Baby blue (eyes)

3

Inside the base, Sarge drops Donut in the living room, leaned upright against the sofa, and kneels down to untie his armor from Donut. The time it takes for him to give in to defeat and take a glove off to untie the knot, Simmons and Grif, the last one arriving a minute after Simmons, have gathered in the room, Simmons stood by the door to what they've been using as the kitchen, and Grif by the only other door, this one leading to the hall. Sarge grumbles, aware of what they're doing, but opts to let it go the time he retrieves his armor.

"Move yer namby panby ass from the door," Sarge finally grunts, standing up.

"What's in the sash," Grif challenges, "sir,"

Sarge growls, and sets his armor down. He carefully takes Caboose and the Epsilon unit from the sling, hefting the little one with his arm, hand holding his head.

Simmons freezes, and Sarge can point out the exact moment the boy processes that Sarge is holding a baby, with how he suddenly steps forwards and hovers a few feet from Sarge, arms stuck mid-air, trying to decide if they want to hold or check the infant, or if he wants to stay as far as fucking possible.

Grif, however, reacts extremely differently; where Simmons is unsure, and nervous, Grif is serious and steadfast with how he approaches Sarge. He lifts a hand to the kids forehead, startles when Caboose opens big drowsy eyes to stare at him, babbling quietly, reaching to whack the bigger, orange plated hand. Grif takes his helmet off, glares at Sarge, and Sarge would usually threaten to shoot him for this type of insubordination, but currently, Grif's saving grace is occupying both arms of the older man.

"Who the hell," Grif states, as though Sarge can't hear how it wavers, how his eyes are darkened by the possibilities.

"Caboose," Sarge pointedly grunts, ignoring Simmons' incredulous gapes.

Grif squints.

"Why'd you dress him like a hobo," he questions, glazing over the this-is-Caboose revelation, eyes scanning the small body.

Sarge growls. Grif backs away, and waves in the air aimlessly, huffing.

"Fine. Fine! Baby Caboose, why not! As if the Blues weren't goddamn weird enough!" Grif groans, "Why not!" he turns, and his face is hard, "Put the kid on the coffee table, we're checking him for injuries and stuff."

Sarge growls at having to take orders from Grif, recovering quickly.

"Don't dwaddle around, boy," he barks to Grif, "See if you can't find clothes, damn if we're letting the blue freeze before we can achieve victory over them!"

The moment Grif stomps off, Sarge sets Caboose and Epsilon on the scratched and stained low wood table, sticks the two in a mangled moth eaten blanket to hopefully keep them from rolling off to the ground, and turns to Simmons, grasping his arms, knowing he has the boys attention when the helmet snaps upwards.

"Get the first aid kit. Food too. Soft, mushy, nothing hard to chew, go through Grif's stash if you need to. Lord knows he doesn't need the extra snacks, 'specially since most of them are stolen." Simmons fidgets his hand, running off to the kitchen, his human hand trembling furiously under its armor plating.

Sarge turns to Donut, and pops the pink helmet off, reassuring himself that the kid bears no new visible head injuries.

He finally turns back to Caboose, who's fallen back asleep, and unwraps the rags he'd dressed the boy with, leaving one tied around the baby boy's waist for dignity's sake. Sarge is careful to not pull the boy too far out of reach from the Epsilon unit, though he doubts the big-hearted Blue would've noticed its lack, with how deep asleep he seemed to have fallen. Simmons returns, kit in hand, a pack of yogurt in the other, and sticks by the door till Sarge lifts his head and gestures for him to get closer.

Tw: hyperventilating//panic attack

Sarge takes note of how Simmons' leg jitters, how his breaths have quickened, how his gloves are clenching tightly around the supplies he carries, the fabric straining around his skin, both metallic and human. He tears the stuff from Simmons' hands, setting them on the table, and stands, pushes the younger to sit on the couch, lifting his arms up, setting the wrists crossed over the boy's head after removing Simmons' helmet from his head.

"Countdown from ten," Sarge firmly tells Simmons, and he waits for Simmons to blubber out a shaky ten before moving back to Caboose, positioning himself to keep an eye on both his youngers, and counting with Simmons, taking the lead when he realizes Simmons won't continue past ten. He takes his own helmet off, setting it on ground beside him, and keeps counting down, wait for Simmons to repeat before firmly stating the next number. He reaches three when Grif finally gets back, and he silently points to Simmons, taking what Grif has brought and ignores the way Grif takes Simmons out the room once he and Sarge reach zero.

Tw over

Grif and Simmons gone from the room, Sarge busies himself with looking over the little Caboose, who puffs and puffs in his slumber, inspecting each limb, finding just two minor cuts, and a few small bruises on the boy's knees and elbows.

He then goes through the clothes Grif has brought, finding a small blanket, an old shrunken sweater of Simmons, a flimsy pair of shorts that Sarge remembers Grif had ordered online for Simmons, but hadn't check the size of, ending up with maroon summer shorts fit for a four year old, sure, but definitely not a lanky, gangly adult man who measured at least three times taller than the average height of a four year old.

Sarge places the shorts, slightly big on the tot, but better than what he'd had on before, and ties it in place with string, then slides the sweater over the slumbering baby's head, the sweater more of a long dress on Caboose. The blanket, he uses to bundle Epsilon and Caboose together, bundle that he then moves to the corner of the couch, between the armrest, backrest, and seat, in an attempt to keep the infant secure on the soft surface, plan that seems to work wonderfully, as all of Sarge's plans do, especially with the weight of the Epsilon unit acting as a third wall that prevents Caboose from rolling out of place.