TF2chan - fanfic

4506

I stayed up til 2AM reading this to the end just because I wanted to finish it. I have this page bookmarked and I check back at it every once in a while to see if the final chapter was posted yet haha.

Dr. Tanner, I love this story so much. Unfortunately, I never did read the original Lessons, so I don't know how it ends. I can't wait to read the last part!

I really want to read more of your writing :D Few stories can keep me interested for literally hours at a time.

4503

Well I suddenly got this idea of writing each TF2 character’s back story and how they joined the team (I’ll be writing the BLU team… since I like them better for some reason). It’s headcannon all the way, I believe. All comment and criticism appreciated.

This is Scout’s story. Hope ya’ll like it, and apologize in advance for all the errors and mistakes.

___________________
How It Began

Scout - Shiver

Snap. Crash. Shatter!

Scout awoke in the middle of the night. He knew it was the middle of the night, because everything looked like a solid black world the moment his eyes snapped open. The sound was still ringing in his ears. Shatter. Something shattered just outside his room. Scout felt his breath evading him.

Shatter!

Scout pulled the blankets over his head, and remained silent. Whatever was in the apartment, it was not going away. A small tear trickled at Scout’s eye, but he quickly wiped it away. No way. He isn’t crying. He closed his eyes tightly. No way is he letting any no-good asshole walk in the apartment, with his Ma a room away. His mother promised him this vacation a long time ago, and no one, no one, was going to ruin that for them.

Scout carefully peeled the blanket off his head, and allowed his bare feet to meet the ground. The hotel’s carpet seemed to becoming colder under his feet. It was now clear as day to him that someone was shuffling through the room. He squeezed his hands into tight fists and rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to get off his bed and walk toward the closed door. Scout smiled lightly. It’ll be just like trying to prank one of his older brothers back at home, only this time it’ll be with an asshole. And being a bigger asshole than Scout’s brothers was an achievement that cannot go unpunished.

Scout laid his head on the door, ear first, and listened. Someone was walking as silently as possible through the apartment, sounding a bit lost and a bit confused. What a dumbass. If you break into an apartment in a hotel, at least try and be quiet.

Then the handle rattled. Scout fell back and his heart stopped. The sounds grew louder. His door was about to open, and he had exactly three seconds to find somewhere to hide. He grabbed his favorite baseball bat, which he’d gotten from his Ma a few years back, from under the bed, and tucked himself under the simple guest bed, making sure the blanket hid his figure in the dark. The door swung open silently, and dim light poured out of the opening. A shadow of someone splattered across the light carpet. Scout sucked in a sharp breath, and put his hand on his mouth. Fuck fuck shit fuck. If he only had a bit more time to prepare he would have long before then smashed this person’s head in.

Legs appeared in his field of view. Two shiny and disgustingly fancy shoes, of someone with no taste and too much money, laced neatly and properly. Something sprinkled on the tips of the obviously man’s shoes; glass. Probably shattered the beer bottles Scout’s Ma bought them. Fancy dumbass. Scout grimaced as the man toured about in his room. Why the hell won’t his legs move? Why can’t he stop shaking. Shit. Scout bit his lower lip with a decision made. The moment this asshole turns his back to him, Scout is going to smash him a new one.

But then Scout heard the hiss. “I know you’re in here somewhere, little boy.”

Scout had to gather all his will and courage to not break into a yelp of fear as the blanket covering the bed above him was suddenly pulled away. He knew that one look under the bed would reveal him. Scout rolled aside as a leg was violently pushed under the bed, kicking around, and held himself tight. He nearly peed himself as the leg came closer. Fuck shit. Now or fucking never.

Scout rolled out of his hiding place, brushing at the legs of whoever the fuck decided challenging him was a smart idea, and smashed his bat at his attacker’s knee cap. But it seemed he was ready. The man stepped back just in time, and Scout felt something being shoved into his chest, and he was heaved from the ground below. A sharp stab at his hand, and with regret he felt how the bat was slipping out of his grip.

He squirmed and screeched and tried scratching the man’s eyes and face, kicking everywhere and cursing with a wide vocabulary, such things as “let go of me you fucker!” or “I’ll kill you ya son of a bitch!”

“Settle down now, settle down,” the man whispered patiently, his low, soft voice somehow overpowering Scout’s screeching. “Or I’ll have to snap your little neck, and make quite a mess.”

Scout stopped moving and struggling almost at once, allowing himself to freeze in the man’s strong grip. Only now was he able to see the intruder. Two gloved hands were holding him up in the air, one at his chest, holding him by his loose t-shirt, the other holding his right wrist tightly and warningly.

