Team Fortress 2 (Scout) Fic

[FreeFluShots]

Hey kids, I've been working on this fic forever and it's almost done now, but even though it's not completely finished I thought I would share part of it now. It's going to be a bit lengthy, so I'm breaking it into parts. Also, the last part will be very NSFW so it'll go in the adult section when it's done, but this part is pretty clean except for some swearing and such. Anyway, it's untitled and Scout-centric, and will eventually end up being Scout/Medic in the third act. I hope you guys like it!

***

Scout knew he was sick the moment he woke up that morning; his sore, raw-feeling throat told him that, but he shut his eyes against the coming dawn in an immediate effort at denial. As the weight of sleep slowly fell from his hunched shoulders and the need to piss urged him more and more insistently out of bed, he groaned and told himself aloud, "I am NOT gettin' sick." There was a tickle forming in his throat, edging dangerously towards a cough, but he swallowed several times to dispel it as he swung his legs out of bed, pushing himself off the narrow cot and ambling towards the institutional, tiny bathroom. He glanced at himself in the mirror as he passed it on his way to the toilet, grimacing at what he saw. He already looked like hell, and by the growing tickle in his throat and the throb in his temples he could tell it was only going to get worse. He glared sullenly at the wall as he pissed, trying to will the feeling of an encroaching cold away, but by the time he'd finished and was washing his hands in the tiny sink he realized his appearance was even worse than he had initially thought. His blue eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, framed by dark circles, and his hair was a rumpled mess sticking out in all directions.

He was already dreading being seen by his teammates in this shape; he ran his hands under some hot water and dampened his hair, managing to force it into some semblance of control. There was nothing he could do about the dark-circles and bloodshot eyes, but maybe the other guys would think he'd been drinking and wouldn't mention it.

He hoped so. The Demo Man had been out sick for several days last week, and Scout had, typically, made horrible fun of him, teasing him unmercifully for taking sick leave "just 'cause ya got the sniffles". It was a barrage that had continued until the Scotchman had felt well enough - or fed-up enough - to finally box the whelp's ears, but even as he limped away from the encounter, Scout had admonished, "Man, -I- sure wouldn't be takin' no sick day over some lousy cold."

Now those words had come back to haunt him, because he had clearly caught the very cold that he had so brashly sneered at days before, and by it's rapidly-worsening symptoms he was wont to say that this was a lot worse than a simple case of "the sniffles".

It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't made such a big production in front of everybody. "I NEVER get sick," he'd boasted, in those pre-cold days that seemed ages ago now. He'd brought it up enough that everybody had had more than their fill of it, and though it had been several days since his rant, they would be sure to remember his empty bragging and would pounce on the first opportunity to mock him. He glowered at himself in the mirror, cursing himself mentally for once again opening his big mouth.

Obviously, the only thing to do was to hide his illness from his fellow teammates. It couldn't be that hard; after all, none of them were as clever as him, and he was sure he could outsmart them or, if all else failed, avoid them long enough to get over this stupid cold and get back to his old self. He just had to be extra-careful.

Having psyched himself up, Scout dressed quickly, grabbing several fistfuls of toilet paper and stuffing them into the pockets of his pants. If this cold was anything like the previous ones he'd experienced, he knew he'd be sneezing his head off by mid-day, so he grabbed a couple of handkerchiefs out of his footlocker and stuffed them into his pockets as well.

Listening at the door, he heard the sound of heavy, booted footsteps receding down the hall, as well as muffled voices further away as his teammates headed for the mess hall for breakfast. He waited until the hall had grown quiet before he stealthily exited his quarters, slinking down the hallway. He made it to the mess hall without incident, grabbing a tin plate of scrambled eggs and sliding into an empty space at the end of the table next to the Heavy Weapons Guy.

He'd purposely chosen a seat next to the big Russian because he knew Heavy was loathe to waste time on small-talk just about any time, but especially at breakfast; but the man's huge bulk had blocked the opposite side of the table from Scout's view, and he was embarrassed to find himself sitting a space down and across from the Demo Man. The Medic was seated directly across from him, further complicating Scout's predicament, but neither of them seemed to take any interest in him until he had the misfortune of sneezing.

It was abrupt but half stifled - he managed to catch it behind his napkin at the last moment, a wet-but-muffled "HehCHSCH!", but immediately the Demo Man's one eye shot up to fix Scout in an inescapable, accusatory stare.

