Prelude for Losers?: Washington

Find out what happened before the events of When We Were Soldiers in the Prelude for Losers? specials!

In this prequel collection, you'll find connected character-specific introspective one shots that delve into the backstories of our favorite mismatched group of soldiers before they arrived in Chorus.

The fourth story is Washington's.

Main Pairing(s): Tuckington, Grimmons

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Prelude for Losers?— Washington:

He hadn't always gone by Washington. In fact, when Washington was "born," he had simply been given the name David because it was quick and easy to remember. It was the type of simple name often used in the genetically engineered batch facility. After all, "simple and easy to use" was important when entering in all of the various points of data that went with shuffling around tank-born humans designed to fight in someone else's stupid, pointless war.

As it was, Washington never had much lingering attachment or sentiment towards the name David. He couldn't even recall his actual last name. In all honesty, he wasn't entirely sure he ever had one. If he had a surname, it had been kept extremely private. Even from himself.

The truth was, his name hadn't originally mattered in the grand scheme of things. His name dropped in importance once he was old enough to hold a gun and had been sent out onto the frontlines. He'd been made to wage war on others who were either created to do battle just like him, or on the equally poor souls who just happened by circumstance to be born into a world where there was constant fighting.

Honestly, he barely even paid attention to what color he was fighting for or against on any given day. He hardly cared for the name of whatever region he was transferred to. The list of things Washington didn't care about back then was quite long.

It wasn't that he was even a good soldier ether. Truthfully, he wasn't one of the best fighters of his batch. Not by a long shot. But, that was okay in his mind. Most of the "best" didn't last too long, what with constantly being sent over and over again to the frontlines. They were also forced to undertake the more dangerous infiltration missions thanks to their stellar marks. No, Washington didn't care about being the best then either.

He had always been a survivor. That's what kept Washington, what kept David, still breathing at the time. He made sure he got out of tricky, treacherous situations alive. He had a habit of ensuring that those around him did too.

Perhaps those traits were what had caused a genetically engineered no-name such as himself to catch the eye of a secret military project. Although, that could have also been due to Freelancer going through a bit of a recruitment drive at the time. David never did end up asking the "Why me?" question, so he never figured out why the hell he had been chosen. Not that it very much mattered in the long run.

The project was one with no particular loyalty to either Red or Blue. It was an independent faction all its own, and its ultimate goal was really quite simple: to put a stop to the fighting that had swallowed the world whole for who-knew-how-long.

David had found it to be an admirable goal, one that meant there would be no more people simply existing for fighting and killing. No more people created for it like he had been. Admittedly, it had not taken a long time to consider his options when Freelancer approached him.

That very day, David made his first real decision ever in his life. He defected from his unit and whatever color of the moment that they had been fighting for at the time to join a project with no real set region allegiance. Freelancer operated out in the open but also under hushed veils of secrecy. He didn't care to give it much thought.

Upon joining Freelancer, David was given another task, one that involved his second choice ever: he got to choose his very own name for use in the program. Of course, it was from a prepared list of locations from a place no one remembered anymore. But, still, it was his to pick and he wore Washington proudly, like a badge of honor.

Things had gone well following his inclusion into the Freelancer ranks. For the first time since his "birth," he made decisions for himself. The concept of having more freedom on the battlefield to do what he wanted was thrilling. He still had orders, yes, but he was able to choose now how he enacted them.

Washington actually came to know and care for his comrades too, all of them ultimately having joined Freelancer with the same goal. For the first time that he could recall, the blond was having genuine conversations with people who actually wanted his input, who cared about what he felt and thought, who smiled at him and patted his back. He felt a sense of belonging.

He barely noticed, so caught up in this new life of his, how "ending the war" was such an abstract notion. He didn't see how they were sent to places where the fighting was most prominent, and how they would tip the scales in one way or the other before scurrying off to the next warzone.

If he had been paying more attention, perhaps he would have seen the actual truth just as Connie had. Freelancer wasn't doing a damn thing to actually stop the fighting. They had only become a hidden faction of it, manipulating events in whatever way the Director deemed necessary for his weapons research.

But, Washington hadn't noticed, and Connie was later killed as a traitor while trying to tell them all the truth. Then it became too late to do anything.

The project that Washington had put his everything into went up in flames all around him. His cybernetic partner, Epsilon, somehow suffered some kind of a mental breakdown during what was supposed to be their first real mission together. He had tried killing himself while they were out in the field. Washington had been gravely injured himself trying to stop him.

