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Toby woke up with a loud gasp. That nightmare had been too realistic and vivid for him to stay asleep. Blearily glancing around, he quietly groaned at the glaring red time on the clock. 3 AM, great, just great! How was he supposed to go back to sleep now? Sliding out of his dollhouse bed, he quietly paced about the desk he lived on. The only things he could think of for lulling him back to sleep was either the tried-and-true cookies and milk or, the soothing rumble of a tank’s inner workings. He was out of Oreos so...clocking out on a tank was the only option.

Who though? Certainly not Werner. He shivered a little bit, just thinking of the eternally angry man. He was always in a bad mood it seemed, and geeze would it kill the guy to smile once in awhile? No, Werner would probably give him a lecture on how a commander should or shouldn’t act. It was a bit obvious he still had memories of his previous partner. Memories that Toby had allowed him to keep, after all, it was a bit cruel to let him just forget about him. Maybe he’d do some research on him...After he got some sleep of course. Not on Werner though, besides, he doubted he could actually fall asleep on him. The scarred tank was, well, scary!

Ulrich was a possibility, he was such a sweet tank, and would probably would let him sleep in his pocket even if he could say no! However, he wasn’t in the mood to play a game of 20 questions why he was up at this hour and why he wanted to stay in his pocket for awhile. He did make a mental note to take him outside soon, and let him see the sights. It would be interesting to see if he could get a reaction at the aquarium… He gave a shake of his head, derailing his train of thought. First thing’s first, he should probably start walking.

Whoever had designed his little island had been kind enough to leave a parrot-sized ladder going down to the floor. It was very handy for minor nighttime emergencies like this. Jogging to the cracked open door, he poked his head out into the darkened museum. The hulking shapes of the vehicles was a bit creepy in the darkness. He glanced down to where he could see a faint light. All of the desert tanks were probably there. Hmm, there were two other options over there, but Walker liked patrolling the halls too much, and Joachim...A mother hen of a tank was not very appealing...he probably wouldn’t understand nightmares anyways. A little grin crept up his mouth. That left his favorite Patton in the whole world and his best friend.

Now, Brooker wasn’t very sociable with the others, and generally kept to himself at night. For some odd reason, but Toby knew where he liked to hideout. As he sprinted down the hall, he kept an eye socket out for the break room’s door, it wasn’t terribly far.... Ahah! There it was! Skidding to a halt, he grinned victoriously as he saw that even the door was slightly open. Perfect, he didn’t even need to knock! Nudging it open, he peered inside the even darker room, searching for the red tell-tale signs of a machine man. “Brook you in here?” he hissed. Squinting, he saw a pair tiny red lights turn towards him. They tilted to the side, and he could almost hear the silent question. “Yeah, yeah it’s an ungodly hour and I shouldn’t be up and awake, but uh..” he sheepishly rubbed an arm. “I kinda had a ridiculously vivid nightmare and uh…” he hung his head, completely cowed at having to ask this, “Can I maybe...sleep in your pocket?” Silence. Of course. “Brooker? Where’d you-”

He was broken off by a gentle nudge to his belly. Feeling downwards, his large hand brushed against, wow Brooker had wasted no time in getting over here hadn’t he? Quietly too, seeing as he didn’t even hear a single creak from his old joints. Craning his neck back, he looked up into those two red points. “Thanks man.” he whispered, and hopped up onto the proffered hand.

Brooker turned and went back over to the fairly sad couch, easing into it so as not to disturb his tiny rider. Once settled, he brought his hand closer to his chest, inviting Toby to step off.

The silver bird hopped onto his tank’s chest and proceeded to wriggle his way under the Patton’s shirt collar. Peeping up, he was momentarily surprised to see Brooker reaching over to switch on a small lamp. The soft, dull, glow lit up the small room rather pleasantly. Satisfied, the tank looked down at his charge with a look Toby recognised all too well. See, Brooker had an expression range of a rock, and Toby knew how to read that rock. “You want me to spill dontcha?” The tiniest nod confirmed his slight fears. Hanging his head, he sighed, defeated. “Okay. You got me Brooks.”

“I was on a battlefield, I don’t know where, the details are really blurry. I’m standing on a tank’s shoulder, and I’m trying to get him to cease firing. He doesn’t. He actually turns around and starts firing on our allies. Their faces are blurred but….everything else is in perfect detail.” he shuddered and wrapped his wing-like hands around his body. “It was horrible.” he whispered shakily.

Brooker sat silently and tried to process what Toby had told him. Dreams weren’t able to hurt, were they? They weren’t real. He looked down at the Commander nestled in his collar, face softening by a degree. He forgot that Toby was like a kid sometimes, well, most of the time. Reaching up with his hand, he gently cupped it around the kid. That was about as good of a comforting gesture as he could do. He was a tank for crying out loud!

