Smut, Gen, Angst, Fluff, Anything, Everything. PFL era, Post war, Pre Canon, AU, ETC, Full starter or pic prompt, drop it like it's hot Brackets or Prose whatever you're comfortable with Tag and go!
"Train." York's dressed- though explaining his, uh, bruises and state when he'd stepped out the day before had been fun. Kimball hadn't been enthused. Doyal had- well. Hadn't met him and couldn't really make a judgement but he'd sounded like he'd known what he was talking about and spun a satisfactory line of bullshit for both parties. "Dr. Grey's gonna take a look at both of you afterward. I don't know what the fuck that chair was they had you in but-"
He shakes his head, leaning back against the door. "We need to run a few training exercises cuz from here on out? I'm taking point. I'm the boss."
It's...weird looking at Carolina and saying that. Looking at WASH and saying hat. But one of them needs to be on top of their shit and it is unfortunately looking like that's gotta be him.
Training. That makes sense. Training has filled their lives ever since the Project, and Control had put them through their paces, preparing them for... well, for this. Wash looks distinctly uncomfortable when York mentions a doctor though. Can't hide the kneejerk reaction and memory of the doctors who'd treated him after Epsilon, or the ones in Charon's employ.
"It was nothing," Wash says. "Just wires and electrical pulses. It was... for my own good."
He hates the words as soon as they're out of his mouth, frustration pricking. And thankfully York gives him something else to think about when he speaks.
The boss. He's the boss. He wants to protest, because Carolina has always been the boss. But then he glances over towards the suit of armour and that... that relaxes him somehow. York has the armour. The armour is command. Carolina looks more conflicted.
"Bullshit." He's not letting them think that if he can help it. "Shock collars are what assholes use on prisoners and dogs. It's not behavioral correction, it's brainwashing, torture, and abuse. So no. Fuck that. You need course correction, you run laps, do push ups, or sleep on the ground."
Like. That's a thing he can tell them to do. Like that's part of what they're doing. Like he can use sleeping next to him as a bargaining chip for good behavior and it's sliding sideways into something he half understands in a whole other context but this shit sure as hell wasn't framed up in a safe, sane, or consensual way. All they got is winging it and all he's got is a few rules he needs to hold onto if they're gonna do this and not get killed.
"They aren't ever gonna trust you to run point, Carolina." Not after this. "It has to be me."
Is that what it had been? He has to think about it for longer than he likes to understand where York is coming from, to shift the words in his head and reframe them so they become something he can actually use. It's hard to think about what had been done to him without whatever is left of it trying to remind him that he should be grateful that Hargrove even took an interest in him.
"I... I can do that," he agrees with a nod. "I can run laps or do extra duty or... or whatever." It's just training. "And I think, no, I know you won't do it just for fun or out of spite." Because he's pretty sure that sometimes it had been, just a way of putting them in their places.
Carolina's lips are pressed tight together. She's always been the boss, been the leader. She'd been given command and she'd clung to it as the only thing she could control. Being told to relinquish it, even knowing York is right, it's hard. "I get that," she finally concedes. "It might take some getting used to."
"Fuck no. I'm not that kind of an asshole." Especially to people that are his. Responsibility. Right. His friends, his squad, his people. He's got to keep an eye out for them and help them come out of whatever the fuck Hargrove has done and he can swing that easy. He's...pretty sure he can swing that.
About half sure.
"We'll make it stick. It needs to stick. Hargrove knows how you think and operate. He doesn't know me." Not even a little. Agent Fucktruck York. No one ever sees him coming because, surprise, he's competent.
Wash manages a small smile. He knows York isn't. York is better than they are, definitely better than Wash is. He'd always been too blindly obedient and desperate just for a place that would accept him. Desperate not to fuck up his last chance and it had made him stupid.
That works better for Carolina. That's a concrete strategy. "That I can do," she agrees. Put the person in charge who Hargrove doesn't know, no matter how many files he's read because York had grown and changed in ways that he couldn't predict. "Training. Let's go."
"C'mere." He extends an arm to both of them, waiting for Wash to sidle up cuz he's sure that'll happen. Carolina...gets a little wiggle of his fingers, brows lifted. Playful. They're his, now. Reminding them of that in a good way will help make the training stick.
Wash does slide up against his side, slipping beneath his arm and leaning against him. York is solid and warm, reassuring in a way that Wash desperately needs right now.
Carolina takes longer, watching them, her lips pursed before she lets out a little huff of breath and takes his offered hand.
He tugs her in on the other side, dropping a kiss to Wash's temple, turning to do the same to her cheek. "It's gonna be rough while we figure out how to make this work- but we will make it work. They will learn to trust you if only because you answer to me. And I need y'all to not undermine me in front of them. Give me shit back here, ok? They need to think I have a handle on this."
That sounds like a good plan. Wash... he misses it now that he thinks about it. He misses training with the kids. Misses York training with them more.
