I do not own Red vs. Blue (or Minecraft).

So as much as I adore Red vs. Blue and don't mind the swearing, I've got a weird quirk where I am physically incapable of doing it myself. I don't swear in real life, and I literally can't bring myself to hardcore swear in my fics.

Which is why you'll find that I went with the friendlier version of the F word. I know, it doesn't make much sense. But then again, I'm not known for making sense.

Hope you enjoy anyway!

Effective Punishment

Washington wasn't sure where the idea came from in the first place, nor could he figure out why it actually worked. He wouldn't call it a success by any means, but it ended up working to some degree. He did, however, remember how it all started, with a crystal clarity.

"Tucker! I told you to quit swinging that sword around! You're going to break something!"

Tucker let out a dismissive scoff, ignoring Washington's order as he nimbly moved his glowing alien sword in large arcs through the air, reveling in the soft swish swish sounds it made. "Do I look like Caboose to you? Besides, what's there to break? I'm outside."

"Will you just stop goofing around and get back to work?" snapped Washington. "What are you even doing?"

"I'm practicing, dude! Gotta keep my skills honed!"

"It's hard to keep skills honed when you never had any to begin with," deadpanned Washington.

"Are you blind? I've got mad skills with my sword! Here, watch!"

Tucker twisted his body and then launched into a spinning kick, slashing his sword in an upwards motion. His ankle buckled upon landing and he lost his grip at the top of the arc, sending his sword flying into the air.

"Heads up!" Tucker hollered.

"Why'd you say that? We're the only ones out here!"

"Eh, it seemed appropriate."

Washington and Tucker tracked the sword's descent, as it fell from the sky and sliced right through the trunk of a looming birch tree. There was a great cracking sound as the trunk split apart, splinters spraying in all directions as the tree began to crumble—directly towards their base.

"Ah, hell," muttered Washington. "Caboose! Get your butt out here now!"

"Timber!"

"Tucker!"

"I'm here, Washington!" exclaimed Caboose, sprinting out of Blue Base and towards his friends. "My butt is ready!"

"That's what she said! Bow-chicka—"

The rest of Tucker's catchphrase went unheard as the tree slammed into Blue Base, crunching wood and screeching metal filling the afternoon air. A cloud of dust rose from impact and Caboose cried, "The sky is falling! The sky is falling!"

"Shut up, Caboose!" called Tucker. "It's just the stupid tree!"

"That you broke!" cried Washington in frustration.

"It was a freak accident! You can't blame me for that!"

"Like hell I can't!"

It took a minute for the dust to clear and the three turned to regard their base. One section of the roof had crumpled inwards and several branches of the tree were dangling through the gap. The remainder of the tree was leaning precariously against the side of the base.

"Ah! We're under attack! By a tree!"

Washington pressed a hand against the top of his helmet as Caboose unleashed fire against the damaged birch. "Tucker."

"What, you want me to engage the enemy too?" he asked with a snicker.

"You're on a time-out."

The words seemed to leave him of their own volition, without his brain processing and giving permission for the thought to be vocalized. But in the surprised silence that followed, Washington suddenly felt a steely conviction.

"Yeah, whatever, very funny," said Tucker, giving a short laugh.

"I'm serious."

"What? No way! I'm a grown-ass man! You can't put me on a time-out!"

"You were acting like a child, so it's fitting that you get punished like one," said Washington matter-of-factly. "I told you to knock it off and you didn't listen. Now our base has a sun roof!"

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with a sun roof!"

"Try saying that the next time it rains." Washington pointed off towards the right, to a large rock situated across the creek. "Go."

"Oh, this is not happening. I'm out of here."

"Fine. I guess we're doing this the hard way."

Caboose grinned widely as Washington grabbed Tucker in a headlock and started dragging his kicking and hollering subordinate towards the boulder. "Tucker's in trouble, Tucker's in trouble!"

"Shut up! Wash, let me go! I'm not doing it! You can't make me!"

…

The loud noise attracted the attention of Grif, whose curiosity motivated him to cross the canyon. He paused atop a hill, where the elevation gave him a full unobstructed view of Blue Base. His eyebrow flew upwards at sight of destruction before him. "Geez, wait until Sarge hears about this. We don't need to attack Blue Base if nature is just going to do it for us. Less work for me!"

The orange-suited soldier picked his way down the slope and trekked towards the structure. He was curious as to how this happened—there was no wind and no storm, and the tree didn't look dead. Also, this was the perfect chance to taunt them.

