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@bears-ao3-blog
drew one of my favorite scenes from my most recent fic, Against All That You Believed :)
if you like the 7th comic, speeding bullet, and hurt/comfort i really think you’d like it! <3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
eermmrm i did it here you go
comic 7 speeding bullet yayy (can you tell i got burnt out)
Ehehehe…anyways…new chapter out of Dead Mann Walking…after three weeks….
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
el oh el
(TF2 x TLOU) Dead Mann Walking - Chapter 2: Exchange
Prologue
CW: Body horror, Death
“Cmon! Ya fuckin’ piece of shit radiator, piece of shit cuffs-“
Jeremy’s wrists ached, the skin surrounding the metal rendered blotchy, raw, and red beneath his hand wraps. He’d been tugging at the chain for hours. His mind couldn’t handle being in the same place with nothing to do for so long. He had been able to bring one of the only things he kept from his old home with him: his trusty baseball, and he had been able to keep himself sane, knocking it against the wall and catching it. That was, until it was taken from him by a guard who liked waving around his pistol a bit too much. Apparently it was annoying or something, not that Jeremy cared; their fault for kidnapping him and keeping him hostage. Besides, he was quite used to pissing people off.
What he was not used to was being locked in a room for 16 days – and counting. Jeremy huffed, hitting the ground with a thud, legs buckling under his weight. He knocked his head back against the radiator, eyes trailing up to the shabby-looking ceiling, pieces of plaster fallen to reveal rickety wood underneath. He willed his mind to find it interesting to look at. The cracks, stains, and mold allowed his creativity to wander, and he began to see shapes within them: a face or two; a fucked-up looking dog; and that splotch right there looked just like a squid. It was a miracle he even knew what squids were. He remembered seeing a picture of one in an old, tattered book, horrified by its appearance. He remembered thinking it was an alien before an old teacher of his rolled her eyes and corrected him.
“It’s called a squid, Jeremy. They live in the ocean."
Were squids still around? Probably. He figured nothing has changed much for the lucky bastards who lived underwater.
His inner musings were stopped short by the rattle and creak of the door opening once more. Jeremy flinched violently, not expecting to be caught off guard, and he huffed. Must’ve been the surveyors again. He shifted to stand up once more.
Except it wasn’t the surveyors.
Jeremy froze, still sitting, but on guard. He recognized the man at the door as the creepy-ass dude who never took off his facemask and was always in a getup a bit too fancy for the apocalypse. He reeked of cigarettes so badly that Jeremy was sure he would be able to smell it on the older man even if there wasn’t one lodged in his mouth. Come to think of it, out of the few times he’s seen the guy, he doesn’t think he was ever not smoking. Sheesh. Cigarettes were as valuable as gold and here this guy was, sucking down about a pack a day by the looks of it. Must be a hell of a hotshot.
The man was holding Jeremy’s bag, and Jeremy watched with a blank look as he gently raised it in a smooth motion, before tossing it his way. Jeremy lunged forward and grabbed it harshly, awkwardly – his hands were attached at the wrist – but violently unzipping it. He rummaged through it, scrutinizing every square inch his eyes landed on to make sure all his belongings were present. His hands clasped around a familiar, worn fabric, and Jeremy pulled out his trusty cap. It was one of the only things that had stayed with him for most of his life, a treasure he has kept around for over a decade. A small wave of comfort and reassurance washed over him as he affixed it to his head with a firm tug. He always felt a bit more secure with his cap on.
Jeremy could hear the creaking of the hardwood beneath the masked man’s feet as he slowly, carefully, but with purpose, approached Jeremy before sitting down in front of him, uncomfortably close; well within the range of the chain fixing him to the wall. Jeremy tilted his head up slightly to see him from under the brim of his cap, his brows threading together slowly as his nose scrunched.
“I may be cuffed but I can still beat the tar outta ya from ‘ere, y’know.”
“You will do so such thing, and we both know it.”
Scout’s lip curled at his accent. It was odd: guttural and with an strange lilt. In all his years being raised to be one of MANN’s perfect little soldiers, he only ever heard a couple other accents. Most were simply other Americans, (apparently, folks born and raised in Boston – rather, the Boston Fortress – even had their own), but on occasion he’d get ones that sounded a bit weirder. The word drifted into his head, slowly and fuzzily coming into view in his mind’s eye: “European”. Yeah, European sounded about right. The other man spoke again.
“…No ‘thank you’s?”
Jeremy huffed out a laugh, disbelieving.
“For fuckin’ what? For nappin’ me and keeping me locked in here for two goddamn weeks?”
The other man’s slightly amused expression turned grave, his voice grim and serious, stripped of any humor that may have been present in it before.
“You would rather me have let my men shoot you? I was the one to call them off, if you recall. So I kindly request that you drop this childish attitude of yours so we can have a proper conversion. Maybe then I’ll consider getting you out of those handcuffs.”
They both stared at each other intensely for a beat, before Jeremy sighed, relaxing a bit; silently yielding. He gingerly spoke again after a speculative moment.
“...why did ya stop them?”
The man across from him hummed.
“That is a discussion for later.”
He then shifted closer, reaching for Jeremy’s hands, and the younger man instinctively pulled them away, the chain attached to them rattling loudly against the radiator. The older man lifted his hand to reveal a small key and exasperated expression, and Jeremy eyed both warily. He then slowly, hesitantly extended his hands, offering up the cuffs for the other to unlock, his posture still laced with apprehension.
The other gracefully lodged the key in and turned it, and Jeremy slightly melted in relief once the overbearing restriction of the metal cuffs loosened and gave way to freedom. He shook his wrists and rubbed at them with a slight grimace as the masked man gently set the cuffs down with a soft clink.
“So, Anthony. How are you feeling?”
Jeremy stretched his arms, reveling in the feeling of his hands no longer being attached to each other. There were nasty knots littering the expanse of muscle in his shoulder blades, and he hissed quietly as he worked at them. Jeremy pondered the question for a moment before shrugging.
“The same. I’m not gonna...it’s not gonna happen, no matter what your guys think. Look, man, why don’t you just let me go? I won’t tell no one about any of this, I promise-”
“Where, exactly, do you plan on going? Those drifters you were with are long gone by now. Back to MANN’s military? Do you wish to be a soldier that badly?”
Jeremy shot him a steely look, head tilting as the other spoke.
“Fuck off, don’t talk about ‘em like that… and you think I chose that place? They put me there when I was a freakin’ baby. It’s for orphans.”
“’They’ didn’t put you there...”
The man’s face morphed into an oddly smug expression as he leaned in a bit to finish his sentence in a quieter voice.
“I did, Jeremy.”
Jeremy looked at him with wide eyes and a mouth slightly agape, incredulous, his brows slightly furrowed in confusion.
“...You my fuckin’ dad or somethin’?”
The other’s jaw clenched slightly and he looked away, making Jeremy bristle before being cut off with a firm:
“No. I am no such thing. I just...made a promise to keep you from harm, in the past.”
Jeremy’s eyes squinted in skepticism, and he felt the urge to press further.
“Ok? Then who the hell are you?”
“I am the leader of the Fireflies in the Boston Fortress. You may call me ‘the Spy’. Not an appropriate title, I must say...it dates back to my previous career, but it is one I am the most accustomed to.”
“Ok...why would a terrorist dump me with MANN?”
Spy’s diplomatic disposition quickly faded into irritation as he cut him off with a cold response.
“Because that is where you would be safest, and you were safe there until you decided to sneak out...and ‘terrorist’? Was Chelsea a terrorist, then?”
A fire suddenly lit in Jeremy’s eyes and his hand sailed forward to dig into that stupid charcoal grey suit coat and haul Spy so close that Jeremy could feel the heat of the other man’s cigarette against his cheek. He spoke with a dangerous hiss.
“If you know what’s good for ya, you won’t EVER fuckin’ bring her up again, you understand me?”
Jeremy shoved him away, his gaze averting as his fury died down and fizzled into a quiet, withheld sadness. He slumped back against the radiator with a sigh. Regardless of his anger at the question, he still answered with a shake of his head after a moment.
‘No, she wasn’t’
He cautiously looked back at the other, who surprisingly didn’t look upset. He instead held a look Jeremy couldn’t quite place at all, actually. Jeremy spoke up again, his voice quiet but pressing, a slight edge still tracing his words.
“...Why didn’t you let ‘em kill me, Spy?”
Spy’s brows were taut, and his lips pressed together before he replied.
“...because you serve a greater purpose than any of us could have ever imagined.”
Jeremy’s eyes widened once more in quiet shock as the other continued.
“So, we’re leaving tonight. And we’re taking you with us.”
The door opened once more, and the same lady with the clipboard popped her head in.
“He’s here.”
Spy barely turned his head to reply with a curt, firm:
“Five minutes.”
The lady swiftly pulled her head out and shut the door quietly, and Spy looked back at Jeremy with such intensity it made the younger squirm under his gaze. The other’s voice was deadly serious as he spoke.
“What I am about to tell you cannot be repeated to anyone, because if you do, I assure you, you will die. Do I make myself clear?”
Jeremy swallowed thickly, brows tweaked in fearful confusion, before he nodded.
“...yeah. Crystal.”
»»-——— - ———-««
Mick could hardly hear anything over his own breathing being guided to his ears from his mask, but he still listened intently for any signs of danger that could come their way. His flashlight swooped over their surroundings with expertise gifted only by years of paranoia as they slowly made their way through the grime-infested tunnels. Wooden beams and metal bars propped up the earth above them, and every once in a while, if Mick listened close enough, he could pick up the quiet groan of the weight above them. Frances led the way, as she knew these passageways better than anyone else in the Fortress. Mick personally struggled with the confusing, winding paths. They were maze-like; complex, unpredictable, and incredibly unstable. They put Mick on edge. Then again, so did anything else.
As they continued, Mick noticed the particles infesting the air thicken, hung in the air; a quiet menace. Couple breaths of that stuff and you’ll find yourself the perfect fit for a mycological terrarium, and scarily fast, too. Mick figured it wasn’t long before they encountered the source.
And he was exactly right.
A body lay on a pile of rubble. Sprouts of green-yellowed fungus riddled and surrounded the figure in groves and long-reaching roots, binding it to the rubble below. Its brittle skin was rippled and warped from where the fungus sprouted, tearing through dry flesh and wilted clothing. The fabric lay lost beneath the leathery disks that turned what was once a person into a husk; a bed to lie in, to grow in. A particularly nasty growth protruded from the body’s head, and Mick swallowed thickly as he pictured the fungus cracking open that skull with ease to free itself. To keep growing. To keep spreading. The corpse’s mouth and eyes were open wide, as if they had spent their last moments in utter terror. Mick let out a breath.
“Well, there’s our culprit.”
Frances hummed, examining the body with cold, calculated eyes.
“This one’s done for. Still relatively fresh-looking for a fruiter, though. Wonder what happened to the guy.”
Mick shook his head.
“Wa’n’t careful, I’d say. Reckon he was a newbie or the like.”
“What can you do…let’s keep going.”
They pressed further on, the air clearing a bit of spores, but enough lingered to warrant the masks remaining on.
They came upon a bend, and froze as they heard the low murmur of a voice in the near distance. Frances and Mick pressed themselves against the wall adjacent to the turn, pulling out their guns. Frances gave him a look, Mick nodded back, and they quickly spun around the corner, guns raised and eyes frantically searching for their target. Frances gasped quietly as their eyes trailed over to a woman. She was pinned to the ground by a large chunk of concrete and dirt. A section must have collapsed on her; simple, bad luck. Mick grimaced as the woman whined and whimpered and sobbed, writhing in quiet agony. Her noises were muffled by a mask half-attached to her face. Mick watched her head slowly rise as her attention was caught, and she spoke hoarsely.
“M-My mask- my mask broke.”
She coughed pitifully, wheezing, lungs constricted beneath the overbearing weight. Mick’s face tightened further.
“Don’t leave me to turn, please.”
Mick’s fists clenched. He glanced over at Frances, who looked as if she had turned to stone, frozen in place. Mick nodded understandingly, noticing her slightly trembling frame. He walked over to the woman, crouched down, and placed a comforting hand on the woman’s head. The tortured soul sobbed in relief. Mick slowly, smoothly brought the barrel of his gun to her head before the deafening bang of a single shot rang in Mick’s ears, reverberating dizzyingly throughout the tunnel.
Mick stood slowly, head slightly hung, before he turned around to look at Frances. She stood there for a moment, staring at the corpse of someone she very well possibly knew. Mick felt a churn in his gut. Then, as if nothing had happened, she began walking once more. Mick jogged to catch up. He spoke quietly through his mask.
“Frances, she would ‘ave-“
Frances swiftly raised a hand to command him to stop talking, her shoulders tense. He obeyed.
She didn’t speak for the rest of the trip through the tunnels.
Or when they made it to the surface, free to remove their ventilation masks.
Or when they reentered the fortress through the walls of interconnected, long-forgotten ramshackle buildings, trailing through decrepit brick and rotting wood and dusty carpet.
Or when those buildings slowly transitioned into a bustling market of illegal wares; where friendly smugglers struck up conversations with her that were swiftly ignored.
Or when they had to, once again, slip into another well-hidden entrance to delve deep underground, shooting the woman guarding it a steely eye, whom immediately allowed them passage with a nervous energy. Greg had chosen a particularly hard spot to get to. Of course he would. The man was paranoid, and rightfully so. Not that it did much to dissuade the reasons he was so scared.
Mick didn’t say a word either. He simply followed her lead until they finally approached a rickety metal ladder at the end of a dark, dusty hallway, bathed in darkness cut through by Mick’s returning flashlight. It ran up a cramped passageway, and Mick felt a twang of discomfort at how high the ladder seemed to go. They carefully climbed it, and found themselves standing on a loft leading access to a single door.
It was only then that Frances finally spoke.
“Alright. This door should open into the hallway-“
Frances’s brows slowly folded together as she pressed against the thin wood and it didn’t budge. She pressed again, firmer, confusion riddling her features. The wood only bent slightly beneath her weight. Mick’s already cocked brow only raised further as she paused and sniffed the air in a slow pull of air, before she turned to him.
“…do you smell that?”
Mick took a couple quick breaths in through his nose before his face fell. It was a smokey, firey scent he knew all too well: gunpowder.
Mick angled his flashlight at the door to get a better look, and the circle of light trailed down until it landed at the crack just beneath the door. Frances took a slight step back, realizing her foot was mere inches away from a steadily growing pool of blood. The crimson, blackened by the shadows surrounding the area trailed tellingly from the other side of the door. Mick pulled out is 9mm.
