this fic is for jammy-badger for the secret santa i run on tumblr! i chose their prompt about sasha worrying about milla on a solo mission and oleander comforts him with some bonding aspects! i hope you enjoy it, and happy holidays!
What's Causing the Gears to Turn Erratically in Your Brain?
Sasha busied himself with the control panel of his Brain Tumbler. He fidgeted with various knobs and buttons. Inputting new data always kept his mind functioning instead of lingering on unnecessary thoughts. He checked his clipboard, flipping through the pages and running his finger along the hastily scrawled notes he had taken during the latest cadet's visit to the Brain Tumbler, sighing at the inconclusive results.
He had thought Cadet Bulgakov would have given him something interesting to examine. With his raw, telekinetic prowess, Sasha had hypothesized there would be peculiarities to study in his brain waves or mental world. His subject had appreciated the challenge of venturing into his own head to face his demons, but Sasha's expectations were dashed when the Brain Tumbler malfunctioned in the middle of their session. It had ejected Cadet Bulgakov from the machine and prompted Sasha to take him back to his cabin to recuperate, his thoughts scrambled from the sudden rush of electricity destroying several layers of his astral projection.
Sasha set aside the clipboard and faced the Brain Tumbler. It's cheapness had made itself known in a truly unpredictable way. He already fixed the wiring that had sparked, causing Cadet Bulgakov's mental electrocution, and he believed he fixed the problem. But agitation still crawled up his spine at the thought of it happening again to another one of campers. He was fortunate Cadet Bulgakov had not been irrevocably harmed. He had suffered exhaustion, a throbbing migraine, and a lapse in his memory about the incident, a victory for Sasha against any potential lawsuit his parents might decide to thrust at him.
Knowing that Cadets Love and Hedgemouse tended to steer clear of him, he suspected he would not have another chance to gather important data from young, malleable minds. Whispering Rock was filled with potential, but none of the campers wanted to use their powers wisely. They were children, and he could not entirely fault them for their juvenile wiles. But most of them refused to explore the deeper extent of their abilities. They chose to play it safe. With basket weaving or canoe races, they were so mundane that it made his own brain hurt thinking about their prospects weakening as the summer days reached an eventual end.
Sasha rubbed his temples and sighed. With the meager information he received from Cadet Bulgakov, he deemed the test a failure. His mind wandered to another place, but he scolded himself for losing focus and brought the clipboard in front of his eyes. Squinting at the last paragraph on the page, he groaned at his misspelled scribblings, each word messier than the last as he tried reading his handwriting.
"You got some explaining to do, Nein!"
Sasha's lip curled as the guttural voice rose up from the tree trunk in the corner of his lab. He lacked the energy to deal with his ranting, but the argument was unavoidable now that he had arrived. Placing the clipboard on his control panel, he groaned to himself as Oleander levitated out of the tree trunk and stormed over to him on wobbling legs.
Oleander narrowed his good eye at his coworker. "What was he doing in here? You know who I mean!" he demanded, clutching his hips.
Sasha spoke in a level voice. "I assure you he will be fine and-"
"'Fine!' I saw him ambling around the cabins looking for a bear to fight like he was under someone's spell! And I know it wasn't Cadet Bubai this time," Oleander snapped, crossing his arms. He leered at the Brain Tumbler. "Don't tell me you forced him into that contraption. What the hell happened in there that caused a mind that strong to get fried?"
Offense crossed his features. "He came of his own volition. I did not coerce him. All I did was offer him advanced training," Sasha informed, gesturing at the red button Cadet Bulgakov had returned to him upon his arrival. He flipped his bangs with a quick jerk of his head. "I already told him that he will need to rest. If you see him again, order him to stay in bed. Losing all of your astral projection layers in one blast is something even a Psychonaut needs time to recover from."
"Oh, 'training' my ass. As if you aren't biting at the bit to study them like lab rats," Oleander snorted and jabbed his finger at Sasha. "Those brains need to be in tip-top shape. I won't have you breaking them with your cockamamie rustbucket."
Sasha pushed Oleander's hand away, hardly deterred by his aggravation. "I don't understand why you're so defensive about their brains. You and I are both aware that those children could provide valuable data and be so much more than they currently are. We just need to examine and push them in an unorthodox way." He spared a glance at the Brain Tumbler. "Remember Cadet Zilch and his advanced training from three summers ago? We were able to tap into his latent, superior levitation abilities before…" He cleared his throat. "At the very least, he hasn't sustained long-lasting mental damage. Better yet, he's not dead."
"Yeah, yeah, and now, the punk can't look at red buttons without having a panic attack. Fine job you and your training did to him." Oleander scoffed. "I bet his brain was scrambled like an egg because of you."