Grif reached the creek, but a bright figure standing off to the side caught his attention. Grif turned his body, spotting Tucker standing absolutely still, facing the rock. His arms were by his side and he was grumbling under his breath.

"I can't effing believe this. This is so stupid. Who does Washington think he is? Yeah, you might be the leader of this team, but this is a clear abuse of power."

"The time has come. You finally snapped."

Tucker whipped his head around, letting out a hiss as his helmet smacked into the rock. "Please, we're all crazy. We've never not been crazy."

"Fair point." Grif stared at Tucker expectantly, but the Blue only returned his stare. "So…you gonna tell me what the hell you're doing?"

"I'm just chilling."

"You were having a staring contest with a rock before I showed up."

"I don't want to talk about it. In fact, get lost. You're going to get me in more trouble."

"More trouble?" echoed Grif. "Wait…did you have something to do with the tree that's now living in your base?"

"There was an incident with my sword."

"Causing a tree to collapse onto your home if more than an incident. It's a effing catastrophe."

"Whatever! I did it and now—"

Tucker abruptly stopped speaking and snapped his gaze back to face the rough surface of the moss-covered boulder. Grif poked Tucker insistently in the side and said, "And now what? What? What? What? What? What?"

"Holy crap, will you shut up! I'm on a time-out, okay?"

"You're what?"

"You heard me," said Tucker through clenched teeth.

"Washington put you on a time-out?" said Grif gleefully. "Oh man—this is gold! Enjoy corner time, dude. Wait until Simmons hears about this!"

"Don't you-!"

But Grif was already high-tailing it back to Red Base, cackling in a rather evil manner. Tucker glowered after him. "Asshole!"

"Tucker! Are you talking to someone?" Washington hollered from the direction of Blue Base.

"No!"

…

It wasn't unusual for explosions to occur in the canyon. In fact, it was a rare day when there wasn't a fiery inferno or a plume of smoke rising from somewhere. But what caught Grif's and Simmons' interest this particular explosion was the knowledge of what might come afterwards—the new punishment Washington now imposed upon the Blues.

"Ooh, someone's gonna get it!" laughed Grif. "Come on, let's see who did it. I hope it's Tucker."

"Should we bring Sarge with us?" asked Simmons.

"No! If Sarge learns what Wash is doing, he'll probably get the same stupid idea! And you know who he's going to use it on the most."

"That's how you're trying to convince me not tell Sarge the Blues now get time-outs?"

"Shut up. Don't even think about it. Let's go."

They went to their lookout post atop a grassy cliff and Simmons glanced through eyepiece of his sniper rifle to get a better view. "Washington's bringing someone out of the base…it's Caboose."

"What'd he do?"

"I dunno, there's a lot of smoke pouring out of the place. Hold on, Washington is throwing something—it's a microwave. There's a fork stuck inside it."

"What the hell? Who lets Caboose use a microwave?"

A deformed, half-melted, hot chunk of metal was whipped out of the entrance to Blue Base. It sailed over the highly-flammable grass and landed in the water, where it was promptly extinguished. Huffing out a hard breath, Washington then turned to Caboose, who lingered by the base.

"Uh…Tucker did it!"

"Tucker wasn't the one I caught standing next to the microwave while it was on fire," said Washington, barely able to keep the frustration and anger out of his voice. "What have I told you about the microwave?"

"Not to put plastic in it," answered Caboose immediately.

"Right. And what else?"

"Metal."

"So why did you put a fork in the microwave?"

"Because that's what the instructions said!"

"Pardon?"

"The helpful box told me to pierce the plastic film with a fork," explained Caboose. "That's what I did. The box was wrong."

Washington turned to stare at the destroyed microwave, and amongst the putrid scent of tainted smoke he could detect a hint of chicken. "Caboose. When it tells you to pierce the plastic film on microwaveable dinners, that means you poke holes in the plastic with a fork. Then you put the fork down and put the food in the microwave."

Caboose was silent for a minute. "Oh," he said at last. "That makes much more sense. I still don't get why that kind of plastic can go in the microwave, though."

"Just don't worry about it. I think you need to go on a time-out and remember the rules of the microwave. We can go over them when you're finished."

"Okay!" said Caboose. He spun on his heel and went to what was now designated as the time-out boulder, humming cheerfully.

"Er…okay. That was easy," said Washington in bemusement.

