oh mama, oh mama, comfort me—

[m1895]

Who: Vasiliy Ardakin (m1895) + others!
What: Assorted non-event happenings.
When: September + a few backdated threads.
Where: Milton.

Content Warnings: Interrogations, flashbacks to torture/mass violence/mass murder. Discussion of the Yezhovshchina.

Comments

[m1895]

[ I know you aren't cruel.

It unlocks something deep within him, an ache to hear those words that he wasn't aware he was harboring. Maybe he's needed to hear this for years. You aren't cruel. Is that why he became an EMT, a caretaker? To convince himself of that, with minimal success?

You aren't cruel.

The tears spill over again, accompanied by a choked sob, and a cascade of smaller, softer ones that follow, racking his slumped shoulders with shakes as they overtake his whole being. He finds himself clutching fistfuls of the front of Kostya's shirt so tightly his fingers ache, pressing his face into his shoulder and hoping for the bracing solidity of arms around him as it all comes crashing down at last—he has kept himself from hurting for so long, applying layer after layer of shoddy bandaging as the past bled through each one, and he's so tired. He doesn't have it in him any more. Maybe this is the start of a nervous breakdown. All he knows is that a dam has broken, and now the tears are coming, and coming, and coming from deep inside of him. ]

BYEEEEEE

[sputnik]

[ He's seen a buildup of something in his housemate, over the past months. The nightmares, the frozen panic when the knock at the door came, and now— now something cracks wide open, all of that too-tense stiffness suddenly leaking, bleeding. Like a wound torn open before it could ever fully heal. Vasiliy's weeping, clutching against him, and Konstantin's arms wrap around the other's body, squeezing.

He just holds him. He doesn't stop. It's okay, he'd told him once, when Vasya was so afraid he couldn't move and just sat there like animal, big brown eyes as wide as a deer's in the headlight. But he doesn't tell him it's okay, this time. He doesn't say anything.

He does turn his head to press his mouth against Vasiliy's hair — tight and warm and flush, not quite kissing there but something almost just. It hurts more than he can remember ever hurting for himself, seeing this man in such agony, eaten alive with guilt and self-loathing. He'd take it from him if he could. For every selfish piece of himself that Konstantin's aware of, what he feels for Vasiliy is at once the most selfless he's ever been, either.

He loves him. ]

tw parent loss

[m1895]

[ Without being told, almost as though by telepathy, Konstantin knows to hold him, his larger body engulfing Vasiliy’s small, wiry form as it shakes with sobs and nervous tremors. It’s not the first time he’s cried about this at all—but it’s the first time he’s ever done so while feeling entirely secure, able to grieve the full magnitude and allow himself to shatter to pieces in the middle of the day as the situation truly deserves.

He thinks about the faces of all of the people who trusted him. He thinks about his parents finding out he’s dead by getting arrested and shot themselves, and how, in effect, he killed the people who raised him. He thinks about the massive void that surrounds him where a familiar environment and webs of connections and friends used to be, now only full of silence and one man and a couple of acquaintances. They’re all gone. All of them. And for all he knows, it will happen again—he’ll come back and Kostya won’t and he’ll be alone again.

He wonders when he became a bad person, at what point the shock wore off, when the pivotal moment was when he truly chose to stay. He thinks about how, in the beginning, he enjoyed being seen in uniform, and how he’d taken that photograph with his parents, and how before the magical boar had coughed up the photograph— ]

I forgot their faces, [ he whines between sobs. ] I forgot my own parents’ faces. I killed them and I didn’t even remember their faces.

[ And he misses them. He shouldn’t have been parentless at 30. He shouldn’t have moved so far away from them so young. He wasted his time with them, and that realization, and the remorse, hurts almost as much as the loss. ]

[sputnik]

[ There's been many pieces to all of this that have been there from the beginning, from when he first met Vasiliy. The era he said he came from, the way he spoke, things not always adding up. Now he knows that Vasya... died, and came back — how many years later? Just how much of a gap is there? There's— so much to all of this.

His heart cracks and splits open wide at the anguish in his housemate, voice so small and breaking in places like a child's as he weeps. Konstantin stays with him, his own body shuddering each time Vasiliy's does, like it reverberates off of each little movement.

He asks so softly that it's like a whisper, gentle and slow and deeply sad. ]

How long has it been? Since you last saw them?

[m1895]

Five years, [ Vasiliy chokes out, the fabric on Kostya's shoulder wet and hot against his tightly closed eyes. He knows the number from memory. 1939, plus three years, plus a year here. ] I deserved it but they—they didn't do anything, Kostya! None of these people did anything! I was the only one who—

[ It's the longest set of words he manages to string together before breaking down into another series of quiet sobs, bringing his arms up to wrap around the other's broad back. He grasps so tightly his fingers hurt, short-trimmed nails sinking into the fabric and skin beneath them, as though he expects to be ripped away from Konstantin's hold at any moment—because he does, because this kind of comfort cannot last, not for someone like him. Momentary reprieves and feelings of comfort and security have never lasted for Vasiliy Ardankin or the people like him, not since the day he was born in a nondescript tenement in Petrograd.

