Kith And Kin Chapter 19: Originals And Something Different, a team fortress 2 fanfic

Beginning notes:
Tumblr: boredgrace23
Don't be afraid to criticize! I want to improve as a writer and any sort of critique or analysis is welcomed!

I was gonna say this was an intermission chapter but I don't know why I even call them "intermission chapters" when they're never intermissions. It's more like filler with plot. Which are just regular chapters.

Happy new years to the rare person who reads this!

Chapter 19: Originals And Something Different

Mick grunted, clutching his stomach while he staggered to a stand, queasy from having vomited on nothing but stomach acid and saliva. His insides twisted, and he hacked on another dry heave.

The lights above him hissed uncertainly, jittering and flickering, and humming in a way that sounded like a throaty grumble. He couldn't remember if they needed to be replaced or not, having paid little mind to them the second time he ended up in the respawn room and found Scout.

Distantly, in his mind, he briefly noted that he really needed to tell Engineer that the respawn machines were acting buggy.

Would he ever be able to? His thoughts whispered, and he felt a thump in his chest, shoving the thought to the back of his mind. No. No. Those kinds of thoughts weren't okay. He shouldn't think about them right now. Later. He'll think about them later. He can't let his mind wander right now.

He grunted when he took a step, a burning feeling in the pit of his throat. Putrid bile threatened to spill out of him, and he swallowed thickly, only worsening the taste in his mouth.

His doubled vision and exhaustion weighed heavily on him with each staggering step towards the shutter doors. His breathing was leaden. A knot was forming in his throat, and he leaned against the wall to vomit once more.

The contents of his stomach spilled onto the floor, nausea waving over his head. All he wanted to do at the moment was sleep. He couldn't afford to do that, though.

The memories that pounded into his skull had vanished minutes before, leaving a vacant space behind and, more dreadingly, absolute quiet.

He wasn't sure if being plunged into silence that pounded in his ears was worse than having thousands of voices scream in agony and terror. He supposed both options were bad.

Mick tasted a gross burp in his mouth as he inspected his vomit, seeing nothing but mush and saliva that barely contained food. Somehow, in the midst of the agonising sickness and the silence, him not having dinner came to mind, and his stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought.

Right, no thinking about food until he was safe.

It took Mick an effort to push himself off the wall, nevertheless walk the distance from where he was standing to the shutter doors. He practically dragged his legs behind him.

Once he reached the shutters, he burped once more and gagged on the vile taste, roughly wiping his mouth and feeling specks of old food chunks come off his lips.

Unluckily, the shutter doors didn't open. Likely still buggy from whatever happened to them. He gagged once more, throwing his hand out to lean on the door while he crouched on his knees. His movement was slow, hesitant with each jerky motion.

Mick kicked his legs out behind him, and he pulled himself from out under the shutter, thankfully not as tight of a fit as the BLU respawn room shutters were. After he had managed to pull himself out, he twisted onto his stomach and wheezed on burning bile climbing his throat.

He wasn't so sure why he was sick, but he suspected it had to do with the respawn machine's acting up. Was it Spy? Medic? Engineer? They were the only few who knew how the respawn system worked. The monsters retained their intelligence; he wouldn't put it past them to destroy it. But if that was the case, why hadn't they completely destroyed it so that it killed them permanently rather than make them sick?

Mick dry heaved on nothing while staggering to a stand. He threw his arm to his mouth and covered it to prevent any more gagging. Unless it really was a glitch. But he couldn't be sure until he had confirmation from either Medic or Engineer if they were still alive.

Mick stumbled down the hall, climbing up the staircase that looks unrecognisable despite it having been only a day since he last respawned.

He elbowed open the double doors at the end of the staircase, and he felt the heat swim in his face, squinting at the harsh light that hit his eyes.

The desert heat warmed his skin, and he tilted the brim of his hat to prevent more strain than the light had caused. His nausea clenched his stomach, but he fought through the feeling.

He wanted to take in the heat, sit down and breathe. But he couldn't afford to waste any time.

He scanned the battlefield, wary, cautious, in case the large monster was still around.

Mick swallowed another gag.

