War and Friendship

by anatolebahorel

Rating: teen
Tags: Random, Crossover, Human, Main 6, Drama, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Spike, Comedy, Angel, Other, Adventure
Length: 8886

Two rival mercenaries must make amends, or face dire consequences.

The war between the Soldier and the Demoman grows more fierce with each passing day. Is there anything in this world, or any other, that can make them put aside their differences? ... eh, probably not.

Published 2016-04-03 06:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2016-04-03 06:00:01 UTC

Chapter 1

October 11, 1969 - 2100 hours

Dear readers of this journal which only I ever read;

Today is a day which will forever live in infamy. Today is the day we failed to prevent the enemy from pushing their bomb wagon thingie into the hole that contains all our explosive munitions.

Oh, we put up a helluva fight. Except for Scout. He blew up a lot. But most of us put up a helluva fight.

It was that RED Demoman. That booze-gulping, bomb-chucking, eye patch-wearing son of a Loch Ness monster! He tore through our impenetrable defenses like they were completely penetrable! Why, if I ever see his smelly one-eyed face again, I’ll stuff that scrumpy bottle so far up his ass, he’ll be crapping glass for weeks!

11.10.1969

What a day! The lads and I completely dominated those dirty BLU’s! We pushed our cart all the way through their flimsy defenses and blew the bloody hell out of them! Maybe this’ll teach them not to put all their bombs in one bloody place! Ha ha!

I gotta say though, that Soldier of theirs wasn’t pulling any punches! Fiercest fighter I ever did see. Even gave me a run for my money! And let me tell you, that ain’t no small feat! If he weren’t such an insufferable mule, I’d have said it was an honor to fight him.

Going to the Projectile Weapons Expo in Badlands tomorrow. I was hoping to bring mum, but it’s more of a visual thing, and… well, you know. Guess it’s just gonna be me, then!

October 12, 1969 - 2200 hours

Alright journal, listen up! I have something very important to write on you! Today I confronted the enemy! Yes, the Scottish Menace!

The Demoman!

At the Projectile Weapons Expo, no less! Who’d have thought the Demoman was into projectile weapons? Huh.

But that is a question for another day! Today’s question is this: “Did I kick that Scotch sonofabitch’s rear from here to Timbuktu?” And the answer is “You better believe I did!”

The battle was fierce. So fierce, that the Expo’s food court could not contain the sheer brutality of it! Security asked us to vacate the premises! That is how fierce this battle was!

In the end, I was the victor. Now, not only have I bested my mortal nemesis, but my mortal nemesis is also paying for lunch next Thursday! His $20 is now the sole property of the United States of America!

U! S! A!

U! S! A!

12.10.1969

The Expo was a blast! (no pun intended)

Lots of nifty stuff being shown off. I especially liked the rapid-fire stickybomb launcher they had at the Mann Co. booth. “Scottish Resistance” they’re calling it. Can you believe it? It’s almost like it was made for me! I’ll have to look into getting one someday.

They also had this rocket launcher/sniper rifle hybrid on display, but I don’t know. Looked kind of silly to me.

Oh! And you wouldn’t believe who I bumped into at the food court! That BLU Soldier from yesterday! Quite a coincidence, eh? I guess I should’ve known that someone who shoots rockets for a living would show up at a Projectile Weapons Expo.

I thought I’d grab myself a bite to eat after the Molotov cocktail showcase, when who should I spot ordering from the Rib Place across the court? Ol’ Rocket Hopper himself! He must’ve seen me, too, because he came charging right toward me, barreling through crowds of people. I was about to jump out of the way, but then what does the poor sod do? He slips on a napkin and goes flying into a trash can! Ha ha ha!

I tried to help him up, but he decided to try and take a swing at me. Now mind you, I hadn’t drunk a single drop of scrumpy all day, so my reflexes were a might keener than they usually are. I dodged his punch, and he ended up clocking an old lady that was standing nearby.

We were getting some pretty nasty looks from security, so I thought me and the Yank better make ourselves scarce. You might think it was hard to lead a man out of a building while he was trying to kill me, but it was actually fairly easy. I just let him think he was clobbering me the whole way. Punches and kicks don’t really register through a suit of demolition armour.

After he tuckered himself out, I congratulated him on a good fight and told him I’d be willing to buy him lunch next Thursday. He seemed to be up for that.

Ah cripes! I just realized that I missed out on the Medieval Weapon Booth. Oh, well. Maybe next time!

October 14, 1969

The Teufort Times delivery guy dropped my paper in a puddle again. Tomorrow I will be replacing his usual 5 cent tip with a karate chop to the face.

Also, lunch with the Scot went a lot better than expected. He is surprisingly amiable for being a maggot-ridden sack of scum.

24.10.1969

Bloody hell, what a week that was!

Okay, so me and Sollie are at the tavern, right? We’re having a few drinks and making a grand old time of it, and somehow the subject of his war credentials comes up. Now don’t ask me how, cause my memory’s a bit hazy from all the whiskey. Get this, though - and you gotta promise to keep this a secret! - he’s never been in the army! He told me so right then and there!

He’s awful ashamed of it, too. Says they rejected him from every single branch of the military for being “mentally unfit for duty.”

I tell him that’s a load of hogwash. And it is, too! I’ve seen the guy slaughter my team like it was nobody’s business! The man’s a bat out of hell, he is!

So I say to him, “Laddie, if you’re unfit for duty, then I’m the king of Scotland!”

After clarifying that I was not, in fact, the king of Scotland, and that I was just paying him a compliment, he gives me a pat on the shoulder and says, “Y’know what, DeGroot? You’re alright.”

I’d be fibbing if I said that didn’t brighten up my day a bit.

So anyway, I decided to let him in on my darkest secret, since he was willing to tell me his. If you’ve been reading this diary for as long as I’ve been writing in it, you already know what that secret is: my run-in with that terrible magician all those years ago.

The one that took my eye.

I tell him the story, and he gives me a stern look. He says, “Wizards! You can never trust ‘em! If I ever bump into that bony old dirt bag, I’ll make his life a living hell!”

