading, instead of just kind of odd, but he must play with the cards he's been dealt. He smiles, tries a little head tilt, inviting him to join him so they both won't be so miserable tonight.
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Date: 2024-06-09 01:39 pm (UTC)—but what? Raju frowns a little, reaching for an answer and finding nothing where he expects something to be. There's no work to do. He's stuck here in Canada, and there's no work anyone needs him to do. They've already gathered all the supplies they're going to need for the trip, thanks mostly to Francis' work catching and drying their food, and despite what Raju had thought of as keeping watch, two people isn't enough to set a watch, not unless things are desperate enough to go without half a night's sleep. The question and the gesture is tempting, and there's no reason not to say yes to it.
Raju's smile widens, the alert lines of his posture starting to relax. He nods, pleased, and crawls around behind Francis to the free space in his blankets instead of toward the door and slipping his legs underneath. He keeps sitting up, watching Francis to see how he settles in, and so how Raju should settle in, but the extra layer over the lower half of him is a relief. It's warm underneath with Francis' body heat, and Raju had known that he was cold, but he hadn't known it, not until a little part of that cold started threatening to go away. He shivers a little as the hint of warmth tries seeping into him.
"I could try. It's hard without... I don't know. Being more tired. But we've been walking for hours. Maybe that will be enough."
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Date: 2024-06-09 02:29 pm (UTC)Thank god, no further argument necessary. It was definitely the head tilt and the smile that did it too, not the softness or heat that awaits his chilly friend if he crawls into the blankets.
Crozier sinks down slowly, twisting onto his side facing inwards. It’s warmer this way. That’s what he’ll tell himself. It’s not because he wants him close enough to keep an eye on him, or because he is still a little rattled by the Darkwalker and his subsequent nightmare.
One of those horrified faces awaiting the Darkwalker had been Raju’s. If he just wants to keep his within arm’s reach for a while, who could possibly blame him?
“Lie down,” he murmurs, looking up at him one final time and then closing his eyes. “I’ll tell you the story of when I met the last survivor of the HMS Bounty mutiny and all their descendants.”
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Date: 2024-06-09 03:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-06-09 04:01 pm (UTC)Crozier raises his arm - his left, the one without the hand - and lays it over Raju in response to his shivering.
He should be sleeping, but he won’t until Raju’s comfortable and stops his shivering. He’ll tell him about someplace warm and tropical, and perhaps it’ll transport them both for a little while.
“It’s best to begin with the story of the Bounty,” he says, voice low and relaxed, blatantly ignoring Raju’s suggestion. “You must know it. A famously cruel captain and a crew that’s finally suffered all the abuses it can stand. It didn’t begin that way though, as the sailors who lived through it would recount later. Bligh, the captain, and Christian, the head mutineer, were initially on good, even friendly terms.”
Crozier continues, describing the day-to-day of the crew of the Bounty with details only a sailor could know. He tells the story of the drunken surgeon, and floggings that eventually became more and more frequent in the journey. All was well in the initial stretch of the voyage though, a typically strict time at sea under the usual Royal Navy guidance, structured watches and calisthenics, horrible food, boredom. But then there was Tahiti, and the crew got their first taste of freedom.
The story gets a little bawdy, and Crozier even chuckles quietly when he describes the check for venereal diseases when they left port some months later. The crew was sorry to say goodbye to the bonny lasses and fresh food of the island, and things only got worse from there.
“Well, as you know Fletcher Christian reached the end of his rope with the paranoid Captain Bligh. They set upon the Captain in the middle of the night. Under threat of murder they bodily placed him, a very sad amount of supplies, and the remaining crew loyal to Bligh on a jolly boat and cut him adrift. The mutineers kept the Bounty for themselves of course, and turned her back around to Tahiti.”
From here Crozier speaks a little more softly, a little quieter. From there the story becomes one of Bligh’s treacherous open-boat journey on the sea, the Royal Navy hunting down and trying the mutineers, and the legacy left behind by the mutineers and their Tahitian families. When he reaches the point that it’s clear he’ll enter the story next he pauses.
“And tomorrow I’ll tell you the rest.”
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Date: 2024-06-09 05:04 pm (UTC)And once he's started to settle in the arm that isn't pressed against the blanket under him needs a place to go, doesn't it? It feels natural to mirror Francis' posture here too and set his arm over Francis' side and, gradually, paying more attention to the story while the comfort and the warmth spread slowly inside of him, move closer as he listens, and closer, until his knuckles are brushing blanket on the floor beneath Francis' head and the tips of his fingers have started brushing fondly against the back of Francis' neck.
And tomorrow I'll tell you the rest, Francis says and Raju smiles, gaze alert and clear and fixed on the familiar face, the pitted, soft-looking plains of his cheek, the graceful swoop of his nose, the curve of his upper lip as he murmurs the end of the tale. The end of it for tonight. His voice — suited, Raju thinks, for stories, for listening to hours at a time without ever growing tired of the sound — is quieter now, either in deference to some perceived tiredness in Raju or quiet with his own. The latter, Raju hopes; a story before bed had never worked the way it was supposed to when he was a boy, either. If anything, it's only ever woken him up, and at least one of them should be about to get some sleep. But Raju feels good, he feels—
He doesn't know how to describe it. Light and sharp and, and something. Something he could feel spreading with the weight of the arm over his side while Francis spoke and spoke, that can feel now humming in every part of him. He feels it in the skin of his fingertips barely touching the skin at the back of Francis' neck. "Tomorrow," he murmurs, voice as warm as the rest of him, deeper than he realises it's going to be before he hears it coming out. "Thank you, Francis. It really is time for you to sleep, now."
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From:Time Skip - a week or so after the Darkwalker attack
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