Team Fortress 2: Self‑Aware AU
You were playing Scout on 2Fort as part of the RED team on a community server. The young Bostonian breezed past bullets thanks to your growing expertise with the game. By now, you could practically predict where enemies would shoot before they pulled the trigger. Critical hits seemed to happen every other second.
Things were going pretty well for you, too. You hadn't needed to respawn once, and you hadn't called for the Medic player all match.
The Intelligence was securely tucked on Scout's back. The final control point was already in sight.
A Heavy was unloading his Minigun at him.
A Soldier was desperately trying to land a rocket.
A Demoman was charging across the bridge with a raised Eyelander.
Still absolutely no problem.
Scout zigzagged through the incoming fire as if the laws of physics were merely suggestions. His sneakers barely touched the ground before he was off again.
Not to mention he was talking a mile a minute the entire time.
"So what kinda music do ya listen to?" Scout suddenly asked.
"A lot of things," you replied.
Scout snorted. "Dat's not an answer."
"No, dat's what people say when dey don't wanna answer." Scout sidestepped a rocket without even looking at it.
His Scattergun fired automatically at a pursuing Pyro. Courtesy of you, of course.
"I genuinely listen to a lot of genres."
"See? Ya can't do it." Scout pointed dramatically ahead of him.
"I like rock, video game soundtracks, and—"
A rocket exploded nearby but you helped Scout vaulted over it.
"Jazz?" Scout repeated, sounding personally offended.
Before you could defend yourself, Scout continued. "Actually, never mind. I ain't judgin'. Half our team listens ta weirder stuff."
A Sniper's bullet whizzed past his head.
A sticky bomb exploded beneath his feet.
You somehow helped Scout survived both.
"Medic listens ta opera while performin' surgery."
"Soldier listens ta military marches while sleepin'."
"And Heavy once spent three hours explainin' Russian folk songs ta me."
You couldn't help laughing.
Unfortunately, laughing turned out to be a mistake.
Your attention drifted from the screen for exactly one second. Exactly long enough to miss a jump and for Scout's foot clipped the edge of the bridge.
Both of you immediately realized what was happening.
Scout dropped like a stone into the water below.
"YOU FAILED!!" The Administrator's voice blasted across the server.
The defeat screen appeared.
Chat immediately exploded.
"HOW DO YOU MISS THAT JUMP"
You barely had time to read the messages before Scout groaned. "Aww, c'mon!"
The next match loaded as Scout respawned inside RED's base, already throwing his hands in the air.
"My fault?!" Scout shouted.
"YOU are da one holdin' da keyboard!" Scout pointed dramatically upward toward the invisible sky where you supposedly resided.
Scout stared. Then he stared harder.
"Ya got distracted by a conversation?"
"It was an interesting conversation."
Scout clutched his chest. "I asked what music ya liked!"
"And then you kept arguing!"
"'Cause ya wouldn't answer!"
"Not properly!" His arms were waving around so much that he wasn't paying attention to the battlefield anymore.
Neither of you noticed the enemy Sniper.
A single rifle shot echoed across the map.
Scout's head snapped backwards as he collapsed instantly.
A few seconds later, Scout respawned again.
For several moments, he simply stood there in silence. Then he sighed.
"...Okay. Maybe dat one was on me."
You were playing Soldier on Badwater as part of the BLU team.
Technically, your job was simple: Push the payload cart. That was it.
Just walk forward and keep the cart moving.
And to be fair, you were pushing the cart. The problem was that Soldier had decided this was the perfect opportunity to deliver a lecture.
Nobody had asked for one.
Unfortunately, Soldier had never considered those factors important.
"...and THAT is why raccoons are an enemy of freedom!"
"What do raccoons have to do with freedom?" you asked for what felt like the tenth time.
"Everything." Soldier said it with such complete certainty that you almost doubted yourself.
You rubbed your forehead.
There was a reason he wasn't your main.
Ever since the mercenaries had gained awareness, Soldier had somehow become even more insufferable. Every match turned into a combination of military training seminar, conspiracy theory podcast, and history lesson taught by someone who had never actually studied history.
It was honestly ruining your ability to play.
