clandestinement | Apocalypse children

Apocalypse children - for worthallthis

There's an alarm sounding somewhere in the compound, harsh and urgent and ignored, and somehow still less jarring than the occasional creak of metal. Beneath that, voices sound, quick and quiet and tense, the pitch entirely wrong for any technicians, any handlers, anyone who belongs in this room.

"...sure you did it right?"

"I entered the sequence exactly like I was supposed to!"

"Then why isn't it--"

The first voice cuts off at the hydraulic hiss of the cryo tube opening. The inrush of air brings with it the smell of smoke, and the acrid taste of heated metal, and the sound of nervous gasps and small feet on grated metal flooring.

Outside the cryo tube stands a group of girls, the oldest somewhere around twelve or thirteen, the youngest perhaps four, clinging tight to the leg of one of the older girls and peering at the tube with wide-eyed fascination.

The girl who positions herself at the front of the pack - and they are a pack, all but the smallest fierce-eyed and wary - doesn't look like the oldest, round-faced, blonde hair straggling loose from her braids, clothing and skin streaked with blood and a bruise darkening beneath one eye. She lifts her chin, and looks with bright defiance at the man she and her sisters have just pulled from the dreamless grip of cryo-stasis.

"Winter Soldier," she says in clear Russian, and despite her fierce air, there's something like hope in her voice. "Can you understand me?"

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He's tense with conflicting urges: they're so close, they're close enough to grab and shove and hurt, and he wants to get them away; but they're nervous and small and he wants to gather them up with his free hand, touch each little head to reassure them that he's here. He does neither of those things, just holding tight to Alisa and keeping his metal hand close to his body, but the tension is there.

Thankfully it's not far to the kitchen, and the mess hall next to it where he's cleaned up... some of the blood, anyway. There are no more bodies, at least. He sets Alisa on a counter with the gentle admonishment to, "Stay put," before he starts opening cupboards for the things he did see. He only has vague notions of how most of it gets prepared, but maybe it'll come to him when it's in his hands.

"My food isn't here," he warns Yelena as he pulls milk and eggs from the industrial-sized fridge. "I will try your food."

Alisa does stay where he sets her, though she squirms around, eyes wide with fascination, to take in every inch of a room she's never been allowed in before - the trainers might be willing to instruct small children in how to use a knife as soon as they're able to hold one, but trusting them with food preparation is another matter.

"I will search the medical wing," she says. "Before we go. Or tonight, if you can't eat what we do."

She's been sent to bed hungry before, and denied food for longer, when discipline was needed. Most of the older girls have. None of them want to inflict that on their new brother by sheer carelessness.

"Thank you. I can't make myself go in there." He doesn't say why. He's only a little bit aware of why, himself, but he doesn't want to talk about even that little bit.

There's bread in one of the cupboards as well, so he gets that. He thinks he can make something out of this. Maybe not enough for a dozen kids... once he figures out what exactly it is he's doing he can set up some kind of assembly line...

"Someone pour everyone glasses of this," he says to get them all started, setting the milk on the counter, while he grabs some bowls to start breaking eggs. "And there is a little fruit in that cabinet there." Some last few apples ready for slicing. He sets one of the older girls to cut those up for everyone while he cooks.

Once he gets going, he does clearly know how to make this: he's scrambling eggs in a pan over the industrial stove, slicing some kind of meat-- maybe ham? it's a lump of protein, that's all that matters-- and putting both things between slices of bread to offer one to each Widow. That's going to use up all the bread and eggs, so their next meal will have to be something else.

The food is enough to dissolve the last litte bit of caution gripping the younger girls, and they fall upon their meals like a pack of tiny, freshly-scrubbed wolves. They haven't been starving, but they've had to make what they'd been locked in with last, and that's still not an entirely familiar concept for the littlest ones.

The older girls are more measured, eating slowly, carefully, for the illusion that it will last longer that way.

