I do not own Red vs. Blue.

Sleepless in Crash Site Bravo

Caboose's rumbling snores echoed off the metal walls of their make-shift camp. Washington thought he could almost feel the vibrations resulting from his far-too-loud snoring, but it might have been the constant buzzing of his nerves. Blue eyes stared steadily at the ceiling, his ears expertly tuning out Caboose and listening intently to the breathing patterns of Tucker and Simmons. When he determined that they were in a deep slumber, he rose from his small cot of sandbags and moved soundlessly across the floor.

He paused in the opening of half of the crashed UNSC ship and sent a wary glance towards Freckles. The Mantis-class military assault droid stood directly below the entrance to their base. The first (and only) time Freckles had been left active for the night, Wash had nearly gotten several bullets to the chest, and Caboose came running out after ten minutes of him dodging and screaming to calm his 'pet' down.

Given his streak of restless nights, Wash didn't want to have to battle with the droid every time he left for a walk. It took a while, but eventually he managed to convince Caboose to power Freckles down for the evenings. When it came time for Caboose to turn him off, Wash stood over his shoulder and watched to ensure the young man was doing it correctly.

And he usually didn't, resulting in Washington guiding him through the process night after night.

Wash went down the ramp and passed the still droid. He began his evening routine, looping around the perimeter of the canyon in search of any possible threats. He did the loop a few times, but like every night before, there was nothing wrong and nothing out of place.

Well, nothing outside of their totaled shipwreck and the fifty or so bodies that were now buried beneath their feet, anyway. The rest of the victims had been blown apart and disintegrated by the explosion resulting from the crash, so there wasn't much to recover.

Wash's heart seized in his chest, a chill shivering down his spine, as he let his mind wander to just how close they had all been to certain death. It was nothing short of a miracle that he and his soulmates survived when everyone else did not.

It was all his fault.

Anger roared in his chest at his idiocy. He hadn't been paying attention. And when he didn't pay attention, he got clumsy. He was the reason why the ship had crashed. He was the reason why they were stranded in this forsaken canyon.

He had almost killed his soulmates.

The dark thoughts formed like black clouds in his mind. Wash whirled around, slamming his armoured fist against the canyon wall. A small crater formed at the impact and his hand immediately started to throb. Wash flexed his fingers with a hard breath, taking a second to confirm that nothing was broken.

The sharp, shooting pain in his wrist and knuckles didn't do anything to distract him from delving deeper into his frantic, spiralling thought cycle.

I almost killed them.

What if I didn't get them anchored down in time?

I almost killed them.

What if the ship crashed differently?

What if I survived and they didn't?

That was something he wouldn't have been able to bear. If he had been the only survivor, well, he wouldn't have been a survivor for long.

Wash grit his teeth against the haunting thoughts and tried to ignore them. He finished up his patrol by going over to Red Base, a humble dwelling that Sarge insisted he create at the opposite end of the canyon. He moved silently through the space, ensuring that the other Reds were safe and accounted for. Grif and Sarge were fast asleep. Lopez 2.0, named so because Sarge thought it would be funny and not as an actual replacement for Lopez, slept standing in the corner.

Wash returned outside, where the air was still and insects chirped, creating intermingling melodies that were more irritating than soothing. He walked through the canyon and was halfway to his base when he spotted a shadowy figure coming towards him.

He whipped his gun upwards and barked, "Halt! You've got five seconds to identify yourself before I shoot!"

The figure froze with one maroon-coloured leg hanging just outside the stretch of shadows. Simmons gave a strangled squawk and put his hands high in the air. "It's me!"

Wash quickly lowered his weapon. "Don't sneak up on me like that!" he snapped.

"I was coming right at you!" countered Simmons. He came fully into view, lowering his arms and letting them dangle at his sides. "I wasn't even trying to be sneaky."

That wasn't something Washington could argue. "Right. Sorry. I wasn't really expecting anyone else to be out here."

"Is that why you patrol this place a thousand times a night?" asked Simmons dryly. "Searching for no one?"

"There's something not right about this place," said Wash. There was an uncomfortable pinch in his gut, one that signalled that something was wrong. "I don't know what it is. It makes me uneasy."

"Yeah. We're stranded and we'll probably starve to death. Kind of hard not to be uneasy about that."

Wash raised a brow. "Donut is sending help. Something I recall you were very excited about."

Simmons shrugged. "That was then. Now I'm tired and moody and my teammates can be stupid assholes, so, you know, I'm in low levels of excitement right now."

"Still mad at Grif?"

"Have you seen his half of that place?" asked Simmons with a shudder. "It's disgusting. It violates every health code in existence. I refuse to live in that slop."

His posture was tense and hunched and Wash carefully lowered his emotional barrier. Simmons' agitation flowed through him, spiky and sharp, but beneath his grudge was despondency and wistfulness.

