Chapter Text
Stars hang above like fairy lights in the vast expanse of the night sky. The breeze coming in from the thankfully open windows and drafty doors around the base is cool and very much welcomed on these frequently warm summer nights. The badlands were basked in this deep blue hue, barely illuminated by the crescent moon high above. The base stood out against it all though, this warmly lit plot of land in the middle of the desert, nothing else for miles upon miles but sun baked roads and stretches of scorched red sand.
For a mercenary base housing 9 rambunctious men (plus 1 miniature freak), it’s usually pretty quiet and relaxed this time of night, surprising for a place like tuefort. especially after a hard days work and where everyone just wants to hit the hay and not talk until inevitably having to face each other come morning time. But... that doesn't seem to be the case for tonight.
SMASH!
CRASH!
SLAM!
“AAAAAAAAGH!!!!”
The hallway echoed out the carnage in soldiers room as if on a megaphone for all to hear. Every time his fist made contact with the wall. Every time he launched a miscellaneous object across the room with reckless abandon, and the crashing that followed after it had likely shattered on impact. And every ear-splitting scream of raw rage. No doubt about it that EVERYONE within a mile-far radius heard the patriots hour long tantrum (but never DARED made a move to intervene, lest they want a mouth full of lead), and that most certainly included the smallest of mercs with the most sensitive of ears.
The team had lost, again. adding to a 3 week long losing streak. for everyone else, it was no big deal. sure their pride and dignity might get a little bit bruised but there was no real consequence if they won or lost. but for soldier? ohh soldier... he is not taking it well. pocket could figure out that much as the sound began to mellow out as they trekked closer to the source. it seemed like soldier was somewhat calming down a bit, or at least not wrecking as much, which would make confronting him much easier. now, why you may ask would pocket dare attempt such a foolish thing? simple really, they felt bad for the guy. for the past 3 weeks he's looked rough, or- well, rougher than usual. he's always got these dark heavy bags under his eyes which look bloodshot, like he hasn't been sleeping a wink since the losing streak started. he's not as chatty or as boisterous as usual, more mellow and just wants to be left alone. And when someone, even demo tries to talk to him he just explodes at them like they’ve just insulted his entire bloodline or something. Pocket remembers seeing engie holding a bag of frozen peas to his nose in the rec room after he tried chasing solly when he stormed out the base after a particularly shit day. His nose looked like one of those cheap foam red clown noses you get for a dollar at the gas station if it had been stamped on. Sol’ sure did a number on him. When pocket asked (or well- mimed) about it, engie said he was acting, and they quote, “pissier than a riled up rattlesnake gettin’ poked with a burnin’ hot rod”.
The walk to soldiers room was long and slow as they dragged a cupcake they nicked from the kitchen behind them by the rim of the paper wrapper. They figured soldier might (hopefully) appreciate a snack of sorts since they didn’t see him during dinnertime. In fact, they don’t think that they’ve seen him leave his room since today’s match, a concerning pattern that’s been repeating itself for weeks now. The match ends, he goes to his room without saying anything, and no one hears a peep from him until morning. Well, soldier’s… soldier! He sometimes runs off into the woods for a day or two and comes back with a new ‘coon all fine and dandy. This is… probably one of those times! Except instead of staying in the woods he’s staying in his room.
Nonverbal.
Alone.
For 3 weeks.
Doing… soldier stuff.
He’s probably fine... buuut it’d still be good to check on him, pocket mentally reminded themselves repeatedly as they continued dragging the cupcake with vigorous determination to deliver this sprinkle coated “peace offering”. Yes that’s what they’re calling it. Mabey this’ll get them into soldiers good graces instead of being stared at like a weird bug. Or at the very least lessen it.
Now as they stood before the daunting looming wooden door to soldiers quarters, they could feel beads of sweat running down their back and making their suit feel like a second uncomfortable layer of skin. They swallowed, their throat and mouth dry. It was dead silent. A stark contrast to the chaos heard mere minutes ago. It was too quiet… and it put pocket on edge, made them think twice. Thrice. Fourthce, if that’s a word that can put to words how much pocket was overthinking this right now. This was a TERRIBLE idea. Maybe they should just leave the cupcake by the door and just- knock! Just knock and not risk getting beaten to a pulp again. They anxiously mulled over the 2 options as they paced back and fourth. It’s a lesser of 2 evils situation here. Either leave the cupcake and make the long walk back down to their quarters in the workshop without knowing if soldiers really ok, or go in and possibly get pummelled into the floor without mercy.
