Their Sniper had gotten hold of his weapons. He was a disgrace to his training. The deadbringer, the Ambassador, his watch, everything crushed under the boot of that filthy bushman. He had beaten him senseless only to leave him somewhere to die. But the cruelest thing was that he had taken his lighter. Spy couldn't make his hell bearable through the chemical coated tube of a cigarette. Spy was desperate, curled up on the floor; he had been sucking on a cigarette as though the sweet smoke would come out along with that luminescent red dot on the end.
When he was curled there, his only wish in life a flame, he thought he could almost understand why the Pyro loved it so much and was almost orgasmic about what he had. As if summoned by his thoughts, a Pyro stepped out of the shadows. At this point the Spy didn't care who it was approaching him. But he noticed when the Pyro knelt down beside him and held out his flamethrower. Spy scrambled to get closer to the small, almost fragile fire. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and extended the cigarette towards the flame. The tip had just about been ignited when the flamethrower let out a burst of searing hot fire. Spy didn't care about the pain. What Spy cared about was the only piece of heaven he had left was burning up in his hands.
The smoke from the cigarette was sweet but overpowered by another smoke, the one that made Spy nauseous to think of, the one of burning flesh. Spy looked at the small pile of ash in his hands that was slowly turning into a filthy black puddle. Pyro watched Spy cry but he felt that the tears weren't caused by the flame slowly eating at his body, they were the tears of a man who had just lost his salvation. It was a beautiful sight, the way Spy burned but didn't pay attention to it. Pyro was sad when rain began to kill the flames. It fell slowly at first as if testing the ground for the rest of the drops but gradually began to pour. He looked at the nearly unrecognizable body before him. He didn't think it was fair what Sniper did to the spy, he knew his thoughts were hypocritical but when it wasn't him torturing spies it didn't feel right. Pyro felt around Spy's head a bit until he peeled off the bits of balaclava that still clung to the skull, he felt that wherever the Spy goes, he should go there as himself.
Pyro pulled his arm out of his sleeve and reached into his pocket, pulling out a box of cigarettes. He always carried a box with him to remind him of the way he was before he took the job at Reliable Excavation & Demolition. He wasn't sure if they were the Spy's brand but he knew Spy would forgive him if he were alive. Pyro lit the cigarette and he could have sworn that the Spy's charred lips had creaked into a smile when it was placed between them.