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No. 2989
I’m hella tired, guys, I’m sorry for any errors. Heh, this is a great way to make a comeback, three in the morning incoherent writing. Joy for ya’ll. Here ya go.

-------------
“MY TAGS!”

Scout didn’t care if it was two in the morning, he didn’t care if the whole goddamn BLU base heard him. His dog tags were missing, they were FUCKING MISSING. He was a freakin dumbass to not notice until now, in the middle of the night. But he hadn’t taken a shower after the match today, there was no chance to see them or otherwise feel them. But late into the night, as Scout tossed and turned as usual—during one of his ‘oh for the love of CHRIST I’ve been awake for two hours why am I not ASLEEP yet’ moments that were quite frequent -- the chilling realization that the familiar clinking of his tags hitting each other as he rolled around in bed was not present scared the shit out of him.

Before Scout realized what he was doing in his half-asleep stupor, he was already dressed in his blue shirt and pants and rushing out the door to his room. The boy made record time through the twisting hallways of BLU base before he could remember that there was a massacre in these very halls just this morning during the fighting. (Though, to be fair, RED had gotten the shit kicked out of them too). Scout didn’t even bother searching his own hallways, either because he had just woken up and wasn’t thinking or because he knew—he fucking knew that he knew—that the tags were at the RED base.
What the fuck was he doing at two in the morning going to RED base? Goddamnit he was a fucking idiot. But he didn’t care, he had to get his tags back, they were important to him. Not that he was a nostalgia wuss or nothing. He just NEEDED them. To live. Yeah.

FUCK it was dark out. Scout paused at the entrance to BLU base, looking out at the darkness that lay outside. He wasn’t gonna see a fucking thing out there, goddamn. The bridge… he had to hope that he hit the bridge instead of the water. Goddamnit, he should have brought a flash light. He reminded himself that there was no time for that, and after a moment he gathered enough courage to rush out, careening in the direction that he hoped was the bridge that connected the two forts.
When he heard his feet hit wood instead of the end of the ledge, Scout felt like the luckiest guy in the world. He whooped in his glee and took off at an even higher speed, confidence building minute by minute.

He missed the jingling of his tags. Fuck, he missed that sound. It made him nervous for some reason, without that sound it felt like he wasn’t really running at all, that he was just… there. That wouldn’t do at all, he was an annoying little fuck and proud of it, and sometimes he felt that besides his constant heckling of his teammates, it was the clinking of his tags that annoyed people.
He needed those tags.

Scout had to slow down fast to avoid smacking into the RED base wall from the bridge. Unfortunately, he misjudged the distance. Instead of hitting the RED base wall, his shins hit one of the various wooden crates gathered outside of the RED base. The boy took quite a tumble, but managed to at least not fly into the side of the base. He fell flat on his face after his collision with the crate, and was cussing up a storm under his breath. ‘Fucker’ this and ‘sonnuvabitch’ that, but at least he was smart enough to be quiet about his pain-induced ranting. He didn’t want to wake any of those RED fuckers up. After the torrent of slurs ended, the BLU sat up and rubbed his sore legs, at the same time checking himself to make sure nothing was seriously damaged. Some scratches and a good case of road burn (dirt burn?) on his neck and shoulder, but nothing major. He did realize that he had forgotten to put shoes on, and that was a little bit embarrassing. Medic was going to give him hell for getting his socks so dirty, but he didn’t care right now. With a new self-righteous attitude, he stood gallantly and marched off to find his dog tags.

Scout felt eerily quiet as he snuck his way up and down RED’s hallways. The damn barn was creaky and the floor boards squeaked once in awhile, but overall he felt very un Scout-like and more Spy-ish. He was totally quiet, his mouth wasn’t running for once, his feet weren’t pounding, and his tags weren’t jingling. God, that hurt… to know that if he lost the tags, he’d be letting him down.

Enough of that emotional bullcrap. He’d just have to work twice as hard to get his tags back. It took half an hour, but Scout felt that he had combed the first few rooms as well as he could with no real light source, so the obvious choice was to hunt a different area: the Intel room.

The Intel room was pretty small, and the floors were tile, so Scout was sure that if he just scoured hard enough his feet would hit the chain of his tags and it would make a big enough noise. At first he just spent his time scooting his feet back and forth, trying to feel something—anything. But that got boring after awhile, and he decided to try something else. He was going to find the light switch.
This seemed harder than it should have been, but he managed to do it somehow. After glancing around the floor, his heart dropped into his socks when he didn’t see anything remotely shiny or metal. He looked somewhat hopefully to the desk with the chair, and went up to it to look under the desk. He sighed in defeat, seeing nothing. He stayed curled under the desk for a moment, knees on the cold ground. He thought of giving up, of letting the original owner of the tags down.

“Good evening.”

“Gah!”