He went back inside the base and when he was gone Grif and Simmons descended down the cliff to see the mostly clueless Blue solider. "Hey, Caboose," greeted Simmons when they neared.

"Shush!" said Caboose. "I am on a time-out!"

"So?" asked Grif. "Did Wash say you couldn't talk?"

"No…no he didn't!" exclaimed Caboose. "Oh boy, I'm glad you're here! I don't like being alone."

"Wash is really taking this time-out thing seriously, isn't he?" asked Grif with a snicker.

Caboose nodded. "Uh-huh. Tucker's gotten a lot so far, but this is my first one! I'm the favourite!"

"Does it work?" asked Simmons curiously. "The, uh, time-out thing? Man, that feels weird to say."

"I think so. Tucker is always loud but after a time-out he gets really quiet and he does whatever Washington tells him! It's like magic!"

"Where is Tucker?" asked Grif.

"Running laps."

"Ugh. I think that would be a worse punishment than corner time. Or, boulder time, I guess."

"For you, maybe," replied Simmons. "Come on, we better get back before Sarge wonders where we are."

"All right. See you later, Caboose." With a grin, Grif added, "Don't forget to think about what you've done!"

"Okay!"

As the pair of Reds headed back for their own base, Grif didn't think he'd ever get tired of making fun of the Blues and their new juvenile punishment. The thought didn't last long, however. Not when his turn came.

…

Grif didn't have many responsibilities amongst the Reds, mostly because he rarely (if ever) completed any task he was given successfully. Simmons usually take care of most things, but for some reason, Grif would be saddled with a task every now and then. Mostly whenever Sarge was in the mood to see him fail spectacularly.

That week Grif was given supply duty. All that job entailed was ordering the supplies they were running low on, ranging from weapons to food to leisurely pleasures, like Donut's magazine subscription.

And Grif made his way half-heartedly through the list, relaying everything they needed to Command, who would then organize a supply drop. It wasn't until the following week, when Simmons barged into the main room to inform them they were on their last barrel of water.

Grif froze in his cushioned seat, his sandwich pausing just before his mouth. Water. He had forgotten to order the water.

Internally cursing, Grif shoved the rest of the sandwich into his mouth and hastily jammed on his helmet. He stood up and moved restlessly around the room as he frantically tried to think of how to correct this. He usually didn't give a flying crap about the mistakes he made, but the last thing he needed was for Sarge to use this as ammo against him. Along with actual ammo, once he realized they would have to go a month on one barrel of water.

"Dude, what are you doing?"

Grif was brought out of his pondering by Simmons, who was staring at him in bewilderment. "What?"

"You're pacing," pointed out Simmons. "People usually only pace when they're thinking about something."

Sarge, who was cleaning his shotgun in an armchair across the room, scoffed. "Simmons, don't be ridiculous! You're mistaking Grif with an intelligent human being."

"Yeah," said Grif with a sneer, "that must be why we never see Sarge pacing."

Sarge sent Grif a narrow-eyed glare. "One of these bullets has your name on it. And when I finish reloading in about five minutes, I'll deliver it personally!"

"I'm afraid I'm going to miss that delivery. I'm going out. Leave me a slip of notice, I'll pick it up at the nearest post office," quipped Grif.

He slid past Simmons and hurried out of the base. "Water…water…eff me. Where am I going to get water?"

He wouldn't be able to add on to his order. Once he sent it, that was that, and anything else they needed would have to wait until the next supply drop. The creek would have to do in an emergency, but they would need to purify the water and that was far too much effort.

"Looks like I'm going to have to borrow some water," muttered Grif.

He made his way across the canyon to the Blue Base. As far as he could tell, there was no one around. He peeked through the entrance and snuck his way inside, tiptoeing across the metal floor. He checked room after room until he found the kitchen, where there were three barrels of water stacked in the corner near the pantry.

"Jackpot!" whispered Grif. He grabbed hold of one and grunted at the weight of it, stumbling back a few steps. "Damn, these are heavy. Should have brought Lopez with me." Grif set the barrel down and activated his radio. "Lopez? Lopez, it's me. Can you hear me?"

There was no response, just crackling static, so he tried again. "Come on Lopez, come in! I need your help! Lopez! Do you read me?"

"Loud and clear, Private Grif."

"Lopez? Why do you sound like-?" Grif turned his head slightly to the right and stilled upon spotting Washington standing just behind him. "Uh. Never mind. Crap."

"What are you doing here?" demanded Washington.

