Gah, so much love. Saw announcement for new fic, got all excited, and now I remain excited for more...

Dear Ms. Cat Bountry,
I love you. I love your work. May I meet you some day and perhaps kiss you on your hand?
Sincerely,
... Well, Anonymous

A sequel to reuinion? Seriously? Is it my birthday?

This is wonderful so far and I am looking so forward to what you do with it you have no idea, I love your writing and just...everything is amazing. You're amazing, gah.

I was worried that poor Pyro would stay lost forever! And it's off to a great start, too. Nice to see Medic-ex-wife being portrayed in a positive light.

Really enjoyed this, to be honest. I was expecting something to happen between Sniper and Samantha considering that in Reunion, it was obvious their relationship was falling apart(if not already gone). I still wasn't expecting this to happen, though.

But... how come Sniper's just accepting the loss of River? He doesn't say or imply anything that would indicate he's going to get him back, which kinda strikes me as strange, because the parents I know would fight tooth and nail for their kids. It's bugging me, to be honest.

Oh, and I liked Ilse here: “Certainly you weren’t zinking of somezing like, say, driving zat van all ze way zhere and wasting precious time doing some sort of ‘bonding’ or vhatevah.”

Also, Samantha deserves to get whacked over the head.
Thank you for writing this!

>>6

implying that's totally out of the question to happen at some point.

Yay! More to the story!
I dunno, I think Sniper and Moonchild were both kinda pretending, maybe they could get back together and fall in love again if they start being themselves. Especally hippie-girl. Maybe I just like happy endings.

(Also I think River is a cute name!)

You know what? I would be devastated about my son's loss, and most people would. However, Sniper is not just 'most people'. I think he's devastated, but can't really communicate it well through anything other than destroying what was his almost-house. Either that, or the reality won't strike him until a lonely night staring at a picture of him out fishing with his son. Either way, it's so sad...

And at first I was like "Ilse is kind of a bitch" and then I was like "oh, nevermind, she's just a realist."

Cat, I am sosososoosososososoooo glad that you decided to continue. You've developed quite a bite of a good story, haven't you!

Erm, I don't really think so. IMO, Reunion showed two people who didn't love each other much anymore. Samantha's lost her optimism... I think they've changed too much to actually love each other now.

Eh, she's a realist, yes. She's also a realist that didn't bother to talk over these issues with Sniper (though he is guilty there as well), and decided that his feelings don't matter at all, as shown by taking their son and strongly implying Sniper is never going to see him again.

@Cat Bountry
So does that mean that in the future chapters, the possibility of him getting his son back will be implied to be completely out of the question? Because even though I'm going to sound like a complete idiot, your phrasing kinda threw me for a loop.

Open mouth, insert foot. I somehow thought you were talking about Moonchild, not Ilse.

>>10

It's implying implications. It's sarcasm.

I forget sometimes not everybody came here from /v/.

Wow, I kind of wrote up part two of this pretty fast. Probably because of who this chapter's about and the chapter's subject matter. For those of you who miss my more fucked up fic about goofy FPS characters in a hat simulator, then I hope this part won't disappoint.

Have fun.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________



It had been a long, long drive back up to Minnesota, and Soldier felt exhausted. He trudged up the apartment stairs, up to his room. Taking the doorknob in one hand, he pushed the key in to unlock the door only to notice that the door was already unlocked. He scowled. There were two other people that had the keys to Soldier’s apartment. One was the landlady. The other…

He opened the door and stepped inside, bracing himself. His shoulders tensed and he could feel a sinking lead weight deep in his guts. A few paces in and he turned his head to see an older, muscular man sitting on the couch and reading a newspaper. My couch, Soldier thought. Reading my newspaper. In my apartment. That son of a bitch.

The man looked up and grinned. “Jane, there you are!” he exclaimed. “You certainly took your time coming back, didn’t you.”

“Hello, Johnny,” Soldier’s voice fell flat. He sneered at his older brother. “Why are you here?”

“I was dropping off your allowance for the week,” Johnny said, his voice tinged with false innocence as he looked at Soldier, hurt. “Also I wanted to check up on you. It’s been a while so long since we last talked.”

“Two months,” Soldier said, setting down his bag and walking into the kitchen. “Too soon.”

Johnny let out a hearty laugh, and got up from the couch. “Curt as ever, aren’t you?” He teased, and strode over to the frame of the kitchen entrance. “Aren’t you going to tell me how your little get-together went, or what?” He leaned on the frame with his elbow, watching as Soldier opened the fridge.

“Went fine,” said Soldier, taking out a carton of orange juice. “It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, Jane,” said Johnny. “You can’t just shut yourself off to your family like that. It’s not healthy. The doctors said you need to learn to be more open.” Johnny smirked as he said this. “You don’t want to go against doctors’ orders, do you?”

Soldier stopped shaking his orange juice carton and turned to glare at Johnny. “As a matter of fact,” he said, popping the top open, “I had a bit of a discussion down there with the Engineer.”

The smirk on Johnny’s face vanished, and his bright blue eyes narrowed, turning his gaze as cold and as frigid as a glacier. “Oh?”

It was Soldier’s turn to be smug. He put the carton to his lips and threw his head back, taking a long swig. He finished the carton off, crushed it with one hand and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. “Yeah,” he said. “About moving.”

Johnny let out a soft laugh. “Who’s moving?” he asked. “Not you.”

“Yes, me,” said Soldier. “He invited me to live with him. On his ranch. In Texas.”

“And whose idea was that?” Johnny scoffed. “Yours?”

“His,” said Soldier, point the crushed cardboard at his brother, “because I told him about you. And he’s my friend, and he cares about me, unlike you.”

“Don’t be stupid, Jane,” said Johnny. “You don’t have any friends. I’m the only one that can stand you. You must’ve threatened him into it.”

“I DID NO SUCH THING!” Soldier threw the carton to the ground at Johnny’s feet. “Those men I fought with are my friends. No, they’re my family. They’re more of brothers than you’ve ever been!” He stared Johnny down, his jaw clenched and his stance firm. Johnny was slightly taller than him, and though he had developed a paunch in his years of retirement, he still had arms like coiled pythons and years of army training and combat under his belt, not to mention that he had bested Soldier in physical combat before. Soldier stood his ground, though. He wasn’t going to be intimidated this time.

“Oh, Jane…” Johnny shook his head. “They may have put up with you, but they’ll never care about you like I do.” He pushed himself off the entrance frame and stood up straight. “If that engineer had to live with you, he’d hate you. Nobody can stand being around you too long. That’s why Mother left.”

“Shut up!” Soldier barked. “You’re lying! You always lie! You goddamned snake, you’re trying to trick me!” He resisted the urge to lunge at his brother, keeping his feet firmly planted in place.

“You just say I’m lying because you don’t like to hear the truth,” said Johnny, taking obvious relish in Soldier’s reaction. “You’re stubborn and you lie to yourself, Jane. You lie to yourself and then you lie to everybody else.”

“That’s not true!” Soldier hollered, his hands now balled into tightly clenched fists. “You’re the liar! You’ve always been the liar and if you don’t march your keister out of my house, right now, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Johnny interrupted. “Hurt me? You know what would happen if you did that, don’t you, Jane?”

Soldier cracked his knuckles with his thumb and stared at his brother, his eyes alight with pure hate; he looked as though he were trying to kill the man with his mind. “Leave,” Soldier said. “Now.”

“This… ‘friend’ of yours,” Johnny went on, completely ignoring his brother’s command, “the Engineer. You worked with him for two years on that… RED business, right?”

“Yes,” said Soldier, not taking his eyes off Johnny. “I did.”

“And he still invited you to stay with him.” Johnny shook his head and smiled. “I’d think I’d like to have a little talk with this man… if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” said Soldier. “He’s not going to believe anything you say to him.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Johnny, walking into the kitchen. Soldier’s feet were planted in place, and his head turned to follow his brother make his way to the cupboard. “So, this fella have a wife, or…?”

“He’s a widower,” said Soldier, watching as his brother took out a glass. “Has a teenage daughter.”

“Was she pretty?” Johnny asked, turning around to look Soldier in the eye.

“Uh…” Soldier stammered, shifting his weight a bit. “I… I guess so. Looked a lot like her mother.”

“I thought you said her mother was dead.”

“I saw pictures.”

“I see,” Johnny turned to the sink, turned on the faucet and filled the glass, not saying a word as he did this. Soldier was still as tense as ever, and he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Finally, Johnny turned around, and took a casual sip from his glass.

“Well, that figures,” Johnny said with a shrug.

“What figures?” Soldier asked, sneering.

“Oh, nothing,” Johnny slid past Soldier, just barely touching the man and causing Soldier to bristle like a spooked cat. “It’s just interesting… you wanting to move in with a man, not even paying any attention to his pretty young daughter…”

Soldier’s face flushed bright red, and he started to tremble. “Shut up.”

“Best two years of your life were in the company of eight other men…”

“So did-”

“Never once courted a woman…”

“I don’t-”

“Name’s Jane.”

“SHUT UP!” Soldier hollered, stamping his foot. “THAT’S NOT MY FAULT! I’M NOT QUEER! NEVER! YOU HEAR ME! IT’S YOU!” He pointed a finger at his brother. “YOU ARE, YOU… YOU BUTTFUCKING FAGGOT!”

“Don’t be stupid.” Johnny was nonplussed by this accusation. “I’m married and have children. I’m a decorated veteran. I even recycle. I’m a model citizen.”

“You’re a pervert,” Soldier snarled.

“And who would believe you?” Johnny asked. “You see things and hear voices. You talk to inanimate objects, like your little plastic shovel.” He watched as Soldier felt his back pocket for Shovel Jr. “You’re a sick boy, Jane. Nobody would believe you if you said that the sky is blue.”

Soldier muttered under his breath. “Engineer would believe me.”

“What was that?” Johnny closed in on his brother, starting to circle him like a hungry jungle cat. “What did you say?”

Suddenly Soldier found himself at a loss for a comeback. He felt his limbs go stiff, his muscles contract and tense, and he felt unlike a petrified tree as his brother brushed up against him.

“I said…” Johnny leaned in close, his lips barely touching Soldier’s ear, “what. Did. You. Say?”

Again, he said nothing in response. Soldier had faced down Nazi soldiers, he had killed bears, he had stared down rockets, he had charged head-first into flamethrowers and he had stuffed his own guts back into his stomach, but all of that was nothing to the terror he felt as his older brother breathed onto his neck.
“I didn’t say anything,” Soldier said.

“That’s what I thought.” Johnny was now in front of Soldier, slowly backing him up against the fridge. He looked down as Soldier bumped against the refrigerator door, and sprawled out against it, as though he were trying to become a part of it. He looked his younger brother up and down, and pressed his hand against the side of Soldier’s neck.

“You should be thanking me, you know,” he said, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. “I’ve done so much for you and I never get any thanks for it. I tried so hard, so very, very hard to make you a man, Jane. To get all the sissy out of you.”

Soldier nodded his head silently, looking far too eager to agree with him. He couldn’t help but feel a bit sick.

“I don’t know if it’s worked, though.” Johnny’s hand slid to Soldier’s throat, and he applied just enough pressure to make Soldier uncomfortable, make him squirm. “I don’t know, though. Sometimes I think you try too damn hard. Sometimes I think you try to overcompensate, like it doesn’t come natural. Like you’re making up for all the dresses Mother made you wear, making up for you having a girl’s name…”

At this point Soldier was trying to keep from gasping for air as more pressure was applied to his trachea. He wanted so desperately to punch Johnny, pummel his face into the floor. If it had been any other man that tried this on him, they would have been beaten to a fine pulp long before this point. But this was different. This was Johnny, the one man who knew him better than any other man alive. And this knowledge terrified him.

“You know what I think? I think you’re still just a pussy faggot.” Johnny was grinning wide now. “Are you a pussy faggot, Jane?”

Jane shook his head violently. “Sir, no, sir,” he croaked.

“You sure?” Johnny asked, drawing out the last word in a sing-song voice.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Jane choked, barely able to speak.

“Because I think you’re lying to me,” Johnny said, eyes narrowed. “I think you’re a pussy faggot. I think you might even have a pussy. Are you a woman, Jane?”

“Sir, no sir!”

“You have a pussy, Jane?”

“Sir, no sir!”

Johnny pressed his chest against Jane’s and his hand swung into Jane’s crotch, grabbing hold of his balls and squeezing them. Soldier let out a high-pitched wheeze, and he felt his legs turn to jelly and his stomach go weak. Yellow and blue spots blotted his vision. He wanted to puke.

“Don’t fuck with me,” Johnny whispered into Jane’s ear. “You think you can run away from me? Fuck off to Texas? Dump yourself on some poor egghead that feels sorry for you? Well, you think wrong. Just like when you thought you could kill me. Does he know about that?”

Jane nodded.

“He does?” Johnny said, his eyebrows arched in surprise. “Well then… I’d like to meet him. I’m sure we’d have quite an interesting discussion, don’t you agree, Jane?”

Again, Soldier nodded in a hasty, almost cartoonish fashion, trying his damndest not to squirm too much. Johnny finally released his vice grip on Soldier’s balls, and Soldier collapsed to his knees and dry heaved. Johnny turned and walked to the door, but before he opened it, he looked back at his brother.

“Your allowance is on your dresser. And clean this place up. It’s a dump.” With that, he opened the door and walked out, shutting it quietly behind him.

Soldier rolled onto his side and let out a low moan. He laid on the floor for a few minutes, trying to recover just enough to stand up. Eventually, he dragged himself upright and grabbed an ice pack from the freezer. Bowlegged, he made his way to the ratty, musty couch in his living room, pulled his pants down and put the ice over his aching balls.

You should tell Engineer, a little voice in his pants pocket said. He’ll help you.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Soldier grumbled. “Even if he did believe me… I can’t tell him. I can’t tell him about… about this.”

Maybe you should think about it, Shovel Jr. said. He wants to help you. He wants you to get better. Johnny’s just making everything worse.

“You don’t think I know that?” Soldier snapped. “Look at me!”

We need to get away from Johnny, one way or the other, said Shovel Jr. When you feel better we should give him a call. Set up the teleporter. Have him come here.

“Here?” Soldier looked around the room. Newspaper clippings were tacked up on the cracked walls, an American flag was hung over an ancient 20 year old television set, stacks of soup crates and empty take-out boxes were shoved against the wall. There was a pile of yellowing newspapers against the couch and copies of Guns and Haircuts placed in places that only would have made sense to Soldier himself. The shades on the windows were drawn but bent out of place and twisted, so light leaked through onto the floor in odd patterns and illuminated the dust that circulated in the air. The apartment itself smelled like cigar butts and old leftovers.

He won’t have to stay here long. We can get him to help. Maybe help you stand up to Johnny. You’re going to need a team to stand up to a bully like that.

“You really think so, Junior?” Soldier said, looking at the plastic beach shovel sitting in his discarded pants.

I believe in you, Jane,, Shovel Jr. chirped. Take your medicine before you call Engineer. Together we can take that big bully down a peg.

Soldier leaned over to pick up the toy shovel from his pocket, and clutched it to his chest. He took long, deep breaths and rocked back and forth as he cradled the toy. In his mind, he was nine years old again, hiding in the old barn that used to be his safe place so many years ago. He thought about the last time he had cried, in that barn as a boy and sprawled out on the hay, clutching straws in his fists and screaming.
He promised himself that he’d never cry again. It’d been 45 years since he promised that to himself and 45 years he’d kept it.

He was going to make sure that son of a bitch would never even try to make him cry again.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


In Bee Cave, Texas, a telephone rang. Rosie stopped doing her homework, got up off her bed and walked to the kitchen to answer it.

“Conagher residence,” she answered.

“Rosie?” a gruff voice on the other line asked. “Is your father in?”

“Yeah, daddy’s in the garage,” said Rosie, turning to look out the screen door. “Who is this?”

“It’s his friends, uh… Soldier. Sir. Jane. Listen, I need to talk with him. It’s… it’s important. Real important.”

I've never wanted to hug Soldier more than I do now. Knowing you, I'll want to hug him even more as this goes on, won't I?

