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The van is hot.
Honestly, there’s a million other things that he could be concerned about right now - the fact that he hasn’t eaten or drank anything in hours comes to mind, and so does the ache in his legs and back, and so does the harsh throbbing behind his eyes that only gets worse with every bump in the road.
But even through all of that, through the aches and pains and trembles running up and down his body, the main thing on Sniper’s mind is that it’s bloody hot in the back of this van.
He’s not even sure whether it’s still day - it was sunny when they last locked him in, though it’s been a while since then - but the windowless, sealed metal cargo hold has done a perfect job of staying suffocatingly hot, regardless of the time. It’s like sitting in a goddamn oven. Combine that with the overall exhaustion of constantly running and thinking on the fly and wanting to strangle his captors with his bare hands for days, and it’s a wonder that Sniper is even awake right now. He’d honestly rather not be.
He wants to go home.
When that shitty old base in the middle of nowhere became home to him, Sniper’s not really sure - but Christ, does he miss it. Suppose three (or four?) days straight of being hunted for sport does that to a bloke, though.
He misses his team, too, an awful lot more than he thought he would. He wants to go home and be annoyed by their loud antics, and eat their shitty food, and play poker with five people that all cheat in different ways. He wants his family.
He can only hope they’re looking for him.
The van jolts, its deep rumble fading out as it slowly comes to a stop. Sniper blinks hard, forcing himself to at least try to focus - his captors don’t appreciate being ignored, and he’s in enough pain as it is.
There’s a discussion outside, one that he can’t quite understand, and then a few moments of silence before the heavy door creaks open, flooding the tiny space with artificial light and fresh air. Sniper cringes away from the light, sucking in a deep, pained breath through his teeth as the pounding in his head increases tenfold, but does his best to keep his eyes open and not react beyond that.
The man before him snirks and rolls his eyes. “Still actin’ tough, huh? Not gonna win you any points.” He reaches in to rattle the cage a bit, smirking when Sniper grumbles in response. “C’mon now, don’t be like that. We got a fun one for you, boy. Sun’s down. You’ve been slacking, makin’ things far too easy, so we thought we’d give you an advantage.”
Sniper just glares at him. Sure, it’ll be nice to not have to run around in the sun for once, but there’s no way these assholes would willingly give him a step up - there’s sure to be a catch, and he’s not looking forward to discovering it.
His captor ignores him in favor of unlocking the cage, quick to hook that blasted leash onto the collar as Sniper unsteadily climbs out. A few other men stand nearby, jeering and muttering amongst themselves. Sniper simply keeps his eyes forward and his head down. He’s learned by now to just tune it out.
The man tugs on the leash with a sneer, leading Sniper away from the van and toward a dense treeline. It’s almost impossibly dark beyond the small circle of light around the van, and Sniper eyes his surroundings nervously. He’s spent nights in forests before, and has almost died a few times to rather large, hungry beasts. This won’t be easy, and he’s sure his captors know it.
They stop at the very edge of the woods, and the man unhooks the leash. He looks expectantly at Sniper, who hesitates, glancing back at him.
“Well? Get going.”
Sniper blinks, not quite able to process what’s going on. He turns, staring into the woods with wide eyes. That’s it? No supplies, no lights, nothing?
“Clock’s ticking, boy. Don’t wanna run outta time now, do ya?”
Bugger.
Sniper takes off, bolting into the darkness on trembling legs.
His head throbs with every heavy footstep, and he’s gasping for air only a minute in, but he doesn’t let up - he can’t. He can’t get caught too early. He can’t deal with that again.
It’s beyond dark under the thick canopy of leaves and branches, and after a few minutes of running in the blackness Sniper skids to a stop, chest heaving. Or at least, he tries to stop, but finds himself sliding quite a bit further than intended, and ends up on his hands and knees in what he quickly realizes is the catch he’s been dreading - several inches of wet mud. He groans, the sound tearing through his dry throat. Of course.
