So... Hey, guys, probably don't remember me, but I'm back-ish. I hope my muse lasts. The stuff I write at the moment might be a little sub-par, since I haven't written actively in a while, but crit me and I will improve. ----- Anon from the Gen Request thread asked for Scout's mom to find out about one of the team bonking her son. It's not nearly as hilarious as they thought it would be, I'm sure, but it tickled my imagination. ----- When I was a teenager growing up, ma never thought any girl was good enough for me. I’d try bringing home a pretty girl, but she was never smart enough, and the smart girls were never pretty enough for her “baby boy.†And then, of course, all those girls that she was looking for me to hook up with were taken. After I left, I think she lost hope in me. Maybe that’s better than the truth… ----- “That’s depressing.†Engie tells me as I finish telling him my past romantic history. I shrug and stretch my back against his side, feeling the bones and tissues and shit shift. Damn, stretching feels so good after a long day. “Hm…†Engineer grumbles and I can tell he’s thinking, because I can crane my neck and see his face. He’s frowning and looking all serious and shit and I sigh and raise my hand to stroke his thick arm across my chest. It works and the corner of his mouth quirks as he looks down at me. “I don’t like it when you do that.†I tell him, feeling his hand move down my side to rest on my hip. He just smiles like the faggot he is and turns his head to watch the TV again. I mutter something clever and feel the side of his head rest on top of my hair. A few minutes later, Spy sweeps into the common room, looking smug and I wonder what he’s all about before the tap of heels distracts me and my eyes turn from his BLU suited ass to the door he just came through. “Shit.†That’s me. “… Honey…?†Ma taking in the situation. “Shit.†Me again. “Scout?†Engie’s arm has the sense to attempt to withdraw, but my hands are gripping his arm hard, not about to let go. “Shit.†Guess who. “Should I-†Spy starts in with a smarmy comment, but Engie’s glare cuts him off and he’s reduced to smirking as he cloaks. Ma’s just staring at me as I clutch at Engie’s arm, feeling like a little kid. This must be how my oldest brother felt when he got caught having sex with his girlfriend on mom’s bed. I think she was wearing the same expression too, from what he described. Kind of a mix of horror and disgust. It hurts a little to see her looking that way and knowing that I caused it. I finally let Engie’s arm go and scramble to my feet, but Ma’s already turning away and when I try to follow her, she slams the door in my face. I just stop, because I know there’s no use following her or trying to explain. Unlike the thing with my brother, this kind of thing isn’t something she can get over after a month of grounding. I know it. “Scout…†a large, warm hand rests on my shoulder and I hang my head. I’m not crying, but I can’t breathe and I’m left doing that hiccup thing that kids do when they’re trying to keep crying. The hand pulls me into an embrace and I can suddenly breathe again, resting against rough denim and cheap uniform fabric. “She hates me, man.†I tell him, taking deep breaths that don’t give me any air at all. “She… she fucking hates me.†“Naw, son… she’s just surprised is all.†He assures me, a hand rubbing my back to calm the rising panic attack. I don’t know how long we stay like this, but I don’t want him to let go of me, because I know I’ll just fall or something retarded like that. “What do I do?†I finally ask, looking up at Engineer. He’s got all the answers. No matter what the question is, he can answer it. Engie knows everything. “I dunno, Scout.†Oh, fuck me. “But she’ll be here for another day or so, until the train leaves.†He reminds me, seeing my reaction and trying to recover me before I start panicking again. He leans down to be at eye level with me and cups my face in his rough hands. “Give her a little time to cool off, and then go talk to her.†He tells me, the voice of reason when all I want to do is go hide in my room. I won’t admit it out loud, but I’m ashamed. Not of Engie, or what we have together, but that my Ma didn’t know. I tell her everything, I’m her baby boy. I’m “the closest thing she has to a daughter†as one of my brothers put it. “Yeah.†I agree, because it’s all I can do. I don’t tell him that that’s stupid and she’ll never understand or come around. “You think everything’s going to be okay?†I ask finally. “Nope, but it’s worth a try.†Engie smiles wryly and ruffles my hair before pulling me into a bear hug.