Frances threw her weight against the door with a small grunt, finally earning a give from the other side, a weight relinquishing quickly and making her slightly stumble. Mick felt a spark of concern and protectiveness flicker within him at her just trudging in and he hissed.
“Frances!”
But Frances wasn’t listening. She was staring at something from behind the door that Mick couldn’t see. It was only after he gently shouldered her aside so he couldn’t make it through the door that he realized why she was frozen in silent shock.
It was Greg.
There was a clean hole in his right cheek, and several more littered his torso, staining his light shirt a familiar red. Frances examined the hallway around them and let out a small breath at the sight before her. A low light pooling in from the window on one end of the hallway illuminated several more men, slumped against walls or splayed out on floors, riddled with their own gunshot wounds. It was only when her gaze returned to the body of their betrayer that she noticed the small crate next to him. Beneath thin wire securing it inside was a car battery. Mick took notice as well, and directed his light at it as they both took a good look. Corrosion covered it from head to toe, plain to see. Frances shook her head in disbelief.
“The battery was no good, and he still tried to sell it…twice.”
Mick scowled, eyeing the dead man beneath him with fury.
“You greedy wanker.”
They both fell silent, heads snapping in the direction of a quiet groan of pain in the distance. Frances quickly stood and they both raised their guns, rigid arms directing their firearms accordingly. Mick quickly overtook Frances, guarding her with his own body as they slowly made their way further down the hall shuffle by shuffle, trying to remain unheard as they investigated. Mick listened intently and jumped slightly at the sound of another pained gasp. He turned back to give Frances a questioning look, who simply returned the expression.
They slowly approached an intersection of hallways, and a door lay at the end of the one they were walking down. Mick cautiously peeked his head out from over the left corner.
There was no one there.
He didn’t even have time to turn his head the other way before he heard the door in front of him open, and someone came barreling at him. Mick instinctively stepped further out and grabbed the attacker by the shirt. He easily overpowered them, using the momentum to whirl them around and slam them against the wall bruisingly hard. They let out a painful cry mixed with a choke. Mick swiftly brought his gun up to press against their temple. He felt a stinging coolness against his own neck; a knife.
It was a man in front of him. Young-looking, barely dipping in his twenties, by the looks of it. He had bright blue, wild eyes that glared up at Mick dangerously, and buck teeth that peeked from behind a curled lip as he growled under his breath.
“Fuck…”
Mick glared back, pressing the gun harder against the other’s head and breathing in quick to bark out a question, but another voice pierced the air instead, interrupting him.
“Frances? Mundy?”
Both looked back over in the direction the voice came from, and Mick’s nose scrunched in confusion at the sight of none other than the leader of the Fireflies himself. His dark suit was stained darker with blood, and he was pressing at the wound in his abdomen with a weak pressure. He was leaning against the wall to hold himself up, breathing shallow, face twisted in pain, and it was clear he wasn’t doing so good. Regardless of all of that, he still held a gun up with his other hand to point directly at Mick. Frances had acted accordingly, resting her aim on the masked man in response. The man Mick had against the wall let out a breath at the sight.
“Oh, shit. Spy-“
Spy’s eyes flicked over to the young man, and he spoke warningly.
“Let the boy go. Now. Point the gun at me, not him.”
Mick gawked at Spy, baffled. What was so special about this guy that a revolutionary leader was urging him to do something like that?
The young man’s eyes returned the leader’s gaze, breathing still quick, and Spy held his gun out to gently lower his arm with a splayed hand, urging him to settle down. Jeremy’s head snapped back to Mick, eyes squinted in anger, but Mick felt the blade against his neck retreat. Mick’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he, very hesitantly, lowered his gun from the other’s temple and directed it towards Spy. He still held the man firmly against the wall, his guard refusing to come all the way down. Spy gently lowered his own firearm in response.
Frances spoke to herself as her suspicions she had been silently carrying with her were confirmed.
“It was you Greg tried selling the battery to…”
Her next words were a bit louder and much more matter-of-fact.
“Your war must be going pretty poorly on your end for you to be buying from con-artists like him…and you aren’t looking good yourself.”
Spy sighed, looking off in the distance.
Yep, right on the money.
“Yes, well…he did not provide what was promised. The knave got what he deserved, in the end…but I have lost enough men…and I have only been losing more.”
Mick piped in with a stern voice.
“What do you need a car battery for?”
“A much better reason than you do.”
Spy’s sigh was intercepted by a grunt of pain and he clutched at his wound a bit tighter.
“MANN will be on their way soon…hard to miss a gunfight.”
He looked down at the ground, as if thinking to himself, before he spoke again.
“We were going to move Jeremy out of the fortress tonight…but that is not something I can do on my own…especially not now.”
He silently referenced his wound, his voice sounding grim, and continued.
“So…you will do it.”
Both Jeremy and Mick did not like the sound of that, talking and shouting over each other.
“The hell we are-“
“What-, I’m not goin’ with this guy!”
Frances stayed eerily quiet, and Mick was quick to shoot her a look.
“Frances…we don’t have time for this.”
Spy scoffed.
“Oh, you don’t have time?”
Frances spoke.
“…Who is he?”
“To you? He is merely cargo.”
Mick made an annoyed growl that trailed into his words.
“No, no, no. We do not smuggle people.”
Spy, obviously speaking to the more receptive Frances, completely ignored Mick.
“There is a crew of Fireflies waiting for her at the Capitol-”
Mick was about to cut in, but Spy caught it.
“I know what is out there, we were going with an entire squadron for that very reason….but now I do not have a truck, I do not have a squadron, MANN is five minutes away, what I DO have is you…and I am perfectly aware what you two are capable of. For better or worse.”
Jeremy eyed the man in front of him before looking over at Spy, quietly muttering.
“…what are they capable of?”
Spy ignored the question.
“If you get him there safely, they’ll give you everything you need. Not just the battery; a fully fueled truck, weapons, supplies, all of it…I give you my word.”
Mick gave him an unconvinced look.
“I give you my word.”
Mick and Frances looked over at each other, silently weighing their options, before Frances gave him a small tilt of her head.
‘Lets talk about this.’
Mick trailed his eyes over to Jeremy, who looked a bit more apprehensive. Mick’s eyes landed on the butterfly knife he still clutched in his hand, and in a quick motion shoved himself away while snatching the blade, leaving Jeremy completely defenseless. The young man hissed bitterly.
“Bastard!”
And Mick joined Frances to walk a bit further down the hall. They leaned in close to speak quietly.
“Do you trust him?”
Mick answered with tight lips and a glance at the men down the hall. Jeremy was at the man’s side, and they were speaking quietly to each other as well, by the looks of it.
“Yeah, I don’t either…but he looks desperate.”
“…if what he’s saying is true…we’d be set for who knows how long out there. The second we hand that bloke over-“
Spy spoke up.
“Not to dissuade you from making a proper decision, but please do remember that I am bleeding out.”
Frances’s eyes squinted as the gears in her head turned, before she suddenly turned around.
“Alright. Here’s the deal.”
Both slowly walked back over as Frances spoke.
“We’ll get him over to your team at the State House, but before we hand him over we get everything we want. If not, we kill him. Right then and there.”
“Deal.”
Jeremy looked between the two with wide eyes and huffed out.
“Ya freakin’ kiddin’ me? That fast?”
Spy shook his head slightly.
“You are all that matters. My team will not jeopardize that. Remember what we talked about?”
Jeremy swallowed thickly, eyes darting between Mick and Frances. Spy continued.
“Go grab your bag.”
Jeremy shot Spy another apprehensive glace.
“Now, Jeremy.”
Jeremy huffed and trudged through the door he had popped out of, and a few seconds later he returned with a bag slung around his shoulder. He glared over at Spy, who eyed him sadly. There was hurt in the young man’s eyes. He stood there, planted in the hallway. Frances had already turned to start walking, muttering a quiet but commanding:
“Let’s go.”
Spy nodded, urging Jeremy to do as told, and after a tense moment obeyed, turning towards Mick who had waited behind patiently. Jeremy held out his hand expectantly, and Mick cocked a brow before remembering the knife he had taken from him. He gingerly placed it in Jeremy’s hand, and it was only then that Jeremy began walking down the hallway, shouldering Mick roughly as he passed.
Mick looked back at Jeremy, brows furrowed and a slow, composing breath escaping through his nose. He could already tell this Jeremy guy was going to be a nuisance.
“Mundy?”
Mick looked back over at Spy. He had clear worry etched in the features hidden beneath his balaclava.
“Failure is not an option. See to this properly.”
The dead seriousness in the older man’s eyes made Mick itch. He did not offer a response, he simply turned and walked away in the direction the other two had gone.
(TF2 x TLOU) Dead Mann Walking - Chapter 1: 12 Years Later
(For clarification: Frances is Miss Pauling, Greg is TFC Scout)
Prologue
Chapter 2
CW: Implied Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Abuse
Frances’s leg bobbed, the pain from her injuries making her antsy. She had been pissed when she found out Greg had scammed them. However, that was before his men went after her and she took a nasty beating. Now she was just tired. Now she just wanted to go home. The abandoned brick building they had hauled her into was dusty yet dank, and she craved her dry, comfortable bed. Fatigue ate at her. Frances stared at her knees, hunched over in her chair as the man sat across from her spoke.
“...What do you want me to say, Fran?”
“I’m not asking you to say anything.”
“…sure.”
There was an edge to his words, his voice wavering and tense. She could see from her peripheral that he was just as fidgety.
“It’s...It’s not like I planned on ripping you off, alright?”
Frances looked up, the movement making her head throb. She stared Greg dead in the eyes, feigning a calm, uncaring expression, her eyes boring into him.
“Then let’s just let it go.”
A tense, skeptical worry washed over Greg’s face and he stood up from his chair, turning away to pace slowly, huffing out a shaking breath. Frances felt a wave of impatience wash over her.
“What exactly are you planning to do, then? Are you going to keep me here? Kill me?”
“Fran, come on-“
“Then what do you want?”
“I want you to forget this ever happened!”
Frances shifted to lean back in her chair, nodding slightly.
“Consider it done.”
Greg just pointed at her with a shaking, agitated finger as he continued pacing.
“Don’t – Don’t do that!”
“Do what, Greg? It’s just a truck battery. I paid you for it, you sold it to someone else, and you spent my money. Do you really think I’m any better? I’ve done plenty worse, believe me.”
Greg grimaced, still unconvinced. He gestured towards the two men who stood behind Frances.
“My guys fucked you up!”
“Ok? So discipline your guys.”
She gave the two behind her a steely look, their own faces and postures tightening at the implication of “discipline”. Greg put his hands on his hips, his foot tapping on the ground for a moment before he gingerly spoke once more.
“…and what about your guy, huh?”
His voice broke into a louder volume, shaking and cracking and wet as fear made his vocal cords gum up and wobble.
“’Cause when he sees you, I mean – put yourself in my shoes– “
Frances leaned forward, her face dead serious as she cut him off with a stern tone.
“He answers to me.”
Her face then softened, putting more emotion and genuineness behind her voice.
“So. I give you my word that he won’t hurt you.”
Greg looked down at the ground, face pained and the shine of tears of terror tinging his waterline as Frances continued.
“I’ll tell him I was attacked by some strangers and we can move on.”
Greg looked up to see Frances’ face stone cold once more as she slumped against the backrest of the chair, a tired irritation lacing her eyes as she sighed.
“Now, you’ve pretty much ruined my week, and I’d like to go home and drink as many glasses of cheap wine as it takes to get my face to stop hurting. So are we good?”
Greg just stared at her with squinted eyes, his mouth opening to speak before hesitance stopped his voice short and he looked around, second-guessing. It was several moments of tense silence before he sighed, his voice softened by diffidence.
“…Yeah. Yeah, we’re good.”
Frances let out a slow breath before she curtly nodded and stood up, her legs shaking slightly as her head swam. Greg’s men shifted, moving past the door to let her out. She turned back to Greg, her voice similarly quiet but much more composed.
“Thank you.”
He watched her leave, his foot still tapping on the ground as dread churned in his gut, regretting his decision as soon as the door shut behind her.
»»-——— - ———-««
Jeremy perked up at the sound of dull footsteps from behind the door across the room. The quiet clinking of the chain attached to his cuffs sounded at his movement, and he sighed as he stood up, an unamused expression already settling across his face as the door opened to reveal three individuals: a woman, the same one who had been visiting him for the past two weeks, holding a clipboard, and two men, different every time. The one thing that didn’t change about them was the pistols in their hands.
Jeremy looked down at the food tray on the floor in front of him. The first time around, when they had asked him to return the tray so they could give him his next meal, he very quickly learned that these lot were jumpy sons of bitches. He hadn’t even taken a step forward, tray in hand, doing as told, before they were shouting and two guns were pointed at him. Handing it over like a normal person wasn’t an option, because to them he wasn't a normal person. To them, he was a danger that could reveal itself any day now, any hour, any minute. He couldn't exactly blame them, but it didn't piss him off any less: the way they treated him. Jeremy gently pressed the tip of his foot against the edge of the tray and launched it with a kick, his teeth grit and lips pursed in low-burning frustration. The plastic skidded across the splintery wood floor to rest in front of the woman. Her head lifted and she mirrored Jeremy’s humorless expression, her grip tightening on the pencil in her hand. She cleared her throat quietly.
“Count from one to ten, clearly and slowly.”
A slow stream of air flowed out of Jeremy’s nose, his patience already wearing thin despite the three only being there for less than a minute.
“One. Two. Three. Four. Five.-”
The woman began scribbling something down on the paper attached to the clipboard as he followed her order.
“-Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”
The woman nodded in approval, her eyes still on the paper. Jeremy rolled his eyes, mumbling his annoyances under his breath, shifting on his weight. She then lifted her gaze to speak again.
“Ok, now hold out your-”
Jeremy’s arms were already raised, eyeing her with a cocked brow.
“...State your name, clearly and sl-”
“Anthony. Same as fuckin’ yesterday. And the day before. And the day before, and th-”
The three chose to ignore him then, well used to his attitude by now. One of the guards grabbed the tray, and the three filed out of the room, making Scout’s irritation spike as they paid him no mind.
“Ey, people are gonna come lookin’ for me, ya hear? People from MANN. And when they do you’re all gonna be dead meat-”
His words fell on deaf ears, fueling his anger further. He tugged against his chain as he stepped closer to the door, his arms looping over his side so his body could continue facing the door, a scowl painting his visage.
