8 times Sniper interacted with his team and 1 time he didn’t

by Emojiconuser_456

Summary:

(Posting on both ao3 and fanfic.net)

I just really miss the Sniper tf2 fanfics, so I made my own. This is just Sniper interacting with his teammates and realising that maybe he doesn't have to be alone, while his team realise that perhaps Sniper has the biggest heart of them all. This is like a found family that comes together because of Sniper and his actions.

Notes:

I was and still am into TF2 fics, specially anything Sniper related and sadly a lot of them have been deleted. So, here’s some of my favourite handcanons of Snipes mixed into one fic and I hope you all enjoy!!

Chapter 1: Sniper playing music from his van for Scout’s workout

Being a professional sniper wasn’t easy, there were rules, procedures and instincts that had to be trained into you from the moment you picked up the gun. Now, Sniper wasn’t one to brag or show off, but he prides himself on his ability to predict his teammates activities; to watch them from afar and keep track of whose where.

He’d never mention it, but he does this to avoid them.

Particularly Soldier, who’s been trying to rope him into ‘bonding’ activities with the rest of the team.

Gross.

And don’t even get him started on Medic’s check-ups.

That’s a nightmare all on its own. He’s been going strong for a few years now.

Point is, it’s become a habit – watching his teammates that is – he would never actively engage with their arguments or even stay long enough for any of them to recognise his presence. He didn’t seek anyone out and no one dared to seek him out, he was just known as the quiet gunman who kept to himself. Even when he was first introduced to the team, they knew early on not to engage with him, he never responded back with more then a nod or a simple shrug.

Scout was unfortunately more stubborn.

"Yo Snipes!"

"Snipes!"

“See that hit?”

“What’s in your van?”

“Hey Snipes, something on your mind?”

“Do ya know how to talk?”

Sniper is almost 100% certain that there’s some secret bet going on behind his back, probably about trying to get him to talk.

Just to clarify, he’s not mute. Far from it actually, but he is very spiteful. If they’ve made a bet about him trying to talk then he’s not going to. He’s been doing great so far without words.
They can all jump off a cliff for all he cares.

Point is, Scout has been trying to get him to talk, more so than usual. Maybe the bet has higher stakes now? Who knows. All Sniper can do is continue to avoid Scout and the others, while maintaining his own schedule.

Wake up.

Clean van.

Steal food before the others arrive.

Back into van.

Clean and check over his weapons.

Nap.

And repeat.

It may be simple, but it kept him sane during some trying times and long battles. However, one day Sniper decided to break away from his little schedule.

Looking back, he now blames that particular day for everything that happened after.

It started simple, he had woken up earlier than usual due to some bizarre dream that’s been bothering him from time to time. At this point he would maybe do some light stretches or make some coffee to properly wake up, instead he chooses to walk around for a bit. He could swear that something was just tugging at him, pulling on his body to follow an invisible path. Exiting his van, he headed straight for the base; his anxiety was buzzing in the back of his mind trying to warn him of the potential of running into the others.
But his curiosity won over, he needed to figure what was pulling on him.

A slight crunch under his boot shook him out of his thoughts, lifting his boot he froze at the sight.

Scout’s earbuds.

Shit.

And judging by the sound of the crunch, he may have just broken them.

In fairness, those things were held together by duct tape and prayers that boy was notorious for not looking after other’s property let alone his own. Crouching down Sniper gently lifted the ruined earbuds and pocketed them into his vest, already feeling bad.

Really, he could’ve just returned to his van and pretend it never happened, but he had some honour, he also felt really bad.

There were few things Scout treasured and that was his dog tags and earbuds.

And Sniper just broke them.

He could not in good conscious justnotreturn them to Scout, he had sealed his fate and committed a terrible crime.

Destroying someone else’s property.

Sighing to himself, Sniper got back up and continued on his trek towards the base but now had guilt weighing down in him the size of an elephant. The journey itself felt longer than usual, probably because he kept stopping to plan out his apology.

How did one even apologise?

He didn’t mean to do it on purpose.

What if Scout tried to fight him? What if it becomes a battle to the death?

Sniper had never felt so overwhelmed before, there were too many possibilities and unknowns in this hypothetical interaction that he didn’t even realise he was already in the team’s kitchen.

Sometimes he really hated himself.

Curse him and his autopilot.

To his complete and utter fear there across the kitchen was the one and only Scout. He appeared to be tearing the living room apart with pillows being thrown across the floor and the couch overturned, clearly Scout was looking for something.

And Sniper knew immediately what it was, seeing as how he had in his vest pocket.

Moving slowly Sniper walked towards the younger man. Scout was grumbling to himself too engrossed in his search to notice Sniper’s presence, it wasn’t until Sniper’s shadow covered him did he look up.

He screamed; Sniper jumped back equally startled.

The pair stared at each other in stunned silence. Scout clutched his chest and started swearing, his Bostonian accent slipping through, mentioning something about Sniper needing a bell. Throughout it all, Sniper stayed silent waiting for the kid to calm down somewhat.

Only when Scout asked what he was doing trying to scare him did the man reach for his vest pocket. He lifted out the buds and carefully showed them to Scout, the younger grabbed them from his hand and inspected them quietly.

Too quietly.

Sniper had never seen his face look so blank, hell he hadn’t even known Scout could be this quiet.

He felt really really bad now.

The buzzing hadn’t stopped and watching Scout only made it worse, he had to say something.

It was when Scout sighed that he broke.

Cause fuck he didn’t know the kid could sound so sad.

“I’m sorry mate.”

His voice was the only sound in the room, slightly gravelled due to the lack use but clear none the less. Scout’s head snapped up towards him, evidently caught off guard by the sudden sound of the infamous silent sniper.

The silence stretched between them; it seemed that Scout himself was at a loss of words almost in shock. Luckily for him once Sniper got started, he couldn’t stop.

Words tumbled out of his mouth falling one after the other like a chain effect, baring his soul to the younger and apologising profusely. He talked about how he had noticed Scout would put his earbuds inside a little box that resided on the top shelf within his locker, he talked about how he noticed Scout would repair his earbuds in the kitchen always refusing Engie’s assistance, he talked about how he noticed Scout would wear the buds while he was running around the compound or the way he fidgeted with the items whenever he was tense. Clearly, they hold sentimental value, and he felt really bad when he realised what he stepped on and Scout-

Scout had shot up from his position on the ground to crush the taller man into a hug, arms wrapped tight around the Sniper’s waist. The man froze arms dangling uselessly as his brain tried to process his unexpected word vomit to Scout now hugging him. Eventually, Scout realised him with a sort of awed look in his eyes and a light grin, a sight that brought familiarity to Sniper and eased his nerves.

The younger than explained to him the story of the earbuds, they weren’t necessary a gift but having grown up with so many siblings resulted in lots of hand-me-downs. Scout often got stuff last, but he’d make the most of it, especially the earbuds. They were the last few items he had left that reminded him of his family, he likes to think that he’ll return home one day and given them to his younger siblings.

It's fine that they’re broken Snipes, it just adds more character y’know? ‘Sides I knew I shoulda given them to Engie to fix up anyway.

Sniper frowned at that.

He still felt guilty.

Scout only grinned in response.

“Thanks Snipes, see you round later?”

Sniper only nodded back, earning a laugh out of the teen. The two parted ways with Scout presumably heading to Engie’s workshop and Sniper going back up to his van.

The next morning Sniper had an idea, a way to ease the guilt of ruining something so precious to the Scout no matter what he claimed of it being fine.

He may not have any earbuds to give him, but he did have a functioning radio.

Now, Sniper wasn’t one to brag or show off, but he prides himself on his ability to predict his teammates activities; to watch them from afar and keep track of whose where. And this time he knew exactly where Scout was, in fact he could hear him doing his weekly run around the base.

Scout always passes his van.

And right now, Scout was heading straight towards him.

With a secret grin to himself, Sniper started up his van and cranked the radio to its max volume.

Sniper wouldn’t be good at his job if he didn’t know what type of music Scout liked, it really wasn’t that hard to figure out.

Leaning out the driver window, Sniper watched as Scout got closer almost speeding up even faster towards the sharpshooter. The teen had the biggest grin the man had ever seen, yelling about how fucking cool he was and how’d you know this was his favourite song?

Sniper merely gestured for him to finish his workout and Scout could do nothing but laugh as he started running with more enthusiasm.

Sniper had set up some chairs and a cooler outside his van filled with beer and some non-alcoholic beverages for the younger all the while still having loud music blasting out of his vehicle.

Scout returned after his workout run and the pair relaxed together against the morning sun, both with a new sense of comradery towards the other.

It soon became part of Sniper’s little schedule.

Wake up.

Blast Scout’s music for his workout.

Relax with the kid.

Clean van.

Steal food before the others arrive.

Back into van.

Clean and check over his weapons.

Nap.

And repeat.

Notes:

Snipes: i broke something of yours thats precious
Scout: youre precious
Snipes:...
Scout: we're friends now
Snipes: :O

Chapter 2: Snipes colouring with Pyro

Summary:

there's not enough about how pyro and sniper interact with eachother, i'd like to imagine they're both scared of each other but would also be a great pair?? two selective mutes just vibing together.

Notes:

sorry for the month delay!! i kept backtracking on the order of introducing the team and then couldn't make up my mind on how to get pyro to interact with sniper. i just lost track of time, hope you all enjoy the chapter and thanks for all the kudos and comments!!

All actions have consequences, that wasn’t anything new to the sharpshooter however he failed to realise the effect of what his and Scout’s interaction had caused. Not only did he bond with the runner but he also 'chatted’, he actively engaged with Scout’s jokes and even made a few of his own.

It was unheard of.

It went against his rules of isolation, it went against the very persona he was trying to build!

And yet he didn’t care.

He found himself looking forward to the early mornings, not minding that he would get his breakfast later than usual or on that rare occasion where Scout would go with him. Soon it
became second nature for him to wait on the kid before heading down to the base together, Sniper of course still disappeared whenever another teammate turned up.

He could only handle so much after all.

Little did he know that while he vanished back up to his van, a little scout was raving to the rest of the base about his new friendship with the gunman. No one listened to him due to the absurdity of the claims.

Sniper laughing?

Talking?

Understanding basic human interaction?

None of that sounded right and no one wanted to test the claims either, to them it was just Scout playing another prank.

Because you see, Sniper only interacts with Scout outside of the base or when he’s sure no one else is around. Just because he made friends with the kid doesn’t mean he’s now suddenly open to the whole team. That honestly sounds like a nightmare. He will admit that his new friendship with Scout was fun, but to an extent; he was always drained afterwards, still not use to upholding long conversations.

He's not afraid to admit he’s slightly out of practice with certain social cues, every few minutes he’ll go back to making vague noises in his throat rather than give a proper response. It was hard work going from basically radio silence to now a complete sentence. It was a drastic change for him, something he still was struggling to get used to.

So, imagine to his surprise when he exits his van one morning to see not only Scout, but Pyro waiting for him as well.

What the fuck.

Scout was laughing, the cheeky fucker, clearly finding amusement at whatever face

Sniper was pulling. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he could pretend that neither of them were here, maybe this was all a cruel nightmare and he was about to wake up right now.

“Snipes, look who wanted ta join us!”

He’d rather not see at all.

“Hey, why are your eyes closed?”

If lighting could strike him right now, that’d be great.

“Nah Pyro I think he’s fine, just dramatic.”

Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could just die this instant.

“Sniper, y’know we can hear you still right?”

Fuck.

“C’mon, we even bought ya a gift!”

Gifts are good.

“And their tiny!”

Well, what did he have to lose?

Scout the traitor chuckled once more, clearly having gained the forbidden knowledge of Sniper’s key weakness. Tiny things. Look, he couldn’t explain it to anyone but himself; the appeal of collecting little trinkets was just something that made him click. He had this compulsive desire to grab things that caught his eye, particularly shiny things. Cleary, Scout was trying to exploit his deep dark desire of hoarding shiny things, tiny shiny things, tiny shiny things that would sparkle under the sun on his dashboard.

Slowly peeling his eyes open, he took in the scene before him, unfortunately nothing had changed. Scout was still energetically bouncing, grin unmatched to the sun as his eyes shined with mischief whereas Pyro was waiting patiently next to him.

Glancing down, the sharpshooter noticed that the pyromaniac’s hands seemed full, holding what looked to be a large, wrapped present.

Silence stretched between the three of them, while Snipes wanted to turn them down, he really wanted to see what they had brought.

Curse him and his weakness, he never should’ve let himself be exposed like that. It wasn’t even intentional! The bugger just happened to stumble upon his collection, and he couldn’t just not show it off, he had worked hard to collect all his pieces. So far, his collection was a broken glass bottle, a rusted key, some lose change, small metal bits and a singular bullet.

It was his fucking pride and joy.

And now Scout was using it against him.

Reminds him of another teammate.

Regardless, Sniper was left with no choice but to welcome the unwanted company into his van. Like hell he was gonna risk the rest of the team see him hangout with these lot, he needs to be more discreet.

The van was relatively big, at least big enough to fit the three of them inside with Scout claiming the shooter’s bed immediately and Pyro squeezing themselves into the seat across the kitchen table. Already, he could feel a migraine work its way through his head and all Sniper could do was entertain whatever was going on and hope they both leave soon.

Signing in defeat the shooter sat himself begrudgingly across from Pyro, who had placed their gift delicately onto the table. Interestingly, they had yet to even make a sound since Sniper had noticed them, not even a mumble had escaped their mask.

It was almost like they were nervous, but of what?

Of his reaction to the gift or to him?

As far as he knew, Sniper hadn’t interacted with the firebug or at least had an interaction that would warrant such a behaviour from the normally jittery being. Then again, Pyro was known for their unpredictability, so maybe this was normal behaviour. It was really hard to tell.

And Scout was being of no use as he had made himself comfortable on the Sniper’s bed, seemingly taking a nap; leaving Snipes with the oddly silent jitterbug, who was staring at him intently from their blank mask. With no other option Snipes reached for the wrapped gift, carefully bringing it closer to himself under the scrutiny of the quiet individual, watching them for any sort of reaction.

And still the masked person in question remained silent, the only indication they gave was sitting up straighter once the aussie grabbed the gift. Being extra careful not to ruin the wrapping, Sniper began gently taking off the excess layers of tape that surrounded the present. He was left dumbfounded as more and more layers of wrapping paper were discarded to the side, it seemed never-ending with the layers getting smaller and smaller and yet Sniper still had yet to reach the gift itself.

Throughout it all, Pyro was steadily leaning closer and closer to the sharpshooter, elbows resting on the table as they started shaking from excitement. Scout had turned over on the bed, now facing the pair as he watched the grand reveal.

Holy shit.

It was the greatest thing he’s ever seen.

At the centre of the table surrounded by all the paper and tape of the world, was a small metal statue of a koala. Sniper picked up the tiny creature, lifting it up to admire the handiwork of such a thing. The body was made of different cogs and metal scraps all melded together with burn marks and little dents; the koala looked to be mid walk with a little lump on its back. Upon closer inspection the shooter realised it was supposed to be a baby koala, its features even tinier as its little paws were attached to the parent’s back.

Sniper was thankful he was wearing his shades that day, it would be awkward to explain to anyone why he was fighting back tears.

It was just too precious.

He was in love.

He’s already named them.

Susie and her little joey, Benjamin. It was just them against the world.

Sniper politely nodded his head towards both Pyro and Scout, before quickly excusing himself. The tiny family was too precious to join his collection of assorted items, he needed a much better placement. Koalas need somewhere high up and away from any danger, somewhere he could protect the family easily and somewhere the rest of the team wouldn’t usually go. So lost in his thoughts, the trained shooter didn’t hear Scout’s loud exclaims and hurried footsteps behind him.

No, this sniper was on a mission, possibly the most important mission of his life. He had a family to look after now.

And his sniper’s nest would be perfect.

With his destination in mind the shooter hurried his paced, allowing muscle memory to takeover as he continued staring fixatedly at his little koalas. Had anyone in the base decided to look outside, they would find a fascinating scene before them; the Sniper speed walking across the base with something cupped in his hands while
Scout and Pyro trailed behind him like lost ducks.

Finally reaching his target, the older man began climbing up the ladder to his proclaimed nest, but not before gently tucking the little family into his vest pocket, resolutely ignoring the snickers from behind him. Reaching his hideout, Sniper found the perfect spot for his new family, right next to the boarded window he shoots from. It had enough sunlight for the koalas to relax and provided protection for any stray bullets, not like he’d let anything happen to them, they need stability in their lives, and he could provide it for them, he’d lay his life down for them. He’d kill his entire team for them.

Kidding.

Not really.

“Uh, Snipes?”

Snapping out of his thoughts, the man in question angled his head towards the familiar voice, his unwanted house guests had followed him to his nest. He honestly hoped they’d still be at the bottom of the ladder, he wanted to finish devoting his life to his koalas.

What did these two want again?

“Pyro wanted ta know if you liked the gift? Kinda just upped and left.”

Of course, he loved the gift, he was gonna make a blood sacrifice for them everyday now.

“That’s…. uh good?”

Sniper watched the younger take a slight step back. Silly Scout, he wasn’t going to kill him for the statue. No, he was truly thankful for the little family.

He was gonna kill him for talking about him behind his back.

Rumours had a funny way of going back to him.

The shooter grinned sharply as he turned his full body towards the pair, watching colour drain from Scout’s face. The runner squeezed himself behind Pyro, apologising profusely but c’mon Snipes no one believed him anyway so let’s ignore this yeah?

Muffled noises escaped the firebug as they waved their hands around in a placating manner, very rarely was Sniper ever truly angry yet those that witnessed it told tales of horror; heck Pyro themselves was wary of upsetting the shooter with their gift. It was why they were silent, trusting Scout to do all the talking for them and hopefully not get the two of them killed.

Sniper watched the pair talk over each other, making their case of why Sniper shouldn’t kill them, Pyro even gestured to the statue after all it would be horrible for a family to witness a murder already. They had a point, rolling his shoulders back Snipes took a step away from the duo, purposely relaxing himself to ease their nerves.

“What did you two want anyway?”

Pyro perked up at the question, flapping his hands around in an a more excited manner whilst Scout tried to translate.

“When I was definitely absolutely not talking behind your back, Pyro overhead me and wanted to see for themselves if what I was saying was true. Apparently, he needs your help with something?”

That had Snipes straighten up again, help with something? That would explain the random gift, though he wasn’t complaining, if this is how the pyromaniac asked for help then they could go right ahead.

Happy with this new development the firebug started gesturing to the runner, hand signals that looked like something along the lines of ‘hurry up’. Scout hastily unzipped his backpack – something that Sniper embarrassingly hadn’t noticed – and pulled out what looked to be a colouring book.

But it wasn’t just any colouring book, it was an Australian colouring book.

Very slowly, the pieces were slowing being put together.

The Sniper was Australian, Pyro was curious, clearly at some point the jitterbug had gotten themselves a colouring book filled with Australian animals and wanted his input. And of course, with Scout and his blabbermouthing about Sniper ‘opening up’, Pyro saw it as a chance to get the Aussie’s help with his colouring. But they couldn’t just rely on Scout, no that would be too risky, Scout was just phase one, they needed his trust, his loyalty so they handcrafted something that would lure him into a false sense of security.

It was the fucking koalas. It was all a ploy, insurance so that he wouldn’t kill the both of them if something went wrong.

All so that he would help with a colouring book.

He couldn’t help it, he started laughing, a full-blown belly laugh that shook the entire platform they were standing on. Sniper had to lean down to his knees, struggling to catch his breath at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. He, a trained killer was just bribed successfully by a tiny koala family in exchange for help with a colouring book. There were definitely tears sliding down his face that even his shades couldn’t hide, not that he cared, he was still struggling to breathe.

A few more quiet chuckles escaped him as he tried to compose himself, not oblivious to the state of shock Scout appeared to be in, whereas Pyro was clapping his hands in triumph. Gesturing to the rest of the crates, Sniper urged them both to sit down as he grabbed the nearest colouring book.

Flicking to a random page, he landed on an image of an emu and with a large grin began explaining the large bird to the duo.

“Hope you got enough crayons mate.”

Now, as much as he’d like to claim that was the last time, he ever talked to either of them, he’s admittedly a shitty liar. It seemed after that fateful encounter, Pyro now had the courage to personally go up to Sniper in and out of battle interactions, occasionally even joining him in his van after breakfast.

Obviously, it was to hear more about the Australian animals and finish the colouring book. But sometimes it was just to sit together in silence with Pyro’s humming as background noise. Unlike Scout who couldn’t bare to not share every little thing, the firebug was more than happy to colour in silence, understanding that Sniper didn’t always want to talk; something they both shared.

This new development with Pyro however, meant that Sniper had to adjust his schedule again.

Wake up.

Blast Scout’s music for his workout.

Relax with the kid.

Clean van.

Steal food before the others arrive.

Back into van.

Help Pyro with their colouring book.

Clean and check over his weapons.

Nap.

And repeat.

Notes:

pyro: gift?
sniper: fuck yea
pyro: colouring?
sniper: youre a fucking genius
scout: my job here is done

Chapter 3: Snipes learning emotions with Engie

Summary:

Y'know that one scene in 'Meet the Sniper' with that brief convo of Snipes and his parents and they're like disappointed in him. Well, buckle up cause, it gets so much worse and I make it 1000 times worse.