I’d have told him that it wouldn’t be wise to spark a magician’s ire, but I figure the odds of the two of them ever meeting up would be one in a million.

Then he tells me to not let it get my goat so much. “Girls really go for the one-eyed look, I hear. Eye patches are real lady killers! Metaphorically speaking.”

And you know what? I think he’s right! The patch does lend a sort of mysterious charm to my appearance. Maybe being a cyclops isn’t such a bad thing after all…

Now here’s where things get really crazy. One minute we’re talking like the best of chums, and the next we’re fighting like the bitterest of enemies! Weird, eh? Like I said, the whiskey sort of clouded my memory, so I don’t remember how it all started. If I had to guess, I’d say it was because-

that Scotch piece of kilt lint made a joke about my citizenship! I tell him it is no laughing matter, but Mr. Funnyman decides to make it a running gag! Making a mockery of a soldier’s complete lack of credentials is a punishable offense! I decided to take him to the court of Jane Doe, with my left fist presiding as judge, and my right fist standing in for the jury!

Readers of this journal have no doubt been keeping track of all the bar brawls I’ve been a part of since my first one in preschool, but for those who are just tuning in, this was my 589th, and the brawliest by far.

I’m telling you; this one had it all! Broken bottles, stools as weapons, bartenders calling the police… and the police were the best part! When they arrived, me and Tavish quit pummeling each other (I won, by the way) and mounted a joint strike on the boys in blue.

At this point, I couldn’t help but have what most folks call a “revelation” (I like to call them “brain crockets”). I was beating up the Teufort Police Department side-by-side with the man formerly known as my worst nemesis. Now tell me this, hypothetical readers; how can someone stand next to me, doing the exact same thing I’m doing, and still be called my enemy?

It was then that I realized something. Tavish DeGroot was no enemy! He was… a friend! My friend!

Maybe even… my best friend!

I was so stunned by this sudden and unexpected turn of events, that I paused briefly in the middle of throttling the law. The next thing I knew, I was getting whacked over the head by a night stick. Lights out.

When I woke up three days later, I found myself in a jail cell with ‘ol Tavish. He told me we got off easy with a week in prison, then four months of community service. They were going to give us six hundred life sentences for hospitalizing half the police force, but Tavish’s friends Ben Franklin and Andrew Jackson convinced them otherwise. I had no idea he was so well-acquainted with American historical figures! What a pal, huh?

We just got released today. Tomorrow we get to clean the communal latrine together! Can’t wait!

1.11.1969

Just bought two tickets to the Badlands Brawlers game next Friday! Gonna see if Soldier wants to go. If not, the only people I know who’d be free that day are Mum and Pyro. Mum would just keep asking me what the players are doing, and Pyro… would probably torch the hot dog vendor.

Kinda hoping Soldier takes the other ticket.

November 2, 1969 - 1400 hours

Going to the Badlands Brawlers game next Friday! Tavish got two tickets for me and him to go. I can already tell it’s going to be the best day ever. Call it an old war dog’s intuition.

Note to self: need a place to hide the newspaper delivery guy until he regains consciousness.

14.11.1969

Spending the day with my best friend Soldier after work today! We’re going to the eye museum! Should be fun!

November 14, 1969 - 2100 hours

Today was not fun. Tavish and me went to the eye museum. I thought it would take his mind off the whole cyclops thing, but in retrospect, I probably could have picked a better place to go than the eye museum.

There is nothing I hate more than seeing a grown man cry, so when Tavish started doing it, I immediately ordered him to cease and desist. For some reason, that didn’t work. So I went with plan B and took him to the bar for a drink. Several drinks, actually. I have never seen so many pints before in my life.

After he finished his 23rd, he started getting all sappy, telling me I was the greatest friend who ever lived and that he loved me like a brother. I gotta be honest, Journal; if it were any other man telling me these things, I would have told him to turn in his manliness badge. And called him names. And probably kicked him in the shin, too.

But this was no ordinary schmoe. This was Tavish Finnegan DeGroot. My best friend in the whole world. Possibly my only friend in the whole world. And a man bearing such a title deserved my respect.

So I gave him a hug. And not one of those girly hippie hugs, either! This was a true man’s hug! A hug that only two gentlemen of the highest caliber could muster! A hug that would make comrades out of enemies and turkey out of tofu! A hug that no sane person would dare laugh at!

Except for the guy sitting next to us. He was laughing at us the entire time. Poor sap met with an unfortunate stool-related accident.

Next Wednesday, Tavish and I are going to the Rib Place to celebrate my 600th bar brawl!

16.12.1969

Almost blew up Sollie on the battlefield today. Boy, that was a close one! Mistook him for their Heavy. Scrumpy does that to you, I guess.

I’ve been thinking of cutting down on the drinking lately. Soldier says it’s not good for me, but I dunno. It helps me focus when I’m doing my job. It can’t be doing my liver any good, though.

That’s it. I’ve made up my mind! Starting tomorrow, I’m laying off the scrumpy! No more eight bottles a day for this Scotsman! Ha ha!

December 16, 1969 - 1800 hours

Good news, Journal! Tavish nearly killed me today! Wait, that wasn’t the good news. I would erase that part, but I am writing this in pen, and crossing it out would just look sloppy. This journal is to be kept ship-shape at all times!

No, the good news is that Tavish is going to be more responsible with his alcohol. Pretty swell, huh? This way, we’ll be able to spend more time hanging out and less time talking out of DUI tickets!

I don’t say this to him often enough, but… Tavish is a good soldier. I’ve never had someone to talk about ballistic weapons with, and now I do! I’ve never met someone who’s as into ribs and haircuts as I am, and now I have! Of all the people I’ve bludgeoned, battered, and beat up, no one’s ever been able to return the favor quite like he has.

Journal, I might be going out on a limb here, but I think we might just be friends for-

NEVER!

never gonn’… to th’ gun show… not with him… feckin’…

December 17, 1969 - 0800 hours

Journal!

At attention!

It has come to my knowledge that there is a Benedict Arnold in our ranks.