"Do you want to talk to him?" asked Wash cautiously.

"No," said Simmons quickly. He paused for a moment before saying in a softer tone, "Not right now. I'm still pissed with him."

"As you usually are," said Wash lightly.

"Well, more so than normal." Simmons cast a glance over his shoulder and asked, "Do you want to head back now? Or do you want to keep up your search for no one?"

Wash narrowed his eyes. "I can kick you out of our base whenever I want, you know."

"No you can't," said Simmons with a snicker. "Caboose is in charge now. And if I leave, Freckles will hunt me down and execute me. No thanks. I'll just wait for this crap storm to pass."

"You're gonna be waiting a bit longer," Wash muttered under his breath. Fixing Caboose's helmet was taking far more time than he initially thought it would. "All right. Let's head back."

He fell into step beside Simmons and together they went towards Blue Base. "Seriously, I don't think anyone is going to attack us here," spoke Simmons.

Wash knew Simmons' attempt at comfort was due to his stress trickling through their soul-link. "It's not just that."

"What else is there? I mean, I know I said I lost faith, but Donut will get here eventually. It's just a matter of when and how often he's distracted on the way here."

"Don't worry about it."

Simmons sent him a glance. "If you're worrying about it, whatever it is, that means I should definitely be worrying."

Wash could not help but smile. "It doesn't take much to stress me out. Sometimes I can't turn my brain off and it makes sleep difficult."

"Man, do I feel that."

They got closer to Blue Base and Wash paused as a loud, mechanical buzzing reached his ears. He thrust out an arm to bring Simmons to a halt. "What is that sound?" he hissed, even though he already knew the answer.

Simmons, also identifying the sound, gasped in horror. "No!"

They bent low to the ground and crept through the shadows. They took cover in a section of bushes and peered through the foliage. A distance away they could see Freckles moving back and forth in front of the wrecked transport.

"That moron turned it on!" said Simmons furiously. "I could have sworn he was still sleeping when I came to find you!"

As Tucker and Caboose both insisted on sleeping without their armour, Wash had no way to contact them. "Damn! He and I are having such a conversation tomorrow morning," he growled. "How the hell can he have so much trouble turning him off but not have a problem turning him on?"

"He's probably playing you."

"Do not insult me."

They hastily retreated before Freckles could spot them and stopped near the creek that cut through the canyon. Simmons sat in the grass and started pulling off his armour. "That's not a good idea," said Wash firmly.

His helmet in his hands, Simmons turned bright green eyes to the ex-Freelancer. "Right. No One might take a shot at us," he said blankly.

"We still don't know where we are. Who knows what inhabits this planet?"

"Us. The others. Sarge isn't going to kill me and Grif is too lazy. And if I had to choose between getting shot by a mysterious assailant or Freckles, I'll take the assailant. It would be way less humiliating."

Simmons snapped off the last of his armour and shoved the maroon pieces off to the side so he could spread out against the grass. When Wash stood stiffly above him, Simmons gave an exasperated sigh. "We can't go back until morning, when Caboose is awake and we can kick his ass. I'm not staying up all night and I'm not sleeping in my armour."

"You're a sitting duck out here."

"I'll take my chances," said Simmons with a roll of his eyes. "Before I left, Grif made a decent point, for once. Why are we walking around in armour and holding our guns when we're not fighting anyone?"

Wash had a moment of internal debate before slowly peeling off his own armour. Simmons, and he supposed Grif as well, weren't wrong. They had spent days in this canyon and not a single soul had made itself known.

With a dramatic intake of breath, Simmons said, "It's a miracle."

"Shut up." Wash took off his helmet last and, as he stretched out beside Simmons, he set it by his feet. "It's been a while since I've been out of it. I'm due for a breather."

"How do you sleep in that thing?"

"Years of practice." Wash ran his fingers through his short blonde hair, flinching slightly at the build-up of grease he encountered. "Sorry if I woke you up."

"You didn't. I can only sleep through Caboose's snoring for so long. I woke up just as you were leaving."

"You didn't have to follow me."

Simmons shrugged. "I needed some air. And I figured I should make sure that you weren't having one of your emotional moments."

Wash gave a snort. "Not quite the term I would use to describe my episodes."

"Seriously, are you okay?" Simmons shifted awkwardly, plucking up strands of grass with his fingers. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Considering the amount of stress he was currently experiencing Wash knew it was pointless to lie. "No, I'm not okay."

The moonlight cast a silver light on the dark bags beneath Washington's eyes. Simmons eyed him for a moment before slowly extending his hand, hope and earnestness swelling through their soul-link. Wash was uncertain for a moment, but when Simmons started to retract his hand with a wounded expression Wash leaned forwards and set his hand on Simmons' left elbow.

