>>74 Anger is consuming me right now.

You know what? I'll just make a Reed Fields blog on t u m b l r so the story will be all in one place.

Now I'll just have to figure out how to do that.

Okay, seperate t u m b l r blog made. Peruse to your heart's content.

I read all of this in one sitting. Damn you... I'm so fucking confused and happy right now.

I only recently started sifting through TF2 porn (art and fanfic) but this is one of the best I've ever read.

Normally I'm not one for vilifying stories which choose a seemingly random character to become the plot's rapist as these often end up pointless and needlessly melodramatic in my eyes. On the other end of the spectrum, the standard porn notion of eventually falling in love/lust with the rapist tends to please me even less. While I can accept that porn can and does ignore reality for the sake of schlicking up, for me most of these plot-lines end up tiresome. This also goes for artistic, rather than linguistic, depictions of the same sometimes.

But you're breaking my heart here with a strong sense of realism, personality, individuality, and actual sci-fi themes. I love it. I've always loved stories with a plot and deep, realistic emotions, mature content or not.

My other favorite fic so far, on this site no less, is Fun Time with Helmets. I read that fic first and so seeing Soldier like he is here was a bit testing at first. But the mystery held me and now the eagerness to see if BLU Spy and RED Sniper will finally get some semblance of happiness is egging me on. And whatever Soldier's motives, they feel more sensible now even if they might not be wholly justified.

Also, I feel so sorry for everyone else on these teams.

Please continue writing this until it's done. :D

Well thank you, Anon. Rest assured I don't like randomly turning characters into rapists, either, and Soldier has plenty of motivation/justification (if you ever want to go that far) for what's happened.

Also, I'm bumping this like a douche since I don't want it to fall off. Please forgive me Tf2chan.

Hah hah! I wasn't going to respond but the captcha had to be noted given that you didn't truly update, Lawlspy.

'Mean layear' indeed

I think captcha is demanding more fic as well. (I forgive you though.)

Okay, so I've given this a twice over and I think I've sorted this out. If you see inconsistencies then...well, shit.
-
Somewhere, bells were tolling.

When Spy awoke, he was lying on a bed in Medic’s office. It was dimly lit and smelled of disinfectant. The doctor himself was seated at the far end of the room at his desk and wrote hurriedly, his right elbow moving sharply in tandem. The scratch of pen on paper was the only sound between them, and Spy found it disconcerting. He tried to move, but his wrists and ankles were bound in leather restraints.

Then he was back in that shack with Soldier thrusting into him, face hovering overhead, no where to hide, no haven from that ugliness. He could smell his breath, his sweat, hear the slapping of their flesh and all the while buttons dug into his spine and it went on forever and Jesus, God, if anyone could hear him why the fuck wasn’t it just over—

“…Spy, Herr Spy!”

Medic stood over him, expression stony. “I vill not tolerate violence here. Calm yourself or I vill sedate you again.”

Spy flinched away from the nearness of another man. He had heard stories. Once a man had been trussed up and fucked, a precedent was set. Others had tacit permission of the group to do the same. It would never be the same. It would never stop.

“Den lock me up in another room,” he snapped, “don’t tie me to a bed.”

A terrible understanding crossed Medic’s features, but it fled as quickly as it appeared. He stepped back for a moment, thoughtfully, before turning away. “I do not trust you. I vill get Heavy before I do anything of the sort.”

“Doctor,” Spy said and paused until Medic stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Please ‘urry.”

Medic nodded curtly and left the room.

It was silent after that. Under normal circumstances, Spy would’ve taken comfort in being alone in a quiet, enclosed space. A rarity in any front line establishment. But being strapped down to a bed, being helpless, in a soundless room that offered no distraction was torture. He swallowed thickly and tested each of the leather straps. It was logical. Reasonable. None of them yielded, of course. Faulty equipment in the arena of a perfectionist like Medic was a cardinal sin, so he bent and twisted his body within the confines of his bonds to gauge his wounds. There was no pain. Not even a twinge. He craned his neck to look at his wrists, but Medic hadn’t bothered to take off his gloves before restraining him. Without any hint of discomfort, however, Spy doubted there would be any bruising or scarring. He must have been exposed to the medigun or one of Engineer’s dispensers.

Or had it never happened?

Spy gave a start when the door slammed open. Medic walked in, followed by an irritated looking Heavy. The Russian spared him a distrustful glance before crossing his arms. “Not doctor’s servant,” he said peevishly.


Medic shot him a cool look. “Please, Heavy. I vould not have disturbed you vithout good reason.”

“Good.” Heavy turned to look at Spy, expression sealing shut. “Little man behave?”

It took all of Spy’s willpower to stifle the laugh that crawled up his throat. He simply nodded and spread his hands on the bed in way of surrender. Heavy stared at him for a long moment before approaching the bed and gestured to Medic, who started unbuckling the restraints. Spy couldn’t help shying away from them as they towered over his prone form. His entire body tensed in anticipation of violence, but Medic simply circled the bed with a clinical expression. Each metallic click sounded loud and ominous, and Spy was keenly aware of Heavy’s tension as the pressure on his wrists and ankles disappeared. The brown limb belts beneath him relaxed like the grip of a dying animal and he was finally free.

Spy sat up and rubbed his left wrist. “Can I leave now?”

Medic looked at him for a long moment. “Not yet. I have something you should see.”

“Oh?”

“Ja. Come vith me.”

Spy was sore and had to piss like a racehorse, but he didn’t argue. “Oh alright,” he sighed and followed Medic out of the room. Heavy followed behind him radiating an unsaid threat. Everything was quiet in the base. It must have been well into the night. Spy fought off a sudden wave of exhaustion and tried to anticipate where they were going. When there was no noise or human presence, the BLU base felt sterile and unforgiving. The fluorescent lights shone harshly overhead and only emphasized a lack of natural light. They might as well have been rats in a laboratory.

It surprised Spy when they passed by the obnoxious INTELLIGENCE sign. They walked quietly down the hall, and noted the walls bore even more burn marks and bullet holes then before, until they approached a formidable looking door. He was equally surprised when Medic let out a noise of disgust and punched in the code 111 to release the electronic lock. Gears whirred obediently and the door swung open on silent, well-oiled hinges.

“For de love of…really?” Spy asked incredulously.

Medic glanced over his shoulder. “Ja, really.”

“Leetle Scout’s doing.” Heavy crossed his arms in what could only be described a sulk. “And team say I am stupid.”

The room where BLUs documents were kept was rather plain and ordinary in comparison to the door it was protected by. A small desk and chair sat in one corner while the opposite window commanded a view of the vast room below. Spy looked around for a hint of what was to come, but everything seemed in order. A cold tongue of fear slid up his neck. Perhaps they had lied and wanted to avenge Soldier?

Medic misinterpreted his reaction. “Ah, you remember?”

“Remember?” Spy regarded him distrustfully. “What am I to remember, Doctor?”

Heavy and Medic merely shared a complicated glance and escorted him down the stairs into the large room dominated by a huge screen of BLU’s assets. It was strangely reminiscent of NASA’s mission control room. Spy tried to conceal his own nervousness, but it felt like his heart was ready to leap out of his throat. He fished out his disguise kit, surprised when Heavy’s meaty hand clamped down on his arm like a shark’s mouth.

“What are you doing?” Spy snarled. “I want a fucking cigarette!”

Medic stopped and turned with an air of deadly calm. “Heavy, please release him.” His gaze swivelled to meet Spy’s. “Forgive us, but vith your aberrant behaviour as of late, ve cannot take risks.”

“If you had any sense, you would ‘ave taken my disguise kit away de moment you took me prisoner.” Spy curled his upper lip, but handed it to Heavy anyway. Neither one rose to the bait.

They continued to walk through the rows upon rows of computers until Medic stopped at one in the first row. Its screen, wobbling with a paused image, threw unsteady light across the room.

“Sit,” Heavy commanded.

Spy shot him a defiant look, but obeyed. Medic leaned over him and pressed a button out of sight. The computer hummed to life and began to play black and white footage. He recognized the hall that lead to the war room. Soldier’s image hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. The swing of his helmet, his stride, his boots, his hands. The memory of Soldier above him, his smell, his muscled body, clung to Spy’s skin like ravenous leeches. He shuddered, unable to look away.

A man-shaped blur rushed up from behind Soldier and jumped on him. There was a flash of something silver—a knife?—as the assailant’s arm rose and fell. Rose and fell. Rose and fell. Soldier reacted violently and tried to dislodge his attacker, but his right leg buckled and he toppled over like a condemned building. The other man stood up, his shoulders thrown back in triumph, and Spy knew he was watching himself. The attack itself lacked professionalism, but it made up for it in sheer brutality. He watched himself roll Soldier over, a dark grey blossom on the front of his uniform, and backhand him.

Then the silent movie changed angles. Spy was suddenly facing the intel room. He watched himself drag Soldier’s inert, bleeding form across the floor and onto the desk, and then tie him down. A mix of revulsion and fascination churned in his belly. There was a surreal moment Spy watched himself venture off stage and return with a bucket full of water. Then he waited with the patience of a mantis for Soldier to wake up.

Medic leaned forward and fast forwarded the footage for several minutes. Spy jumped, having completely forgotten that he and Heavy were even present. It was deathly silent when Medic pulled away and the story continued to unfold.

Soldier woke up screaming. Spy couldn’t hear it, but he could see the man’s mouth open; his throat spasming. His desperate thrashing made the desk wobble, but to no avail. His chest rose and fell rapidly and the dark splash across his uniform regained its moist gleam under the light. Spy stood up slowly over Soldier, his body radiating excitement, and slowly undressed him. It was done with great tenderness. Each touch was a thoughtful one. A caress. Excruciatingly kind. Slowly, so slowly, each layer of BLU battle fatigues were peeled back until Soldier lay naked and spreadeagled on the table like a butterfly about to be pinned. Then he was shown a small photograph. Soldier screamed again. His eyes were badly pixelated in the footage, but Spy could feel the intensity—the desperation—from the other side of the screen. It wasn’t that he was sorry, but the suffering was so like his own, so familiar, that he couldn’t take pleasure in it.

And then it began in earnest.