Scout’s head shot up, and he bonked himself on the underside of the desk. With a huff of annoyance at the irony of the situation, he moved and then decided to shoot up. His nose rested on the top of the desk as his eyes peered over the wood frame to glare at the RED Spy.

“Whatta you want, ya spook?” He practically growled. The Spy shrugged casually. He had, as always, a cigarette place between his lips and a huge-ass smile on his face. The guy was still in his suit at about three in the morning (what a creeper), and looked just at home in the Intel room now as during an actual battle.

“I should ask you s’e same s’ing. You are s’e one in my base, non?”

Scout faltered at that. Crap. How the hell could he explain that he was in here because he lost his dog tags? Sure, it seemed important to him, but he didn’t want to look like a fag to anybody else. Especially not the other team’s Spy.

Oh crap, the OTHER TEAM’S SPY. Scout didn’t know why he was being so casual with the man, but now the danger of the situation dawned on him. God, he must really be tired if it didn’t occur to him that he could fucking DIE talking to the Spy.

“Hey man, I just want my dog tags! I ain’t doin’ nothing wrong, okay?” he stood up from the desk and held his hands out defensively, scared that he was unarmed and Spy probably had his fucking knife with him—oh god he was going to get fucking backstabbed and he’d never get his dog tags or see his Ma again or—

“Calm down, mon ami… What eef I told you s’at I ‘ave your precious tags, hmm?” As Spy spoke in his mocking tone of voice, he produced from his pocket two shining metal tags attached to a chain. Scout swore his mouth stretched too far as he smiled in his excitement, bounding up to the Spy. All fear was forgotten at the thought of getting his tags back.

“Holy shit! No kidding? Lemme have ‘em!” he demanded. The tags were dropped into his open palms, and Scout cheered loudly in his excitement. He read them over once—twice, even a third time to make sure that they were his and not some trick of the Spy’s. He laughed when he knew that they were his, and sat down on the desk as if worn out from all of the excitement from tonight.

“Holy shit… He’d nevah forgive me if I lost ‘em…” Scout sighed.

“What are you mumbling about, boy?” Spy asked as he slowly walked towards the desk, leaning a hip against the corner so that he was next to Scout but not too close.

“My tags, dey ain’t mine.”

“Well, s’at explains quite a bit. You know, your team ees quite upset s’at you ‘ave a name and s’ey do not.” He let the words sink in for a moment as he took a long drag from his cigarette. Scout frowned in confusion.

“Wait, dey think the tags are mine? Like, my name’s on ‘em and junk?” he asked. The RED nodded. Scout looked down at the tags, made them jingle once just to hear the sound.

“Dat’s dumb. Dey were my Pop’s.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Ma… told me dat he died in da war—dis war, dis company ting dat we’re in. She gave me his tags. I miss Pop.”

Scout hung his head, staring at the dog tags. Why the fuck was he telling the Spy this? He felt dumb enough already, getting all excited over his tags, and now he was telling Spy his fucking life story. Goddamn. But at the same time, Scout thought of his father. He had been a good guy: Ma and Pop got along really well, he remembered, he was about eight when his dad died, but he remembered that he was good to Ma. He remembered, too, that Pop got him his hat—it was his favorite hat. Now he kept the hat and the tags as his most prized possessions. He fucking loved his dad, and he fucking loved his tags.

“Scout… you are crying.”

“Oh Gawd,” the BLU sniffled. He hadn’t even realized it. He whipped his eyes with the back of his hand quickly and inhaled the snot running down his lips.

“I bet’cha think I’m retahded or somethin’.”

Spy shook his head quietly, putting an arm around Scout’s shoulder. Scout tried to protest, but Spy hushed him. He cleared his throat, as if trying to think of something to say or to do something with his voice…

“You should get back to bed. I couldn’t bear to tell your mother if you get shot tomorrow because you didn’t get enough sleep to pay attention.”

Scout looked up at the Spy, realization dawning on him. That voice… Spy had changed his voice. Scout had only been eight at the time, the last time he remembered, but he knew that voice, he knew.

“Pop?”

-------------
Any hints or tricks for making this coherent or for writing the rest of it, making it more exciting, etc, is greatly appreciated. Remember that it’s four in the morning over here (took me an hour to right, geez) so don’t expect awesome perfection from me. Thanks guys.
Marked for deletion (old)
>> No. 2990
i actually do like where this is going! I really hope there is more to come!

(actually, i didn't even think about that possibility... on the other hand... i like that thought. :) )
>> No. 2991
I love this so much, you have no idea. I'm a huge fan of father-son Spy and Scout.

