Okay, so this is something that I've had on my computer for months and I've finally finished it and now it's posted (yay). For now it's all just one document but I will probably be separating the chapters out sooner or later. Anyway, this is my first work in the Red vs Blue fandom so be gentle with reviews.
This is an AU so some of the characters are a little OOC just to fit in with this version of themselves. Mostly though they're pretty much the same. I would love to hear your thoughts on this so leave a review if you've got time.
Without further ado I present to you: On Blood Gulch Avenue
Roses are red, and violets are blue.
One day we'll cruise down Blood Gulch avenue
It's red versus red and blue versus blue
It's I against I and me against you
Violets are blue, roses are red
Living like this we were already dead
-Blood Gulch Blues
Chapter 1
Church is going to kill him. A frying pan. That bastard hit Caboose with a frying pan. The giant bruise on Caboose's face brings Church's blood up to a red hot boil at the mere sight of it. His friend's right eye is swelled closed, and his cheek is puffy as well. The label of the pan is almost readable, seemingly branded into Caboose's skin. Though Church suspects Caboose is older than him, he acts as an older sibling to the kid. Comforting him when he needs it. Like now.
Tears stream endlessly down Caboose's face, he's confused and hurt and doesn't know why he's feeling either. Church wraps himself around his adopted brother's shaking form, rubbing small circles into his back and whispering a repetitive string of "It's alright, I'm here," Into the air around them.
He doesn't let Caboose see the murder in his eyes, or feel the way his fingers curl into fists. Church wants nothing more than to repeatedly punch Caboose's father until he felt the same pain he made his son feel. The big man often took out his anger at his wife's leaving him out on his only son, no doubt the same rage had been taken out on Caboose's mother, thus her leaving. Church long suspected that Caboose's more 'special' aspects were the fault of his father, and this was only more proof.
But he doesn't go on a murderous rampage. Doesn't grab the kitchen knife that lays on the counter next to the sobbing form of Caboose, but he does think about it. Of course he won't leave Caboose though, right now he was needed.
In fact, he wouldn't ever leave Caboose again. As the idea took root in his mind, Church grew more and more confident in his plan. They could do it. Well, he could do it at least, Church doubted that Caboose would be much help.
"Hey buddy," he says gently, Caboose sniffs, but his sobs quiet down enough that he can hear what Church is saying. "How about we go on a trip? Just you and me?"
There is silence, and for a moment, Church thinks that Caboose will say no. "Where are we gonna go?" his brother asks.
"That doesn't matter for now buddy. We'll just go somewhere that's not here. Away from your dad until he cools down, how's that sound?" Caboose is instantly excited at the prospect of a trip, and goes along with the rest of the plan flawlessly. Church doesn't tell him that they won't be coming back, doesn't tell him that he knows they'll probably be living on the streets. Just as long as Caboose is away from his father it doesn't matter. Because Church gets the feeling that if Caboose stays with the man any longer, he'll end up dead.
"Stick 'em up!" Tex screams at the shopkeeper, her pistol is mere inches from his forehead. The setting sun reflects off the blank surface of her sunglasses, only to be absorbed by the pure blackness of her clothing. Whimpering, the old man complies, hands shaking.
Church darts around the counter and quickly empties the register of its cash. Once that's done, Tex is out the door, and Church follows. He hesitates at the shop door and looks back to the scared shopkeeper. "I'm sorry." He says quietly, and leaves.
The pair run all the way back to the hideout, cash smuggled in the pockets of Church's jeans and Tex's hoodie. Caboose is there waiting for them at the door, big smile on his face.
"You're back!" he cries happily, flinging his arms around Church. "Did you get me anything?"
The teenager sighs, "No, sorry Caboose, I forgot to grab you something." He admits. Caboose pouts for a moment, but Tex speaks up before he can say anything else.
"Here's your part." She says, shoving a wad of cash into Church's face.
He carefully counts the bills, then counts them again. "Hey! This isn't what we agreed to!" he shouts, but Tex has already left, typical.
Church sighs again, a tired sound, and slumps against the wall. They desperately needed cash, and this wasn't going to be enough.
"Heard you hit the store." Tucker's voice comes from the doorway. He must have gotten back from work while he and Tex were 'out'. Tucker was the only one among them who could actually land a job. What with Caboose and Church technically being runaways. So a great deal of their cash came from Tucker's job and Church's 'outings' with Tex.
Church turns to find him leaning against the frame, and for once the aqua hood of his pullover is lowered. "Tex cheated us again?" Tucker asks, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah." Church confirms, passing him the wad of cash. The other boy counts through it.
"This is only 85!" he cries "This won't last two weeks! We're screwed!"
"I know." Church says impatiently, angry with being fooled once again by the criminal.
"Man, I'm gonna kill your girlfriend!" Tucker swears, slamming the cash into the worn box by the door.
"She's not my girlfriend." Church snaps back.
