#while wash might not even be good enough to be in pfl (and probably not in the top 10) based off of what the others say abt him

[fischiee]

carwash siblings carolina dyeing her hair red to be less like their mother, wash bleaching his hair to be more like their family

[what-happened-to-agent-georgia]

Promises Promises

I have returned from the Badlands, sun-burnt and ready for AngstTM!

For the RvB Angst War ( @rvbficwars ). Prompted by @secretlystephaniebrown: North Survives the Meta taking Theta. 

Title: Promises Promises

Word Count: 2273

Pairings: None

Rating/Warnings: Teen; Canon-typical violence/language, Canonical-character death, possible non-canonical character death (if you believe everything PFL tells you...)

Ao3

It isn’t as painful as it is loud. Bright. Fireworks explode before his eyes, flashing blue and red and pink and purple.

Somewhere beyond the explosion of color there’s a scream. North thinks it might be his own, but it’s hard to tell because someone else’s voice is in his head, babbling the same phrase over and over.

<Don’t let go don’t let go don’t let—>

The wailing dies with a final burst of violet light. Black dots dance before his eyes, and for a moment North thinks he’s going blind. But as he’s tossed unceremoniously into the dirt his vision clears enough for him to make out the hulking, white mass towering over him, fidgeting with something at the back of their neck.

Maine?

No, North corrects himself. The Meta.

From where he’s sprawled, North can see his helmet several meters to his left—the visor’s cracked, and every now and then it sparks to life only to die seconds later. Further still is his sniper rifle. Hadn’t been much use anyway.

The Meta looks down at North, contemplating him for a few seconds while North tries to focus on his attacker’s orange visor. North isn’t sure what he hopes to find there, but he doesn’t find it.

With a growl, the Meta stands up straight and saunters off. Disoriented, North follows them with his eyes for a few seconds before he’s hit with a wave of nausea. He slams his eyes shut and waits it out, and when he opens them again Maine—the Meta is gone.

The Meta is gone, and North is still here—wherever ‘here’ is. It certainly isn’t Sidewinder.

The back of his neck itches, feels hot. North tries to reach behind his head but finds he’s unable to move, his arms heavy and weak.

There’s something missing.

Someone’s missing.

Theta’s

_

“You’re dead now. Remember that.”

North is still reeling from the sound of the gunshot, he almost doesn’t notice his sister crouched next to him. The ringing in his ears is so loud he’s surprised he can still hear Wash. Is he talking to North or to South?

Not that it would make a difference. None of this is real, is it?

It can’t be real.

North thinks he might be dead.

She wouldn’t leave him behind if he was alive.

The world fades to black as he watches her purple boots march away.

When he comes to, he is very much alive.

And he is very much alone.

_

The headaches are worse now why are they worse shouldn’t they be gone shouldn’t he be able to sleep now that it’s quiet oh God it’s so quiet it’s his fault he couldn’t protect him he couldn’t

_

He finds himself a hole to squat in and redresses the wound on the back of his neck. With his rifle at his side and nothing but a cave floor for a bed, he curls up—careful not to lay on the side his bruised ribs are on—and closes his eyes.

He tries to sleep.

Thought sleep would come easier now, without the pacing or the anxious questions, but his eyes can’t seem to stay closed. Instead of being kept awake by someone else’s presence in his head, he’s being kept awake by their absence.

There’s a void that’s taken up residence in his brain where Theta used to be, and even now, after several days, North still reaches out only to be met with his own thoughts. And his stomach will knot and his throat will close and he’ll bite back the tears.

Not that it matters, there’s no one here to see him cry. It’s just him, alone in a cave with his thoughts.

God, he misses the warmth—every nerve in his body on fire as he and Theta worked in tandem, sharing their thoughts, feeling their connection, becoming one. And now, because he couldn’t do the one thing he’d promised, he’s freezing his ass off in a pitch-black cave, craving something he’ll never have again.

It doesn’t help he’s had to leave his armor behind. Even in this state, North isn’t dumb enough to keep it with him. He remembers the Director’s anger at losing CT’s armor. You better believe they’ll be coming for North’s.