Inspired by The Lives We Take on FanFiction.net. ----- Ah, the sweet bliss of a cigarette. It calmed him, made him feel whole again. It stopped his hands from shaking as he remembered all the men he had killed that day. Why did killing people still bother him after so long? A drag on his cigarette and the thought turned over in his mind as he lay back on his bed and covered his eyes with his arm. His first kill flashed through his mind: The beauty of it; the thrill that raced through his body as the man dropped at his feet with a knife in his back. He could do this. He could kill men for money while serving this strange company. Then the trembles set in. His body was racked with such shakes that he thought there was an earthquake before he realized that it was only his body moving, not his surroundings. His knees gave way and he got a better look at the lifeless eyes of his kill. Had he really done that? Killed another man and thought he'd be perfectly fine? A black gloved hand grabbed his own and his gaze followed his arm to the hand, the cuff of the suit that matched the uniform of the dead man scant inches away, and then to those piercing blue eyes that had a tinge of pity in them. "Here..." the enemy Spy was mercifully speaking French as he pressed two unlit cigarettes as well as a spare lighter into the still-shaking hand. "This will help the shock," the man assured him before closing his fingers around the cigarettes and lighter with his own hand. Still on his knees, the Spy watched his enemy coolly walk away as he tried to find his voice. It was not forthcoming though, so he turned his eyes to the cigarettes in his loosely clenched hand. He had never smoked before, it was a bad habit and he knew it, but the trembling wouldn't stop. He shakily placed one between his lips and lit the end. Relief sped through his system and his trembling softened, less spastic jerks and more gentle shivering. Before he knew it, the first cigarette was gone and the second made its way to his mouth as he crouched next to his first kill still. His eyes looked over the body and settled back on the now glassy eyes. He felt indifferent to the man's death now, it didn't shock him so much as made him wonder if he'd do it again today and where he'd get more cigarettes if he did. However, the Announcer had called an end just as he finished off the second cigarette. He tossed it to the dusty ground with a soft exhale of the last bit of calming smoke. His shivers weren't completely abated yet, but he was able to stand and had good enough sense to brush the dirt from his suit and straighten his tie before heading back to the base. He would put in an order to HQ and there would be a pack of cigarettes for him tomorrow morning. He also noted that they would be getting a new Heavy and Medic as he spotted the prone bodies of the duo across the field. Spy's mind returned to him as there was a knock on the door. He stood and, pulling on his mask, walked over to the door and flipped the lock. He raised a brow when he saw the boy standing there, the familiar expression of a flighty rabbit on his face as he looked up and down the hall. "Oui, is zere somezing you would like, Scout?" He asked, leaning on the doorjamb with a small smile. He knew what the child was there for, but if he was going to act like a kid running to his parent's room when he had a nightmare, then he could at least admit it. "It's... I... c'n I sleep with you t'night, man? They... they won't leave me alone." He pleaded, looking limp and lifeless as he stood there with those big grey eyes. Spy nodded silently and stepped aside, holding the door open for the Bostonian. 'They' were the nightmares, the people he had killed. Either that day or the previous day or the first day... the dreams and nightmares came rarely, but after the fist few times, it had become normal for the boy to wander to Spy's door. Spy soon realized that Scout either didn't see any implications in their sleeping together, thought they were good enough friends to warrant no awkwardness, or just really didn't care as long as the warm body wrapped around him was keeping the nightmares at bay. Everyone has their own way of dealing with their demons. Spy smokes, Sniper broods, Demo drinks, Soldier whacks himself in the head until he can't remember the amount of men he has killed, Pyro is a mystery as always, Engineer loses himself in his work, Heavy is used to such things and has no qualms, Medic is a psychotic deviation from the Hippocratic oath who would prefer to cut a man open and explore his anatomy rather than have a conversation with him, and Scout feeds off of any trace of humanity that might still exist. Why he hadn't gone to Engineer for that humanity, Spy wasn't sure. The man was certainly one of the more sane of the bunch. Perhaps he had and the man had told him to go back to his room and suck it up. It certainly wouldn't be too far off the mark for the no-nonsense Texan. Scout was slipping his shoes and top layer of clothes off before Spy even got the door shut. He saw the boy a little better now that he wasn't in the dim light of the hallway. He looked tired, having run around all day and now, in the middle of the night, was forced into sleeplessness. Spy pulled his mask off and ran a hand through his short hair before replacing his cigarette back in his mouth and beginning to undress for bed himself. Scout watched him blankly from beneath the covers, taking up very little of the twin-sized mattress that each room was equipped with. After putting his suit unceremoniously down the clothes chute, Spy moved over to slide into the bed next to Scout, the boy moving closer immediately before Spy could even settle himself upon the mattress. With a sigh, he removed his cigarette from his mouth and tapped it out in the ashtray on the beside table behind Scout before giving a soft grunt as he shifted both of their weight to the middle of the mattress, springs complaining as usual until they settled down with Spy's arms loosely drawn around Scout. "Bonsoir, mon ami." Spy murmured with a soft yawn. "Yeah, g'night..." Scout said, a bit of life returning to his voice as he absorbed Spy's heat and scent, glad for another warm body while the last vestiges of his nightmares plagued him. A hand started brushing through his hair soothingly when Spy saw that the boy wasn't sleeping yet and he found his eyes drooping and his mind clearing of anything that might keep him awake. He was soon softly snoring, cradled to Spy as the man's hand made a few more passes through his messy brown hair, attempting to tame it a bit with a small smile before giving up and settling down to close his eyes. His breathing soon matched Scout's and they both slept on, neither bothered by their conscience, at peace for a few hours until they would wake up and do it all again.