…
Butttt…
If they were in soldiers position, they’d sure love someone to check up on them once In a while, even if it’s just a friendly “hello” or a “hey how’re you doing?”. Someone to keep them company when they’re at their low… someone to just… sit and listen… yea… yea! Yea soldier needs that right now! He needs a little show of support! With a newfound sense of confidence, pocket straightened their posture with a puffed out chest and knocked as hard and as noticeable against the thick wood as they could.
…
No answer.
Pocket waited. their stature deflating just a little bit. They heard the sound of startled shuffling, Sniffling, and a hard thunk that sounded painful. They swallowed thickly before knocking again-
“WHOEVER’S THERE, YOU HAVE 5 SECONDS TO LEAVE BEFORE I SHOVE MY FOOT UP YOUR ASS! IF YOU DO NOT LEAVE IN 10 SECONDS, I WILL SHOVE MY FIST DOWN YOUR THROAT! AND BELIEVE ME, YOU DON’T EVEN WANT TO KNOWWW WHAT I’LL DO TO YOU ON THE 15 SECOND MARK! SO SCRAM!”
Pocket damn near jumped out of their skin and stumbled backwards clutching their ears dearly. They looked up at the door as they eased their racing heart, the sound of soldiers bed creaking as he went eerily quiet again. Pocket looked the door up and down before scowling and scrunching up their face. Oh the nerve of this- THIS-
pocket near busted their ass on their way here! Dragging a damn dollar-cheap cupcake across miles of floor to get here just for him! They hyped themselves up to face him, and for what?! This lead-head to just tell them to fuck off essentially??? No sir, pocket is seeing this through weather soldier likes it or not! Hell, they’ll shove it down his Goddamn ungrateful throat if they have to! Pocket peered their head in through the just barely ajar door, poking in to see-
“Creeeeeeek…”
Pocket leaned a little too into the door as it edged open with agonising slowness. it sent goosebumps all dawn their arms and neck. Without warning, a dirty boot was lobbed their way and sent careening into the wall next to them, taking a few sticky-notes and posters down with it. Soldier retreated back under the protection of the sheets without a word. Pocket stood huddled in a ball for a few seconds almost like a flamingo, waiting to see if the other boot would follow, but it never did. as they uncurled, they could see the full scope of soldiers desiccated room.
the floor is WHITE. near completely WHITE with feather-bleeding husks of torn pillows strewn about the floor like the cold bodies of war. Empty shotgun shells litter the floor among piles of paper sheets and dangerous glass shards that glint in the yellowed light of an old table lamp situated on the weatherd looking wooden bedside table, beaten with countless indents and missing chunks. It’s a wonder that it’s still standing in all honesty. The room has this musty, old damp smell to it like an old attic or dank basement that was left to rot and fester in its mould. It fits too with the cluttered state the rooms in. Boxes upon boxes take up residence in a whole corner of the room like a giant monolith, at least from pockets perspective. The dresser stuffed to the brim in the corner of the room looks as if it’s going to collapse under the strain of its own weight, its drawers practically bursting with what pocket can only describe as unidentified junk. Shelf’s are stock-full with years-worth of memorabilia, ranging from dusty old discontinued figures of similarly dressed men resembling a superhero team to a surprisingly neatly organised array of pocket knifes from cheap colourful ones you get from the corner store to these blades with meticulously carved wooden handles. Deteriorated war propaganda posters decorate the walls side-by-side with these small framed faded photos that pocket can barely make out. Some are of old suburban houses and landscapes of wild fields or wide lakes, some are of groups of people, most with their faces either jaggedly cut or torn out from the yellowed photo, aside from soldiers own.
in layman’s terms: the place is a dump.
Against it all, the American flag still hangs proudly on the wall above soldiers bed, untouched. Its colours faded from years of being in the sun. A few haphazardly zig-zag stitches line the flag in a desperate attempt to keep it from falling apart. Despite it all, it’s still holding on in there.
