Seasoned Veterans
A mushroom cloud of burgundy powder puffed up from the laboratory table. As Medic coughed and swatted the smoke away with his hands, he observed that the vicinity around the previously sterile and pristine table was covered in his latest experiment. Every surface and crevasse – including his lab coat – was coated in a fine layer of red dust. Medic sighed. Zhis is vhy you vear protective goggles, Josef, he thought to himself as he removed the thick plastic eyewear and switched them out for his flimsier pair of eye glasses. He decided to try and straighten up his workspace, not paying any attention when the doors to the medical bay swung open fiercely, startling him. As he rounded on the intruder with a well-drawn string of curses about the sanctity of his infirmary, he was met with the snickering face of the largest man he'd ever known. "Doktor is showing team spirit?" the giant bellowed, his voice wavering as he tried not to laugh. He knew his 'Doktor' would not approve of laughing.
"Very funny, Misha. Come, help me vizh zhis ungodly mess," Medic huffed. Heavy complied, but did not try to hide his smile as he searched for the broom and dustpan.
"New experiment?" he asked.
Medic answered with his normal level of apathy. "Yes, it is. Apparently I am not as close to zhe finish line as I had hoped. Oh vell. I von't bore you vizh zhe details." He flipped his red-coated hands towards his friend.
"No, I want to hear."
Medic was pleasantly surprised. Normally, the Engineer was the only one in the RED base who enjoyed hearing about his many experiments. Not that he was the only one who possessed a marginally close level of intellect as he, but . . . well yes, in fact he was. Either way, Medic was more than happy to explain it to the Heavy. "Vell, zhe Administrator has asked me to use my time und funding to find new and interesting ways zhe American government can use zhe vast wealth of technology here vizhout directly stealing from zhe Mann brothers' property. She has asked zhat I use my skill in chemistry to find new und engaging ways to torture and dispose of prisoners of var." Heavy's face twisted into a look of horror, but Medic broke away from cleaning to comfort him. Poor Misha has such a big heart. "Not to vorry, mein freund! You know I do not delight in such zhings. My counterpart at BLU may be more suited to devising methods so cruel, but I believe I haff found a more humane vay to dispose of . . . undesirables."
"Undesirables? Who would that be?" Heavy's eyes pleaded with his doctor for understanding. He didn't like how that sounded.
"Criminals. Zhis experiment in particular is one I am very excited about. I haff augmented zhis fine red powder to condense zhe lifespan of zhe patient into a considerably less time frame zhan originally allotted." Heavy still did not understand. Medic exhaled slowly, trying to think up how to explain it so his friend would not be upset any more. "Zhis powder, vhen ingested, vill take zhe patient's entire life remaining and shorten it to a matter of days."
"So . . . poison?" The large man stared warily at the fine residue clinging to his boots.
"No, not really. Zhe patient vill age at an excelerated rate. Say, if zhey vere to take it on a Tuesday at zhe age of tventy-two . . . by Friday zhey vould be an old man, und by Saturday zhey vould be dust! Isn't it brilliant?" Medic beamed up to Heavy as he waited for an answer. Heavy, however, started frantically wiping the dust off his boots and hands before he became a weak old man. Medic rolled his eyes and grabbed for the giant man's hands. "No, no, no. You von't be affected by zhe powder. Zhat is part of vhy it does not vork. Zhe powder must be combined vizh an acid to activate zhe chemical reaction. Zhe problem is zhat I haff not been able to identify zhe correct acid to combine it vizh nor zhe proper powder-to-acid ratio." He sighed heavily, his hands leaving red imprints on his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "It needs more vork."
Heavy stared at the Medic's red nose and chuckled, the deep sound causing Medic to look up. The bigger man took a rag and wiped off the powder and smiled, "Will be good. Doktor always makes do." Both calmed and light-spirited, they finished cleaning and decided on taking their nightly walk before dinner.
"How am I supoosed to cook around here with yoo undeh me boots?!" the Demoman roared, causing Scout to shrink away from the stove for only a second before bouncing right back.
"Aw come on, man! Just lemme help!" Scout begged. He tried his puppy dog eyes, but Demo's one good eye was on the other side of him.
"No Scoot!"
Scout huffed. "Why not? How come none a you guys evah let me cook, huh?"
Demo smirked and leaned down so his face was in the boy's. "It taeks a man to cook for men, Scoot. We doon't trust ye cuz yoo'll blow the whole place te smitherines!"
"Oh yeah. Comin' from the explosives expert dat don't mean nothin'."
"Expert, boy-o. Exert."
Scout was pissed. They never let him do anything around here! He said as much to the Scot before storming out of the kitchen. His fingers flexed again and again, scrunching his hands into white-knuckled fists. He wanted to punch something. Anything. Rearing his arm back and grimacing, he aimed for the wall in the hallway before stopping. No, dat's gonna hurt. Don't do dat. He frowned. He was twitchy and pissed . . . that meant he was feeling pranky. Oh yeah, I'll sow dem. I'll show alla dem I mean business. A slow smile spread on his face as an awesome plan came to mind and he sprinted down the hallway towards the supply closet.
