Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was as if he were sinking. Not the kind where you get dragged to the darkness below you by either a block of concrete tied to your legs or some divine force simply keeping you from rising to the surface. No, it was more like floating. Just letting the deep blackness fold in around you like a bed's comforter. It clouded his mind, muffled his senses. Slow and slower he was falling into that peaceful void.

A noise, coming from somewhere far away in that great nothingness. A small plip. A rhythm, a natural pattern that carried and echoed all the way to him. Plip, plip, plip. It was pleasantly familiar, something that anchored him to the known in this strange ink. The clouds in his mind's eye began to grey, and soon, rain fell onto wooden roofs and old decks. Plip, plip, plip. The sound of rain dripping onto wet clothes and planks. But where was it? There was nothing but void.

Something told him to swim up. His arms dragged and his legs were dead weight. Try, said the voice. You need to rise, you need to rise. The waterlogged arms were rising, and feet were kicking. It was like swimming in molasses. He was so slow, there was no water to push himself up with. But still he rose.

That distant rainfall grew louder and louder as the veil of darkness began to thin. More noises could be heard, the gentle wind, the creaking of trees. But with it came a dull thumping that pushed against his head and back, harder and harder the more he swam. But still he rose. And rose higher and higher. He touched what was keeping him from rising, from the sounds and senses beyond. He pushed, and the thumping grew. He pushed, and the creaking roared. He pushed, and the rain poured down. He pushed…

And the broken roof that had pinned Sniper to the floor fell away. Groaning in pain and stiffness, the Australian crawled out from the rubble. He had barely even stood before he toppled over again, head spinning. So instead of jumping straight back up, the man sat and let the dizziness fade.

It was pouring. Hard. Harder than normal for Sawmill. The wind roared and whistled past Sniper's ears, its cold forces digging into his skin. It was then that he noticed how wet he actually was.

His shirt and vest were soaked completely through, so much so that Sniper doubted that they would ever be dry again and that no matter how many times they would be thrown into a dryer, they would always remain a little damp. And it would seem that the wind had teamed up with his clothes to make the poor man as cold as possible. Fan-bloody-tastic.

Sniper, shaking from the effort, stood to his feet, the ringing in his head finally weakened. He looked around his ruined nest, and realization hit him like a brick to the head. It felt that way too. He had been ambushed, his nest ruined and left for dead underneath the busted beams.

"Those RED pikers!..." He muttered. It had to have been them, who else would attack like this? But this was the first time they had gone for collateral damage. But then again, this was RED, demolition is in the name. And if they were still in the base…

The gangly marksman scrambled to the rubble, tearing it away as he began searching for his weapons. If any of the opposing team were to come back up here to check for BLUs, he would be a sitting duck. Splinters from the broken pine lodged themselves in his fingers, sending small shocks of pain through his hands, but he continued his search. Which it seemed was a good choice, for as he lifted a particularly sharp plank he spotted the glistening magazine of his SMG. He grabbed it and pulled it towards him. Sniper may have been more effective as a long range sharpshooter, but that didn't mean he was harmless when up close and personal.

Standing upright once more, Sniper prepared to re-enter the base when he finally felt the cold breeze ruffling up his hair.

Where was his hat?

He looked around before finding the old leather accessory covered in water and dust pinned under a fallen beam. Snatching it up, Sniper beat it on his leg, sending small clouds of sawdust and droplets flying. There would be no point in searching for his shades, the weight of the roof would have shattered the poor things and he would be lucky if even one lens was still trapped in it's frame. He placed the cap on his head,

And seethed as painful stars filled his vision. He gently placed a hand on the part where he had just shot it away from and winced. No wonder his head felt like it had been split open, it had been; not down to the skull but enough to cover the right side of his head with now dried blood. It also gave insight as to why RED would just leave him here, they had probably assumed he was dead from the wound in his head. Speaking of RED.

"Alright, ya yaboos," Sniper growled through chattering teeth "Ya better have left while I was nappin' or else." He ran into the silent BLU base.

The bases the teams stayed in were not the ones on the actual battleground. Not only were those bases flooded and lacking proper utilities, they were far too small for a group of nine grown and slightly insane men. This base and RED's were located on the hills surrounding Sawmill, which held the dorms and were actually fit for human life to live in. It was much larger but that's to be expected when a building has a gym, recreational room, mess hall, and indoor target practice. But Sniper had had some gripes with the place, the main being that it was built over an old silver mine that had been there since before the Mann family bought the property over a century ago. Engineer had vouched for the foundation of the old building, stating that the only way the ground would cave in would be if there was a herd of steel elephants jumping on it, but didn't do much to quell Sniper's gut feeling.

Now he disliked the base even more, as he peered from behind corners and snuck through the twisting corridors. There were too many places one could hide and ambush a lone Australian. Sniper pinned himself against a wall and peered over the corner he was hidden behind. The RED team hadn't just destroyed his nest, they had cut off the power too, it seemed. The building was drenched in a deep blue from the fail-safe lights powered by the emergency generator. The shadows were harsher and the shapes were harder to separate from each other.

Sniper crouched through the halls, SMG armed and eyes alert. The more he walked, the more his gut was twisting and constricting. He tried to ignore the growing nagging in the back of his mind, tried to keep his attention to find any REDs hiding behind crates and fuel barrels. But that itch wouldn't stop, and got worse with every step he took. His instincts screamed and cried out for his attention, and finally Sniper stood still and listened.

The base was quiet, save for the electric buzz from the lights overhead and the soft constant rainfall outside. Sniper's gaze fell to the floor and the walls. The floor, while covered in broken chunks of the wall and ceiling, held no sign of a fight. There were no puddles of shoe prints besides his own. No bullet casings. Not a single drop of blood. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

Where was everyone?

"Mates?" Sniper called out, his mouth dry. He continued to the second floor of the base. The stairs creaked under his boots. Sniper finally noticed the pounding of blood through his ears. He paused on the last step, and let the sight in front of him sink in.

It was as if a tornado had ripped through his base. Walls stripped bare, revealing their pipes and wires. Plaster, dust, and flooring littered the floor like a flood. The lights flickered on and off, desperately clinging to life. Sparks of exposed wires flashed like a warning to not enter this area. But Sniper did anyway, too shocked to notice he had lowered his only line of defense.

Sniper stumbled through the wreckage, his shoes covering in dust and debris. No bodies, no blood, there was nothing. Was he going mad?

"Makes no bloody sense..." The Sharpshooter mumbled. Any former thought to keep quiet and out of sight vanished as Sniper ran through the dissipated base. Everywhere he turned, everywhere he searched, under rubble, behind fallen furniture, there was nothing. Nothing. "Lads? Demo!? Engie, Pyro, Spy! Anyone there!?" He shouted as he jumped down the fallen staircase leading to the ground floor.

Sniper stood, and felt his chest tighten. This was the main corridor, where the entrance, mess hall, and garage/workshop all connected. And from what he could gather, there had been a horrible fight.

Weapons lay strewn about, cold and forgotten. Bullet casings scattered on the floor. And crimson puddles peppered the ground like stars in the night sky. But still, there was no one.

The pounding in Sniper's ears grew, and nasty grimace found itself planted on his face. How. How could this happen? How could eight of the most deadly men he'd ever known disappear without a trace? He shook his head. There were still two rooms left to check. Perhaps they held out in the Mess Hall? Or escaped with the BLU company van? Sniper's scowl deepened. If it was the latter, he would have some very choice words for each and every one of those.. Ugh.

He checked the Mess Hall. It was just as decimated as the rest of the base and just as abandoned. He made his way towards the garage. The door was slightly ajar, but all the others were too, some broken off entirely. Sniper pushed the door open slowly and made his way inside.

It was as lifeless as the moon. The van stood untouched and barren, and the desks just as messy as the last time he'd seen them. But someone had been here. Sniper felt the cold breeze and fresh air before he saw the open door. Hope bloomed in his chest, warming him up slightly against the severe chill of his still wet clothes. And then he spotted the trail. Leading out the door, slightly dried and smudged, was an uneven pattern of blood that had fallen. Had it been one of his team? Or a RED trying to escape-

Sniper paused and forced himself to clear his head. He stood and let the gears in his mind finally turn and allow him to remember events before today. What felt like minutes passed. The clouds of confusion and indignation began to clear.

He felt the blood drain from his face. Time seemed to stop, and his mouth dried. The team's time at Sawmill had been reaching its end. They had been assigned to fight at Harvest. The teams always move separately to lower the risk of battles breaking out during ceasefires. The RED team had been moved a week ago. They couldn't have been here. RED hadn't attacked them. RED weren't the ones who destroyed BLU's base. Someone or something completely different had gotten in and now everyone except him had disappeared without even a hint of what happened. And yet...

Sniper stared down at the trail of blood, heart pounding and eyes wide. And like a bolt of lightning threw himself into the elements.

The rain had grown harder while he had been within the base. Instead of the light but steady droplets before, this was like a sheet of liquid glass bearing down on the man. The dirt road began to look more like a mirror than a pathway. Sniper turned and twisted. He then swore with fury. The rain had washed away the trail, whoever had left the droplets was out of sight, no matter how much Sniper strained his sharp eyes in the road's different directions. He swore again, and looked up at the sky. As much as he could with squinting eyes at least.

It was much darker than before, and the sound of the rain covered anything he might have heard otherwise. An idea came to mind and Sniper brought his arm up and wiped away the rain that had been covering his watch's face.

The glass had been cracked from before but it still functioned. 5:49, the small clock shown. Now would have been when he'd clean his rifle and kukri in his van-

His van! How did he forget about his own home!? Sniper began to run towards where he always kept it parked. He could use it to find his missing teammate much faster! He nearly rounded the corner of the base and ducked instinctively at the thunderous gunshot now echoing through the forest.

Another gunshot rang out from behind him. And a third from within the dense pine far away in the same direction.

The blow to Sniper's head must have done more damage than previously expected. Because instead of getting in his van and driving to where he'd heard the noise like the normally sensible Sniper would do, he booked it down the muddy road. Water kicked up and mud caked his jeans and boots as the sharpshooter ran as fast as he could down the road. His lungs burned, and the rain pelted his face. Some cracking branches came from ahead of him. He slowed only slightly when someone burst out from the dense foliage to his left.

The newcomer looked, acted, and sounded like a cornered animal. He panted and gasped with a voice like sandpaper. Mud covered his shoes and socks so much that it looked like he was wearing grimy, brown boots. Cuts and thin welts crisscrossed along his limbs and cheeks. His once blue shirt was ripped, soiled, and discolored from the blood still falling freely from his left arm. In his right, the man held a pistol with an iron grip. And those stormy blue eyes of his, now unfocused and wild. The two men stared at each other for a moment more before Scout collapsed upon the flooded road.

"Bloody- Scout!" Sniper shouted as he reached the boy. He pulled him out of the mud and placed two fingers right below Scout's jaw. There was a pulse, and it was beating fast. The adrenaline hadn't left his system yet.

With less effort than he thought would be needed, Sniper hoisted his fallen teammate into his arms and began to head for his van. The rain was loud and filled his ears. But it wasn't loud enough. Sniper snapped his head around towards the direction he heard it coming from. It was a scream. Some horrible chorus of shrieks and howls. His pulse rushed through his veins, pounding against his freezing skin. Whatever made that noise wasn't human.

Sniper looked down at his bleeding companion and quickened his stride.

They had to go. They needed to leave Sawmill.

Chapter Text

It was a wave. It bore down on the man flying through those bleeding pines. A wall of darkness and water and evil, unrelenting in its pursuit.

His feet pounded against the damp earth, pushing himself faster and faster through the trees. Their branches grabbed at him, roaring in his face and threatened to snag him. His lungs were on fire. He couldn't breathe. His legs were aching. Rest! They pleaded. Stop! They begged. But he ignored his body's cries.

The man strained his dying body to go faster after he had let himself look behind. Screams that tore his throat escaped him. It was gaining on him. He couldn't out run it.

A Tree. Sanctuary.

One last time he surged forward. His legs bled. Lungs ravaged. Just make it to the tree. To the tree. But the forest would not let him.

Thorns and nettles wrapped their barbed vines around his ankles, digging into his pale flesh, tearing it to ribbons. Like Jericho he fell. The forest laughed and mocked his pleas. The red rain gushed. The wave, the beast, crashed down.

It swept him up into its pulsating embrace, crushing his chest and draining his breath. It peeled his skin from his muscles like a coat. It forced itself down his throat and loaded his stomach and lungs with its matter. The bloated creature sang as it took away his freedom. Its mass crawled through his veins and as he gagged, trying to dispel his body's invader, it only filled him more. And more. And more.

It took.

And it took.

And it took until whatever identity he formerly had, any thoughts and goals and love he felt, were corrupted. And it laughed.

And laughed as he cried.

And laughed as he became it,

and it became him.

Slam! Scout flopped back down onto the scratchy bed, rubbing his now throbbing forehead. Ow! Who puts a ceiling that low!? The young man, grumbling, attempted to recall what had woken him up so violently.

A dream. It had been a dream, right? But dreams don't make you feel pain, right? Because right now everything was sore. His arms and face felt tight and itchy, and his ankle was killing him, absolutely killing the poor Scout. The only thing that didn't hurt was his left hand. Usually he'd be concerned but now it just one less thing on his pretty long lists of things to worry about. For starters, where the heck was he? The runner looked around with confusion. All he knew was that he definitely was not here when he fell asleep.

Wherever Scout was, or whatever he was in, was small. Too small. It was a single room with a tiny kitchen area, a tiny table that held up a tiny gun with tiny cushioned benches, and tiny furniture pieces like a tiny dresser and tiny cabinets. The walls were a dull greenish-gray and were mostly covered by those dressers and cabinets and tiny photos of orange places. And the smell. The general scent of coffee beans, gunpowder, and shoe polish.

Squinting always seemed to help Scout think, so that's what he did. Narrowing his eyes at the ceiling, he concentrated. He knew he had been here before, he just couldn't remember what it was. It was on the tip of his tongue! And maybe he would have remembered if Scout kept his attention on the question he had asked himself. But he was Scout. And to be fair, he spent a whole 14 seconds thinking before giving up-

The door's handle jiggled, and Scout's blood ran cold. His immediate surroundings seemed to blend and morph into a dark pine forest. No. No, no, nonononononono. He lunged off the bed and shot for the pistol. Scout reached, and froze. He grabbed it with his right hand and swung it up just as the camper door opened.

"Crikey! Scout, what are ya doing, mate?" Sniper exclaimed. The resemblance was uncanny. It had the same long, bony hands. The same face with the resting frown. The same outdoorsy clothes. Everything was the same, even down to that faint scar carved in his nose and cheek. It stood there feigning shock and concern. Standing there, after everything it did. Scout scowled and fired.

It barreled into him, slamming him against the wall. Scout writhed and twisted to get free of its grip. His wrist was pinned and the thing was trying to wrestle the weapon out of Scout's hand. With strength even Scout didn't know he possessed, he kicked the creature away and sent him crashing into the small counters. He pried himself off the wall and scrambled for the door, heart threatening to break through his rib cage.

The Not-Sniper didn't let him get far, though. As he reached the handle, the thing yanked him backwards and threw him to the ground. The gun tumbled out of his hand as Scout connected to the old carpet with a thud. His nose was wet and burning and something heavy pinned him to the dusty floor. The young man threw himself around, the weight on his back dug deeper and deeper. It leaned on his lungs. He could hardly breathe!

"Let me go," He croaked, "let me go!"

"Not until you've calmed down and explained why ya had a pistol pointed right at my bloody face!" The thing roared. Its hands tightened painfully around his wrist and arm. It tightened so much that Scout could feel the pulse rushing through its skin. Scout paused his struggling. A pulse?

Scout twisted his head at an uncomfortable angle in order to look at who was holding him down. It did look like Sniper. A very angry Sniper whose knees were digging straight into his back. But it couldn't be him, it couldn't. And yet Scout could feel the blood pulsing through Sniper's hand. A pulse.

"Sniper? Are you really Sniper?" Scout wheezed.

"Last I checked. What kind of question is that?"

"Prove it."

"What?" The thing that might be Sniper seemed, or acted confused.

"Prove it." Scout gasped, the weight on his lungs kept them from filling. The edges of his vision were blackening. It felt like his own tongue was choking him.

"Prove it how?"

"G-get… off.. m..e..!" A sound of understanding was followed by the pressure lifting. Scout gasped and sputtered, swallowing as much of the stuffy, coffee scented air as he could. Maybe-Sniper was standing over him saying something but Scout wasn't listening. It let him go. Was it just trying to gain his trust before it did whatever it does? He didn't know, and it worried him. Not scared, Scout didn't get scared, but it did make him concerned. He turned to look at Possibly-Sniper.

"-but ya can't just start pointing pistols at the first person who walks by." He had been talking to him. Man, it even sounded like him! If it was that thing, and it was just acting like this to gain Scout's trust, he had to admit it was doing a pretty darn good job.

He wanted to trust the Sniper standing over him, just to know that he wasn't the only one… the only one… Scout's mind wouldn't let him finish that train of thought. But he couldn't trust him, not yet. And there was one sure fire way of knowing if it really was his teammate.

Scout sat up, wiping the blood from his drying nose. Sniper looked at him with an expecting stare, waiting for Scout to say something. And the younger man did.

"Is it raining?" Scout's voice was thick and nasally.

"Mate, it's always raining in this part of the country. We're barely outside Sawmill's territory."

"If you're really Sniper, then go stand in the rain." He tried to sound as serious as possible, even glaring at the towering man to add that little extra 'mmph'. And thankfully, Sniper didn't smirk when Scout's voice cracked as he said his name. He instead gave Scout a look, went over to the door, and walked out.

Scout scrambled to his feet and watched as Sniper walked into the downpour, turned around to look him in the eye, and raise his arms as if to ask "is this what you wanted?" And it was, it was exactly what Scout needed to see. Sniper still looked like Sniper, even as the rain kept falling, peppering him with water. No sign of bending limbs at impossible angles, or baring more teeth than a human should have, or having his skin turn into colors skin should never be.

Sniper had survived too.

"Ya owe me for that bullet hole in my wall now." Sniper grumbled as he passed another clean cloth to Scout, who was currently trying to wipe away all the mud that made his face look like a cow pie. After Sniper had apparently passed the "Are You Sniper?" test, Scout had rushed him like a dog seeing their owner come home and managed to dive face first into the muddy road when his injured ankle buckled under him. Now they were both in Sniper's van with himself cold and wet and Scout annoyed and filthy. He had been tempted to force the kid to stand in the rain to wash the dirt off, but Scout was already wounded and getting him sick would just make things worse.

"Yeah, whatever," Scout groaned, wiping away the mud from his jaw. "Ya still didn't answer my question."

"There's still some dirt under your left eye."

"Gee, thanks, Captain Obvious." Scout snarled, glaring at the bushman as he searched for some dry clothes. Sniper found an old green top and slipped it on. It was a lot bigger than he remembered. He also found his spare pair of aviators and placed them on the bridge of his nose. When he turned back around, he saw Scout staring down and picking at the bandaged stump that used to be his left hand.

The sputtering of Sniper's coffee machine was the only noise filling the strained silence of the small camper van. He leaned back onto his counter and gestured towards the kid's missing limb.

"So how'd that happen-"

"No!" Scout snapped. "You don't get to ask me questions when you still haven't answered mine. How the h*ll did you survive?"

"Look mate, I honestly couldn't tell ya. All I remember was waking up from under my nest's collapsed roof, and that my head had taken a beating. Rain was pouring and I was soaked. I reckoned we had been attacked by the REDs- yeah, I know they were moved to Harvest a week ago, Scout, I just forgot at the time. Anyway, I searched our base for anyone who might still be fighting or injured, but there was no one. Not a single soul, and at first it seemed like there had never been anyone living in our base. Thought I'd gone loony.

"I kept looking, calling for our team. But no one called back. Our base was destroyed and there was no one. No bodies, no sign of a fight, no blood. At least, not till I reached the ground floor. I missed something there, some kind of fight happened when I was out for the count. Again, though, there was nobody. So I figured that maybe someone had taken the van and escaped- quit interrupting, I know it would have been a good idea, that's why I thought someone would have done it.

"Turns out nobody did, and I was left to try and piece together what had happened. Yes, that's when I remembered RED's moving, now quit talking, I'm almost done. I saw a trail of blood headed out the open garage door and followed it, hoping to find someone since it was all I had to go off of. Except I forgot how hard it had been raining. The rain had washed it all away. Then I heard your pistol firing. And it's a good thing you used it cause if I hadn't heard it, I probably wouldn't have stayed to find you.

"I ran to where I heard the gunshots and you just barreled out of the woods looking like some crazed animal. You were covered in blood, missing an arm, and so wet that ya shone. Didn't help that you were as pale as a ghost- that wasn't an insult, Scout, I'm just stating what ya looked like then!" Sniper sighed when it seemed that Scout still wasn't convinced.

"So then ya fainted- okay, okay, ya passed out, that better? Ya passed out and luckily you were still breathing so I brought ya back to my van and left. That's about it." Sniper took a sip of the coffee he got himself during his story. It was bitter, but the mug was hot against his cold hands.

"That's it? You just… left? Ya didn't even look to see what did… everything?"

"Well it's probably a good thing I didn't, because if I spent any more precious minutes at that place, you'd have died from your wounds before I'd be able to wrap them, so you're welcome." Sniper took another swig as he watched Scout squirm under his cold stare and begin picking at his bandages harder. He thought he heard the kid mutter something that sounded like "thank you" and honestly, that was the best he could hope to get right now.

"So now are ya going to tell me what happened that made ya lose your arm?" Scout squirmed more, looking everywhere but at Sniper.

"NNNHhhhhhhh, fine, okay! I'll bite!" Scout groaned. "I was walking down the road, my ankle was killing me, and I just remember thinking "I gotta get away, I gotta get away, I gotta get away. Keep moving, keep moving, keep moving!" It felt like I was just walking in place, though! I wasn't getting any farther from that hellhole! And, and then, and then I heard it howling.

"I don't know what happened next. One second I was just on the road and it was nice and quiet. The next I was running through the trees with that thing chasing me! And it was screaming and roaring and kept coming straight for me."

"Did it catch ya?" What a stupid question to ask. Sniper didn't even know what this thing Scout was talking about looked like or if Scout's retelling was accurate. The kid had been known to exaggerate stories and add to the fact that Scout was full of adrenaline at the time and Sniper had more than enough reason to be skeptical. But something had to have ripped Scout's arm off.

"I dunno, man! Everything just went white after that! I don't remember even having my pistol with me! No pain, no exhaustion, nothing! The only thing left was the freakin' rain falling on me! That stuck with me for some stupid freakin' reason. And then I was stepping in mud and you were there and it was dark and wet and then I blacked out. And the next thing I knew I was slamming my freakin' head on your camper's stupid low ceiling!"

"It's not low, the bed's just high up."

"Well then your bed's stupid high!"

"You're lucky ya didn't leave a dent in my ceiling or you'd have owned me more."

"Screw you."

"Must've been some dream." Sniper muttered, "And ya keep talking about this "Thing" like ya don't know what it is."

"It is a thing!" Scout retorted.

"Well, what does it look like, then?"

Something shifted in Scout's attitude. Or was it his posture? Sniper couldn't place what exactly changed in his companion. But something did.

"I… I don't, I don't know," Scout mumbled, finding his arm's wrappings far more interesting than everything else. "Kinda… kinda like a worm, maybe? Except it's more limb-y. No, no that isn't it. It's a wall, or, or a… and it's big and grows small at the same time. But, it's not, too?"

"Kid, you're not making any sense."

"I'm tryin' to explain it, alright!? Nhhgh, okay, okay, it's like… Jeez! What's the word? Like, turning into something else? Like, like shifting or something!... MORPHING, that's it! It morphs, it doesn't have shape, it steals them! A thief is what it is! Like Spy but worse!"

"I'm still not really getting it; the only animal on Earth that changes its appearance is a chameleon and even then it's just its color."

"It ain't a freakin' animal, Sniper!" Scout slammed his fist onto the table. "It's something else! I dunno what! The closest I can think of is a wave!-"

The boy's sudden silence was more of a shock than his table beating. Scout's eyes glazed over, wide and focused on something Sniper couldn't see, and his face seemed to pale. He had brought up his hand to his throat as if he had just been choked. And the expression he made while rubbing his neck made Scout look like he was about to hurl.

The silence was only broken by the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the window panes. Deciding that Scout wasn't going to talk without more interaction, Sniper asked the one question he believed he already knew the answer to. But if there was even a chance he was wrong, it was worth asking.

"Scout, do… do ya reckon anyone else survived?"

Scout didn't meet Sniper's gaze, he didn't have too. Shaking his head with weak movements, the runner stared down at his one remaining hand.

"No." It was blunt and hoarse. "We're the only ones left."

Chapter Text

Deciding he would sleep on a chair to let Scout have the bed one last time had not been one of Sniper's best ideas. His shoulder was sore from leaning against the wall, his neck had a painful crick right at the bottom of his skull from a lack of cushions. And to top it all off, Scout wasn't even in the bed when Sniper woke up. Some strange scratching noise had broken through his dream's barrier and when he finally woke up to find its source, lifting the hat that had slipped over his eyes, Sniper spotted the kid sitting across from him, sketching on a ripped piece of paper.

"Oh, ya woke up," Scout said, his head resting on the wounded arm as he drew. He was still wearing the old clothes Sniper had given him after the tumble the kid took yesterday, a beige top that was too big and some torn cargo shorts. Sniper looked out the small window parallel to his bed. Still raining, but it was more light, like the gentle drips the Sawmill was known for.

"How long have ya been awake?" Sniper said with a groggy voice. As he blinked to dislodge any leftover sleepiness, Scout looked up at the man, not bothering to move anything but his eyes.

"Dunno, maybe thirty minutes, maybe an hour."

"Feeling any better? The arm and ankle, I mean."

"They ain't bleeding anymore, if that's what you're asking." It wasn't, but it was the only thing Sniper would get.

Stretching his stiff spine out, Sniper finally stood up and grabbed the watch he had placed on the counter last night. 8:12, it read.

"Ya should've tried to sleep longer, it's barely eight."

"Couldn't sleep." Scout replied.

"So ya just got up and started drawing… whatever it is you're drawing?" Sniper clipped the watch to his wrist.

"Yeah."

"Wait, did you go through my belongs to get that-!?"

"Relax, man," Scout paused and stared at him again, "I went through one cubby and it had paper and some pens. Why would I go through more when I got what I wanted?"

"Cause you're nosy and like going through people's personal belongings." Many an incident occurred in the past where Scout got himself into more trouble than one would imagine possible by not understanding the meaning of privacy. One particular violent interaction started when Scout somehow thought it would be a good idea to search through Soldier's room. Sniper still didn't think his hearing had fully healed from the sheer volume of the insane man when he had caught Scout. A fight had broken out, heads rolled(quite literally, only Soldier would keep a collection of decaying heads), and it took himself, Heavy, Demo, and Pyro to finally pull the two Americans off each other. Course, when they couldn't beat each other with fists, the two had resorted to words with Scout spitting such vitriolic profanity that Sniper didn't even know half of those words existed until then, and Soldier calling Scout a Russian spy sent to bring death to his beloved Lady Liberty(something Heavy scoffed at, stating that Scout was "too leetle to be Russian.").

Scout didn't deny the Sniper's accusation, instead just shrugging and continuing his drawing.

"Just didn't feel like looking I guess."

"So, what are ya doodling, anyway?" Sniper asked as he once again started up his faithful coffee machine.

"Uh, well," Scout finally stopped drawing to scratch the back of his head, "I was thinking-"

"Well that's surprising."

"Shuddup. Anyway, so, uh, since I'm assuming, and you're assuming too, that you and me are, y'know, uh, the… the last ones around?"

Sniper stiffened. He really didn't want to talk about the dead, not yet. But Scout was chugging along like a chatty locomotive. "Well, I know that we were all just coworkers just doing our jobs. But we're still a team, and yeah, not all a us got along, I really didn't like Spy or Soldier most of the time. But we're still, well, we were a team and… I dunno, I think we should do something to honor them or something like that …"

Sniper sat back down holding two steaming mugs and placed the smaller one by Scout.

"Well, what do ya have in mind?"

"What's this?" Scout gestured to the little cup near his elbow.

"Coffee. And like I asked, what did ya have in mind? Pouring one out or…?"

Scout reached for something Sniper couldn't see on the seat next to him. The runner then placed a small stack of papers on the table and slid them over to the bushman.

Sniper had seen some of Scout's drawings before, usually just on the corners of notebook paper or chalkboards whenever the kid got bored. And then of course there had been that time Scout sabotaged Spy's "dying wish" event when they all thought they'd die in three days. Most of his art was either of cartoony violence or rather questionable subject matter. But there were always exceptions, like the seven portraits laid in front of him.

It was their team. They weren't incredibly detailed but they weren't overly simplistic. The familiar thick line work and harsh shadows of Scout's handiwork was still there, and it made the smiling faces on the lined paper all the more genuine. Soldier with a patriotic grin, Demo with a bombastic sneer, Engineer with a hospitable smile, Medic beaming with some mad curiosity, Heavy with a stoic simper, Spy with a classy smirk, and even Pyro seemed to smile through the shine on his mask's dark lenses. The men were drawn at their best, whether it be in war or calmer moments.

"I figured we could do some kinda memorial or the likes, cause, y'know, their bodies disappeared, so we can't bury them. Figured we can just set these up on a log somewhere and burn it after a while or something," Scout explained as he drank the caffeinated beverage. "Ugh! What did you put in this, Snipes!?"

"Nothing," Sniper was still examining the pictures, "It's plain dark roast."

"Man, you have horrible taste! Who drinks this stuff raw!?"

"I do."

"Well, you're a freak; you don't count." Man, what a way to start a new day.

Scout placed the photos on the moss covered stump they had found. The pair had agreed to Scout's memorial idea and were now setting up the final touches to the event. It had taken some time to find a suitable stump to prop the pictures on but Sniper finally found one not too far off from the van. It was in a small clearing and the two now stood looking at the seven faces smiling back.

"So… I guess we should say something? That's what people do at these sorts of things, right?"

Sniper just shrugged. "Ya can if ya want, mate. I'm fine with letting them have a moment of silence."

Of course when Scout needed to use his words the most, his mind blanked. Just his luck. He squinted at the ground and played with the zipper of the jacket Sniper had let him borrow for the occasion. They both had tried to do something to look as formal as possible, Sniper more so, but Scout just wanted to get on with the event. He himself has just tried to flatten his hair and tucked in the baggy shirt. Sniper had changed into some off white button up shirt, at least, Scout guessed it was a dress shirt, the only time he'd worn something that fancy looking was when he and his brothers were forced to go to his Aunt Carol's wedding. That had been the most boring thing the Bostonian had ever gone through. They had wanted him to say something there as well, being the youngest of the expansive family. What could he say other than "Aunt Carol and her weird nerdy boyfriend are married, guess I got an uncle now, whatever." That had gotten him an earful when he and his family drove home but they forced his hand! He hadn't wanted to be there and they got what they deserved for dragging him along. But now, when he stood there above that stump and actually wanted to be there and actually say something about the men he worked with, the words escaped him.

"I…" Scout started, taking his cap off and fumbling with it, "well, I didn't know many of the guys personally. We weren't really allowed to give up our private information to other people. But from what I learned on the battlefield and in ceasefires, they were real swell dudes."

Scout looked over his shoulder at Sniper; did he want to say anything yet? He hoped he did. Sniper nodded at him to continue. Great. Scout took a breath and continued.

"Well, I guess when ya get down to it, I'm trying to say that you guys were cool. Most of the time, at least. I…" Scout stumbled on his words. What should he say? He really did want to say something nice about his teammates, honest. But all he could think of was what they did to annoy and tease him when they were still alive.

"Aw crap. Listen, I ain't a girl and I ain't a poet. I'm not gonna lie and paint a little happy picture and say our time together was all sunshine and smiles, cause it wasn't! You guys sucked." Scout could feel Sniper's stare burning the back of his head, but he continued.

"But I sucked too. H*ll, we all sucked. A buncha suckers trying to shoot and kill each other over worthless piles of rocks for money. Or maybe just to kill people, I ain't one to judge. I annoyed and beat the crap outta you, you annoyed and beat the crap outta me, but when it came down to it, we still had each other's backs. At least whenever we weren't assigned on different teams.

"We are- well, we were a team. The most violent, loudmouthed, sons a guns I ever had to live with, and that's saying a lot coming from yours truly. Ya won't see or hear me crying for ya; I don't cry. And honestly I don't think ya'd want me to. We're mercenaries, we maim and kill for a living." Scout looked up at the sky, it was starting to rain slightly harder. He needed to finish up.

"Did ya guys know that we actually had a team name? And I'm not talking bout freakin' RED or BLU, those were just sides we had to switch to from time to time. Miss Pauling told me a couple months ago when I found her at the Teufort bar. She said that we weren't the only group Miss Grouchy-mic had hired. They had names like Team Valor, and other fancy-schmancy words. I don't think she meant to tell me that, though; think she was drunk. She's real cute when she's drunk. Anyways, while those other guys got cool names, guess what we got?

"Team Fortress. Now I don't know about you guys but they never gave us a fortress to stay in! Who names a team 'Fortress' and not give them a fortress? That's gotta be illegal, but then again, our line a work ain't on very good terms with any kinda governments. At first, I hated that we got such a stupid name. But now that I think about it, it's not so bad. We're kinda like a fortress. We hold our own, and got strong foundation… I dunno where I was going with this. Guess I'm saying that it fits us. We were stuck together, didn't really have a choice with who we worked with. And yeah, we fought and yelled, broke noses and butted heads. But we got used to the weird company.

"We were stuck together and stuck with a stupid name. And… and it fits. Fits what we had to go through, together. Man, that sounds freakin' cheesy. Forget I said that." Scout sighed, and took out the lighter Sniper had given him out of his coat pocket.

"Well, guess this is goodbye guys." Scout knelt by the stump and ignited the lighter. Within seconds, the slightly damp paper pile had bloomed into a fiery rose. He watched as the paper shrunk and curled into black spirals, erasing the faces of his teammates.

"Like Soldier would probably say, "Godspeed, Team Fortress, ya magnificent b*****ds.""

Scout heard Sniper hum in approval as he watched the golden flame slowly die. His hand was cold and the rain kept falling. But he didn't feel it, or maybe he didn't care. Scout had said his whole spiel without feeling a trace of sadness. Was that wrong? He should be feeling something, right?

"We should head back; the rain isn't going to let up any time soon."

"I'll catch up." Scout didn't look away from the pile of glowing embers. He felt Sniper staring at him, maybe thinking he wanted to break down in privacy? He didn't care. After a pause much longer than it should have been, Scout heard Sniper turn and walk back towards his van.

Scout placed the cap back on his head, chewing the inside of his cheek in thought. His analogy- no that wasn't the word, what was it? It sounded similar. Eulogy, that's it. Scout's eulogy was better than he thought it would be, especially because he winged it right then and there. But there was a bitter truth behind all those things Scout said. He hadn't meant a word of it. Well, most of it. Half. Okay, so maybe he meant more of it than he would care to admit. But it only meant something if Scout thought that his team was dead. And he didn't.

Yeah, he had said that to Sniper when the Australian had asked him, but the more Scout thought, the more he wouldn't- no, couldn't believe what he had said. Even if it was just for his sake, he didn't care if it was selfish. Scout and Sniper were not the only ones left. They couldn't be.

Scout snapped his head towards the right side of the clearing. The pine and firs were packed tight like sardines, and the thundering rain only blurred the far foliage more. He kept his eyes on that spot though, where he had seen something from the corner of his eye. Movement, and rustling bushes. The roaring of the weather clouded his ears and he couldn't tell whether the thing he had heard was the rushing of the freezing wind, or a foreign growl. Scout felt his stomach churn and twist. He should probably head back to the van. Yeah, that was a pretty good idea. A great idea, in fact.

At first he had been walking, playing it cool, playing it safe. But his heart kept pounding and the burning at the back of his head started again. That feeling you get when you know you're being watched. Scout had only meant to lengthen his stride, honest! He wasn't scared, he was just nervous! His stride lengthened, then he quickened his pace, and then he might have started jogging back. But it was only because he was cold and shivering, and jogging warms you up real fast! And Scout always jogged faster than the average joe because he was just so fast already, so when the trees flew past and his lungs burned as he reached the van, just know that it was Scout jogging. He hadn't even come close to his top speed; he never does.

"Blimey, ya look like ya seen a ghost." Sniper commented from the driver's seat. The bushman, after changing into some more casual clothes, decided to start the vehicle while waiting for Scout to both quicken the van's heater and to keep himself from getting wetter than he needed to by standing in the rain.

"What? Nah, nope, I just got real cold and running warms you up so I thought, "Hey! I know an easy way to get all nice and toasty and to dry my clothes a bit! I'll just run back and-""

"Alright, I get it; I don't need a play by play. Now get in; we need to get going. I had an idea."

"Right," Scout jumped into the passenger seat, rocking the van a bit, "so we're just gonna keep driving and put as much distance between us and that thing as possible? 'Cause that idea's been working pretty swell, I think."

"Yes and no; I'll fill you in while we drive. Buckle up." Sniper directed when Scout made no attempt to fasten his seat belt.

"I don't need a belt, Snipes. Or do ya not trust your own driving skills?" Sniper narrowed his eyes and stared the younger man down.

"Buckle. Up." He growled.

"Alright, alright! Jeez!" Scout hollered, snapping the belt's buckle into place. "Could've just taken it as a compliment, that I actually trust ya being behind the wheel, but nooooo, ya had to act all upstart like a buttinski!"

The runner saw the corner of Sniper's mouth twitch upwards, just for a second. That jerk. Scout looked out the window while the van started forward, making a point to ignore the horrible nausea he felt crawling through his system. The rain had fogged up the glass and Scout couldn't see a thing. He hurriedly wiped the precipitation away.

Scout stared into those dark green branches, hoping that if there was something staring back, his steel like gaze would be enough to stop it in its tracks and force it back into the forest's shadows.

Chapter Text

Normally, Sniper loved the quiet. Just being alone with one's thoughts and whatever ambience the day had in store. Silence was something he rarely got on the battlefield. From the explosions and war cries to the constant listening for any telltale signs of a Spy creeping up to kill him, there was never a moment of peace. So when Scout and himself started down the road again, Sniper thought he would be overjoyed to learn that the runner was content just staring out the window. But now it just made his skin crawl.

The marksman took a break from watching the empty road and stole a glance at his typically chatty companion. Scout had only said two things in the entire two hours they had been driving. The two times Scout spoke had simply been the word "fine" when Sniper told him to keep his feet off the dashboard and a comment about how it looked like the rain was starting to clear up. Sniper had thought the opposite. In fact, the sky was darker than when they began, starting as a soft ash white and into a dim bluish gray. And it was during that comment when Sniper finally realized something about himself.

He hated the rain. It obscured his vision and the droplets would cling to his aviators and scopes, blurring the heads he needed to hit. The water would drench his shirts and stick them to his skin, sending shivers through his body and messing up his aim. Rain and storms brought cold winds and actual colds, something the Australian couldn't afford to catch. Everything about the dreary weather made it harder for the assassin to do his bloody job, and he hated it. Sniper never complained though; he was a professional, after all. But if the sharpshooter had to choose between taking a job in the Pacific Northwest or the Middle East, he wouldn't hesitate to pick the place where he'd feel Mr. Sun on his back and arms.

KaTHump! The van bucked and Sniper was knocked back to the present. He hadn't even seen the pothole! But from the way his van hitched, he knew it had been a doozy. Mentally apologizing to his vehicle, Sniper looked over at his teammate. By the looks of it, Scout had leaned his head against the window at the wrong time because now he was sitting straight up and rubbing his head. He was swearing up a storm under his breath.

"Sonofva- did ya not see the stupid hole or something?" Scout snarled. Sniper didn't respond as his attention was caught by something slightly concerning.

"We'll run out of petrol if we don't reach a station soon." Sniper informed, gesturing at the low fuel dial.

"How long will it last? And it's gas not freakin' 'pai-troll', whatever that's supposed to be." Scout snickered without a hint of humor. Sniper gave him the side eye.

"I'd say another thirty minutes before we're stuck. And petrol is short for petroleum, it's fuel for motorized vehicles."

"Yeah. I know what gas is. It's still just gas though, which is short for gasoline, in case ya hadn't figured it out. No point in saying petrol when gas is shorter."

"It's just another way of saying fuel, they're synonyms."

"Then just say gas! What's so hard about that? It's-" Scout began counting off on his fingers. "Crap. How'd you spell 'petrol'?"

"P-E-T-R-O-L. Petrol."

"One, two… it's three letters shorter!"

"Look, it's just the word we Aussies and Europeans use! I don't get why you're so bothered by that."

"Cause it's freakin' weird! Why use some weird bootleg version when you can just say "gas" and be done with it?"

"First of all, it isn't a "bootleg" version when it's an English word used by English speakers, that's like me saying the word "depressing" is a poor man's version of "sad" when, if anything, it's the other way around. It sounds nicer."

"Oh, so you admit that you people use it just to sound smarter!"

"How did ya even come close to that conclusion-"

"And also, you lied."

"When did I lie!?"

"Petrol isn't another word for gas, it's a type of bird!"

Sniper was beginning to miss the silence. He took a deep breath and sighed, restraining the urge to slap a hand to his face. "You're thinking of Petrel, that's a type of seabird! It's spelled with an E instead of an O! And I said it was short for petroleum!"

"Oh yeah, ya did." Sigh. "But I still haven't heard you say 'gas' once! Are you allergic to the word or something?"

"Ya sound like a mini Soldier right now," Sniper chuckled, "Yammering on about 'un-American words' and 'smartie language'."

"Yeah? Well… you still haven't said 'gas' so I win."

"And when did this become a competition?"

"When you refused to say 'gas'! I've said 'petrol' like, a dozen times already!"

"Then I would be the winner, because I got ya to say my word plenty of times and you haven't gotten me to say yours once. Makes more sense that way, hm?"

Scout opened his mouth to retort but no words came out. A few moments passed and Scout slumped back into his seat with a sour expression.

"Screw you."

"'Preciate it." Sniper replied, cool as a cucumber.

They drove in silence after that, letting the gentle whooshing of the windshield wipers fill the cramped space. The tall pine trees on either side of the road thinned ever so slightly as the van drove on. Then, the bright red of a neon sign filtered in through the deep green branches.

"Ah, finally a petrol station!"

"UGH! Gas! Station! Gas! Station! It's written on the d*mn sign!" Scout furiously pointed at the bold letters. Sure enough, that's what it read, but Sniper really didn't care. What he did care about was the sorry state of the Station he pulled up into.

This had to be the saddest petrol station Sniper had ever seen, and that was up against some tough competition. The sign that the sharpshooter spotted through the treetops had most of its letters burnt out and the remaining were flickering so violently Sniper reckoned he'd have a seizure if he stared at the "S TTON" sign too long.

The small store accompanying the fuel pumps was as run down as an outhouse during a concert. It had faded red and orange stripes painted across the walls smeared with something even Sniper grimaced at. The windows were fogged and caked in grime. And the small lanes for parking had so many dips and holes it would make Swiss cheese blush.

Scout stated the obvious. "This place is a dump."

"Well, there has to be someone still working here," Sniper told himself as he parked the vehicle. He opened the door and stepped outside. And immediately got blown back inside. As Scout laughed from the admittedly stupid display, Sniper grabbed his coat and stepped back out to fight the elements.

"Crikey, this weather!" He shouted. The roar of the falling rain and wind covered anything quieter than a jet engine it seems. Looking, well, squinting at the fuel pump, Sniper began his quest for a full camper tank.

"YO, do ya need any help or something!?" Scout hollered. Sniper had opened his mouth to say that no, he didn't need help but thanks for the offer, only to a face full of dripping wet polyester. Slapping the disobedient hood away and ignoring Scout's mad cackles, Sniper turned his attention back to the fuel pump that was now filling the van's empty tanks. Through the deafening weather Sniper thought he heard some little whispers to the left of him, but honestly, his ears normally played tricks on him during storms. There were tons of little droplets stuck to his aviators and it was annoying him to no end. He brought his glasses down to wipe them off.

"SNIPER!"

"GAH!" The bushman shot up and snapped his head towards the Bostonian standing right next to him with a frustrated look.

"Oh, now ya hear me, when I shout ya freakin' name." The kid was glaring at Sniper, hand and stump on hip without a coat and stamping his- he wasn't wearing a coat!

"What are ya doing out here!?" Sniper shouted.

"Asking ya a question, Dumb*ss!"

"No, why aren't ya wearing a coat!?"

"You took the only one!" This kid. THIS. KID.

"Ugh, here!" Sniper unzipped his one defense against the storm and tossed it at the speedster. "I won't need it in the store."

"Wait, why're ya going in there?"

"I wanted to get some supplies for the ride and for you, since I don't exactly want to share a toothbrush with ya. I'm guessing you don't either."

"Ride? What ride? And ya still didn't answer my first question!"

"I'll tell ya when I'm done."

"So you're just gonna leave me out here?"

"No one's forcing ya to stand in the rain so ya can either come with me and stand around or wait in the van and sit around."

"There's no way I'm going in there! It probably smells like smoke and toenails! Sides, I wanna stretch my legs anyway."

"Then why do you care if I leave you out here!?"

"I dunno! Maybe ya wanted company or something, y'know?" Sniper gave him a very long, very annoyed look before turning on his heel and walking through the squeaky double doors. Scout flopped down the hands- hand he hadn't known he was gesturing with. Welp, so much for having a cool friendly chat with the only other person for miles. Whoever was working in the store, if there was someone, didn't count. Truthfully, Scout had just gotten bored, more bored than before. He had been stuck in a cramped van for the past two hours with nothing to do!

The only thing Scout had done was stare out the window. He had sat there for so long that he thought up a new class position he could use as a fail safe: The Watcher. Scout was really good at watching things. He watched the trees fly past. He watched the raindrops trail down the foggy glass. He watched the mirror to make sure they weren't being followed. Yeah, Scout was the best at watching things. Nothing got past him.

And right at that moment Scout was able to add more proof to his claims. For as he stared down at his rocking feet, he spotted a glint of sunset orange on the shiny wet asphalt. Sniper's shades.

Must've dropped them when I nabbed his attention. Scout bent down and picked up the admittedly more summer appropriate attire. But Scout could see why Sniper always wore them, they looked cool as h*ll! He slipped them into the pockets of the coat he was holding. Wait. The coat, he was holding. Scout furrowed his brow.

He had been standing this whole time. In the rain. And was still uncovered. Even though he had been holding a waterproof jacket.

Sighing at his incredibly rare blast of sudden stupidity, Scout slipped the dripping coat on. It wouldn't even help that much anymore, he was already soaking wet with his walnut colored hair sticking to his forehead. But letting himself stay wet and catch a cold wasn't on Scout's To-Do list, which consisted right now about ten pages of "Don't Get Bored" and "Don't Die". So he put the jacket on.

Just in time too, as a sudden gust of wind sent thousands of droplets to pepper him like a shotgun blast.

"Sonofva-" Scout began before the jacket's hood decided to reenact an event five minutes ago and slapped him across the face like a wet fish.

Ugh. He brought up a hand to move the hood away. He couldn't grab it. Oh. Right. Scout brought his actual hand up to finish the job while he examined his once appendage.

Still just as bandaged, still just as sore. Of course Scout hadn't said anything to the Australian about the missing arm, he didn't need those pitying looks and false gestures of niceness. Scout could take care of his own injuries, he already did all the time on the battlefield. It was an unspoken rule that "Medics don't heal Scouts", or at least they're low on the priority list, so he kept to taking medkits and wrapping his own wounds. At least the ones that didn't need magic healing rays like broken ribs and blown off limbs.

So… Scout might be a bit out of his medical expertise on this one, but that doesn't mean he needs any more help! As long as he wasn't in horrible, agonizing pain, then Scout was good to go in his eyes. Besides, he thought, jabbing the medical wrappings, it was only sore from the gauze scratching the skin constantly-

"S**t!" Scout seethed, cradling his stump. He drew in the frosty air through clenched teeth. And with a shaky exhale and with great care, poked the damaged arm again. Searing, pulsating burns shot throughout his nerves and muscles.

Scout held the arm away from him as if it were a ticking bomb. And, with delicate and quick fingers repurposed for disarming, Scout unwrapped the gauze.

His only hand shook as the runner rewound the bandages. He wrapped, and wrapped, and wrapped. And in no time at all, the sight was hidden from the prying eyes Scout felt around him. Ears burning and heart racing, Scout whipped his eyes across the empty gas station. No one was here. Except himself.

Scout looked towards the store. Just as dark and desolate as before. Was Sniper even in there? For less than a second, as fast as a flicker, Scout feared that his companion wouldn't escape that dark building. But that was a stupid thing to think. And he didn't want him out here yet. Not only did he forget what he was going to ask Sniper before, but now the sharpshooter with his sharp eyes would definitely notice the hurried cover up Scout did on his arm. And he would ask questions. And would want to see his arm. And wouldn't take "H*ll no!" for an answer.

Maybe he should wait in the van.

"Took ya long enough," Scout jabbed from within the now cold van.

"I was only in there for fifteen minutes," replied Sniper as he handed Scout a store bag.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Whaddya get anyway?" Scout scoured through the plastic bag's contents. Inside was a packaged toothbrush, some beef jerky, two waterproof flashlights, a stack of expensive looking first aid kits, a sturdy looking climbing rope, and what looked to be several pairs of high quality socks.

"Yo! Now these are some socks!" Scout hoisted a pair into the open to study them further. "Steel-toed, cushioned heels and water resistant!?" He gasped, "And they're made of wool and cotton!"

"Out of all the things ya get excited over, you choose the socks? Why are ya drooling over footwear?"

Scout looked over at the confused Australian, with an expression of pure deadpanned disbelief.

"Did you really think that the only tool a guy whose main job is on foot like me needs is good shoes?" Scout asked, his irritated eyes adding 'Really? Did you really think that?'

"Well, in case ya forgot, I ain't exactly on my feet very much when working," Sniper's expression shifted as well as his attention. "What happened to your arm's wrappings?"

Crap.

"None of ya business, now can we get going? You're letting the rain in!" Why did he phrase it like that!? Snipers eyes narrowed into a cold stare. The shades weren't there to help shield Scout from their harshness.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing! Will you just get in the d*mn van?" Scout made a mental note to work on his verbal diversion tactics as cold sweat began building on his forehead.

"Let me see it." Oh crap. Crap. Crapcrapcrapcrap! He swiped his left arm away from Sniper's reach when an idea hit Scout like a freight train.

"How about this," Scout began, shoving his hand into his coat's pocket, "you won't ask anymore questions about my arm, and I'll give you something ya can't live without!"

The Sniper sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And what would that be?"

"Nope. First you accept the terms, then I give it to ya!" An awkward silence followed, with Sniper and Scout staring each other down. Then, Sniper threw up his hands in defeat.

"Fine, I'll give." The man entered the driver seat with a huff. "But only because I'm sick of standing in the bloody rain."

"Here ya go." Pinned between Scout's index and thumb was Sniper's aviators. Their owner's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"So that's why everything was bluer than usual..." Sniper's expression darkened. "Why'd ya have these?"

"Ya dropped them when I went to ask you a question, remember? Left them lying on the concrete, anyone could've stepped on them!"

"Oh." Sniper placed the sunglasses in their rightful spot as a slight hint of red formed in his cheeks, "Well thanks for keeping them safe."

"And thanks for implying I'm a thief, Jack*ss." Scout slumped back into his seat, careful to not crush his shortened limb between the other and his chest.

The ignition erupted to life and within a couple seconds the two were driving through those tall pines once again.

"We had an agreement!" Scout hollered at the older man blocking the only exit.

"I agreed that I wasn't going to ask ya any questions. And I'm not asking, I'm demanding that you let me look at your arm." After another two hours of driving, the two stopped at a very old, very rundown campsite. The only other person there had been some bald crackhead living in a beaten up tent, and that pretty much killed any and all intent to chat with someone not Australian that Scout had felt. Once they had set up for the night, Sniper had apparently not magically forgotten about Scout's injury like he had hoped and instead was planning on examining it right then and there.

"Oh yeah? And just what are ya gonna do about it if I say no? Did ya think've that!?"

"I did actually," Sniper gave a sardonic sneer towards the indignant younger man. "I'll just let you die from sepsis, dig you a shallow grave and be on my merry way." Scout bit back the comeback he had thought up. It was a good one too. But Sniper sounded serious, and Scout had no idea what sepsis was. So the marksman could either be lying about sepsis and its existence to violate the agreement Scout kept or he was telling the truth and wouldn't feel a thing if Scout died in agony from some horrible disease. And neither of those options made Scout feel any better.

The two men stared each other down, neither seemed to bend under the other's icy glare. To them, it was a battle of will. But to any onlookers just happening to see them, it would have made for a ridiculous sight. The pair were in their casual slacks, ready to nod off the moment they hit the sack. The taller leaned on the doorway wearing a plain grey top and koala patterned pants. The shorter had on a tank that was far too big for him and coal colored sweats that had been rolled up to his ankles. Both their hairs were spiked and poking out at odd angles from their dampness.

After what felt like hours but was really only three minutes, Scout had his turn to finally back down. He didn't want to, but what Sniper had said really stuck with him.

"Fine." Scout groaned, "But only cause I'm freakin' tired, not because you told me too." Sniper patted the countertop and Scout hopped up with a sour frown. As he felt his arm being unwrapped, Scout turned away. He knew what Sniper would see, and he didn't need nor want to look again at what his once wonderful batting hand had become. And once the final bandage fell away, Scout heard Sniper swear under his breath as the grip around his upper arm locked up.

Scout knew that his companion had done the best he could with fixing up his arm, he couldn't blame him for the state of the wound now, even though he wanted to. After all, there wasn't much you could do when the only way of keeping the injury closed was a normal sewing needle and thread. He could picture it the way it had looked when Scout snuck a peek back at the station.

It was not a smooth amputation. Inflamed muscles were still gleaming from underneath the small pieces of tattered skin Sniper had managed to sew back onto his stump; Black stitches ran down what was left of his forearm and across the blunt top; The tissue was a bright red and the pieces of flesh were refusing to heal, content to stay like torn pieces of paper; And Scout knew that if you pressed down on the limb, sickening discharge would seep through the crudely sewn stitches.

"Bloody…" Sniper murmured. He felt up and down the infected appendage, testing out where the key points of discomfort were located. "It hadn't been like this yesterday, had it?"

"I dunno, man! I just started poking it and it hurt like a b***h so I unwrapped it and saw that!"

"Alright, alright, no need to panic."

"I ain't panicking! I'm telling ya what happened!"

"Ya just sounded nervous is all."

"No s**t! If you had an arm that looked like this, you'd be pretty nervous too, I'd think!"

"Well it's a good thing I stocked up on medicinal supplies back there," Sniper checked a cupboard and brought over a first aid kit. "Otherwise you'd be writing your last will and testament."

"You know how to fix it?"

"I know how to delay it from getting worse. That's it." Sniper opened the kit and began pulling out fresh gauze and strange bottles. Scout watched in silence as the sharpshooter began tipping one of the bottles into a fresh cloth.

"Alright, this'll sting a bit," Sniper took the damaged appendage into a firm grip and made to place the cloth over the wound, "I suggest you bite down on something."

To say it stung a bit would be the greatest understatement the world had ever heard. As soon as that dampened cloth made contact to Scout's inflamed skin, a white hot pain engulfed his nerves. Scout's vision filled with blinding stars and something tore through his throat to escape. His toes curled and his grip on whatever he had taken hold of was numbing from strain. That horrible burning wasn't letting up, and neither was his screams.

"Calm down! I'm done! Crikey, ya scream like a girl!" Sniper's annoyed voice cut through the harsh pain. Scout peeked an eye open. When had he closed them?

Sure enough, Sniper was now applying clean wrappings to the still stinging arm.

"Wha- what the h*ll was that crap!?" Scout rasped, his voice raw from his cries.

"I told ya to bite down on something," Sniper deadpanned as he cleaned up the scattered kit. "It's something to keep your wound from getting worse. Now as long as we keep doing this everyday, the infection shouldn't get worse."

"I'm going to have to go through this again!?" Scout shouted in disbelief.

"If ya want to not die from Sepsis, then yeah." Sniper put the first aid kit back, giving Scout room to hop off the counter. "But, I have an idea that'll help with your arm and our communication dilemma."

"Communication?" Scout repeated, rolling his shoulders, "Communication with who?"

"The Administrator, or Miss Pauling, either of the two. We haven't made contact with them in over three days now. For all we know, they believe the team just up and left after destroying the base. Now, I doubt that Miss Admin doesn't have some clue as to what went down, but we should get in contact with them as soon as possible. Maybe they know more about what attacked us and what the next step should be."

"I already told you what attacked us! It was a-"

"A shape-shifting monster or alien. Yes, you've said that again and again." Sniper continued saying something but it was like a dense fog had rolled into the cramped camper van. Scout stared at his teammate, face devoid of emotion as the cold hands of realization gripped his chest.

"You don't believe me."

Sniper stopped talking to look up at the runner. He sighed. "I know that something, we don't know what, attacked us and killed our team. But what I don't know is that it was some horrible monster that ya can't even describe in detail!"

"It's the truth!" Scout shouted in earnest.

"And you ain't exactly the arbiter of truth now, are ya!?" Sniper snapped. Scout jerked his mouth closed, glaring daggers at the older man as Sniper continued in a more gentle tone. "Look, Scout, I know you believe what you're telling yourself. And I know that you went through something bloody awful," he gestured at the bandaged arm, "but I also know that ya tend to exaggerate your stories and convince yourself of falsehoods so blatant that a blind man could see straight through them."

"Like what?" Scout's words dripped with liquid nitrogen.

"For starters, that you could handle an infection by yourself. What, did ya think it would just go away if ya ignored it for long enough?"

Scout looked to the floor. Strike one.

"And you said yourself that ya can't even remember what happened that day besides walking away from the base, blacking out, and running into me with a missing hand! You can't remember being attacked, can you?"

Scout didn't answer, his guilty silence was enough. Strike two.

"And ya still can't give a clear picture as to what this thing looks like, ya just circle around and act as though your flimsy description would be enough to convince anyone. I didn't see a lick of evidence that the thing that destroyed our base and killed our team wasn't from Earth. Not a single trace of something inhuman."

"But its screams; you, you had to have heard that!"

"Through the pouring rain and the bloody crows cawing? No, mate, all I heard was something that sounded like a mountain lion roaring."

"It wasn't a mountain lion," Scout muttered, trying to convince Sniper of that horrible creature's existence. But Sniper just gave him that look. That look he got all the time back when his team was around and were witness to his amazing stories. Stories of epic fights down in Boston or his awesome feats during battles. His brothers had given him that look too, when they all still lived together and Scout was trying his very best to stick his foot through the door of his family's attention. The look of apathetic disbelief. A look that told Scout that no matter what he said, and no matter how much he stomped and raised hell, Sniper wouldn't believe him.

Strike three.

A tense quiet had fallen over the van after that. The two had agreed to sleep without speaking a single word. Sniper had taken back his bed which left Scout struggling to get comfortable on the small table-made cot. Within the hour the pair had fallen into a restless slumber. The only noise that could be heard was the patter of rain against the van's ceiling.

It was deep into the night when the younger woke up in a cold sweat. He made no noise as he shot up besides the deep breathing to quell his pounding heart and churning stomach. Soon, the boy's pulse had lowered into a calm rhythm, but that nausea remained, digging itself deeper into his core like a writhing worm. Scout would get no more rest that night.

Chapter Text

The early morning dew covered the few patches of grass within the dense pine forest. A chill breeze wafted through the needles and the droplets from last night's rain fell to the ground in sparse drips. The ferns and ivy that covered the damp earth shook to announce a visitor. And from the calming green foliage, shuffled a small, dust colored rabbit.

It sat with it's ears perked, sniffing and scratching at the ground. To the left and to the right its small antennas swiveled. Then, when it felt the area safe from predators, the rodent hopped into the tiny glade and feasted on the soaked moss. Every now and then it would pause and listen to the forest's whispers. And when it would find no sign of danger, it would begin its feast again.

The moss crinkled as the rabbit chewed its meal. The songs of birds carried far throughout the wood. The drops of rain plopped against the creature's nose. No scent of foxes or weasels carried on the wind.

Another pause. The rabbit stood as still as a statue, ears turning in every direction. There! Through its peripheral vision it watched the ferns shudder and sway. It readied itself to spring should the intruder be hostile. With fur bristling, it pawed the dirt anxiously. The ferns parted.

A rabbit much like itself entered the glade. The original lowered itself back into a calmer position. The newcomer observed its brethren, seeming to absorb its eating and pawing.

The first beckoned the second to join in its breakfast. With no answer the rabbit repeated its motion. Again, it's companion only stood. It stood far too still. It did not turn its ears, it did not sniff for predators, it sat and watched the rabbit with a hawk's stare. The rabbit sniffed the air and stiffened. Danger, it sensed. Danger, flee.

But it was far too late. The true rabbit sprung to life and barreled towards the clearing's edge, only to be caught by a crushing, flesh covered claw. It screamed and shrilled, thrashing and kicking at the beast. As soon as the screaming started, it stopped as the rabbit felt several small thorns pierce its hide and worm its way into the animal's flesh. The rabbit went limp in the damp grass with its eyes glazed over in numbness. It was dragged back through the foliage by those thin hooks and disappeared from sight. And the forest was left none the wiser.

"Did ya hear that?" Scout asked as his attention was drawn from the inked paper in front of him. Sniper looked up from the book he had been reading and listened. They sat in silence as the drone of the light sprinkling outside took center stage. In the distance and through the starting rain, Sniper heard the cawing of crows and the creaking of the pines.

"Nothing but birds and the trees, mate."

"No, not that! The screaming," Scout rose from the table and stumbled to the door. "There's something out there, man!" he spoke as though someone unsightly was listening to their conversation.

"Kid, the only thing out there is crows, foxes, and junkies." Sniper deadpanned, ignoring the burning glare he felt on his neck. He didn't need Scout going on about his monster this early in the day. The marksman had woken in a sour mood, he had slept wrong and there was an awful crick in his lower back. And of course, Scout was already awake by the time Sniper awoke, and needless to say, he didn't trust the kid to not rummage through his belongings while he was out.

"And pumas. You forgot pumas."

"What the bloody h*ll is a puma?"

"Cougars. Y'know, Mountain Lions?" a muffled voice responded from the outside as Scout had his head poking out the open door.

"Oh, right. But I don't think there are going to be many around here. 'Specially near the roads."

"Yesterday you said it was a Cougar that made that screaming ya heard." Growled The Scout. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sniper sighed. This was going to be a long day.

"Yeah, I did. Because it very well had been one. We've also been driving for almost three days away from Sawmill, where I heard it. We have to be at least two hundred kilometers from that feline." The man set aside the book he had been reading and turned to look at his companion. Scout had stuck his head back inside and was busy ruffling his slightly damp hair, sending little droplets onto his own clean but slightly stained top.

"Two hundred kilos, huh? Translated into miles, that's like... a lotta miles, it sounds like. Then how come we're still surrounded by stupid pine trees? And the fact that this storm's been following us too!"

"Are you going to eat your food or what?" The grumpy Australian glared at the also grumpy Bostonian, too tired to answer anymore stupid, jabbing questions. Across from him lay a plate of untouched eggs and toast, forgotten for over thirty minutes.

"'M not hungry." Scout said as he went to grab his unfinished drawing, stuffing it into his borrowed jeans pocket. "And we need to go."

"I haven't seen ya eat a single crumb since this whole thing started!" Two days on the road and Scout never touched any of the food Sniper offered. His cooking wasn't the greatest but he certainly wasn't the worst of the group, that title had to go to either Soldier or Pyro. Last night and the day before, whenever a meal was placed in front of the boy, he would either ignore the food or play with it, and to be honest, it was annoying Sniper to no end. It didn't help that Scout wasn't sleeping the best either, given that there were slight bags forming under his dry eyes. He didn't care if the kid starved himself of food and sleep, but lugging around a constantly crashing Scout would be more annoying than cooking for two.

"I'll chop down on some jerky while we drive, can we get moving already?" Scout fumed, tapping his impatient foot.

"We ain't leaving just yet, not until that plate is empty." The boy eyed the cold food.

"C'mon, man, it's probably stale now anyway."

"Well that's your problem, isn't it? And until I see ya scarfing it down, this van will remain parked." That got through to the stubborn mongrel. Scout's eyes flickered back and forth between the meal and the door, obviously weighing the options presented to him. A flash of concern and then back to a grimace as the runner sat down and shoved the food into his mouth with unnatural speed.

"Don't choke," Sniper advised. Scout glared and opened his mouth to spit back a retort only to start hacking as food lodged itself in his throat. With a roll of his eyes, Sniper went back to his reading. A few minutes passed in relative silence when Scout stood so fast that the force rocked the camper.

"Alright, I'm done. Now let's get outta here and on the road!" He barked.

"And I'm hoping ya know exactly where to go and how to get us there, yeah? I'm going to need directions to the closest base," Sniper asked as he stared pointedly into the boy's frustrated eyes. The fire in them died as Scout's anger fizzled away into worry.

"Uh, wh-what? But, but you said that you know where Landfall is! And how to get there!"

"No, I said that Landfall is probably the closest base and that we should look to get there. You told me last night that ya knew where it was so we're relying on you to get us there."

"I did?" Scout asked. When Sniper nodded, Scout did the only thing he was better at doing than running: doubling down. "Well, yeah, no doubt that it's cause I'm great with directions! The human compass is what I am! So even though I don't remember ever saying that, to you, I mean, I probably did, because I'm so great at reading maps and stuff." Scout bluffed, not noticing the Cheshire grin forming on Sniper's face.

"It's just that, since you're the one with the actual car to drive, and while I am really good at surviving by myself, like, really good, you're basically the poster boy of outdoor living, ya know what I mean? So I was guessing that you'd also know where Landfall is, and since you already know where it is, you wouldn't need me feeding ya directions and distracting ya with talking when you're supposed to be focused on the road, y'know?" Scout's dramatic monologue came to a pathetic end as Scout tried giving a confident smirk that wasn't convincing at all.

"Actually, it helps to be given directions while driving, that way I can keep all my thoughts on the road ahead. Well," Sniper stood with a stretch, feeling his back pop, "let's get going then. Put your plate in the container so we can get a move on." Sniper gestured to the plastic bin where he kept dirtied plates while driving. Owning glass and a mobile home would be a recipe for disaster if Sniper didn't have this kind of insurance. He hopped out of the van, but not before catching the petrified look Scout had on his slim face. Sniper climbed into the driver's seat just as Scout scrambled into the passenger's, looking ready to spill his guts out.

"Okay, look. I may have exaggerated back there, okay? I really don't know why I told ya that I know the way to Landfill. Cause I frickin' don't, alright? I always nap when relocating cause rides are frickin' boring! 'M not reliable for dis, okay? I can't get us to Landfall!" Scout gasped after his confession, speaking so fast that he didn't allow himself time to breath. Sniper stared at the runner, his piercing gaze making the younger man squirm in shame. Then, Sniper smirked.

"There may be a reason why ya don't remember telling me those things," The marksman scratched his jaw with a guilty chuckle, "cause ya didn't. I was just pulling your leg there, mate. I know how to get us to Landfall." The last sentence barely escaped his lips before a furious punch lodged itself in his upper arm. Well, as much punch as you can get from a stump. Scout swore as he cradled his nub. Sniper leaned on the steering wheel, grinning at his own clever jest.

"You son of a-!" Scout raised his actual fist when a distant, petrifying shriek echoed down the wooded slopes. Then silence as the pair stopped and time seemed to slow. Sniper had shot up when the scream rang out and made like a statue, listening for another. Scout's red face paled faster than the speed of sound. A second scream rose from the far trees, sending a murder of crows to the clouded sky.

"...See!? I told ya I heard something!" Scout hissed, hand gripping his seatbelt so tightly that his knuckles were as white as his face. Sniper was quiet, his gaze turned out his side's window. His fingers drummed along the steering wheel in thought. The marksman then turned back around with a strange expression.

"Do ya know what that was?" Sniper asked. Scout nodded.

"It's the thing-"

"No, ya loon, it's two foxes getting it on!"

The boy stopped, opening and closing his mouth like a fish on land. He found his words a couple seconds later. "There's no way some red cat-dogs could have pipes that high!"

"Do ya know what sounds foxes make, mate?"

"Well, no-"

"They make bloody weird ones, especially during mating season. If ya ever think you're hearing a sheila scream like a banshee out in the middle of the forests, best to assume it was a fox. Learned that the hard way when I heard a pair while doing my business, thought some poor woman was getting beat, or worse. I made my way through the bushes and trees, only to find the lovers doing their business-"

"Okay, okay, I get it, man!" Scout interjected, the color in his face still faded. "Can we just get going already!? No point in staying to hear some animals banging!" Sniper obliged, starting the ignition. A rumbling purr shook the vehicle and the van started. As the pair made it onto the glistening road, Sniper snuck a look into the closest mirror, watching those distant trees grow farther and farther away. In his peripheral vision, Sniper spotted his doubtful, unease filled face.

They drove on in long wary silence after that, the only sounds slipping through were the pounding rain, the rumbling engine, and the gentle swooshing of the windshield wipers. The sky grew darker the further the duo drove. The rain was like a river. It poured and drenched the road until there was a noticeable sheen of water covering the asphalt. Whatever speed they might have had was swallowed by the current. Sniper slowed the van to a crawl. It would be a death wish to go any faster, the flooded road would prevent any traction if the van sped out of control.

As the windshield was flooded with so much water that any and all surroundings looked distorted, Sniper rolled his window down and stuck his head out. He had to immediately plant a hand on his hat, for a strong gust threatened to steal it away. The sky was dark, too dark for ten in the morning. Even with his vision no longer obstructed by the van's main window, the rain was too dense to see anything beyond the van's headlights.

Sniper figured that he was a pretty patient man. He didn't let his emotions or temper affect his work. Well, he tried to at least, and to great success most of the time. But the sudden storm, the inability to see ten feet ahead even with the wipers at full power, and the fact that he couldn't say for certain if what he and Scout had heard was just a hormonal fox, left Sniper with far too many straws for his poor camel to handle.

"No, please, do go slower," Scout mocked with an exaggerated posh tone. Sniper narrowed his already narrow eyes.

"Do you want us to get into a nasty crash that will most likely kill you and knock me out? No?" Sniper growled at the Bostonian, "Then I'd keep your big mouth shut! And put your bloody seat belt on!" Sniper snapped as he smacked Scout upside the head. After rubbing the pain away, Scout reluctantly obliged, giving the marksman a nasty scowl in the process.

"Stupid freakin' Aussie…" the runner mumbled, his voice so quiet that Sniper almost didn't hear him. Almost.

"Want to run that by me again, mate?" His voice was taut, and the grip on the wheel tighter.

"Huh? Did ya say somethin'? I wasn't listenin'." Scout said. Another straw was added. There was a fine line that Sniper had that divided what he could put up with and what he couldn't. And Scout was using it as a tightrope. The Australian took a deep breath and began to count to ten.

"And are ya sure we can't go any faster than a freakin' snail?" Scout asked, craning his head to staring out behind them through his window. "Cause we can't be stuck out here in the storm, guy." Scratch that, thirty was a fine number to count to.

"I know that, Scout," Sniper said through clenched teeth once he reached thirty, "And like I said, unless ya want to crash, We. Can't. Go. Faster." The mood was growing as horrible as the weather. And Scout seemed to be aiming to make it as miserable as himself.

"So what!? Better than being stuck out here in a freakin' storm! The faster we get outta the hills, the faster we get to Landfall! Besides, I'd rather get knocked up in a stupid car crash than get stuck out here with something that ain't human!"

"I'm the one behind the wheel and this is my van. We are not going faster! And there isn't anything following us! I've been checking the mirrors."

"Bulls**t!" Scout shouted. "I know for a d*mn fact that those screams weren't some stupid fox!"

"Yeah, cause you're the expert in all things animal, aren't ya?" Sniper jeered.

"At least I know more about what attacked us than you, Smart*ss! You got yourself knocked out and booked it the second you heard it howling!" Scout snarled before a wicked sneer twisted his facial features. "So much for being such a great outdoorsman."

"Watch it." Sniper warned.

"Aw, did I strike a nerve, pally? Did ya realize that maybe ya ain't as good as a hunter as ya thought ya were?" The runner cooed. Sniper didn't respond, eyes fixed on the road. His cold shoulder was taken as an invitation for Scout's insults.

"Or maybe ya ran cause you're just a freakin' coward! That's always what you snipers do, just kill people from far away cause ya don't have the guts to look 'em in the eyes, face to face, when ya off 'em! After throwing ya own p*ss at 'em too! What kinda professional does that-!" The van's sudden silence brought Scout out of his vitriolic rant. Scout had no time to ponder when he was shoved back into the door with a painful SLAM! Two calloused hands grabbed his shirt and jerked him up and pinned him to the glass.

"Listen here, you tiny, pathetic, roach!" Sniper shook Scout in emphasis, his eyes and chest burning with ire. "I've had it up to here with your ungrateful *rse! I could've just left ya there to bleed out back in Sawmill, and I should have! In fact, I could leave ya here to get killed, since you're so convinced that something's following us. Do ya want that, ya little Mongrel?" Scout's sat there in shock, staring at Sniper with eyes like saucers.

"Do ya?" Sniper shook him again and Scout shook his head. "That's what I thought. So here's what's going to happen,

"You are going to be quiet, as quiet as a church mouse, for the rest of the ride. I don't want to hear ya complain, or mumble, or sigh, until we find a place to stop. And if ya won't stay quiet, I'll tear off what's left of your sorry excuse for an arm and shove it down your throat! Got that?" Scout swallowed, and nodded. "Good, I'm keepin ya to that."

Sniper let go of Scout's now crinkled shirt and leaned back into his own seat. Taking the ignition key, Sniper glanced back at his companion. Scout was keeping his word. The runner was sitting very still in his seat and found great interest with his stump's wrappings. Good. The pounding in his skull hadn't gone down though, so Sniper took a deep breath and released it. That helped. But not by much. Sniper turned the ignition and felt that familiar rumble give way to sputtering.

Sniper furrowed his brow and turned the key again. More sputtering. Again and again he tried to get the van to start. No dice.

"...you've got to be ****ing kidding me." He growled before stepping out into the storm. It nearly barreled him over when that cold wind roared past him. Instantly he was soaked, and with nothing but his hat to protect him from the elements, it would continue to drench him with freezing rain.

Sniper made his way to the van's hood, sending small waves through the flooded road. Ignoring his now soaked boots, the marksman pulled open the hood. Everything looked fine. And that was a problem. How the bloody h*ll would he figure out what was wrong with the d*mn vehicle? He leaned on the van and observed the mess of pistons and fusion coils that to him was like a second language he barely spoke. He groaned, and stood. Rivets of water fell from his hat and slid down his back, sending shivers up his spine.

Sniper looked up and spotted Scout still within the van. The dry, warm inside of his van. And yet here he was, outside, soaked and cold, trying to fix a problem Scout had to have caused. Another straw was added. The final straw.

"Scout, quit sitting on your bloody *rse and get out here!" Sniper shouted. Through the sudden red haze, Sniper watched as Scout scurried out of the van before getting blown straight back in. Another try and with some struggle Scout closed the door.

"Get over here!" In less than a second Scout stood by his side, stiff as a board.

"I'm guessing Engie didn't teach ya about car engines." He growled. Scout opened his mouth, shut it tight and shook his head. "Ugh, course he didn't. So you're basically useless here."

"What's wrong with it?" Scout wasn't able to stop himself in time. Sniper whipped his head around in rage.

"How about I shove your head in the engine and you can figure it out yourself!" He roared. Despite how cold the rain was, it did nothing to cool Sniper's temper. Scout backed away with the slightest limp. Bringing a calloused hand up, Sniper rubbed his eyes to dispel the loathsome red from his sight and waved dismissively at the silent runner.

"There's an old toolbox in the van. It should be in one of the lower cupboards or in the storage under the bed." Sniper spoke with a low voice. A moment passed then Sniper looked over to see that Scout hadn't moved an inch. "You waiting for Christmas or what? Go get it!" Slipping on the asphalt, Scout managed to enter the van.

"Bloody useless tyke…" Sniper muttered as he looked through the engine once more. There could only be a couple reasons why the engine would stop so suddenly. The first would be that the van could be low on oil, which was impossible since Sniper had just done an oil change two months ago. The second would be that it had gotten damaged somehow but that didn't seem likely either. Maybe it was the starter that went bad? The battery perhaps? That red haze had faded in a mute crimson mist and the cold peppering of rain began to intrude Sniper's senses again.

"Oy! What's taking so long!?" Sniper shouted over the deafening droplets. "Or are ya trying to keep us stuck out here!?" No answer. Of course. He went back to thinking of the possibilities.

A sharp slamming stole Sniper's attention, causing him to look up. With some exertion, Scout stumbled over to the heated Australian. In his arms he held a rather large toolbox and an even larger tacklebox overlaid with some kind of fabric.

"I said the toolbox."

"I didn't know which one it was!"

"Ya couldn't have looked through them?"

"Ya told me not to go through your stuff!" Scout was correct, unfortunately.

"Give that to me." Sniper grabbed the heavy load and balanced it on the van's open hood. "Now go and put this one back." He shoved the tacklebox into the smaller man's arms. And like a loyal servant, Scout did.

Sniper opened the toolbox as the third thing Scout brought caught his eye. It's waterproof fabric cracked and fluttered in the wind. He had forgotten all about it. His raincoat. And the crimson mist that clouded Sniper's vision faded away.

Taking his hat into his hands, Sniper set the precious attire onto the hood and slipped the coat on. It wasn't even slightly warm, in fact, it felt colder than the outside. But at least the pestering rain wouldn't be able to break through the jacket's defense. He reached into the toolbox, pulled out an oil stained torch, and clicked it on.

Sniper didn't know how long he stood there, working on and dissecting his vehicle's motor. It felt like hours and it felt like seconds simultaneously. At some point Scout had come back out to watch Sniper work. He wouldn't have even known the runner was there if that prickling feeling of being watched didn't pop up. The kid was so quiet, and if he wasn't so focused on screwing a fickle bolt back into place, Sniper probably would have thanked Scout.

A light tapping on his shoulder brought Sniper out from under the open hood. Without a word, Scout took the torch from Sniper's hand and held it up high to cover the entire engine in a yellow spotlight. A nod of thanks, and Sniper continued his mechanical battle.

After another thirty minutes and with no noticeable progress made, Sniper was ready to admit defeat. Scout was too, the slight shaking of the light was evidence enough. The storm had only gotten worse during their sudden pitstop. Through the pounding downpour Sniper was certain he could hear the deep rumble of thunder. Just bloody perfect.

With a huff, Sniper slammed the hood shut.

"Scout," The man in question jumped in response and caught the keys Sniper had thrown his way with a shaking hand, "go try to start her up, I need to know if I got her working." The runner jogged over to the driver's seat and got in. Through the distorted glass, Sniper watched with bated breath as Scout put the key in the ignition. Once again, the sputtering was the only reply to the pair's hopes.

"Try it again!" Sniper shouted over the fray. More sputtering.

"Again!" More sputtering, and that slight hope Sniper felt was drowned out by the rain. They were still stranded.

Then, a flash of white illuminated the dark clouds above followed by the roar of thunder. Oh no. As fast as the lightning, Sniper was at the driver's side and opened the door.

"Alright, so I got some bad news."

"Oh, do ya!?"

"Don't get snippy with me, kid! Now, we can't stay out in the road and in the open during a thunderstorm."

"Yeah, no kidding."

"So, I need ya to run on ahead and search for a place where we can park the van until the storm passes. Or at least the worst of it, alright?"

"Dude, ya can't just send me out there alone! Not with that thing still around!"

"This isn't a choice, Scout, now c'mon! Make yourself useful!" Sniper grabbed Scout's arm and pulled him out of the van and into the ornery Mother Nature. Another flash of lightning broke through the rain, much closer than the last. Seconds later, an earthshaking crack filled the air.

"Look, you're the quicker one, and you'll be able to find a place ahead much faster than me. Just be thankful I ain't making ya push the bloody van, alright? Now get to it!" Sniper shoved the runner along. Scout looked back with a glare before running away into the distance. The longer Sniper stood and watched his companion, the more the rain melted the figure away, until Scout was no more than a mirage that flickered into nothingness.

Well, he'd get nowhere just standing here, so Sniper walked over to the back of the van. Placing his cold, calloused palms onto the camper's back, the marksman pushed. And thankfully, the vehicle gave. It rolled slow against the smooth concrete of the deserted road, occasionally making a light crackle whenever a small rock was crushed under the tires.

Another distant roar of thunder met Sniper's ears. Most of the impact was muffled by the accompanying downpour but it was still loud enough to get Sniper to push harder against his van. It was kind of funny, how much of this repetitive task reminded him of his job. Payloads weren't Sniper's preferred missions, but they weren't his least favorite. Most of the time he would simply stay behind to give his mates some much needed defense against any enemy Heavys, Demos, and Medics. Only on rare occasions when his team were too injured to continue the objective would he help push the cart.

On one triumphant payload mission, Sniper had actually taken out his RED counterpart. Some bloke from Austria apparently, who had been giving his team a real *rse beating, getting Demo's right elbow, Heavy's left hip, and straight through Soldier's throat. If it hadn't been for Medic's quick timing and a well placed dispenser, the patriotic lunatic would have bled out on the battlefield.

The man had managed to hit Scout's left knee, leaving the runner unable to push or even walk. That was when Sniper stuck a bullet right between that bugger's eyes, after the Austrian had stepped out to finish the kid off. Of course, after the match ended with a slim victory, Sniper was temporarily placed on RED until the Administrator could find another mercenary to fill the role. It happened to everyone. A counterpart on the opposite team would get offed, and his team, whichever one he would be on at the time, would have to fill that role until a new replacement was found.

That was how he met his Demo, Engie, and Scout, actually. He had been on RED back then, and his team's Demo, Engineer, and Scout had been killed during a Capture Point mission. Sniper didn't even know their names, only that their Demo was some old guy from Iceland, the Engineer was from South America(from what country though, Sniper couldn't recall), and the Scout was a guy from Cambodia. They had all met grizzly ends to the hands of the BLU team. And Sniper didn't care, it was part of the contracts they had signed. But then Demo, Engie, and Scout were placed on RED, and Sniper got to know them. Or more accurately, they forced their way onto his acquaintances list.

Somehow the teams got switched around so much that now his team was the one he knew and, well, respected, to this day. These nine men, himself included, were the unkillables. Even after four years of working and fighting for those old bags of wind, none of them had ever gotten a fatal injury, at least ones that would kill them instantly. Sniper often said that skill always beats luck, and he still believed that. But it also probably helps to have good fortune on your side. His team was simply the most skilled and had good luck to boot. So they all survived and grew closer, known as the group who would pull through no matter what. Well, they were.

Sniper shook himself into the present, swallowing that ball of emotions that he had been keeping down this whole time. No emotions, not for him. They were only coworkers after all. His mates' lucky streak had simply run out. They all had cheated death more often than a dog wags its tail, and the reaper finally decided to collect his due. Except for himself and the sporty backtalker who Sniper could see was running back.

"Well, did ya find anything?" The marksman asked the panting boy. Scout nodded, sending hundreds of droplets flying from his hair.

"There's a big clearin' up ahead, about a hundred feet or so." He announced. "Just off the road. It's uphill though so pushing's gonna be a real pain in the *ss."

"Alright, we'll get it done faster if ya start pushing too." Sniper said. He was already getting sore from the straining he'd been doing. Scout, thankfully, didn't argue and backed up against the van's wall. The runner planted his feet against the watery road, and, with a powerful shove from his legs, the van surged forwards. The sudden movement caused Sniper to stumble, barely keeping his balance from the lack of vehicle under his hands. How the bloody h*ll did Scout move the van so much already? Well, Scout was always able to push a half ton bomb faster than anyone else, despite the reality of being the smallest of the team muscle wise. H*ll, maybe he did it just to spite reality.

"Hey, Aussie, I didn't start shoving just so you can take a break! You ain't the one with a busted ankle, remember?"

"Oh, right." Sniper got back onto the van pushing bandwagon. For a good ten minutes they struggled with grunts and thunder being the only conversations had between the two. The Australian's arms began to shake with effort. Or was it the cold, Sniper wasn't sure. Scout at first seemed to be doing better, but one good look at the shivering body and snarling face said otherwise.

"Oy! How much further till that clearing?" Sniper breathed. Scout paused and walked around the vehicle.

"We're at the entrance! We gotta turn the van, though! It's to the right!" Scout called back.

"You get the van turned, I'll keep pushing!" The sound of the driver's door opening and slamming shut responded, and two seconds later, the van began to turn right.

With a grunt, Sniper dipped into whatever energy reserves he had left and shoved with all his might. It started off easily enough, until the van got off the road. The wheels sunk into the mud along with Sniper's boots. He shoved and struggled to dislodge his home from the slick earth. But he couldn't find any purchase from the ground, slipping and pushing himself from the vehicle. And Sniper felt his strength, like his foothold, slip away more and more. The rain beat him down. His arms shook. The once steady breathing devolved into sharp gasps.

And like a miracle, the van shot forwards along with the marksman. Grunting from the effort, the Australian Sisyphus continued his fight with gravity as the even ground began to rise. Sniper maneuvered to place his back to the van and pushed with his legs, not that it helped much, he wasn't incredibly keen on leg days. And it didn't take long at all for his energy in them to give out. The van was sinking back into the mud along with himself.

"Move it, Buster!" A deep city accent rang out as the weight on Sniper shoulders lifted. Scout had decided that the van was ready for independent life and went out to help his teammate. And he couldn't have had better timing as Sniper's knees buckled from exhaustion.

Mud covered his pants as the distant rolling thunder grew in frequency. Rain pounded against his back and deafened all other sounds. But, he couldn't stop now. Not yet, not until the van was in a secure area. Then he could rest with a nice, warm cup of joe. With shaking legs, Sniper stood and shoved his shoulder into the slick southern wall. Scout was doing the same, forcing the large vehicle on with his slim upper arm. Up and up they went, too focused on their task to chat(or too tired). His shoulder began to ache, his knees trembled from the chill and strain, and his lungs burned with ice as the cold air was forced into them with haste.

A sudden lurch was felt and the pair stumbled onto even ground as the van rolled onwards. It came to a crawl and stopped, like an old dog patiently waiting for their master to follow. At first they stood and stared at the van, both heaving and gulping in the misty air. Then, they turned to each other, and cheered. Well, cheering is what they felt like doing. Instead they whooped with gasps and laughed without breath. A sorry sight, really. But the triumph shared filled the atmosphere like the static of the storm.

"Well done, mate!" Sniper wheezed, still trying to regain a molecule of stamina. Scout only gave a thumbs up, too tired to talk through his vibrating teeth. After several minutes of rest with the rain pelting the two, they once again went on to push one more time.

It took many slips, dips, and a lot of trips from the driver's seat to the van's backside to get the camper to where Sniper felt it would be safe from any rogue lightning. An earsplitting crack voiced its approval as Scout and Sniper scurried into the dry sanctuary of the van, away from all electric bolts.

With a hearty slam, the door was shut, and the marksman and runner stood dripping and utterly exhausted. As Sniper slipped off the water coated jacket, Scout slumped into one of the cushioned table benches. The muffled tapdance of the raindrops spun across the ceiling and the occasional thunder would roar, but much more tame. After getting his bearings and breath, Sniper gave himself a look over.

Well, it wasn't the worst he'd ever been. Dark grey mud caked his knees and lower pant legs. His nice leather boots were completely soaked in both rainwater and dirt. And oooh boy, he would never take for granted dry socks again!

Plucking off his aviators and wiping them on his no longer drenched shirt, Sniper looked over at his companion.

Scout. Was. Wet. His light brown hair poured rivets down his face. That once light blue top was now a deep navy. Mud once again covered the boy's calves and shoes. And there was no hope left for his socks. Something once so innocent would now be tarnished with a light toffee brown instead of their snow white hue.

With a disgustingly wet plop, Scout dropped his drenched shirt onto the floor as he began searching through Sniper's small dresser.

"D-Do ya have a-any longer sleeved topss?" Scout asked, goosebumps ravaging his arms.

"Only button ups, really," Sniper admitted, also wanting to change into dry clothes. Luckily, his shirt at least was only slightly damp now. The raincoat did its duty and did it well. He placed his shades back on and watched Scout rummage through his clothes, too tired to care. Well, to care about that. Something else was now eating away at Sniper's mind and wasn't letting go anytime soon.

Scout had given him the jacket. After he had threatened him. And called him useless. And Scout still did everything he'd asked, well, ordered him to do, with only slight debate. The kid had been standing outside in the rain for who knows how long holding a flashlight for him, scouting on ahead, and moving the van all without a raincoat. And only wearing a short-sleeved shirt. Not to mention that the water no doubt had gotten through his shoes too. And through his bandage. Sniper's mouth dried. Bugger.

"Hey." The runner looked up, holding a warm grey tank, "uh, how's… how's the arm?"

"Um," Scout started, looking down at the topic in question, "I-I don't feel it. But I also can't feel my toes-s or fingers either, so I d-dunno."

The space pilfered out into an awkward silence. Sniper rubbed the back of his neck. Some rummaging broke the quiet as Scout began his search for a decent skirt. From where he stood, Sniper could see the large, faded bruise he'd found when patching Scout up.

"Gimme that," Scout pointed to the raincoat as he slipped on a large orange shirt.

"What? Why are ya wanting to go outside again!?"

"Look man, I don't care what you say about the outdoors, but it is a way better bathroom than a little glass jar." Sniper handed the jacket to the young man without a word. A nod of thanks, and Scout stepped out into the storm.

The marksman plopped down onto a cushioned bench. After a moment, he took off his worn boots and threw them near the door. Yeah, he had a place to put them, but he had just spent, what, over an hour on his feet in the pouring rain, and they were killing him. Proper shoe placement could wait.

Sniper leaned his head back against the seat, resting. The rainwater that had soaked his hair was now soaking the chair, but it didn't matter, it would dry soon enough. With a sigh, Sniper ran a cold hand through his umber hair-

Wait a minute.

Wait a bloody minute…

Where was his hat?

…

Piss.

It was currently two in the afternoon, the storm was still raging, and Scout had yet to return. Now, Sniper knew full well that the runner could take care of himself just fine. He was one of the three offense classes after all. But how long does it take for someone to take a bloody piss!? Not this long!

The time had been long enough that Sniper had changed into warm, dry clothes, gotten himself a hot caffeinated beverage, and started working on a lunch for the two of them. But Sniper had a feeling that Scout wouldn't eat it without a fight. If he ever came back.

Rubbing a towel over his hair, Sniper put the sandwich making ingredients back into the mini fridge of his van. While he wasn't a cold cut connoisseur like Heavy was, Sniper could forge a mean venison and swiss. And that was exactly what he had made: two deer meat sandwiches for him and Scout. Now all he needed to do was wait for Scout to return.

Several more minutes passed, and the runner had yet to make a grand entrance. During that time Sniper had pulled out his book and continued from where he left off. He was also halfway done with his sandwich with the second remaining untouched. A distant thunder crack met his ears, and Sniper let the situation finally sink in.

Scout had been gone for at least thirty minutes. The storm hadn't lightened a smidge from when they had parked the van. So, Scout should not be out strolling, especially when he had been shivering from the neck down beforehand. Maybe his ankle had given out again and he was stuck out in the rain? Or maybe he had up and left, feeling fed up with Sniper's temper? Or maybe…

No. No, that can't be it. That thing Scout talked about didn't exist, it was impossible. There was no feasible way it could exist. But every time the runner brought it up, that look he gave, his fidgets and twitches. And he was certain that whatever it was, had been following them since Sawmill.

"Dude, ya can't just send me out there alone! Not with that thing around!"

In a flash, Sniper was pulling his boots on. Whether or not an alien monster thing existed, Scout was out there alone. And with no way to communicate, well, it pays to assume the worst. As he slipped on the other boot, Sniper reached for the kukri he kept hung by the door. Cougar, Bear, or monstrous creature, it didn't matter. He would need a weapon, for his and Scout's sake. With his knife in hand, Sniper grabbed the handle and threw open the door-

"OW!" Came the voice of the person who he had just slammed the door into. "What the heck, man!?"

"Bloody h*ll, mate! What took ya so long!?" Sniper asked the runner. It appeared that Scout was just about to enter the van when Sniper threw the door into his face. He stood there rubbing his nose, glaring at the marksman with watery eyes. In the crook of his wounded arm was something leather.

"You're welcome," Scout scowled as Sniper took the hat and placed it on his head.

"Thanks, mate." He really did mean it. Scout pushed past him and threw off the dripping coat, letting himself fall onto a chair. "Where'd ya find it?"

"Back there, I dunno. Why do ya have ya knife?" He looked down at his kukri and placed it back on its hook.

"You were takin' so long that I thought that you'd gotten into a tussle with a wolf or bear."

Scout shot up, eyes wide. "There are bears around here!?"

"Well, yeah. This is the Pacific Northwest, after all."

"I could've gotten eaten out there! Well, if it was a herd a bears. Like, thirty. Anything lower and I would have beaten all their stupid skulls in." There's the Scout Sniper knew and tolerated.

"With no weapons but your screaming and a nub for an arm, I doubt it."

"Whatever man," Scout slumped back into his seat, curling his lip, "I could've just snapped a branch off and used that. I grew up in Southside, I know how to make anything a weapon. Even beer!"

Sniper chuckled as he sat back down. "Mate, Demo was proof enough that alcohol is a force to be reckoned with." He took a bite from his lunch and grabbed his book. "And I better see ya eat that bloody sandwich, I ain't seeing it go to waste."

"Fine. But only because I'm too tired to deal with your s**t." Scout grumbled. The runner sat and ate his meal, taking far less time to finish than his friend. Sniper was busy once again reading. It went on like this for some time, with the occasional cough and comment about the weather. The quiet was broken when Scout decided to ask a question.

"Yo, Sniper?" Sniper hummed in acknowledgement, "So, when we get to Landfall. And we talk to the Administrator or whaddeva. Do ya think…" Scout trailed away in thought. The sudden quiet brought the sharpshooter's eyes up from the novel.

"Well, I mean, if we're the only ones left… Like, really, and the guys really are… Um, y'know. Well that means that we ain't got a team. And without a team, we can't fight."

"Ya worried about fighting RED alone?"

"What!? No! Who said anything about being worried! I ain't worried, and especially about fighting RED, they're a buncha cowards anyway. And that's not even what I'm worried about, which I'm not, by the way! Ya just put a buncha words in my mouth, didn't even let me finish!-"

"Alright!" Sniper raised a hand to halt the flow of words erupting from Scout's mouth. "I get it! Just cut to the chase, mate!"

"Okay, jeez! Alright, um, okay, so ya know how we'll get switched around whenever a role is open?" Sniper nodded. "Well, what I'm saying is… We're missing a lotta teammates. Like, I don't remember either team losing seven members at once, y'know? And… what if when hiring new members to the team, she decides that… maybe cause've this thing that happened, we ain't… that we're too damaged to work anymore or some s**t."

Sniper got the picture. Scout was worried about losing their jobs. He set his book down. The idea hadn't crossed his mind. This situation was much different from the battlefield. It was too unusual, too… spontaneous? Either way, they shouldn't be fired from something they couldn't control, right?

"I wouldn't worry about that, Buckshot," Sniper took a sip of his lukewarm coffee, "as long as we can fight and shoot, our incomes should be safe."

"Yeah… for you." Scout mumbled, picking at the crust he'd left behind.

"What's with the long face? You can fight; you're still standing aren't ya?" The runner gave him a glare.

"Did ya forget something, bub?" He growled, raising his arms into the air and waving his one hand. His one… oh.

Sniper had forgotten. Scout only ever blabbed about his ankle, and he was pretty capable despite missing five digits. But that was more minute tasks like picking things up and gesturing. And holding his powerful scatterguns and shotguns would need both hands to fire. Especially that sawed off one, the Force-A-Nature. He'd seen Scout use it from time to time, it had the kickback of a steroid infused horse. Without a proper grip, the weapon would at best fly from his hands and at worst, knock him out while doing so. In fact, the only thing Scout wouldn't have trouble wielding now would be his trusty bats. And even then, he wouldn't be able to actually bat anything with them, he could only bash heads in.

Scratching the back of his neck, Sniper gestured to his cup.

"Ya want me to make ya some?"

"Nah, it's way too bitter, man. The way you make it is gross!"

"Ya do know that ya can put stuff in it to change the flavor, right?" Scout's ears and cheeks turned a funny shade of red.

"Y- Well, yeah! I knew that! Why wouldn't I know that? Only a moron wouldn't know that! Yeah, I totally knew." Clearly.

"I got some stuff that ya can add. I'll brew ya a cup and ya can add whotever ya want in it."

"Okay- Wait a sec," Sniper paused his standing, "Did you just call me "Buckshot"?"

"Yeah, ain't a problem is it?"

"I dunno, why'd ya call me it?"

Sniper scratched his chin in thought. "Fits ya, I guess."

"Huh," Scout had the slightest of grins on his face, "Yeah, "Buckshot" that's... yeah, that's a pretty cool name."

Sniper had no idea what Scout had put into his coffee, and frankly, he didn't want to know. It smelled slightly like cinnamon, which was impossible, because Sniper didn't own any of that spice. Either way, his companion was sitting across from him drinking in contentment while once again drawing… something, on a torn piece of notebook paper. It kind of looked like a self-portrait, but different.

"The storm hasn't stopped." Sniper grumbled, resting on his palm while finishing the book.

"So we're staying here then?" Scout deadpanned, erasing a lopsided eye.

"Looks like it."

"Then I call the bed."

Sniper chuckled. "Ya can't just call something you don't own. It's my bed, and I'll be using it tonight. Ya can have it tomorrow."

"Aw, c'mon man!" Scout whined, looking up with an exaggerated sad face. "I had to stand out in the rain and everything!"

"Wonder how that feels. And your puppy eyes ain't gonna work on me."

"Crap. But I also gotcha your hat back! That's gotta count for something!"

"It's counting for tomorrow. I'm having the bed tonight."

"Come on, Sniper! Thought we had a pattern goin' on!"

"The first two nights ya had the bed, so I'm cashing in on my second night." Sniper skimmed the final pages and closed the book.

"I'll arm wrestle ya for it!" Scout stood in excitement, rocking the van a second time. The marksman peered over his aviators at the younger man.

"No."

"What? Too scared to lose to a hunk like me?" Scout smirked while jabbing his thumb into his chest. Sniper just stared at him. For a very. Long. Time.

"Fine," Scout nearly jumped for joy and then tried to play it cool, "But when I win, I don't want to hear your sore losing."

"If ya win, Jack*ss! I'm getting that mattress!" He sat back down, his oversized teeth shining with a smile. Sniper put his arm onto the table. Scout followed. Their hands clasped together.

"Ya ready?" Scout nodded with haste, his fingers drumming along Sniper's hand.

"Three,"

"Two,"

"One!" Like the lightning outside, the fight began in a flash. Sniper instantly got the upper hand with his stronger muscles. But it was slow going. Because Scout had one advantage that maybe he didn't even realize he had. His grip was like iron!

Scout's hand was crushing his own, even though it was much smaller. And each time Sniper made progress, his strength would ebb from the painful compression of his limb, giving Scout enough help to bring the match back to square one.

It went on like that for a while before Sniper felt Scout's hand begin to tremble. His strength was giving out. But Sniper's was too. The idea of sleeping on the bench resurfaced.

The short cushions, far too small for the gangly Australian. The painful cricks he had gotten after those nights. And simply getting no rest from sleeping. Those thoughts were what won him the match.

With a determined grunt and burst of strength, Sniper pushed against Scout until the boy's fist met the tabletop with a hearty slam!

"D*mnnit!" Scout seethed as he blew on his bruising knuckles.

"Told ya I would win," Sniper pointed out, waving his hand around to dispel the pain.

"Yeah, whatever. But it was close! I nearly had ya! You were on the ropes, admit it!"

"Nah, I was just going easy on ya. To give ya a false sense of hope." Scout glared at him.

"Screw you! No you didn't! Ya barely won!" Sniper only smirked in response, both at the thought of getting his bed again, and to hide the pain caused by Scout's steel grasp.

A coiling snake of grey smoke climbed ever higher from that lit cigarette. In an unknown location, in an unknown building, and in an unknown room, she sat. The leather armrests of her chair were the victims of the rhythmic stabbing her claw-like nails gave as she drummed them in thought. Pinned between her spider-like fingers was the lit cigarette, giving life to the ever-circling serpent filling the room with nicotine aftertaste. She brought it to her lips and breathed in deep; keen eyes darting over and analyzing the wall of screens in front of her. And with a silent sigh, the smoke escapes her ancient lungs.

A quiet click from the door behind her was the only thing that could pry her attention away from those flickering televisions, if only for a second. A moment passed before she finally spoke.

"Have you managed to contact any of the BLU team, Miss Pauling?" She drawled, her tone implying that the entire matter was beneath her.

"No, Administrator. All phone lines and radios have been met with static and when I went to Harvest to question RED, they hadn't seen them either." The mousy girl behind her replied. She walked up to The Administrator's chair, standing side by side with the older woman. Her eyes filled with questions as she looked into those screens. "Do you believe you've figured what happened?"

Before them ran the security footage of the BLU Base of Sawmill. The day seemed to go by as usual. As usual as a day can be with hired killers. But all the cameras had been cut out around the same time. At four in the afternoon. Then all there was left was static. The Administrator had been analyzing the exact frames taken before the feed was cut, searching for any sign of sabotage from within the BLU team. But they were all accounted for in the footage. Heavy, Soldier, Demo, Scout, and Medic had all been in the Mess Hall, Spy was in his room reading a rather large novel, Engie and Pyro were in the Armory fixing Pyro's flamethrower, and Sniper was sitting in his nest watching the world.

The Administrator took another smoke infused breath and hummed.

"It would seem that our missing BLU's were surprisingly tidy. They didn't leave many breadcrumbs." That wasn't particularly true, she had sent Miss Pauling to the base when the BLU Team hadn't shown up on the train for Harvest. Miss Pauling had seen the mess left when she had arrived. Whatever had happened, hadn't happened quietly.

Guns were strewn about, blood covered the bottom floor, and the building was left a wreck. She had searched long and hard around the base, and yet her search still remained in vain. No one, no bodies, no living bodies were found. The trail had efficiently gone cold. Except…

"And have you found any sign of Mr. Mundy's van?"

"I have interviewed the small town located near Sawmill, no one has seen the van I described."

"Very well," The Administrator took another drag, "This will be your newest assignment, the others can be postponed till it's completed.

"You will inform RED that any and all matches shall be temporarily cancelled due to a "BLU Unionization." If the RED Team makes any attempt to question or to actually unionize themselves, you will tell them that their "vacation" will go unpaid.

"After this, you will track down Mr. Mundy, or whoever had taken his vehicle. Once you have tracked them down, you will bring them back for questioning and to be held until we have this situation under control."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Do not fail me." Her version of goodbye was not a pleasant one, but Miss Pauling nodded her head and exited the room. The Administrator rose and waltzed over to a screen in the far left. As she approached, her sharp eyes narrowed at the lone figure plastered on the electric wall.

The Australian was sitting on a crate, resting his rifling against his thigh. From the angle the camera had been angled, she could hardly spot the small earpiece in Mr. Mundy's visible ear. On it, hardly more than two pixels, was a slim, blue light. He had been talking to someone. Someone on the team.

"Well, Mr. Mundy," The Administrator droned, her eyes venomous, "I hope for your sake that whatever it is you're looking at it what we're looking for." Even though it was a still image, Helen recognized the emotion in the BLU Sniper's face. He had been looking at something. Something that brought fear into his pixelated eyes.

Chapter Text

What a miserable morning. Not in the sad sense, really. It was more aligned to the weather. And the fact that he'd run out of coffee didn't make it any better.

With a quiet click, Sniper shuffled out of his van, looking like he'd been run over by a truck. It felt like it too. He had thrown on his clothes without much thought. His shirt was less like a button up and more like a second vest under his lopsided real one. Good thing he always wore a white top underneath. The marksman hadn't bothered to tuck either shirt in, his mind was stuck on a one way street.

But the cold rain helped shake the grogginess from his eyes at least. Through the wet muck, Sniper made his way into the building. Even from here he could hear the commotion from the Mess Hall. It was too far away to make out who exactly was making such a racket, but it wasn't hard to guess. In fact, the mornings were so predictable that Sniper often bet with himself to what he would walk in on. And he was going to do that, even though he was still half asleep.

Now, the three people who woke up first were usually Engineer, Soldier, and Heavy. Scout was an early riser as well but his schedule, if you could call it that, was never reliable. Demo woke up typically after himself, always with a hangover but sober. Course, that never lasts long. And Medic, Spy, and Pyro were mysteries.

Sniper listened to the cacophony of noises bleeding through the Mess Hall's double doors. Soldier was a given. Only one person would be stupid enough to shout every word this early in the day. He was probably fighting Scout, they were always at each other's throats, and it would explain the other shouting. Besides that, there was little to no talking. Sniper took a wild guess that Heavy and Spy were watching the fight. And if I'm wrong... Sniper thought of a worthy risk to his bet, already knowing what his reward would be, I'll personally start up a conversation with Scout and not zone out.

Sniper shuddered. Please, please let him be right. That kid could talk for hours and never get bored. And never pick up on social cues. Like when the conversation is over. It wasn't that Scout was a total bore, his stories were always wild. And exaggerated beyond belief, full of ego boosting and jabbing remarks towards their team. At least Sniper could actually understand the kid, unlike when he forced himself to talk with that pyromaniac. Sniper shuddered once more. Never again. With a groan, Sniper slid into the room.

Well, time to add Talking To Scout on today's agenda, because the mess he had walked in on was nothing like what he had pictured. In the large room with two large tables and an even larger kitchen were nearly all his teammates, the only one missing being Pyro.

The men were all in their typical uniforms with the German being the exception, who was wearing a cream colored sweater vest and white button up. Soldier was indeed shouting at someone, only that someone was a very grumpy Scotsman and not some snarky Bostonian. The kid in question was watching the argument with an impish grin, occasionally saying something to keep the men at each other's throats when he wasn't stuffing his face with some sugary cereal. Heavy and Spy were chatting to each other about some novel, ignoring the fray and ducking whenever a utensil or muffin was thrown their direction, too enthralled in their discussion to give the fighters the time of day. Engie was trying to calm Soldier and Demo down, much to the dismay and annoyance of Scout. And Medic was busy in the kitchen having a battle with their fickle toaster. That blasted machine was a joke. It either sent back a slab of charcoal or a slice of bread fresher than when you got it. And Sniper couldn't help but feel sympathy towards the doctor as he sat back down at the table with a fuming snarl and a fuming black block.

"Yo, Sniper! You missed some s**t, man!" Scout jabbed a thumb at now wrestling mercenaries. Sniper hummed in agreement as he made his way into the now vacant kitchen.

"Did Soldier tell Demo that Scotland isn't real, again?" Sniper drawled, busying himself with the community coffee machine.

"Nah, he-"

"WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO KNOW, YOU COWARDLY, CAMPY EXCUSE OF AN AMERICAN!" Soldier roared before his jaw was shut by a mean uppercut. Sniper shook his head in response. What a proper loon.

"Like I was telling ya," Scout started again, reaching for the muffins on the table, "he came waltzing in with a sour mood already and got all pissy when I wouldn't move."

"That seat is rightfully mine, it's a seat only worthy for the most grizzled, battle scarred veterans, which you are not!" Soldier spat back, sitting on Demo's back with the Scot's head locked in his elbow.

"That's what ye said yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that!" Demo sputtered, bucking his assailant off. "Each and every day ye choose a new spot to seat yer bloody *rse onto! And Scout was already there! It's not his fault he woke up before you did for once!"

"I'll have you eat those words, you sorry drunk!"

"Now fellas," Engie sighed, whatever energy he'd recovered while sleeping was sapped away by the idiotic argument, "how 'bout we all just calm down and finish yer fighting later. Preferably not when we're trying to eat breakfast."

"A true man of liberty would never postpone a fight they are currently engaged in!" Soldier croaked from the knee that made contact with his gut. "And I'll have you court marshaled for suggesting otherwise!"

"Yeah, no dice, Engie. Might as well sit back and watch that fireworks." Scout said as he stuffed a blueberry muffin into his mouth. The Engineer continued to chastise the brawling men as Sniper made his way past the linoleum battleground.

"So," Scout started when Sniper sat down in the empty seat next to him, "ya all packed up for Harvest tomorrow?"

"There ain't much packing needed, honestly." Sniper sipped his warm roast. Not as good as the brand he bought but it would have to do. He made a mental note to take the rest back to his camper.

"Oh, right. Well, ya can never be too sure. Last time we relocated, I didn't notice that I didn't pack any of my headpieces until a week after we moved here. I had so many contracts that I needed to do, it was stupid! Well, I mean, Miss Pauling was giving them out so it wasn't so bad. Wanna muffin?" Scout asked as he plucked a chocolate baked good from the basket.

"Poppy seed, if there's any."

"Ma, y rarly lok da tap?" Scout managed to say while having an entire muffin stuffed in his mouth. But still, he offered Sniper the small, sweet loaf.

"Thanks, mate." He peeled the wrapper off and took a bite. Dry, but edible.

"By the way," Scout swallowed down the rest of the muffin, "When you were walkin' down here, did ya see any baseballs?"

"Today is the last day to pack, and you still haven't found that thing?" Spy looked over at the Bostonian with distaste. It wasn't clear if his expression was from the idea of Scout being so irresponsible, or the crumbs covering the runner's shirt.

"Well, exxxxcuuuse me, ya royal High-up-your-own-*ss-ness, but I've actually been looking for a couple days now! And I wasn't talking to ya, so butt out, ya frog!" Scout scowled, turning back to Sniper. "Anyway, did ya see it?"

"Nope, sorry mate. But I also wasn't looking for it." The boy next to him seemed to deflate. "I'd check high up; in rafters, pinned between support beams, the like."

"Sniper is right," Heavy agreed, his voice low in thought, "Scout hits tiny ball to go fast and high. If tiny man hasn't found tiny ball on ground, he should look up and search in places ball would be stuck in."

"Yeah, that makes sense, but don't call me tiny-" Scout's tirade was cut off by the slamming of Demo's body onto the table. Soldier was soon to follow. Food flew into the faces of many. Pitchers of OJ and milk flooded the table and into the laps of the team. So it was no surprise when a group of eight angry mercenaries began shouting at the top of their collective lungs.

"-Ye bleedin' idiot!-"

"-AY! Watch it, knuckleheads!-"

"-Oh bloody h*ll! And I liked that cup too!-"

"-I just had this dry cleaned, you imbeciles!-"

"-What is the matter with you!?-"

"-Dagnamit, flamit, flagit,-"

"-Scum sucking, Maggot loving-"

"SHUT UP!" Medic slammed his fist on the table and glared at the explosive men, "IF YOU TWO DO NOT CEASE THIS IDIOTIC FIGHTING, I WILL PERSONALLY SEE TO IT THAT NEITHER OF YOU GET HEALED BY MYSELF OR THE HEALTH PACKS IN OUR NEXT BATTLE!"

The room went completely still, with the only movement being Medic's rapid breathing to quell his anger. Then, as fast as lightning, all the men sat back into their seats and the two instigators stood ashamed under the doctor's icy glare.

"He started it," Demo mumbled.

"I. Don't. Care." Medic growled, fists clenched. "I am ending it! Now sit down, both of you, before you do something we'll all regret!" The two men sat.

"...I don't mean to pry, Doc, but ya seem to have a tad smaller fuse than normal. Everything alright?"

"I have stayed up trying to pack everything and I am only halfway done." The Medic groaned, rubbing his tired eyes. "Mein doves have made a game of hiding in mein boxes while I pack, and then I need to unpack them to free those stupid birds!"

"Well, I reckon I'll be finished with my own belongings soon enough, so I can help ya keep those darn birds outta your hair till you're done."

"Danke, Engineer," Medic smiled as he stood, "I will be in mein lab packing preferably not mein doves and instead mein belongings should anyone need me." And with that he pushed himself away from the table and walked out the room. Scout made to do the same.

"Yeah, I gotta find Archiball; my Sandman's worthless without it."

Spy snorted in laughter. "You actually named that tattered thing!?"

"SHUT your trap!" Scout stood up so fast that his chair fell to the floor.

"Ah, I suppose you're right, I shouldn't speak about Monsieur Archiball that way, even if it's to inform you of where he is."

"Ya know where it is? Tell me where he is!" Spy raised a brow at the Bostonian, who was leaning far into the table to be within five inches of the Frenchman.

"Ah yes, because I am completely willing to give out information to rude, uncultured boys." The rest of the men rolled their eyes. Whenever Spy was annoyed, probably caused by the spilled milk soaking his pants, he made sure at least one other person was just as if not more frustrated than himself. Something the runner and Spy had in common.

Scout scowled before he spoke again.

"Please tell me where my ball is." He said with clenched teeth and fists.

"It is somewhere in the base. I don't know for certain where it is," Spy replied as he lit a cigarette.

"You son of a b***h!" Scout leapt over the table to strangle the older man, only to grab empty air as the Frenchman cloaked. He landed straight on his face, making the other men cringe in secondhand pain. But he shot back up without pause and sprinted down the hall, shouting about how he would shove his bat down Spy's throat once he found him.

Sniper sighed and looked down at his coffee stained top: a souvenir for an average day with the team.

Even with his eyes closed, that didn't stop the sun from forcefully reminding Sniper that it was blinding. He groaned and rolled over. The glaring red of his eyelids faded and he could once again be met with the sweet embrace of slumber. At least, he should have been. Laying there for another five minutes without results was a pretty obvious wake up call.

Groaning once more, Sniper opened an eye. It was much brighter than usual in the camper, with soft sunbeams filtering in through the small shutters on the camper's wall and illuminating the ever-dancing dust suspended in the stagnant air. The pleasant April warmth encompassed the van with drowsy, comfy leisure. And if Sniper wasn't already accustomed to the waking world, those threats of heavy eyelids and the pull of sleep would have taken him by now.

He scanned the van with that tired eye and noticed that he was alone. The thin blanket he'd given Scout was laying crumpled up on the cushioned bench, forgotten by the runner. On the table stood an empty mug. Even from here Sniper could see the faint dark smudge on the cup's lip where Scout's own lips had been. How long had that been there? How did the sound of the coffee machine not wake him up? And how long had Scout been gone? He didn't give himself time to worry.

Probably just gone out for a piss or morning jog. He hasn't had a proper run for a while. Sniper reasoned. Slipping down from the raised bed, Sniper stretched, his whole body trembling from the effort. As his fingertips grazed the ceiling, the marksman opened his eyes. And froze.

Before him was the door, unopened. And next to that was the barren camper walls. And they should not be barren.

What was Scout doing with his kukri?

Like a flash, Sniper was at the door. Opening it, he stepped out into the clearing and instinctively paused to take in the view. It had stopped raining sometime in the night, with the remaining raindrops clinging to the tree needles and grass blades like a thousand crystals. The deep, dark storm clouds had passed, leaving mountains of cumulus clouds as white as doves to float lazily along. And that sky, a soft lavender, was quickly fading into a baby blue. So, the sun had just recently risen. But… how long has Scout been gone then!?

"Scout?" Sniper called. The only response was some cooing Mourning Doves. His heart began to race. He shouldn't have to worry about something like this this early in the morning!

"Scout!" He shouted, sending a flock of sparrows into the sky. Could he hear him? Had something happened while he'd been asleep? The marksman cursed himself. If something happened to that boy while he'd been unable to do anything-

"Oh hey, you're awake," a monotone voice called from behind him. Sniper snapped around to watch as Scout stepped out from the far foliage. The kid was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, only this time the mud was washed off. Traces were still there as his once white socks were a light toffee brown. He was hunched and dragging his feet behind him like a dead weight. And in his one remaining hand was the kukri.

"Oy, where've ya been? Woke up to ya gone and my knife missing!" Sniper all but shouted at the disheveled Scout. As he got closer Sniper could see dark rings encompassing the runner's eyes and a minuscule stain near the corner of his mouth. At least the scars crisscrossing along his cheeks were nearly gone.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" He asked, forbidding his former snappish tone to resurface.

"A bit. It stopped raining." Scout shrugged, still holding the knife with a tense grip.

"Well, yeah mate, the sun's rising," Sniper grinned, pointing at the golden glow over the horizon, "we won't have to worry about getting pneumonia anymore. And, once I get the van started up again, we can make a whole heap of progress. I'd even say that we'll reach Landfall by evening if we're lucky." Something that looked like a smile flashed across Scout's exhausted face.

"You're chipperer than normal. But sweet! Let's check the engine and then move out-"

"Hold it," Sniper held up a hand to stop Scout's enthusiasm, "first you're going to tell me what you were doing out here and why ya have my kukri." The kid's face fell and he looked everywhere but Sniper's eyes.

"Told ya, it stopped raining. And raining keeps the Faker away."

"'The Faker'? So you've come up with a name for… whatever it is you're obsessed over." Scout nodded, ignoring Sniper's annoyed tone.

"Water keeps that b*****d away. Or anything like water. Blood works too, and maybe alcohol. Hopefully that would mean that thing too…" Scout said the last part to himself, his voice lowering until Sniper could barely hear him.

"And why does that have anything to do with my knife?" Scout dug his shoes into the damp grass and mumbled something Sniper couldn't decipher. He didn't have any clue as to why Scout was sharing this information now, seeing as it was a supposed weakness against "The Faker" as Scout called it, and he'd been so worried about being followed. So water hurts it? No, that would mean if it was real that it would die instantly from the water vapor in the air. So liquids supposedly hurt it, like gasoline and blood for example. Blood...

"Wait a minute," Sniper uttered, feeling his hands grow cold. "Lad, you haven't been… You- ya didn't, please don't tell me ya…" Confusion was growing by the second on Scout's face.