The Spy onscreen took various objects, from a kitchen knife to a rusty pipe, and violated Soldier’s every orifice. Dark grey blood flowed brightly under the fluorescent lights. Spy paused to shrug off his jacket, which was already bloody, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He chose steadily larger specimens and shoved them in Soldier’s anus and mouth, then back again. His back was to the camera most of the time, but there was the telltale curve along his cheek that revealed he was smiling. That curve, that smile, never disappeared. Not once. He retrieved a mirror and showcased his handiwork to Soldier, who had bared his teeth in a rictus of agony. Spy nodded thoughtfully, as if listening to constructive criticism, and put down the wire brush that had been his latest weapon. He disappeared off screen for a moment. Soldier’s chest heaved unsteadily like he was sobbing.

Perhaps he was.

Spy walked back into view holding a slender knife. It wasn’t his usual balisong, but curved and thin like a small scimitar. He said something that made Soldier scream at him, and laughed. He then bent over the American’s crotch and artfully shaved off peels of flesh as if he was harvesting the rind of an orange. It started there, then radiated outward. Up Soldier’s chest, down his thighs, until he quivered in agony. Entire lengths of muscles lay exposed and glistening.

It ended when both Spy and Soldier’s heads jerked towards the door. A chair slid across the floor. Spy didn’t stop even when the room flooded with his teammates. He kept skinning and skinning and smiling until Heavy tried to restrain him. The Russian’s arms nearly engulfed him in a half-nelson, but Spy resisted with astonishing strength. Even through the screen, Heavy’s surprise was tangible. Scout tried to get the knife out of his hand, but Spy landed a well-aimed kick to his temple and he staggered back, dazed. Sniper appeared on screen and waved his kukri at Spy in a threatening manner, the answer to which was Spy throwing his head back and laughing. Sniper stumbled back and nicked his heel on the bucket of water. With an angry snarl, he lifted it and hurled the into Spy’s face.

The change in body language was instant.

Medic stopped the footage just as Heavy and Demo went about disarming Spy. “Vell?” He prompted in the silence the followed. “Explain yourself.”

Spy stared at the screen for a long time. “I can’t,” he said quietly. “Dat is my body, my skill, but dat is not me.” He slowly bent forward and turned the monitor off. “I don’t know who dat man is.”

The world map, covered by BLU’s spheres of influence, provided a muted blue light that glanced off the rows of computers. Everything else fell into darkness.

Wow... This is... AMAZING!!!! I love it!!! Its awesome!!! Its like...like... Amazing-ly awesome...

Oh MAN, that film scene was fucking brutal... but oh-so beautifully written to where I just couldn't bring myself to stop reading.

My head is so full of fuck right now I cannot even think.
Confused and elated and OMGEWTFBBQ EVERYWHERE.

I am so glad I checked back on this - no other update makes me happier. This Spy is my favourite Spy (probably always will be) and that was just sadistically fascinating and pleasurable to read, real Spy or not. Keep writing (and faster if possible!), please.

I read the first post not to long ago and went, "Ehn not to interested in Spy x Sniper." and carried on, la dee da.

Checked again today since there were new posts and thought, "Well whatever I'll give it another go."

I am beyond glad that I did. I'm... I can't even put into words, although I'm sure you could. There's a certain skill that you have that most writers really don't have. You have a way with words. When you gore it doesn't feel like the usual silly "I wrote this because I enjoy this" fanfic writing. This is... gorgeous and... unreal.

I don't know what else to say but thank you. Thank you for writing this and thank you for being as good as you are.

I don't even
This story has been the biggest mindfuck for me. Brilliant story and wonderful writing.

I'm still waiting to see how this turns out. You're very good at twisting and turning plots in ways so delightfully bamboozling.

Yup. It's that time again.

-

Medic turned away from Engineer and adjusted his glasses. “Herr Spy, are you ready?”

Spy didn’t look up from lighting his cigarette. “Oui,” he mumbled.

The respawn machine had been fitted unobtrusively into the resupply room and was essentially invisible unless someone knew what to look for. The only sign of there being anything unusual was a round metal plate roughly in the middle of the floor. Engineer turned to him and tried to smile reassuringly, but his disgust and fear bled through.

“Don’t worry, Slim. It’s safe.”

Spy exhaled smoke through his nostrils like a dragon. “It’s not very impressive.”

Engineer laughed weakly. “You should see what’s under the floor, then.” His expression became more business-like. “Alright now, just step on that spot right there. That’s right.”

“I’m not a calf you ‘ave to coax,” Spy snapped and stood over the small plate. “Let’s get dis done quickly.”

“Alright, alright. No need for ill-temper.” All good humour left Engineer as he held up a remote and flicked the switch.

A quiet hum filled the room; filled the space behind Spy’s eyes. He grimaced, but didn’t speak. An odd tingle swept across his flesh, as tentative and prickling as a spider’s touch. His hair stood on end. The resupply room felt closed and hot and untrustworthy. He couldn’t help glancing at Engineer and then at Medic, both of whom looked calm. Spy rolled his shoulders in an effort to appear indifferent, but the unpleasant feeling continued to intensify. An involuntary shudder ran through his body, shook him like a child shook a piggy bank. His left knee buckled first and he hit the floor with bruising force, but the pain he expected was distant. Muffled.

And then a high, electronic scream ruptured his eardrums. Cleaved his head in two and vibrated against the back of his eyes. The pain was incredible. Spy shrieked--or maybe it was his imagination. He thought he made a sound. Or maybe it was just a thought. Bells, gongs, phones, alarms. A surge of electronic and percussive noise that threatened to explode out of his skull. Deafening. Like he was standing beside a jet engine.

Hands. Voices. A tinny whine.

His massive frame drew all focus in the room, despite the blood stain on the table. “Never, you fucking devil,” he howled, “I’d rather be...”

“...dead?”

Cardboard. In his mouth. Dry. So very dry.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Herr Spy, you’re not dead.”

Spy groaned piteously. “Am I ‘ungover?” He opened his eyes only to be rewarded by a white light boring into his skull. He flinched away, hand raised. “Stop dat.”

“You’re not hungover,” Medic replied, slowly coming into focus. He was bent over Spy with a clinical expression. “Vell, your pupils are even and responding to stimuli. Still puzzling, though. Do you have a history of epilepsy?”

It took a moment for the implications to sink in. Spy rubbed his eyes looked around the room. He was back in Medic’s office, bed-ridden, with a restraining strap around his waist. There were no windows to give an indication of the time of day, but the lights had been dimmed. A cold thread of unease pulled taut in his stomach.

“Epilepsy?”

Medic nodded and for the first time looked like an actual doctor. It was the stethoscope, Spy realized, which hung around his neck. It was out of place and ordinary. He had expected it to be blue like everything else was, but it was grey. Without the BLU logo that was stamped on every piece of equipment on the base. A relic of the world they had left behind.

“Yes.” Medic adjusted his glasses. “Herr Spy, you suffered a grand mal seizure. There is no mention of this in your chart. My equipment did nothing to alleviate it and so I’ve had to adopt,” he sighed irritably, “more traditional methods.”

“A seizure?” Spy frowned, still feeling sluggish. “No. Never.”

“Are you certain?”

It was Spy’s turn to sigh irritably. “Oui. Dere is no way I could perform de tasks I do with dat axe ‘anging over my ‘ead.” He unbuckled the restraint around his waist and felt the rising panic in his stomach dissipate. “I’ve never experienced such a ding before.”

“Hmm.” Medic looked remote. “Vell, it’s been known that extraordinary stress can cause such things.”

Spy raised his head, though a reference to himself and Soldier felt like a punch to his kidneys. “Did I look stressed?”

Medic regarded him over the rim of his glasses. “I’m...disinclined to trust appearances,” he said after a moment, voice thrumming with bitterness. “For now, the likeliest explanation I can give has to do with respawning.”

“Ah.” Spy nodded as if he understood. “Was I scanned in?”

Medic shrugged. “I don’t know. The process ended abruptly vhen you lost consciousness. Herr Engineer is vorking on it as we speak.”

“Den what can you tell me, Doctor?” Spy swung his legs over the side of the bed and gathered enough strength to stand. He noticed Medic drew back ever so slightly. “Besides dat I’m a ‘omidical maniac.”

“Vhat can I say?” Medic replied sharply and tore his stethoscope from around his neck. “You don’t have the traditional symptoms that vould accompany a seizure or amnesia. No one else has reacted to the respawn system as you have.” He gestured towards the door. “Besides your obvious psychiatric problems, I can find nothing to explain vhat happened.”

Spy scoffed. “I’m not dat crazy.”

Medic’s expression didn’t change. “For now, I believe you fit enough to leave my care, but I vill not clear you for battle.” He adjusted his glasses. “Not until Engineer ensures you’re integrated safety into the system.”

“Is dat so?” Spy nodded philosophically. “Not to seem disrespectful, Doctor, but just ‘ow will you keep me from killing REDs? I’m not going to sit idly by while my fellow teammates ‘ave all de fun.”

“Vell, I could tranquilize you like an animal and strap you down to one of these beds, since you so enjoyed it the last time.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But I said I vouldn’t clear you, not keep you out of danger. You’re an adult, Herr Spy. You vill do what you vant. As the physician for this team, however, I’m telling you it’s not a good idea, making a note of it in your chart, and vashing my hands of whatever death that befalls you.”

It took a moment for Spy to compose himself. “Dat will do,” he replied curtly, and brushed past Medic with thinly concealed emotion.

“Herr Spy.”

Spy paused, but didn’t turn around. “Oui?”

Medic sounded tired. “At least consider the possibility that I’m trying to save your life.”

“Even after what you saw on de video?” He retorted dismissively. 

“Even after that.”

Spy looked at Medic, then. The German man had one hand on his hip, the other resting on a bedside tray, and bore the exhausted look of a surgeon who had spent hours trying to keep a patient’s life from ebbing away under his fingertips.

“Alright Doctor.” Spy turned away and walked out the door. “I’ll...consider it.”

-

It was raining.

Spy hesitated in the doorway. It was late evening and the storm clouds had all but eclipsed the sun’s waning light. Curtains of water fell, sweeping along the fort’s southern face and soaking the lower half of Spy’s body. The rain’s cold sting cut deep into his bones. Eased the shame that had been grafted there. He glanced around, but no one was nearby. It was a crime to abuse such an expensive suit, but Spy found the icy downpour irresistible. He took off his watch and shoved it into his breast pocket, and stepped out into the storm.

Rainstorms in the desert were rare, but when they appeared they did so with a vengeance. Spy tilted his head up and shut his eyes. Rain hammered against his skin, as hard and cold as bullets. Thunder rolled overhead, close enough that he felt its concussive force.

Long ago, so long ago, his father had told him thunder was the sound of God bowling.

