Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

…

Uh oh.

His mind was a white space, vast and endless, a void of nothing but flatlines as two simple words shimmered in from the abyss:

Uh oh.

The Scout has felt fear before, like any other living being. Unbearable fear. Terrible, sickening fear. Fear so heinous, it crushed him into the depths of his own delusion that he’d die. Fear so unremarkably powerful, so strong, it convinced him to turn tail at so many, so many, good opportunities. A natural human emotion. Good opportunities, turned to waste.

That was what he was thinking at the time—a little less than thirty seconds ago, for that matter. Scout saw a good opportunity, no, a perfect opportunity. An opportunity so sublime he would have been an idiot to pass it up!

The Soldier.

The stairs.

The Scout’s simmering hatred suddenly boiling at that exact moment in time.

Soldier’s voice was still ringing in his head. All the screaming about his flaws, his failures, all the magnificently detailed tales of the Scout’s slip-ups—all recited verbatim, chucked into his face and projected for everyone to hear. It was like a school presentation with a much too judgemental chalkie.

He said nothing in return. He wanted to disintegrate into ash on the spot. He’ll hit up Pyro next chance he gets.

Despite being incapable of viewing the man’s eyes beneath that bowl, Scout made sure to scowl, to hold that face, inclined to remain sturdy until he felt satisfied with himself—but that moment never came.

Once again, he had gotten the short end of the stick.

Nobody else received the same treatment.

Not Spy, nor Demo.

Soldier hurled all his energy onto Scout. Called him worthless. Incompetent. An incompetent, worthless, city boy.

But it wasn’t those words that set the timer on the bomb. No, no, it was what the man said after dismissal—

“Keep that up and your brazen hussy mama will be picking you up early, shortpants! Then maybe she will think twice before popping out another sorry ass maggot like you!!”

It was curt. A dismissible insult that usually went in one ear and out the other, but this one prejudice rang sirens, set off alarms. It even rendered the Spy giving Soldier the stink-eye. That one subtle, slanderous word oozed at Scout, tore his eardrums from the inside out, pecked his brain. He almost made the mistake (surprise, surprise) of thinking it was his imagination.

Hussy.

He did not.

He did not just say that—about his mother.

‘Brazen hussy.’

Thus, the seed of revenge had been planted.

The prelude to a disaster.

Then and there was when Scout decided to do something about it.

He just needed to find the right opportunity.

An impeccable opportunity.

Lo and behold—

Not even an hour later, it uncoiled, unveiled itself to him. The golden egg of opportunities was approaching Scout at a brisk pace.

Soldier was advancing toward the stairs at a speed that was almost too fast for him to garner.

Scout had just climbed those stairs, on his way up from the Infirmary. The moment he was abandoned after dismissal he spent a good half hour of his time taking out his anger on a helpless punching bag until his knuckles were bleeding, red and sore. It relieved a slight bit of tension, but Soldier’s words were incessant alarm clocks at max volume.

Those words, those dismissible, slanderous words, were what coerced the Scout to take that perfect, that once in a lifetime opportunity—

To stick his leg out.

“See ya next fall, asshole.”

Unbeknownst to many, Soldier does have relatively quick reflexes.

But with Scout, it would be like competing with a cat.

The man hadn’t even batted an eye as he had drawn nearer. Maybe he had been off in his imagination. Maybe it was the helmet that concealed half, if not all, his vision. Whatever it was, he didn’t see the runner’s leg suddenly hinder his path.

So he tripped.

In the most ungraceful performance, the Soldier tripped and failed to locate the railing. He made a noise of surprise before ultimately tumbling down the steep corridor.

Scout grinned at the contact—heart speeding like a train as he watched Soldier get what he deserved, virtually in slow motion, laughing to himself in pride. His helmet even flew off his head. It was a long way down…

It ended as quickly as it started.

The thumps and grunts of Soldier’s body tumbling down the stairs ended with a bang.

Or rather—a crack.

CRRCK.

It was louder than any explosion Scout had been victim to. Soldier knocked his cranium against the floor with eerily no reaction, flumping to the ground like a lifeless ragdoll. His helmet soon joined him, clunking against the tile, rolling in a circle like a top that lost its velocity.

