...And then everybody was like "ah mah gawd Chaos deleted scene por favore" so how could I deny? So I put it up a couple of hours after updating because sometimes I'm really bad at things like patience.

So instead of replying to your wonderful reviews I put this up instead. Hehehehe.

I wrote this almost immediately after finishing up writing the epilogue (no spoilers for that audience, haw-ha!). It's somewhat rushed, but I hope you like it nonetheless. Thanks to Maggot Magnet for her work as my professional consultant!

Disclaimer: Do I know? NOPE!

Trust

The left side of his face hurt like hell, but it didn't really matter to Sniper. Nothing seemed to matter at that moment except for his own burning anger and the occasional flashes of blue as the BLU team scattered for cover under the wave of an unrelenting RED team.

They were going to tear this place brick from fucking brick. Because Scout was…Scout had been…

Sniper's mind refused to touch the idea, refused to even fancy it. No. Spy had been mistaken somehow. Scout was fine. Scout was fine. And he was running down the corridors towards the sewers in order to prove it.

Grating shouts and explosions carried in the floors above. The BLUs weren't going down without a fight. Sniper threw himself around a corner, cursing his body for being so slow despite his lanky frame, cursing the BLUs, cursing God above for everything and anything. He stopped to catch his breath. The left side of his face seared with pain as he reached up to brush it.

Damn Pyro. He'd get the mumbling weirdo for this. And his glasses.

Sniper closed his eyes, listening to the now-near sound of running water. Spy and Scout could be anywhere down here, he realized. It was dark and dank and frankly a little scary.

A rough, guttural scream jolted him from his reverie. It echoed down the dark corridors and blindly Sniper followed it, blundering through the ankle-deep water. He knew that voice, although he'd never heard it in such a terrible way before.

The spook.

"Holy dooley…"

Sniper slowed to a halt, stunned. There were rivulets of red running in the water now. He had found Spy.

His teammate stood in the middle of three dead BLUs—the Soldier, the Pyro, and the Sniper—half-panting, half-sobbing, grabbing at his shorn hair and looking around limply. He was armed with nothing but a blood-drenched butterfly knife.

Spy's mask was off.

Sniper swallowed hard as Spy spun around to face him, the look in his gray-blue eyes dead and hopeless. He raised a trembling hand towards Sniper, brandishing the butterfly knife.

For an instant they didn't recognize each other, and for good reason. Spy was trapped in his own private hell, too overwhelmed with shock and horror to register that it was a friend approaching. As for Sniper, well, he was too busy staring at the skeletal, pockmarked face he never knew Spy had.

Spy took a staggering step forward. Sniper snapped out of it. He knew all too well how dangerous an injured animal could be when cornered. "Spook…" he murmured, sheathing his kukri, "spook, it's me…it's Lawrence…put it down, spook…put the knife down…" He kept his voice low, assuring, calm despite the hammering in his chest.

Something flickered in Spy's eyes, and for an instant the knife lowered. Then it came back up again. He didn't say a word, just stared at Sniper with hatred and fury and…fear.

It was the fear that made Sniper's insides roil. He cleared his throat. "Spook…spook, it's me…there ain't no BLUs here. You got them. Put it down. Put it down, and take me to Scout."

At the sound of the boy's name a growl rose in Spy's throat.

"We're here to get 'im, spook," Sniper whispered, all the while keeping his voice steady, "we're here to take 'im home."

The harsh clatter of the knife hitting the cold metal of the sewers rang through Sniper's ears. Instantly he jumped forward, catching Spy as the smaller man crumpled. His blood-soaked gloves were grabbing at his gaunt face. He was shivering all over, and a stretched-out sob shook his skinny frame.

No, this wasn't right. This wasn't Spy. The spook was supposed to be cool and distant and confident and professional. He didn't let things like emotions get in the way. He didn't…this wasn't Spy…

On instinct Sniper tightened his grip on his trembling teammate, pulling him closer out of a need to protect. Other than that, he had no idea what he was supposed to do. Of all the people to have a mental breakdown, it just had to be Spy. And of all the people to find him in this state, it just had to be him.

Christ Almighty, they didn't even like each other.

He eased back away from Spy but didn't release him. The Frenchman was keeping his exposed face to the ground, sobbing softly and refusing to meet Sniper's eyes. The Aussie felt a wave of revulsion. What had happened to knock the spook off of his pedestal? What had gone wrong?

"Spook," he murmured at last, "yer bleedin'."