Which was a shame. Before all this, you'd actually thought Soldier was a fun class.
Now every game involved him talking nonstop.
"And that's why Abraham Lincoln invented stairs."
"To promote upward mobility."
"IT IS IF YOU LOVE AMERICA."
The payload cart continued rolling forward at a painfully slow pace. Around you, the rest of the team was desperately fighting the RED defenders. Rockets flew overhead. Sticky bombs detonated across the choke point. Medics were screaming for help.
Meanwhile, you were trapped in a conversation about raccoons.
Chat was beginning to notice.
You wanted to explain that you were currently being held hostage by Soldier's lecture. Unfortunately, they probably wouldn't understand.
"...and another thing," Soldier continued.
"The moon is a communist."
You nearly walked him directly into a wall. "What?"
"The evidence is obvious."
You opened your mouth. Then immediately closed it.
You weren't winning this argument.
Nobody ever won arguments with Soldier. You merely survived them.
As if the situation wasn't already bad enough, the RED team finally noticed that the payload was barely moving.
More specifically, their Heavy noticed.
The giant Russian stepped around a corner, his Minigun was already spinning.
You felt your soul leave your body.
The Heavy opened fire and bullets tore across the road.
Without thinking, your fingers hit the controls.
Soldier launched into the air in a perfect rocket jump, the explosion propelling him high above the battlefield. Enemy fire sailed harmlessly beneath him.
For one glorious second, everything slowed.
Then Soldier began screaming.
"YES!" You managed to make him land on a rooftop. "YOU DID IT!"
"You almost died, you asshole!"
"IT IS THE ONLY POINT!" Soldier sounded genuinely confused by your complaint.
Below, the Heavy was still trying to track your movement.
You hastily fired another rocket. Unfortunately, your aim was terrible.
The rocket boosted Soldier sideways and directly into a wall.
The impact should have been embarrassing, but Soldier — seemingly incapable of feeling any kind of humiliation — treated it like a military victory.
"That wasn't intentional!"
"You crashed into a building!"
"I DEFEATED THE BUILDING!"
The building remained undefeated.
Soldier pumped a fist into the air anyway. "AMERICA WINS AGAIN!"
You stared at the screen.
Soldier was still cheering. The enemy Heavy was still shooting. The payload still needed pushing. Chat was still yelling at you.
You let out the longest, hardest, most exhausted sigh of your life.
Somewhere above, Soldier pointed dramatically toward the horizon.
"LET ME EXPLAIN WHY PIGEONS ARE A GOVERNMENT EXPERIMENT."
You seriously considered disconnecting.
You were playing Pyro on a community server as part of the RED team, with Badlands serving as today's battleground for King of the Hill.
Honestly, you didn't play Pyro all that often. Not because you disliked them. Quite the opposite, actually.
Pyro could be incredibly fun. There was a reason they were considered one of the best classes for beginners. The flamethrower was forgiving, airblasting projectiles felt amazing when you pulled it off, and setting particularly annoying Spies on fire never stopped being funny.
No. The real problem was communication.
Communication with Pyro was...
Pyro looked at something off in the distance. "Mmph mmph mrrph?"
You stared. "I have absolutely no idea what you just said."
You followed their finger. A small bird model was perched on a nearby fence.
Pyro nodded eagerly. "MMPH!"
"Okay. Bird. I can understand bird."
Pyro gave you a thumbs-up and you felt strangely proud of yourself.
The match continued. Or at least, you assumed it did. Most of your attention was currently devoted to deciphering Pyro.
A few minutes later, Pyro pointed toward a patch of grass.
Pyro pointed more aggressively.
You looked closer and saw that there were flowers growing among the grass.
"MMPH!" Pyro gasped. At least, you thought it was a gasp.
They spun in a small circle and clapped their hands.
"Okay, flowers. You like flowers."
More enthusiastic nodding.
Somewhere in the distance, a teammate died.
You completely ignored it.
Several minutes later, Pyro somehow managed to communicate another fact: they liked drawing.
You weren't entirely sure how you'd reached that conclusion.
There had been a lot of miming involved. And several confusing attempts where you'd guessed:
An especially offended "MMPH!”