"Dere ain't nothin' in heah!" Scout pouted as his gaze flicked over the bottles he knocked over in the small supply closet. Peanut butter, jam jars half-full, and soup cans older than him lay sideways on the shelves and ground. Scout threw his hands up in frustration. He really wanted to mess with Demo, but he wasn't going to be able to do it with peanut butter. Just then, he heard a booming, snorting laugh followed by a nasally cackle come from out of the tiny window in the back of the closet. Scout pulled himself up on two shelves to look out of the dusty glass to see the Kraut and that fat Russian standing next to each other laughing. Heh. Probably doin' gay stuff. Scout chuckled to himself until another idea popped into his head. If Medic's out there, then he isn't in the Infirmary . . . and Scout remembered seeing some really cool bottles in there he could use against Demo.
A few minutes later, Scout inched back up to Demo, who was still at the stove. "H-hey Demo. Put somma dis in with it. I bet it'll make it real tasty," Scout snickered behind his hand, before Demo turned around. He held out a short jar of some red powder-looking stuff he'd found sitting on Medic's table. Right before he left the Infirmary, he had ripped the label off that had some kind of German scribbles. He'd thought it'd be funny to play a trick on the drunk.
Demo looked over and scrutinized the tiny jar before his eyes lit up. "OOH! Is that paprika? Jest what I need! Thank ye, Scoot!" He snatched the jar away and sprinkled a liberal amount over the simmering pot on the stove, then drizzling oil and vinegars over that. He wafted his hand over the dish so that he could smell the spice, but couldn't really smell it over the other aromas in the pot. Demo shrugged and added a sprig of thyme to compensate. He turned to an unusually bouncy Scout. "Goo tell the others dinner'll be ready in aboot ten minutes." Scout raced off, giggling as he went. Strange lad, Demo thought with a shake of his head.
Ten minutes passed and the entire team leaked into the kitchen with stomachs growling, some of the men actually growling. As everyone settled with their own bowl of Demo's one-pot meal, a large smile spread on the Scotsman's face as he got compliments around the table. Scout, however, got more pissed off. He dragged his bowl towards him and took a tentative bite of potato. It tasted fine, good actually. Dang it! He was hoping it would make the guys' food taste like farts or something.
"Alright, lads. Whot yoo've got in front a yuz is me own recipe. Yoo got roost chicken, tomatoes, potatoes, and onions simmered together in a sauce of thyme, roosemaery, a dash o nutmeg, paprika, -"
Engie had a spoonful half-raised to his mouth before it froze and he interjected. "Woah there! Paprika?" Demo nodded with an eyebrow raised over his good eye. Engie grimaced and pushed his bowl away from him, standing up to walk to the fridge to find something else to eat.
"Whot? Me food isn' good enough fer ye?" Demo asked indignantly.
Engie shook his head as he walked to the counter and made himself a sandwich. "Naw, buddy. Ah'm allergic to paprika. Gives me hives."
Demo's ire dimmed and faded away into a look of apology. "I'm soory lad. I didn' knoo." Engie gave a dismissive wave and sat back down at the table.
The team ate their supper in relative silence. Heavy asked for Engie's untouched bowl and ate one more after that, Scout ate a bowl and a half with a disappointed scowl on his youthful face. Pyro had to take its bowl to its room to eat because it couldn't get the chunks of chicken under its mask. Spy ate like a bird – as usual – while Sniper had a few bites and excused himself, saying the spices were too much for his pallet. Medic, Soldier, and Demo seemed to be the only ones to eat normal portions of their dinner, and all retired to their rooms at a decent hour that night. Most of them did not voice that their stomachs had begun to turn and twist up uncomfortably.
Engie woke up the next morning as bleary-eyed and fuzzy-headed as usual. He sat up in the cot he'd set up in the garage so he could work late hours and not disturb any of the others. The garage was dark, meaning it was early . . . meaning he hadn't gotten a lot of sleep. He was a sort of insomniac anyway, which also contributed to his late night tinkering and overall grumpy demeanor. With another sigh and a grunt, he heaved himself out of bed and made his way towards the common rooms. Maybe he'd get himself a drink to calm his mind.
As he wound his way through the halls, he heard a distant sound that made his ears prickle. The closer he got, the stranger the sound became. It was almost like the yowl of a cat . . . or maybe a screech of an owl . . . or some animal dying at the jaws of a predator. Either way, it had no business coming from the core of the base. He inched closer to the source of the sound. It was in the kitchen mere feet in front of him. Slowly, he raised his hand to the wall and, with a fast flick of his finger, cut the light switch on. Light flooded the kitchen and dining area, but the screaming got worse. Engie's eyes focused on the source.