“Let me out or you’re gonna pay, ya bastards!”
The last guard shot him an unreadable look before the door slammed shut. Jeremy's lip curled and he screamed, his voice reverberating through the rickety room and back at him.
“I shouldn't be here!”
Jeremy stared at the door, the silence settling over him. He tore his gaze away with a pained face, sighing wearily. How long were they planning on keeping him there? He rubbed subconsciously at his arm; a dull pain intermixed with a sharp sting traveled up his limb with the pressure. He plopped down onto the ground with a sigh, his eyes trailing up to the messy, spray-painted words spanning the wall across from him.
When you’re lost in the darkness.
»»-——— - ———-««
Knock knock knock.
Mick groaned, his bleary eyes blinking open slowly, his eyelids sticking together like molasses. His mind searched for sense, still stuck in the in-between of sleep and consciousness. His heart quickly picked up on the confusion and – from years of always having to be on guard – quickly began thumping hard against his chest, his body jolting up as lucidity returned to him. Another set of thuds sounded on the front door. He sighed as he stood up, his balance thrown askew, and he leaned against his bedroom doorway to steady himself before stumbling through his hallway and living room. He glared at the door, growling under his breath at the annoying pounding.
“M’bloody comin’!”
Mick finally reached the door and threw it open. The darkened hallway – he doesn't remember there ever being a working lightbulb in there – cast shadows over the figure in front of him.
“…Fran? Wot are ya doin’ ‘ere so earl-?”
He looked back at the clock on the wall off-handedly and froze as he realized it was already nearly 2 in the afternoon.
They had a drop-off today.
Frances walked straight past him into the apartment, slapping several sheets of cardstock against his chest. Mick’s hands instinctively sailed towards the ration cards before they could fall to the floor, and his gaze followed her as she trailed over to his living room table and collapsed in a seat, head falling into crossed arms that rested on the tabletop. His brows furrowed, concern and irritation at her doing the job without him flickering in his gut. She looked exhausted. He quickly shut the door and rushed over to join her at the table, sitting across from her and scooching forward. He leaned toward her, head tilting slightly as he eyed her, his low voice calm but frosty.
“You did the drop on your own.”
Frances’s voice was muffled in her arms.
“Tried waking you up earlier. You didn’t answer.”
She lifted her head, her own brows knitted.
“I knocked and knocked for like 5 minutes straight. Have you been mixing drinks with pills again? I told you not to-“
She froze as she realized Mick’s attention now rested squarely on the marks littering her face, his eyes widening and posture tensing. The chair behind him scraped against the floor as he stood up slightly, leaning over the table to inspect her face with a clenched jaw. His voice held a dangerous, seething stress to it as he spoke.
“Did the client do this?”
Frances scoffed, a huffy laugh escaping her as she shook her head slightly.
“The deal went smoothly. Got us enough ration cards to last us a couple of months at least. I was…”
Frances’s face fell slightly as her sentence trailed off. She then sighed, closing her eyes for a moment before she looked Mick square in his. The action made the man freeze in apprehension, her intense gaze immediately putting him off.
“I need you to take a breath.”
Sniper’s eyes squinted and head tilted as his lip curled, his shoulders squared and posture tight.
“Wot?-“
“Mick-“
“Wot?”
“…I was jumped by Greg’s men…He sold the battery to someone else.”
Sniper fully stood up out of his chair with a rough breath, shoving against the table for leverage, immediately breaking into a rage-fueled pace.
“Hey, calm the hell down. These things happen, alright? We just shake it off, and we go get our cards back, or the battery-”
She quickly got up and walked up to him as she spoke, grabbing his arm to calm him and keep him from pacing; from running through his head and working himself up. He growled out in response.
“We need the bleedin’ battery, Frances! The truck’s no good without it, and we can’t get outta here without the truck. This place is…I can’t – …I can’t live in his blasted hellhole anymore! And I know you can’t either! The Mann shootin’ perfectly healthy folks in the street, the bloody Fireflies an’ their attacks, the rations dwindling day by day…and that wanka just screwed us outta our chance? An’ look what he did ta you! I’m deadset gonna-”
Frances’s grip on his arm tightened and she barked out, cutting his rant short.
“Look, Mick! I’m just as upset as you are, but Greg is terrified of you. So if you march out there like Clint Eastwood with guns blazing, Greg is going to catch wind of it and he is going to disappear before we have a shot at him. I need you, to take. A breath.”
Mick eyed her wearily, his brows interwoven. Frances’ eyes darted back and forth between his, silent. Mick played with the flesh of his cheek, nose still flaring and posture still tense, until he softened slightly with a click of his tongue and a sigh through his nose, turning his head slightly away. He let Frances gently drag him back to the table and they both sat down, a solemn silence overtaking them. Mick’s interlocked fingers pressed against his mouth as he thought for a moment. He finally broke the stillness with a gravelly voice.
“I reckon you know where he’s hidin’, then?”
“Of course I do, I just had to ask the right people the right questions.”
Mick nodded, expecting the answer. Greg may have had his share of goons, but most of the smugglers and bounds-breakers in the Boston Fortress aligned with Frances, if they knew what was good for them. His cheek drew back slightly as he huffed, and Frances piped up once more.
“Now, we’re going to go find him, quietly, understand? I promised Greg that you wouldn’t hurt him, but…”
Frances’s eyes darkened and she leaned in closer, her voice low and dripping with venom.
“I really, really, want you to hurt him…So, we’re going to approach this logically, alright? Let’s go get him, our battery, our truck, and finally get out of here.”
“…He’s already scared, in’t he? Wot’s stopping him from skipping town on his own accord?”
Frances slowly smiled a dangerous smile and gestured with her head towards the door.
“So we go now. Nothing’s stopping us, as long as we’re careful. Let’s go teach him a lesson.”
A smirk pulled at the side of Mick’s face, and he hummed in agreement.
“Oh, I can do now. I can do now juuust fine.”
»»-——— - ———-««
Every time Mick had to walk through the dingy alleyways of the Boston Fortress, it served as another reminder of just how much he wanted out. It always smelled like shit; you wouldn’t go a couple minutes without the sounds of crying, of screaming, of shooting guns and authoritative shouts; hellhole was the only correct word. And sure, the whole world was a hellhole right now, but this was a hellhole you’d get shot for trying to leave.
Mick followed close behind Frances, suspicious eyes scanning every square inch around them for potential jumpers. A voice sounded from one of the many loudspeakers strewn about the quarantine zone, making him jump slightly.
“Attention: citizens are required to carry a current ID at all times. Compliance with all city personnel is mandatory.”
Frances hummed as they walked by the speaker, clicking her tongue as she also let her eyes sweep their surroundings.
“Look at that. Ration line still hasn’t opened…must be running low again.”
In the distance, Mick could hear a soft-spoken but irritated woman amongst a long line questioning a soldier.
“Hey, how much longer?”
The soldier spoke back sternly, his own annoyance giving an edge to his words.
“Lady, when the rations arrive, we’ll open the door, alright?”
They continued walking. Mick’s attention was drawn to two bodies laid upon the ground, another group of soldiers taking their time to haul them into a truck to be disposed of. He picked up the low conversation of two men as they passed by.
“One was infected. The other tried getting up and running. They just gunned him down without a second thought, man.”
“Jesus Christ…”
Mick’s lips tightened, his jaw clenching. It never made sense to him, why would you hire such trigger-happy enforcers when your job is to keep people safe? To keep them alive? It sent his blood boiling and ears ringing at the hypocrisy of it all. People may do awful things, but that’s out of necessity of survival. As for the soldiers: he could see the bloodlust in those helmet visor-covered eyes; their hands tightened on their guns itching to put a bullet in another innocent civilian. Frances slowed down a bit, and Mick broke out of his mind as he realized they were almost at the checkpoint. They shifted to walking side by side and Frances leaned in to speak quietly.
“I got us all new papers. They shouldn’t give us any static up there…just play it cool.”
They walked up to the gatekeeper as Mick fished out their proper identifications. The soldier gruffly spoke.
“Lemme see your IDs.”
Mick handed them over, and the gatekeeper studied them for a moment. The man nodded and looked back up at Mick and Frances, his eyes skeptical.
“What’s your business here?”
Mick spoke up, his excuse already at the ready.
“Got the day off. Visiting a friend.”
…It was more of a half-truth.
The soldier nodded once more and handed their IDs back, shifting to the side to allow them passage.
“Alright, move on through.”
The two nodded, moving to walk past the gatekeep. They hadn’t even taken a couple of steps forward before a large, booming crash filled Mick’s ears, a whoosh of heat and light hitting him in his face. Mick immediately ducked down and slapped his hands over the sides of his head, groaning. He opened his eyes to see Frances had done the same, grimacing at the overwhelming sound. His eyes trailed over to past the checkpoint, and he could see the broken remains of a truck. White hot flames angrily rose around the janky shards of metal, and Mick felt his heartbeat quicken. Soldiers were shouting and running and shooting amongst the chaos, and the gate they were going to cross mere seconds ago slammed shut. The gatekeeper yelled out.
“Get out of here, go!”
Mick listened to the eerily familiar command, grabbing Frances by the arm and breaking into a sprint, his teeth grit and face still warm from the close proximity to the detonation. He already knew who to blame for the attack, and the distant cry of the scrambling soldiers behind him only confirmed it.
“Fireflies!”
“Fuckin’ shoot 'em!”
“They’re running! Call for backup!”
The dissonant blaring of the Fortress alarms sounded around them as they ran for it full force. Others passed by, whimpering and crying out in fear, their heads turning towards the source of the panic as they ran away. Frances's demeanor shifted, and she seemed to now be running with a purpose, as she grabbed Mick by his arm and hauled him into a nearby building. They stumbled in, and Mick shut the door behind him with his body weight, leaning against and slightly sliding down the door. Both gasped for air, shaken by everything happening so fast. Frances ran a hand up her forehead, head tilted towards the structurally unstable ceiling, clearing it of her bangs that had fallen into her face, and she sighed.
“Well, there goes the easy route.”
She then let out a groan in frustration, already making her way further into the building.
“They’re going to close all the checkpoints, so now we’re going to have to go around the outside.”
Mick replied with a cocked brow, disbelief lacing his words.
“…outside the wall?”
Frances tossed him a look behind her.
“Or we could just let Greg go.”
Mick scoff-laughed, shaking his head.
“Don’ get cheeky with me.”
He followed her as they walked further into the building, garbage, dirt, and grime littering the long hallway they turned into. The air was damp and reeked of mildew, but it was nothing Mick wasn’t used to. His eyes drifted towards a man sitting on a bench slightly up ahead. Mick didn’t know him, but Frances seemed to be acquainted with everyone caught up in the business of smuggling in the Boston Fortress, so it was no surprise to him when he got up to approach Frances and struck up a conversation as they walked.
“Hey, Fran. You see that shit?”
“I was there. Hey, how’s the east tunnel looking?”
“Yeah, it’s clear, just used it. No patrols…Where are you off to?”
“We’re paying Greg a visit.”
The man scoffed.
“You too?”
Mick raised his brow and Frances turned back to give him a similar look before she returned her attention to the other.
“Who else is looking for him?”
“Uh…The Duke? The Phantom Operator? Whatever the hell the guy goes by nowadays. He’s asking around, trying to find him.”
“You mean the leader of the Fireflies? What would they need with Greg?”
The man huffed out a laugh, shrugging with one shoulder.
“You think he’d tell me?”
“…well, what did you tell him?”
“The truth. I got no idea where Greg’s hiding.”
Frances turned more towards him, an approving smile on her face as she pat him on the shoulder.
“Good. Stay out of trouble, alright? The Mann’s gonna be out in force soon.”
The man nodded, mirroring her smile.
“Yeah, see you around.”
He broke off from them, walking up to the wall to lean against it. Mick picked up his pace by a margin to fill the empty space the man had left behind, the two turning a corner. Frances murmured questioningly.
“The Spook looking for Greg? What do you think of that?”
Mick replied, voice similarly low.
“I don’ like it. We better find him before the Fireflies do.”
They turned into a domestic-looking room filled with couches, shelves, and personal touches: a harsh contrast from the hallway they had been traveling down. Frances immediately made her way over to an inconspicuous-looking shelf and began pushing against it.
“Hey, help me out with this.”
Mick obliged and went over to the other side to pull as she pushed. The heavy wood scraped against the floor in a low drone, and the bottles and books littering it fell over with sharp clanks and dull thuds. The shelf shifted to the side to reveal a large hole in the wall. Frances jumped down, and Mick followed suit, falling down a couple of feet and landing on a beaten and battered mattress below; placed to break the fall of anyone wishing to use the tunnel. Mick squinted in the dark, but the low glow of an industrial light not far off served as a guide to their stash of gear and weapons.
They made their way through the crudely-made tunnel and into their storage area. Mick hummed in appreciation that none of their stuff had been tampered with or stolen. He grabbed his kukri, 9mm, and bolt-action rifle off the concrete counter where they lay, stowing them away in his knapsack. He could hear the rustling of Frances packing away her own equipment, and soon she made a noise indicating she was ready as well. Mick flicked on his flashlight, knowing the lights leading outside the wall would be few and far between, and off in the distance, there looked to be some sort of fog or dust caught in the air. Frances turned and tossed him a ventilation mask.
“Spores. Something must have happened down here. We better be careful.”
Mick nodded, pulling it on. He spoke, voice muddled through the rubber of the mask.
“Let’s go give this piker some hell.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Writing my TF2 and TLOU crossover fanfic has made me realize that Pauling & Sniper friendship >>> anything else ever
Like she's this super capable badass who everyone follows and listens to because duh, but Sniper is still so overprotective of her that she's gotta keep him on a leash or he'll rip anyone that wrongs her to shreds
I love them so much <3 I am so drawing them later
(TF2 x TLOU) Dead Mann Walking - Prologue: When All Hell Broke Loose
(Edit: Small Clarification - You do NOT need to know anything about The Last of Us to read this fic!! I made sure to write this in a way that did not make that a requirement. Ok love you bye)
Chapter 1
CW: Implied Violence, Explicit Violence, Injury, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Mick didn't remember anything about Australia. No surprise, he wasn't even a year old when they moved to Massachusetts. The only pieces of his country of origin that he really carried with him were his shoddy accent - compromised by its mix with a Southern drawl - and borderline stereotypical phrases, both of which he picked up from his parents, of course.
