literature

TF2 - Freaky Friday part 1

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A rooster, ever a fervent and enthusiastic minion, crowed loudly toward his glorious god, diviner of his diurnal lifestyle-- and the huge and brilliant sun graced the world with its life-giving light.  The last tendrils of night nestled themselves amongst the safety of the long shadows of the cacti.

The early daylight across the twin compounds of 2Fort.

The blessed hush of stillness lay upon the arena.

Behind the RED barn, the rooster crowed again, urging the world to awaken and work beneath the light of the great golden sky god.  

Then he crowed again, just because he could.  

Across the grounds, in the BLU fort, there were no such fowl interruptions.  The team slept.

Deep in the Med Center, the Medic rolled over and yawned hugely, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his neck.

He slowly blinked open his dark eyes and looked at the ceiling.  His expression faded slowly from restful peace to a mild state of confusion as he noticed a strange sound.  Someone, close by-- very close by-- was breathing.  No… snoring.  A deep, slow snore.  Cautiously, he turned to look at the source.

Beside him, still lost far within the depths of downy sleep, was Heavy.

He stuttered for words for a moment, before exclaiming, "What the hell is this?!  Not cool man!"

Heavy stirred in his sleep, opening his eyes awkwardly, "Ach, whut you goin' on aboot?"



In the bathroom, on the other side of the base, Soldier looked at himself curiously.  Standing between two of the sinks, he leaned in and peered into his own eyes.  With a snail's pace, he reached up and touched his nose.  He waved the same hand in front of his face, following it with his eyes.

"WHICH ONE OF YOU MAGGOTS IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS NONSENSE?!"

Soldier leaned away from the mirror for a moment.  He hadn't said that.  That wasn't Soldier's voice either.  Calmly, Soldier turned and looked toward the bathroom door.  He crossed the room and peered out into the hallway.

"IS THIS YOUR DOING?!"

The voice was coming from what was lovingly referred to as the barracks, and commonly referred to as 'a shithole excuse for living quarters'-- Not that much of the team actually called the room home.  Soldier walked down the hall and opened the barracks door.

"IS THIS ONE OF YOUR SPY TRICKS?"

Scout was standing on Spy's bed, straddling him and gripping his silk pajama lapels fiercely.

Spy, in his sleepy stupor, pulled back a fist and introduced it to Scout's sharp little face.  It wasn't enough to send him flying, but did send him off balance and off the bed.  He landed heavily on his rump and on the floor.

"Why is tiny Scout yelling?" Spy looked at his hands, "Why are hands so … tiny?" then he looked around, "Where is Medic?"

Down the hallway, closer to the living area, Pyro woke, nudged from his sleep by the muffled commotion.  Pushing himself into a seated position, he looked at the flamethrower he had lovingly held in his lap.  Tilting it one way, then the other as though he didn't understand why it was there, he set it aside carefully and glanced around at a odd, tinted world through the smoked lenses of his gasmask.

"Hhn, humph mph-" he stopped suddenly and looked down at himself, then got up and rushed toward the commotion.

Elsewhere, sprawled over his desk, the Demo sat up and peeled a few manky scraps of paper of his face.  A bottle rolled off the desk and clattered across the floor.

"Bloody hell," Demo muttered, clutching his head, "What kinda racket is that…" he moaned, glaring toward the door with one angry, blood shot eye.  He glanced around the room after a moment, "And where am I?"

Somewhere down the hall, past a closed door, Engineer finally gave up trying to sleep through the cacophony.  Sitting up and shoving his blanket aside he stopped abruptly as the chilly morning air met his bare chest.

He looked down, touching the flannel of his pajama bottoms as though it were something strange and new.

"Somesing…  iz not right 'ere," he murmured, getting to his feet.

He winced at the cold cement floor of the workroom as he stepped off the rug, placed next to the cot the Engineer slept in most nights.  The chaos just got louder as he got closer to the fort's makeshift living room.

Chaos was a very fitting word for it.  Most everyone was gathered, generally yelling, pointing and looking confused and useless in their pajamas.  Scout was the loudest, still yelling and jabbing an accusing finger at the Spy.  Spy was standing next to the Medic, looking lost and gesturing widely as he spoke.  Medic was trying to shy away from the hands of the Soldier, who had the Medic's chin in his grasp and was turning his head this way and that as though he'd never had a chance to see it before.  Heavy was standing around looking sleepy and confused, next to Pyro who was in much the same state.  Demo was standing at the far side of the room, clutching his head like it was going to explode-- and with Demo you could never really be sure.  Engineer's confused expression faded as he watched the hubbub, and instead he grinned.

"MAGGOT!  TELL US WHAT YOU'VE DONE, SPY!  YOU'RE ONE OF THOSE FILTHY RED LADIES IN DISGUISE!" Scout shouted.

"Am not Spy!" Spy replied irately.

"This sucks," Medic whined.

"Curious…  Fascinating…" Soldier said calmly.

"I haven' a bloody clue whut's goin' on…" Heavy moaned.

"Ighh whph hphnm, buh hmph?" Pyro said, motioning to his teammates and
shrugging.

Demo continued to clutch his head, "Buncha wankers needa shut up already," he grumbled.

Engineer chuckled.  The chuckle quickly turned to laughter, although there was a slight malicious tinge to it.

Everyone stopped and looked at him.

"What's so damn funny, Engy?" Scout barked.

"This isn't fucking funny, Hardhat!" Medic shouted, "I'm old!"

"I am not old," Soldier said sharply.