A skinny boy no older than ten with a scruffy mop of brown hair whipped his head around to stare wild-eyed at the Texan in the doorway. In the kid's arms was an infant, red-faced from squalling. "Oh thank god!" the kid yelled and ran up to the man with relief written all over his tiny face. He pushed the baby up to the man. "Here! Take 'im! Take 'im!"
"Woah , woah! What the- What in tarnation is going on here!?" Engie nearly screamed. He threw his hands up and in front of him to signal that no he did not want the screeching tiny thing. "What's going on here!? Who are you? How'd yah get in here? And wh- . . . just . . . what in tarnation?!" He wanted to swear. He felt like swearing, but didn't want to in front of children.
The boy scrunched up his face and frowned up at the man, keeping the baby at arm's length. "Engie, et's me. Et's Snoipah! God, ye gotta take 'im, please! Oi can't take that noise anymore!" He was having to scream over the baby.
Engie's head was spinning. No, couldn't be. "Sniper?" he asked, not trusting his tone to convey just how confused he really was. The boy nodded fiercely. Engie looked from him to the still screaming thing suspended between them. "Wh-who is that?"
"Oi . . . Oi think et's Scout. Oi found 'im squaking in his room an' throwin' his hat around. He hasn't stopped screamin' since Oi found him. Here! Oi can't take no more!" He growled and thrust the baby into Engie's arms and turned to plop himself into a chair at the table.
Engie looked down. "Scout?" The infant looked up at him and for a brief second, his crying dimmed just a tad before picking back up full force. Out of instinct, the Texan's arms began to sway the baby back and forth and bounced slightly as his eyes darted between the boy and the baby. The little guy in his arms stopped his squalling and started sniffling as the swaying started to calm the little bugger. Engie sat down across the table from little Sniper. "What. The Hell. Is going on." He tried not to yell in fear it'd start Scout up again.
Sniper cradled his head in his hands and shook from side to side. "Oi got no bloody idea! Why am Oi small? Why is he a baby?!"
Engie shook his head. He stared down at baby Scout and tried to get one cognizant thought to work in his rattled and restless head. "We need to get to Medic," he said after a few moments.
Sniper laughed humorlessly in front of him and stood up from his chair. "Mate, Oi already thought of that. You need te come with me."
Little Sniper led the Texan and the now sleeping Scout down towards the lower levels of the base where the Infirmary and the main storage rooms were. Medic's bedroom was right next to the Infirmary for easy access to his patients, and this is where Little Sniper led him. He opened the door slowly to reveal a child wrapped up in a white lab coat sleeping soundly on the floor. It was a toddler, older than the baby in his arms but not near as old as the boy at his side. Tufts of soft black hair stood up from the tiny head and a pair of thin glasses rested smushed on the toddler's tiny face. "Aw hell," Engie sighed. He was in trouble now.
Little Sniper tiptoed over and scooped up the small child, keeping the lab coat enveloped around him snuggly. Once he had shifted comfortably in Sniper's arms, he went to rejoin Engie. The Aussie was just about to ask what his next plan was when the sound of rushed footsteps padded down the hallway towards them. They both looked in that direction as two more shapes entered the hall outside Medic's room.
"Merde," one of them spat. One boy about Sniper's age but taller was turning the corner dragging another, shorter child by the wrist. The first had short black hair peeking out from the edges of an overly large cloth mask and a sharp look in his eyes while the other wore what looked like the too-big gasmask the team's pyromaniac wore.
"Pyro? Spoi?!" Sniper squeeked. Medic shifted in his arms again, but the boy patted his back before he could fuss . . . then looked down at his own hand as if to ask how did you know to do that?
Engie sighed heavily. "What is going on?" he silently yelled. Wide-eyed and nearly delirious from all this insanity, he started to walk up the stairs into the common rooms. The other children followed after him with questions of what to do and why they were like this and how long they'd be like this, none of which he had any answers for. He started to lay Baby Scout on the couch in the common room, but he began to fuss before he could set him down. Engie shook his head – Scout was going to cry if he wasn't held. "Spah, come here." The tiny French boy reluctantly obliged, that is until he was passed the sleeping Scout. Spy shook his head and tried to pass him off to Pyro, who threw its hands up much like Engie first did. The Texan pointed to Spy, "Keep a hold of him and he won't cry. Do NOT move from this spot, none of yah. Got it? I'm gonna go find the others."