It’s quite the struggle to get back up, and he’s covered once he makes it to his feet. He does his best to wipe it off, cringing at the feeling of it on his skin. If he were being tracked by a hound of some kind, mud would be a godsend for hiding his scent; but with hunters after him, leaving tracks is the last thing he wants, and as far as he can tell, the ground is coated in the stuff.
Sniper growls to himself, squinting into the darkness before him. He needs to keep moving. His best bet is to just… push forward, and hope the muddy patch ends sooner rather than later.
He’s not sure how long it’s been, but he knows he’s quickly running out of time. His captors will start searching soon, and he’s not nearly as far off as he’d like to be. His body aches, and though his eyes have adjusted to the darkness by now it’s still almost impossible to see. A part of him wants to just lay down and let himself be caught, tired of the cat-and-mouse game, desperate for a break - but he knows the consequences, and he’s not willing to deal with them again. He’s not really sure he can.
Keep going. He just has to keep going.
He’s taking a quick breather behind a tree, when he hears it - a familiar sound that makes him pause, eyes wide. A distinct click-woosh, a sound he’s heard on the battlefield countless times, a sound that sends his heart rate skyrocketing on a good day. Sniper jerks to stand up straight, a movement he somewhat regrets when his head throbs with pain, but he’s more focused on listening, staring intently into the dark forest.
It can’t be. Out here, in the middle of bloody nowhere, so late it’s near impossible to see? No chance.
He stands stock-still, just listening, for a few quiet moments - before footsteps start to come up behind him, and instant panic rises in his chest. Sniper takes off again, gasping harshly through clenched teeth. Bugger. Of course there was no shot. He must be hearing things, and it might cost him everything right now.
The footsteps are getting closer, several sets of them, heavy and fast. Sniper pushes to run harder, faster, he’s got to escape, he can’t be caught so quickly-
A warm body collides with his, sending him tumbling to the side, through a patch of bushes that he would’ve passed completely by on his own. Sniper grunts as he lands hard on his back, half-pinned by- by something that he can’t really see. Phantom hands grip his wrists, and suddenly the cuffs are off, thrown casually to the side as if they’re nothing more than loose bracelets, as if Sniper hasn’t rubbed his wrists raw countless times trying to pull them off on his own. Something else locks around his wrist in their place, and that familiar click-woosh sounds off again, and his own body disappears from view.
“Stay down,” a voice hisses, right above him, and Sniper wants to cry, because he knows that voice.
Head ringing, Sniper goes dead-weight underneath the invisible Spy, and trusts that he knows what he’s doing.
The footsteps are getting closer. Sniper shuts his eyes, chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. He feels Spy squeeze his wrist, as if in comfort, as the group of men pass right by their hiding spot, seemingly none the wiser. A meter or two away, one of them shouts something unintelligible, and after a few minutes, the footsteps fade away completely.
Alone together in the silence, Sniper hears Spy release a heavy, relieved breath. “They are gone,” he whispers, and his weight leaves Sniper as he shifts to the side. His hand is still on Sniper’s wrist, and he twists it a little, setting off the distinct click-woosh of the Cloak and Dagger as Sniper’s body reappears. The warmth of his hand leaves, and in a moment, he reappears as well, sitting up next to Sniper. “Are you alright?”
Sniper blinks up at him, half-convinced he’s dreaming. You found me, he wants to say. Thank you. I was scared. I’m so tired.
With the muzzle still on, all that comes out is a pained whine.
Spy winces, glancing him over with a visibly guilty look. “Apologies, mon ami. I would not have done that if it were any less of an emergency.” He reaches to help Sniper gently sit up, brow furrowing at the sight of the muzzle and collar still on him. Without a word, he moves behind Sniper - which immediately sets off alarms in his head, but he tries to ignore them - and starts to pick at the locks keeping the restraints in place. In only seconds, the collar falls away, and then Spy carefully pulls the muzzle off of Sniper’s face, dropping it in the mud with a disgusted look. “Mon dieu, they have treated you like an animal. Miserable cowards.”
