Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

♡

“Sentry goin’ up!”

As soon as the RED Engineer opened his toolbox, he heard heavy footsteps rushing up behind him. Turning to face the noise, he screamed as he was immediately blasted with flames. 

He muttered to himself as he stomped out of Respawn and onto his teleporter. That darn Pyro.. he was going to bash their masked face in next time he got the cha—

Fwoosh.

His skin was burnt to a crisp as soon as he appeared back on the battlefield.

He stewed in his emotions for a second before Scout respawning brought him back to reality.

“What’s the matter, overalls?” he quipped, swinging his bat. “Too well-done for your taste?”

“Like you’re so great yourself,” Engineer growled after him as the younger man rushed back into battle. He trudged back to his teleporter.

They lost.

“Ugh!” Medic exclaimed, hands dragging down his face as the mercenaries headed back to base. “I am on a team full of idiots!”

Engie sighed. “Couldn’t get anythin’ done with that damn Pyro.”

“Speak for yourself, buddy,” Scout chirped. “I was on fire out there! And so were you. Heh.” He received a very sharp elbow to the shoulder.

Demoman shrugged. “I didn’t have any problem with ‘em.”

“Neither did I, surprisingly,” Spy added. “It seems they were only targeting Engineer this round.”

Scout smirked, grateful to have zero run-ins with mumbles. “As long as it’s not me!”

Engineer really, really wanted to say, ‘yeah, thanks for all the help, fellas’ but he bit his tongue. As they entered the main building and the majority of the team headed to the dining room, Engie decided to hunker down in his workshop.

A soft knock on his door snapped him out of his trance. 

“Come in,” he called, voice hoarse. He cleared his throat and sat up to stretch. He groaned as his back popped in several places, a sort of achey relief washing over his body.

His door slowly creaked open, a helmet clinking against it.

“I have brought you a sandwich,” Soldier announced, holding out a plate. So he did. “You did not show up for dinner.”

Engie shrugged. What could he say? “I guess I didn’t. Thanks, Soldier. I appreciate it.” Soldier approached his desk and handed him the plate. Engie could smell the mayo. He hid his gag to the best of his ability, placing the plate down next to his papers. His eyes burned. He blinked, yet it persisted. He rubbed his eyes. “Say, what time is it?”

“Two minutes to midnight.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Jeez.” They had come back from battle around seven. He felt like most of the nearly five hours since then were spent zoned out. “Well, thanks again, Soldier. I should get ready for bed. G’night.”

Soldier nodded, backing out of his workshop with a salute. Engineer yawned so hard he thought his jaw might pop. Standing up, his joints cracked almost painfully. He considered the pitiful, stinky sandwich for a long moment. 

He slid it into the trash. He probably shouldn’t be eating so late, anyway.

His head felt fuzzy as he brushed his teeth, sharp bristles irritating his gums. He spat, a swirl of red blood and blue toothpaste sliding down the drain. As he cozied up in bed, flames and flashes of blue danced behind his eyes. A soft, gentle baby blue clashed with harsh, fiery oranges and reds. His memories of the day played on rewind as he tossed and turned. 

There was something going on here, something more to this.

He was going to figure out what.

Chapter Text

A gloomy ceasefire day. Dark clouds hung above the base, threatening rain later in the day.

Engineer woke up a bit earlier than the others, despite going to bed so late the previous night—or so he thought. As he settled down with his freshly brewed coffee, Scout burst into the kitchen.

“Mornin’, hardhat,” he panted, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he opened the fridge. He must’ve been out for an early run.

Engie nodded. “Mornin’.”

Scout gulped down a water bottle in record time. “So what are you up to today?”

“Nothin’ much, I guess,” he shrugged. He didn’t really have any work to do on his machines; he took care of it last night. “Why?”

“Me and Snipes were thinkin’ about goin’ into town later. You in?”

Engie frowned, glancing out the window. Though it was well past sunrise, the overcast sky made it much darker outside. “Looks like a storm’s comin’, son.”

“Whatever.” Scout gave a dismissive wave of his hand. A little rain couldn’t get in his way! “We’re just gonna be indoors anyway. So you in or not?”

He thought about it. He certainly didn’t have anything better to do, and hey, it might even be fun. Before he knew it, he was grinning.

“Aw, what the hell. I’m in!”

As Sniper parked the van, a small rumble of thunder rolled out through the sky above them—which had darkened considerably since earlier. Thick, gloomy clouds hovered over the town below. Maybe one of them should have brought an umbrella. 

“So what’s the plan?” Engineer mused.

“I was thinkin’ of hitting up some shops first,” Scout chattered, “maybe pick up some new baseball cards if I can find ‘em and some new shoes or somethin’. Maybe a new jacket too, heard it might be record-breaking cold this fall! Oh, and I also need to look around for gifts for my ma; her birthday is comin’ up soon y’know, gotta start lookin’ now so whatever it is gets to her on time—”

Sniper cleared his throat. “And then,” he cut in, “whenever we’re done with that, I was thinkin’ we grab somethin’ to eat and then head for some drinks. Maybe at the same place, I dunno.”

Engineer nodded. “Sounds like a plan to me!”

As they browsed the various shops downtown had to offer, Engineer couldn’t help but feel like he was missing.. something. What exactly it was, he wasn’t sure; but as he thumbed through sweaters on the rack and collections of trinkets on the shelf, there was a vaguely hazy feeling in his mind. His brain mirrored the sky outside—clouded. His lips subconsciously drew in a tight line; was he forgetting something? What could it be? Maybe if he forgot, it wasn’t that important.. He was deep in thought as he glared at a gaudy blue turtleneck when a familiar voice snapped him out of it (and startled him in the process).

“Hey,” Sniper murmured, “we’re about to get goin’, you good?”

“Oh!—” Engie released the sleeve of the turtleneck he didn’t realize he was holding. “Yeah, sorry, I’m good— I’m ready.”

Sniper nodded, adjusting a large bag in his grip. “Scout’s checkin’ out right now, then we were gonna run this stuff out to the van and start lookin' for a place to eat.” He glanced out the storefront windows, the impending storm making itself very apparent. “Hopefully we can beat this rain… whenever it decides to come. Looks nasty.” His gaze returned to his coworker. “You didn’t get anything.”

It was more of a statement than something inquisitive. Engie was suddenly aware of how empty-handed he was compared to how much stuff he had looked at. “Oh, I guess I didn’t.. Nothing caught my eye, I suppose. Maybe next time.”

A smirk from Sniper. “What about those candles up front? Saw you give ‘em an awfully intense smell session.”

“Wh—” Engie spluttered. Normally he would laugh it off, but he felt an uncharacteristic heat rising to his cheeks, along with the need to defend himself. “I— They— They smelled good, alright?! I dunno if I’m really a scented candle kind of fella, though.. I’m used to good ole unscented beeswax.”

“C’mon, you gotta have somethin’ to show for this lil’ trip. Let’s go, I’ll get it for ya.”

Engie couldn’t help but chuckle at his teammate’s abrupt generosity. “Really,” he assured, “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Either you’re pickin’ out one yourself, or I’m gettin’ one for you,” Snipes playfully threatened.

“Okay, okay!” he relented. “I’ll go get one so you can sleep at night!”

He returned to the aforementioned display to make his decision. A majority of them smelled sickeningly artificial, but there was one that he found himself tolerating.. now where was it?

Bubble gum, nope.. floral, yuck, definitely not.. linen, nah… 

A-ha!

S’mores. It was just the right balance between smoky and sweet. As he took a deep inhale, he could imagine himself roasting some marshmallows by a crackling campfire. The deep aroma of wood burning, gentle warmth of the flame highlighting his face, the taste of crunchy graham crackers with melted chocolate and a delectable, ooey-gooey charred marshmallow… and.. ash?

The static in his mind seemed to buzz a little louder, but he quickly shook it off and stepped into line with his candle.

After the cashier wrapped it up, he regrouped with his teammates. Scout was encumbered by shopping bags; they were practically overflowing in his arms before Engineer offered to help him out. Sniper was willing to let him struggle. Mostly because it was funny.

As if on cue, right as the trio stepped out the door, the light pitter-patter of droplets sounded on the pavement as they started to fall.

“Ah, crap,” Sniper cursed as he readjusted his bag in his hands and started hustling. “Better hurry!”

The parking situation was quite terrible in this area of town—they had to park down the street, nearly a block away. Scout expectedly took the lead, but not before taking his bags back from Engie—there was no way he was letting his mom’s gifts get wet!

Sniper preemptively unlocked his van, with Scout flinging the door open mere moments later. He practically threw himself inside and yelled out to the others before closing the door, “Hurry up, chucklenuts!”

“I’m tryin’!” Engineer called back, more than a few steps behind his taller teammate. He wasn’t much for running in the first place, and he certainly didn’t have the advantage of such long legs. Curses. 

They leapt inside once they reached the vehicle, rain starting to pick up heavily at that point. By the skin of their teeth.

“Soooo…” Scout whistled. “Where we eatin’?”

“That’s what we’re about to figure out,” Sniper divulged, producing a map and a telephone book from his glove compartment. “Got a taste for anythin’?”

“I’m starving! ” his younger coworker whined. “I could eat anythin’ right now!”

Sniper couldn’t help but let out a snicker and declare, “To the landfill it is, then.”

“Ah, I already had garbage for breakfast,” Engie quipped, “I think I’m feelin’ some pasta. Any kind.”

“Any kind,” Sniper murmured to himself, thumbing through pages of the book. “Hmm… How about Sanders BBQ?” 

Scout nodded enthusiastically. Engineer raised an eyebrow. “Sounds good to me.”

“Woooo!”

“I think you’ve had enough, hardhat,” Scout remarked, patting the arm that his teammate had slung around him. 

“Nonsense, son, I’m drinkin’ for both of us!”

Somewhere along the line, it was decided that Scout be the designated driver on the way back. It’s a surprise they made the decision sober. 

Sniper was still nursing his second drink while Engineer had slammed his fourth.

“Last one,” he promised Scout before signaling to the bartender. “It’s been a hell of a week.”

The marksman nodded, finishing off his glass. “You could say that again.”

“I mean—” Engie managed a quick ‘thanks’ to the bartender before continuing, “That battle yesterday, yeesh! What the hell was up with that damn Pyro?!”

As soon as their name was uttered, though it was from his own lips, a burning-hot sensation erupted underneath his skin. 

“Jeez—” He grumbled to himself as he undid a few buttons on his shirt, rolling his sleeves up. The fiery prickling remained. His head was fuzzy and much too warm as well, he felt as if his brain was tinder for a flame. His heart was a mess in his chest—anxiety accelerated by the four drinks settling in his stomach. Too much.

“Just—” he breathed, body alight, “Too much..”

“Hey, Engie.. you all right?”

He blinked, and looked. Two Scouts—no, just one—was sitting before him, concern blatant on his face. If he looked a little harder, he could spy Sniper in the distance sharing the same look.

“I—” Engineer’s voice caught in his throat, and he coughed. “Yeah, I.. Excuse me for a moment.”

He spun off his swivel bar stool right into the bathrooms, not daring to look back.

He was not going to be sick. Nope. He looked in the mirror for confirmation, the dim blue lights glowing off his sweaty face. Ugh.  

A shaking hand reached to turn the sink on. The cold water felt electric on his burning arms, and he nearly winced as he splashed it on his cheeks. There was an uncomfortable, all-too-familiar queasiness bubbling and rising in his gut. 

He was going to be sick.

Sink abandoned, he raced into the closest stall, barely getting the door open before his dinner spilled into the porcelain bowl below. The fire would not be purged from his body. Even after his stomach contents were gone, the sickly feeling remained. Along with the torturous heat licking every inch of his skin. Why? Why him?

He steeled himself against the flimsy stall walls. Why was this happening? Hadn’t his defeat been enough?!

“What.. the hell,” he grunted to himself, “is goin’ on here..”

It wasn’t subsiding. The blazing pain was spreading, seeping deeper into his bones. Too much.

He couldn’t even recall leaving the bathroom; all he knew is that he had a genius idea to make it all stop. He flew past his friends and other patrons, right out the door into the storm.

The rain fizzled out his flame, soaking through his clothes and into his system. He nearly cried in relief.

His coworkers, on the other hand, were crying out in a different way.

“Jeez!” he remembered Sniper exclaim, wet boots quickly stomping to his side. Another pair followed close behind. He felt arms around either side of him, lifting him away from his stormy solace. Thunder echoed and shook buildings over his younger teammate’s words.

“Hey man, let’s get you home, okay?” 

His fifth drink remained untouched on the counter.

Chapter Text

They tried to breathe, but the air was too thick. Smoke filled their lungs, heavy and dusty and eliciting a painful cough from their throat. It felt as if their vocal cords were tearing with each movement, being ripped to shreds as they desperately gasped for clean air.

But none came.

The fog grew denser in their body, pulling them to the floor. A cry for help died before it could escape their lips, and more ash was inhaled as they attempted to try again. They didn’t even mind the blazing heat; it was kind of cozy and comforting in contrast to the bitter tar accumulating inside them. Or maybe their nerves were burnt beyond feeling.

They crawled to the door, skin dragging and nearly melting into the ground as they inched closer. 

Before they could reach their destination, the door burst open, the force nearly sending it flying off its hinges. A dark silhouette appeared against the dancing flames and outstretched its hand. 

They grasped it, but felt the flesh simply glide through their fingertips. 

The room was no longer alight and full of smoke; however it was still dark, sunrise barely peeking in through the blinds. Their hands swam around for a moment, feeling the unmistakable softness of their comforter. Bed. They were in bed, of course.

They kicked the blanket off; the way it enveloped them was a little too similar to the nightmare for their taste. A glance at the clock told them it was a little before 5 a.m. Definitely too early by their standards, but there was no way they could get back to sleep now. 

They squeezed their mask on and trudged out of their room, down the hall to the bathroom. Though it was only temporary for their journey, the familiar contours of it brought them comfort and a sense of security. The distinct smell of rubber flooded their nose, flushing away the residual ash and burnt flesh. There was a hint of something else, something warm and metallic; it trickled down their throat and bloomed on their taste buds. They swallowed it down. Likely just more remnants from the dream.

The bathroom door creaked as it swung open, reverberating against the tiles. They headed to their ‘designated’ shower stall. There were no official assignments; the mercenaries usually just used whichever one was available, but they tended to gravitate towards their ‘usual’ stall. Plus, Pyro had already set up camp in that one, so there was no changing their mind.

They peeled off their BLU-issued pajamas and let the clothes drop to the floor. Not their favorite, but their other sets were dirty. It was a bit of last resort sleepwear. They’d have to do laundry later, they reminded themself. Pyro wiped off the small mirror that they had stuck on the wall. Laundry, laundry, maybe clean out their mask as well, organizing, thinking, pondering, laundry..

The mask came off. They were met with their face in the mirror, but the reflection had a trail of blood leaking from their nostril. They blinked, and so did the other one. Bare fingers tentatively reached to touch above their lips. It was wet, it was real.

“Oh,” they murmured, continuing to stare into their own eyes. There was no answer. Back to the routine, the faucet knob was cranked clockwise 360 degrees. They turned away from the shower head and braced themself.

The icy cold water poured down on them like hail, but just for a moment, like always. The stream cycled and quickly became scorching. To others, at least.

Pyro inhaled deeply, the steam helping to loosen the mucus and blood in their sinuses. The water drummed against the naked skin of their back, the extreme temperatures lost in translation versus their scar tissue and numb nerves. They hacked and spit. Deep red blood spiraled against the pale tiles.