Engineer reached up to wipe his eyes and his hand bumped into his goggles, "Right, right…" he lifted them just enough to rub his eyes, chuckling as he did so, "So…  'az anyone sought to find out who everyone iz?"

Everyone looked back and forth between each other.  Half of them all stated their names at the same time.

Engineer took a step back, "In zat case…  Role call?" he delicately gestured to himself, "Spy."

Scout's eyes narrowed and he glared at Engineer.

"Is zis some little trick of yours, mein Spy?" Soldier asked, "You are…  very calm."

He chuckled again, "Non, but nuzzing new, really.  It is my job to be someone else," Engineer, ne Spy, pointed at Soldier, "Medic, oui?"

"Ja."

Then at Scout, "Soldier,"

"That's 'Soldier, Sir.'"

He pointed at the Medic.

"Er… Scout."

Then Spy.

"Heavy."

And Heavy.

"Demo, yoo daft fool."

And Pyro.

"Emphnrr."

Engineer/Spy paused, "Ah… Engineer?"

"Ess!"

He chuckled, "And you?" he gestured toward the Demo.

"You dun have to be so loud, mate, I'm right here…"

Nodding, he counted heads, "sept, huit.  So, we are mizzing someone."

Demo/Sniper glanced around with pained, squinting eyes "I… think fell asleep in the battlements."

"Lead ze way."

They followed Demo/Sniper's somewhat uneven, hung over steps down the halls, and into the battlements, careless of windows and possible danger, until they came across Sniper.  Hunkered down in the corner, boots discarded, aviators set carefully on the ground and hat pulled down over his face.  He was still asleep.

The group crowded around, shoving and jostling, looking down with malicious glee at their one teammate who had yet to wake and realize the freakiness that today held.

"Vell?" Soldier/Medic asked.

"Wake him up!" Medic/Scout jeered.

Engineer/Spy nudged the Sniper's bare foot, "Get up, you."

Sniper pulled his foot back and shifted his weight awkwardly.  He turned his head, looking at the strange sets of bare feet, exposed legs, pajamas and pants that surrounded him.  Squinting in the bright light, he looked up at his teammates.

"What's going on?"

Obvious shock shot across his face as his voice fell clear on his ears.  He looked around frantically, looking at his clothes, his hands, feeling his face.  He pulled his hat down, obscuring his face, and gave a small, confused whimper.



In the Medical Center's small private bathroom, Medic's face reflected in the mirror; Scout rubbed at the coarse, night's worth of stubble.  Looking in the mirror and seeing someone else; it gave him the heebie-jeebies.  Medic was so… old.  Not grandpa old, but easily the same age as Scout's dad would have been. Doc's hair was graying around the temples and while he could get pretty close to touching his toes he just wasn't very limber, or very fast.  And glasses.  Who wore glasses into a fight?  Flimsy metal and glass on your face was just asking for trouble.

It had taken Spy/Heavy pointing out that Medic/Scout didn't have his glasses before Scout had realized that was why everything was so fuzzy.  He knew his teammates well enough that he could tell who was who without them, but now he wasn't going to have to fumble around quite as much.

But the stubble.  That might be an issue.  Embarrassingly, facial hair wasn't much of a problem for Scout; his facial hair was fine, fair and peach fuzzy and he was worried it always would be.  So, shaving… not something he'd really had an opportunity to practice.  Of course, he'd seen his brothers do it hundreds of times-- and if those idiots could do it, anyone could.

Of course, Medic would be awfully cross if Scout accidentally cut his face up while trying to shave, but today was a weird day already, so maybe no one would notice if he didn't shave.  Or maybe they would and on top of having to be this geezer they'd be laughing at his inadequacy.

Scout sighed and his hand went to his neck and grasped at nothing.  He looked down, panicking for a moment, then remembered where, and who, he was.  His dog tags weren't lost, they were right where they belonged: around his neck.  

He was what was misplaced.



Heaving a sigh, Heavy/Demo sat down roughly on the couch, which shuddered and gave an uncomfortable crack.  He glanced around to see if anyone had heard that.  The only other person in sight was the Sniper, who-- flat on the floor with his hands over his head in front of the couch-- didn't seem like he was in a position to care about anything.  Being this large was already a problem.  He liked running up hallways, glancing around corners, sneaking towards the unsuspecting bastards, raining explosive hell upon them, then scarpering as fast as his little Scottish legs would take him.  Of course, once the first one detonated it became just a matter of enough gunpowder and detonations between you and the enemy-- but there was never a shortage of either for him.

Giant hands gripped the edge of the cushions idly.  They were strong hands, but not exactly precise.  They wouldn't be very good at the delicate work required in making the explosive devices that fascinated Demo so much.  

He held his enormous hands up in front of his face.  Depth perception was something he'd forgotten about.  He moved his hand to and away from his face, wondering how long it was going to take him become re-accustomed to--

-smack-

He clutched his hand to his face, hugely appreciating that there was no one around aware enough to have seen that.



In the Soldier's 'War Room,' Medic sat on a well worn folding cot and pulled on Soldier's boots.  They were filthy, creased, and age-worn.  He stood, shifting his feet and wiggling his toes.  They were surprisingly comfortable.  Soldier's clothes were dirtier than he liked-- but what was new?  Spy kept his suits clean and, like a good son, Scout did his own laundry once a week.  But that was where it ended.  Oh, Engineer did his laundry, not as often enough as could be liked, but at least semi-regularly.  But Sniper and Demo both only washed their clothes when they got too filth-encrusted to wear any longer and God only knew when, if, the Pyro had ever washed /himself/ let alone his suit.

