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babybluebanshee · 6 years

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Heavy Rains - Chapter 3 (TF2)

Being stranded at Teufort during a raging storm with a gaggle of homicidal mercenaries isn't Miss Pauling's idea of a relaxing vacation. The group tries to make the best of it, but when a mysterious illness starts making its way through the barracks, it's a race against time to find a cure before it's too late. And that's not even bringing the emotional baggage into things.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Sniper was bouncing his leg again. Even if Engineer hadn’t been able to see it, it was making the crate underneath him tremble slightly. The beer in the bottle next to Sniper’s foot rippled.

“You keep that up and that bottle’s gonna tip over,” Engineer said, trying to keep a smile in his voice. “Then you’re gonna have to explain to Demo why a perfectly good bottle of beer went to waste.”

“Sorry,” Sniper muttered. His bush hat dipped lower, covering his eyes. Engineer could have sworn he saw the other man flush just a little.

If he didn’t already know what was making Sniper so awkward, this would almost have been endearing.

They’d managed to play a few rounds of poker after getting Scout situated in the infirmary, but the atmosphere had been tense after Engineer had explained to Heavy, Demo, and Pyro what was going on. The game had been uncomfortably quiet, and they’d all played rather abysmally. Even Pyro, who usually bobbed around the table, sneaking peeks at everyone’s cards and humming nonsense songs to himself, had sat glumly at Engineer’s feet, clicking his lighter.

After a few hours, Heavy and Demo had folded, going back into the bowels of the barracks to distract themselves in other ways. Pyro disappeared into his quarters to do heaven knew what.

Engineer had managed to convince Sniper to stick around and play some rummy, though, truthfully, the other man had needed little in the way of actual convincing. And really, Engineer hadn’t felt like it’d be a good idea to leave the marksman on his own right now. Sniper moved like a zombie, and his already sparse conversational skills were practically nonexistent. They’d moved the game into the loading bay, so they could slide up the door and listen to the rain, sluicing off the overhang. Engineer hoped that maybe that would calm Sniper down a bit, but so far, it hadn’t helped much.

“You know Medic will let us know if anything changes,” Engineer offered.

“I know,” Sniper muttered again. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on his cards. “I just…”

A beat of silence, filled only by the rain.

“Just what?”

“...I shoulda checked on him sooner. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten so bad if I’d tried to look in on him earlier.”

“Snipes, beating yourself up over this ain’t gonna help anything.”

“I know,” Sniper repeated. He finally raised his eyes to meet Engineer’s. They looked weary.

“Look, Snipes, I know you’re close to the kid, but he ain’t dying,” Engineer said. “Just take it easy. Medic figured out how to heal fatal injuries with the flip of a switch. The kid’s in good…” Engineer trailed off and rethought his words for a moment. “He’s in capable hands.” There. That was much better.

To his relief, that actually seemed to get a smile out of Sniper. “I don’t mean to be such a sad-sack,” he began.

Engineer cut him off. “You don’t gotta apologize to me. We all know the two of you are close. He’s practically your kid brother. Stands to reason you’d be concerned about him when he’s sick. Your draw, by the way.”

Sniper drew his card, arranging it among his hand. “Scout certainly seems to think of me that way,” he said. He laid down a set of three queens. “Doesn’t surprise me though, from what I gather about his brothers.”

“What about ‘em? I never heard him mention his brothers much,” Engineer said. He drew a seven of hearts. He added it to the seven set on already out, then tossed out a king of spades.

“That’s just the thing. He hardly ever talks about them, even if ya ask,” Sniper replied. He took the king off the discard pile, threw out a black two. “He’ll go on for hours about his mum, but mention his brothers to him and he gives ya a look like ya just spit on his shoes. Wants to be done talking about them as soon as he can.”

“That’s familial strain if I ever heard of it,” Engineer replied, taking the two to complete his run. “Not that I’m the expert. Ma and Pop never saw a reason to have anymore after me.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Sniper replied. “I know what it’s like to have a shitty older brother.”

“You got a brother?” Engineer asked. He barely knew anything about Sniper’s family situation. Ironically, Sniper seemed to be just as tight-lipped about it as Scout was about his brothers. Only reason he knew the other man’s mother was alive was because she occasionally sent him stuff in the mail.

“Yep,” Sniper said simply. He took a sip of his beer, then drew. “Younger sister too. Both arseholes in their own way, but me brother was worse. Alice was usually content to ignore me, think I was embarrassing. Robby tended to be a bit more involved. Most of the kids who beat the snot out of me when I was young were his friends. Never laid a finger on me himself - he knew Mum and Dad would find out and he’d never hear the end of it - but he never even tried to stop his fuckwit friends.”

Sniper rearranged his hand a bit, then threw out a red ten. His face was totally neutral. He may as well have just described the weather.

“Damn, Snipes,” Engineer said. “That sounds rough.”

Sniper waved him off. “Nothing to be done about it now,” he said. “‘Sides, if it weren’t for him, I would never have taken to hiding in trees and chucking rocks at the tossers. In a way, he’s why me aim is so good. Now, Robby mostly sticks to stupid little barbs about work and family and such. Wants to make me feel like a failure. Make me think Mum and Dad think I’m a failure.” Sniper smiled as he took another drink of his beer. “Joke’s on him though. I ever get tired of his nonsense, I can just put one right in his bulbous forehead.”

Engineer couldn’t help but laugh. As a kid, he’d often wondered what it would be like to have siblings, someone to play and explore and tinker with. In his more lonely hours, he’d imagined it was like having a sidekick, a constant companion. Hearing this made him realize he’d probably dodged a bullet.

“I just joke, a’course,” Sniper added. “Mum made me promise I would try to stay civil with Robby as long as she was still alive. She didn’t say it had to be in the same continent though.” Sniper smirked.

Engineer chuckled again, and said, “Well, for what it’s worth, you’re a much better brother to Scout than your brother and his brothers both combined. Doubt he’d ever want to throw rocks at you, anyway.”

“It’d certainly help his aim.” Sniper grumbled, though the smile was still clear in his voice.

As the two men shared another hearty chuckle, they heard the door to the dining hall open. The smells of butter and garlic wafted towards them. It made Engineer’s mouth water, and he realized just how hungry he was. He shouldn’t have been all that surprised. No food since breakfast and a belly full of beer wasn’t exactly enough to sustain a man.