"Eh, wot's th' matter, there, lad?" the Scotchmen asked conspiratorially, a slight smile playing at him lips. "Got y'self a bit of a cold?"

"What? Nah, I aint sick!" the Scout declared, as if the idea was ludicrous. "I just, uh, over-peppered my eggs, is all." He glanced surreptitiously at the Medic to see if he'd noticed anything amiss, but the doctor did not look up from his potatoes and breakfast sausages.

Tavish looked unconvinced - perhaps because he hadn't actually seen Scout put any pepper on his eggs - but he dropped the subject, and nobody else seemed interested, so Scout quietly downed his breakfast as fast as he could, fearing another sneeze would give him away. His nose was runny with watery discharge, but that was the extent of it so far, and he managed to make it through breakfast and out of the mess hall without further disruption.

He was just exiting the mess hall and heading back to his quarters to prepare for today's mission when a sneeze snuck up on him, catching him completely off-guard and bending him at the waist with a loud "AHHSHUHH!" that echoed down the hallway. Blushing, he clamped a hand over his nose and stifled a second sneeze that followed quickly on the heels of the first, managing to muffle most of the noise so that all that escaped was a little "KPPF-ahh!" Recovering, he glanced quickly behind him to see if anybody had witnessed this embarrassing faux-pa, but nobody was nearby and no-one looked up from their breakfast. His relief was short-lived, though, as he tried to sniff and found that his sinuses were completely stopped up, probably the result of his impromptu stifling.

Annoyed, he continued down the hall and around a corner where he felt a bit more protected, pulling some of the tissues from his pocket and blowing his nose. It did little to relieve the pressure, and only unburdened him from the tiniest bit of snot, which at this point was still quite watery and abundant. He rubbed his nose with the rough paper, crumpling it up and poking it under a door with his toe. It might be tacky, but at the moment he was more concerned about being caught with snotty tissues than he was about being tactful.

Several minutes later, he was poised at the doors with the rest of the RED team as the cold voice of the Announcer echoed over the loud speaker. "Mission begins in 60 seconds," she croaked, and as he tightened his grip around the taped handle of his bat, Scout once again psyched himself up for the task at hand, vowing not to let his sickness be known to anyone.

The sliding metal doors opened; not one to be at the back of the pack, Scout barreled out ahead of his comrades, his shoes pounding over the dry, cracked ground. He'd barely gone six steps or so, however, before the bright sunlight seemed to suddenly hit a nerve deep inside his skull - a feeling like his sinuses were suddenly filling with hot, stinging, acrid fluid. He gasped in a desperate breath, struggling to keep his eyes focused, but they snapped shut without his consent, and he bent forward jerkily as he ran, sneezing violently into the open air. "AHHSCHUH! HUREHSCHUH!"

Vaguely, Scout heard the Soldier shout something annoyed at him, but he was too busy trying to keep his footing after those brain-jarring sneezes had jerked him off course. Presently he regained his composure, charging across the rugged terrain to outrun the fire of a BLU sentry, realizing in the back of his mind with a grim sort of humour that it had probably been the unexpected sneezing that had saved him from getting his head blown off in the first minute of combat.

***

To Be Continued!

[Anonymouse]

It was a barrage that had continued until the Scotchman had felt well enough - or fed-up enough - to finally box the whelp's ears, but even as he limped away from the encounter, Scout had admonished, "Man, -I- sure wouldn't be takin' no sick day over some lousy cold."

1. Thank you for referring to him as a "whelp" and

2. I have a feeling he's going to be eating those words.

Obviously, the only thing to do was to hide his illness from his fellow teammates.

Obviously, this is going to fail.

If this cold was anything like the previous ones he'd experienced, he knew he'd be sneezing his head off by mid-day, so he grabbed a couple of handkerchiefs out of his footlocker and stuffed them into his pockets as well.

1. I love that he gets really sneezy colds

2. I love that he keeps several handkerchiefs in his footlocker

3. Why do I keep numbering shit, oh well

"I just, uh, over-peppered my eggs, is all."

I know he's lying but that's still a pretty hot excuse.

He rubbed his nose with the rough paper, crumpling it up and poking it under a door with his toe. It might be tacky, but at the moment he was more concerned about being caught with snotty tissues than he was about being tactful.

ahahaha idk why I found that so funny.