Eventually, Pyro had traced shapes in the dirt with their finger.
Only then had you understood.
The excited nodding nearly knocked their gas mask loose.
At this point, you felt like an archaeologist decoding an ancient language.
A BLU Scout ran directly past you. Neither of you noticed.
Pyro had apparently moved on to discussing landscaping. "Mmph mmph mrrph mmph!"
Pyro gave you a double thumbs-up.
"Every map needs more flowers?"
Pyro pointed at you. Then at the control point. Then gave another thumbs-up.
"...You think the control point should have flowers?"
You couldn't even argue with that.
The game timer ticked downward. Your team fought desperately over the objective.
Chat was becoming increasingly distressed.
"WHY ARE YOU STANDING THERE"
You vaguely registered the messages as you were currently learning important information.
For example, Pyro liked birds. Pyro liked drawing. Pyro liked flowers.
Pyro apparently thought every map would be improved by the addition of flower beds.
And Pyro might have been trying to tell you something about squirrels, although you weren't confident enough to put that one in your notes yet.
Eventually, the Administrator’s voice echoed through the map.
The defeat screen appeared. The match was over.
You checked the timer. The scoreboard. The chat.
Then realization slowly dawned. “Oh no."
"I think we threw the match."
"I spent the entire game trying to understand you."
Pyro thought about that. Then happily nodded.
The next map began loading.
You sighed and leaned back in your chair.
After nearly twenty minutes, you had successfully learned three facts about Pyro and you understood approximately thirty percent of what they said. Maybe thirty-five on a good day.
Pyro immediately pointed at a cloud. "Mrrph mmph mmph?"
You stared at the screen. "...We're starting over, aren't we?"
The enthusiastic nodding told you everything you needed to know.
You were playing Demoman for the RED team on Coldfront in one of your usual community servers.
By now, playing Demo had become second nature.
You barely had to think about it anymore. Your fingers automatically placed sticky traps around corners, chokepoints, and objectives. Years of practice had turned the class into pure muscle memory.
Honestly, you could probably play Demoman in your sleep.
Which was fortunate. Because at the moment, most of your attention was devoted to listening to Demo tell a story.
"...sae then Ah wake up in the middle o' nowhere."
"Uh-huh." You made him launch another sticky bomb onto a nearby wall.
Demo continued as if he were narrating the most dramatic tale ever told. "Nae clue where Ah am."
You detonated a trap, sending an enemy Scout flying.
Demo didn't even pause. "Sae Ah start walkin'."
"An' then Ah find maself surrounded."
You perked up slightly. "Surrounded by what?"
Demo grinned. "Chickens."
"Chickens." The grin widened. "Lots o' chickens."
You couldn't help laughing.
The image of Demoman, explosives expert and professional mercenary, being trapped by chickens was simply too ridiculous.
Demo seemed delighted by your reaction. "They were everywhere."
"Would Ah lie tae ye?" The question came out surprisingly sincere.
For a second, you actually paused. Your fingers stopped moving over the keyboard.
The question caught you off guard.
Because despite all his exaggerations and drunken storytelling, Demo wasn't usually dishonest.
He embellished. Dramatically.
But outright lying? Not really.
You found yourself smiling. Then you shook your head.
You kept a perfectly straight face. "Absolutely yes."
"...Fair." Demo barked out a laugh.
You grinned and pushed him toward the next objective.
Nearby, one of your sticky traps exploded. An unfortunate Soldier disappeared from existence.
Neither of you paid much attention.
The story was more important.
"So what happened with the chickens?"
At that exact moment, someone spoke over voice chat.
"Yo, who are you talking to?"
The mercs' self-awareness was still supposed to be a secret.
"OH!" You nearly dropped your mouse, the response coming out far louder than intended. "No one!"
"...No one?" You could practically hear the suspicion on the other end.
"Just..." Your brain scrambled for an excuse.
You glanced at Demo. The Demoman glanced back.
"...a quick talk with my boyfriend."
"Oh." Your friend immediately accepted this explanation.
Meanwhile— Demoman visibly staggered.
"GHK—" His character missed a step as a completely undignified choking noise escaped him.