“In ya face, douchebag! Next time use yah frickin’ head fo’ once an’ think twice about callin’ my Ma a slampig, ya dome-wearin’ dope!”

Soldier didn’t move. The helmet kept spinning.

Scout grinned ear-to-ear. “Whassa matta, spaz? Ya out fo’ da season? Yeah, try both eyes when walkin’, dipshit, saves ya from da bench.”

Still, the Soldier made no effort to lift a finger. The helmet began to slow.

The runner stood stock still as he awaited for the answer that never came. Silence never felt more deafening. “Dude, yah ain’t gettin’ an apology from me, ‘less yah wanna tell it ta me first.”

Nothing. The Scout stared at the torpid body of Soldier from the top of the steps, grin faltering with each haunting second gone by. That sound, that—CRRCK—he knew that sound. He heard it everyday. The sound of someone’s skull busy getting bashed to smithereens from Scout’s bat. He liked that sound, it was a sign of success, that he managed to do his job well, not to mention the dopamine that would surge through him.

That same sound that nurtured him like his own mother didn’t sound so comforting anymore. Time itself was on pins and needles.

“...Yo, Soldier?”

When the helmet finally came to a halt, when a puddle of crimson gradually gathered around Soldier’s head, when Scout realized just what that sound indicated, his mind was a white space, vast and endless, a void of nothing but flatlines as two simple words shimmered in from the abyss:

Uh oh.

Chapter Text

The Scout rushed down the stairs faster than a speeding bullet, leaping the rest of the way down as his adrenaline shouted orders at him at max volume. Soldier still wasn’t answering anything that Scout was saying to him, and Scout nudging him proved that he wasn’t thinking of answering any time soon. He was limp and lethargic—the exact opposite of what Scout wanted him to be right now, in fact, this wasn’t how he wanted any of this to be right now.

“Soldier, ya good?” Scout asked even though he could clearly see Soldier was not feeling good whatsoever. False hope was a mysterious thing.

Scout panicked and tried finding a pulse, because Soldier would have respawned by now if he was dead, right? That puddle of blood, that meant he was still injured, right? Sure enough, he found a pulse after fumbling in the wrong areas for a few moments and confirmed that Soldier was indeed still alive after that treacherous fall. Scout didn't know what to do—somehow revive Soldier with some kind of voodoo magic like Merasmus, or call for Medic and let him handle the aftermath.

The second option sounded the most reasonable. Yeah, Medic would know what to do in this situation! Scout sighed in relief and raised his hand to give a holler, when suddenly a hypothetical devil resembling himself appeared on his left shoulder, along with a little angel on his right. Both wore ridiculous costumes complete with wings as they countered each other back and forth.

“Hold yer horses, pal,” barked the Devil Scout. “Ain’t ya gunna consider da reapercushions first?”

Scout gave his devilish self an incredulous look. “…‘Reaper… cushions’...?”

“Repercussions!” Angel Scout corrected. Scout hadn’t even heard a word like that before, how did these two know what it meant?

“What are ya talkin’ about?” he asked. “Why are we talkin’ ‘bout da Grim Reaper’s couch cushions?”

“We ain’t talkin’ ‘bout dat, ya jackass, I’m tellin’ ya ya need to consider da consequences. Ya call dat crazy old bozo ova ‘ere and yer gettin’ yer ass kicked more often around ‘ere. Dat bastard deserves dis, don’tcha think? ‘Specially after what ‘e said about… yer Ma?”

The Scout revisited damnation after that. True… the whole reason he even did that was because of what Soldier said about his Ma, because no one ever calls his hardworking Ma a hussy. Not on his watch. 

“Who cares if ‘e bonked ‘is head a lil’? He did much worse to ya. ‘Member dat time ‘e nearly killed ya cuz ya mocked his singin’? Bet ‘e don’t even know da lyrics to da Star Spangled Banner. ‘E deserves every bit of dis, besides, respawn’ll take care of ‘em.

“Oh, and ‘member dat time ‘e yelled at ya cuz ya were in da bathroom too long and laughed at yah excuse? Ya remember da reason ya were in dere, right?”

