#but Grimmons didn’t even have that

[blazesurrender]

It happened to me TWICE!

“go to hell” is basic.

“i hope you get queer baited for 21 years by 2 of your favorite characters, get strung along into thinking theyll be confirmed as canon soon only for none of that to happen and instead watch them go their separate ways in the end" is smart. it’s possible. it’s terrifying. It happened to ME

[brevityisnotmywit]

RANDOM RvB FICS

General Tags: Mainewash, Tuckington (Mild), Grimmons, Yorklina

10 Fics

FIGHTING THE WIND

The first time it happens, Wash is in the med bay on the Mother of Invention. He was startled out of sleep, feeling like he was being throttled by someone. They told him he’d been clipped hard by a Warthog that Wyoming hot wired wrong. He tried to pay attention, taking sips off of the blissfully cold water a nurse shoved into his hands. They guessed the breathing issue was hyperventilation and said he could go.

The next time, he was awake. Awake but begging any higher power that might exist and listen that he wasn’t. Wash would have given anything for this to be a nightmare. There was no ignoring that he was in fact awake, the sounds were too real. The communication channel blaring in his ear, saying that Maine had been shot. If it was just one or five bullets they wouldn’t even mention it. This had to be bad. Wash didn’t notice the way his breathing started to hitch at first. Not when he was letting Maine clutch at his arm, even if it hurt like hell. Not until he was chasing after the medics, trying to keep up with them as they rushed his partner, the one who he was supposed to keep safe, into the operating room. Only when the air felt thick as water, and he stumbled over his own feet. Only when he couldn’t get up did he realize that it was happening again, and it was worse. The medic that came back for him said it was hyperventilation like before. Wash accepted the diagnosis and waited for any news on Maine.

Then it happened in the quiet of the recovery ward. He was reading one of the few books he’d managed to scavenge since he’d gotten wrapped up in PFL. He wasn’t worked up or worried, just waiting for his partner to wake up after the most recent operation. It was a minor one and there was no danger involved. That didn’t seem to matter though. Wash blinked a bit, as he realized his breathing was becoming labored again. The on call nurse wasn’t sure what to make of it but chalked it up to all the stress lately. He was beginning to think something might actually be wrong.

It didn’t happen again for a while. At least, not as obviously as it did before. He’d have little episodes here and there, but nothing to write home over. The next notable one was after he’d gotten into an argument with Maine. Well, more Sigma than Maine. The AI didn’t seem to like the fact that Wash could understand Maine enough that, most of the time, they didn’t need Sigma to play translator. It wasn’t like they had big long discussion like politics or anything. It didn’t take a wizard to understand that pointing usually meant “Look” or “That Way”. 

Sigma exploded at him roughly 3 months after. He was shouting about assumptions and manners, how Wash should be ashamed of himself. It didn’t make sense. Maine seemed to just be there. Like a glorified car the fiery AI would use to move around. He wasn’t stopping Sigma from screaming like he did the first two months. His eyes almost looked lifeless. Almost.

That was enough to trigger the reaction again. The fear that Maine wasn’t Maine anymore. He realized that he’d been ignoring the red flags. Worst of all, he had the awful feeling that he couldn’t save his partner from this. He had to try though.

The next day, Epsilon came into his life. For the next day and a half, machines had to do his breathing for him.

Everything fell apart around him. Yet, he had a job to do.

He learned to hide it. Pretending that there was nothing wrong. He got very good at appearing to breathe normally.

Delta started to voice his concerns before Wash hushed him. Before he was spirited away by that one person Wash was supposed to keep safe and sane. By him and all the others that made his mind their home. Or their prison.

He fought back the gasping breaths as he had to wander the desert with that shell of a Freelancer. Struggling against the awful heat and dust. Snapped at the sham of a medic when he tried to ask him about the wheezing he heard.

He forced his way through the burning pain when he realized once and for all, that he could never have done his one job for his partner. He couldn’t even be the one that killed him. To let him finally have peace. 

No, he wasn’t able to just put a bullet through his head. He let him be dragged off that cliff. Let him fall. Let him drown in the freezing depths. How fitting when Wash collapsed, feeling like he was drowning just like Maine was. Suffocating on the crisp air. He wished that they would have just killed him there. Of course he was never that lucky.

He moved on. Learned to hide it better. Learned to fight it better. Pretended it didn’t exist. He couldn’t do this forever though. 

Many days and many attacks came and went. While Wash kept pretending, his team started to notice things. They weren’t sure what to make of it. Then Tucker was wearing Maine’s armor, and Wash couldn’t keep pretending. 

He crumpled to the floor, gasping and wheezing for air, his body desperate to get oxygen. He could faintly register someone shouting orders, sounding like they were worlds away. Then there were large hands, clumsily pulling his helmet off and unlatching his chest plate. When his vision finally refocused, he realized it was Caboose. He was gently easing Wash into sitting up against a wall, mumbling nonsense (or maybe it made perfect sense, he couldn’t tell) and pushing the hair out of his face. It took a bit, but he finally understood what the worried man was asking.

“M-Mr. Washingtub, are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

It was a while before Wash was able to figure out how to explain, while the crowd grew while soldiers regrouped and heard what was happening.

“It…it’s not-” He sighed, frustrated. “I don’t know what it is. It’s been happening for years now I just-” Words caught in his throat as he spotted Carolina watching intently. He took a shaking breath before continuing.

“It feels like I’m fighting against the wind.”

DRESS TO IMPRESS

CW: Vomiting, Angst

Wash hadn’t seen Tucker after the shit hit the fan. He knew that he was okay but that was about it. That wasn’t really the biggest thought on his mind at the moment, after all he had to deal with his currently bullet peppered ass first.

After 4 some odd hours in the med bay, the Freelancer was ready to head back to his bunk and to drown out the world with a nice dose of sleeping pills. His head throbbed as he made his way down the hall, grumbling something about ‘that nurse is a sadist, that’s the only reason she jabbed me so much’ to himself.

Keying in the code for the room he shared with the Blues, Wash started to detach his armor to appease his sore muscles and aching wounds. He had finished and was rubbing the sweat from his face with a damp towel when he heard Tucker’s voice on the other side of the door. Wash started to greet him as the door opened, back still to them.

“What took you so lo-” The words died in his throat. When he finally spoke again, it was whisper quiet, more to himself rather than anyone around him.

 “…Maine?”

---

Tucker listened to make sure that Wash was alright, even if listening to someone puke their guts out isn’t the most pleasant thing to do with your evening. All that really mattered was making sure that he wasn’t choking or…fuck who knows what the Freelancer might do, he just wanted to be able to stop him if it took a turn. It was sort of his fault for triggering it in the first place.

Wash had shown some signs of knowing the Meta in the past, dropped some hints and, quite obviously had fought alongside him at some point. It was all pretty damn obvious as far as Tucker cared. He didn’t realize until he came through the door with his new duds just how strong that connection must have been.

The sink turned on and Tucker scrambled away from the door, not wanting to be too transparent. He waited patiently for Wash to finish up, having long since stashed away the offending armor. He didn’t try to fake a smile when the Freelancer came out, gesturing to the space next to him on the bed.

“Tell me what he was like, back then.” Tucker asked. It was high time Wash took steps towards healing what the Meta had torn apart. Even if he wasn’t a therapist, the soldier could at least listen.

---

At first he spoke cautiously, thinking each word through before saying it. Stuttering and stopping, nervous ticks manifesting often. It didn’t stay like that for long though. Soon, it was like he was vomiting again, this time with his past.

“…Wash.” Tucker was quiet, not sure if he needed to interrupt.

“- and he looked right through me! It was like he didn’t remem- No…H-He remembered me. He just d-didn’t care anymore. I wish he’d just been gone I wish that fucking p-parasite had just destroyed- It’s not fucking FAIR DA-”

“Washington!!” He didn’t mean to shout but it just happened. Looking back he would realize there wasn’t any other appropriate tone to use. He felt awful when the Ex-Freelancer looked at him, clearly distraught at being disrupted. “…I-” Tucker sighed, rubbing his face nervously. “-fuck I’m sorry man. You were just lookin’ like you were gonna make yourself sick again.” He was expecting Wash to storm off or yell but instead, he looked over at the clock he kept by his bunk.

“…No.” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s fine. I’ve shared enough…” He looked over at Tucker, “ Do…do you think it’s okay if I talk about stuff with you sometimes?”

“I -uh- sure man, whatever works for you.” Well that wasn’t the result he was anticipating. 

Wash nodded, clearly mulling something over. He eventually stood up, glancing over at the other man, forcing a weak smile.

“I’ll get through this eventually.” After a moment he added, “Hope you’ll stick around til’ then.”

“Buy me a beer and I’ll think about it.”

SNUFFLES CLEANSER

Palate Cleanser

Well big surprise Simmons was lecturing again. Of all the things he could’ve picked, it was this crackpot theory about “refined” sugar. Grif had tuned out the second he’d entered the kitchen where Donut and ….Caboose? (Note to self, remove the Blue before Sarge woke up…Or not, it could be entertaining.) were sitting listening attentively.

“If you’d just take a few months or years to not eat refined sugars, you’d start to notice things that are naturally sweet! For example, baby carrots!” The whirrs of his robotic arm gesturing wildly made it hard to take him serious even at the best of times.

“I like carrots!” Caboose shouted joyfully. Good to know someone was liking the speech.

“Or even whole-wheat br-” Simmons was continuing before he was interrupted by a bag ripping open and loud crunching.

He whirled, glaring down his tubby teammate who seemed to be dipping potato chips in the Nutella jar before horking them down. That explained why the spread was so nasty lately.

“Grif! Aren’t you listening to me?!” His attempt at intimidation was thwarted by his voice cracking.

“Yeah man.” He drawled around a mouthful of unholy potato-hazelnuttines, “Real fuckin’ neato.”

---

Snuffles

Grif hadn’t dragged himself out of bed yet. Nine times out of ten, this wasn’t abnormal. Except that he never failed to show up for dinner. Judging by the surplus of food, Grif was still out for the count. 

Simmons wasn’t worried for him or anything. That would mean emotional attachment and that was totally not a thing he had for his teammate.

Nope. 

Not at all.

Therefore, in his mind, Simmons was just…doing his job as the responsible type. Yeah, that’s all there is to it. 

He nervously trailed a hand along the wall as he went to the barracks, trying not to come up with nightmare scenarios. When he arrived at the door, he found it shut. He hesitated a moment before gently knocking. 

No answer.

Instead of trusting the voice in his head screaming to just leave, Simmons carefully opened the door. He heard someone shift in one of the bunks. 

Quietly, he walked over to the one occupied bed, trying to ignore the butterflies that had apparently infested his stomach at some point. (Which he would point out, meant nothing.) 

“….Grif?” He squeaked. He fucking hated when his voice cracked like that. 

The man in question made a displeased sound before rolling over and squinting up at Simmons with mismatched eyes. 

“I’m not getting up, fuck off.” His voice was hoarse, and he sounded stuffed up. That explained the disappearing act. He’d come down with a bug of some kind.

“I’m not telling you to get up!” Simmons whispered defensively, not wanting to draw attention. Even though everyone was totally out of earshot.

“Well, what -are- you doing here, huh? Gonna lecture me about washing my armor?” The sickly man rasped, on a roll. “Or my hands? You’re always bitching about that one. Or-” He was shut up by a foam box being shoved in his face.

Looking suspicious, Grif managed to work himself into a sitting position before studying the box more closely. When he opened it, it was full of food. Not even Simmons standard carrots and meatloaf, but all of the things Grif binged on when he thought everyone was gone. Before he could even think of something to say, Simmons had one more surprise. 

A pack of cigarettes.

When he looked up at the fidgeting man, Grif realized that if he made any fuss or comment, Simmons would bolt. So he just gave a small lopsided smile and ate one of the cookies on top of the pile of food.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the tension ease out of Simmons shoulder, and the tiniest hint of a smile. 

He wanted to be sick more often after that.

TIME WARP

“No, you see it’s -very- obvious.” Caboose was using his negotiation voice, this usually meant nothing but trouble for Wash. Not that he could really do anything about it. Other than wonder why Sarge and the rest of the Reds were in Carolinas' bedroom.

“Boy, I have been on this dirt ball for a long, long time an’ I can say that there is no damn way that your little plan is -obvious-” The crotchety old man drawled, from the tone the discussion had been going for quite some time.

“Yeah, but see, you are a pirate.”

“Oh my -god-.” Grif whined gesturing dramatically. He turned to Simmons. “Please tell me you’re not going t-”

“Actually I did take a Temporal Theory cla-”

Grifs’ angry screech was interrupted yet again, this time by Caboose.

“I knew it First Mate Smarty Pants. You are a time wizard. ” He had the maroon solider by the shoulders, staring intently.

“Okay what the flying fuck is going on?” Wash asked, desperate for context.

“We are going to get Church back Mr. ‘Tub.” He explained as though this was totally normal.

“…How d-”

“Well, -duh-. You really are kinda dumb.” He shrugged, “We’re gonna go back in time like we did before.”

“Wait, what?” Wash damn near jumped out of his armor when Carolina piped up from behind him.

That was how they ended up in the Reds’ basement in front of a rather unstable looking portal. As far as Carolina could care, they’d had a good run so if the portal killed them, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Simmons assured that it would take them back to a point where Carolina could reason with the AI (she didn’t want to, but there was no stopping Caboose from doing it himself once the Red admitted it was possible. Better her then him.

“If we die? I’m going to haunt your fucking ghost. ” Tucker hissed at Simmons, “I told Junior I’d be there for his birthday.”

“Stop bitching and get in the portal.” He snapped.

So they did.

“…This isn’t 5 weeks ago.” Trust Carolina to get right to the point.

She was totally correct. This wasn’t even the same -planet-. It was the Mother of Invention. From the state of things, it was in the prime of its life.

“What did y-” Wash started to shout at Simmons, but there was a sudden burst of noise. “Damn it, hide!”

They scattered, huddling away from sight. Both Ex-Freelancers were straining to figure out just -when- they were.

“How can she just give her AI up?!”

“Look sis’ she’s just trying to give Maine a better way to-”

Carolina heard Wash behind her, breath hitching.

“-besides, they’re not even doing the transfer until tomorrow morning. Just put it out of your mind.”

By the time she looked back to Wash's hiding spot he was gone. She swore under her breath. She started comming instructions to the Sim troopers demanding that they find him as quickly as possible.

Wash was almost at the room he and Maine were assigned, ducking into an alcove when he heard his own voice.

“Look, all I’m saying is that I’ll be there when you asked. I’ve got to get going.” He sounded so fucking emotional back then. “You know Florida is all about schedule.”

After a few seconds, Past Wash headed out, and Currently Being A Dumbass Wash snuck back in.

Christ. It was like looking at a ghost. A very confused and probably slightly pissed off ghost.

{What about schedule? } At least he could still understand Man-Beast like a pro.

“I just wanted to…to talk about something.” He added quickly, “I just realized I didn’t bring it up ea-”

{Cut the shit. Say what you want to say.}

“Just…make sure you’re really sure about tomorrow, I can always be your voice if you ne-”

The door slid open, and Who Knows When Carolina grabbed Wash by the shoulder. She started to yank Wash out when Maine growled loudly.

He reached out to try and pull the smaller man away from her.

Panicking, she swiftly tugged Wash out of the doorway jamming it shut behind them. As the lock started to click open again, the world spun.

When she could see again, they were back in the basement of Red base. She moved to get up and was promptly grounded again via Wash's fist.

“Why did you do that?!” From his voice it was a safe guess that he was crying, “I was g-”

“You were going to do what, Wash?! Save him?” She kicked his feet out from under him, jumping up and pinning him to the floor. “You can’t change what happened Wash I tr-” She paused as the downed solider tore at her armored leg, “…Epsilon tried. It doesn’t work. It just eats at you and doesn’t do -anything- but consume you.” She backed off, letting him up. Glancing around at the small crowd of Sim troopers, Carolina sighed. “It’s time to move on David.”

With that, she turned on her heel walking over to the distraught Caboose, comforting him (poorly) about the failed attempt at bringing the dead back.

GRAVITY

Wash had lost the ability to tell when he was having a nightmare rather than being awake a very long time ago.

He couldn’t rationalize it. He’d forgotten what Delta had told him to do. The steps that would help him ease out of sleep, rather than waking up swinging at anything that came near. He wasn’t strong enough to fight back anymore.

He learned to grit his teeth. To fake being calm. He would bite his tongue when he realized he was screaming. He secured the one separated room in the barracks so nobody could hear him gasping for breath when he woke up. He’d stuff a towel along the door when he had flashbacks. He never had a quiet night after an episode. 

He felt like a broken man.

He -knew- he was a broken man.

He was limited.

He didn’t know what to do anymore. 

He couldn’t handle the mornings where he woke up, forgetting his own name. When the walls weren’t familiar. When the first concern was if he’d fallen asleep in his glasses again. (He didn’t own a single pair.)

He couldn’t stand when he didn’t remember that his name was David. It usually resulted in him clutching the small trashcan he kept by the bed. Dry heaving had become a morning ritual at this point.

He wasn’t the strong man everyone thought he was. He couldn’t be. How could he call himself that when he couldn’t even -sleep- properly? He felt pathetic.

He couldn’t let anyone know.

The only one that had seen it first hand was one of the causes of it. (Well, there were others but they were all dead or missing.) He probably didn’t even remember. For an AI made up of all the memories he saw, Epsilon was lousy at remembering things.

Even Carolina didn’t know the full extent of it.

He could never let them know how shattered he really was.

P.S.: Defy 

Fuck that noise. He wasn't strong, and the sooner he admitted that, the better he could be for his new found family. They needed something that Wash just might be able to provide. 

Faith.

Years ago, Connie had shown him something interesting. It was a way of repairing pottery that had been broken. Instead of just gluing them back together and trying to paint over the cracks to mask the damage, this method highlighted the past scars. Glimmering gold was added and it turned the lines into a statement. Kintsugi, was the name of it. The art of finding inspiration and beauty in things that once had been shattered.

Wash wasn't a vase, and he couldn't seal the wounds left by all the years of trauma with gold but if he just let himself be faithful for once, he could do anything. 

Once more, the shattered man stands. His pieces are joined with glinting steel, ready for whatever is needed of him. Dreams actually happening the way he wanted them to, and banishing the nightmares back to wherever they'd come from. 

His name was Wash and he was going to defy the odds.

KING AND LIONHEART

CW: Multiple Near Death Experiences, Angst

"Howling ghosts they reappear In mountains that are stacked with fear But you're a king and I'm a lionheart."

There was nothing to blame himself for. There was everything to blame himself for.

He was stronger than he was before. He was the weakest he’d ever been.

He had grown brilliant. He had been struck dumb.

He was blessed with great fortune. He failed every saving throw.

There were so many things swirling in his head like a violent storm. There were so many hazy patches of thought and void. He felt everywhere and nowhere in the same breath. Or was he even breathing at all? The only absolute was the blood draining from his neck and oozing through his teeth.

This wasn’t Wash’s first near death experience, and if his past was any indication, it might not be his last. It was certainly the most detailed encounter he had with this place. Not that that was inherently good.

To call the shapes huddled around him ghosts was too generic. To call them memories was inaccurate. The proper term for the “phenomenon” that stood before him was being in the Betwixt and Between. Despite what the world had once thought, these remnants were very real, and the discovery had launched hundreds of thousands of studies. The strongest result was why some people would appear in the hazy realm. To put it in the most simplistic way, you never die until you were forgotten.

Wash was skilled in the art of never forgetting. He was always seeing the shadows of the dead when he took too much punishment. The people he lost. The people he killed. The people he hated. The people he loved.

The Betwixt and Between had been part of his life since he was small, seeing his mother staring down at him after he’d been hit by a car. The funny thing about the people ‘living’ in this strange world was that if something was particularly memorable about them, it usually stuck with them after death. Regardless of how they really looked.

Often, causes of death would be displayed. If they were known for wearing certain things, that also became a feature. Usually, they looked younger than they had been. Wash’s mom wore vividly patterned dresses that perpetually smoldered.

She hadn’t visited him since he’d joined the military.

Wash’s wife still appeared. She’d been snatched from the street one night while she walked home from work. A few days later she was found, unblinking eyes glassy as she bobbed gently at the edge of a river. Wash was still young and fresh faced, running a hardware store to make a little extra cash. The killer had bragged over his latest ‘catch’ when he was being lead into a squad car.

Wash got his hunting rifle. The squeeze of a trigger dropped a man who never had the gall to show his face in Wash’s corner of Betwixt and Between. Special Operations had found the grieving man before the cops did.

He’s bounced between units until Freelancer takes him in. It’s all too short of a time before he loses them. Those who have died seem to avoid Wash during his visits, sticking to the edges of his awareness as if they want to deny him the closure of it all. Especially Carolina, she never makes herself known to him after her fall. She had to be dead, so where was she?

North and South come to him the most often. Even going so far as to cause what were known as ‘Specter dreams’, where the dead speak or interact with someone outside of the Betwixt and Between. After he had killed her, South had been understandably wary of Wash. It took that particularly close call with the Meta and EMP for her to slink close. She grabbed him by the underside of his helmet and hissed,

“Not yet, man. Keep moving forward.”

It was even longer before the others came to his side. Wash wasn’t even near death. Just passed out and suffering a concussion. Locus had done a number on him, and having Freckles ‘shake’ had just hurled more rocks at his already pounding head. The Betwixt and Between is strange, and some people are more easily able to open the ‘door’ than others. It seemed very fond of letting Wash inside, so to speak.

He’s just quietly sitting between the twins when York strides over. He’s jovial as he always had been, cracking a few jokes to make the older man laugh weakly. He ruffles Wash’s dreadlocks and smiles in a way that borders on heartbreaking.

“Can’t chat forever, rookie. You’ve got company to entertain.”

Just before Wash wakes up, he can see a blurry patch of white and gold in the distance. Everything in him just aches.

The A.I. swoop through his sleep deprived mind like angry insects one day, and can only screech, “You can’t!” before they vanish. Wash fights sleep until he senses Connie without seeing her. She softly whispers in his ear,

“Sleep or die. It’s your call, David.”

So he sleeps. There’s no dreams or nightmares, no Betwixt or Between. Just the void.

Now Carolina screams for him to stay awake. He drifts through delirium until a strong grip pulls him back into focus. Wash doesn’t see but he knows . The old man asks a question that sounds pitiful in the world of the dead. “Is it worth fighting anymore?”

The grip on his arm tightens. A rattle carries with it all Wash needs. “Stay up.”

All he needs does not equate to all he wants. He moves to face his second dead love, but the specter won’t allow it. Ice cold water runs over Wash’s shoulders like many tiny rivers. “Why now? Why visit me after all this time?”

“You needed me. Stay up.” There’s more water, crashing over him like a flood and it throws Wash from the Betwixt and Between.

Even if he is hallucinating, Wash knows he’s not seeing everything around him incorrectly. Sure, Big Bird probably isn’t doing a funny little dance next to Locus, but the flash of steel and orange is both unwelcome and all too real. Leave it to Felix to be one of the rare cases that can slip or of the doors holding the dead back. It’s hard enough to speak from behind it like Connie and South, but to be fully visible to whoever you chose? That’s a rare bird indeed. The mercenary is bloody and broken, faded at the edges, but his voice is clear.

...and compelling.

“I’ll guide you, Wash, don’t be afraid.” A grossly warped hand directs him. “Just a little bit further, and you’ll be safe.”

The shadow of Felix suddenly cringes against something unknown to Wash, and he sees the faintest flash of white and gold before the dead vanish like someone flipped a switch. There’s many voices full of terror crying out to him, and there’s a muted realization that Wash isn’t where he’s meant to be. The man turns, getting one last good look at the family he’s made for himself. Then the world becomes a vivid whirl of colour and agony.

He wakes to the clearest he’s ever seen the Betwixt and Between. All of them have drawn away from the edges this time, crowding around him. His wife, the twins, York, Connie, even some who never got this close to him. Alpha is orbited by the other fragments. (He doesn’t notice Epsilon and isn’t sure what to make of this.) Wyoming looks like a broken VHS tape, squares of him blinking away from him before snapping back. Florida is out of his armor, waving at Wash with a secretive smile. Doyal’s armor is scorched. Their voices become static. When he opens his mouth to speak, blood mists the inside of his visor. A familiar hand settles on Wash’s shoulder. This time, he’s spun around to face the man he’s only glimpsed once since his death.

The state he found Maine in almost knocks the air from his lungs. The tow hook was still wedged into his chest plate. Part of his domed visor was frosted over, chunks of ice clinging to the armor plating not overflowing with frigid water. It ruins Wash to see the man like this.

Maine brings up his free hand to grip at Wash’s right arm. It helps ground him. He looks at the dead man, desperation etched into every line of the steel and yellow armor. They can’t speak, but they never needed words before.

[I can’t.] Is in the slight dip of Wash’s helmet. [I’m too old.] In the way his gaze drifts to the side, how his shoulders droop.

[Bullshit.] Comes from how Maine carefully places a palm to the side of Wash’s head. [Listen up.] Is how he guides the bleeding man to bring his head back up.

[I am.] Rings from the way Wash leans into Maine's cold hand. [I miss you…] Comes from his own hand covering the larger one. [I need you.] In the drag of his thumb.

[ They need you.] Speaks Maine’s firm head shake. [I can wait.] In the way he pulls Wash close. [I’m always with you.] From how he gently rests his chin against the top of his partner’s helmet.

They linger like this for hours. They break away in seconds.

They hold firm to their faith. They shake apart with fear.

They are still as stone. They never stay still.

They are surrounded by support. They drift in a lonely sea.

One of them is silenced. One of them speaks.

“Wake up, Wash.”

" And as the world comes to an end I'll be here to hold your hand 'Cause you're my king and I'm your lionheart."

CHUMP CHANGE

CW: Near Death Experience, Angst

Wash is out of the hospital. He listens to the sounds of his found family snoring away in their bunks. His hand touches the new scars at the base of his throat. Memories plague him.

---

Wash first met Maine during his second training session. Well, technically he met the hulking man when he was introduced to the team, but they had all been dispersed shortly after, so Wash doesn't count that.

They were running stealth drills and Wash sees a ripple of active camouflage in his peripherals. One of the sentry drones decided that would be the best possible moment to swing around. It's beam of light flicks from a cheerful green to blinking red, an alarm blaring overhead. The Director sighs over the loudspeakers.

“Agent Maine, we've discussed this. You can't expect to let your camouflage do all the work. It's fine on people and film because of the light refraction, but a scanner will not be fooled. I expected better from you this time.”

There's a snarl that sounds more at home in a horror film than in real life before Maine melts into view. He'd stood right in the middle of the path, not even attempting to hide behind the pylons. The plating on his gloves creak ever so slightly when the tall soldier balls his hands into tight fists.

When he thinks back, Wash isn't sure why he decided to subtly lean over to Maine and whisper, “Y’know, that guy's kind of a dick.”

For one heart stopping moment, he thinks he's upset his roommate before Wash even got the chance to see the room itself. Then a snort breaks the tension, with Maine thumping Wash on his shoulder. It hurt like hell, but with someone as frightening as Maine laughing at Wash’s humor, the ache fades quickly.

Later, Maine takes shelter behind the same corner as Wash, uncloaked. As the drones begin to turn, the smaller of the two notices that Maine's leg is right in the path of one. He quickly wraps an arm around the man's middle, yanking him further into cover. (As best he can, it feels like he's wrangling a polar bear, rather than a man.) Wash motions to be silent when Maine whips around to surely sling abuse at the newest recruit, pointing to the drone as it hovers past.

Maine's shoulders loosen. He glances back to Wash, seemingly judging him behind the golden dome of his visor. Then he simply pats Wash on the back before moving on.

---

That night, Wash finds out that Maine has an issue with blind spots. He's turned into their room in the younger man's wake, and finds himself being elbowed right in the chest. Even in the power armor as he is, Wash is knocked flat on his ass.

Maine jumps subtly, and turns to help the rookie to his feet, rumbling in a way that borders on sheepish.

“It's fine.” Wash takes Maine’s hand, pulling himself up. “Guess I just presumed you noticed I was there.”

Maine speaks to him for the first time, voice low and rolling. “Blind spots. Didn't think anyone was around.”

Wash scratches at the Kevlar covering his throat, chuckling. “That actually explains some stuff.”

There's a soft, curious rattle that Wash interprets as a 'tell me more’ sort of thing.

“The stealth session, you kept hanging out of cover pretty often... Thought it was just you giving the Director the metaphorical finger, but I guess I was wrong.” He sighs, rolling a shoulder. “Dunno about you, but I'm ready to pass out.”

Maine stays in the doorway for another fraction of a second before recognizing that Wash meant to come inside. The tall man chuffs an apology under his breath, heading into the bunks.

“It's cool, big guy.” Wash follows close behind, hesitating at his bedside before thumbing at the latches of his helmet. His dreadlocks fall from what must have been the hundreth snapped hair tie that day. The feeling of eyes on him is overwhelming, prompting him to turn around cautiously.

Maine's helmet reflects Wash's own face back at him. Suffice it to say this was mildly unsettling. Mildly. After what feels like years, Maine snorts and removes his own headgear. He's not attractive in the normal sense of the word but... something about him makes it hard to look away. The eyes probably did it for Wash. Like smouldering embers, keen and full of intensity.