Two shining eyes held their gaze at him, blue but cruel. They lacked warmth and kindness, and life. But Scout could barely make out the rest of the face, because it was covered with a kind of weird mask Scout assumed only robbers use, not fancy ass insane people. He was wearing a fancy suit that seemed to match in style to his shoes. A red suit and light stripes, and he stank of cigarettes. They didn’t smell like his Ma’s cheap cigarettes. They smelled like those cigarettes of people who think they’re important, so they have to smoke rich cigarettes for no fucking reason.

Scout tried to kick him again, but the man bent aside a bit, then hissed again, and Scout heard the man’s french accent, and couldn’t help but stop a giggle. It made him think of fat people with mustaches and bad smell. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Next time you try even scratching me with those grimy fingers, I shall throw you out of the window into the pool below. Trust me, I’ve tried this before - it never ends well.”

Scout stopped, but stared hatefully at the man, with a lip that didn’t fucking stop quivering. He tried his best to keep still as they both eyed each other with deep loathing.

“Aren’t you a feisty little thing…” The man seemed to be talking to himself rather than to Scout, but never the less, he smiled gracefully at Scout. “The Announcer could make very good use of you. How old are you, Scout?”

Scout opened his mouth to answer, when he remembered he never told this guy his name. “I- I’m-” Where the hell was his mother? Shouldn’t she be up? This guy did make a lot of noise- unless…

“Where’s my Ma?” It came out as a shaky question and not a demand, as Scout initially wanted it to be. “What’dya do to my Ma?”

The man looked bored as he spoke. “Your mother is fine, don’t you worry. She is in her room, lying peacefully on the bed.”

Scout was no genius, but it was obvious the guy was sarcastic. “What’dya do to her?”

The man sighed. “Well, she didn’t seem to want to allow me to speak with you, so I had to tie her up. She’s got spirit, you’re very much like her, you know. But the problem is I’ve got a knife, and a gun, and all she had were empty beer bottles.”

At least that explained the shattering noises. With no warning, Scout kicked downward, and heard the beautiful noise of a leg hitting roughly someone’s crotch. Scout smiled as the man’s hands left him almost instantly to hold the soft area between his legs and cry out in pain. Scout picked up the bat and swung it at the man’s head, allowing himself to hit his face. His Ma taught him to hit the gentle spot at the back of one’s head, to insure he fainted immediately. But to cause someone real pain and serious injury, all Scout had to do was break the nose and hurt the eyes, which was what he did by crashing his bat into the strangers face, then turning and running for his mother’s room.

The door swung open easily, and Scout inhaled an angry breath as he entered the room. His mother was tied to the bed frame, her head tilted aside and blood trickling down her nose. Her mouth was covered with a red cloth, perhaps a tie of some sort. Scout bit his lower lip as he approached his mother and touched her shoulder. Immediately, her head straightened and her eyes snapped open. Scout stepped back in fear. He’d never seen this gaze in his Ma’s eyes before. She looked like she was about to murder someone, and there was something she was holding back in that blood-thirst stare. He couldn’t name it.

“Ma…” He approached her and removed the cloth from her mouth, fidgeting with the ropes behind her back.

“Scout, thank god you’re alright.” Well, she seemed almost intact. Apart from her bleeding nose and her messy hair, she was in top shape. Her nightgown was a bit ruffled, but other than that… Nothing.

Scout managed to open the tight knots and threw the ropes aside, helping his mother up on her legs. “I beat the hell outta him.” He didn’t hide his pride even for a second. That fucker deserved that leg in his balls, and the bat in his face. Actually, now that Scout thought of it, he should have kicked him again before stepping out of the room.

“We need to leave, honey. Right now.” His mother pulled his hand and patted his cheek. He grew to be taller of her, but he knew he only had half the balls she had. She seemed like a frail little lady, but she knew how to protect herself very well. “Take your bat with you.”

The door closed just before they made it outside. Without knowing what the hell was happening, his mother pulled him to the wall, and with their backs to the cold cement, they waited. Scout’s mother looked terrified, but at the same time, determined.

“Ma do you know this guy?” Scout whispered, trying to pull his mother back to the door, but she pulled his arm harshly and put her finger on her lips, silencing him.

“Well done, Iris, well done,” the man’s hiss seemed to echo around them. When did he step into the room? Scout squinted hard in the darkness, but he couldn’t make out anything. What the hell…

“You can’t hide him, not anymore. I’m sorry Iris, but you know this has to be done. We had a deal. Give me the child, oui?”

