Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Once, when he was young, Scout watched his Ma pluck feathers from her own back. One by one, looking over her shoulder into the bathroom mirror with her face creased in tension. Maybe ‘pluck’ was too kind a word. Ripping them free, really. Blood trickling from the forever marred skin. Scout wasn’t supposed to see that. His own were perfectly intact, after all, because Ma hadn't had the heart to do to him what had been done to her.

The first big amputation. And then a condemnation to a lifetime of pruning the extra appendages, getting ahead of it before the things could really grow back. She just hadn’t been able to do that to him. She’d held him to her chest, mother and son sitting on the floor together, on that fateful day when his genetic ‘curse’ had torn from his bare back and shown itself in bloodied feathers, and thin bones underneath. And Ma just hadn’t had the heart.

His own wings were whole. Always bound tightly down to his unfeathered proper skin. Good thing they were flexible. Good thing the numbness settled in quick and overtook the pain of the tight wrappings.

And hiding them was necessary. Very much so. Scout, and his Ma were terrified of what could happen if others got wind of strange, winged humans. Terrifyingly real nightmares of laboratories and government agents had plagued Scout for most of his young life. To anyone else, for example his brothers, a nightmare like that would be brushed off. Ridiculous and impossible, the result of perhaps too much candy before bed. ‘Course, to Scout, it seemed a very, very real outcome of the wrong person seeing those freakish appendages on his back. That was the whole reason Ma’s Pops had found some disreputable veterinarian long ago, to remove the mutations from her back fully, just as he’d had done to himself.

Scout wasn’t supposed to like them, the wings. They were wrong and inhuman, stuck on him and Ma like some kind of punishment. He wasn’t supposed to want to fly, or stretch them out to feel the sunlight, or feel hands card themselves through the glossy feathers.

He still found himself looking up all sorts of birds in the library, in books with big, colorful pictures. Traced the drawings of them in flight, all their pretty feathers extended against the white page.

The birds were real breathtaking. Beautiful.

Scout was some sort of abomination. And yet…he spent a lot of time admiring the sight in the mirror. So much so that his brothers learned to just kick him out of the bathroom since he wasn’t actually using it most of the time.

As Scout grew, the wings did as well, longer and fuller, until he could no longer hide them away in their natural state without the long ends poking out past his belt. So one summer, he nicked a pair of garden shears from the hardware store, and sat himself down on his bed with nervous hands.

The shears he took to the longest, prettiest feathers. Everything he could, he trimmed short as possible to cut down on any bulk, and because otherwise the ends would rest at about his thigh level, and binding the feathers down to his body that far would totally impede his movement.

The constant trimming meant that he never could attempt to fly. Not that either him or Ma knew if it was possible for him to. It did not stop him from wanting it, so desperately.

Both Ma and Scout's brothers were eager to protect him from the world. But he had to leave the nest one day, and when he did, it was straight into mercenary life. He knew how to swing a bat and run faster than anyone, and it had landed him a job, courtesy of one Miss Pauling. Bashing fools’ heads in and gettin’ died nearly every day, brought back by some magical machine.

It was bonkers crazy. Loud, chaotic, high-octane. It was cool as hell! And paid a shitton, which was real nice.

He only had to manage living with guys, total maniacs, who knew nothing of his secret and never, ever could. For his Ma’s sake even more than his own.

*****

Upward was Scout’s favorite base to stay at. By far. The rickety perches creaking in the strong winds, the views all the long, long way downwards. The ramshackle construction of everything, complete with outdoor staircases clinging to the corrugated siding and sun-bleached paint-peeling wood, the areas of shade tucked under and between the blocks of building that looked like they’d been added on over many years.

Scout had run, jumped, and climbed over all of it. Out to the narrowest bit of wood plank sticking out from the tallest tower on its stilts. Taking in the open air, the scent of sunbaked earth, the faint hint of seawater on the breeze, the warm relaxing sunshine. Nearly gave Engie a heart attack one day, when the guy saw him up there, from where he was working on his machines far below. Dude had actually grabbed his own hardhatted head in both hands and started yelling something that was swept away by the warm wind. Scout had squinted in the sunlight, down at the ant-sized figure, and happily waved back.

So yeah! Scout loved Upward. Loved it up there. Being up so high and untethered from the ground, it made his heart stir. Or something flowery like that. Just…lately, it was making his heart stir a lot. All the way past satisfaction and into longing. His back ached with every moment he spent on wooden outcrops. God, he may not have been able to fly, but still he desperately wanted to rip the restricting bandages off, spread his wings as much as he could, and feel the air move through them. He would close his eyes then and imagine soaring through the sky, and sure wish it was possible.

Would have been a great help in matches, too. Yeah, Scout could leap way high, straight into the air like a rabbit, but there were times when a gap was just a bit too wide, or a ledge was just a little too high up to get to. Times like those, he sure coulda used those deadweight appendages on his back.

Every time Scout removed the wrappings after a long day, broken feathers would fall to the floor, having been pulled out from the friction and squeeze of the bandages. A few which were whole and naturally shed would drift down as well, and he’d crawl around and meticulously pick them all up to stuff them into a pillowcase hidden under his bed. It was always the most thorough cleaning he ever did. Not a single feather, even the smallest little downy bits, should escape.

And when a few pillowcases had been filled, he would retrieve them and shove all those feathers he’d lost over the last few months into a cardboard box. Cramming the small downy ones in first, a real struggle since they wanted to float away all the time, before layering the bigger ones on top. The absolute largest he had to cut into pieces with shears to make fit. When all was said and done, the box was crammed full, then taped shut and further secured with twine.

