Being the littlest wasn't a fun thing. In fact, it was a very depressing thing. Little five year old Nathan would know that better than anyone, as he curled up his thin legs closer to his chest as he hid under the couch. He knew he was the least favourite out of his brothers, but the information he had overheard that day sealed it.

Why was he so hated? At first, he loved his Ma. He thought she was the greatest person on the globe. Even if she didn't look at his pictures, defend him when his brothers started insulting him, or watched cartoons with him, she still fed him and hung around. But then Kindergarten came around… He started to see how happy the other children were when their Mothers showed up. And more importantly, how happy the other Mothers were to see their children. It had been strange to him. How come his Mother didn't smile and listen to him talk about his day when he got home, while the other children could talk for hours to theirs? How come he was the one who always got picked up by his oldest brother, Mat, when the other children got picked up by their Mothers? …And sometimes, their Daddies? Why did his Daddy hate him? Why? Why was he the only kid in school who didn't have a fun, happy Daddy who loved him and played baseball with him? Did… Did he do something wrong at some point? It didn't make sense… If he had done something bad enough to gain the permanent hatred of everyone, he'd remember it, right? Everyone hated him for some reason. His Mama, his brothers, his teachers, his peers…

Even the mailman hated him. He never gave him a single letter.

Angry tears formed in his ice blue eyes. It didn't matter how much tried. With this many people in the house, he would always be alone.

Squeak

Nathan wiped the tears from his eyes and looked to see where the squeak had come from. He moved his little head towards the edge of the couch, wondering who it was. He couldn't quite see from under the sofa, but he could see fancy shoes and expensive looking pants. At first, he figured it was Vincent, his second oldest brother. He had 'found' his rival's fancy shoes, and liked wearing them around the house to make fun of him. …Then he remembered Vince was at baseball practice. He crawled further under the sofa. Whoever it was, this strange person scared Scout. He trembled as the stranger wandered around the living room, muttering to himself in a language Scout couldn't understand. And he didn't like it. The child let out a little, scared whimper, and pushed himself to the wall, hoping the man would go away.

Instead, the man seemed to hear the whimper and crouched down to make eye contact with Scout.

He was wearing a trench coat and a dark grey fedora that covered his whole face with a shadow, giving any other person an ominous appearance under normal circumstances. Yet… He did not scare Scout that much. There was actually a sense of familiarity. The man looked to the small child with intrigue. Something was most odd about this person.

The memory stopped there, though. Everything else about the man just didn't seem to want to resurface itself for nineteen year old Scout. It was strange that he remembered it right there and then, watching some cartoon on television with Alley sleeping curled up on the couch beside him. Memories that had nothing to do with the current situations kept bouncing in and out of his head like a rubber ball. And he didn't like it. Now that he thought about, though… Who the FUCK was that guy?! He wasn't a friend of the family, since he had never been mentioned, or a relative, as he had never shown up at any family gatherings, (Which would've only been made up of his now long-dead obnoxious Grandparents who would always give him fairly dirty looks for some reason) or some type of business man there on business, since he would've knocked… He wasn't a burglar, either. Nothing had gone missing after his visit. And he hadn't hurt Nathan. In fact, Nathan had been upset to see him go. As sad as it sounded, that random stranger had been the nicest person he had met by that point.

Alley stirred a little on the couch, shivering a bit from the chill in the air. His Dad only turned the heat on for the second floor of the house because he was a cheapskate and wanted to save on money. Nathan gave her a glace, pondering to himself over whether he should bother. He however smiled softly as his decision was soon breached. The decision of: 'Screw the little tyke.' With that, Scout left for the attic, not even bothering to turn the light off for Alley.

As Scout went up the ladder and into the dust-bunny breeding grounds, he moved his mattress to the wall, putting him out of the line of view of the window. He also put his bat right next to him on the mattress and steered clear far out line of the glass.

War paranoia. He knew there were no Snipers in Boston, he knew he was safe, but one of the sayings of his brothers, Johnny, repeated itself in his head: 'Better safe than sorry.' Besides, one time, his best-buddy Pyro had slept next to window of a barn while he and the team had been on an overnight mission, and a BLU Spy had nearly knifed the poor firebug to death. Poor Pyro had nearly died that night. Ever since then, no one slept near windows.

Scout tucked himself in, and tried to drift off.

…But he couldn't. He felt like he was surrounded by BLUs. While he knew there was no way any BLUs could be in his house, his years of being on the battlefield haunted him about that feeling. He tried to shake it, but it wouldn't leave. But he soon came to a conclusion: BLUs were complete monsters, and easily Number #1 on the Top Ten of his personal shit-list. He had been stuck in their captivity for five months, and knew just how malevolent they could be. What was right behind number #1 on his Most Hated Things in Life list? :His family. And he was in their house. There was no way he'd sleep good… Not if he was in HERE. He wasn't even that tired, actually and there was nothing to do… Why not go for a late-night stroll? Scout picked himself out of his sleeping bag and grabbed his hat, aluminium bat and coat.

