The Strongest of Us (Tf2 x Reader)

6. Woo! Road trip!

"Hey! Let go of me, right now!" (Y/N) beat on the Russian man's back, "I don't even know who the hell you are!"

"Is Heavy," the brute spoke, unfazed by her unnecessary squirming, "Man who comes to bar wit me, is Sniper." (Y/N) became more irritated as she was carefully set down on the hood of her car. It was burning outside. Her boot cut jeans and red, white, and yellow sweater did absolutely nothing to help. The guy in the yellow hard hat had taken his cap off and was scratching his bald head, mumbling under his breath. "Sorry darlin'," he sighed and looked at her through his thick goggles, "I know it wasn't the right way to treat a lady, but, uh, Tom has a certain trait that disagrees with the lot of us." He put his cap back on and pulled on his overall straps.

(Y/N) thought back to the boat... The people Tavish would trust. "Something tells me," her lips tugged into a smile, "You guys are Mikhail, Mundy, and Dell. Am I right?" All of them looked at her, then to Tavish, in shock. Tavish shrugged with the same expression as them, "I tol' er, but I didn't know she was gonna remember!"

They all turned back to her. "You've got a good memory, darlin'," to who she assumed to be Dell, spoke, "That'll be a good thing, Ms. (L/N)."

"For what?" (Y/N) asked, sliding herself off of the hood of the car, making a small cloud of dust arise from under her shoes. "We'll explain that late'a," Mundy kicked in, "Just go ahead 'n drive your car behind us. Tavish wull tag along." (Y/N) frowned, "How do I know you all aren't here to just turn me in to some sort of city police man, waiting for me to arrive in the desert."

"Lass, we're not even supposed to be here. The townsfolk hate us, and we've saved them from wizards and all sorts of crap before. Nothin's gonna change, if we turn ya in," Tavish scratched his cheek. Each one of them turned to her and nodded. (Y/N) inhaled deeply, "Fine," she muttered and walked over to the drivers side of the car.

Tavish got in next to her. (Y/N) watched as the men climbed into a beat up van that had some sort of bread company logo on the side. (Y/N) gripped the wheel and started the car. Tavish opened his mouth to speak but (Y/N) rammed the radio up before he could speak.

(You can play the song that's at the top. It's a pretty good song, in my opinion. It was made around the 60's time period, by The Beatles.)

"LADY MADONNA!" The radio blared and (Y/N) pressed the gas so the car lurched forward with a start, and to follow the dusty van. (Y/N) tapped her finger against the wheel to the beat as Paul McCartney sang his heart out about the women working class. "Roll your window down, it's hot," she mumbled to Tavish as they had reached the outside of the town, speeding down the empty highway. (Y/N) pushed on a small glove box above her and pulled out the pair of crusty aviators. The wind from the now open windows, making the ride cooler.

It was a short lasting song, but it made the car ride more bearable. Tavish was sitting upright, with inwardly pursed lips. "The guys 'ave already taken a likin' to ya," Tavish awkwardly laughed. "I noticed," (Y/N) said harshly, "One of them almost got me in trouble with the local mafia." Tavish flinched and looked at her, while she appeared to angry, but unfazed. "Now, why would any of em do tha'? They barely know ya!"

"So you're telling me that there is no other man in red that wears a mask?" (Y/N) turned on her turning signal and followed the van closely. Tavish was silent for a moment. "Well? Is there?" (Y/N) asked impatiently. "Depends on the mask," Tavish said, "we have two guys that wear masks."

"I dunno, a ski mask or something?" (Y/N) retorted.

"It ees called a balaclava."

(Y/N) grabbed Tavishes wrist and put it in the wheel, while grabbing out a revolver that Tom had lended to her and pointing it at their new, French, backseat passenger. Tavish quickly swerved and tried to keep them on the road as best as possible. Good thing nobody really traveled to Teufort that much. "Who the hell are you?" (Y/N) growled at the man, who she dispised the moment he showed his face, that was neatly covered by a red 'balaclava'.