Sniper used to be scared.

He used to be scared of a lot of things.

He thinks it's because of his parents, they always scared him, and he could never do anything about it. There was nothing in the world that could make him less scared of the way his mother would grip his shoulder or the way his dad would throw him outside with nothing less than the clothes on his back. It was scary having to deal with the darkness by himself and even scarier when he soon realised that no one would be able to help him.

He used to be scared of the dark.

He hated that he could never see the things around him, he hated the unknown and that terrified him. Sniper couldn't remember a time when he overcame that particular fear, but he did remember getting used to it. Because he had to get used to it. He had to get used to the darkness because his dad liked taking him there, his dad liked stuffing him in closets and he liked to toss him out in the wilderness whenever the sun went down.

Sniper had to get used to the darkness because there were creatures out there that could smell his fear and he couldn't afford to be afraid. He couldn't even scream because then his dad would yell at him, chasing him through the forest to make sure he never bothered his parents again for the rest of the night.

So yeah, he got used to the dark. He had to.

Because when he got older, the darkness shifted into something that protected him. Sniper could hide in the dark to escape his punishments, he could hide under his bed protected by the shadows as his dad would search for him around the house. He would use the darkness to run through his small neighbourhood, hunting for food scraps in the nearby bins.

The darkness would follow him wherever he went, and he would let it because sometimes it was better.

Sometimes though, when the shadows lingered for too long or when he closed his eyes to sleep, it would all swallow him whole and he could do nothing but succumb to his fear. He just hated the unknown, hated what could hide in the darkness and destroy whatever made him feel safe in the first place.

He used to be scared of the dark and maybe he still was, but there was nothing he could do about it. he had to get used to it. He had to.

Then came the silence, Sniper used to be scared of the silence too.

Kind of ironic, really.

It was hard to explain.

Back then in his youth, silence meant danger, silence meant he was in trouble and silence meant it was already too late.

Silence was the dreaded anticipation that came before his life became significantly worse. Like when he came home and mum would say nothing to him, she would be silent, holding a piece of paper in her hand before locking him in his room without dinner. Or when the teachers called him in during playtime, they would always be silent, only staring at him before forcing him to sit in the corner of the room for punishment.

Sniper could never escape the silence because he would always be in trouble, and it would always start the same way. With silence.

It was horrible, not even the darkness was silent and that was because there were always creatures, always something making noise and that became his comfort. But when Sniper was alone and there was nothing around him, he was hopeless to the fear that consumed his tiny body.

Silence became a warning to him, a silent and deadly signal that told him of his impending doom. Whether it be hiding in the bathroom stalls from his bullies or hiding from his dad with a belt, his only warning would be the silence before they would find him. They would always find him. He could never escape because the silence was always there, and it was terrifying.

But like the constant darkness, he had to get used to it. He had to use the silence to protect himself because there was nothing else, he could do.

The silence became his weapon, and he became quiet.

He didn't talk to the teachers that wanted to know how he kept getting bruised, he didn't talk to the bullies that gave him said bruises and he didn't talk to his parents that tried to beat the silence out of him. Small Snipes used the silence against all of them, forcing them to hate it as much as he did. Because they did this to him, and it shouldn't really be his fault but then the silence would come back like it always did and Snipes would be at square one once again. It was an endless cycle.

At least the darkness would eventually fade away, but the silence never would. He didn't recall a specific moment when the silence became well and truly stopped bothering him. Maybe it was when he moved away from his childhood town, running away from the things that kept him quiet.

He really didn't know.

It still followed him though, the silence and the darkness. It always followed him.

Finally, there was the strangers.

He used to be scared of strangers, arguably the worst fear he ever had.

It was different than the other two, because strangers would actively hunt him down.

Darkness was a punishment; silence was a warning, but strangers were a death sentence.

Strangers chased him down hallways, yelled at him, grabbed him by his limbs and never let go until he was black and blue. He could never run fast enough, never be quiet enough, never hide quick enough so that the strangers couldn't hurt him. They always knew where he was. Every. Single. Time.

There was just nothing he could do, it was the one fear that always had the upper hand, rendering him immobile both literally and figuratively. It was the one thing that he couldn't change, because strangers were always the same.

Teachers were strangers because they never tried to listen to him, they never bothered to help him or understand why he didn't talk. Those adults only ever despised him, he was a nuisance that didn't know how to behave and purposely went looking for trouble. Ironically, they would call his parents because they couldn't control him like the other students. Sniper remembered how the teachers yelled at him, threatened him with his own parents as if it would make him any better behaved.