With barely a minute to take in the surrounding area and how devastated it was, a shed just outside the fence having been torn down, he inspected the bridge from a distance and saw that it had imploded. Wood had splintered off and floated down the short stream. The destruction of the fence exposed a wide desert field, devoid of civilization for miles.

Escaping across the bridge wasn't an option, then.

He couldn't see much from where he was standing, not when the battlefield itself was half the size of a football field, though it was obvious the monster hadn't left. There weren't any trails to indicate it had left, which meant it was hiding somewhere nearby.

Was it still inside the RED base? BLU base? He wouldn't put it past that thing to figure out a way to contort its body to fit inside the BLU base, since almost, if not everyone, was inside the BLU base at some point.

Unless it was hiding, waiting, for someone to stumble into it.

Feet scuttered across the wooden pathway along the base, the porch roof above his head casting shadows on him, and he couldn't be more grateful, even though it was broad daylight. He didn't want to be outside any longer than he already was.

He hid his eyes behind his hat, as if it would conceal his presence from that monster if it was still outside, and scurried past the field, past the ladder that led up to his nest, and through the open double doors that led to the hallways on the side of the base.

He shouldered open the push-to-open doors, hearing the rusty bars creak as he pressed his weight against them.

He paused at the whine of the door. One second, then two, waiting for the monster's signature chant that left an impression in his ears.

Nothing came, so he rushed inside quietly, quickly, closing the door behind him and careful to press the door's bar down to prevent as much noise as possible.

He hears it silently click shut, and he turns to the halls, waiting.

One.

Two.

Nothing.

His sigh trembled, relieved that he was safe enough to do so. He still had a job, but he was out of sight, which was a huge advantage given the situation. It could've been a habit he picked up as a sniper or as an ankle-biter trying to hide from bullies, but in his experience, being visible meant trouble he wasn't equipped for. Especially in these circumstances, where fighting back was out of the question.

He strained his ears, pushing his way through the halls while staring at the walls as nausea stirred within him.

No echo. No grey. Just shitty lighting, and worn, crappily painted red wood.

It would be a stretch to say he missed the base, not with their bosses breathing down their necks and this only being his job. But he did miss the familiarity it offered, the comforting sense of safety it exuded, unlike the strangeness of the BLU base and how utterly alien it felt.

Mick felt the queasiness from earlier leave him as he began descending the hall, hand going to his stomach while suppressing disgusting gags. The light fixtures above him flickered, and the wooden walls creaked, the building settling.

Fortunately, the RED base was smaller than the BLU base, but given that he had to go upstairs and down a few halls, he wasn't ruling out the possibility of finding something on his way to the exam room. Whether it'd be good or bad, he didn't want to know. Didn't want to find out.

The wooden planks beneath his feet creaked, though he didn't pay much mind to them. The metal of the ceiling lamps moaned, and some swung slightly, the base settling disturbing the stillness.

He reached the first corridor and peered around the corner, looking down the adjacent hall that led to the battlefield, before scurrying to the opposite end, where it gave him access to the main base.

He rarely ventured into the base, not needing to when he could stay in certain areas and snipe the enemy team. He figured out where things were based on his own experience and what Scout and Spy told him. Scout obviously knew where things were because it was his class name, and Spy was a jackass who always wanted to be right, so it wasn't surprising he knew where things were, too.

While he still got occasionally lost, even after months of living in 2fort, it wasn't like the BLU base where he'd be walking in circles.

Speaking of walking in circles…

As he urgently made his way to where he hoped BLU Spy still was, he racked his head as he thought back to the memories. Even if he wanted to deny the memories, and push them to the back of his mind, he knew that they weren't fake no matter how much he tried to rationalise it.

Spy gave him his revolver, Spy knew something, and Medic and Heavy were involved as well. He wouldn't put it past Medic to have been the cause of the monsters. The large monster was only confirmation that the water had affected the town, Teufort, too.

Mick climbed the staircase that led to the second floor, footsteps heavy yet still silent as he could manage to make them.