The runner reluctantly dug up the old memory. “Because… I was constipated?”

“Ex-actly. Absolute bullcrap. Ya had no control ova dat. An’ now he’s mockin’ yer Ma? My point stands; he deserves dis.”

Scout wasn’t sure how to feel about leaving one of his teammates to die like this, but the more and more this devil talked, the more Scout was convinced that he made the right choice to teach Soldier a roundabout lesson. It felt good to finally get the upper hand on that moron. In fact he had this coming; he went too far and now he’s paying the price! Serves him right!

Devil Scout smiled smugly at his angel counterpart, reclining in his imaginary throne. “Any objections, yer holiness?”

With one hand Angel Scout held up a finger, the other clutching a little harp that nearly shattered from his iron grip, ready to retort an argument that’ll regress the Scout back on the path of innocence. He couldn’t let that smooth-talking devil lead him astray!

“Think about da otha consequences, ya dope!” He even knocked on Scout’s cranium like a door. “What if ‘e doesn’t respawn, huh? What if he’s ‘bouta wake up any second now, then what? Ya really lookin’ to die ‘ere, right now? He ain’t dead yet, man! Dat’s what I’m sayin’. Da Doc can handle dis better than ya, pal, let’s face it.”

Human Scout replied, “What if I jus’ kill ‘em now?”

“Ooh, even better!” cheered Devil Scout.

“No, no, dat’s not what I meant! Jus’ call da Doc ova ‘ere, brotha, an’ tell ‘em what happened. Tell da truth. Worse case scenario: ya get yer ass kicked an’ an earful from da geezer, but after dat everythin’ is back ta normal!”

“Don’t mean to burst yah bubble, pal, but gettin’ my ass kicked is what I’m tryin’ ta avoid ‘ere. Ain’t ya s’pposed to tell me how to get outta dis? What if Doc tells ‘em what happened?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality!”

Now this was getting technical… 

“Oh come on, ya think dat old shit’s gonna hide dis crap from ‘im?!” spouted Devil Scout, stabbing his trident into Scout’s left ear. “Soldier oughta wrestle it outta ‘em! Which is why I’m tellin’ ya, leave ‘em how he is! Best case scenario: Soldier forgets it even happened! Pretend ya know jack shit and convince him ‘e had an episode! Da dude’s dumb as a rock, jus’ tell ‘em ‘e needs ta watch where he’s goin’ and yer off scot free!”

“Ya dumbass, he’d know we’d have somethin’ to do with it! ‘E ain’t jus’ gonna let it go! ‘E heard us talk to ‘em before ‘e fell!” Even the holy peacemaker was starting to lose his temper.

“Well, well, well, look who’s talkin’, Sherlock! Dat fact contradicts yer point, don’t it?”

“It—! Uh…”

Now it was time for the angel to rethink his words. It all came full circle to Soldier finding out Scout was responsible for him tumbling down the stairs. No matter how many times he thought about them, every available choice crashed into a dead end. Soldier was bound to find out one way or the other. It didn’t matter in the end; it’d be all for naught.

If all roads lead to Rome, then this road is leading the Scout straight to an ass kicking.

At that point the contradictory Scouts were screeching at each other to the point where Devil Scout actually ventured to the other shoulder to give the holy bastard a piece of his mind. A directionless brawl that would prove nothing, though it seemed a bit more on the personal side of things. Scout didn’t know what to do, and not just because both his influencers couldn’t give a shit anymore, but because he realized he made a grave mistake. There at his side in a bloody heap was the result of a terrible decision brought on by his terrible choices. Even with the encouragement of pinning the blame on Soldier, since he caused this in the first place, Scout realized that there wasn’t any easy way to wriggle out of this.

He had to face facts.

“Guys,” he said solemnly to the two, despite their nonexistent attention, “I… think I’m jus’ gonna tell Doc what happened.”

“What?!”

That garnered them. Devil Scout looked at him in shock.

“Da hell are ya sayin’?!”

