Oh sure, I know the last one kept falling off the first page, but it's a fresh, new chan, and hope springs eternal in the fan girl's breast. Let's start: RED Spy and BLU Scout agree to work together to do something nice for Scout Ma's birthday.
Request for a horror-fic. The Announcer has abandoned the team since Christian Brutal Sniper, Painis Cupcake, Vagineer, and Sewer Medic (if the beasties are not taboo on the chan) have staked their claim over certain maps ever since their mental/physical mutations, and they each have full control over over their territory. The last of the team members are trapped in the middle of it all as prisoners of sorts. Without the Announcer, they have no contact with the rest of the world, and if Respawn malfunctions, who's going to fix it? Not Vagineer; that's for sure. I guess I'd just love to see the big four have it out.
RED Spy founds out he's BLU Scout's father and tries to do father-son things with him
>>2 I've always kinda wanted to do something like this. I might just start this after I've completed Chapter 13 of TNI. :3
The team watches a really sad movie together and then they all run to their rooms to bawl their eyes out.
>>4 Eximplode? Really!? I... am excite. To say the least!
I'm not sure if it's been done yet, The RED and BLU teams are Mafia families that hate each other Reasons and what happens is up to author
requesting everyone being like, really socially awkward in their own ways, and how they "complete each other", so to speak. like, sniper is a lone wolf kind of campervan guy, spy is a habitual liar and doesn't trust anyone, pyro has identity issues, demo has no idea how to interact with people when he isn't under the influence... and just everyone palling around.
Oooh I like the Mafia family idea
What would make the stuck up angry Soldier cry like a little baby?
I'd like to request something with BLU Pyro and BLU Spy. Something cute like...the Spy is intrigued by the Pyro's behavior being similar to his own, that being no one really knows much about the mysterious Pyro. The Spy would start to watch the Pyro, trying to learn more about him to satisfy his own curiosity. Then one time Pyro could notice him and get a bit upset at the invasion of his privacy and demands he be left alone. However, the Spy continues to spy. Some how if a friendship could gradually be created from this...that would be amazing. I'd really appreciate this...I love the idea of Spy/Pyro...even if it's just friendship.
>>10 Old Yeller?
Does anyone have "Money shot" by "I eat paste"? It was mostly centered around some weird morale-building movie starring Medic and Heavy, where Engineer and Medic find each other vaguely attractive but Medic was starting to notice the Heavy as a person rather than a meatshield...I'd really like to see that one started up again. I'm also looking for a ScoutXMedicXHeavy story that had a Jealous!Medic kink to it. Forgot the author, but the icon was awesome("It's uberneinthousaaaand!").
Old Yeller.
>>1 I'm on it.
>>15 Woot! Thanks, Anon.
A tiny request. An horror/gore scene written from the point of view of an hippie about to be beaten to death by Saxton Hale. Alternatively, something romantic with Demoman and Sniper. Pleease?
Relatively sure (maybe) this hasn't been done yet... A silly little idea I had whilst watching TV in the middle of the night: So, the team get into a pretty heated argument one day over who has the best cooking skill/what food is the best. Naturally, playful insults and jabs are tossed, but eventually escalate into full out bets. A challenge is then suggested that each 'contender' make his own special dish to present to the 'judges'. As for the judges? In my mind, Heavy would be the first to volunteer. I imagine that he can prepare far more than sandviches, but would be perfectly content to sit back and watch others cook delicious food for him. Other than him, Scout (he's young, has eight siblings before him) and Demoman (hectic life...orphanages) seem to be the other two good choices, but if anybody writes this, feel free to choose whomever you please. Guess what channel I was watching (I have a problem).
Someone, preferably not Spy, being a father figure to Scout. Alternatively, EVERYONE being a father figure to Scout, fighting over who makes a better dad.
D'aaaaaaww! Seconded!
What if Scout's mom found out that her little boy was being fucked by one of his teammates? Surely I can't be alone in thinking that this would be absolutely hilarious to read about.
RED Spy and BLU Scout's Mom on a tender, romantic date. I'm in a lovey-dovey mood. Pretty please?
>>21 http://tf2chan.net/fanfic/res/326.html A half-fill, anyway. Didn't quite get the hilarity in. Unless you're Spy. I'm sure he's tickled pink by everything happening.
Does anyone have a repost of "You're Gonna Go Far Kid"? I don't remember who wrote it, but would worship a repost.
I'm looking for that one fic where they all went shopping. Medic got Twinkies and Spy got Nutella.
>>26 'The Day The Entire Team Went Grocery Shopping' by Tantarded - I have that fic saved including the (sort of) prequel where they're all on the bus. I also have a series of fics saved but I can't remember who wrote them (for some reason I didn't save the authors name). But basically it's a bunch of little one shots centered on the team; 'The weather outside is frightful', 'Regarding appropriate breakfast conversation topics', 'Pencil in your dance card', 'Life on celluloid' and 'hot tin roof'.
>>27 For some reason I want to say those were Quise writing as an anon, but I don't know for sure.
I'm actually looking for something in particular. I don't remember who it's by, by it's Sniper/Spy, and Sniper is all awkward and weird, and at one point, during the first time they meet up alone, he throws up. Sniper also constantly listens to a certain album. Anyone got it? It was all awkward and adorable.
>>27 I will do anything you want if you post that fic and the prequel.
>>26 Hey, this is the Anon who responded to you in the other thread. It's in this .rar, which also has a bunch of other fics. The files are 'The Day the Entire Team Went Grocery Shopping' and 'ENTIRE TEAM GOES GROCERY SHOPPING (A Prologue)'. Someone else uploaded this in the afanfic thread you posted in first, actually. Don't feel bad, I'm a newbie too. I actually discovered the chan the day before it crashed. http://www.mediafire.com/?eguvckgucrjdpek >>27 Those other fics you have sound really interesting. Could you please post them? >>29 http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6211518/1/It_Could_Be_Worse >>30 Aaaaanything?
>>31 Whoops! Forgot about the .rar archive file - I'm happy to post it but I don't want to spam. (If anyone knows who the author is, I'd be grateful) Life on Celluloid The chair teeters precariously under Pyro’s feet when he reaches up to tack the other end of the bed sheet, but it holds— the chair’s had a bit of a wobbly leg ever since Scout tried to use it to club Demo over the head, and no one’s gotten around to fixing it yet. Maybe he should put a notice on the billboard. Clambering off the chair, Pyro inspects his work with a huff of satisfaction. The bed sheet droops slightly, and it’s a little stained in the corner, but it’ll probably be okay for a few more screenings before it really starts looking grimy and interfering with the picture. He sighs happily. Pyro really does love movie night— the flickering of the screen, the soft whirr of the projector and the motes of dust floating in the beam of light. The preliminary arguments always seem to take a long time, though. “Maggots, what we have here is Sands of Iwo Jima! It’s a damn fine patriotic film, with all the heroism and sheer balls that you ladies are lacking. One and a half goddamn glorious hours of us good ol’ Yanks kickin’ the crap out of the Japs. Almost brings a tear to my eye, it does.†Demo rolls his eye. “Look ‘ere, Soldier, we all know you ‘ave one of them man-crushes on John Wayne, but that’s no bloody reason to subject us to two hours of mumbly xenophobic shite.†Scout’s strident voice cuts across the ensuing brawl. “Hey, hey, hey, I wanna watch Creature From The Black Lagoon! None of this frickin’ pussy girl movie bullshit!†“Are you kidding, mate? Jesus, you almost pissed yourself when we watched The Mummy.†“Fuck you, ‘s not as if ya weren’t hidin’ behind the sofa, too!†Pyro makes a hopeful noise, holding up It’s A Wonderful Life. “Aw, no, not It’s A Wonderful Life again!†Scout shouts from the headlock he’s trying to clamp onto Sniper. Sniper snorts. “Scout doesn’t like that one. Think we’ll try and avoid Scout bursting into tears tonight, eh—†He gets cut off as Scout makes a strangled noise and leaps onto him in a renewed effort to “shove his freakin’ hat down his throat,†as Scout puts it. Pyro shrugs, carefully putting the reel back on the shelf. He can watch it later and have the couch all to himself, too. Spy is being a wet blanket, as always, but that’s only to be expected, really. “Honestly, it is so much to ask for a little culture in our selections? What I wouldn’t give for a little Godard! Ahh, my poor, ignorant colleagues, that is cinema, not your mass-produced Hollywood drivel,†he sighs dramatically, gesturing with his cigarette. Scout scowls. “I’ve got plenty of freaking culture! I don’t need any Godard!†He pauses. “Ha, that guy’s name kinda sounds like gonads.†Heavy’s booming voice cuts across the discussion and Spy’s attempted outraged stabbing, quickly settling the matter. “TONIGHT, WE WATCH GONE WITH WIND.†Engie looks up from where he’s trying to adjust the projector, which had been bent into something resembling a particularly complicated modern art sculpture during their previous movie night. “Ooh, that’s a good ‘un. Think I’ve got this baby up and runnin’, if y’want to give it a try. I reckon she’ll last through all four hours, with a bit of luck.†He pats the projector fondly. It makes a loud clunk. “Well, maybe two.†One of the reels drops off, rolling neatly across the floor and into Pyro’s gloves. Engineer makes a contemplative noise. “We should be able to get through the credits.†Despite Scout’s best attempts at snatching the reel out of Heavy’s hand and the projector’s sputtering, the movie starts rolling shortly, the MGM lion roaring through the tinny sound system. All of them have crammed onto the flowery sofa with only a little bit of shoving and complaining about Scout’s bony elbows and arguing about who gets to sit on the weird stain and whose fault the stain is and who dropped shotgun shells underneath the cushions and why one end of the sofa is lumpier than the other. Spy had excused himself from the proceedings, claiming that he had better things to do than cuddle with the lot of them. “Hm, I believe this was a good choice, Heavy. I recall it won several awards, if I remember correctly,†says Medic, moving to sit more comfortably on the couch when they’re all more or less settled. “Yes, is good movie.†Heavy shifts over slightly, allowing more couch room for Medic, though it causes a domino reaction of “hey!â€s down the couch, and Pyro is starting to feel a bit squashed between the arm of the couch and Soldier. The jury-rigged projector lasts all the way through the credits without bursting into flames, for once, and Engie gives a relieved sigh and stops glancing nervously over his shoulder. Pyro gives him a thumbs-up. Engie had promised him awhile ago to show him how to work the projector, but they haven’t gotten around to it with all the fighting going on. Earlier that month, they had finally been able to fashion a fireproof cabinet for the reels, lining it with asbestos and nestling the movie cases safely inside. There’s a part of him that thinks that the film strips would burn so beautifully, the images flaring up into high shadows and refusing to be quenched, nitrocellulose feeding on its own oxygen in a graceful, violent blaze. The other part of him loves the cowboys and Southern belles and giant gorillas, and doesn’t want them to disappear so quickly. Sidling back in a few minutes after the opening credits, Spy leans on the back of the sofa in a carefully nonchalant fashion. Neatly slipping his hand into the protective cage that Sniper’s hands form around the bowl of popcorn, he snatches a handful, and it actually takes a few minutes before Sniper twigs on to the fact that the heap of greasy popcorn is steadily decreasing, and that it’s not Scout doing his usual oh-my-god-what-is-THAT-over-there popcorn snatch. “Will you get your dirty fingers out of my popcorn!†“But, mon cher, it tastes so much better when you steal it from another’s bowl! You would not deny me that pleasure, would you?†Spy says innocently, twisting his hand out of Sniper’s grip and deftly licking the salt from his glove. “Damn right, I will. Go get your own damn popcorn, wanker.†Sniper snarls back, narrowing his eyes and making another vain attempt at curling protectively over the bowl. “And deprive you of my charming company while I go make some? No, no, I simply could not do that. That’s far too cruel, even for me.†“Mate, you’d best put that handful back unless you think you still do your spyin’ with a few fingers missing.†“Ah, a few handfuls of popcorn is a small price to pay for the safety of your own trigger finger, non?†“Sniper, quit hogging the frickin’ popcorn! Geez!†“Will you get off, you bloody— ergh— clingy— fuckin’ hell, was your mother a spider monkey?†“Ow! Owowow, geez, stop it, you didn’t have to twist my freakin’ arm off!†“Argh, you incompetent idiots, you’re getting butter all over the sofa—“ “QUIET. IS GOOD PART.†Pyro heaves a sigh of relief as the peanut gallery at the end of the sofa quiets down for all of ten seconds, just in time for Clark Gable to make his entrance. Three hours and forty-five minutes later, everyone in the room is fixated by the flickering light projected on the bed sheet, where Scarlett is entreating Rhett not to leave her. Heavy clutches the handkerchief that Medic had handed to him approximately midway through the film, the delicate fabric tearing a bit under Heavy’s fingers. The way that Heavy pauses every few minutes to loudly blow his nose means that Pyro misses a bit of the dialogue, but that’s okay— he’s gotten pretty good at reading lip movements during previous movie nights when the dialogue’s been drowned out by Scout’s screeching. “Aye, ye love them and then they leave you, all alone in a bleak, dark world.†Demo sniffs, toying with the umbrella in his drink before taking a long swig of his margarita. “An’ then ye’ve got to make yeself a dress out of th’ living room curtains t’make yourself presentable, and it’s damn tragic, but damn, if ye aren’t going to be fabulous-looking when ye’re down and out.†Demo nods sagely. Pyro nods, too. He liked Scarlett’s curtain dress. “Ain’t that what happens in Sound of Music?†Scout’s voice is a little thick, and he seems to be trying to discreetly wipe his nose on Sniper’s shirt, but Pyro doesn’t say anything about it, because he wants to know what happens next. “Naw, she makes outfits for the kids in Sound of Music.†Oh, Sniper’s not commenting on the snot trail on his shoulder because he’s trying to keep Spy from remarking that his sunglasses are getting a bit misty. Not that Spy’s going to notice, Pyro thinks, with the way his eyes are glued to the movie, his cigarette hanging limply from his mouth and threatening to drop into the last of the popcorn kernels. Medic sighs nostalgically, dabbing lightly at his eyes. “I always did think it was a pity that Liesl did not marry that nice German boy.†Soldier keeps a stiff upper lip, of course, though you could say that his lower lip is quivering a bit—if there wasn’t the strong possibility of painful consequences, of course. “Damn pussy love stories.†Engie silently hands him a handkerchief, eyes fixed on the screen, watching Scarlett proclaim that she’ll go home, home, home. Pyro loves movie nights.
>>31 Regarding appropriate breakfast conversation topics One day Scout woke up in the morning and walked into the mess and Engineer had a robot hand. Scout yawned. Stuck his hand down his boxers and scratched a bit. Huh. “What’s for breakfast?†“French toast and bacon. Didn’t have the time nor the inclination for full-on biscuits this mornin’,†Engineer said. His robot hand clacked against the mug as he took a swig of coffee. As much as you could take a swig of something that looked like freakin’ tar in a mug. “Huh.†“Looks like a fine day out there today. Sun’s shinin’, birds singin’—well, there were,‘till Spy shot the one outside his window—and it’s nice and hot,†Engineer said, flipping a piece of toast over with a flick of his robot wrist. “Huh.†“Y’want some coffee while it’s cookin’, boy?†Engineer threw over his shoulder as he picked up the coffee pot, his robot fingers wrapping around the handle with a series of quiet clicks. Scout meant to say ‘Heck no, that stuff you make is freakin’ toxic,’ but what came out instead was, “What the fuck, you have a robot hand.†Engineer blinked, and looked at the coffee pot in his hand. “That I do.†Robot hand. What the fuck. Engineer must have noticed Scout staring or something, because he chuckled and rotated his wrist around a bit, smiling modestly. “Aw, I’ve had it for a bit, now. It was just a matter of ironing out the kinks ‘fore I brought it into battle proper, is all.†Engineer checked over his shoulder to make sure breakfast wasn’t burning, and then did something complicated and twisty with the cuff to make the hand come off with a pop and aw, gross. “See, it just fits onto the forearm, easy as anything. Don’t make that kind of face, son, it’s just an arm. Or, well, part of one.†Engineer reached towards the pan on the stove, chuckled, and then reached for it again with the arm that currently had a hand attached to it. But seriously, that was just plain gross, and this was coming from, well, him. His brothers had made sure to beat any squeamishness out of him pretty early on. Bugs? Haha, are you kidding? They had been great for bugging girls at recess when he was in grade school. Roadkill? Pff, whatever—the racoons on their side of town were big enough to survive pretty much anything. If anything, the car usually came out of it looking worse than the racoon. That thing under the bed that Pat had kept for ages until Ma kept sayin’ that his room smelled really funky? Whatever, he’d even eaten a bite of it as a dare. Heck, severed body parts weren’t that weird, either. Randy was missing a few fingers from that one thing with the dog and the ice cream truck, and Scout himself had once beat the BLU Heavy into a fine pulp with his own arm (which, okay, had already been removed by Soldier, but it still counted). Point is, he’s used to gross things. And Truckie’s creepy hand-stump was still pretty freakin’ weird. But then there was the whole robot hand thing. There was a little part of him that was saying that having a robot hand was awesome. Not that he wanted one or anything. He was fine with his arms and legs right where they were. Even if he kind of wanted to know if Truckie could make, like, robo-legs. With rockets. And a chainsaw or something. Scout slumped at the table and kicked at the chair legs a bit. It was way too early to be dealing with Engie’s freakin’ morning-person cheer and robot hand. “So what the heck is that thing.†“Well, y’see, this beauty’s similar to BLU’s, which you’ve surely run into a couple times by now. Reverse-engineered it myself—didn’t even need to get Spy to steal the blueprints. But it’s been improved upon, of course. A few extra additions and refinements.†Engineer patted his hand fondly. “BLU doesn’t stand a chance against Sue-Ann here.†“Okay, namin’ your hand is kinda getting into weird territory—“ Scout opened his mouth, and then closed it. “Wait, back up. So you’re sayin’ that you lopped off your freakin’ hand because the BLU Engineer did?†“’Course not! You wouldn’t jump off a bridge just because someone else did, would you, boy?†(Pff, Scout totally wouldn’t. Well. It depended on the bridge.) Engineer scratched at his morning stubble. With his stump. “But if your enemy’s got some technology that you don’t, well, you’ve got to keep up with things one way or another.†Scout turned that over in his mind for a bit. “So you cut off your hand.†“Well, yes, but you’re really reducin’ a rational, involved decision-making process to a single action.†Scout looked at him again. “You cut off your freakin’ hand.†Engineer considered that, and shrugged. “All in the name of science. Well, that, and I had a weekend to kill.†“Some people go fishin’ or somethin’, you know. Get a canoe, throw dynamite in the water—I dunno, ask Sniper, he knows about that kind of stuff.†“Never was much of a fisherman, m’self.†“Well, okay, it’s boring as hell, so I guess that makes sense.†Granted, Scout had never really been fishing or camping or whatever, but he could guess that it’d be pretty dull. The only time Scout had ever been camping was when they’d convinced Ma to let them rig up a tent in the building’s courtyard when he was eight or so, and it hadn’t lasted long, what with Mike telling horror stories and everybody in the tent freaking out when Pat tripped on a tent peg outside and brought the whole freakin’ thing down with him. But fishing still sounded like a better time than hacking off your arm. “So did it bleed a whole lot? Didja have to hack through the bone?†See, now he had to ask, because any one of his brothers would have treated him to all the details. “Aw, it wasn’t too bad. Ol’ sawbones helped out with that part—he was darn pleased to have a use for his bonesaw outside of the battlefield,†Engineer said. Ha, Scout knew Doc had something to do with it. The bacon snapped in the pan, and Engineer reattached his hand—man, he’s never had to use that sentence before—with a neat twist. “I woulda added more lasers,†Scout said, after a bit. “See, that’s the beauty of the thing! If I need more lasers, it’s a simple matter of addin’ em on. Don’t even need to lop off another limb unless I want to,†Engineer said, cheerfully. The weird thing about hanging out with the team for a bit was that you couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not. Scout vaguely registered Demo dropping into the chair across the table, looking pretty darn peppy for a guy who had been up serenading the BLUs with drunken bagpipes at 3 AM until Spy had thrown a shoe at him from his window. (Scout was pretty sure Demo was keeping the shoe hostage until Spy got him a good bottle of scotch, or something. Well, that was what Scout would do, at least. Either that or throw it back at him.) Engineer gave Demo a wave and turned back to the stove. Demo looked at Engineer, squinted at the inside of his bottle of scrumpy, and looked at Engineer again, then shrugged in a way that seemed to say, “Huh, Engineer has a robot hand. Must be Monday.†Or however you said that in Scottish. Having probably satisfied himself that Engineer’s robot arm was not an early-morning drunken hallucination, Demo said, “That’s new.†“A-yup.†“What’s ‘e yatterin’ on about?†Demo said, nodding towards Scout. “Naw, don’t mind him, he’s just bein’ a little squeamish about a little ol’ arm stump.†Demo snorted. “Och, lad, at least you don’t need to look at me eye socket every mornin’. Gruesome thing, it is. All full o’ crawly beasties and worms.†“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.†Scout rolled his eyes. “’Ey,†Demo called towards Engineer, “Since ye’re in the body part replacement business now, you ought to make me up some kind o’ eye. Something wi’ those newfangled lasers.†“Told you,†Scout added through a mouthful of French toast. Engineer looked intrigued. “I doubt I could reconnect any optical nerves, but if you’re talkin’ some kind of eye socket apparatus that just happens to fire a beam that slices unfortunate bystanders in half—well, I might be able to swing that.†“Good lad,†Demo said, raising his bottle in a toast. “We cannae let you go and become the only cyborg on the team, after all.†Great, at this rate, Scout was going to be the only non-creepy robot guy around here. “So do you—take it off at night, or what? Stick it in a glass by your dentures?†“Yup. It don’t crawl around on its own during the night, as far as I can reckon, so there ain’t no sense in keepin’ it on,†Engineer said. One of his fingers slid out with one of those “ker-jeeeeeeek†noises that Scout never really thought existed outside of space movies and separated itself into pliers that grabbed a spatula and flipped the bacon and toast onto a plate. Huh. “Fair warnin’, if I hear your hand crawlin’ about in the vents like some unholy spider from the darkest pits, I will consider it well within my duty to send it back to its maker in wee, tiny pieces,†Demo mused. “What about—do you take it off to—you know.†Scout gestured. Engineer passed him the plate, and Scout took the chance to stuff food in his mouth as fast as possible. It was kinda impressive that you could tell that Engineer was raising an eyebrow, even with his goggles on, but hey, Scout was used to ignoring that kind of stuff. Barrelling on was always the better option. Plus, Demo was taking a swig of his scrumpy and trying to pretend that he wasn’t looking over at Engineer curiously, so ha, he wasn’t the only one who wanted to know. “’Cuz chicks ask about that kinda stuff. ‘Less you go out with weird science chicks that have, like, machinegun boobs,†Scout continued, “But seriously, wouldn’t it be kinda awkward, all, hey, don’t mind me, go ahead and get naked, I just have to take off my swiss army robot hand. Unless you do some kind of weirdo strip tease, like, dun nah nah, bow chicka wow, takin’ off my clothes, aww yeah, dun nah nah, clunk, takin’ off my robot arm, whoowee.†Scout took another bite of bacon and chewed. “Or maybe weird science chicks are into that.†“I don’t have the slightest inkling what you’re implyin’ about my social life, boy,†Engineer said mildly, “An’ swallow before you talk. I’m sure your ma’s a fine lady, and she wouldn’t want you actin’ like you were raised in a barn.†He sat down with his own plate and a fork, and flipped out a knife from another one of his fingers, cutting into his toast and humming cheerfully. Scout opened his mouth to say that Engie knew exactly what he was talking about and oh my god, forget the science chicks, he probably had a robot chick in his workshop—and then, going against all of his instincts, closed it again. If family dinners had taught Scout one thing, it was that sometimes it was just better to shut up and eat your food. Especially if the cook had a robot hand.