Placing Soldier's helmet firmly on his head he frowned.  How did the Soldier see what he was doing?  Perhaps all that screaming was some form of echolocation.  He tilted the helmet up and peered into the cracked mirror that was leaning against the wall.  Standing up straight, he saluted the reflection, then chuckled and shook his head.  He discarded the helmet politely, leaving it on the Soldier's bed.  To be effective, Medic needed his hands, his brain and his sight.

Buckling his belt, Medic let his mind wander.  This whole mind switching thing was fascinating and he wondered how it had happened.  They'd worked on something like this, back in the 'hospital' in Stuttgart, although never as successfully as this.  Or as clean and survivable.  

His body would be fine.  Scout was a good kid, so enthusiastic, so full of fighting spirit-- so fragile. Medic's only concern was if his body got damaged in battle, but not killed.  Death, on the battlefield, well that was a very temporary problem.  But any actual ailments had to be treated, and there would be no one to treat him if he were badly broken or unconscious.  Best to hope for the best.  

Medic's mind wandered to Heavy.  Poor Heavy.  He was big, strong, and his attacks packed a punch, fairly literally.  In a slight body, built for espionage, sneaking and striking fast then disappearing back into the darkness, well, he knew none of that and was quite useless.  Heavy took so much pride-- quietly and behind closed doors-- about being able to defend his teammates.  Poor, poor Heavy.  Today would not be a good day for him.



Back in the barracks, Scout's shirt and a clean pair of socks were excavated from a duffle bag.  There was a military surplus footlocker shoved under the bed, but Soldier had decided that it was best left alone-- once he'd realized he couldn't wrestle it open with his hands.

He brushed his hand through the well trimmed brown hair-- longer than regulation, but not too long-- then pulled Scout's hat over it and affixed the clunky headset the boy was so fond of.  He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled a pair of socks on, then bent down the grab the pair of running shoes at the edge of the bed.  Doing so, Scout's dog tags dangled in front of Soldier's face.

Dog tags.  Scout's name would be on those.  Social security number, blood type and religious preference as well.  Precious, precious information.  His sharp blue eyes followed the shining tags' pendulous motion.  Keeping curiosity under control was high priority for Soldier.  Knowing too much was dangerous in this Great War-- it got you killed.  Oh, they told him the war was over; for twenty years, over-- but that's what they wanted him to think.  

He took the dangling IDs in his hand and dropped them inside his shirt collar, then resumed tying his shoes.  

Soldier had a job to do, oh yes.  As long as there were still REDs out there, Soldier had a job to do.  If it meant doing it from someone else's body, so be it.  He just had to convince Shovel that he was actually himself, but they had a codeword prepared for just such a situation.



Scout/Soldier marched out of the room, passed the tragically confused Spy/Heavy.  He'd shed the Spy's silk pajamas and placed them gently on the Spy's bed.  Between Spy's bed and the wall was a discreet cabinet.  It was old and worn; not in a valuable antique sort of way but in a beggars can't be choosers kind of way.  Inside, hanging neatly, were the makings of several blue, three piece suits.  Jackets, trousers, vests and dress shirts-- even his ties were hung up.  Below the clothes were spy's black dress shoes.  A few small drawers in the bottom each held, upon inspection, undershirts, boxers, and black socks.

Confusion blossomed upon the Heavy like a time lapse rose.

So many layers.  Why would someone wear so many clothes?  It wasn't cold here.  Even night didn't really compare to brisk day in his home town.  Still, he had to wear something and if the Spy had anything but suits, he hid it well.  An undershirt seemed the place to start, Heavy understood that well enough.  It wasn't rocket science, it was just clothes and all went well until he came to the issue of the tie.

Start with it around your neck, of course.  Around and over, under and through!  No..  No, that was shoelaces.  He struggled to untie the tangle around his neck and started again.

Maybe if you wrapped it around twice, then…  pulled on this short bit here.  And the wide bit…  pulled…  left?  No.  No, that wasn't right at all.  

Under the balaclava, Heavy's brow knit furiously, eyes tight with concentration as he fought with the lithe silk article.

It wouldn't just pull out of the knot he'd tied in it either.  He had to wiggle his finger into the larger knot, and try to separate that bit from there, and if he could just … get that…

"Er…  Doktor!" He yelled helplessly.

He walked to the door and nudged it open with his shoulder.  The hallway seemed empty.

He looked at the tangled mess of tie, which held his narrow fingers as tightly as a Chinese handcuff, then looked back up again, "Doktor!?"



Down the hall, Engineer could hear someone yelling.  It didn't sound like they wanted him-- no one ever wanted him.  They wanted dispensers, or teleporters, or had suggestions for sentry placement, but not him.  Not that it really bothered him.  The lack of attention gave him more time to work on things.  Although, he had to admit, sometimes it'd be nice to have someone to show them off to.

Today was going to be an odd one.  The gasmask tinted the world strange colors and the smell was strangely both intoxicating and unpleasant.  Propane, ash and grease; like a barbecue, several hours after everyone had gone home.  Like a fatal house fire, still smoking.  Like welding something back together, knowing it'd never be quite the same again.  Not a foul odor, but one you didn't really want to think about.

Everyone had wandered off to get dressed, or shave or what not.  He'd fought with the gasmask a little, but there had to be some sort of trick to getting it off, because it wasn't budging.  So, he didn't have to go shave and he was already as dressed as he'd ever seen Pyro.  There wasn't really anything for him to do.

He idly wondered what Spy was off doing with his body.  It wasn't that he didn't trust Spy, he trusted him as much as he trusted any other of his teammates.  Well, he should have.  