Toby looked up when the steel hand encased him like a blanket. Eye sockets met steel-grey, and the Patton gave him another tiny nod. “Go to sleep.” it said. A tiny grin worked its way onto Toby’s maw, “Thanks Brook. You’re the best.”

With that being said, the Commander curled up, and drifted back off to sleep.

Roughly an hour later, Walker was up and patrolling the museum. The Abrams didn’t like to sit still for very long, and hardly ever stayed “asleep” for long periods of time. The guy’d be an insomniac or something if he was a human. When he poked his head into Toby’s “quarters” he was startled to find the room empty. Not even a trace of the lil guy.

Pulling his head back out of the room, he quietly shut the door. It would probably be for the best if the Afrika boys knew immediately. He was not in the mood to put up with any of Werner’s shit at the moment. Jogging back, he thought of where the kid could possibly be. There was one place...but he should round up the other men just in case.

Telling the other men went over as well as he’d thought. Werner almost clocked him with his cannon barrel, Ulrich went into sad puppy mode, and Joachim took it surprisingly well. It was a bit difficult explaining where their current leader was while blocking repeated blows, but within the minute, he had 3 panzers following him down the hall.

It would have been a comical sight to see the 4 tanks peering into the break room, as they looked like something straight out of a cartoon. You know, when it looks like someone stacked a bunch of heads on top of one another.

Brooker raised his head to give them a withering glare, if they so even made the commander stir...He was going to do some asskicking. Gently removing his hand, he jabbed a finger down at the sleeping commander. A silent warning that the others thankfully got. Nudging the panzers, Walker jerked his head back to where they came from. Brooker had this handled.

When they left, Brooker finally relaxed. All was finally quiet on the Western front...
Nightmares
I couldn't sleep one night so I wrote this.

Probably has a lot of errors.

machine men: bPavlica
Loading...
Debating on putting up some little short stories I've got.
  • Mood: Tired
  • Listening to: Whatever I feel like.
  • Reading: Drabbles that float through my mind.
  • Watching: You while you sleep.
  • Playing: War THUNDEEEEERRRR
  • Eating: Orphan hands.
  • Drinking: The blood of my enemies. (Actually its koolaid)
none of my characters can be thought of in an innocent way anymore.

ever.

said destructive skype convos/short rp's were hilariously dirty tho. even though i can't look at some of the precious brain-children the same way ever again. 

not even tanks are safe.

moving is stressful, i need more sleep, and i don't care how terrible this journal looks.
i really want to work on things, but can't. Packing.
  • Mood: Tired
  • Listening to: Whatever I feel like.
  • Reading: Drabbles that float through my mind.
  • Watching: You while you sleep.
  • Playing: War THUNDEEEEERRRR
  • Eating: Orphan hands.
  • Drinking: The blood of my enemies. (Actually its koolaid)
Nothing much happened on the way back to camp, we’d all been as quiet as church mice. But boy, that silence was louder than any amount of noise possible. If that makes any sense...

To tell you the truth, I was a bit worried about that Tiger. Yeah he was the enemy, but I was just sick and tired of the war then. I didn’t want to kill any more. I was tired, along with everyone else. The War was over with Germany, why should we keep killing?

….
Sorry about that little rant there...That stuff just...gets to me sometimes, even today…

Anyways, I had next to no power in deciding what was gonna happen to our new Tiger friend. He wasn’t the most ah, “child-friendly” sort, you see. The tank had a mug on him that could scare off anytank just with a single glance. Heck, I wasn’t feeling too easy around him, and I kinda started this whole shabang! The C.O. himself was a bit startled to see what I’d dragged out of the woods, for good reason too. He’d been thinking that this was going to be a simple clean-up job, now he was going to have to deal with this wrench in the works!

That big ol’ Pershing cleared his throat, looking as lost as a Ruskie in the desert, and said, “Well now son, looks like you’re in our hands now.” To keep things simple, that there Pershing nearly had his throat crushed by a very furious Tiger right then and there. That same Tiger was hustled away faster than you could blink an eye. I briefly wondered if I would see that fella ever again, maybe there was a spark of good in that chassis of his.

I didn’t get to wonder for long, as we got rushed right back out into the woods, collecting the fallen. It was grim work, and I lost count of how many wrecks I picked up. Too many, if you asked any of us. Huh, looks like I still have an old sketch of one...Dunno why, maybe a fit of boredom and morbidity clashed. Looks like I also spilled a bit of something on it too...or is that a teardrop? I can’t tell.


