End Game
A TF2 Fanfic
Chapter 3: Made of Stone
"BONK!" Scout shouted, grinning as he tapped Heavy over the head. Heavy whirled, grumbling and lashing out with a fist, but Scout was too fast and dodged the blow, grinning insanely. It wasn't combat, but a game—something to help keep them sharp on weekends. They'd spar with melee weapons, practicing and laughing, and then often sharing a drink when they were done. They used to practice with rubber bullets and the occasional live bomb, but Medic soon outlawed these often deadly games. Scout and Heavy were locked in a dance of fists and metal, the bat reaching beyond where the gloves could retaliate, but soon Scout got a bit too brave and was sent sprawling by a right hook. "Hey, man! Not so rough!" The Russian only laughed, helping Scout up and patting him affectionately on the shoulder. Sniper was off hitting straw bales from great heights and distances, and Soldier was cleaning his rocket launcher. Engineer was in his workshop, drawing up plans for a better teleporter, Pyro was painting flowers, and Demo was off inspecting a new shipment of bombs. All in all, it was a pretty typical Sunday for the REDs.
Not for Medic and Spy, though.
"What does this look like?" Medic asked, holding up an inkblot. Spy just stared blankly at it. "Please…"
"Fleur…" Spy murmured. Flower. Medic heaved a sigh of relief—that was the correct answer. His breath caught in his throat, though, when Spy continued to repeat the word, over and over quietly. "Fleur… Fleur… Fleur…"
'Nein." Medic admonished gently. "Just a flower."
"Not just a flower." Spy replied darkly. "Not… just…"
"Spy." Medic said suddenly. "Snap out of it. We go back to fighting tomorrow, and we need you. You can't be like this!" Spy was silent, his lips moving but no sound escaping them. "Please."
"Fleur…" The word hung on Spy's lips, like a lingering raindrop on a leaf. He still did not move, nor did he react—he just sat there, as a stone carving of his former self, impassive and eternal and terribly static. Medic, too, was motionless for a long moment, then he was suddenly alive again. Quick as though, he lashed out to slap Spy's face, connecting with a loud, sharp crack. The Frenchman looked up, eyebrows knit together and mouth open in an expression of vaguely detached misunderstanding. "Diffamer… cœur… fleur…" he mumbled. "Pourquoi…"
"Mein gott, Spy." Medic breathed. "Where have you gone?" Spy still did not answer. He brought a hand up to his face, fingers dancing over the place where Medic had slapped him. "And how do I bring you back?"
"Bring me back…" Spy repeated, staring ahead without seeing what was there. Medic feared that his mind had gone—gone to a place of no return, somewhere even the doctor could not retrieve it from.
…...
Scout was on a mission. At the center of the map, he waited for a rendezvous that could be the end of him. Luckily, his counterpart had a slight amount of chivalry. The two approached each other cautiously, circling like boxers about to start sparring. Suddenly, as though on an invisible cue, both stopped dead and spoke at once. "Whaddya want?" There was a long pause as they tried to figure each other out. It was so much like looking into a mirror…
"I'm here to make a deal." RED Scout said, cautious and brash all at once. BLU Scout inclined his head proudly, sneering a little.
"What the hell gave ya the idea that I'd ever wanna make a freakin' deal with the likes o' you?" BLU Scout retorted harshly.
"Your continued survival." RED Sniper's voice rang through a little handheld radio carried by Scout, and the BLU's face paled. "He moves an' he's dead."
"So what?" BLU Scout replied with a flourish of false bravado. "Respawn is still on."
"You hate to die. I've gotcha pinned." RED Scout chuckled.
"How'd you know that I—" BLU Scout began, but the RED cut him off with a wave of his baseball bat.
"'Cuz as much as I hate to admit it, you an' I are a lot alike." Scout smirked. "We both hate to die. And getting' backstabbed an' left to die is our number one fear." He paused for a moment to enjoy the look of terror on his BLU counterpart's face. "An' we're getting' stabbed an' abandoned by someone—a common enemy. The Administrator."
"What, are ya crazy?" BLU Scout breathed, eyes wide. "Ya can't say that out in the open like this! She'll kill ya—" he snapped his fingers "—just like that!"
"Maybe." RED Scout shrugged, glancing away for a moment. "Maybe not. Doesn't hurt to try. Besides that, I've got a story for ya." BLU Scout wore a look of utter contempt.
"I ain't a child." He sighed. "I don't need no storytime."
"Alright." RED Scout said, his hand moving to his radio—presumably to signal the Sniper.
"No. Wait." The BLU put his hands in the air. "Whaddya want me to do?"
"Sit." RED Scout grinned triumphantly. "An' listen." And so, the BLU Scout learned of Spy and Heather, and, after a little coaxing from Sniper, took the RED back to the BLU base. Soon, a plan was formulated. Eventually, RED Scout returned to base, unscathed and victorious, and walked into the dining hall just in time for dinner. "Oh, have I got a story to tell you!" Honestly, it would have been perfect—if only Spy were there.