The monster had attacked them after he found Spy messing with the boiler, but whether Spy was trying to destroy the boiler entirely, or if he was only trying to damage it partially, he couldn't be sure. But what he did know was that his efforts were useless. Not only had the monster gotten into the boiler, it got into the water supply as well.

Even if they were to escape to the town, all of them, he wasn't sure what they would find. There wasn't any other civilization for miles, either. Not unless Mick stole a plane. Which, fat chance of that happening since Teufort doesn't have an airport.

He doubts Miss Pauling would be kind enough to pick them up; she has her hands tied most of the time, and the only reason she had time to investigate whatever was going on here was because she had a few minutes. Within a few hours, he bets she's already turning her car around and returning to the Administrator. She didn't care about any of them enough to save their hide unless she had an ulterior motive. They weren't friends.

Essentially? They were all fucked. They had to figure out a way out of this without outside assistance.

Turning the corner, he was greeted by several rows of windows displaying the battlefield. He tipped the brim of his hat to stop the light that pricked his gaze, eyes fluttering as he paused, scrutinizing everything with a critical eye.

Luckily, there weren't monsters roaming outside in the battle field, which kept him from being spotted through the windows. Unfortunately, that meant he didn't know where any of them were.

Which wasn't good. At all.

Being a sniper meant he needed to spot the enemies before they did him. That was his entire job. If he couldn't spot the enemies, then he might as well put down the gun for being useless.

He felt panic writhe in his chest, his heart thumping with blood rushing to his ears. Where were they? They could be inside the RED base, waiting to jump out at him, or all of them could be hiding in the BLU base. And from what he's experienced and what he's been told, they were smart enough to hide.

Mick squeezed the skin on his wrist, knowing if he didn't stop, they would bruise. He swallowed thickly. He needed to calm down. They'll show themselves, eventually. And hopefully, nowhere near him.

As much of a jackass as he was, BLU Spy would be extremely useful to have right about now. Especially since he needed to stay low, quiet, and careful. Something he was very much not with anything regarding stealth.

Walking down the hall, careful to stay far from the windows to the point his shoulder brushed against the door knobs and wall, he kept a firm gaze outside. He watched every inch of the field, anticipating for one of the monsters to peek through the window or come out of a crevice on the field, as if to surprise him.

Being the BLU base had messed with his nerves, even if he was only inside it for less than a day. He felt as if he'd been in the BLU base for more than a day. Each hour that ticked by felt like a week. If he were inside their base for any longer, he would've gone stir crazy. It was a wonder how the BLU team themselves haven't gone crazy. Unless they already were.

Reaching the corner, he took one long, last look outside before turning his back to it.

No monsters.

He wandered down the hall as the last of his nausea left him, replacing the churning sensation in his stomach with weary fear. Two doors were in the hall, though from what he remembered, most of the rooms in the main RED base were only misdirections for the BLU team that would've, and did, work for a week or two. Obviously, the architects hadn't accounted for the fact they'd be staying on the base for a little more than seven months.

But opening the doors to see if the rooms were claimed was out of the question. Not if he wanted to see them claimed by something that wasn't human.

He came around the last corner, where he saw bloody footsteps on the ground. Albeit not noticeably, unless someone was looking for them or had a keen eye for details. Judging by the distance between each footstep, the person was running, and he moved forward with slow steps.

Mick slowed to a halt to stare at the destroyed door to Medic's infirmary. The destroyed door was gone, and something had damaged the surrounding walls beyond recognition; it barely resembled a doorway, looking more like a cave entrance.

He paused, staring at the damage through a slitted gaze. He didn't want to go in. Not only because of the extensive damage to the doorway, but also because he rarely visited the infirmary, only stopping by when absolutely necessary.

"Why?" Scout asked, a smirk teasing the corner of his lips, "Are ya scared of the doctors?"

Mick typically responded by humming or waving him off. There was no point in telling him that the doctor was insane when Scout already knew that fun fact, calling him a 'quack' every chance he had.

He gazed inside the room one last time before glancing down both hallways adjacent to him, ensuring nothing would sneak behind his back. Having cleared the hallways, he stepped over the wooden debris and felt the wall for a light switch, hearing a faint 'click,' accompanied by the humming of the light poles hanging from the ceiling.