Notes:

T/W: Child abuse, Child neglect, basically just Sniper's parents being the embodiment of horrible parents so be warned!!

Let it be known that Sniper hated talking.

Everything about it made his skin crawl; small talk was his biggest enemy.

He’s aware of the irony considering he hangs out with Scout and Pyro, but there’s something about talking in a group setting that makes him want to peel his own skin off. It’s like a buzzing in the back of his mind that starts to ramp up when around others, particularly with his own teammates.

It renders him mute.

Literally.

It reminds him of those few childhood memories he had, where kids were running around the classroom chatting away with each other, meanwhile small Snipes was by the bag racks still fiddling with the zipper on his bag. He remembers all his teachers that got angry with him and would send him to the office each time he refused to answer their questions, telling him that he was rude or being an attention seeker. His own peers would whisper about him, creatively dubbing him ‘The Mute’. It really didn’t matter to him; at the end of the day, he could lock himself up in his room and play with his toys.

His parents cared an awful lot though, but he got used to their disappointment long ago.

Honestly, they were disappointed he was a boy.

He couldn’t really win with them.

He remembers them taking him to those special doctors in hopes of fixing him, apparently it was disgraceful that their only child was broken.

He remembers opening his mouth at the dinner table and telling his mother that he hated her. That memory was a little fuzzy, she had entered his room and took away his toys as punishment for getting in trouble again at school.

It had really pissed him off and to make it worse, it was the first thing he had said to her in months. And it was the biggest mistake he had ever made.

When his dad returned home, he remembered getting pulled by his collar towards the front door and was promptly locked outside in the night. It was raining heavily, Snipes enjoyed stomping in the puddles and running on the road.

He got extra punishment for returning messy however and he lost dinner privileges for three days.  

Maybe that’s why he avoids the team’s dinner nights like the plague, its not really the team’s fault that he had strict parents that often had him go hungry most nights. And its not the team’s fault that even the thought of being surrounded by so many personalities makes him want to rip off his own skin like wrapping paper.

It just makes him itch.

Itch, itch, itch.

Maybe that’s why he yelled at Scout; the kid kept pestering him about joining the dinners. Something about him not being alone anymore, what with him and Pyro now considered his friends.

Now, while that may be true it still didn’t persuade the sharpshooter at all, it made no difference to him whether he was friends with the entire team or not. A group setting like a sit-down dinner was a little to close to home for him. Just the thought reminded him of those quiet ‘punishment’ dinners that his parents would set up, where Snipes would be forced to sit at the dinner table and watch his parents eat as ‘motivation’ to get him to talk.

It never worked, but at least he learned how to sneak food into his pockets.

It’s just a habit that still follows him to this day, waiting for the others to finish their food and then he’ll sneak back into the team kitchen to grab whatever leftovers were there. Unsurprisingly with such a big team there were basically only scraps left for him to grab, not that it bothered him all too much. He did have his own little kitchen in his van to use and he would often drive out to the forest edge near the base to hunt his own meals anyway.

When Scout discovered this, he was mortified.

Not about the hunting, but about the lack of proper dinner or really any food at all. It really bothered the kid for some reason, Snipes tried to reassure him but even that didn’t work.

Things were said, words were yelled and now Scout was pissed at him.

It’s been a few days since he’s seen either Scout or Pyro, the latter probably trying to calm the kid down. Leaving the older man to stew in his own thoughts, something he found himself doing recently after their disappearance.

In hindsight it wasn’t the youngster’s fault, it was his own. When Scout kept getting more persistent about the dinners, it set the man on edge.

The itch had returned, and it was burrowing itself deeper into Sniper’s skin. He could feel the gnawing panic creeping at the back of his mind, his fingers twitching, the edge of his vision getting blurry.

It felt like he was getting thrown back into that dinner table, he could feel his father’s hands gripping his shoulders tight, nails digging harshly into his bones.

His mother’s scathing words burning into his skin.

They say people have two responses when backed into a corner, fight or flight.

Sniper chose fight.

Like most memories, it didn’t feel real when it happened; an outer body experience where he watched himself move towards the poor boy.

Scout had reared back in shock, eyes widening as he brought up his arms at the sudden shove from the sharpshooter. All too soon the fear that clouded the boy’s eyes were replaced with matching anger.

“The fucks your problem!?”

“Get outta here Scout, I’m getting bloody sick of you!”

Itch, itch, itch.

Sniper blamed it all on the itch.

Fists were thrown, he remembered that much though who swung first no one could say. All Sniper knew was that he fucking regretted it. He regretted it all.

He especially regretted it when he saw his busted face in his little hang up mirror near his bed. His bottom lip had been split, left cheek was swelling up and had an ugly black eye on his right side.

Fucking perfect.

Though deep down, he was silently happy that Scout managed to get some good licks in, knowing that his own punches probably weren’t any better.

The only good thing that came from this unfortunate event was that he was able to treat his injuries with no interruptions. Thankfully, the team wasn’t scheduled for any battles yet and like hell was Sniper gonna visit the Medic for something as stupid as a fight – or visit him at all really. He could only hope that Scout was fairing better and getting looked after.

More days passed, and Scout was still ignoring him; without his presence the days went by noticeably slowly than before. Had it always been this quiet?

Suddenly, his van didn’t feel the same anymore without the runner’s background chatter to fill up the silence. He could feel the itch making its return once more, like an ant wandering underneath his skin, perhaps a whole nest of them furrowing their way into his bones, residing, and waiting. He was hoping that Scout would make an appearance again hell even Pyro as well, since the fight neither of them had so much as rocked up to his home once.

He could probably go to the base himself and find them, but he wasn’t gonna risk running into another teammate. And besides what was he gonna do?

Apologise?

He already apologised to Scout once before about his earbuds, how could he know if the younger even wanted to hear another one? There were too many variables to consider before even attempting to socialise with Scout again.

Clearly the bugger wanted nothing to do with him, as demonstrated by his lack of appearance over the past few days.

And yet the itch remained throughout it all; probably would until he could fix things up with Scout.

Regardless, that wasn’t the only problem Sniper was having.

A day after his fight with Scout, small containers of food had made its way to his van. All heated up and everything, most definitely leftovers from the team’s previous dinners. Each night after Snipes wandered back to his van, he would see a small container – sometimes wrapped up in a cloth – comprising of leftover meat, soup or an assortment of veggies all warmed up just for him.

It was too much of a coincidence for it to not be related to the fight.

Yet, there were never any notes attached to the containers or footprints for that matter, which was strange considering the meals were often left at the door of his vehicle. It couldn’t be the younger boys; Scout had stopped running past him in the mornings and Pyro had stopped visiting altogether.

Least he got what he wanted.

Now, he had no reason to go over to the base from all these leftovers he’s been getting. Yet all the warm dinners could not comfort him during his silent nights, where his thoughts ran rampant in the dark.

If he was honest with himself, Sniper was disappointed in himself the most. Scout couldn’t have known about his past, all the tyke wanted to do was have him join the team dinners. He could’ve just explained himself but no, he had to be difficult.

Itch, itch, itch.

It was aggravating that itch, taunting him with his mistakes.

Fuck it. He’s got fix it with Scout.

With only a half-assed plan of finding the boy, Sniper marched down towards the base, finally leaving the cold confines of his vans after days of being alone. Each step he took grew more determined the closer he got; Snipes was tired of wallowing in his self-pity.

With much forced confidence, Sniper strides towards the team’s kitchen, if he remembered the Scout’s schedule (and he did), the kid would be having his midnight snack right about now. A perfect opportunity for Snipes to finally talk to the bloke and hopefully clear the air between them.

What he didn’t expect however was Scout, Pyro and Engie talking amongst themselves in the kitchen.

Quietly, he peered around the corner of the hall, making sure to keep his body hidden beneath the shadows and out of sight.

Both the pyromaniac and Scout were sitting at the dinner table, while Engie looked to be cooking up some dinner; all three backs were turned away from him.

“I mean can you fucking believe that!? Who the fuck just lives off of scraps?”

Ah, seems they were talking bout him.

“I mean sure, whatever you don’t like the rest of the team fine! But that’s still no reason to miss out on dinner.”

Pyro let out some muffled noises, reaching over to pat the Scout’s shoulder before making some hand gestures; Scout slumped into his seat, seemingly thinking over what Pyro was telling him.

“Yeah, maybe I pushed him a little, but he snapped at me first! Made it seem like I was sentencing him to death or something.”

Sniper subconsciously took a step back, the itch had started to increase the more Scout talked. He felt bad that the kid felt bad, Snipes did snap first, and it really was a heat of the moment kind of thing. He really needed to fix this; Scout didn’t need this unnecessary guilt on his shoulders.

Yet, before he could step forward into the light, Engie had turned around from the stove, holding what appeared to be a small container.

Wrapped up nicely in a towel.

Wait a fucking second.

No.

That’s ridiculous.

There was no fucking way Engie was the culprit behind the warm leftovers.

Fuck off right now.

“Now Scout, I think what Pyro meant was that maybe it was a bit too much for Sniper.”

What is happening.

“Afterall it’s only been recently that the pair of you have been hanging out with him right? Clearly the man values his personal space and was willing to share it with you, but maybe not with the rest of the team?”

“Shit, you’re probably right, maybe I outta apologise to him.”

“Couldn’t help.”

Nodding to himself, Scout stood up and leaned over the table to grab something hidden from Sniper’s view. After a mumbled thanks to Engie, Scout soon left the kitchen through the opposite hallway, likely heading back to his room. Pyro soon followed, grabbing his own serving of leftovers from the pot before heading off.

Sniper thought about following them, but decided against it, the kid would probably see him in the morning and right now his itch demanded to find out what Engie was up to.

Taking a breath to calm himself, Sniper slowly removed himself from the wall and began walking towards the table. Engie had turned back around to clean up the bench area, but at the sound of footsteps he looked over his shoulder and was startled to make eye contact with the one and only Sniper.

“Good lord, you’re as quiet as they say!”

The older gentleman clutched at his chest, bumping his back against the kitchen top.

Sniper offered him a small shrug in apology as he lowered himself into the same seat that Scout had previously occupied.

“Guessin you heard that conversation?”

A single nod.

“Got some questions?”

Another nod.

The corner of Engie’s mouth twitched in amusement, with a shake of his head the man grabbed the wrapped box off the counter and placed it in front of Snipes, before sitting across from the silent man.

A comfortable silence fell between them as Sniper gently unwrapped the container and began digging into the food.

A thought suddenly occurred to him.

This was nothing like the dinners his family had.

There was no expectation for him to talk, no tension in the air.

And most importantly.

No itch.

Sharply, Sniper jerked his gaze up to the older man, a single word fell from his tongue.

“Why?”

“Why not.”

Sniper narrowed his eyes, straightening his back to his full height in an attempt to intimidate the engineer.

He was not in the mood.

With a small huff, Engie leaned back into his chair as a sign to show he was not affected by the Sniper’s little display.

“Don’t think there needs to be a reason, just helping out a fellow teammate is all.”

“You didn’t need to get involved.”

“Maybe not. But Scout cares an awful lot bout you, practically shaking when he came to me with his lil dilemma. Now, I can’t fix much in terms of relationships, but damn could I do something bout a teammate practically starving himself cause he don’t want to be around his own team!”

Engie’s voice raised towards the end of his sentence filled with an emotion that Sniper could not place. It sounded pained?

But why would someone he never interacted with care about him?

Why would Scout care so much? Why would anyone for that matter?

It was strange.

And yet, Sniper felt oddly comforted by this.

Taking another deep breath, he turned his gaze towards the wall behind Engie and felt the words he’s been holding in all week start to pour out.

The itch had come back full force, squeezing his throat and practically choking the words out of him.

He retold his childhood memories to the mechanic, stories upon stories of his upbringing and his own difficulties of talking. How his entire existence was an insult to his parents, that every breath he took was like a punch to the face towards his mum. How his own father would chase him out the house when he bothered him too much with his breathing. Or that one time when he got sent to the principal’s office for his lack of speaking and his parent's punishment was being dropped off near the wood’s edge and left to walk home. He remembers this vividly cause they got extra pissed when he actually made it home. They really should’ve not left tire tracks then if they wanted him gone. What amateurs. Clearly they should’ve-

A clattering sound of plastic hitting the floor broke the Sniper’s spiral.

A hand gripped the collar of his shirt as he was suddenly pulled up from his seat.

What was-

Oh.

He was being hugged.

Engie was hugging him from across the table.   

When had he started shaking?

Why could he feel tears rolling down his face?

Why did the hug feel so nice?

Distantly, Sniper could hear the engineer’s southern drawl spit filthy words of harm towards his parents, promises of inventing special torture devices just for them.

And Sniper just let himself melt into his hold, wrapping his own arms around the man.  

“Why?” he whispered brokenly trying and failing to push back the sounds of his sobbing as he clutched Engie’s back.

The older man responded by tightening his hold.

“Cause I care for you son.”

Sniper didn’t respond, he couldn’t.

It was the first time someone’s ever said that to him.

It felt nice.

Was this how his dad was supposed to be?

He’d never know.

“You ever want to get something off your chest or not feeling good, you head straight to me ya hear? Don’t want no excuses, heck do it after breakfast.”

Snipes nodded, head still resting on the engineer’s shoulders, he couldn’t bring anymore words out his throat; everything felt too tiring.

And yet he felt nothing but safe in the hold of the engineer.

"I'll always listen to ya Snipes."

Sniper closed his eyes and let himself be lulled to sleep, for the first time in years he left himself completely unguarded.

Since that fateful night things had started to shift. First, it was when Scout rocked up to his van and apologised to which Sniper refused, since he should be the one apologising and he did, much to the annoyance of Scout who claimed it was his fault not Snipes. (The pair argued about it and came to the consensus that both sides were guilty and it was all water under the bridge). Second, was Pyro’s gift of another baby koala as an apology for not visiting the sharpshooter -  which Sniper accepted immediately and added to his family, dubbing the little one Sheila. And thirdly, was unsurprisingly an update to his daily schedule.

Wake up.

Blast Scout’s music for his workout.

Relax with the kid.

Clean van.

Steal food before the others arrive.

Check in with Engie.

Back into van.

Help Pyro with their colouring book.

Clean and check over his weapons.

Nap.

And repeat.

Notes:

Engie: *shows a smigden of kindness*
Snipes: Y'know youre so much nicer than my parents that literally abandoned me in the woods.
Engie:... what?
Snipes: yeah, too bad im good at tracking haha
Engie: im youre new father, fuck your parents im taking you in

Chapter 4: Sniper drinking away his problems with Demoman

Summary:

Woooo been a long while huh?

This is Snipes basically emptying out his problems once again, but this time he earns another new friend! And we start to see the formation of his little group.

Sorry if it's a bit all over the place, I was trying to iron out Sniper's backstory a bit more (please excuse the horrible attempt at a Scottish accent!)

Notes:

Sorry for the wait! I've just been re-reading some of my old works and I feel awful that I never updated.

I do appreciate all the comments and kudos, I shall try my best to keep updating!

<33

The moment he woke up, the sharpshooter just knew it wasn’t going to be a good day. It was something in the air that told him, everything was about to go to shit.

And unsurprisingly, he was proven right.

First it was the heavy rain in the morning, something that usually wouldn’t bother him except this time it meant he’d miss out on time with Scout. The runner had weaselled his way into the man’s heart and though he’d never admit it out loud, he’d actually silently mourn the fact that he couldn’t talk with the younger man.

Not only was talking with Scout an essential part of his routine now, but their morning discussions had also become something that prepared Sniper for his day. The mindless chatter with music playing in the background while the two lounged outside was something that greatly eased his mind. Something so small and trivial had really become a staple in his mundane life, now that he had to deal without it, well, it certainly put a damper on his mood.

And it would only get worse as the days progressed.

Without Scout to rely on, Sniper found himself unusually more tense, more agitated than what would be considered normal outside his profession. He was left to his own thoughts as he cleaned his van, though a bit more quietly and quicker seeing as he had no one that visited him.

Now the second issue was the part where Sniper usually went to the team’s kitchen to snag some breakfast, however the whole heavy rain really didn’t seem appealing to him. Of course, he had an umbrella that could easily solve this problem, but it was also windy, and overall, just shitty fucking weather conditions. He still had some of Engie’s leftovers from the previous night’s just piling up in his mini fridge, so he wasn’t too concerned over hunger just yet.

But he was diverting from his schedule, and it was annoying him.

The majority of his schedule was undoable due to the weather, leaving him with virtually nothing to do. And maybe past him would’ve been thrilled to have some alone time but now it was like he craved it, craved social interaction like a feral animal. He’d gotten too used to the others that now he couldn’t stand to be apart from them, it almost scared him to admit that he actually had friends and people that he cared for.

Everything was different now.

Sitting in solace was no longer enough for him, something so unobtainable in his youth was now in his grasps and it was slipping away from him. Not even as a child did he have the same connections that he had now, it was always business and nothing else. It’s not like his parents taught him much on social interaction either, looking back, no one but Pyro could really understand his mutism.

Even Scout and Engie learned to not take his behaviour at face value, both adapting rather than forcing him to adjust. It was all different to him.

As he watched the heavy ran from the comfort of his van, a sudden thought struck him, that being his little family up in his crow family.

Shit.

He rushed to his bunk bed where he shoved his umbrella between the crevasse of where his bed met the wall, pulling it out from its hiding and making a beeline for his babies. They’d probably be scared out of their little minds about the weather, especially with all the wind activity, the mum must be scared for her children.

He angled his umbrella against the wind, picking up his pace as the storm increased in its intensity.

What shitty fucking weather. 

Arriving at the ladder of his crow’s nest, he jammed the umbrella underneath his arm and battled against the raging winds to climb upwards. His sole focus was on the koala family inside, he knew he had placed them away from the window when a stray bullet nearly took them down. Pyro had gone crazy and slaughtered the entire blue team upon hearing Sniper’s yell, the others still had no idea what triggered the pyromaniac that fateful day. It really brought the koalas together and Sniper hoped that they’d be okay.

Pulling himself up, he quickly took off his soaked vest and hat as he rushed over to the koala family. There were placed on a nearby crate, surrounded by all the coffee mugs Sniper had drunk from and safely tucked away from any natural disasters. The floorboards and walls creaked in protest against the wind, making him doubt the security.

Fuck it.

He’d done it once; he’d do it again.

He cupped the koalas into his palms, wrapping them up in spare bandages he had lying around the nest, making sure to protect them from the outside weather.

The journey back was one of pain and great and turmoil, twice he nearly slipped against the wet gravel and swore multiple times as the wind kept attacking him. Let it be known that he’d only do this for the koalas and the koalas specifically, only because they deserve a heated room and should not suffer in his crow’s nest during this kind of weather. He wasn’t like his parents.

And as he placed them on his kitchen table, gently wiping them down from the rain and wrapping them up in a towel, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander.

Little Shelia had fit into the family perfectly, she now had an older brother and a new Mum. The trio were perfect in Sniper’s eyes, he loved staring at them and imagining all the little things that the family would get up to. Susie definitely had a handful now with two little troublemakers that kept her on her toes. Benjamin loved his little sister and would take her on tons of adventures and rope her into his mischief, which Shelia absolutely followed like the baby she was.

They were all so perfect.

So, so, perfect.

They didn’t have to deal with a shitty father who ignored them or a mother who’d never feed them. There was no worrying about if they’d have a safe home to go to, they’d always have a roof over their heads. There was no begging for even a scrap of attention, Susie would care for her children like every mother was supposed to. Benny would never have to live in fear 24/7 cause he knows that his Mum would never ever raise a hand at him. Sheila won’t have to worry about changing herself because she’s already perfect in her family’s eyes.

They would all live happily together.

And Sniper would never get to know that feeling.

Ever since his talks with Engie, he’s come to realise a lot of things about himself and the things that while, were normal to him, weren’t normal for an actual family. He always knew deep down that this family wasn’t okay, that something was terribly wrong when his own family didn’t want to show up to school with him.

In fairness they’d never even drop him off at school either, claiming it was too much work and that he’s old enough now to just walk.

Sniper was 12.

The walk was 45 mins.

His feet would always hurt.

But that was his life, that was his everyday normal and no one ever really told him it was wrong. No one really cared about the scrappy kid who never talked and caused trouble in every class that he was in. No one’s ever cared about him. And maybe that’s why he never told people about the bruises that marked his skin or the words that swirled around in his head that told him to do things that maybe a child his age shouldn’t be thinking of.

But no one ever said it was wrong.

Throughout his whole childhood no one ever questioned him, and he never said anything anyway. Sniper didn’t talk to strangers and strangers knew better than to talk to the kid that would hide dead animals in other people’s clothes.

It was his retaliation when people would get to close too him, he hated people prodding him physically or mentally.

He didn’t want strangers getting involved into his life, he just wanted his parents to acknowledge him and maybe not be so fucking terrible to him all the time. He wanted the whole world to know what was going on, but not focus on him rather his parents. He wanted to yell and shout, but not really.

Thinking about it even now had Sniper confused, what he wanted was something not even he was 100% clear on. Even now with everything being said and done, he still craved his mother’s and father’s attention.

He hated them so fucking much.

But fuck would he give up anything just for them to tell him that they loved him. Even just for a second, just for a tiny second, he could pretend that they were a perfect family.

His head hurt.

His heart hurt.