"Well, us Reds thought we'd do a little redecorating," lied Grif. "So I came over here for some ideas."

"One more time. What are you doing here?"

"I forgot to order water for our next supply drop, okay?" snapped Grif.

"So your first thought was to come and steal some of our supply?"

"Not my first thought, exactly. My first thought was blaming Simmons, but that never works."

"You know, you could've just asked," said Washington in annoyance.

"Sometimes that doesn't work, so I didn't want to take my chances."

"Uh-huh. I have to say that I don't appreciate you breaking into our base and stealing our water."

"Oh come on, it's what we do! You steal stuff from us all the time!"

"Not items that mean your survival or your death," said Washington seriously. "We may be Reds and Blues, but we're a team. You don't steal water and you don't steal food and you don't steal medical supplies. You ask. I think a punishment is in order."

"Oh no!" shouted Grif, rapidly backing away from Washington, cursing when he knocked into a barrel. "I am not going on a time-out."

"Ah, you already know. That saves me the effort of explaining." Washington regarded Grif in an almost bored manner. "Do we need to do this the hard way?"

"Uh…uh…fire in the hole!"

Grif flung a grenade, where it clattered into the sink. As Washington swore, Grif charged out of the kitchen with the Blue Leader hot on his heels. Grif burst outside and immediately sprinted across the creek, whereas Washington was forced to deal with the aftermath of the explosion, smoke and flames pouring from the back half of their base.

Tucker and Caboose watched Grif run for his life. "Ha! He is so in for it!" cackled Tucker. "This is the best day of my life!"

"Grif is in trouble, Grif is in trouble!"

"Tucker, Caboose!" hollered Washington. "Don't just stand there, help me put this crap out!"

…

Simmons, Sarge and Lopez all jumped when Grif barged into the main room, his shoulder slamming into the doorframe upon entry. Gasping for breath, Grif's lungs burned and his legs ached as he collapsed to the floor.

"What the hell?" said Simmons in bafflement. "Grif, did you…were you running?"

"Lopez…" wheezed Grif, splayed out on the floor. "Why…didn't…you…answer…my…call…asshole?"

"I didn't feel like it. Who are you calling asshole, asshole?"

"That's right Lopez, you don't take orders from Grif." Sarge cocked his gun and pointed it at Grif. "Don't think I forgot about your remark earlier. I promised you a bullet!"

"Go…ahead…please!"

Scowling, Sarge lowered his weapon. "You take the fun out of everything, Private Grif."

"What the hell were you doing?" demanded Simmons.

Grif managed collect enough air and energy to straggle to his feet. "If Washington comes by, I'm not here!"

He stumbled out of the room, leaving his teammates to stare after him in confusion. It was barely a minute later when Washington showed up, absolutely fuming. Simmons shrunk back from the anger radiating from the former Freelancer.

"Uh…Grif's not here?"

"What in Sam Hell is going on?" snapped Sarge. "Are you attacking my men, Washington? I'd be angrier if it was anyone other than Grif, but still! We won't be attacked by any Blue!"

"If anyone is doing the attacking, it's your solider!" returned Wash. "He blew up our kitchen! With a grenade!"

"Do we want to know?" asked Simmons warily.

"He's an idiot. He doesn't need a reason to be stupid. None of you do," replied Lopez.

"I caught him trying to steal our water."

"Water? Why would he do that? We have a supply drop coming—" Sarge abruptly cut himself off and shouted, "Private Grif! Get out here! Don't make me come after you!"

It took a minute, but Grif slowly slunk into the room. "I forgot to order the damn water, okay?"

"Seriously!" cried Simmons. "How could you forget that?"

"I hardly drink the stuff!"

"Water is a necessity of life, dumbass!"

"Quiet," ordered Washington. When silence descended, he turned to Sarge and said, "He destroyed part of our base because he was unhappy with the punishment I was going to give him. Apparently, he is severely against the concept of a time-out."

Simmons let out a short burst of laughter, which he poorly tried to disguise as a sudden coughing fit. Sarge stared blankly at Washington. "Come again, son?"

"It's a new experiment I've been trying with my men. I must say, the results have been surprisingly positive. But since Grif nearly killed me in his attempt to escape, I've decided to also put him through a specially designed training regime."

"I wasn't trying to kill you! I knew you'd be fine!" Turning to face his Commanding Officer, Grif was barely able to keep the desperation out of his voice as he asked, "Sarge, I know what you're thinking, but wouldn't you rather punish me instead?"