"What? I didn't do what?" Any and all words died on Sniper's tongue, so actions would have to do. He raised an arm, turned it palm up, and made a slicing motion above his forearm. The message was loud and clear. With an even paler face than before, Scout shook his head with ferocity.

"What!? No!" Scout shouted in disdain. "I already got a stupid infection, I don't need anymore stupid cuts and bruises! Yeah, that's a stupid idea. Could just spit on the thing and it'll work. Probably." By the look on Scout's face, Sniper couldn't tell if he was more offended that he had suggested Scout was hurting himself or that he was still skeptical of The Faker's existence.

"Alright, I was just making sure, you've just been acting on edge a lot more."

"Gee, wonder why, it's almost like we're the sole remaining teammates from some monster attack!" Scout kicked at the dirt, and anything that resembled a good mood from him was lost. Sniper sighed.

"Okay, let's just focus on getting the van up and running again. Maybe some water got into the pistons and that's why she wouldn't work. We'll leave the van open and dry her out, and in the meantime we'll have some grub." Sniper grabs Scout's shoulder and guides him to the van, taking the large weapon out of his clammy hand.

"And I don't care if ya aren't hungry, you're going to eat." He stated. Scout opened his mouth to argue but a yawn took away his retort.

Sniper watched as the runner entered the van. He took a short detour to open the van's hood to dry the engine and entered the van himself.

"So I noticed ya made yourself some coffee without telling me."

Scout mumbled something under his breath and plopped down onto a bench. Sniper took whatever was left in the coffee pot for himself, ignoring the static tension building between them. "Just how long were you awake?"

"Dunno," Scout grumbled, resting his head on his arms like a pillow, "a while."

"Okay," Sniper sighed, "do ya want to try and sleep some more before we head out or…?" The runner scratched at a burn mark on the table, narrowing his eyes in thought.

"Or ya can wait till we're on the road to pass out, I doubt you'd be able to sleep long anyway."

"'M takin' the bed." Scout rasped and made to throw himself onto the tall bunk. Before he could, though, Sniper had grabbed the runner's shoulder again.

"How about we clean your arm first. Won't have to worry about it later that way." Scout grimaced and absentmindedly picked at his left arm's wrappings.

"It freakin' hurts, though," He mumbled, "do we have to?"

"If ya don't want to-"

"-die from freakin' sepsis, yadda, yadda. I get it! But just skipping a day shouldn't be too bad, I already got a ****in' headache, I don't need my arm to feel like it's busting open too!"

"Better than having your body rot from the inside out or burning yourself to death from an uncontrollable fever. Now get up on the counter." Scout could have won a Saxxy from the dramatic sigh he gave just then. But, he did hop onto the counter with no further arguments.

Sniper took the arm Scout jutted towards him in a firm but gentle clasp and began to unwind the cream colored bandages he'd put on last night.

"Where's that piece of croc hide I gave ya yesterday?" Sniper asked as the wrappings fell away faster and faster.

"Uhhhhhhh, I think I put it in the jacket?" Scout chewed his inner cheek, thinking. "No, wait, it's in my pocket!" With his hand Scout reached into the large pocket of his baggy pants and pulled out a faded green leather strip. And with a flick of his wrist, shot it into his open mouth like a peanut at a baseball game.

"Well, already it's looking better than last night," Sniper analyzed the stump with keen eyes. The skin was slowly but surely beginning to close itself together with the help of the stitches Sniper did. And the once beet red flesh was simmering down to a moderate blush.

"Mhhhm," Scout said from behind the thick hide in his mouth, "cmn whh geh ish oher wffth?"

"Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on," Sniper opened the first aid kit he had left on the counter the night before and pulled out the bandages and the antibiotics he'd been using. The marksman felt his companion's muscles tense underneath his vice-like hand. A light pang of sympathy, then back to the present.

"So, I had a dream last night," Sniper stated as he grabbed a paper towel and dipped it under the open antibacterial medicine.

"Whyll, yhha. Dhhth's whhth shpusht th appin whe yar sthlppn'," Sniper rolled his eyes at the poor attempt at talking with one's mouth full of dead reptile.

"Well, the weird thing about this one is that it wasn't so much a dream than a memory. You know how you can't remember anything?" Scout looked The Marksman in the eyes, his stormy blues piercing. After a moment, Scout nodded with hesitance, keeping his eyes locked on Sniper's cool grey ones.

"So it turns out that I couldn't remember s**t either. Not that day, at least. Maybe it's because of that blow to the head," Sniper brought a hand up and felt the nasty scarred wound under his hair, "But either way, last night I remembered the morning. Do you remember it?" Scout sat still before shaking his head.

"I had jus' walked into the Mess Hall. You were there watching Demo and Soldier fight like schoolboys and kept egging them on."

"Oh yeah!" Scout swiped the croc out of his mouth in excitement, "Ya looked like ya'd slept with Death! All groggy and squinting like an old grandma-"

"Yeah, yeah," Sniper groaned, "and you looked like a pig when ya kept stuffin' your big mouth with muffins."

"Hey! Iznot my fault they were freakin' delicious and I was freakin' hungry!"

"And what was your baseball's name? Archiball?"

"Scrw yu." Scout glared as he shoved the hide back into his mouth.

"Hey, I'm jus' teasin'. At least it's a fun name, not like Heavy's weapons." That got a smirk from the runner.

"Yhha, wh nums ah ghn "Shthhah"?"

"Bite down, mate," Sniper advised. He gave the young man a second to prepare before pressing the damp towel on the infected wound. And it was a good thing he had grabbed Scout's arm again, as he felt the runner twist and instinctively pull away from the painful burning. He should distract him more.

"Did ya ever find your ball?" He looked up to see Scout's eyes clamped shut. Scout fiercely shook his head. "Ah." He continued to hold the runner's arm in place. Its trembling was starting to grow.

"Easy, only a few more seconds." Either Scout hadn't heard him or physically could not take it easy. The kid's face was pulled back in a grimace, sweat being to build on his forehead. His grip on the counter was so pale Sniper could see the veins and tendons beneath the white knuckles.

"Alright, I'm done," Sniper pulled the used paper away and let Scout recharge, "now that wasn't so bad, was it?" If looks could kill, the marksman would be dead and decayed faster than light.

"Betcha wouldn't be saying that if you were the one with a ****ing crippled arm!" Scout spat as well as the hide from his mouth.

"Fair," Sniper said as he wrapped a clean bandage around Scout's arm. "...alright, now that that's done, go get some shut eye while ya still can. We don't know how long it'll take for the engine to dry, if that's even the problem." Scout rolled his eyes as hard as possible before hopping down and climbing up into Sniper's bed-

"AH- No shoes!" The runner snapped his head around and glared as he kicked off the damp, dirty cleats. After a nod from Sniper, Scout shuffled into the bed. And at the same speed the runner did everything in, he was out like a light.

The camper was opened and Sniper stepped outside. He made his way around to the front and stood before the engine. Looked just like yesterday but much drier and the morning sun was able to highlight all the little details Sniper couldn't see from the rain. He clucked his tongue and entered the driver's seat.

And realized he'd left the keys in the van. Grumbling, Sniper again got out, went to the van, opened the door, and entered the camper. What he saw almost made him laugh. He felt that barking chuckle build in his throat but swallowed it. It hadn't even been a minute since he left!

Scout, it seemed, couldn't even be bothered to stay still while sleeping. He was halfway off the bunk, letting his torso and head dangle in the free air. The patchwork blanket was wrapped around his legs like a tangled slinky, determined not to come undone without a fight. And his mouth was open in complete ignorance with even a faint line of drool crawling down, or up, his cheek.

Prying his eyes off the unfortunate Scout, Sniper opened a cabinet drawer where he always kept his keys. He took them, exited the van again, made his way around to the front again, and got back into the driver's seat. And the marksman waited.

The sudden rock of the van snapped Sniper awake. S**t, he hadn't meant to fall asleep. Guess the coffee Scout left wasn't enough. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the Australian groaned. Which was cut off by the sound of the passenger door opening.

"Alright, let's go!" The new company chimed as he climbed into the seat. It took Sniper a hot second to realize that the disheveled, blinking and shaky mess of a man was Scout and not some hobo looking for a quick fix.

"Ya slept well?" Sniper asked with feigned innocence. Oh, the look Scout gave him, if only he had a camera.

"Like a ****ing baby." Scout growled, his voice low from both anger and exhaustion. "What time is it? Sun's higher than it should be."

"It's…" Sniper peered down at his watch, "A quarter to ten. So ya slept for about three hours I'd say."

"D*mn. Sure doesn't feel like it."

"Also, was that shaking just now because of you?"

"Oh, yeah, I kinda got tangled in the blanket and fell off the bunk. Didn't hurt, but it sure was one h*ll of a wake up call." Sniper chuckled at the thought. He knew that blanket would do some damage.

"Alright, well, let's get going then. Fingers crossed, Buckshot." The runner crossed his fingers and his other two for good measure. Slightly impressed at how Scout managed that without a second hand, Sniper inserted the keys and turned the ignition.

Stuttering met their ears and hope was already fading.

C'mon old girl, don't this to me. Not now. Sniper silently pleaded. And his pleas were answered.

A jolt, a groan, and an aggressive roar from the engine ripped the pair's ear drums. But to them it was like a heavenly choir. Cheering was an understatement as the small compartment was brimming with joy.

"YEAH! Yes! If this stupid camper was a hot chick, I'd make out with it so hard!" Scout whooped as the two drove onto the road.

"Well it ain't, so don't try to make any moves on my home, thank you," Sniper chuckled as the forest began to thin more and more. Man, they'd been so close to leaving the pines behind yesterday. It was just a couple hundred feet more.

"But-"

"No buts. You can show your gratitude through other way-"

"Oh, so you're a bust kinda guy."

The marksman's mind blanked like someone had just taken an eraser to a chalkboard.

"...I'm a what?"

"Ya said no butts so ya must like the girls' chests more, am I right?" Of course the tyke would take Sniper's words literally just to toy with him. The s**t-eating grin plastered on Scout's face didn't help.

"That is not what I meant and you know it!-"

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with liking the chest more than the behind! I personally think that both are good. Chicks are freakin' hot, dude!"

"I'm not going to talk about what we find attractive, Scout. It's too early for this."

"Aw c'mon! It ain't like anyone else is around to hear us! Besides, all I wanna know is if you're a Bust or Butt kinda guy."

"I'm a Shut-Up-Before-I-Drive-Us-Off-The-Road kinda guy."

"Why the heck are ya getting so defensive? We're two grown men, we can have these kinda conversations- wait," Oh no. Sniper could practically hear the gears turning in Scout's head. The burning in his face only grew when his companion's own seemed to glow in realization. "I was right, wasn't I?"

"No you weren't-"

"I totally was! Your face is beet red, dude! Aw man!" Curse that loudmouthed American and the ones who brought him into this world.

"I don't have a preference when it comes to either, Scout." Sniper made sure that the Bostonian heard him through his cackles. He was not going to repeat himself.

"Yeah, okay, ya ain't slick but fine. What type do you like then, if you're so indifferent?" The warmth in his face grew more.

"I am not contractually obligated to answer that question."

"C'mon man! Just tell me!"

"Nah."

"Tell me."

"I plead the fifth."

"Ya ain't American, that don't work for ya!" Scout's smug grin was slipping into an annoyed frown. When it was clear that the Marksman wasn't going to talk more, the runner huffed. "Fine, I'll tell you my type first then you have to tell me yours!"

"That's a bloody trick; you don't have a type, you flirt with every female ya meet."

"Actually I do, Headshot, but I gotta keep myself from getting rusty somehow!"

"Well, spit it out, then!"

"Look, say what you want about girls and s**t, but you can not go wrong with the classy ones! Y'know what I'm talking about, right? The kinds that always dress nice, smell nice, can read, always got their hair up and outta the way, small, polite-"

"Ya still like Miss Pauling? I would've thought ya moved on by now."

Scout looked like someone had just struck him in the face with a wet fish. "What? No way! She's amazing! And it's your turn so no more flaking on me, man! Spit it out!" Sniper took a deep breath and sighed for as long as he could.

"Fine," Scout's perked up like an excited puppy, "but no jokes or anything else I'll kick ya to the curb and drive off." The runner nodded and Sniper sighed again. "Alright. I… bloody h*ll, alright, so, ya know how-"

"Waitwaitwait, lemme try and guess first! I think I got it!" The silence that followed made Sniper wish a hitman would show up and kill him before the embarrassment could.

"Said ya didn't have a preference… no whistles or nothing to classy ladies… small… no joking at your type…" Scout murmured to himself. "Huh, 'M starting to think you're into Compressors." Once again, Sniper's mind blanked. With absolute confusion, he asked the question.

"What the bloody h*ll is a "Compressor"?"

"That's what the guys down in Southside called the kinds of girls that could crush a dude's head in between her thighs like a compressor. Y'know, dominant girls, the ones that are taller, stronger, can pick ya up no problem and take the reins? We called them Compressors, Big Sisters, one dude even started calling them "Amazonians" cause he was a nerd and liked history class. And we called the guys that were into that sorta thing "Melons", cause they liked the idea of getting their head crushed between the girls' thighs like a... melon… holy s**t."

"Don't." Sniper hissed. But it was too late.

"You're a freakin' Melon, ain'tcha?"

"Look," Sniper said defensively as his face burned, "when the only sheilas you're surrounded with your entire life are just as strong as the men, can grow facial hair faster than yourself, and can snap you in half like the twig you are, you settle for what ya can get!"

"Woah, woah! I ain't judging, man. Just didn't take ya as the type. But yeah, strong girls are pretty sweet."

"But you're into Miss Pauling."

"She's strong in her own way!" Now it was Scout's turn to shout defensively, "She might not be able to crush a fruit between her legs but she's smart! And beautiful! So freakin' beautiful…"

When Sniper took his eyes off the road for the few seconds he did, he didn't expect to see the wistful and dazed expression Scout had. The kid was staring out ahead of them but wasn't taking any of it in, content to just stay inside his own little head.

"So ya like the girl for her looks."

"Well, duh, but not just that. She's smart, like I just freakin' said, and can read super good. She always smells like lavender and plums whenever she doesn't smell like blood and a walking corpse, wonder if it's because she always wears purple. And her glasses are always kinda crooked, makes her look real cute, even when she's hacking limbs apart, she's great."

"Huh."

"Did you ever find someone you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?"

Sniper stole a glance at Scout again. "Once, around your age or younger, just before I got into the assassin business."

"What was she like?"

"Well, everything you described a "Compressor" to be, just shorter. Still had a wild spirit, like most of us from Oz."

"'Cept you."

"Yup. Didn't need to be though, she had enough between the both of us. And bloody h*ll she was gorgeous. Long curly hair, soft brown eyes and somehow never grew a mustache, which, I'll admit, was nice whenever she pulled me down for a kiss."

"What happened then? Did she cheat on ya with some buffer dude or…?" Scout trailed off.

"Nah, nothing like that. We just wanted different things in the end. She wasn't interested in traveling the world killing blokes and I wasn't made for staying in one place for the rest of my life. Not yet, at least."

"Huh-" A jaw breaking yawn cut through Scout's remark. "Kinda ironic cause, y'know, you're a Sniper and ya camp, like, all the d*mn time."

"Aw, whatever," Sniper grinned. "And what about you, kid? Do you ever see yourself settling down after all this?"

"If I'm with Miss P, then abso-freaking-lutely!"

The certainty in his answer caught Sniper off guard. "Really?"

"Sure! But only with her! When we both get bored of this job and get tired of killing people. I mean, I don't really get bored bashing heads in, but what she does? All the tooth pulling and fingerprint sanding and having to do all the nasty jobs and paperwork the stupid Admin gives her? I don't wanna see her spend her entire life digging graves and getting papercuts just cause some old cranky hag tells her to do it! She deserves better."

"And do you think you can give her better?"

"You bet your sorry *ss I do! When I see her again-" Scout yawned, "-I'm gonna tell straight up what and how I feel about her! And she'll be so freakin' blown away by my natural charm and truthfulness that she'll admit to me that she feels the exact same way. Then we'll both quit our jobs, later, not straight afterwards cause y'know, we gotta keep the money coming in and we need time to go out and date. But after that we'll quit our jobs, and I'll buy us a sick mansion by the coast in Massachusetts, or a cottage, cabin thing if that's what she likes more.

"A year will pass and that's when I pop the big question to her. Course she'll say yes cause we're just so awesome together, and we'll have the best wedding the world's ever seen! You'll be invited cause of course you'll be and Ma and whatever family Miss Pauling has. And we'll live happily on the coast for the rest a our lives, maybe having some kids.

"And one day we'll just be hanging out, resting and watching the sunset while we lay around on a hammock I'll get us-" Scout's eyes began to close and his slouching form started leaning back against the van's door. "-And we'll be laying down with her resting her head on my chest and I'll be holding her close when she falls asleep. I'll put a foot down onto the ground and swing the hammock slow until the sun sets and the moon creeps itself over the sealine…"

It took Sniper a long moment to realize Scout had fallen asleep and was not just zoning out imagining the perfect future with his crush. Sniper turned one last time to look at his unconscious companion. The runner's head was leaning against the window, bumping slightly each time the van drove over a rock or hit a small hole. His mouth had the faintest echo of a smile. A smile that was the antithesis of everything Scout thought he was.

Sniper himself felt a smile pull against the corners of his mouth when he thought about what Scout had been rambling about. Looking back to the road, a rumbling chuckle filled the small space.

"Ya hopeless romantic…"

The snap, crackle, and pop of the gravel road filled the dark, evening air as the pair drove down the hidden road towards Landfall's main bases. With a hearty yawn, Scout looked out his window to watch the towering trees become denser and denser.

"Yo, do ya think these are Redwoods or something?"

"Nah, probably just really big Firs and Spruces."

For eight whole hours the two had sat and drove the last stretch to Landfall. Scout had fallen asleep again and hot d*mn was it a good sleep! He dreamed about him and Miss Pauling. She looked different in it, a good difference. Where there weren't any dark sleepy lines under her eyes. And her hair was still held up in a bun but it was messy, and hung loose near her shoulders. They had been laying in a hammock thing tied between these two tall white trees with gold leaves. And all around them was space.

Galaxies and millions and billions of stars. Strange new plants were so close that Scout could almost touch them just by raising his hand. And so many colors filled the night sky as those space cloud things, he forgot the word.

The two just laid together, with Miss Pauling resting her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist. And he'd been holding her just as close while watching the universe shimmer and glow. If heaven was real, it had to be that.

So one could understand Scout's absolute frustration when Sniper had woken him from the one dream he'd had in the past week that didn't make him fear for his life. It didn't matter that they'd stopped at some food place for lunch, Scout wasn't hungry! And when Sniper had told him that the place sold milkshakes and he could get him one, Scout almost said that he just wanted the freaking space hammock back! Almost, because a milkshake sounded real good.

After the lunch and milkshake stop, they'd continued the drive that would last another four hours, half of which was trying to locate the hidden entrance to Landfall. During which The Great Battle for The Radio commenced, with Scout winning after using the tactic that never failed: talking someone's ear off until they give in. Worked like a charm and Rock music never sounded so triumphant.

Now here they were, after finally finding the gravel road that was actually plainly obvious for the world to see with the only hindrance being the "Private Property, Keep Out" sign. Scout reckoned that Sniper must feel pretty stupid from being fooled by such a small sign. Scout was fooled too but he wasn't the one behind the wheel-

"Finally! Now that is a sight for sore eyes!" Scout turned to peer out the windshield and, yeah, he had to agree one hundred percent. Landfall's BLU Base stood before them, it's cabin-like appearance was a welcoming one after being stuck on the road for basically a week. How the heck had it taken them a straight up week, Scout knew the drive to Boston from Teufort was only 33 hours and they barely encountered any traffic, and the distance between these bases was even shorter!- Ow. Okay, no, no more thinking, his head was still thumping from this morning.

As Sniper parked his van on the side of the building, Scout jumped out and began stretching. After doing so, Scout took a long, hard look at the one story cabin before him. Yup, just like how they left it half a year ago. It was built to appear like one of those old, creepy log cabins that keeps nosy teens away(which never works, Scout's seen horror movies), but that was just the outside. The actual base was built deep below the earth with the cabin serving as the entrance to the underground facility.

Because it was built underground, the team didn't have access to any windows or natural light, meaning that they had to rely on some real powerful generators to lit things up. And the other things that need electricity to run but light was real important. To make up for the s****y lights, the base was massive. Too massive, you could get lost down there from all the winding hallways and rooms that served basically no purpose other than storage. And with only two exits, the one in front of him and the old back one hidden somewhere in the forest, the base could basically become a death trap.

Scout stared at that old wooden door with an eerie sense of dread. Licking his lips, he looked to the dark sky. The sun had set only five minutes ago, and yet the sky was more night than day with the pinprick stars fading in over his head. It was getting dark. He looked back to the cabin.

The teams always turn the generators off before they relocate as to reduce energy costs and the chance of being located by less than stellar visitors.

"Uh, Sniper?" The older man hummed in response as he exited the van. "Uh, I think we should stay in the van again. Just for tonight."

"Why? The base is empty and has supplies. And beds."

"Yeah, and it's also outta power. We turned the generators off, remember?" Sniper stared at him before realization dawned on his face.

"Right, we did do that, didn't we? But that shouldn't matter, I got some torches and neither of us are scared of the dark, I'm assuming." Scout ignored the last bit. Mostly.

"First of all, we ain't in the freakin' middle ages so I dunno where ya got torches from. How the heck are ya even gonna light them without a lighter? And secondly, do you know how freakin' big this base is!? It's bigger than Sawmill! And, without light, you'll get lost down there pretty quick."

"Excuse you, I'm fine with directions, with or without light!"

"UGH, listen man, you don't live in the freakin' bases, I do! And even I get freakin' lost down there without the neon signs and lights telling me where everything is! So all I'm saying is that let's wait till tomorrow before the get what we came here for. And, this just dawned on me, we can't talk to Miss P. or Missus Microphone without power and I dunno about you, but I dunno how to start a stupid generator awake let alone when I'm d*mn tired. So let's just sleep in the van and go inside to fix the stupid power tomorrow."

At first, it didn't seem like Sniper was listening. It was already hard to get a read on the guys through his thick orange shades, now it was even harder because of the darkness quickly descending on the duo. As Scout said his piece, the marksman just stood there looking at him. But then he nodded with an expression Scout assumed was impressed.

"Ya make a good point there, Buckshot." Scout's mouth slid into a smile when that nickname was said. "Alright, we'll wait. Might as well get some grub too since there was no time for dinner."

"Sweet! Also I'm cashing in on the bed tonight, my turn!" Sniper turned back to give him the stink eye as they walked.

"Ya little imp, I never should've let you sleep there to begin with. Sleeping and eating me out of house and home, a right nuisance you are."

"But ya did, and now you're stuck with me so get used to it, Headshot!"

With some exaggerated grumbles, Sniper lead the charge into the van. Scout was right on his tail, insanely proud of his friend's nickname and ignoring the churning feeling he got deep down whenever the concept of dinner was thought up.

Chapter Text

He ran. For how long, he couldn't tell. Minutes, days, centuries? It didn't matter. The only thing that did was his lead.

A machine. A well oiled and fine tuned machine. That was what he was. The rhythm of his legs, jolting once a foot pounded against the dead ground, would not be stopped. Not by the cringe induced grinding of his ankles' bones each time he hit the earth. Not the sharp, razor filled air that shredded his throat each time he swallowed that toxic air. Not the painful thumps of his dog tags against his chest.

He would not be caught again.

Caught? Caught by what? In this barren world he called home, he was alone. Wasn't he? The runner did not pause his gallop, but only tore his attention from that far horizon line and finally took in the plains he inhabited.

Desolate. He had heard that word before to describe places like this. Desolate, barren, empty.

Dead.

A dead world. Everything from the sky to the land was void of life. It was all shades of some dull, gray-blue. The dirt beneath him was broken, parched, and uneven. Mountains stood far, far in the distance. Too far to reach. And the sky; overcast with some horrid fog, heavy with moisture.

It was all so… empty. And so very, very quiet. The silence was deafening. He couldn't even hear his feet hitting the earth.

He had stopped. When had he stopped? Was there a point to running? He was alone. He was all alone.

Something. Something was happening. It was almost like a noise. But not quite. Like the echo of a whisper. He couldn't hear it, but he felt it.

A slow, guttural pulsation. An invisible tremor that he could feel all the way down to his bones. Like a dog whistle.

Only it grew. The land around him was filled with a low drone. A single note, but… not. It had layers upon layers that grew with its volume. More and more chords were struck. And it filled that dead land with a horrible, hateful scream. That once foggy sky morphed into monstrous pillars of clouds. His eyes widened in realization.

Like a frog in boiling water.

Run. Run, he had to run, he had to run and move, move and escape the shrieks and screams. Run! Why wasn't he running, move your legs! RUN, JUST GO.

RUN!

RUN!

RUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUN!

The screams were gaining on him. Wailing voices crying out, calling for him. Pleading to stay and help them. Do not leave them behind.

He stumbled, and the sound boomed. It shook the world and pierced his head, sending him to his knees. Pounding against his skull. Beating his skin and filling his lungs with splitting, deafening drones. It stilled and crashed down. It drew back before sprawling him against the dusty earth.

The howls and shrieks and screams rammed against the shaking runner. It was too much! The sound muffled. He stole a breath. And opened his eyes to watch the towering, endless wall of sound bear down on him.

He jolted, like being shocked by static electricity. But instead of energy, it was the sudden silence that made the runner jerk. The thunderous bellowing that buried itself into his ears and mind was gone, replaced by a thick quiet. Had he gone deaf from the blows?

And the world. The moment the wave had crashed down onto him, it had been swallowed by the darkness. It was so, so dark. So quiet.

He stared out into the void, motionless from the terror coursing through his body. His eyes were focused on something, and the longer he lay there staring, the more it seemed to engulf him. Static and blurs grew in the corners of his vision. And his eyes feel strained. It was almost painful. That wasn't right. He should do something about that. But the fear kept his eyes wide open. His vision grew even darker still, and his mind grew hazy. That darkness, he didn't want to look at it anymore. Go away. It wouldn't. So he blinked.

And the camper's ceiling faded into existence. The exhausted runner shot up in surprise, his soft, messy hair grazing the top. With wild eyes, Scout scanned the dark camper, his attention settling on the black silhouette of Sniper sleeping on the fold-able bed. It had just been a dream. A really ****ed up dream.

With a muffled plop, Scout fell back onto the mattress smiling in relief. A smile that dropped in an instant as he sat up again. The young man's face grew pale as he slipped off of the raised bed with silent, practiced movements. Standing low to the ground, Scout turned to look at his companion. There didn't seem to be any movement besides the rhythmic rise and fall of the marksman's chest. He was still asleep, and Scout needed to get out.

The only sound was the click of the door's handle as the slim figure slipped through into the cold night. Scout stood still. Then, he sprinted.

Away from the camper, away from the base, away from it all. He needed to be away, just in case. Just in case it was too late to do anything. Too late to get rid of that horrible feeling.

Scout's mind was drawn back to his dream. Every one of his nightmares had been different but all ended the same. Being chased, running as fast as he could. But it was pointless. He would be caught by something impossible to understand. It would throw him to the ground or surround him, grabbing his limbs and keeping him from escaping. After that, Scout could never remember what happened but it always made him wake up feeling like he'd eaten too much.

The trees grew denser and the runner stopped, his bare feet cold against the rough, coarse dirt. He should have grabbed his shoes, but there wasn't any time! He had been stuck in the van the entire day with Sniper, and the day before he'd only had thirty minutes. Thirty minutes that would have been suspicious if he hadn't found Sniper's hat as well.

But it was fine. Now, nothing could stop him from his routine.

Scout dropped to his hand and knees, attempting to quell the shakiness in his breaths. It would be fine, he'd done this before, over three times already, it would be fine. It was totally safe, it would keep him safe, no reason to get so worked up. He took a deep breath and held it while feeling his pounding pulse slow. Then, with resolve, Scout jammed a finger down his throat.

A gross gagging filled the forest, followed by a soft string of curses. Nothing came up. Scout did it again, harder. Still nothing. Nothing but a bruised throat and only a hint of bile. His pulse shot straight back up. Was he too late? No, nonono, no! No! He couldn't be! But it wasn't working, he couldn't throw up. And the rain wasn't here anymore, Scout couldn't be sure. There was nothing to prove that...

It was all impulse. One moment he was sat up then the next he was doubled over, coughing and heaving from the solid blow to his gut. His insides felt bruised and churned and the taste of bile singed his throat. Scout clenched his fist again and rammed it into his stomach once more.

And the forest floor was soon covered with vomit and stomach acid. Three times, four times Scout punched himself until nothing came back up. Until the young runner was nothing but a trembling mess dry heaving deep in the trees, leaning on his damaged stump to avoid crashing down on the rancid mess below.

His left arm, what was left of it, was crying in protest of being used as a crutch. But Scout didn't care if it hurt, he felt better. Way better. The gentle lure of sleep dragged down his eyelids and the man stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his only hand. His footing was unsure and the world seemed to spin. There was a buzzing in his head that seemed to ebb and flow but he felt so much better. He was empty, and safe.

Stumbling back, Scout guided himself over to the van. There was no light inside which meant Sniper was still asleep. After waiting for his vision to return when the darkness in the corner of his eyes swallowed the world, Scout entered the camper van. As silent as a mouse, he crept over to the bed and climbed back in it. As the slightly scratchy covers were wrapped around him, the runner let his spinning head and pure exhaustion steal his consciousness away.

"All set?" Sniper asked his shorter companion. Scout didn't bother with words, only responding with a curt nod. "Alright, don't get too excited."

The two of them stood outside the BLU Base, prepared for the task of restarting the large building's generators. Well, he was prepared, Scout was a wild card who, it seemed, had gotten a pair of cold feet last night. It had taken Sniper the better half of an hour to both wake Scout up and convince him to actually join the marksman in the energy quest. Convincing that ended up as an insult war. And that ornery attitude Scout woke up with rubbed off on him and now neither was too pleased with their situation. Didn't help that the sunny weather from yesterday was about to be overturned. The distant mountains of rain clouds slowly parading towards them was proof enough. Despite everything, they still couldn't out drive the rain.

"Ya got your torch taped on yet?" A loud, raspy groan met Sniper's ears followed by the instinct to do the same.

"How many freakin' times do I gotta tell you, old man, it's called a flashlight!" Scout growled as he wound the final piece of duct tape around his left arm. It had been the kid's idea to tape a torch to his arm so that he wouldn't have his hand full. And Sniper had to admit, it was a pretty good idea. Not out loud though, because Scout was still being an *rse. Sighing through his nose, Sniper hitched the backpack filled with tools on his shoulders up. The bloody thing was always sliding down.

"And I've told you that we're splitting up just as much but you don't want to listen either."

"Because splitting up is stupid!" The very mention of parting made Scout pause his shoe tying to glare Sniper down. "Everybody with a brain knows you never split up, especially in a dark maze with no way to communicate. I don't have my headset, remember? Doubt you still got your earpiece too."

"We'll still be in the bloody base, it's not like I'll be in South America!"

"Doesn't matter!"

"Look," Sniper grumbled, "do you want to regroup with Miss Pauling or not?" Scout shifted with clear discomfort.

"Well, yeah-"

"So then why are you complaining so much!?"

"Cause if we get the generators up and running there ain't a point for me to go scavenger hunting for food and weapons!"

"If I can get the generators running. And like you said yesterday, you know more about the base than I do, so you'll be much faster in grabbing things. If I can't get the junk to run, then I'll scavenge too." The apprehension was still heavy in the kid's stormy eyes and Sniper was losing his patience. "Why are ya even arguing with me on this? What's got you so bloody scared?"

"I ain't scared!"

"Sure, and I'm the Queen of England."

"There's a freakin' difference between being scared and being smart." Scout retorted, glaring at the cabin's wooden door. "I don't freakin' trust it. That we'll be alone down there."

"Are you seriously still paranoid about being hunted by a monster?"

"It ain't paranoid if it's real!"

"Have you seen this thing since we left Sawmill?" Scout began biting his lip, thoughts and emotions flashing across his face. "You haven't, have you?"

"Look, can't we just stick together?" Scout whined. He even used some puppy eyes to double his odds of changing Sniper's mind. Too bad it wasn't very effective.

"No."

"Come on, man!"

"Hm, and here I was thinking that you were the Scout from the BLU team, not the yellow one." A small jab to Scout's ego was really all it took. Would he be hated for the rest of the day? Yes. Would he have to deal with an even more ornery Scout? Most definitely. But would it get the stubborn kid to move? Well, from the grumbling and middle finger shot his way, the outcome didn't seem likely. Until Scout stomped up to the wooden door and threw it open while snarling "If you get your sorry *ss in trouble, don't expect me to go outta my way to save it."

"Wouldn't expect anything else."

The moment Scout stepped into the cabin, he knew something was going to be wrong. He always had a sixth sense for danger, maybe all his team and friends had it. But his was no doubt the strongest if Sniper's lack of apprehension when entering was anything to go by. It was something you needed to survive in the old crooked slums of South Boston. Whether it was to find out where and when fights would break out to make it there first or to know when his older brothers were looking for a punching bag after a rough day so he had time to hide or escape, a good gut feeling helped Scout in more ways than one. Even on the battlefield his sense was basically a fourth part of his arsenal. So when that familiar prickling feeling at the back of his head picked up, Scout knew better than to brush it aside.

The small building was dark. Too dark, darkness caused from a lack of both light and windows. Small plaid curtains covered the tiny windows leaving only the slimmest of sunbeams through. There was no furniture or other rooms. Smack dab in the middle of the supposed back wall stood a metal double door. So much for subtlety of being just an old cottage. And the smell. Like the apartment Scout lived in with his family when he was eight, which could only be described as a wet dog that dried and rolled in a good heaping pile of powdered bleach. The smell was sharp and made Scout squint.

"Are ya just going to stand there or what?" The gruff accent pierced Scout's thoughts. Snapping his gaze towards Sniper, he spotted the older man standing at the two double doors with a hand on the handle.

Scout resisted the urge to flip him off as he joined Sniper's side. A nod, and, with some effort, Sniper pulled the doors open. And that sixth sense began blaring in alarm at the sight. Or lack there off.

Darkness, like a thick fog, seeped in the cabin. Scout waved a hand in front of his face, trying to dispel the unwanted blindness, before realizing that it wasn't going to work. Sniper raised his flashlight up and with a click, the blackness was pushed back. Scout followed his companion's lead and raised his arm to ignite his own.

Before them stood a staircase. It was a plain old staircase made of metal and steel railings. On the grey concrete wall was painted the parallel lines of familiar blue. Above those rested the painted "Builders League United". Scout had walked down and up these steps countless times so fear wasn't the reason why he suddenly started shivering. It was the sudden chill that entered the room once the doors had opened.

"Holy crap, why's it so freakin' cold!?" He gasped. Sniper had also been surprised by the cold blast, as he was holding himself much more tightly than before.

"I bloody forgot. The heating won't be working either without energy." The Australian scratched his chin in thought. "Alright, you go on ahead. I'll go back to fetch some jackets."

"Wha-" Scout started. Was he serious? "Are you serious!? First you called me a coward for not wanting to go and now you get to bail out!?"

"I actually plan to come back, which I can't be sure you would." Sniper began walking towards the door.

"But you told me that you didn't have anything other than the raincoat! When I was freezing my *ss off after pushing the van, remember!?"

"I thought you were talking about long sleeve shirts. I have jackets, they're in a box I keep in one of the cupboards. Now get going!" And with that, Sniper closed the door.

Scout stood there for a moment, standing and staring at the door and completely stunned at the absolute audacity to just leave him there alone to face the darkness. But the guy would get pissy if Scout wasn't at the bottom of the staircase when he was done. So, down the staircase he would go. A couple steps forward and the runner began his descent.

The deeper Scout went, the colder it got. As the metal clangs of his footsteps echoed down the staircase, he could see his breath begin to form a white mist. Soon enough his teeth began to chatter, the only other noise beside the electric hum of his flashlight and jarring steps.

Deeper and deeper the staircase led. Or was it growing? He didn't remember it lasting this long. And despite the high powered beam of his light, it couldn't show the end. If there even was an ending to this descent. There was an ending, course there was! It was the first Main Hallway. Scout was probably just ten steps from the bottom, no need to be so nervous.

...Alright, maybe it was another ten steps. Only another ten steps came and went and Scout was still going down. Was he even moving? He turned to look behind him and saw only steps.

Okay. Yeah, okay, this was fine. The staircase was just super long, no big deal. Just because Scout couldn't see the beginning or end doesn't mean that they weren't there. Yeah, he just needed to keep going, Sniper will be back any second and Scout will hear him coming down because of how loud the metal steps are. Yeah, just keep going. Don't imagine something waiting for you at the bottom. Don't, don't do that. There's nothing. Nothing that will grab him and pin him to the ground unable to breathe and rip him apart, totally. Yeah, he was totally alone down here, just a couple more steps. Just a few more, he could do this. He killed people for a living, he could handle a dark staircase! Yeah, Scout was fine. Completely alone and fine.

...but just in case he should probably go a little faster. Just in case there was also something behind him that wasn't Sniper. Yup, just picking up the pace, nothing wrong with that, Sniper wanted them to be quick so that's what Scout would be. Quick and quickly jogging down the steps.

Why couldn't this base just have an elevator? Actually, if he got stuck in one and there was something hunting him down, Scout would be a sitting duck. Yeah, no dice, stairs it was-

"What th-'' his surprise was cut off by the sudden impact of a solid floor. And Scout was going too fast to stop his fall. With a painful "oof!", Scout slipped on a thick layer of dust and landed flat on his back. The loud slam as a result echoed through the large room.

Groaning and coughing from the dust clouds his landing made, Scout sat up. Ohh boy, he'd be feeling this tomorrow, that's for d*mn sure! The runner with a now throbbing head and tailbone raised his arm to shed some light.

Scout was sitting on the Main Hall's floor. It had to be the Main Hall, rooms don't just switch around just because you weren't looking. But it felt that way. Because as Scout shone his light across the walls and deep corridor, he couldn't understand what he was looking at.

A cave was the only image that popped into Scout's head. The walls were grimy and cold. From what Scout could see of them, at least. On the curved border between light and shadow on the walls, if he stared for long enough, he would see the concrete begin to shift and move, as if covered in a thousand bugs or made of T.V. static. But then he'd flick the beam over the patch he was staring at and see nothing but the faint bluish building.

Where there wasn't a wall, there was deep blackness that led to other parts of the base, whether up or down. It was all identical, so much so that even the painted directions, arrows, and signs did little to actually differentiate from the many passages. And who knew if there would be something waiting to ambush them when they started their quest of energy. Ugh, he hated this base. He got to his feet, shivering and covered in dust bunnies. It was so cold down here! Goosebumps were already ravaging his arms and legs. At least it wasn't moist and dripping like an actual cave, not that the thought brought much comfort. What was one less s****y thing in a goldmine of s***iness? Sniper better get his bony *ss down here soon.

What was taking that Aussie so long? How long does it take to grab some d*mn coats!? It was honestly stupid. And kinda worrying. Just a little, that Sniper wasn't back already. He was probably just trying to find one that was Scout's size, or close to his size. Maybe he got distracted by something, or forgot something he would need down here. Yeah. Scout just needed to be patient. There was nothing else down here with him. Probably.

Except for bugs, of course. As Scout stood waiting for his teammate to join him, there was a ticklish sensation on his left leg. He bent down to scratch it- oh for ****'s sake, he reached with his right arm, forcing himself to twist uncomfortably, and felt something smooth. Like a polished rock, only it moved.

Whipping the light downward, Scout saw the fiend. Sitting there on his calf, and waving its gross antennas around, was one of the biggest cockroaches he'd ever seen. It had to be at least as long as his middle finger. It opened its back a bit to show its pair of disgusting see-through wings and jumped straight towards Scout's face.

The impossibly loud and high pitched shriek that filled the base, drowning out all other noise, included the distinct sound of metal being bent out of place. Deep in the coniferous forest above the base, stood what appeared to be a storm cellar. A storm cellar that had a blast door instead of a heavy wooden one. And that blast door was currently being dented and slammed against by something that desperately wanted in.

The abuse that the steel entrance took was wearing it down. And with one last ear piercing screech, the steel was bent completely out of shape, leaving a narrow hole between the heavy doors. Silence for a moment, before two appendages reached in and grabbed the sides. And the doors were ripped open for all to use.

"Bloody h*ll, will ya stop screaming!?" Sniper bellowed. The panic Scout felt faded instantly once he heard the annoyed gravelly voice of his companion. Looking up from the concrete ground where Scout had been trying to crush the roach before it disappeared, he met the eyes of Sniper who was currently standing at the base of the staircase wearing a thick blue fleece. How had he not heard him come down?

"Because you were screaming so d*mn loud." The Australian growled as he made his way towards Scout. Had he said that last part out loud? Guess so.

"What took you so long!?"

"I made a list of things you should look for." Sniper handed a piece of paper over to Scout. The handwriting was sharp and tilted. Small too. He squinted to read the tiny words.

"-weapons, clothing, he- headpie? Headpeas? The h*ll are headpeas?"

"Headpieces." Sniper explained as a jacket was thrown Scout's way. With his only hand full of paper, Scout was unable to prevent a mouthful of clothing. Sputtering, he slipped the list into his pocket and grabbed the coat. It was a thick navy hoodie, one that, as Scout slipped it on, instantly made his goosebumps disappear. Sniper whistled, staring up and around the shadow filled passage.

"Man, I forgot how dingy this base was."

"It'll only get worse from here," Scout grumbled, once again attempting to read the list-

"What made you scream so bloody loud?" Any and all attempt to read was in vain as Scout's face began to burn up.

"A roach."

"A roach!?" The marksman didn't even try to hide the humor in his voice. Scout snapped his eyes up to glare at Sniper.

"You didn't see it! It was as big as my ****ing face! And it tried to suck out my eyes!"

"Suuure, mate." Sniper grinned as he began walking deeper into the compound, leaving Scout to catch up. Their footsteps echoed down the empty corridor. "Didn't know you were scared of bugs too."

"Let's see you keep your stupid mouth shut when a foot long cockroach jumps at your face to murder ya!"

"Alright, I was just teasing. Now, which way are the generators?" The marksman paused at the corridor's end, looking back and forth at the faded signs his flashlight lit up. Scout looked over his friend's shoulder. The signs were above two identical doorways, one left and one right. Squinting at the faded words, Scout could just barely make out an "ARM" above the left and a "SE OOR" above the right entrance. Arm… army? Armory! And the second was obviously Second Floor.

"Think it's that one," Scout pointed towards the right passage with his lighting arm, "usually the important stuff would be at the bottom of the base, cause, y'know, any guys trying to get in and do damage would have to go through everything just to destroy some generators. There's a staircase that goes straight down to the ground floor, you'll probably find it down there."

"Right," Sniper hitched his backpack up, "I'm guessing you're going the opposite direction?"

Scout nodded after a moment. "Yeah, I gotta get some of our weapons, it was on the list ya made." While his voice was nonchalant, his eyes were tense and flicked around to look at everything except Sniper.

"Hey," Sniper grabbed Scout's shoulder, "there's nothing else here, it's just the two of us and some bugs. No need to be so jumpy, it ain't like ya."

"I ain't scared!"

"I never said that."

"Yes you freakin' did," Scout grumbled.

"Look, just be quick with you little scavenger hunt. Once I get the generator back up and running, we'll rendezvous at The Meeting Room. Now get going." Sniper squeezed the boy's shoulder before letting go to head down the dark hall. Scout stood there for a second more before heading down his own with nothing but a flashlight to fend off the darkness.

Metal had a very distinct smell. You wouldn't think it did, but it does. The smell of hospitals, of factories. A very noticeable cold, coppery tanginess that hurt Sniper's teeth. And that scent grew thicker and thicker the deeper he descended into the base. Not only that, but the darkness seemed to grow darker too. The beam of his torch, once large and could light up nearly all in its path, now was slim and dull; constantly swallowed by the shadows surrounding them.

Like Scout had said, there was a staircase that led deeper into the compound. Funny how little Sniper actually knew about his own bases. Down and down he went, letting the railings and continuing stairs guide him further. And when there were no more stairs to follow, Sniper lifted his torch up to illuminate the narrow passage he found himself at.

Just as dark as everything else. The cold was so thick it was beginning to cut through his fleece. Fantastic. Old wooden beams were combined with more sturdy steel ones, making the already slim hallway even tighter. Cobwebs and dust hung in the air, like time had paused. Everything was so stagnant. So quiet...

Generators. Focus. Shaking the itching skepticism away, Sniper trod on. The hallway had many offshoots, none of which had signs. So he checked the first. Some kind of old broom closet that had a very nasty spider sitting in the corner; Sniper let it be. The second looked to be the boiler. On and on he went, checking each offshoot until he came across a lengthy corridor draped in cobwebs and the overpowering coppery scent. Well, when in doubt, follow your nose. So he walked through the hall.

The metallic scent began to burn his eyes the longer Sniper went until eventually the beam of his torch caught the familiar caution sign of electricity. And a wave of relief flooded the marksman's mind. The heavy door was opened, creaking from being unused and age. Flicking his light around the rather tight room, Sniper caught sight of what felt like a treasure chest.

Standing tall and large were the Base's two generators. Old and dust covered, they almost looked like oversized paperweights. Hopefully they weren't that useless yet.

Hitching his backpack off his shoulders, Sniper entered the room and knelt by the first. Now, how does one turn this bloody thing on? He knew how to work with generators, if only the bare minimums. Growing up on a secluded farm far from all signs of civilization and power relay stations can do that. But this was not an average generator. Nope, because Engie couldn't just leave old machines alone to be understandable for average men who didn't have eleven PHDs in hard science. The truckie just had to improve the bloody things so that while it no longer needed fossil fuels to work, Sniper had no idea where the d*mn circuit breaker was! Or if it was damaged or needed an air filter change. Where was the stupid filter anyway?

Ohhhh, he was going to be down here for a while. Sighing with unhappiness, Sniper set his pack down and began to unload the tools he brought.

Way too dark, waaaay too ****ing dark! The flashlight was basically pointless, because it did jack all to light things up! Huffing in annoyance at his flickering tool, Scout grabbed what felt like a pump action shotgun from the locker he had opened.

The armory was big, of course it was, it was full of over a hundred unique weapons made for nine crazy killers. And right now he was currently trying to find any weapon he could use without a second hand. A pump action shotgun was not one of those so he tossed it aside.

Scout missed his hand. Who wouldn't? At first, it was no big deal. Well, it was, but he had limbs blown off all the time in battle and Medic would always either reattach them with the Medigun or just grow new ones again like the German had done with Demo's eye. That had not ended well. But Medic was gone, and so was the possibility of his hand coming back. Or getting a sick metal one like Overalls had. And using a baseball bat as an actual bat and not a weapon to beat idiots to death with.

Aw man, what the h*ll can a literal handicapped man do in a war?

Scout moved on to the last locker. Okay, so this one was Heavy's if the huge bullets were anything to go by. So this one wouldn't have anything for him to use. Maybe he should focus on Sniper's weapons first.

There were giant crates that needed to be gone through, filled with either ammo or guns. Hopefully some of the Aussie's will be in one. As Scout walked over to the huge boxes, the overhead lights began to flicker. A grin began to make its way onto Scout's face until the lights wouldn't stop flickering. They weren't going to stay, he needed to be fast, his flashlight was dying too.

He leapt over to the corner of crates and got to work. Pulling one away from the rest, Scout pried open the box only to find smaller crates of ammo. The next was heavy and couldn't be moved. When opened it held multiples of Demo's sticky launchers. Pointless. On and on he went until his arms tired and fingernails bled from prying heavy wooden planks open.

"C'mon, ya worthless piece of s**t," Scout growled at the thirteenth crate he began opening, "ya better have something worthwhile-" He stopped. Below him sat a grand pile of Force-A-Natures along with some wonderful little Pocket Pistols.

"I take it back, you're the most beautiful box I've ever seen!" Scout hailed as he picked up a FAN. What a sight for sore eyes! Tossing his backpack to the ground, the runner lovingly placed the shotgun inside. Along with a Pretty Boy, because that was really all he could use. Even if Scout couldn't use the FAN for fighting, it could still be used as a boost. Plus, Sniper could use it if push came to shove. Oh, right, Sniper.

Shoving the crate aside, Scout began his hunt again. Only a few more to check. He opened another crate and in it sat what was obviously Sniper Rifles. Bingo. But Scout didn't have time to make out the models, for just as the lid was pried off, a faint pop filled the room along with darkness.

"Useless piece of s**t!" Sniper seethed as the generator finally kicked the bucket. He'd been fighting to keep it on for about fifteen minutes and for a second, he'd thought he'd won. Until the machine sputtered and gagged and died along with the power.

Groaning, Sniper leaned back from the source of his ire. He needed a break. His hands were sore and covered in dust and grime. His shoulder and neck ached from pinning his torch between them to have both hands open for use, and his knees were starting to hurt from kneeling on hard concrete for over thirty minutes.

Getting to his feet, the marksman began to pace. Pacing didn't help him think all that much, but it got the weight off his knees. Plus, if the generator was truly dead, then there would be no point in sitting around. Scout would get antsy and would fight him even more on decisions. Besides, the kid could probably use a helping hand to find resources.

Sniper turned towards the door and-

"Oh bloody h*ll!" Was the only thing he could say. He froze, unable to move or look away from the abomination before him. The beam of his torch was just as stagnant as it lit up what had to be the largest cockroach Sniper had ever seen.

It was just sitting there on the wall, antennas swaying and watching him. Right by his only exit. How had he not seen it when he came in? Sniper wasn't scared of bugs, but one can understand that being face to face with a creature that was far too big to be normal can make one uneasy.

The standoff was long. Time seemed to blend and Sniper didn't know how long he watched that thing rub its furry legs together or flick its slick back open. Then, the roach moved, crawling out the room with leisure, as if Sniper didn't deserve to be within its gargantuan presence, and vanished into the shadows.

Sniper didn't know why he followed it, maybe to keep tabs on the monster, or his morbid curiosity of where the roach would go overruled his motive to meet back up with Scout. But whatever the reason, the marksman kept in lockstep with the pest, tracking it deeper into the base.

He couldn't see anything. It was too dark, too quiet, and Scout's heart was beating out of his chest. The flashlight that was so vital for maneuvering through the shadows was dead and took with it Scout's sense of direction.

When the lights finally died out, Scout just grabbed the first rifle he felt and booked it out of the armory. The weight of the combined weapons was so distracting that Scout didn't even realize that he'd gotten himself lost until he somehow ended up in one of the giant storage rooms. So he backtracked and was now clinging to the walls like the lifeline it had become.

His footsteps echoed through the empty halls. At least, Scout assumed they were empty. There could be someone watching him from the shadows that saw him but he couldn't see them and Scout would be none the wiser. He stepped lighter after that thought.

Light. He needed light. He needed to find a Medigun. That was the only other item he remembered on the long list of things to grab before reading became impossible. Eyes wide and searching in the deep dark for a new corridor, a new doorway. Why did they have to split up?

Before an answer could be thought up, the floor, Scout's foundation, disappeared. There was no time to gasp in alarm as the runner fell down the metal steps. Deafening thuds and clangs filled the void around him. Jabbing into his sides and ribs, the staircase, along with the world, spun. And just as quickly as it started, the slope evened out and Scout's tumble was stopped.

A pained wheeze was the only sound Scout could make. Well, if the last fall wasn't enough to bruise him from now and into the foreseeable future, this one would. And it was so loud. At least Sniper should have heard that and would hopefully come searching.

Rolling onto his stomach, the runner pushed himself up. It took every ounce of concentration to avoid passing out from the horrific spinning the world began to do. Shaking his head, Scout stumbled down the continued steps and onto the second floor.

Then the lights flickered. It was as if someone had taken a photo with a flash as strong as lightning. The entire hall was filled with light, illuminating every shelf, entrance, and sign for less than a second. Then, it went out again. But not before the sight of the hall had been burned into Scout's retinas, along with the figure he had seen at the very end of the long corridor.

All semblance of pain from the fall drained away and was replaced by a horrific sense of dread. The light had been too quick to make out who it was Scout saw. It might have been Sniper. It should be. But if it wasn't…

He needed to hide.

With the area still etched in his mind, Scout crouched low to the ground, shifting his weight onto the sides of his feet. In an almost feline manner, he crept towards the closest room. He made no noise other than the near silent breathing. His heart was beating against his ribs and threatened to burst as Scout, slipping off his pack, slithered around the door's corner just as the hall lights flickered on again.

From what little he could see and make out from the hall's overhead lights, Scout was in one of the dorms. There was little time to make out whose. For as he pressed himself upon the wall, he heard the sound of footsteps emerging from the sudden darkness that fell.

The sound was soft, much unlike the sharp clicks of Sniper's boots. It was sticky, like walking barefoot upon a smooth surface. A faint padding that got closer and closer to the room Scout was hiding in.

Scout flattened himself along the wall; fingers digging into the rough surface, itching to find purchase, any form of comfort, of foundation, to keep himself from slipping. Vision was dwindling into a darkness deeper than the one drowning him. His head swam and grew airy.

The light flickered once more. Longer than the other two. Long enough for Scout to watch in horror as a long, human-like shadow emerged into the angled glow from the open door.

It wasn't Sniper. It couldn't be. It was a cheap and wretched intimidation of a human's silhouette. So blank and generic, having no recognizable features other than gangly limbs and an oval shaped head.

Breath held, Scout dared not blink as he stared at the shuffling figure passing through the flickering light. Bony shoulders hunched in a slow, near mechanical walk. But then, just as the shadow was about to pass the door, it paused. And when it turned its symmetrical head to peer into the room, the lights finally died.

Quiet, along with darkness, fear, and anticipation, engulfed the small dorm. Scout was blind and there was nothing but the vitriolic beatings in his chest to fill his ears. Breathing was out of the question with the noise it would bring. It was impossible to push himself further into the wall but Scout still tried.

It was then that a familiar sound greeted his ears. The sound that grabbed Scout and dragged him down into an oh so familiar road with pounding rain and a pistol clamped tightly within his hand. The sight of towering grey pines. Smell of gun smoke and blood. And the reeling sensation of complete nausea.

Every fiber of Scout's being was concentrating on keeping from passing out as the sound of twisting, stretching, and wet snapping filled the air. Cold sweat building on his forehead. Chest tight with carbon dioxide. Colorful dots filling his eyes. But he refused to take a breath. And as quickly as it started, the unearthly noises eased up.

All was silent. Even the pounding of his heart was starting to pull back. A quiet that was so very agonizing.

A padding filled Scout's ears along with a buzzing. It was different from before; solid and heavyset. A stride that didn't match with the shadow Scout saw. But it was fading, and before long was silent. Unlike the buzzing that grew louder and louder the longer he sat in the dark.

After a couple more seconds of silence, Scout gasped for air and the buzzing stopped. Swallowing down every molecule, every dust particle he could and feeling ever so grateful for oxygen. It took far longer than safety allowed for the runner to regain his composure. But the thing didn't return, even when the lights flickered once more, and Scout was able to properly take in the dorm room.

There was only one man who would just leave around piles of medkits in their room like soda cans. Of course, Medic wasn't messy enough to leave a fully built and functional Medigun in his old room whenever they transferred so a Medigun was a bust. Didn't matter. Nothing did besides getting the h*ll out of this deathtrap!

Scout sprung to his feet, dragging along his now open backpack, and stuffing as many of the small health items as he could. Five, ten, more and more he took. Then, when the bag was filled to the brim, Scout reached in and pulled out his Pocket Pistol. And with that, the lights faded out.

"Bloody lights, so bloody useless." Sniper mumbled as the overhead lights once again died. His flashlight was still working so it wasn't like the marksman was completely blind. But every time the halls would spring to life, his eyes would have to adjust to the sudden brightness only to slowly re-adjust when they would fill with darkness again.

Scout wasn't exaggerating when he said the base was a maze. Somehow Sniper ended up on a completely new level to the base despite never finding the same staircase he used before. No amount of backtracking and rethinking his pathway helped Sniper get any less lost. Hallways, corridors, and passages with seemingly no reason for existing filled this floor. They would twist and turn, full of support beams and shelves along with the occasional medical locker, but would eventually come to a dead end, leaving Sniper to walk all the way back from where he started.

So when Sniper heard the roaring sound of something falling down a flight of stairs, he nearly cheered as he made his way towards the source only to get more lost the longer he walked. Why did he have to follow that d*mn roach?

Making his way down the halls, Sniper slipped off his aviators and hooked them to his coat. They were more of a hindrance down here in this void. The second the marksman had slipped the lens' from his face, a faint prickling started on his neck and the urge to put them straight back on. But he ignored the instinct and marched onwards. Ever onwards.

Was he moving forwards? Really? It all looked the same. Cobwebs strung up like banners and streamers. Grimy streaks lining the walls, revealing the negligence its owners had for the compound. And nothing but the occasional buzz of a fly's wings joined the moderate tapping of his heels.

No, Sniper was making progress. This horrible base was just getting to him. It was just the darkness that made everything seem so similar. Yeah, he just had to keep going to find the staircase. Had to find Scout. The only other person in this labyrinth.

Sniper stopped and rubbed his eyes. The lad's attitude wasn't the only thing that rubbed off onto him, apparently. Paranoia wasn't going to help anyone, especially himself. They had a job to do, a goal that was set. Even if that goal would take much longer to reach with the power malfunctioning, it was something solid. Something to aim for, to focus on. And they needed that. Just something to grasp and realize it's there and real. A foundation. A strongly rooted tree that wouldn't be snatched away from them right as they reached it.

Come on, you're a Sniper, you need to focus, just find the miniature delinquent and leave for another base. After the thorough massage his tired eyes were given, Sniper once again started his quest. His torch's beam felt fainter somehow, when he rounded the corner he reached. And his eyes were strained when he turned and turned again to walk down a hallway just like every other bloody hallway. It was so familiar. Was it from all the walking? Or was everything blending together like-

No, he had been here before. Yes! He had, Sniper had been in this exact passageway before! It was long and wide, wider than every other hall he got lost in. But where did it lead? Where was the staircase!?

Sniper drifted his light around the large room, settling over shelves, more halls, cobwebs, the crossroads at the end of the hall, something sky blue, some faded directions to scuffed to read- Sky blue?

He snapped the beam over the right passageway at the very end of the hall. It was gone, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it opportunity. Sniper did blink, and blinked again. And nothing reappeared. So, he had just been seeing things-

"That Scout is a spy…!"

It was so quiet, not from volume but from the distance. The tone was barking, and demanded respect despite the user's manic mannerisms. There was no mistaking that voice.

Sniper froze, eyes wide and staring at the exit far, far away that Soldier took. His teammate, the teammate that had died all those miles away in Sawmill, alive and walking the empty halls.

But it wasn't him, it couldn't be. Soldier was dead. Sniper and Scout were the only survivors.

But that was Soldier, blue jacket, constant yelling and all. Although Sniper had only caught the faintest of glimpses of his supposedly dead colleague. Or was it Scout who suddenly developed an uncanny dead-on Soldier impression?

The marksman nearly jogged over to the exit Soldier went through. Keeping as quiet as possible, Sniper reached the corner and peeked around. Although the torch's beam was weak and small, there was no mistaking the broad shoulders and heavy set marching the American had. Soldier was walking slowly through the hall, as if he was lost and taking in any and all noticeable landmarks. Honestly though, Sniper was in no position to judge.

The American suddenly stopped. Posture as stiff as a board, Soldier stood. He was completely still, was the man even breathing? The image of a ghost sprang to mind. Maybe Soldier was dead, deciding to haunt the team's bases? Did he even know he was dead? A pang of sympathy filled Sniper's chest at the thought. What a bloody awful fate to have, not realizing that your time on this earth was done and forever stuck in limbo. Sniper made to speak out to his teammate.

But stopped when the Soldier beat him to it.

"That Scout is a spy!" He bellowed before walking on. Sniper paused, watching the army man with cold, grey eyes, and lowered his torch until almost complete darkness enveloped him. Then, with silent measured movements, Sniper backed away from the figure padding away deeper into the base. Once he could no longer hear the sound of footsteps, Sniper turned and put as much distance between him and Soldier as possible.

The second, the moment Scout's name was said, something clicked. Like it was the last piece of a puzzle Sniper didn't realize he needed. And the resulting picture was a grim one. Even if that really was Soldier, and the patriotic b*****d survived, or some phantom or… that option, Sniper wasn't sticking around to find out.

What if his eyes were just playing tricks on him, and Sniper was just hearing things? How long does it take for a sensible man to bear witness to unnatural sights and sounds? What if there was nothing there at all? That had to be it. Surely.

Surely…

...

What if the staircase was the direction Soldier went? His stomach began to twist at the thought.

Sniper shook his head. Hard. He turned another corner. As long as he kept walking, he'd stumble across something. Whether that be the Soldier(if he was even real), the staircase, or Scout. His mouth dried when the runner came to mind. That boy better be safe. He better be-

"Scout?" Sniper asked. The slim human spun around and snapped his arm up. In it was a pistol pointed directly at Sniper's head. He froze and his mind blanked as he stared down that barrel.

Scout was staring at him. His eyes were sharp and focused, gleaming with pupils resembling pinpricks from the torch shining in his face. That same look he gave the marksman all those days ago, when Sniper had to pin the disoriented man to the camper floor. A look of scrutiny. A look of distrust, scanning every little detail Sniper had. The runner scowled.

"Mate, it's me!" Sniper brought his arms up to calm Scout down. As if that would do anything. "It's Sniper."

Scout only glared. Silent and cold, a look that so rarely crossed his face.

"It's me." He said once more. Pleading, meeting the runner's harsh gaze. Pleading for Scout to see reason.

The young mercenary was too quiet, too still to be normal. Was it Scout? A deep dread spread through the marksman like frost. Sniper took a step back. That was when Scout finally spoke.

"Stand right there and don't move," he said, voice leaving no room for argument. Sniper obliged and dropped his hands and allowed himself to relax. Scout lowered the weapon and placed it on the crook of his left elbow, clamping down to hold the gun with his damaged arm. Then, he stalked up to Sniper as if the man was a wild animal. Once in range, Scout brought his hand up and Sniper instinctively flinched when he felt two cold fingers press themselves right below his jaw. And as quickly as they were placed, they were removed with Scout immediately backing down in obvious relief.

"Ho- Holy s**t, dude," Scout wheezed as he flashed a quick smile, "I legit thought. I really didn't. Didn't, wasn't. Ya freakin' scared me!"

"You weren't so friendly yourself, what with sticking a pistol in my face." Sniper replied, tone light. It had the opposite effect, it seemed, with Scout's placated expression falling into one of fear. He grabbed Sniper's wrist and began pulling him along.

"Listen, we gotta get outta here, man. That thing's back, it followed us down here! It freakin', it freakin' knows, man! The freak's followed us the entire time, we didn't shake it, and we need to go!" Scout hissed, yanking Sniper to follow and ignoring the older man's noises of discomfort.

"Scout, wait- no, just- let go for starters!" Sniper twisted his wrist free from Scout ironclad grip. The runner snapped around but Sniper cut him off before he could say anything. "Look, just calm down for a moment-"

"I ain't gonna "calm down", Sniper, I've been busting my *ss trying to find you and-"

"I was doing the same thing but I need to know-"

"-Walking around in the freakin' third level which ain't got nothing but storage after storage-"

"-Scout, listen for a second-"

"-why the **** were ya even up here in the first place? The second level has all the good s**t-"

"-Scout-"

"-And ya gotta working flashlight, something I didn't have so I had to work my way down here from nothing but memorefffhfhe!-" Scout's whisper rant was cut off by the sudden hand Sniper planted over the man's face. Ignoring Scout's glare and attempts to pry the hand away, Sniper spoke.

"Listen. We're going to leave, alright? Soon as possible. But I have no idea where the staircase is, I've been lost for who knows how long trying to find it. Ya know where it is?" Scout nodded. "Good, and since ya had a pistol on ya, I'm guessing you found the weapons?" Another nod. "Once I let go, you'll give me one of them, I don't care what gun. Then, you'll lead us out of here and we'll drive as far away as… What?" Sniper paused his plan when he caught sight of Scout's expression. The runner's eyes were wide as the moon and looking at Sniper's shoulder. Or above it. His grip on Sniper's arm tightened.

"What are you-"

"Sniper!" That all too familiar voice rang out. What felt like a cold hand grabbed Sniper's heart and twisted it. The marksman turned, looked up, and pointed his torch at the unmistakable form of Soldier.

The man stood there, holding a hand up in greeting. A welcoming smile plastered under that big bucket helmet. Soldier lowered his hand and started forward.

"Hold on, mate!" Sniper whipped around, holding his hand out to stop the patriot. The patriot stopped, still smiling, still Soldier. "Soldier? That you?"

"Yes!" The man barked, saluting.

"Are you really Soldier?"

"Affirmative!" The man flashed a grin. The same cheeky smirk that the American always had. Sniper only looked at him, analyzing each little detail. Shiny black boots, thick blue jacket, the grenades clasped to his front. It really did look like Soldier. He wanted it to be Soldier. So very, very much.

"Scout, Sniper, help me capture this point!" Soldier said, pointing towards the deep blackness the man had emerged from.

"Sniper," Scout murmured, tugging on his arm much weaker than before. But Sniper only had ears for Soldier.

"What point, mate?" he asked, never breaking eye contact with the man. Soldier paused, his smile never wavering. He stood incredibly still, even neglecting to breath. Sniper could just imagine the gears churning in the American's helmet.

"The Capture Point. Help me capture this point!" Soldier finally replied, once again pointing to the darkness. Then, he turned and gestured for the pair to follow him. Still smiling.

"...Nah, mate, we're good." Sniper said, as he heard the sound of a zipper opening. "Why don't you go on ahead. We'll scout out the perimeter and make sure there's no crumby RED pikers hiding around."

"Negatory." Rustling and jostling behind him. "C'mere, Sweetheart."

"No, I think we'll be leaving, actually." Sniper took a step back, then another, and another. "Feel free to capture all the points ya want, Solly. But me and Scout have been assigned to a mission, and we have to get it done. You understand how important missions are." At that, Soldier's grin finally fell into what looked like a pout. He turned away from the two, crossing his arms and digging his boots' toes into the concrete ground.

"We failed, men." Something solid slammed itself into Sniper's hand, causing him to whip around to see what it was. In his palm sat a Force-A-Nature and Scout was once again tugging at his arm, never looking away from their supposed colleague. Sniper gripped the shotgun in his hands, and turned to take one last look before-

Eyes. Too many eyes, eyes everywhere. Eyes where there shouldn't be, all blinking and staring directly at him. The Soldier shell was twisting and bending at angles the human body should never be in. Jaw open far too wide and long. Warping, growing, snapping bones and tearing flesh.

Thin skin-like membranes were punching and bugging out from everywhere. Like an amniotic sack, colors of skin, clothing, all blending together as faces could be seen pushing against the transparent walls. Faces of oh so familiar teammates. The skin ruptured. And the warped, misshapen faces of his team stared straight back.

With mouths too big. Teeth too many. Eyes too bulbous and glazed.

Sniper only stood and watched. Heavy, Medic, Pyro, Demo, Soldier, Spy, and Engineer stared right on back. There were even faces he didn't recognize forming along with the others.

The sound of ruptured tendons and flesh began to grow, and a hideous line split straight through the thing's torso, separating the snarling, broken heads. And that line began to grow and open itself. The faces all joined in opening their maws. A slight tugging was felt. Whispers. Whispers behind, to the side, in front. Hundreds of mouths all opened at once.

"S̶̨͚̣̲̖̤͓̦̟̖̥͗͒̏̓̊̾̚͠ ̵̨͖͔̻̹̖͓̗͙̤̑̏͑̚Ǹ̸̤́̐͌͂͗͒̈́̓̂͝ ̶̮̹̔́̿͛̚̚͝I̵̢̦̖͕͎͎̤͎͛̇̉̓͊͛̆͑͘̕P̴͇̘̦̤̳̯̀̾̈́ͅ ̶̝͚̮̥͙̖̭̮̺͊̍Ĕ̴̤͉̞͒̀̃͛̆̅͝R̶͔̬̺̻̅̆̿͑͗͜͝!"

"RUN!" Scout screamed. That familiar voice tore Sniper away from the haze he was stuck in. As the monster roared, the duo sprinted down the corridor.

His feet pounded against the solid floor, mixing with the choir of voices all screaming their names. Scout was already miles ahead. But he turned, ran straight back, and grabbed Sniper by the wrist again.

"Come on!" He shouted and yanked the Australian forwards. Faster and faster they went, all the while having the shrieks of the dead following right on their heels. The hall was quickly coming to an end. Several doors and passages lined the walls. Heart pounding, Sniper looked behind to steal a glance at the beast. Tens of arms were reaching for him, only inches away. The twisting, churning faces frothing and gnawing. All far too close. Impulse took over.

Sniper swung the shotgun up. Finger on the trigger. Demo's face contorted into anger.

BOOM!

The force of the blast knocked Sniper off his feet and careening into Scout. The two fell, rolling and tangled in each other's limbs. Wheezing from the kickback, the world spun as Sniper looked up from the floor. The creature had been blasted far down the hall, tangled in it's own mess of limbs and pulsating flesh.

Sniper rolled out from under the limp mass of Scout and shook his shoulder.

"Scout, get up!" The runner groaned but got up. Legs shook when he stood, but there was little time to recuperate. The monster roared with fury. Sniper grabbed the FAN and Scout's arm, heaving the younger man along. Not before Scout bent and snatched something glinting off the ground. The flashlight was left behind as the two scurried around a corner and into a slim storage room.

The marksman pulled Scout along and down to the ground behind a large cabinet. In the corridor that they entered from, the snarling grew and grew along with the sound of dragging. The pair sat paralyzed. The noises came closer and closer.

When something like a whimper escaped his youngest teammate, Sniper clamped a hand over his mouth and pulled him close. The two sat interlocked as that sound of tearing flesh filled the space. Then the creature entered.

With eyes adjusted to blackness, Sniper could only watch as a slim figure crept into the room. It looked human again, much smaller in size than Soldier. As it crawled along with predatory movements, Sniper felt the blood drain from Scout's face. His own soon grew cold as realization flooded his mind. The thing was trying to impersonate Scout. But it couldn't.

It was Scout if he had his hand back. It was Scout if he was wearing his hat which was constantly shifting and changing sizes. It was Scout if the boy starved himself until he was nothing but a shambling husk. Then the creature opened it's mouth.

Gargled words spilled out, not even close to resembling the runner's accent or pitch. It tried again, looking everywhere except behind it. Where Sniper and Scout were hidden.

Besides him Sniper felt Scout begin to squirm and twist deeper into his side. And if Sniper could see anything other than silhouette's, he was sure he'd see Scout paler than a ghost. The kid's skin sure felt like it.

The Not-Scout began to morph once more, the snapping followed by the torso stretching beyond the human limits. Taller and thinner it became. The neck was extending. With its new moderations, the shapeshifter snaked its head and started to peer into the rafters above.

His heart was pounding painfully against his ribs. Even the slightest shuffle could alert the beast. A distraction. They needed a distraction.

With his free hand, Sniper began to feel along the ground. Dust and grime coated his fingers but he continued. There had to be something.

"I promise I will heal you…" Medic's disembodied voice echoed through the room. Sniper kept searching. Scout had gone deathly still.

Sniper nearly shouted when the floor moved under his hand. The soft clicking of a bug's shuffle filled the airways. A large roach scurried out the room, even opening its wings to fly after a moment. The monster whipped it's head around and slithered out the room, snapping bones pursuing the harmless insect.

What was seconds and hours simultaneously went by before Sniper was certain the beast was gone. That was when he released Scout.

"'There's no such thing as shape-shifting freaks' he says! 'There's no evidence that our team was killed by a monster' he says!"

"Oh, shut it!" Sniper hissed.

"So you don't have to admit that I was right! Well, newsflash, chucklehead, I am! I tried to warn ya," Scout jabbed a finger into Sniper's chest. "Tried to talk some ****ing sense into you but no! Scout's just lives in make-believe land and doesn't know what the h*ll he's talkin' about even though he lost his ****in' hand!-"

"Alright! I get it!" Sniper huffed, "keep your voice down. I'm sorry for not believing you, honest. I just… I just didn't want to believe that our team was, was mauled to death by something that shouldn't exist." Sniper felt Scout shift and the weight pinned to his side vanished.

"Let's just focus on getting outta here first before all the sappy stuff, alright? But… sorry accepted." Scout whispered.

"Right," Sniper got to his feet as silently as possible. Scout did the same. "Do you know where the staircase is? Cause if ya don't, I'm afraid we're dead men."

"Yeah, gimme a sec." Scout went quiet along with Sniper. The kid was muttering something to himself.

"What are you-"

"Shush!" Scout said before continuing to mutter. Sniper picked out words that sounded like 'left, five, crisscross'.

"...crap."

"What?"

"The Counterfeit was heading towards the stairs." Scout whined as he began to pace. Sniper had to grab his shoulder to keep the kid from making noise.

"You renamed the bloody thing?"

"I had a lotta time to think of a better one."

"Is there any other way to get out?" He asked. The runner paused, thinking. He shot up.

"Yeah, the emergency exit! For fire safety and s**t. I know where it is. Follow me." Scout slipped out from the room with Sniper close behind.

They made no noise other than their shallow breathing and occasional mumbles Scout made. As Scout crept through the halls, Sniper was watching their back, sawed-off at the ready. Progress was made painstakingly slow, with Scout checking corners and listening for the beast before making any turn. But Sniper wasn't complaining. Better safe than sorry.

During their journey, Scout had slipped Sniper some ammo from his pack to reload the FAN. When the marksman had ejected the empty shells and replaced them, Scout stopped.

"Something wrong?" Sniper rumbled. Scout didn't respond right away, too busy looking at the crossroads they reached.

"I'm trying to remember which pathway it was. It's one of these, that's for sure." He scratched his neck in thought. Sniper looked as well. They all were scarily identical; all dark, no arrows, no markings. He took a deep breath and prepared to sigh when something caught his attention. The prickly scent of pine trees.

"Sniper, the h*ll are you doing?" Scout asked as the marksman walked ahead of him. But Sniper ignored him. He sniffed the air and continued until he stopped at the left corridor.

"It's this way."

"Wha-," Scout gaped, stumbling to Sniper's side, " how the h*ll do you know that?" Sniper only patted Scout's back as they walked.

"When in doubt, follow your nose." He smirked. "I could tell because I could smell the pines outside." Scout looked to the ceiling, sniffing.

"Huh. Weird… yeah, wait, I think I know the path now, what we gotta do is-" Scout stopped. The silence made Sniper pause to look back. His teammate was staring at his arm with an intense look. On it sat one of those freakishly large roaches.

"...Scout, mate, it's just a bug, it's not going to hurt you." Sniper assured. Scout, still staring down at the creature, raised his other arm to brush it aside. That was when its back flicked open and took flight. Directly towards Scout's face.

"Don't!-"

Scout screamed. The sound echoed through the vacuous compound and Sniper could only stand there in shock as his companion froze at the volume. Scout's scream pilfered out seconds later, leaving the two in silence. A moment passed, then Sniper glared daggers at the runner.

"Ya just had to open your big mouth-" An ear splitting shriek erupted through the halls. And the duo wasted no time.

"Run!" Sniper shouted. Scout needed no permission. The pair shot down their hall, feet slamming against the ground, no longer caring to be heard.

"The right, need to go right!" Scout yelled. The oncoming crossroads were making grounds. Shrieks and roars were too. Breathing fast, Sniper threw himself down the passage Scout took. The scent of pines grew. And the sound of pattering rain filled their ears.

The ground beneath began to tremble. Scout took a left and Sniper followed. The support beams shook and dust fell to the ground. Cabinets and shelves threatened to topple. The Counterfeit had found them.

"Hurry!" Scout cried. Heart pounding and breathing ragged, Sniper looked up and saw the destroyed doors and blinding outdoors of the Emergency Exit. It was high above with a steep staircase leading to overcast freedom. With a burst of adrenaline, Sniper shot forwards. The Counterfeit's choir of voices filled the air.

It happened so fast. A metal medical cabinet fell in the corner of Sniper's eye and suddenly his nose was on fire from colliding into the floor. White hot pain shot through his right leg as the sharp corners and weight cut into his skin. He screamed.

Scout looked back and paled. The runner grinded to a stop and shot back. Sniper twisted and tried to lift the cabinet with his back. The weight held him down.

"Help me!" He yelled. Scout grabbed the cabinet and tried to lift it. Sniper tried too. The monster drew closer.

"S**t!" Scout seethed as the cabinet refused to budge. Sniper gripped the floor and tried to pull himself out. It only resulted in pain. The runner looked over, saw what Sniper was doing, and grabbed his arm. Scout began pulling with all his might, digging his heels into the ground. Sniper felt the metal weight shift.

"It's coming closer!" Scout shouted, looking at the horror behind the marksman.

"Scout, focus, it's coming loose, I can feel it! Just focus!" Scout looked back to him and pulled. The cabinet shifted again. Deafening wails filled Sniper's mind. His partner stopped pulling and looked back up.

"Scout! Focus!" Scout flicked his eyes back and forth, face lined with absolute terror. The ground began to shake violently.

"Scout.," Sniper pleaded, still gripping tightly to Scout's hand. The runner turned back to him. There was something new in those eyes of his. Something that made Sniper's heart drop. And doused the little hope the Australian felt.

It was shame.

Scout let go of Sniper's hand.

"Scout, don't!" He began to back away, shaking his head in remorse.

"Scout!" The Scout turned and ran.

"SCOUT!" Was the last thing Sniper said as the world, and the shrinking figure of Scout, was engulfed in pain and flesh covered darkness.

Chapter Text

"Excuse me," The lone gas station cashier looked over her magazine at her, "I was wondering if you could help me?"

"Yeah, whadaya want?" The worker droned, arching up an eyebrow on her makeup plastered face.

"Has an RV stopped at your station anytime during the past week? Specifically a Knight's Camper made for Datsun Pickups?" Miss Pauling asked, pulling the gray-ish purple trench coat she was wearing closer. The worker groaned and huffed some smoke from her cigarette.

"Listen, I work the register an' store, and I ain't got a proper view of the cars customers drive with. Only way to check is the security tapes and my boss don't let nobody see them 'cept him."

"Oh," Miss Pauling nearly deflated before perking up and reaching into her pocket, "then perhaps you could tell me if you've seen any of these men enter your store between now and Sunday?"

From her pocket she pulled nine photos and laid them upon the store counter. The worker took a drag and looked over the pictures of the mercenaries. For each, she took it and raised it to face level, staring for so. Very. Long.

The silence filling the store was only fought back by the tapping of Miss Pauling's flats. She checked her watch. 4:17 PM. She turned back to the cashier who was still staring at the pictures. By process of elimination she was holding Spy's. Miss Pauling coughed into her fist, catching the woman's attention.

"Do you recognize any of them?" She repeated. The worker took another drag and set down Spy's portrait before brushing aside the piles of photos and pointing at one in particular.

"This one. He came in here a couple days ago and bought a few things." She tapped her long nails of the 2D face of Sniper. Miss Pauling furrowed her brow.

"I see, do you remember what he bought-"

"Look lady," The worker interrupted, eyes bored and annoyed, "are ya gonna buy somethin' or are you just gonna waste my time askin' me questions about Mr. Tall, Dark, and Slightly Handsome?"

Miss Pauling narrowed her own eyes. Did she need anymore information from this rude clerk? Unfortunately, yes. She still needed to know if Sniper was alone, where he was heading, and what he had bought. Any clue as to where he was now was vital. He had been the hardest to track down and hire, something Miss Pauling thought Spy would take the title for. But the Australian could drop off the face of the Earth in less than a day, she'd seen it happen after a mission she'd assigned him that ended poorly. At least then Sniper still had a radio and knew where to be picked up. She wasn't so naïve as to believe this situation was anything like the last.

"Well? I ain't got all day! I could be helping other folks who'd gladly pay for something and not waste my time playin' 20 questions!" Miss Pauling was almost impressed by the crassness of the woman. She'd killed tens of people for far less than back talking for The Administrator. But taking out the L-22 hoisted on her thigh and killing her would leave a mess that Miss Pauling did not have time to clean. And she didn't replenish her Quicklime she brought for emergency gravedigging. So, that left the more efficient, far quicker but much less satisfying option of Bribery.

"I see it as buying valuable information. Now could you tell me what I want to know?" Miss Pauling replied as a roll of hundreds was placed on the counter. The woman froze and stared with wide eyes at the fat stack of cash the assistant handed. Then, her entire demeanor changed as she took the roll of bills and flashed Miss Pauling a grin.

"Anything for you, Dollface. Whadaya wanna know?"

"I want to know what this man bought here, which direction he left in, and if he was alone." The woman leaned back and took a long drag, looking up in thought. After a moment, she straightened out, defeated.

"I don't remember what he bought, that was days ago." Miss Pauling pushed her glasses up in annoyance. "But the security tapes should show you what you wanna know. Follow me." The woman stood and gestured for Miss Pauling to follow her into the small back room behind the counter.

"I thought you said that only your employer was allowed access to the security footage?"

"Eh, what Frank doesn't know won't hurt him." She replied as she unlocked the room. Miss Pauling entered after her and her eyes immediately watered at the overwhelming smell of beer and nicotine.

The room was small and covered with crumpled paper balls, old pizza boxes, and beer cans. Gnats and flies were everywhere, clinging to the grimy yellow walls or eating off the old food stains and crumbs that littered the cobalt carpet. Against the opposite wall sat a small rickety desk with a single monitor and wooden chair. Only once before did Miss Pauling want to burn down a room like she did right now.

The cashier plucked herself down on the chair and began to type up the security recordings. Miss Pauling watched for a moment before letting her eyes wander around the broom-closet sized room. On the wall sat ripped off pages of calendars and playboy magazines. How nice. Very professional. Even more magazines of that nature sat on the desk besides the crumby keyboard and monitor. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"So, what's this guy to ya, anyway?" Miss Pauling's rowdier companion asked. "Is he ya boyfriend or owes ya money or…"

"Have you gotten the recordings pulled up yet?" She looked over at the computer screen.

"Almost. But since I could get in trouble for this I think I deserve a little info, ya feel me? Ya showed me nine photos of slightly hot guys and someone in a gas mask and expect me not to ask questions back? Yeah, no dice, sister."

"The trouble you could be in is probably worth the amount I gave you, hmm?"

"You got me there, but are ya looking for all a these dudes? Cause, sister, you're into some weird types." Miss Pauling sputtered at that.

"I'm not in a relationship with any of- look, just get the recordings pulled up."

"Alright, alright, don't get your skirt all up in a twist. Though, gotta say, some of those guys are kinda hot. Like the guy who came here. Kinda quiet, real polite, tall. That big guy in the photo was lookin' fine, too. But that scrawny kid? MmMm, no. Buck teeth ain't doin it for me. Looking like a small breeze could snap him in two. Wouldn't be surprised if he weren't seein' nobody-"

"Ah-EM." Miss Pauling coughed and gestured to the screen. She wasn't here to talk about how attractive her mercenaries were to some random woman. The cashier waved away the flustered Pauling aside and finally brought up the tapes.

Miss Pauling watched in silence as the station's indoor cameras played out the events of last Wednesday. The morning showed a group of teenage girls buying some licorice and soft drinks. The recording was sped up until the mercenary she was looking for walked in.

Even through the grainy black and white screen, Miss Pauling could tell that the tall man that had entered the building was Sniper. His posture was slightly hunched so as to not intimidate anyone from his height alone and on his head sat his loyal slouch hat. The marksman had walked in shaking water off of his hands and looking around the small store.

The cashier began to speed up the footage of Sniper actually picking the items he would buy and stopping the moment he walked over to finalize the purchase. Miss Pauling made quick work of memorizing the items. Some socks, two flashlights, rope, jerky, a toothbrush, and several first aid kits. Before she could question the Australian's purchase, her companion asked a question.

"So do ya wanna look at the outside tapes too? Cause ya said ya wanted to know where he went."

"Oh, right, yes. Please." She added as the cashier rolled her eyes with eyelids heavy with eye shadow. A few types and clicks later and Miss Pauling watched the recording get brought up.

From the angle of the feed, Miss Pauling could tell that the camera was the one outside the door, pointed at the actual gas pumps. She watched as, through the heavy rain, Sniper's van rolled up to the station and parked. And out stepped the small shape of the marksman before getting blown back inside his vehicle.

He got out again with a coat on and stepped up to the pump and began refilling his tanks. Then, someone else got out of the van. Miss Pauling's eyes widened.

Scout's slender, grainy form walked out into the rain and stood right next to Sniper. A millisecond passed and Sniper jumped straight into the air at something Scout said, or shouted, and the two mercs began to bicker. The assistant had to keep from giggling as the pair grew more "enthusiastic" in their gestures. Then Sniper began walking to the store with a miffed expression leaving Scout in the parking lot. Scout finally turned to face the camera-

"Huh, the kid's got one hand? First buck teeth, now a deformed arm? Oof, wouldn't wanna be him. Though, with teeth and ears like his, I'd argue he was already deformed-"

"Shush!" Miss Pauling snapped, patience wearing thin. The worker raised her arms in surrender and started to skip forward-

"Wait!" Miss Pauling ordered. The cashier looked at her with annoyance. "Go back a second." Rewinding back and starting again, the ladies watched as Scout stood in the empty lot. He was still for a bit before slipping on the coat Sniper tossed him. As he did, the wind knocked the fabric into his face and the runner tried prying it off with his injured hand. Miss Pauling felt a tinge of sympathy towards Scout as he was forced to use his other hand. That was when he began to unwind the bandages on his left. And Miss Pauling could tell from his reaction and the blurry mess that was his arm that it was infected. So that might be the reason for all of those medkits.

"Alright, you may skip forward." The cashier rolled her eyes again and sped up the footage until Sniper exited the store and into his van with Scout. They sat there for a bit. Doing what? Miss Pauling couldn't tell from the grainy image. But eventually the van started up and drove down the road headed South.

"So, are those guys you're looking for brothers or something? They looked kinda similar from their pictures, and I don't know why someone would drag along a scrawny, handi-capped string bean like that unless they were related." Miss Pauling didn't answer as she pulled her coat together and began buttoning it up.

"Or are they like… you know?..." That caught Miss Pauling's attention. Seeing the assistant's confusion, the cashier explained. "You know, is the smaller one the taller's little boy toy?" She barely had time to finish before another roll of cash landed on her lap. Before Miss Pauling left, she looked back and met the prying woman's eyes.

"Keep the cash. You never saw me. Oh," She looked back one more time, "And I would suggest you stop asking so many questions." On that note, Miss Pauling left the room and store and entered her little purple car.

As she sat down, she shivered. The very notion that Sniper and Scout were, or are, anything other than colleagues was concerning and disturbing to visualize. She did not want those images in her head. She didn't see any of the men without clothes, and, frankly, she hoped she never would. Ugh, the very idea. That woman was so, so lucky Miss Pauling was on a tight schedule. First being rude, then lusting over her mercs, then being rude to her again and insulting Scout. Several times over his looks and injury and not his obnoxious ego or attitude was almost the tipping point. But Miss Pauling couldn't afford to kill her. Yet. The woman was now a loose end in a company's, but mainly The Administrator's, private affairs. Miss Pauling made a mental note to jot down the Gas Station's location so that she could come back and clean up.

But she'd spent too much time here already. With Scout's infection, it could kill him in less than a month if it goes without the proper treatment. And she really didn't want to spend even more time hiring a replacement for him. Arm or no arm, he was still fast and a vital asset. They could always make a new one for him, metal or not. The ignition roared and the plum-colored car sped down the forest highway. Miss Pauling had some mercs to find and a van to catch. Wherever they are.

There wasn't much else to do except take watch. Sniper never brought his belongings outside his van with his weapons being the main exception. So when the others eventually departed the Mess Hall to pack whatever they still needed to, Sniper was left to do whatever he wanted. Within the base and contracts, of course. And what better way to spend the last day at Sawmill than to keep an eye on the base?

Sniper had offered to help Medic with boxing along with Engie, but the German refused. Only one extra pair of hands would be enough, and Medic didn't like it when people had access to his personal items. So it made sense why the truckie was thought to be trustworthy enough for the task. The Texan couldn't lie to save his life, not that he ever wanted to.

So there Sniper was, walking up to his nest to watch the surrounding landscape. The nest itself was alright. It had an expansive open window, perfect for sniping trespassing blokes. The downside being the tin roof. The blasted thing was constantly peppered with rain, making it nearly impossible to hear any ambush or spy that wanted to stick a knife in his back. It didn't matter if it was implausible at the moment, it was best to keep his instincts sharp and mind sharper. The marksman reached the isolated out clove and sat down on the familiar stiff chair.

As uncomfortable as it was, the view made everything better. It really was a beautiful place, despite the ever present rain and clouds. Fit the general theme of the land. The rolling hills covered in pines and firs. Shades of green: dark, graying, light, vibrant, as far as the eyes could see. Gigantic stone cropping sticking out every so often in the distant trees. Lovely place. Shame it had to be so cold.

Sniper shivered. He should have grabbed a coat on his way back to his van to drop off the coffee he'd grabbed from the kitchen. But Sniper was already sitting and he doesn't plan on getting up once that happens. So he tried ignoring the chill as much as possible by looking around the world.

At least he brought his rifle. Slinging the weapon off his back, Sniper brought it up into his arms and searched the far off trees. There was a hint of red that caught his eye.

Bringing the scope up to his line of sight, Sniper zeroed in on the opposing team's color. It was too small to be any actual member of RED. Besides, the other mercenaries had been moved to Harvest, waiting for the BLUs to finally show up in order to start killing each other. A waste really.

It wasn't the fact that he was killing people per se, but just how often he was surrounded by it. The matches, whenever they happened, were chaotic. He could count the amount of times the battles didn't result in casualties on one hand. So many new faces would be hired only to die immediately on the battlefield, either by a clean bullet through the head or his coworkers. Coworkers that he would have to fight in the next match whenever that happened. It was a miracle he trusted them the amount he did, really, what with trying to kill each other so often. Or cared about them the amount he did. That was dangerous. And something that Sniper couldn't afford to build.

He focused back on the vermilion mass in his scope. It was a little bird. The feathered animal had a small crest and an orange beak with black eyes. Pretty little thing. Oh, he should have brought his bird guide, too! What was the small beaut called? It started with a C. Hm.

"Yo, Snipes, howzit going up here?" Speaking of teammates that he regularly fought to the death with.

"Well enough," Sniper answered, tone regulated. Out of all the people to come up and find him, it had to be Scout. Figures. Okay, now hold on, the boy hadn't done anything yet, no need for feeling hostile.

"Why do ya have your rifle with ya? There ain't no REDs to fight." Scout observed as the Bostonian walked over to lean on the adjacent wall.

"Mostly out of habit. You can never be too careful, though." He said, bringing the gun down to look at his new companion. "Why are ya up here?"

"What, can't a guy just hang out with his teammate once and a while? I don't need a reason for everything I do." Sniper looked at Scout over his shades. The runner stood defiant for a moment but eventually began to squirm under the Australian's cold eyes.

"What do you want, Mongrel?" Sniper sighed. There were only two reasons why Scout would seek someone out: for a favor or he really wanted to annoy someone.

"I was just bored, man." Scout mumbled, pulling the cap on his head down. "Just wanted to hang out with someone, y'know? And you're always available. Well, alone, 'm mean. Usually, so I figured that, y'know, you'd be up for talking or whatever."

Sniper sat up straighter. That… was blunt. He didn't think Scout would just lay his cards out on the table like that. But it made things easier for him. Even if he didn't enjoy the implications.

"So there's nobody else for you to bother?" He asked, perhaps a little harshly. Scout pulled his hat down further, eyes growing sharper.

"No. And I ain't bothering nobody. Overalls' helping Doc, Heavy, Demo, and Spy are playing a boring old card game, and Soldier and Pyro were having some stupid debate last I saw so no, there ain't nobody else." Sniper let the information roll around in his mind. If Scout was telling the truth, and he didn't seem to have any motive not to, then Sniper and Scout really were the only ones left without any major goings on. Unfortunately. Well, at least he had a chance now to get on with his lost bet from earlier.

"Well, if you're going to be up here, can you at least tell me what that bird is? Sniper pointed towards the speck of red feathers in the distance. Scout walked over to the window and leaned out, trying to get a better look at the small creature.

"Uh, could be a Robin, cause they got those red bellies."

"Nah," Sniper scratched his chin, "I've seen robins before, this one's all red."

"Uhhhhhh, lemme see your scope."

"What?"

"Well, I'd need to see the stupid bird to tell what kind it is!" Scout explained. Seeing the kid's point, Sniper placed his rifle in his lap and unhooked the scope. He handed Scout the telescopic lens.

"Do not drop it." Sniper warned.

"Yeah, yeah," Scout waved away the concern. He brought the scope to his eye and peered at the bird. The runner's face scrunched up in thought.

"Oh! I know this bird. Aw crap, what's its name? I see it all the time back in Massachusetts. Red Blue Jay looking things. They're like, the most common bird other than Pigeons and Goldfinches. And Seagulls, those flying rat b*****ds. They're the worst; one stole a bag of chips from me when I was nine, nearly biting off my freakin' finger for it! I still have the scar-"

"Scout, focus, what's the bird?"

"Shuddup, I'm trying to think!"

Sniper rolled his eyes. He hadn't even said anything till now.

"Oh, it's a Cardinal! Yeah, that's the bird." Scout grinned as he handed the scope back to Sniper. He took it back while eyeing Scout, who was currently standing with a haughty smirk and looking at the Cardinal.

"How did you know that?" Sniper asked.

"You asked me, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah, but I didn't actually think you'd know what it was called. You don't seem like the type who memorizes birds."

"'M not." Scout said, fiddling with his headpiece's mic. "My ma is, though. She liked to go out bird watching with her lady friends when my brothers got old enough to watch us younger ones. That way she didn't have to spend all her free time in between jobs and shifts babysitting me and Tommy. Course, Ma would sometimes bring us along for "family outtings" and stuff, that's when she'd tell us all about the types of birds. I got stuck listening to it cause I was the smallest and she didn't want me roughhousing with my brothers. Afraid I'd get choked out or killed accidentally. But that didn't always happen and sometimes she'd let me play with them once I annoyed her about it long enough. One a those times Davey, he's my second oldest bro, and Harvey, he's the fifth oldest, kinda the middle kid, always liked hanging out with him the most-"

Sniper could only sit there and pretend to listen. He placed the scope back onto his rifle and began to look around the coniferous forest once again. Soon Scout's ramblings faded into the background like white noise. It was almost relaxing. Sometimes he'd hum or say a quick "really?" to interact with the runner, if only with the bare minimum.

There was another bird, it looked like the Cardinal except blue. A deep, navy blue that seemed to shimmer. What a lovely hue. Slightly iridescent. Close by was a flock of much smaller birds. They looked almost like tennis balls, they were so round. The feathers were a dull olive green with the exception of a bright red spot on the top of their heads. Why were they so round? But more importantly, why did a professional assassin want so badly to hold one in his hands? They were so round!

"-And then he threw me into the pond. I nearly swallowed a freakin' frog in that thing, it swam into my mouth and all! Tasted awful, I don't get how people down south eat the freakin' things. But I guess they fry them too so it ain't just frog you're eating." Sniper blinked. Scout had still been talking this entire time, long after Sniper stopped responding. Shaking himself into the present, Sniper turned to Scout again.

"What does eating frogs have to do with birdwatching?"

Scout paused, mouth open mid sentence. "...I dunno, uh, I was talking about how my ma took us to parks and stuff and that's where I learned about birds." The runner once again leaned out the window and pointed to where the Cardinal used to be. "Weird thing is that Cardinals live in the Eastern States and Canada, so I dunno why one's all the way out here in the Western parts."

"Well, it's the Pacific Northwest, right next door to Canada so it makes some sense why one would be around."

"I guess."

"Do you know what those are called?" Sniper pointed towards the group of flying tennis balls. Scout squinted.

"Uhhh, where?"

"Here," Sniper handed him the scope again and lined his companion up to see the birds. "Those ones, the small round ones." Scout chewed his cheek in thought.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhh… Well that one's a Cellar Jay." Sniper could only assume he meant the blue bird he spotted.

"I think it's "Stellar Jay"."

"Ya sure? Okay, well, those fat ****ers are called "Ruby Crowned Kinglets". They're everywhere, like Chickadees. Hey, did you know that Chickadees are called Chickadees because that's what they sound like? Like, they'll open their mouths and out comes- what?" Scout suddenly straightened out, hand on his headpiece. Sniper watched as Scout's expression went from confused to amused.

"No, this is Scout you're talking to."

…

"Well, you're in luck, I'm standing right next to him. We were having a nice little chat before ya interrupted us."

…

"Look, I dunno why ya couldn't talk to him through your earpiece. What, is yours broken or something? Cause if not then either ya got stupid or Sniper got stupid."

"What?" Sniper said indignantly, gaining a sudden interest in Scout's one-way conversation. "Who are you talking to?

"Shuddup! Anyway- no, I was talking to Sniper, not you, ya don't have to act so freakin' grumpy."

…

"Well, ya always sound grumpy, not my fault ya don't have any other tone besides 'I'm annoyed and I'm gonna make sure everyone knows that.'"

…

"Well now you're grumpy. Self fulfilling prophecy, big man, self fulfilling prophecy- alright, alright, I'll ask! Jeez!" Scout turned over to Sniper with a miffed expression. "Heavy wants to know whether or not you have your earpiece with ya."

"Oh." So Sniper did forget something else important. Why was he forgetting so much stuff today? Maybe he should check around the base for anything he might have lost before they leave tomorrow. "No, I don't have it on me right now." Scout scoffed at that.

"Alright, so it turns out that Sniper's the one that's freakin' stupid and not you cause he forgot his earpiece."

"Hey!"

"Shuddup! Yeah, that was for Sniper again, guy keeps talking." Pot calling the bloody kettle black. "Look, whaddya wanna ask him?"

…

"That's it? Yeah, okay, I'll ask- hey wait a minute, why didn't ya ask if I wanted to too!?"

…

"That don't matter, it's called common freakin' courtesy-"

…

"Well, yeah, I still would've said no but ya still could've asked me! It'd be the nice thing to do."

…

"Freaking ouch, man, that's cold, even for you- okay, I'm asking now shuddup! And yeah, that one was directed to you, pal!" Scout snapped before flicking his mic up and dramatically sighing. "Heavy wants to know if you wanna play poker with him, Demo, and Spy."

"Y'know," Sniper stood and stretched, feeling a satisfying pop in his lower back, "I think I do. Got nothing better to do, honestly, besides double-checking my things."

"Yeah, okay." Scout grumbled, flicking his mic down to give Heavy Sniper's answer. "Mr. Birdwatcher says yes. We'll- he'll probably be down there in a sec." Scout stood there and hummed to something Heavy said before pulling the microphone up again. Sniper swung his rifle over his shoulder and looked over to Scout, who was leaning against the wall and glaring out into the forest.

"Are you planning on staying here or?..." Sniper asked. The runner looked at him like he'd just chugged a can of neon pink paint.

"Uh, in case ya didn't catch the memo, they want you playing, not me."

"Just because you aren't playing doesn't mean you can't be around." Sniper pointed out. Scout only shrugged and huffed.

"Nah, what's the point of standing around if there's nobody to talk to. You'll all be focused on your game. Sides, somebody's gotta make sure those pesky birds don't ambush the base!" Scout teased. Sniper rolled his eyes, more lighthearted than the last time, and began to walk back into the base. As he reached the door, Sniper turned back to ask his teammate a question.

"Oy, Scout, did you ever find your base-" A cold blast stole away his breath, leaving him unable to speak. And made it hard to keep a breath in. Any inhale he took was exhaled faster than Sniper could make use of them. But the most concerning thing was the sudden darkness.

He couldn't see the nest. He couldn't see Scout. He couldn't see the pale overcast sky.

His eyelids felt itchy on the inside, it was driving him crazy! There was nothing he could do but squeeze them together until slight stars filled his black vision. Another cold blast, and Sniper opened his eyes.

Where was he? It was so dark. So cold. Only some strange pale glow above him illuminated the slightest of objects, only shapes and sharp corners.

Sniper tried to groan but his parched throat refused to work. He swallowed. And swallowed again after his ears popped painfully. And that wasn't the only pain he felt.

Everything was sore and slightly numb. Everything except his right leg whose nerves were thumping and felt like someone took a blowtorch to them. Sniper rolled his stiff neck and looked down.

Or rather up. He was upside down, hanging from something that glowed. A pale white and semi-translucent substance was wrapped around his ankles and to his knees, gluing him to the ceiling of this place. Almost like a cocoon.

Sniper tried moving his legs. He was still wearing his shoes given that he could move his toes and feel his socks, but his actual legs were stuck and stuck good. The marksman tried hoisting himself up and grabbed his left leg and pulled. Nothing. After a good five seconds of effort, Sniper let himself drop. He could hardly breath through his nose. But his hands were still free so he used them.

Feeling around his face, Sniper could touch a foreign bump on the bridge of his nose. It was definitely broken. What other damage was there besides a broken nose and leg? One quick assessment later and the results stayed the same. There was nothing else besides a couple bruises.

Now the main problem was how he got here. Sniper looked around, breathing a faint mist in the void. There were no discernable features to make out. What happened?

The marksman rifled through his mind's archives. What had he been doing before he woke up here? Having a dream. A dream about actual events. Alright, that was something. There was someone else in it, talking to him about… about what? Some kind of animal? That seemed like the right option. Why though? Sniper shivered and sneezed, making his vision spin from the force. Oh so cold, why was it so cold? Where was his fleece?

His fleece. Sniper had put one on earlier today. Or yesterday, the passage of time was impossible to know down here. He had put one on because the base was freezing cold. It was cold because the generators weren't on and Sniper had gone to turn them on. Turn them on to get light so that Scout and him could-

Scout. Confusion and recalling twisted into a deep anger. A rage that felt like molten lead coursing through his veins and threatening to spew out.

That little, utter, bloody-! Sniper's ire filled thoughts froze into cold action. Sniper swung up and grabbed his legs and pulled with all his might. At first, it seemed to do nothing. Then, a little give. Sniper dropped, regaining his stamina before swinging up and repeating the process. The harder he tugged, the more the white glue stretched and gave. So close.

"No." Sniper blanked and dropped from the sudden noise. Before swinging up and pulling even harder than before, ripping his pant leg from the strain. A soft padding entered the room unbeknownst to the frantic marksman.

"C'mon, c'mon!..." Sniper muttered, feeling the prison stretching to its limits.

"No." Came the voice again as something grabbed his hair and ripped him down to face its owner.

A blank canvas of rippling flesh met his gaze. If Sniper had to describe it, he would say it resembled a mannequin. One that would be found in malls and stores with the most generic body one could have. The Counterfeit stood there with no disguises, no features, no face. Its skin, if that's what it was called, was like an ocean with constant waves of skin washing over itself to replace old colors, old flesh, old features before the replacement was itself washed over. Ever changing its appearance besides the slender form it always kept.

Then, The Counterfeit's "face" began to twist and morph before a pair of full lips had formed.

"Don't touch that." It said, the Texan accent all too familiar. It let go of his hair and looked up at the white substance holding him hostage. It stood so incredibly still, the only motion being its ever shifting skin. Sniper got bold.

"Let me go." He croaked, voice ragged from neglect. It didn't respond. "Did ya hear me, I said let me go!"

"Nyet." Heavy's booming voice filled the room as The Counterfeit took a step back. It looked at Sniper with hollow sockets. And then began to tremble.

Even if the white glue holding him hostage wasn't there, Sniper would still be stunned by the squirming veins that slid out from the creature's flesh. They coiled and snaked around, appearing like thin white worms. Into the open air they rose, all growing in length and height. And Sniper, so fixed on their dance, was too late to notice their malicious intention.

His eyes widened at the shortened distance and struggled harder than ever before. He twisted and writhed, pulling at his prison and away from the tendrils. Swatting at the invaders, Sniper reached out to grab something, anything, he could use. Pipe, plank, it didn't matter. Much like his battle. A battle for his freedom, but a losing battle nonetheless.

The moment the back of his hand grazed the tip of one of the strings, it shot into his skin. Sniper made to scream but the pain he should have felt was instead a deep, powerful numbness. His hand dropped like a dead weight and Sniper watched in horror as the faint bump in his skin writhed and lengthened. The tendril dug further and further into his arm, much like a vein. Along with it grew numbness until Sniper could no longer feel his entire left arm. And it was in his hyper fixation that the countless others joined.

The strings shot out and hooked into his skin. Legs, arms, chest, back, and face all went cold with paralysis. Sniper tried to shout but couldn't open his mouth. The pain in his leg and nose faded into nothingness. All he could feel was the cold digging just under his flesh. Pushing further and further into him. They moved as one. Peeling past his muscles. Sifting through everything until Sniper could no longer tell if he was breathing. Mind grew foggy. He couldn't even blink. And after what felt like eons, Sniper was left as only a consciousness in an empty husk of a body, forced to stare at the monster who did it.

It tilted its head when the tendrils fulfilled their purpose, gazing at Sniper who could only look back. It put its head straight. Then, The Counterfeit began to change.

The sound of breaking bones, ruptured tendons and tearing flesh filled Sniper's ears. The height was the first thing to change, as it grew taller and taller. Then, the appearance started to morph.

Slightly tanned flesh flooded its body followed by a sky blue. A face began to form. Deep brown hair grew to look brushed back and curled at the back of the neck. The faint brown of stubble. Cold, grey eyes. Long, boney hands and a faint scar engraved into its left cheek and nose.

A different cold crept into Sniper's chest, one that took whatever feeling was left in his hollow shell and gave it a voice. Survivalist instincts were too ingrained for whatever the creature's strings had done. In him grew a deep, dark dread. Even upside down, Sniper could still tell that the person standing before him, aside from the white tendrils growing from its skin, was the splitting image of himself.

The Not-Sniper finished its transformation. It stepped back, analyzing its new body. Those gray eyes filled with curiosity. Then, Sniper was peeled away from the present.

He had just received his first Machina rifle. Staring at the weapon in his hands, an awestruck smile lit up his face and he opened his mouth to speak-

"Bloody gorgeous!" Not-Sniper rumbled, a similar grin plastered on its face. It turned its hands, Sniper's hands, over to look at the palms. Then it turned to stare at the original. And the white strings disconnected.

They fell away from their creator and snaked up to latch themselves in the white glue holding Sniper up. At that moment, the marksman felt the tendrils begin to vibrate. And the fogginess clouding his mind gave way to another memory.

The darkness around him was replaced with a small desert road in the late afternoon. One with a dusty blue truck off to the side, wearing a crimson smeared stain on its front wheels. And in the lane a ten year old Sniper sat cradling the broken body of his family pet dog with a strange man standing to the side talking to his parents. The stranger hadn't meant to hit Dusty; the old dog had gotten outside and chased a dingo away from the even older chicken coop. Dusty was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, nothing more than a tragic accident. Not that the knowledge helped.

Dusty was his best friend. Sniper's only friend in this horrible country full of rowdy, jerkish children who would push him to the ground and kick sand into his eyes until the teachers had to pull them away from the temporarily blinded kid. Dusty didn't punch him or push him off the steep desert inclines or threaten to kidnap and drop him off in the northern wetlands to get eaten by Saltwater Crocodiles. Dusty would stick around and let Sniper pet him whenever his folks got into one of their rare heated arguments. Dusty would follow him around the property while Sniper did the early morning chores and would join his adventures to hunt for dinosaurs in the Outback.

Now Dusty was dead. He was broken and bleeding out, just like the young Sniper's heart. His parents would get a new dog after the grief subsided, just like they did with the dog before Dusty. And they'll speak fondly about how Black Mouth Cur had been such a loyal, friendly pet. And try to comfort Sniper and not understand why the boy couldn't move on like they could. Because Dusty was all he had in this barren place. Because Dusty was his friend, his best friend in the whole wide world, and now he was gone forever.

The memory dragged Sniper down, making his vision sting and throat tighten into a strangle. And through his watery eyes Sniper could see his double reacting the same way. Not-Sniper was stiff and its face, Sniper's face, was on the brink of crumbling, lacking only tears. The tendrils vibrated again and the present was fading once more…

This was it. No turning back, no talking himself out of this, 17 year old Sniper was going to do it. The roaring of graduating students played in the background as he psyched himself up to talk to the beautiful fellow graduate three rows away. The rest of the class stood and began to mingle as the ceremony ended with a literal bang(Australian fireworks sure are something whenever they aren't burning down everything). Some graduates immediately left to go party and drink the night away. Some went to meet with their parents to take pictures and celebrate their child's achievement. And the rest chatted on with friends, bantering and even saying goodbyes to those moving to study internationally.

Sniper was one of parent kids as he easily found his thinner folks through the crowds of pure muscle and country-shaped chest hair. After chatting a bit and taking a quick photo or two, the young man was off. It wasn't hard to find Betty in the crowd of burly students due to Sniper's height, but it was a challenge to navigate the sturdy bodies just to reach her.

But he did. And she said hello and congrats on graduating! They chatted as friends, and Sniper asked to speak more privately. They left the former students and worked their way out and into a more quiet and grassy place.

That was where he confessed. And nerve wracking couldn't even begin to describe the silence that followed. It had taken Sniper so long just to work up the courage to get to know Betty better, which was a gamble that worked in his favor for once. They grew to be friends, and then Sniper wanted to be more. Because she was wonderful, with soft doe eyes and wavy brown hair with a personality that drew people in like a magnet. She took life by the reins and never looked back. Just brimming with energy and charm, something that was admittedly very attractive to the less lively Australian.

And he told her all of this, because it was the truth, and she just stood there drinking it in. She didn't say anything for the longest time, nearly sending Sniper into damage control and taking back everything he said. But he didn't, and that was the greatest gamble Sniper ever took.

Because she looked at him with those soft brown eyes and grabbed his collar to pull the slim man into a kiss. His very first. And happy couldn't hold a pin to what he felt at that moment. Relief, fear, joy, bliss, all rolled up into a confusing but wonderful ball of emotion that made his legs weak and heart flutter.

Contentment and love. Artificial contentment and love that drowned out the agonizing grief Sniper felt seconds before. Like a horrible cocktail of emotions and hormones all being overblown. Those web-like strings trembled again…

"Scout! Focus!" Sniper gripped the boy's arm tighter, forcing his attention back to the trapped Australian. Fear was etched into Scout's tired face, dark bags highlighting the flash of horror reappearing in his stormy blue eyes. The roar of The Counterfeit growing louder and louder. Scout kept looking back and forth, uncertain and frightened beyond belief. And if Sniper was free, he would take the boy by the shoulders and give them a reassuring squeeze, telling him everything would be alright. He would grab him by the wrist and run out of Landfall's horrid base. He would tell him that they were safe and everything would be alright. But he couldn't. Sniper was trapped.

And the moment Scout turned back to look him in the eyes when Sniper pleaded for Scout to pull just a little more, made Sniper realize he'd remain trapped.

It hurt. It hurt to feel the boy let him go. To grasp the fact that Scout had given up on saving him. To watch the lad shake his head at Sniper like there was no point in trying anymore, that Sniper was a lost cause.

And Scout ran away.

It hurt. Then that hurt became sadness. And that sadness grew into anger. And that twisted and contorted into something much darker. Much more heinous. An emotion that middle aged husbands would use to beat their wives to death with golf trophies.

Sheer, unadulterated hatred. Only this was far stronger than the actual moment. Head filled with toxic, loathing smoke. The itching need to kill was growing by the second. He wanted to strangle someone. Sniper wanted to strangle a certain Bostonian. To wring his thin little neck. To slice him apart with his kukri. To put bullet after bullet in his body until the coward bled out, begging for help. To take the runner by the hair and drag him to the room. To throw him to the ground and leave him as a gift for The Counterfeit. To watch him struggle as the tendrils rip into his skin, leaving him nothing but a husk as an alien lifeform stole away his life, friends, and family. To be forced to watch as everything he held dear be stripped away by The Counterfeit as the real Scout is forgotten in a little room to die alone while no one's the wiser.

The frozen fury never left Sniper's unblinking eyes. Not when the white substance above him was tightened. Not when his counterpart created more of the stuff and wrapped it around the dangling Australian. Not when the dark room was covered by a thin, white, semi-translucent film. Not even when he was entrapped in a pale, glowing cocoon with no means of escape.

The free Sniper stood looking at his handiwork. It was secure, and the real Sniper had been dealt with. In his mind, the repeated images of the human's companion being tortured and killed brought along that familiar required bloodlust. The urge to fight. The urge to hunt and kill. Specifically the small human.

"Thanks, mate." He said to the man-sized pod and the motionless shadow within. The nerves flooding the human's body would keep that predatorial emotion high. High and long enough to find the smaller one.

Giving a salute like the loud, squarish one, The Sniper turned and stalked into the darkness of the underground compound.

The van jerked to a halt. After some trial and error with the stick shift, it was put into park and the ignition was doused. Taking the keys and placing them in his jacket's pocket, Scout opened the door and stepped out into the small campground he stumbled upon on the road.

Small, secluded, and the only other residents being a group of high-outta-their-minds teenagers and what looked to be a couple spending some of their retirement trying to find some peace in nature and failing because of the teens loud, braying laughs. At least the strangers were keeping to themselves. Scout didn't feel like meeting new people.

Entering the RV, the runner collapsed into one of the benches and hid his face in his hand. With a shaky breath, Scout stood and opened the cabinet that stored the paper and pencils he wanted. He grabbed a sheet, and a couple pencils along with a pen, sat back down, and got to work.

The second graphite met paper, Scout grimaced. Sniper's face was easy enough to recall. It was kind of long, had a bit of a resting frown. His eyebrows were long and pretty close to his eyes. Then there was that faint scar.

Forgetting Sniper's features wasn't the problem. The problem was that Scout couldn't forget his face. The expression that Sniper had when Scout had ditched him. It was burned into his memory. Betrayed, that's what it was. The exact same face as-

Scout dropped the pencil and ran his hand through his hair, sighing. It's not like he wanted to leave Sniper behind! He didn't! But the man was trapped, and Scout only had one hand. Besides, better to have one survive than both die. Right?

Groaning, the runner grabbed the pencil again and forced himself to sketch. With loose movements, Scout drew a faint circle with two lines to mark out the face. Two smaller circles mapped out the eyes. The eyes that were filled with fear and heartbreak the last time Scout had seen them.

He crumpled up the paper and grabbed a new one. Scout started over and made it to actually mapping out every facial feature before stopping again. Another waste of paper. Sniper's paper. Scout grimaced again before grabbing another sheet.

Graphite met paper and scratched away. Line after line was laid. Soon, a portrait began to form. And Scout pushed back the urge to look away and throw it aside. He owed Sniper this at the very least.

The face started to take shape. The jawline, ears, hair were all rough but drawn. Scout started on the eyes and winced. He sketched the irises and winced again before standing up and pacing.

Why did he leave Sniper behind!? Why!? Why!? If he had just listened to Sniper, just focused like he'd been told to do. If he had just pulled harder. Dug his feet into the ground a little more. Just trusted Sniper more!

No, no it wasn't totally his fault. That stupid Australian. Maybe if he had listened to Scout and not gone into the base he'd still be alive! Or hadn't stopped Scout when he found Sniper and tried to lead them out of the base. If he had just listened to Scout the first time, none of this would have happened! It's Sniper's own d*mn fault for getting killed! That's what happens when you don't listen. Scout had done everything right! What would Sniper do if they had switched places? The same stupid thing, Scout reckoned.

Would he?

At that, Scout leaned on the RV's wall and slid to the floor. He brought his knees to his chest and sat in silence. After some thought, that horrible embarrassed feeling crept through his system. No. Sniper wouldn't. He chose to take Scout away from Sawmill and stitch him up. Sure, the guy had no idea what was going on but even a blind man could tell staying much longer was dangerous. And what did Scout do to return the favor?

Scout buried his face into his knees. What a lousy piece of s**t he turned out to be. Sniper didn't deserve it. None of them did. Not Demo, not Engie, not Heavy, h*ll, not even Spy or Medic. None of them ever left a teammate to die. Not like him. They weren't cowards like Scout was.

A pathetic whine escaped him. That old stupid feeling was back. When he felt like crap and worthless after getting pushed around at school or teased too much by his brothers or when the fellas jabbed a bit too much on a rare bad day. It was an awful feeling but there was always someone around to reassure Scout that, no, he wasn't as bad as others and himself thought. That he was a good guy deep down, or a good teammate, or a fun wee lad who held the team together. There was always someone like Ma, or Demo, or Engie to tell him those things. The other guys would too sometimes. Even Spy did once or twice.

But now there was nobody to console him. To tell him that he wasn't a coward. To tell him that leaving Sniper was something that had to be done. To tell him that despite everything, he was a good person. Now there was only silence. A silence that Scout knowingly caused. It was all his fault.

He looked back up with a tiredness that clung to his bones and weighed him down. Like someone had stuffed hundreds of stones into his clothes and pockets. Just time and time again, Scout willingly chose the wrong thing. And what would he do to fix it? What could he do? The runner sniffled. What he wouldn't give to have his ma beside him giving him some much needed advice. What would she tell him? He could almost hear her voice in his answer.

"You need to take responsibility, Jerry bean. Ya can't run from your problems forever…"

She was right. Ma always was. Always knew what to say, when to say it and how. She could give you a real dressing down or make ya feel like a king. But how the heck could he fix this?

Scout stood and caught sight of the unfinished drawing laying on the table. Unfinished. Uncertain. He narrowed his red eyes.

Maybe, just maybe…

There it was. That part of him that just couldn't shut up. The hopeful son of a b***h part of Scout that everyone made fun of. But if there was even a chance that he was alive…

Sniper was alive. The others were too. They had to be. They were! No disgusting, freakish freak of nature could take them down so easily. And if it did?...

With a vile expression, Scout took the drawing and folded it up. He wouldn't need to finish it. What Scout did need was some booze.

And a lighter.

Chapter Text

It's a weird feeling, being nervous or, y'know, scared. Sometimes it makes your chest tight and blood run cold, others make you feel horribly hot and send your senses into overdrive. For some it makes them jump at every little thing and for others it freezes them into a trance. But it always started the same way, with the tension.

