A/N: This might have been the most fun thing to write in the history of ever.

2015 A/N: Oh god what was wrong with me

When one thinks of a situation that involves mailing a care package from home, a normal image that comes to mind is perhaps a homesick kindergartener's first day at camp, or perhaps an elderly old man recovering from severe illness in a hospital, or perhaps a gesture of motherly love to a college student.

This was why when the doorbell rang, Scout automatically assumed it was the new bat he had ordered the other day and he dashed up and out of the breakfast table without a proper thank-you to bid a toast-nibbling Engineer adieu. Instead was a hasty dib of "I'LL GET IT!" and a stampede of soccer cleats down the hallway and skidding to a squeaky halt right in front of the exit door.

"HA HA! I GET A BA-AT!" sang Scout as he unlatched each of the seven locks. More trills poured out in the opera of conceitedness; "Suck it, hoes! Da coolest person on da team is getting a brand new bat!"

The delivery boy – or, more accurately, delivery old midlife-crisised postman with a potbelly and a bad attitude – did not seem all too impressed when Scout flung the door open with a shout of "WELCOME TA TEE-EFF-TWO INDUS'RIES, CAN I GET MY BAT ALREADY?"

"Dee-liv-eery for..." A strange accent provided for a funny sounding pronunciation of Engineer's name as the mustachioed man squinted at the tag on the side of the box. "Deel Conay-geer?"

Scout rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatevs. Is it from da Mann Co store?"

"No," replied the serviceman simply. "From Bee Cave, Teexas."

This was apparently not an acceptable answer, for Scout's expression contorted into one of complete disbelief. "Bullshit."

Denial was not a matter that concerned the other man. His dark mustache turned down in a scowl as he tapped the label on the box that clearly read the return address with his squarish pointer finger. "Says here. It is."

"Nuh-uh!" insisted Scout, stomping his foot although he was already proven wrong.

"Yuh-huh!" insisted the delivery man, shoving the box into Scout's face. "Do you know how reed?"

Scout glanced at the label and then back at the man uneasily. He realized he had been bamboozled. There was now nothing more for him to say to protect his judgment. Thus, a very general statement flew out of his mouth in a dissy cry; "MY ASS!"

"Just take thee box!" yelled the plump man in logical response.

A pair of frail hands snatched the delivery from the stronger man's grasp. In a voice so sticky with sarcasm it was nearly sickening to hear, Scout screamed, "UH, YEAH, THAAAAANKS!" This bad show of sarcasm was met by a mustache-twitch and the man turning around to trudge, calling behind him a just-as-tactless "YOU'RE WEELCOOOOOME!"

The door slammed behind the delivery man and Scout shuffled back into the kitchen with the box low in his hands and a pout elongating his face. Engineer could not tolerate the way Scout plunked the box on the center of the table and sank dejectedly into his seat as if he were starring in a badly-staged soap opera.

"What's th' matter, son?" A warm smile spread across the Texan's face as he offered a hand across the table. "Ya can talk ta me. I'm here for ya."

Scout looked up at Engineer with saddened eyes and then back at the table with a sigh. "The delivery dude is totes gay and I hate him, and also you got a delivery except it's not a bat for me like I thought and it's a dumb thing for you from your family instead," was his depressing run-on sentence of an answer.

Engineer's eyebrows shot up behind his helmet. "Oh golly, that's too bad. Say, what's that about a present fer me?"

Scout raised his head. The hefty cube of cardboard was shoved across the table with rough hands to rattle and nearly topple over Engineer's bread-and-butter breakfast. "This here's for you. It's a box, I b'lieve. Fuck you. I want a box, too." Scout paused to think of a proper insult. After a flipping through his mental dictionary, he spit, "Fagnuts."

Receiving a 'fuck you' and an odd derivative from Scout truly did not mean anything, but Engineer took every word quite personally in offense. "Whah, 'scuse yer language! What did I ever do?"