Scout stepped forward, raising his bat, but his mother put an arm on his shoulder. Where the hell was this fucker anyway? The air before Scout eyes shimmered red, and the bat got yanked out of his hands so quickly he didn’t have the chance to protest. He had enough time to see his bat being thrown out of hit sight to the room’s other end, and then the man was directly in front of him, smiling cruelly. Scout shouted in fear, but was quick to raise his fists in front of that man. Shit. He didn’t even have a speck of blood on him.

“Just say the word and I’ll beat him up Ma,” Scout said bravely. The man merely laughed at him, and out of nowhere a knife appeared in his hand. He twirled it skillfully between his fingers, opening and closing it as if it was just a harmless little toy.

“As I said, you have your mother’s spirit, indeed. But you’re not skilled enough to kill me. Not yet. Though the kick did hurt.”

Scout eyed him. He was honest. Who the hell was this guy. His mother pushed him aside to stand directly in front of the man. Scout couldn’t see his mother’s face, but the man’s expression changed from mild amusement to a weary look. “Iris, the boy,” he snapped, his knife freezing in his hand. “Now.”

“Fuck off, Spy. You’re not getting my baby. Get outta here be call-”

“Announcer’s orders, Iris. I’m sorry it has to be this way.” He did seem sorry. “I don’t want to do this the ugly way, Iris.”

“Will you just stop?” Scout shouted at him behind his mother’s back. “I ain’t going with you anywhere, you sick asshole. Just get outta here and leave me and my Ma alone!”

“Shut up, boy. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Doesn’t concern him?” his Ma yelled. “It’s all about him! Spy, please. She can’t do this. I said I’m not in this anymore. We don’t need the money, alright? We got around.”

Scout remembered his mother and one of his older brothers talking about the money problems a year or two back. They were afraid to find themselves homeless. But then one of his older brothers started working as a manager of some company, surprisingly enough, and began earning money. His Ma found a job as a restaurant owner not far from home, and the money problems disappeared. So what is she talking about?

“Iris…” the man suddenly extended his hand toward his Ma. Scout prepared himself for funny business, but to his shock, his Ma took the man’s hand, looked back at Scout and gave him one the the looks. The ones that told him to not do anything and sit quietly if he doesn’t want to be slapped. The man led his Ma to the door, and they left the room. Scout heard them whispering, and as he peeked beyond the door’s bay, he saw his mother crying, and the man holding her hand close to his mouth and fluttering kisses across her fingers, whispering something as well. Scout’s mouth fell agape. Who the hell was this asshole?

His mother leaned on the man, and he kissed her cheek softly. From the place Scout was standing at, he looked so different from the man who just a few moments ago tried abducting him. He was gentle, caring, and almost nice. Almost. If it wasn’t for his mother’s strange behaviour around him, he might have began to change his mind about this dumbfuck.

Scout’s Ma turned away from the man, and approached Scout, while the man stayed behind. She sat on the bed, and wiped away the tears. Scout felt a pang of fear again. “Ma, who’s this guy?”

“An old friend,” she said. “Scout, I want you to listen to me, and listen close. You’re a big boy now. You’re nearly nineteen. I want you to do exactly as I say. This man is going to take you to a special facility-”

“What like a crazy people facility?”

“God no!” his mother laughed, and Scout was relieved to hear the lovely sound. “It’s a special facility. They try to develop special technology there, and you’re going to help them.”

Scout snored. “Ma I don’t know how to build stuff. And I ain’t going and leaving you here.”

“Scout.” Damn. It was that tone. “You’re not going to build things. You’re going to work as something else. I signed a deal…” her eyes turned foggy, “back then… when we had the money problems. I tried caceling it, but it turns out you can’t. You have to go.”

Scout opened his mouth to say something, but his mother’s eyes filled with tears again, and Scout realised oh-so-suddenly that nothing would work. His mother had never acted like that before, but it was clear to him that if she lost hope, then so should he. He nodded, then shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

“This man will explain everything you need to know, Scout. Don’t worry. We’ll see each other again very soon,” she smiled sadly. “But this job you have to take.”

“Why?”

“Because I made a deal.” She wouldn’t explain more than that. Scout shut his mouth for a second, and thought. Was there any chance he was going to go with this guy anywhere? No. But on the other hand… was there any chance he was going to disappoint his mother? Even put her in danger? No. Fuck no.

“Alright.” He hugged his mother and sniffed. “Alright. Ok. I’ll go. Alright.”

His Ma hugged him back tightly and sniffed as well. “Call me when you get there, alright? Spy will explain everything you need to know, alright?”

“Ready to leave?” The man was behind them again, smiling coldly at Scout. Scout made a face at him, then bowed his head. No fucking way he’s going to cry in front of this fancy-pants shit. He found his bat in the corner of the room, and went for the door to go to his room. He knew he’d have to take everything he’s brought with him. When he reached the door he looked behind his shoulder to see the man sitting on the bed beside his Ma, hugging her shoulders.