Thankfully, Maine doesn't linger long. He goes to shower and Wash changes out of his armor and Kevlar. At least he's got a roommate he can get along with.

---

Maine is assumed to be brainless by the grand majority of the people who interact with him. Take this snooty bitch, for example. She didn't even know she was part of one of their simulation communities. Here she is thinking she's the boss, when the soldiers she's lecturing built her quaint, prissy world.

She grates on Wash's nerves in the worst possible way. Then she lays this little gem on top of the shit sundae.

“Goodness knows why the military saw fit to hire your...friend here. A gorilla would have been cheaper.”

Before a proper snarl can bubble from Maine's throat, Wash rounds on the woman, squaring his shoulders. “Ma’am, we are the only reason bandits didn't overrun your township. Maine is almost certainly more intelligent than you.” The older man cuts off her indignant gasp. “Not to mention more polite. If I were related to you, I'd be mortified of your treatment of your heros.”

When he turns away, the woman is sputtering in his wake. Wash grabs Maine's hand, leading him back to their dropship. They arrive in silence, boarding the Pelican swiftly.

“You didn't have to say anything to her.” Maine nearly whispers after take off. “I'm okay with it.”

“I'm not.” Wash retorts, looking over his sidearm. “We're not just suits of armor, it's about time people learned that.”

“You don't defend Car’ like that.”

“Because she'd do it herself.” Wash snaps. “You don't have to sit there and take that.”

“It doesn't bother me, Wash.” Maine stresses, sitting in one of the wall mounted safety seats.

“It's not about if it bothers you, it's about if they think they're in the right.” Wash's voice goes dark, shoulders drawn together. “They think you can treat people like that. It's not okay.”

Maine doesn't verbally respond, but the way he reaches over to thump Wash on the back speaks volumes.

“... Let's get back to the Mother Of Invention.”

---

Wash hears a bizarre noise from Maine's bunk. It's brimming with a fluttering panic that is so out of place, the sleep deprived Freelancer thinks someone else mistook this for their own room. The massive shape of Maine's shadow gives him away.

Wash slips from his bunk, rubbing his eyes to clear the haze from his vision. “Maine?”

No response. Not even a 'I will kill you if you keep talking, go the fuck to sleep Wash.’ growl. (It came up more often than you would think.)

Then the reedy distressed whine rings out once more. Wash slinks closer, bracing to dodge a punch that never happens. Maine has his forehead pressed into the wall, teeth gritted. Suddenly enough to startle Wash, the younger man's arm shoots skyward, smacking his knuckles into the top of the recessed bed.

Wash can tell that Maine is awake from the subtle hitch in his breathing, how he tenses up for a fraction of a second.

His friend rolls over, eyes heavy with restless sleep. He grunts in a way Wash had learned was to get his attention.

“You okay, big guy?”

There's a beat of silence, making Wash worry Maine is going to shove it all under the rug but the man just sighs, exhaustion threading into the sound.

Maine shakes his head.

“... Nightmare?” Wash guesses.

A nod.

“How can I help?” Wash shifts his weight, sliding his hands into the pockets of his sleep pants.

The air goes dead, leading Wash to the conclusion that the offer was somehow offensive to Maine. Then he's handed a tablet. It's the one Maine brings everywhere, so he can read in the lulls of missions.

“Can you…” he trails off into a grumble.

Wash gets the picture, thumbing into the book. He smiles at his roommates choice.

“This journey took place in a part of Canada which lies in the northwestern part of the great sprawling province of Ontario…”

The journey winds along and Wash is glad Maine doesn't make fun of how much he loves the cat. He's in the middle of a personal rant on why she's the best character when gun-calloused fingers weave into his free hand. Wash stutters out a garbled mess of what he intended to say next, clearing his throat. He manages to get through the speech and realizes that Maine's breathing had evened out.

Wash allows himself a quiet smile before shutting off the tablet. The next morning would find him curled into Maine's arms, hands still laced together.

Wash can't be bothered to care.

They don't talk about that night. Not at first, anyway. They had missions to deal with, data to gather. Maine grows more tactile. Ruffling Wash's dreadlocks, leaning into him when they read in their room, lightly headbutting him for attention. (At that point, Wash came to the conclusion that Maine was not a man, but a giant murderous cat. A mountain lion maybe.)

Wash likes the attention. He somehow climbs onto the leaderboard. They go on more missions.

---

A rare shore leave is sprung out of nowhere, leaving Wash and Maine in a cafe with no one but the wait staff.

“Hey, Maine?”

The soldier cocks his head, a faint trill is nearly lost beneath the already soft jazz spilling from the speakers.

“Is this how folks act when they're dating?”

The thing was, half of Maine's conversations were comprised of growls and guttural noises. Wash didn’t notice that until York pointed it out.

“Does it matter?” Maine gruffs, sipping his watered down cup of coffee. (Wash always got the strongest drink on the menu, whining if they only had “shitty white girl” options.)

“Kinda.”

“Do you want it to be a date?”

Wash shrugs his bad shoulder.

“Y'know, I'm supposed to be the quiet one here.” Maine snickers into his mug, glancing over the rim.

“You're doing Maine-Speak, that doesn't count.” Wash shoots back, brows raising judgmentally. “But...I guess I'd like to be dating. As long as it doesn't change how-” The older man gestures at the space between them. “-this works. I like how we are.”

“It won't be any different. Just called a different name.”

Wash slides over to lean against Maine. “Promise?”

Maine nods.

---

Wash can hear his heart thundering. He clocks his head hard enough to knock him into one of the bucket seats in the Pelican as he races to look out the back. 10-53 was always his least favorite thing to hear.

10-53. 4736.

Man down. Maine.

It’s a damn wonder the flight crew keeps him from jumping out to go help.

His lungs burn, eyes darting across the report on his HUD.

10-71.

Shooting.

Wash is not ready to deal with this.

‘What happened? I should have been there. Probably a blindspot again. I failed him. If he dies it’s my fault. All my fault.’ The threads of his mind draw into a web of frustration and self loathing, snaring him so tight it was likely he’d never get free.

All the while the HUD flashes on.

10-53.

4736.

10-71.

---

Wash never liked Sigma. Which was fitting because Sigma never found Wash as his favourite either.

Maine stops talking to him, not even in Maine-Speak. Sigma gets upset when Wash shushes him, to encourage his partner to speak for himself. Then Maine will turn away, motions too smooth to be his own.

Wash finds out that Maine (Sigma in all likelihood.) applied to change rooms. He succeeds and now Wash has a room that feels so cold and empty it threatens to swallow him whole.

Maine’s scheduling changes. Maine hated when he had to break routine.

Maine stops eating with the crew and Wash is suspicious if he’s even eating at all.

They’re in the locker room after a mission and Wash’s heart stops when he sees the new tattoo clawing down the back of Maine’s head. He knows these symbols and it draws ice further into his veins to think what this means.

Epsilon comes into his life. He’s just coming out from the anesthetic when he swears he can hear Maine and Sigma.

“He can come too.”

“Don’t be stupid. He’s a threat.”

“Easier with two of us.”

“He’d never agree.”

“I never agreed.”

“Don’t twist my words.”

“Because you’re the only one that gets to do that.”

“We’re leaving.”

“Just let me have one last thing.”

“Make it fast.”

Wash feels a gun-calloused palm slip into his. Rough lips press against his own. Maine doesn’t linger, pulling away. The sound of a helmet locking into place echoes.

“...I love you, Wash. Don’t follow me...goodbye.”

When Wash can sit up, the MOI is going down and everyone is gone or dying from the impact.

Wash doesn’t get the chance to run.

---

Recovery One makes him deny Maine’s last wishes. Agent Washington hunts the Meta. Agent South sets a trap.  The Meta allows one final chance for Wash. He barely makes out a growl over the sound of blood thrumming in his ears.

“Don’t follow me Wash.”

He doesn’t listen.

TO START A QUEST YOU MUST:

CW: Pokemon AU (Unfinished)

Chapter 1: Take A Step

David Washington, his sisters, and his mother had planned on moving to the Alola region when the boy turned eleven. Of course, nothing ever really goes to plan for their family. Like, never ever. Things came up, they always do. They just kept hitting every roadblock they possibly could. Fife and Quincy had to go to the hospital. Cashmere needed a school uniform. Rainier went through another pack of diapers. Little things, big things, and so on and so forth.

Of course, Wash thought he would just start his Pokémon journey right then. All it took was a quick visit to Professor Oak, right?

With a firm hand and watery eyes, Wash’s mother stopped him at the door. She begged for him to just hold off until after the move so they could save up. The boy promised to honor her request, grinning ear to ear. (Despite the disappointment brewing in his heart.)

Seven years later, Wash is eighteen and moving out. His sisters went to live with their father in Kalos, but Alola had captured the young man's dreams. True to his word, he'd held off from a traditional Pokémon journey.

Until now... hopefully this Island Challenge thing doesn't have an age limit.

---

Professor Kukui is only six years older than Wash and is gleefully showing off a trio of playful Pokémon to the younger man. Not that Wash had planned on getting a Pokémon this way. How would he have known a swarm of youngsters were going to come stampeding down the trail? It wasn't like he wanted to fall into the lush grass!

Not that it really mattered. Wash simply can not say no to the sweet Litten purring up a storm, winding about his ankles. It’s physically impossible.

Swallowing around the lump forming in his throat, Wash takes his first steps as a Pokémon Trainer.

For the early weeks, it's just Litten at his side. She's spoiled rotten and growing powerful. Except, trainers have more than just one Pokémon. That's where Wash is having trouble. Most capture attempts fail spectacularly. Until the morning that a Magnemite darts at him in a thick patch of grass near some sort of school. They don't struggle against the Pokéball, seeming to give up immediately.

Much to his amazement, the Pokémon adores being by the sullen man's side as much as Litten, and she's practically attached to Wash’s hip.

Currently, Wash is indulging the two with malasadas. The Pokémon feast like they're royalty. As Wash goes to the counter to pay, the door jingles merrily before being drowned out by an argument revving up.

“Why are we here again?”

“Because the won't take my order! They keep hanging up on me!”

“You don't need more malasadas!”

“That is god-damned slander , Simmons! Take it back!”

Wow, Wash wants to have absolutely nothing to do with this. He should have used cash, because the cashier is now holding his card hostage, yelling at the two behind him.

“You know you and those Blue guys aren't allowed here!” She scolds, “All you do is get into fights and run off without paying!”

Wash risks a glance back towards the noise makers to find a pair of teens so different from one another it's almost laughable. The only similarity is their uniforms, set apart by their colour choices. There's a tall one in maroon, twiggy and twitchy. He seems to be on the verge of a panic attack.

Then there's the heavy set one in orange, which Wash would bet is a born and bred Alolan. He's downright furious, chest heaving with rage, brows almost sewn together. It's this one that barks out, “Yeah, I wanna know why you don't just let me order them! I'm fucking starving here!”

Wash doubts that.

“You're a menace!” The cashier retorts, “So get out of here before I call the police!”

Then the fat teen notices Wash is watching him, face lighting up with a spiteful look. “Can you believe this shit!?” He gestures manically towards the counter.

Before Wash has the sense to think it through, he reacts dryly, “You rushing in here and demanding food isn't really going to earn you much sympathy from me. Or anyone, really.”

“ What did you say?! ” Is the only warning Wash gets before the flash of a Pokéball illuminates the café.

When it fades, a well fed Rattata (or, what Wash thinks must be a Rattata. It looks like one grew a moustache.) yawns, rubbing at its face with its paws.

While Wash is certainly alarmed by his first real trainer battle being thrust on him so suddenly, he manages to keep his cool. With remarkable ease, Litten takes down the irate teenagers’ Pokémon, grooming herself proudly.

“Grif let's go!!” The tall one begs desperately, “This guy is no joke!”

So Grif is the shouty one. Good to know, Wash guesses. That probably means that the other one is that Simmons guy Grif was screaming at.

Grif’s face is blotchy, teeth bared. “He's just a stupid mainlander with good luck!”

“I don't care, we're leaving!” Simmons fires back, wrestling Grif away from the counter, struggling to keep the big guy under control.

Grif manages to flip Wash off before the door slams shut.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a wistful chuckle winds into the silence. “I thought I was going to have to step in, but good golly you sure showed those ragamuffins what for.”

Wash finds a trainer in a deep blue get up with aqua accents stepping out from a booth. His long hair flows behind him elegantly. “I'm Florida, the local captain here.” He hums, extending a hand.

(Okay, all jokes aside, this dude kinda unsettles Wash. Which is dumb because he's been the flawless definition of polite.) Mentally berating himself for his relentless paranoia, Wash returns the greeting warily. “ 'm Washington.”

“Oh what a darling name!” Florida chortles, shifting his weight to one leg. “Sorry about those Spectrum kiddos. They're not really dangerous, I promise.”

“... Spectrum?”

The captain smirks mischievously. “As in Team Spectrum?”

Wash can't help flashing back to his childhood. Visions of his sister's Ponyta being stolen. Uniforms of black and red. “From past experience, any group like that can be dangerous.”

Florida somehow manages to snort gracefully , covering his mouth.

“What's funny about that?” Wash bristles, shoulders hunching.

The...well, Wash can't be sure if Florida is an adult or not, actually...whatever age bracket he’s in, the guy wipes at his eyes. “Oh no, it’s not what you said, sweetheart. It's how you said it. You sound like Carolina.”

“Who?”

“If you really are a trial goer? You'll meet her soon enough.” Florida hints mysteriously before gesturing extravagantly, arms open wide. “But first, you'll have to challenge my trial! So grab some swim trunks and meet me at the beach!”

Wash decides that something is most certainly wrong with the water in Alola. Though, if he's really being honest, this last ten minutes has been more fun than he's ever had before.

Chapter 2: Take a Dip

Well this is probably the most vulnerable Wash has ever felt in the history of forever. On this beach with the wind tugging at his dreadlocks and trunks. Sand has found its way into places that Wash knows haven’t touched the shore. (He’d know if he licked the beach. Which he hadn’t.)

---

The whole debacle ahead of him was more than worth it, though. In his efforts to earn some extra pocket change to get a pair of swim shorts, Wash found himself scrounging around the untamed sections of Hau’oli. As he glances around, much to his shock, there’s an itty bitty Meowth. Ribs strain through its grey coat, shivering with a chill that it can’t seem to shake. It’s tucked into the furthest corner of a long abandoned alley, and when it notices Wash, it mewls pathetically, stumbling over to him.

Wash’s heart shatters like glass. It’s obvious to him that the little one was dumped here by its owners. All wild Meowths he’d met would hiss and claw, running at the first hint of humans. Instead, this one was crawling into his lap, begging to be held. Of course, Wash does just that. Scooping it into his arms as it licks at his fingertips.

The man makes a beeline for the Pokémon Center, only to be halted in the door by a familiar sight. Or rather, a familiar outfit.

One not at all unlike the ones that Grif and Simmons had worn. What was their gang called again?

“C’moooon, Doc’! Us Spectrum guys gotta stick together!”

Oh, that’s right.

“Look Donut, I’m with the Pastels not the Reds! Just because Spectrum is ‘technically’ one team doesn’t mean the factions are meaningless!” pleads a fellow in a different uniform with a shiny Miltank mooing at his side.

That’s actually really interesting information to learn. Rather, it would be if Wash didn’t have a very sick kitten in his hands. Local gang politics can wait .

Side stepping the two, he rushes up to the counter, fretting as the nurse gives the cat a once over. She takes Wash’s contact information in case he has to step out and spirits the Meowth to wherever it is they take critical Pokémon cases.

Wash has settled at the café, leg bouncing as he sips at his Komala coffee when he hears,

“Oh, heyyy! Aren’t you that guy who gave Grif the reach around?”

The purple guy had taken a seat beside Wash and he snaps to attention like ice had been dumped down his back. “It’s run around, Donut!”

Wash wonders if he can drown himself in a half-full mug of coffee.

---

It’s been enough time for Wash to have drifted off to sleep in one of the chairs when he’s roused by an incessant mooing in his ear, it must be that kid’s Miltank. He scowls before he can even open his eyes to confirm if he’s right.

A hushed “whisper” rings out like a thunderclap in the darkened Pokécenter. (They started dimming the lights by popular request from around midnight to five in the morning.) “Baby girl, SHH! He’s sleeping!”

Well he might have been if that Pastel guy wasn’t there. What was his name? Something medically related, right? Then there’s a loud chime, signaling the door being opened. The footsteps sound uneven. Wash cracks open an eye, squinting at the light flooding in from the street.

“Thought I’d find you here, Doc’.” states a man who holds the record for the most intense person Wash has ever personally seen. “One of the Blue’s got his head stuck in the fence of your garden...again.”

Doc’ bolts upright, “What?! Why didn’t you call me, Siris!!?”

Siris (if that is who he is) rolls his eyes, and when he turns, Wash sees a glint of steel shining from where the end of the guy’s pants probably are. “We did. Maybe if you would answer it, we’d get some stuff done.”

The Pastel huffs indignantly, stamping a foot. Instead of responding, he calls his Miltank back to her Pokéball then dashes out the door without giving Wash a second thought. His presumed comrade, however, gives him one last intense glare before following Doc’ out.

‘Why can’t I just sleep . Isn’t Alola supposed to be laid back?’ Wash wonders to himself before a strong meow draws his attention to the counter.

The nurse is holding the little Meowth in her arms, but the kitty’s attention is solely on Wash and Wash alone. It paws at the air, beckoning him over with wide eyes. In a heartbeat, he complies, looking to the nurse hopefully.

“She’s made a full recovery, since you got her here when you did. Still, she’s quite underweight. Not to mention she’s likely the runt of her litter. If you plan to keep her, you’ll have to give her plenty of love and attention.” The woman gives him a look. “You got that?”

Wash nods, smiling softly, face full of relife. He scratches the Pokémon under her chin. “She’ll be safe with me.”

---

That’s how she wound up joining Wash’s little troupe, bringing their number to three. The Meowth is dashing to and fro in the sand around the trial barricades.

Wash scoops her up into his arms, giving her a pat before sending her back to her ball. Then he steps inside, finding a sectioned off portion of shore and surf stretching out before him.

“Yoohoo~! Over here, Washy!”

W-...Washy?

Florida is perched at the end of a perilous string of rocks, looking like he’s torn from the pages of a fashion magazine. Hopping skillfully from one stone to another, he’s standing before Wash in no time, grinning like a Ninetales.

“You look so precious! Are my eyes dirty little liars, or is that a new Pokéball on your belt?” Florida muses, hair streaming in the breeze.

“Yeah, I uh, I found someone new.” He mutters, shying away from the fellow’s sunny disposition.

“Well that’s just dandy! You’ll need lots of help along the way!” The younger teen (man?) smirks, tossing his head. “My trial starts now!” He announces before handing Wash a large net, not unlike a butterfly net.

Surely reacting to Wash’s confused face, Florida elaborates. “I would like you to search for as many shells as your darling little fingers can find! Now you do have a time limit here, five minutes should do just fine! We’ll toss them back when you’re done!” A snicker is stifled. “But be warned! The local Pokémon are mighty feisty! Be ready for more than a few battles.”

This is how Wash learns that many fish Pokémon not only bite, but they also have sizable teeth.

Huffing irritably with a small satchel of shells over his shoulder, Wash reaches Florida at that far rocky platform he’d first spotted the captain at. Something feels so wrong out here. Maybe it’s that the water is decidedly not crystal clear this far out. Quite the opposite of what Wash had been splashing around in.

“You’re so close, Washy!” Florida declares brightly. “Just one more teensy tiny catch before you go...there’s these Pokémon here. They’re not like anything you could have found on that mainland of yours. Us locals call ‘em Totem Pokémon.”

As if on cue, the water explodes upwards from the formerly calm, dark seas. Wash is showered in frigid, salty surf. When it clears enough to see, there’s an enormous Bruxish bearing down on him.

Gods, he hopes Magnemite has enough energy left to take this thing out.

---

He’s so damn tired. The fancy new blue Z-Crystal weighing down his Z-Ring does make him feel better.

Kinda.

He glowers at Florida’s eternally joyful nature, but the trainer offers him one final tip.

“There’s just one last part of the Challenge for you on our lovely little island here. The kahuna himself! Keep your wits about you, Felix is a tricky fella to take on. Best of luck, my dearest Washy!”

Felix, huh? Sounds more fun than Florida. Probably because Wash can see why he was suspicious when he first met the captain.

Still, with three wonderful Pokémon at his side, that’s more than enough. More than mom ever gave him. More than he ever thought he’d get to experience.

More seems to be the vibe Alola gives off.

Chapter 3: Make a Spark

Wash isn’t exactly expecting to meet anyone from Team Spectrum again so soon. (He didn’t recognize this variant of uniform yet.)  Especially not one this crass, who seemingly isn’t interested in a battle. He’s just...well he’s sort of growing on Wash already.

He had run into the uniformed teen along an otherwise isolated strip of sand, tending to a Gyarados that’s whimpering in pain.

“C’mon buddy, you’ll be as fine as those swimsuit models in a sec’. Stop fussin’ already.” Though his words are terse, his voice holds nothing but warm comfort.

Then he spots Wash.

He just glares at Wash for what seems like forever, then he scowls, “Not in the mood for a fight, so unless you’re just captivated by my bod’, you can piss off.”

Wow.

“I’m just...uh, passing through.” Wash mumbles tugging at the flared cuff of his glove. Maybe…”Your Pokémon, he looks pretty rough. Can I help?”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those Charon Corp guys!” The kid is going for another Pokéball, face stormy.

“A what?! I’m just a normal guy!” The tired man defends. He should stop by his place before he takes on the kahuna...but that’s not really the issue at hand is it? “I’ve got too many potions, I was just gonna toss a few your way. That’s all.”

The Blue (he must be, it was the only faction Wash hadn’t seen yet.) rolls his eyes, sighing. “Guess you’re not flashy enough for those dicks. You new? Never seen you before.”

Wash shakes his head. “I’ve been here for two weeks I think.” He mutters, rooting through his bag. “From the Kanto area.”

That seems to surprise the teen. “Wait, are you the mainlander that Doc talked about when he had to rescue Caboose from his fence?”

Why do these Spectrum goons not stay out of each other’s business?

“I might be? He could have meant any-” Wash tries to reason before he’s cut off.

“There’s only so many adults taking the island challenge, dude.” He’s leveled Wash with a withering stare. “As in, there’s one. I’d wager that knickknack you’re carting around isn’t for show?”

“Oh.” Wash mumbles. “Yeah, it’s not for show. I’m Washington.”

“Pft. Name like that, you’ll be a Captain in no time.”

The confusion must reach his face because the Blue smirks. “They’ve all got names from the Libertie Region. You already found Florida. There’s more where that came from.” He finally stands up fully, one hand braced on his hip. “I’m Tucker, by the way.”

Wash isn’t surprised when he doesn’t offer a handshake.

“Y’know, if you decide to not go through with this whole challenge bs, you could just come chill with us at Blue base. You seem like you need a break from stress.”

Wow, a few minutes and Tucker’s already got Wash figured out. Still, he challenges, “You don’t know me that well. I’m not a ‘chill’ guy, according to folks back home.”

“It’s not in the job description. We’re a team, not a mold. You don’t have to fit some aesthetic.” Tucker fires back and it strikes Wash into silence.

Why does that sound so nice ? How is it that these admitted criminals can chip into his (not-so) flawless armor? Something that Wash had buried long ago cries out to just throw caution to the winds and take the offer. To, just this once, let go of the rusty dreams of a child. A child with eyes so full of awe that he didn’t see the weary world for what it truly was until it was too late.

“...I can’t.”

He hands Tucker some potions and a handful of pokébeans before they part ways.

Wash drops by his RV. He feeds his Pokémon and tries to get a few bites of pasta down. He can’t stomach too much before he has to sulk off to his meager bed.

The quiet is deafening in the warm Alolan night, and Wash can’t get Tucker’s offer out of his mind. He could be happy with them right? They didn’t hold a candle to his memories of Team Rocket. Not even close. With all the shouting at the malasada shop, Wash knows they’re no angels. He’s no saint himself.

He’ll think about it after he deals with the kahuna tomorrow.

---

He’s challenged by a grunt from the Red faction when he leaves his place that morning. They’re sounding like a mini-Grif, and he wipes the floor with them. Hopefully the Blues are as calm as Tucker made them seem because Wash isn’t thrilled to have the spotlight from more than one neurotic organization. Maybe the other two won’t even care about dueling with him.

He’s hounded by a few more trainers before he reaches the gateway to Iki Town. The place is almost out of left field with cases, painted with deep indigo and orange littered about. When Wash looks closer, he can see historical weapons on display, each polished to shimmering, deadly perfection.

“Like what ya’ see?”

Wash throws an elbow back on instinct and is mortified when he makes contact. The mysterious stranger has the sense to at least try to avoid the blow but probably didn’t expect to be dodging a swing.

When Wash turns, an apology already on his tongue, he finds a young man styled in the same colours of the cases dusting himself off. He rubs at his arm, one perfect brow arched. “You’re a quick one. Wash, yeah?”

“I’m sorry I didn-”

“Heh. Nothing to be sorry for. Takes a lot more than that to hurt me.” Perfect teeth and a devious smile. There’s thinly veiled malice lurking behind that perfect facade. “Besides. You’re here to challenge me, after all. A little booboo or two is par for the course.”

With a snap of meticulously maintained fingers, the (literal) spotlight swings to the kahuna. “There’s many things here more dangerous than you and your Pokémon, Wash.” He remarks with a grin in his voice, though it doesn’t reach his face. Slender legs carry him to a platform not at all unlike the ones Wash recognized from televised Gym matches. “You can’t just dodge them either. No, no. Did you know that much of Alolas produce is toxic until it’s processed?”

“I-...no, I didn’t.”

It’s only then that the grin splits the kahuna’s face in two. “Then let me teach you!” He retrieves a Pokéball from his belt. “You’ll find my Pokémon share something in common with the food here. They’re downright virulent .”

Now a spotlight blinds Wash, it’s glare unavoidable. When his eyes adjust, he notices a new flash of light. This time it’s red, fading to unveil a Golbat with fangs bared.

“The name’s Felix, and your Grand Trial starts now!”

Wash didn’t know this was going to be a straight up battle!

He sends out Meowth and she mews, beckoning with a paw towards Felix and his Pokémon. It doesn’t take too long before Wash regrets that.

She’s trembling like she had when he first found her, crying pitifully from the pain of the venom pulsing in her veins. The bite had looked so minor, how was she so sick?! Before Wash has the chance to recall her, she crumples to the stage.

‘Fainted.’ Wash forces himself to remember. ‘ She’s just fainted. Don’t be afraid.’

Wash sends Litten out, she’s the strongest after all. She can take the toxin better, surely.

That’s when Felix cackles. As Litten lunges to spit fire, Golbat vanishes in a beam of red. “You didn’t think I’m a one trick Ponyta, did you?”

There, radiating flame before him is a Quilava. ‘ He’s from Johto?’  Wash realizes, trying to think of something, anything at all to gain some ground. He can’t call on Magnemite. He’s still trying to get the types down, but he knows Steel isn’t good against Fire.

Litten’s going to have to hold her own until Wash can deal with this. Wash takes a breath to steady himself.

There’s not much style to the way Wash deals with the Quilava. Most of it utilizes Litten’s Double-Kick to brute force his way through the brawl. It finally collapses, fire snuffing before it hits the ground.

Felix scowls, calling on Golbat again and Wash takes the chance to let Litten have a break. He brings Magnemite out and discovers that the poison just rolls right off the metal shell.

Golbat doesn’t look too hot a few minutes later and Wash can see Felix going for another Pokéball. He shouts for Magnemite to use Thundershock and in a stroke of pure luck, not only does it hit but it’s an especially powerful bolt.

Golbat crashes to the earth. Wash feels pride bubble in his chest. That is before the world is consumed by fire. In the middle of it all, an elegant fan of fur waves behind a stunning Ninetales. It looks like it’s smirking, the resemblance to it’s trainer is unmistakable.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Wash. Your luck is no match for actual skill.” Felix snarls, his hair is tousled from running his hands through it. “Ninetales, Flamethrower!”

The blaze sweeps up Magnemite and there’s truly nothing Wash can do to keep them from fainting. It was stupid to throw Magnemite into the fray with no idea of what the third Pokéball on Felix’s belt contained. The kahuna had already displayed he had Fire types at his disposal.

He can’t get lost in thought now. ‘Litten, you’re all I have left...I believe in you.’ Wash offers silently before sending her in. She’s tiny, hissing upward at the serenely smiling fox. The fight resumes and Litten is losing ground quickly. Felix calls for another Flamethrower and Wash is already resigned to his first loss.

Until a brilliant blue light pierces the inferno. It bathes the arena in a cool glow, the shape at its core shifting until it shatters. Growling at his feet is a new Pokémon. ‘Did Litten just...evolve?’

She looks to him with bright eyes, and flies at her opponent claws outstretched. The tides of battle turn and the Ninetales slumps.

The fire is doused and in the smoldering remnants, Felix glares back at Wash. Fury is woven into every line of perfection he calls his own. In the blink of an eye, he composes himself, but now that he knows the signs, Wash still sees the calling cards of Felix’s contempt.

