#only as I was finishing it for Engie to come with a truck and have heavy lead

[archiarthur]

I'll lose followers over this I can feel it

[the-rewritten-railway-au]

The Two Smallest Engines

May 1930

The Adventure Begins (2015)

Word Count: 3,543

Since the end of the 1920 Locomotive Crisis Loan, the North Western Railway has been struggling to continue operation with its five engines. Sir Bertram Topham Hatt II makes a big decision: purchase a tank engine for the railway.

~

On a sunny afternoon, Edward, the smallest engine on the North Western, was working in Tidmouth Yard. He was chatting with Emily, who was slightly larger than him. The smallest of the two was waiting to be uncoupled from a train of empty trucks when a grand blue tender engine rolled into the yard with-

"A goods train, a goods train! The shame of it! Oh, the shame of it!" he complained. His voice boomed throughout the yard, reaching the station.

The pair of smaller engines sighed, annoyed. "For guidness sake, it's no yon most shameful thin’ ye're doin, Gordon!" Edward reprimanded as he looked at the express passenger engine. "Ye ken thon we've been havin’ more guids trains every year."

"And why can't James take them? Wasn't he bought for that reason?"

"He wiz," replied Edward, "but traffic has grown more than expectit since, especially durin’ the summer season."

Gordon huffed.

"Oh, get over it!" called out the Stirling Single. "You didn't have a problem with it before. What's so different now?"

"Other engines did most of the goods work," replied Gordon. "You should've been glad that was the case back then."

"How come?" She squinted suspiciously.

"You're very outdated, Emily," he sneered. "Old, weak, and slow. Those large wheels of yours are nothing but an inconvenience to your performance."

Emily gasped, and her face scrunched up in fury. "I-!"

"Wrap it, both o' ye," scolded Edward. He looked at the larger cerulean engine. "Start headin’ tae the station, Gordon. I'll shunt the Express coaches in a moment." He looked over to the GNR green engine. "Emily, yer guids train is ready. Please, jist git tae it."

Emily sighed. She wheeshed, a final blow towards Gordon, before leaving to pick up her goods train.

Gordon huffed, heading to the station to wait for the Express coaches. "Once the new engine arrives, I better not keep pulling them."

Edward froze. "New engine?" he exclaimed, rolling forward. "Whit new engi- Och!" He suddenly jerked back, having not been uncoupled yet. The little tender engine quickly shot an apologetic smile to the workman who had approached him with a shunter's pole.

Once Edward was uncoupled, Gordon continued. "He bought a new engine. Might replace you or one of the others."

His nose twitched. "Excuse me-?"

"Wouldn't be surprised, especially with James when we all found out about his wooden brakes."

"That doesn’t make me useless!" someone exclaimed.

Suddenly, James screeched to a halt into the yard. Gordon and Edward halted as they neared the track the black tender engine rolled on.

"James…" muttered Gordon.

"I'll have you know, my brakes work just fine! My stops are much better than any of yours."

"Oh, but at what cost?" he asked mockingly. "What about that black cloud coming from your brakes the other day?"

The ex-L&YR Class 28 huffed. "I may not be as 'grand' as you," he replied, avoiding the question. "But I'm bigger and stronger than the smaller two," he finished with a prideful smirk directed at the smallest engine.

Edward could only be unamused.

"You may be stronger but you're barely any bigger,” argued Gordon. “Your ego is, though, by a long shot."

James jerked his smokebox door open. Steam blasted out and spread throughout the surrounding area. Fuming and scrunching up his face in fury, he glared and wheeshed steam at Gordon.

"James, could ye please move along?" asked Edward, not wanting to have to separate the pair if needed. He wasn’t sure what happened between them. Five years ago, they got along just fine, minus the minor disagreement. "Gordon, jist go wait at the station. I'll be there with the Express coaches."

"But-" said Gordon.

"Go. Noo,” he repeated sternly.

Just as he expected, both engines grumbled. Once James shut his smokebox door, both larger engines left.

“My brakes work just as good as yours!” He heard James holler at Gordon in vain.

Edward wheeshed the very little steam he could and sighed before he fetched the Express coaches.

…

Days went by as the engines waited for the newcomer but there was no sign or announcement about them. While the others didn't think much about it, Edward would occasionally look around as he worked in the yard, hoping to catch sight of the new engine. Unaware of his crew, Charlie and Sidney were humored by his behavior.

A few weeks later, a tank engine rolled into Tidmouth Yard. He peered around the yard, looking for something, or someone. His new crew let him do his thing, as they were informed by the previous crew that this particular engine liked to get to know his surroundings.

"Tidmouth, Tidmouth, Tidmouth…" he murmured.

Earlier, at the crack of dawn, he asked his crew not to show him the way to his final destination once they reached the Vicarstown Drawbridge. There was no ship available from Southampton Docks to the Island of Sodor, not until August, so he was sent by land. Once the ex-LBSCR E2 reached the bridge, he was bored so he challenged himself.

He was really regretting it now.

Suddenly, a loud shrill rang throughout the yard. The lost newcomer was startled, trembling on his six-driving wheels.

The little tank engine frowned. What a way to welcome some-engine, he thought with a huff.

An engine came from the turn up ahead. "Hey, you!" he exclaimed and laughed.

"Bloody hell, ya bloke!" the little engine exclaimed. "Some manners ya have."

"Alright, sheesh! I didn't mean to frighten you like that."

"Of course, you didn't."

"Well, I didn't!" James exclaimed, in a "matter-of-fact" tone. "You seem lost. Where are you heading?"

Meanwhile, Edward was being uncoupled from a set of giggling Troublesome Trucks, having played with them for a bit, when he overheard them.

"Tidmouth!" A voice, unknown to Edward, exclaimed. "Do ya know where it is?

Edward stilled and stayed quiet, quickly shushing the Troublesome Trucks. Surprisingly, not to him, they listened.

"But you're already in Tidmouth!" chuckled James. "Where are you from?"

"The Southern Railway. All the way down south in Brighton." He eyed James quizzically. "What's up with your eyes? Why are they different colors? Did something happen? Were they like that since ya were built-?"

As the engine continued to ramble on and James fumed, Edward gasped. He whispered excitedly, "Bertram's new engine!" The elder blue tender engine whistled as he backed up slowly. Charlie, his driver, gently pet his outer cab and chuckled along with the fireman, Sidney, seeing the excitement of their cerulean engine.

Once Edward backed up to line up to James and saw the new engine, he was shocked and gasped.

The new engine was tiny. He had no tender, his coal box being right behind the cab on the back of the engine. The little engine had a short stumpy dome, a short stumpy funnel, and six small, blue wheels, but they was as tall as he and James were. A normal tank engine, Edward realized.

His livery was a pale brown, Khaki, Edward figured, with white lining. The letters "SR" and the number 107 with a small B above it were painted white on the side of his tanks. His eyes were dark teal, looking around the yard excitedly as he rambled on.

"...I've heard so many things about Sodor. What's it-" The new engine noticed Edward, who was slightly smaller than James, staring at him. "Hello? Is something the matter?" He scrunched up his face, looking at his round nose. "Do I have soot on my face?"

"Och, whit? Naw, naw… It's jist… ye're… small," said Edward awkwardly, slightly confused and still shocked.

"No, I'm not," huffed the E2, annoyed. "I was one of the larger shunters on the Southern Railway!"

"Oh really?" James teased.

"Well, I was big enough to do my job just fine in Victoria and London.” Maybe too big… “I can do the same here!" the tank engine fumed and he moved along.

"Wait, wait! Thon's no how I meant it!" Edward quickly chuffed backward. "It's jist… ye're very different tae everyane else… I huvnae seen a wee tank engine like ye in years."

The little khaki tank engine huffed again. "I may be a 'wee' tank engine, ‘sir,’ but I'm very hardworking!" he expressed pridefully.

"S-Sir?" Edward exclaimed, startled and flustered as he saw James backing up with boisterous laughter.

“Old���” murmured James.

Edward’s glare was all in vain.

Suddenly, Gordon thundered into the shunting yard. He came to a halt with a whistle and laughed. "And who are you?"

"I'm Thomas," the khaki tank engine puffed pridefully. “Your director named me!”

"The new engine!" Edward emphasized with excitement as James reversed, stopping right next to Edward.

"Oh dear," the grand express engine mourned mockingly. "The Fat Director must've made a terrible mistake. I think he was expecting someone really… useful."

"I am useful," Thomas huffed. He didn't like this grand blue engine. He didn’t feel welcome. So full of himself. So disrespectful when he’d only just arrived!

Edward noticed and felt guilty for Thomas, especially for his own words. He hadn't even introduced himself properly.

Gordon laughed dismissively. "For fetching coaches, perhaps. Oh well. If you stick around long enough, you might be lucky enough to see me pulling the Express,” he boasted before he whistled and departed. "That will be a fine sight for you."

Thomas glared at the Gresley experimental Pacific as he passed by. "Without me, he wouldn't have an Express to pull," he muttered and rolled his eyes. He didn't like him at all.

Edward sighed. "I'm sorry aboot Gordon. I'm afraid he's like thon." He inched forward. "I'm sorry for whit I said earlier. I dinnae mean any offense tae ye. Where were ma manners… I'm Edward."

“And I'm James,” introduced the larger mixed-traffic engine, following Edward.

Another voice spoke from a distance. "Hello there, hello!"

"And there's the Fat-"

"Sir Topham Hatt!" Edward forced a smile as James scoffed at him, muttering “Rude.”

"Hello there!" A short, well-dressed, chubby man exclaimed as he and his assistants approached the newcomer. He was excited to see Thomas once again. "I’m glad you three made it safely. Welcome to the North Western Railway, Thomas," said Sir Topham Hatt II with pride, gesturing to the surrounding area. "Pardon me for the introduction a few days ago. I am Sir Topham Hatt, the director of this fine railway. You will become a great addition to the place. I expect you to do very well as Edward will be mentoring you."

"Of course, sir!" replied Thomas.

"Alright then. Go on with your work! I shall be checking up on your progress now and then for the first week," exclaimed Sir Topham Hatt II. He dismissed the engines before walking away with his two assistants.

Once Sir Topham Hatt II was gone, Edward said, "He's right. The others will be arriving soon."

"Fine, fine," huffed James as he rolled away from the yard, heading to the Main Line.

"Where's he going?" Thomas asked.

"Tae Brendam Docks, I presume," Edward replied. "He diz'nae hae any passenger duties until later."

"Passenger duties?" Thomas flipped his smokebox door open and looked at James. "Isn't he a goods engine?"

"Well, his class was meant for goods trains…" Edward replied and hummed. "Things are different here."

Thomas thought for a moment. "Will I be able to do that?"

Edward hummed. "Maybe. But right noo, ye need tae focus oan whit I need tae teach ye during your trainin."

"And what are we going to start with?"

"Shuntin."

"Shunting? My class was practically built to shunt."

"Well, it diz'nae hurt tae practice, especially in a new railway. No everything is the same as oan the Mainland."

"Really? How come?"

"The Troublesome Trucks ur more tedious and difficult tae deal wit, thon's ane thin'. And the yards ur much smaller here than oan the Mainland, if ye take a quick look around. And this yard is the largest oan Sodor, besides Vicarstown," Edward replied. "Give me a moment, I need tae git the Express coaches ready for Gordon. I'll be back in a bit."

Thomas hummed in response as Edward chuffed away. The steam shunter looked around, examining the yard. It was much smaller than the ones in the Southern Railway. It was slightly smaller than the smallest yard in the Southern Railway.

"How much smaller is the smallest yard here?" he mumbled to himself.

He chuffed around Tidmouth Yard, struggling with the tight turns. Hopefully, Edward and others didn’t take notice. He didn’t need to be reminded of how troublesome his performance was. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t his fault that he performed this way. 

As Thomas wandered about, he heard two voices. His eyes followed the sound, eventually landing on two auburn passenger coaches, tucked away neatly in what appeared to be a carriage shed.

"I'm worried about James' brakes, Annie. Honestly, I smell nothing but ash whenever he brakes!" The coach with the name "Clarabel" painted in white on their sides whispered.

Annie, the other coach with her name painted on as well, replied, "So do I, Clarabel! It bothers me so much. I do hope the Fat Director figures something out…"

The two auburn coaches were unaware of the khaki shunter looking at them. From his own experience, coaches could either be sweet with reasonable sternness or absolutely hostile. There was no in-between, just a game of chance when it came to them. He nervously approached them as he felt lonely. "Hello there.”

Annie and Clarabel suddenly went quiet. "Who was that, Annie?" the latter asked.

"It's a new engine! Hello there, little one!"

Thomas huffed. "I'm not little!"

The pair giggled at the newcomer’s fussiness. "What's your name? You must be new around here," said Clarabel.

"I am! My name is Thomas," Thomas replied. "I'm from the Southern Railway."

"Hello, Thomas. I’m Annie," said Annie.

"And I'm Clarabel," Clarabel greeted.

"And we are the Ffarquhar Branch Line’s coaches," they said in unison.

"Figures," said Thomas. “I don’t think two coaches can handle mainline passenger service.”

"Smart, smart!" said Clarabel.

"Indeed," said Annie but froze as she noticed a familiar face through Thomas' front cab window. "Mr. Perkins?"

"Mr. Perkins?" exclaimed Clarabel.

"Mr. Perkins?" asked Thomas, confused.

A soft chuckle came from Thomas' cab. His driver, Gilbert Perkins, popped his head out of the cab. "Hello, you two. It's been a while!"

"Hello, Mr. Perkins!" greeted the auburn coaches.

Thomas was confused. "You know each other?"

"Oh, of course, we do!" exclaimed Annie. 

"He was our old engine's driver," giggled Clarabel.

Just then, Edward returned.

"I'm back, Thomas!" Edward exclaimed as he chuffed into the yard. The elder blue tender engine took notice of the scene. "Och, I see ye've met Annie and Clarabel- Mr. Perkins?" he exclaimed.

"Hello there, Edward!" replied Mr. Perkins.

Edward flabbergasted. "Ye-"

"Looks like I’m a permanent driver from now on!" he exclaimed with excitement. “Can’t wait to work with this fella,” he continued, petting Thomas' cab, who laughed at the interaction. “Nice to see you’re doing well, old boy.” With that, Mr. Perkins popped right back into the tank engine’s cab.

"Oh, hello, Edward!" said Clarabel. "You're guiding Thomas, right?"

"Be sure to teach him well, Edward!" Annie exclaimed.

"Please do!" continued Clarabel, before dropping her voice down to a whisper. "And maybe James while you're at it."

"Noo, I dinnae ken aboot thon last ane, but I will try, ma'ams. Noo, git some rest. It will be a while before James comes back," Edward replied, reminding the two auburn coaches.

Annie and Clarabel hummed in reply.

"We shall chat some other time then!" exclaimed Annie.

"Indeed! It was a pleasure meeting you, Thomas," said Clarabel.

"Goodbye, Thomas! Goodbye, Edward!" The two sister coaches exclaimed before getting some shut-eye.

"Goodbye!" the two engines replied. They puffed away as quietly as they could from the carriage shed.

Once they were far away enough, Thomas asked, "So, where do we start?"

"Wit’ the regular freight trucks!" replied Edward.

…

Edward and Thomas spent the rest of the afternoon shunting. Though Thomas grew a bit exhausted, that didn't mean he had no energy to be cheeky.

During the late afternoon, Gordon was resting in the yard. Thomas was beside Edward, resting from the day's work when the little khaki tank engine noticed.

Thomas sneaked up on Gordon on the track next to him as Edward looked at him, confused. He was shocked when Thomas' whistle shrilled throughout the yard.

The loud noise startled Gordon awake as Thomas exclaimed, "Wake up, lazy-bones! Why don't you be as useful as me!" Cheeky laughter tumbled off his tongue as he raced away.

Edward couldn't help but laugh at the little tank engine's cheekiness, following him and leaving behind an annoyed Gordon.

…

Evening approached when Emily pulled into Tidmouth Yard. Thomas noticed her, in awe of her shape. She looked very different from the other engines. "Who's that?" he asked with curiosity as he backed away from a few trucks.

Edward followed suit from the train of empty cars, lining buffer to buffer to Thomas on a different track. "Thon's Emily," he replied. "She's the ane wha pulls the mornin’ Wild Nor' Wester."

“The what?”

“The Express.”

“Really? She-”

The Stirling Single’s whistle shrilled throughout the area, grabbing Edward and the tank engine’s attention. Within minutes, she approached the other two.

"Good evening, Edward! Who is this?" Emily excitedly asked.

"Guid evenin’, Emily! This is Be- the Fat Director’s new engine!" he replied.

"Hello, I'm Thomas!" the E2 greeted.

"Hello! My name is Emily," the ex-GNR Stirling Single replied. "I'm about to head back to the shed. Are you two heading back?"

"In a bit. We jist need tae finish up here," Edward replied.

"Ah, alright then. I'll see you two later," Emily said before lowering her voice. "I just hope the others aren't there already…"

"James and Gordon ur. Henry's no due until much later."

"I was hoping it wasn’t either of those two. Henry's much more bearable…" she grumbled.

"Dinnae worry, Emily. Dinnae mind em."

Thomas spoke up. "What's wrong with James? He seemed nice!”

"James is a bit…" Emily hummed, "...rude."

"But he can be nice, like earlier," Edward pointed out. "It's jist… rare tae see him be like thon…”

"Oh," Thomas said. "So you pull the morning Express?"

"Ah, I see you've heard," Emily replied teasingly. "I used to pull it all the time until Gordon arrived to help. The Other Director was concerned about my age so he bought Gordon from my old railway."

"So Gordon's the Number Three?"

"That would be me!” piped up Emily, gesturing towards her tender. “Henry's number four. Then Gordon's number five. James is number six, and, well…"

"I would be number seven?"

"Yes," replied Edward quickly.

"You really like to ask a lot of questions, don't you?" chuckled Emily.

"I just have to know!" huffed Thomas defensively. The tender engines laughed at his fussiness. "It's a new railway. I don't want to be wandering around like a fool! I want to know what I’m doing!"

"And ye will wit’ time, Thomas! Wit’ time," chuckled Edward, just as Emily yawned.

"Sorry," she quickly piped. "I'm chuffed! I'll see you two back at the shed. Bye!" The apple green single pulled out of the yard, onto the mainline, and headed to Knapford Shed.

"Bye, Emily!" Edward and Thomas said in unison before getting back to work.

…

That night at Knapford Shed, Thomas was now the smallest engine of the North Western Railway. He was exhausted by the time he and Edward pulled up to the Shed. They saw Emily watching James failing to talk to Gordon while a grand green tender engine was fast asleep.

I guess he’s just like that with everyone, Thomas mused as Gordon shot a glare at James, quickly shutting up the black tender engine. Said engine pouted and reversed into his berth, calling it a night.