His bed is in a state as well. A Deep red sheet half-on, half-off the bed where soldier is curled up with his back to pocket as Still as a rock. Is he breathing? Debatable. At least until pocket gets up there to check for sure. They take a cautious step into the room, looking upon the wrecked state it was in as they shakily tug at their zipper and neck of their jumpsuit. Now, how are they gonna get up on soldiers level with the offering in tow? Well seeing all the junk piled up at the floor beside the foot of the bed, it looks like it could make a pretty good ramp. pocket cracks their back and knuckles as they begin climbing the steep incline, dragging the cupcake behind them over the uneven piles of dirty clothes and old books.
The last inch upwards felt further away than it looked. Finally reaching the top and hauling themselves onto the naked spring mattress before collapsing onto it in a heap starfish-style. pocket stares at the bullet hole-ridden ceiling above them as they exhaustedly catch their breath. Picking themselves up again, Pocket straightens out their harness as they turn to face the prone form of soldier. Now, about that cupcak-
Soldiers foot suddenly kicks at them, nearly booting them off the bed if they hadn’t grabbed onto the edge of the mattress in time. Soldier didn’t move an inch, not even bothering to look at pocket as he croaked out to them.
“Buzz-off pipsqueak… I ain’t in the mood…”
Shakily clambering back up onto the bed wary of another kick, pocket stared at soldier, picking up on the agitated tone in his voice. They were treading on paper thin ice sticking around with soldier in a mood like this, but they had to see this through for his sake. Picking themselves up mentally again, they once more haul themselves back up onto the mattress and pulled the cupcake with them, tugging it across the lumpy and wrinkled sheet. An uneasy unsureness flickered across their brows with each sinking step into the creaking spring mattress that pushed them forwards. All that bravado, all that confidence, diminished once more as they came closer and closer to being up close and personal with one of their few teammates who really made them uneasy. Simply because of how unpredictable soldier was. For all they know, as soon as they’re in reach he could snatch them and try to twist them apart like taffy, or try to smother them in the sheets (which believe me they’ve tried themselves before) or god knows what else soldier can come up with, and whatever it was it would hurt. But the fact he’s being so quiet, so still, is making their ghostly white skin prickle and tense like a skin-tight suit. As pockets wide eyes raked over soldiers prone body that had curled into itself so unfamiliarly, Alarm bells were blaring in pockets ears, ringing non stop to just leave it there and book it out of here as fast as their legs could carry them. But their body would not cooperate.
As soon as pocket could feel the hot, slow gusts of soldiers breath beating against their back, they stopped. Pocket Relaxed their shaken iron grip from the crumpled wrapper of the cupcake. they take a few steps backwards to wring their wrists from such a constant tight grip, turning their hips in a circular motion and bending their sore legs behind them from the day of sweat inducing running, climbing, jumping, pulling, etc. Pocket could feel soldiers glare boring into them from behind, quiet and irritated as he stared at this persistent little toy on HIS bed in HIS quarters by HIS face. Once all the stiff kinks were worked from their joints, pocket made a final touch-up on the cupcake by plucking a stray feather from its sticky frosting, flicking it elsewhere on the bed before turning to face soldier.
His face was buried half in the covers, half buried in his pillow, with one wet eye that was puffy and red visible under the shadow of his crooked helmet. It’s narrowed in a hard stare as he glared at pocket, glancing from the pretty red cupcake to their meek, almost shrunk back posture. If looks could kill, pocket would be splattered against the wall if it was possible. And if it were possible, he would, he could, but he wont. Pocket gestured nervously to the cupcake then up at soldier as if to say “here, it’s for you”, trying to peek under the rim of his helmet to get a glimpse of his eyes. Solders lips curled into a grimace as his eyes flickered from the cupcake to pocket. “… i’m not hungry… and I don’t need your pity short stack… just go away and let me rot in peace…” he gnarled under his breath as he buried himself deeper into the sheet and pillows with a deep drawn out huff. Pocket looked down at their feet for a moment as they dwelled on the word soldier said. “Pity”… he thinks this is pity? Well… he’s not entirely wrong, but he’s not entirely right either. Of course pocket feels sorry for him with how uncharacteristically mellow and distant he’s been, and the fact he’s taking basic empathy as “pity” is… well… more than a little concerning. And the way he said it… he spat the word out like poison on his tongue as if the very word disgusted him.