So Johnny turns out to be a complete bastard and possibly a pedophile. Also a sadist. Big surprise, considering what info was given in Reunion.

"I'm married and have children."
Since when has that ever been proof of somebody's sexuality, Johnny?

In anycase, I really enjoyed reading this (and feeling really, really sorry for Soldier) and imagining Engineer building a level 3 Sentry which only has one target. Guess who.

Holy...I'm now tacked to my computer, awaiting the next chapter. Love how you write so well! The scene with Soldier talking to his plastic shovel was absolute brilliance.

I'll be anxiously awaiting the next part. You've just made my day.

I was actually properly whimpering as I read this, you sexy bastard.

Poor Jane, no wonder he's so messed up!

You never dissapoint. I personally love Shovel Jr. and really sympathize with Jane. I hope it all works out all right. I hope we'll get to see Heavy and Medic.

Also, if you've read Respawn of the Dead and that one Companion Tale (forgot name), compare Shovel to Shovel Jr. The parallels speak to me. Not literally, I don't hear voices from fanfiction.

>>20

I wrote both of those.

That'd be why.

I love Shovel Jr. with a love that puts other loves to shame. And I have never been more compelled to cuddle Solly.

No, I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to other readers. Sorry. Love your Pinkie Pie face. Don't stop making it. But I was talking to other readers. GEEZ, not everything is about YOU!

Please read that as sarcasm.

>>23
>>24

Doh ho ho ho ho.

I'll have you know that I read all of your tf2 fanfiction in a systematic manner and legitimately enjoyed all of them. Even Surrogate. Except the end.

...this chapter pulls my heartstrings in ways that I cannot even begin to describe. My mind is running rampant with all the things that could happen, good or bad, when Johnny and Engineer have their "chat."

I will readily admit, though, that my favorite mental scenario involves the whole team there and backing Engineer, unlikely as that is with how busy they each are with their own lives.

I also love Shovel Jr. a lot, especially how he's giving Soldier advice that's helpful and good, telling him that he'll need help standing up to Johnny and that Engineer wants to help him. And telling him to take his medicine! That part tickled me a bit.

I'm desperately curious as to what road lies ahead for him...and of course, the rest of the team as well.

tl;dr I love this fic and its predecessor quite a lot, and can't wait for more.

Genuinely upset and worried for Soldier. On another note I'm adding Shovel Jr. to my list of inspirational hero's. LOL.

I was hanging out naked and reading, like I usually do. Halfway through Jane's interaction with his brother, I had to go put some clothes on.

I got choked up at Sniper's wife leaving him, trust me, but it was Jane dealing with that nasty brother of his that made me not only burst into tears, but made my insides clench up in icy hot RAGE.
No one, and I mean NO ONE, makes my Soldier cry! Not EVER!
I don't care if this Johnny is 6ft2 400 lbs and I'm barely 5ft7 125lbs, bone is bone and a shotgun is a shotgun and I'm pretty DAMN sure that that jerkface son of a bastard whore isn't Superman.
...
Sorry, sorry, that was way too emotional, even for me. Bullies really, REALLY piss me the hell off.

>>29 This

You're really good at making people hate characters with abandon. That being said, Johnny is now my least favorite fictional person in existence. All the while through the dialogue, I was kinda wishing Jane would just shoot him and teleport back to Engineer's and live happily ever after.

Hi Cat Bountry, I’m leaving this comment here where hopefully you’ll see it, even though it’s a comment on all of your fics and not just this one. Yesterday was the first time I ventured outside of /afanfic/, when I stumbled on a link to your fic ‘Respawn of the Dead’ on TV Tropes and decided to give it a go. Four hours later, at 2 AM on a weekday, eyes stinging and screen blurring, I’d read everything you’ve posted to Dotchan and here, and I can’t believe I’ve been missing out for so long!

Your style is very different from my own, centred on and carried by dialogue instead of description – there are almost no adjectives in your fics, no descriptive metaphors or point-of-view commentary, and the omniscient narration prevents you from committing to a character, diving into their head and watching the story unfold from behind their eyes, feeling what they’re feeling. This usually makes for boring reading, and would here too if you weren’t so incredibly adept at constructing the supporting dialogue. And you are. You write the best dialogue I can remember reading, nailing that natural flow of a conversation, the eddies and flurries that make your stories perfectly realistic. In ‘Reunion’ I got the impression that you had simply placed a microphone on the table between the characters and recorded their actual conversation, then transcribed it verbatim with a few action fill-words. I’d expect it to be boring as hell, but it turned out to be the most captivating dramatic story I’ve ever read. Before reading ‘Reunion’ I would have scoffed at the idea of a dramatic TF2 fanfic taking place solely around a dinner table with nothing happening but the characters talking. Hell, even just ‘dramatic TF2 fanfic’ seems like a yawn-inducing concept. But you managed to pull it off in a way that kept me glued to the screen, and I have to take those words back. Dramatic TF2 is possible; for you, not only possible, but simply amazing.

And why so amazing? Because you have a perfect sense for characterisation. Your headcannon for these characters is very different from mine, not at all how I picture them in my head, but the way you write them so amazingly three-dimensionally, full of flaws and hurt and pain and ugliness, but still human – sometimes barely human after what they’ve suffered, but broken cringingly realistically – got to me in a way I haven’t experienced with other fanfics and rarely with published books. There are good stories and touching stories and sad stories, and then there are the stories that dig in like splinters under a nail and won’t let you go, the kind that get under your skin and make the hairs stand up on your arms, make you wince in sympathy with the characters and feel faintly sick, make you want to stop reading but you can’t. You write like this. Both ‘Respawn of the Dead’ and ‘Reuion’ stuck in my head after I turned off the computer, haunted me as I tried to sleep, nagged at the back of my mind all morning and now at work. I just can’t let them go.

This is not ‘good writing’. This is fucking brilliant.

This comment got way more tl;dr than I’d intended, but then your authorship deserves so much more than just another ‘MOAR’. If you made it this far, I have a last question for you, since it’s something that’s been bugging me since reading ‘Reunion’ yesterday this morning: In the very last part, the morning after the actual reunion, I thought Rosie’s introspective paragraph was hinting at her and Sniper having spend the night together – am I reading that right? I think I read that paragraph ten times, wondering if my ESL was making me misinterpret this sentence: ”She wasn’t sure if she could look him in the eye again, after last night.”

And if I am not misreading that, will this dramatic twist be touched on in ‘Afterwards’? Dun dun DUN.

God, I can’t wait to read the next chapter. I’ll just sit here and casually refresh the page every single fucking minute. Thank you so much for sharing your talent with everyone here at the chan, and please, if I may be so bold, please NEVER STOP WRITING! (I will now, though. Sorry for wordspam.)

>>32

Wow, this sure is pretty flattering. I was kind of worried Reunion might not have made the same impact as some of my more grimdark fics. Thank you for your kind words.

As for your question, Sniper didn't spend the night with Rosie, he slept in the living room on the floor. The "last night" referred to their conversation when he was in Rosie's bedroom and things got awkward.

>>33
You’re very welcome. I enjoy grimdark as much as anyone – I think that’s why ‘Reunion’ made such a lasting impression on me: it’s a type of fic I don’t usually read, but it caught me right from the start and swept me up, and I was surprised at how much I actually enjoyed it. Your writing style is perfect for this kind of fiction and, as I’ve already mentioned, you have a true talent for composing dialogue. Everything your characters are and think is right there in their conversations, speaking to the reader directly without an intervening narrative. It’s a very powerful and direct form of communication between me as a reader and your characters, and the way you let them speak for themselves is masterly handled and not something I’m used to seeing in fanfiction. Well done!

As for the interactions between Rosie and Sniper in ‘Reunion’, I guess my foreigner’s grasp of English did get in the way of me there. That paragraph, and the lines before it, would have been a perfectly sneaky way of inserting even more dramatic tension into the story and making for a big reveal in ‘Afterwards’, and with the way Rosie reacted, it seemed to me that there could have happened something between them off-screen, just hinted at. Maybe I’m just getting paranoid from reading all this drama. With how flawed your characters are, it wouldn’t have surprised me if it turned out that Sniper had reacted to Rosie’s naïve infatuation and his own growing frustration with his girlfriend and suppressed desire for someone youthfully spirited and full of life by going to her during the night, perhaps sleepless from thoughts of the day’s event and just needing someone to talk to, and without meaning to having seduced her into sleeping with him – only to realise the next morning how fucked-up it is to return an old friend’s generous hospitality by sleeping with his teenage daughter. His guilty feelings towards Rosie, Engineer and Moonchild/Samantha would have been why he’s acting all awkward and not meeting anyone’s eyes at the breakfast table, just looking into his cup and trying to hint at Rosie without saying it outright that it was a one-time mistake. And Rosie’s reaction the next morning, hopeful and embarrassed and for the love of god daddy can’t know about this EVER, just seemed to add to the suggestion that, well, something happened between them. Ah well, I apologise for reading too much into your stories – it made for a good brainfuck in any case.

Thank you for your reply and explanation; I’m eagerly awaiting more from you – grimdark or drama or poetry, I’m not picky!

>>34

I'm not quite that cruel.

Um, yes you are. But I never thought about what other Anon said before about that breakfast part. Please, pllleeaaaase tell me Rosie gave Sniper a blow job or he fingered her or something like that. Sniper wouldn't have full out sex with a teenager, but I could totally see her getting all over him in his sleepy state and him kinda allowing it to happen. Only to realize when it was over that he was like "Oh shit...".

>>36

Um... no.

God no.

That never happened please don't suggest that again.

>>36
Congrats, TeaCup, you just grossed out the person who wrote a fic where Heavy gives birth to and then eats a baby.

>>32
Psh. (S)he thinks (s)he's Cat Bountry's biggest fan. No. IT WAS ME ALL ALONG! It was me.

At first I was like Awww...and then I was like woo! I must be talented.

Yeah I guess that's a BIT too much, even for Sniper. Well, I'm still interested about the night in question between these two.

Anon 32 and 34 here.

Woah, I’m sorry if you found my question inappropriate, Cat Bountry! I didn’t mean to gross you out. I was reading the end of ‘Reunion’ at 2 AM, and between my exhausted brain and second-hand understanding of English (and the fact that you obviously enjoy fucking with your readers’ emotions and evoking the whole spectrum every few paragraphs, raising our hopes and crushing them again and making us cringe and laugh and smile and cry over and over) I really wasn’t sure what had happened off-screen. I read that paragraph and kept thinking, ’fuck, does she mean what I think she means? Did they...? What...? Argh!’, and I actually got genuinely upset because I’d come to care so much for these characters, and it would be soooo, soooo bad for so many reasons if something like that had happened between Rosie and Sniper. And after reading your fics, I have to agree with TeaCup: you could be that cruel, just to fuck with us. That’s why I had to ask you, because not knowing if I had read that right kept upsetting me when I thought about it (and as I said, your stories do stick in the mind for a long time). It broke my brain and broke my heart – which is actually quite impressive; I don’t usually experience this kind of powerful emotional reaction to fiction. So I was actually glad that I got that one wrong.

Then TeaCup came along and broke my brain all over again. But hell, we’re TF2chan – corruption of the innocent is what we do, right? And it doesn’t get much more oh god no than this, so now I kind of want to read it just to pick at that sick feeling I got when I thought they’d slept together. It’s like picking at a scab.

Oh well, I apologise for my misreading – I’ll just hang my head in shame and go back over to /afanfic/ the pit of depravity where I obviously belong.

I’d still totally read it, though. Hell, I’d even write it now if I didn’t think you’d ban me for it... The chan has destroyed what was once a decent human being here. Sorry.

I think this story is in fanfic and not afanfic for a reason...

F5 F5 F5 F5 F5 F5 F5 F5

What's that, Cat Bountry? Whip out every stereotype you know about 1970's New York? GOOD IDEA!

Here's the next part. Weh.

________________________________________________________________


Sniper was lying in bed, still wide awake. The size of Demoman’s house was generous to say the least, and they had an extra room to let Sniper sleep in. Sniper was certainly grateful for that. Most of the evening had been spent discussing their plans for the next few days, and now that Sniper was in bed, alone with his thoughts, the realization of being dumped sank in.

No, he wasn’t “dumped.” “Dumped” was a term you used when your high school sweetheart decided that she’d rather go for the barrel-chested rugby player than the gangly kid who couldn’t even grow a proper mustache. This felt closer to the divorce with his first wife, without the dragging out with lawyers and paperwork and judges. But his first wife never had a child with him. When she took the house and the furniture, it wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was as though the shackles that kept him chained to her were broken, and he was free. There was a similar feeling of that now, being free from a loveless relationship with a woman that he felt he had nothing in common with, but it was drowned out by one pervasive, reoccurring thought.

She took River.

He rolled onto his side. That was the lowest blow she could have possibly dealt him. That boy was the reason he’d stuck with her so long, and he suspected that she knew that. When he was born, and Sniper had first held that child in his arms, he’d promised himself that he would be a better father than his own; that he would be supportive of him, love him and make him feel wanted. He didn’t want River to resent him the way he resented his dad. Now Moonchild… no, Samantha, had gone and fucked that all up.

Thinking of the boy’s laugh, his smile, the way he jumped into Sniper’s outstretched arms whenever he came home… it made Sniper’s throat tighten. His fists balled up handfuls of sheets. She wasn’t going to get away with this, he resolved. She wasn’t going to take away the one thing that made him happiest, the one thing that he was proud of. He was going to get the boy back… somehow. Once they’d rescued Pyro, Sniper promised himself that he’d go and get River back. Giving Moonchild a few days, maybe a week to cool off might help. He could track her down, he was pretty sure he remembered the town where her parents lived, though he’d never met them. He didn’t want to lose that boy.

With this issue settled in his brain, he began to drift off to sleep.

_______________________________________________________________


The plane ride from Albuquerque to New York was a long, dull one. Demoman was lucky enough to sleep through most of it, snoring lightly and occasionally mumbling in his slumber, while Sniper found himself bored to tears and wishing he had brought a book. At least he had a window seat, and he could stare over the clouds and let himself daydream.

By the time the touched down at JFK International, Sniper was feeling restless. The sky over Queens was dull and grey, and as the two of them left the terminal they could hear announcements of flights being delayed and groans of disappointed travelers. As they retrieved their baggage, it was decided that their next destination would be in Manhattan to see a friend of Demoman’s. After that, they could find a hotel, and from there, they’d start their search. The two of them bypassed the car rental station and the swarms of yellow taxi cabs swarming the airport entrance like hundreds of drone bees on honeycomb.

“We’ll just take th’ subway,” Demoman insisted. “S’cheaper than a cab.”

“Cab’s safer,” Sniper pointed out.

Demoman laughed as he swung his luggage over his shoulder. “Wot’s th’ matter then, matey? Aussie from th’ Outback scared of a few punks?”

“Say what you want,” said Sniper, “but a crocodile will never shank you for drug money.” This caused Demoman to laugh even harder.

Sniper detested the subway. It was crowded, smelly, covered in graffiti and the cops patrolling the cars didn’t provide much of a sense of ease. He clutched his suitcase against his chest, more than aware he very much looked like a tourist. Not that he cared. The longer he was on the train, the more he remembered how much he didn’t care for the city. Demoman was much more relaxed, lounging in his seat and occasionally casting Sniper a glance and a smile. Bastard was enjoying this, Sniper thought. But he had to put up with it. He was doing this for Pyro, after all.

The subway cars squealed to a stop as they got off at Rockefeller Center and maneuvered their way through a crowd of slow-moving, slack-jawed tourists. From there, they trekked to the crowded and littered Times Square, alight with advertisements for Coca-Cola and XXX movie theater signs. The tourists made themselves obvious as they gaggled at the colors and lights above their heads as the natives shuffled along, gazing at their feet. Sniper just kept close to Demoman, following his friend as they made their way to a rather nondescript building, nestled between a pawn shop and an adult toy store. Demoman opened the door for Sniper, and they disappeared inside.

There was nothing on the first floor, just a bare, naked hallway and a stairwell. Sniper groaned as Demoman climbed them, and they dragged their luggage up the flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs was a hallway lined with doors, each one with opaque glass windows with white lettering marking them. Demoman opened the first door on the left, and walked into the office.