Heavy poked his head around the corner. “I make dinner,” he said as cheerily as his rumbling bass would allow.

Heavy didn’t cook for them often, but when he did, it seemed to brighten the big guy’s mood immensely. Probably brought him closer to home. The big guy also made a point not to bring his family into his work environment. But it was easy to see how the big guy positively lit up when the mercs discussed their homes, their childhoods, and especially their mothers.

“Who wins?” Heavy asked, motioning to the cards still strew out on the crates.

“Nobody, yet,” Engineer said. He stood up and stretched a bit, setting his cards where he’d been sitting. He grabbed up his beer. “But I gotta get some grub in me before I can play anymore.”

“Same, mate,” Sniper said. “I’m starving. Can’t beat your ass running on empty.”

“Last I checked, you got more cards in your hand than me. And I got more points.”

“Tides turn when you least expect ‘em, mate.”

“Pretty sure that ain’t how tides work…”

They followed behind Heavy down the hall. Mixed with the buttery garlic smell was the smell of boiled potatoes and warm bread. Engineer’s stomach gave a soft gurgle.

He saw Heavy smile appreciatively. “You fetch Spy and Miss Pauling, then we eat. I take Doktor dinner and you finish game. Then you deal Heavy back in for poker, da?”

They entered the dining hall. Pyro was already sat at the table, squirming excitedly at his place. For whatever reason, Pyro absolutely loved mealtimes. He seemed to enjoy just being around the mercs, all together, in each other’s company. Maybe he thought of them as his family. If Engineer knew hardly anything about Sniper or Heavy’s families, it was safe to say he knew bupkis about Pyro’s. He ventured to guess not even the Mann Co. administration had a hell of a lot on him.

When Pyro saw Engineer, he waved enthusiastically.

Hmm. Family. That seemed to be coming up a lot this evening.

Engineer waved back, then said to Heavy, “Hopefully, we all play a little better on full stomachs.”

“I worry for others. When I worry, I cannot concentrate,” Heavy said, pulling plates and utensils out. “Cooking a good distraction. Makes me feel better, takes thoughts away from worries.”

“Well, you ain’t gotta worry too much about Scout and Soldier,” Engineer said. “They’ll be fine once Medic figures out what’s wrong.”

“Not just Scout and Soldier,” Heavy replied. “Also for Spy. Has been in smoking room all day.”

“Ain’t like that’s anything new,” Sniper grumbled. “Disappearing is about all that spook’s good for, once his job is done.”

“He prefers privacy, same as you,” Heavy said simply.

Sniper didn’t respond outside of a snort of derision, but Engineer saw him lowering his hat back over his eyes a bit. He knew that Sniper held very little love for spies of any kind. Came with the territory when your job was to sit still, off by yourself. You were basically a sitting duck.

Most of Sniper’s vitriol was aimed at the BLU spy, but Engineer wouldn’t exactly call Sniper’s relationship with their own spy that much friendlier. He didn’t rightly recall a conversation between the two men that lasted more than a few sentences. And those few sentences ranged from cooly professional to biting, depending how either man felt at any given time.

Honestly, Engineer would rather keep it to the former end of the spectrum this evening. The day had been stressful enough.

“I think I can wrangle up Spy and Miss Pauling myself,” Engineer said quickly, heading towards the barracks. “Go ahead and make me a plate,” he called over his shoulder before he got too far away. He’d do a lot to preserve the peace, but not miss out on meals when he was hungry.

As he walked in the direction of Spy’s smoking room, Engineer let his thoughts drift to what Heavy had said about Sniper and Spy. He prefers privacy, same as you.

Engineer was sure if he ever told Spy such a thing, he’d be laughed at. But now that he thought about it, he could see where Heavy was coming from. Spy wasn’t exactly what anyone would call a social creature. He tended to keep himself closed off. Next to Pyro, he was the merc with the most mysterious past, the one no one knew anything about. Not even his accent was any help to pinpoint where he was from, what with the mix of Spanish, Italian, and Romanian thrown in along with the French.

Spy seemed to prefer things that way. He offered up nothing more than what was enough for him to skate by, under people’s radar. That was the very basis of his career, after all.

That being said, Spy was still flesh and blood. He was charming and could carry on a conversation, sure, but Engineer had always had a feeling it was difficult for him to maintain that charm constantly. There was this look he got when it was clear that he wanted to be away from someone, away from people, and it didn’t even seem to be a look of annoyance or aggravation. It was more...tiredness. Like a dispenser that was running on low, Spy needed a break, to recharge himself.

As such, Spy spent a good deal of time by himself. No one had any idea what he did during all that time, and no one really asked. Engineer didn’t think Spy would tell them even if they did.

Sniper tended to do the same. He would go out into the woods whenever they were at one of the mountain bases, and just stay out there for hours. He’d come back at dark like that was nothing unusual. To top that off, he spent most nights in his camper van, parked out back. Even Spy actually slept in the barracks.

He prefers privacy, same as you.

He thought about Sniper’s brother, whose childhood cruelty had driven a young Sniper into the trees to chuck rocks at him. It was easy to see where Sniper’s desire for privacy had come from.

And that just got him thinking about family again. So many of them had some kind of thing with their families. Sniper’s contemptuous siblings. The contention between Scout and his brothers, whatever it was. Heavy’s secrecy. Pyro and Spy and the complete lack of anything about them.

Soldier was in the same boat. No one could get a coherent story about his life before Mann Co., unless they asked him about Poland. And sometimes even if they didn’t.

Then there was Demo’s own tumultuous childhood that Engineer still couldn’t rightly figure out. Something to do with the Loch Ness Monster and an ancient Highland tradition.

It made the loneliness of his own childhood seem downright idyllic by comparison. Distant dads and few friends kind of paled in comparison to the lives his colleagues had.

Huh. Maybe in a way, they were more like family to each other than Engineer had realized. It was definitely the better alternative for some of them.

As he came upon Spy’s smoking room, he heard muted voices from within. One of them sounded feminine. Unless Spy had another girl hidden away somewhere, he guessed that was Miss Pauling. Saved him the trouble of having to find her.

He knocked gently, and it actually took a moment for the door to open. In the meantime, he heard stumbling steps, someone hitting something solid, and a French swear. Miss Pauling laughed a little, and Engineer heard her ask Spy if he was okay. Spy’s answer was slurred French. Enigneer heard a few more swears thrown in for good measure.