The others were easy to find, though a large part of Engie was hoping to not find what he did in each room. The last three of the mercs were all in their beds. A tiny Demo was on his bed sucking on a bottle of scrumpy like a baby bottle. Without thinking, Engie smacked it out of the toddler's hands, and thus started the squalling. To pacify him, and spare the grown man's ears, he fetched the bottle – triple checking that it was empty – and gave it back to the black Scottish toddler. He immediately started to suckle the bottle and soothe himself into a gurgling happy baby. Engie scooped him up and went to find the other two. Little Soldier was on the floor rocking calmly in his metal rusty-red helmet. As Engie and Demo stepped into the room, his tiny eyes glanced up at the Texan and his tiny hand came up in an almost salute. Engie found it humorous, up until he tried to take the little American out of his helmet and he started yelling "NONONONO!" so Engie left him to waddle after him with the helmet in tow. The last was Heavy, and for some reason he was the youngest of all of them. Even though he was bigger than baby Scout, the Russian still had the pink puffy flesh of a newborn. His already giant bald head looked right in place with the chunky baby fat coating his arms, legs, and belly. Engie took one of the big man's red shirts and used it to swaddle the newborn, who wiggled beneath it and smiled as he fell asleep.
Back in the living room, the Engineer took stock. The three oldest ones – Spy, Sniper, and Pyro – sat awkwardly on the couch in front of him, each holding another child. Scout miraculously was still lying peacefully in Spy's lap, sucking his thumb and swatting Spy's chin with his tiny hand. Medic was still asleep nuzzled against Sniper's shoulder as both of them were covered by his lab coat. Pyro was bouncing a very happy Demo; both were making the same gurgling noises. Soldier was sitting in his helmet again, rocking himself and laughing on the floor. Last, and how funny that he was the least of them all, was the Heavy swaddled in Engie's arms. The man sighed and rubbed his face. "What . . . what am I supposed to do with alla you?" he asked defeated.
"I blame Scout," Spy deadpanned. In response, Scout smacked him hard in the mouth.
"Why?" Engie asked.
Spy shrugged. That was his answer for everything. Blame Scout. It's worked for him in the past.
By then, the sun was rising over the desert horizon and light streamed through the windows of the living room. Under normal conditions, the team would be getting ready for battle. Under normal conditions, he himself would be just waking up and heading for the kitchen for a baby-free breakfast. These, however, were not normal conditions. He now had to factor in eight very small children into the day's events. He could not in good conscience prep these kids for the day's fight. He needed to call the Administrator and get her to cancel the match for today. He'd rather deal with all of them crying at once than talk to that shrew, but Engie knew he had to pick his battles . . . and ironically, battle was not one of the options.
"Alright, y'all stay here. Don't touch anything." Engineer started to storm down towards the communications room when all eight tiny voices screeched at the same time for him not to leave them. He growled in frustration. "Fine! Fine, but I don't wanna hear a peep outa any a yah! Got it?"
The tiny black screen in the communications room sprung to life and the ancient and decrepit form of the Administrator pixilated onto the screen. "What is it?" her gravelly voice croaked out around the cigarette in her mouth.
The Engineer swallowed hard. "Uh, well hello there, ma'am . . ." He hated this woman, mostly because he was afraid of her. He hated being afraid of any one person. It made him feel less of a man . . . but this woman, she was all power and business. Engie swore that that vile woman would scare even the BLU Spy.
"Engineer? You never phone me," her sharp eyes stared at him through the tiny screen and she rolled them as a craggy hand came into view to pinch her nose. She sighed, "What's happened this time?"
"Well, uh, yah see, there's been some sort of . . . incident . . .Ah really don't know a good way tah explain this. We – Ah need yah to allow a cancelation of today's match."
There was a long pause over the feed. Her hand drifted down past her face and her icy glare returned. "What sort of incident? Is it a medical emergency?"
"Well, yeah sorta –"
"Let me speak to Medic," she demanded. Engie stuttered for a moment before her aggressive voice built into almost a sneer. "Let me. Speak to. The Medic." Engie shut his sputtering mouth and his shoulders sagged a bit. Without another word, he bent down and scooped up the little doctor. As Medic's tiny eyes saw the Administrator, he smiled big, causing the large glasses on his face to sag down his button nose and he giggled. He waved his whole hand at the old shrew who was frowning at him. "What are you getting at, Engineer?" she said flatly.
He sighed. "No nonsense. Honest. It's really him." He sat Medic down and lifted the other little tikes for her to see. "And this is the Scout . . . and Heavy . . . and Demo, NO PUT THAT DOWN!" He slapped the bottle of booze out of his grubby little hands. How did he keep getting a hold of that thing?
The Administrator waved her hand impatiently. "I've seen enough! How did this happen?"
Engie shook his head roughly. "I don't rightly know yet."
"You have the rest of the day to fix this, Engineer. If everyone is not back to normal – or whatever sadistic state they were in before this – by tomorrow I will send in a new team in your place. We are still in the middle of a war and I need my mercenaries."
"Understood ma'am." He nodded a thank you to the horrid woman and disconnected the call. He sighed heavily and balled his fists up on his sides. Well sheeyut!
Ten minutes later he was still pacing in front of the horde of toddlers cuddled against each other on the sofa back in the common room. He was muttering and cursing under his breath.
