Chapter Text
It wasn’t often that sniper was actually inside the base.
Besides meal times with the team, or grabbing a quick snack, he usually stuck to his camper. More specifically, to the privacy it gave him.
He’d occasionally grab a beer and catch an episode of The Brady Bunch with Demo on the rinky-dink excuse for a television Engie had rigged up in the main room. But, other than that, he entered the base, where the rest of his teammates lived, on a strictly ‘need-be’ basis.
And, he supposed, stepping timidly into the hallway that led to bedrooms of his teammates - this was one of those instances.
Gripped in his gloved hand was an old but well-kept book that he’d borrowed from Engie.
He’d been pretty bored recently, and with the 3 day cease-fire, he was a couple minutes from clawing at the walls of his camper from boredom.
He wasn’t exactly the most… sociable person and, as embarrassing as it was to admit it, he had no idea how to even go about striking up a conversation with any of his team members.
He and the rest of his team were on good enough terms – he definitely wasn’t a stranger, but he preferred to keep to himself… because, truthfully, that’s all he knew how to do.
He nervously ran his hand over the nape of his neck, feeling the bristles of his hair beneath the hat as he made his way towards the sleeping quarters.
He’d read and re-read his dozen or so gun and hunting-related magazines before he came across the book on the countertop whilst Engie was cooking up dinner. After seeing the way the Aussie regarded it with interest (how he saw this while his hunting glasses were still on was beyond him), he’d offered to let him borrow it – an offer the taller man had graciously accepted.
It had definitely been an interesting read – a bit above his paygrade, with all the technical terms and mechanical jargon, but he had definitely gleaned some interesting information from it. He was definitely eager to try and disassemble and attempt some modifications on his rifle using his new knowledge.
It was about midday, and Sniper knew everyone would be out and about around the base – Medic and Engie in their workshops, Soldier probably bothering Engie, Heavy taking Sasha out for her daily cleaning, Pyro and Demo probably finding things around base to blow up and/or set on fire, Scout running around the base until he passed out, and Spy doing… whatever he did.
Knowing this, he chose to drop off the book on Engie’s bedroom desk, rather than go into his workshop and risk getting dragged into…. whatever nonsense Medic and Soldier had probably created by now.
The bedroom corridor was as plain as it was practical – a long, white hallway with 9 rooms – 4 on the right and 5 on the left, sunlight streaming in through two high windows on either side. The rooms were spaced a good distance apart – with silver ‘name plates’ on each door, reading “Soldier” and “Spy” and the like.
Leave it to Mann Co. to get them cheap, flimsy doors, but shell out the big bucks for pointless frivolities like that. He sighed and pulled down the brim of his hat, covering the top of his face in shadow, brown eyes barely peeking over the rims of his glasses.
He began to make his way down the lit hallway when, very faintly, so quietly he could barely hear it, his ears picked up a melody.
It was dance-like but tender, soft and gentle strumming at first, words fading in softly as he walked, slowly, further down the hallway.
“We’ve only just begun to live”
A short, record scratch, a pause in the tempo before it resumed abruptly.
“A kiss for luck and we’re on our way,
We’ve only just begun”
Sniper walked past the first bedroom, the Spy’s, and the music became clearer. He could now hear that the upbeat, poppy tune was punctuated by gentle tambourine, tapping rhythmically.
“ Before the risin' sun, we fly,
So many roads to choose”
He walked past Pyro’s room, the music slowly growing louder, his interest piqued by the airy melody.
“We'll start out walkin' and learn to run
(And yes, we've just begun)”
He passed Demo’s room, then Medics (not that the man ever used it in the first place – preferring to sleep in his ‘lab’ instead), now being able to hear the little bits of slow and buoyant trombone punctuating the melody.
“Sharing horizons that are new to us
Watching the signs along the way”
He stepped past the room with the “Heavy” nameplate, then further past the empty room with “Sniper” written on the door. He took a second to look at it, at the nameplate slowly gathering dust.
Because of the light around him, he could just barely catch his own reflection, staring back up at him, from the grubby silver plating.
Tired.
He didn’t look long.
He could now hear the song almost clearly, the cheerful and sweet melody filling up the silence around him.
“Talkin' it over, just the two of us”
Engineer’s room lay right ahead of him, to his right, but ….
The room past that, the last one, with the door cracked slightly open…
He heard the music bleed from the edges of the doorframe labeled “Scout”.
“Workin' together day to day
Together”
Upon further reflection, he could confidently say that he had absolutely no idea why he did it.
Maybe it was a strange combination of the gentle music and comforting light spilling in from the windows.
Maybe it was his own boredom and deep-seated curiosity.