“The ropes weren’t necessary,” he heard his mother whisper to the man with an amused smile.

“I disagree completely,” the man whispered back with the same smile, and they both giggled.

Fucking assholes.

4502

I got another one:

The mercs somehow end up at Hogwarts, getting de-aged along the way, and become students.

Bonus points for:
-Scout on a broom
-Sniper in potions class
-Defense Against the Dark Arts (esp. if there's a boggart)

4501

Sorry about the hiatus. I had finals.

~~~~~

The Engineer had been known to have a fuse as short as his inseam, but Miss Pauling hadn't quite expected to see him run out with a shotgun in tote, leaving a trail of smashed mirrors in his wake.

For one of the first times in her life, she didn't have a plan of action.

Surrounded by the scattered shards of his fury, she fell against the washroom wall. Water leaked from a busted faucet—if she hadn't felt so hopeless, the waste might have actually concerned her.

But her last two men were circling each other like hungry wolves, and she had run out of ideas.

"You're in quite the predicament, aren't you, mi Querida?"

It was a familiar drawl that made Miss Pauling's stomach sour. She snapped her neck to see a familiar, blue-suited man in an implacable state—not quite alive, but certainly not dead. His cheeks were hollow and his visage sunken, but there was an impish gleam in his smile and his eyes as he crossed his arms and strolled to her side. He held in his filthy, skeletal body an air of smug casualness, and as he removed his cigarette case from the inside of his jacket as he settled against the wall next to her.

She gaped at him, her jaw unhinged as he lit a cigarette. He glanced at her with a cocked eyebrow. "Would you like one?" he asked, offering her the case.

She simply continued to stare.

He gave a soft tut and placed it back with his jacket, facing out to blow a stream of smoke into the room. Miss Pauling's gaze was drawn to the back of his head, crusted with dried blood and skull fragments that had molded with clumps of matted hair. Spare wisps of smoke meandered out of the gaping bullet hole in his cranium.

"It's only going to be Hell from here, amiga."

Out of all the questions Miss Pauling could have asked, the one she finally formulated was probably the least relevant. But it was the only one she could say out loud without thinking herself insane.

"Why do you keep speaking Spanish to me?" Her voice was like a bicycle being rolled from the garage after years of collecting dust.

The Spy laughed. "You said you were Latina, did you not?"

Her nostrils flared. "The only people who know that are—" She cleared her throat, looking down. "—were my adoptive parents, and the Paulings were whiter than Wonder Bread. So I'm not sure where you learned that, but it wasn't from me." She was surprised by her ability to be so indignant in a situation like this; there was no one left alive to judge her ethnicity. But old habits die hard.

"Ah." He exhaled again, another stream of smoke leaking from the back of his skull. "Yes. That was in another universe."

The enigmatic statement was barely absorbed. Miss Pauling stared at him for a long moment without blinking. "Am I hallucinating?"

He gave a soft chuckle. "Maybe." His cigarette returned to his lips. "But regardless of whether or not I'm actually real, you're in need of advice."

The ascension of her eyebrows surprised her—she didn't think she had even had the energy. "And?"

The Spy spoke flatly and deliberately. "There is no way to make this better. It can only get worse."

"Fantastic. That's some great advice," she scoffed, crossing her arms and looking towards the door.

The Spy held up a gloved finger, giving her a disapproving look. "Let me finish." He cleared his throat. "It can only get worse, which is why you will need to restructure the past. In this wing you will find a door labeled 'Time Travel'. It's an extension of the Perpetual Testing Initiative, if you ever heard discussion of that. It's a prototype machine, so it's likely that no matter your coordinates, your placement may not be exact. It could put you six weeks before the intended date or two days after it."

"Excuse me?" Miss Pauling stumbled back in shock. "You—you want me to time travel? Are you insane?" She slapped her hand to her forehead. "Am I insane?"

The Spy sighed softly, taking another drag from his cigarette as he glanced at the door. "The worst has yet to come, Florecita."

Before she could argue another point, he opened his jacket and withdrew a thin revolver.

"You're going to need this," he informed her, in a tone much more blasé than she was comfortable with. "I suggest you hurry."

She accepted the gun, clutching it to her chest as she backed towards the door, still staring at him. "And—and what about you?"

He brought his wrist to his nose. "My time is up. But it was a pleasure while it lasted, Senorita. Despedida." With a swift pinch of his watch, he melted into the air.

Miss Pauling was tempted to reach out and try to grab him by the lapels in an effort to shake him back into visibility and demand a further explanation, but a muffled shout told her there were more pressing matters to attend to. Gripping the revolver tightly in her hand, she tore from the washroom without a moment's hesitation.