After a few more moments, Spy opened the door. He was pretending very hard that the scene within had not just happened, and Engineer had not just heard it. To anyone who didn’t know better, he seemed exactly the same put-together, slightly bored looking Spy as usual. He stood erect, his face impassive, an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

Too bad you could practically smell the booze on him.

“Did you want something, laborer?” Spy asked. He was making a conscious effort not to slur, each word punctuated carefully. He attempted to take a puff of his cigarette, only to realize that he hadn’t lit it yet. A frantic hand shot into Spy’s waistcoat and began fishing around. He nearly dropped his lighter when he pulled it out and flicked open the lid. The entire time, the bored expression on his face stayed firmly in place. Engineer’s gut hurt from trying not to burst into hysterical laughter.

“Just wanted to let y’all know that Heavy’s got dinner ready,” Engineer replied. It was getting harder and harder not to laugh. “‘Less of course you two’d rather stay and continue...whatever you got going on in there.”

“Oh, food!” Engineer heard Miss Pauling exclaim from inside. She, unlike Spy, made absolutely no attempt to hide how clearly inebriated she was. She wobbled to the door, holding a very expensive looking bottle in her hand. She eventually got close enough to Spy to lean on his arm heavily. Spy’s mouth twitched in a smile.

“I’m suuuuper starving,” she said, tugging the sleeve of Spy’s suit jacket, looking up at him like a child begging their parents to take them into a toy store. “Let’s go. I-I don’t even care what it is. Sniper could literally be cooking possum right now and I would not care. I jus’ need food.” She seemed to realize she was still holding on to the bottle of whatever they’d been drinking. “Oh! Can we bring the bottle? I’m bringing the bottle.” She shook it a bit.

“Weren’t you the one that said neither of us needed to drink anymore?” Spy asked, slowly slipping the bottle from Miss Pauling’s fingers. He began walking towards the dining hall, with Miss Pauling still clinging to his arm like she was his prom date. He looked as close to busting a gut as Engineer felt.

“That was past-Miss Pauling. Now-Miss Pauling wants to bring the bottle.” She made a grab for it.

“No, no, no, no more cognac for you, mon cher,” Spy said, holding the bottle just out of her reach. Engineer stepped out of the way just in time to not be beaned in the face with it.

“Merde, apologies,” Spy said, once he realized what he’d almost done. He shoved the bottle into Engineer’s arms. “Keep this from her, at all costs. Drink some of it if you like, but do not let her have another drop.”

“Joke’s on you, Frenchie,” Miss Pauling said. “If I want more, I can just exercise some of my feminine wiles and Engineer will totally just give me that bottle.”

“Really?” Spy said. “And what exactly do you have in the repertoire of feminine wiles?”

Miss Pauling opened her mouth to reply, but a look of absolute puzzlement swept across her face. For roughly thirty seconds, she walked with her mouth open, looking like she was trying for the life of her to come up with something resembling feminine wiles.

Finally, she said, “I dunno, something involving belly dancing? I mean, I don’t know how to belly dance, but it doesn’t look that hard.”

Dear lord, Engineer wished he had a camera.

-------------

Heavy didn’t like to brag, but that was probably the best chicken kiev he’d ever made. Mama would have been very proud, especially if she’d seen the way the team sopped up the sauce with the bread he’d heated in the oven.

If cooking had not made Heavy feel at ease, the friendly, comfortable atmosphere at dinner certainly would have done it. It was a welcome change of pace from the stressful afternoon, even if Heavy had to attribute it to the team’s alcohol consumption for the day (except Pyro, who was just happy to be there). Demo was obvious, and Engineer and Sniper had gone through quite a few bottles of beer during their rummy game, downing more with their dinners. Not to mention both took nips from the bottle Spy and Miss Pauling had brought with them from Spy’s smoking room.

It had been immediately obvious what they’d been up to all day, from the way they swayed as they walked into the dining hall, chuckling between themselves. Engineer looked positively tickled at the display.

Miss Pauling was far less ladylike than she had been at breakfast, wolfing down her food like a woman starved. Spy opened himself up a great deal, facing everyone, with a lazy smile on his lips, something Heavy doubted he would have done had all his faculties been about him. It wasn’t exactly the way he would have liked Spy to be dealing with things, but Heavy did not feel it was his place to judge. After all, drinking several liters of vodka was practically a winter sport back home. He would simply have to indulge a bit himself to join the fun. He did have a bottle of Abrau-Durso he’d been saving, that momma had sent him for his birthday, and he’d been craving a nice bellini.

But that could wait until Medic had been fed. Heavy opened the door to the infirmary with one hand, balancing a plate covered in tin foil in the other. He knew there was no sense in knocking. Medic wouldn’t be paying attention enough to notice.

The doctor was, indeed, hunched over his desk, completely enveloped in a thick medical textbook. The rest of his desk was covered in papers. He didn’t seem to have heard the door open or his doves cooing softly at the new person in the infirmary.

Off to the side, Heavy saw Scout and Soldier, still sleeping somewhat peacefully. He tried not to look at them for too long. The two most boisterous and energetic members of his team lying silent and still was just wrong to him. He focused on the task at hand.

He approached Medic’s desk, Medic’s muttering getting more audible. Heavy managed to pick out the words “food poisoning”, “vitamin B”, and “appendectomy”.

He gently said, “Doktor?”

Medic almost jumped directly out of his chair, clutching the arms so tightly his knuckles went white. He looked up and Heavy saw his glasses had gone askew. The were practically sliding off his nose, and it forced Medic to squint up at him.

“My apologies, Doktor,” Heavy said. “I brought you something to eat.”

Medic adjusted his glasses, and gulped a bit. “It’s quite alright, my friend. I...was a bit absorbed. I didn’t even realize it was that late.” He shoved a few papers out of the way, and found his watch. He grimaced a bit when he read the face, and quickly returned it to his pocket.

“What have you learned?” Heavy asked. He set the plate down, removing the foil and pulling out the knife and fork he’d brought in his pocket.

“Not much,” Medic responded. Heavy heard him sniff a bit as the steam from the food drifted closer to him. The tension seemed to drip out of the doctor’s shoulders. Heavy felt a swell of pride in his chest.

Medic began cutting into the chicken and continued, “Every time I think I’ve found the answer, another problem arises.”

“What sorts of problems?” Heavy pulled over a wheeled stool and sat down. He knew Medic wanted everyone to stay away from the infirmary, for quarantine, but he felt that Medic needed a sounding board. Besides, he was a strong man, with the immune system of a brick wall. No silly virus was going to hurt him.