Spy walked in the chasm between the RED and BLU forts. He hadn’t thought about God in a long time. It was a maudlin thing, belonging to a forsaken childhood, but he couldn’t quite shake it. Rain soaked his suit and he had to bow his head in order to see where he was going. A small path curved away from the forts and disappeared along a skyline of hoodoos that populated the southern edge of their battleground. There was so much rain that it created waterfalls amongst the already eroded stone and swept down the ground and past the fence. Beyond that, a river glittered like a silver thread.

He walked up to the fence and pressed his head against it. The desert beyond looked unreachable. He shut his eyes and the rain kept pouring over him, thoroughly soaking his suit. He was cold and uncomfortable. A tremor started in his back and shoulders, and spread into his limbs. Thunder boomed overhead and a gust of wind hurled raindrops against his back like knives. It hurt, but it was a good hurt. A feeling he could resist and control. A feeling that left him numb and shivering.

Spy punched the chain link fence. Again. And again. And again. It jingled thinly, a sound that hovered on the cusp of familiarity. He let his arms fall and stood there, panting, until his legs folded underneath him. He landed in the muck with an ignoble plop, but was beyond caring. The ground was cold and saturated with moisture. He pulled his knees up to his chin and waited for the rain to wash the memory of Soldier from his body.

The shivering worsened.

A flash of lightning cleaved through the gloom, immediately followed by a sharp clap of thunder. Spy looked up at the clouds overhead. Rain pummelled his face. It was very cold. He sucked in a steeling breath and glanced over his shoulder. Puddles had grown into ponds. Mud slid towards the ground in viscous rivulets. The entire landscape was shifting beneath him. Lightning flashed again and a deafening boom hit Spy like a physical blow. He lowered his head against his knees again and felt a fatalistic calm.

Footsteps gradually seeped into his awareness. Irregular. Unsteady. Someone who was injured?

Soldier?

Spy raised his head and reached inside his jacket. His revolver felt reassuringly heavy as he unholstered it. Rain beaded on the silver gun barrel and traced the curvaceous woman engraved there. He held it close to his chest and shifted to face his enemy. A murky grey silhouette emerged from the blur of rain. No, not Soldier. The man was too tall. Too thin. And that hat.

It was RED Sniper.

The strange kiss they had shared whipped Spy like a piano wire. He stretched his legs, which tingled unpleasantly, and bent forward so his coat hid his gun’s aim. Sniper walked unhurriedly, boots sinking into the muck. He nearly lost his balance twice on the path’s steep curve, but each time he threw his hand over his hat and carried on. He was wearing some sort of thigh length jacket that repelled the rain--and frankly made him look like a cowboy.

“G’day,” he said causally.

Spy stared at him. “It’s almost night.”

“Oh.” Sniper looked over his shoulder, although there was nothing remarkable about the overcast sky. “You’re right.” He turned back and peered over the rim of his aviators. “Got a fire going by my van if you’re interested.”

“You live in a van?”

“Well..yea.” Sniper frowned. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

Spy shrugged. “I suppose not. Now please go. I wish to be alone.”

Sniper walked forward, not necessarily towards him, but around him until they were face to face. Spy took his gun out from behind his jacket and cocked the hammer back. The storm was loud and omnipresent, but that click sliced through all ambient noise like a scalpel through flesh.

“Leave,” Spy said quietly.

Sniper slowly hunched down until they were at eye level. “It happened to me once when I was a schoolie.” His expression turned stoic, but his hands flexed like claws. “I get it, mate. More than anybody else.” He stretched out his arm in the Legionnaire fashion. “Not offering a pity party. Just a spot by the fire.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Spy told us the whole thing. Says he plans to use it against you next time you meet.” Sniper shook his head. “Man’s got no sense of where to draw the line.”

Spy looked away, Adam’s apple bobbing. “And you’re just doing dis out of the goodness of your ‘eart?”

“Yea, I suppose. Us blokes got to stick together.” Sniper didn’t lower his arm. “No strings, mate.” The corners of his mouth curled upwards. “Promise.”

Spy grabbed Sniper’s forearm and closed the distance between them. “I’ll ‘old you to dat,” he said through bared teeth, “and God ‘elp you if you’re a liar.”

Sniper pulled him to his feet with a full-blown smile. “Now that’s more like it.”

-

*Medic’s accent altered for clarity’s sake

I have no words.

Dear god, an update. Not only that, but it's fucking good.

I...

Don't make me wait so long again, please. It's beautiful, and I love it, and I love you, and I would make love to your story if it didn't result in either shorting out my keyboard, or getting papercuts on my vagina. It's that beautiful, and I yearn for more.

I love the way you write. It's like you're describing scenes in a film. I can see them playing out before my eyes. Simply gorgeous.

Sorry. Not an update. I just wanted to leave a comment.

This fanfic scares me to be honest. It's so strange, twisted, sick, and I can't stop reading it. Though it makes me feel ...... strange, I do wish to read on. Please do continue.

lawlspy, I am hanging on your every word...

Posting here, AO3, and tu mblr. SO MANY FEELS IN THIS CHAPTER. I'm finished uni for the summer so hopefully updates will be faster. We shall see.

-


A blue tarp had been tied to the top corners of Sniper’s camper van and held down on the other side by two rusting iron spikes. A hole had been dug into the sand for the campfire, which burned familiar wooden planks arranged like a tipi. Sniper’s vehicle bore the brunt of the wind, but there was enough force to draw smoke outside. The tarp slowly billowed like a sail. Rain drummed overhead, but the fire’s crackling drowned out the storm. Thunder still rumbled, but it sounded distant. Less threatening.

The campfire had been placed just inside Sniper’s lean-to. Spy hunched down beside it, shivering. He hadn’t realized how cold he felt until the fire’s heat washed over him.

The camper door squealed as Sniper stepped out, towel flung over his shoulders. He held two beers between his fingers. “How those clothes fit?”

Spy stilled. “Fine. Just ‘and me one of dose and I’ll warm up.”

“Don’t be a loon.” Sniper dropped the beer on his chair. “Your lips are as blue as that bloody mask you wear. Drinking will only make it worse if you’re still cold.”

“Then why de fuck did you bring beer out?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sniper chuffed. “Carrot on a stick.”

“You shouldn’t be ‘elping me.”

“Yea.” He dragged the towel off of his shoulder and held it out.

Spy’s eyes flicked away. He accepted the towel and patted it against his mask. It smelled of laundry detergent. Not the industrial brand BLU shipped out to them, but of home. He inhaled its scent and pressed his face into it. So soft and warm. Memories of lounging near Riviére-Malbaie sprang upon him. Hazy afternoons spent by the water with his cousins while the adults chatted around the fire pit.

“Merci.” Spy folded the towel over the nearest rope to dry. The drumroll of rain had slowed. He glanced outside the lean-to. It was dark. Only silver glints suggested raindrops. Smells of moist earth mixed with the smell of Sniper’s clothes. A spasm surged from his core into his throat. It was hard to stay silent.

“You alright?”

“Oui.” Spy glanced over his shoulder. “Just the cold.”

Sniper unfolded two beaten chairs and placed them near the fire. “Then c’mere. Warm up.”

Spy looked at him for a moment, then sat down in the nearest one. It had roses on a faded blue background and creaked under his weight. He put his feet near the fire and sighed. Sniper sat next to him on an equally ugly chair (delphiniums against green) and took out his car keys. He had an opener on the chain and popped the bottle cap with practised ease.

“So ‘ow did you get over it?”

Sniper paused, beer half-way to his lips. “I didn’t.” He took a long drink and stretched his legs towards the fire. “Dropped out of school and went to work hunting in the GAFA. No people. Just beasties. An animal will kill you and eat you. That’s it. People, though. People take their time. They think it through. They’ll fossick through your wallet, your mind, your freckle. It’s them you got to watch out for. Far as I’m concerned, I’m making this planet safer one mark at a time.”

“What’s de gaffa?”

“Great Australian fuck all.”

Spy stared into the fire. “What if we...‘elp each other?”

Sniper paused, looked at him. “Wot do you mean?”

Something popped in the fire. As loud and sharp as a gunshot. Spy leaned forward and propped his elbows on his thighs. His disguise kit lay on the ground beside the chair. He plucked it off the ground and flicked it open. The outside was still wet, but his cigarettes were dry. He avoided Sniper’s eye as he lit one with the Australian’s battered lighter.

“Well,” he exhaled a jet of blue smoke, “we could fuck.”

Sniper’s mouth hung open.

Spy held his cigarette up and lean his head against his forearm. He stared at Sniper’s lighter. An old zippo with a snake down the front covered in nicks and scratches. He flicked it open, then shut, and tossed it back to Sniper who caught it with one hand.

“Don’t look at me like dat. I want Soldier out of my system.”

“Jesus Christ, mate.” Sniper took his hat off and put it on one knee.

“I know I came across as...rough out dere. You surprised me.” Spy took a hard drag on his cigarette. “It’ll just be a once off ding. Oui? No bullshit. Just sex.”

Sniper watched him take another drag on his cigarette. “I’m flattered, mate. I am. It’s nice to know a bloke like you would want an old man like me. But--”

Spy turned away. “Den fuck off. I don’t need to be coddled.”

“Christ. Alright alright.” Sniper leaned back into his chair. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Afraid?” Spy shot him a venomous glance.

“Nah, mate. It’s not about Soldier. It’s about that kiss.”

Spy rolled his eyes. “Still worrying over dat? It was just a--”

“It bloody wasn’t and you know it. I know it.” Sniper stood up and tossed his hat on the lawn chair. “I’m here to make my money and get out. No complications. Wot ever else that kiss was, it was complicated. I don’t need that.”

“Den why,” Spy asked quietly, “de fuck did you invite me ‘ere?”

Sniper pinched the bridge of his nose and took a long time in answering. “Because I wish someone had done the same for me.”

Spy waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t want to talk about feelings.”

Sniper looked at him, then at the fire. “I’m nearly old enough to be your father. I....” He exhaled harshly and took another swig from his beer. “You’re welcome to come here after the fighting’s over, but I’m not hopping into bed with you.”

“Your loss.” Spy crossed his arms. “And I told you to stop coddling me. If you ‘ave no interest in fucking, den don’t expect me to come all de way out ‘ere and sit around de campfire.”

Sniper shook his head. “He really did you in, didn’t he?”

Spy tapped his cigarette and watched the ash dissipate in the wind. “I’m...irked, but I got ‘im back. I trapped ‘im and I did ‘orrible dings to ‘im. I made ‘im scream. So very very loud.” He raised his chin. “I got ‘im back.”

