My mommy had a surgery, which leaves little time to write - which means I'm gonna have to forfeit on NaNo this year : At least I wrote a lot! Anyways, here we go~
PS whoever realizes where the lame chapter name comes from gets a cookie :D And maybe a request. I'm just not bogged down enough, you see.
Dust Brawl
Sniper looked up quickly when he heard someone knock on his door. Frowning - he never got company, let alone at this time of night - he tossed the towel he had been using to dry off from a midnight swim to the side. Grabbing the kukri on his camper's kitchen counter he went to the door and peeked out, blinking in surprise when he saw Scout outside.
"I know yer in there, ya moron!" he shouted, pounding on the door. Without the wrappings on his hands to protect them, it was easy to see that they were already bruising. Tossing the knife to the side Sniper opened the door and exited his vehicle, an eyebrow raised in obvious confusion.
"What's gotten into ya?" Before he could add one of his many nicknames for the jittery man in front of him, the Bostonian attacked, silencing him with a punch to the jaw. Sniper ploughed into the side of his van, the passenger side rear view mirror digging harshly into his ribs. Winded as he was, he still managed to fend off the raving American in front of him, who was slinging insults as fast as his fists. Knowing full well that being upright was not a good way to fight a Scout because he could easily be outmanoeuvred, Sniper tackled him to the ground, landing on a bony knee. Scout bashed his head up from under the Australian's jaw and the taste of blood flooded the marksman's mouth. He barely managed to get a chokehold on the still-cursing Scout, who continued to writhe and scream bloody murder. It was only when the initial adrenaline rush of being ambushed died down that the Sniper could understand his team mate's rambling.
"Ya fucking sonnuvabitch! Ya shot yer own team mate in the fucking head! I'm gonna claw one of yer precious fucking eyes out -" True to his word, Scout managed to wiggle loose a bit and reached up to do just that, Sniper saving his most needed sense by sitting up, his knee pressed firmly in the small of Scout's back. The lithe boy yelped in pain as his searching hand was seized at the wrist and the tendons in his wrist were jabbed by a blunt fingernail, making his entire arm go limp. The rest of his body soon followed, and not a moment too soon as a light in the Heavy's bedroom snapped on. Both men stayed perfectly still, the only sounds coming from their harsh breathing, until the Russian's curiosity was satisfied and he went back to bed. Finally, with the utmost care, Sniper asked, "Are ya 'bout calmed down yet?" A cloud of dust went up from Scout's exasperated exhale of breath.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." When Sniper failed to release him, Scout twisted, glaring up at him. "What? Ya don't believe me? C'mon, I ain't as stupid as ya think I am." At that Sniper let out a sigh and slowly stood, letting his comrade up. The compact man started to brush himself off in irritation, and Sniper made his second mistake of the night, the first one having been opening a door with a belligerent Scout on the other side.
Scout jumped on his back with a yell, wrapping his legs around the man's chest as he put him into a chokehold. Sniper reeled in shock, saving himself from falling face-first into the smouldering fire in the middle of his campgrounds by leaning back. He heard a crack and expected to feel some pain, but the limbs around him slackened instead. Whipping up and turning, let out a hiss of breath at the unconscious Scout in front of him and went to get the Medic.
The first thing Scout realized upon regaining consciousness was that despite a dull throb in the back of his head, he felt great, every fibre of his being tingling with energy. When he tried to move, however, lethargy took over, and that cloud extended to his brain as he blinked up at the tall, lean man standing by his door. With a yell he lurched forward, only restrained by the blinding stab of pain that distorted the world around him. Panting, he went to stand up, slowly this time, but Sniper stopped him with a shake of his head.
"Tha' won't be workin', mate," he said. At the Scout's puzzled look, he pointed to his left wrist. It took him a moment but the young man caught on and looked to his left, gritting his teeth as his foggy brain registered the handcuffs securing him to his headboard. A feral snarl set loose from his lips as he yanked at the offending restraint, his skin breaking within seconds. The Sniper was quick to act. Pinning the younger contractee to his bed, the lanky Australian quickly placed a hand over his mouth, silencing any obscenities sure to fly out of it. Leaning in close, he hissed, "The doc order ya t'be restrained. If ya don't calm down, I'll hafta nip down to his room and get him to tranq you. D'ya want that?" The grinding of teeth was his initial response, followed shortly afterwards by a nod. The Scout's eyes, usually so warm and bright, sent a shiver down the Sniper's spine at the absolute loathing in them. He slowly pulled back.
