A/N: Happy New Year, dear readers.

Welcome to the darkest bit I've ever written. The first few chapters are the introduction, so forgive me for the lack of tragedy and gore. I will make up for it, I assure you.


"Dad, what's gonna happen when I die?"

Dell put away his guitar and looked at his daughter, resting comfortably in his lap. His nose wiggled upwards at the question. Mostly because it wasn't expected. A six-year-old shouldn't be asking such metaphysical questions. He brought his arm around her and pressed her tightly against his abdomen.

"Now, what kinda question is that, Sarah?"

"Ah was thinkin'," she started; "When we die, good people go to heaven, and bad people go to…" She cautiously looked at her father, waiting to hear her say the somewhat of a curse word.

"…the other place… way down… The Bible said so." She ran the tip of her black lacquered shoe against the ground they were sitting on. The grass was full and it curled at the ends, much like her sister's unruly hair. Digging the tip of her toe into the grass blades, into the soil, she remembered what she was asking about.

"And their bodies go in the ground."

"Yes," Dell said, swallowing some spit nervously. He looked at his older daughter, Pepper, standing near a creek and looking into the distance. Green pen and sheet of paper in hand, she was thinking of writing a poem. Her long red locks flew in the mid-autumn wind. His fingers ran through Sarah's thin, wheat-colored hair. She and her sister were nothing alike, only similar because of the fact that they made Dell's life beautiful in their own little ways. Sarah looked up at her father's face, surrounded by the leaves covering the weeping willow they were sitting under. The sun shined through the branches, and it gave the leaves a picturesque, golden gleam. Sarah loved this tree for some reason. She loved this tree, sitting alone in the field of her grandmother's country home.

"They go in the ground if you bury them," she said. "I don't want to be buried."

With that thought in mind, she stretched her hand across the strings of her dad's guitar. They let out a melody. It wasn't music, but she found it lovely, nonetheless.

"When I die, I want to be put under a tree, just like this one. No casket, no dirt, nothing. Ah just wanna be put under a tree. Ah want it to be a tree just like this, daddy."

Dell looked into her big, brown eyes before sighing and embracing her tightly.

"Now Ah don't want you talking about that Sarah," he said to her. "Not while Ah'm around. And don't worry about dying. It'll be many, many years before you have to worry about that."

She giggled as he picked her up in his arms.

"Now, I reckon Ma's got some apple pie made 'specially fer you. Whaddya say we go back into the house."

The little girl nodded.

"Pepper!" Dell called over his daughter. "Time to go!"

"Jesus, alright, Ah'm coming already!" She said irritated. It took her a long time before she finally stood up and unenthusiastically made her way towards her family. Dell smiled at her grumpy expression. Soon, the three of them were off, off to see Grandma and Irene, off to see the culinary masterpieces they created. Sarah looked at the tree for a while.

"I want it to be a willow," she said, resting her little head against her dad's shoulder. This was the last thing she said about the subject.


"Daddy?"

Dell groggily opened his eyes. The sun shined from the curtains and onto his face, the beams falling right on his left cheek. It was morning already; he had to go back to work today. He blinked away some sleep from his eyes and looked at the still blurry image before him. Sarah was sitting on the bed, on the slightly ruffled sheets Irene had left unmade. A soft smell of cinnamon flew through the room, and it perked Dell up a bit. The dream he had was slowly fading away, and it was almost gone when he turned his head over to his daughter.

"Hey… Mornin'," he said to Sarah in a croaked voice. His daughter smiled at him.

"Mommy says pancakes are ready."


"So what do you make of Emily?" Asked a woman on the television screen.

The chat show was now discussing the unimportant information about today's pop culture. Dell squinted at the screen, eating his pancakes greedily. Irene sipped her coffee in her dressing gown, yawning occasionally. Sarah poured a small lake of maple syrup onto her stack on pancakes. Her eyes were glued to the screen, which now showed a slightly blurry black-and-white image of a blonde girl singing into a microphone. It then switched back to the neatly dressed woman, interviewing an old critic, a frown never leaving his face as he shot daggers at the woman with his gaze.

"Personally, I don't know what the world has come to if it keeps praising mediocre singers like this," he grumbled.

"Oh, it's hardly the world. She's only popular here in the South. I hardly think she's worldwide. And you have to admit, she does have talent." The woman seemed more defensive about the blonde from Tennessee.

"Her talent is unimpressive, at best. She should just stick to singing in clubs and bars or…whatever. And the thing that utterly disgusts me, yo-…you know what disgusts me?" He asked, though he was just about to give his answer.

"The fact that's she's doing concerts, sold-out concerts! Well I suppose it's not surprising… the halls she's singing at have the capacity of ten brain-dead hicks."

"Not very objective, are we?" The woman teased.