"Wot ah we gonna do, Engie? We can't stay kids forever!" Sniper's voice was squeaky and pitched higher than his normal bravado and that bugged him. He didn't sound as serious as he was or needed to be. He was thankful though that he got the more peaceful baby out of the three of the older ones. Medic sat calmly in his lap looking around with curious gray eyes. "Oi don't wanna stay a kid forever," he mumbled to himself.
"I am curious though—"Spy began to speak before Scout slapped his chin again, causing breaks in his words, "—as to why some of us—" a swat on the mouth, "—are older zan ze ozzers. I believe we shou—ENOUGH!" Scout hit him hard in the nose that time. Spy took the baby's tiny hand and slung it away from him. "NO!" Spy rebuked him by shaking his finger at Little Scout like he was chastising a dog. Scout, in one quick motion, took hold of Spy's extended finger and shoved it into his mouth, biting down hard with the only two teeth he had in his head. Spy howled and threw the small child off his lap, sending him spiraling to the floor in a mass of flailing limbs. Scout started screaming.
"Spah! What tha hell!?" Engie shouted. He moved fast to scoop up the toddler and hold his tiny shaking body close to him and bouncing him softly. It didn't work. He still screamed.
Spy held his wounded finger in his hands delicately. "He bit me!" he wailed, his voice wavering slightly.
The Australian child next to him started snickering. "Ah you cryin'?" With movements too fast for the Engineer to catch, Spy lunged at Sniper, knocking him to the ground and crouching over him as his small fists punched the other boy in the face over and over again. The entire room erupted into a fit of shouting and screaming.
"Who's crying now, filthy bushman?!"
"Get off me! Get off me! Fuckin' stop! Get off!"
*inaudible squealing coming from toddlers and masked child alike*
"STAHP IT! ENOUGH, BOTH OF YAH!" Engie bellowed above all the rest as he ripped the two away from each other with Scout still perched in his arms. He bent over Medic too, who had been thrown to the side of Sniper and landed between the cushions of the couch in relative safety. "We ain't gonna get anything done unless you BEHAVE! Sit down and shut up!" Spy started mumbling under his breath. "AH SAID SHUT IT!"
Little Soldier on the floor turned and looked down, his tiny tummy rumbling. His head tilted and he threw his oversized helmet on top of his head and whimpered. Engie stared down at him helplessly and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed heavily, "Who's hungry?" he asked defeated. All crying and screaming stopped. Pyro's hand shot up like lightening . . . Sniper and Spy both huffed and raised theirs bitterly.
Breakfast was an ordeal. By the time everyone was fed, maple syrup was caked in every head of hair and scrambled eggs were in every crevice. Soldier had shoved bacon bits up Demo's nose, which the Scots-babe found hilarious because he could sneeze bacon-crusted boogers all over Spy. Engie sat at the end of the table with his head in his hands rubbing his temples and mumbling to himself. What do I do? What do I do?
Sniper slid into the chair next to him and rubbed his face. One of the kids was screaming down at the edge of the room, but he wasn't sure which. "Look, Oi been wonderin' . . ." Sniper started. Engie looked up to see his aviators were sliding off the tip of his tiny nose and his slouch hat was gone. A glance down the table told him it was stuck on Scout's head. The boy had a piece of toast physically stuck to his cheek with syrup. He was going to be a pain to clean. "'At somefin must'a happened te turn us yougeh. Oi jest . . ." he sighed and shook his tiny head, ". . . Oi don't know."
Spy pulled himself up to the chair next to Sniper sending him a quick glare before straightening the loose mask wrapped around his head. "Well, it must 'ave been something from yesterday. But try to think, what did we do zat you did not, ingénieur?"
Engie shook his head. "Ah don't know. Ah been wrackin' ma brain and got nothin." The Texan leaned to the left as a spoon flew towards his right. He yelled at Demo who only giggled and picked up another. "Ah mean, battle was fine. A few too many sapped sentries for ma taste, but that ain't nothin new. Yesterday was normal." Pyro sat in the dead center of the table and whipped the giant mask around to face the three older ones. Pyro picked up a plate piled high with pancakes and slammed it on the table and grunted. Engie nodded passively. "Ahlright Py I'll get ya some more but yah gotta eat what ya got first. But anyway fellas, Ah was wondering why y'all are older, and why the hell Heavy is so tiny. Ah mean he's maybe a month or two at the oldest and – no Py, I said eat what yah got – and Scout's young but not as young as him, and – Py!"
Pyro slid forward on padded knees and slammed the plate down harder, slipping pancakes all over the place. The voice under the mask grunted insistently. Spy glanced up and frowned. He grabbed Pyro by the arm. His dark voice growled, "Fils de pute."
"Language," Engie glared.
"Food," Spy muttered, still thinking hard. Pyro's head nodded fiercely. Spy grinned. "Food, you fools! You did not eat with us last night!"
"Yes Ah did. I had –"
"You had a sandwich! You did not eat what we ate! Who cooked last night?"