His body hurt.

There was only one cure, drink it all away.

Idly, the sharpshooter covered his koala family fully with the towel, physically making sure that they wouldn’t see what he was going to do. He knew he wouldn’t forgive himself if they saw what kind of a person he became when drunk.

Bottle after bottle, Sniper was chugging them one after the next as fast as he could; leaving no room for regret to come clouding his mind. He didn’t want to think about them anymore, he knew that they would never think about him. They never cared then, and they never cared now.

Sniper eventually lost count of how many bottles he went through; his minivan fridge was empty now though and that just wouldn’t do. He didn’t feel completely numb yet, he was just on the brink, and he just needed a few more bottles to get there. Snipes couldn’t go to Engie for more, it was too late in the night, and fucking going out during a raging storm.

Besides, he didn’t want to wake the kind man.

A stray thought crossed his mind of the Engineer replacing his father, but he quickly erased that thought. No ever wanted him and that’s been something that’s always stayed the same throughout his life.

No, he didn’t the Engineer, he needed more good grog. He needed to feel completely void of all emotions. Snipes stumbled around his van as he attempted to locate his door, knocking down items as he went. Every step he took was accompanied by a wave of dizziness that caused him to basically fall out his van once he finally opened the door.

The rain did anything but sober his thoughts, every drop that landed on his face further spiraled his thoughts.

He needed to leave; this place wasn’t good. Nothing felt right anymore in his brain, only the desire to find more beer was fueling him now. He pulled himself up off the ground and stumbled through the storm to find more alcohol. Sniper vaguely remembers the tracks to follow and just let his body lead him to wherever it believed the team base was.

Vision blurring, Sniper failed to notice the change in scenery, failed to notice that he was in fact not heading towards the base, but rather further away. What should have been a building, shifted into trees and shrubbery that tangled with his boots, causing him to trip once again.

Fuck this fucking weather.

The whole world was against him and all he wanted was some good grog.

“Ye daft bastard!”

A sudden pull from above, a hand grabbed his vest and tugged, pulling him off the ground. Sniper stumbled, the sudden movement making his head spin as he reached out to grasp the random stranger.

“Thought you were supposed ta be the smart ones aye?”

Everything hurts.

“Ye don’t say.”

Need more grog please and thank you.

“Come on then.”

Sniper all but threw himself onto the poor man, if he had the good stuff then who was he to get in his way. He allowed himself to get dragged through the forest, deeper and deeper into the greenery without any sort of internal alarm bells going off. When he’d finally sober up, he’d punch himself in the face, but for now this nice stranger was going to help him on his quest to get drunk.

Like a good citizen.

Eventually they’d make their way to an old shack, something that reminded Sniper of his dad and made him feel ten times worse than before.

Fuck his dad.

Fuck his parents.

They were both horrible people and only he had to deal with them, everyone else was spared from their torment, but not him. No, he had to be the one that dealt with his dad’s raging temper and his mum’s hurtful words. No one else but him had to suffer and no one fucking cared.

“Drink up then lad, reckon you got plenty ta drink for.”

Oh, beer?

He loved this mysterious man.

A bottle was pushed into his hands and like a child on Christmas, Sniper eagerly took to emptying the beverage. It was warm, sliding down his throat with ease and brought the kind of comfort he was searching for. It was mind numbing and pushed away everything in his head, quietening down the worst bits and boosting the good ones.

Who even cared about his parents? Not him that’s for sure, they could both drive off a ditch and he’d still wouldn’t care.

Who needs parents when all you really need in life is a good supply of beer.

 Another bottle was pushed into his hands, then another, then another, and then another.

His stomach was a bottomless pit, and his mind demanded more sustenance to fill it with, distantly he could feel himself start to drift off, but he stubbornly fought against it. He needed more, needed that feeling to come back, needed that taste back on his tongue. He craved it like he craved his parent’s affection, the fucking bastards.

He knew his birth was a mistake, but fuck, they didn’t have to keep reminding him. He already had to deal with bullies at school and it just sucked that he also had to deal with bullies at home too. He could never escape them.

It was only when he got his hands on a slingshot that he could really start to dish out punishments. Weeks of being left in woods outside their house really left a kid with lots to do to entertain themselves. He taught himself to hunt, to cook, to fully utilise the things around him and when he finally stole a slingshot from one of his bullies.

Well, it was time to get fucking even.

No more functioning left eye for you, Josh.

You fucking shithead.

Really, it got worse for his bullies and better for him. The school could never prove it was him, cameras weren’t a thing back when he was a child, and it only fuelled his bloodlust. His parents didn’t care that he’d return late in the night, they just hated that he returned.

All afternoon, he’d practice his shots on any living thing that moved in front of him and used their carcasses to stuff into people’s backpacks. Or on the common occurrence that a teacher wanted to talk to him about his behaviour, he’d bury their stuff outside on the oval and leave them a bloodied note with animal fur attached to it; there was nothing useful on the note either, just scribbles.

He had a lot of problems as a child.

He was more professional now as an adult anyway, so it cancels out.

The teacher was basically asking for it anyhow when he wrote a letter home to Snipes family and made him get locked out of the house for the next few days. All it taught him was no one had your back except yourself, and that adults were just shit people overall. They would only get in the way and make things worse for him.

He needed another fucking beer.

As he reached for another bottle, his eyelids started to droop, suddenly his body felt much heavier than usual. Sniper couldn’t feel his fingers anymore or any other part of his body for that matter, he was leaning forward and then he was out.

It was all dark.

He could feel his body get moved, limbs being pushed into something soft and the vague sounds of a Scottish voice in the background. It was all muddled in his mind, all he could focus on was the softness that surrounded him and the warmth it brought him; different then what the beer did.

Sniper was unaware of how long time passed or what was going on around him, all he knew was that it was shit day and he wasn’t very happy.

“How much did you give him!?”

“He’s a grown adult man-”

“Who needs help, not more beer-”

Sniper tossed and turned, the voices sounded like they were coming from outside the shack and yet his raging headache made it seem like it was right up and close to his ear. He groaned at all the sounds flooding his mind, shutting his eyes tight against the brightness in the room and looked around blindly for something to cover his eyes. He must’ve taken his shades off somewhere-

His fucking shades!

He pulled himself up, wincing at the sudden movement but persevering against the raging headache. He never left anywhere without his glasses and fuck him if he started now, he swore he was wearing them last night. Looking around he noticed he was in someone’s bed and the shack looked a whole lot more different than what he remembered.  

This looked less like the metal shack he was dragged to and more like a room. He was on the bottom bunk, noticing all the details around him such as the many posters and messy floor that suggested this was definitely someone else’s room.

“Dude, I’ve never seen Engie this mad and I’ve seen him angry a lot.”

Sniper snapped his head towards the new voice, swearing silently at the resulting ache in his neck from sleeping in an awkward position. Scout was peering into the hallway, opening his door slightly to hear the yelling match going on outside.

Ah, he was in Scout’s bedroom.

Wonderful.

“What – what’s happening out there?”

“Ah you know, Engie went out to go look for you after you didn’t turn up this morning and found ya in Demo’s drinking shack. He wasn’t too happy and then carried you into my room, cause I offered and now here we are.”

“Why’s he mad?”

“Apparently, you’re a chatty drunk?”

“Shit.”

“Yup! And speaking of that…” Sniper watched as Scout closed the door, moving towards him slowly and planting himself down next to him.

“What the actual fuck was your childhood? Like every time I thought it couldn’t get worse, you’d drop like an even worse story.”

“It’s all in the past, don’t stress.”

“Um, hate to break it to you, but when you learn that your friend used to literally live off of the wildlife cause his parent were fucked up people, then yeah, I’m gonna fucking worry!”

Sniper flinched at the high-pitched tone of the runner, rubbing at his ear as he tried to gather the thoughts needed to communicate.

“Look mate, it’s just what it was, we were all growing up differently.”

“That wasn’t growing up, that was survival!”

And that made him pause.

Of course, it was survival, it had to be, or he’d die. He knew that.

He couldn’t think too long about it, all he could focus on at the time was how he could live through the night. There was nothing for him to look forward to, so he just tried not to think about it; he wasn’t used to people noticing it as well.

He wasn’t used to the kindness because no one really cared. He had to believe that no one cared because the truth would just rip him apart.

Something about Scout acknowledging his shitty childhood really got to him, and it wasn’t just Scout who had said something about it. Engie often had to convince him that the things he dealt with just wasn’t right, which Sniper knew logically, but it was just different getting that confirmation from others. Even Pyro in their own way had validated his experiences, it’s why he had a whole koala family in the first place, like a reminder that he had a new family to look out for now.

“Aye, Scout get out.”

“It’s my room!”

“Get.”

Scout huffed, mumbling something under his breathe about disrespect for personal space, which was ironic coming from him, and left the room.

Leaving only Sniper and the notorious Demoman.

Sniper didn’t know much about him, granted he didn’t know much about most of the team but Demo in particular he just didn’t interact with much. All he knew was that the man had a habit for drinking and explosions, often at the same time as well as during battle.

He stared at the Scotsman wearily, leaning back against the wall.

It seemed the other didn’t know how to start the conversation either, ruffling around his pants for something before pulling out some shades. Sniper’s shades.

He tossed them towards the sharpshooter and Sniper caught them, a bit sluggishly but even his pounding headache couldn’t stop him from cherishing his glasses.

“Left them in the shack when Engie tried ta carry ya, knew you’d want ‘em back.”

Sniper nodded, slowly slipping them back onto his face and relishing in the room looking slightly darker; his headache was really killing him.

“Aye mate look, I dunno what’s going on with ya or why you were stumbling around the woods like a fucking idiot but I know when someone needs a drink. Engie can baby ya all he wants but we all know drinking fixes everything.”

As if to prove his point, the Scot pulled out a small flask from his many pockets and proceeded to take a sip.

“Ya lot more chatty with a bit a booze inside that small stomach of yours. Me, you and Heavy should have a contest! Never seen a man so quickly drain my supply, bit in awe really. Anyway, I’m not much for feelings and you sure ain’t either despite what ‘drunk you’ may claim.”

Demoman suddenly moved closer, grabbing Sniper’s hand, and shaking it while taking another swig of his flask.

“Names Tavish Finnegan DeGroot, if ye wanna drink away your problems again, come stumbling back alright?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

At Sniper’s reply, the demolitionist simply nodded at him with a grin and another sip of his flask before making his exit.

Sniper was left by himself, and he used that time to catch up on some much-needed sleep. It was odd that someone like the Demoman would give him his name, though judging on how much he must’ve spilled while drunk, maybe he earned the man’s respect. The idea of drinking with him again, honestly didn’t sound too bad.

He’d still talk with Engie about his issues but maybe, just maybe, he needed another outlet as well. Maybe not to get shit-faced like last night, but rather drinking more socially and actually letting the others get to know him.

He couldn’t constantly rely on the other three to be at his beck and call, there’d definitely be more scenarios where he can’t chat with them. So maybe he needed to expand his circle, though judging by recent events, the others might just come sought him out themselves.

For once, his skin didn’t prickle at the idea of possibly getting to know the rest of the team.

He closed his eyes, snuggling back into the bed and letting himself drift away from the world.

Looks like he had a new friend now.

Wake up.

Blast Scout’s music for his workout.

Relax with the kid.

Clean van.

Steal food before the others arrive.

Check in with Engie.

Drink with Tavish.

Back into van.

Help Pyro with their colouring book.

Clean and check over his weapons.

Nap.

And repeat.

Notes:

Sniper: I have severe trauma from my childhood.
Demo-man: Wanna drink them away?
Sniper: *already chugging down several cans*

Chapter 5: Sniper Stargazing With Heavy

Summary:

Sniper does a round two in drinking and another round in collecting a friend!

TW for Sniper's abusive parents and just repeated themes of the Australian living his absolute worse life ever.

Notes:

Consider this a christmas treat!

Sniper used to be scared.

He used to be scared of a lot of things.

He thinks it’s because of his parents, they always scared him, and he could never do anything about it. There was nothing in the world that could make him less scared of the way his mother would grip his shoulder or the way his dad would throw him outside with nothing less than the clothes on his back. It was scary having to deal with the darkness by himself and even scarier when he soon realised that no one would be able to help him.

He used to be scared of the dark.

He hated that he could never see the things around him, he hated the unknown and that terrified him. Sniper couldn’t remember a time when he overcame that particular fear, but he did remember getting used to it. Because he had to get used to it. He had to get used to the darkness because his dad liked taking him there, his dad liked stuffing him in closets and he liked to toss him out in the wilderness whenever the sun went down.

Sniper had to get used to the darkness because there were creatures out there that could smell his fear and he couldn’t afford to be afraid. He couldn’t even scream because then his dad would yell at him, chasing him through the forest to make sure he never bothered his parents again for the rest of the night.

So yeah, he got used to the dark. He had to.

Because when he got older, the darkness shifted into something that protected him. Sniper could hide in the dark to escape his punishments, he could hide under his bed protected by the shadows as his dad would search for him around the house. He would use the darkness to run through his small neighbourhood, hunting for food scraps in the nearby bins.

The darkness would follow him wherever he went, and he would let it because sometimes it was better.

Sometimes though, when the shadows lingered for too long or when he closed his eyes to sleep, it would all swallow him whole and he could do nothing but succumb to his fear. He just hated the unknown, hated what could hide in the darkness and destroy whatever made him feel safe in the first place.

He used to be scared of the dark and maybe he still was, but there was nothing he could do about it. he had to get used to it. He had to.

Then came the silence, Sniper used to be scared of the silence too.

Kind of ironic, really.

It was hard to explain.

Back then in his youth, silence meant danger, silence meant he was in trouble and silence meant it was already too late.

Silence was the dreaded anticipation that came before his life became significantly worse. Like when he came home and mum would say nothing to him, she would be silent, holding a piece of paper in her hand before locking him in his room without dinner. Or when the teachers called him in during playtime, they would always be silent, only staring at him before forcing him to sit in the corner of the room for punishment.

Sniper could never escape the silence because he would always be in trouble, and it would always start the same way. With silence.

It was horrible, not even the darkness was silent and that was because there were always creatures, always something making noise and that became his comfort. But when Sniper was alone and there was nothing around him, he was hopeless to the fear that consumed his tiny body.

Silence became a warning to him, a silent and deadly signal that told him of his impending doom. Whether it be hiding in the bathroom stalls from his bullies or hiding from his dad with a belt, his only warning would be the silence before they would find him. They would always find him. He could never escape because the silence was always there, and it was terrifying.

But like the constant darkness, he had to get used to it. He had to use the silence to protect himself because there was nothing else, he could do.

The silence became his weapon, and he became quiet.

He didn’t talk to the teachers that wanted to know how he kept getting bruised, he didn’t talk to the bullies that gave him said bruises and he didn’t talk to his parents that tried to beat the silence out of him. Small Snipes used the silence against all of them, forcing them to hate it as much as he did. Because they did this to him, and it shouldn’t really be his fault but then the silence would come back like it always did and Snipes would be at square one once again. It was an endless cycle.

At least the darkness would eventually fade away, but the silence never would. He didn’t recall a specific moment when the silence became well and truly stopped bothering him. Maybe it was when he moved away from his childhood town, running away from the things that kept him quiet.

He really didn’t know.

It still followed him though, the silence and the darkness. It always followed him.

Finally, there was the strangers.

He used to be scared of strangers, arguably the worst fear he ever had.

It was different than the other two, because strangers would actively hunt him down.

Darkness was a punishment; silence was a warning, but strangers were a death sentence.

Strangers chased him down hallways, yelled at him, grabbed him by his limbs and never let go until he was black and blue. He could never run fast enough, never be quiet enough, never hide quick enough so that the strangers couldn’t hurt him. They always knew where he was. Every. Single. Time.

There was just nothing he could do, it was the one fear that always had the upper hand, rendering him immobile both literally and figuratively. It was the one thing that he couldn’t change, because strangers were always the same.

Teachers were strangers because they never tried to listen to him, they never bothered to help him or understand why he didn’t talk. Those adults only ever despised him, he was a nuisance that didn’t know how to behave and purposely went looking for trouble. Ironically, they would call his parents because they couldn’t control him like the other students. Sniper remembered how the teachers yelled at him, threatened him with his own parents as if it would make him any better behaved.

Then he would turn up to school the next day with more injuries and the teachers would get mad all over again; clearly, he was still picking fights with the other kids, no other possible reason. It was an endless cycle, and he couldn’t escape from it.

These teachers were strangers, and they would remain strangers throughout the rest of his childhood years.

They weren’t the only people that made his life a living hell, there were also his constant tormentors. The other strangers that hunted him down during playtime and afterschool like the monsters they were. Snipes could not recall a single school day that didn’t end with these strangers holding him down and throwing punch after punch after punch.

Their laughter would haunt him in his dreams if he ever had any.

These strangers were his bullies because they knew nothing about him, and he knew nothing about them. He didn’t know their names, but they knew his. He didn’t know where they lived, but they knew, they liked following behind him with rocks at their disposal. All because he was quiet, because he didn’t talk, because they were all strangers, and he didn’t talk to strangers.

Even his own parents were strangers to him. He didn’t know a single thing about them, he didn’t know their birthdays, their favourite colours or even what they did. He knew nothing about them apart from the fact that they were his parents, they were related but not willingly.

Sniper did know that his mum wanted a daughter, that she wanted someone who could talk and wouldn’t interrupt her TV time with their loud stomach. He knew that his dad hated seeing him from the mornings to the nights and he favoured using his belt as punishment.

All he knew about his parents was what to not do.

They didn’t even call him by his name.

Therefore, they were strangers.

Therefore, they scared him and therefore they were just more people that liked to hurt him for fun. They were inescapable.

Sniper couldn’t get used to strangers, as much as he likes to think he’s no longer afraid of them, he’d be lying. He could never adapt from them, never find the right angle to use his fear of strangers as a survival tool like the others. Unlike his fears of both darkness and silence that taught him how to endure his torture, his aversion to strangers just never changed.

His teenage years were the same, a constant repeat of strangers that tried to tell him what to do and fix his bad habits. None of it ever worked because they were strangers and Sniper didn’t listen to strangers.

Really, the only thing that changed were the people around him, when finally, he wasn’t surrounded by the same taunting peers.

His parents couldn’t follow him anymore, his bullies all died, and his teachers forgot about him the moment he moved away from them.

Instead, he was taken to a new place with different kinds of people, borderline strangers but not the kind he was used to. These strangers didn’t hunt him down, didn’t torment him and didn’t go out of their way to make his life miserable. It was a pretty low bar, but it meant something to Sniper when none of them tried to talk to him.

The first 'not' stranger to shift from a someone was unsurprisingly Scout, a youngster that liked to hover around him. Scout learnt about things that those usual strangers never bothered with, he actually listened despite his chatty nature. The Bostonian became a constant, something that Sniper expected with little to no fear or desire to hide away.

Then naturally came Pyro, Scout’s known best friend that gave gifts and offered their own silence. But this silence was safe; it was quiet. The firebug was never really a stranger, but was definitely a someone to Sniper, someone that mattered to him. Pyro became a comfort that Sniper didn’t know he needed, a presence that offered sanctuary and nothing more.

Engie was in his one league entirely. He was a stranger first and foremost, an unknown danger that initially scared Sniper upon their first interaction. It’s a distant memory now, but he didn’t like how the mechanic reminded him of his own dad. The man acted like how his old man did in front of those other strangers, those other dangerous people that liked to beat down on him. It was only recently did the Engineer become a prominent figure in Sniper’s weekly schedule that allowed those moments where he didn’t feel like he had to be quiet for his own safety. Engie became a lifeline, something that he could cling onto with no fear of repercussion.

The newest addition was Demoman or ‘Tavish Finnegan DeGroot’ as he introduced himself to Snipes that fateful drinking night. Honestly, there wasn’t much he could say about the Scotsman and for once that didn’t scare the sharpshooter. It didn’t scare him because Tavish wasn’t a stranger, because they knew each other and that was all that was needed. Just the knowledge that they could drink together actually made Snipes happy. Demoman became a haven that allowed them both to escape their own problems, something they both needed.

Sniper used to be scared.

He probably still was scared of most things.

But at least now, he had people that could help him. At least now, he could finally breathe and no longer linger in the shadows from his team or worry about being forced to talk.

He was allowed to be himself. He’s never been allowed to do that before.

And maybe that’s why he felt confident for once, maybe that’s why he accepted Demoman’s invitation for a drink and maybe that’s why he found himself walking over to the familiar metal shack.

The gravel crunched underneath his boots, a sound that soothed him as the night began to fully settle against the sky. He was dressed in his usual long pants, shirt and accompanying vest that kept him warm. His glasses rested on his face to provide its usual comfort as well as of course bringing in the extra grog for another late night of drinking.

As he neared closer to the shack, he paused just out the front.

He could hear voices, as in more than one.

Sniper hesitated.

Maybe he should head back?

He didn’t actually need to drink tonight anyway; he could just go back to the safety of his van. He had his talk with Engie today, so he could skip the little get together until the next day. Nodding to himself, Sniper turned around, already planning on how he was going to spend his night.

“Aye, the drinkings happening in here!”

Snipes sighed.

It was times like these that reminded him how much the world hated him.

He slowly turned back around, closely aware of his rapidly beating heart and that familiar itch whenever he got nervous. Logically, he knew it wasn’t a trap of any kind but there was something.