The wind picked up again and the tarp overhead expanded like a lung. Spy shivered and pulled his chair closer to the fire. Moisture slipped from the crease of his eye. He wiped it away until his skin burned. The fire popped again and the smell of sap filled his nose.

Sniper dragged his chair over too and sat down so their shoulders touched. Spy gave a start, but didn’t pull away. “It’s alright to be irked, mate.” When there was no other reaction, he added, “Blokes like us need to watch out for each other, yea?”

Spy hmphed. “And dat’s not complicated?”

“Look.” Sniper tilted his hat back to scratch his hairline. “How about we...have an understanding. Yea? It’s my job to kill BLUs and it’s yours to kill REDs. So if you and that Soldier are out in the open, I’ll shoot him first. If we’re lucky, I might get him right in the donger.”

“I see.” Spy took a drag on his cigarette. “And in return?”

Sniper cleared his throat. “Sometimes my teammates give me surprise visits. If you happen to be around, it’d be nice for them to die before I do.”

Spy stared at him. “During de fighting?”

“Yea, well.” Sniper took a long drink from his beer. “Can’t do it any other time, I s’ppose.”

The tarp made another inhalation and let in a sweep of cold air. Spy took a long drag from his cigarette, let his head fall back, and exhaled a jet of smoke. The fire’s warmth slowly radiated up his legs until he had to move his feet away from the pit. He remembered that feeling from Riviére-Malbaie, waiting anxiously for Mama to let him cook marshmallows.

Christ, first God and now his mother.

Spy closed his eyes. “Fine.” He pushed himself out of his chair and headed towards the camper door. “I don’t see why not.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get my clothes. I want to go before we start painting each other’s nails.”

Sniper threw his head back and laughed. “Don’t think we’re at that point, mate. I’ll stick with my coldie.” He watched Spy climb one stair and hesitate. “Your clothes aren’t going to be dry anyway. Stick around for a bit--you’re looking warm enough for a beer of your own.”

Spy tossed him a peevish look. “ow romantic.”

Sniper opened the other beer with a deft twist of his keys and held it up over his head. “Promise we’ll only talk tits and guns.”

“Tabarnak, I ‘ope not.” Spy looked at him for a long moment, then turned away from the door and sat back down. He accepted the other beer with a two-fingered salute. “Merci, bushman.”

“Only for tonight,” Sniper parried.

Spy flicked his cigarette to the ground. He looked at Sniper, mouth slowly curling into a smile, and held his beer forward. “You may regret dat in de morning.”

Sniper chuffed and clinked his bottle against Spy’s. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

Oh God. My favorite story, risen anew from the distant depths of the chan??

Consider me very pleasantly surprised.

Glad to see that you're back!

Wow, one of the best tf2 fanfics has been updated? Oh lucky day! I really loved the dialogue in this chapter. Looking forward to seeing how you develop the plot in this new "cycle".

I was scanning my story again and I realized I had missed a chunk of Chapter 16 when I copied it. So, I'm going to post this here because it helps the story make more sense. Sorry about this, guys. I screwed the pooch on this one.

This has some mentions of torture, namely Death by a Thousand Cuts. Prepare your anuses.

CHAPTER 16 WITH ITS INTENDED BEGINNING

-

Spy sputtered and opened his eyes. Water dribbled down his face and neck An arm was wrapped around his neck, bulging with exertion to pull him into a headlock. Fingernails dug into his arm, which had been raised overhead, and laying on a table before him was Soldier. Naked. Bound and spread-eagled. Large patches of skin had been shaved off of his chest, thighs, and shins. Living muscle glistened and flexed underneath. Thin panels of flesh lay on the floor in a heap that gave off the sickly-sweet smell of rotting meat. Soldier’s head lolled weakly towards someone on the left. A broken whimper escaped him. Something Spy had never thought he would hear. Blood dribbled off of the table’s edges like raindrops from a blade of grass.

Sniper tossed an empty bucket aside. “Looks like that did the trick.”

Whatever berserk strength had kept Spy upright fled and he was wrenched into a headlock.

“I have him, Doctor. It is safe.”

“Och, not yet.” Large, calloused hands tore the knife from Spy’s hand. He was too astonished to resist. “There.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Engineer’s voice softened with horror.

Spy was stronger than he appeared, but Heavy steered him backwards like a horse. Hands pulled his arms back until cold, metal rings clamped around his wrists. Clicked. Jingled.

Handcuffs.

Only then did Heavy release him. Spy straightened, but a wave of nausea nearly shoved him off of his feet. He looked around the room to see each of his teammates staring at him. They stood in the intelligence room and the only source of light came from the massive world map on the far left wall. Water stung at the corner of his eyes. He felt hot and weak and sore and so very thirsty.

“Where am I?” He rasped. “I....” He blinked slowly and teetered on his feet. “What’s ‘appening?”

“You carved up Captain America here like a fucking Christmas turkey,” Scout blurted, “that’s what’s happening.”

“Quiet.” Medic walked past Spy and stood over Soldier. “Hmm. I zink I can salvage zis mess.” He pointed his medigun and benevolent blue light spread over the American’s body. The swaths of exposed muscles and organs grew a transparent film like plastic wrap and healthy pink skin grew over it until nothing was left but silver seams. What would have taken weeks only took seconds. Spy watched with fascination as small blond hairs sprouted acrss smooth skin. Soldier was tanned everywhere but his groin and the patches of newly grown flesh matched that pallor.

His heart pounded in his chest.

“Now.” Medic cocked his head. “Do you feel--better?”

Soldier’s head was still turned away. “Affirmative,” he grunted, but made no move to sit up.

A complex mix of disappointment and exultation constricted around Spy’s lungs. He could feel Soldier’s hurt. Soldier’s fear. It was like a brief moment of sunshine after days of overcast. He backed up against the wall and watched the others gather around. Scout briefly met his gaze, face care-worn and pale. Scared.

They all looked scared in their own way.

Spy’s legs buckled underneath him and he flopped back against the wall and slid to the floor. He had avenged himself. Somehow. It didn’t really matter. Only Soldier’s feet were visible from his angle, but the way those pink toes curled anxiously told him all that he needed to know. His had done the same while Soldier had heaved on top of him like a rutting bull.

“You shouldn’t have used all ze water,” Medic chastised. Spy glanced up, surprised that the doctor’s eyes were on him. “He’s dehydrated.”

“Yea, among other things.” Sniper crossed his arms. “Didn’t hear you complaining a few minutes ago.”

“Ja, but now I have to play nursemaid.” The German scoffed in disgust. “We cannot scan him in zis state.”

“Thought I was the only one who lived dangerously,” Demoman muttered and took a long pull from his bottle. He met Spy’s gaze for a moment, then blinked rapidly and took another drink. “Mother o’ Christ.”

Scout shuffled nervously. “C’mon, doc, he’ll be okay, right? ‘Sides, we can’t just wait for BLU to send us another spy. We’d get slaughtered out there.”

“I was lead to believe zere would be no more reinforcements.” Medic glanced at Soldier’s unmoving form with an unsympathetic expression. “Until BLU explicitly says otherwise, assume zis is what we have to deal with.”

Engineer sighed loudly and rubbed the back of his neck. “I s’ppose I’ll get things ready, then.”

“Vielen danke.”

“No one else is coming.” Spy jerked out of the twilight between sleeping and waking at the sound of his own voice. He looked up to see Demoman turning the corner, muttering under his breath. Sniper eclipsed his vision of the Scotsman and bent down to eye level. “I don’t know why I said dat,” he admitted.

Sniper ignored his confession. “What do you mean no one else is coming?”

Spy shrugged. “Je sais pas,” he grunted, “je ne sais pas la réponse.”

“English, you piker.”

Spy simply shrugged again. “Je ne...don’t know.” A wave of dizzying heat swept through his body, and he surrendered to the pull of weariness. Not even the thirst scraping against the back of his throat could shake its grip.

He was glad.

He was tired.

-

Somewhere, bells were tolling.

When Spy awoke, he was lying on a bed in Medic’s office. It was dimly lit and smelled of formaldehyde and disinfectant. The doctor himself was seated at the far end of the room at his desk and wrote hurriedly, his right elbow moving sharply in tandem. The scratch of pen on paper was the only sound between them, and Spy found it disconcerting. He tried to move, but his wrists and ankles were bound in leather restraints.

Then he was back in that shack with Soldier thrusting into him, face hovering overhead, no where to hide, no haven from that ugliness. He could smell his breath, his sweat, hear the slapping of their flesh and all the while buttons dug into his spine and it went on forever and Jesus, God, if anyone could hear him why the fuck wasn’t it just over--

“...Spy, Herr Spy!”

Medic stood over him, expression stony. “I vill not tolerate violence here. Calm yourself or I vill sedate you again.”

Spy flinched away from the nearness of another man. He had heard stories. Once a man had been trussed up and fucked, a precedent was set. Others had tacit permission of the group to do the same. It would never be the same. It would never stop.

“Den lock me up in another room,” he snapped, “don’t tie me to a bed.”

A terrible understanding crossed Medic’s features, but it fled as quickly as it appeared. He stepped back for a moment, thoughtfully, before turning away. “I do not trust you. I vill get Heavy before I do anything of the sort.”

“Doctor,” Spy said and paused until Medic stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Please ‘urry.”

Medic nodded curtly and left the room.

It was silent after that. Under normal circumstances, Spy would’ve taken comfort in being alone in a quiet, enclosed space. A rarity in any frontline establishment. But being strapped down to a bed, being helpless, in a soundless room that offered no distraction was torture. He swallowed thickly and tested each of the leather straps. It was logical. Reasonable. None of them yielded, of course. Faulty equipment in the arena of a perfectionist like Medic was a cardinal sin, so he bent and twisted his body within the confines of his bonds to gauge his wounds. There was no pain. Not even a twinge. He craned his neck to look at his wrists, but Medic hadn’t bothered to take off his gloves before restraining him. Without any hint of discomfort, however, Spy doubted there would be any bruising or scarring. He must have been exposed to the medigun or one of Engineer’s dispensers.

Or had it never happened?

Spy gave a start when the door slammed open. Medic walked in followed by an irritated looking Heavy. The Russian spared him a distrustful glance before crossing his arms. “Not doctor’s servant,” he said peevishly.
Medic shot him a cool look. “Please, Heavy. I vould not have disturbed you vithout good reason.”