The secretary looked up from her desk as Demoman came in. She’d been flipping through a copy of Ebony, obviously bored, but was now alert and at full attention. “Oh! Mr. Degroot…”

“Patricia,” Demoman returned with a nod. “Been a while since I’ve seen ye. How’re ye doan, lass?”

She smiled. “Oh, same as always, Mr. Degroot, just taking things one day at a time.”

“That’s good tae hear, lassie,” said Demoman, flashing her a smile. “Is Stew in?”

“Yes, he is,” she leaned over to the intercom on her desk and pressed the call button. “Mister Jackson, Tavish Degroot is here to see you.”

“Tavish?” The voice on the intercom asked. “What’re you waitin’ for, girl, send him on in!”

“Go right on ahead,” Patricia said, gesturing to the office door. Sniper dropped his luggage by the wall and followed Demoman as his friend went in.

The office was somewhat cluttered, as film reels and stacks of screenplays were piled against the walls. The walls themselves were plastered with movie posters advertising the kind of low-brow shlock and action films that Demoman had worked on; a few of them actually were for movies that he could include on his resume. Standing behind a desk covered with paperwork and first drafts was a tall man wearing a plaid business suit and a wide smile. “Tavish, you son of a bitch,” he said, coming around the desk and opening his arms wide, “how the hell are you doin’, brother?”

“Stewie, ye giddy bastard,” Demoman said, and came in for a firm, manly embrace, “I’m doan’ jes’ fine. How’re ye?”

“Business is good, my man, business is good,” Stew replied, clapping Demoman on the back. He held his friend at arm’s length. “And I see you brought the notorious Mr. Mundy along.”

Sniper gave a curt nod. “Nice t’ see ya again, Stew.”

“And it’s good to see you again, Slim Jim,” said Stew, wrapping an arm around Sniper’s shoulder and pulling him in for a side hug. “Why don’t you two have a seat, and we’ll talk business.”

“Actually,” said Demoman, sitting in a chair across from the desk, “I’m not here fer business.”

“Oh?” asked Stew, sitting at his desk. “And what is it that I can do for you, Tavish?”

“We need a favor from ye,” said Demoman. Sniper sat down in a chair next to him. “If that’s not too much tae ask, a’ course.”

“A favor?” Stew leaned back I his chair. “Shit, you know I’m down for doin’ favors for friends. How can I help you fine gentlemen today?”

“We’re lookin’ for someone,” said Sniper. “Old friend of ours. They’re here in th’ city.”

Stew raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Thing is,” said Demoman, leaning onto his knee, “this friend of ours, he’s a bit of a recluse an’ a weird lil’ fella. Hid ‘is face from us th’ whole time we knew ‘im, wore a gasmask ‘e ne’er took off. We dinnae know ‘is real name, wot ‘e looks like. All we know is tha’ he’s here in New York, an’ he’s wanderin’ th’ streets homeless.”

“Uh-huh,” Stew laced his fingers and seemed to be taking this into consideration. “And how are you gonna go about doin’ this, exactly?”

“Wot I’m thinkin’ is that Sniper an’ I go aboot lookin’ at every homeless shelter we can, askin’ if anybody has seen someone with ‘is face covered up,” said Demoman. “Ye see, he called another friend a’ mine, an’ apparently he was able to gather that ‘e’s still hidin’ his face an’ he wos last seen in Harlem. That’s aboot all we got tae go on, really.”

“I’m wonderin’ what kinda friend you’d have that’d cover up his face an’ not even tell you his name,” said Stew. “That don’t sound any kind a’ normal, but then again, knowin’ you…” he let out a laugh, “if anybody was gonna be friends with a cat like that, it’d be the Black Scottish Cyclops himself.”

Demoman shrugged. “Well, aye,” he said. “But we used tae work together aboot eight years ago. He wos a strange lad, but ‘e wos a good friend. Hearin’ aboot him endin’ up on th’ streets… I cannae leave him on ‘is own, not without a roof o’er his head. Me conscience wouldn’t let me.”

“That sounds pretty heavy,” said Stew, steepling his index fingers. “So, how can I help you out, then?”

“Ye’ve got more connections than I do,” said Demoman. “More eyes lookin’ for ‘im means a better chance a findin’ ‘im. All I need from you is tae spread th’ word an’ get people lookin’ out fer a homeless fella with a covered face.”

“Is that all I’m gonna hafta go on?” asked Stew.

“Well,” said Demoman, tapping his chin as he thought, “let’s see… he’s aboot five foot seven, bit stocky lookin’…”

“Kinda shy,” Sniper butted in. “Keeps to ‘imself. Likes settin’ things on fire.”

“Aye, that,” said Demoman. “I’d bet he’d still have matches on ‘im at least.”

“Breathes real heavy,” said Sniper. “Mumbles a lot. Acts kinda like a big kid.” Stew was jotting down notes.

“An’ he’s dead crazy aboot Star Trek,” Demoman added. “An’ that’s aboot all we can tell ye.”

Stew let his pen drop, let out a slow sigh and shook his head. “Brother, I’d say you were lookin’ for a needle in a haystack, but you’d at least know a needle when you saw it.”

“I know this innit gonnae be easy,” said Demoman, “But anythin’ ye can do would help, anythin’ at all.” Demoman leaned further forward and clasped his hands together, resting his elbows on his knees. “Please, Stewart. Do this for me an’ I won’t be askin’ ye for favors again.”

“All right,” said Stew, nodding. “I’ll do this for you. I know some cats who might be able to help spread the word. Hell, I think if you put a reward out for information, we might be able t’ get somewhere…”

“Reward’s fine,” said Demoman, sitting up straighter. “I’ll pay wotever price tae git him back. How much ye think it should be? A thousand?”

“Whoa there, that’s a good chunk of change there, brother,” said Stew, running a thumb along the edge of his bushy mustache, “I’m thinkin’ five hundred would be more than enough, if we manage to get a bunch of cats givin’ us info.” He scribbled a few more notes down on his legal pad. “Don’t you worry about it, Tavish, I’ll see what I can do. Anything for a brother in need.”

“I cannae thank ye enough,” Demoman said as his face broke out into a wide grin. He shook Stew’s hand. “Really, I owe ye one fer this.”

“Don’t owe me nothin’ at all, Tav,” said Stew. “By the way… you cats got a place to crash tonight yet? I’m gonna assume you’re gonna be here for a while.”

“Not yet,” said Sniper. “We were gonna find a place…”

Stew held up a hand, cutting Sniper off. “Say no more, Slim Jim,” he said. “I know a place. Guy who runs it knows who I am.” He tore himself a fresh sheet off of his pad, and scribbled out an address, handing it off to Sniper. “Tell him you’re friend’s of Stew’s. He’ll know who you’re talking about. Trust me.”

________________________________________________________________


“You’re friends a’ Stewart’s?”

Demoman nodded. “Tha’s right.”

The short gentleman at the check-in desk pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I see… I’m a bit surprised he still remembers I exist…” He shook his balding head, and ducked down behind his desk to retrieve a rather dusty tome. He slammed on the desktop, and flipped open to the nearest blank page. “Sign in here for me, wouldja?”

Demoman picked up the pen that was tapered to the desk, and signed in, while Sniper looked over his surroundings. The hotel looked like it hadn’t been renovated since the 50’s at the very latest. The wallpaper was peeling, the dark wooden rails on the stairs appeared to be suffering from rot, and the place has a faint yet distinct odor that appeared to be a mix of mildew and whiskey. He could see why this was one of the cheapest places in Manhattan to stay.

The man at the desk clapped the book closed, sending up a cloud of dust. “All right, since you’re friends a’ Stewart’s, I can offer you a 15% discount per night. Keep in mind, I’m doin’ it because I’m amazed that shmuck even remembers that he used t’ work here.”

“Thank ye, sir,” said Demoman, still remaining friendly. Sniper was left to wonder how long Demo could keep up the façade.

“Here’s th’ keys to your room. You’ll be in 209.” The man behind the desk handed them off to Demoman. “If ya want, we serve cawfee an’ donuts at 6 AM ‘til 8.”

“We’ll keep tha’ in mind, thank ye,” said Demoman, picking up his bags.

“Say…” the man behind the desk asked, “Where are you from, anyway?”

“Oh, me?” asked Demoman, already heading up the stairs with Sniper tagging behind. “Scotland, mate.”

“Scotland,” the man repeated, rubbing his chin as Demoman and Sniper disappeared upstairs. “Didn’t even know they had blacks in Scotland…”

________________________________________________________________


After a brief phone call to Ilse and a thorough search in the yellow pages, it was back to the subways to begin their search. Their first stop would be in Harlem, where Pyro was seen last, and spreading out from there. On the subway, Demoman was already eagerly plotting out their journey in ballpoint pen on a map, talking to Sniper all the while. Sniper’s attention drifted after a while, and settled on a drifter that had fallen asleep in the far corner of the car. Their face wasn’t visible, and their back was turned towards all the other passengers. Sniper leaned forward, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of something, anything, that might hint at this being Pyro. No such luck.

He stood up, causing Demoman to stop talking and merely look at Sniper in confusion. Sniper walked past the other passengers, all of them absorbed in their newspapers or books or conversation, and approached the drifter in the corner. The rank smell of body odor, stale urine and alcohol stung his nostrils; he never recalled Pyro being one to drink, but then again, he could imagine it wouldn’t be a hard habit to pick up.
Cautiously, he extended a hand to the body on the floor, and took hold of their shoulder. He turned them over gently, rolling their body so their face was visible.

It was a man, his black beard flecked with gray and his eyes glazed over. He opened his eyes, and blinked as he looked up at Sniper. “I’m not botherin’ nobody,” he said, voice slurred with inebriation. “Whatchu want, man?”

“I’m sorry,” Sniper said, retracting his hand. “I thought ya might’ve been somebody I know.” He stood up straight, and turned around, his face flushed with embarrassment. He walked back to sit down with Demoman, as the man in the corner mumbled something incoherent after him. Sniper clasped his hands together and tucked them between his knees, looking at the floor.

“Donnae git yet hopes down,” said Demoman. “We’ve still got plenty a’ time.”

“Yeah,” said Sniper. “Plenty…”

________________________________________________________________


“Covered from head to foot?”

“Aye, he wouldn’t show ‘is face tae anyone. Does tha’ sound familiar at all?”

The man rubbed his bearded chin. “Come to think of it… I’m pretty sure I’ve seen your guy in here a couple times before…”

“Really?” Demoman nearly jumped. “Ye haven’t seen ‘im recently, have ye?”

“Not since at least two weeks ago, no,” the man said. “I mean, I’ve seen him, but he’s not exactly one of our regulars here.” He turned to look at the dining hall, where a large number of people, all homeless and down on their luck, were having their evening meal. The hall itself was illuminated by harsh florescent lights that seemed to highlight the ugliness of the linoleum on the floor. “Usually I like to get to know everybody we help out, but that guy… I approached him once, didn’t say a word. I thought he might have been deaf at first, or maybe just mute. Wouldn’t even eat at the tables with everybody else. Went and crouched in a corner with his back towards everybody. He’d start to panic if you got to close while he was eating.”

“Sounds like Pyro,” said Sniper, crossing his arms. “Never ate meals with everyone when he wos workin’ with us, either.”

“‘Pyro,’ huh?” the man asked, running a hand through his reddish, bushy hair. “Around here, we always called him The Invisible Man, just ‘cause of how he’s always covered up like he is.”

“Is there anythin’ else ya know about ‘im at all?” Sniper asked. “Anythin’ at all, mister…”

“Just call me Danny,” he said. “Everybody else does.”

“Danny, then,” said Sniper. “Anything?”

Danny sighed, and dusted off his apron. “Well… he never sleeps here, and whenever I see him, he’s got a shopping cart he’s always pushing around. Really protective over it. Somebody once suggested he sell some of his stuff and he punched them.”

“Christ,” said Demoman, shaking his head. “Well, if ye see ‘im again, gimme a ring at this number.” He handed Danny a scrap of paper. “Top number’s me hotel room. Bottom one’s a friend a mine if ye cannae reach me.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” said Danny. “Good luck, man.”

_______________________________________________________________


The rest of the afternoon and evening was roughly the same as far as progress on finding Pyro went; most homeless shelters had seen him a few times, but he never showed up regularly, sometimes not making an appearance for months. Very little new information was gathered aside from observations of Pyro’s many quirks. Once the sun went down, Demoman decided that it would be best if the two of them head back to their hotel for the evening. Sniper had no qualms against this, and the two of them went back on the subway.

While riding back to Manhattan, a young man with a ghetto blaster boarded the train, ignoring the glares he received from some of the other passengers. He stood and held onto one of the poles, seemingly off in his own world as he bobbed his head to the beat. Sniper cast a glance at the young man, wondering why the song he was listening to seemed to be using the riff from “Fame.”

“That was James Brown, with his single ‘Hot (I Need to Be Loved Loved Loved Loved),’” the disc jockey on the radio crooned in a sultry, purring tone. “I think we can all relate to that, can’t we? We all need to be loved, loved, loved, loved.

“I wanted to take a few minutes from our broadcast to ask all of you cats out there in Radio Land to be on the lookout for a very mysterious individual…” she continued, “one mystery man who might not even want to be found. Our own famed director and film producer Stew Jackson has put out a $500 reward on any information provided on the whereabouts of a 5’7” homeless person covered from head to foot in clothes, with not an inch of skin showin’ at all.”

Demoman nudged Sniper. “Ya hear that? I told ye he’d come through fer us!”

“This person answers by the nickname ‘Pyro,’ and we’re hopin’ to make this topic as hot as their handle. Be sure to give us a ring at this station if you’ve got the skinny, but remember… if you’re just lookin’ for quick cash just to spout off some bull, honey, we will know…”

“Bloody brilliant!” Demoman exclaimed, and clapped Sniper on the shoulder. “We’ll find ‘im in no time, jes’ you wait!”

“That’s assumin’ he wants t’ be found,” said Sniper. “Suppose he heard that an’ goes hidin’?”

“Don’ be daft, boyo,” Demoman said. “I know ‘e donnae wan’ tae sleep in th’ streets any more’n anybody else would.”

“F’you say so, mate,” Sniper sighed.

Demoman leaned forward and studied his friend. “‘Ey, why th’ long face, eh?”

“S’nothin’,” Sniper insisted, turning his head away.

“Dinnae lie t’ me, Mundy, if yer face were any longer ye’d be able tae sweep th’ floor with it,” said Demoman. “Still upset about yer little ole’ lady, aye?”

Sniper muttered something incomprehensible.

“Fret not, Mundy, ‘cos ole’ Tav has yer back!” Demoman patted Sniper roughly between his shoulder blades, nearly sending Sniper out of his seat. “Wot you need is tae have a good time an’ a good drink, leave yer troubles behind! An’ lucky fer you, I know jes’ th’ place tae go!”

“I thought we were headed back to th’ hotel,” said Sniper.

“Hotel’ll still be there! Trust me on this, would ye?”

Sniper sat up a bit. He wasn’t much in the mood to go out on the town, but maybe Demoman was onto something. The idea of leaving the gloomy thoughts of not being able to find Pyro, or how he was going to get back his son appealed to him.

At the very least, there couldn’t be any harm in it, right?

“Fine,” Sniper said. “Where’re we headed then?”

“Ye’ll see soon enough,” said Demoman. “It’ll be a surprise.”

________________________________________________________________


This wasn’t like most upscale dives, which made themselves showy with their colorful, light-up floors and disco balls that reflected millions of simmering daubs of electric light; the floor was bare and hardwood, the place smelled like malt liquor and cologne and sweat, and the rhythmic but funky bass thudded in every ribcage in the joint. As Sniper and Demoman walked down the stairs leading to the dance floor, they could see a ring of people circling a bare spot on the floor, where young men spun and kicked and twirled in something that was called “break dancing.”

Demoman knew everybody here, it seemed. When he came down the stairs men looked up and called out to him by name, and Demoman called back. There were hands clasping together into hugs, and a few people started to recognize Sniper as well, calling him by an assortment of nicknames: Slim, Outback, Ozzie, Kangaroo Jack, Shrimp-on-the-Barbie and Down Under to name a few. Sniper was polite enough, he recognized some of the people there, but the crowd around him was starting to suffocate him. He excused him, and slipped into the crowd, heading over to the makeshift bar.