The scratchiness in their throat remained, like always. That was fine. They cleared it again nonetheless. Still rough. Like always.

Always, always, always, laundry, laundry, laundry.. hmm, what else.. think, think, think…

Oh, yes – organize. They could start with organizing their thoughts. Ponder. Kill two birds with one stone.

Their body robotically ran through the motions of a shower routine while they got lost in their mind. There was one particular thing crowding their brain. One particular person.

The RED Engineer.

Engineer, Engineer, Engineer. They could repeat it dozens of times. They could and they would, so as to not forget… something. Despite their efforts, they still couldn’t remember what was missing, and the repetition was not bringing it to light. Still, their obsession persisted. They felt as if they needed him for something, for some reason. So many unknowns. 

They wanted to know. Badly.

They were still working out how to convey it. So far, burning him to a crisp was all they had accomplished, as it was all they knew. They’d figure something out. They needed his attention, just for a moment, and they would figure it all out.

But for now, until the next time they saw him…

They hacked and wheezed and sputtered into the drain.

Waking up to the unmistakable fluorescent lights of the Medbay was doing wonders for Engineer’s throbbing headache. He groaned and opted to keep his eyes closed, though he knew any chance of more sleep had been chased away. Why’d they keep it so bright in here, anyway?

Clinkclinkclinkclink.

The sound of curtains being drawn back. A voice followed.

“Are you awake?”

Engineer wearily brought a hand over his eyes to use as a shield before reluctantly opening them. Ugh, even more light was pouring in from the rest of the room. The uncomfortably rigid cot was putting a nasty pressure on his skull. Even worse, the tension and aches in his back were becoming painfully apparent. He found his voice hiding deep in his throat, and it came crawling out in a hoarse, “I guess.”

Eyes adjusting a bit, Medic finally came into view. His expression was unreadable, yet not neutral. The way he was looking down at Engie was making the poor man nervous.

“You had a bit of a wild night,” Medic stated simply, just delivering the facts. No bias. “I take it you are still not feeling so well?”

Wow, was it that obvious? Engie grimaced in response, not sure if he should nod or shake his head.

“Well, that’s to be expected,” the other man continued. His eyebrows knit together. “You are very dehydrated. I was going to start you on IV fluids overnight, but, heh, I couldn’t seem to find a vein, so if you would be so kind as to point one out for me…”

Even with the cool saline flowing through him, Engineer still felt a familiar burn biting at his skin. He briefly questioned if the overhead lights were heat lamps. A ring of fire circled his head.

“Hey doc,” he called out weakly, “is this gonna help with the fever at all?”

The confusion was apparent on Medic’s face. “What fever?”

No way that this was actually how knowledgeable he was. Engineer couldn’t help but stare back incredulously. “The… I’ve been burnin’ up since last night!”

The doctor’s expression didn’t falter. “Engineer, your temperature is normal.”

Was he joking? He had to be.

“Then why am I so.. hot?!” That was an understatement. The fiery waves passing through his flesh were absolutely miserable. Borderline unbearable.

Medic raised his eyebrows, slipping off a glove and pressing the back of his hand to the other man’s forehead. “You feel just fine to me. Do you want me to take your temperature? Go ahead and remove your pants.”

Yet the doctor’s hand felt so chilly against him in that moment. It was gone as quick as it came, like a flash freeze of his brain. Medic was looking at him expectantly.

“…No thanks,” Engineer decided with gritted teeth. “I’ll probably be fine.”

With that, Medic left the man to his own devices. 

Engie shifted on the cot, trying to get comfortable enough to rest. No luck, he was going to have to force it. He attempted to wrangle the sheep in his head.

He’d like to blame all of his wooziness on the events of the previous night, but he knew that couldn’t entirely be the case. Was that failed battle really getting to him that bad? Why?

He tried to rationalize it, but the whole thing left him deeply unsettled. This wasn’t just about hurt pride. He felt nauseous thinking of the deadly encounters with the firebug. The hospital bed was a swaying ship getting lost at sea. 

An odd feeling shrouded him, a sort of grief and longing that he couldn’t place. His brain panged, trying to remember something that he didn’t.

Whatever it was making him fall apart, he needed to get it together. No way that freak was going to get in the way of his performance. He was gonna show that Pyro.

Despite the strong discomfort, exhaustion eventually took over and he was pulled into sleep.

Engineer’s dreams were an inferno of flames and turmoil.

Chapter Text

Oh, yeah, I'll tell you somethin'

I think you'll understand

When I say that somethin'

I want to hold your hand

I want to hold your hand

I want to hold your hand

The radio crackled. They stared ahead out the window, over the nearly never-ending stretch of sand.

The fantasy that projected into their vision had them transfixed. 

Oh, please, say to me

You'll let me be your man

And please, say to me

You'll let me hold your hand

You'll let me hold your hand

I want to hold your hand

They imagined what lied beneath the goggles. Would he have gentle brown eyes? Piercing blue ones? Maybe a lively green. Perhaps mesmerizingly gray — or something sweet in between. His nose bridge would likely have a temporary dent from the eyewear. With the blazing sun hanging overhead, there would probably be a comically shaped tan line too. There could even be some freckles hiding under there as well. And what did his teeth look like? Pyro had seen a glimpse when he screamed, sure, but they’d like to get up close and personal with his molars. So many unknowns… Not to mention the hardhat. They shivered.

And when I touch you

I feel happy inside

It's such a feelin' that my love

I can't hide

I can't hide

I can't hide

What was under the glove? Their team’s Engineer had cut off his own hand. Was it the same case with his RED counterpart? Pyro pictured the smooth metal in contrast to his calloused hand. Of course he would have callouses. Right? Or would his skin be surprisingly soft? They wondered what he smelled like.

Engineer could be asking them the same questions — and more. Pyro swiped a cloth inside the crevices of their mask.

To others, they were more so an entity than a mercenary. Even their own team was upfront and vocal about how they viewed Pyro; the reception was not very positive.

That was fair, they rationalized. They hadn’t really displayed any humanity during their contract so far. No one had seen the face under their mask. They thought of the mask as their ‘true’ face, but that was another story. Hell, no one had even seen them outside of their suit or similar concealing apparel. There might as well be an eldritch horror operating the uniform.

A familiar stinging cut through their pondering. They alerted to the source: a split in the dry skin of their knuckles. Hm. They smeared the blood away.

They imagined Engineer’s fingertips against their own. To feel each ridge and groove… the prints would leave an imprint directly on their mind. If their fingers slipped and laced together, Pyro might never let go.

There was something so fascinating about the RED Engineer; Pyro could spend all day deliberating. A fleeting thought came to the firebug, something about laundry, but that could probably wait. They scrubbed at the eyepieces of their mask.

Chapter Text

Well, those were a miserable past few days.

The Engineer woke up late the next morning, tension in his head unrelenting — not to mention the agony trailing down his back. At least it didn’t feel like he was being cooked anymore. He couldn’t help but groan as he shifted and sat up.

Clinkclinkclinkclink.

“It’s about time that you got up!”

That booming voice certainly didn’t belong to Medic. Engie looked over to see Soldier peering through the curtains into his section.

“Er—” Engineer cleared his throat and rubbed at his temples. “It sure is. What are you doing here?” 

Soldier presented his hand, with the tip of his index finger brandishing a bloodied wrap. “Papercut.”

Figures. Engie blinked and tried to collect himself, only able to think about the grogginess that consumed him. A glance over at his fluid bag revealed that it was empty, yet he didn’t really feel much better. That may have been from oversleeping, though. Or was it really oversleeping if he needed the rest? He swiped the gunk away from his eyes. “Say, where’s Medic? And what time is it?”

“He is getting ready for battle!” Soldier declared, “That’s what time it is! About time for you to get ready!”

Though Engie was already positioned upright, this information caused him to straighten out even more. He felt his heart drop past his stomach and very nearly fall out of him. That’ll wake someone up.

“And y’all didn’t warn me?!”

“That was your warning, private.”

Engineer turned his attention to his arm and carefully peeled the tape off before pulling out the butterfly needle. Soldier observed in earnest. The other man located his goggles and hardhat on a nearby tray table before snatching them up and pushing past Soldier, out of the Medbay and straight to his quarters. 

Practically stumbling through the halls, he nearly tripped on something right outside of his door. He cursed to himself before he bent over to get it out of the way, already mentally preparing another lecture for Scout about leaving his baseballs out.

A puzzling brown paper bag. He peeked into it and was met with a pleasant surprise: the s’mores candle he picked out during the trip to town. It had been so delectable before, but the small whiff he got at that moment had him a bit queasy. He folded up the bag and brought it inside.

He made a beeline for his bedside dresser, placing the candle down before digging through unorganized contents of the drawer for something particular. He found it: the holy grail, an old prescription bottle. The brilliant medicine that had helped with his back problems, yet caused so many other issues. He really tried not to take them unless it was necessary, but now seemed like more of an apt time than any. He poured one out into his hand, deliberated for a moment, and then tossed in a second one. Might as well.

Engineer headed over to his workshop sink and popped both pills into his mouth before he hurriedly slurped up some tap water. He nearly gagged and lost them as soon as they hit his tongue; the nasty taste lingered even after they were swallowed. He gulped down more water.

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to do this before battle, but hell, he would rather be out of it than in pain. He pulled his clothes off, cringing a bit at the smell. An intense shower was definitely needed, but unfortunately he didn’t have the time. He hastily used some baby wipes on particularly acrid areas before he jumped into a clean uniform. 

Engie hustled across the base to meet up with the others.

“Teleporter goin’ up!”

A smidgeon of déjà vu. Engineer turned to check, and was well beyond relieved to not discover the BLU Pyro sneaking up on him. Still, with no one close enough around to help, he wasn’t completely in the clear. He surveyed his surroundings before getting back to work, and then promptly dashed to catch up with his team.

And as luck may have it, around the corner came the single person that he hadn’t wanted to encounter at that moment.

He stopped in his tracks. The BLU Pyro unexpectedly did as well. They stood and stared at him, unmoving, not even raising their weapon.

Though the mumbles were almost always incomprehensible through the mask, the words spoken with shocking clarity couldn’t be mistaken.

“You,” Pyro rasped, lifting their hand, a shaky finger accusing him. “I know you.”

They took a step forward.

“You—”

BANG!

Their body fell to the dusty ground, thanks to a well-timed headshot from RED’s Sniper.

Engineer hurried on like nothing happened, shaking the encounter from his mind. As much as he did want to tear into that weirdo, he had an equally strong desire to not get caught alone with them.

Especially after whatever they were just talking about. The woozy feeling in his head may have been from more than just the drugs.

But alas, he suffered the same fate; he saw a fleeting blur of his team in the distance and felt a sharp pressure, then nothing, before fading into Respawn.

Drat. He staggered towards his teleporter. The warm orange glow surrounding him melted into a soft blue as he was sprung back into the field.

He was met with a pair of cold bug eyes mere inches from his face.

Reflexively, the Engineer reeled and slammed his fist into the mask.

The BLU Pyro stumbled back, dropping their flamethrower and hitting the ground with a huff. They reached for it, but the RED Engineer was miraculously quicker, and he kicked it away with ease. Showtime.

Pyro writhed as the other man straddled them. One of the eyepieces of their mask had shattered, leaving it a messy hole of broken glass. They made a grab at the Engineer, but he caught their wrist in one hand and wound up his other. The Pyro held up their free arm to cover their head.

“Wait—”

Knuckles collided with their face; the sickening crunch covered up their cry. The delicate clink of shards sliding together was accentuated as they squirmed. Engineer released his grip, instead bunching up the neckline of their uniform in his hand. They brought their hands over their eyes, wailing and futilely kicking their feet, unable to gain purchase on the slippery rocks.

Engineer raised his fist again. The Pyro gurgled, no doubt on their rapidly accumulating blood. He lifted them off the dirt slightly, prompting the pyromaniac to fling their arms out and grasp the other man. One hand flew to cradle the side of his face, the other squeezed his forearm.

“If you know what’s good for you,” they croaked, struggling to wrestle their assailant, “you’ll meet me outside of your base tonight.”

Their breaths were ragged and desperate; they wheezed in an attempt to fill their lungs with something other than blood and mucus. Their hold on the Engineer was pathetically weak. They were clearly trying to shove his hand back, yet the gloved fingers cupping his cheek were oddly gentle.

Engineer threw one last punch.

The Administrator’s voice roared over the loudspeaker.

“BLU is through!”

Chapter Text

Regret.

Why was he filled with so much regret? Didn’t he do the right thing?

Did he even hear them correctly?

Engineer sat at the edge of his bed, frozen in thought. Thunder rumbled outside, resounding through his dim room. Flickers of light and warmth washed across his face from the flame of the s’mores candle. Pyro’s words kept replaying in his mind.

Their light blue suit had been stained with droplets of crimson blood spluttered from the filter of their mask. It seeped from their broken eyepieces as well, making the outside slick and messy—but it couldn’t possibly be as bad as the interior looked.

“If you know what’s good for you—” Pyro’s voice was strangled and thick, drowning in their own fluids. It was a wonder they could even get the sentence out at all. “—you’ll meet me outside of your base tonight.”

Almost incomprehensible, but he had been unavoidably paying close attention. Yet he still wasn’t convinced that he hadn’t heard them wrong.

It didn’t feel right.

The whole thing. Even as he had leapt onto them, pinning them helplessly to the ground, something was telling him not to. He suppressed it and pushed through, fulfilling his self promise of bashing their face in. So why didn’t he feel victorious?

A fool’s victory, at most.

He felt the ghost of their fingers still caressing his face. Deep within him, there was a strange sickness that couldn’t be placed nor cured.

Even as they were swept away into Respawn, he felt the desire to go after them, to pursue the very thing he was avoiding — but he could avoid it no longer.

All signs and symptoms were pointing to finding them tonight.

Strong winds rattled his windows. Fitting weather to match his inner turmoil. Engineer fiddled with his hands in his lap, his legs restless against the side of his bed. The mattress creaked as he pulled himself to his feet. He blew out the candle with a quick phew.

Padding through the halls of the base, he thought about their first encounter that day. Locked into a staredown. He wondered what they were about to say before Sniper knocked their lights out, and also wondered if that shot was really well-timed or not.

“You. I know you. You—”

What did they mean? How could they possibly know him? 

Why did he feel the same way? 

Engineer wiped the sweat from his upper lip. There was something about that Pyro, something he couldn’t quite place, but they definitely had a different energy than both his own team and the opposing one. He wouldn’t exactly say he knew them, but it felt like he could. And he would—once he located them in the pouring rain.

The cool droplets gave him some grace from the humidity as Engineer navigated the dark outdoors. He clung to the wall, the overhang shielding him from some of the weather, but the storm still seeped into his clothes and threatened to extinguish his fiery core. He wouldn’t let it.

The search felt a bit aimless; they hadn’t exactly specified where to meet. He briefly questioned if he was supposed to just know, like how it seemed to be the case with Pyro’s intuition. A passing shiver shook his bones. The firebug had been consistently one step ahead of him up until that point; he wouldn’t be surprised if they were already aware of where he was.

The teeniest, tiniest flicker of light around the corner caught his attention. He cautiously stepped forward, the slick gravel crunching underneath his feet.

“Hello?” he murmured. No reply. He cleared his throat. “Uh, it’s me.”

Click. Click. Fwoosh.

A bold spark ignited, a warm orange glow leaking into his vision. He rounded the corner, apprehension be damned.

The BLU Pyro stood before him, the flame of their lighter dancing desperately against the breeze. A lone raindrop fizzled out the ignition.

