anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue pt 2

Tucker, listen to me. You've got to stay awake. Stay with me, you've got to--

[ But he was fading, in front of his eyes. Even with that blue light cast over his face, it was muted already in his eyes. Tucker was dying here in his arms and he was helpless. Too late to do anything at all about it.

So instead, his hand went to Tucker's hand, the one closed around his sword, fingers grasping over his tightly. Just as tightly, he could feel his throat closing around the words as he dragged them free. ]

...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

[Jesus, Wash was more upset now than when Tucker was stabbed. Weird. So...So weird.]

'm fine...jus...tired...

[He closed his eyes, the black hands of weariness trying to drag him under, drag him down; everything was so much, so fucking much and he just needed to sleep for a few hours. Needed to rest so he could help Wash and Church patch up Caboose and the others. Wash would stop being so melodramatic and--]

...ove...

[But whatever he was trying to say was lose as the sword went out in that hand, the shadows lost and the sound gone. Church muttered some pained expletive, "Fuck me, not again" before winking out. He couldn't. He couldn't be here where Wash was going to watch him break down as he listened to those vitals alarm hum without interludes of beeps.

In a room full of people, Wash was alone.]

[ There were no tears. No cries, no bitter words. There was nothing. A yawning gaping hole of nothing that started in the center of his chest and spread, until he felt nothing but the dizzying depth of that void. He could feel hands on his shoulders, could feel them trying to pull Tucker out of his grasp.

They did, in the end. Tugged away, leaving just that sword handle in his grip and he knew, if he turned it on? It would answer to him. It would set in stone what resonated in his head like a gong. Dead. All of them.

No, not all. Church still lived. Simmons was being lead away, but the others? He could tell from where they lay, from the severity of their wounds and the stillness of their forms, that there was nothing left of them but meat and bone. He'd seen too many corpses before to mistake them now.

Eventually, Carolina was the one to come for him. To guide him to his feet, and in silence they made their way out of the grisly scene. She felt as he did, he knew. Wracked with the pain of losing another family, her greatest fear and his.

They would have given anything to protect this home they'd made and now? The weight of that failure weighed heavily on both of them, all the way down to the planet's surface. ]

[The arrival home was met with a subdued celebration; Chorus had won, but at the cost of a heroic crew, the saviors they needed and deserved. The bars were filled but eerily quiet, eyes turned away in guilt and sympathy when Carolina, Wash, or Simmons walked by. Kimball called them to give her condolences, her voice shaking in an uncharacteristic way, hand lingering a little too long on Carolina's shoulder. Simmons met them, silent, a ghost.

And Church? Church was gone. Hiding. Somewhere where he couldn't - or didn't want to - be found.

The funerals were met with tears and speeches, but not from Simmons; he wasn't even there. Church was missing, too, though he did seem to flickering for a moment on a large monitor placed at the memorial so the back could see, barely a second, a flash. But then it was gone and they went on with tales of these colorful space marines by people who didn't know them.

...Unless Carolina or Wash felt like speaking, which they were more than welcome to.

After the funerals were the worst, because...what now? What direction was there? Where did they go, what did they do, what happened to three a.m. pancakes with a pantless Tucker or a Caboose who befriended another robot? How do you fill your time after that? Was...Chorus even an option after what it took from them?]

[ He doesn't speak at the funerals. He attends, stone-faced, but there are no words that can suffice for what has been taken from them. There's much to do in the wake of the war, but he finds himself retreating more and more as the weeks drag on. Even from Carolina and Simmons.

Too often, he can close his eyes and see that miserable sight, seeing the light fade from Tucker's eyes all over again. He failed them, wholly and entirely, and he doesn't quite know what to do with himself now that it's all over and done with.

He couldn't see a life for himself beyond the war, beyond caring for this new family. Without them...perhaps it no longer matters what happens to him. What would it matter? What would it changed, if he no longer had any reason to continue fighting? ]

[It's neither Simmons nor Carolina who finally seek him out a few weeks later; it's Epsilon. The hologram wasn't sporting his armor, instead that ghostly blue was in nothing more than some jeans and a hoodie, still small, still transparent, still flickering from memories, from overuse, from emotions that were weighing him down just as much.

