Team Fortress 2 and its characters are property of Valve entertainment. This story is non-profit.
The first thing he felt was the intense dryness of his mouth.
Scout noisily rolled his tongue to try and get the saliva flowing and blearily opened his eyes. Strange – his room was usually bright come the mornings, but it seemed oddly dim, and … smaller? He quickly sat up and cursed when his head impacted with the ceiling.
What the fuck?
This bunk was definitely not his, and neither was this room. It was too cramped and it smelt like tobacco and coffee, things which the Scout hardly indulged in, and when he eventually put his mind to it, he realised that he just could not remember how exactly he had gotten here. His head was pounding, either as a result of its recent knock or a hangover, and he felt so unbelievably thirsty that it gave him enough reason to believe that he'd had the time of his life last night.
With a groan, he flopped back down onto the pillow, but curiosity soon drove him out of the bed. Various things lying about the place indicated that this was actually Sniper's camper, namely the saxophone leant up against a cabinet and the various empty jars lying around. Spying a half full bottle of water stood on the side, he grabbed it and swiftly downed the lot, unceremoniously belching once he was done and tossing the empty bottle to one side.
"Sniper?" he called, heading for the gap between the two seats upfront. The boy leaned in and smirked slightly when he saw Sniper sat in the driver's seat. The older man was frowning as he gazed outside, something despondent about his complete silence even when Scout greeted him with a hard punch to the arm. "Sniper, yo, what the hell happened? What time is it? Why's it so freakin' hot in here, guy?"
"It's ten in the mornin'," Sniper said in a flat tone. "Can't you see what's outside?"
"Uh -" Scout looked out the windscreen, then held out his hands in a show of mock disbelief. "Whoa, jeez, a desert? Damn, it's so pretty, makes me wish that's what I saw every time we go out to work!"
Indeed, spread out miles before them was a familiar stretch of barren land. The ground was cracked from drought, and in the distance, Scout could even see dunes beginning to form from the sand. To either side of them were rocky mountains and sheer cliff faces. No matter where he looked, there was no sign of life, no people, not even a plant of decent size.
"This place looks dead. We're still at Badwater, right?" the young man continued, anxiously sliding into the passenger seat. He was beginning to realise just why Sniper seemed so dissociated. "Please tell me we're somewhere near Badwater, Snipes." There came a stretch of silence, one that fuelled Scout's rising sense of impending doom. If Sniper, of all people, was nervous, then what the hell did that mean?
Were they lost?
"Hey!" Scout snapped, angrily batting the brim of Sniper's slouch hat. "You listenin' ta me? Are we near the base or what?"
"I dunno!" Sniper snarled suddenly, slamming his hands onto the wheel after pulling off his now wonky hat. "I went out there while you were sleepin'. Climbed up on one of those rocky mounds. Unless the base is outside this valley, we're miles and miles away from there. What's odd is that I couldn't have driven my camper through those mountains, and my tank was only half full yesterday, meanin' we couldn't have made this stretch, either."
"Maybe you topped it up last night," Scout said, a trace of hope in his voice. "Yeah! We got drunk with the guys, decided to go on a trip and topped your tank up, and now we're -"
"Smack bang in the middle of ruddy nowhere," the older man growled. "Listen, I'm not a drunk driver, and there's no way in hell I'd ever let you drive this ol' girl. I'd remember some of last night 'cause I'm not a fuckin' lightweight, but …" His voice drifted into silence, confirming only what Scout feared. If the designated driver didn't know the way back, then how the hell were they meant to get back to base? They were going to get in a hell of a lot of trouble if they didn't turn up for work, but that was the least pressing thing on young Scout's mind at that time.
He rubbed his jaw. He ran a hand over the back of his head. He decided to fiddle with his earpiece and try to pick up any kind of signal, but all he got was a strangely distorted sound that was undecipherable.
"We must still be in California," Sniper reasoned, finally turning to look at Scout to watch him over the top of his tinted aviators. "The environment is near enough the same. We know where Badwater Basin is located, right?"
Scout gulped. "Are you sayin' that we're in the middle of Death freakin' Valley?"
He did not need an answer. They were in a valley, and it was definitely the kind of place that promised death if they stayed here for too long. It was the hottest part of the States and only just reaching the end of its Summer season, meaning – if Scout remembered fourth grade geography correctly – the two of them were possibly going to either roast alive or end up trying to kill each other over the water supplies.
