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bcdrawsandwrites · 7 months ago

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[ID: A Team Fortress 2 fic banner in the style of the game's achievement icons--specifically, the "Wetwork" achievement. Spy, shown in a red-orange silhouette, is standing in the rain and glaring up at it, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He is holding his disguise kit, which has an indiscernible figure displayed on its screen. On the bottom right of the banner is the chapter's title in yellow-white text, reading, "CHAPTER TEN: WETWORK" /end ID]

Flickering

Fandom: Team Fortress 2 Rating: K+ Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship Characters: Spy, Pyro, Scout, and all the other mercs. Warnings: General references to trauma, PTSD, panic attacks, TF2-typical violence Fic Description: After the events of the comics, the mercs try to go back to how things were, but it’s never that easy.

Spy can see his teammates going through their own struggles… but something seems to be very, very wrong with Pyro in particular.

And since no one else seems to be doing anything about this, Spy makes it his mission to get to the bottom of what is troubling Pyro. For no particular reason.

Beta Readers: @mechmolar, @gonturan0, @junuve

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Chapter 10: Wetwork Summary: In which Spy makes a drastic change of plan mid-match.

---~~~---

Wind screamed against the walls of the base.

The tinge of light through the windows told Spy it was dawn, though the sun was unsuccessful in piercing through the cloud cover. Steam from his coffee mug fogged the bottom of the window. After rubbing his eyes, he took another deep swig from his mug, willing the caffeine to jolt him further awake. Creaks from the floor above informed him that he hadn't been alone in his struggle to sleep. He shifted where he stood by the window.

Staying overnight had not been the plan, but the wind storm had forced him to stay, as it had everyone else at the base. (Soldier had initially insisted on leaving, but changed his tune when the wind knocked his helmet clean off, and he, Demo, and Sniper spent an hour tracking down the stupid hat.)

Spy found himself rooted by the window until a warm, savory smell drew him away and into the kitchen.

"Mornin'," Engineer said, not looking up from his cooking. On the large stove were multiple skillets frying bacon, sausage, eggs, pancakes, and hashbrowns, and he worked them as mechanically as one of his machines.

"Omitting the 'good' from it, are we?" Spy quipped.

Engineer did give him a look, then. Even with the goggles hiding his eyes, the thin line of his mouth told Spy enough. Engineer turned back to his cooking.

Spy shrugged, downed the rest of his coffee, and went to light a cigarette using a new lighter he'd grabbed at home a few days ago.

The second he clicked the lighter, Engineer whirled around, holding out a spatula in the Gunslinger. "Not in the kitchen!"

Normally a spatula would not feel like a threat, but it was currently covered in grease, and Spy was wearing his suit. So he backed off, leaving the kitchen with a grumble.

The smell of food gradually drew more people down to the mess hall, starting with Scout, then Heavy, and then a loud, off-tune reveille preceding the arrival of Soldier. Soon the mess hall was filled with the rest of the team, who milled about, most of them eagerly awaiting breakfast. A few stepped into the kitchen to grab coffee, but otherwise kept to the mess hall.

But Spy did not overlook the doorway, where he spotted Pyro lingering in the relatively dark hallway.

A shrill whistle from the kitchen announced that breakfast was ready, and Soldier, Demo, and Scout practically bowled each other over rushing through the doorway. Medic and Heavy followed, chatting quietly to each other, leaving Spy and Sniper to stare at each other from a distance.

Spy held up a hand toward the kitchen in an exaggerated gesture—an offer for Sniper to enter the kitchen next, but not with any intent of kindness. Sniper's look informed him that it was not taken as such, and he passed into the kitchen.

With the mess hall now empty, Spy approached the hallway. "Would you like me to obtain a plate for you?" he asked quietly.

Pyro shook its head, its stance rigid.

Nodding, Spy strode back into the kitchen, moving out of the way of the mercs who carried their plates out into the mess hall. He returned with a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast for himself, and another plate piled with pancakes, sausage, and syrup, as well as napkins and utensils. The atmosphere of the room was warm and the idle chatter friendly, but Spy didn't take a seat just yet. Making certain his steps didn't catch on an uneven floorboard or the foot of a passing coworker, he stepped into the hallway again.

The Pyro had not moved, but it gave a mild start at the sight of the pancakes.

"You'll need the energy, even if you're not hungry." Spy held out the plate.

Pyro looked up at him, and accepted the food, though it made no motion to eat it.

"'Ey, wha'd'you mean, it'll need the energy?" came Scout's voice, partially muffled from a mouthful of food. Spy turned to see the Scout leaning back with his feet on the table and his chair on two legs. "Is it plannin' to set our crap on fire again?" He swallowed, then laughed. "I'd love to see it try, with this wind."

"I doubt it will have time," Spy retorted, "given our match is still on today."

Eyes bugging, Scout jumped up in his seat. "What?! Woah—!" The chair tipped backwards, dumping him out onto the floor, and he scrambled back to his feet to give Spy a look of disbelief. "Are you serious?!"

"Yeah," Engineer said, stepping out of the kitchen with his own plate of food. "No word that it was canceled."

While Soldier gave a hearty laugh at this news, the once-warm mood of the mess hall plummeted considerably.

"This sucks," Scout grumbled, setting up his chair and plopping down onto it again. His fork picked at the hashbrowns on his plate.

Spy tucked a napkin into his shirt and took a seat at the far side of the table next to Demo, who was staring down at his food sadly. No one was speaking, and most of them ate their food with considerably less amounts of energy.

