In other circumstances, Tom would have felt at home. He was in a home, actually. For what he had seen, this was a big ranch formed by a two-story house and at least one acre of land. He was taken to a wide, cozy living room, where a fire burnt in a brick hearth. Above it, a portrait of the family hosting him was hanging. The patriarch, an elder with bald head and a white beard, smiled, sat on the sofa Tom was sitting in, flanked by relatives. By his side, his wife, Tom supposed, was a thing, tall and very nice looking woman, the archetype of a loving granny. Around them, their children. Minnie was sitting by her mother's side, holding her hands. At his right, the father had a brunette whose hair was also half-white, just like hers, with glasses which hid very lively and intelligent eyes. Next to her was a man who looked like one of these people who never grow up, not even when they are fifty, because he had this big, kind, childish smile. Sat on the floor were the grandchildren. They were six young men and women in total, all in their twenties or close. One of them was the boy which had been watching him while he was unconscious. Three more girls were in the house, all of which came to greet their guest. One of them, the oldest, came back from the kitchen with a cup of steaming broth for him. Standing behind them, in the picture, was Pyro.
That was the one thing which made Tom feel uncomfortable. Minnie's husband noted it.
"Pyro meant no harm, didn't you, Pyro?" He said, looking at the masked one.
Pyro shook her head and said something.
"Sure. He just wanted to make sure you were safe." The husband nodded.
"I...didn't feel safe at all, honestly." Tom admitted. He could have addressed Pyro directly, but he chose to look at someone who didn't give him goosebumps. "Like, he made a mess of my house."
Pyro exclaimed something while shaking a finger. She was obviously denying that accusation.
"It found it like that!" Tom understood that perfectly.
"Yeah, sure, who did it, then?"
"Well, the bad guys." One of the daughters replied.
"What bad guys? He's the bad guy! He was the one who...!"
In order to change his mind, Minnie approached with an open photo album in her hands while muttering: "I knew there had to be pictures somewhere."
Tom recognized himself in the photograph she was tapping at with a finger. He was four or five in there. Pyro hadn't changed her suit in all of this time. They were both sitting on the carpet and he was bawling for a good reason: Pyro had made a pyre with his toys.
He rose his head to find Pyro gazing at him insistingly.
"...Pyro..." He finally muttered, his eyebrows furrowed.
That shift of tone made Pyro clap and hug him like he wanted to break his bones, something Tom didn't like but couldn't tell at the risk of actually having his bones broken.
Pyro...Tom was starting to remember. In all honesty, he had refused to believe the Pyro was a real element from his childhood. He thought it was just a fever dream, or a tale his mother told him so he behaved, like the Boogeyman. And now he had him right by his side...
"But you do remember my father Dell, don't you?" Minnie asked.
There was another photo of him on the same page. This time, Tom didn't hesitate to believe what his eyes were seeing, and it was a nice picture.
"Hey, Uncle Dell!" He exclaimed with a smile.
He was a baby in this one, and he was holding him as proudly as if he was his own kid, with a smile from ear to ear.
"I told you we weren't gangsters or nothing." Minnie smiled seeing him grin at that memory.
"Old Uncle Dell...I remember he'd play guitar and sing me songs..." Tom tried to hum one, though he didn't remember the lyrics. "His Christmas presents were the best. He made me toys no other kid in the world had..."
"Oh, yes, and I assure you he enjoyed making them for you."
Tom frowned.
"Wait...Conagher, you say?"
"And very proudly so!" The boy smirked.
"You're the weapon manufacturers! You've been designing, making and selling weapons to the worst of the worst! You are gangsters! I've-!"
"Written a series of articles denouncing our family business." Minnie seemed more amused than offended. "Yeah, Pops found it hilarious and charming. He's got them hanging on the wall of his workshop. He said you have a way with words. A bit over-elaborated, with a bad case of gerunds, but good."
"Guess he's very kind letting me into his home..."
All smiles vanished or lost a bit of their wideness.
"Didn't you know? He passed away. Nine years ago." Minnie's husband said.
"Oh...I'm...very sorry to hear that...He was a fine man...Ignoring his contribution to human suffering..." Tom felt so awkward he brought it up. Of course it was a high possibility he was dead. He had to be very old.
"Indeed he was." One of Dell's granddaughters sighed, her gaze turning towards the family portrait hanging over the fire. Probably one of the last times they were all together.
"Listen, I'm glad to see you again..." Tom started to say, fixing his glasses. He wasn't, really. He just wanted to be polite. "But someone's made a mess in my house and you say some bad guys did it..."
"That's what Spy said." Minnie said.
"Who's Spy?"
"Don't you know who Spy is?"
"Never heard of the name. By the way, what's with that name?"
"Well, not surprising." Minnie's husband looked at his wife. "Your father used to complain that he never saw him near him or showed the slightest interest about his well-being."
Pyro muttered something, apparently in Spy's defense.
"You're too kind, Py. But Jerry's right: while you guys were acting like real godfathers, he neglected his duties. Didn't you eight promise you would take care of Tom for Scout?"
"I'm sorry, who's Scout?" Tom asked.
"Well, your father."
"Huh. Never heard anyone call him that."
"That was his class name."
"...Class?"
"Didn't they tell you anything?"
"Tell me what?"
Minnie's husband sighed through his nose and got up from the armchair he was sitting in. "I'm going to bed. I suggest you do the same, kids."
"No way, this is the best part." The oldest daughter smirked.
Since there was no way he could save Tom the embarrassment of having the whole family listening to what seemed like a personal issue, the husband quietly left.
Pyro talked for long, but Tom didn't understand.
"You've never been told about RED?" Minnie came to his help once again.
Tom shook his head.
"What's the official version, then? About your father, I mean."