Their hands dropped to their sides, expression unreadable, but there was no doubt they were staring at him. Engineer was staring back, eyes wide behind his goggles. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, anxiety bubbling up in his gut. Here they were. The same person that he had made suffer before; the same person that had made him suffer. The opponents stood still, feet cemented in the dirt. 

“Hello,” Engineer repeated, seeking out some kind of response. An answer to his problems. The end-all be-all solution.

Pyro remained motionless for a moment. Slowly, deliberately, they reached up and grasped the filter of their mask. They rotated it, still slowly—but surely, air softly hissing out as it unscrewed. 

It was silent, save for the pitter-patter of rain. It had calmed down considerably to fit the moment.

“I’ve been watching you,” they rasped. Their voice was ‘clearer’ now — really, it was harsh and congested, but at least it was audible. Pyro tilted their head to the side. “Do you feel it too?”

It. Engineer knew exactly what they meant, but at the same time felt hopelessly lost and clueless.

Fire prickled on his skin, static buzzing louder in his mind. He felt compelled to ask ‘feel what?’ but there was no point in beating around the bush. “Yeah,” he breathed, “I reckon I do.”

The two stopped and stared at each other again.

“Take off your goggles,” Pyro wheezed. The Engineer, like the other mercenary, was still dressed in uniform from head to toe. He shuffled and shifted his weight. Despite the strange connection they had, this was still technically his enemy, and he had every right to be on guard.

However, he also had the right to make his own decisions. Tentatively, he brought his hands up behind his head, unbuckling the strap and letting the eyewear slide off his face. He held it unsurely, having no idea what to expect from the pyromaniac. Maybe they just wanted easier access to his eyes to poke them out; he wouldn’t entirely blame them after his violent stunt earlier. 

Crunch. Crunch.  

Pyro had closed the distance between them. They raised their hand, gloved thumb coming to rest on Engie’s chin while the other fingers supported his jaw. They tilted his head up slightly to get a better view, leaning in close and peering deep into his eyes. Engineer met the cold unfeeling gaze of the mask.

This close, he could appreciate how much taller they were than himself. Not exactly towering, but they had a good few inches on him. Plus, despite the gentle hold they had on him now, he was well aware of the dangerous muscles lurking beneath the Pyro’s suit. He was at their mercy.

“Can’t see,” they muttered to themself, other hand going down to fish in their pocket.

Click. Fwoosh.

Engineer nearly flinched at the sudden flame, expecting the worst. Thankfully, it was not going anywhere near him; Pyro held it at a reasonable distance, using the light source to further examine his face. It reflected off their eyepieces, making them shine and sparkle in the night. Their grip tensed.

“Oh…”

The rain was picking up again. Fat droplets smacked against their sides, carried by the howling wind. A wet thumb swiped across his cheekbone. 

“Beautiful.”

Once again, the Engineer wasn’t quite sure that he had heard them right. A flush rose to his face nonetheless.

Pyro’s hands came to clasp over the other man’s. “Let me hold your hand,” they breathed, playing with his fingers. “I didn’t get to earlier. Properly.”

They let go and stepped back a bit. Their heart might’ve exploded if they had to wait any longer, but they weren’t in a hurry as they peeled off their rubber gloves.

Engineer had to stop himself from gawking. After all, he too had his doubts about the entity under the suit being human. Their oddly delicate hands proved otherwise. 

Even under the dim lighting, he could tell Pyro’s bare skin was heavily scarred. Their sleeves were rolled up to their elbows, blemished forearms on display. They presented their palms expectedly. 

That was his cue. Engineer stripped the glove from his right hand, finding it amusing the way Pyro blatantly tipped their head out of curiosity. Guess they weren’t one for subtlety.

He reached out, his fingertips ghosting against the Pyro’s before they came to rest on the sides of their hands. His fingers gently curled, and he noted the difference between their soft palms and dry knuckles. Their fingers wrapped around his and squeezed tightly.

They released him momentarily to spin their hands around and press them flat against the other man’s. Pyro sighed, interlocking their fingers together.

Engineer wasn’t sure if it was just from the human touch, but his hands were hot, burning up in a similar way to the odd sensation that he felt before. It took a small wiggle to confirm that they hadn’t melded to the other merc’s hands. But with the way the Pyro was clenching onto him, he figured they might be on the route to fusion soon enough. He anxiously wondered where else this train was taking him, and just prayed it wouldn't derail. 

The moment was finally here, and Pyro indeed might’ve never let go. No matter how much they consumed, they couldn’t get their fill. They needed impossibly more.

Reluctantly, they snaked one hand out of the maze of digits. As Engineer observed, they hooked their fingers under the front of their mask and painstakingly lifted it just above their mouth.

“Oh…”

It was the Engineer’s turn to be awestruck as he watched the thick curve of their lips get closer.. and closer…

Pyro must have picked up on his bewilderment, as they stopped in their tracks to try and clarify their intentions. 

“I think this is what we’re meant to do.”

They moved forward, much to Engineer’s… dismay? Excitement? He couldn’t decipher what he was feeling emotionally; the only thing he was sure of was the strikingly pleasant warmth and softness pressed against his lips. Though he saw it coming, it wasn’t exactly something that he’d bargained for… yet he found that his hands came to settle naturally on their waist. Pyro had a firm grasp on his bicep, as if daring him to try and escape this moment, with their other hand once again cradling the Texan’s cheek. Engineer found himself indulging in it, deepening the kiss and absorbing their taste. His mind was shrouded with a dreamy haze; not to mention the feverish heat climbing across his skin.

The reality of the situation was kicking in. He was kissing a member of the enemy team. And their Pyro, for that matter. Speaking of which, he still didn’t exactly have a clue what any of this is about. Mouth still entwined with the other’s, he started questioning how it got to this point, about what had brought him to that moment. What was he even here for? This? Surely not. Admittedly, it felt.. right, so to speak, but there was something else missing. A new taste seeped in and flooded his senses.

He pulled back, instinctively licking the mess from his lips. Blood. If it wasn’t evident enough by the taste, the crimson trail leaking from Pyro’s nostril was a sure-fire sign. They pulled their mask back into position. Engineer still felt oddly slick, and when he wiped above his upper lip he was shocked to see his thumb return with blood. He tentatively reached up to prod at his nose—come to find his was bleeding as well. Numb yet overloaded, he didn’t protest as Pyro wrapped their arms around him and sank their head into his shoulder. 

His body surely did, though. He was becoming uncomfortably hot and nauseous. Engineer usually wasn’t one to be squeamish around blood but… something about this particular situation was making him woozy. There was a new prominent thought in his mind fighting amongst the others to be heard:

Go.

He couldn’t bring himself to return the embrace. Engie plucked the other merc’s limbs off him, wrangling them and returning them to their rightful owner. Pyro merely let him, frozen in stunned silence.

Maybe he could find out the answers some other time. Perhaps he wasn’t ready for them now… but would he ever be? Did he really want to know?

“Sorry,” he stammered, head pounding and swirling. “I need to go.”

The RED Engineer slunk backwards into the darkness, hustling to the solace of his base.

The firebug was left forsaken in the spotlight of the pouring rain.

Chapter Text

Regret.

Why were they filled with so much regret? Didn’t they do the right thing?

Pyro sat at the edge of their bed, frozen in thought. Spurred by agitated energy, they wearily brought themself to their feet and began anxiously pacing around the room. 

They had moved too quickly with the situation. Too much, too fast. They itched at their forearms. Some answers were gained, but other questions arose. One step forward, two steps back.

It was all they could think about. No way they were going to be able to fall asleep tonight—as if they didn’t have enough trouble already. Their mind was running a million miles a minute, and they feared the incoming crash. They pulled every lever they could to activate the brakes.

Pyro drew in a shaky breath, chest rattling, trying to focus on the more positive aspects rather than catastrophizing. They imagined the RED Engineer’s deep blue-gray eyes gazing at him softly, longingly, which certainly hadn’t actually been the case an hour ago. They had been blown wide with fear and uncertainty, but Pyro could play pretend a little bit. No harm in that. No harm at all. 

They remembered the feeling of his muscles stiffening underneath their touch, which had been something irrefutably real and tangible. The overpowering aroma of rain had covered up most of Engineer’s smell, but as they buried their face near the crook of his neck, they caught a whiff of stale sweat and the faint scent of clean laundry, fading from the work of the day. It was unlike the standard detergent that BLU provided; there was a trace of lavender and sweetness... maybe honeysuckle? He tasted just as delectable. 

Pyro licked their lips and stared out the window, observing the afterglow of the storm. Residual drops on the pane glistened in the moonlight. It was hazy and gloomy outside, time standing still apart from the wind bringing life to the sparse trees. 

The Engineer’s voice had been calm, albeit a bit shaky, but nothing like the steadfast energy he typically had out on the field. It was warm and comforting; especially since it was directed towards them. His accent was hypnotic, and with dissatisfaction, Pyro wished that they had asked more questions, if only for the chance to listen to him for longer. They’d get another chance. One that they wouldn’t blunder. 

The firebug flexed their fingers, recalling the way the other man’s hands had felt against their own. His were warmer, surprisingly, and rough yet smooth at the same time. The ruggedness that came with labor was apparent, but he obviously made an effort to take care of them as well. Pyro reminisced about the weight of them in their grasp, the sheer power contained within them making the arsonist feel safe and secure. Ironic, considering he had legitimately beaten them to death with those same hands earlier. 

Their heart fluttered at the idea—no, the memory of his lips against their own. That had really happened. Right? Pyro’s arms wrapped around their stomach, trying to contain the acute drop that came with such knowledge. The tenderness in which he had kissed back was sending hot flashes across their already overwhelmed body; remembering the way he modestly licked at their lips, with his warm tongue barely peeking into their mouth, had their breath stuck in their throat. Not to mention the gentle hands on their waist. Sure, it was hard to truly feel through the thick suit, but the comforting pressure was heavenly.

What went wrong?

A throbbing pain shot along their jaw, the result of too much pressure on their bad teeth. They made a conscious effort to unclench, but the tension in their skull wasn’t going anywhere. The familiar sting of tears at the corners of their eyes certainly wasn’t helping, and with a choked cry Pyro hastily wiped them away. Nails desperately dug into their palms. The unpleasant, persistent restlessness of distress was clawing its way up their legs, which they tried to stomp away to no avail; it dug into their chest and spread across their arms, and they slammed their fist into a pillow in protest. Their throat was tight and itchy, and poor Pyro couldn’t help but whine and repeatedly slap their palms to their temples. They could no longer think about the situation without melting down, thoughts racing about all the unsavory possibilities that could come next. Engineer wanted them too, didn’t he?

So why did he leave?

Their heart pounded hard, on the verge of leaping out of their chest. Why did he need to go? What changed? They thought of the sensation of his warm body disconnecting from theirs, his hands on their wrists, the last they’d feel of him. For now, they hoped. Pyro wrapped themself up under the covers, safe from the monsters outside, but still plagued by the ones occupying their mind. A sob escaped them. Would Engie want to see them again? The sob turned into a shaking bawl, racking their body and eliciting sputters from their weakened lungs. The air under the blanket was getting too hot to breathe, and they pulled it back, still retching out coughs. 

Reluctantly, they emerged from safety, sliding to sit back against the wall. Slumped over, they continuously hacked into the crook of their elbow,  barely managing gasps for breath amidst the fit. When their lungs felt as clear as they possibly could, Pyro pulled back with a groan. Their ribs ached, their throat burned, there was an unquenchable tiredness behind their eyes, not to mention their swollen sinuses and awful pressure in their skull, and there were too many nasty feelings to think about, and—

There was something darker than usual splattered against their skin and the edge of their shirt sleeve. Barely distinguishable among the shadows in the room, but it caught their attention nonetheless. They ran their tongue along the roof of their mouth, finding the leftover phlegm to taste more metallic and salty than it should’ve. Pyro smudged the liquid away from their arm, realizing it had the same consistency of…

Blood, of course. This wasn’t their first rodeo with such a thing. However, the increased amount, coupled with the fact that they had suddenly coughed it up, was cause for concern. Yet another alarm bell ringing in their head. They wheezed out an exhale as they slipped out of bed, on the search for tissues. Fluid in their chest rattled with each rise and fall. Their throat was painfully raw, and they fought against their body’s natural response to send them into another coughing fit. They wouldn’t fall victim. Not again.

Fumbling around in the dark, Pyro located their tissue box by the texture and distinct rectangular shape. They drew in a rumbling breath before they tried to expel the remainder of fluids. Their stuffed sinuses were stubborn, and it took another harsh blow to dislodge the mucus within. The tissues came back soaked with blood, snot, and who knows what else; they were promptly discarded into the trash. Or at least, hopefully they made it in.

“God,” Pyro moaned, lightheaded and exhausted. They flopped back onto their bed, chest still heaving, sweat prickling at their forehead. Their mind flashed with various moments from the day, on rewind with no conceivable pause button. Their chest felt impossibly tighter as they thought about how much of themself they had exposed, only for Engineer to practically abandon them. Stomach churning, skin burning, eyes stinging, Pyro whimpered to themself, staring at the dark ceiling in search of an answer, a savior. None came. They raked their fingers through what remained of their hair and scratched at their scalp before dragging their hand down their face, exasperated.

At this point, they were too tired to continue worrying, let alone adjust into a comfortable position. Their eyelids fluttered, and Pyro resigned, letting them shut. Blankets askew, limbs splayed out, body sore, mind still racing and refusing to give up, nightmares imminent… This would hurt in the morning. They could deal with the fallout at that time.

They fell into a restless sleep.

It was morning, and it sure did hurt.

Pyro rose like the living dead, sitting up in the too-warm sunlight cast into their room. Their nightshirt clung to their back with sweat. Joints cracked as they wiggled out of bed. They looked over to the clock:

9:27 a.m.

Cursing to themself, they began peeling off their pajamas and went to rummage through their closet. They overslept a bit; not really, but now it was too late to be the only one in the showers. With their teammates up and about, Pyro pulled on their uniform for the trip to the bathroom. A familiar tickle was creeping its way up their throat, and they prayed that they wouldn’t have to deal with another coughing fit while masked. They steeled themself and opened the door.

The journey there had gone without incident; Pyro didn’t encounter anyone in the hallway, but could hear their voices in the adjoining rooms. After showering and drying off, they put their uniform and mask back on, then headed out in search of a distraction. Something. Anything. Fretting about the situation with the RED Engineer was not doing them any good; they needed something else to think about.

It was a little after 10 a.m. now, and more voices had joined the chorus. The majority seemed to be coming from the dining room, and Pyro’s empty stomach grumbled at the prospect of food. 

The BLU Engineer rounded the corner, making the aforementioned stomach drop. Oblivious to his teammate’s plight, he gave Pyro a quick nod as he passed by. 

“Mornin’.”

Nobody ever expected much of a response from them, let alone anything comprehensive, so they lived up to expectations and simply watched him walk away. Though their stomach was now twisting itself into a knot and they didn’t have much of an appetite anyhow, Pyro continued on their mission to the kitchen. Food wasn’t the most appealing thing in the world at the moment, but it would occupy time otherwise spent panicking, and hey, they should probably eat anyway. Then, they could find and focus on their next task.

Intent on performing a grab-and-go, Pyro barely glanced over at the mercenaries gathered at the table. Head still pounding, they squinted against the blaring overhead lights; the painful glow pierced even their tinted eyepieces. The once delicious smell of eggs was momentarily sickening. They gulped down their nausea, snatching up a plate and going towards the stove.