When it came down too it Spy didn't really give anyone a reason to trust him.  He disguised himself, he snuck around and stabbed people in the back, he destroyed machinery with no pause for consideration to how much work had gone into it-- sure enough, it had always been the enemy's, but who was to say it always would be?  He was a professional turncoat after all.

Guilt began to creep over him; thinking these things about a teammate.  It was probably just nerves and paranoia, since he was already stuck in the middle of the weirdest day of his life, who was to say that more and more unlikely things wouldn't start happening?

Shaking the doubts from his head, he turned and headed toward his workroom.  Might as well make sure Spy wasn't touching anything he shouldn't be touching.



Laying on the hard, cold floor in front of the couch and clutching his head, Demo, Sniper or whoever he was, groaned and ignored Pyro or Engineer or whoever he was, as he walked by.  What on earth had Demo drunk last night to make his head feel like it was going to both collapse in on itself and explode at the same time?

"Ye all right down there, Sniper?" asked the Demo's accent in the Heavy's voice.

"If I ain't dying, I really wish I were."

Demo leaned forward and patted the poor Sniper on the back, very softly.  Poor guy looked damn ill, and Demo was familiar enough with himself to know exactly how the poor bastard felt.  It was a shame-- Sniper was a respectable fellow and Demo wouldn't have wished this fate on anyone short of a RED.

"Ah!" Demo said brightly, introducing a Heavy sized palm playfully onto Sniper's back.  The body armor, which was still pressing rather painfully into a few bruises on the Demo/Sniper's chest, did little to protect Sniper from the blow, and more so managed to just spread it out across his entire upper back.

He grunted, "Oh… good God…  never … do that again…"

"What ye need is jus' a hair o' the dog what bit ye!" Demo laughed, getting up and walking back toward his room.

"Last thing I need…" he started, then stopped.  Well, Hell, Demo was drinking constantly and he never seemed to feel this bad.

Demo returned, opening a bottle of scrumpy.  The tantalizing, delicious, brain cell murdering white hot burning aroma immediately assaulted Demo/Sniper's nose and seductively teasing his nerves in ways alcohol normally didn't do.

"Give it," he said, sticking a hand up in the air.  The cool, smooth bottle was between his fingers, which closed on it like a fly trap.  He pushed himself upright and took a hard, deep swig.  The gasped, "That's a strong piss, that is."

He sat there for a few moments, then took another huge swig.

"So… If I'm you, and you're Heavy…  who's me again?"

Demo chuckled for a moment, "Ah ha ha…  that would be our Pyro."

Sniper thought about this for a minute, then took another huge swig and shook his head.



Spy wandered around Engineer's workroom as though he had fallen down the rabbit hole.  With a precocious curiosity he meandered from shelf to shelf, looking at the Engineer's coils of wires, racks of tools and shelves upon shelves of small, organized boxes.  Nearly everything he came across he picked up and turned over in his hands, as though handling the item would give him some sort of insight.

"Mphh, Phah-- phn aniphn enhnhn?" Engineer asked, putting his hands on his hips, just a hint of irritation in his voice.

Spy turned and looked at Engineer cluelessly.

"I… 'ave no idea what you just said," he smirked and shrugged.

Engineer sighed and shook his head, "Phy hnnd oo drrsh eh?" He asked, motioning to the Engineer/Spy's state of undress.  Still in the Engineer's pajama pants, and nothing more.

Spy looked down at himself and ran a casual hand over the Engineer's bare chest, then looked up and gestured to the Engineer's workbench and selves, "I… got distracted.  It iz so interesting, zese …  contraptions."

"Eh?   …Heph, hnn drrsh," Engineer said, motioning toward a trunk next to his bed.

Spy looked at Engineer, and the ever expressionless gasmask, then over toward the trunk he was gesturing too and then back at Engineer.  He couldn't help but feel a bit of awkwardness at this situation.  By some strange coincidence, some twist of fate, the two team mates that Spy had the strongest opinions about had been combined.  Pyro, whom was the only teammate Spy really felt at all nervous about-- a teammate was a teammate, but a flamethrower was a flamethrower and a wool suit was a flambé waiting to happen-- Pyro was a strange and distant creature, and either he was observant enough to know Spy was nervous about him, or maybe, just maybe, he could smell Spy's fear.  Engineer though, seemed harmless, to Spy at least.  A laborer.  A classification of worker that Spy excelled against.  RED Engineer was the enemy, but that made his own BLU Engineer sort of… a test subject.  A pet almost.

Now he found himself standing in front of this strange combination of teammates-- sure, it was only the Engineer in there, but Spy's hesitation remained-- and he was being told to get dressed.  Dressing one's self, that is not one's self, in front of a person whose self it is…  what a strange circumstance.  Normally, when Spy found himself looking like the person he was standing in front of, he was immediately killed.  Quite inconvenient.

Casually, he unfastened the latch on the trunk.  A lifetime of espionage had left its mark on Spy, and as the trunk creaked open he found himself expecting diamonds, or secret blue prints, or some long lost supreme truth.

Appropriately, all he found were clothes.  



Hat pulled low, aviators pulled tightly to his face, with his knees pulled tightly to his chest, the Pyro sat and cradled his flamethrower.  His knuckles were white, hands clenched tightly around the barrel as Pyro held his weapon as though it were his only anchor to this world.  There was fear in those eyes, hidden behind the reflective shades on his face.  Face blanched with horror, lips pulled tight, his chest heaved in small, tight breaths.