JUDAS

he’s a… bloody… judas, ‘e his!

tradin’ me fer his bloody fancy new weapons

Ah’ll show him… i’ve got me own bloody fancy new weapons…

It is a disgrace! A dishonor to this unit!

He called me a citizen!

He promised! He promised never to call me that again! But he did! He and his weird robotic voice!

ye’ll be sorry… ye’ll be feckin’ sorry yeh ever crossed me!

you and I… we’re done being nice and friendly

from now on…

… we’re the bitterest of enemies! The fiercest of foes!

If you think I’m letting this slide, then you’re in for an unpleasant surprise!

When next we meet, you will not find the Jane Doe you’ve come to know and be accustomed to!

When next we meet… you will find only rage! And rockets! And other horrible things too!

… can’t be true… never sell me out… fer weapons…

but it can! And it is! n’ he’s gonna burn in hell for it!

… gonna… run out of glue down there…

Demoman! If you are reading this journal - not that I would ever let you - then know this:

I’m going to annihilate you! I am going to tear off your limbs and use them as backscratchers! I will hunt you down and kill you! And when you respawn, I’ll hunt you down and kill you again!

There is nothing that will stop me!

nuthin’ that’ll stand in th’ way of my fury!

ah’ve got a sword with yer bloody name on it, soldier

an’ soon it’ll have yer bloody head on it, too!

Yeh hear me, ye cowardly dog?!

Yeh smelly…

… one-eyed…

… back-stabbin’…

… double-crossing…

… friendship-ruinin’…

… bond-destroying…

… cretin!

meet me in a battle… if ya think ya got the guts!

this is yer end, doe!

Your end, you hear me?! Your end!

This is war, Demoman!

THIS IS WAR!

“October 10, 1970. 0100 hours.”

“Aw jeez, not this again…”

“Day 298 of the War on Scotland.”

“Every frickin’ time…”

“The fighting has worn heavily on my comrades and I.”

“C’mon man, we’re tryin’a sleep! Can’t you write in your diary without narratin’ it out loud?! Like a normal person?!”

“The fighting wore especially heavily on Scout, who died many times yesterday, and who desperately needs to learn the difference between a diary and a journal.”

“Heavy is also wanting to know why Soldier will not shut mouth.”

“Mrrh trr.”

“Due to the arduous nature of combat, troop morale appears to be at an all-time low. Nevertheless-”

“I don’t think that’s why morale’s low, mate.”

“Nevertheless, my team soldiers on, and tonight we ride towards Teufort.”

“Don’t know why we’re goin’ to Teufort again. Starting to get sick of the ruddy place.”

“Yrrh?? Srrck rrf Trrrfrh??”

“I know! I can’t believe it either!”

“Heavy is getting tired of storming RED basement. Is always full of sentries.”

“It’s too bloody cramped in that place. Guy like me’s gotta have some space, y’know?”

“Rrh hrrt th whtrr.”

“IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR SOME PEACE AND FREAKIN’ QUIET AROUND HERE?!”

“Tomorrow we will stop the Scottish Menace! We will not rest!”

“Soldier, I swear to Pete…”

“We will not relent!”

“If you don’t shut yer yap right this second, I’m gonna fill my pillowcase with shoes and beat you to death with it.”

“Oy! Keep your mitts off my boots back there!”

“Come sunrise, WE-”

“Soldier.”

“-WILL-”

“Soldier!

“-BE-”

“SOLDIER!”

“TRIUMPHANT!”

“THAT’S IT! C‘MERE, YOU.”

“P.S. I’m going to kick Scout’s ass now.”

“Let’s see how well that dopey helmet a’ yours protects y’ empty head from a clobberin‘!”

“Try it, Clam Chowder! Your scrawny hide couldn’t even beat up a dandelion!”

“Bloody hell… you two better not make a mess of the van like ya did last time!”

“Comrade Pyro?”

“Mmph?”

“When we arrive at Teufort, remind Heavy to throw Scout and Soldier into creek.”

“Rrkay.”

The sun rose gradually over Teufort, illuminating the ramshackle farmhouses that concealed the not-so-secret bases of RED and BLU, and calling forth a particularly literary day. It was to be a peaceful morning, followed by a war-wrought afternoon, then maybe a donut-filled post-workday evening. Such is the life of the mercenary.

Two roads led directly into this farmland-turned-battleground; one contained a camper van, plodding along towards its destination. The other held a red pickup truck, whose hard-hatted driver was, at the moment, a bit troubled. Very troubled, actually

Talking swords tend to do that to one’s nerves.

“Uh… say, Demo… ah know you’ve had that there sword for a while now, and it’s real nice and all, but d’ya think maybe… you could turn it off? ‘til we get to Teufort, I mean.”

“Heeeeeeadsssss… Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaadsssss…”

“The Eyelander’s not a lamp, Engie! Can’t turn th’ bloody thing off.”

“It’s just… well… how do ah put this lightly?”

“Heeeeeeeeeeeeeadsssssssssss…”

“Damn thing’s givin’ me the willies! There, ah said it.”

“Ah, don’t fret, lad! Only one’s got to worry about this beauty are those stinkin’ BLU’s! Those lousy, rotten, two-timin’…”

“Um… you sure ‘bout that? ‘cause that thing’s kinda… floatin’ toward my head there.”

“… petty, block-headed… eh, what now? Oh, sorry aboot that, Engie! This hunk a’ metal’s got a mind of its own, don’cha know?”

“Yeah… no foolin’.”

“Say, how long ‘fore we’re in Teufort? We’ve been drivin’ for days, feels like.”

“Oh, ‘bout twenty minutes ah’d say. We oughta be there before everyone else.”

“Aye, sounds good.”

“… Demo… you feelin’ alright?”

“Right as rain! Why d’ya ask?”

“Well, ah don’t know. It seems like… you’ve been awful keen on that weapon a’ yours lately.”

“So? S’ a good weapon! Lots of people like their weapons! Just look at Heavy!”