Washington hadn't been aware, though he probably should have been, that Epsilon and the other cyborgs had been a special "tank-born" batch designed solely for Freelancer experiments. They had been created for one purpose just like he had been, and they had suffered immensely for it. Epsilon remembered everything that the Director had tried to make them forget using their neural implants.

…In hindsight, it had been those very injuries that Washington sustained that had probably saved his life. After all, it was right after he had been hurt that everything came to a bloody, violent end. He had been in recovery when the fighting started, had been thrown from his hospital bed by an explosion that had blissfully knocked him out during the slaughter that followed.

When he had finally, finally awoken, it had been to the blindingly bright lights of yet another hospital room, this one wholly unfamiliar to him.

Apparently, he had been found amidst the wreckage of Freelancer's collapse and brought to wherever there was. He was never entirely sure what kind of facility he had been brought to. No one wore any insignia to indicate whether or not they were currently in a Red or Blue zone, though the place had both a military and research air about it.

In fact, from the dispassionate and clinical way all of the people acted who interacted with him, Washington was sorely reminded of his time growing up in the batch facility that had "birthed" and initially trained him. After all, centers like that were not associated with any specific side either since they were more concerned with who paid the most for their products.

All he could really get from those around him in the unfamiliar facility was that he was simply going to be there until he had recovered entirely. As for why that was, or what they wanted with him, no one would or could say.

At the time, Washington didn't particularly mind given everything that had happened. He was still trying to process too many things all at once and failing miserably.

…Everyone he had ever cared about was most likely dead, buried beneath rubble and ash. Ending the war had been a lie. Who knew if Freelancer's actions had actually made things in an already hopeless situation worse?

It had been the first time that he had ever decided something for himself, and he had ruined everything immensely. In more ways than he could ever hope to repair.

…For once, Washington was not grateful that he had some preternatural talent for survival.

The only thing that helped him escape from his overwhelming, all-encompassing guilt was being allowed to explore the facility once he was deemed well-enough to do so. Naturally, there were areas that he could not gain access to, but an injured man too wrapped up in his own thoughts was not deemed a flight risk from a building with state-of-the-art security and guards around every corner.

He explored at a shuffling, meandering pace. Usually, he barely even registered just where he was going until he reached an area he couldn't get through or a guard told him to get lost. At first, escape or anything of the sort was far from his troubled mind.

That was, until one day when he wandered from the hospital room for an exceptionally long time. The voices and the guilt threatened to swallow him whole if he didn't keep moving, keep moving…

Washington ended up in a brightly lit hallway that seemed to stretch on forever. It was rather unremarkable, save for the sheet of glass that extended a good long ways down the right side of it. He blinked gray eyes, momentarily caught off-guard by the sight as he stepped closer just to see if he could catch a glimpse of his harried, scarred form in its surface…

"Hey, asshole!"

Only it wasn't his face that he saw staring defiantly back at him, but the brown eyes and dark-skinned features of a person who appeared to be a few years younger than himself. Washington started at the obvious venom in the man's voice, blinking once more as his thoughts threatened to spiral out of control again.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?" The younger man continued, clutching what appeared to be a bundle of grey blankets protectively towards his chest, "Did you come here to gawk at the man who had a baby too?"

The man in the glass cell, as Washington quickly realized it to be, was named Lavernius Tucker. He was an orphan due to the war and, ever since, had been going from region to region as a soldier with others who were stuck in similar situations.

"Well, until I fucking wound up in here that is." Tucker told Washington bitterly, though there was a grateful look in his brown eyes as if finally being able to talk to someone about all of this had been enough to put him in a better mood.

The baby in the younger man's arms squirmed a little. A small dark arm poked out from amidst the bundle of blankets, a glowing teal line visible on the skin. Washington watched with marked interest as Tucker gently cooed at the small infant. The blond worried that he was interrupting some important bonding moment, but he didn't want to leave all the same. He was quite fascinated by what he was witnessing given how foreign a sight given his past it was.

After all, his experiences with babies in general were quite limited. His batch facility deemed it better for their genetically engineered soldiers to be "birthed" as older children and not infants, so this was his first time truly ever seeing one. Besides, Tucker's story…

"What exactly happened?" Washington heard himself ask as Tucker once again peeled his eyes away from the infant, full name: Lavernius Tucker Junior, to look up at Washington as if in surprise that the older man was still there.