Depending on his location, Scout would run out into the desert, the rainy woods, the dusty canyon, and bury the evidence, or toss it onto a train heading somewhere. At Upward, he borrowed Pyro’s flame thrower and blasted the box right off the cliffs into no-man’s land. Of course it would be easier to just burn the things, except the wind took the still burning feathers and blew them absolutely everywhere, a total disaster he was only willing to experience once. Also, burning feathers…did not smell great.

Once a year, at the tail end of summer, Scout would lose the same amount in just a week or so. An anxiety inducing time as he frantically chased down every last one of the feathers that had practically exploded off him for some reason. At least he didn’t go ‘bald’. The healthiest feathers stayed, and in between them, spiky, quill-like nubs grew in place of the old. And they itched terribly and created so much dust that his room looked like a maniac chef had broken in and gone crazy with the flour sifter. Scout hated that time. It made the bandages unbearable with the itching sensation, and the pain from the new feathers being bent. He would be miserable for another week after, until the new feathers were healthy enough to stand up to the pressure and the itching finally disappeared along with the hideous patchiness.

Afterwards, his wings were glossy and whole in a way they weren’t for most of the year. Scout could almost admire them again. The dark steel blue of the back top feathers, the warm grey of the longest ones. The undersides fading from rust red at the top to a pale gold-brown. It was the one time they looked almost beautiful. Glossy and sleek, until he trimmed them the next day. Until the ever present wrappings crushed the feathers, and the tension even ripped the little top ones right out.

That was coming up soon. Ugh. But for now, he just had the past couple months worth to take care of. Scout hummed idly to himself as he packed the feathers down.

Now to get rid of it.

Scout had chosen to stay at the highest elevation he could, in a rather small and drafty room with an open window. But the breeze coming in from the few cracks and the glassless window was always warm and dry, too high up for mosquitoes or any kind of critter to bother him. Lugging the mattress up had been a day’s activity…but it was worth it. Now he had a perch to call his own for the time his team would stay in this base, and it was easy to see anyone coming, and easy to defend his location, as the only entrance was a door at the top of a narrow set of stairs.

He clambered easily down them with the box balanced on an arm, and the borrowed flamethrower held awkwardly in both. Shit was heavy.

As always, he gave the infirmary a wide, wide berth. He avoided any populated areas too, not wanting questions tossed at him about why he had Pyro’s flamethrower on hand, or about what was in the box. Of course, Scout himself was the nosiest person on the team…but it was better to avoid tricky situations like that. Thankfully he remained unaccosted all the way down the many flights of stairs and landings. Breaking out of the building felt good. Sun on his skin and wind in his hair once more. He’d left his usual hat off just for that. Fresh air filled his lungs as he walked. His wings itched under the wrappings.

Scout shrugged the feeling off, and set the box up on the rock formation right on the edge of the cliff he typically used. The flamethrower itself would knock him on his ass— a lesson he’d learned a few times— so he propped it against the earth. It only took one puff of air, aimed carefully with a grunt of effort, and then the incriminating cardboard was on its way of sight and out of mind. Scout quickly stood and cheerfully watched the trajectory, a hand shading his eyes.

One moment, the box was sailing out over the cliffs at the height of its arc against the blue sky, and the next, a deafening noise rang out—

And… it exploded into scraps of cardboard. And of course, lots and lots of feathers in muted hues of steel, grey, gold, and rust.

It might have been pretty, like a feathery firework going off, but aesthetic appeal was the last thing going through the mind of the Scout. He was frozen in horror at the sight, arms up, jaw dropped, as feathers fluttered down slowly in the open air.

Um. What the hell.

What the hell?!

Just who the hell shot random boxes that appeared in his sightlines?! ‘Cause that was definitely what had just happened. The sound of the gunshot was only now registering with Scout’s frazzled brain. Some high velocity bullet outta nowhere had torn the cardboard to shreds, perfect aim, scattering his feathers to the four winds.

There was no actual gunpowder explosion (like from Solly’s rockets), just a single shot with a lot of force behind it, sufficient enough to blow it apart like an opponent’s head…

Ah. Right.

That van-dwelling weirdo, of course. Duh. Scout had essentially lobbed a clay into the air. Of course the Sniper would take a crack at it. Just Scout’s luck that Snipes was looking that way. Looking…

“Shit!” He yelped aloud, clapping his hands to his head much like Engie had done.

Sniper definitely, absolutely, had to have seen the bigass cloud of feathers.

Oh, jeez, what if… what if he started asking freaking questions? Like, ‘Oi Scout, why do you have like fifty birds’ worth of feathers in a cardboard box you punted off the cliff like a total weirdo with something to hide? Are you secretly a bird-guy mutant or something? Crikey, mate!’ What then?! And—oh god, Snipes was a hunter. Scout had seen him scraping animal hides and stripping desert fowl of their feathers. The guy even had a tooth necklace, for fucks sake— Scout did not want to end up with his wings nicely mounted on a wall!

Growing more and more freaked out, Scout began pacing back and forth across the dusty earth and agitatedly running his hands through his short hair. His thoughts started spiraling. Old fears that weren’t really buried.

Tripping over the flame thrower that had fallen snapped him out of it.

Get it together. Again he slapped both hands onto his paled face, jumping at the sting. Okay! There was literally no reason for anyone, including Sniper, to think that those feathers came from him. Sniper sure as shit wouldn’t ask him anything at all, he was way too reserved and introverted… So much so that Scout prolly wouldn’t even see the guy until it was time to move bases again. So it was fine. It was gonna be fine…

He breathed in the clean air as deeply as the wrappings would allow, and sighed noisily. Disposing of the feathers had been bound to go awry one day. At least this particular failure wasn’t so bad.