Then he would turn up to school the next day with more injuries and the teachers would get mad all over again; clearly, he was still picking fights with the other kids, no other possible reason. It was an endless cycle, and he couldn't escape from it.

These teachers were strangers, and they would remain strangers throughout the rest of his childhood years.

They weren't the only people that made his life a living hell, there were also his constant tormentors. The other strangers that hunted him down during playtime and afterschool like the monsters they were. Snipes could not recall a single school day that didn't end with these strangers holding him down and throwing punch after punch after punch.

Their laughter would haunt him in his dreams if he ever had any.

These strangers were his bullies because they knew nothing about him, and he knew nothing about them. He didn't know their names, but they knew his. He didn't know where they lived, but they knew, they liked following behind him with rocks at their disposal. All because he was quiet, because he didn't talk, because they were all strangers, and he didn't talk to strangers.

Even his own parents were strangers to him. He didn't know a single thing about them, he didn't know their birthdays, their favourite colours or even what they did. He knew nothing about them apart from the fact that they were his parents, they were related but not willingly.

Sniper did know that his mum wanted a daughter, that she wanted someone who could talk and wouldn't interrupt her TV time with their loud stomach. He knew that his dad hated seeing him from the mornings to the nights and he favoured using his belt as punishment.

All he knew about his parents was what to not do.

They didn't even call him by his name.

Therefore, they were strangers.

Therefore, they scared him and therefore they were just more people that liked to hurt him for fun. They were inescapable.

Sniper couldn't get used to strangers, as much as he likes to think he's no longer afraid of them, he'd be lying. He could never adapt from them, never find the right angle to use his fear of strangers as a survival tool like the others. Unlike his fears of both darkness and silence that taught him how to endure his torture, his aversion to strangers just never changed.

His teenage years were the same, a constant repeat of strangers that tried to tell him what to do and fix his bad habits. None of it ever worked because they were strangers and Sniper didn't listen to strangers.

Really, the only thing that changed were the people around him, when finally, he wasn't surrounded by the same taunting peers.

His parents couldn't follow him anymore, his bullies all died, and his teachers forgot about him the moment he moved away from them.

Instead, he was taken to a new place with different kinds of people, borderline strangers but not the kind he was used to. These strangers didn't hunt him down, didn't torment him and didn't go out of their way to make his life miserable. It was a pretty low bar, but it meant something to Sniper when none of them tried to talk to him.

The first not stranger to shift from a someone was unsurprisingly Scout, a youngster that liked to hover around him. Scout learnt about things that those usual strangers never bothered with, he actually listened despite his chatty nature. The Bostonian became a constant, something that Sniper expected with little to no fear or desire to hide away.

Then naturally came Pyro, Scout's known best friend that gave gifts and offered their own silence. But this silence was safe; it was quiet. The firebug was never really a stranger, but was definitely a someone to Sniper, someone that mattered to him. Pyro became a comfort that Sniper didn't know he needed, a presence that offered sanctuary and nothing more.

Engie was in his one league entirely. He was a stranger first and foremost, an unknown danger that initially scared Sniper upon their first interaction. It's a distant memory now, but he didn't like how the mechanic reminded him of his own dad. The man acted like how his old man did in front of those other strangers, those other dangerous people that liked to beat down on him. It was only recently did the Engineer become a prominent figure in Sniper's weekly schedule that allowed those moments where he didn't feel like he had to be quiet for his own safety. Engie became a lifeline, something that he could cling onto with no fear of repercussion.

The newest addition was Demoman or 'Tavish Finnegan DeGroot' as he introduced himself to Snipes that fateful drinking night. Honestly, there wasn't much he could say about the Scotsman and for once that didn't scare the sharpshooter. It didn't scare him because Tavish wasn't a stranger, because they knew each other and that was all that was needed. Just the knowledge that they could drink together actually made Snipes happy. Demoman became a haven that allowed them both to escape their own problems, something they both needed.

Sniper used to be scared.

He probably still was scared of most things.

But at least now, he had people that could help him. At least now, he could finally breathe and no longer linger in the shadows from his team or worry about being forced to talk.

He was allowed to be himself. He's never been allowed to do that before.

And maybe that's why he felt confident for once, maybe that's why he accepted Demoman's invitation for a drink and maybe that's why he found himself walking over to the familiar metal shack.

The gravel crunched underneath his boots, a sound that soothed him as the night began to fully settle against the sky. He was dressed in his usual long pants, shirt and accompanying vest that kept him warm. His glasses rested on his face to provide its usual comfort as well as of course bringing in the extra grog for another late night of drinking.

