Chapter Text
Sniper’s boots thud against the ground desperately as he ran, kicking up dust and shards of dry grass. The wind clawed at his clothes furiously, the howl ringing in his ears. He could feel the deliberate footfalls of the spy behind him like a soft pounding in his chest. Exasperated, he turned his head slightly to the side, catching the flick of a snake-like tongue at the edge of his vision. Swallowing the yelp that nearly escaped his throat he turned back to the direction he was running and started to skid to a halt. In front of him in the middle of the field was a small concrete building with a door to a public restroom, like you would find in a gas station. After a moment of confusion had passed he whipped around to face the spy only to find nothing there, just the oppressive wind and the thick, almost tangible darkness.
Sniper turned to face the door and turned the handle, trying to steady his breathing. He entered and let out a relieved sigh as the overwhelming sound of the wind was nearly silenced by the closed door. The room was ordinary; sink, mirror, urinal, toilet, all about as dirty as you’d expect. He stepped around a small pool of blood at the edge of the floor drain as he made his way to the sink. He could see the room in the mirror just fine but his own reflection was blurry and hard to make out. He turned on the faucet and let cold water rinse the sweat and dirt from his hands, before leaning down to splash water in his face. As he picked his head back up and raked his fingers back through his hair he noticed his reflection slowly coming into focus.
Sniper thought he looked tired. He gave himself a small tentative smile, but the expression of his reflection didn’t change. He moved to the side cautiously and watched as his reflection remained in place, only following him with his eyes. He felt his heart sink and for a moment he considered sprinting out the door into the dark, but he felt paralyzed by his own gaze. He returned to the sink, unable to tear his eyes from the mirror. The reflection seemed entirely focused on him. Sniper thought his expression seemed like he was thinking about something, absently, and he watched as his counterpart slowly, carefully leaned forward and reached his hand up to the glass. His heart raced and again he felt the urge to bolt as his mirrored fingertips approached the glass. He failed to find any ill intent in the other’s face, so he waited, and watched as his hand reached out through the glass as if there was nothing there, nearing the side of his face almost apprehensively. His skin buzzed with anticipation as his fingers barely grazed his cheek-
Sniper inhaled sharply as he sat bolt upright, slamming his forehead into the ceiling over his loft bed. He groaned loudly and fell back resting on one elbow, lifting his other hand to feel at the impact site. This wasn’t the first time he’d woken up this way and it would not be the last. As the throbbing pain started to subside, his thoughts circled back to the mirror. A mirror dream was fairly common, not just for him, but for most of the mercenaries. An occasional identity crisis and discomfort with your own face simply comes with the territory of working with clones, and, of course, being one. Those dreams were usually violent though, typical ‘fighting your doppelganger to the death’ stuff. This one felt different. Something about the way the reflection seemed mesmerized by him left a heavy anxiousness coiling in his stomach, and he caught himself touching the side of his face mimicking the scene. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to force the thought into the back of his mind, before dragging himself out of bed.
The RED sniper’s relationship with sleep was tenuous at the best of times, both willing to stay up long after the base went dead quiet and determined to get up early in the morning. The nightmares had been eating away at what little time he had for rest. He opened the blinds to find, unsurprisingly, that the sun hadn’t risen yet. For once, this was acceptable. It would likely take from the crack of dawn to pack up the whole base anyway, he thought, and as someone who doesn’t own many things, he’d usually end up helping the others. He put some coffee on and brushed his teeth, imagining what the new base would be like.
Some mercenaries despised the rotation system; they'd prefer to stay at the same base fighting over the same territory, but Sniper didn’t mind it at all. Switching to different spots and using different angles was what kept the job interesting for him, and it seemed like everyone had their fill of Swiftwater by now. It was hot, buggy, and you can only fight over the same two chokes so many times before you lose interest. Teams would typically move bases every two to six weeks, but his team had been here for nearly three months at this point. A fresh start would be good for everybody, he thought, stirring cream and sugar into his coffee.
