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Something To Remember Me By (Scout Feels Fic) (0)

1 .

A/N: So I found this fanfiction on the fucknobadtf2fanfiction t-um-blr (/post/38824017725/an-emotional-and-tragic-tf2-fanfic) and got inspired to re-write it myself, and before I knew it this turned into... something. I'm not sure what it is yet but I'm actually kind of proud of it and figured I'd share it, because why not. So here it is:

Something To Remember Me By: P1

The harsh biting wind and the cold melting snow that seeped into his boots once again reminded Scout that winter had arrived, and why he despised the season.

"Dammit Heavy! Can't we go back now?" Scout said in exasperation, his bad mood further fouled by the uncomfortable weather. Irately, Scout shook more snow off of his hood, brushing it out of his eyes, and kicking it off of his boots-- sending flurries of snow everywhere, much to Heavy's chagrin.

"No," Heavy replied bluntly, masking his annoyance with his younger companion, "We must keep going until we get to the cabin."

Scout scowled at the Russian's response, further taking his restlessness out on the spread of snow in front of him, pulverizing the white powder under his feet and wishing dearly that he never agreed to accompany Heavy. It seemed (to him, at least) that they had been enduring the bitter cold for an eternity in the snow-congested little town (although in actuality, it was only three blocks). He continued to sulk to himself, until he caught the vague, blurry shape of a house not too far away.

"S'that it? Man, please tell me that's it..." Scout said, more to himself than to Heavy. Heavy overheard, and nodded affirmatively. In response, Scout galloped and ran towards the cabin that slowly came into focus through the barrage of snow, fighting the thick ice that covered the ground all the way. He had some difficulty opening the front door, flinging himself against it to force the door open, but when Heavy caught up, he only had to turn the knob and push the ancient door open on its old and rusting hinges.

"Oh. I uh, thought it was locked..." Scout muttered, slightly embarrassed. Heavy shrugged indifferently, fixated on the house in front of him, his brow furrowed and his gaze scrutinizing.

The cabin was dark and dusty, with no signs of occupancy and all the marks of neglect. Some furniture was arranged oddly, as if in suspended in time-- chairs were still pulled out and angled like they were still being sat in, empty plates were still set out upon an oak wood table, and cushions on the couch were knocked askew as if someone was laying there only moments before. It was almost like whoever used to occupy the house with such liveliness had just suddenly... disappeared, interrupted in the humdrum of their daily lives. If the abandoned dwelling wasn't in such a miserable state of disrepair, Scout would have thought the person (or people?) who owned the place were only hiding, unseen in another room somewhere in the house.

But Scout saw the look on Heavy's face, and knew better. He decided to leave Heavy to his urgent search (for whatever he was looking for) and collapsed heavily onto the disheveled couch in front of the unlit fireplace. He coughed while fanning his hand in front of his face to disperse the airborne dirt that erupted from where he had hunkered himself down and continued to stew in his own agitation. Inwardly he berated himself for his current situation, for being so accommodating, and-- he grimaced at the next thought-- soft.

He bristled at the thought, chasing it away with affirmations of 'I'm tough, 'course I'm tough, I'm from the darkest parts of Boston, I'm the toughest guy around, me, get soft, never...' His thoughts trailed off in fading mantras of self-assurance, and soon, Scout's eyes slid shut as he nodded off to sleep...


'"Ma!" A lean young boy with sandy brown hair and bandaged knees ran towards a woman standing on the back porch, a manicured hand propped on her hip as she watched her son dash towards her with a wild and energetic grin. As the young boy neared, she crouched down and let the little boy tackle her in a hug, his thin arms gleefully throwing themselves about the woman's neck as the boy buried his face in his mother's voluminous hair.

"Ma, ma! Did ya see me? Did ya see how fast I was running?" The boy talked excitedly, pulling away from his mother to look at her with shining eyes.

"I did!" She said, tickling the young boy's sides as he yelped with laughter. "You run so fast, you're a grade A Babe Ruth, mister! You gonna be the next delivery boy for old man Carter next door?"

"Aw ma, stop zooin' on me! Ol' Carter's soft in the head!" The boy whined through his laughter, "I wanna be a baseball player when I'm grown, ma! Just like Babe Ruth!" The woman smiled at her son, jumping up with him still in her arms. As she cradled him in one arm, she messed his hair affectionately.

"You'll do great things, my little man. And when ya do, don't you dare forget you're dear old ma." She said, planting a kiss on the boy's forehead.

"Nu-uh, ma, never!" The boy exclaimed, throwing his arms about her once more--'

"I found it!" Heavy's triumphant cry abruptly wrenched Scout from his dream. Groggily surveying his surroundings, Scout found himself irrationally angered by the interruption and stormed towards where he heard Heavy.

When Scout came upon the room, a study of sorts, he found Heavy kneeling in the center of the room in front of a large, ornate wooden chest. In his large hands, he cradled a worn knit cap with the faded pattern of an animal on it. Scout was at a loss for what it was, and this frustrated him even further.

"What the hell is that?" He asked impatiently, his toes clenching and unclenching within his boots to try and regain some feeling back from the cold.

"It is a bear..." Heavy murmured almost absentmindedly, gazing at the animal on the cloth and overturning the battered fabric in his hands. He stared at the object and answered Scout as if he wasn't entirely aware he was there. "It is mine..."

"Doesn't answer my question, egghead. What is it?" Scout snapped, his arms tightly crossed in front of his chest as he dimly realized how he was shrinking into his own body. He half expected his brash inquiries to provoke Heavy, jolt him out of his own little world much like he unintentionally did to Scout, but the giant placidly stood and made to exit the cabin. Scout found himself stumbling behind, perturbed at his counterpart's sudden shift in mood.