One voice cut through the others, permeating Pyro’s barrier of disassociation. 

“Ah, Herr Pyro! How are you feeling?”

Pyro wasn’t sure if their ringing ears were drowning the other voices out, or if they had fallen quiet naturally. They turned around from their position in front of the stove, empty plate still in their grasp. Several coworkers were seated at the table, a couple murmuring softly amongst themselves and stealing curt glances over at the firebug. The Medic held a steady gaze as he looked at Pyro expectantly, a hint of a smile on his lips. 

A silence lingered, save for the heavy breathing passing through their respirator. Their heart thudded against their achy ribs loudly enough for the others to hear over at the RED base, paranoia rampant in their amygdala. 

How am I feeling? Why would he ask that?

“Hmmph.”

Medic pushed up his glasses. “Still not one for conversation, hm? That’s alright, I understand. We can discuss later.”

Discuss. Later.

What was there to discuss?

Pyro set their plate down on the counter with a harsh clink. No. If there was something to be discussed, it was going to happen now. Enough games. They strode over to the doctor’s seat, securing a hand around his bicep and yanking him away from his half-finished coffee. Scout, Sniper, Soldier and Demoman watched wide-eyed, mouths gaped in surprise. Medic, strong as he was, had been caught off guard, and as such he trailed behind Pyro without resistance as the other dragged him into the hallway. 

They stopped a bit further down the hall, far enough to have no perceivable bystanders nearby. Flustered, Medic dramatically wretched his arm from the pyromaniac; his nose was scrunched up alongside his mouth twisted into a frown.

“Pyro!” he hissed, with the same tone one might use to scold a child. “What is the meaning of this?!”

I could ask you the same thing. Underneath the mask, Pyro squinted, gearing up to try and communicate. They cleared their throat and did their best to enunciate.

“We can discuss now.”

Still staring them down with indignation and uncertainty, Medic patted down the crinkles in his coat where they’d grabbed him. “…Very well. Would you like to tell me how you’re feeling, then?”

Pyro gritted their teeth, and their next word came out like more of an aggravated snap than a question.

“Why.”

The doctor’s brow furrowed. “Surely I thought you’d bring it up with me sooner or later, but I guess I’ll have to really squeeze this out of you.” He paused, leaving Pyro to burn up in anticipation of what on Earth he was talking about. “You haven’t been well for quite some time, correct?”

Pyro almost laughed. What an understatement. Yet still uncertain on what exactly he meant, they cautiously nodded. Medic mirrored the action.

“I see. I have noticed ever since you were hired. I wonder if you had been sick for some time before that as well…?” The question seemed mostly directed at himself, so Pyro let him wonder; the firebug themself was wondering what sickness he was going on about. “It has gotten worse, hasn’t it? The coughing?”

As if on cue, muscles in their throat twitched and jumped. They stared at the doctor for a moment, processing the question. Oh. Physical illness. Now tuned in to how their body was feeling, Pyro winced at the hefty weight of enervation. They reluctantly nodded again, to which Medic tilted his head.

“When was your last physical exam?” 

Physical exam. The words rang in their head, tripping several alarms. Their recollection didn’t exist at the moment, replaced full-time by panic and dread. The implications of this inquiry could not possibly be anything good. Pyro let out a meek vocalization in lieu of a proper answer.

“Mmph.”

The doctor tried to make sense of it for a second before resigning. He collected his thoughts. “Without treatment, your symptoms are likely to get worse. And they will continue to get worse, unless—” He cast Pyro a glare that they perceived as nothing but sinister. “—you allow me to find out what’s wrong with you. We—”

“Mmph.” 

The pyromaniac rapidly shook their head. If it was between being examined or drowning in their own fluids, they’d choose drowning any day. It would probably evoke less suffering.

Though he wasn’t expecting things to fall into place so easily, Medic sighed nonetheless. “It is going to affect your performance. It already has. The last few times in combat, you have been lagging behind or disappearing to who knows where. We need you present with us,” he emphasized with a couple taps to his own temple. “I would like my team to be in their best conditions, mentally and physically, and it’s difficult to have one without the other.”

Though there was evident truth to his words, Pyro couldn’t help but feel like they were a target of nefarious plans. Their eyes stung and their throat tightened. Why couldn’t it be easy? No peeking, just a prescription. This new situation, compounded with their other stressors, was causing the need for circumvention to froth in them. When it came down to it, would they even have a choice? Ragged breaths huffed out of their respirator. For the moment, they still did, and the choice was obvious.

They turned and fled.

A delicate plate adorned with a ruby red floral pattern sat on the kitchen counter, alone and forgotten.

Chapter Text

Engineer woke up with a start.

What an odd dream—if he could even call it that. ‘Dream’ implied something favorable, and the events of it went against that notion. He ripped himself from the covers, but make no mistake, he was grateful to be waking up in his own bed for a change. Was it possible to be homesick—or roomsick in this case—after a mere two nights? Yes indeed, he decided.

The showers were his next destination. He’d hate to leave the familiar comfort of his room already, but a good scrubbing was long overdue. Perhaps he would have the chance to throw some laundry in as well. He padded over to his closet, both in search of a clean outfit and to find out how much dirty stuff he had to deal with. The door creaked open. Pieces of his uniform were haphazardly draped over his hamper, his overalls dangling and grazing the floor. He bent over to scoop everything up, wincing at the soreness in his back, but what was a worse feeling were his fingers becoming cold as they touched the material. He grasped at the pant legs for confirmation.

“Why is it damp?” he muttered to himself, turning the clothes over in his hands in search of an answer. As he recalled his night after they returned from battle, replaying and scrutinizing every detail, there was only one explanation.

Chills ran down his spine like they were in a marathon. 

How could that have happened? 

He laughed. The very idea was absurd.

And yet, clear evidence of the strange event was presented before him on a silver platter. Or rather, the duck cloth of his overalls.

A dull throb flicked against his temple. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly in an attempt to reallocate some tension—to no avail.

Maybe not one of his best ideas.

Engineer swallowed hard, pushing down the nervousness creeping into his system. He made a mental note to not make any more rash decisions like his last. What was he thinking? A cold sweat hurriedly gathered on his skin as he shoved all his physical dirty laundry into place and hauled ass to engross himself in anything other than the mental dirty laundry. Yet, he couldn’t help but fuss on the way to his destination. 

He gripped the plastic handles of his hamper so hard that they threatened to snap under the pressure, much like himself. Not one of his best ideas? It was a downright stupid idea, that’s what it was.

The door swung open. His hamper hit the ground with a plop before he started shoveling his clothes into the washer, fussing all the way. Mental gears spun around and around, the grinding surely exacerbating his headache. Letting Pyro take the lead was his mistake, he figured. In retrospect, he should have asked any questions when he had the chance; now he was stuck with both the guilt of his actions and with no answers. In fact, it seemed like the number of questions was racking up exponentially.

Engineer solemnly watched his laundry spin around and around, the blue detergent bubbling and mingling with red fabric. He broke from the trance, steering back on track to take that much-needed shower.  The overwhelming thoughts could surely be rinsed away.

He had probably never been more excited to be naked. The cool bathroom tiles against his bare feet felt like he was in heaven walking among the clouds. Engie let out a deep sigh as the warm stream made contact with his skin. He was like a god among men; a washcloth was his holy weapon against dirt and grime. This was a fight he could win.

He scrubbed himself off thoroughly, cringing at the murky runoff. Cranked up the temperature a bit, then a bit more. The water was near scalding; just a little bit more. His skin tingled, and his heart thudded persistently against his chest as he stood under the stream. He turned the knob a bit back to the cool side. His knuckles were bruised, he noticed, a natural ramification from beating the living daylights out of Pyro the previous day. His muscles ached. Perhaps not as much as his brain did, though. He had been kicked right in his hindsight, and it hurt real darn bad.

Flashes of fire danced behind his closed eyes, extinguished by hot droplets trickling down his face. If he thought hard enough, he was still standing in the rain outside, running through dozens of what-if scenarios. Telepathically trying to change the past obviously wasn’t working, so he attempted to move on. Engineer was a genius, yet this nonsense was such a frustrating problem that riddled him to no end.

He hastily finished showering.

He had to go back for them.

After a couple hours of stoically doing laundry, alone with his thoughts, Engineer came to the unfavorable conclusion.

But he knew better. There was no way, no how.

Engineer sat at his desk with his head in his hands, nearly delirious, the project before him untouched.

“This funny business needs to end now,” he grumbled to himself. “If I know what’s good for me, I need to stay away from that weirdo.” Affirmations certainly couldn’t hurt. 

Something to eat certainly couldn’t hurt, either; his grumbling stomach lovingly reminded Engie that he was running on empty. There was no knowledge of any prior meals that day. His recollection only consisted of: cleaning himself and his clothes, and then folding said laundry. Now here he was, nearly folded in half in defeat at his desk. That was finally about to change.

Standing up was the first part of the journey. Sitting back down would be the last part, he dutifully reminded himself as an incentive. Still, he loathed every step of the process, grimacing and gritting his teeth as his spine threatened to snap in two as he rose to his feet. Sharp aches awakened throughout the nerves of his back, to which he struggled to push through—but did nonetheless. 

The prospect of food did put a little pep in his step, despite the glaring pain that came with each one. The hallway seemed to stretch for eons as if the kitchen was merely a mirage. Blessed be, it was real, and hope shined bright as he crossed the threshold.

Scout was seated by himself at the table, chowing down on some cereal straight out of the box—a little snack between lunch and dinner. Mouth full, he waved at Engie just as determinedly he was chewing. Swallow. “What’s up.”

Engineer gave a nod and a little wave back. “Nothin’ much, kiddo.” He headed over to the pantry in search of bread, a loose idea of a sandwich forming in his mind. Next step: choosing a plate. Done, easy. He turned back to Scout. “You enjoyin’ your cereal with no milk?”

“Milk’s bad,” the younger man gracelessly offered through another mouthful.

“Didn’t we just get groceries?” Engineer muttered, opening the fridge to see for himself. Sure enough, the milk was no longer good, and of course no one thought to get rid of it. Whatever. He bent over, ignoring the sting in his back, and picked out some lunchmeat and cheese. 

Popping back up and closing the fridge, Engineer promptly startled at the unexpected presence of Spy just beyond the door.

“Lord,” Engie gasped but quickly recovered. “Well, hey there. Nearly scared me half to death.”

“Good afternoon, laborer,” Spy began. He was poised with his arms crossed behind him. “There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

“Ah, luckily you caught me before my snack attack,” Engineer mused, placing his sandwich supplies on the counter. “Go ‘head.”

Spy leaned in and lowered his voice. “In private, if you have a moment?”

Engineer tried to push down the feeling of impending doom. “…Sure thing.”

“Fantastic!” Spy clapped his hands together, and the other man was relieved to see he hadn’t been hiding anything behind his back. “Come with me.”

Spy led them over to his room, which was making poor Engie about ten times more nervous than he should’ve been. This wasn’t included in his 5-minute plan. The Frenchman unlocked the door, opened it, and gestured for the Texan to go first.

Once inside, Engineer awkwardly lingered near the door; the chairs Spy had looked too expensive to dare sit on. After closing the door behind him, Spy turned to face the other man; his expression had fallen seriously grave. Engineer apprehensively took a step back as the other approached.

“So it seems we had a visitor,” Spy spoke, with the Engineer's heart rate increasing exponentially at every word. “I presume you know what I am referring to?”

Engineer couldn’t keep his composure for the life of him, which he also feared depended on this conversation. “Uh…”

“I have seen the way you two interact,” Spy cut in. “I don’t know what is going on with you two, but if you are fraternizing with members of the enemy team then I will have to take action.”

The taller man glowered at him. Engineer was beyond relieved that his goggles saved him from having to make eye contact.

“Tell me, what was the intention of your little rendezvous?” he continued. “What reason could you possibly have for meeting with their Pyro?”

Sure, the Spy knew almost everything, but apparently the nature of their relationship was not in the scope of his knowledge. He could try, but Engineer certainly wouldn't be able to efficiently explain something he didn't quite understand either. Plus, he had to gauge what level of honesty could land him in trouble.

“I apologize,” the Engineer started, “it’s just, uh– I think they might be… my old lover–” It was the first thing that came to mind, and it felt right, but it was meant to be a lie to appeal to Spy. Truth was, he had no clue who Pyro was behind the mask or what the hell was going on, but those are not words the other man would want to hear. Extending on his fabrication, he hastily added, “–from back home.” 

Spy wrinkled his nose, but his expression was otherwise unreadable. “Well. that makes things quite complicated, doesn’t it?”

Engineer gulped, anxiously balling his hands into fists. “Yeah, you could say so,” he agreed. “But uh, well, what went down…” Adding some truth might help his story. “Out on the field yesterday they said they knew me, and asked to meet outside our base— I know, I know, goin’ along with it was definitely not the brightest idea I’ve ever had, but… their voice sounded… so darn familiar, and well, to put it frankly, when it came down to it…” Spy was hooked. “They kissed me, and I knew it had to be them. Well—maybe I can’t be a hundred percent sure yet, but I don’t recall anyone else who matches up.”

There was never any ‘them’ to know, but Engineer continued to build the character. “God, it’s been so long; they were my high school sweetheart I lost contact with when I went off to college. But, after that kiss, things got real overwhelmin’—and I came to my senses a bit—and we parted ways.”

Spy was still staring with an unfaltering blank expression. There was a thick silence between the two of them.

“Laborer,” he rumbled, “you are lucky that you are a good worker, and it’s even luckier for you that I have been in your position.” Spy’s gaze softened, but Engineer was still on edge. No way he was getting off this easily.

“How bittersweet it is,” he went on, and Engineer held his breath. “A forbidden love. How very dangerous, as well. If the Administrator was as attentive as I am, she would’ve had you gone by the time the sun rose this morning. But I just might think of looking the other way, as long as you aren’t causing any problems for the rest of us, obviously. Understand—” His gaze darkened. “—that ultimately this is your risky game to play, but I will be keeping an eye on you. Any funny business and you will not be laughing for long.”

The two stood and stared at each other.

“Understood?” Spy prompted.

Engineer gulped. “Understood.”

“Perfect!” the other exclaimed, abruptly stepping back and holding the door open. “Glad we could reach an agreement. I will be seeing you later.”

Engineer hustled out the room and through the halls.

Of course, when he returned, Scout had been replaced by none other than…

The RED Pyro.

Engineer didn’t have much of an appetite anymore.

He lingered behind the door frame, his teammate in his peripheral vision. Stomach in knots, he was debating on calling it quits and going back to his room but remembered, to his annoyance, that he left the perishable items out. He took a breath and thought about his options: he could quickly put them away and duck out, or he could put his big boy pants on and finish what he started. He sighed and rounded the corner.

Pyro was at the table, filling out a page of a coloring book. They perked up upon Engie’s appearance, stopping in their work to give him a gleeful wave.

Engineer returned the gesture and drew his lips back in what he hoped reflected a friendly smile rather than the uncomfortable grimace he was actually feeling. “Hey, bud.”

Pyro held up their work in progress, showing off a purple sheep in a meadow of flowers. It cracked the man’s barrier a bit, and he realized he needed to get a hold of himself and stop projecting. The smile widened, now genuine.

“Aww, ain’t that nice.”

Pyro, sparked by Engineer’s praise, returned to coloring with renewed vigor. Engie returned to where he left off with his sandwich, which was step one of the process. Thankfully, the rest of his time in the kitchen went smoothly without further interruptions; he headed back to his quarters before that had a chance to change.

