Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Something that I find really funny is the concept of humor itself. The idea that one thing, no matter how random or ridiculous, simple or complex, can get such a reaction out of people. The fact that one person may think of something as hilarious, while the other wants to jam knives into their eyes at the thought of it has never failed to amaze me.

It always delights me that everyone everywhere can find joy in something as inexplicable as jokes, or in some cases, even offense and hatred. There’s a concept where the very point of the joke is to offend people, and there’s a large crowd that finds it funny. I think humor is a part of us, it sometimes defines us, and even, guides us to who we deem worthy of talking to. Because while some people think dark humor is atrocious, others think they’re just being sensitive. Some think gross humor is the very reason comedy exists, while others want it to cease to exist. This is going to subtly affect how we view people as, well, people. No one wants to hang out with someone who has a completely different sense of humor. That’d be very, very boring.

I think some people let humor be too definitive sometimes. I don’t know if every person who’s made a dark joke is a bad person, and I sure as hell don’t think every funny person is a happy one. I think maybe humor is a really important outlet to some people; whether it be a coping mechanism, a tactic to get people to like you without being serious, and so on. Maybe I’m just overthinking it. No, I definitely am. It’s stuff like this that enables me to just talk and talk and talk to myself as if it has any real meaning, when I know I’ll just forget the entire topic in a few hours.

But I can’t help but think to myself at this very moment: what’s so funny? Why does he laugh? Why do I wonder about the reason he laughs? Does there even need to be a reason? Absolutely not, but still I wonder, and ask myself: Do I make him laugh?

I don’t think I’m a very funny person. I just have too many words in my head, too many thoughts, so I get them all out at a fast pace, and a higher rate than most. The chances that someone finds something I said funny go up simply because there’s more to laugh at. I can pander from person to person and they’ll all like me for different reasons, but I’m still me. Just with a couple different personalities attached.

Then I think about Sniper. He doesn’t laugh often, at least from what anyone else can tell. He’s quiet, but not a loner. He just doesn’t thrive as much as others by being around people, yet he still enjoys it. He’s his own person, probably hiding a completely genuine personality underneath and no one would ever know. So why is it that he finds such joy in hanging out with a guy like me?

We don’t seem like we would click, but we do. He doesn’t seem like he’d enjoy what I enjoy, but he does. If he doesn’t, he tries to. I don’t seem like the type of person he’d endure for very long, but apparently, I am. I just can’t put my finger on what it is that makes us work out so easily, and it’s killing me. I don’t know why I need a reason. After all, I’ve never questioned things too deeply like this before. But I just can’t stop looking at him, wanting to shout, to scream, beg for an answer: what’s so funny?

I used to suspect he was mocking me, but Sniper isn’t an explicitly rude guy. Sure, he likes to pick on people, but he would never keep up this gag of enjoying my company for...three weeks. Perhaps he is, and I just don’t want to see the signs. Whatever the circumstance, I choose to ignore all the thoughts, previous and new ones, trying desperately to be further elaborated into meaninglessness, as I walk alongside my new friend.

“Scout? Are you bored, or..?” I turn around and see Sniper lagging behind me a bit. I shake my head, clear my brain of all these thoughts, and rub my eyes. I guess I was a bit more distracted than I thought. He noticed.

“Sorry, man, I just got a lot on my mind, y’know?” He gives me a quick pat on the head, and we start walking toward the parking lot again.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Just thought my rambling might’ve been boring you to death, since you’ve been fine most the night. You awright, though?” I shrug.

“I think it’s just starting to catch up to me since it’s late. I’m usually asleep right now, or at least trying to,” I explain. He chuckles a bit.

“Didn’t mean to keep ya here for so long. I don’t go into town often, but walking through stores at night is always fun. Especially with a friend,” He says, offering a smile. Whether or not it’s genuine is for my brain to decide at 3:00 a.m. when I’m in bed.

“It’s fine,” I tell him. “It was fun, and I needed to get out anyway. I get sick of doin’ the same crap in my room all the time.”

“Well, we could do this any time! Or just hang out more often. Unless maybe somewhere in our contracts social interaction is a privilege, not a right…” I laugh at that.

“I don’t…I don’t think that’s a thing, Snipes.”

“I-It very well could be! You know how weird they are, who’s to say they don’t control how much we talk?” He says, like some conspiracy theory driven genius.

“Me. Right now. Sayin’ they don’t give two shits about what I say, and I say a lot of things. I mean, c’mon, if they really wanted to monitor behavior they sure as hell shouldn’t have hired ME of all people,” I argue. He sighs.

“Yeah, yeah, I suppose you’re not wrong.”

“Oh, Sniper. Always fightin’ fights you just can’t win…” He shoves my arm.

“As if you even know what you’re arguing about half the time,”

“At least I don’t start them!”

“Bloody what are you on about, mate? I could say anything, literally anything, and you compose multi paragraph essays with your mouth right in front of my very eyes about why I’m wrong. I’m not even wrong anyway, I just state my opinion!” He stopped completely to spit this out, hands flailing about to strengthen his point.

“I’m not the one arguing, I’m just offering a different view,” I say simply. He takes a breath.

“You know what? I’m gonna switch to BLU, just because of you, Scout.”

“Aw, fuck you, man!” I laugh, giving his arm a soft punch.

“You’re lucky it doesn’t work that way, because if it did, I would definitely be gone right now, and you’d be very upset,”

“Nah, I wouldn’t care.”

“Sure, sure…keep telling yourself those lies, see what happens when I start hanging out with…Spy all of a sudden.”

