Chapter Text
Demo didn’t expect for his weekly reading to cause a mid-life crisis.
The blizzard prevented either RED or BLU from leaving their barracks. Work would have to resume tomorrow, much to the dismay of Scout, Pyro, and Soldier. A restless offence trio with no outlet for pent-up energy was dangerous. It was almost as dangerous as the time Pyro ignited Medic and Heavy’s shared book collection.
No one wanted an angered Heavy-Medic pair again. That was a terrible week for the team.
Which led to Demo heaving his annotated leather book of Scottish folklore out of his trunk. It was time to start his weekly reading anyways. There was no harm in reading out his favourite stories. Storytelling might be enough to catch the attention of the offence trio for today.
So here he was, the book on his lap as he sat on the rocking chair by the fireplace in the common room. With an audience in front of him, the whole scene reminded him of his grandmother from his father’s side of his family. She memorized the entire contents of the leather book before she went blind, allowing her to entertain a younger Demo whenever he visited her. Just as she told stories to him during his childhood, it was now his turn to do the same.
Scout lied down on the patched-up sofa, tossing his baseball. He looked at the ceiling, a hand tucked beneath his head. He turned his head towards Demo whenever he took a dramatic pause.
Pyro’s gas mask reflected the flickering flames of the fireplace. They listened to Demo, resting their chin atop folded gloved hands.
Soldier was sitting on the lumpy armchair, leaning towards Demo’s direction with a grin. Even during the ceasefire, he still wore his helmet.
“- And that’s why I shouldn’t catch any of you trying to flirt with lassies out by the lakes! I whacked that damned kelpie in the head with a bottle five times ‘fore she gave up the fight.” Demo pulled up his sleeve, pointing to a thin scar running from his elbow to his wrist. “You might be next.”
“Did the booze mess with your brain, knucklehead? How didja end up flirting with a horse?” Scout looked over at Demo.
Demo pressed his face into his callused palms for a moment. “Did you hear anything I said? You ken that kelpies like to dress themselves up as pretty lassies!”
“But you were still drunk, yeah?”
He didn’t need a reminder he was a drunkard. He reminded himself every day already. Looking up, he gave Scout an even stare before looking towards Soldier.
“You got any better questions than twinkle-toes over here?”
Soldier rose up, his back ramrod straight and his hand raised as if he were a schoolboy. “Yes! In which state can you find this man-eating horse seductress?”
Demo registered the question. The descriptor of the kelpie wasn't that odd, even if Demo called it a "demon horse". But it was obvious Soldier had an American-centric view of geography. Still, it was better than Scout’s questions.
“Solly, Scotland doesn’t have states. I dunno where in Scotland kelpies came from, but I grew up hearing about them ever since I grew up in Ullapool.”
For a reason Demo couldn’t understand, the common room grew colder, despite the warm glow of the fire. He felt he should know the reason, but he couldn’t recall it.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Scout sitting up and Pyro sitting upright.
Scout and Pyro exchanged glances.
“Ullapool isn’t an American state, city, or town,” said Soldier.
With a roll of his eye, Demo said, “Of course it bloody isn’t! It’s a Scottish town.”
“Demoman… are you telling me you’re not American?”
“We’ve known each other for six bloody years, and you’re telling me you only knew I’m Scottish now?” Demo crossed his arms. He knew Soldier wasn’t the smartest man, but this was unbelievable.
The silence that followed was a firm confirmation.
Demo wanted to laugh, but he couldn't force one out. He wasn't drunk enough for this conversation.
Six years of working with Demo should be enough to inform Soldier that he was Scottish. Hell, Demo even wore a kilt during the Gravel Wars a few times! There should have been no way Soldier could mistake him for being American. The first-year culture shock should have been a giveaway.
Still, Soldier stayed silent. It was time to break the ice.
Demo shook his head. “Aye, I’m not your average idea of a Scotsman." He shrugged. "The other non-Americans shouldn't be too far from your ideas, though."
There was no way the Soldier could assume everybody on the team was American. After all, there were only three Americans on the team. At least, if one assumed Pyro wasn't American.
Scout was quiet throughout this whole conversation. It would be great if he could fill in the silence with his aimless rambles.
Pyro was currently on the couch with Scout. They weren't mumbling in their usual incoherent manner.
Demo felt he was forgetting something important.
“But everyone else told me they were Americans!” Soldier slumped back into his chair, casting his eyes towards the ceiling. “Was it all a lie?”
Oh right. During the first year, everybody on the team made the pact to not tell Soldier that only three of them were Americans. Considering how jingoistic he was, it made sense at the time. Nobody wanted an overzealous patriot screaming about their lack of Americanness. Everybody had problems already, they did not need another.
Oops.
Soldier must be wearing his thinking helmet today. He may not be the smartest mercenary, but Demo doubted he could lie again. Not while Soldier was in this rare state of deep thinking.
The fire burnt out, lacking the necessary firewood to feed it.
Pyro crept over the Soldier, as if he were a wild buffalo, before poking him in the face.
Soldier didn’t react.
Oh no.
Scout sprang up to his feet, waving a hand in front of Soldier’s face. “Yo, brother! Can you say something?”
Soldier didn’t say anything. He kept staring into the ceiling as if he would soon receive an epiphany.
With the fire burn out, the common room was dim.
After a few moments, Demo closed his book. “Mates, I broke the Soldier.”