Each bite was restoring his sanity. Yet, his stomach seemed to growl incessantly as more of the sandwich disappeared.

“Damn,” Engineer murmured, sitting back in his chair and analyzing the empty plate left on his desk. Few crumbs littered the porcelain, on top of the baby blue floral design. He would have to think of a more fulfilling meal later, and just pray this lousy one would get him through the day until then. He grabbed the water he retrieved from the kitchen and apprehensively stood up, then shuffled over to his room. From there, he went straight to his bedside dresser. Perhaps he should’ve done this a bit earlier, but better late than never. He downed one pill, swiftly followed by the entire glass of water. Still, the unpleasant taste remained, camped out on the very back of his tongue.

Engineer pulled on his overalls, strapped on his knee pads, buckled his belt, and steadied his nerves.

Chatter reverberated off the walls of the locker room.

“Ahaha!” Medic’s shrill voice rang. “Ah, Heavy, you couldn’t be more right, my friend.”

Scout’s pitch was just below that, rambling off to Demoman, Soldier, and Pyro. “So, as you can clearly see, I’m one of the strongest ones on the team, right, okay, therefore—”

Soldier was yelling back indistinctly.

“Hopefully all of us have our brainstems attached today,” Sniper was saying to Spy, his gruff tone inaudible to anyone else.

Engineer sat on a bench by his lonesome, organizing his toolbox while trying to ease his mind. He was just going to avoid the BLU Pyro as best he could. Simple.

…For now, at least. He reminded himself that there were no urgent matters that required communication between them. In fact, interacting with them had been nothing but detrimental to his work thus far. He didn’t need to add any more fuel to the fire at the moment. He had ample time to think about risking himself like that again, if it came down to it. Heat prickled uncomfortably at his cheeks and the back of his neck.

“Mission begins in sixty seconds.”

Engineer joined his teammates that had gathered at the doors. He idly chatted among them.

“Mission begins in thirty seconds.”

Engie felt a light bump to his shoulder. Scout had snuck up and elbowed him.

“Try not to get cooked this time! Got it, hardhat?” he teased. Engineer softly pushed him back.

“You’re 'bout to get it,” he snapped, but hell, he couldn’t stay mad at the kid.

“Mission begins in ten seconds.”

Spy stepped up right next to Engineer, calculated and deliberate. Engie was acutely aware of the other man looking down at him, and turned to meet his gaze.

“Five. Four. Three. Two.”

The two shared an odd, knowing glance.

“One.”

Showtime.

Chapter Text

Papers were sent flying, the stacks coming undone as they hit the floor. Crayons and colored pencils were next, exploding in a whirlwind of color as Pyro swiped everything off their desk. They kicked at the side of it, knocking off any remaining knick-knacks—and nearly putting a dent in it as well. Pyro joined the pile on the ground, scrunching up loose papers in their fists. They began indiscriminately ripping them apart, whether they were blank or contained their precious art didn’t matter—anything within their reach was getting destroyed. Countless colored pencils snapped in their grasp. Still, an inferno blazed within them.

The firebug, restless and overwhelmed, sprung to their feet and kicked the mess aside. It wasn’t enough. Their hands twitched, the desire for violence boiling over. Without much thinking, they slammed their fist against the top of their desk—maybe a bit harder than intended. The wood splintered ever so slightly, and a harsh pain permeated their hand. The sensation brought them back to reality for a fleeting moment before flames consumed them again, desperate to be extinguished. Pyro turned their attention to the bed, where their next unsuspecting targets awaited: the collection of pillows and stuffed animals. They raised their gloved fist above a plush bunny, hesitated, then slammed it into a pillow instead. Thank the heavens for polyester filling. They briefly recalled the moments, years ago, where their feather-filled pillows would burst when they pulled such a stunt. Pyro threw themself onto the bed with their masked face buried in a pillow, grabbed another to pull over the top of their head, and promptly screamed their heart out.

Ears ringing and lightheaded, they emerged. The Pyro rolled onto their back, deliberated, then sat up and tried to collect their bearings. The room hummed with tinnitus, heavy breathing, and—if they tuned in closely—the radio softly playing.

Come on baby, light my fire

Come on baby, light my fire

Try to set the night on fire

“Don’t TEMPT ME!” they spat, flinging one of many plush animals across the room towards the music. The machine clattered to the floor and momentarily buzzed with static before jumping to another station.

—though it's just a line to you, for me it's true, and never seemed so right before

Pyro wheezed and laid back down, trying to catch their breath. They needed to regain control. Of themself, of the whole situation, of everything.

I practice every day to find some clever lines to say to make the meaning come true

But then I think I'll wait until the evening gets late, and I'm alone with you

Their eyes stung and their throat swelled, but they willed the tears away. Medic was right, as much as they hated to admit it; their performance had faltered in the recent days. Which was especially not great considering they had come on board only fairly recently to replace the previous BLU Pyro. If they wanted to keep this job—and concurrently, access to Engineer—they needed to get their head on straight.

The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red, and, oh, the night's so blue

And then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin' stupid like, "I love you"

No cure existed for their plague of racing thoughts. Their gaze drifted over to the clock; they had a few hours to pull themself together. However, try as they might, they only had the energy to just lay there. Exhausted and encumbered by their state of mind, there was only one thing they could think of as they blankly stared at the ceiling, one truth they knew for certain…

Everything would burn.

The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red, and, oh, the night's so blue

And then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin' stupid like, "I love you"

"I love you"

Chapter Text

“Move, move, move!”

Sounds of explosions and gunfire filled the air, bullets whizzing past and grazing the mercenaries’ hair. Some were not so lucky, having their organs grazed instead. Men bellowed and barked, a flurry of red and blue crashing together as they fought for the cart.

A BLU Scout was heading straight for the RED Engineer, to which the Texan solved with a shotgun blast to the other’s buck teeth.

Engineer grimaced as blood and viscera splattered his cheek and across his goggles. Probably his least favorite part about killing: the mess. Sure, he had no problem getting covered in oil while doing machine maintenance, or tussling in mud back at the farm—but for this type of dirty work, he preferred for his sentries to take care of it. After all, what did he build them for? He smiled with pride at the telltale sound of his turrets firing, followed by shrieks and wails. Music to his ears.

He was stationed on the second floor of a building overlooking the cart’s path. Engie stole a glimpse out the window; luckily, the cart was unattended and RED seemed to have the area secured. He knelt over to tinker with his teleporter, telling himself he would go check up on his team and sentries right after.

Something else beat him to it, and the group erupted in screams.

“FIIIIREEEEEEEEE!”

“Fire, fire, fire!”

“Everyone, I am on fire!”

Engineer shot up, peering out the window. Still, the BLU team was nowhere to be found, but he could spot several of his colleagues set ablaze. Some were running around, some had the brain to stop, drop, and roll, some—

Screams instinctively tore from his throat as he was scorched from behind.

He immediately slammed himself to the floor, the flames ravaging his clothes and flesh not outweighing the fiery determination in his heart. He rolled once, heat seeping in and boiling his blood; twice, epidermis melting and sticking to the floor; third time’s a charm—

A powerful gust of air washed over him, the pressure stinging his damaged tissues. Engineer laid on his stomach, trembling but extinguished, nausea bubbling in his gut. The smell of himself burning lingered in the air, not only invading his nostrils, but he could taste it too, char and iron settling on his tongue. He retched and coughed, each shake bringing an unbearable ache to his core and throughout his limbs. 

A sharp, blaring pain bloomed on the side of his waist, just below his sore ribs. It rippled through his abdomen, strangling and squeezing his insides, leaving him to wish that the fire had just taken him out. It struck again, steady pressure pushing against his tender side until he was rolled onto his back. All he could do was lie there whimpering and pray this torment would come to a conclusion soon. The sooner he went through Respawn, the sooner he could bring the wrath of God down on the BLUs. 

Engineer reluctantly opened his eyes to discover the opposing Pyro hovering over him.

Because, of course, who else would it be?

The BLU Pyro placed a boot on his chest, anchoring him down, as if he was going anywhere anyways. The usual flamethrower had now been swapped out in favor of their shotgun. Wordlessly, they lowered it and pressed the barrel to his forehead. 

Engineer’s fried nerves briefly registered the cold steel before he was blasted to oblivion.

Sweat dripped down their face, wet hair plastered against their temple. Ragged breaths forced their way through the respirator. Snot from their runny nose seeped into their open mouth, no matter how hard they tried to sniffle it up. Their stomach was in knots. Their chest felt tight, though they couldn’t tell if it was from congestion or the absolutely exhilarating thrill of burning everything to the goddamn ground.

Another sucker from RED dared try and approach the cart. Pyro couldn’t help but giggle as he was vanquished with one simple pull of a trigger. 

“Idiot,” they muttered to themself, slinking ahead to take out an unsuspecting Demoman. “Bozo.”

It was laughable, really, the way these buffoons kept coming over just to be sent back to Respawn by the pyromaniac. So they laughed, and laughed, and laughed as one after another were engulfed in flames red hot enough to match the dying mercenaries’ uniforms. 

At one point, they recognized a flash of yellow as the Engineer’s hardhat. This realization only came after the fact that the wearer had been burnt to a crisp; truly, they were too preoccupied with incinerating everything in sight to notice it was him. Their legs ached as they marched forward, and fleetingly, they envisioned how cozy they could be in bed after this. They pushed on, lighting the way to victory. 

Their Scout was shoving the cart as hard as his scrawny little arms could handle. Luckily, Soldier was alongside him, and he had enough muscle for the both of them. Demo was assisting diligently as well. The wheels squeaked against the track, the contents of the cart jostling around.

“Careful, careful!”

“I am being careful!”

“Not careful enough, maggot! We need to make sure this cart reaches the other side before exploding!”

Pyro backtracked and helped with the payload before the guys had it blow up in their own faces. Medic and Heavy passed by, forging ahead to take out any stragglers that the BLU Sniper had missed. The larger man’s raucous laughter echoed throughout the field.

“Now is coward killing time!”

Pyro’s muscles cried with fatigue, but they gave it their all nevertheless. Panting, head pounding and spinning, stomach churning, they wondered if it was possible to exhaust themself to the point of respawning. Not that it was their goal, but they were growing a bit worried that it was the direction they were headed at this rate. But speaking of Respawn… the firebug couldn’t remember going through it a single time during the match. They grinned, the flickering fire in their eyes so bright that it probably shone through the lenses of their mask. They were untouchable.

They had been so absorbed in their pyromania that they hadn’t even realized that they were practically knocking on the RED’s front door. The cart was nearing the end of the track; some of their teammates had fallen back or been eliminated by the enemy, but there were a few still holding strong and steadily pushing. The end was near.

Payload teetering on the precipice, it was Medic who gave the final push before retreating to his remaining colleagues. Just in time to look back and see the horror on the faces of RED mercenaries that were standing too close—the delicious cherry on top.

Pyro’s ears rang, the muffled ecstatic shouts from their team painfully bouncing off their skull. They dropped their weapon, seeing no need for it anymore; it was getting much too heavy. Darkness tinged the corners of their vision. The arsonist was growing exponentially dizzy, plus there was an unpleasant feeling in their head and an even worse one in their stomach. They needed to sit down. 

They dropped to their knees and tried to regain their composure, but the arms stretched out meant to steady them were uncontrollably wobbly. Hands planted in the sand spun hypnotically in front of them, and for a moment Pyro hadn’t even registered them as their own. They nearly jumped out of their skin when they felt (what they assumed was) a hand patting their shoulder.

“Nice job out there today, Herr Pyro.”

They couldn’t even soak in the victory in this condition. Hell, they couldn’t do much of anything. Their heart thudded slowly but surely as weakness overcame them; the idea of laying in the dirt was sounding irresistible at the moment. Pyro gave in and slumped over, feeling oddly chilly as they hit the warm ground. The last things they heard before losing consciousness were their own labored breathing and the distant call of their doctor.

“...Pyro?”

Chapter Text

Something had compelled them to take this job.

There had to be a reason. A deeper meaning.

It couldn’t have just been the prospect of controlling fire—which was alluring, of course; especially after everything they’d been through. They needed control.

They hovered weightless in the abyss. A familiar tune jingled in the corner of their subconscious.

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

There was something more. A missing piece of the puzzle. A hazy memory came to them, a place that seemed so familiar yet they couldn’t quite place it. It was indistinct, a visual barely coming together—a nondescript building, a house, maybe? Had they lived there? They never seemed to stay in one place for long growing up, so they didn’t bother remembering exactly what everything looked like. Still, those memories at least had a bit more substance. The vision was gone as quick as it came, vanishing in a flash of red before the embers fizzled out into the darkness. Someone was missing.

“Sandman,” Pyro whispered, struggling to push the words past their lips, bubbling like they were underwater, “I’m so alone.”

It was on the tip of their tongue. They were so, so close. Every fiber of their being screamed at them that the RED Engineer had the missing piece.

But maybe he didn’t want to play.

That would be the worst outcome. One they were definitely not equipped to handle. 

It was getting increasingly difficult to breathe. They willed their diaphragm to cooperate, but the heavy pressure on their chest was squashing any attempts. Trying to draw in a breath was proving nearly futile. They could feel a sweltering heat surrounding them, only getting hotter and hotter as panic set in. There was not enough air left to scream.

Pyro awoke with a gasp. Distress amplified by their utter confusion and unfamiliar surroundings, they flailed about until a nasty sharp pain in their hand brought them to a halt. Despite the tinted lenses of the mask, it was much too bright in here—wherever they were, which was clearly not their room, the one place they wished to be above all else. They kept their eyes shut as they adjusted to the light, which penetrated their eyelids as if they weren’t even there. Their left hand felt odd and bare, but otherwise they were aware of the familiar feeling of the suit. As much as they loved that thing, what they would love more than anything else at that moment would be to get the hell out of it. Sensory overload was the next stop on their trip during this horrible journey. Heat crept up their neck as cold sweat pooled just under their jaw. Pyro squirmed uncomfortably, once again bothered by the sensation in their hand. They cracked their eyes open and craned their neck to look at it, and were utterly shocked to find it gloveless and spurting blood. 

“Wh—“

A whine involuntarily escaped their throat at this predicament. There was a precariously placed IV catheter in their hand—key word, was. It had been knocked out of place by their movements, still bandaged and taped to their skin but no longer appropriately in the vein. Their eyes followed the attached line all the way over to a half depleted fluid bag, hanging up beside the bed. Crimson dripped onto the white sheets below. Shaky breaths whistled past their respirator as they tried to process the situation. Full-blown fear crept in and overtook their system while they stared at the scene before them. 

Clinkclinkclinkclink.

Pyro yelped when the curtains of their space were withdrawn. They instinctively wanted to hide their exposed skin, but the thought of moving around with a dislodged needle inside of them was freaking them out even more. Thus, they remained rigid and tense as a figure peered past the drape.

The Medic’s glasses glinted in the light, and he put his hands up, as if to show the other that he wasn’t equipped with any evil torture devices. “It’s just me.”

The alarmed arsonist huffed and puffed in perturbation. “Just you?!”

He stepped in and closed the curtain behind him. He surveyed the room, attention drawn to the bloody mess contrasting the otherwise neat ward. “I see you must’ve discovered your catheter,” he murmured softly, taking another step forward. He made his way over to the fluid line and closed the clamp. “I apologize. I know it’s not ideal, but this was the least invasive we could get. Your stomach was empty, you were very dehydrated, and you needed fluids.”

Pyro scooted back on their cot as the doctor approached. On the verge of hyperventilating, they barely managed desperate words between rapid breaths.

“No.. no, don’t touch me..”

