Chapter Text
“Ach! bloody…” The cigarette that had been dangling out of the left side of Sniper’s mouth fell suddenly, singeing his forearm before hitting the floorboards. He lifted his boot to scuff it out and grumbled in irritation.
“Where the hell is everyone?” The sharpshooter muttered to himself, his eyes sweeping the battlegrounds in front of him- which looked no different than it had any other time. Not a single soul had come through the area since he got there, enemy or otherwise.
He’d forgotten to change the batteries in his earpiece before the match, so he was now left without communication to his team, and seemingly entirely out of the fight. He battled with himself every few minutes on whether he should just pack up and find them, but ultimately couldn’t be bothered to descend off the highground. The spot was too good a vantage point, and with his luck, the enemy team would come rolling through as soon as he hit the low ground.
Sniper reached for the pack of cigarettes on the crate next to him and flipped them open, placing one at his lips. He rattled the pack and checked its contents, counting 6 left- he started the match with 15. He shook his head, realizing he had to have been camping the same spot for over 45 minutes and hadn't done a damn thing. A sigh of annoyance and disbelief left his lips as he lit the end of the cigarette. Either his team was pushed to the enemy's spawn doors, or they were having the longest teamfight he’d ever seen- er, not seen, he supposed. He peered through the scope of his rifle, hoping it would manifest enemies onto his radar, or at least allow him to see past the choke point and catch a glimpse of BLU, or even RED.
He leaned back away from his rifle and lifted his hat to run his fingers through his hair, wiping the sweat off onto his jeans. He stood up to stretch his legs, his ass starting to get sore from the wooden crates he was sitting on. He leaned his side against the frame of the window, puffing on his cigarette. He half gazed at the choke point, letting his thoughts wander. He exhaled slowly, smoke trailing up his throat and passed his lips. He absentmindedly twiddled with the cigarette in his fingers and rolled it between his thumb and pointer finger. The heat of the cherry warmed his fingers as it crept towards the filter and he flicked it out of the window. He watched it arch downwards and fall gracefully, hitting the gravel under him.
His thoughts were interrupted in an instant as he felt a sharp pain in his side. He didn’t even have time to look down before it was immediately followed by a firm kick to his back. The ledge slipped away from his hand as he desperately tried to grab onto it, but the kick came too strong and quick- and he fell through the window of the tower with a loud ‘yelp’. He felt his stomach in his throat as the ground became closer. He squeezed his eyes shut as he hit the gravel face down. He groaned as he rolled over onto his back, the wind knocked out of him. He looked down to find a butterfly knife sticking out of his side, blood steadily seeping through his shirt.
The sight of the Spy out of the corner of his eye caused his head to snap to attention. He watched him descend gracefully down the steps, spinning the cylinder of his revolver. Once he reached the dirt he gave Sniper a sly smile and straightened his tie. “This is the first I’ve seen of you all match,” the Spy began to take slow, even strides towards the gunman. His footsteps were masterfully quiet. “I was looking for you.” The Spy’s voice was as calm and menacing as always. His left arm was held strictly behind his back, his right slightly raised, revolver trained at the ground, where his opponent lay.
Sniper felt the hot sun on his face, feeling it combine with the burning of his side and almost assuredly cracked rib. He held his assailant’s eye contact and didn’t move, waiting as he stalked closer. Sniper studied his approach, watching his every move as his fingers curled in the gravel at his sides. The Spy stepped towards him and stood still, taking a moment to appreciate the scene, to vaunt in his suffering as his finger rested against the trigger guard.
Sniper moved to bring a swift kick to the Spy’s shin, causing his dress shoe to slip, losing traction under the loose gravel beneath him. Knocked off balance, he toppled forward on top of the bushman, catching himself with his hands. Before he could properly steady himself, Sniper reached down and yanked on the butterfly knife buried in his side. He felt the sharp blade further lacerate his insides, grunting through gritted teeth as he slid it out of his abdomen. He gripped it tightly and drove it towards the Spy, who caught his hand in the last second, redirecting it downwards. The knife cut a deep slash, the sharp blade carving his cheek open down to his jaw. Sniper growled in anguish as he overpowered him, and plunged the knife directly into the Spy’s neck. He let out a guttural choke, and Sniper twisted the handle to drive it deeper, blood streaming over his fingers. He watched the flood of emotions like a slideshow through his mask, the anger, the pain, the panic, and then nothing at all.