He picked the flamethrower back up and inspected it for any new scratches, but it seemed fine. Since everything was said and done now, he’d put it back, and then carry on with the rest of his day. Yep. All good. Everything was just fine.

*****

Sniper drew back from the scope. Bad habit of his, to shoot at things that moved in his sightlines. Probably should break it before more people began calling him a ‘crazed gunman’…

Though at the moment he was feeling far from crazed. More so a bit confused.

He wasn’t actually expecting anything when he had shot at that box. He’d supposed it was just…a box. An empty one. Not one that contained a shite ton of feathers— more than any bird could have on its body at one time. Baffling, really. Sniper was the only merc on the team that hunted. The only one who could even have a cache of feathers in his possession like that.

They were pretty. Not that he’d got long to look, unfortunately. He’d have liked to get his hands on them. Study the colors under the light, turn them this way and that.

Must’ve come from a beautiful animal. Too bad.

He set the rifle against the wall, careful with it as always, and got up and ambled over to the tiny kitchen burner with its pot of burnt smelling coffee. He paused pouring himself the rest, suddenly contemplating.

…Someone had thrown that box. Somebody on his team. Surely, that person knew the provenance of those feathers, yeah? The animal it came from?

Naturally, the Sniper loved animals. It was hard not to, growing up with fauna so close around him, practically in his own house. He hunted, but responsibly. He admired. And had even killed a few poachers…here and there. Yep. He wasn’t a lunatic with a gun, he was a simple admirer of nature.

Admirer though he may be, the Sniper didn’t actually know too much about American fowl, especially not rare species. Though, he knew that in comparison to most, those feathers had been quite large, even though they’d been cut into pieces, the big ones had. So. Some huge, colorful bird he’d never heard of? It sounded proper interesting.

He’d sure like to find this bird, see it for himself. If it wasn’t an endangered species then he’d hunt one, and keep some of its feathers to admire. If there were only a couple left, or something… he’d content himself with studying it. Good plan. Now he had something to do during boring stretches of no fighting.

But finding out would require talking, socializing. Not Sniper’s favorite activity. Case in point…the van. He sat back onto the ‘sofa’, just a cushion on top of a bit of storage space, and drank down the black coffee.

Though, there was someone he could ask, who would likely already have details from other people, what with how nosy the little bugger was…

The Scout was a lot to take in. He interrupted peace and quiet like it was his god given talent and mission to do so. He meandered off topic and wouldn’t get back without significant prodding. He could get tetchy. Still, if Sniper didn’t want to chase every one of his coworkers down, the Scout was the best bet. Sniper could only hope he wouldn’t spaz out too much…

Chapter Text

Whenever Scout took the bandages off, it was with complete and utter relief. He could finally get a proper lungful of air, and it both hurt and felt so good to actually stretch the wings out. Of course, no matter what Scout did, the wings would go numb and yet still zing with pain uncontrollably, in an endless cycle until he disrupted it with those seriously needed reprieves.

But who liked being stuck in a room all day? Not Scout. So the bandages stayed on.

Scout was just…having trouble standing it. The sky was right there, the base was so high up, the breeze felt so good, and his wings freakin’ ached under the tight wrappings. Currently, he was sitting on one of the lower roofs around base, gripping the metal sheeting tightly until the circulation in his hands was so poor they went tingling numb. Much like the wings felt. He really, really wanted to be up there in the air, like those occasional hawks that spiraled by on their way down to the water. How effortless they made it look, while Scout was utterly grounded and growing more agitated with it every passing day. Didn’t help that they were in a sort of match deficit, and the last one had been a whole week ago, and they’d lost.

On his back, the seldom used muscles of the wings twitched in vain. Scout shook his head angrily, and slammed a foot down onto the metal beneath him. It pissed him off sometimes, the unfairness of what he’d been stuck with.

It. Sucked.

He was sweaty, and his wings hurt, and his back hurt, and he felt a constant impending anxiety over something, these days. And he itched to do something about it. That “something” was the baffling urge to fly, but Scout knew he couldn’t seriously entertain those thoughts if he wanted to stay sane. And also stay out of the kind of trouble that got you vivisected.

Oh right. Why the hell was Scout up here in the first place? Running from the scariest person on base, naturally. That being the Medic. And he was a scary bastard indeed, thought Scout maniacally. This shift in thought back to the whole reason he was up here caused him to skitter backwards and look wildly around, heart pounding foolishly. Man.

The Medic was the embodiment of every nightmare Scout had ever had about white-coated scientists taking him and Ma away to experiment upon them. The Medic kept fridges stuffed with exotic animal organs, and Scout had a horrible suspicion he himself might be classified as an exotic animal. So no thank you, Scout did not need his wings lopped off by a madman for study. Nope.

And boy, was the Medic incensed that Scout hadn’t received a check up the entire time he’d worked for RED. Though… ‘hadn’t received a check up’ was a delicate way of putting it. In reality, Scout avoided the doc like his life depended on it…which it may well have. He ran, jumped, and climbed into any hiding spot he could get to when it was time for a round of examinations. And Medic ran, jumped, and climbed way worse than him in an attempt to get his red-gloved hands upon his most elusive patient. Yeah right. Nobody could keep up with Scout. That was the one good thing about it, he got to gloat a little.

It was a thin veneer for the primitive terror that threatened to drown him. When he got chased like that, with those terrifying outcomes flashing in his mind’s eye, it would take hours for his heart to calm down, hours for the trembling to cease as every worry and bad thought clamored across his brain.

In reality, there was no way up onto this particular lofty ledge, thirty feet off the ground, without a ladder, or Scout’s incredible jumping abilities. It was a narrow jut of roof over an overhanging room, and the angle was steep enough that anyone less sure-footed than him would take a nasty tumble if they tried to accost him.

