Chapter Text
Pyro scared people.
That much was common knowledge to just about everyone but Pyro. Wherever he went, the gas mask he wore and the fire axe at his side seemed to worry people at best, and send them running or attacking at worst.
Surely there was a reason for their fear - hell, if even his own teammates, including the unshakeable Heavy were wary of him, then he had to be dangerous.
Well, Heavy and the rest of the team weren’t entirely wrong. Pyro was absolutely capable of being lethal. After all, with a flamethrower at his disposal and the nickname ‘Pyro’, it was kind of a given. But Pyro had never shown any sign of malice, at least not towards his own teammates. In fact, he seemed content keeping to himself when not in any kind of combat (something most of the other mercenaries were grateful for).
Recently, however, it seemed like Pyro had taken a liking to some of the other eight men. Most notably - and perhaps surprisingly - the Engineer, Dell Conagher.
Nobody, not even Dell himself really understood why Pyro had latched on to him in the way that he did. The only reason he could think of was how calm he appeared out of combat, or his politeness towards the Pyro. Both were a far cry from the rest of the team. Scout was loud and rude, people like Spy and Sniper were calm but intimidating, and the rest of the team was just generally frightening in their own ways. Maybe it was just because Dell was the least frightening.
Whatever the reason was, it didn’t really matter very much. What was understood was that Pyro always seemed excited to join Dell in his workshop, jumping at any chance he got. Most of the time, he just sat in the corner of the room with a pile of comic books and pillows dragged in from...somewhere. Dell never asked. But sometimes he would go over to the table where Dell worked on his projects and watch.
Dell didn’t mind. Pyro never messed with any of his tools, and could actually be pretty helpful. For as clueless as he appeared, he could remember what parts and tools were what, and as far as Dell knew, seemed to enjoy when he explained how one of his many machines worked.
And that was exactly what was happening on this quiet morning. It was uncommon for there to be no work. No intelligence to capture, no other mercenaries to fight. It was relaxing, but after four years since their hire, the RED team couldn’t help but feel a bit restless with nothing to do. Dell was no exception and had decided to spend the morning in his workshop, playing with some of his machines. Like usual, Pyro had followed, and Dell hadn’t objected.
Pyro had long since gotten bored of the other side of the room, though, and had carried over a small portion of his comics over, making a spot for himself at the table. It was unusually silent, with the only real noise being the turn of a page, a tool being used, or a breath being twisted into a deep wheeze from Pyro’s gas mask.
It was calm.
“Pass me that wrench over there, boy,” Dell said, suddenly piercing the quiet without so much as looking up from a gutted teleporter. Pyro peered up from his comic book and inspected the table, grabbing the wrench from it and immediately placing it in Dell’s outstretched hand.
“Much obliged.”
A muffled voice coming from Pyro was the response. Dell was used to these once unintelligible mumblings and moved aside so Pyro could see the machinery whirring and ticking away.
“I’m just tinkerin’ with the teleporters,” He explained. “I’m thinkin’ maybe I can get em to charge faster.”
Pyro’s face couldn’t be seen from inside the gas mask he always wore, but Dell could only assume he was interested as he tilted his head and leaned a little closer, presumably to get a better look.
Pyro was like that. Even though he (for the most part) left others alone, he always looked at least a little interested in whatever they were doing. It was almost like he wanted to join in. Come to think of it, outside of combat, Pyro behaved more like a curious child than any mercenary Dell had met.
What was the Pyro?
Dell glanced at him. He was staring intently at the teleporter, resting his head on his arms with a calm, relaxed disposition the Engineer had only ever seen him have when clicking a lighter or burning the morning newspaper. Even through the gas mask, he could feel a sense of genuine innocence and wonder coming from him. Without really thinking, he placed a hand on the Pyro’s head. It was meant as a casual, kind gesture, and to anyone else it most likely would have seemed that way. But, clearly Pyro didn’t see it like that. Because the second Dell’s gloved hand touched his mask, Pyro jumped up from his seat with what could only be interpreted as a yelp or a shout, sending tools, comics, and machine crashing to the ground.
“My teleporter!” Dell cried, dropping to his knees to pick up the now-broken item. “Now, what’d you go and do a thing like that for?”
Pyro looked from Dell, to the wreck he’d caused, and then away from the scene entirely. Clasping his hands together and stiffening his stance.
“I’m sorry…”
It was rare, but sometimes the muffled words Pyro tried to get through could just barely be understood. After a minute of gathering up broken bits and pieces, and mourning over the work lost, Dell gave him a tired smile. It took another few seconds for him to get up and place the teleporter on the table before he advanced towards him.
“That’s alright, son,” Dell said in a gentler tone, resting his hand cautiously on Pyro (his shoulder, this time, though he certainly hesitated). “I can rebuild just about anything, you know. But how about you help me pick up this mess?”
Pyro practically leapt at the request, crouching down to start picking things up. Curiously, he completely ignored his own comics, even stepping on them in order to get to the Engineer’s tools and place them ever so carefully on the table. Dell glanced down at the now-trampled comic books, leaning down and picking them up one by one.