Warm blood was blossoming over Spy's left shoulder. He reached up to touch it with his good arm, fingered the hole the bullet had made in his suit.

"Does it hurt?"

A quick nod.

"D'you want me to bandage it up? I got a medkit…"

He'd said the wrong thing. He had a habit of saying the wrong thing. Spy jerked out of his grasp and stumbled back against the wall, breathing quickening. He was shaking his head, eyes still averted.

Sniper took a brave step forward. "Spook, yer not all right. Lemme help ya, mate."

Spy's response was to slip down the wall. He was hyperventilating now, his breath coming in short, frightening 'huuuhs' of pain and fear. His gloved hands were digging to his temples and a piercing whine echoed down the sewers.

Panic attack. The goddamn spook was having a goddamn panic attack.

Sniper eased his way over to Spy, crouching down to eye-level with his least-loved teammate. "Spook?" he murmured, heart breaking when Spy flinched away from him, cowering into a tight little ball. "S'me. S'Lawrence. Ya know, the great, big, uncultured oaf? Ya punched me in the balls a few days ago?"

A twitch in the right direction. Spy still refused to meet his eyes, but he uncurled from his ball a bit, easing towards Sniper. Spy's mind was reeling, jumbled flashes of memory clashed with his current reality, leaving him dizzy and disoriented. Sniper's gruff voice had jerked his mind roughly towards reality, cut through the memories of cold nights and even colder grief like a knife. This wasn't a guard in intimidating black gear or a senior prisoner about to beat him for his crust of bread or a doctor examining him to make sure it was worth keeping him alive…this was the Sniper…this was Lawrence… and he trusted Lawrence.

He stared up at his companion's scuffed, scarred face, dimly aware of Sniper cutting away the torn fabric on his suit and shirt, assessing the bullet's damage. He didn't look at Sniper, didn't say a word, stared stubbornly at the moss-covered wall behind Sniper. The wound was painful, but he'd suffered worst, and it was secondary to the torment of his mind.

Spy waited. The bloodied fabric of his shirt had been torn away and his left arm felt limp and useless. He knew what would happen next. He was too numb and exhausted to care.

He expected the sharp intake of breath and the whispered 'holy shit'. What he didn't expect, however, is that Sniper's gaze wasn't on his arm. It was still on his shoulder. Spy stared at him in shock, and then lowered his gaze to his left arm to ensure that yes, indeed, the faded black numbers were still tattooed into his arm.

Puzzled, his eyes flickered back to Sniper, who was staunching the wound and wiping most of the blood away with an alcohol pad. "Holy shit," the Aussie repeated with a furrowed brow, "don't ya feel this, mate?"

"Wha—" He was deeply confused now, in addition to being exhausted. But no longer numb, and the hot pain was beginning to hit him in waves. "What—"

"Ya did a number on yer shoulder, mate." Sniper muttered with blue eyes still fixed on Spy's shoulder. One hand was digging quickly through the medipack looking for supplies, the other was putting a steady pressure on Spy's bad shoulder.

Either the Aussie was too stupid comprehend what those numbers meant or they just didn't matter to him.

Anger was back now, and this time he was angry at Sniper. Doesn't he understand? Doesn't he care? Spy wanted to lash out at the oaf but he was far too weak, and in this condition thrashing his only companion might not have been the most brilliant of ideas. So he settled for biting his tongue until he could taste coppery blood.

Sniper was all too aware of the quiet, and he glanced up just in time to see Spy looking the other way. He gave the bad shoulder a supportive squeeze. "S'not as bad as it looks, spook. Yer gonna be fine."

Spy gave a jerking nod. His breathing had become more even and paced as Sniper patched the wound up. "I didn't protect Scout." He whispered, staring at something far off in the distance.

There was a broken hollowness in Spy's tone, one that sent chills running down Sniper's spine. He didn't say a word, though. Mostly because he didn't know what to say. He'd never been Spy in such a state of utter vulnerability, and it scared the tough assassin from Adelaide. He waited for an instant, waited to wake up from his nightmare and go into the mess hall and see the dapper Spy smoking a cigarette as he poured some bland cereal into a bowl…

Except this wasn't a dream.

"Ya did all ya could." Sniper whispered. He hadn't removed his hand from Spy's shoulder, afraid that if Spy lost human contact he would snap completely. "We couldn't ask more of ya. Nobody blames ya—"

"I do." Spy growled, and Sniper nearly went dizzy from relief at the anger in his tone. Anger was good. Anger meant Spy was still here. "I blame me."

