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It was nothing different from an average day, really. Sniper never really was one to sleep in the Red house with everybody else-- even if he did have a bed in there, he never really bothered to check.
After tonight's usual shenanigans, which include but are not limited to: Demoman having a wrestling match with Soldier, Scout trying to inject himself to the battle (Soldier was using him as a meat shield. A few broken bones should be expected... again), Medic and Heavy taking turns at Operation (Heavy is still trying to convince Medic that you're supposed to play it on a board game, not an actual person. They seemed to be having fun). Spy reading one of those magazines with cars and watches and whatnot in his private fireplace (does that guy ever talk to anybody?), whilst Engineer and Pyro attempt to create a sentry that shoots grenades (Demoman should never give suggestions to Engineer), Sniper decided simply to lay down on the rooftop of his small camper van, staring up at the cloudless sky in front of him.
He liked this. Being alone under the stars with his thoughts. Nobody else in the team knew how to appreciate solidarity-- except Spy. Bloody snake's had to be alone for a lot of his life, that much he knew. He's one of the few people who makes sense around here, even if he is a sarcastic, condescending prick.
Eh well, Sniper thought, popping open a can of soda, Dell and Mikhail's always there. He never really found a taste for beer. Besides, beer? In this line of work? He was a professional. He's not going into any tasks drunk or in need of a drink.
"He-he-hey, uh," A voice from below the van erupted, accent thick. There goes my evening, Sniper thought, "got a few extra pop's in there? I ran out of Bonk and I was- I was so into punchin' Soldier in the stomach, ya know? I had to stop punchin' 'cause I was gettin' tired and was like "Hey, you stay there, I'mma keep beatin' you when I get my Bonk" and he was like "Oh no! Somebody save me!" and then his boyfriend swoops in an' hits me in the head with-- you know, I just really wanted to get out. Everybody's doin' their own thing and I don't got no thing to do."
Sniper grabbed an extra soda and tossed it to the right side of the van, Scout catching it with a thud that reached the sharpshooter's ears. "Oh. That- that was a thing that worked. Cool."
Scout popped open the drink and leaned his back towards the side of the van. Sniper glanced at his right. "If you're staying, the least you could do is don't blab my ears off."
"Really? 'Cause I had so-o much I wann'ta talk to you about but since you asked nice-- and man around here that thing is super rare-- I'll shut it." He said, taking a long sip before throwing the can impressively right beside Sniper. "Damn, I got nothin' to talk about. This is boring."
Sniper sighed. It's hard to get things through the kid's skull without doing a double take. Then again, he's still a kid. At least, in his eyes. "Haven't you heard of recycling?" He leaned over to the right and threw the can straight onto Scout's head. Surprisingly enough, Scout grabbed the can overhead before it could do any damage. "O' course, dumbass. I thought you'd recycle it for me."
Sheesh, that was harsh. Even for Scout. "You're a 27 year old man who earns 5 digits a month over killing people. Don't feel so entitled."
"You're entitled!" Scout whimpered, hitting the van.
"You don't know what entitled means."
"Uhm, yeah I do." Scout said, voice going lower. "I'll just... let you explain first so that I can check whether you're right or not."
Sniper rolled his eyes, enjoying the petty company. "It's when you think you deserve to be treated differently."
"Oh." Scout's voice fluctuated. "Yeah, yeah! So, like, Spy then?"
Sniper held back a chuckle. "Yeah. Exactly like Spy."
"You're right. That's- that's being entitled." Scout leaned his head to the van, head to the sky. The night was cold, but not too cold. The wind wasn't strong today, but the stars... wow...
"Don't you, like, ever ask why though?" Sniper raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"Hey- don't get me wrong, he's a complete douchnozzle but... you know." Scout nearly tripped on his own words. Maybe it's the night that made him feel this way. "Don'tcha just ask yourself stuff like "At one point, y'know, this guy could've been not a mercenary or not a total pile of steaming shit" and it's like "Imagine interacting with this guy that was supposed to be an asshole, but he's not." Y'know? I mean, how could that guy become not a dick? Could someone change it or was it something from the past that made him that, I don't know. It's- it's- it's weird."
Sniper thought for a while. It's an odd question coming from someone like Scout. He knew his teammates long enough to know what kind of conversations or thought processes they would have, and this is not one of them.
"Well-" Sniper made a low whistle- "that's a tough one. People live through a lot of shit all the time, and the shit turns them into something of a shit, until it's just a shit that believes it's a shit, and now it's a huge, untreated pile of shit that could have been fixed maybe, I dunno, but I think that if someone sees they're a shit and wants not to be a shit, they can work on themselves."
Scout was silent. "They're still people, is all I'm sayin'." Sniper threw down another can of soda. "I mean, I'm a sack of shit and he's a sack of shit, but that don't make us not be able to be different or feel."
Scout cracked open the drink and sipped. "I know it's you, by the way. If you wanted words of wisdom you could have just asked. I won't judge."
"Fuck off, Bushman." He could hear a faint de-cloaking noise. Gotcha.
"Aww, I thought we had a moment." Sniper said sarcastically, making Spy chuckle. "Ah well. Got none of your "fancy" wine, by the way."
"Of course you don't." The French accent was back, thickly layered with disdain as usual. "It'd be more upsetting if you did."
"What's with the secret... what's you word? 'Rendezvous'-" Sniper said with air quotes Spy could see from his sitting place- "anyway?"
Spy stayed silent for a second. "I..." Hmm, why was Spy here? All he knew was he was getting... lo-- lone-- no, that can't be it.
"..thought you could use some company. I saw you outside and thought "Oh, look at that beautiful mug all by his lonesome. He could use a guy like me to brighten up his day" what-dee-doo." Spy grabbed a cigarette from his disguise kit but set it down, not wanting to ruin the atmosphere.
"Delightful." Sniper sat up, scratching his neck. He started making his way down the van to beside the man in... are those boxers? A white t-shirt? Sandals???
"I'm sorry, I'm looking for a "handsome rogue" not a suburban dad having a midlife crisis in his early 40's." Sniper sat down, picking up the lone cigarette beside Spy.
"Don't flatter yourself. You look like you haven't washed your hair in ages."
Can't really argue, he thought. Sniper handed the cigarette to Spy. Spy held the other end of the stick, noticing Sniper with a tired grin on his face. "What's that for." Spy scrunched his eyebrows, confused.
"You came out all this way to talk to me and you can't even admit it." He couldn't hide his amusement. Spy's eyes widened in protest. The nerve--!
"I did not." Spy pointed his finger to the Australian's chest. "I only came all the way to save your lanky person from becoming an eternal hermit." Spy squinted, aggravated at the other's expression. "You are--"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm a co-worker who just so happens to be bearable and sensible." Sniper recited, as if a Mission and Vision statement from Spy of some sorts. "Whatever. Whenever you feel like actually talking about why you're here, I'll be making some Joe's inside my van. Goodbye."
Sniper stood up and walked inside, leaving Spy in the dead of the night, sitting beside some beat up camper truck. How did it ever lead to this? Spy thought.
He dusted himself off and straightened his posture. He could leave right now if he wanted... though, he hadn't been able to have a good back-and-forth with anyone like earlier for a while. The others aren't exactly as flowy or in-it as Sniper would be with him.
What the hell? It's just 1 in the morning anyway. Besides, he didn't have anything better to do-- and he was lonely. Yes, that's it. He felt lonely and Sniper seemed to be one of the few people to not make him look like less of a person because of it.
"I'm going in. It better not be Mocha you're making in there."