1 . Name: Anonymous @ 2012-07-22 03:26

So I'm a huge nerd and wrote fanfic for a fanfic that was on the afanfic board. AnneTheCatDetective's "Territory Control" (and "Dustbowl Horror") were fics I really liked. I've had some ideas rattling in my mind about where the story could go, and since the original hasn't been updated since 2011, I thought maybe I could toss up this little bit of writing I did inspired by the story.

This original is here: http://tf2chan.net/afanfic/res/7786.html and this fic takes place directly after the last update.

--

“What do you mean the dive equipment isn’t coming?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s out of stock.” The calm voice over the phone receiver was the exact opposite of the Sniper’s mood. “We can send one over as soon as we get our next shipment, but our records show that won’t be until next year.”

“Next--NEXT YEAR? That is absolutely ridiculous!”

“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s the best we can d--” Sniper didn’t let the voice on the other line finish as he slammed the phone back down on the hook and angrily beat his fist against the wall.

“Fuck.” Not a day went by where he didn’t talk to his Spy about the stupid dive equipment. It had become something of a distraction from the Spy’s condition, talking and making plans about what they would do when Sniper could finally travel to his cavern home. But the entrance was too deep in the water, he needed that diving shit. The rest of the year sneaking around, going to that little island in the middle of the lake, out in the open, he didn’t know how he’s going to tell the Spy. He didn’t know if he could do it.

--
As the Medic prattled on, Sniper absentmindedly scanned the shelves of medical supplies. Between the rubber gloves, syringe blades, and various painkillers, his eyes lingered on a set of vials labeled “camouflage serum prototype” and then in very large, carefully printed letters, “DO NOT USE.”

“Is this yer magic potion that’s caused all these problems?”

“What?” Temporarily confused by his train of thought being derailed, Medic turned towards Sniper. “Oh, yes, that is the serum I accidentally used on Spy. I have, ah, labeled it a little better this time. To avoid mixing it up in the future.”

Sniper picked it up and rolled it in his hands. The mixture inside the vial was a dark, opaque purple. To think something like a simple fluid could cause such drastic physical changes in a human. Sniper absentmindedly felt the skin between his thumb and index finger as he turned the vial in his hand, remembering an early conversation shortly after his Spy had changed.

“What about the new stuff? That you used on the enemy Spy?”
“Oh, I have destroyed that. It was a complete failure, I don’t know what I was thinking, adding Loch Ness Hamster genetics into the mix.”

“You just inject this into the bloodstream and it causes the gills and everything that happened to Spy?”

“Yes, but, I’m sorry, I thought we were discussing how to get the BLU Spy back for testing?”

“Yeah, sorry. Continue, I’m listening.”

Medic turned back around and continued blathering on, but despite what he had just said, Sniper was in fact not listening. He thought of his Spy, lonely in his cavern, his altered form preventing him from ever mingling with humanity again. He had jokingly suggested once that he should let Medic put octopus legs on him so they could be monsters together. Spy shot that down immediately; he didn’t want anyone to have his life. But Sniper had not been completely joking. He wanted, well, he didn’t know what he wanted.

Before he realized he had made a decision, he had already prepared a syringe and plunged it into his arm.

“Mein Gott! Vhat have you done!?” The Medic rushed to the Sniper’s side as soon as he saw the man inject himself with the serum, but it was too late. “Why vould you, Herr Sniper, you must get to a bed before you--” before he could finish, the Sniper doubled over with a grunt and fell to the floor.

“Sheisse.”

He had been told it was painful, but he hadn’t fully understood what his Spy or the RED Spy had meant when they said it. It felt like his blood was on fire, his eyes and teeth hurt, his skin was on fire. He’d lost his hat and glasses when he fell, and now he was awkwardly pawing at his vest, trying to remove it in the hazy waves of pain that were shooting through his body. Medic was trying to say something to him but he couldn’t concentrate enough to understand. Then the doctor forced another syringe into the Sniper’s arm and slowly, so slowly, he faded out of consciousness.

--

Waking up was difficult and disorienting. His body ached, his mouth was dry, his hands were sore, and he wasn’t exactly sure where he was. He groaned as he put his hand over his eyes to shield them from the too-bright florescent lighting. Something felt off, but his memory was slowly starting to come back to him.

Sniper pulled his hand from his face. Jesus Christ, what had he done? A thin, but surprisingly flexible and strong layer of skin stretched between his fingers. He touched it with the fingers on his opposite hand. It felt like normal skin. Just...more of it, like his Spy had said.

Sitting up was a bad idea. His entire body was unbelievably sore, and the change in orientation made his head swim.

“Are you proud of yourself, Bushman?”

Sniper jumped at the sound, immediately regretting it as another wave of dizziness hit. The RED Spy appeared leaning against the wall, expression flat.

“Crikey, how long have you been watchin’ me?” Sniper’s voice was hoarse and his words felt weird coming out of his mouth. His hand went to his sore throat.

“Oui, that would be ze gills. They’ll be sore for a few days.” Spy pushed off the infirmary wall and walked toward the bed. “And mind ze teeth, it is so easy to cut your tongue on zem.”

Sniper tenderly felt along his neck, lightly running his fingers along the edge of the brand-new gills. It was hard to understand the feeling. He looked up at the RED Spy, who had come up to his bed. He wasn’t expecting the slap across his face.

“What ze HELL were you thinking? What...why would you...you can’t possibly, on t'a bercé trop près du mur?!” Spy threw up his hands in frustration, his English failing him.

“I’m, I’m not sure,” Sniper finally said after a moment of silence. “The dive equipment wasn’t coming in till next year and all I could think was how--how lonely he was, in that cave...” He stared as his webbed hands again, “I thought maybe if I, shit, I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m so tired, mate. I can’t...I can’t do this anymore.”

“This isn’t very professional of you, bushman.”

“Piss off.” His head couldn’t take it anymore, he laid back down on the cot.

Spy sighed, his expression of anger having turned into one of pity. He sat at the foot of Sniper’s infirmary bed.

“Do you really love him that much?”

Sniper said nothing and rolled over, facing away from Spy.

“It’s my fault,” he said finally.