"Just the usual, that he was a normal guy who worked in the demolition business, where he met your father, Pyro and the rest of the gang, and got killed in a robbery before I was born." Tom replied. "...Is there an unofficial version of the story?"
"Yes. Yes, there is."
"Does that have anything to do with that freaky suit Pyro's wearing?"
"A lot."
"Well, please, say it, you're making me nervous! Are you telling me that they've been hiding me something about them?"
"What they've told you is only a half-truth. The demolition business was just a cover. Your father didn't work tearing buildings down. Nor did my father nor Pyro here. Their real job had nothing to do with that."
"And what was your job really about?" Tom impatiently looked at Pyro.
"Mercenaries." She replied.
"Get out of here."
Tom looked around with a smirk, but he saw Minnie and her children completely serious, and the smile slowly vanished off his face.
"...You're kidding me, right?"
"No." Pyro shrugged.
"My dad...A mercenary..."
"Exactly." Minnie said.
"Yeah, sure...Bullshit...Big ass bullshit...My dad would have never hurt a fly..."
Pyro shook her head and started wielding an imaginary bat, letting out shrieks of pain and mimicking the sound of something breaking, then a pistol with her fingers which made 'pew pew'.
"My father was no saint, I'm not gonna act like he was, but yours wasn't either." Minnie said. "He was the Scout. He was supposed to go first, spot what the team needed, and get it. And he used those weapons my father built against everyone in his path. I don't like talking badly about someone who can't defend himself but telling the truth ain't talking crap: your dad had blood on his hands. Just like your uncles. Snipers, demomen..."
"I don't believe you." Tom stood up. "I don't believe what you are saying. I'm leaving."
"No need to be ashamed. There are people who do that sorta things for free."
"You want revenge for the articles, right? And you made this up. You...made up this whole thing about enemies and..."
Pyro practically slapped him on the face with the photo album, pointing insistently at one picture. The nine men were sitting on some stairs, drinking beer, smoking, apparently having a great time. Handwritten in the lower margin was: «Teufort, 1970». Tom recognized the youngest. That was Jeremy, his father. Uncle Jane—he remembered his name—had elbowed him in the face and he was spitting the beer he was drinking. They were surrounded by the most varied massive-destruction weapons. His own father had a pistol on his lap.
Tom sighed, his hand on his face.
"...Great...Simply great...As if my week wasn't stressing enough, I find out my father was a criminal. Swell..."
Minnie said something Tom didn't hear, because his whole focus turned to one of the men standing on the picture.
"Hey, who's this? This guy, the one with the suit!" He pointed at him.
"Ah, that's Spy!" Pyro replied.
"Spy? Is that his name, Spy?" Tom repeated, looking at the picture closely.
He knew him...He knew him so well...
Spy...He had always called him Dumbledore...
"...And you say Spy told you to check on me?"
"We got this on our mail this morning." Minnie said.
Inadvertently to Tom, one of her daughters had left the room and returned with an open envelope. It showed no stamps. Inside, there was a sheet of paper. It was given to Tom for him to read what was written—a text printed in the standard font.
Thomas is in danger.
Get him somewhere safe.
MANN
"Nothing more?"
"That's all." Minnie said. "But that last word, Mann, makes us think something's happened that should interest the old team."
"What's with Mann?"
Pyro explained but Minnie had to translate once again, seeing Tom's confused expression.
"It is rather ambiguous. Mann could either be the man hiring our fathers or the one who hired mercenaries to stop them."
"I don't get it."
"That doesn't matter. The thing is, both Manns are dead and our fathers went to work for someone else. Why are we hearing that name after fifty years, is what bugs us. And most of all, why you must be protected."
"Can't you simply call Spy and ask him?"
"Hah! Good luck with that! Spy only shows up when he wants to be found, and that doesn't usually happen. There must be a reason why he sent us this. And if you say someone's been in your house, that means you've dodged a bullet. Of what kind, we don't know yet, but a bullet, that's for sure."
A pause. Tom felt the broth had gone cold in his hands.
"I have tried to call the others." Minnie continued. "I could only get in touch with Soldier. See? That's something else that makes me fear something's going on. He says he got another one, telling him to assemble the team and get ready for anything at all. While you were recovering from, uhm, Pyro's enthusiastic greeting, I called him to tell him about ours and that you were in our house. He says he'll get Heavy and come here to see what's going on."
"Soldier? Heavy?"
"Jane and Mikhail." Minnie's daughter clarified.
"Say your hair goodbye." Her sister smiled at Tom.
"I'm trying to grow it and every time we meet he shaves it." The son complained.
"So you keep in touch with all of them?" Tom asked.
"Well, like Sniper, Medic and Spy are too busy to care about people, but with Demo and Soldier's family, we have gone on vacations together and we have get-togethers now and then." Minnie's oldest daughter said. "Sawyer is so in love with Uncle Soldier's granddaughter Liberty..."
"I'm not! I just gave her that teeth necklace because it was her birthday! She was the one who saw hidden intentions in it!" The boy blushed.
"I...haven't heard of any of them in a long while..." Tom muttered.
"Pops stopped sending you toys and sent you money instead, and then stopped sending it because he thought you were getting too old for that. But that doesn't mean he stopped caring about you. He always called to see how you were going. Said you were rarely available. He was happy you wrote those articles because he knew from you."
...Well...Who wanted to waste time having insipid conversations with someone they didn't really know, when there was so much to do? Now that he knew he was dead, Tom felt bad about it.
...Spy...
He was the one who left him. Why returning now, after so long?
Pyro wrapped her arms around him once again while telling him something. Tom wished she didn't do it, and more after he found out why they called her Pyro, but she didn't mind it. She was so very happy to see him again, how he had grown.