There was a time during a ceasefire when the teams had been staying at Thunder Mountain and Engie had said something that caught Scout's attention. It was right before a payload match, and the older American had been watching him pace around because, d*mnit, it was something he could do! And he had said something about how it's always so quiet before battles and how it made Scout just want to rip the bandaid off and start bashing heads in. That was when Overalls said it.

"Ah feel ya, Buddy. It ain't easy waitin' during the calm before the storm." And Scout had asked what the h*ll he meant by that and Engie explained.

"Ya see, there's a saying that makes reference to the strange quiet that falls right before a real nasty storm strikes. Ya know what I'm talkin' about, don't cha? The air will warm up, and all the noise nature makes seems to simmer down some just before the thunder rolls in. Almost leads ya into a false sense of security before all hell breaks loose. But there's always a tell-tale sign lettin' ya know that danger's comin', ya just don't know when exactly. It happens with storms, tsunamis, tornados, basically all of nature's temper tantrums.

"Thunderstorms will make the air full of static that makes your hair stand on end. Tsunamis will pull the tides back something fierce, like the sea itself just up and left. Tornados will steal away the wind and leave ya with nothing but quiet and stagnant air. It's all a warning of what's to come, like right now with our fightin' and matches. Course, that's more metaphorical than the physical changes to the atmosphere and weather like the examples I gave. But ya can still feel it, that tension. The knowledge that something's aimin' to give ya a real beatin' but ya just don't know when."

At the time Scout brushed it aside, because he really wasn't in the mood to listen to Engie explain another one of his southern phrases. But the Bostonian didn't brush aside the man's wisdom now. And his phrase kept playing over and over in Scout's mind. The quiet before disaster struck. That horrible feeling that he was in deep s**t. That awful chill that chained itself to him when bad news was just around the corner. Like when he smashed the apartment's window while practicing his pitches and Ma was just about to come home after a long shift. Like when he was forced to wait outside the principal's office time and time again just for defending himself. Like when he watched from the corner with his brother Tommy as two policemen were talking to his Ma and makin' her cry about something called "Juvenile Court" and "Court orders". The tension. The waiting.

The Calm Before The Storm.

The roar of pounding rain did little to calm Scout's nerves as he sat there, watching through the downpour at the cabin. Night had fallen before he arrived, which, of course, only made things worse. It was dark and the rain made things even harder to see.

But it was still protecting him. And there was no guarantee that it would still be raining in the morning. He killed the engine and headlights, leaving him to be swallowed by the darkness. It was a two way street, if he couldn't see through the darkness, then neither could it. That fact didn't help much.

Taking a deep breath, Scout snuck a peek at the duffel bag on the passenger's seat. Moving his neck hurt. Everything hurt, honestly. Falling down two flights of stairs will do that to a person, bruising them so much they resemble a blueberry more than a man.

All of his supplies were in that bag or near it, everything he would need. He double checked, triple checked, before driving back here. It was all there. He just needed to man up and start.

And yet he made no move to leave the safety of the van.

C'mon, you can do this, ya did it yesterday you can do it now. Scout still didn't move, only staring at the large shadow that was the cabin. The moment he would step out would be the moment of no return. Maybe literally. The thought made his stomach churn.

The patter of rain filled the heavy atmosphere.

Chewing on his lip, Scout again turned to the duffel bag. He had prepared. He had gathered and even bought the things he would need from a store in the closest town about thirty miles away. He just. Needed. To move.

His hand twitched towards the bag. What if he was too late? He brought his hand back. What if the thing left and was looking somewhere else for him? He reached towards the bag. What if, what if, what if…

What ifs. They were flooding his head, spinning and darting around like dragonflies. When he brushed one aside, another took its place. Then another, and another. Over and over and over the events and questions played out. Which led to Scout thinking. And reminiscing. And then that would chip away at his fear and replace it with resolve until more what ifs took its place and started the cycle again.

Scout drummed his fingers against the wheel, biting his lip until it started hurting. He couldn't stay here forever, not moving or anything. Eventually, he'll have to get out and enter Landfall again. That, or he'll act like a little b***h for too long and the rain will stop and then he'll be caught and killed. Yeah, no, that wasn't going to happen. If he was going down, Scout would go down swinging.

But he wouldn't go down, because he was on a freaking mission! And nothing and nobody was taking him out till it was done! Because Scout had a plan, he was a planner. Scout was going to go in there, find Sniper, and get them out of there! Maybe even taking that freaking demon out for good! If it could even die…

Well, if it couldn't, Scout will make it wish it could.

The runner tore his hand from the steering wheel and snatched up the duffle bag and heaved it onto his shoulders. Ignoring his frantic pulse and instincts kicking down his brain's door screaming to drive off and save himself, the runner grabbed the door's handle and threw it open. He was ripping this bandaid off now.

Raindrops pelted him like bullets and shards of glass. It hurt, but it was a good kinda pain. The kind where you pull a nasty splinter out of your thumb. Or your nose burns just a bit after sneezing like a fog horn. Or the small thumping that came after pulling a baby tooth out along with a mouthful of blood.

With the freezing droplets coating him in water, Scout grabbed the other items he'd packed for the cause. A smaller handbag completely full and a crate of cheap alcohol. His hand shook as he tied the supplies to the larger backpack. He needed his hand free.

The combined weight was heavy, but he'd manage. Legs shaking from the cold and totally not his nerves, Scout grabbed his flashlight with working batteries and closed the van door. The runner shivered as he faced the wooden building.

His heart was pounding. Feet itching to bolt. Hand twitching on his flashlight. All the bravado Scout had built up had faded in an instant. The instant he stepped out from the vehicle's safety.

Come on, he already made it this far. No going back. Well, he was going back, but not like running away. No, he wasn't going to do that. He wasn't. Scout wanted to. Well, he didn't want to, it was freaking complicated. Stupid complicated thoughts and wants. But he wasn't going to run. Not again.

"C'mon, man. Nothing to be sc-, to be scared of." Scout murmured, teeth clenched from the cold. One foot at a time.

The runner stalked towards the cabin, eyes wide with scrutiny.

One freakin' foot at a time.

Darkness. Just suffocating darkness everywhere Scout looked when he entered that familiar cabin. It was untouched, just like the day before. And just like before, there stood the gateway to Hell itself. Stupid metal stairs with metal doors and freaking useless lights fixtures. The stupid thing would go off like an alarm bell if he wasn't careful.

It was also the last chance Scout had to turn back. He licked his chapped lips and stared down the descending steps. Like the freaking universe itself was giving him as many chances as possible to turn and walk away. To forget everything. To leave and keep himself safe.

To leave Sniper behind.

Yeah, no, that wasn't happening. Not again. Ma always told him and his brothers to never give in to peer pressure(she didn't count siblings being peers though), and the universe was no exception. In fact, screw the universe in particular! It had the audacity to create a horrible monster that had taken away his team and then had the balls to tell Scout to leave them behind again and again and again!? Well that wasn't happening again!

With a resolve that startled even him, Scout hitched the bag up and darted down the stairs as fast as he could without making a sound. Progress was slow but steady. Eventually the roar of the outside weather pilfered out into silence. The shadows cut sharper and his flashlight felt so small against them. The beam scanned the stairs and walls…

The walls had changed.

At first, everything was the same. Same grimy cement with painted blue lines and occasional old safety posters. But the longer Scout went, the more web-like it became.

Small white strings coated the walls, criss-crossing and spiraling around. Like a film that grew denser and denser. The air was heavy with a cold fog, like the breathy mist he emitted, and a strange smell that made Scout's nose wrinkle at a whiff. It was slightly citrusy and there were hints of what smelled like spoiled milk. But he couldn't smell blood or a decaying body and that was a good sign in his eyes.

And then, just like that, Scout reached Landfall's first level. A cave was what it looked like before. But now?

Scout was a fly who had stepped into a Trapdoor Spider's humble abode. That thought alone made his legs weak. First cockroaches, now spiders? What kind of sick, twisted world was this?

The urge to run straight back up those steps was greater than ever before and Scout had to lock his knees in order to ignore the itch to flee. Bugs, it wasn't a bug, that thing wasn't a bug and it wasn't a spider. It. It was just trying to get to him. All of this was just a, a facade to make Scout not go deeper. Yeah. The Counterfeit was just trying to get into his mind. And d*mn was it doing a good job of that!

Were the freaking webs glowing? Just a bit? Maybe?

Forcing his eyes away from the coated walls, Scout walked on. He made careful steps so as to not touch any of the stragglers crawling out from the walls. Who knows what they did. Scout wasn't going to find out.

Was it possible for your heart to shoot straight out of your chest if it beat too hard? Was starting to feel like it. But he had to focus. Step one, get in the freaking base, completed. Step two, find Sniper, shouldn't be too hard. Four levels, countless rooms, even more countless hallways and junk but it was whatever, didn't mean nothing. He was The Scout for a freaking reason.

The lone runner made it to the end of the hall and slid into the corridor leading to the main multi level staircase. So many freaking webs and strings and everything! And the smell kept getting worse and the stairs were covered in the strings too and his hand was shaking like no tomorrow and not keeping the flashlight still and he was having a hard time even breathing!-

Biting his tongue, hard, Scout forced himself down those steps. His lungs felt constricted. That wasn't good. But he was fine and Sniper will be fine once he finds him and they'll get out and live happily ever freaking after! Making his way past the second floor and onto the third, Scout stumbled into the level with the emergency exit.

It was dark, yes, but not like the levels above. There was less of it as some dull bulb looking things hung from the ceiling or clung to the walls, emitting a faint greenish-white glow. They couldn't be much bigger than his hand. What were they?

Scout didn't check them out. Instead, he slipped the bag off his shoulders and eased it and himself to the ground, careful as to not have the beer bottles clank on the floor. A quiet zipping sound and Scout pulled out a roll of duct tape and Sniper's kukri. In no time at all the runner's mutilated arm was brandishing a foot long blade. He swung it around cautiously, tightening it if it loosened before putting the tape away. What would this really do? Make him feel just a little bit safer. He took out a bright green handgun that weighed almost nothing and zipped the bag back up

Flashlight stored into his pocket, Scout hitched the bag onto his shoulders and cringed when the sound of glass was heard from inside it. There better not be anything broken in there the next time he opens it. Scout stood and forced himself to ignore the sparse glowing cocoons along the walls. At least he wouldn't need to waste his flashlight's battery on this level.

His walking slowed as his concentration was shifting from directions to his breathing. It was getting worse with each step further into the base. Further towards Sniper's last location. Scout needed to calm down. He needed to calm, calm himself, shut his brain off for a moment. Only it wasn't his brain, it was his lungs. They were hitching, getting caught. The taste of stale air on his tongue. That smell entered his nose but not the air. He couldn't. He couldn't-

Fine, Scout was fine! He was still alive and walking towards where he last saw Sniper. Where the marksman was left behind. Only a bit more. Really. No big deal.

Where was he? Scout was close. Yeah, he had to be! It was the corridor with the. With the three hallways. Where Sniper said he could smell pines. Scout took a deep breath-

He couldn't. Scout swallowed. He tried to. His throat wasn't working and his mouth was dry and his lungs wouldn't fill up right and how was that supposed to work that's not how lungs work he was fine minutes ago why was this happening now when he needed to find Sniper and make sure he was okay and say he was sorry and that he was acting like a huge freaking *sshole and and and and and.

The runner's ragged hitches of breath filled the corridors as Scout stumbled down the passageway towards the exit. It took a right, he took right. The passage went left, he dragged himself to the left. And just as he spotted that the cabinet Sniper had been trapped under had been thrown to the side, Scout collapsed in on himself.

Everything was freezing and burning and he couldn't move. Sniper wasn't here. He wasn't here and Scout couldn't move to find him. Scout was alone. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe! Scout was choking on air that he couldn't pull in.

Cold sweat was building on his forehead and chest. His head was swimming and his heart was beating his ribs into submission. His eyes were open but he wasn't seeing anything. It was all there but not in front of him. Fingers let go of whatever he was holding and scrambled for something solid. Something he could use. Use. Use to breathe and sit up and think.

Leather brushed his hand. Head filled with cotton and pulling Scout away from the base, the runner snatched the rough texture with lightning speed and gripped it as hard as he possibly could. And when the roughness grated on his palm and fingers, oxygen forcefully flooded his shaking body.

Inhale, exhale, breath in, breath out. Hold it in a bit and make sure it eased out slow. Real slow. The painful thumping in his chest was lessening. And his head and vision cleared.

The corridor came to view and Scout pushed himself onto his trembling knees. Okay, okay, what the **** was that!? Whatever that was had sent him to the cold floor. His limbs felt weak, even his hand which was still holding the leather thing. Scout, still panting from the mysterious choking, looked down at what he had in his hand.

It was Sniper's hat. It had been left forgotten. So it was impossible that the Aussie had freed himself and escaped. It took him. The b***h had dragged him away.

Scout took the hat and stuffed it into his bag before grabbing his forgotten weapon on the ground. As he did, the pale roots brushed against his hand and a freezing chill ran through it instantly. The runner shot up and glared at the strings.

He hadn't noticed just how many there were in his panicked state. Webs were everywhere, layered on thick and making the sharp hall look more like a tube. Far above at the end of the corridor was the webbed up exit. There was no getting out through that anymore. The gray of the walls were diluted with the ghostly glow and one small cocoon hung from the ceiling. The only vibrant color, if you could call it that, was the smeared trail of blood dragging itself down the corridor back the way Scout came.

Staring at the trail, the runner swallowed. How had he not seen that? He swung the bag over his shoulders and slipped back down the dim maze.

The blood stopped after a while but the strings didn't. Further into the depths of the base they led. The air was so dry down here it was making Scout's nose itch with a passion. Scratching it with the back of his hand, the lone Fortress member stared around at his surroundings. There had been no sign of life since he entered. No Sniper, no Counterfeit, not even the roaches. It was too quiet. His finger on the trigger twitched.

Scout sure could use a drink. Maybe it'd quell his stupid shakes and pulse. His head started hurting and he was tired. What a stupid, horrible place.

Turning left, Scout entered a much more vacant room than the ones before. It was big and there were crates everywhere. Storage room. Anything could hide in here. Freaking great. And the strings weren't in here so no glow. Mentally swearing, Scout placed the green pistol in his mouth and went to grab his flashlight.

Scout froze. His already pounding heart was now a race car's engine, adrenaline coursing through his already spiked veins. There was no way he'd heard that. There was no way he heard his name. The place was just getting to him, yeah, nothing up. He just needed to calm down. There was no sign, no sixth sense prickling at his mind.

But there it was again. Clearer, and distinct. No mistaking that verbal gravel.

Scout bolted towards the closest crate and launched himself behind it, cringing as the bag slammed against the ground. Too noisy, too loud! He pulled his legs towards him and slipped the backpack off as his name grew louder and louder. Spitting the weapon into his lap, Scout ripped the bag open.

"Scout?" That accented voice rang. His hand was frantic as he dug through the canvas bag. Everything he tried to grab slipped from his grasp.

"Scout!" It shouted and Scout's heart leapt to his throat. Spinning around, Scout met Sniper's grey eyes. A hatless Sniper who looked down at him with surprise. The runner's fingers brushed against something smooth and cool.

"Blimey, ya look like ya seen a ghost.-" Sniper barely had time to finish his sentence before a mason jar collided straight into his face, shattering and covering him in rainwater. Scout didn't hesitate. Snatching the bag up, Scout bolted from the room as a pained shout followed him. Swallowing down the building nausea, the runner zipped the bag shut, shoved his flashlight and pistol into his waistband, and grabbed a beer bottle tied to his pack. It slipped from his shaking fingers and broke on the floor.

"S**T!" Scout seethed. He reached for another.

"SCOUT!" His name filled the dark compound. Bottle in hand, he tucked it under his arm and he fished around in his jacket's pocket. The cold metal box grazed his nails.

Before he could grab it, something impossibly fast and solid slammed into his spine. The breath was knocked out of him along with the beer bottle as his bruised body hit the floor. The world, his head, and stomach churned. It felt like his brain had been knocked loose from the impact.

Stars danced in his vision as Scout raised himself onto his elbows. A powerful ringing enveloped the hall, clouding his head and blurring his vision. Blinking, time slowed as Scout laid eyes on a large crate lying to his left. It was broken and falling apart from the force it was thrown with.

"Bloody useless tyke…" That voice. It was muffled and staticky from the ringing in Scout's ears. He snapped his gaze up, blinding him for a split second before the dark shadow at the end of the hall came into view. It was walking towards him, slow and hunched.

Scout got to his knees and felt for the bottle he dropped. It didn't shatter, he'd have heard it. He felt something roll away from his fingers. A strange rumble accompanied the fading ringing. The bottle! He grabbed the bottle with the white cloth sticking out of it and pulled it close. A lone hand rummaged through his pocket and grabbed the lighter.

A click of the metal square in his only hand lit the passageway up in a small orange glow as the flame ignited. Scout could feel the eyes staring at him and the flame as he brought the lighter to the alcohol soaked cloth. He squinted from the sudden light.

The footsteps got closer, faster than before. Scout stuffed the lighter in his pocket and grabbed the bottle. He spun around. He aimed.

And lobbed the Molotov at Sniper.

It collided with the shadow. The sound of shattered glass. And the room bloomed into an aurora of smoke and flame.

The creature, screaming bloody murder, tore at his limbs and face to rid himself of the fire. Scout scurried to his feet, grabbed the bag, and bolted into the compound. Behind him, the gurgling howls of pain filled the fiery darkness.

Scout had been trudging along for at least fifteen minutes. The thing hadn't followed him. At least, he couldn't hear it anymore. Those screams were going to follow him till the day he died, which might actually be today if he wasn't careful. The thought quickened his stride.

Each room he passed, he checked, searching for his Australian teammate. All of them just had boxes or shelves full of canned food that looked so unappealing that even Soldier wouldn't touch them. Or maybe he would, Scout's head hurt too much to remember the patriot's exact traits.

His cleats clicked quietly against the ground. In his hand was the flashlight once more, scanning the area with flickering eyes. Where was he right now? Near the… near the Southwest main hall, right? The directions written on the walls weren't too helpful. How long could he search for? It had turned into Sniper. Unless that had been Sniper, but it couldn't be, right? No one could make those sounds.

But what if he could? He had to be mad at Scout, for being left behind because mad wouldn't hold a candle to what Scout would be if the roles were switched. And now he'd been hit in the face with glass, water, and a Molotov, so throwing a crate into Scout's back seemed a little justified. Oh, what if that was Sniper!? And he had just set his last teammate on fire and left him to burn to death!? Scout didn't stop to see what the water had done. It sounded just like him.

What if it was Sniper?

Scout stopped, and although his feet were unmoving, his mind was racing faster than a fighter jet. There really was only one way to find out, which would be turning around and heading back to see if there was a charred skeleton waiting for him or the furious burn victim of Scout's hasty decision. That, or it wasn't Sniper and the thing was hunting him down for revenge and to do whatever it did to his team. A choice had to be made, and both options risked sending Scout to the pearly gates.

Chewing on his lip, squinting into the darkness, Scout forced himself to stop and think about his plan of action. Soon the tapping of toes and small mumbles filled the hall. Then, a sigh, and Scout swore miserably. He wasn't going back.

The BLU runner jogged deeper into the base to find his lost teammate. Room after room after room he checked. Scout even opened some large crates in the hopes of finding Sniper like a kid on Christmas morning. No such luck. And, despite the constant stream of reassurances he told himself, Scout's hope was fading and fading fast. Quite the opposite of his unease because the longer he went without hearing anything, seeing anything or even smelling something other than that curled milk odor, Scout began to think he made the wrong choice.

What if that really had been Sniper? Scout whined. He actually whined at the notion. It was quiet, and his voice cracked at the end. All Scout knew was that the Sniper he ignited hadn't reappeared in the entire hour of searching. Has it been an hour? It felt like it. Scout needed a break, just to pause and rethink. Rethink what he was even doing back in this dank smelly hellhole. So many questions, so many what ifs.

Up ahead were more crossroads leading to more storage rooms. Not bothering to look at the faded signs hidden beneath the strings, Scout made his way towards the right one. It had the faintest of glows coming from the doorway. In there Scout wouldn't need to use his flashlight; the beam was hurting his eyes from the bright contrast.

Rubbing his eyes after shutting off the tool and slipping it into his pants' pocket, Scout shuffled into the room. Once again, a storage room filled with worthless boxes and crates that towered over him in teetering pillars. This base could screw right off, worthless piece of-

The runner's mind blanked as he spotted the light source. The pounding heart and restlessness pilfered out as Scout stared at the huge gleaming pod. It hung from the low ceiling and rested face to face with Scout. It was so much bigger than the others he found. Those were small and dull, he could hardly even call them light sources. But this one was him sized, if not bigger, and emitted a ghostly aura. When Scout drew closer, he could see it was made of the same strings as before except wider and slightly transparent. Transparent enough so that Scout could see something in it, but he couldn't make out the details. It was just a dim black shape.

Common sense was forgotten as Scout reached out and touched the surface. It numbed his fingertips and felt slick with liquid. But when Scout pulled his hand away, it was as dry as before, just a bit clammy. What was it? Was… was it an egg sack? Was that thing actually some spider-bug-demon-monster? He wasn't sure if he wanted to find out.

Scout walked around the capsule, eyeing it with something. It wasn't fear but it definitely wasn't awe. With his Kukri extension, Scout poked the sack. It had little give and after pushing harder when the wall couldn't be cut with a simple jab, the cocoon ripped.

The smell that filled the base rushed out with such a force it left Scout gagging and reeling. It was far more potent than before. With burning eyes and an even worse nose, Scout looked up and peered into the hole he made. The size of the hole made no difference when the runner spotted its contents.

A yellow marksman patch surrounded by sky blue fabric.

"Holy s**t…"

The scraping of boxes and anything Scout could find filled the room. One after the other Scout placed them until a flimsy staircase reached the ceiling. Wasting no time, Scout leapt on his creation and began sawing the cocoon off the roof. The knife made quick work of the hard glue and his furious swinging only added to it. With one last strike, the glowing cocoon fell to the ground with a scratchy thump.

Scout jumped off the building and grabbed the hole he made. With a fierce tug, the walls ripped apart and revealed Sniper. The real one. And Scout paled.

The man was limp with ashen features and face gaunt. What looked like hundreds of the white strings were embedded deep into his pale skin. And those wide unblinking eyes. They didn't look right. They looked like they were made of frosted glass with his irises dull and sanded.

"Oh **** me. Snipes, Snipah, can ya hear me, man?" Scout couldn't stop himself, words were spilling out faster than his thoughts. Sniper didn't move, didn't even look at him. Was he? Scout grabbed one of his wrists and felt for a pulse. For a horrible moment, he felt nothing. Just cold skin against his own. But then motion beneath his fingers and Scout let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Okay, okay, Snipah, I dunno if you can hear me or not. H*ll, if you're even conscious, I've heard of people sleeping with eyes open, but guess what? I'm back! I'm back and I'm getting ya outta here, man! Soon as ya start moving, I give ya some weapons or whatever ya need and then we'll leave and maybe burn this place to the ground too." Sniper didn't move. Scout sat there and waited for the older man to speak, to do anything other than just lying there motionless. He opened his mouth to talk again when a distant voice rang out.

"Oh s**t." Scout hissed before grabbing Sniper's arm and dragging him out of the cocoon. He tried to, at least, before tugging did nothing and Sniper was still stuck in the capsule. Scout ripped the walls further as the voice rang out again. The glue on the ceiling was holding Sniper's legs in place; one looked really bad with swelling and dried blood. Scout snapped his head around, looking for a hiding place.

"Scout." A booming voice called. Scout jumped to his feet, began to dart, and bent back down to grab Sniper's cell. A firm grip later and the runner dragged the dimming pod through the maze of towering crates and shelves. Heavy was an understatement of its weight. Speaking of Heavy.

"You cannot hide, cowards!" The Russian thundered. Scout gulped and pulled harder. A sharp corner bumped into his back. Looking behind, he spotted a Mann Co. crate the size of a shed. Perfect. The sound of weighty steps was almost in the room.

For only a minute, Scout released the cocoon to grab the lip of the crate's side. He shoved the blade into the wood and pushed. It snapped off with surprising ease. Whipping around, Scout grabbed Sniper and dragged him into the dark crate before grabbing the side and pulling it back up just as the footsteps stopped.

Darkness enveloped the cramped space as the Scout held the lid in place. The footsteps were muffled through the wood but the runner could make out the lumbering moving further and further though the room. His lungs were constricting again. Scout held his breath.

Words filtered through the planks. Accents and gravel and foreign words. Too many words, too many voices. His vision flickered, making Scout jolt. It made no noise. Thankfully. And as Scout's heart slowed, the voices faded too.

He sat there for a while longer, listening for more noise. And some did come in the form of a weighty dragging and something resembling snarls. That faded far quicker than the last and Scout finally relaxed.

"I," he swallowed, his voice rough with dryness, "I think it's gone. Okay, I'll- I'll try to get you outta that thing." Scout turned to analyze his companion and turned on his flashlight. Sniper still hadn't moved, staring directly at the wall with only the faint rising of his chest staying off Scout's immediate urge to declare the man dead. He pulled himself closer and got a better look at the webs trapping Sniper. Scout squinted at them, licking his lips in thought. Then, he took the pistol still stuck to his waistband from before and shot a stream of water onto the hard glue trapping Sniper's legs.

When the pale shell didn't change, Scout raised his knife arm to chop it off. But then a small sizzle noise rose when he sprayed the fibers again and a thin line of smoke or something came with it. Scout pulled the trigger again and again, watching the glue dissolve under the water's contact. After a point, Scout just took one of his rain jars and poured it over the white mess. And in a minute, Sniper's legs were free.

The strings dissolved slightly too but only the parts connected to the base. There were still countless webs embedded in the marksman's skin. Scout touched one and that same cold numbness bloomed on his fingertips.

"Alright, uh. Aw man, I need to grab these, don't I?" Scout said, mostly to himself. Sniper was as immobile as ever. "Okay, aw crap. Look, uh, just, freakin', just don't, uh, die, when I do, okay?" Scout looked over his friend's limp form, deciding. There was a string right on the side of Sniper's jaw. He'd start there.

Taking the icy fiber into his hand, Scout gently pulled. It didn't seem to do much so he pulled slightly harder. It gave. The runner pulled and saw the white string grow pink and slick the further it came out. He tried to ignore the blood. But then Sniper moved.

It was a twitch. Right below the web's entrance, Scout saw a muscle seize. Then Sniper's entire body began to contract and shudder like a seizure.

"Oh ****! Aw crap, aw crap, crap, crap!" Scout's voice was shrill as he yanked the string. It shot out of Sniper and left only a pinprick of blood. Sniper stopped shaking. Well, the guy didn't die, at least. Scout made for another string.

For the better half of an hour Scout sat there pulling the fibers from Sniper's skin. Each one led to the same seizing and small pinprick of blood. He'd just gotten to Sniper's left leg when he heard the marksman clear his throat. It was dry, coarse, and sounded painful. Cringing from the sound, Scout turned to look at his teammate and wished he hadn't.

Sniper was finally looking at him. Or, trying to. Those weird frosted eyes were unfocused and faded. But there was no mistaking the blaze behind them. Scout turned away. As he focused on removing the last strings, Scout heard Sniper testing his voice out, every crackle and groan made the runner tense up in anticipation. It really shouldn't have been a surprise when the first thing Sniper said was "You ran.", but the cold rage still froze Scout in his tracks.

"Well, I came back." Was the only thing Scout could reply with. He took hold of another string.

"You ran." Sniper spat, dragging himself up to lean against the crate's wall. "You left me to die, you little b*****d." Scout's first instinct was to bare his teeth and retort. He didn't. Instead he watched as his teammate slumped against the wood, grimacing from pain and anger. Color was coming back to his face with the tiny punctures smearing when Sniper brought up a hand to rub his eyes and cheek. His nose was crooked.

"What happened to your fleece?"

"Does it look like I know!?" Sniper glared, bringing his hand down and staring at it. "Where are we?"

"Landfall."

"No! What are- bugger, where?" Sniper started rubbing his eyes again, harder. Scout frowned.

"In, uh, in a crate? Cause we had to hide?" The way the marksman looked up at nothing in particular sent an unnerving prickling feeling down Scout's spine. He was glaring, then spoke.

"I can't bloody see." A cold pit opened in Scout's chest.

"Whaddaya freakin' mean ya can't see? Your eyes are open-"

"I know they're open, you little snake, they've been open for, hhhhgggg- bugger!" Sniper cursed, running a shaking hand through his hair. "How long?" The harsh beam of the flashlight cut deep shadows into Sniper's face, making his anger all the worse. "How. Long."

"Bout," Scout paused under the Australian's scorn, "about eighteen hours, maybe? At- at least."

"At least…" Sniper mirrored, ghostly eyes widening. Then his expression changed, and Scout had to look away.

"You left me down here, not knowing if I was going to die or not, forced to keep my eyes open, for eighteen hours?" Sniper's voice betrayed no emotion. At first. But by the end it had risen into something that made Scout's jaw tighten and bite his tongue.

"It's not like I wanted to ," He mumbled under that fiery gaze, untying the handbag from the large duffel bag, "I don't just go leaving pals to be killed as a pastime." He heard what sounded like a scoff. "So ya seriously can't see nothing?"

"Only shapes and shadows," Sniper rasped, scratching at a trail of holes on his arm. "I haven't been able to blink in over eighteen bloody hours." Scout blew a sharp exhale through his nose. Sniper had a right to be mad. Sure, yes, Scout would be too if the roles were reversed. He kept telling himself that as he opened the handbag.

"Couldn't sleep, couldn't feel a bloody thing, couldn't do anything," the marksman spoke, once again rubbing his eyes with a blood stained hand. "Eighteen hours… at least…"

"Well, now ya can, hooray." Scout mumbled. He said it quietly. Not quiet enough, apparently.

"You ran with your tail between your legs, you don't get to be snappish with me. You're not the one who was hanging with these things worming into your bloody skin and makin' ya relive what happened over and over again!" Sniper said while pulling out the few remaining strings left in him.

"Well, now you're free! Because I chose to come back!" Scout snarled, his own blaze burning too hot to smother. "I didn't have to , I told you that if you got you're stupid *ss in trouble, I wasn't risking my own neck to save it! That's what I said! What, did ya think I was freakin' bluffing?"

"I thought you were being a little d***head who was throwing a temper tantrum because I didn't let you sleep the day away!"

"Shuddup, you *sshole!" The younger man bellowed, "I had a d*mn good reason not wanting to come down here, you're the one who pushed it! You're the d**khead who wouldn't listen to reason! You did this to yourself, ain't my fault ya got stuck under that cabinet, h*ll, probably deserved what happened; serves ya right for not freakin' listening to only guy who knows what's what! Betcha won't make that mistake again, huh? Maybe I should've left ya hanging longer; ya lucky I came back at all." The words, once they were spat from Scout's mouth, left a sour aftertaste. One that made him grimace. A taste that was followed by a silence that made Scout grimace even harder. He looked up.

Sniper wasn't looking at him anymore. Not with a glare, at least, but something else. Something different, and it made Scout's mouth dry. It. It was hollow. Just hollow. He tried to keep Sniper's frosted gaze, but couldn't.

He looked away.

"...If," Scout started after a moment, with his voice ringing distant and numb, "if ya need to sleep or whatever, I'll keep watch. And I brought some stuff, some things, y'know." He pushed the handbag over to Sniper, who took it without a word. "It's food and water. I got more water too, for fighting, and mollys for emergencies, but I'm down. I'm down two cause one broke and, and I had to use one. On. On you, I mean, it looked like you, not that it. That it was you cause I knew it wasn't, it's a horrible pretender…" His voice pilfered out. There was no more strength behind it, just that sour aftertaste. It was a hollow gesture. Sniper opened the handbag and took out a water bottle.

"...I'm not sleeping down here, too dangerous." He finally said after downing the entire bottle. His voice was just like Scout's. "I can last till we get out."

"Oh, right, yeah, that's a good point." Scout said. The furious heat that had engulfed the crate not two minutes ago was now freezing him to the ground. And he couldn't stand it.

Anger, he could deal with, it was something he was a bit of an expert in. The red hot kind, not whatever this was. Fiery ire would make people spill out and just blurt out what they were really thinking. What made them mad and why. And that helped Scout a lot, for either egging someone on even more, or actually helping whoever opened up.

This, however, this was the opposite. The cold kind made people shut up harder, made them terse and not actually tell Scout what was up. It was just, not good. It made everyone upset, no fun to be had. And right now it felt like the entire crate had been turned into a huge ice cube. An ice cube that was getting colder by the second.

"I also brought some of those smaller medkits," Scout added, pulling open the duffel bag. He pushed aside the jars and other supplies. "I know I packed some- why is your freakin' rifle still in here, no wonder it was so freakin' heavy." He reached past the incredibly weighty rifle and grabbed the light blue containers. "Bingo."

Only two. Those wouldn't heal something as nasty as a broken leg. He handed Sniper the magic-like medicine anyway.

It took the marksman a moment to actually pinpoint where Scout's hand was to take the bottles, but when he did he grabbed them and popped them open. A faint purple glow seeped out from the caps, followed by the distinct light show of medibeam. And all Scout could do was stare at the soft aura infusing itself into Sniper's skin.

The hundreds of holes in his body healed with no scabbing to be seen. A faint pop and the crooked bridge of Sniper's nose was back to it's straight self. And Scout watched in repressed relief as the horrible fog of Sniper's eyes faded as his grey irises sharpened back into detail. The marksman blinked for a bit, before looking down at his leg. It had eased the swelling down, but it was obviously still busted.

"Do ya think you can walk?" Scout asked. Sniper didn't respond right away, instead opting to brace himself against the wall and push himself to stand. The runner took the handbag, stuffed it into the duffel bag, and swung it over his shoulders. His companion was turning pale again but rasped a quick "Yeah, let's go." before squaring his shoulders and limping towards the crate's entrance. He didn't look back.

"Yeah, okay. Wonder what was stored in this thing anyway?" Scout shone the flashlight around the "small" box. The light glinted off of dark metal and Scout's eyes widened.

"No, please, take your bloody time, it's not like we're in mortal danger or anything."

"Hey, man, back off! I just found something real sweet!" Scout hissed as he exited the crate with his flashlight tucked under his arm and something wooden in his lone hand. Sniper wasn't impressed.

"Why?"

"Why not?" Scout retorted, swinging a Boston Basher side to side. "I don't have to use your machete anymore."

"Every single time you use those you always end up hurting- y'know what?" Sniper threw up his hands in defeat and started limping away, "fine, have it. I'm not sticking around to talk just be caught again." With the abrupt end to the conversation, Scout was left standing silent, watching Sniper walk on.

"Well," Scout began, trotting up to meet up with Sniper, "I can still defend us with it; there's room in the sack for it to fit. Any weapon's a good weapon, and," he swallowed, "and just, y'know, it could help…" There was no reason to continue. Talking was bound to bring any unwanted freaks to find them, and Sniper wasn't listening anyway.

Scout took the lead. With the flashlight back in hand after packing away the club, the runner crept around corners and led them through the webbed base. If Sniper thought or felt anything to Landfall's unplanned interior redesign, he wasn't making it known. In fact, he never said a word. The only noise the marksman made was the occasional grunt and sharp inhale from a bad step.

Those were the only noises until they reached the second level, where the Mess Hall and dorms were held. Then, and although they were quiet, Scout could make out the obvious panting from behind. He stopped, firstly to scan the area and listen for The Counterfeit, and secondly to give Sniper a hand. When after a silent minute of listening nothing was heard, Scout turned around and walked up to his companion.

Sniper once again said nothing, only meeting Scout's eyes to acknowledge him before looking back down. His skin was glistening with sweat, and his face had returned to it's ashen state. Without a word, Scout stood at his right side, grabbed his arm, and lifted Sniper's weight off of his injured leg. Instantly the older man was leaning against Scout like a crutch. A moment of readjustment and they soon were making progress through the base.

Quiet. All of it was too quiet. There was that same tension from before, only different, and somehow worse. The longer Scout marched lockstep with the silent Sniper, the worse it got. A chord being wound too tight, that's what this was. The combined weight of the bag filled with water, weapons, and now Sniper was keeping Scout's speed agonizingly slow. His ankle wasn't a bother anymore, he should be running and fighting and not thinking about these kinds of things. Like that sour taste that was building with each heavy limp and making his stomach churn with something that wasn't nausea. He still wanted to puke, though, just to get rid of that taste that made him want to be buried alive. The taste grew unbearable each time Scout heard Sniper hiss in pain from stepping with his bad leg.

The image of an unfinished portrait filled his head.

"Hey, I…" Scout swallowed, voice raspy from neglect, "I really wasn't thinking straight. Back there, I, I mean. When I said you des- y'know, that was. That was really ****ed up of me to say. I, I didn't really mean it. Like, well, I did, at the time, cause I was mad and… I didn't mean it. I- I shouldn't have said it." That taste eased back. But the quiet remained. Chewing on his cheek, Scout stole a glance at his companion. Even through the harsh darkness of the compound, Scout could see the faint outlines of Sniper's eyes on him.

They looked away. Scout nearly gagged from the rotten bitterness that filled his throat. The quiet remained.

It took far longer than Scout would've liked to reach the first level again. He hadn't complained. He wanted to, very badly, but any side glance at Sniper was enough to bite his tongue. He could wait a bit longer before moaning about this stupid place. And Scout had to listen for that thing. It still hadn't shown up again, and that was, in fact, not okay. Because it could be planning an ambush, or waiting for them at the entrance, only toying with them. It could be watching and jump out from the darkness and rip them to shreds and take Sniper away again and pin him to the ground and pull his hair and rip his skin and-

His lungs were hitching again. If Sniper noticed, he didn't say anything. Maybe that was a good thing. Probably meant he knew Scout would be fine. The idea was better than the quiet. Anything was better than that.

The pair limped along a narrow hall. They'd just passed the armory, if Scout's sense of direction was correct, which it was, no weird breathing problems or monsters were able to stifle that. His legs were burning. Sniper's were probably too. Worse, even. And they still had that hell of a staircase left to climb. Scout mumbled a fresh string of curses.

There was still no sign of the creature. How had it not found them yet? They took a left. Maybe it relied on sound? That made sense. They passed three doorways and took a right. Some predators only had sound to use, like bats, or elephants. Were elephants a predator? They had to be, they were huge, like bears, except African bears, and big noses. Maybe they relied on smell? Did the Counterfeit smell things? Could it track them through smell? Sniper and him would be screwed. Another left turn, then straight into the main hall.

The staircase. At the very end of the hall, was the staircase. Scout hitched the bag up and pulled Sniper up too. Both had been slipping. His calves were burning even worse but the finish line was in sight. A final burst of stamina would get them out.

"Alright, let's go." Scout said. Sniper remained silent but Scout could feel the man's shoulders roll back and the muscles in his arm tense up. The runner did the same and after their pace quickened into a brisk walk.

Ears piqued for any alien sound, Scout hitched Sniper up again when the marksman stumbled. Only a grunt before they reached the stairs. Scout took the first step and immediately felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

What's the catch? This was too easy, far easier than last time. What was the catch? Shouldn't they be chased right now by the thing, like in those stories Demo liked to tell during Campfire Fridays, or in those horror movies he would sometimes watch with Medic? This was too easy!

"Come on." A gruff, exhausted voice peeled Scout away from his worries. Shaking the thoughts away, Scout helped Sniper ascend up the steps. Whatever the cause for this simplicity was, Scout wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Step by grueling step they climbed. Sniper's subtle panting had grown into shaking and strangled sounds that made Scout cringe. He wasn't fairing much better. He probably should have eaten something today or last night.

"We- we can stop for a sec, let ya, let ya catch your breath."

"No." Sniper rasped, "we aren't stopping."

"Come on, man, you're- you're barely standing. You aren't standing, I'm the guy keeping ya head above water. Let's just-"

"We aren't stopping." The tone left no room for debate. Scowling, Scout tightened his grip on Sniper's wrist and hauled them up the steps. If Sniper didn't want to stop, fine, they weren't stopping. Scout tried to ignore his and Sniper's obvious inaudible protests to the sudden burst of speed. It felt like his legs were about to fall off.

Was that just his clanky steps or something else he heard?

Anything it might have been was drowned out by the sound of rain. They reached the top of the steps and into the cabin. Scout looked around and found no signs of sunlight peeking through. It was still nighttime and it was still raining.

The short walk from the stairs to the door felt like a hundred miles. They arrived and Sniper reached out and pushed open the door. Sheets of rain were slicing through the late evening air. And about thirty feet away stood the van. The wonderfully stupid cramped camper van.

"You should probably go to sleep," Scout said once they reached the van. "I can take the wheel for a while-"

"No." Sniper managed to say while leaning with his hands against the van's wall. "You are not. You are not driving my van."

"But you're about to pass out, and you need more medkits!" Scout reasoned. "There's tons of the stuff in the camper that'll heal your leg, and I'm a great driver!"

"If there's so many," Sniper turned to look Scout dead in the eye, "Why did you only bring two?"

"I needed room for the water jars and the like…" Sniper didn't reply, only turning back to the van's wall. He stood there silent once again and Scout was left to fidget and wait for a response. For a moment, Scout thought the Aussie had fallen asleep in the pouring rain. That is, until Sniper suddenly made for the driver's seat.

"We're going. Put your stuff in the back and get in. I'm not staying here a second longer." He said with a hollow voice as he opened the driver's side and got in. Scout stood as silent as The Sniper. Then he walked over to the back, ripping off the kukri as he did.

The taste of rot was on the runner's tongue as he entered the dark van.

Chapter Text

A morning should be quiet. Key word being should. Because it wasn't. Not a bit.

At first, it was. Sniper had been sleeping, because he wasn't able to do so in over a full 26 hours by the time they'd found a campsite to stay at. It was dreamless, which was honestly a blessing. But then, of course, the door had slammed shut and jolted Sniper into the waking world.

Now he was laying there, a full ten or so minutes later, having shoved his head into his pillow trying to fall back asleep. So far, no such luck, probably due to the migraine he'd woken up with. Brilliant.

Sniper groaned and flopped onto his side, glaring at the door. The kid just had to slam the bloody thing. He shoved his face back into his pillow. At least it was dark. And warm. Warmth that was not carrying into his hands. He held his hands close to his chest, rubbing away their chilly itchiness. Bloody circulation problems.

Well, at least he could feel sleep coming back-

SLAM! "Aw s**t, oops."

Never-bloody-mind.

Sniper pushed his face further into the pillow, attempting to smother either the ruckus Scout was currently making or himself. Either one would be nice right about now. Anything to stop the noise or his pounding skull.

The runner was doing something, and Sniper hoped it was getting back into his little makeshift bed so that he could fall back asleep. But then he heard the benches being folded back into benches so that hope was doused quickly. The soft shuffle of socks on the floor and the weighty thuds of the table being brought down were followed by some more whispered swearing. Then silence. Beautiful, fantastic silence. Sniper felt his eyelids grow heavy.

"Sniper?" The marksman inhaled sharply.

"Yo, Snipes." Sniper threw the blanket over his head to muffle the Bostonian's voice. "C'mon man, it's like nine already, we gotta get going." He growled loud enough for Scout to hear and get the message. But apparently the message was lost in translation.

"Do ya need caffeine or something? I can make some of that gross plain coffee ya like." Scout's voice grew quiet as he walked over to what Sniper assumed was his coffee machine. Sure enough, the sound of brewing filled the small camper after a quiet moment. Just more unwanted sounds. Sniper's groan was muffled by the downy cushion before he shuffled further towards the back wall, away from the noise. Was it really too much to ask for another five minutes of sleep?

A clink of glass against wood. "Alright, come get it while it's hot!" Scout's obnoxious voice sang out. Sniper responded with another hoarse groan and curled tighter in on himself. The blanket got tangled around his legs. He tried kicking them looser. It didn't work very well.

"Dude, get out of the freakin' bed!"

"Go kick rocks," Sniper's muffled growl responded. A very audible sigh from behind him. Encroaching footsteps.

"Get up."

"Piss off."

"Get. Up." Sniper went with the tried and true method of pushing his hand out of the blanket and flipping Scout off before pulling it back in with verbal bristling following after it. Sniper could feel the heat waves coming off of the American. He smiled to himself.

Then the blanket was ripped away.

Sniper shot up, mind filled with over a thousand different ways to kill an annoying loudmouth. A mind that also forgot just how low the ceiling was. A dull slam filled the camper tailed by Scout's barking laughter and Sniper flopped right back down rubbing his forehead and cursing.

"You moron!" Scout managed to say between laughs. "Aw man, you should have seen your freakin' face, holy crap!"

"I'm going to kill you."

"As if! Look, I could've done way worse ta get your *ss outta bed, really you should be thanking me-" Scout trailed off as Sniper dropped down from the bed and stood at his full height, "uh, oh hey, your leg's all better. See, told ya the medkits would be enough-"

"I suggest getting out of strangling distance." Sniper hissed. Scout's twitchy grin faltered.

"Oh, uh, yeah, uh, I'll let ya get dressed, see ya." He said before bolting out the camper and slamming the door behind him. Sniper stood watching the door for a second before snatching up the steaming mug of coffee and downing it like a shot.

The scalding liquid burnt his tongue and throat on the way down but he'd had worse. After chugging the dark brew, Sniper sat down at the now table with his face in his hands. He stifled a yawn.

Exhaustion clung to his joints and mind. It was hard to move and harder to think. Sleeping had done nothing to recharge him and it brought along this splitting headache. And getting this angry this early wasn't doing Sniper any favors. Another yawn was stifled.

Sniper groaned for what had to be the fourth or fifth time this morning. A new record, he was sure of it. And Scout was once again the cause.

Scout. The marksman's cold hands clenched into fists. No, this, this was ridiculous. He shouldn't be allowing himself to get this frustrated over the little piker. Even if the kid deserved good flogging- stop. Sniper pushed the heel of his hands into his eyes and sighed. He was getting like this because he was tired. He was tired because of what happened yesterday or technically a day ago. That happened because Scout left him behind. Sniper's jaw tightened.

Sneaking a glance from behind his cold hands, Sniper eyed the half empty coffee pot. He yawned, and stood to grab another mug full of caffeine. Blinking away the watery sleepiness, Sniper filled his cup again and downed the drink even faster than last time. A feat that would cause most to either receive third degree burn in their esophagus or have a coughing fit. For Sniper, he got jack squat in return for burning his taste buds. Yes, it took a bit for caffeine to actually do its purpose but it still left the marksman scowling down into his empty cup. And his hands were still freezing. Itchy too.

Sniper, having placed his glassware to the side, slumped back into his seat. With his hands now free once again, he ran them through his hair. When was the last time he showered? At least a good three days by now. There was a building near the entrance to the campsite that had showers, he could probably take one there. Later. Once, once he got his bearings. Sniper dropped his hands to the table and rested his head on them.

Bloody h*ll he was tired.

"Yo, Sniper." A voice said from the left, dragging Sniper out from his slumber. Something tapped his shoulder and Sniper buried his head further into his arms, cutting off the unwanted sound. Another tap, stronger than the last, and Sniper groaned.

"Dude, come on, ya can't sleep the d*mn day away!" Scout huffed.

"Watch me," Sniper replied with his head still cushioned by his arms. Another tap, then a light shaking as Scout grabbed his shoulder.

"Why are you so freakin' tired, you drank the entire freakin' pot!" Sniper shrugged, never bothering to open his eyes due to the incredible weight of his eyelids. That is until Scout delivered a nasty right hook right into his shoulder blade.

"What's the bloody matter with you!?" Sniper snapped before a yawn that threatened to dislocate his jaw interrupted his ire.

"What's the matter with you!?" Scout glared. "Seriously man, it's, like, ten in the morning now, and you've had an entire freakin' pot of coffee and you're still crashing!"

"And what's it to you if I decide to sleep longer than yourself?" Sniper stood and matched Scout's glare with his own, rolling his now sore shoulder back. "Not everyone is born a spastic mongrel who can't sit still to save his hide like yourself, kiddo."

"I ain't a freakin' kid," Scout grit his teeth, "and it ain't my fault your lanky *ss is made for camping like a coward and couldn't run fast enough ta not get trapped under a freakin' cabinet like a moron!" Sniper's hands twitched.

And a moment later they were entangled in Scout's shirt having lifted the younger man up with surprising ease till he was at eye level with the Australian. Scout's face was only inches away from his own and because of the short distance, Sniper could see all the small details in the runner's startled eyes.

"I'm not in the bloody mood to argue with your gremlin *rse right now," Sniper's voice was low as he spoke, "but if you keep prying and poking like you are now, you're going to get a lot more than just some nasty words thrown back." Scout only stared back, eyes flicking ever so slightly. Then, he glared.

"If you wanna beat my *ss, at least wait till we have our plan figured out." The younger man said, jabbing a finger into Sniper's chest.

"What plan?"

"Oh, I don't freakin' know, just the plan we've been following for over a week now!" Scout snapped. "Landfall was a complete failure and we still don't know what the ****'s going on, we ain't got a Medigun and communication's a bust. So what's the plan now, pally?" Sniper didn't speak. Instead, his jaw tightened along with his fists, so much so that he could feel his nails digging into his palms from beneath the fabric. And the world was starting to turn a concerning shade of red.

What happened next was a clouded crimson mess. No recollection of what he did or said, just the blistering anger that caused it. One moment he was still holding Scout up and the next he was outside with a spare change of clothes in his hands. What?

The marksman stopped and stood still. The day was overcast with a warm gust blowing through the firs surrounding the campsite. There was a faint smell of bark dust in the air, a dry, camp-like scent that managed to smother some of the red from Sniper's sight. And thankfully there was no one else around. They were probably all still in the sparse tents and trailers around the small forest area eating breakfast. Something he should probably be doing. But then why was he outside?

Sniper furrowed his brows and stared down at the clothes in his hands. There was no way he came out here to change. Was it the.. The things? The, the showers, that's it. That must be it, yeah. A shower would be bloody fantastic right about now. The Australian set off towards the washrooms, scratching away at his left hand till it turned red.

There wasn't much to do. Sniper's camper was way too freaking small for anything cardio. Not that Scout really needed to, he already had his morning run and even got to see some hot chicks standing around the bathrooms chatting. But at least doing some jumping jacks or sit ups or jogging or jump rope would be something to do! Yeah, he could go outside, but he already did that twice.

Scout could draw. But he wasn't feeling it so that was a no go. What if he tried to fall back asleep like Sniper? That jerk did it, why couldn't he? Course, then when Sniper eventually comes back he'll scream about Scout being a hippo-crate or something along those lines. Maybe even hit him. He frowned at that.

The marksman was still mad. Okay, Scout hated that fact but what the heck could he do that he already didn't try? He apologized, helped find a campsite, made sure the guy got his leg healed right, let him have the bed, and made him some of that gross plain coffee! Scout had done everything he could but Sniper was still acting like a b***h! The runner groaned and finally got off from the floor where Sniper had thrown him. The guy was strong, he'd give him that. And if he hadn't caught Scout off guard, Scout could've pushed back! Sniper played dirty, it wasn't Scout's fault he felt a bit off. And, honestly, he was feelin' off for a while.

Maybe Sniper was going through the same thing. Maybe he was off too.

At that, Scout looked towards the little kitchen area to his left. Sniper had said to "not touch anything" and to "make a new plan if you're so bloody adamant on one." which Scout was going to since the freaking Aussie was throwing a fit. And the guys said he was the immature one, ha! What a funny freaking joke. But the first thing he had said might just be ignored as an idea formed in Scout's noggin.

He walked the short distance to the "kitchen". Peering through the few cupboards, Scout searched for what he could use, or even make. Sniper was mad at him. Scout was mad at Sniper. And if what happened earlier was foreshadowing for the entire day, well, Scout could bite the bullet for once. He could be mature, even if the others didn't think he could, especially Spy and Heavy. At least Heavy's pretty cool to hang with, unlike the frog.

As Scout scrounged through the camper, he found what he was looking for: peanut butter. Funny, he could have sworn Sniper had an allergy or something. Maybe it was Medic? Soldier? Scout couldn't remember, but it apparently wasn't Sniper. Now, did the guy have any bananas…?

Minutes passed as the runner perfected his masterpiece of culinary craftsmanship. There weren't any bananas to be found, unfortunately, but they'd probably be all brown anyway. So the next best thing was looking for jelly. Scout managed to find some blackberry jam that tastes great when he tried some(just to know it was up to code, it was only a spoonful anyway) only after finding some gross vegetable jelly thing that smelled sour called Vegemite(there was no way in h*ll he'd taste that). And so, two beautiful sandwiches stood before him with generous helpings of jam and peanut butter. The camper also hadn't burst into flames the moment Scout touched a knife so that was a plus in his books.

He really only planned on making one for Sniper as a truce, but the freaking blackberries stole his heart and taste buds so now there were two, one for Sniper and one for himself. The thought of eating food made his mouth water. When was the last time he ate something? He… neglected to yesterday. And now his stomach was roaring at him to stuff the sandwich down his gullet. Who was he to say no?

With a quick hand, Scout snatched up his portion and bit into it. To anyone else, it would have been a pretty average PB&J, but to Scout, it was like heaven itself opened up and delivered him a sandwich fit for God himself. One second, there was a sandwich. The next, there was none with only the small smears of jam on Scout's cheeks as evidence it had ever existed in the first place. And by the time he realized what had happened, both sandwiches were nothing but empty plates and bread crumbs. That was when the van's door opened.

Sniper entered the camper with a fresh change of clothes and damp hair that was sticking up like porcupine quills. And if Scout wasn't frozen in place, he probably would have made that comparison out loud. But he didn't. He only watched as Sniper closed the door behind him and turned to meet Scout's eyes.

Neither said a word for a moment with Scout hovering over two obvious plates and Sniper standing still while running a hand through his wet hair. An unwanted warmth crept through Scout's face. Sniper's already cold eyes grew colder.

"I thought I told you not to touch anything." He said. Scout swallowed, the tart taste of blackberries on his tongue.

"Well, yeah," Scout admitted, unable to look away, "but ya can't exactly make yourself breakfast without touching anything. Plus, I'm kinda forced ta touch stuff, like the floor cause a gravity, and the air cause I need ta breath and s**t…" His ramble died before it had a chance to live as a harsh glare shot his way killed all the words he wanted to say.

"Right," Sniper looked down at the plates, "let me guess, you needed two plates to make whatever you had, right?"

"No, well, I mean, kinda…" Scout mumbled, finding his socks far more interesting than Sniper's irritation. "I made two of them, one for you and me. Sandwiches, I mean. Cause I thought I was being a bit of a d**k ta you earlier and wanted ta make up for it, I guess." Sniper didn't respond, content to watch Scout dig his own grave. The runner squirmed. "And I didn't mean ta eat yours, it. It just sorta happened after I ate mine cause. I mean, I wasn't really paying attention, I guess. Honest, I didn't mean it, I just wasn't really thinking-"

"Yeah," Sniper spoke, the burn of his stare cutting straight through Scout. The Bostonian squirmed more under the icy spotlight. "Ya don't tend to think at all, do you?"

The guilt ridden nausea that followed made Scout wish he never made the d*mn sandwiches.

It was around noon when Sniper finally decided that it was time to leave. Before the pair had exited the van again, Sniper put on his hat, made himself more coffee, and drank it all straight from the pot like an absolute barbarian. And if Scout wasn't both upset and mad at the guy, he would've been impressed. He was impressed, but there was no way he was making that known to the Australian. Not now, at least. After that was when Sniper told Scout the game plan.

"Sawmill!" Scout bellowed, drawing the eyes of the few campers actually outside their tents and trailers, "Your great idea is going back ta freakin' Sawmill!?"

"Pipe down, will ya!?" Sniper hissed over his shoulder as Scout shut the camper door behind them. "Crikey. And it's the best option we've got so unless you can think of a better one or another base that just so happens to be nearby, we're sticking to it." The marksman started towards the van's driver seat. Scout followed him like a loyal puppy, slipping on the jacket he used yesterday.

"What about Snakewater?"

"Scout, we were stationed there once in the four years we've worked for the Mann brothers, do you honestly think you can remember the way?"

"Double Cross?" Scout asked, walking over to the passenger side of the van.

"In New Mexico."

"Teufort?"

"Also New Mexico."

"Coldfront!?"

"That's in bloody Alaska!" Sniper slipped into the driver seat. "And we can't just drive through another country to find a base when there's one we can use only a four days drive from here."

"I don't freakin' care!" Scout spat, slumping into his own seat, "Better than headed back ta Sawmill. Anything's better than that!"

"Landfall would disagree with ya." Sniper said while starting the ignition.

"That one doesn't count."

"Well, no one's forcing you to come along," The marksman leaned his arm on the open window, staring at Scout with a bored expression. "You've got a pair of working legs so if you're so keen on Coldfront, you can get out of my van and walk there. Or you can sit there and shut your yapper while I drive us back to Sawmill. Like you said, ya ain't a kid, you can make your own decisions, and if you decide that you want to leave, go ahead."

"Are you serious?" Scout asked, staring slack jawed at Sniper. The man raised an eyebrow. "I ain't walking- ugh, look, there's gotta be another base or something around here that isn't Landfall or Sawmill, I can drive if you ain't wanting ta-" He was cut off by a barking laugh.

"Like I'm going let you take the wheel of my van." Sniper said while pulling out of the campsite.

"I did yesterday, and the day before yesterday!" Scout retorted, rolling down his own window to let the bark dust air in. "I know how ta drive just fine!"

"Yeah, after you left me behind." At that, Scout slouched into his seat, watching them drive up to the campsite's exit. The van slowed to a stop. Neither spoke as they watched the occasional car drive past on the forested highway. The silence was only balanced by the faint scratching sound of Scout picking at his arm's bandages.

"...If you really don't want to go back there, I'm not going to force you to," Sniper began, watching the road with a hollow look, "But I'm not changing my mind about this either. You can get out now, I let ya grab what you need, we'll part ways, and end this on a neutral note. Or you can stay in that seat and we head back to Sawmill to get in contact with Miss Pauling or The Administrator. Your choice."

Scout sat there in rare silence, looking at his companion. Sniper wasn't looking at him, but by the drumming of his fingers on the steering wheel, he could tell the marksman was listening. The guy was right, Scout didn't have to stay here. He could open this door and walk right out. Leave this all behind. Leave and forget about everything.

That oh-so familiar urge to run flooded his veins. Run away from it all. Away from Sniper, away from this situation, away from everything keeping him chained. Back to Boston, back to his family, back to the way everything was before taking the job.

"Well," Sniper turned to him after a moment, "What's it going to be, Scout?"

"Yeah, sorry, man," Scout leaned back in his seat with arms crossed, "ya can't get rid of me that easily. I'm staying. Sides, someone's gotta keep an eye out for that freakin' demon, and I'm pretty sure I'll lose my job if I left if we didn't lose them already."

His friend only nodded as the van started forwards and onto the highway. They drove in almost silence with the only sound being the rushing wind through the open windows. The wind filled the small compartment, ruffling Scout's hair and sending the brim of Sniper's hat shaking like mad. Along with the wind came that smoky scent of campfires and forest trees. The question was if that was carried from the campsite or a forest fire. Scout stuck his head out the window, squinting at the greyish-green blurs known as trees. They didn't look dead or burnt so the fire thing was probably not the cause.

From within the car Scout could hear Sniper opening up the glove compartment. Weird, what was even in it? Why was it called the glove compartment anyway when all the cars he was in only ever had brochures and other paper garbage? Did people store gloves in them when cars were first invented? When were cars invented? The runner only pondered away as the wind roared in his ears and forced his eyes into slits. The feeling made him smile.

He pulled his head back in the car and leaned back into his seat. Of course, every good thing had a bad thing to go along with it, and now the car was filled with chilly overcast air. It was already making Scout's nose itch. Good thing he put on the hoodie again. Shuffling deeper into the thick fabric, Scout shoved his hands- hand into the packets and brushed against something oddly smooth and cold.

"The heck?" He asked himself, feeling around the strange object. When had he grabbed this? It was thin, and felt fragile. It even had some joint thingies that swung like legs but stopped at a certain point. Oh. Oh.

"Yo, Snipes, do ya remember when ya shot that freakin' monster and sent us flying into the ground?" The marksman nodded, sparing a glance Scout's way. "Well, uh, I think you lost something when ya did-"

"If this ends up being some cheap shot or innuendo, I'm not in the mood."

"You're never in the mood but no, I'm being serious here, ya dropped something when we crashed and I forgot I grabbed it." Sniper looked skeptical. "Honest!"

"Well, what is it?"

"These." In Scout's hand were the marksman's aviators. Sniper took, Scout would swear to his dying day, the greatest double take of all time. And he couldn't help but grin when the dumbfounded sharpshooter took them and put them on with what was the closest thing the runner had seen to a smile since Landfall. But that grin faltered when his companion's head turned just enough for Scout to spot his lit cigarette.

"Why the h*ll are ya smoking?" He blurted out. Sniper stole a glance towards him.

"Because I wanted to?" Sniper replied, eyes back on the road.

"But why? Smoking's Spy's thing, not yours! It's freakin' gross, put it out."

"One, it was Spy's thing. And two, I'm not putting it out, both windows are open."

"Like that helps at all." Scout scowled, both at Sniper's insensitivity, and his replacement of Scout's "is" with "was".

"Why do ya even care? Just stick your head back out the window," Sniper sneered, his grip on the wheel tightening.

"Because it's freakin' bad for you? Duh! And it smells horrible." Scout glared at the marksman who was pointedly ignoring him. Jerk. An involuntary shiver went up Scout's spine. Freaking cold air. As he shimmied further into his jacket, he kept his eyes on Sniper. The cold air wasn't affecting him like it was Scout. Did he even notice it?

As the pair drove on, Scout did end up sticking his head out the window. It was then he realized that he never put on his seat belt. And that Sniper never pointed that out. Once he buckled his seat belt, Scout turned back to the quiet, smoking Sniper who couldn't feel the cold. The marksman's left hand was covered in pink scratch marks.

The day went on without further incident. There were no clear cut memories Scout could recall; It all melted together. Except for when Sniper had drifted into the second lane and nearly got them into a car crash because he fell at the wheel even after "Two freakin' pots of freakin' coffee, you complete dumb*ss!" After that outburst that led to a nasty fight, the third or so that day, Sniper hardly said a word unless Scout did something he didn't like or was stating something that needed to be done. Another campsite was found, they ate, they slept(or tried to at least, neither of them got more than four hours) and were on the road again with no sign of The Counterfeit freak.

This day was a blur too. One moment Scout and Sniper were talking, well, he was talking, Sniper was just there, and eating breakfast and the next the sun was already setting and Scout was left wondering where the hours had gone.

Recollection was coming slowly as he stared out the passenger window towards the last licks of sunlight. It was still overcast, more so than yesterday. And the air was filled with static which meant a storm.

"I don't think we're gonna find a campsite or something anytime soon, pal." Scout sighed. Sniper didn't say anything, but Scout knew he was thinking the same from the way his eyes darted around the endless trees surrounding them.

"I think you're right." Sniper finally admitted. They'd been driving for so long and Scout's feet were itching for some movement. Hadn't even stopped for lunch, not that he was hungry anyway. But Sniper must be, unless he wasn't also. Scout frowned.

"It's getting dark."

"Really? Huh, couldn't tell." Sniper's sarcasm did not go unnoticed as Scout sat up with a deeper scowl.

"Well, we can't drive the entire night away, or at least you can't. So what's the plan?" The marksman drummed his fingers along the wheel in thought. His left ones were slightly paler than the right, Scout observed.

"Okay, there's got to be an off shoot from the highway. If we can find one, we'll take it and set up camp there."

"Alright," Scout yawned, "and what if we can't?" Sniper didn't respond. He didn't have to in fact. For right as Scout asked, the road rounded a corner, and in the far distance through the darkness, the Bostonian could spot a dirt path to the left of the road.

"Huh, cool."

By the time they reached it, the headlights were turned on. A much needed development as the dirt road was thin and worn down. Even with the high beams Scout had to squint to see the shambled mess of a pathway. It was long too.

"Crikey, how long is this thing?" Scout's thoughts exactly, except a little less "Crikey" and a little more-

Ka-Thunck! His head slammed against the ceiling as they drove over a pothole. Same thing happened to Sniper, who was now gripping the wheel with an iron grasp and swearing away the pain.

"Hey, maybe we should just stop here. Far enough away from the road, and it don't look like anyone's been down here for a while so we probably won't be bothered all that much."

"Yeah," Sniper, for the second time today, agreed, "and I'm not aiming to meet the bloke who owns this road if he lets it get this bad. His house's probably in the same shape, if there is one." With that, the pair pulled off to the side and finally parked.

Scout was the first one out, itching to release some pent up energy, while Sniper dragged himself out with a yawn. There was a slight clearing, nothing too special, right next to the van, big enough for a group of two to five people if they were roasting hotdogs. Behind him, Scout heard Sniper mumble something and the sound of the camper being opened and closed followed after. The runner stood and stretched, feeling his back and shoulders pop. He really wasn't meant for small spaces.

Night had fallen, even if it was only about eight or something in the evening. And as expected there were no stars or moon. It was all covered with heavy clouds and thick tree branches. So it was dark. Real dark. Not even the headlights were on. Anything could be out there in the woods. Scout swallowed.

"Hey, Sniper," he said when he entered the van. The sharpshooter was just sitting at the table staring at nothing when Scout opened the door. But when he called his name, Sniper's eyes sharpened and flicked to the runner. Oooookay.

"Hey, so I was out there, yeah, and there's this cool little clearin' thing and it's, like, the perfect size for roasting something. So I was wondering if-"

"No."

"Ya didn't even let me finish-"

"Because you're going to say that you want to have a campfire out there or something along those lines and no, Scout, we ain't doing it."

"Aw c'mon!" Scout whined as Sniper rolled his tired eyes, "It's, like, the perfect place for a campfire and- hold it, I ain't finished!" Sniper shut his mouth and gestured for Scout to continue with obvious boredom. "I got more reasons than just a freakin' happy little roast fest.

"Listen, alright? So that thing hates water, yeah? Anything like water. Problem is, it ain't raining, not yet at least. Storm's not dropping yet. But it also hates fire; everything does, cept Pyro. Ya following yet? If it sees the fire, it'll probably stay the h*ll away from us like it does with water so by making a campfire, not only are we able ta make smores and stay warm, that freak won't mess with us."

"So let me get this straight," Sniper began, hands up to pause Scout's talking, "you want to make a campfire to keep the bloody spook away, even though there's been no proof of it following us? And to make smores?"

"Hey, you don't know if it's been following us, it could be! It was last time and you were saying the exact same thing!"

"I haven't seen a single thing-"

"Which is why I stuck around," Scout pointed out, "You don't even know what ta look for, I do! And I feel it's a pretty safe bet ta assume the worst from that shapeshifter. And plus," Scout paused for dramatic effect, looking Sniper dead in the eye, "we still got those four mollys I didn't use. Think about it, man, drinking beer by a roasting campfire, I can't think of a better way ta spend the evening than that ." Boom. Perfect. Scout could literally see the gears in Sniper's mind turn. Oh yeah, they were doing this.

"...Fine, I could use a drink anyway."

"Yes! Yeah, let's do thi-"

"You-" Sniper stood and snatched a flashlight from the counter- "can go searching for firewood. Dry stuff, not too big. Go." Taking the flashlight, Scout saluted and made for the door. Not before also grabbing his jacket resting on the bench seat. As he stepped outside, the runner slipped the hoodie on and with a click, the forest was alight.

For a place surrounded by trees, you'd think there would be more dead branches and sticks to find. But everywhere Scout looked there was nothing but ferns and dead needles covering the ground. After a good ten minutes of searching, the only thing Scout had to show for it was about ten medium sized sticks and a couple bigger ones. Didn't ya need something else called tinder to actually start the thing? What the heck was the stuff? Ah, who cares.

Scout started back towards the van. By the time he reached it, Sniper had already set up the campsite. The middle had been cleared of all flammable material, leaving a wide circle of dark earth. There were some foldable chairs placed down and Sniper was currently wrestling with what looked like a little barrel.

"What the h*ll is that thing?" Scout asked as he emerged from the trees.

"It's a keg," Sniper grunted, not bothering to look up at the runner, "That beer you got is the cheap stuff, I'm gonna need something a lot stronger to get anywhere near tipsy."

"But what is it?" Scout dropped all the firewood in the dark circle.

"Ever heard of Moonshine?" The marksman replied as he finally got the keg's stubborn cork out. Scout's eyes widened.

"You're a hillbilly?"

"No."

"But moonshine's-"

"Homemade alcohol. And if you want some, you're going to have to ask nicely." Ask nicely? Seriously? Who did Sniper think he was, a preschool teacher?

"Fine," Scout groaned, "Now let's get this fire going already!"

It didn't take long for a small campfire to begin once Sniper started on it. Scout tried to first, but he apparently kept blowing too hard even though fires need air to grow. Wasn't his fault the stupid little smoking cinders weren't strong enough to withstand his airflow. But when the fire became an actual fire, that was when the mood finally lightened.

Sniper didn't have any hotdogs to roast, but he did have marshmallows and cookies so Scout was left making some chocolate chip smores for dinner while Sniper just leaned back and watched. Or maybe he fell asleep, Scout couldn't tell with his hat being over his eyes and all that.

"Ay, so how many you want?" He asked the immobile Australian. "Two, three?"

"One's fine." Sniper replied, voice muffled by his hat. Scout lifted the crispy brown mellow away from the flames and sandwiched it between two of the small cookies. Beautiful. Placing the treat on a plate, he got up from his own chair and walked over to Sniper's. The marksman took it with a nod of thanks.

When Scout got back to his own chair, he looked up at the sky. It had gotten way darker than earlier. The clouds weren't just overcast anymore, they had shapes. Like the deep billowing smoke of house fires or volcanoes. Weren't all mountains volcanoes? That's what Demo had said. Just old volcanoes that didn't erupt anymore except for the ones that still do.

"Y'know," Scout started, taking hold of the beer bottle sitting to his right, "this is kinda like back before we got attacked. Like, with the guys and just hanging out on Fridays after matches thanking our lucky stars we survived another day around a fire. Engie would cook some ribs or burger with some cool looking grill thing he made. Soldier always had some new animal he found names General Nibbles and s**t like that . And after everything Demo would start telling those ghost stories of his. Man, that guy tells great stories." He took a swing of his drink. Man, the stuff tasted awful. Sniper was right, this stuff is cheap!

"Oh yeah, you lot would have barbecues those days." Sniper said while taking his third shot of moonshine. The guy brought his own shot glass out shaped like a koala. What a freaking stereotype.

"You were there too sometimes," Scout added, taking another hearty swig, "like that time you, Spy, and Medic all got into a fist fight after… uh, crap, what was it?" Sniper just looked confused. "You know, one of you did something that set everything off. It left all of ya with bloody noses and banned from using the roasting sticks for, like, three months."

"...I honestly don't remember." Sniper confessed, looking down at his glass even more confused. "The only thing I do is that I accidentally kicked the doc in the face and broke his glasses. I was aiming for Spy, just so happens that the b*****d was slippery." He sighed. When the sharpshooter didn't say anything more, Scout only drank from his beer and downed the rest of it. Even if the stuff was terrible, it warmed him up something fierce. Scout turned back to the sky.

"When do ya think it'll rain?"

"Don't know."

"What time is it?"

"Bout ten fifteen." Oh, it was later than he thought. Scout shivered and grabbed his second bottle. His fingers tingled when he did.

Sniper hadn't touched his share, content to drink solely from his own keg. Curiosity piqued.

"Yo, could I try some of that?" He pointed towards the small barrel. It really was a barrel why not just called it a small barrel what was the use of keg? Sniper looked at him.

"...if you can swallow it." he said before gesturing for Scout. The runner leapt to his feet, sat back down from his vision blacking out, and got back up to get his prize. He snatched his empty bottle and trotted up to Sniper, who took the bottle and tipped the keg into its neck. The liquid that poured out and slightly over was clear and kinda white. Was it carbonated? Who the h*ll carbonates alcohol? Sniper handed the bottle back and looked on as Scout took a mighty swig from it.

Oh. Oh no. Oh **** his entire life, what is this s**t!? It burned like nothing before. Worse than peppers, worse than Jamey's homemade hot sauce hell spawn, worse than actually getting burned. It was like swallowing acid except that acid was mixed with gasoline and Pyro just set both on fire, it BURNED! Pain! Unimaginable, freaking pain-

"Smooth," Scout said casually, tears running down his cheeks. Sniper hummed.

"I bet." he replied as the runner wiped his face off. Then the sharpshooter sat there and downed another shot without a word. Scout felt an eye twitch.

Another thirty minutes like that passed, with Scout making comments or asking questions with Sniper sometimes answering. The guy was probably real tired since it was like, maybe freaking 3 AM or some s**t. Numbers were hard. Did Sniper know how hard numbers were?

"Diioyou know just how flip-fli- freakin', yeah, freapin' hard math is?" Scout asked. Sniper didn't respond, but that was okay, Scout knew he felt the same. There was a connection there. In the air, telephonic where he could read minds. Yeah, Sniper was a pal and pal's knew how hard numbers were.

"Cause it'z like. It'z like, a symbol, on a sheet, right? Nnnnnthen your freapin' teacher, like da b***h she is, asks ya ta, ta combine another flikin' symbol, and somehow thinks that'll make a new symbol like it means somethin'." His lament was so heartfelt he was making himself sad that he was sad in the past. Past him was stupid and couldn't look at symbols right and that made him sad. Sad, so sad.

"I have no idea what we're talking about right now."

"Math cause. Cause yes. Reading's sucks too! Letters. Letters are hard, even harder with, with, wha- scpaing, ya feel me? Yeah, course ya do, you're a best." Sniper was looking at him funny and then turned to look at his glass funny. He was talking to himself with something like "whoi da bloooooody heck ain't this freakin' thing workin roighhht?" or something- maybe he said it like that, Scout couldn't remember.

"Engie was tryin' ta teach me da symboles. Y'know." Scout scratched at his stupid arm. The funny feeling in his head was going away, aw man. "Before they disappeared, he and Demonman, Demo 'm mean, were helpin' me. I don't think they knew what they were doing though. At least they tried, y'know? I can read medium lines now. I hope they're okay."

The crackling of the fire was far too loud and Scout didn't like that. He looked up at his friend to see him staring back with a less funny expression and more of a not funny one.

"Scout," he started, setting his glass down, "they're gone. The team's dead."

"No they're not," Scout replied matter-o-factly, "they ain't dead." He heard Sniper sigh and mutter something.

"Yes, they are. I know you miss them but delusions-"

"They aren't dead." Scout glared. The buzz in his head was taking a backseat now.

"Listen, lad, we were both there when it happened. I saw no one else there but you alive and walking around. Everything points to us being the last ones alive and I think it's time you accept that."

"Oh yeah, everything pointss, huh?" Scout shot to his feet, ignoring the queasiness it caused. "I think the fact that I found you not dead and very much alive sayss otherwise!"

"And just how long do you think I'd be able to stay that way like that?" Sniper countered. "It's been over a week, nearly two by now since then, and if they were stuck like me, they would have died from dehydration long before now!"

"And how the, the flying **** do you know that, huh?" Scout snarled, staring daggers down at the Australian. "We don't know what that thing does or why it does or even what it is! The only way you'd know that for certain is if I let you hang there for days!"

"Oh for crying out loud, will you calm down?" Sniper finally stood, taking his turn to glare down at Scout. "It's a safe bet to assume the others are gone. There were no human sized pods, no limbs, no bodies, nothing!" A raindrop landed on Scout's shoulder. "What else could they be but dead?"

"Alive!" Scout shouted.

"Where!?" Sniper shouted back.

"Anywhere! But they are not dead! That thing turned into you once it caught ya, and it could already turn into all the others guys before that! So it has to have them somewhere!"

"Sure, hanging as corpses after dying from dehydration."

"Ya ain't even willing ta freapin' listen or anything! They're our friends, Sniper!"

The marksman stopped and looked at Scout. It was a look that made the runner even more frustrated. It was the kinda look adults gave whenever they thought they knew more than you. The rain was coming down now, and the sounds around them, the crackling fire, the raindrops hitting it, and the creaking trees, masked almost everything else. Everything except what Sniper said.

"They aren't our friends, Scout."

"...What?"

It was like a bucket of cold water was splashed on him. That amazing buzz was gone, leaving a thumping, confused mess of a mind.

"What do you freakin' mean they ain't our friends?" Scout asked, more baffled than anything.

"They were our coworkers," Sniper explained, "men in our line of work don't make friends with the people they might have to kill a day later."

"Then what about Soldier and Demo? Medic and Heavy? Engie and Pyro? You tryin' ta tell me they all ain't friends?"

"They aren't our friends."

"I dunno what ****in' thing you're smoking, pal, but newsflash, they are!"

"Yours, maybe." The marksman mumbled as he took his hat and shook the rain off of it. Scout stared at him, eyes wide. Realization hit him like a freight train. He asked the question.

"Am I your friend?" The answer was immediate.

"No."

Rain was falling harder now as Scout watched Sniper kick the fire out. He watched. Then glared. Then hissed out "So even after everything our sorry *sses went through, you don't even think we're pals?"

"Well considering the fact that you left me to die only three days ago, you'd be a pretty lousy friend." Sniper sneered, eyes far colder than usual behind his shades.

"As if you know anything about being a good friend," Scout snapped back, fist curled tight, "you said it yourself, you don't have any friends on the team!"

"By choice, really, since I'm smart enough to not get attached to every bloody bloke I meet."

"And that's probably the reason why you didn't give a rat's *ss about our team 'dying', huh?" The runner growled. "Thinking you're better than them just cause a your backwards way of thinking? Always looking out for number one, screw everyone else, am I right?"

"At least I actually think, which is more than you can say for yourself."

"Alright," Scout stomped up to Sniper, eyes burning with ire, "who the **** do you think you are!? Ya say I don't think, pally, that I'm just a freakin' idiot. Well how bout I tell ya what I think then, mate. I think you're ****in' loser! I think you're a stupid, sad waste a space who'd do the world a favor by ****in' off and never coming back. And no one would miss ya if ya killed yourself because you're a pathetic hermit who doesn't have anyone ta care for you! So how about you go ****in' do it already, you subhuman piece of s**t!" Scout shoved the marksman away and had no time to react when Sniper decked him in the jaw.

He collided into the ground with a painful thud. The world spun and rain peppered his face. Scout managed to look up from the earth and spotted Sniper above him. Oh. Playing dirty? Sniper didn't know the meaning of the word. With lightning speed, Scout pushed himself up and swept Sniper's feet from under him with a nasty kick. The sharpshooter fell face first into the hard earth.

The two wrestled in the quickly forming mud with Scout trying to land punches and Sniper shoving the runner into the dirt. When Sniper had grabbed Scout's elbow, he ripped it away and slammed it straight back into Sniper's face. Then Scout was thrown to the ground and the world kept flickering and his face was warm with wetness. He once again swept Sniper's feet and the sharpshooter landed right on a nasty looking branch. A crack was heard and Sniper swore. Loudly. That didn't stop Scout from tackling him though.

His head was clouded. Sniper was pinned beneath him, glasses askew and bloody. Scout raised his fist.

Then Sniper brought his leg up and kicked Scout right in his stomach with his pointed boot.

One moment Scout was in the open, pouring air, the next he was on the ground coughing and heaving from the blow. Pain. It was everywhere. In his back, in his face, crawling up his burning throat until it filled his mouth with copper. Then he coughed and red peppered the ground.

He tried to stand and fell to his knees instantly. The world kept spinning and copper kept filling his mouth. Scout turned his head to look at his rival.

Sniper was gone. The sound of the van's door slamming shut cut through the rain. The rain was drenching him, cutting through the hoodie's fabric and down to his skin.

The van's door slammed again, and this time Scout could hear the sound of footsteps coming towards him. Closer, and closer. He looked up-

Click

-and into the Machina's barrel.

Time stopped. The rain poured, and Scout could only look up at the sharpshooter's silhouette. The van's faint light was behind him, leaving the runner unable to see Sniper's face.

"...Sniper?" Scout's voice was soaked in blood. Sniper didn't move. Neither did the rifle pointed at Scout's face. A faint ding of a fully charged shot filled the empty airways.

"Five." Sniper's low growl followed. Scout's eyes widened.

"Four." He stumbled to his feet, slipping on their blood.

"Three." Scout turned and ran into the dark forest.

The marksman didn't bother finishing his countdown. Instead, he watched as the runner fled into the trees. He stood there, waiting, with frostbitten eyes aimed towards the woods. And when Scout did not reappear, he strapped his rifle to his back, turned, and entered his home, all the while scratching his left hand.

Chapter Text

Why did it have to be Sniper? Out of all the people who had to survive, why oh why did it have to be that man? Not that Miss Pauling hated him, no, quite the opposite, Sniper was someone who she shared a great deal in common with, mostly their views on not making their work a personal matter. Unfortunately they also shared the same views on privacy and hiding one's tracks so well that they could essentially no longer exist. A view which was coming back to bite Miss Pauling in the rear as she entered her car once again defeated.

This was the third campsite she stopped at and still no sign of the two mercenaries she was looking for. Campsites were awful when it came to gaining information because the main users of such places usually didn't stay long enough for the assistant to ask questions. Of course she still tried, anyone could be a witness or have some clues and Miss Pauling was nothing if not thorough. It was still a pain to go through considering the one man who actually did recognize Sniper's van was a drug user who also thought bears were an extraterrestrial species whose home planet was Jupiter and who came to Earth to become "less stupider"(his words).

That was two campsites ago and Miss Pauling still hasn't found a single other witness. At least she was on the right track, even if the directions she got were from a crackhead. As she sat down, she rested her head against the steering wheel, groaning. She was tired. This whole mess was taking away all her attention and she hadn't dug a grave in over three days now, a new record. Not that she'd be able to at the moment even if she had a body, she still hadn't restocked on Quicklime. She groaned again and reached for the espresso she bought in the nearest town.

The taste was awful, really it was. Miss Pauling normally loved coffee, that's what she always said. Thing is that what she viewed as coffee was far different than what others thought she would think coffee was. She couldn't stand plain roasts, there had to be at least something in it to offset the overpowering bitterness, be it cream or sugar. Honestly, her favorite version were lattes with milk foam and hints of caramel but old, run down diners seem only to serve espressos which was what she was now drinking with an irritated expression. Or maybe it was disgust. The taste of black was on her tongue.

BEEP!

"MMRH!" Miss Pauling inhaled the scalding liquid from shock. As she was sent into a coughing fit, she snatched up the brick-like phone resting on her passenger seat. It was blaring and through watery eyes Miss Pauling pressed the answer button.

"Yes, Administrator?" She managed to say before another cough wracked her small frame.

"Did you take a drink when I was about to call you again?" The feminine drawl asked through the small speaker. Miss Pauling nodded before remembering that it was a phone and answered "Yes."

"This is the third time I've had to remind you not to do that, Miss Pauling, I shouldn't have to at all." The Administrator chastised.

"I know, I'm sorry, it won't happen again." Miss Pauling wheezed as her coughing finally settled down.

"Hm," The woman on the other side didn't sound convinced but she continued anyway. "There have been some recent developments regarding this mysterious situation that you should be made aware of."

"Really? What are they?"

"Well, given the person in question that brought them to my attention, I think it's best for you to hear it from them." Miss Pauling frowned. That didn't sound good. From The Administrator's tone, she could already tell her superior was annoyed. And if she was annoyed, she typically killed the person who annoyed her if they were a messenger. But the particular messenger was apparently more important than some nameless relay, and there was only one person who could make The Administrator that irritated and live through it.

"Wait, Ma'am, you don't mean-"

"I'm transferring our associate's call to yours so that he can relay all the information you need." And with that, The Administrator's voice cut out with a beep and soon after, a thunderous accent filled the airways and Miss Pauling had to hold the phone an arms length away to save her ear drums.

"-And I've already made reservations, so believe me when I say, Helen, you will love their-"

"Good afternoon, Mister Hale." Miss Pauling interrupted. The voice paused only for a millisecond before responding.

"Ah! Well if it isn't you!... Who are you?"

"Miss Pauling, sir. Uh, Helen's personal assistant. We've met. Many times."

"AH! Miss Poppyseed, how're you this fine evening? Don't' answer that, I don't really care, this is just a formality because we're business partners if only technically! And why are you on Helen's private line?"

"She told me that you have some information regarding our missing mercenaries that I should know." Miss Pauling said while rubbing her eyes, "And it's 'Pauling', not 'Poppyseed'."

"Ah, that! Well, Miss Parachute, you see, since I'm the C.E.O of Mann Co., I have to know all the ins and outs of my factories around the globe, which means my employees and assistants such as Bidwell inform me of whenever they're doing good, doing bad, or are currently being protested against by swarms of hippies!"

"Yes, I remember you telling me this whenever we meet to arrange weapon purchases, which is often. And it's 'Pauling', Mister Hale."

"-And during the last boring business meeting, Bidwell pulled me aside and told me that three of my factories in the Pacific Northwest were having some problems that weren't caused by hippies!"

"What kind of problems?" Miss Pauling asked, sitting straighter at the news.

"Problems like all their employees disappearing into thin air and the factory floors being covered head to toe in silly string. Right now I have my top men researching these vandalisms and if it turns out that it was a unionization, everyone of them will be fired, and if it's something else, I head down there myself to beat the snot outta whatever caused this!"

"Wait, so all the workers are gone without a trace?" Miss Pauling asked, "how many work there? Are there any adjacent buildings or businesses that have been attacked? Is it just Mann Co. facilities and if so, that would mean it's a string of sabotage and that what happened to BLU team wasn't an accident and whatever this is might also be targeting RED-"

"Slow down, Miss Pinestart! I'm not one you should be asking, that would be Bidwell, he's the one I sent to supervise the research. I've got a multi-billion dollar company to run and a Tibetan tiger to wrestle!" In the background Miss Pauling could hear a roar followed by several screams, "She's getting antsy for a fight!"

"Well, since you're obviously busy, could you put Mister Bidwell on the phone so he could answer my questions?"

"Absolutely not! I never let anyone use my personal phone, he has his own. And even if I wanted to, he's not here, he's on the ground and will let me know whatever new thing pops up, whether that be competing companies I'll need to fight or ninja hippies that I'll need to fight!" Another roar interrupted the burly Australian and he laughed, "Well, this sheila is giving my employees a run for their money so I'll be signing off now. Oh, and Miss Prophet, you're restricted from going over and searching around in my factories, this is a private matter for Mann Co., not that little Fortress thing you're connected with! Now, c'mere you striped sissy, I've got a fist with your name on- Shhhhththth." The call disconnected into static and Miss Pauling was left imagining the fight that was currently happening. She reached over to grab her espresso before thinking better of it and waiting in silence, watching the overcast sky. She didn't need to wait long.

"Do I need to make clear what your new assignment is?" The Administrator's voice cut back in with a beep.

"No, Ma'am, I understand."

"Good, do not fail me." And with that, Miss Pauling was left alone in the small purple car. After a moment, she reached over and took a sip of coffee. Conflicted. Most assignments the Administrator gives her doesn't make her feel like this. But this wasn't most assignments.

She sighed, and started the engine. Sorry Sniper, sorry Scout, but she had news orders, and she wasn't in a position to refuse.

"Just," Miss Pauling started before a blush crept on her face. Talking to herself would help no one, so she finished her thought silently as she pulled onto the highway and towards the closest Mann Co. Factory.

Just stay alive, and stay together, so I can find you both easier once I come back.

Plip, plip, plip.

Cold. Cold was the only thing Scout felt at the moment. That, and the rhythmic raindrops falling on his eyelid. He shut them harder until stars danced in the blackness of his closed eyes, but it didn't help.

Plip, plip, plip.

Groaning awake, the runner squinted into the morning light. Although his vision was blurred with sleepiness and water, Scout could make out the dark shapes of trees all around him. The sky was ashen gray with overcast clouds. The storm had passed during the night. And he was so cold.

Scout rolled onto his back and shuddered at the sudden dampness that flooded it. Okay, so he was on the ground. The muddy, puddle covered ground. He groaned again, voice rough from neglect. His damp clothes were leeches, clinging to his skin and sucking away his warmth. No wonder he was so cold. Scout shivered and sneezed.

He then swore through gritted teeth as pain rocketed through his system. Scout crumbled in on himself, forming a tight ball to cover his aching midriff. What… What the heck happened? It was too hard to think, too foggy. Forcing himself to uncurl, Scout grabbed his wet shirt with his hand-

And spotted the blood and bile stains coating the fabric. Oh. Oh…

Scout turned his head and yep, the murky puddles around him were pink with blood too. No doubt it was also filled with other stuff he threw up last night. Gross. Yeah, even though he was parched, there was no way he'd drink from that. Scout shivered again. Wow, he was cold.

Plip, plip, plip.

There were still stray raindrops falling on his clouded head. Probably from the tree branches above. Scout shuffled to the side and away from his small shower. He shivered again when a light breeze crept through the forest. And sneezed again which caused another surge of pain to flood his stomach and legs.

Biting back the f-bomb he wanted to shout, Scout decided to make like Engineer and assess the damage done to him. His face was sore and there was a nasty bump both on his cheek and the back of his head. His legs felt made of jelly and there was that distinct tender stiffness in his calves that always followed after a cramp. And his stomach. Oh ****, his stomach! Did he get shanked during the night? He couldn't even stretch himself out, Scout had to stay hunched just to keep the nausea away. And of course, there was the cold. Cold caused by being forced to sleep outside in the rain.

Honestly, it would be a miracle if he didn't catch ne-moan-ea or whatever it's called.

Somehow managing to shimmy out of his soaking jacket, Scout tried ringing it out. That went as well as one can expect from someone with only one hand. Sometimes it still felt like he had two. Sometimes.

Well, it was still damp but less than before, so Scout shook it mercilessly to dislodge any dew still clinging to his jacket. Except it wasn't his jacket. As he held it out, goosebumps riddling his arm, Scout stared at the yellow marksman patches sewn onto the shoulders.

"****in' b***h," Scout growled. The events preceding the present were finally coming back to him.

He ran. Scout ran for as long as he could with no light to guide him and the forest fighting against him. Brambles had cut his ankles, rain had soaked him and his vision, and the alcohol he drank had made the world a kaleidoscope mess Scout had to go through. He ran until his legs finally gave out and where he fell was where he woke up, next to pools of bile and blood. All because of Sniper.

With a shout of resentment, the runner hurled the navy hoodie as far away as he could. That complete b*****d! That freaking d**khead! What was wrong with that guy!? Scout glared at the clothing, hoping it would burst into flames if he stared at it long enough.

"Just a freakin' jerk…" he mumbled as he brought his knees to his chest. The quiet patter of rain echoed after him.

Plip, plip, plip.

Scout sniffed, wiping his nose with his arm and started to shiver. Badly. Without the extra layer of protection, the cold wind had complete access to the last reserves of body heat Scout had. He looked back to the coat, glaring.

No, he didn't need any handouts. He didn't need the freaking pity. Besides, Sniper wanted him dead anyway, he doesn't care what happens to Scout, if he ever did at all. Scout huffed a chilly laugh from his ragged throat. Course he didn't care, Sniper said himself that they weren't friends. They were never friends.

"And never will be if you keep actin' like an *sshole."

Scout screamed a completely manly and not at all a girly scream when those words were spoken. Who said that!? He snapped his head around, looking up and down the trees surrounding him. Nothing. Nothing and nobody. Alright, alright, okay, maybe it was just the wind. Yeah, just some leaves in the breeze, Scout probably was just imagining things.

"Heh," Scout breathed, grinning an uncomfortable grin, "okay, yeah, I'm alone, yeah. It's, it's fine, just need to calm down."

"No, what you need is a freakin' reality check." Came that voice again.

"Who the h*ll said that!?" Scout sprang to his feet before landing right on his behind when the world went black.

"Up here, dumb*ss." The voice deadpanned. Once Scout's vision came back, he swiveled his head up and around until he spotted the voice's owner.

It was a man. A young man sitting on a branch and leaning against the trunk; a man who looked very, very familiar. He wore a blue tee shirt with the sleeves rolled up and two intact arms. His brown pants were stuffed into his calf length socks. And on his head sat a gray cap and an orange headpiece.

"...what the…?"

"Yeah, now ya see me." the man glared down at Scout, "I finally got through your thick skull."

"Who the h*ll are you?"

"You know who I am," he replied, looking super annoyed, "and I'm sick and tired of you pulling this crap."

"Wha-" Scout stuttered before shouting "I ain't pulling nothing, I'm just sitting here!"

"Sitting there being a moron."

"I ain't a moron!"

"Then go put on that jacket before ya die from frostbite." the stranger said while playing with the dog tags around his neck.

"As if, I don't need that guy's stupid jacket, I'm doing just fine." Scout growled, crossing his arms.

"Bulllllls**t!" he replied, glaring down at Scout. The figure's outline was like smoke, and if Scout stared too long, he could almost see straight through his body.

"Ey, screw you, you don't know nothing! Ya don't know s**t, Jack!"

"Listen, you grumpy ****," Scout's clone snapped, eyes lit up with ire, "I've had it up to here with this freakin' charade! Three times I've watched this happen. Three times I've had to sit and watch you screw everything up because you're too stupid to think two steps ahead!

"So now, because ya never listened to me, not once, I had to drag myself out here and actually beat some sense into ya because you can't bother to sit and shuddup for three seconds!" The Scout crossed his arms, staring daggers at Scout. His face was blurry, and despite how much Scout tried, he couldn't focus on it; his head hurt too much when he did.

"What are you gonna do?" Scout growled, standing up before the spinning world grew too much and he sat back down. The Scout scoffed.

"Eh, nothing really, just gonna sit back and watch the fireworks." Even through the thick fog of blurriness, Scout could see the s**t-eating grin planted on the man's face. In such a strange situation, confused, helpless, and unable to stand, Scout did the only thing he knew. Like finding a buoy in a ferocious sea, Scout clung to the one familiar foundation he had: rage.

"Reaaallly now, is that what you're gonna do?" He started, already feeling the boiling heat flood his body, "You're just gonna watch me sit here and do nothing, then why the **** are ya out here, then!?" The Scout shrugged.

"You tell me."

"I don't have to tell ya anything!" Scout shouted. "There ain't nothing I wanna say, ain't nothing I'm gonna say, to you or Sniper!"

"Who said anything about Sniper?" The Scout asked innocently.

"You are! Well, you're trying to! I know what you want, and ya ain't slick! Just cause ya not wearing a halo and wings doesn't mean I'm not onto you, ya hear me!?" The runner's clone only cocked his head to the side. "Don't gimme that look, I know what you're trying to do, you're trying to make me feel bad. 'Oh, boo hoo, Scout isn't being nice and being obedient, oh no!' That's what you sound like!" His shouts paused for a breathe, and The Scout shook his head, sighing.

"I mean, look dude," Scout gestured with both hands to the forest that was currently shimmering like heat waves, "Look what he did, man! Threw me out after pointing his freakin' rifle at my head! Who does that? And now I don't know where the h*ll I am, where to freakin' go, and soaking wet!" He ran his one remaining hand through his hair, sticking it up in clumps from the dampness. "He's a jerk, just a huge jerk."

"Hm." The Scout began playing with his dog tags again, his outline shimmering like the forest. "That sucks. Yeah, you're right."

"I am?" The Scout looked back at him. "I mean, course I am! People don't just throw another guy out, even if that guy was being kind of an *sshole. I mean, Ma had to raise me and seven other guys even worse and she never threw us out and threatened to kill us!"

"Yup. There was no good reason why Sniper had that reaction. Clearly the guy's just a real piece of s**t."

"Yeah! We were freakin' drunk last night, and drunk dudes get violent and say stupid things, he should know that."

"Totally, even if you touched him first, he didn't have to punch you."

"Yeah."

"And even when you left him to die, he ain't had no right to treat you like that."

"...yeah."

"And when ya said he deserved it, which he did, cause he's an *sshole."

"...I guess…"

"And you're right."

"About what?" Scout asked. That cloud of resentment was fading from his mind, and it was like his ears popped, finally allowing him to hear the words being spoken. He was being led to something, but he was already in too deep to back up.

"About what you said to him."

"I said a lot of things to the guy, ya gotta be more pacific."

"What you told him last night."

"Which was…?"

"That he should kill himself." The Scout said while examining his nails.

"What!?" Scout nearly screamed. "No! No, no way! I didn't say that!"

"Yeah ya did," The Scout eyed him from the tree branch, "you said that nobody would miss him if he died so why not kill himself already? That's what ya said."

"I didn't freakin' mean it!" Scout stood, ignoring the swaying world and beginning to pace, "Look, Sniper might be a huge d**khead and a grumpy *ss but he ain't that bad!"

"Then why'd you say it if ya didn't mean it?"

"I don't know!" Scout exclaimed, running his hand through his strangely warm hair again, "I was mad, I guess, I just, freakin', I don't freakin' know, okay!? But I didn't mean it, I just. It hurt, man."

"What did?" The Scout had now turned to face Scout, giving the pacing runner his full attention.

"What Sniper said first, I guess. Ya know what he said, you were there! Right?" He turned to look at The Scout only to find him missing. His eyes widened. "Guy?"

"So you told him to kill himself because he said you weren't friends." Scout snapped around to see his companion leaning against a tree to his right, picking at his teeth.

"I…" Scout swallowed the nausea from turning so quickly, "I guess so."

"Oh, yeah, I can totally see why Sniper deserved to be told that, yup, completely deserved."

"No," The runner groaned, plopping back down on the sodden earth, "he didn't, but-"

"Probably deserved to be trapped in a alien cocoon and forced awake for over a day, right?"

"No, but-"

"And you telling him that he deserved to be trapped and awaiting death, right?"

"NO!" Scout shouted, pulling his hair so hard he felt some rip loose, "He didn't, but I apologized for that! I did. I… I know I did, right? I, I didn't mean that, I didn't mean it, I was sorry. I said that, right? I did…" It sounded more like a plea than a statement as Scout looked up at his double with yearning eyes. The double that was no longer there.

"Wha-" He started, "W-wait, what the heck, man? Where'd you go, ya, ya can't just leave me here!"

You never apologized. Came the voice both loud and quiet and it took Scout far too long to realize it was his own thoughts. You never said sorry.

"But I did…" Didn't he? Did he ever say the actual word? Even if he didn't, Sniper knew Scout wasn't serious. He would know that Scout never meant any of it, his words or his leaving. Right?

Does he? The voice asked, the tone growing bitter once more. If he did, you wouldn't be here right now.

"Well it's not my fault he don't know me that well!" Scout retorted, biting back against that horrible wave of that horrible emotion he never knew how to deal with. "Maybe if he let me stick around long enough or hung out more before all a this-"

Are you freakin' kidding me!? It roared and Scout flinched, looking to the puddled ground. All of this is your fault and you know it! Every. Little. Thing. It's all your fault! You're the reason why you're stuck out here, why your arm's missing, why Sniper hates you and so would the others if they were still around. Everything here is what you deserve after what you did.

Scout only sat there, staring at the closest pond with an awful pressure building behind his eyes. It was murky pink from his blood and reflected white from the sky above. In the water he saw himself. Or someone that he knew was him but didn't look like it.

The Scout in the water was a far cry from what he normally looked like. It looked slimmer, the bad kind of slimmer. A horrible bruise formed on his cheek and smears of red coated the bottom half of his face. His hair, normally cut short, had grown into bundles of unruly straw, poking up from both dampness and genes. And his expression was on the brink of collapse.

Aw, ya gonna cry? Run home to Ma and have her kiss ya booboos? Here ya are, sitting on your worthless *ss, feeling sorry for yourself when Sniper's been through way worse and you don't see him crying! Man, no wonder he doesn't think you're friends, he's right, you're an awful excuse for a human being. Scout tore his eyes away from his expression, and took a deep breath before letting out a defeated sigh.

"Nah, you're… you're right," Scout croaked, "I. Sniper was right, I wasn't. I wasn't thinking, I don't. Being a freakin' b***h, freakin' worthless pile a s**t. 'M such a piece of ****in' s**t."

"Yup." Scout looked up to see The Scout standing there and staring at him with the same haughty look. "You're a selfish piece of s**t."

Scout could only swallow and nod. The form of his only companion left seemed wispier.

"You need to go tell Sniper you're sorry."

"I know." Scout mumbled, looking back towards the discarded jacket. "Sides, he'll probably want that back." The pressure behind his eyes still hasn't let up; it was starting to hurt.

"Oh come on," The Scout groaned, "quite being a b***h and man up! Ya only feeling sad cause your pathetic *ss is finally getting what it deserves. Real men don't freakin' cry! Are you a man and gonna man up and go back there and fix all a this? Or are you just some kid who needs his Ma ta fix all his freakin' messes and lose everything because you're too weak to work for what ya want?"

"'M not a kid," Scout glared, ignoring his cracking voice, "'M a man. A grown *ss man who can fix his own s**t."

"Good." The Scout nodded, still disdainful. Scout made to stand up.

His legs wouldn't work.

"Uh," he rolled onto his hand and pushed up against the ground. His legs still weren't moving. "I-I can't move."

"Seriously? Just how pathetic are you?"

"I'm not, I, it's fine, they'll move after a while, just gimme a sec." Scout said, staring wide eyed at his immobile legs.

"Yeah, sure, you're totally having actual trouble and not making excuses to avoid Sniper as long as possible."

"I AM!" Scout shouted, stoicism thrown out the window. "I can't move them! Look, just help me up, I'll be fine then! Please?" He looked up at The Scout, begging. His friend sneered.

"Help yourself, I'm done with this."

"No, wait!-"

"Bye Scout," The Scout called over his shoulder, sending one last glare to the weakened runner, "ya made this bed, now you're lying in it, and I'm not gonna be your bedside nurse anymore."

"Wait!" Scout shouted, pushing himself onto his knees, "Please! Ya can't just leave me here! Ya can't leave me here alone!"

But he was gone. Like a wisp of smoke, The Scout left no trail, as if he never existed at all. And the only company Scout was left with was the rhythmic water droplets.

Plip, plip, plip.

For how long exactly Scout sat there staring into the forest, he didn't know. Long enough that the clouds grew brighter as the sun rose, and the stray raindrops finally stopped dropping. All was quiet save for the runner's breathing.

He left him. He left himself. How was that possible? That- how does that work? Medic would know. Maybe Engie. But they were gone. Because of him. They wouldn't give him an answer, they would hate him. Even his own person left him because of how s**t he is. The implication wasn't a good one. In fact, it was bad. Real bad.

Scout left Scout. What did that mean? Was it him, was he still Scout if that was also Scout? Or was he no longer Scout? And if that was the case, then that meant…

Was he still human if his human self left him behind? But then-

Scout, or Maybe-Scout, forced himself to finally stand. His legs were still weak and shook as he started to pace. And he began to scratch his cheek.

The rain was gone. He didn't have the strength to give a punch to check himself. There was only one other thing to make sure he was human. Maybe-Scout scratched harder.

It was starting to hurt with heat blooming in his face. The pain shot up when Maybe-Scout felt his nails dig into his skin after a moment. And he scratched and scratched.

Yes, he was covered in blood, but it wasn't the same. Some was Sniper's, some was his but from yesterday, not from after he left himself. He needed it fresh. So when his fingers came back coated in slick crimson, Scout laughed in relief.

Humans bleed. Scout was bleeding. Scout was still human.

He watched the blood on his hand drag down from gravity and begin to form beads. Then, the red started to drip.

Plip, plip, plip.

Well, time to suck it up and head back and hopefully not get a bullet in between the eyes by a still angry Aussie. Shaking the blood away and wiping away whatever was left, Scout dragged himself over to Sniper's jacket. He paused and frowned. It probably wasn't a good idea to put it back on, no doubt it'll be freezing by now. But he couldn't wrap it around his waist or neck, he only had one-

"What the-!" Scout shrieked before stopping again. He had two hands again. He did, but now it was back to one. Just for a second. And even though it had disappeared as soon as he spotted it, Scout could still feel his hand. Okay, okay, this was getting too weird. What was in that moonshine?

The runner snatched up the hoodie, and with a reluctant face, slipped it on. Cold, yep, it was cold. Freaking great. And it still had some water dripping off of it!

Plip, plip, pl-snap!

Scout shot up, scanning the forest around him. Something made that noise that wasn't him. Unless it was him in which case Scout didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed.

"Hello?" He called, voice rough, "is that you, dude?" No one answered, and Scout licked his lips nervously.

"Uh, well, I'm heading back to Sniper now so if ya could tell me the way back… that would be…" The snapping of twigs and fallen branches responded. It came from his upper right. The runner watched the brush shimmy and twitch with an invisible life form. Okay, there were two things it could be. One, himself. Or two, and if it was two then Scout was about to be wrapped up in a numbing web thing-

Or it was a bunny who just decided to jump out and scare the living daylights out of him. It just stood there, sniffing the dewy ground and nibbling on some grass like it hadn't just given Scout a heart attack. He glared at it, about to shout it away, when he spotted the thing behind it.

"Guy?"

It was him again! He came back and was standing there looking at him. Scout grinned. Yeah, the guy was a jerk but at least now Scout wasn't alone anymore. The Scout was hidden in shadow, watching Scout shiver from both cold and exhaustion.

"Look, man, I'm gonna do it, but I ain't got no idea which way I freakin' came from." Scout confessed, shaking his feet out to dislodge the cold setting in. His clone didn't move, didn't speak. His silhouette was like a dark smog and Scout couldn't focus on it.

Then The Scout smiled with a grin filled with too many teeth. Teeth far too white and sharp. Like the Cheshire cat. And with that, The Counterfeit bolted into the underbrush.

"HEY!" Scout yelled, stumbling after it. It was here, he should have known it would show up. But why was it running away?

It was fast. Too fast. Scout couldn't keep up. Its legs were a blur and it vaulted over fallen logs and small ravines like nothing, leaving Scout in the dust. Meanwhile Scout was having trouble even jogging! His legs were refusing to work right, and the world just kept flickering to black the more he pushed it. Couldn't even stand upright from the blow he took last night to move faster.

Why wasn't his body working right? And why was he following this freak? Scout climbed over a particularly large log and sat panting for breath. Freakin' energy reserves were empty because of the freaking cold. Then it happened.

Scout watched as The Counterfeit stopped, shadowy form shimmering like a mirage as it turned back towards the depleted runner. It smiled again, a smile twisted with intent. Scout's eyes widened.

The thing was going back to Sniper, trying to beat him there. It turned again and ran. And Scout, digging into all the energy he had left, leapt from the log and ran.

His legs thundered against the ground, each impact sending small shock waves through his bones. First he stumbled, then his pattern began to form until Scout was flying through the trees, weaving in and out with precision. Slippery moss coated his shoes and would cause him to falter. But he never fell.

The creature was still ahead, and when winding in and out of the trees, would evaporate until Scout would blink moments later and it would return, closer than before. It jumped, Scout would jump. It went left, Scout went left. It slid down a small slope, so would Scout. It was a race. And he never lost races.

Faster and faster the plants flew by, and Scout's lungs were threatening to explode from usage. But that thing was still ahead, taunting. Freaking taunting him and he was still behind. He growled and somehow the trees went past even faster.

And Scout couldn't break in time when a cliff emerged from the underbrush.

Shouting in surprise, he dug his heels into the dirt to find it did nothing. He flew over the edge, screaming, and twisted to see The Counterfeit stand on the ledge watching him fall. The impact of the slope knocked the wind out of him and he rolled down the rocky landslide. The world spun, and sharp croppings of earth jutted into his back. And finally, after far too long, the land evened out and Scout landed in a soft grove of ferns.

"...ow." Scout whined, waiting for the spiraling sky to slow, "ow, owowowowowahhhhhhhh man that hurts." Why did this keep happening? First the staircases, now a freaking cliff? How many more things is he going to fall down? At least it didn't kill him.

Scout looked up towards the ledge he fell from. It was only twenty feet high and not a sheer cliff face, still dangerous but not an instant killer. And there was something else. The Counterfeit was gone. Not gone as in out of sight and coming back, but gone-gone. It peaced out, leaving behind nothing but empty air, not even a small tumble of dirt to show it was ever there. There was nothing to prove him right, but Scout knew it was gone. He could feel it deep down, it wasn't coming back.

Maybe it wasn't even The Counterfeit. Maybe there was never anything at all. But there was something, something that made Scout grin.

To his left, about fifteen feet away and cutting through the forest floor, was the old gravel road. Scout finally knew where he was and where to go.

He got to his feet, a challenge that shouldn't have been as hard as it was. But it was, and when Scout did stand up, it felt like he got hit by a freight train. Bruises, cuts, everything everywhere and his head was acting up again. Or it was acting up this whole time. Didn't feel like it.

Scout stumbled over to the road. Alright, he came from the right so he had to go left. The crackle of sparse gravel underfoot was far more comforting than it would be to other people, but he was Scout, and it had been too d*mn quiet for too d*mn long! Crunching away, Scout limped down the road, eyes peeled for a camper van with a grouchy sharpshooter along with it. Right, Sniper, ohh boy.

"Okay, the guy's reasonable. He'll listen, just be honest," Scout said to himself, eyes darting around the woods, "just gotta think of an apology that'll blow his freakin' mind because of how genuine it is and then he'll forgive ya, and we can go back to being... whatever we were before cause he don't see ya as a friend.

"Which is… fair. It's, it's fair, ya can't just demand people like ya, even if you're super cool and awesome, most of the time. But ya were actin' like a jerk so ya gotta not act like a jerk and just say that you're sorry, not that hard." He reassured as he kept walking up the deserted road. Still no sign of Sniper. "Sides, chicks love it when guys get all mushy and sorry and crap. 'Cept Sniper is also a guy, and he doesn't get all mushy. Probably hates it so you should probably save that for a rainy day. Best to be straightforward, blunt, and put all the cards on the table to show ya mean it. But not the emotional cards!" The road looked more familiar and Scout could swear that in the distance he could hear traffic from the highway. "Yeah, keep the emotional cards, if ya don't he'll think you're just trying to get pity points and hate ya even more. But ya can't be too dull because then it'll seem like ya ain't being genuine and hate ya even more. Aw man, why do apologizes gotta be so freakin' complicated? I just gotta say it," Scout took a deep breath, "Sniper, I'm so-"

He reached the highway. Cars were driving past, speeding by and sparse while Scout stood from the sidelines and watched with wide eyes and agape mouth. He looked back towards the road, empty of any camper or Sniper. Had… had he gone the wrong way? Here was the highway, and behind him was the dirt road, so… where did they park last night?

Scout jogged back down the road, going back as far as he could before he had to sit and take a rest. He ran back up, eyes on the sides of the path and looking for any tire tracks. Then, after ten minutes of backtracking his backtracking, Scout stopped, staring at something off of the road.

About twelve feet from the path sat the remains of a campfire and a brown bottle still stuck in the mud. It was here, and Scout could see the ferns he ripped up when running away, but there was no van and no Sniper. He looked down to find the faintest bumps in the soft earth.

Tire tracks.

Sniper was gone, and it suddenly felt so much harder to breathe.

Chapter Text

Night had fallen, and even then Scout kept going until the moon was high, high above his head. That was when his energy finally reached its limit. It was a slow buildup of fatigue that dragged him down and by the time he realized what was happening, Scout couldn't even lift his arms out of complete and utter exhaustion.

He dropped to the grassy ground like a sack of bricks. Blinking was a no go, because Scout knew that if he did, he wouldn't be able to reopen them. And right now he needed to stay awake just a bit longer to roll himself onto his back. There was a chance he'd suffocate himself if he slept with his face buried into the dirt and grass and despite already feeling like death, he didn't want to die yet. With a groan, Scout shimmied and managed to squirm just enough to flop onto his back.

The night sky was clear for the first time in what felt like ages. Not a cloud in sight. Scout should be worried about that, he knew he should because that meant no rain. But he couldn't find the strength to care as the runner gazed up into the stars. So many stars and constellations he knew were there but didn't recognize. Boston never had this many stars. He shimmied deeper into his jacket when a chill breeze swept past his face.

Scout had been walking for hours, even sprinting when he managed to scrape enough energy together. But it was like he made no progress at all. He broke through the treeline about thirty minutes ago and was still a good ten miles from the nearest town. And Sniper was probably far, far past that by now. Halfway across the country for all he knew.

And Scout was lying on the cold, hard dirt, alone. All because he couldn't keep his stupid temper in check. Because he just couldn't keep his stupid ****in' mouth shut for once in his d*mn life-

Any negative thoughts were bottled up as Scout brought his hand up- dang it. His real hand was brought up and rubbed his temples. There was no more energy to think, too painful. It was causing thunderous headaches he couldn't deal with. Flopping his hand down, Scout just watched the stars shimmer and twinkle in the deep distance of space. Thousands, hundreds, billions of stars with the faintest of colors and he was the only one for miles to see it. Not forever though, tomorrow he'll stand right back up and walk on to find his last remaining teammate.

So many pretty stars. There was even a comet that flew by, faster than lightning. Those granted wishes, right? Davey always said it was just a stupid old lie for babies and that magic didn't exist. Well, Scout had fought wizards and used magic before so if he was wrong about that, maybe he was wrong about shooting stars too. What's the worst that could happen?

So Scout made his wish. It was a simple one. Maybe if he wasn't half asleep he would have thought up a better one. Maybe if his head wasn't full of clouds he would have worded the wish more specifically. Maybe if his eyelids weren't so heavy he'd appreciate the once in a lifetime chance more. But the runner's fight for consciousness was lost and he slipped away into dreams of towering waves and choking on saltwater.

Two days. One day, fifteen hours, twenty nine minutes and six seconds. Seven seconds.

Eight seconds.

Nine seconds.

Sniper watched the small hand on his wrist watch tick away. It would come to a stop, then jolt forwards. Stop, go. Stop, go.

One day, fifteen hours, twenty nine minutes, seventeen seconds and counting since he ran the brat off. A full day of driving back towards Sawmill. A day spent getting as far away from him as possible. And half a day spent here, in his camper, scratching at an old cigarette burn on his table.

One day, fifteen hours, twenty nine minutes, fifty four seconds and counting. A new record for how long it's taking to calm himself down. Sniper was human, that meant he got angry sometimes. Downright murderous on occasion like right now. Thing was, he was always able to keep his cool. Always able to keep it under lock and key.

Not so much this time.

One day, fifteen hours, thirty one minutes, five seconds and counting.

Yesterday he nearly drove right into a ditch from another reckless driver on the freeway. And that had led to the Australian sending the bloke into the same ditch from a less than subtle bumper hit. It felt like a good idea at the time. It felt amazing, honestly, as it got rid of some of this pent of rage Sniper had. But there were only two times he'd gotten true road rage like that, and both involved a certain American.

One day, fifteen hours, thirty four minutes, forty six seconds and counting.

And later that day, once Sniper had found a campsite to stay for the night, he wound up killing a squirrel. There wasn't a particular reason as to why he did it. Even now the marksman couldn't remember the exact train of thought that led him to killing the thing. If there ever was a thought to begin with. It was just scampering about and making those shrill squirrel noises and got too close. The thing was probably too used to humans from the campsite, maybe it was spoiled and looking for some food other folk throw to it. It just came too close and made too much noise and he simply crushed its head under his heel after a bit. Didn't even try to run away. Yeah, it was domesticated, he probably did it a favor, critter wouldn't be able to survive out in the wild like that.

Sniper wasn't really able to wipe the blood off of his boot completely.

One day, fifteen hours, thirty nine minutes, thirteen seconds and counting.

Now he was here, sitting at his table, picking absent-mindedly at the old burn mark while watching his wrist-watch tick by. Didn't bother eating anything, Sniper couldn't unclench his jaw. Didn't bother drinking any coffee, the headache he woke up with was keeping him awake just fine. Didn't bother changing out from the clothes he wore yesterday since he hadn't bothered to change into proper sleepwear last night. Didn't bother to do anything but watch the hours tick by with that exhausting heat that blind rage always brought.

One day, fifteen hours, fifty two minutes, two seconds and counting.

It was so weird, now that Sniper had nothing better to do and could actually focus. So weird how that ankle biter had gotten him this worked up. No, not weird.

Infuriating.

Somehow that b*****d was able to take hold of all of Sniper's short leashes for his emotions and cut them into ribbons. No one was able to do that. Not Spy, not his dad, not even that one bloke who left him to deal with the feds alone after a hit gone wrong. Not one of them managed to get under his skin this badly. And yet somehow-

One day, sixteen hours, two minutes, ten seconds and counting.

Groaning, Sniper sat up and rubbed his eyes. They had started becoming irritated from the length of time he sat there staring unblinking at his watch. They also weren't the only irritated thing about the marksman.

His hands were still pretty cold. Rubbing them together didn't make a difference. And wearing old mittens he found just made the itchiness on the back of his left worse. Right, the itchiness. It was probably a bug bite from sitting outside near a campfire; Sniper always tended to get them more often than the others which didn't make too much sense since he was one of the more slender blokes of the group.

Sniper, after another moment of just sitting and staring at nothing in particular, stood up. The action itself was simple enough and didn't elicit a response. Problem was that he knocked one of his knees on the corner of the table when he stood. And apparently that was all it took for the small interior to turn a hellish shade of red.

A rush of energy flooded his arms. The feeling of wind against his skin. And a sickening CRUNCH filled the air.

The first thing Sniper noticed after the red haze faded was his heavy breathing and the lava coursing through his veins. His entire body felt feverish in a figurative sense, like a warm gust constantly swirling through his muscles and tendons. The second thing was the table.

Fractured and dented, the corner sat there like a battered housewife. It even had a nasty, splintery split down the middle, threatening to snap off at the slightest touch. Shock was something that could describe what Sniper was feeling but it still didn't feel right. Maybe that was it, that there wasn't a word to describe what he was feeling. Because he wasn't feeling. Not surprise, not regret, not even pain. Which…

...wasn't normal. Punching a wooden surface that hard, so much that it's breaking and dented from the force taken, and only with a generic fist, would leave far worse than bruising. At best bruises, at worst a nasty broken hand. Thankfully it didn't feel broken.

But Sniper couldn't feel anything but that omnipresent itchiness.