Demo looked like someone had hit him with a frying pan. His remaining eye was wide. Very wide.
You nearly burst out laughing. Because for perhaps the first time since you'd met him, Demoman seemed utterly speechless.
You had no idea whether he was embarrassed, flustered, confused, or all three. Probably all three.
"Anyway, they're pushing second point." Your friend continued talking, blissfully unaware.
"Yep!" You quickly muted your microphone. Then immediately dissolved into giggles.
Demo was still staring into space. "Oh my God. Ah..."
He cleared his throat. Failed. Tried again.
"Ah..." Another failed attempt.
You laughed even harder. "Demo."
"Perfectly fine." His voice cracked halfway through the sentence.
"Stop laughin'." The Demoman groaned.
"No." You continued pushing him toward the control point.
Demo, meanwhile, seemed determined to focus on literally anything else.
Demo immediately groaned. "Don't."
You laughed so hard that you almost forgot to detonate your sticky trap.
You were playing Heavy for the BLU team in Casual, enjoying a good old Payload Race match on Frontier.
At the moment, things were unusually peaceful. The payload cart rolled steadily along the tracks. No enemy Snipers were harassing you. No Spies were trying to stab you. No Scouts were bouncing around your ankles like caffeinated rabbits.
Just you, Heavy, and the payload.
Which meant the two of you had plenty of time to talk. Something Heavy seemed to enjoy far more than you'd initially expected.
"So," Heavy began, resting Sasha against his shoulder as the cart rolled forward, "what did leetle bird do today?"
"School." That was your entire answer.
Heavy waited. You knew he was waiting.
"How was school?" he finally asked.
"Boring." The word came out with enough exhaustion to power a small city.
Heavy hummed thoughtfully. "Heavy thinks everyone says this."
"Because school is boring."
"Perhaps." Heavy's expression remained calm as the cart rolled around a corner. "Still important."
"That's exactly what teachers say." You rolled your eyes.
"Then perhaps teachers are occasionally correct."
"Wow." You placed a hand over your heart. "Heavy agreeing with teachers. Never thought I'd see the day."
Heavy chuckled. The deep rumble of it almost drowned out the sound of the payload.
You smiled despite yourself. "Seriously, though. You sound like somebody's dad."
Heavy became suspiciously pleased, his chest puffed out slightly. "Is that compliment?"
"Heavy chooses to believe it was."
Over the past few weeks, conversations like this had become strangely normal. You barely even questioned them anymore.
A month ago, if someone had told you that the mercenaries would become self-aware and you'd end up discussing your day with Heavy Weapons Guy while pushing a payload cart, you would've laughed in their face.
And honestly, talking to Heavy had become one of the best parts of playing.
"So my friend says I should just uninstall the game if it keeps frustrating me."
Heavy immediately frowned. "That is terrible advice."
"Right?" You pointed at the screen. "Very terrible. Thank you!"
Heavy nodded. "If Sasha stopped working, Heavy would not throw her away."
"A computer isn't a minigun, Heavy." You immediately laughed.
The cart continued moving as an enemy team suddenly appeared around the corner.
Three RED players. A Soldier, a Pyro and a Medic.
Instinct immediately took over.
Sasha spun up and then the world became bullets.
The Soldier vanished first. The Pyro followed shortly after.
The Medic attempted to flee.
A few seconds later, silence returned.
The payload continued rolling forward as if nothing had happened.
Heavy didn't even seem remotely bothered. "As Heavy was saying—"
The Soldier's ragdoll finally hit the ground behind you.
Heavy continued speaking. "...games are supposed to be fun. If game is making leetle bird angry all the time, perhaps leetle bird needs break."
You blinked, then glanced back at the pile of defeated enemies. Then back at Heavy.
"...Did we just kill three people in the middle of a conversation?"
"Da." Heavy didn't even hesitate.
The cart rattled over a section of track, and Heavy rested Sasha against his shoulder once more.
The giant mercenary looked completely at ease. As though casually discussing life while mowing down enemy combatants was perfectly normal.
Which, for him, it probably was.
You laughed and Heavy looked pleased.
"You know," you said, "sometimes I forget how strange this whole thing is."
Heavy nodded. "Heavy understands."