Quietly, Scout opened an attic window and stealthily slipped out into the chilly, night air. Scout took a peek towards the dew-covered yard before him. It was a long fall. About sixteen feet. Smirking and without thinking, Scout hopped down feet-first onto the cold terrain, barely feeling anything. Any ordinary person would've broken an ankle at least, but being in the RED and BLU Wars did odd things to people. It made them stronger and more resistant than the average person. No one knew how, but somehow after making it through the training for their Class, they'd gotten better senses, better reflexes, and get more skilled at certain things depending on their Class, like Scout's running for example. Scout was always a great runner, but after joining RED, he had gotten from being very quick to being literally as fast as a jackrabbit somehow, which was an inhuman speed. Along with that, he was more resistant to falling, and even heard some of the older Scouts had figured out how to jump on AIR, like it was a platform or something. With this and so many other gifts in comparison to the average person, he couldn't help but grin from the knowledge that a fall like that didn't hurt anymore.

The Scout stood, shoved his hands into his pockets, and decided to take a look around his old city to see if anything had changed. He lifted his aluminum bat with a cruel sneer. He was ready for some fun, should it ever come.

(-)

Spy crawled into the house with ease, silently wandering the floors whilst looking for the right door with the sleeping four year old girl in his arms. Little Alley was not his problem right now. His problem was them. But before he took care of that complication, though, he had to see Her. Not hear from her from letters, not listen to her beautiful voice on the phone, not longingly gaze at her as a photograph, no, to look at his dearest loved one for at least one last time in person. First, before he could spend time with his lover however, he had to put this child to bed. After a short walk, he found a white door with a messy (But still talented for an artist of four years of age) crayon sketch of a cat on it. That was obviously little Alley's room, which would take care of the sleeping cargo he was currently carrying. He opened the door and walked into the room.

It was plain. Very plain. There was a small bed with some stuffed toys on it and various crayon drawings taped to the white walls. He took note that Alley was a fairly artistic little girl, and very talented for someone of her age group. Perhaps she wouldn't go through with the 'Family Business,' like he and Nathan had.

…Then again, since Nathan's interests had initially only been on baseball, they had thought that he would be on the minor leagues, or construction, or something… And they couldn't have been more wrong. The boy was an acrobat of death, and had become as bloodthirsty of a killer Spy was. Maybe even more so. He saw how his ice-shaded eyes would light up at the opportunity of spilling blood. Still, there was hope for Alley. Perhaps she would do something with her life that had nothing to do with murder. He tucked her in under her light green blankets, stroked her forehead briefly, and went to leave. Little did he know that Alley had some level of consciousness.

"Who… Who're you, Mist'uh?" asked Alley, sleepily. Spy looked over, surprised at the sight of the semi-conscious child. Her eyes were half open and clouded with tiredness. However, he knew they would not close until she had gotten her answer. He looked around his skull for a good definition for himself, which proved to be quite difficult. He could not say who he truly was, that would cause enormous confusion. He came up with a decent one though, and hoped it would work.

"…A friend," he said at last, "I am a friend, mon petite ami."

Her mood visibly brightened. A small smile appeared. "Are ya gonna play wit' me tomorrow, then?"

Spy guiltily looked down to his shoes, trying to think of an explanation as to why and how he would not be able to play with the girl the next day. It was a difficult task, disappointing a child. Hard even for one such as himself. It was funny how murdering dozens of people on the battlefield was easy for him, but telling the truth to a child was hard. Telling a half-truth, perhaps, was the best way to go about it.

"Alley… I am not zhat type of friend. I cannot play games with you, or even seem like I am there… But I will look out for you from afar, even if you do not realize it. Zhat iz zee type of friend I am."

"Like an angel?"

Goddamn, this was an uncomfortable situation. "…Sort of, I suppose."

"Hmm…" Alley pondered it over for little, then smiled and snuggled under her bed-sheets, hugging her stuffed bunny, "You sure talk funny for an angel, Mist'uh."

"It iz called a French accent," snapped Spy, with a bit of impatience. He calmed down very quickly, though, "...Listen Alley… You must promise you will not tell anyone about me. Not your teachers, your fellow classmates, or your Fatheir."

"Can I tell Mama?"

"…I suppose. But only when no one else is around. Now, I must go," Spy turned to leave, but gazed one last sad stare to the child on the bed, "Take care… Ma fille."

"…Bye…" said Alley quietly as the door creaked shut.

Spy quietly walked down the halls once again, looking for the correct door, upon finding it, however, he only smiled sadly and opened the door.

And there she was, reading a book. She looked so sick, it broke his heart. The former raven-haired, now grey streaked, beauty looked up towards him and gave a happy sigh.

"Oh, it's you…" she said, "Hiya, 'Chill…"

Spy held up his hand as a sign to say hello, and then hopped onto the bed next to her, "…I thought I made it clear zhat I 'ate zhat nickname," he said with mild distaste, but with a teasing look in his blue eyes.