Knapford Shed was like any normal engine shed. It had a turntable next to it. There were doors to each berth. From what Thomas could see as he approached the turntable, it looked like the structure had sections. The roof seemed to split into three, and each one looked identical. Each section had three berths.

"How did ye like yer first day?" asked Edward as the little khaki tank engine was turned around.

"I enjoyed it!" he exclaimed, catching the attention of the other three tender engines. However, the unknown engine stayed asleep. "I can't wait to start pulling trains and exploring the island!"

A grumble was heard, and the two smallest engines looked to find a disgruntled Gordon.

The Edwardian-styled engine sighed. "Listen, Thomas. Yer dedication is great but ye need tae learn the basics first," said Edward. The guilt of grounding the newcomer's hopes down struck him. "Neither o' us want ye tae get intae trouble because ye dinnae ken ‘em."

"Oh, I'll get them down! It'll be easy!" claimed Thomas.

Edward chuckled but his worry for his mentee persisted. The pair talked for a while longer as the others slept. They giggled and whispered as quietly as they could before sleep finally took over.

What a great first day.

~

Notes:

Imagine rewriting a rewrite you did, haha-

I wasn't satisfied with the rewrite. It was the one story that kept pestering me so I finally got the chance to sit down and fix it.

I decided to split it up into multiple stories and heavily edited the parts I didn't like. Most of it was down to the dialogue and cutting out parts like Henry's story and the scene with Edward and Gordon.

Another thing that really irked me about my rewrite was Emily. She created more dead space so this is intended to fix that, as well as other continuity errors from James' arrival arc and connotations to IRL basis/facts, such as James' wooden brake blocks and the problems with the LBSCR E2s.

Thank you for reading! Have a wonderful day! <3

[kellanved-ammanas]

TF2 Drabbles: Scout/Pyro - Decorations

Summary: Perhaps something silly with Pyro and Scout drawing together! It could be more platonic or more romantic, I genuinely don't mind either way.

I didn't get enough winter/winter holiday themed requests so I took several from my normal list and made them themed so. Which in hindsight, I maybe should've just decided to do from the start since they've been sitting in my inbox for so long already.

~

“What do you mean we can’t get more decorations? The Christmas party is like our big thing before we all leave for like ages. We gotta decorate for it.” And Scout wasn’t going to admit it out loud but he quite liked decorating the common room for it with everyone willing to assist. It was fun.

Engie frowned at him as he finished dropping the last of the water logged, partially moldy cardboard boxes that had once contained all the base’s Christmas decorations in the garage’s trash bin. “Son, in case you somehow forgot with how gosh dang cold it is, we’re on top of a damn mountain currently. The drive down to the nearest town is four hours in good weather. Which it is currently but that’s still far too long to for any of us to want to put up with for something that ain’t needed. We went yesterday to stock up with enough food and supplies to last ‘til we all leave for holiday. You should’ve said something before then.”

Scout followed him back into the warmer part of the base because it was indeed quite cold. “We didn’t know everything was ruined yesterday.” It was just this morning they’d pulled the boxes out and found them and most of what was inside ruined. They’d search through most of it, looking for anything salvageable with almost not success.

Those boxes had been left to sit and rot in the leaky back corner of the storage area since they’d moved into this base several months ago. The base hadn’t been warm enough to allow the leak to drip so they’d all missed it at the time, resulting in their current predicament. “It’s not fair.”

Engie shrugged. “Sorry but that’s just how it is. We’ll have a real tree this year though so it ain’t all bad.”

“Yeah but a Christmas tree isn’t a proper Christmas tree unless it’s not a star and stuff on it.”

No response this time so after a few more seconds of no sign of Engie changing his mind, Scout headed off. Technically he could steal the car and go by himself. But while he did have some experience driving in snow, nothing like what was out there. And his reckless driving had gotten him banned from using the team van – which he’d never had any desire to fight because it was more work to drive anyway – and thus he hadn’t driven at all in over a year. So his chances on the road weren’t great. Respawn could snatch him up but it could do nothing to save him from the team’s wrath if he totaled their only form of transportation that wasn’t Engie’s two man truck. And he didn’t want to risk doing that to all of them anyway. Meaning he was stuck.

He did know someone who would commiserate with him though. Even if he hadn’t even tried to argue with Engie’s decree, Pyro had seemed just as disappointed as Scout, if not more so, when pulling out the boxes to find them ruined.

It took a bit of searching but he eventually found Pyro in his room. The door was unlocked, allowing Scout to just walk in.

Pyro was standing at his table, piling stuff into a box at the edge of it. Curious, Scout stayed quiet as he stepped closer, allowing him to see into the box before Pyro could spot him. … It was his art stuff. Mostly paints but pencils and markers too.

“Why you packing up your stuff?”

Pyro didn’t startle, indicating he’d heard Scout come in and hadn’t minded. “I’m putting it in a box so I can move it easier. It’s good you’re here though because I need some of your paper and pencils and maybe some of Spy’s stuff too and probably some scissors and glue too.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll help you gather stuff.” It’s not like Scout had anything better to do right now. “What you planning on making?”

“Christmas decorations. We don’t have any and can’t go buy any so I’m gonna make some. You want to help?”

“Oh, uh… yeah, sure. That’s a good idea actually.” It hadn’t even occurred to Scout as an alternative to make their own decorations. They wouldn’t be super durable or fancy but it’d be far better than nothing. And well, doing art with Pyro was always fun. Working on a big project like this together would likely be even more so.

[fruit-teeth]

Matters of Time and Fate (Chapter 26)

When Olivia looked into the metallic surface of the coffee pot, she remembered something she had buried years before: at three years old, her father brought a malfunctioning robot into his office.

Little Olivia, still sucking her thumb at the time, looked the slender robot up and down. She couldn't recall her thought process, but the prospect of sitting on the robot's shoulders piqued her interest. She rose up and slid across its lap without thinking, grasping for the shoulder to help herself up.

Right at that moment, the robot sparked, glitched, and grabbed her by the arm with no warning. Olivia shrieked in terror as it loomed over her, weapon in hand, preparing to strike.

Her father appeared out of nowhere, and all she could do was watch as he sank a screwdriver into the robot's cranium, thus stopping it in its tracks. It made a popping noise and sparked again, before crumpling to the floor.

“Why would you do that!?” Gray snapped at his three-year-old, yanking her to her feet. “I’ve told you never to touch my robots when I’m not around!”

Olivia only bawled, unable to form words as she rubbed her teary eyes, her body still shaking with fright. Gray pursed his lips together. “Oh, stop crying,” he sighed. “You’re all right, Olivia…”

When she continued to cry, he laid the screwdriver down and scooped her into his arms, hugging her close. She still remembered the smell of his cologne as he held her, mixed with the faint scent of metal. Even as the years would go by, she would never, ever forget that smell, or the comfort her father’s presence gave her.

That had been three years ago. Olivia moved her gaze away from the rusted coffee pot in Sniper's van kitchenette and back to the window.

“They’ve been taking too long,” she spoke up. “We need to go look for them!”

Zhanna looked up from her spot at the table, brow furrowing. “What? Olivia, they will come spoon. I say what I say before, do not worry.”

Olivia frowned, climbing up onto the seat beside Zhanna. “But what if something happened? We need to go help if…”

Zhanna shushed her, smoothing the girl’s hair back. “Misha is with them. So is Jane. My brother and husband are strong. No reason to be scared.”

“I guess…” Olivia hugged her knees. “I feel small again…”

“I am sorry,” Zhanna sighed, giving Olivia a little half-hug.

Lar-Nah then approached the table with a bag of chips in her hand. “What are these?” she asked Zhanna, showing her the bag.

Zhanna glanced at the bag. “Spicy cheese chips. From there,” she said, motioning to the gas station they were parked next to.

Lar-Nah opened the bag and stared into it for a few seconds, before reaching inside and pulling out a chip. She took a bite, chewed, before she coughed and spat the chip into the waste basket. “Oh, my god, that’s disgusting!” she wheezed and tried to compose herself, a look of horror on her face. “People eat these on purpose!? I hate this country!”

“You are wimp!” Zhanna scoffed at her, taking the bag and pulling a chip out to eat.

Olivia looked back out the window, just in time to see the headlights of Engie’s truck pull up. “They’re here!” she exclaimed, leaping from her seat and running right to the door.

Olivia stood in the parking lot while Engineer's truck and Miss Pauling’s car came to a halt. Everyone stepped out of either car, and within moments, Helen emerged. Her hair was down and soaking wet, and her makeup was smeared in the dim light of the gas station. Upon seeing her, Olivia was reminded of the night Helen had the water spilled on her.

“Look who we got back, Liv!” Scout greeted Olivia as he bounced out of the truck, stopping to ruffle her hair.

Olivia couldn’t help but giggle when Scout ruffled her hair, and she swung her hands at him. “Yeah!” she glanced back up, her eyes meeting Helen’s.

Engineer stepped out of the truck, pausing to talk to Helen. “Need anything else, ma’am?”

Helen just shook her head. “No, I’m quite all right.” She looked back to Olivia. “May I be alone with Olivia for a moment?”

“Sure, you don’t gotta ask,” Engineer assured. He took a moment to smile gently at Olivia. “I’m gonna stop at the station for some stuff, okay? Be right back.”

He followed Demoman and Heavy to the gas station, leaving Helen and Olivia in the parking lot alone. It was dark out by this point, and crickets could be heard chirping in the surrounding bushes.

For a moment, it seemed as though Helen wasn’t going to speak. Yet then, she knelt down carefully to Olivia’s level, maintaining eye contact with her.

“I just want to let you know…” Helen took a breath. “I’m – I’m deeply sorry for leaving you like that. I can understand how upsetting that must have been for you.”

Olivia stared down at her shoes on the pavement. The pavement looked damp, as if it had rained at some point, though she didn’t remember hearing any rain. “Yeah,” Olivia admitted. “I got sad. I cried.”

Helen nodded. “I see. I apologize…” she reached out to stroke Olivia’s hair, but stopped herself, pulling her hand back. “I want to make it very clear to you that you do not have to accept me as your mother. You do not have to forgive me, either. But…I will protect you always, for as long as I’ll live.”

“You promise?” Olivia asked, looking up into Helen’s eyes.

“Yes – I promise.” Helen affirmed. “I won’t put you into a stranger’s arms like I did before.”

Olivia did not quite know what she was referring to, but it didn’t matter. She was comforted by the fact that she'd been apologized to, yet she was still a bit sad. She gave Helen a nod before taking a step forward and resting her cheek against her shoulder.

Helen sat still for a moment, a little surprised, but she wrapped her arm around Olivia. They held each other in the darkness for a little more than a minute before Helen cleared her throat and stood. “W-well…we should get you back home, it’s getting awfully late for you.”

Olivia nodded in agreement. “Yeah…okay.”

Miss Pauling, Helen, Olivia, Spy, and Scout were the first to board Pauling's car, followed by Zhanna, Soldier, Demo, Sniper, and Lar-Nah in the camper van, and Heavy, Medic, Pyro, and Engineer in the truck. The plan was to return to the townhouse to relax and figure out what to do next, and everyone felt relieved for now.

Olivia sat in the back of Pauling’s car, tucked between Spy and Scout as they headed on their way home. She felt rather sleepy, now, and she yawned, her head coming to rest on Scout’s arm.

“Are you gettin’ tired, Liv?” Scout asked, ruffling her hair.

“I guess…” Olivia rubbed her eye. “But its not my bedtime…”

“You’ve had a lot of excitement today,” Spy replied, looking out the window and watching the scenery pass by. “We’ll get you straight to bed.”

In the passenger seat, Helen suddenly exclaimed, “The Australium!”

Miss Pauling looked up from the road ahead. “Huh?”

“I lost the briefcase in the water,” Helen groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Dear lord, how could I have—”

“I got it for you, ma’am,” Spy assured her from the backseat. “It washed up on shore while we were waiting for Dell to bring the truck. I put it in the trunk.”

Helen sighed with relief. “Thank you…you have no idea how much better that makes me feel…” she looked over her shoulder, seeing Olivia curled up next to Scout. She couldn’t help but smile a little. “You are very good with her, you know,”

“Oh,” Scout glanced up. “Thanks, I’m trying to be…she hasn’t tried to stab me again, so we’re good,” he laughed a little.

Olivia cracked her eyes open at that. “Oh…yeah. I forgot I did that.”

“Hey, its okay,” Scout patted her shoulder gently. “You wouldn’t do that again, though, right?”

Olivia pursed her lips in thought. “Um…hm…no, I wouldn’t try it again,”

Spy let out a snorting laugh, quite amused. “She had to think about it!”

Scout made a face and swatted at Spy. “Hey, c’mon, man! You know she wouldn’t do that, I’m her cool uncle! Or…whatever…” he clearly wasn’t angry, though, as he smiled a bit after he said it.

Olivia covered her mouth and snickered, curling her legs up in the seat. It seemed to her in that moment that everything would be okay.

And then it wasn’t.

The car suddenly screeched to a halt, and Miss Pauling grunted out, “Oh, god,”

When Olivia looked up, she saw a huge, unmarked white van right in the middle of the road, blocking both lanes. As she sat up taller to get a better look, she couldn’t see anyone inside.

Scout frowned. “Who the hell parks there? What are they, nuts?”

“There doesn’t appear to be anyone in it…” Spy observed. “Drive around on the grass, Miss Pauling,”

The walkie-talkie Pauling had on her dashboard came to life, with static and the voice of Engineer pouring through. “Everything okay up there?” he asked, sounding concerned.

Pauling answered, "Yeah, Engie, it's fine... There's an empty van blocking the road, but no one appears to be inside—"

Before she could finish her sentence, she could hear other cars revving in the distance, as well as motorcycles roaring and screeching. Within seconds, all three cars were surrounded by cars and motorcycles, their headlights almost blinding.

Olivia froze, and she could feel her heart drop immediately. Beside her, Spy tried to remain his composure, reaching for one of these guns. “Who are these people?”

Helen’s eyes scanned the surrounding people through the windows, and it was then she noticed letters painted on the front of one of the cars: SR. Security Republic.

Sage had found them.

Sure enough, there he was: stepping out of one of the cars and slowly approaching Pauling’s car. His eyes locked with Helen’s, and he grinned a wicked grin at her.

Helen’s eyes narrowed, and she knew what she had to do. She unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the car door. “Stay here. I’ll handle him.”

“But—” Pauling started to plead, but Helen had already closed the door.

Olivia moved towards the window to try and see what was going on, but Scout held onto her, keeping a protective, vice-like grip on her.

As Helen stepped out onto the grass, Sage met her in the middle. “Hello, my darling stepmother,” he greeted her with a voice like molasses. “It pays to have security cameras installed around town, doesn’t it?”

Helen clenched her jaw. “So, that’s how you’ve been tracking us down? You sell security cameras to people in this town just to use them for your own espionage?”

Sage shrugged. “It’s all business, Helen. Don’t act as though you have the high ground, we’ve all done the same thing…”

“Just…” Helen took a long breath. “I know who you’re after, Phoenix. I know Olivia was the target of those bounty hunters you sent after us.” She leaned in to look him dead in the eyes. “What is it you want with her?”

“I just want to talk,” Sage replied, almost sounding innocent. “I have some business ideas in mind, and I know how her father raised her. I think—”

Helen held up her hand to stop him. “Are you looking to get Mann Co.’s rights from her? Because you should know, she does not have them,”

“Who said that was what I was after?” Sage snorted. “Just tell your friends and her to come to my office, and we can forget this whole thing even happened.”

“Olivia will not be going anywhere with you.” Helen asserted, crossing her arms. “Call off this futile mission, Sage. Go back to your mansion, or I will not hesitate to rain hell upon you.”

Sage’s demeanor switched to one of pure rage, and he furrowed his eyebrows. “Why can’t you just hand over Olivia, Helen? She’s the last daughter of the Manns, what do you care what happens to her?”

Helen said nothing, staring directly into Sage’s eyes. It was then, though, that it seemed to click for Sage, and his face fell.

“Is Olivia…” he began, trying to form words. “Is she…your daughter? Did you and Gray—”

“That will be all,” Helen raised her voice at him. “Call off your team and go home this instant.”

A look of pure rage formed on Sage’s face, and without warning, he pulled out a long knife and thrust it towards Helen’s stomach. Helen acted fast, covering her midsection with one arm and using the other one to grab his wrist. The knife nicked her, however, drawing blood across her forearm and causing her to yell.

From the car, Pauling saw this and cried out, “Helen! Oh, my god!” within seconds, she leapt out of the vehicle with a pistol and aimed at Sage’s head. Sage ducked out of the way, but it wasn’t enough, and the bullet shattered his shoulder within seconds.

The scream he made sounded like a wounded animal, and Pauling grabbed Helen, yanking her to the car. Once in the car, Pauling snatched up the walkie talkie and alerted those in the other cars, “Guys, we gotta get out of here! Follow my car and just drive as fast as possible!”

“What happened?” Olivia wanted to know, looking out of the window in a mix of fear, excitement, and confusion.

Helen pulled out a tissue from the glove compartment, pressing it to her wound as Pauling sped through the row of motorcycles and onto the grass. “We’re going to be all right, Olivia! Lay low and don’t let them see you!”

The van and truck followed suit, speeding off into the green countryside. A few of Sage’s guards swarmed him to tend to his gunshot wound, and Sage yelled out, “Well!? Go after them, idiots!”

Men on motorcycles and in cars soon sped after the group, engaging on a chase through the grass and thicket.

Olivia didn't realize what was going on at first: she could feel them speeding down the road, and when she looked out the window, the scenery passed by so quickly that it made her dizzy.

Out of nowhere, a masked person on a motorcycle caught up to them, a baton in their hand. They began to try and smash the window, but before they could get very far, Scout rolled the window down and punched the attacker directly in the face. They yelled, then tried to steady themselves to attack Scout, but Scout let out a string of expletives as he punched him again, this time hard enough to knock them off the motorcycle.

Within seconds, another rider zoomed up and began shooting directly at Scout. Spy acted quickly, yanking Scout back into the car and exchanging gunfire with the attacker. He managed to hit them, sending them flying backwards.

“God – thanks, man!” Scout panted, watching as Spy zipped back into the car and rolled the window up.

“There’s more coming up,” Spy informed the others, the gun still in his hand. “What should we do!?”

Miss Pauling gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. “I…I don’t know! There’s a lot of them, is it worth it to stop and fight them!?”

“Keep going!” Helen urged. “We have to try and lose them, all of you seem woefully underprepared for another fight!”

“Well, that’s ‘cause we were going to help you!” Scout barked, feeling a little offended. “

“I know!” Helen rasped, still wincing as she tended to her wound. The car rounded a sharp curve, jostling everyone inside, and Helen glanced back at Olivia. “Lay down! Olivia, lay low! I mean it!”

Olivia obeyed, laying flat on her stomach in the backseat, though she kept her head lifted to watch and get a sense of what was going on. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest – none of this felt real. They'd been ambushed by strange attackers twice in one day, but her mind kept returning to the same scene: being held helpless, the robot arm holding her down while the weapon glinted above her.