He was young – barely pushing on two years old – when it happened; when monsters emerged from the confines of their own homes, ripping the ones they love to shreds with snarls and howls and sobs. He didn't even remember the day of the outbreak, but he knew plenty. His parents were gentle souls, but they were also honest ones. So, when he asked, they told; even when the answers were far from pretty. They would often combat the grim knowledge they’d have to bestow on their only son with times before the infection. Tales of potlucks and kids playing in the street. Tales of stores filled to the brim with anything you could ever need one hundred times over. Tales of birthdays. Of his own birth. His short childhood before everything happened.
He often wondered what his room looked like at the time. What color the walls were. What sort of childish paraphernalia littered it. He wondered what his favorite toy was. He wondered what it was like to live without that constant fear of death and destruction of not only yourself but the people you care about. Sometimes it provided solace but, more often than not, it simply made him sad.
He wondered what life was like for Dell; before his grandpa was infected and he had to blast the old man's brain to bits with his own shotgun. Before he joined their family. He wondered if he was happy before the outbreak. For Mick, it's all he's ever known. His parents used to joke about how there's no reason to feel homesick anymore because things then weren't too different from the deep Outback. The isolation. The danger. The need to fend for yourself because there's no help around for miles. They used to say it was almost nice; "Like we're right back at home!"
Mick knew it was all bullshit. They never would have immigrated to America in the first place if they wanted to live in a place like that. His parents’ experience proved fruitful, however, and it was their teachings that served as the only reason Mick and Dell had been able to survive so long on their own. Mick felt guilty that Dell wound up being stuck taking care of him. The man had barely been on the cusp of being a legal adult when everything happened. When his parents…
He doesn't like to think about it, despite the watch on his wrist being a constant reminder. Just another piece of them to carry. It had been his dad's since before the outbreak. Cheap but effective. It even had a small hinge that revealed a compass underneath the timepiece. The images of those trembling, weathered hands pressing the cool metal into his own; that hoarse voice of his father’s telling him "Keep it. Reckon I'm not gonna be around ta use it meself."; his mother wrapping him up in a hug with trailing tears and quiet sobs; Dell adding another two to his list of “guardians I’ve had to shoot dead”: it's something he won't ever be able rid his mind of. Watching your parents die right in front of you is something no seven-year-old should ever have to go through, but that’s just life. The timepiece didn’t even work anymore, but Mick still got plenty of use out of the compass with the hours him and Dell spent scanning maps, looking for their next town and praying it hadn’t been stripped to nothing; praying they got to survive another week.
And then, a whopping 8 years later, they finally ran out of luck. It had been a tough winter. The snow had been insistent, blanketing and pillowing every square inch of land their tired eyes could see. The chill was extra bitter, nipping at their skin, their flesh, their blood ; their resolve. The two very quickly began to feel the effects of improper sleep and nutrition once the shivers began to wrack their frames, desperate to find any sort of reprieve. They had miraculously stumbled across a town so small it may as well have been a village, and further on, an abandoned taxidermy shop. Mick remembered the beady little eyes of every creature in that old building, strewn about. Some half-hanging off the wall, some littering the floor; the pungent scent of chemicals that still lingered in the air despite none of them being put to use for over a decade, if not longer. He had asked Dell if they could find somewhere else to sleep for the night, but it was so, so cold, and the shop was the most insulated, even if that didn’t say much. So, they pulled out their thick blankets and plopped right onto the ground, and in mere minutes the two were out, the promise of safety from the elements and the things that went bump at night finally letting their bodies surrender to slumber.
A slow, drawn out, crooning “Oh Mickyyy~. Time to wake uuupp~” had roused Mick from his deep sleep, and he had awoken to two lifeless, black orbs right in his face, surrounded by the old, grimy fur of a dead raccoon. It had scared him so badly he screamed, and in his panic, he had kicked the possessor of the dingy taxidermy, Dell, right in the leg with such force it had sent his kneecap right out of place with a sickening pop. Dell’s snickers were swiftly replaced by his own scream as he collapsed to the floor, holding his leg and breathing through his teeth. Mick’s blood ran cold and before he even had a chance to fully wake up he was scrambling over, his hands cupping the air around the other’s knee, horrified at what he had just done. Dell had just kept saying “its alright, Stretch. It’s alright. I’ll be ok, I’ll be alright. It’s alright-“ in that soft, comforting voice and it just made Mick angrier at himself. And then Mick heard it. That drawling croak that had been a source of white-hot dread time and time again: the clicking of a clicker. Dell and Mick had both looked straight at each other with wide eyes, and the two of them fell dead quiet in a rigid tensity. But it was too late, the damage had been done. The croak turned into a screech, and Mick realized in terror that it wasn’t just one. It was multiple infected. Mick looked over at the small window of the door and he watched as three figures sprinted towards them, janky and uncoordinated. Air was sucked into his lungs in a jarring motion as fear iced his bones over, freezing him in place. They were already so close-
Dell had shot up, using the wall behind him as leverage, and grabbed Mick, tugging him close to harshly whisper as he began dragging the younger across the room. He kept nearly tripping on the taxidermized animals beneath his feet with his lame leg in his urgency.
“We need to get the fuck outta here, now! Cmon, let’s g-“
The already weak door proved to be a meager safeguard as it easily broke off its hinges as the weight of 3 bodies slammed against it, the infected crashing onto the floor with cries and groans on top of the sad piece of wood. Mick barely had time to look around before a vertigo overtook him and he was being thrown into the back room across the hallway, his shoulder painfully nicking the doorway. Mick cried out quietly as his heavy knapsack thudded into his chest, his arms barely making it in time to catch it. He looked up to see Dell already turning to face his three opponents and wielding his gun and machete with a grim but determined look on his face. Mick felt his heart drop and bile rise as Dell turned back around and shouted.
“Go! Run until ya can’t run anymore, ya hear me? Run! ”
Mick would never forgive himself for his cowardice. He listened. He ran. He ran until he couldn’t anymore. And when he couldn’t, he walked. And when he couldn’t, he dragged himself until he saw the geometric outlines of man-made buildings once more. He collapsed as soon as he saw the figures of watchmen looking over at him.
He had stumbled across the Boston Fortress.
He was finally safe for the first time in his life.
And it had cost him everyone.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I loved to befriend a dove so much, I saw that the final chapter got posted while I was at work and just had to read the whole thing at my desk! Since you're taking requests I am also a huge lesbian, with a love for femfortress butch lesbian Sniper. A genderswapped sniperscout drabble with a butch Sniper who has the same well crafted personality as your guy Sniper in befriend a dove would be amazing. <3
Secretly Simple (AU: Fem Fortress) - Requested by Anon
It was a quiet evening, with most of the crew already tucking in for bed. As for Scout and Sniper, they were enjoying the crisp late-day air as they attended to their hobbies. Sniper was fixing up a rather dull kukri, and Scout was babbling on about whatever matters may cross her mind, the assassin beside her idly listening as she applied honing oil to her stone and resumed the quiet scraping of metal on grit. Scout suddenly stopped rambling for a moment before she spoke once more in a musing manner.
"'Ey, Mickie? We should, like, go on a date or somethin'."
Sniper pulled away from sharpening the blade to eye Scout with a cocked brow, obviously confused. She tilted her slightly as she replied.
"Aren't we datin' already?"
Scout threw her hands up, clearly exasperated at not being fully understood.
"Yes, we are, and yet we haven’t gone on a single date."
Sniper picked up where she left off with a soft hum, the shrill scrape of metal sounding behind her words as she spoke in a murmur.
"We've gone 'n plenty dates. We wen' stargazin' that one time, an' before then we had that late-night bonfire."
Scout gave her an unamused glare, her own brow raising.
"We weren't together den, but nice try. C'moonnnn! It'll be fun! I can plan it an' everythin'! You don’t gotta worry about nothin', doll, trust me."
Sniper paused, shifting to face the other in her chair, brows furrowed, scepticalness lacing her eyes as she argued back.
"'Ey now, shouldn't I be plannin' it?"
Scout pondered it for a moment. Sniper seemed to always take the reins in the relationship, using her affinity for dressing and acting more masculine as an excuse and explanation.
"No, no, let me 'andle it."
"You don't have to do nothin', 'roo, I've got it."
"Just sit there an' look pretty, luv."
Waves of frustration and stubbornness washed over Scout the more she thought about it. She could step up, too! Did Sniper think she wouldn’t be any good at it or something? Screw that! She totally could be! Scout suddenly turned back with a determination in her eyes.
"Nope. Dis time I gots it all under control, an' you get to sit an' look pretty."
She emphasized her last sentence with an eyebrow wiggle, and Sniper's eyes widened for a moment before she scowled, turning away with red cheeks. The markswoman seemed to think about it herself for a moment before sighing.
"Fine. When ya thinkin'?"
The speedster shifted in position so her knee held her head, and she tapped the bottom of her chin lightly as she hummed contemplatively. Sniper looked at her expectantly with a tilted head. Scout glanced over to see her boring eyes and quickly looked away. When she snuck another glance and Sniper's gaze was still there, her face pinched in slight irritation at being rushed.
"I'll let ya freakin' know, alright? I still gotta actually plan da thing, jeez."
Sniper let a small smile slip, making Scout frown deeper, feeling patronized. Her sour mood was quickly lifted, though, as Sniper leaned over the side-by-side arm rests of their chairs to plant a gentle kiss to her forehead. Sniper pulled back, the smile remaining, looking lovingly into Scout's wide eyes, the runner's cheeks burning and chest squeezing at the sight.
"Lookin' forward to it, luv."
Ok. It's official. This date's gotta be awesome. No room for error.
...how the hell do you plan a date? Scout's little experience she had with them were with guys, and they usually did all the planning. She just had to show up when and where they told her to. Scout felt a twinge of nervousness firmly tug at her.
Aw, jeez. She needed help. Bad.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Engineer was her first choice for advice, simply because that's who she always went to for advice. She was right outside the base the next day, banging away at her newest teleporter prototype with her wrench with loud, grating clanks. Scout scurried up to her with a bright, almost excited smile. Engineer smiled back.
"Well hey there, pumpkin! How are ya?"
"Good, real good, Engie. Hey, uhh...I wanna plan a date for Snipes, but I don't gotta clue how I'm s'pposta go about it. An' I mean, you know everythin' about everythin'! Sooo...do ya maybe have any ideas?"
Any hope for help on the inventor's part was swiftly squashed when Engineer's face scrunched in mild discomfort at the mention of "date". Scout's bright-eyed expression quickly fell as Engineer cringed. The older woman spoke gingerly, obviously feeling guilty about it.
"Ah, I'm sorry Scout, but I've got no experience in that department. Gimme a gadget ta fix and I'll get it done in two shakes, but romance? Ehh...not my strong suit."
Scout slumped in her posture and Engineer gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder.
"There's plenty other gals who'll help ya out 'round here! Just gotta ask around."
Scout sighed, obviously disappointed, but her determination quickly won over and she perked back up, nodding.
"You're right. I'm gonna go, see ya later, Engie!"
"Cya, sugar!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Duh, of course Heavy and Medic were the right ones to go to! They were the only other gay couple – that she was aware of – on the team. So, when she waltzed into the Medical Bay, expecting all of her problems to be solved by the end of their conversation, it was quite the disappointment when it, in fact, did not play out as she was expecting.
"Guys, I need help takin' Snipes out on a date, what- Oh sweet Jesus-."
The couple was knee-deep in a conversation while Medic was elbows-deep in Heavy's torso, rummaging through her organs, the doctor's red gloves shining with the much darker red of blood, and Scout swiftly turned around as nausea stirred within her. Scout heard an annoyed huff from the medical practitioner.
"Fräulein, it is qvite rude to barge into someone's quarters vithout making yourself known first."
Scout waved back dismissively with one hand, the other covering her mouth to stave off the bile that had risen up her throat as she made a uncomfortable noise. She cringed, swallowing, before taking a moment to pull herself together and turn around, much more prepared for the sight, though it didn't make her gut churn any less. Her eyes landed on a very unamused looking Medic and a slightly sheepish looking Heavy. Medic's face suddenly fell as if she made a realization, before it lit up brightly.
"Vait, vhat was that about you und Frau Sniper? A date? Oh, how exciting!"
Heavy also seemed to brighten at the mention and she perked up a little bit, the shift in her position making a small stream of blood spurt out of her abdominal cavity.
"A date, you say?"
Scout turned her head away at the sight in disgust, and Medic scolded Heavy in a hushed voice for moving.
"Ach, do not viggle, Süße!"
"Ой! My apologies, Doktor."
"Qvite alright, just...try to be more still, ja?"
Scout gingerly turned back, desperately averting her gaze from Heavy's open stomach and chest.
"So, uh...date? Advice? It's gotta be good."
Medic hummed contemplatively as she continued rummaging through Heavy's innards with an awful squelch of gloves and organs.
"Vell, me und Heavy do not go on dates very often. Zis is our idea of dates, now zat I sink about it. Isn't that right, Heavy?"
"Is true. Nice for us, но...perhaps not for you and Sniper."
Scout eyed them with a mix of disbelief and frustration.
"Uh, yeah not for me an' Snipes! Damnit...what do I do?"
Heavy spoke up this time, her voice straining after a particularly painful tug from Medic.
"I vould not recommend the Soldier for advice, I feel I do not need to explain why. ...Or Demowoman, she would not be much help either. Perhaps Spy?"
Scout's face scrunched at the idea, scoffing in disbelief.
"Uh. Yeah, not happenin'. I don't wanna talk ta dat old hag, ya kiddin'?"
Both Medic and Heavy side-eyed each other and Scout slightly dipped her head in confusion.
"...what?"
Medic ignored the question, resuming her exploration of the gorefest below her.
"Vell, she is your last option. It iz up to you if you vish to give her a chance."
Scout's scowl faltered slightly. Medic did have a point. She would be shit at planning the date on her own...maybe she really did need to talk to Spy... Man, this was gonna suck. Scout groaned, looking up at the ceiling in exasperation, before dropping her head to pout at the two older women.
"Lotta help you two were...I guess I'm gonna go. Have fun..., uhh, wit that, I guess."
"Goodbye, leetle lady."
"Auf Wiedersehen!"
Scout offered a lazy throw of her hand as a wave goodbye as she pushed through the Medical Bay doors, feeling disheartened. She could already feel her pride shriveling into a sad raisin at the thought of asking Spy for help. God, what was she becoming? She trudged through the hallways begrudgingly before she finally found herself standing in front of Spy's stupid fancy door, the scent of cigarette smoke wafting through the crack and making the runner scowl in disgust. She lifted her hand, every part of her yelling at her not to, but pushed past it as she gingerly knocked. She could hear the clacking of Spy's obnoxiously tall stiletto boots before the door opened to reveal the older woman herself, glaring down at Scout with a cocked brow.