He then paused, straining his ears for any other sound, and when nothing came, he moved forward in the room. Mick licked his lips and chewed on the dead skin, free hand picking the skin around his nails.

It was then that he noticed the obvious feathers scattered throughout the room.

His eyes trailed to each feather, which was a mix of white, light grey, and some with a dim, pinkish tint. The feathers obviously belonged to the doctor's birds, but he wasn't sure what happened to them. Though seeing as that bird… Archimedes?—He couldn't give a rat's ass what its name was—Wasn't scratching the shit out of his face the moment he entered the room without permission was any indication, the pest was either killed or taken by that monster.

…Pity.

Mick averted his gaze from the bird's feathers, scouring the room for anything else. Discovering nothing, he strode towards the fridge, unwilling to waste more time.

He didn't waste any time opening the fridge, the cold air hitting his feet, but instead of being greeted with a simple 'kill me' or an insult to his person, as he usually was, he was met with nothing.

He stared at the rack where Spy's head usually sat.

Spy wasn't in the fridge.

Mick scanned over the fridge once more, his jaw hanging, looking over the fridge in case he saw it wrong. Because Spy couldn't have just grown a body and walked away. Unless Medic had moved, which, granted, Mick hadn't been in his infirmary since last week, but where would he have moved him? Miss Pauling ordered him to leave Spy's head at the base, so moving him outside would be going against orders. So where?

He didn't care for the Spy; the literal backstabbing snake killed him more times than he had travelled in a 1-year distance in a day, and if that monster absorbed the bastard, he wouldn't give a shit. But it was his job, currently, and having their only spy be either killed or absorbed by a monster wasn't exactly high on his priority list. Especially after what he saw become of the RED Spy, and if there was a bodiless monster roaming the halls? He wasn't eager to know how this monster parasite thing affected its hosts, depending on circumstances.

His eyes briefly widened, and he threw open a nearby cabinet urgently and desperately. When a putrid dead scent hit his nose and burned his eyes, he gagged and covered his mouth with the back of his hand before slamming the cupboard shut.

He went to open the next one with slower movement, peering into the cupboard and slamming it with the same vigour as the previous one, the smell somehow worse.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting from that off-his-rocker doctor, but his cupboards full of decaying limbs weren't one of them. In retrospect, he oughta have anticipated that.

Checking in the crevices of the room, Mick kicked over the debris of the wooden doors in case the Spy had been buried. When he found nothing, he opened every top cupboard, the medicine cabinet, and the large closet.

Yet no matter where he looked, there was nothing.

Mick picked the skin around his nail, and his heart sank deeper.

Was Spy absorbed by one of those monsters? He couldn't have grown two legs and escaped himself, and killing himself was out of the question thanks to the buggy respawn machine and the fact he doesn't have a body.

Mick wiped his face and scanned the room once more. He didn't want to return, but he had to tell Medic, Heavy, and, probably, Scout if the bugger was alive that Spy was gone. But if the BLU Scout wasn't alive? Mick might as well kill himself then having to deal with that mess. Medic was already losing it if he threatened Jeremy and was picking fights with Demoman were any sign.

Something on the counter caught his eye, and he turned his entire body towards it.

The object was bulky; it had a speaker and what looked like a built-in microphone. A recorder, he noted. A sticky note was on top of it labelled—in chicken scratch—for Spy. RED Spy, supposedly.

Mick went to pick up the small device, finger brushing the back surface and noticing chips, scratches, and damage to the speaker inside. The sticky note was torn, but the writing was still legible enough for him to identify it as Medics. Barely perceptible bloody fingerprints were brushed on the buttons, and he twisted the recorder to see a dried, bloody hand stain on the back of the device.

He studied the small device for a second too long. He contemplated whether he should listen to it or not in case it was something personal, before shrugging off that concern. Spy was dead. How was he going to find out he listened to the recording?

Mick held the recorder, and after some time of staring at it, he clicked play.

Both the Heavy's were gone.

They sacrificed themselves for him, for everyone.

They died.