While Miss Pauling had herself quite a fulfilling conversation with an apparition, the Sniper hadn't been able to give the Engineer so much as a 'Hello' before a heavy, robotic fist collided with his temple.

After a few moments of unconsciousness, he awoke to a throbbing headache and the cold pressure of a double-barreled shotgun jutting against his groin. He tipped his hat up to see the Engineer crouching over him, his eyes crisp and pale and his lips snarling as he held the weapon to his teammate's nether regions.

"Give me one good reason," he whispered, his voice shaking with the same quiet rage as a needle piercing flesh. "Give me one good god-damn reason I shouldn't blast your balls sky high, you yellow-bellied son of a bitch."

Slow and deliberate, as if he were preparing to grab a crocodile by the snout, the Sniper raised his hands in front of himself. "How's 'I don't bloody know what you're on about?' for a good reason?"

"Bullshit!" the Engineer spat. He raised his gun up and over to the side and gave a gut-clenching warning shot into the floor, spraying chunks of debris from the tiles. The Sniper drew his arm up to cover his eyes, the very bones in his body rattling in his skin as the shot echoed down the hallway.

"Have you gone mad?" he demanded, scrambling to his feet.

"Hell, Slim, I don't know!" the Engineer shouted back, cocking the gun again and aiming it at the Sniper's chest. "Why don't you tell me?" He gave the taller man's clavicle a hard nudge with the snout of the gun. "Do you think you'd go mad if you been starvin' in the desert for Christ knows how long with a fella you just learned killed your goddamn family?"

The Sniper's face turned to a quick ash. Blood thumped loud and slow between his ears. "I—uh—I—"

"Uh, uh, uh!" the Engineer mimicked viciously, jabbing the Sniper in the chest with each syllable. "Don't bother tryin' to think up a lie. Miss Pauling heard all the garbage that came outta your mouth when you talked to Jolene on the radio. She heard every goddamn thing! And then you went and blew the darn thing up!"

"No—no! I didn't—I didn't do that! I didn't blow it up!" the Sniper stuttered, backing his gangly frame up against the wall.

The loudening slap of exhausted running caught their ears, and before the Engineer could utter a rebuttal, Miss Pauling skidded around the corner. Her glasses askew, she barely had time to catch her breath before she raised her revolver at the Engineer, shrieking, "Dell Conagher, you put that gun down right now!"

There was Step Two.

With the speed of a striking rattlesnake, the Sniper took up his bow, an arrow aimed at Miss Pauling's hand. His eyes were wide with terror, muscles shaking under the tension of holding the bowstring taut. She was taken aback by his rash move, blinking in shock. Had she not just come to save his hide?

For a few breathless minutes, the three of them glanced around at each other with wild eyes and sweaty brows, refusing to slacken the grips on their weapons.

The Engineer was the first to speak. "I believe this is called a Mexican Standoff." His voice shook with the pent up rage that he was attempting to cautiously suppress.

Miss Pauling licked her lips, looking to him. "How does it end?" she asked in a whisper.

He cleared his throat. "Well, someone puts their gun down and we all follow suit… or we all just fill each other with bullets and see who's left. Personally, I don't see why this bastard has the nerve to point a weapon at anything but his own forehead," he added with a sneer that was flung at the Sniper.

His jaw tight, the Sniper let his bow slacken, and he gingerly crouched down to place it on the floor. He stood back up with his palms high. "There," he said. "I did it."

"Good," the Engineer growled. "Now turn around and start prayin'."

Miss Pauling cocked her revolver. "You too, Dell."

The Engineer snarled. "I'll be damned before I let—"

"DROP IT, CONAGHER!" she barked, gripping the revolver with both hands as she started towards him.

He quickly backed away from her, lowering the weapon's aim. "Alright! Alright. Fine." His tone was venomous, and he unloaded the shells, dropping them and the shotgun with a clatter onto the floor.

Miss Pauling had no plans to drop hers. She turned her attention to the Sniper, gun looking to the middle of his chest. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded.

The Sniper's face was drawn and gray. He remained mute, his knees drawn together.

"Answer the lady, you son of a bitch, before I beat the answer out of ya!" the Engineer hissed, balling his fists.

Miss Pauling knew she was pointing her gun at the Sniper, but part of her felt as though she were facing a different man. This wasn't the confident assassin she had interviewed, hired, observed slaughter men by the thousands with nothing but a smug grin. It was someone else. Someone she didn't know, and frankly, wasn't sure she ever wanted to.

"It was her idea." His voice was like a bottle of gin run over by a truck.

"'Her'?" The other two repeated in sync.

"Who is 'she'?" Miss Pauling asked, lowering her revolver slightly, her eyes narrowing.