"You? What do you want?"
The immediate sass made Scout burn with anger and it took every ounce of her willpower, plus a slow, steamy breath through the nose, to withhold herself from yelling in the lady's face and storming off. She took another deep breath in before murmuring.
"...I need help."
Spy eyed her skeptically, her lip curling in distaste of the other woman's presence.
"And zat would be because...?"
Scout huffed, crossing her arms in a defensive manner.
"I wanna take Snipes out, but I...don'reallyknowhat'mdoin'."
Spy's brow raised further at the sheepish mumble and, despite making perfect sense of it, leaned in slightly, a smirk raising a corner of her mouth.
"I'm sorry?"
Scout gritted her teeth, shoulders rising as she fought the urge to deck this hag, and she took another composing breath.
"I don’t. Know. What. I'm doin'."
Spy's smug smile grew before she put on a neutral, prim expression, her head tilting slightly up as she readjusted her shades.
"But of course! Why didn’t you say so sooner?"
She then turned and walked back into her smoking room, leaving Scout to watch with an open mouth, completely baffled at how quickly she agreed. What the hell? She was half expecting the woman to tell her to fuck off.
"Uhh...ok?"
Scout was left to awkwardly stand as Spy sat down in her lounge chair, grabbing the cigarette she had left on her ashtray and taking a slow drag. Scout looked around, unsure what to do as a slow plume of smoke left the sleuth's mouth before she spoke.
"Uhh...ya gonna help me or what?"
Spy hummed, like she was considering it or something, and then opened her mouth with a small click of her tongue.
"Perhaps. But I do not know much about ze bushwoman. I am going to need some information on your part before I can offer any advice."
She crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair, obviously awaiting Scout's response. The runner puffed out her cheeks and rocked on her heels in an attempt to stave off any churning feelings of awkwardness as she thought about it real hard. The return of Spy's cocked brow did not do her any good on the matter.
"Uhhh...she likes shootin', but dat's obvious. She's real outdoorsy, so like campin' or huntin' or goin' on hikes n' stuff. She's also into cookin, 'specially 'round a campfire. She likes peace n' quiet, so she's real into stargazin' or just sittin' around an' enjoyin' the view around her...so maybe a hike up to a nice spot? And we can have a little bonfire picnic!"
The more Scout spoke, the more confidence flowed into her as all the knowledge of her girlfriend spun through her brain and out of her mouth. Her eyes shone brightly and a smile slowly made its way onto her face by the time she was done speaking. It quickly fell into quiet shock when she looked back up to see Spy looking at her with her own smile.
"...I sink my work here iz done."
Scout gawked at her, sputtering a few noises of disbelief before finally getting her words out.
"You- you- you didn't even do anythin'!"
Spy sighed, grabbing her glass of wine that had been awaiting patiently for her on her side table and swirled it around before taking a slow sip. She pulled the glass away from her lips and lightly smacked them, savoring the flavor before she finally decided to reply in a cold, neutral manner.
"Exactly. Your self-doubt cripples you, Scout. You just needed to realize so. You can plan a date for her own your own just fine."
"...oh."
"Indeed. Well, off you go, I have important business to attend to."
Spy waved her off, and Scout's face fell, an unamused expression replacing her shock.
"What, ya mean drinking wine and looking atcha fashion magazines?"
Spy scowled at her, any softness she would have felt towards the runner disappearing as swiftly as she herself does for a living.
"Insolent brat. Goodbye."
Scout sighed, approaching the door with a petulant gait.
"Yeah, yeah, whateva."
The speedster stopped at the doorway though, making Spy raise her head to look over at her questioningly. Scout suddenly looked much more sheepish than she had just a second ago. The Bostonian spoke quietly before quickly shutting the door and speed-walking off.
"...thanks."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was only days later that Scout popped by the camper looking oddly cheery, decked out in hiking gear and a big grin on her face. Sniper tilted her head, eyes looking up and down Scout's figure.
"What's with the getup?"
"Cmon, Mickie. We're goin on our date!"
Sniper perked up a bit, excitement shining in her eyes and a small smile tracing her lips.
"Are we hikin'?"
"We sure are, toots. An' grab your grill! I'll wait outside while ya get ready."
Sniper chuckled, leaning out of the door and down while reaching out to grab Scout's shirt, tugging her into a kiss. Their lips parted with a smack and Sniper mumbled a:
"Just a tick, luv."
and Scout watched with a red face as the door shut in front of her. She let out a slow breath that turned into an ill-stifled squeal. She was pumped. She got this in the bag! This was gonna be the best freaking date Sniper had ever gone on in her life!
It was only a few short minutes before Sniper came out in her own hiking gear, slipping her rucksack on and hopping to the ground, shutting the door behind her. Scout jumped up from the relaxed leaning she had been doing, waiting for her girlfriend, and immediately grabbed Sniper by the hand, dragging her to the passenger side of the campervan. Sniper's smile fell into a skeptical look as she eyed the door.
"You're drivin'?"
Scout cocked her head, putting a hand on her hip and shifting her weight into one leg.
"Uhh, yeah? An' what of it?"
Sniper looked at the campervan and back at Scout before shrugging and hopping into the passenger's side.
"Nothin'. Key's in the ignition."
"I know it is!"
Scout quickly jogged around to open the driver's door and slide in. She grabbed the wheel and looked over at Sniper with an elated grin.
"Ya ready?"
Sniper matched her grin, making Scout's pulse quicken and cheeks warm. She didn’t get to see her smile like that often but damn did it make her happy when she did. This was off to a good, good start. Scout's chest squeezed in excitement as she turned the key, shifted to drive, and off they were.
It was about 5 minutes into their drive before Scout looked over at a very relaxed-looking Sniper, a content smile on her face as they were jostled slightly by the bumps of the road.
"Ya not gonna ask me where we're headed?"
Sniper looked over with a questioning look before humming.
"You're jus' gonna tell me it's a surprise, aren't ya?"
Scout pouted at her, her puppy dog eyes making Sniper sigh, acquiescing to the silent plead.
"Where are we headed?"
"Can't tell ya, it's a surprise."
Sniper sighed, rolling her eyes with a small smile. Scout giggled, returning her attention to the road.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
They drove a couple hours over, the nearest, albeit short, mountain slowly coming into view. They made their way over to it, trailing up a few miles of winding road before Scout pulled over near a sign on the side that simply read "hiking trail". It was a mildly chilly day, which Scout knew Sniper enjoyed the most for weather on a hike. Scout hopped out, eagerly running around to open Sniper's door for her. Sniper chuckled quietly as Scout stuck out a hand in a gentlewomanly manner, bending slightly with an arm resting against her back.
"My lady."
Sniper took the hand offered and stepped out, nodding her head politely.
"Why thank you."
They both giggled together as Sniper shut the door behind her, and Scout quickly used the hand she had taken to drag Sniper excitedly towards the trail.
"C'mon, c'mon! Ya gonna love dis!"
Sniper let herself be dragged, smiling at the other softly. She honestly wasn't expecting much out of Scout – not necessarily in a bad way, of course – she just didn't think Scout would have put all this effort into something like planning a date for her. It made the markswoman's diaphragm tighten and head buzz at the implication that Scout would work so hard to please her.
The trail was beautiful. Scenic but quiet, as it seems no one else was occupying it at the time. Scout kept looking around and nudging Sniper to look at things that caught her attention. There were two squirrels playing, darting between and up and around trees, chittering to each other. There was a nest of birds, the soft chirping of chicks making Scout coo and aww over them as they passed by. There was a quiet moment between the two and an elk a distance away, the animal lifting its head to gaze at the couple before walking off calmly. That made Sniper's breath catch in her throat, letting it out once the elk had disappeared amongst the brush. It made Scout grin like an idiot.
When they finally reached the peak of the hike, there was a clearing to overlook all the terrain required to travel through to get to the peak, and as Sniper admired the view with wide, seeking eyes, Scout laid out a thick blanket and pulled out strips of meat, vegetables, and ingredients for smores, along with various cooking supplies. When Sniper was satisfied with the beautiful sight before her, she was surprised to see the set-up waiting behind her. Scout smirked at the look of mild shock.
"Ya brotcha grill like I asked?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, bring it 'ere, toots!"
Sniper smiled sweetly, walking over and plopping next to the other woman, tugging her rucksack off to rummage through it, pulling out the small grill she had packed. She was about to get up to set up and light the fire, but Scout placed a firm hand on her shoulder to prevent her from doing so, mumbling a:
"Nah, nah, I gots it-"
and getting up to do it herself.
Soon, they were cooking up some foil dinners, laughing and joking, and before they knew it the sun was dipping below the horizon and making way for billions of tiny, sparkling pinpricks in the sky. Scout whipped them up some smores with an impressive proficiency. They snacked on the sweet treats as they leaned back to gaze at the sky. Sniper sighed, her heart feeling feather-weight but swollen as she looked over at her partner, the runner smiling as bright as the fire flickering across her face. Scout turned as well, the intense, loving expression on Sniper's face making her breath hitch.
"Um, Snipes? What's up?"
Sniper smiled.
"Bloody hell, I don' know what I did ta deserve this. Deserve you."
Scout smiled wider, leaning over to kiss Sniper slow and sweet. She pulled away only a short distance to mutter.
"Y'deserve this an' more, silly. All for you."
They knocked their foreheads together, giggling quietly.
Safe to say, the date was awesome. And Scout couldn’t wait for the next one. She had a feeling Sniper couldn't either.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chat how do we feel ab TLOU inspired Speeding Bullet….
So tempted to write a fic good god
This might come up in my ao3 later maybe possibly...
question, you read running blind or were inspired at all by running blind? i do see some similarities between the two. sorry if you’ve said this before i just wanted to ask.
Thank you for the question! This is the first time I’ve been asked about Running Blind but I’ve actually been meaning to read it! I’m super aware that it’s like THE Speeding Bullet fanfiction ever so it’s actually really flattering to hear my first ever fic that I just kinda made up while I went reminded you of such a stellar piece of writing :)
Most of the ideas I got were from stuff I remembered vaguely from when I was REALLY into TF2 a few years ago (it’s a recurring hyperfixation), and the rest were just tropes I personally enjoy lol
I actually purposefully avoided reading Running Blind while writing To Befriend a Dove so there wasn’t too much of an overlap of concepts between the two but I guess that happened anyway lol (oops)
I'm going to explode, actually
R U JOKING??? HELLO???
I don't I've ever in my life gotten this many saves on a playlist ily guys I hope you like it
May I request Engie and Spy? I'm very curious about their relationship since it has only been implied through the story.
Need a Fixin' - requested by @limon-tagetes
There was a soft knock on Spy's quarter's doors and the Frenchman lifted his head from his catalogue of various gears and gadgets, pausing in the middle of circling one very interesting-looking, personally engraved cloak and dagger, since his old one had recently busted and was in need of replacing. He huffed in mild displeasure at being interrupted in the middle of his very important business, but he stood up regardless, setting his magazine down. He took a slow drag and put out his cigarette as well, offering up a simple:
"Just a moment."
before he finished and approached the door. He carefully turned the knob, on is guard as always, but it dropped the second his eyes trailed slightly down to see an awkward-looking Engineer attempting to put on a casual act. What the hell was Engineer doing here? Usually Spy was the one to approach the inventor. That's how their odd little relationship began. Engineer would always be working, a constant, something you don't often among the RED base, and if Scout or Pyro weren't already taking up his time, Spy would join him. At first, Spy never really said much, just smoked close by. Then Engineer had asked him to grab him a tool, and was pleasantly surprised that Spy could retrieve it without asking a million questions on what it looked like, what it did, how to use it. Spy simply got up, rummaged through Engineer's toolbox for a few seconds, and swiftly handed him the implement he asked for.
"Thanks, pardner, that was quicker'n a hiccup! I might hav'ta keep ya around."
Spy remembers the way the shorter man had looked at him, despite those stupid goggles that the sleuth hated – which he hated because they looked awful, of course...definitely not because Spy wishes he could see the other's face completely. Absolutely not. But the way he looked at him with that lopsided smirk as he spoke with that Texan accent in that voice of pure honey.
It made Spy question some things. Like his sanity, of course. Why the hell was this overqualified hillbilly who waves a wrench around getting a reaction like that out of him? Was there a gas leak? Were all of his years of smoking finally coming to a head as an incredibly misplaced tumor in his brain rather than lungs? This was ridiculous.
And it got even more ridiculous, because as the two continued to spend time together, Spy found himself looking forward to seeing him. His stupid jokes were actually funny. He wasn't annoying to be around like literally everyone else he had the displeasure of sharing a living quarters with. The man was fairly educated and could keep up with Spy's pretentious conversation topics. He genuinely enjoyed being around him. Now, he wasn't some schoolboy with a crush. It's not like he lied awake at night thinking about him!
...and then he started lying awake at night thinking about him. Seething that this tinkering simpleton in overalls managed to catch his attention. Fury coursing through his veins that he found this country bumpkin attractive. Maybe there was a gas leak, because there's no way in hell Engineer managed to lodge himself into Spy's usual type of quick-tongued, badass, capable women.
"Uhh...hey, Spooks."
Oh, yeah, he was right in front of him. Spy broke out of his freeze of mild shock, clearing his throat quietly.
"l'Ingénieur, I am surprised to see you here. Iz there a problem?"
"Oh, no, no. I just, uhh, haven't seen ya around lately."
Spy looked back into his private quarters and realized in horror that he was turning back and offering the other to join him. They both stared at each other in surprise and quickly reddening cheeks before Engineer smiled that damn smile and nodded.
"Well, sure!"
Spy hesitantly widened the door so Engineer could slip past him, tensing when the other's shoulder brushed past his chest. He peered down either hallway for any prying eyes, knowing news about this encounter would spread like wildfire. Spy never let people into his smoking room. So why in God's name was he letting Engineer?
It occurred to Spy that there were no places for Engineer to sit, and he was about to speak up about it when Engineer hopped up onto the arm of his lounge chair without a second thought, and Spy wished he never opened that stupid door. He gingerly sat down in the seat, looking up at Engineer, who had to twist to see the other. Engineer smiled again, tilting his head questioningly.
"So, whatcha been upta, Sneak?"
Spy pushed aside his panic at being so close to the other, despite the mildly awkward position they found themselves in, and hummed while thinking.
"Not much, I suppose. My cloaking watch has stopped working, so I was just in ze process of finding another."
