Work Text:
Scout could read. He could read the labels of his Bonk cans. Never again would he accidentally crack open a can of vile Bonk Classic. He knew how to write his name and read the names of all his colleagues. He knew all the letters and what sounds they made. He could read.
But looking at sentences he hadn’t memorized yet– watching the letters warp and contort– gave him a headache. He’d squint and focus as hard as he could, willing the letters to make sense, willing his mind to piece it together for him. Scout could read. He just didn’t want to.
“Everythin’ alright?” Engineer asked over his shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah,” Scout flapped his hand dismissively. “Just gimme a moment.” He flipped the packet over. The words bled into each other. “Uh, looks good, Engie.” He handed it back to him.
“Yeah?” Engineer scratched his forehead. “You didn’t think the second paragraph was too wordy?” He folded the packet over. “And the middle, it wasn’t confusin’? Not at all?”
“Yeah, I think it’s good.” Scout rubbed his neck. “Well, I guess I’m not the perfect guy to ask. All this, ah, electro mumbo jumbo goes right over me.”
Engineer skimmed the packet briefly. “Okay. One more thing. Could’ja explain to me how to build it? Just so I know I wrote it simple ‘nuff for it to stick.”
Scout stood. He raked his mind for any information he may have gleaned from staring at the empty marks on the page. He desperately replayed memories of watching Engineer work. Watching Engineer construct that damn mini-sentry. He knew you had to connect some wire to some other wire, screw something somewhere, stick little grippy feet to the tripod legs, and, ah…
“Scout? You still with me, son?”
“Huh? Oh yeah, uh,” Scout wrung his hands. “Yeah, uh, I,” He rubbed his dog tags together. “Well, first, you gotta, y’know,” He scratched the back of his neck. It was wet. “Obviously, you start with the, uh,” He looked up at Engineer. He was watching him expectantly. “First, you gotta lay all your parts out and make sure you, y’know, got everything you need. Next, you just gotta, um, screw the, uh, the legs…” Engineer looked vaguely upset. “...Together.”
Engineer took his eyes off him and leafed through the packet. “Aw, what did I do wrong? Did I ramble? Was it borin’?”
“No, not at all! Uh, I bet it wasn’t.”
“Then what was wrong with it?”
“Ah, look,” Scout took a step back. He pulled his hat down in shame. “I should’a said somethin’ earlier. I, ah, I didn’t read it.”
The sentence hung in the air like a fishing hook in a stream. “Why not?”
“Because,” Scout tapped his foot on the tile. “Ah,” He kicked himself for not having an excuse prepared. “I just, ya’know,” He pulled on the hem of his shirt. He felt like he was being strangled. “I didn’t read it ‘cause my, uh, eyes. My eyes were… dry. Very dry.”
Engineer scratched his chin. “Uh-huh.” Scout still didn’t meet his eye. “Well, why didn’t you say nothin’?”
Scout shifted. “Didn’t want you to think I was makin’ excuses.”
“You know I hate excuses.” Scout felt hot. He rubbed his face. His hand was icy cold. “Would you like me to read it for ya?”
“I’d ‘preciate that.”
“Can do.” Engineer grabbed the packet off his desk. “And, son, if you ever have ‘dry eyes’ and need help reading anythin’ again, just let me know. I’m never too busy to do a lil’ readin’”
Scout tried not to look too relieved. “Well, thanks, Hardhat, but this is a one-time deal. I don’t need you to read for me like I’m a toddler. I just got dry eyes. I can read just fine.”
“Sure, you can.”