"Yo ma!" Scout guffawed. No child could hold in their roars of cackling laughter after such a perfect opportunity for an immature gesture like that of an exceedingly obvious excuse for a your-mother joke.

Engineer reddened and the offering hand shot back to his side. "That ain't funny, son!"

Bostonian chuckles concluded in a giggly halt, and Scout tried his best to keep a stone-straight face when mumbling, "Sorry."

The conflict was seemingly resolved when Engineer snatched it from the table and hopped to the recreational room like an overjoyed excitable child in a sweets shop. "Yipee-cayee! Boy, oh boy! Oh, gosh, a package fer me!"

One of the most common pastimes of middle-aged men was sprawling out on the sofa and watching wrestling on the measly television. However, Soldier found setting his eyes on a daily episode of Here's Hollywood to be far more entertaining, although many of his teammates may not agree. In fact, nothing beat an early-morning holler at the television set that featured insults towards the daintily-dressed celebrities appearing for an interview. Most of these anti-compliments were probably caused by the lack of ability to see well when a helmet was sinking over a good portion of one's face.

Of course, before the program came the necessary advertisement for Lestoil, which showed a bottle of the detergent set along with a man's voice.

"Brought to you by the makers of Lestoil!" declared the deep voice. "The original purpose liquid detergent, withtwice the cleaning power!"

"LIES!" hollered Soldier, nearly flinging the remote at the screen. He recalled the coffee stain that he could not get off no matter how hard he scraped it with his Lestoil-covered shovel for hours. "That SHIT in a BOTTLE is made for com-PLETE COMMIES!"

"Lestoil cleans everything easier, faster, better!" insisted the salesman.

The product's arguments could not fool him. "BUREAUCRATIC CHICKENSHIT!"

His nerves were, however, eased as the familiar introductory music lulled him before a woman came onscreen in a convertible, puffy blonde hair and grin on her face, waving at the camera with her off-screen voice saying, "Hi! This is Helen O'Connell in Here's Hollywood! I'm heading toward the unusual home of Don DeFore..."

Soldier interrupted early with unnecessary criticism, pointing at the monstrosity he saw before him on the black-and-white screen. "Just LOOK at her! She did NOT spend ANY time on her HAIR!"

The anger was lost at the mention of Don DeFore's father being a railroad engineer, which made Soldier grin and shuffle a bit in his seat.

After seemingly listening to hours of the woman droning on and on about the life story of this man that Soldier cared nothing about, he began to get pestered and simply began hating on the car that was repeatedly being shown in motion. "Its structure is TERRIBLE! What IS that, BUGGY meets EDSEL?"

Before he count rant any longer, the woman's voice concluded, "We'll join Don the family man right after this message." A fade to gray was the telltale sign of another bombardment of advertising.

"CAN'T I just watch a MINUTE of a TELEVISION SHOW in this SOCIETY!" vented a Soldier in a berserk rage.

"Lestoil the protective Spray Starch!" cheered another woman's voice as a spraying can was shown on the television.

Soldier rolled his eyes and huffed in disbelief. "Not this SHIT again!"

"Ironing may not be quite this easy," began an equally attractive young lady as an iron ran against a shirt without her doing, discernibly controlled by heavens above or perhaps by communists depicted only off-screen. She did not seem disturbed at all by the fact that an iron was moving by itself over the ironing board, but this was probably due to a wire stretching from the top view of the camera which made the mechanisms of the illusion quite obvious. "But with Lestoil Instant Spray Starch, it is far less work!"

This time the Lestoil product did not appear to be the most bothersome thing on the television screen, but the appearance of the woman stating the product's efficiency. Soldier could not bring himself but to groan in exasperation at the disgrace to attire. "THAT is not the dress for HER! It does NOT compliment her FIGURE!"

"Won't scorch, won't stick!" she gushed, the can's image spreading across the screen.