I’ve lost count of when we were finally finished (old age is probably to blame there), but boy was I happy to finally step onto that ship. If my memory is serving me correctly, she was the U.S.S. Enterprise herself, ah, such a shame that such a beaut got scrapped years ago. That big carrier was packed from her bow to the stern with Americans of all types! From the lightweight jeep field officers, to us big ‘n burly tanks, it was a scrambled bunch. I could’ve sworn I saw a couple of foreign boys too. Red stars and black crosses tended to stick out, you see. I recalled though, that things weren’t too good back in the Soviet states and well...Germany...it would take some time for that country to stabilize.

My thoughts drifted back to the lone Tiger, and I wondered, Just what exactly happened to him? Hopefully the Russians didn’t get him, then his fate was as good as sealed… It was doubtful that he’d stay in his homeland, from the bit I glimpsed of him, he had an attitude that, well...kinda matched some of the higher-ups. So to speak. Figure that out if you’re too thick to get the gist of it. I’m not explaining.

Now, half-way home I was starting to feel less...excited...to be on the Enterprise. My fuel tank was complaining regularly about the constant rocking, and I got really, really, sick often. Like, I could not move from my bunk sick. Thankfully, I was usually able to keep everything “down the hatch” when it came to the worst of the nausea. Can’t say the same for some of the other boys, they all looked a bit green in the gills. Yes, most were already a shade of green. Can a tank not use a metaphor once in awhile?  

Nothing of any importance happened besides getting seasick over, and over, and over. You learned to anticipate the terrible taste of regurgitated fuel and whatever else was in your tank. It didn’t make it any easier though, and the Navy boys still found it funnier ‘n shit too. Laugh it up Navvies, you probably weren’t too good with the waves at first either.

Setting a treaded boot on the dock when we got stateside though? Nothing felt better. I was home. Admittedly, there wasn’t much time for me to actually see my homeland after my activation, seeing as I was quickly rushed around to become battle-ready. It’s probably that ingrained loyalty us war-time models have. Bless it.

Heh, I can remember how confused and lost I was just like it was yesterday. I was fresh from the war and didn’t know anything else besides killing, fighting, and blowing shit sky-high. New York was such a stark contrast from the battlefields that I just about lost it. Thankfully, one of the nicer Jeeps took me under his wing for the time being, along with some other equally-confused men. Captain Lancer was his name, and bless his carburetor, that man taught us idiots how a civilian life worked. He’d been built before the war, so he was fully capable of helping us find work and sort out our new lives as… free men and women. I chose the life as a welder for the time being, and that was how I made my living for those few years.

Of course I moved out from Cpt. Lancer’s “camp”, and after a few goodbyes, I was crashing in an acceptable apartment in one of NYC’s...less crowded districts. It was amazing having my very own space, and I will admit...I went a little bit wild. Well...wild compared to the stricter neatness of my military life. Whenever I wasn’t in the field, that is.

It was weird to say the least, no longer wondering if I was going to survive the day. I wasn’t complaining! No siree. I rather liked the vacation from having certain death behind every bush. I didn’t have to walk around with a round ready to go. I was free.

Now a couple years later, I was still living in that same apartment. Now I’m pretty thankful that I didn’t as I had a rather surprising visitor one morning...
Debating on putting up some little short stories I've got.
  • Mood: Tired
  • Listening to: Whatever I feel like.
  • Reading: Drabbles that float through my mind.
  • Watching: You while you sleep.
  • Playing: War THUNDEEEEERRRR
  • Eating: Orphan hands.
  • Drinking: The blood of my enemies. (Actually its koolaid)

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:iconsarahthespartan:
SarahtheSpartan Featured By Owner Jul 4, 2015
Pearl Emote 20 I see you little trollface~
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:icondzz2000120t:
Dzz2000120T Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2015
thanks for the fav!!!
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:iconbsr1st:
bsr1st Featured By Owner Mar 10, 2015  Hobbyist Artist
Vandalism... shall be punished by law to the fullest extent. Ms Bonnie, the Sherman, shall be sentenced to botherment. 

BOTHA BOTHA BOTHA BOTHA
BOTHER SNAPE XD 
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:iconsarahthespartan:
SarahtheSpartan Featured By Owner Mar 10, 2015
Regret nothing.
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:iconsarahthespartan:
SarahtheSpartan Featured By Owner Mar 10, 2015
*CACKLES* I REGRET NOTHING! NOTHING!
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:iconbsr1st:
bsr1st Featured By Owner Mar 10, 2015  Hobbyist Artist
You will be batted by anybodys arms playfully as punishment. 
BOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHABOTHA
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:iconsarahthespartan:
SarahtheSpartan Featured By Owner Mar 11, 2015
Aaaargh! My only weakness!
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:iconsharkplane77:
sharkplane77 Featured By Owner Feb 14, 2015
i do believe i watch you on FA, shall watch you here too =D
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:iconsarahthespartan:
SarahtheSpartan Featured By Owner Feb 16, 2015
Okey! C:
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