I apologize for the wait this time around, guys! I'm back in school and taking an average of 2 exams a week again. Which is FUN. But typically only gives me time to write about one or two scenes of any of my projects every day as opposed to my usual average of about 5 scenes a day. So please bear with me! And hopefully my sad sack being self isn't reflective at least in this story, because it's way too much of a joy to write!

Thanks for the feedback to ashleystlawrence, secretlystephaniebrown, dremoranightmares, BlodwenDubh, Two Four None Ten, Beawolfs_Pen, Alkeni, hayleycreagine, JjThereforeIAm, Yin, and an amazing guest on ffnet, AO3, and tumblr!

Red vs Blue and related characters © Rooster Teeth
story © RenaRoo

Hero Time
Chapter Four: Breakfast of Champions

Even once Junior was settled and snoring away, curled up like a cat in the nest of blankets he'd gathered from around the apartment, Tucker found himself sitting on the bed, trying hard to not go in and check on their patient every few minutes.

One time, back before things were too funky, when he shared a flat with Caboose and Church and occasionally the room's worth of baggage Church carried around with him in near Job-like dedication, there was a cat that they tried to feed. The thing had a hurt paw, and when Church tried to patch it up he got scratched - which Tucker liked to think was such a perfect analogy to Church's overall life it brought tears to his eyes - and after two days of feeding the damn thing, it never came back. They still debated on what they think happened to it.

That's how things in Blood Gulch worked, and Tucker kept himself from checking on the stranger in the living room by knowing all too well that the chances of a stray superhero sticking around were low.

He watched the alarm clock tick away, closer and closer to the alarm set, before reaching over and turning it off ahead of time.

With a bit of a grunt, he pushed off the bed, stepped back into his jeans, and started for the door, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

"Alright, little man," Tucker sighed quietly, looking over his son's sleeping form. "Hope you like being a footnote in that guy's next story, because I don't think there's any way in hell we've still got a guest in the-"

Stopping short after he pushed the door open, Tucker blinked a bit in surprise to see his couch still occupied. The hero was curled up tightly on his side, bunched up in the blanket to the point only his head and feet could be seen.

Taking a moment to look back at how Junior was curled up, then looking back to this "Washington", Tucker scratched at his head and huffed a small laugh. "Well, I'd be damned," he sighed before beginning to pad his way into the kitchen. "Also, it's totally great that I'm apparently the only one who has trouble getting to sleep. What a surprise."

Tying back his hair as he went, Tucker maneuvered his kitchen easily enough.

As loathe as he was to cook outside of work, the single parent and hero rescuer extraordinaire in him knew that the two Sleeping Beauties could benefit from the most important meal of the day.

He grabbed the pan from under the cabinet as quietly as he could, used a foot to open the fridge, did a quick inventory of the sad sight before grabbing for the eggs and some hot sauce. The rhythm of making the scrambled eggs was depressingly familiar to the point that Tucker could almost close his eyes as he reached for the salt and pepper.

A few minutes into the routine, Tucker took a few steps to the side, reached into the freezer, and pulled out two saran wrapped steaks, shut the door with his shoulder, and set the second burner on the stove to low before setting a pan and the unwrapped steaks on it.

Satisfied with that, he turned his attention back to the nearly finished pan of eggs.

"The meat isn't going to get done that way, you should have put it on before the eggs."

Completely unsuspecting, Tucker nearly jumped a foot and whirled around, arms flailing to face the speaker.

Washington stood behind him, one arm tucked around his midsection to apparently keep the parts of him not wrapped in gauze and bandages together. There was a strange twist to his lips that wasn't quite a frown and his neck was slightly stretched out to peer over Tucker for a better look at the stove.

"Jesus," Tucker muttered, running a hand through his hair as his heart tried to get back in pattern. He narrowed his eyes a bit at the shirtless hero. "Dude, what the hell? Are you trying to scare the shit out of me?"

The hero's head turned slightly, as if he was surprised at the accusation, though it was hard to tell still with the visor on.

"No, of course not," he said easily enough. "Your eggs are-"

"Not burning, thanks for the concern," Tucker responded, turning to the stove, lowering the heat on the first burner, and shaking up the pan as he diced with the spatula. "Don't worry about me cooking. At this point, if there's one thing I can do, it's cooking. Just worry about the things you're good at. Like popping all your stitches and bleeding out on my kitchen floor. You're an expert on that. Practice makes perfect, right?"

Washington frowned a bit more and looked at the stove top.

"Did you put hot sauce in those?"

"Oh, my god. I just told you to not question my cooking," Tucker grunted back.

"I was just curious, you need to calm down," the vigilante responded with a small shake of his head. "You don't have to be nervous around me."