>>31 Pencil In Your Dance Card Engineer isn’t too sure when he’d gotten it in his fool head that Scout needed to learn to dance properly. Maybe it had seemed like a good idea somewhere between getting another beautiful set of kills with his shiny new sentry and watching Scout run past with the intelligence yet again—you know, the sort of day where you’re all hopped-up on confidence and pretty much anything sounds like a brilliant plan. In any case, he’s regretting it now. “Boy, you’ve got to know how to dance if you’re every plannin’ on courtin’ a lady. We’re talkin’ about the basic tenets of gentlemanliness, here.†Jesus, trying to talk the boy into doing anything moderately cultured was like pulling teeth. Nevertheless, Engineer cues up the battered record player, delicately guiding the needle onto one of his lovely big band records—one of the few that remained of his collection after a Frisbee game combined with Sniper’s bored skeet-shooting had gone horribly off-track. With a light crackle, the melancholy clarinet of Artie Shaw floats through the air. “Do I have to be the girl? ‘Cuz if I have to be the girl, hardhat, I’m walkin’. No ifs, ands, or buts.†Engineer resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes at Scout—not that he would notice, goggles and all, but it was the principle of the thing. “No. No, you’re going to be the gentleman, because you’ve got to learn to lead, boy, unless you’re countin’ on doin’ the foxtrot with Heavy, in which case, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be leadin’.†“Hey!†“Now, see, the lady puts her hand on your shoulder, and you rest your hand on her back—not too low, boy, you don’t want any hanky-panky goin’ on—and you let her rest her other hand in yours. Don’t grip it tightly, now, you’ve got to be delicate.†“This is so gay.†Scout reluctantly lets himself be guided through the basic steps, though protesting all the way, and it’s actually going fairly well, for certain definitions of “well,†until— “That is the most atrociously mutilated version of a foxtrot I have ever seen.†Oh, great. Just what they needed—Spy pulling his usual appearing-out-of-goshdarned-nowhere trick. No doubt he’d arranged himself to lean on the wall at the precise angle needed for a perfectly nonchalant attitude, too. “Mon Dieu, at least you’re not teaching the poor impressionable boy the two-step, or something similarly abysmal.†Spy sighs. “Hey! Hey, I’m not a freakin’ impres-er, impreso-whatsit!†Spy duly ignores Scout’s protests. “Allow me to cut in.†“Be my guest.†Engineer steps away. “And there ain’t nothin’ wrong with a good ol’ Texas two-step, neither.†“You mean apart from the fact that it’s simplistic and crude?†“Sometimes, you’ve just got to get back to the basics. But, the boy’s got to start somewhere, and the foxtrot’s good a dance as any.†“It’s a sad day when I find myself in agreement with you, mon ami.†“Hey! You jerks, don’t I even get a say here? Hello?†Spy rolls his eyes and adjusts Scout’s posture, straightening his shoulders perfunctorily before grasping Scout’s waist and pulling him closer, much to Scout’s consternation and sputtered protests. “Watch and learn, labourer.†Fifteeen or so minutes of frustration later, Engineer can’t help but feel a little smug. “Mon dieu, how can you even comprehend how to stand on your own two feet? It’s not that difficult! You would think that even your miniscule—one step, then left. Left foot first!†“These feet are for runnin’, not all this namby-pamby shit!†Scout whines, and Engineer winces as Scout treads again on Spy’s neatly polished shoes—though this time seems a little more deliberate than the previous missteps. “Honestly—argh, I simply can’t work with this!†Leaving Scout with his hands hanging in midair, Spy whirls around, and Engineer suddenly finds himself swept out of his seat, his feet reflexively falling into the one-and-two-and-three-four, slow, slow, quick-quick. “Well, that’s a little better, at least,†Spy says after a few turns around the room, and damned if Engineer can’t detect the slightest edge of surprise in his voice. Engineer snorts at that. “Wouldn’t know fine dancin’ if it hit you in the face.†“You’d best keep up, labourer—Scout needs some sort of example.†“Good god, Spy, if you treat all ‘a your dates with this charmin’ courtesy, I’m befuddled that none of them come back for a second go.†With a smooth sweep, Spy guides the two of them back into the opening steps. “I’m afraid I can’t unleash my full experience on the likes of you—how you do not trip over those boats you call feet, I have no idea.†“Shut your trap and dance, twinkletoes.†Spy obligingly leads him through a few quick steps, neat and precise. “I hope this is good enough for your high standards?†Engineer scoffs at that, of course. “It’ll do, I reckon.†Some part of him can’t help but be reluctantly impressed with Spy’s fancy footwork, though it makes sense that he’s light on his feet—all the better to sap your sentries, right? As they pass into another turn, he quickly slips his hand under Spy’s arm and shifts the grip of his left hand, the soft leather of Spy’s glove rubbing against the rough texture of his own glove. There’s a small misstep as Spy raises an eyebrow and grips his hand a little harder then necessary, but he concedes fairly amiably, sliding his hand up to Engineer’s shoulder. “Very well, then—after all, isn’t the leader supposed to make the follower look good? You should have less of a challenge than I, of course.†“A veritable master of jocularity, y’are.†Engineer throws a quick changeup in there, and Spy follows step for step, long legs lightly brushing against his own. “But really, your lack of stature makes this a little awkward, you must admit.†“Yeah, well, you ain’t exactly the most comely lady, so I imagine it evens out.†“Touché.†The record goes on to a more up-tempo song, and Spy takes the opportunity to switch his grip to lead again, pulling Engineer into a fast, precise turn that presses them together. Engineer frowns briefly at Spy when he tries to lead them into a dip. Shrugging philosophically, Spy turns the dip into a smooth box step, his hand shifting against the small of Engineer’s back. It’s definitely a mite strange to move in sync with Spy when they’re so often working towards opposite ends, but somehow, it’s pleasant—a reminder of slow, easy nights in smoky bars with a tune on the jukebox and a pretty girl on his arm. The wooden floor creaks under their feet, the boards shifting against each other whenever they pass over, and that’s got him all sorts of nostalgic for the back porch of his ranch, swaying and dancing under the summer stars. Twisting into another turn, Engineer feels Spy’s feet stutter, which strikes him as strange, and he slowly realizes that the needle has slid off the record’s grooves with a soft pop, cutting off the last, lingering notes of clarinet. Scout’s staring at them with a thoroughly bewildered expression. “Okay, I’m going to pretend that didn’t happen. ‘Cuz that got a little weird. And by weird, I mean gay.†Medic is standing in the doorway, humming thoughtfully. “Hm. Not completely terrible, but you must be more fluid in your turns, Spy. You simply cannot be lazy with your extensions. Engineer, your leading hand droops a bit in closed position—you must be careful of that.†“Doktor is very good dancer!†Heavy booms, “Won big prize for dancing.†Pyro pops his head in, nodding in agreement and making a beeline for the record player, huffing appreciatively and slipping a Benny Goodman record out of its sleeve, careful not to fumble it with his gloves on. “And just WHAT is going on here? Are you ladies lacing up your pretty dancing shoes? Why don’t you get some ribbons to twirl while you’re at it! By god, man, the only ribbons that should be waving around here are the ones you’ve carved from your enemy’s flesh!†Soldier grabs Scout, all the while barking out, “Now, the POLKA, that is a man’s dance. Hup-one-two-three—“ Engineer isn’t too sure how it happens, exactly, but by the time Sniper and Demo arrive, Pyro is cueing up the slightly-less-scratched-up Helen Forrest record, Medic is demonstrating the finer points of a natural pivot turn for the benefit of Scout and Heavy with Soldier’s (somewhat argumentative) help, and—well, Spy’s showing him a basic baldosa, his feet quick and clever on the wooden floor and his hand warm, even through their gloves. --- A week or so later, a letter arrives at the BLU base. It’s got quite a few misspellings and scratch-outs, but the gist of it goes something like this: HEY YOU BLU FAGS YEAH YOU THE FREAKIN AMAZING RED TEAM CHALLENGES ALL OF YOU PUSSIES TO A DANCE-OFF MEDIC IS TELLING ME TO WRITE THAT YOU IDIOTS BETTER KNOW A FREAKIN GOOD FOXTROT. AND AN, er, INTERNATIONAL STYLE viy- veene- VIENNESE WALTZ. AND SPY HOPES ONE OF YOU CAN DANCE A DAMN GOOD TANGO, CUZ OTHERWISE YOU’RE ALL GOING DOWN YEAH THAT’S RIGHT ANYWAYS MELEE WEAPONS ARE FAIR GAME BYO RECORDS, OR WE’RE DANCING TO ENGIE’S OLD MAN MUSIC BE THERE OR BE SQUARE
>>31 The Weather Outside Is Frightful They always seem to be transferred to another base at the most inconvenient of times. Medic thinks that someone in the administration must have it out for him on some deeply personal level, because, really, Viaduct in the middle of January? Preposterous. “Ya know, couldn’t they send us to Hawaii or somethin’ in the winter? I’m sure BLU must be up to somethin’ inside one of them volcanoes,†Engineer says, stamping his feet and tucking his hands under his arms. His voice is slightly muffled by the countless scarves wrapped around his neck, his goggles peeking out above red and white stripes and burgundy polka dots. He’d also acquired an absolutely ridiculous hardhat liner, which looked uncannily like a small woodland animal had sprouted from his hardhat to consume his head. Handing Engineer another pair of mittens, Sniper was also looking chilled, but terribly smug. “An’ you said that knitting was useless. Ha!†“Mon ami, it was quite useless when you were producing miles of scarves in the middle of the desert,†Spy says, pulling up the collar on his trenchcoat. “Now, it’s marginally less useless, but that is still an utterly heinous shade of red.†“Quit whinin’, you big girl, the color’s fine. ‘S like a cherry-red, see?†“I was not aware that cherries came in that particular shade of neon.†“Hey, it’s good wool,†Sniper says, “Look, just take the scarf before I throttle you with it.†“Spy, I will more than gladly use that scarf if you ain’t gonna use it, so you’d best take it,†Engineer says, looking ever more disgruntled. Spy hunches his shoulders around his ears, but takes the scarf. “Well, if only to stop you from smothering yourself, Engineer.†He settles it gingerly around his neck, as if the (admittedly quite loud) color could bleed into his tasteful suit. “Happy, now?†At least most of them were properly bundled up. Unlike Scout, who seemed to be trying to do his utmost to induce hypothermia by prancing about in little more than a long-sleeved shirt, and Demoman, who was still nursing his bottle of alcohol despite Medic’s clear warnings about vasoconstriction and hypothermia, which Demoman had waved off with a comment about Saint Bernards. Soldier had clapped Demoman on the back and congratulated him for not letting the cold shrink his balls back inside his body like some goddamned eunuch. Medic sighs and cinches his sensible coat more closely around himself. Why he puts up with his colleagues is sometimes beyond him. “Doctor! Why so grumpy?†Heavy trundles up to him, obviously relishing the cold. “Ah, Heavy. I am merely dreading the oncoming rush of stupidity-induced frostbite and various other cold-related ailments that I will have to deal with. The weather itself is very acceptable,†he clarifies. “Now, if certain people would dress themselves in a fashion that corresponds to the sub-zero temperatures, I would be perfectly content.†Heavy shrugs, looking up at the low, grey sky. “Is not so cold. Will make Scout grow hair on chest.†“Yes, yes, but in the meantime, I’ll be the one to put up with the excruciating whining. Scout, if you do not put a coat on, I will amputate your gangrenous, frostbitten legs without anaesthetic,†he calls out. Scout freezes still for a second, before pretending that he hadn’t heard and continuing to attempt to shove snow down Pyro’s suit, with little success. Medic sighs. Well, he’d learn soon enough. Preferably before said frostbite set in, although it had been a long time since he’d gotten the chance to observe its effects first-hand. The snow starts in the afternoon, light flakes settling onto Medic’s gloves as he flips the switch for an uber. Soon enough, Sniper is grumbling about not being able to get a clear shot through the waves of snow, and Engineer has enlisted Pyro’s help in trying to keep drifts of snow from piling up around his sentry. “Geez, hardhat, is that an electric blanket on your sentry? Why doncha just stick a pair of mittens on it, too?†Scout says, warming his hands on it after running back—well, wading back—from the control point. “She won’t start if she isn’t warmed up properly,†Engineer says, frowning at the slow chugging sound of his dispenser. “She weren’t made for these doggone temperatures.†As the fighting slowly grinds to a halt, they can barely hear the Announcer’s voice saying that due to uncooperative weather conditions and their apparent lack of ability to cope with even the slightest flurries, the fighting would be suspended; the wind snatches away the consonants, leaving the shrill vowels to tumble through the gusts. Medic is more than glad to step inside, brushing a coat of snow off his uniform from Soldier’s unexpected rocketjump. Through his fogged glasses, he can make out the rest of the team straggling in, stamping snow off their boots and peeling off damp mittens, looking thoroughly wet and miserable. Heavy shakes his ushanka off, and brushes a thick layer of snow off Sniper’s hat when he comes in, his movements stiff. Medic wouldn’t call himself a sentimental man by any means, but it is strange to have the locker room empty of any celebratory boasting or promises of revenge, the room silent except for the sloughing of wet coats and the occasional shout to shut the goddamn door. The storm rages on through the evening, whipping snow against the windows and whistling through the cracks in the planks. Sniper looks out the window, hands stilling on his disassembled rifle. “Hey, where’s Truckie? Haven’t seen him for awhile.†As if on cue, Engineer walks in with his mouth set, a smudge of grease across his forehead. “So, the gosh-darned furnace is on the fritz. God almighty, who decided to put a base in the middle of a frozen wasteland.†Demoman throws his hands up. “Well, isn’t that just dandy.†Medic sets his book aside. “Frozen wasteland†may be a bit of an exaggeration, but he can’t say he’s feeling particularly charitable towards this base. “We’ll have to wait until the morning to do anything about it, I believe. Until then, it’ll be best to conserve what warmth we have.†“I’d have to say that it would be best for all of us to sleep in this room—it’s got a wood stove, at least,†Engineer suggests morosely. Scout snorts. “Okay, you guys can have your girly sleepover and paint each others’ nails and braid your hair and shit. I’m gonna go sleep in my bed.†As expected, a minute or so later, Scout barges back in, saying, “Okay, fuck that, it’s cold as balls out there. I call sleeping beside Pyro, he’s like a freakin’ oversized hot water bottle.†He glares at all of them, presumably daring them to make a comment about his sexuality. “’Cause I’m not gay for Pyro or anything. He’s just hot, okay? Okay.†Spy snickers. “Warm. Not hot. Warm. Shut the fuck up, Spy, you’re just jealous because Sniper is too bony to cuddle.†Pyro shrugs good-naturedly, sitting down on the pile of blankets. Scout stares at him, obviously wondering if he’s going to shuck off his suit or not. Pyro removes his gas canister and his belt, and after a moment, his boots, revealing polka-dotted stockings, and then thumps back onto the blankets with a sigh. Scout stares at the socks for a moment. Pyro wiggles his toes. Sniper calls out, “Aw, mate, glad you like them! Are they warm?†Pyro gives him a thumbs-up and a cheerful mumble. Scout scowls at Sniper. “Hey! Man, why didn’t I get any freakin’ socks? Geez, you expect me to run my feet off and then get no thanks for it?†Sniper duly ignores him. Pyro looks at Scout and tugs off his pair of socks—revealing a pair of RED-bomb-patterned socks—and holds them out to Scout. Scout looks torn between disgust and morbid curiosity. “…What the fuck, how many layers of socks do you have on?†Pyro looks contemplative, ticking off a few fingers, and then shrugging. He pulls off another few pairs (one with meticulous sticky-bomb patterns, another plain red, one with a pattern that looked vaguely like skulls wearing blue balaclavas), as if to demonstrate. Medic entertains a brief moment of curiosity as to whether there was anything under all the layers, and if so, whether it was carbon-based. “Well, I’m glad someone is using them,†Sniper mutters. (Scout does eventually put the socks on, saying, “Okay, fine, fine, your socks are almost as nice as my ma’s. Almost.â€) It’s a bit of a challenge to get everyone settled, especially since every one of them seems to sleep with a knife, a pistol, or grenades under their pillow. (“’S like one of them massaging pillows, see,†Demoman explains when Spy asks him how that could possibly be comfortable.) Medic finds himself sandwiched between Heavy and Demoman, vainly attempting to carve out some sort of personal space. Somehow, there’s a strange comfort in the small sounds of those around him settling—sighs, groans, and the rustling of blankets, gradually fading out into silence, but for the whistling of the wind. “Man, this is kind of like that time back home when we had a power outage, ‘n we had to sleep in the same room with candles on and I had to share a sleeping bag with Mike and he kicked me all night so I shoved him over and then he punched me in the arm but he elbowed Randy when he did that so Randy steamrolled over us in his sleeping bag and then Ma told us to be quiet and sleep and we did ‘cuz she looks kinda scary when she’s just woken up and she doesn’t have her makeup on—“ “If little man is not quiet, I will steamroll over everyone,†Heavy says matter-of-factly. Medic falls asleep surprisingly easily, given the snoring and the thorough lack of space. Sleeping on the floor is going to wreak havoc on his back, he knows. But it’s adequately warm. The next morning, they wake to a pristine, unbroken expanse of white, the rooftops heaped with snow. There’s a sense of sterile purity that Medic could almost call beautiful. He finds himself loath to break the unmarked surface with his boot, the snow settling beneath his sole with a squeak. Even Engineer is remarkably less testy, his dispenser starting up with its usual hum thanks to the engine block heater suggested by Soldier. It’s even more satisfying to see the expanse of white decorated by a graceful spray of blood from an arm with a blue mitten arcing through the air, followed by Soldier’s shout and Heavy’s deep laugh echoing over the field. Medic takes a deep breath, feeling the cold air burn down his throat and into his lungs. Everything is at once muffled and crisp, the noise of battle rounded at its edges, red and blue clear-cut against the bright snow, the stark blue sky soaring above them and outlining the mountaintops. He can’t even muster up the bile to snap at Scout and Pyro when they start rolling up snow under the guise of making a decoy. He even contributes a matching pair of blue-mittened arms to the project.
>>31 Hot Tin Roof Lying on the roof, Sniper can feel the left-over heat seeping from the corrugated metal. It would’ve be scaldingly hot at the peak of the day (not that he’d be all the way up on the open roof during fighting, because honestly, that was just asking to get capped in the head), but now, it had faded to a pleasant warmth at his back, slowly penetrating through his shirt. It had been especially hot that day, the fighting slow and sluggish. Even Scout had been slower than usual, the back of his shirt soaked through with sweat—and he’d definitely been throwing himself into the river a few more times than was strictly necessary for a tactical advantage. The heat really didn’t bother him too much, but he couldn’t say that he hadn’t been tempted to join the kid. Instead, Sniper couldn’t help but chuckle to himself a bit on the end of his scope, watching Spy painstakingly keep his suave façade up and insisting on wearing his suit to the bitter end. As the day progressed, though, Sniper had definitely seen the occasional grimace as he pulled his balaclava away from the dampness at the back of his neck. Soldier had suggested that they go shirts and skins (and they would be skins, because real men didn’t need goddamn clothes, why, their flesh should be able to deflect bullets with sheer testosterone). It had almost seemed like a good idea in the heat, too, but Medic had shot that idea down pretty quickly, following with the injunction that they keep hydrated, because he did not want to waste his precious time on idiots who keeled over with heatstroke in the middle of the battlefield. By the end of the day, even Spy had stripped down to his dress shirt, his tie drooping loosely around his neck. In any case, the day had given way to a balmy summer night—the sort that made Sniper nostalgic for the wide summer sky of the outback stretching above him from horizon to horizon, the Southern Cross sketched out amongst a dizzying spread of stars. The trap door leading to the roof creaks slightly, and Sniper automatically tilts his head towards the noise. It’s too pleasant an evening to be totally on alert, but instincts die hard. “Hey there, Sniper—it’s only me and Heavy,†Engineer says, his warm drawl soft in the evening air, “Hope y’ don’t mind a few extra bodies intrudin’ on your solitude.†Sniper shrugs, settling back more comfortably. “Plenty of roof for everyone, mate.†The lazy summer air seems to mute even Heavy’s voice to a low rumble. “Is good!†he says. The roof creaks a bit when Heavy settles down with a satisfied groan. Engineer carefully makes his way over to Sniper over the slant of the roof, slowly sitting down. “Nice night out. Not a cloud in the sky.†Sniper nods back at him. “Sure is,†he says, pushing his sunglasses back up his the bridge of this nose, “Not that I’m mindin’ your company, but ya don’t often ramble all the way up here, Truckie. Not to mention Heavy.†“Engineer was talking about shooting stars tonight. Is good place to watch, da?†Heavy says, lying down and shifting occasionally, the metal protesting under his weight. “Yes indeed—it’s supposed to be one nice shower. And at least we got clear skies with all this danged heat,†says Engineer. He pulls off his hardhat and wipes his forehead. “No moon, either, so it’s pretty much ideal.†It’s been awhile since he’s seen a proper meteor shower. Fighting keeps them busy, really, and it’s been a long time since he’s had a night to look at the stars—too tired, and besides, it’s still a mite strange, with the stars not being the same around here and all. A pleasant silence stretches between them, broken only by Heavy humming snatches of something that Sniper vaguely recognizes from one of Medic’s records. There’s a coyote howling somewhere in the distance, and Sniper desultorily looks through his scope, though it’s too far to shoot, even if he wanted to. “Hey, this is where all you jerks disappeared off to!†From the corner of his eye, Sniper sees Engineer startle a bit at the sound of Scout’s voice, and it’s only experience that keeps him from jerking up. Scout clambers out the hatch and jogs over to them, feet thumping hollowly on the sheet metal. He bounces across the roof, making a few restless circles and investigating how high up they are before Engineer tells him to “sit your rear down, you’re makin’ me twitchy as a jackrabbit with all your prancin’ about by the danged edge of the roof.†Scout deliberately scoots a little closer to the gutter with a grin just to see Engineer grimace a bit, then gives a short bark of laughter and throws himself down to sit next to Sniper. “Alright, Ma.†The silence lasts all of five seconds before Scout pipes up again. “So are you guys goin’ to be boring up here, too? I mean, Medic, Spy, Pyro and Demo are playing freakin’ bridge downstairs, and I’m startin’ to wonder if that wouldn’t be less brain-melting. I mean, at least they had Soldier keepin’ score, and that could be freakin’ hilarious.†Tipping his hardhat back, Engineer raises an eyebrow at him. “They kicked you out for callin’ out their cards, didn’t they?†Scout pauses. “You don’t know that.†At that, Sniper snorts. “You’re damn lucky Demo didn’t club ya over the noggin. He takes his bridge games pretty darn seriously. Damn near took my finger off when I tried taking back a card I’d played, last time.†Silence settles over them again as Scout wiggles his fingers in front of his face, probably contemplating if bothering Demoman again was worth a couple of digits. There’s a cicada buzzing somewhere close to the base, a constant background din stretching up to their ears. Scout starts thumping a light tattoo on the roof with the heels of his feet. Heavy ponderously turns his head over to Scout, pointedly looking at his feet. Scout stops thumping on the roof. “You guys are all giant losers,†he says, hunching over his knees. Maybe in an attempt to keep Scout from driving all of them utterly bonkers, Engineer sits up a bit, pointing up at the sky. “Hey, look there.†There’s a steadily glowing speck moving across the sky, cutting across the other lights in a lightly curving arc. “It’s one of them russky satellites, I reckon.†Heavy sits up, a wide smile stretching across his face. “Da, is good Soviet work!†Engineer smiles back at him. “Damn interestin’ stuff, that is. Imagine that, launchin’ a chunk ‘a metal into outer space. Makes you wonder, really.†“Geez, Heavy, aren’t you guys firin’ crazy-ass shit like dogs and turtles up there?†“And strong Russian men, too.†“We got someone up there, too, man!†“Da, is true. You can be next teeny American man in space. I will throw you, and you should go far enough. Perhaps.†“Now there’s a temptin’ proposition. Just watch out for the reentry.†Scout flips them all the bird, turning to Sniper. “Hey, hey, Sniper, it’s not like I care or anything, but can your scope get a closer look? I mean, I really don’t care, but can ya?†Scout scoots closer to him, and Sniper has to smack his hands away when he grabs at his rifle. Scout scowls at him. “Geez, man, just let me look! Come on!†Reluctantly, Sniper hands over his rifle, keeping a close eye on Scout. Sure, Scout knows how to handle weapons, and he isn’t overly protective of his gun—well, at least compared to Heavy and Sasha—but still. Scout looks contemplatively at the light for a few seconds, then at Engineer. “Hey, hardhat, what we really need is a giant space laser. Like, rig a laser up to one of them satellite-things, and soon as one of them BLU pussies step outside their base, it freakin’ zaps them out of existence! Well, you know, until they come back, but come on, space laser!†Engineer gives him an incredulous look. “Look here, I ain’t nearly read-up enough on aerospace engineering to even make one of them rockets, but what I do know is that that would be damn complicated. I mean, you’d gotta implement a danged precise targetin’ system, and account for the orbit and earth’s rotation, not to mention the difficulty of detectin’ blue from beyond the atmosphere, and…†Engineer pauses, then continues contemplatively, “Though if ya were to—and then—hm.†Moments later, Sniper can see him rummaging in his pockets for a scrap of paper and a pencil. “Hey, Truckie, you’d better not be trying to make sniping obsolete,†Sniper says as Scout mimes something that vaguely looks like “giant-freaking-death-laser-from-space-fuck-yeah.†“Huh?†Engineer looks up briefly from what looks like a growing mess of scribbles. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s a damn fool idea, but, you know, it’s interestin’ theoretically.†Sniper raises an eyebrow. “Theoretically. That’s not overly comfortin’, you know.†Silence settles across them again, Engineer’s pencil scratching lightly. It’s steadily getting darker, the very last glow disappearing from the horizon. Engineer clicks on a headlamp, still scribbling down equations and diagrams. Scout’s head droops briefly against his shoulder, and Sniper gives him a light shove, startling him out of his doze for a second. A few minutes later, Scout’s head is back on his shoulder, and, well, Sniper just feels way too relaxed to bother with shoving it off again. As long as Scout doesn’t drool on his shirt. Then he’s getting booted off the roof. “Engineer, over there!†Heavy says suddenly, pointing at a part of the sky just a little to the left of the BLU fort. At first, it’s just a single streak across the sky, quick enough to be missed, but Sniper still hears himself give a quick shout. “Ah, hey! ‘Nother one!†Engineer looks up from the sheaf of crumpled papers on his lap with a grin, switching off his light. “Ah, yep, looks like it’s startin’ up. Always did love watchin’ the Pleiades in the summer.†Scout jerks awake against his shoulder. “What? ‘Nother one of them commie satellites?†Sniper shoves him all the way off, indicating the part of the sky that Heavy currently has his eyes glued to. “Aww, yeah, shootin’ stars!†Scout says, throwing a bony elbow into Heavy’s side, “Bet I can count more than you, Heavy. Two!†“Little tiny Scout eyes are too small to see anything. THREE!†Heavy booms back. Sniper snorts. “Think I got both of you knuckleheads beat when it comes to eyes, unless you wanna be the one blowing the heads off BLUs half a mile away. That makes six, now, by the way.†“Hey, no fair! You distracted me!†Scout’s now clambering onto Heavy’s back, trying his level best to block his sight and resisting all of Heavy’s attempts at prying him off. “Seveneightnine ha!†“If you two idiots throw yourself off the roof with all your horsin’ around—“ “Eleven, twelve. You’d better keep up, Truckie.†Three hours or so later, including a dozen close calls with the edge of the roof, a few aborted heart attacks for Engineer, and one pair of aviators almost lost to a brawl over whether it had been a shooting star or a satellite, resulting in one particularly close call for Scout, the shower seems to be winding down. Sniper stretches, yawning widely, watching a stray meteor burn out every now and again. Scout is still draped over Heavy, having nodded off about a half hour ago, and seems to be drooling onto Heavy’s vest, as far as Sniper can tell. Heavy shifts a bit, waking Scout up. “Ha, totally counted more than you did, gigantor,†he mumbles into Heavy’s shoulder, giving him a half-hearted noogie. “Is not true, little baby is too tired to be awake. Could not count stars when falling asleep, da?†Heavy pats Scout’s head with a massive hand and dumps him onto the roof again. “Is bed-time for little Scouts!†“What? Fuck you! You’re just too slow to count them, you fatty-mc-fat-fat,†Scout says, ducking under Heavy’s head pats. There’s something bizarrely comforting about Scout’s high-pitched screaming as Heavy dangles Scout off the roof by his ankles, Engineer groaning into his hands beside him. “Hundred and twenty-four,†Sniper mutters to himself, knocking his hat back. It sure is a nice night out.
Oh, I do love the happy family stories. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. >>31 -gulp- A-Anything.
Those were so cute, GAH! I love things like that.
As I assume that everyone has read the new update, I request that there be a fic about Soldier pissing off that wizard. Because really, with that premise there is no way that it wouldn't turn out to be the greatest fanfiction of all time.
>>39 A 100% yes. I hope someone can do this.
Here's the prologue for the grocery shopping fic~ ---- ENTIRE TEAM IS GROCERY SHOPPING (A Prologue) Not since the BLU team’s relocation to the new base had they been to a store, much less a giant supermarket. After living in the middle of a desert for the better part of the year, Medic understands that everyone is eager to have food that isn’t the usual mass-shipped company rations. Besides, he has wanted to experiment with the team’s diet, see how they would respond to different levels of iron intake, or if he lowered the potassium in their food. Of course, experimenting with his team would most likely end with protests, so he hides it by offering to go to the supermarket himself. A simple grocery list should have done very nicely—it should have been easy enough—but when the whole team gathers around the kitchen table and Spy asks for something called Nutella, Medic only stares at him blankly. He can’t even begin to guess what it is. “Nutella,†Spy repeats, like the single word can provide all the clarification needed. “Spy, it doesn’t matter how many times you say it, I have no idea what you are trying to tell me,†Medic says, writing down Engineer’s request for bottled Watneys. “It’s chocolate in a jar,†Sniper offers from the less crowded part of the kitchen. He’s the one driving Medic to the supermarket, so there’s no need to add anything he wants to the growing grocery list. “Non, hazelnut,†Spy corrects with a scowl. “And never use chocolate in the same sentence as jar again, or I will shoot you.†“—But it’s like peanut butter; you spread it on bread and it’s fucking delicious,†Scout adds before turning to Engineer, “Watneys? Red Barrel? Man, whose freakin’ side are you on?†Engineer looks decidedly abashed. “I was drinking them before I was in BLU. Ain’t nothing wrong with liking a good beer.†“Oh, Watneys is beer?†Medic asks, still trying to grasp the concept of Nutella, and where he would find it in the store; if it was like chocolate, then it would be in the candy aisle… unless it was like peanut butter, then it might be in— Interrupting his speculations, Pyro shakes his shoulder and mumbles a reminder to get the new Pez. When Medic asks how to spell ‘pez’, Pyro becomes frantic—something about Star Trek and Pez and dispensers and Scout shouts about Engineer’s shameful love for RED beer and Spy is still saying Nutella and, mein Gott, Medic swears his eyes are glazing over. “I think it would be good idea for all of us go to store,†Heavy suggests when Medic rubs his temples. Only because Heavy wants to buy so many things, Medic thinks, and his instant response is, “No, that is a terrible, terrible idea—“ because how are they suppose to bring Spy and his balaclava in? What about Pyro? Especially Pyro, who would not hurt a fly outside of battle, but Medic can already hear the crying babies, screaming children, and hysterical mothers. Of course, the majority of his reasons are left unheard over the din, though Sniper becomes an unexpected ally and shouts that he sure as hell doesn’t have enough room in his van for nine people. Medic starts to breathe a sigh of relief, but then Sniper ruins everything with a solution so practical, Medic wants to strangle him for it. “I reckon we can all take the bus then.†And Medic crumples the grocery list in defeat. -- The bus ride is more eventful in a way that bus rides should never, ever be. There are a few civilians on the bus already and Medic is glad that the team had enough sense to forego the uniforms—though he’s pretty sure that more than half have brought weapons concealed beneath their clothes. (He does, after all, carry a scalpel beneath his coat.) They take the available seats and no one bothers to stare at them—except for maybe Pyro, who is bundled in a wrap of scarves, a thick coat, and even borrows Sniper’s glasses for good measure. It isn’t until the base is out of sight when they notice that Spy is missing. “Did anyone see him get on the bus?†Engineer asks. “He’s probably like Pyro, didn’t want to take his bloody mask off,†Demoman slurs two seats behind Medic. “Excusez-moi, Demoman, but I am sitting next to you.†A second later, Medic hears Demoman shriek and he turns around to look. There is a man in a green shirt and blue jeans, utterly unassuming and normal, sitting next to Demoman. It takes a moment for Medic to realize that it is Spy without his mask and suit. The whole team goes quiet, staring, and the bus’ engine screeches an appropriately timed moan of distress. Spy gives them a bewildered look in return. It lasts a second before his customary smirk appears. “Am I really that dashing?†he drawls, though it is obvious from the way his brow furrows that he is unable to grasp why his team is making a big deal over it. “The balaclava only a part of the uniform,†he says later, no longer amused by their stunned expressions, “And I personally think it’s ridiculous.†Presumably to check if Spy is wearing a disguise, Heavy reaches in front to engulf Spy’s head with one hand. “Is real face!†he confirms, furthering everyone’s amazement. Spy claws at Heavy’s large hand and makes muffled noises of what could only be elaborate French curses. The bus’ sputters grow louder as everyone crowds around Spy, paying no attention to the driver yelling at them to—please, for the love of God— stay seated while the bus is in motion—or something to that effect, more or less. There’s a moment when Medic’s face is pressing against the glass window, watching the blur of dirt road zoom by, and he is sure that they are going a hundred kilometers an hour on two wheels. They aren’t even going to make it to the store, he thinks. They’re all going to die in a collision, roll into a ditch and explode in a fiery death. Spy screams from somewhere behind him and the bus rocks back on all four wheels. Medic finds himself sitting next to Scout, with Scout’s bony elbow in his stomach and Scout’s yelps ringing in his ear—seven seats from where he started at the beginning of the trip. Another lurch sends him headlong into Soldier, then Pyro, then Spy—and Medic is able to get a good look at his face and thinks that Spy has rather boring features— before the driver swerves and everyone in the bus plays a painful game of musical chairs for the next fifteen minutes, complete with a crackling radio blaring out a horrible mariachi tune. By an unforeseeable miracle, the bus wheezes to a halt in front of the supermarket. It’s the most beautiful thing Medic has ever seen. (Five minutes later, this will not be the case.)