He tensed.  There were footsteps coming up the hallway.

Engineer/Spy and Pyro/Engineer were coming down the hallway.  Pyro froze, hoping they wouldn't notice him.  It was futile though, he knew the Spy.  Spy was observant, especially of things you didn't want him to see.  He could threaten him, teasingly, like normal...  But today wasn't normal and he didn't have the heart for it.

Spy nudged the Engineer and pointed toward the corner, where Pyro cowered.

"Hr oo ah-rhd?" Engineer asked toward him.

Pyro looked up at them, shifting the flamethrower as a barrier between himself and the others.

"Kmmn, hnnuph oy."

"Can you understand him?" Spy asked.

Slowly, Pyro nodded.

"Hnn, hnnuph!"

Reluctantly, Pyro stood up and, feet shuffling, walked over to them.  

Spy grabbed Sniper's hat off his head and then batted him with it, "What are you zo afraid of?" Spy demanded, letting Pyro take the hat from him and pull it firmly back onto his head.

"Ah, hvvm ahrn, Phah," Engineer said, prodding Spy in a spot in his side that he knew was sensitive.  Spy twitched, as expected, and glared back at Engineer.  Some of the ferocity was lost behind the goggles.

"Wrr nahr ooph ah sh," Engineer shook his head, then turned back to Pyro and put a hand on his shoulder, "Hhy dnn oo mmf shmm rrfsh?  Oo hfah."

A little of the fear faded from Pyro's face, and he nodded, "… Yeah," he said.



The team was gathered around the dining room table, everyone now fully dressed and a modicum less dazed.  

While some of the shock had worn off, there was something to be said for the staying power of the sheer mind-fuck that is waking up in the wrong body.  Scout fiddled with Medic's eyewear while he did his daily 'brew-faster' dance to keep the spirits of the coffee pot happy.  Demo was playing with his silverware and eagerly awaiting breakfast.  Medic had been convinced to stop prodding at people and was sitting quietly, muttering to himself in German and looking fascinated.  Soldier kept rubbing his temples, muttering grumpily and waiting impatiently for a morning caffeine ration.  Heavy tapped his fingers on the table and shifted in his seat, fidgeting.  Engineer was sitting at the table patiently, hands in his lap, any emotions he had about the current situation hidden well.  Sniper sat, bottle in hand, watching Pyro uneasily.  Spy's calm, collected demeanor seemed to have earned him the position of leader for the day.  Over at the stove Pyro, hat pushed up and out of his eyes, cooked breakfast like he did most days.  His flamethrower was beside him, leaning against the stove.

Watching his teammates with a smirk of supremacy, Spy reached into his suit to get his cigarette case.  But his questing hands found no suit, no pocket and no case-- only an overall strap.  His face fell subtly, then returned to his usual level of cockiness.

" 'eavy, could I have my cigarette case?"

Heavy fumbled awkwardly with the sleek, silver cigarette case, grumbling at the minor inconvenience.

"Yuhhnph bh hmphnn mmph hmphy, Pha!" Engineer demanded.

Pyro chuckled.

Spy looked at Engineer, then at the chuckling Pyro, "Translation?"

Not turning around, Pyro hunched his shoulders a little and responded shortly, "…  No smoking."

"…Fine," Spy grumbled, crossing his arms and chewing on his lip, "Well, 'eavy, you should 'ave one-- or I will not be responsible for ze consequences once I get my self back."

"An' Spy dinna look a bit our Spy wif nae a fag aboot him," Demo said, waving a large hand toward Heavy.  A general muttering around the kitchen seemed to agree that a smoke-less Spy was barely any Spy at all.  Heavy sighed and clumsily lit a cigarette.

After that, they sat without speaking, only the sound the hissing and popping of the bacon and eggs on the stove and the bubble and perk of the coffee brewer.

Scout poured himself a cup as soon as the coffee was done, then saturated it with sugar.  Caffeine receptacle in hand, he returned to the table, "What're we gonna do if RED tries something today?"

"Kick their pansy asses!" Soldier replied.  He took his coffee black.

"Fuck, man.  How?" Scout asked, "I can't run like this and I don't know how to use a Medi-gun.  Spy can't use his disguises-- Heavy can't lift his gun and Demo don't know how to use it!"

Horror crossed Heavy's face, "No Sasha?" The cigarette threatened to fall from his inexpert lips.

"Hardhat might be able to manage with that flamethrower, it can't be too--" Scout gestured toward the flamethrower, which was no longer leaning against the stove.  Pyro held it firmly in one hand and continued to cook with the other, "-- scratch that."

"Zose who can use zeir tools, use zem.  Zose who cannot…  Hmm," Spy leaned on his ungloved hand and sunk into thought, chewing on his lip idly.

Pyro served breakfast as well as he could with his flamethrower tucked under one arm.  He paused for a moment as he looked down at what was effectively himself.  Engineer looked up at him.

"Mphh?"

Everyone glanced surreptitiously up from their meals.

"… Sorry," Pyro muttered, passing Engineer up and putting food on a plate for himself instead.

"Poor, poor Sasha," Heavy muttered, pushing food around his plate mournfully.

Sniper poked the food around his plate, then took a small bite, followed by a large swig.

Engineer looked at the rest of them eating and heaved a wheezy sigh.

"Whatcher problem, mate?" Sniper asked, looking at Pyro, "You look like you've seen a ghost-- it's just breaky."

Facing people once again, Pyro pulled the hat back down over his face, trying to hide his unease.  Eating.  In front of his team mates.  Weird.

"…Eh…" he muttered uselessly.