Sniper rubs at his neck with a shaky hand and sucks in a deep breath. His throat burns and his mouth is dry, but the relief of fresh air on his face is so incredibly freeing that he’s able to ignore all that. Though it does send him into a bit of a coughing fit, one that Spy patiently sits with him through, patting his back.
Once Sniper’s able to properly breathe, he swallows thickly and glances at Spy. There’s a million things he wants to say, questions he wants to ask, but in his muddled state, he can’t possibly voice most of them - so he just settles on, “…thank you. I- how’d ya find me?”
“Apparently, Medic has put trackers in all of us,” Spy says, looking mildly perturbed. “Though they only extend a certain distance. By the time we had realized you were gone, you were just far enough to be off the grid. We have been struggling to catch up for quite some time.”
Sniper releases a deep, exhausted sigh, squeezing his eyes shut. All this time, they were looking for him. They knew he was gone, and they were looking for him. Thank christ.
When he opens his eyes, Spy’s standing in a half-crouch, scanning the forest over the bushes. He presses a gloved hand to his ear. “Oui, I found him. We are alone. Hurry.” After a moment of silence, he glances back at Sniper. “The company van is not far from here. Scout and Demoman are nearby, they will cover us. Can you run?”
With a groan, Sniper pushes himself to his feet. His knees buckle, but Spy’s quick to catch him, holding tightly onto his arm as he struggles to stand. He gets there eventually, legs shaking. “Bloody- christ. Maybe. I- I can try.”
Spy nods grimly. “Follow me.”
He lets go and squeezes through the bushes, waiting for a moment before he takes off through the forest, Sniper hot on his heels. The ground is still slick with mud, and in the time since Spy found him it’s only gotten darker, and every step sends jolts of pain racing up and down his body - and so he really shouldn’t be too surprised when he trips over an unnoticed root. A sharp, pained yelp escapes him as he hits the ground and slides a bit, hidden stones and branches in the mud tearing at his skin. He stops only a second later, but the damage has been done. As Spy skids to a stop and races back to help him, there’s a shout from somewhere to his left, a voice he recognizes that sends fear like ice water crashing through his chest.
“Over there! Get him!”
Spy mutters a swear and grab’s Sniper’s wrist, triggering the Cloak and Dagger. Smoke surrounds the both of them, and when it dissipates the only sign that Spy’s anywhere nearby is the tight grip he still has on Sniper’s wrist. He tugs, and they take off again, even as Sniper stumbles and whimpers under his breath, gritting his teeth in agony.
A sudden gunshot sounds off behind them, followed by a scream and several voices’ worth of confusion. Sniper distantly recognizes that and the shots that follow as the sound of Scout’s scattergun. They keep running.
There’s a battle cry, then a wild, bright explosion. It lights up the forest around them, just for a second, just long enough to highlight shards of tree and shimmering chunks landing around them before everything goes dark again. They keep running.
There’s a light somewhere ahead, quickly getting closer. Sniper focuses on it the best he can, determined to make it, even through the pain and fogginess. They keep running.
A gun goes off, but it’s different, sharper, closer -
There’s a wet thunk, and a sudden pain in his side. He shouts and stumbles and almost trips, but Spy’s grip doesn’t let up and they keep fucking running, one foot in front of the other, step by step by step by step-
The doors of the van are open, hands beckoning frantically, and Spy shoves Sniper forward. He’s pulled and pushed inside, landing harshly on his knees - and it’s here, finally here, that he collapses.
The world is spinning. Somehow he’s ended up on his back, eyes pointed up at the metal roof of the van, staring but not seeing. His whole body hurts, aches, throbs with every sluggish beat of his heart. There’s shouting around him, voices that he feels like he should recognize but can’t quite place, and they sound worried, frantic.