As he neared closer to the shack, he paused just out the front.

He could hear voices, as in more than one.

Sniper hesitated.

Maybe he should head back?

He didn't actually need to drink tonight anyway; he could just go back to the safety of his van. He had his talk with Engie today, so he could skip the little get together until the next day. Nodding to himself, Sniper turned around, already planning on how he was going to spend his night.

"Aye, the drinkings happening in here!"

Snipes sighed.

It was times like these that reminded him how much the world hated him.

He slowly turned back around, closely aware of his rapidly beating heart and that familiar itch whenever he got nervous. Logically, he knew it wasn't a trap of any kind but there was something.

There was someone.

A stranger. His biggest fear.

Sniper could just barely make out the second figure, looking to be seated with a few drinks already on the table. His fingers twitched against his box of drinks, ratting them subconsciously as he forced himself to head back to the shack. Every step felt like he was walking closer and closer to his own grave. He could hear the shadows laughing at him, leaving him blind with no idea what awaited him. The silence was killing him, a hidden signal that told him of awaiting danger from inside the metal home. And of course, there was the stranger that could end Sniper's entire evening and the rest of his foreseeable future. Strangers always held all the power, leaving nothing left for him.

Darkness was a punishment; silence was a warning, but strangers were a death sentence.

He knew all the signs; it was happening right now, and he could do nothing but accept whatever outcome may occur.

At least he had his shades on, otherwise he wouldn't be able to explain why his eyes were jumping around all over the place. It was habit at this point to check for all signs of entries and exits, already planning out his escape route if things turned sour. One could never be too careful, and Sniper wasn't looking to get himself in trouble just yet.

Strangers and troubles never mixed, particularly when alcohol was involved like now.

Though, he wasn't overly concerned, Tavish was still here, watching him carefully despite chugging down a bottle that he didn't recognise. Sniper allowed himself to be led inside, taking note of how the Scotsman gave him space to enter.

Instintcively, the sharpshooter immediately beelined it to his usual spot. An old couch that looked to be on its last legs and deflated whenever anyone sat in it. He loved it. Demoman had mentioned once to him before that only Snipes really used the old thing, essentially becoming an 'only Sniper' sitting area.

"Told ya, he liked to sit there."

A grunt followed the Scott's words and Sniper forced himself not to flinch at the sudden noise. He had forgotten about the stranger, completely misled by his favourite couch, and ambushed back into the awkward social situation. The sharpshooter slowly turned his head towards the other person, almost freezing entirely at who it was.

The legendary Russian Heavy.

A person more wrapped in mystery than maybe even the Spy himself, though anyone new to the Sniper was like that. He hadn't interacted much with the large man before, only ever walking past each other and the occasional head nod. There wasn't much between the two.

It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Heavy hung out with Medic. Sniper had nothing against the doctor, nothing at all, but he did hate the man for reasons unexplainable. So, there was a huge chance that he just avoided the both of them throughout most of his stay on the base. It was easier that way, sort of like how he used to avoid Scout in fear that Pyro would soon follow afterwards. He was right in a way; the pair did eventually find him.

But this was different.

This was different because he was acutely aware of Heavy staring right at him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

His leg began bouncing out of nervousness, becoming a bundle of energy that needed a release. His fingers twitched and Sniper remembered the drinks he had brought, numbly opening one of his bottles to combat against his instincts that told him to run. He had to remind himself that he wasn't alone, that while Heavy may be a stranger, Demoman was not and that was enough for him. His haven wouldn't kick him out and certainly wouldn't put him in a shitty situation like his teachers. This was different, it had to be different.

"Alright, you awkward fucks."

The already drunken Scott burped loudly, waving over the sniper with a certain type of anger in his movements. "Sniper get over here or I'll fucking drag ya!"

Heavy snorted at the man's words while Sniper could already feel his nerves getting worse. He threw back his bottle, chugging it with ease before finally standing up to sit next to Tavish. It unfortunately also put him in front of the Russian but at least there was a person between them somewhat. The table was circular, and it left little room between the three of them, combined also with the various drinks already starting to stack up. Sniper dropped his container of grog on the table loudly, pulling out another bottle to replace the one he finished, dropping the empty one on the floor.

He'd pick it up in the morning.

As he brought the bottle up to his lips, the Scott wrapped a warm arm around his shoulders, bringing him in closely.

"Now." The man slurred.