“I know, I know, I heard what ya said, man. But it ain’t gonna matta. I’ll jus’ explain why I did it, get my ass kicked or whateva, apologize, an’ carry on like usual. Better than bein’ called a liar.”

“But ‘e deserves dis, doesn’t ‘e?”

“He does, but not like dis.”

“Yah right,” chimed the beaten angel. “Dere are otha ways to get back at da jackass. Like stealin’ his health kits!”

Scout laughed at that. It seemed Devil Scout didn’t have any more objections at the ready, failing to utter out a smartass retort every time he started to speak. It wasn’t right to lie in a situation like this. The Scout would rather get beaten to a pulp than be called a liar, or be compared to the Spy. Anything but that.

With everything out of the way, with a determined look, Scout took a deep breath and raised his hand, ready to holler out the familiar phrase that sent Medic into hysterics when said one too many times:

“M—!”

“Ugh…”

…!!!

The Scout’s words came to a screeching halt. A groan emitted from his side, and as he twisted his head to Soldier, who was currently groaning in pain and rubbing his bloody cranium, Scout’s blood ran stone cold. It felt like he’d suddenly been teleported to Snowycoast.

Soldier—wasn’t dead.

He was just knocked unconscious.

All three Scouts’ jaws fell open. The two influencers glanced at their host before the Devil announced, “Yer on yer own, pal,” and both of them vanished in a little pink cloud with a poof!

Wait wait wait no come back!!

He’d been abandoned by his own conscience.

Scout couldn’t tell if this must be that reaper cushion thing those two were talking about, or if his day of reckoning had finally arrived. Actually he’s more impressed than horrified right now—the floor has an entire coat of scarlet, just how in the hell is this guy even alive?! As much as he’d love to ask, Soldier’s regaining orientation really damn quick.

Run, he can still run, and not have to face whatever hellscape Soldier’s got in store for him for this. It sounded enticing, but got shut down in an instant when Scout realized it wasn’t worth delaying the inevitable.

The Soldier gradually fluttered his eyes open and closed like he couldn’t tell if he was standing up or not, and eventually sat up holding his bloody head in his palms. He almost fell back down thanks to his apparent vertigo. Meanwhile the runner was too terrified to move, so he settled for a phrase that didn’t conceal his discomfort whatsoever.

“Heyyy, uh, buddy… ya… ya feelin’ better?”

Soldier looked up at the sound of Scout’s voice, and holy shit that looked like it hurt—gave the kid an ambiguous stare. As if… he’d never seen him before.

Scout clenched his eyes shut.

Here it comes.

Pain without end.

But what came out of Soldier’s mouth was the last thing Scout ever expected to hear:

“Who are you?”

…

…

It was hard to describe his emotions then. Words didn’t sound like words anymore. What did he just say?

“What the hell happened?” Soldier asked as he finally took note of the amount of blood on the floor. He genuinely looked disturbed.

And without missing a beat, the Scout answered, “Ya fell down da stairs.”

“I did?”

“Yeah… ya… feelin’ okay?”

The man shrugged. “I have a headache, but… is this my blood?”

“I guess so.”

“Holy shit, am I okay? Wait, who am I?”

Huh.

There might be a way out of this after all.

Good riddance, too; it's way too early for character development.

Chapter Text

Well this wasn’t how Medic wanted to spend the rest of his day. Plenty of operations have been performed in the Infirmary, way too many to count, but enough that Medic can identify the familiar metallic scent of blood in a snap—but good lord, this was enough to make him gag, and that’s saying something. Archimedes shied away after a while, too. Medic delightfully grew accustomed to it eventually, but not before he had to shield his senses with a clothespin and an air freshener. In any case, the smell itself wasn’t the problem. Not by a damn sight.

The issue here was Soldier.

Sitting in a chair with a gauze plastered over his wounded temple, waiting patiently for his diagnosis, Soldier quietly observed Medic pacing back and forth in front of him. Scout was there too, looking like he’d seen a ghost.

Zero years of expertise could have prepared Medic for... whatever inane circumstances he’s found himself in waist deep.

Medic had first opened up with, “How much do you remember?”

And, “Nothing,” was Soldier’s nonchalant response.

As he was told over and over.