She giggled softly, "Like I care. You'll always be 'Chill' to me, Achille."

Spy rolled his eyes playfully, but then saddened a little. "'Ow do you feel, Blair?"

"Like I'm dying," smiled Blair sadly, putting her book down, "…Chill… I wish it could've been late'uh… I wish it could've happened when Alley was outta the house at least." Tears began forming in her dark eyes, "I don't wanna die yet, Achille…"

Spy held her hand. "None of us want you to die, mon Cherie. I cannot zhink of one person who would."

"…Nathan does…" she muttered, a couple tears dripping down her face.

"Non, non, Nathan just does not know 'ow to react," assured Spy.

"I dunno, Chill… He's really mad at us. Mad at me… And I can't blame him," her voice cracked as the tears dropped onto her bedspread.

"The fault is not yours, or Clark's, or 'is siblings, or 'imself. The fault is mine," stated Spy, squeezing Blair's hand, "I should've been 'ere for 'im."

"Chill, you was, and still is in, a shady Organization dat's unknown by da law and kills any deserters mercilessly. By staying, ya would've been in danger. And dere was no way Clark and I could've divorced, not when we had seven kids already, for Christ's sake."

"True…"

"Can we's change da subject, Chill? I'm kinda dying. I'd like to see a bit of cheer before I kick da bucket," she said. She then poked Spy on the nose, "'Specially from you, Chill. And can ya take off your mask? Ya look nicer without it."

Spy let out a small chuckle, "Fine," he said, removing the crimson fabric from his head, revealing a lean face with a few faded scars and short, vaguely spikey brown hair. Under normal circumstances, he would never, EVER remove his mask. Blair, however, was a special case. He did not feel the need for his mask while in her presence. He did not feel judged, or the need to be detached. He felt warm in her presence. Taking off his mask was more comforting to him than leaving it on. "What do you wish to talk about?"

"Hmm…" pondered Blair, "What do ya think of your dearest little daughter?"

"Alley?" asked Achille, "She seems very sweet. She is a talented drawer for one so small."

"I know, it's all she does," chirped Blair, but then sounded both depressed and happy at the same time as she continued, "She doesn't have any friends, and you know how Clark is about things he's uncertain about…"

"Indeed… " mused Achille, "I 'ope she does not follow in my footsteps like 'er brother did."

"Speakin' a which, how's Nathan?"

"Honestly, he is much... MUCH stronger zhan 'e looks. He works best on a team, zhough."

"Makes sense," mused Blair, "He was always a bit insecure when he was alone..."

"Oui. And he keeps getting more skilled each day."

"I'm sure he picked dat up frum someone…"

"Well, genetics work in funny ways. …Heh. I knew it was im from when I first saw 'im," Achille gave a smile, "Blair… The boy looks just like you."

"Funny, I'd say he looks just like you," grinned Blair, "…Hey… Does he know about-?"

"No, he is still ignorant."

"Huh. Ain't you a coward."

"'Coward'!?" repeated Achille in shock, "What on Earth do you mean?!"

Blair laughed. "Well… Ya don't have the guts to tell him."

"Why don't you, zhen, since you want 'im to know so badly?" Demanded Achille, crossing his arms.

"It's best you do it. You're the one who didn't want him to know all dese years, aft'uh all."

"You are just saying zhat because you are too lazy," he frowned.

"Lazy, really? I raised EIGHT BOYS, bucko. EIGHT. Let's see you do that."

Neither of them knew how long they sat there, chattering away about nonsense, making stupid jokes and laughing like they were teenagers again. They got into an argument about which flavour of pudding they liked better, they discussed the scientific process of beating people over the head with bibles, and exchanged stories, both funny and tragic, to each other with glee. But, in the end, Spy realized he had to leave his lover behind… Probably forever.

"Ma belle pêche … I must go, now…" said Achille, sadly. His voice was clearly cracking. Blair looked up and held his face.

"Hey, hey… It ain't the end. I'll wait for ya on da other side, Ok? Don't kill ya self aft'ah I die, cause dat's stupid, but when you die… We'll be together… Kay? You gotta promise me one thing, though."

"What's that?"

"…Take care of Nathan fah me, would ya? Alley, too."

Achille processed the request, then slowly nodded and leaned over for a kiss. Blair obliged and they passionately exchanged it. He wished it didn't have to end, but it did. Afterwards, Achille slowly went over to the window, opened it, hopped onto the window sill and looked down, letting a single tear drip down his cheek. He took his balaclava and slipped it over his head.

"Goodbye, Blair…" murmured Spy, "I'll never forget you... I do not zhink I could."

"Goodbye… Achille," waved Blair, "I love ya."

With those final words, The Spy slipped away into the night.

A/N: Poor Spy… It was hard writing that. Yeah, this was more Spy's chapter than Scout's chapter. :[

I hope you all are enjoying the story that 99.9% of the site won't read out of disinterest! :P

See next chapter! ...Or not... I dunno, since, like, almost no one reads this except twelve people... But to you awesome twelve, thank you for the contiued support! :D