…he clearly doesn’t get offered very many cupcakes, now does he?
tentatively, pocket takes a step forward, the rest of their body shakily following after as they nervously edge towards soldier. They were just… testing the waters…. They reached a hand out slowly for the red fabric sleeve of his arm. They realllly didn’t want to leave him in a state like this when they could just-
Soldier snapped his body around, sitting upright with such speed that send pocket tumbling backwards. Solders calloused hand slammed down mere inches away from them into the spring mattress with a strained creak as he loomed over them, screaming into their face with spittle flying from his mouth “WHAT PART OF ‘GO AWAY’ DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?! I DON’T NEED YOUR STUPID PITY OR YOUR STUPID CUPCAKE! JUST LEAVE. ME. ALONE! THAT IS AN ORDER! DISMISSED!!” Before he abruptly turned over and curled up again, holding his helmet tight over his head. The sheet slightly covered his heavily rising and falling chest. his fingers clenched as they clutched the rusted helmet tightly to his skull as if it would meld to his head if he tried hard enough.
Soldier went still again. Quiet again. Nothing but the sound of his heavy, shaken breathing. pocket just laid there in shock gripping the mattress, soldiers voice still ringing in their ears like a ballistic blast and keeping their vision fuzzy for a few more moments. They’d be lying to themselves if they said they weren’t at least a little bit afraid, muscles tensed and at the ready for anything else he might do. Once the fog in their head cleared up, Pocket sat themselves up with a defeated sigh, their arms feeling like jelly more than a reliable support. whelp, they tried. They really honestly did but… The best thing they could do for soldier right now is leave him be. No point in pissing him off even more and making it a bigger problem…
so much for being a “support class”.
Once pocket was back up on two feet and ready to make the long exhausting journey back down to engies workshop, they stopped in their tracks as soldier growls. The deep rumbling vibration shuddering pocket down to their very core. They turned their head back to look at him with a frown and a cocked eyebrow as if to say “jeez alright I’m GOING-“. But before pocket could finish their thought/sentence there was a second growl that followed seconds after, this one clearly sounding more hollow and gurgle-y.
Ah, so he was hungry.
And to confirm pockets suspicions, soldiers hand suddenly darted out from the covers and snatched the cupcake away under the sheets with him. And it took a hot second for pocket to register it because of how FAST it was, and they were only snapped out of their stunned state by the sound of him noisily chowing down on the sweet treat like a rabid animal. Like I mean downright FERAL, sounding like he hasn’t eaten in days. Which in turn wouldn’t be all too surprising of soldier according to medic…
The sheets morphed and jerked with soldier as he tore into the cupcake, meanwhile pocket sat and watched in relief of seeing him actually eat something, even if it was just a cheap store-bought soullessly made cake slathered in artificially sweetened frosting and sugary sprinkles. They couldn’t help but feel a twinge satisfaction about being right, a smile playing at their lips. Well, they’ve done enough at this point, pocket thought to themselves as they got up and clapped their hands together, ready to make their silent departure and leave soldier to get back to… whatever he was doing before. They WERE at least until soldiers hand emerged again to ambush, grasping them with the same speed and strength as he did with the cupcake. Pocket let out one last pathetic squeaky toy sfx before being dragged into the stifling darkness beneath the sheets.
(With him sat up on his knees, it’s created a sort of tent with the blanket over his head.)
Soldier kept his grip firm and tight as pocket tried to worm their way out of his hands like a slippery live fish, thrashing and flopping (literally flopping. They’re desperate here). Every time the spineless coward struggled, he squeezed tighter.
“STOP WRIGGLING AROUND YOU SLIPPERY LITTLE SONOFA BITCH! I bet you’re in a big fat hurry to scamper off and tell everyone about this, aren’t you?!”
Soldier yells accusingly into pockets face, shaking them like a rag doll back and fourth, so close so that they’re almost nose-to-nose. Puzzled but still frantic and just wanting to get themselves out of this situation they’ve just created, pocket shakes their head rapidly, still trying to wriggle out of soldiers iron grip. What the hell was he getting so worked up about?! The cupcake?! IS THIS OVER A FUCKING CUPCAKE?!