He continued to ask questions until there was nothing left to ask. Not recalling a single thing about his past, Soldier answered everything with curt no.

“Do you remember your name?”

“No.”

“Do you remember my name?”

“No.”

“Do you remember his name?” He gestured to Scout.

“No.”

“Do you have any memory of who you are, vhy you are here?”

“...No.”

...

Yeah, this was the last thing Medic wanted to deal with.

Soldier’s newfound taciturn personality was jarring enough.

Scout stood silently on the sidelines watching the doctor do his thing. After a couple of minutes of questioning, the German turned to give Scout a strange look. “How did zhis even happen?”

Something felt off about his eyes, like he was attempting to read Scout by his attitude and body language, a calculating stare. Studying him and his words. Looking for something. Listening for something.

As if—as if he didn’t believe Scout in the slightest.

So with the straightest face he could manage, the Scout gave an awkward shrug and lied through his teeth.

“Fell down da stairs, man. I told ya already.”

“Are you sure zhat is vhat happened?”

He wasn’t even trying to camouflage it.

God forbid he figure out Scout purposefully tripped Soldier, because Medic was not in the greatest mood right now. The loss the team suffered after that match really took its toll on their attitudes—punched the wind right out of everybody. Plus being called an idiot wasn’t on Scout’s agenda, actually none of this was on his agenda, to start with. Again, Scout pressed that he was one-hundred percent certain he heard a weird noise while working out and discovered Soldier looking like fresh roadkill at the bottom of the steps.

“I asked ‘em if ‘e felt alright, an’ ‘e asked me who I was like he’s neva seen me before!”

At least his story fit… there was no way in hell he was passing up this opportunity that conveniently allowed him to pass off his mistake as a freak accident, and go free without getting his ass kicked! No reaper cushions, or whatever those guys said. It was too good to be true.

He can’t ruin this now.

He’s not a liar, he’s just—twisting the truth a little!

Yeah…

“Und you are positive zhat zhese are zhe events zhat happened chronologically?”

“Chrono… yes. I am bein’ one thousand percent truthful right now.”

Medic huffed hopelessly. No empathy shown through. Dealing with this after a hefty loss was going to be rough on his health, he could tell that much already.

“Uh,” Soldier interrupted. He awkwardly raised his hand and looked at Medic. “Is it serious? What’s wrong with me?”

“You show signs of amnesia, mein freund.”

“…Is that bad?”

“Very.”

“Oh…”

The doctor strode over to a drawer, retrieving a yellow folder and a clipboard. “I may have to perform some tests… Scout, you may stay for zhis, but in a bit I must ask you to leave.”

“Why?”

“Confidential procedures.”

Next, Medic rolled over a chair and situated himself in front of his wounded teammate. Inside the yellow folder Scout got a peek at what appeared to be medical records. With a rough sigh, Medic adjusted his glasses, skimmed the information, and commenced the investigation.

“I am going to ask you some more questions. Zhis vill not take long. Answer as honestly as you can.”

The Soldier nodded. “Okay.”

“Vhat is your name?”

“I don’t know.”

“Vhat is your occupation?”

“I don’t know.”

“Vhat year vere you born?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know your mother’s name?”

“No.”

“Do you know how to load and fire a rocket launcher?”

“No—what?”

The question actually made him recoil. A question about a rocket launcher made Soldier recoil. Sure, he lost his memory and all, but just seeing it played out in real life perturbed Scout. The overzealous rocket jumping maniac who normally screeched to the high heavens about America was as calm and tame as a lake. It was... unsettling.

But Medic didn’t let his authoritative tone falter. “Do you know vhere you are at zhe moment?”

“...No,” said Soldier, still put off by the previous question.

“Do you know vhat you are doing here?”

“I do not.”

“Do you know vhy ve are here?”

“…We know each other…?” 

“Do you know how ve know each other?”

“…No, I do not.”

Medic’s tone informed Scout that this was more than just a dilemma.

“Vhat is zhe last zhing you remember off zhe top of your head?”

The American paused to think for a moment. “I… woke up in a puddle of blood, and…” he pointed to Scout, “he was there asking if I was okay. Can I ask why that part about a ‘rocket launcher’ was necessary?”