"Oh, the usual bullshit that happens during the war." Tucker replied as he shrugged cockily in an attempt to play things off, "I was out scouting some ruins when I fell into this huge ass hole and bam! I was face-to-face with an alien relic or some shit."

Washington was fairly certain there had to be more to the story (what was Tucker scouting for, for instance?), but he didn't want to interrupt as the dark-skinned man continued.

"So, I did what any guy would do in my situation. I touched it."

Washington raised an eyebrow before responding, "You touched an alien relic without knowing anything about it." He repeated blankly.

"Wouldn't you?" Tucker challenged back, not missing a beat.

Washington opened his mouth to say no, but suddenly stopped himself before the word could escape his lips. Curiosity had gotten the better of him in some instances, especially when it came to trying out new weaponry and the like in the past. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone.

Tucker grinned triumphantly at the former Freelancer's obvious hesitation, "That's what I thought!"

Washington couldn't help but roll his eyes, not even bothering with a vocal reply.

"But, thanks to that, now I can do this!"

Carefully balancing the baby in the cradle of his right arm, Tucker reached down with his free hand and unclasped what appeared to be some kind of hilt from his belt. In the next instant, a brilliant flash of light filled the space as a sword made out of energy flared to life.

Junior cooed at the sight, reaching tiny fingers towards the suddenly materialized object.

Tucker smiled down at him, "No way. Not until you're way older, kiddo." He said gently before beaming over at Washington, "Pretty fucking amazing, yeah? And it only works for me! Not that it's been any help in getting through this fucked up space glass or whatever this place is made out of."

"An alien relic imprinted on you." Washington said with a tone that held a note of awe. He had heard of such things happening before, and a lot of Freelancer tech had come from alien ruins, but this was the first time he had actually seen an imprinted person. He frowned in thought as Tucker deactivated the sword, "That still doesn't explain how you ended up here." He finally noted, eyes glancing at the cell.

"I was getting to that." Tucker said, rolling his eyes in response, "Just chill, dude." He rocked Junior in his arms before his eyes narrowed considerably, "Once I figured out how to get out of the fucking ruins, I was grabbed by these assholes and locked up here. They've run all sorts of bullshit tests, but not even once could they get it up without me. Bow-chicka-bow-wow!"

Whoever-these-people-were they were keeping Tucker here because they were also interested in alien tech. He wondered if that wasn't the reason why they had pulled him out of the mess that had been left of Project Freelancer as well.

"The last experiment they ran?" Tucker's voice had gone oddly quiet just then, and he shuddered before he looked down at Junior again and smiled, "It landed me with this guy here."

Washington stared down at the baby. So, that explained Junior's odd markings in a way. If he had been created using at least some alien technology…

"I've never heard of a genetically engineered human being birthed through pregnancy before." Washington muttered, more to himself than to Tucker.

Genetically engineered people were normally created in tanks such as he was, and kept in there until they were usually considered old enough to be of viable service. He had heard of some cases where a baby might be taken out of a tank early for specific purposes, but it was generally frowned upon by the general public to do so.

"Yeah, well, let's just say the experience was a shitty one and leave it at that." Tucker told him, "It was painful as all fuck, and they had me chained to a bed for months."

"I'm sorry." Washington spoke quietly, surprised at the sincerity in his voice.

Tucker's frown faded from his features as he looked down at Junior once again and beamed, "It wasn't all bad, though. After all, because of that I have this little guy now, and he's easily the best fucking thing I've ever had in my life."

Washington smiled slightly, "I'm…glad then, Tucker."

He was, truly. However, the thought of Tucker and his son staying here as research pawns still caused his stomach to lurch.

"I do miss the guys though." Tucker remarked quietly himself a moment later, a contemplative look on his face, "They might have been a bunch of assholes a lot of the time, but they're family."

And, because Tucker was as desperate for human contact and companionship as Washington was for his lingering, troubling thoughts and memories to fade, he told the former Freelancer all about them.

Tucker talked about Sarge, who was like the grumpy father of the group that no one had ever known they wanted but who kept everyone together all the same. He talked of cheerful Donut and his horrible tendency to say weird shit all the time. He spoke of the often inept but always trying Doc, and about the nerdy and socially awkward Simmons.

…Of Church, who everyone pretty much considered the biggest asshole of the bunch but who was pretty okay too. Washington frowned at that particular part of the story because the name sounded familiar, but it couldn't be who he was thinking of. Tucker also talked about Caboose, who tended to follow everyone around like a lost puppy and who also just so happened to have a talking gun named Freckles that you did not want to get on the wrong side of. He even described two robots named Lopez and Sheila as well.

