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No. 249
Sniper never gets the fuss over the bloody bird. It's cute enough, he guesses, but it's just another dinner-in-waiting. Waste of a damned good breakfast egg, if you ask him. No reason to get attached to it.
Besides, the puffball's one hell of a good way to pick on Scout, and the little bastard deserves it.
So one morning - just a couple of days after peep-peep fucking capped it, and already the chick's a fixture in Scout's cap - Sniper's playing keepaway with it.
"Gimme back my fuckin' bird!"
"It's just an egg way past its freshness date, mate - "
"Gimme back my fuckin' bird!"
Sniper's taller, holding the chick up over his head, grinning, and it takes a good five, six hops for Scout to get hold of it; then HE'S the one playing keepaway, Sniper snatching at his hands, Scout cussing - he cusses a lot, but he fucking means it this time, motherfucker, leave his fucking bird alone - until Sniper makes a lucky swipe and the peep-peep gets knocked out of Scout's hands to the floor.
Crunch.
"Sorry, mate," says Sniper, not sounding very sincere, but Scout doesn't even stop long enough to pop him in the eye. The motherfucking west wind has nothing on that boy as he scoops the peep-peep up and goes flying, feet flashing out, barely touching the ground, tiny ball of fluff cradled carefully in his tape-wrapped hands.
"MEDIC! MEDIC! I NEED A FUCKIN MEDIC HEAH!"
Where the fuck are they where the fuck are they HIS FUCKING PEEP PEEP IS FUCKING DEAD IN HIS FUCKING HANDS OH FUCKING CHRIST -
Well, they're kind of busy shooting shit, aren't they? It is, after all, a motherfucking battle zone.
"MEDIC!" Scout's dancing around him, holding the peep-peep like a national treasure. "MEDIC, MY FUCKING BIRD - "
"I am BUSY, Scout," says Medic tersely, keeping the beam from his medigun carefully centered on Heavy. Heavy would probably care about the peep-peep but he's too busy with Sascha, too busy completely fucking failing to cut down the oncoming BLUs.
"MY FUCKING BIRD," Scout repeats, and Medic just ignores him.
"MY FUCKING BIRD," Scout intends to repeat, but he gets stuck on the F.
He rolls the tiny feathery weight of the chick over into his left hand and snaps his pistol out into his right. Fuck this, fuck them, fuck everybody, his fucking bird is fucking dead in his fucking hand and it's fucking everybody else's fucking fault, FUCK THEM ALL.
CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK, dropping the BLU Demo, their Engineer, their Medic, their Scout falling out of mid-leap. CRACK CRACK CRACK, down goes Heavy, Sniper up on a balcony just barely in pistol range, Pyro trundling up from the rear. CRACK, RED's own Sniper falling to reveal it was BLU's Spy. (Whether Scout knew that when he fired the shot is immaterial.)
"THERE, YOU FUCKING COCKFAG," he snarls at Medic. "I DID HEAVY'S FUCKING JOB FOR HIM, NOW DO YOURS AND FIX MY FUCKING CHICKEN."
The rest of the team is just staring at him. Even Medic, grip on the medigun loosened, beam turned off - until Scout wags the pistol at him. "FIX MY FUCKING BIRD."
He does, of course, training the medibeam on the sad little fluffball in Scout's hand.
BLU Demo sits up.
Scout turns his arm without turning his head. CRACK.
Was it too late? How long should it take to heal a peep-peep? Shouldn't it be better by now? Oh god, is it dead? It's really fucking dead, isn't it? Fuck shit Christ fuck fuck -
"Peep? Peep-peep. Peep peep peep peep peep peep - "
As the peep peep sits up, looking sort of confused, all of Scout's tough-guy attitude isn't enough to keep him from grinning. He isn't even aware of the looks from the rest of the team - shocked by both his unprecedented marksmanship and his unprecedented show of affection - as he tucks the PPK away and reaches out a finger to delicately stroke the little yellow feathers.
"There ya go, little guy," he says softly as he walks back toward the base. "They ain't never gonna hurt you again."
He stops just long enough to pop Sniper in the eye.
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