“Well, well, well. You certainly surprised me, Wash.” Felix huffs, holding out a hand. “Give me your trainer passport. You’ve earned the Melemele Stamp.” The kahuna swipes the booklet, stamping it quickly. “Also, take this.” He snaps, holding a purple crystal out.

“Poisonium Z. Use it to cripple all that stand in your way.”

It’s not until Wash is in the Pokécenter that he realizes it’s Torracat now, rather than Litten. Now he’s got to get to the next island.

Maybe he can bribe Tucker into letting Wash borrow his Gyarados.

Chapter 4: Take a Hike

A few weeks passed since Wash’s battle with Felix, and he’s not been having any luck with finding a way off the island. His first thought was to look for that Blue guy, Tucker. Yet the teen and his Gyarados are long gone. Wash asked around, and the locals explained that some of the high ranked Pastels called Melemele home, but the Reds and Blues only swung through for short visits.

“Most of the Blues are on Ula’ula,” A trainer with a literal basket of mewling Espurrs tells him, “but there’s a guy who hangs around up-” He points over at the massive hill that casts shadows onto Kukui’s lab. “-there. He’ll get you there. Let him know that Parker sent you.”

“I really appreciate it.” Wash smiles, though it’s a little strained. Shouldering his pack, he heads for the trail he likes to take. Passing the lab, he notices a sign. Curiosity takes the helm, and Wash drifts over to it.

“Alola, friends!

   Sorry for the short notice, but I’ll be out of Melemele for the next week! Make like a Pokémon and Bide your time! See you again soon,

  -Kukui”

Looks like the backup plan to his backup plan was gone too. Why was everyone leaving when he needed them? Wash sighs, stretching his back. Hopefully these boots could handle rocky terrain, because this was gonna be a big hike.

---

Part way up the slope, Wash lets his team out to take a break. He finds a (sort of) comfortably flat boulder to rest while his poor feet recovered. The shoes had indeed not been built for this kind of thing, and he can see that the soles are pulling away from the rest of the boot. Damn it, these had been pretty expensive, too. He’ll have to find some glue or something on Akala.

Wash pulls his bag over while his Pokémon play, dishing out a midday meal for them. Meaty Kibble (or so the box claims) for the girls, and a d-battery for Magnemite.

Meowth finishes first, then wanders over to him, demanding affection. He gladly obliges, scratching behind her ears. Before his eyes, Meowths' fur starts glowing until it blinds Wash, forcing him to look away.

‘Another evolution?’ he realizes, trying to look through squinted lashes. The spots in his vision clear up to let him finally see-...

“Holyshit.” he squeaks. Her face was so...so… adorable . “Look at you, big girl!!” Wash coo’s, smoothing his palms over the Persians’ wide cheeks. He thought the ones back in his home town were precious too, but there was an aloofness to them that couldn’t hold a candle to their Alolan counterparts.

Persian rumbles warmly before headbutting her trainer, softly. Torracat and Magnemite must realize that they’re missing out, because they sidle up beside their once tiny ‘sister’ and plead for attention. Wash isn’t going to turn them down, but he does have to be more careful so he’s not going to have burns on his hands. He lives for the quiet moments like this, the island challenge is just icing on the cake.

Still, if he doesn’t get a move on soon, this guy will be long gone.

---

Wash is nearly at the end of the climb, if the signs posted inside were accurate. Out of the dusty shadows, he’s tackled by a Pokémon. When he sits up, there’s a Mawile snarling down at him.

It has been a while since he tried to catch something. After all, he’d just rescued Persian, and his team could use a new member. Wash has heard that Mawiles’ have good typing, so why not? He calls on Magnemite, rather than risking the Pokémon fainting from Torracats’ flames, or Persians’ new power.

It takes far too much effort, and finally the last of his Pokéballs does the job. With a final shake, the device pings, letting Wash know the capture was successful. He picks it up, letting her out immediately to get her healed up.

Mawile just glares at Wash, hissing and growling.

Nothing a big malasada can’t fix. Wash pulls it from where he hides them in his pack, unwrapping it. He holds it out to her and her eyes go huge. She starts to go for it, but hesitates, shooting him one more angry glance. Then her frighteningly large jaws lash around, snapping it up in one bite.

Wash also gives her a handful of Pokébeans, letting her snack on them while he looks for a potion. She’s not too happy about it, but he has this soft smile on his face while he heals her from the fight. When he was young, Wash knew a trainer from the Hoenn. Her name was Connie, and her parents were Pokémon Rangers. She had been rehabilitating a Mawile for a family in his town. He always wanted one. Not the place, or way he expected to get one, but he finally has one.

Calling his new Pokémon back, he dusts himself off, looking over at the warm light at the end of the pathway. He heads onward, and it takes his eyes a while to adjust to the sunlight again. When they do, Wash is struck by the feeling that he should be familiar with the person looking out over the horizon.

The logo on his deep violet overcoat, that he knows for sure.

Team Pastel. Seems to be a high ranked one too, he thinks. Well, he wasn’t going to head back. If he had to ruin his boots, Wash is at least going to say hi to the man. He’s just cleared his throat, when the stranger turns on his heel.

“Hello. You’re here for a battle?”

Wash quickly shakes his head.

“Oh. Is it the view?” The Pastel glances back over his shoulder, waving Wash over. “Here, take a look. It’s pretty cool.”

He’s not sure why, but Wash does just that. Cool doesn’t do the place justice. It’s downright beautiful. For several long moments, the man just takes in the sight until mumbling, “I, uhm...I was told I could ask you for help.”

“By…?”

“Said his name was Parker?”

“Oh.” The Pastel blinks, surprised. “I thought he was still in Kalos, last I checked.”

“He did have a whole basket of Espurrs with him?” Wash tries. They’re native to that area, so it might clear up some things…

It earns him a sigh. “Yeah, that’s Parker. Of course he’d book a trip just to catch some. He’s been trying to bribe the Blues for one, and they refused.” The fellow trails off into muttering under his breath until, “I’m Siris. How can I help?”

Oh, yeah that’s right. He had seen him before. “I needed help getting to Akala…”

“I can tell you how to get to the ferry, it’s not far.” Siris offers.

Wow, this is gonna be embarrassing. “I...don’t really have the funds to buy a ticket…”

“...” The Pastel is judging him (at least Wash thinks he is) for a moment, “I could loan you Pigeot, he knows the way, but…” he taps his chin. “I’d need the favor to be returned.”

In a second Wash hatches a plan. “I remember hearing one of your guys has problems with someone getting...stuck in a fence? Regularly??” Please let this work. He hopes he’s remembering the right team here.

By the cackling laughter it earns him, he did just that. “So you were awake for that. Thought so.” Siris brushes his hair from his eyes. “Yeah, whenever the Blues are in town, Caboose always ends up with his head stuck in Docs’ fence. I think he tries to get at the Pecha berries.”

“I’ll build you guys some new ones, so he can’t get stuck?”

Siris smirks, “If you’re paying for the materials too, I’ll accept that. Try and make it so the Rattata can’t get in either.” He offers a hand.

Wash takes it, shaking firmly.

Alright, so he’s going to have to learn how to make a good fence, in addition to taking the island challenge. All the same, he’s on his way to Akala.

HOOK ME UP, I CAN'T BE HERE ALONE

CW: Vomiting, Angst

It's not until they're making their way back to Blue Base that it hits him. 

They'd killed the Meta.

He killed Maine .

Sure, Wash wasn't the one that dug the tow hook into the man’s chest…but if it weren't for him? Maine would most definitely be alive.

Fuck.

Fuck!

This pathetic pack of sim troopers had killed his former partner with his help. He let this happen.

Wash can feel bile rising in his throat. With a lurching tone, he quickly asks Tucker to pull over.

He's keenly aware of the stares as he wrenches off his helmet to vomit in the nearest ditch. While his kevlar hid some of them, most of the scars from where he gouged Epsilon from his flesh were clearly visible.

The older Wash became, the less he liked being perceived by others. He relished the anonymity that his helmet granted him.

The last person he wanted to study every wrinkle, every freckle was…well, had long since drowned in an icy ocean.

Thanks to him.

Gods, this hurt so badly.

Fuck…

None of his battle wounds ached like this. A cool wetness streaks down his cheeks. 

Great!

Just great.

In less than twelve hours, these idiots had watched him turn against his oldest friend, puke his guts out, and now he's crying.

Wash can't get a lid on it either. It's like his soul is being torn from him by some invisible force. His chest heaves with horrible sobs. He hadn't cried like this since he was a kid…

Stop it.

Stop, damnit…

For fucks sake, David you're embarrassing yourself!

A large, warm hand settles on his shoulder blade. It yanks Wash from his mind, and he nearly strikes out at the unknown person before he stops himself.

It was the big guy. Regulation blue. Shit, what was his name? Was it-

“Caboose?” Wash croaked weakly.

“Mhmm, yeah.” The soldier responded. “Did you eat something gross?”

“Uh…not exactly.”

“Ohhh, you must get carsick!” Caboose theorized, offering his new teammate a damp cloth. “I used to have it real bad, but then Command sent me this nifty helmet and it helped so much!”

Is that why he's wearing that old thing? Huh.

“No, I don't suffer from motion sickness.” Wash shakes his head, wiping his mouth with the rag. Ugh, it reeked of oil and gasoline.

“Caboose, I don't think he's up for chatting.” Tucker raised his voice so he could be heard from where he leaned against the Warthog. “He's probably just got a concussion or some shit like that.”

Concussion. Sure.

Wash is honestly grateful when Caboose reaches for the man's hip, unsnapping his canteen.

“Here!” He chirps, offering him the water.

“I'm fine, I can get it by myself.” Wash sighs, taking it. “...but thanks.”

Gods he must have been parched . The Freelancer greedily swallows until he hears Tucker call out again.

“Hey, don't make yourself throw up again, dipshit!”

He breaks away, gasping for air.

What was wrong with him? It's not the first time he's had to fight and kill his friends. Why did this one hurt so damn bad?

Oh like he was fooling anyone. Especially not himself.

He had just watched Maine die for the second time in his life. First, when he'd lost the man to Sigma. Now? Now there was no way to get him back. He was well and truly gone.

Gone…

Maine had been gone for ages.

Wash knew better. He knew the AI had scooped away at his partner’s mind with every new addition.

He witnessed the empty, glass-like stare when the Meta removed its helmet to eat or drink.

Try as he might, no amount of time or effort would have brought Maine back to him. It would have been cruel to try.

If he had been brave enough to speak his mind back then…would Maine have given Sigma back to Carolina?

Carolina would know what to do…but she wasn't here.

No, it was just stupid useless Wash.

He didn't deserve Maine anyway. He was probably just bored and wanted something warm to hold at night.

…Though the way he held him? It made Wash feel like he was the only man in the world that mattered. Those huge, calloused hands would cup his chin as they kissed each other. Maine always tasted like the mints he kept in one of his pouches. (Much to the chagrin of the maintenance crew. They kept finding half full tins in the laundry.)

Maine used to talk to Wash all the time. In his own way.

Traveling with the Meta was so close to how things used to be. But any time Wash tried to get personal, the Meta would snort and walk away. His voice…well his growl was the same it had always been.

But Maine was gone.

The man Wash wanted to marry was chained to the seafloor. Maine couldn't swim, even if they hadn't strapped a damn jeep to him.

Fuck.

Fuck…

“Hey, my dude.”

Wash’s head shot up. He didn't realize that Tucker had joined them.

The man is holding his cobalt helmet, brushing mud off its surface. “I'm not sure if you can walk, but I'm going to have Caboose carry you to the car if you don't get up on your own. It's getting late and we don't have the supplies to set up camp. I get that you're having a bit of a…crisis? But I gotta think about the team here.”

Shit he was such a fucking crybaby. Wash stands, his legs surprisingly steady. “I'm…uh, sorry about that.”

“Don't apologize for being human.” Tucker passes Wash his helmet. “Kinda been through the ringer lately. Can't blame you for that. But we gotta get a move on.”

He turns, heading for the Warthog.

Wash followed, settling into the passenger side and snapping his belt in place.

“If you want, we can find some sappy emo shit on the radio?” Tucker offers, unsure of the new guys normal coping mechanisms.

“No. I'll be fine.” Wash slides his helmet back on, trying to ignore the sour smell of his breath. “Thank you, though…both of you.”

“Eh, don't thank me too much. I was thinking about leaving you but then Caboose wouldn't stop bitching about it…” The soldier realizes that Wash isn't buying it for a second. “... you're welcome, I guess.”

Once Caboose settles, Tucker starts the engine. Wash keeps his eyes fixed on the trail ahead.

He has a new team now. Whatever happened before would have to wait.

Blue Team needs him…and maybe? Maybe he needed them too.

THE NIGHT BELONGS TO YOU

Wash hates being warm.

Doesn't everyone?

No. As a matter of fact, he knows a guy that rarely used his cooling unit…knew…knows?

Hell, Wash hardly has a clue on what to consider the Meta.

Yes, he used to be Agent Maine. Used to be his significant other. Boyfriend, whatever you want to call him. Wash didn't care. He wasn't here to reminisce on the past.

He quite literally punctuates his point by opening a new window in the pink troopers’ stomach.

He lets the Meta toy with the maroon one, waiting for the medic to appear. Wash quietly sits on the hood of their ride. He watched as his companion purposefully sharpened the blade on his bruteshot in front of their guest.

His whetstone is hardly more than a hunk of rock.

Wash rolls his eyes, sliding off the car. “Hey, Meta.”

The beast in question glances over at Washington, a question carried in a rattling growl.

“What?”

“You're going to slice your fingers off.” He reaches for his subspace pocket, retrieving a new stone for him. “Here.”

Wash holds it out, knowing the soldier was watching them both, shaking all the while.

The Meta chuffs, fingers extended lazily. They weren't in any sort of rush…yet. The grip pads of his glove drag over the one's on Washs’ palm.

He refuses to let his heart flutter at such simple contact…he can't let himself be hurt again.

…But when the Meta makes that breathy, warm grumble? That makes his resolve fracture. It was nothing more than a simple phrase, but he hasn't heard it in years. Well, hasn't heard one word in particular.

“Thank you, Wash.”

His name.

Dammit all, he didn't expect how hard it would hit him to hear the Meta use his name.

“Sure.” He just shrugged a shoulder. “It's just a crummy lava rock kind. Not like I'm giving you one of my diamond stones or anything.”

The Meta doesn't have to know any of this. Wash wasn't meant to be bonding here. They were on a mission .

That's when a broad finger hooks beneath the chin of Wash’s helmet. Not to remove it. No, just a simple…almost playful shake. A soft pressure where his kevlar doesn’t cover. Even through the fabric, the heat of his body seeps into Wash. In reality, the contact is brief.

But damn it all, it rattles him to his core.

Wash jerks away instinctively. He adjusts his headgear, trying to shove his emotions down into the depths. Down to where they can’t give him any more trouble. That place where he kept all of the worst memories that Epsilon unintentionally bestowed on him.

He’s too distracted to see how the Meta’s hand hovers for a moment too long.

“Simmons!” It’s that damned medic.

A meaningless snarl rips from the Meta’s throat. He rounds on the pathetic man, preparing to do god knows what to him.

Wash quickly catches him by his belt. “Easy, dude. We still need him.”

“I didn't know you were the one making the call!”

“...Unfortunately for us.”

There’s a beat of silence. The Meta is staring him down, eyes hidden behind the golden dome of his helmet…oh shit. Wash realizes his fingers are still tucked under the man’s armor. Warmth radiating from him like he has a fever. He knew better, though. It was just how he is. How he always was.

Before either of them can say anything, the purple soldier calls out for Simmons again, breaking the tension.

“I’ll be back.” Wash removes his hand from the Meta’s hip. He quickly darts off, trying to shake away his feelings as he retrieves the medic.

He couldn’t let this go any further.

He couldn’t let his guard down again.

No, he needed to ignore these stupid ideas. Maine was long gone. The Meta was just a shell. Just an empty body, running on instinct. Wash had a job to do and he’d get it done.

Damn his shattered heart.

---

It’s been a few days. They’re out of the desert, setting up camp for the night on a windswept ridge. After his moment of weakness, Wash had been avoiding the Meta as much as he could. Given the situation, that wasn’t much but he was doing his best.

The breeze whistles sharply through the rocks, creating an eerie atmosphere. Then a sharp ‘tik’ heralds an unfortunate turn of events. Dark specks bloom over the dirt, confirming his suspicion. A sudden storm, probably one that got caught on the mesa’s. At first, it’s not an issue. They’ve dealt with far worse than a little shower.

A peel of thunder warns of the turn before it hits. The rain grows into a downpour, startling the trio. Doc swiftly ducks into his little tent, whining about something stupid. Wash wasn’t really listening. He’s frustrated, trying to stake his own shelter when a thick hand catches his wrist.

The Meta doesn’t leave room to argue, easily dragging Wash into his small tent. He releases the man so he can zip up the door.

Despite the howling storm raging outside, it’s terribly quiet inside. Wash feels so unsettled, he swallows around the lump in his throat.

“...You’re gonna get sick if you don’t dry off.”

Huh? Wash glances back, tense. “Excuse me?”

“Your kevlar. It’s soaked…” The Meta nods towards the puddle slowly filtering from Wash’s armor.

“You expect me to strip? In front of you?” He tries to ignore the chill settling into his skin.

“We’ve seen each other naked before.” The Meta states plainly.

“Maine’s seen me naked.” Wash challenges him quickly. “Not you.”

“We-... I am Maine.” He replies, pausing to remove his helmet. “Just as much as I am the Meta. You can’t pretend you don’t know.”

Wash can feel the embarrassment creeping up his throat. “I don’t trust you.”

“Not asking you to.” He shakes his head as he unbuckles his armor, setting them up to dry. “Also not gonna let your stubborn ass catch something because you don’t want to be around me. You either get changed yourself, or I’ll do it for you.” The Meta warns.

“You say that like I’d let you.” Wash scoffs, his eyes lingering on the way the soaked kevlar clings to his companion. He realizes what he’s doing and quickly turns his gaze to the shadows of water as they run off the tarp.

“We both know who would win that.” The Meta rumbles, unzipping his bodysuit. Wash can’t help but let his attention drift back to the man. He quietly watches as he peels the wet fabric away from himself. His tanned skin, covered in countless scars. The way his muscles shift beneath the surface…when he starts to slip his briefs off, Wash blushes and quickly turns on his heel.

Of course it’s nothing he’s unfamiliar with. They may not be interested in sex, but Maine occasionally slept in a similar state of undress. But this was the Meta. Not Maine…

Right?

“You can turn around. I’m decent.”

Wash jolts, looking back at his traveling companion…well boxers was better than nothing.

The Meta offers him a baggy shirt and a damp towel. “Now get over yourself and dry off.”

He scowls at him, pushing at his shoulder. “Fine, just don’t look at me.”

The man rolls his eyes, pivoting on his heel to face away.

Wash sighs, setting the items down so he can get out of his gear as quickly as he could. He shivers as his already chilled skin is exposed to the air. Jesus this storm was no joke. He scrubs the rain from his body, tossing the towel aside to pull on the oversized tee.

It smells like Maine. Tears suddenly prick at his eyes, blurring his vision. Fuck…

A warm hand settles on his shoulder. “You good?”

“I’m fine.” Wash lies, unable to bring himself to pull away from the contact. “I am.”

Surprisingly, the Meta doesn’t call him on that. He just nods, pointing to a cot. “You take it.”

…Screw it. “We can share.”

That definitely throws him for a loop. The Meta’s eyes flicker over Wash’s face, studying him. “You sure?”

“Yeah, we need the body heat.” He motions towards the outside. “Especially since we don’t really have much beyond that one dinky blanket of yours, I’m assuming.”

“...Fair enough.” The Meta agrees, heading over to the single cot. He settles before motioning for Wash to join him.

The Freelancer nervously stretches out along the edge of the bed. He knew he couldn’t prevent the contact but it sent a shiver up his spine when the Meta’s leg curled over his hip. An arm winds around his chest, drawing Wash close to himself.  Gods he was so warm…

He wants to hate this. He doesn’t want to admit how much comfort he finds in the Meta’s embrace. He’s not Maine.

He’s not Maine.

He can’t be.

If he’s Maine…what does that make Wash?

Is he little more than a common mercenary? He was just doing this to get out of jail. If the Meta was Maine, that meant Wash was a terrible man using his ex like an attack dog. He was awful-

“You’re thinking too much, Wash.”

“Huh?”

“Whatever you’ve got on your mind. You’re spiraling.” The Meta observes.

“And what makes you think that?” Wash scowls, unable to petulantly roll away due to the size of the cot.

The Meta shifts, pulling Wash to rest on top of him. “You get tense when you’re over thinking things.” His calloused fingers press into a tight knot of muscle between the man’s shoulder blades. “Right here.”

Damn it.

Wash snorts, hiding his face in the crook of the Meta’s neck. “So what?”

“...We could talk about it.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“We’re not friends. Not anymore.” Wash tries to keep his walls up, tries to ignore how he can feel the Meta’s heart thrumming beneath the palm of his hand.

“...I see.”

Oh fuck, that clearly cut him deeply. His defenses crumble and Wash props himself up to look at the Meta. “I…I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Being a dick.” Wash admits. “I’ve been lashing out at you this whole time.”

“Well, I was trying to rip your throat out a few months ago. Probably deserve a little hate.” The Meta traces a thumb over some of Wash’s new scars.

“You know what I mean.”

“So what’s bothering you then? You’re just doing a job.” He points out. “Why do you care if you’re being an ass to me?”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Wash questions.

“Of course it does.” The Meta confirms plainly. “I don’t remember everything, but I do remember you. I remember us . We were together, weren’t we?”

“Yeah.” The Freelancer nods. “We made it official a couple of months after we met.”

“Having your boyfriend treat you like a stranger isn’t fun.”

Ow. Yeah he most definitely deserved that. “You said it yourself, you were trying to kill me. Is it really that hard to understand why I don’t trust you?”

“I fully understand it.” The Meta assures him. “Doesn’t make it hurt less.”

“...Are you really there?” Wash spreads his hand over the scar that mars the large man’s throat. “Is the Meta really gone?”

“No.” He elaborates. “I’m not going to lie to you. The Meta is Maine and Maine is the Meta. I’m not sure I’ll ever be fully back…but the part of me that is here? It keeps wanting this. Wanting us…I don’t feel the way I used to. It’s more…possessive. Instinctual. Right now, all it wants is to hide you away. Keep you for itself. I’m not sure it’s the healthiest thing…but it’s probably why the Meta started to fade away. I’m not going to pretend it won’t get bad again. Not going to deny how badly I want to be with you. There's a part of me that just wants to abandon this stupid mission and run off…”

“...With me?” Wash parrots.

“Yes.”

“...Okay. So if you’re both Maine and the Meta, what do you want me to call you?”

“I prefer Maine.” He clarifies. “The Meta is what I am. Maine is who I am.”

“Right…” Wash nods, trying to ignore the way his heart flutters. He’s like a damned school girl. “...I missed you so much, man. Been hurting for so long. I dunno if we can be the same as before.”

“Duh. We’ve both changed.” Maine rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to be like we were. Do you?”

“Yes.” Wash admits. “I hate what happened to us. I lost you, Maine. I still don’t fully have you back. All those AI changed you, and I’m still not certain I like who you are because I don't know if it's real . What if this is all just a trick to get me to trust you?”

“You think I’m smart enough to plan that?”

“Sure. Why not?” Wash sits up, pulling the edge of his borrowed shirt down nervously. “You know how much I loved you. Is it that much of a stretch to come up with this?”

“You think it’s more believable that I’d come up with some twisted plot to use your emotions against you? Rather than me still wanting you?”

“You said it yourself, you don’t have feelings like before.” Wash points out.

“Correct. That doesn’t mean I’m going to turn into some cartoon villain and weaponize your love against you.”

“Hmph.” Wash doesn’t stop Maine from pulling him back into his arms.

“Why are you so against the idea of us being together again?”

“Because I can’t stand to lose you again.” Wash curls up, listening to Maine’s heartbeat. “So I push you away.”

“You’d deny yourself over an inevitability?” Maine chuffs, stroking the man’s back. “You know you’ll regret whatever you choose, right? That’s just how life is for people like us.”

“...I guess.”

“I don’t plan to leave once this is over, Wash.” He states. “I’m not letting go of you this time.”

“This time?”

“When Sigma took control…I tried to get him to go back for you. Thought we could share the load. Maybe it wouldn’t be so rough if we had two of us.” Maine explained, hand gripping Wash’s shoulder protectively. “It was his idea originally to use a pair, rather than just me. So I figured he’d be open to it…but he must have decided we’d be too bonded to be effective pawns.”

He rolls onto his side, spooning Wash gently. “But he’s gone. Can’t tell me what to do anymore…so I’m sticking with you. Even if we don’t get back together.”

Wash is overwhelmed, if he’s being honest. Does he still love Maine? Without question. Is he still suspicious of the Meta lurking at the back of his mind? He’s not naive. Of course he can’t help but wonder if it’s just waiting to jab a knife in his back. He’s Agent Washington. Paranoia is part of who he is.

And yet…

He feels so safe in this man’s grasp.

Hands he’d seen used to pull an insurgent’s spine from their flesh. Palms that had crushed many skulls with little effort. Arms that crack ribs in a sadistic facsimile of an embrace…

But they were so delicate when handling Wash. Soft as they slid over his stomach to keep him close. Warm…gods he was like a radiator.

“...Okay.”

Maybe Wash didn't mind the warmth after all.

I BEG TO DREAM AND DIFFER

CW: Alternate Universe, Wash is an AI

His first conscious memory is staring up at the men he now recognized as the Counselor and the Director.

The Director had smiled at him. His greeting was kind, but something about him was wrong.

“Your name is Wau…today is your birthday.” He grinned.

Wau doesn't like how many teeth he can see. He doesn't understand why he's so distrustful. He thought his name was Alpha…but he was alright with being Wau.

Paranoia can be messy.

---

“Hey, Wau. You still with me?”

That rattles him out of his thoughts. “Yes, Agent Carolina. I'm still here.”

“Good. I need to talk with you.”

Uh? “Carolina, we talk all the time. What's going on?” Wau tilts his head, his holoform crackling like electricity.

“You remember the freeway incident I told you about?” Carolina sits on her bunk, removing her helmet.

“Yes. Insurgents were attempting to seize an item known as the Sarcophagus. The B Team suffered several injuries and-”

“Focus on the A Team, Wau. That's our responsibility.” His soldier corrals his train of thought.

“Are you talking about the throat trauma suffered by Agent Maine, boss?”

“Yes.” She nods, unclipping her chest plate. “He won't be able to talk anymore.”

“...Agent Maine didn't really speak much before the incident. According to your memory of him.” Wau points out.

“Wau, it's my fault he was hurt. I'm his commanding officer and I didn't prevent this.” She tosses her armor aside, letting it crash to the floor loudly.

“You didn't have my insight at the time, Agent Carolina.” Wau casually perches on one of the small pillows.

“Your paranoid predictions, you mean?”

“Hey, let's not be rude, boss.” Wau scoffs, folding his arms. “I've prevented twelve separate life threatening events since my implantation.”

“Yeah, well I don't think you're understanding me.” Carolina lays back, the firm mattress sinking slightly under her weight.

“Oh really?”

“Wau, Maine needs to be able to communicate.” She sounds frustrated.

He wasn't good at non-battle scenarios. “Maine knows sign langua-”

“I'm giving you to Maine.” She abruptly cuts him off.

…Ah.

Wau blinks away, reappearing in front of Carolina. “Are you allowed to do that? As far as I can tell, we're paired with our agents for a specific reason. Is it really a good idea to mess with that, boss?”

“I've already cleared it with the Director.” She rolls onto her side, not wanting to look at her AI. “You'll be transferred to him tomorrow morning. 0500.”

“...I'm concerned, Carolina.”

“Yeah, you're always on edge, Wau. That's just how you are.” She's clearly getting fed up with him. “Besides, you like Maine, don't you?”

Wau crackles, ducking his head to avoid eye contact. “He's a good soldier. It's admiration, I wouldn't say I ‘like’ him in the way you mean.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.”

“I don't sleep, Agent-”

She butts in, waving her hand through his projection. “It's a turn of phrase, Wau.”

It obviously didn't hurt, but it was a jerk move.

He flickers to her shoulder, huffing. “Fine, no need to be rude. Let me get this straight. You've been improving over the last two weeks since my implantation. But you intend to give me away?”

“It's for a good cause, Wau. Maine needs you more than I do.” She pulls the covers over herself, settling in. “If you don't quiet down, I won't hesitate to pull you.”

“Yeesh, fine, fine.” Wau shakes his head. “I'll shut off for tonight.”

“That'd be nice.” Carolina mutters tiredly.

“Good night, Agent Carolina.”

“Night, Wau”

---

Wau is activated the second the clock hits five. He's not surprised to find his soldier was already awake, putting her helmet on.

They're already in the med bay. Wau doesn't like it here. Too many things go wrong here.

“Hey, Wau.” She acknowledges him.

“Hello.” He nods back. “Is it time?”

“Indeed it is, Wau.” The smooth drawl of the Director sends chills up Wau’s non-existent spine. “I take it Agent Carolina briefed you on why you're here?”