Once the floor was clean, and Pyro was keeping himself busy organizing Dell’s tools, Dell sat down and took a look at some of the covers of Pyro’s comic books.
The first thing he noticed was that all of them were old. Really old. The most recent one was from 1960. The second thing he noticed was that he didn’t recognize a single title. The majority of them were just dime a dozen stories about obscure heroes or ditzy high school girls. Mediocre stories that could be found at any used bookstore for next to nothing. But clearly Pyro enjoyed them, because the pages were all worn and fading like someone had flipped through them a million times - well-loved, Dell decided.
Pyro turned back to see him carefully separating the large stack of weathered comic books into piles, organizing by genre. It took a second for Dell to notice him, but when he did he patted the chair next to him.
“Come help me with this, you know these old things much better than me.”
Pyro hesitated, hands still folded. But Dell didn’t give up, patting the chair again with a reassuring smile.
“Am I that scary?” He asked with a small chuckle. Pyro quickly shook his head and took a seat next to him. Dell held up one of the comics.
“Which pile?”
Pyro looked at them idly. Dell’s smile faltered for just a second.
“You can just point, if you like.”
Pyro nodded in understanding and pointed towards one of the smaller piles. Dell placed it on top, reaching for another book, but then paused.
“Pyro?”
Pyro looked to Dell, tilting his head like he was confused.
“That old gas mask...what’s the point? Why wear it when you ain’t on the battlefield? You know, we can’t understand a word you’re sayin’ when you got that thing on.”
As usual, Dell couldn’t tell what the hell Pyro’s expression was under the mask. He could only guess that it was one of surprise, or anger, or maybe it was blank. Actually, scratch that. Dell had absolutely no clue what was going through Pyro’s head, if anything was. A few seconds passed like this, with the two just looking at each other.
“Pyro?”
Before Dell could get any kind of response out of him, an alarm near the door went off, blaring through the workshop and startling both of them. Dell winced and covered an ear, glaring at the alarm like it owed him money.
“Shit...come on, son,” He ordered, quickly getting up and grabbing the hefty toolbox on the table. “Looks like we might have some work to do.”
Pyro jumped up and followed, eventually catching up to Dell and jogging side by side with him. On the way, he grabbed onto something laying outside the workshop - a homemade flamethrower. Pyro’s beloved weapon, which had destroyed and saved many men. He adored the thing, which was probably the only reason anybody hadn’t just thrown it away.
The rest of the mercenaries were all preoccupied with loading the truck when they entered the room, except Scout, who hung out of the door with ease.
“Get movin’, we got a job at 2Fort,” He ordered the two before being unceremoniously pulled back into the passenger seat by a disgruntled looking Heavy. Dell sighed and turned to Pyro.
“Looks like I’ll need to grab a few things. Mind carryin’ this toolbox here to the truck for me?”
Pyro clapped his hands, taking the metal toolbox from Dell’s arms and cheerfully carrying it around to the back.
There were a few people already sitting in the back of the van when he got there - Tavish, the team’s Demoman, and the team’s Spy. Nobody really knew his name, probably something French. Both men looked away the second Pyro appeared in their view, almost like they were afraid to make eye contact. Pyro watched them quietly for a minute, turning from one teammate to the other in a possible attempt to be noticed. Still, they pretended he just wasn’t there. Eventually, Pyro gave up and slid the toolbox into the truck, leaving them to whatever they’d been doing before. As he passed the front seat, he could swear that Heavy and Scout were doing the same thing.
Oh well. It wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before.
Dell returned a minute or two later, this time beside the medic of the team, Dr. Ludwig. The man was dressed in a pristine lab coat and was carrying his favorite tool, a gun that could cure almost anything. Pyro liked the way it glowed.
“Well, I reckon that’s about everything we’ll need for this trip,” Dell said, hoisting an old guitar and a duffel bag higher on his shoulder. Pyro held out a hand, ready to take the bag as well, but Dell just smiled.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got this one,” He assured him. “You just head into the truck, I’ll be right behind you.”
Pyro hesitated, but eventually listened, stepping away from Dell and Dr. Ludwig.
The truck had filled up a bit more by the time he got into it - Soldier and Sniper had joined them, as well as their belongings. Pyro knew the two remaining seats would be needed by Dell and Dr. Ludwig, and instead chose to sit on a few crates. He didn’t mind, though. He liked being up higher anyways - it let him swing his legs back and forth.
But still, nobody spoke to Pyro. Probably best they didn’t. It wasn’t like Pyro would say anything back. But he watched them. He was good at that.
After about five minutes, Dell and Medic finally made their way into the already-crowded truck. Dell had an odd look on his face. Why did he look upset? Did something happen? That was no good, Pyro decided. He’d have to figure out why Dell was so sad. But he couldn’t now. Eventually he would, though.
The truck started moving, jostling everyone around. Pyro clutched the flamethrower a little closer as Dell reached out and pulled down the door, enveloping the small area in darkness.
Next stop: 2Fort.