"Even that CAN has more FASHION SENSE than YOU do, pal!" he growled.

The woman appeared back onto the scene, can in hands and plastic-looking lipsticky grin on her face. She continued telling the tale of Lestoil propaganda, but Soldier apparently could not go five seconds without complaining of her poor dress choice; "Her HIPS are FAR too WIDE for that COLOR!"

"Hoo-wee!" Engineer's nearing voice and footsteps from the hallway startled him. "Yeeeee-haw!"

"Shit!" he cursed, snatching the remote from beside him and quickly flipping the set off with a mechanical poip that accompanied the visual death of the horrid camerawork.

"Howdeeeeeee, friend!" sang Engineer, skipping through the doorway at precisely the correct moment. Stopping right beside the sofa with delivery in hands, a both friendly and outgoing attempt at conversation showed that Engineer was in a better mood than usual. "Watchin' the telly, are you?"

"Affirmative." Soldier's malicious grin spiced up the friendly request; "Need a seat, private?"

"Sure thing!" Engineer hopped onto the sofa beside him, box smack dab on the lap of his brown overalls.

Soldier noticed the delivery and became overcome in curiosity. "Say, what's in the box, Engy?"

Such a plain question resulted in a more-than-welcome excitement of Engineer's bubbly chirp. "Would ya just believe it? Someone sent somethin' from home! Oh, I just can't wait ta open it!"

Soldier paused for a while. Bringing two fists together to crack his knuckles in a very menacing fashion, he asked quietly, "You mean it could be a love letter from Irene, right?"

Engineer grinned. "Here's hopin'!"

Although the response deserved an angered ranting about what a skag Irene was and how much Soldier wanted to slice her head off in a fit of fury, he simply humphed and crossed his arms.

Engineer did not seem to feel Soldier's anguish as he drummed his fingers on the box with a happy hum and a sway from side to side, waiting for his fellow RED's vocal response to the matter.

Soldier coughed and let the thought slide past him. "Open the box. That is an ORDER."

Making the sofa squeak with his zealous jitters, Engineer nearly squealed, "Oh boy, I can't wait ta open it!"

"So OPEN it!" Soldier commanded yet again.

This was done in a manner that allowed the room a few seconds of Lestoil-less silence as Engineer tore the package open to find another package encased in a similar material.

"Oh boy!" Engineer piped, clapping his hands in a cascade of joy. "It's another box!"

Apparently, boxes-within-boxes have an ability to peeve burly Americans that are able to snarl and holler at the same time; "WHAT IS THIS, A JAM TIN? GODDAMN OPEN THAT BOX!"

The smaller box was folded intricately, so Engineer took his time in undoing the folds so he would not mess up the inner compunctions of a factory-made cube.

"DON'T KEEP ME IN SUSPENSE HERE!" yelled a very impatient teammate that was becoming overrun in stress.

A small brown paper bag was revealed, a heart scrawled in red crayon on a front side. "By golly, I think it's from Irene!"

Soldier pressed his lips together as if he was ready to expel a cry of agony but instead suppressed his temper somewhere deep in his gut. "That's...great," he hissed instead, hoping that a grim neutrality would keep the statement from expressing its clear sarcasm.

Inspecting the package, however, showed that on the back was a draft composed of neatly-scripted handwriting and hearts in the place of dots for the 'i's.

"Dear Engy," read the said Texan aloud. "How's living at RED? I was sure worrying if you were havin' a good workin' time back at the base so I made you some cookies! I hope you like 'em! There's a secret 'ngredient in there, too! I made 'em all by mahself, just like how you taught me when you came back home for a week! I love ya so so so so so so much! With tons of looove..."

Soldier almost exploded.

"Sarah!" Engineer beamed.

A sigh of relief made the man beside him sink into the sofa.

Engineer hugged the brown paper bag as if it had been the daughter that had written the heartfelt letter. "Oh, I just miss her so darn bad!" He chuckled softly in a near lament. "Gosh...so grown up already, making her own cookies all by herself...I love her so much...mah little girl..."