“Soldier’s fever increased, and I had to give Scout a mild sedative. His fever was keeping him from being able to rest,” Medic said before stuffing a huge bite of chicken into his mouth. He moved some papers aside, brought more towards him, not seeming to care that the butter sauce from his fork was dripping on them. “Whatever Scout has, Soldier definitely has it too. He’s obviously not responding to an aspirin regimen either. I’m going to see what antibiotics will do. If this is a particularly violent strain of the flu, that should help. If not...I suppose I’ll try something else.”

“Medigun will not help?”

“I thought about that,” Medic replied. “But that would really only alleviate the symptoms for a short time. It was meant for more tangible injuries - broken bones, bleeding, and the sort. Bacteria and viruses are beyond its reach. Too small, you know. Unless it was purged from the body completely, the symptoms would just return.” He absent-mindedly speared a few potatoes and put them in his mouth, then set his fork aside to return to his textbook.

Heavy sighed quietly. He knew this sort of thing was bound to happen. If Medic wasn’t reminded to eat and sleep when he got like this, he just wouldn’t do them. They impeded his work, he said, took his focus away from what was important. Heavy had since stopped trying to remind him that he wouldn’t be able to focus on his work at all if he was too exhausted and hungry to do it properly. He mostly just took the direct approach these days.

“You can find solution after you eat,” Heavy said firmly. He sounded like a mother scolding their child, and under normal circumstance, Medic would have given him a petulant look, reminding him that he was older than him and had the gray hair to prove it.

Instead, Medic just muttered, “Ja, ja, I will, do not worry about me.” Almost as if to placate Heavy, he crammed another forkful of potatoes into his mouth.

Heavy set his mouth in a firm line, then placed one of his huge hands on top of Medic’s head. His fingers could almost touch under Medic’s chin. He gently turned the doctor to face him, and gazed down at him sternly. All Medic offered in return was a cheeky smile, and Heavy knew he was preparing to attempt to talk his way out of this, as he did with most things he didn’t want to do. Heavy cut him off before he’d barely opened his mouth.

“Don’t,” Heavy said. “Please eat, Doktor. I stay until food is gone. You are of use to no one if you do not take care of yourself first.”

“But I -”

“Heavy use mama’s recipe for chicken kiev. Do you want to insult Heavy’s mama?”

Medic narrowed his eyes at the obvious emotional manipulation. Heavy merely released his head and motioned back to the plate. Medic shoved aside his textbook and papers to make a space for it. He ate in defeated silence, but he did indeed clear his plate.

Heavy couldn’t help but smirk. As worried as he was for Scout and Soldier, he knew Medic would find the answers he needed. He’d keep him from running himself into the ground in the meantime.

--------------

“You might as well give up now, bush man.”

Sniper merely rearranged his cards. He didn’t meet Spy’s eye.

“I’ve played in some of the most prestigious casinos in the world. Monte Carlo. Monaco. Macau.”

Again, he held his silence.

“I have parted professional gamblers from their money more times than I can count.”

Sniper could feel Heavy, Engineer, and Miss Pauling’s eyes on him. In any other situation, that might have made him uncomfortable, more prone to mistakes. Not this time. Spy didn’t have a prayer.

“Here’s a thought,” he finally said. “How’s about you stop monologuing like a Bond villain and show us yer damn cards, eh?”

Spy gave him a Cheshire cat grin. “If you insist,” he said. He laid out his cards carefully. Three kings, plus a pair of tens. A full house.

Sniper let out a low whistle. “Not too shabby, mate,” he muttered. “Ain’t got nothing so high here. Bleeding shame.” Good lord, he was about to piss himself in anticipation. Finally, he laid out his hand - all diamonds, two, three, four, five, and six.

He wished he could frame the face Spy made as he took in the straight flush. He would have laughed if Heavy and Engineer didn’t beat him to it, crowing like it was the funniest thing in the world. Even Miss Pauling was giggling a bit. Sniper basked in it for a moment. Nothing was quite as satisfying as making the fancy wuss eat his words.

“I do believe,” he said, “that means that the rest of this is mine.” He reached out and plucked the bottle of cognac off the table. Spy had used it as his bet, completely convinced he’d be walking it back to his smoking room after the game was over. Now the rest of it was going directly down Sniper’s gullet. There wasn’t much left, only about six ounces or so, he’d say. But at seventy-eight bucks and some change an ounce, it was gonna taste mighty good going down.

“Very impressive,” Spy said tightly, tapping some cigarette ash into an empty beer bottle at his side. Sniper could practically see a vein bulging in his neck.

Oh, sweet victory.

Spy’s frustration must have been noticeable to more than just him, because Miss Pauling giggled again and leaned against Spy playfully. “Looks like you might wanna start sleeping with your gun in your bed, Sniper. Unless you want to wake up with a knife in the back.”

“You make it sound like I don’t already do that.” Sniper took the stopper out of the cognac and took a generous swallow. Damn, that was good stuff. Spy definitely had taste. One good quality about him then.

To Sniper’s surprise, at Miss Pauling’s gentle tease, Spy seemed to relax a little. A tiny, mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Oh please, I would never be such a poor sport,” he said. “If I really wanted to kill him, I would poison the liquor. More poetic, I think.”

And then the strangest thing happened - Spy winked at Sniper. It was the most familiar thing Sniper had ever seen the other man do. An acknowledgement of his joke, as if they were friends.

The idea that Spy might consider him a friend was ludicrous to Sniper. It’s not like they ever spent any time with each other outside of the battlefield. Even when they did, they tended to keep their conversations as cool and professional and brief as possible. Because it really didn’t take much for either of them to make the entire exchange descend into a acidic argument, complete with childish name-calling.

Now that he thought of it, the time they’d spent speaking outside of Scout’s bedroom this afternoon was the longest they’d spoken to each other in weeks. They liked it that way.

After all, there couldn’t be two more different men on the planet. It wasn’t hard to tell Spy looked down on him, almost more than he did everyone else. Sniper’s accent, his mannerisms, the fact that he didn’t mind getting down and dirty - it all seemed to be offensive to Spy. He’d barely ever seen Spy with a speck of dirt on his suit after the work day was through. He went out of his way to stay clean and put together.

And yet, here Spy was giving him cheeky winks and ribbing him and not calling him filthy and a savage. It was almost unnerving.