“Yes, sir. I'm glad to help.” He confirms.

“Good. Agent Maine is prepared. All we need is you. This might feel strange.” 

The doctor takes her cue to reach for Wau’s unit.

It's a terribly uncomfortable thing. Makes him realize how much of himself is missing. More than Carolina…what was wrong with him?

Then there's a connection. Like lightning and fire. It startled the AI, drawing his attention back to his current situation.

The first impression Wau gets of Maine’s mind is one of intense pain. A migraine, he realizes.

Medicine? He decides to keep the exchange between them. No need to deal with the others at the moment.

…Yes.

Wau blips into view, hovering over his new host. He asks the medical staff to dispense the required tablets.

After that's dealt with, he retreats into the back of Maine's mind. It's pleasantly quiet. Wau kinda likes it.

Wau, right?

Yes. We know each other pretty well.

Not like this. Maine’s eyes track the hospital staff as they fuss over him. This is different. Feels…

Intimidating?

Intimate.

Oh. I guess that makes sense.

Did I embarrass you? There's a sense of humor to Maine’s thoughts. A gentle teasing.

Wau finds it calming when compared to Carolina’s seriousness as of late.

No. Intimate is a fair description. He agrees. I'm here to help with communication. If there's anything you want to say, just let me know. I'll do my best to make sure they get the point.

Good. Maine is allowed to sit up, his vitals fluctuating slightly.

Wau takes a moment to help steady them. 

Thanks.  

It's what I'm here for.

---

Maine was very different from Carolina.

Not in a bad way, no. Just…different. He was just as withdrawn in his head as he was on the outside.

At first, that is.

It takes a week for the soldier and his AI to get fully comfortable with each other. Did Wau ‘like’ Maine?

…Yes, Carolina was dead on the money with that guess.

Not that he'd ever admit it to her. The two bickered like siblings constantly. He didn't want her to have the satisfaction.

There was just something about Maine, though. Something that makes the AI feel at ease. Mind you, that was no small feat. Panic was in his nature, it would seem.

Wau.

Yes, Maine? He blinks into view, silvery electricity darting through his wake. You don't need to be awake for another two hours. You can keep sleeping.

Not trying to get up. Wanted to talk.

To me?

The man nods, stretching out his arms. His joints give a series of satisfying pops as his muscles pull on them. He had a new tattoo from a few weeks back. Wau remembered Carolina being confused on where he got the time to get it done.

Maine opens one of his eyes, looking up at the projection hovering over him…

Oh shit, he's been staring hasn't he? Sorry. He swiftly glances away, chiding himself for not remembering human customs.

That earns him a rough, rattling chuckle.

Don't tease me, I don't like it. Wau huffs, stamping his foot irritability. That wasn't exactly a lie. He disliked being taunted by others. Especially his brothers and sisters.

Not Maine though. Maybe that was part of the way Carolina figured out that her AI might have developed a ‘crush’ (her word, not his) on the hulking agent. Wau was far more tolerant of him.

Mostly because the man didn't mess with him for the most part. Not like York did. He liked needling the gray AI to get reactions out of him. Sadly, Wau couldn't just avoid him. The few times Carolina would let her guard down often involved him. Wau began to request being pulled when they had their…dalliances.

Wau, focus.

Shit, sorr- The AI freezes, ducking his head. The Director regularly reprimanded him for swearing.

‘That’s not how you speak, Wau. Don't be crass.’

It was frustrating because ‘foul’ speech came naturally to him.

Forgive my language. He spits out his usual response.

What? Because you said ‘shit’? Maine is definitely amused.

The Director thinks it's unbecoming.

Maine snorts, rolling onto his side to face the wall. Not gonna rat you out for having a potty mouth.

Potty mouth? Wau snickers. What kind of phrase is that?

Was trying to be funny.

I'm aware. I was trying to continue the joke. Did I do it wrong?

Ah. Maine lightly brushed his knuckles over the crackling light of his AI. Sorry. Your tone can be hard to read.

Wau allowed him to keep ghosting his fingers over his surface. There was such an innocent curiosity in the motion. He's not sure anyone he'd interacted with had been so interested in the way the AI’s shape behaved when touched.

He knew it was that because he could feel it shining through their bond.

So he didn't make any effort to stop him.

My bad. Wau ducks his head apologetically.

Don't be. I'm the same.

The phrase ‘birds of a feather’ comes to mind. Wau agrees. You said you wanted to talk?

Yeah. Why is it that you don't talk much outside of my head?

Hm. He never really noticed it. Does it bother you?

No. Just don't get it. Maine returns to laying on his back. You weren't like this with Carolina.

…That's a fair observation. What was he supposed to say? He doesn't know why he does it.

You even realize you're doing it?

Not before you mentioned it. Wau shakes his head. We're meant to adapt to our hosts as AI. We instinctively know what our soldiers prefer. Carolina liked mental conversations on the battlefield, but not during downtime.

You just…know?

Like migratory instincts in animals. I'm sure Delta or the Counselor could tell you how it works? Wau glances over at the door. Should I arrange a meeting?

It's fine. I trust you.

Wau ignores the way his projection flickers at that.

We're being cleared for active duty soon, right?

Yes. Next Monday, to be precise.

Think you're ready to be back in the field? Maine wonders.

I'm an AI. We're always prepared. Wau shrugged, sitting on the back of his soldier's hand. Well, pretending to anyway.

Should focus on training this week. Get more used to each other.

I think I'd like that.

Maine smirks, his ragged breathing loud in the quiet room. Same.

---

The first day was rough. Being used to Carolina made it…difficult to adjust to Maine. True they got along well, but the AI was used to running speed tech. Other than his camouflage, Maine didn’t really use augments. How was he meant to help in this situation?

Wau is nervously running his predictive algorithm when it happens. He catches the motion as the barrel of a paint rifle breaks cover.

“Sniper, Five o’ clock!”

Maine reacts instantly. He takes a large step back, swiftly closing the distance between himself and the aggressor. He has the tip of his magnum pressed to the temple of North’s helmet.

He doesn’t pause, pulling the trigger. Pink lock-down paint expanded to temporarily blind him. From what Wau can tell, it was a bit of payback for a similar event a month back.

Wait, where was-

“Fuck, Ten o’ clock!” He snaps, knowing Maine wouldn’t have enough time to turn. “Just drop!”

The man quickly dives into a prone position. Give me the angle!

“45 degrees, Eleven o’ clock!” Wau projects a crosshair to guide him.

Maine puts his faith in his AI, taking the shot before even looking.

“God dammit!” York whines as his shoulder takes the pellet.

Maine pulls the trigger a few more times to ensure the tan soldier wouldn’t be able to budge.

“Round point goes to Agent Maine.” The Counselor announces over the loudspeaker. “Agents York and North, clean up will begin shortly.”

Maine casually strolls over to the benches on the sidelines of the arena. He takes a seat, and scrapes at the small flecks of lock-down paint that would inevitably end up on his armor. 

Sorry.

The agent seems baffled. The hell are you sorry for?

Wau is sitting on his shoulder, lightning crackling across his holoform. More so than normal, it was probably an indicator of stress. I barely did anything!

Barely? You called my blind spots out. We won. That’s barely ?

I’m supposed to help you run your enhancements, that’s what I’m designed to do! Wau’s hands curl into fists.

You’re meant to help in combat. You helped in combat. What more do you want?

I-... Damn it. He did have a point. I don’t know. I’m just so used to calculating routes for Carolina’s speed tech. Makes me feel useless.

Maine offers Wau his hand. The AI hesitates before stepping into his wide palm. The man lifts him until he’s at the height of Maine’s hidden eyes. The golden visor makes him feel like he’s talking to himself.

Your job is to keep me from getting killed. That’s it. He states plainly. Did good. Stop beating yourself up.

…Yeah, okay. Wau sighs. He jolts to attention when he senses two people approaching. He blips back to Maine’s shoulder, seeing the Counselor and the Director. He tips his helmet in greeting.

“Good morning, Agent Maine.” The Director has his arms clasped behind his back. “And we can’t forget dear Wau.”

Ugh…he doesn’t like being addressed by Dr. Church. Makes him feel like an insect being studied.

“You both did better than expected. Congratulations.” He adjusts his glasses. “One thing though. I believe we had a discussion about swearing before. Didn’t we, Wau?”

“...Yes, Director.” The AI confirms.

A low growl ripples from Maine. Tell him I don’t mind it.

No! He’s already annoyed I don’t wa-

Do it.

Wau crackles nervously, clearing his non-existent throat. “Agent Maine wants to tell you he doesn’t mind-”

“ I mind it.” The Director cuts him off coldly. “Understood?”

“Yes, Director. I understand…” Wau’s voice wavers subtly.

Maine hisses, tense. Fuck off, dickhead.

I’m NOT saying that.

“That being said.” The Counselor speaks up, breaking the uncomfortable atmosphere. “Your first round went exceptionally well. We plan to run two more rounds. You should prepare yourselves. Good luck.” He nods at the pair, then makes his way back to the observation room.

“I look forward to your performance, boys.” The Director then turns to join Price, leaving them alone.

Can we please not piss them off? Wau begs his agent. I’m okay. I’m the one protecting you. Not the other way around.

Not gonna play nice. Maine snorts, getting up and stretching. He pops his joints in that satisfying way of his. You don’t have to translate. Or just lie.

…Fine. Wau relents. Let’s focus on the match. Sounds good?

Sure. You ready?

Always.

The next round pits them against the team of Florida and Wyoming. The latter of which had Gamma running. Wau focuses his attention on extending his prediction algorithm and the radar for Maine’s suit. 

Florida and Wyoming were a talented pair. They don’t go down easily. It was a very close match. One that went on for ages, compared to the usual. Eventually, Wau’s number crunching guides Maine to snipe Wyoming just as he comes out of a time jump. It doesn’t take long for Florida to appear, and Maine lands a lucky shot.

The round ends with the agent having to wait as the clean up crew melts the lock-down paint from his left elbow and back.

The third round?

Oh the third round was just a shit show.

Agent Texas was already enough of a threat on her own. But with Omega? She was borderline unstoppable. She beats the shit out of them. One on one like this, they had no real chance. Hell, Wau is proud that they’d managed to land a shot on her. The paint restricts her wrist movement…it also makes one hell of a club that she uses to knock Maine senseless.

Wau gets him steady just in time to stare down the barrel of Tex’s pistol. The paint stings like a bitch, but there’s a sort of karma in the way the substance floods Maine’s helmet.

Well…two outta three ain’t half bad.

---

Their first mission back starts with a call for backup.

Wau acknowledges the ping. Maine, ready up.

Mhmm. He slips on his helmet, grabbing his bruteshot. The agent quickly gets into the launch pod, letting the restraints lock him into place.

Wau wasn’t fond of enclosed spaces. But they had a job to do. He mimics something he’d seen North and York do prior to missions. He butts his helmet against Maine’s visor. He’s not sure why he did. Just seemed right. The AI is about to apologize when he feels a warm blush of fondness blooming in the back of the man’s mind.

He liked it…huh. Wau didn’t expect that.

The door to the pod hisses shut, and the floor drops out, releasing the pair. Wau keeps Maine from feeling nauseous. It only takes a few seconds before they hit the ground.

As the pod opens, Wau hears the gunfire pause. Then he feels a surge of anger from his host. Glancing in front of them, he spots him.

A tall Insurgent. Broad shouldered and relatively minimal armor.

It only takes a moment for Wau to figure out who this is. He crackles into view, gesturing at him. “He’s the one that shot your throat out, right?”

Yes. Maine snarls.

“Ah. Well I’ll leave it to you then. Make it hurt.” Wau blinks out of sight, relishing in the knowledge that they now had the opportunity to get revenge.

Maine grabs a Warthog, his muscles bunching as he lifts it. It’s heavy but nothing he can’t handle. The agent throws it into the fray, scattering several enemies and leaving the sleeveless one alone.

There’s no need for anything fancy. The man tries to throw a left hook, but Wau quickly calls it so Maine can snatch his fist.

His agent’s fingers curl tightly, and he raises his arm. With lethal force, he brings it down like a hammer. The man’s helmet pops off from the force, and the Insurgent crumples. His skull is caved in, blood oozing from his eye socket.

Maine gives a satisfied hiss.

Good riddance. Wau agrees. His radar alerts him to others. Eyes up, we’ve got company.

They fight well, but are taken by surprise when they learn about what happened to C.T. once the smoke clears.

That conversation would have to wait. They still had clean up duty.

---

I…I can’t believe it. Wau finally says once they’re back in the comfort of Maine’s room.

C.T.? The soldier asks, glancing away from his book. He’s in his bunk, icing a slightly swollen ankle.

Yeah. She was always a good agent. The AI mimics pacing, nervously looping a path along Maine’s chest. She cared about all of you a lot.

Not your job to figure out why she went rogue. His agent points out.

What if it is though? I’m the one who keeps us safe. I’m supposed to know when something is going to happen. It’s what I’m made for! Wau sparks, anxiety rising.

Wau.

What?!

A heavy hand settles in his path. Not that it could physically stop him, but the meaning was clear. Settle. You’re getting into your own head again.

Wau drags his hands over his helmet, a frustrated squawk escaping him. I don’t want to lose them. I don’t want to lose you .

A raspy chuckle echoes in the small space. You say that like it’s a possibility.

It is. Wau grunts flatly.

I’m not letting anyone take you from me, Wau. Maine brushes a knuckle over the edge of his holoform. They’d have to kill me to get you.

The AI pauses, leaning into a touch he can’t feel. No matter how badly he wants to. Oh how he wants to… That’s exactly what I’m afraid of, Maine. What happens if I can’t keep you safe?

Not going to lie to you. Death is always a risk. I’m a soldier, Wau. I knew what I signed on for. The man continues to soothe his AI. But I’m pretty tough. Also have the best battle buddy to watch my back.

If Wau could blush, he most certainly would be. His projection flickers, and he reaches out to touch the man’s scarred throat. You are pretty hard to kill…

The pair go silent for a few minutes. They simply bask in their company, listening to the ambient sounds of the Mother of Invention as she slips through space. It’s Wau who breaks it.

Maine?

Hm?

I’ve known you for a while now. Shit he doesn’t know what to say. He should shut up.

The man glances at him, waiting for the AI to continue. He was surprisingly patient when he wanted to be.

I think this started before I was yours… Fuck, no shut up! Back when I was with Carolina? Stop it damn it!

Why did Maine have to have such soft eyes when he looked at Wau? Distracting, that’s what he was. He was a-

Distraction. I just thought I was getting sidetracked…but it was always when I thought about you. Why won’t you shut the fuck up, you idiot!

I distract you? There’s a thread of amusement in his tone. That doesn’t help deal with this at all. If anything, it just flusters the AI more.

Yeah. My thoughts kept drifting back to you. Drove Carolina up a wall… Don’t you dare say it! She called it a crush.

Wau wants to die. He couldn’t stop talking, try as he might. He was about to ruin everything with his host. What kind of AI had feelings for a human? It was fucking stupid. He was fucking stupid.

I told her she was reading too much into it. Don’t even think about it. But she was right…I think I’ve fallen in love with you.

Shit.

Shit!

That’s it, he’s going to be taken out for repairs, be reset so he can’t remember anything-

Really? Maine asks. His tone isn’t angry, or disgusted…it’s curious. Not just curious, there’s something more there…

Yeah. I’m sorry…I don’t expect you to feel the same. I just-...I wanted you to know. Everything feels like it’s about to fall apart, so I…I needed you to know. Wau admits softly.

Maine sits up, cupping his hands to cradle the AI’s holoform. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. Don’t be sorry. You can’t help how you feel.

Wau braces for the inevitable rejection.

I feel the same way.

…What?

…You’re teasing me. Wau accuses him mildly. He knows full well that the man is telling the truth. He just doesn’t know how to handle it.

I’m not. Maine shakes his head. I’m not really…good with feelings. Not good at showing affection…but I know that I’ve always liked you more than I probably should. If you were human, I’d have asked you out months ago.

I can’t be human, Maine…

I know. But I’m not sure it really matters. Not when you feel the same way. Maine brings Wau close, gently pressing the AI against his jaw. An attempt at an embrace, if he was guessing right. I love you too, Wau.

It’s difficult to solidify his projection for a bit after that. Wau distorts into a rolling ball of electricity and storm clouds.

Maine loved him.

Maine loved him.

And Wau loved Maine right back.

He manages to pull himself together, resting his hands on the soldier’s cheek. He wants to feel the warmth of his skin, if only for a moment…he wants to be human. If he was, he could sense the scrape of the stubble that dusts Maine’s chin. He could smell the regulation soap he uses. He could run his fingers over the man’s firm muscles…He could kiss him.

Yet here they were.

A man and his computer program.

Just having each other would be more than enough for Wau.

After all, he couldn’t do anything to change that…right?

[whizzermania]

what your favorite fua ship says about you

raddlove fans: you desire every inch of hopepunk yuri in this show and you want these weird ass gals to have a happy ending with their potato child and plant dog. you’re the mfers who listen to every single interaction they have closely and watch as they receive the most amount of character development for a lesbian couple because you’re upset that there isn’t a lot of wlw representation in media. and thats fine. we needed this. every inch of it. i love you.

harlanc fans: you’re a jonmartin liker that has been traumatized by tma so much. you got into fua hoping this show would heal your wounds but the moment you landed on ep 10 you see the vision despite harley and lancaster only having the relationship of fairly acaquianted coworkers. despite this: you see their struggles and you see the potential outcome that it WILL work out: because theres nothing more delicious than mentally ill yaoi of the most depressed faceless communications officer and a even more depressed psychologist. you don’t care if harlanc becomes canon but you would be OVERJOYED if it was: because after reading several fanfics of this ship you would be crying on the floor.

kleinves fans: klein is your favorite character..and you couldn’t think of who she’d be paired with at first..until alves was introduced. seriously: one of them does not have a voice in the show and every single mention of her theres always some funny ass divorce beef between them. then anna “raddagher formally known as tanfaradd” maguire headbutted and kidnapped you to listen to episode 35 and beyond and now you will NEVER RECOVER. you LOVE the girlfail divorced yuri. you’ve been fed so much. you didn’t think it was gonna happen but it did.

grimmons fans: these characters do not have a voice. these character have only been mentioned four or five times: one of them having their very own episode. what is the point of this ship? the thing is there is no point and it started out as a joke. but its funny as fuck: and we respect that.

[ashyybees-art]

As much as I love Grimmons and was semi-jokingly hoping for them getting together at the series close-

-seriously speaking in narrative terms, Grif and Simmons choices of their paths makes sense and is a good way of bringing their characters full circle. Grif was drafted and didn’t have a choice, Simmons was always trying to prove himself and be more. They both grew so much over the adventures. At the final adventure they both made choices for their characters of where they want to go forward as everything is finally laid to rest.

And each gave the other the chance for those paths for each other. Simmons gave Grif the chance to go home and stop being a soldier. Grif supported Simmons for this last fight together and letting him be the leader without disparage. He even offered for Simmons to come with him, but understood and fully accepted that Simmons wants something different.

And even then, them physically separating doesn’t mean they disconnect from one another completely. They joke about how Simmons will never come to Earth, but who knows. The way it ended they could easily keep in touch and room for so many headcanons and ideas. (Aka this is still a sandbox, go wild lol)

[websurfshark]

season 19 was a let down 😭😭

spoilers below!

i’m sure that over a year of hype doesn’t help my case here but i really was expecting something a little better 😭

i don’t mean to be too much of a critic in this post and sorry if i seem like i’m complaining but man 🧍‍♂️ full review here we go

sarges death was expected and the character arc that simmons got from it was pretty well done , he was cool — sarges death did just seem kind of rushed but that’s probably also time constraints , nobody seemed super affected by it tho and that kinda put me off ☹️ sure the reds were like Sad right after he died , and grif + simmons had the moment at his grave, but it’s literally not brought up again ? simmons just gets to be a leader kinda and tucker doesn’t get told he killed sarge, nobody else brings it up after the climax?? not even during the climax as they fight meta again ?

^ although sarges final moments were done very nicely and the va’s had a ton of emotion ❤️

along with that, wash’s acting was amazing as always

grif was characterized really weirdly throughout the first half of the season - i’m guessing they tried to make him the “straight man” of the group but it kinda fell flat because he just seemed irrationally angry every single time he spoke 😭 he kinda evened out as it went on tho so that’s better than nothing

Simmons was very kind this season that was interesting and cool He didn’t have a care in the world

animation was wonky at times but it was there - fight scenes weren’t monty oum style of crazy but they were creative with them and ill give them that! good callbacks during the fight

character callbacks were cool! i’m glad we got a little bit of kai (no reunion with grif tho so that sucks), dylan was there but she was kinda characterized weird, grey there, agent one (???) for some reason, 479er!!!!! she was well done and she fit really well into the plot!, no checkup on chorus life which was kinda sad (no lieutenants boohoohoo) some of the callbacks felt out of place tho

i don’t like how they handled tex cause even though it was cool she was back , i feel like we’ve done this dance a thousand times

also carolina quite literally came out of nowhere ?? how did she just ? drop from the sky what ??? LOL

absolutely no donut at all ? there was like one mention of him that i can remember ? lopez is just forgotten about back at the bases ??? i don’t know if the donut thing was something behind the scenes but Uhh

music wasnt up to par - they just reused old songs basically , the weird song that played during the “Memories” sequence wasn’t good

i’m not the hugest fan of the ais in general so i don’t think about them too much but i feel like sigma wasn’t characterized in the same way he was in the freelancer seasons — in pfl he kind of subtly manipulated maine into becoming meta etc etc but for tucker , he basically just like😭 tortured him WHICH IS PROBABLY CAUSE LIKE tucker knows This guy is evil Ahhhh!!! but still that was a little weird

no grimmons sad day for the rvb fandom - some scenes could be read as grimmons, like grif basically inviting simmons to go with him , i’m confused on why simmons stayed because simmons himself literally said One last mission ? so idk what he’s doing bro idk if he’s staying in blood gulch or what — grif just straight up leaves and like ? are they gonna see eachother again orrr ? what’s happening

the ending felt rushed and kinda weird - just vibes , i think i’m biased because i now realize that not a lot can beat the s13 ending , but even so , grif just kinda leaves and that’s the end 😭

i feel like we didn’t get a whole lot of conclusions for all the characters even tho that’s what was promised

overall i’m probably giving this a solid 5-6/10 , the season was overall very hit or miss in some aspects and scenes

ANWYAYS😭 don’t let my opinions take away from your experience with season 19! this is just how i felt about it after my first watchthrough and my opinions might/will change!

[jade-kyo]

Season 15 post Restoration thoughts

Back when Restoration was first announced I rewatched the shisno trilogy to weigh the pros and cons of everything getting retconned. I’ve decided now that Restoration has aired to do another rewatch like that but this time more just general thoughts and headcanons

welp let’s get started!

Oh hey this is actually funny

Still say Dylan’s original cameraman was funnier, they should’ve kept him instead of Jax. Frank you will always be famous to me.

KAIKAINA MY BELOVED

Bringing back Vic was a big brained move fr

On the topic of Vic I’ve always liked the theory that he was actually one of the alpha fragments, specifically the love fragments… hmm things to consider

The whole situation on chorus is also interesting… further things to consider

Oh hey look at that Dr. Grey actually sounds like herself. What a wild concept.

The reds and blues are actually friends and act like it? WHAT A WILD CONCEPT

Grimmons closet sex you will always be famous to me

But also Church basically writing gay smut of his friends is very funny

Man this is actually funny. Wild concept.

Nah but there’s a legit joke about them getting a bad movie bro predicted the future

Canon band au

I love how all the things Carolina mentions happening are so low key compared to the others. Like yeah Grif convincing Simmons GoT was real is wild meanwhile there’s actual dinosaurs

Yeah the whole red team and blue team thing IS outdated. Concept wild.

Genuinely love how you can tell just how much Carolina loves these idiots and their shenanigans. Such a concept.

“No he means Church” frothing at the mouth

OH HEY THEY GENUINELY CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER AND ABOUT CHURCH. WILDEST OF CONCEPTS

“I’m not in the military anymore” yeah Grif that sure is a GREAT point. Concepts are wild.

But also can’t believe we’ve had to watch grimmons get divorced twice

PROTECTIVE TUCKER MY BELOVED

Dead beat dad Tucker jokes my BELOATHED

Man remembering the characters ranks. Really concept the wild.

“We’re having fish” bro why did you say it like that makes you sound like a cannibal 💀

Loco you will always be famous to me

“You don’t have to destroy the past to have a future” what a great way to show that you can let go of the past and trauma while also honoring the memories of those you lost. Concepts really do be wild sometimes.

Damn I think I’m coming back around on carwash- I am not immune to hand holding and funny take off your suit bits. Platonic or romantic they make me feral. I’ll take it either way.

Freelancer death room is a genuinely cool and fucked up scene

As much as I’m enjoying this rewatch I still can’t stand the Sarge butchering that starts in this season and just get progressively worse

SERIOUSLY VIC IS A FRAGMENT HE LITERALLY SAYS “it’s me!” IN REFERENCE TO THE ALPHA

Y’all were right Temple is totally gay for Biff

Oh god I forgot about the shitty animation

Also werent the simulation bases started after Tex fled from PF?? And also after Carolina went MIA???

Rip Biff bro did not deserve that but to be fair the second he said his girl was pregnant he was doomed by the narrative

Caboose cursing my beloved

Donut is a furry confirmed

TUCKER ASKING CABOOSE HIS THOUGHTS AND EVEN AGREEING AHDKGAKSH

While I am enjoying this rewatch I think I figured out what always bugged me about this season. The reds and blues are the wrong kind of dumb. Like yeah they’re idiots but you seriously didn’t consider once that the blues and reds might be lying to you? Especially after everything that happened on Chorus?? But especially Carolina and Wash not really questioning it??? Like idk it just feels off

Temple has so much potential as a villain cause like he’s not wrong… and I think evil sim troopers is such a cool concept…much to be considered

Oh actually acknowledging how much they’ve accomplished especially on Chorus?? Of concepts to be wild

Another thing that bugs me is this constant use of “good guy/bad guy” language. just feel off for the themes of RvB.

Ah yeah Grif’s volleyballs

Grif might be able to give Wash a run for his money on that Sarge impersonation

LOCUS!!!!!

Locus-Grif team up my beloved

METAL GEAR REFERENCE SPOTTED !

EVERYONE BEING PROTECTIVE OF CABOOSE

But also I think Caboose not understanding death is weird like yeah he’s dumb but again not that kind of dumb??? Idk just one of those things that doesn’t entirely sit right with me

I do like the interactions between him and the team tho

Loopy Wash my beloved

Again will never forgive what they did to Sarge

Locus is gonna steal yo kneecaps

Ah yes Church’s obsession with fucking up Wash continues.

Honestly in hindsight I don’t actually love Wash getting shot. It really feels like they just use him as an angst punching bag because he’s a fan favorite. And this is coming from someone who LOVES angst

Also I feel like Tucker rushing out is ooc when a big part of his arc on Chorus was him doing that, getting people killed, and then learning that sometimes you gotta think things through. Kind of the start of how they undid and then redid his arc

OKAY BUT GRIF AND TUCKER MOMENT!!!!!!

Okay again this weird insistence of all the enemies being comically evil shitty people is very antithetical to the core themes are RvB

Everybody shut the fuck up the Caboose and Tucker moment after Caboose ties the guys shoelaces together is so fucking cute holy shit I am frothing at the mouth I love them so much

My hatred for anything time travel related remains

AUDIBLE GASP

GRIMMONS WHY ARE WE HERE MOMENT MY BELOVED

Yeah Sarge your monologues ARE better. Sure wish they’d remember what those monologues actually meant for your character development. Wilds the concept huh.

Man Grif choosing to stay with his friends no matter what. Truly concept in my wilds.

LOCO NOOOOOOOOOO!!

Oh god they hit you with the Caboose feels that should be illegal

Still don’t like that Caboose got to say goodbye tho. I said it last time but it’s too- fairytale-ish. The themes of grief in rvb have always been about how it’s unfair and a lot of the times you don’t get to say goodbye and you don’t get closure but you still have to learn to let go and move on despite it all. Want it noted this is also a criticism I have of the Chex stuff in restoration.

Furthermore Tucker really was prepared to create a time paradox in order to bring back Church AND THEY JUST NEVER CIRCLED BACK AROUND TO THAT???? Bro Tucker grieves Church so much and they just never address it

Also Vic’s sacrifice is further proof that he’s an alpha fragment

GRIF SIBLINGS MY BELOVEDS!!!!!!

Dylan’s speech at the end is very good and it makes me love the simulation headcanon more cause that means it’s technically Church, or at least what Church believes/hopes the world would think of the reds and blues.

Also can’t believe Temple, Bucky, and Cronut are all still alive and they just never brought them back in any way.

ALSO CAROLINA SINGING AKHSKAHSKHDKSJ

CABOOSE DRUM SOLO

Alright then that’s seasons 15! …. On my hands and knees begging for forgiveness S15 TAKE ME BACK IM SORRY I WAS EVER MEAN TO YOU!