Engineer perked up, his smile widening.
"Well, why didn'tcha say so sooner? Give it here, I'll take a look at it."
Engineer stuck out a gloved hand, an expectant look on his face. Spy eyed him skeptically before fishing the golden watch from his inner suit pocket, also taking out his cigarette case in the process. He lit up another while Engineer eyed the device quizzically. The tinkerer made a small sound of understanding and fished out a couple small tools from his belt. He twisted around again and the two made eye contact one more – well, as much eye contact as possible when one of the two's eyes were covered.
"I see what's wrong. I'll get it fixed in a jiffy, don't you worry."
Spy wanted to scream as he felt his face warm. He was so close and that stupid, godforsaken accent that he should not like was making his chest squeeze and he was kicking himself internally, repeatedly, to "get your jaw off the floor and speak already!"
"R-Right, yes. Of course...er, sank you, mon ami."
He was stuttering and mumbling like an idiot. This stupid man was making him stutter and mumble like an idiot! How embarrassing. He needed to pull himself together, immediately.
Thankfully, they quickly fell into their usual comfortable quietness as Engineer finicked around with the cloak and dagger, and Spy returned to browsing his spy catalogue for anything that caught his eye, time passing as they idly did their own thing in the other's company. It was 15 minutes or so later that Engineer pressed the activation button with a tiny click, and he suddenly vanished, slightly startling Spy. He froze as a shadow suddenly case over him and he slowly looked up to see Engineer directly in front of him, looming over him with his pleasant smile, offering the watch back with a small chuckle. All the moisture in Spy's mouth vanished as well, and he swallowed with a nervous click as he slowly took the watch. He quickly found himself, and his wide eyes and slightly raised brows were quickly replaced with his usually gloomy expression, glaring up at the man above him.
"Sank you for your assistance, but I must kindly request zat you refrain from toying around with my belongings, Ingénieur."
The inventor's smile turned sheepish and his hand trailed to the back of his neck to rub at it, and he laughed again, more nervous this time.
"Ah, sorry, Spooks. I'll keep that it mind."
There was a small pause before Engineer spoke up again.
"I should probably get back to the shop. Wanna tag along?"
Spy tore his eyes away from his fixed watch, to look at the other again, before his eyes averted as he gave it some thought. He sighed, feigning a begrudging look, despite the answer being a resounding yes within the privacy of his own mind.
"I suppose."
And then Engineer smiled that damn smile again, and Spy wonders how long he can keep doing this before he goes insane.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
can we get a scene with them on the battlefield? I just love when one character is just. in their element fighting and the other character is like "😳 wow"
Crushing Blows - requested by @faeriescorpio (aka my biggest supporter ((ilyyy)))
It was a frustrating day for the Sniper. He had drank his coffee too late in the morning so his hands still had the caffeine shakes and the buzz was making it hard to concentrate, the quiet, cluttering wiggle of his rifle proving it quite difficult to get a sufficient headshot. Every time he thought he'd had a clear shot, the mongrel would move or get blasted to high hell by someone else from his team. He found his frustration growing with every failed attempt, a low growl slipping past his lips when a strong enough wave of anger washed over him as a bullet whizzed past its target. He finally lowered his scope with a slow huff, irritation flowing out of the breath through his nose.
Bugger this. He needed to relax. Clear his head.
He adjusted his seating on the crate he had been perched on for the last hour or so, and cracked his back with a grunt and a sigh, loud lops cascading down his spine with two swift twists. Sniper reangled his scope to sweep his view, his attention catching on a certain speedster. He was tucked away in a hard-to-access corner, faced with the enemy heavy. Sniper felt a pang of pity for his partner, knowing the poor guy was going to get pummeled for sure, and he readied his aim to take out the behemoth.
Sniper's eyes widened as the smaller figure ducked out of a spray of bullets with practiced ease. The runner smoothly pulled his bat from the bag on his back and winded it up, jumping and cracking it over the significantly taller man. Sniper could swear he could hear the "BONK!" reverberate across the battlefield. The marksman watched with awe as Scout shove-kicked the hefty gun right out of the heavy's arms with surprising strength, and Sniper felt his mouth dry as he realized just how much power Scout held in his legs.
The heavy screamed in anger and swung his burly arms around, trying to swipe at the Bostonian, his eyes shrouded by the blood dripping from the huge split down his skull. Scout dodged them with a smirk, eyes glinting with opportunity as the right moment came and suddenly he was clambering onto and up the heavy. Sniper's blood ran cold as he noticed a pyro coming up from behind him, their flamethrower at the ready. Scout seemed to catch them out of the corner of their eye, though, and whipped out his Force-A-Nature, blasting the heavy's head clean off and using the knockback to launch himself into the air in a very impressive, if not ostentatious, backflip, just in time to avoid a swath of flames.
Sniper's jaw fell to the floor as he watched Scout point his gun downwards towards the pyro as Scout flew directly overhead them, and shoot them dead on. Scout landed with a crouch as the pyro's body hit the ground before shooting back up with a bounce, shifting his weight on either leg as he dusted himself off with a smug grin. He then high-tailed it out of the corner to get back into the heat of battle, leaving the bodies to disappear off to respawn. Sniper swallowed with a click to his throat, the images of Scout's lithe figure jumping and swinging and flying and shooting bouncing off each other and around in his mind.
Crickey.
So much for clearing his head.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a particularly chaotic round, and Scout had keenly noticed that both snipers from either team were having some trouble staying holed up in their nests, being forced every few minutes to relocate as to not risk getting back-stabbed or blown to bits. He figured Sniper was still getting his usual shots in, but Scout knew the marksman struggled with being on the go and doing his job. He worked best in peace and quiet, not the overwhelming hubbub of battle. Scout was thriving, itching for a new victim as blurbs of red and blue and more red flew past to him, above him, in front of him.
He had just finished providing a couple of brand-spanking new exit wounds to the BLU Demo when he saw Sniper whip around the corner next to him and lay flat against the wall. Scout turned around, a big goofy grin on his face, about to greet him cheerily when the gloved hand of the assassin shot out and grabbed Scout by the bag strap, hauling him behind the wall as well as a cascade of bullets shot through the spot where the runner was just seconds ago. They both breathed heavily, Scout from the close call and Sniper from the cardio he doesn't get enough of. Scout huffed in relief, slumping against the wall as the adrenaline of fighting gave way to exhaustion. He needed a sandwich or something, cause he was freaking beat. He spoke quietly, leaning into the other's space with a small smile and eyes hooded with fatigue.
"Thanks, Mick."
Sniper's eyes widened, cheeks flushing red before he scowled, pushing the other away with a hand over his cap, turning to the side to hide his blushing face.
"Shut it, ya hooligan. An' no names on the clock."
Scout huffed out a laugh through his nose, face being forcibly turned to the side at the other's push.
"Ok, ok!"
Sniper's head quickly snapped to Scout- wait...no, behind Scout, the sharpshooter's brows rising in surprise before furrowing, his curling lip showing off gritted teeth, and suddenly a searing pain was coursing through Scout's head as a blunt object was cracked over it. He fell forward, quickly flipping over as he cradled his swimming head, and he realized there was an enemy soldier behind him, shovel in hand and a satisfied grin on his face. He was about to turn and shout at Sniper to get away, but he watched in shock as Sniper's face darkened with determination, his hand coming up over his shoulder to slip his kukri out of its sheath. Scout tried scrambling up, but felt a wave of vertigo and pain argue him back into sitting down, forced to sit and watch.
The soldier gruffly laughed, obviously seeing Sniper as no real threat, and his grip tightened on his shovel. Sniper growled and shot forward, but he didn’t slash with his kukri. Instead, his other hand sailed to the shovel. With a firm grip, he angled the butt of the shovel towards the Soldier's abdomen and shoved it forward with so much force the soldier choked on a gasp, heaving forward as he was sent backwards, landing hard in the dirt. Sniper quickly advanced, but the soldier was quicker to recover, stumbling back up into standing and swinging his shovel. Sniper blocked the incoming blow with his blade, and Scout watched with bug eyes as the sharp metal of his own weapon sliced into Sniper's left hand, blood steadily trailing down his arm as he grunted out a shout and overpowered the screaming war-fanatic, using the moment of vulnerability to slice a clean cut through his throat. The soldier gargled and choked on his blood, clutching at his wound to hold it closed, before he succumbed to it and hit the ground with a puff of dust. Sniper watched him fall, his chest visibly rising and falling with his gasping breaths. He turned around, crimson red still gathering at his fingertips and dripping into clumps onto the ground. The marksman crouched down, slipping his kukri back into its sheath before gingerly cupping the other's head with his now free right hand.
"Y'alright there, mate? Ya just got clobbered somethin' fierce, how'sya head?"
Scout just stared at him with wide eyes and mouth hanging open, absolutely flabbergasted by what he just saw. Since when was Sniper good with close-hand combat? He was a sniper for Christ's sake!
"How the hell...how the hell did ya just do dat?"
Sniper cocked a brow, turning back around to see the empty air of where the soldier's corpse lie moments before, before turning back and gesturing with a thumb.
"Wot, that?"
"Yes, dat! You were freakin' awesome back dere, what the hell?"
Sniper barked out a laugh, finding the shocked look on the other's face fairly entertaining.
"'Roo, I used ta wrangle crocs back in Oz. Ya reckon I can't 'andle a mad bloke with a shovel? Please, I could do that with me eyes closed."
Scout scoff-laughed, obviously impressed.
"Well, jeez man. You should show me whatcha got more often, cause dat was...dat was freakin' crazy. And hot. Real hot."
Sniper's amused look changed to an abashed scowl, pushing the other away again, only this time he accidentally smeared his own blood all over the runner's face.
"Ew, what the hell, man!"
"Oh, buggah! Di'nt mean that...we should prolly find Medic."
Requested by ExoGooba_e on AO3 - Gossip
CW WARNING!! - Mild gore!
"would love to see scout telling medic and heavy about him and sniper, and potentially all of them meeting up to gossip about the rest of the team because yes they would do that"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Herr Scoouuut~ it iz time for experimental surgeryyy!~"
Medic's slightly muffled voice sounded from behind Scout's rickety door and the runner huffed, slamming his flimsy comic shut and setting it on his bedside table. Goddamn it. He shouldn’t have agreed to be Medic's little guinea pig, no matter how bad he wanted to see Sniper that day. He slid out of his bed, grumbling and mumbling about how stupid and unfair it all was as he reached for his door and threw it open to find Medic...and Heavy? Scout raised a brow at the big guy's presence, and Medic followed his gaze only to snap back to him, smiling cheerfully.
"Oh, Heavy vill be joining us today!"
Scout's brow raised further, resting against the doorframe and crossing his arms.
"I thought ya worked alone?"
Medic dismissed the question with a small wave of the hand.
"Zat is for emergencies only, Junge! Besides, me und Heavy talk while I operate on him all ze time. Since you owe us a little explanation on how you und Sniper began courting, I figured ve could hit two birds vith one stone!"
Heavy piped in with a small smile.
"да, is best time for conversation."
Scout's jaw dropped to the floor in horror.
"Ya expect me ta chat wit ya like you don’t got ya hands in my insides?"
Medic waved off his statement yet again, pshooing like Scout was being dramatic.
"Ahh do not vorry, I'll administer local anesthetic. Just for you!"
Scout's questioning look dropped to a humorless expression.
"Wow. Thanks. I'm honored."
Heavy looked down at the doctor with a small pout, muttering quietly a:
"Doktor does not give me anesthetic."
Medic leaned into the taller's hear, his hand covering his mouth as he replied, though his harsh whisper was still very clear to the runner as he spoke.
"Scout iz a big baby, Schatz. He cannot even handle a couple stitches vithout making a fuss! You can take it just fine, zough, can't you, Mein Starker?"
They both began giggling and looking at each other in an affectionate manner, their faces gravitating towards the other before being interrupted by Scout's groan, his face pinched in disgust.
"Eugh, can ya save ya lovey-dovey shit fa when I'm not directly in fron'a ya?"
Medic cleared his throat and nodded curtly as Heavy stood up straight, eyes averting.
"Right. Komm, komm, let us go!"
The three trailed down the hallways until they arrived at the Medical bay. Medic shoved open the doors, not bothering to hold them open for the two men behind him. Apparently used to this, Heavy's arm immediately shot out to hold open the door before it could shut in front of him, and gestured for Scout to go in. Scout nodded in thanks, following quickly after the doctor. Heavy finally let the door go as he walked in. Scout cringed at the overwhelming scent of rubbing alcohol, disinfectant, and the ill-hidden undertones of blood and gore. He hated it in the Medical Bay. But, a deal's a deal, and he had to make good on it.
Scout clambered onto the examination table and flinched when he felt the sting of Medic immediately jabbing a needle into his right arm, the sensation making Scout's stomach swirl. He freaking hated needles. The arm went completely numb in a matter of seconds, and Scout swallowed nervously before speaking.
"Whaddaya doin' dis time?"
Medic hummed, poking and prodding before smiling, now that he knew the limb was sufficiently numbed.
"Just finicking around vith nerves und such. Me und Engineer have been vorking on a new prosthetic hand for him zat can respond to external stimuli and provide sensation! Exciting, iz it not?"
Scout eyed his arm skeptically.
"And dis aint gonna have any like...side effects?"
Medic gave him an unamused look.
"Scout. I have reattached entire limbs to your body. I sink you know ze answer to zat qvestion."
Heavy chuckled, sitting comfortably in a rolling chair next to them and watching with mild interest.
"Doktor is very good at job. No need to vorry, leetle man."
Scout shrugged, convinced.
"Alright den, whateva ya say."
Medic immediately began asking questions as the scalpel pierced flesh, and a small part of Scout wondered if it was to distract him, since the runner's breath and pulse noticeably spiked as he watched blood gather into a large blob before trailing down his arm.
"So. You und Sniper. How did it happen?"
Heavy rolled a bit closer, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward a bit to hear better, clearly more interested in the conversation than the surgery. Scout's eyes darted between the two before they looked up at the ceiling as he thought about the best way to approach the question.
"Uhh...ya want me ta start from the beginnin'?"
They both nodded, eyes shining with curiosity.
Scout sighed, wracking his brain before he spoke again.
"I just got curious, really. He never talked to nobody so I decided to strike up a chat in da mornin' ta see what his problem was. Den I come by again later an' he's got a chair out for me! My mind was freakin' blown, I never really expected it."