"Church?" Caboose speaks up, Church bites back a curse. He'd forgotten Caboose was even in the room.
"Yeah Caboose?" he asks, trying to make his voice calm, goodness knows Caboose had been yelled at enough. He's surprised when the warm arms wrap around him.
Caboose was often too confused about a situation to realize when someone needed comfort. "It'll be okay." Caboose comforts him. "We can ask our friends for help!" he suggests, then runs from the room.
Immediately knowing who he's talking about, Church tries to stop him. "Wait Caboose!" but he's thoroughly ignored and Church resigns himself to a visit from the Reds.
"One last thing…" the man said hesitantly. Washington prompted him forward with an expectant look.
"The boy, before he left…he said he was sorry."
Detective Washington nodded, scribbling the last sentence down on the pad in his hands and thanked the traumatized shopkeeper. Tex was the last member of the vicious street gang known as the Freelancers. The ruthless woman had a rap sheet as long as Blood Gulch Avenue. She hadn't been second in command for nothing, and even the 'Director' had feared her.
Recently though, Tex had been seen running with a new kid. Perhaps she was trying to rebuild the Freelancers. Wash knew it was the most likely course of action that the criminal would take. And one he could not allow.
Wash had all the recourses of his department at his fingertips. Tex wouldn't stay free for long. He would make sure of it.
Simmons was always jumpy. A remnant of a time in his life when the people who surrounded him weren't as nice as they were now. When his mother got into drunken rages and gave him bruises and scratches, or his father did worse. When he'd run away, Simmons never could have dreamed that he'd end up with the Reds. Sure he still felt somewhat guilty for leaving his elderly grandmother behind, wondering about what happened to him, he was happy.
Though they were a bit rough and tumble compared to most families, the Reds were brothers. They watched out for each other, kept their family safe. Sarge was gruff, and yelled a lot, but it wasn't like the yelling Simmons endured through his childhood. There was always the undercurrent of fondness, and even brotherly love in the older teen's tone.
Grif was different as well. Though they disagreed a lot, it usually didn't come down to fists. Even if it did though, Simmons knew he could fight back against the other boy, and that made all the difference.
Doughnut too, was family, though they got along better than he did with Grif. The youngest member of their family could be annoying at times, but they stuck together.
The Blues weren't that bad either. Though they weren't as close to Simmons as the Reds were. They were like next door neighbors, who occasionally got into rather rough fistfights. Usually thought the two groups lived in harmony. Yes, Simmons was nervous, but it wasn't nearly as bad as when he was with his blood relatives, because he knew that if he needed them, his family would be there.
Washington sighed as he noticed where his feet had taken him. Blood Gulch Avenue. Even though he was off duty the detective couldn't stay away.
Detective Washington had been following whatever leads he could find for the past week and a half, and his persistence had paid off. Apparently there was a bunch of kids who hung out around the old junkyard at the end of Blood Gulch Avenue. They called themselves the 'Reds and Blues'. The kid who had been seen helping Tex with the robberies was the leader of the Blues, known only as Church.
Wash had spent a great deal of time trying to locate any sort of information on the boy, but so far nothing had come up. Though they had a picture of the Blue, no one seemed to know much. The detective was ready to give up when luck, quite literally, crashed into him.
An enormous weight bowled the officer off his feet, sending the man to the street. "Hey!" he cries in surprise, not managing to catch himself.
He finds a teenager sprawled beside him on the sidewalk. He's wearing jeans and what seems to be a royal blue pajama shirt, oddly enough. "You okay?" Washington manages as he peels himself off the sidewalk.
"Yes." The kid answers, "I am sorry. I didn't mean to run into you. I am just excited because all my friends are at my house and Tex is there and-"
"Whoa, slow down kid, I didn't ask for your life story." Washington interrupts.
"Okay." Comes the quick answer and the kid shuts up completely. Wash found himself wishing all the teenagers he had to talk to would listen that well.
A tiny thought popped into the back of Wash's mind as he once again looked at the color of the kid's shirt (it was a pajama shirt, but Wash was getting the feeling that the kid wasn't all there and decided to ignore that). Royal blue. On a whim, he pulled out the picture of the Blue's leader.
"Hey, do you know this kid? I'm…looking for him." Washington asked, having learned to trust his gut instinct long ago.
The pajama wearing teen gasped, face exploding into a brilliant smile. "YES!" he cried excitedly "That is Church! He is my best friend!"
Washington had the feeling the kid would continue to ramble on if he didn't stop him and interrupted. "Do you think you could take me to him?" he asked, curiosity lacing his tone.
The kid gasps and, if possible, his smile gets wider. "Yes!" he nearly shouts. "You can come too! And we can be friends!"
Without warning, he grabs the detective's wrist and the next thing Wash knows he's stumbling after the kid as he enthusiastically tugs him along.