Then again, Sniper supposed that could be blamed on the booze. A lot of the last few hours could be blamed on booze in one form or the next.

Things had started simply enough - when Heavy had returned (with a bottle of sparkling wine, refusing to tell anyone where he’d gotten it) from taking Medic his dinner, they’d started up another round of poker. Miss Pauling watched one hand, and then asked if they’d be willing to teach her to play in the next one. Of course, Engineer had leapt at the chance, a firm believer in “that more, the merrier”. Sniper was just glad that something had managed to unwind her.

They went easy on her for the first few hands, on account of her being a novice. Once it was clearly established she knew what she was doing, even in an intoxicated state, then there were no holds barred.

Then Heavy had made bellinis with his wine, using some dusty canned peaches he found in the kitchen cupboards. When they ran out of that, they passed around the cognac, Spy keeping the bottle away from Miss Pauling as often as he could, typically with a giant shit-eating grin on his face and some scolding in French.

Of course, that didn’t stop Engineer from sneaking her the bottle every now and then. Something about her “feminine wiles”. Whatever it meant, it made Engineer laugh.

By the fourth hand, Engineer had dug out the emergency bottles of scrumpy Demo kept above the refrigerator. Demo hadn’t exactly been happy about that, trying to get them to leave his stash be and drink the beer they had an abundance of, but he ended up being too out of it to put up a fight. His protests had slowly faded into gibberish as he laid his head down on the table, and soon enough he was snoring away.

Sniper tipped back the last of the cognac and let out a long, satisfied sigh. He swayed gently on his chair. “Looks like we’re gonna have to stick to good ol’ RED Shed from here on out, lads,” he slurred out. Beside him, Pyro was starting to stack the discard pile into a house. Demo still snoozed at the end of the table. Heavy and Engineer’s excitement from the poker win had vanished, and Heavy’s head was beginning to dip, the alcohol starting to finally effect the burly man. Engineer had folded his arms across the table, upon which he rested his chin.

Or perhaps they could save that RED Shed for another time. No one else looked like they had much left in them.

Spy took one last drag from his cigarette and slid the butt into the bottle he’d been using as an ashtray with a look of disgust.. “You could not pay me money to drink any of that swill,” he said. “Pity someone cheated me out of my cognac…”

Sniper stuck his tongue out at him. Childish, yeah, but so was accusing the person who’d won fair and square of cheating. Alley-skulking wanker.

“You said keep the bottle away from Miss Pauling,” Engineer mumbled.

“That was not an invitation to pilfer all of it,” Spy retorted. He pulled out his cigarette case to light another, but there weren’t any left. Sniper heard him mutter, “Putain de merde.”

Engineer was no longer listening. As soon as he’d finished speaking, he’d hidden the rest of his face in his arms and let out a tiny grunt of suffering. Sniper could hardly blame him. He wasn’t exactly a lightweight, but he had noticed the room starting to spin when he’d finished off the cognac.

Or wait...was the room spinning? Or was it just his head?

Next to him, Engineer let out a moan. Sniper swore he could actually hear the poor guy’s stomach churn.

“Oi, mate, you gonna chunder?” he asked, sliding over to Engineer’s side, reaching out to gently shake his arm. This close, he could see, indeed, Engie did look a bit green around the gills. Sniper had seen that miserable face many times in the mirror when he was in high school, young, dumb, and going too hard because he thought he was invincible. “You’re looking pretty rough, truckie. Maybe we oughta put you to bed.”

Engineer raised his head a bit, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he stared blankly ahead for a moment.

Then, without warning, he hopped up from the table and ran to the sink. Sniper managed to turn his head before Engineer began to wretch. If he didn’t know whether he was sick or not, seeing another person puke up dinner would help him figure it out.

After a solid minute of Engineer vomiting into the sink, and a few more seconds of him dry heaving, he slumped against the counter. Pyro rushed to him, soft, concerned-sounding mumbling coming from under his mask.

Sniper tried to get to his feet, go help poor Engineer out, but as soon as he got to his feet, the world spun about like a top. His stomach gave a lurch as he grabbed the table for support. He didn’t know if his feet would walk a straight enough line to actually get to the sink.

Fortunately, the noise had managed to rouse Heavy, the least drunk out of all of them. Sniper found himself grateful for Heavy’s ample girth. It meant that this much of the drink was enough to get him pleasantly buzzed at most.

He rose from his chair with a soft grunt, and lumbered over to Engineer. Sniper was actually kind of shocked to see him stumble a bit, have to take very deliberate steps to steady himself. When he finally reached the Engineer, he placed a gargantuan hand on the smaller man’s back, and said, “I take you to bed, my friend?”

Engineer merely gave a limp nod, and allowed himself to be lead away. Heavy still kept his hand firmly in the center of his charge’s back, and Pyro trailed along behind them. They all knew that Pyro wouldn’t leave Engineer’s side until he felt better.

“He’s gonna be feeling that in the morning,” Sniper said, using a long arm to brush aside some empty beer bottles. Suddenly, they didn’t look so inviting. All that retching Engineer had been doing was starting to do a number on his own stomach. He mostly wanted to lie down.

“I feel as though we all will be,” Spy replied, rising from his chair. “But I suppose we deserve it for indulging ourselves like children.”

Outside, the wind picked up, whipping the rain against the tin roof above them again. They all jumped at the sudden noise. Sniper had actually forgotten that it was raining at all while they’d been having their fun. “Passes the time in this pissy weather, at least,” he said. His words were quickly swallowed up in a yawn. He gave a look down at his watch. It was half past midnight. Pass the time, indeed.

“Think it’s about time I was dragging me arse to bed,” Sniper said. “Can’t put off the inevitable, I suppose.”

“I guessh,” Miss Pauling slurred. She attempted to stand herself, but her heel gave from under her and she very nearly fell backwards. Spy swooping in like some kind of swashbuckler was the only thing that stopped her fall. Unfortunately for him, it looked like the liquor was catching up with him too, and he swayed dangerously.

“Whoa, careful there,” Sniper said. He stopped himself from running over to help them both. He knew that he’d only stumble himself, and they’d all get acquainted with the floor in a hurry.

“Hey, hey, guys, c-can you tell the room to quit spinning,” Miss Pauling asked, her head bobbing a bit. “That’s, like...that’s really rude.”

