anothercontinuity | Red vs Blue pt 2

[Epsilon heard the yell, responded with a Sure thing, Agent Bitchington, before the electricity struck the platform. Somewhere, Epsilon winked out, forever or for now, it was initially impossible to tell which. The surge, the effort to run this was massive; the electricity and content such a draw, a siren song.

He felt thinner for a reason.

He felt nothing now.

But that wasn’t for Wash to know, couldn't be his concern with all the grit and sand in the way. It was shadowed in here, lit in spots by the occasional safety flashlight attached to the wall just enough to see. If he spoke, it would echo from all the nothingness inside.

It was empty and brown and maybe even familiar from a time he had traveled with the Meta.

And here was another familiar thing: the sound of an alien energy sword coming to life and the blue light suddenly illuminating the walls.]

Who the fuck are you and how did you get in here? [It didn't sound as hardened as what the war started to create, instead something young, something that still didn't take shit seriously. Except, maybe this.] Better talk because I'm about three seconds from teabagging all your corpses when I'm done with this shit.

[Welcome, Private Tucker.]

Edited 2018-08-24 00:32 (UTC)

[ It was familiar, but it shouldn't have been. This wasn't Chorus, this was somewhere else entirely. The smell of stone and sand and dust, shadows dancing around the lights hung up to provide any kind of visibility and--

He should have put up his hands. Instead, all he could do was stare. It--

It had worked. They'd done it. Tucker, alive and well, was standing in front of him, sword active which meant he was alive. He couldn't quite get past that part, his brain rolling back over it like a skipping record, something painful twisting in his chest.

Alive. Alive. Alive. ]

Tucker.

[ And he reached up, yanking his helmet off of his head, the better to see him in the darkness. ]

[Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who the fuck was this guy, just moving around so quick?

Was he—

Was he pulling off his helmet? Did he want to get stabbed? Was he just trying to make it easier to get wrecked and holed? Because Tucker would wreck him.

Not…not like that.

All the same, his brow furrowed a little more when he realized the guy knew his name; nothing like being at a disadvantage, right? Unless his aimless distress calls were finally answered, and this was Command’s oh-so-gracious answer.

Or maybe this asshole was one of the guys outside, laying seige.]

Who the hell are you? [That deep level of confusion was all over him, in his body, his eyes, his face. He didn’t have a clue.] I get wanting to strip for me, but dude, you’re so not my type.

[ He doesn't know me.

The thought sinks in after a moment, and this strange warring sense of numb and every other emotion know to man feels like it's clashing inside of his guts, and all he can do is stare at Tucker and wonder how far back he's gone.

Wait a minute.

His eyes tear away for just a moment, looking around them. ]

This is Sandtrap.

[ God, how long ago was that even? Long before Chorus. Long before he and Tucker had even met. He was sitting in a jail cell somewhere at this very moment, likely as not. And that also meant... ]

They still haven't come to rescue you, yet.

[Oh, hey, you know that thing where people say that things can't get weirder and then they do?

Yeah. This. Right here.

Tucker didn't really call it "Sandtrap" because it was a stupid name; "bad ass alien sand temple" seemed way more appropriate and telling, all things considered. "The Place Where Assholes Tried To Kill Him" was another, but hey, that didn't exactly narrow it down, either. But this guy? This guy knew the name.

He knew he hadn't been rescued.

Which meant he knew he was sending distress signals.

Tucker pressed the sword a little closer, not enough to touch, but fuck, it's got to be hot right about now.]

But they are coming - [god, he was shit at bluffing] - so if I were you, I wouldn't do anything stupid. Or, you know, do it and give me a reason. Just one.

[ It doesn't matter. The heat of the blade doesn't matter, he'd impale himself on it if it meant getting warning to Tucker regarding what was to come. If he could even remember it that far ahead. But how much weight could the word of an absolute stranger carry? ]

Yeah. They're coming. You're getting out of here, and...

[ No, now was not the time for his voice to close up. ]

Tucker, I'm not here to hurt you. I swear it.

[ And both hands lifted, palms open, into the air. See? No weapons, no aggressive intent, just hear him out. That's all he asks. God knew how much time he had or didn't, in this place. ]

[Okay, okaaaay, that was good news. Tucker lowered the sword by degrees, adrenaline still coursing through his veins; that's what happened when you were on minimal sleep, bare rations, and constantly being cornered in a temple by a bunch of assholes who wanted to murder you dead so they could make a cheap grab at alien tech.

No wonder Tucker was sent out here, and thank God, Junior was back, somewhere safe.]

So, Church heard it finally and got his head out of his ass?

[He missed him. He fucking missed him, missed Caboose, missed the Reds. Blood Gulch had been paradise in comparison to what this place had to offer: isolation and real death. Anything had to be better than this.]

How do you know they're coming? How do you know us at all? Who the fuck are you?

I'm...a friend.

[ He hesitated over the words, lowering his hands slowly. ]

Or, I will be. Months from now. I think...I think I got here before we actually met.