Church had been so effectively MIA that it was scary. He should have been there for Carolina at least, but he couldn't. He didn't have time, even when he had so much more than everyone else. He had to find a way to fix it, to fix all of it, to save them, and he had to do it before they all fell the fuck apart.

So he drowned himself in theories and probabilities, in numbers and sciences. A way. He had to go back, to fix it; it was his fault. He could stand them all hating him, but only if they were fucking alive to do it. It didn't matter because...because it wasn't worth anything if they were gone.

And when he had a scrap of a stupid plan, one that shouldn't work, couldn't really work, but he hahd to trust in, he didn't go to Carolina, didn't go to Simmons, didn't go to Kimball. He went to the only one who needed it as much as he did, the only one who could give him the guilt on top of what he already felt. Fuck, he needed that, too.

He appeared in Wash's room, next to his armor.] Hey. We need to talk.

[This wasn't awkward at all.]

[ So much left unsaid between them, and yet there's never really been time to properly reconcile, has there? Now doesn't seem the time either, and when Church finally resurfaces, Wash finds no sense of relief in it. The numbness has taken root too deeply for that.

He just lifts his head, looks towards him where he hovers near the armor he's abandoned for the time being. ]

Do we?

[ People have said that, over the past few weeks. It's never been true, not to him. ]

[There was a fleeting moment when David (yes, David) hadn't been so bad and brooding and melodramatic about things. When he had smiled and meant it.

Then Church happened, and it took a long, long, long fucking time for him to actually smile again, something warm and affectionate. No smirks. Nothing after a revenge victory. Just an honest smile.

Epsilon had never talked about it, but he had spotted it when Wash talked to Tucker, to Caboose, to all of them. Sometimes late at night, sometimes after a good battle when they were all home and yelling about their victory. Sometimes, it came from some old familiar story Carolina told.

He was pretty sure that Wash wasn't bouncing back a third time.

The hologram sat on the shoulder of the dusty armor, adjusting the unnecessary glasses on his noses. What? It's aesthetic.] I know you're upset. I am, too. But this isn't your fault. None of it is. I need you to know that, square one, okay?

[There was a glitch through the projection, a flicker. Here goes nothing...] I know that because it's mine.

...what?

[ It was quiet, but that was not softness. There was nothing gentle in the way his eyes suddenly sharped, expression alert now as he stared at the holographic form perched there, out of armor. A mirror of his own desertion of his armor, and a reminder that they'd bled into each other more than a little in their brief time together.

Which mean Epsilon knew what he was about to invoke here. ]

[It would be hell, he knew it. Wash would destroy him if he could find a way, would tear him apart code by code and wouldn't think to stop. Epsilon had taken everything from him again and again and again, and even though it would be robbing Carolina of the last of her family, he probably wouldn't think about it until after it was done.

Church didn't care. He deserved it, too, but he had something to keep him alive...]

I knew they wouldn't make it, all the probabilities told me. Even with the suit, I can't run it the way I am anymore. I was a fucking idiot and I told them. I told them how I could do it - that I'd have to deconstruct myself - but....

[But Caboose's voice... Tucker's eyes...]

You know they wouldn't let me. I let them talk me out of it. It was the only chance they had, but they said they had been through worse odds and pulled through. And... they were right on that, but fucking wrong on this. [He disappeared for a second, overcome, not wanting Wash to see.]

Wash, I know what you're going through! I was with Tucker while he died! I saw-- I felt--- I fucking get it! However shitty you're feeling, I'm feeling it, too! Shit, I'm feeling it worse!

Edited 2018-07-16 00:55 (UTC)

Don't you dare.

[ And he pulled himself upright, stalking closer to that little blue figure, even if he knew he wasn't physically there. It didn't matter. And his voice hadn't raised, it stayed low and trembling as he approached. ]

Don't you fucking tell me you know what I'm feeling. You don't know a goddamn thing.