“Good.” Heavy turned to look at Spy, expression sealing shut. “Little man behave?”

It took all of Spy’s willpower to stifle the laugh that crawled up his throat. He simply nodded and spread his hands on the bed in way of surrender. Heavy stared at him for a long moment before approaching the bed and gestured to Medic, who started unbuckling the restraints. Spy couldn’t help shying away from them as they towered over his prone form. His entire body tensed in anticipation of violence, but Medic simply circled the bed with a clinical expression. Each metallic click sounded loud and ominous, and Spy was keenly aware of Heavy’s tension as the pressure on his wrists and ankles disappeared. The brown limb belts beneath him relaxed like the grip of a dying animal and he was finally free.

Spy sat up and rubbed his left wrist. “Can I leave now?”

Medic looked at him for a long moment. “Not yet. I have something you should see.”

“Oh?”

“Ja. Come vith me.”

Spy was sore and had to piss like a racehorse, but he didn’t argue. “Oh alright,” he sighed and followed Medic out of the room. Heavy followed behind him radiating an unsaid threat. Everything was quiet in the base. It must have been well into the night. Spy fought off a sudden wave of exhaustion and tried to anticipate where they were going. When there was no noise or human presence, the BLU base felt sterile and unforgiving. The fluorescent lights shone harshly overhead and only emphasized a lack of natural light. They might as well have been rats in a laboratory.

It surprised Spy when they passed by the obnoxious INTELLIGENCE sign. They walked quietly down the hall, and noted the walls bore even more burn marks and bullet holes then before, until they approached a formidable looking door. He was equally surprised when Medic let out a noise of disgust and punched in the code 111 to release the electronic lock. Gears whirred obediently and the door swung open on silent, well-oiled hinges.

“For de love of...really?” Spy asked in disgust.

Medic glanced over his shoulder. “Ja, really.”

“Leetle Scout’s doing.” Heavy crossed his arms in what could only be described a sulk. “And team say I am stupid.”

The room where BLUs documents were kept was rather plain and ordinary in comparison to the door it was protected by. A small desk and chair sat in one corner while the opposite window commanded a view of the vast room below. Spy looked around for a hint of what was to come, but everything seemed in order. A cold tongue of fear slid up his neck. Perhaps they had lied and were to get revenge for Soldier?

Medic misinterpreted his reaction. “Ah, you remember?”

“Remember?” Spy regarded him distrustfully. “What am I to remember, Doctor?”

Heavy and Medic merely shared a complicated glance and escorted him down the stairs into the large room dominated by a huge screen of BLU’s assets. It was strangely reminiscent of NASA’s mission control room. Spy tried to conceal his own nervousness, but it felt like his heart was ready to leap out of his throat. He fished out his disguise kit, surprised when Heavy’s meaty hand clamped down on his arm like a shark’s mouth.

“What are you doing?” Spy snarled. “I want a fucking cigarette!”

Medic stopped and turned with an air of deadly calm. “Heavy, please release him.” His gaze swivelled to meet Spy’s. “Forgive us, but vith your aberrant behaviour as of late, ve cannot take risks.”

“If you were a real spy, you would ‘ave taken my disguise kit away de moment you took me prisoner.” Spy curled his upper lip, but handed it to Heavy anyway. Neither one rose to the bait.

They continued to walk through the rows upon rows of computers until Medic stopped at one in the first row. Its screen, wobbling with a paused image, threw off a pale, unsteady light across the room.

“Sit,” Heavy commanded.

Spy shot him a defiant look, but obeyed. Medic leaned over him and pressed a button out of sight. The computer hummed to life and began to play black and white footage. He recognized the hall that lead to the war room. Soldier’s image hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. The swing of his helmet, his stride, his boots, his hands. The memory of Soldier above him, his smell, his muscled body, clung to Spy’s skin like ravenous leeches. He shuddered, unable to look away.

A man-shaped blur rushed up from behind Soldier and jumped on him. There was a flash of something silver--a knife?--as the assailant’s arm rose and fell. Rose and fell. Rose and fell. Soldier reacted violently and tried to dislodge his attacker, but his right leg buckled and he toppled over like a condemned building. The other man stood up, his shoulders thrown back in triumph, and Spy knew he was watching himself. The attack itself lacked professionalism, but replaced finesse with pure brutality. He watched himself roll Soldier over, a dark grey blossom on the front of his uniform, and backhand him.

Then the silent movie changed angle. Spy was suddenly in the intel room. He watched himself drag Soldier’s inert, bleeding form across the floor and onto the desk, and then tie him down. A mix of revulsion and fascination churned in his belly. There was a surreal moment Spy watched himself venture off stage and return with a bucket full of water. Then he waited with the patience of a mantis for Soldier to wake up.

Medic leaned forward and fast forwarded the footage for several minutes. Spy jumped, having completely forgotten that he and Heavy were even present. It was deathly silent when Medic pulled away and the story continued to unfold.

Soldier woke up screaming. Spy couldn’t hear it, but he could see the man’s mouth open; his throat spasming. His desperate thrashing made the desk wobble, but to no avail. His chest rose and fell rapidly and the dark splash across his uniform regained its moist gleam under the light. Spy stood up slowly over Soldier, his body radiating excitement, and slowly undressed him. It was done with great tenderness. Each touch was a thoughtful one. A caress. Excruciatingly kind. Slowly, so slowly, each layer of BLU battle fatigues were peeled back until Soldier lay naked and spreadeagled on the table like a butterfly about to be pinned. Then he was shown a small photograph. Soldier screamed again. His eyes were badly pixelated in the footage, but Spy could feel the intensity--the desperation--from the other side of the screen. It wasn’t that he was sorry, but the suffering was so like his own, so familiar, that he couldn’t take pleasure in it.

And then it began in earnest.

The Spy onscreen took various objects, from a kitchen knife to a rusty pipe, and violated Soldier’s every orifice. Dark grey blood flowed brightly under the fluorescent lights. Spy paused to shrug off his jacket, which was already bloody, and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He chose steadily larger specimens and shoved them in Soldier’s anus and mouth, then back again. His back was to the camera most of the time, but there was the telltale curve along his cheek that revealed he was smiling. That curve, that smile, never disappeared. Not once. He retrieved a mirror and showcased his handiwork to Soldier, who had bared his teeth in a rictus of agony. Spy nodded thoughtfully, as if listening to constructive criticism, and put down the wire brush that had been his latest weapon. He disappeared off screen for a moment. Soldier’s chest heaved unsteadily like he was sobbing.

Perhaps he was.

Spy walked back into view holding a slender knife. It wasn’t his usual balisong, but curved and thin like a small scimitar. He said something that made Soldier scream at him, and laughed. He then bent over the American’s crotch and artfully shaved off peels of flesh as if he was harvesting the rind of an orange. It started there, then radiated outward. Up Soldier’s chest, done his thighs, until every inch of him quivered in agony, muscles exposed and glistening.

It ended when both Spy and Soldier’s heads jerked towards the door. A chair slide across the floor, probably used to barricade it. Spy didn’t stop even when the room flooded with his teammates. He kept skinning and skinning and smiling until Heavy tried to restrain him. The Russian’s arms nearly engulfed him in a half-nelson, but Spy resisted with astonishing strength. Even through the screen, Heavy’s surprise was tangible. Scout tried to get the knife out of his hand, but Spy landed a well-aimed kick to his temple and he staggered back, dazed. Sniper appeared on screen, grabbed the bucket of water, and hurled it into Spy’s face.

The change was instant.

Medic stopped the footage just as Heavy and Demo went about disarming Spy. “Vell?” He prompted in the silence the followed. “Explain yourself.”

Spy stared at the screen for a long long time. “I can’t,” he said quietly. “Dat is my body, my skill, but dat is not me.” He slowly bent forward and turned the monitor off. “I don’t know who dat man is.”

The world map dominated by BLU’s spheres of influence provided a muted blue light that glanced off the computers lined across the room. Everything else fell into darkness.

-

If there's anyway to replace the original post with this, please let me know. Lawlly can't chan out of a paper bag.

So, all-important question: did Spy's hair grow back after the swim in radioactive water? Or is he now balder as well as younger?

It grew back.

Here's more.

-

Engineer put his toolbox on the kitchen table with a sharp thump and jammed his thumps under the straps of his overalls. “Welp, I think I solved the problem, fellas.”


“Ah, good.” Medic gulped the last of his tea and stood up. “It vould be nice to get Herr Spy ready before ze next battle.”

Spy’s eyes flicked between the two of them, but gave no other acknowledgement.

“Er, right.” Engineer rubbed the back of his neck. “I found some old ghost code that was interfering with your template, Spah. Little wonder it nearly fried your brain. Was trying to rewrite the whole darned thing.”

“Vas zat why my medigun failed to work?” Medic frowned as he shrugged on his coat. “Because he vas not in ze system?”

“You got it in one, Doc.” Engineer picked up his toolbox again with visible effort. “Now let’s get this done. I’m near tuckered out.”

He left for the supply room without waiting to see if anyone followed him. Medic sighed and headed towards the door, but paused half-way out. “Herr Spy?”

Spy took a long drag from his cigarette before flicking it onto the floor. “No need to nag, doctor.”

The hallways were quiet, which was typical right after dinner. Spy loosened his tie and listened as they passed by the common room. Pyro sat alone in front of the television, shoulders hunched forward. Soldier had broken it yesterday in a frenzy and Engineer had been too busy with Spy’s problems to fix it. The next hallway yawned to Spy’s left and led to the intelligence room. New bullet holes decorated the walls, some still rimmed with gore. His lip curled in distaste. The smell of old blood clung to the back of his throat like a paste. No matter how many times he’d killed others, he never got used to the way it stuck to his tongue. He reached for his cigarettes, then remembered he couldn’t smoke during the scan in.

“Tabarnak,” he muttered.

Medic glanced over his shoulder. “Vhat?”

Spy shook his head. “Nothing.”

The next hallway led to their sleeping quarters. Spy expected to see it empty, but froze when someone turned the corner. His hand was already on his revolver. Medic sensed his tension and followed his gaze.

Scout paled when he recognized Spy. “Hey fags,” he brayed, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Spy released the butt of his revolver and continued walking. “Run along, boy.”

“Whatever, man.” Scout gave him a wide berth and trotted ahead between Engineer and Medic. “Having a party or something?”

“Fixing the respawn,” Engineer replied. “Now get.”

Scout puffed up his chest. “Screw you, hardhat. I want to see what this baby does.”