Soldier rolled his eyes. "OPEN the fucking BAGGY!"

This brought the man back to reality with a grin. "Whoops, I almost forgot about them cookies itself!" After being whirled upside-down and shaken so its contents fell onto the overalls beside the torn care-package bundle, the baggy revealed to hold a folded-up drawing and two lumpy mystery-cookies.

"Aw, and she even drew somethin'!" gushed Engineer. It turned out to be, when unraveled, a crayon drawing of Engineer building a sentry beside...beside...

Soldier gasped. "Is that me?"

According to similar height and a helmet ending at his grin, the person slinging his arm around Engineer's shoulder in the picture appeared to be none other than his patriotic teammate. "Did you TELL your KIDS about me?"

Engineer chuckled. "Oh, well, I..."

"YOU DID?" Soldier screamed. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT IRENE WILL DO IF SHE – "

"Jeepers! Calm down there, mister!" pleaded a startled Texan. "Now, I shown them a picture of the whole darn team and told them a bit 'bout every one of y'all, and I guess she figured...that, uh..." Engineer sighed. "So I told them you were my best friend on th' team. What's wrong with that, Soldier?"

Soldier paused. "You told them that?"

Raising up the drawing yet again and squinting through massive dark goggles allowed Engineer to make out a word above Soldier's head. "Ain't that just the cutest thing! She wrote 'maggots' above yer head there! Heh heh."

It was a sight to appreciate. "Woah! She even got my muscles right!"

"It's so darn adorable that she made them sentry have a smile on its face!" Engineer laughed.

Soldier squinted. "Is that my rocket launcher in my hand?"

"I s'pose!"

"She forgot the breech."

"Sarah's a nine-year-old girl, Solly."

"Good point." Soldier eyed the cookies on his lap. "Are you gonna throw the cookies out or what?"

The reaction to this statement was a horrified gasp and a recoil of the Texan's spine. "HECK NO! MY DAUGHTER MADE THOSE!"

Engineer's argument was, however, met very logically; "They look like shit covered in cement."

"I'll eat 'em anyway," he promised himself.

Soldier the skeptic did not find the reason of ingesting such garbage. "Why the hell wouldn't you toss 'em? Seriously, Engy, she's never gonna find out."

"No, ya darn sicko!" bickered Engineer, always on the side for what is justified. "I'm eatin' the cookies she worked hard ta bake and that is final!"

It was due to be quite amusing to watch someone eat a pastry with a texture like that of a deformed brick, so Soldier did not argue with his notion and instead cheered him on. "HEY, TEAM, GET OVER HERE! ENGY'S GONNA EAT CEMENT COOKIES!"

Scout was the first one to skid in, record being a matter of seconds. "Say what? Cement cookies?"

"Now, they ain't – " Engineer sighed. "They AIN'T cement cookies none, they're cookies mah lovin' daughter made fer me!"

Scout cast questioning eyes at Soldier.

Soldier shook his head.

This made the nosy young boy clap in excitement. "Arright, I'm not missin' dis!"

As if on cue, Sniper appeared into the room as well. "Oi, what's all the ruckus?"

Scout whirled his head around. "Engy's gonna eat cookies his daughtah made fer 'im?"

"And?" prompted Sniper, not seeing the joy of the situation.

"And they look like SHIT in CEMENT!" concluded an outraged Soldier.

The crowd of two instantly scurried beside Engineer, impatient to see the epitomes of children's cooking be fulfilled by a soon-regretful father.

"Now would y'all back off?" snapped Engineer, uncomfortable by the two men peering over his shoulder. "This ain't a zoo exhibit!"

"Eat it, eat it, eat it!" chanted Scout, trying to start up a rally. Sniper and Soldier soon caught on. "Eat it! Eat it!"