"Uh, Oi think it was Demo."
Spy scrambled out of his chair and grabbed the spoon from Demo's clenched fist and scooped him up in his tiny flimsy arms and shook him violently. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO US?!" he screeched. The tiny Scotsman flailed angrily in Spy's grip, flinging his fists around in the air near the older boy's head. One tiny hand clenched around the fabric of Spy's mask and, as fast as lightening, Spy dropped Demo like a ton of lead to pull his mask down to safety before his face was exposed. The toddler fell hard with a thunk and flopped to his side in a fit of tears and screaming. Engie bolted from his chair to scoop him up into his comforting arms. "Dammit, Spah! Would you STOP DROPPING THEM?!"
Spy and Engie argued back and forth, their raised voices barely audible over the squawks and fits of giggles coming from the other children. Sniper rubbed his tiny face and shook his head. How were they going to get through this? Already this was too much for Engie, that much was certain, but the three oldest were hardly any help. Sniper was lost in thought – mindlessly pushing away the chaos at the table – when his eyes locked onto a moving target. A messy crop of light brown hair pushed under a red baseball cap slipped from the table and crawled sloppily towards the kitchen area nearby. Sniper watched curiously as Scout, with a determined frown on his face, pulled at the drawer handles until they slid open enough for him to climb up on. He made it halfway up the counter and redirected towards the stove top before the Aussie thought he should intervene. He stood and paced over to the kitchen, making sure to steer clear from the bickering duo, and stopped to stand at eye level with the Scout who had managed to get to the top of the counter. "Now. Wot do ye think yer doin'? You'll hurt yerself." Scout grunted and fussed to try and pull himself back to the counter top. Sniper tried to hold firm to the squirming boy in his arms, but inevitably set him on the ground and sighed when he started his climb again. Scout made it back to the countertop and stopped to turn cross-legged and stare at the older boy. "Wot is et, little guy?" Sniper asked with a tilt of his head.
Scout huffed, grunting what was sure to be a few curses as he raised a tiny hand to the cabinets above his head. When Sniper didn't understand right away, Scout's pointing became more insistent pairing nicely with his whiney grunting, but Sniper still did not know. Just then, he felt a gloved hand drop heavily on his shoulder and the young Pyro stepped around to meet eye-to-sockets with baby Scout. The firebug mumbled something low and incoherent to the boy and, to Sniper's shock, the boy reacted as if he understood. Scout jumbled a few words together with his flailing arm and extended finger towards the cupboard. Pyro listened patiently, nodding and commenting periodically before the boy dropped his head into his baby hands. The masked child swept up the boy and twirled him around a few times and bounced him gleefully before depositing him back on the countertop. Pyro then climbed up next to Scout and rummaged through the shelves overhead, pushing and reorganizing until he pulled a small glass jar off the bottom shelf. At the sight, Scout bounced and clapped happily, sputtering little joyful noises to the older boys.
"Hey Engie?" Sniper called to him, pulling him from his argument with Spy to turn with tired eyes to Sniper and a Scout-carrying Pyro. The boy with the too-big spectacles on his tiny nose held a glower behind those yellow tinted glasses. "Scout's got somefin' to tell ye."
"Scout can't talk," Engie sighed with a sniffling Scotsman sucking on his finger like a bottle.
"Well . . . erm . . . no, but Py can translate, sorta."
Pyro set the boy down on the floor and sat cross-legged in front of him, the small jar placed between them. Pyro gestured for the boy to begin, and Scout started to ramble on in indecipherable garbles, waving his pudgy little arms around to emphasize what everyone prayed Pyro understood. When Scout stopped talking (finally), the older child nodded once and turned to the Engineer. The older man listened tentatively and with great patience as Pyro repeated the boy's story in muffled words.
"Wot did he say?" Sniper asked softly.
Spy scoffed. "You can understand that jumbled mumbling?"
Engie shooshed them both and listened very closely, trying to get as much as he could. Pyro was hard to understand on a good day. Once the words fitted together in his mind, he cursed. "Aw hell. Scout knows what happened."
"What?!"
Both boys pounced on Scout, each grabbing hold of an arm and pulling at him for answers. Engie sighed and put down Demo to grab Sniper and Spy by their collars and pull them at each arm's length. "EASY! Easy! We need him calm or none of this is gonna make any sense! . . . Now, Scout, think real hard and tell me how y'all got like this."
Without words – which was strange enough for Scout – he slowly picked up the jar from the floor and raised it far above his head, not making eye contact with the man who took it from his tiny hands. The jar itself wasn't much help. Inside he could see a fine crimson powder held in by a metal lid on smudged glass. On the side, he could see black ink circling in neat handwriting that looked a bit like . . .
"Medic?" Engie asked with a heavy dose of worry lacing his voice. He lowered the glass jar down to where the toddler doctor sat in his seat attempting to dissect his pancakes. "Buddy, this look like yours?" Please say no, please say no . . .