[ The timing worked out. He'd come here with the Meta after Tucker had been rescued, chasing Tex to Sidewinder, and then after the fight with the Meta the Blues had effectively adopted him.

The blues. Of which he was now the sole surviving member. Focus. ]

This is gonna sound crazy, but...Church sent me from the future. Something happened. Something I gotta try and stop.

[...and the sword went back up.]

Soooo, you're crazy. That's cool.

[It was easy to repeat the name of the one person Tucker said, like a psychic at the bachelorette party. It was simple to make up the stupidest story ever told, especially after Tucker had already dealt with Time Travel. Sort of. Kind of. Look, it was complicated and those early days didn't make a bunch of sense.

His hand tightened on the sword hilt, his jaw tight. What the fuck was he supposed to do with this guy, huh? Really?]

You don't have a set of handcuffs on you, do you? I mean, you strike me as a BDSM type, so hey, maybe.

I know it sounds crazy. I know it does. I know...

[ The desperation was rising in his voice, those exhausted eyes staring pleading at Tucker, who had no real reason to trust him. Who could only go on his word.

Would Wash have listened, if the tables were turned?

He sighs, eyes sliding shut for just a moment, that weariness washing over him in a wave. How to convince him? ]

This was the only chance we had at saving you guys. I let you down once. I'm not gonna do it again. Just...hear me out. And if you still feel like stabbing me afterwords, that's fine, I don't care, just. Please.

[Man, this guy looked tired. It was heavy and across his face, not like a mask, but like the mask had fallen off and this was all that was left. It was desperate and just...sad.]

God, when was the last time you slept?

[The sword dropped again, not turning off but just hanging there. He sighed a little, those aqua shoulders rolling in a shrug, and fine, he could have a few minutes; Tucker had a feeling that the guy would uphold his end of this bargain, anyway. Stabbings would be had if it was bullshit. This guy wasn't the only one that was exhausted.

Tucker took a step back, sizing him up.]

Go ahead. It better be good, though.

[ Hearing just that much, that old familiar refrain, needling him about sleep...he feels something inside crack. He's missed him. God, he thought he knew how much he missed him until this moment.

But now isn't the time to reminisce. He doesn't know how much time he has. So he steels himself and nods. ]

I can't tell you everything. I don't know what will change, what will screw things up irrevocably. But a few years from now, on a backwater planet in the middle of nowhere, you and your friends...the Reds and the Blues...you save an entire population of people.

[ There's a pause, and when he continues, a quiet hitch in his breath. ]

And you give your lives to do it.

[It sounded like a tagline to a movie, some melodramatic telling, hopefully by Morgan Freeman. He could picture it in his head in a way, but also...couldn't.

Because--]

Okay, you make us sound like heroes. And we're not. At all.

[Had this guy met them? Really?]

Like, I'm a badass, sure, but they're not. [See: the sword. The fact that he's kept this alien temple safe for weeks now, all by himself. The Chosen One title.

See: absolutely nothing else.]

Are you sure you don't have us confused with another set of Reds and Blues? Because there are others.

[ He could understand the disbelief. Years ago, he wouldn't have believed it. He wouldn't have thought them capable. Yet they thrived on proving people wrong, doing the impossible.

They were just supposed to survive to enjoy that sense of validation. ]

Yeah. Pretty sure.

[ And he reached to his hip, drawing from the clip on his armor a familiar-looking sword handle. Tucker should recognize it instantly, and even now? He couldn't bring himself to turn it on. To confirm that finality in his head. ]

[Pretty sure. Yeah, okay, but then he was pulling out that--]

Hey! How the fuck did you get one? Do you have an alien kid, too? [There was a beat of a pause, before he reached out to take it. Turn it over. Look at one spot.

You see, because Tucker had always carved his initials into his toys, ever since he was a little kid. It was like dibs, but permanent, forever, steel-lidded and impossible to argue, a thing his mom taught him so he could get them back after he loaned them out to his friends. Did you think he wouldn't do the same to his favorite "toy" in the entire galaxy?

Fuck yeah he did.

And sure enough, there was a scratchy LT etched into the handle.

He shook it, but it didn't turn on. No hum. No blue light. Nothing but silence.]

What the fuck?

There's a trick to it.

[ He said it like it was a joke, but with no mirth, no smile. Watching him try to light it up with no success. ]

The sword is bonded to you, and only you. Until you die. Then, whoever claims the sword becomes the bearer.

[ Something stretched thin and tight in his chest, his throat threatening to close up as he cleared his throat in an effort to stave it back. ]

I never tried it, though, so. Maybe it just doesn't work now. I have no idea, really.

[This guy didn't-- He didn't try it? Then that meant--]

So, did you kill me, or just watch me die? I doubt I just tossed it to you then bit it.

[Tucker shook it again, like a remote with dying batteries, before handing it back to the guy. Stupid, probably, handing a weapon to a person who came in screaming his name and looking sad as fuck, but, eh, that's what Church was like too.

Could he start it?

Would he?]

Try it. Like, turn it on.

Red vs Blue pt 2

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