Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue nor do I own RWBY. I'm a little late to the whole RWBY party, aren't I?


Chapter 1


On top of an unidentified building, two young men sat over the edge with a case containing an assortment of sodas and alcohol. One is tall and lanky, dressed in a maroon blazer over a white shirt and matching pants, with combed back hair and a prim set of glasses hanging down under his eyes. He appears to be in thought as of the moment.

The other contrasted the former drastically, with a casual orange t-shirt and worn jeans, with unruly stubble littering around his mouth. With his current eating habit, he should have appeared obese, yet somehow manages to appear in shape all the time, and is currently taking a drag from a cigarette.

"Hey," The maroon-suited boy suddenly called out to his partner.

"…Myeah?"

He hesitated for a moment, but asked, "You ever wonder why we're here?"

The orange-clad teenager released an explosive sigh, along with tobacco-laced smoke. "You know, Simmons, I ask that question every day, every night. Why are we here?" He gestured the arm holding the cigarette towards the landscape. "In this Grimm-infested world, both Humans and Faunus fight each day for survival against the enemy, but for what purpose? Is the planet trying to send a message to us, like, we're not welcome here, so they send the Grimm's to kill us or something? Or, are we actually a disease that Remnant is trying to flush out like an immune system? I dunno, man, but it keeps me up at night."

"…"

"…"

"…The fuck? I mean, why are we here in Vale, when we could be back in Gulch where things were simple?"

"Oh… uh…"

"And what was that thing about our whole existence being a disease?"

"Uh… hm? Nothing."

"…You wanna talk about it?"

"No, no, I'm good."

"…You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

There was an awkward pause before the now-named Simmons continued,

"Seriously, though. Why are we here? I don't even understand Vale anymore. Everywhere I go, I see at least one or two things that is somehow related to a gun. That notepad that officer was holding earlier? It's a gun. That sword that hunter guy had passing by a few seconds ago? Gun. That trashcan right there? Gun." He threw his hands up in exasperation. "Next thing you know, some asshole out there has a girl that's a gun, or has a gun that shoots guns. Can you imagine that?"

"Yeah, gun stuff. All I got was Sarge rambling about a recommendation letter to teach at Beacon Academy, and was allowed to bring two others with him as student assistants. Does that mean anything?" Grif gave his two cents.

"Whoop-de-fucking-do," Simmons remarked disinterestedly.

"Speaking of which, check out this kickass sword and gun I picked up earlier today!" Grif took out a handgun and a red accented sword shaped like a khopesh.

Simmons stared at the pair for two whole seconds. "Grif, just because you found a sword and a handgun lying around not in use doesn't mean it's automatically yours."

"No, asshole, I got these from my job interview."

"You? A job interview?" The disbelief in Simmon's voice was tangible, and then it got laced with sarcasm, "Grif, I had no idea you would one day be a responsible human being. Next, we can finally see you stop being a lard-ass."

"Fuhuck off, Simmons. I'm still gonna hold on to my reputation as a do-nothing slacker in front of Sarge, though, so don't tell him anything."

Simmons shrugged. That wasn't his business anyways. "So why are you still here?"

"Funny story, actually. I'm supposed to be a bouncer at a nearby club right now," Grif threw his cigarette off the building. "Instead, some blonde chick trashed the entire place from top to bottom, and now I'm stuck here, talking to you."

"Well, that explains why we're having this stupid conversation."

A sudden explosion resounded a good distance away, close by a shop hanged with the sign 'From Dust Till Dawn'. Grif and Simmons stared at the source of all the commotion dully and then looked at each other.

"…That wasn't my fault," Grif immediately stated.

"You don't suppose the Blues caused that, do you?" Simmons asked.

"I dunno, man. The last time we saw them was at Atlas, and… well, we may have trashed an entire district of the city because Sarge was raging like the senile old man he is about 'dirty Blues'. I thought it would be the only time to test out my new weapon."