For me, his addled brain supplies. They’re worried about me.
The ground rumbles and jerks beneath him. The voices are still frantic, still loud, still terrified. Sniper groans, tired and pained, and the voices falter a little bit. It’s better.
There are hands on him now, gently but quickly moving him, adjusting him, and he blinks and finds himself with his head pillowed in someone’s lap, arms pinned at his sides by hands that rub calming patterns against his wrists. There’s weight on his legs, keeping those in place too. He whines, confused and dizzy, and a blurry figure leans into his view, upside down and visibly concerned.
“Hey pally, you- yer gonna be fine, alright? Just fine. We’re here now, Snipes, just- ya gotta stay still for Doc. Let him do his thing, okay? Yeah?”
Stay still. He can do that. Yeah, just- don’t move. And he’ll feel better, even.
“Alright. This will hurt, Herr Mundy.”
He’s barely able to process the warning through the thick accent before a sharp, terrible pain bursts in his side, like fireworks have been set off beneath his skin. He screams, jerking against the weight holding him down, desperate to get away. It doesn’t budge. He thinks he’s being spoken to, voices raising above the sound of his own, but he can’t understand a word through the agony.
And then, suddenly, it’s over.
He must’ve blacked out, actually, as when he pries open his eyes he’s sitting against a warm body, a dull throb emanating from his side. He shifts slightly, and the person behind him jolts in surprise.
“Snipes? You awake?”
Sniper groans and blinks hard, trying to focus. “…Scout? What…” He reaches up to rub at his forehead with a trembling hand. “Bugger. Ow.”
“Yeah, I’m right here man, it’s me.” A hand rests on his arm, and he realizes belatedly that he’s leaning against Scout’s chest, tucked between his legs. It’s a bit awkward due to the height difference, but he appreciates it all the same. “You’re safe, Mick. We- we’re in the company van. Engie’s takin’ us home.”
“Aye, we’ve gotcha now, lad.”
For the first time, Sniper pauses to take a real look at his surroundings. He and Scout are tucked into a corner of the van, and Demo and Medic are both here, sitting against the opposite wall. Medic’s chin is to his chest, fast asleep, but Demo’s watching him with a gentle smile, bottle in hand. “Mornin’, sunshine. How d’ye feel, mate?”
Sniper thinks about it. He shifts a bit more, moves his limbs, and eventually decides on, “Sore. Tired.” He lets his head fall back against Scout’s chest, blinking hard. “…gross.”
“Fair enough.” Demo nods, suddenly looking rather serious. “Ye’ve been through a lot, haven’t ye, Mundy?”
Sniper swallows, throat suddenly dry. “What happened?” he asks after a moment, instead of answering. “I remember, er… gettin’ here, to the van. Nothin’ else after that.”
Demo glances up at Scout, then sighs. “Ye were shot on the way here. Doc had ta dig the bullet outta ye ‘fore he could heal ye.”
“Me an’ Demo had to hold ya down,” Scout adds. He rests his chin on Sniper’s head. “You were super torn up, man. Doc was surprised ya made it this far.”
“Aye. He spent a few hours patchin’ ye up. Hard job in a movin’ van, y’ken, ‘specially without the medigun. Only reason he’s still out.” Demo gestures to the sleeping doctor with his bottle. Sniper looks over at him, and indeed, he’s got dark bags under his eyes. The sight sends a spark of guilt through him - though that’s overpowered by a deep feeling of… something he can’t quite place. His chest feels warm, and he’s suddenly a bit dizzy. A shaky sigh escapes him, and he feels Scout adjust behind his head.
“You alright, pal?”
“…you came for me.” It’s certainly not what he meant to say, nor did he expect to - but now that it’s out, he might as well get it all off his chest. “You all- ya came lookin’. Followed me, for- for days.”