"Of course I would! That's why I'll do it later." Sarge glanced over at Washington and jerked his chin in Grif's direction, the orange-suited solider cowering in the corner. "Take 'im."

"Come on, Private." Washington took Grif's shoulder in a vice-grip and started hauling him towards the exit. "After a half hour at the time-out boulder, I'm sure you'll be more than ready to run my very long and very exhausting obstacle course."

"Someone! Please kill me now!" wailed Grif before being yanked out of sight.

"Time-out boulder!" guffawed Sarge. "I gotta see this. Simmons, help me find my camera! Lopez, go find Donut! He's not going to want to miss this!"

"Why are you sending me? He rarely ever understands me."

The thing with the appropriately called time-out boulder was that while you were standing straight-backed, facing it, you weren't allowed to move, not when Washington chose to observe the punishment. So Grif stood, fists clenched at his sides, as Simmons taped a 'Loser' sign to his back, as Sarge took pictures, as Lopez tossed rocks at him and as Donut chided him for his impulsiveness.

To distract himself from the humiliation of the moment, he thought of all the ways he was going to kill them.

…

The hood of the Warthog propped up, Sarge straightened with a computer chip in hand. "All right Lopez, if we want the Warthog to be faster than the Road Runner, we're gonna need a few spark-plugs and upgrade this little doo-dad."

"I'm not doing it," snapped Lopez. He was a few yards away, attaching a wheel to a motorcycle. "I don't know why you even bother fixing these vehicles. You idiots just keep breaking them."

"No rush, Lopez! You finish the motorcycle first before working on this." Sarge turned on his heel and started for the crate they had dragged outside, which contained spare vehicle parts. He flipped the computer chip in his hand on his way over but missed the catch and it fell to the ground, where he accidentally treaded over it. "Dagnabbit."

Lopez glanced up from his work. "Nice move, moron."

"Damn it, they don't make performance chips like they used to! What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

The Red Team only had one Warthog and no spare performance chips. Sarge stood for a moment, contemplating, when his eyes strayed towards the opposite end of the canyon. Where the Blue Base stood, along with their own Jeep.

"I'll be back, Lopez!"

"You really don't have to come back."

Sarge crossed the canyon and wound his way around Blue Base, where he knew they stored their Jeep. He cast a quick glance around and, when he found the coast to be clear, opened up the hood. He removed the performance chip and raised it victoriously.

"Suck it, dirty Blues!"

He figured while he was there, he might as well see if they had anything worthwhile in the glove compartment. He swung his body into the seat and reached over, opening up the box.

As he was rifling through discarded trash, his torso rested on the gearshift, and the pressure of his weight slowly nudged it towards 'drive'. The vehicle lurched forwards and Sarge let out a startled shout as it began to roll.

"What the—?"

Sarge sat up in time to see a tree rapidly coming into view. He quickly dove out to the ground and watched as the Jeep slammed into the tree, crumpling inwards like an accordion, smoke pouring from the hood.

Washington raced around the corner of the base to see the disaster. He slowly turned to face Sarge, who stared at him. "You ought to perform safety inspections more often, Wash. Your vehicles are death traps!"

"What the hell are you doing here?" demanded Washington. "And what have you done to our Warthog?"

"Nothing! I was merely taking a walk and then I saw this runaway Jeep! My quick reflexes saved my life. I see you have a mess to clean up, so I'll leave you to it!"

Sarge clapped Washington on the shoulder and strode off. Washington stared after him with a suspicious glare and went to inspect the vehicle. There were three things he noticed pretty quickly—the gearshift had been moved, the front hood was ajar and they were missing the performance chip.

"Damn it."

Washington followed Sarge's trail and came upon the man trying to install the stolen performance chip. At Washington's annoyed a-hem, he whirled around. "Lopez! You were supposed to warn me if he was coming!"

"You have eyes. Use them."

"Give back our performance chip, Sarge," snapped Washington.

With an irritated grunt, Sarge reluctantly handed it over. "Killjoy. It's not like you were going to use it for its full potential anyway."

"The last thing you need to be in control of is an enhanced vehicle," said Washington flatly. "You destroyed our Jeep when it was minding its own business. Come on."

"For what?"

"You know what."

It took Sarge a minute to register what Washington intentions were and he bristled. "Hell no. I'm a Commanding Officer. You don't have the authority to put me on a time-out!"