"Grif, you almost accidentally assassinated the head of the Schnee Dust Company who had business in that city because you were trying to test out your new weapon!" Simmons shouted. In the distance, a plane managed to dodge the worst of a large arrow, and is flying away, but the two teens were too busy bickering to notice.

"Hey, I take offense to that! The Grifshot is not something used for such underhanded action!" Grif retorted in an offended tone. "It is used to kick ass and take names! The guy was just unfortunate enough to be alone without his bodyguards and be my first target!"

Simmons threw his hands up, "You know what? The less we talk about that day, the less I have to deal with your bullshit. At least we managed to get away scot free in the end, all thanks to Sarge."

"Yeah. And by scot free, you mean run like little bitches when several police cars and huntsmen chased after us. I'm surprised they didn't even get pictures of us," Grif remarked.

Simmons rolled up a sleeve to check what time it is, "Why do I have the feeling we're just gonna stand around and talk all night? And when is Sarge gonna call us? We have an Academy to attend tomorrow, and we're been here talking like we were back in the middle of that box canyon in Gulch with the Blues."

Grif sighed and got up to leave, scratching his butt in the process. "Fine, whatever. I was gonna fall asleep if you kept rambling anyways. See you tomorrow… or not. If Sarge calls, tell him I have a diet of food starting with vowels to keep."

Simmons sighed, "I think I'm starting to miss the old days when we just stand around and talk. I bet the Blues don't have the same problem as we do."


(few minutes earlier)

A teen sighed as he watched the TV, which is currently featuring 'Tuning Your Sniper Rifle's Sights For Dummies'. This teen has black hair with shaved sides that is styled into a fohawk, and is dressed in a cobalt tanktop and pajama pants, and with unremarkable brown eyes. His build isn't muscular per se, but is toned enough to be called fit.

He doesn't know why, but somehow, someone always manages to screw with the sights whenever he isn't looking, and is trying to find a way to set it so that only he could fix it himself. In either case, it's quiet, he isn't pissed, Caboose hasn't somehow fucked something royally over, and tomorrow is gonna be the first day at Beacon Academy.

Today, is a good evening.

"For the last time, Caboose, I'm not a hot dog, and if you put ketchup on my fuckin' shirt again, I'm gonna kill you!" an irate voice yelled out from the shabby apartment.

"Tucker did it!" a childlike reply replied back.

"I'm Tucker, idiot!"

…And the evening just got ruined by the shouts of his little group. Great.

"Yeah, keep saying that, Tucker. I'm sure the message will get through Caboose's head someday," the teen snarked, not taking his eyes off the TV.

"Fuck you, Church!" Tucker rushed out into the living room with a suitcase in hand. He appears as a well-built dark skinned teenager with a dreadlock ponytail, and is clad in a teal dress shirt with a black tie and black business pants. Ketchup stains could be seen on the shirt, despite being washed vigorously minutes ago. "I dunno how we managed to live for eleven years with this guy, but you'd think he learned common sense by then!"

"I think you're mistaking me for someone who gives a damn," Church remarked airily. "Also, try walking on that line of not knowing and not caring, Tucker. I like to think it works all the time."

"It does," a blond teen somehow barged into the conversation. Messy blond tresses ruled the boy's head and gentle, bright blue eyes peered from the bush that is called hair. He is wearing a blue long-sleeve shirt and pajama pants in an effort to imitate Church, but failing miserably in the hair department. "Church has not called me a constant source of disappointment for the past years now. Ah, the good ol' days."

"You are a constant source of disappointment, Caboose. Back then and now," Tucker insulted the navy blue clad boy rather fondly, just like he always did.

"Yeah… I know," Caboose replied happily. His tone made both Church and Tucker sigh.

"We are really bad at babysitting. I'm surprised Caboose hasn't learned how to curse yet," Church said, earning a nod of agreement from Tucker.

An explosion was heard in the distance, along with the sound of a plane engine taking off. Soon enough, a plane flew by the window as Church, Caboose and Tucker stared at it.