...and here's the rest of it. The Day the Entire Team Went Grocery Shopping --- Medic finds that pushing a shopping cart through the aisle of a supermarket can be just as difficult as pushing the bomb-cart through Gold Rush, if not worse. For one thing, it doesn’t matter how many people surround the shopping cart, it just won’t move with eight other men crowding around it. Medic tries to explain this—that it does not work like the automated bomb-cart, that in fact it is the opposite—but everyone is too busy sweeping through the shelves and scooping packets of snacks into the cart to notice. After spending most of the year in the middle of a desert, their relocation to a new city-base is a godsend. So, instead of yelling for them to stop, Medic only throws back the stuff in the shelves, leaving the angry stock clerks to reorganize everything. And while the team is not wearing their uniforms, there’s something about the battle-hardened look in their eyes that keeps the managers at bay, allowing them to raid the supermarket with all the enthusiasm and glee of overgrown toddlers in a candy store. Even so, the cart never gets filled, and Medic won’t let it get filled. They have a budget limit, after all. He is sure to check everything that ends up in the cart while Engineer mentally keeps track of the prices. “Doc, I don’t think we’re going to make it through this aisle alone without exceeding the budget five times over,†Engineer says, even as he eyes the rows of barbeque sauce on the far side of the store. Scout, for all his arrogant, loudmouthed stupidity, seems to be the only person that knows how to handle the delicate art of shopping in big numbers. “You know, when I was little, my ma took me and my brothers out shopping and let us pick one thing each,†he says, and his voice comes off as oddly guarded as he repeats, “But just one thing each.†Considering the level of chaos they’ve already put upon the supermarket, it sounds like a good idea. It takes a few more minutes of yelling and arguing to hammer out the details—what’s their price range? If they want a cheap snack, could they get two? Or if the item is expensive, is their pay going to be docked? Et cetera, et cetera—and when it’s all settled, the team scatters, leaving Medic in charge of the cart and obtaining the usual, mundane list of groceries. Under any other circumstances, he would have been annoyed, but as it turns out, Medic has been waiting for the right moment to manipulate the team’s diet, alter what nutrients went through their bodies, and see the changes through the performance records. If there are a few more whole wheat products in place of the team’s regular carbohydrate intake, then who are they to complain? They are the ones who left Medic to pick and choose the food by himself. He wheels the cart to the deli meat section and asks for kidneys and venison. The thought of drawing the team’s blood after a month on an iron-enriched diet makes Medic smile. While he’s waiting for the butcher to wrap up the meat, Demoman saunters up to the cart and puts down what appears to be a harmless gallon of apple juice. Medic eyes him askance. It isn’t any of his personal business if Demoman is cutting his consumption of alcohol, but Medic can’t help but feel disappointed that he may no longer have the excuse to see the long term effects of alcohol. He mutters under his breath. “What did’ya say ‘bout my liver and your scalpel?†Demoman asks warily, pulling out a flask from his pocket. “Nothing,†Medic says, glowering at the apple juice, hating what medical opportunities it was taking away from him. “I wasn’t talking to you.†Demoman stares at him, not bothering to be discreet about how he edges away. The flask disappears back into his pocket without him even taking a sip, and that upsets Medic even further. “Er, yeah. I’ll be waitin’ outside, then.†“You are a complete disappointment to science.†“Righto,†Demoman replies, slinking away with more agility than a drunkard ought to have. The butcher finishes packaging the meat, and just seeing the pink, watery tinge beneath the paper wrap puts Medic in a good mood again. However, he’ll have to go to the produce section next, and from what he can hear—the chatter of women and wails of children—that part of the supermarket will be like navigating through a battlefield. With a grim frown, he makes his way to the busiest area of the supermarket. Sure enough, around the shelves of fruit and vegetables are crowds of women with other carts, snatching the away the freshest tomatoes, spinach, and oranges, leaving only the overly ripe and bruised ones. There’s a proper way to go about this, picking up fruit, squeezing them, and simply grabbing them before anyone else can. There’s a method, but Medic doesn’t know it. The first step he takes near the fruit stand, he almost runs down a child with the cart. The child— a boy— looks up at him with a demonic smirk that would have given Spy a run for his money. Medic has all but two seconds to berate the child before its mother comes swooping in to give Medic an earful. “Hey, watch where you’re going, couldn’t you see him? What’s wrong with you? You could have hurt my baby!†the mother snaps, scooping her son up with one arm while the other is prodding Medic on the chest. She’s also gripping a sack of potatoes, and every time she drives her finger in his direction, the bundle hits him in places that would make a lesser man cringe. Despite the pain, Medic keeps his mouth shut, except for the little pause the mother takes to gather more breath to yell at him, and Medic hastily interjects an apology and retreats behind an aisle before she can continue. “Trouble, doctor?†Heavy asks, ambling next to him. He looks amused, which Medic does not appreciate. “I cannot get to the vegetables,†he answers crossly, suddenly reminded of the time he needed to run through the bridge at 2fort, and Heavy had acted as a human shield for him. Surely, if he could handle sentry fire, women and children should be easy. Heavy must have recognized his battle-ready expression. Bellowing out a loud laugh, he pats Medic on the shoulder and says, “Let me get them for you. What food do you need?†Medic is used to giving Heavy orders, so it takes him only a matter of seconds to say, “spinach, tomatoes, onions, garlic, and carrots,†and the quantities he needs them in, but he adds, “I do not think you’ll be able to get them without knocking over the stands and children—†But before his very eyes, Heavy steps into the swarm, all smiles and friendly large hands tapping politely on delicate shoulders. All the twittering women and shrieking children seem to make room for him, and Heavy collects everything Medic has listed without a hitch. It’s hard to resist; Medic wants to shout to everyone that, hello, this huge man you see here? He normally carries a minigun that is bigger than your noisy babies. Unfortunately, it would be very unbecoming, so Medic rolls his eyes instead and lets Heavy talk and make friends with the crazy mothers and their offspring. Despite his size, despite his being Russian-- the women beam at Heavy, and he even strikes up a conversation with one of the little girls. In absence of the enemy and, Medic suspects, his teammates, Heavy has an affable air that is not usually seen in the base and certainly not on the battlefield. Medic watches with a thoughtful frown and shakes his head, pushing the cart away. Escaping into one of the aisles, he sees Scout in a rare moment of quiet contemplation, one hand on a shelf and eyes darting back and forth between products. It’s a shame, Medic thinks, that Scout’s ability to make serious decisions has been solely devoted to choosing between a box of blueberry Pop Tarts and a bag of cheese-flavored chips. Glancing at Medic, Scout goes for the bag of chips, tossing them into the cart. He digs into the pockets of his faded jeans, shuffles through various slips of paper and hands Medic one of them. “Five cents off, fuck yeah,†he says, stuffing the rest of the coupons back into his pocket. The surprise Medic feels doesn’t show on his face. At least, not by much. Somehow, it hadn’t clicked that Scout would be a bargain hunter, yet from what Medic has heard about Scout’s background—through various long-winded stories through a headset—it makes sense that the younger man would be the most financially conscious out of all of them. “The hell you staring at, doc?†Scout asks, more curious than insulting, “Are we done yet?†“Nein, I haven’t seen the rest of your Offensive comrades, or my own Support, for that matter. Oh, and Pyro also.†“What, Pyro? He shouldn’t be hard to find,†Scout snickers. In order to pass as a civilian, Pyro had bundled himself in a huge overcoat and a head wrap of scarves. The overall effect amounted to much the same thing as wearing a rubber suit and gasmask, only less frightening and fluffier, which Medic supposes is the whole reason for it in the first place. “Ach, just find them for me, and tell them to hurry,†he says, throwing a hand in the air. “I do not want to be here longer than necessary.†Per usual, Scout complains loudly, but Medic points out that scouting is what Scout does best, and finding the rest of the team in a supermarket shouldn’t be a challenge. Scout bristles and complains more, but before he dashes off, he shoves the rest of the coupons into Medic’s hands. “Just in case you see anything that matches up, alright?†“Ja, ja, get going.†As soon as Scout is out of sight, Medic flips through the clips of paper. He doesn’t look too closely; what’s one or two cents to him when BLU is paying the bills? He tosses the coupons in the cart. There wasn’t one for blueberry Pop Tarts, but it doesn’t matter. He takes a box and places it in the cart. Now, for the embarrassing part. Medic takes a few more steps towards an array of packaged snacks, trying to go for a nonchalant approach. Praying that no one is there to see him, he plucks a box of Twinkies from the shelf, much to his internal shame. Just when he’s about to look over his shoulder again, he feels the presence of someone lingering behind him. Medic turns, clutching the box and already flushing with guilt. “I hope you are aware that those are devoid of any nutritional value, yes?†Spy says, smirking down his long nose. Long, visible nose. It’s actually not hard to not stare at Spy, who is wearing a plain, green shirt, a pair of jeans, and no mask. It turns out that he didn’t have a problem with taking off his balaclava, though everyone thought at first he was just using his disguise kit. Heavy proved them all wrong by grabbing Spy’s head and nearly pulling it off on the bus ride over. It had, needless to say, made for an interesting trip. But really, Spy’s face is not all that interesting, and if someone was to ask for Medic’s opinion, Medic would say that Spy’s features are rather forgettable and ordinary, borderline dull. So, it’s easy to glare at Spy, thoroughly unimpressed. “That, and it was the only good thing that came out of the Second Great War,†Medic says, defiantly putting the Twinkies in the cart. Unexpectedly, Spy only gives a sigh. His shoulders lower from their tense position and he pulls out a jar of Nutella from behind his back. “Oui. This too,†he mutters, placing it next to the Twinkies. Medic chooses not to comment, not that he has any right to anyway. They start to walk out of the aisle in silence. “I think if you combine them, they would taste very good,†Medic suggests after a while, already feeling his arteries cringe. Spy's eyebrows shoot up, and he opens his mouth to answer, but Pyro, Sniper, and Engineer barrel into them, arms filled with god-knows-what. Whatever Spy was going to say is lost over Pyro’s excited mumbles. “I thought we agreed to get one thing each,†Medic says, crossing his arms, finally able to sympathize with the mothers in the produce section. Like a child, Pyro whines frantically, waving a little cardboard packet. “It’s the new Pez dispensers,†Engineer explains to Medic’s blank-faced stare. “Those do not appear to be dispensers. Why do they have cartoon heads on them? That is grotesque,†he replies, pushing Sniper away from the cart when the other man tries to unload the jars of fruit preservatives in his arms. Spy makes a noise of disgust. “They ain’t for me!†Sniper snaps, “Engie needed some help carrying them. Don’t even know what he’s going to do with all these jams.†Engineer mumbles something about toast, which he has taken a sudden and almost unhealthy liking to within the past week, and Spy begins to hum a distinct tune under his breath. Pyro guffaws. “Well, you can only pick one,“ Medic repeats, exasperated, but Scout returns just in time with Heavy and Soldier behind him. “Oh, the jams are all on sale. Buy three, get the fourth free,†Scout says, almost whimsical, “It’s a good deal—†and immediately launches into a rant of why and how, and Medic swears that if Scout ever got fired from BLU, the younger man would have a shining career as a salesman. “—and that’s why we should buy them,†Scout finishes, five minutes later. It takes a moment for everyone to recover from the onslaught of Scout’s pitch. “So, you are saying that we should buy more jam?†Heavy asks. Scout blinks, frowning. “What? No. We’ve already got, like, what? Eight jars? Jesus, no.†By then, Pyro has successfully snuck in three new Pez candy dispensers, and because Medic doesn’t seem to have much of a choice, Engineer gets to have his jam. Sniper ends up choosing a bag of flour for himself. For what purpose, Medic doesn’t know, though he suspects it has something to do with biscuits or pie. Soldier refuses to buy anything for himself, claiming that whatever BLU sends on the supply train, he’ll take like a man. No one argues with him, since it only means more money for the shopping budget. Yet when they reach the check-out line to pay, Medic catches Soldier near the gumball machine, dropping a nickel in. Paying for the groceries is easier than what Medic thought it would be, mostly because Scout handles it and manages to get turned down by the young lady behind the counter at the same time. "Shut up, shut up," Scout growls out of earshot from the cashier, and shoves the rest of the budget money back into Engineer's hands. They meet Demoman outside, who grabs hold of Medic while everyone takes a bag of groceries from the cart. Before he knows what’s happening, Medic’s feet leave the ground and he is hustled into the cart. Grabbing onto the metal sides, Medic squirms and struggles and yells, “No. No. Absolutely not! The cart will break, dummkopfs!†Even Spy, who should know better, grins like the harbinger of death, and lays the bag full of jars on top of Medic, trapping him under the weight. The cart creaks, and Medic notices that—somehow—everyone has situated themselves around it, hands on the edges and feet resting on the bottommost rack, with the exception of Scout; he’s practically sitting on top of Medic. Medic knows what’s coming. He’s seen it with families exiting the supermarket earlier. The parking lot is on a gentle slope, but he remembers the screaming kids that go careening down between rows of cars, and really, it shouldn’t scare Medic as much as it does—up until the point when he remembers that Heavy’s large hands are gripping the cart’s handle, and nothing bodes well when the Russian starts to laugh and run forward. "Charge!" Soldier screams, right in Medic's ear. Just like that, everything feels familiar - the rush of adrenaline, the shouting, the moment of impending success, the sheer terror. It takes a while for Medic to place it, but as soon as the images flash in his mind, he is torn between laughing and groaning. "If anyone dares to say it, I swear I will—" "THE CART HAS ALMOST REACHED THE FINAL TERMINUS!" From Medic’s left, Pyro lets out a whoop and Sniper just grins when his hat blows clear off his head. Everything else becomes a blur of blue sky, pastel cars, and the back of Scout’s head in his face. Medic is also sure he’s crushing the tomatoes under him. “I hate you all!†he shouts over the rustling paper bags and rattling wheels. The ride through the parking lot isn’t something he can describe. Mostly because after flying over the second speed bump, Medic decides to cover his eyes until the cart miraculously comes to a slow halt. Heavy jerks it back and there’s the sound of eight pairs of feet hopping off the straining metal. Medic struggles to sit up, one hand going to his face to adjust his crooked glasses. There are a million expletives he wants to yell—about the crushed tomatoes, the square imprints on his hands and arms, the bent frames of his glasses, how childish everyone is acting and, most of all, he’s never taking them shopping again. Yet to his complete surprise, he finds himself standing up, balancing precariously inside the cart. "Victory!" Medic shouts instead, in a rather horrible imitation of the Administrator's voice, though it's no effort for him to sound sinister and rough. It sends heads turning and a moment of stunned silence before laughter follows soon after, loud and genuine. Only feeling just the tiniest bit embarrassed, Medic glowers at his teammates, shaking his head and lifting a hand to cover his face. God forbid that they see the corner of his lip twitch upwards. Automated or not, it turns out that nine men around a cart can make it move, all on its own.
Oh...my god. I fucking love Team fluff...and these are making my heart flutter with warm happiness. I especially love the Pyro and his childish want for Pez dispensers. He's so cute~!
Oh god, I grinned all the way through that until I thought my face was going to fall off. Absolutely marvellous.
Does anyone have Exac's The Team Meets The Team? or Keevan's fic that had Solly burying Scout at Sawmill? or that one shot where HQ sends RED Team 2 boxes of condoms and hilarity ensues? I would be very much grateful if they were reposted! and to the Anon who reposted the Grocery Shopping fic, Thank you so much!
The Team Meets the Team (Part 1) --- Part One. A man sat in a large, empty kitchen. The moon's dull blue light attacked the floors and pristine counters, and then fell on this man, whose mind was so lost in thought that the muscles in his face relaxed completely and left his mouth hanging slightly open. He breathed an airy sigh before wringing his gloved hands, which comforted him with their resounding squeaking. A door slammed somewhere in the abysmally large fortress. Shortly after, the kitchen was stormed by a bellowing Soldier. "The kitchen is not a lounge, nor your private quarters, officer" the soldier, dressed entirely and short not even of his shovel, marched to his startled victim and continued. "Furthermore, you are a disgrace to your own line of work! I do not need quacks on this team, I need men who are capable of sleep and of excellent performance the very second they open their eyes!" "Herr Soldier, wh-" "What is it, officer?" The soldier interjected. The Medic trembled from the slight breeze that snaked through the room. He had left his coat in his quarters. "May I ask as to vhy you are not only beautifully awake, but fully dressed as well? It is zhe first hour of zhe day." The Soldier looked at the Medic as if he had insulted his country. "One must always be prepared!" He continued bellowing on his way to a cupboard. "If one of the BLU scum come walking in-" "You know perfectly well zhat zhey cannot, no one can leave after a ceasf-" "-then they will not have the pleasure of maiming me or my RESTING comrades" The Soldier poured himself a cup of water, eliminated it in one swing, and proceeded to frown condescendingly at his teammate. "As to why I am here in this kitchen, it is because I was sorely dehydrated. Carry on, officer." As he turned to go, the Medic called him to a stop. The Soldier turned and faced a haggard man. "Vhe are zhe only ones left here, Herr Soldier. Zhere are no more doctors, und zhere are no more soldiers. RED is mad if it thinks it can shove the two of us into any more skirmishes with BLU. Zhey have at least three doctors, und I have given up counting their blasted Demomen." The Medic propped his elbows on his knees and ran both hands over his graying hair. He then stood and straightened up to his full height. "Zhe respawn chambers activate only during battle. The RED dummkopfs that tried, charged and ready, to storm BLU after hours have all ceased to exist. It is clear by now that vhe are simply not receiving reinforcements. Respect my wishes, Herr Soldier. Do not attempt to ambush zhem at night because they are things in this world I would much rather do than to defend this fort against Scot bombers with a Blutsauger." The Soldier grunted uneasily and shoved his shovel behind his back. "Only maggots disobey orders." With that, they both retreated to their respective rooms. Neither man slept. --- The next day, the remaining RED positioned themselves near a strip of land several miles from their base. Protect it, The Announcer said. The Medic gathered the last of his equipment as the woman's shrill voice trilled in his ears, and followed the remaining RED Soldier. The Medic quickened his pace as they neared their destination. "Have you taken all of zhe equipment?" The Soldier panted after him, carrying sacks whose contents protruded from the fabric in strange and jagged patterns. "Yes...doctor..." He stopped to catch his breath, surveyed the point they were to defend, and continued. "Though vhy vhe are asked to defend such a crude location..." "Do not question orders, doctor. You do not see me questioning yours." Several abandoned and half constructed buildings littered one side of a canyon wall. The closer RED moved into the area, the louder the muffled explosions threatened them from a pair of gates a considerable distance away. "Verdammt, Herr Soldier. A brisk walk is all it takes for zhe madmen to take...zhis", said the Medic, gesturing disgustedly at what they were defending. The Soldier made to berate his colleague for his un-American attitude before he heard the doctor's muffled chuckling. "Set the traps, doc?", he asked him. "Ja, Herr Soldier. May zhis be their most memorable stroll." For weeks, RED had been outnumbered by BLU so much so that it nearly shamed Medic to tears to hear from half of their drunken enemies that the other half were soundly sleeping off their Scrumpy in their base. They had learned, and for Soldier, it was learned the hard way, that direct combat had become synonymous with suicide. Therefore, they made sure to gather as much equipment as they (namely, Soldier) could carry, and lay only the dirtiest traps for the brazen BLU with the time they were given to set them up. The Medic trembled slightly as The Announcer declared the last sixty seconds of his guaranteed survival, and made hasty adjustments to their simple traps. The two sat on opposite ends of the canyon. The Soldier sat on the roof of the highest building. The Medic gripped his instruments, concealed by outcrops, mere feet from the rattling gates. They whined and clanged. The Medic was never as close to the gates as he was then. The relative safety he was assured by the large, concealing stone outcrops and his delicate traps did nothing to stop the trembling of his fingers, the tightening in his chest, or the dryness in his mouth. How ridiculous, he thought, for a field doctor to take such an active role in combat. He wondered briefly when the explosion of adrenaline in his system would ebb enough to allow him to operate again. Five seconds. He figured that the cogs would move now. Four seconds. He heard them start, and for some unspeakable reason, his rather insignificant premonition calmed him. Three seconds. Two. Ein. In seconds, the gates slid open, followed immediately by many familiar popping sounds. "Jump, schweinhunds" As expected, a number of sticky bombs propelled the Demomen straight out of the gate at a speed that did not allow them to register the barrage of needles that struck them in flight. Four Demomen landed, pierced, halfway to the scattered buildings that RED was defending. The Medic moved and hid himself and his strung needle guns behind another outcrop, wary of an enemy soldier and a pair of doctors who stumbled out after their Demomen. "Zhe dummkopf und his frauleins", he chided. The RED Medic bit his lip. The solution in the syringes was too slow. He realized too late that the damned Scots had closed the gap too soon. He only prayed that his teammate would see the real threat before firing at the irresistible decoys. An explosion rocked the canyon, and debris spread quickly. The BLU Soldier and the two doctors quickly retreated out of sight at the scene of the Demomen's death. The Medic swore, gripped his needle guns, and hoisted them onto yet another cross of rope closer to their control point. He waited. The RED Soldier waited as well. He was used to blowing up Scots. He was also used to insulting his remaining enemies after he had done so, which was even more entertaining. Lastly, he was used to giving away his position in such a matter and leaving his only colleague to die alone. However, today would be a good day. "Wait 'til the Medic sees this", he boasted in a low whisper. "I will destroy the maggots myself, and then my checkup hours will be cut in half. Only five hour checkups", he sighed. The Medic grew anxious. Nothing was happening for longer than he would have liked, and it was maddening. "Eight of you, always eight" His hair stuck to his forehead and a drop of sweat fell away from his jaw. Four Demomen. One Soldier. Two Medics. One was missing. He thrust his back against the stone he hid behind. He was almost giddy that he checked himself in time. He laughed gaily and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. The Medic enjoyed the wind's strange, gentle hiss. When he looked up, it was into the barrel of the Ambassador. --- "Come on, come on", the Soldier said. He was ready to get his hands dirty, and the BLU cowards were rudely depriving him of that pleasure. He was no lover of guerilla tactics, but this was ridiculous. "Come out, you miserable excuses for maggots...", he stopped his mumbling and grinned as a BLU Soldier and Medic stepped out from behind a building. He ignored a pistol shot that sounded somewhere to his left. The BLU Soldier fired several stray rockets. One screamed past the RED Soldier as he lay flat on the roof. His fingers and toes curled in anticipation. The wild and barely contained sparks that eased out of the enemy Medic's medigun were not lost on him. What a treat, he thought ecstatically. Terminating the enemy doctor before or even after his charge gave him a particular pleasure. "Fancy tricks are for magicians, son, not warriors", he said darkly. Merely a screaming distance away from the conflict, the RED Medic sat still and silent. He wore an almost peaceful face, and his eyes had closed. His chest, however, still rose and fell in erratic patterns. "Do not humor me, doctor, I am well aware that I missed." Cigarette smoke forced an indignant cough from the Medic, but his eyes remained closed. "I do not wish to kill you, after all." The man's voice soothed the doctor. The Medic was tied by his hands and feet, and unable to move his dislocated jaw, but the Spy's voice soothed him. Was it because he was so used to his partner's grunts and exclamations that he found this man's slow drawls almost musical? He opened his eyes. His attacker rubbed his hands together, as if to squeeze the blood out of the black gloves. The Spy then knelt down next to the RED Medic, careful to avoid dragging his coat on the ground, and breathed some more smoke into his face. "I see you are not surprised", the Spy said, and with ill hid disappointment. "But that does not surprise me. To my knowledge, I replaced a BLU doctor. Why BLU needed three of those, I could not fathom. But now I see." He took a long drag and continued. "You are a clever group. So tell me, doctor, where are the rest? I see the Soldier on the roof, and you. Tell me where your remaining teammates are and I may even give you a chance to save them." The Spy left the cigarette in his mouth and listened. The Medic frowned. How annoying, he thought. He took care to speak slowly to avoid further damage to his jaw. "Zhere is no one e-" "You disappoint me, doctor." "Ask your teammates, zhere are no othe-ahh!" The Spy gripped the doctor's chin. "I am a busy man, doctor. You can either tell me, or I can kill you." The hand gripped tighter, and the Spy waited patiently as the doctor's face contacted in pain. The BLU Spy leaned close to the Medic and whispered in his ear, "Or we can wait here until after ceasefire and I can truly kill you." He grinned as the doctor registered this and let out a strained cry. "Nein!", he breathed. "I cannot leave zhe Soldier alone for you schweinhunds, I cannot." The Medic rambled in a sudden panic. Each rocket that made contact behind him pushed his panic to a higher peak. "I do not care for zhe company", the Medic howled over the rising din. "RED does not take care of its workers. Zhey have lost my respect long ago." The doctor uttered a stuttering gasp as a charged shot rang through the arid air. He imagined the monstrously glowing BLU pair charging toward his doomed comrade. He refused to hope that his teammate would survive an Ubercharge alone. "Kill me, Herr Spy." The cigarette dropped. "Do it now", he said. The BLU Spy opened his mouth and looked at the doctor incredulously as the conflict behind them grew louder. "This point is yours, dummkopf! There is nothing else we can-" The Medic stopped. The noise had ceased. A gruff voice tore through the silence. The RED Soldier boasted triumphantly about maggots and America and glory and a thousand other things as his Medic, separated from him by nothing but a slab of rock, attempted to cry out, if only to vehemently congratulate him and to order his own punishment to rid himself of his lack of faith. The Spy sneered and stopped him. "Interesting charade, doctor. Now", he said, gripping the Medic's jaw again. The pain drew sharp shapes and ripples into the doctor's vision. "Today, as much as it pains me to do so, I must end your life after ceasefire." The Spy tilted his head thoughtfully. "Or perhaps BLU may even be open to accepting a prisoner of w-", he stopped and stared back at the gates. The Medic followed suit and immediately wished he hadn't. "Mein Gott. Even the time it takes to reanimate your men is a quarter of ours", he said weakly, as the Demomen returned, destroying his traps on their way to the RED Soldier. The Medic hurriedly stuck his head from behind the outcrop. The Spy watched. From his position, he could easily make out both remaining Soldiers on either side of a small structure. The RED Medic saw the second BLU doctor first, and the RED Soldier had already begun firing. "ZHE SECOND IS ALSO CHARGED! RETREA-" The Spy's swift kick to the abdomen silenced the Medic. He rolled out from behind the stone, tore the binds on his feet and returned the favor. The RED Soldier spotted his doctor and ran for him with no spare thought. He was followed by the charged Soldier and Medic from behind, and by four unscathed Demomen to his right. The RED Medic disregarded his pains completely and yelled in a cracked voice: "DO IT, HERR SOLDIER!" "WE DO NOT SURRENDER", the Soldier answered, even as a critical rocket and an innumerable number of pipe bombs surrounded the man. It was only when he recognized the blue shimmer behind his doctor that he fired one miserable rocket. A mere second after the projectile left its launcher, the Soldier's body flew wildly in all directions across the canyon base. "Move, you idiot!", yelled the Spy. The Medic shoved the man out of the way of the rocket and leaped into its path himself. *************** The BLU Spy leaned against the eventful slab of rock and watched as a dismembered RED hand faded and disappeared. He hoped that he would meet this doctor again. He hoped that he would again meet the man who not only asked for death, but smiled blissfully in its face. --- Several hours after the end of this mission, the RED base lost its silence courtesy of the unceremonious gagging of its Soldier. He stumbled out of the Respawn room and sat in the Medic's waiting room, as routine demanded. The Medic had always been informed that he had the longest respawn time out of anyone who has ever worked for RED. When he left the Respawn room, he noted the time. Three hours. He strolled through the waiting room past the Soldier. He stopped at the door of one examination room and turned to look at the Soldier curiously. Peering at the signup sheet, he recognized the man's large, thick signature. "I do not think zhat zhere should be a ceremony to announce your entrance, ja?" The Soldier furrowed his brow questioningly. "Y-you mean you're ready, doc?" "Nein, I am standing here for my pleasure. Come in vhen you are ready, Herr Soldier." The Medic entered the exam room, followed immediately by the Soldier, who, in one swift motion, came in, shut the door, threw off his helmet, and sat on the exam table. He sat rigidly, and his eyes were moist. "Vhat's zhis, another respawn symptom?", the Medic noted. The Soldier shook his head. "No, doc. You... just... you seein' me the very moment you exit the reanimation unit...it's just...so American. Today is a good day." "I agree, Herr Soldier." The doctor performed the routine check on both of them to make absolute sure that all the important bits were there. "We failed our mission, officer", the Soldier said. The Medic hesitated for a moment. "But we gave those maggots one hell of a show", he added. The doctor exhaled, and even smiled briefly. More importantly, they had come back together. He would sooner destroy his medigun than to admit to anyone his uneasiness in being left alone in battle. He had been the last "kill" for too many missions for his liking. "I understand that you have information concerning the enemy, doctor." "I don't unde-.. ah! Of course. Zhey have a replacement for one of zheir Medics. A Sp-" "SPY?", the Soldier yelled. "I didn't think those worms would stoop so low. But to hire a spy...this could be a problem...", he rubbed his chin as the Medic measured his blood pressure. "Is he American?" "Nein, he sounded European", the Medic mused. "Perhaps French." The Soldier burst into gruff giggles. "Then we have absolutely nothing to worry about", he declared, and slapped the Medic's shoulder roughly. The doctor smiled feebly. "Of course, Herr Soldier, of course." After they agreed that they were put back together coherently, they went their separate ways. There was little entertainment in the base save for a few chess boards, an old radio whose knobs jammed constantly, and whatever books that were authorized to be read. On many nights, the Medic found himself rereading his medical textbooks and notes. He tried to stay away from the notes tonight. They contained detailed records of every member of RED that the doctor had examined during his stay at the company. He did not want to be reminded of those who were in a better place than he. The Medic considered taking a stroll through the base, but the emptiness and silence did not disappoint, for he soon felt very oppressed and alone. He bid goodnight to the Soldier, and went to bed. The RED Medic awoke in the middle of the night. He left to see the Soldier, but he was not in his room. He panicked and searched the base, and at last found him sitting where he left him, on a ragged sofa next to the silent radio. The doctor sat next to him and motioned for the Soldier to give him his arm. He gripped a slender needle and cleared his throat. "Herr Soldier, we are the playthings of a dying company", he said bluntly. The doctor rolled the Soldier's sleeve up to his elbow and disinfected the skin above a thick vein. "It is time for us to go. Zhe respawn chambers have failed tonight at last" he whispered excitedly. The Soldier said nothing. The needle penetrated his skin and the syringe emptied its contents. "Say hallo to the others. I will come late, as always." With that, he detached a small capsule from a thin string around his neck, placed it into his mouth, swallowed, and leaned back on the sofa. His brow and the corners of his lips lifted blissfully and his eyes slowly shut. They then snapped all the way open at the too familiar clang of metal that signaled the start of the day. "Nein... how can it be", he gasped. He felt his hands and his chest and his knees and rubbed his eyes. "Verdammt. Es war ein Traum...ein Traum...a dream..." ***************** "Permission to point out how horrible you appear, officer." "Not now, Herr Soldier." "Then permission to take over kitchen duty." "Vhy?...", Medic started. Oh, he realized. The omelet was not an omelet anymore. He disposed of the burnt thing and handed the pan to the Soldier. "Omelets are for sissies", he muttered, and pulled out a box of pancake batter. The Medic sat down at one of the large tables and rubbed his eyes again. What a wonderfully horrible dream. Or was it the other way around? He played it again in his mind regardless, and found his fingers brushing against the flimsy string that held the capsule around his neck. It was an expensive thing, this pill. He had plans to use the smuggled treasure should he be taken prisoner during battle by the enemy, but with each passing day, it begged to be swallowed away from the influence of respawn. "Medic." "Ja?" "There is a letter in the mail. A company letter. I figured I'd wait until you were-" The Medic wasted no time in retrieving this letter. It was, after all, the first they had received in weeks. He fumbled with it and tore the envelope impatiently, ignoring the food that was laid out for him. "To our vonderful employees", the Medic read aloud, "Zhere will be a number of changes zhat you must be made aware of. First and foremost, your contracts have been modified..." The Soldier looked up from his food. "Continue, doctor", he said, and grew annoyed with the Medic's silence. "Herr Soldier", he said quietly. "Zhey are extending our contract indefinitely." "Oh. Alright." It was at that comment that the Medic realized that the Soldier would be content to fight until the end of time, if he were given such pleasure. The doctor did not share this aspiration. Not at all. Nevertheless, it was this same work that he was expected to carry out. He put his hand over his mouth and let the letter fall onto the table. "Quit the stalling, officer. I am just as excited as you at the honor of continuing our marvelous work, but that is certainly not the entirety of the letter's content." The Medic frowned, but continued anyway. It was the least he could do for the Soldier before he left him. He had at last planned his "departure" from the company, and it would be today. Painful or no, this letter settled the matter. The doctor continued. "A train vill arrive on zhe first of March und supply zhe base with additional supplies und men." The Medic stared."