"I've been bothered all fucking week by this giant of a man and I'm getting bloody sick of it! You two are gonna talk, chat, fuck, whatever you want but I'm gonna drink and you two better as well!"

Tavish finished his speech off with another chug of his bottle, swaying on his seat dangerously before letting go of Sniper and standing up. The sharpshooter watched warily as his friend swayed to the other end of the metal shack, seemingly rummaging around for his own supply.

A soft cough interrupted Sniper's viewing, turning to finally face the stranger and regard Heavy with caution. There was an awkward silence between the two like the weapons expert was struggling over his own words while Snipes stayed silent. He didn't know what to say either, instead focusing on his beer bottle as he finished it. Maybe if he drunk quick enough, he could just forget about this whole situation.

"I have been watching you, Sniper. You talk with the others, not like before. I am interested?"

Sniper nodded his head slowly, already reaching for his third bottle. This was something he could work with at least, Heavy was curious about him talking with Scout and Pyro probably. He wasn't stupid, he knew what reputation he had on the base. It was only a matter of time before someone said something about it.

"I have wanted to talk with you for a long time, we share same harsh countries. Me with the cold and you with the hot."

There was a pause.

Sniper reached for another bottle.

"Do you miss your country?"

Yes.

He missed it a lot.

He hadn't stopped missing it since he first left to join this team. It was a bittersweet feeling, the fact that they lived in the desert, yet it was still unfamiliar; this was not his desert, not his home, not what taught him how to survive and live off the things around him.

This wasn't the desert that saved him more times than he can count.

This wasn't home.

Sniper blinked, staring at his bottle a little too hard as the world slightly spun around him. He usually didn't get this tipsy after five drinks. Must be the nerves.

"Desert was safe for you?"

Fuck yeah, it was.

He loved the sun, the sand, the harshness that forced you to adapt, to get better. There was nothing more thrilling in his life than that.

Oh, to be back out there, hiding in plain sight as he took down the creatures that liked to hunt him. Not even the shadows could touch him there. They would run, flee into the comforts of the night while Sniper got to prowl. It was fine, it was invigorating.

"Aye, you got him talking!" A voice cheered.

Fuck off.

A cackle could be heard in the distance along with the sound of more bottles being placed. Sniper didn't think twice before grabbing some more, already craving the addictiveness of getting drunk until all thoughts were lost on him.

"What does he mean shadows?"

"Ask him!"

"Sniper-"

Shadows were bad. They were these pests that liked to make fun of those that suffered, a constant torment that followed him until he got in trouble.

Trouble.

Trouble was bad too.

Trouble was silence and silence was death. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, they don't understand because they've never had to fight the silence before.

"He's gone fucking poetic!"

"I know silence." A voice whispered, almost reverent. The Australian could only just make out the shape of Heavy scooting closer, leaning forward as if he understood. And maybe he did. Sniper didn't know him.

"We are teammates."

No, strangers.

There was a difference.

Another bottle was pushed into his hands, automatically going down his throat as the buzz started to rev up. His fingers felt tingly, that special kind of sensation that told him of what kind of morning he was going to have tomorrow. But he didn't care, he had more pressing matters.

He had to talk to the stranger.

Because he was afraid of strangers.

But he didn't want to be. He wanted friends.

Where were his friends?

"Fuck, Heavy grab 'em!"

Strong hands gently took a hold of Sniper's shaking body, pulling him back down to his seat. He didn't even struggle, slumping back in his chair as his head hung heavy. He could feel a bottle near his fingertips, reaching for it like clockwork. It was just what he needed.

"Sniper, we can be friends?"

Okay, that was good. Strangers liked to kill him. Strangers would kill him.

He didn't need more strangers.

That's why he left; he needed less strangers.

He needed a new place to go, where the strangers couldn't reach him. He left his country, his home, he had left it all behind. But he still missed it.

How could he miss something that hurt him?

It was cruel.

Sniper could hear a faint hum, a whisper of words followed by another obnoxious laugh. He could feel himself being lifted up from his seat, rendered useless as his limbs lacked any motivation to actually resist against whatever was happening. Even his vision was failing him, cutting in and out while the world moved around him with no consequence.

All he knew was that by the time his consciousness started to stir, he was in the team's kitchen of all places. The sharpshooter lifted his head up, not knowing when he rested it in the first place and took note of the familiar figure moving around.

It was his friend, Heavy.

Sniper wanted to wave at him.

"Hello, Sniper."

Friend. There were friends.

"Hello, friend Sniper?"

Better.