[ But he was gone then. The room appeared empty, leaving him with nothing but his own suit staring back at him. In his head, the words echoed.

...Tucker when he died...when he died...Tucker...

His hands shook, even after he'd closed them down into fists at his sides, looking around for sight of Church, wherever he'd gotten to. ]

[Okay, yeah, he had expected this. The numbers hadn't lied about that.

Church flickered back into being near a discarded datapad. He looked like hell, he looked tired, he looked smaller than normal but it didn't matter, either; Wash looked like shit, too. Everyone did. Carolina even looked haunted, and he wasn't sure when the last time Simmons ate...

They were a broken family, wrapped in a grief that wouldn't let up.]

I'm not asking for a pity party for either of us. I just...

[He flickered, but didn't disappear.] I want them back. Shit, you need them back because you're three seconds away from something and even I'm not sure what it is. Not good, I can tell you that.

[He sighed, not that he needed to. Little shoulders went up, little shoulders went down.] I've been working on something...

Back?

[ The Hell did he mean by that? Swallowing thickly, he rounded towards where Church had decided to reappear. ]

They're dead, Epsilon. There's no coming back from that. They're not AI, they're not ghosts, they're gone.

[ Just like the Freelancers. Just like...

He'd have liked to pretend he didn't know what Church was insinuating there. It wasn't as bad these days as it had been directly after getting him shoved into his head for the first time. He hadn't been banned from sharp objects, wasn't strapped to a bed, wasn't screaming to the ceilings in his sleep.

He wasn't sleeping at all, anymore. Maybe that would get to him first. ]

[Was it not as bad, or was Wash just better at not getting caught? Church had a feeling that if the Freelancer was going to go through with something, he wasn't going to let anyone, just one day walk out of the city with his gun and never return.

Church just wasn't sure how far off that was.

The AI stared at him, wanting to bite back that yeah, they said that about him, too, but here he was, back and back and back. But this wasn't that, and while he hadn't backed them up as AI (though he might ask them after this because what was healthy coping), this was something else. Something...better. Real.

Church didn't know how to let go. He did, once, in the memory unit, but this? This was different. That had been a shadow of someone who was long gone, and these...these were people. People who had a chance. And if there was even a sliver, he couldn't pass it up, not even for a second. He couldn't live out his bullshit days watching the last remains of his family fall apart. He couldn't live with the gaping hole in his center, like pieces of his coding were eroding away.]

Ever thought about time travel, Wash?

Time travel.

[ The flatness of his tone said exactly what he thought of that suggestion. It was the same tone he'd adopted when Alpha had demonstrated just how certain he was that he was a ghost, not an AI.

This wasn't coping. This was wishful thinking, fantasy. And he was past that, so far past that he couldn't even entertain the thought as possible for a second. This was the reality they had to learn to live with.

Or not live with. ]

Yeah, and when you are literally made of fucking figures, you can shit on the idea. But for right now, just listen.

[Organic brains. Ugh. And maybe he shouldn't have been so quick to snap back, but dammit, he needed this, needed to be doing more than sitting in a room, drowning like Wash was. He narrowed his eyes behind digitally constructed glasses.]

Wash, I've been crunching the numbers since the moment Tucker di--stopped. [Stopped existing. Stopped being a part of them, of their lives. Since they all had stopped.] Do you know how long that is for an AI? For me? Compared to you organic folks? It's years. I've been working on this for years, and I think I found something!

I just need Simmons to help me build it, and maybe we can stop this thing before it even happens!

You're talking about time travel. That's science-fiction. Low-grade science fiction at that.

[ Did he not realize that? Was he that far gone with guilt, that even this seemed a possibility? ]

I know you think this is your fault, but this...this isn't an answer. It's a fairy tale. It's nonsense.

[ And he wasn't buying into it. He didn't need his hopes raised only to have them shattered when reality ultimately denied them the chance to bring their friends back. He couldn't. ]

Don't. You don't get to be the only one here with the blame game, got it? It's my fault, and rather than shutting everyone who cares for me out like some people in this room, I'm trying to help.