There was someone.

A stranger. His biggest fear.

Sniper could just barely make out the second figure, looking to be seated with a few drinks already on the table. His fingers twitched against his box of drinks, ratting them subconsciously as he forced himself to head back to the shack. Every step felt like he was walking closer and closer to his own grave. He could hear the shadows laughing at him, leaving him blind with no idea what awaited him. The silence was killing him, a hidden signal that told him of awaiting danger from inside the metal home. And of course, there was the stranger that could end Sniper’s entire evening and the rest of his foreseeable future. Strangers always held all the power, leaving nothing left for him.

Darkness was a punishment; silence was a warning, but strangers were a death sentence.

He knew all the signs; it was happening right now, and he could do nothing but accept whatever outcome may occur.

At least he had his shades on, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to explain why his eyes were jumping around all over the place. It was habit at this point to check for all signs of entries and exits, already planning out his escape route if things turned sour. One could never be too careful, and Sniper wasn’t looking to get himself in trouble just yet.

Strangers and troubles never mixed, particularly when alcohol was involved like now.

Though, he wasn’t overly concerned, Tavish was still here, watching him carefully despite chugging down a bottle that he didn’t recognise. Sniper allowed himself to be led inside, taking note of how the Scotsman gave him space to enter.

Instintcively, the sharpshooter immediately beelined it to his usual spot. An old couch that looked to be on its last legs and deflated whenever anyone sat in it. He loved it. Demoman had mentioned once to him before that only Snipes really used the old thing, essentially becoming an ‘only Sniper’ sitting area.

“Told ya, he liked to sit there.”

A grunt followed the Scott’s words and Sniper forced himself not to flinch at the sudden noise. He had forgotten about the stranger, completely misled by his favourite couch, and ambushed back into the awkward social situation. The sharpshooter slowly turned his head towards the other person, almost freezing entirely at who it was.

The legendary Russian Heavy.

A person more wrapped in mystery than maybe even the Spy himself, though anyone new to the Sniper was like that. He hadn’t interacted much with the large man before, only ever walking past each other and the occasional head nod. There wasn’t much between the two.

It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Heavy hung out with Medic. Sniper had nothing against the doctor, nothing at all, but he did hate the man for reasons unexplainable. So, there was a huge chance that he just avoided the both of them throughout most of his stay on the base. It was easier that way, sort of like how he used to avoid Scout in fear that Pyro would soon follow afterwards. He was right in a way; the pair did eventually find him.

But this was different.

This was different because he was acutely aware of Heavy staring right at him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

His leg began bouncing out of nervousness, becoming a bundle of energy that needed a release. His fingers twitched and Sniper remembered the drinks he had brought, numbly opening one of his bottles to combat against his instincts that told him to run. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t alone, that while Heavy may be a stranger, Demoman was not and that was enough for him. His haven wouldn’t kick him out and certainly wouldn’t put him in a shitty situation like his teachers. This was different, it had to be different.

“Alright, you awkward fucks.”

The already drunken Scott burped loudly, waving over the sniper with a certain type of anger in his movements. “Sniper get over here or I’ll fucking drag ya!”

Heavy snorted at the man’s words while Sniper could already feel his nerves getting worse. He threw back his bottle, chugging it with ease before finally standing up to sit next to Tavish. It unfortunately also put him in front of the Russian but at least there was a person between them somewhat. The table was circular, and it left little room between the three of them, combined also with the various drinks already starting to stack up. Sniper dropped his container of grog on the table loudly, pulling out another bottle to replace the one he finished, dropping the empty one on the floor.

He'd pick it up in the morning.

As he brought the bottle up to his lips, the Scott wrapped a warm arm around his shoulders, bringing him in closely.

“Now.” The man slurred.

“I’ve been bothered all fucking week by this giant of a man and I’m getting bloody sick of it! You two are gonna talk, chat, fuck, whatever you want but I’m gonna drink and you two better as well!”

Tavish finished his speech off with another chug of his bottle, swaying on his seat dangerously before letting go of Sniper and standing up. The sharpshooter watched warily as his friend swayed to the other end of the metal shack, seemingly rummaging around for his own supply.

A soft cough interrupted Sniper’s viewing, turning to finally face the stranger and regard Heavy with caution. There was an awkward silence between the two like the weapons expert was struggling over his own words while Snipes stayed silent. He didn’t know what to say either, instead focusing on his beer bottle as he finished it. Maybe if he drunk quick enough, he could just forget about this whole situation.

“I have been watching you, Sniper. You talk with the others, not like before. I am interested?”

Sniper nodded his head slowly, already reaching for his third bottle. This was something he could work with at least, Heavy was curious about him talking with Scout and Pyro probably. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what reputation he had on the base. It was only a matter of time before someone said something about it.

“I have wanted to talk with you for a long time, we share same harsh countries. Me with the cold and you with the hot.”

There was a pause.

Sniper reached for another bottle.

“Do you miss your country?”

Yes.

He missed it a lot.

He hadn’t stopped missing it since he first left to join this team. It was a bittersweet feeling, the fact that they lived in the desert, yet it was still unfamiliar; this was not his desert, not his home, not what taught him how to survive and live off the things around him.

This wasn’t the desert that saved him more times than he can count.

This wasn’t home.

Sniper blinked, staring at his bottle a little too hard as the world slightly spun around him. He usually didn’t get this tipsy after five drinks. Must be the nerves.

“Desert was safe for you?”

Fuck yeah, it was.

He loved the sun, the sand, the harshness that forced you to adapt, to get better. There was nothing more thrilling in his life than that.

Oh, to be back out there, hiding in plain sight as he took down the creatures that liked to hunt him. Not even the shadows could touch him there. They would run, flee into the comforts of the night while Sniper got to prowl. It was fine, it was invigorating.

“Aye, you got him talking!” A voice cheered.

Fuck off.

A cackle could be heard in the distance along with the sound of more bottles being placed. Sniper didn’t think twice before grabbing some more, already craving the addictiveness of getting drunk until all thoughts were lost on him.

“What does he mean shadows?”

“Ask him!”

“Sniper-”

Shadows were bad. They were these pests that liked to make fun of those that suffered, a constant torment that followed him until he got in trouble.

Trouble.

Trouble was bad too.

Trouble was silence and silence was death. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, they don’t understand because they’ve never had to fight the silence before.

“He’s gone fucking poetic!”

“I know silence.” A voice whispered, almost reverent. The Australian could only just make out the shape of Heavy scooting closer, leaning forward as if he understood. And maybe he did. Sniper didn’t know him.

“We are teammates.”

No, strangers.

There was a difference.

Another bottle was pushed into his hands, automatically going down his throat as the buzz started to rev up. His fingers felt tingly, that special kind of sensation that told him of what kind of morning he was going to have tomorrow. But he didn’t care, he had more pressing matters.

He had to talk to the stranger.

Because he was afraid of strangers.

But he didn’t want to be. He wanted friends.

Where were his friends?

“Fuck, Heavy grab ‘em!”

Strong hands gently took a hold of Sniper’s shaking body, pulling him back down to his seat. He didn’t even struggle, slumping back in his chair as his head hung heavy. He could feel a bottle near his fingertips, reaching for it like clockwork. It was just what he needed.

“Sniper, we can be friends?”

Okay, that was good. Strangers liked to kill him. Strangers would kill him.

He didn’t need more strangers.

That’s why he left; he needed less strangers.

He needed a new place to go, where the strangers couldn’t reach him. He left his country, his home, he had left it all behind. But he still missed it.

How could he miss something that hurt him?

It was cruel.

Sniper could hear a faint hum, a whisper of words followed by another obnoxious laugh. He could feel himself being lifted up from his seat, rendered useless as his limbs lacked any motivation to actually resist against whatever was happening. Even his vision was failing him, cutting in and out while the world moved around him with no consequence.

All he knew was that by the time his consciousness started to stir, he was in the team’s kitchen of all places. The sharpshooter lifted his head up, not knowing when he rested it in the first place and took note of the familiar figure moving around.

It was his friend, Heavy.

Sniper wanted to wave at him.

“Hello, Sniper.”

Friend. There were friends.

“Hello, friend Sniper?”

Better.

A soft chuckle answered him, soon followed by his friend sitting next to him.

“Here, friend, some food.”

Sniper blinked, looking down at the bowl being guided into his hands. Déjà vu suddenly hit him, a familiar scene where Engie would do the same thing for him during his worser hangovers. He picked up the spoon, pausing every so often to control his limbs as the smell of the food finally reached his nose.

It smelt fucking delicious.

“Thank you.”

Friend.

“Friend.”

He hummed satisfied.

His friend was really bad at remember they were friends; he’d have to remind him.

“How will Sniper remind me?”

That actually made him pause. The sharpshooter narrowed his eyes in concentration, using all the knowledge of his drunk brain to fix the important dilemma in front of him. Heavy was his friend; the man had listened to him and hadn’t hurt him. That meant they were friends and Sniper didn’t like losing his friends.

He would have to remind his new friend with more stories, possibly talk. But talking didn’t like him and he didn’t like talking. He didn’t like a thought of things.

He was scared of most things.

“How do you become not scared?”

He listens, he thinks.

When the darkness liked to hunt him, Sniper used to listen, he used to listen to all the sounds around him so that the creatures couldn’t get to him first.

When the silence became too much, he listened as well. It was different, because silence was the warning but if he listened, he could hear it. He could the silence of his dad, the quiet breathing that became slurred words, the footsteps that became loud above the creaking floorboards. He could hear the silence if he listened.

Even strangers would reveal themselves if Sniper listened close enough. All it took was a few wrong words, using their own threats against them and soon he would have the power. It never lasted long, but he would have those brief moments where he wasn’t scared, where he didn’t run away.

He never stopped being scared, he just got used to it. He listened and somehow that landed him here. Funny how that worked.

Now, Sniper didn’t really remember the rest of the night. His mind had succumbed to the delayed affects of alcohol and simply shut down. It was just this one moment where he registered that he wasn’t in danger, where the person next to him wasn’t a stranger but Heavy, his new friend. Something about that and the calmness of the team’s base just made his brain sleepy, followed by the rest of his body.

He didn’t remember being carried or the words that fell out of his mouth as he was randomly greeted by the cold air.

What he could remember, was mixture of blurry moments that made his hungover mind already start to ache.

There was something involving the sky, how Sniper was struggling to find his keys and simply slumped in one of his chairs outside. He was joined by Heavy, that detail was very important.

They stared up at the night sky, taking in the many stars as they twinkled beautifully. He felt oddly calm, enjoying the darkness, the silence, and the stranger beside him that watched him as he watched the night.

He didn’t feel scared.

He hadn’t not felt scared in a long time. It had to be due to Heavy, the unstoppable beast that slaughtered all those that stood in front of him. Yet, here they were staring up at the sky as time moved on by. It was a special moment.

Sniper couldn’t remember a time like that where he could enjoy the presence of someone he barely knew. There was a noticeable gap between him and the larger mercenary, but in that moment, it felt like they were the same. In that small second, they shared, there was a need for him to actually get to know the other man. It was a different feeling than what he was used to.

Both Scout, and Pyro actively sought him out rather than Sniper having to do anything. Engie and Demoman just made themselves available for whenever he wanted to visit, simply dropping in and out to enjoy their respective companies.

But Heavy wanted to get to know and Sniper wanted to let him. He wanted the other to talk to him, to share their stories because for once, someone understood him in a way that made sense. Heavy understood his fears, he understood the darkness, the silence, and the strangers. He heard it all and still wanted to stay.

Strangers didn’t do that, but friends did.

Heavy was a friend now.

It was a revelation that still had sober Sniper reeling, knowing that yet another drunken night ended with him getting to know another teammate. And honestly, he didn’t really mind it.

The sharpshooter stretched out his back, taking stock of all the things around him as he woke up back in his van. He must’ve found the keys after all or Heavy had helped him which seemed more likely considering how shitfaced he got last night. It was certainly an experience and yet Sniper found himself with someone else he could rely on, another outlet except this one would push away his fears.

Heavy was his protector, like how he protected him on the battlefield. Heavy was what made the darkness pause, what made the silence loud, what made strangers nothing more than people that couldn’t reach him.

Heavy made it safe, made him feel safe. Because they were friends now and maybe that’s why Sniper found himself adjusting his schedule once more, he wanted to meetup with Heavy again.

Wake up.

Blast Scout’s music for his workout.

Relax with the kid.

Clean van.

Steal food before the others arrive.

Check in with Engie.

Drink with Tavish.

Back into van.

Help Pyro with their colouring book.

Clean and check over his weapons.

Stargaze with Heavy.

Nap.

And repeat.

Notes:

Heavy: You intrigue me.
Sniper: I have trauma and I'm drunk.
Heavy: We will be great friends!
Sniper: Fuck yeah!

Chapter 6: Sniper sharing updates with Medic

Summary:

Becoming friends with Heavy meant Medic was soon to follow, it only sucked that Sniper completely despised the man for very rational reasons.

It has nothing to do with past trauma resurfacing, but at least we get to see the reason for why Sniper was so feared.

T/W: Blood, Animal Death/Hunting, Usual references to Sniper's terrible childhood.

Notes:

Special shout out to my most recent comments on this fic on both my ao3 and fanfic version!! Not lying when I say you guys gave me the boost, I needed to finish this chapter!

I appreciate every comment and kudos on this work, so I hope you all enjoying reading this very late chapter!! <33

For all the knowledge and skills that he has, sometimes Sniper forgets things. It can be little things like where he placed his socks or bigger things like where he last rested his gear. His mind was constantly thinking of so many things at once, that it’s inevitable for him to forget things along the way. It was basic human nature to forget.

But on this particular day, Snipes had a prickling feeling that he was forgetting something big. It followed him around, almost mocking in how hard his mind struggled to figure it out. Whatever it was, it was doing circles around him and Sniper for the life of him couldn’t place it. His calendar had nothing of importance marked on it and of his teammates certainly hadn’t mentioned anything.

He knew they were no birthdays coming up, that was at least something he was sure on. Scout had a habit of bringing up whoever’s birthday was nearest to mock them on their old age. It was a long-standing tradition that the youngest had, much to the fond annoyance of everyone else.

There were no mocking declarations at this week, which meant no birthdays that Sniper was forgetting.

So, what was it?

He had half a mind to blame his recent self with Heavy and Demoman, recalling the long night they had prior that was filled with stories and terrible singing. It could be possible that one of them mentioned something and his brain had just fixated on it even while sober. But if that were the case, then he should have at least had something to work with like a vague word or possibly a story, but he had nothing.

Sniper was clutching at straws, and it was starting to really get to him; he hated not knowing things. His whole persona revolved around being aware, being knowledgeable and being prepared for whatever the world may throw at him or his teammates.

He could count on a number of times where his sharp mind was able to read the opposing team and prevent them from gunning down Scout or getting in the way of their Heavy. It was his job.

If he failed then his team failed and he’d have failed his job, the ultimate crime.

The sharpshooter couldn’t be running around and forgetting things like this, it was embarrassing. He was embarrassing himself and he could feel the cold, cruel world laughing at him. His only saving grace was that his koala family wasn’t here to see him in his moment of weakness. He had relocated them back to his sniper nest once it became clear that his memory was not going to function like he wanted it to.

It was too irritating to deal with, this constant gap in his mind that refused to reveal itself and causing more harm than good.

Sniper was never the best at handling his temper at even the best of times and this was no different. His nails were certainly suffering, bitten down to the line with the surrounding skin being picked off as he struggled to reign in his bad mood.

He still thought about his scuffle with Scout, no matter how much the younger bloke kept waving it off. Even thinking about it just made the sharpshooter’s skin begin to crawl, another itch that forever bothered him as the days went by. He was but a ticking timebomb ready to go off and he feared for whoever would be brave enough to confront him about it.

His souring mood was certainly noted by the rest of his teammates who all watched him from the sidelines. Engie had simply patted him on the shoulder, saying nothing but everything all at once from that simple gesture. Both Scout and Pyro stayed clear of him after the latest match but made their presence known in his periphery. The pair had figured out the perfect distance in not being too far to be registered as avoidance and close enough that Sniper could go to them if he wanted. It was all perfect.

The only thing ruining it was his own mind, as per usual.

And it was only getting worse.

“Fuck!”

Sniper slammed his hand harshly against the nearest metal locker, feeling the aftereffects of regeneration swirl around his body in annoyance. It was his fifth time getting caught by the enemy team and his patience was gradually running thin. Every spot he hid in, or crouched near was quickly riddled with bullets that would soon match the rest of his body. It was downright embarrassing to be caught out so many times while the rest of his team pushed forward. They would finish the match without him and Sniper would have to live with the embarrassment of underperforming. It had to be his worst game so far.

He glanced down at his now stinging hand, feeling his frustration bubble up once more before ultimately giving in to his anger.

With another loud shout, Sniper raised his fist and punched the metal locker in front of him once more.

A loud ‘pop’ was the only warning he got before excruciating pain shot up his wrist in an instant.

“Fuck, Fuck!” Sniper snarled.

He gripped his injured left hand with his right and quickly made his way out the locker room. Distantly, he could hear the sounds of his teammates making their way towards him, most likely to decompress and taunt each other about the match. Both Scout and Pyro had a running bet over who had the most kills while the older veterans would give unhelpful tips about how to improve for the next battle. Sniper, however, was in no mood to socialise and more importantly was in no mood to run into the Medic.

He absolutely despised that man.

The German doctor was too curious for his own good, always poking and prodding in places that Sniper would rather not have him be in. He’s seen the horrors with his own eyes, shivering in disgust at what the Medic claimed were ‘fake human organs’ in his fridge or the constantly bloodied pigeons that often littered the base. Their eyes were as soulless as the doctor’s and that was enough for the sharpshooter to stay clear. In fact, it was personally Sniper’s mission in life to never be in the same room as the crazed Medic; he was doing quite well.

And he refused to let a simple dislocated wrist get in his way.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to pop his own bones back in and it won’t be the last. Sniper was all too used to caring for his own injuries, even before he began hiding away from Medic.

He used to spend days hiding behind school buildings, checking himself over for any visible bruising before a teacher could spot him. They like the Medic were too nosy, always asking the wrong questions as if to piss him off purposefully. The adults in his life never understood him or bothered to look beyond the reputation that the small town had forced onto him. He was the troublemaker, always doing things for attention and scrapping with kids that were always the innocent party. There was simply no winning, so Sniper learned to deal with the punches both literally and figuratively.

No one ever had any hopes for him and neither did he.

With a quiet sigh Sniper found himself in front of his van, body on autopilot as he leaned used his uninjured hand to gently open the door. His eyes adjusted to the dimly lit inside and began to look around for any leftover scraps to create a sling. The memories were already flooding through his mind, guiding him on what to do while he gathered what he needed. His eyes automatically locked onto his discarded belt hanging off his cramped kitchen table. The stinging of his wrist was gradually getting worse, and it was with great reluctance that he shoved the hard leather into his mouth, biting down as hard as he could.

In, out, in, out.

He always hated this part.

Sniper slumped to the ground, sitting cross-legged as he leaned back on the kitchen bench to brace himself. He lifted up his injured wrist, forcing himself to stay conscious as he slowly and painfully guided the bone back into its proper place.

In, out, in, out.

His tortuous screams were muffled by the leather, brute forcing his eyes to not roll back from the pain of simply even touching his injury. His head slammed viciously against the cabinets behind him; an old method he used to do to distract himself. He could feel his leg start to shake uncontrollably, needing to let off its energy as the pain began to worsen with every movement.

In, out, in, out.

He had to keep going, he had to, he had to, he had to.

In, out, in, out.

Another guttural scream ripped out of him before finally, the bone was pushed back properly. He slumped against the cabinets, closing his eyes temporarily as his mind struggled to stay conscious.

In, out, in, out.

He repeated the mantra to ground himself and to breathe through the numbing pain of resetting his wrist. It used to be much easier when he was younger with bones that were a lot sturdier and more resilient against pain. He almost wished he was Scout’s age just so patching himself up could be easier. That kid could bounce back from anything, always nonstop running regardless of how quickly he was killed or brought back. Nothing phased the little bugger; it was his best and worst quality.

Almost idly the sharpshooter continued to chew on the belt in his mouth as he flexed his now fixed hand. His thoughts naturally went to his teammates, mapping out what each one of them doing. He could see the sun setting from inside his van, taking note of the darkening shadows and lack of clouds that usually littered the sky. No doubt, Engie might be slightly concerned as he hadn’t adhered to his schedule of debriefing with the man. However, glancing back down at his wrist, Sniper could feel his growing reluctance of leaving his van just yet. It would be clear to all that he was injured and most importantly, Medic would be called.

He did not want that. Anything but that.

The others might have their rumours of Sniper being the scariest member, but truly it was the Medic. There was just something about his lack of actual medical ethics and open experiments that left the sharpshooter with fear in his soul. The very man scared him and there was little anyone could do to change that.

No matter how much Heavy tried to prove otherwise.

It was clearer with every passing day that the Russian was trying his absolute hardest to get him to be near the Medic. Their conversations would titter into its usual silence and with the subtlety of a brick to the face, Heavy would ask about his strong dislike towards their healer.

“He would do no harm towards you.”

“He is my friend.”

“I trust him.”

But Sniper didn’t and that was the difference between them.