"I don't understand!" He raised up his arms in a frustrated manner. "We have so many brilliant country singers, and we choose to report and fund this one who's… well… not at all that good. And that's putting it nicely! We don't need another pretty face. And we don't really need hers, either."

"But you have to admit, she is gorgeous. And her fanbase-…"

"Her fanbase consists of deaf, brain-dead teenagers!" He interrupted the woman rudely. "On that note, I don't think she's that good-looking at all. I wouldn't want to see her face every day unless I absolutely had to."

"But Dr. Stinson, surely…"

"No, no, let me tell you…" He cupped his hands and began to move them slowly, trying to emphasize every word he said.

"She looks like…"

"Uh-huh…" The woman nodded.

"Somebody wanted to make a copy of Grace Kelly…"

"Go on…"

"And then… Something… somewhere… went horribly, horribly wrong."

"Oh, come on, now! You have to at least admit that-"

With a click of the remote, Dell switched off the programme, turning the image on the television into a small, bright-green dot. Sarah shouted a sound of protest, but Dell didn't seem to recognize it.

"Ah can't watch that anymore."

"I know," Irene said through her teeth. "The way nobody has anything to really say about the girl… Everyone either worships her or hates her, poor thing…"

"No, Ah mean, Ah'm tired of hearing about that dog-gone Emily Payne every day. Ah mean," he exhaled sharply, showing impatience; "Ah have been on this vacation fer two weeks, and every day, everyone only talks about Emily. Emily this, Emily that… The man was right, she is overrated."

Irene bobbed her head down and looked at the soft brown foam floating on her coffee. She sighed and soon felt her husband's hand on her back.

"Now come on… don't tell me you actually like the girl!"

Small tears began to form in Irene's eyes and drip down her cheeks.

"She just-" She choked up. "She reminds me so much of her…"

Sarah walked out of the dining room to leave the sticky plates into the sink. Dell's eyes watched Irene's, becoming glassier and glassier as the salty liquid rolled off her soft eyelashes. For some reason, he was glad that Sarah wasn't in the room to see this. It would have broken her little heart.

"There, there, Irene…" Dell tried to comfort her. "She's alright, Irene. Our lil' girl can take care of herself. She's safe, Irene. She's probably just fine."

"You say that Dell, but you don't really mean it…" She sniffed, cleaning her nose with her sleeve. "Ah… Ah don't understand… where could she have gone?"

Dell shrugged and kissed her forehead. This seemed to calm her, though not much.

It all happened so long ago, last Christmas. Pepper had left her husband with nothing more than a note. The boy was heartbroken, but not as much as her family was. They searched for her for months, but to no avail. Dell shook his head at Irene.

"Ah know whatcha thinkin'… maybe that girl's Pepper. Believe me, Ah've gone through that too. Every girl seems to remind you of her at one point. Heck, even Sarah once reminded me of her. But you have to admit that, the girl, Emily? She isn't Pepper. There is no way in hell that she's Pepper. Ya understand?"

Irene nodded and looked at the large clock on the wall. It was time for Dell to leave. Her husband gingerly took a single step towards the door and smiled at his wife.

"Don't worry, Irene. She's fine."

"I know." Irene stood up from her seat and grabbed the coffee mug firmly. "But I still worry about her, ya know?"

A short while later, Dell found himself back on the road, thoughts of his missing daughter still running through his head.


"Yo, hahdhat!" The Bostonian shrieked upon seeing his favorite Texan. He grasped him tightly, cutting off his air supply. "How's it been man, how's it goin'?"

Dell shrugged.

"Same as ever. Two weeks, gone in a snap. Now," he said, stretching out the fingers of his gunslinger, "Who's ready to kick some BLU ass?"

"Hmmph hmm!" The Pyro said enthusiastically. It then rushed out of the base, flamethrower in hand. It didn't even realize that the battle started in about five minutes. The Engineer placed his hand over his chin and contemplated his surroundings. Everything was the same way it was when he left. The Demoman was drinking, the Spy was smoking, and the Heavy was cleaning his mini-gun.

"Yo, Doc, come greet Engie!" Scout shrieked at the doctor, who was currently talking on the phone.

"Uh-huh," he said distantly.

"Come on, doc, he's right here!"

"Bitte, Scout! I am on zhe phone!" The Medic snapped, grasping the phone handle and showing it to the Scout. The Bostonian shrugged.

"Jeez man. Well, come say hi ta him later, OK?"

"Ja, ja, ja OK," he said, shooing away the Bostonian. He then turned to the phone and muttered something into it, promising the person on the other line that he would call them back.

In a matter of seconds, the Administrator's voice boomed through the speakers, announcing the beginning of the mission. They had five minutes to get into the resupply room. The Spy cloaked himself first, and soon everyone rushed out of the hall and towards the sterile white room. The Engineer turned his shoulders back until they both cracked. Satisfied with the sound, he stepped towards the door, only to feel something restraining him.