"Oh, fer the love a' god!" Engineer raised the cookie to his mouth and ate the whole, crunching it as if it were but the fanciest delicatessen.

Scout looked on with shocked eyes. "How's it taste?"

After a few seconds of chewing, Engineer smiled. "Whah, them Sarah really knows what she's doin'! This is the grandest cookie I ever – " Suddenly, he doubled over, coughing with hands on his stomach. "OH! OH NO!"

Instincts kicking in, Soldier grabbed Engineer's shoulders and shook them urgently, hollering, "WHAT? WHAT IS IT? TALK TO ME, MAGGOT!"

Sniper stared, eyes goggled behind his glasses. "This is gonna be good," he murmured to Scout.

"You bet!" responded a grinning Bostonian.

Engineer attempted to speak but his words found their way out of his mouth in a raspy incomprehensible wheeze that sounded very painful to have traveling up one's vocal chords. Bits of the gray matter shot out of his mouth in wet cookie crumbs, making the Scout dodge them by jumping to the side as if they were toxic pellets.

This sort of stress was not healthy for a man of his age; "SPIT IT OUT RIGHT NOW! SPIT THE FUCK-ING COO-KIE OUT! OH, I TOLD YOU NOT TO EAT IT, ENGY!"

Scout laughed. "Solja, what the fuck are ya getting so worked up for?"

"HE COULD BE DYING!" screamed Soldier, his cry accompanying another wheeze. "GET MEDIC! MMEEDDIIC! GET OVER HERE! MEDIC!"

The Texan managed to spit a word out; "P-PEANUTS!"

Sniper smirked in confusion. "Whot in the hell?"

"Peanuts?" Scout repeated.

Soldier gasped, now clasping two hands to the top of his helmet in terror. "OH GOD! DON'T TELL ME YOU'RE ALLERGIC! OH, CRAP! MEDIC, get the FUCK over here!"

"Oh!" Scout made a little sound of realization once he had come to terms with the situation.

Wheezes continued to add anxiety into the room as did Soldier's wails to call the team's doctor. Basically, Scout and Sniper just stood there to see what would happen.

Medic did not appear after a long while.

"Maybe he's busy," concluded Sniper in a comforting tone, directed more towards Soldier than towards the Engineer who was beginning to turn as red as his uniform.

Soldier did not take the Sniper's words with a positive reaction. "I AM NOT DEALING WITH HIS FUCKING RACE CARD! HE CAN AND WILL HEAL ENGY!" Soldier stood up from the sofa, making the audience back away in fear that he was going to drum a solo on their skulls for failing to care as much as he did. "WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU, MEDIC! GET OVER HERE! NUMBER NINE! DO YOU NOT HEAR ME? MMEEDDIIC!"

"Dude, chill! He's gonna be okay!" Scout's assurement was not very convincing when Engineer flopped to the floor and spilled the cardboard shards onto the carpet with a multitude of various heaves.

"MEEEEEE-HEEE-HE-DIIIIIIIIC!" Soldier wailed, mentally aware that if Engineer was to die respawn would probably not get him covered due to the lack of an ongoing battle at the time but choosing to stay in denial. "PLEASE! NO, ENGY! DON'T LEAVE US! TALK TO ME!"

Engineer looked up, goggles showing his fear. "S-s...sold..." He raised up a glove, making Soldier drop to his knees.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY?" asked a very oblivious American.

A gulp made wheezes go away for a minute as Engineer quickly formed a sentence; "P-pills in them cupboard!"

"AND!" Soldier prompted. "AND WHAT?"

Sniper turned to Scout again. "If only the television had such drama."

Scout thought for a moment. "Well, Psycho's pretty good."

"That movie was shit house," bickered Sniper. "Compare it to this. This is loike drama gold."

The statement was approved when Soldier began to sob. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN PILLS IN THE CUPBOARD? IS THAT SOME SORT OF TEXAS SLANG?"

