Chapter Text
”No real man worth his salt asks for help, son."
His father’s words rang incessantly in his ear as he clutched his hip where a fresh stab wound lay. Sniper clenched his teeth and let out a frustrated snarl. He was up in his nest and had just taken out an enemy Heavy that was posing problems for his own team’s Medic and Pyro, at the cost of letting the BLU Spy get the drop on him.
“MEDIC!”
The gunman kicked the now-dead Spy’s head clean off his body in frustration as he eased himself into a sitting position, blood overflowing over his hand that was tightly clasped around it. “Augh, piss ,” Sniper hissed as he shed his shirt, hat and glasses hastily, ripping his undershirt into ribbons and trying to fashion some haphazard bandages. He wasn’t injured enough to be sent through respawn, but the pain was just bad enough that if left unbound, would cause issues in his performance.
He quickly tied the “bandages'' as best he could before sliding on his red shirt and glasses again, dusting off his akubra and placing it back on his head as he re-assumed his position. Sniper watched Medic run from Pyro to Soldier to Heavy, then to Demo and Scout and back again, the order constantly changing and being thrown off by an occasional request from Spy.
“MEDIC!”
Oh, no. He certainly wasn’t going to ask Medic to traipse all the way up here, and truth be told, he was going to be a huge sitting duck if he himself tried to make the long trek down. Best only do that after the match, when absolutely necessary. The bushman couldn’t help but appreciate Medic’s contributions to the team, no matter how risky (or downright terrifying) his off-the-clock endeavors were. It didn’t seem fair that there was only one of him, but the doctor was anything but a slacker. Scout typically got credit for being the track-star of the team, but Medic could certainly move for someone that was saddled down with so much equipment. Not even Engineer could keep up with him, and he had more obvious muscle than Medic did. Sniper swallowed, holding his breath and taking a shot to defend his team’s cocky Scout, who Medic was trailing loosely behind with his medigun.
“HEY, MEDIC!”
“Nice shootin’, Snipes!” Scout praised over the comm, and Sniper heaved a sigh, trying to steady his breathing. “I mean, I could’a taken care of it myself obviously. But thanks!” The youngest mercenary amended, pointing his finger in a gun-shape up in Sniper’s general location. Sniper’s sharp eyes were already lining up his next shot, a Soldier that was giving unruly amounts of trouble to poor Pyro.
The wounds protested against the Sniper’s movements as he crouched down and held his breath, eliminating the Soldier with a satisfying CRACK . Then, there was Medic again, rushing to heal the Demoman that had been caught in the firefight with the Soldier he had just offed. Those white, freshly-pressed coat-tails moved gracefully on the battlefield as the Medic stopped and shot an appreciative glance at Sniper, the somehow-intimate eye contact making his stomach do a flip. He had probably just lost too much blood at this point.
“MEDIC!”
Sniper elected to try and press his hip against the wall he was ducked behind, desperate for the pain to go away. In all honesty, Teufort had spoiled him. If he was out in the wilderness, where he’d found himself always longing to be, he probably wouldn’t even be complaining about such pain. Not that anything in the wild could possibly be responsible for a near 7 inch gash in the side of his belly. Not even crocs or bears could catch him off guard like a skilled Spy could. He remembered the aches and pains he’d put his body through in the past when he had nobody but himself, and that stuff was usually just for the sport of it. The medigun took away the mercenaries’ pain so quickly and so effectively it was as though it was never even there. Right spoiled bastards, they were.
“Sniper, how are you faring up there?” Medic asked over the radio, and the gunman had to duck down to avoid a headshot by the enemy Sniper. His hat rolled away just out of reach, and Sniper returned the shot as his enemy was reloading. Only a ding, not a fatal shot. Still, he held out the hope that the bastard would back off. He’d nearly forgotten that Medic asked a question to him directly. “Sniper?” He called again.
“Sorry doc, all’s good here. Watch out, lads. Enemy sniper in the northeast tower-“ He let the sentence die in his throat as the enemy Sniper tumbled out of the tower, slamming into the hard-packed dirt below with a nauseating crunch . In the window was his team’s Spy, who in turn leaned out of the frame and flicked the ashes of his cigarette down on their shared enemy, observing his good work.
“… Is no longer an issue, thanks to your warning shot.” Spy declared nonchalantly, giving Sniper a satisfied nod before adjusting his tie and cloaking again, no doubt beginning his descent back to the battlefield. Spy seldom ever said thank you, especially during combat, but his body language gave off an air of mutual respect. Or maybe Sniper was reading it wrong. Either way, he was glad he was the Sniper that survived his backstab attempt.
The battle progressed slowly and RED team won by a decent margin; not as much as the mercenaries would have liked, but a win was a win. As soon as the Administrator called it, Sniper couldn’t help but heave a heavy sigh in relief. Victory be damned, he just wanted out of this tower and back to his van, where he could lay down and sleep off the pain he was in. He scooped up his hat and began his slow, painful descent down the ladder, his jaw clenched so tight he was afraid it was going to fall off. Then he’d really have to go see Medic.