PUMPKIN HOLLOW: Notes for Friends (sent the morning before the Cultists)

[theydrewfirstblood]

Sent to John's closest CR...

If you're getting this, I did something and I'm worried it's gonna go sideways.

If I don't answer the phone by the evening you receive this, please check in on my animals at Baker Ranch. Also, please contact Edgar & Radar O'Reilly to make sure they're all right. Let them know what happened, and for the love of God don't let them go looking for me.

I'm trusting you to do this. Please.

-J. Rambo

Sent to his boys Edgar and Radar O'Reilly...

Do me a favor? Bunk at the ranch for a couple of days. Humor me, & I'll explain later.

Don't get into any trouble.

-J. Rambo

Comments

[incomingchoppers]

Ohhhhh, he really doesn't like that letter. Any of it. For one, well, there's a reason he didn't go and get himself a house all the way out in the farmlands, even though he really wanted to: he's gotta stay close to Town Hall and Hawkeye and Father Mulcahy in case anybody needs him. Heck, he bunked right outside Colonel Potter's office back in Korea! What's he gonna do if there's an emergency?

And more importantly, speaking of emergencies... boy, this sure sounds like one that Mr. Rambo might've mixed himself up in. Which means he probably ought to listen to him.

Radar packs a bag: a few changes of clothes, the new teddy bear Hawkeye gave him (and he still needs to thank Mr. Phil for winning for him), his sending stone, and John's letter. Gathering up the menagerie he's adopted so far -- the little Cleffa in his arms, the Fidough tagging along at his heels -- he starts out for the ranch.

It's just like bugging out for a few days, right? It'll be okay. Probably.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar's already there when Radar arrives, scooping out portions of feed for the chickens and the rabbits. His own bag lies just inside the front door, looking like it's been dropped there.

He looks up at the sound of footfalls, squinting against the sunlight, and takes in the approaching figure. The bag and the little crowd of animals register first, then the glasses and hat.

"Hey," he calls out, straightening up. "John ask you to come out here too?"

[incomingchoppers]

"Yeah, I just got that letter he sent over," says Radar. He claps one hand to his hat as he dashes toward Edgar. The Cleffa cheeps out a tiny, surprised clef! at the jostling, and tries to cling to Radar's shirtfront with her stubby arms. "He say anything else to you? You're out here more than I am, right?"

His whole expression's pinched with deep worry.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar shakes his head. He's feeling a worry similar to what he can see in Radar's face; seeing it there is making it harder to shove his own down.

"All I got was the note. Figure he had to head off somewhere, but ... I dunno, man."

[incomingchoppers]

Radar nods. He wraps both arms around the Cleffa again to keep it steady. "Every time somebody's told me to humor 'em and not get into any trouble, they're about to go get in trouble and they don't want me coming along. Why would he be making us both bug out unless it was serious?"

The Cleffa peeps worriedly, sensing Radar's distress. Immediately, he hefts her a little higher, bouncing her gently in his arms as if she were an anxious toddler, and soothes, "Hey, no, don't worry, I'm okay. We're all gonna be okay here."

Glancing back up at Edgar -- "Sorry. Uh, this is Treble," he indicates the Cleffa, "and that's Tiger Junior," nodding to the Fidough that's waddled closer to Edgar to investigate. "I couldn't just leave 'em behind if I was gonna be gone a few days."

[hate_gettin_older]

"Nah, course not," he says, and bends to hold out a hand to Tiger Junior. He's a little too distracted by the situation to put his whole attention into it, though.

"Any idea what kind of trouble he might have gone to get into?"

[incomingchoppers]

That's okay! Tiger Junior is patient. He gives Edgar's hand a thorough, deliberate sniffing while he waits for the attention he's due.

Caught in his own nerves, Radar reflexively says, "No, si -- " before catching himself and correcting. "No. I got no clue. I tried calling his sending stone but he didn't pick up."