But logic wasn’t what was running through Scout’s birdbrain just then. Like usual, fear was ruling him. The week of downtime had so far been used to perform those check-ups on the team. Not that any of them needed it, what with respawn and the medigun keeping them in tip-top shape. But Medic wasn’t the sort of ‘doctor’ who performed medicine because it was necessary. So everyone had gotten an exam courtesy of the quack with varying levels of reluctance, from Heavy’s unbothered acceptance to Sniper practically being dragged in… Everyone had gone and stalwartly suffered through it, except for Scout.

So yeah, one pissed off Medic on the warpath. He may have been the second fastest man on the team, but that was still leagues slower than Scout. And so he’d gotten away thus far. It was just…

How long could he keep this up? Wasn’t he bound to screw up one day, forget the danger for a sec, or maybe just get unlucky tripping over one of Pyro’s stuffed animals in the hallway? He had barely managed for a year, and their contracts stipulated a five year run of this merc life, all saddled together with RED’s nutcase Medic.

And there it was. One large source of Scout’s anxiety. The odds… he just felt as if they’d stop favoring him one day. And then… he’d end up…

All of a sudden, out of absolutely nowhere, Scout felt a sharp, steely punch of pain in his upper ribcage, like a sliver of shrapnel had buried itself there. He jolted, and yelped once more, louder for the shock of it all, totally confused and scrabbling momentarily on the hot metal. His hands flew up to the spot burning with pain, and to his utter horror upon looking down, Scout saw a syringe, the body of it no longer full of any liquid, sticking from his ribcage. He looked back out at the environment. Ah.

Down on the ground, forty feet away, stood the Medic, crossbow in hand. Scout could see the grim satisfaction on the man’s face, while his own turned to a picture of horror.

…Oh, fuck. Scout yanked the syringe from his flesh, flinging it down to land somewhere, while he scrambled backwards. What the hell was in that thing? What the hell had the Medic just shot him with, the crazy bastard?! Wooziness hit Scout like a wet wool blanket thrown on his head. He tumbled onto his side with a light thud, blinking groggily, arms floundering around trying to push upright, wings struggling in their bonds and failing. There was… nowhere to escape to. Now, that whole ‘only accessible via acrobatic feats’ perk to his hideout was looking a lot like a very deadly detriment.

“Herr Scout? Don’t move about, bitte!” The sound of an accented voice rang out from somewhere below, too close. “I’m coming to get you, alright?”

Weak laughter bubbled hysterically up in Scout’s throat as he squirmed. Jeez, was that supposed to be reassuring? Finally, he got an arm under himself, and struggled up onto all fours, and crawled drudgingly forward, enough to peer over the edge at the hard, dusty ground below. The sound of metal sliding in the background filled his ears.

He nearly slipped off the edge with only one weak arm to hold himself up. A noise of alarm from Medic sounded down below.

“Scout, wait! Don’t—”

But Scout had already spotted a drainage pipe a few feet away, going to the ground. He leapt for it. By some miracle, the only damage he took was the air being driven from his lungs in a wheeze, and his hands getting scraped up as he seized the metal pipe and scrambled like a squirrel down it. A very loopy squirrel, but still. But what he hadn’t seen was the way the pipe ended, fifteen feet from the ground. One moment, Scout was blindly making his way down, clutching with hands and legs, and the next, only open air remained for him to grab. Sleepy eyes shot wide open, and he gasped as he suddenly tumbled down. He hit the earth ungracefully, sending a puff of dust up as he fell and lay there, utterly stunned.

…It hurt. Something hurt, badly. Scout vaguely became aware that he had screamed as he hit the ground, before the impact had stolen the air from his lungs.

“Sheisse! Scout!” The sound of a person climbing down from a ladder, it reached Scout’s ears and scared the crap out of him. Oh hell no. But— it hurt, it hurt worse when he rolled into his side, and just as bad when he got up and stumbled into a run, directionless but knowing he needed to get away. Tossing a glance over his shoulder revealed that Medic had just hopped down from the ladder he’d brought, and was starting towards Scout. At least he’d dropped the crossbow.

Foolishly, though through no fault of his own, Scout had wandered in the wrong direction, away from the base, on the sight downhill slope that led into the open. There was nowhere to hide out here. Plenty of corners to turn and narrow hallways in the small buildings… but they just lead back outside. No shelter, no cliffside nest to cower in, no way to escape.

Except…

The camper van, parked under the awning of one such building, only a short distance away. Could he make it to that? Sniper had to be in there… he was always hanging around it… But would he let Scout inside? Would he keep Medic out?

Dry ground and then old wooden planks crunched and creaked softly under Scout’s wobbly sprint. He just concentrated on putting one foot before the other, until he somehow made it to the camper door, and fell upon it while hammering wildly with a weak fist.

“S…Snipes! Snipes… open up, please! Shit— please, man…!” He lurched back just in time for the door to swing outward with a sharp creak. Sniper stood there, hunched slightly to stick his head outside and give Scout a nonplussed look, and then give the quickly-gaining pursuer the same.

“Lemme in, man, please! Please! Swear ta god… don’t let ‘im get me…” Scout deliriously stumbled forward, getting one foot onto the step, and one hand fisted in Sniper’s shirt. “I’ll do anythin’, swear…” Sniper looked between the two outside his door one last time, before he grimly seized Scout by the collar of his shirt, and hauled him up the step and inside. The door shut and locked with a click of finality, just as the Medic came within distance to capture Scout.

