Ok... So I used to be here. Then I took a hiatus from the TF2 fandom to have my baby.... and now I'm crawling back. I used to go by Fragget. but um, I never shared anything. And now I am. I have a feeling it's horrid, I don't do to much writing, and my handling of the characters still feels very clumsy to me, despite this being the fourth fic. I've written. Here's to hoping it gets better as it goes along, eh?


Night at 2Fort could be either of two things, calm and relaxing, like it often was. Or a personal hell for the young male. Scout rolled over, dragging his pillow over his head, slightly blood shot eyes screwing shut as hand pressed thin, over used cushion down on his ear. Jagged, chewed-on finger nails digging into the thin fabric as he tried to block out the low moans and guttural sounds that came from the bed catty-corner to his own. Slightly bucked teeth bit into his lower lip as floorboards creaked with the exertion of the two across from him, words being whispered on voices laced with heavy Russian and German accents. Every one else were used to it, but Scout never did gain an immunity to it. How he longed for nights back home, where his mom brought him cookies and milk before bed, even sneaking in to tuck him in when he was older, when she thought he was asleep. Mom.. the thought was almost enough to push the thought of what was happening mere feet away from his mind. But one rather rough action cause the bed to bang against the wall, making the whole place shudder. Rolling so that he was flat on his belly, Scout pulled the pillow taunt over his head, and attempted once more to get some shut-eye.

If it wasn't the Soldier's booming voice in the morning, it was Demoman's already slurred and drunken cursing that woke him up. Some how, he had managed to fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning. It couldn't last though. Groaning, he tried to pretend he hadn't awoken. Not even five minuet's later, a rough hand would yank at the edge of his covers.
“Rise and shine, maggot!”
Hand quickly flew up to shield weary eyes from the morning sun's harsh rays, blearily peering at the figure that was starting to look less like a smudge, and more like a rather stout military man. Mouth opened to protest, but by the look on the man's face, his objections would fall upon deaf ears. With a grumble and a glare, boy snagged the towel hanging on the edge of his bed, and marched down to the showers.

On the way, he happened to spy Heavy and Medic cooking, the thinner German was trying to teach his large friend the fine art of cuisine. Which meant lately, the lot had been eating food that was either burnt, over spiced, under seasoned, to salty, or a horrid combination of them. Face was made, but oddly enough, his mouth was kept shut. Mind settled on one task. Showering. Getting in, out, and hopefully, waking up. A sleep deprived Scout was not a good Scout. He couldn't be skirting into the enemy's base to snatch the Intelligence like this.