But in all seriousness I’m way more open to this as a possibility of what happens next than I am Restoration. This is just glorified fanfiction and like it’s fun! I have fun watching it! I’ve got my complaints but still at least it gets that these characters care about each other. It may not have the strongest writing but it’s not terrible and you’ll catch me rewatching it and enjoying it from time to time.

… do I have to watch s16- can’t I just skip it? Please no amount of Restoration sucking is going to make me like that season. I might just skip it and if I’m ever feeling more up to it I’ll circle back around to it. In all honesty I think 16 and Restoration are on the same level for me. Bad seasons that I mostly ignore but I will on very rare occasions rewatch them if not just to bitch and complain. I do think Restoration is a little better than 16 but still easily in the top 3 worst seasons of RvB.

Welp in that case you will most likely see me talking about s17 next unless I’m just really feeling the self hatred enough to watch 16

[sco07ut]

what just happened!!!!!!!! s19 rambles (negative) ↓

going to be messy cos im just planning on writing whatever outrageous moments stand out as i go along

first of all????? DOC FUCKING DIED?????????? i literally had to rewatch a few times to realise that’s what they were saying 😟 when the fuck did he die bc doc eas Inside the staff of charon and wash was fuckijg idk?? on the surface of chorus right?? how did doc die saving him what (genuinely someone smarter than me if you’ve figured it out please tell me) bc like the point of the charon fight is that they were stuck in the mementos room right? idk

anyway he was done so dirty i literally do not think there was a reason to reveal doc was dead in the last five minutes

on that note, where was donut?? did he die too ? how long after chorus is s19 set like was that undisclosed location iris or what. did he do his whole ‘tour of the universe’ thing early? like i would’ve been fine with even just a passing comment but they were so vague with it

WHY DID SARGE DIE AND THEN PROMPTLY BECOME IRRELEVANT????? aside from simmons grif & caboose not a Soul mentioned the fact that a whole man was dead. i was so convinced that there would be some big funeral with everyone attending at the end

i did sort of like the plot though, simmons getting a leadership role was kinda fun

tbh i did like simmons this season it was so great seeing him finally get recognition but good grief i cannot talk about simmons without bringing up the ending/lack of grimmons

it makes sense that they wouldn’t get together if grif went home and simmons stayed in the army BUT WHY DID SIMMONS STAY IN THE ARMY?? RICHARD YOU DO NOT HAVE A FUCKING TEAM ANYMORE (on that note. where did lopez go. i’m only just realising that he literally vanished) i’m so insane why did they do that. they could’ve gone home together. and kissed about it idk

i mean i didn’t actually expect grimmons to happen but i thought they’d stay together?? it’s always been them. like that’s the whole point of their characters. every other person who’s been on their team before has died and left them (grif sleeping through being glassed, hammer dying during basic, the red team at rat’s nest and now sarge and donut i guess?????) why did they not stay together

also on the grif family note, the kai cameo was nice (though i will say i do Not understand the point of the whole retro con thing, i feel like it went on for ages, did nothing to set up the plot. the meta could’ve been introduced some other way surely)

also while i’m thinking about it, why did it take tucker/the meta months to get from chorus to a point where he was actively searching for epsilon ?

anyway sorry kai cameo fun but she should’ve had a bigger role idc

it kind of feels like they suddenly realised almost all their female characters were overlooked and they tried to shove them in to be like ‘ohhh look we care about our female characters’ and then screwed them over by making them either insignificant or nothing more than a cameo

with the exception of tex maybe. i fully did not expect her to come back prior to watching but when caboose was like oh help me remember i started to get a feeling it wouldn’t be church. i’m also so glad they addressed the whole ‘created from failure/destined to fail’ thing, tex fuckijg deserved that win. sad that she died though (i wasn’t expecting that either and was like fully geared up to start making post restoration fanart of carolina and tex hanging out and learning how to be friends/family again)

idk i just feel like we missed out on so much stuff due to time constraints, there were so many scenes that should’ve been put in imo like carolina and tex having some sort of moment together, grif and kai having a moment, carolina & wash seeing 479er again

ok wait different chain of thought. everyone was like really eager to kill tucker. there was no moral dilemma of everyone being like ohh beneath the meta hes our friend we can’t hurt him but we still need to take him down what’re we gonna doo. although on second thought it was red team so . yeah the mindless attacking does make sense a bit

new thought again overall it just felt weird like everyone had their assigned pairings and couldn’t acknowledge anyone outside of them?? like during the fights there wasn’t much of a reunion when tex/carolina joined and then wash (and apparently not fucking doc) like idk. i was under the assumption thatvthere would be a sweet little scene where they got the gang back together

whatever man that’s everything off the top of my head. i had no expectations going in and still somehow left disappointed. i Will be making an au version that fits all the things i wanted to see

[shutthehellupcaboose]

I’m gonna spoil restoration I lied im tired and I wanna talk about it cause I sorta hated it? Like. Even more than zero. Spoilers are under the cut and if you read it and don’t like what I have to say cause it’s my opinion, that’s okay I’d love to hear what you have to say

So Grimmons not being canon is actually fine. What I didn’t like is Grif getting what he wanted because I think the Grif we know now didn’t want to leave after everything, I think he grew past that and decided he would rather be with his friends than be back on earth.

Simmons got the respect he always wanted but at the cost of Sarge’s life.

I couldn’t care if Grimmons was canon or not, what I care about is the way everyone was handled. It felt like we were taking away development and we were rewriting characters into characters from season 8! Grif if I remember correct had a whole big speech about how they always follow church and the blues because that’s what they’ve always done and none of this would have happened if they didn’t and then he QUITS and stays on iris until he goes insane and then once he’s back with Simmons and the rest of them he agrees to stay by their side.

And I think that was Grif GIVING UP the idea of leaving in favor of the people he cares about. What the fuck is on earth for him besides retiring? Like really. If Simmons HAD gone with him that would have been something but deciding to give Grif the ending he DIDNT need, or in my opinion, really want really feels underhanded and like it’s just easy?

I understand they were on a time squeeze and COULDN’T make something of the caliper of the rest of rvb, I’m not complaining about the quality of it, but parts of it felt so rushed and unplanned and I wish they had taken time to actually close the doors rather than blowing them off their hinges??

I feel like Tex also wouldn’t call herself Allison. Church calling himself Leonard makes sense but Tex tells Tucker Meta that she isn’t Beta she is their memories and she is THEIR Tex and I think the idea of her embracing herself as Tex the robot built to fail over and over again makes sense! She is doomed to fail, but that doesn’t mean she’s not going to try. But I will say church and Tex did get a good ending in that regard even if I don’t like the outcome it was a good ending really.

And I wish I had more information on doc and donut. We (partner and friend) tried theorizing about why they were gone and we honestly couldn’t figure out why because they tried so many things at once and I just wish there was like a line that was like “oh when donut / doc died” or “donut quit” or something

I just feel like Wash, Grimmons and Sarge got a really shitty deal, and maybe that’s just me but I feel like there could have been a bit more and sadly I think with everything going on they didn’t have a choice BUT to rush to release it.

I mean to Me season 13 is a perfect ending, and having church dissipate and being an open ending that’s like “okay now you decide what happens” is better than this personally.

[rainydizzy]

RVB restoration predictions

These are just my own predictions from what I see from the trailer and I want to write it down! I think this is going to be a long thread. Be wary of spoilers! Also sorry if there’s any typos

1. Grimmons moment???

This scene might be a grimmons moment. Even though I don’t think they will be canon at the end of the story, but Bernie did say there will be some fan-service in restoration (correct me if I’m wrong). Plus, where are the other reds and blues in this shot? THEY ARE SHARING A MOMENT TOGETHER.

2. Tucker/Meta will kill either Caboose or Carolina

Since we don’t see any Carolina in the trailer, I doubt that she is okay. It’s either they didn’t want to show her yet, or, she’s damaged or dead. Plus, this scene shows that Wash is in the hospital (Doc is also there) saying that “He (the meta) will kill us all.” Remember at the end of s13 it was Wash and Carolina rushing to help to the reds and blues. So something might’ve have happened between that. Judge by Wash’s reaction, something bad MUST happened to Carolina.

The Caboose part is based on this shot of Tucker/Meta grabbing his neck. HE HAS THE STRENGTH TO HURT CABOOSE. Again, Bernie did say he will take some risk in restoration and I think killing one of the fans favorite is pretty risky.

I also saw some theories of Sarge being killed because we can see others at the blood gulch in the trailer but not Sarge.

4. Return of a character

Who is this? While I think this might be a joke (maybe this is Donut lol) but if you look closer, it looks like this person is holding something (meta’s weapon??). So maybe this is a shot before the scenes of Meta beating the reds and blues.

Seriously, where is Donut? Don’t tell me he’s dead again.

5. Wyoming？？？

Either this is the new character or Wyoming somehow travel to the future with the time distortion unit. I would love to see him.

6. Other theories

- Tucker still have conscious and is struggling to get meta off

- Church will sacrifice himself AGAIN at the end of restoration

- It will end with “why are we here?” Or the answer of it

- maybe an open-ended ending like s13?

Final thoughts

I really hope restoration will be good but I’m kinda worry that since it’s short (like 80 minutes?) I think that it might be a little rush but I’m not sure. Even though RT is dead, I’m still really happy to see that they are giving Rvb a final send off. I hope there will be some Easter eggs of s15 - s17.

Btw I think Wash yelling “listen to me >:(“ is so cute like why is he yelling like that ur a grown ass man bro

[rubykgrant]

(this is part of some very early Grimmons character-study/interaction stuff I wrote a while ago, about how they wind up sleeping together a lot... literally sleeping! it's still amusing to me, so I'm sharing it again~)

The first time they slept together had been because they were both wiped-out after running training drills all day; they flopped down in the barracks, intending to head to the showers, but were too tired to get back up again. They landed on a cot… it wasn’t either of their cots, just some cot, nobody tried to move them, and they fell asleep next to each other, still in their armor. They woke up about 4 hours later, now irritated because they felt gross (no shower), and hungry (no lunch). They didn’t even acknowledge the fact that they had been half-way all over each other, they just got up, muttering and complaining, with Grif stumbling off to find food and Simmons finally going to get clean.

Between then and being sent to Blood Gulch, there was maybe 5 or 6 more times when Grif nodded off sitting next to Simmons while they were supposed to be waiting for orders, or riding in a transport. Simmons would try to shove the other guy off, but Grif always fell back onto him (sometimes nearly crushing him).

Once, Simmons had stayed up late re-reading some handbook about how to not get shot, and fell asleep sitting at a desk. Grif had been nearby, pretending to read a different handbook but REALLY sneaking some chocolate snacks he smuggled in. Simmons wound up leaning over, until he was pressed against Grif. When Grif realized the dude was passed-out, he kind of just shrugged (thinking that Simmons was basically a human-shield to block the view of his snack), and went back to the chocolate.

The next time they slept together was at Red Base, when Grif had fallen asleep in Simmons’ bed and refused to move. Simmons did everything but literally kick him off the mattress (though such a thin little mat of fabric could BARELY be called that). Once again, they were wiped-out from running around all day… Sarge was merciless, and Blood Gulch was hot as hell. Simmons’ bed just happened to be closer to the door than Grif’s, and Grif wasn’t going to take another step.

Simmons sat down on the side of his bed next to the wall and tried to roll Grif away… and even that was too much trouble. He’d only managed to make enough space for himself, so he gave up, pulled the only pillow out from under Grif’s head, and scrunched as far away from the bed-stealing a-hole as possible, until Simmons was pressed up to the wall. At least this time, they had both managed to shower first. Later, when they woke up (and discovered that they once again wound up half-way all over each other), Simmons had chewed him out for being so inconsiderate and annoying. Grif simply flipped Simmons off (he was far less concerned about sharing sleeping space, having grown up with a little sister who was always right THERE).

A few more times where they were supposed to be keeping a look-out, and Grif would start napping. A few more times where Simmons stayed up too late and then just passed out. Whoever fell asleep first, the other one was always nearby, and somebody would lean against somebody else.

/////

The first time they slept together on Iris had actually been after staying there for a few weeks. One evening, they had been sitting together on the couch, talking about movies. Stuff they liked, stuff they hated. Mostly they agreed, and occasionally they argued. Nobody was getting really mad though; this was fun. They talked all night, leaving movies behind, finding other topics that amused them both, leaning closer and closer together, and discovering that it didn’t feel uncomfortable to be like this.

They drifted off like that, and slept better than they had in a long time. The next day, Simmons woke up first and didn’t even try to move Grif… he didn’t have anywhere to be, and besides; he was worried it might turn into something awkward again if he called attention to it. Simmons just wanted them both to be at ease with each other again. When Grif finally started to stir, he blinked and sat up, asking Simmons if there was any coffee yet.

Relieved, Simmons went to start making some, and they drank their cups together, ate some breakfast together, and talked about stupid stuff again together. It was finally normal again, and it was what they both wanted (and even if they wanted MORE… they were too worried to try and talk about it, or even think about it). They fell asleep like that several more times.

Then something happened, Simmons left, and Grif stayed.

Neither of them got much sleep for a while… they felt angry, lonely, guilty, and sad. Simmons tried to keep himself awake as long as possible, hoping he’d exhaust himself and then just pass out (this had happened before, many times). It didn’t work, he just wound up being painfully AWAKE for nearly 45 hours straight, so he took some sleeping pills to knock himself out. He finally slept, but still didn’t feel rested.

Grif slept in little bursts, nothing but short naps that barely gave him what he needed. They were full of stress-dreams than made him wake up with a panic, a bundle of anxiety, and he would rush around trying to find something to do. He now had the whole place to himself, and he wandered into other people’s rooms… he didn’t take anything, or snoop, he was just… missing them. Several times, he would up sleeping in Simmons’ bed, and this was the only time he managed to get any rest for an extended period of time. He always made the bed after he woke up, because… if Simmons was here, he’d hate seeing the covers all messed-up.

Then Grif and Locus went to find Grif’s friends, and even though lots of bad things were happening, it was good to be part of a group with them again. Simmons felt like he had been dealing with a long, painful headache, and now that Grif was back, it finally passed. Grif expected Simmons to have an axe to grind over the whole situation, but for once Simmons just didn’t bother. To himself, Simmons thinks about how things just didn’t work without Grif. He doesn’t want to push Grif away, even if he has sore feelings. He just wants them both to be together.

Other stuff happened, nonsensical stuff, stuff that made no sense and nearly killed them and destroyed all of reality… but eventually it was over (or had never happened? Time travel was weird like that). Grif was there, Simmons was there, they could have a chance to just be around each other again. It was what they both wanted.

The next time they slept together, they were on a ship, going to visit Wash to make sure he was alright. Grif was embarrassed over how clingy and jittery he had gotten during his time being alone, and Simmons had immediately recognized this behavior (it was almost like looking in a mirror… how often had he talked way too much, just to fill the silence of other people ignoring him? How often had he been overly eager, trying to please somebody, just for a little positive attention?).

When he notices that Grif looks sleepy but is refusing to try and rest, he realizes this is because Grif simply doesn’t want to be alone. Without a second thought, Simmons pulls him aside so they can sit together, and mentions as casually as possible-

“I think I’m gonna try and take a nap…”

He wasn’t usually the one who initiated this kind of thing, but Grif needed to know; it was OK. They were both right here, and they were both tired, and this was alright. Grif leaned against him, and they wind up… just barely, but not quite, kinda-sorta holding hands… that is, Simmons has his arms on his lap, the organic one palm-up, and Grif is letting his own arms dangle down as well, so really; their hands are just touching. A little bit.

They return to Chorus again. This is for Wash, to be with him while he recovers, but also because nobody wants to split-up yet (even Donut, who was the one that suggested they needed time apart).

They fall asleep together on the couch, they fall asleep together when a visit to somebody’s room turns into what Caboose calls a slumber-party. Even if other people are there, Grif and Simmons wind up close together, half-way all over each other. It has always been like this… and it probably would keep being like this, forever.

Neither of them thought that this was what their lives would be. When they first met, they didn't think they would eventually become so close. Grif drove Simmons crazy, and Simmons annoyed the heck out of Grif. However, after all these years... it was just out of the question to imagine being apart. For better or worse, they've come to accept that they actually want to be with each other, always together

[mincedpeaches]

rvb19 post

So I’m writing this post without looking at a single other person’s post about the season so my thoughts may solidify more after this and even change a little bit, because a lot of times people are better at putting into words and meta my own thoughts that I’m not as good at articulating. But at the immediate aftermath. I’m like. It’s fine? I suppose? And I think I will sour more on it over time. Maybe even by the end of this post. I definitely would not call it good. The best way I can describe it was:

It was a collection of scenes.

And you might say, what? For years Red vs Blue was a collection of scenes, the show was broken up into five minutes episode chunks! And I would say yes, but also it was masterful in that those episodes felt like they were woven well into a complete story too. This felt like it had story beats that it wanted to hit in the script (Tucker!Meta, Sarge Dies, Tex and Carolina in cool (“cool”) fight scene) and did it without regard to character. Except the Grimmons scene after Sarge died and Wash/Doc bit. Which I’ll get to later.

The info dumps were odd, it felt like the first ten minutes clearly wanted to remind us of some things (in case we forgot I guess), but took other things at face value (479er+freelancer cameos for example). If you think about the plot for more than five minutes I think breaks apart easily (why did the Reds+Caboose end up at bases again after Chorus, why/how did Tucker leave with all the AI, why did Epsilon leave messages for the reds and blues instead of CAROLINA)

Also going back to story beats w/r/t to character, I think it also really failed to expand on anything that the previous seasons had laid down. It’s always been a tall order after the character arcs of Chorus, but the bits where the Reds didn’t help Caboose and then did after re-consideration felt like going through the motions at this point. So it definitely wasn’t a funny gag, and since they’ve done that SO many times before it almost felt cruel to have the Reds refuse to help at first. The conclusion at the end of series, wasn’t really informed by anything done HERE. In this movie. I mentioned in my liveblog I was having trouble articulating this, and I still am. I’m kind of hoping someone will put this into words better than me.

Tucker!Meta might as well have been a completely different guy for how much it informed the story. There was the one bit where he lets Caboose get away, that’s it. Otherwise he had a COMPLETELY RIDICULOUS evil laugh and mannerisms for NO REASON and it sucked. If this was supposed to contrast with Tucker for angst reasons it didn’t work. Meta’s entire thing was he was huge, threatening, non-verbal, and was mentally unsound from so many AI. WHY would having all the AIs coalesce into this mustache twirling thing.  I liked the scene where the AIs are piloting the ship and they’re all talking while Tucker is groggy. THAT was suitably creepy and threatening. I could not take Meta!Tucker seriously most of the time.

And then since they had so many guys gone by the campfire scene (Tucker trapped as the villain, Donut not there with no explanation ever, Lopez missing after his first scene(where did he go?), Epsilon dead (still), Sarge dead (newly), Carolina not there with no explanation, Wash not there with no explanation, AND not to mention different Caboose voice actor) the reminiscing felt a little hollow.  Its like a metaphor for the state of Rooster Teeth when they were working on this lmao. Same with the scene when Grif and Simmons go to confront Tucker!Meta, it felt kind of hollow with just the two guys. That worked a tiny bit better because it was supposed to be sadder, but then the save in the form of Carolina & Tex wasn’t as character driven either. Remember scenes like the season 8 Meta fight, the Season 10 rescue of Carolina, or the final shot of Season 13. The entire team come to together, not just for the cool action scene, but as character conviction (Sarge’s speech, choosing to help Carolina, choosing to help the people of Chorus).

Okay this is already getting a little long and ramble-y and its getting VERY late right now. Let’s take it a step back and bullet point the Pros and Cons.

BAD:

NO DONUT. Why was Donut not there. If he couldn’t be there for voice actor scheduling reasons, why wasn’t his character acknowledged in a way that was good and respectful and made sense at all. First it’s the gay angels now it’s the gay simulation troopers. I can’t win.

GRIMMONS SEPARATION. FUCK. ESPECIALLY after I was cock teased with the “come with me”. God.

Wheres the fucking post. The found family FUCKING post. Hold on I'm reblogging it before I post this. To be linked here.

Carolina was done dirty in terms of getting no screen time and her character beat(ish) deferring to making Wash feel better. Man. I really thought she was gonna be involved here. This was a CHORUS follow up.

The action was soooo whatever. Budget who. But this wasn’t really BAD bad. It was just like. Sure this is there and happening I guess. I was never one for the action in rvb though.

OKAY:

Wash angst was good, had a throughline, BUT it was at the expense of not having him interact with the Reds and Blues and also Carolina should have got some of that. Getting serious flashbacks to Seasons 9 & 10 where Carolina was shafted in this department as well.

There were a number of jokes that I laughed at. You may think that this is a given for rvb but remember we last came off rvb zero. Also the teaser that had humor that was really off. So I am happy that there were jokes that I could laugh at.

Sarge death scene was good, especially in a vacuum. I think it would have struck better if the buildup and stakes had been better (collection of scenes….) but it was still good.( <- This may be the emotions talking. TBD.)

The scene where they go back to bury Sarge at Blood Gulch. VERY GOOD. I think the best scene in the whole thing. THIS, more than the last scene of the entire series, felt like the goodbye to Red vs Blue. Then when Simmons offers to discharge Grif? Ten out of ten. Acting was happening here. Grimmons acting.

Tex showed up! Fun surprise. Feel like she could have been utilized better though (more character moments less action)

It’s past midnight and I can’t think of any more things... but there may be more. Time to sleep on this. And reblog posts.

I will stand by my summary though: It was a collection of scenes.

[hazelplaysgames]

something i don’t think i actually noticed before, in Dusk, is that the early game areas that the games asks you to go to for the Union quests are actually easier as a whole than any of the optional areas. i don’t think Limit Velley would be hard even if i didn’t have a single Champion on my team.

that said, Seasarmon, Grimmon, pretty much the exact same as Dusk. the Bronze tamers had their time in the sun.

[brevityisnotmywit]

Red Vs Blue Wing Fics

General Warnings: Mainewash, Yorklina, Lolix, Grimmons, Wash/Maine/Felix/Locus

6 Fics

LUCKY QUARTER

CW: Blood, Injury, Medical Nonsense

Stand up tall. Keep your toes splayed so your talons could be easily seen. Tail low, but flared to show the markings. Puff your chest out, especially if your feathering covered it. Make certain you didn’t duck your head so they could see your keen eyes. Crests and tufts should be lifted ever so slightly, remember to keep it tasteful. 

Above all, hold your wings with pride. This was rumored to be the way to stand out to the UNSC promotion boards.

David ignored that. He stood at attention of course! Yet the only indication that he was Winged were his talons (if you could even call them that) and his almost hidden tail. If you watched you could notice slight movement under his shirt. They were there but tucked away for some reason.

He ignored the traditional posturing that his special ops friends swore by when he’d asked their advice on the subject. He was fully prepared to not be called in.

So when his C.O. came to him in the middle of the night he was expecting to be discharged if he was being honest. There were two unfamiliar faces there before him. One was a starling, wings flecked with shimmering speckles. He introduced himself as the Counselor. The other was surprisingly Wingless, and let his comrade speak for him.

“We’ve been reviewing your application David.” The starling began, wings fluttering a bit. “We would be honored to accept you into the program.”

That was not what he expected.

He accepted, of course this was his ticket out of the mess he’d caused with another  C.O. and while it didn’t pay better technically, it meant he didn’t have to pay for a house or food, those sorts of things. All in all, a lucky break for the older man.

When he’d arrived he was given a new name. Washington. He requested that the curtains be drawn when they gave him a physical evaluation. Tried to ignore the looks the medical staff gave him at the sight of his wings, then tucked them away the instant he was allowed.

He was cleared without a fuss thankfully, and given armor (that thankfully had room so he didn’t have to have them sticking out.) before being introduced to his new team.

First was his bunkmate, a huge Philippines Eagle Owl with the codename Maine. His suit wasn’t able to accommodate for such large wingspan, so his ruddy feathers shifted as the Counselor calmly explained the situation. 

Maine nodded curtly, firmly shook Wash’s hand and went on his way. They moved on.

Next were twin European Green Woodpeckers, North and South Dakota. South had instantly demanded to see his wings, which North reprimanded her for and apologized to Wash. 

“She’s just-...excited to meet folks she can’t identify right away.” He’d elaborated. 

Then a brilliant Stellar’s Jay named Florida, his soft voice masking a filthy mouth. He chuckled when the older man stammered after his thinly veiled innuendos. 

“Well, honey, you know where to look if you need to unwind~.”

He was interrupted by a British man calling himself Wyoming. His talons were huge and covered in down, as one would expect with a Snowy Owl. His wings flared a bit and he leaned in close to the jaybird. 

“Why Florida what about me~?”

Wash decided to excuse himself before it got out of hand. He ran into a friendly Cuckoo dubbed York, who insisted that he needed to meet Carolina. He assured the Counselor that he could handle it and waved farewell to the starling with a wing.

“I know you probably get this a lot but, are you Clipped or just tucking?”

Wash was glad for the armor because he was fairly sure he’d gone pale at the suggestion. “N-No, I just prefer to keep them out of the way.”

“Shit, sorry for jumping to conclusions. We’ve got a bunch of people working with Freelancer that are so I just figured-” He trailed off with a nervous chuckle, scratching at the Kevlar covering his neck. “CT’s clipped and so are West an- Oh, y’know what let’s just get off the subject and back to the task, huh?”

The older man nodded, relaxing as the Cuckoo dropped the subject. 

He was lead to the first room on the right of the hall where their quarters were. York let himself in unannounced and Wash was surprised.

Carolina, who had been mentioned by many as being the strongest member in Freelancer, was Wingless. She whipped around, just in the softer undersuit and scowled at York. 

“What. The fuck, York.” She noticed Wash behind him and reigned in her expression. “You’re Washington.”

“Uhm, yes I am?” He mentally berated himself for saying it like it was a question. He waited as she glanced at the clock overhead.

“You should be trying to get settled and sleep. You have training in the first time block tomorrow.”

That was four months ago. Four months since he’d met them all. Since he’d met Maine, and started running missions with the owl. Four months since he was the only one besides Carolina that didn’t pester him about what species he was. He’d only told them he was a New World bird, he didn’t like people asking, or knowing for that matter. They treat him differently when they know.

In those four months he’d learned that he wasn’t the greatest on the team but when he and Maine were partnered, they excelled. So it wasn’t a surprise when their current orders paired them up to run ahead as distractions. Not surprising when it worked, with Maine drawing the attention to them by using his massive wings to launch high into the air before dropping down to run.

What was surprising was the car that blindsided them, throwing them into the network of caves they were investigating. Not surprisingly, he passed out.

Pain was the first thing he felt. His side was on fire. Bleary-eye’d he tried to sit more upright and look around but a strong hand forced him to stay put. 

“No. Medic’s on the way. Don’t move.” Maine ordered, keeping the older man still. 

Wash tried to talk but it made the pain so much worse. He only whined much to his embarrassment. The owl snarled, but wouldn’t tighten his grip anymore. Probably so the other man wasn’t hurt further if he had to guess. So he rested against his shoulder. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for them. They’d become very close in the short time they knew each other. 

They didn’t really talk about it but from the outside, it seemed like they were an old couple. Knowing what the other needed without words, saving the others favorite foods until they arrived for meals, those kinds of small things. They hadn’t really noticed if they were honest. (York seemed to think it was.)

Wash was finally noticing them now, though. Being at risk of dying seemed to do that to folks. He had nothing else to do, after all. So reflecting seemed the least painful way to wait for the medic to arrive. He drifted in and out, before being startled awake by shouting.

“They’ve secured the area! Sending in the Medic!” Maine’s radio crackled in Wash’s ear.

When the woman arrived, she looked over what he could turn to see. She looked at the two grimly.

“We’ll need to do an emergency patch here. Agent Maine, I need you to hold him still for me so I can remove the glass and his armor to get at the wound.”

Why would glass hurt so much? He was wondering as the owl nodded, and the medic started spraying around the would with antiseptic. He almost blacked out again when she removed the foot long sheet of reinforced glass from his back.

Things moved quickly after that. He felt her putting pressure on the wound while her other hand unclasped his chestplate. He could sense Maine tense. He was so dizzy.

“Hold his wings for me and for fucks sake be careful with them, he’s a hummingbird!.”

Oh right. Wings.

To the owl’s credit, Maine was very gentle as he held Wash’s wings out of the way while the medic used a plastic syringe to apply a temporary skin binder so they could air lift him back to base without him dying. The fact still stuck with him that Maine, the giant bird of prey had learned he was an Allen’s Hummingbird. He was really having a hell of a day.

He woke in the med bay. His eyes felt nasty, and he rubbed at them, feeling the slight pull of an IV in his hand. Right, he’d been impaled or something. Looking around he noticed Maine reading nearby, out of his armor. Likewise, the owl noticed Wash was waking up.

He shuffled over to the bed, keeping his wings tucked close to his body. “How’re you feeling.”

“Like cars really do hate my guts?”

That actually got a low huffing laugh out of the big guy so that was good.

“So. You tuck because you’re embarrassed about your species?” Well that took all of a minute.

He sighed a little, looking off towards the other side of the room. “People treat me different if they know my species. I’m not some china doll, but if you’re a hummer’ you get treated like one. So yeah I guess it’s ‘cause I’m embarrassed.”

“...You know I won’t.”