Engineer just shook his head and plodded on.

The supply room was oddly quiet. Spy stepped inside with a tight chest. He wasn’t a nervous man, but having Medic, Engineer, and Scout watching him made sweat trickle down his spine. He stood over the small metal plate that marked the respawn machine and waited. Medic’s stethoscope hung out of a black bag on the bench. A traditional doctor’s arsenal. His forehead tingled in anticipation.

“Jesus, you guys look ready to shit your pants.” Scout leaned against the wall and cross his arms. “What’s the big deal?”

“This here’s a delicate procedure, Scout. Keep your voice down.” Engineer took out a remote and gave Medic the nod.

Spy clenched his jaw. “What ‘e means, boy, is if you don’t shut de fuck up, you’ll be testing de respawn instead of me.”

“Okay okay, geez.” Scout raised his hands. “Don’t have to be a jerk about it.”

Medic’s lips thinned in disapproval. “Herr Spy, are you ready?”

“Oui.”

Engineer flicked the switch.

A hum resonated in Spy’s skull. Twanged the back of his eyes. Rattled his teeth together. He grimaced and rubbed his forehead. It was unpleasant but not painful. Then something sharp wrenched his neck. The pain shot upwards into the base of Spy’s skull and radiated through his head. He gasped and clutched his temples. Pain needled his ears and eyes. It felt like someone was pulling a hook out of his skin.
The pain intensified. Shot through the major nerves in his face. He heard an electronic whine. High and grating like a dentist’s polisher.

“Shit, man.” Scout’s voice sounded tinny. “He’s freaking out.”

More noises—more pain. He heard bells, sirens, and dialling. Every electronic noise of every texture and intensity scraped his ears like a grater. The vibration behind his eyes spread to his skull, then down his spine into his chest. Jangled his innards. His stomach writhed. Oh God, he was going to throw up—in front of all of them.

Then it stopped. All of it all at once. His heart nearly punched a whole through his chest.

“Spah.” Engineer pulled his goggles down around his neck. “Don’t do anything rash, now. We can sort all this out.”

“Rash?” Spy repeated slowly.

“He means,” Medic interjected calmly, “zat you should put ze gun down.”

Spy glanced down. His revolver shone polished silver under the florescent lights. The barrel felt cold and wonderful through his mask. It shook. No. His hands shook. His entire body shook. But he felt nothing. No fear. No embarrassment. Just burning hot and weak. He pressed the gun harder into the flesh beneath his chin. The others had formed a rough semi-circle between himself and the door. A ring of glistening eyes. They looked puzzled. Shocked. Ready to act.

It made him angry.

“Why should I?” He demanded and thumbed the hammer back. “It’s my life.” A thrill of fear rushed up his spine. “Isn’t it?”

“Take it easy, man.” Scout raised his hands. “You ain’t yourself.”

“You ‘ave it all wrong. I’m myself now more den ever. I’m still free. I’m still—real.”

Engineer’s brows furrowed in concern. “You’re not making a lick of sense.”

Medic glanced at his black bag. “He’s sick. He’s having a reaction to ze respawn.”

“Sick? Look at him,” Scout snapped, “he’s crazy.”

Spy shook his head. Sweat began to soak through his mask. “Don’t you understand?” He whispered and pressed his back against the wall. “You’re not real.”

Medic held up his hands and took a step forward. “Herr Spy….”

“No!” Spy pointed the revolver at him. “De minute you came back from de dead, you stopped being ‘uman.” He swung the gun wildly at them. “All of you. You’re freaks. Get away from me.”

Engineer lowered the remote. “Spah, this isn’t you. It’s someone else. There must—there’s more ghost code that I missed. That’s what this is.”

“No.” Spy jammed his revolver under his chin again. “I’m me now. And I’m not going back dere.”

“Jesus.” Scout pushed himself away from the wall.

Spy stared at him. “I know everything. I know you’re in dere. And you. And you.” He looked at Medic and then Engineer, wild-eyed. “You’re all dere—rotting away like fucking carcasses in a ditch.” He started laughing. “Dey took what made you you and downloaded it into a machine.”

Medic glanced at Engineer. “What are you talking about? Explain to us, Herr Spy. We don’t understand.”

“Why aren’t you screaming?” Spy roared, eyes bulging. “Because you don’t feel it anymore. You’ll never understand.”

Medic leaned towards Engineer. “Has zis ever happened before?”

Engineer shook his head. “Not even in the test logs.”

“Non, it wasn’t ever supposed to. You’re not supposed to remember any of it.” Spy slumped backwards and stared at the floor. “Dis is my fault. I should’ve fought ‘arder for you. I should’ve done more den left clues like we were in a fucking fairy tale.”

“Clues?” Medic adjusted his glasses.

Spy smiled wanly. “It’s too late, doctor. I apologize, I should’ve done more. I shouldn’t have made de deal. I shouldn’t ‘ave brought Scout’s father into dis. I could’ve….” He firmed his grip on the revolver. “But I can’t do dis anymore. Be ‘ere and remember. I’m sorry. To all of you.”

“That RED back-stabbing scumbag ain’t my Dad.” Scout stepped forward. “Fuck you, man, where the fuck do you get to say shit like that, huh? Fu—”

Spy pulled the trigger.

-

Someone was cupping Spy’s cheek.

He felt cold. Numb. His entire body felt cramped and too tight. Had he fallen down? He opened his eyes and for a terrifying moment, he saw only pale brightness. He opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue was glued to the roof his mouth. It took seven full seconds to tear it off the roof of his mouth. His throat felt dry, but he wasn’t thirsty. There was a jumble of noise. Voices? He couldn’t quite pin it down. Everything was dim.

A sharp electric whine needled his ears. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision.

“Ze battery is fading. Quickly!” The hands shifted and the brightness receded. “‘e’s gaining consciousness.”

Something clicked. He heard that grating whine again and then—

He saw a red blur. It slowly sharpened until it had lines. Stripes. A faint smell. Cigarettes and cologne. He craned his neck to look up, felt his neck muscles obey, but nothing happened. He tried to swallow, but his throat made a hollow popping sound. It was so dry and there was too much air. There was—too much. He looked down at his nose, saw the curve of his cheek and—

And a metal table.

No chest.

No arms.

No legs.

No feet.

Spy looked and looked and looked. He felt his right arm up rise, felt the fingers flex, but there was nothing. He could feel it, but there was nothing. Only empty space where his body should have been. The same body he had been born with, the hands he had pilfered pockets and cookies with, arms he had used to strangle his enemies and hug his Mama with. Legs that had saved his life. Feet that had felt cold and hot and sticky and numb. A body he had scarred. His body.

Gone.

“Don’t look at zat. Look at me.”

Spy’s throat spasmed. He heard that awful popping sound again.

“Look at me.”

Spy blinked rapidly and met RED Spy’s gaze. The other man looked thinner than he remembered. He glanced over his counterpart’s shoulder saw Scout holding a black battery.

“Scout,” he said. Or meant to. It emerged as a dry click of his tongue against his teeth.

He had no lungs.

He couldn’t speak.

What is this I don't ever...

Seriously, that is...amazing. Now my mind has gone to this,
http://oglaf.com/furniture/3/
But still. That was amazing.

I don't think you realize how brilliant this is. The plot itself is mind-blowing, but your execution of sensory details is amazing. It's not often one is able to feel a story. Bravo.

My brain hurts, but it's a good hurt. And the only cure is moar Reed Fields.

I am just sitting here, wondering what the fuck I would do now if it were my story. I honestly have no idea, therefore I have no idea where you're going to take it, but I'm anxious to see where you do.

Oh my word. I remember reading this fic ages ago on tumblr, and being sad that it didn't seem to be updating anymore, but now--day made. Fantastic. Please, go on.

Ohman, now that I think of it, this is like a really dark version of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, in a vague sort of way. A fantastically dark version. [spoiler]Now I'm imagining Spy whispering "meet me in Montauk" OOPS WHAT AM I DOING [/spoilers]

Anyway, this is one of my favorite fics of all time, and I wish the updates were much more frequent. No rush, though-- I'm fine with waiting. It's incredibly eloquent, emotional, andwell-written.

(saging because nothing worthwhile)

Wow, chapter 20. I don't think I've ever managed to stick with a story this long. Apologies for typos in advance. So excite! Thanks to everyone who has kept up with me for all this time. You guys get me right in the feels. Every damn time.

-

Spy sat heavily in his chair and watched warning messages scroll across the computer screen. He took out his disguise kit, grasped a cigarette with his lips, and flicked his lighter open. Its inscription ‘Play Dirty’ flashed in the room’s dim light before a small flame scorched the tip of his smoke. He flicked it shut and exhaled a long blue breath.

“Wot the fuck are you doing?”

Sniper stood in the doorway clutching a note in his hand. He held it up, mouth pressed into a bloodless line. A fine tremor ran through the floor.

“Drive north. Meet you riverside.” He tossed the paper aside. “Wot are you playing at?”

Spy glanced at the computer screen and stood up. “Dere’s no time for dis.” He walked up to Sniper and grasped his hands. “You ‘ave to go,” he hissed. “Barry—please. You shouldn’t be ‘ere.”

Sniper tightened his grip and pulled Spy towards the door. “Neither should you. C’mon.”

“Not yet.” Spy wrested his hands from Sniper’s. “You weren’t supposed to find dat until later.”

“Fortunate zat I came along when I did, zen.” RED Spy materialized from behind Sniper. Only the glow of his cigarette lit his features as he stepped around his teammate into the room’s shadowy interior.

Spy looked wild-eyed at his counterpart. “You prick,” he whispered, then turned and pushed Sniper back towards the door. “Run, you idiot.”

“Like hell I will.” Sniper pushed back. “He told me everything. You didn’t have any intention of meeting me, did you? This is a suicide mission.”

Spy pushed with all his strength. “GO.”

“No.” Sniper clutched Spy’s tie like a lifeline. “Not without you.”

RED Spy lifted his revolver. “And so ‘ere we are—again.”

The flash scorched Spy’s eyes. He felt the heat, felt the noise pierce his eardrums, felt Sniper’s hands fall away. Everything settled back into darkness, but his ears rang. He stumbled back against the computer desk. It should’ve hurt. He only felt cold.

“You will not end zis in a glorious blaze of martyrdom.” RED Spy stepped forward. “Not while my son,” he bared his teeth, “and every man in zis God forsaken place ‘as a chance to reclaim zeir lives.”