Washington stared, transfixed at the fond smile on Tucker's face as he spoke all about his friends, the ones he had called his family. He didn't even register when the younger man finally stopped talking a long while later, regarding Washington rather expectantly.

"So…" Tucker said when it became apparent that Washington wasn't going to speak, "What about you?"

"Me?" Washington blinked.

"Yeah, dude. You." Tucker replied as he shifted his hold on Junior, "What's your story?"

"It's…" Washington hesitated, swallowing down a lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, "Complicated, Tucker."

Tucker raised a dark eyebrow, "More than all of this?" He questioned incredulously, gesturing to what was surrounding them.

"I…" Washington trailed off, his voice refusing to work properly.

He frowned in frustration. He didn't want to think on it. Not right now. Everything was still too fresh, too painful. He'd drown if he explained too much. If what he revealed were to somehow cause this inexplicable lifeline to fade away…

There was a momentary flash of understanding in Tucker's eyes as he smiled at Washington again, "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to spill you guts to me all at once."

"Really?" Now it was Washington's turn to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"Yeah," Tucker nodded in response, "Besides, it's not like we don't have all the fucking time in the world, right?"

That might be true enough, but the thought of Tucker and Junior being stuck here…

"Holy shit, dude! I think he likes you!"

Tucker's exclamation had Washington glance down into Junior's small, teal-lined face. The infant was smiling gummily up at him from within his sea of blankets, a tiny hand touching the thick, protected glass between them.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, Washington reached out and touched the glass himself. His much larger, bandaged hand overshadowed the smaller one. Did people normally start off so tiny? Washington couldn't have prevented the shaky smile that crossed his lips even if he had wanted to do so.

"See?" Tucker told him, his smile even more wide and bright, "Even Junior's glad you're here!"

Washington looked up into Tucker's warm, brown eyes then and one singular thought floated to the surface of his mind. He was going to get the two of them out of there. No matter what.

Thanks to the guards' complacency in allowing an injured man to walk through large portions of the facility unattended, getting everything that he needed to help facilitate the breakout wasn't difficult.

Washington was technically still recovering, but he had been created specifically to be a soldier. Plus, he had trained in Freelancer with some of the best stealth experts there were. Once he was able to walk again, it had been a grave mistake on this facility's end to allow him the level of mobility they had. He was going to use that to his advantage now.

The gun Washington held was one he had procured from a lone guard in the stairwell leading up to Tucker and Junior's cell. He had done his best to hide the unconscious body, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the guard was uncovered. Washington had to be fast. He had to survive, like all of those times previously in his life.

The former Freelancer moved quickly, relying on the lock-picking techniques he had learned from York to open the door to the cell. Tucker was asleep on his cot when Washington stepped inside, Junior in a crib by his side.

Washington stepped over to the other man gently and cautiously, aware that they only had a few moments at best. "Tucker, wake up!" He hissed out through his mouth as he shook the sleeping figure.

The teal-wearing man groaned drowsily and groggily opened his eyes, widening them a split-second later as his brain processed just who it was standing over him, "What the…? Wash?"

Washington, thankfully, did not have the time to process the nickname he had just been given, "Get moving, Tucker." He told him in a rather urgent whisper, "We're leaving. Now."

Tucker blinked only once more before an enormous grin broke out over his face, "Fuck yeah!"

Somehow, against all rhyme and reason that Washington could think of, their escape attempt actually went off without a hitch.

The trio not only managed to get away from the facility, which Tucker was oh-so-helpfully quick to describe as "out in the ass end of the middle of fucking nowhere," but they also disappeared successfully. Part of that was no doubt due to hiding in a war-torn region where everyone was too busy trying to stay alive themselves to notice in their midst the addition of two men with a baby.

From there, it had been easy enough to travel along with other refugees, heading towards a town where the fighting wasn't quite so prominent.

Washington was secretly thrilled at the opportunities he had now to hold little Junior, though perhaps it wasn't quite so secret given the smiles that Tucker flashed his way whenever he did so. He was ecstatic to be able to feel the same sunlight on his skin as Junior and his father as well.

The former Freelancer ended up healing at a surprisingly quick rate once things had quieted down since Tucker insisted that he take it easy whenever it was possible.

Still, he had trouble sleeping most nights. Tucker was always close by to gently wake him up whenever he was in the throes of a particularly bad nightmare. The other man would hold his hand comfortingly, allowing Washington to catch his breath. Sometimes, he'd even explain about his dream or memory if he desired, although he still often preferred to keep his demons hidden.