He didn’t trust any medical professional and that had nothing to do with his upbringing. It just became common sense; they were all like every other adult in his life that claimed to be looking out for him. He remembered their stares, their pity and their ever-condescending conversations about his supposed concerning injuries. Nothing ever went beyond the simple, ‘Is everything okay at home?’ 

And he would say yes because everything was okay.

He’d get locked outside but that was okay because he could still hunt for lizards to eat later on. He’d get cut by mum’s nails whenever she grabbed him too hard, but it was okay because the bruising never lasted too long. He’d get dropped off at stranger's houses because his parents didn’t want him but that was okay because he could always walk back home anyway. Just one of the many benefits of living in a small town and it’s not like anyone actually took him in so it was okay because that was his every day, that was his life. And everything was okay.

Everything was okay in the way that everything now was okay.

Sitting on the kitchen floor with a belt in his mouth and a fixed wrist that was starting to swell. It was all okay because he could time travel anywhere in his past and still be in the same situation he was in now.

It was all okay.

There were no tears being shed or haunting regret that followed him because he’s been dealing with this forever, and he’s definitely not upset that he’s dealing with it now. Nothing concerning was happening or had happened and he just needs to pick himself up off the floor, because it was all okay. He was only ever okay and that was okay.

Okay, okay, okay.

What a silly word.

Neither good nor bad but just enough.

And wasn’t that the motto to his entire life?

He was never not okay, never remembering a day where he truly enjoyed living yet still hanging on to the belief that his okay would change to something better. That maybe one day a different answer would escape his lips when people asked how he was doing. That maybe one day, ‘okay’ would change to ‘better’.

But that was not this day, and it would never be that day.

Today would be an okay day like every other day.

It was a sobering thought like a reminder that nothing truly changed despite the friends that he may now have or the shift in schedule that he once lived by almost obsessively. He could never truly escape the fears that lingered from a time long before, regardless of the thousands of miles and ocean that separated him from his home. Maybe that’s what he had forgotten, the reason why he didn’t do that stuff. Why he didn’t make friends, why he distanced himself, why he was the way that he was. Maybe this ‘okayness’ was what he had forgotten, and this was fate’s way of reminding him.

Suddenly, two gentle knocks interrupted Sniper’s spiralling mind. 

“Sniper?”

Speaking of fate, it seemed that Heavy of all people was making his appearance.

He could make out the large man’s silhouette from just behind the safety of his van’s window. As he watched Heavy lift his hand up to knock once more, he made a split-second decision.

“Coming, hang on!”

Sniper lifted himself off the ground, sucking in any noises of pain as used his one good arm to leverage himself. His breathing quickened with every moment, agonisingly and painstakingly pushing his body towards the door. It felt like an eternity had passed as his hand finally made contact with the silver doorknob, swinging it open and nearly whacking Heavy in the process.

“What do you want!?” He snapped harshly.

“It’s nightfall, we watch the stars?”

And shit, Snipes hadn’t realised how truly late it had gotten.

“Sorry mate not today, I’m not feeling it.” He made to shut the door but stumbled as his teammate suddenly moved in front him, bringing them chest to chest.

“You are hurt.” Heavy’s words were sharp, almost concerned but Sniper wasn’t in the mood, and he knew exactly what the weaponist would say next.

“I’m not going to the fucking medic!”

“Sniper-”

“I’m not fucking going!”

His ears were ringing, pounding in his head while his hand continued to throb painfully. There was no way in hell that Snipes was even going to entertain the idea of seeing that lunatic, he wasn’t fucking stupid. He knew what they were like, speaking in false promises and twisted words before sending him to his death, to his parents. Filling their heads with dangerous ideas that they could somehow fix his ‘muteness’, his brokenness. They were all sick in the head.

And Sniper refused to be hurt by those gloved hands.

He would never make that mistake again.

“Heavy it isn’t fucking happening so back off or I’ll do something we’ll both regret.”

Because he didn’t care if Heavy was his teammate, newly found friend or fucking family member, he would put a bullet through a man if he so much as touched him. His fingers were itching to pull a trigger of some kind, already moving his hand towards the small pistol he always kept in his cargo pants. It felt like his team needed a reminder of why he was so feared in the first place; of why his select rage was a thing of legends. And as he watched Heavy gulp slowly, he knew that the Russian was remembering it just as he had.

The stories upon stories the teammates would share after battle, Sniper heard them all but most importantly he heard what they all said about him. How wary they were of his uncanny aim, his unnatural silence even out of battle and the lingering smell death that seemed to follow him after every good win. Because was a killer like the rest of them, but even more so.

His instincts were honed for the wild, for the things that gave chase and fought back; he was an animal, perhaps even a monster. It never bothered him when the others would gossip, but he thought that after all that, Heavy would at least learn to be weary of his targeted rage.

He did feel some slight regret, but this was involving the Medic, and his opinion of the man was very well documented by mainly Scout himself.

“Okay,” Heavy answered slowly, taking a step away from the van with his hands slightly raised, “Do not want to upset. I am worried over your injuries; Medic could fix better.”

He gestured to the obvious swelling in Sniper’s wrist, seemingly fixated on it before looking back up at the sharpshooter.

“Could also get worse.”

Snipes snarled back, almost provoking the other to defend his ‘friend’ but it seemed that Heavy knew what he was doing.

“I don’t want to fight with you, we are friends, yes?”

A tense pause.

“We can be friends, so long as you stop bringing up Medic.”

“I will try.”

“Then yeah, we’re friends.”

Heavy’s shoulders slumped with obvious relief, and it was only then did the Sniper allow his body to go on autopilot. He followed his usual routine of grabbing out his cooler with one hand before sitting in his lawn chairs with the other mercenary. The two stared at the stars together, idle and light chitchat passing by as the constellations swirled above them. He couldn’t tell you their exact stories shared but it happened and all too soon he was waving off Heavy to get some shut eye.

However, his rage still simmered, boiling underneath his skin despite the calm end to the night. He was still pissed that Heavy had the gall to even mention let alone tell him to see the Medic. It was all bullshit.

He glanced down at his wrist, warily eyeing the discoloration around the joint as well swelling that had yet to come down. Even moving his hand slight sent jolts of pain running up his arm as he flinched instinctively. Coming to a quick decision and with a half thought out plan, Sniper grabbed a discarded shirt to turn into a self-made slung to alleviate the pain of his injury. It would have to do for now and he only needed it for the night anyway, so he wasn’t too concerned on its effectiveness.

With a quick breath in and out, Snipes found himself on the dirt track that headed out towards the base trees. It was a small forest that he believed the administrator had planted to make it appear like they weren’t completely surrounded by plains of sand. There even were small creatures that were ticked by the fauna, quickly becoming Sniper’s food whenever he forgot that he was in fact allowed in the kitchen. It was something Engie had to keep reminding him about, but the lesson never stuck for too long. Hopefully Heavy’s lesson will go much better.

The sharpshooter moved through the thick shrubbery with ease, having already memorised every inch of the plant life. He quickly found his target high in one of the treetop branches, nibbling on a leftover sandwich that Scout must’ve chucked out. It was providing the perfect distraction for him as he neared the tree while taking aim with his old bow and arrow. He lifted the weapon to the air, adjusting the arrow with his good hand before using his mouth to pull the string back.

It was an old trick he had taught himself back in his youthful days when his injuries had gotten too intense.

In, out, in, out.

He let go of the arrow, hearing it whistle through the air as it neared its target.

The squirrel had barely lifted its head before falling to ground with a gentle thud. It’s blood slowly leaked out of its body, wetting the grass and staining it red. But Sniper wasn’t done, no, his rage was still simmering, still itching beneath his skin. His eyes locked onto his next target, a decent sized mockingbird that had yet to be alerted of his presence.

In, out, in, out.

The arrow went flying through the wind once more, nailing the poor sucker straight through its chest and as predicted fell to the roots of the tree. Its blood intermingled with that of the squirrel’s, creating a masterpiece that only temporarily calmed the sharpshooter. He swiftly made his over to his collection, picking up the corpses and stuffing them into his vest pockets out of habit. Uncaring for the blood that stained his skin or the stains that it would leave his only focus was collecting his rewards. This would be a good start, but still not enough.

Sniper spent the better half of his night hunting down a combination of small creatures, patiently waiting them to poke out their heads before sinking an arrow into them. By the time he was out, he had around ten tributes to decorate Heavy’s door, and that was exactly where he was heading. His footsteps were silent against the gravel path with his training guiding him on where the softest part of the track was. He couldn’t risk getting caught by any of the other team members, especially not by his target.

In, out, in, out.

He slowly entered the base, mindful of the lights still being left on and the lowered volume of the TV that suggested someone might still be up. The show appeared to be a documentary, showing off birds and their habitats, nothing that clued him in on who exactly would such a thing. Nonetheless, he pressed on with his back against the wall as he trailed down the familiar hallway towards Heavy’s room. He could feel the blood start to dry and began to move quicker across the tiled floors, already grabbing one of the small bodies to burrow its blood for the next phase.

Now with his red coated fingers, Sniper slowly began to write out his message on the wooden door. Though it was less of a word message and more imagery as he drew out a large frame of Heavy, making sure his head had a target surrounding it. His fingers started to twitch sporadically with every passing movement, almost lost in the beauty of his work. Snipes fumbled around with his quiver, pulling out the bloodied arrows he had used on the wildlife and pinned them to the door. It was cathartic digging the metal tips into the now chipped cracks in the wood, making sure to also pin the animals along with it.

So, lost in his own creation he hadn’t heard the soft sounds of footsteps getting closer nor the TV being turned off. His attention was sorely on the piece in front of him, transfixed by his own work but also the memories that it brought back with him. For how could he forget doing this towards his teachers, stuffing rats and lizard’s guts in their fancy purses. Or how he’d scare his classmates by leaving dead possums on their chairs, watching and waiting for them to discover the carcass. It was the one good thing he had going for him; however, it did mean his beat-ups grew quite severe over the coming years. But in those little moments, Sniper could finally breathe, could finally let out the anger that had festered from deep inside.

He was never allowed to scream so he made things bleed. It was all he had.

In, out, in, out.

Finally, his masterpiece was complete, Sniper grinned proudly at his display. It had expanded from the door with blood dripping down to the ground, filling up the cracks in the tiles. Even the animal bodies were hung on bits of the wall, really painting a picture of the midnight hunt he had gone on. But most importantly, he felt it got his message across.

To not push him.  

“Herr Sniper, I was unaware you were an artist!”

For fucksake.

Sniper sucked in a breath with his posture immediately tensing as he slowly turned to the one fucking person that just had to be here. His eyes locked onto the Medic’s both watching the other warily. The doctor raised his hands slowly before taking a slight step back, an almost perfect replication of Heavy just a few hours ago. His eyes locked in on the fact the doctor was surprisingly not wearing any medical gloves, and it loosened something in him.

“Did not mean to startle.” He answered hastily, clearly aware of Sniper’s attitude towards him. It made the other relax only slightly, subconsciously tucking his bloodied hands into his equally bloodied pockets. An awkward silence lingered between them with Medic not knowing what to say and Sniper’s outright refusal to speak at all.

The doctor suddenly gestured towards Heavy’s now desecrated door, “I am assuming that my friend, Heavy deserved it?”

Sniper nodded, glancing back at his work with pride. 

Medic chuckled as he moved to look closer, hands now resting behind his back as he admired the patterns of the blood.

“I know you don’t like me, Herr Sniper.” The Medic began, voice still cheery and light, but soft enough to not waken the others. “But I am worried for you, no matter how you may feel about me.”

There was a pause.

“Both Scout and Spy, I have made solutions for in my check-ups. But you, my friend, I have nothing on you and that is quite worrying.”

Sniper watched from the corner of his eye as the doctor pulled out a yellow folder from somewhere inside his lab coat. It looked untouched, void of any marks or stains that one would associate with a patient’s file. The only thing that even looked slightly personal was the clearly labelled ‘Sniper’ printed across the folder.

“There is nothing in here.”

And Sniper knew exactly why.

“Please, my friend, explain to me?”

Maybe it was the gentle tone or lack of gloves, but there was something so fundamentally different to Medic’s approach compared to his usual doctors. It took him an even embarrassingly long time to even notice that the doctor’s close were more casual and that only his coat gave reference to his job on the team. Heavy had to have told him about their fight, but why would he then change his appearance because of that?

He hadn’t mentioned anything about his rational distrust of medical professionals, and it was clear that Medic could see his internal struggle. A single eyebrow rose on the doctor’s face.

“I mentioned the solutions, ja? Scout.” He gestured to his outfit.

Medic changed what he wore to suit what Scout needed from him. His doctors didn’t do that, they only scolded him about getting injured and refused to treat him if he turned up too many times.

‘Wasting resources’ they said.

Snipe’s eyes flickered over to the manilla folder, there really were no papers in it and he had half a thought as to why. Like nails on a chalkboard, Sniper forced out the words.

“Doctors never bothered.”

“What.”

Sniper shrugged, shrinking into himself at the sudden change in Medic’s voice, starkly reminding him of how Engie reacted when he talked about his parents. It was strange, foreign even to remember that they were people on his team that wanted him to know that he was cared for. Because for such a long time, there was no one, not even his own town cared about his wellbeing.

They just didn’t care, and they never did, so why would they start now?

Why would any doctor bother to write notes on a kid with a reputation as horrible as his.

He was a scrappy boy that got into fights and refused to talk because clearly, he didn’t get enough attention at home. He lacked good discipline, dragging down his family’s name and ruining the town’s reputation. There was nothing to diagnose or take notes on, he was simply an unruly kid.

It didn’t matter that he had to reset his bones in the middle of the night, biting on whatever was closest so as to not wake his parents. It didn’t matter that he often threw up food after realising his stomach couldn’t handle solid things anymore. It didn’t matter that he’d spend days picking out glass from his feet because he was never given any proper shoes. None of it mattered because at the end of the day, no one was going to look out for him, so he had to look out for himself. He had to learn these things, or he’d waste away before the sun even began to rise.

The only true time he regretted not having any doctor’s opinion was when he found out he was allergic to strawberries.

“You are allergic to strawberries!?” Medic whispered harshly, grabbing a hold of Sniper’s arms as he shook the tall man in panic.

Now, it was instinct he swears it – he’d never really hurt his teammates despite Heavy’s door saying otherwise. But the doctor had caught him off guard and for only the briefest of seconds the Medic looked like those ‘professionals’ from his hometown.

In, out, in, out.

His body moved on its own, slamming the doctor into the nearby wall as he jammed his concealed pocketknife against the man’s throat.

In, out, in, out.

The walls were white, everything was white, but Sniper was red, red, red. He was red and he was burning, and he was bright, and he was aching and everything was closing in and he couldn’t breathe anymore.

In, out, in, out.

“Herr Sniper, I am not a threat, I can promise you that.”

Liar. You were a liar like the rest of them.

“I am friends with Heavy, ja? Do you trust Heavy?”

Heavy, Heavy, Heavy.

Heavy made him mad. Hurting you would hurt Heavy; he wanted to hurt.

“No, you don’t. You don’t want to hurt.”

His fingers twitched at the statement.

No, he didn’t want to hurt.

Sniper pulled away slowly from his position, loosening his hold on Medic as he pressed himself against the opposite wall.

In, out, in, out.

The knife didn’t feel right in his hand anymore, he could barely remember why he pulled it out in the first place. He looked down at his hands, covered in dried blood and animal fur that spread to the rest of his clothes; he never liked this part after a hunt, the regret. Even Heavy’s door looked less beautiful, though he was still proud of it.

His attention turned towards the team’s doctor who had since copied Sniper’s pose and looked relaxed despite the situation. “It’s not my first time being threatened.”

Sniper hummed, fiddling around with his knife to distract himself from his own thoughts. He felt more jumbled today, almost out of control and it scared him. His rage had finally been tamed but his paranoia had jumpstarted from nowhere, forcing him back into old habits that had once laid dormant.

In, out, in, out.

Medic wasn’t a threat that much was clear, he was still standing near him and had ample opportunity to sick Heavy on him if he so desired. Instead, the man simply remained where he was, watching and waiting for something even Sniper wasn’t sure of.

“What do you want?” He finally asked, voice scratchy and uneven.

“Only to help you, mein friend.”

A folder was put between them with Medic holding it out like an open invitation, a peace offering.

“I don’t like appointments.”

He didn’t know why he said that, why it was so important for the other to know but he had to say something. The words just tumbled out of him, overflowing with unnecessary information that rattled around in his brain and needed to be released.

In, out, in, out.

He didn’t like the Medic’s gloves or the stethoscope that was wrapped around his neck. He didn’t like being alone with a doctor or being trapped in the examination room. He didn’t like having notes being taken on him or hearing whatever observation the doctor had on him. He just didn’t like doctors. He didn’t like them at all.

“Then I won’t be your doctor, I will be your friend! And no appointments, instead updates!” Medic whisper cheered, waving the folder temptingly with a big grin on his face.

In, out, in, out.

Sniper took the folder.

In, out, in, out.

He turned away from the doctor, saying nothing and leaving nothing behind. He might go back into panic.

In, out, in, out.

“I will stop by early in the morning to ‘update’ your wrist!”

Fuck, he hoped Medic hadn’t noticed.

By the time Sniper finally got back to his van, the sun had just begun to rise, and the rest of the wilderness was waking with it. He laid back down on his bed, opening up the folder to see a typical patient form waiting for him to fill out. His fingers twitched and he grabbed a nearby pen, already knowing the answers to some of it. He could already feel Medic’s inquisitive gaze on him once the doctor ‘updated’ him and it was with great reluctance that Sniper realised he would have to update his own schedule as well.

Wake up.

Updates with Medic.

Blast Scout’s music for his workout.

Relax with the kid.

Clean van.

Steal food before the others arrive.

Check in with Engie.

Drink with Tavish.

Back into van.

Help Pyro with their colouring book.

Clean and check over his weapons.

Stargaze with Heavy.

Nap.

And repeat.

Notes:

Sniper: *Covered in blood*
Medic: You're mine now.
Sniper: 0-0

Chapter 7: Sniper Smoking With Spy

Summary:

I've always loved the dynamic of Spy and Sniper hating each other but also being the closest relationship purely because of how similar they actually are. I was actually basing most of this off that one comic panel where the two were smoking together after Sniper saved Spy.

They clearly know so much about each other and I hope I did it justice!

(aka Sniper and Spy have been hanging out off scene but only now they're both acknowledging it.)

It was safe to say that Sniper’s beautiful masterpiece was received quite well by Heavy. His scream was a mixture or Russian and English, all blurred together and waking up the entire base. He could only imagine how panicked the weaponist was to see the blood-stained artwork on his door first thing in the morning.

His primary school would lock down the whole place, shutting front gates closed and making sure there was no serial killer just running wild somewhere in the school. He fondly recalls watching his teachers lose colour in their faces and screaming their heads after finding the latest animal corpse he stuffed in their drawers. He likes to think those moments were where he truly shined as a pupil, sitting up eagerly with an attentive attitude as he memorised the moment that his teachers broke. Those days were always worth it to turn up to school. He almost wished he snuck back down to the base to see Heavy’s reaction. However, his body was long overdue for a sleep in and today felt like that day.

Sniper snuggled back deeper into his blankets, already feeling the tiredness settle over his body, peacefully drifting off into sleep.

“Updates, Herr Sniper!”

Fuck off.

“I see you have acquired a new friend!”

What.

The sharpshooter threw off his blankets, snapping into focus immediately at the Medic’s words. He wasn’t aware of any new gifts from Pyro and certainly hadn't heard anything around his van to suggest the firebug even visited. Though his tiredness was overwhelming, so there was a high possibility they somehow dropped off something after Heavy’s outburst.

He pushed open his van’s door, ignoring the Medic’s chuckling as he beelined it to the rather large metal emu planted a few metres away from his vehicle. Immediately, he was in awe.

Her name was Avery.

She was born wild, hunting insects and living off the environment around her. No human alive could catch her, escaping every enclosure she’s ever been in and somehow always returning back to her family, her mob. Avery was as cunning as she was beautiful, yet never settling down for some things transcend even basic animal instincts. And Avery was no basic animal.

Avery was a beaut.

Sniper found himself circling around her and inspecting every metal piece, watching entranced as the morning light bounced off her feathers. Pyro truly outdid themselves for this piece and to do it so quickly too, maybe he’ll find something to pay them back.

“New artwork from Pyro, hmm?” The Medic mused jokingly; hands clasped behind his back. “Herr Heavy’s ‘gift’ made them work faster.”

Well, Heavy deserved what he got. He had no regrets about that. 

“Indeed.” Another light chuckle from the doctor. “Now, I believe it is updating time, ja?”

Sniper rolled his eyes from behind his shades, gesturing behind himself towards the van’s open door. He didn’t particularly feel like parting from Avery just yet, all to content to allow Medic to look for the folder rather than search for it himself. Instead, he crouched low enough to be eye to eye with his flightless friend, mentally projecting all his thoughts about protecting and taking care of her directly into Avery’s mind. He could already see that she’d fit in great with the koalas, possibly even tucking them into some of her spaced out feathers. She could take them on trips and share tales of her part in the great Emu vs Australia War, the emu’s mightiest victory to date.

So lost in his own thoughts, he completely tuned out the Medic’s joyous gasp at finally locating the manilla folder. He was still tracing some of Avery’s features when the doctor suddenly shouted.