At some point, a syrup-smeared plate and clean fork slid into the mess hall from the hallway, and Sniper, finished with his own meal, rose to retrieve them. He paused at the doorway, peering out around the corner, and grunted. "Well, the wind's stopped, anyway."

Begrudgingly Spy rose from his seat to take a look for himself. He passed Sniper and approached the window again; the wind had indeed stopped, but it was no lighter than it was before. If anything, the clouds had darkened. Frowning, he pulled the window open, and winced at the unusually humid air.

Footsteps creaked beside him, and Spy glanced over, only to jump back as Pyro practically leaped at the window, slamming it shut. Its hands still gripping the window, it drew in a deep breath, which was then released shakily through its filter. Slowly it brought its arms back down to its side, and it looked at Spy.

Spy stared back into Pyro's lenses, an uneasiness creeping up his spine. There was nothing to read in the darkened glass, but somehow Spy knew there was no rage or malice directed toward him. Instead, the air around the two crackled with anxiety.

With no small amount of uncertainty, Spy reached up to pat Pyro's shoulder.

"Let's get to work."

—-

They were not alone in their anxiety.

A quiet had settled over the base, other than the occasional muttering, and the usual rowdy process of traveling to the day's battleground was eerily quiet, particularly when they stepped outside. Where once had been a violent windstorm was now an empty desert landscape, the air still as death.

And humid.

Scout made a noise of disgust the second they stepped outside, but the others mostly grimaced. Pyro was the last to step out, hesitating in the garage before Engineer ushered it into his truck, letting it sit shotgun. Sniper took his van, others took the RED Bread truck, and Spy of course opted to take his own car, deaf to any conversations happening in the other vehicles. But if the team's silence upon exiting their vehicles at their usual hidden parking location was anything to go by, he hadn't missed anything positive.

As the team marched the rest of the way to the abandoned sawmill on foot, Spy shrugged in his suit; it was clinging to him in the humid air. Heavy was already wiping at his brow, Archimedes was ruffling and obsessively preening his feathers, and Scout had a hand under his hat, feeling his frizzing hair with a frown. But even beyond the discomfort, there was a strange, electric tension in the air, one that pulled against everything and nothing at the same time, having no particular direction, but felt by everyone.

The sawmill was quiet when they arrived, as expected, and they were equally as quiet as they made their way up to spawn.

Demo was the first to mount the stairs, and he finally broke the silence with a cry of dismay, followed by a curse.

"What's the problem, private?" Soldier asked, hurrying up the stairs, only to stop. "Oh."

Brow furrowed, Spy followed the others as they all crammed around the top of the stairs, and quickly identified the problem: large portions of the roof had been blown completely away, leaving parts of their base exposed to the elements. "Of course," Spy muttered. "Perhaps our spawn has fared better, at least?"

But when he neared the room, he let out a growl of disgust; the door rattled open at a significantly slower rate than normal, and stayed open—something must have happened to the mechanism. Even the more fortified spawn room had sustained roof damage, with a few of the ceiling tiles also missing and some having crashed to the floor. Wonderful.

Behind him, Heavy stepped into the room. "Hmm. Will have to keep enemies from sneaking in through roof."

"I don't believe so," Spy replied. "They've never sneaked into spawn before, nor have we entered theirs."

"Maybe not," Sniper said, stepping in behind the other two, "but they've fired into spawn before." He let that sink in before stepping over to his locker. "Keep an eye out."

There was a quiet chorus of displeased grunts and groans in response—there wasn't much else to be said, after all, and no one was happy about the situation. Though something else occurred to Spy: "At the very least," he said, "BLU can't be faring much better."

"Nope." The Engineer set down his toolbox with a weighty clunk. "I reckon their roof's blasted off too."

"Hey, sweet!" Scout perked up. "Then we can shoot into their spawn, too!"

Soldier grinned down at his rocket launcher, but Sniper sighed. "Let's just stick to capturin' the bloody point so we can get outta this place before it falls apart."

No one but Soldier could really argue with that, and the mercs went about their business setting up. Though as Spy turned to his locker, he looked back at the others, and frowned at the sight of Pyro staring up at the hole in the ceiling. When he finished readying his tools and saw Pyro still in the same position as before, he approached it calmly. "I wouldn't worry about it," he said, and Pyro glanced back. "I have my doubts the enemy will try to get in through the roof."

Pyro looked back up at the ceiling, gave a barely-audible hum, and shook its head.

"With luck," Spy went on, "we'll finish this match before they even notice."

—-

They had no such luck—at least, not of finishing the match quickly. It seemed the BLU team had the same goal and was just as aggressive in their pursuit of capturing the point. Making the first capture at all seemed to take ages. Every time a team came close, the other was quick to overtake them. Excellent when it was the BLU team losing the capture, infuriating when it was their own.

All the while, Spy was unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong, or was about to go wrong. It wasn't difficult to figure out what; every time he was killed—and it was more often than he wished to admit—Spy found himself glancing at the hole in the ceiling, tensing as he prepared for the BLU team to start spawn-camping. Several minutes into the match, however, it had yet to happen, though his fellow mercs cast an anxious glance at it every time.

Throughout the simultaneously frantic-yet-snail-paced match, a crackling tension built between the two teams, neither willing to give in. The tension finally broke when Spy failed to take down the BLU engineer's sentry, instead getting checked by the pyro. He let out a cry of rage as he bolted for safety, only for the sentry to gun him down.