“Pfft, even if YOU wanted to do that, he would never. Besides, I bet you he’s real boring. You two can go get a suit tailored or somethin’, that’s about it.” He sighs.

“Ah, you’re probably right on that. So how about you agree to stop driving me insane?” I smile a bit.

“It’s in my blood, pal, I can’t stop. You’ll just have to accept me for who I am,” He shakes his head, grinning the whole time. That smile of his does things to me. Sometimes I wish I could just knock out his teeth, but it makes me feel like shit for thinking that.

“Fine, fine.” He says. “I accept your petty need
to constantly be right.”

“Only ‘cause I am right,”

“Don’t overdo it.”

“Okay.”

And we laughed.

•~•~•~•~•

It was almost midnight by the time we returned to base. Sniper and I said goodnight and parted ways, me off to my room while he went back to his van. Sometimes we spend a bit more time together, but I’m just too tired this time. My head hurts, and all this second guessing isn’t doing me any good.

I’m not too sure I’m willing to try and sleep, though, because just sitting on my bed, thinking about all that’s happened, I know there’s very little chance I’ll get rest. It makes me feel worse when I just lay down for hours and think. I’d rather be moving. At least then I have to focus a bit more on my body rather than mind.

I take a deep breath, getting up slowly and glancing around the dark room. It feels less like a prison and more like a void with each passing day. A void that I optionally surround myself in constantly, but complain about being around. I can leave anytime I want, but every moment I stay here, forcing myself to brood over every thought I have, is just another moment I’m trapping myself. The void is spreading, too. Soon enough I’ll feel pain everywhere I go.

No, that’s…that’s too dark. I seriously need to get out of here, so I shake my head, trying to reject all the overthinking. My body feels like static as I rip open my door, tearing through the hallway at an intense speed. I make it outside in no time at all, the sounds of the sleeping desert greeting me alongside the glow of the moon and stars. It should be a full moon in about a week, I observe, eyes locking with that ominous disk.

I feel a shiver, staring up into the sky. The beautiful deep black of what hangs overhead, able to destroy us at any given moment. The moon, sometimes giving me hope for no apparent reason other than being light. And then the freckles of stars, how poetic they are, seeing as there’s just so many that plenty of people will never see in their entire life. Like me, except I got the chance.

You can’t really see the stars back home. No one had thoughtful nights staring up at the sky because it was the same thing each night: the moon, and sometimes a few stars depending on where you were. I knew there was more to a night sky than just that, but I never would have thought it could be so gratifying to be able to witness in person. I thought I’d never be able to sleep away from home without the sounds of the city, but once I saw the stars for the first time, I just felt okay for a second. Like maybe I was meant to be here, and it wouldn’t be so bad, because at least I’m experiencing something new.

The shiver runs down my spine and electrifies my bones. My body feels like static, my legs robotic, arms stiff. My feet move on their own, and in a matter of seconds I’m sprinting at full speed down the road. My mind goes numb. I just run. I don’t know where I’ll go, how far, when I’ll stop. I just run. I don’t need anything else other than the hum of nighttime creatures, the ground in front of me, and the ability to keep moving. I just run.

Maybe I was indirectly running away from all the things I didn’t want to deal with. Maybe that’s why I learned to run in the first place, so that nothing would affect me as long as I left it behind. I know I can’t run forever, because tomorrow I’ll have to think again. I’ll have to do my job. I’ll have to see Sniper, and I’ll just think, and think, and think. Right now, all I want is for it to stop. I want a break, a reassurance, a hug, even. All the things I could never ask for, so I just run.

A couple minutes pass. An hour or two comes and goes, but by then I’ve stopped running. I came to a slow halt, and collapsed on my back. I’d been lying down for a long time, looking, trying not to think. But my mind always finds a way to catch up.

It really shouldn’t be a big deal. Sniper and I are just friends because it works out. Nothing more than that, I tell myself. He isn’t trying to hurt me, I’m the one doing it by thinking that!

I laugh at myself, because I’m a bit ridiculous. I don’t know why I ever complicated things to begin with. Probably just to make myself worry. That’s all it ever was, anyway. Just needless worrying.

I close my eyes and take another breath of fresh air before slowly getting to my feet. I look eastward, where a dark blue tint is creeping its way into the black sky. I rub my eyes and sigh. I managed to completely avoiding getting a decent sleep tonight. How wonderful.

I dust off my pants and lower back, stretching my arms and legs before making my way back to base. If I was lucky, I could take a short nap. If not, I’ll just have to rely on coffee to get me through work and the rest of the day. If I stay awake the whole time, I could probably rest wonderfully tomorrow. Or, technically today, since morning is already coming.

I’m not even sure how far I got, but I don’t see the building anywhere in sight from where I stand, so I just continue to walk and hope it comes into view soon. I at least stuck to one road the whole time, so I can’t get lost.

I notice the few birds that live around start piping up, and the bugs of the morning start their humming and chattering. I find some solace in these sounds, they sort of…soothe my brain. They erase all the unnecessary noises in my head, and leave me with only one burning thought I think about over and over.

I’m really fucking tired.

Chapter Text

I awake with sore legs and an ache in my neck. I have no idea how long I slept, but judging from the heaviness in my eyelids, it wasn’t long. I lay in bed for a few more minutes, sort of hoping I could just go back to sleep and skip work today, skip everything. Unfortunately, I have to get up and actually do something. I sigh and sit up, my neck really bothering me. I probably slept on it wrong considering I got to my room during sunrise and passed out in whatever position on my bed.