I first noticed the small scar at the base of my neck almost a week after my physical for being BLU's Spy. I passed with flying colors of course, since my hobbies and previous work had kept me at the utmost peak of physical potential. Though it was odd to have a scar and to know nothing of its origins annoyed me slightly, but I assumed that it was merely nothing and went on with my job. It was not vanity that made me annoyed (I wear a mask for the majority of my work), but the fact of not knowing where it came from. I supposed it could have been from my employers, but I did not feel pain at any time or fall asleep in order for them to perform any procedure on my person. I thought anyway. But now there's a throbbing at the base of my skull and I'm standing over this little boy, this Scout. Ah, yes... he might be a man in age, but the way that he's staring up at me like I've somehow betrayed him by raising this knife against him makes him look like a four year old whose parent has drawn back a hand to strike: scared, shocked, and vulnerable. What is wrong with me? The thought passes through my mind and prods my conscience like a lance. The pain intensifies. Something in my head is telling me that if I do this- ruin our friendship, kill him- the pain will go away. The headache and the throbbing at the base of my skull that has plagued me for the last week will recede... but only if this boy ends up dead. My eyes drift closed as I try to stay my hand and logically think this over. Waves of pain pulse from the base of my skull and wash over my brain, making thinking almost impossible. Then I hear it. The soft, almost imperceptible, urging echoing in my ears at a decibel level that only my subconscious can unravel. The voice is unmistakably an old woman, perhaps sixty or seventy in years and all too familiar to us all. Kill the whelp. The pain will fade into nothing and there will be nothing holding me back from my job... I try to convince myself that he wasn't impeding my work, but I know that he was. I have refused to kill him many times when the chance arose and have recently approached killing his comrades in a less than professional way, often allowing them to escape with their lives and a little blood shed. He has made me weak. He causes my pain. Him. Him. Kill him and I will be strong again, kill him and- His voice rips me from my listening, it is tentative, questioning and only one word: "Spy..." "S-Scout, je..." I can't even speak English anymore. The pain, the throbbing... it intensifies so much that I drop my knife, fascinated as I watch it pinwheel towards his foot, sticking in the ground and barely missing the boy's beloved appendage. Even though his uniform is red, my mind tells me that he is my friend. I collapse to my knees, begging the voices to go away. Friendship is insubstantial and- I block it out by holding my breath and focusing so that it sounds like a storm is raging in my ears. It calms the pain and I wish that I can stay like this for eternity, but I have to breathe and am soon gasping for air. "Spy, you okay, man?" Scout sounds worried and I hear him shift closer through the rising volume in my head. My hands come up to ward him off. It seems like the closer he gets, the louder the voice gets and the more my ears feel like they are about to burst. "We... we can no longer be friends." I murmur in French, pushing him away when his hand touches my shoulder. Oh, the pain diminishes a bit. I repeat it, this time in English and Scout looks at me like I have struck him while offering him a treat at the same time. "Wh-" "You heard me, boy." I attempt to be detached, my voice is stern and harsh from the last few moments of torture. "Go. Now." I state as I reach for my knife and tug it from the dirt. "B-" he is cut off by my knife to his throat. "I will spare you this last time, you insolent little fool, but the next time that we cross paths...!" He is gone long before I get to the threat, but I continue on anyway. What will happen the next time we cross paths? Will the voices come back again and drive me to madness? If they don't, will Scout ever forgive me for my crazy behavior? No, he wont. I sigh as the information sinks in and that same voice that had previously been echoing in my head calls down from the speakers that we have captured the RED intelligence. They are the enemy, familier... not friends. "Oui... I have no choice but to agree..." I sigh up at the nearest speaker and flick my knife back into my pocket. "You hold all of the cards and we are merely the chips, eh?" I murmur sardonically before turning to walk away, to catch an enemy in the back before they can shoot down our Scout. He's so incompetent that he needs directions to the opponent's Intel spelled out for him. It's not like the bases are exactly the same. At thoughts of my own team's incompetence I realize that without my friend's moral support and (though I will never admit it to his face) quite funny jokes, this war will seem to last forever.
>>1 Half the fill though it may be it's better than requested, in my humble opinion. You did an amazing job with the emotions and this was delightfully dark and serious and I loved it. In fact, I love all of these, the emotions in them. Your writing style is marvellous and I look forward to whatever else you might write.