In Hindsight…
A TF2 Fanfic
Chapter 5: Sniper
Sniper saw everything.
It was a common misconception that he'd only see what was in his scope at the time. In the heat of a battle, that'd be absolutely correct. But Sniper was naturally observant, and he tended to favor high places, and so he saw exactly what was going on with everything. He'd seen Engineer's successful sonic gun test and laughed at Soldier's reaction. He'd seen Demo leave the bar and go stand, shivering, in the cool air, and seen the tears that the increasingly on-edge REDs held back—as well as the ones they didn't. He'd seen everything, really, but he was far from understanding everything. The lack of comprehension was usually fine, but now he needed to know. Spy kept sneaking out after dinner, sitting by the fence and talking to a hole in the ground. Or so it seemed.
Sniper waited until he saw Spy walking out after dinner, and then caught his arm. Spy looked stricken and gaunt, and he turned his dark eyes on the Australian imploringly.
"Let me go." Spy said quietly. He glanced at the plate of food.
"Eat." Sniper insisted, meeting the spook's stare.
"Not hungry." Spy whispered, trying to get his arm free. It had been a week and a half since he'd eaten last, and it was obvious that he was lying.
"Liar." Sniper replied, jabbing a finger at Spy's chest. "You haven't eaten in a long time. You'll starve to death. Is that what you want?"
"Better me than—" Spy burst out, then clamped his mouth shut. He swallowed hard.
"Than who?" Sniper smiled triumphantly. "You have a pet?" Spy clenched his jaw, and Sniper frowned. There was something wrong. The spook moved so fast that he couldn't react—white-hot pain exploded trough his head as Spy hit him hard in the temple.
…...
The floor was cold against Sniper's cheek, and he sat up sleepily.
"You're awake." A detached voice said from a desk in the corner of the room. Medic was sitting there, filling out paperwork and glancing around, surveying the white sheets with his ice-blue eyes. "You're feeling okay?" But Sniper was already gone, fighting back waves and torrents of dizziness and stumbling through the halls looking for Spy. Heavy stopped, looking gently puzzled.
"Sniper?" he rumbled, but the Australian did not stop. He just kept running, wandering, trying to find Spy. He didn't know why it was so important—but it was. Oh, something here was imperative, but somehow elusive as well. And there was a terrible sense of urgency as well. A feeling of importance, in a matter of life or death.