“You’re left-handed!?”

Sniper slowly turned to face Medic, hesitantly making eye contact from behind his shades as his whole body stilled. He wasn’t fearful, he swears he wasn’t. But something about his posture tipped the other and he watched as the German doctor visibly calmed down.

“You are left-handed, that is very good!” He stated still enthusiastically but his volume was greatly decreased. “Everything here is good!”

And Sniper’s shoulders dropped at Medic’s words, his definitely not fear settling down back into his body. He wasn’t lying when he said he hated what doctors would say about him, regardless of if it was technically his own words being repeated. They just always got it wrong, and he never got the chance to ever explain to them. Even now, watching his medical friend look at the file was making him feel restless. It felt too real.

His hands shook and Sniper forced himself to turn back to Avery, narrowing every bit of focus he had onto the bird.

“Ah, apologises Herr Sniper. I have forgot myself.”

Medic tucked the folder into his coat, moving swiftly to the other side of the emu and placing himself directly opposite of the sharpshooter.

“That bird, emu, da? She’s crafted well.”

She really was and considering her height it’s amazingly well detailed, it certainly must’ve taken a lot of dedicated hours or even days to have been able to finish it.

“Fear is a strong motivator.”

It is.

It really, really, is.

But Avery doesn’t fear anything. She has no shadows to watch out for, no, the shadows watch out for her instead. It hides from her, fearing her wrath and unnatural bloodlust that threatens to ruin the kingdom it’s built.

“Shadows have kingdoms?”

Of course, they do, where else does the fear run to?

it’s where they linger, where they wait until the sun rests, and they can run once more out into the wild. They thrive under the night, and they thrive under beds, in closets and daunting trees that shelter those who cannot run.

But Avery can run, and she runs very fast. It’s very impressive.

He might move her to his sniping nest, she could guard the koalas.

“Would you like help, mein friend?”

“The updates.” Sniper mumbled lowly, the first words he consciously spoke out as he lifted his head to stare up at the Medic.

Had he lifted it earlier, he would’ve seen the bright grin that stretched across the doctor’s face before he quickly schooled it.

“We can do that that later, for now we move Avery!”

Sniper hummed in agreement, stretching to his full height as his back cracked loudly. He carefully placed his hands underneath Avery’s body, waiting for Medic to do the same before gradually making the journey to his nest. It was quiet between the two of them with the doctor letting out an occasional noise at some of the wildlife that skittered past them.

Sniper felt his eyes temporarily draw to the edge of the forest, feeling something off as a cold sensation washed over him.

He knew this feeling well.

It was the same feeling he got whenever he walked home by himself or lingered too long on the streets at night.

He was being watched.

The next few moments were a blur, with Sniper’s instincts on overdrive and his mind yelling at him to move. It all happened too fast.

“Merde!”

An all too familiar voice swore loudly, followed by the sound of a body falling to the ground.

Fucking Spy, it was always him.

Not even his stupid cloak ability was enough for prevent him from getting decked by the sharpshooter. The French man glared up at him as his gloved hand was quick to cover his now bloodied nose. His body was splayed out on the dirt path, messing up his usually pristine which Sniper took great satisfaction in. He never liked Spy’s obsession with cleanliness, always using it as a clutch to pretend he was better than what he was. It was infuriating.

A tense silence settled upon them, neither willing to move or break their concentrated eye-contact; whoever looked away first was weaker that was how it was. Even during matches, Sniper recalls seeing the annoying bugger looking up at him as he killed an enemy teammate, a silent gloat that he killed someone before him.

He was a showboat, simple as that and Sniper hated showboats with a passion; they were natural enemies from day one.

Sniper could feel his irritation began to grow, he just could never have two good days in a row, no, the world had to have it out for him. In fact, he’d much rather deal with Soldier’s bullshit ramblings, because at least he could escape it.

One could never escape the Spy, not unless he allowed you to and unfortunately for Sniper, he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to leave like he wanted.

His suddenly gaze tore away from the Spy’s as the sound of heavy metal being dropped rang out through the area. Dread filled his gut, already knowing what he’d see and feeling a piece of him die as he slowly turned around. Unconsciously letting out a wounded noise at the sight of Avery’s fallen body.

“I’m so sorry Herr Sniper! It was too heavy to carry!”

“Yes, yes, worry about the bird.”

The French man grumbled in annoyance, completely being ignored and overlooked by both the other mercenaries. Sniper could feel his hands start to shake once more, rapidly running his fingers over the newly acquired dents on the statue. He’s only had Avery for a few minutes, and he’s already broken his promise. Her beautifully crafted feathers were dented in, ruining the shine she once had and making her appear unruly. He could see it now, the rumours, the whispers, the haunting shadows that will chase her now that she’s left injured. She’ll struggle against the night, and it’ll all be his fault.

“Merde, it's a metal bird! It's barely been damaged!”  

“Herr Spy, I think-”

Sniper growled cutting off whatever Medic was going to say as he stood to his full height, whirling around to face Spy head on. His hands were itching to wrap themselves around the bastard’s throat; to make him suffer like he made Avery suffer. She’ll take days possibly even months to heal from her injuries and then more so psychologically. Not to mention the fallout she’ll have from friends and family alike, turning them all away to wallow in her own grief thus losing herself to the one thing she was supposed to be strong against.

The darkness.

It was closing in.

The darkness was following her.

The darkness was following him.

“Herr Sniper!”

“What is wrong with him now?”

The darkness.

Darkness, darkness, darkness.

His feet were already moving before his mind could catch up, distantly a part of him was yelling internally that something was wrong. He was acting wrong; he should be comforting Avery right now or back with his teammates and that douchebag. But everything felt wrong, everything felt bad and more so, he felt like he was forgetting something. It was back again, that gap in his mind that was suddenly screaming at him to move, yet another was begging him to stay. Sniper could hear Medic’s yelling becoming distant, but no footsteps trailed after him. He had to decide if that made him feel better or worse about the situation.

He's never abandoned one of his animals before and certainly never turned tail when the Spy was involved either. He wanted nothing more than to give the man matching dents or bullet holes in his body, getting revenge for Avery instead of fleeing. But Sniper’s vision was blurring and soon all he could see was the darkness, the ever-longing darkness. It was sickeningly familiar with the way it called for his mind and body. He could hear its whispers; its taunting and its annoying fake warmth that pretended to care.

The darkness liked to store things inside it, only ever letting out the worst parts for Sniper himself to experience. It would follow him through even the brightest of days, acting as only a reminder that it would only get worse for him. He’s never not been aware of it but today it slipped his mind.

Because he forgot.

He forgot yesterday and he never bothered to figure it out.

It wasn’t the ‘okayness’ of being isolated, it wasn’t his fear of medics.

It was the death of his parents.

They had died a year ago, yesterday was the ‘anniversary’ for a lack of better words and they were the darkness that lingered in his mind on an ever-constant basis.

Avery was supposed to protect him from them, he remembered now. His breathes began speeding up, clutching at his chest desperately while his body kept moving through the trees. It was becoming overwhelming; it was all crumbling around him.

The trees shifted to shadows, prowling after him with their roots shifting to human nails that liked to poke at him.

“Stand straighter!”

“You’re embarrassing me!”

His mum’s shrill voice rattled around in his brain, painfully thudding against is skull as the shadows reached for his skin. He could feel them scratching at his body, digging their manicured nails into every flaw, every insecurity, every little thing that he hated about himself.

“Get back here, boy!”

And Sniper ran.

He ran and ran and ran.

His shades fell of his face, lost to the darkness below but the Aussie was not turning around.

Because he knew what would happen if his dad caught him.

And he feared he wouldn’t survive.

“You need to learn some manners!”

“I’ll fucking beat you black and blue for bothering your mother!”

The darkness roared at him; a horrifying mixture of his parent’s voices all mixed into one. Every hair rose on the sharpshooter’s body, a natural response to the very real threat chasing him through the woods. He couldn’t believe he forgot; his parents were always frighteningly good at finding him whenever he tried to escape. It didn’t matter that they didn’t want him or abandoned him at every turn; he was not allowed to run from them.

His dad used to lock all the doors around the house, making sure that there was no escape from whatever punishment was waiting for him. Sometimes he’d even lock Sniper’s bedroom door, before eventually locking the windows too once he discovered the hole in the flyscreen. He had earned a lot of marks that day, branded by the very belt his dad wore the next day to work. No one ever said a thing.

His mother was worse in some cases, always digging her new nails into his arm or whatever body part she could reach. He was never allowed to leave her side during social outings, instead having to hide every and all movement that could registered as a flinch. He’d never hear the end of it from her, listening to her screeches while his arms bruised and his ears red from being twisted afterwards. All he had to do was behave but somehow every time he always failed, there was just no pleasing her.

And like clockwork he’d rotate between his dad and mum, struggling to keep up with them as they stepped on his throat. He could never escape, never be free from their grip because they would always find him.

A pained whimper squeezed its way out of the sharpshooter’s body as he tripped over a large root, crumbling to the ground almost instantly. Everything hurt, but he couldn’t stop, he could never stop for the shadows would eat him alive. He lifted his aching head from the ground, forcing his arms to push himself back up as he heard the shadows scream from behind him. They were getting closer with every passing second and Sniper couldn’t afford to waste time on injuries.

He heaved himself up and ran on wobbly legs to another clearing, vaguely recognising it as the edge of the base. It opened up to the wilderness of the very desert they were planted in with only sand surrounding them for miles. Sniper used to visit the area on his days off, hunting whatever he couldn’t find in the fake fauna near his van. But now he needed it to reassure himself, to run far enough that the darkness couldn’t send its shadows after him.

It was all he ever wanted.

It was why he took the job that he did, becoming the hunter instead of the hunted and using the same skills he did to survive his parents, he used to survive everything else. The rest of his life could finally be free from the torments of his town, his bullies and most importantly, free from his parents. He desperately sought out that freedom, taking more and more jobs that pulled him away from his home and into new territory.

But sometimes those shadows still lingered, taking over his body and forcing him to flee once more. It was only when he could finally breathe in the middle of nowhere, did he get the news from Ms. Pauline.

His parents had passed away.

She had sounded so sincere as well, attempting to soothe something that didn’t need soothing. Instead, Sniper felt a nothingness in his heart, he was neither happy nor unhappy that his tormentors were finally gone. Because their shadows would wait for him, he would never truly be free from them no matter how far he ran.

And maybe that’s why he finally collapsed on the base’s edge, allowing his body to succumb to the mourning that he had yet to process. His fingers grabbed at grains of sand, combing through it like he could find the answer he was looking for. It was calming, grounding him in the reality that his folks were no longer sharing the same world with him. Yet he mourned them both despite it all because he’d be a fool to admit that he hoped his parents still loved him deep down. There was almost a pathetic-ness there. It was embarrassing.

He just wanted to be loved.

Why was that so hard?

It was always at the tip of his tongue to ask his parents why they never cared for him, why they never truly loved him as not just their son but their only child. He wasn’t even that difficult, he done everything they asked for and then some. He got them their cigarettes, their drinks, even their fucking groceries as he got older. He paid for their home, their mortgage, he bought his dad a new truck just months before he passed.

“You’re fucking psychotic that’s what!”

“Can’t believe my son’s a killer, how disgraceful!”

Sniper chuckled weakly, remembering how much his folks hated his job yet never mentioning how much it paid for their stuff. He would sit on the payphone for hours, listening to them rant and scream at him from across the ocean because every time he’d wait for them to say that they loved him. It never happened, not even when he was young, but it didn’t stop him from believing that maybe next time would be different. Now, there was no next time, no more expectant phone calls and no more yearly Christmas cards that he’d send them.

It had been a year and Sniper still found himself clinging onto them and maybe that’s why he’s been so all over the place. His patience had been running thin lately, his internal thoughts were becoming external, and he couldn’t stop fearing his parents. They had been clouding his mind as of late and now he knew why.

He had forgotten because he was free and now the darkness had to punish him. The remnants of his own hallucinations echoed throughout his mind, taunting him with a repeat of being chased by his deceased parents. He could still almost see them from the corner of his eyes, waiting to pounce on him once more and drag him to the depths of his own fears. The knowledge that he’ll never truly be free of his parents haunt him more than he’d like to admit.

The tears were already falling from his eyes as he weakly brought his knees to his chest, resting his head on them with a sigh. His heart was still pounding rapidly, struggling to come down from the adrenaline rush mixed with the fear instilled into him. It’s certainly been a while since his last come down. He closed his eyes, allowing the gentle sounds of nature to wash over himself as he bathed in the sunlight.

However, even when vulnerable, Sniper was never not aware of a certain presence slowly coming from behind. Like many of his skills, the sharpshooter had memorised the sound and pattern of which his teammates walked around base. He had them listed mentally in his mind and judging by how naturally even paced the steps were, he knew exactly who it was.

“The Medic is worried for you.”

Fucking Spy, every goddamn time.

He couldn’t help but smile, turning his head just enough so that Spy couldn’t see it tucked between his knees. The man had uncanny timing, and he shouldn’t have been surprised that the nosy bastard went to find him after his dramatics. He half expected Spy to just shoot him point blank as soon as he was found; he certainly wouldn’t complain about it. Maybe being brought back to life by Engie’s respawn will reset his emotional turmoil. He should suggest that as an update to the engineer, it would certainly make Sniper’s life so much easier. Maybe too easy.

“Do you always talk to yourself in low volumes?” Spy asked, a strange questioning tone in his voice.

Sniper clicked his teeth shut, cursing his inability to shut the fuck up at the worst times. He could shoot a man in a moving car from a high fucking building but could never realise when his mouth opened on its own.

A natural silence settles upon them with Spy moving to stand next to him, already holding a lit cigarette in his hand. The two looked out over the desert with Sniper lifting his head to rest on the top of his knees. Neither made a move to speak or even to acknowledge the events that transpired to get them here. It was one of the few benefits of having someone equally uninterested in whatever was happening in one’s life. But that wasn’t really true, Spy knew things in the sense that Sniper also knew things.

It was different than the Medic who needed files and the other teammates who liked to share stories between them. No, Spy was always different and so was Sniper in a way; they worked well until they didn’t and that was the easiest way to explain their relationship.

The sharpshooter watched his teammate from the corner of his eye, unsurprised to see Spy already staring at him with a visibly raised brow from behind his mask.

Because Spy knew.

Sniper knew that he knew.

Spy knew that he knew that he knew.

It was simple.

“Well, Mundy-”

“Fuck right off.” He snapped quickly.

“Touchy today?”

“I’ll cover your room in frog guts.”

“Comme c'est classe, I’m sure your parents would be proud.”

A pause. It was a test.

Because neither could admit that they cared for one another, this shaky and reluctant bond that somehow formed during their very little time together.  

Because Spy knew.

Sniper knew that he knew.

Spy knew that he knew that he knew.

“Well, they’ve fucked off so who knows.”

They left me and I’m still not ready.

“For the best, I suppose.”

You don’t need them.

“Maybe.”

Sniper picked at his nails, hearing the words hidden in a secret language that only they could understand. It was oddly comforting, though he supposes that was the role Spy was here to play, something he’d never acknowledge out loud and Sniper wouldn’t dare mention it either. He simply allowed himself to enjoy the space they shared, no longer focusing on the shadows that lingered in the folds of his mind.

There was a sigh then something soft landed in his lap, it was a pack of cigarettes most likely the ones Spy was currently smoking. The sharpshooter opened the packet, automatically lifting his cig as Spy leant down to light it.

“Never was too much of a smoker.” He spoke softly, watching the smoke dance across the sky as he exhaled. “Always hated how it smelt, drinking’s much better.”

“Yes, I’ve seen the disgrace you call a van.”

“Knew you’ve been sneaking around my stuff, you fucker.”

“I wish I never looked.”

That earned a surprised laugh from Snipes, “Good, shouldn’t have been there in the first place.” He took secret pride in the fact that Spy was grossed out, anything to inconvenience him was a win in his books. His personal favourite method was changing the locks on Spy’s locker, always switching it out during his respawns so as to leave him weapon less. It was guaranteed entertainment every time and never lost its charm. However, it did mean he’d have to be paranoid for the rest of his life due to Spy’s revenge involving blatantly stealing his stuff.

Engie had referred to them as ‘territorial house cats’, constantly testing each other and seeing how much they could get away with before the other hunted them down.

It made him realise something.

“Were you ever scared of me?”

Sniper knew he was going off script that this wasn’t part of the game they played, but he needed to know. He hadn’t realised truly how much he and Spy interacted in comparison to his other teammates. Everyone was always scared of him, standing at unreachable distances and merely watching from the sidelines. This was new territory for him, all of it was new and a few years ago Sniper never would’ve imagined himself willingly around anyone.

“Were you ever scary?”

And that made the shooter pause, tilting his head almost unconsciously before taking another drag of his cigarette. “Thought I was.”

“You are but a hermit, un solitaire.”

“Yeah well, fuck you too.”

He should’ve expected as much, Spy was never willing to give information that wasn’t worth what he was receiving. Though in fairness, he did feel like not instantly killing him for Avery was a massive favour on his part.

And oh, the thought of his flightless friend sent a pang through his heart. He really did need to get her fixed up and apologise to Pyro for Spy’s bullshit. He couldn’t believe the French fuck thought it was a good idea to be sneaking so close to him, he pulled that same shit years ago and never stopped. It was frustrating but it was Spy and usually everything about him was. Sniper could count on his fingers alone the number of times of his teammate wasn’t vague in answers. He truly couldn’t understand how anyone else on base put up with Spy for longer than five minutes at a time.

They really were opposites in where he spoke truthfully in the few instances, he talked whereas Spy never shut ups and only talks in riddles. It couldn’t be understated what little they had in common from their favourite ways to kill to what TV show plays in the team’s base. They butted heads at every turn with Spy spreading rumours and Sniper only fuelling it with his own acts of revenge.

It was annoying to deal with the fucker even when not interacting, but it served as a constant in Sniper’s new life. He would be on the verge of crumbling, utterly weak and bleeding raw from the mess that was his parents. Then like a demon crawling to the surface, Spy would make an appearance and suddenly Sniper forgot whatever was happening, too intent on equally ruining the French man’s day.

“You didn’t visit their graves yesterday.”

A statement not a question and Snipes knew to take it as such.

“Forgot.” He answered simply because that was the truth, and he was almost reluctant to admit it. “Thought they were still alive.”

Spy hummed at his response, fiddling with something hidden from Sniper’s eyesight before putting out his cigarette.

“Let’s go then, I don’t want to be out here more than I need to be.”

“Yeah sure.”

He put out his own cig, pushing it into the sand as he slowly got up from his hunched over position. Snipes found himself trailing after Spy, beginning to move slower and slower after realising where he was being led.

Because Spy knew.

Sniper knew that he knew.

Spy knew that he knew that he knew.

His feet were frozen to the spot, body still as his eyes took in the all too familiar area in front of him. He watched as Spy manoeuvred through the small clearing with ease like he too was here when Sniper first visited. And he might as very well had been there, also watching in silence as his teammate cleared out the area. It was only a small patch of grass, somewhere that had equal distance between the edge of base and his van. He had wanted the small site to be easy access for himself yet also cleverly hidden from his prying teammates. Of course, Spy was the exception, and he shouldn’t have been surprised that the other knew about it.

That was their entire ‘relationship.’ This constant back and forth of figuring out just how far their knowledge of each other went. It didn’t matter if it was hidden, in plain sight or common knowledge; it could all be leverage. Spy’s favourite.

He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, forcing back the shadows that threatened to consume his spiralling mind. There were lines, boundaries put in place that the two mutually agreed on that would be used against the other. But right now, in this very moment, Snipes very much felt like toeing on that line. An unjustified sort of rage consumed him.

“Don’t pity me, just cause you see your own mistakes.”

A sharp intake.

“I’ve not beaten him, so I’ve made no mistake.”

Sniper flinched harshly, gritting his teeth as he opened his eyes to glare right back at the Spy. The other was watching him with the same intensity, clear annoyance written on his covered face.

Because Spy knew.

Sniper knew that he knew.

Spy knew that he knew that he knew.

And there was nothing more annoying than someone knowing about you without having to say a word.

“What do you want mate?” He forced out, annoyed. “I’m in no mood for your fucking games today.”

“When are you ever?”

The French man quipped back with ease, looking Sniper up and down dramatically before turning his back to him. Snipes sucked in a groan, feeling his anger simmer beneath his skin but he forced it down if only for a moment. He made his way to Spy with his hands tucked into his pockets and a slouched posture.

As they stood side by side, Sniper couldn’t help but bite down on his tongue on instinct.

Martha Mundy – A Cold Woman.

Jack Mundy – An Even Colder Man.

Their graves were as bleak as Sniper remembered them, simply asking Ms. Pauline to purchase some gravestones with his money; she got it to him for free as a result of the circumstances. He carved the names and messages out himself once he got them, for even he didn’t know what to put on them. His childhood was anything but pleasant and his parents made sure of it. There was nothing truly he could write that would do justice to what they had or hadn’t done to him. His youth was stolen, simple as that. He missed every milestone, every birthday, every little occasion that should’ve mattered and instead was climbing up rooftops to avoid his dad.

His parents were dead, and he was left alone. Again.

