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Being the bigger person shouldn't be his responsibility.

#Feeling frustrated today so I made this #BIG on the headcanon that Scout's ma is a family person #tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #tf2 scouts ma #scouts ma #spyma #tf2 spyma #dadspy #spy dad #tf2 angst #dadspy angst

DadSpy Gas Station

Spy was never particularly interested in the American gas stations. He didn’t have a reason to visit one.

RED delivered supplies to its bases, which allowed the Engineer and Medic a constant stream of new parts and scrap. It also meant gasoline for the merc’s vehicles. He and Sniper didn’t have to visit town to fuel up.

It was safer that way. It was better for Antoine to reserve his public sightings for things he had to do for work, or for activities he was interested in. It wasn’t like he was walking around with a paper civilian mask when he did go to town.

Gas stations had high foot traffic, traffic from absolute strangers. And they were known to be filthy. Spy was honestly more at ease surrounded by BLU team than he would be in a crowd of total strangers.

He didn’t understand why Jeremy insisted on visiting the gas station so often.

Scout didn’t take the time to cook for himself. Throwing together a bowl of repulsive cereal was about the extent of his culinary exploits. He didn’t bother to make sandwiches for himself, since he could always steal one from an enemy heavy anyways.

RED team didn’t really sit down to eat together, unless someone made breakfast or felt like firing up a barbecue grill. So most of the time, Scout was either going to the gas station to get chicken, or eating leftovers from the last bucket he bought.

A diet of meat, grease, sugar and radiation. It ate away at Antione sometimes, knowing how badly his son ate. He could have taught him better, but… that was not an option.

Neither was catering to the whole team with actual balanced meals. He had the skills, he had the supplies, he just- No. Not again. He couldn’t bear it.

Besides, it would be strange and seemingly out of character for him to start now. Spy’s throat stung at the thought.

“Hey Spy? I can’t get my motorcycle to run. Engie’s gonna fix it up later but uh… Do ya mind taking me to the gas station tonight?”

Antione blinked dully at his son. If Jeremy was asking him, it meant the others were annoyed or busy.

“For food?”

“Yeah. I’m outta chicken.”

Good. That slop was an insult to the birds that died to make it. And Scout virtually lived on it.

“Perhaps you should eat something else.”

“Aw come on, Spy!”

“Well, you could. There’s always a few things in the team fridge, it wouldn’t take long to cook something.”

Jeremy was quiet for a moment. And for a moment Antione dared to hope his son would listen.

“I’m tired Spy. I don’t feel like dirtying up a pan or anything tonight.”

Spy scowled. Of course he didn’t want to bother. Didn’t want to put in the effort to make a halfway decent dinner, to improve his health even slightly. Was it truly so hard to fry something in a pan, to heat some canned soup in a pot?

The others sometimes refused to humor Scout for this exact reason. The shared fridge was open to everyone, barring leftovers or anything claimed with a note. It was worrying how much he chose to eat out, the same thing at that.

“Please? I thought my bike was workin, I swear.” Spy knew that was true. Scout’s bike probably just needed extra maintenance from so much use. Antione felt his shoulders sag.

“Alright. Just this once.”

“Alright! Yeah!”

“But don’t eat that garbage in my car.”

——————-

The gas station in Teufort was about as grimy as Spy imagined it would be. A sun bleached sign with the chicken restaurant’s logo was attached to the wall outside. It wasn’t a franchise that had standalone locations like other “fast food”. Antione figured it wasn’t very popular.

Inside, the small store was stocked with factory foods. The kinds of strange, empty foods made on a conveyor belt that Scout ate as snacks. Thankfully Bonk Cola was not available. Saxton Hale’s company made that poison for the war effort, same as the kidney pills Sniper took whenever Medic fixed them.

Antione wasn’t really sure why he bothered walking in. But he still found himself scanning the room for the hot food options, for the things Jeremy might also eat.

There was a case of donuts that caught his eye. Donuts weren’t healthy, but Spy had a soft spot for pastries and confections. At least the ones that weren’t prepackaged, fake chocolate covered styrofoam like the Mini Milly snack cakes.