Eventually, though, everyone is finished, and the older girls take on the task of herding the younger ones back toward the barracks to prepare for sleep, and an early rising to start getting everything ready for departure. Enough of them are restless that Yelena takes a seat on the foot of one of the unclaimed beds, and starts into a story - halting at first, but smoothing out as she goes, about an evil wizard with a castle far up on a mountaintop, who kidnapped young maidens for nefarious purposes, and a small army of magical animals that rallied to help them.

There's a small chorus of protests when she breaks off, which she meets with a scrunched nose and a promise of, "If you are all good and go to sleep, I will tell you more tomorrow night."

Brother drifts after the group, feeling no desire whatsoever to be alone in this base full of dead people. He even sits in the doorway, on the floor, to listen to the story along with the girls. He's never heard a story before. It's interesting. He thinks maybe he wants to know what happens, too.

Then he shies away from the idea, because he doesn't want things. He shouldn't. He has his mission, and that mission is keeping these girls safe, not hearing the end of stories.

He picks himself up when Yelena tells the little ones to go to sleep. He thinks he has a room somewhere. A pallet on a floor behind a locked door. Maybe he should be there, instead of here... even if the idea is kind of unpleasant.

His movement draws Yelena's full attention - she hadn't forgotten he was there, won't be able to forget he's there for quite some time yet, but he'd been so still and quiet that it had been easy to focus on the little girls.

She watches him come to his feet, expression shifting to one of - not distress, exactly, but certainly surprise. Concern.

"You're going?" A pause, and then, almost hopeful: "One last patrol before bed? We'll help." She beckons to two of the older girls, and while they may have a year or two on her, they also don't protest.

That does make him pause. He's very, very good at reading faces, even if he doesn't always know why certain expressions come about. That one, though, was pretty clear: the girls expect him to stay there over the night. Or Yelena does, which is as good as all of them.

That's... probably better. They aren't like handlers. They won't want him contained, they'll want him where he can watch over them. Keep them safe. So he should be with them, not in whatever room they kept him in. It makes sense.

So he nods. "Just a quick one," he promises. "We can set a watch schedule on the door after, while the little ones sleep." He doesn't expect anyone to come to a room buried this deep in the bunker, he doesn't expect anyone at all gien everything, but it will make them all feel safer to have someone on watch.

She doesn't bother to hide her relief. There probably won't be trouble overnight - but she will still feel better with Brother there to watch over them. Will still feel better with him there so they can watch over him. If anything does go wrong, he's as likely to be the target as they are.

Yelena nods briskly, and hops off the bed to pad over to his side, the two patrol recruits trailing her. "A watch would be good," she agrees. "Just in case."

"You three and me," Brother says as he heads out into the hall with the girls in his wake. They're the oldest ones there, even if Brother is the oldest by a lot. They're likely the ones best suited for watch. "Two hours shifts. For now, two pairs-- Yelena and Katya take the north wing and cryo chamber, Ilena and I will take south wing and the front door."

And conveniently avoid the medical rooms and said cryo chamber, in his case. That was on purpose.

He's also splitting up from Yelena, because he's spent a large chunk of his time awake with her now. He needs to spend time with the other girls, too. It's going to take him a while to get to know all of them, but he will put in the work to learn their skills, preferences, and temperaments. They're his sisters.

Yelena doesn't protest her assignment - either the partnership or the location. She works well with most of the older girls, and as for the latter, well. He's already said he can't go into the medical centre. Small wonder, if the cryo chamber holds equal horrors.

The patrols turn up nothing out of the ordinary. By the time they return, most of the little ones are asleep, or feigning it remarkably convincingly. That, too, is a lesson the girls learned early.

Brother doesn't even try to tell the difference. He just holds the door for his three patrol companions, and says quietly, "I will take first watch." He doesn't trust himself to handle being woken up mid-sleep well-- if he actually sleeps well, at all. He's not entirely sure his body knows how. It's always just been the ice, he thinks.

"All right," Yelena says quietly as she ducks past him. "Wake me for second watch."