He suddenly jolted out of his thoughts as the feeling of something smooth was pushed into his hand. Snipes looked at Spy, but the man wasn’t meeting his eyes instead pushing the object more harshly into his palm. He wrapped his fingers around the item, looking down as a small smile graced his face at the sight of his trusty shades.

Without wasting a second, he slipped them onto his face, resolutely ignoring the tears that had already started escaping from his eyes.

He was mourning, he was tired, and he was almost glad that Spy would be the only one to see him like this.

Because Spy knew.

Sniper knew that he knew.

Spy knew that he knew that he knew.

The two stood side by side in companiable silence with Spy already lighting another cigarette, but this time handing it to Sniper first.

Time seemed to almost speed up through their interactions with Snipes noticing the sun setting in the distance. He still made no move to leave and neither did Spy, there was no real reason to stay but Sniper couldn’t do it. He couldn’t convince himself to move just yet and instead crouched low to the gravesites. His fingers traced over his carved words, mumbling them to himself as if to cement that, yes, his parents were gone and had been gone for over a year. The flowers he had left from the previous visit had already wilted to nothing; he could only faintly see the colours on the petals. He really hadn’t been keeping up with his visits, now spending most of his time with his teammates instead. Things had so drastically changed in such little time that it was unsurprising he would’ve forgotten something eventually. It just so happened to be his parent’s death days.

Slowly, he got back up, dropping his cigarette to the ground as he stomped the embers into their graves.

It was time to go.

He no longer felt the need to stay any longer, it didn’t feel necessary anymore. In fact, he half expected that this would be his last visit in a long while. His parents could give him nothing more, only ever taunting him in his own mind. They were no longer here, and Sniper was getting sick of still feeling their effects. He didn’t want their shadows or their darkness, he didn’t want anything to do with them anymore.

“You should bring that bird here.” Spy spoke up rather nonchalantly, but Sniper knew better.

Because Spy knew.

Sniper knew that he knew.

Spy knew that he knew that he knew.

Avery would make a wonderful addition to the area; she’d be able to get revenge on the people that created the darkness while also chasing off any shadows that dared to escape the graves. She was perfect for the job, and she’d do it with her dents shining proudly in the sun, scaring off all that hid in the dark. He was finally free.

“You still owe me a new packet.”

I’m here, if you need me.

“Whatever, mate.”

I know.

Wake up.

Updates with Medic.

Blast Scout’s music for his workout.

Relax with the kid.

Clean van.

Smoke with Spy.

Steal food before the others arrive.

Check in with Engie.

Drink with Tavish.

Back into van.

Help Pyro with their colouring book.

Clean and check over his weapons.

Stargaze with Heavy.

Nap.

And repeat.

Notes:

Sniper: *emotionally constipated*
Spy: *Also emotionally constipated*
Sniper: We're so good at this.
Spy: The others wish they were like us.

Chapter 8: Sniper Destroying Things With Soldier

Summary:

Honestly I really struggled cause I had no idea how the two would link, but I've always liked the idea that Soldier is much more perceptive than people realise.

So this is Soldier's attempt at 'fixing' Sniper and his problems.

As always T//W for Sniper's general past of abuse and physical violence from his parents.

“-heterochromia in the eyes, I never would’ve guessed!”

Sniper slowly brought himself out of his dissociative state, blinking gradually at the little light shining in his eyes. Medic was quick to notice as usual, pulling back immediately while a gentle smile appeared on his face. It was a quiet morning for the two and particularly for the rest team, having been granted a temporary rest period after their most recent battle. The doctor was quick yet not forceful in his approach of asking Sniper to clear out his usual morning schedule for another ‘update’. And Sniper was in a good enough mood to allow it, promptly ignoring Scout’s loud complaint about no longer having music despite his own working earbuds.

He let the doctor work his magic unless he spouted off an observation that set him off with this one being his odd, coloured eyes.

“Ah, I apologise Herr Sniper, I forgot myself.” Medic was quick to soothe him, putting his arms behind his back with practiced ease.

“It’s okay.”

The words were pulled slowly from his mouth, mentally pulling up a block in his mind at the sudden onslaught of memories that threatened to break the peaceful moment between the two. He just wanted a good day, a win, something to break the downward spiral he’s been dealing with.

“You can keep going.”

He lied.

Like a fucking liar.

Medic hummed casually, rolling on the back of heels as he glanced up at the sky before looking back down at him. “I think that is all for now. Enjoy your morning Herr Sniper!”

And with a wave, he turned around and left out.

Sniper slumped into one of his vacant beach chairs almost immediately, slightly disappointed in himself for his lack of deception but also glad that Medic noticed and left him alone. Because in truth, he was still anxious around the lanky man. He couldn’t help it, years of distrust in medics and practitioners as a whole was something really hard to shake off. Letting just one look at him weekly was enough to send him over the edge. Past him would’ve jumped realities just to find a way around it.

Though he supposes a lot has changed since them, he reluctantly has friends and something with Spy – not exactly friendship, but not hatred either – no matter how untrustworthy he was as an ally.

The team pulled through in their own ways to meet him more than halfway, because lord knows Sniper was not one to even try. But it worked somehow, and he wasn’t going to question it.

With a quiet sigh, Snipes looked to the sky with his uncovered eyes, taking in the moving clouds and gentle breeze that rustled the trees in just the right way to lull him to sleep. He could feel his head gradually sink into the chair, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes gently closed.

His dreams consisted of a blur of memories with the ever-present message of being the family disappointment. He could hear the faded voices of his parents as they began their usual tirade of his lack of worth and being the reason for all their problems in the world. Snipes took all in stride, ignoring the fact that he was in his child body as he wandered the empty plains of the desert.

He never dreamt of anything else. This was all he got and all he deserved.

“…maybe we shouldn’t wake him-”

“HOLY-”

Sniper snapped his eyes open at the sound of voices, hardly even recognising who was around him as the familiar weight of his machete materialised in his hand against the intruders.

“Easy there, Sniper, it’s us, you know us.”

The southern drawl clued him in immediately, realising poor Scout from his grip who ran behind the Engineer.

“Dude! I wasn’t even the one closest to you, what the heck!” He complained.

Sniper muttered an apology, letting his arm with the machete drop uselessly at his side while the other was quick to throw his shades back over his eyes. He never liked to be seen without them on, even with company he knew quite well. The pair watched him warily, clearly reading him for any signs of sudden hostility which felt very earned.

Guilt started clawing up his throat, mumbling a bit more about his disillusioned dream as an attempt to explain his jumpiness. He also weakly mentioned his paranoia which he thought was common knowledge anyway.

“Fair point, we should’ve announced our presence a bit more. We just wanted to give you a heads up before Soldier got to you.”

“Yeah, he wants to do some ‘team building’ whatever the fuck that means!” Scout exclaimed dramatically, throwing up his hands in the air.

Sniper blinked.

Fuck.

“Yup, no one’s safe and we volunteered to get you, so let’s go!” The runner rushed off to base, always eager to get anywhere first despite whatever lays ahead. The older two watched him run in silence before Engie chuckled and followed much slower to Sniper’s amusement. He matched pace with the man, tucking his hands into his pockets as the scenery gradually changed around them.

“I better warn you again now; Soldier’s been noticing you.” Engie spoke softly, “Been hearing him talking to himself ‘bout needing new exercises for you, ain’t got a clue what he means.”

Sniper shot him a look, tilting his head as if to ask if he should genuinely be concerned but the Engineer merely shrugged; no one knew what was in stock for him and that was a terrifying thought.

There wasn’t much one could do to prepare for the human that was Soldier, the man was as unpredictable as Pyro and that was saying something. Sniper hadn’t interacted with the man much, not voluntarily anyway. He was the complete opposite of everything the sharpshooter did and for that reason, Sniper made an active effort to avoid the loud American whenever possible. He wasn’t afraid to admit that he was scared of the man, always slightly aware that somewhere in the shadows lurked the man that always brought danger with him.

He could feel the familiar stirrings of trepidation that strung his body tightly as they neared the base, getting closer and closer to the loud noises that suffocated him. Like Scout, he used Engie’s body as a shield in entering premises before skulking off to attach himself to the nearest wall that gave him eyesight of every possible exit.

The team was all spread about the lounge, taking up every bit of furniture and leaving none to spare, which suited Sniper just fine. He pressed himself tightly against the wall, digging his nails into his palms as the loud chatter washed over him. His eyes darted across the room taking in all the members and clenching his jaw at the familiar smell of smoke that suddenly appeared next to him.

Of course, the one spot he claimed, the fucking toad had to claim it too.

He dug his elbow harshly into the Spy’s ribcage taking pleasure in the grunt, it earned before flinching at the sudden kick to his left leg.

The bastard.

“Je vais mettre le feu à ta camionnette.”

Yeah, and I’ll let wild animals shit in your room. Let’s see who can do worse.

“ALRIGHT YOU LAZY BUNCH OF SLOBBERING BUFFOONS!”

“Mon Dieu.” Spy whispered, finally uncloaking at the sound of Soldier’s grating voice. The group came to a hush, all watching their ‘esteemed leader’ as he rattled off random talking points.

Sniper was already dissociating.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t like loud voices.

He didn’t like loud voices at all.

His mind had started drifting almost on instinct, taking him away from the physical world and into the mental one. The words turned to mush in his mind as whatever happened around him blurred into the edges of his subconsciousness. If he tried hard enough, he could feel every breath that he took as his chest gradually rose and fell with every passing second. And if he tried even harder, he could feel Spy’s elbow lightly brushing against his. A hidden signal between the two that told him of Spy’s awareness for him.

It was one of the few usefulness’s that the French man had. A miracle, really.

“-SO LET’S MOVE IT PEOPLE, GO, GO, GO!”

And just like that, Sniper’s safe haven was broken. An urgent yet still gentle nudge from the Spy had Sniper rapidly forcing his soul back into his body. Struggling to breathe with only half a second’s panic before becoming aware of how his lungs used to work. He shook himself bodily, taking in the chaos of the room as his teammates all began running in various directions.

He looked over at Spy for a bit of guidance and swore silently as the Frenchman smirked at him before vanishing. The bastard. Really couldn’t trust him for anything.

A hand suddenly dropped on his shoulder, startling the sharpshooter badly enough that he swung on instinct. Soldier was quick to grab his hand, holding it with an iron fist that made him tremble slightly in fear. He didn’t like this.

“You need to swing harder than that cupcake!” Snapped the veteran.

“You need to try harder than that!” Snapped his dad.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no, no.

He. Didn’t. Like. This. At. All.

Sniper bit down on his tongue, hard, forcing his eyes to meet that of the Soldier’s, who stared unblinkingly back.

“NOW HURRY UP AND FIND THE OTHERS!”

“NOW HURRY UP AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FACE!”

He found himself nodding his head rapidly, almost robotically turning his body to find the rest of his teammates, regardless of if he didn’t actually hear what the drill was.

His orders were to find his teammates and he had to obey it.

Sniper barely waited once Soldier dropped his fist, stalking down the base’s hallways as instinct took over. He barely registered Soldier’s own footsteps following him, focused entirely on hunting down his prey with maximum efficiency.

“Come on now!” Soldier taunted, “Even I could’ve found someone by now, you pansy!”

Right.

The sharpshooter jerked to a stop, whirling around to face Scout’s bedroom door as he wasted no time in kicking it down. A loud thud echoed throughout the compound halls with Sniper walking on top of the fallen door as he reached under the kid’s bunkbed and roughly pulled him out.

“Whoa-” The poor fella barely had enough time to react before Sniper dragged him to Soldier by his own collar. He held up the kid like a trophy, watching intently for the man’s reaction and swallowed down a growl as he was met with a sneer.

“Only one? All those dramatics for one!?”

Right.

“Well hurry up, you’re wasting time!”

Right. Right.

Sniper dropped Scout harshly on the ground, following the hallways to his next prey. He honed-in on the Medic’s laboratory and pushed through the doors with ease. The smell of sanitiser and dried blood invaded his nose, but it was not enough to distract him from the sight of Archimedes landing atop a fridge with an innocent head tilt.

An idea formed in his head.

Soldier’s shouting was getting closer.

He reached for the pocketknife tucked into his vest, pulling it out and taking aim towards the precious pet of the Medic.

Soldier burst through the doors with Scout by his heels as the two witnessed the soaring knife clip a bit of Archimedes’ feathers as he attempted to fly away.

“I’m out, I’m out! Herr Sniper, what are you doing!?” Medic rushed out from his spot, reaching for his bird with unbridled fear and urgency as he tucked the poor thing close to his chest.

“Yeah dude, what the fuck!?” Scout added, rubbing at his horribly bruised arm.

But Sniper was not paying attention to either of them instead locking eyes with Soldier, who merely raised an eyebrow in response.

Right.

Right, he needed more.

His breathes were coming out more ragged, vision blurring and mind scrambling before everything came to a still at once.

There.

A shadow racing across the window; someone was curious about the commotion.

“Herr Sniper-”

“Now that’s more like it!”

Right.

Right. Right.

He was doing something right.

A trigger was pulled.

Glass was shattered.

And as Sniper sucked in another gulp of air, he lifted his head from the scope of his sniper rifle to stare down Pyro’s trembling hands that he raised. A successful surrender.

But he still needed to find more.

He clipped his rifle to the back of his vest like he always did when he was hunting, ignoring all distractions from his previous prey. The sharpshooter pushed past the others, breaking into a light jog as he exited the building. His fingers twitched to take aim once again, but he couldn’t give himself away just yet. He had a feeling that the rest of his targets were a bit further away than the rest.

The shoeprints on the gravel certainly gave it away and Sniper grinned sharply at the easy tracks, even he knew better when he was younger. He followed the trail easily, unsurprised when it led directly to Demoman’s drinking shack as he watched the older man chug a beer as quietly as he could. But it was all in vain as Snipes barged into the shack, eyes glinting from behind his shades as the other eyed him warily.

“Aye, fine, I’m caught. I’m not moving from here.”

Sniper nodded once in satisfaction, turning away from the Scotsman before pausing at his next words.

“Alright there, lad?”

His body gave a violent twitch.

“Thought so.”

Copper filled the Australian’s mouth as he manually let his tongue go from the harsh clamping of his own teeth. He was doing fine; he was doing so fine and there was nothing to suggest otherwise because this was a normal drill, and he was used to this, and he was settling down finally, and this was a normal drill because it was normal and a drill and this was normal because it was, and he was fine. He was just fine.

“Just standing around huh? Don’t tell me the kangaroo lover has already given up!” Soldier yelled at him from the doorway of the shack, crossing his arms over his chest.

Right.

Right. Right.

Sniper’s body moved on its own, reacting to the words on autopilot as he brushed past Soldier, jolting as the veteran slapped him on the back. “Move it!”

He ran across the gravel, beelining it towards his van with a vengeance as the familiar scent of smoke reached his nose. The French bastard always takes any chance he can to hide in Sniper’s van, every single time. His fingers itched to pull the trigger of his rife and he wasted no time in lining up a perfect shot.

Another successful bullet fired.

More glass crashed to the ground.

French swearing could be heard exploding from the van.

Spy dematerialised instantly with his hands raised much like Pyro’s, except one hand had a half-blown cigarette between clenched fingers. Right on target.

He allowed a small smirk to grace his features, almost tempted to taunt the other before once again Solder made his presence known. His mouth opened but the words were not processing in Sniper’s mind, like a haze had drifted over him. He stared hard at the man’s mouth, struggling to understand what was being spoken when he felt it. A gentle touch against his elbow, a hidden signal between him and Spy that meant something. But Sniper was struggling to remember what it was and without thinking, he dived for the machete underneath his beach chair and swung at the Frenchman like a madman.

All tact and grace left his mind as he aimed to subdue, just barely clinging onto his own consciousness that was begging him to listen to the noise around him.

Because suddenly he wasn’t outside, no, he was back at that place, that horrid place. Where the floorboards gave up every secret he had, and the walls were the only things that caught him as he stared up at his father’s eyes. Those cold brown eyes that sucked up any warmth in the room and stripped him bare of anything that made him worth living.

He saw the hand that reached for his throat, frozen still as his pitiful childhood flashed through his mind. He smelt the smoke that erupted from his dad’s throat as he let loose all the things that were wrong with his flesh and blood. He felt the graze of his old man’s fingertips as pulled at his hair to smash his face into whatever furniture got in his way.

And he snapped.

Sniper spun around at the familiar approaching silhouette, spinning the machete in his hand as if to confirm his reality before lunging at his target.

He had to be right.

He was always right.

Metal met metal and the loud ringing caused by it washed away the haze that had clouded the sharpshooter’s mind. He stumbled slightly, still clutching his weapon in hand as his lungs started pumping oxygen back to his brain. The voices were suddenly much clearer than before, less muffled and more distinct despite the chaos of accents that echoed in his mind.

“BUNCH OF COWARDS, THE LOT OF YOU!” Soldier snapped, clearly annoyed at the sudden change, while Sniper forced back the bile that creeped up his throat. He hadn’t lost control like that in a long, long time. It always irked him that the one thing his father passed down was his uncontrollable rage, the constant simmering underneath his skin that was only ever tamed by his ever-present paranoia and anxiety. He was but one second away from either killing everyone near him or simply disappearing from the face of the Earth; a constant back and forth that left him drained for months on end.

He allowed his mind to slip away temporarily, blocking out the rest of his teammates that gradually made an appearance after the commotion. But the sounds were surrounding him from all sides, taunting him, teasing him, toying with him like it knew he wouldn’t last long.

So, he moved.

He put one leg in front of the other and kept moving until his hand found its way on the handle of his van. Quietly locking the door behind him, he found himself staring blankly up at the ceiling. He didn’t recall lying on the floor but now that he was here, it was quite comfortable, and the soft carpeted floor was a nice contrast against his prickly skin. Oh, what a day.

He’d been teetering on the line of his explosive rage for so long that he forgot how easily it triggered. Though he should’ve noticed it sooner considering his stunt with Heavy and more recently his aggressiveness this morning from being startled. It reminded him of the old days when the team feared him for his quiet rage and even quieter kills. He almost missed it when he never had to worry about teammates approaching him because they used to know better.

It was almost tempting to think about returning to his solitary life, to rebuild that persona of isolation and loneliness that he desperately used to crave. But he couldn’t do that, because now he cared and now it was too late to go back, least of all change his schedule. It was engraved into him now, embedded in his being like the rest of his fun childhood memories.

Sniper quietly chuckled to himself at the thought, never in his life would he have thought that someday in his adult life, he’d acquire the friends he had now. Younger him would’ve pegged a dead rat at his face for even implying such an idea and he wouldn’t blame him.

“Yo Snipes, what are-” Scout barged into the room unannounced, pausing at the sight of the sharpshooter lying on the floor before stepping over his limbs to sit on his bed. The younger grabbed his pillow, tossing it in the air for a bit as he stared at the ceiling in thought. Sniper opened his mouth to ask how the fuck Scout unlocked his door when the runner unceremoniously joined him on the carpeted floor, taking the pillow with him to rest his head on it.

“The Doc and Engie are tearing Soldier a new one. Still going at it I think, so I wanted to come check in and on ya.”

A pause.

“Gotta be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified of you during that drill.”

Sniper flinched, fully turning his body away from Scout before jumping up to pace around the room. Goosebumps appeared along his skin as the words settled uncomfortably around him; he did not like hearing that. He could feel Scout’s eyes watch him warily, still laying on the floor and unmoving while Sniper paced restlessly. The apology was lodged in his throat, preventing him from uttering a single word while his mind raced to fix the suddenly urgent situation.

He wasn’t like his dad, he swears. He didn’t know what happened. Only that Soldier had a particular way of drudging up unwanted feelings and memories. He wasn’t like his dad; he just got irrationally angry when being ordered around. He wasn’t like his dad; he was just trapped in a memory that forced his hand. He wasn’t like his dad; he was just scared and then Soldier was there commanding him, and he had to do it. He wasn’t like his dad, but Soldier was and that meant he had to do what he said.

“-Sniper!”

The sharpshooter paused, sucking in a sudden gulp of air as reality slammed back into him once more. Tears were gradually falling down his face, staining his skin with mistakes from his past that continued to haunt him in his future.

Sorry, he wanted to say.

I’m so sorry, he wanted to beg.

He wished his mind was more pieced together, that the fragments of his being weren’t just held in place with sticky tape and broken promises of things being better soon. There was never going to be a soon, only a now. And he was too tragic of a human being to even dare think of a way to fix himself, this was all that there was. He wished things were different, but they weren’t and for some reason he was still struggling with that part of his life. Still falling behind and harming the people around him all because he couldn’t handle a few tussles as a kid. It was pathetic and sad, truly a prime example of a miserable person that couldn’t just move on from their past.

Even now in his continued spiral, all he could think about was his parents and what they’d say if they saw him now. He could hear his mother’s snide comments, her voice a sudden chill that broke down any and all defences. He could still feel the lingering marks from his dad, his brutalising grip that always left him struggling for air. He was doomed to always be suffering by their hands, both in life and death. It was suffocating.

“What are you thinking, Snipes?” Scout whispered worriedly to him, nearby not close enough to touch with a hand hovering between the space, like he wanted to reach for him. The small movement jostled the dog tags that he always wore, and Sniper’s eyes snapped towards them. They were a reminder from his family, something passed down by his older brother and a physical, tangible thing that reflected their close family bond.

Sniper had graves of his parents hidden in the woods. That was his reminder.

