Returning the Favor (Commander Peepers x Reader Oneshot)

Returning the Favor

He should have hated you for simply being on the same side as those no-good do-gooders Wander and Sylvia, especially since you were similar to the former in more ways than one minus the annoying part, but for some odd reason he could not. There was a charm to your friendliness that could not be replicated, as far as he knew, and somehow, after spending time with you during the majority of many past episodes... of their lives, he found you to be sort of endearing in a strange yet fantastic way: your unwaveringly kind disposition even in the face of evil planetary conquerors, your analytical approach to resolving conflicts (mainly ones dealing with Lord Hater's fiery temper in response to the wandering weirdo's various antics, which turned out to be extremely beneficial at the best of times), your selfless nature, your witty comments, the grace in each step you took, the way your eyes lit up when he would explain certains aspects of his life to you since you were quite literally the only other person aside from his indifferent, oblivious boss he was able explain such complex things to, and last but certainly not least: your smile. He could never vocally express how much he loved your smile lest he wished for ridicule and rejection from his fellow villainous comrades and his skeleton man of a leader who, if he were to ever find out about the commander's fascination with your very existence, would not let him live it down.

Abandoning all worldly reservations pertaining to thinking about you, he drifted away from the main conflict at hand, the main conflict being Wander snatching Lord Hater's flag and running off with it. He decided to instead take a step inside his mind, if only for a few minutes.

Sylvia galloped off with her best buddy on her back as the skeleton man gave persistent chase along with his densely populated watchdog posse, but not before letting her large eyes linger for a bit in puzzlement on the eyeball man, who was staring off into space for reasons beyond her understanding.

He paid no mind to the confused glance from the Zbornak, or anyone else's for that matter. He racked his brain in an attempt to conjure up the exact events having taken place only several moments prior where he and many others fought to keep Dominator's bots at bay before shutting down in one collective move, all thanks to the force of Lord Hater's electrical force field, which shoved Dominator's drill right through her ship, causing the entire thing to explode shortly after...

***

The efforts of the each and every one of the ragtag rebels were proving to be nothing more than futile to say the least, especially when it appeared as if Hater, the man having held his own against the planet-crushing force of Lord Dominator's ship that was more than ready to smash the planet below his sneakers to smithereens if not for an astronomical amount of sheer determination to win, would crumble under Dominator's disparaging gaze, her words tearing at his two-sizes-too-small heart with each belittling comment spoken.

The small commander noticed his esteemed leader's struggle not far off from where he was attempting to punch a bot's light out. He succeedied in his attempt, the lava-laced metal corpse colliding with the unforgiving earth in the process, and the commander then proceeded to divert his attention from the current battle for a short while as he anxiously reached out an arm to his boss in an act of concern.

"Sir!" he called out to his skeleton boss in worried tones. Alas, Hater did not hear his desperate cry and continued to grimace with several million beads of sweat trailing down his ivory, red cloak-clad body as the green woman berated him further.

Unfortunately, Peepers stayed wide-eyed and stupefied into silence for a considerably long period of time, a period of time during which a Knight-type Dominator-bot took up the opportunity to try and crush the man under one of its giant appendages. Peepers noticed how dire his situation had become in such a glaring fashion when turning around to be met with death staring straight at him. He could do nothing more than cover his head in a piteous attempt at protecting his noggin from splattering out of his skull and onto the bluish-green grass growing from below his completely and utterly petrified form.