I stretch and work out the aches in my bones, regretting that late night run. I should really get into the habit of taking out my frustrations in a non-physical activity. I haven’t drawn in a while, so that might be something to think about.

I rub my eyes. I shouldn’t be worried about that now. I just need to focus on getting my morning routine done. Maybe then I won’t be so tired after I shower. I could try coffee I guess, but that stuff always gets me unfocused and anxious. I already have my soda and energy drink addiction anyway, I don’t need more caffeine.

I get up and make my way to the shower, thankful for the first time in forever that I have a personal one in my room. I cannot imagine going out and being seen like this, like such a mess. Despite how unorganized, crazy, and obnoxious I am, I still have an image. I’m not supposed to be miserable or deep in thought, I’m just the idiot happy kid. Who knows what would happen if someone discovered a sad, confused Scout. They’d probably kill me for being a Spy.

Maybe I’m over exaggerating, I think to myself, pulling off my dusty, sweat soaked shirt. It wouldn’t be such a big deal, to talk about my problems. Not that I ever would, of course, but if I did…I don’t think it would be too bad. I could always say something to Sniper. Maybe. Maybe not. At least I know he would keep it private.

I turn on the shower, waiting the few seconds for it to heat up before stepping inside. The warmth of the water pelting my back is therapeutic. If I didn’t have somewhere to be, I’d just sit in a shower for hours.

I could write, too. To myself, to home, even. I haven’t talked to my mom in a while. She usually gets busy in November, doing all this planning and saving for Thanksgiving. I’m sure she’d rather be responding to my letters than filing papers or filling in checks, but she always wants things to be perfect. I think, in a way, she still feels guilty about what happened. Regardless, I think if I had an issue I could talk to her.

I wonder if I ever actually would, though. Right now, I don’t believe I would utter a word of my problems to anyone, but perhaps in a darker moment, one I can’t handle alone, would I say something? Could I tell any of the guys how I feel about this new friendship with Sniper? Could I even tell Sniper himself? Would I ever consider asking my mom if this is something I should be worrying about? I have no answer. I feel like I can’t tell anyone, but I’m also tired of staying quiet. I think my main fear is bothering someone, as if that’s even such a terrible thing.

I try not to go much deeper than that. It’s really a black and white situation: would I, or would I not? I shouldn’t worry about it anyway, this is the present. If something happens later on, that’s for future me to deal with then. I ran off what was wrong last night, and I’m fine. I feel fine.

But do I really?

I’m shaken out of my thoughts when I notice how the cold water’s gotten. I turn the shower off and stand idly for a minute, contemplating the little rant I just battered myself with. Adding on to what I was thinking about earlier, I don’t believe writing would be a healthy way to vent. If I can’t make it make sense in my own head, on paper, the words would be even more foreign than they already are. A jumbled mess, vomited letters on the page. That’s all I would write about.

Stepping out of the shower, I glance at the mirror to my right, taking in the blurred picture. I’m thankful I can’t see it for once; I bet I still look like shit. I can just tell I’ve got eye bags more noticeable than blood in snow.

I dry myself off and get dressed, throwing on a t-shirt and cargo shorts. I shake my hair free of as much water as I could and just place my cap on top of the unkempt mess. The number one pro of wearing a hat all the time is that I don’t have to do a thing with my hair.

After the mirror clears up, I do take a moment to inspect my face. I remember a time last week when I had talked to Sniper that morning. I hadn’t slept good then, either.

“How do you always look so…so…alive, even when you’ve been up all night? I always look fresh outta cemeteries,” I asked him. He looked behind himself, making sure no one was around.

“My secret…is women’s skincare.” He whispered dramatically.

“What?”

“You heard me. Women don’t just have the skin of goddesses because they’re women, no, it’s because of all their fancy products, and I thought, ‘well, it couldn’t hurt to try a face cleanser to brighten me up a bit,’ and what do you know, I’ve been using it for about three years.” He explained. I had to laugh.

“You just have to have perfect baby skin, huh?” I asked. He shook his head and sighed.

“One day you’ll get tired of your greasy and tired face, then discover the beauty of feminine hygiene. You’ll be thankful I was willing to share my secrets, but you’d never say a word.” I had just rolled my eyes and took a sip of my energy drink.

“Yeah, whatever man. You do you, I guess, pretty boy.” And with that snide remark, he went into a passionate yet calm rant on how it’s not girly to take care of his skin. I didn’t even disagree with him, it’s just fun to mess with him sometimes.

Looking at myself now, I wonder if I really should take his advice. I stare into the mirror, inspecting every inch of my face thoroughly.

Yeah, I probably should’ve listened to him a bit better. Oh well, it’s too late now. I’ll just have to be miserable-looking for today.

I exit the bathroom and check the time. 9:30. I really didn’t sleep that much. I’m surprised I didn’t wake up later, but I usually wake up before now, so I guess my body’s just accustomed to it. I should try and get to sleep earlier tonight. Maybe then I’d feel a bit better, have a day to myself to think properly. I could even go out for a bit, do my own thing, ignore everyone else. It’d take my mind off of the confusion, that’s for sure.

I take a moment to collect myself before I open my door, rubbing my tired eyes one last time. Everyone else is probably eating or has done so already. I might get lucky and only have to deal with a few questioners for the time being.

The air feels cooler in the hallway than in my room. It’s a little calming as I walk, hands in my pockets, preparing for my casual, inconspicuous entrance. The faint sounds of conversation grow louder until I arrive at the kitchen. Only Medic, Spy, and of course, Sniper are present. Things go silent for a second when they see me.

“Scout! You’re up late, aren’t you?” Sniper asks, breaking the awkward pause.