He wasn’t fond of crowds, but blending into them was easier than being the center of attention. Sniper became a chameleon in a sea of brown bodies and faces, hardly noticed by anyone until he made his way to the bar. There were no stools, and the overworked bartender was simply handing out bottles of liquor and spraying beer into red plastic cups from a keg. There was no real line, but if one managed to get to the front first and handed the bartender a 75 cents, they’d get their beer or a 40 oz and then have to squeeze their way out of the crowd.

Sniper had managed to get himself a beer, and made his way to stand against the wall and watch as other people danced. He’d just about finished his cup when he heard someone calling out “Hey, you!” It took him a moment to turn his head, not sure if it was him they were calling out to.

A woman on the dance floor waved to him. “Hey, Wallflower!” she called out. Her friends were laughing, and Sniper shifted against the wall uneasily as he gestured to himself. “Yeah, you!” she said. “You wanna dance?”

“All right,” he said, and found himself walking towards her. What was he doing? He didn’t dance. And yet, he was drawn to her, like a magnet to a mother stone, and she started to sashay towards him, waving her hips as they gradually closed the space between them.

“What’s your name?” she asked over the sound of the disc jockey scratching the records on purpose.

“Bruce,” he said.

“What?”

“Bruce,” he said, louder. “Wot’s yours?”

“Angela,” she said with a laugh. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No,” he said, “I’m from Australia.”

“Australia?” she asked. “I thought everybody from Australia was buff an’ had a mustache.”

“Not all of us are so lucky,” said Sniper with a smile.

“You’re not a bad dancer,” she said. Sniper looked down to see that without even realizing it, he was keeping up with her and moving seamlessly with the beat. “You come here often?”

“Came with a friend,” he said. “First time here.”

“Why don’t you buy me a drink, Bruce?” she asked.

He did, and he bought himself another drink. And another. And another. He wasn’t sure how many drinks he’d bought for both of them, things began to get fuzzy. He didn’t know where Demoman was, and he didn’t much care at this point. She was getting closer to him, touching him, complimenting his voice and his face and his accent. American girls did love his accent. She took him by the hand, lead him off to some secluded area away from the crowds, where it was dark and the music was muted and soft but the bass could still be felt. They started to kiss, and from there things started to smear into a blur; a push against the wall, a grope of her dark breast, his hand moving up her thigh and underneath her skirt to get bothersome panties out of the way… moaning, grunting, gasping, pushing…

It had been all of a few minutes, really, but it had felt longer. When it was over, she reached for her purse and took out a pen and a scrap of paper, and gave him her number. He smiled, and took it, putting it in his wallet. Then he zipped himself back up and staggered back out to the floor, and eventually found

Demoman again, and slumped over him.

“You were right,” he said. “I feel great. So much better now…”

Demoman laughed. “Christ, yer pissed. How much ye drink?”

Sniper looked at his hands, and attempted to count on his fingers. Was it five? Six? Maybe seven? “Lots.”

“Tha’ makes two of us, then,” he said, wrapping an arm over Sniper’s shoulder.

“… I think I need t’ lie down,” said Sniper, leaning on Demoman a bit too hard. “Need t’ go back… to th’ room…”

“We’ll git a cab, then,” said Demoman. “Donnae worry, lad, I’ve got yer back.”

As promised, a cab was waiting for them outside about 25 minutes later, and the two of them sat in the back, laughing over nothing in particular and singing drinking songs, much to the chagrin of the cab driver. He was much less annoyed when they pulled up to the hotel and Demoman paid him with a generous tip.

When they finally got to their room, Sniper immediately flopped onto his bed face first and stopped moving.

“Ye all right, lad?” Demoman asked.

“I’ll be fine,” said Sniper. “Just fine.”

“Good tae hear.” Demoman fell back onto his own bed.

“… I made it with a bird,” Sniper announced, his eyes closed and his face half-smooshed into his pillow.

“Aye?” asked Demoman, turning his head towards Sniper. “Ye lucky bastard. Wos she cute?”

“Yeah. Really pretty,” Sniper mumbled. “Can’t b’lieve I did that…”

“Ye prolly needed it,” said Demoman. “After everythin’…”

“Yeah…” said Sniper. “After everythin’…”
And then he passed out.

Reads TeaCup's comment ... ...
The fucking world sometimes I swear.

Ooh, update! I am happy.

Nice to see Sniper's resolved to get River back. And perhaps getting over the 'divorce'. I'm not sure if announcing a reward for Pyro would be a good idea. I can just imagine unscrupulous people doing something nasty to him, like tying him up or putting him in a sack so he doesn't run. And frankly, I think anybody would freak if I heard there was a reward for finding me. I'd think there was a mafia boss after me or something. :P

I blame my outlook on the world cause of Cat. So don't even pretend.

Anywho. Great chapter. Sniper acts like me when I'm in New York. I don't want to go on the subway and I want everyone to stay away from my luggage.
Cheers until your next update.

"So don't even pretend."

Y U NO BELIEVE IN IMAGINATION?

Ah yes. I was excited to see there was more of this. I'm all a-quiver waiting to find out what happened to Pyro, and now I'm just... I am so emotionally invested in Sniper getting his son back.

... Also, and I'm not proud of this, I may have burst into 'Bruce's Philosophers Drinking Song' while reading... May have.

Wonderful writing. I'm simultaneously hoping that Pyro's found, River's recovered, and Johnny gets punched in the face.

>>13

Something just occurred to me about the Johnny/Jane chapter and them both accusing eachother of being gay. Remember that bit in "RoTD: How Heavy Met Medic" ?

"[Soldier] knew what queers did to people. They could look like anybody, anybody at all… they could live in your home and pin you on your bed and touch you and threaten to kill you if you dared squeal to your mother like a girl… or so he had heard."

Could this be Johnny?

I hope Sniper gets River back!

Great read by the way

that was wonderful! i can't wait to read more! :D
oh man you got me excited!!! >w<
you write so wonderful, i could really picture it in my head :)

>>50

Mmmmmmmmmm, it's a possibility.

>>52

Keep typing those emoticons out and you've got an underage b& coming your way, young lady.

I am monitoring this story, mostly because I am worried about Pyro. Poor thing is really the least suited member of the team for life on the "outside", and I don't think many "after the war" stories give him much of even a passing glance.

More please.

I love where you're going with this. Although, to be honest, I want to punch Soldier's brother in the dick.

A lot.

(Maybe Shovel Jr should do it)

Someone get their ass over to to Cat's tumbler and beta her next chapter right now! I would do it, but I have the spelling level and grammar etiquette of 4 year old who had to repeat the 1st grade.

I don't do tumbling, so I emailed her. I hope it gets through.

I GOT A BETA SO I CAN UPDATE NOW YAAAAAYYYYYYY.

Here's part four.

__________________________________________________________________

The car lurched to a halt by the curb in front of a white picket fence. The fence surrounded a rather large but otherwise unassuming pastel-colored house, one that looked very much like all the other pastel-colored houses in the cul-de-sac.

Soldier parked the car and turned to his passenger, a somewhat nervous Engineer. It had been two days since Soldier made the call to his friend, and it had been decided this meeting would wait a few days before the Texan teleported over into Soldier’s living room. Neither of them talked much on the drive over, Engineer having given up after his attempts at small talk had fallen flat over Soldier’s one-word answers.

“Awfully nice place he’s got,” said Engineer, looking out the window. He received only a grunt from Soldier in response.

Engineer opened the car door and stepped out, straightening the string tie around his neck. As he closed the door, he noticed that Soldier hadn’t moved at all. He walked around to the other side and tapped on the glass. “Aren’t you comin’ in?”

Grumbling, Soldier rolled down his window to glare at Engineer. “No,” he said. “No, I am not.”

“You’re jus’ gonna wait out here in th’ car, then?” Engineer asked, concerned.

“I’ll be fine, Engie,” said Soldier. “Just watch yourself while you’re in there, all right? Don’t believe a goddamned word that weasel says to you. Promise me that, Engie.”

“Well, I don’t know about-”

“Promise.”

“Jane, I know you well an’ I wasn’t born yesterday,” said Engineer. “I’m not gonna let him lie t’ me. I swear it.”

After looking Engineer up and down, Soldier gave a satisfied nod. “All right,” he said. “Just don’t take too long. I hate it here.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” said Engineer, patting Soldier on the shoulder. “Everything’s gonna work out jus’ fine. Wish me luck.” With that, he walked back around the car, and headed for the gate.

As soon as he opened it, he was greeted by the furious barking of a dog. He jumped at the noise, and looked up to see a very large, very angry Doberman on a chain, yanking on the stake that tethered it down. Engineer kept his distance, not taking his eyes off of the animal as he side-stepped his way to the front door and rang the bell.

The dog continued to bark and snarl at him, thick drool flying from its mouth as it strained against its collar, which was digging into its muscular neck and nearly choking it. Engineer backed against the door and wondered what was taking them so long to answer. There was a car in front of Soldier’s, surely someone would arrive before this bulging-eyed beast tore him to pieces…

The door opened a bit and Engineer whirled around to see a short, mousy woman wearing wide-framed glasses that magnified her already doe-like eyes. Engineer straightened his posture.

“Good afternoon, ma’am, uh… would you be Missus John Doe?” The dog was still barking.

“Yes,” she said, her voice soft and nervous. “But if you’re selling something, we don’t want any.”

“Oh, no, no, no, I’m not here for anythin’ like that,” said Engineer, trying to chuckle. “I’m a friend of your husband’s brother. I was supposed t’ come by an’ just have a chat with him about yer brother-in-law.”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes widening. “Come on in.”

She opened the door wider and let Engineer inside. He removed the ten gallon hat from his head and placed it over his chest as he looked around the house.

It was spotless. The hardwood floors shone as though they’d just been cleaned, the banister and the coat-rack were dusted and polished, and the rug on the floor didn’t seem to have actually had feet walk on it. He followed Mrs. Doe into the den, which was furnished with a pair of dark leather armchairs and home to multiple trophy cases, framed photographs of someone who Engineer assumed to be Mr. Doe shaking hands with very important people, including President Truman. Engineer let out a whistle of awe.

“Jonathan will be down shortly,” Mrs. Doe said, hovering in the doorway.

“Much obliged, ma’am,” said Engineer. “What’s your name, by the way?”

Mrs. Doe looked confused as she stopped turning. “Miriam,” she said quickly.

“Miriam,” Engineer repeated, “my name’s Dell Conagher. Pleasure t’ meet you, ma’am.” He extended a hand to her and she looked at it warily, as though not sure what to do with it. She gave him her own hand, and gave him a rather weak shake and a nod and then she left.

Engineer sat down in one of the chairs, and found himself overwhelmed by the rich scent of fresh leather. This room felt like a shrine with its encapsulated football trophies, framed newspaper articles, well-stocked liquor cabinet and big-screened television propped up on a pedestal. Most of the photos seemed to be of Jonathan himself or young men he assumed to be his sons. There were very few family photos, and those that were there seemed to be missing Miriam. “Well, ain’t that curious,” Engineer mumbled to himself.

“Mister Conagher?”

He looked up to see a tall, muscular man who bore a passing resemblance to Jane. He had a handsome face, the face of a man who would have been the star player of his high school football team a long time ago and the jaw of a classic Hollywood action star. Engineer stood up at attention, still holding his hat.

“That’s me,” he said, trying to smile as he outstretched his hand. “And yer Johnny?”

“John Doe,” he corrected, and gave Engineer a strong, two-handed shake, causing the shorter man to wobble. “Only Jane calls me ‘Johnny.’ It’s good to meet you, Dylan.”

“It’s Dell, actually,” Engineer replied.

“Of course, of course,” said Johnny, sitting down in a chair. “Make yourself at home, Dell, have a seat.” He gestured to the chair across from him with a sweep of his arm.

“Much obliged,” said Engineer, sinking into the chair and placing his hat on his lap. “I’m sure you know why I’m here today…”

“You wanted to talk about Jane,” Johnny said, reclining back in his seat. “I’m to understand you consider him a friend?”

“Well, yes,” said Engineer, folding his hands over the hat in his lap. “We used t’ work together several years back, and all of us that were workin’ together, well… we became somethin’ of a family. Bit of a dysfunctional family, I suppose, but still family.”

“So why hadn’t you decided to meet up again until recently?” Johnny leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on laced fingers.

“Well, mostly it… it took a while t’ get in touch with everybody, I guess, an’ we all had our own lives t’ be dealing with.” He shifted in his seat, and sat up straighter. “I wish I’d a’ done it sooner, really. But I didn’t know about how bad Soldier was doin’ until he came over t’ visit…”

“You think he’s doing badly?” Johnny raised his eyebrows.

“Well, I was just at his place, an’, well… I guess he could be doin’ a lot better,” Engineer let out a nervous chuckle. “Livin’ on his own in that apartment doesn’t seem t’ be what’s best fer him, I think. I figure if he’s in a more positive environment where he’s able t’ keep himself occupied an’ busy instead of bein’ cooped up inside all day, I think that’d be healthy for him.”

Johnny leaned back in his chair. “I see.”

“I guess what I’m sayin’ is that I think a change of scenery would be good for him,” said Engineer. “It’s not that I don’t think you got his best interests in mind, I just think maybe I could take him off yer hands for you… give ya one less thing t’ worry about…”

The low sound of laughter interrupted Engineer’s train of thought. Johnny shook his head, still smiling, and looked back up to Engineer. “Oh, dear… Jane hasn’t told you a bunch of tall tales about me, has he?”

“He’s told me enough to indicate that he’s not happy with his current living situation,” Engineer said, choosing his words deliberately. “I’m not here t’ comment on th’ relationship between you an’ yer brother. I jus’ wanna get Soldier some help, is all.”

“He has more than enough help here,” said Johnny, speaking in a very matter-of-fact tone. “He has his doctors here, they check in on him regularly, and I give him enough money to spend per month on whatever he needs.”

“But that’s from his own savings, though,” Engineer noted. “That’s th’ money he earned while we were workin’ together.”

“It is,” said Johnny, settling his arms on the armrest. “But the doctors and I have concluded that giving him free access to it might result a repeat of his flight to Poland, or maybe something worse… point is, we’re just not convinced that he can handle himself responsibly.”

“Well, have ya jus’ tried talkin’ to him?” Engineer leaned forward in his chair and gripped the rim of his hat. “He’s not completely unreasonable. You just gotta talk to ‘im like ya would anybody else, not talk down to ‘im; be firm but not pushy.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.” Johnny chuckled in amusement.

“I have,” said Engineer. “An’ I think I might’ve managed t’ get through to ‘im. He’s difficult t’ deal with, but not impossible. He really does seem to appreciate bein’ talked to on an equal level.”

“Oh, you poor, poor man.” Johnny shook his head. “You really have fallen for it, haven’t you?”

“Fallen for what?” Engineer tensed up in his chair.

“You’ve set yourself up to get bitten in the ass,” said Johnny, standing up from his chair. He walked over to Engineer, and stood over him, leaning on the back of the chair with his forearm. “You go too soft on him and he’ll start pushing your boundaries as far as he can go. Jane’s never been able to appreciate kindness, Dale…”

“It’s Dell,” Engineer corrected, sinking further into the leather.

“Dell, right,” said Johnny, walking around the back of the chair before leaning on the other side. “Listen. There’s only one thing that Jane’s ever been able to respond to, and that’s authority. He’s like a dog, Dell. You can’t be a dog’s best friend and expect them to listen to you. You’ve got to be their master.”

Engineer could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and barely suppressed a shudder. “I’m not sure I like what yer implyin’, sir. Yer brother ain’t a dog.”

“Of course he’s not,” said Johnny, laughing a bit, “but he is sick. And you can’t treat people that are sick in the mind like you can everybody else, especially if they’re as violent as Jane. I don’t suppose he told you about how he tried to kill me.”

“Actually,” said Engineer, sitting up straighter, “he did. He didn’t go into much detail, but he did say that’s why he was in that institution.”