Once he stumbled into spawn, he shook his head and glared up at the ceiling, only to have his view abruptly blocked by an outraged Soldier, followed by a very frustrated Heavy. "What happened?" Spy sputtered.

Soldier charged off with a wild battle cry, but Heavy glanced at Spy. "Enemy medic and heavy came in, fully charged. Took us down. Think they took point."

"Wonderful," Spy growled. Though surprising they did not manage to take advantage of our weakness. He kept the thought to himself for fear of jinxing their already bad situation.

As it turned out, he didn't need to. BLU was aggressive, and maintained their hold on the point, quickly causing RED to lose the first round.

The atmosphere of the spawn room was once again thick with tension as the team prepared for the next round. No one spoke as they patched up their wounds and reloaded their ammo, and a few switched out their weapons. Spy debated on switching to his Dead Ringer, but decided against it—too predictable. His standard watch would do for now.

"Pyro," Engineer said suddenly, and Spy glanced over as the Pyro gave a start. "I'm gonna need some doggone help this time."

"Nein," Medic cut in, looking up from cleaning blood out of Archimedes' feathers. "I have a plan to use it."

"Well, doc, I got a plan for it to use its homewrecker and protect my sentry so we can maintain the blasted point!"

"And how do you propose we capture the point in the first place, hm?" Medic released Archimedes, who fluttered up to perch on an exposed pipe. Pyro's gaze followed the bird. "I can Uber the Pyro and it can clear the point when BLU tries to capture."

Heavy sniffed, crossing his arms. "Heavy can do this."

"Ja, but they will be expecting that, like last time."

Frowning, Heavy nodded. "Is good point."

"You may be useful in providing a distraction," Spy said, taking a step closer to Heavy to join the impromptu strategy meeting. "If the Medic can send us a signal, you can move in on one side, drawing their fire, while I move in on the enemy sentry. Then the Medic and Pyro can move in on the other side." Noting the Engineer about to speak up again, he cut him off. "Afterward, Pyro can help defend the machines."

Medic hummed in thought. "That could work. But as for the signal—"

Scout strolled into the center of the group. "Yo, I'm right here! You're lookin' at the fastest one on the team, yeah? I can send the OK signal, no problem, then join in on some of the action." His final word was punctuated with a swing of his bat.

With a grunt, Demo waved a dismissive hand at the others. "Bah! You lot can do your fancy scheming. Soldier and I have other plans." He nodded at Soldier, who only grinned, laughing.

Everyone's gaze fell on Sniper, who had yet to give his input. He only shrugged. "Well, I saw part of the roof's blown off the main sawmill, so if I can get up there, I can try to keep an eye on things like Soldier does at the Harvest shed."

In spite of himself, Spy smiled. "Well, gentlemen, it seems we may have a solid strategy to win us this round. Engineer will set up his machines, Medic and Pyro will step back until ready, and give the signal to Scout, who will move in with Heavy and me. Once we have successfully drawn their fire, Pyro and Medic will come in the opposite way to clear the point for capture, and Sniper will cover us from above." He cast a sideways glance at Demo and Soldier. "Those two will hopefully not ruin things for us."

"Nope. We'll improve on your silly little plan!" Soldier insisted.

Spy stared at him, deadpan. "Are you planning on rocket jumping ahead of us to take out as many of the BLU team as possible?"

"That is classified information, private!" Soldier exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger.

"Very well, so long as it does not interfere with—"

"Mission begins in ten seconds!"

Everyone scrambled to ready their weapons, while Spy called out over them: "Stick to the plan, men, and we might be back in time for supper." Pausing, he looked over at Pyro, who was still staring at Archimedes. When Medic gave a whistle, the bird fluttered to its owner's shoulders, but Pyro was still staring at where it had been. "Are you all right, mon ami?"

Pyro gave a start and turned to face Spy, but neither confirmed nor denied his question.

"You heard the plan, non?"

After a moment, Pyro nodded.

"Good. Then—"

"Start fighting!"

Spy nodded. "See you at the point, then."

Everyone rushed out of spawn in much higher spirits than they'd started with. Demo and Soldier did indeed wind up literally blasting themselves forward, while Sniper went to see about climbing atop the sawmill. Medic, Scout, and Pyro hung back, looking for a hiding spot while they prepared, and Heavy, Spy and Engineer headed for the mill. Engineer took the high road to position his sentry up above, while Heavy and Spy hurried down the stairs to take the lower road.

Even as Spy hung back, waiting for Scout's signal, he couldn't help smiling to himself; if all went well, this would be a quick victory. Granted, they would need to win yet another immediately afterward, but... one thing at a time.

Yet in spite of their strategy, in spite of the team's enthusiasm, in spite of the fact that they were sure to win this round... something felt off. Spy checked his watch, his knife, his sapper, his gun, his disguise kit—no, they were all there. There was nothing he was forgetting, and yet...

He squinted at his disguise kit, suddenly realizing it was harder to see the buttons than it should have been, and looked up.

When had it gotten so—

The darkened sky was abruptly lit by jagged forks, which were quickly followed by a threatening roar of thunder.

And the clouds burst.

There was a unanimous cry—of surprise, of disgust, of horror—from both teams as the wall of rain collapsed upon them. Spy found himself immediately drenched, his suit clinging to his skin even worse than it had in the humid air. He snapped his disguise kit shut—groaning at the realization that his cigarettes were already thoroughly ruined—and shoved it into his pocket, exchanging a miserable glance with Heavy.