He decided to buy one. Scout was going to make a purchase of course, but Spy was a masked man loitering around. He felt compelled.

Antione’s shoulders were stiff and he knew he looked out of place. The people of Teufort were odd, and he was always on edge in a public place anyways. He watched Jeremy’s exploits as he pulled the pastry out of its paper bag.

Scout was chugging a “slushee” drink and dousing a paper box of corn chips in some kind of sauce. It was caution sign yellow, and Jeremy dumped canned olives on it. Repulsive.

Spy felt that stinging prickle in his throat. Look away. Think about something else. This was not the time or place to cry. Antione could grieve the fact he wasn’t there to teach Jeremy what real food is, but not in front of him. Or these strangers.

He turned his attention back to the donut. He had been most curious about the one coated in cane sugar. Crumbs of it were already catching in the stitching on his gloves.

Spy bit into the pastry. It was dry. He had figured it might be, since this wasn’t a donut bakery. They probably got them from some other place. But the raspberry filling was what bothered him.

It tasted of sugar more than fruit. The tartness of the raspberry was lost, and it didn’t even have seeds. The sugar taste was, for lack of a better word, artificial. Spy turned up his nose at it.

He’d made better syrup at 8 years old, being yelled at by father for burning himself on hot liquid sugar.

Antione looked up again and Jeremy was making a mess. He’d poured the mystery sauce on some chicken and was getting it all over his face and arm. The chicken in question came from under a lamp, as did the other hot foods.

Spy looked at the spinning hot dogs and sighed. They were so much better grilled, and even Soldier knew how to do it. There was so much better than this in America, better donuts made fresh, better chicken made by other restaurants.

He’s never going to listen to me. What do I do?!

Antione threw the dried up pastry away and walked back to his car. He refrained from smoking for the sake of the gasoline pumps nearby. But he really could have used a smoke.

In that way he was a hypocrite. He knew that. Scout didn’t take up the habit, thank God.

But food was so much more than filling your stomach. Despite father’s insistence that everything had to be perfect, there was actual value in food. To take pride in making something good, something worth serving to others. Something worth sitting down together to eat.

There was no benefit to smoking except keeping his taste buds exactly the same as they had been for so many years. Spy couldn’t bear the thought of what would happen if he didn’t.

But good food was what gave him energy, what counterbalanced his poor health decisions. A person could change what they eat and begin to feel better. To eat the kind of thing they’d feel comfortable serving to someone else.

Jeremy chose the chicken to serve a potential date, back when Spy tried to coach him. He was comfortable serving it to someone else, and that made Antione very sad.

“Hey, you didn’t have to throw that away.”

Scout had returned to the car.

“Throw what away?”

“The donut. You gotta stop wasting food.”

He had thrown the cold, leftover chicken on the floor too. Scout hadn’t forgiven him for that. Antione let himself sag in the drivers seat.

“It barely constitutes as food to me, Scout. I just… I don’t want to fill my stomach with something like that.”

“Well some people would have been happy to eat it if you didn’t want it. We can’t all be picky.”

You could now, you have mercenary money. You could eat whatever you wish.

Merriam chose not to take money and that left Jeremy without. Antione wasn’t so blind that he couldn’t see that. But now was his chance to try new things, and he kept going back to the same cheap, unhealthy food. Food that didn’t even taste good.

I don’t know what to do.

“Nobody should have to eat this filth Scout, I know that…. But you don’t have to.”

“You wouldn’t understand. I didn’t ask to be lectured by a snob.”

“A snob?”

“Yes. A snob. We can’t all be fancy Frenchies, so why don’t you stop acting like it!”

Antione didn’t want to drive anymore but he forced himself. If Jeremy thought he was a snob, he should have seen the “elite” customers.

So many rich people just ate whatever was the most expensive, whatever got them the most attention. Spy had always preferred serving the guests who saved up to visit France and try something they’d never had. They were always more grateful, more curious.

Scout was never going to branch out. He was never going to try better food, French or no. He would never understand what he was missing.

“Can you pass me a cigarette?” Antione knew he was in no condition to take his eyes off the road. He needed to not cry behind the wheel.

“Fine. Enjoy the notes of rubber or whatever.”