Could he even possibly explain to them something—someone—like Caroline? His own pulse beat like a heavy drum in his ears. They'd call him insane, laugh at him. A machine like her? A machine… that's what she was, after all. A machine. A tool for humanity. It shouldn't be possible to turn the tables. And yet, here he was; her tool.

Pathetic.

He lowered his head in shame. "I'll show you."

4500

I. NEED. MOAR. PLZ.

4499

ok it took me about a week on and off to finish this (feelings breaks, i have to function in an academic sense and i can't do that if i'm lying on the ground thinking about how adorable and perfect the character dynamics are). it was well worth the read, i gotta say.
in terms of the more recent chapters... man you got me tearing up and i read homestuck. i'm like 99.999% sadness-proof when it comes to character deaths because i've dedicated years of my life to a story that kills characters you love often and heart-wrenchingly. but THE FRICKING SOLDIER'S DEATH had me tearing up.
dr... you are an amazing author. if what you're writing for a living is anything like this, you deserve every cent you get and then some.

4498

I cannot emphasize how much I adore this, and how much I anticipate future updates.

4497

Mercs as benders (like in Avatar)

That is all.

Captcha: ceelan army. Make of that what you will.

4496

You've captured the personalities of our favorite mercs very well indeed. Even with adding your personal touches, the inner monologues read like they come from the character's themselves (quite, in their own voices, perfectly).

A rich, poetic prose glues it all together. Not only am I impressed with this fan-fiction— mon cheri— I predict you have a future in writing professionally. Very well done.

4495

Oh man, I'm loving this!

4494

Witch Fortress 2

Summary: A normal morning with Reliable Enchantments and Divination. (Alternate Universe)

"You know," Medic mused aloud. "If I did not know better, I vould say zat Frau Rowling vas a vitch herself. After all, her depiction of magical society is very similar to vat zings are like in England."

"Really?" asked Scout through a mouthful of pancake. Catching a glare from Soldier, who was reading the paper, she swallowed. "Sorry. So, things are like dat 'cross the pond?"

"Ja, alzough Herr Fudge vould never have gotten avay vith a cover-up in real life. It vould have ended vorse zan Vatergate, vouldn't you agree, Soldier?"

"Damn right," Soldier answered. "If Nixon was a REAL man, he would have let himself be thrown out, instead of resignin' like a coward. Serves him right either way."

"How does Doktor know what English witches are like?" asked Heavy, in the midst of preparing one of her sandwiches for the day's match.

"My family moved to England after Stuttgart vas bombed during ze var," explained Medic. "Und it vas very fortunate zat ve did. Under ze Nazis, vitches eizzer swore loyalty to ze party or vere put in a camp. I manifested only a veek after our departure."

"Was difficult in Russia, too." Heavy nodded, waving a hand at the fridge. The door opened, and a package of cheese slices flew out and onto the counter. Opening the package, Heavy continued. "If you were witch, and you did not work for government, you were sent to gulag. I learn much from other witches there."

"Man," said Scout. "You girls had it tough, didn't ya?"

"What about you, kid?"

Scout chuckled. "Heh, you would not believe how many times my sistas and I pranked the gangs in our neighbahood. I rememba one time, we stole the Mullens' motorcycles, enchanted 'em to make 'em fly, and went for a ride." Pausing to chew a particularly syrupy piece of pancake, Scout continued. "Valerie ended up crashin' into a tree, and the bike went inta the river. Ma was not happy."

Just then, Demo stumbled in, clearly hung over, and sporting a large swelling on the side of her neck. At the sight of this, Medic sighed, shaking her head.

"Demo, I zought I told you to leave ze pixie hive alone. You know zey sting you if you try to svat zem."

"And good mornin' to ye too." Demo plopped down into a chair next to Soldier. "Ye know, Ah had a strange dream last night. We were a bunch o' mundie lads, and so were the BLU coven. We fought with guns an th' like, instead o' spells, and we had this thing called Respawn, which kept bringin' us back when we got killed."

"Sounds razzer silly," Medic commented. A coo caught her attention, and she turned to see Archimedes carrying a tube of herbal salve in his beak. "Ah, danke, Archimedes."

"I gotta agree with Medic," said Scout. "Us, mundies? And guys? Get outta heah."

Heavy simply shrugged, putting her sandwiches into her side pouch. "We would still beat BLUs, da?"

"Aye." Demo nodded. "And ah know 'twas a dream. Pretty lifelike, though."

Perching on Medic's shoulder, Archimedes cooed.

4493

It was official.

BLU was in a slump.

Spy turned a page as the shouting began. He sat sideways in the rec room’s only chair with his legs dangling over the armrest. After pushing through the day’s trauma of being burned alive, he had settled in for a quiet evening. The shouting escalated and he tore himself away from a delectable sex scene to glance at the open door. It sounded like Soldier and Medic were having another argument. Furious German echoed in the hall, followed by Soldier’s flatly accented English.