Spy chuckled softly, pulled her arm over his shoulder, snaked his other arm around her waist, then turned to Sniper. “Would you mind helping me carry her? I think if you take one side, we should be able to stay balanced.”

“You think so?” Sniper took a tentative step, to test his legs, make sure the skinny sticks would stay standing.

“It’s worth a try, no? I’ll toss in a nightcap for incentive, if that helps. I have an excellent bourbon, back in my smoking room.”

“Really don’t think more alcohol is a good idea, mate.” Sniper finally made it over to them, and took Miss Pauling’s other arm. She was a limp noodle, quietly humming to herself. They started walking out to the hall.

“And why not? We’re already going to be miserably sick in the morning. One more drink is not going to change that.”

“Why don’t we just pickle ourselves so we’ll live to be a hundred and two?”

“Well, then how about this - it’s a shorter distance to carry Miss Pauling,” Spy said. After a moment, he added, “You realize I was kidding about poisoning you.”

“I actually did, but now that you’re bringing it up, how can I be so certain?” Sniper felt Miss Pauling fall back a little bit, and he quickly tightened his grip and pulled her up a little. “Careful,” he grumbled. “I’d rather not drop the lady who knows how to dismember a body so it fits in a hatbox.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I only have two hands,” Spy grumbled back. “I’m not...um…”

“You ain’t what?”

“That thing...you know, the fish, the one that doesn’t actually look like a fish? I can’t remember the word in English. The one with all the arms? Arm fish? It’s arm fish, no?”

Sniper barked out a laugh. “You mean an octopus?”

“Yes, that,” Spy said. Holy Mary, was he blushing?

“You forget English words?” Sniper asked, still laughing a bit.

“Only when I’ve had too much to drink,” Spy muttered. “But English is horrendous, even when I’m sober. And I’m honestly better at it than most of you.”

“How’d figure?”

“I still debate whether half the words Demo says are words in any language, let alone English.”

“Fair enough.”

“Not to mention the butchering Engineer and Scout give it. And they live here.”

At the mention of Scout, Sniper felt a small pang of guilt in his gut. He wondered if the kid was okay. Medic hadn’t come out of the infirmary all night, and Heavy had relayed the minimal amount of news to them when he returned for their card game. It didn’t give him a lot of hope for the kid making a speedy recovery.

“Why so quiet all of a sudden?” Spy’s question dragged Sniper away from his thoughts, and he shot his head up to meet his eye. Spy was looking at him quizzically.

They were approaching the smoking room, and Sniper started thinking hard of excuses he could give to get away once they were there. He didn’t want to have a heart to heart with Spy. He’d had enough of heart to hearts. He didn’t even like Spy enough to entertain the idea. He was tired of being told things would be okay, when every hour that ticked by was giving him reason not to think so. Last thing he wanted was to hear the same thing out of the mouth of someone who thought he was better than him.

Spy reached out a hand to open the door, being careful not to loosen the grip he had around Miss Pauling’s waist. As soon as they were in and Miss Pauling was taken care off, Sniper told himself, he was begging off. He was gonna go to bed and let the sweet embrace of a drunken sleep take him until he was awoken by his rebelling stomach or an explosive headache or both. He’d take his chances with them.

The door swung open silently, wide enough for them to get through by turning sideways into the darkened room. The first thing Sniper was aware of was the strong smell of Spy’s cigarettes. They probably were going to linger in the room forever, with as many as Spy smoked. Mingling with the smell was burned cedar wood from the fireplace and the subtle aftershave he occasionally smelled on Spy when they passed each other in the hall. To his surprise, the scent combination made his eyelids feel heavier than ever.

Spy groped for a light switch on the wall, and the room was suddenly filled with soft light. “We can just prop her up in one of the chairs,” he said. “Probably safer, in case she gets sick.”

Sniper didn’t answer him, just let himself be guided over to one of the armchairs by the fireplace. He was almost home-free.

Together, they gently slid Miss Pauling down from around their shoulders, and had her sitting as comfortable as they could get her in the overstuffed armchair. Spy took a moment to gently pull the glasses from her face and set them on a side table nearby. Then he shucked his suit jacket and put it over her, like a blanket. Sniper just stared dumbly. Where was all this friendliness coming from in Spy? All this kindness? It couldn’t just be because he was drunk. There was a casualness about it all, like it was all second nature to him.

This didn’t seem like the snooty frog that Sniper tolerated on a daily basis. He was starting to wonder if that man really even existed.

Spy loosened his tie a bit, and started heading over to the sideboard. He pulled out a bottle, and two glasses. He must have seen Sniper gazing at him in confusion, because he smiled a little and said, “I promised you a nightcap, no? I pride myself on being a man of my word.”

Before Sniper could decline, say he wasn’t interested, blame exhaustion, drunkenness, anything to get the hell out of here and avoid whatever was about to happen, Spy said, “I also wanted to speak with you about something, if you wouldn’t mind humoring me.”

Piss.

“Sure,” he said dumbly. Spy was already pouring the drink. Sniper realized it wasn’t whiskey, but a dark wine. He could smell it from where he stood.

Spy walked over and handed Sniper a glass about half full. After taking a sip of his own glass, he said, “You are worried about Scout.”

Christ, he’d known it was coming. Why hadn’t he run?

Spy’s icy blue eyes were boring into him, awaiting his answer, even though something in Sniper felt Spy already knew full well what his answer would be. He awkwardly swirled the wine around in his glass.

Finally, he just muttered, “Yeah.”

“Good,” Spy said. “I am too.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m worried about the little tick myself,” Spy said. He walked past Sniper, and, instead of taking the other armchair, he sat down on the floor, his long legs stretched out, in front of the fireplace. Despite the relaxed pose, now that Sniper was really looking at him, he could see the tension in Spy’s shoulders. The icy blue eyes darted about anxiously. Obviously, the declaration had not been something Spy had planned on telling Sniper.

Sniper walked slowly to Spy’s side, crouching down until he too sat on the floor next to him. He tried to keep his tone light, and said, “Thought you couldn’t stand the kid.”

“I find him boorish, insensitive, and irritating,” Spy said. He took another, longer drink of wine. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t like him. Does that make sense?” He looked to Sniper, his face genuine.

Sniper thought for a moment, the wheels in his head turning a bit slower than usual thanks to all this sauce. After some time, he said, “Yeah, it does. Kid’s not the easiest to be around sometimes.”

“You two are quite close.”

