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There are simply things that a sane and rational person needed to be warned about before they spent an extended period of time with the Reds and Blues for the sake of maintaining said sanity and rationality.
Of those things, the unspoken understanding that Reds and Blues simply didn't do anything by halves is essential.
Then you were required to apply that understanding to the statement that the Reds and Blues also didn't do normal holiday celebrations at all. Something was always so far skewed to the left from what normal people did, that if some weren't warned in advance, there would be no chance of coming out unscathed.
So, despite knowing these things due to being a Red, Simmons still does a double-take when he walks by the communal workshop on the estate that Kimball had been so generous to grant them when they returned to Chorus. He had been on his way to the store to pick up some last-minute stocking stuffers- things that would undoubtedly cost very little and would entertain his idiot friends for maybe an hour as intended- when he heard a very loud series of clanging coming from the closed doors.
It was the holidays, everyone had agreed to take the week off to just chill in each other’s company, so who the fuck was in the workshop?
It took a lot of willpower to remind himself that, no, he didn't need to know what was going on with his friends at all times and walk away.
But willpower wasn't something Simmons had in spades so before he could beg his brain not to he was pushing open the doors and practically throwing himself inside.
Only to yelp and reel back when some sort of demonic animatronic monstrosity greeted him. He practically trips in his haste to get away from it, and he scrunches his eyes shut hoping beyond all belief that he imagined what was clearly a feeble attempt at making a robot reindeer.
"Simmons! Good thing that you're here, I need assistance from someone who's capable and not a lazy good for nothing dirtbag," a frustratingly familiar voice barks out from behind the mechanical nightmare, and Simmons counts back slowly from ten before reopening his eyes.
"Sarge," he starts out, voice somewhat shaky because no matter how hard he tries he can't pull his eyes away from the animatronic. "I mean this with as much respect as possible, but sir, what the fuck are you doing?"
The older man- finally- pops out from behind the metal machine and wipes some oil onto his apron as he chuckles affectionately as if he wasn't currently in the middle of some harebrained scheme- and without a doubt, it was a scheme of some sort because that was the only explanation for... whatever this was.
"What does it look like I'm doing, soldier? I'm manufacturing a Christmas miracle for all the good people of Chorus," was Sarge's explanation before being followed by what might have been intended as a jolly laugh but was actually a maniacal cackle.
"Right," is the only thing that Simmons can offer at this moment before turning his attention towards finding the previously mentioned lazy orange fatass who has been watching over this exchange like nothing was out of sorts. Grif sits on top of a storage container with an opened bag of chips between his crossed legs, one hand resting at the top, but surely ready to dip down and grab more chips, and the other giving a nonchalant wave towards Simmons.
"The Blues said that Sarge gives out shitty presents," Grif explains, shrugging and munching on a handful of chips, taking no time to swallow before he continues. "You missed it, they gave him a whole new complex on top of all the other ones."
"So, let me get this straight because the Blues said Sarge isn't a good gift-giver, he decided to traumatize the entirety of Chorus by making... this," he waved at the unfinished robot.
"Yep," Grif provided unhelpfully.
Of course. Honestly, he should be less fazed, this was practically the tip of the iceberg in terms of SIM Trooper nonsense.
"Sarge, you didn't have to go to such lengths to prove the Blues wrong, you could have just asked one of us to help you pick out better- uh, more Blue appropriate gifts," Simmons prays that it's not too late to steer Sarge off whatever plan he's committed too.
"Nonsense! The problem wasn't the gifts, after all, those dirty Blues should be grateful that a superior Red would even think about them in the first place!" Sarge told him fiercely, but Simmons could tell that he probably was hurt underneath all his bolster, which, in all fairness, the Blues were out of line with that comment. "The problem is that those Blues don't understand how legally Christmas is a Red holiday!"
"I- I mean, I guess it's a red-themed holiday? But Sarge, Christmas has existed way longer than the Red Army has so-" an oil-slicked hand wacked him over the head, and he couldn't hold back a whiney, "Ow!"
"Don't speak such nonsense! Maybe our ancestors of old didn't realize their Red posturing, but every aspect of this holiday belongs to the glorious Red Army," Sarge lectured him.
"See? I told you they gave him a complex," Grif snickered. "Simmons, ask him to give examples it's hilarious."