“Uh…yeah, got a little lazy, I guess…” I answer, throwing in a forced chuckle. I move my right hand to grip my left wrist, standing stiffly, trying to figure out what to do, what to say. Sniper gets up from his seat.

“Ah, well, I think we left something for ya in the fridge,” He says, checking to see if it was true. I avoid eye contact with the others, patiently waiting for Snipes to hand me a plate of food. “It’s been a slow morning.” He adds, placing a small dish of just eggs and a sausage into my hands.

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem mate,” he responds, grinning while leaning against the counter, fishing out a cigarette. “So, what’ve you been up to? Holed up in your room for an extra hour?”

“Nah,” I say sheepishly. “Just didn’t get a good sleep is all.” He nods, lighting his cigarette. The smoke drifts smoothly in the air, that familiar scent of the same brand he always uses reaching my nose. I never did mind it, but now that it sort of brings me a sense of comfort, knowing that I’m around him, it feels like I’m inhaling a straight forest fire.

“Aw, is that my fault? I really shouldn’t have bothered you last night, again, I’m sorry.” I quickly shake my head, placing the plate down on the counter.

“No, no, it’s not you! Hanging out was fun, we left pretty early anyway. I just couldn’t sleep because of…well, because of my own reasons. But it’s no big deal!” I assure him. He gives me a slow nod, taking a drag on his cig.

“Awright, awright. Just checking. I can never bloody tell with you, Mr. High and Mighty King of Pettiness,” I grin, easing more into a casual conversation with him.

“Get over yourself, Snipes. It’s honestly pathetic how-“

“Ah, shut up!” He whines, cutting me off. “It’s too early for you to be…for you to be you!” I hold back a laugh.

“That ain’t cool, man, you can’t just-“

“Sh. Eat your bloody eggs. I made them, after all. Hours wasted watching at home cooking shows will not go down in vain,” I scoff.

“Even I know it’s not that hard to just cook an egg.” I mumble, taking a bite of the food despite my harshness. Of course it tastes great. Sniper’s been my favorite chef on the team since day one.

“You’ll learn to respect my craft when you can’t live off of instant oatmeal and unevenly toasted bread, just you wait!” He warns, wagging a finger as he spoke. I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, okay. Sure.” He was about to say something back, but a noise from the left of us brings our attention back to the other people in the room. Spy and Medic were both looking at us with…concern, maybe.

“You two have become…oddly close as of late, hm?” Spy questions us. I pause, taking a moment to think yet again about our complicated relationship. Is it…really that big of a deal? I was trying to convince myself it wasn’t just ten minutes ago and all of last night, but if it’s something people notice, well, maybe it is?

I don’t have much time to think before Sniper’s already defending us. “Oddly?” He asks, bewildered. “That’s rubbish, we were clearly made to be besties!” He pushes my hat back and gives my still damp hair a good ruffle. I force out a small chuckle while trying to process the fact that he touched me.

“I…see…” Spy mumbles, not satisfied with Sniper’s sarcastic comment. “As long as you aren’t that annoying every time you’re around us, I see no issue.”

“It’s no problem, mate! We’ll keep socialization to a minimum, so as to not bother your lonely self and all,” Snipes gives the two men an optimistic thumbs up and a bright smile as he starts shifting to the side. “C’mon, Scout, let’s go make a big deal out of doing nothing but existing!”

I glance at my plate of half eaten food. “But I haven’t even-“

“Goodbye now!” He cuts me off, grabbing my wrist and pulling me next to him. He strolls down the hall at an enthusiastic pace until we turn a corner. “Asshole. Forgot he was even there for a second,”

I look back behind myself. “Yeah, but he was just bein’ a dick, Snipes. Besides, I don’t care if anyone thinks I’m annoying, I’m literally me.” He grins at me.

“I know, I know. But that doesn’t mean I want to listen to what the bugger has to say. Even if Spy would shut up the rest of the time, being in the same room as him after he’s spoken is a real mood ruiner.”

“Ha. I get that for sure,” I reply, smiling back at him. I regret that action right as I do it, because now there’s this slight pause of us just staring at each other, and the world just feels different when we both pay attention. Suddenly, he starts moving. My face drops a bit, I freeze, and take a breath.

“You really do look like shit, did you sleep at all?” He asks softly, readjusting my cap since I never did. I exhale a long stream of relief through my nose, eyes being drawn to the floor like magnets.

“Yeah, yeah, I slept. Just not a lot.”

“You okay?” He asks, and I can just feel him raising his eyebrow in concern like he does, that face of genuine worry burned into my mind out of fear. I laugh it off a bit.

“I’m totally fine, I’m just worrying about my own stuff! It’s not a big deal, I promise.” I assure him, finally meeting his eyes. He looks at me for a second, then nods slowly.

“Okay. I just don’t wanna bother you, that’s all.” He says. He sounds almost…frightened, a little bit. I shake it off. Sniper’s not afraid of conversations and overthinking. That’s my job.

“Why would you bother me?” I ask. He shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I dunno. I’m too cool, too tall, too handsome. People get tired of hanging around perfection every now and then,” I groan.

“Fuck you.”

“I appreciate your care and support as well, Scout.” I look down and smile to myself, shaking my head.

“I’ll see you later,” He pats my shoulder, taking off his hat and fixing his hair before putting it back on.

“Okay, you have fun, then. Maybe try napping or something,” He suggests.

“Sure,” I say, but know the first thing I’m gonna do is run until my bones ache all over again.