Spy ignored him. Sniper groaned and leaned against the doorframe, hand over his abdomen. Blood soaked his shirt before he slid to the ground. Spy kneeled in front of him and pressed his hands over Sniper’s. They were trembling. Clammy. Blood seeped from underneath Spy’s fingers within two heartbeats. His gloves were sopping wet within seven. He might as well have been putting his thumb over a hose nozzle.

Outside, the compound’s klaxon wailed.

RED Spy looked at the computer screen. “Congratulations. Sapping ze cooling system worked. Ze reactor is in meltdown.”

Spy blinked rapidly. Sniper looked up at him, huffing in pain. “You were supposed to be hours away by now. I put iodine tablets on your bedside table. To be sure.” Sweat rolled like tears down his face. “Dis was de older reactor. De weakest one. It would start a chain reaction and all of dis would be over.” He pressed harder on Sniper’s wound. “You were supposed to drive off into de fucking sunset with your money and get old and fat.”

Sniper gritted his teeth. “So we’re all going to die?”

“Oui.” Spy pressed his forehead against Sniper’s. “We’re all going to die.”

“No,” RED Spy said flatly. “We are going to die and you are going to live long enough to see zis program restarted.”

Spy put his arms around Sniper. “Non. I’m done. I’m not leaving. Fuck you, your son, and your lives.”

Sniper shook his head. “Don’t die.”

“Shh, you silly old man.” Spy pulled him close. Felt Sniper’s shallow breath on his neck. “It’ll be fine. You won’t feel a ding.”

Another tremor raked through the floor. A muted explosion. The concussive wave shattered the screen displaying RED’s world map. He heard the rattle of failing concrete. Squealing metal. The lights flickered.

Sniper clutched his jacket. “Don’t die.”

“If you die, ‘e dies.” RED Spy met the Quebecois’ eye. “Sniper’s van ‘as a full tank. You can survive long enough for rescue.”

Spy shook his head. The lights flickered. Several went dark and stayed dark. The klaxon’s scream fell and rose again.

“Please Acelin,” Sniper whispered. “I don’t wanna die like this.”

RED Spy sat down in a nearby chair. Warning lights threw odd shadows across his face. “You ‘elped zem start zis. You can do so again.”

“Dat took…years.” Spy’s gaze never strayed from Sniper’s. “De money, de technology….”

Sniper slowly lifted his hand to touch Spy’s face. His breath hitched. He might as well have been reaching for the moon. His arm fell into his lap and his breathing turned into harsh strokes.

“Non.” Spy grabbed his hand held it tightly. Sniper’s eyes moved to meet his again, then stilled. “Non non non.” He brought their hands together against his forehead. “Oh mon Dieu pas.”

RED Spy watched without expression. “If you ever want to see ‘im again, get ze fuck out of ‘ere.”

Sniper exhaled and went still. Spy lifted his head. It felt like he was moving through water.

“For ‘im, I will,” he said quietly. “But if you believe what I did to Lieutenant Doe was cruel, wait until I get my ‘ands on you.”

RED Spy simply nodded. “I…”

“…know it’s one of these two.”

A click. A teeth-numbing buzz then….

“Ah, good. ‘e’s back.” RED Spy straightened up, face clammy but composed. “Who knew panicking used up so much energy?”

Spy’s mouth felt dry. He swallowed, only to hear an odd click. He glanced down and saw a table where his body should have been. Strange. He limbs felt cold and cramped and heavy. He could feel them. He could feel the table. He could feel….

“Shit man, he’s gonna fry again.” Scout walked into view carrying two batteries. He avoided Spy’s eye and tossed them in the garbage. “Got that thing hooked up yet?”

RED Spy grasped a small monitor and pulled it into Spy’s field of vision. Its screen was dark with a single prompt. Spy blinked slowly and the text came into focus.

Subject_492/Interface_6$

“It’s a marvellous toy Medic created a while ago,” Red Spy said, “despite its limitations.” He glanced over his shoulder, then leaned closer. “Are you ze BLU Spy—yes or no.”

Spy frowned. Of course he was. He squinted as a single word appeared on the screen.

Yes.
Spy opened his mouth like a dying fish. Felt resistance. Wires. Felt them underneath his chin. Underneath his skin. Branching into what was left of his throat. Three wires jutting out of his neck and looped out of his vision. Blood had gathered in a black, coagulated pool. It smelled like a cut of beef left out of the fridge. Sweet and rotten.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.
RED Spy bent down so they were at eye level.“Listen to me. Zis is important.” He quashed his cigarette on the table near Spy’s jaw. “I took an incredible risk to speak with you.” His eyes flicked towards Scout, who stood awkwardly by RED Medic’s desk. “I need to know what you know.”

Spy couldn’t tear his eyes away from the blood gathering beneath him. He was rotting. Then and there. Only the enemy medic’s contraption kept his brain intact.

Somewhere to his left, a machine began to beep. The computer screen kept scrolling.

“He’s gonna fry again,” Scout hissed.

“Acelin.”

Spy’s eyes swivelled to meet RED Spy’s. The Frenchman didn’t flinch.

“Good, I ‘ave your attention now.” He gestured for Scout to come closer. “We only ‘ave a few minutes ‘ere unmonitored. Stay conscious. Zis is important. Once you respawn, all zis knowledge will be gone.”

Scout glanced between them. “The fuck is going on?”

The spies stared at each other.

“Did zey ever solve ze recall paradox?” RED Spy asked.

BLU Spy looked at him without blinking.

No.
“Dieu merci.” RED Spy slumped forward and took a long drag on his cigarette.

“What does that mean?” Scout tore off his hat and crushed it in his hands. “What the fuck is even going on?”

Spy saw the gleam in RED Spy’s eyes.

No. No.
RED Spy leaned over and pulled the wires out of Spy’s throat.

N
“It means,” he said, “we ‘ave a chance to end zis.”

Tonight is a good night for TF2 fanfiction.

Mm-mm, this story, after coming back from being out of this fandom for a whole year-- I'm glad, so very glad, it's still being written. A personal crusade, from what I've heard, and that's most of why it's a considerably brutal tale, I suppose.
I'm the same person as (comment) 52-- April of last year, that's when I commented last? It's all so terribly far away, lol.

My regards for this year-- have the best of your muses (and thanks for "liking" my things on Dumblr).

BARRYYYYYYYYYY!!!

Please don't fly away, story!

wow this writer is really fucked up

(Wow, this user is really an ass.)

Guilty as charged, Anon.

Okie, here's the next chapter. It's on dumblr and A3 as well. Onwuurrrrds!

-

The desert had transformed overnight.

Spy stood on the rooftop and lit his first cigarette of the day. The horizon smouldered red and though the sun hadn’t risen, he could feel heat already seeping through the ground and into his shoes. A light breeze brought some respite. He studied the desert slopes surrounding the compound. What had been mud before had turned into broad swaths of red, purple, and yellow flowers. Their fragrances mixed with the taste of his cigarette. Poison sweet.

Eyes were on him.

He turned and squinted across the divide between the RED and BLU bases. Sniper stood on the roof with a coffee in hand and rifle slung across his back. He raised his mug once, then turned and disappeared amongst the sharp angles of the base’s roofline.

Spy finished his first cigarette and was about to start another when footsteps echoed up the stairwell behind him. Rapid and tinny like gunfire. He turned and lit his second smoke as the door burst open. Scout tumbled out and spun around, arms up.

“It ain’t like that, man. I swear!”

BLU Sniper emerged from the stairwell’s shadowy interior like a vision. He looked pale and unshaven. The blast of body odour confirmed that he hadn’t showered in some time. His eyes were as flat and hard as glass, and his mouth was a pulled back into an angry rictus.

Both turned to see Spy snap his lighter shut and shove it into his jacket pocket. “Gentlemen,” he said, “to what do I owe de ‘onuor?”

Scout continued to back away. “I ain’t no traitor, man. I ain’t done nothing.”

Sniper stepped forward, kukri reflecting a slice of sunlight. “Caught this one in my scope. He was talking to that RED spook. Talking for a long time.” His eyes bore into Spy’s skull. “Figured you’d already know.”

Spy’s eyebrow twitched. “I was dead. Some dings may ‘ave escaped my notice.”

“Yea, I heard.” Sniper turned back to Scout. “You have something to do with that too?”

“What?” Scout screeched. “You’re crazy, man. You’re fucking crazy.”

Spy laughed. “Of course not. You couldn’t keep a secret if your life depended on it.” He finished his cigarette and flicked it over the side. “Which makes me wonder why on earth de RED spy would speak to you in de first place.” He paused just long enough for Scout to turn white. “Unless, of course, it’s because you’re his whelp?”

Sniper froze. “He’s that poofter’s son?”

Spy lit his third cigarette. “Allegedly.” He exhaled a toxic bloom of smoke. “It would be unfortunate if Soldier found out.”

“And why wouldn’t he find out?” Sniper eyes glittered under the brim of his hat.

“Hey, back the fuck off man.” Scout raised his bat and inched towards the roof’s edge. “I’m telling you. I don’t wanna kill you, but I will if I have to.” He glared at Spy. “And I ain’t the only one keeping secrets either.”

Sniper’s eyes cut to Spy, then back to Scout. “Yea, I figure they do. But wot I want to know is how much pain you’re going to take to keep your dad’s?”

“He ain’t my fucking dad!”

Spy held up his hand. “Sniper, please. Leave dis with me. I’ll take care of it.”

For a moment, Sniper didn’t move. Then he nodded and sheathed his kukri. “On your head, then.” He gave Scout one last look before leaving down the stairs.

A long pause yawned between them. Scout lowered his bat and left the ledge. “So you’re not gonna ask me about it?”

Spy turned back towards the desert. “Just go.”

“Seriously? Cuz I—”

“Go.”

Scout frowned at him, but disappeared down the stairwell. His cleats echoed loudly until he passed beyond Spy’s hearing.

He waited a moment more before speaking. “Does it ‘urt when ‘e denies you, or ‘ave you grown used to it?”

RED Spy appeared in a swirl of smoke. The smell of gunpowder overwhelmed the rooftop for a moment before being dispersed by the wind. “You could’ve forced my ‘and. What game are you playing?”

Spy turned to face him. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m offering you a deal.” He flicked his cigarette and ash whirled away. “Your stupidity ‘as put your son in danger. I can protect ‘im when you can’t.”

“‘e’s not a child. ‘e can take care of ‘imself.” RED Spy lit his own cigarette. “You’ve got nothing to bargain with.”