It occurs to him he’s a fugitive. That someone might be—probably is—following him. He’s been moving from place to place pretty quickly, and he hopes he’s made it difficult for whoever might be following him to track him. It also helps that the one perk of insomnia is he can cover more ground.

He wonders if they have his armor, and if maybe that’s enough. Who’s he going to tell? Who’s going to believe this sorry excuse of a soldier who only avoided dishonorable discharge by being snatched up by Project Freelancer? Who’ll probably be court-martialed if he’s ever caught?

Maybe they think he’s dead.

Maybe they don’t care.

_

Clouds of color—red and blue, colliding to make shocks of purple—swirl angrily before his eyes. <You told me they were your friends.> They are—that wasn’t his friend it… was something else. <You told me I would be safe!> He tried, he tried so hard, but there was nothing he could do—he wasn’t strong enough he—There’s a burst of thunder, lightning laces white hot into his skull. <You lied to me!> No, no he didn’t lie he just went and made promises he couldn’t keep, he never meant for this to happen. <You lied to me! You said you would protect me! You—>

“You’re dead now. Remember that.”

_

North gasps as he comes up for air, breaking free of his nightmare and tumbling into another.

Shuddering, sides heaving, he sits up and hugs his knees to his chest, trying to keep warm. He ran out of caves to huddle in, the hills giving way to grassland several days ago.

His nightmares have been few and far between. He might consider this a blessing if it wasn’t due to the fact he can count on one hand the number of hours he’s slept in three days. When you’re awake for 24, 29, 36 hours… not a lot of room for nightmares.

The sleeping kind, anyway, he thinks.

“That’s right, I’m still here.”

Her voice flows in on the breeze and he hears a bitter chuckle.

Shadows flicker at the edge of his vision. When he turns to look at them, all he finds are rocks, shrubs, clumps of tall grass.

“Too slow! Not so impressive without that fancy AI, huh?” she sneers.

North squeezes his eyes shut, presses the palms of his hands into them until he sees colors and shapes, and tries to think of something—someone—else.

As he tries to block her out, all he can think is how quiet it is. Alone in with his thoughts, with the mess in his head. The sad thing is, even though his mind is racing, it feels empty. Dull in comparison to what he had. What he lost.

He thought it would be a relief. When they told the Freelancers the AI were being scheduled for removal, North almost felt relieved. He could be alone with his thoughts, he could sleep—and he wouldn’t miss the headaches.

This, of course, was followed instantly by crushing guilt as he began to wonder who would take care of Theta.

He promised Theta he’d take good care of him, after all.

<But you broke your promise.>

North rockets to his feet, eyes darting around the clearing. He checks his shoulders—first his right, then his left. There’s no one here, of course, he knows that. He knows that.

North runs a hand through his hair. God, he could really go for a nice, hot shower. And some food. The supplies he grabbed when he fled the ruins are beginning to run out.

Lowering himself back into a seated position, North waits for the sunrise.

­_

North sees them coming before they see him.

Peering through his scope, he can see a Pelican in the air and a couple Warthogs, cloud of dirt and dust in their wake, headed straight for the cluster of trees he’s made himself comfortable in.

He’s not sure if he’s afraid or relieved.

Running seemed like a good idea before, but now he’s so tired and cold and hungry he’s forgotten why. Why run? Where can he go? Who can he trust? He can’t even trust himself, let alone those who once claimed to be his friends.

North is pretty sure there are showers in prison. And he could really go for a shower.

If he wasn’t so Goddamned sleep-deprived, he might have the energy to climb a tree and hide, but he’s not too bothered. Doesn’t want to hide anymore anyway. Setting his sniper rifle off to the side, North folds his arms and leans back against a nearby tree.

_

They don’t cuff him, like he expected them to.

Instead they hand him a blanket, and MRE, and a bottle of water as they usher him onto the Pelican. There’s a medic on board who takes his vitals, asks him where it hurts, tsks when he pulls back the bandage on North’s neck.

North scarfs down the MRE. Too fast. Stomach churning, he burrows into his blanket and prays the food stays down.

It doesn’t.

“Good thing you’re not wearing your helmet, huh?” North looks up from the trash can he’s keeled over and glances over at the medic.

“What?” he asks.

“I didn’t say anything,” the medic says, not looking up from his datapad.