His soul surged at the instigation and Simmons immediately responded, placing his hand over his soulmark on Wash's bicep. He furrowed his brow at the amount of tension and worry tightening his chest. He could feel the weight of the burden Washington felt, his determination to keep them all safe, and tremendous guilt encompassed his heart. Simmons searched through his soul and watched the most recent memory that had been causing Wash so much grief.

Shock and surprise rushed through him and Washington flinched. 'I'm so sorry, I didn't—'

'I thought it was all my fault!'

Simmons' bewilderment and relief eased the burn of his guilt. Confused, Washington moved through his soul. The unexpected revelation brought him a bit of clarity and he was able to detect Simmons' own guilt and embarrassment, a mere pulse compared to his own stormy vortex. He found the memory the redhead was referring to and disbelief rose in him.

'Seriously?'

'Upgrades usually make things better. Not crash entire systems,' thought Simmons sheepishly. 'I guess you knocking out a power cord combined with my utter screw-up.'

'What are the odds?'

'I know!'

The guilt lessened dramatically, because he was not the sole cause of the crash and somehow that made it that much better. But his fears, those pesky, ever-present fears, still lingered and Simmons lightly squeezed his bicep.

'We're alive. Because of you. You and Carolina were bad-ass.'

For a moment they waded in the memory of the crash. Carolina and Wash, working in tandem, frantically collecting the Reds and Blues and getting them to anchor, strap and hook themselves to whatever was available. The panic and adrenaline that charged through their veins, the terrified screaming and the ear-splitting shrieking as the ship descended and then tore in half.

And when it was all over, the smoke still curling through the air, seven bodies and an A.I. tumbled out of the wreckage.

Simmons' gratitude swelled and Wash smiled weakly. 'Well, considering I partly caused the accident, it was the least I could do.'

'More than I did,' quipped Simmons.

'No, your screaming really helped.'

'Thanks. I try.'

Contentment blanketed them and Wash gave a quiet sigh, relaxing into Simmons' hold. The guilt about his role in the accident was no longer consuming and he knew that Simmons felt the same. Somehow, knowing they were both at fault and able to share the blame made tolerating their grievous mistakes easier.

As the emotions ebbed, Simmons felt an undercurrent of sadness and longing. 'I miss them too,' he thought softly. 'Why do you think they left?'

Though he was a bit irked with Carolina for leaving without a word, he could not help the fondness that washed over him. 'I don't know. But I'm sure it was important. They'll be back. Eventually.'

'Well, if they don't, they're gonna miss the rescue ship and be stuck in this place. Sucks to be them.'

Wash grinned. 'Yeah, sucks to be them.'

Simmons rested his head against Wash's chest and a deep warmth enveloped both of them. Wash closed his eyes and set his fingers in Simmons' hair, lightly pulling on the red strands. 'Thanks, Dick.'

'I didn't really do anything, but I'll take the credit anyway. A trick from Grif's book.'

'You really should talk to him.'

'Don't ruin the moment.'

With their souls humming with happiness and satisfaction, their exhaustion won over, and Wash fell asleep to the sound of the churning creek, scents of apples and spice, and the sensation of Simmons' soul still tangled with his.

…

"Rise and shine, Nancy 1 and Nancy 2."

The gruff voice intruded Washington's slumber and he snapped upwards, instinctively rolling his body over Simmons' protectively. Blue eyes met a familiar visor and Wash slumped to the grass, rubbing at his chest.

"Don't do that!"

"Your fault for sleepin' out in the open," countered Sarge. "I coulda shot ya."

Wash rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I'm sure it took you a lot of restraint."

Their voices broke through his sleepy fog and Simmons sat up with a yawn. "What time is it?"

"Past ass-kick o'clock."

Simmons recoiled at the sight of Sarge, cheeks flaming a dark red. "Sir!" he spluttered. "Uh, good morning!"

"Go talk to Grif," ordered Sarge bluntly.

Simmons hesitated. "I don't know—"

"If ya would lower your barrier for a second, you'd feel that he's a damn emotional mess. I'm sick of his mopin'."

"But you're not sick of the physical mess."

Sarge's eyes narrowed. "You sassin' me, boy?"

"No sir!"

"Go."

"I don't know if I can handle two intense soul-bonds in the span of twenty-four hours," said Simmons, his body still heavy with fatigue.

"Go."

The shotgun rose and Wash didn't even blink at the bullet that lodged near Simmons' feet. The redhead yelped and took off running for Red Base, needing no further urging. Wash shook his head and started to shrug on his armour.

"If I go back without him, Freckles is probably going to come execute him."

"I can't believe you're letting Caboose keep that thing."

"If you want to try and deactivate Freckles, by all means, give it a try," drawled Wash. "On the slim chance that you're successful, you'll just have to live with the fact that Caboose would never forgive you."

It was a cheap shot, since he knew Sarge had a soft spot for Caboose, but he didn't care and it had the desired effect.

"Er...you know what, just wait here. I'll send Simmons over when he's ready."