He straightened up and out of the, slightly, exaggerated stance he took when beating his furniture and looked at his left hand. It wasn't a pretty thing to look at, not that his normal, uninjured hands were works of art or something, but it was still cringeworthy. Especially to the guy who owns the hand.

Splinters dotted across his white knuckles like a dead forest. Already, the swelling of blood and bruises began to blossom in his skin and said blood seeped out from the puncture wounds. It formed beads of red that grew and grew until their own mass dragged them down the marksman's arm, leaving intricate paint trails so unique that man couldn't hope to recreate them.

What a bloody mess. Now Sniper was going to have to clean up the droplets and smears this would no doubt make. Bloody fantastic. But first, First Aid.

Keeping his injured arm close to his chest, Sniper began to rifle through the duffel bag full of small Medkits that hung near the bed. He grabbed two, just to be safe. Then, he turned and opened a small drawer in the nightstand opposite to the bag and pulled out a pair of tweezers.

Sure, the Medkits would heal his hand but Sniper wasn't going to risk having any small pieces of wood get trapped underneath his skin once it sealed itself back up. It would occasionally happen with bullets on the battlefield and it was always an unpleasant and irritating experience to get them removed after matches. Or by yourself if you were brave and quick enough about it. So many times his kukri was stained with his own blood just trying to dislodge a stubborn bullet from his thigh. Always hurt like a b***h but it was quicker than waiting in the medical bay and Sniper was an efficient assassin machine.

Sitting down once more at his damaged table, Sniper laid his hand palm down and started his little operation. He began with the largest pieces, seeing as they were mostly just an obstacle hindering him from dissecting the near invisible ones. The largest stood embedded in his third knuckle, right above the tendon. One look at it's jagged ends made Sniper know that this one would hurt. A lot. Well, might as well get it over with.

He took the nasty bugger in the tweezers' tongs and, once certain the grip was good, yanked the sucker out. The pain that followed-

Was nonexistent. Sniper frowned. That wasn't right. He grabbed another, the second biggest, and pulled it out. Again, nothing. Wood shard after wood shard he pulled but still there was nothing but irritation and the urge to scratch away. Sniper resisted. So he continued dislodging the splinters until he forgot about the non-pain and more about how boring it was. Boring was too boring a word to describe this. So, so boring. It was more boring than him having to sit and patch up the brat when he brought him into his van after Sawmill.

Course, he didn't feel bored at the time. No, Sniper was… concerned. Worried for the runt's life and feeling even worse when he had to stitch together the sorry remains of that mangled arm. He was scared that another life would be lost without an answer as to what happened. Sniper made sure the tiny b*****d lived, and what did he get in return?

In hindsight, he should have just left the kid to bleed out and die. Would have saved him time, resources. Resources that were his to use. Well, better late than never. Sniper thought with a smirk as a fresh stream of blood dripped down his arm from pulling out a deep shard.

At least he made up for his mistake. Granted, it took him far too long because he was stupid enough to keep giving the brat second chance after second chance. Sniper should have just kicked him to the curb instead of giving him the choice to stay or leave. Would've made it easier for himself. But instead, the marksman waited till the kid himself scampered away into the dark forest to actually make his move. A bit lenient, too lenient since he could've solved his problems with a single bullet.

A single shot that Sniper hesitated with, giving the runt a pass to die how he pleased out in the middle of the woods. Maybe that was for the best. No, it was the best. He didn't have to break his code of conduct and take a human life without being paid, and the kid was no doubt going to die from exposure somewhere alone which was also a plus. Perhaps he hadn't died yet, and was currently lying in agony under the pine trees, wishing Sniper had just taken the shot. Maybe he was delirious from sepsis and wasn't even aware of what was happening to him, eventually dying in his sleep, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. Maybe The Counterfeit had found him, wouldn't that be some sweet karma, where it would do whatever it did to the brat before Sniper found him again, ripping his other arm off, all the while its victim crying out for anyone to help him but getting nothing but his own voice's echo. When he realizes his fate, he screams for any form of comfort, maybe even for his mom, before being disemboweled by-

Sniper paused, tweezers deep in his skin, itching for that last stubborn shard. He stared at it with furrowed brows. What… what was he just thinking about? The marksman watched the small puddle of red slowly grow as he racked his brain for his latest thought process. And after a moment, he recalled it and visibly flinched.

That wasn't karma, that was sadistic. It was wrong to think that but it was also so bloody gratifying to imagine-

Sniper frowned again. No, okay no. He was mad at the little bugger, yes, but he never took this much pleasure from others' pain and death. But that voice of reason was quiet. Very quiet, barely audible over that warm gust of rage. And yet, the warm gust couldn't push that thought down as much as it could when Sniper asked the question.

What is wrong with me? With that, Sniper plucked the last splinter and tugged it loose, watching the fresh wave of red gush through and onto the table. Still, no pain. That was one thing wrong with him. No pain in his left hand, just cold and itchiness. Was his other the same way? Sniper raised his blood soaked hand and pinched his right hand. A sharp stab of pain followed.

Maybe what he should have asked was what was wrong with his hand. Sniper dropped his tool and began to run calloused fingers over his glistening mess of an appendage. The long bumps of his very visible tendons ran under his touch. The puncture holes did too and instantly his fingers were slick with crimson. Muscles, veins, bone, it was all there so nothing was missing. Unless it was his nerves but that's impossible-

A bump. No one would notice unless they were looking for it. Right where his wrist connected to the rest of his arm, there was a small, tendon-like ridge that seemed to go deeper into his muscle, where Sniper couldn't feel it anymore. Beneath his chest, the sharpshooter felt his heart begin to pound.

He looked up towards where his kukri hung by the door. No, too big for something so small. Sniper stood and sifted through some drawers before finding what he was searching for. He sat back down and flicked open one of his many pocket knives.

The silver blade flashed under the light and Sniper wasted no time. It wasn't like he'd feel it anyway. Pressing the tip onto his wrist, Sniper took a breath and pressed down hard. His skin split open and only widened as the blade dragged itself further up his arm. Resisting the urge to sigh as he watched more blood exit his body and stain his table, Sniper set aside the knife and took the tweezers again.

It was safe to say that feeling a foreign metal object sifting through your wrist isn't a pleasant experience. And Sniper had a front row seat. He grit his teeth each time the tweezers' grip on the thing slipped off. Something that happened about eleven times before the grip was strong enough to pull something pink with blood out from his incision. At least, the end of it.

When the string's end popped out from his arm, it flicked droplets of both flesh and blood right onto Sniper's face. Well that was unpleasant. Twisting what little string was out in the open around the tool, Sniper started to pull the alien tendon out. It was stuck in there good. Real good. Which may explain why the brat hadn't been able to pull it out fully like the rest. The end was a bit frayed too. More proof of the fact.

Work was slow, and the more the string was removed, the more feeling began to crawl back into Sniper's system. It was barely there at first. Then it all came back at once and the Australian had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. His head hurt, he was tired, his hand was in agony and the Counterfeit's string was finally removed with a gross Sllrth.

He held the parasite at an arm's length, because that's how long it looked to be. A forearm's length more like but it was still something Sniper had no qualms in staring at with a burning loathing. This thing. Was in his arm. For a good five days now. Was it five? How many days had it been since he got strung up? Speaking of strung up.

Sniper plopped the thing down onto the table, looking at it like it was a wild animal. Then, he poked it with the tweezers. No movement. Thank goodness it wasn't actually alive.

"Bloody bogen." Sniper growled, stabbing it with the ends of the tongs. The nerve to be stuck in his body for so long doing who knows what to him and to just exist and…

And…

Oh bloody h*ll he was tired.

It hit him like a bus. No warning or anything. The effects of not taking his daily dose of caffeine was already weighing on him. Already there was a headache coming on except this one was in his temples. Much unlike the horrible pounding that threatened to burst his head open. Like the one he had for the past few days. And then the drowsiness and the calm-

Calm.

The concept shoved all other thoughts and senses aside. Calm was what he felt under all the pain and exhaustion. A drowsy, realistic calm. The kind that he used to shoot his targets. The kind he had when kicking back and cleaning his rifles. The kind he had when simply existing.

And there was a noticeable lack of anger left when the calm returned. Like dowsing a forest fire. It was still there, but so, so quiet and so, so buried and it left the marksman so, so tired. The thought of going back to bed was a tempting one. Even more so that he wouldn't have to fight with Scout to see who gets it-

Scout. Sniper snapped up, eyes wide in realization. The kid was alone and he had no idea what happened to him. And all that bloodlust felt earlier just... wasn't coming back. The anger was still there but it felt like his anger, not the violent wrath from before. His was far more reserved than what that whole thing was.

But did he want the kid back around again? Sniper didn't know. What the imp said had broken several boundaries and yeah, he wasn't going to forgive that anytime soon. And if that was going to be a regular occurrence, then yeah, Scout was still on his own.

Doesn't deserve to die though. Not in the ways Sniper imagined. He winced. Yeah, those are going to be a major stain on his conscience for some time. Bloody disemboweled, what was he thinking!?

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Sniper groaned. Regret was something he didn't have often, mostly because the decisions he made weren't bad enough to warrant regret. But of course, he typically didn't make rational decisions while in a torrential rage. And there were several things that warranted a little evaluation of his moral compass.

The dried stains on his boot were proof of that.

Sniper, sighing, looked back down at the pool of blood on his table. It had stilled and there was enough of it to make a small lake of crimson. And in the lake Sniper saw his reflection. There were dark bags under his eyes and wow, he really hasn't shaved in a while.

Bloody h*ll he was tired.

Sighing again, Sniper grabbed a Medkit and stared at it. He really shouldn't have driven off like that. It was a petty thing to do, really. Should have just waited the next day to see if Scout came back and then he could drop him off at a town or something to get rid of him. Not just let the woods finish him off, that was lazy and sadistic and worst of all, a job half done. He groaned again. And he couldn't just go back, the kid could be anywhere. He could be lost in that forest, dead. He could have found his way back to civilization, alive or dead depending on if his body was found. Or Scout dragged his ragged excuse of a body out of the woods and is searching for Sniper to kick his *rse for leaving him behind. Sounds like something he would do.

Sniper chuckled. Yeah, that would be something the runner would do if he had the strength left. But something told Sniper that he didn't so that idea was a bust.

He made to open the white cap on the Medkit when he froze. Sniper sat in silence, not daring to breathe in case what he heard came back. It sounded like gravel being stepped on, but so quiet that he questioned if it was ever there at all. Maybe. Maybe not. It was a campground so people walking around wasn't a big deal. As long as people minded their own business, he would mind his.

And at that moment, the camper's door rattled from a single knock.

Hitchhiking was a real gamble. There were always risks involved in the practice. There was the risk of having no one stop to pick you up. There was the risk that the person was really freaking boring and made you wish you walked instead. And of course there was the risk of being picked up by a serial killer. Which honestly wouldn't be that bad anymore considering Scout knew how to kill someone with just about anything really, including fish. But still, Hitchhiking was always a gamble. And the guys said Scout wasn't a good poker player, what a bunch of jokers.

Well, this time the risk paid off as Scout managed, after a good hour of flagging, to flag down a semi to let him ride. Granted, the man who pulled over reeked of cheap alcohol and was constantly playing smooth jazz, but he hadn't threatened Scout's life yet so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. Now, a good twenty minutes after he was picked up, the driver was finally asking where Scout was going.

"'M just looking for a friend of mine." Was what he replied with. The truck driver huffed.

"Well just how do you expect me to find this friend of yours? Does he live in the next town over?"

"We were camping," Scout began, for once thinking over the words he was about to use, "and we got drunk. I woke up in the middle of the woods and he just disappeared. Probably got a real nasty hangover, guy would deserve it." Scout chuckled to sell the half truth. It seemed to work as the driver nodded and laughed to himself.

"If your friend was driving drunk, you'll probably find him crashed in a ditch somewhere either dead or dying." he chortled. Scout tried to laugh to. A laugh that died a slow and painful death when the driver turned the horrible smooth jazz radio station up. Jazz is supposed to be, well, jazzy! Not whatever this thing was supposed to be. It wasn't jazz, that's for sure. There weren't even any saxophones playing. And those were the king of jazz.

"So what's the plan, runt?" The driver asked after a bit. Scout grit his teeth before answering.

"Just checking every campsite there is until I find him. And don't call me a runt."

"Ohhh hit a nerve, didn't I? Alright then, I'll drop ya off at the next campsite we come across, but I ain't sticking around to drive ya to the next. I ain'tcha personal taxi and I got a schedule to meet."

"Fine by me."

They sat in mostly silence after that and Scout didn't know which was worse: that he found a guy he did mind talking to or that the silence filling the truck's cabin was filled with smooth jazz. And the misery lasted a good two. Whole. Hours. Two whole hours of nothing but smooth freaking jazz! Scout learned the true meaning of pain that day.

But hallelujah, a campground eventually emerged into sight! The truck was pulled over and Scout hopped out, thanking every deity he could think of, which was only one. Just as Scout stood, the trucker called out.

"Hey, ya think you're gonna be fine even with one hand?"

"Yeah," Scout stretched his arms out, "I've lasted this long."

"I don't think you ever gave me your name, kid."

"Neither did you so I guess we're even." Scout flashed a smirk and the driver chuckled.

"Fair. See ya around kid, and stay safe."

"Right back at cha." The semi started up again and the truck soon joined its brethren on the freeway.

The sign of the campground Scout was dropped off at was pretty big. It was made of wood from what he could tell, painted a dark green with golden outlines. Written on the planks were the words ECHOMIST CAMPGROUND. Scout looked around him at the fir forest. No mist to be seen or echoes to be heard. Talk about false advertising.

Straightening himself up, Scout marched into the campground. The road itself to enter the darn place was long and gravelly. Despite everything, Scout still had his shoes, a blessing as the sharp rocks underfoot made his steps uneven and unbalanced.

As the runner walked he passed several tents, campers, and trailers. None of which were Sniper's. But this was just the entrance of the place, there were still at least fifty more spaces left to check.

The cold wind blew past and nipped at Scout's cheeks. He sneezed. Aw man he wanted to sleep. Maybe eat something too. When was the last time he had a bite? Scout stumbled on the uneven ground. He didn't have any yesterday. And that same day he ended up puking up everything he had the day before from just feeling like complete s**t. It was probably the alcohol's fault that happened. And the nasty kick he got served by Sniper's pointed boot.

"So… like, three days technically." Scout mumbled to himself. It wasn't the longest he'd ever gone without food but yeah he was feeling the strain. What he wouldn't give for a cheeseburger right about now.

The further he went into the camp, the more he passed other campers. And with each one he passed, the more he wanted to tell them to buzz off. Every single one looked up when he passed. Some went back to their business of starting campfires or roasting hotdogs, making his mouth water. Others stared at him like he was some kind of freak with wide eyes and hushed whispers. There was a family he passed with three kids playing outside with their mom watching from a beach chair. When Scout walked by he saw one of the boys point at him and shout "Mom, look, that guy doesn't have a hand! Look Mom!" which had led the other kids to stare at him and rush up to meet him.

"-Why do you only have one hand?-"

"-Woah, did a mountain lion scratch your face?-"

"-Ew, are you sick? You look sicky.-"

"Uh-"

Once their mother noticed her kids all up in Scout's business, she called them back and herded them into their trailer. Not before Scout caught the disgusted glance thrown his way. And although he didn't say it out loud, Scout gave her a proper response.

B***h.

After that encounter, Scout walked through the camp with his hood up and "hands" in his pockets. He wasn't here to be ogled at by some rude mother****ers, he just wanted to find Sniper. And he was fine looking. He was still a handsome guy even though he only had one hand and a scab-covered cheek.

But Scout still didn't lower his hood.

"How big is this freakin' thing?" He hissed to himself. He'd been walking for a good, like, twenty minutes by now and there was still no sign of Sniper. Well, this was just one campsite of… a lot, so giving up hope was stupid. It was just so big though! And if every other campsite he looks through is like this…

Scout groaned again with his voice cracking at the peak. How did he know if Sniper didn't just leave just before Scout arrived? He didn't know. What if this was just a huge waste of time?

"You lookin' for somethin', son?" A gruff voice cut through the creaking trees and cracking gravel. Snapping his gaze up, Scout looked to his right to find an old pickup truck connected to an even older trailer. And the man who sat outside both on a lawn chair looked even older than both.

"What's it to you?" Scout grumbled. The man, taking a drag from an old pipe, gave him a wheezy chuckle, like someone squeezing the air out of an old accordion.

"Ya just look lost, is all," He replied, puffing out a swirling smoke ring, "what with you walkin' and lookin' every which way and that."

"...I'm looking for someone." Scout admitted, set on staring at his shoes.

"Do I know 'em?"

"Depends," Scout scoffed, "Depends on if you've seen a grumpy Aussie with a camper truck staying here." He kicked some gravel away. "Seriously doubt you've seen him, bet I'm wasting my time-"

"Oh are ya talkin' 'bout that silent fella?" He paused his kicking and stared at the old man who was smiling and puffing away at his pipe.

"I…" Scout swallowed, "I mean, maybe? If we're talking about the same guy."

"Lanky fella with a slouch hat and a green toned truck camper and looks like he'd kill ya if ya got too close?"

That definitely sounded like Sniper.

"Y-Yeah." Scout nodded, chest filling with warmth, "Can, can ya tell me where he is? Please." He added that last bit real quick. Didn't want to seem rude to the one guy who could help him. The old man chuckled that wheezy chuckle again.

"Eager little beaver ain'tcha? Got here yesterday and parked," he leaned back and pointed towards a slight hill with the occasional tent, "waaayy over there. My guess would be the very back, the young man seems to be the solitary type."

"Heh, yeah. Uh, thanks. And he really ain't a "young man", least I think so." Scout scratched his neck in thought. Just how old was his teammate?

"Son, when you get to be my age, everyone's a young man to you. Now git going and meet'cher friend." The man leaned back and puffed on his pipe, content to leave their conversation at that. Well, so was Scout.

With a little awkward nod, Scout trotted up the hill's road. At the top stood a clearing of very sparse tents and about two campers. One of which was hidden slightly by some budding trees that Scout didn't recognize. But he did recognize the trailer. And it brought both a smile and obvious fear to the runner's face.

A step was taken, then another. And soon Scout was walking towards the secluded van. A van that held his fri- his teammate, who would either be indifferent to his arrival or was going to gut him like a fish. Scout swallowed what little saliva he could muster from his dry mouth.

Oh boy, how the **** would he salvage this? Two whole days of separation, and no doubt Sniper would've been brewing on what Scout said. And who in their right mind would forget something like what Scout told him? Well, someone in their right mind could also understand that he himself wasn't really in his right mind when he said all that crap so…

Yeah, no, like that was ever going to happen.

But if there was still a chance to get on Sniper's good side again, Scout had to take it. Right? Because… because it was the right thing to do, wasn't it? He wiped his clammy hand on his hip. And because… and because Sniper was a really… he just… he was a really cool dude and… and cool dudes like that are really hard to come by, especially the kinds that are just… are like Sniper.

There was a dead squirrel right outside the van. The only way Scout recognized it was from the bushy tail because the thing's head was just a red and brown pancake on the ground. Little bone shards peppered the bloody mess and lying in the middle of the flattened flesh was a pair of orange-ish buck teeth. Scout felt the color drain from his face and turned away from the rancid rodent.

Maybe he should just leave. Or write an apology. Or do literally anything other than walking up to the camper and raising his fist to knock on its door like he was right now.

Knuckles just centimeters away from the paneled surface, Scout held his breath. Something happened. Something that was so rare for the Bostonian that he could count the amount of times it did happen on one hand. That something was the complete loss of words.

His mind was completely blank. Nothing, nada, zilch, zip. What was he going to say? What if it went horribly and Sniper chased him off again? What was he going to say? What would he do once Sniper chased him off again, just wander around and hitchhike some more? What was he going to say?

Heart pounding like a church bell, Scout knocked and instantly stumbled away. He was actually doing this. Ohhhh no he was actually doing this! He watched the door with unblinking eyes, waiting for any sign of movement or noise. There was none. Maybe Sniper wasn't in there?

"Uh, hey man, ya in there?" The words worked faster than his brain. Why did he say that!? Now Sniper knew he was here and was going to shout and chase him off again and Scout was going to end up alone again and he'll have to survive all by himself and-

"I just… um, well, I kinda have something I need to. To tell you. To- yeah, to tell you. It uh, it took me kinda a long time to find ya since, y'know, ya left me behind." Why did he say that now Sniper was going to think Scout was trying to make him feel bad for him and s**t like that freakin' words so freakin' hard to use right!- "Not that- that what… uh… I mean uh, I just wanna talk, y'know, about something-"

The door opened. It felt like Scout's shoes were replaced with cement. He was trapped. Trapped and forced to watch as the door opened to reveal Sniper.

The marksman stood there, hand on the door handle, staring at him through sunset shades so bright Scout couldn't see his eyes. His expression was unreadable and his aviators didn't help. If Scout had a knife, he would be able to cut a hole in the air.

"I uh…" He started before looking away to clear his throat, "...hey." Sniper didn't respond, only crossing his arms and leaning on the door frame to stare down at the runner.

"Look I just… wanted to …" Scout licked his chapped lips, eyes darting around at everything but Sniper. "To, to say that…" he stopped and stared at the jacket he was wearing.

"To say thanks for letting me borrow this." Scout said as he unzipped the hoodie and slipped it off. Once off, he attempted to fold it but that idea was quickly snuffed due to his lack of hands. All that did was make everything even more tense and Scout just wanted to run. But he didn't.

Instead, he swallowed, darted his eyes towards Sniper's, and shuffled over to hand the sharpshooter his jacket. No words were spoken as Sniper took the jacket and crossed his arms again, looking at Scout with that hollow look that made him squirm. He backed away again.

"...And," he started suddenly before taking a breath to quell his shaking voice, "and thanks for… everything. For everything ya did for me, I mean.

"You… You didn't even hesitate to just. Just patch me up and keep me from bleeding all over myself like a complete moron. Back at Sawmill, 'm mean. Ya. Ya didn't do that. And, and ya just kept doing that kinda crap, even when ya didn't have to . I mean, w-we ain't related, we ain't brothers, and- and you said yourself that we ain't friends. But… you still let me stay. You still let me stick around even… an… and that's more than I can say for a lotta people…

"And… and maybe that's for a reason because," Scout stopped. He opened his mouth again but no words came out. But it had to be said, no matter how much it hurt to admit it. Scout cleared his throat once more and tried again.

"And maybe they didn't let me stick around because I'm a huge ****in' *sshole. Yup, I said it," Scout gave a weak smile, "Scout's a huge selfish jerk, who coulda guessed. And… it shouldn't have taken this long to realize that. But it did. And I'm... I'm sorry." Once the sorry actually escaped his lips, it was like a floodgate opened, and there was no stopping Scout now.

"I'm sorry for treating you like, like s**t. Y' never deserved it, especially cause of everything going on right now. And I'm sorry for being mean and, and cussing you out, and just being a huge d**k. I just… I never meant any of it, it's all just lies. I mean, I do at the time because I just… I don't know. A-And it ain't an excuse cause it never is and I went way too ****in' far but… but that's why I told you that. Back at the little campfire thing. When I told you to…" Scout swallowed. "To kill yourself cause no one would miss you. I, I never should have said that. Yeah, I was freakin' drunk and mad and hurt cause ya said we weren't friends but… I said that cause what you said hurt. It just, I don't know. But I never meant it." Scout met Sniper's hidden eyes.

"A-And ya wanna know how I know I didn't mean it? Because if you did I'd miss you. There's at least one person on this stupid planet who'd care a ton if you went and offed yourself. And buddy you're looking at him. And I'm sorry for ever making ya think otherwise. I'm…" there was a familiar pressure building behind Scout's eyes. "I'm, mm… 'M so sorry… 'M sorry for everything. Ain't none a ya deserved any a this. 'M sorry for everything…"

The last few words Scout had to force out due to his constricting throat. It was getting hard to breathe. Really hard without letting some pathetic whimper escape him too. But real men don't cry. Strong men don't cry. He wasn't going to cry because that would be selfish; Scout shouldn't be feeling this way, wasn't his turn. He caused this so why was he…?

"...I guess that's it, really…" Scout whispered, mostly to himself. The soft breeze ruffled his hair and the closest tree branches. Now that he was closer, the blossoms were a soft white color. They were almost completely gone too, having been replaced by the small green leaf buds. The runner's fixation on the trees was broken by a rough voice.

"Why should I believe you?"

Scout's eyes snapped over to Sniper's, still hidden under those golden aviators. And what wasn't hidden couldn't be deciphered. A completely blank expression with an even blanker voice.

What Sniper said wasn't phrased like a jab or a jaded 'gotcha!'. At least it didn't sound like it. It was a question asking for an answer. Even though the answer Sniper was looking for was also one Scout was looking for.

"Because…" He bit his lip in thought and squinted his eyes. "Because I mean it…? No, it's not just that but it's the truth. Well, I mean-" Scout couldn't meet Sniper's gaze anymore.

"I don't know. I, I just don't know. Can't force ya to believe me. Don't want to either. Cause ya would probably hate me more than ya already do. And I'd probably deserve it. H*ll, if I were in your shoes, I'd probably just give myself a real good beating, that's what I'd do." Scout mumbled. Then he felt his heart drop after a thought came to mind.

"You could do that, actually." His voice was barely over a whisper and shaking like a leaf in the wind. "Won't fight back or nothing. Cause then we'd be even. Eye for an eye or some s**t, I don't care. Don't care if ya beat me black and blue, just. Just don't run me off again."

Don't leave me all alone again.

Scout, in fact, did care a whole bunch whether or not he was about to get pounded into a pulp. Just like the squirrel to his right. And if he had the choice, he would of course not get pummeled. But it wasn't his choice anymore. That was Sniper's. And Sniper looked like he was making his choice.

For the first time in over five minutes, Sniper moved. He unlatched himself from the door frame and began walking towards Scout, expression never wavering. It took all of his concentration to not book it back the way he came. Instead, Scout dug his feet in the ground and clenched his jaw in preparation for a mean right hook. It took what felt like centuries for Sniper to finally reach him. The marksman stood only a foot away, looking down at the runner from behind those reflective shades. Scout forced himself to keep eye contact even when his companion raised his hand-

"What the h*ll happened to your hand?" He asked. It was coated in blood. Looked fresh too. There were tons of little pinpricks along the marksman's knuckles.

Along with a pretty lengthy cut from his wrist all the way up Sniper's forearm.

"oh ****...!" Scout uttered, completely oblivious to everything but the wound. "Y-you didn't actually try to-"

"No."

"Oh thank goodness."

The smallest of twitches at the corner of Sniper's mouth before he sighed. "...Scout, listen," Sniper began, taking off his glasses with the arm he had raised and revealing a pair of concerning tired grey eyes. His voice wasn't much better. "And don't interrupt me while I'm talkin', alright?" Scout nodded. Sniper sighed again.

"I… I believe ya. That you're sorry. If ya weren't, it'd be pretty easy to tell. You're a horrible liar. Kinda helped that you looked like you were about to break down blubbering at the end there too. But…" Scout's heart dropped as Sniper fiddled with his shades, a complex emotion filling every line in the mercenary's face.

"But I don't forgive you." Scout's gaze dropped to the dirt. "Not yet, at least. What ya said was… nasty. Even for you."

"I know, 'm sorry."

"I know you are." Sniper conceded. He sighed for a third time and looked around the campsite, hands in his pockets. "And I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have driven away like that, ya could've easily died."

"Psshh, like a few wet nights could kill a hunk like me." Scout grinned lightly, "'Sides, deserved it, I was being a real jack*ss."

"No, no you didn't. You also didn't deserve it when I blew up at ya back when the van wouldn't start. Well, maybe a bit." Sniper chuckled, staring up at those white blossoms. "We were both actin like d**kheads. One more than the other." He gave Scout a pointed look and Scout nodded as he turned away.

"Yeah. 'M sorry, I'll, I'll try not to be such a major d**khead."

"...Think we may need to turn over a proper new leaf." Sniper said after a bit. Scout nodded again. "At least till we get back to Sawmill."

"So that's still the plan?"

"Yeah."

"And… "we"? Like, I'm included?"

"That's the idea as long as ya behave." Sniper slipped the shades back on. "If you don't, I won't hesitate to kick ya to the curb. Got it?"

"...got it." Scout affirmed.

"So… truce?" Sniper held out his hand. The runner hesitated, watching for any hidden laughs or motives. When he found nothing but a genuine offer, he took the marksman's hand eagerly.

"Truce."

"Alright," Sniper started back towards the camper with Scout right on his heels. "So how did you even get here? Couldn't have got here on foot."

"I walked and ran basically all day yesterday and hitchhiked today. So what happened to your hand?" Sniper gave the bloody appendage a glance.

"Punched the table, got splinters, and ended up finding one of those nasty nerve-lookers still stuck in moi arm making moi emotions run rampant."

"Oh crap." Scout winced, "that. That's not good."

"Yup. Oh, and also, while I appreciate the concern, ya can't really kill yourself by cutting your arm like that. It's the underside you need to worry about. That's where the artery is located."

"Oh. So ya can't bleed out from the other side?"

"Probably could if you let it sit for long enough. I'm guessing you're hungry, right?" Hungry couldn't even begin to describe what Scout was feeling. It was like someone had just up and ripped his stomach right out of his body. Didn't even feel anything there. It was kind of nice actually.

"Maybe." Sniper turned to give Scout the stink eye.

"Bloody "maybe", last thing I saw you eat was an affront to smores everywhere and even then the stains on your shirt are proof enough ya couldn't keep it down."

"Hey, that time wasn't my fault, okay? It was you're stupid "moonshine" that tastes like s**t that made me hurl, not the cookie smores- I mean," Scout paused after another look from his companion. "It didn't taste like s**t. It was just real spicy and it didn't mix well with getting kicked in the stomach with sharp toed boots. Why are your boots so freaking pointy anyway? It's stupid. Well, not stupid, they look real cool and the bruises I got are proof enough that they can be weapons so I guess just ignore whatever I said for the last thirty seconds or something. Don't listen to me."

"I've been doing that since day one, ya don't need to tell me twice."

"Hey!" Scout cried, entering after the marksman. Sniper chuckled, and said Scout didn't hear. He was probably just kidding, Sniper did that a lot. Everyone on the team kidded Scout at least five times a day.

But it didn't sound like kidding.

It didn't sound like kidding at all.

Chapter Text

It was amazing just how far a fake mustache can go when it comes to fooling people. Sure, Miss Pauling had several disguises that were more "realistic" but none were more satisfying to use than the oversized policeman outfit she always saved in the back of her car because of how ridiculous it really was. And today was no exception.

"So let me get this straight," the real police officer began as he watched Miss Pauling, or Detective Markus as her fake badge read, "you need the rest o' us fellas to leave so that you can search the building for any signs of sabotage or things like that?"

"Yes," Miss Pauling answered with an exaggerated deep voice.

"Uh, okay, should I get the boys to work on keeping them protestors away?" The cop jabbed his thumb towards the group of hippies behind the yellow police tape who were busy protesting the Mann Co. factory they were currently at. It was slightly confusing to her considering the fact that the factory had been closed for investigation and thus the protest was completely pointless in her honest opinion. But they were hippies, probably high out of their minds and known for making pointless decisions. Kind of like Soldier in that area, not that she'd ever tell that to his face. Miss Pauling quite liked having her arms intact and her throat un-strangled. Besides, it didn't seem like she'd even have the chance anymore anyways.

"Yes, it is imperative that my work is kept free of any and all distractions. Also the more people that are around, the more likely it is that evidence will be tampered with." Miss Pauling nearly spat out the last few words as several strands of the mustache she plastered on had gotten into her mouth. The officer nodded while chewing his cheek.

"That does sound reasonable. Right, I'll do that. Hope you find something Mister…"

"Markus."

"Mr. Markus. Don't worry, we'll keep those pesky hippies off your back." A nod of thanks before the cop began calling for his peers for crowd control. Thankful for the instant trust and obedience, Miss Pauling slipped underneath the yellow police tape and began towards the gigantic building.

If the huge billboard outside wasn't enough, the size of the factory would make it clear to all that it was made and owned by Mann Co. The industrial bricks and dark grey paint piled high as walls. Double doors the size of cars marked the entrance. And foil tubes along with blockish air vents darted the ceiling. Hitching her oversized police pants up, Miss Pauling took the oversized handle and opened the factory.

The smell of sour milk greeted her first.

As Miss Pauling's nose instinctually wrinkled from the odor, her eyes wandered around the barren darkness of the factory floor. The lights were out, leaving the industrial windows lining the walls to push back against the shadows. It was completely empty of life. Heavy machinery lay abandoned and dusty. Chains of iron hung from the ceiling and the treadmills for building were immobile. And surrounding everything were what appeared to be high strength fishing line.

It was white, if not slightly translucent, and it gave off the palest of glows. The string was strung up, growing on the floor like fungi, and webbing the walls. There wasn't much but it was enough that Miss Pauling had to skip over the suspicious alien substance every so often as she dwelled deeper into the compound.

"What is all this…?" She wondered out loud. Her whispers carried throughout the room. There weren't any of these strings at Sawmill when she first investigated. Were these strange attacks related or were they simply coincidences? It required further investigation.

Miss Pauling knelt down near a bundle of strings. Then, she slipped off the satchel she brought with her and took out a pair of medical gloves. There was no way she was touching that with her bare hands. After the rubber had been slipped on, she took a pair of tweezers and took hold of a string. It was taunt and gave little give and when she released, the sound was like a metal wire, warping and bouncing off the walls.

A moment later and a piece of the material was safely trapped within a vial she brought out. The Administrator would want any and all clues as to what happened brought back to her. Knowledge was something she held higher than life itself it seemed and when that knowledge was kept away from her hands, well, the results spoke for themselves.

Miss Pauling whistled a small tune as she crept deeper into the ruined factory. She couldn't remember the name of the song but it was something about bananas she was pretty sure. The rooms off from the main floor were just as empty and webbed up. It wasn't like she knew exactly what she was looking for but something had to be around. Miss Pauling just didn't know what yet.

After about thirty minutes of searching, the assistant finally made it to the lower levels, the area where the factory workers would keep extra supplies and other things she wasn't completely aware of. There was a reason Miss Pauling was an assistant and not a blue collar worker, which of course had its perks, but knowing all the ins and outs of manual labor buildings was not one of them.

The rancid smell was far worse down below and Miss Pauling had to get rid of her fake mustache as its hairs seemed to trap the smell right below her nose. And the light from the windows was completely snuffed out due to the noticeable lack of windows. So, out came the flashlight she brought alongside the pistol she always kept on her holster. The emptiness above ground didn't mean a thing down below and she wasn't taking any chances.

Thick concrete pillars held the building up and filled the expansive rooms Miss Pauling went through. Most were simple storage rooms and held nothing and no one. But there were a few that were made for human life. She stood outside the door to one with her flashlight and pistol raised. The door was closed but unlocked based on the splintering doorknob. Almost like it had been kicked open. Miss Pauling did the same. With a light tap of her foot, the door slowly swung open.

Again, there was nobody. Nobody but a chair and a desk with around eight monitors lying on it. Security tapes. Information, evidence. Miss Pauling, in her haste, set aside her flashlight and weapon, sat down and darted her hand forward to press the computer's power button.

Nothing. She tried again. Still nothing. Perhaps it had been unplugged. Or perhaps it was sabotage. Miss Pauling pushed the chair out and bent down to find the power cord. Even through the darkness, she could make out the torn up wires and outlets. They were mangled beyond repair, but not the computer. And if the employees were more competent than what Miss Pauling gave them credit for, they would have kept the security logs recorded on tapes within the computer.

She looked to her left and spotted the tape processor, just below the main console.

"Bingo." Miss Pauling took hold of the tape processor and pressed the ejection button. A sharp whirring noise lit up the room but nothing else occurred. She sighed through her nose and pressed again. If she tried forcing the tape out it could be damaged in the process but it might be the only way if the processor was too battered. And that was quickly becoming the reality. Well then.

A slight huff and then the assistant lifted the tape entrance. Yup, there was a tape in there. It wasn't a smart idea but drastic times call for drastic measures. Sticking her slender fingers into the slot, Miss Pauling took hold of whatever little crevice the tape had and started to wiggle it loose. Better than just yanking it out, not that she could even if she wanted to, the slot was too narrow to fit her entire hand in. So she wiggled. And wiggled. And wiggled before the tape finally sat in her hands, cradled as if it were made of Australium.

Triumphant, she placed the tape into her satchel and made to stand when another door caught her eye. It stood in the darkest corner of the room. It was so dark that Miss Pauling's vision swirled and cracked if she stared too long. But there was a door. And it was open.

Well, The Administrator would want her to be thorough in her investigation. So she stood, took her light and gun once more, and crept towards the entrance. The door, it seemed, was also kicked open. But from the inside. Which wouldn't have been a big deal if the room wasn't a dead end.

It was a small thing, only holding a couple employee lockers and benches to rest. A break room of sorts. Along the ceiling and wall was a hefty vent whose cover had been smashed out and hung limp on its one remaining screw. And in the middle of the floor sat a small drain hatch. It sat open, filling the room with a deep hole so dark Miss Pauling's light couldn't push it back. Webs emerged from that hole like a virus, spreading along the floor like roots.

And there was red.

Red splattered over the vent, over little sharp nicks in the cement floor, and in the red was dark strands of hair. Blood wasn't the only thing red in the room. Along the lines growing out from the drain, small flecks of what appeared to be flesh peppered the webs and floor. What appeared to be flesh because the longer Miss Pauling looked, the stranger it got.

Little pieces of muscle and fat that glistened and seemed to shift in the light. Like their colors faded or grew depending on the angle the light hit them. Staring at it all left Miss Pauling with an uncomfortable feeling so she looked away to grab her satchel. Using the tweezers once again, she grabbed the largest bit of tissue and held it up to the light. It shone and dazzled with rainbow light. But the most prominent of all was a deep blood red. She trapped the substance into another vial.

There were far too many questions this factory left behind. And whatever was left that could give answers were encrypted with even more questions. The low drone of the compound's industrial fans was the only noise besides the assistant's breath.

Miss Pauling stood and stretched, looking towards the vent. The possibility of finding a body in it was more likely than the drain pipe since it was big enough to fit one. So, she stepped over the open hole and the webs and over to the broken vent. It was still too high for the petite lady so she dragged one of the benches over and used it as a stepping stool. With a light hop, she stood on the bench and peered into the darkened air duct.

The square tunnels were empty and covered in the glistening strings along with some dried blood. No corpse to be seen. If there was one, it had been dragged far deeper into the building's foundation. Miss Pauling leaned in as far as she could, sticking her head completely into the vent to shine the light further down. Nothing to the left. But when she shone down the right, something metal glinted off the flashlight's beam. She reached in and grabbed it without a second thought.

It was small and cylindrical, about the size of a fired bullet, much unlike the bulking machinery of Mann Co.. Little flecks of the strange flesh coated the thing along with droplets of blood. Copper wires and green chips could be seen through the thick plastic top. And there was something engraved on the side of the unknown device. Miss Pauling retreated from the vent and stepped down from the bench. She held the device up to the light and shone it upon the engravings. Wiping away the biological debris, the words written on the side were revealed.

The words held little substance and even less knowledge to Miss Pauling. But it was far more important than anything before. Perhaps even more precious than the security tape. Slipping the strange device into her satchel, Miss Pauling reattached the mustache and sped out from the room.

Out from the factory and out from the yellow tape, slipping past the oblivious cops and drugged up hippies and back into her little purple convertible. The disguise was removed and shoved into the passenger seat as Miss Pauling snatched up the brick like phone from the cup holders. The dull ringing sounded into her ear as she stared at the silver bullet-like machine. Even if she didn't understand the importance of the words written on its smooth surface, she might.

The light beep ended the distant ringing.

"I believe it is safe to assume you've found something of importance?" The Administrator's drawl followed.

"Yes ma'am," Miss Pauling agreed, holding the device up to the daylight, "I believe I have found our lead." her fingers traced along the cold letters cut deep in the metal.

Property of Gray Industries.

The patter of rain was what brought Sniper into the waking world albeit quiet. Maybe that was why it did. There was no other noise to be heard within the small camper van. That, or the rain muffled the sounds because it was just slightly louder than everything else. It was hard to tell with one's ears still filled with sleepy cotton.

With a stretch and a groan, Sniper slipped down from his bed and onto the floor. The morning light was filtering through the small windows, giving the van some much needed grey light. Smoothing his black tee shirt down, the marksman looked around the space and caught sight of one thing laying on the table. From this, three pieces of information were gathered.

One, the table was no longer a bed which meant Scout was awake. Two, there was a still steaming mug of coffee resting on the table so it had to have been no more than fifteen minutes ago. And three, Scout was missing. Again. Sniper wasn't surprised.

What did surprise him was that the coffee was smoother than normal when he finally took a sip. It was still bitter and had no sweetness to be found, but rather than the watery consistency Sniper normally had, it was creamy. And sure enough, when Sniper went through his mini fridge, the milk was noticeably misplaced from where it last sat.

Well, even if it wasn't what he was used to, caffeine was still caffeine, so Sniper took a seat at the table and sipped at the drink while he waited for Scout to reappear. As he did, Sniper scratched his hand and flinched. Okay, so it was still sore.

Yesterday, right after they had reentered the van, Scout immediately began rifling through his stuff trying to find some bandages. When asked why, he said that it was for protecting his hands once the medkit did it's job. At the time, Sniper had no idea what that was supposed to mean as the medkit would heal basically everything up fine. But now he did.

Medibeam would heal him, but it wasn't enough to stop the annoying itchiness that always followed little wounds. Luckily, the bandages wrapped around his hand gave his fragile skin some protection from his scratching urges. Now, his left hand looked a lot like Scout's if it was bigger.

The runner was the one who told Sniper how to wrap his hand like he did. Scout had tried showing him, but after he had taken the bandages to wrap his hand, he gave them back when reality set back in. After Sniper bandaged his own with Scout's help, the kid made him wrap his remaining one to prove the marksman was listening to his instructions.

Sniper set his mug down, now empty of its contents. How long had Scout been out? Where was he? Well, the kid could take care of himself so he wasn't worried. If he didn't return after Sniper got himself something to eat, he'd go looking. The patter of rain made him grimace at the thought of walking through it.

Nearly half an hour later Sniper was slipping on his rain jacket and into the outdoors. Breakfast was made, then he waited a bit, then he sharpened his kukri a tad, and then he had to admit to himself that he was just meandering at that point and forced himself to actually follow through with his plan. So he got dressed, and stepped into the rain.

Wind blasted his face, peppering it with sharp, cold, droplets. A snarl, then Sniper pulled his hood up. The campground was a muddy mess and it seemed that the weather change ran off most of the campers whose vacations were most likely ruined. The only other sign of life was a blue tent about fifty feet away. And that meant no Scout.

He really ought to keep the gremlin on a leash, this was getting ridiculous. How many times had Scout run off in the mornings? What did he even do, go for a run? No, the first couple times his ankle was injured so running was unlikely. But then what?

Sniper sighed as the cold wind once again showered him in rain. Mud made it hard to walk from his boots getting sucked to the ground. And it was just cold in general. Nasty day this was going to be.

Where was he?

"Scout?" He called, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the drizzle. So far, no sign of the kid. Did he seriously apologize and willingly give himself up to be beaten in order for Sniper to take him in again just to run off? Scout was stupid sometimes, yes, he'd even argue most of the time, but not brainless. Another blast of frigid air.

"Scout!" Sniper called again. Thank goodness no one was around to hear him. Including the one person he was actually looking for. Maybe he'd just gone to the showers to wash himself off. That made sense.

"Bloody h*ll…" He cussed himself out and turned around, back towards the path that led to the camp showers.

Along the way Sniper spotted a small skunk trail cutting through some old brambles about 75 feet away from his trailer. Well, it probably led somewhere he couldn't reach but still, he had to check all his options. So, he stepped onto the path and through the snares. The sharp thorns would catch on his pants and some would even nick his ankles making his attitude even worse.

But eventually the small path reached its end: a sizable clearing along a slight incline. Towards the side was a boulder the size of a juvenile elephant, one that, from the way it rested, created the slightest overhang. Moss coated its top and leaning against the boulder's side with his arms crossed over his knees sat Scout.

The young man was a statue, unmoving to the world. Even when the overhanging moss dripped old water onto his head. As Sniper got closer, he could see that the runner's eyes were closed. That, or he was just squinting them really tight. And he was soaked.

"Oh for the love of…" Sniper groaned as he finally reached Scout's side. "Scout." No response. So, the marksman gave him a light jab with his foot directly into Scout's side. The runner's eyes snapped open as he scrambled around from the foreign touch.

"Wha- what the, whaz happenin'!?" Scout cried, voice raspy from neglect. His panicky state quelled when he caught sight of Sniper's boots. Then he looked up to meet the annoyed Sniper's eyes with a worried grin.

Scout was wearing the exact same clothes as yesterday and either forgot that his shirt was covered in bile, blood, and whatever else, or simply didn't care. Sniper didn't know which one was worse. But somehow that wasn't the thing that really caught his attention. That would be the nasty scabs running down the kid's right cheek.

"Er- wonderful weather we're having, right?" Scout said, eyes flickering every so often away from Sniper's own. The marksman took a long, deep inhale before speaking.

"...Kid," He started, voice low, "I have been looking for your skinny *rse for about fifteen minutes, calling for ya with no answer when this entire time you were in earshot, what in the actual h*ll are you doing out here?" Scout mumbled something before getting to his feet. The slight tremble of the runner's legs didn't go unnoticed.

"Just stuff, it's not important."

"It was important enough for you to leave without a single trace and just plant yourself down in the rain without any kind of protection. So, I'm asking you again, what were you doing out here?" Under his sharp glare Scout began to squirm.

"Just went for a freakin' run, man, and you were still sleeping so I was waiting till you woke up and just zoned out, it's not that big a deal." Scout growled, staring at his shoes and scratching at his arm.

"It is when I'm going to have to be the one taking care of your skinny *rse if you get sick. Now come on," Sniper grabbed Scout's wrist, ignoring his meek protests, and began to drag him towards the path.

"I can walk just fine!" Scout twisted his arm out from Sniper's grip, "don't need ya pulling my arm like I can't."

"Oh shut it, the moment I take my eyes off ya you disappear and I'm sick of it. Now come on," Sniper took Scout's slender wrist once more in an even tighter grip and began to drag him towards the showers. His companion made some pathetic protests but soon gave up and allowed himself to be taken prisoner. When Sniper finally let go of the surprisingly slim arm, it was in front of the men's public washroom.

"You," he grabbed Scout's shoulder(the grip tightened when Sniper felt the boy flinch under it), "are going to go and clean yourself up. Standing in the rain isn't a proper bath and ya reek." A light shove and Scout was in front of him and the door.

"...fine, whatever." the Bostonian mumbled before he kicked the damp earth, dirtying his shoes, and stepped into the building.

Sniper rolled his eyes and turned back towards his home. While doing so, a fat raindrop landed on his nose, making the man flinch. Were they ever going to outrun the storm? It kept right at their heels and for some odd reason Scout didn't seem to mind. Well, water apparently hurt the Counterfeit and he hadn't seen heads or tales for a couple days. So maybe he didn't mind too much either. Still hated the cold though, and no one could fault him for that.

By the time he arrived back at the van the marksman was about as wet as Scout had been when he found him. It had also been a good ten minutes since he left the runner at the showers. It was a good amount of time to get one's self cleaned up so Scout should be back at any time. As long as he doesn't go for another one of his "runs". Sniper scoffed at the notion as he began washing the dishes that had been piling since day one. There had been no time to do so and the last few days hadn't really put him in a dish washing mood.

The small sink was filled with soapy warm water and soon was joined by the plates and silverware the pair had left. At least this water was warm. And clean. Rain was fresh but probably full of bacteria and other particles Sniper didn't appreciate ingesting. The other blokes all had around the same reactions save for Scout and Soldier. Anytime they were stationed once more in Sawmill the fellas would make a fuss about the weather. Rain rusted machines, rain ruined clothes, rain made the ground slick and unstable, rain made the air full of fog and cold.

There was a time, right around when they had all been assigned on RED when the power to the entire base had gone out during a heavy storm. That led to the only light being outside and the team were forced out into the elements to both fix the generator and actually tell what they were doing. Spy, himself, Heavy, and Pyro were staying beneath the one roofed porch, Engie was on the side of the building fixing the fuses, Demo and Soldier were dumb enough and drunk enough to have a contest of who could gain the highest speed when sliding through the mud using explosives, and Medic was chasing Scout and scolding him for being stupid enough to go outside without a jacket. Scout in response ran circles around the older man, laughing and jumping in every puddle he could. For someone who wanted so badly to be treated like an adult, he sure didn't act like it.

How old was Scout anyway? Nineteen? Younger? Not older than 21, surely.

As the last dish was cleaned, Sniper emptied the sink of the now brown and lukewarm water. Reaching up and opening one of the hanging cabinets, Sniper grabbed a hand towel and started to dry his belongings. In no time at all, it too was wet like his shirt.

Shouldn't Scout be back by now? Surely nobody took thirty minute showers. And he was always so quick with everything else. Unless he slipped and busted his *rse on the tiled floor. Sniper was polite enough to keep his snicker at the thought to himself. But still, Scout was taking far too long and they needed to get a move on. Wiping off his hands, Sniper tossed the towel aside and-

Scout didn't have a towel. Or a clean change of clothes. Ph- no bloody wonder why the kid was taking so long! He should have forced him to get all that before washing up. But hindsight was twenty twenty. So Sniper grabbed a towel and the first pair of clothing that reasonably looked like Scout could wear them without looking like a malnourished orphan. Then, once they were tucked tight under his arm, he stepped back outside and towards the showers.

On the way there he saw a few campers, one of which was a wrinkled old mess of a man smoking on a pipe. The man didn't say a word, content to just stare at Sniper as he walked past. Just before the man passed beyond Sniper field of vision, the marksman could have sworn he saw him smirk.

In no time he was back in front of the men's washroom. With his shoulder Sniper pushed it open and entered the steam filled building. Steam filled was an understatement, this was a bloody fog pea soup thick. And it was loud. Really loud. Whoever installed the plumbing ought to be ashamed of their self because the rattling, the clanking, and the harsh hissing of water was enough to make a man go crazy.

The only other light besides the buzzing orange lamp in the ceiling was the thin window lining the wall. There was a row of small shower stalls beneath it painted a strange mint green contrasting horrifically with the orange tiles. All were empty save for two, and the closest had a stained blue top and light brown pants hanging from the stall's door. Sniper walked up and knocked. It was barely audible over the horrid pipes and deafening water streams.

"Hey, Scout, I brought ya a towel," he called. Did he actually say something or had he gone mute halfway through? Didn't even hear himself speak it was so loud. "Listen, I'm going to take these," he grabbed the runner's nasty clothes, "and leave ya with these." Sniper placed the clean clothes onto the door. No response. Did… Did Scout actually slip and get himself injured? Nah.

"Hey, can ya hear me!?" Sniper called, rapping on the door again. The water behind it was inconsistent, falling hard and light without pattern so Scout was definitely in there. "Look, I'm leaving the towel here for ya but you best hurry up, we're wasting precious daylight!" Again, no response. Sniper looked around the small building. There was no one else besides himself and the two other people using the showers. Chewing on his cheek, Sniper rapped one more time and felt the door nudge loose. Okay, whoever installed the stalls had to be in cahoots with the plumber because this was a huge breach in privacy. But Scout wasn't saying a d*mn thing and although Sniper would never admit it, the silence was unnerving. Well, the lack of talking because the showers were anything but silent.

"OY! Scout! Listen, I'm opening the door but I'm only handing you the towel!" Sniper shouted as he grabbed the flimsy door's edge and began to push it open, "So don't get yourself in a tizzy about this-"

What happened next was so fast and so chaotic that even if you had all the strongest computers in the world combined into one, it still wouldn't be able to help Sniper process what the actual **** just happened.

One moment he was trying to hand Scout a towel and the next he was standing back outside holding Scout's old clothes with whoever was within earshot of the highest pitched scream Sniper had ever heard looking towards the showers with an expression of both pain and fear. And honestly, who could blame them? It was loud enough to shatter glass. In fact, it did. There was a large crack in the slim window where there wasn't before. And Sniper could still hear that painful ringing the runner's shriek caused.

Eyes wide in a daze, Sniper shook his head, trying to dispel the ringing like water from his ears before heading back to the camper. Other eyes that were also stuck wide watched him head back. A flush of heat filled his cheeks as he pulled his hat's brim lower and quickened his pace. He just wanted to hand the kid a bloody towel…

Another five minutes and now Sniper sat in the driver's seat of his van taking a drag from a cigarette. After that entire fiasco, he sure needed one. Scout would no doubt make a fuss again. Unless Sniper finished it before the runner arrived. He took another drag.

Soon the slim figure of Scout could be seen trotting towards the van. Crushing the lit end of the cigarette on the shoulder of his dashboard's bobble head, Sniper turned to greet the now clothed Scout who glared in response.

"I'll have you know that I knocked at least three times before opening the door." he said.

"Thing is ya didn't have to open it at all. Coulda just tossed everything over it." Scout growled, cheeks still red from the shower's heat and embarrassment. Sniper just rolled his eyes.

"And that would have gotten the clean clothes I brought ya wet. And you're welcome for that." The runner's indignant gaze fell to the ground. When the silence grew too long for Sniper's tastes, he opened his mouth to tell Scout to put the towel in the back. Scout beat him to it.

"...thank you, Sniper." he said before turning and walking towards the camper's door. The marksman sat still for a moment. Then he leaned back and drummed his fingers along the wheel, waiting. The wait was short lived. A light rocking of the van announced the arrival of Scout who took the passenger seat without a word.

"All set?"

"Yeah." Scout replied as he struggled to get the seat belt buckled. It was slightly painful to watch just how long it took the Bostonian to actually get the bloody thing buckled but it was in the end.

"Is…" Scout managed to say when the ignition started and the van began to move. Sniper looked over at his surprisingly quiet companion.

"Is the plan still going back to Sawmill?" he finally said.

"Well, yeah," Sniper replied, "the plan hasn't changed, mate, don't know why ya thought it would." At that, Scout shrugged with a despondent expression before leaning back in his seat and staring out the window. Well, if Scout was going to pout, he had every right to do so, just like Sniper had every right to ignore him. Which was what he did. The forested campground was left behind as the pair turned onto the highway.

Pines grew into firs and firs grew into rolling hills which rose along with their elevation. The overcast sky soon blossomed into herds of towering clouds so white it would hurt to stare without Sniper's aviators.

The marksman drummed his hand along the wheel as the highway slowly but surely filled with other cars and trucks. The only sound that filled the compartment were the rushing winds of speeding vehicles. Well, that, and the light scratching noise of Scout rubbing his shirt together under his fingers.

"So," Sniper began, causing the runner's eyes to shoot up towards him, "I'm guessing ya didn't sleep well last night." Scout shrugged.

"Not really, but at least I wasn't sleeping on some freakin' wet grass this time." Sniper nodded, drumming his fingers along the wheel even more. Scout was doing something similar along his injured arm, chewing his cheek in silence. That silence lasted longer than either wanted.

"I uh…" Scout started, "so, just so y'know, all them bruises were from falling off a stupid rockface, not the… our, uh, y'know."

"What?"

"Wh-, well whaddya mean what, you saw them! Freakin', y'know, the ones all over my back and arms, crap like that. I fell off a cliff and all kinds of stupid rocks just, y'know…" The runner's voice pilfered out into silence again.

"Uh, right." Sniper replied. Scout nodded, looking at everything but Sniper.

Silence.

His fingers drummed against the wheel to the tune of Beyond The Sea.

Scout was cracking his knuckles using his thumb.

Silence.

A light pattern of minuscule sprinkling rain hit the windshield.

Pitter-patter.

…

Sighing through his nose, Sniper looked over at his companion. The runner was simply sitting and bouncing his leg up and down. Sitting so quietly. Quiet. The marksman's grip tightened.

It was too quiet.

He reached over and did something he hadn't done willingly in years. Sniper turned on the radio. The sound of muffled static talking filled the compartment. The dial twisted and turned from station to station with Scout watching in interest.

There was a station about the news so gargled it was useless, the twang of an acoustic guitar and trumpets, more talking about things Sniper simply didn't care about. He didn't know what he was searching for but it wasn't any of these-

"Wait! Go back," Scout rang out. "Uh- please." Sniper turned the dial back a notch.

"-the fourth inning has started with The Braves leading The Dodgers by two points-"

"Uh, what's this about?" Sniper asked, eyes back on the road building with traffic. Scout snapped his own eyes up with a horrified expression.

"It's freakin' Baseball, man! The best sport ever freakin' made!?" The runner exclaimed, still horrified. Sniper huffed.

"Well I'm not exactly a sporty fella like yourself, how was I supposed to know that this was about baseball?"

"Cause "Innings" are part of Baseball and The Dodgers and The Braves are freakin' teams? Where else are ya gonna hear the word "inning"?" Sniper simply shrugged.

"Ya still act like I know what those are."

"Okay so Innings are basically the rounds during the game; there's nine in total just like the number of players, which is nine, and the innings last until both teams have gotten three outs when batting."

Oh no, what did he inadvertently get himself into?

"The first team up to bat is the visitors and second's the home team. Games can last hours depending on how good or an hour depending on how s**t a team is.-"

"Waitwaitwait, slow down. Firstly, who's playing again?" Sniper managed to slip in through Scout's surprisingly dense knowledge on the sport. Actually, was it really that surprising? Scout paused mid sentence with a blank face.

"Wh-wha?"

"The teams," Sniper repeated, "What teams are playing?"

"The Milwaukee Braves vs. The Los Angeles Dodgers."

"Okay, and who's in the lead?"

"The Braves, weren't you listening to the radio?"

"No, I was being polite and listening to you. But if you'd rather listen to the radio than ramble about things I don't care about, that's fine too." The van slowed to a near crawl with the traffic backing up. He sat up straighter, trying to get a good look over all the cars in front. Had an accident occurred?

"I… yeah, okay, I'll just… yeah." Scout said before crossing his arms and staring at the noise maker.

Their progress was painstakingly slow and Sniper's patience, although large, was starting to wear thin. Only slightly but wearing nonetheless. An inch was made every minute it seemed and to the sharpshooter's somewhat dismay, Scout was the only entertaining thing around.

While the words on the radio were like a foreign language Sniper couldn't speak, Scout was hearing his native tongue. He was captivated by the small radio, completely engaged. The announcer would say something and Scout would shake his head in disappointment, the muffled cheers and whistles of fans would cheer and Scout would either whoop along with them or snap his fingers in annoyance or groan and boo when his chosen side "got out" or something like that. It was quite the spectacle since Sniper had no idea where the game was even taking place and couldn't picture what was happening for the life of him.

Scout was miles away watching a game and Sniper was here sitting and watching them inch along. Leaning on his arm, Sniper turned to look at Scout who was now crossing all of his fingers again and staring at the radio with bated breath. At least he was having a good time.

"So, are The Braves still winning?" Sniper drawled, watching the little raindrops race down his side window. Scout started from the sudden voice and un-bit his lip.

"Uhh, nah, The Dodgers took the lead in the seventh inning and it's getting real close," Scout turned back to the radio, listening to the event unfold, "They'll need at least four runs just to break even and I don't think they'll manage that this inning."

""Runs"? What's that?" The runner was quiet for a moment, looking over at Sniper with an expression that plainly read "are you pulling my leg or are you being serious?".

"Runs are basically when a runner goes through all four bases and crosses home without getting out. Each run scores ya a point and the team with the most points by the end of the ninth inning wins."

"So," Sniper scratched his cheek, "is that short for "Home Run" cause that's about the extent of my knowledge."

"Nahnahnah, Home Runs are when ya hit the ball over the outfield fence that's still in fair territory. Doing that'll getcha a free trip around the bases without getting outed."

"But what is "outed" or "outting"?" With each question asked Scout was getting more and more distracted from the game and giving Sniper more and more of his attention.

"Okay, so, there are a lotta ways ya can get out, which means that you're sent back to the benches and ya turn's used up until either everyone before you gets a run or three batters get out. If ya get three strikes, you're out. If ya hit the ball but it's caught before it hits the ground, you're out. If ya get hit with a batted ball while off of a base, you're out. If ya get tagged with the ball when ya ain't touching a base, you're out. Go more than three feet away from the baseline? Out. The forced base gets tagged before the forced runner gets to it? Out. Run past the runner in front a ya? Out. There's a lotta outs and when me and my brothers were starting to get the hang of it we made tons of other really stupid rules to out somebody, it was awesome!"

"How do ya remember all of that?"

"Ah that's easy! Three rules: don't get tagged, get to base before it gets tagged, and hit a ball so freakin' hard that it'll reach heaven before hittin' the ground."

"Huh." Sniper said, unsure how to respond. There were a lot of rules. And it seemed like Scout was just getting started.

"-And then the Grand Slam, that's when ya get a Home Run with every base loaded so every runner gets to finish their run and cross home base. Brody used to get them all the time when we were stuck using the old court behind the old barbershop. Course, we only called them Grand Slams because every ball he hit would end up behind "The Barking Fence" and nobody but nobody who valued his manliness would jump over and get them back. "Leave them to the dogs, better those balls than your own!" That's what Jamey always said whenever one a us was stupid enough to try and get one back. Well as ya can imagine, we ran outta baseballs soon because Brody was a stupid meathead who just kept getting home runs over The Barking Fence. Well, Tommy had the bright idea of using the old brick parts from the discontinued lot near the East Parts. Ya can imagine how that went. Poor Stan Parle was never the same since. We stopped using bricks after that. And the best part? Brody remains a meathead to this day!" Scout finished with a chuckle. "Aw man, I bet he still opens soup cans like a freakin' gorilla."

"...I'm just gonna pretend I know who any of those people ya just mentioned were- wait, Tommy's your brother, right?"

"Yup, he's the one that came right before me." Scout was grinning now, completely forgetting about the Baseball game, "Basically there's Jamey, Davey, Wesley, Brody, Harvey, Henry, Tommy, and me! So yeah, we get handsomer the further down ya go." Sniper snorted, causing Scout to snap his eyes up in annoyance.

"Don't believe me? Well I'm right and they all agree too. There's a reason they always ganged up on me and that's because they're freakin' jealous of my manly charm." Scout leaned back, nodding to his reasoning. Sniper on the other hand was just watching the cars trudge along.

"Ya sure do have a lot of brothers." He finally said. Scout nodded again.

"Yeah, I think Ma was trying for a girl but she just kept getting boy after boy. Kinda the opposite of uhhhhh… what's that fat king's name again?"

"Do ya mean Henry th' Eighth?"

"Eh whatever, he's been dead for, what, a thousand years or some s**t? Anyway, Ma got all of us instead, just a pack of mad dogs."

"You were that bad, huh?" Sniper mused, "probably gave your poor ol' mum hundreds of gray hairs."

"Ey, I wasn't that bad! It was the older guys that were ****ed up, okay? Well, ****ed up but still cool. Don't ever tell them I said that or I'm freakin' dead, okay?"

"Eh- okay-"

"Cool, well, Jamey's pretty chill but kinda boring. Davey sucks, Wesley was an airhead, Brody's a meathead, Harvey's real cool, Henry's a freakin' smart*ss and Tommy's kinda… uh… well he's cool too most of the time."

"Hm. Yeah, I can't imagine living with anything more than four people."

"Yeah, they all suck but we always had each other's backs. Most of the time. If they could stick the blame on ya for something they did, they would. I got smacked so many freakin' times cause they'd pull some s**t like that. Lemme tell ya man," Scout turned to Sniper with a dead serious expression, "ya haven't known pain until ya get your bare *ss beat with a wooden spoon." At that, Sniper once again snorted.

"I wouldn't know, my parents used other methods when I got caught flaking on my chores."

"Like what?"

"My dad would take his belt-" Sniper raised his right hand to show Scout its back, "-and would whip the back of my hand till it turned red. Hurt like h*ll."

"Hey that's what Davey would do if I messed with his stuff!" Scout grinned. Then his grin fell. "Well, he'd just use it wherever he could. If he could catch me."

"This Davey bloke of yours sounds like a real piece of work."

"Aw that's not even the worst thing he did, check this out," Scout turned away from the marksman and pulled his left ear back. The traffic was still immobile so Sniper took a look. And cringed.

An ugly ridged scar racing down the back of Scout's ear made it look like it had been sewn on instead of existing there in the first place.

"He and Wesley came home from a fight one day," the runner began, "and I was sitting in the living room organizing my baseball cards, right? Well, at school I managed to trade some of mine for a more rare one with a friend of Tommy's and I thought "man, everybody in this house likes Baseball! Wait'll my bros see this!" so I ran up and just started talking all about the card and how freakin' awesome that day was. Turns out Davey and Wes lost the fight and were in a s**tty mood and while Wes was able to slip past(he was always like a freakin' ninja) Davey was stuck listening to me. And he didn't like listening to me.

"About three minutes later he started yelling back about how he was sick of me always talking and annoying the crap outta everyone and Ma. Then he asked how I would like it if someone talked my ear off and grabbed me and tugged so hard that my ear basically ripped right off. Yeah, I don't remember anything after that but we never could get the stain outta the carpet."

"...bloody h*ll." Sniper sat there staring at the runner who had let go of his ear and leaned back like before.

"Yeah, well, it's not like I wasn't used to it," Scout mumbled, leaning against the window, "whenever Ma had to get someone to watch me, things like that always happened. Some a them were worse than others but yeah, for a while I wouldn't talk to any of them unless I had too cause when I did that they wouldn't rip my ears off. Course then I got a freakin' brain and started talking just to annoy them. I'm allowed to talk and they can't boss me around no more! And then they started actin' so freakin' high and mighty when I took this job like they ain't never beat a person to near death! They freakin' taught me! And now you're telling me that I'm the bad guy just because I get to do it for cash now!? Yeah nah, **** em, alright? They're just a buncha freakin' hippo-crates. Cept for Harvey, he's still alright."

The van's compartment went silent after that as they inched along. Scout had gotten himself into a sour mood thinking about his brothers. Sniper sighed.

"I know the feeling." He finally said. His companion looked at him. "About your family not agreeing with your career choice. Bloody h*ll I know."

"Ya folks don't like it either?"

"Not a bit," Sniper admitted, "they're always worried that I won't make it back for the holidays and how sniping's not a "real job". It's a real pain to argue about each time it's brought up."

"So… how did ya become a sniper?" The marksman smirked and looked over at the Scout.

"Well, when you're the runt of the entire country, ya have to learn to defend yourself somehow. And with all your peers being so strong, getting into brawls won't cut it. So, ya take what you can get."

"Which was what?"

"Climbing up trees and lobbing stones at them. Got real good at it too." This time it was Scout's turn to snort.

"So ya went from hurling rocks to blowing heads off a people? Kinda feels like you're leaving some steps out, guy."

"Well, it went from stones to arrows when I was old enough to hunt on my own, and then it was my dad's hunting rifle for a time, and when I got real good at shooting animals and pests for people, my skills were noticed and I was offered a job where instead of killin' dingos, it was killin' men."

"Oh."

"Yeah, not as groundbreaking as you'd think, huh?"

"I guess," Scout shrugged, "kinda what happened to me. I was already known for busting heads up but what really got me the job was running. Guess they couldn't find someone as fast as me to fill the role." The sharpshooter hummed. Made sense. The kid, while violent, was a living lightning bolt.

"If ya don't mind me asking... why didn't ya become one of those baseball players you like so much? Or even the Olympics, I'd say you're fast enough to win golds." At that, Scout chuckled. Then barked out a bitter laugh.

"Ya honestly think the big leagues would choose a guy like me!?"

"...Yeah?"

"Well think again," Scout sneered, "they'd never pick some kid from Southside living in The Slums over the prissy prep goons from private schools. Cause it don't matter if the poorer guy can run circles around the rich kid, it's all about looking good! And it sure doesn't help that money speaks louder than the records ya set. People don't go for the guys who come from places like I do."

"Sorry to hear that." Sniper replied, eyes back on the road when the traffic started up again.

"Well what can ya do. Harvey was the one who suggested it first cause he wanted me to "live up to my full potential" or some crap like that. But honestly," Scout leaned over after looking around as if there could be anyone else in the two person compartment, "he just wanted me to stop tagging along when he and the others got into brawls after Ma gave them all a beat down."

"It sounds like you're playing favorites, mate."

"Well, everybody else does it in the family so I don't see why I can't- woah woah woah wait…"

"What?" Sniper glanced over at Scout, who was now gawking at him with a dumbfounded expression.

"...Could ya stop peering at me like that, mate-"

"You could be Harvey's freakin' twin!"

"Wait, what?"

Scout nodded, realization flooding his eyes. "Dude, just minus the scar and make ya eyes green and nose crooked and boom! Harvey! Well, he also doesn't have a horse face like you do but-"

"Excuse me?" Sniper deadpanned. Scout paused, fumbling on his words before his mind started working again.

"Aw crap- look I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like it was a bad thing cause it isn't it's just that ya do have a long face and Harvey doesn't which also isn't a bad thing but yeah and I'll stop talking now." The runner's spiel ended not with a bang but with a whimper. Sniper drummed along the wheel.

"I never really got the chance to play favorites with my family. Mostly because I'm an only child."

"Ain't never had a brother or sister?"

"Nope."

"Wh- well what about cousins, ya gotta have some a those, right?"

"Only one who's about a decade older than me. And I only ever saw her on Christmas."

"Oh. Well you're missing out dude, can't believe ya don't know what it's like to get noogied or give noogies."

"Eh," Sniper shrugged, "I've enjoyed being alone with my folks. Nothing and no one to bother you, just the great outdoors and yourself."

"But I thought ya said you guys don't get along?"

"That was only after I chose to become an assassin. Before then, yeah, we'd get into fights back when I was a stubborn twat but those were rare. And I get along with them just fine, as long as the conversation doesn't stray into career paths."

"Oh, like when ya call them? Cause I've seen ya talk on phones for hours sometimes and then you're always in a b***hy mood afterwards."

"If you would be too if you were in my shoes."

"I kinda already am we just went over that- OH S**T!" The sudden shout startled Sniper right out of his skin.

"What, what!?"

"I haven't called Ma since this whole thing started!" Scout cried, pulling at his hair, "she's gonna be so freakin' p*ssed that I lost a hand!- OHHHH no, I gotta tell my bros too! Aw ****!" Scout whined before slamming his head on the dashboard.

What a drama queen.

"I'm sure they'll understand, Scout, this isn't really a situation ya can predict."

"They won't freakin' care! They're just gonna be upset that I lost a perfectly good hand and demand I quit. At least that's what Ma'll do. And Jamey and Tommy and Harvey. Davey, Henry and Brody will just say "I told ya so" or some stupid s**t like that."

"Uhh, didn't ya have another one? Wester? Sounds like the kinda bloke who'd understand."

"Yeah," Scout replied, voice muffled from his arms, "he would if he was still around." Sniper winced and found that he couldn't say anything for a few seconds.

"Oh… oh bloody h*ll, Scout, I'm so sor-"

"No, like, he's literally gone. Like, gone-gone, we don't know what happened to him," Scout gestured aimlessly to make his point, "just up and left with a couple of his things years ago and-" Snap! "-gone with the freakin' wind."

"...Doesn't that worry ya though?"

"Nah. Wes's airheaded, sure, but he's still got Madigan blood, he'll be fine. He'll come back when he wants to."

"Are ya sure about that? If you haven't heard from your brother in years and he didn't even leave a note-"

"He'll come back when he wants to." Scout repeated. And that was the end of that.

For about five minutes, the pair rode on in silence with the radio turned off and forgotten. That is, until Scout once again started to talk. The runner shifted in his seat before turning towards the sharpshooter.

"Hey," he began, scratching at his arm, "do ya think we could stop soon at a payphone so that we can give our parents a check up? Cause if I put it off any longer, Ma will probably fly down just to beat my *ss and then your *ss for bein' too close."

"I don't know where a payphone would be, Scout. For all we know, we just passed the only one for miles back at the last campground." Sniper's companion visibly deflated.

"...oh." Scout murmured, looking absolutely crestfallen. The longer they rode on, the more Sniper stole glances at the younger man. He seemed to get more visibly pathetic the further they went. The marksman sighed.

"Okay," he said, "when we stop for lunch I'll make sure it's a place with a payphone so you can call your family, alright?" Scout perked up instantly.

"Really?"

"I don't really see the need to not find a phone, it's just rude at that point. And if you were being serious about your mum, I'd like to keep my *rse unbeaten, thanks." The runner grinned and Sniper felt one of his own pulling at his mouth.

"Finally!" Scout near shouted as he burst out from the van and into the small diner's parking lot. As the runner did just that, run, Sniper exited the vehicle and stared at the building they stopped at.

It looked exactly like a homely rinky-dink log cabin. The windows had red plaid curtains and best of all, there was a payphone right outside the front door. Just a normal looking cabin diner so there was no reason why the marksman's heart was racing so badly. It was bloody ridiculous, it wasn't even close to Landfall's base. But that didn't stop Sniper from reaching back into the van to grab something.

"Yo, what's taking so freakin' long?" Scout called, stretching his arms around. Sniper didn't respond. Instead, he gave the runner a look and placed the cigarette he'd got on his lip. The judgmental glare he received was more funny than threatening.

"I thought you said you wouldn't make it a habit?" Scout growled.

"I'm not, this is only the second one today, relax."

"Ya had another freakin' one!?" A laugh slipped past as Sniper lighted his cig and laughed again at the disgusted expression Scout was giving him.

"Why are ya getting so worked up over this, the others smoked all the time, especially Spy."

"Well I don't care if that frog kills his lungs or not, that's what chain smoking gets ya!" Scout exclaimed. After taking a drag and feeling his nerves quell into something manageable, Sniper peered over at his companion.

"And yet you're giving me a hard time for smoking on the rare occasion. If I didn't know any better, I'd say ya actually care about my lungs." At that, Scout picked up his pace and reached the diner before Sniper. Not before the sharpshooter caught sight of the runner's reddening ears.

The kid didn't even hold the door open. How rude.

Inside was warm and filled with fruity smells so potent it was making Sniper's eyes water. It was probably caused by the scented candles on every booth. Scout had at least waited for him before sitting himself down at a booth. And it seemed that they didn't even need to wait for someone to notice them. The moment Sniper reached Scout's side, who was busy trying to hide as much of his injured arm as possible, a short woman who had to be at least sixty had greeted them.

"Good afternoon, boys," her voice was high and nasally with her eyes so small they looked to be stuck in a good-natured squint. They nodded a greeting with Scout also saying "wassup." for good measure.

"Afternoon. I don't suppose there's a-"

"Ya got a free table in this place? We're looking for some grub and kinda in a rush." Scout interrupted. Resisting the urge to smack Scout upside the head, Sniper instead pushed the bold Bostonian behind him to address the now puzzled lady.

"Don't mind him, he's a talker," Sniper gave Scout a very pointed look, "but yeah, is there a booth we could have if it's not too much trouble?" The old waitress smiled.

"Oh, of course, didn't even have to ask. So polite," She said before turning and heading deeper into the diner. The mercenaries took that as their cue to follow. "Most young men around here haven't been raised properly. Or the women. It's so rare to find a real gentleman these days." Sniper smirked and Scout very subtly flipped him off whilst rolling his eyes.

The table they got was one by a window which Scout seemed to enjoy. As they sat down, a light gasp reached their ears as the waitress caught sight of the runner's mangled arm.

"Oh sweetie, what happened?"

"OH, uhhh-"

"He was in an accident," Sniper explained, drawing the attention away from Scout, "some bloke thought it would be fun to have a joyride after hitting the pub. To make a long story short, the guy died and left Tim needing an amputation. Just got checked out of the hospital today and thought it would be nice to take him someplace for a bit of a celebration."

"Oh dear," the waitress tutted, shaking her head, "well I'm sorry to hear that, Tim." she sympathetically patted Scout's shoulder who was currently wearing the most ridiculous expression.

"Yeah, uh, thanks?"

"I'll be right back with some coffee for you boys to get you started, alright?"

"Sounds good." The duo watched the waitress leave and once she was far enough away, Scout rounded on Sniper.

""Tim"? Seriously!?" He hissed. Sniper shrugged.

"First name I could come up with on the spot for a younger guy."

"But freakin' Tim!? That's not even close to my name!"

"Ever heard of an alias, mate?"

"What do freakin' maps have to do with anything?"

"What?"

"And besides, I'm not that freakin' young, I'm a grown man!"

Sniper snorted at that, slipping off his shades. "Barely. What are ya, nineteen?" At that, Scout gave Sniper one of the worst glares he'd ever received.

"I am twenty-****ing-three!"

"Wh-" Sniper managed before he was sent into a coughing fit. "Wh-When did ya turn 23?"

"This year last month!"

"So, waitwaitwait, you're only seven years younger than me!?"

"You're only seven years older!?" Now it was Scout's turn to look appalled at the new information, "I thought ya were at least 40!"

"Wh- excuse you!?"

"Well it's not like you look freakin' seventeen now do ya? Look I'm just gonna come right out and say it because apparently nobody else was gonna say or said it so I'll just say it… ya ain't aging well. In fact I'd say ya gonna age like a bucket a milk." Scout leaned back, seeming confident in his answer. Sniper just stared at him.

"...I feel like I would be offended if I didn't completely agree with ya." He managed to say as a new waitress came over with two mugs and a coffee pot.

"Yeah, cause I'm right and ya know it- wait, what?" Scout asked as Sniper nodded a thanks to the waitress.

"I agree with ya," he said, taking a sip of the scalding liquid. Black, just like he liked it. "I know I wasn't the handsomest bloke on the team and I'm fine with that."

"Well duh, that title goes to yours truly!" Sniper forced down a bubble of laughter, "but ya gotta be, like, at least third!"

"And you're going off of what standard, mate?"

"Lady standards!" Of course. Biting back the many, many jokes Scout had just handed Sniper on a silver platter, the marksman instead nodded along.

"Which are…?"

"Bod, muscles, voice, hair, exoticism, tons a other stuff!"

"Huh, okay." Sniper replied, content to leave the conversation there. Apparently Scout didn't get the memo seeing as he was still talking about how he rated sexiness.

"-Like, you're a freakin' Aussie which already gives ya a huge head start from the other guys. Y'know how to use a bow. And hunt. Ya probably the third thinnest guy on the team while still having muscles and-"

"Alright, Scout, I get it," The longer Scout went on, the more Sniper was beginning to think the runner was pulling his leg. And while he could take a joke, this was feeling a bit too personal.

"Eh, okay, just sayin' man, ya could pull in so many freakin' chicks if you wanted."

"Suuure, okay."

"I'm serious!"

"Okay." Sniper took a sip.

"Look, I'm just trying to freakin' compliment you, jeez! It's not like ya got the sexiest voice on the planet that could be used to get with the ladies or something!"

Thank goodness Sniper brought his hand up in time so that the scalding coffee he spat out got all over his shirt and palm and not the table or Scout. The Scout who was currently laughing his *rse off.

"Oh crikey, it burns!" He coughed out between laughs. "H-Hand me some bloody napkins, will ya?"

"H-heere ya goo-o-o-" Scout breathed, unable to talk without wheezing.

"Aw h*ll I soaked, you little rat b*****d!"

"Yup!" Soon there was a pile of soiled napkins on the table and Sniper still had a nasty brown stain on his skirt.

"Oh **** me," he rasped. Scout started laughing again.

"Nah, no thanks, I like ladies."

Sniper gave Scout venomous look.

"Oh shut the **** up you gremlin." He said as he stood, "I'm going to go clean myself up. Ya owe me a bloody clean shirt."

"Yeah okay, have fun!" Scout called after him. That cheeky mongrel. Finding the restrooms near the back, Sniper spent a good fifteen minutes or longer trying to dry his shirt. The stain didn't matter too much since the fabric was black. Actually, it was probably more than fifteen minutes considering when he found Scout again the little tyke had already ordered for them and the order apparently arrived.

"Seriously?"

"Hey, you were taking forever and they could've kicked us out any minute! Sides, it's not like there was anything better on the menu." So apparently there was nothing better on the menu than what appeared to be a normal cheeseburger.

"Huh. Somehow I doubt that."

"What, don't like freakin' burgs!? What's the matter with ya, ya freakin' stupid?" Scout sneered. Whatever aura Scout was going for was made null by the large chocolate milkshake sitting in front of him.

"I'm fine with them, I'm just saying that I'd like to be able to chose my own food next time." He said as he took a seat.

"Sucks to suck."

"You were the one who made me spit."

"It's not my fault ya weren't taking me seriously."

"Fine, whatever, drink your stupid shake and shut up." Scout obliged, looking smug the entire time. Gremlin. When the runner looked away towards his drink, Sniper took one of the chips on his plate and flicked it at his teammate. It smacked him dead center of his forehead.

"W- Hey!" Scout barked. Sniper turned away, pretending to not notice the annoyed merc in front of him. "Well, fine then! Thanks for the fry!"

"Hm?" Sniper turned back and watched in disgust as Scout dipped the chip into his shake and ate it. "...what the h*ll, Scout…"

"Ey! Don't knock it till ya try it!"

"Nah, I think I will, thanks."

"It's not that bad!"

"It's wrong is what it is-"

"Freakin' try it, mother****er, bet you won't!."

"You're right, I won't"

"Oh come on," Scout pushed his towering drink towards the sharpshooter, "I've seen ya eat worms before and that's, like, ten times worse than this. Just try!"

"Nah."

"Coward." Scout mumbled as he swiped a chip and repeated the events from earlier. Sniper cringed away.

"Quit doing that."

"Make me." Scout said as he took another chip.

"Well first of all these are mine so bugger off," Sniper slapped Scout's hand away, earning a yap of pain, "if you wanted chips you should have ordered some for yourself."

"Ya d**k!"

"And second, if you keep pulling that gross s**t in front of me, I'm throwing the rest of that shake into your face."

"...you d**k."

"Sucks to suck," Sniper smirked as he started on his food. Scout, after flipping him off, went back to his drink and kept his hand to himself. The minutes went by in steady silence, one where neither felt the need to fill it with mindless noise. That is until Scout had something important to ask.

"Hey, uh, could I borrow some quarters?" He asked, drawing Sniper's attention away from a Mourning Dove sitting on a nearby power line.

"Hm?"

"Could I borrow some quarters real quick? I wanna call my family, to get it over with."

"Oh, alright," Sniper brought his wallet out, "how many do ya need?"

"Six." The coins were traded, "hey thanks man! I owe ya one!"

"You owe me six, actually." Sniper called out to the runner bolting out the door. Couldn't even walk to the bloody thing. From the table they were given, Sniper had a front row seat to the payphone, where Scout was currently standing inserting the quarters and punching in some numbers. Even from here he could tell the kid was tense and it was a gamble to see who he was calling first.

From the looks of things, the first call had gone well. And short. Scout had shuffled a bit and played with the phone cord some but his expression didn't turn into one of rage like the next one did.

It had to have been either Davey or Henry by his reaction because his mannerisms had shifted from reclusive and restrained to dramatic and loose. He swung his stump around, wore a furious expression, and many times pinned the phone between his shoulder and neck just to run his hand through his hair.

The next three calls were a mixture of the first two and Sniper got bored watching the fourth due to its length. Turning back to the table and after making sure Scout was still preoccupied with his phone, Sniper took one of the few remaining chips he had and dipped it in remnants of Scout's shake.

…

Okay, it wasn't too bad. Not that he'd ever admit that to the runner, but yeah, definitely better than worms.

Another set of minutes and he was exiting the diner having paid for their meals, well, meal and drink. Once he was outside, he walked over towards Scout, who was still on the phone with somebody. By the tone of his voice, Sniper was guessing it was Harvey or Tommy.

"Yeah.. yeah, nah I… no, Tom, I'm not freakin' quitting. Not unless I have to . I… dude, no. Yeah I-" Scout met Sniper eyes, "Yeah I know, I'm gonna call her next! … Well because you know how Ma gets when my job's brought up, and when I tell that I lost my hand she'll lose her s**t! ...Listen Tom, I gotta go, my fr- my teammate's out here which means we gotta get moving… Wait a sec, Tommy. Hey Sniper, ya wanna say hi?" Sniper shook his head, "Ah okay nah he doesn't wanna say hi, he's kinda shy."

"What."

"Shuddup. No, Tom, I was talking to Snipes… No I don't know what his real name is, we're mercenaries! We got codenames, man, keep up! Use that dense brain of yours for once!... Yeah, gotcha, I'll call, uh, soon-ish… h*ll if I know, look, I'll call when I can, okay? Yeah. Yeah, okay, love ya t- don't freakin' call me that! D*mnit dude, no, y'know what? **** you. Talk to ya later." With that, Scout ended the call and looked sheepishly back at Sniper.

"Uh, could I bum another quarter? Harvey and Henry talk really long." Another quarter was exchanged, "thanks man, this's the last one, I swear." As Scout punched his mother's number, Sniper leaned on the payphone.

"Do ya want me to wait in the van?"

"Nah, it's cool, this shouldn't take long if I can keep Ma from screamin'."

"Alright." The faint ringing of a distant phone line filled the air as Scout tapped his foot and Sniper started looking around and eventually settled on a Stellar Jay thirty feet away. Then the phone was answered.

"Uh, Hi Ma-"

"JERRY BEAN!" A woman's voice as loud as a jet engine erupted from the speaker, sending flocks of birds into the sky. As for the two men, the younger seemed used to the volume while the older seemed to have gone into a state of shock.

"Ma, c'mon, I'm a grown man, I ain't a "Jerry Bean" no more!... No that's not what I'm saying it's just I got a coworker right next to me and I… well, it's kinda embarrassing... yeah, I'm doing good I- well, actually- HEY, hey, no nothing like that! It's just… uh… I kinda lost something. Uh, no it wasn't the photos ya sent it- no, Ma, not that either just- I- Maitwasmyhand!"

…

"Ma please stop crying, I swear I'm okay, it's not that big a deal. Sides, it was my left one, I can still write letters and crap… Ma please stop crying." Scout was using his arm as a cushion for his head as he stared at the ground, "I… I-I can't go home I'm still hired to BLU. Ma… No, look I… Ma, I'm not quitting, it's the best cash we've ever gotten, I'm not just gonna throw that away! No, I don't care, I'm staying!... Ma please stop crying, it's not like I'm freakin' dead yet- okayokay, shouldn't've mentioned death, right… Look, Ma, I can't talk for hours this time, I have to go… We're, uh… we're repositioning. Moving bases. Yeah, and my teammate is waiting for me to shut up so we can go so- Ma, don't be rude! Which one? Uh, the Aussie… No, the… the other one… no. Look, I gotta go, I'll call as soon as I can, I promise! Yes, I know, things have been hectic… Yes I'm gonna call as soon as I can, yes. Yeah, yeah okay, love ya too. Bye Ma." With that, Scout ended the call with a long sigh.

"...So "Jerry Bean", huh?"

"Go to h*ll, Sniper."

"That was shorter than I'd thought it would be," Sniper admitted.

"Well don't ya wanna use the phone too?"

"Nah," He replied as they walked back to the van, "Sides, my folks would be asleep right now. It's probably 3:00AM in Australia right now."

"Oh, right, time zones. Gotcha."

"Well then," Sniper looked over at his companion, "ready for another six or so hours of driving?"

"No."

"Good." The van was started and the pair were off. Through forest and hills and down winding roads shining with puddles. And the clouds flew lazily along in their silent migration.

Hours went by since they left the diner. Now the sky was melting from ash blues to a deep orange with the billowing clouds bleeding into the reds and greys of the sunset. The view was unfortunately blocked by the towering firs of the small campsite they found. The camper was parked, the pair stepped out and Scout was instantly stretching and running around. Sniper himself was fine with stretching his back out and watching the kid trip and fall face first into a pile of ferns. He didn't even try to hide his grin as Scout shot back up spitting dirt from his mouth.

"Ugh, ya didn't see anything!" He said as he trotted back to the camper.

"See what?"

"Exactly!"

The camper was soon filled with two mercenaries, one of whom was busy changing his stained shirt while the other lounged about yawning so hard it looked like he was dislocating his jaw. Slipping on a light orange top, Sniper looked over at his companion. Scout was sitting on the table ruffling his hair and staring out the small window. And then yawned again.

"Tired?" Scout made a series of noises that were almost words but not quite there. Sniper took that as a yes.

"Well, don't get comfortable, I want to take care of your arm first." A strange slamming sound responded and when Sniper looked back over, Scout was flatten against the wall glaring at him.

"No," the runner hissed, "no way!"

"Uh, yeah, it's been far too long since we've-"

"No!" Scout somehow flattened himself even flatter against the wall. Sniper sighed.

"Listen, there's only one way this will end and that's with you getting treated so we can either do this the easy way or the hard way-" Scout chose the hard way.

In an instant a force connected with the marksman, sending him to the floor. Before Scout had a chance to escape however, Sniper grabbed his ankle and dragged him to the ground. The runner writhed and fought but couldn't get himself loose from Sniper's grip. And the grip found itself pinning Scout's only hand behind his back and pulling him to his feet. He was trapped.

"C'mon, man!" Scout pleaded, looking over his shoulder towards an annoyed Sniper, "Y-Ya don't get it, it freakin' hurts! I'd rather get shot than go through that s**t again! Please!" The sharpshooter's expression softened but he shook his head.

"It's so that ya don't die, Scout. Don't need that on my conscious. Sides, it'll be over before you know it."

"No it won't!"

"Yes it will, I promise."

"Why can't we just use a medkit!?"

"Because we don't know how it would affect your arm. Could get rid of the infection or make it worse considering it grows tissue back." Sniper explained, "Now come on, it'll be fine, I promise." Scout met his eyes, the younger man's storm colored ones filled with scrutiny. But then they softened as he looked away.

"Fine." Sniper released his grip and Scout began to unwrap his bandages as he took a seat. While he got the supplies, Sniper got a look at the runner's arm and held back a string of profanities. Yeah, it really needed this. Badly.

"Ready?"

"No." Honestly, Sniper couldn't blame him. The runner was stiff and gripping the seat with a shaking hand. He took the inflamed appendage and held it tight. It was feverish to the touch.

And then he began to wipe it down and the camper was instantly filled with very colorful language. Scout's eyes were shut and he was screaming as many curses and swears as possible. And slurs. A lot of slurs. Then he began to curse in different languages like French, Russian, Spanish, Chinese, and others Sniper didn't recognize. And also saying slurs in those languages too. He ended it with something that sounded like an alien jargon no doubt filled with swears and slurs. And then Scout, along with his head, fell silent.

"Alright, I'm done, now that wasn't so bad now was it?" Sniper asked when he began to wrap clean bandages over the arm. Scout didn't respond. "Hey, Scout?"

Scout had fainted. Oh dear. Sniper eyed the medicine he was using. Was it really that strong? Pushing the thought aside, he gently shook his teammate's shoulder.

"Hey, wake up Bilby, you're all done."

"Whhhhaa…?" The runner shook his head, speech raspy and slow.

"That's some colorful vocabulary ya got there, mate." Sniper mused, packing away the supplies as Scout finished waking himself up, "you're lucky I was helping ya and not Demo." At that, Scout began to chuckle weakly.

"You kidding?" Scout asked, meeting Sniper gaze with a grin, "Demo taught me how to say all a those."

"Honestly?"

"Yeah, I asked him how to curse in other languages and he got his real evil look in his eye and then he sat me done for, like, three hours or something just telling me every ****, s**t, and d*mn ever."

"Now whywould you ask him something like that?"

"Because Heavy didn't want to teach me."

"I can see why." Sniper turned to say something else but paused to watch Scout blow on his arm, a look of pain still etched into his features. "...really hurt that bad, huh?"

"No s**t, Sherlock!" Scout whined, still blowing at his arm. Sniper chewed his cheek as he watched Scout cradle his ruined arm. And an idea popped into mind. It wasn't a good idea, and based on last time, it could end very very badly. But honestly, did it really matter?

"I think I know a way to make it up to ya." Scout gave him a look.

"...Kay, I'm listening."

"DID YOU KNow that there's peoples that can hear SOUNDS and COLORS!?" Scout shouted, slamming his palm on the table.

"Uhhhhhhhhhh that sounds impossible." Sniper mumbled, looking at the now empty shot glass.

"It's true! Medic himself told me that!"

"Yeah, okayy." He watched Scout pour himself another shot. It had started as just having enough to get Scout to ignore the pain he was going through. Somehow that had devolved into a drinking game involving Two Truths and A Lie. Don't ask because Sniper didn't know. He doubted that Scout knew either.

"So, so whose turn was ittt?" Sniper shrugged. The ceiling was an odd color. "Okay… I'llll go then!"

"Okayy."

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… gemma moment."

"Okayy." Sniper said, watching his teammate's already pink face turn a deeper shade of pink trying to think of his two truths and lie. It was kiiinda obvious that Scout had a hard time thinking of a lie to make considering Sniper had won basically every round so far. The kid's lies were just too obvious. The consequence of that being Scout taking more shots than was probably safe which made it harder to come up with a more believable lie. It was a horrible downward spiral. Not that Sniper would stop it,

It was bloody hilarious.

"Uuuuuhhhhhhhh, I can't frippin' think, man!" Scout whined, face planting the table.

"It''s okayy, I'll go." Scout flopped his head up and down in a manner that looked like a nod. "Alroight, uh, I've had aroound foive dogs as a kid, my middle name's Jackson, and I can wink with both eyes at the same toime."

"Ah, that's easy! Nobody can wink with both eyes, t's imPOssible! That's the lie, final answer!"

"Ya choosing that?" Sniper smirked. "Ya sure?"

"Yeah!"

"Well down th' hatch then, mate, wrong again!"

'D*MNIT!" Scout shouted as he shakingly downed his shot and began to sputter like a faulty motor.

"My real middle name's Lawrence."

"Frippin'... whaddeva man." Scout grumbled, resting his head on the table once again, "how… hhhhhhow doya wink wif both eyessss?'

"Loike this," Sniper said, and he blinked. Scout just stared slack jawed.

"Wwwhhhhhhhaaaaaa?..."

"Wanna know th' secret to doing it?"

"Ye!" Sniper gestured for the runner who obediently leaned in. He made a point of looking around the obviously empty camper before he himself leaned in and whispered "it's called blinking."

That earned him a slap that was more like being hit with a feather duster. Whatever strength Scout had was sapped by exhaustion and alcohol so all Sniper felt was a light pat.

"Ya d**k!" Scout barked as the marksman was left wheezing and punching the table, "Ya d**k, I'm leaving!"

"No, stop, don't, come back." Sniper drawled between laughs. But Scout had already stood and somehow got to the door without passing out.

"I'm leavin', ya brokee my frippin' trust, Snippy, goodbyeee!" It was last thing Scout said before he left the camper, never to be seen again...

For five seconds. Then he reentered.

"G'day." Sniper grinned.

"I forrgot where I was going so I'm back here now," Scout admitted as he made it back to the table looking very sad. Sniper gave his hair a reassuring ruffle. It was surprisingly soft.

"Don't get so down an' out, it's yer turn now anyway." At that, Scout was no longer looking very sad.

"Oh, right! Uhhhhh, I'm half Irish, I can split an frippin' apple in half wif ma bare hands, and my second favorite sport is football!"

Huh.

"Second one, final answer-"

"HA! Sucker, get bent!" Scout cheered, "My actual second favorite sport is Hockey!"

"Wh- I've never seen anyone split an apple in perfect halves without a knoife!"

"That's cause ya neva meet ME! Now drink up!" Grumbling, Sniper poured himself, what, his sixth shot, and downed it. It tasted bad but the aftereffects always outweigh the unpleasantness.

"But," he paused, getting his bearings, "but then how do you split a bloody apple in half?"

"Are there any in here?" Scout asked, looking around and nearly falling on the ground.

"Yea, in th'... in there." Sniper pointed at one of the cabinets.

"Okay, so," Scout started after retrieving a fruit and sitting back down, "watch! And frippin' learn, dude. This is how a real man cuts an appleeee!" He brought the apple up-

And stopped.

"...oh."

"Um," Sniper started when Scout let the apple roll out from his one hand, "how about you tell me how to do it? Cause I'd loike to know."

"Okay," Scout sighed, "Pick up da apple," Sniper did. "Hold it like you would a mug, and put your thumbsss ri… right next ta da core. Or stem." Sniper did. "Okay, so, da trick is using your palms ta pull it apart. Start closest to ya and just make your way, your way through and it'll just split itself open."

"Thiss is, hrm, are you sure that's how it's done?" Sniper huffed, putting all his strength into splitting the fruit in half. Either Scout was forgetting some steps or this was the toughest apple in history! Soon enough his arms were shaking from the effort and he had to stop. "Bloody h*ll."

"No, ya gotta go top ta bottom! Top ta bottom, front ta back! And use da thumb part of your palm, not da middle!"

"I'm trying!"

"Here, lemme help, gimma that!" Scout cross over to his side of the table and took half of the apple.

"What's that going to do!?"

"You push it towards me, I'll push it towards you." The pair then started a strange version of Tug-O-War with pushing instead of pulling. A wet crick met their ears after a moment.

"It's working!" Scout growled, "We just gotta do it harder-"

The apple broke in half with each side clenched firmly in the other's hand. And the forward momentum each had didn't stop. Sniper's fist shot forward and collided directly with Scout's stomach while the runner was putting his entire weight behind his push so he launched forward and sent both mercenaries to the dirty ground.

Sniper's head smacked the floor and Scout made a pained noise as he landed directly on the dazed marksman. Sporting a headache and also a horrible sense of vertigo, Sniper did the only thing he could think of: swearing.

"S**t…" he wheezed, air still finding it hard to enter his lungs from the heavyweight settled on them.

"Ow…" came a weak voice pushed into his chest.

"Ah," Sniper sat up as much as he could with the younger man lying on him, "mate, ya alroight?"

"ow…" Scout whined into Sniper's shirt, "owwwhehehehehe…" the runner lifted his head enough to meet the marksman's eyes with a ditzy grin, "ya… ya got one h*ll of a right hook, old man."

"Sorry about that." Sniper mumbled as he laid back down. The ceiling was beginning to spin and right now he just wanted to sleep. "Do ya think you could get off me?"

"No."

"I'm serious, could you-"

"Nope." Scout snickered, "I got… nah, I'm stayin'. Right here. This's my home now."

"My chest isn't a bed, now off." Scout shook his head and stayed there. "You little b*****d, you may be a cuddly drunk but I'm not, off!" He made to shove the runner off but Scout beat him to it.

"'M gonna be sick," Scout whined. Oh no.

"If yer going to puke, do it outside and not on my shirt thanks."

"...Okay," The runner pushed himself off of Sniper who was busy trying to keep the ceiling from spinning and stumbled towards the door. Somehow managing to open it, Scout thrust himself out into the night and was gone.

The ceiling was finally calming down after many moments and Sniper was able to sit up without a spike of pain shooting through his cranium. So that's what it feels like to be headshot. Yeah, this was a bad idea. A fun one, but still a bad idea. Well it seemed that it wasn't fun for one of them anymore if the abstinence of Scout was anything to go by. Getting to his feet, Sniper shuffled over to the door and looked outside. To the right he could see the very edge of the American's heel. And even if he didn't, the ragged breathing and occasional cough was enough to mark Scout's location.

"You alroight?" Sniper asked as he made his way towards his still heaving companion. Scout was currently leaning on the camper, taking in deep breaths and shaking ever so slightly. He patted the younger man's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting motion.

"...Yeah. Yeah I'm good now." Scout rasped, stumbling away from the van. Sniper caught his arm before he could fall backwards.

"I think now would be a good time to get some shut eye."

"Yeah." Scout nodded and let himself be led into the camper, "sounds good."

"Maybeee we shouldn't do that crap again."

"Agreed."

It was quiet in the small camper. But not silent. Besides the subtle breathing filling the compartment like clockwork, there was a rustling of sheets from a restless sleeper. His arms gripping the blankets with an iron grasp as his expression was stuck in a grimace. Tossing and turning but stuck on something. He couldn't get loose. He was trapped.

Not again. Not again!

The Sniper shot awake in a cold sweat. Dark static met his eyes as he stared at his camper's ceiling. It… it was just a dream. He wasn't trapped, he wasn't back there. Sniper groaned in annoyance, pressing the palms of his hands onto his eyes. It was stupid, just a stupid dream, no reason for any of this. Being this scared was stupid and pathetic. He could still move freely.

Except he couldn't. The marksman's pulse shot back up trying to dislodge his legs from their prison. There was something in the darkness wrapped around him and wouldn't let go. He couldn't get free, he couldn't-

As a last ditch effort, Sniper ripped a leg free and kicked with as much strength as his sleep muddied body could muster. It collided with the mass trapping him and sent it onto the camper's floor. Free again.

"...ow." Came the prison Sniper just launched off his bed. "What the h*ll…?" Apparently whatever trapped his legs also spoke English with a Boston accent.

"Scout?" Sniper rolled over to peer onto the floor. His eyes met the runner's who was lying flat on his back. "Scout, what the actual h*ll were you doing!?"

"Huh?" Scout sat up and wiped his nose which it seemed was bleeding. "Freakin', why the **** did ya kick me!?" Maybe it was the fact that his emotions were amplified due to the moonshine they drunk, or the fact he woke up tired and petrified and still had a slight headache, or the fact that his limit for physical contact was already met earlier. But for whatever reason, Sniper lashed out.

"Why did you climb up here and start hugging my ****ing legs!?"

"The h*ll are you talkin' about?"

"Look, I get that we were drunk and you're a cuddly one but you don't just climb into another man's bed!-"

"-I didn't, quit lyin'-"

"-I'm not bloody lying!-"

"-Bulls**t!-"

"-Says the kid denying that he was grinding up on my l-"

"Shut the **** up, that's not what happened!-"

"Then why the h*ll were you cuddling on me!?" Sniper roared.

"I wasn't! I didn't even climb up there, you probably grabbed me or something, ya freak!" Scout growled, nose finally drying. At that, Sniper threw what little covers he still had off and jumped to the floor. The runner scrambled away, glaring with scrutiny. Sniper glared right back and shoved his way past towards the door.

"Where the h*ll are you going!?" Scout yelled. Sniper didn't respond, just opening the door to leave. That is until a hand found itself on his shoulder. "Dude, wait, it's freaking dark out, ya don't wanna go out there!-" His companion barely had time to finish his sentence before he was shoved to the ground, landing with a oof!

The door was slammed behind Sniper and the marksman took two steps before plopping himself down on the cold dirt. It was too much. How loud it got so quickly, how confined it was, the darkness, how trapped he felt, and the fact that his heart rate still wasn't slowing down.

Why did the kid always do something that messed everything up? It had been going fine, they were going fine and then he just… did whatever the h*ll just happened. Well, it probably didn't warrant the reaction Sniper had but he didn't really care considering the reaction Scout had as well.

It was so stupid, honestly. Running his hands through his hair, Sniper held back a deep sigh. Or maybe he was holding his breath to calm his pulse.

The night sky held the only stars the sharpshooter had seen for days. The rain clouds were always in the way. He didn't know what time it was but it had to be after midnight.

His pulse was still racing. And Sniper let his sigh be released just as the small click of his van's door. Looking over his shoulder, Sniper met the eyes of Scout, who appeared to be hiding behind the door. The light had been turned on giving them both the appearance of shadows.

"Uh, hey." Scout said.

"Hey." Sniper replied. The runner took this as an invitation as he closed the van and sat about three feet away from the marksman. Nothing was said besides the distant owls and crickets. It stayed like that for some time before Sniper happened to look over and spot a lighter and a cigarette being handed to him. With a shaking hand he took and used them. As he inhaled the nicotine, Scout began to speak.

"So uh," he began, scratching his arm, "I think I figured out what happened."

"And that would be…"

"Uh, okay first of all ya have to promise not to tell anyone this, okay? If you do I swear to-"

"Fine, whatever, there's no one left to tell anyway." Sniper grumbled, letting the smoke drift into the night sky. Scout stopped, sighed, scrunched up his face, and sighed again.

"Okay, I'm pretty sure I sleepwalked. I'm bein' serious!" He claimed when Sniper gave him a glare.

"Sure ya did."

"I did! I used to do it all the time when I was a kid! Whenever it'd get too cold cause the apartment's heat stopped workin', which was like, all the d*mn time, or I got a nightmare I'd just-" Scout's mouth slammed shut so quickly Sniper heard the runner's jaw clack from the force. He took a drag, and then he spoke.

"So you had a nightmare?" he asked. Scout didn't respond right away. Instead he shuffled his feet and scratched his arm.

"Yeah, sure, happy now?" he grumbled into his arms, "Go ahead, laugh away, see if I care. Scout has nightmares sometimes, big-****in'-deal, it's not like literally everybody gets them or some s**t! Whatever, I'm going back inside, see ya in the mornin'. And don't worry, I won't do that crap again." Scout made to stand but stopped when Sniper responded.

"...I had one too."

"Really?" Scout asked. The marksman swallowed, and nodded, looking down at the stick pinned between his fingers. "What was it about?"

"...Landfall." Sniper admitted. His voice was rough and hardly louder than the light breeze flowing through the trees.

"Oh." Scout winced and not-so-subtly shuffled away a few inches.

"I don't know why it's taken this long to affect me," he continued, "it just. I don't know. Shouldn't have yelled at you, though, or kicked ya, sorry about that."

"I, it's fine, seriously, didn't even hurt, wasn't even bleedin' that badly. But uh…" Scout rubbed the back of his neck, "why did ya kick me anyways?"

"Because you had my legs trapped," Sniper said, staring at nothing in particular, "and I couldn't move. Like I was back to being strung up again and… and it was you."

"Huh?"

"It was like I couldn't even control my own thoughts then, it was all you. Every small feeling and every moment you were stuck in my head. And what you did." Sniper saw Scout flinch in the corner of his eye. "And that's just the truth, mate. Fact of the matter is I was stuck because you left, and I had no idea if you would come back or if I'd die down there. Alone. Not even able to speak. Just… slowly withering away, forgotten." There was more he wanted to say, to talk about, like his anger, the fragile hope he kept that he'd be found, the inability to blink as the world faded into a blurred mess until that too was consumed by a blinding darkness. But he didn't. Instead, Sniper turned towards his companion and saw the younger man sitting some feet away, drawing circles in the soil with his one remaining hand.

"I'm sorry." Scout said.

"I know you are."

"I really am sorry, Snipes."

"I know."

"I, I won't leave ya behind like that ever again, promise."

They sat together in silence with Sniper staring at the cigarette in his hands and Scout staying his fair distance away drawing in the dirt. There was more the kid wanted to say, but he wasn't, and Sniper didn't know why. So they sat together in silence. Sniper took a drag, and looked back over at Scout.

"Hey," he said, and the runner barely met his eyes, "ya don't have to sit all the way over there, I'm not gonna bite your head off." Without a word, Scout shuffled over and sat at Sniper's side.

"If…" Scout managed to squeak out, "uh. Well, I… 'm guessing ya ain't forgiven me yet, huh?" Sniper stiffened and Scout stiffened too. "Not that- not that ya have to , that's not what I'm saying. I just wanted… just wanted to make sure if I still… wasn't."

"...I don't know."

"oh." Scout said before hugging his knees. "I… yeah, that's fair. I, sorry for bringing it up, it was stupid. Don't… just ignore what I said." They sat in silence once more as Sniper snuffed out the butt of the now finished cig.

"...you've been having nightmares for a while, haven't you?" Sniper asked. Scout's eyes darted over and after a long moment of scrutiny, stiffly nodded. "What have they been about?"

"Just, stupid stuff." he mumbled, looking away, "I-I don't really remember them… all that well. Or at all. I mean," Scout briefly met Sniper's gaze, "sometimes it feels like you're in them, not that ya really do anything though. Just a feeling really and, it's…" the runner stopped to rub at his throat, "uh, I-I really don't wanna. Wanna get into it, man."

"...I won't force ya to talk about it if you don't want to," the Sniper reassured as he took hold of Scout's shoulder, who flinched in response, "but it might help, ya never know."

"Uh, uh thanks but. But I seriously don't want to get into it, it ain't- it ain't…" Scout began to shake and scratch at his stomach, "I don't want to remember what happened. I don't, I can't!-"

"Is it about what happened to your hand?"

"NO!" Sniper snatched his hand away as the runner shot to his feet. The younger man was shaking and looking around the small forest campground with a dazed expression.

"I'm gonna- I'm gonna, gonna go back, back inside," Scout breathed, hunched over with arms wrapped around his midriff. "I think I'm feeling the hangover forming, I." he swallowed, "I'm goin' back to bed to sleep it off. I'll-I'll see ya in the morning."

"Alright…"

"Night, Sniper." Scout slipped through the door before Sniper could reply. And when the door was closed, the light was doused right after. Sitting in the dark once more, Sniper watched the door for any sign of his jittery companion. When none came up, he turned back to the ground.

"...G'night Buckshot."

Chapter Text

Dark. That was what it was. Dark, deep, and cold. There was no light, no sun, no stars. Narrow corridors made of rock that gave way into caverns and holes dug far far down. So quiet with only the light droplets of water falling from the small stalactites along the rock ceiling.

And the only thing it could do was move on.

It had been down here for its whole existence and it still was moving forwards. On occasion, the narrow passageways would lead back to a place it had come from before. And other times, it would simply stop and rest. Rest was a concept that it understood. But it didn't need it like it should.

Another concept it was aware of was its form. It had woken up like this, it was and simply is this. There were other forms it made when it followed those pale roots but none felt right. Too bulky or too complex. Besides, all were faulty. Or perhaps it was faulty, its appendage wouldn't change like the rest of its mass.

A droplet of that cold stuff fell onto its shoulder and it made a high pitched shriek. That was another concept: it could make noise. Noises that sounded painful and hurt it when it got too loud. But it made them anyway. It felt right. It felt wrong. A battle that neither side could win.

Walking ever onwards.

It was quiet and that was not comfortable. There was one series of noises that didn't hurt at all and the want to have silence was the least for. So it made those noises.

"T-ttttakk-k. Ke. Me-me OUUt, ttttttt tto he, the b-bbbbbbbbball gamme~"

Why did it know how to make those noises? It didn't know. It almost did, the answer was there, within sight but just beyond its reach. Just like near everything else. Everything only existed. Like itself.

It simply

Was.

The passages were ascending. Up and down were things too. So many things it had discovered just by existing. There had to be more. There was more, it was certain. Because why else would it know there were still more alive things that needed to be found. Now, what it was supposed to do once they were caught, it didn't know. It almost did but it was just another thing just beyond the range of comprehension.

Up and up and slightly uppish. It turned and there were turns. Turns existed. Up and up still.

More of that uncomfortable dripping noise. There was a lot more of it the further up it went. Which meant more of that hurtful cold stuff. It kept going anyway.

Why did it keep moving, it didn't know. It felt right.

Soon, a noise, a deep one, rumbled along. It stopped. A new noise. New existences. It hurried along in the dark. Dark that soon wasn't so dark. There was a hole on the ceiling. A very big hole. One that went up and up and up and up and was covered with those pale roots that it would follow. Why? it didn't know.

It felt right somehow. The same way making noise and moving felt right. And staying in this form felt right.

It stretched its appendages high and higher until one of the five appendages on his main appendage brushed one of the pale roots. Grabbing hold, it upped its way towards the harmful dot above in the darkness. The further it rose, the bigger and non-darknesser the dot became. And then it reached the top. It grabbed the edge and dragged itself onto the cold ground. The burning grew too great and it shot up, shrieking at the clear mirrors all around the cool passages.

This place wasn't the caves. This place wasn't made of the familiar rocks. No, it was made of creaking things. And it could see. A new part of its arsenal.

What was an arsenal, it knew that somehow. It was a word, words.

Words were the noise it could almost say. Saying was speaking. Speaking was what it could do. And speaking required words. What words did it know? It walked deeper into the place that was new. It was louder than below with no signs of the pale roots of it's birthplace.

Birth. Was it born, that's how things come into existence. Being born requires two things, not that it knew what those two things were. Two was a number. Numbers made up all sorts of things like birthdays. Birthdays are good things.

It didn't know why but that thought felt right.

Along it went and the patter noises along with the deep rumbles filled the passages. Some continued while others stopped. It was messy too, the ground was covered in bits of whatever made the walls, not at all like the barren floors of below.

Why did it want to discover this place? Again, no logical answer besides it felt right to do. There were so many questions with no good answers. Questions were something it had asked a lot of, once. Back in the day. So many questions to so many people. People.

People were what it could become, if it wanted to. People like the ones below. It didn't understand why it wanted to learn how to become people, but it did because it felt right. And trying to think was not a high priority. Like reading. But reading was also fun sometimes. What was reading?

Too many feelings that felt right and wrong. It wished it could become two people because those feelings weren't from his form. His? What was a his? Was he a his? Maybe it's favorite form was a his and that meant he was.

He was himself.

And simply is.

There were words on the wall. Words could be read. It didn't like to read. Or maybe he did, on occasion. Using its eyes to spot the words, it brought up its left appendage to follow the inscriptions.

B.

L.

U.

A u followed the first b and behind the g in the word League. League was a group of people. U-n-i-t-e-d. Joined. And the first word was something like makers. They create things, like himself. Well, almost, it itself didn't but another. Wait. No. The creator of it. Which was himself. Oh boy how confusing. Again, it wished he could be two, maybe three different people.

Builders League United was what the poster said. Posters were pictures put on walls like art pieces and drawings. He liked to draw.

It just felt right to say. To say in general no matter the annoyance it brought.

But the poster was familiar. The concept was just beyond that veil it couldn't quite cross. Like so many more things that it knew would explain so much. It was here for a reason correct? Not itself but their creator. Who was also itself. And also not, there was someone else too. Who, it didn't know.

Builders League United. BLU. That's what it was for short. BLU was more familiar. BLU was short for something else too. Blue was a color. Color was the difference between its hand and everything else about it. Hand was what it was called, not the appendage.

It was pale compared to the red of his form. Red was a color too but not yet. His hand wouldn't turn like he wanted it to, it was stiff and cold, like the stone floor. And there was skin. Unmoving skin. Everything else shifted and gleamed under the light. Light came from the sky and sun. It had never seen the sky or sun but it knew they were there. It just felt right.

It looked up. The ceiling had been broken with the creaking things splintering and sharp. Through it all was the tiniest sliver of sky. It was grey. Skies were meant to be blue. Blue was not the opposite of red. RED stood for something too.

It didn't like the words BLU and RED.

They didn't feel right. And they were made by people he really didn't like. He was hired by one of them.

No, not them but almost. The veil just wouldn't let up. It stood in the ruins of the BLU base, staring and silent. And alone.

It liked being alone. Not really but still. Being alone was his job, like asking questions. But he also liked to be around people like…

What were their names? The people below? Each had one, did it have one? One part of him did and the other side did too. He. He was both sides a he. That much he remembered. But it still didn't know for certain. Correct?

No. Maybe. But it's makers had names, the maker had a name like the owners of the people. Almost not quite ask later. So close to remembering. Memories. They were almost a part of him. They were but shattered. Just feelings mostly.

Hungry was a concept but eating wasn't something it needed anymore. That was disappointing. Hot dogs were good.

What's a hot dog? What's a dog? Was it a dog?

No. Maybe.

It sighed, that's what people do, and it was to mimic people.

To mimic.

Mimic the people. That was the purpose it had.

It just felt right.

Humans wore clothes, it needed clothes. His form wore clothes that it could almost make. It's flesh twisted and blurred into colors and textures. This could do until he could find the right clothes his original wore. They were somewhere. Then he'd have to find him.

And then what? It was still faulty, the hand was still stiff and cold. Maybe if he could find the original he could become perfect. He was already so close to him even the words he spoke were near identical. But he didn't know what he said. The words he used and the tone he kept. Worthless without them. Perhaps he could learn.

Perhaps he could be taught.

It's purpose ran through it's flesh like electric jolts but it was missing pieces. It wasn't complete. Well it could make do with the purpose it had.

To mimic. And maybe his original would be okay with that. He still wasn't. In fact, it hated its original. He was too loud and the noises never stopped. But he was fine with that. It wasn't but whatever, it could tolerate. Maybe he'd like him too and they'd be two.

So it started its walk again, into the dark recesses of the Sawmill base. Whatever primitive thoughts its bubbling flesh could achieve, one stood above the rest.

To wait for its copy. The copy it came from. To learn and grow.

To not be alone with its scattered thoughts and past lives.

"T-ttttakk-k. Ke. Me-me OUUt, ttttttt tto he, the b-bbbbbbbbball gamme~"

Chapter Text

Scout woke up gasping for air the second time that night. The silent interior of the RV was only combated by the muffled heaves of the runner as he drank in the oxygen around him. It still wasn't enough.

With a trembling hand, Scout pulled at the collar of his shirt and wiped away the sheen of cold sweat built up on his forehead. Slowly, really slowly, his pulse slowed and he was able to take in actual breaths. And finally, he could bring himself to sit up in the pitch black van.

It was near silent within the small space. Besides the runner's own gulps of air, the only other sound was the low drone of the night time wind brushing up against the van's thin walls. So the sound wasn't why Scout had woken up gasping. Nor light as he could only just make out the outline of his hand waving back and forth in the deep dark. It was something else.

Scout pulled his thin excuse of a blanket around his still trembling shoulders. It did a horrible job of trapping heat in but he wasn't about to go complaining about that to Sniper, who was still fast asleep if the quiet was anything to go on. And waking him up just to ask for another blanket or, if he wanted a shallow grave, ask to share the bed to stay warm was just going to send Scout dropping through the thin ice he was still trapped on. Sneaking into the bunk for what would be the third night in a row would not only be embarrassing, but stupid! He sniffed, and blinked, before scratching at his arm.

