1 . Name: Maelgwyn @ 2011-11-23 05:34

Night Terrors
Maelgwyn
Betaed by TeratoMarty
Engineer. Implied pairing.

I have the blessing of a beta to post the first bit. Things I know about:

1. The distinction between Texan and not Texan is quite difficult for me to grasp culturally. So if the voice is a little wrong, getting better…

2. She sounds the same as the Engineer. Unintentional, but its there. Tried to remove parts to show some difference.

3. Punctuation this time should be fricking right. If I have done wrong, you may kick me in the head. That’s an order!

4. No sexy times, yet. Wait for a little longer!

~~

It always happens at night.

It made me dread sleep. I could feel it, the feelings of anger and hate well when I closed my eyes. I know it was not real. The psychologists tell me it is not real. But I can see it, feel it… almost touch it with my mind. I know its irrational and illogical to believe it was anything but my subconscious playing a trick on me.

But it was always there. I loathed it, the way the voice whispered, coaxed and charmed. But most importantly, I feared it. The feeling of inadequacy and ineptitude at my work were the most frightening. I knew the team didn’t think I was a failure. They praised the ingenuity of my creations. They revelled in the tactical advantage that I gave them.

“But do they?” the voice said, quietly, “they laugh at you behind your back, you know that, my sweet?”

“No, they don’t,” I stammered as I brought the blanket closer to my chin. I felt as if I was five and frightened of the monsters under my bed. Infinitely, this was worse – they couldn’t be silenced with a light. She defied reason. I knew that.

“Oh they do. You just don’t see it. But we do,” she said closer. She had a pseudo female voice that sounded remarkably like my mother. I shuddered as I moved my eyes and saw her. She always looked like my mother, just before she died. Her eyes were hollow, pleading for me to help her. She knew I could have made something, anything, to save her. I could have made a life extender, like my grandfather did. I even had the plans. But I did nothing. My morals said that it was not right.

She never agreed.

“They call your ingenious creations toys. Like what you had when you were a child - ineffectual and prone to breaking. Failure.”

“No. No they don’t…” I whined a little, more a reflex. I squeezed my eyes shut.

“You could have saved me, my little sweet pea,” I heard her whisper in my ear, her mimicry of my mother was almost spot on, “but you didn’t. You let me die, like you let down the team.” Her spectral hands wrapped around my cheeks.

“You’re not my mother!” I said adamantly. My voice quaked, belying the façade I had tried to put up.

“No, I am you, my love.”

I shivered to this and wished I were home, near dad, with Scruffy the basset curled up at my feet. I tried to escape the torment. I told myself it wasn’t real, that it was just my imagination, that I was not stuck with the goddamn devil in my head. I could hear her smile as she continued to list my inadequacies.

“You couldn’t give her a Grandchild,” she started with, plunging a metaphorical knife into my heart, “you couldn’t even give her a Daughter in law.”

“But, I don’t…” I stammered, cut short by the icy finger on my lips.

“If you weren’t so different, you could have made her proud. Instead you live in a little box with your machines,” she let the words twist the knife in my heart, “machines that don’t care if you live or die. You never seem to be able to protect yourself. You fail at keeping yourself alive.”

I pulled the blanket over my head and curled up into a ball. She was right, I know. I couldn’t fight my way out of a wet paper bag. But I was no soldier. I could not just jump into the fray and win.

“You could, if you let me, sweetie…” her words became sweet and thick, like honey.

“No!” I yelled and pulled my knees into my chest harder. No, you can’t. Last time, you hurt her. I won’t let you hurt anyone. I could feel the tears well at the memory. The one time I let my emotions take control… there was so much blood. I could never let that happen again.

She chuckled, the hands that felt like the coldest winter slowly receded off my cheeks. “One day, you know,” she said, “You will let me back. You know that we make you powerful.”

The warm tears streamed as I shook with a powerful sob. I just couldn’t do it. I wish I could let her have her way. But I can’t. Can I?

~~

I awoke the next morning to the shouting of Soldier. I looked at my watch, realising I was still wrapped like a bug in a cocoon. Fleeting memories of the night remained like tainted welds. Unfortunately I could not hammer these out. I got out of bed and dressed; ready to hopefully greet the world. I started out to the kitchen to grab some grub, resisting the urge to medicate.

“Herr Engineer!” the Medic’s sharp steps behind me were loud and rapid. I slowed to a saunter to allow the German to catch up, “Guten morgen!”

I tipped my Stetson, “Good morning Doc, how goes things?”

“Sehr gute. How are you?” the Medic smiled at me. For some strange reason, that smile made me nervous.

“I may need to talk to you, maybe…” I admitted, unintentionally letting the final syllables sit in my mouth like a bad taste.

“Oh? We have time now, if you want to talk -” his curiosity was obvious in his voice

I cut him off before he could get too probative, “Nah Doc, later. I’m not in a rush.” I was starting to run out of small talk, “Nice weather no?”

“Nein, Herr Engineer, this is deplorably hot” the Medic looked as if he wanted to probe his initial request further, but luckily he let it drop. I let out a little sigh.

“Nothin’ like the heat, partner” I said, slapping the Medic on the back, “Builds character, my pappy said.” Exhausted from the simple act of banter, I felt relief when I circled into the kitchen, and the rabble of voices and people. Here, I mused, was where I could become invisible like the Spy. In the social situation, I had to admit, I was good at redirection.

“Would it kill you to cook something that was not porridge?” the Demoman said, exasperated at the breakfast choice.