“Was— what the—?! Herr Sniper, what do you think you’re doing?! That is mein Patient!” Medic yelled, muffled from the outside. He knocked loudly on the camper door. “You’ve no right to interfere, give him back.”

Scout collapsed the moment Sniper’s hand left him, and he curled away underneath a small table framed by a bench seat. The Sniper drew the small curtain back from the door window and looked through.

“…Nah. Don’t think so, mate,” he said simply, the Medic looking absolutely outraged at those words. Sniper left a pause, before he tilted his head. “Guess you shouldn’t have given me all those shots yesterday, even ones I didn’t need, eh? Bully for you.” And Sniper let the curtain fall back into place.

There may have been more words exchanged, but Scout was no longer listening to them, and instead was trying his hardest not to throw up all over Sniper’s floor. There was a sharp ache in his back— no, his wing, and he was woozy from whatever Medic had injected him with, and still trying to regain his breath…

Sniper’s blurry form knelt next to Scout. There was a beat of silence as he uncertainly remained, before he got up again and disappeared from Scout’s immediate line of sight. Honestly, Scout was grateful for it. He just…needed a moment to figure out what the hell to do. And just in case… he didn’t want Sniper to see him cry. Not that he was gonna.

“Here,” came Sniper’s low voice. And a mug was set down a foot away from Scout. Sniper was kneeling next to him again. The mug was half full of really good looking water, and Scout felt his throat ache abruptly. Damn. He was thirsty. He unbent a little, carefully reaching out from his place halfway under the table, and picked the mug up in shamefully trembling hands. It was like, the best thing he ever tasted, right then. He drank so fast Sniper muttered something about pacing himself, but no way was he gonna. Funny how healing water could be, ‘cause Scout felt a million times better as he sighed, with water droplets on his chin, and his arms dropped back down, empty mug clutched in his hands.

“T-thanks man. I mean wow, I really needed that, yanno. Best water ever… Uh, and thanks for letting me in here…also. Yeah…” If Scout had been feeling normal, aka not drugged, this would be the moment when he bounced up and began opening all of Snipes’ cupboards and shit. But as it stood, he could only look somewhat weakly up at his coworker and offer a faint grin. At least he hoped he’d managed that much.

Sniper frowned. “All roight. Can’t say I mind gettin’ back at Medic. But, er. You don’t look too good, mate. What’d ‘e do to you?” He was tilting his head at Scout in a way Scout didn’t much like. Like he might start investigating the matter himself.

“Umm…. Oh yeah… That… that quack got me wit’ his crossbow… Somethin’ in ‘dere makin’ me loopy… Uh, a seta… sedsa… sedo…” Scout’s accent thickened and slurred. Maybe the water wasn’t so all powerful…

“Sedative,” Sniper supplied. He was hovering awkwardly around Scout.

Scout shrugged, and— oh fuck, that hurt. He full-body flinched, and froze in place to prevent any further jostling. “Oh, ow, ow… oh god…” Oh, he was such a moron. Hiding his injuries would’ve been the smart thing to do… Great job, Scout. And he dropped the mug with a thunk, though it just rolled on the floor slightly.

“…Roight, lemme see…” Alarmingly, Sniper frowned again and raised one hand towards Scout’s back…

Scout didn’t even stop to yell, he whipped his head up so fast that his vision swam, dark splotches creeping in at the edges. He batted with one wobbly hand, catching Sniper on his own, leaving nothing but a few bloodless scratches on tanned skin. And then as he freaked out, heart pounding in a way that wasn’t good in his drugged state, he braced on his fingertips and unbent his knees slightly, protecting himself while also trying to appear bigger than he was. The feathers itched under the wrappings.

“Hey now, it’s okay…” Sniper was speaking more kindly than Scout had ever heard from him before. And… he smiled, only faintly. “Not gonna hurt you, alright? I’m just going to take a look, yeah. Just gonna help so you don’t have to go to Medic. Bush medicine is still medicine,” and he calmly reached for Scout once more.

All Scout’s thoughts fled his brain at that point, everything except, ‘hell no absolutely not’, and ‘get away’. And stupidly, stupidly, Scout lunged upwards, preparing to jump the way he always did when he needed to get away from something. Just… there was a table above him. And Scout slammed his broken wing, and the unbroken one, and the back of his head right into the table’s underside with all the force he could muster. His vision went black immediately, helped along by the sedative, and with only a small, cut off grunt of pain, he passed out.

Chapter Text

Right. Scout had trusted Sniper to keep him away from Medic, so just setting him outside was out of the question. Sniper didn’t like to break trust in that way.

Now, Scout had said nothing about keeping him alive. Sniper looked at the kukri mounted on the camper wall. If he killed Scout, then whatever injuries he may have would be solved by respawning, and it would get him out of Sniper’s hair. But doing that would get blood all over, and Sniper did not wish to spend hours cleaning the table and floor. Doing it outside also wouldn’t be feasible. If the Medic really was still loitering out there, he would absolutely stick his beaky nose in and put a stop to it. And… something about killing the hunched over, panicking Scout just seemed wrong.

If an animal approached him out of simple, unafraid curiosity, he wouldn’t harm it. His coworkers must be similar, then, because the idea was quickly losing any appeal.

He put a hand out to the young man sticking halfway out from under the table.

*****

Without meaning to, he promised Scout his help. Something about seeing the scrawny hooligan thank him for the mug of water, actual manners on display, and then the way he scratched and snapped like a wild animal… It just endeared Sniper. Scout had then proceeded to literally knock himself out, and Sniper was left having to gather him up and lift him onto the table. It was extremely easy. Scout weighed next to nothing, and he was completely limp in Sniper’s arms.

