Hello, this is my first story, and i have no idea what to say, unfortunately i'm a little busy because the wombat army is laying siege to my home, so read on, curious person!

o0O0o

Friday came around again. Mail-day, come and gone again. Just another reminder that no one remembered him.

Every Friday was a holiday, where each merc got his own special little assortment of presents. Medic got a pound of bird seed, the soldier got a magazine showing scantily clad women and rocket launchers, and the demo was given a pamphlet on alcoholics anonymous with a handwritten note in it from his mother. The spy unwrapped a fancy masquerade ball mask while heavy breathed a sigh of relief as a dummies guide to exorcism came out of his box. Ivan the Inedible had been haunting him for months. Engie got a couple of electronic do-dahs that he almost squealed over, Scout got a few six-packs of BONK!, and Sniper got a postcard from his parents. Even if it contained nothing but concern for his being a "crazed gunman", it was something

This is why Pyro hated mail-day. How much would it cost to get him a card? A Zippo? Hell, even a match would be nice.

But no. Of course no one ever remembered him. Or - if they ever did - they wished they didn't. It didn't stop him from searching the shelves every time Friday rolled around, accepting the crushing resignation that no one cared about him, and letting go of that tiny fluttering hope that someone, somewhere, still knew he existed.

So that was what Pyro was doing now. Searching every shelf after the others had gone, having already lugged boxes and packages and letters to their rooms to unravel. He envied every single one of them. He even envied Sniper, who read parents' letter looking like he wanted to dunk it in one of his jars of piss. Pyro would have killed to receive a letter twice as bad. At least it would mean someone out there knew him well enough to know what he had turned into. But no one cared about Pyro.

The muffly maniac shuffled away from the shelves in the package room and followed the hallway outside to the pouring rain. "It's a good day for rain" he thought. He looked around the small courtyard in 2fort, checking for the presence of anyone else. He was alone. Pyro took off his mask and reveled when the fresh air hit him. He never realized how good fresh air was until moments like these. He turned his face up to feel the rain patter around his face.

He caught his reflection in a puddle and took a moment to observe it. Pyro knew his teammates were always so curious, but there really wasn't all that much to be curious about. He was just a middle aged white man, with red hair and a redder face. Scars from knives and burns made layers over his face. His eyes were the only thing not perverted by this war. They looked back at him, one green and one blue. They were the only thing on him that weren't the color of fire. He noticed a beard had grown. This surprised him. He had shaved the last time he took off the mask. Then again, he shouldn't have been surprised. That was three months ago.

he realised he didn't recognize his own face. Jesus, he had forgotten what it looked like. He stared at the reflection and tried to memorize it, so that he could have something that was his and his alone to hold onto, until he forgot again. Then he became nothing but the mask. The mask and the suit and nothing else. No one else knew about any of this, how could they? They all had their faces out all the time. He was so mesmerized he didn't hear the staccato beat of sneakers pounding against the floor.

"Yo, what're you doin'?"

Pyro froze, mentally calling himself an idiot. He had been caught without a mask on. He needed the mask. It was all that separated him and what he had done. The only one who had seen him without the mask was his team doctor, and that was so long ago that Medic had probably forgotten as well.

Scout slowly walked around to Pyro's side, approaching as if he expected to be bitten by some sort of wild beast. He sat down next to him once it was apparent that he wouldn't be set on fire or hacked into bits. Pyro remembered Scout once walking away with two packs of BONK! and felt a cold envy in his chest.

"Uh...woah," Scout finally said, with a quiet chuckle. "Now I see why you never take that thing off."

Now Scout was looking at him with something akin to pity. Pyro let Scout look, expecting him to just huff and walk away after he finished staring at the mass of scars that had become the pyro. He was surprised when he looked up and still saw the scout sitting there.

"Oh." Scout paused. "You...didn't get anything this week again, did you?"

The Pyro shook his head in somber defeat. He started to get up and walk away when a hand landed on his shoulder and pulled him back down.

"Ain't no brotha' of mine gonna go through whole year without getting anything from anybody."

The Scout bolted inside, without so much as a proper goodbye. A minute later he reappeared with two cans of BONK! and tossed one of them towards Pyro.

Pyro caught the can and stared at it in disbelief. Meanwhile Scout took a seat next to pyro and popped his can open.

Something. Someone had finally given him something.

There was nothing that could stop him as he felt himself start to cry, right then, sobs silently heaving through his chest and out his throat. Scout stopped drinking and stared at him. His tears mixed with the rain dripping down his face and fell onto the can. He tried to thank the boy but his throat was horse from misuse, the only thing that came out was a forced croak.

Looking up at him, Scout quietly asked, "You okay, man?"

The pyro leaned over and hugged scout. "Six years," Pyro managed to say.

Scout squirmed, almost angrily. "Six years? What are you talkin' about?"

"It's been six years since I've been given something."

He continued to cry while hugging the scout, who at that point had gone into shock thinking about what the pyro had just said. Pyro finally let go and stared at the soaked boy, breaking him out of his reverie.

"Thank you," he said.

Scout shook his head and said, with a small crooked smile, "Well, like I said...no brotha' of mine gets nothing."

o0O0o

so, how was it? i'm fine with critiques, but you don't have to bring my mother into it. any reviews are welcome, and i will anwser them as soon as i can get them.

red wombat in the base!

Thank you to Maggot Magnet for beta-ing this and putting up with me until I realized you could still edit this after you published.