Of all the mercenaries that had to run away from her, it had to be the Scout.
Miss Pauling knew that there was no way she was going to catch up with the Scout on foot. He had incredible cardiovascular strength, quicker legs, and home field advantage. He knew of each and every secret passage around the amusement park and the tunnels that ran underfoot. The best she could do was to catch him at an exit. Even then, he could give her the slip.
There weren't many places the Scout could move around the park undetected, outside of the actor's tunnels. His costume would stick out anywhere but within the Fantasyland area. He was headed west, which led him straight into two additional territories. With any luck, perhaps his mother would catch sight of him fleeing. The assistant began weaving through crowds, trying to avoid pileups near the rides and gift shops.
It didn't take her long to catch a flash of green heading southwest. Liberty Square, then. No way was Peter Pan going to blend into the colonial South. With any luck, maybe she could bribe a cartoon crocodile into helping her catch the fleeing fairy boy. She took an early turn. They popped out parallel to each other, a mere block apart. He shrieked, then turned northwest.
The flighty runner bolted head-first through a jazz band. They cursed at his panic while children laughed. Miss Pauling kept outside of the mess, cutting a few feet closer to his position. He bolted into the nearest open building. Both he and Miss Pauling rushed past maids and butlers. He tumbled onto a track, landing face-first into a wall, then screamed again as holographic skeletons sent him packing in the other direction.
"Freakin' god-awful Haunted Mansion!" the Scout shrieked as he clambered upwards.
He cried once more as he saw a familiar shadow standing on top of the platform. Miss Pauling had the fury of the underworld in her eyes. Or, at least, it was reflected from the ride's effects. She pulled him up, then slammed him into the walls. Children and ghosts squealed as she began interrogating him.
"You remember me!" Miss Pauling shouted. "Why?"
The Scout melted a little in her grasp. "Ah, babe. Who could forget a face as cute as yours?"
She thrashed him one more time, earning a squeak from him. "Scout! Why did you run away from me?"
Two taps on her shoulder distracted the determined assistant. The little woman turned around to see two stern men in butler's clothing giving her the evil eye. She smiled, cursing herself on the inside. So assaulting Peter Pan in Disney World hadn't been the best idea. Anyone could have made the same mistake.
The first of the butlers folded his hands. "Ma'am? I'm afraid you'll have to come with us."
Okay. Not great. She released the Scout, then raised her hands. He held his position as the two actors led Miss Pauling away. He slumped, then caught himself. He felt sweat percolate on his skin. It was too bad about her, really. He didn't want to get her in trouble.
His momentary safety was shattered by a hand wrapping around his shoulders. "Hi, sweetie."
The Scout went sheet white. He might as well have been a part of the attraction at that point. He found himself staring down at his mother. She was smiling, quite happy. Behind that grin was a raging tornado that was ready to tear him apart. He balked, not certain of what to do. There was no way he could get his own mother thrown out like that.
"H-hey, Ma," the Scout stammered.
She kept grinning. "Cute costume."
Rattling on the tracks brought another wave of kids and adults out of the ride. The Scout wanted to throw himself back on the tracks. "T-thanks."
"So? Where are dhey taking your little friend?" the Scout's mother asked.
He felt his bones liquefy. "Security. Dhen? Probably gonna toss her outta dhe park."
"Dhat's too bad," the Scout's mother sighed. "She was my ride here, you know."
"Y-ya don't say," the Scout chattered.
She feigned a sigh, then reached for her son's ear. Years of being pulled away by that ear burned in his head. When she pinched it, he went limp, powerless to escape. She messed with the prosthetic elf ear, then smirked again. He couldn't work up the same enthusiasm.
"I think you're gonna have to come with me," the Scout's mother said.
"I know," the Scout whined. "T-to the security office, dhen?"
The Scout's mother tipped her head. "Well, no. First, we gotta pick up the Spy."