"Yes sir," he says, and it's only half teasing. The other half is more honest, more raw. Need wrapped up in respect. He needs York to give him a purpose.
"Good boy." It's easy enough to offer that praise in here, where it's just them. Outside- he'll need to think of something else. For now he holds him close. Squeezes them both as tightly as he dares before releasing them. Ok. Training.
"Hand to hand today, gonna work with training up kids to work as a unit. We'll be demoing together."
The praise is a warm swell in his head and he wonders how he'd never noticed before how this happened. He'd let Charon play with his brain and fuck him up in a whole bunch of new ways that Freelancer hadn't even dreamed of. He can feel how tightly York squeezes them too. He's scared, maybe as much as Wash is.
"Mmhm. Gonna try to not let it turn to foreplay. I'll do hands on with the kids- not that I don't trust you with them but they're all a little...disappointed." Palomo was almost heartbroken. Jensen might've cried a little. It was a thing. "Come on. Chin up, maybe look a little contrite."
He kisses them each once more before pulling back to lead them out. Just beyond the door there are guards. Anxious guards that look to York and back to the other two as he leads them out. "At ease, boys. They're behaving."
Carolina snorts at the comment about foreplay, but they can all see how easily it could go that way. None of them have normal reactions to things, and fighting might as well be dancing to them.
Wash winces. "I betrayed them. I deserve it." They'd trusted him and he'd thrown that away.
They follow him out, and there's that automatic calculation when they see the guard, how easy it would be to take the place down from inside now they were here. Wash brushes his hand against York's fingers to dispel it.
York twists his hand enough to curl his fingers around Wash's, giving them a squeeze. After half a second he offers the same grounding contact to Carolina before walking them out to the training field.
As he'd said- there are the kids. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, Jensen looking more disappointed than angry, Bitters glaring with all his bitter heart. "Right. So. Hand to hand-"
"You're not even gonna EXPLAIN?" Palomo bursts out, Andersmith shushing him.
"Brainwashing is a hell of a thing kids." York quips, brows lifted. That doesn't seem to be enough from how they shake their heads, muttering to each other. "AI Implantation requires wires to be surgically inserted into your brain. Even when the AI's gone- the hardware's still there. Apply voltage to the wires and-"
It should be awkward. They're holding hands like children needing to be guided where they're going. But really it just feels nice, like everything might be okay now, somehow.
It's a hope that's dashed as soon as they step into the training room and they're confronted with the kids. Carolina blinks, but she never met the rebels. Wash just wants to hide behind York and pretend he isn't here. He remembers them doing everything they could to get him and York together, even making them a cake from their meagre rations.
"I-" he begins, but York speaks for him and for once he doesn't mind. He can't help a mindless reach for the back of his neck, rubbing over the metal embedded in the base of his skull.
"No problem. Now-" It's easy to fall into the patter and bark of instruction, running Carolina and Wash through grapples, throws, and ways to disengage, to break holds, or counter throws. Carolina- well. She's always on point, always militant, gets up from when she's tossed and has a little fun throwing York's ass around.
Wash? Does as he's told. Helps York up from the mat, takes the falls and-
Well.
After about an hour it's hard to pin him and look down and not think. Things.
This is familiar and that makes it easier. He knows how to be thrown without damage, how to fall and how to break holds. They're muscle memory by now, so engrained he doesn't even have to think. And he desperately needs to not think right now. Watching Carolina and York move is always incredible to see. They'd been the top ranked on the leaderboard for a reason, and Wash had never quite been up to their level with CQC.
He falls where he's thrown, York pins him, body pressed against his. And it's electric for a moment. He sucks in a breath, tongue flicking out over his lips as he stares up at York. It's deja vu, going right back to the rebel base the first time they'd kissed.
Carolina's off to one side observing and York? Can feel the heat of her eyes licking down his spine. The moment with Wash stretches and crackles and strains till Andersmith clears his throat and even then?
"Everyone take five." A beat as he lets more of his weight settle on Wash. "Make that thirty. Take thirty."
"Seriously-" Bitters starts, only to get jerked back by Jensen. "Thirty sir, understood!"
"Yeah they're still a little pissed." York braces his hands on either side of Wash's face, leaning down to bring their lips together. Last time, this time- it doesn't matter. All that matters is that he's here, he's solid- and they've got a plan. "I got you, though. Both of you. So don't worry, ok?"
"They're right to be," Wash says. He lets out a soft noise when York leans down to kiss him, warmth flaring in his chest. It just feels right, and it's something he'd thought he'd never get again so he savours the feeling. "Of course I worry."
"They'll get over it." He pulls himself up, tugging Wash along. Carolina paints herself along his back as soon as he's standing and, um. Hi? Hi. "...Right this has become foreplay, hasn't it?"
Wash lets himself be pulled up, and plasters himself against York's side at the same time as Carolina presses up behind him. They're remarkably in tune when they want to be, and York is something they're united on.
Carolina leans in and brushes her lips against his ear. "Just a bit."