When they arrive at what Washington has to assume is the Blue's headquarters, he can't help but be surprised. It's a wreck, the building is old, and falling apart. A large blue tarp is draped over one corner, likely where the wall had simply given up and fallen over. The tarp is ragged as the building and the ropes that secure it are frayed. The whole thing just looks tired, like it's ready to drop at any moment. Certainly it's not the hideout of an up and coming criminal power. Not to mention it's in the junkyard, seemingly in the middle of a canyon of disused junk.
"CHURCH!" the kid, who he learned was called 'Caboose' cried happily. "I found a new friend!"
There is no answer, but Caboose didn't seem to expect one, simply dragging Washington around the maze of crumbling bricks and broken bottles that cover the land around the building. He finally releases Wash's wrist to enthusiastically throw open the door. The old wood creaks and Wash isn't certain that the hinges can take that treatment for any longer before they simply give up.
The Detective tries to pause at the doorway, hoping to get a better look at the situation before entering. Caboose, however, has other ideas.
"Don't be shy!" he exclaims, tugging Washington into the sagging building.
"GUYS! I found a new friend!" Caboose announces to the room, pulling Wash into view. For a moment, there is only silence, as the two parties stare at each other.
This is no group of hardened criminals, in fact only one of them looks old enough to be considered an adult. They are huddled in two groups, a group of four in an array of orange, pink, red, and magenta and the other a pair in blue and turquoise. Between them is the lone girl, wearing black clothes and sunglasses. Tex.
Chaos ensued. A collective cry of "CABOOSE!" rose from the entire group as they sprang to their feet. One kid in an orange baseball cap babbled about cops and not wanting to go to jail.
Tex, however, silenced them all by pulling her pistol. "NO!" Caboose shouted, standing between Washington (who had raised his hands in surrender) and the weapon. "He's my friend!"
More shouting rises from the group, with Tex trying to threaten the detective and Caboose starting to cry. The one that had to be Church screamed at the black wearing woman to 'get the damn gun away from Caboose' and the others shouting in confused panic.
Tex shoots. Thankfully it's aimed into the ceiling and not into either of the people in the doorway. "Everyone shut up." She demands, though there is complete silence in the wake of her shot, aside from a few sniffs from Caboose.
Calmly the hardened criminal retakes her aim. "Tex." Church says tensely, striding forward to grab the gun. Tex calmly elbows him in the nose, blood spurts from Church's face and he stumbles away with a curse and Caboose wails.
"Move it." Tex snarls at Caboose, but the blue clad teenager ignores her. The criminal snarls again, an animalistic show of rage and strides forward, gun never wavering.
"Get away from him with that!" the one in the teal hoodie snarls, his posture tense.
"He brought a cop." Tex snaps. "I'm not going to jail for this idiot." She pulls back the hammer, face steely.
"Caboose." Church slurs, voice obscured by blood and pain. "Come here buddy."
Caboose sniffs "But he is my friend."
Speaking up for the first time, Washington addresses Caboose. "Just go over there with your friend Caboose, It'll be alright." He sends him a reassuring smile.
Church gives him an unreadable look, but doesn't say anything. Caboose slowly uncurls and crawls to the bleeding boy. "Tex isn't gonna hurt him, she's just gonna go now" Church says, glaring at the girl pointedly.
Tex, taking the hint, stalks past Washington, gun aimed unwaveringly at the detective's skull. He holds absolutely still as she passes behind him. The seasoned officer tenses, now he can't see what she's doing, she could shoot him now and run before any of the others can do anything. He carefully studies their faces, searching for some sign as to what the criminal is doing.
Something slams into the back of his head, likely Tex's gun, and everything goes black.
David Washington had been a freelance reporter for only three years before he decided on a career change. He left behind all the friends he met at the "Mother of Invention" newsroom and became a cop. Endless nights at a keyboard trying to make all the new technological inventions sound interesting traded for a life of fighting crime.
He loved his work, loved helping people, loved the feeling he got when the dangerous criminals were off the streets. Sure he got hurt, and he would never forget the time he had to shoot down a bank robber, who ended up dying later. But all in all, things were good. He'd even been offered a position with the FBI, Agent Washington had a nice ring to it…
"Is he gonna be okay?" a worried voice asked somewhere to his left.
"Is he gonna be okay? She almost broke my nose!" someone else exclaimed incredulously, their voice was distorted, like their nose was stuffed. Odd.
"You're all ignoring the fact that a police officer knows where we all live!" A worried voice practically shouted.
"No, he knows where the Blues live. Ha! Suck it Blues" this voice has a heavy southern drawl, uncommon this far north.
"Hey genius, you have a giant red sign in front of your base, you're not exactly hard to find." A new voice speaks up.
"All of you shut up." This voice is the closest, its owner must have been crouched beside him.
"I can't believe your girlfriend pistol whipped a cop." The nervous one spoke up again.
"She's not my girlfriend!" the stuffy voiced one protests.