He'd barely gone six steps or so, however, before the bright sunlight seemed to suddenly hit a nerve deep inside his skull - a feeling like his sinuses were suddenly filling with hot, stinging, acrid fluid.

Wonderfully descriptive sentence about sun-triggered sneezing, mmmm.

Also lmfao at the irony of those sneezes possibly saving him from getting shot.

[Galaxy]

AH oh my gosh

How dare you, now I'm not going to be able to focus on anything else than the image of a sickly Scout

This is so greeeeat, I can't wait to see the continuation! Oh my gosh, the Scout's character is so spot-on, it's perfect!

[SpookyScarySkeleton]

Perrrfect. C: so well written & detailed ! Really interesting . Do continue please c:

[FreeFluShots]

Hey guys, thanks for the feedback! Here's the second part of the story (I might have to break it into four parts instead of three due to length). Warning: This part gets VERY messy.

***

As the battle wore on, though, Scout was beginning to regret not taking a sick day after all. He'd managed to avoid the respawn, so far, but he was lagging so far behind the rest of the team that it didn't look like they would be capturing any intelligence today. As embarrassing as that was, at the moment he was more concerned about staying alive than about completing the mission.

His scatter-gun was running low on ammo, and the enemy team was still too spread-out to make much use of his bat. He ducked behind a large boulder and pulled the mouthpiece of his intercom down, calling for the Engineer. "I need a dispense- AAHSCHH! AHSCHUH! Fuck..." He coughed a couple of times, knocked off balance by the unexpected sneezes. Embarrassed, he tried again, shouting "Need a dispenser over he- EHSCHoohh! AHRSCHooh!" He shook his head dizzily after the last one, a string of snot slapping onto his lip and cheek.

"What'd ya say, there, boy?" the Engineer's voice crackled over the intercom. Scout snorted out a glop of snot into the dust and coughed, clearing his throat of some mucous that had built up during the sneezing fit, finally shouting angrily, "I said I need a god damn dispenser over here!" He punctuated it with a final fifth sneeze, a loud, brash "AHSCHUHH!" that sprayed freely into his mouthpiece, but by this time he was too frustrated to care who heard him. He yanked his red bandana out of his pocket and honked his sore nose in it crudely, feeling very sorry for himself.

"Don't vorry," a voice said behind him, nearly making Scout jump out of his skin. He whirled around and saw the Medic standing behind him, not a hair out of place, as if the surrounding carnage had no so much as touched him. "I vill heal you."

"Jesus, Doc, you scared me," Scout breathed, instantly regretting showing even that much weakness. Medic didn't seem to notice or care, however; he simply said,

"Be still, Herr Scout, your health is dangerously low." He pushed the lever of his Medigun, a blast of red ectoplasmic light enveloping the younger man, filling Scout with that weird tingling sensation and feeling of weightlessness he always got when the Doc used the contraption on him. He felt his strength being restored, the pain from his wounds subsiding.

"Whew - thanks, Doc," Scout said, but Medic was already running off to aid another wounded teammate and didn't acknowledge him. Scout wondered if the German had noticed his embarrassing problem. He didn't think so, and that was just fine with him; it was nearing nightfall, and he figured if he could make it through the rest of the battle to the nightly cease-fire, he could slip back into his quarters and nurse his cold in privacy.

He'd been hopeful that the blast from the Medigun he'd received would have cured the oncoming cold as well, but no such luck. By the time cease-fire rolled around, he returned to the base free of injuries, but feeling sicker than he had that morning. He'd managed to keep from sneezing again all through his post-battle shower, much to his relief, but now as he had finished dressing and was exiting the locker rooms a sharp, unexpected tickle invaded his nose and bent him double just as the Sniper and the Pyro were passing him in the hallway. "Hah-ESCH! EHSCH-uhh!"

"Mmph rrmm," the Pyro mumbled as the Scout righted himself, something that might have been a 'bless you'. The Scout ignored him, surreptitiously rubbing at his nose and hoping he wasn't blushing as much as he felt like he was.

The Sniper regarded him from behind his glasses. "You sure are sneezin' a lot," he observed. "You gettin' sick?"

"I'm fine," the Scout said, a little too quickly. Seeing the disbelieving look the Sniper was giving him, he added nonchalantly, "It's just allergies or somthin'."

The Sniper smirked, unconvinced. "Wot's there to be allergic to inside the base?"

