Chapter Text
“Think we’re putting on a concert?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean, laborer.”
The Engineer smirked at him, and oh did Spy hate it when he smirked. “Can’t imagine why you were staring at us like that, unless you thought we were putting on a show.”
“Whatever music that flimsy thing you pretend is an instrument has been producing, I assure you it is not something I want to hear,” Spy said, leaning against the barn door in a manner that was certainly not a petulant slouch.
“Hm,” Engie mused. “Then why have you been standing here for an hour watching me teach Scout to play guitar?”
Spy scoffed. “I am merely shocked that you were able to teach him anything at all. I assumed you’d drugged his Bonk! to make him sit still for so long.”
“Scout’s a quick study, when you give him a reason to be.” Then, because he was annoyingly perceptive, Engie added, “I bet he’d listen to you too, if you weren’t so harsh with him.”
“Doubtful,” Spy sniffed. “Scout has the temperament of a fruit fly.”
Engineer eyed him thoughtfully. “You know Spy, sometimes you really remind me you don’t know jack all.”
Spy was left sputtering as the Engineer wandered off back to Harvest’s base.
Spy had nothing to prove. He would not be goaded, even though he knew that’s what the Engineer was doing, showing off that somehow he had managed to wrangle the boy’s obedience with…well Spy didn’t actually know. Probably some of that simpleton’s folksy grouses masquerading as humble proverbs. Engineer was all about feigning humility, which in retrospect made no sense as to why Scout would be drawn to him; if there was one Scout was not it was humble. Certainly if he were to begin hanging around one of his teammates, it should have been one of a more similar temper, and not the quiet, unassuming Engineer.
It just made no sense. And that was the only reason it bothered Spy, no matter how many eyebrows-raised-under-the-goggles looks Engie shot him. Scout was practically a wild animal, with—apologies to his mother—manners of a feral chipmunk. What the boy needed was a firm hand, and Spy would prove it.
“The other fork, Scout,” he said tersely over dinner. “Sometimes I wonder if I am actually surrounded by my peers or if you have all taken a page from Sniper’s lunatic bushman manual.”
Scout paused from jaggedly cutting his piece of ham to glare daggers at Spy.
“It is also meant to go in the other hand,” he added helpfully.
“Yeah?” Scout asked, waving his fork in a vaguely menacing way. “How about if I took it and put it up your ass? Would that help me cut my goddamn pork chop?”
“A pork chop is actually a loin cut taken perpendicular to the swine’s backbone. What I have prepared tonight, despite knowing that I would have to scrape through mud to even reach your plebeian palettes, is-”
Scout took his fork, stabbed the slice of ham, and shoved the entire thing into his mouth, never breaking eye contact with Spy. With that he stood, and went to drop his dish in the sink.
Spy glowered. The simplest bit of advice, and he’d nearly been attacked with cutlery. The boy was impossible.
Most of the table had failed to notice, except for the Engineer, who coughed quietly into his sleeve. Spy made a point not to glance at him. Engie coughed again, but when Spy still would not look up from where he was stabbing his own meal, he got to his feet and followed Scout to the kitchen.
“Hey,” Spy heard Engineer say, slightly muffled by the sounds of dining filling the room. “Need some help with that?”
Lifting his eyes, Spy saw that Scout had somehow managed to get the front of his shirt soaked in the short time it’d taken him to completely inhale his food. Spy sighed, watching Scout fruitlessly dry himself off with a hand towel. The activity was made more effective as someone actually competent arrived on the scene, Engineer providing some paper towels, which proved to work significantly better at mopping up the dark blue splotch on Scout’s shirt.
“Thanks pally,” Scout said with cheer, all of his earlier animosity dissipated like it was nothing. Spy’s nose wrinkled.
“If I can offer some advice that my Daddy once gave me,” Engie went on to say. “Always put the ice cubes in the cup before the water, never splash so much that way.”
Was Scout…contemplating that? If not, he was doing a startling good impression of a man who was actually being reflective for once. “…Huh, never actually thought of that. Makes a lot of sense though.”
“Well, now you know it. Personally I don’t believe in common sense; everybody’s gotta have something told to them at least once, otherwise it ain’t gunna be all that common.”
Scout seemed pleased with that, and continued to prattle away happily as he dabbed at his shirt.
Seething, Spy grabbed Engie’s arm at the end of dinner. “How did you do that.”
Engineer didn’t ask what about. “Spy, you gotta see Scout’s desperate for even the tiniest bit of affection. You remember when we didn’t come to his birthday party and he moped for weeks? You just gotta show a little compassion.”
“Unlikely,” Spy grumbled. “Scout has the patience of an egg timer.”
“Wonder where he gets that from.” Several long seconds passed. “Spy. Stop pouting.”
“I am not pouting,” Spy pouted.
“Look, I’m not trying to pry, that’s your business and all, but it obviously bothers that he’s looking up to someone else. If you really have decided to put some effort into this, then you need to go about it the right way.”
Spy firmed his jaw. Maybe it did bother him that despite his excellent crash course in the courting of women, Scout did not to see fit to return to him for any more advice on other topics. It was a horrid, nagging sensation that showed he had always just assumed Scout’s reverence would always be a given. He certainly wasn’t going to tell Engie that, though.
“…Fine. You have made your point,” Spy relented. “I will, keep it in mind.”
“Great to hear! Now as long as you’re sulking around, help me with these dishes.”
“-Oh. Didn’t know anyone was in here.”
Spy turned around to see Scout fidgeting nervously at the entryway to the music room. Spy, who had just been sliding the Demoman’s sheet music to a nearby table and replacing it with his own, stopped and raised an eyebrow.
“It is no trouble,” he said as neutrally as possible. But Scout still didn’t enter, and as he shifted from foot to foot, Spy noticed something he was attempting to tuck behind his back. “…Were you planning on practicing in here?”
As Spy indicated the instrument, Scout hesitated, then shyly drew it out. “Yeah, yeah. Wanted to see if I could still do it, even without Engie reminding me of stuff.”
Spy’s first instinct was to ask if Scout had been so crass as to steal from his instructor, but reined in the barb last second. Instead, he offered the more detached, “is that the Engineer’s guitar, then?”
“Nah, he gave me this one. He’s got loads of these things, on the count ‘a he’s always breaking them over people’s heads.”
“Ah.”
It was honestly shocking that they had managed to get this far in the conversation without a single insult traded between them. The surreal state of the moment obviously hit Scout as well, as he began to look around at random objects.
“You probably want to do piano though,” he offered suddenly. “And you got here first so I’ll just-”
“Wait,” Spy said before Scout could fully retreat out the door. “Perhaps you’d like to share what you’ve learned so far?”
He thought for sure Scout would say no. Go to hell Spy was practically his catchphrase, and Spy was not known for being a kind audience under even the best of circumstances. But, maybe Engineer was right about Scout downright starving for validation, because after a moment the boy bit his lip and crossed back into the room.
“Yeah, yeah alright,” he said cautiously, his need to show off and his fear of messing up fighting a clear battle on his face. “I got some good ones. Gunna knock your socks right off.”
“I look forward to it.” Spy sat down on the bench, facing away from the piano and toward the metal chair Scout had scraped across the floor for himself. “Perhaps I…”
Scout looked up from tuning.
“Perhaps after I hear you play a few times, I might be able to accompany you.” Spy indicated backwards to the wheezing little piano behind him.
Scout’s lip worrying ceased, and an actual smile crossed his face. “Hell yeah, that’d be cool.” And with that, he began to play. It was horrendous, but Spy listened anyway.