“That we did.” Demo just nods, all casual and matter-of-fact. “Would’ve brought the whole team, if it weren’t for the Voice. Insisted a few stay behind, look after the base, y’ken? They wanted ta come though, more’n anythin’.”
“Yea man, ‘course we came,” Scout assures. “You’re part of the team, not like we were just gonna ditch ya, c’mon. Soon as we saw you were gone, which, I did first by th’way, we packed up an’ drove out, I swear. Not that we were worried about ya - I mean, ‘course we were worried, but- like, we knew we’d find ya, so we weren’t worried.”
“Inconsolable, he was,” Demo deadpans, to which Scout splutters, wordless but clearly flustered. “Blubberin’ like a wee lad, took us hours ta bring him down. Were as if he’d watched ye die right in front o’him.”
“Man, you- no way. You- that didn’t happen!”
“Aye. I was there, mate.”
“Nuh uh!” is Scout’s rather eloquent response, and it’s so immediate and yet wholly unexpected that Sniper laughs - a sharp, surprised bark, but a laugh all the same. Demo snorts, a wide grin forming on his face.
“There he is! Was sure we’d getcha, Mundy. Awful good ta’ see ye smilin’.”
“Stuff it, Tav,” Sniper says, but he can’t hide his amusement. He lets his head lull to the side, the smile twitching at his lips turning soft. I’m glad to know you care, he wants to say. Thank you for finding me.
He can’t quite get the words past his lips, but they must show on his face, as Demo’s expression softens and he raises his bottle in a wordless reply. Scout pats his arm kindly. It means so much more than he could ever put to words.
Sniper yawns, suddenly, and Scout’s quick to follow. Demo chuckles softly. “Still tired, aye Mundy? Prob’ly shouldn’t, but… go back ta sleep, mate. Got a few days’ worth o’travel ahead of us.”
“Not tired,” Sniper mumbles, but he sinks deeper into Scout’s embrace, blinking sluggishly. Arms come to wrap loosely around his chest, easy to push away if he needs, and warmth seems to burst in his chest, and in an instant he’s finally able to identify it; a deep feeling of comfort, safety, unlike anything he’s felt in years, settling in his stomach like he’s swallowed a boulder.
He lets himself slip away into sleep before he can think any further about it.
When Sniper next wakes, his first thought is that he actually feels rested this time, and he’s beyond glad for that. He’s still tired, but considerably less so. He’s also incredibly sore.
With a muffled groan, Sniper shifts and stretches his limbs, wincing as his whole body throbs in response. He forgets where he is, for a moment, addled with sleep and focused only on the aches. Gradually, it comes back to him, and he pries open his eyes to find the same view he fell asleep to - metal walls, and a blurry few forms across from him. He blinks and squints, realizing for the first time in a while that he’s missing his glasses - he’s not sure how he didn’t catch that until now. They must still be with his kidnappers, he thinks, and a frustrating mix of fear and anger bubbles up in his chest at the memory of what he’s been through. They took his hat, too. He liked that hat.
Medic still sits against the opposite wall, though now awake, and Engie sits next to him, with Demo nowhere to be seen - up in front with Spy, then. Scout’s still propped against the wall behind him, though he’s clearly fast asleep, snoring lightly in Sniper’s ear. Sniper shifts and turns his head away, catching the attention of the other two, who are chatting quietly but go silent once they realize he’s awake. Medic sits up, suddenly completely focused on Sniper, his wide, signature grin splitting his face.
“Herr Mundy, hallo! Good to see you awake.”
“Real good, yeah,” Engie agrees, with a much less intimidating smile. “Glad ya got some sleep in, but it’s nice to actually see the chance to chat.”
Sniper yawns, still a bit groggy. “Prob’ly won’t get anythin’ interestin’ outta me right now, mate. Bloody good ta see y’both, though.”
“Hmm. Still hurtin’?” Engie asks, to which Sniper only nods.
