John J. Rambo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theydrewfirstblood) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ph_logs2024-12-21 08:16 pm
theydrewfirstblood) wrote in ph_logs2024-12-21 08:16 pm
trying to find peace of mind can break your heart (Closed To Close CR)
Who: John Rambo & You
What: My personal event opt-out, or John Rambo is conspicuously absent from Pumpkin Hollow during the winter holidays, nursing a steadily healing heartache he's just still learning to understand
When: during Givingstide, Mourner's Night, & all accompanied interfaith celebrations
Where: Baker Ranch
Warning(s): Grief, breakups, canon typical warnings (PTSD, wartime violence, torture, etc.), and for additional fun, potential NSFW if anybody wants to party :P
"Someone gave me one like that, said if I wore it when I slept, she'd keep the nightmares away. Connected her to me, even when she was still on the Beach. Thought maybe...I'unno. Might do the same for you. Give you a connection back here, when your head goes dark."
John stares at it, like he did a year ago. Normally, it hangs on the wall over his bed, but after spending all of his free time in his room the last few days--barring chores and meals--now that his family is in town for the holiday stuff, John is out on his porch with a glass of scotch, Co strutting around while Bao hops about the yard...
Like he did that night, John rubs a thumb along the cord strung through it, the cool stone knotted in the center of dreamcatcher that still means so damn much to him.
Reaching for his drink, John sips his scotch--yeah, he's not out to get drunk, just keep from getting too tense. The heat of the burn as it goes down his throat reminds him of the earliest touches from his partners and friends, of the first time Sam touched him voluntarily at last year's Givingstide. The bloom of warmth in his belly when it slides all the way down reminds him, more recently, of the endorphin high at George's birthday party with Siebren, even the radiant warmth of companionship hanging around with Drelasa.
"You don't gotta protect me, and I don't want you killin' for me. I'm not helpless, n' we're supposed to be better here, right? You're carryin' around all this shit from bein' a soldier but you don't gotta be that anymore."
Sam's gruff, quiet voice still makes him ache inside, even just in his memory. He's more withdrawn these days, less of a presence, but his dreamcatcher still hangs in John's room. It still keeps the nightmares at bay, most times.
"...we're supposed to be better here, right?..."
He's come a long way in a year. He's seeing multiple people, with varying levels of involvement. He's got a family of his own that's...absolutely breathtaking, good kids he loves so much it's stupid and extended family beyond them. He has friends, he has a flourishing business, he's a holy knight of a goddess...he has a life that's so much more and so much richer than he ever could have dreamed of in his own world.
...but a couple thoughtless words set him off at the dance of Celestine. He bounced someone's head off a wall for hurting Siebren. He was bitten by a creature he can only call a werewolf, and he's been content to remain changed.
He's not just haunted by what he's lost...but also by the things he hasn't let go. The violence, the bloodlust--the things that the Army made him.
Things he hates, things he doesn't want...things he can't give up because they can do some honest, genuine good. For some reason, the time of year has him thinking about Sam more, and thinking about all of that more, and wondering if he's really doing any better at all.
In the secret places he still doubts himself, he wonders if Sam was right to get shut of him.
And so, while he's got gifts tucked away, things to share when the holidays die down and he can enjoy the sharing more...for now, the family is off celebrating and he's home alone because he doesn't want to be taken back to that night. To what he lost, to what he'll never have.
He's just...
John Rambo just hasn't had enough experience with relationships to know that while you do get over the heartache, move on, love again and love deeper and love just as well--you really just can't forget your first love.
What: My personal event opt-out, or John Rambo is conspicuously absent from Pumpkin Hollow during the winter holidays, nursing a steadily healing heartache he's just still learning to understand
When: during Givingstide, Mourner's Night, & all accompanied interfaith celebrations
Where: Baker Ranch
Warning(s): Grief, breakups, canon typical warnings (PTSD, wartime violence, torture, etc.), and for additional fun, potential NSFW if anybody wants to party :P
"Someone gave me one like that, said if I wore it when I slept, she'd keep the nightmares away. Connected her to me, even when she was still on the Beach. Thought maybe...I'unno. Might do the same for you. Give you a connection back here, when your head goes dark."