It was a hand, a gloved hand, gingerly placed over his shoulder. He looked over his shoulder and saw the Sniper, staring at the Texan from behind his tinted glasses.

"Hey," said the Texan to him. "Didn't see ya there, Stretch."

"Oi've been in the back," he said, tilting his head towards the depths of the corridor. "You, uh… you got, uh… any news about the Sheila?"

Dell narrowed his eyes and looked at his work boots. Sometimes, words are redundant. This was one of those times. It took Sniper barely a second to release the Texan's shoulder.

"Oi see… Ya sure it wosn't the 'usband?"

Dell almost managed to laugh at this remark.

"The husband? Nah!" He tossed his hand back, shaking his head; "Mikey wouldn't do nothin' to hurt her. He's a slimy little weasel that rustles mah jimmies, but he wouldn't do nothin' to her."

"Hmph. Don't defend him too much." Mundy grasped his sniper rifle securely and moved towards the exit. "Oi've been in situations loike this all moi loife, and trust me, it's always the 'usband."

"Well, if Ah do get somethin' on Mikey, Ah'll let you know." Dell rubbed the back of his neck as he walked past the marksman. He was about two feet away from the door before he turned back, his hand still pressed against his neck.

"Uh, Stretch?" He gulped, as though what he was going to say was so utterly complex that he shouldn't even say it out loud. The marksman looked at him briefly, not asking him about what he was going to say, but rather having his silence give the tinkerer permission to speak.

"Ya know that Ah left mah family to come here? Ah left them on bad terms… hell, Ah wasn't sure if they were gonna take me back, but…"

The tinkerer watched the tips of his work boots, worn out and beginning to shave.

"When… when Pepper left, they were all pretty uhhappy. Ah'm not sayin' that Ah wasn't, but Ah handled it better, mostly 'cuz Ah had to. Ah think… Ah think they only took me back because…" He swallowed some saliva once again, trying to wet his dry throat in order to spit the words out.

"If Pepps hadn't left, Ah don't think Ah'd have a family still. Ah sometimes think that, if she hadn't left, mah family would still hate me."

And quite soon, the Sniper's and the Engineer's eyes connected, in one brief, powerful flash.

"Am I a bad person if I'm slightly glad that she left?"

The Sniper shrugged, unsure of what else to say.

"Ah see…"

The work boots dragged themselves across the floor, with the pace of a common garden snail.

The Sniper continued to stare at the tinkerer, slowly making his way to the room. Inside he felt strange. He asked too many questions about the girl, he knew that. Maybe he'd get suspicious. But then again, the man had the awareness of a trout. If he kept the questions about her disappearance down to a minimum, he mused, he would be in the clear. He knew that he shouldn't care about the girl at all. Then again, a part of him wanted to know where she was, who she was now. A part of him cared.

A part of him. Just one really small part.

As the Spy appeared before Mundy, causing him to shriek and clutch his chest, all of those thoughts spread far and wide across and out of his mind. The masked mercenary sneered at the petrified Australian.

"Deep in thought, aren't we, Mundy?"

"You-!" The Sniper gasped, commanding his body to regain control over itself. "You almost gave me a bleedin' heart-attack!"

"Oh please!" The Spy rolled his eyes. "With all that coffee you've been drinking it ees a true miracle zhat you 'aven't gotten one before."

As the sharpshooter's breath became slow and even, he stood straight up and raised his eyebrow at the Spy.

"Woi are you here, Spook? The foight's about to start."

"I am only here to… prevent you from doing or saying something utterly eediotic."

"… you wot mate?"

The Spy grasped the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, begging the good Lord for patience.

"I think you know what I mean." He released his nose and looked into the marksman's eyes. "Your curiosity about his daughter is understandable… he considers it friendly."

"…yeah?"

The Frenchman stared at the Australian for some time. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds, but with every passing moment, the Sniper's mind was getting clearer and clearer still. With a tug of his glove, the Spy disappeared into thin air, an ominous smoke flying through the hall. The words said through the haze flew into Mundy's ears and straight into his mind. He would remember this warning forever.

"Try not to make it too friendly."

"…roight." The marksman cleared his throat and hurried outside. "Roight. Oi won't."

So he went outside, prepared to fight. It was strange, somehow. After two weeks spent with his nosy parents, shooting chunks of lead into other people's heads seemed like a vacation. The anticipation of the thrill that came right after the siren announced the beginning of the battle made his crimson blood rush through his veins. He absolutely loved these brawls, which often resulted in his team's victory. He would have them every day if given the chance. He would adore a chance to do nothing but fight, day after day, every single waking moment.

But little did Victor Mundy know that this chance would come up sooner than he or anyone else planned.


A/N: The number 219 was used in most of my fics. It usually pops up just before something goes horribly, horribly wrong. This fic is no exception.