A day out with Red vs. Blue:

The Enemy of My Anonymity
By Starath

Author's Note: This is a product of boredom and watching too much Red vs. Blue at once. I love these guys, so I thought I'd try some fan fiction. This takes place during the three months gap between episode 19 and 20. Special thanks to 138Scourge for proofreading this! For the record, I don't own anything here, but Caboose has proudly informed me that he owns a jar of strawberry jam.

Caboose was bored. This should be surprising, given how little it took to keep his mind occupied. But honestly, what was there to do? He'd already checked. His gun was still in his hands. He was still standing on top of Blue Base, just like Church had told him to do. When was that, anyway? Two… hours ago? Sometimes Caboose vaguely wondered if Church told him to do things like this because he didn't want to be around him. But then he remembered Church was his best friend, and only a best friend would put him in charge of guarding Blue Base from attack. …. Attack from what, though? Oh yes. The Reds, who were for some reason their enemies. Caboose didn't know why, but Church told him so, and whatever Church told him must be true. Still, he was bored. He decided to talk to his new friend.

"How are you doing today O'Malley?"

The voice that replied through his own mouth was loud and nasty. "The same as two minutes ago! Now quiet you fool. I'm plotting."

"Oh." Caboose thought for a moment. "Plotting what?"

"Universal domination of course! Mwahahaha—ahem. Now. Be quiet."

"I… still think that is something Church should know about," Caboose suggested helpfully.

"We talked about this before. He doesn't have to know."

"But really, I think—"

"—Or you get no cookie and orange juice."

He whined. Ever since Tucker's mayonnaise collection arrived, there was no room in the fridge for his beloved orange juice. Briefly he wondered where O'Malley kept it.

"I keep it in the other fridge. Now stop bothering me."

Caboose gasped. "You can hear what I'm thinking?"

"…." O'Malley sighed. "Just stare at that rock over there. I'll give you another cookie if you do."

"Okay!"

Tucker poked his head out of the staircase, then disappeared back downstairs. He found Church holding his gun like usual.

"I'm telling you dude, something's not right with Caboose."

"Yeah? What was your first clue? The fact that he can breathe and stand up there at the same time is a goddamn miracle."

"Seriously. He was talking to himself again in that same scary voice he uses to threaten me."

"Tucker, Caboose wouldn't threaten you. Remember when he stepped on that worm by accident?" Church let out an aggravated breath when he shuddered. "The longest funeral of my life."

"I thought it was emotionally moving."

"… Don't remind me."

Tucker paced in a circle. It quickly became old so he paced a square instead. "You know, we should, like, do something."

Church turned to him. "You, suggesting that? God, you MUST be bored. The most we could do is attack the Reds… or something."

"Well…" Tucker glanced outside and nudged his comrade. "We have a tank."

"… Are you proposing that we actually DO what we're supposed to in this war?"

"Men! We have a situation!" announced Sarge.

"Aw, we already had one yesterday," complained Grif.

"I'm sure it's worth our attention, though." said Simmons quickly.

"Right. Our situation is that I've COMPLETELY run out of things to do!"

Grif and Simmons stared at their commander. Finally, Grif figured he'd better be the first one to say it and get it over with. "…Sir, that's pretty much the norm around here. In case you haven't noticed."

"Of course I haven't noticed, Private, 'cos I've always been doing stuff. Unlike you, who sits up here all day scratchin' yer bum wondering where the sun comes from."

"… I know where the sun comes from, Sir."

"Well I can't spend all day explaining things to you now, can I? If you wanted to know these things you shudda become a scholar, not a soldier. Our job is blowin' stuff up!"

"Uh, Sir, about our situation," Simmons reminded him.

"What situation?"

"…."

"Dammit Grif, are you making stuff up again?"

"What? I didn't say it! Simmons did!"

"You're just makin' stuff up again. I can see through your ploy."

"Ploy? What—Okay, never mind."

"… So, about that situation, Sarge?" asked Simmons carefully.

"Oh don't get him started again!"

"I know. It's just fun to watch."

"I hate you, man."

"Yeah, that's nothing new."

Sarge growled. "Would you two cap yer flaps? I am trying to describe our situation!"

"…."

"…."

"Now, as I was saying before I was so RUDELY interrupted, I've run out of things to do! So, here's what I propose: We could either attack the Blue Base for their flag. Or," Sarge motioned to Grif and ratcheted his rifle. "Grif, go down into the canyon and start running. Simmons, you stand here and make me look important while I shoot him. Let's do the second plan."

"On it, Sir!"

"WHAT?" squawked Grif, "Fuck that! I vote the first plan. Isn't that what we're here for anyway?"

"Are you questioning my orders, soldier?"

"Uh, YEAH, with the threat of mortal wounds and all. Let's go get the Blue flag for once."

"Hmmm…" Simmons considered. "He might have a point Sarge."

"He does? Aw damn," Sarge lowered his rifle. "Another grand plan gone to waste. If that's what you panty-sniffers want, then, fine. Ruin my fun."

"Don't take it personally. I like living." said Grif. "… Wait, if we're attacking Blue Base, does that mean I have to do something?"

Sarge snapped his rifle up. Grif hurried towards the stairs.

"WOOHOO! Road trip!"

Simmons followed after him. "I call shotgun!"

"Dammit!"

Sarge huffed. He stepped to the edge of the wall and called down. "Hey Miss Donut, we're saddling up for battle, get to the Warthog!"

A frustrated, male voice cried back. "SERIOUSLY, it's not PINK!"

To be continued…