"…So you wanna chase after that plane or something? We got nothing better to do," Tucker asked, pulling out what appears to be the handle of some sort of alien weapon.

"Nah, I don't think I wanna be by Tex when she's on her period. I can still feel my kneecaps hurt from that day," Church dismissed the commotion as something his apparently violent girlfriend is up to.

"Yeah. Bitchpants McCrabby does have that habit during those times, doesn't she?"

Church ignored the insult towards his girlfriend, "Anyways, you guys all packed up? Caboose? You have all the clothes and diapers you'll be wearing for the next three years at Beacon? We're not coming back here starting tomorrow."

"Yes! I even brushed my teeth and wore a new set of underwear as you yelled at me to this morning. And… I have Freckles, Church!" Caboose responded and pulled out an assault rifle at Church, and immediately, the sound of party horns and confetti shot out of the barrel. "…Tucker did it."

"So glad we let Freckles do the shooting now," Church sarcastically remarked. "Remind me to thank Tex for installing the A.I. that orange-haired dude pawned off to us into that gun, Freckles. Really saved us the number of trips of going to the hospital."

Affirmative.」 the gun affirmed in a crackled voice.

"Welp, guys? You all ready?" he proceeded to scan the room. "Man. We are not gonna see this place for a while. Brings back good times, doesn't it?"

Tucker looked around the downtrodden apartment as well, "I feel like we're supposed to have some kind of, sentimental road down memory lane, but really, I'm not feeling it."

"…Huh. You're right, why are we even having this kind of moment? We haven't even been here for a week. Yeah, let's just go to sleep and leave first thing tomorrow."

"This is going to be the best field trip ever," Caboose chirped as the three prepared to go to sleep.


"…Yeah, I bet they don't even have our problem," Grif answered for Simmons.

Simmons's scroll began to ring, which said person scrambled to pick up. "Sir! I was starting to get worried!"

"Simmons! Where the hell are you and Grif?! I've specifically told you to find me at 0000! It is 2355 now, and you are nowhere to be seen!"

"Sir, you told us to wait for you to call us when you are-"

"Nonsense, Simmons! Now quit your yammering and meet me up at the airship dock! Double time! I got us some rooms to sleep in and news to deliver!"

"But! I!" Simmons stammered, but eventually slumped. "…Yes, sir."

"Good man!" the scroll immediately ended call. He stared at the scroll's screen and sighed tiredly. It's not even midnight yet, and he wonders why he even bothers putting up with his own group. Oh, right. He doesn't have any other place to go.

"…So what did our most revered leader of the now-disavowed Red Team want?" Grif approached Simmons, having heard his sergeant's gruff voice from two floors below.

"We're gonna meet up at the air dock. Sarge's order."

"Whaaaat? That means we have to walk! Do you even know how far that is?"

"Grif, just shut up and get to the dock. Either that, or actually begin to act like a Huntsman. We're gonna need it when we attend Beacon tomorrow," Simmons grumbled and jumped off the building, making his way towards the nearest dock.

"Oh… right. Forgot about the whole Huntsmen thing. Man, it's been ages," Grif muttered and followed after his partner, but not before picking up the case of drinks Simmons left behind. He worked hard for those.

What a night to start remembering training for becoming Huntsmen.


A/N: Okay… so this is a tad bit weird. This story is actually something I did not plan at all, and I probably never will plan long term for it. But hey, I started it. I'm gonna see it through till the end. As you may have guessed it already, this is a complete AU where RvB and RWBY are essentially mixed together, and I have to somehow make it a good story for everyone to read. Unfortunately, I hate planning, just like I do with all my other stories.

So in the wise word of Lavernius Tucker, "Eh, we'll wing it."

So here it is, a RvB x RWBY crossover. Review! Wonder what news Sarge bear and the events that will unfold tomorrow! And review again!

-DarkAkatsuk1, starting a new story