Now, the Scout wanted to lie down and die. It wasn't bad enough that Miss Pauling had caught him. It couldn't be just his mother dealing with him. It was her, the little assistant, and now the freaking Frenchie. At this point, they might as well have dragged both teams and Gray Mann's fleet to Disney World, just to complete the circle of humiliation.
"Can I go put on my regular clothes?" the Scout begged.
His mom smiled. "No."
A microcosm of the park had formed in the second holding room of the security headquarters. There was a gruff man standing at the doorway, arms folded and eyes glaring. A Frenchman sat with a cross young woman, a mother with her child. The Spy was grinning from ear to ear at the Scout's costume. The kid scowled, then removed his hat and fake ears. At least his face could have some dignity while he was being grilled.
"So. How have you been?" Miss Pauling growled.
The Scout slunk down. "I was great. Thanks for askin'."
The Spy folded his hands. "Well, isn't zhat nice? It's good to see you putting your community service experiences to use."
"Yeah, yeah. Yuck it up, Frenchie," the Scout grumbled. "As I recall, you had to serve dhe same time as me!"
Miss Pauling sat upright. She straightened her glasses, then took a deep breath. "I suppose you're wondering why we are here."
The Scout lowered his head but nodded. "I…yeah."
There wasn't a lot they could discuss with the security guard in the room. The Scout sighed, then wondered if he was asking for his own death. Nothing unusual, considering how often he had died before. That might actually be the best strategy for escaping his coddling mother and coworkers. Shaking his head, the Scout talked to the security guard. "Yo, Frank. Take five? I've gotta talk about some personal matters."
The guard lifted a thick brow but didn't say anything. It wasn't like they didn't have the quartet on a security camera. He grunted, then left the room. There was a click behind them as the guard dead-bolted the door. The Scout's stomach dropped out of his bowels at that ominous sound. Now, he was going to get it.
"Let me guess," the Scout said. "You want me to come back to Teufort, right?"
Miss Pauling nodded. "Yes. How do you remember Teufort?"
The Scout gave a nervous chuckle, then shrugged. What kind of question was that supposed to be? "I forgot about it for a while, and dhen…dhen I remembered."
"How much did you forget?" the Scout's mother asked. She couldn't look him in the eye as she gave her next question. "Did you forget about me?"
There went the Scout's heart, along with his spine and guts. How in the world was he supposed to answer that question? He struggled to find the right words. "I knew I had a mom. I…I knew it was you. But I thought you were in Boston." He slunk down, supporting his head with his elbows. "I tried callin' home, but some other guy answered. I figured, 'Hey, just her new man.' Right? But dhen I kept callin'…and you weren't dhere." He lifted his back, but not his head. "And dhen I got sick."
"How sick?" the Spy questioned.
"Like, dog sick." The Scout tried to smile, but the expression was too hard to make. "Threw up, woke up. And dhen I remembered."
Miss Pauling leaned back. "How long ago was that?"
"A month," the Scout confessed.
The revelation struck the three travelers with different emotions. Miss Pauling felt numb, the effect leaving no sting on her. The Scout's mother was crushed. He had known for so long? Questions flooded her brain after that. Why didn't he go to find her? What did he think had happened to her? The same thoughts were shared by the Spy, but they boiled under his skin. He clenched his fists, then slammed one onto the table.
"And zhen, what?" the Spy barked. "You just kept living your little life here?"
The Scout's spine shot back with painful speed. He went rigid. "Hey, pal! Listen! I didn't know what happened to any of you, okay? Not my ma, not my buds—nobody! I was scared half to death! 'N I keep hearin' things on dhe news all the time—Gray Mann did dhis, Gray Mann attacked dhat—and I thought, 'Holy crap in a hat, he killed 'em all!' 'Cause nobody showed up!"
"But we did," Miss Pauling corrected the Scout.
The wind was sucked out of the Scout's lungs. He deflated under his mistake. "Yeah. You did. 'N man, I don't know how you did."
The Scout's mother fiddled with her fingers. "It was…kind of a big deal. If it wasn't for dhe Spy stashin' crap in my house, I would've never gotten out. Or, at least not Miss P. She had dhe notes, I had dhe tools, and we went all over dhe place, tryin' to find everybody."
