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There was a time when Pyro could pinpoint their home star easily in the night sky. Or if not the star directly, at least the general area that they had come from anyways. But ever since landing on Earth, stumbling across Miss Pauling, and taking the job, so much time has passed—and they have moved around so much—that Pyro isn’t sure where home is supposed to be anymore.
…
The battlefield feels like home to them. It’s loud, it’s noisy, and the flamethrower in their hands burns so hot and casts such a pretty light over everything. Fire is a beautiful, beautiful thing and it warms them from the inside out and alleviates the coldness they can feel slowly permeating their chest.
But fire is something that is meant to be shared, and as warm and bright as it makes Pyro feel, it will always be warmer and brighter if shared with one, two, even eight others. And they do try, but no matter how much Pyro loves fire, they just can’t make the other mercenaries feel the same way.
…
The fire crackles merrily in front of Engineer and Pyro, the space between them filled comfortably with Engineer’s aimless strumming and the crisp sound of the bonfire. It’s a clear night out, perfect for stargazing.
Pyro’s eyes scan the horizon, hoping for a sign, any sign that would indicate where their star was. The night sky twinkles and winks back, but offers no help for them.
“I used to do this as a kid,” Engineer chuckles softly, stopping his song long enough to spear some marshmallows on a stick and hand it to Pyro. “The guys and I’d go out to the open spaces, grab some kindling and some food and just enjoy our time there. I haven’t done this in so long I’ve forgotten how nice it felt. Well… we weren’t in the mountains, and we didn’t have these two large blights we call bases here, or a war we were fighting, but the idea’s there.”
Pyro makes a noise of interest. They like hearing about Engineer’s life back home in the place he calls Texas. It’s… different. Then again, almost anything on Earth is different from what Pyro has known.
Engineer starts strumming again and tactfully turns his head away when Pyro lifts up their mask to eat the slightly burnt marshmallows. Pyro likes Engie. He never pries, and is content to let them do as they please.
“What about you?” Engineer asks softly when Pyro finishes eating their marshmallows. “What was home like for you?”
“Rrt rrs frr. Frr, frr frrrm hrrr,” Pyro says, head tilting back to look at the stars in the sky again. They sigh as they once again try to scan the stars for a sign of home.
“Yeah, I can tell you ain’t from around these places,” Engineer says sympathetically and for a fraction of a second, Pyro thinks that he knows and almost panics. But then Engineer continues on, “You’re from way down south, aren’t ya. Close to the tropics.”
Pyro nods, feeling a little bit guilty about lying to their friend. Engineer is a good friend, and Pyro loathes to deceive a friend, but this is necessary.
“Sure is warmer in the south,” Engineer sighs, picking up his neglected can of soda and taking a sip. “Viaduct almost makes me miss Teufort.”
Pyro guffaws, and Engineer cracks a smile: Engineer hates Teufort.
…
Scout doesn’t know what to make of Pyro. That’s okay; Pyro’s not sure what to make of him either. Pyro doesn’t always understand what Scout is saying— he talks so fast! –but there’s something… mean in his tone of voice. Pyro is wary of Scout. But this, too, is okay; Scout is wary of Pyro.
But they are a team, no matter how much Scout pretends he doesn’t know this, and being a team means that Pyro cannot just sit back idly while Scout is cornered by the enemy Soldier.
“Hrry! Brrck rrff!” Pyro shouts as they dash around a corner. Taking the Soldier by surprise, Pyro manages to startle him into firing a sloppily aimed rocket. With a quick release of air, the rocket is sent zipping back to its source… and, well, the rest is gibstory.
“Thanks…” Scout says cautiously, as he wipes off spattered blood and gore from his face.
“Nrr prrblrrm!” Pyro chirps, patting Scout on the back before heading in the direction of the resupply cabinet.
Scout waves, and for a rare moment, Pyro catches a glimpse of a tentative, but genuinely thankful smile. As quickly as it appeared, it’s replaced by a cockier smirk and Scout is once again off to the frontlines. It’s still enough to make Pyro feel a rush of cheery warmth, like a kindling fire on a warm midsummer night.
…
“Rrngie?” Pyro chirps as they step into Engineer’s spacious workshop.
Engineer stands up from where he’s kneeling in the components of a dispenser. “Aw Pyro, I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it this time,” he says regretfully, nodding at the bag of marshmallows that Pyro clasps eagerly to their chest.
“Rre yrr srre?” Pyro asks sadly. Campfires are so much warmer and cheerier when paired with Engineer’s good humour (and also the songs are a plus).
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Engineer says with a sigh. He reaches over the pile of machine parts and plucks his guitar from where it was leaning against the wall. He offers it to Pyro, unspoken apology in the gesture. “I haven’t taught you much yet, but you go ahead and strum away to your heart’s content.”
Pyro gently takes Engineer’s prized guitar and holds it reverently to their chest. Engineer just chuckles and turns back to his work.