So the meal passed in relative silence: the light clink of silverware on cheap dishes, the slick sound of runny eggs, the crunch of bacon, the slurp of coffee.

"Gentlemen," Spy said, pushing his empty plate aside.  He glanced around the table, assuring himself he had their attention, "If somesing does 'appen, who can not use zeir weapons?"

Tentatively, Heavy raised his hand.

" 'eavy, even I could 'andle a shotgun, so you should be fine wiz zat," he paused and took a deep, tragically carcinogen-less breath, "Who cannot use zeir weapons effectively?"

Scout tentatively raised his hand.  As did Soldier.  Spy also raised his hand for a moment, "I will not be sneaking up on anyone today, it seems."

"My bat's gonna be useless.  Ain't gonna get no good speed up," Scout whined.

Soldier stood up and gestured widely, "This lightweight won't be able to wield the massive power that is the rocket launcher!"

Spy nodded.  If the Soldier tried to rocket jumped, he was liable to end up in orbit.

"Hey, can I use the bone saw?" Scout asked, eyes glittering with a terribly playful malice.

There was a collective recoil around the table, as everyone, save Scout and Medic, was struck by the idea of their own twitchy little teenager trying to play doctor.  Heavy coughed, choking painfully on the smoke.  Sniper nearly snorted a mouthful of moonshine across the table.  Pyro, finally picking at the dregs of breakfast, dropped his fork, which tinkled off the plate and dribbled congealed yolk on the table.

"Mm whd'd wnnh eh RRD hndh," Engineer said.

Pyro chuckled nervously, slowly considering it, then nodded and smirked maliciously.

"Sniper, can you still 'andle your rifle?" Spy inquired.

"No worries, mate.  Only takes one eye to use a scope," he said confidently, a hint of slurring in his voice.

"…Oui," Spy said, somewhat hesitant, "And you, Soldier--"

"--Wanna borrow my bat, Soldier?" Scout interrupted.

"No no, Shovel and I have been through a fair number of fights-- we veterans have to stick together."

"What about you, Demo?  Keepin' the grenade launcher?  The sticky?"

"Oh aye.  Takin' 'em fer sure, but today's a rare day I ge' tae do some real," he punched the Heavy's large hands together, "Physical damage to those RED lassies."

"Sasha," Heavy lamented.

"Vell, next time… You two can kill twice as many people, ja?  To make it up to her," Medic said, getting to his feet.

"Da?"

"Ja."

"Is why I like Doktor.  So smart," Heavy said, smiling.  Medic patted Heavy on the shoulder and left the room.

Across the table, Pyro adjusted his flamethrower.  Turning of a knob here, twisting a fastener there.  There was a hushed, rapid clicking and the tiny, ominous pilot light burst to life.

"You be careful with that thing, mate.  Lotsa things on that body I'm damn fond of," Sniper told Pyro.

Pyro held his flamethrower carefully, confidently.  A sharp grin cut slowly across his face; the subtle, seductive dance of the pale blue flame reflected off the aviators, holding the Pyro's rapt gaze.  

"I know what I'm doing."

Sniper tried not to flinch, but there was something chilling about his own face showing an expression so unfamiliar.  His focus locked on the flickering light, a grin that showed perhaps too many teeth and a fascination that a sane mind shouldn't have.  

"Oy, mate, you still in there?" Sniper asked nervously.

Pyro's eyes flickered away from the pilot, glancing at Sniper.  The grin on his face melted away and slowly he nodded.

Medic returned shortly, placing the bone saw on the table in front of Scout.

Like a child on Christmas morning, Scout scooped the bone saw up and moved a few feet from the table before swinging the bone saw in a wide arc, medical coattails fluttering.

"Doesn't move at all like a bat," Scout said, trying the other way.

"Nae gonn' hit the enemy like a bat neither," Demo said, grinning.

"Nein, nein, nein," Medic said, getting up and grabbing the bone saw from Scout, "Ze bone saw iz a precise weapon.  You must use its strengths.  The serrated edge is for ze tearing and ze severing, not chopping," he said, motioning to the edge of the saw before handing it back to the Scout.

Scout took the saw back and modified his attack, spinning the bone saw in a wide arc, then yanking it back towards himself, "Like that?"

"Quick learner, that kid.  Would made a good trench soldier," Soldier said, he made a small digging motion with Shovel, then clutched it to his heart, looking proud.

Scout made a few more quick swinging and sawing motions, grinning widely.  Suddenly, there was a crackling sound in the air.

"Mission is starting in five minutes," the Announcer informed them.  You could almost hear the smirk in her voice, "I will not tolerate failure."

There was another violent crackle as the intercom cut out.

"Shit, shit, shit!"  Scout swore, clutching the bone saw to his chest as his glee disappeared, "We're gonna die!  … Over and over and over!"

"Panic is a soldier's worst enemy!" Soldier responded, grabbing Scout by the lapels, "Also trench foot.  And grenades!" he released Scout and turned, still listing things to himself.

"Everyone calm down," Spy said sternly

"Easy for you to say!" Scout growled, pounding a blue-gloved fist on the table, "You ain't their prime target!"

"Velcome to my Vorld," Medic snickered, "and do not be such a baby."

"Zis is nuzzing new.  Zis is our job.  Stick to ze usual plan-- some alterations will be necessary. Sc-Soldier.  As our scout for ze day, you do your best to get the Intel.  Scout, you are right, you will be quite ze target until, ha ha, if zey figure out what is going on.  Today you are our distraction.  Zis will give us quite an upper 'and."