Glaring at the Spy, the Scout sassed back. "'N you found one freakin' Frenchie."
The Spy's eyes narrowed. "Zhey all returned."
The Scout pulled back at the news. He felt his skin shiver as the Spy snarled. "Even as we speak, our comrades have set up camp in zhe Hydro fortress. When we return, we will resume our operations. Do not belittle your mother's efforts, boy. She found zhe Demoman, she found me—and zhe rest came back on zheir own."
His accusation cut the Scout in his core. Now, it was the Scout's turn to ball his hands into fists. "Are you callin' me a coward?"
"You have defined yourself," the Spy sneered.
Anger boiled within the Scout. It erupted from his mouth in one long blast. "Look, you French bastard! I lost everything! I couldn't fight him because I would lose! And you know what? I've got dhis fan-freakin'-tastic job here! I get to goof off, kids like me, dheir moms like me—I've got it made. If I went to New Mexico, I would lose it all again!" He paused, then wiped at the corners of his eyes, his voice hitching. "And dhen, what? Would he make me forget yous guys again? Would my next life even be worth livin'?"
The Scout curled up, fighting another surge of rage and pain. The three travelers didn't know how to react. Miss Pauling slunk down, avoiding looking at the Scout. The Spy didn't lose the intense glare from his eyes, but he let his hands uncoil. The Scout's mother put an arm around her baby. Tears were burning in her eyes, too.
Her iron will rusted away. This was wrong. She had felt it with the Spy, like a small tap, and now this feeling was hitting her in the gut. What was she asking them to do? What was left to fight for? For once, her baby was happy. He was doing a good job. He wasn't rushing after some girl, trying to prove his manhood, running around and acting bigger than others to make himself tougher. He had found peace, and they were stealing it from him.
The Scout's mother lowered her gaze, then covered her eyes. "Guys, I can't do dhis."
Miss Pauling's face drained of color. She leaned forward, then caught the little mother's hand. "We need him."
"I…I know," the Scout's mother struggled to speak.
The Scout forced himself to look at his pain-wracked mother. His eyebrows lowered, face scrunched. He pulled his mother towards his shoulder before she could begin to cry. His tears followed soon after. Both the Spy and Miss Pauling couldn't bear to watch. Miss Pauling kept staring to the left, fighting contortions in her face. The Spy went ice cold but did not lash out again.
"I want you to have everything I had," the Scout's mother said. "I want you to have a gal, a dozen kids, a house—I want you to have a family, kid. Something better dhan I could give you."
The Scout's grasp tightened around his mother. "You're dhe only family I need, Ma. You and my bros. Just…Just stay here, okay? With me? We'll call 'em up—find 'em again, tell 'em you're okay. I…I haven't spoken to dhem in so long…God, I don't know where any of dhem are."
A warm ball of energy churned in the Scout's mother's stomach. She took its heat, burning through her hot face. She had a lot of love in her, but she had anger. This wound she felt from making her son cry hurt, needed to be cauterized. She was soft, squishy, not built for battle, but that warrior's yearning for revenge was in her.
"Kid, if I don't stop dhat crazy bastard…" The Scout's mother sighed, then shook her head. "I love you."
The Scout pleaded. "Ma, don't."
"Dhere are all dhese women like me 'n Miss P. We've all got kids. Family, you know? But dhat lunatic—he don't care a thing about dhat. He's all about himself. If we don't stop him, dhey'll be more people like us," the Scout's mother told her son. She whispered courageous words into his head. "I can't let dhat happen."
Miss Pauling found enough strength to enter the debate once more. "Scout, Mister Mann knows about her. He attacked her when we were passing through Colorado. Even if she stays with you, she won't be safe." She thought about holding her final sentence in, but she let it go. "If we don't fight against him, he will kill her."