Medic frowned, though it wasn’t intended to be unfriendly. Still, that was the only way the poor firebug could perceive it.

“You’ll have to let me remove it,” he reasoned. “It certainly isn’t doing you any good like that.”

Though the thought of removal was wonderful, if it had to be removed, they’d do it by themself, dammit. Pyro started clumsily peeling at the medical tape, gritting their teeth through the further agitation of the catheter. The slippery blood and thick rubber glove were not making it any easier.

“You’re going to hurt yourself, here—”

Pyro shrieked as the doctor’s hand made contact with their gloved one. They frantically shook him off, only compounding their plight as the motion nearly ripped the catheter out the rest of the way.

“Pyro.” 

They could hardly discern the doctor’s low voice over their hiccuping sobs.

“Pyro, you have to calm down.”

That was the last thing they were going to do, especially now that someone else had instructed them to do so. The firebug whimpered at the pressure of fingers on their wrist.

“Get off me.”

“Let me help you, please.”

“Get off me.”

“The sooner we get this patched up, the sooner you can have the glove back on.”

It would be a cold day in hell before they let Medic have his way. But alas, they definitely lost the nerve to take care of it themself, and it seemed like having the medical professional help was the best option—the quickest route back to normalcy. Today, just this once, hell would freeze over. Shaking like a leaf, they reluctantly extended their left arm towards the man. 

“Thank you. One moment.”

Pyro shut their eyes and stiffened in preparation for the doctor’s cruel touch… but it hadn’t come just yet. In fact, the fingers on their right arm had disappeared, and they no longer sensed Medic in their immediate vicinity. Peeping through one squinted eye, Pyro saw him rummaging through the drawers of a small storage cart across the room. Their heart nearly leaped out of their chest; oh God, what was he gonna do to them—

Medic turned back to face them, now brandishing a fresh pair of gloves, a bottle of mysterious light blue liquid, some gauze, and a roll of tape. Forebodingly, he reapproached, and Pyro shut their eye again.

He set some of the items down on a tray table next to the bed before kneeling to get at eye-level with his teammate’s hand. Medic began carefully loosening the remainder of the bandage.

“I am going to pull it out, and then I have to hold pressure on the site for a couple of minutes,” he explained. The doctor’s calm and polite bedside manner should have been reassuring, but it was having quite the opposite effect on his patient. This was downright terrifying, and they wished he’d quit the act and just bring on the pain already. “Ready? Three, two, one…”

Pyro braced themself for agony that never came. All they could feel was the soft gauze pad against their bruised skin. The only agonizing thing was the wait. Eventually, pressure vanished and returned as a few light taps before ceasing altogether. There was some quiet shuffling.

“This is chlorhexidine. It might sting a little, but not as much as alcohol would. After it dries I will put a bandage on you, and then you may wear your glove.”

Wetness appeared on their hand, circling around the catheter site. It slowly evaporated, and the sound of tape tearing filled the silence. Again, the soft gauze against their skin, followed by sticky adhesive. Medic lightly patted the bandage down to ensure it was secure.

“You’re all good. Here.” The man presented the pyromaniac’s missing glove. Sensing its presence, they opened their eyes and immediately locked onto the prized black and yellow garment. “I hope you understand—”

Pyro had snatched it up before he had the chance to finish. In one swift movement, they maneuvered around him and rushed out of the room. Relief washed over their being like a tidal wave as they made it through the Medbay doors.

They had escaped. They didn’t dare to look back.

Days passed, and it was almost like nothing ever happened.

Almost.

It was still nagging him, understandably, since they were such fresh and weird events. He figured he would forget with more time. Engineer pushed it to the back of his mind and focused on himself—and repairing the base—as God intended.

Well, tried to, at least.

It seemed that every corner he turned, there was something that inescapably reminded him of that damn Pyro. Try as he might, he couldn’t avoid them; even if he hadn’t physically encountered them in a while. Not even his dreams were safe. Roused from blazing visions, he lied awake in bed at an hour he should be sound asleep. Evidently, his brain had other plans. He longingly wished he could crumple them up and throw them in the trash; he could think of much better ideas than this balderdash.

Yet he was helpless to put any in action.

His tense demeanor didn’t go unnoticed; several colleagues seemed to interact with him like they were walking on eggshells, while others acknowledged him with concern. Scout would awkwardly linger around his workshop, attempting to cheer the older man up with lame jokes or silly pointless stories from the runner. Sniper, who was usually on the quieter side, made an effort to make conversation if he ran into Engie around the base. Soldier tried to bring him snacks, insisting he had to keep his energy up so he could kick the asses of those BLU sissies. Even Medic took note of the oddity, hinting at having a check-up to cure his mysterious ailments. Pyro brought him flowers and stickers, which he accepted with an uneasy feeling in his gut. 

The others’ behavior didn’t go unnoticed by him either. It was frustrating. Sure, he’d been acting “off”, for lack of a better word, but did they really have to start treating him differently? This whole thing was being made out to be a much bigger deal than it had to be.

He had to do something.

Another sleepless night. His comforter enveloped him like a blanket of thick smoke. Engineer heaved a sigh, kicking it off and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He lumbered over to the workshop sink, splashing electric cold water onto his face. Static behind his eyes and embers sizzling in his mind, he watched the droplets fall and spiral down the drain. Déjà vu wracked his system. 

Come hell or high water, he would get to the bottom of this.

And he knew just how to do so.

Chapter Text

There they were again.

The BLU Pyro and RED Engineer convened beneath the stars. The two met at a sequestered hill between their respective bases, and behind the cover of some of the sporadic trees that populated the land. If things went south, Engie figured he could push them down the opposite side and hightail it out of there.

Pyro hadn’t needed much convincing. All it took was one quick exchange during combat.

A hand had dug into the back of their shirt collar, scruffing them like a wild animal and dragging them behind a corner. Caught off guard, they had dropped their weapon to try and regain control only to have their hands seized as well.

“Meet me tonight,” Engineer had whispered in their ear—or where it would be under the mask. “East of here, past the wildflower field.”

Still processing the words, Pyro had hardly protested when they were thrown to the ground. They looked up, sanguine, and were met with the barrel of a shotgun staring back—then the staring contest was over.

“So,” Engineer started, hands on his hips and standing a reasonable distance away from the pyromaniac, “d’ya wanna tell me what in Sam Hill this is all about?”

The mask betrayed no reaction. After what seemed like an eternity, they spoke.

“Hm huddah huh.”

Or mumbled, rather.

“Pardon?”

The Pyro cleared their throat, taking a meticulous step forward. Grass shuffled quietly beneath their boots. “I know you,” they insisted. “We suffered together.”

Engineer scoffed. His memory rewound to their various encounters on the field, and he stuffed the loose tape back into the VHS. “Yeah, we sure did.”

A small ‘hmmph’ of frustration sounded from the mask before Pyro reached up and quickly unscrewed the filter. They wouldn’t be misunderstood; not now, not ever.

“Do you have dreams about fire?” came their gravelly inquiry. The interviewee paused, but not for long.

“Lately, yeah.” Engineer kicked at some rocks, hands now in his pockets. He recalled his long history of nightmares. “But come to think of it, shoot… I guess I always have.”

“I think we experienced something together.”

…Sure, they had experienced plenty of things together—plenty of excruciating things. They would have to elaborate. “What do you mean?”

Pyro turned their head from side to side, as if looking around for the answer themself. “There’s this… place, I think I’ve been to before—and you were there too. You must’ve been.”

Well, that explained a whole lot. Engineer sighed, unsure of what he had even been expecting from the lunatic. “I don’t know who you are,” he offered, “but I don’t think I’ve met you.”

So far, things remained just as confusing as the way they had been. Nothing was magically clicking into place like he hoped. Engie wondered if he had just imagined their connection all along, a placebo effect on his part. Maybe, despite Medic’s contradictions, he really had been pyrexic and delusional. 

“There was a lot of fire,” Pyro continued, almost pleadingly, “and we were together.”

The Engineer couldn’t help but let a chuckle slip out at this profoundly fruitless exchange. “Son, you could be describin’ almost any time we’ve ever tussled out there.”

His uncertainty was an intense fire that Pyro needed to extinguish. A sharp, rattled breath blew from their nose before they drew in another one and went on. “I think we were meant to be together,” they wheezed, “you know? Like we’ve been here before.”

Engineer raised an eyebrow, glancing back in the general direction of their bases. “Here?”

“No, no.” Pyro softly stomped their feet into position, standing up taller. “The— The planet. We shared a different life together. Before all this. And it didn’t end right.” 

Sounds of the outdoors died down, if only for a moment—long enough for Engineer to hear the wires uncross in his brain. Ears ringing, static buzzing perpetually, he barely found the will to control his throat and speak. Pyro broke the silence they created before he had the chance.

“We must have.” Their voice was strained with obvious desperation. Hopeless devotion. “You— I need you. Please. You tried to save me.”

Like his own team’s Pyro, this one didn’t seem to be “all there”. After all, it took a certain kind of peculiar person to take on such a position. Doubt crept into his system; how could he really believe a word they say? For all he knew, he was being played like a damn fiddle, and this had merely been some sick manipulation tactic all along—just the enemy trying to get closer. Forget losing the war, losing his own personal battle would be more devastating. He hadn’t even seen their face. He had no idea who this person was.

Sensing his hesitation, the arsonist fidgeted, gearing up for their next move. Choked up, they nearly cried, “Will this be enough for you?”

Trembling hands reached up and pulled the mask off before the brain within could reconsider.

Pyro wasn’t all there, but hell, maybe he wasn’t either. If what they were saying held any truth, the way his blood ran cold upon eye contact couldn’t have been coincidence. 

The stars get red, and, oh, the night's so blue.

Though darkness made it tough to see fine details, the pale moonlight highlighted their features wondrously. Pyro was glaring at him intensely, intimidatingly, face flustered and flushed. Seconds passed. The tense line of their lips wobbled before they turned their head away, now looking at absolutely anything else besides the man in front of them.

“Are you just going to stare at me? Say something.”

Engineer snapped out of his trance. “I—“ It felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. “Sorry I— I’m speechless, really. I don’t mean nothin’ by it, partner, I just…” An unexplainable guffaw popped out of him before he could catch it. Nervously trying to save the moment he went on, “I mean, you’re gorgeous. What else can I say?”

Pyro stole a quick glimpse at him before directing back to the ground. “You’re laughing at me,” they mumbled.

“No, no!” It was his turn to be flustered. Down, down, down, and the flames went higher. “I’m not laughin’ at you, bud. Honest. It’s just a lot to take in, is all. The whole thing. I mean, I think you might be right, but—”

Dejected, Pyro remained silent, but their furrowed brows and questioning stare said but what?

“So why is this happening now?” Engineer asked. “We’ve been working with—well, against—each other for well over a year now.”

“Only a few months,” the other corrected. Voice completely unobstructed, with each new word Engie was realizing that they had a foreign accent. “I am a newer hire. To replace the old BLU Pyro.”

Though they had been on board for a couple months at that point, Engineer had actually only piqued their interest within the last few weeks. Starting off the job was so overwhelming; when they finally had time to get used to the change and the unknown instead became routine, they noticed things out of the ordinary. And in this case, the RED Engineer was beyond extraordinary.

It was quiet for an extended time, but not uncomfortably so.

“...What happened to the old BLU Pyro?”

“I dunno.”

Another lull before Pyro continued.

“Nothing bad,” they sighed, “just quit or something probably.”  

“Right.” Engineer had his doubts about the Administrator letting someone “just quit” but presumed whatever happened couldn’t have been too disastrous. Not really his business anyway, he figured. Plus, the way Pyro was looking at him through fluttered eyelashes was making it hard to think about much of anything else. Fiery pins and needles like Cupid’s arrows struck his skin. Very normally, he adjusted his shirt collar and cleared his throat, hoping the other couldn’t perceive the extreme warmth radiating off him from where they were standing. “So…

“I don’t know, partner,” he concluded, in regards to the entire situation. His gut was screaming at him that they were right about everything; however, the rational part of his mind was clinging to him for dear life, trying to beat the confirmation bias out of him. After all, who else was he able to talk to about this except the only other person involved? “I guess I just need more time to think.”

Pyro’s nose wrinkled and their nostrils flared. “You–” The mask was pulled back on in the blink of an eye, and it remained quiet underneath.

Engineer’s heart sank, and the captain was about to go down with the ship. He sent out an SOS signal in the form of outstretching his arms. “Hey, c’mere,” he invited. Wordlessly, the firebug strode over and firmly embraced him. The motion was stiff and restrained, pressure steady and unmoving around him; it was unlike when they had initiated and melted into him before. He gently patted and rubbed their back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. “Sorry, pal. I’ll see you again though, alright? I hope you understand.”

Pyro went even more rigid before they hastily retreated, then leaving Engineer to be the one forsaken under the stars.

Chapter Text

How could he.

How could he?

How could he.

Denial.

Tears welled in their eyes, burning and stinging just like the tight feeling tearing through their chest and up their throat. The ransacked room mirrored their state of mind as they paced around, their fuse about to blow. They were certain that if they were a cartoon character in that moment, steam would be blowing from their ears, accompanied by a blaring whistle sound.

“‘Need more time to think’?” they muttered to themself, “‘Need more time to think’?”

Anger.

Pyro exploded, their wick burnt down to the bone. A boot tempestuously collided with the belongings strewn across the floor. 

“What the FUCK do you mean you guess you need more time to think?!"

Attempts to oxygenate their body were proving arduous. One gasp after another, lungs desperately tried to hold onto the precious air. The effort was only made more strenuous by the mask; with mixed emotions, they ripped it off. The gloves were next, hoping to find some relief from their unbearably sweaty palms.

“After I open myself up,” they seethed, “after I show him my insides…”

Their chest rattled and ached as they sucked in breaths through clenched teeth. They sank to their knees, doubled over with fingers twisted in their hair. Strain and pressure prickled on their scalp. Their grip tightened. Strands tore from the root in their grasp. Tighter. Enough. They pulled their hands away, dragging through painful knots.

Bargaining.

Pyro clutched onto the blanket hanging off the side of their bed. Hot tears rolled down their cheeks, cold snot accumulating near the tip of their nose.

“Isn’t it obvious?” they hiccupped and pressed their face into the covers, blocking out the world. “You’re supposed to help me…”

Depression.

They stayed there for a while, trapped inside their mind. A wheel of scenarios spun around and around, but never landed on an answer. The wheel popped off the track and rolled away, never to be seen again. All that was left was darkness. The void. They stared into it, and it stared back.

Acceptance. 

“It’s fine,” Pyro sniffled, “it’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

They wiped their nose and drew in a shaky, labored breath. 

“I’ll make it fine.”

Pyro, having a rare moment of clarity, took a glance around their room. Their heart panged as they processed the shredded artwork. Ouch.

“Goddamnit,” they muttered before shifting and scooting towards the piles. They gathered the unharmed papers in one stack, and the crumpled but still intact ones in another. A long blank stare at the remaining scraps. Getting rid of them was not an option. Pyro pulled out an empty shoebox from under their bed and thoughtfully placed the shreds inside for safekeeping.

Alone. They kept their seat on the floor, absentmindedly staring at the mess of broken art supplies. Robotically, they transferred them to the shoebox as well. Them versus the world, and the world was winning. Or it seemed to have the upper hand, at least. Detached.

“It’s okay,” they whispered to themself in a sing-song tone, despite every fiber of their being feeling the entirely opposite way. “It’ll all be okay in the end. If it isn’t okay, it isn’t the end.” Something a counselor of sorts told them long, long ago. Seemed cheesy at the time, but the phrase came to grow on them. 