Seeing a fervent look in his commanding officer’s eyes, Simmons cursed Grif out in his mind and outwardly raised his hands to wave off the older man, saying, "No, that's really not necessary, sir-"
"Tell me, soldier! What color suit does Santa Claus wear?" Sarge quizzed.
Dammit, fuck his inability to back away from a quiz, because Simmons couldn't back down from answering, "Red, sir."
"And of his trusty steed Rudolph, what color is his nose?"
It pained him greatly to answer, "Red. Again."
"And what color are stockings?" Sarge continued, not looking like he was out of steam quite yet.
Considering that his original purpose of leaving his room was to get some stocking stuffers, he feels a great wave of despair crush over him as he says, "Well, traditionally they're red but-"
He doesn't get a chance to finish before Sarge interrupts him to move on, "And think of all the great historical figures of Christmas past!"
Wracking his brain for the first Christmas figure he could think up, he tentatively says, "Scrooge?"
Crumpling the now empty chip bag into a small ball, Grif threw it over his shoulder as he adjusted his position so that his legs could swing off the side of the container, asking, "Which Scrooge are we talking about, eighty-seven or seventeen? Because the eighty-seven version actually had a primarily blue coat but the seventeen version wears red."
It takes a minute for Simmons to understand whatever the hell Grif was talking about before he shook his head and corrected Grif by saying, "No, I'm talking about the capitalist."
"And I wasn't? Oh, were you talking about the fifty-seven reboot? Ugh, that one was the worst, they made everything edgy and live-action," given the curl of Grif's lips, the fatass was being obtuse on purpose.
Rolling his eyes, Simmons turns his attention back towards Sarge, who apparently tuned out the conversation after hearing Grif speak up, so Simmons attempts to bring some layer of rationality to the conversation by pointing out, "Sarge, I get that it's a holiday with a lot of red coloring, but it's also a green holiday. And green is a Blue color."
Immediately, Sarge refuted that statement, "Don't be ridiculous, no it isn't!"
Simmons seriously debates just walking out and letting Sarge wreak havoc, but a sense of responsibility stops him, so instead, he argues, "Green is a secondary color made up of blue and yellow. Green can't be a Red color."
"Ah, but you forget Simmons, that green is the complement to Red, and we all know that a lowlife Blue would never compliment a Red. Therefore, green is a Red color," and Sarge looked like a cat that got the cream after that amazing deduction.
Before he could even think about how he would possibly respond to that, Grif tsked and said, "You won't be able to convince him otherwise, that ship has long set sail. His celebrity crush on the Master Chief won't allow him to consider green as any other color than a Red one."
Not wanting to further go down what was likely another long tangent, Simmons tried to bring the conversation back to its origin, asking, "Sarge, what exactly is your plan then to prove to the Blues that Christmas is a Red holiday?"
Simmons wasn't sure how he did it, but the room suddenly became more sinister, somehow dimming as Sarge's eyes glowed with uncontained malice. Even Grif noticed the change in atmosphere, going from a relaxed lounge to a stiff at attention position.
"You see, Simmons," and at hearing his name spoken, Simmons shivered in fear. Sarge directed his focus at Grif, who had sweat pouring down his forehead in anticipation. "Grif. If one is going to become Santa, well..."
Sarge chuckled. Simmons and Grif, simultaneously, felt their soul seep out of their bodies.
Unaware of the ungodly amount of fear he was forcing upon his subordinates, Sarge continued, "He's going to need elves."
Cupping a mug full of spiked beyond spiked eggnog, Tucker glanced at the clock for the fifteenth time that hour.
The Reds were hardly ever late. Not on a group celebration like this.
It didn't make him nervous or worried about their wellbeing, fuck no, he was scared witless that Sarge had something planned against them.
He didn't mean to imply that Sarge gave out crap gifts! Ok, well, he did- only a little bit- but it wasn't like it was a lie. When Sarge gave out gifts to the Reds they were always at the very least thoughtful! Like when he gave Simmons that nice watch or when he bought Grif a gift card to his favorite fast food place. Those were nice presents!
The presents that he gave to the Blues- barring Caboose, who always seemed to be an exception for the Reds, which was such bullshit in Tucker's opinion- were always a card with a five-dollar bill and a message that said, 'Get better soon.'