… 

Medic was abruptly devoid of emotion. Not a word was uttered as he rose from the chair like a zombie, returned the records and clipboard back where they belong, then swiftly pulled Scout to the side to talk one-on-one. The circumstances didn’t look so bright, but surely Medic of all people knew what he was doing, right? He’d know a way to fix this!

“So?” Scout said in a whisper. “Can ya fix ‘em?”

“I have no idea.”

… 

…

Well, uh…

That was the opposite of what he was hoping to hear.

Judging by the dead man’s tone, he wasn’t pulling his leg, either.

“Whaddya mean ya dunno? What, he’s got some kinda incurable amnesia? What is dat—is dat a disease, or? What happened?”

“It is not a fatal disease, nor is it incurable. It means he has lost his memory.”

“Well no shit. So why don’t ya know if ya can cure ‘em or not?”

“Because,” the German said through gritted teeth. “I have no idea how zhis is even possible, Herr Scout! He’s forgotten everyzhing! Do you understand me, dummkopf?!” His voice was straining to keep it down as he clutched the kid’s shoulders in alarm. All sense of professionalism, tossed out the window. “Amnesia of zhis scale is unheard of for me! Und, in case you and your bird brain are not catching on by now, he has no recollection of rocket launchers, Scout! None! Nein!”

Being grabbed and shook like a ragdoll had Scout starting to freak the fuck out. “W-what does dat mean?”

“It means ve are gefickt, Scout!!”

“What?!”

“He cannot fight, schveinhund!”

“Oh.”

…

…

“OH…”

‘Oh’ indeed—Scout’s bird brain stopped dead in its tracks upon connecting the dots and realizing that this was in fact a huge fucking deal after all.

Soldier doesn’t remember who he is.

Soldier doesn’t remember being in a war.

Soldier—doesn’t remember how to fight.

Doesn’t know how.

Unable.

If Soldier can’t fight, can’t fire a rocket launcher, couldn’t—couldn’t say who the first President of the United States was, then—

They were simply—down an ally.

Outnumbered.

At a disadvantage.

An Achilles’ heel.

“You get it now, ja?!”

“Can’t ya think of somethin’?!” Scout panicked. “Like — I dunno! Clobber ‘em ova da head or somethin’?! Dat usually works in movies—”

“You idiot,” Medic chided. “Zhat vould make it vorse!!”

“O-okay, uh, den how ‘bout sayin’ somethin’ dat sounds familiar to ‘em?”

“If zhat vould vork he vould have remembered everyzhing zhe moment I said ‘rocket launcher’!”

“Dat—! Dat’s true. Um.”

Soldier has no memory of joining RED. Soldier has zero knowledge on weaponry altogether. He doesn’t know how to fire or load a rocket launcher. The old Soldier, the old loud and batshit crazy Soldier they’ve known for years, has been reduced to a disorientated amnesiac. If there was ever a perfect time for Scout’s hidden genius to show, it would be now; he was out of ideas and felt beyond stupid because of it.

Medic was going out of his wits with this, and rightfully so. They may as well be standing in a room with an injured pedestrian they found on the street!

“Excuse me…”

!!

Speak of the devil.

In the blink of an eye Medic returned to his facade like nothing unspeakably alarming was just discussed. Scout staggered out of the way for the man to approach the lost soul, who was now out of the chair and on his feet. He looked worried.

“My head still hurts, doctor.”

“You fell down zhe steps and cracked your head open, of course it hurts. Frankly I’m surprised you’re still alive, zhe amount of blood you’ve lost is unfazhomable. Speaking of which, Herr Scout,” the kid wasn’t given any respite, Medic sprouting a two-faced grin as he yanked him toward the exit, “vould you mind cleaning zhat up for me? It vould be much help, danke schön!”

“Hey!” Scout just barely stopped the door from slamming in his face. He spoke lowly. “What da hell, dude?”

“I told you. I am going to run some confidential procedures. I need to stop his bleeding and find out vhat caused zhis to happen. Blood loss may have somezhing to do vith it, but I am going to dig a little deeper. Now. Clean up zhat blood, bitte.”