Chapter Text

Losing on the field always reminds me of losing a game back home. I used to just feel disappointed and upset, but when I started dating Amelie in high school she knew just how to make me feel worse.

Burned into my memory of her is this one instance where I had asked her if she was coming to watch me play on Friday in front of her friends. She looked at me like I was lost and just said “no.”

“Why not?” I had asked.

“You lost last time. Why would I waste my time just to see you fail again?”

Out of every baseball game and track meet I was involved in that year, she only attended around ten of them. And I was doing one or the other at least twice a week almost. She never went with me to any of my practices either.

I know now that she was wrong and an overall shitty person, but every time I mess something up I can’t help but think of what she said. Even if nothing is really my fault, I feel like everyone’s eyes are on me, blaming me, knowing I’m just a useless screw up. It’s how I feel now, focusing on getting my supplies put up and getting out of the garage so I can push away the rest of my team’s voices.

“You were right there, why didn’t you just move a couple more inches?” Spy was mumbling to Soldier, although it was more of a quieted exclamation.

“I was bleeding and waiting on more help, what were you doing besides blindly swinging that knife of yours where we don’t need it?” He shouts back, already on the verge of probably destroying something as he shoves his finger into Spy’s chest.

“Oh, you think you’re more useful than me? Would you like to try forming strategies in your head while running and getting shot at instead of mindlessly rushing enemies and dying a thousand times? Hm?”

“To be fair, Soldier did need help before he could advance, I was just busy healing Engie,” Medic pipes in.

“Who wasn’t even doing anything! If you had been on your feet I would’ve had it in the bag,” Soldier declares, hand over his chest. Spy sighs and utters something in French. This situation isn’t going to improve whatsoever. I need to get out of here fast.

“Excuse me? No one else was defendin’ and that damn Spy was gettin’ me every second, my hands were tied! I didn’t even get any help from...hey, Scout what were you even doin’ that whole time?”

I had shoved the last of my gear into their respective lockers and containers when I froze. I turn around and shrug. “Uh...my best?” I offer, slowly side stepping toward the door. Sniper chuckles.

“How is your best worse than last week?” He asks.

“I...um...s-situational...errors. Yeah. I’ve gotta go,” I spit out as my final answer, fumbling for the doorknob while still facing the group until I finally just whip back around and rush out of there.

“My best. What kinda jackass answer is that? God, he’s gonna think I’m...they’re all gonna think I’m brain dead now.” I sigh to myself, rubbing my eyes as I sprint back to my room, hoping no one follows me. At least they weren’t ragging on me the whole time. I don’t think I did too bad on the field, actually. Or maybe I did and I was just too tired to notice. What if I just did nothing? I can’t even remember what happened anymore. Did I help? Did I even move?

I take a deep breath. That wouldn’t make sense, someone would’ve said something if I had just been inactive. I’m just tired, that’s it. Emotionally and physically. I want to sleep but I know if I do I won’t rest well at night again and the cycle will continue. I’ve gotta do something, but for now, I just want to change clothes.

But what if? The thought persists, scratching the back of my mind as if someone were trying to pick a lock in my brain. What if you’ve just failed everyone all over again?

I didn’t, though. It’s not a big deal, and we always have tomorrow.

They’re gonna hate you. Perhaps they already do. You didn’t even apologize. You’re disgusting.

I’m not.

I am.

“I’m not.” I repeat, although this time the words accidentally escape my lips.

Just hang yourself by those dog tags around your neck right now. Do them all a favor. Sniper hates you, there’s no need to worry about him missing you.

I don’t know what to say, what to think, even. I’m arguing with myself over my own worth. My hand hovers over the doorknob. I hadn’t even entered my room before things started getting out of a control. Looking down, I can see that I had been digging my nails into my palms again. One spot was even bleeding a bit.

All that over nothing?

And just like magic, I’m not worried about work anymore. I’m more upset at how pathetically I handled everything. I cant keep letting myself get overwhelmed by stupid shit.

“Scout?” I hear, not too far behind me. I shut my eyes and take another shaky breath.

“Yeah?” I respond, turning around and forcing a more natural expression while wiping my palms on my pants, partly to soothe the stinging and urge to scratch them.

“Are you...eh...okay?” Sniper asks.

“I’ve already said today, I’m fine,” I say, a little too harshly. He holds up his hands in defense.

“I know, I know. Was just uh...wondering. You seemed a little lost in thought. You ran out of there so fast, I barely had time to talk to you!”

I reel back a bit, wondering how to approach this. “Did you have something you wanted to say?” He raises an eyebrow.

“No? I just wanted to chat, is all.”

“About...what?” He shrugs.

“Anything, really,”

“Why?”

“Because we’re friends, of course. I don’t need a reason to want to talk to you, do I?” He chuckles. I know it’s meant to be rhetorical, but for a second I search for a genuine answer. I look down, unable to meet his gaze any longer. We stand in awkward silence for a while. I wonder what he thinks of it.

“I just…didn’t think you’d want to talk to me, really.” I finally answer. It’s probably one of the truest things I’ve said in a while. Sniper crosses his arms. I can tell he’s studying me behind those shades of his.

“Why would ya think that, mate?” He prods. I scoff.

“It’s just that I-uh-have better things to do, I wouldn’t have time to think about you...botherin’ me.” I try to play things off smugly, but Sniper just laughs at me.

“Oh yeah? You mean you weren’t just gonna go off into your room and sleep or listen to that sad boy music of yours?” I glance at my door, moving to where my back was facing it slightly as I scowl at him indignantly.