_

“Promise me you’ll keep her safe, Andrew?” She’s looking at him with fear in her eyes, and he wants to laugh because if anything, Amelia will be the one keeping him safe. But he pulls his mother into a hug and whispers “I promise” into her shoulder.

He promised.

_

“Where’s South?” It’s the first thing he asks the Counselor when his face appears on the screen suspended in front of him. He’s in a hospital bed now, held in place by IVs and tangled sheets. The nurse just left, having checked the monitor, which beeps steadily beside his bed.

“It’s good to see you, Agent North,” the Counselor replies with a tight smile. “We were under the impression you were… no longer with us.”

You and me both, North thinks.

“Where’s my sister?” he asks again. The Counselor frowns.

“I’m afraid Agent South was killed in action a few days ago,” he says.

North goes very still, but the monitor betrays him.

“How?” he asks, ignoring the increasing frequency of angry beeps.

“Agent South… acquired the Delta AI from Agent Washington,” the Counselor says. “The Meta then tracked her down and she was killed in its attempt to retrieve the AI.”

Something shatters inside North, and he realizes he’s been holding on to the hope his twin was still alive.

Is it karma? He’s never believed in it, not really, but why else would the Meta leave North alive and kill his sister? Was it Theta? Did Theta realize who they were after, realize he had the perfect opportunity for revenge?

The Counselor is saying something to him, but North isn’t there. He’s home—shorter, younger, happier—calling out to his sister, who doesn’t show. He remembers being frantic, remembers tearing through the neighborhood to find her. And when he did she was fending off that one kid from school, and when North stepped in the kid bolted. She was so angry, why couldn’t he let her fight her own fights? He was angry, why couldn’t she stop picking fights?

He remembers when they were assigned to Project Freelancer. How they used to exchange smirks at the Director’s melodramatic pep talks, how they would have each other’s backs in training and, later, in the field. He remembers the first time he rose above her on the leaderboard. The smirks were less frequent after that. And when North got Theta, those smirks turned to sneers. She was sneering when she attacked him the day the MoI crashed. Shot to kill.

Stay safe, kiddo. Isn’t that what he said? North can’t remember, all he can see is that pissed off little girl with the fat lip and black eye. Stay safe.

“Can I see the body?” he asks. He doesn’t ask, ‘Can I see her’, because it would mean she’s actually dead. He needs to see first, needs to be sure.

”I’m afraid that after we acquired her armor, your sister was cremated,” the Counselor says. “We would have waited, but…”

“You thought I was dead,” North finishes for him. The Counselor nods and types something out on his datapad. “What about Wash?”

The Counselor sighs and tilts his head sympathetically.

“Agent Washington did not survive Agent South’s acquisition of the Delta AI,” he explains. “You are the only Freelancer left.”

The only one left.

He hears Wash’s voice echo in his ears (is it a memory a hallucination he doesn’t know anymore)—You’re dead now. Remember that.

But that’s wrong. It’s everyone else who’s dead, they’ve left him behind.

“The Meta is, of course, still at large.”

North’s eyes snap up to meet the Counselor’s.

“Is that so?”

“Would you say you have overwhelming feelings of anger and a need for revenge?” he asks North.

Maybe he couldn’t keep his promises, but he could destroy what helped him break them, starting with the Meta. And ending with the Director.

North grins. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“More than you know.”

[illumynare]

RvB Rec Day

I have a theme this month and it is SIDEWINDER. Because I absolutely cannot ever read enough versions of how the Reds & Blues decided to adopt an ex-Freelancer, or how Wash felt when he woke up and found he was being adopted. 

(If you know of any gen Sidewinder fics that aren’t on this list, MESSAGE ME PLZ. I want to read them all.)

Not Like This by @darkfrog24 (Gen, 2.3k)

"Look, if you want a diabolical master plan with contingencies and secret alien tunnels, you should probably stick with Project Freelancer. 'Switch the thing with the other thing' is about as advanced as we get.”

So this one is Wash’s POV on waking up, and it just...beautifully captures how utterly gobsmacked he is by the situation. How being helped is such a foreign thing to him, it nearly makes him short-circuit. Also it has great voices for Tucker and Caboose, and Grif gets his arms stuck in two different vending machines, so there is nothing not to like about it.