"What the Hell do you care, anyways? I mean, ya didn't seem too bothered 'bout shooting Pyro, ya bastard!" he fumed. At the Sniper's look, he settled down somewhat, the dark emotions lurking in his crystalline blue eyes clear as day. Sniper sighed, rubbing his eyes, one arm crossed over his stomach as his hand caught slightly on the five o'clock shadow on his chin, the scratching sound almost deafening in the silence. Eventually they locked gazes again of Sniper's volition, and the sharpness in Scout's eyes was gone in an instant at the bone-deep sadness in them.
"He ain't right in the head, that one. I won't say much, since I don't know much, but … 'e's a Pyro through and through, and his love o'fire started long before he got this gig." Scout's stomach seemed to suddenly lack a bottom and he snapped his eyes away from the morose gaze of his comrade, breathing accelerating slightly. But Sniper wasn't done yet. "Fer some reason, he sees somethin' in ya that the rest of us don't, Scout. I've only been here three years, an' I'm not sayin' I don't have m'own flaws, but I can spot an unhealthy fascination a mile away. So … as yer team mate, I'm tellin' ya right now - steer clear of 'im." Met with silence, Sniper waited for a few moments. It became clear sooner rather than later that the Scout before him would take a long while to digest the information he had been provided with and would be best served doing it alone. He turned and left, jaw clenched slightly as a pang resonated in his chest at the borderline shattered look in Scout's eyes.
A lot of time passed as Scout's blue eyes remained fixed on a certain spot just out of sight, arms wrapped tightly around his drawn up knees. Despite how much the bruised ribs he was sporting hurt in such a position, he welcomed the pain as it anchored him. It let him know that this wasn't a dream, that the resident psychopath had singled him out. Because Pyro was reminded of himself. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the case. He thought back on his encounter with the RED Scout that had ended with brain matter splattered everywhere. He usually used his pent up frustration by running, or by playing baseball, even by getting into fights. But nothing like this had ever happened to him before. And the thing that got him most was how he had actually been, on some level, thrilled by defending himself tooth and nail. Of emerging victorious.
But then he'd thought of his mother.
His mother was a sweet woman, but stern when she needed to be. Raising eight boys alone she had to be able to draw the line somewhere and hold her own in an argument, not that they ever got physical with her.
They'd seen their father raise a hand to her too many times.
Sighing, he unfolded himself, turning to inspect the handcuffs. Biting his lip to guard against any screams that might make someone come running, he slipped out of them, his hand a bit raw, but it only served as another anchor. As easy as it would have been to just curl up and go to sleep and forget this ever happened, he refused to. Instead he grabbed his bandages and went to indulge in some late night slash early morning boxing in the gym. As conflicted as he was at the moment about anything and everything to do with violence, it would help clear his head. It turned his stomach just thinking about it.
However, he managed to get to the gym - a basic room just big enough for a couple of people to brawl, they had a disused basketball hoop outside because their employers were too cheap to spring for one inside - without being detected. Whistling a tune his mother would hum to him and his brothers to soothe them, he secured the bandaging on his hands almost professionally. Bumping into someone, he yelped, going into a defensive stance, eyes wide as he took in the pinstriped suit. His mouth took a running start.
"Jesus man, I didn't see ya there, gimme a heart attack why …" Scout's speech slowed down as he took in the curves under said pinstripe suit. Staring in disbelief, he could do nothing else but complete his sentence. "… don't … you."
The Spy whirled, drawing his - her - gun. Her mouth was set into a tight line as she stared down the barrel of her perfectly lined up headshot. But Scout's mind - and eyes - were resting a bit lower than her face, mouth agape. He was then promptly pistol whipped, his vision going out as he was knocked out for the second time that night.