That was their fault.

That was their fault.

They didn't need to sacrifice themselves, so he shouldn't be feeling horrible about it. It was their fault.

Not his.

He shouldn't be feeling his throat tighten with guilt, or that sensation of weight on his chest, or how his legs quivered beneath him. He shouldn't. It wasn't his fault they sacrificed themselves, after all.

He wasn't sure if BLU Heavy's screams faded as he ran, or if the monster absorbed Heavy, silencing him—BLU Demoman, of all people. Of course, it had to be BLU Demoman that did Heavy in.

It was disorientating to see BLU Demoman like that. Jeremy knew it wasn't really his team's Demoman, but he looked like Demoman. He had his voice, his face, his mannerisms, his laughter, yells, and his entire gait, and no shit he had those features, because he was Demoman. A clone of the RED one.

And yet Jeremy found those words odd.

Clone.

Clone.

That's what the BLU team was, right? He never gave it much thought besides what the others told him, which was that they were just clones of them, meant to be their enemies in this dumbass war between the Mann brothers.

But that's exactly why he couldn't figure out what was wrong with that singular word. Clone.

They were clones, meant to be their exact copies. They couldn't even sustain themselves when all of them went to that winter base, dying after a couple of hours of being in the cold. Easiest battle of the century. But that singular battle meant they weren't actually human. Humans can survive in the cold, while they die in the cold in what? A couple-a of hours?

Humans weren't weak like they were.

Sure, some were, but Jeremy could admit that humans were a lot tougher than they looked. It took him a while to figure out the right way to kill someone in one hit with his bat, and even then there were times where the person somehow survived, crawling away from him with their eyeballs sticking out of their sockets and their skull caved in.

Gnarly shit, but the gist is, he knows from experience, humans weren't weak.

And the clones? They were weak as shit.

A lab created them, and they were pretty much just glorified replaceable parts. If they permanently died? Well, tough luck, 'cause Medic could make more.

They had the RED team's faces, sure, but they were freaks of nature. Humans don't die in the cold. Humans don't have dead looking eyes, like they lived more years than them. Humans don't have paler skin than their originals. Clones were incapable of being human.

Weren't they?

So Jeremy didn't know why the BLU Heavy sacrificed himself.

It wasn't for him. They barely knew each other.

That thought process made him pause.

They didn't know each other. But shouldn't they? He knew RED Heavy, Mikhail. The man looked out for him, even when they annoyed each other to pieces, because they were teammates.

But did he know BLU Heavy? Truly know him?

So, why?

Why did he sacrifice himself? Why did he get caught by BLU Demoman for him again?

Jeremy was outside by the time the cloaking had disappeared, stumbling over concrete that scratched the soles of his shoes, leaving black marks on the ground. The hot air penetrated his skin, and by the time he had reached halfway to the bridge, sweat had formed.

Remaining smoke from the cloak billowed off him, leaving a grey stream trailing behind him.

He coughed feebly that left a metallic taste in his mouth, his chest squeezing and leaving his lungs to gasp for air. Obviously, it was exertion. If he didn't know what exertion was, he'd be a lazy bum begging for money. It'd been a hot minute since he felt tired from running, but he knew it wasn't only running that caused the exertion. He pushed through it, though, 'cause he was fucked if he didn't.

His eyes darted to both sides of himself, trying to avoid being spotted by the monsters if they were around as he sprinted across the BLU's side of the field.

It was kinda weird to be outside after being trapped inside the BLU base since yesterday, it was also weird 'cause most of the battles took place inside the bases then outside because of how small the outside field was. Unless one of 'em felt like drowning that day by having their heads dunked in the water, they mostly stayed away from the bridge unless regular offense strategies weren't working.

Jeremy guessed that was the reason the barrier between the two teams wasn't a large field that separated them. Which was stupid. But what did he know?

Once he reached the grass, he tripped, stumbling and rolling on the grass. He gasped in pain when he hit his ripped off arm, jerking the grass off from the stems from how tight his fingers clenched around it. A burning pain thundered through his arm, and he gritted his teeth to stop himself from screaming.