Very carefully, Sniper slid the Scout’s oversized jacket off his narrow shoulders. He tried not to bend any limbs, and keep the joints from moving too much. He didn’t know what exactly was injured, only that it had to be Scout’s back or near it, what with how he reacted. Deftly, Sniper draped the jacket over the seat after easing Scout’s hands through the quarter-sleeves. The little tucked in shirt was next. Or at least it was supposed to be. Sniper had been so intently focused on not jostling Scout that he hadn’t really been looking, and now that he was…

Scout’s back seemed misshapen. Swollen or something. Sniper’s first horrible thought was that Scout was seriously, fatally injured, as if he’d been crushed and deformed. Which made no sense, because Scout had been able to walk, talk and snap at him. Still, this unnatural sight made Sniper feel dawning dread and worry for his unconscious coworker. But as always, his hands remained utterly steady, as he very carefully touched five long fingers lightly upon Scout’s back. In the middle of the deformation, going down along Scout’s spine, there was a depression, and Sniper immediately understood the strange mass to be split in two. He felt no blood, but he did feel warmth. Living warmth. As he touched one side and then the other, he found the left to be hotter in temperature, and when carefully pressed upon, Scout made a tiny pained gasp in his sleep. That’d be the injured side, then. Made sense, as Scout had buckled inwards towards it when he’d squawked in pain.

Right then. Sniper untucked the shirt from the belt, and plucked a hunting knife from a metal shelf on the camper wall. He wasn’t about to chance taking the shirt off the regular way; it would require too much maneuvering of Scout’s body when he couldn’t say what hurt and what didn’t. Still, Scout was definitely going to throw a fit about what Sniper was about to do… He cautiously slid the knife through the fabric, the woven fibers parting with ease due to his obsessive need to keep his tools properly sharp. He set it to the side when the shirt had its new opening, and then pulled the flaps of fabric away from Scout’s back.

He was met with another layer obscuring Scout’s actual body. This time, bandages, like the ones protecting his wrists and hands. Sort of frustrating. However, Sniper was an incredibly stubborn and patient man, so very, very carefully, he efficiently sliced each strip of fabric down the middle, until the wrappings curled open against the table. Sniper thought he’d be seeing Scout’s bare back at this point, and possibly an injury, yet there was no sign of skin. But no fourth layer of fabric, either.

Something fluffy and slightly damp. A muted palette of pretty colors. Naturally, Sniper’s keen vision made sense of the shapes immediately. Not just feathers, but feathers laid precisely out, overlapping, in the pattern a bird’s wings would take. A sight only Mother Nature could produce. Beautiful. But he could tell that one wing was awry, and needing fixed. The Sniper had taken care of injured birds before, and even set a broken wing on an endangered bittern a few years ago.

He immediately began by feeling the healthy wing, carefully remapping the position of the bones and joints, though he very intimately knew this anatomy from his experience in stripping every bit of flesh and tendon off the wings of many different species. When he put his hands delicately and deliberately on the left side, the problem revealed itself in an instant.

It wasn’t broken, but dislocated. The joint had come out of the shoulder socket, which was luckily a much easier fix than setting a break. Sniper could pop it back into place himself. It would be painful for the animal, though.

He did have ketamine and benzos somewhere… but without knowing what Medic had given the Scout, Sniper wasn’t going to chance it. Also, drugging one’s teammates was generally frowned upon, was it? He didn’t want to get fired for a ridiculous reason like that. Sedating coworkers was definitely a worse offense than sedating animals… Luckily he was…

…Wait.

Sniper was a man with a narrow focus. It got him in trouble occasionally, such as with enemy Spies sneaking up when he was scoped in. It seemed right now was no different.

He…hadn’t taken proper notice of the obvious fact that those wings were attached not to a bird, but to his very human coworker.

His probably not human coworker.

“What the……Bloody hell,” Sniper muttered. Finally he took the entire scene in, the Scout’s upper body lying limp across the white formica table, with wings certifiably growing out of his back. What the fuck? He took a scuffing half step back and stared in shock. What…was this?

The Sniper’s own birthplace was chock full of bizarre creatures. Lots of odd fauna that people elsewhere in the world either recoiled at or were enchanted with. And wankers like Saxton Hale hunting and mounting the rarest and most awe-inspiring. But winged human beings were decidedly not among anything Sniper had ever seen. And if Australia didn’t have ’em, the rest of the world sure didn’t either. So Sniper would think anyway, but these were well and truly wings. On the Scout.

And they were in terrible disrepair. Sniper had once killed— er, assasinated a rich man who’d kept exotic birds as a hobby. Including birds of paradise, rare parrots, flighted species from every continent so long as they were endangered enough. Their exquisite wings had been clipped into ugly, blunted messes. Sniper took them afterward. Kept them safe and healthy. When Sniper gazed upon Scout now, that old memory resurfaced. It was some serious deja vu. Scout had to have done it himself, right? Was that better or worse than someone doing it to him?

But right now, that wasn’t important. Ignore it, store it in the back of his mind to think about later. Sniper stepped back in and leaned over Scout in the camper’s moderate light. With the utmost gentleness, he positioned his hands on the wing in the correct manner. Birds were extremely fragile, and therefore he needed to be exact and precise with the force he used in reduction. It would be bad and wrong to hurt something so beautiful. Sniper was no brute, like some. And, this was Scout.

Carefully Sniper wrapped one calloused hand around the hollow bones, the skin delicate and feverish where his fingers slipped between the rumpled feathers. With the other hand, he cupped the area around the socket. Hopefully… Scout wouldn’t wake. At least not until it was over…

One sharp, firm press… and Sniper felt under his palms the somewhat disturbing movement of the joint sliding into its proper place. Got it.