“Oh, so now ya know what to do?!”

“Zhis isn’t fixing anyzhing! In fact it may simply wear off on its own! Finding out vhat part of his brain is damaged is zhe first priority. I vill do my best here, so unless I must sound it out for you, again, go clean zhat blood, danke schön.”

Now was possibly the worst timing imaginable—the guilt began prickling in. It didn’t feel right, it didn’t feel right at all, panic swelling up in his chest like he couldn’t breathe correctly now that things had escalated to this. This wasn’t meant to happen. “Doc, look—”

“Scout.”

The German stared sharply. There was no room for objections.

“If zhere is anyzhing else, anyzhing at all zhat you vould like to tell me, now vould be a good time.”

…

…

…Aw, shit…

He wanted to—

Believe him, he really wanted to. It wasn’t like Medic to suddenly implore like this, albeit vague. His furrowed brows said enough. Scout wanted to hurl up the words, to confess right then and there.

He wanted to, but—

But—

“I don’t got anythin’ else to tell ya, doc.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am positive.”

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t say it.

Thorny pangs obliterated his senses—he had done such an astounding job keeping it low-key. Repentance clawed him from the inside out.

He couldn’t say it—didn’t say it.

Medic held his breath and just looked at Scout like that for a couple seconds. It was suffocating. A last-ditch effort to detect some piece of information that hadn’t unveiled itself yet. The worst part was that Scout knew he wasn’t going to tell him, potentially passing an incredible opportunity.

A sublime—opportunity.

He passed a perfect opportunity that fell into his lap.

A good opportunity that could have potentially provided a solution—

Gone to waste.

Scout’s heart raced through the needles of tension as Medic’s eyes drilled into him. Finally, as the air turned thick, with yet another harsh sigh escaping his lips, the doctor nodded, looked Scout in the eyes, and said:

“Alright. I believe you.”

The door closed with a click.

...

...

Scout remained there, eyes cast down, pondering what the hell he just did.

Ma never stood for lying in the house. Scout and his brothers were meant to be honest at all times, and if they were ever caught lying, they’d be punished properly. Knowing this...

Scout wondered if Ma would be disappointed in him now.

“Dat ain’t what I like to hear, pal.”

A voice broke Scout’s thousand-yard stare. A voice that barbed his left ear.

Oh, you can’t be serious...

“What da hell...”

Sitting upon his left shoulder was the one and only Devil Scout. He was grinning so wide his face looked ready to crack in half. There was no introductory entrance, either, no poofs!, no grand show of arrival, he was just there. As if he’d been pulling the Scout’s heartstrings from there this entire time. 

Sitting there, listening to the lies tossed in Medic’s face. 

Twirling his trident, he patted Scout on the shoulder, ignoring the ugly scowl he received in response.

“Atta boy! Brighten up, why don’tcha? Everythin’ turned out betta than ya expected!”

“You call Soldier losin’ ‘is frickin’ memory good news?”

“Hey, at least yah ain’t gettin’ yah ass beat, right? Crisis averted.”

“I know, but…”

“But what? Ya feel bad? Don’t gimme dat shit, ‘e deserved dis, remember?”

“I know! But—I dunno, it didn’t feel right, I guess…”

“When did it feel bad, den?” said his right shoulder. 

...

Wait, his right—?

...!

Angel Scout refused to even look at him. He was crouched over like one would to sulk. An empty space above his head replaced his missing halo, and Scout figured he must be fiddling with it in his hands.

“When ya tripped da poor guy and split ‘is head open? When ya lied an’ said ya didn’t know what happened? When Doc gave ya a chance to tell da truth an’ ya didn’t? What happened to facin’ facts?”

Ouch.

The angel stabbed worse than the devil.

“Dis is all Soldier’s fault, though.” Scout was desperate for something to justify his actions. How could he have known Soldier would forget everything? What happened was just a series of unfortunate events. Time heals all wounds. Everything will turn out fine eventually!

Or at least he hoped.