...und men", he said again. He read the sentence again. Then he read it one more time. And another, this time just to hear how it sounded. The Soldier thumped his knuckles on the table loudly. The Medic continued, his voice breaking. "...Zhere vill be two on zhe first train und one more on zhe second, which vill arrive a week later, und...und zhen...." The Soldier grumbled and snatched the letter from the Medic to read it himself. The doctor laughed. The sound was foreign to him, and a bit alarming, but he did not care. He put the capsule around his neck into his medicine bag, where it belonged. The Soldier finished reading and moved the letter aside. "I agree, doc. I find it positively laughable that they are sending more troops. I don't know about you, but I believe that we are doing just fine under these circumst-" He stopped speaking suddenly and cocked his head to one side. The doctor heard it too; it was a knock. A knock on the main entrance of the base. The Soldier jumped out of his seat and thundered to the door as the doctor trailed behind. The RED Medic heard the door open, and swore to remember forever the first greetings of his new teammates. "Howdy!" "Yo, I smell pancakes." --- "Place of birth?" "Boston. No really , doc, I'd love some pancakes right now." "Not before your examination. Family?" "Ma, seven brothers. Haven't seen dad for a while. Okay okay, but AFTER, can I have pancakes?" The boy winced as the doctor finished his vaccinations. "Wait, why the hell do ya gotta know about my family?" "I was merely wondering what sort of environment would push a boy as young as yourself to enter this line of work", the Medic said, and put away his equipment. He sighed. "To be frank, I am not surprised..." "Hey that ain't no reason why I'm here. 'Sides, you ain't seen me at work yet." He straightened his cap and leapt off of the exam table. It was at that moment that the Soldier slammed open the exam room door and pointed an angry finger at the newcomer. "DOCTOR, WE HAVE A SITUATION." "Nein, Soldier, zhis one is healthy zhis time." Ignorant of the doctor's diagnosis, the Soldier stormed toward the Medic, forcing the man a step back with his violent cloud of indignation. "This is NOT a PRESCHOOL, Medic." He then faced the boy. "And YOU will march your preadolescent hindquarters back to the train station and wait for your mama to bring your sippy cup while the real men wage war!", he bellowed. The boy whipped a bat out of his bag, tipped the Soldier's helmet and looked the enraged man in the eyes. "Make me, Private chucklenuts." The Soldier roared a menacing battle cry, swat the hand away and lunged at the boy, who quickly jumped on the table in the small room and mockingly swung his bat at the air. The doctor pulled him, whining and kicking, off of it by his ear as the Soldier made another violent lunge. The doctor watched curiously as the second newcomer ran in and stopped the Soldier's arm. The stocky man sighed in relief and adjusted his collar. "Whoa, there. If this here's a dispute over our right to be here, then you can look at both our papers." He offered his own documents and motioned to the boy's on Medic's desk. The Soldier ripped his arm from the man's grasp and snatched his papers. He scanned them for a moment and thrust them back. "Eleven hundred PHD's would not excuse this insubordination, private," he said menacingly. "Pardon me, sir, but don't it make sense to test our mettle in combat before sendin' us home?", the man asked. The boy slipped past the doctor's grip during this exchange and slowly crept toward the door. As he poised to run, the Soldier reached out and grabbed him by the same ear; his attention still on the other man. "OW, WHAT THE F-" "Maggot, I am not finished with you. And YOU," He peered down at the man's papers. "...Engineer." He hesitated. "What could an engineer possibly contribute to this fine team?", the Soldier demanded. The Engineer straightened himself and grinned at the Soldier and Medic as Scout finally regained possession of his ear. "Have you got any problems?", he asked, turning to the doctor. The Medic cleared his throat stiffly and looked in any other direction. "We may have certain practical problems..." The Engineer smiled and clapped his hands together. "Then that's why I'm here." The atmosphere in the base was anything but relaxed. Soldier hovered incessantly over Engineer's shoulder as he demonstrated the sizable upgrade to the Soldier's and Medic's primitive grenade pits and needle gun mounts. The Soldier had become so engrossed that he had no objections to watching the Engineer toil away in his newly converted workplace until sleep had robbed them both of consciousness. The doctor faced a similar, and yet very different, scenario. How strange, he thought, that the constant din of rockets and pipe bombs he was subjected to on a near daily basis did not bother him as much as did one boy's incessant babble. His pounding head was soothed considerably by the gentle hum of the company treadmill, and the rhythmic steps the boy made on it for the past three hours. Medic was unsure of what to make of the pair. Soldier was examining the other, so that had left him with the strange boy. He did not have nearly enough strength to prop a rocket launcher against his shoulder, much less survive it's recoil, and had little knowledge that would aid him on the field other than 'dodge, point and shoot'. And most frighteningly, he had little gear on him other than a bat, two guns, a headset, and a can of soda. His apparent ability to run for extended periods was his only defense, and even then, a weak one. Perhaps Soldier was right, he thought. Maybe they should send the boy home. "Nod off again, doc?" The silence unsettled him. "DOC!" The doctor gasped at the rude awakening, shifted in his seat and frowned. "Why don't you take a break...in fact, rest up. Tomorrow vill be your first battle and I'll be damned if you can dodge rockets with heavy eyelids." "I get to choose my room though, yea?" "Ja, just g-" He didn't need any further persuasion; the boy ran off happily. The doctor sat a little longer at his desk, propping his head up with his hands and struggling to remember a thought that had teased him in his half sleep. He thought of the boy, and the thought nearly resurfaced. Nearly. The Medic sighed and gathered his personal belongings. He made for his room by walking through halls that, despite their emptiness, did not suppress him quite as much as before. He thought of the eager Engineer and the tireless boy, and briefly marveled at their youth - that foolishness which placed them in the hands of Reliable Excavation Demolition. He rubbed his stiff neck. ************** Medic and Soldier lead the boy to the day's battle ground. The Soldier prodded him roughly in the back occasionally to keep him moving - or to relive his newfound indignation with every mumbled 'Ow!' as the Medic explained their situation. "BLU has gotten control of an area of great importance to RED - an easily rebuilt outpost near zhe route of a supply train zhat carries equipment for both bases. If we do not seize zhe area as well as zhe territory near it- are you listening?" "Yeah yeah, go on, doc." The boy moved away from the Soldier and closer to the Medic, rubbing his arm. "Herr Soldier, bitte. Do not give me more reason to postpone your visits to zhe infirmary. Now, again - if we do not seize the area before zhey do, it is very likely zhat zhey will attempt to capture or ransack the train as well. Do not look so surprised," he told the frowning youth. "We would easily do zhe same." Their destination, as Medic had mentioned, was a small area behind the canyon that had towered over the dilapidated outpost buildings on the other side. A lone gate was already set into a stone entrance that was now the only entrance into the old control point. As the three mercenaries made themselves familiar with the terrain, the Engineer ran past them as fast as his bulky toolbox allowed him. The Soldier grinned giddily as the doctor prepared his medigun and frowned at them both. Sixty seconds. The boy had managed to climb on a protruding rock that listed precariously to one side over the gates. The Medic caught him fiddling with that suspicious drink again, and made sure to remember to check his blood sugar levels later. The Engineer and Soldier huddled together over some obscured contraption that had begun to bleep rhythmically. Thirty Seconds. "Yo, the Announcer always quacks this loud? Geez," said the boy. "Quiet, dummkopf! You will not even hear zhe gates open over your own drivel." The Medic then turned to the Soldier, who had been running to and from the Engineer with what Medic dismissed as various metallic junk. "Herr Soldier, we must prepare!" "Not yet, Doc. Y'all can relax" said the Engineer. His perfectly calm tone infuriated the doctor. The Engineer suddenly smiled in thought, and interrupted the doctor's impending outburst. "Y'all ever had an Engineer on the team?", he asked. The Medic stopped mid-thought and slowly shook his head. "Nein. We are fighters, not toy makers," he said, gesturing to the Engineer, who laughed good naturedly. Ten Seconds. "I bet you'd like this here toy", he chuckled. A BLU Solider and Demoman approached the gate from the other side. Their mocking pounds on the metal seemed to provoke not only all of RED, but also their "toy", whose excited bleeping from under Engineer's swinging wrench invited an uncontrollable trembling in the boy. He remained crouched above the gates and tapped his bat to the wall of the canyon in rhythm to the bleeps. The Engineer finally stepped back from his work, allowing the Medic to see it for the first time. Five. The Medic inhaled sharply, and the Engineer's grin became impossibly wide. "Might wanna cover your ears, doc; you ain't exactly far away", he chuckled. The Medic didn't even hear the gates open. He didn't see the BLU step in. Why, mere seconds after the Engineer's warning, were there bits and slabs of flesh providing for them a stunning red carpet was beyond Medic's capacity to understand. As the shock waned, he was aware that there could not have been a more perfect form of revenge. The Soldier dragged the happy doctor to the open entrance. "Excellent work, Engie. Now let's uproot the rest of the maggots before they run screaming to their mamas!" The Medic stopped at the entrance, earning a well resonating "COME ON!" from the Soldier. The boy, still rubbing his ears, leapt down and stood next to the Engineer. "It cannot be so easy; zhey are expecting us. How will we avoid zheir traps? We do not have spare Demomen to fling at zhem." The Soldier chuckled briefly at the memory of that last bit and abruptly focused on the boy, whose head was thrown upwards to catch the remaining contents of a bright can. "WHAT IS THIS MUTINY? I DO NOT PUT YOU ON THE BATTLEFIELD TO GUZZLE SOFT DRINKS AND PRIMP AROUND WHILE THE REAL MEN DISCUSS EMERGENCY BATTLE STRATEGIES AFTER THEY HA-" The Soldier stopped only when the boy had charged through the entrance and returned after a full minute with a bloody bat. "BLU Doc an' Demo, down...", he panted, doubling over. "Pair 'o Demos on either...either side of cliff...one hidin' in building...sticky bombs on walls..." he added. He exhaled loudly and folded his arms. "Gimme a sec and I'll get the rest for you geezers." No one even considered giving him the pleasure, as everyone, even the Engineer, charged through and, in record time, eliminated every BLU in sight. Dinner that day was louder than ever in Medic's or Soldier's memory. In fact, the Soldier contributed to the cheering and whooping more than anyone, making sure to toast to the day's events as often as he could. "...and then we gutted their last Medic and painted the canyon with him. And THEN, Engie gave the honorary shotgun blast into that Demo's face, and the point was OURS!", Soldier bellowed. "But YOU", he continued, patting the boy's back enthusiastically, "without your superior scouting abilities, we would have come out in more pieces than we would have preferred, son." Before the Soldier had a chance to, the Medic raised his glass. "I think it is clear what I must finally put under 'position' in your papers, Scout", he said. The Scout whooped and clinked his glass against the doctor's, swallowing that drink again. Medic permit it again just this once. "And to our excellent Engineer, who proved me wrong and has the good nature to not pursue the fact," Medic said, giving the Engineer a mockingly stern look. The Engineer chuckled quietly and raised his glass along with the others. The Medic excused himself and left the celebrations early. How strange that things have turned in RED's favor so suddenly, he thought. The doctor entered his room and locked the door. The room was large; it doubled as the Medic's medical library. No wound to treat today, he thought again. Not a single bullet wound. Even the Scout recovered quickly from his brief skirmish. Then again, the enemy was surprised, and would not be again. They would have to move into battles closer and closer to the enemy base as well. This would put RED at an immediate disadvantage if their supplies run low. The Medic sat in an armchair and quietly listened to the clangs of the ever working Engineer, and enjoying the smell of an expensive cigarette. He slowly came to when he realized that he was not smoking. He threw open a desk shelf, loaded the pistol inside, and pointed wildly. "I know you are here!" Silence. The wind rattled against the closed windows, and the shadows cast by the dim lighting mocked him. His heart's wild pounding seemed to shake the room. "Your cloak does not eliminate smell, dummkopf!", he said. A muffled groan sounded from behind him, prompting the Medic to fire. "I thought so", said a voice to his right. The Medic fired again, and again did not hit anything of interest. "I asked the company upon receiving it, but who are they to indulge a mercenary's questions?" The Medic fired again, every miss worsening his panic. "I suppose it is foolish to ask why you are here, Spy," said Medic, leaning against a bookshelf. He tried to control his trembling. "But to deliberately disobey ceasefire regulations? Even if you are successful in ridding RED of its one doctor, both companies will want your head," he said darkly. "I am aware," said the invisible man. "But I am not here as an assassin. Non, I am here to congratulate you." The Medic heard the man take a drag from his cigarette, which was either extremely loud, or impossibly close. As if to elaborate on which, the intruders breath warmed the doctor's ear as he continued. "On your new teammates. I like them; they are so young and impressionable. They are also naive. Do they even know that a spy exists in BLU?", he whispered. The Medic stopped his breathing as a cold invisible metal slid it's broad side against his neck. As it just barely broke the skin, the doctor saw a brief, shimmering outline of the Spy, who quickly pulled back as the doctor swung his pistol against his arm, prolonging the shimmer. He quickly followed up and shot at the silhouette, and missed. "Pardon, docteur. I must not know my own strength," the voice said happily. The Medic exhaled sharply and glared in all directions, much to the audible amusement of the intruder. "Regardless, I will not be the observer tomorrow as I had been today. I'm curious to see who I introduce myself to first..." The Medic moved to block the door, only to see the window open and shut at an admirable speed. His chest tightened and he shoved the pistol back into the drawer. He was almost angry that the Spy had not killed him, and had even apologized at that pathetic nick at the throat. They were on opposite teams, ceasefire or no, so this behavior was entirely foreign to him. He slept fitfully. The next day's battle was expectantly more difficult now that BLU was aware of their new targets. The Engineer, having lingered a bit longer than before at the base, returned and built his sentry. Under the hail of rockets and bombs, he explained to the Medic the purpose of the hunk of whirling metal near his feet. Thinking the Engineer utterly insane, the doctor simply nodded and accompanied the Soldier in his effort to push BLU back even further from the outpost. Teleporters? Medic immediately put the man's checkup in high priority. The sentry stood on the roof of a high building not far from the BLU gates. As the Scout ambushed a pair of BLU Demomen intent on destroying the sentry, the Engineer left it for a moment to gather more metal. He stopped abruptly at a foreboding sound. Not sure what to make of it, he returned to his sentry. Scout was already there, staring at the malfunctioning gun confusedly. "Yo hardhat, why's your stuff glitchin'?" "Not sure, boy, but this thing is probably doing it," he said, pulling a tangle of wire and battery from the gun. He heard the boy scoff from behind him. "It is called a sapper, mon ami. " --- BLU Demomen charged at RED, not even caring to hide their unnerving howls. Alarmed at the absence of sentry cover fire, the Soldier and Medic shoved their Scout out of harm's way and faced the charge themselves. As the Scout stumbled away from the imminent collision, his skull throbbed from a sudden onslaught of stimuli. He looked back to find the source of an eerie crackling that filled his ears, and squinted at the blinding scarlet light that emanated from his teammates' bodies. In a brief absence of enemy projectiles, the Medic yelled at the Scout to find the Engineer. The Scout, finished with alternating between expressions of awe and horror at the ubered pair, ran back to the sentry's building. When he was at the door, the carnage behind him had stopped. The Soldier pressed on while the doctor ran past the Scout for additional supplies. The boy flew up the dark, angular staircase and took a shortcut to the roof. "Shit, Engie, why'd you bail on us when we needed y-" Scout was on the roof now, hovering over Engineer's body. His shock extended for many precious seconds as his mind struggled to process what he believed to be impossible. His eyes grew wider and his mouth trembled because he wanted to swear; he wanted to swear more in the next minute than he had in his entire life, but he could not make a sound. He threw himself to his knees and felt the man's neck for a pulse with trembling fingers. At a loss with where a pulse would even be found, he pressed everywhere and heightened his hysteria. He shuddered as the warm blood seeped into the bandages on his hands. His heartbeat exploded and he jumped at a sudden voice. "I'm sorry." He turned to see the RED Medic frowning at the body and shaking his head. Scout moved his mouth again, and to his intense frustration, he still could not produce sound. He gripped his cap tightly and kept trying. "D...doc, he's dead. He's dead, doc. Engie, he-he's dead..." The boy continued to mumble incoherently as the doctor gripped his shoulder gently. "It happens, boy, it happens." "No no no, doc, that don't happen to Engie. He just got here, that bastard just got here." "I know, I know." "Who does he think he is, doc? Dyin' from a fucking-, what is that? A knife s-stab? What kind of sh-shitty death is that? An' it's in the back, too,", Scout rambled, becoming louder every time he opened his mouth. "Unfair, I know, Scout." "Some fucker actually fucking backstabbed him. But how the hell, man? All o' the BLU are over th-" The RED Medic smiled warmly as Scout stopped speaking and slowly slipped his shoulder from under the Medic's hand. "Doc...y-you came out of the supply building right as the sentry stopped beepin'." The doctor cocked his head confusedly as the Scout stepped back, bumping his feet against stray sentry parts. "An...and now you're here jus' as I turn up... you gone traitor on us, doc, that it?" Scout picked his bat off of the floor and gripped it until his hands hurt. He was then aware of the entire battlefield, as if this truth freed his mind. Soldier was retreating behind him, and what sounded like the enemy Soldier-Medic pair rushing into the area. And lastly, their own Medic was screaming obscenities at their Soldier for rushing without him when he had pulled back for supplies. Scout frowned and peered down in time to see the RED Medic run past the building, cast a stray glance up at him as well, and another of shock at his own doppelganger. In a moment that Scout promised to tell his seven brothers back home multiple times, he ducked, elbowed a lunging knife out of a gloved hand (not red as before, but black, he would tell them), and swung his bat as far into the attackers chest as his adrenaline pumped arms would allow. The crunch of wood on flesh and bone was heard even by the bellowing Soldiers. "Yo, that was SICK. Are your ribs always that loud, motherfucker?", Scout yelled, his voice cracked and low. "And what the hell is this crap?" He picked up a paper mask from the floor. On it was a picture of his Medic. He threw it down and approached the keeled over man. He swung his leg to kick the man, who promptly caught his ankle and twisted until the Scout fell to the floor of the roof. They both returned to their feet, one grinning widely and the other baring his teeth. "Mon Dieu, non, that was the-", he paused to spit out blood accumulating in his mouth, "-the loudest thus far", he said, not bothering to hide his awe. The Scout didn't seem to appreciate the compliment. "Why the fuck are you prancin' around with that stupid mask on, huh, stupid?" Scout knocked his bat against the roof threateningly and circled the man, whose grin became so sickeningly wide that he was forced to laugh out his joy. "Now what the shit is so goddamn funny?", Scout said, his voice trembling out of fear and anxiety and rage and a thousand other emotions. The man adjusted his suit, bending only slightly in spite of what Scout hoped to be massive internal bleeding. "I was not expecting an audience with you so soon, but-", he paused again to spit, "- spies cannot be choosers." "You're a spy?"Scout screwed up his face as if he had smelled his own socks after a mission. "Oui," the Spy said curtly. He frowned as he gripped the front of his bloodied suit. The Scout's breathing quickened. "Y-you killed Engie." "Now that is insulting. I sapped his sentry and THEN I killed 'im." As the Spy reached inside his jacket, an explosion ripped through the air and the RED Soldier landed between the two on the building. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS TEA PARTY, LADIES. YOU ARE THE BLU MAGGOT ALIVE WHO IS DENYING OUR VICTORY AND THAT DISGUSTS ME TO THE HIGHEST DEGREE,", he bellowed. He made to fire a rocket but was shoved roughly aside by Scout, who lunged at the Spy himself and in utter disregard to the revolver that emerged from the man's jacket and pointed at his chest. The knockback from the shot did nothing to the Spy's advantage because the Scout paused only briefly before leaping over the man and disconnecting his skull from the spine with the grace of a swung bat. The crack made even the Soldier shudder, even if it was a trembling joy. This joy was swiftly multiplied as canyon speakers projected the declaration of victory for the RED team. He seemed to curb it, however, before he approached the Scout, who immediately started to feel the consequences of his actions. Blood spilled quickly through his shirt and down his legs. He felt rough hands on his shoulders but paid them no heed as his knees buckled under his own weight. He was aware of the entire battlefield. He was not only aware of the smell of his sweat, but also of the sparse grass that escaped the destruction of war. His ears rang not only with the revolver shot that was killing him, but also of the trilling of birds that had returned to the now quiet field. His eyes hurt not only because they were fixed upon the body of his dead friend, but because the sun glanced off of the stupid metal roof and into his face. But he was most aware of the arm that he had used to hurt a man that day. --- "Ahcrapdocwhathappe- "Hush or I will slip" Wh-? Oh shit doc, you're operating." "Zhe bullet nicked an artery. Can you feel zhis?" "Feel what?" "Good. Now try not to wake up again." **************** "Ah, jeez." The RED Medic stopped organizing his tools and looked back at the Scout wearily. "Even the second zhe anesthetic wears off, your tongue does not rest. Calm yourself, we are in our base and zhe battle was won." The Scout attempted multiple times to rise from his bed, and each attempt was met with a downward shove from the Medic. The doctor, despite his show of indifference, carefully observed the boy's behavior. "But doc, where...where is he?", said Scout. "He?" "Y...y'know...," he said. His voice was soft and low, as if a higher pitch would upset himself. He avoided Medic's eyes. "Engie. What are we gonna do about Engie?" The doctor considered for a moment that this was a joke, but Scout's miserable expression convinced him otherwise. The Medic straightened his glasses and resumed wiping his tools. "Picked up, obviously." "What? By what?" "Zhe Respawn, of course." "What?" The Medic's eyes widened. He then turned around slowly and looked at the confused Scout. "Scout," he started uneasily, "did you happen to skip or skim over any part of your terms of agreement when you took this job?" He said all of this slowly, as if to prolong the answer. "Oh, that fat book they gave me after my interview? What's that gotta do wi-" "Answer me." "Pft, I don't need no manual to fight. Course I didn't read it, who does?" The Medic stared at him in awe for a few moments because he had never processed such a terrific level of stupidity in such a short time. He began to speak as the door to the infirmary creaked open and a second voice interrupted. "Howdy, Scout! How you feeli-?" Ach, nein, nein, nein, the Medic thought. He pushed the Engineer out, but his intentions were futile. Scout made a hoarse cry and leapt out of bed, dragging his white covers with him to floor. The Medic hauled him back in and, deaf to the boy's indignant insults and furious questions, hastily snapped leather restraints across his ankles and wrists. After sedating him and tightening the restraints a second time, he stepped outside to a puzzled Engineer. "Solly told me what the boy did. Thought I'd come over and congratulate him myself-" "Nein, Herr Engineer, zhis is no time for that." Medic groaned audibly and rubbed his temple for a moment."He had not read his papers," he said softly. "Zhe terms of agreement." "Well that's a shame, but what does that have to do w-" "He thinks you are dead, Herr Engineer." The Engineer was silent for a few seconds until shock crept onto his features as he fully realized what Medic meant. As the doctor walked away, he called after him, "We can just explain the system to him. He'll still stay, right, doc?" He looked on as the doctor ignored his questions and rounded a corner. When the sedative wore off, Medic and Soldier came to the still restrained Scout and explained first, and in great detail, how stupid he was for not reading his own contract, and second, what was arguably the most important information in the contract: Respawn. The Medic would never have thought that explaining the existence of a technology that would prevent death indefinitely would give him a bloodied nose. After sedating the boy again for throwing what was possibly the most violent fit the Medic had seen in his entire career, they left. They told the Engineer that infirmary visits were out of the question. The Medic retreated to his room. Night had fallen without his notice, and with a glance at the half lit clock, he counted four hours since the end of the day's mission. He closed the door and went to stand by a window. He was a rational man. He was a doctor, and a field medic at that. It was never the right time to stop working, or delay sleep that would compromise work. It was a rule he had imposed upon himself. Yet there he stood at his window and simply looked at the cratered moon. Cratered, barren, and probably very dirty, he thought. He rubbed his neck with his bare hand. It felt a string; a thin string was around his neck. He idly wondered why he had not noticed the capsule bump against his bare collarbone before. In the near eerie quiet that permeated throughout the entire RED base, he heard a soft shuffle. It could've come from outside, or from directly behind him. Regardless, his body tensed and his back involuntarily found a wall. Almost immediately after he had done so, a mournful sigh filled the room. "Je suis désolé, monsieur. I did not mean to disturb you yet." Medic turned toward the direction of the familiar and mocking voice with building panic, but also with some reassurance. He had pondered over the nature of the last visit in the day's idle periods, and was sure that he had reached a conclusion. He was ashamed of his own shaking voice. "I know why you come here, spy." "Oui? Humor me, doctor." "You come alone and when I am alone. You are a BLU Spy, and I am zhe one RED Medic. If you are not simply playing with your meal, zhen all of zhis must all be a wonderful setup for an elaborate negotiation. Now hurry up and name your terms so I may refuse them." This was followed by a brief silence, which was then followed by poorly suppressed chuckles. Soon, the invisible man did not even try to suppress his mirth. "Bravo, doctor! Très créatif. Still, that is not my intention. Not today." The doctor heard a small click and a long inhale before cigarette smoke wafted through the room. He wondered how long the man had to wait before smoking to keep his cover, only to blow it with clumsy footing. The doctor would've wanted a smoke after that as well. In fact, he wouldn't have minded one in his own position. "I feel that your team may benefit from a performance report, non? Surely, you must know from the opponent's eyes how fragile your young friends turned out to be." The Medic's face must have done a beautiful job of conveying his indignation. He heard the invisible man take another drag before the infuriatingly calm voice continued. "Make yourself comfortable, doctor, you are so tense." "I will do what I want, Eindringling. Now say whatever you want to say to me and leave," the doctor said curtly. He had no power in his position, but to hell with whoever thought he would submit like a dog. Another long drag and the amused, disembodied voice continued. "I suppose I should start with L'ingén-" He fell silent. The Medic heard it too - footsteps in the hallway and soon after, a tentative knock on the door. Feeling an intense self consciousness toward his back, Medic slowly walked to the door and opened it. A bleary eyed Engineer still in his uniform looked back at him. "Ah dang it, thought I heard you talkin' to someone, and well, Soldier's asleep so I figured.. ah, sorry doc." He tipped his helmet and shuffled off. Medic watched him go, almost disgusted at how close two strangers had apparently become over an insignificant train ride. And yet, he felt that formalities must be absent for certain situations. "Engineer," he called. The stocky, tired man peered back. "You must forgive me for doubting you twice. Scout would not have survived without zhe teleporter." Medic said. The Engineer grinned, his tired eyes still half lidded. "Much obliged," he said softly. "Do your team an added favor, Herr Engineer." The Engineer raised his eyebrows and listened. "Watch your back from now on. Also, ask zhe Soldier for a spare shotgun in zhe morning. I will not clear you for battle if it is not consistently in your possession." The doctor waited until the Engineer nodded in agreement and left before he reluctantly stepped back into his room and locked the door again. He turned around and his whole body jerked in shock at the unexpected sight. The suit made fine creases at the elbow with each slow clap, and strips of light ran across a blue balaclava as the face behind it looked at him with an expression as calm and casual as the lone voice the doctor was accustomed to hearing. A low 'ahem' and suit readjustment later, the man sat straighter in his armchair and raised his arms. "Monsieur, but you are putting me out of business." The Spy then laid them on the chair's armrests and slipped a cigarette case from his jacket. "Do you smoke, doctor?" "Nein," he whispered, but his eyes must have lingered on the case for longer than he thought. "Oui, not today. Now, that-", he said, putting the case away, "that was beautiful advice, Medic. So much so that I was compelled to appear before you and applaud." The cigarette tip glowed. "I suppose that leaves the bunny, although I may as well include all of RED." The Medic waited until the man took another unnerving drag. "Focusing on foreign policy without settling domestic disputes is very... dangerous, doctor." The Spy propped his head up in the chair and appeared thoughtful. "Who knows? Maybe RED will whip him into shape. And maybe," he added thoughtfully, "I can provide added encouragement." "I doubt that aid provided by a traitorous schweinhund is of any value." "Mon Dieu, doctor, I do not rise to bait." "You should. Zhen perhaps you will cease tirelessly dragging out my death." "I 'ave told you before, I do not mean to k-" "You have with you a revolver and a knife. I am unarmed because all spare ammunition has been melted down to serve zhe Engineer's purposes. The pistol rounds I wasted on your shadow were zhe last." "S'il vous plaît, doctor. If it bothers you this much, then next time I will-" The Spy stopped speaking abruptly. His brow furrowed and, with what Medic thought was almost convincing concern in his tone, asked him if he wasn't feeling well. The doctor scoffed and, in the midst of choosing only the most insulting retort, realized where the Spy was looking. The Medic glanced down at his own shirt collar and gathered from his white knuckles and creased folds that he was clutching it fiercely. From inside the shirt, he also glimpsed the tantalizing outline of a little white capsule that held a little blue pill. Just one bite, he thought, and these unnerving interrogations, these traitorous conversations, would be over. Without warning, the Spy disappeared. The window creaked open an inch wider of its own accord and the night was still again. The doctor grabbed the clock off the wall and hurled it with full force through the window before closing it at the eruption of pained groans and foul French. He ripped the capsule from his neck and threw it blindly before collapsing into bed, remembering the BLU Spy's last words and thinking that it will snow in Dustbowl before there will be a 'next time'. And despite his vague promises, there always was. The Spy did not uncloak again, but the day nearly never reached its end without some sort of visit from the invisible man. All of these visits were, quite frankly, of no great use to either, and the RED Medic had all but given up trying to place meaning behind the BLU Spy's actions. A few weeks in and the Medic even began to expect these meetings, and, ashamed though he was at this, felt that something was wrong when a week's or even a day's visit was missed. In nearly all of these midnight conferences, the doctor made sure to avoid any mention of either company, of teammates, and of personal details. The Spy did not challenge or even chide these conditions. When one was not enjoying a brief history lesson from the other, they argued over how long mankind could maintain relative peace without an inevitable nuke party. At some point, both were about to chide their respective Soldier's inability to resist a nuke fest to the other for a laugh, but both held their tongues and continued smoking. Thankfully, this situation did not present itself often because most of the visits were spent in absolute silence save for the occasional request for a lighter. But this did not continue indefinitely. It could not. In due time, the BLU Spy revealed to the RED Medic the reason for his visits, which was, in fact, also a proposition which led to one negotiator's death. However, many things would happen before then. They are events that would greatly influence the terms of this proposition.