"This SUCKS man," Scout said, turning his head in a pout, "Respawn makes me sea sick…"

"Everyone else, do what you do," Spy said, waving at them, "Except for you, 'eavy.  You eizer be careful or be killed.  I do not want to end up with my arm in a sling," Spy said with a nervous chuckle.



For the RED Scout today had been a good day.  He'd gotten up at sunrise and checked on the chickens like always.  There were less eggs than there ought to be, but Spy'd assured him it was no big deal-- probably a coyote or something.  He had no reason to doubt Spy-- he was the only teammate who treated him like an adult-- so he'd shrugged it off and figured he'd check the fence for holes while he took his morning run.  Rooster had joined him on his run and while he wouldn't admit it to anyone, Scout was really fond of the noisy little bastard.  He'd practically raised it by hand and the handsome cock was a loyal as any mutt he'd ever run across.

Now they got to run some mission against those BLU bastards and that just made any day better.

The day took a sudden turn for the strange when Scout charged out into the battle field, rounded across the bridge enthusiastically and ran straight into the BLU Scout.  He was rather looking forward to sparring with his BLU doppelganger.  He'd lost count of exactly how many times they'd scrapped so far, but he knew the numbers were pretty even-- although, if anyone asked, he was ahead by at least one.

"Yo, ya wuss!" He jeered.

The BLU Scout paused, then grinned and chuckled an unfamiliar chuckle.  

RED Scout hesitated, "What's your problem, loser?"

BLU Scout flourished a shovel in his right hand, then leapt at the stunned RED Scout.  

Next thing the RED Scout knew was the familiar interior of the RED respawn room.



"So, where are we going to build your…  interesting… little devices?" Spy asked, following Engineer excitedly, "Are we camping ze Intelligence Room?  Let's use two sentries-- one in each 'allway.  I know ze good angles to build zese at so zat ze RED Spy can not sneak past zem."

Engineer ignored him, hauling his toolbox toward the Intelligence Room.

"Ah dn trsht phahsh nrr mhy toohrs" Engineer said slowly, straining to enunciate through the air filter. "Dh yeh noh hoh hrd eh esh ah khp 'p to shntrsh?"

Spy slowed as he tried to translate that himself, "Why not?  Would not a spy know best?  I know all ze usual Engineer weaknesses," he said proudly, reaching for his cigarette case and, again, finding nothing.  He sighed, "And 'ow 'ard can more zan one sentry be?"

Engineer sighed, shrugged and motioned for Spy to keep following him, knowing full well he would have followed anyway.



Sniper crouched in his preferred spot in the battlements, at the window near the corner where he'd fallen asleep last night.  He'd gotten a fresh bottle of scrumpy, since he'd nearly finished the first one, and he felt great.  Peak of performance.  Top of his game.  He was going to get those RED wankers so many times today.

He noticed something off in the distance.  Marching on top of the RED Barn.  A tiny, cocky figure.

The REDs had chickens.  To be fair, BLU had a pretty nice still, although Demo and Engineer were the only ones who really knew how any of it worked-- Demo from experience and Engineer because he knew how everything worked, it seemed.  Sniper only knew about the chickens because he'd seen them through his scope.  He was pretty sure Spy knew about them too, and that was how they were able to have eggs for breakfast some mornings.

"Cocky little cock," Sniper slurred, watching his feathered foe march.  He was a tiny target.  Really no reason to try to hit him.

He tried anyway.

To his amazement, the bird crumpled and rolled off the roof, leaving naught but a cloud of feathers and trail of blood behind it.

"Bonza!" he cheered, taking a victory swig, "A corker that!  Ha ha!



Pyro slunk through the sewers.  Fetid water squished in his boots and his pant legs were soaked.  He usually liked slinking through the dank waters, but his suit never got soggy and his boots kept the water out a lot better.  He was going to be tracking water around all day at this rate.

He shook his feet, one at a time, like a drenched dog and grumbled to himself.  At least from the stairs he could guard the water.  Nothing so satisfying as ensuring that a burning enemy stayed burning.

Suddenly there was a knife against his neck.

He froze, partly out of confusion and partly out of rage-- mostly because there was a sharp blade against his neck without a single layer of protection between metal and flesh.  Of all people to sneak up on him.  Of all the damn people.  RED Spy was his to terrorize, not the other way around.

"'Ello Sniper…  what might you be doing down 'ere?" RED Spy whispered, uncomfortably close to Sniper/Pyro's ear.

"Urk,"  He articulated awkwardly, afraid to even swallow.  He hunched his shoulders nervously, disgust squirming across his face.

"Say somezing pretty for me and maybe I will spare you ze express trip back to your base," Spy said, running a thumb along Sniper's long jaw line and pulling his knife away just enough to allow him to speak.

Knowing an opportunity when he saw one, Pyro grabbed Spy's wrist and wrenched the knife away from his neck and twisted away from him.  Pyro brought his flamethrower up and turned it on the Spy.  RED Spy's look of confusion when Pyro shoved away from him was fantastic-- but his look of horror and realization, which was beautifully illuminated by the ball of flame speeding rapidly toward him, was positively savory.

RED Spy didn't really have time to run.  He and his poor choice of fabrics went up in flames.  He screamed.

Pyro's sneer of revulsion morphed into a grin of sickening amusement, well lit by the flaming, screaming enemy before him.  Spy's screams came to a strangled end.  Trying to scream and breath while being consumed by fire will do that too you.  Carbon monoxide poisoning most likely.  Pyro chuckled-- then stopped and wiped at his jaw line.  He might have to have a word with Sniper.



