AN: I almost never get to write any more, it's a real shame. This little piece of TF2 fanfiction will have little to do with the ongoing war of RED and BLU and focus more on BLU team. As explained in the preview (aluded to in title), this will be about the time BLU team got stuck out in the woods a few miles from Gorge, regular merc shenanigans ensue. Hopefully I get through this whole thing.
This will contain a few head cannons I have, some cursing, blood, and some men kissing and making up (not literally).
If there was one thing Scout hated, it was seat-belts. They were a chore to put on, let alone remember as you looked forward to hours of driving to the next base. The scenery never helped, always nothing, nothing but some trees or giant rock formations. Every pit-stop was planned out before hand, meaning if you wanted to go, the fastest option was to borrow one of Sniper's mason jars. The aroma of burnt hair, bologna, cigarettes, and alcohol wafted through the enclosed space easily, turning Scout nauseous unless a window was open. Trips like these reminded him why he enjoyed running so much. Oh, and his fear of being restrained.
As he stuck out his head, he watched as a few clouds seem to come out of nowhere, turning a nice dark color. No doubt in his mind it would rain soon.
Gorge wasn't his favorite base to be in, but the forests and mountains outside allowed him hundreds of places to run around and explore when he was bored. The air was also cool, so he'd stay cooled down as he ran about. He'd have to remember to wear a jacket or at least his scarf if he wanted to keep himself at least a bit warm.
Considering how wealthy the Mercs of BLU were, it was a wonder of why they traveled the way they did. No sane train company would take on nine contract killers who were notorious to become rambunctious on travel. And Tavish was on every air port in the worlds "do not fly" list, not that he couldn't step in an airport unless he was comatose. Good thing, Scout kicked his feet up on the back of the seat before him, Can't stand them planes either.
The team was split between two vehicles. A Uhaul truck which contained their hats and a majority of their primary weapons, excluding the smaller melee weapons and pistols. Sasha, of course, was excluded as well. Driving in the Uhaul was Dell and Jane, while the remainder followed behind in the most bullet riddled, dented, and scratched van they'd ever seen. The Engie sure knew how to calm down the team, but being the only other teammate to actually have a license, he was more suited to drive, and keeping an eye on the more stir crazy of the team. Sniper was stuck with the rest of the team, his only back up against the barrage of spit balls from Scout and slur crazy drunk was the easily salted slug of a Spy. Medic, despite his handle on the team, would be catching up on the newest medicinal journal, little coos of laughter popping up as he laughed at how behind these 'breakthroughs' were.
From the passenger seat, Spy leaned over to begin confiding with the marksman. "Zhey put two Americans up zhere in the first car and leave us back here to play babysitter. What do zhey take us for?"
"It's not they're decision spook, it's the Admins," Mundy hissed back.
Spy flicked his burnt up cigarette and huffed, reaching into his case for another. He'd been burning through them faster than the Pyro did with matches. "Look at them back zhere. Zhe Scout is getting ready to shoot you with more spit balls, zhe Heavy is starting to get in a fist fight with the Demoman, and Pyro is just... watching."
"Hey," Mundy took his eyes off the road to glare at the snake. "If you and I were back there, I'd be stranglin' yah by now. I could always switch you and Heavy around."
The Spy gulped down a lung full of smoke before surrendering. "Fine."
"'sides, yah'd have to have a drivers license to be able to be up there." Sniper smiled as he returned to staring at the back of the Uhaul as it bounced on the more uneven country road.
The Scout blinked his eyes as he felt something splash on his nose. "Hey look it's rainin'," he called out the window as he gladly had something to watch.
"It rains in America too?" The Heavy chuckled at his joke.
"Jah, and they probably don't have snow eizer." Medic joined in with the foreigners as they laughed at the American. Pyro on the other hand stared out at the window, almost perplexed and worried, if anyone was watching the pyromaniac close enough to see as the asbestos suit shivered with anger and fear.
More rain started to fall until the area around them just seemed to make the air saturated with the sound of the rain pounding the ground. "Ah Cripe! It's Scotland over again." The Demo hicked a few times before covering his head. "Rain's a bad om'n."
"It may slick up the roads, but there's no room fer superstition here mate." Admittedly, the roads were beginning to a bit slick for his liking.
"Yehr lookin' tah get yehr self killed with that attitude Mundeh. Om'ns are there tah keep us safe." Demo leaned forward to get in the Australian's face.
"AYE! Get back in yer seat. I have enough distractions without your drunken arse leering at me right there." Mundy began jabbing the demo with his elbow, missing to connect each time.
"Even I and Sasha watch out for cats during battle."
"There ain't no bloody cats in the middle of nowhere!" Sniper screamed over the two other mercenaries.
Spy spun his eyes and watched the spectical before him, "If I weren't so worried for our safety, I'd enjoy zhe irony of zhis."
The Scout let out a large sigh as the men in the front seat continued arguing. He turned to the Pyro, "Get a loud of our team. No matter Miss Pauling worries about us." He let off another, much quieter sigh, "None of us can ever match Red." Beyond his own self pity, he ignored the Pyro clenching its lighter in hand, flicking the ignition every so often to release the flame.
Sniper swerved suddenly, jostling every single merc out of their petty scwabbling as everyone saw what was happening. The road they had been taking was cut from a cliff where numerous rocks sat perched at the top. The rain had dislodged the pile at last and was barreling down on the road. The van began spiraling in the air as the unevenly spaced out weight began to work to their disadvantage. Spy and Scout screamed, while Sniper began grinding his teeth, his hands clutching at the steering wheel, Demo and Medic embraced each other, and Heavy just sat there, Sasha in his hands, steeling his nerve at what he guessed would be a pretty loud crash.
The van fell on its side before tipping over entirely. The side took most of the damage, though glass shattered from each window as the roof also crunched inward. Each merc was suspended from the ceiling, each taking a minute to decide if they truthfully lived through the ordeal. Sniper's airbag finally deployed, along with the car's alarm.
The Spy recovered first, unbuckling himself and crashing to the floor. His suit and portions of his skin got cut from littered glass, blood began to pool slowly from each as he pulled out his butterfly knife and punctured the air bag that had been suffocating the bushman. He made himself busy with the wiring in the dash board as the men joined him on the new made floor of the van. Scout covered his ears as the alarm continued to stab at his eardrums. "What the hell was that!? You almost killed us there sharp!"
"Did you decide to ignore the large amount of bloody ROCKS falling on the road, or have yah just gone mad?" The alarm was finally cut off, and the Spy pulled his head out from the mass of wires.
"For once in my life, I believe you should be apologizing to Mundy." Spy flicked his crushed cigarette out the now forever open passenger window. "Besides, what's done is done, no use crying over a sapped to death sentry."
"That joke vould of gone of better vith Dell here, but he's not." Medic clenched at his head.
The Spy shrugged, indifferent. Demo jumped at Sniper but was met with Heavy's arm barring him from his destination. "I told ye! I told yah rain wa' a bad om'n."
"How the 'ell does rain have to do with any of this? The rocks fell on their own flippin' accord mate!"
Pyro was, on the other hand, still dangling from the ceiling, it's mask transfixed on the invading water droplets. Sure the suit shielded it from the rain, but it could swear each drop was like acid, punching and wearing down on its only protection from the cold, cold world. Again it was ignored as the mercs fought with one another, soft mutters lost to screaming and the rain.