"Da." The giant mercenary's expression softened. "A few weeks ago, Heavy thought leetle bird was mysterious sky spirit."
You nearly choked. "Sky spirit?"
"You thought I was a sky spirit?"
You couldn't even argue with that.
Heavy chuckled again, warm and fond. "Very strange world, leetle bird."
The nickname still caught you off guard every time.
Not in a bad way. Just— comfortably.
Heavy smiled as the payload continued its steady journey down the tracks.
"Very strange." He glanced upward, toward wherever he imagined you existed. "But Heavy thinks he likes it."
For a moment, all you could do was smile.
Then an enemy Spy appeared.
The conversation immediately ended in gunfire.
You were playing Engineer for the RED team in a casual match on Double Cross.
At the moment, you were focused on setting up defenses around your team's Intelligence. Or at least, you had been.
A partially-built sentry sat near the entrance to the Intelligence room while you considered its placement. Then Engineer spoke up.
"Tha' sentry." Engineer pointed casually with his wrench. "Move it over a bit."
Tentatively, you adjusted the building's position. Just a little.
Engineer studied it for a moment, then nodded with obvious satisfaction. "Perfect."
"Yep." The Texan crouched beside the construction site. "Better sightlines."
A few swings of his wrench later, the sentry sprang to life with its barrel rotated experimentally.
Engineer smiled proudly. "There we go."
You couldn't help smiling a little yourself. The fact that Engineer had opinions about sentry placement shouldn't have surprised you anymore.
None of this should have surprised you anymore.
"...You can see what I'm doing?" you asked quietly.
"Ah can see through mah own eyes, can't Ah?" Engineer chuckled, "Would be mighty inconvenient otherwise."
You froze, the words hit harder than they should have.
For a moment, all you could do was stare.
The sentry continued scanning the hallway. Engineer stood up and dusted off his gloves.
Meanwhile, your brain was rapidly remembering every embarrassing moment you'd ever had while playing Engineer.
Every time you'd accidentally walked off a cliff. Every time you'd forgotten metal. Every poorly placed teleporter. Every sentry that had immediately got sapped. Every ridiculous strategy you'd convinced yourself would somehow work.
The memories came flooding back one after another.
And now you knew that Engineer had apparently been there for all of them.
Watching. Experiencing. Remembering.
Engineer, meanwhile, looked completely unbothered. Which somehow made it worse.
You'd been playing Engineer for as long as you could remember.
There had always been something appealing about building things.
Maybe it was because you loved games where you could create and experiment. Maybe it was because constructing a perfect defense felt rewarding.
Or maybe it was because Engineer himself was just... easy to like.
Polite. Friendly. Patient. The kind of person who never seemed to panic no matter what was happening around him.
And now that he was aware? That hadn't changed at all.
If anything, it had become even more obvious.
You moved him toward the staircase. "Yeah, I guess you can."
Your voice sounded smaller than intended. Engineer immediately noticed.
Of course he did. He was observant like that.
The Texan glanced upward, toward wherever he imagined you existed, his expression softening—the teasing amusement faded into something gentler.
"Now don't ya worry 'bout a thing, darlin'."
Your face instantly heated.
Engineer either didn't notice or politely pretended not to. Probably the second one.
"Let's just focus on havin' fun, okay?"
You looked away from the screen for a second. The nickname certainly wasn't helping.
"Y-Yeah." Very smooth. You mentally congratulated yourself on sounding completely normal.
Engineer smiled. "There ya are."
The simple reassurance settled something in your chest. Not completely— the awkwardness was still there. Probably would be for a while.
You were still getting used to all of this. Getting used to the fact that the characters you'd spent years playing alongside weren't just code anymore.
That they remembered things.
It was a lot. Engineer seemed to understand that.
He didn't push. Didn't ask questions. Didn't tease you.
Just offered a patient smile and got back to work.
The two of you rounded a corner and a BLU Spy immediately decloaked behind the sentry.
The machine opened fire and the Spy exploded into a cloud of metal scraps and bad decisions.
Engineer nodded approvingly. "See?"
"Still got good instincts."
You couldn't help laughing. The awkward tension easing just a little.
