Vroom, vroom.
Peashooter sighed as he glanced out the window next to him, resting his face onto his pea pods. The ground was a blur beneath him; greens, blues, and browns mixing together as they flew top-speed through the cloudless sky.
Today's Garden Ops went great, as usual. Apart from Chomper getting knocked out at least four times throughout the whole thing, the plant team—consistent of Cactus, Sunflower, Chomper, and himself—were uninjured and still going strong. Usually, Peashooter would be bragging about him being MVP and getting the most zombie kills, but lately he just wasn't feeling it. With all the stuff that's been going on, from moving into a new Backyard Battleground to dealing with Zomboss and his new zombie creations, life has been hectic for Peashooter. He usually did fine with change, loving how fast-paced and unexpected change could be and constantly on the lookout for even the slightest change to occur so he can observe what becomes of it.
These days, though, change was a bad thing.
Change meant that Zomboss was pushing his troops further into plant territory, slaughtering and eating the plants alive. Change meant that different plants, plants that Peashooter has neither seen nor knew existed were joining the ranks, making the plant team learn new skills in order to work well with the new temporary member. Change meant the war was getting worse, that Crazy Dave was getting desperate, that Zomboss was getting stronger and more powerful.
These days, change was something to fear.
It tore at Peashooter to have to understand that change was bad, to stop his relentless search for something new and exciting, to finally understand and get more serious, more mature. But what tore at him the most was being forced to face the world as it is: a Battleground. A cruel, dream-crushing, life-stealing place that tore and snapped, ripped and clawed. A place that all plants went, full of confidence and vigor, only to come back, scarred and hurt and mortified.
Having the truth be slapped into his face but yet always brushing it off, unaccepting, disbelieving, stubborn in a way that refused to give way to the fact that this was real, and serious, and he should stop being a cocky pompous jerk off. All of this just to stop the one thing that all the others accepted, the thing that made them stronger in their own way, the thing that they all understood and made decisions based off of that and the one thing that Peashooter vehemently denied, never letting it stray across his infuriatingly stubborn mind.
Accepting that things were getting worse.
Peashooter sighed again, long and heavy, and glanced around the messy, chaotic, quirky RV that he was forced to fly in. It belonged to Crazy Dave, the man who created the plants and—Peashooter was pretty sure—the only surviving human after Zomboss' zombie apocalypse. His eyes surveyed the room, taking note of the small orange couch shoved into the corner of the RV a few feet to the left of him, a coffee table with a statue of Dave and two small potted plants on top of it in front of the couch, the blueish-green refrigerator with magnetic letters and pictures splayed over it right next to the coffee table, attached to a small sink full of dirty dishes with another stack right next to it, and the three tires stacked on top of each other a few ways away from the sink. The floor had a yellow-green rug with a flower pattern, the walls made only of wood, and a large trapdoor resided in the middle of the RV.
All in all, it was a huge mess, and Peashooter was extremely glad he chose the small, tucked away table with chairs in the corner near one of the many windows. He then looked in front of him where his team was currently huddled.
Chomper was lying on the floor, Sunflower worriedly skipping around him, patching him up and checking for other injuries while Cactus stood in the corner watching over them, glancing around the room for threats. Peashooter raised a brow at Cactus' antics. It doesn't matter if she's in the safest place in existence, if one of her friends are hurt she will stand near them, silently guarding them like some kind of loyal guard-dog taught to never leave their owners side. Peashooter wasn't complaining, it was nice to know that the sniper of the group was always watching, albeit silently. He thought she goes a bit overboard, but whenever he suggested as much she just stared at him, a blank, emotionless stare that shouldn't've been but was extremely intimidating and he eventually stopped trying. Dave was driving in the front, humming a merry tune whilst eating a taco.
"How's he doing?" Peashooter asked, not moving his head which was still resting on his pea pods. Sunflower jumped, not expecting Peashooter to talk (he usually never did, preferring to broodily sulk in whatever corner was readily available to him in the RV).
"Good. It wasn't anything major, just a few bites and scratches. Could've been worse." Sunflower replied, her high, light, soft voice offering some comfort as she fondly patted Chomper's head.
Peashooter hummed, lightly nodding. He did a once-over on Chomper, assessing all the bandages and band-aids littering his huge, purple head. Although he'd never admit it, Peashooter did care about his friends, even considering them family. Chomper was knocked out four times, and Peashooter was starting to worry that he was gonna get a concussion, if he didn't have one already. He just wanted to check, just to make sure. Cactus turned to him, brow raised.
"You usually never talk during the fly back home, what changed?" Cactus asked, her high, emotionless, nasally voice a stock difference to Sunflowers. Just as Peashooter took a breath to answer, Chomper looked towards him.
"Aw! He cares about me, dont'cha bud?" Chomper exclaimed, voice filled with glee. The breath Peashooter took to answer Cactus suddenly got stuck in his throat. He sputtered and wheezed, caught off guard and trying to breathe again.
"N-No! I don't care about you guys! You're just my teammates, t-thats all!" Peashooter shouted. Chomper was laughing quietly. If Peashooter had hands, they would be balled up in fists right now, and preferably swinging towards Chomper's face. Instead, his pea pods were lowered by his sides, slightly raised in indignation. He was never very good with affection, and always got uncomfortable with sappy, lovey-dovey stuff. He'd rather show his affection through his actions in battle, anyways. He hated getting teased about it, and Chomper always teased him with that kind of stuff, and so Peashooter always threw something at him, literally, in return. But there was a 'no using powers/abilities in the RV' rule that Dave implemented ever since 'the incident', so Peashooter settled with sending Chomper a death glare instead.
Chomper, of course, was unfazed and, upon seeing Peashooter glaring at him, only laughed harder.
"We're here, get ready!" Crazy Dave enthusiastically yelled, grinning at them through the rear-view mirror. The plant team nodded, and just as they were about to land, Chomper turned towards Peashooter with a mischievous grin.
"Y'know bud, even if you don't say it a lot, I love you too." Chomper said, still smiling. Peashooter, wary, confused, and embarrassed, looked away.
"Uh, thanks. I guess."
"Which is why I'm gonna give you a big hug!"
Peashooter's eyes widened and before he could do anything Chomper spit his green sticky slime at him, leaving Peashooter stuck on the chair and at the mercy of the big purple plant.
Peashooter ended up trying (and nearly succeeding!) to kill his friend.