The Scout was just about to answer that with something sarcastic when the Spy rounded the corner, followed by the thick scent of French cologne. The sharp odour assaulted Scout's already over-sensitized sinuses, making his breath hitch, and before the Spy had even finished giving his customary greeting ("Gentlemen."), the Bostonian boy jerked forward with a nearly breathless sneeze, spraying a mist of spittle between them. "HuhEHHSCH!"

The Spy stopped short, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Are you ill?" he asked without pretext, looking most unimpressed.

"I'm fine -" Scout started to say again, but doubled over with another sneeze in the middle of it, spraying snot and spittle everywhere. "EHHSCHOO!"

The Spy jumped out of the line of fire, looking disgusted. "Mon dieu, boy! Cover your mouth!"

"You ARE sick," the Sniper put in smugly.

"I am not!" the Scout snapped, irritated at how whiney he sounded.

"Then why are ya sneezin' everywhere?" the Aussie asked him cheekily.

"Mmph hudda hudda mphnng mphh mmphlly," the Pyro said in agreement.

"Mind ya' own business, asshole!" the Scout practically shouted, addressing all three of them. He didn't even know why he was so mad, and that just irritated him even more. "Christ, can't a guy even sneeze around here without gettin' the third degree?!"

"Maybe if ya try coverin' yer mouth once in a while," Sniper shot back. "You're gonna make us all sick."

"I'm -not- sick," the Scout insisted stubbornly. "I just had to sneeze, okay? Geez."

"If we might change the subject from your bodily functions," the Spy interrupted annoyedly, "We may have a more important problem."

Sniper shifted his attention from the sulking Scout to the irritated Frenchman. "Like what?"

"Madame Announcer has requested our presence in Room 101 to discuss the matter," the Spy said curtly. "I trust she will be able to inform us on whatever the issue may be." Regarding the Scout with only thinly-veiled distaste, he added, "You may want to blow your nose first, child."

"Shut up!" Scout screeched, unable to think of a better comeback than that. He glared daggers at Sniper, who, as usual, seemed to find the situation endlessly amusing, and pushed past both him and Pyro, taking the long way down the hall towards room 101 specifically to avoid the company of the other three.

Consequently, by the time he'd reached room 101, everyone else was already present, seated in folding chairs in front of a podium, behind which stood a rather impatient-looking Announcer. Scout could feel her piercing black eagle-eyes boring into him; he reddened and slunk to a seat, whereupon the Announcer cleared her throat lightly, pulling down a blank screen behind her.

"Gentlemen," she addressed the mercenaries, "We've discovered some disturbing information recently concerning -"

"HURSCHOO!" the Scout sneezed loudly. Several people turned to look at him and a few soft chuckles were heard from somewhere in the small audience.

The Announcer chose to ignore it and continued with her speech. "Ahem... Some information concerning a problem with the BLU Team's Respawn. According to the intelligence you have gathered, which I've taken under my review, BLU had been experiencing -"

"EHHSCHUH!" the Scout sneezed again, following it with a gurgling sniffle. In front of him, the Spy turned to give him an annoyed glare. Scout blushed, scowling rebelliously back at him and surreptitiously flipping him the bird where the Announcer wouldn't see it.

The Announcer gave Scout a no-nonsense glare. "Bless you," she said curtly, in a tone that might as well have said "Shut up before I'm forced the thrash you". Addressing the crowd again, she continued: "As I was saying, it seems BLU has been experiencing a Respawn error leading to some... less than pleasant results." Se turned, flipping on an overhead projector. A washed-out image of a BLU Scout appeared on the screen - one with the better part of his skull exposed beneath a bloody, half-formed layer of flesh. There were a few disgusted groans from the RED team, though their own Scout was rather too busy fumbling around in his pockets to find something to blow his nose on to notice the gruesome image - at least, until the Sniper so thoughtfully pointed it out to him. "Bloody 'ell, he looks almost as bad as -our- Scout!"

There was some mild laughter, though nothing malicious, but it still infuriated the Scout. "Shut up, you shithead! If I want ya' opinion I'll beat it outta ya!"

"Well," the Spy put in coolly, glaring down his nose at the younger man, "he's not wrong, you know."