Medic looked up, pushing the heavy glasses on his nose up with both hands and peering at the object placed in front of him. Once he recognized it, his face lit up with joy, then dropped into a fierce scowl he threw at Scout followed by a fistful of syrup-soggy cake. The two younglings screamed at each other until Engie had to separate them too. He picked up Medic and raised him to eye level with the grown man – even though Medic was technically not much younger than him. "Medic? What's happened to you? What is this stuff?" he asked slowly. Medic answered in a series of grunts and attempts at words. Engie shook his head in defeat. "Can you fix it?" he asked with a heavy heart. Thankfully, Medic gave a determined nod and wiggled fiercely to be set down. Once on the ground, he crawled into the common room and made his way to the crayons.
Well, Engie thought with a sigh, at least we got some kinda direction. He did a quick head count – eight, good – and left to find the conference room. He had to make a call.
A knock at the door pulled the Engineer from the madness in front of him. He opened it to see the pristine-as-always looking Miss Pauling standing in the hot desert sun surrounded by bags of goods. He ushered her in, grabbing some of the bags as she made her way inside. "Howdy, Miss P.," he chirped despite how tired he was.
"Hello, Engineer. I've brought you all you asked me for, though I don't quite see why you would need diapers, bottles, pacifiers, and milk replacer. I've wracked my brain, but I have simply failed to imagine the kind of experiment you could possibly be doing to warrant – oh god."
Her eyes narrowed at the chaos, darted to meet Engie's in disbelief, then drifted back to the sea of adolescence. Soldier and Demo were pulling at opposite ends of a blanket, both screaming for the other to let go in jumbled baby grunts. A child Pyro held a lighter to the edge of the couch cushion until it was black with char. Heavy lay peacefully next to Medic, who was scribbling away with a green crayon something that looked far too advanced for a child his age. And Sniper and Spy were running from child to child trying to keep a sense of normalcy between them all. A baby Scout waddled up to Miss Pauling on shaky legs to pull at the hem of her skirt until she picked him up. Content in her arms, he snuggled against her chest. "Oh my god."
Miss Pauling's mouth hung open as she searched for words and came up empty. The small Scout in her arms brought a tiny hand up to pat at her mouth playfully. When she looked down at him, she could have sworn the baby winked at her. She turned to the Engineer. "Wh—Dell, what happened? Why are they . . . wh—how long have they. . . What happened?!"
Engie rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, miss, that's what Ah'm trying to fix. From what Ah can gather, the – uh – men here got a'hold of somethin' Medic had hid away and . . .well, the rest I guess you know." From the floor, a swaddled Heavy started to squirm and fuss beneath his oversized shirt. Scooping him up and going to Miss Pauling's bags, he rummaged through the diapers and wipes. "These came just in time. This little guy thanks you." Heavy gurgled peacefully as Engie changed him into a proper diaper instead of the tattered dishrag he had fashioned into one earlier. The baby man was thankful for it. Once he was satisfied, Engie went around the room depositing pacifiers into toddler mouths – which they took to much better than he'd thought – and headed to the kitchen to fix up some of the milk replacer for the infant. When he came back to the common room, Miss Pauling still looked lost. She stared ahead dumbfounded with Scout bouncing in her arms, who had now begun to stick his arm down the top of her blouse. "Uh, you just gonna let him do that? Beggin' yer pardon, but you usually ain't too keen on his affections when he's of normal, uh, age."
Miss Pauling shook her head lightly. "He doesn't know what he's doing," she said softly, still somewhat dazed.
Engie fitted the bottle into Heavy's mouth, which he took to greedily. He scoffed, "No ma'am. It's still Scout in there, just smaller." Miss Pauling swatted his hand away with a grimace. "Oh they all know what they're doin'. They're all driving me crazy is what they're doin'! Ah can't make heads or tails a' none of this! Between the pooping and crying, there's screaming and fighting and none of 'em make a lick of sense to any of us 'cept Pyro and they mostly just scream at the poor kid and—HEY! Py stop when the couch is on fire! You know this!" Pyro dropped the lighter slowly and moved to color with Medic. Engie sighed. "Miss P., Ah don't know how much more fight Ah got in me." He sat down heavily on the black crispy couch cushion, cradling the infant in one arm and batting out flames with the other. He closed his eyes for only a second when he heard one of the smaller ones screech on the floor. He gave another sigh and opened his eyes to Medic pulling himself up on his feet by Engie's boots and waving a sheet of paper around in the air. He plucked the paper from the toddler's hand. "Well, isn't that somethin'. Doc this is real nice, I'll go put it on the fridge. Hey—wait a minute." Then he really got a look at it. Scribbled in green and purple crayon was what looked like an equation for . . . let's see . . . for the reversal? The reversal reagent to bring them all back to relative normalcy?
