Chapter Text
For the first time since Medic arrived, Scout finally decided his wounds were worth addressing, regardless of his fear. Such a shame. A day more and Medic could legally amputate his arm. He wasn't sure what he'd use it for but as his professor said, “an extra arm does no harm.” Medic couldn't agree cuz an extra arm can be used to harm plenty, namely putting the arms original owner in a chokehold. But he didn't argue at the time.
The boy sauntered in, looking at everything with a distrustful glare. As if he hasn't already seen the place days prior. He seemed to enjoy making everything more dramatic than he needed to.
“Now then, what seems to be bothering you, Junge?” Medic asked as Scout held his arm with a grimace.
“Uh, names Scout , genius,” He replied. “And my problem is that you didn't fix my frickin’ arm!” he complained, moving his hand from his wound to reveal a sickening sight. Red blood dried into brown scabs between the stitches, and the skin around the wound had yellowed. Somehow the boy had developed pus already within the wound. Medic recoiled with a frown.
“Ach, ja, thats what happens when you run away half way through the procedure,” Medic prepped an alcohol pad as Scout flumped over in the chair across from him.
“It's not my fault! You were gonna blast me with that friken smoke machine!”
Medic gave him an incredulous look before returning to his prep work.
“Well if you don't want to use the Medigun, I'll let you know now that we still don't have anesthesia,” He stated, in case Scout got the wise idea to run out again.
“Pfft, whateva, I grew up with 8 brothers! I don't need no fricken annas- annem- anes-” Scout struggled.
“Anesthesia?” Medic offered.
“Amnesthesia, yeah, whatever,” He huffed. Medic gestured for him to put his arm out for inspection as he pressed the alcohol pad to his wound.
“8 brothers, hmm? That sounds, eh,” Medic tried to humor the boy a bit. “Challenging.”
As if on cue, Scout brightened and sat straight up, quickly taking advantage of the sympathy provided.
“Hell yeah it was! My brothers useta beat the crap outta me. But jokes on them, cuz now I beat the crap outta everyone else! Professionally! ” He bloated, trying to conceal his pain as Medic pulled out the stitches from his arm.
“Yes, I'm sure your parents are proud of your evolution,” Medic laughed, intending to be sarcastic. Scout clearly didn't catch on, as he dove right back into discussion.
“My ma doesn't technically know, but she says shes proud no matta what I do as long as I don't get hurt,” He said excitedly. Medic paused to contemplate the contradictory nature of his statement vs his real job, but shook his head and moved on.
“I hope your father has the same, er,” Lack of standards? Inherent blind-optimism? “Same ignorance as your mother.”
“Father? I ain't got one, an even if I did, I couldn't give less of a crap what he thinks anyways,” Scout said, scoffing too loudly to sell it.
“Right,” Medic shrugged. “What does your mother think your job is?”
Scout faltered, coughing to cover up his sudden awkwardness. “Em. I told er I work in uh. A mine.”
Medic froze and stared at the boy. The thinnest, weakest looking fellow. He belted out a laugh.
“And she believes that!?” He howled, snorting loudly. Scout scoffed at him.
“Hey I had to come up with it on the spot, ok!? You can't blame me!” He bit back.
Medic snorted before returning to his work, trying not to laugh at the thought. This scrawny thing already looks absurd holding a metal bat, but a pickaxe?
“Right, right,” He chuckled. “Of course.”
A short silence ensued before Scout spoke again.
“What'd you tell your parents? If they ain't dead,” He asked, almost as if waiting to find something to judge him for in return. Medic shrugged.
“Ach, nothing, they don't even know I'm still alive,” He chortled.
“Jeez, what'd ya do to piss em off?” He chortled.
Medic thought back on it. There really was no one specific answer. But if he had to say the breaking point, it probably would've been when they found out about his ‘unethical experiments’. But he decided that wasn't worth telling a stranger.
“Ach, my mother was a dentist and my father was a neurologist. Cardiology was too far a cry from either of them, I'm afraid.”
“What the hell's any a’that mean?” he asked. Medic signed.
“Never mind. Regardless, I doubt they'd find any pride in my line of work now,” He laughed to himself.
“Hmm, rough,” Scout shrugged, losing interest in his search for an insult to throw his way. He leaned back against the chair, wincing as Medic took a wet rag to wipe at the rotting flesh with. “What about, your, like, wife or sumthin?”
Medic belted out another laugh.
“Wife! Hoohoohoo! Very funny, Scout,” He chuckled.
“What, is she in on it?” He asked. That only made Medic laugh harder.
“Oh please , you think I have time for a wife ?” He said, carefully tip-toeing around the real reason he wasn't married.