“Really?” Johnny asked. “He didn’t tell you why he tried to kill me, did he?”

“He didn’t tell me that, no,” said Engineer, tightening the grip on the brim of his hat. “I didn’t think it was my place t’ ask, really.”

“And he wouldn’t have told you, anyway,” said Johnny. He walked past Engineer’s chair and over to the liquor cabinet, opening the glass door. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I, uh… I think I’ll be all right, thanks.” His stomach was flip-flopping enough that he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to keep it down anyway.

“Your loss,” Johnny said as he reached for a bottle of scotch. “But as I was saying, Dill…”

“Dell, sir.”

“Dell,” Johnny corrected himself, “as I was saying, I wouldn’t have expected him to tell you why he attacked me. That would be because…” he unscrewed the cap, grabbed a glass and poured himself a drink, “… it was over our mother.”

“Your mother, sir?” Engineer asked.

“Yes, our mother,” said Johnny, setting the bottle down and swirling the liquid in his glass. “I usually don’t discuss family business to people outside of the family, but I think if you’re honestly wanting to take Soldier in, you should know what you’re in for.”

“I lived with Soldier for two years when we worked fer RED,” said Engineer. “I’ve got a good idea what I’m in for.” He started to stand up from his chair.

“Sit down, Dell.” Johnny gestured him to get back in his seat. “Please.”

Wary, Engineer slowly set himself back in his seat. He didn’t take his eyes off of Johnny once.

“As I was saying,” Johnny continued, “this was over our mother. I’d just gotten news that she’d passed and I decided to have Jane over to break the news to him.”

“Oh,” said Engineer quietly. “Were they close?”

“He hated her,” said Johnny, and he took a sip of his scotch. “Resented her ever since we were children. Our mother was sick too, really. Alcoholic. Depressed. She was always hardest on Jane, though. When she left us, Jane always felt like he was the one responsible… sad, really.”

“That’s terrible,” said Engineer, wringing the rim of his hat. “I didn’t know…”

“I wouldn’t have expected you to,” said Johnny. He started to pace the room, looking up at his various photographs and trophies. “Neither of us like talking about our family.”

“I might regret askin’ this…” said Engineer, rubbing the back of his neck, “… but what was it, exactly, that prompted Jane to… assault you like that?”

“The fact that I said he should show up to her funeral,” Johnny said with a shrug. “We… got into an argument over it. It was pretty heated. My brother and I, we grew up in the Midwest during the Depression with an alcoholic mother and a shell-shocked father who never got over the Great War. It wasn’t easy for either of us, you have to understand. A lot of… family drama while we were growing up. It all came to a head that night and Jane had one of his episodes…”

“Episodes?” Engineer asked.

“Oh, you know how he is,” said Johnny, turning to face Engineer. “I’m sure you’ve seen it, when he gets so angry all he can do is scream and starts going berserk. It’s funny, you know. We have Scandinavian ancestors.” He chuckled a bit, and took another sip of his scotch. “Maybe that’s where he gets it, you know? Channeling a Viking berserker.”

“I… I’ve only seen him like that when he was fightin’ people already,” said Engineer. “He never turned on any of us like that. Not even the fellas he fought with most.”

“Guess you got lucky,” said Johnny. “As long as I’ve known him, he’s done it several times to me and other people… though the last time he did it, the time that landed him his latest stint at the hospital… that was the worst. I mean…” Johnny gave Engineer an odd smile and laugh, “my boys were there. They saw their uncle trying to kill their old man. It’s thanks to them that I managed to get away with as few injuries as I had.”

Engineer squirmed in his seat. “Would it be too intrusive to ask what exactly happened t’ make him wanna put the hurt on you so badly?”

Johnny’s eyes narrowed and he stared at Engineer for a moment before knocking back the rest of his glass. “Listen, Dan…”

“My name is Dell-”

“I know you think Jane’s your friend and all, but do you think you could talk him down when he’s got a thirst for your blood?” Johnny started to walk towards Engineer’s chair. “You think a man in that state would listen to reason? You think you can subdue a man who’s reduced to being a rabid animal running on adrenaline and hallucinations?” He gripped the armrests of the chair just short of Engineer’s hands and leaned over the small man. “You think you can handle that?”

“You know,” Engineer said as he looked Johnny in the eye, “I’m beginnin’ t’ think that whatever you said t’ Jane t’ make him try an’ attack you like that was bad enough that you might a’ had it comin’.”

The two of them stared at each other for a bit, their eye contact solid and unflinching, until Johnny let out a loud, wheezy laugh. He stood up straight over Engineer, and wiped his eyes. “Oh, wow,” he said, as he walked a few paces away, “I think I touched a nerve there, didn’t I?”

“You certainly did,” Engineer leaned forward in his chair, resting his arm on his knee. “Jane told me that I shouldn’t believe anythin’ you say, an’ I’m gettin’ the distinct feeling that you’re definitely keeping information from me, aren’t you?”

“Any information I’m keeping from you is none of your business to begin with,” said Johnny. “I don’t have to tell you a goddamned thing. Hell, I didn’t even have to meet with you. I could have let Hagar loose on you and I would have been totally justified in doing so.” He smirked as Engineer scowled at him harder. “Jane’s my brother. I know him better than you ever could. I’m the only one he takes orders from and I’m the only one who can keep him on a leash. He’d rip your arms off as soon as you turned your back.”

“That ain’t true an’ you know it,” said Engineer. He stood up from his chair. “He’s frightened of you. I ain’t ever seen him scared a’ nobody in the entire time I knew him except you, and that man is terrified.”

“It’s the only way he knows how to keep in line,” said Johnny, shrugging. “Or do you honestly think that coddling him and playing nice is going to work?”

“You ever try it?” asked Engineer.

“I know better,” said Johnny. “Jane only knows discipline and obeying orders. You go soft on him, and then you do something he doesn’t like, he will trample over you and he will rip you to shreds if he thinks he has any kind of power over you.”

Engineer crossed his arms. “That right?”

“Of course,” said Johnny, leering at Engineer. “Like I said, I know him better than you.”

“Well,” said Engineer, “You may think you do, but while we were with Jane out in th’ middle of th’ desert, all of us learned t’ function as a team, as a unit.” He started to approach Johnny. “That includes your brother. By th’ time our contracts were up, we were workin’ together like cogs in a well-oiled machine. We had to, if we had any chance out there. All nine of us worked together an’ we all contributed.”

“Sounds like communism,” said Johnny, rubbing his chin.

“It was a democracy, sir,” said Engineer, stopping in front of Johnny and looking up to him. “It may not have been perfect, but I think Soldier was healthier out there than in that apartment bein’ controlled by you.”

“You just called him Soldier,” Johnny remarked.

Taken aback, Engineer recoiled a bit. “I, uh… that was his, uh, class title…”

“No,” said Johnny. “He wasn’t a soldier. He was never a soldier. All that job did was let him play pretend for two years, just like he did when he was in Poland. Only difference is that he got paid for it.”

“Sir, I-”

“He doesn’t deserve to be called a soldier!” Johnny’s voice became louder, and he loomed over the shorter man. “He was kicked out of every goddamned branch of the military! He didn’t risk his hide on Iwo Jima! He didn’t storm beaches full of blood thirsty Japs and watch people around him explode into goddamned chunks of meat! I did! He just played dress-up in Poland and showed just how much of a goddamned loony he is!”

“That’s your brother you’re talking about!” Engineer snapped back, standing up on tip-toes now to get into Johnny’s face. “You’re acting like this is some kind of competition between the two a’ you, like yer fightin’ t’ be on top of him! You might act like yer bein’ th’ adult here, but yer just actin’ like a child! Yer both too old t’ be actin’ like this, so grow the hell up!”

Johnny scoffed at him, and backed away a few paces. “Tall order.”

Engineer stared at Johnny in confusion at first, but his face then contorted into a scowl and his fists curled into tight balls. “You… you…”

“Whoa there, cowboy,” said Johnny, holding up a hand to cut Engineer off. “Let me just stop you right there before you go all Yosemite Sam on me.” He smiled as Engineer’s ears turned bright red. “You came here to try and take my brother away. I’ve indulged you long enough. He’s not leaving with you or anybody else. That’s final.”

“Why?” was all Engineer was able to spit out.

“Why?” Johnny echoed. “Because he’s mine, Dell. I’ve taken care of him his entire life. Why, I practically raised him myself. I’ve provided for him, kept him sheltered, tried to teach him how to be a man and the thanks I get? Repeated escape attempts. But I don’t worry. He comes back. He always comes back.” As he spoke, he walked toward Engineer, backing the man further and further until the shorter man fell into his chair. “I’ve claimed him. And I won’t let anybody take him away.”

“What the hell did you do to him?” Engineer asked, his voice hoarse and low.

Johnny didn’t answer. He turned away, and walked up to the wall, looking over his photographs.
“I asked what the hell you did to him!” Engineer stood up from his chair. He tightened his fists and could feel his arms shake.

“You may let yourself out the door, Mister Conagher,” said Johnny. “It was a nice talk.”

Blood rushed to Engineer’s face, making him feel like a kettle about to boil over. He trembled all over, as though shaking with the building pressure of steam. Finally, he was able to thrust out a pointed finger towards Johnny, and shake it. “This ain’t over!” he shouted. “Far from it!”

“Goodbye, mister Conagher.”

Mental images of socking this man in the face flooded Engineer’s mind. Just punching him, over and over again. Hurting him as much as he must’ve hurt Soldier. That wouldn’t help, of course. The rational part of his mind soothed these violent daydreams, assuring him that they’d only make Soldier’s situation even worse. The sensation of being backed into a corner, caught and trapped like a rat in the dead end of a maze only made his rage all the more distressing. He turned and left, stomping out of the room.

Ms. Doe watched Engineer from the kitchen, ducking her head back lest the strange man in her home caught a glimpse of her. Engineer did notice this, but he didn’t much care. He marched out the front door, past the growling, wary guard dog, and past the virginal white picket fence to Soldier’s car. He got in and sat down without a word to Soldier.

Soldier peered over at his friend. Engineer’s arms were crossed, his face was red, and he was frowning deeply as his jaw set. Jane turned away from his friend and sighed. “I knew it wouldn’t work.”

Engineer’s features softened and he put a hand on Soldier’s shoulder. “Hey, now,” he said, “we ain’t gonna give up. I’m not gonna let that big bully push you around like that. I promise.”

“And what are you plan on doing next, huh?” asked Soldier. “He doesn’t listen to anybody and I’ve never seen him scared of anyone!”

“Maybe,” Engineer said, rubbing his chin, “maybe we just need the right people backin’ us up…”

“Right people?” Soldier asked. “Like who?”

“Drive back to th’ apartment,” said Engineer. “I think I might have an idea.”

>>57 here and you guys should know that it was a total success.

Obligatory HOLY CRAP, GUYS! IT UPDATED!

Johnny asked Jane to wear a dress to the funeral didn't he?
F5ing forever. God speed on the next chapter.

I bet even Johnny won't fuck with Heavy. Also bet the guy abuses his family. So is fear the only thing stopping Jane from leaving? Or is it a legal thing too?

I can't remember exactly, but officially when Soldier went to Europe himself after getting kicked out of every branch in the US military, didn't he kill several hundred Nazis and stuff a dozen feet of his own intestine back into his body after it got cut open? The way I see it, Soldier didn't fail at being a "real" soldier, he was just too hardcore for the vanilla military so he had to invent his own!

Well, there's also the fact that the war had officially been declared over at that point, so he was committing mass murder. (I think).

Johnny... is an interesting problem. You can't reason with him about this- he's completely convinced he's right. You can't threaten him- he's got Soldier's spirit there. I think the only option is pretty much force. Not physical, but perhaps legal...

His rant about how Soldier actually isn't a soldier is interesting. It humanizes him a little bit, because I think he shows a bit of vulnerability there. And then the jerk wall goes right back up after that, but that glimpse is intriguing.

Very nice chapter. A nice contrast to the rather relaxed tone of the last update.

Oh. Yes.

Engie is going to solve some practical problems. And I could not be happier.

(I'm glad you got a beta! I would have volunteered when I saw the announcement, but I am tumbl-dumb... Anyway, seeing the 'oh, and new chapter is up' announcement filled me with a certain amount of glee. A lot, a lot of glee.)

Oh man oh man Engineer is gonna think of something goddamned awesome because that's how he is.

I am so psyched.

Oh, I am so excited for more! I love the thought you put into how to portray th wife and th set up of the office and just the sheer egotism of johnny. I want to see dell go the legal way but I don't kno if he's got too much of a leg to stand on there.

just wow, reading this made me so tense. I was clutching my chair.

I want Johnny to have his flesh peeled off like a candy wrapper.

Dear Medic: Now would be an excellent time to perform a living autopsy. on Jonny. You know you want to. Heavy would back you up.

Someone's gonna have to explain the Tall Order comment to me. Also the Yosemite Sam remark was hilarious. The thing about the violent dog is trying to tell me something but I'm not real sure what. Kinda like he wanted a guard dog but I don't think he did it right. Probably abused it to make it mean like people who train Pitbulls for dogfights do. I can't place my finger on it but it's something like that that keeps popping into my mind.

I think "tall order" was referring to Engineer's height. Not sure if he has an exact height, but he's certainly the shortest of all the classes.

Amazing. I am loving this story. Just a note, John reacts strongly to Engie calling Jane Soldier near the end, but Engie calls him soldier earlier in the chapter as well and John makes no comment on it.

When he says <i>“I’m not here t’ comment on th’ relationship between you an’ yer brother. I jus’ wanna get Soldier some help, is all.”</i> Minor problem but thought I should point it out.

>>70 I'm guessing it was a height jab.

I eagerly await the next installment.

>>70

The dog could be a metaphor considering that Johnny mentioned to Engineer how dealing with Soldier is like training a dog. At least, that's how I saw it and and I would agree that something went very wrong here.

>>72

Oops.

I'll fix it when it's up on Dotchan's site.

HOLY CRAP! NO ONE WILL MESS WITH THE TEAM FORTRESS FAMILY!

this story just gets better and better every time I read it.

I feel like everyone has done a much nicer and more eloquent job of gushing about these stories (including Reunion, of course) so I'll just leave it at YAY! And, THANK YOU!

While we're sort of loosely on the subject of dogs, I really like how you've made them a bit of a literary device (for lack of a better term). Almost everyone seems to have a dog or two, and you can certainly see the characters in their pets. If I'm not mistaken, in Reunion, Soldier mentions that he really adored a dog at one point in his life and later mentions that his current apartment doesn't allow pets?

Veeeeeeery interesting (though it makes my heart break into a million pieces ohh Jane)

Is it wrong that I drew Johnny and Jane?

>>77
Share!

I'm ALL for incest. Especially when it's a controlling older brother than treats Jane like a dog.

...What the fuck is wrong with me?

>>79

TF2chan has forced me to ask that question more times then I care to admit. Its the nature of the beast.

Gosh darn it guys, I thought this was an update. Polite sage.

Oh wait, was that what the pic was gonna be about? Now I'm a bit scared. If it's not sexual, I would still love to see it!

Captcha: ltypos said.....El Typos!

http://tf2chan.net/workshop/src/131736530121.jpg

Aw, I was excited again for a moment! No update, the world sucks now, thanks alot.

Cat, your Soldier is best Soldier. Can't wait to see how Jane escapes (please let him escape!)

GUYS GUYS! Somebody get your butt to Hipstr, the next chapter's ready for betaing! We need a proofer to look it over for posting! Please hurry!

Ohhhh I can't believe I almost missed something this great ! I hope they find Pyro soon, and that Jane will be free ;.;

>>76
I admit the dogs as a literary device thing happened by accident. I just really like dogs a lot.

And all this incest talk is wigging me out, you guys.

Anyway, here's part five. You guys might like this one.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


The sun was rising over the Manhattan skylin, and had the audacity to illuminate the hotel room which Sniper and Demoman occupied. Sniper cracked an eye open and noticed that the moth-eaten curtains were currently open, letting the harsh sunlight fall onto his face. His head pounded as he sat up. Squinting, he plodded over to the curtains and pulled them shut before turning around and flopping back onto his bed. He didn’t want to get up again. He buried his face into his pillow and shut his eyes. As he was drifting back off to sleep, he was interrupted by the harsh metallic ringing of the telephone. He rolled over and groaned in agony.