A door slammed open.

“Do not walk away from me, you cowardly son of a bitch.” Soldier’s voice boomed in the base’s near silence. “If you weren’t sniveling behind that Rusky, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

It went deadly quiet. After a heartbeat, Medic walked down the hall. When his footfalls stopped, Spy strained his neck to look over his shoulder. The doctor regarded him bitterly.

“Zis is where your meddling leads us, Herr Spy,” he said. At Spy’s puzzled expression, a flicker of doubt crossed his face, but he continued down the hall without another word.

Soldier appeared next, bristling with aggression. Spy turned away and buried himself in his book. Lieutenant Johnson’s Johnson was in need of more attention. He smiled faintly when he ran across the phrase, “extraordinarily tight fuckhole,” and fished out his disguise kit and lighter without taking his eyes off the page. With the ease of long practice, he opened it, mouthed a cigarette by the filter, and lit it without looking. After a long drag, he held it between two fingers and stretched his arm over the chair’s back. Ashes would fall on the floor and annoy everyone, but that was part of the pleasure.

Soldier stood and stared at him, awaiting acknowledgement.

Spy merely turned to the next page.

After nearly two minutes of awkward silence, Soldier cleared his throat. Spy finished the paragraph he had been reading and flicked his eyes up over the book’s spine. He said nothing to invite the conversation, which Soldier was fishing for. Another chasm of awkward silence yawned between them.

Soldier leaned forward and swatted the book out of Spy’s hands. It bounced off of the seat’s cushioned back and struck him in the forehead.

“Tabernak!” He covered his face with both hands.

“I’m not standing here for my own health, you jelly-boned cocksucker. Look me in the eyes when I’m talking to you.” He leaned forward, the rim of his helmet curving just above his brows. “Do you hear me? You’re a disgrace to this team. You have been repeatedly killed by the enemy pryo despite your personal assurance to me that you’re a real fighter. Now I’m going to have to waste my extremely precious time to ensure you do your job.” He drew back and stood at his full height, mouth pressed into a line. “What do you have to say for yourself, maggot?”

Spy stood up, retrieved his book, and left the room.

Soldier followed.

“Where do you think you’re going? Are you going to turn your back on the man who has to save your miserable hide?”

Voices carried easily in the base. The hallway was empty and silent, but it was the silence of a rapt audience. Somewhere, teammates were listening. Spy increased his pace.

“Running now?” Soldier’s footsteps were loud, rapid. “There’s no where you can run from the truth, Crouton.”

Spy gave him the middle finger.

“That’s right. Walk away. You Frenchies are all the same.”

“Jesus Christ,” Spy glanced over his shoulder to see Soldier two steps behind him. “What is wrong with you?”

“With me?” Soldier tensed like a bulldog about to bite. “We have been losing this war because of you.”

Spy stopped and stared. “De meeting last week was a discussion about how everyone was doing deir jobs but you.”

“Hmph.” Soldier crossed his arms. “You mean the meeting you skipped out on to dip your toes in a bubble bath?”

“Dat you drew me into.”

“That you enjoyed.”

“It was many dings,” Spy said, “but enjoyable wasn’t one of dem.”

Soldier bared his teeth. “Spoken like a real pansy. You were lying about killing that RED son of a bitch, weren’t you?”

“Dis again?” Spy continued walking. “You’re obsessed with dat man.”

“I don’t give a shit about him.”

“Den stop bringing it up.”

“Show me.”

Spy glanced over his shoulder, brow raised. “What? ‘ow I killed ‘im?”

“Yeah.”

He glanced at the nondescript cover of his book. The contents were in French, but he was loathed to carry it around the base more than necessary. Soldier crowded behind him, shoulders squared, back curved like a bow.

“Simple.” Spy turned on his heel and jabbed the corner of his book against Soldier’s right side. “Right ‘ere? Your liver.” He brought the book’s edge up to his own eye. “Once I’m dis close, it’s just a scrap of cloth and skin between us.”

He thumped the book against his thigh. “Now are you satisfied?”

Soldier’s eyes tracked the movement, then snapped back to Spy’s face. “Huh? Oh. Yeah.” He made a show of cracking his knuckles. “And when he’s got a rocket launcher? What then, Crouton?”

Spy rolled his eyes. “I use my cloak and disguise kit, you great big idiot.”

“A blankie and a butter knife are not tools for war,” Soldier shouted. “A real soldier should know that.”

“Ah, and now we finally ‘ave de ‘eart of it.” Spy lit a cigarette and exhaled heavily. “Rest assured, I’m not interested in stealing your laurels.”

Soldier’s scowl deepened. “Every member of this team must be operating at his best if we are to win.” He jabbed his finger into Spy’s chest. “And I will dog your every goddamn step until you do.”