A soft chuckle answered him, soon followed by his friend sitting next to him.

"Here, friend, some food."

Sniper blinked, looking down at the bowl being guided into his hands. Déjà vu suddenly hit him, a familiar scene where Engie would do the same thing for him during his worser hangovers. He picked up the spoon, pausing every so often to control his limbs as the smell of the food finally reached his nose.

It smelt fucking delicious.

"Thank you."

Friend.

"Friend."

He hummed satisfied.

His friend was really bad at remember they were friends; he'd have to remind him.

"How will Sniper remind me?"

That actually made him pause. The sharpshooter narrowed his eyes in concentration, using all the knowledge of his drunk brain to fix the important dilemma in front of him. Heavy was his friend; the man had listened to him and hadn't hurt him. That meant they were friends and Sniper didn't like losing his friends.

He would have to remind his new friend with more stories, possibly talk. But talking didn't like him and he didn't like talking. He didn't like a thought of things.

He was scared of most things.

"How do you become not scared?"

He listens, he thinks.

When the darkness liked to hunt him, Sniper used to listen, he used to listen to all the sounds around him so that the creatures couldn't get to him first.

When the silence became too much, he listened as well. It was different, because silence was the warning but if he listened, he could hear it. He could the silence of his dad, the quiet breathing that became slurred words, the footsteps that became loud above the creaking floorboards. He could hear the silence if he listened.

Even strangers would reveal themselves if Sniper listened close enough. All it took was a few wrong words, using their own threats against them and soon he would have the power. It never lasted long, but he would have those brief moments where he wasn't scared, where he didn't run away.

He never stopped being scared, he just got used to it. He listened and somehow that landed him here. Funny how that worked.

Now, Sniper didn't really remember the rest of the night. His mind had succumbed to the delayed affects of alcohol and simply shut down. It was just this one moment where he registered that he wasn't in danger, where the person next to him wasn't a stranger but Heavy, his new friend. Something about that and the calmness of the team's base just made his brain sleepy, followed by the rest of his body.

He didn't remember being carried or the words that fell out of his mouth as he was randomly greeted by the cold air.

What he could remember, was mixture of blurry moments that made his hungover mind already start to ache.

There was something involving the sky, how Sniper was struggling to find his keys and simply slumped in one of his chairs outside. He was joined by Heavy, that detail was very important.

They stared up at the night sky, taking in the many stars as they twinkled beautifully. He felt oddly calm, enjoying the darkness, the silence, and the stranger beside him that watched him as he watched the night.

He didn't feel scared.

He hadn't not felt scared in a long time. It had to be due to Heavy, the unstoppable beast that slaughtered all those that stood in front of him. Yet, here they were staring up at the sky as time moved on by. It was a special moment.

Sniper couldn't remember a time like that where he could enjoy the presence of someone he barely knew. There was a noticeable gap between him and the larger mercenary, but in that moment, it felt like they were the same. In that small second, they shared, there was a need for him to actually get to know the other man. It was a different feeling than what he was used to.

Both Scout, and Pyro actively sought him out rather than Sniper having to do anything. Engie and Demoman just made themselves available for whenever he wanted to visit, simply dropping in and out to enjoy their respective companies.

But Heavy wanted to get to know and Sniper wanted to let him. He wanted the other to talk to him, to share their stories because for once, someone understood him in a way that made sense. Heavy understood his fears, he understood the darkness, the silence, and the strangers. He heard it all and still wanted to stay.

Strangers didn't do that, but friends did.

Heavy was a friend now.

It was a revelation that still had sober Sniper reeling, knowing that yet another drunken night ended with him getting to know another teammate. And honestly, he didn't really mind it.

The sharpshooter stretched out his back, taking stock of all the things around him as he woke up back in his van. He must've found the keys after all or Heavy had helped him which seemed more likely considering how shitfaced he got last night. It was certainly an experience and yet Sniper found himself with someone else he could rely on, another outlet except this one would push away his fears.

Heavy was his protector, like how he protected on the battlefield.

Heavy was what made the darkness pause, what made the silence loud, what made strangers nothing more than people that couldn't reach him.

Heavy made it safe, made him feel safe.

And maybe that's why Sniper found himself adjusting his schedule once more.

Wake up.

Blast Scout's music for his workout.

Relax with the kid.

Clean van.

Steal food before the others arrive.

Check in with Engie.

Drink with Tavish.

Back into van.

Help Pyro with their colouring book.

Clean and check over his weapons.

Stargaze with Heavy.

Nap.

And repeat.