Demoman groped for the telephone on the nightstand, still lying on his back. He knocked the receiver off its cradle and pulled it to his ear.

“Hullo? Aye, this is… eh, wot? Ye did? Where…?” Sniper picked his head up just long enough to see Demoman sitting up before letting his head drop down again. “How many now? … Well, they can’t all be… aye, aye, we’ll be o’er there. Thank ye. See ye in a bit.” He hung up the phone, and leaned over to shake Sniper by the shoulder. “Git up, lad.”

Sniper pressed his face harder into the pillow and grumbled.

“C’mon, we might a’ found ‘im. Git outta bed an’ let’s go.”

Sniper rolled over. “Might’ve found ‘im?”

“Only one way tae know fer sure,” said Demoman. “We’ll get breakfast on th’ way. Let’s go.”

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


After showering and getting breakfast, the two of them rode the subway to the radio station that had broadcasted the reward for Pyro. Outside, the two of them noticed a fairly lengthy line leading to the station door. They walked past the queue and as Demoman approached the door, the man standing in front of it grabbed his arm.

“Hey!” said the man, tugging at Demoman’s sleeve. “Whatchu think you’re doin’? Get in line for the reward like ev’rybody else!”

“You daft bastard, I posted th’ reward!” Demoman shot back.

The man who had approached him stepped back in surprise. “The hell you even from, brother?”

“Bah, th’ hell with ye!” Demoman gave him a dismissive wave and opened the door, followed by Sniper.

Inside, the line continued and lead up to a door on the first floor. The people standing in line chattered amongst themselves as they watched Demoman and Sniper pass. The woman standing closest to the door backed up a step when Demoman rapped at the door with his knuckles.

“Wait your turn in line, fool!” The voice that shouted from inside the room was unmistakably Stew Jackson’s.

“It’s Tavish!” Demoman said.

The door opened immediately. “What’re you knockin’ for, man? Get in here!” He waved Demoman and Sniper inside, and shut the door.

The blinds in the room were drawn and the room was dimly lit by a single lamp hanging from the ceiling, giving the office the feel of one belonging to a 1930’s noir detective rather than a radio station. Two men sat on opposite sides of the desk; a twitchy, skinny man in a tank top and basketball shorts that looked at Demoman and Sniper with wide eyes, and a stoic gentleman with rolled up shirt sleeves and a loose tie, sitting at the desk with a pad of paper and a lit cigarette.

“‘Bout time you two showed up,” said Stew, “been like this all mornin’. You know somethin’s up when young folks are up this early.”
“Ain’t like we don’t already have school,” the young man said, rubbing his upper arm.

“Boy, hush,” said Stew.

“… Just want my 500 dollars…” the man mumbled.

“Tavish, Mundy, this is Harlan Miller,” Stew gestured to the man sitting at the desk with a sweep of his hand. “He’s a private eye in the business a’ findin’ missing people. He’s offered to help us out in our investigation.”

Harlan gave a curt nod. “Morning, fellas.”

“G’morning,” Sniper responded, still feeling groggy.

“We’ve been usin’ him to separate the stories of the cats who are lyin’ an’ the honest folk,” explained Stew. “Man’s good at tellin’ whether or not people are lyin’. Real expert. An’ we needed him ‘cause it turns out we’ve been gettin’ a lotta folks tryin’ to lie they way into an easy 500 bucks.”

“Not me, though,” said the young man. “I’m honest.”

“I said hush,” snapped Stew.

“Ye learn anythin’ new?” asked Demoman. “Anythin’ at all?”

“Not much you fellas probably don’t already know,” said Harlan, leaning back in his chair. “I called all the homeless shelters in the area only to find out the two of you were asking around beforehand. Since then, almost all of the information we’ve gotten is either stuff we already know or blatant lies.”

“Well, that’s just lovely,” Sniper mumbled, as he dragged his hand along the side of his face.

“Surely ye must’ve got somethin’ for us!” Demoman pleaded.

“I got somethin’!” the man in the chair spoke up.

“How many times do I gotta tell you, boy? Shut your pie hole!” Stew scolded, looming over the young man.

“Cool your jets a minute.” Harlan held up a hand, and Stew backed off. “We still haven’t heard this young man’s story yet. What’s your name, son?”

The young man sat up a bit straighter. “George. George Cooper.”

“Mr. Cooper,” Harlan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, “what information do you have on the Invisible Man?”

Sniper and Demoman both turned to look at George, and George took a deep breath. “I saw the Invisible Man at Coney Island last night.”

“Last night?” Demoman got excited. “Where at Coney Island? Out with it, lad!”

“Mr. Degroot, was it?” Harlan asked. “Please. Calm yourself and let him finish. And look at me when you’re talking, George.”

“Right,” George looked directly at the P.I. “Like I was sayin’, I saw him last night when I was hangin’ out with my friends by the beach.”
“Around what time was this?” Harlan put a thumb to the edge of his mustache.

“I dunno,” the boy shrugged. “I guess it was like, 8 or 9 or somethin’?”

“Out awful late for a school night,” Stew remarked.

“Let ‘im finish, already,” said Sniper. He was leaning on the wall, arms crossed.

“I just graduated, back off man,” George retorted. He hunched over in his seat. “But yeah, I was with my friends, hangin’ out on the boardwalk, an’ we’re listenin’ to the radio when we see the Invisible Man strollin’ by with some nasty ole’ shoppin’ bags.”

“Lots a’ people have been callin’ him that,” Demoman remarked, sitting down on a folding chair that had been in the corner of the room.
“Well, you know, he’s creepy an’ I’ve seen him a few times before,” George explained. “People see him on the street an’ stare ‘cause he’s all covered up like he is. Everybody avoids him. We saw him shamblin’ along when that thing came on the radio about how there was a reward out for him, an’ we all just kinda stared at him…”

“That’s some rather convenient timing,” Sniper remarked.

“Man, was it ever!” George said. “But I think he heard it ‘cause he stared back at us an’ then he started runnin’!” George gestured to demonstrate the speed at which Pyro had taken off, sweeping the heel of his palm against and over against the opposite hand. “Like, bookin’ it, y’know! Well, my main man Tyson, he musta’ had dollar signs in his eyes like a cartoon or somethin’ ‘cause he was runnin’ after him, even though he seemed really scared, like he thought he was in trouble or somethin’.”

Demoman and Sniper exchanged worried glances, and then turned their gazes to the floor.

“Where did he run to?” asked Harlan. “Do you know?”

“We ran after him for as long as we could, but it was getting’ dark an’ he was faster than you’d think for a guy wearin’ as much as he does.” George shook his head. “We were goin’ after him for a while until we lost him after he turned a corner. Tyson was lookin’ for him hard but it was like he just disappeared!”

Harlan put his hands together and let out a pensive hum. “Now, I know people cannot just up and vanish into thin air,” he said, “but I do believe that he is telling the truth so far as he knows.”

“I told you!” said George, obviously perking up. “When do I get my $500 dollars?”

“Later,” said Stew, “when we find him.”

“Say what?” asked George, his voice breaking.

Demoman grabbed Sniper by the arm. “Ye heard th’ lad, he might still be on Coney Island! Let’s go!”

“Go?” asked Stew. “But we’re not even finished here yet.”

“Ye can stay, Stew, an’ so can yer investigator,” said Demoman. “We’re checkin’ it out while th’ trail’s still hot. We’ll call ye.”
“Do you even have the number for this office?” Harlan asked, raising a pair of bushy eyebrows.

“Yeah,” said Sniper, “We should probably-”

“No time!” Demoman exclaimed. “We’ll call Patricia! Let’s move it!” Demoman pulled Sniper by the arm out of the room, practically dragging the taller man behind him like a ragdoll.

The three men remaining in the room said nothing and exchanged odd glances. George finally broke the silence. “Even if you don’t find him… I’m still gonna get my $500, right?”

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


The sky was overcast over the boardwalk, and gulls stalked a few lone guests for any food they might drop. Most of the people there seemed to consist of bored teenagers playing hooky and wary looking young men who stayed in one spot and just watched people go by. Demoman and Sniper moved briskly, catching a few curious glances before they were found to be ultimately uninteresting.

“Said he saw ‘im by th’ beach,” Sniper said after a long silence between them.

“Aye, but there’s a lot a’ beach,” said Demoman. “We might be here a while.”

Sniper cast a glance at a lost-looking woman shuffling on the board walk with her head cast down. “Ya think maybe we should ask around if anybody’s seen ‘im?”

“Like who?” asked Demoman. “Drug pushers an’ senile ole’ ladies?”

“Lady might know.” Sniper shrugged. “She looks down on her luck. I dunno. Maybe she’s seen ‘im around. Pyro could have some connections after all.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure aboot tha’,” Demoman said. “Most everybody we talked tae said ‘e dinnae have any friends at all.”

“It’s worth a shot, innit?” Sniper said with a shrug.

Demoman sighed, and approached the woman, who seemed focused on following a seagull. “Excuse me, miss?”

The woman whipped her head around and stared at Demoman with wide, bugged-out eyes that looked ready to pop out of her hollow sockets. She said nothing, but she sucked her lower lip in and smacked her tongue.

“I’m sorry, lass, I jus’ wanted tae ask ye a question and be off,” Demoman raised his hands and backed up a step. Sniper, meanwhile, stepped closer until he was just behind Demoman.

“I don’t got no money!” she shouted. “Lemme alone! I’ll scream!”

“Calm down, lady!” Sniper stepped in front of Demoman. “We don’t wanna hurt ya, we just wanna know if ya saw somebody!”

“I ain’t seen anybody!” she protested, shaking her head. “Nobody at all.”

Sniper turned his head and saw a small group of teenagers staring at them. He frowned. “Not even them?”

“I’m not lookin’!” the woman said, hiding her face. “I don’t see them!”

“C’mon, Mundy,” Demoman grabbed Sniper by the shoulder. “There’s other’s we can ask…”

“Look, lady,” said Sniper, shaking off Demoman, “all I wanna know is if ya’ve seen the bloody Invisible Man or wotever they’re callin’ ‘im!”
Slowly, the woman lowered her hands from her face and stared at Sniper. “You lookin’… for him?”

“Yeah!” said Sniper, eyes going wide as he leaned forward. “Have ya seen ‘im lately?”

She shook her head. “Oh, no… no, you don’t wanna be lookin’ for him. He’s a devil! He’s a devil in disguise!”

“Och, he ain’t that bad,” said Demoman.

“We need ta find ‘im!” pleaded Sniper. “Please, we need to help him!”

“No!” she screeched, and swung the plastic bag she was carrying at Sniper’s face. It hit Sniper in the jaw, sending him teetering sideways. “You stay away! I won’t let you help him! He’s evil! Evil, I say!”

Sniper clutched his bruised face and stood upright, and he and Demoman backed away from the hysterical woman. Anyone else standing around had walked away or stopped paying attention. The woman continued to swing her bag at the both of them, screeching incoherent syllables and backing away. Once satisfied her aggressors were at bay, she turned and fled.

“Well,” Demoman turned to Sniper, arms akimbo, “tha’ worked out swell, dinnit it?”

“Shaddup,” Sniper quipped. “Least I tried, didn’t I?” He rubbed his bruise. “Christ, wot th’ bloofy hell wos she carryin’, a load a’ bricks?”

“Hey, misters.”

Both Demoman and Sniper turned around to see a young boy looking up at them, with narrowed eyes and a dirty face. He sniffled. “Are you lookin’ for the Mummy?”

“Mummy?” Demoman asked in confusion, giving Sniper an odd glance.

“Yeah,” said the kid. “We call him the Mummy ‘cause he’s always wrapped up like one. An’ he’s creepy an’ he smells funny.”

The two men exchanged glances and looked back at the boy. “You know where t’ find ‘im?” Sniper asked, crossing his arms.

The boy’s eyes shifted from side to side. “I dunno… it’s kind of a secret. You gotta be… ‘in the know,’ you know?”

“How d’you mean?” asked Sniper.

Demoman pulled out his wallet and produced a twenty-dollar bill, holding it above the boys head between two fingers. “Would ye say we’re fit tae be ‘in the know’ now, lad?”

Reaching up, the boy grasped for the bill only to have it lifted high above Demoman’s head. “Show us first. Then ye’ll git yer reward.”
“You’re not gonna swindle me, are you?” asked the boy, hands on his hips.

“A Degroot always keeps ‘is word,” said Demoman, pocketing the bill. “That’s a promise.”

After scuffing his feet, the boy turned and started to walk, beckoning the two men to follow him. Wordlessly, they did, past the rides and the booths and the other wanderers, until they had reached a section that was only occupied by gulls. They came upon an abandoned penny arcade, a rotting relic of a time long gone. There was a sign above the entrance with paint so badly peeled that it was no longer legible, and gang tags scrawled all along the outer walls in red and black paint. Planks of younger wood barricaded the front door, but there was a large gap towards the bottom; large enough for a man to squeeze through if he crawled on hands and knees.

The boy pointed to the penny arcade. “I seen him go in an’ out a’ here a lot,” he said. “Sometimes, when it’s real quiet, you can hear noises from in there. Like music, only… spooky music. I heard some kid say it might be alien transmissions.”

“I highly doubt it,” said Sniper.

“Ye ever go in there?” Demoman asked, bending down to meet the boy at eye level.

“Not me,” the kid scoffed. “What do I look like, stupid?”

“Know anybody that did?” Sniper asked.

“Well,” said the boy, “Tommy O’Brien says his friend knew this kid who went in there and was never seen again. I heard that somebody else saw the Mummy wearin’ a mask made out of that kid’s face.”

“Sounds like a load a’ bollocks,” scoffed Sniper.

“What’s a bollock?” the boy asked, tilting his head in confusion.

Demoman walked towards the door to the old arcade, bending down to peer through the gap in the doorway. He squinted in the dim light, and saw only rows of neglected pinball machines coated in blankets of dust.

“What are you, crazy?” The boy ran up to Demoman. “Don’t go in there! He’s crazy!”

“We know,” said Sniper. He placed a hand on the kids shoulder, gently pushing him back. “We’re his friends.”

The boy gave Sniper a look of confusion, his lip curling up to reveal a freshly missing tooth. “He has friends?”

“There’s a path on th’ floor in th’ dust,” said Demoman, looking back to Sniper and the boy. “Someone’s been goan’ in an’ out th’ same way fer a while now. Other ‘n that… I dinnae see any sign a’ this place bein’ lived in.”

“Looks aren’t always wot they seem t’ be,” said Sniper. “I think we need t’ have a closer look.”

“You’re crazy,” said the boy, crossing his arms. “You’re both crazy. I’m not goin’ in there.”

“Then I s’pose ye’ll be fine waitin’ out ‘ere then,” said Demoman. He crawled through the gap in the planks and stood up, poking his face through a smaller gap. “Seein’ as we’re goan’ tae check out whether or not ye’ve given us good intelligence.”

“I’m plenty intelligent!” The boy stomped his foot. “I’m smart enough to know that you guys are crazy an’ so’s the Mummy!”

“You want yer 20 bucks or wot?” Sniper crouched down by the hole and looked at the boy.

“Fine,” the boy huffed. “I’ll wait. But if you don’t come back…”

“Don’t worry,” said Sniper, crawling through on his hands and knees. “Me an’ Tavish are both professionals.”

“Professionals? Professional what?” The boy asked, only to find that the two men he’d been leading had disappeared inside. He huffed. “I guess I’ll just wait out here then, huh?”

The arcade interior was lit only by light filtering through slats of boarded-up windows. Demoman ran a finger on an old fortune telling machine window and rubbed the tip of his finger against his thumb. Sniper meanwhile followed the path of the bare floor until he came upon a spot where the path stopped abruptly… fading under a floorboard, even. There was a groove where the trail stopped, and Sniper dug his fingers into it and lifted a trap door, leading to a narrow, rickety staircase. “Well, well, well…” he clucked with a smile on his face. “Wot do we have here?”

Demoman walked over and peered down the stairs. “You hear that?”