As if being a Blue was a terminal condition, or that it even mattered anymore.
Sure, Tucker could reasonably say that Sarge was allowed to get away with it during the early years of their companionship. But now? After all the shit they went through together? Would it kill Sarge to at least up the amount of money he gave from a five-dollar bill to a ten?
So sure. Maybe Tucker said this to his face. But he didn't think that it would actually hurt the older man.
Another glance at the clock and Tucker is starting to regret his words. Maybe he should apologize, yeah, that was a good idea. When he gave Sarge his gift- which was a book that he had caught the Red looking at in a book store once a month or so ago, a not too shabby gift if Tucker was permitted to say so- he'd apologize for hurting the older man's feelings.
Fuck, the Red's absence was starting to become noticeable to the other's, such as Caboose, who had been sitting patiently despite really wanting to exchange gifts already, and especially Carolina- who, even though she didn't celebrate Christmas, came to supervise the rest of them.
Uh oh, Carolina was glaring at him, she totally knew that he was responsible for the Reds not showing up, this was not good.
Before she could say or do anything to him, the sound of bells jingling broke through the awkward silence he had been responsible for, and looking up expecting to see the no-longer-fashionably-late Red's he burst out laughing, spilling his eggnog all over the furnished carpet, as he clenched his sides.
Because there at the entryway to the living room stood two mortified reds dressed up like Christmas elves. They had on everything- the red tunics, white and red striped leggings, the stupid Christmas cap adorned with bells, and oh God the elf ears! They were wearing elf ears and Tucker couldn't stop his peels of laughter.
Grif and Simmons glared at him with such contempt that Tucker resolves to thank Sarge instead of apologizing because if this was his response to Tucker's statement, then clearly he upped his gift-giving game because this was singlehandedly the best gift he's ever received.
"Holy shit, holy shit," he gasped, trying to catch his breath. "Wait, wait, fuck where's my phone- Wash please tell me you're taking pictures of them."
Stalking closer to the group- and fuck Tucker feel into another fit of laughter because their stupid shoes had bells on them too!- he got a closer look at the slight bags under their eyes, although it was hidden on a small sheen of glitter adorning their cheekbones.
"I hate you," hissed Grif, before Simmons elbowed him while maintaining his look of pure loathing aimed at Tucker. Grif sighed, and dug into his pocket, and pulled out a handful of fake snow to emotionlessly throw up into the air, while monotonously saying, "Oh joy. How lucky you Blues are. Santa sure does have a grand gift for you. Come meet Santa at the Chorus Memorial Park for your gifts."
"Ho, ho, ho," Simmons also pulled out a handful of fake snow, only to tilt his hand and let it fall.
Having delivered their message, the two stalked out of the room, although Grif popped his head back in to furiously flip Tucker off.
He could hardly breathe from how hard he was laughing, wiping away tears, and ignoring the pointed looks he was getting. He scrambled off of the couch, and said, "I need to see this."
Before he could leave the room, Carolina gripped the back of his sweater, yanking him towards her as she glared, "What did you do?"
Maybe it wasn't smart to play innocent with Carolina who could sniff out their bullshit a mile away, but he was antsy to get to the park, so he gave her what he hoped was a charming smile and said, "My dear Freelancer, whatever could you mean? Clearly, the Reds have prepared a wonderful gift for us, don't you want to see what it is?"
Narrowing her eyes at him, she let go of his sweater, and he dashed out of the room, catching only the tail end of Caboose's, "... bring our presents with us?"
He reached their van sooner than the others, practically bouncing in his seat as he waited for those slowpokes to join him. As soon as they did, he practically slammed down on the gas pedal to race towards the park, making Wash and Caboose lurch in their seats and making Carolina give him a look that could kill if she had the power to.
The closer they reached the park, the antsier he got, but it wasn't until he reached it that he was filled with baffled joy and confusion.
Despite having not snowed this Christmas, the park was covered in snow. Fake or not, that wasn't even the most perplexing thing. From the parking lot, Tucker could see the large tree that Kimball had set up a while ago surrounded by giant present boxes- likely props- and a large sleigh with moving robot reindeer?!