John stares at it, like he did a year ago. Normally, it hangs on the wall over his bed, but after spending all of his free time in his room the last few days--barring chores and meals--now that his family is in town for the holiday stuff, John is out on his porch with a glass of scotch, Co strutting around while Bao hops about the yard...
Like he did that night, John rubs a thumb along the cord strung through it, the cool stone knotted in the center of dreamcatcher that still means so damn much to him.
Reaching for his drink, John sips his scotch--yeah, he's not out to get drunk, just keep from getting too tense. The heat of the burn as it goes down his throat reminds him of the earliest touches from his partners and friends, of the first time Sam touched him voluntarily at last year's Givingstide. The bloom of warmth in his belly when it slides all the way down reminds him, more recently, of the endorphin high at George's birthday party with Siebren, even the radiant warmth of companionship hanging around with Drelasa.
"You don't gotta protect me, and I don't want you killin' for me. I'm not helpless, n' we're supposed to be better here, right? You're carryin' around all this shit from bein' a soldier but you don't gotta be that anymore."
Sam's gruff, quiet voice still makes him ache inside, even just in his memory. He's more withdrawn these days, less of a presence, but his dreamcatcher still hangs in John's room. It still keeps the nightmares at bay, most times.
"...we're supposed to be better here, right?..."
He's come a long way in a year. He's seeing multiple people, with varying levels of involvement. He's got a family of his own that's...absolutely breathtaking, good kids he loves so much it's stupid and extended family beyond them. He has friends, he has a flourishing business, he's a holy knight of a goddess...he has a life that's so much more and so much richer than he ever could have dreamed of in his own world.
...but a couple thoughtless words set him off at the dance of Celestine. He bounced someone's head off a wall for hurting Siebren. He was bitten by a creature he can only call a werewolf, and he's been content to remain changed.
He's not just haunted by what he's lost...but also by the things he hasn't let go. The violence, the bloodlust--the things that the Army made him.
Things he hates, things he doesn't want...things he can't give up because they can do some honest, genuine good. For some reason, the time of year has him thinking about Sam more, and thinking about all of that more, and wondering if he's really doing any better at all.
In the secret places he still doubts himself, he wonders if Sam was right to get shut of him.
And so, while he's got gifts tucked away, things to share when the holidays die down and he can enjoy the sharing more...for now, the family is off celebrating and he's home alone because he doesn't want to be taken back to that night. To what he lost, to what he'll never have.
He's just...
John Rambo just hasn't had enough experience with relationships to know that while you do get over the heartache, move on, love again and love deeper and love just as well--you really just can't forget your first love.
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Which means that at some point there's a shuffling noise on the porch boards, and then a slightly louder creak as someone folds down to sit next to him.
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And once Edgar's seated, he reaches out and tousles his hair playfully while he gazes into the middle distance.
"My mole at the Oak & Iron said the spread's killer this year--hope you didn't skip out before you filled your belly, kiddo."
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A pause.
"Brought home half a pie, 's in the icebox."
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He huffs out a laugh, sips his scotch, and sets the glass down, absently picking the dreamcatcher back up when Edgar mentions the pie. Glancing at him with a raised eyebrow, his smile grows.
"Yeah? I'll try a slice before bed...thanks, man." he hums, absently rubbing his thumb over the stone at the center of the dreamcatcher.
"...I, uh--I know they do gifts at the inn, but since I didn't go I put yours in your room."
If he goes to look now, or later, he'll find a small wrapped box with a dreamcatcher of his own inside--with the decorative feathers being Co's familiar white.
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“What?” He huffs with a small, wonderstruck smile. “You didn’t…I mean, you didn’t have to…”
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“I already love it—let’s go inside and I’ll prove it.”
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"Want to open them together? I'll find mine and come back out."
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Meanwhile he heads for the table…and yeah. There’s a present on the table for him.
The package for Sam is in reach of tiny fingers, and for an instant Sam’s brush the back of his hand to keep his gift safe from Lou…the first gentle touch he’s had in years, the first touch he’s shared with Sam since the day they met…
John walks over to the table, sets the dreamcatcher down…
…and though his expression is soft, smiling, moved—he still can’t bring himself to touch it.