And, a lot of things certainly weren’t okay. Pyro could no longer ignore the feeling of their head aching, stomach twisting, and heart pounding—a critical combination. They needed to eat, they reminded themself; their last accidental hunger strike had sent them straight to their own personal hell in the Medbay. They would prefer to avoid a second round at any cost.

“Goddamnit,” they repeated, slouching back against their bed. They tilted their head towards the ceiling. “Damn it, and damn you.”

Figuring they should get a move on, Pyro begrudgingly stood up to get ready. The sooner they made this pit stop, the sooner they could get back on track with their downward spiral. The mask slipped back on, both physically and metaphorically. Pulling themself together was not as easy as pulling on their gloves, but it had to be done. Even harder was trying to pull the scattered atoms in their brain into a feasible idea of food.

It was the middle of the night—as such, cooking was off the table. Not that they were too enthused about such a thing during the daytime hours, anyhow. Pyro reluctantly stepped out into the hall and began the trek. They were uncertain about what groceries were on base, but reassured themself that there had to be something easy to make that also wouldn't create a ruckus. Right? Footsteps tapped trepidatiously down the corridor. It couldn’t all be for nothing.

As the kitchen drew closer, thoughts of groceries diverged back to the situation, which in turn burnt up into hazy memories. This was more brain smoke than brain fog, and the indistinct visions only added more fuel to the fire. They arrived at the entryway and paused upon seeing a figure stand out in the darkness, though it seemed to be facing the other way. There was one way to vanquish this beast.

Sniper jumped upon the light flicking on; he twisted around and blurted out a meek “bloody hell” at the sight of the pyromaniac. The two stood and silently analyzed each other. Pyro looked him up and down before spotting the purpose of his kitchen visit: an open can of beans in one hand, and a clearly used spoon in the other.

Suddenly, a crazy idea hit them. No, not of food—and certainly not of a late bean dinner.

Sniper had a van. Sniper had access to areas far from the base.

Maybe some outside resources could help their case.

The silence was growing uncomfortable, evident by the contorted expression on Sniper’s face. He started to turn on his heel, but much to his dismay, mumbles stopped him in his tracks.

“Can you take me to town?”

His gaze flickered from side to side as he uselessly tried to make sense of the muffled words. “Err… Pardon?”

“Next time you drive out there, can I come with?” Pyro mimed holding a steering wheel to hammer the point in if he still hadn’t understood.

“Errr, uh, I dunno,” he spluttered, thumbing at his pocket, looking for a cheap excuse. He was slowly retreating back towards the other exit. “I’ll umm.. I’ll think about it.”

With that, he slunk away into the darkness with his beans.

A sigh heaved past their respirator as Pyro switched the burning lights back off. There goes that idea. They trudged over to the fridge to begin surveying sustenance options.

Unless…

The static of their mind buzzed in harmony with the refrigerator light bulb. 

There was always the clunky company van. The one that, reassuringly, had no real doors. They recalled riding in the passenger seat sometime during onboarding while being given a tour. They couldn’t recall if there had been seatbelts or not, but what they did remember was holding on for dear life the entire time. Perhaps the frightening experience was mostly due to the driver, Soldier, but the vehicle itself was clearly flawed as well. Still, Pyro wasn’t all that confident in their own driving abilities—they couldn’t remember the last time they were behind the wheel. Probably during their license test, which they only technically passed because the instructor was feeling very, very kind. They had only been a couple of points off from the minimum score, but she said they “didn't do anything dangerous”, so… That counted for something, right? They could get to where they needed safely and in one piece. Have some faith, said the devil and angel on their shoulders. Help me for crying out loud, said their growling stomach.

Right. Nothing in the fridge was catching their eye. Yet, to their annoyance, they couldn’t give up there. Grumbling, Pyro made their way over to the pantry—where unbeknownst to them, the holy grail awaited. They pulled open the door disinterestedly, and pulled on the string for the light just as half-heartedly. Their gaze was immediately drawn to the cereal boxes, and the maple syrup stationed next to them. Pyro’s mouth watered just at the thought of consuming them. No, not together, that would be diabolical—but the syrup helpfully reminded them of some waffles in the freezer. They reached and grabbed the bottle along with one of the more sugary cereals—sue them—then turned back with renewed vigor. While popping the waffles into the toaster, a fleeting, distracting thought came to them: they would need keys for the BLU van. 

“Shit,” they muttered, fingers tapping petulantly against the cardboard box. That threw a wrench in their plans. Pyro had no clue who would have the keys, and even if they did find out, then there was still the task of obtaining said keys. And, no way anyone with any sense was going to openly trust the pyromaniac with them. Their brow furrowed as they meticulously measured out some cereal, and their gaze drifted to the drawers under the counter. Well.. couldn’t hurt to check. Pyro started pulling them open in search of the junk drawer, and a miracle. Utensils, more utensils, sandwich bags and aluminum foil… and Bingo was his name-o. B-I-N-G-O! They pushed various loose items around, looking for anything shining in the distant pantry light, listening for any jingling... No luck. Only dried-out pens, dead batteries, bent paper clips, and sadness.

Pop went their waffles! At least there was some good among this miserable existence. Pyro gathered a plate along with a knife and fork, which was thankfully all they would need. No milk nor spoon would be necessary for their cereal; not dealing with all that. Hands were easier. On the contrary, if their hands got sticky from the syrup, they’d send themself through Respawn. They prepared their cuisine, mind split between focusing on making everything just right, and all the things wrong with their wistful situation. Deep breath. They would go to eat in their room, they decided, and then resume the search for the keys—this was as good a time as any, especially when (almost) everyone else was asleep. The firebug tidied up and headed back to safety.

Pyro set the used dishes on their dresser, a fun gift for their future self to clean up. Another good point came to them during the meal: they should probably check to see that the van was still in existence. 

“You never know,” they murmured to themself while pacing down the eerily quiet halls. The garage, their destination, was way over on the other side of the base. Sounds of their own breathing reverberated in their mask. Fortunately, the journey was absent of any monsters, and they arrived sooner than anticipated. It was much colder in here than the rest of the base; they figured the garage door wasn't properly insulated, since BLU seemed to cheap out on many expenses. They shivered despite the thick suit. 

Pyro fumbled around for a lightswitch momentarily before the dim overhead bulbs came to life. There it was, in the weak spotlight; the beat-up BLU Brewery vehicle in all its glory. It lived a lot of different lives, as evident by other names poorly painted over, peeking behind the current peeling letters. They approached it cautiously, as if it might jump out at them and bite. Maybe it could, and would, who knows? They’ve seen some weird stuff. 

The lack of doors made it remarkably easy to get in. It also made it remarkably worrisome, as getting out would be the same way—whether intentionally or not. Pyro squeezed into the driver's side, getting a feel for the position. The seat would need to be adjusted, obviously—if they were even able to find the means to drive this thing. They reached over and popped open the glovebox out of curiosity.

Clink.

Puzzled, they got a closer look.

No way.

Pyro picked up the keyring, half expecting it to ghost through their fingertips. They held it up for even further inspection. Grasped the hard metal in their palm. It was real. They laughed. 

“No way,” they vocalized, testingly fitting a large key into the van’s ignition. They sat in stunned silence for a second before delving back into the glovebox. Crinkle. They pulled out a piece of folded up paper that bloomed into a map. They laughed. The BLU base hadn’t been indicated on the original copy, obviously, but someone had helpfully scribbled in their location and the way to the main road. They laughed again. This was just too funny.

Pyro squinted to read the print, but found the nearest town soon enough. Even better, there was a library marked in the map legend. Holy shit.

Perfect.

…Suspiciously so. 

Everything was suddenly falling into place too easily. A prickle of nervous sweat graced their underarms. Tremors crept up their wrists and slithered into their fingers. Was this some sort of setup? It couldn’t be; how was anyone to know of their plan in such a short time? Inescapable heat wrapped around the back of their neck. Surely they were just being more paranoid than usual. Vision blurred, Pyro willed their eyes to refocus on the map, the goal. Then, their gaze drifted farther, to the clock on the wall. Tick, tick. It was approximately 4:25. Calculations were made. If all went accordingly, they could head out soon and be back before the day’s match. That being said, they had no idea what time the library would open or how long it would take to even get there, so leaving right that instant didn’t make the most sense. Especially considering the complete lack of sleep they’d gotten.. or rather, hadn't gotten. However, returning to their room to catch a few z’s at this point seemed.. pointless. In the time it would take to do so, they’d be losing precious minutes that they could just get right there. There was a gap between the front seats, but a quick look in the back revealed ample square footage. Pyro sprawled out across the floor, attempting to gain some semblance of a comfortable state. They figured they wouldn’t be able to fully fall asleep in these conditions, but any form of rest was welcomed. With unexpectedly heavy eyelids, they tuned in to the repetitive ticking of the clock. 

They jerked against the chilly flooring. It felt like a significant amount of time passed, but Pyro couldn't begin to guess how much. Groaning, they rolled to their side before dragging themself to sit up, muscles aching all the way. Tick, tick. Blurred vision gradually cleared to reveal the clock: 7:15. 

Well, it was now or never. They scooted back around to the driver's seat and let out a prolonged exhale. Taking another look at the map, they traced along their route to try and commit some of the more important street names to memory. A lot of the information left their brain shortly after their eyes left the paper, but that was fine. It was all fine. Pyro surveyed the interior again, making adjustments to the seat and mirrors to the best of their ability. Extravagantly, there was a garage door opener clipped to the visor above them. Even more impressively, it worked; the large panels noisily lifted and made way to the outdoors. Now, for the grand finale of the first act of their journey: they turned the key in the ignition, and the vehicle blessedly spurred to life. Maybe life was a generous descriptor. If there had been one letter off and this car was a cat, it would have been well past its nine lives by now. Let’s try again; the van ghoulishly reanimated. Despite rising from its grave, the van’s gas tank was two-thirds full, thank God. Hopefully that would be enough to last.

The sun was barely peeking past the horizon, the deep sky still fading into a soft baby blue, which was tailed by a fiery orange. Cool biting air of the morning flowed in and sank its fangs into the mercenary. Pyro shuddered, but it may have been more so from the anxiety than anything else. Their hand hesitantly went to the shifter, and they bit their tongue as they pulled it into drive. The car lurched forward, with their stomach behaving in a similar manner, and they panickedly stomped on the brake. Right, they forgot that cars just.. move like that on their own. This was going to go swimmingly. Hands grasping the wheel for dear life, they gingerly lifted their foot off the brake and tapped it to the gas. A light press. The van rumbled and slid onwards. 

Pyro gulped. Well, here goes nothing!

It had gone better than expected, to their greatest relief. The roads were practically empty, which meant less targets to worry about hitting, and less incentive to perfectly follow the rules of the road. Woefully, the first day turned out to be more of a practice run than anything else; the adrenaline spiking through Pyro had prevented them from truly focusing on the main task at hand. They had thumbed through stacks of old newspapers with shaking hands, almost aimlessly. Too scared to actually pull most of them out to inspect them. The few articles that they did pick out turned out to be unusable, of course. Stares from the staff and the few other patrons shot dread through their heart. Overwhelmed, they had decided to call it rather early and come back the next day with a more thorough plan—not one consisting of sleep-deprived ambitions. It was a good idea, sure, but they needed a bit more intent and organization. They had started a list of the sections they’d gone through so far—which was growing exponentially on account of the hours spent at the library—and rough seas eventually turned into smooth sailing. Mostly. The amount of stares also seemed to be snowballing, but Pyro wouldn't let it deter them anymore.

That was the routine for the past few days. They would “sneak” over to the garage, and be gone by first light. No need to worry about getting caught; clearly, no one used this wretched thing—and no one would be wondering what the pyromaniac was preoccupied with so early. Maybe Medic, but that was weird, and he should mind his own business.

The gas was getting concerningly low, they noticed that morning as they hopped into the van’s driver’s seat and fired it up. Worried fingertips tapped against the steering wheel. Either they had to find what they were looking for during this run, or find out how to refill the tank.

“Please don’t let my luck nor my gas run out,” they murmured, hands clasped together atop the cheap, ravaged leather. “Amen.” 

With that, they headed off to the races.

Pyro sat stationed at a table while they sorted through stacks, as was customary. Gloves fumbled between pages, eyes scanned tirelessly, and feet tapped fretfully on the carpet. A keyword stuck out to them in one headline, bold print leaping right into their neurons: BURNS. 

They brought it front and center to their vision and began examining the article, trying not to get their hopes up. Any stories related to fire thus far had been uninspiring; ironically, Pyro had taken them and burnt the papers up into dust to ensure there were no red herrings left while conducting their search. Their chest involuntarily tightened halfway through the article, and the firebug mentally pleaded with their overactive nerves to calm down. At the end, there was a pair of small photos attached, which inexplicably sent a call through their eyes and to their ears. Trying to ignore the ringing, they read the whole thing again, having not entirely retained the information the first time. And again. Pause. Again. Wait a minute.

Their heart was pounding so hard and loud that the librarian might shush them any moment now—and their next move warranted that action. 

“YES!” Pyro hollered heedlessly, jumping up from their chair with an awful ruckus—complete with hands slamming explosively against the table. They raised the rolled up paper in their fist. "Hallelujah!" The usual peaceful library silence expeditiously became thick and uncomfortable. A meek voice sounded from somewhere in their blind spot.

“Excuse me, uh, um... Sir,” it settled with. Pyro turned and found the words belonging to a woman significantly smaller than themself. She continued, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’m afraid you’re disturbing the other guests.”

The firebug couldn’t help but giggle in the afterglow of their discovery. “That’s fine,” they said insouciantly. The woman flinched when Pyro abruptly held the newspaper up to her. “I got what I needed.”

To everyone’s relief, including the culprit, the mercenary made their way out of the building. 

Pyro’s smile never faltered during the whole drive back, not even for a second.

It was making him sick.

Sick to his goddamn stomach.

Uncharacteristically, Engineer lied curled up in bed, silent and solemn. Externally, at least. Internally, everything was going haywire. His guts churned, pain burrowing through his abdomen, and he had to wonder if this was what intussusception felt like.

Perhaps this was even worse.

Hot and uncomfortable, Engie swallowed down his nausea as he receded further into his covers. Heat waves crashed over him, unbearably reminiscent of them. Their warm, soft lips against his own; the equally warm but rough skin of their hands pressed to his unwitting flesh. Cold shivers zapped down his spine.

He couldn't help but think about how they tasted. Couldn’t help but think about anything else besides the thing he said he needed more time on. How was he supposed to? Time and time again, pondering the situation, the limitless unknowns, had only proven fruitless. Why should it be any different this time? The one truth he knew for sure was that the BLU Pyro wanted him—and for some reason unbeknownst to him, he wanted them back. He’d admit that much, at least.

Thoughts of that damned firebug consumed him like the flames of their alleged incident. Like their tight embrace, arms suffocatingly wrapped around him, intent on never letting go. He writhed in the sheets. Thoughts were congealing into a messy, indecipherable lump; a hairball he couldn’t hack out. All of his senses were obstructed by memories of their piercing gaze, stabbing and ripping through his heartstrings. There was something behind it he couldn’t place that gave him a feeling akin to impending doom, but not quite; it was as if something had shifted in the universe upon eye contact, some cosmic blow to his soul. Maybe he was losing his mind. Then again, there wasn't much left to lose. Perhaps this was the catalyst that would wither away what remained.