“Jeez, ya got kids? Siblings? Anyone?” He asked, pacing his tone with light venom.
“Well, of course!” He replied. “I have my birds!” As if on cue, Archimedes flew down and landed on his shoulder with a coo.
Scout looked like he just saw a fatal car crash. As Medic began running the new stitches through him, he spoke up again before Scout could complain about the pain.
“No wonder you're crazy, doc, you've got no fricken friends!” He stated. He'd expected Medic to defend himself or something. But no.
“Not human ones- human living ones, anyway,” He said, nonchalantly. Scout looked even more mortified.
“Doncha ever get lonely?” he asked. “I mean, you don't got anyone to talk about, uh, ya know, gore n stuff with. Doesn't that get boring?”
Medic thought on it. Of course he'd been lonely. It's natural, as humans are social beings and technically socialization is one of the few basic survival needs for humans. Rarely talked about. But a man with food, water and shelter can and will go mad from loneliness. Actually, that sounded sort of similar to Medic… he decided not to dwell on it.
“Yes, but considering that I've been doing what I do for years, and it's only semi-legal now that I've been hired here, I never really had a chance to discuss the fascinating uses of horse bone marrow on the human body. Even if I did, I doubt anyone would take interest,” He concluded.
“ Horse bone marrow? Man that's gross , I don't even wanna know,” Scout said, scrunching his face in disgust.
“See my point?” Medic replied.
“Well you couldn't pay me to listen. But some of the dudes here seem like they would. Like that, what's his name? Soldier? Or that Pyro… thing ?”
Medic nodded, trying to appear in agreement. Really, he doubted Soldier would have any patience for intellectual discussion. And Pyro didn't seem to even understand anything that was ever really going on. Just earlier today, Pyro had brought Engie a bleeding ring of intestines for him and placed them on his head like a crown. Bless Engie’s soul. He looked mortified but thanked them regardless.
Oddly enough, out of everyone on their team who seemed most likely to listen, Heavy was probably the most likely. He had already before, maybe he wouldn't mind a more thorough discussion in the future…
He tied off the last stitch before running the bloody alcohol pad over it one more time for good measure.
“Well, junge, you should be fine now, so long as you're careful on that arm,” He said, rolling his chair away as he stood to clean.
“Oh finally . Doc, you should get numbin cream or something, cuz not everyone is as tough as I am. They might flip a lid.” Scout looked proud of himself, as if the other day he hadn't entirely over reacted over the same exact wound.
“So, like, can I play bat yet?” He asked, examining his stitches.
“No,” Medic replied. Did he not hear what he just said about being careful?
“Can I at least play catcher?”
Medic looked at him, confused.
“No, you can't,” He said. He silently reminded himself to check Scout's hearing next check up.
Scout sighed.
“What about, like, wrestlin? Or boxin? Or anything ?” He asked. Medic gave him a solid glare until he fought the hint.
“Ugh, fine!” He groaned, standing moodily. He headed to the doors of the infirmary, but paused right before he opened them.
“Can I run?” He asked, hopeful. Medic rolled his eyes, tossing his dirty tools in the sink beside his soup bowl and empty mug.
“Yes, you can run , just be-”
“Great! Thanks doc!” He interrupted before speeding out, the doors swinging behind him.
Medic stared at the doors as they slowed to a stop, wishing Scout could at least close them as he left so they'd stop clicking .
He sighed, rolling his eyes, pulling his gloves off and washing his hands.
As annoying as the boy was, Medic had dealt with far more annoying people. Soldier, for one, was far more insufferable. At least Scout had the excuse of being young… Even if he was, what, 25? When Medic was his age, he'd already had his license, lost half his friends to the war and sneakily evaded the draft by faking his own death.
Then again, he supposed being the eldest child of three with two busy parents made him more responsible. And considering Scout was the youngest of nine with no father, he probably never had to take care of anyone else, or even himself for that matter.
As Medic dried his hands off, he returned to his desk and fell back into his work.
He looked down at the rough draft he'd created for his medigun. To say the least, he was incredibly frustrated with the slow process of using his medigun on the battleground. It was horribly time inefficient, what with its 7 second reload time. His source pack needed higher voltage in order to reload quicker, but Medic wasn't sure how on earth he could make it any larger without breaking his back. His spine was already facing the effects of the metal tank, considering he'd woken every morning for the past week with enough pain to make his stomach hurt.
His mind wandered back to what Scout had mentioned earlier. He wasn't sure anyone could take the same interest he had in anatomy. But he knew for sure there was one person who enjoyed the mechanical side of healthcare.
And he knew just where to find him.