Her father wouldn’t be here now, though. What if the other adults were not as strong as him?

The car shook, and Olivia heard Miss Pauling scream. She looked up, alarmed, just in time to see a man leap onto the hood of the car and lower himself down to smash the window with a baton. He was successful, the glass showering the backseat of the car.

Spy whipped out his gun again and began shooting, but the man acted faster and grabbed Olivia by the arm. Olivia shrieked, only able to watch as Scout wrapped his arm around the man's throat and began to choke him. They only struggled for a few seconds in the backseat before Spy yanked them apart and jammed the gun into the man's throat. The man wrestled with him, though, gripping his wrist and tussling with him while trying to keep a grip on Olivia. He pried the gun away from Spy’s hand, letting out a triumphant laugh. Helen whipped off her high heel and began furiously attempting to stab the man with the sharp angle of the heel, causing him to turn the gun on her. She ducked out of the way as the bullet shattered a portion of the windshield and littered more glass throughout the vehicle.

For a brief moment, Olivia felt as though she wasn’t in her body, as if she’d stepped away just to observe what was happening from a different angle. In those few seconds, she thought back on what her father had said in that dream – how she had forgotten herself, how she had become passive and afraid…

Olivia returned to herself just as the attacker got Spy’s gun away from him and aimed it at his head.

In a split second, Olivia spotted the knife that had fallen out of Spy’s pocket, and she snatched it up. Before anyone noticed her, she struggled to reveal the blade before springing up and jamming it into the man’s eye.

He may have screamed – she thought she heard him scream. His blood ended up on her hands, there was so much more than she thought there would be. As she fell back into the seat, Scout flung the car door open, kicking the attacker out onto the pavement of the road as they sped into the oncoming town.

As the door slammed shut, Helen leapt out of her seat, rushing into the back to Olivia’s side and wiping the blood off her with a napkin.

“Did I kill him?” Olivia panted, eyes wide as she shook. She’d fought grown men before, but she had never drawn blood. She’d never done…whatever that just was.

“I have no idea,” Helen confessed, wiping Olivia’s hands down. “How do you feel?”

The adrenaline still flowed through Olivia’s body. “I don’t…I don’t know…” she confessed.

“You were very brave,” Helen released Olivia once she was clean. “Now, stay down. I mean it,” she gave her daughter’s hand a light squeeze, her other hand taking a moment to brush her cheek.

Olivia nodded, curling in on herself again, but this time there was a different feeling in her. Not a helplessness, but a hope.

Behind them, the truck and the van stayed close by, blocking off the Security cars and motorcycles the best they could. All of the sudden, something in Engie’s truck popped, and smoke began billowing out from under the hood.

“No, no, no, no!” Engineer cried out, exasperated. “Shit, it’s the motor! God, no, I had a feeling this would happen!”

“Can you fix it!?” Medic asked, looking out the window with anxious eyes as another Security car approached.

Engineer kept his foot on the accelerator, eyes locked on the road ahead. “I have a generator in the back, but I can’t hook it up while I’m driving – someone else needs to!”

Pyro waved their hand around, mumbling out an offer. Engineer glanced over at them, before nodding frantically. “Okay! You know how to do it? It’s in the bed of the truck, you just hook the blue wire to the red one! The whole thing’s already hooked up, just be careful!”

Nodding, Pyro climbed out of the back and out into the truck’s bed, steadying themself as they began to work on the generator. They were instantly noticed by another agent on a motorcycle, who zipped up to the truck and pulled out a gun. Pyro did not see this, however, as they were too busy with the instructions Engie had given them.

Heavy noticed the potential attacker through the rear-view mirror and smashed his hand through the window, grabbing the agent by the throat. The agent gagged in shock as Heavy lifted him right off his motorcycle, and within seconds, he tossed the man into the path of one of the oncoming cars.

As the affected car swerved off the road to deal with the unexpected hit, Heavy fell back into the truck, grunting and picking glass out of his fist. Medic sprang to help him right away, cleaning out his wounds.

“Gott, I love you,” Medic whispered, still in awe of what he witnessed Heavy do. Heavy just smiled, briefly, before glancing back out the window to watch for any more attacks.

Pyro then switched on the generator, slipping back into the truck and signaling to Engineer that they’d done it.

“Good work, Py!” Dell praised breathlessly. “Now let’s get the rest of these creeps off of us!”

Everyone tried their hardest to get away from their pursuers, but the chase was becoming increasingly difficult. The rural areas disappeared and very soon, the pursuit continued into the town.

Sniper’s voice crackled over the walkie-talkie. “What now!?”

Miss Pauling grunted, laying down on the gas pedal. “Keep going, I guess! Try and throw them off our path!”

From inside the van, bottles rattled in the cabinets above as Sniper sped up faster to try and lose the attackers. Out of nowhere, a skinny form leapt from one of the cars, shattering the front window of the van and tackling Sniper.

Sniper let out a yell, the van swerving as he fought his assailant off. When he threw her to the floor of the van, he recognized her right away: it was Shell, one of the bounty hunters who ambushed the house before.

Shell struggled to her feet, pure rage in her eyes. “I knew I’d catch up to you bastards! For what you did to my team, I’m gonna fuck you up!” she lunged at Sniper, but he blocked the attack, grabbing her by the hair and smashing her face against the dashboard.

Demo dashed to the driver's seat door, and when he flung it open, he was met by Shell leaping back onto Sniper and attempting to claw his face.

Right away, Demo pulled the woman off, securing her arms behind her back. Shell twisted and snarled in rage, shouting at Sniper, “I know it was you! I know it was you who killed Grudge with the microwave!”

“What!?” Sniper exclaimed, startled to learn that she apparently knew what happened. Before he had time to ask questions, though, someone else had appeared at the doorway.

“You’re wrong!” Lar-voice Nah's drew Shell's attention, and when the two women locked eyes, Lar-Nah simply stated, "I did it, not him!"

Instantly, pure rage filled Shell’s face, and she twisted her foot around to kick Demo in the gut as hard as she could. He lost his grip on her with an audible 'oof' and couldn't regain it as she tackled Lar-Nah to the ground and began attacking her like a wild animal. Lar-Nah, on the other hand, managed to deflect her attack by slipping out from under her and sprinting back into the van's living area.

Shell gave chase, pulling a knife out of her pocket and catching up to Lar-Nah. Before anyone could react, Shell shoved her up against the wall and sunk the knife into her chest.

“Bitch!” Shell spat at her, pulling the knife out but holding it with the intention to stab again. “Any last requests!?”

Lar-Nah coughed, startled by the blood beginning to pool out from her chest. Still, she looked into Shell’s eyes and only glared. “Go to hell,” she spat through clenched teeth, her hand struggling to grip Shell’s wrist to keep the knife away.

Before Shell could make another stabbing attempt, Zhanna yanked her away from Lar-Nah. Shell tried to attack her as well, but Zhanna just knocked her in the head with her hand. The force was enough to cause a sickening crack, and Shell crumpled to the ground with a broken neck in seconds.

After checking to make sure Shell had indeed died, Zhanna rushed to Lar-Nah, helping her up but then noticing the blood. “Oh!” Zhanna exclaimed, panicked. “Stabbed!”

Demo took over driving, and Sniper came sprinting to the scene. “Mom! Oh, my god, oh, my god!” he examined her wound, wincing at how deep it looked. “Bloody hell—shit!”

Lar-Nah tried to catch her breath, wiping blood from her mouth though clearly getting weaker. “I’m fine…I’m fine…” she gurgled out another cough, pressing her eyes shut in pain.

“Is she dying!?” Soldier asked, rather blunt as he stared in alarm.

Zhanna looked her over. “No, did not stab her heart. But maybe she hit throat…I cannot tell,”

Sniper leapt up to his cabinets, pulling down a medkit he’d had stashed there. “Mom—hey, you’re gonna be okay! Okay?” he tried his best to reassure her, but it looked as though she’d fallen unconscious.

The car jolted and swerved, and more gunshots could be heard outside, but Sniper drowned it all out as he used the supplies Medic had packed in the kit to treat her wound. He silently prayed she would survive – even after everything, he couldn’t watch another parent die.

Once he’d bandaged her up, he tried to figure out what to do next. “We need Medic here! Can one of you flag him down or—”

All of the sudden, Lar-Nah coughed and gasped loudly, eyes flying open wide. Zhanna quickly assisted her in sitting up, patting her back and allowing her to resume normal breathing.

Sniper let out a breathless laugh of relief. “You’re alive! Oh, my god, I thought you were gone for good!”

Lar-Nah composed herself, swallowing and taking another long breath. “I’m alive,” she observed, sounding shocked by that fact. “I thought for sure I’d died for a minute! I saw…angels or something…”

Before kneeling to continue speaking with her, Sniper looked out the window to make sure no one else was trying to break in. “Yeah? You saw something?”

“Yes—I saw…” she thought hard for a few seconds, trying to make sense of it. “I saw a man and a woman—I didn't know them at all—but...they were very kind to me and told me to go back to keep you out of trouble,”

Sniper let this process, and when he realized who she’d met, he had to fight away the tears he felt welling up. “Yeah,” he sniffed, putting his hand on her shoulder and pulling her in for a hug. “Yeah, that sounds like something they’d say…”

The hug took Lar-Nah by surprise at first, but it soon clicked for her, and she slowly brought her arms up to hug him back. “I’ll listen to them,” she promised.

Sniper pulled away, wiping his eyes with his wrist. “Okay…thank you.” He smiled at her a little, but it was then that something shattered outside.

Soldier ran right to the window. “We’re in town, now! We’re going right for those stores!”

“What!?” Sniper leapt up, watching in horror as Demo drove the van right through the parking lot of the shopping plaza.

“Sorry!” Demo apologized from the driver’s seat. “I’m following the others, and that’s where they’re headed!”

Sure enough, the chase had continued into the shopping plaza. Several people were around at this point, watching the chase in terror as they scrambled to get away from the cars and motorcycles. The attention of pedestrians made Helen exceedingly uncomfortable.

“Get us out of this parking lot!” she shouted at Miss Pauling. “People are staring!”

“I’m trying!” Miss Pauling desperately jerked the wheel, looking for a way out. She spotted an area that led into a backroad, and she headed straight for it, searching for an escape.

However, she’d failed to realize that with the attention of pedestrians also came the attention of police.

Within seconds, police cars swarmed them. Someone yelled over a megaphone for everyone to step out of their vehicles as sirens blared overhead.

From the backseat, everything else felt like a blur to Olivia. There was yelling, and she watched as an officer tried to pull Scout from the car, while Spy desperately tried to pry him away, only to be apprehended as well.

She saw, for a brief moment, one of the security guards pull the sheriff aside and whisper something to him. Whatever he had said made the sheriff order his men to load the mercenaries into security vans rather than their own police cars. This included Olivia – someone carried her to one of the vans, handcuffed her, tossed her in the back and slammed the door.

Helen was beside her, though. Just as everything sank in and Olivia began to panic, Helen hushed her gently and pressed close to her.

“We're going to be fine,” she said quietly, resting her chin on the top of Olivia's head, unable to hold her due to her handcuffs. Helen was visibly unnerved, though – her body was trembling, yet whether it was fear or rage Olivia could not tell.

Olivia still felt afraid, but she pressed close to her mother, trying her best to calm down. She could vaguely see the shapes of the others being loaded into the vans through the dim windows, but she did not know for what reason.

All she could hope was that they would have the strength to escape when they could.

[hankwritten]

If You Hit Me With Lighting, Maybe I’ll Come Alive

Gen, 1k

Part of the DontNeedADiscord Pride Week, Day 5: Euphoria

Sometimes when Dad wasn’t tired, wasn’t working, had been home from The Job for a few days and wasn’t rubbing his eyes in the weak light of the workshop, he’d let me sit with him while he was making the machines. I’d set my own drawings down next to him, and we’d work together in warm silence while my legs dangled so much shorter next to his.

His were in black ink, and mine were in crayon, but at the end of the night he’d lean over and grin, “that’s some fine work, Dell.”

I’d light up, both inside and out, hit by a shock so hard it’d leave my hair standing on end.

As I got older, and when I promised to be real, extra careful, Dad would let me borrow his fine pens to work on my own designs. I wasn’t allowed at the blueprint paper, (that’s for The Job and just The Job darling, I’m sorry), but I learned how to make my lines smooth and precise, never letting it bleed onto the worktable below.

“Whatcha got there?” he asked me, watching me finish the curve on a spring lock.

“My kite got stuck in the live oak yesterday,” I explained. “I’m fixin’ a way to get it down.”

He chuckled. “You need a catapult and a jetpack for that?”

“Redundancy’s very important,” I reminded him.

“A’course,” he laughed, ruffling my hair. It was short, and blonde, and still sticking up since I’d taken to going at it with kitchen scissors whenever Mom wasn’t looking. She’d always find me later of course, have a good laugh, and fix it up with her trimmers. “How could I forget? You gotta a wild imagination darling, just like your Mom.”

“I ain’t wild,” I complained. “Just thinking outside the box.”

“Creative then,” he said. “Like your Granddaddy.”

I don’t want to like either of them, I thought to myself. I want to be like you.

For some reason, I stopped just short of saying it.

When I was eight, Dad let me help work on the truck.

It was simple stuff, holding the flashlight and handing him the right wrench every now and again, but my chest puffed up so big to actually be helping with something. Doing work. Dad slipped some protective goggles over my head and laughed when they kept sliding down my nose.

“Oh, ain’t you the cutest ‘lil engie,” Mom said when she came to check on us, pinching my check until I laughed. “Hang on, hang on, let me get the camera.”

When she came back, it was with three glasses of lemonade and the Polaroid, telling us to get close together until there was a snap.

“Wait,” Dad said. “Almost forgot.” With that, he lifted the hardhat off his own head and slung it on mine.

Every inch of skin prickled, delight and pride welling up strongly inside that I felt like I was going to burst. Mom and Dad were saying how grown up I looked and my body was filled with static—not head static after a long day with no sleep, but electrostatic, the bubbling before a storm, the kind that makes the hairs on your arms prickle.

“Oh that’s just too sweet,” Mom said, glancing at the photograph. “But I’ve kept you two from working long enough. Enjoy your truck fun!”

“Truck fun!” I repeated.

I was still so high on elation, I almost didn’t register when Dad came over and said, “suppose I’ll be needing that back then.”

I don’t know what came over me. Only, in that moment, suddenly losing Dad’s helmet seemed like the worst thing in the world. I swung both arms over the hardhat and yelled, “no!”

Dad pulled back in surprise. Mom, who’d only had one foot out the workshop door, turned back quickly, alarm on her round features.

“You alright there, sweetie?” Dad asked me, concern clear without the goggles to hide his furrow.

“I…” Big tears were rolling down my cheeks and suddenly I felt so stupid. I was eight for Christ’s sake, I couldn’t be crying like a big dumb baby. “I wanna keep it on…”

“That’s fine Dell, if that’s what you want,” Dad said, but exchanged a look with Mom as he did. “You hold on to it for now.”

I took a deep, lump-throated breath, trying to stop the tears that had sprung up so suddenly. The realization that the hat wasn’t going to be taken away lessened the flow, and eventually I stopped clutching my head.

“Okay…” I took another big sniff. “…Sorry for yellin’…”

“Ain’t no thing,” Dad assured.

We worked on the truck. Mom hung around for longer than she should’ve, just standing in the barn doors that separated the workshop from the rest of the farm, eyes darting at me now and again. I guess I know why she was so worried. I wasn’t a fussy child, not by a long shot, and to break down over something so small was wildly out of character, enough that she looked like she wanted to hang around until she got some answer I could give her. But then she was gone, and we kept working, and the nice feeling of being smart ‘n helpful returned to my fingers a bit.

Dad didn’t try to make me take it off again. Not even when we went in for supper, and there weren’t usually any hats allowed at the table. When he tucked me in, he asked, “is it alright if we set it on the nightstand while you sleep? It’ll be real close by.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Okay…”

Gently, he lifted it off, and set it right where he said he would.

“G’night darling,” he said, kissing me on the forehead.

I blurted, “I’m sorry!” as he stood to leave. “I don’t know why I…I just want to be like you.” The last words came out small, and I didn’t know why they felt so bad to say.

There was a beat. Then another. He sat down on the bed again, reaching forward to stroke my hair down flat. It resisted, like always, ever static-filled and springing back to life.

“It’s alright,” Dad said, something off in his voice that said it really wasn’t. “It’s alright. Why don’t I make you a different one, one that's your size? Would you like that?”

Not trusting myself not to burst into tears again, I nodded.

He wrapped his strong arms around me and squeezed, and for a second I was sure nothing bad would ever get me again. “Love you darling.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

[thetriggeredhappy]

22 speeding bullet. BREAK ME. (pls?)

not quite Maximum Sad on this one but still real sappy-like. (no warnings)

-

#22. Sad Kiss.

There was something there behind Scout’s eyes that made Sniper feel guilty, and he just couldn’t place exactly what.

They were at the train station. Most of Scout’s things were going to be going separate from him—he’d passed out some of them to other teammates, other things he’d returned to their employer, and what all he kept would be flying back to Boston or was packed into his two suitcases, sitting there next to the both of them, innocuous but heavy in more than one sense of the word.

The majority of the goodbyes had happened outside the base. Pyro was tearful, and Demo was a bit weepy as well. Engie held it together, told Scout to write. Heavy and Medic were entirely professional, wishing Scout a safe journey back home and congratulating him on the good work he’d done. Spy, the absolute snake, hadn’t shown up at all. Engie claimed that he’d been asked to pass along Spy’s goodbye. Sniper was fairly sure he was lying to make Scout feel better.

It was a good thing. Scout was all done, would get to go home and enjoy the rest of his life. He could take all the money he’d accumulated over the years—ten years, it had been ten whole years, almost a third of Scout’s life—and live comfortably. He’d probably get a job anyways, he’d said in the past when asked about it, when leaving seemed like some completely distant and impossible thing. He said he might teach little league, jokingly claimed that maybe he would get a job leading a troop in the Boy Scouts, wouldn’t that be funny? Or maybe he could be a P.E. teacher, or take up marathon running, or work at a gym. He still had a good decade or two left in him, more if he stayed in shape, and he really wanted to keep busy. Keep moving.

Sniper didn’t know which one he would pick. Didn’t know if it even mattered.

Scout looked at him. He looked at Scout.