Somehow, those words had become magic in the canyon. Simmons, Donut and Grif came charging out of Red Base, eyes darting between Sarge and Washington, who were standing off. "Did I hear what I just thought I heard?" asked Grif hopefully.

"What'd he do?" asked Donut.

"Wrecked our Jeep and stole parts from it," answered Washington shortly. "And I am a Commanding Officer as well. More than that, actually. I'm an agent."

"Well, la-di-da! A fancy title don't mean squat! You're a Blue, and I don't take orders from Blues! Not stupid ones, anyhow. I don't see you going on any juvenile time-outs!"

"It wasn't so juvenile when Grif was completing his punishment," returned Washington. "And no, I haven't, but that's because I haven't done anything to warrant one. I can tolerate stealing our performance chip. But you people have a knack for destroying property, and I'm starting to see that these time-outs are curbing that problem."

"You ain't hearing me, son. I said no."

"Well then. I guess we're doing this the hard way."

"Yes!" whooped Grif as Washington launched at Sarge, wrestling him to the ground. "This the best day ever! Donut, get the camera! I need to film this for blackmail purposes!"

"Guard your jugular, sir!" called Simmons. "Oops, too late."

"Beat him into paste!" said Lopez.

Sarge put up a good fight, and it was twenty minutes later when he followed Washington, bruised battered and cursing, to the dreaded boulder. Grif saved the video of Washington kicking Sarge's butt to memory device and hid it in a safe place before helping Lopez make a sign that said 'Loser In Charge'.

…

"This is a bad idea."

"We'll be fine," said Donut, dismissing Doc's wary tone. "We're just borrowing it."

Doc watched in exasperation as Donut fiddled with the motorcycle parked against the side of Blue Base. "But why? Where are we going?"

"This canyon is huge and I can't explore it all by walking, silly! Don't you want to take a ride with me?"

"It's not that. You didn't even ask Wash if it was okay."

"I left a note!"

"I don't know," said Doc dubiously. "Do you even know how to work this?"

"Sure do!" As if to prove his point, the motorcycle powered up at the same moment. "See! Piece of cake. C'mon, Doc. And hang on tight!"

Donut swung his leg over the seat and looked over at his companion expectantly. Doc followed suit, climbing on behind Donut. "I guess it's okay. It doesn't run on diesel so we're not hurting the natural environment. But we better be extra careful so we return it in one piece."

"Absolutely!"

Donut revved the engine and they took off, sending bits of grass flying behind them as they tore across the landscape. They started to explore the half of the canyon that housed Red Base, studying the high cliff walls and arching trees that acted as a canopy, blocking out most of the afternoon sun.

As Donut turned the motorcycle around, Doc noticed they were starting to drive amongst the trees. "Careful!"

"There's plenty of room!" said Donut cheerfully. He turned his head slightly to regard Doc and added, "Ooh, look at those pretty flowers—"

"Donut! Look out!"

"Oof!"

Too late.

A low-hanging branch knocked the pair off of the bike, sending them tumbling to the ground. Donut and Doc winced as the motorcycle slammed into a tree blocking its path. It spun through the air a few times before crashing into the ground, sending up a cloud of dirt on impact.

"You okay?" asked Doc, helping Donut to his feet.

"Yup!" Donut strode over to inspect the vehicle. "Maybe it still starts!"

"Even if it does, it's kind of hard to miss the dents," pointed out Doc. "I told you so."

"No one likes a bragger, Doc," chided Donut. "We better find Wash and let him know what happened."

Together, they rolled the motorcycle back to Blue Base. Donut sauntered over to the entrance and called, "Hey Wash! Are ya home?"

There was a very distinct muttering of "Lord, what now?", before Washington himself appeared. "Yes?" he asked warily.

"So we did a bit of a boo-boo," spoke Donut. "And not one Doc can fix, ha ha."

"We, uh…we broke your motorcycle," muttered Doc. "Sorry."

"Our what?" shouted Washington.

He ran to the back of the base, where he had last seen their motorcycle, and came to halt upon the crumpled wreck he discovered. Doc and Donut trailed behind him and the pink-suited solider asked, "Didn't you get my note?"

"No! I didn't! Why did you need our motorcycle anyway? You have your own, don't you?"

"Well, yeah, but it's broken right now and Lopez is fixing it."

Washington sent the pair a flat look. "So to make it even you broke ours?"

"It was an accident!" insisted Doc. "Donut really wanted to explore the canyon and he didn't want to do it on foot."