[Do you think they didn't notice, Wash? Because they did, they all did. They just didn't know how to come to either, not when they were barely hanging on themselves.]

You know that Simmons was stupid in love with Grif, right? And he's falling the fuck apart. I can't lose you idiots, too, so I'm actually doing something.

[Unlike you. Unlike most of you.]

And if I'm wrong, so what? You know they would try if it was you.

[ And that, more than anything else, hits home. They would. They wouldn't care if it was crazy, if the prospect was there and something to work towards, they would absolutely do it.

The last family he'd had had left him for dead. The Reds and the Blues...there's nothing they wouldn't do for each other. For him. And maybe Church was right. Maybe they owed them the chance, as slim as it was.

His expression shuttering, his fists relax their hold, and he sinks back to rest on the edge of his bed, hands moving up to cup quietly over his mouth for a moment or two. ]

[Something had gotten through. Maybe not completely, but enough to shake the hardest walls, the full out denial. He sat on the data pad, legs crossing underneath him like he was about to tell him a story in the grass. He wasn't.]

I think I can do it. It's not going to be easy and the probability in our favor is pretty much shit, but...what else do you have going on, huh?

[Because if they have a shot, and if Wash really wasn't long for this whole life he had left, what better way to toss it than helping them.]

I'm sorry. You know that, right? About them. About all this shit. I just...hated them the least and sometimes we listen to our dumb organic friends when we know better. I...would have done anything to save them.

Don't.

[ It comes out sharper than he means for it to. It would be easy to blame Church, to say that he should have done it anyway. Torn himself to pieces to save them because he'd known for a fact they would die if he didn't. But what good did that do anyone? It didn't change what was.

Mistakes had been made. Maybe...maybe there was a chance to undo all of it. Ridiculous as it sounded, hadn't they gone through things just as strange before now? It was worth one last shot before they did anything drastic. ]

...alright. Alright. We'll do it. Whatever you've put together, let's try it. It's not like things can get any worse.

Huh. You are way more positive than I thought you be about this.

[Which was saying something, because this certainly wouldn't qualify as positive anywhere else in the world. But Epsilon had spent time in Wash's head, however momentarily brief, and he hadn't thought that Wash would be on board at all. There had been a twenty-three percent chance that he would even listen to Church; there was a seven percent chance he would follow along.

Well, damn. The odds were in his favor.]

It's not built yet; I need Simmons for that. [Sorry, Wash, this was nerd skills he needed right here, and you weren't the right kind of nerd.] Weirdly enough, it'd be a lot easier if Caboose was here, and you better not ever tell him I said that!

[He didn't want to endure that level of hugs. Thank fucking God, he was an AI.]

It's going to take about three months. Can you give me that long?

I don't really have a choice, do I? I can't just go 'make the impossible thing happen faster'.

[ Because he was still not convinced that this was even going to work. All he'd been convinced of to this point was that it was worth trying before they gave up entirely. This was the last avenue he could apply himself to before there was actually nothing left that could feasibly be done.

Not like he didn't understand what Church was actually asking, either. But he wasn't addressing that, wasn't going to talk about it to anyone if he could help it. That was his decision to make. No one else's. ]

[He wondered how long he could keep him going along if he couldn't get it to work. Four months? Six? A year? Would Wash be over the worst of it by then and actually keep living? Could he find a new reason?

He was stubborn. He was a fucking cockroach. But even cockroaches got stomped on eventually. ]

I think I can convince Simmons, partly because of science, mostly because he misses Grif. You...you just sit tight, okay? And--

[He flickered back to the armor, sitting on the discarded shoulder, not disturbing the dust.] --check in on Carolina, okay? She doesn't show it, but she's having a rough time, too. You guys could probably use each other.

Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that.

[ It wasn't as if he could contribute to this mad plan any other way. All he knew was that if it worked, if there was a chance, slim as it was, he had to take it. Tucker would have done it, in a heartbeat, if the tables were turned.

He'd have told him not to. He knew that as well. But Tucker wasn't here to argue the facts. It was their call, their choice to make. Carolina would have to agree with that, wouldn't she? ]

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