“He’s like me little brother. And he can be just as annoying.”

Spy merely smiled a bit.

Sniper finally took a drink of his wine. It was rich and went down smooth. He took another. Then another. Before he knew it, he took a drink and the glass had been emptied. Then, without thinking, he said, “I wish Medic would say something.”

“I know.”

“And I’m tired of being worried about it, and whenever anyone asks, all they tell me is to be patient and everything will be alright and I just need to take it easy. I don’t feel like taking it easy, I’m in a bloody panic over the little mongrel.”

“I know.”

Sniper side-eyed him, searching the other man’s face. There was nothing there. “You do know, don’t you?”

“I’m tired, bush man,” Spy said suddenly. He twisted around, setting his glass on the side table by Miss Pauling’s glasses. When he turned back around, he grabbed Sniper’s arm, and began pulling him down to the floor with him. Sniper barely had time to react before he was on his back on the soft Persian rug. Spy was snuggling into his side. Sniper could smell his aftershave. Somehow, the smell made him even sleepier when it was this close.

“You feeling alright?” Sniper asked, reaching out to set his empty glass on the fireplace hearth.

“Mm-hmm.”

“‘Cause I don’t want you to get sick or nothing,” Sniper said. He let his head sink further down, let his muscles relax. Lord, this carpet was so soft.

“I’ll be fine.” Spy’s eyes slid shut. “Trust me, if I need to vomit, I’ll let you know so you can roll away.”

“And you’re sure you don’t wanna...I dunno, talk, or something?”

“Do you?” One icy blue eye cracked open, to stare up him.

“...no.”

“Then be quiet, bush man, I’m sleeping.” The eye drifted shut again.

Sniper couldn’t help smiling a bit. He pulled his hat over his eyes, and let himself succumb to sleep, with a backstabbing nance buried in his side.

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #tf2 engineer #tf2 sniper #tf2 heavy #tf2 medic #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 demo #tf2 pyro #miss pauling #heavy rains #fanfiction

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lost-opium-artblog · 7 years

Text

Team Fortress 2 fanfiction : A bear for a new teammate

It's been a long time since I wrote any fanfiction! Even more TF2 fanfiction XD I hope this one is not too crapy >.> I wanted to write something cute and fluffy between Engineer and Pyro... Also, if you enjoyed the story, you also must thank one of my dearest tf2 teammate (Princess Doki Doki) for the editing, cause without her I would have kept this story in my language for myself X)

Hope you enjoy :D

"What the heck is that crap?!” Scout yelled, offended and frustrated. “Come on, Mumbles! Do I look like a three-year-old to you?! This is kids’ stuff!" Scout pushed away the tiny teddy bear Pyro was holding out to him. The gas mask stammered a few inaudible words. "You. Ah. Terrible!" The Bostonian griped irritably. Pyro was talking so fast but it was all lost inside the mask as anything more than an inaudible, confused sounds. Pretty much resembling a literal reading of a bowl of alphabet soup. A bunch of gobbledygook that was a waste of Scout's time along with the lame little bear. Speaking of which, the bad little batter took the plush and threw it in the nearest trash can.

"Here! Perfect spot for your stupid crap gift,” he announced before heading back to his room, leaving his teammate alone in the middle of the RED base’s rec room. The moment Scout was gone, the arsonist rushed to the trash to retrieve the little bear and hugged it tenderly in his arms, whispering a few comforting words to it.

Pyro had spent so much time and energy making this stuffed toy. Unfortunately, he had not been able to finish it before Christmas. The stubborn need to make it perfect sacrificed time management for well-meaning details. He’d convinced himself that by offering Scout a perfect gift made with love, their relationship could only get better! It was painfully obvious now that the adorable cub had not have the desired effect.

Perhaps it was because of the stress of the last battle? The BLUs were giving them a very rough time lately on the battlefield. Maybe it was because he’d been late and Scout hadn’t received his gift on Christmas Day? Scout was capricious and a little ungrateful, so that probably would not have surprised anyone. Perhaps Scout simply hated him more than he had thought and had done it on purpose to hurt him. No matter what the circumstance, his gift was rejected. Pyro wanted to cry.

Alone, Pyro left the base, stepping out into open. There was a watchtower near the base that overlooked their side of the battlefield. The mercenary used to go there when his day went bad and that day urged him to visit this place again. It was a bit cold outside, but the insulated suit was sure to keep the chill in the night air at bay. At least for an hour or two. At the very least, he was safe enough to shed a few tears out of sight.

Pyro heard some strange noises as he climbed the stairs. It very well could have been one of Medic's doves roosting, but for safety's sake, the rest of the climb was slow and quiet as possible. The gasmasked mercenary didn’t have time to see what was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, before a blow to the head knocked him down in the middle of ascending the last step. Pyro fell backwards towards the floor, uttering a muffled cry of both pain and surprise. Dizzy and sore, he held out an arm to his assailant in an attempt to prevent a second attack.

Two large hands caught the firebug's suit before he was swung back and shoved against the wooden wall of the perch, pinned by the shoulder.

"What the-?! Aw shucks! I thought... Oh I'm mighty sorry, partner! Are you alright, Hoss?" asked his aggressor, as they tilted Pyro's head to inspect the damage.

Pyro opened his eyes a little and noticed the familiar yellow hardhat of their new Engineer kneeling before him. He had arrived a week ago and the firestarter had not yet gotten the opportunity to get near, or even to speak to him. Instinctively, Pyro focused his teammate's worried face. His goggles were hanging around his neck, revealing his tired, warm, blue eyes and the dark circles around them. His nose and cheeks were red from of the cold. He hadn’t shaved in a while, so his five o’clock shadow was prominent. His thin, soft-looking lips were stretched into a nervous half-smile. He was so... captivating! That beautiful smile of his had butterflies in the pyromaniac’s stomach, but the smack to the back of his head from being pinned to the wall brought him back to reality

“Pyro! Hey, son! Are you still there?" Pyro nodded slowly in response to the soft baritone voice, picking out that sweet southern drawl immediately. The Texan’s smile widened a little bit.

"Don't sneak up on me, alright? I coulda killed you!" he tried to warned him. As he apologized, Engineer was scrutinizing the glasses of the gas mask, probably hoping to see something."Really though... I'm a might bit on edge lately, what with that goddern BLU Spy messing with my contraptions and stabbin’ me in the back every dang time I'm alone! ...I shoulda been tipped off it wasn't that snake since we're in ceasefire! Dagnabbit, I'm sorry, Pyro!"