"And a tree got in our way," added Donut.

"Geez, I need to start locking our crap up before you people wreck everything we have," muttered Washington. He let out a sigh and said sincerely, "Well, in any case, I'm glad you didn't get hurt. I also appreciate you telling me what happened. But if you want to borrow something of ours, ask me. No notes, no asking Tucker and definitely no asking Caboose."

"Got it," said Doc at the same Donut said cheerfully, "Sure thing, Wash!"

"Good. Donut, you can go to the time-out boulder. While Doc's waiting, he can help me see if the motorcycle is salvageable."

"Aw, I hate time-outs. They're so boring! Can't I get a spanking instead?"

"You know what, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

…

Simmons fiddled with his computer, scowling in frustration when the program he was attempting to download remained frozen. He gave the computer a hard smack to the side, hoping the caveman-esque technique would help, but nothing changed.

"Great," he muttered.

There wasn't enough power in their base to complete the upload, but Simmons knew where he could get some more. He went in search for some extension cords, finding them in the storage room. He plugged one end into the computer and started connecting the neon-coloured cords together, lining them in the tall grass as he made his way across the canyon.

It took all the extension cords, but he managed to have enough length to connect to the Blue Base's power generator. Knowing he didn't have much time before someone noticed the long orange snake peeking out from the greenery, Simmons sprinted back to his base.

"Gotta hurry gotta hurry gotta hurry!"

Poking his head out of his room, Grif raised an eyebrow at the elongated extension cord stretching down the hall. "Simmons, what the hell are you doing?" he snapped as his companion raced down the corridor.

"No time to explain!"

Simmons disappeared into the computer room and Grif followed him. Simmons was hunched over, fingers flying over the keyboard. Grif squinted over his shoulder. "Holy crap. You are not effing downloading Minecraft."

"My previous file corrupted!"

"You are such a nerd! Where are you getting the power from?" It was a stupid question, since there was only one other place in the forsaken canyon to get energy from. His face splitting into a wide grin, Grif said, "That perfect record you're so happy about? Trashed once I tell Wash."

"You're not telling him anything!"

With the file now downloading at a regular speed, Simmons turned around and tackled Grif before he could leave the room. Grif swore and punched Simmons in the jaw, but it wasn't enough to force the man off of him. "Get off, Simmons!"

They tussled on the floor for a bit, until Grif managed to free his leg from Simmons' body pin to slam it into his sensitive area. Simmons let out a yelp and crumpled to the side, curling up into a ball. Grif climbed to his feet, breathing heavily, and charged through Red Base.

It took a minute for Simmons to collect himself. He stumbled after Grif and emerged in the afternoon sunlight, immediately freezing at the sight of Washington, holding a part of the extension cord, next to an enormously smug Grif.

"Damn," hissed Simmons. In a more frantic tone, he insisted, "It was just a little bit!"

"A little bit?" cried Washington. "Our lights went out!"

"I was almost done," said Simmons. "I was going to unplug it soon, I swear!"

"What the hell were you doing?"

"Stealing your power to download Minecraft," said Grif cheerfully.

Washington sent Simmons a look of incredulity. "You used our power, limited power, by the way, to download a video game?"

"Well when you put it that way, it makes me look stupid," said Simmons, flushing red beneath his helmet.

"You are stupid," said Grif, crossing his arms over his chest. "A stupid giant nerd."

"Shut up, Grif!"

"All right," cut in Washington. "Simmons, you can think of how you're going to restore our power during your time-out."

Shoulders hunching forwards, Simmons said miserably, "Yes, sir."

As the maroon-suited solider slunk off, Grif called tauntingly, "So much for your perfect record!"

"I hate you!"

…

Washington was pleasantly surprised by the moderate success of his new punishment. It wasn't enough to convince his men to change their behaviour, but he hadn't expected it to. It was, however, a strong enough dose of humiliation and humility to quell their more destructive tendencies for a couple of days.

The others, on the other hand, were fed up. The threat of a time-out always lurked in the back of their minds and the indignity of it. Well, most of them were fed up. Caboose wasn't bothered by it, but it took a lot to make the kind-hearted and clueless solider irritated.

In the bright morning sunlight, Washington crouched amongst the tall grass, taking advantage of the moment of quiet. The navigation of system of Blue Base was laid out in front of him, bits of wires sticking out of the metal shell. It had gone offline a few hours ago, and without it they would not be able to leave the canyon to reach a different area, should an emergency require evacuation.