The Team Meets the Team (Part 2) --- Part Two The Engineer, having spent an entire night laboring over various undisclosed projects, slept soundly until noon. Upon waking up, he regarded the sun's position in the sky with mute shock. Thinking he had slept through the morning bell, he dressed quickly, rushed out of his room, and collided into someone right outside. He spoke quickly as he fumbled with the supplies in his arms. "Sorry, partner, thought I was the last one h-" "Engie?" The Engineer froze at the small voice, and looked up to see that he had bumped into Scout. He cleared his throat awkwardly and lifted his goggles. He thought they distorted his perception, but no, the boy was sickeningly pale. "Shouldn't you be in the infirmary, boy?" he started, but his voice trailed as he realized that he must have said something wrong, because Scout's face quickly fixed itself into a disgusted scowl. "I don't gotta be nowhere," Scout said darkly, "You don't tell me where to go, ya clone." "Scout, what are you sayin'? Respawn ain't a clonin' machine, and I'm still-" "Don't talk to me, you fake, don't fucking talk to me," Scout said and backed away. His knuckles were white, and he struggled to control his trembling lip. "I ain't gonna die like Engie did and have some...some clone prance around pretendin' to be me...", Scout said, with his voice regressing into a cracked whisper. The boy's face was twisted into a mess of fear and pain and disgust, and as Engineer opened and closed his mouth incredulously, he understood that the boy had escaped the infirmary. Scout swore some more and ran. The Engineer waited a few minutes before heading down that same hallway that led to the mess hall. The attacks were ludicrous and unfounded and yet, they left the Engineer more surprised at his own internal reaction than at its cause. He shouldn't be worked up by that boy; it just wasn't practical. But he reasoned that he would be put as some ease if he spoke to the team. The Engineer learned from the Medic that they were free to rest for the day while RED's new outpost was under preliminary renovation. He also learned that Scout had left his bed sometime in the night and was not seen since. Neither the Medic nor the Soldier seemed fazed by this. The responses he got from them unsettled him: "A deserter is another word for traitor, which is commonly interchangeable with maggot." "Dummkopf should have read zhe job description." The Engineer felt the incredibly irrational guilt that his death was the cause of the boy's equally irrational behavior, and the veteran REDs were not of much comfort. The Soldier was eternally in his own basement room; it was a room flanked by large closets containing what little metal, ammunition, and spare shovels they still had. There was no hope for anyone who disturbed him there. As for the Medic, the Engineer would struggle to find someone as unpredictable and distant as he. It was not his business. The boy would come to in due time, and by then, he'd have a new device for the team to marvel over. He would not get involved. These were his thoughts, and he adhered to them until his trembling hands refused to cooperate in light of his absurd need to find the boy. The longer his shadow extended behind him, the more frantic the Engineer became. He only had a few lazy minutes of twilight left after hours of turning the entire base on its head in search of Scout. Convinced that Scout was not in the main building, he had come outside to search the surrounding buildings. A two story timber shack near the edge of the base looked to him like a great place to stow away, but upon inspection, he found that no human had breathed the air inside in what must have been years. He shuffled past discarded papers and charts littering the floor and stood outside dejectedly, looking at the threateningly crimson sun as it bled into the horizon. And then, seemingly out of nowhere at all, came a muffled cough. "Scout?" The Engineer turned expectantly in all directions but could not find the source. Then he looked up. "How'd ya manage to get on the roof?" "Why the hell should you care?" The Engineer motioned for him to come down. "Well, I did comb through the entire base lookin' for you. Come on back, boy, you're sick as a dog." He took a few steps back to get a better view. Scout turned his head away from the Engineer, and lay limply on his back. "I ain't bein' drugged by that creeper again, pal. Never again. An' I ain't about to follow a...a damn clone." As he said this, albeit with a hint of uncertainly, the last of the glaringly red light spilled past the horizon. It seemed to snatch Engineer's patience as a parting gift. "You keep this up and your death'll be no better than mine." Scout remained silent after that. The Engineer briefly wondered if he had gone too far. He called to him several more times, and when he received no answers, he wrung his hands and turned to leave, taking his time returning to his workshop. Once there, he lit a small gas lamp. It was still dark, but the one lamp was enough. The Engineer hoped that his last words had at the very least registered to Scout: "I got something in my workshop that might patch you up. No doc. No drugs. I'll stay the night if you decide to come by. Do what you like, boy, but remember - you don't have a ticket to Respawn after hours." That was a lie, of course. When he was not consistently upgrading his buildings, he sneaked out at night to tinker with the marvel that was the Respawn system. It was an unbridled joy to him to find that the machine had not been updated in years. As he sat on his workshop bench, he imagined the reactions of RED in a few days when they realized that Respawn was now activated during every hour of every day. He grinned to himself and expected that the Medic would appreciate it most. He was not sure by how much, but one would have to be a strange doctor to not appreciate the benefits of such an upgrade. One door to the workshop led outside. It was this door that opened and let a clumsy Scout stumble into the room. Engineer approached him carefully, as one would approach a skittish animal. Scout fumbled with his footing, but managed to sit down on a bench. Engineer sighed in relief. At least the boy possessed some miniscule inkling of self preservation. "So, Engie clone. Where's your...your..." He leaned forward and his arms folded around his abdomen. The Engineer pulled a large, dark object toward Scout. "...your med kit, where...where is it?" The candle's yellow light struck Scout's face. It was demanding and haughty even in its depraved, shrunken state. The Engineer grunted as he slowly set the large, rectangular thing next to the bench. Scout took it upon himself to throw back the thing's tattered cover. "What's thi- oh. I don't need a fucking jukebox, man. This some kinda joke?" The Engineer laughed at the boy's scowl. "Kid, this ain't no jukebox. If it works, it'll ruddy up that face o' yours before you're done with your next stab at my humanity." Scout looked on dumbly as the Engineer's fingers flew on the knobs too quickly to focus on. Scout's head dipped lazily several times before the machine hissed and lit up, illuminating the dark workshop in a saturated red light. "Wh-what is that?" "This here beauty's a dispenser. I assemble it during a mission, and it provides us all with unlimited ammo. It also -" "What the hell, Engie clone, I don't need MORE bullets. I thought you had a med ki-" "Hush up and lay down on the bench, son." Scout glared and did what he was told, letting his heels knock on the floor when his long legs extended past the short bench. "I think your jukebox is screwin' with my eyes, man, I can't see shit." The Engineer leaned back against the wall and watched the red fumes envelop the boy. "Those fumes ain't much different from those in Medic's medigun. The basic components I found in a spare, so I don't think he'd mind my experiments too much. Don't know too much on how that device works but hopefully, integrating some of it into the dispenser'll fix you up somewhat," he said. "So you ain't sure if it works." "Well, it is a prototype, so I'm not one hundred percent sure," he said, and added quietly, "Trust me, boy." Scout scoffed and mumbled something incoherent. The soft vapors draped over his body, entering through his mouth and his nose and even the pores of his pallid skin. He trembled at the odd sensation of a draft in an airless room. "Scout." "Yeah, what?" "Tell me, why'd ya take this job?" "Why the hell's a clone gotta know that?" "Now see, I remember why you took this job. You were the one who told me, too." The Engineer grinned at the indignant Scout, who said quietly, "I told Engie. I didn't tell his freakin' clone." "Fine, then, you told Engie. You told him on the train that you were fixin' to get your folks a bit o' money. Told 'im you wanted to make somethin' of yourself. And he...I know you still want that, Scout. You slipped up a little by not readin' your papers, but you can still catch up." Engineer paused for a moment. "Just don't take too long, son. We ain't gonna wait forever." Scout mumbled again, and folded his arms. Engineer understood that as a sign to slow down. He silently pulled up a chair next to the bench, and sat, watching Scout's chest rise and fall as the red fumes closed the last of his minor wounds - remnants of his adventures on and off the battlefield. He briefly wondered why Medic could not have simply trained his medigun on Scout after extracting the bullet. Surely a doctor must hate seeing his patients in such prolonged pain? It must be some unwritten regulation, Engineer thought. Although he was not adjusting to his new position as clumsily as Scout, he was not exempt from the occasional mishap. Although Respawn took care of the livid bruising he received for once touching a certain teammate's shovel, he could not help but shield his chest when approached by said teammate. Scout spoke first."Engie." "Hm?" "How did it... how does dyin' feel like?" "It...it ain't somethin' I can describe with plain words." "That bad, huh?" The Engineer studied Scout's face in this exchange, and saw a boy no older than twenty struggling to understand why he was afraid of not being able to die. The Engineer sighed softly, and saw no harm in revealing his own sentiments on the matter. "No use philosophizin' on the job, son. Especially not on this one. Best if you just let everything run its course." Scout screwed up his nose at the vague answer. He swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. His voice came low and unsteady. "I shake when I'm supposed to be bashin' heads in. I can't reload my fuckin' gun cause I'm all butterfingers with the bullets. Why am I doin' this? I ain't a wimp, Engie. I'm not." He turned around and glared at Engineer, as if daring him to think otherwise. Engineer shook his head and threw his hands up defensively. "I don't believe that at all, boy, not at all." Scout huffed and tapped his fingers on his chest. Engineer rubbed his closely shaved head. The night was fairly silent behind their exchange, and the lazy silence that followed it reminded them both of their building fatigue. Engineer had barely come out of his yawn when he asked, "I wanna ask you somethin'." Scout grunted. "You're callin' me Engie again. Should I read into that?" "Quit philosphisizing on the job," Scout mumbled. Engineer laughed softly as Scout's breathing slowed into a steady, rhythmic pace. Despite the introduction of the RED dispenser, and the Engineer's successful persuading to let Scout fight again, the next day's battle was, in the RED Soldier's memory, the worst he had ever seen. He had respawned after the Medic, with the Engineer following closely after. Embarrassed beyond belief, Engineer and Medic sat a distance apart on the common room's couch, struggling to live through Soldier's recount of the day's events. "Five minutes, men. It took FIVE. MINUTES-" The Engineer shifted in his seat. Medic's palm slowly and graciously met his face. "-for the BLU scum to destroy this disgraceful team. Medic, I did not give you clearance to hover over Engineer like a possessive mother hen while eight men charged me on the front lines! If he cannot crush a crouton munching bug like a man, then he will die like a maggot." "Soldier, zhis is madne-" "NO." Soldier stomped toward the RED Medic and lifted his helmet to look the annoyed man in the eyes. "MADNESS is a team that refuses to cooperate. THAT, officer, is madness. AND YOU," he continued, turning to the Engineer. "Doze off on the job again, private, and you'll be scrubbing the ceilings. But no, I am not done with you. You persuaded us to let that boy fight today. Tell me, officer, how many of my direct orders do you think he disobeyed today?" The Soldier broke into a threatening whisper, and his voice all but broke from restraining his abject fury as he answered his own question. "Every. Damn. One." "Give him time, Soldier, he'll come around," Engineer sputtered. The Soldier began to pace in a circle, muttering something about Scout 'coming around' after he had wrung his scrawny neck. The Engineer hung his head. The Medic glared at the clock. "Respawn should not take zhis long." Shortly after a second and far more colorful tirade from the Soldier, the front door unlocked, swung open and shut in the distance. The Soldier glared disbelievingly at the Scout as he panted past them and locked himself in his room. "He...escaped from zhe battlegrounds. And ran back here, no less," the Medic stammered, managing to look awestruck and irritated at the same time. The Soldier turned to the Engineer again, all indignation and bulging veins. "SEE THAT RETREATING DISGRACE? THAT IS A GRADE 'A' COWA-" He stopped mid-sentence and looked at his teammates distantly, as if he had remembered something important. He sighed and resumed with a gentler but authoritative tone. "It is beyond dishonorable to question our employers, but I simply cannot allow this insubordination of this rookie to continue. I will not." "Solly, what do y-" "Medic agrees, correct?" "I suppose I must." The Engineer turned from a smug face to an indifferent one and back again. "Hold on there just a minute, you two, what the heck is goin' on?" The Medic stood and clapped his gloved hands together. "Allow me to explain. In zhe interest of time and money, zhe company had shared a certain number of...privileges with us mercenaries." The Soldier grunted in agreement as Medic continued, "Zhe most important one, in my opinion, is the one that allows us to disband a teammate. Not counting zhe offender himself, half of zhe team must agree to his release." The Medic took off his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief, which gave him an excuse to not look at the gaping Engineer as he spoke. " It may have been a mistake to praise beginner's luck. Zhe Scout's erratic behavior is hurting zhe team; you cannot deny zhis." "I guess," said the Engineer. He leaned back on the sofa, suddenly feeling very tired, and very cheated. "Excellent!" the Soldier piped up, "If all of us agree, then we can send the letter today!" "Solly, I ain't agreein' to anything," said the Engineer. Soldier's mood did a near instant about face. The Engineer folded his arms. "I understand the conundrum, fellas. But, in all honesty, I reckon Scout will pull through. He's too stubborn not to." As he finished, Soldier brought his palms to his face and groaned. The Medic scoffed as the Soldier stormed off and said, "Zhat is of no concern to us. A week from arrival is zhe traditional waiting period to kick a new recruit. If you had agreed, zhen it could have been done immediately, but...we can wait four days." The Medic made to leave the room and said one last thing over his shoulder. "Do not take it to heart, Engineer. I will not allow such events to mar your own performance." The Engineer retired to his room and closed the door. He sat on his bed. He thought. Maybe he was wrong about the boy. Maybe he was wrong to take this all to heart. --- The next two days bled into one for the RED team. There was little difference between them because both served to demonstrate even further that the youngest member of RED was simply too young. Although he had become less skittish in their skirmishes than he was before, his performance was not convincing. He made a habit of stunning isolated members of BLU from rooftops and cliffs with his baseball, but no one was enough of a fool to consider this a great help. The Soldier did not bother giving him orders anymore, and the Medic only barely resisted scrawling 'part time sniper' in the boy's files. Engineer spoke minimally with his teammates. Both battles were barely won. The starting gates edged closer to the BLU's fortress with each victory. RED had by then seized the supply train for themselves, and took to hoarding even the most insignificant bolt and screw for themselves to starve BLU of food and supplies. Medic and Soldier led this far more subtle mission in a frantic bid to rid the area of BLU for good. On the third day, BLU had evidently devised a brilliant strategy of their own. This revolutionary approach consisted of dumping every manner of explosive and projectile onto the point for as long as possible. This made the RED Soldier's ambushing techniques useless in the considerably smaller areas both teams were forced into. The RED Soldier and Medic had managed to put down half of BLU before the Soldier, in what was clearly his only justifiable excuse from battle, left his body scattered among those of his enemies. The RED Medic retreated behind Engineer's sentry and impatiently paced around the dispenser as it closed his fresh cuts and burns. When the gash on his lip closed, he turned to the Engineer. "Engineer, where is your shotgun?" "Right here, doc." "Good. Soldier is unable to continue. You will go on zhe offensive today." The Engineer waited for the punchline. So did Scout. The Medic groaned irritably at the silence."Mein Gott, I will be right behind you." He gestured with the medigun in his hands, whose healing vapor was pouring onto Engineer. "Well, I dunno, doc..." "Hurry, zhey are regrouping at this very moment. We need to stall zhem for several minutes, at most. BLU does not know zhe meaning of rationing supplies, so we must -" "Hey doc, what about me?" Scout edged closer and looked up at Medic expectantly. "Zhis is serious, Scout." "What the hell, man, so am I!" He rose to his full height and approached the doctor confrontationally, taking little notice that the older man continued to tower over him. "I mean, aren't Scouts offensive classes or somethin'?" "Zhat applies to Scouts who read more zhan zhe first subheading of zheir contracts. Besides," he said quietly, "Zhis is a delicate procedure." Scout groaned in frustration and turned his back on the both of them. Even as the others winced and shifted uneasily at the ever closer rippling explosions, even as their heads pounded each time the Engineer's wrench met cold metal, and even as the German doctor swore nervously in his native tongue, the Scout stood still and silent, his fervent blue eyes darting in every direction. "D-doc," he said, breathlessly. He was the first to notice the BLU Soldier round the corner. The man appeared, briefly declared his undying hatred for RED, and fired a single rocket at their sentry before retreating from its violent knockback. Medic shoved Scout out of the way as Engineer fussed over his battered gun. He tenderly shushed its creak and whine as he upgraded it for the coming assault. Medic seized the front of Scout's shirt and hauled him behind another of the canyon's large, abandoned shacks. Like large, flittering insects, the enemy slipped in and out of canyon crevices and lobbed and ducked and fired again. It is as if they have all the ammunition in the world, Medic thought. Is it an airlift? Did they merely have a large stockpile? The doctor scowled and felt fairly offended that, despite the captured train, they were still being drowned in explosives. "How many do you count, Engineer?" The RED Medic yelled to the Engineer as he and his sentry became the prime target for BLU's bombardment. The Engineer hollered back over the menacing din. "Three, doc! They've got a Soldier and Demo, and I-" Engineer covered his face before a blue pipe bomb bounced off the shack and slammed into his sentry. Its maker jeered at him and disappeared behind the canyon wall. Engineer continued holding the machine in one piece as he chuckled wryly, "-I'd wager by that intrepidness that they've got a Medic of their own behind the lines." "Excellent, Engineer," Medic yelled back, sweat beading on his brow, before turning to Scout. "Listen carefully, Scout. If we eliminate zhe BLU Medic from zheir ranks, zhe battle is won. Zhey will not be able to continue zheir assault without immediate aid. Scout." Medic stooped a bit until his eyes were level with Scout's. "Yeah?" Scout responded, although it was an airy, distracted sound. Medic inhaled deeply. "Engineer must keep zhe sentry operational. You are zhe only one left who can push back." Scout stared silently at his Medic, at the control point, and at Medic again. Before the doctor could understand the strange expression on the boy's face, Medic's ears were assaulted with the grating screech of a collapsed dispenser. The Engineer sputtered as he inadvertedly inhaled the foul stench his smashed building kicked up. "Ain't gonna last much longer without the dispenser, fellas!", he shouted hoarsely. Almost immediately after the warning, the canyon became silent. The sentry rotated shakily. Its distorted beeping became the only sound. Medic did not know or care why BLU retreated. He gripped Scout's shoulder again and leaned closer to his ear. "You will hit zhe Medic and zhe Medic only, and zhen you will retreat, understand? Do not run far without looking back - zhe medigun cannot extend forever, and you are far faster zhan I am. Keep to zhe Demoman's left flank and zhe Soldier's-" "Hit and run, yeah, yeah I got it, now let's g-" "Wait..." "Wh-" And then Scout heard it as well - a faint crackle. "Verdammt." Scout, who was watching the Engineer intently, looked up at the Medic confusedly as he swore. When he looked back, the sentry was unrecognizable. Engineer lay on his front, unmoving. The laughing Demoman and his partner flickered blue as their charge finished. In the mere seconds in which he had taken his eyes off of the field, the ubercharged BLU had stripped them of their greatest defense. Seconds. Medic sighed raggedly, and gripped the boy's shoulder. "Let zhem take it," he whispered, as he grimaced at BLU's revolting cheers. "It's too late to-" Scout shoved the doctor's hand away and turned to face him. His brow descended, and his lips drew back to bare his gnashing teeth. "No, doc," he said, and stepped out of the cover of the broken shadows thrown by the shack. Medic wasn't sure what to scold Scout for first. But the way Scout's tensing muscles made his body tremble almost unnoticably, his twitching bottom lip, and that old, haughty grin inspired nostalgia in the Medic. It was frighteningly familiar to what were Scout's features in his first battle. "No, you learn to keep fightin' when your dumb predictions fall flat," he said. Scout shifted once on his heels and charged the enemy. For some inexplicable reason, the day's progression from bad to horrible changed him, Medic thought. It quickened his breath and destroyed his reason. And yet, as the RED Medic watched, Scout strafed and slid past BLU's panicked shots with the disturbing ease that could only ever come from the most vigilant observation and reaction. He pushed between them, behind them, and even jumped from one's arched back to another's shoulders and off again as his victims whirled and shot everywhere. A rocket maimed the BLU Demoman. A pipe bomb wedged itself in his teammate's medical equipment. A bone saw flailed and fingers followed. The RED Medic wanted in his arsenal as many arguments against Scout's presence in RED as possible, but his resolve worsened with every second he spent watching Scout destroy the entire BLU team without firing a shot. He shivered, but wasn't sure why. He turned to face the Engineer, who was very much alive and watching the spectacle in front of him with a face brimming with awe. Medic shook his head and berated himself for neglecting his job, and ran to help the wounded Engineer. His brief sprint was stopped by an outstretched foot. He stumbled and his ears caught a nasal snicker. His breath did not even have the time to hitch before he heard a maddeningly familiar voice say, "Much too late for that, doctor", and feel the speaker's cold, metal balisong slip into his back. **************** "Tomorrow we shall storm zhe BLU base as zhey attempt to recapture the area we won today. If all goes well, this corner of zhe desert will belong to RED alone. Any questions?" "I reckon we can do that." "Affirmative." "Yeah, alri-" Medic left the mess hall before Scout finished. Soldier left soon after, despite his full plate; he gave the boy an awkward nod of approval on his way out. Scout sat and continued trying to eat through the disgustingly wide grin on his face. "Ya heard that, Engie? The point 'we' won today. Did you see his stupid white face when he said that?" "Now, Scout, I think you should try to be civil with your teamma-" "I don't think so. Hey, did you see how the BLU Soldier and Demo finished each other off? Should be in a goddamn movie, that sce-" "Well, I saw it with my own two eyes and I can barely believe it. You did a bang up job today, boy. Just wish you weren't so antagonistic with Solly and Medic." "Why not? I'm leaving anyway." Engineer looked up from his mashed potatoes. "I know all about it, Engie," said Scout, mumbling with food still in his mouth, "Ain't that hard to pick things up, especially from Soldier. So they're kickin' me out. Good." "Good? How do you mean, boy?" Engineer didn't buy it. If Scout was renowned for anything, it wasn't for lying. "I don't work with stuck up quitters, Engie. I may not come up with the best battle plans and stuff, but I sure ain't a quitter." Scout swallowed painfully, and decided to take smaller bites. Engineer pushed his scraps around but continued listening to Scout. "You shoulda heard him, the doc! All set to bend over when the stupid BLU's broke your gun. Well I didn't, and-" "Yeah, that's right. I thought you were all set to avoid any sorta open conflicts. But today... Made peace with the Respawn system, then?" "Hell no. I was just.. so mad at Medic and BLU and... and I wanted to show him that I can do it, you know? Even though I was sca- well I wasn't scared, but...but I did it anyway. I showed all of you!" Scout gestured wildly and excitedly, but his eyes failed to hide his desperation. "...but Medic still hates me. He won't even look at me! Not that I care, but it's goddamn confusing, you know?" "I'm not sure what's goin' on with the doc, but I figure th-" There were a series of loud clangs coming from somewhere in the base, as if items were being thrown. They listened to that for a few moments. Scout grunted awkwardly and his face softened. "Engie... s-sorry. You're no clone. Thanks for putting up with me." "Don't mention it, son. Though I can't shake the feelin' that you're saying some sorta goodb-" As he said this, Scout slowly lifted his hand from underneath the table. In it was an old, meticulously shined, military issued metal shovel. If Engineer was ever more horrified in his life than at that moment, then he couldn't remember. "Boy, now y-you are askin' for a trip to Respawn," said Engineer, who was beginning to feel his face pale and chest ache. "I'm not leavin' until I have some fun. They're sending their dumb letter tomorrow, so... I'll play with them today." Scout leaped from his seat and ran. Engineer sat in silence a while longer. He considered his options, but decided not to bother interfering. Scout would learn however it suited him, even if it involved being hung by his toes from the roof. Engineer quickly replaced one worry with another. As he washed up after the others, he was reminded of his current adversary - the Spy. The snake violated his equipment and pestered his teammates with as much leisure as a fat man on holiday. Factor in Medic's stubborn isolation after his death and the unpredictable actions of Scout and Soldier, and one gets a dangerously divided team. Engineer would have waited for everything to return to normalcy, but time was as precious to him now as the first ringing chirps of a newly built sentry. The changes to Respawn must be addressed. Team strategy must begin to include not only the offensive pair, but also him and Scout. And if he was going to be bold, he could even satisfy his own curiosity. He hated to see an equation unsolved. It was akin to ignoring a lost child. What he had in his hands was such an equation, but one that he suspected he would not find the answer in anything he learned before or after completing his eleventh doctoral dissertation. What interested him was that wonderful instrument - the medigun. Never in his life had he seen a device that extracts bullets, closes wounds, and grows tissue as quickly and precisely as did this one. He had borrowed it once himself, with Medic's consent, to create the dispenser. Both worked beautifully, and during ceasefires as well. And although he had rarely seen the medigun's pleasant vapors aimed at Scout, he knew that the boy benefitted from its affect just as anyone would. The dispenser healed him, did it not? Now, what truly robbed Engineer of peace was that not one of his reasons could explain why an intelligent professional like the RED Medic would resort to a crude surgery on Scout when the boy's suffering could have ended momentarily. --- There was a low murmur coming from inside Medic's room. Engineer cleared his throat and knocked twice. A brief silence followed. The doctor emerged, and shut the door behind him with his back, and stood still pressed against its surface. A nervous tick? It would make sense, after today, Engineer reasoned. "Ya got a minute, doc? We gotta discuss some things." "If zhis has anything to do with zhe Scout..." "No, no, it's somethin' else. I wanna talk about that Spy." Maybe Engineer should have approached the topic more delicately; he didn't think Medic would freeze up like that. "What about him?", Medic asked carefully. "I saw what he did today, but I don't think less of you for it, not at all! I'm just riled up, is all." Engineer folded his arms. "We need to figure out how to deal with that man before he finds us some real trouble." "Of course, Herr Engineer. Bring zhe issue up in tomorrow morning's briefing. Good night." "Jus' one more thing" Engineer held open the door after Medic had quickly darted inside. "I've been wonderin' for a while. Scout doesn't get any side effects from the medigun, does he?" "Nein... why?" "No reason; sorry to bother, doc."Engineer thought it best to leave it at that for the moment, and left after wishing Medic a good night. He himself went to sleep more quickly than he expected, despite another dead end, and the fading clangs and death threats erupting from the basement. **************** "If you were any worse at impersonating me, I would have shot you right in front of him." Medic's double chuckled quietly at the threat after he closed the door and flickered out of sight. "If you were any worse at nursing your delicate pride, I would have just made you speak to 'im anyway. Believe me, doctor, the first backstab hurts the most. And I am not referring to physical pain." "Du dreckiger-" "Non, no more of that. Now I am interested in that tidbit the Engineer so cleverly threw in before he left." "I am interested in you leaving." "You do not heal the Scout. Scout is your teammate, non?" "He jumped into zhe conflict without warning. I am no fool, so I did not follow." "Medic." "What?" "Oh, pardon." Spy uncloaked. He wiped off his sheepish smile and resumed what Medic assumed was the face he was making while invisible. The corners of his mouth turned down and his brow furrowed in mock concern. "You are not healing him, you wish to remove him from RED, and you continue to look at him, yes, I see it, you look at him in the way a starved lion looks at his flighty prey. I haven't seen a look so predatory on a man in some time. I would be lying if I said it wasn't the least bit disturbing." "Zhis is absolutely none of your concern." "Humor me." Medic closed his eyes in a desperate bid to gather patience, and still he could not stop his mouth from sneering and slipping out a "Fahr zur Hölle!" His eyes were shocked open by a violent, ringing shot from Spy's Ambassador. It shattered a window, whose many pieces grazed and cut the bewildered Medic. "Schweinhund, you will wake everyone!" Medic bared his teeth and brushed glass from his clothes, nicking his fingers and drawing blood. Spy reloaded the large gun. "Good, tres bon. Maybe they will enlighten me. That, or I could just tie you up. Frankly doctor, you are placing me in a very uncomfortable position. BLU is not a gang of uncultured fools. Actually... most of them are, but that will not stop those few who have a decent amount of grey matter in their skull from beginning to give me odd glances." Spy's voice was entirely calm, and yet it was this same calm that was so utterly menacing. "What did you say? They suspect you?" "Oui, and it is entirely your fault. They think I am disguising as Scout because your little bunny happened to not lay a hand on any of the remaining BLU today when he made the fools fire blindly. They say I sabotaged them and wouldn't believe me even when I showed them your fading corpse." All humor had left Spy's words. His dark eyes narrowed into thin slits, and his nostrils flared at the vulgar memory. "And they will quickly fabricate a reason why simply because the paranoid idiots have never had a Spy on BLU. This only became a problem after they noticed that you were not healing Scout." Spy crushed his spent cigarette beneath his black shoe. "Enough. You will tell me why you are making my job difficult, or you will explain to your entire team why you are betraying them." Medic swept his damp hair from his forehead with his trembling palm. He could argue. There was plenty to argue about. But truthfully, he was tired. He was tired, and this man would not let him rest. Medic's breathing became shallow. "He cannot stay." "Who?" "Zhe Scout, dummkopf, he cannot stay here." "Why not?" "I cannot sa-" Another window shattered. The ringing from the second shot seemed to whine longer in Medic's ear than the first. His heart pounded and his fingers were much too cold, but the crass gunshots were not the cause. He was a hostage in his own base, but that bothered him even less. His fingers bled but still his attention was in the hallway to listen for foreign footsteps whose owner would potentially throw open the door and suddenly know everything. "You cannot tell anyone. Zhey will say you are mad." They would be here soon. They would know everything. Wouldn't it be easier to confide in this ghost than to colleagues - men he worked and lived with? The absurd ringing in his ears did not subside and it maddened him. "Zhey wouldn't believe you." It wouldn't be difficult, he thought, to ignore the color of this man's suit and balaclava for only a few moments. He was ignoring his own pathetically flustered speech, after all. "Believe what?" Spy waited patiently for the answer; he was aware from Medic's subtle gestures that an answer was coming. The hand holding the Ambassador rotated counterclockwise almost unnoticably. And then, clockwise. Medic followed the casual motions as if in a trance. The man staring into his shifting eyes waited until the doctor calmly broke out from his reverie. "Respawn is a beautiful thing, ja?" He could never stop now. Spy blinked at the terribly sudden shift in conversation. Medic didn't notice. He looked at Spy but he did not see him. His tone became markedly less harsh, but all the more frantic and almost lyrical. "Someone, somewhere, created zhis machine. A machine zhat can revive a human even if he is ground into the filthiest paste. Can you imagine, Spy, how many beautiful zhings can be done in the presence of such a machine?" His speech was not clipped anymore. "Anything. One simply needs... volunteers." Medic spoke faster. "After my team's mass suicide mission, zhe number of willing participants for my research dwindled to one. Soldier indulged me in my experiments for a time before he began to avoid me. Respawn isn't on except during battle even now, so any ill effect would linger for at least a day. It could have been a coughing fit, an odd lesion, a missing limb...nothing serious. He was too proud to complain, but I felt his wariness when we spoke, and I did not think it wise to ostracize my only teammate. So I...I stopped." Medic took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from his hands slowly and deliberately, taking especial care to wipe each beautiful stain from his white hands. "I would experiment on myself." He shook his head wistfully. "I would record every detail and struggle to read my own notes when I came to zhe next day. It was pathetic, but being idle? It is a thousand times worse." "A regular addict," Spy muttered to himself. He lit his third cigarette and said aloud, "And then your employers graced you with two new teammates...?" "Ja," Medic whispered, "Zhey did, and Mein Gott..." "Oui...?" Spy allowed himself a moment to widen his eyes when Medic looked away. "I told zhem all that zhe medigun would not work outside of battle. I told zhem he needed extensive surgery. For a nonfatal gunshot wound, can you imagine?" "It was not fatal? How upsetting..." Spy tried several times to force a fourth cigarette between his lips before realizing the third was still there. "Zhe lies spilled from my mouth before I realized zhat I had spoken. Zhe mask was already covering my nose and mouth before I understood zhat I was in an operating room. I...satisfied my curiosities several hours before he woke. I invented some ludicrous excuse as to why I was operating, sedated him again, and left feeling..." He stopped speaking for a few moments and appeared visibly frustrated; his eyebrows shot down and his eyes searched the room. His face suddenly brightened. "...alive. I cannot find any word in any language zhat would describe zhe rapture nearly as well. I had not felt zhat even in zhe most gruesome and unpredictable battle. I could not eat or write or even fold my garments because I could not control my own trembling hands. I could not focus on a single zhing for hours, and I used zhe last of zhe Benzodiazepine because I knew zhat if I did not sleep zhat night, I would have returned to zhe infirmary to finish what I started." His voice had risen to a crescendo, and his accent fluctuated wildly as he drowned his confession between fear and fury and joy. His arms gestured wildly, but he did not feel that he was controlling them. His round glasses tipped precariously on the tip of his nose, but he was adamant that there was no time to adjust them; he had to keep going. "It is a wonder he is still alive. Bless zhat dispenser for erasing zhe evidence. I would have killed him." He repeated his last sentence to himself several times. It excited him in the first repetitions, but his mutterings soon faded into the violent draft in the room. "He cannot stay here. He will ruin me. Engineer suspects something already, and