“Yeah, ah know. It’s just-”

“And ye’re always mopey over yer Sentries gettin’ demolished! Sometimes I even see ya huggin’ the bloody things!”

“Ah don’t do that!”

“Saw it with me own eye!”

“Probably just saw me haulin’ one around, is all.”

“No, yeh were definitely huggin’ it. Like a wee baby.”

“Hogwash.”

“Whatever yeh say, laddie.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“… ya know, lad, I think-”

“Ah do not hug mah sentries!”

“Heeeeeeaddsss.”

“Oh, put a sock in it, ya rusty toenail clipper!”

“Mission begins in 60 seconds.”

Soldier gritted his teeth. Today was the day. After 298 days of the day being the day, this was finally, really going to be the day!

The Demoman was going down.

“’ey, Soldier.” Scout strode up to the military man with a somewhat-guilty look on his face. “I… kinda wanted to apologize for smackin’ ya upside da skull with that shoe-filled pillowcase last night. I was just… really freakin’ tired, y’know?”

Soldier tore his mind away from the gruesome, Demoman-related thoughts that inhabited it. “Hrm. No harm done. My head is as sturdy as a rock.”

“… yyyeah. Anyway, me n’ Sniper were thinkin’ about goin’ into town after work today. Y’know; soak in da night life, pick up some chicks…”

“Buy Sniper a pint or two to make up fer ruining his new boots…” Sniper helpfully added.

“Aw, c’mon, Snipes! I said I was sorry!”

“’Sorry’ is not worth two cents when it comes to crocodile-skin kicks, mate.”

“Whateva’.” Scout turned his attention back to Soldier. “So? You in, Sarge?”

Soldier didn’t even have to think twice. “No can do, private. I will be busy plotting my next move against the Scottish Menace tonight.”

“Mission begins in 30 seconds.”

Scout let out the most exasperated sigh he could manage. “You still mopin’ and dopin’ about that rummy?! It’s been, like, a year now! Give it a rest, already!”

“Gotta agree with Scout on this one.” Sniper paused briefly as he let those words sink in. “This feud you’ve got with their Demoman is gettin’ just a bit out of hand. You don’t even fight anyone else nowadays! Just him!”

“He is the true enemy!” Soldier bellowed. “Everyone else on RED is just a pawn in his fiendish plan for world domination!”

Scout pondered for a moment. “So you’re saying that the guy who regularly stumbles onto da battlefield drunk, crying, and mumbling crazy shit… is the mastermind behind their whole operation?”

“That is exactly what I am saying!”

“Mm-hm, mm-hm. Soldier,” Scout put a hand on the mercenary’s shoulder, “I do believe you have gone insane. More insane than you usually are.”

“Mission begins in 10 seconds.”

“C’mon, Solly.” Sniper pleaded, “Come to town with us! Maybe what ya need to get out of this rut you’re in is to spend some time with your friends.”

“Friends? Friends?!” Soldier launched himself at Sniper, grabbing him by the lapels.

“Five.”

“I have no friends!”

“Four.”

“My friends are vengeance!”

“Three.”

“And justice!”

“Two.”

“And NOT THE DEMOMAN!”

“One.”

“IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?”

A large hand rested on Soldier’s shoulder, and the furious mercenary turned his head sharply to find Heavy standing behind him, “Please, comrade Soldier. Save anger and yelling for tiny RED team. Da?”

Soldier growled, releasing Sniper and marching angrily away from his flabbergasted teammates. “Clearly you all cannot handle the truth. The truth is that the Demoman must be stopped! He must be eliminated before he can ruin any more friendships!” He spun around to face them. “If you will not help me accomplish this mission, then I will help myself! To accomplishment! Of the mission!”

And with that, the Soldier strode away, heading straight into the heat of battle. After reflecting on their teammate’s usual nonsense for a few seconds, the rest of the BLU team followed suit, filing out of spawn one by one.

“Am I da only one who can’t understand a word that guy shouts sometimes?” Scout queried, walking beside Sniper towards the battlements. “ I mean, hell, Pyro makes more sense half the time. No offense, Pyro.”

“Nn trken!”

Sniper busied himself with the task of unwrinkling his lapels. “Wouldn’t let it bother ya too much. Rocket-Hopper’s a bloody enigma.”

“He’s a knuckle-head is what he is.” Scout stopped in his tracks, spying the enemy team’s Engineer across the battlefield on RED‘s battlements, then looking down at the baseball clasped in his hand. “’ey, Snipes! Betcha I can bonk Hardhat over there from across the yard!”

“Knock yerself out.” Sniper said as he casually plugged the enemy Soldier with a smirk. “Or knock him out, I should say.”

“Yeah, yeah. Watch dis!”

Scout grinned, releasing the ball into the air, taking aim with his bat, and with the skill and dexterity only a pro could muster, …

… completely missed.

Engineer heard the sound of frustrated cusses emanating from BLU’s base. Seeing their Scout kicking up dirt and throwing his hat on the ground, then spotting the baseball rolling towards his feet, Engie put two and two together.

“Hah! Must be real buggy today!” The Texan made sure to yell loud enough so that the Scout could hear him. “Feels like somethin’ flew right past mah head!”

The Scout directed several choice words towards the chuckling Engineer that - as there may be impressionable young’uns reading this story - the author will not disclose at this time.

“Maybe y’all oughta take up tee ball instead! Might be more your speed!” Engie barely got the last couple words in before pistol bullets and expletives began whizzing by his head.

“Aw, shoot.” the builder muttered as he ducked behind cover.

A figure in a well-tailored suit materialized next to him “Well, laborer? Was it worth it, or was it worth it?”

“Heh. Definitely worth it.”

“Yes, I would have to agree.” the RED Spy perused his cigarette case. “Your sentry is at ze ready, correct?”

“Darn tootin’.” Engineer stated proudly as he pulled out his shotgun. “You headin’ for their basement?”

“You know me all too well.” the saboteur smiled as he donned a Medic mask.

Engineer puzzled at the Spy‘s disguise choice. “Y’know they’re gonna find out you’re not their Medic when ya don’t start healin’ ‘em, right?”