"Come on," he growled, trying to connect two wires together.

There was no reaction and he scowled. He had been working on the stupid thing since he had discovered it was broken, and his frustration was reaching its peak.

"All right. How about these two?" He tried another pair of wires and perked up when the device started to hum. "Yes!"

Krkrk!

There was a terrible grinding sound and a few sparks shot out of the device, singing the surrounding grass. Furious, Washington impulsively stood up and unsheathed his gun, firing two quick shots at the infernal piece of technology.

He immediately regretted his decision as a plume of smoke rose from the now-destroyed navigation system, thickly curling into the bright blue sky. "Eff me."

The sound of something heavy crashing through the greenery distracted him for a brief moment. Tucker and Caboose appeared within seconds, panting from their sprint. Tucker took in the scene in an instant—the smouldering wreckage of the technology and Washington standing above it with his gun.

Washington could already picture the wide grin stretching behind the man's helmet.

"Agent Washington," gasped Caboose. "You broke something!"

"Ah yeah," crooned Tucker. "And it looks like our navigation system!" He activated the radio in his helmet and said, "Calling all Reds, calling all Reds! Wash just landed himself a time-out!"

Washington resigned himself to what was to come, for he would be the worst hypocrite if he argued. He merely glanced over at Tucker and said flatly, "Try not to enjoy this too much."

"Are you kidding? It's like Christmas!"

Caboose frowned. "Wait, it is Christmas already? I haven't done my shopping!"

"No, it's just a figure of speech, Caboose. Don't worry about it." Turning to Washington, Tucker pointed off towards the creek and said importantly, "To the time-out boulder!"

As Washington made the trek, he got a first-hand account of how the others felt when he inflicted this punishment upon them. There was definitely something humbling about walking to your own time-out. And extraordinarily embarrassing.

As he reached the boulder, the Reds appeared on the other side of the creek. Grif let out a cackle. "Yes! Finally! Agent Perfect messes up!"

"I never once claimed to be perfect," said Washington.

"Shush!" said Tucker. "No talking on your time-out!"

"Wash is in trouble, Wash is in trouble!"

"Well boys, how much time should Washington serve?" asked Sarge.

"He completely annihilated our navigation system, so I think forty-five minutes will do it," said Tucker with a laugh.

"Sounds fair to me," said Simmons cheerfully.

"This is completely effing absurd," drawled Lopez.

"That's right Lopez, we should tell them about the tomatoes!" Donut gestured to Doc, who was carrying a crate. "Sarge had a fun idea!"

"This is kind of mean, isn't it?" asked Doc, removing a ripe tomato from the crate.

Tucker, who immediately caught on to their intentions, said, "Hell no! Gimme some!"

"Yay! Apples," cheered Caboose.

"Don't you effing do it," warned Washington.

A tomato sailed through the air and struck the side of Washington's helmet. "No talking," reminded Sarge smugly.

"You know he's going to kill us after this, right?" asked Simmons as Tucker and Caboose came over to grab some tomatoes.

"Oh, probably, but this might be our only chance and I'm not missing it."

For forty-five minutes, Washington endured the taunts of his friends. Tomato after tomato splattered against his armour, turning it a faded red. And while he was definitely pissed off, he couldn't deny the strong surge of affection that underpinned the anger.

Perhaps enacting time-outs had been a bit ridiculous. This group would never stop being destructive and careless, and they'd always be jerks. There weren't enough time-outs in the world to fix that. But there was a punishment that was just as effective, and even more fun.

As the last minute of his time-out ticked by, Washington said casually, "I think the era of time-outs has ended." He let the others give exclamations of victory before continuing. "I'm going to resort to the old, and my personal favourite, punishment."

Tucker felt dread creep up the back of his neck. "Oh hell."

"I'm going to kick your asses!"

"Run!" screamed Simmons.

They all scattered and Washington sprinted after them. There was a panicked shout from Tucker and Grif shot a glance over his shoulder to see the former Freelancer kicking the crap out of him. "Eff me, I think I liked the time-outs better!"

"No regrets men," barked Sarge.

"Look out!" yelped Donut.

They all whipped around to see Washington sprinting towards them. They hastily split off in different directions, but Grif wasn't as fast as his friends. He cried out as Washington tackled him to the ground, his knee digging sharply into his gut.

"Too late! I have all the regrets! Ah! Not the face, Wash!"