The snow had let up a bit, shifting from the blizzard they fought through before to gentle flurries. The sky was still grey overhead, but Scout was stunned at the town before him, unused to the visibility that eluded him and Heavy before.

"I have friend that can get us to Alaska from here. Once we get to Alaska, we can go south back to the fort." Heavy said. "Provideniya is only about 60 miles from American mainland. We can make it back to our team for Christmas." Heavy still did not look at Scout, his eyes glancing from the town in front of him to the knit fabric in his hands.

"Okay, that's all fine and dandy, but what's that ratty thing you're holdin'?" Scout too, found himself fixated on what Heavy found, but for entirely different reasons.

"It is a toque." Heavy responded simply, his hand slipping inside the knit hat and stretching the fabric. At that, Scout exploded.

"A hat! A hat! You dragged me through half of Russia to get a dumbass, gross-looking--" Scout found himself silenced by the unnaturally hostile glare from Heavy. "... hat..." Scout finished, almost like an afterthought.

"Is not just a hat!" Heavy snapped, his English slipping as he cradled the fabric almost protectively against him. "It... is something special." Scout snorted despite himself.

"Oh yeah? What's so special about it?"

"My mother made it for me."

Scout's cocky demeanor deflated, and he found himself staring hard at the mass of mottled yarn in Heavy's hand.

"She made one for me and my sisters. They left Russia a long time ago but came back, until they had to leave again." He held up the weathered hat for emphasis. "I left this with my mother, to remember me by when I went to work for RED." A very long pause.

"... She passed this year. I wanted something to remember her by for Christmas." Heavy's face was unreadable. Scout was stunned into silence.

For the rest of their walk, up to until they rendezvoused with Heavy's friend (a pilot willing to fly them across the Bering Strait to America), Scout did not utter a word. Even on the flight, with the pilot trying to make small talk in his thickly accented English, the normally talkative Scout was reduced to one worded, clipped replies. Heavy filled in the banter with the pilot just fine, though. Eventually they just began talking in Russian, and Scout decided that it was better to just fall back asleep...


'A lean young boy with sandy brown hair, older now, burst through the front door of his house in poorly suppressed tears. His Little League uniform was in a sorry state, marred by dirt and grass stains. Sniffling, the boy dragged a small baseball bat across the hardwood floor, his mother curiously peering at the front door from the kitchen only to find her son ready to burst into tears.

All she had to do was stand and hold out her arms for the boy to run crying to her, burying his face in her stomach and knotting her dress in his small fists. He cried shamelessly, the tears and frustration he had been holding back at the field bursting and flowing forth like a broken dam. The woman knew what happened without asking, and instead gave her advice to her child between murmurs of comfort.

"There's always next year, hon. You always make Mama so proud, my little man..." She knelt down to the boy's height, embracing him fully. She gently removed his baseball cap, stroking his hair as she soothed him. "Sh, sh, it's okay, it's okay... those coaches don't know what they're missing."

"Vinny got in!" The young boy wailed, his voice muffled by his face buried into his mother's shoulder.

"Vinny's older then you, hun... S'what happens when you get old..." She looked up to see a teenage boy looking on from the front door, clad in the same uniform as his younger brother, looking confused at the mention of his name. After realizing the scene in front of him, he snickered to himself, only to be silently shooed away by his mother.

"Hush, s'okay... s'okay..." She continued to whisper to her clinging child, softly rocking him, lulling him to sleep--'

Scout was awoken by a thick Russian accent, and nearly lashed out at who was talking until he realized it wasn't Heavy.

"'Ey! Misha's friend! Wake up! You are here!" The pilot called to him over the dying sound of the plane's motor. Heavy waited outside a few yards away, looking expectantly at Scout who was still coming to.

"How long... was I out?" Scout mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"The whole flight." The pilot answered brightly. "Now get out, your friend is waiting."

A few moments later, Scout's feet hit the dirt, looking around at the chilled Alaskan landscape. Heavy bid his friend goodbye as the plane started up again, the sound nearly deafening.

"THANK YOU FOR THE RIDE, VIKTOR!" Heavy bellowed at the top of his lungs.

"NO PROBLEM, MISHA!" The pilot hollered back, driving his plane forward as he prepared to take off. Scout made as if to walk away, but Heavy put a very insistent hand on Scout's shoulder that persuaded him to accompany Heavy in watching his friend Viktor disappear over the Alaskan horizon. Even after Viktor had gone, they lingered for a few moments before walking to the nearest town to decide their next course of action to get back to the South.

"How long was that plane ride?" Scout asked suddenly, his memory scrambling to remember what day it was.

"About seven hours."


"Will be five more to get back to Arizona." Heavy finished. Scout groaned loudly at the sky, his gloves hands gripping his hood.

"You gotta be kidding! We'll never get back in time!" He said, kicking a stray pebble hard across the dirt. He heard Heavy audibly inhale, a sound Scout had come quite familiar with over the course of the trip to mean that he was testing Heavy's patience.

"Do not yell, we have a plane now." Heavy grumbled, gesturing to a second plane a few hundred yards away. It's pilot was on the ground speaking with a few other people, other people that Scout presumed would be fellow passengers. He sighed. He didn't want to fly again-- not with people, not for another five hours, not ever. But it was either fly or miss Christmas, and missing Christmas would mean missing his yearly phone call home...

That didn't leave him with many options.

So, he begrudgingly ran to the run down building near the landing strip to quickly use the restroom before running after Heavy to board the next plane. Mercifully, the two other passengers and the pilot were not the talkative type like Viktor, and Heavy began to succumb to sleep shortly after takeoff, leaving Scout to stare out the window and watch the land disappear below him as he tried not to think.

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