Tucker reached above the stove vent and began to open the cabinets. He glared over his shoulder a bit before pulling down two plates. "I am not nervous around you."

"Actually, you are," he pressed. "And I appreciate that I've put you into an awkward situation, and I am sorry about that, I'll try to make it up to you-"

Snorting, Tucker began to scoop eggs across the two plates. "Sure."

"I will," Washington stressed. "I just need to get my strength back and put an end to the dark siege on this city."

Tucker stared at him for a moment, opening his mouth to respond before just shaking his head and going back to checking the steaks. "I... What does that even mean?"

"Hm?" Washington looked at him, a little perplexed.

"What does 'dark siege' mean? Is Dark Siege someone's name? Do they have a giant woodchipper you went through?" Tucker asked, trying to sound far less interested in the story than he was.

Washington stared at him a little unnervingly. "You are fixated on elaborate death traps. I did not go through a death trap."

Frowning a bit, Tucker scratched at his chin. "Are you one of those serious heroes that like... spends every issue talking about drugs and the 'plague of urban youth' because I don't let Junior read those-"

"Every issue? Mister Tucker, I'm starting to suspect you think comic books are accurate to the realities faced by superheroes," Washington replied flatly.

"Well, it's not like you get on the morning talk shows and explain why you and Captain Kool-Aid or whatever backed traffic up for days," Tucker defended.

"There is no Captain Kool-Aid," Washington snapped back.

"Oh my god, you're so sensitive. I thought you were some kinda veteran hero-"

"I am."

"Get tougher skin, dude! Oh, hey, that'd be great all around, because then you wouldn't be dying in dumpsters all of the time," Tucker snarked.

"That's the first time that's happened to me, alright?" he said, throwing up his arms only to flinch immediately and bring them both back down to his ribs. "Ow."

"What, are you embarrassed?" Tucker laughed.

"A little, yes. This... It wasn't how last night was supposed to go. It was supposed... well, it was just supposed to be a good night," Wash said, rotating one of his hands at the wrist. "Not... end up that way."

"Oh," Tucker responded, scratching at the back of his head. "You... got some civilian fling? Damsel in distress waiting for you last night or something? I don't have a landline, but I'm sure Church has lost one of his burn phones around here for you to use if you-"

"I don't have anyone," Wash said back, he sighed. "It was just... supposed to be a good night to come back."

Tucker's eyes widened slightly. "Oh. You got the shit beat out of you coming out of retirement? Wow, that's rough, buddy."

"I didn't... I wasn't beat up," Wash muttered, looking off.

"Your body-sized bruise says otherwise-"

"Mister Tucker, I assure you, the criminal mastermind I was in pursuit of did not lay a finger on me. And I still managed to chase him over the rooftops for over two blocks after the incident so-"

Picking up his two plates, Tucker stared at Washington. "What incident, dude?"

Frown growing further, Washington let out a low breath. "I... got hit by a car."

Tucker blinked.

Washington stared back, expectantly.

"Oh, my god," Tucker said under his breath before shoving a plate at Wash and heading to the coffee table with his own. "I'd make a better joke, but I'm not even sure where to start."

"Thank you-"

"Just give me some time, I'll think of it," Tucker cut him off. He set his plate at his usual spot on the couch and then turned back to the kitchen. "Go on, dude, sit down and eat up. I'll get you some water."

Washington seemed conflicted on how to respond before moving back toward the couch with a simple, "Thanks."

"I'd offer milk, but that's Junior's, and it's still expensive as shit, so..."

"No, water's fine," Washington said, settling slowly on the couch. "Did you want to save some of these eggs for him, too, or-"

"Nah, that's who the steaks are for, duh," Tucker said, seeing the steaks warm but bloody. He turned off the stove. "I give him maybe a minute before he smells them and comes running."

Returning with two waters, Tucker looked over Washington before sitting down, snickering.

"Oh my god, a car. First night out," Tucker laughed to himself.

"Please don't," Wash muttered, looking down at his plate.

"Sorry, dude, but, I mean, it's so... human and not superhero at- Oh, wait! I never asked."

Washington looked toward him. "Asked?"

"What's your super power?" Tucker asked, scooping some eggs into his mouth.

"Why would you assume I have a super power?" he asked back.

"Oh, shut up, every superhero I know has super powers, don't be coy," Tucker responded. "You don't have to tell me how you got them - though, you should to thank me for your life and breakfast and inflating your ego with a hero-worshiping son - but I think I deserve to know whether or not you can like... electrocute your way through my apartment or make styrofoam explode with your mind."

"That's an oddly specific and useless super power suggestion, but alright," Wash returned. He took a bite of eggs and then hummed, looking to his plate. "I am very good with knives."

"Knives?" Tucker repeated.

"Throwing knives in particular, but knives, yes," Wash responded.