Scout uttered a sharp, voiced groan. Sniper felt him twitch moments after it was done, and unfortunately begin to rouse, lifting his head up a few inches before he dropped back down. He was prepared to stop the twitchy hooligan from running around like a headless chicken again and potentially re-injuring himself in the process. But whatever the Medic had done, it was keeping the Scout down and fairly docile. All he accomplished was that movement, and before long, Sniper heard his breathing even and steady. Okay. Good. Now Sniper could properly freak out for a mo’.

Scout was occupying the table, but the seat was still clear, and so Sniper sat heavily down. He needed to take care of that— the young man…creature…laying atop his table… yeah. Yeah.

Sniper studied the winged form in front of him, and slowly began to realize that he’d seen this color pattern before. The feathers he shot, the ones thrown off the cliff in a box… those had been Scout’s. And most likely Scout himself had been the one to toss them. For fuck’s sake, the whole ‘wing situation’ was probably why he was running pell-mell from their own Medic… both now and for as long as Sniper had known him. Probably didn’t want to end up as an experiment, poor little bugger. Without really meaning to, Sniper lifted his hand and rested it on the uninjured wing. Despite the ravaged look of them, the feathers were exquisitely soft. They looked like they just needed a bit of care and attention and they’d be right. Besides the sadly clipped ones. Scout had to molt them at some point… maybe then…

Softly, Sniper stroked the uninjured wing, feeling the downy parts catch on his rough skin. All things considered, Sniper thought himself taking it rather in stride, the fact that his coworker was some other species. It did put an end to the hunt he was anticipating for whatever large bird those feathers came from, but that wasn’t so bad. Actually, it might be even better. It was Scout, not just an exotic bird with needs a human couldn’t really give it, forcing Sniper to observe from afar forever. Scout was easy to care for, right? Sniper could make his wings all pretty again, and slowly gain his trust, just like with any critter…

He stood, and pulled the cut open t-shirt closed as much as he could, keeping the wings steady and compact, and then eased the jacket back on with some difficulty. Now he was wishing he hadn’t cut those bandages, as they’d keep the wings in place, as Scout obviously intended. Really, Sniper would like to see those wings fully extended and on display, but for now the ends were still tucked into Scout’s belt, and just as well; he didn’t want to mess with the position too much and risk re-dislocating the still weak joint.

With the jacket zipped, Scout really did look like a person. He’d be alright on the way back up to his room.

*****

Scout gradually became aware of an odd, swaying sensation. And something warm under his cheek. Kinda nostalgic. Like being carried by Ma… But no one would be carrying him now, right? No, he wasn’t anywhere near Ma, and even with his light weight, he was too heavy for her. Huh. The idea of being carried by someone else was scary, wasn’t it… Being carried off was bad news. And… he’d been running away from someone.

Something tickled Scout’s nose, mildly irritating. He scrunched his face up. Ugh, somebody’s hair, or something. Gross.

Hang on, he had eyes, he could look at what the hell was going on.

In front of his face, there was a blurry looking leather surface… dark brown hair, too. Neck-length and sorta unkempt. That was good… Kinda smelled weird, though. Who was…?

Scout yanked his head upright. Dizzy, he twisted to get a look at this strange person, and his surroundings.

Inside the base…? Yeah, they were mid flight of stairs… and there was the RED logo, okay. Not captured by enemy team, great! Woo-hoo! And he was being carried, sure, by… not by the Medic but by…

“Snipes!” Scout yelled, right in the poor man’s ear. Sniper winced hard enough that Scout could see his sharpish teeth, as he craned his head away from Scout and Scout’s healthy vocal cords. But the forearm and hands supporting his rear (embarrassing) and back (that was alarming…wasn’t it?) did not shift at all.

Hang on, how had he ended up…?

“Medic!” Scout yelped next, considerably quieter but way more angry. That…that quack…he drugged Scout right off a roof! And then chased him! “Oh, shit, Snipes! You gotta lemme go— you gotta—”

“Crikey, be quiet, ya little gremlin,” Sniper hissed at him. “An’ stop movin’ about, gonna hurt yourself…” He kept walking, to Scout’s stunned bewilderment, and they reached the next landing before he could do more than goggle.

“Hey, what the hell’s goin’ on?” Scout demanded, twisting this way and that to see if anyone else was near. He was starting to feel odd. Dreading. Something had gone wrong while he’d been asleep…

Cold and abrupt, the off feeling became much clearer to Scout. There was no numbness. He was breathing okay. He didn’t feel like a rib was about to break...

The tiniest twitch of a seldom used muscle confirmed it. That his back was no longer wrapped in the careful cocoon of tight fabric he wound on every single day. Under the jacket, someone had uncovered his wings.

Sniper hadn’t said anything more. Scout could feel the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest where they were pressed together, and out the corner of his eye, the usual stoic frown.

“Se…set me down.” Scout said, low, clear, and shaking. He grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached, and swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Down, put me down, I swear ta…” His strained voice cracked and broke off at the end. He didn’t think… he’d ever been so horrified in his life. Sniper lowered him, and the second Scout’s outstretched feet touched the wooden floor, he squirmed violently out of the hold, pushing at the vest-clad torso and shoving a gloved hand off himself. And Sniper let him go, though Scout had no doubts as to the fact he’d let him go.

Sniper straightened back up and awkwardly readjusted his hat, looking at him from under the shadow it made. “Ah, right. So, I saw what you’ve got on your—“

Scout bolted. He booked it, maybe faster than ever before, ha, back down the stairs. The many odd rooms and hallways of the base were perfect for losing a persuer, though Scout had no clue if Sniper was giving chase.