Both the older men's faces softened, thinking about it, their grins widening. Medic hummed as he searched for the white strings among the tendons, hunks of flesh, and white of bone in the runner's arm. Scout seemed sufficiently distracted at this point. He'd never miss out on an opportunity to ramble. Heavy seemed to know this as well, as the Russian also chose to remain quiet and let the speedster speak.
"We didn't really see each other often, at first. I'd just check if he was out n' about on my runs an' join 'im if he was."
Scout's eyes went distant as he recalled it all, his heart squeezing and an involuntary smile tweaking at his lips.
"I helped him out in battle one time an' I think it was then he realized I actually wanted to be his friend. Man, it took a lot ta get 'im outta his shell. We had a lil' bonfire, went huntin', stargazin' twice- the second time is when I think I realized I was inta the guy. Then I got...weird about it. Yelled at 'im."
Scout finally looked over at the other two with a somber look, and Heavy and Medic's mouths formed their own sad frowns, remembering how devastated the Bostonian had been about it. Scout's lips pursed before he quickly moved on, not wanting to linger on the feeling he got every time he thought about taking his anger out on Sniper.
"Den he almost died...fuck, dat scared me. Real bad. He forgave me for bein' a douchebag an' we made up real quick aftah dat. He was...different with me from den on. I think...I think maybe he made some realizations of his own, if ya know what I mean. Den he got scared an' pushed me away after I tried tellin' him my name."
Medic gasped at that, head snapping up to look at Scout, eyes shining.
"You tried saying your name?"
Medic look back at Heavy, who looked similar with his mix of shock and endearment. Medic looked back at Scout, his facial expression now reading more of a "you sly dog".
"My, my, Scout. Very forvard."
Scout flushed at that, grimacing abashedly as he avoided the piercing gaze of the doctor.
"Whateva! I didn't realize it was dat big'a deal den, alright? He did, though, for sure. Den I nearly died an' I guess he pulled 'is head outta 'is ass cause he told me 'is name and finally freakin' talked ta me once I recovered."
The two men gasped, and Medic muttered a small "aww...mein Gott, zat is precious, is it not, Heavy?”
Medic turned to look at Heavy, attention being pulled from the dark red and white of Scout's open arm. Scout risked a look and nearly fainted while Heavy responded in a similarly soft:
"Yes, yes. I remember when Doktor told me his name. Vas one of happiest days of my life."
Medic "awwee"d once more, turning back to Scout's gutted arm with a slight blush.
"Oh hush, you."
Medic then eyed Scout, a silent urge to continue spurring Scout to keep speaking, the runner desperate for the distraction.
"He uhh...he apologized, a'course. Den I said his name and I guess dat really got 'im goin' cause next thing I know he's pulling me in for a kiss, an' he pulled away cause he got embarrassed and den I was pulling 'im in for a kiss, and then we got pretty handsy and uhh...yknow. Yeah."
Medic looked a little disappointed at not getting the smutty details, but Heavy was grinning like an idiot, obviously satisfied with what Scout had offered in explanation.
"Ve are very happy for you two, leetle man. Companionship is hard to find around here."
Heavy had rolled up next to Medic to place a large hand on his waist, making Medic jump slightly and hiss:
"Heavy, not vhile I am vorking!"
Heavy chuckled, pulling back, successful in his attempt at flustered the healer, obvious with the redness tinging the German's cheeks.
Scout smiled slightly, eyes still purposefully avoiding the gorefest that was his forearm at the moment.
"Right. Right. Uhh, hey doc? When is this gonna be over?"
Medic hummed contemplatively, brows furrowing as he thought while working away.
"Ehh, half an hour or so...In ze meantime, I have some information zat I think vould interest you about Spy und Engineer..."
He grinned slyly at the runner, whom gawked at him, wide-eyed, a slightly horrified expression etching his features.
"Huh?"
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Requested by @chamnm - Hope you enjoy!
"Give 'em back, Scout. Now."
Scout smiled smugly, a certain slouch hat and pair of aviators perched upon his head and nose, hunched over in an active stance as he got ready to dodge any incoming grabs and snatches from Sniper's arms.
"Nah, nah I don’t think I will."
Sniper's annoyed scowl deepened as he hummed under his breath, annoyance spiking his pulse as they both toed around, one pursuing, one avoiding.
"So help me...m'gonna make you regret this, ya mongrel."
Scout's smirk widened as he snickered under his breath.
"Oh yeah? Den come and get me, old man."
Scout leapt back with a laugh as Sniper launched himself forward with a frustrated growl, a hand sailing towards Scout's head. The irritated sharpshooter took another long step forward immediately after his failed first attempt, and Scout's eyes widened as he quickly ducked down and off to the side, his cat-like reflexes taking over. Sniper's fingers were only inches away from their target, and the marksman was quickly closing in. Scout didn’t even realize he was backed up against the outside wall of the camper until his back banged against it after evading another grabbing hand, his chuckle being cut short with a small gasp and sound of pain at hitting it so hard. Sniper was quick to slam his hands on either side of Scout, effectively caging the other in, heaving from the rigorous activity. Scout tried dipping underneath an arm but Sniper just pressed closer, a steely eye and knitted brows facing a shocked and sheepish-looking Scout, the runner's face burning bright red.
"Uhh, hey, pal! ...Come here often?"
Sniper's face seemed to soften a bit as he really took a good look at the sight in front of him, and he tilted his head to the side, humming contemplatively.
"Mnnn, you're lucky ya look cute in me hat n' shades, ya bloody hooligan."
Scout looked up at the other, a small smile on his face, clearly proud of how worked up he got the usually cool, calm, and collected professional. His eyes fell shut as Sniper kissed him nice, deep, and tender, his hands instinctively snaking around the other's waist as Sniper's mouth opened wider, the kiss intensifying quickly. Scout made a soft noise and the assassin slowly opened his eyes, making sure the other was well off his guard, before his hands slowly moved towards the hat and aviators. Sniper suddenly pulled away with a smack of their lips, yanking the hat and glasses off with a lopsided, conceited grin, and placing them on his own head with two fluid motions of both his hands.
Scout's head instinctively chased after the other as they parted before his eyes shot open, face falling in a look of dramatic betrayal, gasping.
"Oh, you bastard!"
Sniper chuckled lowly, pecking the runner on his forehead before pulling away.
"Bit off ya game, luv. Got ya soonah than I expected ta."
Scout pouted, following alongside Sniper as the two made their way back into the camper, the evening chill of the air urging them to seek shelter in the warm comfort of the van.
"Ya played dirty an' you know it, Snipes."
Sniper laughed under his breath again as he opened the door to let the other in before following him inside, closing it behind him.
"Like you don' enjoy it."
Scout turned back to look at him with furrowed brows, only for his face to fall and his eyes to roll as he walked back over to the marksman, herding him against the door. The marksman complied, leaning against the cream-covered plywood as Scout crowded him, pressing against the other and hopping up on his toes so their faces were level. He spoke softly, eyes lidded and staring intensely at the other and Sniper swallowed thickly, his own face started to heat up.
"Well, den finish what ya freakin' started, yeah?"
Sniper scoffed and shook his head with a smile, acquiescing with a hand around the back of Scout's neck and a gentle tug for their lips to meet once more.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scout gawked at Sniper, eyes wide with disbelief. It was a lazy morning on a day with an announced ceasefire, and the two were basking in the warm, fresh sun, their folding chairs sat neatly against each other. Sniper was working at another wood carving – an odd shape Scout couldn't quite make out yet. Scout was leaned over his arm rest, his head resting on Sniper's shoulder as he watched him chip away at the wood. They were talking quietly to each other, their closeness making their voices soft as they conversed about their music tastes. It didn’t take long for Scout's favorite singer to be brought up. The runner was appalled when Sniper eyed him confusedly, obviously having no idea what he was talking about.
"You've nevah heard'a Tom Jones? I have an entire freaking tattoo'a him an' you've never heard of Tom Jones!?"
"So that's wot that atrocity on your chest is?"
Scout bristled before jabbing Sniper's chest with a finger, giving the marksman a cold look.
"Ey, my tattoo's da sexiest thing ya ever seen, so shutcha mouth."
Sniper grabbed Scout's wrist with an unamused expression, pulling the finger digging into chest away.
"Alright already, jus' show me wot all the carry-on is abaut this bloke so we can move on with aur lives."
Scout jumped off, smiling brightly, and gave Sniper a quick peck on the cheek before shouting a:
"I'll be right back!"
and running off back to the base, presumably to grab a record of this "Tom Jones" guy.
The speedster returned only minutes later, a black disk in his hand as he rushed back over to their chairs. Sniper smiled softly as Scout eagerly tugged him out of sitting with the enthusiasm of a dog begging for a walk.
"C'mon, c'mon! Ya gotta listen ta this, it's like- the best thing ya ever gonna hear in ya life!"
Scout dragged Sniper into the campervan and quickly grabbed the record player and generator, plopping them onto the table in front of a skeptical looking marksman, who eyed Scout as he slid into the booth seat from across him and set up the record player, his eyes shining with zeal as the needle found it's place in a groove on the edge of the record.
It was only a few seconds of crackling later that the first song began to play. Sniper watched with hidden amusement as Scout immediately began bopping his head to the beat, a big goofy grin on his face as drums, sax, and trumpets layered together to make a fun, lively beat. Sniper slightly raised his brows in mild surprise at the man's voice as he began singing, the tone fun and fluid and dramatic.
"I've got a heart, that really needs somebody.
Someone comes along.
I take this heart of mine, I'll give it freee~"
Sniper's attention was swiftly taken away from the man's definitely more impressive voice, because Scout was singing along, and maybe the runner's voice wasn't as guttural and raw, but it was Scout's singing voice and Sniper wishes he could listen to it more often. The sharpshooter leaned forward a bit, resting his head in his hand as he watched the other jig and sing softly to himself, clearly enjoying the music, and Sniper wonders how many times Scout has listened to this record. Scout froze, finally noticing that the other was gazing at him so affectionately, and he turned bright red, looking away and shoving his hand over the other's eyes.
"Quit freakin' starin' at me an' listen!"
Sniper grunted in shock as the other's bandaged hand covered his eyes and slightly shoved him back, and he grabbed Scout wrist as he began chuckling.
"Sorry, 'roo. Got a bit distracted."
He pulled the other's hand away so they could make eye contact, his tender smile still present on his face as he glanced at the record. He frowned contemplatively for a split second, head tilting towards it.
"I’ll give it to ya, though, ’s not half bad."
Scout shot forward, standing up and leaning onto the table to invade the other's personal space with a vindicated look.
"I freakin' told you!"
Sniper happily sat through the rest of the album, because, if he got lucky enough, the runner would mumble a lyric or hum a solo and it would make Sniper's heart soar higher each time, that same love-struck look on his face as he watched him, the expression never leaving no matter how many times Scout bashfully tried to avoid the attention.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Can I jus' sleep ova t'night? I wanna sleep in wit'out Soldier comin' in an' shoutin' me awake."
Sniper pulled his attention away from his book and looked down at Scout, who's chin was currently digging mildly uncomfortably into his chest, the runner's body draped over his as they lounged in Sniper's loft. Sniper hadn't expected the other to speak, assuming the speedster had fallen asleep on his chest. With how things usually went, this would be about the time Sniper would wake the other up and kick him out, mumbling something about the sun starting to set and how they needed to get some shuteye for the work day. Sniper liked his time to himself, and he certainly liked to sleep alone. At least, he was pretty sure that was the case, since he doesn’t quite remember the last time he hadn't slept alone.
"No dice, 'roo. Time ta go."
Scout groaned dramatically, his forehead landing on the other's chest, forcing a bit of air out of the man below him. He spoke, voice muffled by the other's bare skin.
"Cmonnnn."
He lifted his head to be heard more clearly and to very obviously pull his most devastating puppy-dog eyes, making Sniper scowl slightly as his resolve cracked at that sad, sad looking face.
"We've nevah had a sleepovah or nothin', and we're dating, fa cryin' out loud! Do you not love me no more or su'm?"
His last sentence was quieter and higher-pitched, though dramatic enough for Sniper to know the other wasn't being serious. Sniper sighed, his head falling backwards to plop onto his pillow as he stared at the ceiling, contemplating. Scout interrupted his train of thought, desperately trying to convince him...and guilt trip him.
"Don't it get cold at night? It sure does in my room. I keep wakin' up shiverin' and thinkin' "man, cuddlin' up with Snipes sound great right about now." And you gotta agree that this-"
Scout gestured vaguely at their position, Sniper's hands rested neatly on Scout's lower back, their bodies pressed against each other, the weight of Scout providing an addicting pressure that made Sniper melt into the mattress, their soothing warmths intermixing and making the pair's eyes droop.
"- Is comfy. Ya can’t lie about dat."
Sniper lifted his head to look at the other, lips tightened into a line relaxing as he sighed.
"Fine, fine. You can spend the night. No funny business, though. I'd like ta actually get some kip t'night."
Scout pouted, his head turning and resting back on the other's chest, his ear pressed against the other's chest, the marksman's slow heartbeat thumping lightly into his ears. Scout quickly smiled, relaxing even further into the other, already getting sleepy.
"Mmmnnndat's fine...dn't care."
Sniper chuckled, a hand coming up to comb through Scout's hair, making the other hum in delight as his calloused fingers coursed through the short strands and lightly scratched at his scalp. His hand soon paused, however, and Scout let out a questioning noise, his shoulders and chest moving with the sound.
"...ya know ya gotta move so I can get the lights, right?"
Scout groaned in despair yet again.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Meet the Pyros!
Absolutely frothing at the mouth over her (so is Miss Pauling ((she has a type)))
This is where the differences really start to lie between the two teams and roles :)
Btw once I’m finished with all the character refs I’ll be posting with some context on design choices and such! <3
The Rumor Come Out: Does Scout Sniper TF2 is Gay?
Requested by Rhett on AO3: "If I were to ask for anything more, it'd be Sniper and Scout coming out to everyone (if they want to)"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Hey, Mick?"
Sniper hummed next to him questionably as he swirled the deep brown coffee in his mug absentmindedly, the dark morning painting the steaming brew an inky black as Sniper watched the liquid pool up at the sides and flow back, a film of coffee tinging the white mug cream on the inside. The two were sat in their chairs, like they were every morning. They had started meeting, without fail, at least once every day ever since they had found out about the other's reciprocation of feelings 2 weeks prior, and they were happy – mostly happy, that is. It's just...something was bugging Scout; eating at him like his teeth on his thumbnails. Rapping at the door of his mind every time he wasn't focused on other matters.
"...I kinda wanna tell the others. About us."