It was too cold, it was too quiet. He couldn't sleep like this. There had to be some kind of noise or some body nearby for Scout to nod off. Yeah, it was pathetic but he was tired and wanted to make the aching chills crawling up his legs and spine stop. Anything like the distant hum of machinery down in Engineer's workshop, or the muffled singing of foreign songs from Heavy or Demo. Occasionally, the strings of Medic playing his violin would reach Scout's dorm, creating a sweet tune to fall asleep to. And Soldier would barge into the dorms to wake everyone up on Thursday mornings and they'd all go down and have breakfast as he and Soldier argue over the stupidest s**t and…

And they go on missions, steal Intelligence, capture points and push big*ss bombs and somehow survive through it all. Going to bars, having campfires, showing off their new battle scars, fighting stupid wizards and floating haunted eyes. And- and Engie and Demo being cool enough to try and help Scout read at any level higher than a preschooler. And Heavy being a freaking psychic cause he always made an extra sandwich for Scout whenever he had real bad days, even secret ones. And him, Soldier, and Pyro playing RocketBall which always ended with one of them in the infirmary. Even Spy taught him how to tie a tie when he wanted to treat his ma during their first real vacation.

But now it was quiet. And that quiet was starting to seem permanent. Sniper sure believed it was permanent.

Never even got to know their real names.

It took several moments for Scout to sneak in a breath from how tight his throat had gotten.

He swallowed back the painful pressure and looked around, trying to ignore how rough the blanket felt against his gooseflesh arms. There was no clock, and he didn't know where Sniper kept his wristwatch. The night was at a standstill, frozen in time. And frozen was a perfect description as he was still super cold.

No, not cold cold but, it was that itchy, achy kind of cold. The kind that gives you shakes and tremors occasionally, and makes you get goosebumps whenever something touches your bare skin. Everything was cold and he wasn't getting any warmer.

Was that what had woken him up? Maybe it was, all Scout knew was that one moment he was in bed and the next he was still in bed but shaking like a little kid. No, there was something else, something worse because he'd slept through quiet before, he slept through cold before, it had to be different.

He scratched his stomach before a powerful yawn ripped through his system. It made his eyes water and Scout felt his jaw stretch further and further, bordering on dislocation-

The force at which the runner clamped his mouth shut was enough to hurt his teeth and create an audible sharp click. Pulse rising, and that swirling, nauseating worming feeling shot up to the surface. Deep in his core, writhing and twisting itself throughout his limbs and organs.

Scout remembered why he woke up.

Stumbling off from his cot and detangling himself from the blanket, Scout stood and spun around, eyes darting around the darkness. Water, water, anything! It was cold, it was itchy, everything was bad and wrong! And he didn't want to go out again!

Scout dropped back onto the bed after his head went light and dizzy. All of this… All of this. It wasn't true, he was okay. His mind was just playing dumb*ss tricks on him. He was fine, he was okay, he was in a safe, confined space with the one other survivor who now knew how to take care of that thing. That monster hadn't shown its face for days.

Or he was getting sloppy. Not watching for the signs, too focused on getting into Sniper's good graces again to notice if they were still being followed. Scout hadn't been paying attention at all.

There had been no rain for days.

Any and all attempts Scout made to calm himself down were in vain. He wasn't okay, he wasn't okay, of course he wasn't okay and maybe that was what he deserved because, yeah, Scout ditched his teammate and maybe this was karma for that and everything else he did beforehand and everything after. But maybe he was okay? Maybe, just maybe?

Where was the kukri?

The panicking runner got to his feet before he dropped again after his limbs grew exhausted almost instantly. His legs were dead weights and his stomach was twisting itself up in knots. It all felt bad, gross. He hated this.

Scout hated this so freaking much.

And he wasn't getting better, who was he fooling? Grabbing the edges of the bed, the runner forced himself to stand. On shaking feet, Scout stumbled towards the door. But if there was just a chance that it was working, even just making sure that he wasn't getting worse, and that they were still alright, wasn't it worth a shot? A strange ringing filled his ears when he reached the door and something… something else, he didn't feel right.

It was hard to think right too. Because he wanted to crawl right back into bed and just ignore everything, pretend he was okay. Just build up enough, what was the word, the word, the.

He groaned as another wave of vertigo forced him to lean against the van wall. The surface was freezing and clung to his skin as the blanket had slipped off moments ago. A tremor shot through the runner.

Where was the kukri? Scout didn't want to go outside anymore. It was colder, darker, and open to anything. He'd be a sitting duck. Besides, only a scratch, he only needed a scratch. A scratch was better than being a freaking monster. A scratch was better than…

He turned to look at presumably where Sniper was still sleeping. Although he couldn't see him, Scout knew he was still there, and probably still sleeping, and hopefully not awake and looking back at him because that would be freaking creepy because he couldn't see s**t in the dark.

Just a scratch.

After some blind grabs, Scout's hand closed around the knife's handle and he unlatched it from its hook. It was lighter than it looked. He yawned and ended up biting his tongue.

Just a scratch.

He used the blade to lift up his shirt, the cold metal sending shivers down his spine.

Just a…

A scratch.

"Scout, why are you awake at this bloody hour?"

The runner's silhouette went still and Sniper had to wonder if the kid had heard him or if he had sleepwalked himself into a corner. But when he went to call again, Scout's head turned to face him. He had to assume at least, it was really dark.

"did I wake ya?..." The voice was the sound of dead reeds scraping together in a faint wind.

"Uh- no, no ya didn't, it just," Sniper scrubbed his face with a hand, dislodging some very stubborn sleep slowness. "It just happened." There was no nasty dream he could remember for the reason or sound or light. Just waking up to nothing but a silent Scout standing in a corner like a statue which would have given him a heart attack if he wasn't so bloody tired.

"Why are ya up, mate?"

"I couldn't fall back asleep." Scout replied. "So I just got tired of waiting for morning to come."

"So were you going outside to meet it halfway?" Sniper joked. Scout didn't respond. Not really. The runner did some strange half shoulder shrug before shuffling over to his cot, hunched over with both arms wrapped around his middle. Sniper almost asked if he was alright but stopped before the words were thought. What would asking do for someone like Scout, tired or not? Besides, the younger man made it clear days ago that he didn't want any questions. And that was fine, Sniper didn't like asking or being asked many questions either.

Scout had gone so long without a peep that Sniper was starting to believe the kid was asleep. As Sniper himself settled back down himself, he heard a faint rasp.

"How long before we reach Sawmill?" The marksman paused, staring up at the ceiling.

"We'll be there by tomorrow if the driving's good enough."

"okay."

…

"Hey, Sniper?"

"Hm?"

"What's your name?"

Sniper turned his head to meet Scout's gaze. "Why do ya want to know that?"

"Because…" Scout shifted and sat up, still hunched over, "if anything happens… like at Landfall, and nobody comes looking. Well, we got names and… s**t, I don't wanna just be known as a freakin' scout, man. And I don't think you'd want to be known as just a sniper, too, y'know what I'm getting at?"

"Nothing's going to happen to us at Sawmill, Scout. I'll make sure of it." The runner didn't respond right away. Instead, he sat quietly, staring, before a light shake of his head. "I can't promise it, but I'll do moi d*mn best to make sure another Landfall doesn't happen, as long as you do too."

"...That was freakin' cheesy," Sigh, "but yeah. Okay, I… yeah."

The camper went quiet, quiet enough to hear the wind bend the trees outside. Although the van was quite chilly, the fuzzy warmth of his bed was making it harder and harder for Sniper to keep his eyes open. He rolled back onto his side, intending to fall back asleep.

"I'm Jay." Sniper turned back towards Scout, who was fiddling with his blanket.

"I thought your name was Jeremy?"

"Well, yeah, it is, but only family calls me that. Y'know, like a- wait, how'd you know what my name is?"

Spy.

"Medic."

"That sonovab***h," Scout growled, "He freakin' promised that stuff was "patient doctor con-fid-dental" crap!"

"So it's Jay?"

"Uh- yeah. Yeah, it's Jay."

Sniper hummed before shimmying down into his bed.

"...Mick."

"Wh-" Scout was sent into a coughing fit, "wha- whaddiya say?"

"Mick. You asked what moi name is. It's Mick."

"Oh. Mick, huh? I got a cousin named Mickey, is it short for something?"

"No," Sniper said, "just Mick."

A pause.

"Go to sleep, Scout, can't have you crashing on me tomorrow." He said.

"Right… G'night, Mick." And that was the last thing Scout said before he fell silent once more. Sniper was soon to follow, eyes drifting towards his crooked kukri hanging off its hook before the peaceful dark took its place.

Gray industries technically didn't exist. There were no records of creation or logs in any local government archives of its whereabouts or even purchases of land by anything close to a Gray Industries. That itself wasn't too bad. In fact, Miss Pauling still found a branch of the company simply through very thorough searching and word of mouth. No, the real red flag was that Gray Industries wasn't on record for federal taxes and tax brackets. Nobody escapes the IRS, not even The Administrator herself, a woman whose body count filled cave systems. There was a reason the great Al Capone was only taken down by the Internal Revenue Service. So to know that this elusive Gray Industries was not only off the grid but also on a permanent tax break gave Miss Pauling more than enough reason to pack both a bullet proof vest and a hidden Makarov Pistol hoisted on her thigh.

It was a two day drive to this reclusive town smack dab in the middle of the mountain ranges of Wyoming, and another to the ominous square building the local townspeople talked about. It was built in secret apparently, they said, considering no one knew when it was built exactly but that it just showed up one day. A large tower made of gray brick and mortar with thick double doors for the entrance. No one ever entered or exited. It was as if it sprouted straight from the ground. In fact, nobody would have known about it if it wasn't for the fact that a local recluse had gone camping and stumbled across the structure by pure happenstance.

Miss Pauling could see why. It was impossible to drive up to the building. There were no roads or smooth inclines carved into the mountain face, clearly to ward off weaker men. She had to hire a guide and proper hiking equipment just to approach the structure. The man was quiet and spoke only when she asked questions, which were few, and to point out more hidden hazards on their journey.

She hoped he had enough sense to leave when she asked so that she wouldn't have to dig a grave in the hard mountain earth.

Her feet were about to fall off when they finally reached their destination. There also appeared to be several small stones that had made their way into her shoes somehow. As the ground evened out, Miss Pauling caught her first look at the mysterious structure that had caused so much mayhem.

It was tall and generic. No signs, no parking lot, no windows, the only thing of note was an empty helipad to the back of the building. There weren't even any security cameras from what Miss Pauling could tell.

"Well, this is it." her guide said, staring up at the building like the sore thumb that it was, "ugly thang, ain't it?" She didn't disagree, "You sure you can make it back by yourself?"

"Oh yes, I'm certain," Miss Pauling reassured, "thank you for all your help but I'll take it from here."

"Right, take care." He raised a hand in farewell before heading back down the narrow trail towards the secluded town.

Miss Pauling watched him until he was past her line of sight, and when he didn't return, she hitched the large backpack up and marched towards the gray obelisk. The closer she got, the more it engulfed her with its shadow. It was already late afternoon by the time she arrived so the light was already seeping away from the world.

Metal and towering over the five foot two inch woman, the doors stood at attention untouched and closed. There was a mechanical locking mechanism, one that had no keyhole to lockpick or keypad to cheese. She wasn't sure how to unlock it and her schedule was already tight.

C4 it was.

The explosion was small and compressed against the heavy doors, blowing them in and sending them falling like Jericho upon the floor. As the dust settled, Miss Pauling swept the area with her PM. Nothing alive, nothing moving. Clear. She straightened up and swept around the building once again, taking in the detail.

The lights were still on. Deep gray tiles lined the floors along the white sterile walls. Desks, filing cabinets, and office chairs were organized into rows and columns, perfectly spaced between each other. Papers were spread across the gray wooden desks haphazardly and her urge to organize them rose up. How was it that out of everything in the expansive floor plan, the papers, arguably the most important thing, were strewn about without care. Nothing else looked remotely used or touched. Perhaps it was to look lived in, like if someone were to, hypothetically, blow in the doors Demoman style looking for clues on some mysterious goings on, this would just look like an average programming office or company building. Maybe it would have fooled somebody if the chairs weren't so neatly placed.

After putting away her pistol, Miss Pauling snatched a paper off the nearest desk. A quick scan and she tossed it aside, watching it float to the ground. If that one was anything to go by, then the rest would be reports about weather readings near the Panama Canal. Pointless, a distraction.

There were two other floors besides the first. Though if you went through one you went through all. They were all near mirror images of the last, and Miss Pauling checked. Repeatedly. From the boring single colored paintings hanging on the otherwise barren walls(take a guess as to which color), to the papers all being the same copy of Panama canals and tropical rains.

Another thirty minutes of searching and morale was on the floor and digging. There was nothing to show for her due diligence. Snatching up another copy of Panama Canals, Miss Pauling crumpled it into a ball and lobbed it at the closest wall. It fell pitifully to the ground three feet away. Stupid lightweight papers.

What if all of this was just a red herring? No, no, there had to be something! She had never failed an assignment from The Administrator before and she wasn't about to start now. Miss Pauling stretched, feeling her back pop, and remade her hair. Some strands just never stayed put. After making sure that not a single strand was out of place, Miss Pauling climbed on top of one of the desks. Perhaps all she needed was a new perspective.

From her new height, the assistant scanned the floor, leaving no pencil or dust bunny unturned from her hawkish gaze. Nothing new to see if one wasn't trained to spot even the smallest of details. Miss Pauling hopped off from the desk and towards the three by three square of floor tiles near the back of the room. When she knelt down, her suspicions were met. The thin lines separating each tile from it's brother were filled with mortar, all except the three by three square that went far deeper. And when she placed her fingers along the crease, a chillness met her touch.

There was something below the building. But how to access it?

Getting to her feet, Miss Pauling began her search around once again, this time looking for anything that might be a lever, button, or keypad. Still just as barren with the only numbers to be found were on the small filing cabinets placed beneath the desks. She bent down to get a better look at one. There were four drawers labeled zero through three. The next had them labeled the same with the painted numbers slightly more worn. Another search around the building left Miss Pauling with no clues once more. She sighed, and took off her glasses to polish them.

"There has to be something." She reiterated to herself. There had to be something, she just wasn't looking hard enough. Sighing again, she began to pace around the floor. The entrance had to be remote controlled, most certainly through a subtle code or perhaps sound key. The question remained if there had to be multiple people in order to open it or just one. Multiple had a higher security rate but in case of emergencies, it was a hindrance, while a single person able to open the door would be riskier but better in terms of utility. But what was the key? And the keyhole? A doorway with neither but still possessing a lock was a puzzle that usually sparked joy in Miss Pauling. But this time she was in a hurry, and this wasn't exactly a jigsaw puzzle.

She plopped into a chair and rubbed her eyes. What was she missing? Opening them, Miss Pauling let them wander the gray room. Gray was the only way to describe the place. The color itself was quite pleasant, in fact, it was her second favorite color, just not this shade. It was bland, drab, no life, the perfect mix of black and white. Solid gray "paintings", solid gray floors, solid gray cabinets, solid gray desks with little numbers on the corners labeled from one to thirty. She paused. And looked at the desk's number she sat at.

No. Eight.

Miss Pauling leaned down to look at the filing cabinets numbers engraved on the small buttons used to unlock the drawers. Zero, one, two, three. It was a strange detail to mark the drawers starting from zero instead of one considering there were four drawers. She ran her slender fingers over the first button and pressed.

The drawer didn't open.

The color gray was a very prominent theme, so prominent that this building was owned by a Gray Industries. She sat at a desk marked eight and it's filing cabinet had a zero.

Without a second thought, Miss Pauling pressed the zero latch twice more.

For a discouraging few seconds, nothing happened. But then the low grinding drone met her ears. Miss Pauling shot to her feet as the ground began to rumble and the square of unusual tiles began to rise. The creaking of gears and huffing of pistons were swallowed by a shrill hiss of air as an elevator rose from the floor and opened its rickety gates for passageway.

The assistant stared at the new obelisk, both feeling justifiably triumphant, dumbfounded, and wary. The elevator looked like the kind found in the towering skyscrapers of Mann Co., both a marvel of engineering and a shaky old mess. There was only one small light fixture on the left wall; dim and flickering slightly with a yellow glow. Hitching her backpack up, Miss Pauling stepped into the elevator. Beneath her feet, the floor shook as her weight was added. She reached out and grabbed a railing.

There was a strange smell when she entered. Just a hint of something slightly citrusy. And something else she couldn't place. But it was familiar enough to Miss Pauling that she instinctively whipped out her Makarov.

On the wall stood only two buttons: Up and Down. She reached out and pressed the down button. With a woeful creak, the gate was shut, the floor trembled and hitched before Miss Pauling began her descent in the dark earth.

"Look, just, freakin', aw mother-"

"You don't need that-"

"Go to h*ll, I need what I want!" Scout shouted back with a voice like sandpaper and with teeth clamped around the bandages being tied around his arm and spiked club. Trying to tie was a more accurate statement given that Sniper had been watching the runner battle with his weapon extension for a good six minutes now. He checked his watch. Yup, 5:34, about seven minutes now.

The pair had taken every necessary precaution and packed as such. They both had backpacks full of the remaining health kits, some food, water(lots and lots of water by Scout's request), torches, and jackets along with other basic survival necessities. And weapons, of course. But apparently ranged weapons weren't enough for the Bostonian.

"So you're dead set on taking that thing with us?" Sniper asked.

"Yish!" Scout pulled his head away, tightening the knot. When he released, the knot took about five seconds before breaking, a new record. "Oh **** off with this s**t!"

"Oh just let me do it!" He grabbed the runner's arm, earning a hearty yelp, "well that wouldn't have happened if you weren't so bloody stubborn."

"Ey, **** you, this's actually lightweight, unlike that freakin' steel beam of a rifle!"

"Then you should have grabbed a different rifle besides the Machina, huh?"

"Screw you and your stupid sniper crap." The last word lost its bite as Sniper's handiwork was tightened beyond belief.

"There, now, can we get going?" He asked, exacerbated. Scout lifted his basher, testing it out, before giving it a wide and fast swing. "Crickey, give us a bloody warning before swinging that club!"

"Nah, it keeps ya on your toes."

"Fine, let yourself get hit in the gut, I don't care what ya do with your own stupid stuff and I care even less if you're the one dealing with the painful aftermath but can we get going now!?"

"UGH, FINE!" Scout groaned, shoving past Sniper and out the camper's door.

"It's not like I'm having a bloody party moiself," Sniper muttered, grabbing his backpack and Scout's seeing as the kid left his behind. He couldn't fully blame Scout for being irritable. Being cooped up in a van knowing that you'd have to explore a tomb once the van stopped would make anyone tense. He wasn't an exception.

After double checking their supplies and making sure they had everything needed, Sniper followed afterwards, locking the door behind him, and glared up at the rain clouds above.

Sawmill was just as gloomy as when they left it albeit less wet than normal. The gravel roads crunched underfoot and the gray swathes of clouds and trees ran for miles around them. Tiny specks of water danced along the marksman's arms, sending sharp pricks of cold through his nerves. A chill wind whispered in his ears and among the creaking pines and firs. And standing in silent vigil over the serene forested land, their old, debilitating base rose above the pair as a monument to a past better left forgotten.

From here, Sniper could see the damage left by the Counterfeit's attack, further pushed by the forces of nature. Walls were broken with splintering holes, the roof seemingly collapsing under its own weight, and his once proud nest lay in absolute ruin. Just to be within the ruins of the once proud BLU base brought a tension Sniper couldn't easily brush aside.

Like the building itself was staring right back at him.

"This is a bad idea," Scout's voice cut through the silent stalemate, "We shouldn't have come back here, man. This is a real bad idea, like, one of the worst."

"Shush," Sniper ordered.

"Mic-"

"I said shush." A warm gust brushed past his cheek as the marksman turned to his companion. The runner's eyes darted across the forests, looking everywhere and at everything, all the while holding his club with a white knuckled grip.

"We aren't going to stay." Sniper explained, snatching up Scout's attention, "What we are going to do is find the doc's Medigun, contact someone, anyone, in the higher ups and let them know everything, and where to rendezvous. That's it."

"...Pretty sure Thunder Mountain is only a day or two away-"

"Oh for crying out loud, Scout-"

"I don't wanna go back in there!" Scout shouted above the gusts of wind.

"We have too, it's been nearly three weeks since we've basically gone AWOL and for all we know, they've pronounced to the world that we're Missing in Action or legally dead."

"No they wouldn't, I literally called my family earlier!"

""Earlier", right. And how many days ago does "earlier" cover?" Scout kicked some gravel around.

"Three, but still-"

"That's still three days without contact with anyone, and a lot of s**t can happen in less than one, so if you don't mind, I'd like to get this over with before long." And with that, Sniper turned and made towards the base.

"Hey wait!" Scout shot forwards and grabbed Sniper's shirt, pulling the marksman back, "hey, c'mon, let's just think about this!"

"Think? That'd be a first for ya."

"Sniper, I'm serious."

"Okay, okay," Sniper stopped and looked down at his partner, "What is your main issue with being here besides it?" A hundred emotions flashed across the runner's face and thousand more through his maelstrom eyes. And yet Scout remained silent, more interested in the jacket Sniper gave him than an answer.

"I need an answer to understand ya, Scout. I ain't a mind reader."

"It's just," Scout blurted out until he seemed to get caught on his own words and floundered. "It's not the freakin'- not just It, but, but I-" He stopped and stared at the world around them as a soft breeze ruffled his hair.

"...you wouldn't get it, man. We all thought you were killed first, you weren't there." The pair were silent for a time as the oldest stood as still as a tree while the youngest fidgeted and shifted about. And the longer time passed in silence, the more Scout twitched and swayed, staring at everything but Sniper.

"I don't wanna go back in there." Finally, Sniper responded. The marksman sighed and ran a hand down his face, looking to the side.

"Yeah, you're right," he began, "I wasn't there. That's why I need you to come with me, because you were. You're the one who remembers what went down and where everything would be, like the Doc's medigun."

"I mean, not really…"

"Ya can't remember anything?"

"Well, no, but, just- just, I don't remember, uh, y'know, uh, specific things. Not- not that my memory sucks, actually it's pretty good it's just this one thing, y'know, cause, uh, my head got pretty knocked up when I was, was caught. By, y'know, so nope, nothing, no idea on what went down or where things are, yeah-"

"Scout." Scout's ramblings came to a screeching halt. Sniper stared him down.

"You're certain that you don't remember anything?" He asked. Scout opened his mouth to speak, paused, and began to fidget.

"...no, I… I really don't." The runner didn't meet Sniper's eyes. The sharpshooter took a deep breath and let out a silent sigh.

"Alright. You can stay out here, ya don't have to come with me."

"Wait, what?"

"But I'm still going. 'M not going to force you to come along, but I'm going. Won't take too long, just a couple hours at most."

"But what if something happens to ya?"

"We're professional mercenaries, I think I'll be alright. Besides, It hasn't shown its face for days, for all we know it's still in Landfall. Only a couple hours, I'll be back." He ended their conversation with a nod before turning and heading towards the base. Not before catching the distraught look on Scout's face.

As he reached the threshold and made to enter, the crunch of gravel underfoot met his ears. When he looked to his right, there stood Scout, fist clenched and glaring at the ground.

"It's a stupid freakin' idea to split up, thought you'd realized that by now." He grumbled. Sniper remained quiet as his companion continued. "Sides, two people looking around is better than one."

"Thought you said you didn't remember where anything was." Sniper pointed out.

"Yeah, well maybe this'll jog my memory. Get it? Jogging? Anyways let's get this over with before ya catch a cold out here, old man." Scout marched into the base, leaving the heavy doors open.

A smile found itself on Sniper's face before he too entered.

The chill scent of rain and wood mold greeted the two mercenaries at the entrance to Sawmill. Cold moisture dripped from the ceiling, glinting white in their torch beams. The deep blue failsafe lights had died long ago, leaving a shadow infested compound filled no doubt with rats and other disgusting lifeforms. But beyond all that, the base looked to be the same from when they left.

Sniper scanned the expansive hall with his torch, it's pale glow cutting into the dark. The floor had flooded. The walls were still broken and falling apart. And hidden beneath the murky water's surface were bullet casings.

"Holy crap, this place went to s**t." Scout breathed as he took a step into the waterlogged building. Then he jumped back, shaking the dirty water off his foot and cursing.

"Holy crap, that's freezing!"

"Shush." Sniper advised. "Don't need to talk so loud."

"Yeah, okay," Scout said in a noticeably quieter voice, "not like there's anything else here, right? Cause the only reason you'd want to be quiet is that you think something else is here that might hear us and find us-"

"Or," Sniper interrupted, "we should be quiet so that the bloody building doesn't collapse on top of us."

"This thing's been around for centuries, ain't no way it's that run down!"

"Shush!"

"You shush!" That earned a hearty smack upside Scout's head. "Ow!"

"How many times do I have to tell you to shut up-" The sharpshooter's rant was killed prematurely when a deep drone flooded the air and echoed down the deadened halls. Neither spoke and the weight of their reality came crawling back.

"Uh, so, wh- what're we looking for exactly?

"Medigun and anything to communicate with the higher ups." Sniper responded, voice deep from his quiet tone, "we should also find you some of your own clothes. More ammo would be good too."

"Yeah, okay, okay." Scout shimmied deeper into his grey jacket, eyes darting along the walls. They had to move and search the base in order to get what they wanted, but still neither moved. Sniper was looking at everything and anything, nothing escaping his hawk-like eyes. Scout stood incredibly still, listening and looking along the water covered floor. If Scout felt it, he didn't say anything. Neither did Sniper, but there was something. Just a flash of wariness. Like they were being… observed.

A moment passed, then another, and a few more before the marksman took a step and began his march through the chilling lake. The runner was less than a second behind, sending ripples throughout the empty base. Pant legs soaked and ears perked, the pair crept deeper into Sawmill.

The elevator had been descending for a good while now and while Miss Pauling wasn't necessarily scared of getting stuck in it, the way it would sometimes hitch and creak beneath her feet wasn't the most reassuring thing in the world. But it never stopped.

It had to have been a good five minutes since she first stepped into the lift and so far it still showed no signs of stopping.

Until it did.

With a teeth grinding shriek of metal, the elevator came to a jolting halt. Then silence. Regaining her balance from the sudden stop, Miss Pauling hitched her satchel up and slipped out her pistol. Beyond the steel gate was only darkness. The perfect cover. She took a deep breath, straightened up, and watched as the gate fluttered open. And as she stepped into the shadows, a wretched smell greeted her.

The pistol clattered to the floor as Miss Pauling brought her hands up to block the odor. That overpowering smell of rot and curdled milk. Her hands weren't enough to keep herself from dry heaving. It was awful! She couldn't see anything from how watery her eyes became. Coughing and sputtering, the assistant swung off her bag and scrambled to find something within it. She gagged again. And thankfully, her hand clamped over some fabric.

Using mostly muscle memory, she wrapped the black mask around her mouth and nose, tightening it to keep out any more of that awful smell. It wasn't even the curled milk smell, it was the one lying underneath. Just scratching at the surface, the familiar scent Miss Pauling had grown so accustomed to over the years. That rot. The decay. She didn't even have to turn on her pistol's light to know what she would find down here. Speaking of her weapon, Miss Pauling snatched the pistol up after wiping away the water lining her vision. A small click of a switch and a narrow beam of white light burst to life.

As she swept the dark with her weapon's flashlight, a picture started forming. And it wasn't a pretty one. The overhead lamps were dead and/or broken. Along the walls and floor were deep gouges into the grey tiles, some obviously made from human nails. And there was a deep rust brown scattered about: small spots along the ground and walls, short smears made by either hands or shoes, and there was a one long, thick, trail that appeared like a red carpet rolled out to welcome Miss Pauling to the facility.

There were no glowing strings.

She reached down to grab her bag and swung it back onto her shoulders. After making sure it was secure, Miss Pauling slunk deeper into the mysterious compound. The PM in her hand was kept in an ironclad grip.

The further she went, the tighter her grip became. Whatever facility this was was a stark difference from what she found above ground. Above was clean, monotone, and organized. This appeared to be chaos incarnate. Blood with no bodies, Citrus and curled milk with no glowing webs, nothing and everything at the same time. She hated missing puzzle pieces.

But perhaps she would find some answers by following the arrows painted on the walls. Miss Pauling stepped to the closest sign. While she could make out some letters, most of the legibility was smeared with a large blood stain. And bullet holes. Reaching up, she wiped away some of the crimson. Then cursed. She forgot that she wasn't wearing gloves. Oh well. Wiping her hand on her dress, Miss Pauling read the words she had cleared.

Test Chambers: Left

Genomics and Splicing: Left

Logs and Anatomy: Right

Histology: Right

Wait, what? Biological studies. But what is Splicing? It doesn't matter, Miss Pauling needed information, and she would find that, presumably, in the Logs. She headed right, turned a corner,

Bang! Heart racing, hand trembling, Miss Pauling lowered her pistol and took her finger off the now used trigger. The person at the far end of the hall was long since dead if the smell was anything to go by. They sat there wearing a deep blue, now brown, security suit, slouching, and barely able to stay upright. And as Miss Pauling got closer after securing the surrounding doors and small labs, she could see why. Her blood ran cold.

The body was rotting. Flies danced about, laying their eggs into the leaking flesh. A pool of deep rich red surrounded the floor and man. No doubt it was caused by the gaping hole torn into his stomach. The few intestines slipping out were shriveled up, and there was more flesh that looked more like a large tumor spilling out of the man's ruptured stomach. And when Miss Pauling leaned over to see his face, the gross sight of a dislocated jaw hanging off its hinge made her feel sick.

She'd seen bodies before, ones in even worse states than this one. But the thing is,

Miss Pauling never saw one whose middle was torn open from the inside out.

Steeling her nerves, Miss Pauling stood and made towards what she hoped was the archives. Past the body, past the scratched up walls and bloodied floors. Past the bullet casings, past the torn clothing, past busted doors leading into small rooms of destruction. Some were barricaded by thrown furniture, some doors stood locked when she tried them, others were across the halls, broken and beaten down. Still, there were no other bodies to be found.

What she did find was a staircase and a large, large room. It was no doubt a laboratory floor if the desks thrown against the walls were anything to go by. Some overhead lamps had their wires exposed, flickering and sparking, sending small embers falling to the ground. Along the ground were the same staples as before: blood, bullets, and some broken glass. And in the middle of the floor, was the staircase descending further into the earth.

And growing like roots into the dark hole were the pale nerves crisscrossing like a spider's web. Bingo. Making her way into the room, sweeping every nook and cranny with her Makarov, Miss Pauling spared a look at the debris coating the tiled floor. Among the biomaterials and shards, there were papers. Some were stained, others trampled, ripped, and crumpled beyond recognition. But some were legible. And she snatched up the first one with an untainted page. It appeared to be a memo of sorts.

Heron,

The shipments of Thaumoctopus Mimicus tissue has once again been delayed along with the Ctenizidae DNA. Need I remind you that our deadline for something more than theoretical results is fast approaching, and should another delay be enacted, our funding will be cut.

As the Head Director, that failure will fall on your shoulders. And I doubt you need reminding of the man our backer is.

I will expect those shipments on the front desk of my department Saturday afternoon.

Miss Pauling folded the paper and placed it within her bag as she grabbed more. Memos, charts, suppliers, backers, but not a single mention of what it was all for. Something like that would be kept far safer. Kept deeper in the facility.

A low drone crept up through the stairwell as the assistant made her way deeper below.

"Find anything yet?"

"A panic attack."

"That's very funny, Scout, but I'm being serious."

"I was being serious," Scout replied as he pulled a waterlogged shotgun from the freezing water they were searching in, "I found a Panic Attack. Pretty sure it was Hardhat's."

"Oh." Sniper said before he went back to checking rusted cabinets and old soaked cardboard boxes. After searching the rest of the bottom floor and finding nothing but rusted ammo, weapons, and a very dirty Sasha("Aw man, Heavy'd have a freakin' an-ya-rhythm if he saw this." "Aneurysm." "Whaterver."), they'd made their way into the base's workshop, or realistically, Engineer's workshop who saw Demoman on the weekends. Due to the lower level the room was built, water was knee deep, making travel slow and the chances of catching a cold pretty bloody high. Behind him, Sniper heard Scout sneeze.

"What're we even doing searching through this crap?" The runner whined. The low splash followed as he chucked something useless away. Sniper hoped it was actually useless at least, and not something Scout perceived as useless "It's not like we'd find Doc's miracle weapons here." Truthfully, Sniper didn't have a good reason. Mostly instincts to have a thorough search as to not miss anything important.

"Well, once you're ready to get going, we can."

"Ya mean we can leave?" Scout asked hopefully.

"To another part of the base." At that, Scout visibly soured and kicked at the water.

"Well whatever, fine, let's freakin' go already, ain't nothing here cept tools and wet blueprints."

"Fine, but put these in your pack," Sniper handed Scout a light toolbox.

"Why? We already have a toolbox, remember?"

"Not with these tools, we don't." Sniper explained before logging through the water and out into the hall. "Now let's go, I don't want to stay too long."

"Gee, wonder how that feels." Scout grumbled

"I've always felt that way about this base." The marksman admitted, shaking some water from his pants. Behind him, he heard Scout scoff.

"Why? This place is, like, your freakin' paradise! There's trees, a lotta birds, more trees, higher places, uh… trees."

"So you think the only thing I would need to be happy are trees."

"Yeah." Scout paused, looking back towards the workshop's entrance. "Hey, uh, wha- did ya hear something?" Sniper looked towards the door frame. It was empty, just like before.

"Only you, mate."

"Yeah, okay. Just thought I… nevermind." Scout went back to his walking, albeit slower, and quieter. "But seriously, why don't you like this place?"

"Well, it is a nice location," Sniper said, leaning down to grab something from the water. It was just a pistol. He put it back. "It's just always soaking wet. Not to mention some other aspects."

"Like…?"

"The bloody fact that it was built over a mine." He stumbled over a fallen beam hidden in the dark.

"It was?"

"Yup."

"Okay, but, why'd ya hate that? I mean, like, that's really deep down, right? And this is above ground."

"Just paranoid, I suppose."

Scout hummed when he managed to also trip on some hidden debris. Managing to catch himself, he stood, then froze.

"Dude, wait," Sniper stopped.

"What?"

"Uh, think we should try a different way."

"...the staircase up is literally right there." he pointed his torch at the far end of the hall at what used to be the staircase but was now a battered mess of splinters and sawdust.

"I bet there's another way up, like a hole somewhere." Scout said as he began to backup. He was staring at the ground.

"Ugh, we don't have time for this, Scout," Sniper grumbled as he started walking again. And that was when a deep creak erupted from the wood beneath his feet.

A split second later the floor gave away and a deep darkness opened up to swallow him whole. And it would have if it weren't for the arm that wrapped around his waist and yanked him back. Sniper stumbled back into something solid and sent it and himself down onto the puddled ground. A light oof! met his ears. And what met his eyes when he lifted them was a hole. Dark and tunneling deeper and deeper into the earth was a cavity that could easily fit two bull elephants. It eroded at the walls and half the floor sloped into the void until it stopped, cutting and breaking apart piece by small piece. How… how did he miss that!?

"Told ya we should've tried a different way." Scout said somewhere behind him. Sniper couldn't respond, his throat was drier than a desert. And there was still something wrapped around him. Looking down, he spotted the runner's arm, hand gripping his shirt so tightly it was causing wrinkles. Sniper peered over his shoulder and there sat Scout, staring back with wide eyes.

"...You can let go of me now." He finally said. Scout's expression seemed to short circuit as the gears in his head audibly grinded to a halt, leaving a blank, ditzy face. Then he started as if shocked and shot to his feet.

"Well I wouldn't have had to do that if you were actually looking where you were freakin' going! I swear, man, ya get tunnel vision at the worst possible times. Like, I get it when you're looking through a scope or something, but seriously, do I gotta babysit ya 24/7?"

"Alright, I get it," Sniper groaned, getting to his feet. Unfortunately, the gremlin had a point. Sniper really wasn't paying enough attention to his surroundings, which was what got him caught under a heavy metal cabinet unable to escape. He swallowed, staring at the gaping maw to his right.

"Thanks." When Sniper said that, Scout, who had been tightening his Basher's wraps, froze.

"Uh, ya- ya don't have to , y'know." He stammered. "Anyone woulda done it, that's, that's what teammates do, right? Have each other's backs? It's what good people in, in general do, y'know? Right? So let's just freakin', just, move. Let's go! C'mon." Scout rolled his shoulder and started back, going a bit faster than before.

"Problem is, mate," Sniper called after him, causing the runner to pause his trot, "we checked this floor entirely. There's only one other place to check," Sniper jabbed a thumb towards the collapsed stairs at the other side of the similarly collapsed floor. Scout scoffed.

"Psh, yeah, okay, and how do ya expect to make it, Einstein, by jumping, cause ya wouldn't even make it half way. Trust me, pal, I'd know." The runner had a point. Again. Sniper looked around the large hole.

"There's a ledge of floor along the left wall," Sniper observed, "it's slim, but it could work." It was indeed slim, and there wasn't much to cling to wall-wise. But it was the only option they had besides jumping, and Sniper wasn't going to chance that anytime soon.

"Are you freakin' kidding me!?" Scout called as Sniper made his way over to the ledge, testing the floors and pausing each time a board creaked. "C'mon man, let's just look for a hole in the ceiling. Look, you were right earlier, okay? About this place going to s**t, proof right in front of our freakin' eyes, so there's probably other holes around too! So let's just go and- you're not even listening, are ya?" He stood at the cusp of the ledge and at the steep slope of breaking floor dipping into the cavity. To reach the ledge, Sniper would have to take a rather large step. A worrying creak slipped out from under his boot.

"Oh just let me do it!" Scout said, shoving Sniper back before turning to glare at him. "I'm lighter, and I actually kinda do this stuff for a living, so just, walk where I walk, okay?"

"Alright." Sniper replied. Scout huffed, and paused to judge the distance. Or to reevaluate his life choices. Couldn't blame him, really. But then the Bostonian leaned forward and made the first massive step onto the thin pathway.

For a terrifying second, the broken wood creaked ominously under Scout's feet, and neither took a breath. But when the runner didn't go shooting through the ledge like it was thin ice, Scout took another step. Then another after another pause. When he made it halfway across, he gestured for Sniper to follow.

Now it was time for Sniper to reevaluate his life choices. But he came to the same conclusion. He took the step, and the ledge bent under his weight. The horrible darkness below was just waiting for the moment the marksman slipped up, for the creaking oak to break away and send Sniper hurling through the black, no doubt becoming a human pancake on the landing. And he could swear, if he stared hard enough, he could see something down there. Glowing faintly, so faint. Glowingly familiar, too familiar. He blinked away from below when he felt something tap tapping on his hand.

"Hey, don't get cold feet on me now, this was your idea." Scout scolded, tapping his index finger along Sniper knuckles to grab his attention. "Sides," his tone softened, "we're nearly there." And then they were. Standing at the bottom of the broken stairs, the pair had safely crossed the dark chasm.

"Look at that, we made it thanks to yours truly!" Scout smugly observed. "Now how do we get up there?" The stairs, being broken, were useless, which left the question of how they would reach the second floor. Well, there were a few things that sprung to mind.

"Could give ya a boost." Sniper shrugged. Scout was light, he would probably only need a single hand to give the slim man enough height to reach the ledge. Well, just to be sure, he should use two-

A blur of movement came from his right and the next thing he knew, a cloud of dust was falling down on Sniper's hat from Scout's landing above him. He stared up at his companion, who was brushing off his shirt and rolling back his Basher arm. Scout caught Sniper staring and raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"How?"

"What, how I got up here?"

"Yeah."

"Jumped. Now c'mere, gimme your hand." Scout dropped to his stomach and reached down. After a moment, Sniper shook himself out from his dumbfounded stupor and grabbed the runner's hand. To Scout's credit, he nearly got Sniper to stand on tiptoes. But it was clear that lifting was impossible.

"Okay, this isn't working."

"Shuddup! I can do this!" Scout wheezed, face red from the effort. Deciding to humor Scout a while longer, Sniper let the runner try(and fail) to pull him up. At some point though, he was losing feeling in his arm, so he twisted his hand free from Scout's grip. Easily.

"Look, just give us the rope. I know you got one in your pack."

"I do?"

"Scout."

"Just joking! Joking, totally knew we packed ropes, like, what kinda idiot forgets to pack ropes." Scout's head disappeared for a while, and if Sniper didn't hear the irritated mumbles of said Scout, he'd have thought the runner up and left. But sure enough, Scout's head once again reappeared. And when he did, a rope hit Sniper smack dab in the middle of his face.

"Okay, now c'mon, we ain't staying longer than we have to." It was still a bit of a challenge getting up using the rope, but at least he eventually got up. When he did, a dryer but dirtier hall met his eyes, along with a panting Scout.

"Why're ya so freakin' heavy, man?" He asked between breaths. "It can't just be cause a your freakin' rifle, dude."

"I'm really not, you just aren't that strong."

"Wh- hey!"

"Shush!" Sniper hissed, looking around at the beaten up walls and support beams. "We don't want this rubbish collapsing on us." There was a lot more debris than below with whole chunks of walls and doorways laying in piles on the ground along with furniture. "Is this where the dorms are located?"

"Nah, this's-" Another drone echoed through the dark and the pair froze. Looking around with his torch, Sniper scanned the dilapidated hall for any sign of movement.

"...There are holes everywhere," he reasoned, "it was probably just the wind. Come on." He got to his feet and gestured for Scout to follow. The marksman got ten feet away before he realized that his companion wasn't following. "Scout, c'mon."

"Uh," Scout started, eyes searching around for something, "yeah, just. There's… I dunno, but, ya ever get the feeling that… y'know, uh, something's watching ya?" Sniper paused, and listened. There was only that faint drone creeping through the compound, and the light plips of stray droplets falling down. It was very quiet. Far quieter than what Scout was probably used to, which might be the reason the runner was so on edge. When Sniper made to point this fact out, something else caught his attention.

"I smell petrol."

"What, gasoline?" Scout asked.

"Yeah," Sniper scanned the darkness once again, searching with his light along the floor and walls, "that's slightly concerning." Scout sniffed the air too, squinting in thought.

"Oh, yeah I smell it too." Something dawned on the runner's face, "Oh, I know what it is, Pyro was leaving around tons of old empty gas cans cause we were packing, remember? Well I think they were empty, h*ll if I know. Saw some under the water below."

"I don't remember that." Sniper muttered, stalking into the dark. Scout joined his side a second later. "Was this before or during the attack?"

"Freakin' before man, I keep telling ya I don't remember anything from the attack again and again and again, so how about you quit ****in' asking me!" The snappish shout shot through the base and left an uncomfortable silence. A silence that continued far longer than wanted. At least from Scout's side. But he didn't say a word, even when they got back to searching along the ground for the Medigun. Through debris and shrapnel, wet drywall and broken doors, fallen cabinets and ruined posters they looked.

Every so often, one of the two would pause and look up, eyes darting around the base and dark shadows. Scout did it the most, shooting beams of light from his torch into every room, every nook, every speck, wearing an expression of intense concentration, looking for something that he couldn't find. Sniper's own searches were sparse and only a flicker towards some general direction before he went back to his search. But they both looked for the source of that prickling sensation. It was far too familiar to be completely brushed aside. The feeling of eyes, watching from some unknown place.

He hated this. Scout really did hate this. Sniper for some reason didn't seem to hate it as much as Scout did, but he was also better at hiding things. Maybe he did hate going through this death trap again and Scout was just being an *sshole again. That made some sense, so he shouldn't complain. Scout could complain, but he shouldn't, so he wouldn't.

Not out loud at least.

His hand, once clean and dry, was now coated in gross wood slime and dirt. Wiping it down on his jacket, he turned towards Sniper, who was busy lifting a bunch of heavy looking slabs away from something.

"That it?" Scout called.

"I bloody hope so," Sniper growled, "I cut my hand on this s**t."

"Ya didn't wrap your hands?"

"No?"

"You dumb. *ss." Scout slipped off his backpack and opened it. A roll of bandages hit Sniper dead center of his chest a moment later. "Go wrap your freakin' hands before you end up getting tennis by cutting yourself again!"

"It's tetanus."

"Whatever! You dumb*ss."

As Sniper wrapped up his hands, Scout sat up and looked around once again. It was really dark. Last time the lights were still on. Guess they just died out. And Scout didn't know if he liked it better this way or not. The lights had been harsh and it was really hard making out movement. But he couldn't see anything now even with the flashlights. Anything could be hiding anywhere, staring at them, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike. When their guards would be down, and then it would pick them off.

Why did they have to come back to this place? Well, as long as they didn't split up, they should be golden. Scout had already made that mistake and he wasn't about to do it again. Despite what the guys would say, he, in fact, was capable of learning from mistakes.

But maybe Sniper couldn't because they were still searching for the stupid Medigun! And Medic didn't even go up here, he went with Heavy and Soldier. Yeah, then he… they… where, when they told him… when.

He looked over to where Sniper was busy finishing up his wraps, and behind him lay a collapsed doorway, filled with wood, walls, and the ceiling. Beneath it all, and in the deep cutting shadows, lay an orange electronic device. Scout swallowed.

"Hey, uh, any idea how long we've been looking?" He called out to his companion. Sniper lifted his arm up, cursed, then brought his other arm up to light up his wristwatch.

"Two hours."

"We should go, then. If we haven't found the doc's medigun by now, we probably aren't going to find it-"

"Could split up in order to find it faster."

"What!?" Scout shot to his feet. Was Sniper seriously- after everything- and he still wanted to- WHAT!? "Are you stupid!?"

"We're taking too long. And there are only two more floors to check. You can check the dorms and get yourself some clothes and I'll keep looking for the Medi- don't interrupt me." Scout closed his mouth. "I'll keep looking for the Medigun and after thirty minutes, I'll time it, we'll meet up and if I haven't found it then, we'll leave."

"But don't we have to reach Miss Pauling or something like that too?" Scout asked. Sniper paused, face blanking, before he slapped a hand on his forehead.

"Ah bugger, I forgot! Look, I'll focus on that too, you just get yourself some clothes, alright?"

"Mmmmmmmhmhmhmmhfine. Thirty minutes only."

"Thirty minutes," Sniper repeated, looking at his watch, "starting now, so get going." Scout grumbled but did as he was told. The stairwell on this floor remained largely untouched with only a few steps broken. When he reached it, he turned back to watch as Sniper walked away, deeper into the base. And soon enough, the marksman was gone from sight, leaving Scout alone in the dark and quiet. A light plipping of rainwater and creaking of old oak and pine were his only companions left. That, and the loud wind roaring past outside.

Although his pulse was starting to beat a little faster than it probably should, and that it was making his vision a little darker than normal, Scout fixed his jaw and trotted up the creaking and busted stairs. The last step had collapsed entirely so Scout had to jump. He hopped over the step and onto the fourth and final floor.

It looked almost completely untouched compared to the others. Sure, the lights were down and the only light was from the multiple holes in the ceiling while also leaking rainwater, but at least there were no stupid webs. Scout started ahead, flicking his flashlight's beam around the black base. The darkness wasn't that dark but the small pale beams from the outside did **** all to actually light his path. At least he knew where he was going. And that there were no more stairs he could end up falling down.

The dorms of Sawmill were both Scout's favorite and least favorite dorms the team had had. Favorite because each dorm had their own hall and that meant privacy and silence. Least favorite because his dorm was the farthest into the base which meant more walking. It didn't matter if he was the fastest, it was still annoying as s**t! And Scout was definitely feeling the annoyance as he made his way through the halls towards his dorm.

Why was every base an architectural nightmare? And this was coming from the guy who grew up in a freaking city! It sucked so much.

Finally, after a good two minutes of walking, Scout found his room. It was dark, really dark this time, so out came the flashlight. The beam lit up the room and a warmth swept through the runner's mind.

A barren bed sat in the corner along with a small wooden nightstand. Surrounding it were piles of unlabeled boxes. The walls were blue like everything else and covered in small holes where tacks used to hold posters of everything from baseball players to hot chicks he found in those magazines somebody subscribed to(Heavy and Engie had gotten into a real nasty argument once when they were found in the Texan's workshop.). Boy, did he miss waking up to those!

Barren as it was, it was his. Settling down, Scout grabbed the first box and pulled it close, ripping the cardboard lips open. Baseball cards and other knickknacks. Another one was opened to find bedding and pillows. The third had old headpieces and mics for battles. Wait, they could actually use those. He grabbed three and stuffed them into his backpack.

Over and over Scout tore open his packed belongings, finding things he hadn't seen for weeks. His letters from home and family, old sketchbooks, winter clothes and even his worn down, tearing copy of Charlotte's Web. It was basically falling apart at the seams and several pages had dog ears and were torn nearly in half. He flipped through the dusty feeling paper.

He could have been reading this by now, sitting in his dorm at Harvest, waiting for the new day to start, somehow surviving everything with the others because they were just that good. And to think that all of that was snatched away by one small choice and one faulty headset. Freakin'... just, why? Why, why, why did all of this happen!? What, so one little decision gets to **** up their entire lives!? It was so ****ing unfair! All of it, all of it was unfair, why was he the one who had his hand taken away, why was he the one who had to go through everything while Sniper only had a light blow to the head? What did that guy do to deserve to live and the others didn't? Why did he get off scot-****ing-free while Scout didn't!? Why why why-

Groaning, Scout let his head fall. Thinking like that wasn't gonna change anything. They were all still gone, missing, and maybe dead. His arm was still gone forever. And trying to drag Sniper down with him? It was just going to make things worse, it wasn't Sniper's fault they were attacked. Wasn't Sniper's fault Scout's hand was probably just a pile of bones in the forest or digesting in some monster's stomach. They had more important things to worry about, and here he was moping around, like some stupid kid. A kid who couldn't even keep a lid on his own emotions right. Sniper could do that, most of the time, why couldn't Scout?

Before long, fresh pairs of clothes filled his bag and he even managed to find an old stuffed pig his ma packed him from his first care package. After making sure that the animal was tucked safely deep into his backpack, Scout zipped it up and made to leave. Giving one last glance at his belongings, the runner turned and left. And as he exited his room, he heard something above the wind outside. Something like a…

A roar? Probably just a mountain lion because Sniper said those things were around this area. Or a bear. Probably not that thing, no way, because that meant it had followed them here and had been following them the entire time and if that happened then that meant it had either followed Scout when he was left in the forest and just didn't kill him for some reason or it had followed Sniper in which case Scout ran off again and could have left him to get caught by the monster again and-

"Bear. Definitely bear. Bet it was those big ones, the grizzlies." Scout reassured, listening to the wind outside and for the roar again. It didn't come back. Bear. Hundred percent, no doubts about it, Grizzly Bear. He took a breathe and felt his lungs constrict.

What, so Sniper left for, like, fifteen minutes, and now Scout was having trouble breathing again!? It was stupid, it wasn't even dark yet! And they'd been separated for way longer, and the last time that happened Scout had been ditched in the middle of the wild with a Lovecraftian beast after him so why was this happening!? Sawmill was a dead place, there was nothing here, they'd been searching for- Scout swallowed, trying to catch his breath. Like, three hours at this point? No, just two. It. He took a sharp gasp of air. Time was just going quicker cause… of how dark. It. It wa. It was. Hard to breathe, his heart too quick.

His movement slowed. And it got slower, and slower.

He wasn't moving. Couldn't even lift his feet. Oh no. Scout started to pant, heart racing, and then he was gasping. Gasping, choking, frozen in place and couldn't move, they were separated. Couldn't breath and shout, how long had it been. How. How lo. Long? Twenty, thirty, everything was growing dark and his limbs felt made of old TV static.

He still couldn't move. Stuck, like a deer in h. Headlights. Vulnerable, no! Leaning forwards to try and force himself to move, Scout-

"WA-" His knees buckled and the runner just managed to break his fall with his arms. The wood scraped his palm and stump as his flashlight went flying, clattering in the distance, and his vision darkened, head swimming.

At least he didn't land on the Basher.

Blurry, dizzy, and full of vertigo, Scout rolled onto his back, the blinding spots in the ceiling dancing in the dark of his mind. Did he stand up too fast? No, but maybe he slowed down too fast. Was that even a thing? Well what was a thing was the exhaustion he felt deep in his bones.

Wait.

Oh it was this s**t again. He couldn't move his legs, just like in the forest. Stupid muscles, not doing their one job. At least the fall made his not breathing thing go away.

Scout lay on the ground, both mad and tired. His head was still swimming, and his vision was swimming too. And now he was hearing things because Scout could have sworn he heard someone say hello.

Wait, what?

"Hhh," He tried to speak but his lungs were still faltering, "h. Hhello?"

"Hello?" Was there an echo, because that was definitely his voice. Maybe. It was too dark to tell. The world was still swirling around like a carousel and whenever he looked around from the floor, everything shifted and-

Scout shot his head up, eyes wide, before the world went dark again and he had to lay it back down. No, no he wasn't going crazy, he was too handsome to be going crazy. But he had seen something, or someone, and didn't know who it was. If there was someone.

The soft padding of feet crept up from the shadows and Scout's heart exploded into overdrive. And he couldn't move!-

Please let it be Mick, please let it be Mick. Actually, if Sniper saw him like this then that would lead to a whole range of things so maybe not- Nope, no, let it be Sniper, PLEASE let it be Sniper!

Scout opened the eyes he didn't know he closed. Through the blurriness, Scout could make out a pair of legs and shoes. He looked up to meet the other man's gaze-

And laughed in relief.

"Guy! You're back!"

The Scout sheepishly smiled back and waved.

"Dude," Scout exclaimed, "Ya gave me a freakin' heart attack, man! Little warning next time ya pull a ninja move like that, okay?" The Scout gave what looked like an apologetic shrug, "Anyway, ya gotta get me up! If Sniper finds me lying here like a lil' b***h he's gonna freak! Little help?" The Scout looked over to the lying man and after a moment, lent a hand. Scout took the offer and felt himself get pulled to his feet. The hand he took was surprisingly cold and stiff, but solid.

"Okay, thanks man!" The Scout paused, and nodded.

"No problem."

"Alright, I think I can manage it now. Uh, but, why did ya come back? Y-You said you weren't gonna be helping me anymore, remember?" The Scout cocked his head. "Like, ya said you weren't coming back, remember? Just "poof" gone, told me I deserved it." His companion only shrugged, and Scout felt nails dig into his hand.

"Uh, you can let go now." The Scout started and released. "Uh, you, uh, you good? Kinda quiet."

The Scout opened his mouth, blanked, and shrugged again. Scout looked his companion up and down. He looked to be the same as he was in the forest, except a bit more solid and a lot less smoky. The clone also looked kinda… lost? He would meet Scout's gaze for a second before turning away towards the ground or the side. There was also the fact that he was kinda frowning. Like, not the sad sad kind of frown but, the one when you don't really know what's going on. Like when you're supposed to capture a point but have no idea where the next point even is and everyone is relying on you. Scout himself frowned in empathy, because oh boy did he know the feeling.

"Oh, uh, something happened? Do… do you need help? I thought you were kinda, ya know, a guardian, a conscious or some s**t. Didn't really think you were actually real, unless I passed out and this is a dream."

"Yeah, little help?"

"Uh, yeah, just, what do ya need help with?" Scout asked. His companion paused, and squinted at the ceiling in thought. When brainstorming brought nothing, The Scout sighed and instead opened his arms up.

"What, you wanna hug?" The Scout frowned that confused frown again before once more shrugging apologetically. "I- okay?" Little weird but, hey, he owed the guy one. Scout took a step forward and instantly his knee buckled. Luckily his companion caught him before he landed face first on his Basher.

"Woah, okay, guess I'm not good yet- woah!" Scout blurted out as he was swiftly swept off his feet and into a bridal carry. "Dude, what the h*ll?"

"It's okay, I got this."

"Uh, wha- hold on, back up, can ya put me down?" The Scout gave him a look. "...Yeah, okay, but I can at least stand. So uh…"

"Little help?"

"I, yeah, okay," Scout sighed, catching the scent of what smelled like lemon yogurt. His stomach growled. "Just, freakin', I dunno, just do what ya gotta do, Sniper's waiting for us- for me." The Scout paused, mouthing something with a dazed look, before looking back with a smile and a nod. Then, he turned and carried Scout back towards the dorms.

The walk was slow because The Scout would sometimes stumble over his own feet, like he was still learning to walk, and it probably didn't help that he was carrying Scout, whose legs still felt like they were dipped in liquid nitrogen and filled with dead air. At least that scent was nice. Really sweet, kinda familiar. Kinda like a sick sweet but it was mostly sweet sweet.

"Hey, where we going? Cause Sniper's waiting for me." The Scout didn't respond, he appeared to be looking for something. Through the dorms and past Medic's, Pyro's, Heavy's, and into one he didn't recognize. Before they entered, The Scout set Scout down and when it was clear that he wasn't about to collapse again, The Scout took his hand and led him into the dorm. As they passed the door, Scout caught sight of the nameplate.

"Sniper has a dorm? Okay, well duh, course he'd have one! Why we going in here?" The room was completely bare bones; nothing but the normal bed and nightstand covered in a fine layer of dust that seemed to trap all surrounding sounds.

There was a weird feeling in his hand, kinda prickly, kinda cold. The Scout turned back to Scout, eyes filled with curiosity. He let Scout's hand go and the runner felt it fall at his side. He tried to move his fingers. Just a cold numbness responded. His heart was starting to beat.

"Um, hey, we need to get going. Sniper's gonna start thinking somethings wrong, and… and nothings wrong, right?" The Scout paused, then shook his head before grabbing Scout's shoulders.

"Nope."

There was a look in his eyes, one that sent chills down Scout's spine before it was engulfed in a strange numbness. Like freshly fallen snow had just been injected straight into his muscles. And he was slipping down, and down. Something solid met his back as The Scout gently pushed him against the wall. The runner's shoulders grew lax, and he slipped further down, legs shaking and buckling again. Once more, Scout couldn't move.

"H-Hey, wha…" He began before The Scout met his eyes again. That look was gone, and then it was back, and then it was replaced with something warm. Friendly.

"...let me go. Please let me go, dude." Scout was only being held up by the other Scout, the one whose hands kept him both standing and trapped. He stared back, eyes flashing with emotions that couldn't exist within the span of milliseconds. The runner's heart was beating out of his chest. Then, The Scout's right hand released Scout's arm, and raised it slowly, like he was about to touch something red hot.

Four fingers brushed against Scout's cheek and stopped, holding his head in a care filled touch. Then the other hand encompassed his other cheek and held him still. Limbs dead, Scout could only watch in shock as his counterpart pulled itself closer, their faces only just apart.

"Sorry there, man." Engie's soft accent filled the dark, empty room.

No.

"I require assistance!"

No! Those cold fingers pushed further into his face, digging and splitting his skin apart and digging more.

PLEASE! A deep frost was settling into his flesh. A cold, dead, crawling motion right below the surface, worming through him like he was dirt. His heart beat faster and faster, harder and harder-

Images, flashes of colors and thoughts, emotions, fears.

He spoke, and sang, and laughed, and felt. A cold rippling like his veins were tying up in knots. A Christmas party, three boring graduations, a thrilling game, a heart wrenching disappearance. Digging further still.

"-What is that thing!?-"

"-Keep firing, men!-"

"-it ate him! It ate him!-"

"-Pyro, stop! It's hopeless!-"

"-DON'T LEAVE-"

"-RUN LITTLE MAN-"

"-Leave him!-"

"-SCOUT!-"

"-Laddie, please!-"

"-Boy, don't you dare!-"

"-DON'T LEAVE!-"

"-PLEASE!-"

Scout was dropped like a sad sack upon the moldy floor. There he lay, unmoving, staring up at a perfect replica of himself. Clothing, scars, eyes, and all. The only thing different was the creature's left hand, unharmed. That didn't last long. With a cringeworthy ripping sound, The Counterfeit tore the hand off from it's arm and dropped it upon the floor. From there the appendage began to leak an iridescent fluid, the same tone as the webbing in Landfall. The Not-Scout's arm twisted and morphed into a bandaged stump wielding a Boston Basher.

"He-hey! Nice!" It said before picking the hand back up. Scout watched it just stand there, staring at the hand. If his legs could just freaking move!

The Not-Scout looked back at Scout and grabbed his shoulder again, ignoring the harsh flinch the touch caused.

"don't." Scout's voice was a whisper. The urge to shout couldn't overturn the numbness of his throat. The Not-Scout sat Scout up against the wall, all gentle-like, as if it didn't just do what it did. Then, it grabbed Scout's left arm and tapped the severed hand to the stump. Again and again it tapped them together with Scout watching in mute horror. Boredom set in eventually though, and after a minute, The Not-Scout shrugged and dropped the arm.

"It's okay, I got this." It said before it placed the hand on it's chest. The way the two morphed together into one being again made Scout want to rip his eyes out, it was disgusting. But before he could act on the urge, The Not-Scout took his face again. And it smiled.

"Thanks, pally! Thanks for this." It had those warm eyes again. Blue eyes filled with gratitude. Then they changed. Blue to gray to brown. Gratitude to apathy to malice. Cold, mocking sadism.

He'd seen those eyes before.

That was the last thing Scout thought before his lips were locked to his copy's. Warm, bitter, sour taste. He writhed and shoved and pushed back with a scream. Sour taste. His copy's grip was iron clad and it watched in glee as his fight was fading fast. Gleeful eyes at a sour taste.

Sour taste, sour air, sour rain, sour trees, sour taste.

He couldn't breathe due to the sour, writhing taste.

Scout had been too loud.

"Sorry," his lips were free again, "I'm really sorry. It just. That just slipped out. Sorry." His face was let go. Sour taste.

"But that was kinda funny, yeah? No. Sorry. Kinda funny though." Scout didn't respond. Nausea and sour tastes. His copy gave an apologetic grin. The numbness still wasn't fading.

"Um, hey, I need to get going. Cause Sniper's waiting for me. I'm leaving, thanks." The Not-Scout stood, and ripped Scout's backpack off his shoulders. Water jars, clothing, and headsets fell to the grounds and the mason jars broke on impact, sending water and glass flying. Some landed on Scout, digging into his skin, some landed on his doppelganger, who shrieked when the water touched it. But nothing happened. It paused, shaking off the water, and looking at itself. The only difference was that the places where the droplets landed were suddenly richer in color instead of Scout's pale skin.

"Huh, weird," it said before turning back towards Scout who was left lying on the ground motionless.

"Thanks, pally. I owe you a big one." It gave him a grateful wink before pulling the backpack over his shoulders and leaving. And as it left, it closed the door with a grin, engulfing Scout in complete darkness.

Chapter Text

Thirty minutes had passed and Sniper was getting worried. And for several good reasons. Firstly, he didn't find the Medigun. So far all the rooms, including the Infirmary, were empty. There was a doorway he believed to be for the Rec Room, but that was caved in so without a helping hand, it was a bust. But he did find some ammo. Secondly, he had absolutely no idea how to establish communication between him and Scout and Miss Pauling or whoever they could reach. H*ll, even the RED team would be good. But lastly, and perhaps what worried him the most, was that Scout was nowhere to be found. And that was saying something because there were only two levels he could be on.

Sniper drummed his fingers along The Machina's side, creating a rhythm to the beat of his steps. He'd taken it out earlier, when he heard some animal above the raging wind outside. And besides, it just felt… right to hold it again. The weight was perfectly balanced in his hands, the mark of a professionally crafted rifle. It had been far too long since he used one. Perhaps that was the reason why he kept catching his finger resting itself on the trigger. Or maybe the reason was the fact that he was worried.

The top floor was wet, not as much as the lower levels, which was strange considering the amount of holes in the ceiling. Through the cracks, Sniper could see dark swirling clouds. A storm was coming. They couldn't stay much longer. Where the h*ll was Scout?

Ah, these were where the dorms were located. Along the walls and through the halls were rooms and doors. As Sniper walked, he looked over the silver plaques drilled into the doors. Engraved on the glistening surface was his team's titles and symbols. The first were the Defense classes. Each was closed, and no doubt filled with the packaged belongings of his late comrades. Past Engineer's, Heavy's, Demoman's, and towards the support classes. What did their dorms even look like? He never looked, why would he? It was an invasion of privacy for starters, and besides, he didn't even use his assigned dorm. Speaking of which.

To Sniper's left was his room. The engraving was as sharp as his aim, and untouched. He had to admit he was curious, and that looking inside wouldn't take more than a few seconds. But Scout, if anywhere, would probably be in his own dorm. So he continued towards the runner's hall.

Well, someone had been in there. Scout's door was wide open, and when Sniper stepped inside, the clues of the runner became more apparent. Boxes were everywhere, both opened and unopened. Discarded clothes lay strewn about, a small cardboard box held piles of baseball cards, and the thing that caught Sniper's attention the most, was a clearly well loved copy of Charlotte's Web.

Scout could read? Well, could read more than three sentences? Perhaps so.

But the runner was still missing. Just where could he be, Sniper had been searching for several minutes at this point! There could only be so many places the mongrel could be. Leaving the empty room behind, Sniper turned and headed back towards his own dorm. Closed or not, it was basically the only other place Scout could be in. Didn't really make sense why it was closed or what Scout would be doing in there, and why Sniper didn't hear him when he passed.

Soon enough, he stood once again before his untouched room. He reached for the doorknob, before stopping. Instead, Sniper raised his fist and rapped on the door. If his teammate really was in there, and had a reason to close the door, well, he didn't want to startle the kid. His ears wouldn't be able to handle it.

"Scout?" Sniper started, "ya in there, mate?" No answer. Welp, he tried. Sniper grabbed the doorknob-

"Sniper."

"WH-" He spun around and aimed The Machina at his sudden company. With a startled expression, Scout stumbled back, away from the marksman. Sniper's own eyes widened.

"What the h*ll, Scout, ya can't just sneak up on someone like that!" He snapped. "And where have ya been? I've been looking for you for a good fifteen minutes at this point."

"I've been freakin' packin'! Like ya told me too!" Scout snapped back. "Now could ya point that thing somewhere else? Ya could kill someone." Sniper rolled his eyes, but obliged.

"That wouldn't happen, I've got better trigger discipline than you."

"Yeah, whatever, did ya find the…" Scout blanked. The runner stood there, with a hollow look, staring straight through Sniper, unblinking. Didn't even seem to breathe. Sniper shifted on his feet.

"...The Medigun?"

"Yeah!" Scout snapped back to life and snapped his eyes up to meet Sniper's. "That. Did ya find it?"

"Nothing." Sniper admitted, lowering his aviators to rub at his eyes. "Not a single clue where it is. And if you didn't find it, there's only one other place it could be."

"Yeah, in the Rec room," Scout nodded. "On the floor below us." Sniper stiffened, then lowered his hand to stare at Scout. Scout wasn't looking at him. Instead, the Bostonian looked around the walls and ceiling, appearing to be in thought. He was wearing some expression Sniper couldn't place. Sharp and soft at the same time.

"Ya starting to remember?" He asked. His younger companion turned towards him, opened his mouth to speak, then froze up again. Blank, and Sniper could picture the cogs in the runner's head working overtime to remember what he was going to say.

"Not," Scout finally said, eyes darting away, "not really." Sniper didn't press the issue. If Scout's reaction before was anything to go by, trying to force an answer would make him blow up and maybe get violent. He didn't necessarily believe the runner would, but Sniper really didn't want to chance having to deal with a snarky, irate man in the prime of his life, infection or not, ready and willing to start an all and out brawl.

"Alright," he sighed, "well, before we leave, I want to check that room, if we can. Since you've gotten your things, we can both work on clearing the doorway out. Then, we can go."

"Where?"

"I don't know," Sniper admitted, turning and heading back down the halls, "we'll… I'll figure it out once we get there. For now, let's focus on getting the Medigun, if it's even in there."

"Yeah, okay." Scout said as he trotted to Sniper's side. The pair walked together in sync, through the wet floor and past gaping holes. At some point, the two had to trod under a large part of collapsed ceiling, letting rainwater into the destroyed base. Sniper simply dashed through, avoiding as much of the chilly weather as possible. Scout didn't. The runner watched the rain fall through, and when Sniper told him to quit stalling, Scout rocked back and forth and stumbled before sprinting through the water, whimpering.

"It's cold." Scout said when Sniper gave him a strange look.

"Ya never had problems with the cold before." Sniper pointed out. His companion shot him a nasty glare. He stared right back.

"How about you mind your own business, Sniper." The younger mercenary said before turning away and continued to walk. Sniper had to speed up in order to catch him.

Another few minutes passed and the pair had reached the staircase. Scout made to head down, but something caught Sniper's eyes. At the end of the hall, past Scout, past the staircase, past holes and broken walls, was a very familiar doorway.

"Hey, where are you going?" Scout called after him. Sniper didn't answer, and didn't stop. The door was open, and the dim light from the overcast sky shone through. And into the light, the marksman stepped onto his destroyed nest.

An overwhelming sense of Deja Vu flooded the assassin's mind. The way the rain fell and the wind howled. How the sky was darkening into the mid evening cool. The piles of rubble and fallen roofs. Somewhere in the mess would be his original pair of aviators and Sniper Rifle. He gripped his Machina tighter.

"Can't believe it's already been three weeks…" Sniper mumbled to himself. Through the racing wind, he heard the audible creaking of wood behind him. When he turned to face the noise, Scout was there, staring up at the sky with wide, wondrous eyes.

"Weeks…" Scout repeated, "straight up weeks."

"It doesn't feel right, does it?"

"No, no it doesn't." Sniper turned back towards the land and rolling, tree covered hills. Three whole weeks. Maybe more. He lightly felt along the side of his head, knowing he wouldn't feel a wound.

"...y'know, uh, hey?" Scout asked, snatching back Sniper's attention. "Y'know, do, do ya ever do something that. That ya know ya had to do but… even though ya had to do it, it doesn't feel right?"

"Come again?"

"Because that's what had to be done, and I know that. But, just, it still doesn't feel right, something's missing. Like," Scout tapped his chest, "I'm, I'm me. But still… missing something. Ya get what I'm saying?"

"Not a word." Sniper admitted. At that, Scout drooped, and sighed.

"Me neither. Anyways, why did ya come back here, it wasn't to talk about birds again, right?"

"No," Sniper grabbed his hat's rim and pulled it, making sure it was still snugly fit on his head, "just, just wanted to see the view one last time, I suppose."

"Okay, well, ya did, so let's go. That Medigun ain't gonna find itself." And with that, Scout left, marching into the base and no doubt towards the collapsed doorway. Sniper paused before he followed, taking one final glance towards the indescribable wilderness. Then, he hitched his backpack up, and marched into the dark base.

Scout was there to meet him, apparently having not gone ahead. He reached the runner, and the pair made their way down to the third floor, in lockstep with one another. It was… weird, just how closely Scout was keeping with Sniper. Their steps were the same in length and leg. Scout, who normally slouched, was straight and walked on with shoulders back. And whenever Sniper turned away, he could make out, in the corner of his vision, Scout staring at him.

"...Problem, mate?" He blurted out. Scout jolted.

"Huh?"

"Your stares, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you're trying to see through moi clothes."

"Oh, nah," Scout said, rather nonchalant. Sniper turned to meet his eyes. They were curious.

"Then why are you staring at me?"

"Why not?"

"Because it's bloody weird, quit it."

"Why should I?" Okay, he was actually starting to grate on Sniper's nerves now.

"I shouldn't have to explain why I want you to stop staring, it's only polite. If someone tells you to stop something, you do it." Sniper heard Scout scoff to his left.

"Unless you are torturing them for information. But I suppose that doesn't count, does it?" The faint dripping of water echoed through the halls as they made their way towards the wrecked entrance. Sniper snuck a glance at his companion. The runner wasn't staring anymore, thank goodness, but he was quiet. And wasn't blinking very much.

"Scout." He said. The younger man didn't seem to hear. "Scout."

"What?" Scout asked, exacerbated.

"Are…" How was he supposed to phrase this? But the way he spoke made Sniper walk quieter. Made him more on edge. No, it was just this place. It was Scout's paranoia from before seeping into him. And that was frustrating. Very, very frustrating.

He was better than that; getting one's nerves shaken over some… delinquent's mental ramblings was for amateurs. Getting scared over nothing with no evidence to stand on wasn't for him, it was for, well, for Scouts. Before, yes, he could admit that his own denial played a part. But now there had been no evidence of anything. And even if one counted the distant roar from some animal, that really could only be circumstantial. Nothing. And he was getting really tired of Scout's behavior and pushing that onto Sniper.

He grabbed Scout's shoulder, and the runner snapped down to look at his hand.

"Listen, I don't know what you did to get yourself so bloody irritated where ya have to drag me down too in order to feel better, but I'm not having it." He hardened his grip, "I've told you the plan, I've-"

"That hurts." Scout interrupted, staring at Sniper's hand, "Let me go."

"No it doesn't, I'm barely holding ya, now listen-" Scout wasn't listening. He kept his eyes on Sniper's hand, and grabbed it. And pried it off.

"Look, sorry if I made ya mad," Scout started, meeting Sniper's stare with his own, "this place is kinda getting to me, and I wanna leave, like, right now but I know that we have to find this freakin' healing gun. So how about we focus on getting it before another stupid bicker pops up?" Sniper stood there, silent. He didn't know how to respond. Scout was right, they were spending too much time, and getting into a fight would make things worse. He didn't know how to respond to the fact that Scout was the one who pointed this out. So he didn't, and simply nodded.

At that, Scout finally let go of Sniper's hand, and some feeling came crawling back. Along with light pricks of pain. He scanned his hand, finding red indents of fingernails.

"So, this is the freakin' room, right? Last one?" Scout's question snapped Sniper out of his thoughts. The rubble-filled doorway stood before them, with Scout already kneeling and prepared to dig through the pile.

"Yeah, that's… that's it." Sniper made his way over and knelt at Scout's side. Together, they began to sift through the debris. Work was slow, and hands were dirtied. And their progress was hindered somewhat, since Sniper was working through with haste, Scout was… not? He would push aside the dust and muck but would pause every once in a while, looking miffed. Sometimes at nothing, sometimes at Sniper, sometimes at his hand. Maybe it was just the fact that the runner was once again reminded that he was disabled. Sniper couldn't exactly blame the kid for being mad about that.

He grabbed a beam and tried to lift it. Didn't work, all that got him was a splinter in his thumb and more muck. So he grabbed it and pulled. That worked better, shifting the pile and loosening the dam. Grunting with effort, Sniper yanked at the pillar and it was removed, sending a new wave of dirt and debris tumbling to the ground. Along with revealing a vibrant device against the blue base.

"Well, what do ya know?" Sniper hummed as he leaned down and picked up the orange headset. It was pointless to keep, it was completely broken. But it was strange how it was here of all places. The earpiece was cracked open and the mic was snapped and swinging freely with the only thing connecting it being the exposed copper wires. "It's your headpiece."

"Huh," Scout said before continuing his work, "it's broken, plus I got us some, you can just throw that one away."

"Why was it here of all places?" Sniper mumbled, letting the device slip from his hand. It landed with a sharp plastic clatter. He stared at it for a moment, then got back to his work.

"Say," he started, "did you try contacting anyone with the ones you go-"

-CXThhHHHhhhhrrrRrrrrrRrrrrrrsststststt- The static cut through the quiet like a gunshot, and the pair snapped around to find the source. Hand on his Machina, Sniper stared down with shocked eyes at Scout's broken headset. Painful electric gravel spewed from the mic, indecipherable to either him or Scout. The shrieks and sparks kept coming, and the two were shocked into immobility.

-ssssttTHHHHhHSAWMIREREEnnnnnnnRrrrrRrrrRrrRrRRBACKTtttUPCCCxxCxTtssststsstCOPY, I REPEAT, THIS IS THRreeeereerzzzxxxxxxxx-

Then, a loud POP, and the radio was silent. No one moved with Sniper staring at the dead machine, and Scout looking at Sniper. The marksman swallowed.

"Did," He started, trying to calm his pulse, "did you understand a word of that?"

"Didn't hear anything but bulls**t," Scout replied, turning back towards the noticeably smaller pile. "C'mon, it was broken, let's get this crap over with."

"Could have sworn I heard someone talking," Sniper murmured. He felt Scout's eyes before he heard the runner speak.

"Dude, the freakin' thing was busted to h*ll, the only thing it'd say would be anything\' it recorded, now come on."

"Headsets don't record anything… Something was using the same frequency…"

"Mick," Sniper turned towards his companion. Scout was staring him down with a sharp glare. "That device is just a broken headset. What we just heard was nothing but static from a destroyed microphone. Nothing more, nothing less. Now help me clear this doorway so we can go." Scout left no room for argument, and Sniper had none. So he did as he was told. Until he paused to try and meet Scout's eyes again. It took a while, but eventually Scout noticed Sniper's stares, and glared back.

"What?" Scout asked. Sniper opened his mouth to say something, but the words died on his tongue. His eyes had played tricks on him. It was probably a mix of his glasses and the dark. But…

Nah, Scout's eyes were always that deep thunderous blue, not blackish brown.

Cold, dark, numb. Was this what Sniper had to go through? Helpless, forced into the dark, with nothing but the hope that someone would come to save him? Yeah, Scout could understand the anger now. Luckily, he had only been here for around five minutes or so.

But that was still five minutes of being locked away, and right now, despite everything Scout tried, he couldn't move. Not his eyes, set to look at the door. Not his hand, lying dead on the dusty floor, and not his legs. He tried anyway.

Scout mentally screamed at his body to rise, to twitch, to push past the alien numbness in his skin. That was something he could do: think. Sniper said he wasn't able to when he was caught, and yet Scout's mind was racing a million miles an hour. A way to escape, where and what Sniper was doing, was he searching for him, did that demon find him, would he be fooled? Why didn't it string him up and put him into a cocoon like Sniper? Why had it thanked him and just left, not maiming and laughing like the first time? It was acting funny, and why the flying **** did it look like him before he was even captured!?

He felt his mouth fill with vile tasting saliva, unable to swallow it down. That disgusting sourness wasn't leaving, all he could do was just not think about it. And that was downright impossible at the moment. At least his gag reflex was also numbed or else Scout would most likely be drowning on his own vomit.

That would be the worst way to go, and if he was going out, it was going to be a banger. And he wasn't going to die alone either! That would probably be even worse than choking on puke now that he thought about it.

D*mnit, why couldn't he just move a single ****ing finger!? Just a pinky, come on! Scout focused all his thoughts and energy into his hand, desperate to feel anything. But once more, was met with paralysis. What a load of total horse s-

Footsteps. Coming this way. Scout's mind was ripped away from his body and towards the noise behind the door. They were quiet, muffled, and anonymous. Was it coming back to finish the job? If he could just move a bit-

They got louder, and sharper. Nothing like the softer padding of The Counterfeit, no, these were larger, clicked against the wooden floor, and had some weight to them. Sniper.

Open the door, open the door, openthedooropenthedooropenthedoor, COME ON MICK, open the door! Scout screamed in his head, hoping Sniper had developed some rapid onset Telepathy. Actually, maybe he did because the footsteps stopped right outside the door. Yes, yes! Just open the door! Please! NO DON'T WALK AWAY! But the footsteps were already fading away, and Scout was left alone once more.

Quiet. Too quiet. He could only just hear the patter of rain on the roof; it was the only sound within the small, dark dorm. Not even his breathing was audible. Scout didn't even feel it.

He didn't want to die here. A chill shot up his spine. It was too cold, that achy cold. And through the numbness, Scout felt goosebumps begin to form on his arms and legs from rubbing against the fabric of his clothes.

Sour tastes, quiet shadows dancing in his vision, shivering colds. They never should have come back here, if Scout had just fought back more, had pushed more, just stood his ground a little bit longer, then Sniper would have listened. Right? He would have listened, right? Unless he didn't want to.

Maybe…

Maybe he planned for this to happen, for Scout to get caught. Sniper never said if he forgave him, maybe it was all an act, to get Scout to trust him, to bide his time before Scout could be taken care of. Sniper wasn't his friend, after all. He made that crystal clear, despite every single little nod to the opposite. Maybe he just did that to get back at Scout, because Sniper thought that's what Scout did? Play nice and just ditch him when the going gets tough?

No, he- he wouldn't do that, Mick wouldn't do that. He might have been an *sshole sometimes, sure, but never like this. Despite what the others would say about Sniper, that he was a hermit, that he was a sociopath, that he made lampshades and curtains out of people's faces(which was such an obvious lie now that Scout thought about it), that he didn't care about anyone and wouldn't hesitate to kill you if you annoyed him, Scout couldn't believe any of that anymore.

Sniper was one of the more... genuine(?) people on the team. Scout would go as far to say that he was more trustworthy than Engie, even if it was just by a little bit. The guy had a set of morals that he wouldn't shove aside just because of something Scout had already apologized for, right? Like, he'd told him his name, his actual, full on name. That had to mean something!

Unless he lied about it. Unless he was faking everything. To finally get even? If that were the case, then Scout would have to lay here for another eighteen hours before Sniper came back. If he even wanted Scout back.

A horrible tightness was building in Scout's throat. Sniper wouldn't want him back. He was probably heading back towards the van to leave. Saying "Good riddance, Scout!" happy as could be. Why wouldn't he, Scout was just the annoying reconnaissance guy! Scout was a liar.

A liar.

His attention was stolen back by the sound of encroaching footsteps, and yeah, hopeful was an underestimation of what Scout was feeling. He wanted to shout, cry out, scream, bring the skies down, raise hell just to make Sniper open the door. Anything, to open the door.

Please, please look inside, I'm right here… The footsteps got louder, and louder, then stopped right outside the door. Silence. And all of a sudden, tap tap tap.

"Scout, ya in there, mate?" The Australian's voice was heard through the door. Yes, YES, I'm here, I'm in here, right here, just open the door! Through the dark, the runner made out the distinct sound of the doorknob jiggling. And his heart soared.

"Sniper?"

"WH-" No. Oh no. "What the h*ll, Scout, ya can't just sneak up on someone like that!" No no no! Sniper, don't fall for it, run!

"I've been freakin' packin'! Like ya told me too! Now could ya point that thing somewhere else? Ya could kill someone." Scout's own irritated voice penetrated the dark.

"That wouldn't happen, I've got better trigger discipline than you." Sniper was falling for it, he wasn't even checking! That idiot! He was gonna get himself trapped again! And Scout wouldn't be able to do s**t about it! He mentally screamed, cursing himself, his paralysis, that monster, Sniper, Satan, Spy, anyone and everyone, this wasn't fair!

"Yeah, whatever, did ya find the…" silence. Scout held his already silent breath, listening as hard as he could. Did it get Sniper?

"...The Medigun?" Oh thank goodness, it didn't.

"Yeah! That. Did ya find it?"

"Nothing. Not a single clue where it is. And if you didn't find it, there's only one other place it could be." They were talking, Sniper didn't suspect a thing. Was he that stupid or was Scout just that easy to fake? He went for the latter because he was just that swell of a person. He hoped so. Scout tried to move his hand again.

"Yeah, in the Rec room, On the floor below us."

"Ya starting to remember?" Uh oh, the Counterfeit messed up. Scout wanted to grin, but he couldn't feel his face. Nothing still. But he got hopeful too soon apparently. The fake Scout deflected.

"Not, not really."

"Alright, well, before we leave, I want to check that room, if we can. Since you've gotten your things, we can both work on clearing the doorway out. Then, we can go." Leave!? No, no he couldn't leave! He was playing right into its hands! Hand, whatever! It was going to kill him! Move, he needed to move, Scout needed to move now! Make some noise, get a weapon, anything, anything! He couldn't be left behind again! Not again, he wasn't going to die alone! Through the dark, Scout could just make out the fuzzy silhouettes of some headsets.

"Where?"

"I don't know, we'll… I'll figure it out once we get there. For now, let's focus on…" Their voices grew quieter as two sets of footsteps began. No, Mick, please…

But nobody came back. Darkness was once again Scout's only companion. And his vision began to burn.

It was the only warmth in the whole room, and the runner willingly leaned into the near painful blurring. He almost relished in the feeling, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Only in his case, a very pathetic moth who had his wings cut and couldn't even see the flame he wanted, no, needed, so much. Feeling anything through the cold static was a victory over that thing in his books. And boy was he feeling something.

Hate.

It stole his look, it stole his frie- his teammate, teammates, it took everything. When he got his hands on it again, there would be Hell to pay! Do ya hear that, you freakish glob of wet meat!? HELL TO PAY!

Scout's middle finger twitched. And twitched again after thirty seconds. The runner's mind eased back on it's wrathful crusade planning, and once again focused on his paralyzed body. He had moved. Scout didn't do it on purpose, but he still moved. Another victory. Now if he could just…

Ow. There was a piece of glass stuck in his finger, oh yeah, he could feel it now. Throbbing, stinging, and the uncomfortable feeling of something hard and foreign lodged in your skin. At least it wasn't a freaking bullet.

Minutes passed, and his finger was twitching more frequently. His eyes were also super strained. Oh, did Scout want to blink. He wanted to blink so badly. But couldn't. Yet.

More minutes passed, then more when he finally was able to bend his finger to his own will. And then his hand was soon to follow with that awful sleeping limb feeling crawling through his system.

That's when something wet slid down his forehead. And more from his shoulders and down his arms. It was chilling, and the more it came out, the more static was lifted. Scout's body still felt numb and weak but he was starting to feel it!

Then he began to seize up. It started low, a tightness in his back, almost like a cramp, but it spread. Into and past his legs, arms, neck, and throat, everything tightened and twisted. His face was pulled into a grimace, teeth bared and unable to speak. Shaking as painful ripples traveled through his muscles and nerves. Scout couldn't stop, couldn't stop moving, couldn't take in a breath.

He wanted to stop. Stop it! Scout couldn't control himself, couldn't control his limbs. Couldn't stop! A gasp for air was pulled kicking and screaming from Scout's throat. The gasps continued into shallow breaths as the tremors dulled, and eased out, leaving the runner lying exhausted, immobile once more, and covered in a strange, freezing liquid.

Sleep hung heavy on his eyelids, but pain held Scout's consciousness more. M… Medkits. He needed his backpack, with the medkits. But he lay still, now paralyzed from fatigue rather than… whatever that thing did to him. Why, why did it even wear off? Sniper's hadn't worn off, Scout had to physically take white nerve things out in order for the marksman to move.

He blinked, and blinked some more to clear his sight. The room was still too dark to make anything but shadows out. But he knew where the door was. Grunting from the effort, Scout struggled to get to his elbows before dropping back down, panting. All his energy was sapped away.

D*mn.

Sniper was probably already gone and taking Scout's copycat along for the ride. Scout hissed out a string of curses. He had been through worse, just get up! Sniper wasn't going to wait, he needed to move. The runner pushed his shaking hand beneath him and pushed up, only to shake harder and fall again. He swore with volume.

"C'mon," Scout growled, wiping away the chilling liquid from his cheek, "C'mon, Scout, c'mon, you got this." He tried again, and managed to roll himself onto his back. Directly onto a pile of glass he hadn't seen. Scout's voice broke into silence halfway through his cry of pain.

He couldn't do it. No, no he could. No one was coming to help. There was no Scout coming to save him like Sniper had. No, he was by himself, again, which sucked, like the glass digging into his spine, but whining would do nothing.

Scout felt along the ground, blind. He felt glass, water, or maybe that liquid, fabric, and something else. It was weirdly shaped, and he snatched it up and pulled it towards his head.

He didn't know if the van's radio would pick it up, but it was the only thing he could think of. Besides, even if Sniper doesn't catch it, someone else might. Scout rotated the dial, wavelength squeals met his ears, and he brought the mic to his mouth.

"Mayday, mayday, this is the BLU Scout, radioing from Sawmill Territory requesting backup, does anyone copy? I repeat, this is the BLU Scout, radioing from Sawmill Territory requesting backup, does anyone copy? Over." Scout swallowed as he waited for a response. Seconds became moments, moments became minutes, and Scout tried again, not bothering to hide his situation.

"Mayday, mayday, this is the BLU Scout, me and the BLU Sniper are trapped in Sawmill's territory with an unknown bogey, I'm requesting backup. I repeat, this is the BLU Scout, me and the BLU Sniper are trapped in Sawmill's territory with an unknown bogey, I'm requesting backup. Does anyone copy? Over."

Static. Scout grit his teeth, growled, and snapped the mic back down.

"Listen, I don't know if someone's on the other side or not, but I'm sick of this. Basically a month of nothing, nothing from anyone. Why do we have to be the ones trying to get into contact with you b*****ds? Can ya tell me that? Why don't you come down and fix the mess you left!? We are ****in' human beings! More than half of my team were massacred and the only other one is probably dead by now because of this, this monster, hunting us down. Is anyone getting all a this? You listening, you clipboard and screen watching freaks? It'll go for you next. It'll go for you next if it finishes me and Snipes off, so if anyone, anyone, is listening, you should make that pretty ****in' obvious right ****in' now!" He stopped his rant, breathing heavily. In his hand was the headset, dead. Dead, and useless. With a shout of fury, Scout lobbed the device away, hearing it crash against the wall.

Okay, new plan, getting the **** up. One last time, Scout put his palm flat against the ground, and pushed. His bicep was straining, and he began to shake once more. But slowly, ever so slowly, Scout was rising. But his energy was slipping, and slipping fast. The glass wounds were digging into his back and limbs. Bleeding freely.

Scout made it to his elbows when he spotted something. It was out of arm's length, but it was there. A small medkit. Out of arm's length, if he didn't have the Basher. Scout whipped his club towards the bottle, and knocked it towards himself. Rolling and rolling, he grabbed the little miracle medicine, and, pinning the bottle between the floor and himself using the crook of his arm, loosened the cap.

A lavender glow filled the room and a relief flooded the runner's weary body. Pain, exhaustion, it was all washed away. And from the purple light, Scout could see the mess around him.

Water, blood, and that mystery liquid coated the ground. The unknown stuff glistened, and covered Scout's hands and face when he scrubbed at it. It was pale, almost glowing, and it shimmered with every color of the rainbow in the light. It was also thick, almost a syrupy feel to it. Scout brushed aside his shirt and jacket to look at his bare shoulders. Sure enough, there were small holes, the same as Sniper's, leaking that suspicious fluid, and closing back up from the healing rays. Scout felt himself pale.

No, he- no thinking about that, Sniper had no idea what was going on, Scout had to find him and fast. The runner shot to his feet and darted into the door. Even faster than that, he was outside the room and in the hall with thousands of plans racing through his head. Of course, none made any sense, just feelings mostly. But one stood above the rest.

Scout wished he could make his heart stop beating so d*mn quick. He made to run before spotting his, no, Sniper's jacket. It was a mess. Stained, ripped, Sniper would kill him if he saw this. He couldn't afford to get on the marksman's bad side again, not when he needed every advantage. So, twisting out of the coat, Scout flipped the jacket inside out and put it back on. It looked near identical to before, so Scout could put off that conversation until they were safe.

Safe, Sniper, he had to go find him now. Scout swallowed, then swallowed again when his pulse shot up. His feet were itching to run, run away. Instead, the runner sped through the halls as quietly as he could. If that thing was trying to fool Sniper, trying to build his trust, then he couldn't let it know he was out and about. Both their lives were at stake. So he crept, and paused, and scouted out(ha) the areas before he entered them. Even though he knew it was worthless, Scout wished for the pseudo-safety of having a firearm.

Each creak of wood caused a hitch of breath, each eerie drone made him freeze up, each nagging feeling of being watched made the runner's heart rate skyrocket. But he still continued. Even when his lungs tightened and tightened, just like before, Scout didn't stop. He couldn't leave before getting Sniper.

And speak of the devil, there he was, chatting it up with Scout's copycat. Scout hid behind the corner, only just able to watch them. It wasn't attacking just yet. It was just… talking. And Sniper was none the wiser. Anger bubbled past the fear in Scout's mind.

Sniper turned somewhat to the right, and Scout could spot in his arms a hefty looking device. They found it. They found the Medigun. Gee, maybe Scout should have paid more attention when Spy was talking about reading lips.

Although, even from here, he could tell that the Medigun was the focus of their conversation from the way Sniper would gesture and Not-Scout would poke at the Anti-Weapon. Something was wrong, Scout could tell. Sniper was standing far too stiff, his frown was deeper than normal. Neither party seemed ready to move or separate from the other.

Then the roar returned.

No, it was far too horrible to be called that. Through the walls, through the wind and pouring rain, that cacophony of animalistic noise. Louder than before, closer. Scout bitterly wondered if Sniper still thought it was just the screams of a horny fox.

Not-Scout said something to Sniper, and the pair began to speak louder, enough for Scout to make out the frustration in both their voices. Then, Sniper said something to Not-Scout and the other seemed to reluctantly nod. And miracle of miracles, the Not-Scout left, leaving Sniper alone, holding the Medigun. The marksman was turned away; now was his chance.

Scout crept towards his teammate, not making a sound. The closer he got, the more he could make out what Sniper was saying. He was grumbling about something.

"...upid bloody device." Scout heard before Sniper knelt to the ground and swung his backpack off his shoulders. He lay the Medigun on the ground and began to inspect the device. Scout made his entrance.

"Sniper," he whispered, "Sniper, dude, we have to leave right freakin' now!" Sniper didn't respond, continuing to look over the Medigun in silence. "Di.. Dude, did ya hear me, we have to go, it isn't safe here anymore!" Again, no reaction. Scout crept closer, three feet away from his companion.

"Sniper, it's back, it followed us, it found me and, y'know, so we have to go right now! Sniper?" The marksman seemed to be ignoring Scout. Scout tapped his shoulder. "Sniper, can you hear me?"

A hand snatched his wrist.

Scout couldn't even gasp before he was yanked and thrown at the nearest wall. He collided and painful stars filled his vision. He slid down a centimeter before he was grabbed again, lifted, and pinned against the hard wall with an arm crushing his windpipe. The runner struggled to plant his feet and get a breath in. Then the cool of a blade grazed his cheek.

"You." Sniper seethed. "You have to be the dumbest ****ing monster to try and fool me again."

"Sniper, listen, I'm not the monster, it was the other S-ACH-" The pressure on his throat grew, and Sniper's eyes were blistering.

"Where is he?" The marksman growled, pressing the kukri's edge on the back of Scout's jaw. He swallowed. "Where did you hide him?"

"No, dude, ya don't get it, I was the one hid! I got loose, I can prove I'm real!" The last words were formless, the airways too tight to create sounds. Sniper's face twisted into something truly awful.

"Prove it, huh?" Scout nodded, or tried to, "There are two of you walking about, and last time I checked, you need the real ones in order to change." The pressure built again, "and ya can't leave them just walking about like free men. Don't know which one you are, but we'll have one less to worry about now." The corners of Scout's vision began to darken, and he felt the blade lift away from his jaw in order to give a mighty thrust into his gut.

He strangled out some sounds, something that sounded like another plea, another chance. Sniper seemed to get the message as his eyes narrowed, but his kukri was stilled, its tip placed directly on Scout's hip.

"If you're a real human, you'll be able to spit. So do it." Okay, good, easy! Scout almost smiled at the task. Except his mouth had dried from all the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He stopped, tried to build up anything, any moisture. He licked his lips, bit his cheeks, sucking at the top of his mouth to produce anything. His already shallow breathing grew quicker. Sniper bared his teeth.

Scout couldn't even scream, it was just a rasping rush of air forced through his flattened throat when the blade shot into his side. It hurt, it hurt, and Scout collapsed to the ground like a string less puppet. He coughed for oxygen and clung to his side, feeling the warmth seep through his fingers. Medkit, Sniper's bag had some. Through burning blurriness, Scout spotted the bag, and dragged himself towards the backpack. The debris covered floor grated against his open wound, and Scout finally cried out in pain.

The bag was open thankfully, and it didn't take long to find the few remaining medkits. Scout grabbed one, leaving a wet crimson hand print, and tried to open it. He couldn't. He held it in the crook of his arm, trying to pop the cap open. It wouldn't open, his grip was too slick. The medkit shot from his arms when he pushed too hard, and rolled away, stopping at the feet of Sniper.

He was still holding the kukri, now stained with Scout's blood, and standing stock still, staring at his blade. When the medkit tapped his boot, it seemed to snap Sniper into action. He snapped his gaze up, hidden from the aviators, before grabbing the medkit and rushing over to Scout.

"Believe me now, you son of a b***h?" Scout asked, too exhausted to make his words venomous. Sniper didn't respond as he grabbed Scout's hand and placed the medkit in it while popping open the top. A rush of ease filled Scout's nerves and when he felt at his side, it was nothing more than a oozing scratch. "Took ya long enough."

"How?" Sniper asked. When Scout looked at him, the shock was clear as day with the marksman's eyes wide and horrified. "H… How did it look like you?" Scout shook his head as he let Sniper pull him to his feet.

"I don't know."

"How did you escape? It strings ya up, you couldn't have-"

"It didn't! It just let me lying there, y-you could've just opened the door, I was right there-"

"You were!?"

"Yes!"

Sniper didn't say anything. He only stood, staring at Scout in disbelief, before snatching off his shades and rubbing a shaking hand down his face.

"I was so sure," Scout heard from behind Sniper's hand, "I was so sure it was you. It didn't make sense, you were with me the whole time, and it didn't do anything." Sniper wasn't meeting Scout's gaze, "It didn't do anything, nothing, I was certain." Scout made to put a hand on Sniper's shoulder, but the Australian pulled away.

"Don't," Sniper said, grabbing his bag off from the ground, turning away from the runner, "let's just go, I… that thing went to find what was making that sound, said it was a bear. It could be back any moment."

He was so certain. It was just like an ornery Scout. And yet Scout stood before him, and it was so, so obvious now. Sniper wiped his kukri off on his pant leg, staining it red, before sheathing it.

"But it took my bag, I gotta get that back!"

"What's more important, our bloody lives, or some material goodies?" Sniper hissed, glaring his companion down. Scout looked away. "We're going. Now."

He turned and marched down the halls, quietly as possible. Scout had grabbed the Medigun and tailed behind him. The other one had walked side by side, the real one walked behind. It was so obvious now, it wasn't the same Scout as the one behind him. It apparently took inspiration from before everything, when the runner was still an annoying little jack*ss. Not from now, with a more cautious, quieter Scout.

They were almost to the second level when they heard it. Instinctively, Sniper took his Machina out, eyes scanning the rooms for the noise. Past the Armory, past the Infirmary, past everything, when they heard someone calling out. Faster than lightning, Sniper snapped around and fired, hitting the figure standing at the end of the corridor. It screamed and fell, and Sniper heard Scout shout something to his right.

"Holy s**t!" Sniper reloaded his rifle, and aimed it at the creature again. It was still moving, still trying to speak. He fired. A thunder crack filled the base, rattling the foundation, and The Scout dropped again. But it was still moving. Ignoring the real Scout's protest's, Sniper stalked towards the body, reloading his rifle once again.

He managed to hit it's shoulder and chest. It was talking. Talking to him.

"No, no no no, wait, you don't get it, Mick, please-" The Scout's head snapped back from the force of the bullet, and red flesh painted the floor. It was still talking.

"I'm not the one you're after, I looked, I helped, please, I didn't even mean-" BANG! Scout's head snapped back again, the fourth bullet wound oozing a glistening crystal fluid, "I'm not the only one, anymore! You're wasting time, wasting bulle-" BANG! "I thought, I swear, I thought it was what I was supposed to do. My mission!" The jaw hung loose but it was still talking, still pleading with Sniper to listen. Sniper wouldn't. He reloaded his rifle again. And aimed.

"Please, Mick, I wanted a chance, I'm not the other one, I didn't do all of this, please." A faint ding met Sniper's ears. "I'm Jeremy too. I'm Jeremy too-"

The Scout's head exploded, coating the floor with bits and pieces. Sniper even felt some land on his face. Ears ringing from the volume of the fully charged shot, the marksman stood over the body, and stomped in the rest of the head, leaving it unrecognizable. It didn't move.

That's what it got for stinging him up. Sniper lowered his Machina, and finally, after a moment, he turned away from the corpse, and headed back. Not before grabbing Scout's backpack from off the ground. Then he met Scout's eyes. Neither spoke, but Scout was the one who looked away.

"Now let's go," Sniper broke the silence, shoving the bag into Scout's hand. He turned to head towards the staircase, but Scout wasn't moving.

"You didn't kill it."

"Excuse me?"

"You didn't kill it," Scout repeated, swinging his bag over his shoulders and never wavering from the corpse, "guns don't do s**t but slow it down." Sniper looked back at the body. It hadn't moved.

"Well then I must have slowed it down something fierce, now let's go, Scout." But the runner didn't move, so Sniper grabbed his arm. "We're leaving, come on."

"You won't make it." Scout said. Except his mouth didn't move. The corpse was speaking again. "He hates your guts; you won't make it. He'll have heard this; you won't make it." The pair watched as Not-Scout rose, as if it were possessed. The voice was changing, shifting into something monotone, and European. Sniper felt Scout beginning to back up. He did the same.

"You heard him, you heard… you won't make it unless you run." The head was growing back, with twisting flesh growing and morphing into Scout's face. The expression was morose. "Run, Jeremy. He hates you more. I'm telling you two to run."

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Sniper felt Scout pulling on his arm, "Mick, we gotta go."

"What if it's a trap?" He asked, never looking away from Not-Scout, who was still telling them to run, "It bloody trapped you, it isn't trying to help us!"

"Help or not, it's right! We can't freakin' fight it, we can only run!" Scout grabbed Sniper's wrist and yanked him forwards. They were moving, but Sniper kept looking behind, watching the copycat. It wasn't following them, it wasn't doing anything but looking around the base. What was that thing?

"Sniper, c'mon!" Scout urged, pulling harder and eyes locked on the staircase, "Quit dragging your feet, we can't have another Landfall!" No, no they couldn't. He turned towards Scout, and took the Medigun from the crook of his left arm. He shoved it into the runner's backpack, zipped it up, and-

"Oh dear, I've made quite a mess." The accented voice shot through the corridor. Sniper instantly spun around, whipping up The Machina. Out from the shadows at the far side of the hall, a slender figure came striding. With a bored expression, Spy looked around the room covered in flesh and matter. He tapped a piece with his shoes, looking disgusted. Not-Scout was backing up.

"Uh, hey!" He said cheerfully. Spy met the creature's gaze with his own cold one. Then Spy turned to look at the pair of humans. He chuckled.

"Well now," He almost purred, before stalking towards Not-Scout, who was cornered.

"Nonono!-"

"You imbecile!" Spy roared, grabbing Not-Scout's throat, causing the copycat to shriek at the grip. "You're a failure!" The pair were wrestling, becoming masses of fangs and limbs, but it was clear which one had the upper hand. The Counterfeit grew another pair of arms and pinned Not-Scout to the floor, grabbing his head as the other screamed in panic.

"NO, NO DON'T, PLEASE, DON'T!"

"SHUT UP!" It roared, before it shot its fingers into the other's eye sockets. That was when the pair ran.

"Go, go!" Sniper said to the faltering Scout. He jolted, then sprinted down the hall. Sniper was right on his heels. Behind them was the snapping of tendons, garbled growls, and screams. He did not dare look behind him. And it was a good thing Sniper didn't, otherwise he wouldn't have caught Scout when he tripped.

The marksman pulled his companion up, who couldn't seem to get his feet beneath him. Scout stumbled again, cursing, and was nearly dragged out of Sniper's grip. He slowed, but didn't stop.

"Get up, get up." He hissed, grabbing Scout's arm and ripping him up and to his feet, ignoring the cry the manhandling got. They shot down the stairs, with Scout skipping the entire second flight and landing on his feet. The Counterfeit wasn't tailing them just yet, it was still preoccupied with its clone. It was halfway through the second floor when the weight of this development hit Sniper like a pump action shotgun.

"There's two. There's two."

"Yeah, ya said that before when ya shanked me," Scout said between breaths. Sniper shook his head, heart racing from the adrenaline rush, running, and the information racing through his head.

"The other had followed us. It followed us the entire bloody time." He panted, risking a glance behind him, "How!?"

"I don't freakin' know, quit asking questions and focus on running, alright?" Scout growled, shooting ahead and turning a corner. When Sniper followed, he watched as the runner dove into the collapsed stairwell. A part of him held back a breath when Scout disappeared from sight, but it was far too small, and it was gone before Sniper had time to think. There was no time to think, no time to be cautious. He slid through after. The wood littered ground gave little cushioning as Sniper landed hard. Hissing through clenched teeth, he watched as Scout broke into a dead sprint and leapt over the enormous hole they barely managed to cross.

He almost didn't make it. Sniper had watched Scout's first step slip from the grimy floor and almost shouted when he fell. And if Scout didn't manage to catch himself on the ledge and push off from the slope of the broken floor beneath, he would have been swallowed by that horrible abyss in the middle of the ground. Sniper pushed himself to his feet, and froze when the choir of fury seeped through the walls. Scout looked around in a frenzy before locking on Sniper, and beckoning.

"Come on!" He shouted, "you have to jump!"

"Are you bloody crazy!?" Sniper shouted back, "I can't make that jump! You say it yourself!"

"I'll catch you, just do it, we don't have time!" Indeed, the sounds of speeding footsteps were growing by the second. Sniper looked back and forth between Scout and the chasm, judging the distance, and Scout's strength.

He wouldn't be able to make it.

Sniper darted over to the ledge they used. It looked even thinner than before. But what other choice did he have? Ears filling with encroaching noise, Sniper stepped onto the ledge and felt the ground break.

"CAREFUL!" Scout shrieked as Sniper stumbled back only just in time. The ledge broke piece by piece, along with Sniper's hope. He locked eyes with Scout's. There was no hidden motive, no purposeful lie, nothing but a foolish idea, a fool's hope.

But it was a hope nonetheless.

"You better bloody catch me," Sniper said, fixing his gaze on the ledge he would use as a jumping point and packing away his rifle. On the other end, Scout planted his feet, waiting and watching. Oh, this was a bad idea. The bloody worst. And what made it the worst was the fact that there was nothing Sniper could think of that was better! So he backed up, desperately trying to ignore the shaking of the base, the frantic beatings against his rib cage, and focused on the distance. He backed up more, a bit more, then bolted. And kicked off from the ground and over the chasm. Scout shot out his hand to grab Sniper's.

Their fingers brushed, and Sniper's heart dropped.

He misjudged the distance.

The rush of wind filled Sniper's ears along with a shout of despair and sudden pain shot through his middle when he collided with the sloped floor. Scrambling for a ledge, a foothold, anything! He slipped further and faster until he hung in the open air, only hanging on by his forearms.

"Don't move!" Scout said, dropping to his stomach to reach him. Sniper lifted his hand to grab the runner's. He dropped and grabbed the creaking floor again. "I said don't move!"

"That's kind of bloody hard to do!" He sputtered, all his energy focused on trying to pull himself up. Scout was just out of reach, inching forwards.

"Look, I gotcha," he reassured, "I gotcha." They were almost there, only centimeters apart. Then the floor erupted into noise, and broke.

"MICK!" Sniper was falling when Scout shot forward. And for a horrible moment, both were in the open air. But something grabbed his wrist, and the force at which Sniper stopped nearly ripped his arm from his socket. He cried out in pain, but it was nothing compared to Scout's.

"You alright?" He managed to say after accidentally looking down. Scout didn't respond. "Scout?"

Something warm hit Sniper's cheek, and when he went to wipe it away, his hand came smeared with a faint red. He looked up.

Scout had a vice-like grip on his wrist, and the only thing keeping them from dropping was the Boston Basher Scout had tied to his other arm. Its spikes were lodged in the wood and stuck firm. The bandages around Scout's arm were slowly growing red, and a trail of blood was creeping down and dripping.

Oh no.

"I'm okay," The runner croaked, "I'm okay."

"Do you think you can pull me up?" Scout went quiet, but Sniper felt the grip begin to shake and the strain in his arm grow. But it stopped almost as soon as it started.

He saw Scout shake his head.

"Okay, okay," Sniper looked around, searching for a foothold within reach along the stone walls. There were some, one even held his Machina that had slipped off when he jumped, but all were too far away. Scout was in the same boat it seemed. So the only way they'd get onto solid ground, would be if Scout could pull them up. His heart sank.

"Oh, now would ye look at that?" A Scottish voice rang out, obviously amused. Sniper looked up towards the fallen staircase. From the dark, he spotted someone watching with a single, glinting eye. Demoman leaned over the chasm, tutting. His leg grew in length, longer and longer, until he was able to step over the hole like it was nothing. Sniper felt Scout's grip shake again.

Demoman crouched by the ledge, looking at the pair of them, smiling. Then he locked eyes with Sniper. He huffed a laugh, and gestured towards the Machina.

"A lotta good that gun did ya, huh?" The man's black skin shifted and wavered into a paler tone. His deep brown eye bled into a pair of raging ocean blue. And in no time at all, a smug Scout looked down at the pair, smirking.

"Yo, what's up?"

Sniper glanced towards his rifle and reached. Just out of range. He felt himself slip. Looking up, he spotted both Scouts staring at each other. He did not like the look the fake one was giving the real one.

"Remember me?" It sang with a Cheshire grin, leaning on its left hand. The appendage was grossly pale, and looked dried out. He heard Scout whimper as he slipped more.

"Scout!" Sniper shouted, grabbing the runner's wrist. "Mate, don't-"

"All of this is your fault and you know it!" The Scout shouted over the marksman, keeping Scout's attention on it and it alone. " Every. Little. Thing. It's all your fault!" The words were venomous and biting. Sniper clung to Scout's arm for dear life when the runner's grip was near extinct.

"You're the reason why you're stuck out here, why your arm's missing, why Sniper hates you and so would the others if they were still around." It was morphing, twisting the longer it spoke. Faces and heads of teammates grew into view, hateful, growling. And all of them were directed at Scout. Sniper reached for the Machina. It was slightly above him. His finger just grazed its barrel. "Everything here is what you deserve after what you did." Scout's grip just kept loosening, and Sniper was dropping.

"Jay!" He shouted over the chorus of voices. His teammate snapped his eyes down and locked it with Sniper's. They were glassy. "Jay, don't let go, lad."

"Ṟ̸́̈͗͘e̶̖̓a̷̪͕͔̖̕d̸̩͈̽́́͒y̸̨̨̋̀ ̷̖͉̀̔͘͝f̷͔̑o̶̡̥̙͙͛̔r̴̬̠̂̀ ̷̤̩̽̈͜R̸̢̼̣̞̔́͂ŏ̴͉͍͕̎u̵̫͔̅̂̆͊n̷̠͍̤͎̚d̴͓͎̥̉̅̈͠ ̷̬̙̻̯̐̈́́T̴̡̩͈̲̏̒̉w̵͈̗̤̟͐̋̒͘o̵̢̻̫̭͂?̷̨̰̆̓̌͠" The Counterfeit bared thousands of teeth. Scout's attention was being stolen again.

"Jay." Sniper pleaded, tightening his grip, "Please! Please don't let go!" The runner's eyes darted back and forth between the monster and the marksman. They stopped to meet Sniper's. Then hardened.

The grip on Sniper's wrist fastened into something painful and unbreakable. And he felt himself get lifted closer bit by bit to the Machina.

He reached and snatched the rifle's barrel, throwing it up and grabbing it by its grip. Raising it towards the shapeshifter, The Counterfeit caught sight of the rifle pointed at it, and laughed.

"Well ain't that a cute little gun," it mused, before grabbing the Boston Basher and wiggling it to loosen them. They were running out of time. But what would shooting it do besides piss it off more? Sniper looked for any sign of a weak point in the twisting flesh. There was none. A light droplet of water fell onto his forehead. He looked past The Counterfeit, who was trying to torment Scout again, and spotted something.

A light but steady trail of water was falling from a noticeable crack in the ceiling above them. Sniper aimed,

And fired.

Time slowed.

An explosion of sound, kickback, and water flooded the room. The Counterfeit was doused and it screamed. The Machina flew from Sniper's hand and clattered down the abyss. And it was far too late to do anything as he felt himself and Scout begin to fall.

The strength of the kickback had shot Sniper down, and with Scout's grip being so tight, it had ripped the runner off of The Boston Basher.

Sniper gasped, Scout screamed, as the pair were consumed by the freezing darkness below.

Chapter Text

It was clear that whatever was down here wasn't meant to be found. The further Miss Pauling went, the more she itched to walk right back up that creaky staircase. When she had reached the bottom, a chill crawled up her spine, and although the thought shouldn't have spooked her so much, it had been like feeling a steamy breath on her shoulders. It was a silly thought, there wasn't a breeze let alone another living being down here with her. At least, she hoped.

But this place… Miss Pauling wasn't exactly a, well, a religious person, her actions made that quite clear. But this was different. She'd gone through abandoned buildings, dead places, and was even ambushed in some whenever her mercs got a bit sloppy on missions. So it wasn't the darkness, or the blood, or anything like that. It was something else. Something, for lack of a better word, evil, about this. About all of this. The tight corridors, that smell that seeped through her mask like thick, black smoke, the fact that the only body she'd found was that one with the dislocated jaw and burst stomach. Needless to say, she was taking her time making sure every nook and cranny was swept before descending further into this laboratory.

It was a laboratory. A very destroyed, very industrial laboratory, but a laboratory nonetheless. Air ducts with fans still idly spinning with some unknown power source, pipes, and bulking doors of metal and reimburse glass lined the walls. But there was something else. Those faintly glowing webs, crawling along the spaces left from the downright robotic appearance of the building's interior. When Miss Pauling examined it further, the pale strings appeared more like roots, or fungi, from the patterns they created. And they weren't just white. Getting closer revealed small spiraling colors. Blues, pinks, reds, oranges and greens could be seen at just the right angle, swirling like mist through a person's veins. Gaseous opals, crystalline yet airborne. She tore herself away from the sight. It was downright hypnotizing.

Focus. She had to find out more. She had to uncover what this facility was made for.

Miss Pauling trod on, through the tight corridors of mechanical locks and garish décor. The webs were everywhere, no matter where she turned. And still, there was no one. She stopped at a large blast door. It was nothing of importance, it was identical to the many others leading to other parts of this facility. But there was a reason it caught Miss Pauling's eye. It had broke halfway through either opening or closing, leaving a large enough gap at the bottom for someone to crawl through. And beyond the gap, was a deep red light.

The failsafe lights beyond this door were still intact. Which could mean other devices would still be operational. Hoisting her pistol, Miss Pauling got on her knees and crawled through the door. It would ruin her dress, but she could always purchase a new one. And it was already ruined from before so…

When she stood, red and black filled her vision. It was as if she'd walked right into a submarine. Shadows cut deep, and the blaring vermillion did little to illuminate anything but the pathways. And the balcony she now stood on was witness to the destruction and oddity of the large rooms and pathways below it.

Miss Pauling crept down the stairs. Making any unnecessary noises felt wrong, even with all the evidence pointing to a completely dead place. But the papers, the broken vials and desks, the large window acting as the opposite wall to the balcony. It was bad. A gaping, fractured hole within the window only made things worse. And from that shattered entrance, emerged the webs, crawling up,

Up,

Up.

The sharp intake of sour breath filled the desolate lab. Those… what were, what were those? Pods, gleaming, glowing with a familiar pale aura. They were large, much too big for any moth or butterfly on Earth. No, they were easily big enough to fit a human child, perhaps even a fully grown man. Another chill crept slowly up Miss Pauling's back and neck.

They held things in them. Dark silhouettes, unmoving. Some looked to be worn down, with ripped fibers. Shriveled. They all had that appearance. Like on the cusp of hatching, or crumbling away into dust.

She turned, and pushed towards the closest corridor. She didn't know where it would take her, but anywhere was better than here. It was better than…

A cell. That was what the window was connected to. It acted as a clear through ceiling to the near empty room below. An observation deck. Made to observe an empty room with nothing but a chair, bolted to the middle of the floor. Around the legs were broken and rusting chains. Miss Pauling turned away and continued down her path. Evidence, tapes, files, that was all she needed before she could leave. Oh, where was the Archives? Why were there no signs down here?

She stopped at a door. This had a sign. Or, rather, a name plate on the outside on the wall besides the door. It read Dr. Gaumond. Just that, no title, no department. Just Gaumond. Miss Pauling pushed the door aside, and entered the office.

It was small, and appeared mostly untouched when it came to blood and destruction. There was, however, a toppled filing cabinet spilling its contents like a disemboweled soldier on the battlefield. She scooped some up and flicked through them, searching for any important points of notice. Latin words for animals, some more letters about delayed shipments, nothing new. She scanned and read, getting more and more frustrated, when from the corner of her vision, as she read through a letter addressed to Heron again, Miss Pauling spotted a manila folder.

It was underneath the piles of papers and notes while also pinned beneath the cabinet. She wouldn't have spotted it if it weren't for the corner sticking out from under everything. Dropping the papers in her hands, Miss Pauling shimmied the folder out from the heavy metal, carefully as to not rip anything. And when she brought it out, she read the printed ink on the bottom of the folder.

Heron, F. {Exec: Mann, G.} Proj: Gemini[Spy Class].

Miss Pauling froze, and her grip tightened. What? What!? This, what was this, what did this mean!? Mann!? Did Mann Co. create this, how, when, why!? Or one of the Mann brothers? No, they couldn't have, whenever one got the upper hand, the other was quick to follow so if either Redmond or Blutarch made this lab and whatever the lab was making, that would surely mean there was another lab like this one! And that wasn't possible, this wasn't funded under RED or BLU, this was Gray Industries! So, was it Mann Co.? And Spy, what did he have to do with this!? Unless he was acting as a spy for this institution without the Administrator's knowing, which seemed impossible, but this was- and honestly, she felt a little hurt at the notion. Sure, he was a mercenary, and a spy one at that, but there was at least some level of trust she thought had built between them- okay, slow down, stop jumping to conclusions when the file hadn't even been opened yet. Taking a deep breath, Miss Pauling flipped open the folder.

The data collected from the S Wing was indeed concise with our theories. However theoretical, Heron's hypothesis has shown to hold some merit. All points, all probabilities, point to our inquiries being correct.

It is possible, theoretically, to create this cellular strain. Our executive has already been sent the results and we are currently waiting on a response on how to proceed with this information. Based on previous messages, I have no doubts that he will order the immediate preparation and start of physical trials.

The cusp of a biological breakthrough is within our grasps. If Mr. Mann does indeed want me and my colleagues to further our research, then perhaps nuclear weaponry will become merely a footnote in history compared to this.

-Dr. Gaumond, Assistant Director.

Miss Pauling took the page, and folded it before reading the next.

Failures.

While our theories are correct, the results are flimsy at best, and at worst, actively repel our work. The DNA has proven difficult to keep stable, even under sterile environments. Splicing these genes, so completely opposite in cellular makeup and strains, makes it near impossible to create anything that can achieve Mitosis without outside interference. I can only conclude that, without a foundation for our strain to possess, our research and trials shall remain stagnant.