Sitting on the sleigh had to be none other than Sarge, dressed in a Santa costume, cheerfully reaching into the back of the sleigh to produce a bicycle for a young Chorisian child who looked like they could pass out from happiness. The set up was similar to what Tucker had seen of mall Santa's, with plush ropes keeping an orderly line and a dead-inside Simmons leading the next child towards Santa-Sarge while Grif escorted the previous one towards their waiting parent.
"Wow," Wash sounded impressed, pulling his coat tighter together. "When did they have time to set this all up?"
"I'm somewhat impressed," Carolina muttered, watching the proceedings, staring after a young child talking excitedly with her mother, leading the woman towards the long line.
Ok, now that he had seen the whole thing, Tucker had to admit that this was actually something very, very sweet. Even just seeing a mass of kids enjoying themselves was a miracle in itself. To think, that a planet that had been overcome by war not too long ago, could spare a moment to indulge in childlike happiness was something extraordinary.
Yeah, he was definitely going to apologize to Sarge. The older man could definitely be thoughtful when he wanted to, it was wrong of him to imply otherwise.
Approaching their group was an equally elf dressed Kimball, her cheeks red from the cold, but a mischievous smile on her face as she stared at the Blues.
"Amazing isn't it," she greeted, staring back towards where a gaggle of kids was eagerly playing with their toys. "When they asked for permission to set this up last night, I didn't quite know what to expect, but they really outdid themselves."
"Do you know what spurred this on? Did they say?" Carolina asked, throwing a suspicious glance towards Tucker.
Kimball's smile curved even more upward.
"Why don't I treat you and Wash to some hot chocolate," she gestured towards a stand run by what looked like Bitters and Matthews. "I actually have something I'd like to discuss with you two..."
Tucker watched as the President dragged the two of them off, and maybe if he wasn't blinded by Christmas cheer, he would have found it suspicious, but instead, he was allowing Caboose to drag him towards the line as he proclaimed, "Tucker! You didn't tell me Santa could ride his sleigh all the way to Chorus."
Somehow Sarge must have spied them from the back of the line, because he was calling out to them saying, "Captains, come over to the front, Santa has a very special present for you two, ho ho ho!"
Ok, wait, that was actually kind of suspicious, but Caboose- having been given permission to cut the line- grabbed Tucker and practically launched them towards the front, ignoring all of the glares from the people who had been in front of them.
"Santa! Santa!" Caboose called out towards Sarge, rushing up to the sleigh and passing by Simmons. "I have been such a good boy this year, did you get my letter? I didn't know if it would reach the North Pole but it must’ve if you're here to give me my present!"
"Oh yes, you have certainly been very good this year," Sarge handed the Blue a present, to which he excitedly opened, but Tucker ignored him and focused more on the devious look in Sarge's eye as he turned towards him and said, "As for you, young man. Yes, Santa has certainly had his eyes on you."
Sarge waved him over and gave him an aqua wrapped box, exclaiming, "Here's Santa's present to you."
Taking the box, he pulled off the top, and honestly, Tucker doesn't know what he was expecting. Maybe a ten-dollar bill? Or maybe something nice for once after all.
But what he's greeted with after opening the top is an entire box full of coal.
As his jaw drops, Sarge cackles and pulls out a megaphone to announce to the entire crowd, "Now, boys and girls, Santa has an important message to impart upon you. The only people on Santa's naughty list are Blues! Blues get coal, but not good Red kids!"
Whipping towards Caboose, he pointed out that, "Caboose is a Blue but why does he actually have a nice present!" and the large dog plush couldn't be classified as anything else.
"Caboose is an honorary Red," Sarge informed him, a smug smile on his face. "Now move along, you naughty Blue. Santa has to give presents to more deserving children."
Tucker was stuck in place, having to be dragged away by a miffed Grif, and as he passed, the kids jeered at him and called him a 'naughty Blue.'
"Oh god, he's indoctrinating the children," he murmured in horror. "This entire generation is going to think being a Red will put them on the nice list. Sarge is a monster."
"Die mad about it," Grif said before pushing him forward. "Be lucky that you weren't made to dress up like a god damn elf."
Leaving Tucker alone with his box of coal, Grif returned back to his post. Eventually, Wash and Carolina return to drag him off, but it's already too late for him. It's too late for all of them, and all because he said Sarge was shit at giving gifts, the Reds won Christmas.