Maybe it was a strength beyond himself, something pulling him along, like a puppet on a string.
Maybe it was some sort of cosmic force, an entity that people have tried to name and define for generations.
But hell if he knew.
All he knew was that his feet, by no volition of their own, moved forward, the charming melody and scratch of vinyl drawing him in, like a moth towards a light.
Against his better judgement, being controlled by, for once, no logic or rationale, he stood at the room – the silver plating reading “Scout” on the door reflecting off a beam of light.
And, with the chirpy, poppy tune finally reaching his ears clearly, he, still in a sort of trance looked inside.
“And when the evening comes…”
Scout was in his room, indeed in front of an old, beat-up looking record player. The room itself was a mess – cans of bonk littering the floor, crumpled up clothes in piles, papers and other miscellaneous trash strewn all over the floor.
Sniper raised his vision to look at the boy, a slight disgusted expression on his face.
And then
His throat suddenly had never felt so dry in his life.
When he was a child, Sniper had once, at school, had a classmate accidentally knock him off the jungle gym in the playground. He remembered falling, plummeting through the air, and landing, promptly, on his back.
He remembered not being able to breathe, in or out, and waiting, desperately, for his lungs to function again.
So, it happened that he came across this feeling a for a second time in his life.
“…we smile””
Scout was dressed, mostly, in his normal uniform, having only taken off his shirt, which lay at his feet, his dog tags still around his neck, shining in the light from his own bedroom window.
His short hair was messy, probably from the removal of said shirt, his face was blushed red, showing that he’d probably just come back from a run around the base, and he was smiling.
Not his normal ‘shit-eating grin’ smile, or his ‘cocky and a little too self-assured’ smile that he wore around so much. This smile was … soft and ….gentle.
It wasn’t braggadocious or overly cocky, wasn’t masking any sort of worry or nervousness.
It had nothing to prove and nothing to put up a front to hide behind.
No, this smile was… pure. Honest. Genuine.
Something Sniper had seen so little of in the year and a half since he'd come here.
And more than the fact he was smiling, Sniper, having been so caught up in that fact, almost missed something even more important.
He was dancing.
“ So much life ahead.”
He wasn’t giving his full effort, probably wasn’t even aware he was doing it, but there he stood, Sniper observed, bobbing his head in time the music, shifting his weight and tilting his shoulders and hips in time with the tambourine beats, the smile on his face never faltering.
The dog tags gently swung against his lean chest, the miscellaneous bandages on his slim stomach stretching with his movements.
As the boy adjusted the bandages on his left hand, he tapped his fingers in time, his freckled face leaning into the warm rays of sunlight shining from the bedroom window, buck-toothed smile emphasizing the deep dimples in his cheeks.
“We'll find a place where there's room to grow”
In those two seconds, Sniper suddenly felt something he couldn’t quite express.
It was like he had been hit by a bolt of lightning – like he’d been sent through respawn five times at once.
His body froze, a cold shiver hitting him from the top of his head to the toes of his boots, his throat was practically the Sahara by now, and he swore that his heart had stopped beating for a second.
The music continued on, scratchy vinyl sweeter and more punctuated up close,
“(And yes, we've just begun)”
In the two seconds after that, Sniper suddenly realized exactly what he was doing.
Dread.
That was the first feeling to wash over him as he peeled his eyes from the boy and quickly hurried to Engie’s room.
He opened the door, placed the book on the neatly organized desk, then all but sprinted down the hallway.
His entire body and face were flushed red and he mentally kicked himself.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
Not to mention creepy, and an altogether invasion of privacy.
He was a professional.
Dread was quickly replaced by shame as he attempted to tug the brim of his hat even further down, hoping for it to completely engulf him at this point, as he hurried to get out of the base and into his camper.
What a strange thing to do – did that make him strange too?
Is that who he was – just somebody who lives in a car and only goes inside to spy on his own teammates?
The people who trusted him?
He felt a bitter taste rising in the back of his throat.
Why did he do that? Surely, he'd just wanted to hear where the music was coming from initially, he attempted to rationalize, making a beeline out of the base.
I just heard a nice tune and wanted to see where it was comin’ from. Yeah, that’s all it was.
But then….
He arrived at his camper and slammed open the door, throwing his glasses and hat onto the small table, sinking into his secondhand couch, pressing his palms onto his burning temples.
Why did I stay?
Determined to put this line of thought out of his mind, he grabbed his rifle and his kukri from the seat of his couch. He knew how his mind worked – all this mental energy could either be spent on running loops inside his own head, berating himself and overthinking… or it could be spent on something more productive.
He didn’t even bother to change into his hunting boots before he went out the door, glasses and hat in hand.
He missed all of his shots that day.