Sniper sighed, seeing an opportunity wasted. "If only Director were still with us..."

Scout's eyes grew wide. "HE DIED?"

"No, he sprouted bloody wings and flew away!" hissed Sniper with all the sarcasm of an old goat. "Of course he died, ya sook!"

Soldier became aware of their conversation, though he only heard the concluding sentences. "ENGY DID NOT DIE!"

Engineer looked on in wheezy confusion, afraid that his team had taken his allergic reaction as a clear sign of death.

"No shit he didn't die," Scout huffed. He paused and then quickly added, "Uh, yet."

"Bad idea," warned Sniper a second too late, foreseeing Soldier's reaction to the final word.

His vision appeared to be proclaimed when Soldier lunged at Scout, fists protruding and teeth bared, shouting, "YOU ARE GONNA GET IT RIGHT IN THE BRAIN, LITTLE BRAT!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" bawled Scout as knuckles met his jaw against the floor. "I was just foolin'! Just kiddin'! OW, MY TEETH!"

As Soldier was teaching Scout a lesson by pounding his tiny nose back into his face, Sniper just stood around and watched the action.

"Sn...n-niper!" grunted Engineer.

"Huh?" Sniper looked to the ground to find a gloved hand clasped around his ankle. "I'm trying to watch a battle here. Leave a message at the tone." He paused for a moment. "Boop."

"G-git...'em...p-pills!" pleaded the peanut-hater. "Ah...ca't...b-breathe!"

"Yeah, that'd be right," groaned Sniper. "Fine. Where were they again?"

"C-cupboard!"

Sniper strolled off to the kitchen with a hum, taking his sweet time as if he had just been told to go fetch a pack of beer.

Meanwhile, the knuckles leaving imprints on Scout's face failed to cease the more the young boy apologized.

Engineer was simply left wheezing on the floor.

"Pills, pills, pills," sang Sniper quietly to the tune of some forgotten old children's song, rummaging through the many cupboards in the kitchen. "Where the bloody hell are they?"

"Mmhm!" greeted a voice from behind him.

"Oh, hey, Pyro, just th' time ta lob in," replied Sniper, not turning away from his current task. "Say, I'm looking fer pills fer Engineer. Allergy pills, really. Seen any?"

Pyro joined his side, scanning the shelves behind the wooden doors. "Nhm, nhmmr."

"Me neither." Sniper raised a hand to move away a couple cans of soup in case there was an obscured pillbox. "Wherever could they be?"

"Mmhm mh thm mmhrmmh!" suggested Pyro, pointing towards the direction of the bathroom.
"Outside?" asked Sniper, not sure what his muffled friend was getting at.

"Nhm." Pyro sighed in frustration, this time shoving two both rubber gloves in the bathroom's direction. "Thm mmhrmmh."

"He doesn't have any cupboards in his bedroom," snapped Sniper.

"THM...MMH...RMMH!" shouted a angry teammate from behind the Optical Lens mask, making sure to enunciate each vowel to make his pronunciation as clear as it could possibly be. It was as if, to the Pyro that had been talking as slowly as a kindergartener teacher, Sniper had somehow gone deaf. Perhaps Scout still screaming in pain across the hallway had done it.

"Eh? Say whot?"

That was the final straw. Pyro simply grabbed the hearing-defected man's wrist with the firm inflammable rubber grip and marched him out of the kitchen.

A Sniper, dragged down the hallway like a sickly dog, became a bit confused at the situation literally at hand. "Hey! Where th' bloody hell do you think you're going?"

Pyro sighed before grunting, not missing another purposeful trudge; "TMH THM MMHRMMH!"

Sniper squinted. "Coffee shop?"

"MMMMMRGH." This groan of anguish showed that Pyro did not believe in continuing a conversation with a man who has apparently gone deaf.

Soon enough, they stood before the bathroom in which the allergy pills were undoubtedly held. "Mrph thmmr!" Pyro pointed at the correct cabinet that Engineer was most likely refferring to.