“Shut up, man, I do more than that! I mean-I don’t even do that!” I retort, although I actually didn’t have any real plans, and have been craving a little nap all day.

He shrugs yet again and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Alright, alright. I see you’re a fan of lies, then. If you don’t have anything to do, but you just get so drained that your only option is to hang out with boring ol’ me, then you’re welcome in my van any time,” He says, offering a smile and his hand. I hesitate before we shake and he gives me an even wider grin.

“Don’t worry about bothering me,” he adds. “I haven’t got much to do either. Was probably gonna do the same thing you are, honestly…” He mutters the last bit to himself.

I stare at that dumb smile of his, pretty much shocked into silence. I don’t know why it’s so distressing that Sniper is yet again being a decent person to me, but it still dumbfounds me. I need to be alone for a minute before I start hyper analyzing all his mannerisms.

“Well…thanks, then.” I finally muster up. “I, uh, really appreciate it. A lot. It means a lot. To me. Thank you,” I stumble through my words, fumbling for the doorknob as I continue to stare. He laughs a bit at my struggle.

“S’no big deal. I’ll hopefully see you later, then?” He asks, a hint of eagerness in his voice.

I finally get my door open and step halfway through. “I’m…yeah, hopefully, I guess. See ya,”

“Hopefully.” He repeats, nodding to himself. He gives me a little wave before walking off. I stare after him a couple steps before quickly entering my room and shutting the door. Letting out a big sigh of relief, I feel some of that pent up tension drip out of my body.

Moving over to my bed, I shove away a couple clothing items and junk to make just enough room for me to flop down comfortably. I lay down on my side and bring my hands up to my face, observing my palms I had harmed moments earlier.

The bleeding had stopped and there was that gross build up of scabbing I’d have to properly clean later. I use my right index finger to trace the little lines on my left palm. I can never tell if they’re natural, caused by me, or there for some reason simply because there’s just too many. My arms are where things get even worse. Thankfully I kept those covered by the tape I always wear.

“He wants to see me. What’s so hard to understand about that?” I say out loud, trying to force an answer out of myself. I still didn’t really know why I refused to believe people could care about me. I guess I technically do know, but I’m not quite ready to admit why I still let it affect me.

I take a breath and sit up. I have other things to do besides sleep. First off, getting out of these ragged clothes. Everything else after that is up for debate. Whatever keeps my mind from working, I’ll do it. I just need to get through a few more hours of the day, then I can sleep and things could be better. I hope I don’t have those kinds of dreams again.

Seafood always either smells like the inside of a cat’s throat, or unseasoned chicken with a tang of oceanic flavor. I’ve always felt pretty neutral about it, but the more nights I spend eating with this Australian, the more I realize how much I take land mammals for granted.

“Dude, that’s like, the twentieth pound of shrimp you’ve made this week, and I don’t even wanna know about the nights I wasn’t here,” I comment as I watch him perform his same ritual of barely dusting the little crawfish with seasoning.

“I see no issue.” He responds nonchalantly.

“That’s the problem, you’re like those hoarders on TV, millions of piles of junk an’ they can’t even breathe in their own house. Yet they keep sayin’ it’s fine when it’s a clear detriment to their health,”

Sniper turns to face me. “It’s not killing me, and it won’t hurt you, either. You’re the one who decided to come here, ya bugger.” He resumes dusting the raw fish with spices, mumbling something under his breath. I roll my eyes in annoyance, but he’s right.

Despite my mixed feelings around the whole Sniper situation, I chose to see him again. I just felt like I was suffocating in my room, or being crushed slowly. Something along those lines.

I prop myself up and sit on the counter opposite from the one Snipes was working on. I would never admit out loud how much I enjoy his cooking, but there’s something about eating fish constantly that starts to make it taste like plastic. I just don’t know how he does it.

“I’m honestly surprised you don’t like seafood as much as I do, I could’ve sworn Boston was known for oceanic flavors or summin’.” He says, turning to face me after sliding the tray of shrimp into the small oven.

“I dunno. The most I ever ate was cheap fish sticks, and they tasted like chalk to me. You’re probably thinking of New York: big city, same accent, whatever,” I explain. He gives me a quizzical look.

“What do ya mean you don’t know? Did you just avoid the food of your culture there your whole life?” He asks.

“My ma had, like, twenty kids to feed, it wasn’t in her best interest to provide the delicacies of our nation to us,” He laughs at that.

“Did you continue to eat like a broke man through adulthood?”

“Uh…not really. I didn’t spend much time at home when I graduated high school.” There was a small pause.

“You moved around a lot?” He asks. Suddenly I feel as if I’ve said too much. I look down at my hands, rubbing my thumbs over my palms nervously.

“I mean…I guess. It wasn’t really moving so much as just going wherever.” I answer.

“Ah, so you travelled a ton? I never woulda guessed you’d enjoy leaving home,” He comments.

“I didn’t, actually. Well, it wasn’t that I didn’t, like, have fun going out an’ stuff, it’s just that I missed my brothers and Ma,” I shrug. “But that’s obvious for anyone, I guess. I like, I had to leave and all that junk, like, I had to so things could be better. But that didn’t necessarily…make things…better. You know?” I look up at Sniper, who looks as confused as I expected him to be. I clear my throat.

“Uh, sorry. I rambled a bit,” I apologize, looking back down at my fidgeting hands, a wildfire of embarrassment raging inside of me.

“It’s fine,” he assures me. “it was just a little, ah, random, heh. But it’s all good, mate.”

“It’s not.” I say softly, mostly to myself. I’m not sure why I had to say it, but it happened. I let another stupid thought get a hold of me, and now I sound like some loser fishing for sympathy.