Sniper's eyes widened, his grip faltering on the warm ceramic handle as he whipped his head over to Scout so fast his hat and aviators nearly flew off. His response was unusually high-pitched for his low timbre, and panic laced his words with a fearful sharpness.
"Wot?"
Scout looked a little sheepish when their eyes met, his posture tense and guarded like he knew this is exactly how the marksman was going to react, and he nodded solemnly, a guilt clearly present on his face with the way it scrunched his features and made his eyes fall distant.
"I...I don' like lyin' ta them, man. I mean, c'mon, what's da worst dat could happen?"
Sniper looked at Scout incredulously before he shook his head to clear his mind and gather his thoughts. A tight frown and knitted brows replaced the shock as he rattled off.
"Well, first of all, we could lose our jobs. Even if the Administrator is foine with "friends of Dorothy", M'not too sure she'd take kindly to our very unprofessional workplace relationship. An' wot abaut the others? You've never been 'appier abaut bein' accepted araund 'em, an' now you wanna risk all that?"
Sniper's rant was cut rather short after his wandering, darting, rant-driven eyes finally landed on Scout and the runner looked like the sharpshooter just shot his dog. Sniper shut up right then and there with a click of his teeth and an uncomfortable swallow. He softened in his posture, which had similarly tensed, and spoke much more tenderly, leaning over the short distance of their chairs to gently cup the other's face. His thumb stroked comforting circles into the other's cheek as Scout pressed into the hand, his gaze falling.
"I jus' want ya to be safe, for us to be safe. The world ain't keen on a love like ours, 'roo...Hey-"
Sniper nudged Scout's chin upwards so the other would look up at him, and the marksman's heart squeezed at the poorly-concealed shine of the runner's eyes. Sniper's lip curled in confliction, his eyes darting between the left and right of Scout's, before he sighed, averting his gaze to get out his next words. The look on the other's face made his throat squeeze too much to speak.
"I...I trust ya, luv. Just...be smart abaut it, yeah?"
Scout looked up with a small pout, brows crinkling slightly. Sniper looked back, their eye contact intensifying as Scout's gaze turned steely.
"I'm not an idiot, Snipes. I know 'em. M'pretty sure the only person who'd have anythin' ta say about it would be Spy, and dat's just cause he don't approve of anythin' I do."
Sniper's lips pursed, looking away thoughtfully before he pulled the other in with the hand cupping the speedster's cheek to press a slow, apologetic kiss to the other's lips. They pulled only inches away, resting on each other's foreheads as Sniper nodded softly in understanding, his voice steeped in a similar softness as he spoke.
"I know you're not, Jeremy."
Scout sighed in response, his defensiveness melting away as he nodded back.
"I know ya know..."
They pulled apart, Sniper sitting up straighter and sipping at his coffee, Scout slumping against the back of his chair with a dramatic trill of his lips.
"Dis sucks. Screw all the bastards dat decided two dude bein' inta each other was a crime."
"Cheers ta that, mate. Bugger em'."
"Yeah! Bugger em'!"
Sniper chuckled under his breath as he lifted his mug to his lips to take a sip, finding Scout's usage of his own slang amusing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Engineer and Pyro
_______________
The inventor and fire-starter were sat at the dining room table, both perched over their respective pieces of paper and drawing away. Pyro was working on an odd doodle of Medic with a dove head in a hard press of crayon, and Engineer was making smooth, purposeful, light drags of his carpenter pencil on his newest draft of his newest creation. It looked like an upgrade to the teleporters, from what Scout could see. Scout felt a pang of dread attempt to stop him in his tracks, but the runner nevertheless sat himself down in a chair across from them.
Engineer broke out of his concentration to smile at Scout lopsidedly, tucking the pencil behind his ear.
"Well howdy, Scout! How's it goin'?"
The engineer's voice got Pyro's attention, who looked up and offered their own muffled greeting.
Scout feigned a smile back, his nerves serving the genuinity behind it null. Engineer noticed quickly, his brows furrowing behind his goggles and head dipping slightly in concern, continuing before the speedster could get a word in.
"Is everythin' alright?"
Scout grimaced at being found out so quickly and he sighed, eyes landing on the floor next to the table as he searched for the right words.
Did Sniper have a point? Should he think about this first? What if Engineer secretly hated gays? What if it ruined their friendship? What if Pyro did and they tried lighting him up or something? He didn’t want to risk ruining the relationships he had worked so hard at building. Scout's throat squeezed in anxiety, mouth remaining stubbornly closed and refusing to elaborate. But Engineer's looking at him like something's up and Pyro's mumbling in a questioning manner and Scout's hand clenches as he huffs, finally returning Engineer's gaze.
"I uh...got somethin' ta tell ya. An' it doesn't change who I am, yknow? I'm still the same old Scout, ya just know a little more about him an' I don't-"
"Woah woah woah there, pardner-"
Engineer halted Scout's nervous rambling with a calming voice and raised hands, motioning to convey the same meaning. Scout looked at him with wide eyes and features tense with stress. Engineer replied with a small, disarming smile and gentle tone.
"Whatever it is, I'm sure it's not worth all this stressin' about. Just tell us, son."
Scout took a deep breath to gather the courage, eyes closing to find himself, and slowly let it out before finally, finally saying it.
"Me 'n Snipes...we're, uh...togetha. Like togetha togetha, so...yeah."
Engineer looked over at Pyro, who looked over at Engineer, and they both broke out into laughter. Muted giggles emanated from Pyro's mask and a loud, booming guffaw was ripped from Engineer as Scout watched, jaw on the floor, brows pinched in confusion and offense.
"Da hell's so funny, huh?"
Engineer waved off the statement, still recovering as giggles and snickers spilled out of him, speaking through them.
"No, no, hehahaah! Son, we know. Ya aren't exactly subtle about yer feelin's, hehe. Ahh, hell, most of the crew knew before you two even knew, I reckon."
Pyro mumbled something, similarly amused, and Scout just squinted at them, completely oblivious as to what they were saying. He didn’t quite care, though, he was mostly distracted by the truth-bomb dropped by Engineer.
"I'm sorry...what?"
"Scout, it's fine, really. I reckon you'd know by now if the team had a problem with it."
Scout's brows furrowed as his eyes darted around, rethinking every interaction he'd had with anyone since him and Sniper started talking, and his eyes widened as things started clicking into place. The odd quips from Demo weren't him being weird, he was teasing, and that’s why Soldier would always snicker like they were in on some inside joke....and the way Engineer would smile at him when Scout would talk about him and Sniper, like he was happy for him, too happy...Spy's seemingly new formed hatred towards the two being together, but him oddly hiding it and avoiding him?
"So...so-"
Engineer sighed, that same smile still on his face.
"We're happy fer ya, Scout. I mean, big guy and the doc are a pair too, aren't they? Ya don't see us making a fuss of it. They aren’t the only ones, either. But uhh...that's not my place to talk about."
Engineer's face tinged red during his last few sentences, his voice coming down to a sheepish murmur, which made Scout's eyes squint suspiciously. Was he implying... Scout shook the thought out of his head and it was very quickly replaced with the realization that the team knew. Because he was so obvious about it. It was Scout's turn to turn red, dropping his head in his crossed arms on the table with a dull thud, his muffled voice sounding from his arms.
"Goddd dat's so fuckin' embarrasin'. Ughh-uuhh."
More chuckles came from Engineer and Pyro, making Scout bury further in his arms, his cheeks burning. Pyro mumbled another bout of hums that Scout couldn’t even begin to make sense of. Engineer heard it just fine though, agreeing.
"Scorch is right. Don't fret none, son. Only thing that's changed's yer perspective, is all."
Scout lifted his head to rest his chin on his arms, frowning sulkily, his face still warm. He muttered, averting both of their gazes.
"Yeah, whateva."
Once again, Engineer and Pyro laughed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Soldier and Demo
_______________
Scout stomped outside, fists clenched, an irrational anger coursing through him. Everyone knew? Why were they so fucking coy about it? He could have avoided this whole, deeply uncomfortable, heart-to-heart "there's something I need to tell you" bullshit! And with the context, that meant that Demo and Soldier had been making fun of them! Scout could take the jokes usually thrown at him, that was just part of everyday life, but jokes at the expense of Sniper was different. He felt hot with irritation as he looked for the two. The telltale sounds of booming explosions and chaos laced with gruff cackling and howling of laughter lead Scout right to where he was looking. They were practicing their exploding jumps and seeing who could reach the highest, and were already sporting some nasty cuts and broken bones. Scout could already hear Medic's annoyed huffs and complaints about having to do his job when they weren't on the battlefield.
"Hey chuckleheads! I gots a bone ta pick wit ya!"
The two men stopped what they were doing, Soldier's rocket launcher already aimed at the ground, his finger tensing on the trigger when they were interrupted. Their heads turned in the direction of the steaming runner, and they looked at each other with a mix of mild annoyance and worry.
"Uhh...aye lad? Whit’s got ye in a stooshie for?"
Scout finished stomping over, arms crossed and a deeply unamused look on his face.
"You two know about me and Snipes, dontcha?"
The two looked like they were deer in headlights, before eyeing the other, nervousness prominent in their features as they looked back at the speedster gingerly.
"Emm...aye, that’s right, laddie."
Scout threw his arms back and punched both of them in the shoulder with a hefty blow. The two yelped, and Demo swiftly threw an arm against Soldier to stop him from attacking back, the war fanatic shouting threats and insults and crazed blabbering about disrespect and the like. Scout shook his head, tutting and "ah- ah- ah- ah-"ing to get him to shut up. When Soldier finally quieted down, Scout spoke with a disturbingly calm and even voice.
"Ya make one more joke an' I knock both ya blocks off so hard respawn don't gotta chance at savin' ya, hear me?"
Soldier and Demo exchanged another nervous look before they nodded understandingly. Scout mirrored the action in approval.
"Good."
Demo piped up quickly, attempting damage control.
"If it makes ye feel any better, we’re chuffed for ye. Ye two fit together like a hand in a glove."
"Indeed! That sort of behavior happens all the time in the army! Just be sure to be quiet about it!"
Demo whacked Soldier upside the head, making an annoyed, drawn-out noise.
"Ya numpty, he’s no got tae be quiet aboot it!"
Scout glared at Soldier, puffing his chest out defiantly and squaring his shoulders.
"Dat's freakin' right, I don't...but actually though, maybe don’t mention it to the Administrator...I don't want her on my ass about it."
There was a moment of silence before Soldier quietly mumbled a:
"Affirmative. I am sure your ass is strictly for the Sniper."
Demo barely had time to cackle in response before they both got a face full of baseball bat. Medic didn’t even bother questioning when Scout hailed him over to fix them up.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spy
_______________
It was later that night that he caught Spy, lounging against a wall, inhaling another one of his cancer sticks, looking as grumpy as ever. Scout leaned against the wall next to him, arms crossed nonchalantly. Spy peered down at him with a raised brow. Scout didn’t have to look over to know that was the case.
"Why 'aven't you been on my ass about me n' Snipes."
There was an awkward silence before Spy sighed, long, drawn out, and laced with cigarette smoke.
"I feegured you would ask queshtions."
Another awkward silence. Scout glared over at him expectantly.
"Well?"
Spy's face scrunched in annoyance, lip curling to reveal the teeth gently holding his cigarette in place.
"It is none of my bizness, non?"
"Oh, don't gimme dat crap, you got no sense of the word. What the fuck's been up wit ya."
The sleuth growled in irritation before speaking.
"Is it so 'ard to believe a man is capable of a change of 'eart? I may not like it, but 'e's been good for you, and zerefore good for your performance. No need to interfere with somesing zat is working."
Scout gawked at him, brows slightly furrowed in disbelief. Spy? Change of heart? What the hell was going on? An odd sense of validation made his heart perk up in happiness and he fucking hated that he was so delighted to hear that Spy approved of their relationship. Why the hell would he need the bastard's approval? Why the hell did he need the bastard's approval? Why was he realizing this just now? Wh-
"Scout. You are staring."
"Yeah! Ya bein' fuckin weird about this!"
Spy huffed again, another cloud of smoke billowing from his lips.
"You expect me to be a bigot?"
Scout snorted at that, resulting in a cold look from the older man.
"Nah, ya more a fairy dan I am, fancy pants."
"Oh please. Ugh, if you'd kindly shut your mouth for once in your life it would do me a great deal of good."
Spy pinched the bridge of his nose, teeth gritting. Scout grinned smugly back and nodded in approval.
"Now ya actin' more like yaself."
Spy let go, face falling to more of a mild shock, paired with a raised eyebrow as he peered over at the other questioningly.
"What? Yeah, you're a bastard but I'm used ta dat. Don't gotta be a dick about me n Sniper but...you've been like-, avoiding me lately, n' stuff. I thought you actually were a bigot'a somethin' for a hot sec."
Scout scoff-laughed at the end, obviously finding the idea a bit silly. He looked up to see Spy looking oddly sheepish.
"Well...I figured zat my, er, distance, would do you some good as well. I know I am not kind to you often."
Scout looked forward, feigning interest in the wall across from them, embarrassment making the back of his neck burn as he begrudgingly disagreed.
"Nah...nah. Ya good. A dick fa sure but...ya good."
The silence was more comfortin- comfortable. Not comforting. There was absolutely nothing comforting about Spy. But regardless, they shared that stillness for a solid few minutes before Scout quietly bid him farewell and briskly walked away. Spy watched him go with an unreadable expression, but an unmistakable softness in his eyes and posture. He lit another cigarette.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sniper jumped slightly when the door to the camper swung open with no warning, drawing the marksman out of reading his newest MEN'S SURVIVAL MAGAZINE issue. A slightly exhausted looking Scout tumbled in and shut the door behind him with a huff. Sniper's chest immediately locked up, fearing the worst as Scout trudged over, stopping outside of the booth Sniper was sitting in. Sniper turned, pulling his legs out from under the table to face his body outward, head tilting before his eyes widened as Scout plopped in Sniper's lap and melted into him, head resting on the other's shoulder.
"...wos it bad, 'roo?"
Scout shook his head, shimmying further into Sniper's space and sighing in comfort.
"Nah...jus' stressful. 'pparently everyone knew already. I'm just glad to see ya again."
Sniper smiled and wrapped his arms around the runner, pulling him closer and resting his own head on the other's shoulder.
"Good ta hear, luv. I'm 'appy ta see ya too. Now, hop off, would ya? I'm getting' dinnah started in a tick."
Scout pulled back, fueled with a new excitement as he beamed brightly.
"Aw hell yeah!"
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