"I think he's waking up!" Caboose shouts and Washington barely manages to keep from wincing. "CAN YOU HEAR ME?!"
This time he can't control himself, and a groan works its way out of his throat. The detective forces his eyes open, thankfully the room is dimly lit and the light doesn't immediately blind him.
Someone beside him sighs with relief, then a man with heavy stubble is in his face, his ragged hair defying gravity. "Hello? Can you hear me? Do you know who you are?" he enunciates carefully.
"Washington." He manages. "Detective…Washington."
"No memory loss, that's good." The shaggy haired man says.
"What do you mean?" the southern one speaks up again "He still knows where we live…Grif, hit 'im again."
"Why do I have to hit him?" the one that must be Grif whines back.
"Cause, he still has his gun, if I'm lucky he'll shoot you."
"Why does he still have his gun?! Someone take that!"
The southern one volunteers "I'll do it"
"No." Choruses the rest of the group flatly.
"Nobody is hitting anybody, and no one is getting shot." The one who questioned him said sternly.
Washington sat up and looked at the faces gathered around him. Not the faces of hardened criminals, but scared kids, scared kids who didn't know what to do.
The one that Caboose called Church still has blood on his face, but it looks like Tex didn't break his nose at least. Lucky kid. Caboose is there as well, looking overjoyed that the Detective is awake again. He looks ready to launch into an overenthusiastic babble again, but thankfully something is holding him back.
They are all silent for a while, neither group knowing how to react to the other. It was a bit late for Washington to pull the whole 'this is the police' routine. So he settles for a heavy sigh and getting himself propped against one of the sagging walls.
"Just who are you people?" The detective suddenly asks. "What are you doing here out on the streets, you should be with your parents!"
Their faces harden and he knows he's made a mistake. "You'd be better off not mentioning that sort of thing around here." The gruff boy from the south says, making it sound like a threat.
Washington back down, he's wounded and outnumbered, not to mention unarmed. "What are your names?" he asks.
They look to one another uncertainly, seeming to have a conversation entirely through facial expressions. Wash tries to follow as best as he can, but ends up lost. Finally, Church sighs.
"I'm Church, and you already know Caboose." He begins.
"This is Tucker." The kid in the aqua sweatshirt gives a small jerk of his head.
"Sarge." The gruff southern boy who seems to be the oldest glares at him.
"Simmons," He seems nervous, nearly drowning in an oversized maroon jacket.
"Grif," The one with the orange baseball cap gives him a glance.
"Doughnut." He seems to be the youngest, wearing a faded pink under armor long-sleeved shirt.
"And I'm Doc." The ragged man says, Washington notices he's wrapped in a purple bathrobe, though thankfully it seems he has clothing underneath.
Washington's head is pounding and though he tries to ignore it, he's sure he hasn't kept the grimace off his face.
Doc pulls him to his feet. "C'mon, you need somewhere to lay down, we can head back to my apartment." Wash allowed himself to be half lead, half dragged along beside the man, simply because a bed sounded wonderful.
Doughnut doesn't remember much. Only in his nightmares does he recall the high shriek of brakes and the higher shriek of a woman's scream. Then a horrible crashing, glass shattering and metal groaning and the sensation of falling. He remembers pain then, too, horrible pain, on his body, on his arms and his back and his head. But mostly he remembers pain in his heart. In his very soul. Doughnut remembers he lost something.
But he doesn't remember what. He thinks it might have been his parents, but he doesn't remember them, they are only vague shadows in his mind, filled by the generic American parents. He thinks maybe he lost a sister too, but she was young, maybe not even born yet.
Doughnut tries not to remember. Tries to wake himself up when the nightmares come. Because the worst of his dreams are the shadowy impressions of his life before the horrible crashing came, before the pain. Dreams of the life he lost along with his memory, he had been happy, he knew that much, but he tried not to think about it.
When Washington wakes up for the second time that day, the sun is just kissing the horizon. Doc is sleeping in a well-worn armchair off to his left. Of course, well-worn could be used to describe all of Doc's possessions. From the sagging couch Wash is resting on to the thin material of his bathrobe. Even Doc himself seems worn, like he's lived longer than his age would suggest.
"Doc." Washington mutters quietly. If the man was truly asleep, Wash wasn't sure he would be able to bring himself to wake him. However, the detective did have questions that he would like to have answered sooner rather than later.
Thankfully though, Doc seems to be a light sleeper and wakes quickly. "Washington?" he asks groggily. "You're up?"
"Yeah." Wash answers, "and I've got some questions for you."
Doc sighs and rouses himself fully. "Coffee?" he asks, Wash shakes his head, knowing that the frayed man is only buying time.
"Alright, what do you want to know?" he asks.
Doc was a rundown med school dropout, trying to hide from his overbearing parents who insisted he be a doctor. He didn't live with the kids, but Doc was part of their family. A valued member of the group, equal to any of the others. He was also the closest thing they had to a parent. The man was always willing to lend an ear to the ragged group of street kids, and knew all their stories. None of them were happy.