Angel Scout merely peeked over his shoulder, confirming his lost halo had been clasped in his hands. “Is it, though? Was it reeeaally ‘is fault ‘e don’t remember ‘is name? Who ‘e is? What ‘e loves? Who ‘e loves? Are ya happy as long as yah ain’t da one in trouble?”

“Come on, man, yah bummin’ me out, I didn’t expect dis to happen!”

“Yeah,” the devil agreed. “In fact, why don’t ya stay quiet?”

“Wha—”

It happened faster than Scout foresaw.

“Guh…!”

In a flash the devil sunk his unholy trident deep into back of his angel counterpart. Three teeth exited his chest, protruding out like thorns sprouting from his lungs, and at first Angel Scout was stunned into a deadlock. Scout himself reeled, taken aback from the gruesome scenario unfolding in front of him. All the while Devil Scout never wiped that wicked grin off his face.

Never.

“Got anythin’ smart to say now?”

To this Angel Scout coughed, “Yeah—tell da truth, ya frickin’ moron.” 

A final glare pierced Scout like the trident itself.

“Enough bullshit,” said the devil, and he retrieved his bloodied weapon with a hard yank to free it from the bodily prison. Addled, the Scout gaped, and when he tried to blink this illusion away, the stabbed angel was nowhere to be seen.

All that remained was a vacant right shoulder—and a heinous, murderous devil on his left.

“Go to hell.”

“What’d ya do dat for?”

Why he asked, Scout didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.

“Did ya a lil’ favor.” Devil Scout reclined as if it didn’t make a difference. “Anyway, now dat he’s outta da way, yer gunna listen to me now. Think about it like dis: Soldier’s a new man. A fresh slate. No more yellin’. No more 6 a.m. workouts. No more gettin’ yer ass beat over somethin’ stupid. He ain’t gunna botha ya or anyone else anymore. Dis is a blessin’ in disguise, believe it or not. Tellin’ da truth ain’t gunna do ya good anymore. Think about it, brotha.”

As much as Scout wanted say he’s full of shit—

That he’s wrong, that he’s a diabolical piece of shit, Scout kept on drifting to the same answer:

He’s not... wrong...

Because, yeah, Scout did hate waking up early every frickin’ day to Soldier screaming about something ridiculous...

And yeah, he did hate how laughably dumb he was, taking everything out of context and beating Scout’s ass for no reason...

Soldier was unpleasant to be around.

But...

Now, with his memory gone and everything, he’s neither loud nor dumb—he’s a fresh slate. He can’t get mad or something he doesn’t know. He can’t yell or scream about something he doesn’t comprehend. If Medic can’t figure out how to fix him, then the old Soldier, the loud, annoying, insane Soldier, is gone.

No more made-up war stories around a campfire on a ceasefire evening.

“I’m tellin’ ya what’s best for ya, buddy.” Devil Scout flourished an uncharacteristically genteel smile. “I’m on yer side.”

...

Maybe...

Maybe just let this play out. Wait a few days. See where things go. After all, nobody’s surveilling him.

“What if I go back and tell Medic da truth right now?” Scout asked the devil out of pure curiosity. He wasn’t even near the Infirmary anymore.

“Ya can’t go back.”

The runner counted his steps as he strolled down the hall with a mop and a bucket he got from a nearby storage closet. It was quiet. Deafeningly quiet. Scout felt eerily hollow.

“...Yeah, I guess yah right.”

“I’m always right.”

“Yeah...”

Around the corner, Scout could hear someone yelling, “Bloody hell! Wot tha... did I spill me scrumpy? Or am I drunk? Wait, is this blood?”

He feared rounding that corner, considered turning back with a lame excuse to not face his teammates. He felt a tug on shoulder. “Yer on, kid.”

Right...

Everyone was going to have to find out sooner or later...

He marched forward. Soldier’s helmet was still on the ground, surrounded by a flood of scarlet. Scout thought of the sound Soldier’s head made when he hit the floor. Thought of Angel Scout and the verbal abuse he hurled before the end. Thought of the way he looked at him before the end.

Tell the truth? That would be suicide.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

“Heya, Demo... uh, I got some news for ya...”

Ugh...

Just what did he get himself into?