“No, no, it’s all okay! Rambling is fun, I love people who ramble! I do it all the time,” He exaggerates his movements, almost comically attempting to make me feel better. I can’t help but smile at his tactics, though.

“Whatever, man.” I shake my head slowly and look away, hiding my stupid smile.

“Awright, you wanna hear a dumb fun fact about me, that way we can both be victims of over sharing?”

I look back at him and shrug. “You don’t have to,”

“Come on, it could be like a game! We can get to know each other more,” he exclaims, opening a small cabinet and taking out two glasses and a bottle of what I presumed to be whiskey.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Even if I had interesting life details to share, are we even allowed to know each other personally? Like, contract-wise?”

“Well, they can just piss off. I’ve been here forever, what difference is it gonna make if I find out you had a pet dog or something?” He starts to pour himself a decent glass of alcohol, stopping about halfway. “You want some?” I shake my head.

“I still don’t drink, Snipes.”

“Aw, you never do,” he complains, putting away the empty glass and the container of whiskey. He takes a regal sip of his drink and leans against the counter, looking to be deep in thought. “Right then, what do you want to know about me?”

“Anything you’re willin’ to share, I guess,” I tell him.

“Hm.” Once again he goes into a deeper state of mind, really trying to find something of value to say. It admittedly makes me pretty nervous. “Well, did I ever tell you that I was adopted?” He asks.

“Yeah. I mean, I think so. I dunno if you ever told me directly, but I know,” I explain. He nods.

“Well, along with that, I was a very stupid little bugger as a kid. For whatever reason, I thought being adopted meant neither your birth parents or adoptive ones loved you,” He laughs a bit, although I can tell something more complicated hides at the surface.

“What the hell, man? W-why?” I question with a look of bewilderment.

“Ah, I’ve no idea myself either. Maybe it was all the media, books and television shows and whatnot, always painting the story of some foster kid who goes on an incredible journey to find his birth parents. Even before I knew I was adopted, I had a weird vendetta against kids who didn’t know their real parents. It was like, ‘oi, you’ve got a strange backstory? You must be unloved or something!’ I was kind of an asshole, wasn’t I?” We both laugh lightheartedly at that.

“Did this belief, like, hinder your ability to be nice or something?” I ask.

“Oh no,” he says. “You see, my parents told me of my whereabouts when I was around...nine maybe, so I had all these silly little ideas in my head about adoption and then boom! Suddenly I fell victim to it. It absolutely shattered my heart, I thought I was just the worst kid in the world. Took nearly everyone I knew about a full three weeks to convince me that I was, in fact, loved, and a normal kid. A wild ride, huh?”

“Nah, that’s just...kinda depressing.”

“It wasn’t that bad, really, I was just an idiot. Still am, actually,” He grins and takes another sip of his drink.

“Can’t be stupider than me. I almost overdosed on vitamin gummies because I thought if I took like twenty of ‘em I’d grow to my brother’s height overnight,” he nearly chokes before I even finish.

“Seriously? I almost did that too! Not for the same reason, no, I just ate those things like candy,” We both laugh again and he clears his throat. “My mum would get so pissed at me, but I never ate healthy food right and was a really short kid so she was worried about my growth or something. She had to switch to the gross, non lethal kind without the sugar on it.”

I smile a bit at his story. “I was the smallest out of my brothers for a while, but then I got slightly taller. The oldest in our family told me if I ate the shit, I’d be tall and stuff, even though they tasted like paper clips. I guess I got real determined one night and downed them all. Don’t remember much besides my ma bein’ angry as hell at everyone,”

“Ooh, fun times, fun times. Vitamin gummies are just a child’s greatest enemy and ally. It’s all about natural selection,” He jokes.

“Ain’t that kinda crazy though? We literally kill people and die for a living now, but a couple of years ago it was dangerous to just be at home?” I ask. Sniper shrugs.

“Things change, I guess.” He says.

“A lot,” I add.

“Too much. I miss being stupid and ignorant sometimes. It was fun.” He taps his glass and sighs a bit. “Not to say I don’t have fun now, it’s just a different kind of feeling.”

“Yeah, I get it.” He nods, and we sit in silence for a moment. I feel like saying a million different things, but I can’t tell if I should, or even want to, say a single word. It’s moments like these where my brain works its best (or perhaps worst at the expense of my exhaustion). The silence. Even if it has no meaning, if it’s because there’s nothing to be said, or because things are just awkward. I could analyze every little thing.

Like the way Sniper doesn’t look at me. He stares at whatever he can when he isn’t talking. It makes me wonder if he’s avoiding me or just looking elsewhere because he can. He always has this aura of something big underneath the surface, but every time we interact he seems so surface level. I’ll never be able to tell if he’s only like this around me or not, and it eats me alive every second.

“So, Scout…” Sniper’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I nearly cringe at hearing that name. For the first time in a while, it sounds wrong to hear him say it. I don’t want him to know anything about me, yet at the same time, I have this foreign urge to tell him everything.

“Uh, how many brothers do you have again? I always forget,” he asks.

“Seven. Do you actually know this, or do you genuinely forget, because you ask enough for the answer to be either,” I question him right back. He chuckles nervously.

“Eh...mix of both, somewhat. It’s hard to fathom that each time you tell me though. Seven. God, it’s a miracle you didn’t come out...sexist or something, I don’t know.”

“It wasn’t that...bad...like, no one was abusive or anything. It was fine,” I pause. “For the most part. I-it’s a lot, and complicated, I don’t wanna talk about it.” I say. He nods again.