Perhaps the most imposing issue of all was the fact there was no way they would be respawned back at base if they died, even if the machine was switched on. If what Sniper said was correct, there was every chance they were too far away and could not risk relying on the respawn to keep them alive.
Scout reckoned he was going to need a new pair of underwear very soon.
"Yeah," Sniper muttered, scratching at the dark stubble on his jaw. "Death Valley." He tapped the fuel gauge thoughtfully. "If you're right and we filled the tank yesterday, then reasonably we could just turn her around and drive back." His tone was uncertain, however, as if there was a "but" coming into the equation, and so Scout swore out of frustration, slamming himself back into his seat and folding his arms.
"What? Jeez, Snipes! Are we gonna die or not?"
"Well, I can't promise anythin'," the man retorted in a low, threatening manner. Scout thought it was cool when he talked like that, but not when it was directed at him. "It's approachin' noon, and it's gonna get way hotter than it is now. The engine will overheat and we'll be stuck. Better to wait until it cools down again and drive through the night."
Though the thought of waiting was utterly repulsive, even Scout couldn't argue with the logic, instead choosing to rest his arms on the dashboard and flop his head onto them with a loud groan. Then, he quickly raised his head again and glared at Sniper suspiciously before jabbing a finger into his chest.
"I can't believe you don't remember drivin' us here, y'know. Ya don't even look hungover. This isn't some kind of kidnap mission, right? Those jackasses on BLU have had it in for me for years!" As if to add to the insult, he felt the side of Sniper's face, searching for any sign of a mask. The BLU spy had become rather more notorious with his antics as of late after discovering himself equally matched by his RED counterpart, and Scout wouldn't put it past him to drag him out here into the desert to finish him off, tired of the constant "BONK!s" and stolen intelligence. He found his hand being slowly pulled away, the grip on his wrist all too tight, and Sniper's dark eyes flashing with a short fuse.
"I don't remember a bloody thing," came the reply. "Put your sweaty little hand on my face again and I'll make a throw-rug out of you, boy. I woke up just as confused as you, only sprawled on the floor with one blanket to my name, so at least I was gentlemanly enough to let you 'ave the bed, whatever happened last night. Give me any more jip ..."
"Alright, alright! I was jus'kiddin'!" Scout said loudly, the words followed by a nervous laugh. He shrank back a little, offering a toothy and anxious grin. The guy was without a doubt the one and only RED Sniper, or so he quickly forced himself to believe at that moment. When his hand was released, he quickly sat back in his own seat, placing his hands awkwardly onto his knees. "Soooo … What do we do, now?"
Expecting wisdom from a guy who had spent a life time in the Australian Outback, Scout was disappointed when all he got was a sneer. Sniper pulled a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and quickly lit one before rolling down the window, exposing them both to the dry, breezeless desert air. The heat rose from the ground in distorting waves, the sight disturbing enough for the younger of the two men to moan and bring his knees up to his chest. The van was boiling hot, but it looked like heading outside wasn't going to make the slightest difference.
Once he was halfway through his cigarette (and was notably calmer than a couple of minutes prior), Sniper rested his forearm on the window ledge and clicked his tongue before finally speaking.
"Right. There's enough food to last us about three days if we're sparse with it. It's water I'm concerned about. We're gonna need a lot of it in this heat. The water tank was half full last I checked, but that stuff's better for cleanin' and what have you. I don't bother sterilisin' it when I can just bring bottles onboard."
"How many bottles we got?" Scout asked, rubbing his nose.
"One five gallon. If we make it back by the mornin', it will definitely be enough, but if I was wrong and we don't find the base that way, then we'll be in a pickle."
Another nervous laugh escaped Scout. "Yeah, but we're gonna find the base, right? Or they'll find us first, right? I mean, there's nothin' here! It can't be that hard to find somethin' in this dumb freakin' wasteland."
"Sure," Sniper muttered somewhat unconvincingly. He took a final drag from his cigarette and then flicked the butt onto the sand below, closing his eyes as the last stream of smoke passed his lips. "Right. Grab us a blanket and the two fishing rods in the corner. Chop chop!" With that, he pulled his hat back on and opened the door to roll outside, pausing only when he noticed that Scout wasn't moving. "Oi, c'mon. What you waitin' for? Smissmas?"