"Fuck you, doucheba- ahh~hah-!" He clenched his eyes shut, trying to squelch the need to sneeze that was filling the back of his throat, but trying to stop it seemed only to amuse whatever higher power was tormenting him, and he sneezed violently down the front of his shirt, spraying the red fabric with a thick rain of drool and snot. "EHHSCHAHH! HEHSCHOOAHH! ...AHHSCHEW!!" He caught the last one in his cupped hands, though it did little good to muffle it and just left him with a handful of warm, viscous snot.

"Ugh," somebody groaned nearby, but the Scout's head was throbbing too hard now from the violent sneezes to be able to pinpoint who it was.

"Sniper was wrong," came the Heavy's growly voice through the haze of headache that pounded the Scout's brain. "BLU Scout look -better- than our Scout."

The Scout flushed crimson at that, both out of embarrassment as well as anger, though he was unable to respond with any kind of suitable comeback due to the fact that he was still trying to contain the mess of his snotty sneezes in his drenched hands. Amid the laughter that followed, though, the Medic sighed and stood up, addressing the American.

"Vhy don't you go to the Infirmary. You are clearly too sick to be in battle anyvay, and ve can't risk contagion if there becomes a problem vith -our- Respawn."

The Scout wanted to argue, but he needed badly to wash his hands and blow his nose, so he muttered a quick "Fine" and pushed for the exit, trying to resist throwing something sharp and hard at the Sniper as he called after him, "Feel better, Mate!"

Once he was in the hallway and out from under the scrutiny of his fellow team-mates, the Scout did feel somewhat better. Still quite sick, though, which was confirmed when he was finally able to pull his hands away from his face and found them filled with thick, slimy, yellow-white snot, webbing between his fingers and stringing out between his hands and his nose and mouth. He made a disgusted noise, making for the lavatories a few doors down and pushing his way through the swinging door, going straight to the sink to first wash his hands, then his face.

When he'd finished cleaning up and had blown his nose until it felt somewhat less runny (though now it was so stuffy he could barely breathe through it, much to his chagrin), he glanced at himself in the mirror. God, the Sniper was right - he -did- look horrible. His eyes were even more bloodshot than they had been that morning, with dark bruise-like half-circles underneath, and already his nose was beginning to take on a bright pink tinge. He scowled, turning away from the mirror and heading back into the hallway. He didn't go to the Infirmary though; instead he went back to his quarters, shutting himself inside.

He felt horrible, but there was no way he was going to put up with the Medic's poking and prodding. He'd much rather try to just sleep this off. He flopped down on the bed, still fully clothed, feeling a tiny bit of relief from the lumpy but strangely comfortable MANN Co. mattress. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep until he heard a knock on the door.

***

To Be Continued (The next part will be on the 18+ board)

[SterlingSilver]

TEEHEE~

I love Scout's attitude <3. So adorably obstinate and mean about the whole thing >w<~

Gwaaah~! *fangirl swoon*

Great dialogue and characterization, Free~! I'll be lingering in the adult board for more of this magical story~

[SpookyScarySkeleton]

>-< damn I can't see the next part.. Oh well. It's fun while it lasted. Amazing story I love it :3 c:. Just wish u could write another one for this thread.. Yeh cx

[FreeFluShots]

>-< damn I can't see the next part.. Oh well. It's fun while it lasted. Amazing story I love it :3 c:. Just wish u could write another one for this thread.. Yeh cx

Well I could send the next part to you if you want - hit me up on a PM if you like

[Anonymouse]

Oh shit I never actually commented on this. Obviously I loved it. Scouty. <3

The Announcer gave Scout a no-nonsense glare. "Bless you," she said curtly, in a tone that might as well have said "Shut up before I'm forced the thrash you".

Love it when sneezing irritates other people, idk why. At least she blessed him?

There was some mild laughter, though nothing malicious, but it still infuriated the Scout. "Shut up, you shithead! If I want ya' opinion I'll beat it outta ya!"

He's so feisty! Like an angry little chihuahua yipping at a pack of St. Bernards.

"EHHSCHAHH! HEHSCHOOAHH! ...AHHSCHEW!!" He caught the last one in his cupped hands, though it did little good to muffle it and just left him with a handful of warm, viscous snot.

Oh man, nothing better than a nice handful of mucus.

You're a lovely writer, I hope to see more from you.

[FreeFluShots]

You're a lovely writer, I hope to see more from you.

Aww thanks droog! I'm hoping to finish the final part sometime later this month...

[Akahana]

God it's nice to see this again <3 <3