"Now c'mon." Engineer grinned beneath his goggles as he twirled his wrench once. "Let's go build somethin'."
And somehow, hearing that made the whole situation feel a lot less overwhelming.
You were playing Medic for the RED team during a community match on Dustbowl.
This had been a mistake. A terrible mistake.
Not because Medic was difficult to play. You actually enjoyed playing support classes.
The problem was that Medic had apparently decided that your existence represented the greatest scientific discovery in human history.
Which meant he had questions.
An unlimited number of questions.
Questions that never stopped. Questions that should not be asked. Questions that absolutely should not be answered.
You nearly dropped your mouse. "What?"
"In your vorld." Medic glanced upward as you guided him around a corner. "Can humans eat clouds?"
Medic hummed thoughtfully.
You immediately regretted your answer.
That hum meant he was thinking. Thinking was dangerous.
"Interesting." The tone sent a chill down your spine.
You recognized that tone. That was Medic's experimental tone.
The same tone he used before saying things like "I have improved ze healing process" or "I vonder how many skeletons a man truly needs."
You pointed your Medigun at a wounded Heavy as Medic continued speaking.
"Can humans survive being struck by lightning?"
"Can zhey replace organs?"
"You do not even know vhat I vas going to ask."
Medic looked mildly offended. Then immediately recovered.
Before he could ask another question, voice chat erupted.
"CAN WE GET SOME FUCKING HEALS OVER HERE?!" One of your teammates yelled.
"Coming!" You hurriedly redirected your healing beam.
The wounded Soldier was healed. Then the Demoman. Then the Pyro. And yet somehow—
"This Medic main is trash."
"For real. I haven't gotten healed once this entire match." Another player joined in.
"She vas healing someone else, you dummkopfs," he muttered.
Of course, nobody heard him. Only you could.
"Yo, why aren't you healing me right now?" Another voice chimed in.
You glanced toward the player. He was standing at full health.
"This Medic main is throwing."
Medic's grip tightened around the Medigun. "Oh, I vill show him throwing."
"Medic." You couldn't help laughing which only seemed to encourage him.
Meanwhile, the complaints continued.
The criticism wasn't even unusual. Support players dealt with it all the time.
People remembered when they weren't healed. Rarely when they were.
After enough matches, it became background noise.
You quietly apologized over voice chat and promised to do better.
The complaining eased somewhat.
Medic frowned. A deep, unhappy frown.
The kind that usually preceded questionable medical decisions.
"Vhy do you allow zhem to talk over you like zhat?"
The question caught you off guard. His voice had become noticeably softer.
"Well..." You adjusted your grip on the mouse. "I guess I just got used to it."
"I play support in a lot of games." You continued. The healing beam connected to a wounded Scout. "After a while, it just becomes background noise. People complain. They always complain."
Medic's expression darkened.
Something closer to disappointed. As though he'd just discovered a particularly unfortunate diagnosis.
This wouldn't do. Not at all.
Your face immediately warmed.
Medic continued before you could recover.
"You do not have to be passive to be good at support." The Medigun hummed softly. "You are healer."
His voice carried a certainty that was impossible to ignore. "You are reason zhat half of zhese idiots are still alive."
Medic pointed dramatically toward the battlefield. "Look at zhem."
A Soldier immediately rocket-jumped into a wall.
A Scout ran directly into enemy fire.
A Demoman detonated himself by accident.
Medic gestured triumphantly. "My point exactly."
You laughed despite yourself.
Medic smiled. A genuinely warm smile.
"Never forget, mein Liebling." The nickname somehow felt less embarrassing this time. "You are one of zhe most important people on zhe team."
Your smile became impossible to suppress. "Wow."
For a moment, the battlefield felt surprisingly peaceful.
Then Medic spoke again. "Now."
You immediately tensed. "Oh no."
"Can you harvest organs legally?"
"NO." The answer came so quickly that several players in voice chat briefly fell silent.
"Ah." Medic blinked. "...Legally?"
"I am simply clarifying."
His shoulders began shaking.
The man was laughing. Actually laughing.
You buried your face in your hands.
Somewhere across the battlefield, a Soldier screamed for healing.
