Posted this on TF2chan first. This version has slight edits.
Enjoy!
Part one: Hidden
Dell didn't know why he and John had grown so close. For many years, before he had been contracted by BLU, it had been his mindset that all he needed were his machines; crafting from metal was less complicated than forging real friendships, he had reasoned. Creating his contraptions all by his lonesome gave him great satisfaction and happiness, so why add a carbon-based variable to the mix? And yet, for nearly a year and a half, he found himself trudging bruised and bloody down to the Soldier's bunker of a room for talk of the day's battle over some beers. It quickly became something Dell looked forward to after each battle with RED, and he always hastened to meet John, no matter how sore he was.
He wasn't exactly sure why they got along so well. They were both loners (John more so than he), both in their early forties, both from the Midwest. However, John was loud where Dell was soft-spoken, harsh while he was gentle, quick to anger while he was patient. But as soon as they both slumped into their respective chairs and opened their bottles, Dell thought, all the differences in the world wouldn't have mattered.
No, their kinship didn't make complete sense in the Engineer's calculating head, but he didn't care. It was nice having someone to chat and joke with in the midst of all the war and violence. The Soldier had gotten him through some pretty gruesome matches, and for that, Dell was eternally grateful. John was his rock, his anchor, his provision dispenser. And he wouldn't change their companionship for the world.
. . . . . . .
The day's battle had been particularly nasty. Each of the mercenaries of BLU had to be brought back through Respawn at least five times, and the process of being deconstructed, reanimated, then reconstructed was tolling on the body and mind. Not that dying in the first place was all kittens and rainbows, but Dell thought it sometimes less painful than being brought back. There were times where he wished he wouldn't be brought back.
The men of BLU shuffled out of the Respawn room silently, their eyes on their feet. They had been defeated, and having already been shamed by the Announcer, all they wanted to do was get back to base. Even Soldier, who almost always offered words of congratulations and encouragement or scolding and criticisms at the end of a battle, was relatively quiet.
They went their separate ways when they reached the barracks. Dell and John walked side by side, but they did not speak. They made their way to the kitchen and grabbed two beers each from the refrigerator, then went downstairs to the Soldier's room. As soon as the door was closed, Dell slumped into a chair, pulling both his goggles and his helmet off and running a hand over his thin, stubbly hair. John also removed his helmet and jacket, and took his own seat. They sat in silence for a minute or two, staring at the floor, the ceiling, the brown bottles clenched in their hands.
Finally, Dell let out a long sigh. "M' sorry I didn't git that Heavy in time, Solly."
John looked up and gave him a grim smile. "My ass isn't the only one you should be watching. You had your hands full with Sean and that damn RED Spy." Which was true; the BLU Scout had had the opposing Pyro on his heels and needed help, and the Spy had been slapping sapper after sapper on Dell's buildings. "I shoulda stopped that Demoman before he blew you and your sentry sky high."
Dell grimaced and took a large gulp of his beer. "Don't remind me. That hurt like a Mother Hubbard, I'll tell ya..." he muttered, then his face broke into a small smile. "But you were really on a roll at the end. I swear, the heads were flyin' like birds!"
"Eight in a row; those maggots didn't know what hit 'em!" His companion laughed too, and suddenly the atmosphere was a bit more relaxed.
They talked on about their various kills for a while. Laughing at death was the best way to stay positive, they found, and instead of commenting on the pain, they commented on the spectacular fatalities they had endured, the height their bodies flew, the amount of chunks they had exploded into.
Their beers were soon gone, but John suggested they get good and drunk. Dell agreed.
"I'll try to get some booze from that stingy Nazi," John said, standing. "They may be evil, but them Krauts sure can make beer."
Dell didn't comment on John's choice of words. He didn't like hearing the Medic referred to that way. Wilhelm was a good man, and the past is the past. But Solly was Solly, so he let it slide.
Humming The Star Spangled Bannerto himself, John left for the infirmary to get more beer. Dell sat back, and looked about the room. The Soldier's quarters were a small, bare, cement cubicle of a room, with scratches and cracks in the grey walls. The only decorations were a few war propaganda posters, a ragged American flag, and a heavily used dart board with a crude, hole-ridden drawing of Adolf Hitler's face tacked in the middle. Other than that, there was a plain bed, a squat dresser, a desk, and a couple of chairs. John's trusty shovel sat propped in the corner.
Dell smiled. He thought the room was quaint and rather cozy. It smelled of sweat and blood and metal and John. His own room was a cluttered mess of blueprints and tools and scrap metal and prototypes. He could learn something from Solly and his crisp, military-style bedspread.
As his eyes took in the room, he spotted an abnormality. From under the dressed poked the withered corner of a photograph.
Now, Dell wasn't one to snoop, but it was so tempting he gave into the urge. He stood and knelt before the bureau, pulling the photo out and gingerly brushing off the dust.
The photograph was grainy and black and white. On it, there was a thin, fair-haired woman in a flowered dress, leaning against a wire fence before a grassy plain. Beside her stood a young girl no older than six. She wore a white dress and had long dark hair in braids. Dell flipped the picture over. On the back in neat cursive was written, "Audrey and Jane, 1930".
The Texan furrowed his brow. 1930? John would've been just a child around that time...
Perhaps they were his mother and sister. John had never really talked about his childhood or adolescence, not even with Dell.
Carefully, the Engineer slid the photo back under the dresser. Perhaps he wants to keep that part of his life hidden, he thought.
Just as he climbed back into his chair, John returned, his muscled arms laden with fresh bottles with German labels.
"Wil actually gave 'em to ya?" Dell asked.
"Nah, I stole 'em," John said with a grin, laying the bottles on the bed.
Dell laughed and took the bottle John handed to him. They bantered and talked for a few more hours, and the photograph was pushed to the back of Dell's mind.