I have spoken with Heron, and after some deliberation, he has ordered a shipment of mice to test my theory. While I'm hopeful, this still leaves us with the one main issue our backer wants solving.

Cybernetics may work, but I am no expert in any sort of robotics. Orders that can be comprehended and followed with room for fast calculations, needs high cognitive abilities. And although me and my team are well versed in our fields, even I am not so brash as to believe we can simply create a sentient mind.

-Dr. Gaumond, Assistant Director.

Well, obviously whoever these people are were creating something. From context clues Miss Pauling found, it sounded like a bioweapon. A virus, perhaps? Some new form of bacteria? That would make sense with ordering some lab mice to test the disease on. But that last line, did this mysterious "Mann", Blutarch or Redmond, want these virologists to create a new being? She needed more information. And there was more in this heavy folder. In the back pocket, a photo met her gaze. Pulling on the photo led to a thick bundle of identity sheets to be found. Profiles of almost familiar faces.

Anning, Harold. M. 172.72 cm. Age: 47. Eyes: Hazel. Race: Caucasian. Nationality: American. Current Occupation: Retired. Former Team: Valor. Former Class: Spy. Kill Count: 43 INCOMPATIBLE.

Chapdelaine, Delmore. M. 165.89 cm. Age: 34. Eyes: Blue. Race: Caucasian. Nationality: French. Current Occupation: Tailor. Former Team: Tidal. Former Class: Spy. Kill Count: 39. INCOMPATIBLE.

Ortiz, Carmen. F. 154.53 cm. Age: 50. Eyes: Brown. Race: Latina. Nationality: Spanish. Current Occupation: Retired. Former Team: Castle. Former Class: Spy. Kill Count: 54. INCOMPATIBLE.

More and more identities were found in that back pocket. There were so many, and all of them had that stamp in red: incompatible. All except one. She held the small paper to the light, trying to keep her arm steady. The profile image printed on the paper was small, and she did not recognize the person. He was fit, with a sharp jaw and a roman nose. The hair was dark but his eyes were far darker. Pools of black and focused. Miss Pauling ripped her own eyes away from the man's photo and towards the description below it.

Connery, Jacob. M. 173.51 cm. Age. 48. Eyes: Brown. Race: Caucasian. Nationality: English. Current Occupation: Espionage Agent. Former Team: Epsilon. Former Class: Spy. Kill Count: 116. COMPATIBLE.

Compatible. Someone compatible. And the others were all incompatible for… something. And she had an itching feeling she knew what that something was. Sure enough, when sifting through the letters and journalistic entries, she found the next clue to this mystery.

Success!

The Imimia Strain has successfully metastasized with a host. It took several days of routine injections and psychological conditioning, but the results speak for themselves. A fully developed and self sustaining life form.

Observation of our creation shows promise. It has rapid mitosis, creating and killing off cells in such a fashion that its appearance is near mesmerizing. One problem has risen, however, and that is the supposed inability to communicate.

It isn't clear whether Subject 6Y succumbed to brain death during his metamorphosis, but I can only hope that that is not the case. His record is envious, and his espionage experience is a trait we cannot simply grow. To lose the training and, dare I say, his ways of interrogation, though sadistic, would be catastrophic towards our end goal.

Tomorrow I will organize some cognitive tests to see whether parts of Subject 6Y's past memories and mind remain and if they can be salvageable. If they can be, we must proceed with caution. Subject 6Y has been documented to become violently impertinent in order to "settle a score". Add to that fact his history with interrogations, and I have more than enough reason to convene with Heron about hiring some extra protection.

-Dr. Gaumond, Assistant Director.

And that seemed to be the last of the letters signed by this Gaumond. Miss Pauling sat back, and let the heavy load of this new knowledge roll around in her mind. Why were they doing this, why did this new Mann want them to make some kind of viral strain? Or a mind control bacteria? She still didn't know all the facts. And there were no more papers to read through, at least in this folder. There had to be more, she had to know more.

So she searched. The desk, the files, the shelves and the boxes they held. Bits and pieces were added but not enough to understand the bigger picture. Reports of cognitive capabilities, casualties, some more reports full of numbers and medical vocabulary she didn't yet have the experience to decode. But still, there was nothing else signed off by Gaumond.

Leaning against the wall, Miss Pauling sighed, taking off her glasses to rub her eyes. How in the world would she explain this to the Administrator? There was so much and yet so little. No explanation as to what happened here, what they wanted to make and why, and what those strange cocoons were. Alright, alright, she just needed to clear her head. She pushed herself off the wall and began to pace.

"Alright, well firstly, this lab was made in secret so obviously no one besides the workers and this "Mann" executive would find out about it. And whatever they were working on," Miss Pauling rambled, walking in circles around the small room, "What they were working on relates to spies, and a cellular strain that sounds like a bacteria, or virus, or maybe cancer. A cancer sound more likely due to the mentions of metastasizing. So far the purpose of said cancer isn't clear, and-" She stepped right onto a report and slipped. Flailing back, trying to catch herself, Miss Pauling slammed into a shelf with a painful oof! It wobbled and the force of the collision knocked some books off their pedestal. Along with a small, plastic box.

Its clatter caught Miss Pauling's attention and stole it away from the now painful thumping in her upper back. Gingerly picking up the alien object, her eyebrows raised in recognition. It was a cassette player. A small one, one that could be handheld. There were a few she had purchased last time she'd gone to Australia on some business trips. This specific device appeared to be able to record and playback tapes. And to her luck, there was a tape sitting in the slot when she checked.

A small click of the play button, and a faint whirring of the cassette's tape filled the room.

"...in't puttin' up with their stupid sh***y demands anymore, this is ****in' crazy, what they're doin'," The voice that played was hushed and had an eastern coast accent. Not a Boston one, Miss Pauling had heard that enough to tell instantly. If she had to guess, it would be New York. The voice, a masculine one, seemed to be irritated. And nervous.

"No idea if any a those b****ds' put this down. Doubt it, cause I'm pretty sure all a this is illegal. But there's some serious s**t happenin' and I'm sick of just… watchin' it happen, I guess. First it was all a those people who came in but never left, the ****in' human finger, oh s**t, gave me nightmares for a ****in' week, and just, what they did, to that guy. Sure, he had a look to him but ****in' h*ll. Now he ain't even human anymore, he's a ****in' animal or something! A cannibalistic animal! How can I explain this without sounding insane?. Nah, what's happenin' here is insane! They brought it, him, whatever, a finger. Don't know where they got it, and I don't want to know. Maybe the Japanese mafia or some s**t like that; ain't too far fetched after all I saw down here.

"Well, they started with pictures, back when it, him, wasn't movin'. Sat and, ****in', talked to it like he was still there under all a that skin. Gave him pictures of people, and told him to do something with them. Cept nothing happened I guess, because then they started bringing in people in person, and then they brought in the finger. And Like I said, I don't know animals! But I'm pretty ****in' sure that no animal they put in it has a taste for humans. Or can make humans out of human parts! No, they just look human, it made another it, a weaker one but it still made another from another bit from another dude, and I guess that what it made from the finger was whoever owned the finger. But…

"Look, this ain't normal, none a this is! And I ain't goin' down when all a this comes and bites them in the *ss. Which might be tomorrow, might be months from now, I heard people talkin', down here people talk. And there's been talkin' about our head funder cuttin' our fundin'. Heard that it was to get into hard science, building robos or some s**t. Maybe it was buildin' bombs, who cares? But who can blame the guy, if this is what he's payin' for? Some nuts making a Frankenstein who's gettin' more and more grabby. Seriously, the thing tries to grab you if you get close, and when it does grab you, it won't let go! Luckily the poor sucker only had to lose his pants and not his leg. But we couldn't let the two get close after that, the thing would just… I don't know, wouldn't let things go.

"Anyway, I'm tired of being here. I was hired to mop floors, that's it! Not mop floors that get covered in flesh and white fishing line! And whenever I ask "hey, why the **** is there white s**t everywhere, and why does it just melt when I try moppin'?" nobody answers! But here's the kicker, I know eyes. And whenever I bring up the strings, or the flesh, and the way the thing just… acts? Like it's a ****in' livin' person still, but not, and just shambles and looks at ya? Everyone gets the shifty, twitchy eyes. Always looking away, never givin' a clear answer. Maybe it's cause I'm not high enough in the scientific royalty, makes sense. But I think it's cause they got no ****in' idea what they made. Test after test and nothing gets done and no one is gettin' any answers. So I'm done, **** this, **** Heron and Gaumond, and **** whatever they made. I'm not stayin' down here, I'm not! Bet there's tons of people who'd pay way better than what these ****ers are selling for what I've seen. And I know just where to put this. So whoever's gonna listen to this after I give it to whoever, take it from me.

"What's been happening at this lab shouldn't be forgotten, but shouldn't be remade either. Don't try and steal that thing, just destroy it. For its sake and for ****in' humanity's sake. Do not listen to those "experts", they have no idea what they've created. I do know one thing though," Miss Pauling leaned in, focused on the tonal drop. The seriousness. "They were making it to be used against a lot a people. Don't remember their names or titles, but I do remember their abbreviations. RED and BLU and Mann Co.. And their owners. There was someone else, no one but Heron and the executive knew who, though. But that's who they were makin' that thing for. Maybe I can find them, bet they'd be pretty d*mn grateful to hear all a this."

The tape came to an end, and the play button popped back up with a creaky snap. In its final words, the mysterious man left Miss Pauling alone in the dark. The quiet was large, and loaded with thought. But those thoughts remained unsaid as Miss Pauling tucked the tape recorder into her bag, along with as many papers as she could reasonably stuff into her satchel. She still didn't have all the answers, and she doubted that she ever would. But it was enough to know that whatever this place created, was currently on a warpath against RED and BLU. Perhaps even The Administrator herself.

Miss Pauling had to go and report this immediately.

She got to her feet, and swung the bag over her shoulders before speed walking out the room. The things she learned made everything all the worse as she went further through the tight corridors. Whatever these people made had done this, had escaped and killed those Mann Co. workers, killed its creators,

Killed her men. Her men. A bubbling mixture of anger and misery began to build beneath the surface. It had to be stopped, it had to be destroyed before it found the RED team, before it found the other teams The Administrator had. Before it found the remaining BLU members.

Maybe it already had? She quickened her step, making her way back into the observation room. Glass cracked beneath her step.

What if it was after her too? If the man was right, and whoever was in charge of this whole operation was at war with Helen, Redmond, Blutarch, and Saxton, then no doubt she was also on the list. It had already gone through an entire team of battle-hardened men. Mercenaries, trained and grown for situations normal men would break under. And they had been taken down so easily. Could she fight? Yes. Could she kill? Absolutely. But there was a reason why Miss Pauling worked in the background, taking lives when said lives' backs were turned. Against even one of the mercenaries she contracted, the assistant wouldn't stand a chance.

Against this being, and Miss Pauling would be-

A tearing sound ripped through the silence, and Miss Pauling could only scream in shock as something impossibly weighty dropped on her shoulders. The force sent her slamming to the ground, trapped under the almost papery load. Clawing for escape, to get free, Miss Pauling bucked and thrust her back up. And when she turned, another shriek escaped her lips as she instinctively scrambled away.

It was a corpse. She realized that after another panic filled second. After calming herself down, Miss Pauling whipped out her pistol and shot the head of the corpse. It kicked back and lay unmoving. It was indeed a corpse and not a biological nightmare. A very dead, very very dead corpse.

Perhaps it was better to call it a husk. Skeletal, dehydrated, and stiff, the body had to have been dead for at least, at the very least three months. And that smell, the spoiled orange zest wafted off the still pale skin. Looking up, the assistant's eyes were met with a now empty shriveled cocoon, swaying softly from the force that had ripped through it. And unlike its brethren, the pale light it had once emitted had gone out.

Swallowing back the bile building in her throat, Miss Pauling got to her feet and went to grab the bag that had been pushed from her shoulders on impact. When she took it, a small vibration of the fabric met her hand. And there was a faint buzzing, a static-filled noise.

Someone was calling her.

Ripping open the bag after putting away her gun, Miss Pauling frantically searched for her phone. Through papers and explosives(thank goodness those didn't explode from the force of the body hitting them) she searched, and finally her hand clasped around the brick-like phone.

"...ayday, this is the BLU Scout, me and the BLU Sniper are trapped in Sawmill's territory with an unknown bogey, I'm requesting backup," Scout? Scout!? It had been nearly a month since she last heard the Bostonian's constant chatter through her phone, and for just a moment, it felt like everything was back to normal. But it wasn't. Miss Pauling jammed her thumb into the "answer" button and brought it up to her head.

"Hel- Scout, Pauling here, can you hear me?"

"I repeat, this is the BLU Scout, me and the BLU Sniper are trapped in Sawmill's territory with an unknown bogey, I'm requesting backup. Does anyone copy? Over." Did he not hear her? She pressed the button again.

"Scout, can you hear me? It's Pauling, I read you loud and clear, is Sniper with you?" Silence. The runner's tone was quiet, strained. Wherever he was, back at Sawmill apparently, he was hurt. And scared. She smacked her phone with her palm before talking again.

"Scout, can you hear me, where are you in Sawmill, is Sniper with you? I need some answers." Nothing, but Scout had heard nothing too. Because when he finally answered again, it was snappish, and he never snapped at her.

"Listen, I don't know if someone's on the other side or not, but I'm sick of this. Basically a month of nothing, nothing from anyone. Why do we have to be the ones trying to get into contact with you b*****ds? Can ya tell me that?" Oh if he only knew, but Miss Pauling didn't try to interrupt, even if she knew it would be in vain. Instead, she remained silent, and listened. "Why don't you come down and fix the mess you left!? We are ****in' human beings! More than half of my team were massacred and the only other one is probably dead by now because of this, this monster, hunting us down." Had Sniper been caught!? Miss Pauling felt her hands go cold.

"Is anyone getting all a this?" Yes.

"You listening, you clipboard and screen watching freaks?" Yes, I am.

"It'll go for you next." I know, Scout. "It'll go for you next if it finishes me and Snipes off, so if anyone," Scout's tone got desperate, pleading to her, "anyone, is listening, you should make that pretty ****in' obvious right ****in' now!"

A horrible quiet settles down, and Miss Pauling could only listen to Scout's harsh breathing after his rant. There was no point in trying to say something back, she knew that, because for whatever reason Scout couldn't hear her. But she did anyway.

"I'm sorry this had to happen, Jeremy." Was what she managed to say before she heard the runner shout in frustration and anguish as the call ended in sharp electric static. It sounded as though he lobbed whatever he had used to communicate at the closest possible wall as hard as he could. She couldn't exactly blame him, Scout wasn't known to act rationally when in emotionally charged situations.

It still hurt to listen to, even if it wasn't directed at her specifically. There was a degree of truth. She could have sent a team, or just one other person to try and find Sniper and Scout. She had the authority to, but didn't. And now one more member of BLU could have been taken, along with the last soon.

Packing her phone away, Miss Pauling marched through the laboratory and back towards the staircase, towards the elevator, towards the surface. She made a mental note to have some pyros burn this wretched place to the ground after delivering the evidence she gathered to The Administrator.

One mission was nearing completion, and she finally had time to finish her first. As she climbed that staircase crawling with gleaming webs, Miss Pauling had her mind set on one thing and one thing only.

Reaching Sawmill.

Chapter Text

It was a spiral of black when Sniper regained consciousness. A tunnel rising up and up into a blackness so deep it was like he hadn't opened his eyes at all. In fact, the only way he knew it was above was that he was lying flat against something freezing cold.

Dark. There was nothing but dark . He was blind once more. His pulse began to thunder against his skin as he made to sit up. But when he moved, it was as if his head was filled with water. It pounded and felt heavy. Too heavy. Sniper gave up on trying to sit up, and groaned in pain.

Then he heard something. To his left, in the dark. Or, or was it his right? Behind? He couldn't make out the words, but it was quiet. Little hissing noises coming from everywhere and spiraling around. And dripping noises in there with him. Them. Who was the other person?

Something cold but feverishly warm brushed his hand, and Sniper yanked his hand away. He couldn't see, could barely hear, and there was something with him. It tried to grab him again, but he swiped at the dark. That made the world spin even more, and the noises coming from somewhere quickened, got louder. It honestly felt like his brain had been liquidized. And Sniper couldn't do anything when his wrist was grabbed.

"E, t me." Sounds, hushed, hissing. Too close. Sniper swiped again, trying to get loose. That only made things worse. A horrible rush of uneasy warmth began to build in the back of his head. It prickled and when the feverish cool let go, he fell limp as the spinning wouldn't stop. Hopeless. Escape was hopeless in his state. Cold, spinning, spiraling warmth building and building.

"Me, it's me, dude!" A voice shot through the spirals when Sniper collapsed to the ground again. Speaking to him, someone, or not that someone. He opened his mouth to talk, but the thought of talking made the world, what little of it he could make out, flicker. Limbs were too heavy, and that prickling, needling warmth was still there, stagnant. Sniper couldn't hold back the growl when that sound maker touched him again. But this time it held, enclosing on his hand, pulling it up into the dark.

Sniper's hand was pressed against something warm. Not the heat in himself but an ebbing constant. He let his hand get guided along until it stopped under what felt like a slope. And a beat. Faintly beneath his fingers, Sniper felt a heartbeat, and let go of the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"See, it's me." Scout said quietly. The kid was alive, he himself was alive. Sniper sat up.

And immediately turned over and threw up. Somewhere next to him Scout spoke in shock, but it was muffled with ringing and that awful ebbing his head began to do. Back and forth, thumping painfully, making everything spin and flood his system with nausea. At least his companion had the good sense of gripping his arm to keep him from falling forwards.

Once Sniper was left with nothing left to regurgitate, and after several dry heaves, finally, finally, the warmth faded away and the darkness stopped spinning quite so much. But the warmth took with it his sense of balance, apparently, because when Scout helped him straighten up, Sniper instantly began to sway again. A steady grip on his upper arm kept him from dropping.

"What happened?" He rasped, looking presumably at Scout.

"We, uh, we fell. Down the hole-tunnel thing, after you shot it. That was pretty cool actually, the way you one-handed your rifle and BAM!" The sudden volume sent the painful thumping shooting through Sniper's skull, and his flinch earned an instant apology from the runner.

"Aw crap, sorry, but it was really cool. Straight outta an action flick, y'know? Course, we still fell but, hey, we're alive."

"How'd we survive?" Sniper mumbled, tongue heavy with dizziness, "it was a straight drop, wasn't it?"

"Those web things. Built up like a canopy and broke most of the fall at the end. We're kinda covered in them." At that, Sniper felt around his torso and yeah, there were little ridges that were cool to the touch.

"But it's pitch bloody…" He trailed off, letting his head hang. An uneasy silence.

"Uh, "pitch black"?" Scout finished. Sniper made to nod but stopped when that tidal wave feeling came back up. "It actually ain't. Ya just have a… well," Through the dark Sniper could feel Scout grow tense. Then, something started to lift from his head, loosening.

"You weren't waking up," Scout began, his voice restrained, "I woke up and you were here, just laying still and all, and that puddle was just really big and. Well, look man, you hit your head. You hit your head bad. Like, really bad. And ya wouldn't stop bleeding and the Medigun wasn't working so-"

"It's broken," Sniper said, the world turning from deep black to a deep grey with hints of colors and shapes, "we found it like that, busted. Got into a fight about leaving it or not, about trying to fix it."

"Yeah, well, wish ya would've told me that before you were lying there bleeding out like an idiot. I spent a good five minutes trying to get it working while you just laid there using one a my shirts as a gauze."

"It's not exactly easy… telling someone something when you're passed out on the ground, mate." And finally, the final wrapping fell away, and Sniper blinked at the sight.

It was still really bloody dark. Stalactites hung, drenched in shadow. And the walls were rugged with stone outcroppings jutting into the open air. But there was some light. The faint pale light from the small webs wrapped around his clothes. And in the distance was a blue beam from his Machina. In front of him knelt Scout. The weak light and harsh shadows made the younger man's face ghastly. Cheekbones seemed to jut out too far, his eyes reflected too much of the glow, and those raging ocean blues were sunken, hidden mostly by darkness. Though there was no hiding the nervousness in them.

"Well, yeah but… I didn't know how many to use, and I don't think they helped heal any brain damage ya might have gotten. Cause a what just happened, not injured people don't just puke like that." Scout said, plopping Sniper's hat on the marksman's head.

"Everything keeps spinning." Sniper admitted, letting his head hang once more. Letting his eyes move too much kept making him sway. "And how many of what?"

"Uh, m-medkits." Scout mumbled. At that, Sniper raised his head to meet Scout's eyes.

"How many did you use?" The runner mumbled a number. A good or bad number though, Sniper couldn't remember. He knew for a second, but there was a lot around them. And the thought was gone before it stuck.

The floor was freezing. Everything was freezing. Sniper tried to stand, much to Scout's dismay.

"The h*ll are you doing, ya have to rest, that's what ya need when your head gets a rock at sonic speed!"

"And what about it?" Sniper grumbled. He got to his feet and the ground felt like it was a thick sludge beneath them. The ground was also coming to meet him at a speed. How alarming.

"Whoa!" Scout managed to sputter when the marksman's limp form fell to meet him. "Holy crap, dude, ya can't walk like this!"

"Can't stay… either." He mumbled, pushing himself up using the runner's shoulders.

"Dude, Sniper, c'mon, it hasn't followed us. You coating it in water made it run away."

"There's got to be something, along the walls. A crevice, or a pocket." Scout didn't respond, just looking at Sniper, like trying to find something. But he finally nodded after looking away.

"Yeah, alright. Just lemme get everything. Don't freakin' move," he ordered as he tightened his grip on Sniper's arm before letting go. "Next thing ya know you fall again and actually die. Or have a stroke or something." As Scout limped around and grabbed their bags and other items scattered about, Sniper focused on staying upright.

So he had cracked his skull against the floor. From the height that should have killed him, even with the strings delaying his fall. It was a miracle he was still alive. And what about Scout? He seemed fine, able to mostly walk. A bit, the kid was having some trouble. With, with grabbing things. Looked like he was hurting.

Sniper could ask if he was alright. He cou… maybe, but… the idea of talking just… it was exhausting. Not even processing which words he would use. Needed to lay down, or just… tired, and his eyelids were heavy. A sound slipped from his lips as he stumbled back into the rock wall and slid down.

"Sniper, you good, man?" Came that voice. Somewhere… around here. It was. So hard. To think…

"Hey, hey!" A tip-tapping came close, and a warm pad found itself on his shoulder, lightly shaking him. "Hey, you're not actually having a stroke, are you?" He should respond with, a no or… but… "Blink once for yeah, blink twice for no." That he could do. Sniper blinked twice, and he heard Scout sigh in relief.

"Okay, yeah that's, that's good to know. Now c'mon, Mick," the hand on his shoulder snaked down to his arm and tugged, "that can't be comfortable, let's get ya somewhere better." Sniper allowed himself to be pulled into a stand, and Scout only made a slightly pained noise when the marksman leaned into him.

"Ya think you can carry your bag?" Sniper tried to shrug, which only resulted in him slipping down some. "Hey, I can't carry everything along with your gangly *ss, pull some weight dude, I'm the one who had to stay awake to make sure you didn't die in your sleep!"

Bag, right, his backpack. His rifle too, needed that. Shouldn't he say something here? The right thin…g to do, wasn't it? Sniper straightened up. Tried to, at least, to take one of backpacks off Scout's shoulders. He managed to grab a strap, although his hand wouldn't keep still.

"Hey," Sniper's companion took his quivering hand with his own, and took it off the backpack, "Let's just focus on getting somewhere safer than here, okay? I'll come back for this stuff later." Good plan. Sniper nodded, and immediately winced from the throbbing that erupted from his head.

Scout said more things, although the marksman couldn't make out a word. Time was a fickle b… a… they were walking now. Limping, but moving into the dark. Away from those pale strings, he noticed. And the backpacks were missing from Scout's shoulders, laying back there.

"And- Oh wait, crap, gotta get a flashlight." Scout wriggled out from under Sniper's arm and back towards the bags, leaving the marksman to stand in the dark.

He didn't mind the dark. In fact, being away from the lights, even with some of those lights wrapped around his torso, felt nice. His eyes didn't hurt quite as much when he looked around. His head's pounding seemed to die down somewhat. Thinking was getting less tiring. Standing still seemed to be an issue, because Sniper caught himself leaning far too much to the left a bit too late to catch himself.

Stumbling to regain his balance, Sniper, instead of falling to the floor, collided with the closest rock wall. Now there was thumping in his shoulder and skull. Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant. Behind him he heard Scout say something, but he wasn't paying attention to that. Fingers tracing the ice cold stone, Sniper looked around.

Stone, encased in it. They were deep, deep beneath the earth now. Hundreds of thousands of tons of rock and sediment lay above him. There was no telling whether or not the tunnel he was in would hold for long, how old it was, and if it was strong enough to handle anything more than what it already held. Sniper's heart began to beat a bit harder than before, and that made his head once again start to beat too. Groaning out what could have been a curse, Sniper rested his head against the frost-like wall, like the cold would be enough to distract himself from those ridiculous thoughts.

"Okay, uh, hm," A voice from behind. "Uh, Sniper, you good?"

"'M fine." He replied, pushing himself up and away from the stone, "we need to find a way out."

"When I don't have to keep an eye on ya to make sure you don't fall again, sure. Till then, nada pally." His arm was grabbed. Again. And Sniper felt something be put in his hand. "Also you're gonna hold this so I can hold you." It was a torch.

And then they were moving again, with Scout taking the lead but still managing to stay right by Sniper's side. The kid's hand was warm, very warm. Downright blazing in the black cold they were traveling through. And beneath the skin, Sniper felt a pulse racing like a greyhound.

"Man, it is… really cold, like, holy s**t." Scout mumbled, to either himself or Sniper, the marksman couldn't tell. "Almost as cold as Boston is in winter. Bet the trees are blooming by now, there are all kinds of trees that blossom in Spring. Like, there's pinks, whites, pinks and whites. Wonder if Henry's sapling ever grew up. Bought a tree first thing after moving away. He always liked the flowers, liked growing them too, even though the apartment never got much sunlight. We teased him a lot for liking the flowers, must've sucked. We did get a lot of moonlight, though. One night, I remember that Tommy woke me up to-"

"Scout, need ya to stop talking so loud." Sniper rumbled, eyes to the floor. The runner paused his walk and talk. Then he pulled Sniper up, and suddenly the ground was much further away than it had been.

"Jeez, ya really can't stand, can ya?"

"Can walk fine." Sniper glared. He could walk fine, his body was in perfect working order. It was just his brain that was knocked loose. "Don't need your help, focus on yourself. Saw you struggling." He had felt the runner shuffle along, staggering instead of planting firm feet in a fixed pattern. That wasn't happening before the fall, he probably fell wrong on his legs. Not enough to break them, but enough to make walking a chore.

"Dude, you can barely stand let alone talk right! I know head injuries, man. Well, giving them, not getting them but still. Your brain isn't gonna heal right if you don't lie down and let it!"

"You can't carry me." Sniper responded. It was just a fact, Scout couldn't carry Sniper, he was too slim, too scrawny to carry anyone really. He could hardly carry himself let alone someone taller, stronger, heavier-

"I don't gotta carry you, just gotta keep you from falling. Now c'mon, Ha-" Sniper felt Scout stutter to a stop before getting pulled up a bit harsher. After a moment of reflection, it might have been that low noise that had flooded the cave. Might have just been the wind. Hopefully.

"Just... let's get going."

The tunnel grew louder with the echoes of their footsteps upon the damp stone. The torch's beam was large, but painful to look at. Sniper was forced to stare at the ground in order to keep from developing a migraine. Of course, things couldn't be that easy, as staring at the ground as they walked only made the marksman more nauseous. So, he instead just closed his eyes after a bit. It wasn't like it would do much of a difference at this point. The runner was the one who needed the light anyway.

"Man," Scout groaned, voice raspy, "how long is this thing gonna go for? It ain't even shrinking or nothing!"

"Quiet."

"Sorry, but like, this is freakin' annoying."

"It's a… cave system. Or mine. It could go for miles."

"Man, how do you always know so freakin' much about stuff? Stuff that don't even have anything to do with sniping?""

"Paid attention in school." With that, they traveled in silence once more. The tunnel, from what Sniper could tell, was descending to the left.

Then the right.

Then they slipped.

"Woah!" Scout gasped as the slope evened out, "didn't even see it! All good?"

"Fine." Sniper said, eyes shut tight. He was hoping to go up. Not slide down so fast. Made his head feel like jelly.

"Ya sure?"

"Ain't stopping yet, can go a bit further still." The chill had gotten worse. The further from the sun, from the surface they got, the worse it became. And the black seemed to spin again.

"Woah woah, hey, woah, okay, you need to rest or something."

"Not here I'm not."

"Right, right, crevice, pocket, hole or something. Right, gotcha, a safe, little room to lie down in, nothing serious. Course actually laying on the floor is a no go because holy s**t is that crap cold! So 'm gonna need to get our bags once I get ya somewhere. Like a rendezvous mission. Wonder why they never wanted me for those, I'm the best at finding paths, like, literally, it's not my fault the people they want can't keep up. Could just use a motorcycle, those would work fine, but nooo, it's too loud, it'll alert everyone. Bet Engie could make- would've been able to make a silencer for motorcycles. Bet Miss Pauling loves motorcycles. Brody really likes them too. Managed to buy a really old, beaten one a couple years ago. Spent, like, three whole summers working on that thing, which he could do, cause he's a mechanic. Ain't surprising, he was always too meatheaded for "degrees" and things like that. Now it runs super smooth and it's this really cool red color that kinda shimmers in the sun. He didn't let me ride it alone, though, cause he don't trust me with his crap I guess. It wasn't even his car I crashed that one time, it was Jamey's. Like, sheesh, ya put a little nick in the bumper of a guy's car one time and all of a sudden you're "a danger to yourself and others" when behind the wheel. Well wait till they find out I drove a freakin' stick shift!" Scout rambled on and on, mostly about his brothers and mother. He touched upon uncles and aunts, cousins, nieces and nephews(who he has quite the horde of apparently). How many? Around 12 at the moment, and another on the way.

"Telling ya, Thanksgiving and Christmas is a freakin' battleground. Like, ya try and get yourself some freakin' ham, right, and then all of a sudden you're surrounded on all sides by tiny humans, and worse of all, they won't leave ya alone until you actually listen to what they're trying to show you. One's trying to tell you that he learned how to tie his shoes, his sister's complaining that Shawn pulled her pigtails, Little Daisy apparently threw up on the carpet and no one's noticed yet, Oswald can betch out the ABC's, and lil' Lucy just wants a hug from her favorite uncle. And who am I to say no to that because I'm the best uncle ever, right? So now your arms are filled with Lil' Lady Lucy and her big smelly elephant toy cause she never let's that thing go which means ya can't get yourself ham which was the one thing you went over to the kitchen to get, and ya brothers and sisters-in-law ain't doing s**t because they love to watch you suffer cause you're the one guy who either ain't have kids, married, or "dealing with adult responsibilities" like they were, can you believe that s**t? I pay bills, I pay taxes, the **** do they mean I ain't got responsibilities like adults do, I'm twenty-****ing-three! I've killed people, I've seen people get killed, what's the difference between that and actual armed service besides the government? Seriously, they outta treat me with more respect, I'm the one who paid for that nice house in Fitchburg with the money I earned risking my life day after day but no, that ain't a real, respectable job like a doctor like Davey has. Grand ol' Doctor Davey, the real cream o' the Madigan crop. Like, so what if he went to that real fancy school in Europe, we hardly ever see him anyway, left as soon as he got a scholarship, still making more than he does a year every month. Actin' like I'm no- Hey look, a hole!" The sudden shift in topic gave Sniper some kind of whiplash. Reeling from the sudden silence, the marksman was pulled into a thin crevice in the wall he hadn't noticed. It was very slim, so much so that they could only go in one at a time. Scout scooted through first, and once he found the coast to be clear, helped Sniper through.

It was a large enough space, just tall enough for Sniper to stand up straight. There were no other exits from the room, and it was completely black. The pair walked into the middle as Scout let Sniper go.

"Alright, I'm grabbing our stuff, I'll be right back, do not fall." And with that, Scout was gone. And with him went the light, leaving Sniper in complete darkness. A darkness that seemed to seep into his fleece. Oh, right, he was wearing a jacket. One that felt stiff at the collar, and was doing absolutely nothing to keep him warm.

Oh the cold, it was horrible. Just clenching his fingers was a challenge from how stiff they'd gotten. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Sniper gingerly sat down, using the rock wall as a brace. Instantly the stone sapped away the heat in his back. But it was fine this way, it wasn't like it was crushing him. Trapping him in a rubble coffin, choking on dust and particles, unable to move and unable to breathe. Trapped deep, deep below any civilization that would be able to help. Left to wither away in the cold, weighted tomb.

He brought his knees to his chest and rested his head on them. His hands were shaking, and keeping them close to his chest wasn't making them any less cold. It just wasn't getting warmer, it just wasn't.

"Oh ****, you're freakin' freezing!" A rough shaking ripped Sniper… awake? Was he asleep, or… it didn't feel like it. Didn't close his eyes, but maybe he did. Either way, there was someone in front of him shaking his shoulder. "C'mon, get up, dude!"

"Not yet…" He heard himself say. Why did everything feel so slow? It was all moving faster than his mind could keep up with. At least he wasn't as cold anymore.

Or maybe he was, because a white hot flame pressed itself on his neck. At first it was that hot, but it eased back almost instantly, and Sniper instinctively leaned into the heat, saying something.

"...yeah, you need to sleep or something, this is stupid." The heat was taken away, leaving Sniper alone in the cold. No, no that wasn't good, why is it gone? At that, Sniper finally opened his eyes(so he had closed them).

Scout was back, looking… very, very tired. The torch had been put along the far wall, and it appeared that the entrance had been covered with, maybe their bags, Sniper couldn't tell. There was also something on the floor. It looked soft.

"Leave for, like, nine minutes? Thirteen? Don't care, lost track. Anyway, uh, don't wanna worry you or nothing but-" Scout interrupted himself with a powerful yawn, which he clamped shut as soon as possible while wiping his mouth off with his hand, "but I think we ain't alone down here."

"Oh that's just bloody brilliant," Sniper groaned. He tried to stand, using the wall as a crutch, but exhaustion had built up in his body like frost.

"Well, I think we ain't alone. I didn't actually see it but, I got that feeling. So, y'know, we probably should keep an eye out."

"Right, did you find a way out by any chance?"

"I just dragged your *ss and our stuff here, what do you think? Now get up," Scout grabbed Sniper by the collar of his jacket and struggled to pull him up. "You sit there any longer and your *ss'll freeze to the floor." Together, they managed to get Sniper to his feet, and towards what looked to be a large pile of fabric on the ground.

"Why'd you throw a bunch of clothes on the floor?" He asked. Scout rolled his eyes.

"One, so that we aren't lying on the stone, and two, so that you have some kinda cushion for your stupid head." Scout shambled over to one of their bags and began to rummage through it. The marksman looked down at the makeshift mattress. It wouldn't do much, but it was better than nothing. Sliding down and onto the pile of clothes, Sniper sat and gathered a fistful of the fabric.

"Where'd you get this?"

"My room, duh!" Scout replied, having found whatever he was looking for, "now do you wanna keep wearing that blood soaked jacket or what?" It was stiff, and sticky. Like his hair now that Sniper thought about it. No, he didn't want to keep wearing it, so he started to slip it off and was met face-first with a thick scratchiness.

"Oops, didn't meant to hit your face, but put that on, it'll probably fit ya better than me." It was a crimson letterman jacket with a bold, black BOSTON sewn on the front. It looked warm. Sniper pushed his soiled fleece away and slipped on the heavy varsity coat before the chill could set in. The inside was soft if not slightly scratchy, and the coldness of the cave was being kept at bay far better than his own coat. And it fit perfectly to boot with only the sleeves going a bit farther than his wrists.

"Yeah, Wesley has longer arms so it won't fit totally perfectly but at least it ain't making ya look like a preteen when wearing it." Scout said as he limped over to the marksman.

"Thanks." He replied as he laid down. Perhaps it was the fact that the past two times he fell unconscious was on unforgiving and solid stone, but the thin layer of fabric and clothes felt like laying on a cloud.

"Uhh, hm." Scout hummed in a 'I believe I found a problem' kind of way. "I uh… I think I made it too small."

"Had smaller."

"No, I mean, uh, I don't think I made enough room for the two a us to not touch." Oh. Sniper sighed, flipping onto his side.

"Back to back, we'll be fine. Besides, we should try and conserve heat." The runner shifted on his feet.

"Uh, y-you sure, I mean, I can keep watch, ain't even that tired-" He yawned.

"A few hours won't be a problem, and I've had worse." Sniper mumbled. If the kid wanted to stay awake, that was fine by him, no skin off his nose. Shimming deeper into the clothes, the marksman waited for sleep to come. Instead of sleep, however, it was a warm surface pressed against his back. And the click of a torch followed as the cave was engulfed in dark.

"If you start complaining about this, I'm gonna give show you what real blunt force trauma feels like." Sniper heard Scout say behind him as the runner shimmied into the pile.

"If you keep moving around I'll rip your teeth out."

"...You're bluffing."

"I've done it with crocs, humans would probably be easier to be honest. Maybe I'll even make a necklace out of them too."

"You're freakin' weird, man." Sniper simply shrugged at that, sleep coming quicker than before. "Yo, wait, you pulled teeth outta Croc-O-Diles?"

"Once."

"Is it hard, did it bite ya?" He felt Scout shimmied around to face him somewhat.

"Almost."

"Did you make them into that hat ya sometimes wear?"

"Yep."

"Woah. That's actually… like, that's… yeah, that's pretty neat. Hey, uh, quick question, first kisses don't count if you kiss yourself, right?" Sniper paused. What kind of question…

"I don't think so."

"Oh, okay, good. That's good to hear…" The runner got quieter and quieter, straight up mumbling words at the end. And soon after, all movement vanished, and the two were left in the silent dark.

The flow of time had changed. That, or Sniper just couldn't fall asleep. Maybe he did but not fully. Things seemed to speed up but were still agonizingly slow. The only way he knew that time hadn't just frozen was the fact that Scout kept tossing and turning. Perhaps that was what kept him from falling asleep fully. All that movement.

There were noises too, that the kid made. Barely audible, sometimes they sounded like words. Almost. Did he sleep talk as well as sleepwalk? Couldn't even stay quiet when unconscious-

The feeling of something wrapping itself around his chest snapped Sniper out of whatever pseudo-comatose he was in. He stiffened at the contact and at first thought the worst. But then Scout made a noise behind him, and the contact tightened.

Oh. Right. The runner tended to do this. He was like a koala. Sniper sighed. He tried to twist himself out from Scout's grip, to little avail. The arm was wrapped tight. The kid was probably not even aware he was doing it, just subconsciously itching towards the only source of heat in the cave. But he was still too close…

Scout had gotten far too close. A realization that came far too late, and brought the marksman to mentally freeze up. He and the runner had gotten far too close.

Why did Sniper let this happen? He didn't even discourage it, he actively let Scout get closer. And he kept going along with it. Why, because he was getting weak? Was the stress of their unworldly situation wearing him down too much? Or made him forget to keep Scout at a distance?

Either way, it didn't quite matter how, Sniper had gone soft. It was fine at first, the kid needed help, he could give it, and hopefully would get some answers in return. That didn't happen. Instead that help was thrown right back into his face. Twice. And he was still letting Scout just… get closer. He rubbed the letterman jacket's sleeve.

This was a mistake.

Blindly grabbing the arm locked around his rib cage, Sniper pried it off and shoved it back over his shoulder. Scout drew in a sharp breath, but didn't wake. He instead shimmied into the pile, and away from Sniper. Then, in practiced, silent movements, Sniper slipped the jacket off his arms and placed it somewhere in the dark, away from him. His old fleece was still to his side so he put that one back on. The cold cave floor seemed to freeze the blood stained in his coat, making the fabric stiff and chilled. His arms already were begging for the letterman back, but Sniper wasn't going to take it back. After fully zipping up the coat, Sniper looked down to where he knew Scout was resting.

No more. He couldn't let this happen anymore. It was just going to get one of them hurt. It already hurt him twice. Scout wouldn't understand, he thought that their team were all the bests of mates, apparently. Why in the world did he then get into this line of work, one that was known for taking lives indiscriminately. Friends and enemies alike. Getting close to anyone was a horrible mistake, why couldn't he understand that? It was mostly Sniper's fault, though, he let this happen. He even told him his name. Just because the kid asked for it!

The marksman got to his feet after grabbing the torch, sleep still desperate to cling to his limbs. But he shook it off, and made his way over to the farthest wall. There he sat, and waited. Sleep could wait, and he wasn't going to let himself be that vulnerable down here. Not underground, not with Scout. So he sat. And waited. And listened.

For how long he sat waiting, listening, he didn't know. But it wasn't as long as he thought it would be. He was only waiting for one of two things: Scout to wake up, or that thing to show up. And one of those happened.

The half scream and snort Scout made when he shot up, awake, snapped Sniper's attention instantly as he stood, back popping from the lengthy wait.

"Right. Up ya get, we're going."

"W-what're ya doing over there, you should be lying down!" Scout pointed out as he got to his elbows. Sniper clicked the flashlight on, causing the runner to whine and shade his eyes.

"Couldn't sleep, now get up."

"Jeez, what crawled up your *ss and died?" Scout grumbled. He paused after catching sight of the letterman jacket on the ground next to him. "Hey, what the- was it scratchy or something?"

"Just didn't want it." The runner looked up at him, with an expression that made Sniper shift on his feet. But he kept Scout's gaze, and soon enough the younger man looked away.

"oh." Scout grabbed the jacket and began to grab his other clothes from off the ground. Or tried to. Because it seemed like he was having trouble getting to stand. He would push himself to his knees, but couldn't get his legs to move. Sniper groaned and marched over to the pitiful display.

"Need a hand?" Scout whipped his head around and gave Sniper a toothy grin.

"Why, yes, Sniper, I do need a hand!" He sang, looking ever so annoyed and smug, "Thanks for asking!"

"Alright, I get it, now get up ." He grabbed Scout by his arm and pulled. In hindsight, he should have made sure it was the uninjured one he took hold of, because when he yanked Scout to his feet, the runner yelped. Loudly.

"Shush!"

"You shush! And let go of me, you *sshole! " Scout ripped himself away, cradling his nub. "That ****in' hurt!"

"If you would just get up when I asked, that wouldn't have happened."

"What's your problem, man!?" Scout barked back, grabbing his backpack, "I didn't even do nothing to ya. Seriously, Mi-"

"Sniper." The runner paused, shoving the last of his clothes away. He looked up to meet Sniper's eyes, but the marksman was busy looking through his own pack.

"Uh, huh-wha?"

"I'm the Sniper, now if you're done, we need to get out of here." Sniper swung his bag over his shoulders and walked towards the entrance they used. Walking was rough, at first, his head still felt quite lopsided. But it wasn't nearly as bad as… last night. How long did they rest, how long have they been down here? Was it morning now, or, really early morning?

"Hey, hey wait!"

"Not happening, I am not staying in these tunnels any longer if I can help it." Sniper pushed through the thin crack and into the open corridors. The darkness and echoes of his footsteps instantly made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

"Woah, wait, wait," Scout shot out from the cave, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders. "Don't ya still need help? You could barely walk last time."

"I'll manage," He could. He didn't need to rely on Scout just to bloody walk . The marksman started forwards, and the runner stumbled after him. The sharp rebounds of their shoes on the moist stone held the only conversation for a while. Sniper kept his mind and eyes forward, on the path ahead. They had to get out of this bloody cave system.

"Uh, Snipes?" Scout suddenly stammered. The noise hardly registered to the Australian, but when it was repeated, he stopped and turned to his companion.

"What?"

"Are you… are you feeling alright, man?" Sniper raised an eyebrow. "Cause ya did hit your head, and ya are really, uh, snappy, right now. So, you okay?" The runner squirmed under Sniper's cold stare, but didn't look away. It was said in earnest. Sniper turned away.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Let's go."

"It's just- is it the whole "being underground" thing?" He paused. "It is, ain't it?"

"It isn't pleasant, let's leave it at that." Sniper growled before marching ahead, leaving Scout to scramble to keep up.

"I-I can go first! I'm great at finding directions, it's one of my many skills!"

"You want to go first, be my guest." Sniper tossed the torch over to Scout. His hand fumbled to catch it. "Lead the way." Scout clicked the light on and off, then met his gaze. He jerked his head to the side. Scout nodded, and trotted to the front.

The pair of mercenaries traveled deeper into the cave. Their journey was quiet, and slow, as Scout would stop every so often to listen for any unwanted guests following them. When the coast was clear, they'd continue. But the constant presence of those glowing webs crawling along the walls was enough to keep their guard up.

The tunnels would twist and turn, some passages were too steep to climb, others fell into straight drops. But there was never a clear dead end, there was always a way to go forwards. In some places, the path would grow thinner and thinner until they had to take off their bags and slip through the cracks. Soon though, one pathway that was far worse than the others.

"Well that sucks," Scout groaned. Within the center of the torch's beam was their only way forward: a half meter wide tunnel with sharp points hanging from the top. Sniper's mouth dried.

"Welp," Scout huffed before slipping his bag off, "might as well get this over with." As the runner knelt and began to tie his backpack to his ankle, the marksman sat.

"Okay, let's go."

"How do you know that'll lead to the surface?"

"Uh," Scout paused, "I don't. We don't know, we can only keep going. It's not like there's another way besides trying to climb back up. And I don't think our rope is long enough for that."

"At least we know that's a way up." Sniper argued. Scout sighed loudly.

"Duh, but you wanna go back up there without any climbing gear?"

"I can climb just fine."

"Yeah, okay, but can you climb sheer cliffs? Or the flat walls on a building? Can ya do that?" Sniper thought about replying. To tell his smart*rse companion that, yes, he'd been climbing since he was nine years old, and now rock faces and even certain buildings were only a minor inconvenience. But he didn't. He'd shared enough about his life with Scout. Instead, Sniper just shrugged. And again, Scout sighed.

"Look, dude. I think it'll be better if we just keep going."

"Like that's an actual plan of action."

"Y'know, you could be a little more optimistic about this sorta thing." Scout said as he got ready to enter the tunnel, giving Sniper an irritated look. Then, he crawled into the tunnel, and took the light with him. In the dark, the marksman glared at the small entrance, like it had just insulted his mum. He was actually going to have to crawl after Scout, wasn't he?

Piss.

"Hey, look who decided to join the Tunnel Rat committee!" Scout said as Sniper dragged himself into the small space. It was already awful. The sides grazed his elbows, and he couldn't raise his head to look up because of the sharp spikes on the ceiling. He had no idea how long the tunnel went. And it was dark because Scout was in front of him and he had the torch.

Sniper sighed through his nose. Just…

Just don't think about it too much, think about something else. Anything other than having the ceiling collapse and trap him like this, with arms and knees painfully propped up on the unforgiving floor, unable to turn, unable to stand, unable to do anything than die from either suffocation or hypothermia- oh bugger .

"Holy s**t this is so freakin' long!" He heard Scout grumble out loud. Right, he wasn't the only one in the tunnel. Scout was also here, and if he got trapped with him, well then he'd either die from having his ears talked off, or from suffocation from Scout stealing up all the oxygen. He groaned.

"Yo, you good?" Scout asked, trying to look over his shoulder at Sniper, "I think it's getting wider up here, so that probably means we'll be out soon." Oh thank goodness. Sniper had built up enough tolerance in his life to not have too much of an issue belly crawling. But to do so in this setting, was not his idea of a vacation.

"Ah, wait, never mind, it was just going up-" That noise. From before. More wind. Or.

That probably wasn't wind.

"Oh ****." Scout uttered at the sound. "We should go faster. Like, way faster." Scout shot forwards, crawling, almost downright slithering through the thin passage. Sniper could only move one elbow at a time, the crawlspace wouldn't let him go any faster. That noise, now clear enough to make out a vocal tone, made the marksman falter. Was it behind them? In front? He had no clue! Scout was so far ahead already, the light was only a speck to him.

And then it was gone. His heart began to beat. No, he- he needed the light! Sniper pulled himself deeper into the tunnel, trying to go faster. No, he needed to be out sooner than this, he had to go faster. The tunnel was smaller than before, and there was a lip that looked like it went up and into an even slimmer space. Sniper propped himself onto his elbows.

He couldn't. His back hit the ceiling, and there was no give, no leeway. It was solid, and it was the highest he could get. It was trapping him, it wasn't letting him up. To go forward would get him stuck, to go back could get him caught. Trapped. And already the air was growing thin and hard to breathe in.

"Sniper?"

He couldn't go forward.

"I'm out! It's literally just, like, over the lip! Come on!"

He couldn't go up.

"Mick?"

He couldn't.

"If you don't get out of there, I'm gonna lick your rifle!"

…

Ex-bloody-scuse you!?

"Ya got five seconds." What kind of threat was that!? An effective one, apparently, because Sniper raised his head just high enough to shout out "Touch it and you're dead!"

"Well you're in there, and I'm out here, and man does your stupid heavy gun look tasty." Sniper growled and grabbed the floor, propelling himself towards the supposed exit. "Bet it would make for a great popsicle, wonder if tastes like that stupid veggie jelly you Aussies have. Lemme check real quick." He had to flatten himself in order to slide through the lip.

"Don't you bloody dare!" Sniper snapped, shooting up from the crawlspace. "I swear to-" There sat Scout, smirking, on his backpack as if it were a throne. He didn't even have Sniper's Machina, it was still packed away. The kid had bluffed.

"Ha! Knew that would work." he smiled in spite of himself. Sniper scowled, but didn't argue. Instead, he looked around at the vast cavern they'd crawled into.

It was huge, their voices bounced off the sanded walls. Wooden beams stood as gates to many, many entrances cutting off from the main area. Along the floor were some old, rusted minecart rails, snaking into the dark. A dark that wasn't nearly as potent as the caves before. In the ceiling, high, high above them, were small pinpricks that flooded the room in soft beams of white and rain. If he listened hard enough, Sniper could just make out the soft patter of rain on sodden grass.

"Yeah, I think we're going the right way." Scout reasoned, looking mighty confident. "Told ya I'm good at directions."

"Well, now which way?" Sniper asked. The runner paused, and looked around. He pointed at a very specific mineshaft.

"Not that one." And yeah, Sniper agreed. The holes in the ceiling weren't the only sources of light. Those pale webs growing along parts of the floor and rails gathered around the mineshaft, creating a pathway into a den neither wanted to go into. So that left around… ten more paths to try.

"Also, uh, I think that thing was behind us, so we should start moving." Scout slipped on his bag along with Sniper, "let's try this way." He started towards a mineshaft and Sniper followed. There really wasn't any other way of knowing besides checking, was there?

"Woah, this way's cold." Scout breathed, stiffening the further down they went.

"We should go another way." Sniper said, looking back.

"We haven't even walked twenty feet this way, give it a chance-"

Water. A deep, black pool of water along the far wall of the spacious dead end they walked in on. The surface rippled with an unfelt breeze. The pair stared at the pool before Sniper turned on his heel.

"Yeah, nah, I'm not dealing with that."

"But maybe it's the way out! Where else is the water coming from?" Scout reasoned as he tailed the marksman back to the main cavern.

"There are such things as underground pools, Scout." Sniper deadpanned. The runner scoffed, saying he already knew that, and trotted ahead and into a new mineshaft. The pair crept through, listening for any threat. Although that was slightly hard to do because Scout had gotten onto another ramble about his family, something about getting stuck in a sewer grate. There was one part that caught Sniper's attention, and that was when Scout accidentally referred to him as Harvey twice in a row, only catching himself about three seconds after the second time.

"Aw crap, sorry, it's just, ya do look really alike," Scout explained, rubbing his neck, "actually he looks like a lot of people, or, I guess a lot of people look like him. We kinda made that a game when we were kids, just pointing at an average joe and going "Hey, Harv, look, it's your long lost twin!". One time Davey did it with a baby, and we didn't let that go for a good two weeks, it was hilarious! Heh, "Half-Pint Harvey"." Scout ended up chuckling to himself for a good five minutes, leading them up, around, down, left, right, and center through the passageway. After a while, they ended up at an overhang overlooking a large dome-like room, with those pale nerves on the floor and many, many passageways leading deeper into the earth. It was familiar.

Too familiar.

"Huh, that looks really close to the last one."

"That's because it is the last one," Sniper groaned, "we went in a circle."

"Oh." Scout said, ears turned pink. "Well, we'll just try another way." So they climbed down the overhang and into another passageway. Up, down, down again, up, up, up and to the left, then the right, and then there was a light.

"Oh bloody h*ll," Sniper growled as they walked into the same dome area. Scout paused, furrowing his brow and chewing his lip in thought. There were still about six other passages and paths in the ways they already traveled to check, but Sniper was already getting tired.

"Uh, this way, it's actually higher up so it's closer to the surface!" Scout called, jogging into a mineshaft that had a slope to reach it. And a rail, which Scout didn't see. The runner's foot caught on the metal railing and fell.

"You alright?" Sniper asked. Scout inhaled, and then gave out a long, drawn out curse.

"My freakin' foot!" He seethed, sitting up. It didn't look broken, at worst he might have torn a ligament or a hamstring. But those didn't seem likely either, so Sniper just bent down and yanked the kid to his feet, much to the runner's protests.

"You'll live," Sniper sighed when Scout whined, "the sooner we get out, the sooner we can get you fixed up."

"Ugh, fine," Scout limped forwards, avoiding the uneven parts of the floor, "Man, you're lucky I put up with you." Oh the irony of that statement, it almost made Sniper laugh. But he didn't, and he continued following Scout.

Again and again they went down the pathways, and again and again they led to the clearing. Longer and longer they were trapped beneath the ground, and with each passing minute Sniper felt a tension build in his veins like a cobra coiling to strike. The light coming in from the sun grew fainter, and he was beginning to think that the noises they heard really were the wind. Because how long had they been searching for an exit? How many corridors had Scout led them through only to find a dead end or a circle? Was there even a way out beside the small holes in the ceiling, being swallowed up by a soft grey?

"This is pointless," the sound of Sniper stopping made Scout stop as well once they reentered the dome for what had to be the twenty first time. "We aren't getting out of here like this."

"Hey, c'mon, don't be like that , we've gotten this far, haven't we?" Scout reasoned, tone forcefully cheerful. Sniper ignored him, and sat against the stone wall facing the nerve-ridden mineshaft. "We just have to keep looking."

"Looking for what?" Sniper asked bitterly. "So far every shaft you've led us down has been either dead ends or bloody round-a-bouts!"

"The exit!" Scout gestured to one of the paths Sniper knew they'd been through, "It's probably down that one."

"We've gone through that one."

"We did?"

"You haven't been keeping track, have you?" Scout's shameful silence was confirmation enough. "Oh that's just bloody brilliant…"

"I thought that you were the one keeping track." The Bostonian mumbled. Sniper couldn't hold back his laughter this time. It was short, and biting, echoing through the cavern.

"Oh I'm the one who's supposed to keep track!"

"Well, kinda! I mean-"

"And here I thought you were good at directions." Scout stuttered. Then frowned.

"Well I thought you were paying attention cause you're the guy who has the plan! You-" Scout's gestures got looser, "You know this kinda crap! You know outdoor stuff, you know everything! You're the older one, the smarter one, the… the stronger one! You always have a game plan, Snipes! The guys knew you had their backs, like ya got mine and I got yours! And that kinda crap needs smart guys having plans, and you always do!"

"You have my back, huh?" Sniper said slowly, looking up to meet Scout's eyes. "That's pretty convenient to say after leaving me to die."

The runner's eyes widened, and he drew back as if bitten.

"I…" He swallowed, "I said I was sorry for that."

"Fine way of showing it, what with getting us lost in a bloody mine."

"I ain't doing it on purpose!"

"Yeah, just like it wasn't on purpose to let us fall!"

"It wasn't!-"

"Oh will you just shut up for once!?" Sniper spat, "Even when being quiet is the only thing keeping us safe, you still can't shut up about you and your boring life stories!"

"They ain't boring..."

"How would you know, are you the one listening to them 24/7?"

"...I get that ya don't like being down here-"

"Have you considered the fact that I just don't like you?" Scout flinched. And Sniper couldn't stop himself, the coil had sprung.

"I've had to deal with dragging you around and getting nothing but backstabbed in return! Stitched you up? Ya ditch me when I needed you the most! Let you stay even after doing that and sharing what little I have with you? Ya tell me to blow my brains out because no one would notice or care! And now, right when I think you were bein' genuine with your apology, this happens! You're like a ****ing bad penny! You're nothing but an anchor tied around my neck!" Sniper's tirade came to an end as he went to pluck off his shades to rub at his tired eyes. He didn't have his shades. This whole time they were gone, probably lost somewhere in the dark tunnels. The marksman let out a noise of frustration as he ran his hands through his hair, pushing back his hat.

He was tired, he was angry, he was trapped underground with an idiot and his head was starting to pound again. All he could do was take a shaky breath. It was the only noise besides the soft rain that fell through the holes.

"...I'll go find a way out." Scout said, voice small. From behind the palms pressed onto his eyes, Sniper heard the runner limp away.

"Yeah, sure, go ahead and leave, wouldn't be the first time, and I highly doubt it'll be the last." He snarled. Scout didn't stop, limping away into one of the mineshafts. Soon enough, the padding of his shoes faded away into the dark, leaving Sniper alone in the spacious room.

The silence was a stranger now, even if there was some noise still leaking in from the cracks. He sat there and waited. For his head to stop thumping, for Scout to return, for death, at this point, every option felt impossible and viable. So he sat, and let the frustration he had built up, what little he had left after the outburst, fade away. And when it did fade, it unveiled an unpleasant feeling.

A sour taste on his tongue, like he'd bitten into a lemon. No, a lime. Lemons were fine, limes were wretched. He spat to rid himself of the taste, but it didn't help. The sourness was uncomfortable, and only built in the silence. Perhaps it was a psychological thing, due to the sudden silence. Or… or maybe it was guilt.

The guilt of once again letting his emotions get the better of him. That's what happens when you connect with a person, emotions get in the way. Was there any greater proof than this? He was right, one of them ended up hurt. Both of them in the end. It was better like this, Scout needed to get the hint, Sniper didn't want whatever bond the runner was so desperate to form. And why did he want to be around him in the first place, made no sense, they had basically nothing in common.

But he also didn't like the distress on the runner's face when he yelled at him, but it was better than him ending up dead for being a point of weakness that others could exploit. If they ever got out, that is. It was better this way. It was. Although Sniper still shouldn't have exploded like that, it was unprofessional. And besides, anger was still an emotion that was ripe for exploiting. It was apathy that would work best. For both of them.

Sniper got to his feet and sighed. So, he could either try to find Scout, and perhaps find a way out, or leave the kid to find his own way out while he went his own way. Well, the outcomes would probably end up the same, it was just the intentions that strayed. That, and he also had no idea which path Scout chose. It could be any number of mineshafts. Besides the one with the pool of water so that one was crossed off the list. And there was only one other mineshaft he knew they hadn't checked.

But would Scout go down it? At first, he reasoned he wouldn't. But the more Sniper thought about it, the more it seemed that Scout would in certain circumstances, and these were the perfect circumstances. So Sniper grabbed his backpack, and marched towards the darkness.

At least the webs glowed just enough to light his path, otherwise he'd be blind. He forgot that Scout had the torch. The tunnel was a bit wider than the others they'd traveled through. Taller too. And the webs were sparse, nothing like Landfall, but still enough to know that this was a bad sign. But he pushed on.

He was met with a slope, and he carefully slid down it, and then another, and another. How long did it go down? It obviously couldn't be a way out, it was digging far too deep. And the nerves were losing some of their glow, leaving Sniper only able to make out silhouettes-

Crack! The sound of muffled glass crunching under his boot caught Sniper's attention. He lifted his foot, and grabbed at the small glass thing. Metal, thin, wiry. He hissed as his finger was cut as he accidentally grazed some of the fractured glass. Circular too. These were glasses.

What in the world were glasses doing down here? Sniper tried to hold them to the light, but to no avail, it was too dark. But it was too strange of a detail to leave unquestioned. So he kept going deeper and deeper.

The light was all but extinguished now, the webs gone, and leaving Sniper to scramble around in the dark. Feeling along the wall, he felt it disappear into air on the right, so he went right. Uncertain foot after uncertain foot he placed, hoping that he'd find something .

And something he did. Or more accurately, something found him.

A hole.

Unable move back in time, Sniper felt the ground give to open air and soon he was tumbling down a steep slope. Rolling down, the world spun into colors of black and pale greys. And after far too long, he came to a stop at the bottom of the slope.

…Oh h*ll, this wasn't going to help with his head situation at all. The spinning continued even after he got to his knees. Sniper hissed a string of colorful language and looked around.

He had fallen into another large area. However, it wasn't the one from before. It was big , about the size of two fire stations with alleys in between. A spotlight of rainfall and sunshine lay in the middle of the room, perfectly positioned with a little patch of grass beneath it. The walls rounded out into a dome at the top, and those strings criss-crossed along the walls. Becoming denser the further they went up. Sniper looked towards the ceiling. Up,

And up,

And up.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

Along the ceiling of the cave, and around a small hole letting in the elements, were seven cocoons of varying sizes. Some were slim, most were well built, and one was gigantic. Even from where he sat Sniper could make out the shadows within.

"So that's what it looks like from the outside…" he murmured. Sniper reached for his backpack and began to rifle through it. Where was it, where was his rifle? Oh. Right. Scout had it in his bag.

Bugger.

He instead began to search for anything water related. Even an empty jar he could use. That height was an unknown factor though, would the cocoons' walls be enough to cushion the fall? He felt his hand enclosed upon a jar, a full one. Whipping it out, Sniper locked eyes on the closest cocoon, and aimed.

The body that fell through the hole put a pause on the marksman's plan as his eyes widened even more than before.

It laid there, flesh rippling and melting away into a glistening liquid running rivets down its arms and legs. The body was more anthropomorphic than the last time Sniper saw it. It looked like how it was when he had been strung up. Then, it moved, and sat up.

"Bloody h*ll," Demo's voice grumbled as it shook off the liquid. It got to its feet, brushing off its knees and chest. Then it moved away from the grassy patch with its back to Sniper, shaking itself like a dog.

"I am getting too old and giant for dis." it grumbled. Then, after checking itself and seemingly finding nothing to worry about, it grabbed its left hand and pulled.

A sickening wet ripping sound followed the hand getting torn from its socket. It tossed the hand to the ground like it was simply a morning routine and not a horrific display of self mutilation like Sniper perceived as such. It stared at the decapitated appendage, waiting. Sniper did too, silent as a fox. And then the hand grew.

Twisting flesh grew from its wrist like a blooming flower, growing and growing more and more. And whether it was the hypnotic dance of the skin forming, or simply unable to look away from the disturbing display, Sniper watched as the hand grew to become connected with a body.

A body that had the same rippling skin, the same bare form, as the one it was made from. But when it stood, slouched, lethargic, it looked shorter. Slimmer, with a longer torso and arms to match. And a face, almost. No mouth or nose was there, but it did grow eyes.

The first, and taller one, grabbed the other by its hand, pulling it towards itself.

"Don't worry, I'll be gentle!" it teased, pinching the smaller one's cheek. The smaller swatted away, and stumbled, looking around and at itself.

"What the h*ll… aRe wE doin'... NOw ?" Scout's voice demanded to know, and Sniper's heart froze. The older one pointed at the cocoons along the ceiling.

"..Our MISssOn." A voice, one Sniper hadn't heard from it before, garbled and twisted up in knots, erupted from the older. It sounded faintly European. He watched the pair chat in stitched together words and phrases. They hadn't noticed him yet. He should probably make sure it stays that way.

Sniper grabbed his bag, and put it on as quietly as he could. Never letting them out of his sight, he crept backwards towards the slope he fell down. He'd need to look away to climb it but until then, he was going to keep a close eye, in case he had to make a break for it-

The smaller had been looking around when it spotted Sniper. The two made eye contact, and Sniper couldn't help but swallow at the thunder cloud blue eyes staring back. It then glared.

"The freakin' Sniper's a Spy!" It shouted, pointing at Sniper. The other whipped around, its face blank and rippling. But even without that, he could feel the anger radiating off it.

"YOU." It growled. "GOT AWAY."

Sniper spun and scaled the slope, heart racing. The screams of the damned rose up behind him, some he even recognized. His hands grabbed the edge and he hoisted himself up and over.

Giving the cocoons a mental apology, Sniper booked it through the tunnel. The darkness had never felt so hindering before. Slamming into walls, cutting his arms and hands on sharp outcroppings, he was losing whatever pitiful lead he had and quickly. Behind him he heard the words "stay here!". As if he would follow those directions! His feet pounded, creating deafening echoes, trailing the marksman like his predator.

The webs. He'd found them again, giving him enough light to follow the path. Spy's laugh echoed behind him. Of course it would use the bloody spook when chasing him.

The open room was in his sight, from there-

Where would he go!? It was endless circles, and he wouldn't make it through that hellish crawlspace again! He needed time!

Breathing running ragged, Sniper reached into his backpack. Come on, come on!

Bingo!

He spun and lobbed a mason jar the hardest he could, hitting his assailant, who had taken the form of Soldier, directly in the face, or helmet. It screamed in pain, or anger, Sniper didn't care. He stayed only to watch the water begin to burn through the now rippling flesh before sprinting down the last of the corridor and into the open area.

He yelled in shock and didn't have time to stop before colliding with Scout, the real one. They fell, and Scout screamed in pain having landed on his bad arm. And Sniper could only just keep from passing out as his head spun faster than a top.

"Holy crap, where have you freakin' been, you *sshole!?" Scout yelled, obviously annoyed for several reasons. Sniper just looked at him before jumping to his feet and pulling Scout up with him.

"Did you find a way out!?" he demanded.

"What?"

"Did you find a way out!?" he shouted, shaking the damp runner, who glared at him with distrust.

"Yeah, cause I actually kept look-"

"It's here. Where is it?" Sniper's grip tightened. Scout, who first looked indignant, now caved in abject horror. But that gave way to a fierce determination.

"Follow me!" He said, and speed-hobbled towards a mineshaft. Sniper was right on his heels, looking over his shoulder. He could hear a very annoyed German man now.

"Right, hope you're a good swimmer, dude!"

Wait, what? Sniper spun back and watched as Scout dove into the pool of ink in the middle of the floor. Sniper grinded to a halt at the edge of the water, staring into the lake with wide eyes. Scout apparently noticed his hesitation, and popped back up with his hair sticking to his face.

"Come on! This is the way out!"

"There's got to be another way," Sniper said, shaking his head and backing away. Not this option, not this one.

"There isn't!" Scout roared, "I've looked, we've looked, there's nothing else! NOW GET IN THE ****IN' WATER!" He grabbed Sniper's ankle and pulled.

Before he could take a breath, Sniper was engulfed in freezing blackness. It was everywhere, and the frost forced him to take a breath. Instantly, his lungs were filled with that darkness. He coughed, hacked, desperate to take in a breath. The surface, where was it!? He clawed at the dark, feeling himself get pulled deeper below. No, not like this! NOT LIKE THIS!

NOT LIKE-

Sniper broke through the surface, pulled by his arm into a small air pocket. The water that filled his lungs was coughed up droplet by droplet as he pushed himself flat against the wall, grabbing anything to stay afloat. Besides him, Scout treaded water, watching unimpressed.

"So you can't swim, is what I'm getting from this." Sniper couldn't respond, he was too busy gulping down the precious oxygen he couldn't have before. The subzero water drenched his clothes, sticking to his skin, leaving no heat. "Here, gimme your bag, I'll take it to the surface so you don't drown yourself." Scout grabbed Sniper's backpack and handed him the torch. Fumbling with it due to his shaking hands, Sniper flicked it on as Scout dove beneath the surface and into an underground water system. His hands shook more, and it was all he could do to not drop beneath the water.

He waited, shivering, listening to the tell tale signs of Scout swimming back, or something else. No, it couldn't follow. Water hurts it, right? It wouldn't chase him down here, and drag him below the surface-

Sniper shut his eyes, pulse pounding faster than he could handle. It, this was awful. Bloody awful. Out of all the places to get free-

"I'm back!" Scout erupted from the water, causing Sniper to scramble away, assuming the worst. 'Holy crap, dude, calm down, it's just me."

"It's not-" He swallowed, the taste of dirt water on his tongue, "It's not you it's. It's th. It's this. This whole mess!" Scout looked around, chewing his cheek.

"Well, it can't follow us. Water hurts it." he stated. The runner then gestured for Sniper to follow him, "now c'mon, let's get outta here, my *ss is freezin' off." He dove once more.

Then reemerged when he noticed Sniper hadn't moved.

"Dude, what's the hold up?" The marksman's eyes hadn't left the water's surface, staring into the dark ripples waiting to swallow him. He shook his head in defeat.

"I can't do this…" Sniper croaked. "I can't do this."

"The h*ll do ya mean ya can't do this?" Scout snapped, "You're a grown *ss man, you can swim enough to make it out!"

"Jay, I-" Sniper bit his tongue at the slip up, but it caught Scout's attention. He waited for the Australian to finish, with a less judgmental expression. So he took a breath, a shaky one.

"If it were open," he started, voice rough with raw emotion and cave water, "if it was on the surface. And I can deal with small spaces, I can. There's just no surface down here. It's dark, enclosed, you can get turned around or stuck in small passageways so easily, and drown. It-"

"So it's the whole "bein' underground and underwater" thing?" Scout asked. Sniper hung his head, and nodded. Scout was silent, letting the information roll around in his head, before swimming a bit closer to Sniper.

"I'm terrified of Cockroaches," he said point blank. Sniper stared at Scout before he gave a weak smile.

"I already knew that based on your girly screams in Landfall, mate."

"Well you'd probably be freakin' scared stiff of them too if one fell into your mouth when you were sleeping at age freakin' four!" Sniper chuckled, and Scout pretended to act offended. The mood didn't stay cheery as Sniper turned back to the black water.

"Hey." Scout nudged him with his elbow, "I won't let ya drown. I'm gonna get you outta here." He was so sure of that, so confident. Sniper didn't trust it, but that confidence was the only thing he had.

"How long do we have to swim for?"

"Kinda long," his heart dropped, "but there's two more air pockets along the way so it'll be fine. Lemme just," Scout ducked into the water again. And when he resurfaced, his expression was bitter smugness.

"I caught it looking at us." he said, sneering, "sticking its head in the water, like it could get us. Looked angry, let's make it angrier by getting out of here." Scout punched Sniper shoulder and dove. Taking a deep breath, and regretting all of his life decisions that led him to this point, Sniper dove too.

The water was black, but the torch's beam illuminated the underwater passage enough to swim through. Although the current was slow, it was cold, and keeping his eyes open underwater was a trial of perseverance. Ahead was Scout, leading the way. Behind, when Sniper looked, was a head glaring in their direction. It didn't look like the monster, but from here, it was hard to tell.

Right when his chest started to warm up with carbon, they reached the second pocket. A small break was taken, then onwards. The third was closer than the second, and Sniper's nerves weren't threatening to jump out of his skin. They reached it, and Scout took only a single breath before diving again. Sniper followed a second later. The water grew lighter, the black growing into a dingy dishwater grey. Then a few bubbles escaped his lips in shock as the sight of a narrow hole came to view.

Scout swam right through it, propelling himself through by grabbing the sides and thrusting himself forwards. Sniper tried to do the same, and for a horrible moment, his fleece caught on the edge, and he felt himself get stuck. But a frantic tug ripped him free, and the shimmering white surface broke at the touch of his fingers.

"We made it!" he heard Scout shout out. Sniper let himself smile, even though the surface was just as wet as the shallow lake he'd popped out in. It was Sawmill alright, stormy weather and everything. Literally stormy, it was pouring buckets, and he heard the rumble before he saw the flash of white deep within the upcoming clouds.

"Oh woah, this's the RED team base! Look," Scout pointed as he dragged himself to the lake's bank. Sniper turned as he felt the ground under his feet. Sure enough, there was the RED base, standing proud and undamaged. The mines must cover the entire estate of land. Farther in the distance was the BLU base, looking like a miniature from where Sniper stood. And where he stood was in the water. The freezing cold water.

"Wait, Scout, you're not going to believe what I found down there," He called out to the runner, who was rigging out his own jacket in vain. At his name, Scout looked over, and Sniper opened his mouth to tell him about the cocoons-

When something grabbed his ankle and yanked him below the surface. Water flooded his mouth, and Sniper nearly screamed as he was being pulled back into the tunnel. He grabbed for anything to use, to pull himself free. He kicked, chest filling with a warmth, and whipped around to see a pair of deep brown eyes.

It looked like a man. No rippling flesh, no twisting faces and thousand eyes or chest mouths. A man with pale skin, a roman nose, and eyes so black even the surface light couldn't lighten them. In the water, like blood and ink, that shimmering liquid floated away from the body. Whenever a hint of red grew on the skin, it immediately dissolved into the white ink.

Sniper snarled and kicked the thing. It only pulled faster and soon Sniper was being dragged through the narrow hole. He grabbed the sides and pulled. And suddenly, the water exploded into a cloud of bubbles and ripples as Scout dove after. The runner shot forwards and grabbed Sniper's hand. He planted his feet on the rock wall and pulled with all his might.

A spiral of bubbles filled Sniper's vision, and his chest was growing tight. Air, he didn't grab enough. The marksman struggled with everything he had to get free. The hands latched around his ankle would not be so easily shaken. The man, when Sniper tried to kick again, energy slipping faster and faster, flashed an evil grin.

It was darkening, and that pain in his chest was growing by the millisecond. The cold of the black water filled his limbs, slowing him down, growing tired. The only warmth left was the hand encased in his own.

Air…

Sniper grimaced, vision growing darker than the water.

Air, please…

Scout pulled even harder, panicking.

Not like this…

The tightness forced him to take a breath.

Blackness filled his lungs.

There was no air.

His vision collapsed.

When he felt Sniper's grip go limp, Scout pulled as hard as he could. Harder than any game of Tug of War, harder than anyone, harder than life itself. And soon Sniper was just far enough out for Scout to get access to the b*****d's hands. He darted forwards, and bit down with all his might. Through the water he heard it scream and it released his teammate's leg.

Wasting no time, Scout wrapped his arms around the marksman's torso, and kicked off like a torpedo. The extra weight slowed him down, and his chest was filled with fire. But that didn't stop him.

With a thundercrack, the pair broke through the surface. Scout gasped for air, filling his lungs and beginning to shiver with exhaustion. He dragged Sniper through the water and onto the muddy bank. There, he dropped him, and fell himself like a wet bag of cement.

"Oh ****, that was too freakin' close." he wheezed, "like, oh man, we actually could have died there. Oh man." Scout rolled onto his elbows, and through half lidded eyes, looked over at his waterlogged companion.

"You owe me, like, three life debts now, and you best bet I'm gonna…" he paused. Sniper lay there, facing away. "Sniper? Snipes?" An alarm was already blaring in Scout's mind base, saying something like 'Alert, the BLU Sniper is Not Moving!'. Which wasn't a good sign at all.

"Sniper, come on, get up!" He scrambled over to his teammate. Sniper didn't move. Scout's heart was starting to beat. Ohh, Sniper's own better be beating too! Scout grabbed the marksman's wrist. Then he jabbed his fingers under his jaw. And then his wrist again.

He sat up, cold. Frozen. Scout looked around, eyes wide in distress. No, the only road was too far away. He was alone, and the Medigun was broken. There was only one thing he could do.

A moment passed, and Scout rolled Sniper onto his back, clambered on top, and started to push the heel of his palm and stump into his chest.

"You. Are. Not. Going. To Do. This. To Me!" Scout hissed. He should have paid more attention when Medic was teaching them CPR. It was just so boring, and how was he supposed to know if he'd ever need to do it!? Well now he sure did! AND HE COULDN'T EVEN DO IT RIGHT, HE WAS DOWN A HAND!

Pattern, it was a pattern, a certain number of beats per somethin'! What was it, 3,2,1? No, too quick, too little. D*mnit, Mick's life was at stake here! Scout just kept pushing into Sniper's chest. No elbow bending, he knew that, and if ribs cracked, that's a-o-kay, he'll live!

A dull crunch noise met Scout's ears, and he instinctively drew back, knowing what he'd done. But he couldn't stop! So, he placed his hand back on Sniper's sternum and started to focus on the rhythm he needed.

1,

2,

3,

1,

2,

3,

His arm was burning horribly. He should have used a medkit, he didn't need to use all of them on Sniper, cause one sure would be helpful right about now! It was probably gross again and any sort of contact made it feel like it had been caught under a jet engine so- focus!

1,

2,

3,

1,

2,

3,

Sniper still wasn't moving, he wasn't breathing. Breathing, that was another thing to this whole shabang! And Scout grimaced.

"Wake up," he practically begged the unresponsive man, "dude, please, wake up, I don't wanna freakin' do that, it's freakin' gross! And you'd hate it too!" Of course, he didn't respond, he was d- No, no, okay, he'd do it! Taking the biggest breath of his life, and putting up several mental barriers, he paused his compressions. And leaned over and did it. He then leaned back, spat, and started compressing again.

The pattern was fixed, compress, breathe, spit, repeat.

1,

2,

3,

1,

2,

3,

Sniper still wasn't moving. Not breathing on his own, not beating on his own. Wasn't it the longer he didn't move the more likely it was that-

Scout flinched when a deafening thundercrack filled the air. That was far too close, this was dangerous! But Mick still wasn't moving! Another crash of lightning flooded the runner's ears, and he whimpered at the close proximity. But he didn't stop.

"Get up," he began to whisper as the storm bore down harder, "get up, get up, please get up." His vision was burning and blurring, so much so that Mick's face was now unrecognizable. "Please, please get up! I promise I won't make fun of your stupid van anymore, or you throwing your own piss at people just please get up!" His voice was wavering. "I-I freakin' promised I wouldn't let you drown, please, please! GET UP, PLEASE!" The thunder sent his ears ringing. "I don't freakin' care if you hate me when you wake up, or you beat on me, or throw me out but just WAKE UP ALREADY!" There was no response. Why would there? Mick wasn't waking up. Scout still did chest compressions, despite his arm bleeding all over himself and his friend.

His best freakin' friend in the whole, stupidly wide world.

Scout sniffed as another bolt of lightning deafened him. He looked up at the thunderous sky. The clouds rumbled a warning not to test them. A deep electrical crackling, almost like laughter. He glared up at the sky, and its smug rumbling chuckles. They didn't think he would do it; they were calling his bluff. Scout narrowed his eyes and bolted.

He slid at the pile of backpacks he made on the lake side, Ripping Sniper's bag open, he searched faster and faster. Each second he wasn't compressing was another percentage point that Mick wouldn't wake up. As he dug, Scout started to rip the bandages off his arm with his teeth. It rubbed it raw, and stuck with some diseased slime, but he needed it bare.

His hand clamped around the handle of Sniper's kukri, and he raced back, lightning on his tail. Scout skidded to a halt at Mick's side, dropped the knife, and grabbed the marksman's coat. The zipper was caught on something, he pulled really hard. No, a waste of time, Scout grabbed the knife, and sliced it across his friend's front. The coat fell away, and the runner wasted no time ripping his shirt open too.

A crackle of lightning filled the air. Would this work, he didn't know. But it was the only option he had left at this point. Scout, with gritted teeth, planted his still bleeding stump right above Sniper's heart, raised the kukri to the sky, and waited with bated breath.

The sky rumbled, calling his bluff.

Scout braced himself, tightening his grip.

Try me.

A pain unlike anything Sniper had ever felt before flooded his veins and nerves. It was like all his muscles, tendons, and ligaments all compressed into a hundred springs and all set off at once. He screamed himself hoarse as he felt his body convulse with the energy surging through him. And as soon as it started, it stopped, and all Sniper could do was lay there with his heart beating out of his chest and wonder what the ever loving **** had happened.

He took in a breath and started to cough up water. Racing into a sitting position, Sniper coughed and coughed until it felt like he'd hacked up a lung and a half. After he was able to take in a full lung of air without dying of water moisture, Sniper ran a hand down his face.

"Oh, what the actual h*ll was that?" He paused when something grabbed his attention. It was a smell. It was hard to forget because of how distinct it was. The smell of burning hair. He ran a hand through his hair to find it soaking wet. So, Sniper looked down-

"Oy! Get off!" He lightly shoved Scout off his lap. The kid, it seemed, was out of it, and the source of the burning hair. The edges of his hair were charred black, and his eyes were unfocused, pupils resembling pinpricks, and trembling violently. "What happ-"

His shirt was cut open, and his fleece, leaving his chest exposed. That was concerning in and of itself, but what really caught his attention was the red, dripping stain of blood right below his collarbone. Sniper looked over at Scout, who was still trembling.

"What the h*ll happen-" He didn't get to finish his sentence as Scout tackled him to the ground, trapping his arms to his side in a rib crushing hug. Actually, literally, there was an awful dull thumping in his chest that was the tell-tale sign of a broken rib. "Kid, get off!"

"It worked!" Scout's broken voice was pressed against his shoulder, "It worked! You're alive!" Sniper stiffened at the words.

"W-What?" he pried Scout off, and again, lightly shoved him away, "What are you talking about?"

"Youdidn'thaveapulseandyouwouldn'twakeupandIdidn'tknowwhattodosoIdiddatCPRcrapbutitwasn'tworkin'and-" Scout paused his rambles as he glared as Sniper. Then he socked him in the jaw with a less than powerful punch.

"I wasted my first kiss on you, you ****in' s**tbag!" Scout shouted, absolutely livid. Meanwhile, Sniper was just horribly confused.

"Huh?"

"Freakin', let's just-ju-just go," Scout said behind chattering teeth, "I'm sick of looking at you just lying-ng there." He stumbled to his feet, still holding the kukri, and shambled over to his backpack. Sniper followed after, hissing quietly at the soreness that filled every fiber of his being. He took his own backpack, which felt incredibly heavy, and followed after the runner.

His eyes wandered down to Scout's wounded arm. And while the sight of red still dripping was something he knew wasn't a good sign, Sniper just couldn't bring himself to ask about it.

He had something else he had to bring up to his youngest teammate.

Chapter Text

"Do you have any idea just how dangerous that was!?"

"It worked, d-didn't it?"

"That's not the bloody point," Sniper rubbed at his tired eyes, "you could have gotten killed doing that!"

"Well I didn't, so-" Scout sneezed, stumbling backwards. Sniper shot a hand out and grabbed his upper arm before the kid fell onto the soaking wet grass. Not that it would make much of a difference, they were already soaking wet with freezing cold water, and that water just kept pouring down along with some serious wind furthering their future hypothermia. To combat the cold, the two had silently agreed to walk as close as possible. That, and without the extra support, Sniper could safely assume neither of them would be able to walk. Pulling Scout upright, the marksman resumed holding his side to keep his screaming nerves at a bare minimum. The broken rib was a real pain in his *rse but he wasn't going to complain. That pain, the sharp jabs and splintering deep in his muscles, was proof he was alive, along with the limping man to his left.

Scout wasn't faring any better. At this point, it was a bloody miracle he was still walking. And not just the fact that he'd willingly let himself become a jumper cable to restart Sniper's heart using a lightning bolt, but the cold was obviously stealing away what was left of the runner's energy, or what was left of the lightning that might have been stored away.

A bloody lightning bolt…

"Honestly, what made you think that doing that was in any way a good idea?" Sniper demanded to know, forcing himself to talk without stuttering from the cold. Scout, already hunched over to preserve body heat, slouched even more.

"I didn't know what else would work, okay?"

"So you let lightning strike you?"

"I just wanted to-"

"Doing that won't just fade away, Scout, getting struck can kill you! Not to mention the burns, possible permanent nerve and brain damage, and tons of other bloody problems we can't deal with at the moment!" Luckily, neither of them seemed to have any permanent issues, at least, from what Sniper could tell while sporting a concussion. But the way Scout kept stumbling, stopping and looking around confused, it was pretty obvious that he was, at the very least, highly disoriented. All Sniper could hope for was that it would be temporary. He didn't want to drag around a man whose sense of time and space was forever altered.

"I just didn't want ya to die on me, is that so wrong!?" Scout finally snapped. His tone was biting and cold, but his expression revealed the hurt underlying it. Sniper sighed.

"No, I just think you could have gone about it differently, so that it wasn't such a gamble." he said, looking back. They'd been walking for a good fifteen minutes at this point, now closer to the BLU base than the RED. Although the tall firs blocked most of the skyline, Sniper could make out through the branches the dusty red boards of the large building they left behind. Perhaps they should have looked in it, tried to find something, and communicated with someone. But they didn't, and still, the two of them were still alone, with nobody knowing where they were or if they were still alive. He turned back towards Scout, who held his arm, bandaged poorly in a tattered shirt, close to his chest.

"...Why'd you do it?"

"Huh?"

"Why did you do it? Even after what, what I said." Sniper repeated. Scout furrowed his brow in confusion, before he realized what Sniper had meant.

"Well, anyone would've done it, I mean, it's the right thing to do, right? And I promised I wasn't gonna let ya drown so… yeah." Scout said, using his hand to make small gestures at nothing in particular, "and I kinda figured ya didn't actually mean what ya said cause I know that ya hated being there, like how I hated being in Landfall and said things I didn't actually mean. So, yeah, and… ya didn't mean it, right? What ya said, ya didn't actually mean it, right?" Sniper opened his mouth to say… say what? That he didn't? That he did? Because on some level, in all honesty, he… he did mean it. Could it have been handled with more tact, with some more nuance. But it was the truth, and Scout needed to understand that. Needs to understand that. They were not… he wasn't… the kid wasn't bad, he wasn't too intolerable, but, this, all of it was… he couldn't say it though. He couldn't just ditch the kid now, after what he did, after what they had to deal with, but, ugh, why was this so complicated?

"You didn't actually mean it, right?"

"...let's just focus on getting out of this wretched rain, alright?" Sniper mumbled, looking away. Besides him, he felt Scout tense up, before the kid let out a quiet "...okay."

The pair limped through the evergreens, dirtying their shoes, shivering from cold and exhaustion. Behind them, the rumble of thunder faded into the distance, like a good-natured farewell, see you soon. Another ten minutes of walking, and never before had Sniper been so happy to spot his home.

The van was untouched, waiting patiently. The inside would be safe, have warm clothes, blankets, towels, and food. A bed with a real mattress he could lie on, and some bandages that would help keep his ribcage together. There he could use some Medkits to heal himself, and then get them the h*ll outta dodge.

They reached the door, and Sniper let Scout in first since the runner looked ready to collapse. And collapse he did, right onto the bench. It wasn't as warm inside as Sniper wished it was, but it was dry. With shivering hands, Sniper slipped off his waterlogged, torn tops. Well, these were ruined. Sure, he could sew them back, but that would take a lot more time and energy than he had at the moment. Besides, they weren't exactly sentimental. While rummaging for the driest, scratchiest towel he could, Sniper looked over at his companion. Scout had either died, or more preferably, had fallen asleep.

The runner sat there, looking like he'd just survived a typhoon. His clothes, once dry and clean, were now coated in mud, blood, and cave water. Skin pale and glistening with rain trails, Scout resembled more of a half drowned rat than a human at the moment. And he needed new bandages.

…

Wasn't there something else he needed to tell him? The slate of his mind had been wiped clean when the kid had told him he'd brought him back to life using the elements, which had been quite the shock…

…

That was awful, okay, now he was making puns, he really had hit his head hard. After finally finding a towel and drying himself off, Sniper slipped into a long sleeved shirt(that wasn't a button up), and limped his way over to the still wet pile of Scout.

"Alright, c'mon," He grabbed the runner's shoulder, waking him up, "you'll freeze to death if you stay like that."

"Lay off," Scout grumbled, already starting to shiver more. Sniper sighed, plopped the towel on Scout's head, and began to ruffle his hair with no mercy. Well, as much as he could while injured.

"H-Hey!" Scout tried to retort, grabbing at Sniper's arms, "lay off! Quit it!"

"Don't need you catching a head cold," Sniper grunted, ignoring his victim's protests, "Medkits don't cure those."

"Will you stop!? I don't n-need your help!" Grabbed the towel, Scout ripped it out of the marksman's hands, giving his broken rib a spike of pain, and away from his now fluffy but still slightly damp hair. Surrendering the hair drying to the runner, Sniper instead got to finding some dry clothes for him.

"Did you pack any trousers of yours? All I'm finding are shirts."

"I-It's near the b-bottom."

"Well I can't find the- is this a pig?" Sniper lifted up the squishy, plush filled toy out of the backpack. It was soft, if not very worn down, and had a large brown spot on its back that he couldn't tell if it was part of the design or some old stain. Scout had paused his hair fluffing and had frozen at the sight of the toy.

"Put that down!"

"It's kinda cute," Sniper chuckled, squeezing the plush in his hands, "why is it so round? That's adorable!"

"Gimme it!" Scout shot forward, ears red. Sniper was quicker though, as he stood from the ground and lifted his arms high above his head despite the pain it caused, out of Scout's reach.

"Did ya write your name on its hooves?" Sniper turned the animal around, looking at it from all angles with a grin. "It's so round!"

"GIVE HIM TO ME!"

"Oh, a him, huh? C'mon, tell us what ya named him."

"Screw you, give him back!"

"Not till you tell me what you named him."

"No!"

"Then I'm keeping him."

"Screw you, no you're not, give Mr. TruffleSnuffle back!-" Scout clamped his mouth shut, red spreading through his cheeks.

Sniper laughed in disbelief. "Mr. TruffleSnuffle?"

"SHUT UP!" Scout leapt up and grabbed his pig out of Sniper's grasp, which had weakened from the marksman's laughter, and stumbled away, indignant.

"You're such a f-freakin' *sshole…" Scout hissed. At that, Sniper's merriment took a pause at the viciousness of Scout's tone.

"I'm just teasing," Sniper replied, grabbing his side again, "I honestly don't care if you have a stuffy or not."

"Don't you have a van to drive away from this hellhole?" The runner limped back over to the bench, placing his toy on the table top, and shakily slipping off his jacket. Sniper froze, then slapped a hand to his forehead.

"Ah, bugger, that's right. Okay," he grabbed Scout's backpack and tossed it to the runner, who was knocked onto his side from the force. "Get changed, wrap you arm up, use some Medkits and save some for me once I get us out of this d*mned place." And with that, Sniper grabbed the keys laying on the countertop, stepped back outside, and was instantly peppered with rain and far away rumbles.

"Ah, piss!" he swore as he trotted to the driver's seat. Of course he forgot his rain jacket. Rocketing behind the wheel, Sniper started the car and relished in the gravelly purr the engine erupted into. Taking one last scrutinizing look at the forests, the marksman shifted gears, and soon the trees and bases were fading into the mist crawling over the hills.

Once he could no longer see the BLU base as it was covered by firs and hills, Sniper let out a breath he hadn't noticed keeping. The soft pats of raindrops hitting the windshield, and the feeling of leather under his palms as he gripped the wheel, it was all so familiar.

And soon Sniper was overcome by an overwhelming sense of Deja-vu. Driving away from Sawmill, the rain pouring down, and having a less than healthy Scout in the back.

Right. Scout. The runner who had risked his life to save Sniper's. The marksman sighed, running a hand down his face.

The kid shouldn't have done that, it was so dangerous. He wasn't ungrateful, thanks to Scout, he was alive, just… he could have gotten seriously injured. More than he already was, the kid was just too impulsive. At least it worked out in this situation. Sniper sighed again.

He shouldn't have teased the kid about his little toy, it was immature. Acting like he was back in grade school, and like Scout was just a…

…

No. His grip on the wheel tightened. No, why was he getting worried, Scout could do whatever he wanted, he wasn't Sniper's responsibility. If the runner wanted to risk his own life to bring Sniper's back, then let him. If he got himself killed, well, then that would simply be how life played out. Even if that thought tasted sour, Scout willingly joined. He chose to be a mercenary, he knew what the risks and costs were.

…

Actually, Scout probably didn't, although Sniper couldn't tell if it was on purpose or simply ignorance on the Bostonian's part. He acted like the team were all supposed to be friends, as if he knew absolutely nothing about the power that title held in their line of work. "Friends" with assassins, hitmen, contracted killers, arguably the most morally bankrupt people on the planet(with exceptions), was a one way ticket to getting hurt. Showing any kind of interest, weakness, or vulnerability around people like them could and would be used against them. That was simply what happened again and again.

Trust was something that couldn't be built, comradery was something that couldn't be built, love was something that couldn't be felt, grief was something that couldn't be felt. Those were always thrown back in your face, he had the scars to prove it, either by being betrayed or losing the people you let yourself grow to care about through moral disagreements, or death. Scout himself added to them.

At least the runner came back for him.

He came back. Yes, Scout was rude, annoying, didn't know when to shut up, egotistical, and had basically no manners. And he did ditch Sniper when the going got tough, like so many others. It felt like too many to count.

But Scout still came back.

…

…he should have at the very least helped Scout dress his arm up before driving. Having one hand wouldn't do so well with keeping the wrappings together. It was the right thing to do. Sniper groaned, massaging his forehead.

Why couldn't he just stop this? Scout was not his friend. He was just a coworker who just so happened to survive the attack at Sawmill and Sniper had had the good enough sense to take him in so that he wouldn't die. That's what happened, and that's what it stayed as.

Course, if Sniper had just left as soon as he regained consciousness, he wouldn't be having this discussion with himself, and he wouldn't be this worried over some scout he happened to save, who had seven brothers, whose second favorite sport was Hockey with his first being Baseball, who could split an apple in half, who had a huge family whom he obviously loved, and-

Sniper rolled down his side window and let his hand slip out, letting the rain shower his skin in frozen shards. Soon enough, his hand was dripping wet, and the cold had seeped deep into his nerves. A distraction from the roundabout turmoil his mind kept playing out. He didn't want to get any closer to Scout, but he couldn't just…

This was going to be difficult, but it had to be done. For both their sakes.

…

He forgot to tell Scout about their team! Stupid bloody concussions… Alright, he'd have to break the news to the runner once they stopped. Sniper snuck a glance at the side mirror, as if he'd be able to see through the van and check on his companion using it. The inside didn't have a seat belt like the actual…

He hadn't buckled up. Slightly irritated at everything but mostly himself, Sniper finally put on his seat belt after, what, how long had they been driving already? W-What time was it anyway? How long had they been underground, how long had he been comatose, what day was it!?

Sniper looked down at his wrist. His watch read 6:45. However, neither hand moved, the water had damaged it.

D*mn.

Okay, so, obviously he shouldn't be driving for very long if his mind was still skipping like a vinyl disc. But Scout was a danger to himself and others behind the wheel, especially now, and besides, he didn't want anyone behind the wheel of his van while he was still conscious.

Ah, bugger, he'd forgotten to turn on the windshield wipers. No wonder he was having such a hard time focusing on the road, the road was currently impossible to focus on.

Yeah, monster who looked like an average bloke or not, Sniper was going to stop at the closest campsite or hiking trail and call it a day.

He could not keep doing this for six hours straight.

Sniper finally stopped at an out-of-the-way lookout point after about six hours of driving. He hadn't planned it, he passed a good three campsites they could have used, but he forgot that he was supposed to stop driving after a while. The rain, thankfully, had stopped, passing the torch to a thick white fog. While the parking space was small and unkept with grass and moss inching out from the large cracks within the broken cement, the actual landscape the lookout was made for was vast.

Hills, and melting into the horizon, mountains grew from the earth, evergreens coating the formations in soft blues, greys, and greens. The mist from the storm was crawling through the trees, appearing almost like claws cutting scars into the ground. And behind the far country, deep billowing clouds, now white from lack of water, moved as one; a nimbostratus migration.

It would be the perfect place to birdwatch. Or hunt, but one of those seemed more legal than the other. And Sniper had more important things to do at the moment than search for Blue Jays.

Oh boy, Scout, right, hopefully the kid didn't get too ruffled up from the drive. But so what if he did, why should he care?- No, no, none of that at the moment, he didn't need to get back into this right now. Filing his mental debates away and into the back of his mind, Sniper made his way to the camper's door, and entered.

It was dark inside, with the only light coming from through the thin cracks of the closed blinds. It was quiet too, much too quiet for someone like Scout. Sniper closed the door behind, worry prickling at the back of his head. Where'd he-

Oh, he was asleep. There was Scout, curled up on the bench, wrapped in the blanket he'd pulled from Sniper's bed, and cuddling his little pig with his face pressed firmly against the toy's side. Well, perhaps the drive wasn't as bad for the runner as Sniper thought it would be. Either way, Scout was fast asleep. Well, that was alright, Sniper had some things to put away anyway.

Kneeling down and grabbing their backpacks, Sniper placed them on the table as quietly as he could and began to sort through them.

First he went through his own. Out came his kukri and back on its hook, then some jars and bottles of water, some food they didn't eat(Sniper's mouth was starting to water just looking at it), rope, batteries for torches, the toolbox he'd picked up in Engie's workshop, and the ammo he'd also found. Next was Scout's bag, noticeably heavier. No wonder the kid had such a hard time walking. In it was his Machina which he unloaded and put on the safety before leaning it against the wall. The Medigun followed after, heavy in Sniper's arms and completely useless. He sneered down at the lifeless hunk of metal and other bits and pieces only Medic knew made up the contraption. They really risked their lives for this, and it wasn't even working. He placed it on the counter with the toolbox. Maybe he could try fixing it, though he'd probably do more harm than good.

Along he went, taking out and folding the clothes Scout had haphazardly stuffed into his bag, some headsets that he didn't want to touch just yet, food, water, rope and… was there something missing? Sniper furrowed his brow, looking down at the red blazer he was busy folding. It sure felt like it, that they had lost something. Or, maybe they'd forgotten it? Sniper took his bag and rummaged through it again.

…no, it was empty, and now Scout's was too with everything packed away and stored. Was it… ah, it was a couple things actually. That club Scout brought, and his aviators. Well d*mn, and those were already his spare ones, he didn't have another pair. That was disappointing, to say the least.

Slightly glum, Sniper grabbed one of the granola bars they'd packed, and began to tear into it. He never liked the chewy ones, the hard kinds were far superior. Of course, the hard kinds tended to burst into crumbs after the first bite, which, like clockwork, happened to Sniper, covering his shirt in oat particles. Well, that was just the way the cookie, or in this case, granola bar crumbles. Brushing his shirt off, the marksman's eye caught sight of something lying on the floor.

Picking it up and instantly shivering from the wet, freezing touch, Sniper recognized it as the jacket he'd lent Scout. Figures that the runner would just leave it here and not hang it up to dry. Grumbling, the marksman searched through the pockets mostly out of principle. Not checking pockets before putting things in the wash was a sure fire way of losing things like lighters, dollars, lists for groceries, errands, people needing sniping, that kind of stuff. He didn't really think he'd find anything but it was still good to keep a good habit going-

His fingers grazed something cold, metal, and smooth. Sniper grabbed it, slipped it out of the sodden coat, and laughed in astonishment.

It was his sunglasses, complete intact. He turned the attire around in his hands, smiling at the small accessory. Apparently though, his single bark of awe was a bit too loud, as Sniper looked up to see Scout shifting and sitting up.

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to wake you," he apologized. Scout sat there, rubbing his eye, and covered in the blanket making him look that much younger. Then, the runner yawned, and then wearily opened his eyes, all the while slightly shivering.

"Freakin'... what the heck, dude, can't a guy get some freakin' beauty sleep around here?" Scout grumbled, squinting at the marksman. "Think you can j. Just hog that stuff," he sleepily smirked, and held up his pig, "heh, get it? Hog?"

"...Hilarious." Sniper deadpanned, dropping the coat on the counter.

"Heck yeah, I am. Betcher just jealous of my natural charm, that'll ggeet all the hot chicks. You're so freakin' lucky Fran's taken or else she'd be smitten with me, y'hear? So lucky I don't go after taken chicks."

"...Who's Fran?" Scout's eyes snapped wide, staring at Sniper like he'd just turned into a combustible lemon.

""Who's Fran?", he freakin' says, getta load a this guy! What, did ya h-hit your stupid fat head getting back here or something?"

"Well, yes, I did."

"You freakin' serious?" Scout asked, "Like, dead on, ain't pppulling my leg or something like ya already do all the time?"

"...No?"

"Fran. Fran, the girl you had goo-goo eyes for since ninth grade, Frannie, Francine, your freakin' sweetheart, Francine Potts? YOUR GIRLFRIEND!?" Scout shouted, staring Sniper down. The marksman only stood there, aviators in hand, staring back at the runner in silence. Scout was still talking, slightly stuttering, and still shivering. Sniper spoke.

"What's my name?"

Scout paused. "Wha?"

"What's my name?" The runner scoffed, the blanket slipping from his thin shoulders.

"Jeez, first ya forget Fran then ya forget your name, nah, you really are just pulling my leg again! S-Screw you, Harv, seriously, you're the worst, making me worried over nothing." Scout rubbed his nose, glaring at nothing, "and why is it so freakin' cold in here, did you leave the window up? In February?"

"...It's not February, mate."

"Why the h*ll are ya talking Aussie? Ya don't look nothing like one, and it sucks."

Ouch. Fiddling with his shades, Sniper sighed, and moved to stand in front of Scout before kneeling to be at eye level, wincing slightly at the pain it caused his side.

"Scout," he said slowly, softly, trying to make every syllable count, "where are we right now, what are we in?" Scout made a funny face.

""Scout"? I ain't never been a Boy Scout, that was Henry. Man," he poked Sniper's forehead, "you really did hit your head, huh? Ma'll kill ya when she finds out."

"Kid, where are you right now?" Sniper repeated, putting Scout's hand to the side. The runner gave him a look before turning his head around, peering at everything. The longer he looked, the more his expression went from annoyed to nervous, and then to horror.

"...this ain't our room." he murmured, catching sight of the kukri hanging from it's hook. "Aw… aw crap. Aw crap, where are we!? How'd we get here!?"

"Listen," Sniper grabbed Scout's shoulders, keeping him grounded. "I'm going to tell you, alright? If you remember anything that I'm going to tell you, let me know, alright?" Scout only stared at him, and at this point Sniper didn't know if the runner still saw his older brother or him. But after a tense moment, Scout nodded, and Sniper felt the kid relax a bit. He let go, sighed, and tried to figure out where to start.

"Okay, let me first do this, maybe this'll help," Sniper slipped on his aviators with no reaction from Scout, "Alright, you don't go by Jeremy or Jay here. You're Scout, you were hired as a mercenary to fight in a war spanning… I don't know, bloody centuries at this point, in New Mexico. I was too, we fought on both sides, sometimes each other. Do you remember who I am?" Scout swallowed, and shook his head. "That's okay, I'm the Sniper, and we would fight on teams that had seven other positions. They're the Pyro, the Soldier, the Demoman, the Heavy, the Spy, the Medic, and one other. Do you know what the last class is?"

"N-no?"

"The Engineer. We all fought together and… ya getting any of this?" Sniper paused his talk when he met Scout's eyes. They were wide, and confused, but there was something. Perhaps more… recent events would work better.

"Right now you're in my camper van, do you know why?" Scout again shook his head, looking more nervous than before, "in one of our bases, we were attacked. I got knocked out during it, so I don't know myself what happened. But you and the rest of the team were attacked by a monster- don't give me that look, it's the truth. You and the others were attacked, there were bullet casings everywhere, blood on the floors, the walls were torn apart. And when I woke up, you lot were missing. All of you, gone, without a trace… except you." Sniper took Scout's shoulder, who flinched in response, "you managed to survive. Not without some scars, but you survived. And when I found you, I took ya in, got ya stitched up, and we've been on the run ever since.

"Do you remember any of that?" Sniper asked. Scout sat there, silent, wary and shaking.

"k-Kinda, I don't know," he whined, "didn't ya… I'm not at, I'm not home. You ain't Harv, I ain't home. And my hand's missing..." The runner stared down at his damaged arm, clearly disoriented.

"Before you fell asleep here, you… well, ya saved my life. Twice."

"I di- Oh crap, I did!" Scout perked up, almost smiling, running his hand through his hair. Sniper rolled his eyes, of course bringing that up would do the trick. "When ya fell- when we fell, and ya did hit your head, and then ya kept falling and wobbling around like "woah, hey, what's, what's going on, fellas?" as if you were drunk or something, and I save ya with lightning, and then you woke up, and then you told me, that, that it was a... a bad idea…" The runner's ramble ran its course, and Sniper was left to pick up the pieces.

"Well, it was, it was a really stupid decision," Sniper admitted, scratching his neck, "n-not that I'm not grateful for you doing that. For me. But… you could have seriously gotten hurt."

"Like I'm th-the freakin' picture perfect model of not-hurt dudes right now."

"I'm being serious, getting struck like that, heart starting or not, is deadly, why is this not connecting?"

"Why do you keep bringing it up like what I did was so freakin' bad!?" Scout shot back, "I saved your life."

"While risking yours with no forward thinking! If it had gone awry in any way, you and I wouldn't be standing here discussing this." He argued. The runner sat there, glaring at him. But not out of anger, something else.

"W-Why do you keep doing that?" Scout asked, running his hand through his hair. That was not the question Sniper was expecting.

"Doing what?"

"Bringing up me getting hurt from it." The runner explained, "You told me that you don't… that you don't like me. In the mines, you said that. So, freakin', just why are you acting like you care?" The question was followed by a tense silence with neither party wanting to follow up. But Sniper eventually did, slowly as he was still formulating his thoughts.

"It's not, I , I didn't… It's not that I… That I don't, don't care. It's, well, I never said I don't care about ya. But, ya need to understand, we… this, this can't…"

"But you still don't like me?" Scout pressed, "You "care" but you still hate m-my guts?"

"...Hate is… a bit of a strong word, lad." The runner said nothing, but it seemed he didn't need to. Whatever he was looking for, whatever he wanted to hear from Sniper, he got. He turned away, pulling the blanket around him, curling himself into a tight ball, making himself as small as possible. And Sniper was left standing there, waiting for a response he knew he wouldn't get.

After several moments of nothing, he walked to the door, telling Scout that he would be back in a bit, that he needed some air. Behind him, he heard Scout mumble something, but it was too quiet to decipher. One thing he could understand completely though, was the kid's face. The sight left a bitter taste on his tongue as he shut the door behind him.

He made his way to the front of the van, creating small plats whenever he stepped in a little puddle. With a huff, Sniper slipped back into the driver's seat and collapsed back into the cushioned chair. After a moment of just resting his eyes, Sniper plucked off his shades and rubbed the corners of his eyes where water had been forming from just how tired he was of all of this. The runner had taken it the wrong way, not that the right way was any better.

Ugh, he shouldn't have said anything then, not with how unstable Scout was, not right after being mistaken as his older brother. He'd been impatient, unprepared, and handled it with less tact than the marksman normally had. Now the expression Scout had when he left was etched into his vision. Anger, disbelief, misery. He didn't even tell him the good news about their team. Should've started with that, maybe then Scout wouldn't be so stuck on this issue. Maybe he wouldn't be so stuck on this issue. Sniper swallowed down the lime-like aftertaste building on his tongue. Just, that dejection he'd spotted right as he turned, right in the corner of his eye.

No, so what if Scout was upset, or offended. Offense was taken, not given. And he wasn't entitled to Sniper's company. It was about time he learned just what their titles cost them.

Opening the glove box, Sniper fished out the package of cigarettes he kept stashed, and with a shaking hand, took one.

He could really use a smoke right now.

The soft sound of light rain woke Sniper up from his nap. He didn't know when he'd fallen asleep, or how long, but it was still day by the looks of it, perhaps around two in the afternoon. Or only five minutes after sitting down. He made to check his watch, but remembered it was broken. Cursing under his breath, Sniper opened the door and stepped outside, nearly standing on the two cigarette butts he'd tossed out the window. Chill, silent water drops landed on his hat and shoulders, barely registered by the marksman as he put on his shades and limped back towards the camper's door. This blasted broken rib of his.

It would only make things worse if he waited longer to clear up what he'd left behind. No doubt that Scout, the stubborn b*****d, would ignore, or downright scoff at what Sniper would try and say to him. But he couldn't just leave the kid like that, so disoriented.

He shouldn't have left at all, it was a shirking of… not responsibility, something else. But it wasn't proper, and Sniper wasn't going to let whatever this thing, these emotions or what have you, get in the way of him setting the record straight.

Mentally preparing himself for the firestorm of wrath Scout was no doubt festering, Sniper opened the door.

Like before, it was dark. And like before, it was quiet. Sniper scanned the small space, stopping at the bench Scout was last sitting in.

He wasn't there. Sniper froze. Looking around, it was clear that Scout wasn't in the camper at all. The blanket had been bunched up, tossed away. And that was the only thing out of place. Nothing else on the counters, on the table, his bed, or the walls were in a position or place they shouldn't be in.

No.

There was one thing missing.

One thing Scout had taken with him.

Sniper jumped back out, slamming the door behind him. Where, where was he? Where did Scout go? He made to call out the runner's name, but it was then he noticed that the only thing he could hear was the rainfall.

The uneven, light tips and plips of the water landing on cement, trees, and his shirt, were the only noises the marksman could hear. Not the wind, not a bird, not a creaking branch or distant roaming vehicle from the highway ten minutes away. To break such a silence felt taboo, like laying a curse on himself. So he didn't. Instead, Sniper began to search.

As the light tap dance of rain fell onto his shoulders, Sniper headed towards a hiking trail he'd spotted from the overhang. It was the only place he'd think to look at. Making his way through the sparse trees and past the parking lot, he came to the trail sign.

So there were three paths that separated from this main one. The first went downhill, the second kept straight, and the third went uphill. P*ss, was he going to have to check each one? That would take forever. Perhaps he could just wait. Scout always seemed to come back, sometimes it took hours, sometimes days, sometimes Sniper didn't want him back, but he still kept coming back.

But what kind of message would that send, that Scout's interpretations were right? That Sniper really just wanted Scout dead so that he wouldn't have to carry him around anymore? No, he may not be a good man, but he wasn't that cruel yet. Sniper began to memorize the trails, judging their length and difficulty each would have with his broken rib. As he looked, tracing the downhill trail, the marksman spotted something from his side.

To any normal person, a truly average joe, no one would notice or care about the barely there deer trail cutting through some ferns. And perhaps Sniper wouldn't have cared either if he wasn't already on high alert. But Scout had used animal trails before to find a place of solitude...

It was worth a shot.

He marched down the uneven path, not caring if he left some footprints; he'd want a way back after all. Through ferns, bushes, and beneath towering pines, firs, and cedars Sniper limped. Soon the ferns gave way to ankle high grass, coated in glistening dew. Trees, once dense, distanced and grew sparse. And the clear air was soon filled with a thick, snow white mist. A deep cold clung to the air, sending shivers through the marksman's arms. The further he went, the more the mist surrounded the land, and the rain, once soft, had grown into a pattern, just enough to cause the grass to bend under its weight.

And as if it was a call, an invitation, Sniper entered the grove.

The clearing was wide, filled with nothing but that shining grass, rolling mist, and moss covered boulders. That, and a shivering, small figure, standing alone with his back towards Sniper. The sight of Scout, without any form of protection from the elements, caused a spark of irritation and…

Concern.

"Oy!" he shouted, forgetting the mystical silence he'd first worried about, "I get that you wanted to get away from me but did you have to go without a bloody jacket?" No answer. He opened his mouth to say something else, something snarky, something serious, but the words died on his lips. His companion didn't move, only continued to shiver, holding his arms close to his chest so that Sniper couldn't see them. The rain fell upon the grass, and the mist rolled past their ankles.

It was far too quiet.

Something was up.

"Scout?" The runner's head looked up towards the sky, letting the droplets coat his hair in freezing water. Sniper didn't say a word as he watched his teammate, who was the most energetic ball of smugness and caffeine he'd known, slowly shift on his feet, like he was encased in molasses. After far too long, Scout had turned just enough to show the side of his face, one that held an expression far too world weary for someone like him to ever have.

Something was wrong.

"Mate?"

"...Y'know, I've always kinda liked the rain," Scout said, his voice hardly louder than a whisper, but from the silence around them, it was loud enough to carry through the distant trees. "it has a real nice sound when it's hitting the bricks, makes the sidewalks shine under the streetlights, and it washes away all the junk and dirt that builds up everywhere. That's another thing," Scout turned away again, staring up at the white sky, "it just… just washes it all away. Like, when you lose a fight you thought for sure you'd win, it'll wash the blood from your face and soak your clothes so the stains don't stick. O-or, when you do something stupid, and you know it was stupid, but you did it anyway, it'll make you all wet so that your brothers don't know you've been crying. Rain helps. It helps ya out a lot." The runner's voice wavered, growing slightly louder. "A-And I thought it would help with this, too, but…

"Nothing helped, a-and I thought that, maybe, maybe the rain would help. At least a bit, not just for me, but to keep the two a us safe. From that freak, I mean. But it didn't, I saw, it didn't kill it. Water, all it does is just slow it down." Sniper watched as Scout shuffled his feet in the grass, soaking his shoes. "Like guns, and blood, and fire. It can't die, it… and honestly, I should've known cause all I've been doing is slowing it down. Nothing worked, I mean, I didn't… I started too late. I was too late and all I was doing was just checking that I was..."

"Kid, what are you talking about?" Sniper finally asked, "Look, you're disoriented, tired, not in your right state of mind. Let's head back, alright, before ya make yourself worse." He started to step closer to the runner, "I don't want ya getting worse, so just-" He had barely taken three cautious steps when Scout snapped around. The speed forced Sniper to stumble back, widening his eyes at the venomous glare Scout had as well as the kukri pointed at him.

"Do not come over here saying that crap." Scout hissed, teeth bared and breathing hard. "I know you're lying; the only reason why you came looking was for this," he waved the kukri around, "You're stupid knife. That's all you care about here, that's what you want, you just want Mr. Chop-chop back." the runner continued to wave the knife around to emphasize his words with no regard to himself. Sniper could only watch in silent horror whenever the blade got too close to Scout's skin. And the runner didn't seem to notice when he cut a nick into his damaged arm.

He needed to get that thing out of Scout's hand.

"I ain't that big of an idiot, so you can stop it with the freakin' 'Oh, even though I told ya I hated you and that you're a worthless excuse of a human being, I actually care about you a lot' crap, okay!?" Scout's voice was growing loud and soft in irregular patterns, as if he was constantly being told by someone Sniper couldn't see to lower his voice, "You ain't my friend, never was, never will be, okay, you make that ," Scout swallowed, his glare softening, "really… really freakin' clear, all the d*mn time…" He stood there, looking down, holding the kukri close to his chest like a lifeline. Sniper remained silent as the runner started again, with a voice that held none of the hatred from before. A voice that was far too small for someone like Scout.

"It's just… I wanted to think that… maybe I'd get to know what it feels like. To have someone around that wants to hang out with… with you, and not one of your way cooler older brothers. That someone would actually call you their friend and not just "my friend's little brother".

"...I thought I could do that here. Cause I wouldn't be just "the runt", anymore, I'd be… be more. I-I thought that, that if I just, I just show them, just show you all that I'm strong enough, strong enough to kill and, an-and could fight, make jokes, that things would change. That you'd all. All listen and… You'd all want me here too…" Scout stopped, then raised his gaze to meet Sniper's.

"Guess not.

"Cause nothing changed." Scout growled, beginning to pace and swing the knife around, "Nothing. We were there, hired, and that's all we were there for, to win a war. No one was there to stand out, to prove that they were just as good as anybody else there, to make some… some… so, honestly, what did I expect?" He was growing louder, his movements becoming more erratic. "Nothing changed, cept I went from the youngest, annoying, stupid sibling to the youngest, most annoying, stupidest team member! I know that's what you guys really thought," Scout turned back towards Sniper, who flinched at the accusation, "The way you'd look at me, tell me to shut up all the time, that I never had anything worthwhile to say, that I'm just a… a worthless kid. They never, ever listened!" Scout was shouting now, words tumbling out.

"So then why the **** do I- why can't I- you did it," the runner cried out, confused, indignant, eyes wild and crackling with distressed lightning, "why can't… I, they… they hated me! You hate me too, I don't, why can't I h… I can't hate you back. I-I don't know why I just… they weren't all bad, yeah, but it all. All of it. Every d*mn day. No one ever listened, cared. Why should I care, why do I care?... Why can't I hate you back, it's not fair! Why can't I just wish they'd all been ripped to shreds, why did I save, wh- why do I still- why am I still talking to you!?" Scout looked to Sniper for an answer, an answer to the emotional hurricane the kid was currently neck deep in, "You don't care! You never cared! But I just keep doing this to myself! It ain't fair! Why'd I survive, why'd I have to live with this, why'd it do this!?

"Why couldn't you have just listened to me!?" He shouted. Even from where Sniper stood, he could see too much of the white in Scout's eyes, see the rivets of water running down his skin. "Listened the first time, when I said, I told you there was a monster, why couldn't you have just listened for once!? And Landfall, Sawmill, everything, why does nobody ever listen!? You didn't listen, Heavy and Soldier didn't listen! Medic, Spy, they sure as h*ll don't! EVER! That thing that looked like me? I told it to let me go! It didn't listen! And it looked like me, like me! Do you know what that means!?" Scout asked, "It was me! I was a freakin' shapeshifting monster who- and- I ain't an idiot, okay, I know what that means! It was me!" The kid's accent and voice was growing heavy from emotion, and wavering, on the cusp of breaking.

"And that wouldn't have happened if that- that ****in', it just let me go!- If it just let me go, so I could sti- I c- it didn't listen… I… I just wanted it to stop, but it didn't and it wouldn't let m- pinned me, gr- grab, grabbed m… I didn't want, but it, it didn't listen, just ke, just, just kept going... just kept…" With that, Scout's tirade ended not with a shout, but with horrible silence as the runner let the kukri fall from his hand, embedding itself in the grass far too close to his foot, and used the back of his trembling limb to cover his eyes.

Nothing besides the rain carried any sound. In fact, it seemed like all the surrounding sounds were being absorbed, stolen, leaving nothing but a thick silence that was building and building. Then, Scout's breath hitched, and it took Sniper far too long to realize that the runner was crying.