Over all the roaring, hollering, and overall cries of displeasure, there was no announcement postponing the match.

But there was an odd shriek in the distance that sent a chill up Spy's spine, and Heavy gave a shudder. The latter hefted Sasha up, grimacing. "Should we still wait?"

An explosion wracked the sawmill, but this was not unexpected, especially when followed by a whooping cheer from Demo.

"It seems the plan is still on the table," Spy confirmed. "Scout should be here any moment. Admittedly, I thought he would be here sooner, but—"

He broke off when he realized Heavy was no longer listening, but was instead staring, wide eyed, at something in the sky. Brow furrowed, Spy followed his gaze; a streak of lightning illuminated a small white bird, its feathers partially stained red.

Without another word, Heavy bolted back in the direction of the bird, which immediately looped back the way it came, away from the sawmill.

"Mikhail!" Spy cried, furious when Heavy made no acknowledgment, if he'd heard at all. He grit his teeth, preparing to ditch the plan and head into the sawmill alone, when a memory struck him—waking up in the middle of the night, and overhearing a very specific arrangement...

Sucking in a breath, Spy charged after the bird as well, easily outpacing Heavy. Up ahead, they heard a gun fire, followed by the wet thunk of a body hitting mud. Spy's head snapped in the direction of the gun fire, only to see Soldier blasting toward the enemy sniper with a wild cry. It didn't take long for them to pass Scout's corpse, which Spy looked well away from.

Archimedes swooped downward and around a corner, landing awkwardly on Medic's shoulder. The man was panting, his hair hanging over his glasses. His saw was held limply in one hand, his eyes wide and staring blankly at a spot on the ground.

"Doctor!" Heavy cried, approaching him before looking around. Spy did as well; Medic must have taken care of any attackers, but Spy did note with surprise that Medic's medi-gun was not strapped to the man's back, but rather, lying on the ground in a few pieces.

"Seems BLU caught onto our plan faster than we expected," Spy muttered, but Medic shook his head.

"It... it was not BLU," Medic gasped, pushing his hair away from his glasses.

Spy's brow furrowed, but Heavy suddenly perked up. "...Where is Pyro?"

Medic slowly looked up to meet Heavy's gaze before looking Spy in the eyes.

A second later, Spy straightened, his eyes wide as the gears clicked in his mind, and he cursed himself for not realizing it sooner. The notes, Pyro's anxiety at the weather, the fact that it had gone berserk in a battlefield with a running stream... He lunged forward, grabbing Medic by the front of his coat and ignoring Heavy's cry of fury. "Ludwig, tell me—the Pyro. It's injured by water, isn't it."

"Y-yes," Medic stammered, "but it... it's never—"

"It's never had shellshock until now," Spy snarled, dropping Medic and bolting for spawn.

It all made sense—Beatrice had probably figured out that it was hurt by water, and used that to torture it. And then of course the rainstorm had triggered a violent episode of some sort.

Well, their plan was shot, now. But at the very least, he could try to get Pyro to calm down long enough to finish the match so they could get out of this. He just had to—

Spy reached the stairs, and a familiar scream reached his ears.

All thought of the plan fled his mind as he bolted the rest of the way up the stairs, only to stop dead at the sight beyond the spawn door.

Scout was backed up against a wall, his shotgun on the floor several feet away, his bat in his hands (one of which was bleeding). Before him, standing with its back to the door, was Pyro. Its head was lowered, its axe in its hands. Both mercs were drenched, rainwater dripping off of their uniforms, and Pyro was growling, but the sound felt... wrong, for reasons Spy could not immediately place.

"G-get away from me, you freak!" Scout cried, brandishing the bat. "I'll bash your creepy head in! I'm warning you!"

Right then and there, Spy nearly stepped in to call out to Pyro, to draw its attention away, but another sound stopped him: a wild snarl.

Spy froze, his blood turning to ice, as two realizations hit him simultaneously: that the Pyro was making sounds at all... and that they weren't muffled.

Pyro lunged at Scout, who swung his bat to block Pyro's axe. With a dull thunk, the metal head of the axe embedded itself in the wooden bat, and Pyro yanked its weapon back, ripping Scout's remaining weapon out of his hands and flinging it across the room.

"Oooh that's—that's not good—" Scout stammered, looking between the bat and Pyro, who held its axe up silently. After a tense moment, Scout bolted around Pyro, aiming for the door.

For less than a second, his eyes met those of Spy, who was still rooted to the spot.

And at the end of that second, Pyro swung its axe, cleaving Jeremy through the middle.

Abruptly Spy's body was capable of movement, and in one quick motion he raised his gun and shot Pyro through the back of its head. It dropped on the spot, collapsing forward with a loud CLANG as its axe hit the floor.

Spy still stood, frozen in place, his gun still held aloft as he panted, his mind still seeing that look in Scout's eyes before he was killed, his nose still smelling smoke and blood. An old pain radiated through his left knee.

By the time he willed his legs to take him closer to the spawn room, the corpses had already despawned, leaving the floor sleek and slippery with blood and water, the former being washed out by the latter as rainwater continuously poured down from the hole in the ceiling.

...Wait.

Realization hit him, and he darted off to the side of the door just as Scout, still holding his bat, stumbled into existence just beneath the damaged ceiling. Scout buckled, his free arm clasped around his uninjured stomach and his face twisted in phantom pain. A moment later, Pyro spawned directly next to him, and immediately put its hands over its head, shrinking in on itself and giving a strangled cry.

