It had been an excellent time in New York.

The mercs' annual two weeks of summer vacation had come around, and they had decided to take a road trip to the Big Apple. So they'd piled into Sniper's camper van and made the journey. It was pretty sweet, the nine of them spending some time together without upcoming battles looming over them. Sometimes the work got tiresome, and it was good to have a break and just hang out as friends.

They would have been headed back now, but at Scout's request had decided to take a bit of a detour and spend the weekend at his Ma's house. They had been reluctant at first, but the prospect of a real home cooked meal had been too good to pass up. So they all clambered back into the van and started the trip to Boston, eight of them in the back, Pyro taking his turn at driving.

Scout had been practically elated when they'd first set off. But now, he was oddly subdued. For someone so anxious to see his mother, and particularly for their rambunctious Scout, it was... strange. The others didn't make much of it at first, but soon his silence became unnerving. Finally, Engineer bit the bullet and asked.

"Something bothering you, boy?" he said, knowing he didn't want to hear whatever Scout was about to say.

"Well..." Scout began hesitantly. "There's, uh... something you guys oughta know 'bout my Ma."

"And what's that, lad?" said Demoman, taking a swig.

"Well, ya see..." Scout paused. He was dreading this. "She doesn't exactly... Doesn't exactly know I'm a merc."

Everything in the van went still as they turned to look at him. He grinned nervously.

"Sorry? What do you mean by that, boy?" Engineer peered at him intently through his goggles.

"I never told her I'm a merc." Scout dropped his eyes and shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

"But you write letters to her all the time," Sniper said. "What, the 'kill or be killed' part just never came up?"

"What have you been telling her, son?" There was a note of trepidation, and perhaps a tinge of rebuke, in Engineer's tone.

"My ma... Well, she thinks that I'm, uh..."

"Spit it out," growled Spy.

Scout closed his eyes and braced himself. "She thinks that I'm in a professional folk choir."

There was a beat of dead silence.

Then hysterical laughter as the entire team processed this news.

"A folk choir? A folk choir!? You must be joking!"

"A singer! Mein gott, are your serious, Scout?!"

Scout did his best to weather the onslaught of mockery, rolling his eyes resignedly. Only Sniper was frowning.

"Scout, I've noticed our names in those letters," he began, and the laughter slowly began to die out as the rest of the team gradually boarded his train of thought. "What does your mum think we do?"

The entire team was silent once more, looking at Scout, this time with new concern.

"Well..." Scout dithered. He'd known he would have to tell them. That didn't mean he was looking forward to it. "She may have gotten the impression that... you guys... are my choir mates."

The silence congealed into solid disbelief. Scout looked up at his teammates, biting his lip.

"Your mama..." Engineer said slowly, "thinks we're all singers."

"Well, no..." Scout replied. There was a moment of decreased tension. Then he went on. "Some of you are instrumentalists."

It took both Engineer and Heavy to wrestle Soldier off Scout while he screamed at him unintelligibly. When he had calmed down slightly, at least to the point of temporary non-violence, everyone turned back to the cowering Scout.

"I think an explanation is in order," Spy said, glowering at Scout.

"Come on, guys!" Scout said, straightening up and pinching his bleeding nose. "She's my Ma! She worries. I couldn't tell her I was out there plugging guys full of bullets, and taking a fair share of them myself! She'd be so upset! And disappointed."

"Didn't stop me telling my parents the truth," Sniper grumbled. Scout ignored him.

"So, I lied," he continued. "She'd always wanted me to become a musician. Had me in every lesson we could afford when I was growing up. And I wanted to be able to tell her about you guys. So... Team BLU became a professional folk choir."

"What kind of pansies do you think we are?" Soldier roared.

"Hey!" Scout protested. "It's American folk music! I thought you'd like that!"

Soldier's expression was conflicted. He clearly felt folk choirs were for hippies. Yet the allure of Americana was strong. Engineer stepped in.

"That's all well and good in your letters," he said, "but we're going to meet your mama. That could become a problem."

"No, it won't!" Scout was desperate. "Look, it's not like you're going to have to perform or anything. Just follow my lead and play along with the story, alright? You guys could manage that for a weekend." He looked at his teammates, wide-eyed and earnest.

"Absolutely not!" Spy retorted, after a moment. "I will not be complicit in this ridiculous-"

"Sure we will, Scout," Medic sighed. They all looked at him. Scout broke into a wide, beaming grin.

"Thanks, man! I knew I could count on you guys!" Scout's tone of surprised relief belied his statement.

"Doctor, I do not think-"

"We are a team, Heavy," Medic said primly. "We help each other."

There was a sort of reluctant, grumbling assent from the rest of the team, as though they were doubting the value of this principle.

"But most of all, as much fun as it would be to get Scout in trouble," Medic went on, as Scout's expression changed from relief to shocked dejection, "it would be much, much more entertaining to watch him flounder through this lie for a weekend."

You could almost hear the gears turning in their heads as the team imagined this scenario. Soon they were all grinning and nodding. Scout was looking from one teammate to the other in horror.

"Whether we succeed or fail," Medic continued, "we will get an excellent show from Scout here, and there are no consequences to speak of for us."

"What? Guys-" Scout began, but Sniper cut him off.

"Be glad we're bothering to try at all, mate," he said, slapping him on the back with a malicious smile.

Scout looked more grimly frightened than ever.

"If we are going to be doing this," Spy said, lighting a cigarette, "then we will need to know the full story."

Scout took a breath and laid it out for them.

It can be boiled down to this. BLU Thunder was a folk choir that toured the Southern states, performing gigs and competing against other groups in folk festivals. Each choir member had a nickname, which just happened to be the same as the mercs' class names. Scout and Medic were tenors, Sniper and Soldier made up the baritone section, and Demo and Heavy sang bass. The remaining three were instrumentalists, with Engie on guitar, Pyro on percussion, and Spy on accordion.

"Accordion?" Spy said blankly.

"Well, yeah," Scout said. "You know, 'cause you're French. French movies always have accordions playing, so..."
"Fascinating theory," Spy replied. "But in spite of your bizarre notion of Frenchmen, I do not play accordion."

"Haven't you been listening? You don't need to," Scout said, a hint of frustration colouring his tone. "You just gotta say you do."

"I cannot believe we are-"

There was a noise from Pyro at the wheel. The mercs looked up and saw they were pulling into the driveway of a small brick house.

"That's it!" Scout cried, pointing enthusiastically. "That's my house! Oh, man! It's been forever since I was back here! Come on, guys!" He hopped up, slinging his bag over his shoulder, then paused. He turned to his friends.

"Oh, and guys?" He gave them a look. "Be cool, okay?"

Then he sauntered out of the van. Anticipating the adventures the weekend was sure to provide, the team followed.