Extend the Olive Branch by @silvokrent​ (Gen, 7.5k)

"We can't just leave him out here to die! It would make us no better than…well, him. And I technically can't turn away an injured soldier since I took an oath. Besides," Doc said, "I don't want to have his blood on my hands."

"Son, you already have Wash's blood on your hands!" Sarge gave an ominous chuckle.

Oh. Right. From coming into contact with the bloodied armor.

Canonically, all we know about the Reds and Blues deciding to help Wash is that Caboose kept asking “Can we keep him?” So one thing that’s really interesting to me about Sidewinder fics is seeing which characters push to save him, and which ones have to be persuaded. In this fic, it’s Doc, and it’s great because you get to see him being a (mostly) decent medic. There’s also a fantastic part for Caboose, who gets to say so much more than just “Can we keep him?”

Bah Humbug by @momfrienddonut (Gen, 3.6k)

Epsilon’s avatar shrugged. “Look man, I don’t know. All I know is that you royally fucked up, and I’m supposed to send you on some kind of soul searching journey so you don’t end up like me.” 

“Trapped in a memory unit?” 

“I was thinking more along the lines of alone, isolated, and responsible for the pain of people who could help me, but yeah let’s go with that.”

So far as I know, this is the first Christmas Carol remix fic in the fandom. Which is kind of surprising, given RvB’s themes of memory, ghosts, alternate selves, and nightmare simulations. ANYWAY. While he’s sick after Sidewinder, the ghost of Epsilon informs Wash that he’s going to be visited by three spirits (Delta, Sheila, and the Meta). Christmas Past is an adorably heartbreaking memory of Freelancer; Christmas Present is the Reds and Blues arguing about whether or not to keep Wash; and Christmas Yet To Come is . . . great, but I don’t want to spoil it. Snappy character voices, utterly heartwarming. PASS THE EGGNOG.

Under the Weather by @eponymous-rose (Gen, 18.7k)

"Sorry," Maine says, after a moment. "I had orders."

"I know," Wash says. "It's okay. I owe the Director, too."

Maine's shoulders roll once, signaling discomfort, and Wash looks down, focusing on peeling back the lid of the jello one-handed. "Hey," he says. "South told me earlier there's a storm coming. You ever get that feeling, too?"

Maine gives a long, slow sigh. "Always."

This isn’t just a Sidewinder fic; it’s a story about Wash’s entire relationship with Project Freelancer and Maine, and how it ended at Sidewinder. There are a lot of different ways to characterize PFL and the Freelancers; this is one of the more hard-edged, military takes on them. It’s still incredibly human, and the end is guttingly tragic. Also, this fic has probably the most hurty Wash-wakes-up-on-Sidewinder scenes I’ve ever read. And did I mention that the prose is gorgeously elegant?

The Long Road Back to Good by @littlefists​ (Gen, 55k)

There is a line drawn in the sand, Wash thinks, and he is on the side where there is nothing but cold iron bars and static on dead radio frequencies and purple handprints. He could stay here, he knows. He could leave, turn away, and tell himself that he tried, and over time, he might even be able to make himself believe that.

Or he could step over the line on the long road back to good, and he could say—

“I’m sorry.”

THIS FIC.

So this one starts with Sidewinder, but covers all the missing time between S8 and S9, as Wash bonds with the Blue Team and Red Team and starts to reconstruct himself. It’s beautiful and it’s heartwarming and it’s what got me into RvB. Seriously. 18 months ago, RvB was just “that really confusing thing that half the people on my dash are so excited about, maybe I should check it out, BUT IT’S SO CONFUSING.” Then I saw somebody rec this fic, and I was like, “Oh, is this a guilt trip story? I like those. I understand them.” So I started reading it and I fell in love with Agent Washington and I started watching the show and HERE I AM.

Also, this fic has Caboose writing self-insert Harry Potter fanfic, and if that’s not the most perfect thing in the history of ever, I don’t know what is.

the story of a very successful adoption by comatoseroses (Gen, 0.5k)

I’m not quoting anything because this piece is so short, but it’s just a little Wash POV full of Blue Team feels that WARMED MY HEART AND RIPPED IT OUT in the same minute. ❤️❤️❤️