Sarge had been kicked out of his house over a year ago. Apparently his step-father hadn't been fond of having a reminder of anyone else loving his wife. Sarge had gone back once, and found them happily living together with a new son, his own existence apparently forgotten.
Grif ran away. No one knew why, but it was suspected that it had something to do with his father.
Simmons too, left home on his own. His abusive mother and traumatizing memories of his father driving him to the streets.
Doughnut had amnesia. All he could remember was what they guessed was a car crash. Which fit with the state they found him in. Though the boy had healed well, he still couldn't remember his former life, not even his name. This somehow resulted in him being named Doughnut.
The Blues were no better off.
Tucker left on his own. His single mother was struggling to support another child and couldn't handle having the boy around. Though she still lived on Blood Gulch Avenue, they never spoke to one another.
Caboose was all but kidnapped by Church. Granted it was for good reasons, and the other teen had no intentions to return his friend. His father had taken to beating him in the wake of his mother's absence, and Church took it upon himself to take care of his adoptive brother.
Before he ran away with Caboose though, Church was the only son of a crack addicted prostitute. The boy had his doubts that his mother even knew he was gone, if she was alive.
Doc told him it was this past that made Church forbid any sort of illegal drugs among the two groups, and enforce it with vicious consistency. Which Wash considered a point to the kid.
All in all, they were a rag tag group of tragedies and misfits. Forgotten in the margins of society, left to work out whatever they could for themselves. But they banded together, became strong despite their origins and became a family, a brotherhood.
Washington knew he should bring in at least Church, after all, he had robbed a store, not to mention he could probably be brought in for technically kidnapping Caboose. But somehow he couldn't bear to take one member of the little family away.
Doc grabbed his arm when Wash exited his apartment. "Will you arrest Church?" he asked.
The detective sighed. "No. I don't think so. I don't know what I'll do, but I'll come up with something."
And he did.
Church would become an informant. He would help them bring in Tex in exchange for his own freedom. Many criminals had taken this same deal, selling each other out for their own gain.
One shining example of this were the Dakota twins. The bank robbing pair was led by the girl, South. Her brother, North, took more of a backseat. But when they caught her, South quickly sold out her brother in exchange for a softer sentence.
Wash fell asleep planning how to break the deal with Church. He could only hope the boy would take it…
Church knows his mother has been using again. From the low amount of money, the look in her eyes. He sighs, knowing it's useless to bring it up with her, or try to reason her out of buying more. "It's my money!" she'll shriek, "I'll do what I want with it!"
So Church finds what cash he can and stows it away under a rock near the house. Hopefully she won't find it there and he will be able to make a run to the grocery store. Maybe he'll get Caboose some candy, the kid always lit up whenever he got some. Something that always made Church smile back.
Washington leaves the station early the next morning. Stops by a cheap doughnut shop and gets dozen, and coffee. A very obvious peace offering, but it was a group of teenage boys and he was offering food. It would at least get him through the door.
Of course, the dogs were a bit of a surprise. Both were absolutely gigantic, and their appearance was far from comforting.
One was a mastiff, built like a tank and from the look of it, able to eat one and still be hungry. The other seemed to be a mixture of every gigantic breed of dog rolled into one nightmarish package.
"Sheila!" Caboose's voice scolded. "Freckles!" Fearlessly, the boy marched straight up to the dogs and petted their heads.
"Caboose!" Washington tried to warn him away from the likely rabid animals. But neither dog turned on the teen, instead they fell adoringly at his feet, tongues lolling out of their mouths.
"Detective Washington is a friend!" Caboose shook his finger at the demon-mutt. "We don't bark at friends." He admonished.
"Um, Caboose?" Washington ventured, giving the dogs wary glances.
"OH!" he shouted and hurriedly introduced the animals as 'Sheila' and 'Freckles'.
"Freckles…right." Wash gave up on trying to fathom how exactly Caboose had managed to tame the two behemoths, who had doubtlessly once been the guards of the junkyard... "I need to talk to Church, is he here?"
"No, they're at Red base." Caboose answers, then drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper "They're hiding over there I think."
"Why aren't you with them?" The detective finds himself asking, concerned that Caboose had been abandoned for bringing him to their home.
"To wait for you! Duh. So you can come hide with us too!"
Wash got the feeling Caboose wasn't informed as to what the others were hiding from. Namely him. "Do you think we could go to them now?" he ventures.
"Yeah!" Caboose shouts, and once again Wash finds himself enthusiastically lead by an overjoyed Caboose. Sheila and Freckles bound along beside them, barking joyfully.
Red base is just as much of a wreck as the Blue base. It's on the other side of the junkyard and it has a large piece of plywood painted a faded red over the doorway. The teenagers are huddled inside, quietly talking amongst themselves. They're all seated on piles of various junk, old toys, blankets and clothing.