Katya gives him a small, solemn smile, and adds, "We'll make sure Alisa doesn't try to sneak in with you while you're sleeping."

None of the older girls has missed how quickly that particular tiny duckling has imprinted.

That hadn't even occurred to him as a thing anyone might do. He blinks once, then says, "Good idea. Maybe. Um. Don't touch me to wake me up, in the morning. If you need to wake me."

He doesn't know that he'll need waking up, since he's not sure if he'll manage to sleep, and even if he doesn't the other girls stirring would probably wake him. But he seems prudent to give a warning since he has no idea what waking up will be like.

Katya nods her understanding and promises, "We'll tell the other girls."

It doesn't take long for his little trio of deputies to get themselves ready for bed, taking three of the bunks near the door - between the younger children and any threat that might make it through, for all that anything that could get past their new Brother would be far more than a few adolescents, however well-trained, can handle. Sleep is slower coming - but they've begun to learn the knack of sleeping when they have the chance, and gradually they all drift off, waiting for their turns at watch.

Edited 2024-01-13 07:32 (UTC)

Brother closes the door behind them all, then settles into an easy parade rest to keep watch.

He'll slip back inside and wake Yelena with her name spoken quietly from a pace or so away, only touching her hesitantly if she seems to need it-- she probably won't-- then regards the sleeping options dubiously. He winds up sitting upright against the wall in a corner, arms tucked around his chest, with no way to get behind him or take him by surprise in his moment of weakness.

He does sleep, but only after Yelena's watch ends and she trades off with Irena, and even then it's fitful. Still, it's better than none at all.

Yelena doesn't need more than his voice to wake her, and slips out dutifully to take her turn at watch - though when she sees him tucked up against the wall when she returns to wake Irena, she detours to the small linen cupboard once the other girl has been dispatched to serve her turn at watch, and pulls down a pair of blankets - scratchy wool, but warm - to set down beside him before she returns to her own bed.

He may not need them, may be warm enough now that he's thawed and eaten, but she still feels a little bad for not thinking to offer them before.

The third watch passes without incident. Irena returns, and Katya hands off Alisa - who had decided she needed to sleep with someone, and only been corralled into bunking down with one of her sister Widows because they were sleeping in proper beds - before going to take her shift.

He looks vaguely surprised by the offering of blankets, but folds one over his knees and wraps the other around his shoulders. It helps, chasing away a little of the chill from the floor and air, making it easier to relax a little. Reminds him of the girls bringing him the blankets after cryo.

So he dozes under the blankets, waking each time the door opens to admit or release a young widow, never quite getting to the point of dreams. It's weird and a little uncomfortable, losing time, but at the same time familiar. Apparently he has slept before.

He picks himself up when Katya slips inside, collecting his blankets to fold and set on one of the spare beds he'd spurned. "I will go start breakfast," he tells her quietly. "If you wake everyone." The timer should run out around mid-afternoon, and he doesn't want anyone to still be here when some other base decides to come check on them, so they need to get a good start on fixing up one of the trucks and packing it up with everything useful left in the base.

Katya nods her assent, and turns to start gathering the other girls. Disciplined though they are, it still takes a little while to get everyone awake and dressed, and let those who need it use the washroom. He has time to get a good head start on cooking before the entire little pack of Widows filter in. Irena herds the smaller girls to go sit, selecting two of them to set out cutlery and what remains of the juice - orange and apple, the grape long since gone. Katya and Yelena trot over to help with the remaining preparations.

"Once we identify the transport to use, we were thinking to put the girls in pairs to begin loading it," Yelena says.

He's found oatmeal, one more gallon of milk in the back of the fridge to make it with, and a can of cranberries to top it with, and set about heating that up in a big pot while he sorts the more shelf-stable foods into stacks for carrying to the truck. There's a second pot on the stove next to the oatmeal with the last of the veggies veggies and the rest of that lump of meat, chopped fine, left to simmer for the girls' lunches before they leave.