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So instead of worrying, he just reaches over to pick up the package so he can open it up.
“Okay, me first…I hope you didn’t spend a ton on anything…”
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Inside the paper is a thick sweater of the softest, warmest cashmere, in a gradient of golden tan to deep coppery red-ochre, with a thin stripe of brilliant turquoise running across it just below the shoulders.
"Hope you like the colors," Edgar offers, suddenly looking a little shy as well as eager.
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For a second, John can only pull the sweater out, run his fingers over the yarn--then just tugs it on right there before pulling Edgar into a fierce, possibly just shy of too-tight hug.
"I love it." he whispers with a smile against Edgar's shoulder, patting his back. "I love it, bud. I really do."
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"Good," he mutters into the soft knit, and swallows against an inexplicable thickening in his throat. "Good. Wanted you to have something to keep warm."
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…and that was the thing, wasn’t it? John was careful—but he was always clear. Sam meant the world to him, Sam was as good as family…and in the end he flat out told Sam he loved him, that it could be enough for John.
And that was too much for him to handle. John offered Sam his heart, and Sam saw the offer as some kind of power play. Complicated as it was…Sam wasn’t prepared to simply be.
That’s what this is. That, he’s starting to realize, is what family is. Being loved. Not for any reason or purpose…but just because you want someone to be warm enough, or feel safe, or be happy.
John hopes Sam can find that someday…maybe as she grows up, Lou can teach him that.
Holding Edgar just that little bit tighter, John says a silent prayer to Serranai and God both for the fact that he’s got kids like Edgar to help him learn the same lesson.
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"Right," he says, "my turn?"
And he picks it up to open, shooting John a grin.
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So when Edgar opens his gift...
"...I knew dreamcatchers before I got this one." he explains, gesturing with the metal framed one in his hand. "They're Native American in origin. My mom's people had 'em...Sam didn't know that when he gave this to me."
He doesn't remember if he's ever mentioned Sam Porter Bridges to Edgar, beyond the occasional talk of mail when he makes his deliveries around town...but there it is.
"We were close once." he confesses. "Changed when he...it just didn't work. But, uh...this was my Givingstide present from him last year. Been a whole year now since I got here, roundabouts."
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"It's pretty," he says, very soft. "What's it for?"
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Because boy has he noticed how down in the dumps John's been.
"Morning, sir," he says. "Hey, I'm heading out pretty soon, you got a minute?"
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"What's on your mind?" He asks, slinging an arm around his shoulders in a side hug. "If you're gonna ask me about Helga, answer's the same: she's doing great, and unless you twig to something I miss, foal's due date is still the same."
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Radar grins as he leans into the hug, giving John a quick squeeze around the middle right back.
"That wasn't what I was gonna ask though. I got something for you." He pulls back just enough to dig through one of his pockets until he unearths a small, narrow package about six inches high.
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“You…really?”
His tone and expression are genuine surprise as he accepts the gift like something precious that might be taken away any second—and he’d rather be ready to release it than risk it being damaged.
“Aw, Radar…you didn’t have to do that…”
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Whenever he does, he'll find a small wooden statue of Serranai, expertly carved by one of the local craftspeople. Radar has zero skill in that department, so it was the perfect find at the Winter Market.
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"How's it going? Anything you...need to talk about?"
If anyone knows about heartbreak, it's John Crichton.
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"Yes and no." he replies, shifting to get to his feet, dreamcatcher in hand. Meeting him partway, he offers Crichton a handshake and a pat on the back.
"Just...guess you could say I'm celebrating my one year anniversary here, but it's not as much fun to remember as it should be." he sighs, shrugging. "M' okay--you need more franks for the critter? You help me open 'n close the box, won't charge for this batch."
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"That's all right. I get it. As good as life can be here... there's still a lot of things to mourn. Sorry it's hitting you hard." He won't press for more. But He'll remain a sympathetic ear if John needs it.
"If you're sure, then yeah. Great deal for me. Kid's growing like a weed. Before long he's going to be as tall as me. He's really got a taste for those wieners."