Ten years. Scout hadn’t changed much in that time. Right up front during the first few months after they all started working together he’d had a bit of an attitude adjustment, going from a loud aggressive bonehead to something else when it became clear that the other mercs didn’t intend to eat him alive. It became clear that he was mostly acting out because he was scared, and the mercs all started working together as a better team, and once Scout realized they didn’t have it out for him, he mellowed out just a little. And a few more years down the line, when he had the secondary realization that they wouldn’t make fun of him or cut him loose the second he showed any signs of weakness, he mellowed even further, relaxing significantly. The majority of the time Sniper’d known him, Scout had simply been enthusiastic, earnest, maybe a little bit on the strange side—all of them were—but he was a legitimately fun and interesting individual to be around. He was sure that himself being a patient person contributed to some of that, Scout indeed being extremely talkative when they landed on a topic he knew a lot about, but overall he really did think Scout was just a sweet bloke.

Very sweet. Increasingly sweet.

They never did get around to telling the team.

And here they were, at the train station, and Scout was looking at him, and he was looking at Scout.

Distantly, a whistle.

“Don’t make me say it first,” Sniper said, voice even a little bit rougher than usual.

The excuse was that Sniper wasn’t busy and knew how to drive the Engineer’s stick-shift truck, and he needed to go out on a quick errand off-base anyways. That was the only reason he was the one who drove Scout to the train station, and alone. All he’d known for sure when he’d gone through all the work of getting it sorted was that he wanted every individual second with Scout that he could get, and couldn’t say his goodbyes in front of the others. He just couldn’t. He hadn’t even started yet, and he was right, his eyes already burned even besides the dust ever-present in the air.

“Heavy told me his contract is up in a couple of months,” Scout said. “Hardhat’s signed on for another year and a half, and Mumbles and the Doc are probably gonna stick around as long as they’ll still get money and a place to stay. I dunno what Spy’s deal is—who the hell does?—and Soldier says he’s around until the next call to action, so, he’s just hopin’ for World War III probably. Cyclops has only got five months left, but he said he’s probably gonna sign another one when it expires.”

Sniper nodded hesitantly. He hadn’t known any of that. He was sure it’d come up in conversation at some point long in the past, but he hadn’t kept track, hadn’t remembered. But Scout had.

He knew he’d probably brought up his own contract before.

Scout looked at him. He looked at Scout.

“Have your ticket?” Sniper asked quietly, throat tight.

“Yeah,” Scout confirmed, and pulled it out of his pocket to show him. He fumbled for a minute before he found the correct pocket, not used to regular-people clothes.

“Some food, wallet, all that?”

“Yeah,” Scout said, patted the strap of his backpack. “All good.”

“Umbrella?”

Scout managed a laugh. “Snipes, I’m gonna be on a train.”

“You never know, could be...” He swallowed to try to dislodge the lump in his throat. “...could be train weather.”

“Train weather?” Scout repeated, laughing even just a bit more.

“Weather on a train. Storms and the like. Could drizzle, and you’d need an... umbrella. For the train.”

He made it exactly three seconds into the silence following his joke before the first sob hit.

“Aw, Jesus, c’mon Snipes,” Scout exhaled, pulling him into a tight embrace in an instant. Sniper returned it, only half-mindful not to crush Scout, shoulders wracked with further sobs he couldn’t seem to stifle. “If you start cryin’ I’m gonna start cryin’, and then we’ll just—we’ll just be two guys cryin’ at the train station.”

“Well I can’t bloody well buggering help it, can I?” Sniper replied, voice very much higher than usual, burying his face into Scout’s shoulder, made softer by his jacket, trying to muffle his sobs.

Scout gave him a few gentle pats on the back, rocking the both of them back and forth in soothing motions. Sniper just held him tight, trying his damndest to memorize the feeling of Scout in his arms. The smell of his hair from the shower he’d had that morning, the cologne still stubbornly clinging to his shirt, the weight of him as he held on to Sniper, the sound of his voice humming through his ear when he spoke, sinking deep into his chest and curling up with a heaviness that registered as immense comfort. “I know. It’s okay. I know, Snipes.”

Ten minutes went by like that, he and Scout just holding on to each other while Sniper cried. And Scout got a little teary as well for a little bit, sniffly and voice going weepy as he continued murmuring comfort to him. But finally Sniper managed to pull himself together, taking the half-step back and dragging a sleeve over his face a few times, sure he looked like a mess.

“Better?” Scout asked, trying for a smile.

“No,” Sniper admitted, nose still feeling a bit stuffy. “I’m just... I’m going to miss you so bloody much.”

“I’m not dying, Snipes,” Scout chided, smile just a touch wider.

“I know that,” he said, and sniffled again.

Scout looked him over, and seemed to decide something. He reached into his jacket. “Gimme your arm,” he instructed.

Sniper did, and Scout pushed his sleeve up, tilting his forearm just so and pulling forth a marker. He scribbled a number down with only minimal pausing to remember it, and Sniper glanced up at his face when he realized what it was.

“That’s my phone number. And you’re gonna call me at least once a week, every week, until your contract is out too,” Scout said in a tone that meant he was not taking criticism or suggestions. He then took Sniper’s other arm and pushed that sleeve up too, starting to write down something else. “And this is my new address, and when you get the chance, you’re gonna turn up there and visit me or else I’m gonna hunt you down and kidnap you if I have to. Get it?”

“Got it,” Sniper agreed, holding still and being patient as Scout stumbled through writing out the address. He looked over the first line, eyes widening only slightly. “...Jeremy? That’s your name?”

Scout jerked slightly at it, glancing up at him briefly. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, that’s me.”

A pause. “We’re not... supposed to mention our real names,” he said carefully.

“Well, I don’t have the job anymore, so...” he shrugged, and finished writing, and capped the pen, and blew on the ink partially just to make Sniper laugh at the ticklish feeling of it. “And... I dunno. If... if Australia isn’t something that you want, I just... most of my brothers moved out and moved on, and it’ll just be me and my Ma, and I bet she’d, she’d like you and all, and...”

Sniper looked at the address on his arm and not at Scout. It was a few years since Sniper’s mum and dad had finally kicked the bucket within a month or so of each other. He only ever got an update every few months from the bloke he’d hired to be in charge of the farm, and to be honest, there wasn’t much left there for him.

“Probably might take a month or two to sort things out back home,” Sniper said. “But... you can come along if you’d like, for that. When that time comes. And... who knows, after that.”

“Who knows,” Scout agreed, smiling at him, relieved. Sniper smiled back.

Both of their smiles faded within a few moments.

“Get back in here,” Scout mumbled, and they embraced again.

“Calls weekly,” Sniper repeated, voice just slightly rasping. “Twice weekly, even.”

“Promise I’ll pick up,” Scout agreed.

“And you’re going to stay away from, from cliffs, from intersections, from any bomb in any context whatsoever—“ Sniper started in, voice shaking.

Scout laughed. “Miss P says I’m in the system still for about two years after I leave just in case someone tries to come and kill me for working there,” he said. “I’ll just turn up at the closest place to Boston—Sawmill, probably.”

“So if we get a stationed in Sawmill you’ll walk into traffic twice weekly—“ Sniper started in, tone so deadly serious that Scout’s immediately registered it as a joke, laughing.

“I’ll be careful,” he promised, a little more seriously.

They were interrupted by the train arriving at the station, heralded by the whistle.

Sniper spoke again when the noise had died down to something he could reasonably be heard over when he raised his voice. “I love you,” Sniper said, honestly.

“I love you too,” Scout replied. And he glanced around their immediate vicinity, saw that practically all eyes were on the train, and reached up to take gentle hold of Sniper’s chin, tilting his face and pulling him down just enough to quickly kiss him on one stubbly cheek. “Only ten months,” Scout said, a bit quieter now. “Then Australia. Then who knows.”

“Then who knows,” Sniper confirmed.

Scout looked back as he was stepping onto the train. Sniper caught sight of him briefly, putting his luggage up onto the rack. He moved over to wave at Sniper through the window briefly, and Sniper waved back.

Then, too soon, the train was pulling away from the station. And he couldn’t see Scout anymore through any of the windows, but he waved anyways, for as long as he could make out the individual windows on the train.

He looked down at his arms. “Ten months,” he repeated to himself. After ten years, it shouldn’t have put such a hole in his chest. But he couldn’t help it.

[voidselfshipp]

The Copper wars

Chapter six

Warning: mention of suggestive stuff and scars.

Jerico sighed with a heavy chest, he had just got informed of their Next battle against grey manns army.

The attack would be in a week,and they would have to be prepared by then.

It was a monday morning when the news hit him like a truck, he sat on the edge of the bed,his thoughts running wild while he picked on the crook of his arms skin.

Before he could hurt himself, illa,his white cat, snuck under his hand that was picking on his skin,and got free scratches,until he finally came to his senses.

He took a deep breath,and hold his dogtags hard.

His cats tilted their heads,and though no expression could be seen,they were worried.

Maybe a cold shower would help.

So little by little,his cats grabbed his clothes, chosing something hed be comfortable.

A black turtleneck and a dark Olive green jumper, his black fingerless gloves, some black leather pants and his boots.

Jerico smiled, and grabbed his clothes,plus some towels.

Though seemed weird to his co-workers when they saw both cats rest curled up in one of the benches in the shower room.

Warm water ran on his body,softly combing the shampoo into his hair,to then wash it.

After the shower,he put his boxers and pants on.

Scout elbowed engie softly, Also catching the attention of medic spy and sniper, most of the team also needed a bath , to try and clear their minds from the news they had been given.

They noticed down his back, a stripe tad bit Darker than jericos skin tone,going all the way down to his Lower back,right were the two shoulderblades were, a huge sunflower like Mark was dividing said stripe.

Some scars on his back, and the tattoos that ran down his arms and the one that also ran down his left arm and left pectoral.

--Sick tattoos jerico, how come we havent seen them?--scout asked, trying to get a better view of the tattoos,coming closer to blacksmith.

Jeri just shrugged--I use foundation to cover them--he sounded a bit ashamed--they have some meanings I dont think im ready to talk about just yet

Jeremy quickly backed off from asking questions and nodded--Well if it make you feel any better, I think they are pretty cool--the bostonian boy pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and decided that his Next action would be to bolt out of there.

Jer could only chuckle under his breath as he finished changing.

Though as soon as he put on his black turtleneck,the men present, aside from pyro and heavy,wich couldnt give less of a fuck, had their eyes make a quick trip down jericos back.

--Damn boyo!--demos accent barked loudly as a joke as he wrapped an arm around jericos neck--Youve been workin out eh?

Jeri could only laugh and shrugged--Keeping the shape you know?

After the shower he took the day off, he sat on the Lounges room sofá,minding his bussines, scribbling out some doodles of whatever his mind would come up with.

--oi--he knew that voice very well.

Sniper sat besides jeri, awkwardly signaling Him to come closer,wich jer obliged and did.

What comes Next surprised him, the aussie had wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tightl,his face sinking on his chest.

--Mick...is everything okay?--jerico knew that sniper isnt the cuddly type,unless its something that has been bothering him.

The Man just shook his head,and jeri nodded and layed on the sofá, with sniper cuddling on his chest,his hands made their way to micks hair, softly combing it.

And the sudden cuddles went rocketing from there, even heavy needed a quick hug.

Whatever this battle would be,it was sure to become a shitstorm,and all of his co-workers were very stressed.

Shit hit the fan when spy had snuck into jeris room for a quick cuddle session while he was drawing something to distract himself.

It finally dawned on jer that everyone was at their limit,and they just heard the notice of the war.

So, he put the gifts god had given him to work, while the rest was trying to cope with their feelings, jeri had started what he would consider,the biggest ammount of baked goods he had ever baked.

From normal pastries,to macaroons for spys refined taste, took four hours of baking, and the not so subtle smell of the Dough baking,And curious peeping toms going out of their way to steal a sample.

'Maybe this was too much'he thought to himself as he set the baked goods on the now decorated table, a nice tablecloth he had salvaged from his home, freshly brewed coffee and tea.

In less than five minutes,the team came rushing in like starving dogs.

--Ya did all of this because of Us --scout asked,his mouth watering.

--Yeah,i knew you guys are going through a lot, and back at my hometown, when I worked on the bakery, making this stuff was very therapeautic, so...its a win win, the maccaroons were a pain in the ass,but I wanted to make sure everyone had something to enjoy,oh and medic, I tried my best at pretzels,thats my ex bosses recipe,anyway,indulge boys

The team went and gave jeri a huge Group hug,and those who could stole a kiss or two, And they razed through everything they could get their hands on.

However,jerico Thought they all had Ate everything, but he was proven wrong when engie gave him a Cup of tea with honey,and Two of each pastrie he had baked before.

Needles to say it did wonders for the teams spirit, a bit of warm in these cold trying times if you Will.

From tuesday to thursday the team had a,albeit short, but very hard training,they had to be in tip top shape for the battle on monday.

Friday night brought along another moment of warmth, the team Ate togheter and watched a movie, jeri was curled up besides demo, who had a blanket wrapped around the two.

Scouts head rested on Jers lap, while sniper and spy sat near jer, with medic sitting on the floor with engie.

Pyro and heavy found the small scene of almost six men trying to cuddle anotherone rather cute.

The young arsonist would make sure to give jerico hell for it later.

On saturday,medic called jerico in to fix up some medical checkups before battle.

--Ill be honest vith jou--the german doctor took off his glasses and leaned on his desk--Zhis isnt how I originally zhought it vould zurn out,but given zhe circumstances I cant vait any longer....

Medic took jeris hand, pulling him in for a kiss, his hands cupping his cheeks.

Jers arms hugged his waist and a smile appeared on his lips while kissing--So thats why you were so nervous when I asked you if you were single

--Vell...zhat vasnt very subtle now...vas it?

--No...I dont think so

Both chuckled and kiss again,trying to forget for a bit their future.

[babybluebanshee]

Heavy Rains - Chapter 1 (TF2)

Being stranded at Teufort during a raging storm with a gaggle of homicidal mercenaries isn't Miss Pauling's idea of a relaxing vacation. The group tries to make the best of it, but when a mysterious illness starts making its way through the barracks, it's a race against time to find a cure before it's too late. And that's not even bringing the emotional baggage into things.

Rain was not a common occurrence in Teufort. The town got around fifteen inches of precipitation a year, and even then, most of the townsfolk blamed that on a witch’s curse.

Most of the time, it was bone-dry and hellishly hot, a barren wasteland only fit for a few determined souls and the likes of the Mann. Co mercenaries, men too tough and too damn insane to register things like heat stroke and dehydration.

So naturally, when the local radio weather station predicted bizarre torrential rains headed directly for the small New Mexico town, accompanied by thunder, lightning, and winds reaching at least sixty miles an hour, the townspeople blamed the witch and burned effigies in their front yards. The Mann Co. mercenaries were simply confused.

And although Miss Pauling counted herself among the confused, she had very little time to dwell on it. She was currently overseeing the shipment of various supplies to the men at the Teufort base, to tide them over until the storm had passed. She had put them to work loading the boxes off the truck, so they could sort them in the loading bay later. It was best to keep the nine men occupied during something like this. Each one was a volatile whack job in their own special way. Something about being stuck together in close quarters brought all that out in full, destructive force.

She didn’t need another incident like the one in Coldfront. It’d taken three days to clean up the mess, and most of the mercs still complained about ringing in their ears because of the explosion.

With black clouds looming on the horizon, the project couldn’t be completed fast enough for her liking. Sadly, the mercenaries seemed to be in no big hurry, and kept distracting themselves by bickering and trying to loot through the boxes like a bunch of excited kids, eager to see what they’d gotten for Christmas.

“I ain’t lifting that one,” Miss Pauling heard Scout shout. Looking over the rim of her clipboard, she saw him standing next to a large box, and staring up at Soldier. Scout’s face was scrunched up in what he probably thought was an intimidating glare. Miss Pauling thought he just looked constipated. Soldier carried two boxes, one on each of his shoulders, and didn’t look too happy to have Scout in his face, managing to pull off a legitimately intimidating look, even with his helmet obscuring his eyes.

“That box weighs twice as much as me. I try to lift that, I’m gonna snap in two,” Scout continued.

Soldier snorted like an angry bull, and said, or rather yelled, “Back in my day, we didn’t have Sallies like you running around. We were strong and lifted boxes all damn day. And then we threw those boxes at the Nazis and we LIKED IT.”

“Pardon me if I ain’t gonna take my history lessons from a certifiable head case like you,” Scout yelled back, jamming his tiny body as close to Soldier’s as possible. It wasn’t exactly the dominant stance he’d hoped for, since he did only come up to the bottom of Soldier’s chin, but he held his ground nonetheless.

“Oh, son, your mouth is writing checks your butt will find uncashable. Uncashable, you hear me!?” Soldier growled, lobbing the boxes he carried to the ground. He shoved himself even closer to Scout, and continued his tirade. “Insinuate that I am crazy one more time, and your butt will be escorted from the bank, am I understood, private?!”

As the two men continued to scream in each other’s faces, Engineer, Heavy, and Sniper walked by them, each carrying a box on their shoulder. Engineer cast a look between Scout, Soldier, and the three boxes lying on the ground, and then, shaking his head, picked up one with his free hand and slung it under his arm. Heavy and Sniper quietly did the same.

Miss Pauling felt a headache coming on as thunder rumbled in the distance.

It was soon drowned out by a loud, celebratory “Woooooo!” that sounded from inside the loading bay. Suddenly, Demoman came rushing out, a bottle of Mann Co. beer in each hand, and a few on the bandolier that usually held his grenades. Miss Pauling didn’t want to think about where the grenades were now.

“Feast yer eyes on this, lads,” Demo called, using a thumb to pop off the cap of a bottle and take a swig. “The lass was good enough te bring us a whole case of the stuff. This wee squall will pass in no time if I have my way about it.”

“Ya best take it easy there, partner,” Engineer said, setting his boxes by Demo’s feet. “Otherwise that case ain’t gonna last you two hours, let alone the entire storm.”

Demo paid him no attention, simply tipped his head back and drained the open bottle. After he’d gotten every last drop, he let out a long sigh of satisfaction before he pointed to Miss Pauling and said, “Bless ye, lass.”

Miss Pauling gave a small smile and said, “I figured you guys might as well have some small comforts while you’re shut up during the storm. It’d get pretty boring around here otherwise.” After a moment’s consideration, she added, “Just please don’t overdo it. I do not want to come back to another Coldfront.”

Medic came up behind her, carrying a box of bottled water in front of him, and huffed, saying, “It was not so bad, Miss Pauling. I managed to reattach Scout’s thumb completely after all.”

Before Miss Pauling could register that nobody had ever mentioned any thumb reattachments, another rumble of thunder, much closer than the last, made the ground tremble beneath them. “Alright, you guys,” she said, taking her lavender pen from behind her ear. “Looks like the rain is ahead of schedule. We need to get these last couple boxes in the base before we all get soaked. Heavy, Engie, can you bring them in? There should only be a few more, mostly more water and stuff.”

The two men nodded and started their way back over to the truck. Miss Pauling continued, “Medic, Sniper, get inside and help Demo, Pyro, and Spy sort through all that stuff. Try to keep Pyro away from the paper products until Engie gets back in there to distract him.”