Sniper stood, wide eyed and mouth gaping as if he had seen a ghost. "Pyro...Pyro, no, I really don't..."

Pyro turned to him and cocked his head in confusion. "Whmm thmr fmmh?"

He coughed in response. "Listen Pyro...I mean..." Sniper bit his lip. "...Oi know you th-think Oi'm...sorta into pissin'...but see, I just ain't...c-comfort'ble ta drop moi daks and – "

"MMMMRRRHRH!" screamed a horrified Pyro. "WHMMMM!"

Sniper winced and then chuckled at his own take of what he thought his fellow RED had intended. "...heh, well, I thought you meant..." The way his voice trailed off made Pyro shudder.

Thus, instead of perhaps spiking dozens of other dirty assumptions, Pyro simply opened the cabinets above the sink and shuffled through the Medic's assortment of facial creams to reveal a tiny scrap of metal with two rows of tiny pink tablets sealed inside, intended for easing Engineer's allergic woes.

"Oh, so that's what you were here for." Sniper raised a brow. "But seriously, couldn't ya just'a told me sooner?"

There was no reaction to this statement because Pyro did not feel like dealing with the stupidity of his teammate at the time. There were more important matters at hand.

"PHRMM WHM MMF MH MMH HMM HM!" declared Pyro, bursting into the room with pill sheet in glove.

Sniper tagged along behind him, making the reason to their presence very clear in two words. "Pills here."

On both the first and second glance, it seemed as if Sniper and Pyro had mistakenly intruded on their conversation with the television. It seemed as if the conflict between Scout and Soldier had party passed. Scout dejectedly sat beside him on the sofa, bruised-up face almost humorous. A very catchy jingle appeared on the television set, singing something about Winston cigarettes tasting good like a cigarette should. Soldier immediately began screaming.

"THIS HAS GOT TO BE SOME SORT OF JOKE!" he screamed. "WINSTON CIGARETTES ARE LIKE CHOCOLATE ROLLED UP IN CONDOMS!"

"I never shmoked," Scout attempted to reply, nasal block and chipped teeth making it quite the Bostonian accent. "I wanna shmoke but cigsh cosht a million dollash."

"Not if you steal them from Spy's makeup kit they don't," said Soldier, ever the role model.

Scout sighed. "I would, but my Ma don't let me shmoke. 'Shpeshally not from Shpy's cigsh. I think he hidesh hash in there."

Thinking for a moment, Soldier finally admitted, "To be honest, I never even tried Winston."

"Ex-cuse me," Sniper interrupted.

Soldier and Scout turned from the commercial. "What ish it, Shnipe?"

"Have you two seen Engineer anywhere?" he asked, feeling a very visible lack of wheezing on the carpet.

"He walked to Medic's office a while ago," responded Soldier, caring nonetheless now that Engineer was bound to be taken care of by the sadistic German.

"Well, he asked me ta get his pills." Pyro held up the tiny treatment as if it were a showcase. "Oi don't think highly of Medic not to give 'im these, because Pyro has 'em in hand at th' moment."

Scout rolled his eyes. "Shcrew Engineer. Come watsh TV with us. Ironshide is on. That show kicksh mashor ash."

"Medic's probably cutting him up right now for no apparent reason," Sniper concurred. Yet he grinned, media being a larger influence on his judgement than the soon death of his rural buddy. "Oi bloody adoooore Ironsoide! Make room fer me, ya couch potaters!"

"CUTTING HIM UP!" hollered Soldier, realization striking him in the back of the helmet like a Lestoil-covered shovel.

Sniper blinked. "Well, yeah, Medic loikes cuttin' people up, and he doesn't have th' pills that could help the poor egghead. Soon enough, he'll be within cooee of bein' a full blown cactus."