And as he came to a still and slowly straightened his spine to his full height, he realised something.

He didn’t want that reminder anymore. He wanted nothing to do with his parents ever again.

His mouth moved and a rush of words poured out, something, something, he’d be back and don’t wait up. Scout looked to intervene but clearly hesitated with no reason to really deny him anything even if he tried. Sniper took in his temporary frozenness and quickly hurried out the van with one main goal in mind. To destroy his parents’ grave.

They had to go; they just had to.

The scenery blurred around him with the sun having set and the moon slowly making its way towards the night sky. He followed the same trail that he’d been following since he first made those damn graves. Picking up his speed as the clearing became closer and closer, practically sprinting towards the tombstones while the beginnings of his rage festered over. He stood in front of them with his tall shadow of a silhouette towering over them threateningly.

“You did this to me.” He whispered through clenched teeth, “You both did this to me!”

He imagined them standing before him, both staring at him with disdain and disgust written clear on their faces. He could see his mum scoffing, rolling her eyes like she couldn’t believe his behaviour while his dad cracked his knuckles threateningly. It was a stand-off that only Sniper could see and despite all his bravado, he couldn’t help the trickle of fear that ran down his spine. Even now, he was still afraid of him, still scared of his shadow and the fear that somehow his parents will rise from the grave and finish the job.

“I knew it! I’m always right!” 

Sniper whirled around at the sound of Soldier’s daunting voice, blinking back tears he hadn’t realised were falling as the American stomped into the clearing. The man pointed a large finger at him, smile sharp and helmet tilted threateningly towards him. “Knew that French commie had no idea what he was talking about! Thinks he can outsmart me. Pathetic!”

Soldier stood before him proudly before jabbing a finger directly to Sniper’s chest.

“What are you waiting for? Destroy the fucking things!”

Sniper’s jaw clicked shut, momentarily taken aback by the man’s bluntness, looking from him back to his parent’s graves.

What.

Soldier scoffed, “What you think I didn’t recognise the parental issues from the moment you set foot on American soil? I could smell it off ya and you reeked!”

He was grabbed roughly by the shoulders and spun around to fully face their graves, almost falling over from the strength alone. A heavy weight was dropped into his hands and Sniper scrambled to prevent the rocket launcher from hitting the ground. He stared at the weapon blankly, fingers tracing the marks left on it in an almost daze like state. Soldier’s words rung loudly in his mind, quite violently clearing his mind of his woes and focusing on the tombstones that held all the power. The ones that stopped him from really living.

“Blow it up already!”

Right.

Right. Right.

Keeping his eyes on the prize, Sniper adjusted the rocket launcher on his shoulder as he wrapped his finger around the trigger.

“Your old man was an idiot and clearly so was your mum. Both useless.” Soldier’s gruff voice was oddly quieter than it’s ever been like only Sniper was allowed to hear his words despite them being alone and maybe that was the point. “You don’t need them, and you never did, so hurry up and get rid of them for good.”

Right.

Right. Right.

Sniper pulled the trigger.

He barely had time to react before the blast went up, obliterating the graves instantly and throwing him off to the side. Sniper hit the ground hard, waiting for the dust to settle before hearing Soldier’s bold laugh echo around the clearing.

“AND THAT’S THE TRUE AMERICAN WAY!”

Sniper was pulled to his feet instantly, awkwardly standing as Soldier wrapped an arm over his shoulders to view what remained.

It was all gone. Everything was gone and there was not a single bit of his parents was left to haunt him. He felt lighter than he had in a long time and a rare, true, genuine smile found its way on his face. Sniper was free and he was happy, he was so, so, happy.

“I want to do this more.” He whispered.

“Then let’s go! Engie’s got a whole pile of scraps begging to be blown to smithereens!”

And finally, his schedule was complete.

Wake up.

Updates with Medic.

Blast Scout’s music for his workout.

Relax with the kid.

Clean van.

Smoke with Spy.

Steal food before the others arrive.

Check in with Engie.

Drink with Tavish.

Back into van.

Help Pyro with their colouring book.

Clean and check over his weapons.

Destroy things with Soldier.

Stargaze with Heavy.

Nap.

And repeat.

Notes:

Sniper: *breathes*
Soldier: MOVE ON FROM YOUR TRAUMA!
Sniper: Right
Solder: And that's how you do it folks!

This fic is still alive!! Thanks for reading this as always and hope you keep enjoying this amazing story! <33

Chapter 9: Sniper And His Unhappy Family

Summary:

The team gets Christmas holidays and all part ways to reunite back for the new year's, leaving Sniper to finally deal with some stuff on his own.

HIs family had invited him back to Australia for a family reunion, what could possibly go wrong?

Notes:

Hope you guys enjoy the final conclusion!

Christmas.

What a joke.

Who even celebrated that anymore?

People with families?

People with hope?

People that probably weren’t Sniper, that’s for sure.

He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel of his van, idly tapping out a melody to one of Scout’s favourite songs. His eyes staring blanking out into the vast sandy plains that surrounded his home, or what had been his home since taking up the mercenary job. It was almost surreal to be free of the base and consequently free of his friends that had all made plans for the Christmas break.

All plans which didn’t include Sniper.

He wasn’t bothered by it. He didn’t care. He just wished one of them could’ve been his escape goat for his own plans.

His estranged family had invited him over for dinner and to ‘celebrate’ the holidays and coming new year’s. He could still feel the crumbled-up invitation in his pant pocket, where he quickly shoved it to avoid any questions from his teammates. All of them had some sort of invite or letter from their family and closed one. It was an odd perk that the job gave them holiday breaks, but only on the occasion where the Administrator allows it. Sniper didn’t know how it fully worked, and he didn’t really care.

All his brain power was going to wild speculations about what his family want from him; it’d been years upon years without any contact and suddenly on Christmas no less, they wanted to see him.

Sniper could count roughly on one hand the number of times he’d seen his cousins or any relative in the span of his youth. None of them went to the same primary school as him and very few barely even attended his high school. By then there was no point keeping contact or to pretend that there was anyone else in his life but his parents. If he truly believed that there were more people to reach out to then it would make it hurt even more when no one came to help him. Because no one ever did.

He sighed quietly, turning off to the side of the road and parking in the sand, lasting all of two seconds before the tears started to fall. The sobs started getting louder and louder in the quiet of his van; everything started to hurt.

His memories were washing over him, drowning him and taking every bit of confidence he had in himself. He could feel his body twitching like it was lit from the inside out, burning and burning and burning. He felt raw and too exposed yet trapped and suffocating all in one.

Blurred faces were rushing through his mind, putting vague names to even vaguer bodies as he struggled to name his relatives. They had sent him a letter of themselves at the front, all posed and smiling like they hadn’t been ignoring a specific person for years.

Why now?

Why did they have to care now?

And why was his heart so sensitive that he had to accept it?

Because despite it all, he still craved what he never got. A chance. A hope for a reality that maybe this gathering would fix something inside him and complete the broken puzzle that was his mind. Maybe this was something he needed, and it was a sign from the world that his journey of healing was finally going to happen.

Maybe they’d accept him, they’d answer his questions, they’d be regretful over their inaction, and he could be a part of something special.

He’d have a family.

His trembling hands reached for the wheel once again and Sniper very hopefully continued his journey across country to reach his family’s home. He passed the deserts and long plains of sand as the scenery blurred around him to the bustling city life of a past long forgotten. It was almost nostalgic to drive through the same streets he once took jobs from, hunting down people, killing people and his personal favourite, leaving threatening messages to prey that annoyed him. It was good money, and he almost missed it, if not for the fact that being a mercenary paid much better money than any other job he could ever take.

Before long, his journey was coming to an end, parking his van at the airport and setting off to his home country, Australia. He stared distantly out the airplane window with his thoughts swirling around in his head and the ever-present longing of his family being his only company. Sniper wished he brought his other family; his metal companions and their charming little designs would’ve put his worries at ease. But he had to leave them behind so they could enjoy their own family time together with the whole base to themselves. He could already see Sheila spoiling her little cubs by letting them roam around and of course Avery would be there too, standing guard and keeping them warm during the cold nights that Sniper wasn’t there with them. He couldn’t wait to see them again; he should get them souvenirs.

With a gentle smile, the sharpshooter found himself being lulled to sleep by the plane’s engine and closed his eyes for the rest of the trip.

“What are you doing for Christmas, Snipes?”

Christmas?

“Got any family out there?”

What?

“See you next year then, big guy!”

Where’s everyone going?

Why were they leaving him?

Didn’t they know that he didn’t celebrate Christmas? He thought he told them or at least gave some kind of message. He had no reason to leave the base for anything.

His parents were here, so he was here. He would never leave, just like they would’ve wanted.

“That’s right, you’re stuck with us now, son.” His father’s drunken voice wafted over him, choking him in the smell of alcohol and death.

“You could never handle being alone, could you?” His mum whispered close to his ears, digging her nails in his shoulder with no care to how he flinched in pain.

“You will always be a Mundy.”

Sniper shot upright from his seat, digging his hands into the armrests as he fought to keep his panicking under control. He blinked away the last remnants of his nightmare, eerily recalling the last words from his dead mother that woke him up.

He’d always be a Mundy.

It was a haunting truth and one that followed him deep in his subconscious, knowing that despite it all his parents would always be a part of him. They sunk their claws into him and he was still prying himself out of their cold, dead hands.

Blowing up their makeshifts graves was a goodbye to their physical reminder, but their mental presence still lingered. He had his dad’s rage after all and his mother’s coldness, using their abuse to shape the way he treated his own targets. Haunting others with the knowledge from his messed-up childhood and honing years of anguish into a skilled marksman. It all served a purpose in the end and for that, he’d always be a Mundy. Forever marked as their only child and forever tainted by their love.

A flashing light from above had Sniper realising that the plane was in the process of being deboarded with passengers gradually getting up to grab their luggage and heading off the plane. He waited for the eager few to leave before grabbing his own stuff, trailing after the other considerate passengers who were in no rush.

It didn’t take long for his once eager anticipation of meeting his family to turn into fearful dread of what they might think of him. He was going in almost completely blind and that was a situation he always tried to avoid. There was no telling what his parents had said to them or if they even communicated before they had died. Sniper wasn’t prepared and for that he was absolutely terrified.

His eyes kept darting around, protected by his shades as he scanned every point of exit, entry and window that left him exposed to the world. He followed after the crowd heading towards the main airport with its many bodies and noises. It was overwhelming in the worst of ways and Sniper could feel his resolve crumbling as his eyes fearfully landed on a group of people with one in particular holding up a sign that read, ‘Jack Jr. Mundy’.

Because he was named after his father.

Because he would always be a Mundy.

“Hey Jack!”

“Junior, long time no see!”

The small crowd was quick to surround him, patting his back and grabbing his bags as they swept him from out the airport and into a family van that looked to have seen better days. His eyes ran over each of them, counting at least five in the vehicle with him while the others went into other cars that would follow soon after. The conversations all went over his head, a mixture of phrases and sounds that were barely being processed. His body went into autopilot, smiling and nodding his head when they asked him something or mumbling quietly at a question.

They all appeared to take it in stride, laughing and chatting amongst themselves with boisterous energy that Sniper was suffocating against underneath.

“-has been a while huh? What have you been up too, Jack?”

Sniper whipped his head towards the person that asked him, seemingly sitting outside on lawn chairs with the rest of the older men or his cousins, presumably. The one that asked him looked vaguely familiar, his brown eyes struck a chord in Sniper, but he couldn’t place it.

What was the question?

A chuckle.

“Doing any jobs, Jack?”

No.

“What do you do then?” The stranger prodded with barely concealed laughter in his voice.

He eyed the man suspiciously and quickly took in the other strangers that all looked to be part of a joke that he hadn’t picked up on. It felt hostile and weird. He didn’t belong here.

“I travel.” The sharpshooter answered slowly, feeling the goosebumps on his skins as small children ran past him. One of the kids ran towards a separate group where it looked to be where the aunties were all chatting amongst themselves. He noted that they’d look occasionally over at him before going back to their circle. In fact, Sniper could feel multiple eyes on him from different directions, like they were all waiting for something.

What was he doing here?

“You’re family, aren’t you?” Someone joked to the left of him, clinking his beer with their own and Sniper squeezed his bottle tightly in response.

He was family but this didn’t feel right, and it certainly wasn’t how he imagined this reunion going, but then again nothing involving him was ever normal to begin with.

Sniper turned to face the cousin that reminded him of something like a distant memory that was just beyond his grasp.

“You good, Mundy?”

“You good, Mundy?”

Sniper spat out his tooth, thankful it was one of his baby teeth as his bullies finally got off his body. He watched them wearily from his hunched posture as blood from his head wound ran down his face, dripping to the concrete ground below.

He watched as the kids all gathered around the newcomer, brushing off their knuckles and wiping off the blood that stained their clothes. Because Mundy was beneath them and even his blood was worthless to them. But it wasn’t what hurt him the most.

It was watching his older cousin wave off his attackers and turning to leave him in the alleyway all alone.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

The words felt like poison on his tongue, and he knew he was right when said cousin flinched under his hard stare. Because he knew and now Sniper knew that he knew and oh, the rage that engulfed him was burning.

It was burning bright.

Someone coughed to get his attention, and Sniper reluctantly pulled his gaze away to meet the eyes of another. She stood politely in front of him with her hands tucked into her pockets and a smile that set his nerves alight.

“So, I have to ask, Junior,” She spoke with false cheer, “No one’s really heard from you over the years, why is that?”

Why would he know, it’s not like anyone else had tried to contact him.

“Well, it’s just interesting is all, not even Aunty and Uncle’s funeral brought you back. And they were your parents after all.”

Well, they were shit parents.

Someone gasped.

“Language! They are children-”

And he was a child too.

He was a child that was constantly overlooked and forgotten. A child with no home and no family to even pretend to care for him. He was a child that was already grown up and with a future so dark that no one had any hope that he’d live past his teenage years. He was a child that was already deemed a failure from birth and the only one that wanted him to live was himself.

So, he left.

He left it all behind him and this whole thing has only proven to him that he was right to do so.

He was done with this.

This wasn’t his family.

“Hey!”

Someone grabbed him, spun him around just as he was about to leave and Sniper used all the patience in the world to prevent himself from swinging on principle alone. He grunted at the manhandling, shoving their hands off him as the other opened their mouth.

“We just want answers, Jack, alright? You never came to the funeral or reached out to anyone for years! You’re the only child of Aunty and Uncle; we just want to know more about you.”

Bullshit.

“Jack-”

“Why?” He whispered through gritted teeth, “Why do you care now, why do any of you care now!?”

“Because you’re a Mundy!”

Sniper burst into hysterical laughter.

How could he not?

It felt like he was going insane with these conversations and surrounded by like-minded goons that just kept sprouting off lines from bad television shows. None of them were actually listening to him or even cared for that matter. He may be a Mundy but was where the correlation ended; he was nothing like these people and the very thought made him loose his mind.

This wasn’t his family. This wasn’t anything.

This was useless.

And he wasn’t going to spend his holidays here, Christmas or New Years. He was going solo like he always had been, and this year would be no different.

He pushed passed all the hands that tried to grab him, ignoring the shouts and hypocritical swearing that erupted from the adults around them. All of them desperate to grab a hold of the personification of a past that long left them as they had left him. Sniper was not going to entertain anymore of their useless prodding and incessant questioning looks. They wanted someone he was not and wanted answers that he wasn’t going to give.

Fuck being a Mundy.

The sharpshooter wandered the streets of his old hometown, taking in all the old sights and smells that never truly left his memories. He recalled all the alleyways that he was chased into and the many rooftops that he utilised in his youth.

He found himself walking towards his home, noting all the little cracks and broken windows that matched the equally broken family that had once lived there. He was surprised to see it still standing and in relatively good condition, imagining that his family likely looked after it. His hand was already twisting the doorknob with ease and Sniper sucked in a painful breath.

Every step he took was like a gunshot to his heart as his body trembled against the onslaught of powerful memories. He recounted every punishment, every dinnertime, every conversation that was ever had in this house of nightmares. The door to his bedroom was long gone from the night when his dad decided to break it down for whatever reason.

He had no bedframe nor a bed for comfort, instead only a soft carpeted floor to sleep on while his parents used all three mattresses for their own room. Sniper traced his fingers of the lone closet in his room, opening the doors to stare sullenly at the many notches he carved from the inside. He used to tally all the nights he stayed in there, eventually kicking out a small hole that he could squeeze himself out of from behind. It worked briefly but then he got too tall, and it became something that mocked him. An escape that no longer worked.

Snipes walked around his room, spotting the dried blood stains and cracks in the wall that told stories of his painful survival. He stopped at his bedroom window, touching the cold metal of the bars that his dad installed after Sniper kept sneaking back into the house. His mum would put mouse traps underneath all the windows, because she knew he had no shoes to protect him. On the worser nights, she’d leave glass and rusted nails, anything that could slow him down or prevent him from coming inside.

And his family wanted to know how he was doing?

Look at the sight of this fucking house, of his own room that hadn’t changed since he left. Everything they could ever know about his parents and upbringing was all here and not one of them bothered to even entertain the idea that the problem wasn’t with him. Not to mention the one dickhead that knew the whole time and did nothing!

What did they want from him?

“We just want closure.”

A new voice spoke from behind him which had Sniper stiffen in barely contained annoyance. He looked over his shoulder to see the same cousin that questioned him on his lack of contact. Her grin was still eerily, and her eyes revealed nothing of what was going on inside her head.

“You don’t even know my name, do you?” She prodded unkindly.

Did it matter?

“Suppose not, don’t reckon you’re staying long, are you?”

Sniper stared at her.

She hummed, straightening her posture as she took in Sniper’s bedroom; no trace of remorse or regret evident in her body language. It was like she was looking at something from a museum, watching from afar with no connection to what was happening inside.

“Aunty Martha wanted a girl, y’know? She was very disappointed and so was the rest of family. Everyone else had beautiful baby girls as their first born and yet you were the exception.”

She walked around the room, circling Sniper like prey but the man refused to break eye contact with her. He was frozen to the spot.

“Uncle Jack was happy cause that meant he could name you after him. Though it didn’t take him long to regret it. You kept causing problems, making enemies and before long, no one wanted to be involved with the Mundy’s. We had to isolate from you, before you spread your poison to the rest of us!”

She jabbed at his chest harshly.

“And then when they died, you didn’t even have the audacity to show your face! To not even apologise for all the harm you caused them, driving them to drink and feel unsafe in their own home! They only wanted a child, and you came out a demon!”

Sniper stumbled back as his cousin kept pushing him back, shoving him harshly into the bars of his old window. His hands twitched by his side uselessly, grappling with the words of his cousin and his own turmoil at her twisted perception. It wasn’t true and yet the words failed to come out.

“We invite you back to our home and yet you still have the sickening audacity to lie to our faces and play this little victim when we all know how hard you were to raise. You listened to no one, and Aunty and Uncle died because of your lack of care. They did everything for you and this family, so how dare you pretend otherwise!”

“Get away from me!” He barked, shoving her back with enough force to send her to the ground as he quickly fled from his room.

“I’M CALLING THE POLICE!”

Her voice echoed across the streets, chasing Sniper out onto the roads while he scrambled for a way to leave. His flight back to the base wasn’t booked until next year, leaving him here for a good few months with no way to get back.

Then his eyes locked onto a familiar sight, the forest.

His sanctuary.

His home away from home.

Mind made up, he dashed towards the overgrown bushes and towering trees, following a path that only he knew of. He felt free and wild as he ran through the forest, his feet guiding him to a now old and abandoned tree house that he made when he was younger. The rope was still there dangling from a sturdy tree branch as he lifted himself up to his manmade structure.

The wooden floorboards creaked loudly underneath but held firm under his weight as Sniper squeezed himself into the house. It was something he made a long time ago when his parents kept bringing people over to their house and giving him no room to stay under the same roof as them. There were nails stuck out weirdly and bolted down pieces of wood that only just provided him enough protection from the outside world. He remembered stealing a tarp that he used for the roof from a neighbouring tourist, running around in his people’s backyards as he stole all that he could.

No one else was going to give him a home so made one, one for emergencies and for those long nights, where returning to his room was impossible.

His legs were pressed to his chest uncomfortably, unable to move around for any sort of comfortability. He could feel his flip phone dig into his hip and with a quiet grunt, he took it out of his pocket. A stray thought entered his mind of calling one of his teammates.

But to tell them what?

All of them had their own plans and not one of them were even remotely close to Australia for any sort of quick pick up. He was by himself and for once in his life, Sniper didn’t like it.

He didn’t revel in the solitude that his past self would’ve enjoined, because back then he had no reason to desire anything else. Maybe it was this childish version of himself, that little kid in his subconscious that still reached with grubby hands for some sort of companionship. Maybe Sniper was never meant for this life of self-isolation and maybe, he wanted to stop hiding, just for once.

His fingers dug into the phone, staring unfocused at the little screen as tears blocked his vision. He tucked his shades into his vest pocket, curling up into a ball and closing his eyes tightly as he dreamed of holiday filled with laughter and joy. Something he hoped to experience one day.

Fuck being a Mundy.

Notes:

Thank you to eveyone who's been following this story and all the support! This is definitely one of my favourite written fics by far and I just love Sniper sm! <33

Hope you all enjoyed this series and all the love that I've put into this chapter!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of giving attention to sniper