I think it's going pretty well. I know what I would do if this were my idea but I'm interested to see how you'll expand upon it.
>> No. 2995
WHAT A TWEEST

That was adorable and Scout was so in character and I love you forever.
>> No. 2997
INSPIRED BY CASHEW YES?
>> No. 2998
I got to Dey were my Pop’s. and freaked out because I fucking KNEW what was coming and I was so happy. ♥

This is awesome, and I don't know how you can improve it because I like it so much already, but I can tell you that I want moar. MOAR I SAY.
>> No. 3003
Oh please please continue! It's perfect!
I can't think of anyway to make it better.
>> No. 3004
As soon as you mentioned his dogtags at first (I'm oblivious to finer details of the character's uniforms and hadn't really noticed them before) I was like: wonder if they're his dad's... and then I was like: yus! =D

And then at the end there... I havn't squealed like that in a while. Hope to see more of this!
>> No. 3009
I really enjoyed this! Very in character. I wear my dad's wedding ring around my neck so I definitely understood Scout's freak out. I'd be doing the same thing!

Also, heck yeah father n'son Spy and Scout!
>> No. 3011
Today was one misfortune after the other, and this adorable snippet really brightened it up. Well done, Jel.
>> No. 3014
Haha, thanks everybody. I’m glad this is liked. Yes, this was inspired by Cashew, I’m sorry that I didn’t say that the other night. I wasn’t paying attention. I love playing with Scout as the story’s ‘voice’, he’s such a spazz, but it’s Spy’s turn.

IF YOU WANT TO KEEP THE STORY SIMPLE, STOP HERE. If you like a bit of complexity, go right ahead and keep reading.

---------------

“Whatt’er you doin here? I ought’a have your head after that stunt you pulled the other day.”

“And I should rip out your Spy’s Respawn device and kill ‘im for real for what ‘e did to ME s’e osser day,” the RED retaliated to the shorter man. The BLU’s Engineer was, for some reason, standing at the front of his base, arms folded and looking none-too-happy. He had been waiting for the Scout, most likely, though Spy had no idea how the Engineer knew that the boy had left his base in the middle of the night.

Spy shifted so that he was holding Scout more comfortably. He’d opted to hold the boy piggy-back instead of slinging him over the shoulder. He remembered watching his BLU counterpart carry the dead Sniper like a sack of potatoes a few days ago, and that was disrespectful enough. He couldn’t do that to Scout.

Engineer frowned deeply, and Spy could tell even with goggles on that the Engineer was glaring at him.

“Look. That was jus’ta bring you outta hiding, he’d planned that stunt the whole time—“

“What eef Scout ‘ad been watching, what eef he ‘ad been S’ERE when he showed those photographs—“

“Well the only people who respect what you an’ the boy have were DEAD and had to wait a whole day for Respawn to kick in.” The Engineer’s voice was loud as he interrupted the Spy (just because he was angry that Spy had interrupted him in the first place). He was obviously upset at the RED’s killing spree, but Spy didn’t care. He was doing what he felt had been necessary, that’s all there was to it.

The two glared at each other for a very long time, both contemplating what to do or say. Finally, Spy grabbed Scout off of his back and held him in his arms, steadying him the best he could as he handed the boy to Engineer. Engineer took the BLU bridal style, the kid’s head lolling around and his limbs dangling awkwardly.

“What’d you to do him?” Engineer looked up at Spy, curiously. He didn’t kill the kid, surely… Even if there was Respawn, it seemed like a heartless thing to do to your flesh and blood. Spy shook his head, digging through his pockets to find a cigarette. He’d left the disguise kit back in his room at RED base, so he had to smoke something not issued by the company.

“Nothing too drastic. A bonk on the head,” he said dully. Engineer rolled his eyes behind his goggles.

“Cute. Yer accent’s gone, by the way.”

Spy blinked, looking at the Engineer, who couldn’t help but smirk at the circumstances. He had forgotten his accent? How was that even possible, after all of that training, after years of practice? He was shocked, so much so that he felt a bit nauseated. But he kept it together, he didn’t need the Engineer to find something else degrading to point out. Spy cleared his throat in an attempt to get back into character, to try to salvage his persona, but Engineer held up a hand. He was smiling a little.

“It’s between you an’ me and our Sniper, don’t worry. I won’t tell the boy anything. Shoot, I can’t imagine what he’d do if he knew.”

Spy nodded, “Yes… And do me a favor, sil vous plait.” He knew that he was trying too hard now, he sounded fake. Sprinkling French into his dialogue wasn’t helping matters much.

“What is it?”

“His tags… do not read his dog tags. He would be crushed.” Spy found himself being strangely honest with the Engineer from the other team. He wasn’t even this familiar with any of his teammates, he loathed the lot of them. He felt more connected to BLU, perhaps it was because of Scout.

“Don’t you worry, I ain’t gonna see what his name is,” Engineer chuckled quietly. He shifted his arms to get a better grip on Scout. No matter how much Spy wanted to scowl, he kept a straight face. It wasn’t Scout’s name… it was *his*.