“DONT PLAY DUMB WITH ME HALF-PINT! I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GONNA TELL THE OTHERS! DOWN TO THE VERY LAST DETAIL!” He hissed. “You’re gonna tell everyone that I’ve been sobbing over a stupid losing streak! That I’ve been ‘sloppy’! That I’ve ‘had my head in the clouds’! THAT ITS MY FAULT BLU KEEPS CAPTURING POINTS AND PUSHING THE PAYLOAD BECAUSE IM MISSING MY SHOTS!” With every false accusation soldier throws pockets way he gets angrier and angrier, squeezing pocket tighter and digging his nails into their minuscule body. “THAT ITS ME WHOS… who’s failing the team…”
Soldiers voice drops to a low, unusually resigned murmur at the end there. His grip falters. His face has gone a beet red and his eyes have started to well up again, which he hides by curling up tighter and crossing his arms with a now ridged pocket firmly trapped in the cage of his hands. The silence following was… uncomfortable, suffocating, and not just because of how hot it is under the blanket and the fact that pocket was essentially being smothered in a death-hug here. It’s that heavy feeling left hanging in the air. That horrible familiar feeling practically radiating off soldier in huge crashing waves that pocket could feel.
Failure.
Soldier thinks he’s a failure. All because he was apparently “lacking” a few times in the heat of a chaotic battle that repeats itself every day all year round. As if everyone can be on top of their game all of the time.
Soldier continues.
“… d’you see the way they look at me after our missions?” Soldier whispers, Adam’s apple bobbing. “The team I mean… the snarky little side-eyes, the disappointed head shakes the whispering… it’s… it’s boot camp all over again…” he murmurs with a bitter half-chuckle, slowly rolling pockets arm between two rough fingers thoughtfully like a cigarette as he stares into the barrier of his helmet. “‘He’s got all his screws loose’ ‘Don’t mind him he’s just a crazy old head case’ ‘you incompetent idiot’ that’s what they say! Then they treat me different…” as he continues ranting on, soldier has unawarely interlocked pockets body between his fingers like some sort of flesh version of Tetris, not that they really minded In All honestly, because at least he wasn’t being as rough as before? They did their best to find a comfortable position all the while solder was constantly tugging at their legs or nudging their sphere of a head with his thumb like a joystick as they tried to listen further.
“…either they won’t acknowledge me or treat me like I’m some old brainless helpless coot from one of those stinkin’ nursing homes, like I don’t even know how to use a rocket launcher! Can you believe that?? Because let me tell you- IVE BEEN USING LIBERTY FOR MUCH LONGER THAN ANYONE WITHIN TEN-THOUSAND YARDS OF THIS BASE! SO I THINK I KNOW DAMN WELL HOW TO USE IT!!!” he yells out with a screech. Surprisingly it doesn’t seem to be directed at pocket this time, More like he’s stating it as a reminder To himself, to anyone still awake, Mabey all of the above. His shoulders slouch once more, his grip on pocket now loser than ever. He lets out a deep shakey breath, swallowing thickly. His voice wavers.
“The point is… I… I just don’t want them to fail… because of me… I don’t wanna let anyone down…”
…
Soldier tries his absolute best to bite back his tears, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, smearing tears and snot across his face. But it’s yet another thing he’s failed to do, as It’s at this point soldier’s let pocket go so that he can bundle up with his face buried in his knees and his arms hugging his legs tightly in shame, body wracking with wheezing sobs and hiccups all over again… all the while pocket just kinda watches awkwardly to the side, not entirely knowing where to look. Their face contorts into a sympathetic grimace as they cautiously look back at soldier, watching what they thought was an unbreakable rough n’ tough soldier completely crumble before them. It’s… weird to see, almost alien to see him like this. Because either this is his breaking point, or he’s just reeeeally good at hiding this side of himself. Neither options are good.