"You're mad, Snipes! How can we go fishin' when there's no water round here?" the younger man protested, not particularly wanting to go outside, his mind suddenly set on the snakes and scorpions likely just waiting for them to leave the van. His brow furrowed angrily when his companion pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Kid, I jus' really wanted some father-son bonding time, y'know?" Sniper then slammed the door shut and leaned on the window with folded arms, surprisingly casual given the situation at hand, but Scout supposed that the bushman was used to this kind of terrain. If only he was a bit more helpful about it, sometimes. "I'm building us some shade, you daft pillock. The rods are all that's long enough to support it. Now, c'mon!"
Scout slipped back through the gap between the chairs with an air of resentment, mindlessly pulling up the first blanket he found and grabbing the two fishing poles. After kicking the door open, he slunk outside and tossed everything down onto the ground at the older man's feet, causing a cloud of powdery sand to waft upwards. The boy was good at winding people up, and though Sniper was slower to anger than the likes of Heavy or Soldier, he still had a cracking temper on him. Scout did not recognise that he was largely the same, for he rarely practised any form of self-evaluation. If people didn't like him, they could get stuffed, even if they were technically the only ones with any know how regarding survival in … dangerous terrain.
He immediately thought better of his behaviour and picked up the stuff again upon receiving a vicious glance from the assassin.
"Thanks, mate," Sniper said with the slightest touch of venom, taking the poles first and setting about seeking crags in the ground large enough to support them. One was set about four metres from the van, and the other slightly further away, and they could be pushed deep enough that the tall poles stood up on their own. Next came the tartan-patterned blanket that he slung across his shoulder before climbing up to the top of the van via the rear ladder. The metal surface was roasting hot, so he was quick about tying two corners of the blanket to the rail before sliding down again and reaching up to tie the other two to the poles. The material was coarse enough that the knots stayed put.
"Why've you got two poles if you do all this stuff by yourself?" Scout asked, already bored. He leaned against the side of the van as he watched the other work – but thought better of it when his bare arms started getting roasted. "Ow – I mean, yeah, why?"
"Came in useful, din't it?" was the response, though Sniper seemed to think it was unsatisfactory, as he continued, "Me and dad used to go out onto a lake. It was near Adelaide, by the mountains, one of those few untouched places in Australia that had any soul, you know, 'cause of the giant cities and endless expectations and all -"
"Wow, okay, didn't need your life story," Scout snorted, waving his hands dismissively. "But you probably shouldn't joke around about that father-son stuff, right? I mean, jeez, I sure didn't appreciate it, dunno about you."
Almost certain he was going to get told to piss off, he prepared by opening the door to the van to disappear inside, but was surprised when he received a barely audible apology, instead. Given recent events in Sniper's personal life, it seemed appropriate. Scout just managed to brush it off with a shrug and went to get cleaned up.
By the time he was done, coffee was being prepared on the tiny stove and there was already a small fire set up outside. Despite everything, the smell of coffee and cooking bacon seemed to make everything a little less dire, even if they were in the middle of nowhere and possibly facing a miserable death. He found himself glad that he had chosen Sniper to come on this errant adventure with him, because the guy at least knew how to cook and how to calmly think his way out of a situation, whereas some of the others weren't quite so … able with these things, including himself, he inwardly admitted, though swiftly dismissed that train of thought. At least he had the personality to keep them going, right?
Already feeling his shirt sticking to his body, Scout sighed loudly and sat down in the meagre shade provided by the blanket over their heads. It turned out the sand was still hot enough to near enough scorch his ass upon contact, and so he furiously stood up again, shoving his hands into his back pockets so that he could rub the offended rear. Sniper, at least, had had the sense to collect another blanket, first, and was sat cross-legged prodding the fire with a metal tool held in his gloved hand. The pan and fire was distant enough that smoke would not collect in their makeshift shelter, but close enough that the smell was beginning to make Scout's mouth water.
"Man, how long until that's ready?" he asked impatiently, still stood up. He refused to find something to sit on for the sake of his recently tarnished pride.
"Couple of minutes," Sniper grunted back, turning the bacon over with the prong. "Find us some eggs, would you? Only one each for now."
Somehow, impatience made a meal taste all that sweeter, even if it was rather small in size. When the food was finally ready, Scout managed to finish his in about a minute, give or take, simply choosing to shove it all into his mouth after a burst of hunger. Sniper was, perhaps surprisingly, quite the opposite, clearly taking the time to appreciate the meal and even using a knife and fork to cut it. Manners cost nothing, after all, and he was the politest assassin around (in his own opinion).
Then came the boredom.