Chapter Text
Carmilla startles awake to the feeling of being shaken, feeling the suppressed instinct to lash out at the threat engage and then abort.
“Yeah?” She asks, pulling herself up, squinting in the low light.
“Mom,” Nastya says, her voice a bit rough with anxiety. “Toy Soldier had a nightmare, a really bad one, it’s freaking out…”
It’s not often, now, that anyone comes to her for nightmares. They’re old enough where they feel like they need to handle it themselves, and for the most part they can.
That said, Nastya coming to her because Toy Soldier had a dream… TS doesn’t do well with authority when it’s upset, usually. It must be bad.
She grasps out for Nastya’s hand to help her up, and Nastya helps Carmilla out of bed like the sweet young woman she is.
She fishes her cane from its place beside the bed and walks to the kids’ room. The concern flooding her is holding off any pain that the sudden movements might be causing, though it’s not been flaring lately so it might just be mild in the first place.
Toy Soldier had come over late, sure, clutching its ratty backpack to its chest and bouncing inside with a characteristic cheeriness. Whatever had happened at home to get it over couldn’t have been great, though Jonny’d questioned it away for a while to no avail, and it seemed pretty alright when she’d said her goodnights.
She winces at the lamplight flooding the kids’ room, illuminating scattered papers and clothes in enough of a glare to make her falter as she regains her bearings. Jonny has Toy Soldier in his arms, talking to it as level-headedly as he can manage and repeating his normal comforts to it in vain.
She can hear its choked sobs, and even by that metric it’s bad - Toy Soldier doesn’t cry, if it can help it. Such shows of emotion usually drag it back and away from itself, retreating until the display of emotion can be over and it can go back to playing nice. Nastya said Toy Soldier, though, and Jonny seems to be keeping with that as he attempts to calm it.
“I- I—I Want Mu—u-um!,” it wails, writhing against Jonny. “Want!”
Jonny looks up to her plaintively. “It means- means you, I think, Mom, I don’t know, it’s been like this since it woke up and I don’t know how to help,” he says.
He looks ten again, so sure he has to be the one to comfort Nastya, like it isn’t Carmilla’s responsibility to look after a child because his parents didn’t see it as theirs to take care of him.
“Give it here,” she says, kneeling down and ignoring the way her hip pops. “It’s not your job, Jonny. It’s alright, I’m just going to take it back to my room.”
Jonny hesitates for an instant, only one, because as soon as Toy Soldier can see Carmilla, it sobs even harder.
“M—um!! Mum P-p’ea—ase!” It warbles, trying so hard to wipe away its tears that it’s rubbing its cheeks raw.
Carmilla eases it into her arms, again ignoring as something in her shoulder threatens to pop. She can deal with that later. For now, TS is crying and doesn’t quite seem to see her, and that’s more important.
“Let’s get you all tip top, sweetheart,” she sighs. In her arms it looks small. It’s tall, for a teenager, but it’s good at making itself curl up tight.
She carries it back to her room so the kids, in their well-meaning concern, don’t startle it further. Her bed backs up against the wall so she can’t be surrounded, a symptom of her own issues, but it’s just as well so she can prop up a pillow and lean against the cool paint, Toy Soldier curled up in her arms as its body is wracked with harsh, spasming cries.
With the other kids, she tries to get them to talk through it and calm down, walk them through whatever fake or twisted-reality thing their brains had come up with. With Toy Soldier, it doesn’t remember, or won’t talk about, such things. It “isn’t real,” after all.
She rubs a hand over its shoulder blades. “Mum’s here, Toy. Mum’s here. You did very well asking for me.”
The Toy Soldier manages, through ragged breathing that only gets worse when anyone tries to walk it through a panic attack or what have you, to mumble, “Mum…” again, and it cracks open one grey eye to look at her.
“I D-don’t Feel V-e—ry Well,” it babbles, and Carmilla nods along. “I Bel—el—el’ve Something’s Brok’n!”
“I don’t think so, love, I think you may just need to take some time and it’ll fix itself,” she replies. “Your body needs time.”
It shakes its head furiously. “Not Real, Mum! Can’t F-fix ‘Tself!”
Carmilla sighs, conceding on that point for lack of much else to do. She rubs its back while it cries, whatever dream had triggered it apparently being enough of a nightmare as to keep it upset beyond the initial moments of panicked wakefulness.
It stops crying, eventually, though Carmilla is unsure if it’s all done or if it’s just got enough control now to force a stop.
“I Apologize!” It chokes out, voice hoarse. It hasn’t moved from her arms, yet, and she begins to brush through its wavy hair, carefully undoing the knots in the messy auburn locks. “That Was Quite Silly Of Me, I’d Say!”
It seems worked up, still, more than just the nightmare. Maybe calling Carmilla mom frightened it. Jess already has, a couple times, but Toy Soldier can be skittish about connecting with adults, and rightfully so.
It tries to move, to wriggle out of her arms, but its body doesn’t seem to be complying, and it crumples back.
“Toy Soldier,” she says again. It likes its name being called. “At ease.”
She’s not above using its compulsion to follow orders to her advantage, on rare occasions.
It gives up. It melts against her, shoving its head into the hand that’s rubbing through its hair, and dissociates. That’s good enough for her now, that it’s breathing well and knows where and when it is in, at least, broad strokes.
She’ll pull out the cot the kids rarely use so that it can have a place to sleep on its own, without any unexpected touch.
Or, rather.
“Jonny, can you grab the cot, please?” she asks, knowing he’ll hear her.
“Yeah,” he responds immediately.
He helpfully sets up the little metal-and-fabric cot across the room from Carmilla, taking one of Nastya’s pillows (they don’t squabble, given the situation, but she does shoot him a dirty look) and some spare quilts to pad the relatively uncomfortable surface. Carmilla helps the Toy Soldier up, guiding it to lay back down once Jonny’s finished setting up. The poor darling just stands there hunched in on itself, its normally-perfect posture abandoned.
It tugs the blankets over itself eventually, the distance somewhat fading from its eyes as Carmilla does some writing to pass the time. She’ll go to sleep once it goes to sleep. That’s how this goes, with the kids.
She shoos the other two back to bed after a few extra reassurances and Jonny saying a proper goodnight. The Toy Soldier doesn’t really respond, per say, but its eyes track Jonny and it manages a little hum.
Eventually, it manages to settle, slipping into a doze with even breathing and half-lidded eyes. Carmilla feels numb, the lack of sleep dragging on her due to how abrupt and stressful her waking had been.
But still, she waits until she’s fairly sure it won’t wake again to head to sleep, fumbling for her phone with half-closed eyes to turn off her alarm. School can be a choice tomorrow.