Church glared at the detective, but didn't seem surprised that he had shown up. In fact all of them seemed to have expected his arrival.
"Using Caboose to find us twice." Snorted Sarge disapprovingly. "I didn't think you'd stoop so low."
"I did!" Grif pipes up. "Pay up Simmons." He holds his hand out expectantly and the other slaps a few dollar bills into the open palm.
Doughnut looks to the detective's hand, eyes widening as they rest on the box. "Did you bring food?" he asks.
Wash places the box on the stack of books in the center of the room that seems to act as a coffee table. They all dive for it like a pack of wolves and the doughnuts are gone seemingly in the blink of an eye.
The group seems more open to conversation once they have been fed, and Church speaks up. "Doc said you were thinking about how to get me out of being arrested." He says bluntly.
Wash isn't surprised that the other man told the rest of the group about their discussion and answers promptly. "I've thought about it." He begins, meeting the steady gaze of the Blue leader. Church raises and inquiring eyebrow and Wash continues. "Would you be willing to be my informant?"
A ripple of surprised looks runs through the group. Church keeps his steady gaze on the detective, behind his eyes, Wash can see the wheels turning. "You want Tex." The Blue leader concludes.
Washington's eyebrows jump up, surprised that Church pieced his motives together so easily. "She's a wanted criminal." The detective confirms. More looks are exchanged, now considering, it seems this will be a group decision. Wash's assumption is confirmed when the whole group huddles together to discuss the situation. "No way. Are we seriously considering this?" Grif asks incredulously. "Double crossing Tex. You do remember what she did to Lopez right?"
They collectively flinch and Wash is sure he doesn't want to know what happened to Lopez.
Doughnut speaks up next: "But are we really gonna let him take Church to jail? Without even trying to do anything?"
"We did try." Sarge barks. "Why do you think they came to hide out over here?"
"I don't think camping out at your very obvious base really counts as 'hiding', Sarge" Tucks counters.
"Yeah, but Tex is his girlfriend." Simmons speaks up. "Is he really gonna hand her over to the cops?"
Church sighs heavily. "She is not my girlfriend!" he cries. "She has never been my girlfriend. And we will never be romantically involved. In any way shape or form! She was just trying to get inside us!" He freezes like a man who knows he just stepped on a landmine.
"Tucker. Don't." Church growls. "I didn't mean it like that. She was trying to get inside our group to use us."
"Nope, sorry dude, it's too late." Tucker says unrepentantly. "Bow chicka bow wow"
They all sigh exasperatedly. "Seriously?" Grif asks. Tucker nods smugly.
"I'm gonna do it." Church decides suddenly.
"Wait…What?!" Simmons cries. "Are you insane?! She's gonna kill us all!"
"Not if she's in jail." Church points out.
"It's the bit where she isn't in jail that worries me." Sarge says nervously, looking around like Tex was going to materialize out of thin air.
But Church has already turned back to the detective. "I'll do it." He says in a tone that stops any argument from the others.
"Alright."
Tex knew the Freelancers were gone, but she still found herself wandering around their old base of operations. Her room was orderly as ever, supplies lined neatly in their cabinets, ready to be used.
The others were gone, either in jail or six feet under. Or three feet under, depending on whether or not she was the one who killed them. Six feet was a lot for one girl to dig all alone after all.
Maine, the Dakotas, Carolina, Florida, even York. All jailed because of that damned cop. Detective Washington. She would kill him if she saw him again.
She should have killed him when that idiot Caboose brought him into the Blue's base. Should have killed Caboose too. Hell, she should have killed all of them the minute she found out they were in Freelancer territory. Of course it wasn't really Freelancer territory anymore, considering Tex was the only one left.
But Church had told her not to kill them. And for some odd reason, she'd listened. That thought was enough to bring a snarl to her face. She didn't listen to Church! Tex was the second in command of the Freelancers! She should shoot them all simply for being associated with him.
She should have at least broken Church's nose.
The detective returns to the station with Church at his side. The teenager looks much worse in the brighter lighting. Dark bags underline his eyes, and he is obviously underweight. Unfortunately, his appearance is nothing worse than the regular desk jockeys haven't seen before and he barely gets a second glance.
"This is Church. He's going to help us bring in Tex." Washington announces. Instantly everyone is more interested, and Church seems more nervous. Apparently he dislikes being the center of attention.
"This." The tech held up a standard wire, outfitted with a microphone and listening device. "Is going to be your best friend."
Church, standing shirtless in the middle of the room glowered at him, arms crossed embarrassedly over his chest. "I think I'd rather have a friend that can stop bullets." He groused.
"Sorry Church, those are a bit too obvious." Wash steps in.
Church snorts. "Yeah, but I've got a better chance of living with one."
"Move your arms." The techy says, motioning for Church to uncross his limbs.
