Sniper stared up at the ceiling, moonlight pouring in through the open window. While anyone else would be basking in the afterglow as the German doctor slept next to him, he was thinking. REDs had never taken prisoners before. They have never shown an interest in their Engineer, aside from trying to bring down his sentries. Nor had they cared too much about the Scout, except to shoot at his heels as he sprinted off with their intel. So why now? What had prompted the sudden and stealthy capture of not one but two of their men?

What set the REDs off?

The Sniper thought long and hard about this. There had been no word from the RED team, no ransom note. Why not take the Medic? Or the Pyro? Why the zippy little bastard and his wrench-weilding boyfriend? So far, the answers had eluded him. What hadn't eluded him was the Medic's hand 'sneakily' drifting down below his waist.

"Ready for round two, eh Sheila?"

The stitches had torn open, blood seeping through the bandages. The Scout didn't notice any of it. His eyes were focused straight ahead at the gnashing teeth and mad eyes of the RED team's rottweiler. His entire body was paralyzed in fear, his eyes as wide as dinner plates. He had been moved from the bed to a chair, wrists taped together behind the back of the chair, his ankles taped to the legs. Every warning bell in his head told him to run away, to flee as fast as he could.

"Hey, Tucker, wanna come over to the scrapyard with us?"

A seven-year-old Tucker looked up at two of his big brothers, his bright blue eyes shining with excitement. William whispered something to Paul, who nodded and smirked a bit. The former, with wild eyes and bleached hair took the boy's hand, while the latter trotted on ahead. They were still in Brooklyn at this point, it was right before the move. Boxes were piled up in the walkway by the front door, and Tucker followed William through the maze and outside.

The sun had just set and the streetlights were turning on. It wasn't too much of a walk to the scrapyard, and the three of them stared for a while from the other side of the chain-link fence. After a moment, Paul hopped over the fence, and helped his youngest brother over. William wasn't too far behind. He took his younger brother's hand and they started to roam among the towering piles of cars and metal. Paul disappeared into a junked car, rooting around on the inside, fishing for buried treasure.

Then they heard the growling.

From around the corner, trailing rusted and broken chains, were two massive dogs, all claws and fangs. William panicked, letting go of Tucker's hand and running as fast as he could towards the fence. Paul bolted from the car, a stolen radio in hand. Tucker turned to run after them as the dogs charged.

He didn't stand a chance.

The world was a blur of teeth and blood, biting and barking. Time meant nothing, there were only dogs and pain. The next thing he knew he was staring at a hospital ceiling, bandaged and delirious…

The rottweiler snapped at the Scout's face, causing him to yelp and recoil, heart pounding in his chest. The RED Medic was holding the leash, though it was badly frayed and looked like it would snap at any second. That's what terrified him the most. Another attack. Maybe he'd have a set of scars on front to match the ones on his back, the only secret he'd ever keep from the Engineer. He'd take that secret to the grave, or so he had hoped. He wouldn't be able to hide it if he asked though…

The dog got closer, barking loud and snapping at the captive's ankles. Now it could smell the blood, and that made it more vicious.

"Are you going to talk now?"

The RED Spy was right behind him, whispering right in his ear. When the Scout remained silent, the Spy motioned to his comrade, who let the mad dog close enough to sink its jaws into the captive's calf. The Scout screamed in pain, eyes squeezing shut. The Medic pulled his dog back, blood all over its muzzle, starting to pool on the floor. The Spy put one hand on his terrified captive's shoulder.

"Start talking, or I'll let it off the leash."

A blur of blood and teeth, horrific scars all over his back, the mad eyes of junkyard dogs…

"….I….. the… our…our Medic…"

The Scout didn't know the first thing about the Medic, aside from the fact that he hated people and would violently defend the Sniper. But he learned one good thing from his brothers was the art of bull-shitting. He was a master of it, and he was praying that the REDs would believe it.

A shot of morphine, and the removal of the dog, was more than a satisfactory answer. The RED Medic patched up his legs and he was returned to the bed-prison.

"If you cooperate tomorrow, Monsieur Tucker Reid, then maybe we won't need to use the dog at all."

The Spy left him to what was left of the night.

"Tucker! Oh god, Tucker are you alright?"

In his dreams, beyond the mad dog nightmares, he could hear Steve calling to him.