Hearing that, Scout's head snapped over, and he scrambled back, both hands gripping his bat. "Oh, no, no, no, not again—!"

Spy's mind raced—this was just going to turn into a hellish loop of death and respawn if he didn't do something. Even if he stepped in, at best he would kill Pyro, who would just respawn in the rain that would set it off all over again. At worst, Pyro would kill him, and go directly back after Jeremy. There had to be something—something he could do to stop the Pyro from attacking—

A very, very foolish idea leaped into his mind, and without a second thought, Spy whipped out his disguise kit.

While Pyro was cornering Scout once again, someone else stepped into the room, hovering in the doorway. Neither combatant took notice until the figure spoke:

"I like a challenge."

Pyro froze.

Beatrice stood before the doorway, smirking at Pyro. While Scout met her eyes with a look of bewilderment, her own eyes narrowed and glanced from Scout to the door behind her. Scout's brows shot up in recognition, and he bolted for the door.

Pyro swung around to follow him, only to stop when its lenses fell upon Beatrice. While Scout fled the scene, ducking behind Beatrice and out the door, the woman stared Pyro down.

At first, the two stood perfectly still, looking each other in the eyes. But slowly Beatrice began to realize that Pyro was not still; it was trembling, slightly at first, but then its shaking grew in intensity, its grip on its axe tightening until Beatrice began to wonder if the handle would crack. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, in spite of the chill in the air, but her smile never wavered.

Finally she chose to break the silence: "Are you really scared of a little rain? You're more pathetic than I—"

Pyro's face split in half with a room-shaking roar.

Before Beatrice could fully register what had happened, Pyro was charging at her full-tilt, readying its axe. With more flexibility than would be expected from someone of her age and build, she swerved out of the way, trying to keep her eyes on Pyro all the while.

Its face had indeed split down the center, revealing a vertical maw lined with yellow fangs, aside from the very tip—the filter. Its breathing was loud, ragged, and clear, steaming the air around it.

Merde.

No matter how terrified she was inwardly, Beatrice refused to lose her composure; her brow furrowed, her teeth grit. "Is that all you've got?" she taunted, grabbing a weapon of her own—a knife. "Fight me!"

Pyro hardly needed the provocation, snarling as it swung its axe.

Yet Beatrice sidestepped the attack again, countering it with a swipe of her knife that barely missed its target. She grimaced, knowing that it wouldn't work for her to keep dodging. At some point she was going to have to experience pain, as much as her brain was screaming at her to avoid it. Gritting her teeth, she allowed herself to remain an inch too close as Pyro brought down its axe again, this time grazing her left arm.

Sp—Beatrice's cry of pain was strained as she tried to focus her brain on maintaining her appearance. Not yet, not yet, not yet—! Blood trickled down her gloves and dripped down to join the rainwater on the floor, and she swore she saw Pyro's lenses—eyes—whatever on heaven, hell, or earth it saw with—glint at the sight of red.

It swung at her with all the more vigor, and she kept up with the motions out of pure instinct. It was only when her elbow banged against a locker that she realized Pyro had backed her into a wall. Frantically she looked left, then right, before fighting the urge to dodge and clamping her eyes shut. Her body tensed, waiting for the feeling of the axe cleaving her in half.

It never happened.

Just as she opened her eye, a large hand grabbed her by the collar and hoisted her into the air. She gasped as her feet left the ground, and as she stared into the lenses and gaping maw of the Pyro, she realized just how much stronger it had been than she'd realized, and how restrained it had been previously by comparison.

Its jaws closed and opened once, twice, as a shaky breath filled its lungs. "I..." Its voice was shaking, hoarse, and quiet. Beatrice's eye widened. "...will use your blood… to paint a rainbow."

Before Beatrice could fully process this, she was hurled to the ground, cracking her shoulder against the floor. With a gasp, h—she tried to push herself up onto her good arm, straining all the while to not change. Just as she raised her head, Pyro's axe came down on her wrist, and she collapsed again, leaving her hand behind with a shriek.

The axe came down again, the blunt side crashing down into her back and knocking the wind out of her. Before she could hope to regain her breath, Pyro's boot collided with her side, flipping her over. Dazedly she wondered at the fact that Pyro had not turned its flamethrower on her, when the CLANG of the axe hitting the floor broke through her thoughts. The sound was followed by two wet thwaps, and Beatrice turned her head slightly to see Pyro's gloves lying beside her.

"Wait—" she wheezed, struggling and failing to push herself up with her missing hand and busted shoulder.

Instead, something else lifted her, grabbing the front of her shirt and slamming her back into the lockers. Vapors rose from the Pyro's grip, and for a fleeting moment S—Beatrice was terrified that her appearance had faded, only to realize it was not smoke, but steam. Pyro's gloveless hands trembled as it held her, smearing wet soot onto the outfit and exposing the glowing flesh beneath the protective layer—flesh that was turning white-yellow on contact with the water.

"You're... hurt," Beatrice said, forcing herself to smile.

Pyro's eyes flashed, and its grip went from her shirt to her throat, its palms burning hot against her skin, claws digging into her neck. When she gasped for air, nothing entered her lungs, and Pyro's maw angled itself oddly, a dark chuckle emanating from its throat. "What's... the magic... words...?"

Beatrice gagged, kicking out her legs, only for Pyro to kick her in the shin as its grip tightened. Darkness popped into the corners of her vision as blood dripped down both her neck and the Pyro's claws.