"We're gonna have to work on that." A little, maybe, as he buries his face in the side of Wash's neck, pressing a soft kiss there. Treating him gently after all the rough pinning and bruising of the session. "Gotta make these lessons last longer than an hour, you know."
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He shakes his head, leaning back against the door. "We need to run a few training exercises cuz from here on out? I'm taking point. I'm the boss."
It's...weird looking at Carolina and saying that. Looking at WASH and saying hat. But one of them needs to be on top of their shit and it is unfortunately looking like that's gotta be him.
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"It was nothing," Wash says. "Just wires and electrical pulses. It was... for my own good."
He hates the words as soon as they're out of his mouth, frustration pricking. And thankfully York gives him something else to think about when he speaks.
The boss. He's the boss. He wants to protest, because Carolina has always been the boss. But then he glances over towards the suit of armour and that... that relaxes him somehow. York has the armour. The armour is command. Carolina looks more conflicted.
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Like. That's a thing he can tell them to do. Like that's part of what they're doing. Like he can use sleeping next to him as a bargaining chip for good behavior and it's sliding sideways into something he half understands in a whole other context but this shit sure as hell wasn't framed up in a safe, sane, or consensual way. All they got is winging it and all he's got is a few rules he needs to hold onto if they're gonna do this and not get killed.
"They aren't ever gonna trust you to run point, Carolina." Not after this. "It has to be me."
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"I... I can do that," he agrees with a nod. "I can run laps or do extra duty or... or whatever." It's just training. "And I think, no, I know you won't do it just for fun or out of spite." Because he's pretty sure that sometimes it had been, just a way of putting them in their places.
Carolina's lips are pressed tight together. She's always been the boss, been the leader. She'd been given command and she'd clung to it as the only thing she could control. Being told to relinquish it, even knowing York is right, it's hard. "I get that," she finally concedes. "It might take some getting used to."
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About half sure.
"We'll make it stick. It needs to stick. Hargrove knows how you think and operate. He doesn't know me." Not even a little. Agent Fucktruck York. No one ever sees him coming because, surprise, he's competent.
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That works better for Carolina. That's a concrete strategy. "That I can do," she agrees. Put the person in charge who Hargrove doesn't know, no matter how many files he's read because York had grown and changed in ways that he couldn't predict. "Training. Let's go."
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Carolina takes longer, watching them, her lips pursed before she lets out a little huff of breath and takes his offered hand.
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When they all know he's improvising.
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"Yes sir," he says, and it's only half teasing. The other half is more honest, more raw. Need wrapped up in respect. He needs York to give him a purpose.
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"Hand to hand today, gonna work with training up kids to work as a unit. We'll be demoing together."
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"So you're going to throw us about a bit?"
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He kisses them each once more before pulling back to lead them out. Just beyond the door there are guards. Anxious guards that look to York and back to the other two as he leads them out. "At ease, boys. They're behaving."
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Wash winces. "I betrayed them. I deserve it." They'd trusted him and he'd thrown that away.
They follow him out, and there's that automatic calculation when they see the guard, how easy it would be to take the place down from inside now they were here. Wash brushes his hand against York's fingers to dispel it.
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As he'd said- there are the kids. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed, Jensen looking more disappointed than angry, Bitters glaring with all his bitter heart. "Right. So. Hand to hand-"
"You're not even gonna EXPLAIN?" Palomo bursts out, Andersmith shushing him.
"Brainwashing is a hell of a thing kids." York quips, brows lifted. That doesn't seem to be enough from how they shake their heads, muttering to each other. "AI Implantation requires wires to be surgically inserted into your brain. Even when the AI's gone- the hardware's still there. Apply voltage to the wires and-"
"World's worst shock collar." Bitters suddenly looks green.
"That's what I thought. So. Hand to hand-"
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It's a hope that's dashed as soon as they step into the training room and they're confronted with the kids. Carolina blinks, but she never met the rebels. Wash just wants to hide behind York and pretend he isn't here. He remembers them doing everything they could to get him and York together, even making them a cake from their meagre rations.
"I-" he begins, but York speaks for him and for once he doesn't mind. He can't help a mindless reach for the back of his neck, rubbing over the metal embedded in the base of his skull.
"Thanks," he says finally, quiet, to York.
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Wash? Does as he's told. Helps York up from the mat, takes the falls and-
Well.
After about an hour it's hard to pin him and look down and not think. Things.
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He falls where he's thrown, York pins him, body pressed against his. And it's electric for a moment. He sucks in a breath, tongue flicking out over his lips as he stares up at York. It's deja vu, going right back to the rebel base the first time they'd kissed.
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"Everyone take five." A beat as he lets more of his weight settle on Wash. "Make that thirty. Take thirty."
"Seriously-" Bitters starts, only to get jerked back by Jensen. "Thirty sir, understood!"
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It's only when The kids leave that he relaxes, the tension bleeding out of him as he slumps back against the ground. "Don't think they're happy."
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Carolina leans in and brushes her lips against his ear. "Just a bit."
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