Soldier always suspects me. " He faltered for a moment. "I cannot hurt him again. Not like zhis," he whispered. Spy opened his mouth, but stopped himself as Medic's previously distracted eyes suddenly focused on his. "But you, Spy? You know too much." Medic leapt to the open bag on his bed, seized from it a finely serrated saw, and swung it at the man's neck. Spy shifted expertly, almost as if he were expecting it, but could not prevent a blow to his right shoulder. He tore the saw out and swung again, but by that time, Spy had cloaked. "And it is entirely your fault," Medic seethed, "I was content with ridding myself of the boy and stemming my urges. It could be done! But not now," Even through his gasping, hysteric speech, he heard the poorly suppressed groans. "Not when I have such a persistent live specimen at my feet." He kicked the air and his boot met flesh, and elicited a pained moan. Medic's breath hitched in his throat at the wonderful sound. A stark outline of the wounded Spy appeared and vanished. As the blue silhouette flickered out of sight, Medic's hysteria came to an abrupt end as a gruff voice erupted from the window from the grounds below: "WHEN I FINISH WITH YOU, WORM, YOU WILL HAVE CONSIDERABLE DIFFICULTY GLUING YOUR TINY SKULL BACK TOGETHER! QUIT RUNNING LIKE A DOG AND FACE ME LIKE A MA-" Medic's heavy boot swung back a second time but stopped in midair as a surge of unadulterated panic cleared the way for another, stronger one, and yet another after that. He gasped and stumbled backward until the back of his head hit the wall with a soft thump. He watched silently as a trickle of blood traveled from its pool in the center of the room and out through the window. He's gone. Medic would not be seen with the BLU Spy. He was safe. The doctor slid down until he was seated on the floor, and he laughed. He laughed until the sound bothered him, at which point he stopped. He sat there with his hands folded on his lap, and breathed the night air. His mind seemed to stop all thought, because at that moment, he was perfectly content to simply exist. But as all things end, so too did this brief moment of peace. The pool of blood in the center of the room did not dissipate as it does in battle, and the blood spattered on his body continued to plaster his soaked clothes to his skin. And yet, he wasn't troubled. Was he actually relieved that he had not managed to kill the BLU Spy? Then, he was reminded of Respawn's limitation and abandoned the thought altogether, he would know tomorrow how much better his aim was than Spy's. He rubbed his right shoulder. Fingers grazed a pulse in his neck. He heard the light patter of feet just beyond the door, and moments later, an incessant knocking that seemed to sharpen and echo at the same time. He knew who it was. Medic's hand tightened around the now red bonesaw. "Come in, mein Junge." *********************** "Ma'am?" "Yes." "The first report...it came today." "At last. Bring it here, Miss Pauling, close the door, and cancel all of my appointments." "Yes, but...this is all awful secretive. Only two people -" "Three, you poor girl, three people are involved in my operation. Me, you, and the gentleman who is our field agent." --- Scout burst through the door and slammed it shut behind him so forcefully that the walls shook. His skin glistened with sweat. His jaw hung open to accommodate his wild panting. His hands and legs trembled. Medic swallowed. A brief moment passed in which Scout's eyes jumped from broken window to blood pool to Medic, who was doing his absolute best to appear as though he was not particularly interested in splitting open a body tonight. Scout shut his eyes and opened his mouth and pleaded with the doctor in a voice that struggled so desperately to be calm and coherent, but was very close to hysteric mumbling. "Listen, doc. I don't wanna know. I don't wanna know why you're just sittin' there on the...on the floor, or why you fucked up your window, or why there's a puddle of, what is that? Oh crap i-it's fucking blood, man, but I-I don't wanna know, just please, please don't tell Sergeant Crazy I'm here, please." Not one to ever wait for a reply, Scout dived underneath the doctor's bed, which was across the room, and from Medic himself, and folded his limbs to appear as small as possible. Medic didn't flinch when the bellowing became louder. Scout's chest heaved abnormally. What was it that Spy had called him? A bunny. Medic watched the small chest heave and simply could not stop the broad smile on his lips. He had caught a hare once in his youth, out in Stuttgart, on a brief break from his studies. It was a small, quick thing, and had the softest tan fur. He had observed it closely for a number of days until there was nothing of interest left to observe. He remembered his reluctance at letting the thing go. So he didn't. His only regret from the whole ordeal was learning so much from it at the expense of staining that beautiful coat with its own blood. Despite the experience, he did not care much for trapping after that. And yet here he was, ensnaring one again. Scout's eyes followed the dark, leather boots as they clicked across the old, wooden floorboards of the room. Medic knew they were watching him. His steps were stiff and mechanical. His weary body screamed for him to stop, but his mind shot down every aching plea. He had to lock the door. Then, block the open window. After that? He had improvised before, and he was damn well capable of doing it again. His fingers grasped the small metal knob. He turned it slowly. He inhaled slowly. Medic paid for his theatrics, however, when Soldier smashed the lock to pieces as he threw open the door. Thrust backward, the doctor threw up his bonesaw defensively. Soldier marched forward, swatted the bonesaw out of his way, and jabbed Medic in the back. "Have you forgotten how to stand at attention, officer?!" He assaulted Medic's back with his fist until the doctor straightened his body with an exasperated groan. "And what the hell is this mess? I agree that sleeping in the blood of the enemy is quite the poetic act, but if I get even a whiff of the stench from outside this door, you will be scrubbing until your hands fall off, Fritz. Now -" Soldier cleared his throat and paced in front of the doctor, pausing his speech for emphasis. But what a pause it was - in the silence that was always magnified after any and all of Soldier's speeches, Medic was treated to the beautiful sounds that were previously obscured by the man's boorish commands. The blood pool stirred as the Soldier paced into it ignorantly; its soft splashes and plops were made all the more enticing by the Scout's ill hidden, ragged breathing and soft, nervous clawing at the floorboards. Soldier didn't hear it, of course. He couldn't. No, these sounds were for Medic's ears only. These were all familiar perceptions, but he had not heard or seen them in such a maddeningly long time that every insignificant plop and scrape and sigh thundered in his mind. Medic lifted his eyes from the bed just as Soldier jerked his head in his direction. Soldier's eyes narrowed. "I'll be honest with you, doc. I had my doubts about sending the boy home. He is an American, after all, and Americans are born fighting! Why, if I had a son, he would be joining the ranks as soon as he is able to say 'YES, SIR', 'NO, SIR' and 'PERMISSION TO REDUCE THE ENEMY INTO A MOUNTAIN OF MAGGOT BLOOD AND TEARS, SIR!'" Soldier pounded his fist into the air as he spoke, and seemed to lose himself in his thoughts for a moment. As he casually strode over to the bed, Medic's initial panic lessened when he saw the man sit and take no notice of the wide eyed, hyperventilating youth below him. "Zhat is all very interesting, Soldier, but surely we can discuss zhis in zhe m-" "Doctor, I have decided that I will give the runt another chance to prove himself. If he follows my orders in tomorrow's battle, I will reconsider the letter. It's a shame to lose a comrade after weeks of isolation, Medic." "How low our standards have fallen is a greater shame," said Medic. His eyes widened at Soldier's proposition, and he could not stop the disgusting mixture of anxiety and confusion flooding his system. Did he, or did he not want the boy to stay? As Soldier continued his lecture, Medic's fevered psyche briefly created the perfect universe - one in which he could slide his scalpel through warm, firm skin whenever the desire struck him, and would never be discovered and shamed. He would lie to everyone forever, but never again to himself. And just as the thought seized his mind, it let go. It could never be realized. This was employment he needed, and he was a man that his colleagues would suffer without. Medic grinned bitterly at the last thought. RED needed him. The thought would have been empowering had it not meant that the doctor would have to starve his greatest passion for the rest of his life. "-I DON'T FIND THIS TEAM'S LACK OF COORDINATION TO BE AMUSING, DOCTOR." "Bitte, do not scream." Medic stepped away from the man and clutched his ear with the hand still holding his still wet bonesaw. Blood trickled past his fingers and down his neck. "I do not believe my ears," Soldier chided, and stood from the bed. Scout gasped softly as his back was finally relieved from the pressing mattress. "Is this the same man I spent weeks in isolation with? The man who disemboweled every member of BLU to avenge our fallen brothers? And do you think I've forgotten how high that BLU maggot head flew when that dull thing you're holding went straight through his scrawny neck the day you found out who rigged the bomb? THIS is the man going soft on me now? I didn't take a man of your character for a prissy coward, doc." Medic knew the tired old speech was coming the moment the man opened his mouth. He wasn't uplifted by the recital of his past achievements, however. No, his mood was considerably lifted when he dropped his eyes, as if in shame, to catch that precious look of shock on Scout's small face when he undoubtedly imagined the gruesome details of Medic's exploits. "Nein, Soldier," Medic said softly. "I simply cannot do all zhe zhings you mentioned while enduring a raging headache brought on by a raging Soldier. We... we will discuss tomorrow, but for n-now, for-" Medic furrowed his brow at a sudden realization. He turned sharply to face Soldier and spoke slowly. "How...how can you forgive zhe boy so easily? You haven't parted with zhat shovel for eleven-" "Twelve." "-twelve years, and now you are considering letting him stay? How-" "My shovel is accounted for and I succeeded in sending Scout a parting gift with my fist, but that is hardly the point, doc. Point is, everyone is required to sacrifice in the name of war. Team unity conquers individual pride, tonight and every damned day after. But I don't have to tell you that much, doctor." Soldier saluted his Medic. "You've done more than your share for the team. Not as much as I have, but pretty damn close. We'll make damn sure the rookies don't pull the same stunt a second time," Soldier added, dropping his voice out of respect, or emphasis, or for whatever other reason. "Now quit asking questions and retire for the night because I will drag your sorry ass out of bed in the morning if you even DREAM about thinking of sleeping in. Good night, officer." By the time Medic struggled and failed to remember the last time Soldier had ever wished him a good night, he had left the room. As the doctor repeated the man's last words through his mind, a small voice interrupted the onset of more undesirable emotions. "Uh... l-little help?" Medic came to his bed and lifted one end with a grunt as Scout squeezed himself out. He stood shakily. "Thanks for...uh.... well, you know." Scout straightened his back and folded his arms across his chest. Medic was immediately aware of a white noise in his ears as he realized that he and Scout were alone again. 'Just send him away. Get rid of him while you are thinking clearly. Shove him ou-' "Hey doc, I don't wanna bother or anything but... can you...can you tell me if I'm gonna survive the night at least, cause this shit's startin' to hurt," he said, and lifted his shirt. It was then that Medic realized that he had not folded his arms out of cockiness, but out of a need to hug his wound. Indeed, a dark splash of purple and blue stretched across his damp skin. This almost hid what the dispenser could not - hints of the Medic's first incisions. 'You are not thinking clearly. This is your last chance. Get away now.' Medic placed his shaking palm on the boy's chest and felt the tender flesh. Scout inhaled sharply and bit his lip at the touch. The doctor felt the rhythmic contraction of the lean muscles on his cold, bare hands as they passed over the abdomen, the chest, and back down to trace the bruise. "So, is it alright? Do ya gotta operate or someth-" Medic couldn't hear the rest after the word 'OPERATE' shut down all reason. --- Two weeks of isolation. Losses came to be expected. It was simply too much to ask of two men to kill a coordinated team of eight day after day. The higher powers revealed nothing but the daily briefing. Defend this crater. Clear that abandoned complex. Protect those warehouses. RED's only surviving Soldier needed little else. Neither did the remaining Medic, after his ninth letter to their employer received no answer. He assumed that new recruits would be hired either way. Both mercenaries were well aware of what happened to the losing team in any battle fought between RED and BLU. Their issued weapons and equipment would smolder and burn until they dropped to the ground, useless, whether or not they had to pass through their wielder's flesh to do so. The victor's weapons, in turn, would crackle and emit an unnatural glow, and become several times more destructive in order to force the defeated team out of the newly claimed area. Medic and Soldier died for two weeks. Their only meager consolation was the swiftness of their deaths. ********************* Maybe the doctor was asked a question, or perhaps it was a wayward glance that had finally shut the boy up. Medic leaned forward to speak directly into Scout's ear. The silent room carried his low, throaty words in a way that forced minute bumps to rise on Scout's flesh, and a sudden jolt of his chest at a sharp inhale. Not one striking detail escaped Medic's obsessive observation. "Operate? Nein," he said, continually lowering his voice to suppress the frightening but absolutely intoxicating anticipation in his mind and swelling chest. He was suddenly well aware that Scout was about to recoil, and in what direction he would shrink away to, and that his hand was already gripping the boy's shoulder just a little too firmly to prevent him from doing something he may not have even considered doing yet. "No need for zhat," he said, and with a soft laugh, continued: "Not surgery, anyway, but if you are not against autopsy..." Scout swallowed thickly and decided that he had enough. He dug his nails into the hand on his shoulder, shoved it away, and threw himself at the door. Medic lunged after him, grasped an ankle, and turned it in midair until the boy had to fall to the floor and twist his body to prevent the surprisingly strong hands from mangling his leg. Scout landed on his front and howled as his bruised torso slammed first against the hard floor, and all the while, Medic couldn't stop wondering just how fast the little heart must be beating against his chest. This had to end quickly. ****************** Five weeks of isolation. Battles became a farce. BLU Demomen bombed drunk. BLU Medics would takes turns partnering up and ubercharging themselves. The BLU Soldier was the only one to abstain from total mockery, but even he wasn't ignorant of his enemy's helplessness, and was found juggling ammunition to stave off boredom. RED would strike significant blows more than a few times, but a complete victory was always just out of their grasp - a single sticky, stray rocket or even needle was often enough to put an end to a happy day. Not a single day passed in which the RED Medic did not curse his contract. ******************* The shocking pain at landing on the bruise retarded his movement for only a second at best, but the doctor didn't even need that opportunity. Medic deftly pinned his knee into Scout's back and only briefly struggled to restrain the thrashing arms as the boy howled and swore and cried at the man whose movements were nothing but methodical and calm, and growing more so no matter how Scout resisted; it did not change when insults became bargains or pleas and back again in an incoherent repetition. No, this couldn't end quickly. This had nothing to do with science. This had even less to do with medicine. Medic would deny it a thousand times to a thousand people and a million more times to himself but at that moment, he was drinking in the Schadenfreude and could care more about the shine of his boots than as to who was providing the feast. Medic watched his trapped victim. He toyed with him. ********************** Humiliation. The fitting name was given to the period between a round end and an official day's ceasefire. It could last seconds or stretch for hours. After eleven weeks of isolation, little else changed. BLU's passive taunting was a pleasant thought in the face of the after battle pursuits. Although it was common for RED to exit in pieces, the nature of their continued deaths could not have been more different. The RED Soldier held two grenades close to his heart. They were the only force marginally stronger than his bare fists that did not refuse his handling after the rest of his issued weapons betrayed him. Although he considered each and every defeat a monumental disgrace, it warmed his heart to reflect on the days he succeeded in hunting down a BLU maggot during Humiliation and demonstrate for him the meaning of the word. The RED Soldier holds two grenades close to his heart. He waits for the day when one would not be enough. ********************** Scout gave a surprisingly forceful shove that pushed Medic off of him, and aimed his bandaged fist for the man's skull. Medic moved his head and caught the tight fist before it connected, twisted it behind Scout's back until he squirmed and made a strange sound - some horrible cross between a growl and a sob - and swung his other hand to cup the boy's head. Before Scout could wriggle himself free again, his captor connected h
Sorry I can't remember the name of it but does anyone have the EngiPyro friendship fic where Pyro messes up his flamethrower trying to make modifications and Engineer fixes it for him? I believe he makes it into a BackBurner and begins to understand Pyro better since they tend to hang out more in his workshop? I also remember Pyro having complaints that his BLU counterpart's flame was hotter, hence the tinkering with his flamethrower.
>>48 As I under stand it, it was by HatGirl, and it had this adorable art with Engie and Pyro linking pinkies. I haven't been able to find out if she had posted it elsewhere, but I have found her DA if you want to look at her Pyro/Engie art: http://xanykaos.deviantart.com/ . But who knows, maybe she'll see this and post it herself.
Thanks so much for the information, I had no idea where to start looking. Already i've seen a couple Pyros in there, can't wait to stumble across Engineer as well, thanks again!
>>47 Where's the rest of it? :(
>>45 Here's the condom one! The Best Furlough Day Ever by tantarted The supply train couldn’t have arrived at a more convenient time, a bright and cheery Sunday afternoon with a cool breeze to give relief from the sun and cloudless sky. Scout was practically bouncing off the walls, he was so excited. Tomorrow was going to be their first furlough Monday ever. Sure, they’ve had furlough days before, but never on the same days as the BLU team, so Scout couldn’t count it as a day off when he had to constantly defend himself from the attacking enemy. It was a bad joke, really. The guys up at RED Company were dicks like that. The train came right on time, and Scout sprinted into the cargo hold before Heavy could even slide the shrieking metal door open all the way. “I hope dey sent us those cherries again,†Scout said to no one in particular, “Man, dey were the shit.†He looked around, seeing the usual ammo crates and boring food stocks. Checking back a sigh, he picked up one of the smaller crates of food—fucking carrots—and handed it over to the Engineer with a little more shove than necessary. “Oomf,†Engineer grunted, his yellow hardhat the only thing visible from behind the crate. “I hate to break it to ya, boy, but cherries are outta season now. They’ll probably be givin’ us apples.†The Texan turned to hand over the carrots to Medic outside, who passed it to Sniper, and down the line the carrots went. Scout glanced around the freight car and snorted, “Don’t see no apples here, Engie. Looks like we’re outta luck this time.†He tossed a box of toilet paper and Engineer caught it with a mumbled curse. Spy was missing, of course. Only, this time he had a legitimate reason to be skipping out with unloading the supplies back to base. Too much stress, the doc had said. Not enough off days, which had resulted in a harrowing week of hearing maniac laughter from time to time from the Frenchman. Spy had to literally be wrestled into his bed before he stabbed anyone after fighting hours. (They got Sundays off, and Scout thought that was fine enough, but apparently not everyone could handle it.) So Spy was still locked in his room, foaming at the mouth or something. Scout never really visited Spy after the time he got his hand bitten. In fact, now that he thought about it, the whole team’s performance seemed to be a little off lately. It wasn’t as good as, say, three months ago when they were all fresh and ready to battle. Even Scout had to admit to himself that getting up in the mornings was getting to be difficult, so maybe the synchronized furlough day was a good thing, for everyone. The rest of the unloading went without incident. They got down to the last two boxes, tucked away into the corner. It looked like more toilet paper, though the count printed on the side said five hundred each, which didn’t seem like the right amount for its size. Scout knelt down and saw a logo he didn’t recognize, but he let out a whoop. “Alright!†he said gleefully, “Bananas!†Engineer picked a box up, careful at first, but then he lifted it up without the slightest strain. “Those aren’t bananas. Too light,†he said, climbing out of the freight car. Curious, Scout hurriedly picked up the second box, which was as light as Engineer claimed it to be. He hopped out of the train, dropping it to the ground and used a nail to pick at the tape. “Maybe they’re letters from back home,†Sniper mused, and turned red with embarrassment when the whole team, sans Spy, threw him an odd look. “I bet three days worth of crackers that they’re banana seeds,†Scout announced after the awkward silence, trying to hide the fact that he was having a hard time opening the box. “My bottle of scrumpy, an’ I say that’s a box full o’cooking herbs,†Demoman challenged. No one questioned his bet. Demoman had sent a request for spices weeks ago, so it wasn’t that all far-fetched. (“Coombinin’ spices in food is jus’ the same as buildin’ a bomb,†he had said, tossing the request form into the mail pouch.) “Gauze,†Medic said flatly, crossing his arms, “It bettah vell be gauze.†“Maggots,†Soldier grumbled, “That’s all they ever send.†“Mmmpruph!†guessed Pyro. After the bets were made, Scout pried opened the flaps and peered inside. And stared. “What,†he began, “the fuck?†If the count on the box was right, RED team was now the proud owner of one thousand single use condoms. Everyone went quiet, too shocked to even be properly mortified. Scout could have sworn an hour passed by, but then Medic started to chuckle. “So it zeems zat HQ haz a sense of humor, after all,†he said drily. “Care to explain, Private?†Soldier snapped, picking up one of the condoms and waving it under Medic’s nose. Medic slapped the condom away with an impatient hand, “I waz seeing zee symptoms for Herr Spy before his… breakdown, shall we zay, so I filled out a request for… for stress relief.†Sniper threw Medic a look of disbelief. “And you suggest fornication? A thousand times? Listen, mate, I’m missin’ the fairer sex as well, but I really think—†“I suggested no such thing!†Medic snapped, “I expected medicine, or even zcented candles, dummkopf!†“Condom has other uses,†Heavy rumbled thoughtfully, “Friend back in mother country once used condom to keep barrel of gun dry in river.†This seemed to appeal to Soldier, though he still looked as if he didn’t buy it. None of them did. The largest body of water they had was two connecting sewers with an average water level of three feet. “Well, we aren’t gonna do any good, scratching our heads and standin’ out here in the sun,†Engineer said, still hefting the second box of condoms, all practical in his heavy Texan drawl. “We best not throw these away anyhow.†Taking the already opened box, Scout and the rest of the team ambled back to their base. Sniper, Heavy, and Solider started talking about other things while Demoman and Medic strayed behind, each deep in their own thoughts. Engineer was holding a one-sided conversation with Pyro, but Scout ran next to them. “Ya think HQ sent these as a joke?†he asked, disgusted. “Mmmph, mmrumpph,†Pyro said with a wheeze that Scout passed for a laugh. “It ain’t funny!†Scout said defensively, “Dis kinda stuff can put weird thoughts in a guy’s head. Man, what if Spy sees these? I know fer a fact that the man’s at least half a fag.†Engineer looked skeptical. “Well, if ya think he’s gonna do that to ya, I don’t think he’d wait fer a condom.†If it wasn’t for the box, Scout would have punched Engineer in the face. He settled for glaring. “I know he ain’t gonna do that t’me, ‘cause I’ll beat his ass into the ground if he tries. I’m just sayin’ having a thousand condoms can give a crazy man queer ideas.†Meanwhile, Pyro just wheezed and wheezed. -- Scout made it to the RED base, setting down the box of condoms in the supply closet. Engineer left immediately, saying something about putting away a few beers in the fridge for furlough day. Scout was about to follow him out, but he ran into Pyro. Him and the fire-starter were pretty good friends. Scout would’ve said best friends, but that made him sound like a girl, so he never mentioned it out loud. They only knew each other for three months, and didn’t start hanging out until two. “You busy?†Scout asked. Pyro shook his head and huffed, throwing his arms up. “Mm mmrph.†“Yeah, I’m bored too,†Scout admitted, thinking over the things he had done prior to the arriving train. He had cleaned his tiny room, polished his bat, cleaned his gun, even made his bed… He supposed he could go out for a run, but he knew Pyro wasn’t too fond of keeping up with him. Pyro pointed to the box of condoms and tilted his head. He picked them up and started to wheeze. “Woah, woah. You ain’t getting queer thoughts, are you?†Scout asked, backing away. Pyro stopped wheezing and turned his head to Scout. The gasmask revealed nothing, but Scout had the strong impression that Pyro was rolling his eyes at him. “Mmmprh, mmmph mmprmmk mmrgh,†explained Pyro, launching into a lecture of muffled exasperation. “Okay, okay. Chill out, man. I’m sorry,†Scout said hastily. Pyro gave him a friendly punch to the shoulder and it was all good again. He shook the box, talking thoughtfully all the while. Scout listened, and found that Pyro was pretty much a genius. “You know, that is a good idea. But y’have to come with me. I don’t trust Spy,†Scout eventually replied, and followed Pyro out the door. -- Spy seemed to have recovered enough to be allowed to have his door unlocked. With Pyro standing behind him holding the box, Scout pounded on the door. “Yo, Frenchie!†Scout shouted, “You got a minute?†The door opened just a crack and Spy poked his head out, looking as if he had just woken up, judging by his silk pajamas and nasty dried gunk at the corner of his eyes. He took one look at Scout, Pyro, the box of condoms, and then quietly closed the door in their faces. Scout kicked the door back open before it could click shut. Spy’s room was dark, but Pyro balanced the box on one knee and slapped the lights on. They found Spy sitting on his bed, glaring at them and already taking out a carton of cigarettes, as if resigned. “What do you two want now?†he grumbled. Well, so maybe Spy deserved to be a little mad at Pyro and Scout for making fun of him until he snapped. He was often at the butt end of their jokes, though he usually had a few very good comebacks that had Scout and Pyro thumping his back good-naturally. “We wanna give the BLUs a gift for furlough day,†Scout said, jerking his head to the box. “Zat, I believe, will send zem zee wrong message,†Spy observed with an annoyed expression, “And why must you drag me into your stupid pranks?†“Mmmrph,†Pyro answered, shrugging. “It ain’t just a prank,†Scout interjected before Spy could kick them out of his room, “Think about it. We send ‘em five hundred condoms and it’ll totally mess up their minds! Come the day after furlough, they’ll be so paranoid, it’ll be hilarious.†Spy raised his brow and actually seemed to consider it. He did take special pleasure with messing with people’s heads, after all. “And you want me to deliver zee condoms to zem, yes?†“Oh man, I knew we could count of you, spook,†Scout said, grabbing the box from Pyro and shoving them into Spy’s arms. Spy sighed, ignoring how Pyro had stolen a notepad from his desk and was scribbling a note. When Pyro was done, he placed the note on top of the box. Dear BLUs, You cockfags might be needing these. Love, RED Complete with a poorly drawn heart. Scout read the note and grinned. “Right, we’ll leave that up to you then,†he said, running out of Spy’s room with the Pyro following right behind him. This was going to be fun. -- The next day, Sniper came down to the common room with his rifle slung over his back. Most the REDs were there, including Scout, Heavy, Pyro, and Spy. “The BLUs ‘cross the bridge seems a little… weird,†Sniper said, sounding baffled, “Don’t know what’s botherin’ ‘em, being our day off and all.†Scout and Pyro exchanged grins. Or, technically, Scout grinned. He was pretty sure Pyro was doing the same thing too. Even Spy looked a little pleased with himself, though he tried to hide it by holding a cigarette in front of his face. “Leetle man thought it would be funny to give enemy one box of condoms,†Heavy said stoically, glancing up from his book. “Oh,†Sniper said, peering over the tops of his aviators, “But wouldn’t that be sorta sendin’ ‘em the wrong—“ “Nah, man,†Scout huffed, tired of having everyone questions his battle tactics, “It’s a distraction for tomorrow. They’ll be freakin’ out. And, Sniper, yer still goin’ up people-watchin’? It’s a fucking furlough day.†“You’re one to talk, mate,†Sniper retorted, “I saw you patrolling base this morning.†“Hey, hey,†Scout shot back defensively, “Old habits die hard, okay?†Spy blew out a stream of grey smoke. “Eez anyone really just relaxing, or are we all here, bored?†The room fell silent, except for Heavy, who loudly turned a page of his book, making his point. Scout tried to sneak a glance at the book, but it was all in Russian and had no pictures. “Mmmrph mmmph mmmrr,†Pyro said, pointing to Demoman’s room where faint snoring could be heard. “And Engie’s buildin’ sentries in the basement,†Scout added, “Medic is, hell, I don’t even wanna know. Probably workin’ on something evil.†“So even on off day, we are either bored, or still working,†Heavy said, sounding amused. There was a pause. Scout knew he had hobbies. There was running and baseball, but baseball was not a one-player sport, so he never bothered much with it unless he got Pyro to play pitcher. “Well, where’s Soldier?†Sniper asked to break the silence. Probably doing push-ups and sit-ups in his room, Scout thought sourly. He was about to say so when a piercing shriek cut through the room, followed by the thump of a heavy body falling on the ground. “What the--?†Everyone got up and hurried towards the base’s entrance. Scout briefly saw Heavy carefully insert a bookmark into his book before he just shook his head and ran out the door. They found Soldier lying on the ground outside, unmoving. Engineer had come up, rolling the other man over and shaking slightly. “What happened?†Scout asked, jogging up to them and leaving the rest of the REDs behind. “Well, looks light yer plan backfired,†Engineer croaked, putting a hand over his face. Panic making his stomach turn over, Scout took a closer look at Soldier. The guy didn’t look beat up or anything, but—oh shit—it wouldn’t look like that, wouldn’t it? Scout gently touched Soldier’s shoulder and found it wet. Confused, he looked around and found broken condoms littering the ground. “What—?“ WHAP. Something came flying into Scout’s face, squishy and wet. It exploded in a shower of cold water. Scout was knocked sideways with a yelp. He turned to Engineer, who was still covering his face. The man wasn’t crying. He was laughing. Before Scout could figure it all out, another flying wet thing smashed into his shoulder, sending Scout jumping to the side. “Shit, that’s cold!†he shrieked, running in a serpentine circle. He slowed down enough to peel away the thing that hit him. It was a broken condom. Throwing it away in disgust, he looked up to find every single BLU standing on the other side of the bridge, hooting away like they were in hysterics. Everyone… except for the— “Bonjour, Red Scout!†Engineer suddenly said, and in a blur of blue smoke, he was the BLU Spy, hefting a water-filled condom. “I ‘ope you will be ‘appy zat we ‘ave accepted your challenge.†And then he lazily lobbed it at Scout’s head. It broke with a sharp snap, drenching Scout for the third time. “Mmmrph mmrph mmmr!†Pyro shouted. The rest of the RED team gathered behind him, looking confused. “THIS MEANS WAR,†Solider screamed, sitting up as BLU Spy cackled and ran back to his base where his teammates gave him a round of high-fives. “Vhat is going on here?†Medic snapped, just coming out. He was immediately hit with a water-condom. “That,†Scout deadpanned. Medic seemed to make eye-contact with his assaulter—the BLU Pyro. He slowly took off his glasses, wiping the droplets away. “Ve still have zat otha box, yes?†he asked icily. Before Scout could answer, Medic was heading back into the base. Pretty soon, it was raining condoms in front of RED base. Everybody started to retreat back inside, thoroughly wet, except for Spy, who had watched the whole thing from inside. “You can’t be serious,†Spy said, having prudently grabbed a bundle of towels and was handing them out to his soaking teammates. “Zis eez zee most childish thing I’ve ever—“ BLU Spy was probably feeling cocky, Scout thought, because the other Frenchman had followed them into their own base cloaked and smashed two water-condoms onto Spy’s shoulders before running out the door, laughing wildly. “Your forty-dollar suit looks better like zat, mon ami!†BLU Spy called out. Scout was pretty sure he heard a raspberry being blown right after, but Heavy slammed the door shut, looking none too pleased about his wet book. “You actually brought dat thing—?†Scout began. “Other team will pay for it,†Heavy finished in a deadly voice. “Damn right they will!†Soldier barked, “Now where’s that damn Engineer? Gotta make sure he can make something that will launch those little suckers far…†He left towards Engineer’s room, still rambling. It seemed that everyone was feeling the same. So much for a boring day, Scout mused happily to himself. Sure, he had gotten his ass handed over by the BLUs, but all that was going to change once the team got ready to attack them. It was better than being shot at by guns at any rate. “Che,†Spy scowled, throwing a towel over his shoulders and shaking his head. He started to walk out of the room. “And where do ya think you’re going?†asked Scout, crossing his arms. “I’m going to ‘elp Medic get zee box,†Spy said, stripping off his wet jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “And I am going to teach zat BLU mongrel a zing or two about suits.†--- “Best. Fucking. Furlough. Day. Ever,†Scout proclaimed, throwing himself down on one of the couches. “Ach, you are getting zee couch all wet,†Medic scolded, but he flopped down next Scout, exhausted. Eventually every single RED made their way to the common room, dropping into free chairs or even the ground. Possibly the only one who wasn’t soaked to the bone was Pyro, and even then, his suit was leaving a puddle from where he sat on the floor. It was hard to tell who had won that day. Of course Scout would say that RED kicked BLU’s sorry ass all over the forts, but they had ran out of their makeshift water balloons at about the same time and after a few more throws, they called a truce. Still, it had been fun. Scout wasn’t even going to lie, he had enjoyed himself like a fucking kid on candy. He never did thought that Sniper was actually good at being in the frontlines—it was probably from throwing all that Jarate around—or that Medic had a good arm., so maybe he’d ask the doc to play pitcher sometime. The BLUs weren’t all that bad either. It turned out the other scout liked to collect baseball cards too, and that the BLU Soldier was just was wacky in the head as theirs. “Never again,†Spy muttered from the corner, but Scout noticed that the Frenchman had lost a lot of the tension from his shoulders. He even looked a little relaxed, or maybe that was just him being tired. The others were quick to sound an agreement. “Aw, guys. It wasn’t that bad,†Scout interjected, but stopped when a round of glares were thrown his way. He found it kind of sad that they wanted to act as if it never happened. Unwilling to make his point, he stood up and headed towards the showers. “Still the best fucking day ever,†he muttered under his breath and grinned.
Request for some good ol' fashioned horror. There's so little of it, it seems, and I do love me a good horror fic. My only requirement is that Scout gets seriously messed up at some point. Meaning anything: from bludgeoned and stabbed and still barely breathing to loosing his mind or scarred for life. But, not made out to be a peach, if you know what I mean. Doesn't have to be the core plot, but I'd like it in there somewhere.
>>53 ... I need to repost With Apologies to Stephen King. But I'm currently in the middle of rewriting the ending, so it might be a while.
>>54 Oooh, yes. God, I remember that one. I can't remember hating anything (that girl) so fiercely in my life. However, I'm talking something new. Something that had the old flavor of fear in it. Like CBS horror, only different. But yes, please do repost that. I need it again.
>>47 Please sir, can I have the rest of this lovely fic?
>>47 Yeah there's gotta be more, it ends in the middle of a word!
I humbly request a fic where the entire Team goes to a public swimming pool, only for chaos to ensue due to humorous rule-breaking, running on wet concrete, and general misuse of the water slides.
This post has been deleted.
>>59 TF2/Road Rovers crossover I don't think this is a very good idea.
>>59 In addition to Cat's comment, I wouldn't assume that shared nationality would ensure that two people would get along. Do you get along with everyone in your country?