Medic and Sniper did not look at all happy about their assignment of dealing with the firebug, but they obeyed without a fight, although Miss Pauling swore she heard Medic mumble something she knew for certain to be a German swear. She didn’t bother herself with it at the moment. Soldier and Scout were still arguing a few yards away, and Soldier had managed somehow to find his shovel. This needed to be taken care of before first blood. Tucking her pen back behind her ear, Miss Pauling walked over to them, and managed to catch more of their ridiculous argument insults layered on top of each other so only snippets could be heard at a time.

“...think your shovel scares me, ya lunkhead?”

“...and we lived on falcon eggs and rocks…”

Miss Pauling’s head ached harder. “Guys, that’s enough!”

“He started it!” Scout said, jabbing an accusatory finger right into Soldier’s helmet.

Miss Pauling saw Engineer and Heavy out of the corner of her eye. Their arms were loaded with boxes, and they cast a wary look up at the sky before dashing inside, the added weight of the supplies nothing to them. She heaved a silent sigh through her nose. “I don’t care who started it,” she said evenly. “I’m here to finish it. Now quit screaming in each other’s faces and get inside. If you don’t hurry, you’re gonna get -”

There was a blinding flash of lightning, following by a deafening crash of thunder. Then, the sky almost seemed to open up, and the torrential downpour hit them like a tidal wave beating the shore. All three of them were sodden in a matter of seconds.

“...soaked.”

Soldier and Scout looked at Miss Pauling like a couple of scolded children. Miss Pauling merely jabbed a finger in the direction of the loading bay, and they both began marching toward it. Miss Pauling followed behind them, regretting with every step that she’d decided to wear pumps that kept getting stuck in the sucking desert mud.

--------------

As soon as Miss Pauling was inside, a towel was draped over her shoulder courtesy of Engineer. She gave him a smile, set her clipboard (which had thankfully managed to stay mostly dry) to the side, and furiously started rubbing herself down. As she pulled off her glasses to wipe the rain off, she saw Sniper throw a couple of towels to Soldier and Scout, managing to hit Scout directly in the face. The towel muffled Scout’s indignant yelp, which Sniper was ignoring anyway to pull down the loading bay door.

Throwing the towel back over her shoulders, Miss Pauling slicked back the strands of hair that had come loose from her bun and pulled out her pen. “Okay, guys, time for some inventory. Just wanna make sure that everything is here. I can already check off the beer…”

Demo gave another hearty “Woooooo!”, before throwing back another bottle.

“So let’s crack open the rest of these and get them put away.”

To her side, Heavy nodded and grabbed a nearby crowbar, jamming it under the lid of the nearest crate and jimmying it open in one swift motion. He tossed the lid out of the way, and it landed with a thick clunk. Engineer tapped Pyro on the shoulder and motioned for him to help him sift through it, while Heavy moved along the line of boxes, cracking each of them open like a powerful machine for a pair of mercs to dig through. For once, Miss Pauling felt as though things were going to go smoothly.

Another crack of thunder made her jump. The noise was as clear as if they didn’t have concrete walls surrounding them, and that made Miss Pauling nervous. She didn’t like being nervous. Nervousness meant a lack of control.

“Sure would be nice if we had a radio,” she said, thinking out loud more than anything.

“Oh yes,” Spy suddenly said, pulling himself away from the box he and Sniper rifled through. “I almost forgot.” He ducked down, and pulled up a small, beat-up black baseball radio. “I’m sure this will be sufficient. Assuming it still works.”

“Hey, that’s mine!” Scout shouted as soon as he set eyes on the radio.

“Don’t be such a child. I merely borrowed it for a greater purpose,” Spy said, setting the device on a nearby chair. He flicked a switch on the side, and a small burst of static began emanating from the speakers, nearly drowned out completely  by the rain beating intensely against the metal roof.

“You coulda just asked,” Scout said, the pout evident in his voice as he went back to pulling paper towels and toilet paper out of his box. “Didn’t have to go through my room and swipe my stuff.”

“Oh, don’t act so scandalized. I go through everyone’s rooms,” Spy said dismissively as he fiddled with the knobs. For a minute or two, it seemed that the radio wouldn’t be able to do anything but spit static at them because of the rain. They got snippets of a drawling political discussions and a very garbled classical music station (which seemed to disappoint Medic immensely), but finally, Spy managed to find the Teufort weather station, although it was quite faint, and interrupted by the occasional burst of static.

  “...citizens wisely preparing for what promises to be a very brutal storm, possibly the *bzzzzzt* of Teufort has ever seen. There *bzzzt* reports of mass flooding, especially along the road leading out of the town and to the highway. All *bzzt* redirected, and many of the roads closed down until the end of the storm. Civilians are advised *bzzzzzzzzt* leaving Teufort, as it is currently incredibly unsafe.”

Miss Pauling’s headache returned with a roaring vengeance.

She was stranded here. She was stranded with a group of nine mercenaries who, last time they’d been cooped up together, had caused explosions and apparently lost thumbs.

“Well, ain’t that a kick in the teeth,” Engineer muttered. “I’m real sorry, Miss Pauling. Looks like you’re stuck with us for the next couple of days.”

The rest of the mercs looked up at her apologetically. Well, except for Scout, who looked quite pleased at this turn of events. In an obvious attempt at smoothness, he said, “Yeah, that’s definitely too bad. But hey, I’m sure we can make the most of it.” He flashed Miss Pauling a crooked smile that made him look like an excited puppy. Miss Pauling had to bite back a frustrated groan.

Spy, letting out a quiet huff, rolled his eyes and shut off the baseball radio. Taking two long strides, he reached Scout’s side and shoved the radio into the boy’s hands. “Yes, we’ll certainly make the most of it,” he said, his tone borderline scolding. “Which is why Miss Pauling will be staying in my room. On the opposite end of the base from yours.”

A titter rippled through the group of men. Scout’s face reddened, and he shot Spy a glare very suited to a sullen teenager.

“Oh, Spy,” Miss Pauling said. “I don’t want take your room.”

“Nonsense,” Spy replied, waving off her concerns. “I insist. I’ll stay in my smoking room. The chairs there are as comfortable as any bed.”

Miss Pauling gave him a grateful smile. “Well, thank you, then. I appreciate that.”

Another crash of thunder made the base tremble around them. Engineer nearly dropped the case of Bonk he was pulling out of a crate. “Sheeeoot,” he muttered. “Always hated storms. Got the worst back home. Least you don’t gotta worry about twisters here. If we had to deal with one of those, I’d be heading for the hills.”

As soon as Engineer set down the case, Scout tore into it, pulling out a can and popping it open. It fizzed merrily. He tipped it back, draining the contents in seconds. Crushing the now-empty can in his hand and tossing it over his shoulder, he said, “You think a twister is bad, hard hat? Try a hurricane. Not only do you got rain, thunder, and lightning 24/7, okay? But you gotta worry about floods too. I remember when I was nine, we got hit with a really bad one. Any of you guys ever heard of Hurricane Esther? Worst one that I’ve ever been through. We got stuck inside for days. Couldn’t leave, couldn’t nothing. Made one of my brothers cry. That was actually the one bright spot of the whole thing.”

Scout’s light-speed chatter tapered off as he pulled out another Bonk and cracked it open. The other mercs seemed to deflate with relief at the silence.

The reprieve did not last, as the loudest crash of thunder the storm had offered up yet once again shook the base. It felt like a bomb had been detonated right outside the loading bay door.

And then the lights went out.

“Well, hell…” Miss Pauling heard Engineer grumble.

From somewhere in the dark, Pyro let out a frightened whine. Engineer once again spoke, this time in a much gentler tone “It’s okay, Smokey,” he said. “I can get those back on, no problem. Just gotta find a flashlight…”

There was a sound of something heavy colliding with a body, and someone let out an “oof!”

“Shit, sorry, uh, whoever that was…” Engineer said.

“No worries, mate,” Sniper ground out. “Ain’t like I need all me ribs anyways…ow...”

There was a sound of footsteps, then a cry of pain from Spy. “That was my foot, bushman!”

“You try getting a metal arm to the gut, ya bloody spook,” Sniper hissed back. “Think it’d take your mind off your shoes getting a bit scoffed.”

“I doubt it, considering these shoes cost more than that repulsive van you sleep in.”

Someone fell backwards into one of the crates, apparently grabbing Medic on the way down. Miss Pauling heard him cry out, “Scheisse!”

“Jesus, hard hat,” Scout grumbled. Miss Pauling heard him scrambling to get back to his feet. He must have been the one to fall into the boxes. “You’re gonna kill somebody with that thing.”

“Well, it’s damn dark, son. I don’t know what to tell ya.” Another thud of metal against flesh, but this time the flesh sounded much more solid. Engineer must have hit Heavy. “Sorry, big guy…”

“Is no problem,” Heavy said casually.

“Did anyone actually see a flashlight in any of the boxes?” Miss Pauling asked. She stood as still as she could. There was no need to contribute anymore to this unfolding chaos.

No one answered her. They were heading towards another Coldfront at full speed.

Then, suddenly, a tiny light filled the space. It drew everyone’s attention simultaneously. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, sat Pyro. In his hands, his lighter, burning brightly.

Engineer grinned and said, “Well, ain’t you a smart little bug?”

Pyro merely let out a sheepish giggle.

Miss Pauling did a quick survey of things - Sniper was still gingerly holding his ribs, though he looked like he wasn’t in too much pain. Spy, now that he was actually able to see them, seemed to be inspecting the damage done to his shoes. Scout hoisted himself back up into a standing position, while Medic glared daggers at him for pulling him down. Engineer was roughly an inch from Heavy’s gargantuan torso. Demo took advantage of the light to pop the top off another bottle of beer, which he handed to Soldier. Both watched the others fumble over each other from a safe distance. Miss Pauling heard them chortle.

She took a deep breath. Things were okay. No one was injured. No one was dead. She could work with this.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Engineer slap Pyro’s hand away from a roll of paper towel stick out of a crate, which he’d been slowly moving the lighter closer and closer to. Pyro let out a defeated whine.

She could mostly work with this.

--------------- It took Engineer two and a half hours to restore the power. “Would have gotten it sooner,” he said as he came back into the loading bay, wiping the sweat away from under his hard hat, “but there were a few times when I had to back off ‘cause of the lightning. Don’t wanna get cooked if it strikes here again.”

“I thought lightning didn’t strike in the same place twice,” Scout said. He’d found his baseball and was lazily tossing it in the air and catching it as it came back down.

Engineer grinned a bit and replied, “That’s just a myth, son. Been through enough storms to know that lightning tends to do strike wherever it damn well pleases.”

Scout seemed unimpressed by this fact. He merely turned his attention back to his baseball, his expression bored and, oddly enough, sleepy. Miss Pauling didn’t even know it was possible for Scout to run out of energy.

Then again, looking at the seven other men lounging around the loading bay, she couldn’t say she was surprised. In the two and a half hours Engineer had been fiddling with the power, they’d been cleaning out the crates of supplies and putting everything away, seeing only by flashlight. It had surprisingly taken a lot out of them. Demo and Soldier were both on the edge of sleep, sitting back to back, still holding bottles of beer in their hands as their heads dipped every so often. More bottles were scattered around their feet.

Sniper had pulled his hat over his face, and she noticed his body slackening every so often as he dozed. Spy took a lazy drag of his cigarette. Medic had fetched his chessboard and had coaxed Heavy into a game. Pyro was practically curled up on the floor like a kitten, napping.

The rain had eased up a bit, though it still hit the roof with rigid consistency. Miss Pauling listened to it for a minute. She supposed that the sound would be enough to lull even hardened mercenaries to sleep after a stressful day of work.

“What about the rest of the stuff in the control room?” she asked. She tried not to yawn. Confound that rain, it was soothing.

“It’s pretty much all shot,” Engineer replied. “Communications are down, and the respawn is just...out. And crawling in there to fix it while this storm is still raging is outta the question. Lightning strikes while I’m in there, I come out looking like bacon left on the skillet too long.”

Miss Pauling couldn’t help the groan that escaped.

No communications. No respawn.

Normally, that wouldn’t bother her. As concerned as she was about the mercs eventually snapping from the confinement and inflicting bodily harm on each other, she at least trusted them enough to not kill each other. They feared Medic and his particular brand of “healing” enough to try and keep themselves in one piece for the next few days.

It was just one more thing to worry about. One more thing that could make things worse. One more thing out of her control. One more thing that she’d have to write up in the mountains of paperwork that were inevitably going to follow this whole debacle. Her head throbbed again.

Spy stood up, pulling her from her increasingly anxious thoughts. Taking one last drag of his cigarette and stamping it out against one of the discarded crates, he said, “I don’t know about the rest of you, gentlemen, but I find myself all ‘funned’ out. And if no one is interesting in cooking dinner…”

A collective groan rose up from the exhausted pile of mercenaries.

“As I expected. With that, I believe I shall retire for the evening.” He turned on his heels until he was facing Miss Pauling. “Shall we?” he asked, motioning towards the hall.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” she replied. She had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she’d almost forgotten Spy offering his room. She found herself a little too wired for sleep just yet, but she honestly couldn’t think of anything else to do to kill time until she was. Maybe she could just lay down, stare at the ceiling, and wonder what antagonistic gods had thought it amusing to strand her here.

She let him lead down the hall, past the dining hall and respawn room, and into the barracks. They passed eight doors, one for every man in the base - except, generally, for Sniper. Like any outdoorsman, he preferred sleeping outside, and made a habit of sleeping out in his camper van whenever the weather permitted. Weather was most definitely not permitting now, and Miss Pauling had gently persuaded him to remain indoors for the remainder of the storm. Although the suggestion had made him stare at her like she’d grown another head out of her abdomen, he’d grumbled an agreement.

And Miss Pauling’s mother wondered why her daughter seemed so lukewarm on the idea of children.

She nearly collided with Spy’s back as he stopped in front of the final door, near the end of the hallway. They had reached his quarters. Miss Pauling made no comment about how close it was to a large exit sign, leading out of the base.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask me,” Spy said as he opened his door, motioning for Miss Pauling to enter ahead of him. Ever the gentleman, even when motioning a lady into the spartan barracks of a military base.

Looking around the room as she stepped in, she realized “spartan” might even be too generous for Spy’s room. The place was almost completely bare. She knew for a fact that most of the other mercs had some personal things in their rooms - photos of family, posters, calendars, even the occasional pin-up picture in Scout’s case.

Spy’s room was completely spotless. His thin bed was made, blankets smooth and pristine, pillow propped against the wall and looking like a human head had never made contact with it. Minimal personal effects. Hardly a hint about what kind of man lived here, as much a mystery as Spy himself.

The only indication a person was ever in this room was the desk, which held a line of books, pressed against the wall. Moving closer to them, Miss Pauling realized they were very well-thumbed, having obviously seen multiple readings. One book was set aside from the others, a scrap of paper stuck between the pages to act as a bookmark - A Pocket Full of Rye by Agatha Christie.

Spy was reading a cozy mystery?

A quick look at the other books on the desk revealed similarly unexpected titles, at least the ones that weren’t in French - seven books all featuring “Austen” embossed in gold lettering on the spine. A few more Christies thrown in. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Even a dime store copy of The Andromeda Strain.

“You are more than welcome to read those.” Miss Pauling jumped a bit. She’d almost forgotten Spy was in the room, and with his infamous cat-like quietness and grace, he’d walked up to her side to see what she’d been gawking at. He’d pulled out a cigarette in that time, and had managed to silently light it.

“I simply ask that you be careful with Mr. Crichton,” he continued. “A few of the pages are falling out. Cheap glue does not last in New Mexico heat, as it turns out.”

“Yeah…” Miss Pauling muttered, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks and ears. “Um, sorry for being nosy. I just...ya know, never pegged you for much of a reader. Let alone Miss Marple.”

Spy chuckled a bit. “Things can be tedious around here when there are no battles to fight. And Dapper Cadaver is only a monthly subscription, after all.”

Miss Pauling smiled back. Though she’d never say it to Spy’s face, these books offered a look at a side of him he did his best never to show anyone - a human side. It was strangely endearing that this man, who prided himself of his suavity and mystique and ruthless efficiency at putting knives in backs, could be content with reading a quaint story about a spinster turned amatuer sleuth.

She cast another glance at the books. “I don’t get much time for reading these days,” she said. “Demands of the job, ya know? I don’t think I’ve sat down and read a full book since I was in college.”

“I would go mad,” Spy said, pulling a face of mock horror. “Surely we must catch you up. After all, you have plenty of time to fill presently.” He ran a finger down the line of books, humming curiously to himself as he did.

“Really, Spy, it’s fine,” Miss Pauling said. “I’m sure I can find something to do to pass the time.”

“Oh yes,” Spy said. He didn’t look up from the line of books. “I’m sure that Scout would be more than willing to let you ‘hang out’ with him. Sounds positively riveting.”

“...give me the damn book.”

A sly smile spread across Spy’s lips as he pulled out one of the Austen books and held it out to her. Gold lettering on the cover read Pride and Prejudice. She recalled being threatened with the book in high school, if she had chosen to take the AP courses. All the upperclassmen girls had complained loudly about it. She’d stuck with the regular English course and only had to read Huck Finn.

“I dunno, Spy…”

Spy gently set the book in her hands and closed her fingers around it. “Just give it a try, and if you don’t care for it, bring it back. I have many more in my smoking room to choose from,” he said. “I know it seems daunting, but believe me, she is worth it. Besides, I believe you’ll find...a bit of kinship with Miss Elizabeth Bennett.”

“Yeah?”

“She too often finds herself the only voice of reason amongst less than sane persons.”

Miss Pauling couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“Excellent,” Spy said. She didn’t miss the excitement evident in his voice. “Perhaps we can even discuss it once you’ve finished?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Ah, well, it was a noble effort, no?” Spy said, his grin slightly devilish.

Miss Pauling chuckled again.

Spy’s grin softened a bit as he said, “I realize this was not the way you intended to spend the next few days. And I know the others and I...we can be a bit overwhelming.”

“That’s not…” Miss Pauling trailed off, the bare-faced lie dying on her tongue.

“I appreciate you not thinking you had to spare my feelings,” Spy said. “Although we may not act like it, all of us are fairly self-aware. We are forced to spend every day around each other. We know what we are like. I promise you, Miss Pauling, I will try and make this as uneventful as I can.”

Miss Pauling felt a warmth rise in her chest. She clutched the book a little tighter as she said, “Thank you, Spy. For everything.”

Spy bowed slightly at the waist. “You’re quite welcome. Goodnight to you, and enjoy the book.”

And with that, he grabbed up the Agatha Christie and walked out, shutting the door softly behind him.

Miss Pauling looked down at the book in her hand again. It didn’t look too terribly long, and besides, Spy had offered other stuff if she didn’t like it. There was no harm in humoring him, not after a promise like that.