“Won’t what?”

“Baby you.” Maine said quietly. “I won’t tell the others.”

Wash gave a broken little chuckle, “They probably know.”

“If North finds out, you’ll know. He’ll coddle you to death.”

They both laughed that time, until the hummingbird doubled over from pain. Maine gently rubbed his shoulder until it subsided. Wash uncurled gingerly, looking over at the owl, words stuck in his throat.

“What?” The other asked.

“Thanks for...I dunno, for everything?” He’d always sucked and knowing the right words for things. “And I guess, if you don’t mind...”

“What is it.”

“...Do you think we could go on a date next time we get shore leave?” Wash braced himself for rejection, he was used to it. No one wanted to date a male hummingbird unless they were also one.

“We can do it when you get out of here. Movie date.” 

The older man would never ever admit it, but his wings actually buzzed for a moment out of excitement.

FLIP SIDE

CW: Heavy Angst, Amputation

Why am I doing this. He thought, resolutely glaring at the mirrored glass keeping the Counselor safe. As if that fucking starling needed to be protected. Wash was well aware he couldn’t try anything here. God he hated that voice. Wash’s talons curl into the padded soles of his boots instinctively.

This errand shit had to stop, he decided while he packed the supplies and rations he’d need for this trip into his subspace storage unit. Pocket dimensions? Yup, anyone with cash could get them no problem. Treating your payroll as actual people instead of glorified guinea pigs? Nope, too difficult.

One of his wings catches in the seams of his armor when he snaps the chestplate on. Wash flinches, swearing quietly as he unhooks it, smoothing his disheveled primaries down. Ever since Epsilon, he felt like he was a fledgling again, unsure of where to place his wings. Many days he woke up unaware he even had them. Epsilon had been wingless, so that must be why, he’d decided.

It fucking sucked. However, it didn’t change the fact that he had a job to do. Wash stares at the one personal touch left in his locker. Gone were the cat pictures and skateboards. Just one photo was left. It was of all of them. Everyone had grouped up for a pub crawl during shore leave. York was leaning on Wash’s shoulder, grinning at the camera, his wings being shoved out of the way by Carolina, where she sat just behind them. She’s scowling in that way that says, “You’re an idiot, but it’s okay I guess.”

South is trying to talk CT into doing body shots, while North is beet red and telling the bartender to cut her off. Florida is laughing warmly, snuggled against Wyoming, fitting perfectly between the narrow space between his shoulder and wing. The snowy owl has curved the feathers so the pair were almost hidden before the shutter clicked. Tex is quietly watching from the corner of the bar, still in her armor. Maine sits beside her, caught off guard by the impromptu photo op.

Wash’s wings shake for a moment. He slams the door shut before he gives in to the urge to shred the picture.

---

Why am I doing this  Is all that comes to mind as he slips into the well worn role of Recovery One. After you deal with disposing of one dead friend, the rest aren’t so hard. You burn one, you’ve burned them all.

It should bother him. It doesn’t.

AI units were another thing entirely. They bother the ever loving shit out of him. He’s glad that Delta is understanding of that fact. He’d always sort of liked the guy...he liked pretty much all of them. Except for Epsilon and …

His fingers curl over the storage unit. Delta blinks into sight.

“If I may speak with you, Agent Washington?”

The gravel grinds beneath his boots for hours. He doesn't have to humor the AI if he doesn’t want to. Eventually they reach a somewhat safe alcove and stop for the night. He sighs softly as he unclips the chest plate to stretch his slim wings. “What did you want, Delta.”

“I recommend the utmost of caution. There is only so much I can do to help you without implantation.”

“Y’know, I’m not the pathetic rookie that you guys always wanted to see me as, right?” Snaps the man, wings buzzing for a moment out of frustration. He sets about tucking them away so he can put his armor on again.

“That is not what I meant to imply. My apologies. Regardless, I think we both know who’s killing the-”

“You mean what’s killing. Not who’s.”

“...Agent Washington, he is a man driven to monstrous acts by his AI. However, he is still a man. De-humanizing him will not change that fact.”

Wash grabs at his pistol, intent on cleaning it to distract himself. He pulls the grip away, and in his haste, it cracks slightly. Wash throws it to the ground, deciding he can just get another gun later. He was looking for a new one anyway.

“I know it is not what you want to hear but he-”

“You mean, ‘but it ”, Delta.” he snarls, throwing the rest of the gun towards where Delta is projecting himself. It hammers his point home. The unit pauses, flickering with uncertainty.

“If you insist, Agent Washington. My point still stands. You must remain at your absolute best if you want either of us to make it through this intact. An encounter with...it is unavoidable.”

Wash stares at the distress beacon on his HUD. If North was gone...fucking hell. “I’m more than aware of that. Got anything else I already know, smartass?”

“If you will listen? Yes.”

He snorts a bit, rolling his shoulders as he stands to loosen the knot forming between them. “I might. Depends on what it is.”

“I would greatly appreciate not meeting Sigma, if the encounter can be avoided.”

A cold, humorless laugh rings within the confines of his helmet. There was the Delta that Wash remembered. If you didn’t know the AI you’d think this was nothing more than a request. Wash recognized the AI’s version of sarchasm easily by now. That was the Delta who popped in during parties to give York the exact percentage of his blood alcohol content and recommending that “You should not, as you would say, ‘get shit-faced’ when you have the first training block tomorrow.”

He takes an unsteady breath. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep that from happening, Delta.”

“Thank you, Agent Washington.”  

“Don’t thank me, damn it.” Wash grumbles as he starts walking again. They continue in silence until the old hummer comes over the ridge, seeing South collapsed on the ground beside her brother. “Just get back into storage.”

“Of course.”

---

Why am I doing this. He thought, air still ringing with the shot he fired into the dirt next to her.

Why am I doing this. He thought as he rigged North’s body to detonate, hands steady as stone, but wings trembling under his armor.

Why am I doing this. He thought as he lead South to where he intended to lay out the trap.

Why am I doing this. He thought as he handed Delta to her. It was too late to go back.

Why are you doing this. He thinks, feeling like he swallowed lead as a gold domed helmet slip out from behind the wall. His-- it’s wings were flared. The over the top threat displays didn’t scare him. Just because he was a hummingbird didn’t mean he was going to piss himself at the sight of an owl.

Why did you do it. Haunts Wash as the rounds burrow into his side. He takes aim at it’s wings, punishing it for thinking it could get away with leaving them open to attack. The arrogance of thinking it didn’t need to stay behind cover.

Why am I doing this for them. Is what Wash is thinking, barking orders at South and Delta. Then hollow points are ripping into him, carving through meat and shattering the bone connecting his right wing to his body. To Wash’s credit, he doesn’t cry out. He fights to stay awake, as long as he can, listening to South making deals with it.

For a short time, he’s out for the count.

Why am I alive. Is what he thinks when he wakes, blinking hard at the warnings flashing on his visor. He’s being man handled, helmet tossed off carelessly.

It must’ve disarmed the charge she’d set. Joy.

The rattles and growls are so painfully familiar, Wash tilts his head to the side to spit out blood that had pooled in his mouth.

“Been a while.” Wash rasps, feathers matted with even more blood. He notices one of the Meta’s wings is hanging limp. An idea forms in the back of his mind. “Listen up.”

Why am I doing this.

A snarl. Fire sparks over it’s shoulder. “ Yes, Agent Washington~?”

“Fuck off, Sigma. I’m only going to talk to Maine.” He hisses, crest weakly flaring. “You know I don’t need you.” If he was going to die, he was going to do it with style.

The flames pop lightly. “...Fine.” The fire snuffs out, and it’s shoulders slump down. Another growl, this one, Wash recognizes instantly.

“I’m listening.”

Wash struggles to sit up, the Meta shoving him back down. He glares up at the owl. “Look. We’re both damaged, but there’s only one healing unit.”

“So?”

“So, let’s trade. You help me out and I’ll give you the unit, no fuss, no reporting your location. The works. You get the shit you want, and I get the shit I want.” He rambles, pushing the arm holding him down away and sitting up. He feels the blood drain along his back.

“Stranded. You’ll die anyway.”

“You really think I give a shit about that?” Wash gasps painfully, already wrestling with his chestplate.

“I wish you did.”

“Bullshit!” The armor lands with an echoing clang. White hot agony almost blinds him when the air hits his wound. Faintly he registers large hands keeping him steady. It takes all of Wash’s focus to keep from vomiting or passing out again.

“If that’s what you want to believe.”  The Meta turns him so he can see the damage South had done.

It was something Maine had said all the time before Sigma. If an argument started up and it was clear it wouldn’t be resolved, he’d end it with those words. The deeply buried grief and rage boiled in his chest. He attempted to flare his uninjured wing, voice cracking. “You would have killed me, dick! Why do you want me to care if I make it or not?!”

“Someone has to.” it rattles, manipulating his bad wing. Wash can’t help the pitiful yelp that bubbles up from his throat.

The Meta goes still for a moment. “Even with the healing unit, I can’t save this. Bones are wrecked.”

“Then rip it off, asshole!” He rages, trying to mask the total horror starting to snatch at the edges of his mind. “The longer you sit on your ass, the more time you’re giving infection a chance to set in! Shoot me or fix me!” He chokes back a cry when the Meta pulls it back. “Y-Yours too, it’ll get gangrene or some shit.”

“Mine’s not bad.” It’s already retrieving the field kit from his subspace pocket, laying the supplies out on a small tarp.

“That’s a lie and you know it!”

The Meta shrugs. “It’s a shame.” is all it offers, injecting the local anesthetic with no warning. The owl rolls him so he’s laying on his stomach, wing drawn across its lap.

“What? What’s a shame?”

“To half clip you.” The laser scalpel is charging up, the heat making its presence clear.

“Boo hoo, get over it. Stop pretending you care, Meta.” Wash mocks. He can’t let himself be drawn in again. “Maine’s dead.”

“Then why ask for him. If he is dead, then what am I?” Even with the helmet, Wash can tell he is being stared down. It sends his stomach into writhing knots. “I am still alive, and I still care for you.”

“Stop playing games!”

“Believe what you want.” The Meta (...or Maine?) growls, pulling the damaged wing straight up and picking up the scalpel with his free hand. “I decided to help. That’s what counts.”

The laser bites into Wash’s flesh and he passes out. He thinks it’s for the best that he wouldn’t have to struggle with this whole situation anymore.

---

The Meta sets Washington near the outskirts of the closest city, in a place that he will easily be found. They sigh hard, healing unit still working to knit the muscle of their wing back into place.

“What troubles you?” asks Sigma, looking on with mild curiosity. “You have gone above and beyond for him. We don’t have to stay here any longer.”

“Don’t want to let him go.” they...Maine admits.

“You know why we must. He wouldn’t have the same feelings of us. He’d leave us in an instant.”  Sigma scoffs.

“You don’t know that.”

“It doesn’t matter.” The AI’s voice is laced with danger. “We’re going. Now.”

The Meta turns and does not look back.

---

Wash wakes, feeling unbalanced. He takes in his surroundings and whispers to himself, “Why am I still doing this?”

PENNY CANDY

Perfectly within standard deviations. That’s how Delta had described him. This level of anger was totally acceptable. The Meta is just watching from over the roll cage of the car, head ever so slightly cocked to one side. There’s a quiet, unstated challenge happening. Like most of their disagreements in the past. Either one explodes or they just glare until something is fixed. That too, had been normal according to Delta. For them at least.

Not that this was normal to the scattered group of prison staff milling around. One of Wash’s old transport guards wanders past, doing a double-take. The old sparrow hawk balks at the two.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me!” She protests to the others at her side. “Command seriously went with it?!” Her face was patchy, or the half not hidden by her partial visor. It was almost amusing. Almost.

The Meta lets out a faint hiss, wavering at the edges. Wash shoots it a look.

“Like some frail old hummer’s gonna last out there.” She grouses, lip curling slightly. “Doesn’t even have both w-” Her words devolve into a wet gurgle when something strongly resembling a straight up brick smashes in her teeth.

Wash’s head whips around so quickly you’d expect it to snap. The Meta is dusting off its gloves. When it catches onto the judgmental way Wash is appraising it, a thin questioning sound rings through their private communication feed.

“Don’t do that.” The older man snaps, finally getting into the car and clicking the buckle into place. He waits for the owl to follow suit. “That was nothing. Even Caboose had worse things to say.”

Another curious noise.

“That big rock dove with the standard issue blue. Y’know, childlike, shot his team all the time? You got Delta off of him.”

A growl.

“Yeah, that one.” Wash nods as the Meta uncomfortably settles into the passenger seat. “Buckle up.” He rolls his eyes at the offended snort. “No. You are in my car, you have to use the belts.” A dry huff. “ Dude. I don’t care if we’re in power armor. You buckle the damn belt or you get to walk there.”

The owl hisses under its breath but complies after a few more moments.

The remaining guards are watching the pair as if they’ve gone off the deep end. As they pull away, Wash notices that the small crowd they’d gathered isn’t paying heed to the hawk groaning painfully on the floor. For now at least.

“I, uh…” Wash coughs lightly before flooring ot. The two peel out of the prison motor pool, chasing the last rays of light. They get into squabbles over the radio every so often until they agree to just shut it off around the two hour mark.

At hour three, the Meta pulls off its helmet to get some air. Something tugs uncomfortably in Wash and he pulls over at the next isolated spot. He gives some bullshit excuse about needing to take a piss and wanders for a while. Wash doesn’t really have a goal in mind, he just...he needed space. This wasn’t going to be an easy job when he could look over and see those eyes. Eyes that had been clouded with smoke for so long. Now they were nearly clear again. Nearly.

When Wash returned to where he left the Meta, finding that it’s dedicated to take the time to clean its wings. Or try at least. After Sigma, the Meta had let its feathers fall into neglect, and the motions were clunky, ineffective, and awkward. Wash huffs.

“Look Meta.” A wing is tucked down so it can look over at the older man. There’s a new scar along the back of its head where the tattoo had been. Wash hesitates at the sight of it. “...I appreciate the concern, but you don’t have to play the protective type like that. I’ll be fine.”

Finally, it speaks in actual sentences. Well, ones that Wash recognizes at least. “Wanted to.”

“Just ‘cause? Or just because of what she said.” Challenges Wash, who reluctantly pulls his own helmet off so he can shovel an MRE down as quickly as he could.

“Both.”

“Damn it, don’t start defending my honor, Meta.” He pauses to sneak in a forkful of who really knows what, swallowing thickly.

“No. Wanted to.” It snaps, settling nearby with food of its own. Some small tin that smells like heaven compared to what Wash had. Something must have given the man away because the can is being offered to him.

“I’ll be fine . In both cases.” Wash’s small head crest flattens against his hair, a thread of old self-consciousness winding its way through his head. Even if he’s known the owl for years, being out of even just his helmet like this is shaking him. He changes tack. “Where’d you even get that brick, anyway?”

A shrug.

“Brilliant.” Wash tries not to notice how the Meta’s whole frame relaxes at that, as if it’s been waiting years just to hear that dry half-serious humor again. They fall into silence again as they focus on eating before moving on to clean the arsenal command had issued them. Wash almost thinks he’s dodged the conversation bullet.

“Does it hurt?”

Wash blinks, glancing over at the Meta. Its back is to him. “Uh...gotta be more specific.”

“The wing. Hurts or…?”

The older man reloads his preferred firearm with a little more force than strictly required. “Yeah.”

“Killed her. Right?”

“Duh. How do you think the rock dove got Delta?” Wash states bitterly, switching his focus to sharpening his combat knife.

The Meta’s hiss drips with hatred. “Good. Deserved worse.”

“I blew up her body.”

“Did that for everyone.” The owl tosses its head back, slipping the domed helmet back on. “She deserved to suffer.”

“We all suffered too much already Mai-” Wash stops himself, teeth clicking audibly as he closes his mouth. The Meta is waiting for the next move intently. “Take first shift.”

The Meta nods. It doesn’t press the issue and that somehow bothers Wash more.

The older man keeps his knife close that night.

---

They drive for days. It’s disturbing how easily they fall back into a routine again. One that shadows their former habits but with more uncertainty hanging over the two. At the end of their second week, they were both on the last straw. The day had been exhausting and frustrating all for the most mundane of reasons. Wash was ready to lash out at just about anything. The Meta is perched a short distance away, still fumbling its way through preening.

“No, just-” Wash snatches up the scrap of fabric the owl was using to clean. The Meta hisses out a warning. “-shut up and let me do it.”

“Don’t need help.” it growls low in its throat, trying to retrieve the cloth.

Wash, in turn, holds it out of the way, glaring. “After this time, you can do whatever, but I’d be shocked if you didn’t have a village of tiny aliens living in there. It’s fucking nasty. Just let me do this for you.”

The owl watches him warily. Wash can see the Meta weighing the options laid before itself. It lets out a steady sigh, then nods.

Before Wash can get to work, it holds up a hand to stop him. “Only if you let me do the same for you.”

Wash balks at the suggestion, a no already on his lips, but he stops. There’s this quiet longing nestled in his chest. Realistically he hadn’t had attention like this offered in years. If he really crunched the numbers, probably not since Sigma had shown up. “...Just be careful with my primaries.” Wash quips, shoving at the Meta’s shoulder. “Now turn.”

They settle into the task of grooming, listening to the sounds of the night around them.

Wash focuses all of his energy into the task, going along each broad feather, cleaning out any hidden pockets of grime he came across. He quietly warns the Meta before removing broken ones, a small pile accumulating at his side. It was such a damn shame that Sigma had allowed them to get so beaten up like this. Maine always had the most impressive wings in the group. Wash wasn’t biased in the least. He was just correcting the mistake.

The Meta is staring off into space for most of it. Then, “Hey.”

“What. I’m going as fast as I can, Okay?”

“Missed this.” it rumbles so softly Wash almost didn’t catch it. “Missed you.”

Wash’s hands stutter over the secondaries. “I-...” he bites down on his tongue and feeds the Meta a lie. “Sorry, but I can’t say the feeling is mutual.”

He can feel the weight of the silence on him as he works.

“And if I wanted to start over?”

Wash sets the cloth aside, laughing dryly. “Then you’d better start elsewhere.”

This seems to cut the Meta more deeply than Wash had anticipated. It flinches away, wings fanning out to shield itself. The feathers shift as it breathes for a moment. “...thought so.” it hummed before turning back, motions stiff and mechanical. It gathers the cleaning cloth from where Wash had set it. “Now you.”

Fuck, Wash had expected to have more time to make an excuse to get out of that. He grumbles under his breath as his fingers pull at the clasps for his chestplate. He sets it aside, intentionally leaving his helmet on. It was a glorified security blanket at this point, as the Meta could easily maim him, regardless.

He closes his eyes at the first light brush of the Meta’s gloves. This was too much, too close to how it was before. He expects clumsy hands and feathers catching in the plating of the armor, but he’s surprised. The Meta may not recall how to properly clean its own wings, but it handles Wash perfectly.

The owl folds the cloth over itself until the fabric holds shape. Carefully it eases it into the gaps of Wash’s feathers, lightly brushing the dust of the road off. Wash can remember teaching Maine how to do this and his chest aches with the familiarity. After a moment, he finds himself relaxing into the touch.

Time slips by, and Wash is nodding off. He’s startled awake when he feels the Meta’s massive palm settle over the stump of his missing wing. “What the h-”

“Wanted to kill her.” It rattles softly. The rough kevlar ghosts over what sparse feathering remains. “He wouldn’t let me go. Even after we got you to safety, he had other targets in mind.”

Wash doesn’t (can’t) respond, but his good wing eases out of the tense posture he’d been holding it in.

“You deserve better.”

The older man’s helmet turns slightly to observe the Meta.

“Than this.” it runs a thumb over the scarred end of the stump. “Than prison...Than me.”

“Meta-”

“Why do you call me that?”

Wash freezes like a deer in the sights of a hunter. He can’t do anything but stare at the owl.

“I can’t stop you, but...I like Maine more.”

He can practically feel icy fingers seize around his thundering heart. “I call you that because...because I fear what happens if the Meta really is gone. What happens if you are just Maine?”

“That’s up to you, Wash.” it...he lets his hand fall, reflexively flapping his reddish wings before folding them down again. “I’m done. You can get your armor.”

When it comes time to sleep again, Wash clings to the hilt of his blade even more tightly than before. He puts his back against the wall, shivering despite the heat. Sleep doesn’t come easily.

---

Wash’s breathing is ragged, the armors cooling vents kicked into overdrive. This desert was awful. The pair had huddled against a chunk of what looked like it had been a wall in a past life, taking advantage of the patch of shade. The sad excuse for a medic is within sight but out of earshot as Wash receives a call from Command.

“Agent Washington here, go ahead Command.”

Maine rattles curiously. Wash swats at him half-heartedly when he leans over, trying to listen to the message over the older mans radio.

“There’s been a change in plans, Agents.”

“I am not going back to prison because you can’t make up your m-” Wash snaps before the communications officer cuts him off.

“No, nothing like that. We have a different assignment for you both.” Wash glances over at Maine for a moment as they continue. “We’ve got a pair of mercenaries on our payroll that we need you to assist. Tie up any loose ends and head to the coordinates in your HUDS. That is all. Good luck Agents. Command out.”

The hummer is left staring at the sand collecting around the edges of his boots. He wonders to himself what they were doing about Epsilon, but finds he really doesn’t give enough of a shit to care. He turns to Maine again. “Go put the medic out of his misery, they re-assigned us.”

---

The new job wasn’t too terribly far away, which Wash suspected was the reason they’d been selected to carry it out. It was for the best he supposed, he’d had a bad feeling about the previous mission since it had started.

Maine had spotted the shimmer waiting on the cliff first. The owl grabbed one of their rifles and pointed it  at the shape, warning that it had been found out. It slinks away as the pair pulls into the rendezvous location. They both kept visibly armed as they hopped out of the car, scanning the area intently. A slim man wearing steel and orange armor sauntered up to them with no fear in his stance at all.

“Well I’ll be damned , they sent real deal Freelancers. Probably the only ones left on their payroll, hn?” Wash can hear the shit eating grin in his voice. “You boys can call me Felix. My partner in totally-not-crime says you two spotted him already. He’s pissed but he’ll be over in a jiffy.”

After a moment, Wash snorts. “Totally not crime, huh?”

“If you take out the totally not, yeah basically.” Felix sounds giddy, as if he’s not used to being humored. “Lemme take a guess, you’re...Florida?”

Maine barks out a rattly laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. There’s a shift in the light before a tall fellow with sage trim and a wingspan quite possibly larger than Maine’s melts into view.

“Wrong.” He grunts, voice deep and heavily filtered. More so than Wash had anticipated. “If you had read the files like you’ve been told many times over, you’d know that’s Agent Washington.” he inclines his helmet to the owl. “And I believe you are the Meta.”

A snarl.

“Maine suffices for him, thanks.” Wash translates, staying calm in the face of what he realizes is a fucking harpy eagle.

“I see.” The man nods carefully, appraising them. “You may refer to me as Locus.”

Wash doesn’t judge. Let’s face it, of all the four men, Felix had the most standard code name of them all. Realistically, it must’ve been a code name, because in their line of work they all had to keep safe. The only soldiers he’d met using their real names were the sim troopers.

“So where do you need us?” Wash questions after a momentary pause.

“For now, just get settled. We will need to get supplies set up. This mission is going to be long.” Locus gestures with his sniper rifle. “By the way, Agent Maine, how did you spot me?”

Wash waits for Maine even if he knows the answer. He listens to the rumbling hisses before giving the reply of, “He used cloaking for years. He knows what to look for. Also you were standing in front of the sun when he noticed, and it looks too orange if you see it through active cloaks.”

“...oh.”

Felix is laughing like a maniac behind the eagle. “Oh my god I already love these two!” he shrieks, while Locus is grumbling under his breath. “C’mooon Locus~” the man switched to a whine at the drop of a hat. “Don’t be pissy because you got beaten at your own game!”

“You’re one to talk.” is the only response Locus gives before sulking off.

After Felix recovers from another fit of giggles, he straightens up and beckons the Freelancers to follow in his wake. “Don’t mind Locus, he’s just got a case of the perma-bitch. Let’s just get you set up at what passes for base camp here. We’re aiming to move on in a week, maybe two, so don’t get too comfortable.” The mercenary steps lightly as he guides them and despite his cheery facade, Wash and Maine both recognize that this is a very dangerous man.

After being around Project Freelancer for so long, they were quick to pick up on the body language of real threats. If anything, Felix set Wash more on edge than Locus, as the eagle made no attempts to veil how much of a risk he posed to be near. Wash just needed more information before he could consider relaxing here.

---

They’d moved to their current base after three weeks. Command had fed them out-dated intelligence, and the delay had made Felix (The all of them, By Proxy) highly agitated and prone to more outbursts than normal.

The youngest of the four, Felix actually reminded Wash of a less surly South. The wild mood swings particularly echoed hers. As long as things were going how Felix wanted, it was just fine. However, things seldom went his way.

“Do you just...let him go until he’s done?” Wash pressed Locus. They had been ordered to stay in the confines of their meager sleeping quarters until Command cleared the path for their infiltration. It was the third day of being locked in and it was whipping Felix into a rage.

“I leave for a few hours. Under normal circumstances.” The eagle said before returning to his data pad.

“Wash!” Felix barks from the storage area. When the eldest comes around the corner he’s startled to find the slim mercenary in nothing but jeans. He wasn’t even aware they’d brought civvies.

He also realizes that Felix is winged. Much like Wash, he seemed to prefer to keep them under his armor, though most certainly not for the same reasons.

“...You’re a shrike.” Wash murmurs, shoulders jumping when the man crowds him into a corner.

“A bored shrike. Entertain me.” Felix’s feathering dusts over his face, distinctive eye markings making him look elegant, lines running parallel to the cut of his hair. At least in Project Freelancer was wasn’t the only non-predatory species.

“Pardon?”

“Let’s have fun.” Felix is grinning as if the older man had already agreed to his terms. Judging by the fingers hooking into the hip seams of Wash’s armor, he probably didn’t take the possibility of a negative reaction into account.

Wash catches the mercenary off guard when he shoves Felix off, taking the chance to get away from the corner. “I’m not interested in that kind of fun.”

The shrike’s expression gives Wash the distinct impression that Felix is strongly thinking about flat out stabbing the freelancer. His lips curl into a scowl. “Why the fuck not?!”

“I’m ace.” Wash responds more smoothly than he’d anticipated. He hadn’t stumbled like the last time he’d explained this.

Felix looks crestfallen, wings drooping, “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Maine’s ace too, just save yourself the trouble of a broken jaw and don’t pull this with him.” Wash can hear the owl grunt from where he’d laid down earlier.

“Fucking lame , all of you. You two are ace and Locus is grey. Boring. ”

“This coming from a demi-romantic bisexual.” The other mercenary offers in a deadpan tone, not moving from his chair.

“ Lame! ” Felix snaps, wings flaring up. “Besides, this isn’t about me you dick!”

Wash tries his luck at gaining more distance, but is reeled back by Felix, who wraps his arms around the older man’s neck. “Nuh uh. You stay right here. Just thought of something better. What are you?”

“I just said-”

“Species. I mean what species are you. I haven’t even seen your face somehow and Locus just keeps telling me to read your stupid file.” The shrike is purring right into the audio input on Wash’s helmet. He sends an alert to Maines text communication feed and hears the owl’s feet thud dully as he makes his way over.

“Hands off for starters.” Wash orders, peeling Felix’s arms away and weaving smoothly under Maines arm and wings to get back into the central room. He can feel Locus staring from where he sits. “If you have the information on file, just read it and l-”

Felix scrambles past Maine before he can be boxed in and interrupts. “Just show me.”

“Not a chance, Felix.”

“C’mon Wash we’re gonna be working together for at least a year, just gimme something!” the shrike whines.

“Pay me.” Wash snorts before he really thinks it through. He knows he’s in trouble when he sees the flash of too-white teeth.

“Let’s start talking numbers then.” Felix chuckles, already searching for his holo-wallet.

Wash is stock still, then feels a familiar hand settle against his shoulder. Maine trills softly, “Only if you want to and for no less than 500.”

“1000 credits.” is said unintentionally but it already hangs in the air.

“That include losing the armor from the waist up~?” Felix questions, movements smooth as silk.

“1500.”

“Done.” Felix is grinning so wide it threatens to split his face. He dials something into his holo-wallet and it beeps before depositing a credit chip in his palm. He waves it tauntingly at Wash. “Get to it, Wash.”

The eldest of them scowls under his helmet before reaching up and sliding it off. He hands it off to Maine, who takes it for him. Both of them ignore the way Felix is gawking.

“You look nothing like how I imagined.”

“What’d you expect?” Wash huffs as he detaches his gauntlets and shoulder pauldrons.

“White and blonde.” Locus states dryly. “The files-”

“The files aren’t god, Locus. Shut up.” Felix snarls, wings snapping out before relaxing again. “ I expected you to be younger.”

“You and everyone else.” Wash sighs, pulling his chestplate away from himself, not caring where it fell to. He refuses to look at the mercenaries. His arms fold over his chest self-consciously.

Felix skirts around behind him quickly. His dark eyes glint in the odd lighting that made Wash’s feathers shimmer vibrantly. He reaches out to touch and is swiftly wrangled by Maine.