Ms. Pauling sent an announcement last night that they’re moving to Snowycoast. Sniper had never been there, but he noticed Engineer seemed to perk up at that name. He must’ve fought there before he joined this team. Spy had already informed them a couple weeks ago that there were vacancies up north and they’d likely end up fighting in the snow. Sniper was not fond of the cold, but he looked forward to a change of environment regardless. Scout moved around enough that he stayed warm on his own, and most of the other mercenaries carried heavy equipment that kept their blood pumping, but Sniper had to be still to keep his aim steady, so keeping warm was always a struggle.
He got dressed and made sure everything was tucked away, and cabinets and drawers were locked so the camper would be ready to drive. It never took him long to pack; he didn’t have a lot of stuff so he could easily fit his whole life in his camper, mostly. All his extra weapons were in the warehouse with everyone else’s, but he kept his daily set in his camper for security. There was some risk to living outside their building away from everyone, but he usually felt quite safe with his rifle. Some of the others also liked to keep their weapons close, namely Soldier, but after rebuilding the same wall for the third time in a single week, Engineer forbid Soldier, Pyro, and Demo specifically from doing this, and their weapons were banished to the locker room outside of battle. Sniper topped off his coffee and pulled his boots on to head into the base.
As he approached the door he looked out to the sun peeking halfway over the horizon, tinting the sky shades of pink and purple. Spy would definitely be up by now, Heavy too, but they’d likely be waiting a while for Engie, who was essential to the whole packing ordeal as he’s the only one who actually knows how to operate the forklift. The engineer had a habit of getting absorbed in his work and losing track of time, so he’d often sleep in pretty late. At least that leaves plenty of time for breakfast, Sniper thought to himself. Feeling hungry, he headed straight for the kitchen. He did have food in his fridge in the camper, but breakfast at the base was so much better he nearly always showed up, even if it meant denying himself peace and quiet.
“Mornin’, big guy,” Sniper greeted him with a small smile. He’d always gotten along quite well with Heavy, as he was mostly observant and quiet the same way he was. He was the only one Sniper could sit with in comfortable silence, just to appreciate the company of another person. At least, until someone else broke the silence for them.
The heavy glanced over at him from the kitchen counter, where he was whisking a massive bowl of eggs. “Morning, bushman.” His tone was low and dry, almost threatening, but Sniper could easily read his soft expression and see he was being friendly.
“Need any help over here?” Sniper asked, already knowing what the answer would be.
Heavy turned and placed one finger down in the middle of an empty sheet tray, “Put bacon here.”
“Yes, chef,” Sniper obliged, grinning stupidly. Heavy was no longer looking at him but he could feel the taller man rolling his eyes.
Initially, the mercenaries were all supposed to take turns cooking, but the issue with this system immediately became evident. Some of them were just not capable of consistently making nutritious, safe, or even edible food. Soldier’s cooking in particular was so awful that when they’d see nine expired MREs set on the table for dinner they’d sigh in relief. Eventually they worked it out to the current system, where Heavy and Engie do most of the cooking, Medic is only allowed to cook when supervised, Pyro and Scout are only allowed to bake, and Sniper is only allowed to cook outside on the grill. Of course, everyone was allowed to help out, and Sniper would always offer to if he’s around, since Heavy ended up in the kitchen nearly every day. It wasn’t fair, but Heavy didn’t mind much since he enjoyed cooking and it was for the good of everyone.
While the two of them were finishing up with the food, Soldier had greeted them, grabbing a pot and a metal spoon from the rack on the wall and sat at the end of the table, impatiently waiting to commence his favorite part of his morning routine. Spy, who was smoking outside, had come in without saying a word to any of them, as usual. As Sniper was pulling the last of the pans out of the oven, Heavy looked over to Soldier and nodded. He grinned ecstatically and shot up out his chair, racing down the hall. Sniper grimaced as the sound of banging metal and Soldier screaming, “RISE AND SHINE, YOU MAGGOTS!” faded as he valiantly marched towards their sleeping quarters.
Soldier dragged the last of them to the table and everyone plated up and sat in their usual configuration. Soldier, Scout, and Pyro were at one end of the table, having some kind of argument about Pyro’s pajamas, Medic and Demoman were in the middle, retelling their favorite memories of bullying the team they’d been fighting here at Swiftwater, and Sniper, Heavy, and Engineer sat at the other end of the table, quietly, politely eating their food. Spy was sitting at a small table across the room, alone, reading a magazine. Apparently he was not in the mood to talk shit with Medic and Demo today. Engie had already finished his plate and fallen back asleep, slumped over on the table next to them.