“Ahh, yes.” Medic tsks and shakes his head. “I do apologize about that. Herr Conagher and I were in the middle of working on the Medigun when we left, otherwise I would have brought it along. As it were, I am still perfectly capable of working without it - but perhaps it could’ve further eased your pain than I can.”
That warm, unfamiliar comfort sparks in his chest again at the thought of Medic, their Medic, expressing regret toward being unable to make an experience less painful. It’s such an unexpected thing for him to say that Sniper can only nod again and wonder if he might have a concussion on top of his other injuries.
Which, speaking of -
“Er. Outta curiosity, doc, what- what exactly did ya have t’fix up for me? How bad was I?”
Engie winces at the question, but Medic perks up, seemingly excited to list off his injuries, tapping a finger with each one - the main one being the bullet wound in his hip, followed by a mild heat stroke and dehydration, a sprained ankle he hadn’t even realized he’d gotten, two bruised ribs, burned and irritated skin around his neck and wrists, and yes, a mild concussion.
Really, it’s no wonder he feels like shit.
Sniper lets out a heavy sigh as Medic finishes, reaching up with a shaky hand to rub tiredly at his eyes. His skin feels rough and grimy against his fingertips, and it sends a shudder down his spine. “Christ. Worse than I thought.”
“You’ve certainly been through the wringer, son,” Engie nods. “Mighty sorry it took so long to get to ya. But, bright side; we’re here now. And trust me, those bastards won’t touch you again.”
“Indeed!” Medic cheerily confirms. “They’re all dead! Our own Scout and Demoman’s handywork. Unfortunately, I could not get a body or sample for myself… but, well. I suppose there will always be more chances for that.” He shrugs lightly. Sniper might be dreaming.
“Anyway, if you’re up for it, I think now would be an excellent time for a check-up, mein Freund. It has been… hmm. About how long do you think, Dell?”
“Maybe twelve hours,” Engie suggests, see-sawing a hand. “Since we gotcha back, anyway. Demo told us you woke up for a bit, had a chat with him an’ Scooter a few hours back. Other’n that, y’been out for a while.”
“Ja, as I thought.” Medic nods. “Long enough for your body to settle. What do you think?”
“…sure,” Sniper says after a moment. “Would prob’ly be a good idea. Still pretty sore.”
“Exzellent.” Medic is quick to stand, taking the few short steps from one wall to the other. He kneels in front of Sniper, offering a hand that he’s quick to accept. It takes some maneuvering to get him out of Scout’s unconscious grip and sitting up against the wall next to him, and by the time he’s settled the dull pain in his side has flared up into a terrible aching throb. He sucks in a shallow breath through his teeth as Medic begins to poke and prod at his various injuries, muttering to himself all the while.
Thankfully, it’s over quickly, and just a few minutes later Medic sits back on his heels with a grin. “You are healing very well! Once we arrive at the base and get you under the Medigun, you will be mostly unscathed. I was unable to prevent scarring in some places, but, ah, I suppose that only adds another few to the pile. You will be fine, Herr Mundy.”
Sniper sighs through his nose, nodding slowly. “Right. Thanks, doc.”
Medic nods in return, and makes his way back to the other wall, settling into place next to Engineer with a light sigh. Left where he is, Sniper finds himself glancing over to Scout, who’s seemed to subconsciously curl himself up into a position he couldn’t have reached were Sniper still in his lap.
“He’s been mighty worried for ya.”
Sniper turns back toward the others, and even past Engie’s goggles it’s obvious his gaze is toward the two younger mercenaries. Sniper raises his brow in question, to which Engie tilts his head toward Scout, mouth twitching in a smile.
“Scoot’s hardly stopped talkin’ about ya since we took off. Scared sick that we wouldn’t find ya.”
“Ja, I had to knock him out for a few hours,” Medic adds, with the casual air of someone recounting a peculiar trip to the mailbox. “He would not shut up.”