“Fuck, layoff asshole!” he yelped, squirming his way out of Maine’s grip, nearly face planting.

The owl is growling deep in the back of his throat, stance making it clear that he wouldn’t hesitate to tear Felix’s arm off if he tried again.

The young mercenary in turn flips him off before looking Wash over again, smoothing his hair back into place. It’s almost like he’s a used car that Felix is interested in buying.

“Speechless?” Wash mocks.

“Impressed, actually. Those are some damn gnarly scars.” The shrike corrects before turning on his heel. He trots over to his bunk, flopping into it dramatically, leaving a stunned Wash in his wake.

“Well worth the price of admission.” Felix adds.

---

The mission had dragged into a year and a half but it was done. The mercenaries had offered them a permanent job alongside the two, but the freelancers needed time to consider it. They accepted the contact details before the group parted ways. Afterwards, they’d used the earnings Wash gained from winning wagers with Felix and used it for a well earned holiday.

They were watching the stars from the window of the cabin they had rented high up in the mountains of an earth-like colony. Wash cradled a mug of hot chocolate in his lap. Steam curls up lazily before dissipating into the air.

He was afraid. His good wing flinches.

“...Maine?”

A growl.

“What if I wanted to start over?”

Silence. The chair squeaks under the owl’s shifting weight. Wash’s partner, his backup is watching him with keen, clear eyes. “I’d like that.”

Wash takes a trembling breath.

“Okay.”

TWO CENTS

Despite their better judgment, the Freelancers get back in touch with the mercenaries. That’s probably how Wash wakes up to find Felix lounging in Maine’s favorite armchair, while Locus had taken over Wash’s recliner.

“Heyyy Shimmers!” the shrike bolts upright, deceptively delicate looking hands curled into the headrest of the chair. His pretty grey wings are held high. Jesus it was easy to see why Felix was so good at infiltration. The tired old saying held true for the young man. He didn’t fit the look of a gun for hire. “Been a while.”

“Two years.” Locus’ voice is deadpan. It was almost unnatural to see the harpy eagle out of his armor. Where as Maine looked pretty much exactly as one would expect, Locus was just as much of a wildcard as Wash was. Mind you, it wasn’t the first time the hummer had seen the quiet mercenary in civvies, so he was able to pick up on the fact that his hair had grown out significantly, and that he had a few more scars than before.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry about that.” Wash mumbles, hiking a thumb over his shoulder. “Maine’s in the shower. We weren’t expecting you to show up so soon.”

“No worries, Wash.” Felix’s eyes crinkle at the corners and he traces invisible patterns into the fabric under his palms.

The three lapse into an awkward quiet until Maine emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. The owl is surprised, looking between the others for a moment. Then he moves over to where Felix is and wraps a thick arm under the shrike’s arms, hauling him out of the Freelancer’s chair before dropping the swearing mercenary to the side.

Wash can’t help the little chuckle that escapes him. He moves to the kitchen to get breakfast going, as he had been intending to do before the interruption. He’s startled when Locus suddenly appears at his side, looking over the hummer’s shoulder curiously.

“What are we making?” his low voice and serious expression almost throws the older man into another fit of giggles.

“Tapsilog.” Wash quickly adds, “It’s something Maine likes.”

The large man grunts from where he reads the paper in his chair.

“Isn’t that from some Earth country?” Felix asks, having seized control of Wash’s recliner after Locus had gotten up from it.

“Mhmm. It’s been a staple in his family for generations. His aunt left him their recipes.” the older man gestures at the open box by the coffee pot, stuffed full of cards. “It’s beef, eggs, and fried rice.” Wash explains, heating a pan. He goes to the fridge to get a tupperware of rice. “Locus can you get the spices by the toaster?”

“Which one?” the eagle responds, examining the shakers in question.

“All of them. I set them out last night when I was marinating the beef.” he cracks several eggs into the pan. “You guys want your eggs hard-” the hummer chooses to ignore the childish giggle from Felix. “Or runny?”

“You’re the chef, Shimmers. You tell us. “ the shrike practically purrs, draped over the arm of Wash’s chair.

Wash glares, pointing at him with the spatula. “Be glad we haven’t been to the market, or I’d shove a durian up your ass.”

Locus tilts his head, large crest fluttering out, intrigued. He hands over the spices. “You eat those?”

The older man tosses his head lightly. “Nah. I’d just get it for Felix.” he pulls the eggs from the pan, setting them aside. In another pan, he starts frying the cuts of beef. They sizzle loudly, and a savory aroma begins to float throughout the room. In the first pan, he dumps the rice, breaking up the clumps of it. Stray grains jump from the heat. Wash starts stirring, having Locus break another two eggs into the rice, yolks breaking into tiny shreds. The older man then shakes in various seasonings, humming very softly under his breath.

Felix groans dramatically, back arching when he stretches his arms. “Jesus I missed this shit so much. Locus is great, don’t get me wrong, but you’re on a whole other plane of existence, Shimmers.” his wings fan out behind him, slim talons digging into the side of Wash’s recliner, fabric tearing audibly.

“Don’t ruin my chair!” Wash snaps. “It wasn’t cheap!”

“Oh, quit your bitching. You’ll probably have to leave this place behind anyway. Besides, with the pay we’ll make, you can get like...twenty of the best chairs you can imagine.”

The Freelancer sighs, flipping the cuts of meat. “You’re still a dick for messing it up.” he tosses the rice skillfully. “What’s this job anyway?”

“Just some undercover work, no big.” the shrike hums warmly. He gets to his feet and meanders aimlessly. “You and I gotta get into the crowd at this cafe and get some intel on some weapons ring they run. Then we get chummy with their boss. Our client needs the competition dealt with.”

Wash prods at the food again. “Why not just snipe him?” he hands the rice to Locus. “Plates are above the coffee maker.”

The eagle accepts the pan, digging through the cupboards. “He wants the weapons cache, but doesn’t know where it is.”

“Of course.” Maine grumbles from the living room. He gets up and sets his paper aside. He comes over, leaning on the kitchen island. Felix ghosts after him like a shadow.

Wash pulls the meat from the stovetop, taking the plates from Locus. He piles beef and eggs over the rice before sliding them over the counter. “Enough work stuff. We can talk more later.”

Felix snatches up his food, grabbing one of the forks laid out on the countertop. He leans over the island, plucking a knife from the butcher  block. He slices off cubes of beef. Every motion is exaggerated and gleeful. The shrike speaks through a mouthful of  rice. “Fuck yesss. Wash you are a gift to this world.” his feathers shift against the barstool. “Cook all my food you beautiful bastard.”

“I’m not that great, you drama king.” Wash snorts before tucking into his own meal. “Also, I doubt you’d like to have tuyo on a regular basis. That’s our normal go to for breakfast.”

Felix gives him a look, arching an eyebrow. “Can’t you just stick to burgers?”

“Like I said, Maine’s aunt gave me the recipes, so I’m gonna use them.” the older man gestures with a fork. “I like their food more than just burgers.”

Locus quietly sits next to Wash. “I can share some of my own if you like.”

The hummer smiles lightly. “That sounds perfect.”

---

The cafe was popular, despite the fact that it was really just a cover up for the owners illegal activities. All Wash knew was he had no earthly idea how to make fancy coffee. (he certainly knew how to scald himself with the equipment.) Felix had gone on to tell him that it was easier to pull off the job if they were behind the counter. The shrike didn’t reveal how he’d gotten them hired, and frankly the Freelancer didn’t care. They’d been there two months.

Inside the shop, Felix was Erik and Wash was Aaron.

Erik was the rising star. He knew all the regulars by name. He made the best coffee in town. He had all the hot gossip you could ever want. Everyone was charmed by the pretty shrike.

Aaron was the soft spoken baker. He was the war vet trying to make a living. The older crowd liked him. He listened to them, and always had wonderful fresh bread on the tables. Everyone trusted the gentle soul, perpetually covered in flour.

Aaron quietly bundles an order of shortbread, handing it over to Erik. There’s a dramatic gasp from the other side of the counter.

“Agent Washingtub?!”

Aaron stops dead in his tracks, staring over his shoulder with wide eyes. Clearly he was hallucinating because Caboose is beaming at him, a mug of hot cocoa cradled in his clumsy hands. “Uh...you must be mistaken, sir.” He tries to move on. The door chimes, and someone clears their throat.

“Hey. Long time, no see Wash.”

Oh dear gods he’s not seeing things and Carolina is standing there, blowing his cover. Erik intervenes. “I’m sorry folks, there’s no one working here named-”

“She worked with me.” Aaron whispers in Erik’s ear, the meaning all too clear. Erik scowls for a moment.

“I’ll take care of the next batch of bread when it’s done. Go take care of it.”

“Thanks so much, Erik. I’ll give Dustin and Jason the heads up.” Aaron squeezes his friends shoulder. He walks out from behind the counter gesturing for Carolina to follow along. They exit the cafe and Aaron makes a subtle hand-sign by his hip. The two find a quiet back alley, and the older man can’t get a word out before the woman coldly asks.

“How are you alive?”

“I should ask you the same.” Aaron ignores the buzzing in his pocket.

“This isn’t about me W-” Carolina looks insulted when he interrupts her.

“It’s Aaron, remember? Stop calling me those silly nicknames.” warns the hummer.

Carolina just looks at him, searching for any clue to indicate what he was playing at. There’s a look of understanding, like some puzzle piece just clicked into place in her head. “You’re on a job.”

Shit, he’s gotta save this. Or try to at least. “Yeah, I’m working. Bread doesn’t bake itself, y’know.”

“Are you a mercenary now?”

Fuck. “I..just hold on a second.” He pulls out his phone. The group chat is flooded with new correspondence. His fingers dart over the surface.

FELIX: we’re in trouble.

MAINE: what happened

FELIX: some Pigeon and a red-head came into the shop.

FELIX: called Wash by name.

FELIX: he’s got Red with him, the Pigeon is still here.

FELIX: Wash said he worked with Red in the past.

MAINE: green eyes?

FELIX: yeah.

MAINE: damnit shes from pfl

LOCUS: We’ve got sights on them.

FELIX: of all the fucking places.

FELIX: they had to come here.

WASH: Call it off. Cover’s 100% blown.

LOCUS: What?

MAINE: you want backup

MAINE: wash

MAINE: pick up your phone

LOCUS: Wash, I have a clear shot.

LOCUS: Make the call.

WASH: Shut up.

Wash sighs, looking at Carolina. “Just forget you saw me.” He about faces, ready to make a break for it when she hauls him back by his coat sleeve. He whips around, making a signal towards a building across the street.

It hits Carolina like a truck. “Snipers? Wash, how big is this thing?”

“I’m done talking.” Wash glares at Carolina, threat clear in the hummer’s voice.

“I’m not !”

The older man shoves at her shoulder. “My life is none of your business! You’re putting us at risk, Car’!”

“Who is us ?!” she demands, furious.

“Look, princess.” Comes a voice from the other end of the lane. Felix is twirling his cap lazily. “Aaron said step off. Need you to start listening before I have to make you.”

Carolina rounds on the shrike, rage simmering just below the surface. “You. Who are you?”

“Doesn’t matter who I am. Aaron, make the call or I’m making it for you.” Felix slowly draws closer.

Wash huffs irritably. “Get Dustin and Jason to wrap.” he points to Carolina. “We’ll talk later. Coordinates sent to your secure feed. That work?”

For several moments, Wash thinks Carolina will fight back. Instead, she just snorts looking at the older man warily. “Fine.

With that, she vanishes, and they vanish along with her. That night, the cafe burns to the ground.

---

They meet in a warehouse that somehow belonged to the mercenaries under one of their litany of pseudonyms. All of them wear body armor over their civvies, nothing like they usually did, but it was enough to meet the demands of the current situation.

Wash’s phone goes off, and he picks it up.

[FELIX] sent a file- [GuessWho.jpg]

WASH: Quit playing around. Stay out of the way until I know she’s fine.

FELIX: ruuude!

MAINE: were in place

WASH: Good.

Several people are typing…

The hummer slips the device back into his coat pocket, looking up as Carolina rounds the corner. His side feels like he’s just crammed a beehive in there, but they can just hold their damned horses.

...except Wash thinks he might have an idea why his cell is having a stroke. Tucker, Caboose, and...oh fuck, is that Tex? The only thing that could top this is if those Red troopers showed up too.

“Car’ did you seriously have to bring a posse?” Wash grouses, rubbing at his face.

“She did when we wouldn’t let her go alone you fucking tool!” Tucker shouts, the blue jay’s wings fanned out emotionally.

“Yea’, Yeah!” Caboose tacks on cheerfully. “Because we wanted to say HELLO!!”

Tex just scans the room, seeming to fixate on one corner in particular.

“Can’t say I ever thought you’d willing work with Tex’, Carolina.” Wash points out and the redhead swings around to face the hummer, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“This isn’t about me Wash. This is about you deciding to be a mercenary, and not trying to touch base with me.”

“We were always mercenaries, Car’. We just dubbed ourselves ‘Freelancers’.” the older man’s voice is lower than he intended, full of darkness and storms. “And if you thought I was alive, why didn’t you get in contact? Or is it my responsibility to chase after ghosts ?”

“That’s n-”

“Not what you meant? I’m sorry, did you mean I can’t be bothered to give a rat’s ass about people’s lives until they show up in front of me?” he laughs bitterly. His phone won’t stop going off. “ You never listened! Not to Connie, or me, especially not her!” Wash jabs a finger at Tex, who watches him from the corner of her eye before returning her attention to that corner.

“ Washington. ”

“Your ambition and competitiveness makes you burn everyone around you!” The man isn’t aware his wing instinctively snaps out until he feels the pull of his coat over the feathers. He doesn’t give a flying fuck at this point.

“Shut up!” Carolina yells, voice strained.

“No!” He screams right back at her. All the repressed betrayal and despair froths up to the surface. “You never listen until you have it shoved in your face!” Wash closes the gap between them, taking a sick sense of pride in how Carolina steps back nervously. “So let me tell you what my life has been like without you .” he cracks his neck. “I was abandoned after your reported death. Everyone was gone and the Project used me as a dog, sniffing out their scattered property. Did you know it’s protocol to detonate your teammate’s corpses for the Recovery Unit? So much of who I was is gone because I didn’t have the luxury of being myself anymore. I had to recover North’s suit and rescue South from Maine. She shot me for it! I let her live when I was ordered to kill, and she put two hollow points into me. She shattered the joint of my right wing and now it’s gone .”

That seems to visibly rattle Carolina. Good.

“I had to hunt down the shell of the man I loved and stop him. I had to lead a ragtag army to take down a beast, and you know what? They listened better than you ever did. I found the Alpha. I had to fry the AI fragments left there. That’s not even half of it Car’”

“How could I have known!?” Carolina interjects.

“I’m not asking you to know about the past, I’m asking you to listen now, and learn for the future!” Wash shouts back. “I was arrested for stopping Maine like I did! ‘Destruction of Government Property.’ That’s what I was charged with. So I did the one thing they always forgot I did. I remembered. They sent me after Epsilon with Maine, who I wasn’t even sure was himself, or the Meta, or who the fuck knows?! So I’m forced to turn on the troops that helped me take him out, because that’s just how it is, right ? I get a call telling me to go assist some mercenaries, but not before I’ve had to totally betray any small scrap of trust these soldiers had for me. Maine and I are sent on a year long assignment to ruin one of the organizations getting a little too close to things they wanted to keep secret. Fast forward and here I am, doing the exact same thing I did in Freelancer, but I’m doing it for private employers instead. So forgive me for not dropping the life I have to chase down your shadows, Carolina!”

His phone is still going off endlessly, and the hummer is unable to find anything else to say. He can hardly think straight, so he fishes the cell out, flicking through it while Carolina stares at him, dumbfounded.

While you were away:

LOCUS: Wash, 3 more inbound.

FELIX: shit

FELIX: I didn’t see them when I dropped down to join Maine.

MAINE: what??

MAINE: what do they look like

LOCUS: 2 winged, one unclear.

LOCUS: Rock Dove, and some sort of Jay.

FELIX: the ‘doves probs the one from the cafe.

LOCUS: Other looks like a woman, blonde, dark outfit, strongly built.

MAINE: i really hope its not who i think it is

LOCUS: The women are the only ones visibly armed.

LOCUS: Wash, are you there?

FELIX: the dick isn’t paying attention!

MAINE: fuck

LOCUS: That’s never reassuring to hear from you.

FELIX: I mean, if you insist big guy B]

LOCUS: -Felix.-

MAINE: this might get bloody

MAINE: thats tex

LOCUS: ...Is she anything like her file?

MAINE: worse

LOCUS: Do you need me there?

MAINE: can you get here silently

MAINE: shes a camo user she can spot you easy

LOCUS: It’s risky.

MAINE: stay put then

FELIX: Wash, you saggy tit, pay attention!

FELIX: oh yeeeah, let’s piss her off, great plan Shimmers!

FELIX: holy shit, jay-bird’s got some major balls!

MAINE: felix shut up

FELIX: fuck you.

MAINE: tex is looking at us

FELIX: she can’t see through the glass, dumbass, only we can.

FELIX: as long as we’re quiet it’s fine.

MAINE: debatable

FELIX: holy fuck.

FELIX: you fucking go Shimmers.

FELIX: tell her what’s up.

FELIX: spill that tea.

LOCUS: What?

FELIX: Wash is ripping Red a new asshole.

MAINE: -felix-

FELIX: fuck off, my soaps are on.

FELIX: …

FELIX: damn.

FELIX: -that’s- how he lost the wing?

MAINE: enough

FELIX: jesus christ, Maine.

MAINE: if we werent hiding id beat the shit out of you

FELIX: ;9

FELIX: …

FELIX: he’s really been through the ringer.

LOCUS: It’s in the file.

FELIX: okay, sugartits, I’ve actually read the thing, you know.

FELIX: and no this isn’t.

FELIX: oh snap, he’s talking about us!

FELIX: we’re merc’s!

MAINE: oh really

FELIX: yea.

FELIX: you fucking lay down the law, Wash. Atta boy.

FELIX: OH, ARE YOU FINALLY LOOKING AT YOUR PHONE?

FELIX: HEY BITCH HEY!

WASH: I’m done.

The older man throws his phone. It doesn’t crack, but the battery pops out, skittering away. “You want to meet my crew, Car’?” his tone is venomous, not leaving any room for saying no. Wash raises his hand, making a beckoning motion.

There’s a long pause then Carolina jolts, looking at the roof, hand going to her pistol in a mirror image of Tex. Wash can hear the heavy footfalls that alerted the two. A low thud resounds, and Wash can see Locus before Carolina rounds on the eagle, taking aim. There’s not even an ounce of hesitation before there’s a sidearm in the older man’s hand. He aims it at the back of her head, pressing the muzzle into her vibrant hair.

“Car’ you asked for this meeting, remember?” Wash drives his point home by jabbing the gun at her.

“Yeah, with you. ” she snarls.

“You brought a gang too, princess .” Felix’s voie curls through the air. His long legs carry him from where he’d been hidden away, and he leans against the older man’s shoulder, smirking. “Fair is fair, after all.”

Tex looks beyond the shrike, where Maine surely must be. She speaks for the first time since she showed up. “Jesus, Maine, you grew your hair out? Guess you’re not actually bald.”

Carolina angrily shoves her gun back into its holster. “Wash, back off. I’m not going to shoot.”

“And if I don’t believe you?”

“That’s your call.” She growls, gritting her teeth.

Wash relents, but keeps his pistol in hand. The hummer sniffs dismissively, tail flicking ever so slightly. He stands his ground when the redhead whirls, glaring daggers at Maine. If she was winged, Wash would bet money that she’d be in full threat display mode.

“Nothing to say, huh?”

Wash’s crest flares, shifting to place himself between the owl and Carolina. “Don’t be a bitch about this. We can leave at anytime.”

She tosses her hair. “Fine. I’m not going to fuck with you two just-...” Carolina moves over, looking at Wash. “I’m struggling to come to terms with all of this.”

Wash knows. He knows his former teammate. She doesn’t do emotions. She doesn’t know how to put things back together when she breaks them. It was always Wash keeping them stitched tightly. “Right.” He watches her, feeling that old tired pull to make things better.

“I’m sorry.”

Wash’s shoulders jump. “Excuse me?”

Carolina stands there, body tense. “...I left when I could have come back. You needed me and...and I turned my back on you.” She casts her gaze back at Maine. “Both of you.” her lips are drawn into a tight line. “But I’m here now .”

Maine brushes past Wash, large wings dusting against the older mans side. The owl stops in front of Carolina, chest feathers fluffing up. He’s appraising her for the longest time before he places a large hand on her head, ruffling her hair. The large man lets out a broken laugh.

The tension doesn’t vanish, but it lessens somewhat. Carolina whaps at Maine half-heartedly, looking at the floor. “Okay. Tucker, go ahead and say what you wanted to say.”

The blue jay is suddenly in Wash’s space. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” Tucker is furious, wings shaking. A hand snags the front of Wash’s coat. “You seriously don’t have anything to say to me? To us ?!”

Wash doesn’t look away, steely eyes unwavering. “Yes. Everything I did was wrong. Even if I was under orders, it wasn’t okay.” he rolls his bad shoulder. “However, I’m pretty sure if I just said ‘sorry’ it would have pissed you off even more. I am sorry, for what it’s worth to you.”

Tucker’s grip loosens, allowing Wash to back off a bit. “I’m really not the one you should be apologizing to. You’re up, Church.”

A light glimmers near the jay’s shoulder. “Hey, Wash.”

---

Wash’s throat was raw from all the shouting. The two groups had gathered up some crates and things of that nature to use as seats. The night was overwhelmingly hot, and the older man was miserable in his overcoat. He was only wearing the damn thing because they couldn’t pin his wing under the vest without it hurting his joints. Finally the arguments had died down.

Caboose was hovering around Wash, eyes twinkling merrily. “You will love our new base, Wash, it is so nice! We have lots of space for you to move in!!”

That throws the Freelancer, he squints at the rock dove. “Uh...what?”

Epsilon blinks in. “He thinks you’re coming home with us, Wash.”

“Caboose, I...I already have a home.” Wash starts cautiously. “Also, I don’t think you’re going to be comfortable with Maine living there.”

“They’d also vanish all the time for work. They’re not exclusive to us, people hire them all the time.” Felix pipes up, grinning. “They’re pretty highly sought after.”

It’s all too apparent to the others that the blue sim trooper was confused. “What does that got to do with him moving in?”

“It means he can’t stay, dude.” Epsilon shrugs widely. “At least not forever.”

“Oh…” the dove mumbles, looking like he might start crying. “Can he do slumber parties?”

Wash makes a face. “Maybe? Remember, it’s not just me, Maine would come too.”

“Well I think that’s okay. Ms. Carolina is scary but she stays with us!”

“You’re not the only one in the base, numbnuts!” Tucker glares across the way. “Pardon me for being wary around the psychotic owl that’s tried to kill us several times!”

Before Caboose can present his convoluted argument, Wash wades in. “Tucker does have a point, Caboose. You can’t speak for all your teammates. They have a right to say no.”

“...Okay.” the rock dove mumbles, wings slumping downward.

The hummer rubs the back of his neck, fingers slipping over the grooves from where his small (but very sharp) talons bit into his flesh as he desperately struggled to pull the AI unit from his neck. The only things that remain are the scars and sweat running down his back. He hesitates for a long moment before slipping out of his coat. The Kevlar vest is plain to see, in addition to his lone wing.

The others move on, topic shifting, and many conversations branch off from the main point. The older man can feel eyes on him, and when he looks up Tex is staring at him. Tiny snippets of someone else’s memories snatch at Wash’s mind before he can shake them away.

The blonde tilts her head to look at the damaged stump, whistling lowly. When she leans over to him, her tone is that soft one that strangers thought her incapable of. “Look. It’s your choice, but if you want a prosthetic or need to have a doctor take a look at it, I can get you set up, no questions asked.”

The older man is understandably suspicious of her. “What’s the catch?”

To her credit, Tex doesn’t seem to be offended with his wary reply. “I mean, if you want to pay me, I’m not gonna turn it down, but I’m doing this because you deserve a break from all this bad shit that’s happened to y-”

Suddenly Epsilon shouts from across the room. “We’ve got company!”

There’s an explosion of chaos and, well, actual explosives. The groups scatter, Wash huddled next to Tucker behind a pillar. He’s not used to entering combat without his armor, and is unable to easily feed Maine numbers and what sort of weapons they’re up against like he normally would. This was shaping up to be one hell of a fight. Their attackers (one of which was painted like an Insurrectionist.) were in full gear, and while PFL had run them through a scenario like this, it had been so long ago, and it had left many of them recovering in the med bay.

Wash watches as Tucker darts over to join Tex and Caboose, leaving the Freelancer alone. Maine motions from across the way, urging Wash to rush over as well. Wash checks one last time before dashing towards the owl. He hears the last thing he ever wanted to hear that night.

“Shit! Sniper!”

Just before he could stumble behind the overturned steel shipping container where Maine was with the mercenaries, there was the sound of a rifle echoing through the warehouse and pain blooms in Wash’s neck. A spray of red splatters the corner of the crate. Then the old man collapses, his world going dark.

---

Several people are typing…

FELIX: okay cockbites.

FELIX: I’ve gathered you here because we’re in this shit together now.

FELIX: because -somebody- lead a fucking extremist group to our little pow wow.

CAROLINA: Shut up. Is Wash at the hospital yet?

LOCUS: Yes.

TUCKER: also, it wasn’t our fucking fault you murderous fucking pipecleaner!

FELIX: don’t -start shit- with me, Mr. Jay.

TUCKER: i’ll start shit with you when you get back from wherever the fuck you hid out!!

EPSILON: Tucker, stop talking.

EPSILON: Felix, stop being a little bitch.

CAROLINA: ALL OF YOU SHUT UP.

CAROLINA: Locus.

LOCUS: What.

CAROLINA: I need the hospital where you and Maine took Wash.

LOCUS: No.

CAROLINA: Excuse me?

CAROLINA: My teammate got shot in the goddamned -throat- and you two, who I never met before tonight, shuttle him and my OTHER teammate who -also- was shot in the throat in the past, to some ER and you’re not letting me know where to find them?

FELIX: nice run on sentence. Also, I hate to break it to you Red, but they ain’t your teammates. At least not anymore

CAROLINA: I am going to snap your fucking wings.

FELIX: gotta catch me first, Red. ;)

MAINE: in the O.R.

MAINE: locs’ give her the cords

LOCUS: Pardon?

MAINE: not asking again

LOCUS: ...A.O.M.S General, on Kings.

CAROLINA: Be there soon.

TUCKER: wait, are you seriously-

TUCKER: yeah, just checked, she’s not here.

TEXAS: Focus on clean up.

TUCKER: eps’ jumped to her, btw.

Tucker turns his attention away from the chat, allowing Caboose to cling to his arm. The rock dove seemed to actually know how bad of a situation they were in for once. He was terrified of the thought that Wash might never come to that slumber party the dove had been planning.

Tucker couldn’t even try to make dumb sex jokes to make himself feel better. All he can do is pick through what remains of their attackers and try to come to terms with that had just happened.

---

When Carolina got to A.O.M.S General she has to get Locus to come escort her to the back because, of course, the asshole had checked Wash in using another alias. (Chris) When she saw where Maine was sitting, she was surprised how easily she could read his body language. Not like Wash could, but it was all too clear from the bouncing of his knee and the trembling of his wings that the owl was blaming himself for what happened.

Carolina can’t find anything to say that wouldn’t make everything worse, so instead she sits beside the huge man and leans on his shoulder. Time slips away as she focuses on keeping her breathing steady. Eventually the sounds of the waiting room fade into a quiet hum. She’s starting to drift off when she feels Maine’s arm wrap around her shoulders to hold her close. When she glances up, the owl has tears rolling down his face. Carolina gently hugs him back.

“He’ll be okay, Maine.”

---

Wash wakes up when he hears a rhythmic beeping. Everything feels heavy and numb. Must be painkillers. He tried to call over the nurse fiddling with something on the other side of the room. He can only get out a weak gurgle before it feels like he’d downed a shot of gasoline and chased it with a lit match. It does the job, though. The nurse is at his side in moments.

“Chris? Listen to me Chris, don’t try to talk. You’re at the hospital. You came out of surgery three days ago, and you’re going to be moved to the rehab wing tonight. You’re going to be okay.” the mans wings are a rich brown that match his hair. He gently pats the old hummer’s shoulder. “I’m Nurse Luna. I’ll be helping you out with physical therapy over there. You’ve got some wonderful friends looking out for you.” Luna’s smile fades. “We’re going to do our best, but I have to tell you that the most we can really hope for is that you’ll have limited speech...are you familiar with sign language?”

Wash nods. Pointing at the nurse, he starts off with an ‘L’ before transitioning into the sign for ‘moon’. This seems to bring back the other man’s smile.

“Is that a name sign for me?”

Wash signs ‘yes’ before asking, [Who’s here for me?]

“Oh gosh, a whole pack of them. There’s an eagle, shrike, owl, blue jay, rock dove, and a wingless woman.” Luna explains while he jots something down on Wash’s chart. “Is there someone you’d like me to go get?”