Engie leaped up and scooped up the tiny Medic in the arm not occupied by the Heavy and nearly ran to the Infirmary, each child following one after another.
It took several hours to get the formula right. Mostly because Engie wouldn't let baby Medic handle any of the potentially dangerous equipment. He would pause periodically to help Miss Pauling, Sniper, and Spy tend to the children. When the formula was finally completed and a fine light orange powder was produced, the Engineer held it in a larger glass jar than the one that started all this. "Well, Ah guess this is it," he muttered to himself. Behind him, the children looked up with all the hope their little eyes could muster. He took out a glass and sprinkled some of the powder in the bottom and filled the rest with water, diluting it to about one part powder / three parts water as per Medic's mumbled instruction. Each child took a sip from the glass, grimacing at the taste and staring down at their little bodies watching for change.
Nothing happened.
"What now?" Spy asked despondently. Beside him, baby Demo gave a long exaggerated yawn and a whimper.
"Yeah, pal. You may have the way of it. Nap time, guys." Engie and Miss Pauling picked up the children that couldn't follow on their own accord and took everyone back into the common room. Both settled on the couch with all the other children forming in around them. Sniper and Spy elbowed each other for room against the arm of the sofa. Heavy, Medic, and Demo were cuddled together against Engie's chest cocooned in the blanket Demo had won from Soldier. Soldier was curled into a ball inside his helmet that was wedged between Engie and Miss Pauling. Pyro tucked into her side, nuzzling under her arm. Scout, as expected, was pushing himself as far up onto Miss Pauling's chest as he could, laying his tiny head on her breasts. Just for now, she allowed it as her own eyes drifted shut.
As Engie looked around with tired eyes, he hoped they wouldn't stay like this for long, but it was nice to at least pretend to be a dad again. He thought of his little girl back home and chuckled to himself. Boys are much harder, he smiled faintly as he drifted to sleep. Perhaps – if they don't find a solution – it will be easier in time. He hoped they found a solution.
Engie woke slowly and creakily as he stretched his sore legs. He felt old, but taking care of too many children will do that to any man. As his eyes adjusted, he felt different than when he fell asleep. He felt lighter, colder. He looked around the couch. Miss Pauling was there asleep beside him, but that was it. A twinge of panic spiked through him. Where were the children?
Nudging Miss Pauling and bolting to his feet, he searched all over the room, looking for tiny limbs under the couch or little heads poking around corners. Nothing.
Where were they?!
A loud crash came from the kitchen that sounded like glass breaking and a shout. Miss Pauling and Engie sprinted towards the sound, expecting to find bleeding toddlers and dead children. As they swung into the doorway, they were met by none of that.
"Ah shit!"
"Dammit, Scoot! Cannae yoo do nothin' right?"
"Aw shut it, Cyclops! It was just one glass! I'll getchya another one."
"I WOULD LIKE ORANGE JUICE."
"Ooh I vould like vone too."
"Heavy would like two."
"Oi! Alla ye got opposable thumbs now! Get it yerselves."
"Vell, technically, ve had opposable zhumbs zhe whole time."
"An did dey work? No, so shut up and make your own damn juice!"
Engie gasped. "What tha hell . . ." he breathed the curse. The kitchen grew quiet as he surveyed the scene before him. All eight men were back to their normal selves, cleanly dressed for battle and making breakfast like every other morning.
Medic was the first to smile, stand up all with his regal gracefulness, and clap a gloved hand on Engie's shoulder. "Ah, Maschinist. I zhank you greatly for your ingenuity and care vhiz us yesterday."
"Yeah, thanks mate. Ye really held it together a lot betteh than we did," Sniper smiled.
Spy next to him huffed into his newspaper. "Speak for yourself."
The Engineer laughed long and hard, relieved beyond words to see everyone back to normal. "Well, Ah'm just glad alla'ya are okay. And I hope we've all learned something from this whole spell."
Scout jumped up. "Yeah! If ya evah get turned into a baby, make sure Miss Pauling's your babysitter." He shot the frazzled woman a wink to ease the scowl on her face. Didn't work.
"Doon't mess with anythin' en Doc's office," Demo bore his one good eye into the smaller man threateningly, who cringed and sat back down.
"That Pyro can talk to babies?" Sniper raised an eyebrow towards the masked firebug who was currently lighting a napkin on fire.
"That Engineer is better father than all of us," Heavy said with a smile. "Thank you."
There was a moment while everyone was thanking Engie for his help and for all the effort he put into taking care of them in their time of need that made him feel like the most important person on the team. That he was team dad, but that didn't quite fit. No, a father is strong and stern, the disciplinary of the family. If anyone, that would be Medic. The rule-maker and abider. No, Engie was more like a mother – always hovering and making sure everyone was okay and well taken care of. Engie, the team mom.
Spy cleared his throat after forcing out a thank you. With a clearing of his throat and a clap of his hands, he addressed his comrades. "Well, now the moment has passed. Back to work."