Sniper cocked his head as he listened. The sound of music could be heard, faint and muffled, coming from downstairs. “Yeah,” he said. “After you?”

Both of them headed downstairs, into the dark, dank cellar. Demoman walked into a cobweb and shook it off with a groan of disgust. Past the heaters and the breakers was a closed door, and a brightly colored light could be seen emanating underneath through the bottom gap. The light changed color, from red to green to blue to yellow, and the music could be heard louder than before. The two men glanced at each other, barely able to see one another in the darkness, and nodded in silent agreement. They crept towards the door, and stopped just short of it. Sniper pressed his ear to the door and listened. He held a finger to his lips as he turned to Demoman, and pushed the door open slowly.
Christmas lights were strung from the ceiling, the colored bulbs fading on and off and casting different colors in succession. The music was strange; erratic guitar plucking and a raspy voice chanting off beat in word salads. The stink of ashes, Vaseline, mildew and body odor hung in the air. Beyond the open door, there was a hall with a corner turning to the left, where the lights were brighter. Both men crept forward quietly, Sniper grazing the damp wall with an open palm, and peeked around the corner.

There were more lights, all hooked up haphazardly to an old generator. Surrounding the generator, and all throughout the tiny room, were piles upon piles of magazines, newspapers and books. There were children’s toys strewn all over the floor, including a mechanical flipping dog on its side, kicking its legs uselessly as it yipped and whirred. There were records in their sleeves, replica rayguns, spent lighters and empty matchboxes and a pile of hats in the far corner. On the floor shoved against the wall was a pile of filthy pillows and blankets. Sniper swept his foot across the floor as he stepped forward, brushing aside candy wrappers and burnt massages. “Hullo?” Sniper called out, scanning the room. “Anyone in here?”

Demoman kneeled down to sift through a stack of comic books and science fiction pulp magazines with smudges of soot on their pages. “He’s been ‘ere, all right.”

“Place is a bloody pigsty,” Sniper said in disgust. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Look at all this junk.” He kicked the yipping toy dog upright, sending it to wade through garbage. “Crickey, he could a’ sold most of this. Wot’s th’ point a’ even holdin’ onto all this crap?”

“EEERTSSH NURT CRRRRP!”

Both men came to a start. They looked around the room, anxious. Demoman rushed towards the pile of blankets and started tearing through the layers.

“I’d recognize tha’ mumble anywhere,” he said, and turned to Sniper. “C’mon, lad, help me find ‘im!”

Sniper looked around, whipping his head from side to side until his gaze settled on the pile of hats. He dove for it, clawing through it frantically and sending sombreros, beanies, fedoras and helmets flying. He grabbed at a handful of hood and pulled, only to find resistance. Pulling his hand back, he locked his eyes on two oversized, dark lenses that seemed to stare back at him.

“Pyro.” He exhaled the word, the air rushing from his lungs. He felt himself go rigid, his hand frozen in midair. He managed to inch it towards hooded head, only for the pile of hats to explode in his face and send Sniper reeling back onto his backside. Demoman whirled around to see a short figure in long underwear dash for the door.

“Pyro, wait!” Demoman shouted, and lunged at him, wrapping his arms around their torso and tackling them to the ground. Sniper stood up and looked down on the wriggling captive. It was not cold in the basement, but they were wearing mittens, socks and a ski mask with no hole for the mouth, and over their eyes were goggles that covered any other skin that would have otherwise shown. “Dinnae jes’ stand there, lad!” hollered Demoman. “Lend me a hand!”

Sniper immediately kneeled and pinned down Pyro’s arms. “Easy, there, mate, easy!” Sniper said, talking to Pyro as if he were talking to a panicked animal. “We’re yer friends, remember? Settle!”

The fight drained from Pyro, and his limps went limp as he hung his head in defeat. “Urr knurrr,” he mumbled.

His captors released their grip, and sat down on the ground. They sat in silence as they watched Pyro sit up, and sheepishly turn around to face them. He sat Indian-style, gripping his ankle and bowing his head, averting his gaze from his companions. Pyro rocked back and forth, not saying anything at all.

“Wot happened tae ye, Pyro?” Demoman asked, his voice soft. “How did you end up like this?”

“Durn wurnnuh trrrk uburrt ut,” Pyro whimpered.

“Why’d ya try t’ hide then?” Sniper asked, leaning forward.

A high-pitched whine could be heard from behind the mask. Pyro clutched his head and trembled. “Urm urrshemed,” he admitted. “Urnd uh furrght uh wursh urn trrrbull. Uh furrght surmurn wrsh turrn tuh kurrll meh.”

“Kill you?” Demoman repeated. “Why would ye think that?”

“Thurr rrurwurrd!” Pyro exclaimed. “Uh furrght… uh furrght…”

“Aw, blimey, we didn’t think you’d…” Sniper rubbed the back of his neck and looked at his lap. “I’m sorry, mate.”

“I’m sorry too,” said Demoman. “We were jes’ so worried… we wanted tae find ye an’ rescue ye from… from this.” He gestured around the room. “From livin’ in th’ cellar of an old arcade.”

“Uh derrserrf ert,” said Pyro. “Ert’sh murr furrlt.”

Ye dinnae deserve this,” said Demoman, putting a hand on Pyro’s shoulder. “Nothin’ you could a’ done would make ye deserve this. I swear it.”

Pyro looked up at Demoman. His eyes weren’t visible, but Demoman imagined those eyes were staring at him, large and doleful, like puppy eyes. “Whurt durr uh durr?”

“Truckie’s offered you t’ live with him if ya want,” Sniper said. “He’s got a nice ranch out in Texas. Guard Dog’s there. You remember him, right?”

“Grrrd durg?” Pyro perked up.

“Aye!” Demoman chimed in. “We were there, at th’ reunion. Everyone missed ye, Pyro. All of us.”

“Yeeh durrd?” Pyro clasped his hands together.

“A’ course we did, lad!” Demoman said, giving Pyro a gentle shake. “Why wouldn’t we? Yer practically part a’ our family!”

Pyro bowed his head. “Frrmlerr,” he repeated. He fell quiet, and looked to his friends, and then across his cellar. He turned to look at the yipping dog toy that was crawling towards him, picked it up off the ground and switched it off. He held it in his lap and stroked it, as though it were a real dog. “Urrd leerk thurt.”

“C’mon then,” Demoman said, extending a hand to Pyro, “let’s git ye outta here an’ git you a real home.” He gave Pyro a hopeful smile.

The masked man reached one mitten-covered hand out and took a hold of Demoman, and was pulled to his feet. Sniper stood up, and patted Pyro on the back as Pyro tucked his toy under his arm.

“Good on ya, mate,” he said. He turned around and sniffed. “Christ, this place is rank.” He faced Pyro again. “You are too, actually.”
“Surreh,” Pyro said, holding his face in his hands.

Demoman laughed. “We’ll fix that right up, jes’ you wait! C’mon!” Demoman hugged Pyro’s shoulder. “Ye have nothin’ tae worry about anymore.”

Pyro got dressed, throwing on a shirt, pants, coat, shoes and beanie, and the three of them walked out the dark cellar, up the stairs and towards the boarded door. After Demoman and Sniper had crawled out, the boy ran over to them, stopping in his tracks just to see Pyro poke his head out. He stared slack jawed as Sniper bent down to help Pyro out and to his feet. His own feet were rooted to the spot, and when Demoman and Sniper turned to him, the boy jolted.

“It’s him!” he said. “You found ‘im!”

Pyro squeaked and ran to hide behind Demoman. Sniper let out a soft laugh. “Wouldn’t a’ found ‘im without your help, mate,” he said.
Demoman pulled out his wallet and handed the boy a crisp twenty. “I kept me word,” he said as the child snatched it. “Thank ye kindly.”
The boy gave a comical nod, a rushed “you’re welcome,” and ran off, heading towards the busier part of the boardwalk. Pyro peeked out from behind Demoman, and looked up at him.

“We should give Stew a call,” said Sniper, looking towards the ocean. “We’ll hafta ring Truckie too.”

“Aye, all in good time,” said Demoman, and he patted Pyro on the head. “Let’s get you ready tae go home.”


Unable to contain himself any longer, Pyro grabbed the both of them and pulled them tight, his arms wrapping around both of them and squeezing as tight as he could. Demoman gave a laugh, and Sniper rubbed Pyro’s back and gave him a pat. Without a word, Pyro let go only to grab both men’s hands, and waddle forward, stringing them both along like a child holding hands with its parents.

Home, thought Pyro. He was going to finally have a for real home.

This post has been deleted.

This. Is gold. I was so honestly touched by the end of it.

Scuse me while I go get tissues.

I can't wait for the next chapter! Keep up the good work Cat!

This story is wonderful. I really cant wait what else you have in store for this story!
Keep up the good work Cat!

The sun was rising over the Manhattan skylin, and had the audacity to illuminate the hotel room which Sniper and Demoman occupied.
Missed an e for "skyline" there.

>>91

I noticed that too late.

Pyro is in trouble because he got his hats dishonestly.

Saw this at the top of the page, hoped ever so much that it was an actual update and not just a bump... and it turned out to be this! I am very happy right now.

ASFSBDGSDGSGFS

Exact sound I tried not to make at the end of this chapter. So fuggin adorable ogod~

I got notified when I checked Hipstr tonight and came a-rushing here, filled with glee, and that... that penny arcade/basement was the best location ever. I could see it all, and it was... like, there was a sad sort of decaying beauty, and then I got all ferklempt, and... yeah. So, you do things to my emotions.

(Also, I'm the person-from-Hipstr who will totally mail you a bat PEZ dispenser if you want it. My email's up there with my name.)

Part six is here, you guys. Have fun.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


As Soldier opened the door and let his friend inside his apartment, Engineer finally found that he was unable to contain himself any longer. “I can’t believe that man!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air as he stomped towards the couch. “I just… how can he even… Ooh!” He fell back onto the couch, crossed his arms and shook his head. “I don’t know how you put up with him!”

Soldier stared at Engineer. “You… you really don’t like him?”

“Of course I don’t!” said Engineer. “He’s slimy an’ sneaky an’ downright creepy. I had no idea he’d be that awful… I’m so sorry, Jane.”

This gave Soldier pause, and he closed the door behind him. “You’re the first person I’ve met who’s agreed with me about him,” he said.

Engineer looked up at Soldier in disbelief. “Really?”

“Nobody’s really believed me before,” Soldier said, his voice unusually soft. “Or they won’t say they do. I don’t know.” He slumped against the door.

“Jeez…” Engineer took off his hat and ran a hand over his head. “I didn’t know…”

“Yeah well… I don’t like to talk about it much.” Soldier slid down the door until he was sitting.

“Your brother seems to be a very manipulative person,” said Engineer, resting his chin in his palm. “He came off as fairly charming to me at first… but he turned mean pretty fast. I think he’s not very used to being challenged like that.” He tapped a finger on his lips as he thought. “He does a good job of disguisin’ his true face, whereas you come off as very gruff and aggressive. That’s prolly why he looks more credible than you do.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Soldier grumbled.

“Very headstrong,” Engineer continued, “totally convinced he’s right about you and hasn’t even considered the possibility of being wrong. He’s got that in common with you at least.” Engineer let out a chuckle, only to be met with a nasty glare from Soldier. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t ever compare me to him again,” Soldier said. “I’m not like him.”

“You’re very different from each other,” said Engineer, “But you are brothers.”

“I hate him, Engie.” Soldier pulled his knees to his chest and crossed his arms. “What the hell am I supposed to do? You said you might have an idea…”

Engineer bit his lip. “Well, I think I want to have a discussion with someone who might better understand the psychology of a man like your brother… somebody who might be able to give me a more objective view on this.”

“And who would that be?” asked Soldier.

Getting up from the couch, Engineer headed over to the teleporter that Soldier had set up in the corner of the living room. “C’mon,” he said, “We’ll pay him a visit.”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


The teleporter exit spun and flashed, and Engineer stepped off to find himself in a ornately decorated living room with a wide window. The moon could be seen high up in the sky over neighboring rooftops. He had little time to gaze however, as he was greeted by the odd howling of a Siberian husky, who ran into the room just to stop in front of Engineer and growl at him.

“Nikita! Shush!” Medic came into the room after the dog, a dove on his shoulder, and stopped as he noticed Engineer. “Engineer! You’ve arrived!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t give you advanced warning,” Engineer said with a smile. He presented his hand to the dog in front of him, allowing her to sniff it. “I’m not over too late, am I?”

“Nein, nein, you ah fine,” said Medic, bypassing the dog and offering a hand to Engineer. “It’s good to see you again so soon, mein freund.”

“Good to see you too, Doc,” said Engineer, taking the doctor’s hand and giving it a friendly shake.

“I assume Soldier is on his way?”

“You’re not supposed to…” Engineer sighed. “Yeah, he’ll be here any minute.” As he finished his sentence, the teleporter spun back to life and Soldier materialized on the spot, startling the dog and causing her to run away howling. This in turn caused the dove on Medic’s shoulder to flutter off. The doctor rolled his eyes.

“Good evening, Herr,” Medic said.

“Doc,” Soldier replied with a nod. “I’d prefer you not call me ‘Herr.’”

“Vhat should I call you, zen?” Medic asked, tilting his head. “You told me zat you no longer go by ‘Soldier.’”

“‘Mister Doe’ is fine,” said Soldier. He looked around the living room, from the potted plants to the patio window, the floral patterned sofa, and the glass coffee table. “Uh… nice place you got here,” Soldier said, sounding unsure of himself.

“No need for you to be so polite,” Medic said, smiling. “I vould nevah expect zis to be to your taste.”

“DOKTOR!”

All three of them turned to see Heavy standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen. The dog was hiding behind him, and he was wearing oven mitts on his giant hands as he held a tray of fresh cookies. Engineer and Soldier exchanged a quick, puzzled glance, which did not escape Heavy’s notice. He laughed.
“Good to see you again, Engineer and Soldier,” he said. “Care for cookie?”

“Thank you kindly,” said Engineer, and found himself and Soldier being ushered into the kitchen by Medic. The kitchen was small, clean, and brightly lit, and the window above the sink was open; upon its ledge were more doves, bobbing their heads to look between the new guests with interest.

Three of them sat down around the kitchen table save for Heavy, who presented the cookie tray to each in turn. Soldier and Medic refused, and Engineer took one and gave Heavy a courteous nod as the Russian walked to the stove.

“So,” said Medic, folding his hands together, “Vhat is it you vanted to talk to me about in person, Engineer?”

“Well,” said Engineer, and swallowed, “I was… well, Soldier and I, really, were wondering if you might at least offer us some advice.” He looked over at Soldier, who sat next to him with his arms crossed, completely stoic. “See, uh, his brother is proving to be a bigger obstacle than we had previously anticipated.”

Medic raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Engineer looked back to Soldier again for help, but Soldier seemed oblivious to the cue. He continued. “Yes. As it turns out his brother appears to, ah, be somethin’ of a control freak.”

“You vant us to murder him?” Heavy asked, sitting down beside Medic with a cookie in hand.

“Would you?” asked Soldier, suddenly very interested.

“What? No!” Engineer protested. “Look, I know most a’ us have a rather dodgy history with th’ law, but I’m not fixin’ t’ murder anybody, here.”

“At least not if you can help it?” Medic asked with a smile.

“Vill be last resort then,” said Heavy. He popped his entire cookie into his large mouth.

“Fer th’ last time, we’re not murderin’ nobody!” Engineer scolded. “Stop it, all a’ you.”

Medic sighed. “Oh, very well zen, Engineer.” He turned to Heavy and put his hand over the Russian’s. “Schatz, could you put on some tea for our guests, bitte?”

“Of course,” said Heavy, getting up from his seat. He kissed Medic on the forehead, causing Soldier to cringe, and went to prepare the kettle.

“Don’t do that,” growled Soldier, glaring at Medic.

“Don’t do vhat?” asked Medic. His eyes lit up in realization, and he laughed softly. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ve gotten quite comfortable viz not having to hide my affections in my own house, Mister Doe.”

“You got nothin’ to apologize for,” Engineer assured him, cutting off Soldier before he even had a chance to speak. “It’s your house, after all.”