"Wrong... answer."

It squeezed tighter, and darkness clouded him. He barely felt himself hitting the ground as Pyro dropped him, and his vision cleared enough in time to see Pyro hovering over him, its flamethrower at the ready... and smoke rising around the both of them.

The murderous gleam in Pyro's eyes flickered, then faded.

"...Spy?" it whimpered.

Managing a weak smile, Spy looked into the Pyro's lenses. "Congratulations," he wheezed. "It seems… you have... killed her."

Pyro dropped its flamethrower, but Spy never heard it hit the ground as the world faded around him.

#tf2 spy #tf2 pyro #tf2 scout #team fortress 2 #my art #my writing #fanfic #flickering fanfic #WOO! penultimate chapter!!#sorry for the delay but I hope you guys enjoy this one

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hey-heigo · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 17

continuation of byakuya's no good very bad worst shit ass day of his life (so far)(!!!)

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

this chapter went a little different from how i originally planned bc I was going to make byakuya much more stupid. but. he needs to fly off the handle several times later so. we can't let loose all at once

to be very fair to makoto he did not want to do that. and yet. here we are

the king of kings!! @digitaldollsworld

Content warning tags: ableist language from various characters, Byakuya's panic spiral, mild self-harm reference

< previous - from start - next >

Time seems to grind to a halt. His breath is still caught in his throat, halfway through a relieved sigh as he had been waiting - expecting - for Makoto to help him. To pull up some vague, hidden piece of evidence to clear him of any suspicion, to cleverly point out some irrefutable proof that had previously lay unseen.

But instead - his heartbeats feel too heavy. His breathing feels too light, deprived of any real oxygen. His head pounds in the same way it did when he was struck earlier, with a dull, pulsing ring that washes out everything around him.

He prided himself, once, on being able to read a person’s intent. To judge just when and why they might choose to abandon him, to cross him, to try and use him for their own intents. For that reason, he supposes, is why this sickly, sticky feeling of dread is so new to him. He’s never known real betrayal before.

His eyes dart around the room, but the others don’t seem to believe Makoto just yet. Even Owada seems taken aback, stock still and quiet. Only Kirigiri seems unsurprised - or maybe, he was only imagining it, the tranquil quality of her silence. As if she were merely observing it all, far out of their reach.

“Seriously??” Syo’s voice is a grating jeer. “You’re telling me this whole time he had no idea what I looked like? No wonder he didn’t fall for me at first sight!”

“I…don’t think that’s the reason why,” Hagakure says, though he seems utterly bewildered. “But, that can’t be right, right? I’ve seen him reading loads of times. And he practically lives in the library, y’know?”

“Yeah, and he can do things just fine for himself.” Asahina says in agreement. “I mean, he does his own laundry and stuff, and he knows this place way better than me at least. I didn’t even know where the A/V room was during the first motive, I just sorta followed him.”

“Yes, this is sort of…” For the first time, Celeste sounds genuinely surprised, her usually unphased demeanor wavering, her accent slipping for a moment. “Ahem. While I did note that he sometimes seemed a bit…eccentric, so to speak, nothing of his actions suggested that he was impaired.”

Their skepticism is a small relief. He nods jerkily, unable to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to verbalize his agreement. But it’s a small, pathetic movement that goes unnoticed, hardly amounting to anything in this large courtroom.

And their disbelief only goes so far. Ogami speaks up now, for the first time since the trial began, her low voice immediately silencing the whispers.

“I performed a concussion test on him earlier,” She says, gruffly. “As Kyoko had asked me to. He was lucid when answering my questions, and he didn’t seem to exhibit any symptoms that couldn’t be attributed to other reasons.” There’s a slight creak of wood, as she shifts her weight on the stand. “However, I did notice that his pupils were…strange.”

“My- what?” He sputters now, too suddenly, too loudly. He reaches up to touch slightly-trembling fingers to a closed eye, feeling the smooth bump of the cornea twitching beneath the thin skin of his eyelid as if he might be able to identify the damage that way. Why hadn’t she mentioned this earlier? Why bring it up now? “What do you mean, ‘strange’?!”

There’s a slight, panicked edge to his voice that he hopes no one catches, but this was the first time he heard that there could be physical evidence to his affliction. “It was a bit hard to test without the proper tools, but I noticed that they do not react much to changes in light.” Ogami explains. “The shape is also slightly…off. If I had to describe it, I would say that there is…a warping around the edges.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?!”

“I assumed it was either due to the head injury, or, it was genetic.” There’s an apologetic note to her words. “Given your usual behavior, I…didn’t think it was important.”

Not important. As if she could know what was important here.

“I. Am not. Blind.” He snarls stiffly. “Obviously, I have never taken a close enough look at my own pupils to notice that deformation, but it has never affected my daily life. I am not disabled, nor have I ever been.”

“I find it hard to believe that you have never been aware of it.” Kyoko remarks, tone clipped. “I can’t imagine someone of your status being ignorant of anything concerning your physical health.”

“Then you can rest easy knowing that I am perfectly healthy.” He snaps back, venom flying off his words.

Distantly, he knows that he is digging a pit for himself. That admitting to this would help clear him of any suspicion at all. But he doesn’t care; he would rather die than suffer such indignity. That was what he’s always known, taught by his butler, and then reinforced by all his surroundings afterwards, his siblings, his father - better to perish and let your enemies cry with relief and count themselves lucky, than let them mock you as you dig your own grave.