The body went limp and keeled forward. Sniper caught the shoulders and heaved it off of him, with a pained grunt. The adrenaline instantly ceased as he caught his breath, wailing as a sharp pain shot up through his body. He looked down at his side, suddenly entirely focused on the searing pain. He placed his hand over the gaping wound on his side and pressed as hard as he could, blood rushed through his fingers without the butterfly knife keeping it closed. He took a few deep breaths, a desperate attempt to calm his heart rate and dull the pain that had now taken over his whole upper body. With a shaky hand he pushed himself up onto his feet, his teeth clenched as he took a sharp breath. He looked up at the window of the tower, knowing it wouldn’t be worth it to grab his rifle now, he needed to find Medic before he bled out. A medkit wouldn’t be enough this time.
He walked slow and steady- with every step he felt blood dripping off his hand, leaving a trail in his wake. He tried to focus on his breathing, telling himself not to look down as the edges of his vision started to vignette. His boots started to feel heavy and all he could smell was copper.
Keep your eyes straight ahead, Mundy.
His vision tunneled as he reached the compound in between points. His right side had become slack and numb, but he held his hand against his skin with all the strength he could find. The pain spread everywhere and he felt it in his teeth. He was so lightheaded he couldn’t even tell if he was still going the right way.
He followed what he thought was the sound of gunshots, but was unsure if it was just the blood pounding in his brain. His right leg gave suddenly and he lost his balance. He collapsed against a wall, catching himself, but only just. He took in a sharp breath through gritted teeth, and for a moment he almost wished he’d let the Spy send him back to respawn.
The thought of sitting down was so tempting his body almost made the decision for him, and he had to stop himself from letting both his legs fold under him. His head kept rolling lazily forwards, like it might snap off his neck and float away.
He didn’t even notice when Scout ran into him at full speed, knocking him hard against the wall. He smacked against the concrete, collapsing to the ground. He just felt so relieved to be able to finally sit.
“Sniper where the fuck- holy shit!” Scout jumped back as he got a good look at him. Sniper head lolled forward and lifted his hand to look at the mangled wound on his side. His vision was so blurred all he could see was dark red painted down his uniform. He rolled his head back and just closed his eyes, no longer able to find the strength to keep pressure on it.
“Hey Medic! Snipes’ bleedin’ out over here!” The kid yelled as he took off, his quick footsteps traveling down the corridor. Sniper could only think about how his voice sounded weird, deeper somehow. Like in a dream.
His hearing began to fade along with his thoughts. He felt his body become lighter with each passing second, no longer feeling any pain. His breaths were long and slow. He laid there completely void of the outside world, submerged in complete nothingness.
Nothingness then became warmth. A warm, soft feeling. Like sunlight. He thought he could hear music. Like a flute, maybe, or someone whistling. He tried to recognize the song, but found his thoughts wouldn’t stay together long enough.
For a second he thought he was dreaming, until he realized that he did hear whistling. He opened his eyes slowly and tried to piece together the blurry picture in front of him.
“Ah! There you are, Herr Sniper!”
Sniper followed the soft red light surrounding his abdomen, beams of smoke slipping gracefully into the gaping wound. Beneath the warmth he felt his insides stretch and regenerate, becoming whole again. The doctor whistled softly, sitting on one knee as he counted the syringes for his crossbow. The scene felt dreamlike, enveloped in red hue.
The skin on his side began to close evenly, leaving no evidence that it had just been wide open, blood freely pouring out of his body.
The doctor adjusted the angle of the medigun and red and orange engulfed his vision entirely. He felt warmth spread across his entire face and a breeze through his hair, feeling his loose tuffs flutter gently. He listened to the soft whirring of the machine and gazed into the light that was casted from it. Goosebumps formed on the skin of his neck, traveling to his shoulders and down to his arms.
A sudden ‘click’ severed his moment of peace. The machine was flipped off, its healing light gone in an instant.
Medic reached over to where his cheek was once sliced open and felt his fingers against his skin. He lightly turned Sniper’s head as he inspected it. “There we go, handsome once again!” He laughed and gave his face a few pats before picking up his medigun and rushing off down the corridor to rejoin the fight.
Sniper stared up at the ceiling, his palm against his chest as he felt it rise and fall. The ground felt so cold. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his palms, letting out a sigh as the dreamlike fog fazed out his confusion.
“Bloody hell…”