The boy does so hesitatingly, apparently unwilling to leave himself completely exposed. Wash can almost count his ribs from where he stands. The bug is fixed close to Church's skin, the pitch black wire stark against his pale skin.
Once he's allowed to, Church is more than willing to put his shirt back on, shivering as though the room were suddenly cold once he does so. "What now?" he asks.
"Now comes the hard part." Wash reveals. "We've got to convince Tex to come to you."
Sarge thought he should feel weird, sneaking through the shadows of what had once been a place he considered home. After all, once it had been automatic to walk boldly up the sidewalk and open the door. But now it was as though he had never been here. Hadn't lived his childhood in the safety of these walls.
But it has been nearly a year since he lived here. Two since it was his home. His mother's boyfriend had been nice at first, but once they had a child of their own, Sarge had faded into the background, a stranger in his own home.
At first he thought he was just being dramatic, and shook off the feelings of loneliness with a self-depreciating reminder that his mother would always love him. He forgot to take his new step-father into account.
Somehow he ended up alone and cold on the streets, with nothing but a garbage bag of his possessions, staring at his front door with hollow feeling in his chest. Abandoned on the side of the road like an unwanted pet, a dog that was too dangerous to have around the baby.
"Tex." Church says nervously into the pay phone. She had given him her number a while ago, but Church had never used it before now. "I need more cash. Y'know, since you took all of it last time."
On the other end of the line, Tex sighs. "Do it yourself, you big wimp."
Church pauses, trying to figure out how to account for this, he needs her to come to him, or have her meet him somewhere, then it'll all be over. "I don't have a gun." He mentally pats himself on the back for the abrupt stroke of brilliance.
Tex sighs again. "You're kidding me." She deadpans. "How can you not have a gun?"
"….um,"
"Fine." Tex snarls. "Meet me at the corner, next to the pizza shop. Three o'clock, sharp."
Normally Church would object to the pizza shop, that was where Tucker worked and he tried to keep this sort of thing out of his friend's sight. But he needs to get Tex close, lure her into the trap. "Alright."
They hang up and Church turns to the gathered policemen for approval. Wash gives him a thumbs up and they begin the next phase. Tex has put her neck into the noose, now they just have to drop the floor out from under her.
Something was up, she could feel it. Tex carefully placed her phone on the table, running over every word of the conversation in her mind. Church was nervous, granted he was never the most confident person, especially when Tex was involved, but it was still odd. And he agreed to hit the pizza shop, he never let them hit the pizza shop. It was where one of his little friends worked. The annoying perverted one, if she remembered correctly.
But this time he'd only agreed with a little bit of hesitation. Either they really needed the cash, or he really needed Tex to show up. And there was only one reason he would want Tex to show up. An ambush. Church had gotten himself into something and he was using Tex as a ladder to pull himself out of it.
Instantly her mind flashes to the cop she knocked out on her last visit. 'He wouldn't…' she thinks, then realizes that yes, Church probably would. Even though he wasn't anywhere near her level, Church could be a cold bastard if he wanted to. He had all but kidnapped Caboose, and when they left it was basically a death sentence to his own mother.
"Oh, Church…" Tex says admonishingly to the air. "You shouldn't have done that." Then she gets ready for the ambush. She'll have to plan very carefully if she wants things to go her way. And they would go her way. Because you don't mess with Texas.
It happens way too fast. Impossibly fast.
One minute Church is waiting in the alley beside the pizza parlor, and the next, he's in Tex's hands. With a gun at his head.
Washington and the other officers pour from their hiding places, screaming for Tex to drop her weapon and get on the ground. But they all can feel that this is bad. They didn't know if the gangster had backup, and she had a hostage.
"Tex." Washington tries, stepping forward with his hands up. Let her feel like she's in power, then get close enough to get the gun out of her hands and Church safely out of the way.
But Tex is having none of this. She's too experienced. The hammer of the gun clicks back under her knowing finger. "Back off old man." She snarls quietly. And Wash does. Skirting around her like a dangerous predator.
Tex then addresses her full audience. "All of you, back off, or blue boy here gets it." Reluctantly they all move backwards, none of them willing to have Church's blood on their hands. "Good." The woman praises them like a pack of well trained dogs. "Now I'm gonna go, and none of you are gonna follow me. Am I clear?"
No one moves or says anything, but Tex knows they will do as she says, none of the cops would risk a civilian casualty. So she walks away, unharmed, dragging Church along with her by his throat.
Washington is left watching helplessly as the boy is taken. Likely they'll find him dead in an alleyway, if Tex is feeling generous. But they might never see Church again.
'What am I gonna tell the others?'
"Why can't you get anything right?!" they scream at him. Slap goes the hand against his cheek
Grif wants to scream as well. He doesn't really have anything to say, he just has the urge to let it loose. A primal, animalistic sound of hurt and rage.
He knows that once they're done yelling and they've had time to cool down the lies will come again. 'We love you'
'We just want what's best for you.'