“You should just admit it already. You are drawing this out to be unnecessarily long, or would you rather doom us all?”

“I don’t see why I should cooperate with someone who has been making mindless accusations at me all this while.”

There’s a tense, snappish tension between him and Kirigiri. A livewire current. A piece of elastic stretched taut. He glares, and to him, her blurred form looks like that of a reared snake.

“Um…” Asahina speaks up, her hand tentatively raised. “If Byakuya’s really blind, can’t we just test it?”

“Excuse me?”

“I-I mean! Not saying that you are blind, or anything,” She says this quickly, carefully, like soothing a spooked horse. “But, we’re not going to get anywhere if you two just keep arguing back and forth, and it’ll be really quick! Like, Sakura, can you hold up a few fingers?” She complies silently, one arm remaining crossed across her chest, the other raised to her side. “How many is she holding up?”

He tries not to squint, but he has no idea. Two? Three? It's nothing more that a blurred, brown shape. “You can’t be serious.” He almost laughs, but the sound he makes is derisive and bitter.

“Y-yes, this is-! Unfair!” Now it’s Yamada, speaking up again. “In case no one else has noticed, Mister Togami is lacking his spectacles! Asking such a thing of him…it’s akin to bullying!”

He’s oddly assertive about this, and Byakuya watches as he pushes his own glasses a little higher. For some reason, being considered something of an equal by Yamada irritates him further. “Shut up.” Who asked for his help.

“Yes, be still please,” Celeste sighs dismissively. “We are playing a game with our lives. This is hardly the time to be discussing moralistic issues.” There’s a slight metallic tap as she raps her silver finger guards against her rings. “But you do make a point. Byakuya does not have his glasses at the moment. It would be difficult to try and confirm anything without them.”

Thank goodness for those with common sense. He doesn’t look to his side, where she was standing, but he swears that he can see her eyes glancing at him, the unnatural red of her pupils bright on her pale face. “Yes,” he agrees, seizing upon it. “And they were broken earlier, thanks to Owada. Nearsightedness runs on my mother’s side, and the former Togami head was farsighted. I will admit that much, is that what you wanted? Kyoko?”

He’s rambling. He’s aware of it. But there are a few nods exchanged, and Asahina scratches at the back of her head awkwardly, as if embarrassed. Kirigiri, however, is still unmoved.

“No. When I say you are blind, I do not mean without your glasses. Or there wouldn’t have been a point in bringing it up in the first place.” Kirigiri shifts her weight slightly, the sway of her stance accompanied by the creak of wood. “Even without your glasses, you cannot do tasks such as reading. I imagine you’ve managed everything else by means of careful practice, but this is the one thing you can’t manage on your own.”

“Hey, Kyoko-” Makoto looks nervous, unsure whether to face him or her. “That-”

“And how do you plan to prove this?” Byakuya snarls. He feels a small flare of triumph, even despite everything, the looming threat of death. “As we found before, I don’t have my glasses. Did you happen to pick those up as well? Did you repair them for me while you were at it?”

Instead of offering a retort, or any sort of reply, she sighs. A soft, tired sound.

“Makoto.” She isn’t facing the other boy, but her tone is firm as she addresses him, and a little exasperated. She doesn’t say anything more, but Makoto seems to understand, and his hands drop to his sides.

“There is a way to prove it.” His voice is quiet. Quiet, and…sad, somehow. Defeated. “Byakuya…please show us your handbook.”

The realization sets in slowly. He’s already been betrayed by Makoto twice now, but still, he finds himself stunned, slack-jawed. This one was the worst by far - not only was he actively helping Kirigiri, he was betraying Chihiro as well, risking revealing everything to that accursed bear. And after all the lengths Byakuya had gone through to protect this secret.

“What are you saying,” He says, and his voice has a humiliating tremor that matches how his hands shake, clutching at the rail. Surely, he’s heard wrong. Surely, Makoto would correct himself, take it back-

“Your handbook. Chihiro, he…he put a program on it that lets you be able to do stuff like tell the time. It also reads stuff aloud. And he did it after the motives got revealed, that night when Celeste saw you guys leaving the bathhouse.” He sounds so somber, so sad and grieving. He won’t meet Byakuya’s eyes. “He did it in exchange for you teaching him how to be strong, and self-confident - which you did, by telling him to go around talking to everyone else today.”

Without really thinking about it, his hand goes to his inner jacket pocket, where his handbook sits. His fingers close around the little device, the hard edges of plastic and metal pressing into the creases of his palm. He feels a little like he’s been shot.

But he doesn’t bring it out. He glares instead, furiously, hatefully, at the boy standing just meters away. He - and Kirigiri too, most likely, Byakuya suspected that Makoto had already revealed everything that that woman - knew perfectly well the importance of Alter Ego, and why it could not, under any circumstances, be revealed. And they knew Byakuya was aware of this too, and they were holding this fact hostage, over his head.

(I could, some sore, beaten part of him thinks with poisonous intent, try and claim responsibility for Chihiro’s murder. I could say that they’re wrong. That I lured Chihiro to the bathhouse with the intent of making him less wary, easier to isolate. That he was so weak and trusting and stupid that killing him was a simple manner. That I mimicked Syo’s modus operandi to throw suspicion off of me.)

The mere thought was shameful, but it was his pride, wounded and bitter, that was seriously considering it, if only for some semblance of control. The barest reassurance that he had any real weight at all in this trial. And all he would need to do is open his mouth and say the words.