Especially when a glance at her watch showed it was only a little past nine, and she didn’t feel in the slightest bit tired. Who knew, maybe a boring book would be the best way to help her fall asleep.

She sat down on Spy’s bed and removed her mud-caked shoes. She tossed them under the desk, so they’d be out of the way. Then came the nylons, which she pulled off gingerly and folded neatly. At two pair for a dollar, she wasn’t taking any chances with them.  She pulled out the four bobby pins and the rubber band that held her bun in place. She tossed them onto the nearby desk. She gave her now-free hair a quick tousle. Then she pulled her arms into her blouse and undid her bra clasp, pulling it out and tossing it on the floor with the shoes.

Fuck it, she was basically in for the night, and she liked to think no one would come in without knocking first. She was willing to put up with a lot of things, but sleeping in her bra wasn’t one of them.

She laid back, propping herself up a bit on Spy’s pillow, and nestled the book on her chest. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something small and white at the far end of the desk.

Upon further inspection, she realized it was a bottle of aspirin. A water bottle sat on the desk next to it. She hadn’t even heard Spy set them down before he left.

Well, now there was no two ways about it. She’d have to read the book. It would only be polite.

--------------

Medic felt his eye give an involuntary twitch when he heard Scout’s loud, obnoxious groans just outside the doors of his lab. And here he’d been hoping to spend the evening in relative peace and quiet, cleaning up around the lab or doing paperwork or tinkering with some Uber upgrades, to the tranquil sound of the rain outside. Another groan, obviously meant to sound piteous, echoed through his lab as Scout stumbled in, slamming the swinging door so hard it banged into the wall and frightened many of the nearby doves into fluttering, in search of less dangerous perches.

Medic’s eye twitched again. He pushed his glasses up and said, “What is it Scout?”

He lifted his head to look at the younger mercenary, who stumbled over to his desk, clutching his stomach as if it were ripping him apart from the inside. “Doooooooc,” he moaned. He sounded like a toddler crying for it’s mother when it wasn’t getting enough attention. “I’m dying, doc, you gotta save me.”

Medic rolled his eyes. Scout was, to be perfectly frank, the biggest baby he’d ever known when it came to physical maladies. Skinned knees got him grinding through clenched teeth that he was sure to bleed out in moments. A black eye had him wailing that he was blind now, worse off even than the black Scottish cyclops. Stomach cramps got him in the fetal position, crying out that it was cancer, it had to be cancer, tell his mother he loved her. Every time, Medic checked him out, submitting him to a full physical exam if that’s what it took, simply to silence the bellyaching. He never found anything more wrong with Scout than the typical bumps and bruises that befell every other man in this God-forsaken base.

He wasn’t about to entertain Scout’s incessant whining tonight, not when the weather already had him in a less than ideal mood.

“Scout, I do not have the patience for you tonight,” he grumbled, standing from his chair and walking out from behind his desk. Perhaps if he put distance between himself and the little twerp, Scout would get the message and leave him be.

“Aww, come on, doc!” If anything, Scout’s whining got even more pathetic. “Feels like I’m gonna keel over any second. Have a little sympathy, will ya?”

“I rarely have sympathy for the idiot who comes in here every time he stubs his toe,” Medic snapped.

Scout opened his mouth, probably to plead his case again, but he quickly shut it and let out another choked moan. His arms pulled even tighter around his abdomen. If Medic hadn’t known better, he’d almost call that genuine pain on Scout’s face.

Medic didn’t have any illusions about his position. He was not what many called “a caring professional”. To him, the healing was a rather tedious side effect of his experiments. After all, it was easier to poke someone’s atrophied liver if they weren’t in danger of dying on you before you could put it back. But you just didn’t figure out the secret to cheating life-threatening injuries by being a bleeding heart to every whining toddler that came limping through your door with stomachaches and broken bones and the entirety of their blood on the outside of their body. It just cut into the amount of hours you could spend finding reasonably priced Loch Ness hamster hearts.

But he wasn’t entirely without compassion. While his comrades tended to give him funny looks when he asked for volunteers for his more...ambitious projects, they did still volunteer. The wild success of his Ubercharge was proof of that. And the biggest reason for it was because he tried his damnedest to do it as painlessly as possible. It didn’t take a dubiously achieved medical license to know that people didn’t like pain, not even mercenaries who were used to be shot, stabbed, and blown to bits.

Medic was many things, but a sadist was not one of them. It just wasn’t conducive to his curiosity.

Which is why, after another pained groan from Scout, he sighed heavily, opened one of his desk drawers, and pulled out a bottle of white tablets. He tossed them to Scout and said, “Take two of these tonight and get some sleep. If you don’t feel any better in the morning, come back. Then I’ll see what else I can do, ja?”

Relief blossomed on Scout’s face. “Thanks, doc,” he said. He turned the bottle over in his hand, the tablets clacking together against the glass. “So, these penicillin or something?”

“It’s aspirin, Scout,” Medic said, turning his attention back to his papers. “You probably will not need penicillin any time soon. Unless you have a case of syphilis you haven’t mentioned. In which case I have been working on a super vaccine from some spare bits of the bread tumors. You will never guess where that gets injected…” For added effect, he looked up slightly and gave his best maniacal grin.

What little color was left in Scout’s face drained away, and he muttered a “Night, doc” before tucking the bottle in his pocket and stiffly walking out.

Medic chuckled once he was alone. He may not have been a sadist by nature, but he seemed to becoming quite cunning in his advancing age.

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Do you have any headcanons for ftm trans scout? Tf2 is a great game but it could use a little more representation..

Actually, I have a favourite little fanfic about exactly that. 

[That Name by Diredevil]

-

Headcanons?

Well, when they first band together, we know Scout is LOUD about how amazing a guy he is, and how fast/smart/strong/etc he is. And I think, perhaps under the circumstances there would be two reasons…The first being to establish himself as he/him to the group unforgettably, and secondly, to make himself feel comfortable in a new environment where things are uncertain.

That is to say, at home it’d been a bit weird for a bit as his Ma and brothers kept accidentally using [dead name] instead of Jeremy, and the wrong pronouns, but they got it eventually. Ma had cried when she realised, not bc there was anything wrong with Scout… just that “she’d accidentally given him the wrong name” (bc she had [dead name] and Jeremy picked out before he was born]. It was pretty touching.

Sure, someone made a smart comment about it… but Scout rarely had to raise a bat, before someone in the family was breaking their teeth and demanding they respect their brother. It was nice.

But on base, with RED? This was a different kettle of fish.

Scout had impulsively taken the job, even if it worried his family, that he was so far away with strangers. They didn’t say it out loud, but they didn’t want him away somewhere they couldn’t get to, if he needed them. And vice versa.The family was a Unit, and while their reputation kept low-level problems away, there were always threats that needed more than one person alone to deal with. 

Scout had fidgeted just about out of his skin the whole train ride to Teufort, it was boring as hell, especially for someone who liked to run. Besides, he was a bit worried about the outfit. You could see faint outlines of his bandages through it… he’d come up with a million excuses as to why he was wearing them… but who knew what would come out of his mouth when he was asked?

After a few useless minutes of internally panicking over it, Scout shoves the thoughts away and starts to hype himself up… 

RED didn’t just pick anyone, yeah? They needed the fuckin’ best!And here he was, the BEST at what he did!

-

Arriving was no big deal. 

Some others were there, others still coming. The Sniper seemed nice, but distant, but according to the others he was always like that. He seemed quiet, too, which was maybe why he’d just about run for cover when Scout started to rapidfire talk at the poor bugger… Funny, most Aussies were more… well, MORE. Then again, Scout wasn’t gonna go pointing fingers at the guy.He’d nearly been crushed by the Pyro’s hug, and Engineer slung a companionable arm over Scout’s shoulders as the Texan showed the runner about the place. If he noticed anything amiss, the man said nothing. Very friendly pair… Scout’d thought, til he saw the fucking flamethrower Pyro used… the way the flames reflected off the empty gasmask lenses sent a thrill of fear through the runner.

There was a Spy somewhere… Engie said he’d probably seen Scout already and would make himself known eventually.

The Soldier and Demo were playing cards when he’d met them; Soldier was almost as loud, and Demo seemed amazingly friendly. They’d invited him to play, but Engie pointed out they’d need to finish the tour first… 

So far, so good.

The Heavy hadn’t come in yet, something about having to take a secret flight out of Russia. And the Medic arrived an hour after Scout, so their introduction was brief… but the man had taken hold of the runner’s arm, when Engie was further ahead and asked how he was doing; and mentioned that he was aware of ‘zhe situation, so Scout should not hesitate to come to Medic vith any concerns, ja?’

Which was nice, but a little shocking even though it shouldn’t be. The doc would have been told… it was just, Scout wasn’t quite ready for others outside the immediate family and neighbourhood to know, right?

Medic had patted his shoulder, frowned a moment to himself, then ambled away. It was then the runner realised the man had a live, blood-spattered dove, on his shoulder… ‘Archimedes’ turns out, how’d he missed that?

Still, it was a solid introduction… his room was pretty nice, the lounge area or ‘common room’ had a sorta okay couch and a tv, so that was great. They were ordering pizza for dinner, but Engie mentioned something about making a cooking roster, once everyone’d settled in… that sounded exciting… not.Scout, despite his Ma’s best attempts to teach him, couldn’t cook for shit. Well, toast and basic stuff, but he swears the one time he tried to make a cake for his Ma’s birthday, the recipe book caught fire before he could start… it could sense an impending disaster.

The only real bother was… the bathroom. Standard set-up of a high school locker room, really… lockers, mirrors and sinks, a few cubicles, a urinal or two… and a long row of showers. Where were the stalls Miss P promised?

Fuck, this was going to be a problem.

Thankfully, he was still touring with Medic, who leaned over to mention that the Infirmary happened to have a small bathroom ‘vhich just so happened to have a shower if he vas interested’… and the runner let out a sigh of relief. “Doc, I could fuckin’ kiss ya…” he beamed, and the German chuckled.“Another time, perhaps, Herr Scout… I have to unpack first.” 

Seems like everything was pretty settled then. 

-

Miss Pauling called in, bringing the Heavy (or, as Scout first assumed, a mountain with a FACE holy shit the dude was big) with her. She spoke to each merc in turn, ascertaining whether they’d noticed anything they needed or if they’d noticed anything broken.

She was also trying to work out groceries, they’d get a weekly delivery from the local store at whatever base they ended up on… but for now there was an ad hoc list being tossed together. If they needed anything else… well, there was always the store itself. Engie had a truck, Medic an ambulance and the Sniper, his van.

Apparently this Spy fellow had a vehicle, but no one had seen him to ask. 

When Miss P got to Scout, and god did he have the worst crush on this amazing woman, she asked the same questions she had the others… then quietly leaned in to mention that if he told her his preferred brand, she could make certain any sanitary items he needed were sent on a bi-weekly basis. Maybe a calendar too. 

“Generous as you are smart and gorgeous, Miss P…” he’d grinned back, trying to charm.

She’d laughed, lightly, and put on a sympathetic smile. “Thank you, though you should know I’m not really into guys… or I’d date you in a heartbeat.” she teased. 

That? That sent Scout’s confidence into overdrive for the rest of the day… right up until he first met Spy.

-

Scout had taken a quick shower in the Infirmary when everyone else was busy. But as he left, he ran straight into Spy… the man literally appearing out of nowhere. He swore quite loudly in surprise, but the other remained nonchalant, narrowing his eyes at the runner.

“What are you doing here?” Spy asks, eventually. 

“Er… taking a shower?” Scout answers, truthfully. Holding up the messy bundle of his travel clothes and towel as proof.

“Non, I mean… what are you doing out here, on zhis base… ma fille?” Spy asked again, tilting his head. 

Now, Scout wasn’t sure what the french meant, but he had a feeling it wasn’t good. “I’m here cause I’m the best, ya fruity bastard, what’re you good at, hide’n’seek?” he mouths off in response.

Spy fixes the runner a look, dead in the eyes, as he says, “Zhis is no place for little girls, (dead name), you should know that by now.” 

And before Scout can even defend himself, the man has cloaked and gone.

Fear pools in the pit of his stomach, gnawing at him; it was all going so well, fuck, this wasn’t fair… his skin was crawling at hearing that fucking name again, especially laced with such-… such-… 

He wasn’t sure. Smug, condescending, cold… but all thrown together. That sense of wrongness, of displacement, which he thought had long since died since he’d had the chance to express himself properly… came flooding back. Fuck. If he could just… could just get to a phone and call Ma or one of his brothers… it’d be okay… he’d be okay…

“You okay, mate?” comes a voice by him, and nearly startles Scout out of his skin. Sniper’s by him, looking concerned. “Run in wiv the Spook, hey? Right bloody wanker he is, can’t wait to watch him die through me scopes.”

He’s hovering, not touching, because maybe he’s seen someone having a breakdown before, but the voice is a nice anchor. 

“B-be fine in a second, just gotta… phone home.” Scout says, simplifying his situation, and Sniper just nods. What had he heard? Fuck, did he know too?

Day one hadn’t been the time he wanted to disclose everything… 

“Sure, there’s one near the common room, but if you’re after privacy, I got one in me van, mate. C’mon… let’s set you right.” Sniper reassures, guiding the runner outside, and opening the van door. He points out the phone, offers a chair and asks if Scout was okay to be alone… the runner said yes, and dials the familiar number… relief flooding through him as his Ma picks up.

She’d sensed something was up with ‘her baby’ (he was going to be fifty with six kids of his own, and still be the family baby, Scout just fucking knew it)… and waited by the phone for his call.

“Jeremy, is everything okay?” she’d asked.Scout opened his mouth, took a deep breath, and told her everything. Afterwards, there was a moment of quiet before his Ma’s angry-calm tone came back on the line… “Oh, he did… did he?”There was three seconds when Scout assumed his mother was on her way here to flat out fucking murder the guy, before she sighed. “Scout, I didn’t wanna tell ya this LIKE this… but, I kinda knew about Spy before you left. He said he was working there too… was real pissed you were chosen’ n’everything. He knows, mostly ‘cause it’s his job to, and kinda cause he’s ya dad… I didn’t want you to find out like this, but it’s why he knew. No one told him or nothing. I’m so sorry honey.”

Spy was WHAT?

“Bombshell, huh? Well, least I got the best part of our union… you, baby. Wouldn’t trade ya for anything…” his Ma continued. She was always giving little peptalks like this to her boys… most of ‘em didn’t know their dads, but she was more than enough of a parent to them. Even when they surprised her on a daily basis (from pet snakes, to Johnny’s first boyfriend, to the time they put poprocks in a cake, and a thousand other ridiculous things). 

“Aw god, Ma…” he whines, flushing a little. “I’m good now… but thanks for picking up the phone so fast.”

“Anytime, my baby boy, anytime. And you let the bastard know I’m gonna kneecap ‘im when I see him next… love ya, bye!” 

He hears the phone clunk down, and chuckles. There’s a knock on the door, and Sniper peers in, “You good? Heard ya still on the phone when I got back… didn’t wanna interrupt, hate when people do that.”

“Yeah, fine… thanks.” Scout responds.

“Good, mate… time for tucker, anyway. C’mon, that Engineer bloke made something that smells amazing.” Sniper yawns, rubbing at his face. “Sorry, s’not you… timezones here are all warped around, still trying to get used to it. I mean, I did take international jobs before, but that was like, a week at most in another country, now I have to be on-board for battle in your morning… which is my night, y’see?”

The casual talk just seemed to set Scout at ease, as they moved towards the common room -it was the only room in the base with a dining table after all. He didn’t wanna go slinging the word ‘friendship’ around like some starry eyed primary schooler but… he’s pretty sure they’ve somehow formed one in the last hour. Not sure how, exactly, but it was pretty good.

-

Dinners were loud, chaotic and fun.

Spy slunk in at some point, but refused to talk. There was discolouration about his nose, and his mask seemed to bulge about the nose, like there was a dressing there. He glowered at Scout, then at Sniper; who grinned at the runner.

Turns out he’d decked the bastard one, when Scout was on the phone. Now, the runner wasn’t one for arbitrarily throwing marriage proposals around, but… He’d thanked him, and Sniper dismissed it with casual ease. 

Someone asked Spy about his face, and he made a scathing remark about feral bushmen and little girls that no one bothered to pry into. Otherwise, dinner was great, engie was a hell of a cook. 

-

Medic had to give them all their physicals, and insert the respawn chips… but apparently he also had something called an ‘uber implant’ that he was going to put in at the same time. Scout doesn’t remember much of it… just Medic doing a once over, tutting at the bandages (yeah yeah, not like ya can just order a freakin’ sports bra out of the Mann Co catalogue without someone asking questions), and using his bird as a distraction whilst he sneakily got the needle-fearing runner with the anaesthetic. 

Scout would never forgive archie, the fancy pigeon had fooled him with that fluffy please-pet-me wiggle… fully knowing his owner was waiting to pounce.

Still, when he woke up, his chest felt heavier than usual, not too bad just off. And the back of his neck was tingly. No scars though… which was fucking weird. That medigun thing was pretty amazing. 

For a second, Scout feels something wiggle around inside his ribcage… and then a coo. “Uh, Doc?”

He hears, “Oh schiesse, Archimedes you naughty bird!” before Medic’s at it with the anaesthetic again. 

-

When Scout finally wakes up birdfree, everything feels relatively normal. He gets up, slips on his clothes and thanks the Doc for everything, throwing a suspicious glance at Archimedes. 

“Uh, hey Doc… if ya got a fancy gun that can fix everything, how come Spy still looks like Snipes inverted his nose?” he suddenly asks, curious. 

Medic, looking slightly terrifying as he caresses his bonesaw, laughs. “Oho, vell… I vas informed by someone zhat his injury vas vell-deserved, und felt perhaps he vill learn his lesson better should he be left to suffer…”

…perhaps this was a man to be feared… even if he occasionally handed out lollipops after operations. Scout had a red one in his mouth right now. 

“Ya the best doc, I ever tell ya that before?” Scout grins. Another question was swirling around his mind, as he lingered in the doorway… and Medic seemed to sense it. “Uh, and also about ya medigun, can it… ya know how it don’t do scars and all, can ya maybe fix…” he points at his chest. 

“Vhen you are ready, a little later on, ve can discuss dealing vith other concerns such as zhat one. It is no big matter, surgically from my standpoint; but zhere are physiological implications to take into account. Und zhis is only day one… ve have time, I assure you; but for now you really must find something better zhan bandages. Zhe Medigun und respawn can heal some damage, but permanent use can deform your body…” Medic responds.

“I’ll try,” he says, “but ya mean it? ‘Cause we couldn’t find anyone at home who would…”

“Zhey are fools, zhen. Luckily, ve are on zhe same team…” winks Medic, “Now shoo, I have others to see today besides you, young man…” 

“Ya saying you don’t wanna appreciate all this gorgeous manly beauty for a little longer? I’m shocked! Here I was doing ya a solid by giving ya something nice to look at, when ya have to spend the rest of the day dealing with all the other old codgers…” Scout grins, cheekily, flexing… then ducking and laughing, as Medic tosses a handful of tongue depressors at him. 