Medic wiped a tear from his eye. "Your vorld is fascinating."
"Please stop being fascinated by my world."
Medic's grin widened. "Because every answer raises more questions."
The doctor laughed harder.
And unfortunately for you, you knew that meant tomorrow's match would come with even more questions.
You were playing Sniper for the BLU team on Sawmill, up on one of your usual community servers.
You loved playing Sniper. He'd been your main ever since your noob days, back when every shot missed by a mile and you thought bodyshots were the pinnacle of skill.
Even after the mercenaries revealed their awareness, that hadn't changed. If anything, you'd only grown more attached to the class.
Unlike most of the others, Sniper was comfortable with silence. Much like you were.
For several minutes, neither of you said a word.
You simply sat together in your chosen sniper nest, listening to the sounds of the battlefield below.
Gunfire echoed through the sawmill. An explosion rattled the nearby buildings. Somewhere in the distance, a Soldier screamed something incomprehensible.
Neither of you felt any need to comment.
The silence wasn't awkward. It never was.
It was comfortable. The kind of silence shared between people who didn't feel the need to fill every moment with conversation.
You spotted an enemy Heavy crossing an open area.
A squeeze of the trigger.
The Heavy dropped instantly thanks to your combined headshot.
"Nice one." The compliment was casual. Simple. Matter-of-fact.
Yet somehow it caught you completely off guard.
A faint warmth spread across your cheeks. "Thanks."
Sniper merely adjusted his rifle, as though landing impossible shots assisted by invisible presences was just another Tuesday.
Several more minutes passed.
More silence. More shots. And unfortunately, more misses than usual.
You didn't notice at first, but Sniper did.
Of course he did. He'd known you for years.
Known your habits. Known your playstyle. Known the difference between a difficult shot and a distracted player.
Eventually, he let out a quiet sigh. "Rough day?"
"Rough day?" Sniper didn't look away from the battlefield.
You stared. "How'd you know?"
He tilted his head toward the corner of his vision. Toward the place where you'd once explained scoreboards and statistics.
"...Oh." You winced. Because that he mentioned it... Yeah. You had.
"Sorry." The rifle lowered slightly.
Sniper shrugged. "Nothin' ta apologize fer."
"It's just..." You hesitated, the words caught in your throat.
Part of you wanted to change the subject.
Part of you didn't want to burden him.
Sniper wasn't exactly known for being emotionally expressive and you weren't particularly good at opening up either.
For some reason, talking to him never felt difficult.
You trusted him, so you sighed.
"It's my dad." The words came out barely above a whisper. "He got angry at me again."
For a moment, the only sound was the distant chaos of the battlefield.
Then Sniper's expression softened, just a little.
"Troubles with yer old bloke, eh?" His voice was quiet. Gentle.
Sniper nodded as he adjusted the rifle strap on his shoulder. "Oi can relate ta that."
A small laugh escaped you.
You knew he was telling the truth. You know the lore.
The arguments. The disagreements. The frustration. The feeling of never quite fitting someone's expectations.
The similarities weren't lost on either of you. Unfortunately, there was one major difference.
Sniper's parents might not always have understood him. But they cared.
Even when they disagreed.
You weren't always sure the same could be said for your own situation.
"My dad just..." You swallowed. "He hates what I want to do."
Sniper remained silent. Listening.
"He already decided what kind of daughter he wanted." Your gaze drifted away from the screen. "And I'm not it."
The admission hurt more than you'd expected.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence returned.
But this time it felt different. Supportive.
Eventually, you forced a small smile. "Sometimes I wish I was more like you."
Sniper raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"You always seem so... unbothered." You laughed quietly. "Like nothing gets under your skin. A professional, like you always say."
Sniper snorted. Actually snorted.
The sound surprised you enough to look up to see he was shaking his head.
"Luv." His voice was softer than usual. "Nothin' wrong with gettin' emotional."
"As much as Oi like ta pretend otherwise..." A faint smile crossed his face. "Things get under mah skin too."
You found yourself listening carefully.
"So don't go thinkin' there's somethin' wrong with feelin' things." His shoulders rose and fell in a small shrug. "Means yer human."