But instead, he bites down on his inner cheek, hard enough for blood to trickle out the corner of his mouth, hard enough for the pain to rival the buzzing in his temples. And tightens his grip momentarily, just enough to feel the faint, humming warmth of the handbook against his sweating palm, and exhales slowly.

“...Fine. Fine.” He spits, angry, defeated, exhausted. He’s sick of this. He just wants it to be over. “Yes. I’m blind. I have been so since we first woke up in this school. Are you happy now?”

Makoto looks down, his face shadowed by his hair. Kirigiri tilts her head slightly, a motion that’s not quite a nod but more of a bow.

“Wait, so then-” Asahina’s voice, confused and a little hesitant, pipes up. “If you’ve been…y’know, this whole time, but only after we got to this school…does that mean the Mastermind did this to you, somehow?”

“That’s what I would like to know, myself.” He turns to look at Monokuma, and finds the bear lounging across its throne, a bucket of popcorn resting precariously on the armrest. The repugnant toy giggles, and swings itself upright, spilling a handful of white puffs all over.

“Gosh, I wonder?” The thing taps at its chin, voice taking on a wondering tone. “Of course, I want this game to be fair and give you all a level playing field. I believe in equality after all! …Though this has made for so many entertaining developments, so…I figured I’d leave it as is. Besides, you’ve adapted quite well, haven’t you Mister Togami?” It cackles, paws clutching at its belly. “GIven how well you did hiding it from everyone, I think it’s fine if we leave it like this, don’t you think?”

He wants to cross the courtroom and throttle the stupid thing this instant. All he can do is glare murderously, lips twisted into a snarl.

There’s a sharp clap that has most people jumping. The source of the sound is Kirigiri, whose hands are raised, and pressed together. “Let’s move on.” Her voice is firm, with no room for arguing. “All we’ve done so far is clear one person’s innocence. We still need to identify the real killer.”

And that was it. The most disgusting moment of his life, over just like that, ended by her words. He knows that there’s bound to be some kind of punishment in store for those who interrupt trials, but he briefly wonders if he can get his hands around her neck before Monokuma can react.

Owada jerks at Kirigiri’s words, startled out of his own stunned silence. “W-wait,” He sounds panicked now, and of course he would be. His scapegoat is gone. “Then, if it’s not Byakuya, then who…?”

“Let’s consider what we know. Given how it’s not clear where the murder took place, it would have to be someone who had access to cleaning supplies or water, and has no alibi that can be verified when the murder occurred. For the most part, everyone here has an alibi that can be supported by at least one other person, but there are some that do not.” Kirigiri lists these calmly, and Byakuya imagines her cold gaze, flitting between each person in the room. “Mondo. Do you care to explain what you were doing prior to the body’s discovery?”

The effect is immediate. The other boy rears up, instantly furious. “The fuck are you trying to say? That I’m a murderer?!” He thunders. “Like I said earlier, I was taking care of my bro. You know that. Everyone knows that!”

“As you said earlier, Taka is currently compromised. He can’t give a testimony.” She shoots back without hesitation. “Your alibi is flawed.”

“Yeah? Well - well so’s yours!” He sputters. “Like- Syo might’ve been the one to find you in the bathroom, but that was just before Chihiro was found. Toko can’t say that you weren’t there the whole time, a-and even if you were, maybe the bathroom was where Chihiro died anyways!”

Owada may be stupid, but credit where credit was due, he was surprisingly quick to retort and pick at Kirigiri’s excuse. “I could not have cleaned up a murder scene in the bathroom so spotlessly in the time between Chihiro’s last sighting and the body discovery. As Makoto described earlier, the sinks of the bathroom were all dry-”

“There was that sheet, you could’ve used that before smashing Chihiro’s head over it. And there’s water in the toilets, right? And the girl’s bathroom was right next door!”

“...I’ll commend you for recognizing my perseverance. But I did not kill Chihiro.” She shakes her head. “If the only thing that will clear me is secondhand support to my alibi, then the only thing that needs to be done is to ask a witness. Toko?”

And she addresses Syo now, who just cocks her head for a moment, and shrugs. “I keep sayin’ to you guys, it’s lights out up there. There’s no telling when she’ll be back!”

Byakuya has had enough.

“Toko,” He says first, his voice low and hissing. Then, louder, building into a shout: “TOKO. Come out, NOW!”

“I don’t think it works like tha-” Syo’s words are cut off suddenly, and she collapses where she stands, like a puppet with her strings cut.

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#thpff #thpff chapters #danganronpa fanfiction #byakuya togami #byakuya mentally filing for a second naegami divorce #sorry this one took so long.....my frontal lobe. it is soup #combination filing taxes + applying for classes + applying for jobs + etc etc. it'll do it to ya #going to really really really try to get 18 up by sunday but if its delayed do u prommy not to be too mad at me. do you. pls pls pls #i jest tho. thank u to everyone who has been reading thus far i hope you continue to enjoy it or move on to other things #just knowing you were here even if just for a moment even if for the whole ride is enough for me #i hope this chapter is legible i cranked out the last half of it at 2 am on a half bottle of soju #also had to mentally go over everything twice bc ive been listening to His Dark Materials audiobooks and my writing was turning british #byakuya frothing furious angry defeated at the stand while kyoko is just. o<-< are we done yet. can we please talk about the murder #theyre both toxic here and making everyone bear witness to it #alright folks lets take bets now on who you think the killer is!!!

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