Engineer wiped the accumulating sweat from under his jaw. A grand fantasy between two people that were not in their right minds was a delicious recipe for disaster. Yet, who else could he consult regarding his predicament? The only other people he had easy contact with were the members of his team; out of all the options, zero out of eight were appealing.

Scout was a blabbermouth.

Sniper, well.. Engie didn’t think he’d have much to say in response. 

Soldier was in the opposite category; he thought the man would have too much to say, and none of it would be of any help.

Spy was completely out of the question unless he wanted to knock down the castle of lies he built, and then some.

Medic was, well, Medic. Not happening. The doctor would probably want to dissect his brain to look for any clues.

Demoman... Maybe? His trustworthiness was uncertain, but something told Engie that he might actually have something of substance to input.

Heavy.. probably not. Whatever went through him was also shared with Medic, and Engineer was still intent on leaving his skull unopened.

…Pyro? Heck no.

The veins of his temple throbbed. He was already thinking about their next meeting, despite not having a grip on his feelings whatsoever. He just itched to see them, no matter the context. Itch itch itch. Scratch scratch scratch. Engineer scrunched his eyes shut, lying impossibly still, trying to force himself to sleep—though he knew the chance of getting some decent rest was zilch. 

He’d wake up in a pool of sweat before long. Just like he did last night, and the night before that. And just like he would the next day, and the next, and the next…

Chapter Text

A light breeze snuck by him, raising the hair on his arms. The rising sun brought no real warmth yet; deceivingly bright rays emerging through the trees only served as an annoying glare for the time being.  Like their previous arrangement, the RED Engineer was waiting on the hill, per the BLU Pyro’s instruction the evening before.

The two had been essentially avoiding all interaction with one another, unless it was to grievously harm the other. In the heat of battle, Pyro incidentally caught Engineer’s eye. The energy was different, and as they approached, Engie sensed it wasn’t with any intent to send him to the faux-afterlife. They probably would anyhow by principle, but it wasn’t the main purpose. He feigned trying to escape, backing up around the corner to get some privacy and away from whizzing gunfire. In one second, the arsonist appeared in his field of vision; in the next, he felt a fist twisted in his collar. He had been shoved against the wall, shoulders scraping on the rough material. The static, daunting expression of the gas mask betrayed no feeling. Their foreboding presence conjured a thunderstorm in his chest, lightning striking through his aorta.

Pyro had tightened their grip on the neckline of his shirt and growled in his ear, “You better meet me at sunrise tomorrow.” 

And that was that. Engineer spotted a figure in the not-so-far distance marching towards him. The one person he was expecting, no doubt, but with something unexpected and unidentifiable in their hand. Their form dipped out of his sight as they began ascending. 

Sound hit him before the visual; wheezing, coughing, and the crunch of dirt travelled up the steep hill until the BLU Pyro rose to his field of view. Engineer opened his mouth to greet them, but Pyro beat him to it fair and square. It was more of an interrogation than a salutation, but…

“Your back hurts, doesn't it?” they spluttered, chest and shoulders heaving as they tried to catch their breath. Engie abruptly felt winded as well. He never told them about that; he had no reason to. So how on Earth…

“Wha— Why… How do you know?” 

Wordlessly and righteously, they thrusted the object in their hand towards him. He had no choice but to take it; as it unfurled, it revealed itself as an old newspaper. Why were they giving him— His heart stuttered when he noticed the striking print. 

FARM BURNS DOWN IN FREAK ACCIDENT

Squinting at the date in the corner told him the article was from nearly fifty years ago. Squinting past that told him that Pyro had slipped off their mask and was staring at him expectantly, frazzled but triumphant. Having a clear view of their face—albeit through his peripherals—was distracting, but he willed himself to ignore it for now. He read on:

2 killed in fire that destroyed family farm

LAS CRUCES, N. Mex. A fire that broke out on a local farm this weekend claimed the lives of both homeowners, as well as most of their livestock, in addition to causing extensive damage to the crops and surrounding land. An investigation revealed the source to be a handheld mirror located in the downstairs bathroom of the house. The door had been left open in such a way that concentrated sunlight was directed by the mirror to the living room, where the curtains ignited. The fire spread rapidly, with the whole floor becoming engulfed within minutes.

Evidence shows that one homeowner was out working on the field when the fire started, but rushed back to the residence and went inside to save their spouse, who had been asleep upstairs. Unfortunately, the structural damage was too severe by this point, and the farmer was fatally struck by a falling beam to their spine. The other homeowner quickly succumbed to smoke inhalation as well as serious burns. Surviving livestock were all recovered and are being relocated to other nearby farms.

This tragic loss has been a shock to our community, but diligent volunteers are already helping to restore the area. Pictured below is the farm prior to the incident, as well as the current state of clean-up efforts. Public services will be held next week for anyone who would like to pay respects, more info to follow.

The passage was followed by two photos of a place he’d recognize anywhere——the very home that haunted his dreams. The one pictured in countless nightmares, always accompanied by incessant smoke stacks emerging from within. His eyes flicked between the before and after. Though printed in black and white, the scene beforehand appeared in vivid Technicolor to his mind's eye. A vast blue sky, fluffy clouds lazily drifting across it. Comforting light of the sun, wrapping him safely in its rays. Feeling the breeze. Then, the smell of smoke. A spark of panic, followed by the sputter of an engine. Gas pedal of a tractor pressed to the floor. Months of hard work tearing in its path, several potential harvests shredded and crushed under tires that wouldn't go fast enough. Yelling, expelling his vocal cords and replacing them with ash and dust as he called out for his lover. Skin sizzling. Heat, heat, and more heat, blinding white hot pain, and then… nothing. He took in the subsequent image, the charred skeleton of the farmhouse under the same sky as before. A cheerful sun persisted among the devastation. Seeing the aftermath was like some wicked closure he didn’t realize he was in desperate need of. 

Engineer looked up from the newspaper to Pyro. The pleading expression. He looked down at the paper again. He slid his goggles up his forehead and looked back to Pyro, locking into their electrifying gaze. Pupils dilated. Breaths hitched.

He remembered.

This was someone he loved—and still did, and didn't ever plan to stop—someone he shared endless lifetimes with, someone whose soul was so intertwined with his own, someone… 

Someone that had been missing his whole life.

“Son of a bitch.”

He wrangled them into his arms with zero protest, squeezing them tight as to ensure they’d never be apart again. Pyro released a raucous, relieved laugh, practically forced out of their lungs by the other’s embrace. The laughter continued as they were lifted off their feet, Engineer swinging his beloved in a full circle to match the moment. After the spin, Engie took a second to pinch himself and confirm this wasn’t another one of his messed up dreams. Nope! He reeled them in again instantly, cheek against cheek, absorbing them into his system. He pulled back momentarily, standing on his tiptoes (and prompting the other to tilt their chin down) to press a long overdue, much-needed kiss to the firebug’s forehead. To Pyro’s delight, he slipped his hardhat off without them having to ask, and they reciprocated the smooch with felicity to the top of his head. They added another one to his cheek for good measure, and then another to the other cheek to balance it out. One more to the tip of his nose, for even greater measure. Lastly, their lips crashed together passionately, both mercenaries fighting to get into each other’s mouths just as fiercely as they fought on the field. 

Pyro seized the straps of his overalls, pulling him up and closer, which caused Engineer to lose his footing; which, in turn, led to the two toppling over onto the grass. Despite the fall, neither were deterred in the slightest and continued trying to get at the other at all costs. Fists bunched in uniforms. Legs scrambled against the ground. Lips and teeth grazed any and all flesh they came upon. Amidst the scuffle, one of them veered a bit too close towards the slope of the hill. Gravity stepped in, and the two began unintentionally descending. They grabbed onto each other while rolling down the hill, laughing and cheering all the way. The world was a whirlwind of love as they spun around and around.

They arrived at the bottom, a bit dirty and grass-stained but otherwise unbothered. Pyro landed on top of him, breathless, and giggled as they cupped his face in their hands.

“My whole life, I’ve been looking for someone to help me. To save me,” they said softly. They lowered their head, resting it against Engie’s chest. “I knew it was you.”

Wheezing, he shot them a crooked grin that they were so innately infatuated with. “Hope I’m not too late, doll.”

Pyro laughed yet again, a sound that Engineer couldn’t get enough of. Their voice was a bit hoarse (more so than usual) at this point, but Engie would listen and listen until they couldn’t talk anymore, and even then he would stay tuned in with undivided attention. They snuggled closer, face now buried in the crook of his neck. Warm breath and cool damp grass tickled his skin. They traced a thumb along his jaw and murmured, “Better late than never.”

Pyro tumbled over and settled beside him on the ground. They tossed their gloves to the side in favor of grasping Engineer’s hand with their own bare one. Engie followed suit, slipping off his goggles and glove. The two mercenaries relaxed on the grass, hand in hand, watching the clouds wander across the sky. It was quiet save for their breathing, with a light crackle sounding from Pyro’s chest with each rise and fall.

“Think I left that paper up there,” Engie said eventually, after realizing its absence. Pyro sighed.

“Do we really need that thing anymore?”

He shrugged. “Future reference. Plus, we probably shouldn’t just leave it.”

“Right,” they mumbled weakly, nuzzling into him. To them in that moment, absolutely nothing else mattered except the man by their side. But, he was indeed right. “...I think my mask is up there too. Can you get it?”

Engineer smiled, giving their hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Of course, darlin’.”

He returned with said gas mask, his helmet, and the newspaper safely tucked into the pouch on his belt. “We don’t even know each other's names yet this time around, do we?” he asked with a goofy smile, amusement apparent on his face as he handed the firebug their mask. He took Pyro’s free hand in his and gave it a firm shake. “Dell. Nice to meet ya, stranger.”

Pyro latched on with a wry smile, shaking back even harder. “Angel. Ángel if you want to be ‘proper’,” they pronounced with a stronger accent and a shrug while they crammed the mask into their pouch. “Doesn’t matter.”

“‘Course it matters,” Engie chuckled, slipping an arm around their waist to pull them closer. He swiped a stray curl away from their cheek and pressed a tender kiss to the scarred skin. “Suits you.”

“I can’t feel that much there,” they murmured, returning the embrace and leaning into the notion nonetheless.

“Don’t matter, Angel,” he countered with another smooch, then tucked some locks behind their right ear to deliver even more to flushed freckles on the other side. Pyro giggled and delved back into the safety of his neck, smushing their nose against the heavenly warmth and inhaling deeply.

“I love you,” they whispered softly, in contrast to the asphyxiating bear hug they were administering to him. 

Engineer smiled wide, crushing them back with equal force. “I love you too.” 

A teeny gust of air somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle tickled his neck. Teasingly, Pyro muttered, “Finally.”

Poignantly, the two released each other, but neither went very far. They stayed holding on to one another—though not as suffocating—and silently stargazed in each other’s eyes, communicating more than words could ever convey.

“I reckon we should be headin’ back soon,” Engie said, cupping the other's face in his hand and stroking his thumb against their cheek. “I take it you didn't get much sleep last night either?”

Pyro’s mouth curved in an acerbic smile; their eyes narrowed and brows lowered with an expression that said guilty! “None at all.”

“Then,” he continued, punctuated with a finger tapped to their nose. “we oughta take care of that. Can’t whoop my ass later without a full night’s—or afternoon’s—rest, can ya?”

“I can,” they gibed good-naturedly, biting at the space his hand left with an audible snap from their teeth.

“You should get some sleep,” Engie admonished, replacing his finger and allowing the other to chomp on it. “We should get some sleep. It’s good for you, y’know.”

Pyro released him from their fearsome jaws before headbutting and nuzzling into him. “Right as always, Engie.”

The man wheezed a small laugh while patting his partner on the back. “You can call me Dell, sweetie.”

Pyro snickered and pinched his cheek. “I can, but you are my little Engie too.”

“Little?!” he huffed, turning away with a melodramatic pout.

“Shh, don’t worry, you’re also my big strong Engineer!” This declaration was accompanied by a near rib-breaking strong squeeze and a flurry of relentless kisses.

“Alright, alright!” Engie tapped out with uncontrollable giggles before composing himself. “Let’s go count some sheep and come up with a plan—or some ideas at least—about goin’ forward with.. us, and we meet back up here in.. shoot.” He knew that more frequent meetings might arouse suspicion, yet he was but a lovesick man and couldn’t stay away from them for too long. “Whaddaya say.. in sixty-five hours?”

“I say, oddly specific. Then I say mm-hmm.”

“Then it’s a date, lovebug.”

Engineer had the cheesiest grin plastered on his face. Pyro’s fixed gaze was momentarily broken by an eye roll, but it returned with a vehement hunger. It traveled a bit lower down the man’s face, to which Engineer soon mirrored. Tantalizingly slow, they both leaned forward until lips sealed together in a deep kiss. They pressed into each other with an immutable passion, taking all the time in the world to explore each other’s insides, to study all the crowns and points of their teeth. Like any cliché love story, they only stopped when neither could adequately breathe.

Pyro licked at the corner of their mouth before wiping it against the back of their hand.

“See you then, Dell.”

They held each other impossibly close to make up for the unbearable time about to be spent apart. The pair made the decision to have Engineer hold onto the newspaper—which was a splendid idea that Pyro was fully on board with, given their talent in misplacing things so easily. Loving whispers were exchanged until they could no longer reach their recipients; until hands unclasped and fingertips disconnected, and they dared not speak another word at such a sacred moment. The two scooped up their respective apparel from the ground before going their separate ways. They waved goodbye for a prolonged period until they had to turn away and commit to the walk back.

Pyro didn’t redress just yet. It had been a while since they exposed so much skin to the elements—and they forgot just how lovely it could feel. They allowed the wind to greet them and for the sun’s gradually warming rays to light them up, with a smile on their face, a skip in their step, and peace in their mind.

A pleasant tiredness tugged at Engineer’s eyelids and weighed down his steps on the way to his quarters. Though it was just a cat nap before the day’s work, it was the most he had been looking forward to hitting the hay for a long, long time. He chucked his shoes off at the workshop door, already unbuckling buckles and unbuttoning buttons before he entered his room. The newspaper was safely set atop his nightstand, right next to the near-depleted s’mores candle.

There was no hesitation about jumping into bed. No dread, not even a single fret. He was no longer being trapped by the blankets—he was being set free. For once, Engineer let all his worries dissipate the moment his head hit the pillow. He smiled, the fire in his bones at ease as he drifted off into the most serene sleep he’d ever known. 

𓆩୨♡୧𓆪꒰ა❤︎໒꒱𓆩୨♡୧𓆪

Across the desert, the flames settled down. 

For now, at least, Pyro thought. If things caught ablaze again, they couldn’t say that they hadn’t seen it coming.

Returning to their room wasn’t the daunting task it had typically been lately. Instead of feeling like they were retreating after a failure, it felt like they could actually take a load off after a hard-earned victory.

Though the thoughts keeping them awake were more ecstatic than catastrophic, it couldn't hurt to have a little white noise to drown them out. They picked up the unattended radio that they had knocked over so many moons ago, murmuring an apology to the device. Click. It was tuned into some lame talk show. Click. Gasp. The next station was nearing the end of a song, but it was one they adored—and it applied now more than ever.

“For it's true,” Pyro sang quietly, adjusting the volume and arranging the radio on their nightstand, “you are my destiny…”

When you hold my hand, I understand the magic that you do

They cozied up under the covers, humming in tune and with content.

You're my dream come true, my one and only you

Pyro tossed once and turned twice—but that was it. The monsters under their bed and in their head had been tamed, and as it stood, everything was A-OK.

(One and only you)