Spy stepped back and bowed like a courtier. “Oh, well. Merci beaucoup.”

“I’m being serious, you fruity French bastard.” Soldier leaned forward. “Stop dying and start doing your job.”

“Which I would love to follow, if you’d stop interfering.” Spy tapped his cigarette. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.”

He turned and left with Soldier’s eyes hot on his back.

4492

Summary: A brief tribute to the victims of the Boston bombing.

"It just ain't rahght, fellas. It was supposed to just be a race, and look what happened." Engineer sighed. "What those monsters did...it's just plain unthinkable that anybody would do somethin' lahke that.

"Scout feels ze same way, Laborer," said Spy, taking a drag from his cigarette. "True, neither Scout's mother nor any of his brothers were harmed, but ze boy is quite upset."

And indeed, the runner was. At that very moment, he was beating the stuffing out of Heavy's punching bag, having already turned Soldier's cardboard troops into Swiss cheese with his scattergun.

"Good thing we're on ceasefire, huh?" Engineer asked.

"Why do you say zat?"

"'Cause it looks lahke the RED Spah wants a chat with Scout."

4491

I think anyone above me has already gone over the relevant points of why the story doesn't seem appropriate overall.

Instead, if you're still reading (and I imagine you might check back), I'll give the points of crit I thought of when I glanced over the first chapter.

It should, in my opinion, never ever be necessary to include a dramatis personae at the beginning of your fic. Quite aside from the fact that it kills the pace of the story before it's even after getting started, you shouldn't have to use one even if you're including non-standard characters.

You should be able to introduce and develop the characters within the narrative instead, and organically reveal details about them and build them up.
And in the case of fanfiction where readers are already familiar with them, only point out the necessary or unusual details when you are bringing a character in. Don't tell the reader what they already know.

If you're taking a chance on writing OCs or partial OCs anyway, I would think they'd need to be familiar enough to be comforting (or at least a certain amount of canon-compliant), but different enough to spark the reader's interest. You have to strike a good balance. It is fanfiction, after all - if you stretch too far you might as well shave the serial numbers off and call it an original story altogether.
A story that I think has managed to achieve that balance quite well is Sparkler (http://archiveofourown.org/works/529396/chapters/938003) - there are enough details to make you say "well, hang on, that sounds a lot like it could fit with the Pyro, doesn't it?"
(However, I'm not sure I'd precisely recommend emulating the first chapter, since it doesn't bring in that kind of detail until a bit late for my liking. The fic is good for it overall, though.)

Quite aside from that - as I've mentioned, you killed the pace of the story before it had even started. If you weren't using OCs the way you are, you'd have a chance to actually properly start into the narrative. But even at that, what you have of story in there isn't terribly compelling.
Your first line - "A tale is about to unfold..."
It's rather generic. We know there's a story going to happen. Tell us something else. And don't give us a shopping list of what is going to be in it, either - show us that in the story, try to get a smidge of it into your first line or first paragraph, even.
Make your first line and paragraph draw the reader in. Something interesting or unusual.

If your character is scrapping that initial attempt to start things, I'd suggest scrapping the actual lines where that's occurring and just getting on with things.

The rest of what you have isn't appropriate, either. I can't entirely put my finger on what rubs me the wrong way about it, but I think it may be the 'telling', again. If the characters have fourth-wall awareness, then place them in the middle of a game match right out, show how their personalities lead them to react to said awareness. Or if you still want to frame it as a retelling, use something like a diary. Though the characters may be aware, and may wryly write down their day-to-day lives as a sort of narrative in a nod to that fact, they're still not going to be writing for the audience, I don't think.

Overall - do not list the characters. Find ways to introduce them that seem natural. (If you have difficulty with that, find some fics or published stories that do so in a way that works, and note down what you think works about it.) From a look over your other older works, none of your introductory paragraphs really distinguish themselves. I'd advise working on introductory paragraphs and story introductions in general.
If you're going to include fourth-wall awareness, think long and hard about how that affects the characters, with a view to their canon characterisation. (Don't mix fourth wall breaking and OCs, whatever you do. One really glaringly different detail is probably enough.)

4490

6
No one wants to discourage you from writing. Just, well, remember to post the actual story next time, rather than a link.