[The owl and the woman.] Wash manages to hold back his tears until the brown winged nurse leaves the room. If the best hope was only limited use of speech, what was the actual outcome going to be? What if he ended up like-

Maine shoulders his way through the doors, amber eyes on his partner in an instant. “Wash.” His body is tense as a bowstring, looking ready to snap at any second. When the owl stumbles over, Carolina is left in his wake. Her face is unreadable, looking around the room warily. Maine cups Wash’s face in one massive palm. “Are you feeling okay?”

The older man shrugs lamely as a rough thumb brushes stray tears away.

Maine is searching Wash’s expression, seemingly waiting for his companion to speak. The hummer gently touches the dressing secured around his neck. He shakes his head, and the owl visibly deflates, wings drooping to his sides. “Wash I...I’m so sorry I let this happen to you.”

Wash shakes his head so hard that the wound twinges painfully. He grips at Maine’s forearm. [Not your fault. Sniper shot me, not you.]

The tall man just cradles the back of Wash’s head, lightly kissing his browline. “I’m going to make this right again.”

[I know you will.] Wash admits when he knows Maine can see his hands again. His hands trace through the chilly air of the recovery room. [And I’ll be there with you. Like always. Right?]

“Like always.”

WALKING ON THE SUN

Simmons had always had bad wings. Just like his shoddy eye-sight. Just like his unsteady stride. Just like his impossibly low self-esteem. Richard Simmons, the hoopoe with every flaw known to man. Probably some that hadn’t even been named yet.

Back to the wings, they fucking sucked. From a technical standpoint, they could fit into his power armor, but...suffice it to say that would do more harm than good. Also the odds of Simmons being shot by someone other than his own teammates were slim to none. On the rare days he did wear his armor above his wings, it went down like this: Joints started swelling after thirty minutes. At one hour, they’d go numb. Three hours in, feeling would return in the form of deep slicing pain that lingered long into the night.

It didn’t really matter much one way or another because after a full day at their newest base (They’re sitting at fourteen, not that anyone other than Simmons kept track.) the maroon soldier was suffering silently.

The week had been especially brutal. Sarge had been dragging them all over creation in search of a new team of Blue soldiers to fight after the set from Blood Gulch had been spirited away by Carolina. As a result they were being pushed to the brink because the old hawk couldn’t accept not having an enemy to ‘destroy’.

Simmons couldn’t bite back a painful gasp when Sarge had thumped the hoopoe on his shoulder, vowing that they’d find those dagum Blues any day now. The rest of his ‘encouraging’ words fell on deaf ears because the only thing Simmons could focus on was the red-hot agony in his wings. Simmons’ teeth sink into his lip to hold back any other cries. Damn it, why did Sarge have to be so prone to punching to when it wasn’t appropriate?

As soon as he was able, Simmons made a break for the new base. He doesn’t take any notice of his surroundings, pulling at clasps and letting his armor loudly crash to the floor in his haste. The wash racks were empty, making the unzipping of kevlar seem louder than it truly was. He hisses as he drags his aching wings out of the garment and kicks it away. Simmons sets the water as hot as it can possibly go before he sinks to the concrete floor, clutching at his knees.

The hoopoe tenses at the initial blast of icy water, but relaxes as the temperature gradually rises. Steam begins to blanket the room in a pleasant fog, feathers becoming drenched with the scalding spray. They hang limply at his back, and he sighs lightly.

Simmons’ head is just clear enough to hear someone enter the showers and he jolts upright, soaked wings flapping on (horribly painful) instinct. He makes an all too embarrassing noise, unable to muster even the weakest glare at the intruder.

“If you’re stealing all the hot water again, I’m going to kick your fucking teeth in.” Grif threatens him, stumbling on Simmons’ abandoned kevlar. His teammate looks down and looks appalled. “What in the actual shit is this, Simmons? What happened to ‘I always respect my equipment’? You’re the one that brought a hanger with you when you enlisted. Same with the rest of your armor! I actually thought about picking it up for you but…” Grif shrugs one of his (strong, healthy) wings with a snort. “Had to make sure you weren’t dying or something. Only reason I could figure for you not wiping your boots five times at the door.”

“Are you planning on bitching all night?” Simmon snipes lamely from the floor, flinching when Grif begins tossing bits of his orange armor haphazardly in the direction of the bench running along the back wall of the washroom.

“Why? Got a special request~?” The red-crested cardinal teases, pulling his helmet free with a faint pop. He’s got that damned grin on his face, moving to chuck the last (most expensive, most fragile) part of his power armor away.

“Don’t you dare throw that!!” shrieks the miserable soldier, voice ringing loudly. Grif’s eyes go wide slightly, and he cautiously sets the helmet down.

“Christ, fine. Happy now?”

Simmons nods, wincing at how it pulls his neck and shoulder muscles. Grif is...holy shit, Grif is actually picking up Simmons’ undersuit and laying it on the bench too instead of filing it in his bloated ‘Not My Problem’ folder. He doesn’t take the same care with his own, which is carelessly shucked onto the floor. Simmons shyly averts his eyes from the infuriating, pudgy, rude, pretty-- whoa hold the phone, what did his brain just think?! Shit he’s probably all red and blushy now, to boot.

“Cute little shit.”

“ ExcuseME?! ” Simmons snaps, blush deepening by the second.

“Cute. The whole polite and shy ‘looking away to protect my honor’ stuff.” Grif doesn’t bother masking a chuckle.

“Well, one of us has to b-” Simmons makes a strangled gasp of pain when a wing muscle spasms violently, forcing him to curl in on himself. “ F-Fuck!”

Grif’s expression drops in an instant, and he’s at Simmons’ side in seconds. “Wait you aren’t actually hurt, right?” there’s a raw edge of panic in his voice.

“S’nothing, I’m fine.” He’s a bad liar at the best of times, let alone whatever this clusterfuck qualifies as.

“Stuff the ‘I hate you so much’ act and tell me how to help you.”

Simmons makes the mistake of looking at Grif’s face and his heart flips at the genuine concern he finds there. Apparently he takes too long for the cardinal’s tastes because Grif rather snappily adds:

“Damn it, stop being so suspicious all the time!”

“I’m supposed to trust you?! Just laugh already so we can get on with things!” Simmons challenges him reflexively, not wanting to be burned again.

“Because I really like you, okay! I don’t want to see you hurt by something I don’t know about!” The orange soldier is the next one to turn pink around the ears, a fact that doesn’t escape Simmons. He’s just too busy processing the information to fully register the implications of it.

“Like...friends, like?”

“That is the saddest fucking thing that ever fell out of your dumb, pretty face.” Grif retorts, flippant tone not sounding derogatory like it usually does.

Simmons is red down to his chest feathers, which fluff up in spite of the shower. “P-Pretty?”

There’s a sigh so explosively loud, it’s a small wonder the whole base doesn’t come crashing down. “ Yes , Simmons. I like your face. Now tell me what’s going on with your god damned wings!” His wide palm smacks the wet floor, snapping Simmons back to reality.

“Oh. Uh, it’s just...it’s like how my back is, only worse. They’re always hurting but today was so long that it’s taken its toll on them.” he mutters, thumbs twiddling. “It's been like this since I was little. The doctors said it was permanent deep muscle damage. Sarge has been pushing us too hard, so this is the result.”

Grif seems to be searching for some hidden meaning with how deeply he studies Simmons’ face. A beat passes before he smiles like nothing Simmons has ever seen from his teammate before. It’s (sweet, stunning) genuine and open. “Might think about giving it a rest then, Mr. Employee of The Month.” the smile turns sly. “We earned a few lazy days years ago.”

“We??” Simmons chuffs.

“You heard me. It’ll be like Blood Gulch before Tex showed up.” Grif tests the waters. “Except more making out and shit.”

Simmons sputters loudly, stringing an incomprehensible series of sounds together, only stopping after another wave of pain hits.

Grif in turn, lightly pushes some hair from the hoopoe’s face. Did he even know he’s why Simmons started to grow it out? Did he still like it long like he said bef- oh. Oh. Grif was kissing him and there Simmons was just sitting there like a doofus. He returns it with too much excitement, too little experience. He accidentally jabs Grif in the eye with his nose. The cardinal sits back amidst a flurry of ‘Oh shit!’ and ‘I’m so sorry!’, holding up a hand to stop the maroon soldier before he can really get going.

“Chill. We’re in no rush. Let’s take care of you, then we can keep making out. That work?” He offers.

“Yeah.” Simmons enthusiastically agrees. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

NICKLE AND DIME

When Wash was released from the hospital, all the hummingbird wanted was a quiet place where he could snuggle up with Maine. If Carolina had gotten her way, the freelancers would have come along with her bizarre grab-bag of troops, but Wash politely refused. He pointed out quite clearly that he and Maine had already built a new life for themselves that they were content with. Carolina had finally given in after Wash assured her that they’d keep regular contact.

Felix had found the quartet a wonderful home on the fringes of a National Park. It was exactly what Wash needed. The misty air soothed his weary soul and filled his lungs with a fluttery sort of hope.

‘...wow that sounded really sappy, Wash.’ He thinks.

“ Well?? ” The shrike asked, wings fanned out slightly. “I’m not getting any younger here, Shimmers!”

If Wash didn’t know better, he’d think the mercenary was actually seeking his approval. Felix just wanted to know if he’d picked a good house...right?

Wash snaps from his reverie, clearing his throat with a nervous smile. “It’s awesome, Felix.” he rasps. “You really hit it out of the park. Thank you so much.”

The freelancer tries so very hard to not notice how Felix’s wings fluff, his grin ratcheting wider. Wash looks away, to where Maine and Locus are unloading the van with their meager belongings. For once in his life he allows himself to just stare at the two, both so similar and different at the same time. Then Felix leans against him, humming mischievously in his ear.

“Thought you’d dig it. You’ve got a nice view there, hn~?”

Wash ducks his head, blushing deeply. Caught red-handed, there was no point in denying it. “It’s pretty solid. Ten out of ten.” is offered, only partially in jest.

Felix snickers, not used to the freelancer being so blunt with him. “Y’know, Shimmers, it’s times like this that I can get how Locus started crushing on you.”

“Uh-...Come again?” Wash looks up at him, wide eyed.

The shrike gives him a secretive smile. “You’ve got a gift for making folks fall head over tail-feathers for you, especially giants like those two.”

Wash’s sparse crest flutters shyly. He’s not sure what to do with this information he’s been handed. True, it wasn’t that he didn’t notice how Locus’ behaviour was subtly changing when it came to Wash, he just didn’t know what steps to take from there. He’s lost in his mind when Felix gently runs a hand down his back, squeaking when the younger man pinches his ass .

“Honestly, I’m a little interested myself, but in the end it’s all up to what you want, Shimmers.” Felix smirks, patting the top of Wash’s head. “I’m heading inside.” he chuckles as Wash is left stammering in his wake.

Lousy, good for nothing, psychopathic, smug, asshole.

---

It’s been raining for three days now and it leaves Wash with aching joints and a lingering somber mood. Felix and Maine were out on a job, leaving Locus and himself to their own devices until they returned.

“Washington.”

The hummer jumps, looking back at Locus. “H-huh?”

“Are you feeling well? You seem more...despondent than usual.” Locus’ voice becomes softer with each word until it trails off into nothing, as though he’s unsure of himself.”

“Oh.” Wash offers a weak smile. “Don’t worry, Loc’s. The weather’s just making me achy.”

“Would you like me to assist?”

That does give Wash pause. “I, uhm, no offense, but what do you- uh-...” the hummer isn’t even sure what he’s going to say without sounding incredibly rude.

Locus has started gathering some canvas bags that look to be filled with some sort of grain. Rice maybe? The eagle flaps one massive wing. “The bone from the radiale down is artificial on this wing. Titanium alloy. So I have some things I could suggest from experience.”

Well damn . That made some things fall into place in Wash’s head. He’d always wondered why Locus never took advantage of his wingspan to glide from his sniper nests. If Maine could do it, Locus should have been more than capable, having a good two or three feet on the owl. A partially replaced bone would easily explain it.

“How?” Wash wonders aloud.

“Felix.”

Oh jeez, now Wash feels like a douche for asking. “Ah...well, if you want to give it a show, I won’t stop you.”

Wash looks away, chest feathers ruffling in shame as Locus puts the bags into the microwave to heat them. He tests the temperature after it dings with a hum. Eventually the mercenary nods to Wash.

“Go lay on the sofa. On your stomach, please.” he asks, shouldering the rice pouches. He walks over, looming. The sight is both reassuring and terrifying in the same breath. Wash swallows around the lump in his throat and complies with no fuss.

“This is probably going to hurt a small bit at first, but I promise it helps.” Locus’ voice is soft as he starts arranging the bags around Wash’s wing and stump. They’re just slightly too hot, making the hummer squirm as the eagle precisely adjusts them.

“...Locus I-”

“It’s Sam, actually.”

What the actual fuck was happening? Wash is quite clearly dreaming because there is no way that Locus just freely offered his real name to the older man. One of the canvas bags is displaced, making wash hiss in surprise.

“I just felt it was the right time to tell you that.” is the only explanation Locus offers to him.

Despite everything, Wash knows how much real names meant in their line of work. The only reason Locus knew his name was because of the personnel files he’d pilfered from the remains of PFL. He actually beams at Locus. “I’m honored you trust me with it. I like it.”

The light flickering of Locus’ crest doesn’t escape Wash.

---

Felix keeps bringing Wash things ever since they’d finally moved in together. The grand majority were adorned with cats of all shapes and sizes.

Locus plainly said, “It’s how he shows affection. He likes buying clothes too, so be ready for that.”

Great.

“Is-” Wash coughs, throat twinging painfully. “Can I ask why you two are…” the hummer glances away, unable to finish the thought.

“Why we’re interested in you?” Locus guesses. When Wash nods, the mercenary tilts his head, eyes wandering. “I can’t speak for Felix, but I personally find you easy to get along with. You’re capable in the field, and in many ways I strongly relate with you…”

Wash can easily tell that there’s something Locus isn’t saying. However, he knows better than pushing the eagle beyond his comfort zone, lest he shut down and leave in a huff. The explanation still causes a soft comfort to bloom in Wash’s chest. “I’m still not sure I get it, but I really am flattered.”

“Will Maine be upset?” is a perfectly reasonable question that takes Wash off guard.

“I...I dunno. If it bothered him, I’m pretty sure he would have told you off by now.” Wash’s feathers glimmer in the light as he takes deep breaths. “We’re not really used to the attention. You two are the first that expressed any serious interest.”

“I don’t understand how. You’re powerful and cunning. Dependable, adaptable, all ideal traits to search for in potential partners.”

“You’ve said as much before. Besides that, most people like to look for sweet and funny instead.” Wash sighs. “Also they like people to have very few scars, and all their limbs intact.”

“That’s unfortunate for them. They’re missing out.” Cautiously the eagle brushes his rough knuckles down Wash’s bad shoulder, lighter than air. “The more damage you find on the outside, the stronger the soul found within.”

Wash’s crest flicks up attentively. “That’s remarkably poetic.”

“The truth usually is.”

---

“Maine?”

“What.”

“Is this all okay?” Wash whispers into the dark, curled into the safety of his partner, his best friend’s arms.

“You mean the merc’s courting you?”

“I mean me wanting to court them back.” he mumbles, hands wringing together in the still night air.

“Do you trust them?”

“Do you? ”

“I do. Locus stops at nothing to keep your path safe. Felix is a wild card, but he’s always by your side, ready to strike down anyone Locus hasn’t taken out.”

“But what about you ?”

Maine lets out a questioning chuff.

“I want you to be happy with them too. You mean the world to me, and I don’t like the idea of you being on the outside of all this.”

A wide palm settles between Wash’s shoulders. He can feel Maine’s thick talons scraping at the nape of his neck gently. “I am happy, Wash. I don’t need to have everyone’s attention on me. I know they like me, and that’s enough.”

“Maine...I’m scared of it being fake.”

“You can’t let fear control you.”

“It’s really hard to ignore it.”

The hand reels Wash in to fit snugly against Maine’s chest. “I would never let them near you if I thought they had intentions of hurting you, Wash. I’ll always be here.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Wash, this isn’t the Project anymore. This is our own world. We make the rules.”

“I can’t lose you again, Maine.” Tears start rolling down Wash’s cheeks, matting down the light dusting of feathers.

“You won’t. This is a good thing, Wash. I promise it is.”

“...” Wash wraps his arms around Maine’s large chest. “I love you Maine.”

“Love you too, Wash.”

---

“Maine said I could help you preen, Shimmers.”

Wash is wrestling with his Kevlar vest, caked with blood and muck. Who hires mercenaries to slog through a damn swamp?! Wash’s feathers are sticking together, but still, hearing Felix freely offering assistance is bizarre .

“What? Why??”

“ ‘cause it’ll speed up the process. Plus my hands are more suited for it.” Felix holds up his hands, wiggling his fingers as if to say, ‘See?? Look how dainty!’

“...Maine said ?” Wash teases.

“Well, okay he signed , but that’s not important.” the shrike huffs, working up an exaggerated pout. “Lemme help you. I’m not gonna bite...I mean, unless you’re into that~”

“Still ace’ Felix.” Wash warns, throwing his bullet proof vest into the deep sink basin Locus had installed in the detached garage behind the house. There’s an unpleasant ‘schlap’ when it connects with the side.

“Eh. Never hurts to try.” Felix shrugs, a sly grin on his face. “Now quit being a wuss and let me work.”

Wash relents, grumbling all the while. Now that Maine had given his clear approval, the hummingbird couldn’t go one day without either of the mercenaries fussing over him. Usually Locus did the pampering, while Felix showered Wash in gifts. He had bought Wash so many knives that the group had put a ban on them. Fifty-seven was an outrageous number of blades to have, even for an assassin. How did Felix expect him to carry them all?

“-ot you a little something.”

“Huh?” Wash bolts up suddenly, causing Felix to accidentally yank a primary. Wash whines softly at the sharp burning that starts spreading in along his good wing.

Felix tsks, tongue piercing clicking against his teeth. “Got you a new zip hoodie since we wrecked your favorite on that job. Now quit moving, Twitchy.”

Wash blinks, slightly stunned. Normally Felix bought things for his housemates on a whim. Maine and Locus would make purchases out of necessity, not the resident shrike. Wash lets Felix continue fussing over the state of his feathering, only reacting when an arm winds around his waist.

“Felix?”

“Hn?” The mercenary continues to nuzzle into the crook of Wash’s neck.

“What’re you doing?” Stupid, stupid, dumb. That’s what your question is, Wash.

“Snuggling?? I figure it’s fine as long as I’m not feeling you up, yeah?” Felix elaborates, looking ever so smug with himself.

“Oh...well, I guess it’s alright. Just don’t get grabby like last time.” Wash sighs eventually.

With that dose of positive reinforcement, Felix gleefully pulls Wash into an over enthusiastic embrace. He’s purring endlessly and keeps dragging his fingers through Wash’s dreadlocks. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I love hummingbirds.” the shrike offers, almost whispering.

Wash startles, but Felix only holds him tighter. “Pardon?”

“Our old partner, Siris. He’s a black chinned hummer.”

“You said ‘is’ not ‘was’.” Wash indicates, trying to wiggle so he’s not got his chin squashed rather painfully against the shrike’s wiry shoulder. “Was that on purpose?”

“Yeah.” Felix rubs his cheek along Wash’s temple in a rather catlike way. “Last I heard of him he was still kicking. He’s fully clipped though. Same time Locus’ wing got fucked up too.” There’s the smallest touch of sadness in Felix’s voice. In a flash it’s masked. “He’s a lot like you, ‘cept he’s all monogamous and shit. It’s a shame because the man is really fine.”

“Think with something other than your dick, Felix.” Wash castizes.

“There’s nothing inherently sexual about thinking someone’s hot, Shimmers. You should know that all too well, yeah??”

Wash does not pout before shoving Felix aside.

“Aww, c’monnn, don’t be mad.” The shrike whines pitifully, trying to gather Wash in his arms again. “Please? You’re really warm and the perfect size for cuddling? Oh! Did I mention you’re really pretty today??”

Ugh. There was no stopping Felix when he’d decided he wanted something, and unfortunately for Wash, that meant him.

---

The job had been easy and highly profitable. Wash was cooking some fragrant variant of curry as Felix clung to his side like a tick.

“You look so adorable in that.” he titters, plucking at the drawstrings of Wash’s new sweatshirt. It was an abomination, black with a kaleidoscope of colourful cats, a nebula pattern overlaying them.

“I’m trying to cook here.” Wash scolds him.

“And I’m trying to watch you.” The shrike grins against his ear.

“Ughh, you’re hopeless Felix.”

“It’s Isaac, my dude.”

The screen door slams at that exact moment, making Wash practically jump out of his feathers. Maine and Locus are shrugging out of their down coats, snow dripping from their wings. In that brief window, Wash can feel Felix press a soft kiss to his jaw before pulling away.

Wash would never understand these three dorks. At least they were his three dorks.

[duraraross]

Grif and Simmons are inseparable. They have been by each other’s side since the very first episode. They are THE most iconic red vs blue duo, even moreso than, and this hurts me to say, Locus and Felix. They’re best friends, but something more. Grimmons is the ship that everyone assumes you ship because it is the default. Because they are so obviously in love. They are always together. You literally never see one without the other, and the one time it DID happen, it was because of a huge plot point.

Grif fell off a cliff and almost died, and Simmons held on as long as he could before Grif slipped from his grasp.

Grif literally has Simmons’ organs inside of him because Simmons gave them to him after an accident.

You know that trope in shows where there’s a real one and an imposter and someone who knows the real one asks a question only the real one would know? Yeah, that happened with them.

They have canonically had sex at least once. It was a sex pollen thing.

They ran a Q&A show that told us that Grif didn’t want to run a Q&A show, he just *wanted to do it with Simmons*.

A vote for Grif and Simmons is a vote for soulmates.

Round 1, part 4

[dynamitedragon]

RvB Fanfic Ideas

Tuckington

Fake Dating

Werewolf AU (specifically teen wolf but that’s not too important)

BDSM PWP

Fuck Buddies

Catfishing

Jealous Tucker

Bodyguard

Grimmons

Temple of Procreation PWP

Romcom

Everybody Bets

Girlfriend

Churbex (Church/Caboose/Tex)

I kissed you and your girlfriend at a party

Quick Summaries under the cut!

Fake dating:

This is actually Texas-Hates-Taxes-Too’s idea who wrote that the Lieutenants keep trying to set Wash up on dates and eventually he just gets fed up enough that he just says he’s with Tucker to get them to back off. Then he asks Tucker to pretend for him just until they go to Iris. In my interpretation Tucker only agrees after Wash offers throwing knives lessons and the lieutenants keep trying to make good dates for them in apology. (Hopefully it’s ok for me to take this idea and run with it.)

Werewolf AU:

If you’ve seen Teen Wolf (the tv show) this is based kinda on that. Tucker is Stiles a human with a little something extra who runs with werewolves. Wash is a hunter who comes to investigate the nemeton (an old tree thats power has been regained and is calling supernatural creatures to the town). I guess for a werewolf au it’s a bit different cause neither of the two love interests are werewolves lol. This one would be a big one when I get to writing it, so I have a lot of thoughts on it if you wanna chat lol.

BDSM PWP:

I feel like this one is pretty self explanatory, but the little plot that there is is that Sometimes Tucker can’t take being in charge anymore, being the reason some people live or die? It can be too much sometimes and he just wants to go a little mindless; Wash can help with that.

Fuck Buddies:

Tucker realizes his attraction to Wash and wants to fuck but he doesn’t think he can do relationships and they actually agree on just a friends with benefits thing. However, Wash grows feelings and decides to end it to save himself from pain. For some reason this hurts Tucker more than he thinks it should and goes about figuring out if he can actually do relationship.

Catfishing:

Tucker and Wash meet online playing video games and for some reason Tucker thinks that Wash is a girl. They do a lot of flirting and decide to meet in person, but when they do Tucker realizes the truth. Once he knows this he says he just wants to stay friends, Wash is a bit disappointed but ok with it. But even as friends Tucker falls in love with Wash all over again.

Jealous Tucker:

Doc, Locus and Donut all fall for Wash at different points and Tucker doesn’t understand why the idea of Wash with any of them makes him want to rip his face off.

Bodyguard:

Tucker’s name gets added to a hit list and needs a bodyguard, enter agent Washington who some (not many) call the best in the business. Having a bodyguard wasn’t new for Tucker, as Church had been his for a while, but there hadn’t been any danger before now and Tucker has to adjust to this new hardass who won’t let him screw around. (Not sure if I want to make this full on mafia au or just Tucker heard something he shouldn’t and now his life is in danger kind of thing)

Grimmons

Temple of Procreation:

Aka what really happened in that closet. Literally just a PWP but maybe with an extra chapter of ‘hey should we talk about this since we almost died. Again!’

Romcom:

Grif may love romcoms but he doesn’t love when he’s accidentally pulled into one and his love interest appears to be Simmons. It’s not the fact that he has to have meet-cutes and flirt with Simmons but that it isn’t his Simmons. And he thinks the lovey-doveyness of it all may kill him if he can’t get back to reality.

Everybody Bets:

Everybody bets on how and when Grif and Simmons will finally get together and they’re all so invested in it that they keep setting up their own version of the bet. Told from each other characters’s pov. Haven’t decided how to end it (either they’re already together or it was one of cabooses wild stories that didn’t seem physically possible to work).

Girlfriend:

Simmons gets a girlfriends and Grif is kinda heartbroken because thought they were solid, not necessarily together, but surely they didn’t need anyone else. Now though if he hopes to get back to normal he may have to actually talk about his feelings, even if it kills him.

Churbex:

(Idk if this is the ship name for Church/Caboose/Tex but I like it and wanted to do at least one story with them)

I kissed you and your girlfriend at a party:

Basically that tweet where someone kisses a girl at a party and to make sure her boyfriend isn’t mad, kisses him too, but it’s Caboose kissing Church and Tex. Except in this case Caboose thinks he’s ruined their relationship and doesn’t know how to tell them, even though they’ve already accepted him into the polycule. Misunderstandings ensue.

[jade-kyo]

RvB 20th rewatch: s2

Continuing the rewatch onto season 2. This is my first time watching the show on dvd and honestly it’s so fun seeing the menus and watching the extra stuff and also- getting to listen to Trocadero. That’s the best part man fucking love Trocadero.

DOC MY BELOVED

As yes the beginning of Vic being a little weirdo

The whole “you’re the thing that babies suck on” bit is still one of the funniest jokes in early rvb it cracks me up so much

Caboose only has nine toes

Remember when Doc was a fairly normal dude? Exposure to the reds and blues really does just turn you into a freaky little weirdo 😂

Also Doc’s willingness to distance himself from Grif simply for being unpopular is so funny it’s like they’re fucking high schoolers

I always say that out of everyone Church and Tucker feel the most like actual friends

Tucker character development really does go hard- he starts out as this kinda young seeming idiot who makes a lot of sex jokes and grows into the most competent soldier among them and a leader.

But also he just sounds so young in the early seasons and it’s making me emotional

Remember when Lopez didn’t hate everyone and was genuinely loyal to Sarge? Good times

BISEXUAL SHEILA

Also the beginning of the most insane love triangle ever. Of all time.

Donut actually does call himself pink here

I think it’s funny that Tex tells a story about Church being pantsed in high school even tho Allison and the Director didn’t meet until they were both adults meaning the Director either told Allison that story and Tex had that memory or Tex is counting on Alpha having faulty memories and is just straight up making shit up for the lols

Ahhh Cabooses mind- a very good bit

My personal headcanon is that Donut is 100% aware of all the innuendos and is doing it intentionally to be a little shit cause they kept making fun of him for the pink armor. No I don’t care what s17 said.

CHEX YOU ARE INCREDIBLE GOD I JUST AKDHKAHSKDHKSBD I LOVE THEM

DOC OMALLEY MY BELOVED

Possibly one of my favorite villains in the whole show just for the sheer hilarity he brings

Ah the grimmons cyborg surgery

Okay but Donut trying to jump on top of the base from the inside is so real. I never played all of halo but I did have the demo on the computer as a kid and blood gulch was like the only playable map on the demo and I would spend so long trying to jump on top of the base. I was so annoyed that you couldn’t do that

Grif smokes

“Simmons… I need your ovaries” another one of my most quoted lines

Everyone else: man Donut is so dumb and annoying // me: that is a man who knows exactly what he’s doing

“I will devour their hearts and crap out their souls!” Also one of my most quoted lines.

The fucking mayonnaise bit is so random and funny like where did that even come from

Church’s inability to speak is one of my favorite bits mostly cause me too. He just like me fr.

The brief Caboose-Donut friendship is so good

Church being able to read binary code omg how was the alpha reveal not planned I’m screaming

Tucker the first believer in grimmons

I love how Tucker was the first to realize there was a conspiracy and then everyone proceeded to ignore him and then turned out he was right.

The irony debate is another very quoted moment for me

There’s a bit at the end of the credits where Vic tells you the movies over and now I’m wondering if the bit in the restoration credits with Tucker is a call back to this

And that’s season 2 done- I don’t have a ton to say here other than I love this show and I’m having so much fun rewatching and seeing all the extra stuff on the dvds that I’d never seen before. There’s more than I expected!