Oleander's vitriol and bitterness pinched Sasha's nerve. He dug his fingers into his palms and squared his shoulders. The confrontation was expected, and he supposed he deserved the insults, but they were long overdue. Despite his attempts to make his personalized classes safe and secure, things happened out of his control regardless of his extensive precautions. One PSI cadet developing a phobia initially riddled him with a bout of guilt, but years passed, and Sasha had moved on to focus on the present. If Cadet Zilch still lingered on that event, then he'd recommend professional therapy with a Psychonaut who specialized in childhood trauma.
His thoughts shifted again, but he cleared his throat before they could darken his expression. He turned his back on Oleander and resumed examining his control panel, saying, "If that's all you want to discuss, then I'll continue to ensure any cadet who comes here will be safe."
"Those brains, Nein, better be," Oleander hissed.
The terminology he used piqued his interest. Sasha adjusted a lever on the control panel to turn it off. Looking over his shoulder, he asked, "Why are you referring to the cadets that way?"
Oleander's expression fell in the blink of an eye and returned just as quickly. He pursed his lips, his brow creasing. "What do you mean?" he asked, each word sounding deliberately slow.
"By their minds, Morry, instead of their names." Sasha rubbed his chin. "It's something I've noticed since the start of summer. No need to scowl at me."
"O-oh, oh, well-!" Oleander coughed into his palm. "That's because-well, that's because you're the one who might be damaging their brains. I can't run a psychic summer camp with a bunch of brain-dead soldiers."
"Ah, duly noted." Sasha faced his workstation and unclipped his papers. Spreading them out on the control panel, he remarked, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go over my research from today."
He expected to hear Oleander's begrudging acceptance and retreating footsteps, but his cohort heaved out a sigh. Sasha quickly turned his head in time for Oleander to rap his knuckles against the Brain Tumbler. He sucked in a breath to tell him to keep his distance when the Brain Tumbler fizzled, electricity crackling out of a side panel and nearly singing Oleander's moustache.
Oleander yipped like a wounded dog and jumped. He clutched his face, panic in his wide eyes. Noticing Sasha reaching for him, he grunted and waved his hand away, the very sight of it an affront to his pride.
"If Milla was around to hear about your little science fair experiment, she'd blow a fuse like this thing," he said, glaring at the Brain Tumbler.
Sasha winced, his mouth twisting into a frown. He ran his thumb across the knuckles of his fists. Peering at the Brain Tumbler, he stared down his reflection, angular and distorted in the curved metal.
Fretting about Milla had been in the forefront of his mind all day despite best attempts at locking the disruptive thoughts in a corner of his brain.
The call had been swift and sudden at sunrise. It was an urgent command from headquarters assigning Milla to a dire rescue mission. The details were sparse. Not even the lackeys handling mission control could impart any information to him, and Milla left with hardly a goodbye.
He had tried communicating with her on and off throughout the day. Their telepathic connection was severed at some point in the early afternoon. He tried one last time only for Hollis Forsythe to interject on Milla's behalf, ordering him to focus on training the children instead of badgering Milla.
So, he did. He took his frustrated emotions and sorted them through experimentation. Cadet Bulgakov was a fine distraction, even if the evaluation nearly ended in disaster. He had sealed his nagging concerns after the unsuccessful venture into the cadet's mind, but Oleander ripped open the door, empowering them tenfold as he realized how much time had passed since Hollis reprimanded him.
Oleander stared at him, surprise making his face seem longer when he sighed and shook his head. "Oh, really, Nein?"
"Really what?" Sasha asked, grabbing his clipboard and fixing his glasses.
"We've been doing this song and dance for years now. I think I can tell what's happening." He smirked. "It's written all over your face. Vodello's on your brain, huh?"
Sasha took in a deep breath through his nose. "Agent Vodello and I have a cordial, working relationship. It's…" He raised his eyes to the ceiling, searching for the proper word. "...natural to be concerned about your partner when she doesn't answer." He cursed himself for letting the last part slip out when he caught Oleander's lips lifting upwards into his cheeks. "Not to say that Milla needs to respond to me. She is a capable, professional Psychonaut."
"So, to not think about her, you focused on your crazy experiments?" He twirled his finger by his temple. "Sounds like messing around didn't help you too much if you're still this tense."
"'Messing around' is much different from 'advanced training,' Morry."
He cackled, tossing his head back, arms slackening by his sides. He dropped his shoulders, sighing. "Well, that explains the note she left on the bulletin board for the kids. She didn't explain much, just that she was called in by HQ." He hummed and scratched his chin. "I wonder what they needed Milla for so badly."
"An emergency rescue mission." Sasha paused. "Were you not informed?"
Oleander's amusement quickly soured. He grit down on his molars, growling, "No, not at all. Not like I'm her partner or a senior agent."