Laughter echoed between the two forts.  Somewhere, Soldier was having fun.

In a clear area, just past the bridge, fists raised, two Heavy's circled.  RED wore an expression of strained concentration.  BLU wore a smug grin, unfamiliar to the face.

"Come on, yeah great daft choob!" Demo taunted, waving RED Heavy forward.

The enormous Russian bellowed and swung at the confusing BLU enemy, just missing him.  Demo leaned back and took a swing himself.  RED shifted his weight and Demo hit nothing but bicep.

RED grabbed Demo's arm -- Demo returned the favor, locking them in a grapple.  

"Raus, mein Heavy!" the RED Medic cheered.

Their strengths were equally matched, but RED Heavy had the home team advantage, so to speak.  Their grappling got them nowhere.  RED Heavy released his grip on what he perceived to be the BLU Heavy and took an unexpected step back.  Demo faltered and RED Heavy took the opportunity to apply his large fist to the Demo's borrowed head.

Demo stumbled back.  RED Heavy advanced.

"Ach!  Vat is zis?!"

RED Heavy's attention was taken as the RED Medic called out.  Demo's foe turned around to see what appeared to be BLU Scout raising and swinging a shovel again-- then a third time, and a forth.  The RED Medic flailed, reaching for his own bonesaw, but wasn't quite fast enough.

"DOKTOR!" Heavy howled, charging a few tragic steps toward his fallen comrade and his attacker.

"Victory!!" Soldier called, ripping a quick salute-- the collapsing as a rifle bullet perforated some crucial gray matter.

RED Heavy watched the BLU fall, a tiny bit of vengeance blooming in his heart, then he turned back to his previous encounter, as angry as a bull.  

But before RED Heavy was entirely turned around Demo delivered a punch to his face, and another punch to his chest.  He punched and he kept punching, laughing as he did.

"I havnae had this much fun in ages!" He cheered.

Medic, medigun and medipack wearing awkwardly over the Soldier's uniform, came around a corner and found the remains of the fight.

"Ah!  Herr Demo!  Vat haf you done?" He fretted, turning his Medigun upon him, frowning at the bruising forming around the Heavy's right eye.

Demo touched at the swelling gently, "Ach, is nae that bad…"

In the distance, toward the BLU base, the Soldier's maniacal laughter, tinged by the Scout's young voice, filled the air and the sound of running feet approached yet again.



Scout peered carefully around a corner before heading down it.

He was choosing to stay out of RED Sniper's sight.  He was doing a service, he told himself.  Patrolling the long hall for threats, that's what he was doing.

He clutched the bone saw tightly.  He was being a coward and he knew it-- he was certainly not going to say it to anyone else, not for all the coffee in the world-- but it was a nightmare of a day and he still kept hoping he was going to wake up.  Wake up in his crappy, squeaky little bed, with his warm, itchy wool blanket, his dog tags around his neck and Spy 'I do not snore!'-ing two beds down on the other side of the room.

AfootstepohGodafootstep, therewassomeonebehindhim!!

He turned and slashed the bone saw through the air.

RED Spy couldn't help but yelp as the bone saw made a large gash in his suit-- and his chest.  Medic's weren't supposed to fight back like this!  Medic's also weren't supposed to just wandering on their own.

Another slash hit the Red Spy in the neck.  The third was unnecessary.  The forth and fifth panicked slashes didn't even hit anything, as the Spy had already collapsed, gasping messily and laying in a pool of his own blood.

Scout looked down at the fallen enemy and took a deep breath.  Well, that was fun.



Smug and proud, Sniper was still grinning over his once in a lifetime shot.  Teeny, tiniest head in the entire encampment and he got it square on.  Once in a life time.

Now that he thought about it, you didn't get better than that.  He'd peaked!  How he could compare to that shot?  He took another swig of scrumpy.  Good stuff that.

He looked out the window again, off into the distance, toward the horizon, wondering, with a fuzzy mind, what to do with himself now.

He'd done the best shot he'd ever do and he wasn't even himself today.  What a downer.  What a depressing, horrible thought.  

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!"

Sniper froze, scrumpy halfway to his lips, which began to twitch into a sneer.

No…

He'd killed it.

Grabbing his rifle he peered toward the RED barn, tightening his focus as tight as it'd go.

There, strutting a top the barn rooftop, was the RED Rooster.  It scratched at the rooftop for a moment, then crowed again.

Sniper set his rifle down gently, grinding his teeth with repressed rage.

"…The Rooster…  can respawn…" he growled to himself.

He punched the wall furiously.

"YOU WANKER!" he howled, pointing out the window at the pesky fowl a top the enemy roof.

Then, he slowly grimaced and clutched at his soon to be bruised hand.
I discovered Team Fortress 2 a little late in the game (not recently, I mean, not THAT late. But it was in '08.) Nov '08, I'm watching an episode of The Justice League because it has brain switching it in and I realize-- Dude. A TF2 Brain Switch fic would be really, really fun-- because Brain Switching is my favorite plot device.
So, I wrote it.

And then it all snowballed from there.

Continue to part 2 here: [link]
© 2010 - 2024 vengefulkiwi
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TheBurningHand's avatar
Oh my god. A few things.

One: I absolutely love this. So original and creative, aah! :iconwowplz:

Two: Soldier/Scout running around with Shovel is possibly the funniest thing I have ever read.

Three: "The rooster... can respawn..." ohgodmysides haha. Can I hug you?

Four: Medic/Scoot "Hey, can I use the Bonesaw?" Best reactions ever.