"I HAVE TO HELP HIM!" He leaped up, sprinting across the room and down the hallway, nearly knocking down a very lost-in-the-moment Pyro when he grabbed the metal pill sheet from his grip. "EEENNNGGGYYYY! I WILL SAAAAVE YOUUUUU!"

The room fell silent for a while after that.

An Australian voice filled the air with a quiet, "Well, that escalated quickly."

Perhaps Medic had already sliced Engineer open with a chainsaw. Perhaps the blood and guts had spilled onto the floor, buzzing of the blades set in tune with the Medic's peals of horrid laughter; "OOH HOO HOO HOO HA HA HA HA!" Engineer was undoubtedly struggling in his ropes, crying out, "SOLDIER! SOLLY, SAVE ME!" All the while, Medic had already cut insicions all over him, making the poor Texan's blood gush out, down his chin and all over the floor like red ink; "SAVE ME SOLLY! SAAAAVE MEEEEE!" Oh, Soldier figured Engineer would be wheezing, too. Painful heaves that made his chest rise and fall as the chainsaw neared him. "HEEEEELP!"

Soldier then burst through the doors of the medical office, just in time for a hefty rescue from the burly American patriot Hero! "ENGY! DO NOT FEAR, FOR SOLLY IS HEe..ere..."

It seemed as if the Texan's-chainsaw-massacre part of Soldier's imagination had steered him into a very awkward situation. Instead of a rapid murderous killing spree, Medic was shining a flashlight into Engineer's mouth with eyes concentrated on throat inspection as the Texan emitted a calm, wheeze-less 'aah', seated on the medical table.

Soldier shuffled around as the doors slammed somewhere behind him. "Uh, er, I mean, uh...isn't the weather just great today?"

"I undahstand Herr Engineer has an acute reaction to za peanut allahgy," he told Soldier with all the professional vocals of a true doctor telling the patient's father of the illness in which their poor child has contracted. "Do not vurry, Soldiah. He svallowed his pill vizout any problems, so he is one-hundred-pahcent gesund." The red rubber glove patted a relieved Engineer on the shoulder. "Good to go!"

"But I have the pills right HERE!" Soldier retorted, holding up the sheet of pills. "YOU are a FRAUD, mister KRAUT!"

"More allahgy pills?" Medic asked, eyebrows up to his receding hairline. "Ah, zat's strange. Let me see zen, bitte." The tiny sheet was handed over to Medic reluctantly. He flipped the foil over and mouthed the words that appeared in fine print.

Medic instantly burst into laughter.

"WHAT? WHAT IS IT?" Soldier cried.

"Ooh hoo hoo hoo ha ha ha ha!" Medic wiped a tear from his eye. "Soldiah! Vhat a sick joke you haf played! Zese are birz control pills!"

Engineer glanced at Soldier for a moment before the Texan cracked up with a just-as-obnoxious "A-hyup, a-hyup, a-hyup! Oh mah lord!"

A very unlucky American stood near the doorway with shoulders drawn to his ears, burning with embarrassment. "IT IS NOT FUNNY!"

Engineer immediately stopped laughing. "Yeah, it ain't funny. Why the hell would people have birth control pills in here?"

"You got zat right!" Medic agreed, still chuckling slightly. "Wizh Soldiah's appearance, I doubt he'll evah be needing zem!"

This time everyone in the room exploded in laughter.

After a second, Soldier caught onto the joke. "Wait...WHAT?"

This cry of outrage stopped Medic's guffaw altogether, but Engineer was left with an inevitable string of giggles.

"Joke's on YOU, Engy," snarled Soldier. "I TOLD you to throw out those fucking cookies."

I guess bad parenting does have its advantages.

Now I'd bet the next time you think of a situation that involves mailing a care package from home, you'd probably see not a homesick kindergartener's first day at camp, nor a sickly old man in a hospital, nor perhaps a gesture of love to a college student.

You'll see Engineer wheezing on a carpet by the sofa.

And always remember; there's less toil...in Lestoil!