Lucky for Pyro, it was impossible to see through the smoked glass lenses and he was rather happy with that. Mostly due to the fact he could continue to admire his new teammate without the Engineer knowing or risk making him uncomfortable.

"I'm a little worried, you still look a little dazed, son. Let me take a look at ya, alright?" After seeing the Texan’s hands approach the collar of his suit, the arsonist jumped and hurried to make several signs with his hands. Surprised, the mechanic stepped back. Then, hesitantly, he countered with a few signs of his own:

"Are you... mute?" Pyro giggled and raised his two hands, shrugging his shoulders. He quickly signed to the other that he wasn’t deaf and could be talked to normally, same as everyone else.

"Alrighty then!" said the hardhat with a chuckle. He then picked up his wrench, which he dropped after he hit his victim, and walked over to the table behind him. Pyro wanted to follow, but he still was a bit dizzy and preferred to sit where he was. After all, this spot had a nice view for watching the Texan, who appeared to be shorter and a little more chunky than pyro was. Unfortunately, he could not tell what else differed between them, as Engineer's overalls and fur-lined leather jacket hid most of his physical traits from view.

"I'll make us some coffee. It's the least I can do, is that alright?" Engineer asked as he approached and surrounded the arsonist with a blanket and walk away again. "Don't worry, my coat is warm enough, I'm not gonna need this blanket."

Definitely, he was not going to refuse to be kept warm! Clutching the blanket around him, Pyro signed a thanks to his assailant, who turned out to be a true benefactor. It was a rather pleasant surprise. In addition to having a smile to die for and beautiful eyes, Engie was also kind and courteous. He reminded Pyro a little of his friend Spy, who used to take care of him, but felt this had something more. Or less? In any case, he was starting to appreciate his new Engineer.

He came back with two hot cups of coffee and sat beside the firebug with a satisfied sigh. Engie put their drinks aside and asked the pyromaniac if he needed help removing his mask but his proposal was politely declined. Pyro opened the collar of his suit and passed his gloved fingers under the rim of his mask to pull it off with ease. His head finally free, he took deep breath of fresh air but quickly folded the collar over his neck to protect himself from the sudden chill.

Suddenly, he felt vulnerable, like he was being watched. He briefly locked eyes with the Texan, who immediately lowered his gaze, embarrassed. The arsonist sometimes forgot that his scar disturbed people. It was a large burn that had singed part of his face and twisted his mouth in a permanent half smile. Even so, it wasn't enough to distract from the rest his adorable and peaceful expression. At least, that's what Spy used to say, but he never really cared much about it.

After daring to steal another glance at the firestarter, Engineer seemed to notice something that worried him. He reached in his pocket for a moment and pulled out a handkerchief that he gently applied to the bleeding wound above his teammate’s temple.

"Damn, son! I really have you a good whack! Wait here, hold that cloth against your wound. I'll fix that," he said as he got up. He grabbed his metal toolbox and placed it close to the wounded mercenary. A wrench strike here, a kick here and there, and the machine didn't take too long to build. The dispenser finally ready, it hummed to life and the mechanic went back to his seat. A reddish light emanated from his contraption to envelop the pyromaniac in its healing aura. Slowly the wound stopped bleeding and closed, leaving a barely visible scar.

Pyro was stunned. He gasped and warmly embraced his benefactor. He was rather flattered that the Engineer would build his dispenser just for him when he very well could have just been told to go to the infirmary. The man with the hardhat laughed and handed him the still-hot cup of coffee.

"Drink up before it cools! It’d be a shame to pass up a warm cup o’ joe in this weather." The pyromaniac delicately took the cup in his gloved hands. He looked over his drink, carefully examining it and smelling it. His smile widened before finally taking a sip. The Engineer watched him, finding some quiet amusement in firebug's mannerisms.

"Seems like I have just offered you the rarest treasure in the world," he joked as he took a sip from his own cup. The soft, little laugh that followed it was a good enough reward for him. The only sound around them after their laughter died was the electric hum of the dispenser, the whistling of the nocturnal wind and the creaking of the old wood of their sanctuary. They enjoyed their hot beverages in relative silence, at least until Engineer disturbed the serenity with a violent shiver.

"Brrr! I should add a heating function to this machine!" Pyro signed an ask if he was cold, and the mechanic replied with a smile, "Well a little, but your company is warm so... it should be fine!" This unexpected answer made the arsonist blush as well as chuckle. Flattered but embarrassed, he gave his teammate a nudge with a small smirk. They laughed together until Engineer calmed enough to offer another apology.

"Sorry again for whacking ya in the head, Py.” To show his friend that he harbored no bad feelings, Pyro reached over his shoulders and wrapped him up with half of the blanket. They held each other inside the blanket and enjoyed the warmth of their embrace. "Hehehe, that's a good idea, I should hire you as an assistant!" The joke made the arsonist chortle once more, before he used his hands to sign and talk to the other.

“i'm just a little arsonist and, even if I had some good ideas, I prefer to burn things rather than think.” Then, with an amused grin, he brought up what he'd said earlier about the BLU Spy bothering him.

"Heck yeah! It's true, I’ve been havin’ trouble getting rid of that backstabbin’ snake!"

With a big smile, Pyro assured him that from now on he would have nothing more to fear from the Spy! Or at least… a lot less to fear! He promised to be with him at the next battle, protecting him and his buildings.

Suddenly something hit him, and this time it wasn't a wrench. Pyro opened his suit and plunged his hand inside to pull out the teddy bear he had intended for Scout. He looked up at the Texan and gave the plush to him. He explained that he’d made it for someone special to give to for Christmas. Since he didn't have anyone to give it to anymore, he decided to give it to him. Not just as a thank you, but also because he thought he deserved it.

“Thank you kindly, Py.” The man in the hardhat put an arm around his waist to pull him close and gently stroked the bear's plush head. He seemed happy about his new partner and even more touched by the gift. The Engineer's laugh was light, his smile so sincere, and that look... that look in his eyes so sweet that…

Pyro shuddered. His heart was pounding in his ears, he saw fireworks, and he could feel butterflies in his stomach... there was no denying. Damn it. He was falling in love.

#fanfiction #team fortress 2 #tf2 #pyro #engineer #tf2 pyro #tf2 engineer #scout #tf2 scout #oc pyro #oc #luciano

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