“By ze time they realize zis,” Spy flourished his butterfly knife, “They will already be dead.”

Engie shrugged. “Suit yourself. You’ll need a distraction, though. Ah’ll draw their fire while you slip by ‘em.”

“You’re going to draw zheir fire?” Spy raised an eyebrow behind his paper mask, “Forgive me for saying so, but you’re not exactly… built for that sort of thing. What about Soldier and Heavy?”

“Well, Sollie’s down, and Heavy…” the sound of a gunshot pierced through the air, followed by a guttural, bear-like death cry, “… is also down. Damn Sniper.”

“Well, then.” the Frenchman took a short drag of his cigarette, “I suppose we have no other option.”

“Right. On three.” Engie counted on his fingers, “One… two…”

“FREEEEEEEEEDOM!”

A red blur flew past the two mercenaries, barreling towards the BLU base and making general mayhem as it went.

“Gall dangit, Demo!” Engineer scolded the blur, “What’d ah tell ya ‘bout rushin’ in without a plan?!”

“A blessing in disguise, my hard-hatted friend.” the Spy began to saunter off, “Our inebriated teammate has provided the perfect distraction. Au revoir!”

Engie pouted as the saboteur vanished in the general direction of the opposing base. He was about to make himself scarce as well, when another baseball arced over his head.

“FREAKIN’-” came a voice from BLU base.

That boy really did need to take up tee ball.

The Demoman had been here. Soldier’s keen American senses led him to this deduction.

The various severed heads on the ground had also led him to this deduction, but not as much as his keen American senses did.

Soldier tightened his grip on the Direct Hit - a memento from his war with the Demoman. A war that never truly ended.

The mercenary treaded carefully through BLU team‘s base. The Scottish Menace had infiltrated their defensive perimeter. He could be anywhere! Hiding in the rafters… camouflaged against the wall…

“Hullo, traitor.”

… or standing right in front of him. Soldier momentarily wished he had a helmet that didn’t entirely obstruct his vision.

“Demoman.” he said his former friend’s name like it was a deadly illness, “At last, we meet.”

“Yeh say tha’ every time we meet, ya sorry git.” the Scotsman stared the military man down with one glowing eye, “And every time, I end up kicking your sorry git arse.”

“Ha! Every time, you say? You’re forgetting who’s wearing the boots around here!” Soldier clicked his Gunboats together to emphasize the point.

“Ach, are you still on aboot that? Yeh got those ballet slippers for winning… what? Five battles? Six?”

“I won most of those battles, I’ll have you know!” Soldier retorted furiously, “I would have won all of them, had a certain cyclops not cheated repeatedly.”

“Ay! Lining spawn doors with stickies is a legitimate strategy, I‘ll have ye know!”

“Not on my battlefield, pumpkin-eater!”

“Ye’re just sore cos’ I won the best weapon of all.” he brandished the Eyelander with all the bravado that a drunk man could muster.

“Your middle-aged toothpick can’t match the unfettered might of American-made weaponry!”

“Those weapons were made in Australia.”

“You take that back!”

“Th’ only thing ah’ll be takin’ is that dried-up prune you call a head!”

“Heeeeeeadsssss!”

Soldier narrowed his eyes at the talking weapon, “Who asked you?!”

“Ay, are we doin’ this, or are yeh gonna spend th’ whole match makin’ small talk with me sword?”

“At least that dime store antique is easier to talk to than you ever were!” Soldier sneered.

“Oh, that does it,” Demoman clasped the Eyelander with both hands, “Ye’ve pushed one too many of me buttons!”

“So you really are a robot! I knew it!”

“Wha’ does that even mean?”

“It means you’re scrap metal!”

The Direct Hit rumbled as Soldier pulled the trigger, a deadly rocket flying out to meet its target. Demoman had barely moments to react, ducking out of the projectile’s path. The wall behind the Scotsman exploded as the rocket made impact, showering both mercenaries in dirt and debris.

Demoman picked himself up and dusted off the Eyelander, “Well now, so much for ‘Direct H-’” another rocket found its mark, knocking him off his feet and into the newly-created hole in the wall.

“What’s that, DeGroot? Can’t hear you over the sound of VICTORY!” Soldier gloated, striking a patriotic pose as he did so.

A muffled war cry echoed from the other side of the hole, growing louder in volume as its source got closer and closer. The Demoman tore through the cavity and made a swift beeline toward his nemesis.

The two foes collided, Demoman shoving Soldier into the opposing wall. The Direct Hit flew from the latter’s hands and landed on the ground behind them.

The now-very-angry Scotsman pressed the Eyelander close to the Soldier’s jugular, “Yeh don’t mind if I borrow yer noggin for a while? Y’never use it anyway.”

Soldier struggled to keep the sword at a reasonably safe distance from his neck, “You can… oof… keep the head. Rmf. Just as long as you don’t take my right knee.”

“Aye? And why’s tha’?” Demoman asked.

Soldier answered his question by swinging the aforementioned knee directly into the Demoman’s smiley face.

Many thoughts rushed through the Scotsman’s head in that moment. Most were along the lines of “BLOODY FECKIN’ HELL!” and “AAARGH, ME STICKYBOMBS!” But out of all of them, the only one that managed to escape his mouth was “… eep!”

The Demoman dropped his blade and collapsed into a decidedly un-warrior-like position. Soldier wasted no time in retrieving his rocket launcher and lining up a shot on the disabled Scotsman.

“Say hello to your robot ancestors, DeGroot!” Soldier bellowed, unleashing a torrent of rockets from his weapon.

Acting quickly despite the immense amount of pain he was in, the Demoman rolled out of each rocket’s path. The projectiles blew up the ground around the two combatants, casting a wall of dust and ash about them.

Soldier found his vision obscured more so than usual due to the cloud of dirt enveloping him. He looked all around, but couldn‘t find his target anywhere. “Alright, Demoman, come out where I can see you! You can’t hide forever!”

