(( hi im adam and im a giant gay that writes gay fanfiction ok this fic has ftm!scout/sniper mtf!medic/heavy and spy/scut mama if you dont like that shit wow pop off douchebag. aus are fun! this is an au, meaning not canon. it starts off with middle school but will go for a long time bc dammit i like long fanfics and ceasefire was the only long one i could find of my otp which is . also scouts name is peter, sniper is oliver, medic is monika, heavy is isaak, mama is victoiria, and spy has yet to be named. 2fort doesnt exist in this bc, again, AU. peter is mamas presh little boy scoUT MAMA yeah she was based after convos with my friend kat ok idc if she doesnt suit your tastes if not lEAVE ok im done have fun))

Surprisingly what had started it all wasn't something out of the ordinary. It wasn't even something you'd think twice about. It was something as everyday as a Middle School science project. Some people dread them, others enjoy them. Some, just wanna get it over with. No matter what your stance on the assignment is, you still have to do it. That's what Peter kept telling himself, but what in the hell are you supposed to do when you're assigned to do your work with the creepiest kid in school that rarely even talks anyway? Why him? Why couldn't he have gotten someone that at least has the smallest clue on how to socialize? Still, he didn't want to fail Science class. He held his held high and invited the kid to his house to get some work done. Oliver, was his name. At least Peter was 76% sure it was. Oliver was tall and lanky, as puberty seemed to be confused about what to do with the boy. He had a few pimples here and there, as any middle-schooler would. He had wore his share of ragged jeans, t-shirts, and falling apart sneakers. Don't forget the flannels, you can't forget those.

Peter envied him. He couldn't wear jeans, he couldn't even wear a t-shirt. Blouses and skirts was all he had. He was a boy, yes. But, he was the only one that knew that fact. His Mama dressed him in the girliest clothes she could get her hands on, telling him he's her "darling little girl". Everytime she did, he wanted to cry. Of course he didn't though, he was too strong for that. At least to strong to do it in front of others. He just wanted to be accepted as he was. He wanted to be mama's little boy, not mama's little girl. He pushed all of his feelings under the mat though, and dressed and acted as he was expected from everyone around him. The shell lasted until he was about 12, nearing the end of his 6th grade year. That, is when Peter's life got a whole lot more interesting. This is where his story (partly) starts.

"Penny, do you think you could help me finish putting up the groceries?" Peter could hear the demand in his mother's voice, telling him if he didn't he was fucked. Peter sighed and followed the familiar path he took everyday to the small cramped kitchen space in which he and his mother shared. The sight of unclean dishes his mother was to work on after everything was stored and cleaned met his eyes, along with the scent of the cheap air freshener his mother always used. The one that claimed it smelled like oranges but actually just smelt like chemicals and death. There was the daily mail that had been tossed on the counter, and the head of paper grocery bags clustered together. His mother slowly working on emptying those bags, saw him and quickly waved him over. She started talking about something that had happened that day while placing a can of soup into one of the cupboards. He was only half listening, as he could only listen to the woman ramble on about work for an amount of time.

"Penny you're... you're not even listening to me are you?" Mama groaned, half-annoyed and half-teasing.

"No! I am. I totally just got distracted by this bag of rice crunchies." he joked, putting said item in its respectable place. Mama glared at him as she placed the boxes of cereal into the pantry, making sure everything was in order and neat.

"Alright, something's wrong. You can usually bear to listen to me for more than a minute." She shot at him, giving him the look of knowingness, the one only mothers can.

Did she already know his secret or what? His suspicions of the woman being able to read minds rose more and more each day. He swore when a woman has a child she just gains magic powers or something.

"Nah, I'm fine! Ma, you worry too much." He tried his best to sound at ease, but of course failed and just sounded guilty. Mama sighed and finished packing away the various food items.

"You know you shouldn't keep things bottled up, dear." She whispered, brushing some loose hairs behind her ear.

"I ain't, Mama!" Peter huffed, Mama's glare becoming more intense. "It's nothing, Ma. Really."

"You're lying."

"I'm really not."

"You did that thing with your nose," She mocked, flicking him on said body part. "You know, the one where you twitch when you lie."

"I don't do that." Peter grunted and rolled his eyes.

"Don't roll your eyes at me! Now get off your high horse and help me get dinner started."

"Alright alright geez!"

The next 30 minutes or so went by as it usually did. Peter's mother babbling about something and Peter trying to focus on not cutting his fingers off. God damn were potatos difficult to cut. He totally didn't fuck up his fingers while trying to cook no sir that's from being to badass. Those burn marks? Not grease at all nope. At least that's what he told himself (because he ain't a girl he's not wearing the proper wear). By the time dinner was ready Peter has added three cuts on his fingers to his collection. Go him.

When dinner actually started though, things got... weird. Really weird. Mama was sitting there, still going on about anything she could think of. When the subject of femininity came up. Mama going on and on about "How darling my little girl is!" and "Penny, you'll have every boy crawling all over you.", when Peter let something slip.

He said she shouldn't think that because he was a boy. His hand instantly flew up across his mouth. He didn't know what to say, or what to do. He just sat there motionless as his mother stared at him.

"I-" Peter started, quickly closing his mouth. Swallowing hard and avoiding all eye contact with his mother.

"Why in the hell didn't you tell me sooner?" She whispered, the tone of knowingness back in her voice. Peter slumped down, finding his shoelaces to suddenly become the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. Shit, he wished he could have just shut the fuck up and agree with whatever his mother was babbling about.

"I never really intended on telling you, ever." he mumbled, rubbing his wrists together. He really hadn't. Yes she was his mother but, he didn't want to burden the woman. She lived on low-income, her boyfriend was out most of the time due to work, two of her children were in jail, and five of them were out of the house already. She also had to live with the burden that Peter wasn't even supposed to ever be born (even though she loved him unconditionally). Now? Now she got to add that her only daughter was a boy. Great. Peter felt like shit. The biggest pile of shit to ever exist. Those were tears forming weren't they? He really didn't feel like crying right now, especially when he knew it would make his mother upset.

Peter really hated himself.

His mother raised an eyebrow, processing her son's previous statement. "Sweetheart, you know I don't care if you're a boy or a girl. Whoever you are, you're my da- well, son for Christs sake! I'm just angry you haven't told me sooner."

"So you don't even care that I'm a boy? No freakin' out that your little girl ain't your little girl after all?" the boy asked, his voice cracked. He was honestly surprised as his mother understanding wasn't the exact thing he expected. He didn't know why he thought that she wouldn't understand, though. She was about as accepting as a mother could get. He knew why, of course. He was scared that she wouldn't understand even though he knew she would. It's weird, how when it came to his mother all he wanted was to be accepted.

And he was.