But he was trying his hardest not to. Scout's hand covered his eyes, keeping tears from falling, face growing pink from holding his breath, holding back sobs. Only when his breath hitched again did Sniper finally move.

He went forward, quietly, cautious, as if approaching a cornered animal, and stopped an arm's length away.

"It's," Sniper started, voice rough from neglect, "hey, it's alright, you're alright." Obviously Scout wasn't, but he didn't know what else to say. And when he hesitantly placed his hand on the runner's shaking shoulder, the full extent of his small companion's physical ailments hit him like a freight train.

The first thing Sniper noticed was the heat radiating off Scout's skin. Even through the cold wet fabric of his shirt, he could feel the feverish warmth seeping through. And beneath the clothes that now looked like curtains hanging loose, the sharpness of the runner's collarbones, tendons in his neck, cheeks, and the ridges of his spine creating a small mountain range through his shirt. Pale was an understatement of his skin tone, it was ghostly, porcelain, paper thin where Sniper could see the blue veins like hairline cracks underneath the surface. But seeing the runner in such a sorry state wasn't what made the marksman's mind scramble for answers. It wasn't the realization of finding his youngest teammate like this.

It was the realization that Scout had been like this for days, and Sniper hadn't noticed, or…

Or didn't care to.

When he'd taken Scout's shoulder, the runner tensed up, shaking, putting up his guard. He'd lowered his arm, revealing the red, tear filled eyes that looked at Sniper with what the marksman could only describe as fractured desperation. Noticing the still crimson complexion, Sniper gave Scout's shoulder a light squeeze.

"Hey, don't forget to breathe," he said softly, "you could hurt yourself holding it in like that." Scout swallowed, chest heaving, before taking a sharp gasp of air and launching himself at Sniper.

The feeling of his already damaged rib cage getting crushed by the hug Sniper found himself in stole his breath and made him bite his tongue. Scout had wrapped his arms around his chest and shoved his face into Sniper's shoulder, muffling the powerful sobs wracking the runner's skeletal frame. Sniper stood frozen, eyes wide, and arms stiff from the sudden contact. It took the sounds of Scout saying something into his shirt to bring his attention back to the present.

"'M sorry for leavin' ya behind…" Sniper heard the runner rasp, "'M so- 'M so freakin' sorry! Ya- ya didn't deserve it!..." The way it was said, and the warm saltwater staining his front along with everything that he'd been witness for, struck the marksman, and awoke something deep within him, long since forgotten.

Sniper wrapped his arms around Scout and held him.

"It's okay, it's okay, you've long since made up for it," he murmured, "it was a high stress situation, and there's not much you can do with only one hand, though I guess I was the one who needed a hand then." His little joke wasn't good by any stretch of the imagination, in fact he'd argue it was the antithesis of humor, but the little heh he felt Scout made was worth Sniper's attempt at lightening the mood. "But it… it happened, can't change the past so there's no point staying in it. So, I guess I'm saying I- don't wipe your nose on my shirt, that's disgusting!" Sniper lightly pushed Scout away, who was now snickering with tears smeared across his face, and looked down at his shirt with exaggerated frustration. "Ah, come on, I just had this washed." The small look of amusement Scout had dropped.

"Y-Ya did?"

"Yeah, I'm actually standing in the wash right now," Sniper pointed to the rain clouds, and Scout snorted, wiping his eyes while a watery smile formed.

"Now come on," he snaked an arm over the kid's shoulders, gently herding him towards the clearing's edge, "ya don't need to get more wet than you already are. Let's go back and get you nice and dry, and something to eat, alright?"

"But your knife," Scout looked back at the weapon lodged in the ground. Sniper looked too, and shrugged.

"I'll come back for it later," he said. "After we get you cleaned up."

"...yeah, okay." Scout mumbled, wiping his nose. "I… I, yeah, i-it's really cold. Really freakin' cold out here, Mick."

"Yeah, you should have grabbed a jacket," Sniper managed to grumble before a sneeze shook him, "oh, blimey, I should've grabbed a jacket!" Scout only chuckled in response.

When Sniper returned, dripping wet, with his kukri after he'd dropped the runner off, he found said runner curled up on the table-made-bed in the blanket along with a quilt he forgot he had. Within the fabric fort, Scout sat there, shivering, holding Mr. TruffleSnuffle in the crook of his arm, and eating spoonful's of the jar of jelly he'd gotten from the fridge.

"You know, when I said getting ya something to eat," Sniper began, slipping off the rain jacket he'd remembered to grab, "that wasn't what I had in mind."

"It tastessss good," Scout defended, sticking another spoonful in his mouth, "Itsz sthweet, width berriez."

"Yes, berries and jams tend to be sweet, that's why they make berry jams."

"I like blueberries, but this iss good too."

"Good to know,"

"Why'd you leave, a-anyway?" Sniper looked back at his shaky companion after hanging his knife back up. Scout only blinked at him.

"...I was only gone for ten minutes, did you seriously forget in that time frame?"

"Uh…" Scout squinted in thought, "youuuuuuu weeerrrrrre going to… get something, right?"

"My kukri, yes." Sniper watched, scrutinizing every movement the runner made. Scout only continued to shiver, licking his spoon.

"...How're you feeling?"

"Cold." Scout mumbled, "my head feels funny." Sniper made his way over and ignored the shocked squeak Scout made when he placed his palm on the runner's forehead. He kept it there for only a second before snatching it away.

"You're burning up," Sniper said as he grabbed one of their backpacks from before, rummaging through it.

"Yyeah, cause I'm a… a freakin' shooting star!" Scout mumbled into his blanket, smiling cheekily, "a-and I'm also… really hot, super hot, heck yeah."

"Do you remember any events from the past hour or so?" Sniper asked, his search growing faster. Scout gave an exaggerated shrug, still smiling.

"Nope. But you told me to eat something, and wrap my arm at… I dunno, somewhere. Somewhen, 'm mean."

"Did you use a Medkit when doing so?"

"Medkit?"

"For your arm, or did you just wrap it up?"

"I w-wrapped it up, see?" Scout raised his trembling arm up, letting the blanket slip away. Sniper looked and felt his blood grow cold.

It was wrapped up all right, wrapped up poorly, and the once-beige bandages were stained a deep brown. Sniper dropped the backpack, and asked "did you ever use a Medkit for your arm?"

"Couldn't, I used them a-all."

"You used all of them!?" Sniper shouted, causing the runner to jump, "When!?"

"F-For you," Scout said, nervousness creeping into his tone, "when you fell a-and hit your head."

"When you mean you used all of them on me, you actually mean you used them all on me after using one for your arm, right?" The runner sat there, trembling beneath the covers, "that's what you meant, right Scout?"

"...you weren't waking up though, I-I didn't know what to do…"

"Oh no- okay, let me look at ya." Sniper sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing Scout's arm. The runner didn't make a peep as the marksman unwound the wrappings.

"Does it hurt, like, in general or when touching something-"

"It ain't hurting no more," Scout said, taking an interest in gnawing off some hangnails, "like, earlier in the caves it hurt like crazy, like super bad. But you were busy knocking yourself out and couldn't walk to save your life so I just thought "hey, my buddy here ain't doing too hot, I'mma just ignore this" which was kinda e-easy to do. Not the pain but knowing I couldn't do s**t about it cause I used up all a the medkits on ya made it easier to… well, yeah, it was hurting bad for a few hours down there, but then I saved your *ss with l-lightning, and then it was only tingly. Like, really tingly, like little spiders just crawling on my skin and in my skin and in my fingers too. Now it ain't hurting or tingling, I can't feel it at all actually," Scout grinned at the realization, "hey, that's a good thing, right? Now it ain't freakin' keeping me awake and wanting to cut the rest of it off!"

"...numbness like that isn't a good thing, Scout." Sniper mumbled, tearing the rest of the bandages off, "it isn't good at all."

"Why? It stopped making me hurt so bad."

"Because pain is how we know when something is wrong," he explained, "it's how we-"

"...What, how we what?" Scout asked when the marksman didn't continue. A moment passed, and the runner began to squirm at the silence that persisted. Sniper simply stared at the younger man's damaged limb with a harrowed expression. He opened his mouth to speak, before sliding a hand down his face and looking away.

"M-Mick, dude, c'mon man, you're freakin' me out here," Scout chuckled weakly. Sniper finally met his eyes, and Scout's grin faltered.

"Do…" Sniper started, words hitching on their roughness, "I... Scout, do…

"...Do you know what… what Gangrene is?"

Chapter Text

"So… "Gang. Green."?" the words dragged when Scout sounded them out.

"Yes."

"It'z aaaaa… really nasty disease."

"Yes."

"And it works, like, super fast at killing people's skin."

"In a nutshell, yeah," Sniper nodded. The runner narrowed his eyes and stuck out his lower lip in thought. He stayed like that long enough for Sniper to start tapping his foot to hurry along whatever slow thoughts Scout managed to conjure up. Soon, the Bostonian slumped forward, shivering.

"So… I could…" Scout started, sitting at the edge of the bed with his head hanging low. He stopped. The runner seemed to not have the strength to finish his thought, whether physically or mentally.

"Die, yeah." Sniper finished, "this is, this is serious if we don't do something."

"Like what?" The runner barely raised his head to meet the marksman's gaze. He was still shivering, slurring his words, but was mostly still functioning. Not like he would remain like that, though. Sniper stole a glance at his companion's arm, still unwrapped.

The stitches had been ripped out when the runner had caught Sniper and kept him from falling in Sawmill, leaving Scout's muscle, and whatever little amount of skin had grown back, to reopen, exposed to the elements. It was discolored, growing a deep red, and gleaned like burnt skin. Honestly, it was a downright miracle that Scout only just started to develop Gangrene after being underground for so long, a place full of moisture and bacteria.

"...I'm going to be honest with you," he started, speaking slow in order for the runner to understand the severity of the situation, "right now there are only three routes we can take that I can think of, and… and none of them are very good."

"Oh." Scout uttered, hanging his head again.

"Yeah. The best option I can think of is to try and find ya a hospital so they can take care of-"

"No."

"What?" Sniper paused, looking at Scout in disbelief, "sorry, did I just hear you say you didn't want to get professional medical help to save your life?"

"No… not hospitals," Scout mumbled, rubbing his arm.

"Why not!?"

"Don't t-trust them, trust doctors, I don't trust 'em… not in, in a bed, not there."

"It's the best option we can take, Scout! The others are too dangerous-"

"What a-are the other options?" Sniper sighed through his nose, and looked away.

"...There are only three options on the table I can think of," he began, "first being we get to driving and find you a hospital, the best option, might I add. Second being we go back to the bases, and I try and find either a Medigun or some Medkits in the RED base."

"A Medigun won't do. It's a red, not blue. Wouldn't work on us."

"Well that just adds to the reasons not to go back, that one's got too many risks."

"What's the…" Scout tried to say, but he was overcome with a wave of shivers, and rested his forehead on his palm, eyes closed. Sniper swallowed.

"...the last is that I try and fix ya up myself. And… and there's only one way I know how, and I'd rather not… not let it come to that, if I can help it." He finished. Had Scout heard him, the runner made no indication. Just sitting, hunched, trembling. "You need a hospital, Scout."

"Don't wa… want a f-freakin' doc. St-sticking tubes an, and needles." Scout whined. Sniper resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Why do you have such an aversion to seeing a doctor?"

"Cause docs… don't, don't give a crap. They just. Just put ya on a bed. Let ya waste… and the tubes and needles. I.. not any feeding tubes."

"I honestly don't think that you'd need a feeding tube unless you were comatose," Sniper deadpanned, "and unless we get going, that's becoming a higher and higher possibility."

"C-Can't you jus… please?"

"Trust me, Scout, when I say you do not want me taking care of this."

"W-Why not!?" Scout whined.

"Because while I might be a professional, I'm not a medical one."

"Neither's Medic," Scout argued, "he ain't- he ain't got a medical license."

"He did once, and that's still one more than me." The runner slumped, holding a sour expression.

"Man, if the doc-c was… was still h-ere, I'd feel freakin' incredible. And I'd have my hand back."

"You'd also probably have a horse liver implanted in ya as well."

"Nah, not this time, Doc owes me, l-like, a huge favor. Like, super- super biggg favor."

"For what?"

"Wwwweeellll, it sorta involved th-the RED Pyro, a box of tacks, and this super weird coked up bear-"

"Okay, we're getting off topic and running out of time," Sniper interrupted, "I'm finding you a hospital."

"Hey, wait, I said I ain't, ain't wanting a freakin'-"

"I don't care what you say you want, I'm going to get to driving and you are going to stay there and try not to die off. End of." He finished and turned towards the door, ignoring the protests and attempts to argue behind him. Sniper stepped out from the camper and towards the driver's seat, already loathing the journey ahead. Then he heard the camper door slam open and a hard thump followed by a very loud "s**t!".

Snapping his head around, Sniper spotted and then grit his teeth at the sight of Scout struggling to stand up from the pavement.

"I told you to stay in the van!"

"No hospitals," grumbled Scout, rubbing at his now scraped chin, "ain't going there!"

"You little mongrel, I am not going to deal with this!" Sniper marched over and grabbed Scout by the shirt and ripped him to his feet. He made to argue, to tell Scout how stupid his little fear of needles was, when he caught Scout's gaze.

"...please, dude, c-can't we justtt stay, let y-ya do it here?" the runner whimpered, shivering from the cold. The frustration Sniper felt melted away as he let go of Scout's shirt, setting the runner down.

"...c'mon, get back inside," Sniper mumbled, herding Scout back into the camper, "and… look, why do you… what's the main thing you have against this idea. Because it has to be a good one, otherwise I'm driving."

Scout sat back on the edge of the cot, looking down at his hand and stump.

"...I don't. Wanna go out, with… It's, it'zz not freakin' doctors, man, justtt. I wanna be with someone. Just in case, y'know, cause they don't… docs don't care bout nothing but getting paid an- and…"

"Now that isn't true," Sniper knelt down to Scout's level, "you know that isn't true, they care about people, if they didn't, then they wouldn't try saving blokes."

"N-Not that, they don't let people in to see, see their people, even if them people issss… isn't living much l-longer. I-If they don't work, I don't, then I'll j-just beee left there. A-And nobody's gonna be let in, and I'll just f-freakin' go out on a scratchy old armchair that they call a bed. Alone…"

"...you're scared of dying alone?" Scout hung his head, and nodded. Sniper chewed his cheek in thought, tapping his fingers along the bed's edge.

"You'd have a far greater chance of dying here than in a hospital, Scout," he said, "What I'd have to do is… is not going to be a walk in the bloody park. And if you go septic, there's nothing I'm going to be able to do for you. You will die from that." He took Scout's shoulders, staring Scout down.

"That means your family will never see you again, and everything you've been dreaming of doing will never happen. Do you still want me to handle this? Even after knowing that?"

Scout didn't respond, looking away, gnawing on his lip.

Don't leave me to handle it.

Scout narrowed his eyes, rubbing his shirt in thought.

Don't give me this responsibility.

Scout looked back, meeting Sniper's gaze.

Please don't make me do this.

He grabbed Sniper's arm.

"Yeah. Yeah, I ssstill want ya doing it."

"You're sure? Mate, I'm not joking, this is way too risky-"

"Listen," Scout interrupted, squeezing Sniper wrist, "if I'm going, it's gonna be… in this stupid camper van, with your stupid self, not in a stupider hospital bed without your stupid self, capeesh?" The runner's eyes were firm, clear from the feverish clouds from before, leaving no room for argument. They then softened. "Please, dude, won'tttt hold it against ya if I go to s**t, but I wanna stay here." Sniper didn't respond right away. Instead, he sighed, looking away and tapping the bed some more. He then slumped forwards.

"One more time, you're certain you want to do this?"

"Yeah."

"...fine," Sniper got to his feet and looked towards his kukri, "give me forty minutes."

"A-Are we having a, like, a-a piñata par…party or something?" Scout asked as Sniper tightened the blindfold over his eyes.

"No, it's… not that."

"Uhhhhhhhhizit… a… it'z gotta be a piñata, man, wh-wh at else is the blindfold for?" Keeping him calm. Sure, Scout wasn't a bird, and this had the possibility of just making things worse, but…

"Can't tell ya."

"Ohhh, it'z a surprise party! Bet it is! Are the others, did-did they, get ya to do this? I knew they were planning something! That's why ya guys n-never went to , ya my birthdays, cause, cause ya were planning this, right?"

"...let's just get ya ready, alright?" Sniper mumbled, checking to make sure the blindfold was secure along with the cloth tied tightly over Scout's upper arm. He pulled at the tourniquet. "Does this hurt at all?"

"N-Nah, ain't feelin' a ttthing!"

"Right, okay, I'm just checking before we do this."

"Yeah, sure, then party time!" Scout's expression lit up into an enthusiastic grin, biting his lip to keep himself from smiling too much, and wiggling happily from his seat. The marksman looked away.

"Can you walk?" At that, Scout scoffed.

"Can I walk, he sayss," Scout smirked, hoisting himself to stand, "Iss a whale a fish?"

"N-No?"

"It'z not?" The runner's face fell followed swiftly by himself once his legs buckled under him. Sniper caught him before he hit the ground, wincing at the strain it put on his ribs.

"They're mammals." Sniper explained, pulling Scout to his feet. The runner shook, swaying and confused. His hand was cold.

"But… they swim? A-And live underwater! Ho… how?"

"They don't have gills, like Hippos, and Crocs."

"And Croc-o-diles ain't mammals." Scout stated.

"Yeah, they aren't mammals."

"Man, how do ya know so freakin'... sso freakin' much, man? How's, how, why're ya so smart?"

"I'm really not," Sniper said, "Now can you walk or no?" Scout was quiet, head hanging.

"...can't see." He mumbled, gripping Sniper's shirt with a trembling fist. The marksman sighed.

"I'll guide you, but I need to know if you can walk." He explained, watching his companion sway gently. "Can you walk or not?"

Again, Scout was quiet. Silent, and unmoving. Then, he took a heavy step. Then he stumbled forward, and collapsed into Sniper when his legs buckled again.

"'M tired," his small voice seeped through the fabric of the marksman's shirt, "C-Could we do this… the party, tell the others, tomorrow, okay? It feels weird. I-I… ssuper tired, in my legs. Feelss too weird." Scout trailed off, slipping further down. Further and further till he sat on the ground, resting his head against Sniper's leg. Even through the fabric he could feel the heat.

Sniper gingerly crouched down.

"Can't let ya fall asleep just yet, mate."

"Five minutes?" Scout murmured, "O-Or a… any caff? Any?"

"No."

"Aw… aw man." The marksman looked at the runner, at the shivering, at the pale skin, so thin that it looked like even the tiniest pinch would be enough to tear it. He swallowed.

"Woah, woahwoah, w-whaddaya doing?" Scout stuttered as he was lifted up from the floor and into Sniper's arms.

"Carrying you because you can't walk," Sniper grunted, arranging the runner to find the easiest way of carrying him without straining himself. He settled for a bridal carry. Scout was very light, more like a paperweight than a hard hitting mercenary.

"It'z so sstupid, I-I have to walk- run, it'z my job, can't not run, walk!"

"...you're… c'mon, it's best to just get this over with." He mumbled, opening the door after letting go of the runner's legs. Once open, he swept Scout up again, and made his way outside, mindful of his companion's twinges of discomfort.

The chill air ruffled the pair's hair as the marksman hadn't bothered taking his hat. There was a lull in the rain, leaving the air clear and sky a deep grey. Evening was falling by the time Sniper had gotten everything ready. In the forty minutes the marksman had taken, he'd found a stump with a flat surface, sharpened his knife and disinfected it, found a blowtorch in the toolbox they'd taken from Engineer's workshop, and then had taken the remaining minutes to simply… build up enough… nerves.

"W-Wow, it'z cold out here," Scout mumbled, trying to look around despite the blindfold, "where're we going?"

"Somewhere." Sniper replied.

"What kinda… party h-happens outside? …wait… is it a wedding? Who'z getting married? Is it, it Engie?"

"No."

"Wait a ssec, i-it ain't us, right?"

"No."

"Oh good," Scout smiled in relief, letting his head rest on Sniper's shoulder, "cau-se dude," he tried patting said shoulder and ended up patting Sniper's chest, "I like ya, you're cccool, but one, you're a guy, and two, I-I'm taken. A-And even if ya were a chick, you wouldn't… be a-a good looking one."

"Rude."

"Sorry, just the truthhh of… cause you're a cool guy. Not a cool, cool girl… yeah, it'z…" the runner was overcome with a bout of shivers and fell silent, curling inward to preserve body heat.

Sniper didn't say a word, as if the silence in the real world would calm his own racing thoughts. The walk wasn't too long from the van, it was only about two minutes. But it felt far longer. Whether it was his arms growing tired and warm from carrying Scout, the thick ferns slowing his walk, the limp he had from trying to keep his ribcage from cracking more, or the knowledge of what was going to happen once he reached their destination weighing heavily on his mind, it didn't matter. It didn't matter.

They'd reached the stump all the same.

"Hey, where'ss, where'd ya going?" Scout asked as Sniper carefully set him down near the stump, next to the blowtorch and kukri.

"I'm right here, not going anywhere." Sniper replied, once again checking the runner's blindfold and tourniquet. Both were tight, and tied with a knot that couldn't be undone without two hands, so if anything went awry, or if Scout couldn't stay calm, then he wouldn't be able to take them off. He grabbed his knife and the blowtorch. A light click followed by a hiss of gas as Sniper ran the blue flame over the blade one last time, burning away dirt and bacteria clinging to the steel.

"...Okay," Scout mumbled, ignoring when Sniper finally took hold of his arm and laid it on the damp surface, "okay, you… you stay. Staying."

"That's right."

He should make sure that Scout wouldn't be able to squirm away. Tying him to the ground might work, but he'd have to go and grab a rope. The runner might just be too weak to move anyway. Sniper looked down at Scout, who was humming a tune he didn't recognize. His arms and legs were incredibly thin. He wouldn't be able to move for long if he was able to get loose.

…how had he gotten so slim under Sniper's watch?

No. He couldn't think about that right now. He had to, he had to focus. If he wasn't able to pull this off quickly, it could devolve even faster into something he might not be able to control. Hard, fast, a single chop is all it would take.

Don't get distracted.

"Why'ss it so quiet?" Scout asked as Sniper took hold of his arm in a tight grip, just above the joint, and pulled it taunt, "are… they hide? Hidden?"

Either below the elbow or right before where the bicep connected would be best. Sniper lined up his blade.

"'Re we lost? D-Did we g… where are. Are we?"

He tightened his grip, causing the arm's owner to flinch, to stutter out a protest. It wasn't the first time he'd done this, it wasn't too far off from carving a deer. It would be fine. It will be fine.

Focus.

"-an we g-go back-"

Don't get distracted.

"-old out h-here, wet to-"

Zone him out.

"-ey, can y… hear-"

He wanted this, Scout chose this option. One clean strike is all it would take, just don't mess it up. Sniper raised his blade, eyes locked on target.

"Snipes?"

Focus.

"Ssnipah?"

Don't you want him to survive?

"Mick?"

Sniper took a breath,

And swung.

The first chop went halfway through the bone, getting stuck in the marrow. As he wrenched the blade out from the limb, a horrid noise erupted to his left, sending a nearby flock of birds to take to the skies. Something pawed at his arm, pulling at his shirt. The surface of the tree stump was growing a shining ruby red and started to drip off the side. That was fine, expected. The tourniquet was working, that was just the blood still left in the limb. Sniper swung again.

Through the bone and into the wood, getting stuck once again. So it took two chops. That was better than three. Didn't exert himself too much since his ribs were still just as pained as before. And the cuts were clean, tendons and muscles weren't so uneven, bone fragments were small, and the cracks were thin. All in all, a success. So then why was there screaming?

Wait, no.

There was no screaming. His hand was empty and slick with crimson. Warm too, though it was quickly growing cold. Looking over, Sniper spotted the now amputated arm's owner.

He had ripped himself from Sniper's grasp, curled up in the dew covered ferns, some even sporting that brilliant red now dripping from their leaves. The bleeding appendage was held close to his chest, staining his front, and the hand he still had was planted over his mouth in a white knuckled grip, shaking with every breath.

No. No, that wasn't shaking. He wasn't shaking. Scout was seizing up.

"Aw h*ll," Sniper uttered before dropping the kukri and finding himself at Scout's side, "you're alright, it's fine, you'll live." He'd tried placing a hand on the runner's shoulder, only for Scout to scurry away, pleading.

"No more!" He croaked, falling to his side from his left arm's shorter length. Sniper grabbed his wrist, and flinched at the panic lacing Scout's words. "No more! Not again, please not again!"

"It's fine, Scout, you're fine!" The runner wasn't listening, he was still squirming around, pleading to be let go. And just as quickly as it began, Scout's outburst died out along with his energy as Sniper pulled him close.

"You'll be fine, just one more thing, it'll be fine," he assured. Scout still tried to pull himself out from Sniper's arms.

"Nono, please," the Bostonian whimpered, unable to keep his head up and letting it drop on Sniper's shoulder, "'M-M promise, promise I'll be quiet, not again! Please!"

"It'll be over before ya know it,"

"No it won't, it'll j-just keep going!"

"Scout, it's just one more thing," Sniper said, pulling the runner into a tighter hold and grabbing his bleeding stump, "I promise." Scout kept pleading, even when Sniper gave all the reassurances in the world, the runner just kept begging to be let go. When he reached over and grabbed the blowtorch, Scout kept begging. When he lit the flame and that hiss filled the air, Scout kept begging. Pawing at his arms, whimpering promises that he'd keep quiet if Sniper just let him go.

The marksman paused, looking down at his trembling companion. The runner's hair stuck to his forehead, and his chest rose and fell with short, shallow breaths. Scout no longer had the energy to do anything but talk in small, feeble sentences.

"Let me go…" the words were making Sniper's grip loosen.

No. He couldn't. Not yet.

He tightened his hold on the arm, earning a new bout of pleas, and wrapped a leg around Scout's waist, keeping him locked in place. The runner's back was now flat against his chest, unable to worm out of his arms. And that little want, growing more audible the longer Scout cried to let the boy go, was beaten into the background.

Sniper needed to focus.

"Sorry, mate," He said over Scout's constant wave of pleas, "this is going to hurt. A lot."

"No!"

"It's for your own good," the blue flame was brought closer to the dripping arm when Scout whimpered something that made Sniper pause, if only for a moment.

"I don't wanna be turned into a monster…"

Silence followed, neither man having the energy to say anything more. Then Sniper steeled his mind, and the smell of burning skin filled the air.

The empty darkness of the camper's interior stood watch, waiting silently for its owner to arrive. Five minutes, then ten passed with nothing but the encroaching sound of light raindrops. Then, the door's handle jiggled, and was opened.

Sniper pushed the door aside with his shoulder, arms full from the unconscious teammate he was carrying. Shuffling into the camper, the marksman made his way over to the small bed and, as gently as he could muster, laid the runner on cushions. He stepped away, then stumbled backwards and met the counter with his spine, leaning on it like a crutch.

He never, never, wanted to hear someone scream like that again. The cauterization was not just one more thing, it… the screams. He thought he'd be more prepared for them. It had to happen to keep Scout from bleeding out, it just… why did the kid have to cry out for his family? Sniper knew why, but just… why?

Running a hand down his face, Sniper heaved a heavy sigh. Then snatched his hand away in disgust. His hands were coated in blood, now his face was too. And shirt. Scout was covered in blood too. Right, he needed to get them cleaned up, needed to get Scout bandaged, needed to make sure the kid would wake up, needed to do all of it, all of it. So much needs to be done right now.

The marksman made to grab some bandages before spotting his crimson palms. Okay, he should get cleaned up first, using blood stained bandages would be counterproductive. The small sink's water was cold, and it felt like forever passed before Sniper was able to wash Scout's blood away from his hands and face. Some little stains remained but those were of no consequence. Now, he needed to change out of these clothes.

Ugh, they were already stiff.

Getting himself into some new clothes seemed to take a long time too. He was running out of clean ones which meant he needed to clean some. He was also running out of energy and patience for life. Just one more thing he needed to do soon. Brushing down the shirt he'd slipped on, Sniper looked over at his small companion.

Scout was still asleep, and still had the blindfold on. He should take that off. Maybe he shouldn't have put it on at all. Limping over to the runner's side, Sniper took the younger man's shoulders and leaned him against the wall. Then, taking care not to pull Scout's hair, Sniper untied the blindfold. It fell away, damp. His eyes were closed, slightly puffy and surrounded with dark circles. A moment passed before Sniper placed his hand on the side of the runner's neck.

…

Yeah, Scout was still alive. Sporting a nasty fever, but alive. Sniper drew back, chest lighter than before, and narrowed his eyes on the runner's arm. He needed to wrap that up now, then he'd have to change Scout's shirt. He stood and searched for the first aid kits he had stored away. His eyes and hands worked to get the supplies, and his ears listened for any movement, any sound that might hint towards Scout waking. Nothing happened when he found a first aid kit, and turning back towards Scout showed that the kid was still fast asleep. Good, then he'd wouldn't hinder Sniper while he worked on patching Scout up.

Taking hold of the runner's arm, Sniper quietly sighed, then began to disinfect it. The skin now felt rough and charred beneath the cloth he was using, but it was better than being cold and wet from Gangrene. Once he was sure it was disinfected enough, Sniper wrapped some clean bandages around Scout's arm. It now barely went past his elbow since the marksman decided against removing the joint, but it was still much shorter than before, and the rest of the infected limb was out in the ferns, wasting away. He might go back and try burning it if some animal hasn't come around and eaten it by the time Sniper's finished.

Now, about that shirt…

He grabbed the rims and started to shimmy Scout out from it. Ugh, it was already stiff and cold. The boy needed a clean one, having one this stained wouldn't do him any good. Now he could either get him one of his own or one of Sniper's if the runner's clothes were too dirt-

…

…s…

…scars…

Scars, old and new. Thin white ones rising up from the skin, thick red ones scabbed and long. Crisscrossing over the multi-colored bruises peppering Scout's stomach, creating a mosaic of yellows, purples, and red.

W… Where, where-when, when did he get these why didn't Scout say anything to him how long had- These hadn't been there when he- at Sawmill, they weren't there, sure he had some bruises along his midriff but nothing like- and what had caused- in the cave, down there, the fall? O-Or wa- or the- Landfall, but these- the forest, after he'd ran Scout off did the runner get caught in thorn- but some were new, only a few days old, where would he- what could make such lengthy cuts?

And the bruises, much older, much larger, mostly a soft shade of yellow or greenish purple- couldn't have been made anytime soon, what had, what was…

Before,

What was Scout…

What was Scout doing before with his…

Sniper lifted his eyes towards the empty hook on the wall. He hadn't brought it with him, just like the blowtorch, he wanted to make sure Scout was brought in first. It was still lying close to that blood covered stump, coated in the runner's…

A deep, creeping frost settled in the marksman's chest that grew as he looked at Scout, eyes sharp and wide, as if seeing the runner for the first time.

The cold grew at the scars. The cold grew at the bruises. The cold grew at the skeletal frame. Cold had lined every inch of his body, making it impossible to move. Impossible to look away from the runner and what he'd become.

Scout had left after Sniper did, after they argued, after Scout thought that, after he misconstrued Sniper's words, after- after Scout thought that Sniper didn't ca… didn't, didn't care…

Had h…

…had he caused…

The thought was swiftly and violently shoved to the side as Sniper shot to his feet, letting the blood covered shirt fall from his hands. Bandages, those were what he needed. Not the thousand questions flooding his already exhausted mind. Questions that Scout couldn't answer. Questions Sniper didn't know if he wanted answered. So bandages were grabbed, along with disinfectant, as Sniper sat back down at his young companion's side. With haste, he began to wipe down the ugly scars like they were simply a stubborn stain that needed removing. But they weren't, and soon the marksman was wrapping the runner's stomach up, keeping the cuts from prying eyes, including his own.

He. Couldn't. Worry, about this right now, those weren't fatal. The fever was more important, making sure Scout wouldn't go septic was the most important. How would he do that? One sure fire way was in the camper, shoved into a corner, currently worth nothing more than a paperweight.

Sniper narrowed his eyes at the lifeless Medigun, leaning on the wall, waiting.

6:45. That was the time his watch's face read. It might be 6:45 actually, Sniper had no way of knowing, nor did he have the time to check the time. But it had gotten darker, and not just because he was working by candlelight to keep the overhead lights from hurting some eyes.

On the floor in front of him lay the disassembled parts and body of the Medigun. To his side, next to his knee, rested the open and emptied special toolbox he'd grabbed from Engie's workshop. Its tools were scattered about in an organized chaos that only made sense to the marksman.

So far, despite the many, many minutes of work, there seemed to be no progress made. Sniper had taken the healing weapon apart, careful as to not lose any little screws and parts, searching for any faulty wire, broken thingamajigs, busted up whatsits, or literally anything for a hint as to how to fix the d*mned machine. But of course, it wasn't that simple, it never was when it came to their luck.

Their luck. A soft ruffle of fabric came from his right, and Sniper silently groaned in anticipation.

"Harvey?" the little voice murmured for the seventh time since he sat down.

"Yeah," Sniper said, exhaustion clinging to every movement he made, "what's up?"

"Wh… where's Ma?"

"Out, she'll be back soon, try to get some sleep," was the same answer he gave each time Scout was awake enough to talk. He was simply too tired to bother correcting someone who would forget five minutes later.

He knew it had to have been at least an hour since he started. An hour in which Scout wasn't showing any signs of getting better. In fact, he seemed to only be getting worse the longer Sniper worked on the Medigun.

"...It…'s cold." Sighing, Sniper turned towards Scout, who was watching him work through hooded, delirious eyes. The runner was curled up under a pile of blankets, the quilt, and one of Sniper's team shirts. Rain cloud blue eyes, red rimmed and confused, contrasted the ghost white skin Scout was sporting that glistened with a cold sweat.

"...Sorry to hear that," Sniper replied, "but there's not much more I can do to help with that right now." Scout made an incoherent jumble of words before falling silent once more, most likely slipping into another fever induced sleep. Sniper turned back towards the Medigun, reassembling it for the third time.

Perhaps if he disconnected this wire and replaced it with this-

Wait, hadn't he already tried this option? The blue wire or the little green wire? There was also this little compartment in the core, and the heavy barrel that could be unlatched-

Sniper jumped at the sudden weight that found itself nestling into his side, causing his ribs to start thumping. Whipping his head around, the marksman could only just keep from cursing in annoyance at Scout, who had slipped his way off the bed and at Sniper's side.

"You need to be resting," he said, turning back towards the Medigun. Now, if Scout didn't distract him from this like every other time, then he should be able to fix this correctly-

"'M ttthirst-y…" Sniper put down what looked to be an engine of sorts with a less than gentle force.

"Can you wait just a little more, I'm almost done." He asked, looking back at Scout who was resting his head on Sniper's shoulder.

"O-Okay."

"Appreciate it." In silence he worked, tired hands covered in little nicks from the machine and spots of old oil. Scout sat and watched, his shallow breathing being to only noise besides the Medigun's reassembly. Soon the runner fell even quieter from falling asleep, shivering slightly. The time passed and gradually the Medigun began to resemble its original form rather than a pile of bits and pieces. And when the final screw was put back in place, Sniper took a breath, and held it as he took hold of the power switch and flicked it.

The Medigun remained dormant. Sniper turned it on and off in rapid succession. Nothing.

"Piece of s**t!" Scout snapped awake as the sound of a wrench hitting the door rang through the small camper.

"WH- What's, we're under at-attack!" The runner stammered, eyes wide and scared. Sniper slumped over, head in his hands.

"No. No, Scout, we're not under attack. I just chucked something, it's fine." The marksman said. He shouldn't have done that, just… it was just so frustrating putting together this useless hunk of metal bits! Running his hands through his hair, Sniper took a deep breath, calming his fraying nerves.

"We a… aren't under attackkk?" Scout's voice was a whisper. He shook his head.

"No, Scout, we aren't under attack."

"Oh, oh g-good, t-then tell… tell them all, when we g-get… to tell th-the guys, tell Mi…"

Scout's head lolled forwards and he dropped, forcing Sniper to catch him by his shoulders. The runner mumbled words that slurred and tied together like knots.

"I'll tell them later, let's get you into the bed," he said, making to stand when Scout slipped out from his hands and towards the ground. But it wasn't by accident, the runner wasn't collapsing. He was just curling up on the floor and-

Sniper instantly stiffened when the runner placed his head on the marksman's lap. And he stiffened more when Scout, instead of getting off him, just nestled closer. Keeping his hands up, and staring at Scout with wide eyes, unable to move or even think from the contact.

…Scout wasn't going to hurt him, this was fine, the runner couldn't even lift his head anymore let alone a weapon. It was fine, his heart was racing for absolutely no good reason. Besides, Scout was incoherent, he probably wasn't even aware of what he was doing, because if he was, there was no way the kid would do something this chummy with anyone let alone another guy. Let alone Sniper.

Little by little Sniper forced himself to calm down, to make his pulse stop racing like he was in immediate danger, and just accept the fact that Scout was going to be using him as a pillow for a while longer.

He finally lowered his arms with a breath, and hesitantly, rested a hand on Scout's shoulder. The heat under his palm was near uncomfortable.

Sniper needed to get Scout's fever down.

"'Scuse me, Bilby, need ya to move," the runner whined at the light shakes.

"Don't wanna."

"Scout, up please." Scout responded by gripping Sniper's pant leg with a less than firm grip. And Sniper responded by simply lifting Scout up and back onto the bed.

Instantly the runner began to shiver, eyes closed tight and curled into a little feverish ball. A heavy jacket was wrapped around his shoulders followed by blankets and a quilt. He started to mumble something when Sniper placed a cold cloth on his forehead.

"Didn't thin… anything wazz gonna happen. Tho-ught… telling him no… not… to shoot was the good th… told h-him not to shoot, and he… didn't… why'd it go… bad?..." The runner's words trailed off as he was overcome with both shivers and sleep.

Sniper stepped away and sat back down, pulling the Medigun closer once again, filing everything else away for another time. He couldn't worry about that itching feeling Scout's words brought, or anything else besides the fever and the Medigun.

He couldn't.

He just couldn't…

It was far too quiet.

Scout was far too warm.

The Medigun just wouldn't work…

Nothing, nothing was working, he should have just ignored Scout's wishes, done what needed to be done, should have found a hospital, should have focused on either fixing that d*mned machine or lowering that d*mned fever. Not both, he couldn't focus on both and yet he tried and look how that turned out!-

And now, because now, his hands just wouldn't. Stop. Shaking!

Night had fallen. Of course it had. Rain was also falling. Of course it was.

Why did Sniper agree to try and help Scout himself? Of course it hadn't worked, of course he couldn't keep Scout awake, of course-

Why did he expect something different?

He had no idea how much time had passed when Scout finally stopped talking, stopped moving, stopped having any energy to do anything besides breathing and making the smallest of murmurs. He didn't know how long he worked on that blasted machine that covered his hands in small cuts and black stains of oil and metal dust. He didn't know how long it was since he stopped, since he doused the candlelight.

It was far too quiet.

Sniper sat on the edge of the small cot, watching over the runner, waiting like a vulture. The fever never went down. He hadn't woken up in a good long while, hadn't tossed and turned for even longer.

Perhaps he had gone septic.

Perhaps it was too late to do anything more.

He just didn't know, and now he was sitting here, waiting for something.

Something like Scout suddenly waking up, bouncing around and making snarky remarks at Sniper's expense like he should be. To sit up, and insult him about his sudden softness, like he should be. To begin rambling about his many brothers, his great feats of prowess, his affection towards Miss Pauling, like he should be. To just grin and make a quip that he probably thought was incredibly clever about surviving such an awful experience, that a little sepsis was nothing to him after surviving rockets, bullets, and flames. Like he should be.

Or…

You know…

Something like Scout's heart stopping.

In which case Sniper would then have a body to bury, and the kid's family would never know what had happened to their youngest. Waiting for a man, hardly more than a boy, that would never call again, never come home.

Welcome to the life of a mercenary, Scout.

The runner's chest was only slightly rising up and down, just slightly. Sniper didn't have a shovel to dig a grave. He didn't want to have to make one without. Or even to ditch the body in the middle of the wilderness, or a river. There were many practical reasons why Sniper wanted Scout alive, feelings aside.

Non-existent feelings anyway.

If Scout didn't survive… well then, that was just… it was just… that was how it was going to be. Simple as. It wasn't a good… but if…

For Sniper's sake, Scout had to survive.

But he wouldn't. The runner was already a husk, there was nothing left to fight the infection with. It was just a waiting game that Sniper was playing.

He didn't want to play it.

Why was he there, at the Bostonian's side, if Scout didn't even know he was? Courtesy's sake, probably. Because it's "the right thing to do". The "proper thing". A societal standard.

It was completely impractical.

It was a worthless gesture to a man who had no hope of surviving to appreciate it.

Sniper stood.

The soft light of the night sifted through the closed blinds above the bed, casting deep shadows in the camper. The Medigun was set aside, as useless as ever. Silently, Sniper made his way towards the door and took the handle in his still shaking hand.

…he…

He couldn't be here when Scout slipped away.

He couldn't.

He just couldn't.

The door handle was turned.

"Mick?…" The words were quieter than a whisper, "...where're y…"

Sniper turned back and met Scout's eyes. The runner was awake. He was shaking, hair sticking to his forehead, using his elbows to hold himself up, and looking at the marksman. Although most of his face was hidden by shadow, Sniper could make out the muddled nervousness in Scout's eyes.

"...outside," he replied, voice raspy and taunt, "just for a while."

"Plea…se don't…" Scout's head fell, "don't go…" Sniper swallowed, chest tightening.

"I'll be right back."

"Mick…"

"I'll be back, Scout."

"Promise?..." the runner's voice wavered as his arms finally buckled and dropped him back onto the bed. Sniper didn't respond. "Please? Plea…se promise?" He took a step back. "Please…"

"I'll be back soon." was what left his lips as he pulled away from the hand reaching out.

"Don't… Mick, please…"

He opened the door, and stepped out into the cold night. After shutting the door with a soft click, Sniper took a breath, and fell back against the van's wall. He slid down, coming to a stop on the small steps, and hiding his face in his trembling hands.

Then, he growled in anger followed by a string of vile curses aimed towards himself.

What kind of person does this!? What kind of person does this!? A coward, that's what! Scout wanted Sniper to take care of him so that this wouldn't happen! So that he'd have at least one person by his side in case everything went to s**t, and what was Sniper doing!? What did he choose to do? What did that say about him, huh?

The sharpshooter snatched his hands away to run them through his hair, pulling it. They were still shaking, they just wouldn't stop shaking.

No, he couldn't just- just-

It's better this way. A little voice tried to reason in the back of his mind. You knew it would end up like this if you kept getting close, you're saving yourself from something worse, it's only natural.

Worse in what way, those feelings- he- he already developed them, and now they were coming back full swing.

You're getting them out of the way, this is good, you're doing the right thing. You didn't grieve for the others, there's no reason to be so distressed over just some scout.

…the others were, he didn't know if they were dead now or not! A-And it was much easier to just, just brush aside those, when he thought they died. They hadn't, they hadn't gotten as close as, not, and they could still be alive…

He's just a scout, an annoying one too, it's better this wa-

Jay was not just a scout. He was Scout.

Scout still left you to die, he did horrible things to you, are you just going to let that slide? He's no different than everyone else, and now he's dying, he's leaving you all alone again, right after getting you to care about him. He's no different than everyone else.

…Everyone else didn't come back to save his life…

The voice didn't respond.

Every, everyone else didn't trek for over a day and hitchhike just to apologize for saying horrible things. Is he still no different? Still, no response.

Did everyone else agree to follow him into Sawmill even when they knew it was a bad idea and wanted to stay but went to make sure Sniper would have some backup? D-Did everyone else teach him how to split an apple in half with his bare hands? Did everyone else catch him when he nearly fell to his death, did everyone else use all the medkits on him even when they needed some, did everyone else stay hopeful and optimistic while stuck in a cave to keep him from giving up?

Did everyone else willingly let themselves get struck with lightning just to keep Sniper alive!?

No, they didn't.

And what was Sniper doing to return the favor?

He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes, when he noticed something. His hands still shook, still trembled in the cold and rain. But they were also caked in small cuts that only cut the utmost layer of skin, doing no real damage, mechanical grease and metal dust.

And underneath that, all of that, in the lines of his palms and beneath his nails, was Scout's blood.

This was his fault. Scout's condition was his fault. The runner's death would be on his hands.

He was such a ****ing coward.

The light patter of the rain fell on his shoulders, on his head, sending little shivers through his muscles. Besides that, there was nothing. Just the small plip, plip, plips.

Sniper sat in silence, clasping his hands together to keep them still.

Plip, plip, plip.

Wasn't it strange how the quiet was a stranger now? Something he found comfort in all his life now felt foreign. It was still nice, he still loved it.

Plip, plip, plip.

But it wouldn't feel twice as nice if that silence would be permanent. Some noise was needed to balance it, to make the silence and isolation something to look forward to. Some talking, some rambles, someone who didn't know when to stay quiet.

Plip, plip, plip.

And besides, those stories were quite entertaining, not nearly as annoying as the others complained. And they were good background noise, like the rain.

Plip, plip, plip.

Sniper would miss that noise. He'd miss it terribly.

He would miss Scout.

The mental confession made Sniper want to bitterly laugh, yell, and kick something all at once. He would miss Scout. It was pointless to keep pretending otherwise, once the runner was gone, he would be alone again. Like every other time.

Sniper would miss Scout.

And Scout was dying alone.

Or already had.

That thought caused the marksman to stand, and turn back towards the van. He stood, staring, the rain peppering his clothes and skin. Then he grabbed the door and opened it.

It was dark. The only light being a soft dim gray coming in through the shutters. And it was quiet. No noise besides the tin tap dance of the rain on the roof.

Sniper felt his heart drop when he spotted the runner's motionless hand hanging off the side of the bed. From the angle he stood, he couldn't see the rest of his companion. Just his hand.

The marksman forced himself to move, walking forward as if he were held down by lead weights. And then, he could finally see Scout. Finally see the runner's face.

There were tear streaks.

Carefully, Sniper knelt by the side of the cot, hand hovering over his teammate. Then, with reluctance, place it at the crook of Scout's jaw.

Warm skin met his own,

Along with a pulse. It was weak, so very weak, but it was a pulse.

Scout was still hanging on.

The runner was gently rolled onto his back and had his head tilted back, making it as easy for him to breathe as possible. After, the marksman took hold of Scout's hand, and placed his other upon the younger man's chest, feeling the soft rise and fall. If at any point Scout stopped breathing, Sniper would know instantly. He swallowed.

"I came back, like I said I would," Sniper began, voice rough, "shouldn't have left at all. Realize that now. I never should have left ya like this, it wasn't right. I shouldn't have given up so quickly on ya. Don't… Don't know how ya do it," he rubbed the back of Scout's hand with his thumb, "how ya don't give up. How ya stay so bloody stubborn. Probably because you usually turn out to be right. Like about our team. I think they might be alive. Don't know for certain, or if it was even them. But I think the lads might still be alive. So you were right all along. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you before now." Sniper paused, looking down. A moment passed, then he took in a breath and continued.

"You just don't know when to quit. When to quit talking. When to quit fighting. When to back down… I hope you still don't. Cause most blokes in your shoes would probably throw in the towel by now. Call it quits. Say there's no chance of surviving this so why bother. Well, I think you have quite a lot to bother for. And I think you can survive this. I hope you do.

"I … do care about ya, lad. Tried not to, didn't work out so well, if at all. Like I said, you don't know when to quit. Suppose that extends into getting on my good side. So. Ya got what ya wanted, me to care. And it would be pretty rude for you to pull a fast one on me right after I get attached."

He continued to talk to the unconscious runner, softly, refusing to let the emotion building in his chest be brought out. When Sniper ran out of encouragement to say, reasons why Scout should wake up, he spoke about his life. About his parents, about the times he searched for dinosaurs in the outback as a kid, about all the family pets he had growing up, about the times he'd chased the larger Australian children off by hurling sharp stones at them, each one hitting their mark. He spoke about jobs, about hits gone right, hits gone wrong, hits gone very wrong and the scars that came with them. Spoke about the time he spent with the team, what he liked about it, what things their teammates did that annoyed him to no end(especially Spy). And then it circled back to what he liked about Scout, and why he didn't want the runner to die.

When Sniper finally had nothing left to say, and once his voice gave out after so long of talking nonstop, he rested his head on the cushions, holding Scout's hand in an unbreakable grip. As he slipped into an unwilling slumber, one single phrase played on repeat in his mind. Like a prayer, or a broken record, a constant, quiet plea to someone who couldn't answer. And it continued through the deepest layers of sleep.

Please don't die.

Please.

Over and over, repeated throughout the night, only simmering down when, through the subconscious, Sniper felt Scout's hand take hold of his own.

Chapter Text

So hard to breathe…

The heat, it was everywhere. It wasn't letting him go. That arid desert rushing into his lungs…

"What do ya mean bullets didn't do anything?" Demo asked, eye wide in disbelief. He took a breath to say something, to tell him to listen, that he was telling the truth-

The camper ceiling was shimmering like a mirage, he wanted to reach out and watch the tin wrap itself like mist around his fingers. But he couldn't move. That desert was filling his head with sand, he was an hourglass with those blistering grains coursing through his veins, rubbing him raw and dry. So warm, his lips were broken up like cracked dirt, tongue was so dry.

Rainfall, muffled, in the fog he couldn't get through. That black fog that kept him down, coating him in a heat so vicious he couldn't breathe… that rain, he wanted it. That rainfall made up of words. The droplets were letters and sounds, he wanted them, he wanted to hear them fully.

He wanted water, he wanted-

The blood seeping from his ankle was dissipating into the puddles covering the road he limped down. No more heat could be found in his body, he was shivering from the freezing rain. Shivering from what he'd seen. Shivering from what he did.

He had to get away. As far as possible, but the trees went on for miles. Where could he go? That rain pounded against his skin, flattening his clothes against him. He was covered in water. He was-

Covered in sweat, now an unbearable cold had settled just below the surface of his skin. White hot ice. It would pulsate whenever something grazed his skin, forcing goosebumps to rise and a thousand searing needles to pierce into his immobile body. Water, words, he needed those.

A coldness, one true and good rested on his head, piercing that horrible fog, allowing him a moment of vision. The cold placed on his head tipped the hourglass back over, the sand spilling out if just a little bit, and he spotted a figure through the fog. He knew that person, he trusted him, he'd help.

Noises tore his throat apart, that desert air rushing through. It hurt. That feeling in his throat. It hurt.

IT HURT! His joints were being strained to their limits and past even that. He shoved it with all his might, beating an eye with the grip of his pistol. It did nothing. Those voices, laughing, pushing him down deeper into the mud, almost sounded like a song-

That rainfall of words became a shower of tunes. A quiet, blue tempo, snaking through the air. He recognized it. Somewhere. That jazz, it was good. A blue tune tipping the hourglass when the sand filled too much. It stopped too soon, that melody. He wanted that rainy day song. He wanted to know what it was. What was it called?

"What is that thing!?" Medic shouted, an emotion lacing his words that so rarely did. Disgust. And boy was the doctor right, what was that thing!?

His hand would be filled with a warm something sometimes. He couldn't tell what it was through that dark fog, but it was a good thing. He knew that much. The rainfall of words would start when his hand was warm and stuck, those words were nice, they had nice things to say.

He wished he could talk to them back, tell them to turn the hourglass again, the sand was filling his head again.

Water, brushing against his lips. Cool, clear water. The drought was gone, his desertification was delayed. He opened his mouth to drink it down.

NO! He swatted at the arms, at those snaking limbs. He fought back, mind racing faster than his heart. Faster than he'd ever ran before, for a way to escape. The rain peppered it, little trails of opal liquid dripping off the thing. It grabbed his hair and slammed him into the dirt, mud caking his back. Screaming all profanities he could think of at that thing, he had given it an opening. It shot forwards, grabbing his jaw and ripped his mouth open wider. All of its eyes narrowed in wickedness.

That rainfall of words had stopped for so long, he was alone. The hourglass hadn't been tipped, the heat was building, he wanted it to stop. To cool down. Please.

Please let him go, please stop, please stop, it hurts so much, he couldn't take it anymore!

A thunderclap of noise broke through his dry spell, a triumphant shout of success, and then the rainfall started again, but this one felt better than anything, better than everything. That cold it brought wasn't only tipping the hourglass, it was cracking it, the sand spilling out and falling out from his veins. A wonderful blue enveloped the black-

He was free and racing through the trees. Heart racing, feet pounding, the only thing he wanted was to get as far from that thing as possible. But he couldn't. It was still there. He could feel it. Threatening to split him open. But he still ran, and he heard more footsteps. Loud splashes over the deafening rain. Someone… someone had survived too!

He shot through the trees, vision darkening, and stumbled onto the flooded road. He looked up at what he thought at first was another tree. But trees weren't Australian, and trees didn't dress up in clothes. Trees didn't have blood dried up on one side of their face.

That was Sniper.

The cool blue made the fog grow lighter and lighter, the heaviness in his limbs feeling so faint, and he was laying on a cot, staring at a dark tin ceiling that shimmered in his vision. A warmth was around his hand, and a pleasant cool around everything else. He looked down from the ceiling.

He knew this guy, this guy that looked like his brother but wasn't, this guy who was now knelt by the bed, holding his hand, and resting his head on the mattress by the runner's chest. Around them was a glowing, mystifying blue light. He knew what that was too. It was good. It was so, so good.

He pulled his hand out from the marksman's own, a challenge from the strength. Then, ruffled the man's hair with a smile. A silent thank you. The runner would then lie back down as he succumbed to a dreamless, temperate sleep.

Warmth. Not that blistering, unbearable, arid heat that consumed Scout's mind for what felt like years. No, this… this was good. It was soft, and comfortable. It felt like…

Home. A very specific home but, yeah, home. Like… sleeping in during the weekend in April or… something like that. A place he wanted to stay in for as long as possible. So he did, content to just let the warmth stay with him, and he himself staying warm. After so long of nothing but hypersensitive touch and parched throats, this was heaven.

Wait, no, yeah, he was still thirsty. Maybe he could wait a little longer…

…

No, his throat was starting to hurt, he wanted some water. And that meant actually opening his eyes to get some. Okay, easy.

It actually wasn't easy. It felt like someone had glued ten ton weights to his eyelids, making it super hard to open them. But once Scout did, everything came into focus.

He was in a bed, not his, but it was familiar enough to not panic. Lying on his back, facing the deep grey ceiling, Scout felt the multitude of blankets weighing him down and the pile of pillows behind him. So that was where the warmth was coming from. And to his side, was his loyal Mr. TruffleSnuffle. Besides him, though, Scout was completely alone. At least, from where he lay he couldn't see anyone else.

The camper(ah, right, the camper was what he was in) was empty of its owner, leaving Scout all by himself. Through the window to his left, the softest white light faded in from the outside. It was raining, but barely, with the sky mostly just being overcast and foggy. Through the clouds, the sun still shone through, making it hard to look up at the sky because of how bright it was. It was actually pretty pretty.

While Scout was the only one left in the van, there were enough things to keep his attention from disappearing. For one, the open boxes of first aid kits lying on the counter. He couldn't make out what was missing from them at his angle. Next was the pile of clothes on the ground. It looked damp. He could make out one of his shirts there. There was a shiny brass instrument, what was it called again? And finally, the thing that really got his mind and heart racing, was the working Medigun right beside the coffee machine, it's brilliant blue aurora beam gently wrapping itself around him, fading into his skin. It didn't look to be at full power with the blue light sometimes flickering and fading away, but it was working.

He fixed it. He actually fixed it!

Where was he anyway?

Scout made to sit up, only to find out he couldn't push himself up. His arms felt like they were made from pipe cleaners, and whenever he tried to get his elbows under him, they would shake and tremble from the effort and he'd be forced to stop. It didn't help that his left arm hurt. Like, it hurt a lot. Well, it was more sore than anything but man. And not only that, his head felt mushy and prickly, maybe sticky too? And there was a stinging somewhere, like when you get scratched. Not enough to draw blood but enough to make you red and thump under your skin. Yeah, it was stinging a lot. But where?

Once again, he tried sitting up, and, after ignoring his screaming limbs, managed to get his head off the pillows. But something stopped him. He reached a point where he couldn't bend, like, his spine wouldn't curve anymore. That wasn't a good sign. Scout flopped back down, exhausted. He then crossed his arms. Or tried to, one was far shorter than he remembered it being. What the h*ll happened to it? Well, that was probably why it was so sore.

There was something else, too. He could feel it, beneath the blankets, beneath his shirt. Rough and stiff, that was what was making him so unbendy. Slipping his hand beneath the covers, Scout gingerly pulled at his shirt, and even that felt like a challenge. As he pulled it up, his fingers brushed against something coarse and grainy. He recognized that feeling…

His heart began to race. Oh no.

Oh no…

He knew!

Scout finally managed to sit up just enough to prop himself up with the pillows. He was still mostly horizontal, but still. When would he get back, where had he even gone?

Why was he gone? Did, did something happen to him? Was he driving or something? No, the van wasn't rocking slightly, and the trees outside weren't moving. Maybe he was hunting or some outdoorsy crap like that, sounds like something he would do. Or… or maybe… maybe he was… Scout couldn't think up any more ideas. But his friend- teammate was, wait no, hadn't… hadn't he heard… no, but he was asleep, right, when he heard… maybe? But Scout had heard something about friends, didn't he? Or was his mind just playing tricks on him, giving him a stupid little hope so that he'd make a fool out of himself. How often does that happen? Too many times. Too many d*mn times to count. And yet he kept falling for it, his stupid mind's tricks.

Not this time. Sn- he, Scout wasn't his friend, they were just good teammates, that's all. So then where was his teammate? As he sat there, silently, reaching over to grab his pig and hug him, Scout turned towards the window and watched for anything. The small droplets running down the panes of glass, the trees slightly swaying, the brilliant sunbeams breaking through the overcast sky. Maybe he was just out for a walk, cause it was super pretty outside. That sounded like something he'd do. He wanted to go outside too. He wanted to run. But he couldn't feel his legs. Were they still there? …yup, just super tired and weak. No running today. So Scout waited.

…

Man, he could really use some water right now, he couldn't even swallow. Hopefully he'd be back soon. Or… or maybe he shouldn't, because now he knew, and Scout hadn't wrapped up those bandages, which meant he knew and they were going to have to talk about it. Or… or maybe not, maybe he didn't care about the cuts, just doing the bare minimum to cover them, and he wouldn't ask about them at all. Although, that train of thought just made Scout feel bad so, really, he really didn't know which option he wanted more to happen. Whichever one happened though, was just what was going to happen.

Maybe he'd forget to ask?-

The encroaching muffled steps from outside made the runner snap his eyes towards the door in nervous anticipation. They got closer and closer, and then stopped as the door's handle jiggled and was turned. The door swung open and in stepped Sniper, shaking the rain from his hands.

As the marksman slipped off his dripping raincoat, he looked up and locked eyes with Scout. No one moved. Then, Sniper lit up with a smile.

"Hey you," He said, making his way to Scout's side. Scout flashed a grin, an inaudible hello. As the marksman sat on the edge of the bed, the runner was able to fully take in his companion's appearance.

Sniper, in no uncertain terms, looked awful. In the "at this point it's a miracle I'm still standing" kinda way. There were dark rims under his eyes, darker than normal. His hair, usually neat and swept back, was dripping wet and messy with strands falling over his forehead. And it was clear that he hadn't shaved for a while if the dark stubble was anything to go by. …Why the h*ll didn't Sniper grow a beard anyway, it made him look even cooler than normal! While Scout pondered this question, Sniper asked one of his own.

"How're ya feeling, lad?"

"Like s**t." Scout croaked before clamping his mouth shut with wide eyes. Was that his voice!? That couldn't be his voice, it wasn't even like sandpaper, it was gravelpaper!

"You look like s**t too." Sniper added, slipping off his mud coated boots.

"You l-" he tried snapping back, but his voice wasn't having it, breaking off into pain before Scout could make any retort.

"Ah, you're probably thirsty, huh?" The marksman stood and got to the sink, already getting Scout a glass of water. He tried nodding, or saying that yeah, he was super thirsty, how could you tell? But his throat was now burning like he'd swallowed hot coals.

Did Pyro ever swallow hot coals, that sounds like something she'd do, considering no one ever knew what the **** he was saying. Except maybe Hardhat-

Oh, a glass, Sniper was handing him a glass. Of water. Nice. He tried to take it, but… his fingers wouldn't-

It slipped from his hand and spilled all over his lap.

"S**t."

"...Well, at least it was water and nothing that would stain." Sniper sighed, taking the glass and refilling it. As he did so, Scout flexed his hand in confusion.

"Why-" He rasped, forcing himself to talk, "why'm I so weak?"

"You tell me." The tone might have been mad, but maybe Scout was reading Sniper's response wrong? It didn't sound happy though and that was all he cared about. So when Sniper once again came back with the full glass and instead of giving him the water, helped him drink it, Scout didn't complain. He didn't want the marksman mad at him already, he didn't want him mad at all.

The second the cool water touched his lips, Scout hit a second wind and snatched the glass, downing the water without delay, startling the marksman. A second later and the cup was empty with the runner gasping for air. He still wanted more.

"Better?" Sniper asked. Scout nodded.

"Thanks." He might have still been thirsty, but at least his voice wasn't like nails on a chalkboard now. "So, uh, what's… what's up? 'Cause you ain't looking too hot."

"You." Sniper replied. "Which is good, you were making me really worried for a while."

"I was?"

"You've been unconscious for around two days now."

"Two days!?"

"Two days." The marksman confirmed, running his hand through his hair, "I honestly didn't know if you'd survive even with the Medigun on you 24/7. You were so thin… I didn't know if you'd have the energy to ever wake up again." Scout sat in shock, speechless. Two days, he was- two whole days!?

"I mean, you got better, a bit, once I got that piece of junk working," Sniper jabbed his thumb towards the Medigun and Scout noticed the bandages wrapped around his hands, "your fever was what I was most concerned about; you refused to cool down."

"...well, duh, I'm too hot to handle." That earned him a look. "A-And hey, You fixed it at least!" Sniper paused, and then smiled. That smile did not match his eyes, at all. In fact, now he looked mad.

"Yup," he said through clenched teeth, "I fixed it. And guess what was wrong with it?" Scout furrowed his brow.

"What?"

"You'll never bloody guess what it runs on."

"What?"

"The reason. Why it wasn't working. Was because it ran out of ****ing batteries."

"...You're kidding..."

"Trust me, I really wish I was, there was a little compartment in… It runs on Double A batteries, and they'd been knocked loose. That was literally all that was wrong with it."

"What the h*ll!?"

"I've never wanted to strangle Medic more than I did at that moment."

"No freakin' kidding! Holy crap!"

"Yeah, and now because I meddled with it, it only working because I arranged it like that," Sniper groaned as he sat down, "if it's tapped or anything, it'll stop working. It's barely working as it is, it's healing slow and it still feels like my brain's a mite loose."

"But you're okay though, right? Like, what about your ribs?"

"Those healed well enough; little spikes here and there, but I'm fine."

"Man, that sucks."

"Yeah, so, my side of thing's been pretty aggravating; don't know about yours. But I'm guessing your side wasn't all sunshine and rainbows either, right?"

"Not really," Scout admitted, scratching his arm, "how'd you…"

"You would wake up sometimes," Sniper explained, pulling on a hangnail, "and say things. Sometimes they wouldn't make sense, sometimes you'd talk as if you were back home, and others you'd start… telling the team to do things or not to do things. Like, you'd tell me, you'd tell me to take the shot, or, don't let him through, things like that." Scout's heart began to beat harder.

"Oh."

"And, and I don't know if you remember when… when I had to amputate your arm, but… I remember you saying you didn't want to be turned into a monster." His hand started to shake.

"...huh."

"Now, you were delirious so you might have just been overthinking things that weren't happening-"

"Yup, and ya wonder why I don't think so much." Scout interrupted, flashing a quick grin. Sniper snorted, a smirk forming on his own face.

"Maybe. But…" the smirk faded into a frown. Sniper paused, rubbing his neck, gathering his thoughts. Then, he sighed.

"Listen, Scout, we need to talk." The runner stayed silent, looking down at his arm, at his pig, at anything except Sniper. Maybe if he didn't acknowledge Sniper's words, the marksman would let it go? So he stayed quiet, and Sniper didn't respond. He knew his caretaker was watching him, waiting, Scout could feel his eyes on him. But he stayed quiet.

The prickling tension was building the longer they stayed like that, and Scout knew Sniper was patient, that Sniper would wait until he finally broke down because of that stupid awkwardness that always came with these things. He hated it, that quiet, that no noise which meant he was in trouble, being looked down on, being caught. But he wasn't going to break, not this time, he couldn't.

Even longer they sat there, and now Scout could feel every atom in his body fight to break this stalemate, this stare down. He ended up biting his tongue to keep himself quiet. That silence was filling his ears, pulsing and dense, like something solid was hindering his hearing.

Please make this stop.

"Scout?" Scout flinched at the sudden noise, "where'd you get those cuts?" He wouldn't look at Sniper. He wouldn't look at Sniper, that's what Sniper wanted. Just lie. Just lie, just like he'd been doing for weeks, just like he'd been doing since he woke up in this stupid van the first time.

"...I got them from our fall," Scout improvised, talking slow in order to think up a believable fib, "tried, tried grabbing on the walls, and landed on my stomach, which caused all the bru-"

"Jay." The lie instantly died on his lips at the mention of his name. Scout looked up despite everything telling him not to, and met Sniper's eyes. He…

He didn't look mad. He didn't look mad… Mick was sad.

That was so much worse.

"Mate, please be honest with me," Sniper asked, "I know I haven't been treating you fairly, but I think I deserve at least that." Scout's mouth dried. No, this… this wasn't what he wanted, he didn't want Mick upset, he just didn't want him to know. 'Cause… 'cause then he'd have to…

Scout hung his head, having no idea what to say. After some time, he heard the marksman sigh. It was a deep, somber sigh, one that made Scout feel even worse.

"...I know that this probably isn't something you want to talk to me about, considering," Confused, Scout peered at Sniper, who wasn't looking at him anymore and wearing an expression Scout really didn't want him wearing right now, "and I didn't mean for you to… I never hated you, never stopped caring-"

"The h*ll are you talking about; I don't do it because of you," Scout blurted out before realizing what he'd said. Sniper stiffened, looking back at the runner in horror.

"So you are cutting yourself?" S**t. "Then, then why? If I'm not the cause, then why would you do something like that?" S**T! His heart was racing, his mind was pounding- no, other way arou- aw crap, aw crap, crapcrapcrapcra-

In an act that was one hundred percent immature and with a burst of adrenaline, Scout grabbed the blanket and pulled it over himself to hide. Crap, Sniper thought he was cutting because he was making Scout sad, that wasn't! No! It was- it was-

"Scout, can you come out from there please?"

He didn't want Sniper to think it was his fault, it wasn't, it wasn't his fault, Scout just hadn't- he wanted to spill everything. But then Mick would really hate him, and who could blame him, anyone would hate Scout if Scout had been lying to their face for about a month by now. Some kind of pressure was building in Scout's chest. He couldn't tell Mick, he wanted to, he also didn't want to, it was the right thing to do, it would make Scout's life worse, his life was already pretty bad, what's one more person hating him, what's one more teammate hating him for what he decided to pull?-

"Scout?" The darkness of the blanket was lifted away, revealing a worried marksman. He wasn't wearing his sunglasses so there was no barrier, nothing to hide that concern written plainly on his face. Sniper wasn't mad, he was worried.

"...I've been lying. I've been lying to you this whole freakin' time…"

"What do you mean?" Sniper asked. The runner looked away, ashamed. "Kid, what lying; what've you been lying about?"

"I never forgot. I never forgot what happened at Sawmill, I remembered everything," Scout confessed, "I just didn't want you remembering."

"...why?" He didn't like the kid's tone, there was something about it that he…

"Because you'd hate me, because everything's my fault," Scout mumbled into the mattress, his face hidden from Sniper, "I'm the one who told you not to shoot, and that let it in, that let it get to you and cut off the power and get everyone else; it's my whole freakin' fault."

The runner's words began to itch, forming something in the back of Sniper's mind that he wanted to scratch but couldn't.

"And I left behind Heavy when he told me to , left behind Medic when he went to help him once he was losing, left behind Engie and Demo when we got cornered, I left them all behind when I could've helped. I could've helped but I didn't. And then I left you behind too. I'm a freakin' traitor, a freakin' cowardly traitor."

A fuzzy image of a rain soaked nest with a tin roof began to surface. That itch grew.

"And even after that, I freakin' shot my own hand off just to get free, so I wouldn't die like the rest of you." Sniper froze, eyes wide.

"You- You did what!?"

"I was there with them when we tried killing it the first time," Scout said, voice holding no emotion, "the bullets did nothing, and I still had three on me, so when it gra- when I got attacked, I shot my hand off cause that's how… I just needed to get free, I didn't want to die." The runner went still, making no movement besides light shivers. Sniper knelt by him, still holding up the blanket, stock still as well.

Scout had lied about everything…

"Get up." The runner stiffened as Sniper pulled the blankets off him, "come on, get up." With some delay, Scout shakily made himself sit up, refusing to meet the marksman's eyes. Sniper got back onto the bed, seating himself directly in front of Scout.

"You are going to tell me everything. No more lies; I want the truth." His tone was stern but not harsh. He didn't want Scout to end up back in the state he was in when Sniper had found him in the clearing. Although it seemed Scout had no intention of doing so. He looked completely defeated with his head hung low and eyes empty of their normal energetic light.

"Please."

"...okay." Scout sighed, "I'll talk."

"Start from the beginning, that… about me not shooting something." Sniper said, leaning in to listen. The runner nodded and took a breath.

"You'd went back to your nest after playing poker with the guys. Heavy gave you his earpiece because you didn't have yours and he didn't think he'd need it cause he was staying inside. I don't remember when you called exactly, but… you called over the line, and I was the one who pick up because I had my headpiece 'cause I always do. You said that there was a guy, like, a guy that looked like those messenger dudes with the TVs strapped to their chests. And, like, sometimes we end up killing them, outta shock or 'cause the Admin's making us mad, but I figured, hey, we don't need to kill a messenger, they must have a message, right? You were wondering if you should snipe him, 'cause, y'know, trespassing or some s**t. And I told you not to do it, to let him in. And then a bit after that your earpiece went all staticky, and after that the base went dark.

"It must've hit the power or something, but either way, it went all dark. Everyone was confused and we tried calling for ya on different earpieces but you weren't responding and then things got serious 'cause something must've happened to you. Soldier wanted everyone to split up and look for the messenger guy so we did. Demo and Engie and Pyro, Soldier and Medic and Heavy, and me with Spy. I dunno what happened to Spy; he cloaked immediately, so I just said "screw that *sshole, I'm gonna go find the others." And I did; they were in the rec room talking about where the guy could be, and then I joined them, and then it… well, we heard it first. Like, it's growling and crap like that, and then it entered.

"Everyone was shooting except Medic and me cause… I started to but… my pistol wasn't doing anything to it, I just… but it grabbed Soldier and sorta, it was, it sorta, like, sucked him in? And Heavy stopped shooting 'cause Soldier was in there somewhere, and it was growing really big, like, just a huge wall of guts and flesh, tearing down the walls. That was when Heavy told me to run and get help, so I… I did, right before the doorway caved in, which hit my ankle and really busted it up. I thought it was trapped, 'cause now it had no way to get out, right? No, it… it dug through the floor, making all kinda of holes looking for people. I think that's why. But it ended up chasing me, chasing me till I found the others. Pyro tried cooking it and… it actually made it stop. Fire hurt it real bad. And Demo's bombs. But it still ended up… it got Pyro and we had to run. We were chased into the main hall and we got barricaded in a room, I think it was the mess room. But I tried telling them that bullets don't do anything and they didn't listen.

"Then it broke through and it tried getting us. It grabbed Demo and Engie was shooting it, telling me to do something. I don't remember what. But I didn't. I didn't do anything but… but run away. I ran and locked the doors so it wouldn't get loose… I locked them in there with it. I just left them like that. And I left." Scout fell silent, his retelling reaching its ending. Sniper was quiet, letting the events marinate in his mind.

It was familiar. He had spotted a bloke, one he didn't recognize, wearing a thick trench coat, and holding an umbrella. He'd called someone, who was apparently Scout. The feeling of being grabbed by something far too strong and far too big, getting thrown, trying to use his SMG, and hearing the world collapse on top of him.

"...ya probably hate me for lying about this," Scout started again, "can't really blame ya; I'd be pissed off too. Sorry for lying to you for so long about this."

"...Scout, I don't hate you."

"Huh?" The runner looked up, meeting Sniper's gaze, "but, but it's all my fault!"

"You said that bullets don't do anything except slow it down; I would have just pissed it off if I tried shooting it. I don't think anything we could've done to prevent this, to be honest. You telling me not to shoot didn't cause this, if anything it would be my fault for listening to you when I can think for myself. It wasn't your fault." Scout didn't say anything, he only turned to look out the window. He didn't believe him.

Sniper stood, making his way towards the counter, feeling the runner's eyes on his back. The kid needed to both eat something, and know something. Something Sniper had been refusing to say to him.

"...I don't think I ever thanked you," he said. Behind him, he heard Scout stutter.

"F-For…?"

"For saving my life." He grabbed a can from a cupboard.

"Uh, I mean, uh, you're, um, well, it was-"

"You save my life at least three times."

"I… maybe I did?"

"You did," Sniper nodded, "you cut me loose from that weird pod thing."

"Well I couldn't just leave ya, I mean, I left you and I had to-"

"You saved me from falling to my death."

"Well, yeah, I just-"

"You kept me alive when I cracked my skull open on the rocks."

"I was just-"

"And you sacrificed your wellbeing to bring me back to life," Sniper finished quietly. The sound of water boiling was the only noise for a while.

"...you said I shouldn't've done that." Scout murmured. Sniper took a breath and began to speak.

"It was so much easier to ignore you, to just brush you aside when I only saw you as a chatty little brat," he said, fiddling with his hands, "back when I didn't know anything about you besides you talk a lot, you brag a lot, and you run fast. Back before you proved to be so much more.

"I never hated you. Sure, some things I despised you doing and that's always going to happen, but I never hated you. At least, when I'm in my right mind," the image of a broken table corner flickered through his head, "I don't really hate anyone, that's still caring in a sense. It's easier to just stay numb. I just didn't want to care about you, it was easier that way. But… but then we were the only ones left, and I couldn't lose the one person who'd have any clue as to what happened. It started out like that.

"Except then you weren't just a chatty brat anymore, you… kept proving me wrong. By putting yourself in danger just to help get me out of it. And… I didn't tell you it was a bad idea because it was dangerous. That wasn't the only reason. Each time you did that, do something nice, or proper, even when you could get hurt, or do get hurt, I'm forced to acknowledge that. That you aren't just a noise maker I'm stuck with, that you have a set of morals too. That you're… a better person than me," Sniper admitted, turning to look Scout in the eyes. "Because I don't think I'd make the same reckless choices you do for someone who would treat me like dirt in response."

"...So," Scout started, hugging his pig to his chest, "are you… did you forgive me? For leaving ya behind?" Sniper shook his head at himself.

"Mate, I forgave you a while ago at this point, I just didn't tell you for whatever reason. And, and I'm sorry." That was one apology out of the way with many more to go.

"I'm sorry for being so inconsiderate, I'm sorry for never thanking you for saving my life, I'm sorry for stabbing ya in Sawmill thinking you were it and never apologizing, I'm sorry for looking down on you as just some kid who doesn't know or do anything worthwhile, I'm sorry for calling your stories boring and you annoying, I'm sorry for blowing up at you in the mines, I'm sorry for, I'm just... I'm sorry, Jeremy, for treating you so horribly."

The runner didn't say anything for a moment, simply hiding his face in his stuffy with his ears glowing red.

"Ah, right, I'm not supposed to call ya that, sorry."

"It's," Scout squeaked out, "it's no prob, bob, really, it's cool."

"It's not though, is it?" Sniper replied, reaching Scout's side. He tapped the runner's shoulder, "I was acting like a proper *rsehole, wasn't I?" Scout looked up, cheeks flushed, and took the warm bowl from Sniper's hand.

"Yeah, you were kinda a jack*ss. What's this, soup?"

"A broth, because I'm not giving you anything too filling until your cheekbones aren't jutting out."

"But then shouldn't I be eatin' tons of stuff?" Sniper instantly shook his head.

"Not a chance, that would just kill ya faster."

"I… well d*mn, okay," Scout mumbled as he began to slurp up the warm liquid. He only did for a moment though, before stopping, looking strange.

"You alright?"

"Huh? Yeah, I'm okay."

"Then why did you stop?" Scout didn't respond. "Mate, you only had four spoonfuls; there's no way you're full."

"It's nothing, just… it's nothing." the runner said, twirling the spoon around before taking another sip. "Thanks."

"Just don't want ya dying on me." Sniper replied, sitting down on the bed, "I don't want to have to pull another two all nighters making sure you stay alive." Scout began to cough.

"You did- then what the h*ll are you running on, dude!?"

"Three pots of dark roast and spite."

"Well, you can sleep now; I'm not dying anymore."

"Don't tempt me," Sniper warned, "I'm still not done talking with you." Scout turned away.

"...look, I'll… can we talk about those later? I… I promise I'll tell you, but… later, okay?" Sniper sighed.

"...fine, but I'm holding you to that. And there's one more thing I need to tell you."

"Shoot."

"I'm pretty sure our team's still alive." That earned a spit take that was thankfully not directed at him.

"WHAT!?" Scout screamed, eyes wide.

"Yyyyyyeah, I meant to tell you earlier, about how I found some cocoons in the mines, before you passed out, but I kept forgetting; sorry."

"YOU- Nah, I- I, 'm too tired, and quit apologizing; it sounds weird."

"What do you mean it sounds weird?" Sniper prodded. Scout's ears were turning red again.

"People apologizing to me, it's weird."

"Why?"

"Cause people don't do that?" Scout said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, that there was nothing wrong with what he just said.

"...Bloody h*ll, mate, that's rubbish, I'm so sorry,"

"Dude, what did I literally just say?"

"Sorry."

"Shut-" Scout started before catching the smug look on Sniper's face, "oh, now you're just messing with me."

"Now what ever makes you think that?" he asked innocently. Scout scoffed, and finished up his meal. The pair sat in silence, one that wasn't filled with the tension of before. Then Scout made a noise that snapped Sniper's consciousness away from the brink.

He really needed some sleep.

"So," Scout started, "if the guys really are alive, then… then we have to help them; we can't leave them like that."

"No, we can't, but we can't go back yet either," Sniper sighed, "You're still barely alive."

"Yeah, and I don't think they'd want to see me anyway. They'd probably kill me on sight."

"Now, you don't know that-"

"Yeah, they would, that's what you almost did, and they've been stuck up way longer, they'll hate me."

"...if I can forgive you for what you did to me, I'm sure they can too. I can't speak for the lads, but… I don't think they'd stay too mad for long." Sniper reassured. Scout didn't look convinced.

"I dunno about that."

"Well, we'll only know when we free them. Until then, do me a favor."

"What?"

"Scooch."

"Wait, what-" The small cot bounced when the marksman collapsed onto the bed. Scout did indeed scooch away, giving Sniper enough room to lie down fully.

"You better not die while I'm asleep otherwise I'll kill you," he grumbled, shoving his face into a pillow, "I've put in way too much effort to keep you alive just for you to go and pass on from something stupid like a bloody brain aneurysm."

"Yeah, okay, that makes logical sense."

"Course it… makes sense. Now shut your yapper."

"Okay."

…

"Hey Mick?" the marksman groaned.

"What."

"I'm gonna have the bunk tonight, this bed's lumpy." he cocked an eyebrow.

"...fine, I don't mind sleeping on this "lumpy" one, you can have-"

"Nah, we can split it, the bunk one. It's big enough, we won't even touch. Sides, you wanna make sure I'm not dying in my sleep, right?"

"..."

"Please?"

"Alright, fine, we can share the bloody bunk, now shut up. If you need something, tough luck."

"Sounds good to me."

The day passed like that, with the pair of mercenaries falling asleep in short intervals, and staying awake in longer ones. And Scout it seemed was only getting stronger as the day went on. His voice was getting smoother, his eyes seemed to brighten, and the move that stole the spotlight was when he was able to stand without a crutch. Sniper had helped at first, because the runner still needed some help to get to his feet, but when Scout got standing and remained standing without using Sniper as a hand railing, that was cause for celebration in their eyes. Or, in Scout's eyes as he had crushed Sniper in a bear hug and then instantly punched him in the arm to cancel out the affection he'd shown.

Thank goodness for spare Double A batteries.

Despite the lateness of the night, and the deep, warm darkness that invited him, Sniper just could not fall asleep. He didn't really know why because during the day he could hardly keep his eyes open. And he wasn't really a night owl, either; at least, not for a good while. So then by process of elimination, the reason he couldn't sleep was Scout.

It made sense; the kid was directly to his right, nestled into the corner of the bed. Sure, they weren't touching, but maybe it was just the fact that someone was this close to him for such a long period of time. He never slept well with another person besides him, it was probably some psychological thing. Force of habit to not let anyone get too close.

But maybe it was also a force of habit to keep watch on the runner while he slept. Even though Scout had survived, thank goodness, he was still not up to full strength yet. He was getting there though, the still painful bruise on Sniper's shoulder was proof of that. But he still wasn't ready to stop listening, stop waiting for something that could go awry.

So far, Scout had tossed and turned about five times, mostly just shifting onto his side in his sleep. It felt like a good sign considering that the runner couldn't move at all when he was bedridden. And at that moment, Sniper heard some unintelligible unconscious murmurs behind him. Ah, right, Scout would also sleep talk.

A deep, powerful yawn ripped through the marksman's system, making his eyes water. Oh, he could really use some sleep right now. Just a little, but that didn't seem possible. Even as he shimmied as far away from Scout as he could without waking the runner up, or just leaving the bed entirely, Sniper just couldn't keep his eyes closed long enough to fall asleep.

What time was it?

Another yawn, another little murmur behind him. Though this one sounded more like a whimper. The rustle of the blanket filled his ears, followed by another soft noise.

Then the loud bang of the camper wall getting kicked snapped the marksman up and alert. Rolling onto his back, Sniper turned to look at Scout, who was tangled in the blanket. The runner was curled up with his back to Sniper, gripping the blanket with a white knuckled fist. Then he kicked the wall again with a short and quick jab. The marksman sighed.

"Oy, stop that," he grumbled, elbowing the runner's back, "have a nightmare another time." Scout stiffened at the poke, a harsh inhale filling the air. But he stopped moving and kicking. Satisfied with the result, Sniper rolled back over and once again the van was silent.

For five seconds.

The deep, shaking breaths behind his back caused the marksman to silently sigh again before he rolled back over.

"...want to talk about it?" he mumbled, words raspy from sleeplessness. Scout was noticeably less tense, no longer balled up. Through the dark, Sniper could make out the looseness of his shoulders, the limpness. That could mean anything, but for him it was safe enough to assume that Scout was exhausted instead of relaxed.

"...don't have to," Sniper said when Scout didn't respond, "just an idea." He lay there for a moment longer, watching the runner for any small movements that could clue him in onto what Scout wanted to do. He wasn't going to push it if Scout didn't want to talk, but something told him to wait just a little longer.

Silent they lay, and the dark was starting to drag Sniper's eyes close, when he heard the runner say something.

"It didn't happen to nobody else…" Sniper's attention was snapped back to the runner, whose voice was quiet and monotone. "It didn't do it to anyone else…" Neither spoke, one waiting patiently for the other to continue. The silence seemed to draw Scout's words out all on their own.

"I dunno how it caught up so fast," Scout said, his companion now completely enraptured. "I thought that I was so far away, really far away. Even with my ankle, I never stopped moving. It still caught up. It screamed. Like, before it chased me. I dunno why. Maybe it was mad, or wanted to scare me. Guess that worked, cause I just started running. Even with my ankle, I… I couldn't let it get me, couldn't let it get me like the others.

"It still caught up." His voice was starting to lose its confidence, its strength. He fell silent for a time, with Sniper now fully turned to face the kid who still had his back to him. Through the dark he could make out the light trembles of Scout's shoulders.

"...I thought… that maybe I could lose it in the trees?" he started again, much quieter than before, "Like, dipping and dodging would make it get lost? Or I could climb something to… and that's what I tried doing, ya know? Even with all the noise it was making behind me, screaming, growling, and snapping branches off, like I was being followed by a tsunami or something. I… I couldn't let it get me. And I made it. To a real tall tree with some branches that looked pretty sturdy, so I climbed it." He paused, taking in a breath, before continuing with a broken tone.

"I-I shouldn't've poked it, I should've just shut up, I-I just… just wanted to make it mad, so mad, after all it did, to everyone. Bu… but I just… I shouldn't've. Cause it just made it mad, and I knew that, I saw it getting mad. And I still kept…

"...I didn't think it would just start ripping the tree down. And that made me, I tried, I tried to hold on. I… It made me fall, right on top. It was so freakin' mad at me…"

Scout stopped again, this time it seemed like he wouldn't continue without some prodding. Sniper didn't. Instead he lay there, letting Scout build up enough momentum to continue or to fall back asleep. The runner curled up again, trembling more.

"...you… you don't need to keep going," Sniper tried to say, almost reaching out, "ya don't have to tell me this right now if you don't want to-

"It pinned me." Scout muttered, cutting Sniper off. The marksman eased back, listening with a somber expression as the runner forced himself to speak.

"It bit down, on my hand, and slammed me into the dirt. I… I could've fought back more, I know I could've. I dunno why I didn't. All I did was just shout at it. To let me go, to go **** itself, and it just pinned me against a tree and the ground. With my legs, and shoulders. It didn't bother with my hands, maybe it… cause one was getting chomped and the other had my pistol? I… I don't… why did it do it?

"It didn't do it to Demo, or you, or Medic… is it cause I'm smaller? I… maybe cause I was loud, and kept shouting. But it… I… it… it grabbed my jaw, and yanked my mouth op… and it went- it, I, I-I… I should've fought back more, I know I could've!..." The runner curled up even more, grabbing his shoulder so hard his nails were digging in.

Sniper didn't say a word.

"I couldn't swallow, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't even scream, and it just kept going," Scout was talking faster, the words pouring out of him like blood from a gunshot wound, "and- and it was laughing. Everything I did wouldn't make it stop, not hitting, not biting down, an-and it kept pushing me down and talking in… in voices, lotta voices telling me… teasing, and laughing, I… it hurt so bad so quickly…

"It tasted so freakin' bad, it kept going, an- and I could freakin', freakin' feel- feel it, feel it moving, and I couldn't run away so I just freakin'- I freakin'- I had a gun, and I panicked, I- I wasn't gonna get- gonna stayed pinned, I put the barrel, I put it against my arm- I didn't even, I wasn't doing it myself, it was like, it was like I got puppet strings or something cause- and the blood, it splattered everywhere, getting all over both a us and it screamed and- the rain was already making it weak, the blood just made it- and I bit down, and it… it was still in there. And I ran, but it was still wriggling in- I was, I couldn't- I was too late, I tried getting it out, so many freakin' times, but I couldn't, and- and everything tasted like it, everything, and eating meant that I was giving it food too, and I- It had to have done it for a reason, we- we ain't supposed to have living things in us, I ain't- I wasn't gonna let it make me freakin' have a monster take me over- and I tried to get it out, but I didn't- and-, a-and…" Scout's voice buckled into a hitch as the kid pulled his knees to his chest, falling completely silent.

Cold. Cold was the only thing Sniper felt as he stared at his little companion in shock. So very, very cold. He reached out and placed his hand on Scout's colder arm, who was trembling violently. After a moment with the runner not pulling away, Sniper, ever so carefully, pulled Scout onto his back to see his face. The darkness hid all the details, but he could clearly make out Scout's eyes. They reflected the small slivers of moonlight seeping through the shudders, highlighting the tears threatening to fall.

"That- That's why I was- why I have those bruises and crap," Scout confessed, refusing to meet Sniper's gaze, "I- I figured that I was too late if I couldn't throw it up, and that meant I- I was turning into it, or one of it or something, y'know? Cause, cause why else would it do that , why else would it do that to me? Why, why else-? A-And if I could bleed? If I could still bleed red, I was still me, still a not monster. A-And if I became one? Then that it was just, just- just practice for the real deal, in case, just in case I couldn't stop from turning, because- cause I wasn't gonna be one, I wasn't gonna turn into something that would hurt or e-eat people who ain't done nothing, and you'd be stuck with it, with me, the monster me, and I couldn't, I couldn't let you get hurt like that." The rambles faded into a whimper as Scout tried to pull away from the marksman's grasp. Sniper tightened his grip.

"How often have you been doing this?" Sniper asked. The runner's throat bobbed.

"A… as often… whenever I could check, w- without you knowing, and, and when I got, when I have nightmares."

Cold.

"And how often is that?" No answer. "Scout, how often?"

"Freakin'- basically every freakin' night," Scout blurted out with a gasp for air, running his hand through his hair, "I thought it was getting better, cause they were stopping, but they came back an- and I just, I just needed to know-"

Colder.

"So that thing, it… it forced itself down your throat?" He asked. Perhaps he was misunderstanding something?...

Scout nodded, eyes shut tight.

Colder.

"And… and you've been starving yourself because of that?"

Another nod.

"And after that, you started cutting, right?"

Again, Scout nodded.

Colder still.

"Why?" Sniper tightened his hold more, "Scout, why, I- bloody H*LL, Scout, why would you do that to yourself?"

"C-Cause I had to," Scout rasped, head ducked. "I- I dunno how to explain it, I… I just, I had to okay?"

"Try."

"W-Wha?"

"Just... try to explain, help me understand what this," Sniper gestured aimlessly, "what this whole business is. Please."

"I dunno how to!"

"Start from the beginning, at least try, okay?" The marksman let go of Scout's arm and instead held the runner's hand, giving it a squeeze. The runner at first said nothing, just content to lay silently, curled up in a protective ball. But then, he took in a breath, and began to speak.

"I… I don't freakin' get what happened, I don't, but… but we ain't got no, no freakin' idea what it does or… or why it does what it's doing, and… look, we ain't, normal monsters just rip ya to shreds, or eat ya, cau- cause that's what they do, right?"

"...Right?"

"Right. And, and monsters don't… real monster monsters don't freakin' open ya up and… and go down, pinning ya, making sure you can't get loose, laughing..." Scout trailed off, eyes growing distance, foggy, seeing something Sniper couldn't and would never see. He gave the runner's hand another squeeze. That brought Scout back to the present as he took another deep breath.

"...anyway, they don't do that. So, that has to mean, mean that, that it had a- a reason to do it. A-And aliens, I know the stories about those freakin', how some types stick things in ya? I dunno, I dunno why. But things don't just stick their things in ya for funsies, right? Who- which means it, it put part of it, like, it was in there when I got loose, when I- I got free. Could fe… could feel it just… in me. And I…thought that , since I couldn't feel it anymore when, when I woke up here, in here, that it hadn't just disa-freakin'-ppeared. That it was still in me, and I- I had to get it out. I had to get it outta me. I had to get it out."

"So you started making yourself puke?" Sniper prompted. The runner nodded, still refusing to meet Sniper's eyes.

"Cause what else could I do, wait for it to get out? No, I ain't, I ain't waiting so I just… I just… yeah. And I, I figured, I couldn't let it, it grow too, while it was still there. A-And what does everything need to grow?"

"Food." Sniper answered, mouth dry. The picture Scout was painting was beginning to form, and it was a horrible one. Scout nodded again.

"Yeah," he mumbled, "yeah, food makes things grow, and I wasn't, I wasn't gonna let it grow in me. Not a chance."

"That's why you didn't eat, why you barely ate anything, isn't it?"

"...yeah. And the real kicker? The real punch to the gut?" Sniper winced at the idiom, "it didn't even work… it never did, I was already too late. I just hoped… but I should've started sooner, should've just… but, I just, I couldn't get anything out, and that meant it was really in me."

"What does that mean then?"

"...I don't know. I just, I had an, I thought I couldn't, that I was…" Scout paused. Sniper lay waiting for him to continue, but what the runner started with instead only made more questions.

"There were two of them, ya know? The first one, right? But that other one? The one you were with, the one that didn't do anything to us? It looked like me. That freakin', it, that one looked just like me. E-Even before it got me, that, I was already a shapeshifting monster. Maybe. Just… I had to make sure I wasn't one too… I had to, I… I had to."

"Mate, you didn't-" Sniper tried to say something, but Scout wouldn't stop. He was talking faster again, breathing sharper.

"I did! I had to know, I needed to know! I couldn't become that, one a those freaks, I'd, I'd rather die, okay, I, and- and you know? You know those things don't bleed? They don't bleed red, they can't. Humans bleed red, they don't! And if I had red still in me? That, that meant I was still human too, I was still human. Only- only what if that little nick wasn't enough? What if that was just the little drop left over? So- So I had to keep checking, and checking longer, and deeper, and I, and just what if it wasn't enough this time? What if I check and, and think "yeah, I'm still me, I'm still Scout." and then I'm with you but it turns out I wasn't me anymore and I didn't check enough and ended up, ended up," the runner's grip was tightening to the point of pain, "So, so it wasn't like, I wasn't just doing it cause I'm one a those sad saps, okay? I just wanted to make sure I was still me deep down, that what it did to me wasn't nothing but a freakin'... and, and yeah, it… it got a little easier, little… kinda good, once I got, got a pattern down but… I just wanted to make sure…" Scout fell silent again, covering his face with his arm so as to not be seen. Like he was ashamed.

"...you said," Sniper started, letting go of Scout's hand, "earlier, you said if you became one of them, then this would just be practice for the "real deal". What… Scout, please don't tell me that you meant…" the dip in Scout's head and the guilt lining what little of him Sniper could see was answer enough, "Lad, no…"

"I t-told," Scout said from behind his arm, voice small and raspy, "I told you that I'd rather freakin' die than be a freak, an- and I mean it, I'd rather freakin'... I'll be dead before I become a monster, I'd rather die. A-And I figured, that maybe I'd be… cause I'm not gonna be a monster who eats people and does things to them like it did to me."

"You've been doing this, all of this, because you think you're turning into one of those things? You don't even… kid, you don't even know if that's-"

"Yeah, I don't!" Scout snapped, curling up even more, "I don't know if I'm okay or not! I have to check though, because what if I'm not okay? Wh- what if it's still there, and it's just, it's just waiting to, to take over, and rip ya to shreds? What if- what if it just, rips me apart, from, from the inside out or something? And I can't do nothing but feel everything shutting down, and what, and what if I'm still awake, still there when it takes over, and I have to watch it kill people, using me to do it, watch- watch it do what it did to me to other people! Or, or it just waits, till I'm home, with- with Ma, and my bros and their families, and then it- or to you! And all a that could happen, if, if I don't keep checking!" The runner was now trembling, every inch of his slender frame shivering with fear and distress. Sniper stayed quiet. He didn't… he didn't know what to say at that. All of this that was happening, Scout had managed, Scout, the blunt, sincere kid who couldn't tell a believable lie to save his life, had managed to hide all of this from Sniper. Within a small space, after near death situation after near death situation. And he never suspected a thing wrong besides the runner not handling the death, or supposed death, of their team well.

Sniper reached out and placed his hand on Scout's shoulder, who flinched in response.

"Look at me," He said. Scout shrunk back. "Scout, look at me." The runner slowly lifted his head and finally, finally, locked eyes with the marksman. The dark made it hard to see, to make out anything besides the shape of Scout's head, but there was enough light to know that Scout was listening.

"You're scared of becoming a monster, yeah?" The runner hesitantly nodded. He made to say something, but stopped when Sniper slid his hand up and below Scout's jaw. The Bostonian's skin was warm, and still felt paper thin, but that wasn't what Sniper was looking for. The pair stayed like that for only a moment or two as Scout began to squirm from the quiet.

"What're ya-"

"You're not turning into a monster, Scout," Sniper stated, "your pulse is far too strong."

"Bu- but what if it ain't red?-"

"Jay, you don't need to bloody cut yourself to know if your blood's red or not, there are tons of other details to tell."

"I don- but, but what're they?"

"Your skin for one," Sniper explained, pulling away from the runner's neck, "the reason it isn't snow white is because of your blood. Here," he took hold of Scout's hand and brought it up towards the moonlight, making their limbs a ghostly blue. He then lightly pinched one of the runner's fingers, cutting off the bloodstream. "You see that? It's turning red because of your blood. And those scars on your stomach, the only reason they're scabbing is because of your blood. And this," Sniper placed the runner's hand right where his own was just a moment ago, "that pulse is only there because your blood's red. You wouldn't be alive if it wasn't red, Scout." The runner was silent, feeling his own pulse rush through his body. Then he deflated, hanging his head back down and turning away from Sniper.

"oh… I… I really am stupid, huh?"

"Only sometimes. Just... lad, why didn't you tell me?" Sniper implored, trying to meet Scout's eyes again, "you wouldn't have had to deal with this. You didn't need to do this to yourself!"

"Cause then I'd have to tell ya everything else…" Scout muttered, "about me being a freakin' coward and knowing everything, and then you'd hate me and wouldn't care, I didn't… I didn't want to worry ya, cause if I turn into a monster-"

"You won't-"

"You don't know that!"

"And you don't know if you will." Scout hugged himself, nestling deeper into the mattress.

"But… it's better safe than sorry. What's, what's a few little cuts that won't stick, huh? Better than bullet holes, or being a monster."

"But those can stick, mate, those'll scar, you already have some, I had to dress them, they're scarring!" Sniper argued. The runner shrunk back, hiding his face.

"...look, 'M sorry," he whispered, "I know I should've told you, I… 'M sorry, okay? I'm sorry for making ya worried and crap, making ya worried over a guy that's too cowardly to-"

"You are not a coward, Scout."

"But I keep doin' this crap!-"

"Jay, you are not a coward," he grabbed Scout's jaw and raised the runner's head, who had his eyes clamped shut. "Kid, look at me," Scout shook his head, trying to pull away, "Jeremy, look at me." The runner opened his eyes, forcing himself to meet Sniper's own. For a moment, just a moment, neither of them said a word. Then the marksman cupped the runner's face in his hands, keeping him still and listening.

"You're not a coward, okay?" Sniper said, "You shouldn't have been doing this, and you know that," Scout looked away, "hey, I'm not done." he looked back.

"You shouldn't have done this, you should have told me, but keeping this to yourself doesn't make you a coward. From what I've gathered, you've done this because you don't want anyone else getting hurt like you did. Is that it, was that the reason?" Scout swallowed, then nodded. "Mate, you weren't being spineless, you were wanting to keep others safe. That isn't cowardly. You're not a coward."

"...but… I lied, lied about everything."

"Alright, maybe not telling me about Sawmill was a bit cowardly, but not this," Sniper was quick to add, "Kid, you've shown time and time again that you are the furthest thing from a coward I've seen. I haven't known a single other person who'd keep putting themselves in harm's way for someone who kept pushing them away. You came back when you left, you came back each and every time. Cowards don't do that. There's a fine line between what's brave and what's foolish, and you've been using it as a jump rope. Cowards don't do that. You're too bloody impulsive and reckless to be a coward."

"...I still lied to you."

"And you shouldn't have done that. Honestly though, I'm shocked that you managed to keep it going for so long. Mate, you can't lie for s**t." That made Scout snicker, if only for a second. "Or maybe I'm just more dense than I thought."

The small grin Scout had soon faded away as he looked down. Sniper raised the runner's head again.

"I really need to stop underestimating you, don't I?"

"...huh?"

"Need to stop underestimating how good you can be. You can be a pretty bloody good person when you want to be, or maybe that's just how you are when it comes down to it. I need to stop forgetting that." He slowed down, emphasizing every word he was about to say, "You're not a coward, because whenever you run from something, you're always running right on back. Might take a while to do it, but you always get there, in the end. You're not a coward."

"I… th- I… ain't pullin' my leg or nothing, right?" Scout asked, scanning Sniper's face for any indication that he would be lying. That small question made the marksman's chest ache.

"No. I'm not pulling your leg. I mean it."

"Everythin'?"

"Everything."

"Y-You sure?"

"I'm sure." Scout didn't seem to know how to respond as he only blinked rapidly. Then he ducked his head, saying something Sniper had to strain his ears to pick up.

"...even me turnin' into a monster? you really… like, I'm safe? I'm okay?"

"...Yes. That too."

"Promise?" Scout looked back up, an underlying hope in his eyes, "you promise I'm not gonna be a monster? I'm gonna- I'm gonna stay me?" The marksman paused, rolling the question over in his mind. After a while, he locked their eyes.

"I promise." At that, Scout went slack, falling deeper into the cushions and blanket. Alarm shot through Sniper's system before he realized that the runner had simply released all the tension in his body. His companion was probably exhausted in every sense of the word, so Sniper couldn't blame the noteworthy reaction. He watched as Scout shimmied back into the bed, pulling the blanket around him.

The darkness was quiet, and the soft blue glow of the night sky seemed to drag Sniper's eyelids down. And that enveloping warmth all around them, in the blanket, in the small space, making it hard to keep from yawning. He did anyway. Both of them were exhausted it seemed. The marksman rolled back onto his side, away from Scout, trying to figure out if he'd finally be able to sleep.

"...but then," Scout started, voice small, "why… why'd it… why did it do that to me?" Sniper stiffened, furrowing his brow.

"...I…"

"Cause if it didn't infect me, to make me one of them, that would- if it didn't do that cause of that, then… why'd it do it? It- there's gotta be a reason, right?"

"...I honestly don't know, Jay. I don't know."

"But- but then why-"

"There are some people who just do things because they want to do it, for no other reason. That thing might be one of them," Sniper rolled onto his back, looking back over to the runner who was nestled in the blanket. "And I'm not talking about, like, selfish blokes; everyone's selfish, at least a bit. I mean the real ones, the bad blokes, the murderers, the rapists, nonces, those kinds of people."

"But… we killed people too, we're murderers too, ain't we?"

"You're… we're killers, not murderers. We get paid to kill people who are paid to kill us back, which is technically self defense."

"So… how's, what's… we ain't bad people, like, really bad people?"

"No, that's what I'm getting at. They choose to do horrible things, frankly, for s**ts and giggles. For fun, pleasure, for the h*ll of it. There are people like that, we aren't them, but they are there. And… did you see it, when it dragged me under, what it looked like?" Scout shook his head.

"It was dark, a lotta bubbles too. Just it's hand cause I bit it."

"It was a man. Just a man. Nothing else, no multiple faces, mouths, eyes, just a man. Don't know what it is deep down, maybe I'm grasping at straws. But I think that thing was a man like that. A truly disturbed bloke. Would make sense, considering how it acts."

Scout chewed the inside of his cheek, looking away. The marksman's explanation rolled around in the runner's head, leaving a heavy silence during his thinking. Then, through the dark, Sniper saw the shadows on Scout's face shift along with the runner's expression.

"...so it actually did do all of that for funsies? It… it did all of that, for no good reason? All of it. It… it did everything to me, it ****ed me over, ****ed over my mind, my freakin' dreams, my- it ****ed me up just for s**ts and giggles…" Scout's quiet tone was brimming with every negative emotion the human psyche could conjure. But that deafening and violent thunderclap of rage Sniper was expecting never came. Scout didn't explode with wrath, didn't swear up a storm so acidic it would make every toxic chemical blush, didn't even punch his pillow. No, he didn't do anything. Nothing but lay propped up on his elbows with his head hung low, keeping Sniper from seeing his face. They stayed like that for a bit with Sniper watching Scout with a sharp eye, prepared to pin the runner if he turned violent. But that didn't happen. Not towards him. Scout instead made a noise so rough and miserable it made Sniper's own throat hurt as he began to pull his hair. Hard.

"Hey, hey, don't do that," Sniper snatched Scout's hand away from his head, "stop doing that!"

"There's gotta be a reason!" Scout rasped, voice thick with emotion, "Somethin' I did, or some c-crap like that, not just cause- not just for funsies. Karma or somethin'!" The marksman let go of the runner's hand, and like before, cupped the runner's face and raised it high enough to see Scout's eyes. The expression he held… it hurt. It hurt a lot.

"...I don't think there is, Bilby," Sniper said softly, "I'm sorry, I don't there was any other reason than it wanting you hurt."

"There's gotta be… more than just seein- seein' me squirm." He shook his head.

"No, Jay, I think it just wanted you scared and hurt," Scout stiffened, a new wave of tears brimming his eyes, "it just wanted to torture you for s**ts and giggles." The runner didn't say anything, probably couldn't from the sobs he was keeping locked in his chest, fighting to get loose. But eventually, like in the clearing, they did get loose. With a strangled breath, Scout gave up and began to cry. And when Sniper felt his companion pull away to hide his face in the marksman's shoulder, he let it happen.

A second later Scout had his arms wrapped around Sniper's chest, his one hand gripping the marksman's shirt like a vice. Sniper simply returned the embrace, rubbing small circles into the runner's back, speaking as quietly and calming as he could muster.

"I'm sorry all of this happened to you, Jay, honestly I am, ya didn't deserve a quarter of it."

For how long Scout spent using Sniper's shoulder as a tissue, he couldn't tell. Time felt different here, like this. And the muffled breath hitches his littlest teammate made weren't a clock's ticks. Once Sniper grew tired of talking, he instead began to pet the runner's head, flattening the hair Scout had been pulling at. Though, that turned out to be in vain. The runner's hair had grown out from the neat shaved look he had for their work, leaving sharp, soft spikes of light brown hair. It was thin, like straw, and wouldn't be flattened by the works of man. But Sniper still tried.

It was only when Scout's breathing grew slower and deeper that Sniper stopped. He paused everything, electing to ask "you alright now?"

"No." He heard Scout grumble. When Sniper looked down, even though it was dark, he could make out the bright redness of Scout's ears.

"Okay, wrong question. Do you feel better than before?" He felt Scout shrug. "Well, what do you feel, then?"

"...tired." the runner said, "really, really tired…" His voice was gravelly and perfectly portrayed the exhaustion Scout claimed to have.

"I can tell," Sniper replied, placing his hands on the runner's shoulders, "you should get some sleep, mate, you're still not up to full speed." He made to pry Scout off him, but his teammate had other ideas.

"Can we just… stay like this?" The runner asked, ears growing even redder, "...please?" Sniper didn't say a word. For about five seconds, just enough time for Scout to get antsy. He grinned and began to ruffle the Bostonian's hair, undoing all his pointless work.

"N'awwww, you're just a cuddly little Kookaburra, ain't cha?" Sniper cooed, "are you always this affectionate or is it just my natural charm?"

"Shut the **** up," Scout growled back, "I don't gotta put up with this s**t tonight, okay?"

"Alright, just pokin' some fun. Though I'd appreciate it if you could move to my side so my ribs won't be flattened when you pass out." The runner obliged, slipping down to the marksman's side. There he went straight back to hugging Sniper, letting his head rest on his shoulder. The blanket was pulled up, and the pair grew quiet.

…

For about three seconds.

"Hey, you're not… ya ain't gonna tell anybody about this, what we're doin' or- or anythin', right?"

"Who would I tell even if I wanted to?" Sniper mumbled, letting his eyes fall shut.

"I'm serious, man, you won't tell anyone, like, what I told you, right?"

"No. I won't tell anyone."

"Promise?"

"...If I do, you need to promise something in return."

"Promise what?"

Sniper grabbed Scout's arm, locking the runner up with a fierce gaze.

"Don't you ever do that cutting s**t again, you hear me? Don't let me ever catch you doing that to yourself again! And if you do, it better be for a d*mn good reason like cutting a bullet out or-"

"Okay, okay! Jeez! I freakin' promise, I won't do it again." Scout blurted out, eyes wide at the sudden ferocity. "I promise…"

"...fine." Sniper sighed, letting go of Scout's arm who rolled it to lessen the soreness his hand caused, "Look. Whenever you want to do it, just... just tell me, okay? Please? Just find me or something, this isn't a habit you want to form, trust me."

"...okay." Scout managed to squeak out before a deep yawn cut him off, sending him nestling into the blanket and Sniper's arm. The marksman rolled over, wrapping his arm around the runner's shoulders.

"I promise not to tell anyone what you told me, Jay. And about this, which you better not talk about either. Don't need anyone thinking we're going soft, now do we-"

"You kiddin'? I'm takin' this to my grave, I'm dying before I freakin' start chatting abou-" he yawned again, "sharing beds… like I'm back in second grade or… or some crap."

"Good, then we're on the same page," Sniper himself nestled down. The soft warmth around him was starting to feel really nice

"Heck ye… we're a team, we… we're always havin' shared pages, I'm… goin' to sleep now."

"Alright…"

"Night, Mick."

"G'night, Buckshot." Before his eyes closed, before the soft shadows and fabric engulfed his consciousness, Sniper could have sworn Scout smiled while mouthing "thanks for listening."

Morning came slow, which in all honesty was a blessing considering how long it took Sniper to actually fall asleep. Waking up to the rays of sunshine seeping through the blinds was nice, the rain clouds having finally passed them by. What wasn't so nice was waking up to find out he was completely trapped by Scout, who, in his sleep, wrapped his entire body around the marksman like a koala. He should get the kid a little koala costume from how often Scout did this.

Now how the h*ll would he get loose? Did he even want to get up yet? He wasn't exactly tired enough to fall back asleep, but getting up now didn't feel right. Maybe it was the stuffiness of the camper making everything warm and cozy. Or maybe it was just the fact that the runner on top of him was limiting his oxygen supply to his brain. That could be it. Man, if the lads saw him like this they'd never let him live this down.

He still didn't want to move.

Prying an arm out from Scout's tight hug, Sniper rubbed at his eyes. Then he looked down at the runner pinning him to the bed. Scout was dead to the world. Made sense. He didn't toss and turn, didn't murmur anything in his sleep. Suppose that meant he wasn't having a nightmare, or any dream perhaps. That was probably for the best if last night was anything to go by.

Right. Last night. Oh boy.

Running his hand through Scout's hair, Sniper frowned. The kid was right, in a sense, he was infected with something, it just wasn't anything physical. And he honestly didn't know if that seed of doubt and fear in the runner's mind could ever be uprooted. If it could, just one small midnight chat with him wouldn't fix it. Scout will probably be pretty upset to find that out when he wakes up. Hopefully the kid's promise will be kept, he wasn't completely convinced, but Sniper couldn't just ask Scout if he would keep it, even if he wanted to. But for now, the marksman was content to just let his cuddly companion be.

Though, it would be nice if he could get out from under him. Maybe if he just…

For the next few minutes, Sniper untangled himself from Scout, trying not to wake the runner up while doing so. He was victorious in the end, finding himself out of bed with his teammate still fast asleep, though the runner was beginning to toss and turn. That was quickly fixed by placing his round pig in the crook of his arm. Scout instantly latched onto it, pulling it close into a rib crushing hug. The sight made Sniper smirk.

Stretching out his joints and back, Sniper fought back a powerful yawn. Alright, where was the coffee machine? Ah, right, by the Medigun. Being extra careful not to touch the fickle miracle maker, he went about his morning business. As the sound of brewing filled the camper, he slipped into some day clothes along with putting on his hat and shades. Then he spotted the still damp pile of clothing he'd tried to wash yesterday. Well, the sun was shining, and who knows how long that could last, so now would be best-

A light tapping knock on the camper's door instantly caught Sniper's attention. All previous thoughts had been shot and buried, leaving none but who had knocked, had they been followed, and don't let them anywhere near Scout. The assassin straightened up, silently listening for anything else. Nothing but another light series of knocks. He walked forwards, posture relaxed, and grabbed the door's handle. His other hand lingered near his kukri. Taking a breath, Sniper opened the door.

It took him a second to actually recognize the person in front of him. His eyes widened once he did.

"Miss Pauling?"

The purple-clad secretary smiled in response.

"Sniper, you are one hard man to find."

Chapter Text

"Miss Pauling?" The Australian exclaimed. Miss Pauling let herself smile.

"Sniper," she started, "you are one hard man to find."

"'Cuse my language but bloody h*ll are you a sight for sore eyes," Sniper said, stepping down from the van to not tower quite so much over her. It didn't make much of a difference, she still had to tilt her head back a bit in order to meet his eyes. "How'd… wait just a moment."

"Hm?" Miss Pauling didn't have the chance to ask when Sniper took hold of her wrist. A moment passed, and Sniper let go, noticeably more relaxed.

"Just had to make sure," was what he said when she gave him a confused look.

"Um, alright," the secretary said, "now how about you invite me inside," she looked over his shoulder towards the van, "we have a lot to talk about."

"Ah, right," Sniper stepped aside to let her in, "if you don't mind me asking, how did you find us?"

"I made a spiral sweep from your last known recorded location, which was Sawmill, and found you. Figured you wouldn't go too far this time."

"Sawmill? But we left a month ago. Were you searching this whole time?"

"You were there just four days ago, weren't you?"

"How did you-"

"Scout made contact over your contract line."

"He did?"

"You… did you not know that?" Miss Pauling asked, stopping at the doorway. Sniper shook his head.

"He never told me. Though," He scratched his neck with a solemn expression, "the last few days were a bit… much."

"What- oh, right! Scout! Is he still with you, is he here?" She marched into the van, not waiting for an answer. "Oh my-"

"Don't wake him up," the assassin ordered from behind her.

"What happened to him?" Miss Pauling gasped. Scout was asleep. Or she hoped he was only asleep. Her merc was pale, undernourished, and his arm. It was even shorter than she remembered from the security tapes! It honestly looked like he'd been poisoned.

"Did you poison him, Sniper!?"

"No I didn't poison him, and keep your voice down please," the marksman closed the van's door. Miss Pauling turned back towards the man.

"Then what-"

"Long night," was all he said. And that was all she was going to get from him. Miss Pauling could press, could demand he tell her under threat of his employment or life, but what would that do? Not only was it rude to do it in the man's own home, but he was also one of only two people that had the information she so desperately needed. And, though it sounded mean, she didn't want Scout being the one to tell her everything.

"Alright," she sighed, slipping onto the bench opposite of Sniper, "now, I have a lot of questions-"

"I do too," the marksman interrupted, standing up from the table and grabbing a steaming coffee pot. "Want some?"

"...yeah, sure," Miss Pauling leaned on her hand, "the last one I had was around… oh, what time is it?"

"No idea."

"You have a wristwatch."

"It was broken."

"Ah, well it had to have been hours by now and-" she yawned, "-it's wearing off."

"Don't have too much left," Sniper mumbled, looking through his cupboards and grabbing two mugs, "had to make quite a bit of it the past few days."

"I had to have a lot too, being behind the wheel for over 42 hours tends to do that."

"All nighters?"

"All nighters."

"Sorry about that," Sniper set a full mug in front of her. She nodded a thanks and took a sip, instantly scrunching up at the bitter black taste, "seems we both had a couple."

"Why'd you stay up?"

"Scout." The marksman said, running a hand through his hair. "Like I said, things were hectic."

"...what happened to you two?" Miss Pauling asked, "Why is his arm shorter than before?"

"How did you know about his arm?" The tone was slightly lower than the rest of their conversation. The tiredness Miss Pauling felt was slipped into a folder and placed in the back of her mind as she locked eyes with Sniper.

"I'm afraid that is classified," she stated. Sniper's eyes narrowed by a hundredth of an inch.

"...it sure took you a while to start searching for us," the marksman began, never breaking eye contact, "a month since we last spoke. Why didn't you start a spiral sweep then? Unless there was something… more important than two renegade mercenaries?"

"The Administrator sees you as expendable, other matters not so much. And I'm afraid such matters are classified towards expendables-"

"Miss Pauling," Sniper slipped off his aviators and slipped into the bench opposite of her. His tone was lighter, and his eyes had the appearance of relaxation. But there was a cold fire behind them, with the frostbite gray of his eyes matching the kukri he had placed on the table top.

"Considering the fact that I've personally been affected by this whole ordeal, as well as my teammate behind you, to a worse extent, I think it's fair to want a tad bit of information. Just a tad, you understand. Perhaps about what that creature is that's been hunting us down as of late."

Miss Pauling remained quiet, posture proper but relaxed with her hands folded in her lap, only a few inches from the pistol holstered to her thigh. It would take a second to grab it, and another to unlock the safety while bringing it up towards the marksman in front of her. As for Sniper, it would take less than a second to close his hand over his knife and swing at her. Ducking wasn't reliable, the table was in the way, and since Sniper was right handed, he'd swing from her left, forcing her to the right and into the tin wall of the van, effectively trapped.

She didn't want to fight him. She wouldn't just lose. She wouldn't just lose her life, but a valuable ally who she knew wasn't as expendable as The Administrator wanted her to so desperately believe. Miss Pauling sighed.

"When he's awake, I tell you what I believe to know. I don't have all the facts. And I still can't tell you everything. But I'll try to answer any questions you ask, alright? Is that fair?" Sniper remained silent and wary. After a moment of keeping eye contact, the marksman blinked and leaned back, the tension dispersing.

"Alright," he agreed, pulling the kukri off of the table and putting back on his aviators, "that's fine. Just think we deserve some answers after everything."

"I understand," Miss Pauling said before the pair's attention was stolen by a light groan and the rustling of blankets. Sniper's eyes snapped over her shoulder with an expression she couldn't quite place. But it was one that she didn't know if she ever saw him wearing before.

"Aw h*ll," he mumbled, "well, guess we'll get some answers sooner than later. Oy, Scout, getcher self up, we got some company." Miss Pauling turned to watch as Scout rolled around in the thin blanket with an irritated expression. "C'mon lad, can't sleep the whole day away."

"Don't want company…" the runner whined into the mattress.

"Ya might like this one. Come on, wake up,"

"No," Scout growled, covering his head with his arms, "tell. Tell 'em thanks f' coming, and **** off. 'M sleeping." With that, the Bostonian rolled back over and went quiet. Sniper sighed, stood, and grabbed his own mug from the countertop. After taking a sip, he roughly began to shake the runner. Scout made a noise of annoyance, and then another when Sniper refused to stop, then he pushed himself up.