It was then Sniper noticed the revolver in Spy's hand, pointed at angle towards his own exposed head.

Sniper forgot about Respawn, forgot that Spy would never do such a thing. He leapt forward and smacked the gun out of his hand. The gun clanked against the metal of the sewer and finally Spy met Sniper's full gaze, glaring at him. "What was that for?"

"I didn't want ya doin' anything stupid." Sniper growled. His grip on Spy's shoulder had tightened considerably, sending tendrils of pain up and down the torn tendons. The Frenchman hissed and Sniper relaxed his hold somewhat.

"Why?" Spy demanded.

"'Cause…'cause…'cause it wouldn't do any good!" Sniper replied angrily. He cast his eyes around the dank sewer, pissed and unsure of what else to say. His strong hand was all that kept Spy against the wall, but Spy didn't even try to move, staring suspiciously up at Sniper. The Aussie glanced back at his companion with a cocked eyebrow. "Wot?"

"Why do you—"

At that moment Heavy's voice roared over the walkie-talkie system, making both men jump and wince. He was shouting wildly in Russian, and after a minute both Medic and Soldier were snapping at him to speak clearly. "IS LEETLE SCOUT!" Heavy screeched. "LEETLE SCOUT HAS RESPAWNED AS BIG SCOUT!"

The hand on Spy's shoulder was clenching now, jagged nails digging flesh. Spy didn't seem to care. They remained still and silent while the rest of the team shouted and screamed over the walkie-talkie system, from whoops of joy to threats to kill Heavy if he wasn't telling the absolute truth to what sounded like a strangled sob from Pyro.

Spy rested his head against the metal wall, feeling absolutely drained. "So." He murmured. "It is done."

"Ya gonna be all roight, spook?" Sniper shifted a bit closer to his teammate. He scooted around in order to sit down next to him. The hand didn't move, however.

Spy was staring at something only he could see, lips pressed together tightly. At Sniper's words he nodded.

The Sniper was a very patient man. So he waited, and waited, and waited, never once even shifting as Spy collected himself. The only movement he made was to tug the earpiece out of his earlobe, preferring silence to the nonsensical shouts of his team.

"Lawrence," Spy's voice was hoarse when he finally chose to speak again, "I'll ask you not to tell anyone about…" he sighed, "about what you discovered."

"That beneath that mask yer as purty as a ten-cent whore?"

Irritated, Spy shot a glance at Sniper. The Aussie was smiling faintly, apparently hoping his stupid joke would have some sort of effect on the Frenchman. But there was a look in his eyes, a silent promise, that he would never, ever say a word.

Spy winced as he pulled his ruined suit jacket back up over his bad shoulder. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Ever." Sniper stood, outstretching a hand for Spy to take.

Spy swatted his hand away, electing to stand on his own wobbly legs. But his legs didn't appear to get the memo, and he stumbled forward as they failed him.

Sniper caught him before he landed face-first in the sewer water. He hoisted the smaller man up, slinging one of Spy's arms around his broad shoulders. "Let a man do all the work."

"Fuck you, Lawrence."

"You're welcome, spook."

As Sniper half-dragged, half-carried Spy out of the sewers, Spy realized he was inwardly glad it was Sniper who had found him. All of their animosity had left him and Lawrence with an innate understanding of each other, Spy mused, and he wasn't sure if any of the other REDs would have brushed off something like his tattoo so easily. But Sniper understood privacy, and, more importantly, he understood the value of privacy. Perhaps he thought Spy would tell him when the time was right. Or perhaps he was as stupid as he looked.

At any rate, Spy decided trusting Sniper wouldn't be the stupidest decision he had ever made. As exhaustion reared its ugly and heavy head, he rested his head against Sniper's bony shoulder, eyes fluttering.

Spy was out cold before Sniper even realized what was going on.

Heh. Sorry for that friend-shippy moment at the end there, I couldn't help myself ;-;

A handful of people have always kindly asked to see a moment between the BLU Scout and leetle RED Scout, so I'll be working on that one too. Eventually. Once I finish this other Sniper-and-Spy-are-secretly-broskis-but-won't-admit-it piece I'm working on. Also I've got a Spy/Scout's Ma fic coming down the line (once I get it back from the beta!), so I guess keep an eye out for that one too? Aha, look at me go like I'm some kinda celebrity, plugging all my own stuff.

*ahem*

Thanks for reading!

~Chaos