He also noticed that he took a hold of Tucker's hand more often than not whenever they were in a crowd, but Tucker never complained. He just focused on looking for familiar people and settings.

They eventually managed to track down Tucker's oddball family in a place called Blood Gulch. Washington was quite shocked that there was no debate, only an expectation that he would be staying with them along with Tucker and Junior.

Perhaps even more shocking was the sight of Epsilon, Carolina, and Tex among them. The sight of Epsilon startled Washington the most as it turned out he was actually the Church that Tucker had told him stories about.

Carolina and Tex both shared comradely looks with Washington that were both painful and welcoming all at once. After awkwardly avoiding one another for a time, he and Epsilon, or Church as Washington reminded himself to now call him, managed to make small talk at Tucker's vehement insistence.

All of it pulled at old wounds at first, but Washington found those slowly healing over time the more he interacted with the colorful array of soldiers that now surrounded him. He was grateful for small favors, was relieved that others had managed to survive Freelancer too even if it was hardly unscathed.

Tucker's makeshift family and their ready acceptance of Washington into their midst became an important, vital component to his life. He enjoyed watching Tucker get the chance to interact with all of them again, and even found that he liked getting dragged into their antics more than he would ever care to admit.

He enjoyed being there with all of them, especially Tucker and Junior.

"No, no, no! That is not educational at all, Grif!" The redhead sitting at the table next to Junior exclaimed in exasperation as the young toddler happily drew on a piece of paper with crayons, his green eyes narrowed towards an orange-armored man also at the table.

"Simmons, Simmons…" Grif, one of the newest members of Sarge's family, said as he shook his dark head of hair in pity, "Not every game he plays has to be educational."

Simmons bristled as he glared at the tan-skinned man sitting across from him and Junior, "At this developmental age, it's extremely important to—!"

"If we teach him some card tricks, that would involve math. Right?" Grif cut the maroon-wearing man off, the smirk evident in his tone.

"What?!" Simmons shrieked indignantly at the suggestion, causing Grif to clap his hands over his ears and wink conspiratorially over at the little boy who was now smiling and very much copying his motion.

It seemed that Dexter Grif and his younger sister, Kaikaina, were certainly fitting in quite well now with Sarge's makeshift family unit. Washington watched as the surprisingly domestic scene before him continued to play out.

Junior was, as a way of an apology to Simmons for "siding" with Grif earlier, showing the lanky man the picture he had drawn. …Had Washington been aware that it was a stick figure drawing of himself and Tucker holding hands, he would have turned beet red.

Simmons was currently in the process of praising the boy's artistic skills, trying not to blush too much at the realization of what the picture was about, while Grif watched the two of them interacting with an oddly fond, sort-of smile on his face.

Washington couldn't help but wonder when the two of them would just confess already before shaking his head to remind himself that he needed to be thinking about the next guard watch duty. He'd be relieving Carolina soon.

"Those two would make good parents together some day, huh?" Tucker noted as he sat down next to Washington on the beat-up sofa, an obvious look of joy and pride on his face as he observed his son clearly enjoying himself.

Washington nodded his head slightly in agreement, taking in the peaceful atmosphere all around them despite the bickering still coming from the pair in the kitchen. No one was actually participating in real fighting today, a rare experience indeed.

The situation was pleasant, even if Washington was still not quite used to it yet.

"I'm just glad the two of you get to have moments like this." He heard himself saying out loud before his brain could clamp down on that particular train of thought.

Washington felt his face start to heat up as he risked a glance over at Tucker, who was staring at him in wide-eyed disbelief. Then, at length, the wide grin that Washington so loved seeing suddenly suffused the dark-skinned man's features.

"Thanks, Wash. You know, it's really good to see this side of you too."

If both he and Tucker shared a rather fond look between the two of them just then, neither chose to comment on it. For the first time in a long, long while…Washington was grateful that his only marketable skill happened to be surviving.

Author's Notes: Here we have Washington's (and Tucker's!) prequel story! :D Gah, I think this might actually be the longest one yet! These prequel stories are quite lengthy endeavors, which is probably why it takes me longer to get them out. XD

At any rate, the next Prelude for Losers? will be Grif's story! Haha, I can't tell yet if I will be diving right into that one next or getting to the next chapter of When We Were Soldiers first, but I suppose we will just see what happens later on down the road.

Thank you for taking the time to read this! :)