"Fr'k'in fine, 'M aw'ke!" He grumbled. Miss Pauling held back a smirk. Scout definitely looked more alive like this, now that his eyes were open. His hair was a mess, sticking up and grazing the ceiling, and his eyes were slits that were slowly taking in the camper. Finally, they met Miss Pauling's, and widened by the tiniest margins.

"Hey Sc-"

"Holy crap, an angel!" He proclaimed. Miss Pauling stumbled on her words as Sniper glanced in her direction.

"It's… it's Pauling, Scout."

"What's th' difference?" The sleepy Scout asked while rubbing his eyes. Her eyebrows shot up. Sniper took another sip. She opened her mouth to respond, didn't, then cleared her throat.

"Man, thing's 're quiet in here," Scout noticed, blinking away any remaining sleepiness. Then, he focused back to Miss Pauling, eyes cleared. "Wait, Miss Pauling?" His eyes shot open and paled, "MISS PAULING?"

"Hello," she said as Scout fell from the bunk, kicking away the blanket. He shot to his feet, ears redder than a tomato.

"Nice landing," Sniper commented to the runner. Scout snapped his head towards Sniper with an irate expression.

"Dude," he hissed, "why didn't you say Miss Pauling was here!?"

"I said we had company."

"Company! Not Miss freakin' Pauling!"

"Didn't think it mattered that much,"

"You didn't-"

"Guys," Miss Pauling interrupted, causing the two to pause and look her way, "come on, we have actual important stuff to talk about. Right, Sniper?" The marksman stood straighter.

"Ah, right, c'mon kid," He pushed the runner towards the bench. Scout stiffly sat down, followed more leisurely by Sniper.

"Right," the marksman began, "so, now that you're awake, me and-"

"Man, are you a freakin' sight for sore eyes!" Scout blurted out, cutting Sniper off. The assistant felt the corners of her mouth twitch up as Scout continued. "Like, jeez, we've been planning on calling ya for weeks now! And now you show up like a, like a freakin' mind reader, this is awesome!" He gleefully elbowed Sniper's arm, "it's her! She's here, man! We actually got a something good for once happening! How'd," he turned back to her with awe, "how'd you find us? Mick's been keeping us moving for, like, a month now." Miss Pauling glanced towards Sniper, or "Mick" as Scout was so quick to call him. So they were on a first name basis, now. "Mick" refused to meet her eyes, instead staring into his mug as he took a sip.

"Actually, I found you two through you, Scout," Miss Pauling explained, "through your call for help on the contract line."

"Wait, you heard that!?"

"Yes."

"Then how come-"

"Yeah, about that," Sniper cut him off, turning to face Scout with a miffed expression, "why didn't you tell me you made contact? And when the h*ll did you do it cause it wasn't during the last few days, I can tell you that!"

"I didn't even know she heard that, why didn't ya respond?"

"I tried to," Miss Pauling said, "my phone was in my backpack and a corpse landed on me-"

"Now hold on, Miss, when did you send out a message, Scout?"

"When it trapped me your dorm, my backpack got loose and dropped s**t everywhere-"

"Wait, it? What "it", are you two talking about-" At that, both mercenaries turned towards Miss Pauling, talking over each other to explain.

"-It's a shapeshifting freak that-"

"-been following us for days-"

"-it got Sniper at Landfall and-"

"-there's two of-"

"Oh for ****'s sake," Miss Pauling declared, "we're getting nowhere like this!" The mercs' rambles pilfered out. "Start from the beginning; I want to know what happened at Sawmill."

She'd said something wrong. The atmosphere had changed. Sniper stiffened, and began to glare at her until he looked away, scratching at the table top. Scout's eyes widened and he went impossibly still. Then, he curled up, rubbing his shoulder with a somewhat pained expression. Neither of them would meet her eyes.

"What, is that somehow off limits?" Miss Pauling asked.

"It's classified," Sniper stated, "I'm sure you understand." The marksman's gaze was steady. He wouldn't tell her anything. She turned towards Scout, who looked away instantly.

"Scout," the runner winced, "what happened at Sawmill?"

"...uhh… I, well, ya see, what had happened was… uh. We-" he began to drum his fingers along the table "-got ambushed. Yeah, got, like, "ambushed" is the right word, right?" Scout looked over to Sniper. The marksman shrugged, still watching Miss Pauling. "Yeah, okay, ambushed. Uh… t-there, uh, there was a, well, it…" the runner seemed to deflate, expression devolving into that of solemnness, "it… it was m-"

"Messenger," Sniper said, the glint of his shades glowed as he nodded, "it was a messenger. Well, disguised as one's more accurate. Thought she had sent them so we let them right on through. Didn't work out well."

"Oh no," Miss Pauling massaged her temple, muttering to herself, "it really was meant to be a spy." The pair before her froze, and she felt her muscles tense up in preparation.

"...What." She heard Sniper growl. "What did you just say?" The secretary sighed through her nose.

"Dude," Scout jabbed Sniper in the arm again, "don't freakin' act like that, c'mon!" He leaned over towards Miss Pauling and whispered "What the heck did ya mean by that exactly?" She locked eyes with her mercenary, stormy blue with jade greens. Then, she sighed.

"...tell me everything," she implored, looking at the two men, "tell me everything that happened, everything that you went through from Sawmill to when I showed up. Please," she met Sniper's incredulous gaze, "if I don't know anything, I don't know what I can help with." It was a gamble, letting herself seem even slightly vulnerable, slightly out of her depth. But it would help. Scout was already proving that fact. The runner was nudging the marksman with his elbow.

"Come on, man," he said, "ain't this what we've been waiting for?" Sniper was silent with his arms crossed. "Maybe she knows how to kill it, c'mon." The marksman didn't respond verbally. He looked over to Scout, who was giving him what appeared to be some very convincing puppy eyes. Then his shoulders fell and he rumbled "Alright," Sniper turned towards Miss Pauling, the distrust in his gaze no longer biting, "where would you like us to start?"

"I don't need a play by play," she looked pointedly at Scout, "just the key events. If I have questions, I'll ask them." The sharpshooter nodded, and turned towards his younger teammate.

"Would you like me to start?" He asked. Scout shrugged, resting his head on his arms. "I'll start then. Right, so, when we were attacked the first time, it tried taking me out first," Miss Pauling sat up straighter, "I don't remember much, got a blow to the head from my nest collapsing on me. That thing likes to make quite a bit of collateral damage. Knocked me out, and when I woke up, the rest of the lads were gone. Supposed since I was covered, it thought I was dead. Don't know for certain. But there was no one left besides him," Sniper took hold of Scout's shoulder, "he'd managed to lead the blasted thing away from the base and lose it in the forest when I came across him."

"How?" Miss Pauling asked, facing the runner, "how did you escape it?" Sniper made to answer for him, but Scout cut him off.

"The rain," he mumbled, "it was pretty wet and… and water was making it weak, I guess. It… it did get me, it grabbed my hand, and-"

"She said she doesn't need a play by play, Scout," the marksman noted softly. Scout paused.

"...right, yeah, but basically I shot my hand off-"

"You did what!?" Miss Pauling exclaimed, causing the two men to jump from the volume, "sorry, but, that's… that's extreme. That, I… I didn't think you'd, that you were even capable of doing something like that. Uh- not that you're a bad, like, that just sounds like something, well, you'd do," she gestured to Sniper, "due to, well, everything about you. No offense."

"None taken," the marksman affirmed as the runner shrugged with a lazy grin.

"Yeah," Scout said, "I just kinda panicked, I guess. Anyway, yeah, shot it off, blood got everywhere, don't remember the pain at all so that's nice I guess, and I ran into this guy," he slapped Sniper's back, causing the man to start coughing into the mug he was drinking from. Scout continued, ignoring the glare he was getting, "then I passed out and woke up in here and wondering where the h*ll I was, when Sniper walked in, and I didn't know it was him 'cause, y'know, it shapeshifts and I shot at him, 'cause I grabbed it, my pistol, when I heard the door open, right? And-"

"Right, okay, Sniper," Miss Pauling said, "where did you two go after you took in Scout?"

"We figured that the best course of action would be to try and contact you or, well, anyone really by heading to another base. Maybe to get a Medigun too for Scout's arm."

"It looks like you got that, at least," the assistant looked over her shoulder at the medical miracle maker. It was still glowing a faint blue from the barrel but it flickered, and would sometimes go out before turning back on. Something was wrong with it.

"Not till recently," Sniper mused, looking at the thing with a bitter smirk, "bloody thing gave me the worst trouble trying to fix it. Still isn't healing properly, only just kept the lad alive."

"I could fix it," she stood and grabbed the machine and buckled under the weight.

"You can?" Scout asked. Sniper stood and helped her move the machine onto the table. "How?"

"Medic taught me how it works."

"Wh- when, what, why'd he do that!?"

"I asked him to."

"A… okay? So, you can fix it?"

"Yeah," Miss Pauling looked around the camper, "any tool boxes around?"

"In that lower cupboard," Sniper pointed out the compartment, "and yeah, nah, we didn't find anything valuable at Landfall."

"Ah, so you stopped at Landfall?" She grunted as she set the toolboxes on the table with a thud!

"That's what I said-"

"Well, we did find something cool." Scout butted in, "my basher, remember? If I didn't take that we would've freakin' died dude."

"We still fell," Sniper pointed out.

"Eh, potato, po-tat-o."

"I'd say it gave us worse trouble because one, we still fell and since we didn't die, I'm pretty sure we wouldn't have died even if you didn't catch me, and two, getting your stitches ripped out was what got you Gangrene in the first place so-"

"You seriously complaining about me saving your life again!? This's the third freakin' time you've started whining about me not letting ya die!"

"Sniper, did you complain about Scout saving your life again and two times before now?" Miss Pauling drawled as she unscrewed the Medigun's barrel off. She honestly didn't know what they were talking about, and Scout was probably exaggerating his feats again, but it was so funny to hear the marksman begin to sputter like a faulty car engine when she took Scout's side.

"Yeah! He is!"

"What's this, a bloody struggle session now?" Sniper scoffed. "And it wasn't three times, h*ll, it was only the one and you know why I was thinking that!"

"It was three times! H*ll, it was four, there's Landfall-"

"Hey now, I had an even better reason for being mad then-"

"What happened at Landfall?" Miss Pauling looked up from her work and spotted the two glaring at each other. But there was no malice behind them, more like an easy rivalry. The glare dissipated when she spoke up, leaving the men to scramble to collect their thoughts.

"Ah, uh, we had a run in with it there," Sniper started.

"Sniper didn't think it was real the whole time till it showed up looking like Soldier," Scout continued.

"It's not my fault ya kept explaining it horribly," Sniper grumbled, "but fine, yeah, got a bit of a shock when it showed up. Got a bigger shock when it caught me."

"What did it do?" Miss Pauling asked, untangling some wires. The marksman tensed up.

"Woke up upside down hanging from the ceiling," he grumbled, scratching at his left hand. Scout was also tensed up, looking away from the two, "nose and leg were broken, and I couldn't get loose. It came around, it had these," Sniper frowned, gesturing at thin air, "these strings-" Miss Pauling sat up, "-that it stuck into my skin. I'm guessing that's how it takes blokes' looks, because it looked like me after that. It was… a… an experience to see myself, like that. And what it… what it did next. It… because it…" he stopped, looking down. The camper went quiet with Sniper seemingly no longer having the motivation to keep talking. The secretary simply waited for him to continue. But he didn't. Not until Scout decided to act.

The runner moved closer and nudged Sniper's shoulder with his own, leading to the marksman to look up at him. Scout nudged him again. Sniper silently sighed.

"Maybe it wanted to be more authentic," he mumbled as Scout leaned into him, "to be a better me. It got in my head," he sneered, poking at his temple, "trying to- well, it rifled through all my memories. It just... I was stuck in my own head for so long… went blind during it… And it wasn't just my thoughts, it got to my feeling's too. Made them worse. Made me numb, made me murderous... Then he came back and got me loose, and we left."

"So it stuck those nerves in you," Miss Pauling said, "and you said you were hung from the ceiling, were you trapped in a pod?" The pair paused, and Sniper nodded.

"You've stumbled across some, haven't you?" He asked. She nodded, "and there were people in them, right?"

"Dead ones." The Marksman froze, eyes wide. Scout had a similar reaction, though his gave way to one of horror as he faced Sniper.

"D-" Scout stammered, "Dead ones?"

"One fell on me."

"Oh no…" Sniper uttered as Scout's reaction kept growing worse.

"Aw crap, aw crap, they- they actually, they're actually-"

"Now we don't know that," Sniper was quick to say, "maybe those blokes were already dead when they we-"

"What are you two talking about exactly?" Miss Pauling interrupted, "Could you fill me in instead of sitting there like I'm not right here?"

"The guys!" Scout cried out, "our team! Demo, Heavy, Medic, Engie, Spy, Pyro, Soldier, Snipes found them all hanging in the mines! It's been a month!"

"So they were captured!" Miss Pauling murmured to herself, "in the mines, no wonder why I couldn't find them. Okay, now- Scout, calm down," the runner was face down on the table, pulling his hair and making pitiful noises of despair. "They might not be dead yet."

"See?" Sniper said. Scout didn't seem convinced.

"Okay, uh, look, Sniper, just give me the basic rundown of what you two did on your end."

"Uh, right." he started, giving the now quiet Scout a quick glance, "after we left, we decided to head back to Sawmill to get the Medigun, had a few disagreements about that, reached Sawmill, found the Medigun, he contacted you, and-"

"Don't forget my copycat," Scout mumbled. Sniper grimaced.

"Right, that. Listen, Miss Pauling," he turned towards her, "what the h*ll is it? Because when we got there, there were two of them, and one of them looked like Scout, apparently even before he was caught. Is that right?" Sniper looked back at his companion. Scout nodded.

"Yeah, looked just like me when it took me to your dorm."

"But then why didn't you scream or something? Fight back?"

"I don't know," Scout whined, "it was friendly, I guess. Like, it just, it was nice, it helped me up when I fell the first time around."

"But it was disguised as you, mate."

"Wasn't the first time I talked to myself so, y'know, just thought it was my conscience or something."

"...Okay? So then. Ah, okay, but what-"

"I'll tell you once you're done," Miss Pauling reiterated. Sniper took a breath, then nodded.

"Alright. So, after Scout found me-"

"And after ya shanked me."

"Yeah, after I ended up stabbing the wrong Scout, the original one showed up-"

"After you shot the me one."

"Yeah, after I shot the Scout one, which didn't kill it, the original one showed up. Least, I think it was the original. But we got chased and ended up falling through the floor and into the mines below-"

"After I caught ya from falling-"

"Yes, after that, and after we still fell down, we woke up in the mines-"

"After I kept ya from bleeding-"

"Scout."

"Okay, okay, jeez! Just saying, you're leaving out a lot a stuff."

"Stuff that's not important," Sniper mused before continuing with Scout grumbling about how it was important stuff, "anyways, woke up in the mines, busted my head open, found the lads hanging in a cave, the things turned up and chased us down, we escaped through an underground pool, wound up at the RED base-"

"Ya freakin' died too." Sniper stopped, and gave Scout a look. "What!? Ya did!"

"Okay, Scout," Miss Pauling said as she fiddled with some bolts, "how about you finish. Make it fast."

"Fast is what I do best, Miss P. So, the thing basically pulled him back under, I went after them and got Sniper free, but it turns out he's already drowned, so I did that CPR crap, but that also wasn't working, and there was this storm, right? And I got this idea, which Sniper says wasn't a good one but it worked so-"

"Scout, I said fast."

"Right. I woke him up, we found the van, we drove away, I-" Scout stopped, expression blanking. Sniper and Miss Pauling paused. The runner's eyes were darting back and forth between them.

"I…" He stammered, "I-I can't remember…"

"What, like, when we got here?"

"No, not, not that, what," Scout locked eyes with Sniper, "what happened before, before I got sick, I- I don't freakin' remember."

"...I'll remind you later, alright?" The marksman said. His tone was soft. Too soft for someone like him, and much too soft towards someone like Scout. Miss Pauling narrowed her eyes in thought.

What exactly happened to these two?

"Yeah, right, yeah. You, you tell her the rest," Scout waved Sniper away, going back to resting on the table, "ain't much left."

"We got here and discovered Scout had gotten himself gangrene, so I… took care of it. Best as I could. He still nearly died, but I got that working," Sniper nodded towards the Medigun, "he survived, and he woke up two days later. And then you showed up the day after, which was today."

"Sounds like you had quite the journey," Miss Pauling observed as she screwed in some screws, "Now, I need to know everything you know about that thing."

"Now wait a minute," Sniper protested, "we told you what we know, now it's your turn. You don't get to slip by this like you usually do when things get bloody!"

"Whoa, hey, calm d-"

"I need to know everything about your monster in order to explain what I know, Sniper." Miss Pauling stated, giving the older mercenary a steely glare. "It won't do anyone any good to act stubborn about this."

"Guys-"

"Stubborn has nothing to do with this, you know what it is, we told you what we went through, like you asked-

"Sniper-"

"-so it's only proper to actually do what you said you'd do!"

"Which I am more than willing to do, if you'd just cooperate and tell me what that thing is capable of-"

"Guys!"

"You already know what it's capable of! Maybe it was a slip, but "meant to be a spy" isn't painting you in the best light. Would it be unfair to assume that this, all of this, was planned? That you had a hand in thi-"

"Mick." a hand found itself on the marksman's shoulder, forcing away the man's attention from the assistant and towards the runner, "none a this is helping." Sniper's glare eased back. Scout turned towards Miss Pauling.

"That thing, I can tell ya about that thing." He said.

"Now wait a moment, you don't have to do that," Sniper turned to fully face his teammate, but Scout wasn't having it.

"Well you ain't doing it, and Miss Pauling wouldn't pull something like this on us, she's trying to help, man! Why'd you even want her here if you didn't want her to know what was going on!?" The older man didn't respond. Instead, he looked away, arms crossed with a worn expression. Taking this as an acceptance, Scout faced Miss Pauling.

"So, what, what exactly do you want to know about it?"

"Well," she began, "what it looks like for starters." Scout winced, chewing on his lip in thought.

"Right, uh, it's about as tall as me when it's, when it's normal, I guess? Uh, it still has a person look to it, just, uh, just more… fleshy. But it… it usually looks big. Like, really big, where it has these… uh, like, when it's turning into someone? It like, gets these growths, like, in Landfall?" He snuck a glance at Sniper, who still sat silently, "and it can get these. Like, it's able to have a lot of heads, a lotta appearances, and talk at the same time, and…" Scout hung his head, "I think it likes to … I think it likes to play with people. Like a cat? And it's, there's like, there's something about it that, that…" the runner came to a stop, hand scratching at his collarbones.

"It's evil is what it is," Scout finally muttered.

"Evil?" Miss Pauling repeated. The runner nodded, looking rather… small. Yes, he was her youngest mercenary and the slimmest, but he had a good five inches on her, maybe six. And yet now he looked… well, something about his change made her want to change the subject.

But she couldn't. Not yet.

"It was a bloke, too," the pair turned to find Sniper joining the conversation. He seemed tired. "Underwater, it was a man. Out of water, that's when it looked… wrong."

"What did the man look like?" Miss Pauling asked, attention solely on the marksman. Sniper drummed his fingers along the table.

"White, dark hair, darker eyes," that sounded familiar, "around Scout's height, I suppose. Sharp features, maybe Italian based on his nose," that sounded very familiar. Miss Pauling stood.

"I'll be right back, I need to get something, and it will help explain what I found out," she gave Sniper a look. The Australian relaxed but Scout had stood with her.

"Is it heavy? Do ya need help with anything?" She gave him a half smile.

"No, it's just a suitcase, I'll be right back," and Miss Pauling stepped outside and towards her purple vehicle she'd parked in the decrepit parking lot. From the trunk, she hoisted out the black leather suitcase. The small antennae on the side thankfully didn't bend when the car's truck door smacked it as she closed the compartment. As she tried to lift the baggage, Miss Pauling suddenly wished she'd taken up Scout's offer to help. He might have been missing an arm, but he was still stronger than her in the legs department, and right now hers were starting to burn from the weight.

She pushed open the door with her hips and took two long steps to drop the suitcase on the table before the mercs with a heavy slam! They watched as she put in the code and unlocked the intel within. A minute of rifling through the papers and avoiding touching any of the buttons on the top of the upper lid, Miss Pauling found her prize. She set the identity sheet down in front of the men along with the thick folder it came from.

Sniper took hold of the paper and began to read it as Scout pushed into him trying to read it too. His eyes focused on the black and white photo and sharpened instantly.

"That's him," he said, placing the paper on the table and pointing at the man printed on the paper, "that's who I saw." Scout looked over his shoulder, squinting.

"Jacob Connery," he sounded out. Then, Scout drew back, as if bitten. "I… I've seen those eyes before."

"This," Miss Pauling started, "was what took me so long to find you two." The mercenaries looked over the papers she brought out with Sniper scanning through the papers at lightning speed and Scout struggling to keep up.

"This is insane," the marksman muttered, "this is, this is wretched." Scout was still looking over Connery's file, slowly taking in everything he could. Suddenly, Sniper slammed the folder shut, startling the other two, and sharply turned towards Miss Pauling with a look that made her tense up.

"Which one ordered this?" He snarled. "Redmond, Blutarch, which ****ing one ordered this!?"

"Neither." Miss Pauling said bitterly, "it was neither of them, and I'm afraid that's all I can tell you."

"This is bloody wretched, bloody wretched," Sniper muttered again, running his hands through his hair. "It really… it really was a man deep down."

"...I can't read this," Scout mumbled, catching the others' attention, "I can't read… there's too many weird words." Miss Pauling sighed.

"What you're holding is the file of the man who was turned into the monster that's been hunting you," she stated, gently taking the paper out of Scout's loosened hand. "It turns out that RED, BLU, and Mann Co. have made an enemy who's very intent on destroying everything connected to the institutions along with the institutions themselves. And I believe, based on the evidence I've uncovered, that that enemy was creating "classes" to do so."

"Wait, so, then what's that gotta do with the monster?"

"That "monster" was the prototype for The Spy class. It seems that whoever funded the creation of that thing wanted a living organism to have both the complete obedience of a robot, but also the cognitive problem solving of a human."

"That sounds impossible," Sniper said, "those are two very different things, even brainwashing is faulty."

"Exactly, which is why all the people who made it are now dead," Miss Pauling stated as she gathered up the information, "and why it's now on a war path towards anything RED or BLU related, including mercenaries," she met both the men's eyes at once.

"That don't… but that don't explain why there was two though, cause, cause you said this guy was made into a monster, spy monster. But I wasn't, and… and it still looked like me." Scout scratched his neck. "I don't get it."

"I have a theory," Miss Pauling said, "but I don't know for certain. To make this as simple as possible, I think it has something to do with your missing hand." Scout stiffened, eyes wide.

"Does it have any weaknesses?" Sniper asked, "We thought water, or, any liquid really, worked like acid, yeah? But it didn't kill it."

"...What exactly does the water do to it?"

"It melts it," Scout butted in, "like the rain kept making it's flesh slide off. Like, melt into this white goo crap."

"Yeah," Sniper nodded, "like he said before, normally it just looks like a person's silhouette except, well, constantly having skin grow around it. Honestly, it was… it was kind of mesmerizing.

"And like I said before, it turned back into that man under the water. Might be that liquid just… makes it vulnerable."

"Yeah, cause bullets don't do nothing."

"No, they really don't. Not when it's dry, at least."

"Interesting," Miss Pauling noted, resting her lips on her clasped hands. She didn't know about that, there was no mention of anything like that besides that janitor's recording, and even then, it wasn't clear what he had been talking about. But this, this was new.

This was exploitable.

"Hey, so uh… did ya fix that up?" Scout asked, pointing at the Medigun lying in front of her. The light vibration of the table was no doubt caused by him bouncing his knee at a rapid pace.

"I think so," Miss Pauling said, turning the healing weapon towards the mercenaries. The two perked up, "need some healing?"

"Aw h*ll yeah!"

"If you'd kindly."

Miss Pauling grabbed the grip lever and pulled it down. The twoom of the machine bursting to life was a welcome sound, and a more welcome sight followed. Deep, powerful beams of healing light erupted from the barrel and encircled the men with that swirling smoke.

Sniper instantly relaxed, the dark bags under his eyes lessening, and his skin growing rich from the tired paleness from before. As he rolled back his shoulders, Scout had a large grin plastered to his face. Miss Pauling watched the same change happen to her merc.

And that was all it did.

Scout's grin faltered, then fell all together when his left arm remained a bandaged stump and not a freshly grown hand. Another moment and a very noticeable change in atmosphere filled the camper.

"...Why isn't it growing back?" Scout asked with an even tone. The two others shared an anxious glance.

"...it's… Mate, it's mostly scar tissue now," Sniper tried to explain, moving to place a hand on Scout's shoulder, "the Medigun doesn't fix that. I'm sor-"

"Right," Scout growled as he shot out from his seat.

"Wait, Scout-"

"Jay-"

"I'll be back later," Scout grabbed the camper door, "and don't worry, I ain't breaking my promise, I just… I'll be back later." And with that, Scout was gone with a cold slam of the door. Sniper lowered the hand he'd reached out towards the runner with a dejected expression.

"Aw h*ll," he sighed.

"What promise, what was he talking about?" Miss Pauling asked, turning off the Medigun. Sniper shook his head.

"Not my place to tell you, sorry," the marksman stood and made his way towards the door. "He better not have gone far."

"I doubt he would," Miss Pauling said as she followed Sniper outside, "unless he gets lost."

"Scout doesn't get lost easily, you know that."

"Yeah, he doesn't." Miss Pauling watched as Sniper looked around the lot, searching for any sign of the runner. When he found nothing, he turned on his heel and headed towards the driver's seat.

"You're not planning on driving, are you?"

"Nah," she heard him say, "just getting something to pass the time." Sniper came back with a little box in his hand and a cigarette on his lip.

"Would ya like one?"

"Why not." Miss Pauling gingerly took on of the cigs he offered and let him light it. As she took a drag, and resisted the urge to cough out a lung, she heard Sniper chuckle.

"Don't smoke often, do you?"

"Hardly ever," She affirmed, "I don't like risking addiction, it would tamper with my work." Sniper nodded in understanding.

"Just don't let Scout catch you doing it, otherwise he'll give you a verbal dressing down."

"He doesn't like you doing it?"

"Not a bit," Sniper tapped some ash onto the cement, "each time he caught me he'd throw a hissy fit about how it's bad for my lungs and that it smells bad, how he couldn't breathe when I had one, that kind or stuff." The marksman faintly smirked, "asked him why he cared so much when he didn't give a s**t about Spy's nasty habit, and believe me when I tell ye that his ears could direct traffic after I asked." Miss Pauling grinned at the thought. Yep, that sounded believable.

The two stood there, leaning against the van's wall, waiting. The lit cigarette hung loosely between Miss Pauling's fingers, used only once and continued to burn away into glowing embers and powdery ash. After a while of using her own thoughts as entertainment, she heard Sniper sigh.

"Suppose I owe you an apology," he said, letting the butt of his cigarette fall to the ground, "for acting like I had been. Was unprofessional, and unwarranted. Just haven't had much good happen since all of this started, so… I suppose I assumed you weren't going to bring much when you showed up. And I'm sorry."

"That's alright, I guess I'll just have to work on my deflection and negotiation tactics." At that, Sniper smirked.

"Hm, maybe, but I already have to deal with one spy, I'd rather not add a Spy-in-the-making too."

"You're giving me way too much credit."

"I don't think so," he stepped on his cigarette, grinding the last smoking bits to dust. "If you think I'm giving you too much credit, then Scout would drown ya in it."

"Probably."

A lull.

"You seem friendly with him," she said warmly. Sniper hummed.

"Well, that's bound to happen when you're stuck with the bloody b*****d."

"He knows your name."

"He asked for it."

"And you told him?"

"Worst he could do with it is cuss me out using it," Sniper shrugged.

"It just seems… strange, for you to do."

"Understandable."

Another lull.

"You trust him, don't you?"

"If you're trying to say I'm making a mistake, I completely agree," Sniper once again shrugged, "but I just can't seem to care this time."

"Or maybe you're caring too much."

"Maybe I am, but I do owe the kid about three life debts so I suppose that's only natural."

This time, Miss Pauling nodded in understanding, watching the faint embers in her stick fade into smoke.

"Are you worried?"

"Hm?"

"About Scout running off."

"A bit, I suppose."

"Why? He can handle himself just fine, at least physically."

"I know. And I know you're just trying to get information," Miss Pauling felt her hands grow cold, "maybe out of habit, not accusing you completely. But I really can't say why. If I knew every exact reason why I did anything in life, I'd probably be a more successful bloke."

And that was where their conversation ended as the pair's attention was stolen by the young man who came walking out from the tree line with his head hung low.

"How about next time you decide to run off, you tell me when you'll be back so I'm not having to wait out in the bloody cold." Sniper said coolly. Scout gave him a glare.

"I said I'd be back," he grumbled. He turned towards Miss Pauling and spotted the lit cigarette in her hand. His eyes widened. The assistant was suddenly regretting life.

"You don't smoke, why're ya smoking?" Scout wondered, looking very worried.

"You left and I had no idea if you'd actually keep to your word and come back," was what she said. Scout grew more worried.

"Aw s**t, I'm sorry, I just wanted to punch a tree or something, I wasn't leaving ya behind, I'd never do that!"

"Well now that you're back, we should go back inside," she said. "It's pretty cold out here."

"Right!" Scout leapt forwards and grabbed the door handle, pushing it open, "ladies first."

"Thanks." She walked in and waited for the others. Though it seemed there was a bit of a strange stand off.

"You can go on in, I'm not stopping ya," Sniper pointed out.

"I said ladies first," Scout replied before getting smacked upside the head.

"Ya bloody piker," the marksman growled, "that's the last time I'm waiting out in the cold for your springy *rse."

"Well that's what ya get for smoking!" Miss Pauling held back her laughter as an irritated Sniper entered the van with a sassy Scout on his heels.

"Ya hypocrite, you've got some nasty double standards, ya tiny b*****d!"

"No I don't; Miss P was smoking, and I opened the door and said ladies first! Same thing with you."

"Aw, shut it, you're a little nasty imp and I should shove you right back out that bloody door!"

"Well that's not very ladylike," Scout argued.

"I'm not a sheila!"

"Sure ya are, you're just a really ugly one." Miss Pauling snorted, causing Sniper to round on her.

"Oh, find that funny do ya," he asked. "Sure, go right on ahead, join the bloody dogpiling. Figures you'd take that mongrel's side."

"Because she knows I'm right," Scout snapped.

"No she doesn't-"

A shrill, ear piercing beep filled the camper, causing Scout to jump a mile high, Sniper to freeze up, and Miss Pauling to scramble towards the black suitcase. Another beep went off as she struggled to unlock the case after pulling the antennae up. A third passed when she ripped the case open and flicked on the miniature television embedded in the suitcase's insides.

A crackling static followed as the small screen lit up and revealed a face that made all three stiffen with varying emotions.

"Hello Administrator," Miss Pauling said, composure straight and professional. The Administrator sat on the other side of the screen, glaring into the enclosed space and towards her secretary and the two stunned BLU mercenaries.

"Ah, you've found them," she drawled, disinterest dripping from her voice. Behind her, Miss Pauling felt Sniper bristling and Scout growing restless. "Mr. Mundy, Mr. Madigan, I am so very relieved to see you safe and sound." She heard Scout whisper "she is?"

"No, Mr. Madigan, I was being sarcastic," The Administrator said, taking a drag, "but Miss Pauling convinced me to let her continue her search for you two after she'd completed her other, more important duties. Obviously she believes you to be valuable assets. Perhaps she is right," Miss Pauling stood stupefied, along with Sniper and Scout. "After all, you did manage to survive for this long, and survive an attack from an unknown entity created for the sole purpose of killing you. Well done." The woman on the chair gave the mercenaries a single golf clap.

"Uh, thanks?" Scout replied. The Administrator fixed her eyes on him.

"But it seems we've hit a snag, haven't we?" She looked towards Sniper, who very subtly flinched. "That creature isn't dead yet. And that is a problem considering that one team is down to two members. And that problem I will no longer have tampering with the Mann Brothers' work.

"You are to destroy it tomorrow."

"Wait, what!?" Scout blurted out, "but we've tried killing it and it doesn't die! Closest we got was drenching it with water, how are we supposed to kill it without any weapons?"

"Miss Pauling will supply you with any and all weapons you need to annihilate that beast," the voice stated, "explosives, incendiary weapons, heavy weaponry, it will all be sent. I do not want excuses, boy," she stared down the runner, "I want results. And I want them by tomorrow at the latest. I will not wait another week or month for this to be solved, and I will not tolerate failure. Should you fail and that creature goes free once again, your contracts will be severed effective immediately without receiving your final paycheck. Do I make myself clear?" The pair stiffly nodded. "Good. Do not fail me. And Miss Pauling," the assistant stood at attention, "the new applicants' forms have arrived and they must be reviewed and filed. I have faxed them to your car, once you are done creating a plan of action, deal with those forms."

"Yes Ma'am." And with that, the screen cut to black with an electric deeooop. And behind her, a certain runner was boiling over.

"She can't be serious, she ain't ****in' serious!"

"She is, Scout," Miss Pauling sighed.

"This is bulls**t! Completely and utter bulls**t!" Scout snarled, trying to pace in the small space filled with two other people. "Tomorrow? How can we possibly kill it by freakin' tomorrow!?"

"We can figure something out," she said, gesturing to the table, "come on, let's think about this."

"With all do respect, Miss, I'm with Scout," Sniper shook his head in defeat, "we hardly know anything about that thing still, and what hurts it, let alone kills it."

"Well, I can think of one thing that could work," Miss Pauling stated, "fire."

"I hit it with a Molly in Landfall, it didn't die, it just got pissed off." Scout grumbled, crossing his arms.

"Come on, guys, let's at least try to figure this out, do you want to lose your jobs?" Sniper and Scout both shook their heads.

"Seems like we won't have much of a choice in the matter either way," Sniper mumbled as he sat down. "But we don't even know where it is now."

"Maybe it's still at Sawmill," Scout mentioned, "like, y'know how it saw you in the same place as where it put the guys? Maybe it's protecting it, like territorial-like."

"Maybe. Either way, we can't leave them hanging. Dead or not, it's not right." Sniper scratched his hand, "it's not right."

"Yeah, we gotta get them loose," Scout nodded in agreement.

"Well, like The Administrator said, I'll supply you with anything you need for this. And… and I'll help you if I can," the two locked eyes with her, disbelief lining their faces, "you'll need all the helping hands you can get."

"But those forms-"

"I'll inform her of BLU team being trapped and probably not dead, anyway to save on hiring a new mercenary, she'll do it."

"So she does care?"

"Oh no, it's just very time consuming," Miss Pauling explained.

"Okay, but here's the thing," Sniper began, "they're located underground, and the only other entrance to their cave is from the top with no way of getting back up. And I can't remember the way to find it."

"I could do it," Scout jumped in, eyes lighting up, "I could free them!"

"You don't know where the cave is, mate," Sniper pointed out. At that, Scout deflated.

"There's still the problem of actually killing that thing, which is our main goal by the way," Miss Pauling said, tapping her foot in thought, "if it's there and you're too focused on saving the team, you'll get caught."

"So we would need a distraction," the marksman muttered, "to keep it away from the mines long enough to free the others. And long enough to get them back to working order if they're still alive."

"...I could do it," Scout said quietly. The other two turned towards him.

"No, we're just brainstorming, Scout, nothing's final-"

"I don't care!" The runner shouted, "they've been stuck there hanging for over a freakin' month, Mick, they shouldn't- I'm fast, I'm loud, I'm the perfect distraction."

"We would need you to be out there for a seriously long time, mate, and you're just getting back in working order. If we need a distraction, I'll-"

"I'm being the distraction," Scout stated. He left no room for argument.

"...Would the others be able to fight after they're freed?" Miss Pauling asked. Sniper sighed, and shrugged.

"I doubt it," he said, "they'd probably fall asleep the second they're out to be honest. But they might, if they're put in the right mindset."

"Here's what I'm thinking," Miss Pauling said, leaning on the table and meeting her mercenaries' eyes, "a distraction isn't a bad idea. If Scout is able to act as a distraction for long enough for you to free the others, and if I'm able to get you the appropriate weaponry for them to fight back, then all Scout would have to do is lead it back to the group where it's effectively cornered."

"Might work," Sniper admitted, "only bloody thing we have, really. Unless you have another idea?" He turned towards Scout. The runner shook his head.

"If I did, I would've said it."

"Somehow I doubt that. Anyways, this needs some fine tuning. Miss?" Miss Pauling met his gaze, "we could use your planning abilities."

She gave him a grin.

The knowledge of such a situation hanging over their heads like a guillotine made formulating a plan both a stressful and brilliant pastime. Miss Pauling would give an idea, Sniper would either dispute it or add on to it, and Scout would give his two cents even when he didn't need to. For the next many hours they sat and planned and planned and planned, trying to negate any and all possible sinkholes they could imagine. Until finally, when the sun was dipping below the horizon line, Miss Pauling was walking out of the van, her mind as heavy as the suitcase she was carrying.

The plan was set, they'd run out of time, and Miss Pauling had quite the hoard of weapons to prepare. As she set the suitcase in the trunk of her car, she heard the fast footsteps of feet behind her.

"Oh, so ya didn't need help with that," Scout noticed.

"Nope," she closed the trunk, "but thanks for the concern."

"Yeah, totally, I'm just full a concern." Miss Pauling turned to face the runner, who was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"Is there something you want, Scout?" Her mercenary jumped as if shocked by an electric fence, then began to stammer.

"W-Well, yeah, kinda, just, y'know, I wanted to… wanted to let you know that…"

"Did Sniper add another little detail to your role, again?" She deadpanned. Scout shook his head.

"Nah, I just… wanted to say see ya later."

"You already had." Miss Pauling mused.

"And to stay safe," Scout muttered, scuffing his shoes against the concrete. She blinked.

"Again, thanks for the concern."

"And if you see a me walking around, know that it's not me, and run the h*ll away from it because the real me, me, is here, staying in Mick's old shrimpy van."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Miss Pauling replied as she entered the van. Sure enough, just like Helen had said, there was a large pile of applications faxed from her dashboard fax machine lying on her passenger seat.

"Well, I'll uhh… I'll see ya tomorrow, Miss P! Don't die!" Scout gave a little wave before trotting back to the van. As she watched him go, she caught sight of the brilliant red of his ears.

Sniper was right, they could direct traffic.

Taking one last look at the van she was leaving behind, Miss Pauling took a breath, and sighed out in relief. The two were valuable assets. And they'd managed to stay together for Miss Pauling to find.

They'd be just fine.

Paranoid, that felt like the right word to use right now. He was just paranoid, scared over nothing, it was just a trick his mind was pulling, he was fine. Scout was fine.

The quiet stillness of the van sure wasn't helping though, or the time of night, maybe that was the cause, actually. And now would be the perfect time to… which he wasn't going to do, because he was fine. Scout was fine.

And of course he was, Sniper himself told him that he was fine, that there was nothing wrong with him, and that he wasn't going to be horribly mutated into a shapeshifting creature. Because he was right, and Miss Pauling backed him up, that it really was just a horrible guy who was turned into an even more horrible guy which meant that what it did… to him, that it really was just done for the h*ll of it.

Scout didn't really know that, and, and neither did Sniper, but… and he didn't really, fully, honestly believe it, yet, maybe? That he really was fine. But he was. Scout was fine.

He had to be.

And this, right now, this- it wasn't real, his- it just-

Then why-

Groaning silently, the runner turned over once again onto his side, tangled up in the thin blanket. Sleep wasn't coming. It had, for a while, but of course he had another nightmare, and of course he couldn't fall back asleep, and of course there was a deep, crawling sense of nausea too. There shouldn't be, but there was, and it was all that Scout could do to try and ignore that gross feeling.

How long had he been lying here at this point? When did he originally wake up? He wanted to sleep, he wanted to sleep so badly, if not for his exhaustion then at least to make this thing go away. But it wouldn't. There was only one thing, well, two things that would make it stop. And Scout couldn't do them, because he promised he wouldn't. And he wouldn't. Because he was fine.

Another wave of queasiness forced the younger man to curl himself up, hugging his middle with eyes shut tight. Okay, so, not completely… maybe not completely fine. Through clenched teeth, Scout took mediated breaths. If he took in too much air, he was sure he'd feel worse, but he couldn't not breathe. A deep prickling warmth was trying to push past the back of his head and into his throat. He wouldn't let it. He wasn't going to leave this bed. He wasn't going to hurl, this nausea wasn't real, he was paranoid. And it would fade any second now…

Any…

Any sec…

Second… now…

Scout held back a curse as another wave rocked the runner's core. It wasn't stopping. He snapped around and pulled his pillow into a tight hug, digging his nails into the fabric, trying to rip into it. The movement made his sickness worse, and he could only just keep himself from whimpering.

It was so freaking quiet! It was awful, there was nothing, no rain, no snores, just his own hiss-like breathing. There was nothing to distract him from his own stupid brain working him up like it always did at night like this. And the one noise that was there, the rustling Sniper would make when turning in his bed, only happened a few times, barely anything! If there wasn't noise, Scout would start to think think, and that led to him feeling sick, and that made him want to do things that really weren't okay or stoic. Things like the things he- ugh, just thinking about it was making it worse!

Scout never should have opened up like that, to him, and made that promise. Talking was supposed to help though, that's what Sniper said, that's what everyone would say. Ma, Jamey, Harv, Tommy, late Ol' Gramps, Demo, Sniper, they all said it, said that talking about things made them better.

Liars.

No, they… maybe it was just him. He was the oddball, it just didn't work for him like it did with them. How could they've known?

Well maybe if they actually listened whenever he talked it would work! But that was also the problem, Sniper had listened to everything, and there was no way he was just going to forget about what Scout told him. And that meant he would just, whenever Scout had, or, he just, whenever something might happen where he looked like a little b***h, then Sniper would just, he would, he'd-

The train of thought came to a screeching halt as Scout shoved his face into the pillow. He wanted to bite it, rip it apart with his teeth, but he couldn't open his mouth. He couldn't, it would just, the- letting his jaw unclench and actually giving an opening, he couldn't, even though he knew he was safe here. There was nothing that would force itself in, nothing.

Stupid brain. Stupid, stupid brain. Scout just wanted it to shut up. He wanted his stomach to shut up and stop churning, to let him sleep. Let him just go back to normal. He was supposed to be normal now!

He wasn't supposed to be sick, he wasn't supposed to want to get hurt just to make sure that the blood coursing through his veins was still crimson, he wasn't supposed to feel so weak as to want to share the bed again, he wasn't supposed to want to do any of that!

His hand shook, clenched tightly to the pillow with his nails digging into the downy insides rather than his own skin. Scout made a promise, and d*mnit, he was keeping it! Even if it made him sick.

Even if he couldn't breathe right.

Even if his throat was tightening from that feeling. That feeling in his head, an emotion that he didn't really recognize too well. It wasn't a good one. That feeling. Like… it felt like…

It was like he was stuck. On a problem, or, in a box. And that there were ways of fixing him, of getting out. But the ways were bad ones, or cut off, lost, and Scout was stuck in that horrible, sick, see-through box, or that hair pulling problem he just couldn't solve. That feeling was hurting his eyes, making them burn and sting with saltiness.

Scout wasn't going to cry.

The writhing pain deep down wasn't going to make him cry, the quietness and solitude of night wasn't going to make him cry, that "stuck" feeling that was really trying hard to make him cry, but it wouldn't! He couldn't, not again!

He never should have cried the first time, not in front of someone, not in front of Sniper. And the Aussie wouldn't forget. No one forgets when a guy cries like a little kid. No one forgets when a guy snuggles up to you after crying. And no one forgets when a guy tells you all his stupid little situations that made him look so freaking stupid and weak!

Sniper would never forget what Scout told him, what Scout did, that Scout was weak. Those looks thrown his way during the day were proof, the way the marksman talked when Scout's arm didn't grow back was proof.

And those changes would never go away. He'd absolutely ****ed over the way Sniper would act around him forever.

Just his luck, just like him to ruin it by running his mouth when the guy had simply asked. He… He just sounded so real, though, so honest. That he actually wanted to listen, to care, maybe? And… and he said, that if Scout ever felt weak, too weak to keep the promise…

Scout looked over his shoulder at the motionless mass on the bunk that was Sniper. No. He wasn't going to wake him up just to ask to share the bed again. By now he probably knew that Scout lied about the whole sleepwalking thing. By now he was probably thinking that Scout was a wacko, a freaking weirdo who liked crawling into other people's beds. By now he wouldn't believe Scout if he came clean about how it was the only way to keep the nightmares at bay. And even then, it wasn't foolproof, like last night.

No more. He couldn't do any of that anymore. Besides, there were- Sniper told him there were other ways of telling. Yeah, what were they?

It was too dark to see his skin's colors, those bandages around his stomach covered the scars that-

Another wave, worse than the others. The runner snatched his hand up, biting down on his finger to keep himself from whimpering. A painful throbbing, at the back of his throat, fading away into an unnerving prickling sensation.

No. No, he was not going to hurl, not now! It. Wasn't. Real. He was paranoid! JUST PARANOID!

Pulse. That was one, one of the ways, his pulse! Slipping his hand out from his teeth, Scout moved it underneath his jaw, fingers sliding up and down, searching for that rhythm. A moment passed, then another, and he had yet to find his pulse. His heart began to race, or had it? He couldn't find it, but there was something. Wasn't there? Yeah, because, because he'd be dead if he didn't have a pulse. Just… just imagining things, like always. But, just, whe- where was-

Where was his ****ing pulse? Nothing! Not his hand, neck, wrist, inner elbow, fingers, nothing was there! Noth- nothing! Where!? Where was it!?-

A rustle in the dark followed by the weighty thump of someone slipping from the bunk behind him caused Scout to freeze. He kept still, kept quiet, listening to whatever Sniper was doing. Had he fallen off? Rolled too far in his sleep? Rolled too far and fell flat on his face and still somehow managed to stay asleep? Knock himself out from the fall, bust his head open again? The runner rolled around, aiming to spot his fr- teammate, lying face down on the floor. Instead, his eyes met with Sniper's, who had frozen in the middle of standing up, staring wide eyed at Scout. The pair were silent, both too surprised to speak. For only a second.

"Uh-"

"Sorry," the marksman mumbled, his shoulders going slack as he stood, "didn't mean to wake ya."

"Was already-" Scout started to say when the consequences of his sudden movement caught up with him. Forcing back a groan of discomfort, the runner curled back up, electing to push his face into the pillow he was still hugging with his damaged arm and waved dismissively at the Australian. "Was already awake."

"Same was happening to me. Couldn't sleep either, huh?" He shook his head. Hopefully Sniper would get the hint and leave him alone and go do whatever he was planning on doing. Not so. Through the thick fabric of the pillow, Scout could feel the atmosphere in the camper grow just a tad bit tenser.

"Uh… you alright?" He heard Sniper ask. The tone, that tone again. A deep bristling began to build, forcing him to bare his teeth in annoyance.

"**** off," Scout hissed into the pillow. His companion didn't deserve that, but… he heard Sniper sigh.

"Let me guess, you had a bad dream." Holy crap, was it that obvious? Was he that obvious? Scout opened his mouth to tell Sniper to mind his own d*mn business, that he wasn't too weak as to not be able to handle it himself, but the moment he did, another bone chilling wave flooded his organs. The runner shoved his face deeper into the pillow, gripping onto something with his nails digging in.

Of all the times and places, it had to be in front of Sniper. Again. Just his d*mn luck.

"Okay, up ya get," a warm hand found itself on his shoulder, gently shaking him, "c'mon."

"I t-," Scout swallowed, "told ya to **** off,"

"Not happening just yet. Come on, Scout." The runner sighed, but released his grip on the pillow, fighting past the unsteadiness as he let himself get pulled to his feet. More focused on keeping upright than where he was being herded, Scout soon found himself outside with the cold night air nipping at his ears and hair with the sound of the camper door being closed behind him.

"What're we doing out here?" He asked, turning back to address his companion, only to find no one behind him. "Wh-"

"Figured out that there's only one thing that helps me pass out a while back," the quiet rumble of his teammate answered. Looking up, Scout spotted Sniper on the roof of the camper. "Figured that I might as well see if it helps you too."

"Uh, yeah, sure, just, uh… what is it?" The runner asked. His companion didn't answer, only gesturing for Scout to join him on the van's roof. Oh. Uh… yeah, he could get up there just fine.

He grabbed the ladder and stepped up. Wrapping his left arm around the bars, Scout pulled himself closer and reached for the highest bar. Rats, he couldn't reach it. He stood on his tippy toes and felt his fingers graze the metal before he felt himself start to lose his balance. And a second later, he was stumbling back onto the cracked concrete, a light wave of vertigo prickling at his mind.

D*mnit.

The runner scowled, staring up at the top of the van's wall. He could probably just jump up there, it wasn't too high up. Locking on target, Scout crouched, feeling his muscles coil. Then, he sprung.

And slammed into the camper wall with a dull bang! Scout scrambled at the edge of the roof, digging his fingers into the tin as he struggled to get a foothold on the ladder. Watching him from the top, Sniper sat quietly. From what Scout could see over his arms pushed upon the roof, the marksman had an expression that he really didn't want to see right now. He didn't need the guy's help! He could do this by himself. He could!

For the next few seconds, Scout tried to pull himself up. But that wasn't happening. His left arm was starting to hurt from the weight he was putting on it. And those little grooves in the camper weren't enough.

"Need some help?" Sniper asked. Scout scowled silently. Then nodded. With a roll of his eyes(or maybe not), Sniper stood and walked towards the runner and grabbed his wrist. The weight on his arm was levied, and soon, with some effort, the Bostonian was on the roof.

A chill breeze lessened that burning rush in his cheeks and ears as Scout sat down. Pulling his knees to his chest, the runner snuck a glance at Sniper, who sat down as well about a yard away. The man was facing the night sky, leaning back, relaxed. Scout followed his lead and turned towards the stars.

The sky was clear with only a few black clouds migrating leisurely across the horizon line. Moonlight was dim, the celestial crescent far in the distance. What little light could reach them only illuminated the mercenaries' hair, turning it from their hues of brown into a dim silver. Stars peppered the dark, like fireflies, and even the occasional light flashes of a plane flying far away. It was all so vast, and as he leaned to reach the crescendo, the dome above him encompassed all his sight, leaving but space.

It was so high up, and it was always going up, away from the world. Away from it all, reaching further and further past the stars, past the planets, past everything that meant anything. Leaving everything behind, as if it meant nothing. Down here, where anything meant everything, Scout sat with his knees to his chest, staring into the everything where nothing meant anything.

Up there, it was so much bigger, everything was bigger than down here. Down here, it was so much smaller. He was so much smaller, small as an ant down here, smaller even. And out there, he was nothing. Scout was down here, small, from a small state, with some problems that felt much too big to hold for someone so small.

A light prickling in his neck sent a chill down his spine. If he was so small, did he mean anything? Out there, down here, at all, to anyone? The quiet of the night wasn't a good companion to ask, nothing but faint wind and distant swaying trees. Nothing but his mind to try and pick up the pieces, to try and negate that weird sadness that he felt.

Scout looked back down at Sniper, who was still watching the stars. It seemed like he was having fun. Like, in the adult kind of way where it isn't fun fun but you still don't want to stop doing it. And if he was fine like that, good for him, not letting his brain get in the way like Scout was doing. It was just so quiet, and Sniper hadn't said a thing. What were they even supposed to be doing out here anyway?

The runner tried to watch the sky again, but he couldn't concentrate. It was too quiet, the wind was too quiet, the trees were too quiet, any animals, if there were any, were completely quiet, and Sniper was too quiet too. The longer Scout sat in silence, the more the prickling grew, and the louder his thoughts became. Because there had to be a reason why Sniper dragged him out here, why the guy had just pulled him onto the roof of his van and just… didn't explain jack to Scout. Maybe, but… had, had Scout done something wrong? Was Sniper trying to get him to talk again? About something? Because why else- he didn't think he did anything wrong, Sniper didn't say Scout had done something that crossed a line or went against the marksman's rulebook. But… why else would it be so quiet?

That thought stayed, and grew much louder than the rest that he tried to make. Something was wrong. Sniper knew something. And he wasn't telling Scout. Again and again the idea swirled around the runner's head, the motion filling his mind, making the prickling worse. The quiet was making things worse, the prickling worse, a shaking in his hand and head that was starting to grow. What did Sniper want Scout to say, what did he want?

A tension was building, same as yesterday in the silence. It was making him sick, this was actually awful. Why didn't he just stay in the van? That prickling was morphing into something else, something worse.

Trying to stay as subtle as possible, Scout uncurled just enough to wrap his arms around his stomach, teeth clenched. It was back. D*mnit, it didn't go away! That stupid, churning- come on, he just needed a distraction, it wasn't real.

The runner turned back towards the stars, searching for that vast apathy he felt from earlier, making his problem seem so much smaller. But it was lost, clouded by that nausea. Stuck, stuck behind that deep seeded thing that actually didn't exist. Because it couldn't, he was fine.

Scout was-

"You alright, mate?" The concerned voice of his companion snapped Scout's eyes open. He wasn't upright anymore, he was lying on the roof, curled up in a tight ball. At his side knelt Sniper with worry lacing every bit of him Scout could make out. The runner glared.

"Mind your ****in' business, I'm fine!" He snapped, pushing his arms under him. They buckled the moment he tried sitting up. Scout fell back down with a thud and bit his tongue when the nausea hit a peak.

"Well, fine then, just wanted to bloody help ya, you gremlin." Sniper chided, leaning back with an irritated expression. Scout made to snap back, opening his mouth and all, when he instead groaned and curled up more, fingers digging into his shirt.

He didn't want help. The swirling deep in his system grew.

He didn't want help! It wasn't real, it, it wasn't fair! He didn't want help!

Not again…

Scout looked down at his hand, his skin gleaming white in the darkness. Not a single other color to be seen.

"...Could you," he felt his mouth move all on it's own, betraying his wishes, "could you check, like, check my- cause I couldn't find it."

"Could ya be more specific?" Scout heard Sniper ask. The runner went limp, letting himself unfurl on the roof. There was no point in trying to act like he could do this. He couldn't. He was weak, what was the point of pretending Sniper didn't already know that. He took a breath, and leaned his head to the side, exposing his neck.

"Just, check, if there's a, like, there's still a beat," Scout muttered, staring fiercely towards the farthest tree line, "please."

"...Kid, you have a pulse, if you didn't-"

"Just do it!" Scout barked, "I freakin' know I'd be freakin' dead if I didn't have it, but just… check!" The light swaying of far away branches followed his outburst, leaving nothing but that horrible, sickening silence. Another wave, he could feel it building up. He tensed up in anticipation when a warm hand found itself right below his jaw.

A second passed, and another when Sniper decided to speak.

"Dunno how you couldn't've found that," he said, removing his hand from Scout's neck, "it's bloody rocketing through you." And Scout could feel it. That mechanical ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump, right below his ribcage, sending light but noticeable waves coursing through the back of his head, through his arms and legs. It was so clear all of a sudden…

"Do you want to talk about it?" He heard Sniper say, "Because-"

"Is that why you dragged me out here?" Scout blurted out. "To get me talking? Spill out my guts to you again? Want me to tell all my little, my little problems you can use, or, or to-"

"No, that's not why I-"

"Then why!?" Scout demanded to know, "Why'd you drag me out here, in the dark, in the cold, where it's nothing but quiet!?"

"You couldn't sleep, neither could I, so I figure that I'd try to see if my way of knocking it would help you too."

"But what is it!? You never even, even freakin' said what it is!"

"Stargazing, mate," Sniper said coolly, "just watching some stars."

"How's that supposed to help!?" Scout stood, swaying on his feet and beginning to pace, "I've been sitting here for the past, like, I dunno, just freakin' stressing my *ss off about what you were planning, what you wanted me to say, to admit or some s**t!" Sniper suddenly looked confused. No, not just confused. Concerned confused.

D*mnit! Not again!

"Why would you assume that I had any intention like that towards you?" He asked. Scout gave out a frustrated shout, pulling at his hair.

"Because you were freakin' quiet!" He yelled, locking eyes with the marksman who wore that stupid pity expression, "just sitting around, actin' relaxed, not saying a d*mn thing to me after taking me along and actin' like something's gonna happen! Ya don't do that! You don't get to do that to me!

"Just because I'm not talking 24/7 doesn't mean I'm plotting against you."

"Yeah, well, ya should've said something then!" Scout scowled, "how the **** was I supposed to know I was supposed to feel all fine and s**t after staring at some crumby stars. What the **** are they gonna do, huh? Make me better, make me fall asleep? Give me something for my freakin'- for, for m-" and it finally hit. That wave that had been building finally crashed down, sending Scout crumbling like a house of cards.

The force of the landing knocked the breath from Scout's lungs as he lay there, struggling to breathe, struggling to keep his mind clear of any thoughts, of any wants to say screw it and grab the kukri.

"Aw h*ll, mate, you okay?"

"I can handle this myself!" Scout snarled, forcing back the nausea just enough to give Sniper his two cents. "I'm not- not that weak yet, I can freakin', I don't need your help anymore, okay!?"

"Oh for crying out loud…"

"Shu- shut up- just," Scout's rant died before it was born as he bit his tongue in the rush to clamp his jaw shut. A deep, coppery taste filled his mouth, coating his teeth and gums. The urge to spit it out and his unwillingness to do so lead to the runner having a horrible coughing fit. It honestly felt like a lung was getting disintegrated. Something dark peppered the roof, and Scout felt something begin to give him some much needed back thumps to dislodge the coughs stuck in his throat.

"Right, you can totally handle this yourself, mhm, yes, I can totally see that." Sniper lightly teased. The tone was fun, just poking some fun. But it had the opposite effect. Scout stared down at the glistening droplets dotting the roof like the stars above them. He felt the warmth on his lips and tasted the saltiness.

It was red, and he felt horrible.

The runner let himself collapse into the marksman's side. He felt Sniper stiffen, just like every other time Scout pulled something like this. But there was no point in pretending anymore. He was throwing in the towel. Scout was weak.

"Sorry for being an *sshole to ya," he mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "I just… was already drowning cause a my own stupid *ss thoughts, and then you pull me out and give me the silent treatment and I just, I got thinking about it and I didn't, I thought you were mad at me or some s**t, cause a something I did to you that I didn't know about or something and… sorry."

"No hard feelings, mate," Sniper replied, slowly letting himself relax, making for a better cushion, "but I wasn't giving you the "silent treatment". Trust me, you'll know if I do."

"Sure felt like it," Scout crossed his arms(or tried to at least). Sniper sighed.

"Like I said, just because I'm not talking to you, that doesn't suddenly mean I hate your guts. If I did, would I bring you up here to stargaze?" …No, that sounded stupid.

"No," Scout murmured, looking at everything but the guy he was leaning against, "but… quiet's never a good thing with f- with people you, people you trust to , like, you know, not… it's, it's not, it's not a…"

"Why do you hate the quiet so much?" Sniper asked. In an act of irony, Scout went quiet, letting the question roll over in his mind. He lightly gnawed at the still oozing sore on his tongue, trying to come up with the answer he felt he knew but couldn't formulate.

"...Quiet meant…" he started, fidgeting with his shirt, "when I was growing up, quiet meant… it meant something was wrong. See, in my family, where we lived, nothing was ever "quiet". Sure, there were times when people weren't talking, but, there was always something, y'know? Like, nine of us all in a three bedroom apartment in the slums, there wasn't anywhere that was quiet. There's always something going on. Talking, laughing, cussing, the old crispy sounding radio in the kitchen, the clangy radiator that never got fixed, neighbors shouting through the thin walls, and whatever the **** was going on in the alleys below us. All a that was everywhere, all day, every day, nothing quiet going on. Even at night there'd still be the radiator and some stupid alley cat yowling it's stupid head off.

"So when it got quiet, like, actually quiet, you know something's up. Something's up, and you don't know what it is yet but you just know something's wrong. Like… y'know that saying Engie would always say?" Scout met Sniper's eyes, The Calm Before The Storm? Yeah, it's that. It's always that. Everything bad always starts with people going quiet, like they're pulling a prank on ya and making ya think you went deaf."

"It can't be everything bad."

"Well it sure was with everything bad for me," Scout grumbled. "Getting caught by Ma made everyone get quiet so she wouldn't drag you into something one of my brothers did, that whole "Juvenile Court" thing started with a real quiet conversation with some cops, and… well, like, my dad disappeared, y'know?"

"...huh," Sniper hummed stiffly.

"Yeah, I don't really remember it, like, when he did," Scout started, cracking his knuckles, "but a course things would be quieter without a whole other person around… and the same thing happened with Wes. Cause, cause he never even said goodbye, right? A-And I only found out when I got home from my paper route, and everyone was already home, and no one was saying anything! Like, it was like I went deaf as soon as I walked through the freakin' door, and they were all in the living room, trying to comfort Ma, and I had to ask them three times what happened to get anything from them!

"...and the last conversation I had with him was about him doing his own laundry for once, because I was sick of having to do it." Scout sighed, leaning on his hand, "neither of them said goodbye to me, and everything got so much more quiet because a them leaving."

"...sorry to hear that, mate," he heard the marksman say. "For me, it was the opposite."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Grew up on a farm with the only other blokes besides my parents living acres away. Closest city was a good thirty minutes away, so I was used to things being a bit quiet. If it was quiet, then everything was fine." Sniper paused, scratching his neck, "if it wasn't quiet, then something was wrong. my folks, if there was something wrong, they'd let you know. And they'd get loud when they got into an argument, or telling me off. Least my dad did. Or if a dingo got into the chicken coop, or trying to nab a sheep, you'd hear it. All the squabbles, and bleating, you'd hear it. If you didn't hear it, then all was well."

"Oh, yeah, nah, it wasn't like that at all for me, quiet meant either you were gonna get your *ss beat, or something real bad was happening or will happen, y'know?" Sniper hummed in thought.

"Yeah," he said, "I think I know."

"Yeah, so, just, next time ya do this, just, like, tell me what we're doing, right? Cause, s**t, I thought you were gonna flog me or something, and I was already dealing with a stupid head overthinking things and then you kept actin' nice and that was making things worse so, I… yeah, sorry for cussing ya out but… yeah."

"What kind of things?"

"Hm?"

"Overthinking. And, look, you're sending some very mixed signals, lad, and I'd appreciate it if you cleared them up."

"What signals?"

"Well, for starters," Sniper began to fidget with his nails, "earlier you got so offended about me not, us not being "friends". But now you're snapping like a stray at the lightest hint of care, so… I don't play those games, so make up your mind about which one you want."

What? That wasn't right, he just didn't want- he just, Scout just didn't want things to change. It was going so good, they were going great, and then he slipped and got weak and…suddenly Sniper was treating him weak. And… jeez, why was this so hard to explain to himself?

"It ain't the caring," Scout mumbled, pulling his knees to his chest, "it's the looks you keep giving me."

"Excuse me-"

"Nah, that came out wrong, it's just, it's… I shouldn't have told you. About what… I'm, about what I was doing." Sniper's eyes widened, and then, d*mnit, he was doing that exact look again!

"Wait, why wou-"

"That! That right there-" Scout pointed at Sniper, "-is what I'm talking about, that look you keep giving me! And how you talk when I'm around, and what you do if something happens that I don't like! I freakin' hate it and I never should've told you my stupid head problems because now you're always gonna do it around me and never look at me the same way and that I probably just look like a guy too weak to take my lumps like a man and started hurting myself to make myself feel normal!"

And once again, silence fell as the runner looked away, hugging his legs. His teammate was probably thinking about what Scout had shouted, and he'd probably made things even worse than before. Sniper would probably think he was insane now, a loose cannon, and walk on even thinner eggshells around him.

Dang it, why can't things just be normal.

"That's pretty bloody rude of you to think, Jay."

"Yeah, well…" Scout paused, turning back towards the marksman, "what?"

"Ya really believe I'm that bad a bloke?" Sniper asked. Scout rapidly shook his head.

"No! No, ya ain't a- you're awesome, whaddaya mean, whaddaya talking about man?"

"Well you're assuming that I'm constantly assuming the worst in you, and that's pretty d*mn rude if you ask me."

"But, no, that's not, I just. You, you changed when I talked, and, and actin' nicer and it felt… like, I know I'm weak but I don't need you treating me like I am."

"...you serious?"

"Well what else was I suppose to think, that you- nah, just, can we just go back, just pretend that I never told you anything? Please? Don't want you treatin' me different, like some fragile… fragile thing that needs protecting." Sniper sighed.

"...That wasn't my intention, I know you can handle yourself, I just... sorry if it came off like that. But I can't just forget what you told me, mate," Scout turned away, "that. It's not weak. You're not weak for telling me. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't have another… another mental breaking so… maybe it was a protecting thing," Sniper admitted, "but not because I think you're too weak to protect yourself."

"But then why'd you do it?'

"I just wanted to, I suppose."

"That… that don't make a lotta sense."

"Yeah," Sniper shrugged, "it doesn't."

The conversation had come to a close as Sniper once again turned towards the sky, and Scout was left to do the same. And while the quiet was there, it didn't feel as oppressive as before. It was… fine. But the quiet didn't last.

"Why do ya like doing this so much anyway?" Scout asked. The marksman paused, letting the question marinate.

"Well, I don't know about you," Sniper started, running a hand through his hair, "but it puts things into perspective, I suppose. It works as a reminder."

"To what?"

"That none of this matters, really." Sniper said, "in the long run, we're nothing but a tiny speck, aren't we?" The runner frowned.

"What the h*ll's that supposed to mean, a course we matter! This better not be some of that phil-o-softy crap."

"Philosophy, and maybe it is, but if it works, it works."

"Why the h*ll would you actually like that idea?"

"Well, think about it," Sniper laid down, using his arms as a pillow, "if we don't matter in the long run, then neither do our problems, do they? People don't mean much, and then neither do the problems they're facing. Look, do you think we'll be remembered a hundred years from now? Two hundred? A thousand? No, we won't."

"Hey, that's some bulls**t, people get remembered all the time when they're all dead and crap. Like, uh, George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Julius Caesar, uhhhhh, that one pilot chick, right? We know them, they got remembered."

"Why?"

"Because they're famous?" Scout stated, giving Sniper a confused glance. The marksman nodded.

"Exactly, they did famous things, of course we'd remember them. But what about the people who don't get famous? Everyday blokes, butchers, paper boys, housewives, are they remembered? Who was the milkman in your city fifty years ago?"

"I… I dunno."

"And chances are we'll be in the same boat, mate. Maybe it's not a pleasant thought. Not good, not bad, but it's going to happen. We'll most likely be forgotten a decade after we're gone. So, what's the point of letting yourself worry about your troubles if they'll be forgotten too? They won't mean anything to you tomorrow, or maybe next week, maybe it'll take a month. H*ll, a year sometimes, but… they don't mean anything, and getting worried about something as small as you is a waste of precious time."

"So… wait, so you don't think you matter?" Sniper shook his head.

"No, it's nothing like that," he explained, "I matter to me. But I'm not going to matter much once I'm dead, am I? Neither are my problems, neither is anything I try to do. So… why bother worrying over things that you can't change. Does that make sense?"

"Uh, maybe?"

"Explaining things isn't my strong suit," Sniper mumbled.

"But," Scout laid down too, "but you do matter even if you die, that don't make sense. So, what, you suddenly just don't have anyone around to remember you once you're gone?"

"No, it's," the marksman sighed, "I just said I'm not good at explaining things. There's not many people who'd remember me when I do nark it. So, it makes it easier to do my job, make tough calls, when I don't have too many who'd get… well, I'm fine with being forgotten, at some point," he gave a smirk, "was never too fond of people knowing my every move anyway."

"So… ya like the stars because they make ya feel small, and… and ya problems smaller?"

"Sounds close enough, I guess."

"What're you worried about? Your problem, what is it?" Scout asked. At that, Sniper stiffened, expression falling.

"Tomorrow."

Scout grimaced, and began to play with his shirt again.

"Oh. Yeah, I… well, we- we have a plan, so it shouldn't-"

"We had a plan for Landfall," Sniper interrupted, expression one of a wrung out towel, "we had one for Sawmill, and those, all of those, didn't help us. I planned those out, and we still nearly died each time. Each time it backfired in our faces. And I… I can't stop thinking that tomorrow won't be any different."

"It will! Miss Pauling's helping us, we'll get tons of weapons, and we'll get the others back!"

"You don't know that though, do you?" Sniper asked. The runner paused, then lowered his head. "I don't want it to happen again, but… I think it will. Don't want us getting hurt again like last time."

"Yeah, that would suck."

Suddenly, Scout snickered. Sniper turned towards the runner with a questioning look. "What's so funny?"

"Nah, just," Scout loosely gestured towards the landscape, "this's gotta be the worst road trip I've ever had. Which is the only road trip I've ever had, so there's not much competition." At that, Sniper chuckled.

"Ah that's buggered, we'll have to change that, won't we?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

"You want this to be your only road trip?"

"You offering?" Scout grinned.

"You interested?"

"H*ll yeah, I'm interested! I never got to travel, and traveling to bases don't count! Never even left the country till I got this job." Sniper sat up, shocked.

"Never left The States?"

"You think someone who grew up like me's gonna have the money to see Spain or some s**t?" Scout mused. Sniper scooted over to the runner.

"Right," he started, "what's the one country you've always wanted to visit."

"No idea."

"Oh come on, there's got to be at least one-"

"Nope," Scout shook his head, "no clue."

"Well then, we'll just have to figure that out later."

"Yeah, after we save the guys and kill that thing." The marksman paused, then deflated. Scout looked over at him. "Hey, c'mon, we gotta be positive about this, man!"

"I don't see how you can be so confident about this," Sniper admitted, "you're the one who's getting the raw deal."

"It's only a raw deal if it can catch me. And it won't." Scout said. The marksman turned away. "And don't act like what you're gonna do is much better. Betcher gonna scream shrilly down in the caves without me babysitting ya."

"As if," Sniper sneered. The pair grew quiet, letting the nightly breeze ruffle their hair. Scout watched the stars, and far above them, saw the tiniest flash of a meteor racing by.

"Dude, make a wish," the older man gave him a look.

"Why?"

"Cause there's a shooting star! Quickly, man, make a wish!"

"You make a wish, it's not like it'll come true, it's just a superstition."

"Mine came true, well, mostly- look, just make a freakin' wish!"

"No, it's stupid."

"Aaaaand it's gone, great, you lost your chance," Scout groaned, flopping down on the roof. Sniper rolled his eyes.

"Wishing on stars is pointless, kid. It's not bloody magical."

"Says the guy whose head got turned into an owl last year during Halloween by a stupid wizard and refused to change back for three whole days!"

"Alright, first of all, don't ever bring that up again. Second of all-"

"Look, all I'm saying is that maybe it is magical, you don't know!"

"Okay, fine, maybe it is, maybe it isn't, either way-" Sniper was cut off by a yawn, "I don't really care."

"Eh, you killjoy," Scout grumbled. He heard the marksman chuckle. Then stand. He looked over to his companion, who was stretching out his back.

"Well, I think I'm going to try and get some shuteye before morning," Sniper said, giving the night sky one last longing glance, "would rather not crash in some dingy cave or while being chased."

"Oh, uh, yeah, yeah sure, go ahead," Scout replied, watching the marksman climb down the ladder.

"You going to stay here?" Sniper asked. Scout shrugged.

"Someone's gotta watch the stars and feel worthless about themselves."

"That is not, ugh, I shouldn't've told you about that," he groaned, rubbing his eyes, "it's just a thought process, sometimes it helps to know that what you do isn't as important as you think it is, that's it. It can be relieving to realize that you aren't as important as you think you are."

"You're important to me," Scout pointed out before realizing what he'd said. His companion went still, looking at him, "barely, mind you, cause you're really stupid sometimes, like, really ****in' stupid, and a freakin' grouch who doesn't know s**t about Baseball, or Hockey, and think the quiet is something cool like a freakin' weirdo hermit-"

"You're not too bad yourself," Sniper said quietly. The runner's ramble came to a stop as his ears began to burn. A soft silence fell.

"Thanks," Scout murmured. He heard Sniper hum as he climbed off the roof.

"G'night, kid."

"Night." And with that, Scout heard the camper door open and felt the van rock as Sniper entered the vehicle.

Now alone, the runner looked towards the heavens, taking in the lights among the dark. He still didn't really get it; finding comfort in feeling like you're not important? Who'd want to live like that? That sounded…

That sounded sad, honestly. Lonely. Yeah, Sniper was a loner, lone wolf type of guy, but everybody had to have somebody. And he had his family, like Scout's, even if it was two times smaller than his own. But still, he'd hate living alone like that.

Scout rubbed his nose, watching a distant plane fly by. Tomorrow. His heart began to beat, and that prickling began to start again. Tomorrow was a scary thought, holy s**t.

Either they'd be able to free the guys and kill that thing once and for all, or they'd be dead. The guys might be dead by the time they get there, or maybe Sniper would get killed by them after getting them free.

What if he couldn't distract The Counterfeit for long enough?

What if he couldn't keep it's attention and it catches Sniper and Miss Pauling? What if it does what it did to him to them?

What if it caught him and did worse? Scout swallowed, clenching and unclenching his hand.

"Uh, if it's not too late," he said, the quiet of the night acting as a megaphone to his light whispers, "I'd… I'd like to take ya up on that wish since Mick didn't take it. Make a wish, I mean. Um… I don't know if… if there's someone listening, like, uh, God, I guess. If, if ya are there, uh, hi. Sorry for not, uh, being, uh… well, ya probably ain't too happy since… y'know, Sunday school was a long time ago so… yeah. But, hi, uh… look, tomorrow ain't looking too hot and… and I want to wish, or, uh, ask that we… we don't die? Right? Dying doesn't sound fun, and I don't really wanna go to Hell, y'know? I actually wanna see Gramps again so… no dying? Please? Please and thank you?" Scout sighed, fiddling with his shirt.

"Hey," he started, "so, like, making wishes out loud makes them not work, right? But that doesn't count when there's nobody else around, right? Cause, uh, I… I kinda wish that the guys. Like, my team, and Mick, and Miss Pauling? That they don't die tomorrow, or, like, my team isn't dead yet and won't die once Mick gets them free? Can, can ya do that? Cause I don't want them dead, y'know? Oh, and I can land a date with Miss P after all a this cause she's gotta, like she's gotta be my soulmate or something, I ain't never felt the way I do about her to any other chick! But, uh, yeah, don't, uh, please don't let that thing, that spy-monster-experiment-thing kill them, thanks. Uhhhh, yeah, I uhhh… I forgot how to end these things, so, right uh, thanks for listening, God, if, if you are listening, maybe not, but h*ll- heck, sorry, it makes me feel good so what the h*l- heck. So, um, night God!" Scout said as he hopped down from the roof, ears slightly burning.

Taking one last look at the twinkling sky, Scout tried to quell the unease in his mind about the day to follow, and entered the van as quietly as he could.

Chapter Text

Quiet. The whole day had been quiet. And while normally that would be a good sign, something Sniper would be able to use to compose himself, it was not. Not now. Not with Scout in the passenger seat.

When the pair had woken up, mere seconds between the other, nothing was said. When they tried to eat something, nothing was said. And for the past five hours nothing was said. And the only way that was possible was either Scout forcing himself to stay quiet for Sniper's sake, or the runner was once again stuck in his mind and its worries. It was the latter.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel as the marksman spotted the faint blue of their base far in the distance through the towering trees. Scout wasn't the only one stressed out of his bloody mind, their plan was far too fragile, relying on a single factor that no one could prove. But what other choice did they have? What other plan could they make? Time had run out yesterday, and it was running out today. Not just for themselves but their team. Would they still be alive? Once Sniper got them down, would they be anything else than liquidated corpses? The thought of having a shriveled or melted Medic on his hands brought about an uncomfortable prickling as the back of his head.

But it had to be done, he had to know at the very least. His role wasn't going to be pleasant, h*ll, all of their roles were awful for them. But was there anyone else who could best do their parts? No. So Sniper was stuck being the one who went back into those wretched caves and tight spaces in order to free his teammates, Scout was stuck being the distraction for a beast who had caused more mental damage to the runner than anything else, and Miss Pauling was stuck having to lower several heavy weapons and supplies into the caves once Sniper found that dome-like room. He did not envy her part, nor with Scout's, but bloody h*ll, this was not going to be a walk in the park.

Sniper snuck a glance at the runner to his right. Scout was quiet. And breathing funny; the way his chest seemed to lightly jerk with shallow breaths wasn't bringing any peace of mind to the older mercenary.

"...You're quiet," he ended up saying. His tone wasn't loud, but it sure had that effect as Scout flinched. Hard.

"W- I, I, yeah, guess I, yeah," the Bostonian stuttered, scratching at his neck. Sniper looked at the low hanging storm clouds, near black with locked up rain.

"Got something on your mind?"

"...I'm gonna do it," Scout said sternly.

"Want to be specific?"

"I'm gonna ask her on a date when we get there." Sniper turned towards Scout, having a long, drawn out blink, not knowing whether to groan or laugh.

"Glad to see you've got your priorities straight, Scout," he deadpanned. The runner gave a sheepish grin.

"Well, yeah, cause I wanna make sure I shoot my shot just… just in case, y'know?"

""Just in case"," Sniper repeated. "Lad, if that "just in case" scenario happens, you won't be going on any dates no matter what Miss Pauling's answer will be." Scout paused, the gears in his head turning written clearly on his face. Then his ears grew pink.

"Okay, well, maybe it'll help if I know what she'll say beforehand, did ya think of that? A-And besides, I'd rather… I'd rather be worried about asking her out than… y'know."

"Yeah," Sniper sighed, catching another glimpse of their old base, "I know." The conversation, if it could even be called that, died a miserable death as the pair grew silent once again.

Through the glass of the windshield and the tin of the door, Sniper could hear the strong winds outside. It was cold, but the wind, from what little he felt when getting in the van, was warm. Well, warmer than the actual air itself. A storm was brewing. Typical for Sawmill. The deep gray above them threatened to pour but didn't, the greenish-gray firs and pines, the steep forest-covered hills, it really was a beautiful place. Such a shame to have it tainted by something so horrible.

The road began to rise as they made their way up and through the hills towards the bases. A singular fat raindrop hit the glass, creating a pool of distortion right in Sniper's line of sight. But that was all.

Of all the times for Sawmill to not be pouring down like a bloody waterfall, it had to be today. Sniper drummed his fingers along the wheel, listening to the crunch of gravel under the van's tires, listening to the wind, muffled by the door, racing by, listening to the uneven breathing of his youngest teammate. He stole a glance towards the mercenary. Scout was once again zoning out with his shoulders hunched.

"...if you don't mind me asking," Sniper began, "why did you volunteer to be the distraction so quickly yesterday?" Scout, like before, flinched.

"Uh, I- Uh…" the runner's ears began to turn a light shade of pink, "I mean, I kinda, my mouth was moving on its own mostly, an- and, uh… it didn't help that we, y'know, had… had company over-"

"You offered to be the distraction to impress Miss Pauling, didn't you?" Sniper interrupted. The burning red of Scout's ears was answer enough. "Oh for crying out loud, the second she comes around you're tripping over yourself to put on a brave face."

"Hey, we haven't seen her for over a month, man, what do ya think I'm gonna do?"

"Actually think through what you're volunteering for. Acting solely on impulse is going to get you killed one day, mark my words."

"I can't afford to think out my every freakin' step, my guy!" Scout retorted, "everything's always going too fast, bullets flying everywhere, and all ya can do to survive is act fast and think last, okay!?"

"On the battlefield, yes, I understand that but-"

"And what the h*ll the you mean "putting on a brave face"? I'm super brave, more than you, on a daily basis! I mean," Scout smirked, jabbing his thumb into his chest, "we're talking about the guy who saved your skinny *ss from Landfall all by himself here! So, so y'know, keeping that thing away from you two should be no problem, I've had worse." The runner leaned back, seemingly satisfied and… very Scout-ish. Smug smile and all. It would have maybe worked on someone else, someone who just met the American, someone who knew jack squat about the runner, someone who hadn't seen what lay beneath all that bravado. That someone wasn't Sniper. And with a single cursory glance at his companion, Sniper could tell that Scout was putting up an act. The light furrow between the kid's brow, and the light darting movements of his eyes was enough for Sniper to know that Scout was very much not feeling very brave right now. He silently sighed. This conversation had reached its end.

The road evened out and they took a right, now fully able to see the BLU Base waiting for them on the hillside. Sniper's mouth dried, and Scout pushed himself into the back of his seat.

If everything was going according to plan, Miss Pauling was down there somewhere, ready and waiting with all their necessary weapons and gear. If she hadn't been caught, that is. Or late.

"I mean," he heard Scout start, "your… your part ain't so hot either, pal, so, my job's… my job's gonna be a walk in the freakin' park compared to yours."

"Wouldn't be too sure of that," Sniper replied, watching the bases come closer and closer, "but it's not like there's someone else who I could trade with."

"I guess so."

"And I'm not nearly fast enough to keep that thing on my heels without getting nabbed so… we have the best chance of surviving this way. Ain't pleasant, but-"

"I know," Scout mumbled, "ya don't have to explain it to me, I was there."

"Right." The trees grew sparse, and the gravel road began to widen. Their speed dropped and after a moment stopped entirely. Now parked a good distance away from the base, the pair sat, letting the engine fill the thick dead air. The two mercenaries stared at the looming building, decrepit and ill tempered. Sniper heard Scout swallow.

"Guess we've made it, huh," he said. The marksman nodded.

"Would seem so."

"We should, uh… we should find- should look for Miss P, y'know? Make sure she's around?"

"Yeah." Sniper agreed. He grabbed the door's handle and stepped out into the fierce breeze. Scout was right on his tail, silently closing the door behind him. The marksman made his way to the back. After a couple minutes, he came back out with two backpacks and handed Scout's to said runner, who slipped it on without a word. As the grainy crunch of gravel underfoot filled the air, the mercenaries began to walk towards the Rendezvous Point.

The spot where Miss Pauling said she would meet them was a small clearing right between the two bases. In the clearing was a small shack, one so weather worn that it was hard to believe it was still standing. The purpose of the building was "classified", as Miss Pauling put it. Sniper didn't really understand why, considering its condition. But he wasn't one to pry into something that wasn't affecting him.

The runner at his side dashed ahead when the clearing came to view, along with the purple jeep parked next to it. Its tires were muddy and covered in grass, and behind it was a small trailer covered by a tarp. No doubt that was where the weapons she'd brought were being kept. He made his way to the back, grabbing the tarp and lifting the polyester material when he heard Scout say something.

"Uh, where is she?" Sniper straightened up, scanning the clearing with haste. Scout was in the same boat, worry far more prevalent on his face. "Cause this is her. She got this here. This stuff, but she ain't here. It's all here but she ain't."

"Maybe she's in the shack," Sniper pointed out. The runner needed no invitation, he was at the wooden door and pulling at the handle. It seemed to be locked as Scout was now pulling it with both his feet planted on the shack's wall.

"D*mn, this thing won't budge!" Scout grumbled. He then cupped his hand and brought it to his mouth. "Miss Pauling! Hey, Miss P, you in there-"

"Will you keep your voice down!?" Sniper hissed, grabbing his Machina from his pack, "now's not the time to bring attention to yourself!"

"But she ain't here!" Scout cried, frantically looking around the land surrounding them, "she's missing! We- oh ****, ah ****in' s**t, what if she got caught!? We gotta find her," any semblance of fear from before had twisted into a fierce determined look as Scout turned to rush the base. Before he could, and before Sniper could try and stop him, they heard a voice.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm fine, I was looking for that hole you told me about while I was waiting!" The pair spun around to spot Miss Pauling jogging back into the clearing. Sniper took a double take and besides him he heard Scout say "holy moly" under his breath. The assistant was no longer sporting her normal pencil skirt dress and instead was wearing what looked like a purple tactical suit. One that was made to fit a short woman like herself and not a battle hardened, 200 pound bloke. Honestly, she looked a bit like Soldier.

"Miss P!" Scout exclaimed, sprinting to meet her halfway, "you're okay! Holy s**t, I thought ya got nabbed!"

"Yeah," Sniper said, watching the secretary walk to her jeep with Scout close behind. His eyes narrowed as he walked towards the pair.

"I'm sorry, it's just you two were taking a while and I was curio-" Miss Pauling stumbled to a halt as Sniper grabbed her wrist. Beneath her smooth skin, he could make out a pulse.

"Just had to make sure," he muttered, letting go of her wrist and grabbing hold of his rifle once again. The cool metal grip weighing down on his rough palms cleared his mind more than he'd like to admit, even if all it could do was slow the b*****d down. Miss Pauling nodded in understanding.

"I would have done the same in your shoes," she said, turning to Scout who was looking through the trailer. "Excuse me," she brushed past the runner and grabbed the tarp. With a harsh tug, it fell away, revealing the horde of weaponry she'd gathered.

"Any sign of it since you got here?" Sniper asked as Miss Pauling hopped onto the trailer.

"No," she said, "I've been keeping an eye out; there's been nothing but birds and a few rabbits."

"So we don't know where it is then."

"Unfortunately not. And Scout," Miss Pauling turned to the runner who straightened up instantly, "I know you wanted Molotovs but those are far too unpredictable and fragile."

"Aw c'mon, they actually work, though!" He whined, gripping his jacket's sleeve.

"And I'm sure that these will work just as well," Miss Pauling stated, handing him a belt of grenades. Sniper's eyes widened.

"Uh, are you sure he can actually use those? He only has one hand, how will he pull the pins?"

"He has teeth," Miss Pauling said as she slipped the belt over Scout's shoulders.

"Yeah, gimme some credit, man, I got teeth!" Scout repeated, looking rather smug until Miss Pauling tightened the belt around his chest, "Ow- does it gotta be so tight?"

"If you don't want it slipping off, yes. Now Sniper, here's your flare gun," Sniper grabbed the bright red pistol, bringing it up and examining it, "all other supplies are in this crate." Miss Pauling pointed to a large box.

"Thank ya kindly."

"You're welcome. Now, we should go over the plan one more time just to be safe-" the pair heard Scout groan.

"Aw c'mon, Miss P, we went over it, like, three times yesterday, we wouldn't forget after all a that!"

"I'd rather be safe than sorry," she explained. "Now, um, Sniper," the marksman raised his head, pausing his search through the crate, "what's our plan?" He sighed, pulling out a rather thick climbing rope.

"Well, part one's complete," he started, fixing the rope to his belt, "that being arriving here, safe and sound, and you bringing around everything we need."

"Which is?"

"For myself: rope, a flare, ammo," from the crate he pulled a small rifle ammo box. Opening it, he took a bullet, slipped it into the Machina's chamber, and loaded it with a crisp chk-KH. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "Torch, earpiece," said earpiece was handed to him by Miss Pauling, who was watching Scout pull one of his headpieces out from his backpack.

"And some jars," she finished, "just, uh, in case?" A pause before Scout snorted and began to snicker uncontrollably. Sniper only stared Miss Pauling down, who was pointedly not meeting his gaze.

"Right," he said coolly.

"Right, so…"

"I head into the base," Sniper continued, placing the earpiece in his ear, "while Scout is presumably distracting our monster. I find the hole, climb down, make my way through the caves and back to the chamber where the lads are hanging, fire the flare, help you get the supplies down, free the blokes, keep them from dying, and if they're alive, we arm them, Scout leads that thing into the chamber, and we exterminate the bloody bogan. And if they aren't, then we rig the bloody place, Scout leads it below, we pull him up, and blow the b*****d up and trap whatever could be left of it in stone."

"Exactly, now Scout, did you give him the map you made?" Miss Pauling asked. The runner jumped, apparently having zoned out. Or watching for something.

"Uh, yeah, it's in his pack, in the side pocket," Scout pointed.

"Good, and while you two are doing your thing, I'll be making perimeter sweeps around the bases, watching for your flare. If something goes wrong, use your communications and let me know, since I'll also be watching for you two should things go haywire and we need to retreat."

"Sounds about right," Sniper noted, packing the last of his supplies into his backpack and swinging it back onto his shoulders. Scout nodded, fiddling with a strap from his own.

"Uh, don't suppose I get a weapon besides these, huh," he loosely grinned, gesturing to the grenades strapped to his chest. "Because a my missing hand?"

"Actually, I got you an Atomizer," Miss Pauling clambered onto the trailer, looking through another crate, "I thought about it, and it seemed to be the best choice for you to have. And a Winger, because none of your other weapons would really help you with… your lack of hands." Miss Pauling stated it lightly but Scout didn't seem to care either way. His face had lit up at the word "Atomizer" and only grew when the admittedly silly looking bat was placed in his hand.

"Now you should only use it in tight areas, like if you get cornered," the assistant explained, "you being down an arm will make it so that you will really need to commit to using these so make sure you fully analyze your situation before using them, alright?"

"You got it, Miss P!" Scout said, swinging his new bat around. The sight of the runner being so outwardly happy lessened some of the solemness of their task, and Sniper felt the grip on his rifle loosen a tad. But his happiness was short-lived once Miss Pauling asked "so are we ready?" Scout's smile dropped completely, leaving in its wake a wide eyed pale face.

"...Yeah," he uttered, looking towards the base, "might as well get it over with." Sniper rolled his shoulder back, checking to make sure he had enough ammo for the job.

"Alright then, listen you two," Miss Pauling straightened up, looking as though she was about to make a drill sergeant speech, "this won't be easy, and I can't guarantee that we will even kill that thing. But that's not as important as your team members. Focus on them first, Connery second, alright?" The pair nodded, with Scout's hesitance fading into ferocity. Sniper was feeling the same. He drummed his fingers along his rifle's forestock. His team had to be freed, even if only to have a proper burial.

"Like I said earlier, if something goes wrong, like, very wrong, fall back, we'll regroup, but do not improvise," both Miss Pauling and Sniper turned towards Scout. The runner hung his head, nodding. "Keeping to the plan will keep you from panicking, which could cost us everything if it's too severe. So… stick to the plan, stay safe, make sure you let me know if something goes wrong so-"

"And you'll do that too, right?" Scout blurted out. "Like, if something goes wrong on your end? Cause we'd need to know that too, and-"

"Yes, I'll make sure you two know about that should it happen," Miss Pauling stated. The runner relaxed.

"Okay, just… you'll stay safe, right?"

"I'll do my best."

"We ought to get going, Scout," Sniper said, taking hold of Scout's shoulder. The runner was still talking.

"And remember, if you see a me running around-"

"Know that it's not actually you, yes, I'll remember," Miss Pauling reassured. Scout opened his mouth to say something else, and Sniper had an idea as to what it was. But nothing came out. Instead he closed his mouth, stepped back, and nodded.

"Good," he said, "you stay safe. Yeah."

"I'll try. Now, are your comms linked?" She asked. Sniper and Scout tuned their communication devices with the runner's making a warbling hiss and Sniper's earpiece making a sharp beep.

"Yep." Sniper heard Scout say both to his right and in his left ear, "they're linked."

"Great. Now, keep them on, I need to make sure they're linked to mine," Miss Pauling put on her own earpiece and sighed. She met both the mercenaries' eyes. "Let's get this done."

"Right. Come on, Scout," Sniper took hold of the younger man's shoulder, pulling him towards the towering base. Scout didn't move. Not in the direction Sniper wanted. Instead, he pulled himself from the marksman's hand and dashed towards Miss Pauling and locked her in a hug.

To say the assistant's eyes widened would be an understatement. She had stiffened, and looked completely at a loss for what to do. But Scout did.

"Stay safe, Miss P," he said before letting go and jogging back up to Sniper, ears burning red. He didn't meet Sniper's gaze when the marksman fell by the runner's side, walking towards the base.

"Thought you said you'd ask her out?" Sniper mentioned.

"I'm working on it," Scout grumbled. The pair fell silent as the BLU Base filled their vision. Sniper scanned the forest, watching for any movement, and noise. Behind them, Miss Pauling had gotten into her jeep, and was driving away to circle the bases. To his side, Scout fiddled with his bat, walking quietly.

In no time at all they reached the entrance.

"Well," Sniper started, drumming his fingers on his rifle, "let's get to it, lad." Scout nodded, eyes to the ground.

"Yeah, right, yeah, I got- yeah," he rasped, swallowing hard, "I'm f… I'm fast enough, I got this, won't let it get anywhere close to you two, yeah."

"D*mn right," Sniper patted his shoulder and entered the base. Behind him he heard Scout take in a sharp breath.

"So I just gotta… I just gotta make some noise? To lure it out? Cause. Cause I need it following me, and, and not hiding."

"That's the idea," Sniper nodded, stepping over a fallen beam sticking out from the flooded floor. The base didn't look too different, perhaps just a bit more broken. He instinctively shook some water from his boot, not that it would help with his already soaking pant legs.

The hole he had to find was on the first floor, down… down that corridor, where the staircase was. He marched down the hall, taking hold of the rope at his hip.

"So, uh, guess you're headed down?" Scout asked. Sniper looked over his shoulder at the runner, who was standing like he'd just walked in on something unpleasant. The marksman nodded.

"Yup, and hopefully you're going to go and keep that thing off our backs," Sniper said, tying the rope to a sturdy looking beam.

"...I dunno if I'm fast enough," the runner murmured. Looking back, Sniper met his gaze.

The runner's eyes were wide, crackling with uncertainty. Those raging thundercloud blues, mixed with minuscule shards of silver, kept flickering towards the walls, the floor, anything besides Sniper. "What if I can't keep ahead, or it gets bored and goes after you?"

"...Then you have to do the one thing you're better at than running," Sniper said, pulling at the knot he made. Yep, it wasn't coming loose anytime soon.

"Wha- which is what, what the heck is it?" Scout asked as Sniper took hold of the rope and made to descend. The marksman gave him a cheeky grin.

"Annoying the absolute h*ll out of people." The runner's face blanked, then twisted into a nasty scowl.

"You b*****d," Scout growled, flipping him off, "I hope you get lost down there, ya freakin', ya freakin'... I don't know, but I'll figure it out once we're done!" The runner flipped his bat and caught it, "you mark my words, I'm getting back at ya after this!"

"Yeah, sure, maybe you'll even put some big boy britches on and actually ask Miss Pauling out, but I'm not holding my breath."

"**** off," Scout sneered, "just get your lanky, camping *ss down that hole and let a real mercenary show ya how it's done."

"Then go already, ya spastic ankle biter!" Sniper jeered back. Scout flipped him off once again, smiling, before sprinting back, making more noise than he ever thought water could make.

"Alright ya stupid, ugly, grimy freak, I've got one H*LL of a bone to pick with you!-" The runner was gone, shouting obscenities and making a ruckus so loud and irritating that Sniper forgot that he also had a job to do. Lowering himself into the chasm, Sniper took in a breath and descended into the dark, the soft echoes of his teammate fading into the dark.

"Holy s**t, where the **** are you!?" Scout snarled, banging his bat on a wooden beam. The loud crack of aluminum on wood rang through the halls, shaking the support beam. So far, there has been nothing. No sign of it. And he was getting really pissed off.

And it felt great.

Was he scared? Maybe a little, maybe a bit, maybe a lot but it paled in comparison to his anger. It was so freeing like this instead of having to bite his tongue and keep as quiet as possible like the other times. Those moments felt like he was nothing but a rabbit or something, having to listen to everything, having to be so freaking quiet, forced to be the hunted. Well now he was the hunter. Sniper would probably appreciate his comparisons. A hunter of the hunter, looking for that b*****d, one that was still hiding.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Scout shouted, swinging his bat and cracking it against the base's foundation, "I got some Girl Scout cookies for ya! Do ya like Thin Mints? Tagalongs? You ain't getting any till I see your ugly ****in' face! Though considering none a them are human hand flavored, I don't think you'd like them," the runner paused, listening to the dark halls. Nothing. He growled.

"UGH, just come out already!" Scout yelled when a light crackle filled his left ear.

"Alright you two, any sign of it? Scout, have you seen anything?" He groaned.

"Nah," Scout said, swinging his bat to the beat of his walk, "nothing but nothing. It's being cowardly, hiding away, like a freakin' sniper!"

"Hey, I resent that," a rough accent said through his headset. Scout dramatically groaned again.

"Not you, Sniper, a sniper! There's a difference." From the distasteful noise his teammate made it was clear Sniper didn't believe him. Well, screw him, Miss Pauling was saying something.

"Sniper, what's your status?"

"It's bloody dark and cold down here, even with my torch," Sniper said, voice filled with static, "I heard something, but I haven't seen anything. Keep your eyes and ears up, mate, can't afford to let it catch ya by surprise."

"Ya don't gotta tell me twice," he grumbled as the faint buzz of their comm line blinked out, leaving him alone once again. Scout sighed, took a deep breath, and shouted "OH LOOK, I'M ALL ALONE, IN A DINGY OLD BASE, WITH NO ONE AROUND, COMPLETELY VULNERABLE TO SHAPESHIFTING FREAKS' ATTACKS! OH, WHAT EVER WILL I DO?" His voice shook the dust off from the ceiling, falling on his shoulders and coating his jacket-

Scout spun around, bat raised high and heart racing. Nothing. It had just been the wood around him creaking. He swallowed, the racing pulse below his skin too noticeable to ignore.

D*mn, one little noise he didn't make and all that umph was gone? Now his mouth was too dry to shout. Licking his lips, Scout restarted his walk through the base, making his way towards the second floor.

"Oh look," he started, voice much smaller than before, "I'm all alone, in a dingy old base, with nobody around, and completely… completely vulnerable to monster attacks, in a place with tight halls, and tripping hazards, and- and broken staircases with dead ends… what. What will I… do?" Scout took another breath, and tried to swing his bat hard against the wall. It wasn't nearly as strong as last time.

What was that thing he had again? A sixth sense for trouble? Yeah, yeah that. A sixth sense that was more like a siren blaring in his head that something was going to happen.

He just didn't know when.

This map Scout made did **** all! For the fourth time, Sniper swore under his breath. These tunnels were really getting to him, that had to be it. Because the map made sense, it was clear, it had directions for everything but the places Scout hadn't been which made complete sense. It just wasn't helping him at all!

Sniper scanned the tunnel he currently stood in, letting his torch's beam light up the rock walls. It didn't look similar or unknown, it was just plain old stone. He was surrounded by the s**t! There were no little landmarks or trail markings Scout had made, and that wasn't helpful in the slightest. Now, at the time, he was helping Sniper not collapse in on himself like a Raggedy Andy, but bloody h*ll this place!

He brought the torch back over the paper map. Sniper had reached the bottom of the chasm at least fifteen minutes ago and had gone in the direction he knew they'd went the first time. He even slipped down the same slope. But now he couldn't seem to find that incredibly thin belly crawl tunnel. It was past some rather tight corridors, Sniper knew that much. As for everything else, well, he could thank his now healed concussion for the poor memory. And maybe being dead and getting shocked back to life too for good measure.

Sniper swore again. The lines on the map seemed to shake. Or was that just his grip on the torch? That faint mist his breath made wasn't helping either. Nor was that low drone from behind him.

He spun around, the beam of light cutting into the black shadows around him. No one. There was no one besides himself. Sniper swallowed, an uncomfortable prickling beginning to build on the back of his neck.

No, Scout… he just had to trust him. Trust that he could keep it away as Sniper blindly made his way through this claustrophobic hell.

His hands itched to hold his rifle and not this pointless map. His eyes darted around, staring at the world through his golden aviators, acting as a shield. Something was wrong, this was far too quiet.

Was this what Scout meant last night?

Sniper viciously swore, desperate to cut through that malicious quiet as he marched deeper into the underground labyrinth.

Miss Pauling pulled at the strands of hair that had managed to slip loose from her bun. It was a habit she'd had since her childhood. She had done it for as long as she could remember. Other children had security blankets, sucked their thumbs for comfort, she would gather up her hair in her fists and gently pull it. Maybe it was a control thing, something to ground her due to the tightness in her scalp. Either way, she thought she'd kicked the habit since The Administrator made Miss Pauling her assistant.

Apparently not.

The secretary curved to avoid a tree in her path. This was the fifth lap she had made around the bases and so far, no flare. Had something happened to the Australian? To Scout? Her fingers itched towards her earpiece. It had been a bit since she'd checked on them. Though, if something had happened, they would have let her know, right? She specifically drilled that into them.

But Sniper did have a tunnel vision problem on occasion, especially when he was sniping. And Scout was easily distracted in the heat of the moment. So maybe they would forget to check in?

Miss Pauling came to a stop, the jeep hitching in response. She turned to her right and looked towards the towering blue building. Somewhere in there was her mercenary, and below her were the rest of her men. She looked up into the deep gray sky. No flares. No rain either.

They had said that liquid hurts Connery? Or weakened him in some way. It turned him back into a man, was that what they'd said? She couldn't quite remember.

She pulled at her hair some more before grabbing her steering wheel again-

Miss Pauling snapped to her left, pistol out and at the ready, pointed at the bushes that had rustled so suddenly. She then eased back when what jumped out was nothing but another one of those rabbits. Slightly angry but more relieved, the secretary sat back, putting her weapon back on safety.

The critter's nose twitched as it stood, sniffing the air and staring at Miss Pauling with a side eye. Its coat was a dirty grass brown, and it's body was slim, much thinner than household pet rabbits. She'd always liked domesticated rabbits, they were soft, quiet(mostly), and occasionally had nice spots on their bodies. This one did not have those. It was a wild one. A rather bold wild rabbit considering that it was still sitting there out in the open. It wasn't even grazing, just there watching her from the side.

Miss Pauling forced herself to look away and start the jeep again. She shouldn't be so worried, they were battle hardened mercenaries, they could handle themselves. Mostly. She needn't be so worried. If they needed to tell her something, then they would have done so already.

"Miss Pauling." Speak of the devil. The assistant jumped at the sudden voice but promptly turned on her mic.

"Yes, what's your status, Scout?" She asked. No answer. "Scout?"

"Hey, Miss P," Scout said again. Miss Pauling frowned. Then froze, eyes wide with her hand up against her earpiece. A deep cold began to crawl up her spine as the sound of wet tearing met her ears. Slowly, she lowered her hand, reaching for her pistol.

"What an unexpected surprise," came his voice again, devoid of the static of their comms. She closed her eyes, taking a deep and even breath.

Then snapped around and pulled the trigger.

Chapter Text

The echo of the gunshot was spun into the thunder erupting from the sky as Miss Pauling leapt from her vehicle. Behind her, the painful howl of her fake mercenary followed, adding to the deafening noise. The assistant, hand locked tightly on her pistol, broke into a dead sprint towards the base.

The ground beneath her feet sagged and caused her to slip and stumble, and with each hitch Miss Pauling's heart rate spiked. She reached for her earpiece, fingers trembling as it was turned on.

"Guys," she cried out, "Connery's here! He-" her communication line lit up in static and worried voices.

"Where are you?" She heard Sniper ask, his tone serious. Miss Pauling heard the real Scout ask the same thing.

"I'm heading to the base," the ground was growing firmer and her legs were beginning to strain, "he's following me, if I can lead him into the building-"

"On my way," Scout said, "don't let that thing reach you, Mis-" His voice was cut off as Miss Pauling felt something slam into her side. The weight knocked her off her feet, sending her through the air and tumbling into the dirt. As she landed, she felt her earpiece get knocked loose along with her glasses. Blurriness surrounded her along with pain thumping through her ribs and hip.

Miss Pauling pushed herself to her elbows, feeling around the grass for her glasses or pistol. Nothing. To her right she heard someone walking up to her, grass crinkling underfoot.

"M̷̦̣͒͛̿͗͌̏͒i̷̼͍̯͈̓͗̉́̑̒̚ş̵̦̪͇̇̑s̶̢̼̼̓̈́̔̽̔͒ ̸̨̡̠͔̗̮͔̓͐͋͂͝͝P̴̨̰̖͉̹̂?" Scout asked. No, it wasn't just him, there was another voice layered underneath. A statement, a sly cunning voice. She kept searching, sparse raindrops falling on her shaking hand. "Ȃ̸̫ͅb̸̜̺̓̈́o̶̱͈̊̔u̷̱̠͊ṫ̶̻̪̚ ̶̹̓̃ṯ̸͐i̴̦̝̒m̷͚̿̎ḛ̸͒͠.̶̺̮͋͂ ̸̳̊S̵̗͍̿ȯ̷̬̑r̷̢̈r̶͓̄͊y̴̘̓ ̷̛̰̈f̷͉͈̿ọ̸̹̇r̷͍̕-̷̙̩̈́̐ ̸̼̉͝ǹ̸̟o̵̭͌͘t̶͈̤̅̊ ̴̼̀ŗ̷̢̀̒e̶͇͒͝ã̶͍l̷̘͆͝l̷̲̙͊y̸̗̫̿̿." A hand grabbed her shoulder, and forced her onto her back and looked up into Scout's face. The mercenary was unmistakable, even through her poor eyesight. Though there was one difference. The real Scout's eyes were blue, not brown like the one standing above her with a sneer.

"Ỳ̴ͅö̸̬ũ̸͚ ̸̜̿s̴͈̈h̷̬͊o̴̢͒ȕ̶̝l̷̢̂ḏ̵͐n̶̡̕'̴̱͒t̸̪̓ ̴̘̐h̵̛̦ả̷̻v̸̼̕e̴̬͊ ̶̠͝g̵̦̔o̸̾ͅt̶̲̑t̷̩͠e̴̳̔ṉ̵͆ ̵̩͗i̸͎̓n̷̮̔v̴̡͝o̷̹̾l̸̲̂v̶̰̈é̷̙d̶̢͌,̶̇͜" Scout spat, his voice far more prominent than Connery's. "Ÿ̵̻́ò̷̻ȕ̵͙ ̶͜͝s̶̰̐ȟ̴̳ö̵̯́u̸͙̇l̷̝͒d̸̼͛n̶̥̍'̵̳̽t̴̢̃ ̸̞̒b̴͇͠e̸̱͐ ̴̢̈́h̵̗̐e̴̙̓ŕ̶͈e̸̱̔." Miss Pauling drew back and socked him when the creature got closer. All that seemed to do was make him more aggravated. The runner bared his teeth, then seemed to freeze. And then he grinned in a way that Scout never would, a way that made Miss Pauling try to crawl away from the man, blood running cold. But it didn't work as the thing wearing her mercenary's face sprung forwards, shoving her into the dirt. She scratched and scrambled, trying to brace her mind from the panic building in it as Scout's smile was growing bigger and bigger until the corners of his mouth reached the top of his head and thousands of serrated teeth glistened through.

She hadn't meant to scream, but that desperation no doubt helped get a certain runner to her faster. The exact second after Miss Pauling screamed, the monster above her looked up at something she couldn't see and its eyes widened. Then an aluminum bat cracked against its head.

The sound echoed through the air as Scout collapsed to his side. An arm hooked itself around her own and ripped her to her feet. Miss Pauling looked to her side and there was Scout, the real one.

"RUN!" He shouted, pushing her towards the base, "go, just go!" She ran. The assistant dashed and made it to the entrance. Grabbing the frame, she thrust herself forwards, soaking her shoes and pants. Where to hide? Where to hide? THERE! A pile of broken beams and fallen ceiling boards made a cover just big enough for her to hide behind. Miss Pauling leapt over the mess and flattened herself against the ground.

Muffled roars and shouts, words she couldn't make out through the now steady rainfall outside. From where she hid, Miss Pauling couldn't see the entrance, she was stuck looking at the ceiling, leaking cold droplets into her hiding place. Plip, plip, plip.

Soon that was the only noise she could hear, that steady pattern and the muffled roar of the outside world. There was no shouting, no swearing, nothing. Miss Pauling reached for her earpiece before remembering it's fate. Her pulse quickened. Had he been caught? Was their plan really unfurling so quickly, after so many hours of planning? All of it gone to waste because she hadn't been paying attention to her surroundings?

The splashing of water approaching her hiding place sent a rush of adrenaline shooting through Miss Pauling's veins. She painfully tugged at her hair, her bun falling into disarray. Whether it was Scout or not, she didn't know, but whoever it was was approaching fast. Incredibly fast. Too fast.

Miss Pauling pushed herself into the rubble behind her when the figure flung himself into the hiding place. He was panting, then near screamed when Miss Pauling flung herself at him, pushing him into the ground and pinning his wrists.

"Holy s**t," Scout breathed, the blurriness of his face formed into fear, "holy s-"

"Shut up!" Miss Pauling hissed, covering his mouth with her hand. She made to check his pulse, to see if her merc really was her merc and not Connery putting up an act, but that wasn't needed. A cry of rage and Soldier's voice thundered through the base, causing her hair at the back of her neck to stand up. She wasn't given any time to prepare as Scout yanked her close, keeping the two of them out of sight.

With her head pushed up against his chest, Miss Pauling could feel the runner's heart beating faster than a locomotive's engine. Well, if the horrible choir of her employees' voices wasn't enough to prove that this Scout was actually Scout, this certainly was. Her peace of mind was short lived as the splashing water drew closer to their hiding spot. Scout's heart beat even faster if that was possible, and she found herself tugging at her hair.

"This is my world," Miss Pauling heard growling, "you are not welcome in MY WORLD!" The pair hardly held back a cry of fear as a beam exploded into the wall above them. As splinters coated them, the heavy splashes began to fade deeper into the base, followed by nasty German mutterings.

"...you okay?" Scout whispered. Miss Pauling tentatively sat up, hunched to keep hidden. She then nodded as she redid her bun.

"I'm fine," she said, "it caught me off guard."

"Yeah, and ya dropped these," looking up, Miss Pauling spotted between the runner's fingers her glasses. "I swear, you too need to stop losing your glasses. First it's Snipes, now- crap, Sniper!" Scout flicked down his microphone, frantically hissing. "Sniper, dude, are yo- holy crap, lower your freakin' voice, my guy, you're gonna get us caught!" The marksman's voice was so loud that even Miss Pauling could hear his furious words through Scout's headset.

"Well it's not my fault we got preoccupied with that thing," Scout argued quietly, "how was I supposed to know that I'm supposed to keep calling ya 24/7?"

…

"...okay, yeah, that sounds bad, but she's okay! She's right- does she have her earpiece? Uhh," Scout met her eyes, and Miss Pauling shook her head as she slipped on her glasses. "No, I think she lost it in the scuffle."

"We don't have time to sit around, Scout," she stated, fixing her eyes on her now clear mercenary, "we have to stick with the plan. Connery is now in the base looking for us, and if you don't get it's attention, it could look through the caves and find Sniper, we need to move." The runner paused, twiddling with his headset. Then, his shoulders fell as he nodded.

"Yeah, you're right. Always are," Scout stretched his head up, looking out into the open. "I gotta get back out there. You'll have to go back to the jeep once I get it away from ya; you should be safe that way." The solemness of his tone caused Miss Pauling to pause. She then lightly took his shoulder.

"You're faster," was what she said, "that's why you're The Scout, that's why I chose you over more experienced mercenaries." The runner looked back to her, eyes lightly darting in their locked gaze. He then gave a weak grin.

"Gee, and here I thought it was cause a my natural charm and handsome gob."

"Maybe that helped," she replied, completely unaware of the deep red forming in the Bostonian's ears. "Now, when are you going to-"

"Yawannagoonadatewithme?"

The assistant paused, stuttering to a halt. Turning back, Scout looked just as confused as she felt.

"Sorry, what?"

"Not now," Scout continued, rubbing his neck and refusing to meet her eyes, "like, after all a this. Like, a real one, not like the one with the whole bread crap. When we win, do you wanna… y'know, do it? Not- not it, that's not what I meant-"

"No, what did you say the first time, I couldn't understand you," Miss Pauling cut him off. Her companion took a deep breath, and mumbled his answer.

"Go out with me. After this. When ya got the time. Would ya?"

"...I don't think now's the time to be worried about that, Scout," she managed to say with her incredibly dry mouth.

"Oh- yeah, yeah, totally, yeah, I was just- gotchagotcha, I'm going, get ready to run, right?" Scout muttered, looking back out into the corridor, "just… yeah, gotta get-"

"Maybe."

"I- what?"

"I said maybe," Miss Pauling stated after clearing her throat, "I'll consider it. Though my answer will most likely be affected by your survival." Scout was still, eyes wide.

"Like, for real?" He asked, unable to keep the very obvious hope from his shaking voice, "you mean all that?" Miss Pauling felt herself nod before any thought entered her head.

"Yes, now go," she ordered, "we can't let Connery get to Sniper!" The runner stiffened.

"Oh crap, right, okay I'm going, and, Miss P?" The secretary looked over at Scout, who was crouched and ready to spring into the open. He was wearing a soft grin, one that was small but nowhere near as fragile as his last.

"Thanks," Scout said. She nodded, and with that Scout leapt out, shouting.

"HEY UGLY," the runner bashed his bat against the wall, sending the foundation shaking, "ARE YA REALLY THAT BLIND? MAN, YOU'RE PATHETIC!" A ferocious roar shook dust and water from the ceiling, and Scout gestured for her to go, shouting "FOR A GUY WHO CAN GROW HUNDREDS OF EYES, YA SURE AIN'T VERY OBSERVANT, ARE YA!?" Miss Pauling darted from her hiding place, rushing past Scout and towards the outside. Leaping from the doorway, rain pelted her shoulders like her feet against the sodden ground. Behind her, Scout's voice grew fainter along with the furious clammer of his teammates spitting curses. Before her sat her jeep, and in a flash she hoisted herself into the front seat.

The ignition was started and the rush of the engine filled Miss Pauling's ears as she put the pedal to the metal. Hands shaking, hair messy and clothing in disarray, the assistant began her rounds once more, searching for the marksman's flare. Waiting for his signal, waiting for any sign of success.

Her scalp began to sting from the constant pulling of her hair.

Dark. Dark, dreary, moist, and loud. It was truly surprising how loud everything was underground, even the supposed silence. His boots clicking against the wet stone, the light buzz of his torch, and his own shallow breathing. Sniper cursed, listening to his colorful language bounce off the walls.

It hadn't even been half an hour and things were already going to s**t. At least they were safe, for now. Or Miss Pauling was. It had attacked her, the b*****d. Of course it went as low as to go after the one lass who had no prior experience with it, and who was also a lady. Sniper's might have no qualms about taking contracts for either sex, but when it came down to it, well… and it wasn't as if he didn't think she could take care of herself, no, of course not, that wasn't it, it was just… compared to everything happening, and their own experience on the battlefield and in the deep undercurrents of humanity, Miss Pauling was a greenhorn, simple as.

But she was fine, Scout himself had said so, do doubt having gone and helped her in that regard. Speaking of Scout, the boy hadn't made any calls for a good while, neither of them had. Their communication had died and died hard, leaving the marksman with no one but himself to traverse and locate his team, having nothing but hope that the plan was still in action.

Sniper sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Hope was such a lousy thing, honestly. Straightening up, the Australian once again turned on his earpiece, listening to the static build up. Well, it was better than that low drone this narrow tunnel made. Pushing himself deeper into the dark, Sniper swallowed the dryness in his throat and began to speak.

"Oy, Scout, do you copy," he started, speaking low as to not disturb the deathtrap of stone above him, "or Miss Pauling, either or would be nice. A status update, perhaps, if that's not too much of a hassle?"

Nothing. The spike in his pulse didn't prove anything, it was just the environment he was in, yes, just because the lad wasn't responding didn't mean he was suddenly being ripped to shreds. Or worse. Or…

Sniper shook his head, trying to dislodge any fears of unknowns from his mind. Focus. Just focus, if he got too distracted on getting a response, he would just get himself more lost than he already was and waste the time he could be spending getting his team free. Just push past that horrible cocktail of pins and needles whenever he got to thinking about the action currently happening on the surface. Scout was doing his job, so was Miss Pauling, it was about time he focused on doing his own correctly.

And he had every intention of doing so, problem was that his earpiece erupted into a garbled mess of words in a Boston accent and d*mnit, if something happened up there-

"Scout, what's going on up there, you pulling through?" Sniper asked, gingerly sliding down a minor slope. The runner's words were mashed together like a demonic curse, or simply sleep muddled. "Kid, speak slower, can't understand a word you're saying."

"Miss Pauling's got back to her car, and right now I'm hiding again," Scout whispered rapidly, "so far it's slow enough for me to get outta sight fast enough, but I don't know how long I can keep this round a hide and seek going."

"Right," Sniper replied, scanning the damp walls with his light, "I'm trying to get down there fast as possible mate, but your map isn't doing much for me. At all." Over the line he could feel Scout deflate.

"Oh… but you're okay though, right? Like, ya ain't getting stuck on nothing like before or nothing, right?"

"I've been down here before, and I now know where the exits are, so no, I'm not having bloody panic attacks."

"Oh that's what they're called," the runner spoke like a dark veil had been lifted, "I just thought that… I dunno, but I thought panic attacks were just the weapon, y'know?"

"Y'mean Engie's crumby shotguns?" Sniper near laughed, "so why did you think they were called that?"

"I don't freakin' know, dude, it's one a those things ya don't think about, like why there's a planet called Uranus or some s**t, man."

"Well, I don't know why it's called that either," the marksman said as the tunnel began to narrow. It felt familiar even if it didn't look familiar.

"So…" he heard Scout begin after a while, most likely having to hide his voice, "those were panic attacks you got down there the first time?" Sniper sighed.

"I don't know," he admitted, slipping off his backpack to fit through the continuously narrowing gap, "I just had trouble thinking straight, really. Couldn't seem to rationalize anything at the time."

"...Ever had that thing happen where ya couldn't breathe right?" Scout asked. The marksman paused, rolling the question over in his mind.

"Yes," Sniper whispered, almost to himself. On the other end he heard Scout sigh through his nose.

"Me too."

"When?"

"At… h*ll, there were a lotta places," Scout's voice was light, although the tightness of his tone gave the runner away, "Landfall, here, just… at night, too, I guess."

"I'm sorry to hear that," and he meant it because he could believe it. Scout only had one reason to lie now: to save face, and that face he would try to save had already died some days ago for Sniper. So the kid had episodes near everywhere they went, and no doubt it was something he felt he had to hide. And as much as it hurt to admit, perhaps it was best for him to hide it until now. The marksman heard his younger companion hum.