In years long past the lies had dropped onto the surface of his mind like rose petals on the pond in their garden. But not anymore, now his mind was raging like the sea in the middle of a hurricane. Unstoppable.
So that night Grif left. Simply packed what he thought he'd need and vanished into the night, hoping that he'd find someplace better.
Caboose didn't seem to understand. He simply couldn't comprehend that Church was gone, likely forever. But Wash puts up with the almost periodical questions about when his brother is going to be back. Because at least Caboose is talking to him. Which is more than the others are doing.
He's tried everything to get them to at least look at him, but he Reds and Tucker won't acknowledge his existence. They'd pulled Caboose away from him multiple times, but the boy kept on returning to ask when Church would be back. Wash didn't have the heart to tell him what the others already knew. Church wasn't coming back. But apparently it's a duty that's fallen to him, because none of the others have told Caboose either.
Wash eventually leaves the Red base where all the teenagers have gathered in the absence of the Blue leader. He wanders down Blood Gulch avenue aimlessly, before eventually heading to Doc's apartment. At least he's old enough to drink.
The worn man welcomes him silently and they drink cheap alcohol in silence. Each glass is a silent toast to Church's memory.
Tex roughly shoves him into the empty warehouse, and follows up quickly with a solid punch to the face. One that Church is certain will bruise beautifully if he lives long enough. But it's only the beginning, Tex is a whirlwind of violence. Punches land on every part of his body, forcing him to the ground.
Then she begins kicking him with her black steel toed combat boots. Whatever blood he spits up is lost in the inky leather, but Church knows this is bad. Tex is going to kill him unless he does something. But his mind is white with fear and pain and all he can do is try to shield the more vulnerable parts of his body and hope he can find some way to survive this.
Before too long he realizes that he can't feel the blows Tex is landing any more. His entire body is seemingly wrapped in numbness, Church knows this is bad. A sign that Tex has probably hit something important and he's dying. But as the teenager watches blackness slowly eat away at the world, he can't bring himself to care.
Tex knows the exact moment Church passes out. She kicks him one more time for good measure and then takes her leave. She knows from experience that she's hit at least a few major organs and the double crosser would be dead in at least a few hours. Internal bleeding was a bitch.
Tex leaves the city after that, she knows it's too risky to stay now. And the pitiful group Church hung out with would be in police protection. Her vengeance would have to wait until things cooled down a little.
Maybe she'd even talk to her old contacts in Chorus City. They were always good for work, or a beer, whichever she needed.
"We have to find him." Tucker speaks up, ending the silence that had ruled the small shelter ever since Washington had come to deliver the news. Everyone looks to him wordlessly. They don't speak, all considering, weighing options. "Come on!" Tucker shouts. "We watch each other's backs. That's what we've always done, why should this be any different?"
"Because of the psycho gangster that's out for our heads." Grif too rebels against the silence.
"I'm with you." Simmons speaks up quietly.
Grif seems at a loss for words, opening his mouth and closing it again like a fish out of water. One by one the others join, even Grif (complaining all the way, but among them still.)
Wash is determined to make it up to them. Because in the short amount of time he has spent with the motley crew, he's become attached to them. He prowls through all of Tex's habitual hangouts, mostly abandoned warehouses and alleyways. All are empty.
It is a shock to both hunters when they find each other. The pack and the lone wolf, meeting in the abandoned shadows of a rusty warehouse. No words are exchanged, but they fall wordlessly into line. And somehow, Wash feels that he has redeemed himself in their eyes, if only a little bit.
When they find him, it's almost too late. Church is laid out on the warehouse floor. Discarded like an unwanted toy.
The ambulance takes an eternity to arrive, but the EMT's work at blinding speed, shouting about blunt force trauma and internal bleeding.
Caboose sobs into Wash's chest and the detective fills the air with promises that Church will be okay. The others huddle around him like baby chicks and Wash willingly spreads his wings to keep them warm.
Church has to have emergency surgery, and he is lost all over again behind an impassible barrier of nurses telling him to wait in the designated area. Caboose is still crying, the others are too, but they're better at hiding it.
Church almost dies on the table. He dances at the edge of the abyss, balanced like a tightrope walker at a circus. Wash and the others can only stand at the edge and beg for him to come back to them.
And he does. After too many hours to count, the reds and blues cram into the boy's room. They rarely speak, all of them too caught up in the hypnotic motions of Church's breathing.
When he wakes up, Caboose races through the halls with reckless abandon, telling anyone who will listen that his best friend has come back to him. Eventually they manage to corral him back into Church's room, but not before he makes his way halfway down the hall, opening every room to share the good news.
When Church is finally cleared to go home, they don't return to the junk piles. Instead they move into Wash's apartment. Two rooms across from one another, one door blue, the other red.
Simmons immediately dubs it "Valhalla" and the name sticks. The warriors have returned from battle to rest and enjoy their victory.
Thanks for reading!