Something in your chest eased. Just a little.
And for the first time all day, it felt genuine.
The moment lingered for a few seconds.
Then Sniper's grin suddenly turned sharp. Dangerous.
The kind of grin that usually preceded violence.
"Wanna throw jarate at some Spies?"
You burst out laughing. "That's your solution?"
"It absolutely does not."
"It absolutely does." His grin widened.
You found yourself laughing again.
Honestly, it was hard not to.
"Yeah." You switched weapons. "Yeah, I'd love to."
The two of you abandoned the sniper nest together.
Somewhere on the map, an unsuspecting Spy's day was about to become significantly worse.
And somehow, yours was already feeling a whole lot better.
You were playing Spy for the BLU team on Steel in a casual match.
Most people hated playing Spy. You, however, loved it.
The challenge. The mind games. The constant balancing act between confidence and complete disaster. One wrong move and you were immediately turned into a very expensive French pancake.
At the moment, you were guiding Spy through the map disguised as an enemy Engineer.
Everything seemed normal. At least until you noticed something.
Not visibly strange — Most players wouldn't have noticed — but you had spent enough time around him to pick up on the little tells.
The way his shoulders were slightly stiffer. The way he kept adjusting his tie. The way he seemed oddly distracted.
So naturally, you decided to poke at it.
"I am perfectly fine." Spy didn't even hesitate, the answer coming a little too quickly.
The Frenchman straightened his posture even further. A sure sign that he was, in fact, not perfectly fine.
You hummed thoughtfully, then deliberately walked him face-first into a wall.
A nearby enemy Pyro glanced at him in confusion.
You backed away from the wall, then immediately walked into it again.
Spy shut his eyes, the poor man looking physically pained. A faint dusting of pink was visible beneath his balaclava.
"Please stop embarrassing me, mon chéri."
You nearly laughed. "You're avoiding the question."
"And you are running face-first into architecture."
Spy sighed dramatically. "You wound me."
You grinned wider, so Spy rolled his eyes. Elegant even while suffering.
It was one of his more annoying talents.
The Frenchman visibly regretted everything.
You guided him through the map while he remained stubbornly silent. Past enemy patrols. Past a pair of Engineers. Past a suspicious Pyro that thankfully didn't notice the disguise.
You were beginning to think he might actually win this battle of wills.
"...I missed our conversations."
You made him stop moving.
Spy immediately realized what he'd just said.
The battlefield seemed to disappear as even the gunfire felt distant.
You stared at the screen, your face feeling warm. Very warm.
Because the thing was— you teased Spy constantly. Relentlessly.
You enjoyed making him flustered far more than you probably should. Getting under the skin of the smooth, untouchable French gentleman had become one of your favorite hobbies. Watching him struggle to maintain his composure was hilarious.
But this? This wasn't smooth. Or witty. Or flirtatious.
And somehow that hit a lot harder.
Spy was dying inside. You could practically see it happening.
The overwhelming desire to throw himself off a cliff.
Finally, he cleared his throat. "F-Forget it, mon petit."
The slight stumble was all the confirmation you needed that he'd genuinely meant it.
Your grin slowly returned. "Oh."
Spy immediately looked concerned. "Oh non..."
The color spreading across Spy's face became even more obvious. "Mon Dieu."
"You missed talking to me."
"That is not what I said."
"It is exactly what you said."
You immediately walked him into another wall.
Spy groaned. "Mon chéri."
"I missed our conversations."
Spy looked upward as if silently begging the universe for mercy.
You laughed so hard you nearly missed an incoming Pyro.
Spy, meanwhile, was contemplating whether it was possible for a video game character to spontaneously delete himself.
Years of carefully cultivated sophistication— ruined.
By one sentence. One honest sentence.
And the worst part? You looked delighted.
The Frenchman sighed. A long, suffering sigh.
Then, despite himself, a small smile appeared beneath the mask.
Your grin widened. "Yep."
For a moment, neither of you said anything. The comfortable kind of silence settled between you.
Then an enemy Pyro rounded the corner.
Spy instantly stiffened. "Oh."
You immediately turned around and the Pyro spotted you.
The conversation ended in screaming.