With his eyesight doing no good, the American listened closely for footsteps. He heard one - only one - before the Scotsman burst forth from the cloud behind him. It was enough for the Soldier to react, raising the Direct Hit in defense before the Demoman brought down his blade. The Eyelander struck the rocket launcher, cleaving the barrel in two.

Soldier stared dumbstruck at the pile of metal he had just been using to kill his enemy with. “Hey, no fair! You can’t break a man’s weapon like that! I think there’s something in the Geneva Convention about this…”

Demoman grinned. “Looks like yer-” he squeaked before clearing his throat, “Looks like yer Direct Hit was more of a Direct Shit!”

From behind his helmet, Soldier’s eyes shot daggers at his enemy, “Like I haven’t heard that one before!”

In one swift motion, Soldier chucked what remained of his rocket launcher at Demoman, before unsheathing his Equalizer.

The Scotsman dodged out of the way of the half-Direct Hit, immediately bringing his sword up to meet the pickaxe hurtling towards his face.

The Equalizer made impact with the Eyelander, knocking its wielder backwards. The Demoman quickly recovered from the blow, and charged once more towards the Soldier, shouting as he did.

This time, Soldier was the one to be knocked back, hurtling straight out the left-hand door of BLU’s base. He managed to land on his feet, and prepared for another onslaught by the demolitions expert.

“Soldier! Kamerad!” the mercenary heard a voice call from behind him. He turned to see his team’s Medic sprinting across the bridge, looking a little worse for wear. The doctor stopped next to his would-be patient.

“You are hurt, mein friend!” Medic exclaimed after quickly examining Soldier’s wounds. “Bitte, allow me to heal yo-”

“NO!” Soldier roared, raising the Equalizer and turning his back on the German. He spotted Demoman strolling menacingly out of the base. “This is my fight, Doc! And my fight, alone!”

Before Medic could protest, a blue blur jumped down from the base’s battlements, joining Soldier at his side. “C’mon, man! Let us help you!” Scout insisted. “Dat guy’s all… glowy-eyed and shit! He’s been slaughterin’ us like a maniac! There’s no way you can take ‘em on all by yourself!”

“Wot’s th’ hold-up, Soldier? Are we gonna stop fightin’ so ye can chat with yer girlfriends?” Demoman taunted. “Or are ye letting’ them do the fightin’ for yeh?”

“You asked for it, pal! We’re gonna lay the smackdow-OOF!” Scout’s threat was interrupted by a sharp shove to his chest. Soldier pushed both him and Medic out of the way; the doctor landed a few feet behind the patriot, while Scout found himself careening off the bridge into the water below. Peals of laughter broke out from both base’s battlements.

“I’ve got all the help I need right here.” Soldier grumbled, clenching the Equalizer in his hand. The wood handle creaked slightly from the pressure.

“Prove it, then.” Demoman spat, stooping into a fighter’s stance. “Let’s have us a real battle, ya treacherous snake!”

The two fighters rushed forward, ready to greet one another with deadly steel.

The Eyelander and the Equalizer clashed. The tremulous din of metal striking metal resounded throughout the Badlands. Any mercenary still fighting now turned their attention towards the BLU Soldier and RED Demoman engaged in furious combat on the bridge.

The friends-turned-enemies dug their heels into the ground, their weapons locked together and their heads centimeters away from butting each other.

“You brought this on yourself, DeGroot!” Soldier growled under his breath, “You should have never betrayed our friendship!”

“I never betrayed our frienship!” Demoman growled in similar fashion, “Ye’re the one who sold me out fer yer… yer bloody trinkets!”

“I only did that because you called me a citizen!”

“Liar!”

“Turncoat!”

“Arsehole!”

“Cyclops!”

Soldier and Demoman pushed off of each other. Anger and adrenaline coursing through their arms, they brought their weapons up with the intent to kill. The American swung his pickaxe overhead, planning to bring it down on his enemy’s skull. The Scotsman positioned his blade at his side, ready to plunge it directly into his foe’s stomach.

The two mercenaries struck out, the Equalizer and the Eyelander just about to hit their marks…

And then they were gone.

Literally. They vanished.

A flash of light blinded the RED and BLU onlookers, filling their vision with every color imaginable. When their sight returned, Soldier and Demo had disappeared.

The mercenaries could only stare awestruck at the spot where the two had just been fighting. Only RED Engineer had the courage to step forward and examine the site.

The inventor looked around. Nothing. No Soldier. No Demoman. Not even a scorch mark or piece of shrapnel. If he hadn’t known better, Engie would have thought they were never there to begin with.

The Texan got up and put his hands on his hips. For a minute, he didn’t take his eyes off the patch of bridge that once held the two combatants. Finally, he looked up at his confused co-workers.

“Well. Now what?”

“Arr! Take that, maggot!”

Soldier’s pickaxe was embedded deep in the Demoman’s skull, which had suddenly become jagged and rock-like in texture. Actually, now that Soldier thought about it, Demoman’s skull looked more like a rock than a skull at the moment. And upon closer inspection, Soldier decided that it was a rock his pickaxe was embedded in.

“Ha! You can’t fool me, Demoman! Everybody knows robots can shapeshift! Huttah! Hyah! Hoowah!”

Soldier struck the Demo-rock again and again, breaking it bit by bit until it was nothing but dust. Having mined him into submission, Soldier should have felt victorious over his fallen foe. But in his heart, he knew that all he had done was beat up a boulder.

Soldier puzzled for a minute, before turning towards his teammates.

“Men? I think the Scottish Menace esca-. Men? Where’d you go?”

Only now did Soldier realize his situation. Everyone in the base had vanished. Heck, the base itself had vanished! In its place stood a dense forest. Trees as far as the eye could see, and flora that Soldier couldn’t quite recognize.

The mercenary huffed. “Well, this is a fix. Now how am I gonna kill the Demoman? Maybe he’s around here somewhere… hiding…”

At this thought, Soldier switched into full-on ambush prevention mode. He gripped his pickaxe and held it in front of him. “Show yourself, Cyclops! You can’t sneak around me! Disregarding that one time you snuck around me!”