Abruptly, the frown lines across his forehead deepen. Radar tips his head an inch to the side, gaze unfocusing, before he snaps back to himself with a gasp.

"He didn't bring Co with him?! Oh, jeez, that's real bad, he takes Co everywhere -- "

cw: blood, violence, all the other warnings from the cultplot

[incomingchoppers]

They've eaten dinner. The flood of calls has trickled to a halt. Even Co's asleep, head tucked under one wing as she roosts near the other babies.

It's probably as good a time as any to bunk down for the night.

Radar opts for the downstairs couch so he can stay close to the phone, just in case. He changes into his pajamas and arranges everything he needs on the nearest table: his hat, his sending stone, and his glasses, just as if he were back in his cot outside Colonel Potter's office. (Well, sorta. No sending stone there, but he guesses the mic for the PA system kinda counts.) He waits until Edgar's gone to bed before digging out his teddy bear, then burrows under a couple spare blankets and tries to get some shut-eye.

From the moment he falls asleep, everything has a vague, uneasy restlessness, like something's crawling on him and he can't shake it off. There's a thick red sludge in his eyes that he can't wipe clear; it forms weird shapes when he tries, like -- candlesticks? Plates? When he tries again, he swears it's Mr. Rambo and Father Mulcahy instead, the sludge forming long streaks over their heads and down their clothes. Red, black, red, black. The fresh blood of a surgical cut, the congealed blood of a drying bandage.

Thump, thump. Thump-thump. Am I inside a heart? As soon as he thinks it, his ears unclog like he's surfacing from a long dive underwater. Distantly, three bells chime the hour. The thumping around him speeds up into the humming thud of a rotor blade, and Radar feels his breath race to match it.

Then, all at once, the contracting walls relax. They unfold into a new room, wide and reeking, where everyone inside speaks in radio static as their mouths open and close. But for the first time in the whole dream, nothing blocks his vision. He sees Mulcahy and Rambo as clear as if they were right next to him. He sees Rambo make a break for it.

When the gunshot cracks, Radar flinches.

When the knives come out, and Father Mulcahy starts to choke on his own blood, and everyone else crumples and the lines on the floor pulse and he can still see everything clear as day just red, black, red, black --

Radar bolts awake screaming so loud that Co flails awake with a startled squawk, too.

He doesn't bother with his glasses, just lunges straight for where his sending stone ought to be with another round of crashing and clattering. "Mr. Rambo?" he yells, even though he knows it's not going to do anything. He hasn't responded the whole night. "It's Radar! Father?! Will one of you come in? Please -- "

Nothing. He grips it tighter, wheezing with panic, and switches to another frequency.

"Hawkeye?! HAWKEYE! It's Radar, are you there?!"

[notinflictthem]

Hawk has come to enjoy the many pleasures of civillian life again, namely not being woken up at all hours by Radar or otherwise for some emergency. He's been sleeping a lot since their little discussion on the stairs. Hawk hasn't had the energy for much else outside of his clinic hours.

Unfortunately for him, his sending stone is still in vest pocket, and he's startled out of his unintentional couch nap by the sound of Radar's voice in a panic. In the yawning tone that usually accompanies threats to Radar's person when he's woken up unexpectedly-

"Hang- hang on- damn rock th- whuh? Where's the fire?"

It's too early to remember to still be mad at him.

[incomingchoppers]

Too early for Hawkeye to be mad; too much hysteria for Radar to remember that he ought to stop running straight to Hawk for every little thing that goes wrong. But there's nobody else to call. What else can he do?

"Hawkeye, something happened to Father Mulcahy and Mr. Rambo," he babbles, "they both went out to do something with a bunch of other people and Mr. Rambo told me and Edgar we gotta stay at the ranch for a few days but he didn't tell us why and something awful happened to everybody and I think they're both dead -- "

The longer the sentence runs on, the higher his voice pitches.

