Real Men Knit

[shankie]

The chan is down! Oh noes! Anyway. I wrote this silly thing and people seemed to like it. A friendly anon even did a cute little sketch:



It's fluffy Team Fortress 2 fic. No sex or anything. Just... Scout being a dick. And support class knitting. Feel free to laugh in my direction.

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The turning of the leaves began the same day the monthly supply train pulled up to the BLU fort, carrying ammunition, food, medical supplies, and packages or letters from home. Scout couldn't help but notice that, after all the important stuff was put where it belonged, Sniper, Medic, and Spy gathered around a particularly large cardboard box with hushed discussion that continued as Medic carried it inside with the other two at either side. Scout was curious, but not that curious; he had his own box to be excited about.

Later that day, as he walked around chewing slowly and proudly on a rare candy bar from a newly restocked stash and reading an almost brand new comic book from his second-eldest brother, Scout wandered into the rec room. He only stopped and looked up when he noticed the couch was all taken up by the conspiratorial three.

Spy was holding up a loop of blue yarn in his hands, while Medic wound it into a neat ball, and Sniper was doing much the same, only with his hat on his knees holding a loop of golden brown. The large, now open box, was open on the floor and revealing twisted bundles of yet more yarn in various shades of blue, brown, and gray.

"What the fuck are you ladies doin'?"

"Go avay," Medic mumbled,

"Fags." Scout turned up his nose and went to find some less pansy place to read.

The next day, after the fight, Scout went into the kitchen looking for some soda before it was all gone. What he found was the Fag Crew sitting around the table, in otherwise complete silence as they worked quietly clinking steel needles together. Medic had something with four needles going on, tiny and vaugely threatening needles, all of them had their respective gloves sitting in front of them with mugs of coffee and gibberish written on bits of paper. Sniper was biting his lip in concentration, frowning as he worked more slowly than the others.

"What the hell is this shit?"

"Go avay."

Scout snorted. "Fags."

He found what he was looking for and left as quickly as possible.

A week later, they were in the rec room again when Scout caught them. Medic had most of what was apparently a sock hanging from his needles, and Spy was holding up a gray scarf with some criss-cross pattern on it for Sniper to peer at over his aviators. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Pyro was watching Medic's quick little motions in rapt fascination.

"Goddamn, guys, what the fuck is this shit, really? You women missing your aprons or something?"

There was no response of any kind. Sniper ignored him to mumble some question about stitches at Spy, who replied with something about loops.

"This entire team is completely fucked. God."

It went on like that the entirety of autumn and into winter, when knitted items of one sort or another began appearing on various members of the team. Heavy began wearing a blue and gray hat with loose earflaps that tied under his chin and a pom-pom on the top of his head to the fight, the Demoman was sporting fingerless gloves, and of course, the fag trio looked perfectly warm in their own hats and scarves when they all began waking up to frost on the ground.

When the first snowfall came, everyone was wearing overcoats with their uniforms but Pyro (who never seemed to get cold) and Scout (who didn't have one).

All Scout had was a jacket with holes in the elbows, and it made him feel stupid. It was his first winter at the fort, but still, he felt like he should have known better. The RED Scout had a brown bomber jacket with a big RED logo stitched on the back and a matching beanie, and it was starting to make the BLU Scout jealous. He never looked cold when they chased each other around in the muddy snow.

In a lull in the fight, nursing a bullet wound in his calf, Scout huddled against the dispenser and thought about all this while feeling sorry for himself. He'd already sent out a letter to his mom for a coat, but who knew when it would arrive. Scout sniffled and wondered if he'd freeze to death first.

"Ahh, laborer. You zeem chilly." Ignoring Scout, Spy wandered over with his hands in the pockets of his skinny peacoat, perpetual cigarette hanging lazily from his lips, causing him to mumble a bit.

Engineer grunted, then reached for a bag he had stashed behind his sentry. "S'pose you're finished, then."

"Oui. And my pocketwatch?"

"All set. Even shined it up real nice." Engineer pulled out the watch and held it up, dangling from the chain and indeed looking all gold and shiny.

"My thanks." Spy took it and slipped his hand back in the coat, then back out to hand over a bundle he'd been holding under his other arm. "Enjoy," he said with a smirk, then crushed his finished cigarette under his heel before walking away again.

"I'm sure I will," Engineer said after him. He pulled off his glove, replacing it with a pair of cabled mittens, and a matching scarf he wrapped around his neck.