…
Pyro sets up a campfire anyways, even though it doesn’t feel the same without Engie. In the cheery orange glow of the fire, Pyro starts to strum at the guitar— a tuneless, simple thing that was little more than Pyro running their gloves over the strings.
“Yo old man,” a loud voice calls from around the corner, interrupting Pyro’s amateur strumming. Scout comes around the barn with a box tucked under his arm. “Care packages are here.”
“Crrre prrkrrge?” Pyro pipes up in curiosity. Scout startles a bit, as if he hadn’t been expecting to see Pyro.
“Hey… where’s Engie?” Scout squints suspiciously around the campfire. He hasn’t moved any closer.
Pyro motions towards Engineer’s workshop, where the lights are still on, and Engineer’s vague silhouette flits around inside.
“Oh. He still workin’, then,” Scout looks nervously at Pyro, then at the campfire, then the guitar, before his eyes finally settle on the package of marshmallows at Pyro’s side.
Something in Pyro makes them motion towards an empty seat beside their own: perhaps a fleeting, but hard to ignore, urge for contact and connection. And, to their utter surprise and delight, Scout only hesitates for a brief second before sitting down.
“So, uh,” Scout clears his throat awkwardly. His voice is devoid of his normal swagger and bravado; he sounds softer than usual. Quieter. Less certain. “You ever made s’mores?”
Pyro shakes their head.
“It’s like… a sandwich. But sweeter. And better,” Scout chuckles as he rummages around his box before pulling out a dark slab of something that Pyro does not recognize. “So we just gotta put the marshmallows and chocolate together….”
It turns out that they can’t make s’mores because Scout claims that they don’t have the right crackers. Pyro thinks that the same effect can be achieved with their daily ration of hardtack (Scout did say it was a kind of sandwich after all), but Scout is absolutely affronted by this idea.
Still, the slightly charred marshmallow-chocolate mess that the two of them make is delicious in its own way. Scout claims that they should definitely do this again, but next time they’ll get it right. Pyro cheers their agreement.
The flickering flames of the campfire seem to brighten at the happy chattering between the two teammates.
…
Engineer is caught up in his work for the next few nights, but Scout lingers around the campfire with Pyro. Pyro offers to let him play a tune on Engineer’s guitar, but Scout nervously declines, stammering out some half-baked excuse.
Pyro shrugs and goes back to strumming awkwardly on the instrument, trying to imitate Engineer’s lazy comfort with the strings but their gloves keep getting in the way.
Three nights later, Engineer finally finishes up the work with his Dispenser and joins the two of them at the campfire. A nervous look flits across Scout’s face, but just as quickly it is gone, and he tries for a nonchalant smirk (and overcompensates, as he is prone to do). “Hey old man.”
Engineer snorts, “You young’uns these days.” He sits down beside Pyro and accepts the handful of marshmallows and chocolate that they eagerly hand over. “Nice of you to join us.”
“It’s fun. Even though I’ve got soooo many better things to do,” Scout says a little too hurriedly.
Engineer and Pyro share a knowing look. There’s a twinkle in Engineer’s eyes behind his goggles, like the flickering of a faraway sun. “Well, son, we’re glad you’d decide to stay with us.”
Pyro hums an enthusiastic agreement.
The three of them watch the flames dance and flicker merrily in the pit, its crackling and spitting almost sounding like Pyro’s hissing, brittle native tongue. So similar and yet so different. There was no mind behind the noises. No heart. No soul.
Someone lets out a small, dispirited sigh. It echoes the hollow ache in Pyro’s gut, so much so that they early think they were the ones to let out that small exhalation. But no, it’s Engineer. Pyro watches the flames twisting in the reflection of Engineer’s goggles, the muted colours of the reflection giving the flames a melancholic air.
Pyro reaches out a hand and lays it gently on Engineer’s knee. Scout coughs and mumbles something indistinct, looking away from the two of them. Pyro ignores him, trying to think of a way to put their scrambled thoughts in a coherent fashion to present to Engineer.
“You’re thinking ‘Do you miss home?’” Engineer asks, as if reading Pyro’s mind. That’s what Pyro loves about Engineer—and astounds them, to be honest—that someone so different, so… foreign… can know them so well.
“Ah… course I do, but it’s not as bad for me as for some of the others,” Engineer says. “We’re all a little bit far from home.”
That makes Pyro sigh wistfully, looking up longingly at the stars. A little bit far from home indeed.
…
The team is being shuttled back to their regular base in Teufort. The rest of the team gripes and complains the entire way, but it’s all a show. It’s been so long that the team can hardly recall a time when they weren’t cramped into three rickety vehicles perpetually shuttles around the country.
“Home sweet home,” Engineer says sarcastically as his old truck putters up the dusty road to their Teufort base.
“Hrrme swrrt hrrme,” Pyro echoes enthusiastically, meaning it with all their heart.