[notinflictthem]

Hawk has his boots on before Radar runs out of breath.

"You're at his ranch? I'll be there in ten."

He can complain about it, sure, Hawk can complain about anything. But he's a load-bearing pillar and he knows it. It's the same reason why he didn't treat this place as a vacation and take any time off doctor-ing, the same reason even in this funk he's been going downstairs to the clinic. People need him, and Hawk is there.

A bit less than ten minutes later, Hawk comes racing up the path towards the ranch on a horse that extremely does not belong to him.

[incomingchoppers]

Radar's at least got his glasses on by then, but he isn't a whole lot calmer. He's relit a lantern to set on the porch and paces back and forth next to it, rubbing his arms, trying to shake off the crawling, choking remnants of the nightmare. As soon as he can spot Hawkeye, and not just hear the hoofbeats coming, he seizes the lantern and sprints out to meet him.

"Hawk -- "

What if it was just a bad dream? After everything Hawkeye said to him, if Radar dragged him out of bed at three AM over nothing --

It's not nothing. The thought's quiet, but so solid and sure that he feels like he grew an extra inch taller just thinking it.

[notinflictthem]

Hawk looks as rumpled as he always does immediately after waking up, which isn't helped by the bit of length his hair has gained since he arrived. He dismounts still rubbing his face, then puts both hands on Radar's shoulders, his face creased in concern. If the horse runs off then that's someone else's problem.

"What happened?"

[incomingchoppers]

Okay. Okay, he's gotta get his head on straight enough to give the report. C'mon, Radar.

"Me and Edgar got a letter from Mr. Rambo to come out here," he says, "only as soon as we did a whole lot of people started calling 'cause Mr. Rambo sent them letters too saying, uh, 'if you get this I did something and I'm worried it's gonna go sideways, check on Edgar and Radar and tell 'em not to come after me,' so I started calling people and we locked down the whole ranch and turns out he's not the only one who went, or left a note, Father Mulcahy left one too, and then ten minutes ago I -- "

Under Hawkeye's grip, he starting to shake again.

Voice choked: "I know where they went and it's real bad, Hawkeye, and I dunno if we can even do anything -- "

before Hawkeye arrives

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar flails into consciousness with the sound of screaming in his ears. He has to fight free of the blanket that's somehow wound itself around his legs -- was he dreaming too? he can't remember -- before he can make it to Radar's side and remember where he is and why, at about the same moment.

I think they're both dead, Radar says in high frantic tones, and cold brushes down Edgar's spine. All he can think of for a moment is Yona, somehow seeing or knowing through a closed gate, saying he's running, screaming don't open it.

He reaches out to grip Radar's shoulder, silently, and waits out the rest of the call.

[incomingchoppers]

There isn't much call left to wait out: as soon as Hawkeye says he'll be over in ten minutes, Radar acknowledges -- swift, automatic, a fraction of his training grabbing him by the scruff of the neck for half a second -- and disconnects the line. He drops the stone on the couch next to him. Just as frantic, he slaps both hands along the top of the table to try and locate something he can barely see.

"Oh, where are my stupid glasses -- "

He can't get his voice to stop shrilling like an alarm. The dim blur of the table looks black in the darkness, and in his panic, he keeps waiting for it to change to a damp, sticky red the next time he touches it.

[hate_gettin_older]

"Hey," says Edgar, not loudly but sharply, and puts a hand over one of Radar's. "Don't do that, you'll fuckin knock em over. Let me get them."

It's dark, but his eyes still work better than Radar's; he spots the glasses by the faint gleam off one lens, further back on the table.

[incomingchoppers]

Okay, good, Edgar's getting his glasses, that means he can go do other stuff before Hawkeye gets here --

"I'll, I'll get the lights," he stammers, and tries to scramble to his feet, immediately planting a foot right on his teddy bear and stumbling against the table.