"Ah, I see." He sensed the need to pay Oleander a compliment and added, "Considering you are the Senior Facility Officer overseeing the camp, they should have. It would have been proper conduct, but mission control is lacking in that department."
Oleander's grin pressed into his cheeks. He craned his head back, staring up at Sasha with a look in his eyes that Sasha could not place. He was not sure if he should have deemed it gratitude, perhaps astonishment if he was given multiple choices.
A chuckle puffed past Oleander's lips. His gaze drifted to the various cardboard boxes untouched by the cleaning lady. He crossed his arms, putting his weight on to his right leg. His shoulder brushed against the Brain Tumbler, and he quickly jerked to the side, a grunt of disgust leaving him before he cleared his throat.
"Anyway, all that aside, you shouldn't worry about her. We both know she's more than qualified for any mission," Oleander replied, and he brushed his knuckles on his medals. "In fact, I bet she's gonna turn up tomorrow and gloat about saving some guy's ass." He pressed his fingertips together, snickering. "I'll bet arrowheads on it. What do you say, Sasha?"
His confidence rubbed off on Sasha. It made his mouth settle into a lopsided grin. Oleander was like Milla in that regard. Knowing how to create a mood was a talent only a few had. He was reminded of a mission they had a couple years ago. They had to infiltrate a businesswoman's mind, who had swindled innocent psychics out of thousands in an insurance scheme. Oleander maintained a disguise as one of her associates and kept an economics discussion going with her mental peers, keeping her attention long enough for Sasha to gather decisive evidence in a particular memory vault.
And Oleander continued to impress him. Even if headquarters sidelined him for the summer camp (after a few too many outbursts), Sasha understood his potential. He was an excellent teacher who had the PSI cadets' best interests always in mind. He personalized courses for campers who were falling behind such as for Cadet Foote by offering extra credit Basic Braining classes to strengthen his flimsy PSI punch. While he may have asserted himself as a standoffish, cantankerous army man to the world, there was more to him than meets the glass eye, which Sasha saw in him everyday.
"You're staying quiet for way too long," Oleander remarked, taking a step back as Sasha continued observing him. He twirled one end of his moustache. "Are you really racking your brain over arrowheads or-?" Something similar to panic flashed in his eyes.
Blinking, Sasha quickly shook his head. "I was thinking. Regardless, I'm not a betting man when the odds are in your favor," he said, leaning into his workstation and slipping his hands into his coat pockets. He cocked his head. "Arrowheads are only currency for the children. They have no meaning for us adults."
Visibly relaxing, Oleander rubbed the side of his neck and snickered. "Hey, you can buy a new color for your levitation ball from the camp store, right? Might impress Milla with something a little pinker," he ribbed, coming over to nudge him with his elbow. "Maybe you should go for multi-color. I hear it's trendy among the interns at HQ."
Sasha brushed his arm aside, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, stop. I would not stoop to doing something so gaudy."
A flicker of relief brightened Sasha's expression when Oleander bellowed out a laugh. How he tossed his head back without a care in the world prompted his own curt chuckle. He tapped his clipboard to his thigh, smiling down at Oleander and drawing in a breath.
Oleander gasped before he could speak. He rapped his knuckles on to his hat, snapping, "Oh, dammit! It's almost nighttime. I have one last class to teach some Tender Brains." He hurried to the tree trunk, his run more like a fast waddle. He levitated over the entrance of the tree trunk, shouting over his shoulder, "No more experiments without my permission! I'm the Senior Facility Officer here. What I say goes with those brains, I mean, kids, even if you are the senior agent." He jabbed his finger at Sasha. "And no more worrying about Vodello! That's an order. She's gonna show up and brag all about her mission tomorrow, and we both know that's how it'll be."
Sasha offered a quick two-fingered salute. "I appreciate your kind words, Morry. I want you to know that," he said as Oleander lowered himself.
He hesitated. His brows came together, and his mouth fixed itself into a frown. Raising his head, he stared at Sasha with wide, unblinking eyes before quickly snorting and flapping his hand.
"Yeah, sure, don't mention it," Oleander grumbled, his lips twitching upwards as he descended.
He listened to Oleander's complaints until they were silenced by the running transit. He ran his fingers through his hair, the Brain Tumbler creaking next to him. Peering at his reflection, he smoothed down stray wrinkles in his coat and decided it was a fine time to try to fix whatever inner mechanism had blown a fuse again.
But first, a cigarette break was needed. Like Oleander said, focusing on his experiments with the PSI cadets was not the healthiest way to deal with his anxieties. He was sure Oleander would agree smoking was the healthier alternative, smirking to himself as he removed one and lit it with a quick flare of pyrokinesis. Taking a drag, he blew out a soft gray wispy cloud and expelled all of his worries.