“Affirmative!” the Soldier shouted, “This is good grub and you will enjoy it”

“I also would enjoy eating boot leather – tastes about the same, laddie. And I wouldn’t call this porridge anyway” the Demoman was obviously still under the influence of alcohol, or the after effects, “I’m Scottish and I know what its meant to taste like”

“I can arrange for your weird pansy dish right now, private” the Soldier squared up to the Demoman, pointing to his neatly polished boots. I grabbed my serve of porridge, trying to avoid eye contact with either of them. I agreed with the Demoman, it reminded me of the glue we used to use at kindergarten. But since these two were about to have a tussle, it made it easier for me to sit and eat without having to talk. I watched as the Soldier pushed the Demoman. I chewed through breakfast quickly most mornings; disinterested in the daily fight, the aftermath or the eventual sulking that the loser would do.

“You know, my sweet, you could fight like the Soldier…” she said. I stopped mid chew, my hands balling into fists. She shouldn’t be here. Its daylight, I pleaded with myself, she just shouldn’t be here.

“Just watch them. You could do that,” she coaxed me to watch the fight more intently. I could see the Soldier slam the Demoman in the stomach, pure aggression evident on his face. I could see the fluidity of the Demoman as he elbowed the Soldier in the ear. “You just need to let me… help you.”

I was conscious that if I had said anything, it would draw attention to myself. So I started to chew again, hoping I was looking casual. Scout hadn’t noticed, he was cheering on the Soldier, small globs of porridge spraying everywhere when he forgot to swallow before cheering a particularly hard hit. The Heavy and the Spy were locked in discussion – usually it was about the differences between French poetry and Russian novels. This time, the Heavy was particularly vocal about the relevance of Marx to the current geopolitical environment. The table shuddered with every hit he did to emphasise his argument. Pyro never ate with us; he preferred to sit outside, usually with the Sniper. What they talked about was anyone’s guess. Once, the Scout insinuated that they weren’t talking. The Sniper made sure he had to be respawned.

“You know that they don’t care if you are there or not, sweetie,” I could hear the smoothness of her voice trying to win over my common sense, “if you were to disappear, you wouldn’t be missed. But I would always miss you.”

I looked down, suddenly thankful that my breakfast was gone. I threw my bowl into the dishwasher and made a hasty retreat. I practically sprinted back to my workshop and closed the door. I lent against the door and breathed out. At least here, no one could question him. I couldn’t hurt anyone either, as long as the steel door was closed.

“You know they think you are weird,” she whispered as I sat down at my desk.

“No they don’t.” I said, slightly apprehensively. I put all my confidence in that sentence. I don’t think I pulled it off.

“That Spy knows you talk to yourself. He doesn’t know that I’m with you,” she grinned in my peripheral vision

“That may be true, but I am by myself.”

“Oh, you wound me” her voice was full of pseudo shock, “but you and I know better. You’re never alone, honeycakes. I’m with you. I will always be with you,” She whispered sensually. I could feel her lips on my cheek, her tongue licking the rough stubble. I shuddered. There was a loud knock at the door.

“Labourer” I heard the Spy say just outside the door, “are you alright? I can hear you are talking to no one.”

“Yeah Frenchie, I am fine. Rack off and mind your own business.”

“Oh labourer, you wound me!” the Spy said facetiously. He laughed. “But the Soldier, he told me to tell you that we have a tête-à-tête with the BLU very soon”

I could hear her cackle with delight.

~~

The fight was going poorly for the RED. Critical points were being contested all too often by what felt like waves of BLU. I had spent more time in the respawn room than on the actual battlefield. Between the thumps of heavy gun fire, I could hear them.

“Damn Engie cant keep a dispenser up today!” the Soldier complained, “if I don’t have rockets, then we can’t win”

“I need covering fire to keep these knuckleheads off the point. Why is there no sentry?” the Scout quipped

“I can’t get back to point if he doesn’t actually build the teleporters in the right places!” the Sniper remarked

I closed my eyes and tried to stop the mocking that was echoing in my head. I knew I was not the best class, but I tried my darndest.

“You are weak! You are a Failure!” she piped up while the respawn machine rebuilt my body after a fatal shot to the stomach, “You know, my love, I can make you godly. You won’t hear that”

I ground my teeth as they phased back into existence. I knew she was right. We needed to win this, but I was failing horribly.

“Fine” I said mutely as the last particles fitted together, “Just this once”

“You won’t regret it!” she sounded as eager as Scout when his comic arrived in the air bag.

The rest of the fight was a blur. I felt locked out of my own body. I marvelled at her abilities. She could maintain level three sentries while keeping the BLU spy’s sapper from being active for more than a second. She flipped between offensive and defensive quicker than I thought humanly possible – taking down a Pyro with the shotgun then able to collect the metal needed to reload the sentry as it downed a Soldier coming from the opposite direction.

“Go Engie! You hold this point like you are, and we’ll win!” the Soldier congratulated her. The Pyro gave her thumbs up and mumbled something that also sounded positive. The Demo also commented on the sudden turnaround, but by this point I was not listening.

She was a part of me. I know she is. But why is she so much better? Why does everyone like her more? They don’t know it’s her though. They think it’s me.

“You’re like a possessed man there” the Sniper said, tipping his Akubra as he appeared from the teleport, “You should do it more often”

My sensibilities crumbled. They liked her more. She was right. I numbly sat, holed up in my own head. I watched her kill more BLU with creative methods. She tied my wrench onto the end of the spare cord that I had looped on my belt for emergencies. She then wielded it like a morning star to collapse the face of a passing Scout.

“I told you that, my love,” she said, panting heavily from the extra exertion, unfamiliar with the sound from my vocal cords being used for her voice, “They like me more than you. I make you stronger than your wildest imaginations”

I screamed with the futility of it. She just chuckled mockingly.