#wcutfi

[sroloc--elbisivni]

Red vs. Blue, Universe Collision: Chapter 8

http://archiveofourown.org/works/8016793/chapters/30870060

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

guess who’s back

Summary: In another universe, Allison lived. Allison went on to become the military liaison and lead trainer for Project Freelancer.

This is not that universe.

Or: Years after Allison Church survives what should have been a fatal engagement, the Alpha squad she trained finds themselves crashing in a world where she didn’t.

[sroloc--elbisivni]

Red vs Blue: Universe Collision, chapter 6.5: bonus content

So I’ve had the idea for this snippet that directly follows Chapter 6 in mind since forever ago, but it doesn’t fit into the main story and I’m not going to try and make it. 

But honestly I had too much goddamned fun with it not to post it. 

Thank you to Steph for help with the Southern euphemisms!

Sarge and Agent Washington, 760 words. Warnings for excessive and possibly inaccurate Southern euphemisms and Wash angst. 

Wash kept a death grip on his helmet as the Warthog bounced along to the sound of Sarge and Grif’s bickering. He stared at the reflection in the visor, focusing on each scar, each line, each change.

Your name is Agent Washington. You’re on Chorus. Project Freelancer is gone.

Connie. York. North. South. Wyoming. Maine.

He tried not to think about York under him, two eyes staring up shocked, South tackling him, North approaching with his hands raised like Wash was a rabid animal who could lash out at any moment.

That wasn’t too far from the truth.

He barely noticed when the Warthog ground to a stop, and didn’t bother reacting until Sarge practically dragged him out of the vehicle.

“Hogwash! Hootenanny! Treason! Suggesting that I—your superior officer—“

“Jesus Christ, fine, I’m going.”

Grif floored the gas, leaving Wash coughing in the dust before he’d realized what happened.

He scrubbed the grit out of his eyes before putting on his helmet and gauntlets, and only then did he notice that it was just him and Sarge alone in a clearing.

Alone.

In a clearing.

Wash immediately started to pull away, but Sarge’s hand gripped even more tightly around his arm. “Oh, no you don’t. Sit down before you fall down.”

“Sarge. Let me go.” Wash kept his voice low and menacing. “I don’t want to hurt you—”

Wash tried to keep his voice low and menacing, but it rose higher and broke as the sentence went on. Sarge’s grip never wavered as he towed Wash over to a log and shoved on his shoulders to make him sit down. Even then, he just transferred his grip to Wash’s shoulders, keeping him anchored.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Wash repeats, almost too quietly.

“And you ain’t gonna.”

“You don’t—if you and Grif hadn’t come along back there, I could’ve—“

“But we did! And you didn’t. Though that was a real numbnuts move you pulled, goin’ off on your own after a blow to the head. Of course, being a Blue you’re bound to demonstrate some remarkable stupidity more often’n not, but sometimes I think if brains were leather you wouldn’t have enough to saddle a junebug.”

Wash blinked a few times trying to decipher that one. “…oh.”

When Sarge let go, Wash stayed put. The Red Team leader settled onto the log with a long groan.

“‘m impressed you didn’t snap sooner, tell you the truth. These new people been making me a miiiite twitchy. We already went through half of ‘em trying to kill us once, don’t see why we need to do it again.”

Wash let out a groan of his own and bent over, lacing his fingers behind his neck because this was really not helping.

“Extreme violence was a perfectly reasonable response! You’re not crazy. Well, I mean, no crazier than you already are for being a blue. And wanting to ride your fellow blue around in a flat-bed truck.”

“…what?” Wash had utterly lost the thread of this conversation.

“Tucker. You want to slap a mum on his chest and take him to a football field.”

Wash lifted his head to stare blankly at Sarge.

“You want to cause a scandal bigger than the time Nellie Weatherspoon eloped with Susan Coolidge.”

Wash continued staring blankly.

“You want to take him to the purity ball and put your key in his locket. Give grandma another heart attack. Want to row row row his boat.”

Wash started shaking his head slowly, and Sarge let out a very deep sigh. “You want to kiss him, son.”

“WHAT?” Wash sat straight up, face burning up under his helmet.

Sarge chuckled and stretched out his legs. “You know, the more forcefully your shell of denial breaks down, the more you sound like a cat in heat.“

“Oh god please stop,” Wash said, faintly, trying not to think. Especially not about some of those euphemisms.

“You sure? Because I got a few more I’ve been saving up.”

”Please stop.”

“Allright, allright. Don’t get your knickers in a twist, buttercup.”

Wash stared at the sky and tried not to let himself start laughing, because he had a feeling if he started, it would descend into crying.

Instead, he started making a new list of names.

Sarge. Tucker. Caboose. Grif. Simmons. Donut. Lopez. Carolina.

Your name is Agent Washington. You’re on Chorus. Project Freelancer is gone.

But your team is still here.

“You want to kick Jesus out of the room with him.”

“Oh my god stop.”