Soldier heard movement directly to his right, and braced for the oncoming Scotsman. He turned to face his enemy, raising his Equalizer to attack…

… a small white rabbit.

“Huh. You’re not the Demoman.”

Soldier must have been seeing things, but it almost seemed like the rabbit gave him a sarcastic look that said “No kidding.”

The patriot scratched his chin, taking his mind off the Demoman for a brief moment. “So this is a forest… and you’re a rabbit…”

The “No kidding” look on the rabbit’s face persisted.

“I can’t be anywhere near Teufort. I must’ve been teleported here. Maybe one of Engie’s devices is on the fritz… You there! White rabbit!”

The creature’s ears perked up, and it snapped to attention.

“I read in a book once that your kind is pretty good at leading people to things. So lead me to the Demoman!”

The rabbit tilted its head to one side, making a confused sort of expression.

“You heard me, Private! You! Demoman! March!”

Soldier expected the tiny furball to relent to his drill sergeant assertiveness, but instead the rabbit adopted an angry demeanor. The height difference did not stop the small creature from giving Soldier a stare-down.

Soldier decided to return the glare. “Are you disobeying a direct order, maggot? I am not above physical discipline, you mutinous mammal!”

The two proceeded to have an inter-species staring contest, which lasted for nearly a full minute. It most likely would have gone on longer, had they not been interrupted by a high-pitched shriek.

The rabbit swiveled in the direction of the scream, and immediately took off into the woods.

“Hey! Get back here! I’m not done intimidating you!”

Soldier followed in kind, bounding through the forest after the white rabbit. With his attention focused on catching the rodent, the patriot failed to hear another scream coming from the other side of the woods.

“AAAAAAAAAIGHH! RUN FER YER BLOODY LIFE!”

Demoman dashed through the forest, fear etched on every inch of his face. Behind him, crashing through several rows of trees, stormed a towering beast; a reptilian creature sporting not one, not two, but four heads, each one roaring madly at the Scotsman. In one of its massive claws the Eyelander lay embedded.

Demoman had no idea where he was, or how he’d gotten here. He remembered being moments away from skewering the Soldier, but somehow his sword ended up stabbing this enormous monster instead. And now he was in a never-ending forest, probably kilometers away from home, running like crazy from a livid four-headed demon.

The mercenary could only hope that Soldier was being chased by something equally as horrible and angry.

Soldier chased after the horrible white rabbit, becoming angrier with each step. He’d been following the animal for miles, and still the Demoman was nowhere to be found. Either that book he read was a load of nonsense, or this rabbit was terrible at his job.

The military man was about to give the rabbit a stern shouting-to when the creature suddenly stopped. Soldier screeched to a halt beside it, and found that they had come upon a clearing.

“Wait, why’d we stop? Is he here? Where’s the Demo-oh…oh, man…”

Sunlight pierced through the gaps in the tree branches, illuminating what appeared to be a pack of wolves. Only, they weren’t wolves in the conventional sense. They were heaps of sticks and leaves, pressed together in forms that vaguely resembled large canines. Their eyes glowed an eerie, sickening green as they encircled a small bush. The bush in question was shaking violently, as if some frightened animal was hiding inside.

Upon hearing the Soldier and his rabbit guide approach, the wooden wolves rounded on them. They growled and snapped their jaws, inching closer and closer to the pair. It became apparent that their intended form of sustenance was not water.

“I don’t suppose you can animal-talk our way out of this?” Soldier whispered to the rabbit without taking his gaze off the wolves. The critter shook its head slowly, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Then I guess we’re gonna have to teach these Lincoln Logs a thing or two about camping.”

Soldier quickly snapped two sticks off a nearby tree, rubbing them together vigorously. A stream of smoke began to billow from the friction, and soon a spark of fire lit the branches. Pyro would’ve been proud.

The wolves balked at the sight of the flame, backing away in alarm. Soldier’s wicked grin was made more menacing by the fire’s light.

“Here, boys! Fetch!” Soldier threw one of the makeshift torches directly at the foremost wolf, and the hellish creature instantly went up in flames. The other canines looked on in shock as their comrade was reduced to a smoldering pile of ash.

“There’s more where that came from, you bundles of twigs!” Soldier brandished his second torch at the rest of the pack. The wolves swiftly realized that their best course of action was to beat a hasty retreat, and so the creatures scrambled into the darkest reaches of the forest, completely out of sight.

Soldier dropped the torch and stamped out the fire. “Hmph. I’ve wrestled poodles with more guts than those mutts! Don’t worry, rabbit. You’re safe no- Rabbit? Hey, wait!”

For the second time in as many minutes, the lagomorph ignored Soldier and took off, heading towards the vibrating bush that the wolves had set their sights on earlier. When the rabbit approached, it appeared to console the bush, causing it to stop shaking.

Soldier followed the animal and scratched the back of his head. “Um… I’m glad I could help your… bush. I guess.” An imaginary light bulb flickered over his helmet. “Oh, I get it! This must be where the Demoman is hiding! Good work, white rabbit! I knew I could count on you!”

A confused look once again manifested on the creature’s face.

Soldier adopted an authoritative voice. “Alright, Demoman! Get on out here so we can fight like men!”

The bush resumed shaking.

“What are ya, chicken? C’mon, DeGroot! Lemme see your war face!”

The shaking intensified.

Soldier huffed. “Okay. Fine. If you’re not going to come out on your own, then I’ll just have to drag you out!”

The rabbit swept in between the angry yelling man and the trembling bush, making squeaks of protest.

“Oh, don’t turn hippie on me, rabbit! This menace needs to learn a lesson about destroying people’s friendships! And I plan to teach him in the most painful way possible!”

At the mention of the word “friendships” the bush suddenly stopped shaking, and its inhabitant began to emerge ever-so-gradually.

Soldier beamed in triumph. “That’s more like it! Now get your yellow, furry, winged self over here so we can wait you’re not Demoman.”