He clutched his shoulder and without meaning to, whimpers sounded from his throat. He rolled onto his stomach, crawling to his knees while a searing pain flared in the stub of his arm up to his shoulder.

Jeremy was used to losing limbs in battle. It was almost every day his arms or his legs would be blown off by a bomb, or ripped off by Heavy. But most of that pain lasted from a few seconds to an hour at most since he had Medic, healing items, to the healing dispenser's, mad milk, and respawn. There were even Heavy's sandwiches.

He never lost his limbs for more than day, though.

And it hurt.

But he was close to finding the Medi-gun. He had to keep going. Needed to keep going.

Jeremy's arm quivered in agony, flinching when another spike shot through him.

He had to keep going.

He staggered to his knees.

If he can get the Medi-gun, he can turn back around for BLU Heavy.

After he stood up, he gained his footing, suddenly aware he had caused too much noise, and glanced over his shoulders, searching for the monster in case it found him. When he was met with nothing but the empty field, he staggered forward.

Close, he was close to finding the Medi-gun. Once he found it, he was good. Golden. He won't need to worry 'bout his arm for any longer, and then he can go find Heavy and bring him back with him to safety. Both the Heavys couldn't have been eaten by that monster. The monster couldn't have been that strong.

Plus, Snipes was going to be in the RED base. Which was better than havin' to run back to the BLU Medic's infirmary with the Medi-gun.

Jeremy halted mid-step when he saw the collapsed bridge, not pausing to consider what had happened to it as he sprinted to the left of himself.

With his arm, he couldn't risk swimming. If respawn was actually working properly, he woulda just jumped right in and drowned himself. But he couldn't.

So, going through the sewers, it was.

He was pretty sure there was something about infection and the sewage waste? But he didn't care right now to remember what his Medic was complaining about. He needed to find the Medi-gun.

It didn't take him long to get to the sewers. A concrete wall on the ravine's side housed an opening to the sewers. He leaned over the short ravine to see if anything was hiding in it. When he saw nothing in the dark tunnel, he crouched and jumped into the muddy water.

A splash echoed through the sewer, the water up to his waist and soaking through his clothes uncomfortably. The tunnel was dim and damp. He strained his ears, listening for any other noises that weren't dripping.

Nothing came.

The murky tunnel stretched on until his eyes couldn't make out what was inside, water sloshing around his body.

Nah.

Fuck that.

The lights in the sewers were out, and normally, on any other day, he wouldn't have a problem going through the sewers if that were the case. But there was no way he was walking through the tunnels.

The tunnels weren't only long—they were really long. To where he'd be running through the tunnels for half an hour, risking encountering those monsters, and he just knew there were monsters inside there, because the lights couldn't have been off for no reason. He wasn't going to fall for that trick; he wasn't born yesterday.

He had a bad feeling about it, too.

So, no.

Jeremy waded himself through the water to the other side of the short ravine.

As soon as he reached the opposite end, he hefted himself up onto the platform; the water weighed heavily on his clothes and weighed him down. His only arm shook under his weight as he crawled and climbed out of the water.

Water dripped off him, though the heat of the sun stopped him from shivering from the cold. When he got out of the water, shook his wet shoes, he shinned to his feet, bouncing on one foot to dispel the wetness of his socks. Jeremy grimaced, feeling the thin socks squish, before continuing his sprint to the RED base.

Close. He was close.

He extended his arms towards the front doors before reaching them.

Within a few minutes, time and his surroundings having tunneled out, he had reached them.

Jeremy practically hurled himself onto the wooden doors, sending his battered body into the building without wasting another second. In one simultaneous motion, on the floor, he kicked the doors shut.

His breathing was the only sound.

Safe.

He didn't know how long he sat in the infirmary, replaying certain parts of the recording while glaring at the desk opposite of him through half-hooded eyelids, his legs stretched out in front of him and his hands in his lap.

His eyes burned, and his muscles felt stiff, but he couldn't move, paralyzed by all the thoughts that raced through his subconscious.

His pointer finger picking the skin around his thumb, he clicked the rewind button, Medic's voice filtering in through a warbled microphone.