[hate_gettin_older]

"Hey --"

Edgar reaches out with both hands to catch Radar by the forearms. "Look at me, man. Stop for a second. Look at me."

[incomingchoppers]

Not that Radar had much composure to begin with, but now it completely snaps.

"I gotta do something!" he half-shouts, half-wails. "If they're not dead already they're gonna die any second!"

[some time after Radar & Hawkeye talk]

[theydrewfirstblood]

John, eventually, leaves the group. He doesn't know what else to do...but he knows what he wants to do.

Hawkeye is there at the ranch when John gets there. He's not sure how this works--if this works--so he stays away. Hawk can be a little twitchy, Radar's obviously got some kind of sixth sense...

Just seeing them makes him feel better. Even more when he catches a glimpse of Edgar inside, puttering past the open front door at one point. They're all in one place, they're safe, and seeing Hawkeye even dropped by makes a tension John didn't know he was holding dissolve from the middle of his chest, just...knowing he's safe, too. He's okay, they're all okay.

Once things are quiet, John heads into the house. It's...fucking weird to be walking through walls, but Edgar and Radar buttoned things up good. He's proud of them for that.

He nearly walks into Radar as he turns a corner, stopping short and taking a couple steps back--but it's all he needs to realize that Radar can't see him.

...ah well. It was worth a shot.

Still, John stands off to the side just watching him, a cup of coffee in his hand looking like he's been through hell, poor little guy, and something bursts in his chest--something hot and soft and violent that wants to wrap the kid in fucking tissue paper to protect him from breaking.

"...you did good, Radar." he sighs. "I'm sorry I put you kids through the wringer, but...wanted to make sure you stayed safe. But it's all okay now, I promise. M' proud of you 'n Edgar. Hope you know that."

[incomingchoppers]

Radar's exhausted. It feels like someone grabbed all his nerves and gave them a good twist, wringing them so hard that they don't work right anymore. Unfortunately, it's a familiar feeling; he knows the coffee won't do much, but it's either that or go back to sleep, and, well. Not wanting to go back to sleep after a real bad dream is pretty familiar, too.

So he finishes off the first mug and pours himself another one. Hiking up his glasses a couple inches, he pinches the bridge of his nose, rubs the corners of his eyes like that'll shock them into staying open a few more hours. And then what? Does he call Miss Leeds and Mayor Poe and tell them both he's gotta stay here for the day? Go pick up some reports to bring back to the ranch? He doesn't know if he wants to leave until he's sure Mr. Rambo's come back, but...

...but it's all okay now. It's over.

A few of his nerves untwist. With a quiet sigh, Radar leans against the wall like he's leaning back against a couple pillows.

[theydrewfirstblood]

John smiles a little, grateful to see Radar relax...but then he blinks and tips his head, wondering--hoping...

Let him hear me, Serranai. he prays silently, moving to Radar's side.

"God knows how much fucking coffee you've had...but if you can hear me, Radar, even just--I dunno, subconsciously--go dump the coffee and get a glass of water. You need to sleep some time."

[incomingchoppers]

Cupping the mug in both hands, Radar blows on the surface of the coffee before taking another sip -- then makes a face down at it.

It doesn't taste bad; actually it tastes a heck of a lot better than anything he ever had in Korea. But the acid kinda burns his stomach a little, and he's starting to think he maybe ought to lay off for a bit. Maybe get a glass of water or something, even if it means he falls back asleep sooner than he wants to.

Well.

"Guess I'm gonna need to sleep sometime," he mutters to himself, reluctant, before moving back to the sink to dump the coffee down the drain.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar's leaning into the icebox, and looks up as Radar approaches the sink. The sight of someone pouring out still-good coffee dismays him, but he's come to learn that cold coffee isn't any good the next day, no matter what you do with it.

He sighs and closes the icebox; reluctantly, unhappily, he has to concede that he isn't hungry.

"Think we should try and get back to sleep?"