Now… pocket doesn’t really take much notice of solly during missions, mostly because they’re off trying to avoid getting trampled under boot or busying themselves with picking off blu stragglers. But, when they do catch a glimpse of soldier, by god if that isn’t the most brutal and glorious rocket-wielding, shovel swishing killing machine that ever almost graced the military they don’t know what is. But They can’t even begin to understand why he’s focusing more on how many times he’s failed to capture a point or how many blus got away instead of focusing on the times that he has captured points and the dozens of blus he has killed. The fact of the matter is that all they’ve seen of soldier is that he’s fricken’ damn good at his job, so shouldn’t that matter more than failure?
Soldier didn’t pay any mind to the small sounds of gentle shuffling, assuming the little guy finally left to go back to their little rat hole... He couldn’t go check to see even if he wanted to with his eyes all blurry and wet like this. He grumbled under his breath, nose clogged and his throat lined with phlegm as he used his sleeves to wipe his face dry again. Come on soldier… get it together… you’re a MAN for Washington sake! A man of WAR! A man of AMERICA! A man of… weakness. He scrubbed his hands down his face again in defeat, tugging at his dark eye-bags caused by many restless nights similar to this one. With a deflated sigh, soldier turns back onto his side, hands still pulling at the skin of his face before resting them over his eyes.
…
… …
“tug tug”
Soldiers eyes snap back open with a start as he feels a pull on his shirt, Looking down to see… them. How did- when did they- Pocket stares right back up at soldier silently without a discernible expression. Left hand still firmly grasping a tiny fist-full of the red uniform, right hand dragging behind an old grey sock riddled with various holes which they offer up to him as a make-shift tissue. It’s… all they could find in reach. Soldier cocks his head to the side in confusion, the straps to his lopsided helmet swaying. He rolls onto his back which takes pocket with him in the process, settling them unceremoniously onto his broad chest. They stand with a wobble in their step on the sloped surface, regaining balance before again holding up the sock. Soldier cautiously takes the sock from pocket between two pinched fingers, looking from it to pocket before using it to wipe his sore eyes dry and blowing his nose, the sound of which akin to a broken trumpet.
Soldier sniffles again as he tosses the sock aside, unable to make eye contact. “… thanks pocket…” he whispered, fiddling with the rim of his sleeve. “-for y’know… the snack n’… staying… here…” he added shortly after. The tone of which he’s saying this in sounds like he’s trying to be apologetic. Pocket shook their head with a smile and a brush of their hand as if to say “don’t worry about it”, tucking a non-existent lock of hair behind their non-existent ear because they bald as fuck.
Soldier goes to say something more, but pauses first and looks around Conspiratorially, his voice Dropping down to a confidential whisper as he leans forward closer to pocket, a nervous edge to his voice “And… you won’t tell the boys about this… right? I don’t want ‘em to think I’m a… prissy or something-“ Pocket interrupts and shakes their head vehemently, raising a hand up high and crossing their heart, hoping to die, all with dramatic flair. They could practically see the tension release from soldiers shoulders and chest as he let out a breath of laughter. The type of nervous laugh when you’re on edge.
They look up at soldier from where they comfortably sit, getting a peek under his helmet. His gaze is nowhere near as cold and threatening as it was a minuet ago, looking far softer and calmer than before. Pale Clover eyes faded and tired. Soldier stared right back at them with a more curious gaze. The first thing that came to soldiers mind when looking at pockets eyes were pearls. Two little round pearls glued to a ping-long ball. The picture in his mind matched pocket almost uncannily close. Both eventually seemed to have caught on that the other was staring and quickly broke eye contact, soldier being the first. “this doesn’t mean anything, alright? But…” there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “…could you just stay a little longer?…” the question was accompanied with a pleading look in his eyes that pocket couldn’t ignore.
Pocket simply took soldiers heavy hand in their two tiny ones and placed it over their lap, giving his fingers a little pat-pat with a reassuring look. Soldiers fingers curled around pocket with more care this time, holding them close as he turned back onto his side and cuddles in close, staring into the distant void as he absentmindedly fidgets with pocket. Feeling the tiny Individual fingers between his own or the feeling of their strangely cold, smooth skin. It was… nice.
And so the two sat in content peace for the rest of the night, with soldier prattling on about anything else on his mind weather that be old (probably fake) feats or other pushed down feeling that have bubbled to the surface. And pocket listened, nodding along to his ramblings and taking it all in. Every. Single. Word.
And they were roommates <3