“Get out of here, you cheeky junge…” the German manages, laughing heartily at the other’s antics. Scout pokes his tongue out as he disappears around the door.

-

His first death was a shock. Both to him, and the bloke who shot him.

The BLU!Scout’s eyes went wide as the scattergun exploded, and blood welled through the shirt; Scout felt fiery pain for a moment, then cold… then finally, nothing. His body hit the ground, before he could even process it… and then, he was kinda, here but nowhere.

Just for a few seconds though. It was like the teleporters, really, you just stayed in place, a continuous stream of consciousness… but you moved places. Some light, a weird whirring noise… and suddenly, he was back where he started the match. It was 2Fort, so the room was small, stark, and sparsely furnished. 

It felt real fuckin’ bizarre. 

He was immediately flattened by the Medic popping out of nowhere in a haze of light, landing on him. Scout made a strained wheeze, while the other scrambled up and off. 

“Scout? Oh, sorry… vell, zhat vas a unique experience, I must say. We had better move before Herr Heavy comes through…” Medic mutters. “Zhat BLU Spy is quite zhe pest, especially vith those disguises and all…”

“Sixty seconds remaining of Testing Phase Match.” warned the Administrator. 

This match was a formality, neither side was to win, just… die, and learn to cope with it. They’d only been in it for five minutes or so, so far, but it wasn’t supposed to last long… 

Scout’d made a  mental map of the sewers by now (that was a surprise), and even made it to the other intel room (though it was empty), before he’d been chased down by the BLU Scout. It was bizarre to think they could just… resurrect, no matter what… but everyone was getting used to it.

“See ya out there, Doc!” Scout winks, and leaves as Heavy reappears in the spawn sector.

-

Battle had been going great. Hell, he’d died hundreds of times that week alone, and killed almost as many; captured intel, lost it, taunted, attacked, defended, caught out the BLU Spy a few times…

Saved lives, had his life saved.

God, the Doc had even ubered him a few times and that was… wow, it was like being a god in a finite form, even for just a few seconds. He fuckin’ loved it!

Spy was still being a dick, but like, in French. Heavy and Medic seemed to understand him, because they tended to glare the man down… but Scout didn’t give a shit. Let the guy be bitter and weird about it, anyone who legs it on their family wasn’t worth anyone’s time anyway…

The others were pretty great to know, actually. Kind of like his own family, a bit weird, chaotic and sometimes the kitchen caught fire… but safe, fun, protected. Being here was turning out pretty great. 

He could almost forget who he was outside the base, ‘cause no one ever used names, only Classes here. And sure, that seemed real weird to begin with, but it made sense and all. Though he still called home once a week to touch bse with Ma and all… that was a given.

Apparently Snipes did too, so Scout didn’t feel so awkward about admitting to the others he needed to call his Ma… it was hard enough being the youngest without saying that sort of thing. Still, he can always use the one in the van if he needed, Sniper had offered. 

Engie kept calling him ‘son’, and teaching him things. Did something similar with Pyro, except he used ‘Py’, ‘cause no one was sure what the firebug identified as… never saw them outta the suit, either, to take a guess. 

Scout could now make… exactly one tiny model of a sentry that shot nails. He was also banned from pranking people with it…

Demo always had an amazing story to captivate the room with. Though Scout didn’t quite trust the magical talking sword the guy had… it gave the runner an eerie feeling just looking at it. He did like to drink, and who wouldn’t given some of the stuff the guy had seen? But he was pretty good at keeping the rest of the base from any drunken shenanigans. He’d even talked a very inebriated Soldier-Medic duo out of taking a nude dip in the water beneath the 2Fort bridge… despite how adamant the pair were at the time.

Heavy, as it turns out, was a ridiculously smart man. Just his English ain’t great, yet so Scout had to stop slinging slang at the poor guy, because it was too hard to keep up. Heavy sometimes read books aloud, for Scout… and sometimes Medic who was usually nearby pretending the two weren’t together, but Scout wasn’t an idiot. ‘Cause the runner had issues with words, they sometimes slid off the page when he was reading and it was a pain… made school harder than it had to be, really.

Medic & Sniper were consistently on his side.

Soldier was a very loud man, who firmly believed in certain ideals (e.g. all of RED were Americans) and acted like a commander most of the time. But he was a nice guy, if chaotic… he’d adopted a whole host of raccoons recently… that was a unique experience. Still, he never failed to let the team know his thoughts, nor failed to praise, bolster, encourage when necessary

Scout would just like it if the guy could stop with the “What are you, a girl?”/ “C’mon ladies, time to take your tampons out and man up!”/etc. thing. He knew it was just something the super macho army guys’d yell at each other but it was a little grating… but he wasn’t sure how to bring it up.

…until his tolerance level took a rather strong hit, as it usually did, once a month. He was a very fit young man, so generally it wasn’t a problem, you learned to live with it after a bit; even in guy clothes. His Ma worked out a solution with her sewing kit and twenty minutes of staring at a pair of new briefs. 

But even the most athletic people still have a bad period now and then. It wasn’t… like, traumatic or anything, for Scout; it was just part of his life, and he was a guy who sometimes felt like death was coming once a month. If he was lucky, a few cramps and that could be easily dealt with through painkillers and stretching… but there were times, when they were pretty damn bad. Like, on the verge of puking, bad. 

And of course, it had to happen eventually on base… but he’d been hoping, maybe, not the first month here. Of all fucking times!His performance took a bit of a dive, because of this, and maybe that’s why he didn’t censor himself when Soldier yelled at him. 

“C’mon maggot, stop being a damn sissy and get out there!” 

“How ‘bout you go fuck yourself?” he snaps back, breathing through the odd twinges emanating from his abdomen. God damn it, why now? They were 2-2 on intel capture, and his freaking uterus was trying to escape…

“How dare you backtalk a superior officer! Where’s all this sass coming from, you PMS-ing like a girl, soldier?” the other shouts, and Scout is thankful they’re alone, because he’s in too much discomfort to give a shit as he answers.

“YES, you flag-fucking son of a bitch!” he snaps back, and immediately panics. His eyes go wide, and they both stare at one another for a long minute.

Soldier looks him up and down, frowning. Or at least, Scout thinks that’s frowning, based on the fact the helmet obscures most of his face.

“…Private, I’m sorry.” Soldier breaks the tension with, surprising the runner. “Had I been informed of your tactical situation, son, I would have used different motivational techniques…”

Scout feels the anger, the fear, dissipate somewhat. Soldier seems genuinely distressed that he’s upset the runner…

“…I didn’t tell anyone ‘cept Doc and I think maybe Snipes worked it out. Didn’t wantcha to think like Spy, that I don’t belong on RED ‘cause they got my birth certificate wrong…” Scout says, clenching his fist as another twinge ruins the moment.

Soldier puts his hand on the runner’s shoulder in a companionable display of affection. “Son, I-… RED are the best at what they do, men, women, Pyro… it doesn’t matter. I’m not afraid to admit I was wrong, or that I’m sorry, and I’ll try not to say anything stupid like that again…”

“Nah I’m just a bit sensitive because-…” Scout tries, but Soldier interrupts.

“Son, if I have learned anything about people, and especially people with your monthly concern, it’s that they’re never oversensitive about things. They just put up with a tonne of shit until they’re too stressed out, too upset or in just far too much discomfort to play polite… never apologise for being real.” Soldier said, as if it was a throwaway statement and not the most epiphany-like moment Scout had ever experienced up until then. 

“Heh, thanks man.” Scout responds. Then lets out a shout of surprise as Soldier tosses him over his shoulder, “What the hell?”

“Doc was back by Engie, last I saw… one of them should have something to take the edge off… get you back in fighting form and all.” Soldier responds, oddly considerate. 

Scout lets out a startled yelp as they rocket jump off the platform, he’d always wanted to try it but not from this angle!

They do find Engie, and his dispenser provides some relief until the man can fish a small packet of panadol out of his toolkit. He doesn’t ask why, he’s laid back like that. 

Scout is honestly relieved at how this ended up such a non-event.

-

Some of the others have noticed Scout doesn’t shower with them, but have made their own assumptions (he’s young, it might be weird to shower with all these big, muscly older dudes). Scout’s honestly surprised Spy hasn’t used that in a big reveal, yet… but he senses the other is waiting for something. 

Scout still flirts with Miss P when she comes on base, because she’s beautiful and he does still kinda love her, but there’s also a degree of thrill to having her turn him down because ‘she’s not into boys’. She’s known from the start, and never once misgendered him… never leaves him without anything he needs, either. Last time, he even found a large box of his favourite chocolate in there amongst the items, and he had a feeling that was her doing too…

God she needed more than one day off a year, even if Scout only took her out as a friend… she was too damn good to them all. 

Demo did mention in passing that Scout had a nice body and if he was concerned about not measuring up to the others in the shower, then he didn’t need to worry, this wasn’t high school. No one pulled ye olde point and laugh here. Soldier had jumped in and gone off on a tangent about cleanliness in the ranks, and how privates should wash theirs whenever, and wherever possible. Which derailed the conversation a bit, though Scout could see the cogs whirring in Demo’s mind. Afterwards, when they had a quiet moment, Demo approached in a casual way; out of earshot of the others, to speak with him.“Lad... like I said before, it disnae matter what ye do or don’t have... you can always shower with the rest of the team, and no one’ll gawk. Pyro showers in their suit and it was only a bit odd the first time. But I’m sensing that the reason has to do with someone on the team, and ye should know I’m always ready to throw a punch for ye, lad, never forget it. Just say the word.” He winks. Or, Scout assumes it was, considering...“Thanks, man. Maybe... soon. I just-... I mean, I trust like, alla ya except Spy but only a few people either know or have worked it out. Not that I think Pyro’d care, or Engie... pretty sure Snipes knows, Medic, Soldier, Heavy probably worked it out, and now you seem to...” Scout trails off.

“...so Spy’s the blaggard, is he?” Demo’s voice was a little colder.

“Well yeah, but it’s... more than that.” Scout adds, shoulders slumping, “First thing he said was... well he kinda called me his daughter and used the wrong name’n’all. When I called Ma about it, ‘cause it freaked me out, she kinda mentioned he’s my dad...”

“Well, fuck, laddie. I’m going to get some of the hard stuff, and we can bag him out until we pass out, aye?” Demo offers, beaming.

“Sounds like a plan to me...” Scout answers, following as the Scot led the way.

Medic was too busy laughing at the hungover pair to do anything useful, for at least half an hour; because apparently they serenaded the Doc, whilst inebriated, in violently clashing accents and utterly out of tune. Heavy had had to carry them to bed.

Neither merc would let them forget it for years to come.

-

Everything just sort of clicked into place, really.

It was like home, with his Ma and brothers... except with more murder and death on a daily basis. Also, better cooking. Scout cannot emphasise that enough. Engie’d even managed to get Scout cooking basic dishes properly... and only the toaster had caught fire that one time. 

Actually, the more Scout interacted with the guy, the more he seemed to realise that Engie had known all along. Especially since the man went out of his way to call him ‘son’, ‘lad’, ‘boy’, and ‘young man’ in every sentence... it was nice. Scout should have twigged earlier, really.

So he stopped taking Spy’s shit, and decided to just confront the guy publicly. Spies didn’t like exposure, but Scouts revelled in it.

“....so emotional, don’t you think that’s a handicap for this line of work?” purrs the Spy, appearing behind Scout at the table. He’s eating cereal and reading a new Flash comic, but he’s not alone; most of the others are lounging across the room by the tv, but all attention is immediately, subtly turned on Spy and Scout. God help the man.

“Funny you should say that, I saw you losin’ ya shit after that Blu poured piss on ya, earlier...” Scout backhands, blandly. Not rising to the bait.

He can sense the man’s lips curling into a scowl of disgust. “Zhat is another matter entirely... I am talking about-...” Spy responds, but Scout interjects.

“Oh I know whatcha talking about, there pal, and if ya don’t fuck off I’ll slap ya silly with a used tampon... see how ya cope emotionally after that, huh?” Scout grins at the revulsion on Spy’s face.

“So vulgar, of course you get zhat from your mother... as daughters often do.” 

Well fuck. Scout slams the spoon down and stands up, getting right up into Spy’s face. 

“Now look, you creepy bastard, the reality of this is ya thought ya had a daughter... but surprise, it’s a fucking boy! Now accept ya have a son, that ya abandoned by the way, or go one annoying the shit outta him about the fact that ya wanted a girl to abandon instead. Either way, he doesn’t fucking care.” 

Spy looked taken aback. 

“Yeah, I said it out loud, surprised? The rest of the team knows, they don’t give a shit as far as I know... you’re the one with the hangup. So maybe just come to terms with your own crap, and when you think you’re human enough, we can try to do the whole dad-son thing, okay?” Scout finishes. He’s tired, of this fight, of this conversation. It had been building for months. 

Spy just stares at him for a long moment, as if he had never seen Scout before this very second... and finally composes himself. “Very well... mon fils.” He has cloaked and left, before Scout can fully register what has happened. 

“Good job laddie!” Demo cries, coming over to clap him on the shoulder. 

Sniper puts his Huntsman down, nodding to the runner as if it was nothing. Pyro hugged Scout, but that may have been unrelated to the whole situation... Pyro just liked to hug. Engie said, “Proud of ya, son.” and left it at that.

The others acknowledged the moment, but didn’t make a fuss.

All in all, it was pretty good.

-

Maybe in time Spy can reconcile.

Maybe not.

But it doesn’t matter as long as the team is on Scout’s side, no matter what. 

Scout... Jeremy... loves being a RED, for precisely that reason.

- - - - - - - - - -

The End.

Headcanons like that?

[fruit-teeth]

Matters of Time and Fate (8)

/(AHAHA FINALLY!! So sorry for the delay!! I know you guys probably thought I forgot about this story but I didn’t! Anyway I’m gonna shut up now, please enjoy)

Sniper woke up early that morning, and the first thought in his mind was that he wanted to make coffee. He’d had a rough, feverish sleep the previous night, and he needed to cleanse his mind with a cup of black coffee. Just the way he liked it.

As Sniper went to the kitchen and began to prepare coffee in the pot, he internally praised himself for waking up early before everyone else. Now he could have his coffee and he could make his breakfast in peace and quiet, without anyone –

“Are you making coffee?”

Sniper startled, turning around to see Olivia standing there. He fumbled for a moment, trying to think of how to answer.

“Uh…yeah, I am,”

Olivia hopped up on the chair beside the kitchen counter, looking over his shoulder. “Make a cup for me! I like milk and sugar in mine,”

Sniper processed this for a moment, before he looked back at Olivia, confusion in his eyes. “What? You want coffee?”

Olivia looked at him like he’d just asked a stupid question. “Yeah? I like coffee! My nanny makes some for me every morning, with milk and sugar,”

Sniper scoffed. “Really? I mean…” he scratched the back of his head. “You’re only six, should you really be drinking coffee?”

Olivia pursed her lips together. “My daddy says I can have it! He says everyone drinks it,”

“Well,” Sniper cleared his throat. “Six-year-olds don’t drink it. You know what I drank when I was six?”

When Olivia shook her head, Sniper replied, “Milkshakes, I used to drink them every morning. They’re not really that healthy, but I can show you how to make some,”

“Milkshakes?” Olivia thought about it, and then shrugged. “Okay. Can we put chocolate in it?”

Sniper just grinned at her. “I like your thinking! We can put whatever we want in them. You like peanut butter?”

Olivia nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah!”

“All right, all right,” Sniper laughed, opening a cabinet and getting out a jar of peanut butter, as well as some cocoa powder. “Let’s get started – pass me the blender, yeah?”

Meanwhile, Engineer was sleeping peacefully on his air mattress when he was rudely awoken by the loud whirring of a blender in the kitchen. He startled, stumbling to his feet in the direction of the noise.

“What in Sam Hill is all that racket!?” he snapped, hovering in the doorway.

Sniper looked up from where he was pulsing the blender. “Sorry, mate! We’re making milkshakes, blender’s real loud…”

Olivia stared at the mixture of peanut butter, vanilla ice cream, cocoa, and banana through the clear plastic of the blender. “Press the button again! It still looks lumpy…”

Sniper pressed the button, and the violent whirring struck right back up. Engineer flinched at the sound. “Gosh darn it! I should make a blender that’s real quiet – I probably could!”

The whirring died down again, and Olivia checked the milkshake again, frowning. “Still lumpy!”

Before Sniper could mash the button again, Engineer shooed him away from the blender. “Hey, y’know what? There’s some stuff we still need from the store, how about we take a little shopping trip and I can buy some more parts to build a quiet blender? Then you can put whatever you want in there without wakin’ the whole house,”

Sniper huffed. “Look, the milkshakes aren’t done! Gotta blend ‘em somehow,”

Engineer grabbed a wooden spoon and handed it to Sniper. “Use this! Do it the old fashioned way,”

Sniper rolled his eyes, but he took the spoon and poured the mixture into a bowl. He then stirred around a bit before it appeared edible, and then he poured it into two separate glasses. “Here ya go,”

Olivia took one of the glasses, eyeing it suspiciously before taking a sip. Sniper sat down at the table with his own glass, watching her. “Thoughts?”

Olivia thought for a moment, before nodding. “Good! It’s good,”

As she sat down and started to drink the rest of it, Engineer began cleaning out the blender, when a thought struck him. “Hey, Olivia – would you wanna go to the store with us? You can look around, it might be good to spend some time outside,”

“The store?” Olivia asked, blinking. Her father never took her shopping, they always had someone around who would just pick up groceries and other necessities for them. “To do what? Buy things?”

“Well, yeah,” Sniper shrugged. “That’s what the store is for. You could even look at some toys too, if you want,”

“Toys…” Olivia had never owned any toys. Her father always dismissed them as ‘childish’, and she’d done the same. But, she realized, he wasn’t around, now…

“Okay, I’ll go,” she agreed, and then reached for her glass of milkshake again. “But right after I finish this,”

Sniper just chuckled. “Yeah, of course…”

Upon waking, Scout could hear the sound of Engineer’s truck starting up from the driveway. Confused, he got out of bed and went downstairs, watching as Sniper got his shoes on by the door.

“Hey!” Scout barked, leaning over the railing of the stairs. “Where you guys goin’?”

Sniper glanced up from his shoes. “Oh, we’re gonna go to the shopping center. We just gotta pick up a couple things,”

Scout hopped down the stairs, fixing his hair and grabbing an apple from a bowl of fruit on the counter to eat. “Can I go? I’ve been dyin’ to get some extra clothes and stuff!”

“Sure, if you want,” Sniper shrugged. “How fast can you get ready?”

“So fast!” Scout took another big bite of the apple, turning on his heel to head upstairs. “I’ll be dressed before you know it – I’m a master at gettin’ ready quick!”