>>1 Sorry this took so long, and isn't finished, it kept growing on me, and I haven't had much free time recently. Anyway, here's part one. If you hate it, I'll stop. -------------------------------------------------------------- In which “RED Spy and BLU Scout agree to work together to do something nice for Scout Ma's birthday.†1. A baseball hurled through the window during breakfast on your day off was hardly the most subtle method by which one may capture someone’s attention, but the Spy could hardly deny its efficacy. RED’s Scout was the first to reach for the projectile, eager to claim it for himself. Before he could pick it up however, he noticed that someone had written a date between the stitches. Puzzled, he read it aloud. “What the hell happens on June 14th?†Spy recognized the date immediately, but it took a moment for the meaning of the ball itself to register, and when it did, Spy found that he was slightly offended by the unspoken insinuation that he needed a reminder. “FLAG DAY!†came the response from across the room. “IT IS EXACTLY ONE MONTH AWAY AND YOU WILL PAY YOUR RESPECTS WHEN THAT DAY COMES, SOLDIER.†Spy managed to pocket the ball and excused himself, leaving the boy to complain, hypocritically, about his rival’s immaturity and question the need for an entire day devoted to a piece of cloth; the original cause for the conversation now forgotten. Spy found the BLU Scout several hours later in his usual hiding spot: Sheltering from the midday sun under the bridge spanning a dried out riverbed that lay just east of their twin bases. He seemed agitated, and Spy amused himself for several minutes by simply watching the boy, before making his presence known. Scout didn’t even flinch when Spy de-cloaked behind him, instead choosing to simply glance back out of the corner of his eye, just in time to catch the ball that had been tossed his way. “I wondered when you were finally going to show up.†The Frenchman said nothing. The two of them had an uneasy agreement that they would at least attempt to be civil towards each other, for her sake, but this was the first time Scout had actually initiated contact. Scout’s embarrassment was obvious as he ran a hand through his hair. It was a tell, something the boy did when he was nervous, and the RED Spy had been able to use it to his advantage on more than one occasion. “Cigarette?†Scout looked disgusted. “Then I suggest you stop wasting my time and start talking.†Scout sighed and held up eight fingers. “The triplets haven’t come through for much since the ungrateful bastards found their birth mom. Johnny’s in Chicago, Gabe’s in Califonia, Robin is somewhere in Canada and Ellis hasn’t even sent a freaking card since he was in Louisiana or some shit.†Scout dropped a finger with each name until only one remained. The conversation had suddenly become far more casual than Spy had expected. “You are... using their names.†Scout was unfazed. He crossed his arms and fell backwards to lean against one of the bridge’s supporting columns. “Don’t even start with me, creep. Knowing you, ya probably know more about my brothers than I do at this point. The point IS, no one but me can do nothin’.†“And you need my help.†Scout exhaled, dropping his head ever so slightly as an affirmative. It was hard enough to acknowledge that fact to himself, there was no way in hell he was going to be able to say it out loud.
Ellis in Louisiana. I see what you did there.
Former Anon here: Oh! It's here! And it's awesome. Scout, as subtle as bat to the head, Spy, so cunning, but with that soft spot that makes them human. A well done beginning, and the voices come through clear. Also, I like that bit with 'Ellis' there, and the idea that Scout Ma could not have had all those kids and maintain that figure. It's a bit of fanon I've seen floating out there, that some of the kids were either adopted or from previous marriages of her current hubby. Hate it? Stop? I will hear no such thing, dear! Unless RL catches up, in which case, I understand. But I am very intrigued by what you have here and what you have planned, and do hope you continue. Again, thank you for taking this up. ♥
OH Ellis. Well i heard it´s canon, that one Scout is called Keith, so i had ever in my mind, that when Ellis tells his story about Keith he means Scout. And than i laughed because it´s funny, but than it was kind of sad, but than it became funny again.
Poker Night fic about Max and Heavy TEAMING UP AND KILLING EVERYONE.
>>58 Seconded. I can see it going so wrong so quickly!
>>58 >>67 Seconding both of these so hard. It almost... hurts... how much I need them...!
>>58 Well I know what I'm doing once I'm done with my tentacles.
Can I request a Scout(or younger any-class) paired with either an Engie or a Medic sort of fatherly-at-first comfort fic? I'm a loser who likes reading about someone hiding an injury or hiding that they aren't feeling that great and then just having /one/ person sort of realize and do random comforting things for them. So younger-any-class is either down about something (homesick? or just flat out sick?) or has a pretty bad injury (sprain or something similar at most) and Engie/Medic sort of catches on, but won't overtly say he knows and just sticks near younger-any-class to watch them and make sure they don't die or pass out from staining themselves. Long and specific request is what it is, and anon here would love to see it written.
>>71 I think I could pull that off. Even if I have 9 bajillion other things I ought to be working on. I'm kind of a sap myself.
>>72 A different anon here, wanted to say I'd be thrilled if you did that.
> 72 Anon who posted the 71 request, I would love it if you did! I could try my hand at writing you something back or something. I cannot describe how pleased I was to wake up to someone saying they would maybe possibly do that request.
RED finally sends Scout a Sandman, complete with trusty baseball. Sniper offhandedly mentions to Scout where he'll be seated during a mission and notices an increase in non-moving targets directly below his hideout. Basically, Scout starts working to stun moving BLUs for Sniper, and the Sniper notices. They bond. It's up to the writer if you want to move it into more than a friendship. I'll take either as long as it's well-written.
Tf2: The Road trip. Yeah. I don't care if it's like, impossible to fit nine people in one car, let alone a giant Russian man being one of them, but someone out there can make this work.
Pyro has a SECRET GAY CRUSH on Engineer; things get awkward.
76 I would love to write this for you 78 This one also, just because that would be
05:39 - [#e]Perrydotto: I'd actually like to see that in a fic 05:40 - [#e]Perrydotto: Engie's buildings grow sentinent as he improves them with more technology 05:40 - [#e]Perrydotto: And turn on their master Can you make it happen, TF2chan? Would love it.
Dance lessons for Scout. To try and help him be less of a klutz. Each team member knows at least one kind of dance.
>>81 Oh god. Seconded forever. http://www.learntodance.com/online-dance-lessons.htm I use this link to learn dances for various plays and stuff I'm in. Whoever authors this might find it useful too.
I'm /r/ing a repost(or link) of a fic where Spy goes crazy from Medic's medigun and takes advice from Scout's hat. I remember it was based of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
Sniper- He was only nineteen.
Can I request just a general 'day in the life' kind of deal? Involve all characters. Just how they get along, interact, etc. whilst doing a specific activity that we've likely all had to do. Something like, I don't know. Cooking breakfast. Doing laundry. Something important is thrown out in the garbage and they've all got to dig through a giant pile of trash to find it.
I'd like to request a Medic with some form of Münchausen syndrome by proxy. He loves to observe bodily damage and the severity of wounds, and to examine and chart the changes in flesh as it heals. So when the team's not returning hurt from battles, sometimes "accidents" happen. Medic cares about his teammates, but he likes them even better when they're reliant on him.
>>86 I want this. So badly.
Requesting a fic where one of the teams gets bored with the battling, so they do an actual weapon scramble for the hell of it (I just wanna see Sniper try to backstab and/or get all frustrated with the Invisi-watch). Bonus points if Spy gets the Jarate, and finds he actually enjoys using it on the enemy Spy. Awesome Points if everything goes wrong.
>>88 Ooo I wanna see this too! I can just picture scout pushing a minigun along on a cart, trying to figure out how to fire it and keep it still.
Okay, I want to see this just to make my suffering seem...not as bad. Sniper acting as the team's dentist. Scout needs a tooth pulled. Not looking for the 'surgery', specifically, Scout being a mopey little bugger and in pain. Maybe taking it out on Soldier or Heavy. And getting away with it because they know he's in pain
>>88 OH MY GOD. Yes. Please. I'd love to see Pyro getting all super-protective of his/her flamethrower.
>>88 But how would Scout even carry the minigun? It's practically 3 times his weight!
>>88 >>92 Scout doesn't have to get the Minigun. I think someone like Engineer would be better with it. After all, moving a 150kg minigun easily is, more than likely, a practical problem. Capcha: thepow Indeed.
I just see how Demo and Solly would ignore the random weapon scramble and just "trade" their weapons. Or both just run with the same melee weapon in the fight with the slogan "Who can kill the most with it!" in mind trying to imaginate medic with Scouts weapons seeing him in Scouts clothes laughing Dear god, medic would look like a schoolboy. Somehow it´s adorable, but hilarious to the same time.
>>93 Hehe, makes me think of Engie putting the minigun on a makeshift cart and wheel it around whilst firing like a mobile sentry. Heck, he'd probably turn the minigun into a sentry if Heavy wasn't so possessive about his gun. >>94 It'd be fun to see Soldier and Demoman playing around with the sticky jump and rocket jumps. But both running out with the same melee weapon competitively would also be a fun read.
So far, it looks like a simple weapon-switch would be easier to write, rather than the scramble. Sniper-Spy switch, Soldier-Demo switch. But then we'd need a three-way switch because of the odd number, wouldn't we. I don't know if I can see Scout with Medic's weapons, but seeing Medic playing as the Scout makes me laugh very very hard.
>>88 >>96 OP here. Running with y'alls ideas, I really do think it would be fun switching the common duos. Sniper - Spy Medic - Heavy Engineer - Pyro Soldier - Demoman (Pan vs. Pain Train? Random switch-offs?) Maybe Scout being the outlier, desperately trying to find someone to switch with, but no one wants to because they all think he'll leave their weapons FUBAR'd. Perhaps Scout snatches the weapons off various team members' corpses, and just tosses them once their ammo depleats? I have this strange head-canon now that Scout is a pretty good shot, but his shoulder can't handle the recoil of Sniper's rifle ("Ow-OW! Goddamn-! Mother fuck! Jesus, Sniper, what's your fuckin' shoulder made of, fuckin' iron!?").
Requesting a Slenderman crossover. Things go normally for a while, then both team's Scout start catching glimpses of him but pass them off as their team's Spy, followed by security camera footage failing, rest of the team seeing him, etc. I would love whoever might do this so very much.
>>98 Oh God. I would die happy if someone did this.
>>98 Gods yes. Bumping for having this conversation with my g/f not that long ago.
I blame this on my roommate being linked to The Tramps 'Disco Inferno.' But, the Demo + a disco suit (you know, those ridiculous whit suits with bell bottom pants) + disco music.
How Demo and Solly became bros fic. Or just plain Demo and Solly bro shenanigans.
I just heard it again in the game and felt almost like crying... "And i thought about to join your bloody team for you." From Demomen. (Okay i believe he said it. Not 100% sure.) A fic about Demomen pondering about this thought or Soldier trying to bring him to switch sides. Or just a crazy Story where Demomen made it. (Autobalancing?)
>>103 http://tf2wiki.net/w/images/d/da/Demoman_jeers10.wav found it!
>>103 >>104 Ooooooooh, I have never heard that before. This pleases me. Hmm...
Because it just need to be written. Remember AI from Steven Spielberg? Remember the walking talking Teddy Bear? Oh i don´t need to get further with this prompt, don´t I? Let´s have some Toymaker fic have here.
http://www.elyrics.net/read/w/w.A.S.P-lyrics/blind-in-texas-lyrics.html Basically, I want something with Engie surprisingly enough getting so smashed he actually becomes a shitstirrer with a big ego - To the surprise of his teammates. Hell breaks loose. I personally imagine Engie going out with some of his team pals, like to a bar or something, and Engie behaves like one would expect someone like Demo to act - Loud mouth, horrible singing, fist fights, you name it. No drama, please, just a night out going all kinds of wrong. Thanks in advance!
Oh man, so many good ideas and so little time! If I were able, I would write freaking EVERYTHING on this board, just to see it done, but I am unfortunately horrible at finishing things. So, instead, I'm leaving a small request. Someone on the team is/was female and has been hiding it really well for a long time until they get really badly hurt just a little too far away from Respawn and needs surgery, causing the Medic to find out. If you can toss in some past trauma or Medic sympathy, all the better.
A story surrounding Medic in his Nazi years. Would prefer him to know Josef Mengele either on an acquaintance level or a personal level. Story about Demoman and his first year/week/day on whatever map you choose. Most of the other teammates are slightly wary/racist towards him (some more than others. ex: Sniper would be the least racist or probably wouldn't be racist at all while Engineer would be the more racist). Later on, everybody starts to warm up to Demo.
>>11 I desperately want to see this. Somebody, please humor me? It would make this fangirl very happy. There isnt enough good old fashioned Spy/Pyro out there in the world, anyway. You'd be doing everyone a favor! And the ones where Pyro's a chick don't count. I prefer my Pyro's with a side of sausagefest.
Spy bemoaning the fact that none of his watches tell him the time, hilarity ensues, and then he forces Engineer to fix it for him.
>>111 I would love this too!
someone on the team gets hurt/sick and doesnt want to tell medic. Someone else (I'd love to see a sniper TRY to take care of another human being comfortably- sniper is dirty and awkward in my head OR to see Engie do it, but an Engie with a weird PTSD thing going on from either his kid getting kidnapped or something similar) take care of them. The ill/injured person preferably a Heavy, Spy or Scoot. Heavy, because telling makes him weak, spy because physicals and stuff mean he has to take off his mask, scout cause hes a young little shit
>>113 I don't know why, but I'd love to see sick Scout. He does hate doctors, too, so that's another reason for avoiding Medic.
So. Meet the Medic. I hate to say it, but... I cried. Manteared, of course - I wasn't bawling, but.. I HAD NO IDEA IT WOULD BE THAT BEAUTIMOUS. I REALLY DIDN'T. Valve, you never fail in blowing my very panties off with sheer awesome. So, yes. Now I have to girl-jizz Medic everywhere. HOPE EVERYONE'S OKAY WITH THAT. Got any Medic-central requests? ASK 'EM NOW, I'M FUELED BY THE POWER OF FANGASM. Already made a Medic-central request that never got fulfilled? ASK 'EM AGAIN. DO IT, MAGGOTS. Only one request - make it something simple, pleeease. One-shots are all I can do atm - I'm already starting to get fanfics piled over each other, which is bad, and probably very unwise, BUT TO HELL WITH IT, I GOTTA RIDE THE WAVE WHILE IT'S HERE FFFFFFF YEAH
BLU Spy moments in Medic's refrigerator. Could include but is not limited to having conversations with the various hearts and sandwiches, dropping his cigarette and trying to get it back using his tongue or coercing Archimedes to get it for him, etc...
As suggested by a friend: the BLU Spy's head is the beginning of Medic's Tentaspy project.
Medic and Spy's head: the Odd Couple.
Medic offering the BLU Spy head to the RED Pyro as a pet/gift. Or, some fluff with Medic and his birds. I love birds, I have birds myself and lost my shit when he started talking to them in the same tone I use.
Or something where Archimedes gets stuck in the fridge with the Spy head and they bond. Maybe he shares the Spy head's warmth until Medic can save him?
there is this fanfic I have been looking for in ages now... the only things I remember is that spy and scout got cloned and then spy killed his clone but scout became friends with his or something... then they had a fight to the death. can't seem to fin it anywhere in the archive
121 Can't remember the name either, but I recall a fic where resuply truck didn't arrive and the sniper, scout and spy went shopping in nearby town. Sniper had a chat about some magzine with store clerck. When they returned to base, engineer told them they went past respawn limit and system considered them dead and respawned them. Scouts had bat duel in the morning. If that is from same fic, hope that joggles someones memory. Heh. Captcha "contain tergover"
>>121 >>123 I think that's from TenCentBastard's collection of stories, wherever they may be. Can't recall if he/she titled them or not.
Alrighty, I'll try my hardest with the requests already given! If I happen to not do your request or just take FOREVER, I'm sorry, I really am. Might've bit off more than I could chew there, BUT I REGRET NOTHING.
>>114 It's not exactly Scout being scared of Medic, but he is sick. I don't usually write, but I've seen that up for a while so I took a shot at it. =========================================== “ALRIGHT MAGGOTS. THIS fine AMERICAN morning we have to go beat some REDS into the dirt and NUKE THEIR BASTARD ASSES.†“Solly, we all got print outs last night. Let’s save the war-meetin’ ‘til after breakfast.†Engineer patted Soldier’s shoulder as he stumbled past on his way to the coffee machine. “Still a few days ‘til then anyway.†“Guten… Ah.. Good morning.†Medic waved a hand as he strode over to the breakfast table with his nose buried in his new medical encyclopaedia. “Vere is Heavy? He ist usually here before me… Und… Demoman will be late. He’s drunk. Its qvite funny actually.†“WELL GOOD FOR HIM. HE’S PUTTING HAIR ON HIS CHEST WHILE YOU LADIES GOSSIP AND DRINK TEA!†Soldier slammed his hands on the table. “MOST OF YOU SISSIFIED MAGOTS ARE EITHER SLEEPING IN LATELY. I think we should go back to SIX AM TRAINING. Just like we did back in MY time.†“Yo… shut it asshat.†Scout walked into the kitchen, late as usual. He smacked Soldier upside the head on his way to a seat for good measure. “Shit its like- quarter past too-fuckin’-early and you’re scraming louder then them fuckin kids who lived next door ta me.†He slunk down in his seat and tugged his hat lover over his face. By now Engineer had come back with his coffee and started cooking the bacon and eggs. Most of the team, with the exception of Demoman and Heavy, had made their way into the kitchen by now and had their own seats for the Soldier/Scout showdown about to bust out. “WHAT did you just say?†The skewed helmet tilted to show Soldier’s beady eyes as he snarled down on Scout. “I should RIP you apart right here for that INSUBORDINATION.†“I should knock yer fuckin head again- maybe you’ll make sense then.†“WHAT was THAT? DO YOU WANT TO BE SENT HOME TO YOUR MOMMA IN A BOX?†“Nah, ain’t all that interested. Thanks for the offer though- meathead.†Scout leaned forward onto his elbows and tilted his hat back up to get a better view of the bulging veins on Soldier’s neck. “He-ey there champ- might wanna go do some zen shit ‘n watch that bloodpressure. I mean- what with ya bein; an old shit ‘n all.†Soldier very nearly throttled Scout right there. Heavy had walked in and got between the two. “Soldier, don’t hurt leetle Scout. How else we going to find REDs fast?†He patted both men on the shoulders, “Besides ve are team! New team, but team!†He gilled in the last seat on Scout’s side of the table, smiling to Soldier with an air of finality even the crazed ‘veteran’ couldn’t argue with. “Thanks man.†Scout pulled his hat back down and slid his headset around his neck before leaning back on the table. “I ain’t in the mood to kick his ass anyway.†“Aren’t you usually more… moving?†Heavy quirked his eyebrow at the slumped man. “Am so used to Scout being louder and nuisance.†“Yeah well… I’m uh… Just not awake enough. Y’know?†He stretched his arms out in front of him, groaning with how tight his muscles felt. It was shitty, it was almost like he ran a whole track metting himself without stretching, and did a buttload of other stuff on top of that. “I need a soda.†“You’ll rot yer teeth,†Engineer doled out the breakfast plates. “Whatever… What the hell? No pancakes?†Scout pulled a face at the breakfast. He wasn’t feeling bacon and eggs. He wasn’t even really feeling pancakes at this point. He was mostly feeling like a bag of crap. “Hey… Big guy- you want this?†He nudged it over to Heavy. “Leetle Scout does not want?†“Nah. Keep it quiet- I don’t want Engie to cry like a little girl or nuthin’†“Scout is not hungry?†Heavy looked puzzled, everyone on his old team was always starving by morning. “N-nah man. Jus’ take it. I’m outta here.†He shoved his chair back and beat a hasty retreat out of the kitchen. “Shit…†Scout immediately sat down once he was a little while away from the rest of his team. He sank his head between his knees. “Fukcin’ shit. Not now… Whole new team.†He whined and curled into himself some more, trying to keep his breathing regular. “Fuck. I don’t even know where anythin’ is here.†He tossed his headset into the middle of the hallway, not appreciating it making his already sweaty neck hotter. He lost track of the time trying to regulate his breathing and to not think about how much his stomach was cramping. None of the tactics his mom showed him through his entire life seemed to work. “This fuckin’ s-sucks.†He swallowed hard. The rest of the team were eating a breakfast of champions, then going to do that gay meet-and-greet shit before everyone had to do fitness tests and training. And Scout was in the hallway, trying not to spew. And doing a shit job of it. He just started to feel like he could maybe manage doing the fitness stuff on an empty stomach too. “Scout?†Big fucking dope. “Vhy did Scout not want breakfast?†He fucking hurled. Hard. All over the damn hallway. He totally forgot everything he just spent the last hour on and lost it at the word breakfast. “Thanks asshole.†He choked out, “Thanks a lot.†Scout rubbed at his face, he felt like shit still, but it could have been worse. “Should I get Medic?†Heavy hadn’t even left? Scout couldn’t believe that. “No. Don’t fuckin’ get him. I’m fine… jeeze.†“Leetle man is sick. You need to see Doktor.†“No. I don’t. Really.†He swallowed again, “What I need is to get the hell outta here before Soldier comes.†“Vhy?†“Shit are you stupid? H-he’s fuckin’ crazy. I’ve been on his team before. You could be sick as a dog- or shovin’ yer own g-guts back inside ya- and he’ll make you clean your own shit up.†He squeezed his eyes shut and took a few deep breaths, “Barf in a bucket or rag duty. Trust me. I know.â€
>>125 Needs more fic and less script, if you dont mind me saying (not the one who requested)
Someone once posted some concept art of Scout on discussion or somewhere, and looked like the spittin' image of Tetsuo from Akira (when he had short hair, anyway). That got me wondering "what would Scout do with supernatural powers of that magnitude?" Let's say 2Fort institutes a super-soldier program and uses our favorite mercenaries as guinea pigs. How would they use (or misuse) their newfound powers?
I haven't seen Scout's Peep Peep in a while, and since Medic is now a bird nut, I request Scout and Medic having bird related talks or something. Like maybe Scout bringing Peep in for a checkup and getting constantly harassed by Archimedes.
128 I would love this too. http://www.tf2chan.net/archives/fanfic/threads/248.html <- Was there more than that? I recall reading some story of drunken (blu?) sniper shooting one of those chickens
Here's the fic where drunk!Sniper shoots the rooster (who I, too, assume to be Peep Peep, though it's not explicitly stated). It's by Ten Cent Bastard: http://tf2chan.net/archives/fanfic/threads/288.html I would love to see more of Peep Peep... and/or just more by Ten Cent Bastard in that arc. Anybody know if there's more out there?
Not exactly a gen request but I didn't want to make a new thread for just this little thing and a!fic just isn't my bag. Has anyone ever written/found any fanfic based off of Makani's femme-classes? Because I would love some Sniper/f!Sniper (simple interaction/friendship or romance) or Engie/f!Spy. And it baffles me that I can't seem to find any.
>>71 It's not quite the 'watching from a distance to make sure he's okay' bit you requested, but I do have some fatherly Engie and homesick Scoot I could toss up here, if it's still wanted.
Okay, this is just something ridiculous that occurred to me. So, tenta-babies, right? Tiny spies with tentacles. But if they are tiny spies, then they have tiny spy equipment, right? And if they have tiny spy-disguises, when they used them, wouldn't they just look like tiny team members? That are tiny? That just sounds like something adorable and horrifying to find in the sewers. Also adorable: Daddy tentaspy having a lot of trouble keeping track of all of them when they keep cloaking. Being parent to a hoard of tiny abominations must be hard. This is something I'd like to see.
>>133 Maybe the suit is now part of their skin coloration, and the cloak and disguising is something that's part of them. Like a natural ability. Kinda like how Susan in Discworld has some powers from her grandfather even though they aren't related by blood? I totally wanna see/read about tentababies!
>>132 not >>71 , but I'm mighty interested in that comfort Engie Scoot fic you mentioned.
>>135 Alright, here it is then. I wrote this for Christmas two years ago, so if anyone reads it and finds it familiar, that would be why. This was beta'd by PAPAYADRANK, also. -- Another month passes, another letter comes. Scout rifles around under his bed past his porno, stacks of baseball cards, and the odd piece of dirty laundry. Eventually, he pulls out a dirty red shirt, underneath which is a shoebox. He takes ahold of it and yanks it out, sitting back off his knees. He plops down on his rump and crosses his legs, tugging the lid off this box. The sides of the box bulge out with the amount of things inside. Scout dumps the box on its side and the bulk of its contents fall out in one big clump. Scout peeled it apart carefully, bits sticking in places where grubby fingers of children touched them. It was all sheets of paper, with photographs and crude drawings scattered in-between. The text on the sheets was of a somewhat messy cursive scrawl, and every letter ended in a flowery signature and several rows on x’s and o’s. Scout ripped open his newest envelope, the one he has just received today. He unfolded the paper clumsily, tossing the torn mess that used to be the envelope on the floor. No pictures this time, but several pages of text instead. He began the process of glaring down at the paper, and it hadn’t been five minutes of this before he sighed in frustration and folded the letter back up. A sharp tap at the door snapped Scout out of his silent trance he had been in. He shoved the letters back into the box and forced he lid shut, then stood and kicked the box back under the bed. He rushed to the door and yanked it open. A grinning Texan greeted him and he threw on a grin in return. He had been impatient to read his letter, but it could wait until Engie said whatever he needed to say. Much to his dismay, though, right as he had begun his ‘sup, Engie?’ the man grabbed him – not like a violent grab or anything, just playfully – and tugged him out into the hall. “Where’s yer holiday spirit, boah?! C’mon down! We’re barbequin’ that bird that HQ sent us!†“Naw, Engie, I don’t think that’s such good plan.†Scout took a step back from Engie, but didn’t get very far with the man still holding onto his arm. The Texan was a sturdy fellow, after all, and Scout was just a skinny kid. Scout gave another feeble tug. “Not feelin’ too hot, y’know?†“Aw, c’mon, Scout. This’ll just be fer a lil’ bit! Ya can come back up here’n rest once we get done with dinner.†As much as he wanted to head back into his room and finish reading his letter, he knew he couldn’t. It would be too suspicious. He didn’t want any of the guys on his team to know that there was something in his room important enough to distract him like this. They might think it was something valuable enough to steal. And well... he’d rather avoid having his team read the letters his ma wrote him. All the endearments his ma used would only result in him getting called a momma’s boy. He wasn’t no wuss, so nobody was allowed to know about these letters, lest they get the misconception that he is. So instead of going back into his room to read his letter, he grinned and clapped Engineer playfully on the back. He reached back to pull his door shut. “Let’s go, big guy! I think I can stave off these crappy guts till after I get me some’a dat turkey!†-- After the turkey, Scout got in on some poker. Then he sat with everyone around Engie and his guitar to sing Christmas carols. Then they all had a piece of Heavy’s cardiac-arrest-inducingly rich chocolate cake. Then Sniper got out the stash of beer that he’d been hiding and shared it around. One turned into eight for Scout and soon enough he and Engie were stumbling back to his room. After he’d gotten a couple of beers into him, he had begun bragging to his team about his impressive baseball card collection. Engie had seemed mildly interested, and so Scout decided that he absolutely needed to see this magnificent selection of the cards. He figured the Texan could die happy once he had seen these cards. Engie was still fairly sober at this time, so he just gave a few low chuckles and went along with Scout’s enthusiastic baseball card babbling. He made sure to nod and laugh and ‘mhm’ in all the right places. He had nothing better to do, after all. He was fairly good friends with his team, Sniper and Soldier in particular, but they were both busy. Soldier was off on drunken rant to the almost-unconscious Demoman about the good ol’ days of wars he never fought in. Sniper, too, was having some drunken fun, only he wasn’t the drunk one in his case. Spy, who had been known to be sleeping with Sniper, was heavily intoxicated to the point where he was curled up in Sniper’s lap like some kind of girl, and was actively kissing the man. The only unusual part about this was that had Soldier been sober he would have already physically separated the two. He would not have any of the homo-sex nonsense in his base. His men would use physical discipline and learn to ignore the primal urges and ignore the temptation to find release through dirty sodomy. With his two closest friends inebriated or otherwise occupied, he went for the next best thing: Scout and his baseball cards. He was more a football type of guy himself, but on occasion he enjoyed going to watch a live baseball game back home. He had nothing on Scout of course, with his extreme love for the game. He was more interested in making sure Scout was safe than seeing this supposedly impressive stack of cards. Scout had been the only one to wander off on his own while drunk, and he had stated earlier that he wasn’t feeling well. Engineer would have felt bad if he hadn’t gone with the boy. Finally, they reached Scout’s room. The boy pushed the door open and almost fell on his ass when the weight he had put on the door was no longer supported by the door he had been leading against. Once he’d straightened up, he laughed loudly a few times. He took three steps forward and fell to his knees. He disregarded that his baseball cards were still out on the floor from earlier. Still, he dug around under his bed fruitlessly. In his efforts he sent the box from earlier skidding out into the middle of the room, where it stopped at Engie’s feet. The man took one look at Scout, now cussing and wiggling his way down under his bed, still searching for his baseball cards, which were in a pile beside his bed. He highly doubted that the boy would notice if he were to take a quick look in the box. The kid was drunk anyways... if Engie asked him about this tomorrow morning, he’d probably have no idea what he was talking about. He kneeled on the floor, shifting a bit on his kneepads and leaning forward to lift the lid off the box. He found what he considered to be quite a wealth of importance. This was Scout’s life. Letters from his mother and brothers. Photos of kids grinning and swinging bats, wearing oversized batting helmets and missing their front teeth. A small herd of Scout clones of various ages crowded around a woman. Scout’s mother, who looked fantastic for a mother of eight who had to at least be in her late forties or early fifties. By the time Engie looked up again from the photos, Scout was sitting across from him with his legs crossed and staring up at him expectantly. He half expected the boy to start yelling and swearing and punching him. The last thing he expected was for Scout to poke through the pile for a moment, selected folded-up few sheets of paper and hold it out to him. The confused Texan stayed down at the somewhat worn sheets in Scout’s hand, then up into the boy’s eyes. Just as he was about to ask Scout what in tarnation he wanted, the kid answered his unanswered question for him. “Read this ta me, Hardhat.†“... are ya sure, Scout? I did just into yer stuff without askin’ an’-“ “Naw, man. Quit with the apologizin’. I ain’t mad or nothin’. Just read it ta me.†Scout’s cheeks were a bit red by this point, but if you had asked, he’d have said it was the beer. He wasn’t blushing. No way. “... kid, ah’m sorry, I jus’-“ “Don’t Engie. Just read it ta me.†Engie paused a moment, threw Scout another guiltily apologetic glance, then took the letter from him and opened it. He placed it on the floor and smoothed it out a bit. Picking it back up and taking a deep breath, he was about to start reading. Instead, he snapped his head up to look Scout in the eyes again. “Why do you want me to do this for ya, boah?†Scout met Engie’s eyes for a moment then suddenly became very interested in something on the floor. He mumbled his response, which prompted Engineer to repeat himself. Scout muttered his answer again, and suddenly Engie’s brain was alive with the possibilities. Was Scout going to say ‘I like the sound of your voice,’ or ‘you talk all smart and I wanna hear you read it’? His own face warmed substantially, and he was glad that Scout wasn’t looking up when he asked his question again. Finally, Scout spoke up, and this time he met Engie’s eyes again. His cheeks were as red as his shirt. “’Cuz I can’t read too good.†Silence, then, “...you’re illiterate?†“Naw, man!†Scout was on the defensive now. This was getting bad. He was drunk and now he was going to get loud and violent. “Naw, I just can’t read big words’n I was havin’ trouble readin’ it eahliah, so just read it ta me so I can write my ma back.†Engie straightened out the paper again, and took a moment to clear his throat. He was feeling unbearably awkward about this... but the kid just wanted his help, right? What harm was there in that? Yeah, Engie decided. Scout’s not being weird, he’s just drunk. He probably won’t even remember this. Engie straightened up again, and took another deep breath. Just as he had gotten the first syllable of ‘dear’ out, he was interrupted by Scout grabbing onto his wrist and holding on. He regarded the boy, and after a moment he spoke. “Can ya help me write’er back, too? All’a my old letter were jus’ retarded, y’know? Like all short n’stuff. Can ya help me write’er a decent one?†Blinking for a moment, Engineer nodded very slowly, and before he even managed to start his verbal reply, he let out a yelp of surprise. His back met the floor as the boy tackled him and clung to his chest like he was his only lifeline. “Uh... Scout?†“Thanks, man.†Scout mumbled, voice muffled by his face being buried in Engie’s chest. Engie froze for a moment, then brought his arms up to give Scout an awkward hug, patting him on the back a couple of times. This isn’t weird. Scout’s drunk. Tonight will just be a blur to him when he wakes up tomorrow morning. Scout blinks into Engie’s red uniform shirt, then shuts his eyes and nuzzles his cheek in closer to the man’s warm chest. Engie can just keep it at ‘Scout’s drunk, ignore him,’ so long as it doesn’t make this awkward. What he doesn’t know is that Scout has only had half a beer. The rest he fed to Spy. He had made a deal with Sniper during dinner, and as long he was getting what he wanted, he was willing to make deals with even the creepiest, dirtiest, lankiest Australians. What Engie don’t know won’t hurt ‘im.