He looks up at the soft chatter of approaching children, and would smile if he remembered how. It's nice to hear, though, and he watches Yelena and Katya come to join him. "Yes. They can do that while I make any necessary repairs. This is what we should bring with us," he says, pointing to the stacks of canned food, jars of jam and preserves, and cartons of broth and dehydrated milk. There's also the rest of the oatmeal and plenty of protein bars, as awful as that's going to be to have to feed little girls. There's even a gallon each of maple syrup and honey, and something tells him that those will never go bad, and will help give the girls a treat.

"We should also fill whatever containers we can close with water," he adds, thoughtfully.

"There are some jugs of distilled water in storage, for in case the main supply was ever contaminated in an attack," Yelena offers. "They were too big for us to bring, but I can show you where."

"Good. That's even better," Brother nods with relief, and starts getting out bowls for the oatmeal. "I'll make sure to pack all of those. You should strip medical of all the supplies there, too." Possibly including his meal replacements, if they're in there after all. At the very least, if he has some of that, he can save the real food for the girls.

The first bowl he tops with a bit of sugar from the big box-- another thing to pack-- and several of the cranberries, and offers directly to Yelena. "For you. I'll pass them out to the others girls."

Yelena blinks at him for a moment, then smiles, small but pleased out of all proportion to the actual offering. "Thank you," she says quietly, and takes the bowl.

The girls are, all of them, orderly about eating their meals. Even the smaller ones have had that drilled into them - the chatter stops as food is passed out, and they eat quickly, as though they're still half-afraid that if they take too long, it will be taken away from them.

Brother scrapes the last of the oatmeal out of the pot to eat, himself, rather in the same fashion as the girls: quickly and efficiently, and with most of his attention on them rather than what he's eating. He sets the cooking ware aside with a moment of hesitation, some part of him insisting that he wash it and put it away, he's not been raised by wolves. (What does that even mean?)

Except that's a waste of time, when they're going to be leaving shortly. He sets two of the middle-aged girls to rinsing the bowls so they can use them for the stew at lunch, then lets the rest start carrying cans and cartons and even kitchen towels with him down to the garage, where he scrounges up the keys to the half-dozen vehicles there and starts turning them on one by one, checking the sound of their engines and strength of their tires before choosing the best of the lot to load up. There aren't even a lot of repairs to make, just a single cracked hose and frayed wire to replace, so he can focus on getting the heavy water and remaining food on board.

Yelena drafts one of the other girls as her helper, a solemn little thing, ten years old and looking at least two years younger, to strip the medical wing, leaving the older Widows to help supervise the little ones in their tasks. Most of the easily portable supplies, they'd already brought to the stockpile in the cryo chamber. Now, knowing there's a usable vehicle, they can bring along things that would be less manageable on foot, and medicines that might not be of immediate use, or safe to use without training, but could be traded for things they might need.

They also do manage to find the meal replacements, though the powders look revolting enough that neither of the girls like the thought of Brother having to eat them.

Once they've assembled everything that can reasonably be brought along, they load it onto a pair of wheeled stretchers, and trundle them carefully along to the garage.

With so many hands, and most of them used to following orders and keeping on-mission, it's quicker work than Brother expects getting the truck loaded with food, water, fuel, bedding, and all the spare clothing and ammunition the girls can find. It's a big vehicle, with room in the front cab for the driver and at least four more girls.

He eyes the stretchers with something not quite wary, he was rarely strapped to those. Why carry the soldier when he can usually walk himself just fine, no matter how injured, after all? He takes the cases of his meal replacement, as the heaviest bits, to slot into the piles of goods in the truck's bed. The little cartons don't look right. It should be liquid. Maybe it has to be mixed with water?

"This is it?" he asks Yelena. If they don't have to go back, then-- they're almost ready, he thinks. Just outfit the girls, kit him up, and eat their stew, and they can be gone from this place.

Apocalypse children - for worthallthis

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