True to his word, Scout was in his day clothes within just a few minutes. He sprayed on his cologne and bounced back downstairs, only to see Olivia standing by the door.

Scout flinched, as he was still a bit wary around the girl. “…hi? Um, whatcha doing, kid?”

Olivia looked away, and Sniper clarified, “She’s coming with us, we’re gonna get her out of the house for a bit,”

“Wha…!?” Scout opened his mouth to argue, but when he saw Olivia staring back at him again, he thought better of himself. “Okay, fine…” he sighed. “Is Engie outside in the car?”

“Yep,” Sniper opened the door, ushering Olivia and Scout out of the house. “Let’s not keep him waiting,”

As soon as everyone was in the vehicle, Engineer started it up and began to head down the dirt path leading to the road. The sun was shining bright overhead, casting the sky in a brilliant blue.

Olivia watched as the hills rolled by through the windows of the truck. She’d never seen anything like it until now, and she thought it was very beautiful. The way the sun reflected off of the wheat in the fields and the grass looked like something out of a story book to her, and it made her feel something she had never felt before, some kind of longing deep within her soul…

Engineer switched the radio on to a country station, and Scout huffed. “Aw, come on! Seriously, Engie?”

“Hey, it ain’t my fault you don’t have taste,” Engineer replied simply.

Olivia tilted her head, listening to the music. “What’s this?”

“Country music,” Sniper answered. “Have you never heard country music before?”

“No,” Olivia shrugged. “It sounds like those weird movies my daddy used to watch,”

Scout’s brow furrowed. “What movies?”

Olivia searched for how to describe it. “Movies about these men with big hats and guns…cowboy movies! They’re called cowboys, I forgot,”

“Old westerns?” Engineer sounded surprised as he turned a corner, heading down into the town. “Your dad liked old westerns, Olivia?”

Olivia nodded. “Yeah, he watched them a lot while he did his work. I watched them only sometimes,” she remembered walking in during a scene where a sheriff was pointing his gun at a burglar, and how her father had paused his paperwork to point to the screen.

“Do you see that, Olivia?” he had asked. “We call that a ‘negotiation’,”

“But there’s a gun,” Olivia had pointed out. “And they aren’t really talking…”

“This is a last resort negotiation,” Gray went on to explain. “They actually are very good at getting what you want, you might find out,”

Olivia blinked, coming back to the present as she heard Scout talking again. “Huh!” he remarked. “Never took him for the type to watch those kinda movies, always thought he was more of…” Scout trailed off, glancing at Olivia and recalling what had happened the last time he made a snide remark about her father. “…never-mind.”

Olivia folded her arms back up and looked out the window, getting quiet again. The whole truck went silent aside from the music playing on the radio before Scout decided to at least try and make conversation.

“So, uh…” he cleared his throat, getting Olivia’s attention. “What are you hoping to find at the store, kid?”

Olivia just shrugged. “I don’t know,”

“You don’t know?” Scout asked, surprised. “Damn, whenever I went to the store as a kid, I always had a list of stuff I wanted to buy with my allowance. You can’t think of anything?”

“No,” Olivia shook her head. “I’ve never been shopping before,”

Scout’s eyes widened in alarm at that. “Never!? Damn, kid, what have you been doing your whole life? You know what? Here’s what we’re gonna do – I’m gonna show you what to do while at a store! I’m a pro, you’re gonna thank me later,”

“Don’t teach her anything stupid,” Sniper warned. “We don’t wanna get her in trouble,”

Scout waved him off. “Aw, come on! It’s gonna be fun, I promise,”

They finally arrived at the shopping plaza, a place Olivia had never seen before. As Engineer parked, Olivia stepped out and looked up at the buildings with awe. “Wow! There’s so many stores!”

“I know, right?” Scout got out after her, before turning to look at Engie. “Where to first, hardhat?

Engineer pulled out a list, checking it. “Well, let’s see…we need parts for the new blender, some extra snacks, and then whatever else we think we might need,”

Sniper pointed out a hardware store nearby. “How about there first? That looks like it’d have blender parts,”

As they walked in, Engineer turned to Olivia and Scout. “We’re gonna look at some parts, you two look around. Scout?” his tone changed to one more serious. “Keep her outta trouble, okay? I mean it,”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Scout waved him off, before gesturing for Olivia to follow him. “C’mon, kid! Let’s have an adventure,”

Olivia trailed after him, curious over what ‘adventure’ this store could have to offer. They wandered around a bit, before Scout paused. “Ooh, okay! Take a look!”

“What?” Olivia looked to where he was pointing, and she gasped a little. Sitting several feet away were a line of model bathrooms, complete with their own bathtubs and showers. “What is that? Are those real bathrooms?”

“Nope!” Scout grinned, approaching one and running his hand over the sink. “They’re models – if you wanna buy a bathroom, or make one, or whatever, these are models you can follow, pretty much,”

“Oh!” Olivia approached it, fascinated, leaning over to look in the tub. She turned the levers, but no water came out. “There’s no water!”

“Yeah, it ain’t hooked up,” Scout explained, checking the cabinets. “Aw, sweet! Someone left something in here!” he fished it out, only to make a face. “Ugh, never-mind. It’s someone’s stupid pamphlet thing from…the ‘Sculptor’s Clayground’? Huh,”

Olivia wandered over to another model, seeing a beautiful clawfoot tub. All of the sudden, she had the urge to climb into it, and without thinking about it she clambered inside sat down.

Scout noticed, and he laughed, leaning in to look. “There ya go! I wonder if you could hide in here…you’re small enough, ain’t ya?”

Olivia made herself as small as possible, but she suddenly laughed, imagining surprising someone like this by hiding in the tub. She’d never considered doing something like that before, but it felt very exciting somehow.

Before Scout could see if she could fit in another model tub, a voice from several feet away barked, “Hey! What are you doing!?”

Olivia sat up in time to see a woman in an employee’s uniform walking up to them, and Scout immediately became defensive. “Hey, hey, we’re just playin’ around, lady!”

“I’ll say,” the woman sighed, gesturing for Scout and Olivia to leave. “This isn’t a playground. Please just take your daughter and move along,”

Olivia paused, looking to Scout in confusion. “Daughter?”

Scout’s eyes widened, and he suddenly appeared offended, scooping Olivia up and setting her down. “I am not her dad!” he exclaimed, before taking Olivia’s hand and briskly leading her away from the models, leaving the employee very confused.

[thetriggeredhappy]

trucks & vans 47 and/or 62 ?

hurt/comfort time with these two nerds. buckle in for some hurt. (warnings, i’m serious, this is heavy angst. warnings for symptoms of various mental health issues, self-destructive behavior, self-harm, and some somewhat sloppy comfort.)

47.) “I can take care of myself just fine.”

62.) “Please shut up. Just shut up.”

The Engineer was a man who solved problems in a way that was both practical and efficient. Medic was overworked and reaching his breaking point on the field when minor injuries apparently called for full health kits, teammates therefore leaving him to die, so Engie prototyped the dispenser. Heavy expressed frustration over having to run laboriously across the whole battlefield only to be left to die in thirty seconds once he got to the point, so Engie broke the seal on more of his grandfather’s designs and made teleporters. When carpal tunnel struck and he failed to give it proper rest, eventually making his writing hand all but useless, he replaced it with a mechanical one that wouldn’t betray him, parts replaceable just in case it did.

People were trickier. Issues residing in the category of “emotions” were much more nuanced, much more difficult to sift through for answers. Nobody—not even the Medic—could blueprint the human mind, after all. (That wasn’t to say Engie didn’t try.)

Frankly, he didn’t know how to help Sniper. He just didn’t. But he tried to do what he could, what Sniper would tolerate.

Most of the time, that involved setting aside a plate for Sniper at dinner, wrapping it in foil when the man didn’t turn up. Making a full pot of coffee in the morning and leaving it out for Sniper to pick up when he finally showed up in the base. Idly offering to do some work on his van when he could hear it struggling to sputter to life, offering him one of his own beers from the cooler he brought over when he went to do the work. It involved leaving invitations, giving Sniper opportunities to visit with him, to see him, to be near each other, but never, ever forcing him.

And then break came, and on the first night, when everyone had long cleared out, he saw Sniper’s van still parked where it always was, lights on.

He made enough dinner for both of them, wrapping it and putting it in the fridge. He made the extra half-pot of coffee. The plates remained untouched. The coffee went cold. The light stayed on, and never once, in all the time Engie spent working in the garage, in full view in case Sniper wanted to walk over and maybe snatch up one of Engie’s beers, did he see the man leave the camper.

Day three, it was something lingering in his mind. Day four, it was starting to get a bit worrying. Day five, he couldn’t help but glance over fairly often. Day six, he was filled with outright concern, and finally cracked on the seventh, went over to the van, knocked on the door.

Engie was a polite man, but an honest one too, and so he wouldn’t be afraid to say that Sniper looked like absolute hell. His hair, usually slicked back with gel to keep out of his face, hung scraggly around his jaw, which was coated in an uneven layer of stubble. He had dark circles like bruises, eyes bloodshot, and a pale pallor to his skin.

“What?” he asked in a horribly hoarse voice, and it was suddenly apparent that Sniper hadn’t spoken a single word in at least a week, and Engie felt a pang in his chest.

“Just came out to check up on you, Slim,” Engie said. He glanced Sniper over again, and that nickname rang uncomfortably true. The way his shirt hung on him almost seemed… “You haven’t been in the kitchen. I wondered if… if you’ve been eating.”

Sniper shrugged casually in a way that didn’t at all answer the question.

“…Why don’t we head out and get ourselves a meal?” Engie asked, keeping his tone bright, positive. “Dinner, somewhere that serves nothin’ that don’t come with a bucket’s worth of grease. My treat.”

Sniper shrugged again, not meeting his gaze. “Sorry, Truckie. Don’t think I’ll make good company just now. Awful tired. Raincheck, maybe,” he mumbled, voice awfully rough, almost pained.

Engie was eyeing Sniper’s shirt. It seemed wrinkled, and sat almost awkwardly. As if it had been hastily donned. The buttons were misaligned. Sniper held himself awkwardly.

“What were you doing before I came over here, Slim?” Engie asked, voice level, keeping his expression neutral, already almost positive that he knew.

“Nothing,” Sniper said.

Engie just looked at him.

“Raincheck,” Sniper repeated, moving to close the door.

Engie shoved his boot in the door before he could do so, expression hardening at the light, almost imperceptible wince Sniper had made when he’d moved his arm. “Slim, you can make this an awful lot easier on yourself if you just let me in so we can talk,” he said, tone low.

Sniper looked at him for a few seconds. A few more. Finally he exhaled, hung his head, and took a step back to allow Engie entry.

The door closed behind him, Engie leaned against it, arms crossed, regarding Sniper, expression stone cold. “Show me,” he said simply.

Sniper fidgeted with his cuffs. “Show you what?” he asked, a last-ditch attempt.

“What you’ve done. Show me,” Engie said, not giving Sniper even an inch.

Sniper seemed to realize he was cornered, but hesitated regardless. “You’ll be mad,” he tried.

“I’m already mad. I’ll be less mad if you show me,” Engie replied evenly.

Sniper’s hand went to one of the buttons on his shirt carefully, and he set about undoing them.

His undershirt was exposed, a simple white tank, and then Sniper stopped again for a few seconds. He wouldn’t meet Engie’s eye. Already Engie felt concern eating a hole into his stomach at how thin Sniper seemed to have gotten in such a short amount of time.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Engie’s expression faltered for a moment before he set his jaw again. “Just show me already,” he said firmly.

Sniper’s gaze locked on the floor, and he shrugged out of his shirt, and Engie felt his heart stop.

“Oh, Slim,” he breathed, a lump catching in his throat, and Sniper squeezed his eyes shut.

Sniper’s arms (his forearms in particular) were red and blotchy, skin irritated and inflamed, bright red trails scoring their way up and down the skin there. It was only as Sniper went to clutch at his arms, as if trying to hide, that Engie suddenly noticed the small amounts of blood there under Sniper’s nails, the light smears where he’d scratched at himself hard enough to bleed, places where clearly the wounds had started to scab only to be scratched away again.

He set his jaw, clenching it hard to fight back waves of upset. Sniper still wouldn’t look at him.

He moved to take Sniper by the shoulders, guiding him to sit at the little table. He went to dig through one of the cabinets, finding a first aid kit without much issue.

“When’d you do this?” Engie asked sharply, starting to unzip it and sift through the contents.

Sniper hesitated for a moment. “A bit yesterday, day before. A bit just before you showed up,” he replied with a nervousness that admitted honesty.

“Arms out,” Engie said next, ripping open a pad and drawing the alcohol wipe from it.

Sniper clutched his arms towards himself. “I can take care of myself just fine,” he said firmly.

Engie gave him a glare hard enough that Sniper only surrendered after a moment, holding out one of his arms.

He bit back sounds of pain, head tipped low to try and hide the way he was flinching with each swipe. Engie worked his way over the whole of Sniper’s forearm, then opened another packet for his biceps, which seemed like it’d been scratched at fewer times, but more severely.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, so terribly weak, so horribly fragile, the most stubborn and stoic man Engie knew reduced practically to tears, falling apart right in front of him.

“Please shut up. Just shut up,” Engie said, trying and failing to keep the frustration out of his tone. He started spooling gauze a bit loosely around Sniper’s forearms. He had to take a moment to compose himself. “Damn it Slim, how’d you let it get this bad? My doors have been open. They’ve been open this whole time.”

“I’m sorry,” Sniper said again, quieter now.

Engie didn’t reply to that, just tying off the gauze tightly and moving to make another sleeve on Sniper’s bicep.

The process was repeated on Sniper’s other arm. “You never have told me why you do this,” Engie finally said, despite the part of him that didn’t want to know, scared that it might just make some kind of sense.

Sniper shook his head to himself. “I get… caught, in my own head,” he managed, voice choked. “Can’t think. Start feelin’… paranoid. Keep thinkin’ I hear someone behind me. That I see movement. That I…” He had to take a steadying breath. “That I feel something crawling on me. On my arms especially. And I just… I try and scratch it off, scratch the feeling away. And then all at once I look down and I’ve done this. It’s worse when there’s scabbing.”

Engie finished wrapping his arms, moving to use the wipes to try and carefully clean out from under Sniper’s nails. “Have you tried showering? Something besides scratching to feel clear?”

“I’ve tried showering, yeah. Keep turning the water up until it burns me. Not better,” Sniper mumbled towards his shoes.

Engie moved to pull a few band-aids from the kit, starting to slice along the sticky part, and to wrap the band-aids over Sniper’s fingertips snugly.

Sniper watched him doing so, and suddenly understood what he was doing, why he’d wrapped his arms in gauze like that, why he was putting soft material over his fingertips. He released a dry sob, hunching forward to bury his face in Engie’s shoulder as he worked, humiliated, upset, grief-stricken.

Halfway through his other hand, Sniper finally spoke. “I’m a fuckin’ lunatic, Truckie,” he choked out, breath shaky as he tried to repress tears.

“No, you’re not,” Engie answered calmly. “You’re just a man, a scared one. And that’s alright. The part that’s not alright is you locking yourself away and hurtin’ yourself.”

Engie finished wrapping him up to make sure he didn’t cause any further injury, and moved to hold him, carefully so as not to accidentally irritate his wounds further.

“I’m sorry I got so frustrated,” he finally apologized. “I just… I know it ain’t a very good excuse, but really. I hate knowin’ you’ve gone and hurt yourself because you’re still scared to talk to me. What do I gotta do to get you to talk to me next time things get this bad? What do you still need from me?”

“I dunno. I just—I dunno. I’m sorry,” he insisted, pushing in closer.

“I know,” Engie said, holding him, all too aware of how quickly Sniper could begin to break. “I know. It’s alright.”

[kellanved-ammanas]

12 Days of Shipmas Day Three: Spy/Engineer - Alone for Christmas

It was snowing outside, snowflakes drifting gently to ground to form a thing layer of white that probably wouldn’t last the day depending on how warm it got later. It was pretty but… that’s it, nothing special, just pretty. Maybe it would even last until tomorrow, making it a white Christmas, those were supposed to be special, right?

Spy sighed as he turned his back to the window to face the empty common room. Everyone else had left the base more than a week ago to visit family, their home town, or do something else for the holidays. Spy had enjoyed the solitude at first but… it was too quiet.

He sat back at the table to finish his breakfast, interrupted by the sight of the snow falling outside. Normally during breakfast, the morning people of the team would chat about stuff. The absence of background noise left Spy with little appetite but he forced himself to finish anyway.

There was a sound from outside, like a car pulling up. Spy shot to his feet, pulling his butterfly knife out and flicking it open in one smooth movement. He activated his invis-watch, giving his cloak a second or two to set in before approaching and looking out the window again.

It was Engie’s truck and Engie was climbing out of it. He was supposed to be in Texas, what was he doing back here? Was he an enemy Spy perhaps? … Possible, not super likely since the truck couldn’t be faked and Engie had outfitted it with more than enough security to ensure it couldn’t be stolen, he was peculiar about that type of thing. And he had a key to the base’s backdoor, allowing him to enter directly into the common room. Meaning the only way it could be an enemy was if they’d killed Engie, which wasn’t likely. Not to mention they were on cease fire, neither team had ever broken that truce before.

“Howdy,” Engie called out as he shut the door behind himself. “You in here Spy?”

Spy let his cloak fall and Engie snapped around with a frightened look on his face that morphed into a smile when he spotted Spy. “Howdy partner.”

“Howdy,” Spy replied as he flicked his knife closed and slipped it back into his pocket. “Why are you here?”

“I heard from Miss Pauling that you was fixing to spend Christmas alone. I couldn’t allow that so here I am.”

“That is unnecessary but… I suppose you’re welcome here.” It’s not like Spy could turn him away after he drove all the way back here. “What about your plans?”

“Well, I ain’t got any family left so I ain’t missing anything other than my home town. It gets kind of lonely at my old place, especially this time of year so I ain’t really missing nothing.”

“All right then,” Spy said with a shrug, trying to hide how pleased he was that Engie had come all the way back for him.

“In hindsight I should’ve invited you to come along with me but I thought you’d be going back to France or something like you normally do. Why didn’t you?”

“Had some stuff I needed to take care of here.” And he just hadn’t been in the mood to bother with all the hassle of traveling during this time of year. He didn’t have any family in France and every year he went back everything had changed even more than the year before, his hometown had become barely recognizable, making him feel old.

“Let’s spend Christmas together than, huh? That’s what couples are supposed to do anyway, right?”

“Yes,” Spy said with a sigh as he took Engie’s ungloved hand in his own and lifted it to kiss his knuckles. “Thanks for coming.”

Engie gave him a slightly flustered smiled. “Anytime partner, love you.”

“I love you too.” Christmas wouldn’t be so lonely after all.

Day Two /