“That’s fine, that’s fine. Just trying to uh, start conversations.” He says.

“Yeah, whatever.” I reply, probably too roughly. I keep my eyes away from Sniper’s face so I can’t see how he reacts. I hope he doesn’t overthink anything. I hope he’s not like me.

We’re silent for a few more seconds as I watch the oven timer tick slowly. Suddenly I’m feeling less hungry and more nauseous than anything. It’s probably just guilt for making things so awkward. I scratch the back of my neck. “I should probably get to my room…” I say plainly.

“You don’t wanna eat?” Sniper looks at me with a face slightly contorted in dismay. My eyes drop to my feet.

“I feel kinda sick, I guess.” I mumble, fidgeting with the wrap around my wrists.

“You can lay down if you want, I can…get you something,” he offers. I feel my face heat up. God, it pains me to put people through so much trouble.

“No, I’m fine,” I assure him. “I just need to sleep.”

“It’s barely even past six, and I know you won’t get to sleep immediately, Scout.”

“So? What’s it matter to you?” My tone is angrier than I want it to be. Maybe not. I am angry, just not at him, really. I don’t know how to express that.

Sniper hesitates for a second, as if he wants to say something big, but something changes in his face. He waves a hand between us, trying to dismiss all the negativity.

“You’ve just been so inactive lately. I don’t know, it gets boring watching you do nothing.”

“I do do stuff!” I object, glaring back up at him. He scoffs a bit.

“Only when I make you, and even then you seem miserable some portion of the time. C’mon, mate, is it really that big of a deal that I want to hang out with a friend every now and then?”

I search his face for some sign of anger, but even his tone is calm and collected. I seem to be the only one unnecessarily upset at something so irrelevant.

“Just go chill on my bed or something, play some music, watch a movie, I promise you it’s not a big deal,” he says softly. His smile tries to convince me he’s telling the truth, but something in my brain still makes me feel like a burden.

“I don’t want to inconvenience you, I’m really tired, I’m just so busy all the time!” None of my stupid excuses ever work on him. He cares too much and can see right through them.

Well, he probably doesn’t care about me, now that I think about it. He’s just bored of the isolation of our job, finally, and needs someone to fill the gaps of time between work days and off days. He’s done this with everyone, I bet, it’s just my turn to get used.

“Stay,” Sniper says out of the blue, almost like a command. “just for a bit.” he adds gently. We look at each other for a while. Finally, I nod and sigh.

“Okay.” The word slips out before I register what it means. The look Sniper gives me is meant to be something of happiness and reassurance, but my stomach folds in on itself and I feel hollow rather than confident.

I’m not sure why I feel guilty, or what I even feel guilty of, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. I’d rather not cause a scene by leaving thirty minutes later just to be angry in my room instead of his, but that familiar cloud over my thoughts begs me to simply walk out.

I could, actually. Really I should. But the other part of me, the one I can’t ever decide on calling the sane side or the one there to make me feel better, revels in the heat of this situation. The fact that someone wants me, actively attempts to make me interact with them, whether it’s because they enjoy my company or are manipulating me, is entirely too enticing to stay away from. The idea that I might be used again pleases me just because I know that through it all I still have someone at least pretending to care and be my friend.

Oh. Oh.

Sniper, this guy I’ve only ever known as some lanky, wannabe hipster who can say the stupidest shit for someone so smart and full of ideas, is happily tending to the meal he’s preparing for himself and the friend he just convinced to stay. Yet here I am, telling myself he’s got the spirit of the devil or something much worse.

I pick at the small wounds on my palm. The guilt feels worse now that it has a reason to live inside me.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Jeremy?”

I flinch.

“Are you still asleep?” My mouth opens, but no words come out. I can't even feel a vibration in my throat, only air moving in and out of my chest.

“Whatcha need?” Someone else asks for me, and suddenly I can see with my eyes closed. The figure that spoke was small and human-like, yet had a strange cloud of whiteness around it, moving as it moved, like it was hiding something.

“I was just wondering,” the first voice whispers back, and although there wasn’t anything present before, I see him now, in front of the other figure, both seated on the bed.

Frayser.

“When did you get home?” I ask, suddenly in the position of whatever entity had been speaking before. The voice that I “spoke” with was entirely familiar while also so foreign at the same time.

“Eh, few minutes ago,” he replies. “did you want to ride?” His sentences are broken fragments that don’t make sense, yet are also complete and perfectly reasonable in my mind.

I think I’ve said something, but my throat still feels hollow and I’m focusing too much on his face. I can't fully recognize him. It’s as if I’m seeing every version of my brother ever. I think I’m starting to forget.

He smiles that royal grin of his, and gets up to leave. I reach out for him, but that’s all I can do. My body won’t move for whatever reason. I try to say anything, even whisper a small “wait,” anything to get one more second of him.

I stare at his rapidly fading figure for a long time while he calls out an incoherent mess to me, asking things, shouting maybe, I can’t tell. “Are you good?” I hear his voice, looming somewhere over me, but when I look around, all I see is darkness. Darkness and someone’s hand on my shoulder.

“Scout?”

I open my eyes slowly, and instead of my brother or even the space of my own bedroom, I see Sniper’s face a few feet away from me. I think I attempt to grumble a response, to move, but all I can muster is a slight stretch of my legs underneath the covers.

“You awright there, mate?” he whispers, and I feel his breath on my cheek. I squint and smile in response, not fully awake enough to do anything but that. I see him smile before I close my eyes and let out a quiet sigh. He pats my shoulder. I fall asleep again seconds after.