“Go back to your base, partner. It ain’t safe here, even if Sniper and I are givin’ ya a break.”

Spy nodded quietly and turned to go. This meeting with Scout tonight had shaken him more than he thought it would. He knew that the boy had dropped his dog tags earlier that day. He hadn’t really expected the boy to come to get them so soon, but Spy was glad that he had been there anyway, just in case. He spoke with Scout in his usual coldness, not wanting to reveal anything to the boy. But he couldn’t help it.

Scout was a proud boy, always had been. He was strong in his head, he had to be with his older brothers. The youngest of eight, he was constantly picked on and beaten up. Maybe that was why Scout had been Spy’s favorite, not just the fact that he (along with the second-youngest brother) was actually Spy’s son, but he felt terrible for the boy. Spy knew what it was like to be the underdog, so he rooted for his son no matter what. He loved the boy.

Which was why he had been shocked when Scout had begun to cry… over him. That hurt like no other, overriding any pain that Respawn caused. He felt terrible for what he had been told, for abandoning him and the other boys all those years ago.

Spy stopped walking as he got to his side of the bridge, leaning up against one of the support beams that held the unstable roof. He closed his eyes, sighing and dragging heavily on the cigarette. He took a few deep breaths before trying to speak, his voice soft and strangely unsure.

“My name ees Spy, I work weeth s’e RED team…” he worked through the sentence that he had been taught, the first sentence that he had been taught, and it seemed harder than ever before. He ground his teeth in annoyance as he brought the cigarette away from his lips to breathe smoke out through his lips.

“Fuck. All of that training, and my son has broken it.” He sighed to himself, going back into his thoughts. He remembered when he started with RED, when his skills were new and exciting, when he was still a Bostonian. First he had been coached to lose his accent completely, to adapt what is supposed to be a ‘typical American’ accent. He excelled at that, his mimicking skills flourishing under the pressure to learn so quickly. So the higher up’s at RED thought that he was ready for the next step.

They brought in a Frenchman who was suave, dangerous, and deadly. From then on, Spy was basically trapped in a room with the man, only able to leave to sleep. The RED higher up’s would bring food every day, the only other human contact that he had, but it was basically a total emersion between Spy and this other man.

He learned to copy the Frenchman. Every action, every word, how he walked and moved, his likes and dislikes. They gave him several tests after that. He passed each of them, and then he was a Spy.

It wasn’t really that simple, but that’s how Spy liked to think of it. He didn’t want to remember the weeks of isolation with that strange Frenchman. He was just glad when it was over, when he had mimicked the man and was able to mimic others. He was later told that the original Frenchman was a Spy, the first Spy.

He didn’t like to think about what RED was planning, or what happened behind the scenes. He just did what he was told. He supposed that was why he felt so bad now, because he never even tried to establish a relationship here at 2Fort with his son. His job came before anything else, his new persona was the only thing that mattered.

At first he didn’t recognize Scout as his son. The boy had been very young when his job at RED brought him out to the desert. It took him awhile of watching the boy on the battlefield, reading Intelligence, and listening to the BLU team casually during after hours to realize that this was his son. He was shocked at first, afraid more than worried. Why would his son be out in this horrible place—why would his mother *let* him?

Unfortunately, he had never found the answer to his questions, and so he kept an eye on the boy while at the same time fighting against him. It was degrading, being killed by his boy on the battle field, but he had a feeling that if the Respawn wasn’t active that Scout—and maybe everyone here—would be more weary of his killing sprees.

He had to talk to the boy.

He realized this, and threw his long dead cigarette on the ground and began to walk back to his base, to his team—his Scout. The damn boy was so *different*, there wasn’t even a consolation in watching RED’s Scout and pretending that he was BLU’s. It made him angry just thinking about it, so he pushed that thought out of his mind and focused on more important things.

Like what he was going to tell his son.

----------------

Next bit ya’ll get more Scout loving, as well as an explanation to what Engie and Sniper have to do with all this.
>> No. 3015
Love it, love it, LOVE IT!
Moar please?
>> No. 3019
i'm glad you were inspired, cuz this is very good
C:
>> No. 3028
This is lovely! So well-written.
>> No. 3029
Does this tie-in with the "Meet The Spy" video? Stupid question, but I was curious enough to de-lurk to ask it.
>> No. 3030
>>15
yes it does, i am going to address that in the next part.
>> No. 3055
Nice new chapter, I like what you're doing =3
>> No. 3545
Ooh, this is getting good.
>> No. 3546
please post moar?
>> No. 3590
this really makes me miss my Pop...
>> No. 3685
hey guys i appreciate the love on this story. tomorrow it's gonna be deleted and replaced with a grammatically correct version. thank you all for such wonderful comments so far, it's really helped.
>> No. 3688
dead dead dead dead.

delete button hates me.
>> No. 3695
totally not updating for awhile, sorry i lied O:


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