“Really, Engineer, it’s fine,” Medic said, still keeping up his pleasant demeanor. “I don’t vish to make my guests too uncomfortable.”

Soldier just snorted and crossed his arms.

“Don’t worry about it,” Engineer said. “Now, uh, if we could return to th’ topic at hand…”

“Right, right…” Medic turned to look at Soldier. “Your brozzah. He is preventing you from moving in viz Engineer?”

“That’s right,” Soldier said with a nod.

“And I assume he does not know zat you ah here.” Medic smirked.

“He doesn’t even know about th’ teleporters, as far as I know,” Engineer answered. Soldier did not react to this interruption.

“So, vhat exactly ah ve dealing wiz heah?” Medic asked, lacing his fingers. He watched as one of his doves flew onto the table and bobbed its head as it made its way to Engineer’s cookie. Engineer moved it, much to the bird’s confusion. “He is a ‘control freak,’ yes, but vhat else can you tell me?”

“He’s a monster,” said Soldier. “He is vile scum. I have never hated another human being in my life as much as I have hated him.”

“Zat’s certainly saying somezing,” said Medic. “You hate him more zen you hated me?”

“I don’t hate you,” Soldier snapped. The bird flew onto Engineer’s shoulder and stared at him as he took a bite of his cookie.

“You used to,” said Medic.

“Look, I never hated you,” Soldier said, jabbing a finger at Medic.

“I nevah vould have guessed,” said Medic. He leaned over to look at Heavy. “How is zat tea coming, kushchelbär?”

“Is coming,” Heavy assured him as the kettle heated up.

“Look, fellas,” Engineer held the rest of his cookie away from the hungry bird, “I really don’t wanna dredge all this up again. Can we please focus on Johnny here?”

“Johnny?” Medic asked. “John Doe?”

“That’s correct,” said Soldier. “John Doe Jr., actually.”

“And you’re Jane,” Medic said, rubbing his chin. “Vhat interesting names you bozh have. Zhey sound more like aliases zan your actual names.”

Soldier just grunted.

“Johnny’s a very intimidating character,” Engineer explained as the bird on his shoulder craned its neck over to peck at his cookie. “He’s… well, I can’t say I’ve ever dealt with anyone like him before. He’s bigger’n Jane and he treats him like a dog. It’s extremely unsettling. To be honest, their relationship seems downright abusive.” Soldier bristled at that last word.

“You zink Jane… is physically abused, zen?” Medic asked, eyes roving towards Soldier.

Soldier hunched over in his chair, looking like a crouched gargoyle. He said nothing.

“I… I’m not sure,” Engineer looked to Soldier, and noticed the dove still on his arm. He tried to shoo it away, only for it to snatch the remaining bit of cookie out of his hand and flutter off. He sighed. “I, uh… haven’t asked.”

“If you can provide evidence of such abuse, you may be able to make a legal case to take avay custody of Jane from zis Johnny,” said Medic. The dove landed on Medic’s shoulder and swallowed the rest of Engineer’s cookie, causing the Texan to frown. “Ozzahvise, I am not sure if you vould have much of a leg to stand on.”

“Evidence...” Engineer looked to Soldier. Soldier had not picked up on this obvious signal, and after a short silence looked between the two other men.

“What?” he asked.

“You have any evidence of Johnny hurting you?” Engineer asked. “If you do, we could convince your doctors to remove you from his care…”

Soldier hunched over further and mumbled.

“Has he hurt you?” Medic asked, reaching up a hand to pet his bird on the head.

Again, Soldier didn’t answer. He seemed to be curling up, as though trying to pull himself into a ball tight enough that he could just implode out of existence.

“Tea is ready!” Heavy announced, setting down a teapot and cups. He sat down next to the doctor, and poured himself a cup. He looked between the men at the table, and his smile faded. “Vhat is problem?”

“I’m not some battered wife, you know,” Soldier spoke up. “I can defend myself.”

“Jane, there ain’t no shame in needin’ help,” Engineer put a hand on Soldier’s shoulder only to have it be quickly shrugged off.

“Stubborn as evah,” Medic sighed as Heavy poured him a cup of tea. “Vhat does he do to you zat is so awful, hmm? Zhere must be a reason vhy you hate him so much.”

“He’s evil!” Soldier shouted, and pounded his fist on the table, startling Medic’s dove and spilling some of the tea as Heavy tried to pour Engineer a cup. “He’s ruined my life and he’s tried to suck what little joy I get out of it! The man’s like a dictator, he’s… he’s been tormenting me ever since we were kids.”

“How?” Medic asked, narrowing his eyes.

“He, uh…” Soldier shrunk back again and went silent.

“That bad?” Heavy asked.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Soldier murmured. Heavy moved to pour him a cup of tea, and Soldier shook his head. “Don’t drink tea. You have any coffee?”

“I am sorry, ve don’t,” said Heavy.

“Mister Doe, how ah you planning to get out of your brozzah’s custody if you cannot even articulate vhat it is zat he is doing zat makes you vant to leave?” Medic asked. “Unless you ah coming to Heavy und I not asking for advice, but for a favor…” He took another sip of his tea. “And I might just be sympathetic to your cause… I have been in your situation before, Mister Doe.”

Soldier perked up. “Yeah?”

“Somevone in a position of authority using emotional blackmail to manipulate you into doing zings against your will? Zhreatening people or zings you love, zhreatening to expose your darkest secrets unless you submit to zem?” Medic’s voice went low. “Yes… I know zat well. So frightened, so backed up into a corner, your pride and your integrity in shreds at your feet… all while a power-hungry maniac pulls at your strings, playing you like a puppet…”

“What did you do?” Soldier asked, leaning forward. “You managed to escape, right?”

“Ja, I had,” Medic said. “But zat was after I pulled out all his teezh, fed him his own testicles, drilled a hole into his skull and zen poured in ze acid…” he started to chuckle, a wicked smile overtaking his features. “Oh, how he screamed in agony, just begging me to stop… my only regret is zat I did not have more time to watch him slowly degenerate into a human vegetable.” He sighed wistfully, as someone would recalling a fond childhood memory. “Ah, but it vas a much different time back zen, in Germany.”

Engineer choked out a nervous laugh, trying to mask the chills that were currently wracking his body. “Yeah, uh… I did mention that I didn’t want you murderin’ nobody, doc.”

“Who said anyzing about murder?” Medic asked. “Maiming isn’t murder…”

Heavy let out a loud laugh, slapping his knee and startling the birds sitting in the window. “Good vone, Doktor!” he said, wiping at his eye.

“No maiming!” said Engineer sternly. “Look, I don’t want you gettin’ inta somethin’ that would get you arrested. This man… he is utterly convinced what he’s doing is right and he’s downright terrifying. He gave me the creeps.”

“Obviously someone intimidating enough to frighten Mister Doe is someone zat is not to be underestimated,” said Medic, idly stirring his tea. “Zen again, ze fact zat you have known zis man your entire life may be a factor. He may be less intimidating to someone who is an outsider and has dealt viz men far more devious zen a controlling older bruzzah.”

“Are you suggesting you personally try to go over there and…” Engineer trailed off.

“It vould seem to me zat ze only language zis man truly knows is zat of fear,” said Medic. “Zat happens to be vone I am quite fluent in.” He smirked, and the dove that had stolen Engineer’s cookie flew down next to him. Medic stroked the bird’s head with a finger as it cooed. “I vish to help in any vay zat I can.”

Engineer bowed his head and looked into his teacup. He would have been lying if he said he hadn’t considered trying to talk the doctor into threatening that bully of a man. If there was any chance of getting Soldier out of there that wouldn’t involve a long, drawn-out legal battle, it’d have to be with brute force and vicious cunning. He looked over to Soldier, and noticed the barest hint of a smile on the man’s lips. “I don’t want you hurtin’ him, Doc. An’ I certainly don’t want him hurtin’ you.”

“I assure you I can take care of myself, Engineer,” said Medic. He took a sip of his tea.

“And if tiny man tries to lay finger on Doktor, I break every bone in his body,” Heavy said. He cracked his knuckles for emphasis.

“Well, I don’t doubt that,” said Engineer. “But… I don’t know. I feel like I only scratched the surface of what is wrong with that man. Maybe… I dunno. I want to try an’ plan somethin’ out. I jus’ wish we had somethin’ to use against him…”

“Like vhat, exactly?” Medic asked.

“Well, uh,” Engineer shrunk back in his seat, “I mean, I dunno, maybe, I don’t…” He picked up his tea cup, and bit his lip. “I just don’t know… I need t’ think about this.”

“Very well,” Medic shrugged. “Take as much time as you vant to zink about it. But realize zat while you ah zinking, Soldier is still under his control…” He looked to Soldier, who didn’t visibly react at all aside from a grunt.

Engineer took a sip of tea, and looked from Soldier to Medic. “How about…” he said, “How about Soldier stays with you for a while until we got a plan.”

“What?” Soldier sat up straight in his chair, looking alarmed. “Here? With them?” This caused Heavy to laugh.

“Would you rather stay within driving distance of Johnny?” Engineer asked. “I think yer safer here than you are back in Minnesota. Maybe stayin’ here for a while will be good for ya.”

“Ve are not so bad to live vit,” said Heavy, smiling. “Vhat, is tiny man still feeling threatened by Doktor and I?”

“Negatory!” Soldier barked, crossing his arms. “It’s just… I don’t like this frou-frou chintzy set-up you got here.”

“And you vould razzah live viz your brozzah?” Medic asked.

Soldier uncrossed his arms and sighed. “No, sir. But… why can’t I stay at your place, Engie?”

“It’s jus’ for a little while,” said Engineer. “I need some time to think about this and consider our options, is all. See if I can’t try an’ do some research about him while bein’ assured that you ain’t in danger.”

“I resent that,” said Soldier. “I’m not some damsel in distress.”

“No,” said Engineer, “but you ain’t in a position where you’d be able t’ defend yourself very well. I jus’ don’t wanna see you hurt any more’n you’ve been already, is all.” He put a hand on Soldier’s shoulder and rubbed it. “We’ll figure this out. Don’t you worry none, all right?”

Nodding, Soldier slouched in his chair and mumbled.

“Vill not be so bad,” Heavy assured Soldier. “Is beautiful here. Can get fresh air, relax… is good for you, yes?”

“If you say so,” Soldier said. He turned to Engineer. “Don’t leave me here too long.”

“Don’t you worry,” said Engineer. “Hopefully, this’ll all be over soon…”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


When Engineer got back to Texas, he found himself surprised to see the sun was still up; he’d gotten so used to it being nighttime in Venice. Soldier was safe there. But what to do now?

He sidled up to his workbench, and plopped down on it. Here was where he liked to think, even on matters that had nothing to do with his machines. He picked up a pencil from an old coffee can and tapped it against the scratched table surface.

Johnny presented a conundrum unlike anything Engineer had faced before. Should he have just let Medic and Heavy put the fear of God into that loathsome ox? No, he decided, that might very well hurt Soldier. Johnny would only be further fueled into a vengeful anger against not just Soldier, but his friends… including Engineer. If whatever Johnny had done to Soldier was so unspeakable that Soldier refused to even hint at what kind of punishment he’d endured, Engineer didn’t want to imagine that wrath turned onto him and his daughter…

Engineer shuddered. No, he couldn’t have that. If only he could get a leg up on this son of a bitch, he thought. He sniffed, picking up the scent of smoke…

“Bonjour, laborer.”

Engineer cried out and clutched his chest, spinning around in his chair to see Spy on the other side of the garage. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” he wheezed. “How long have you… how did you…?”

“Ze whole time, and I’m not allowed to tell you,” said Spy, grinning.

Letting out a hoarse laugh, Engineer shook his head and gave Spy a dubious glance. “I wasn’t expectin’ you to show up back ‘round here so soon…”

Spy shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting to come back so soon, but oh, pressure from ze higher-ups… you know how it is…” He strode to Engineer’s desk and sat on the edge. “I was curious as to if you had given my offer any zhought.”

“Aw, Spah, I ain’t even had time t’ think that over,” Engineer sighed. “I’ve got a completely different crisis on my hands here. Soldier’s brother ain’t given up custody of him without a fight, an’ this man’s got a helluva lotta fight in him.”

“Oh?” Spy rested his chin in the heel of his hand. “Do go on…”

“He’s… he’s a control freak,” said Engineer, standing up from his chair. He started to pace. “He treats Soldier like a dog, keeps him on a leash, keeps him caged an’ angry an’ miserable an’ runs his life an’ his finances… I think he’s done more. Hurt him, physically, mentally… Soldier doesn’t even want to talk about it. He’s frightened of him.”

“Is zat so?” Spy asked, tilting his head. “I suppose zat certainly says somezing, doesn’t it?”

“I know, right?” Engineer said, turning to face Spy before he started pacing again. “I actually just came back from visitin’ Heavy and Medic… Medic sounds all too eager to go over there an’ threaten th’ guy but… I don’t know. I almost hate to admit I’d like to see that happen, but at the same time, I feel like it won’t work. Like that’d just make him angrier.”

“And taking ze legal route is just stressful and boring…” Spy sighed dramatically.

“Well, I’m not opposed,” said Engineer. “I’m just worried that given the fact that Johnny appears, for all intents and purposes, to be an upstandin’ citizen, an’ that Soldier is not only mentally ill but doesn’t have th’ best history… well, I’m worried that we’d lose, an’ we can’t afford that.”

“How sad.” Spy pouted. “And what options do you have left zen, hmm?”

“I don’t know!” said Engineer, exasperated. “I wish I had somethin’ on him, ya know? Somethin’ t’ one-up him somehow…”

“You want dirt on him, perhaps?” said Spy, blowing smoke. “Are we talking blackmail?”

“Well I…” Engineer found himself tripped up. “I don’t know, Spah… I guess, if we were fightin’ dirty. I would hate t’ have to resort t’ that… but I wouldn’t even have anythin’ t’ use. Soldier’s not talkin’, an’ I really wouldn’t want t’ get close enough t’ Johnny to… you know…” He turned to look out the garage door, hugged himself and sighed. “I don’t know, Spah. I really don’t. I just wish I could whisk him away from there... let him stay with me an’ tell him that everythin’ is gonna be-”

As he turned around, he realized the spot where Spy had been sitting was now completely empty. There’d been no sound of his cloak or anything else that might have indicated a speedy exit. He sighed.

“… okay,” he finished, speaking to no one in particular. “Dag nabbit, Spah.”

“Daddy?”

Engineer turned around to see his daughter leaning against the frame of the garage door. “Who were you talkin’ to?” she asked.

“Nobody, sweetheart,” he insisted, shaking his head. “What’s up?”

“Sniper called,” she said, twirling her hair, “He, uh, he said that he found Pyro in New York. He wants you t’ call ‘im back. I wrote down th’ number for ya, it’s by the phone.”

“Well, ain’t that somethin’,” Engineer said, smiling. “That’s great news! Thanks, pumpkin.”

“You’re welcome, daddy,” Rosie replied, and flitted off back to the house.

Engineer took one last look around the garage, hoping that Spy might still be around. Upon the Frenchman’s failure to reappear, Engineer rubbed the back of his neck and strode back to his house. All he could hope for now was that Spy wouldn’t try anything crazy.

I am so excited over everything right now. Just, vibrating on the edge of my seat.

And very, very in love with your Heavy and Medic.

I bet Spy sees this as an opportunity to get back in the spy game!

Yeeess this was a good update. I thought that I had I vague idea at least of what might happen, but after this and the introduction of Spy this story could really go either way.

Also, perhaps it's just me, but from the general relaxed atmosphere at Medic and Heavy's house (as well as Medic's blase attitude to Johnny and his behaviour) I can't help but feel that something is going to go horribly wrong when they do end up going to confront Johnny oh dear.

As always, I love the way you characterize them all, kudos especially for writing Soldier for not being HOORAHH CAPSLOCK ANGRY but still recognizably Soldier. I'm also curious to how Engineer is going to juggle three sets of problems at once, but hey, he solves practical problems right?

Looking forward to the next update, and I'm interested at how Scout might interlock to this whole drama (and how Soldier copes living at Heavy and Medic's place oh boy).