He manages to break from the sobbing, maybe just because of bodily fatigue. Vasiliy takes a few wet, gasping breaths, struggling to ground himself before he tries to speak again. His heart still races. ]

I... killed innocent people, Kostya. I have... deserved everything that came to me except... except coming back. That's what I can't understand. There isn't a god because if there was He wouldn't have chosen me to bring back.

[sputnik]

[ Konstantin catches him in that moment that he breaks down again, body tensing into the movement of Vasya's arms wrapping around him, his own squeezing tighter. He's never seen someone so sad — so openly sad — broken open and weeping like a child, with nothing left to give. It's horrible to see. He'd do anything to make it better for him, to be able to help somehow with this. All he can do is hold him as he listens to his best friend's misery and loss and turmoil, and it isn't enough.

He's also aware, suddenly, of something deeply startling and uncomfortable: the creature moves, restless. Is it— is it reacting to Vasya? Maybe it's his own fluctuations of upset causing the thing's, but he's keeping it together pretty well, able to be that rock for Vasiliy. He's upset by the other's upset, but he isn't breathing too hard and fast; his breathing is even and slow for Vasya, trying to be something safe he can hold onto.

Is it... reacting to Vasiliy directly? Not just through himself, but...?

He takes a moment to try and calm himself further, closing his eyes briefly, jaw working itself out of any lingering tension, at least as much as he's able against the sudden wave of nausea. Maybe it makes sense — after all, it knows Vasiliy. Still, it's unsettling. He tries not to think too much about it, to focus on the other man instead as he's able to form words again, gently brushing his fingers against his back in little circles, some attempt to soothe. He's quiet for a few long moments, processing Vasiliy's self-loathing and guilt, frowning softly before he finally speaks. ]

I don't think there's a god, no. [ He agrees quietly. ] I don't know why... some things happen. Seemingly inexplainable things. But I know what it is to feel like you deserve them.

[ He'll always perceive his own situation as punishment. ]

Maybe there is no reason you came back. But rather... reasons to be made. You're helping people. You take care of them. I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you.

[ He sighs slowly and carefully through his nostrils, and hugs him again. It seems to ease the creature slightly too, that pressure, that closeness to the other man. What a strange thought. Even the worst parts of himself are soothed by this man's presence. ]

I'm sorry, Vasenka. [ It's the first time he's used the term. ] This is so much pain for you to bear.

[m1895]

[ Vasen'ka. That's what Yuri called him, and it was such a warm feeling. Now, at best, it's mollifying as the space between his sobs stretches out, as they grow weaker and less frequent, dying down to hard sniffs here and there, ragged audible breathing as he tries to catch his breath.

He's never cried like this. It occurs to him for the first time that until now, for the duration of his life, he's never felt safe enough to. Only with Kostya. Only with Kostya, whom he loves more than anyone.

Slowly, Vasiliy pulls away just enough to sit up, wiping at his eyes with shaking hands. His voice is off when he speaks, skewed by congestion and hoarseness, quiet. ]

I shouldn't have lied to you. It's just— [ He searches Konstantin's face. ] It's been so long, Kostya. I've been alone for so long.

[sputnik]

[ Konstantin lets the other man pull back that bit, though stays close, arms slowly unwinding from Vasiliy's back but hands moving to his forearms, broad palms settling there and fingers squeezing firmly as he listens to Vasiliy's voice, worn raw. ]

It's all right. I understand why you couldn't reveal everything. It's okay.

[ He shakes his head, not an ounce of him feeling anything remotely similar to upset by that fact. There's no resentment, anger, no distrust. The things Vasiliy has been carrying secretly inside.... it's so much. Impossible truths mixed with horrifically realistic ones. There's a lot about it all to process, but for now Konstantin's just focused on trying to make the other man see that he's not upset with him.

Though the next words make his heart pang with ache, and he can't hide something wounded in his expression. 'I've been alone for so long.'

He slowly rubs his hands up and down the other's arms, brow knit, eyes locked right onto Vasiliy's. Through it all, that weird fear persists, that fear to lose him. What if what happened to Vasya... happens again? What if he's taken away? Dies here, wakes up somewhere else again? What even caused such a thing to happen? Was it supernatural in origin? He feels like he can't hold onto him tightly enough. ]

You aren't any more. I'm with you now. And I'm not going anywhere.

[ There's never been anything in his life that Konstantin wasn't willing to abandon, if he had to. Not until now. ]