Awww. I think Scout might see him as a father figure.
Okay, so most of us know that with the uber update, every class got something, except Engineer. I would like Engie's reaction to this.
>>138 The Pyro was equally neglected, he just got a slightly modified version of an already-existing and hardly-used weapon. Perhaps something with them being mad at the delivery-person, or something?
>>139 It's still more than Engie got, but sure, if the filler believes Pyro would also feel gypped, then by all means, write so.
>>136 All my love stubs, ALL OF MY LOVE. I love Scout seeing Engie as a father figure, or at least someone he respects a lot and trusts. This gave me the warm fuzzies and really tugged at the heartstrings when you discover that he can't read very well.
I want something horribly, awfully sad. Naturally there is no re-spawn and you can choose the BLUs class. RED Engi is a sweet guy, he cares about everyone, even his foes, so when he finds an injured, knocked out BLU with a busted leg and numerous other scrapes and breaks he cant help but want to nurse them back to health. He brings the man to the teams barn and tries to help but medic he is not, he only succeeds in making the others condition worsen. This goes on for several days, the injured man gets sicker and stops eating, the Engineer becomes desperate even yelling at the man in his charge to eat, but he finally realizes that it is to late and the life is leaving the BLU. The man dies in the arms of the RED who mourns over not only the death but the fact that it was his fault.
>>142 that sounds interesting. Scout x Miss Pauling, anyone? Keep it PG-13 please, feel like Ms Pauling is more romantic than sensual.
>>142 yes please The Respawn system has been helping 18 men cheat death for almost a year now and naturally, the Grim Reaper is sick of it. He sets up a meeting with the Announcer and a representative from each team, hilarity ensues. Bonus: .One of the team representatives is Demo, who tries to ward off the Reaper with ineffective Scottish folk recipes.
>>76 I've been wanting to do a Support Class Road Trip for a while- Support only because Sniper has a van and so I can use the line "I DON'T WANT TO PLAY ANY OF YOUR STUPID FRENCH DRIVING GAMES; THEY ALWAYS END UP WITH YOU PUTTIN' YOUR HEAD IN MY LAP." > 98 OH MY JESUS FUCK YES I might work on that
>>144 Well, I got the first part down. ------------- The Grim Reaper sat upon his gray stone throne on his gray rain-cloud in the sky and looked down on the planet Earth. A small meter counted up slowly; people were dying. The Grim Reaper was quite happy about that. It gave him a vague sense of satisfaction, watching all those poor souls journey on to the afterlife. Satisfaction, but not really pride, because they would have died either way, wouldn’t they? Most people didn’t need to be wrenched from their lives, at least not by the Reaper. A half-century or so of aging, maybe a chronic illness, and the general dampening of survival urge usually did the trick. But then there were the ones who hung on like barnacles. Tenacious as hell. Just wouldn’t let go. Prying them off took patience, and Death always congratulated himself for each victory. They were always victories. At least, until recently. While it was fun playing a couple bouts of life-or-death chess with the occasional stubborn spirit, this latest round had decided to upturn the chessboard and swipe all of Death’s pieces. Repeatedly. The Grim Reaper was annoyed. Day after day, these RED and BLU hooligans killed each other in ways he couldn’t even imagine. Guns, knives, grenades, rockets, fire, baseball bats, machines, bare fists, arrows, fish, jars of urine, and tricky maneuvers involving defiance of physics. Defiance of Death. Those pesky mercenaries returned unfazed. Their souls didn’t go on; they went back. It had puzzled the Grim for a while. He looked into each one’s physiological makeup. Nothing wrong. He looked into their genetics. Not much there either. He looked into their minds. All lunatics, but ordinary otherwise. It turned out they’d been kept alive by a system called Respawn. It was sprawling, complex, and protected by thick layers of security. Death would have to kill them some other way. He thought for a little while. Then he took out a sheaf of paper and began to write. A week later, three letters were sent through the postal system. They went as follows: Dear Sire or Madam, I have written this letter in objection to the repeated evasion, cheating, and general defiance perpetrated by many members of your group against the laws of nature. The specific infractions are: --refusal to die after suffering wounds great enough to cause death ---aiding in above refusal ----provision of artificial bodies to facilitate refusal ----provision of machinery to actively perpetrate refusal -----use of aforementioned machinery ------use of aforementioned machinery with knowledge of effect -----provision of machinery with the purpose of defying death --causing wounds great enough for death with knowledge of effect These infractions are cumulatively worth enough for the painful permanentdeaths of all guilty, as well as subsequent damnation. However, I will negotiate for a better solution. I would like to meet with: --the Announcer --one representative from RED --one representative from BLU at the neutral bridge territory between team bases at map CTF 2FORT, on this September Sixth, 3 PM sharp. I repeat: I would like to meet with the Announcer, one RED representative, and one BLU representative, at 2FORT neutral territory, on September 6th, at 3 PM sharp. Failure to be at this destination by one, some, or all persons will lead to the punishment described. Sincerely, the Grim Reaper.
>>146 Words cannot describe the feeling of the happy fireworks in my body! Thank you good Sir/Madame, to where would you like your walrus in a top hat delivered?
I would love to read more about crazy/mad scientist Medic and his messed-up experiments, and his interactions with the team and their reactions to him high on kritz.
I want to see a song fic with a group of Spies harassing a new recruit with the song Secret of Survival, found hear: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N_TbgMUx9OA
Soldier/Medic please. Something on the lighter side of the spectrum between these two, with them actually somewhat getting along.
Soldier meets Sun Tzu or one of his descendents.
True story: After capping the last point as pyro, I found an enemy Medic. He used the taunt with his bonesaw(violin style). In response, I used my ax taunt. We kept doing this until we went to the next area(Like we were playing a musical number) My request? Medic and Pyro(Masked or not is up to anon) discussing music.
I think someone might've requested something like this before, but I'd really like to see something where a tentaspy masters his new body and becomes a useful member of the team again.
>>152 Firing the headcanons in three…two…one… No, seriously, this is going to be slathered with my BLU Pyro headcanon- which is quite different from the RED, mind you! This started out as talking about instruments, and then I don’t know what happened. I just word-vomited. Sorry if this isn’t what you asked for, Anon. _ Of Skin Grafts and Bonding She was used to it by now- lying parallel to the ceiling as various tubes dripped into her arms. The IVs, of course, were purely supplemental; she had adjusted her diet for the radiation poisoning long ago, helped greatly by her already strange taste in food. “Are you sure you only have the artificial left?†Her voice is deep and gravelly, laid thick with an Asian accent. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she wasn’t female at all, rather a man with a slightly higher timbre of a voice. “Unless you want me to go and scavenge dead bodies, yes. It’s just one arm, and it isn’t as if you expose it regularly.†He fills a frighteningly large syringe with anesthetic and turns to her. “It appalls me why you had your glove off in the first place. During a battle no less- an Arena battle to top it off. Mein Gott, are you stupid as well as disabled?†If it were serious, she couldn’t take it as one. She knows him well enough to confirm he never jokes; he knows her enough to realize she’s never serious. “It just fell off. I must have forgotten to strap it onto my suit. And how did I know that I’d get teleported back to base after death? Respawn didn’t even take care of-“ “Respawn,†he growls, the click of the metal scalpel on the countertop punctuating every word, “doesn’t take care of anything when it’s not in use!†She bites her tongue as he injects the anesthetic. “Wieder frage ich mich; Warum muss ich mit euch allen geklebt werden? Ein Mann von meinem Talent sicherlich etwas Besseres verdient, als mit Narren gesattelt werden!“ That was the difference between them- aside, of course, from his arrogance. She had lived in the States since she was ten, seldomly using her home language. Her fondness for Japanese had died back in ’45 when everyone she knew had. “The child of a frog will be a frog.†He looks at her expectantly. “That particular piece of advice is both useless and scientifically incorrect. Kudos to you.†His back is to her again, fiddling with something on the stainless steel counter. “Ever the realist, I see.†He turns to look at her with an expression that can be described only as ‘daughter, I am disappoint,’ a scalpel in one hand, a large chunk of artificial skin in the other. “I am a scientist, and therefore an absolute realist.†She opens her mouth to speak, but is silenced by his snapped voice. “And yes, I understand the advice! Absolut klar! Perhaps I can’t change what you were born with, but idiocy should be a mental illness!†She is tactless, but knows enough as to realize when to change the subject. She searches for one frantically in her head. Smiling awkwardly, she smooths back her black mohawk. (The radiation burns on the entire left half of her body made it horribly hard to grow hair on that side of her head, so she took it in stride and made a fashion out of it. If one thing only, she is resourceful; perhaps not as much so as Engineer, but certainly so.) About four awkward minutes pass before she finally asks, “Do you actually play violin, or do you just pretend to?†“I worry about what goes through your head sometimes.†“Just wondering, that is. The saw reminded me. “ “It’s not violin,†he sighs, sitting to graft her skin. “It’s viola. But I do play violin as well.†She bites her lip as the scalpel starts to cut away the dead flesh. “Really?†“As well as the piano and harpsichord. Anyway, the artificial skin I’m putting on you is only until our next battle. It’s an attack and defend, so the Respawn Technology System should take care of the skin. The RTS leaves the fake on, though, so return to me after the match; though if you don’t, I’ll assume you want two layers of skin on your right arm.†He switches the ceiling-mounted Medigun on and fixes its beam at her arm. “Which, although it would be useful, would be quite uncomfortable, I’d imagine.†Silence settles as he begins to clean up his handiwork. The man always is quick with operations; due to his presence as a field medic and his expert knowledge of human anatomy, he halves the time of surgery for convenience- that is, if he doesn’t quarter it. “Harpsichord?†It had been about five minutes, and she should have been out of the medical bay by that time. He clicks his tongue in annoyance at the fact and sighs before answering. “Why must you always take the smallest passing detail and stretch it into an entire conversation? Yes, I play harpsichord. If you must know, I had aspired to be a musician for quite some time. “It’s not something you hear every day, a bit ridiculous, really. Yet even as I got my first Master’s degree, I wanted to be in opera. The pit or the stage, it didn’t really matter. Foolish, now that I look back on it.†She smiles, sitting up on the operating table. “I can see that happening.†He scoffs at her with a loud ‘ha!’ and sits again in the chair he used while operating on her arm. “As if someone who can be found either playing Spacewar, watching horrible science-fiction movies, or reading comics knows a thing about performing arts.†“For your information, I was big on Nogaku as a child. I’d go with my mother at each festival until I was about ten when…when I stopped.†“When your hometown Nagasaki was bombed, you mean. I know more about you than you care to think. And don’t ask me how- It was in your medical records when it mentioned that you’ve been subjected to large amounts of nuclear radiation,†he informs briefly, as if cracking open a personal file was no big deal. “And I do play guitar,†she continues. “Bass guitar, but it does still count.†He closes his eyes in a moment of quick remembrance. “You would have gotten along swimmingly with our last Pyro. Though he was auto-balanced to RED after about a year of working with us…He did play an excellent Spanish guitar. Often times, he and Engineer would have a sort of dueling banjos contest. Engineer always lost, of course, which lead to Soldier calling the Pyro a dirty border-hopping Mexican, which lead to the correction that he is from Guatemala. Half of the time, Demoman would become so drunk that he would insert that America isn’t a real country but a second arm of Great Britan, and I’d have to sedate Soldier so he wouldn’t kill anyone. Of course, when it came to the nationality debate, it usually boiled down to my being an Austrian, not a Nazi. Though it is rather amusing to see Spy flinch every time I begin speaking in full German.†“I did notice that.†“Poor man’s from Vichy. Every time I start speaking German, he thinks I’m going to torture him for being a Huguenot.†He laughs, which in itself is borderline psychotic. “Anyway, you really don’t strike me as the type for musical theater.†She shurgs. “What can I say? I like the stories. Ones I saw were usually based off of folk legends. A few Western operas are, aren’t they?†“My particular favorites are. Der Freischütz is my absolute favorite, though it’s a bit…difficult to translate. “ She gets up, straightening her Hazmat suit and picking her mask up from the stool beside the operating table. “The best usually are. Anyway, we’re moving to Dustbowl in two hours. I should probably leave you to packing up, right?†He stands, bowing slightly. “Naturlich. Until Dustbowl, meine Fraulein.†Turning to leave, she adds “And mention those musical duels to Engineer again, would you? Sounds like a blast.†Later, further down the hall, she hears his baritone voice ringing proudly. “…Jetzt auf! In Bergen und Klüften! Tobt morgen der freudige Krieg!†She giggles to herself and continues her business. “Ist unser, und unser der Sieg! Und unser der Sieg! Und unser der Sieg!â€
http://tf2chan.net/fanfic/res/103.html#154 I'm the OP and I loved this. And I loved how you thought out the pyro. Very clever.
Pyro or enemy Pyro accidentally causing a real fire in the base. As the base starts going up in flames he has to rescue his teammates from being burned alive and/or go down to rescue the intel. (Guess who's been watching firefighting documentaries?)
I would really, really love to read a story of ceasefire between RED and BLU akin to the Christmas Truce of World War I. Maybe tie it in with how BLU Soldier and RED Demo are best buds.
>>157 Anon 154 here. I've been thinking of doing it.
The explanation for Medieval Mode: "How did the men of Team Fortress appear at a tenth century battlement? Simple. The Soldier angered a magician." This same magician is the person responsible for Tentaspy. (Captcha: "Fishou intelligence." Not bad.)
I read on wikipedia that before the collapse of the Soviet Union, it wasn't all that uncommon for Slavic men who knew each other well to kiss on the lips in a platonic way. naturally, that gave me a few ideas - maybe the team's been sent away to Russia or somewhere for a while and they meet up with an old colleague of Heavy's? What would their reactions be like if they saw that?
What I'd love to see is a story where Spy is completely at the enemy's mercy, who chooses to spare him. Respawn should be temporarily off for some reason (only temporarily though, I'd like references to the fact that Spy and his enemy are used to killing each other), to make the threat of death a real one. The enemy in question should be the Engineer, the Sniper or the Scout. Though, while I love Engineer/Spy and Sniper/Spy, I don't like Scout/Spy; so if you pick Scout as the merciful enemy, please make it so that BLU Scout helps RED Spy because his mum would be heartbroken if her lover died. For example, Spy and the enemy Engineer get separated from their respective team for some reason (maybe in the middle of a battle they fall into a river and are swept away, maybe there is an earthquake and they fall off a cliff, anything like that), and when Spy wakes up, he has a broken leg. Respawn doesn't work (maybe they are outside its range, maybe the elements damaged the machine), so Spy would be screwed, but the enemy Engineer decides that he doesn't want to kill a defenceless and helpless man no matter how much he hates him, and abandoning him in the middle of nowhere with a broken leg would be the same as killing him. So Engineer builds him a crutch and takes care of him, checking the injury and procuring food and water, while they make their way back to the bases. Another example could be this. Spy and the enemy Engineer seek shelter in a basement when an incredibly violent and sudden storm ravages the battlefield. A beam falls down and knocks out Spy, who then wakes up and finds himself tied up. Again, Respawn is temporarily off, and Engineer decided not to kill Spy, but since they are stuck together in the basement he doesn't trust Spy not to kill him and so decides to keep Spy tied up until the storm calms down, which could take days. Those are just a couple of random examples, I'd be happy with any kind of fic that just follows the basic "Spy is at Engineer/Sniper/Scout's mercy when Respawn is off, but is spared" premise. Just one thing. The enemy, whichever you pick, should definitely be the one in charge. He is helping Spy out of sense of fair play (or, in Scout's case, out of love for his mother), but he still doesn't like Spy for being a sneaky backstabber, so he is most definitely not going to be cuddly, he is going to have an authoritarian "piss me off and I'll kick your ass" attitude. For instance, in my first example, he is not going to let Spy keep any weapon and is going to tie him up when they stop their trek to sleep.
javascript:quote(161, 'post1597'); That sounds absolutely amazing and is making plot bunnies run rampant! All I can say is thank you for a brilliant suggestion and I'm going to start working on that first chance!
Something based on "Kiss Me," just for laughs.
I need people beating the crap out of each other. That's it. Somebody/everybody slipped one too many aces into their hand during Poker Night, Scout called Heavy an asshole during foosball, Demoman broke Medic's violin, Spy cries over why his watches don't actually tell time, ANYTHING that involves super cool senseless violence, raging testosterone, and hilarious hijinks.
Spy, sick of constantly having his suits ruined and paying to have them repaired/replaced/dry-cleaned, decides that the best way to keep his suits safe is to keep them off the battlefield, so he starts showing up on the battlefield in casual clothes. No one on either team is quite sure how to react to this.
>>165 This. I want to see the team members utterly confused as to why spy would ever let himself be seen in something less than a three piece suit and tie. Bonus if he wears a turtleneck and scarf, worn European style of course.
>>165 This, all the way. I'd really love to see him in clothes no one would ever expect him to wear. Maybe he has to borrow clothes from fellow team members for a while until he can order/go into town.
I'd like to see a tf2/portal crossover but instead of Chell joining the tf world, how about ther mercenaries get sucked into the testing facility?
>>168 This one definitely for Scout. I so want him to go nuts with the long fall boots/ heel springs and drive Glados crazy with his doublejumping abilities.
>>168 >>169 This is really presumptuous as a new writer on the Chan, but I reckon I could do that...
So I learned that Ellen McLain (the Announcer) and John Patrick Lowrie (Sniper) are married. Maybe some cute, silly AnnouncerxSniper? Ooh, and ten invisible dollars if opera is involved somewhere! (Ellen used to do opera. Hurr durr, I have a thing for voice actor trivia...)
Scout grows/tries to grow a beard. That is all.
Medic gets sick, and maybe it's a cold, maybe it's just a 24 hour bug, but the base slowly goes into chaos as everyone realizes just how much they depend on someone to try and keep some kind of order. Plus, those birds are hungry and running amok and no one knows where any birdseed is. Enter the team's collection of home 'remedies' from around the world. Annnd go.
>>173 HAH! I literally just said over in my story thread that I kinda wanted to write something like that. Oh man, maybe it's destiny...
>>174 I have actually started this. Yup. Oh Medic, I wish I knew how to quit you.
Oh man, I was hoping someone would fill that request. I metaphorically cannot wait to read.
The problem: RED's or BLU's running out of money to spend on air conditioning and food that doesn't come in a tube. The response: Team car wash. I don't know. But ridiculously short cut-off jeans and failed attempts to lure in customers by being sexy with soap suds just won't leave my mind.
Respawn takes care of everything: death, concussion, broken bones, bruises, minor cuts and scrapes, and any illness or disease gets wiped out when someone goes through the system. Whatever Respawn doesn't take care of, the Medigun can fix. Adjusting to life off the base where you can't shoot yourself to get rid of a cold or have a broken ankle healed in a few seconds is somewhat difficult.
>>177 This. A hundred, nay, A THOUSAND TIMES THIS.
So, I've just finished watching "We're Back! A Dinosaur's Story" and listening to "Walk the Dinosaur" like crazy and have dinos on the brain. I'd love to see the teams somehow sent to the Jurassic via Respawn and trying to cope with their current predicament. Bonus if Sniper wrestles a Jurassic gator and uses its head and back like the Darwin's Danger Shield and Ol' Snaggletooth accordingly.
>>180 There was a story where they go back in time and find out they altered things so the dinosaurs had weapons. It's on fanfic.net Dunno if it's been on here though? Called the Trouble with Time Travel.
>>181 Just tried searching for it on fanfic.net and no luck. I would sage in this comment, but I don't see how. Do I just type "sage" in the email box?
http://www.Mary Suetopia/s/5846680/1/Team_Fortress_2_the_Trouble_with_Time_Travel ...To be honest, I don't like that fic at all. But to each their own, people have different preferences and you might love it. And yes, just type "sage" in the email box. Although I don't really see any reason to sage a request thread. It makes sense with fanfiction threads: if the thread is bumped, people will happily assume that the fic got a new chapter and will be understandably annoyed when they find out that it was just some random commenter. But with request threads, there are no similar expectations.
Replace "Mary Suetopia" with "fanfiction*net" (put a dot in place of *)
Spy tries to quit smoking.
Seconded.
Sock race. Everyone knows what they are, right? The thing where you slide around in your socks on a hardwood/lino floor? Scout starts it, Pyro joins in for the hell of it. Spy decides he'll be damned if he lets an idiot Scout and a psychopathic manchild beat him at anything. Soldier joins in to show that Frenchie coward how real men sock-race. Demo's drunk, what's your excuse? Engie realizes that efficiently using socks to cover a maximum amount of distance in a minimum amount of time is a practical problem. Sniper declines, but does try to knit the ultimate racing sock. Heavy is a willing audience to the whole thing. Medic realizes his team is made up of idiots.
>>187 I have never wanted to read something as much as that.
> 187 I imagine Engie as first discussing the ultimate racing sock with Sniper - coefficients of friction, degradation of sock material, and so on - and Sniper knitting and nodding, but not really paying attention, which frustrates Engie, who then begins to call out suggestions to the sock racers to improve their form so as to a) lower the center of gravity for increased stability and b) reduce drag forces while sock-gliding. Then I imagine him entering the sock race - as a practical demonstration, of course. And I imagine Medic is the one who will have to heal Scout's face when the boy bashes his fool head into a table or something.
Not sure which request thread to go in ... A team-interaction fic of Medic struggling through numerous failures to give himself an ubered heart on his own; realizes he needs medical help from his non-medical team.
> 187 > 189 Dammit you guys are making me want to read this so badly...Someone pick this up!
>>187 >>189 >>191 I'd be willing to do it... Anon >>154 here. I'd use that BLU team. It would probably be up in 24 hours.
>>192 187 here, rendered nearly catatonic from excitement... I can't. Fucking. Wait. Thank you so much!
A while back (before the server crash, I think) somebody posted in one of the head canon threads their idea that Scout had polio as a child and loves to run so much now because the polio isn't holding him back anymore. (I think it was something along those lines). Anyway, I just remembered it the other day, and the more I think about it the more it intrigues me. So yeah, I'd love to see a story using this concept.
>>187 I dunno, I think Medic would be more like "I'm not healing you because if I do, you won't have learned anything from this."
>>195 Did you mean to reply to >>178? Because I can't see how your comment related to >>187 in any way whatsoever.
>>196 I meant to reply to 189, but I saw the 187 in their reply first and made a stupid mistake.
>>196 Ah, that makes sense. I'd also like to second >>194.
It's been a long time. But let's see if I can remember how this goes. >>168 filled. Kinda. ---- "What are you doing? Stop! This isn't physically possible!" The mechanical, feminine voice of GLaDOS rang throughout the testing facility, wrought with stress and vexation. She prided herself as being the perfect scientist. She had no other concern, no other duty, than to perform tests in order to further Aperture science's portal research. Humans would make mistakes (oh, they so often made mistakes. She had made a chart of common human mistakes, such as misjudging their momentum through portals, failing to use their depth perception correctly, dying, etc.) but GLaDOS did not. She was far beyond the creatures that merely served their usage and then failed, providing her with her precious data. There were only two noteworthy humans she had met. The girl she would rather not mention and this...person. "Bang! Man, this is all so easy!" This boy should have died twenty-three times already. It was physically impossible to jump twice without hitting the ground - to do so would require a pocket of air to become solid for him to propel himself upwards again after the initial leap, but given that air didn't rearrange itself at one's will and there were no changes within any of the test chambers where he performed this manoeuvre, it simply couldn't happen. Yet it was and it was driving GLaDOS insane. She was meant to be testing the portal device and human ability to use it, not the apparent human ability to bend reality for an extra boost in jump height! It didn't help that the boy would not shut up. GLaDOS could no longer tell which was worse, the mute antics of that girl or this boy's constant egotistical chatter. "Hey, these tests are a piece of cake! Speaking of which, I'm getting real hungry. When are ya gonna give me a slice? C'mon, I've earned it by now! Dya see the way I got over that chasm with that freaky sludge at the bottom of it? Pretty impressive, I know, and I wasn't even trying! But that's why I'm the best. I bet none of your other tests subjects did that, am I right? See, the thing is I'm kind of a big deal. Force of freaking nature right here! Ain’t none of your tests gonna stump me. See I’m not only fast, I’m smart too. I’m probably setting a record for how fast I’m doing this!" He crowed, strutting around with his chest puffed out like a peacock. “Enough! You are not the fastest test subject to complete these chambers!†GLaDOS cried out in exasperation. “While your forward momentum is quicker than any other test subject, your mental abilities are far, far more lacking! In fact, you are one of the slowest participants on record for this test!†She watched him through the security camera in the chamber. His build did not suggest he had any unique abilities. But then again, it also didn't suggest how annoying he was either. She was hoping her cutting observation would dent his incredibly inflated sense of self worth, bother him in some way, just as she had always been trying to take that girl down a mute peg or two. The irritating boy didn't seem to care, chuckling and swaggering around the chamber. “Man, you’re lying! Ain’t no-one faster thinking than me. ‘Cept maybe Hardhat. But he’s all book-smarts, he’d be asking for a wrench to try and make one of these babies for himself.†He waved the portal gun around carelessly. He hadn’t cared for any of her insults, reacting with either ridiculous threats or smug brush-offs. GLaDOS recalled how long it would take to pump neurotoxin into the entire facility and then recycle the air so it was clean for the next subject; ten minutes to fill the chamber, three to ensure the subject was really dead, and another ten to filter the air clean again for the next subject. Twenty-three minutes to kill this insufferable moron and she could continue her testing in peace. The boy hadn't stopped talking. "See, I keep telling Engie he's gotta be thinking outside the box when he's building his shit. Cos I gotta look out for him! He tries to hide behind his sentry during battle but when that stuff gets blown up, you know he's gonna be calling out for help and needing cover to get some where else to rebuild all his crap. But I help him out! You know why? Cos I'm a fucking team player. You got that? I keep an eye on all And he builds those dispensers too, they're pretty damn awesome!" "That's enough!" GLaDOS interrupted, curtly. "I'm afraid you are not suitable for this series of tests, or for any tests run in this facility. So I will activate the neurotoxin now. Goodbye." The boy's demeanour snapped quickly from coolly talkative to indignant shouting. "Hey I finished all your stupid tests! I freaking aced them! You ain't gonna get another test subject like me! You know it, don't even try to kid yourself! Forget this, where's the exit? You can take all your tests and shove th- wait wait! I ain't leaving til I get my cake!" He pouted and folded his arms like a petulant child, clearly convinced he was being conned out of cake. As the neurotoxin took effort his surly posture quickly broke into something akin to a headless bird, limbs flailing and high squawks falling out of his mouth, before he slumped face first to the floor. Thank goodness he wasn't immune to the poison. --- On Dustbowl, the Scout jerked into a sitting position, frowning. Now he wanted cake. Fuck. Beside him the Soldier appeared, grumbling and adjusting his helmet before spotting the runner and glaring down at him, white of his eyes just visible under the rim of his helmet. "And what are you doing? Get up! The war isn't over yet, we still have sons of bitches to kill and points to cap!" He grabbed the Scout's hand roughly and yanked him up with unnecessary force, smacking him hard on the back before lumbering out himself, rocket-jumping into the fray beyond the respawn room. Scout just rolled his shoulder and pulled out his scattergun with a huff. He'd heard respawning was like taking a nap but he'd never heard of freaky dreams during it. Whatever, he thought, it wasn't as if he didn't spend his days listening to some cranky, demanding witch anyway.
>>199 That was funny, thanks!
BLU/RED trying to deal with a Graboid (from Tremors) infestation.
I would like to see a small series of vignettes revolving around the idea of what high school was like for each class' character. Not an AU but what happened during that time in their life when they were in high school and how they dealt with it. Obviously most of them would be in their country of origin.
Anybody got any drunk Medic fics? I need some before OKTOBERFEEEEEST ends.
So I woke up thinking about this for some reason, and it seemed like an interesting idea. I dreamed where the team ended up in a parallel universe where the gender's are swapped and meet their female versions. There was an episode of Red Dwarf called Parallel Universe where that happened. Also in that world, the females were the more dominant gender, and men got pregnant. Good episode. Just an idea.
>>204 I don't think it's possible for me to bump this any harder.
>>205 Here, I'll help you double-bump it.
>>206 I said "bump", I meant "second" lol wtf are words but this still works.
>>207 If we double-second something together, are we quadrupling it? Side note: Holy shit, somebody write >>204 NOW. I would if I could write worth shit, but...well...sorry!
Oh, damn. I might have to take 201. Nnngh.
>>204 Those of you who haven't seen this awesome episode (And know what Red Dwarf is, otherwise it might be confusing), here is the link to the first third of it. The rest is on youtube too. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kaZn66p7ZK8
>>192 Hey, bro, what happened to this? You okay?
Okay, I have the dumbest idea and not enough time to run with it, so I'm giving it over to the chan. So, a friend of mine sent me this video: http://youtu.be/Osv2E71FMbU And shortly after, I recalled that Prairie Dogs are native to Texas. Someone write me something cute involving Engineer either having or adopting some prairie dogs as pets. Ijust- I need this.
Cuddling. Doesn't matter who it's with or whether it's platonic or not, I just wanna see two or more of the nine classes being disgustingly fluffy together.
A lack of coffee and a slow start to the morning leads the BLU Spy to learn that the phrase he was looking for is, "Woke up on the wrong side of the bed", not, "Woke up in the wrong bed". Ah, yes - BLU Spy finds him in the embarrassing situation of ramming face first into the language barrier, and you KNOW his teammates are not about to let it go. If anyone would like to take this, just have fun with it! It doesn't have to have pairings, but hey, if you're so inclined, any pairing you feel like throwing in there goes! (If a hint of PyroDemo were to be thrown in, you would never hear me complain)
TF2 in a Digital Devil Saga scenario. DDS is a Playstation 2 game where factions of warriors are fighting each other like usual when an event changes things and suddenly they have these strange marks on their bodies, they can morph into demons, and oh yeah now they hunger for human flesh. I can just totally see The Administrator taking this in stride and encouraging them to use their new abilities to fight each other.
Someone (or multiple people) on the RED team noticing the Spy's embarrassing snort-laugh for the first time.
You know what we need? More Archimedes/the rest of Medic's doves. I've seen a few fics already, but their far and in-between. Personally, I'd love to read something depressing about Archimedes. All the stories I've read him in so far portray him as silly and generally hilarious, but I would love to see someone write a story that's a little gloomier. Maybe Archimedes gets accidently shot and killed during a ceasefire by a careless teammate, or maybe the poor little bugger just gets sick and Medic has to take care of him. I've owned several rock doves in the past and I've learned from experience that they're very finicky about their health. One day they can be perfectly fine, and the next they might as well just keel over because they got sick overnight. This request might be a nice excuse to do some introspective writing about Medic, too. Bonus points if there's Medic/Heavy. BONUS bonus points if the writer explains why Medic has so many birds in the first place.
Not exactly a request, but... I'm always appreciative of fics that feature some of the more unusual areas of various maps- for example, the lap pool at Thunder Mountain. I just get this lovely imagery of clouds of blood blossoming in the water, or... you could have a pool party or something. Same goes for any other unusual map feature, though, like the massive looming ship in the distance that you can see at the back of the BLU respawn at Upward, if I'm not mistaken. I get some serious Marie Celeste vibes from it, but you could do anything. Just a thought.
Hey, all. First time requesting. Do we have any Doctor Who fans? Remember "The Empty Child"/"The Doctor Dances"? What I'm trying to say is that I could really go for a horrifying version of that for TF2, except everybody is turning into a grotesque Pyro transformation. Make it happen, Cap'n.