(Originally written May 24th 2014)

Caboose didn't have an alarm clock. That was okay, Caboose always woke up early. He liked mornings.

Caboose shifted, swinging his legs off the side of the bed, bed-sheet tangled around his leg. He spent a few minutes trying to get the tangle undone, shaking his leg until the stubborn fabric let go. Standing up, Caboose raised his arms above his head, interlocking his fingers as he stretched, popping his back before putting his arms down. He smiled. Mornings were always his favorite time of day.

Well, it wasn't exactly morning yet. There wasn't any light coming in from under his door so he must have woken up earlier than normal. Strange, he doesn't remember why he's up so early, but pays it little mind as he goes about making his bed. It always takes a while, the fabric being mean and not staying where he puts it, but eventually he gets the sheet to stay put and the pillow where the pillow goes. There. Perfect, a little wrinkly, but good.

He then goes to his locker. It's a bit bent, the door handing off it crooked, but it holds all his stuff so Caboose likes it. He gathers up his shirt, pants, boxers, and one-two, yes, two socks before going back to his bunk.

Caboose then sits ('gently, don't mess up the covers, Caboose!') on the side of the bed, clothes in a (somewhat) neat pile beside him. It was still early, Church would be mad if he went and woke him up now. So...he'll just wait. Yeah, waiting, good idea. Church would come see him later.

…

Waiting was boring. Ugh, so boring. Boring, boring, boring. Caboose slid his feet around the floor, kicking them slightly. He'd just get dressed while he was waiting for Church, then he'd go see what Tucker was doing (probably sill asleep, but it was pretty fun to wake Tucker up. It was like dodge ball, only with shoes.)

Raising one leg up and crossing it over the other knee, Caboose decided to put his socks on first. Socks were great, they were like feet-mittens. Church had nodded his head, sleepily mumbling a 'sure, Caboose' when he'd first told him that. Church didn't wear socks, what with being a robot and all, but Caboose felt he could still appreciate their mitten-ness. As Caboose puts on his socks, turning each sock slightly so it feels less weird and the seam isn't digging into his toes, he wonders if they make socks Church-sized.

Okay, socks, done. Next, boxers, easy. They were just mini-pants. Easier than regular pants. Regular pants were extra long and sometimes got caught on his foot but boxers were easy, unless he got his foot stuck in the crotch-hole, again. Last time he did that Church had just walked in, saying something about him taking forever, when he spotted Caboose, pants down and boxers hanging off his ankle, he had turned around really fast and put his head in the corner, yelling at Caboose to 'get your foot out of your crotch and put your clothes on, Jesus Christ'. Church started knocking after that.

Pants...later. Pants later.

Shirt next. It was blue, just like his armor. It was his favorite shirt even though it had a bleach stain on the front from when Church had tried to do laundry that one time but ended up getting bleach on half the clothes, short circuiting his hands, and turning all of Tucker's underwear pink...Tucker does the laundry now.

Caboose had gotten his shirt on when he started to think that maybe Church needed him to wake him up today. He cast his eyes about the room, watching how the light cast funny shadows on the wall. It had been daylight for a while now, where was Church? Caboose stifled a yawn, he sure had gotten up early today. He knew there was a reason but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. He almost had it when the door slammed open, an angry voice bouncing off the walls.

"Caboose! What are you doing in here? Breakfast started, like, ten minutes ago and Wash won't let me eat until you're at the table."

Tucker was stood in the doorway, angrily placing his hands on his hips. Caboose looked up, answering him with a smile, "I was just waiting for Ch-"

Wash, Washingtub. Agent Washingtub. Agent Washington, Washington, Wash, not Church. Not Church. Church left.

Oh.

Now he remembered. He'd woken up because of a nightmare. One where Church left again but didn't say goodbye this time. It had been scary, and sad, scary-sad. Caboose hadn't liked that dream, only it hadn't been a dream, it had been a nightmare, the worst kind of nightmare, the kind that didn't go away after waking up.

Tucker's angry stance melts as Cabooses' smile falls off his face. Tucker shuffles his feet, hand at the back of his neck, tugging at the dreads tied there. His eyes are downcast, a frown on his face. He sighs, "Uh, hey, Caboose? Your shirt's on backwards there, want some help?"

Caboose looks down at his shirt, he can't see the bleach stain. He tugs the shirt off in a flurry, arms getting trapped for a second but tugging harder until he pulls it over his head, his fingers clenching the fabric angrily. He doesn't say anything, just stares at the shirt in his hands.

He can't see Tucker, honestly he had forgotten he was there until he hears the other solder's voice, unsure and wavering, "Erm, alright then. Want to come get some breakfast?"

Caboose clenches his fingers. "Actually, I think – I think I'm gonna stay here for a while." He looks up when he doesn't hear the door close. Tucker's still standing in the doorway, one foot out the door like he's not sure if he should leave or not.

Caboose can feel his eyes prickling, he doesn't like the feeling. When Tucker still doesn't leave he looks up, face pinched in an angry frown, "Go!"

And he does, door slamming shut as the startled solider backs out of the room quickly. Caboose can feel hot, angry tears sliding down his face, dripping from his chin. He uses the shirt to scrub at his face, but the tears don't stop no matter how hard he tries to wipe them away. He eventually gives up, dropping his face into his hands, shirt covering his eyes.

Caboose was used to forgetting things. Everyone forgot things, he just did it more often than others is all. He knew that, he was okay with that.

He lifts up his head, his face red and raw, tears clinging to his eyelashes and snot dribbling down his nose. He wipes at his face again, breathes in hiccuping little breathes, and throws the shirt at the door. In that moment he wished shirts were made of glass, they would have been uncomfortable to wear, but the shatter might have made him feel better.

Caboose was used to forgetting things, he really was, but sometimes – sometimes he wishes he could choose what to forget.

Thank you for reading, comments are always appreciated!