“You know what Soldier and Sniper are capable of. What I’m capable of.” Spy regarded his counterpart with a bland expression. “Would you risk it?”

RED Spy looked at him for a long time. “That depends on what you want in return.”

“Your forbearance.” Spy glanced at the RED base. “Dat Australian of yours. Stay away from ‘im. For dat, I’ll protect your son.”

“You want me to sell out my own teammate?”

Spy examined his cigarette for a moment, then tossed it over the side. The sun’s crown rose above the horizon in a white-hot arch and scalded his back.

“Oh, please.” He waved his hand. “‘e can’t even shower in de base because of you. Don’t get sentimental for ‘is sake now.”

RED Spy tugged on his left glove. “So if I leave ‘im be, you’ll protect ze BLU Scout? Zat’s it?”

“Oui.”

“Zat’s good of you.”

Spy reached into his coat pocket, which made his counterpart tense. He smiled as he took out his disguise kit, plucked a cigarette out with his lips, and cocked his head over his lighter’s wind-battered flame. He snapped it shut and slipped both back into his jacket.

“Oui,” he said. “Take advantage of it while you can.”

RED Spy nodded slowly. “And I’m simply to trust your word?”

“Am I to trust yours?” Spy yawned into his hand. “I get what I want by keeping Scout safe, and I do like getting what I want. If you trust nothing else, trust dat.”

“If I don’t? If I decide not to accept zis…deal of yours?”

Spy smiled. “Den I get a new toy.”

RED Spy raised his head, but his eyes had lost focus. “To zink ‘e actually admires you.”

“Sniper?”

He shook his head. “My son.”

Spy shrugged as his counterpart vanished in a swirl of red smoke. Footsteps echoed softly down the stairwell, but the Alarm-O-Tron didn’t start. When he saw RED Spy appear again across the bridge, he exhaled shakily and let his shoulders slump. Sweat had already begun to soak into his mask and shirt, and the day’s heat had barely began.

A headache bloomed behind his eyes. He rubbed his forehead and glanced at the cracked cement under his feet. It was only then he noticed a small red dot planted on his midriff. He glanced up to see nothing visible along RED’s roofline.

Spy gave a two-fingered salute to the empty roofline. The red dot bobbed once, then disappeared.

The desert flowers simmered in the distance. He left the rooftop, glad for the cool sweep of air inside the stairwell. Scout stood at the bottom, hands tucked into his pockets.

“Hey.” When Spy didn’t slow down, he kept pace. “What the fuck was that?”

Spy brushed past without a glance.

“Fucking listen to me.” Scout turned and physically blocked his path. “Why does nobody fucking listen to me?”

Spy shot him a narrow look. “If you insist on betraying BLU, do so out of sight.”

Scout squared his shoulders. “Fuck you, man. That ain’t what it’s about.”

“It doesn’t matter what it’s about. Dat’s what it looks like.”

“I wouldn’t throw everybody into the shit like that.” He bent forward like he was going to vomit. “I wouldn’t do that, man. Even if he asked me. I wouldn’t do it.”

Spy exhaled a bloom of toxic smoke. “Oui.”

Scout ground his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I gotta ask you something.” He looked up, short of breath. “Is that guy really my dad?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah, it does.” Scout gulped air like a dying fish. “It really fucking does.”

Spy threw his cigarette on the floor and crushed it under his shoe. He plucked another out of his disguise and offered it to Scout. No one else was in the hall, but he still felt naked.

“You were born while ‘e was in Indonesia,” he said. “I suspect your mother kept dis a secret for both your sakes.”

Scout ignored the cigarette and punched the wall. His second knuckle made an audible pop. “I fucking hate this place.”

Spy squeezed Scout’s shoulder, then continued down the hall.

I love you.

Is... Is this... an update..?! And such a glorious one, at that! Oh, this made my day, I've been waiting for this for ages! Now Barry and Acelin are finally able to fuck in peace.

Oh my God, I've been waiting for this for ages!! Even if it was already obvious Scout would be RED Spy's son, I personally don't like the idea. In fact, I don't like the whole Spy x Scoutma -thingy. That's not the author's fault, though. It's still interesting to see where this turn of events will take the boy. I'm looking forward to read more soon!

oh god I have committed to an unfinished fic, but it is glorious! keep up the great work.

I kinda knew this wouldn't be an update... Still disappointed, though!

I really need to stop posting this stuff in the wee hours of the morning.

But not today.

-

The desert was cold and dark at 1:30 in the morning. A coyote howled in the distance, then fell silent. RED Sniper sat drinking a beer by his camper, feet propped up against the fire pit. He stared into the flames, hat tilted back.

“Hope you brought your own beer,” he said.

Spy uncloaked and stepped out from behind the camper. “I did.” He held up a bottle. “I’ll get de drop on you yet.”

Sniper chuffed. “You’ll have to stop smoking first. I can smell you a mile away.”

“Let’s not be too drastic.” Spy sat down in the lawn chair left for him.

They drank in silence for a while. Sniper occasionally stood up and fed the fire with pieces of old crates. Spy watched the tarp undulate overhead. A lone coyote started howling on and off again.

“Meant to thank you, too.” Sniper sat down with a grunt. “Haven’t been bothered since this morning. Think wot you said to RED Spy worked. So…yea. Thanks.”

Spy shrugged and lit a cigarette. “Every man ‘as ‘is price.”

“Mm.”

He exhaled a jet of smoke and studied it. His hand trembled for a few heartbeats, stopped, and then began again.

Sniper watched from the corner of his eye. “When that start?”

“After I died.” Spy studied his hand without expression. “I was stuck in respawn for dree days. Fucked up my reflexes, too.”

“Christ.” Sniper sipped his beer. “I’d heard rumours about BLU’s respawn, but—never thought it’d be that bad.” He sat up straight. “Are you still in the system?”

Spy merely smiled at him. “We’ll all ‘ave to play for keeps eventually.”

“Should’ve told me, you wanker. I nearly killed you today.”

“Dat’s de point.”

“The point is to do your job, get paid, and get out.” Sniper exhaled harshly and lit his own cigarette. “You’re not even 30. You’ve got no business carting around a death wish.”

Spy stared at the fire. “Can’t kill anyone who won’t respawn?”

“Killed enough stupid young blokes before this job and I’m not getting paid to start now.”

“No?”

Sniper pointed his beer towards RED base. “I’m paid to protect a patch of dirt and a briefcase. Wouldn’t do my bank account any good if I ran out of blokes to shoot. Besides, they might replace you with someone I can’t smell a mile away.”

Spy threw back his head and laughed. “Says de man who stores ‘is piss in jars.”

“I wash my hands after.”

“Bullshit.”

Sniper chuffed. “Least I haven’t thrown one at you.”

“Let’s keep it dat way, shall we?” Spy glared at him. “I won’t be ‘appy washing dat out of my clothes.”

“Alright then.” Sniper rubbed his chin, mouth curling into a smile. “If I give you a pass on jarate, then you have to stop those godawful one-liners before you stab me.”

Spy crossed his arms and scowled. “Fine. Ruin all my fun.”

“You’re ruining mine,” Sniper retorted.

“You enjoy collecting piss and tossing it at people?”

“Yea.” He took a long drag. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Disgusting.”

He only laughed and relaxed deeper into his chair. After taking one last drag, he threw his cigarette into the pit and balanced his bottle of Red Shed on his belly.

Spy watched him for a moment, then stared into the flames. “What will you do after your contract ends?”

Sniper pursed his lips. “Mm, dunno. Retire somewhere quiet. Learn to golf, maybe.”

“Golf?” Spy nearly spat out his own cigarette. “You?”

“Wot? Wot’s wrong with golf?”

It took a moment for Spy to respond. He pinched the bridge of his nose and laughed.

“Nothing,” he said, shoulders shaking. “I’ll just never get dat out of my ‘ead.”

Sniper smiled wryly. “My backswing?”

“You in a clean shirt.”

“Oh, piss off.”

Spy laughed harder. “Wearing a little flat cap.” He mimed a golf swing with his beer. “Playing a gentleman’s game.”

“Prick,” Sniper said, then started laughing, too.

They shared a glance. The fire had died down. Spy set his beer aside, got up, and threw on another piece of crate. It spat and crackled, and a sheet of sparks rose with the smoke.

“I ‘aven’t done dat since I was a boy,” he confessed.

Sniper’s eyes flicked up and down his silhouette. “It’s good for a man to be outside.”

“So I can develop a manly physique?” Spy sat back down and tapped his cigarette.

“No, you wanker.” Sniper chuffed. “Get away from the lights and drama. Enjoy the quiet for a bit, yea?”

Spy retrieved his beer and stretched his legs towards the fire pit. “I suppose.”

The corner of Sniper’s mouth quirked. “Don’t like the quiet?”

“I don’t like the dirt.”

Sniper laughed. “You’re worse than a girl, y’know that?”

“Fuck you.” Spy took a drag on his cigarette. “Dis is an expensive suit.”

“And wot made you think a poncey suit would work out here?”


He scowled. “I like my poncey suits, dank you. I don’t need camouflage with my watch and kit.”

“Maybe not,” Sniper said, “but it holds onto the reek of your cancer sticks.”

“Fortunately for me, few of your teammates use their sense of smell.”

He chuckled and sipped his beer. “Or any sense.”

“Oui,” Spy said and held his hand up against the firelight. It had stopped trembling.

Aaaaaaahhh! An update! An actual update!! This is so funny, I just thought of this fic at work today. Even if it was only the two talking, it was one enjoyable conversation (even if a part of me is disappointed there was no sex). One question, though. If the BLU's respawn isn't working properly, how come they're still on the field?

>>120
Thanks.
Sadly, a sex scene at this point would break the psychology I've been building up.

As shown in earlier chapters, the respawn glitch is specific to Spy. The others are aware of it and Engineer has been keeping a close eye on it. Technically, Spy is suspended from the field, but he does what he wants.

Fantastic to see an update. This is still the best fic on the chan.

Thank you for your response. And I agree with my fellow anon, this fic is one of the most gorgeous of the ones I have read, if not the very best.

Spy and Sniper are my OTP and even if I have read amazing fics of these two (and of course some not quite as amazing) this is, in my opinion, the best one. I would also like to thank you for this update. It was nice to see the two alone again having their own time outside the battle.

PleeeeeeeeaasepleasepleasepleasePLEASE don't let this thread be dead! You're still writing, right?! What do I need to do to get a new update?