“Guess we’ll have to start without him then, eh?” Sniper suggested, though he already figured as much.
Heavy absently hummed in agreement. He seemed to be invested in the story Demo was telling about being trapped behind enemy lines. It was a good story, but they’d all heard it before.
Sniper liked his teammates but he wasn’t particularly close with any of them. Sometimes he wondered if they even noticed when he wasn’t around, but he tried not to let it bother him. A couple months ago they had all piled into the van to go out for a drink without even realizing he wasn’t with them. He felt equally hurt as he felt ashamed for letting it affect him at all. It’s not like they did it on purpose, they didn’t hate him. Well, Spy probably did, but he hated everyone to varying degrees. It was just a fact of his life; he was quiet, hard to find, and even harder to track. That was what made him so effective. And so alone. He stared down at his plate miserably, pushing around the last bit of scrambled egg with his fork. He needed to stop thinking about this and do something productive.
Sniper got up and took his and Engie’s plates to the sink before making his way down the hall to his room. He hardly used the space for anything as he preferred to sleep in his camper. Most of the stuff he put in here when they arrived was still in boxes but he decided to look through and repack it anyway. A useless memento from an old base, an ugly button-up he liked to wear going out, a broken sun visor he pulled out of his truck, a warmer vest- that one would be nice to have, actually. He left a few things out for the colder climate they’d be moving into and kept digging until he found it. He pulled it out of the box and buried his face in the soft, red fabric. He was pretty sure Pyro made one of these sweaters for everyone, but it still brought a smile to his face knowing they made this for him.
In a matter of minutes Sniper was done with his own packing. He could hear Soldier down the hall shouting ‘encouragement’ at everyone and poked his head out the doorway to check on them. There were boxes, clothing, broken pallets, junk, and trash strewn about all over the hallway, as expected. Already feeling irritated by the mess and noise, Sniper walked across to knock on Heavy’s door. Pulling the door slightly open, Heavy looked at him for a moment and wordlessly let him in.
Heavy’s room was as much a small library as it was a bedroom so it took some time- and some muscle- to pack it up. What Sniper lacked in strength he made up for in organization, so Heavy was appreciative of his help regardless. They sorted the books the same way they always did and Heavy started loading up the boxes. Settling into the comfortable monotony of the task, Sniper thought of the mirror in his dream again. Every time he closed his eyes he saw his own face looking back at him intently, and wondered what he was thinking, what would’ve happened if he didn’t wake up. He snapped out of it when Heavy took the last box from him and stacked it on the pallet with the others.
Sniper piled his stuff on top and whistled for Pyro to come by with the wrap and pallet jack. He bounded down the hall excitedly, dragging the jack behind him and carted the pallet off to the warehouse, where Engineer was on the forklift loading their trucks. Sniper wandered off to help Medic pack up the lab, as the doctor didn’t trust many of the others with his fragile equipment, and Heavy went to help pack up their weapons. There was something satisfying about the routine of moving, everyone doing their part like they’ve done dozens of times before. Sometimes it seemed like they had better teamwork here than in battle.
Waiting for Engie to finish up with the trucks, Sniper took a long, indulgent drag from his cigarette. He realized that he could’ve left much earlier without them, but considering that they would be driving through snow for much of the distance, he preferred the safety of their usual caravan formation. Engie would drive the truck with their stuff, Heavy would drive the truck with all the weapons, Sniper would drive his camper, of course, and Medic would have the misfortune of driving the van with the rest of their team in it. Last time Demo joked that Medic used to be a regular doctor, and driving the four of them around was the thing that drove him mad. Watching Scout and Soldier wrestle and bicker over seats as they piled into the van, Sniper thought he might not be too far off.
Sniper’s drive was a blur of featureless fields, snow, and many radio stations of varying content and quality. It was relatively uneventful, other than Pyro stealing a kid’s menu from a 5 year old when they stopped to eat and Medic pulling over on the side of the road to lean into the backseat and strangle Scout. It was so late by the time they made it to the base they didn’t even bother opening up the trucks, they just walked in and passed out on bare mattresses. Or in Sniper’s case, didn’t even bother going inside.