"Your super power is 'good with knives'?" Tucker asked.

"I didn't say it was a super power," Wash reminded him. "But you're more asking me about my modus operandi, in which case that is what I do. I use knives."

Tucker stared at him. "You're one of the nuts who doesn't have superpowers and gets a costume anyway-"

"I didn't say I didn't have superpowers, I just said I use knives when I work," he interrupted before taking another bite. "...Alright, the hot sauce is good-"

"Don't change subjects! I asked you for super powers and you're not delivering!" Tucker decried. "But yes, I know what people like to eat. Bow Chicka Bow Wow."

Washington stared at him. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That noise that just came out of your mouth. Did you have a stroke or something?"

"What? No! That's... it's my thing," Tucker said, baffled at trying to explain something as visceral and natural as breathing.

Washington didn't let up on the staring.

"Dude, what is your super power?" Tucker tried again.

Finally giving up on the blank stare, Washington looked toward the window, his lips pressing to a thin line.

"It's... It's something I tend to keep to myself."

They lapsed into a short silence, Tucker turning his head more and more to the side as he waited for the hero to continue.

When it didn't happen, Tucker shook his head. "Seriously, that's all you're going to give me?"

"It's not something that would really concern you. My super power isn't going to burn down the apartment. Or blow up styrofoam."

"You're no fun," Tucker grunted, turning his attention back to the plate of eggs. "I bet it's super stupid, that's why you're not telling me."

"Well. You're not wrong."

Tucker opened his mouth to respond with something snappy when he heard the door to the bedroom fling open. He and Washington both looked to it just to see the small alien child within standing, hands on his hips, brightly colored blanket tied around his long neck and the rain boots Tucker hadn't worn since Junior nibbled the top off the left boot in teething on his feet.

"Blargh!" Junior announced himself triumphantly.

Unable to look at the sight without feeling an eruption of joy, Tucker grinned from ear to ear and put his plate down on the coffee table before standing up from the couch. "Look at you! Now that looks like a superhero!"

Junior posed and flexed, eyes excitedly fixated on his father before running past him toward Washington.

The vigilante seemed surprised, having returned to his eggs after thinking Junior and Tucker were about to do their own thing. After a moment, and with the surprise soon melting from his expression, Wash set his plate down himself, coughed into a fist, bruised ribs heaving a bit, and smiled back at the child. He held his hands up in salute. "It's a pleasure to see another grand Cape Wearer willing to protect the good citizens of this complex."

The squeal of joy that came from Junior was ear piercing. He whirled around to look excitedly at Tucker.

Tucker folded his arms and glared at Wash. "You don't even wear a cape," he pointed out. He then looked to Junior and motioned toward the kitchen. "Your breakfast is on the stove, kiddo. Eat up!"

Immediately, Junior ran up to Tucker, shoving on his back pocket.

"Huh? Oh shit! You're right, it's check day - fuck and the bills are taken out tomorrow," Tucker groaned, smacking at his face. "Ugh. It's going to be cold as balls. And I need to get Caboose's ass out of bed if I want him up here-"

"Mister Tucker?"

Blinking, Tucker turned toward the hero and stared at him.

"Is there... anything I could do to help you?" he asked. "It's the least I could do-"

"Oh, hellsyes!" Tucker sighed with relief. "Okay, great. Good." He ran toward the bedroom. "You stay here and make sure Junior doesn't eat my Xbox, I'll be back in just a little bit. I've gotta run to the restaurant, get my check from Sheila, and run to the bank. It shouldn't take that long-"

"You want me to babysit?" Washington clarified.

"I want you to sit and not get yourself killed, and while you're doing that - which should be simple because there's no semis on the fourth floor - just entertain my kid and make sure that, if he plays games, he doesn't get angry and bite the TV or something," Tucker explained, coming out of the bedroom as he pulled his sweater over his head. "Think you can handle that?"

Washington was scowling, probably at the car comment. Which was fine because the thought of it was still making Tucker grin. But he took a breath and nodded. "I think I can handle that. Like I said, it's the least I could do."

"It really is the least, dude, you owe me. Like majorly," Tucker replied flippantly. He rushed to the kitchen where Junior was sitting on the floor with half a steak in his mouth already. He kissed his kid's forehead. "Be good. Or at least decent, Super Junior."

Junior made a happy chortle around the meat.

"Mister Tucker?"

Tucker turned and looked at Washington.

"Please be careful yourself out there," Washington said so seriously it almost made Tucker stand back.

"Uh, no worries. I doubt anything will happen," Tucker said with a wave. "And don't call me Mister Tucker, dude. Just Tucker is fine."

"Alright, Just Tucker."

"Don't be a smartass," Tucker snapped before heading out the door.