Chapter Text
It had been two years. Two years of the RED and BLU teams charging at each other. The members of these teams weren't stupid. By now basically everyone had figured out that the war was absolutely pointless, but they didn’t care. Why should they? They’re all just here for the paycheck. That’s why they signed up. Not because they had ideals or believed in what they were fighting for. But why did all the individual members need the money?
The BLU Scout was thinking about this question shortly after he’d figured out that the war was pointless. It had taken him two years to figure this out, but it wasn’t his job to think. That was a nerd job.
Everyone had asked the question at some point, but Scout was the only one social enough to actually ask anyone, and thus he asked one night at the mess hall, during dinner.
“Yo doc, I got a question for you.” He looked at the Medic and pointed his fork at him.
“Vell Scout, you can ask me vhen you’re ready to not talk with your mouth full. It’s disgusting." Medic told Scout, without looking up from his own plate. “And vell you’re at it, if it’s anything to do with vork I don’t wish to discuss it.”
“Oh don’t worry doc, It-”
Spy interrupted harshly “Scout. Chew your food, you look uncivilized.” Scout then wiped his face with his napkin. “Also, why aren’t you eating the prepared meal, it’s rude.” Scout had passed on dinner, claiming that “eh, bear stew ain’t really my thing.”
It was rare for the Spy to join in for dinner. Typically he was on his lonesome, eating in his smoking room. He considered most of the food they typically made too ‘unrefined’ for his taste. To which Scout had replied that “Food is food, just eat the stuff.”
Tonight they were having Soup, which was considered by Spy refined enough for his tastes, but what had really drawn him out of his room was the fact that Heavy, the best cook, had made it.
Scout finally swallowed and continued, not acknowledging the interruption. “It ain’t about today. I was just thinkin’, why do you work here? Why do you need the money?”
When Scout asked this, a few of the members of the table looked at him, off put by his unusually thoughtful question. Others kept minding their business, like Sniper (who didn’t care), Demo (who was too drunk to care), Pyro (who didn’t care enough to even be present).
Medic gave Scout a rare smile, and was pleased to be presented a chance to talk with somebody he wasn't used to. “Vell, I don’t need the money at all. In fact, I don’t get much of a paycheck at all.”
That got the whole team’s attention, at least the present ones. They all turned to Medic with curious and occasionally concerned glances.
Except Soldier, who’s brain had finally caught up with him. “Wait, we’re getting paid?”
Scout turned to him, too used to the Soldier to be dumbfounded by him. “Why else did you sign genius? We’re all here for the money.”
Soldier froze, and stood up. Spy sighed, and right before he cloaked, he said, “Scout, you’re truly an idiot.”
Soldier’s voice went quiet, but his face was red with rage. “Private, do you mean the only reason you’re fighting for your country is some measly money?” Soldier started to walk towards Scout, and his voice steadily grew in volume. “Money that couldn’t even hope to compare to the glory of fighting for your country? Is that why you fight?”
By now, Heavy too had stood up, preparing to restrain Soldier. Even Scout wasn’t stupid enough to miss the sense of danger radiating off of Soldier-the man was in his face now, and his face had gone red. His teeth were gritted together so hard they threatened to break. His eyes poked out from his war helmet, looking at Scout like he was the epitome of scum.
But he was the youngest child. He couldn’t resist.
Taking a step back, he spoke: “Yeah, I don’t care about the people we’re fighting for. I’m just here for that good ol’ cash.” Scout then leaned back on one foot, hands behind his head, smiling at Soldier.
At this point, Sniper had sensed the inevitable and had left the room as well, leaving six mercenaries in the room.
Quick as thunder, Soldier raised his hands to snap Scout’s neck. But heavy was ready for it, and grabbed his waist, pulling him back. Unable to physically display his emotions, the Soldier switched to his voice.
“DO YOU THINK THAT WHEN I FOUGHT NAZIS IN POLAND IT WAS FOR A MORTAL CONCEPT SUCH AS MONEY? NO! I WAS ON A GOD GIVEN MISSION, AND IF I HAD SAID WHAT YOU JUST SAID, BY HEAD WOULD BE ON THE CHOPPING BLOCK, AND I’D THANK THE EXECUTIONER FOR IT! THIS IS TREASON BOY!” But by now Scout was long gone, unable to hear him any longer. But not so for the rest of the mercenaries.
With Soldier still screaming obscenities, Engineer spoke. “Just let ‘em go, he won’t be able to catch him. And even if he does, Scout deserves it.”
Medic agreed. “Yes, my ears can’t take it.”
Heavy let Soldier go. In his rage, he turned on the table and tried to flip it, but the thing was bolted to the floor, due to past events involving Soldier. Even more enraged by this, he ran off to track down Scout.
Medic sighed. His chance for good conversation was revoked, but he’s lived a life of solitude for long enough to not care anymore.
Heavy grabbed his bowl, intending to get more soup, when he noticed the pot was gone. The entire thing. “Where is pot with soup?” He asked the remaining group.
Medic and Engineer just stared at the stove and shrugged. Demo however, drunk, said, “Pyro took it when you all were staring at the two morons.” Demo laid his head on the table, one hand sprawled across the table, the other on a bottle of alcohol. “The offence sure is a handful.”
Nobody had a response to this. Instead, Heavy weary walked over to Soldier’s food, and began to eat.