Indeed, what came out of the bush was not Demoman at all. What met Soldier’s obscured eyes was a small creature, perhaps 3 feet in height (the fact that it was cowering made it hard to tell), whose whole body was covered in pastel-yellow fur, save for a shower of pink hair cascading down its head. A pair of wings sprouted from its back, and adorning its flank was a picture, or maybe a tattoo, of three butterflies.

The creature warily stood on four hooves to reach its full height. Its large blue eyes could never really meet Soldier’s.

The mercenary grimaced. “What kind of white rabbit are you, white rabbit?! This is not the Demoman! This is a horse! And a very small one, too! “ He took a moment to examine the bashful-looking critter in front of him. The horse-creature shrank behind its mane as Soldier paced around it.

“Hm. I’ve made a decision. Rabbit?” he turned to the white rodent, “You’re dismissed. Horse?” he turned back to the yellow equine, “You’re my new white rabbit. Go find the Demoman.”

Soldier once again found himself glaring at a confused-looking animal. The small horse tilted its head, blue eyes shimmering in thought.

Soldier sighed as his shoulders slumped, “Don’t any of you forest-dwellers know what a Demoman is?? Big and mean? Has an eye patch and a stupid accent? Ring any bells?”

The horse and the rabbit glanced at each other, then turned back to the mercenary and shook their heads.

“Eh, forget it! As far as I’m concerned, you’re both terrible white rabbits. Especially you, white rabbit!” Soldier began to march off. “I’ll locate the Demoman on my own! … just as soon as I find out where the heck I am!”

“Um…”

Soldier halted at the sudden burst of sound coming from behind him. He turned around to see the small horse looking downward and pawing at the ground with a hoof.

“We… we can still help you… find your friend. If that’s okay…” the equine said.

Soldier lifted his helmet to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him like his ears were.

“It’s the least we could do… I mean, after you saved me from the… the timber wolves.” the small horse all but whispered the last few words. “Um… thank you for that… by the way.”

Soldier scowled and plopped the helmet back on his head. “First of all,” he stated, raising a finger, “Demoman is not my friend. Second of all, holy smokes did you just talk.”

The yellow horse winced at the angry man’s rise in volume, “I… think so? Doesn‘t everypony talk?”

“Not where I come from, sister.” Soldier folded his arms, assessing this strange turn of events, “Does, uh… does the rabbit talk, too?”

The pony peered down at the white bunny, “Oh, Angel? No, not that I know of.” Her eyes returned to Soldier for about a millisecond before going back to admiring the ground.

Soldier nodded slightly. “That’s probably for the best,” he muttered. The mercenary caught a glimpse of the rodent sticking its tongue out at him.

The yellow mare ducked down to let ‘Angel’ climb onto her head. “So… well… if you don’t mind me asking…” she stammered as she shifted from hoof to hoof, “What… are you?” The pony made a tiny gasp and clapped her fore-hooves to her mouth. “Oh! I’m sorry! That must have sounded so rude. Let me try again. Um… who are you?”

Soldier attempted to push the fact that he was conversing with a horse out of his mind for the moment. He clicked his heels together and straightened up, as proud a patriot as ever. “Sergeant Jane Doe, reporting for duty, sir! Uh… ma’am!” the mercenary sketched a quick salute.

A tiny giggle escaped from the pony’s snout. Soldier was no stranger to being laughed at, but this laughter was different somehow. Less of a “what an idiot” laugh and more of an “aw, that’s cute” laugh. Soldier wasn’t sure which one he disliked more.

“And just what is so funny, Miss Horse?” Soldier queried.

“Oh, I- I’m so sorry. It’s just…” another giggle left the mare, “Well… you‘re funny… I guess…”

“Hrm. I’ve been called worse.” Soldier’s mouth was firmly between a smirk and a frown. “So what’s your name then, Twinklehooves?”

The pony ceased her laughter, opting instead to look at a group of trees directly to her left.

“Um… my- my name…?”

“Yes, your name. I will also accept any formal titles or embarrassing nicknames.”

“My name…” the mare took a deep breath and exhaled, “My name is… Fluttershy.”

“Cluttersty? Not the best name in the books, but I‘ve heard worse…”

“Um, no. Actually it’s Fluttesh-”

“Good to meet’cha, Cluttersty! I’m sure we’ll get along just fine despite your silly na-”

“My name is Fluttershy.”

There weren’t many things in the world that startled Soldier, but the pony’s sudden shift in assertiveness seemed to be one of them.

“Oh. Uh… sorry… Fluttershy.” Soldier didn’t dare mention how equally ridiculous that name sounded. “Pleasure to make your accountants. I mean, acquaintance.” the mercenary held out his hand to shake.

The pony known as Fluttershy drew back a bit, as if Soldier’s hand were some frightening creature poking its head out of a hole. For a few seconds, the sheepish mare did nothing but eye the digit-filled appendage, sizing it up and evaluating her options. The pony glanced up at her rabbit companion, then back to Soldier. The frown she displayed gradually morphed into a small smile, and she held out her hoof, ever so warily, in return.

It should be well-known that humans and equines cannot successfully perform handshakes without it being somewhat awkward and funny-looking. So it was only natural that these two awkward and funny-looking characters managed to pull it off wonderfully.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Doe.” Fluttershy replied cheerfully.

“Now!” Soldier exclaimed as the pair broke off the hand/hoof shake, “You say you’ll help me track down the Demoman?”

The mare nodded lightly, “Oh, yes! We would love to help you find your friend.”

“Not friend. Enemy.” Soldier corrected as politely as he could.

“Oh, um… okay.” Fluttershy wasn’t quite fond of that terminology, “Angel and I know the Everfree Forest like the backs of our hooves. And paws.” She looked up and smiled at her rabbit companion. “I’m sure we’ll find them in no time.”

If Soldier had a rocket launcher handy, he’d have been jumping for joy. “Oowah! Let’s move out, then!”

The military man began a brisk march through the forest, nearly forgetting that he now had a guide in his eagerness to find the Demoman. The bashful pony, rabbit in tow, hurried to catch up. Together, the two tread through the dense woods, neither one truly certain of their goal, but glad to have each other’s company all the same.