Scout shivered jealously.

It didn't stop there.

At dinner a few nights later, Medic proudly handed Heavy a pair of striped wool socks that looked so very, very warm. Sniper asked all sorts of questions about something called a gusset while the others admired the work, except for Scout, who poked his toe through the hole in his left sock.

"They look stupid," he grumbled.

Heavy just about took his head off for it, and probably would have if Medic didn't step in his way.

Scout wasn't going to get in on this faggotry, he told himself. Not a chance.

In the middle of December, the train came, but without a coat for Scout. Just an apologetic letter about money being tight (Scout was never able to send a whole lot home) and a lot of love from his mom. She promised him a late Christmas package that would make up for it, with a little heart at the end. If someone asked, Scout hated her little hearts, but inside he felt a little warmer.

The first blizzard of the year hit just before Christmas could come.

Neither team poked a head out of their base; even if they did, the white-out prevented anything useful going on. On the BLU side, everyone was crowded into the rec room to stay comfortable, listening to Engineer write music for his guitar.

The knitting trio were sitting on the floor facing each other, occasionally talking in their weird lingo of purls and decreases. Scout pretended he wasn't interested in Sniper's improvement; he was tackling a pair of gray mittens on Medic's set of four needles and didn't glare at his work quite so much anymore.

Pyro was still watching their needles move, and after a little while, Scout realized he was doing the exact same thing. It was kinda mesmerizing, watching the shiny steel points flick in their smooth rythem, the yarn wrapping and moving, the length of finished rows growing in their laps.

Sniper caught him staring with a smirk, however, and ended all of that.

Scout screwed up his face and huddled back on the couch cushion, rubbing his hands over his arms, pointedly avoiding looking in their direction for the rest of the night.

The blizzard was still raging the next day, and the next. Frigid nights huddled under scratchy blankets followed boring days nursing hot cups of coffee (and even tea sometimes, times were desperate).

On Christmas day, they were still huddled in the same room, restlessly playing cards or checkers or other things to keep from going batshit with cabin fever.

When Sniper stood up, cracking his back with a grunt, it was a big movement in the room after all the quiet of everyone trying to keep busy.

"Well," he announced, "best see what I can see. C'mon runt," he said to Scout, arms crossed as he waited for Scout to get up, too.

Scout grumbled irritably about having to leave the relatively warm comfort of the room, but was happy to have something else to do. Sitting around was making him crazy.

He followed Sniper around the chilly base, shivering in his cleats as they looked around for nothing, really. Snow was in drifts against all the doors and walls, so it wasn't like someone would have an easy or fun time getting in even if they were crazy enough to brave the whipping snowy wind outside.

Eventually Sniper made his way up to his nest, up a rickety staircase at the back of the fort, where the walls had spaces that little drifts were sneaking their way into.

Scout's teeth were chattering by the time they got to the top, where the nest was closed up tight.

Sniper looked outside the window at what little he could see, then shrugged, and went down on his knees to fumble for something under his cot, pulling out a plastic bag.

"W-whassat?"

Out of the bag came a lumpy blue sweater. One sleeve looked a little bigger than the other, sitting oddly with an awkwardly bunched armpit. There was that first brown scarf Scout had seen him making, too, which turned out to be really long and drapey.

Sniper threw them at Scout with a shrug. "Doesn't fit. I was just going to toss it. This, too."

Scout fingered the fuzzy, warm garments, then just dug his fingers in to warm them up. "So yer givin' them to me?"

"Don't make a big fuss." Sniper balled up the empty bag and tossed it in a corner. "Anyway. Can't have one of ours dropping out there because he's too dumb to dress proper."

He hesitated, squeezing the warmth around his hands a little longer. "Uh. Thanks."

Sniper shrugged again. "Christmas, after all."

On the way back down, Scout wiggled into the sweater; it was just about right for him, even if the sleeves were too long, and the neck a little bunchy. It fit fine under his jacket, perfect to hide his hands in. With that, and the scarf wrapped around his head, he felt as warmer than he had since the storm had started.

When they got back to the rec room, Medic and Spy gave Scout amused looks he returned with a scowl.

"Still a bunch of fags," he grumbled, plopping back on the couch. But now he didn't bother to act like he wasn't watching them make things.

Maybe Sniper liked comic books. He could really use some new socks, as soon as the fagbag learned to make them.