Ladies and gentlemen, I have a confession to make: I am a sucker for crazy!Soldier. Especially when he's paired with manipulative!Shovel.
But wait! What's this? Ladies and mentlegen, I have ANOTHER confession to make! I'm also a TF2chan lurker. Hence, this fic. I am so sorry.
"You know that they're lying to you."
A long empty coffee mug sits in his rough, splintered hand as he stares blankly at the wall, not even noticing the dwindling cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. Although it isn't truly the wall that he was staring at. Because propped against the wall is a shovel.
It's worn, scraped, and bloodied, but the metal still manages to shine in the moonlight coming through the window. Invisible eyes stare patiently at him, and he can feel the tension, the question in the words. Finally noticing his cigarette, he drops it to the ground and watches the dying ashes for a moment before crushing it under his heel. "I know. But it's the team."
"Solly, you don't need them."
He sighs, running a hand over his head and feeling his short, buzz cut hair under his fingers. It's starting to grow out again. "You never abandon comrades in war."
"Of course not. But think about this so-called 'team'; aside from you, there are only two others you could consider true allies."
Soldier looks up at the shovel, the words sinking in for a good moment before he narrows his eyes, jumping to his feet and slamming his coffee mug on the crate. "Yeah... and they don't even fight like men! I fought those Nazi bastards for years with just the clothes on my back, and I didn't have any of that fancy machinery helping me out!" He pauses for a second, rubbing his chin. "But Scout..."
"Scout could be useful. Right now, he's just a punk with a mouth, but you could train him. Refine him."
His shoulders drop slightly, and he steps around the crate to lean against the wall, crossing his arms in a way that he can't help but compare to hugging himself. "But Engie's not really that bad of a guy."
"He sympathizes with Medic, Solly. The enemy." The gentle, androgynous voice makes its way inside, enveloping itself around his heart and warming him in the unnaturally chilly night. He can feel fingers touching his face, and when he closes his eyes, he can imagine eyes like silver bearing into his head. He stirs slightly and takes a deep breath, but his eyes remain closed. "Solly," it sings in his ear. "Have I ever been wrong before?"
He considers this. The last team had never listened to him, to the strategies he spent countless nights correcting and refining with his companion, and every single battle had been a dismal failure. "No, Shovel. You haven't."
"I'm the only one you can trust, Solly." And then he feels it, the gentle breath of air on his cheek. He's about to reach out and see if the figure taking shape in front of him is real when -
"Yo, hard hat! You in there?"
He growls slightly under his breath and grudgingly opens his eyes. He's alone. "What do you need, private?" He yells back, turning towards the door.
"Dinner's ready. Figured ya might wanna eat before the bottomless pit gets there."
He can't help but smile slightly at this, walking over to the shovel and kneeling before it. "I never doubt it," he says quietly, brushing his fingertips against the polished metal before making his way to the door. The defiant-yet-scared-looking boy in the hall attempts to peek inside, but Soldier slams the door before hooking an arm around his shoulders. "I've been wanting to speak to you, private."