The Scout clenched when he heard those words. His mother had not been given the luxury that he and his teammates had. If he died a thousand times, he would live a thousand and one. She only had her one. The thought of someone like Gray getting his hands on her made him seethe. What did the old bastard know about loving his family? He had consumed his foster mother and murdered his fraternal siblings. It was only about him—it had always been just about him, just like his greedy brothers.
A strange realization came to the Scout. He was selfish, too. Well, he'd always been a little vain and put his interests before anyone else's, but that didn't change his conclusion. He was being a prick. His friends and his mother had put their lives on the line to find him, and all he had done was gotten them into trouble.
He was done running.
"Don't make her fight," the Scout begged. He sucked up his pride, then made his sacrifice. "I'll go."
Miss Pauling smiled. "I wouldn't dare put her on the front lines. But, that doesn't mean she won't take a shot."
"She was carrying my gun, after all," the Spy chuckled.
The Scout froze, then gave all three of them a nervous look. "Uh, dumb question, but I'm askin' it. You guys didn't bring guns into Disney World, did you?"
The awkward silence amongst the group told the Scout everything. He gave a nervous glance towards the security camera. Hopefully, that thing didn't come with a microphone. He gritted his teeth and forced a smile. Geez, these guys had been serious! It was a wonder that none of them had clocked him on the forehead and dragged him into some creepy van!
"You guys really suck, you know dhat?" the Scout grumbled.
The Spy gave a dark laugh, then eyed the Scout's mother's collarbone. "Oui, je sais."
Once the Scout caught onto the Spy's antics, he gave an earth-rumbling groan of disbelief. "I can't believe I'm givin' up goddamn Disney World for you, you French freak!"
The sun set and rose twice as the quartet journeyed home. They made for an unusual caravan across the interstate highways. The Engineer's truck led the Spy's car on, the Scout's beater of a car sold for scrap metal. Every few hours, the drivers would shift, the passengers switch. Sometimes, they slept. Mostly, they talked. It was a long, dizzying road, and the only sound beside the traffic and their voices were hokey country tunes and radio static.
They came through swampland, old French towns, red dirt and rusty sands. They crossed the wide belly of Texas, watched oil rigs bob up and down like thirsty metal birds drinking black sludge. Through farmland, through desert, they went. Never did seventy miles an hour feel so slow.
The Scout had no gravity for their situation until they entered New Mexico. Broken hoodoos and craters were every few miles apart. Driving through Roswell truly felt like experiencing something unearthly. Something more insidious than alien eyes was preying upon the landscape. One too many gift shops sat empty. Others waited patiently, with wrinkled, tanned skin, yearning for their town to return to whatever had once been normal there.
Up and over they went. Bullets had torn through speed limit signs. Cars were left abandoned by the road, soda machines empty. A suspicious red stain streaked across the highway, sticking beneath worn wheels. Finally, they made a turn through lands the Scout recognized. Hoodoos sheltered the cars as they were drawn into the last bastion in Mann's lands.
They arrived at Hydro.
The front gate was blown open. Next to it was a sign painted in black oil—"Robots go home!" Grenades and sentries greeted the incoming vehicles. The machines gave tiny beeps but let the two vehicles pass. The smell of beans and hot dogs rose through the desert air. Warm lights flickered within the base.
Eyes peered from behind windows and doors. There was a loud whoop as the vehicles parked. The Engineer was the first to bolt out, giving his truck a loving pat. The Soldier wasn't far behind him. He gave a mighty cheer, then scooped up Miss Pauling. The Medic and Heavy helped the Scout's mother exit the truck, then gave her hands to the Scout and the Spy. The Pyro poked his mask's muzzle around the newcomers. He patted his hands, then giggled. The Demoman watched from the door. He smiled, then took a swig of tequila. It wasn't scrumpy, but it was all he could find. He passed the bottle off to the Sniper, who drank and returned the strong alcohol to its owner.
Both of them shook hands and gave hugs, greeting their last allies with a strong, warm, "Welcome home."
Author's Note
...maybe it wasn't a good idea to update on the same day a TF2 comic was released, but hey. I've got a schedule to keep, too.
I feel so comfortable, having reached this point. There's just a little left to go.