Scout dashed through an empty room, skidded, shoes squeaking, around a corner. Jesus christ on a freakin’ cracker, Scout hated being chased.

At the moment Scout’s brain was quite frazzled. A common state for him. He only knew he needed to get to a safe spot yet again, and fast. Something familiar was up ahead… a good place, which he had good memories of.

Scout blew through the rec room entrance. The couch, the table, the tv set… Pyro still coloring, just on the walls, now. Demo was no longer there. Good, good. This was a good place. Scout scrambled forward, and dove under the couch.

Not much space. And dark. Scout pulled all his limbs in, and went as still as he possibly could.

*****

Medic stalked down the wide, sunny hall from Medbay. He’d just put his crossbow back in Weapons, then delivered the sedatives back to their cabinet, and snagged a medpack for good measure. And now, he needed a drink. At two o’clock in the afternoon. Ja, Scout inspired such behavior.

Medic was kicking himself for his own blunder. He’d just been so eager to finally get his hands upon the skittish Scout… that he’d shot the boy on his little rooftop hiding spot, and horribly, gotten him injured. Medic didn’t ascribe to the hippocratic oath, but he did generally want to keep his teammates healthy, and accidentally breaking their spines was decidedly not that. Ach. It hadn’t sounded good when Scout fell. Hadn’t looked good either, the small body hitting the earth and sending a puff of dust and dirt into the air, though less than he would expect. And then, to make matters worse, he’d had his patient stolen from him! By an unwashed bushman! The utter humiliation…

What sort of doctor was he? This was a sentiment normally uttered by Medic’s victims— er, patients, but now he himself was thinking it. That gottforsaken Sniper… What could he do with an injured teammate? Apply a leaf and some twigs? Medic shuddered at the very thought.

On the creaking floor, Medic’s boots loudly sounded with each deliberate footstep. He had wanted to get in that van as fast as possible, but Soldier hadn’t let him borrow the rocket launcher, and Spy wouldn’t lend his lockpicks, even after Medic casually mentioned wanting to repeat his severed spy head experiment again, on someone closer to home. Schweinhunde…

Stewing in the indignity, he briskly turned the corner, and stopped just in time to come nose to nose with the Sniper himself, out of that… filthy disease capsule of a van for once. Sniper stared back, and to Medic’s surprise, he looked quite out of sorts. Sweaty and harried, with his hat on crooked. But…if he was here, then…

“Shit, have you seen—” Audibly, Sniper shut his mouth the moment he locked eyes with and seemed to register who he was speaking to. He resumed his usual blank-faced stare. “Er. Never mind.”

“You lost him?” Medic said, aghast. He wanted to shake the Sniper by his hunched shoulders. “What on earth did you do? The boy is injured! I know you could not have—”

“I fixed that, ya wanker.” Sniper snarled at him, gangly body tense for a fight. “And I didn’t lose ‘im! And, I’m sure as hell not letting you get your grubby mitts on him, either! Piss roight off.” He glared, venomous. And with that, the Sniper shoulder-checked Medic as he stalked around him, and continued his sprint down the hallway.

Oh, that man was getting twenty vaccines next check-up…

*****

The Pyro was lying on his stomach in front of the couch, hands under his gasmask’s chin, and his legs bent and kicking joyfully behind him. It was the position one would expect him to take while in front of the television or a coloring pad, not the dull fabric of the couch. Medic curiously approached.

“Mein Pyro? What are you doing, hm? Is there eine kleine Mäuschen under there? Not again… The Spy will throw a fit…” Medic trailed off. The Pyro was now looking up at him, but covering the gap between couch and floor with his gloved hands. Not very effectively, but the message was still clear.

“Mmphh…”

Medic wasn’t sure what that meant, nor could he read what was being hidden behind black lenses, but it didn’t matter. He’d simply see for himself! Pyro was shuffling around at the front, so…

Medic walked around to the back of the couch. A shocked and appalled “Mmrrph!?” carried him along as he knelt down. Hm. It was dark. He shifted to let more light past his body, and…

Two bright blue eyes, very round with emotion, stared back at him. Backed against the far end of the couch, with the end table barricading the open edge, Scout had somehow wedged himself underneath, in a little ball that shook with the force of his breathing. So Pyro had been protecting this from him— his escaped patient! Medic was overjoyed. He grinned and pushed his slipping glasses back up his nose bridge. The Scout flinched.

He could see the Scout’s hands clutching his own arms hard enough to bruise, and surely biting his own wrist like that was painful, not to mention the terribleness of this position he was in.

“Come now, Scout,” Medic called, softly singsong, the same way he cajoled his doves. He drummed his fingers on the wooden floor, patting the space beside himself. “There’s nothing to fear. I won’t hurt you, not even a little bit.” In the darkness under the sofa, Scout narrowed his eyes. He looked quite angry.

“M-Medic, get it through ya thick freakin’ skull— I am not going with ya. I ain’t gettin no examinations, okay? I’d rather turn respawn off and shoot myself… ya…ya hear me?” Scout spat the words through his clenched teeth. His voice trembled and sounded watery. “Just leave me tha hell alone, man. I ain’t jokin’ around… Y-you and Snipes… I can’t do this shit…”

Medic heard his next breath tremble alarmingly, the shallow warble of someone on the verge of crying.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen or heard the Scout cry before. It didn’t seem right, coming from the bright and boisterous young man, and over something like a medical exam. And to hear him say, quite seriously, that he’d rather die… Well, Medic didn’t like it.

But Scout didn’t trust him in the slightest. He’d certainly given him no reason to… which now was shaping up to be a problem. So. What would be best for Scout’s health? What indeed…

“…Very well. I suppose I can let you be for now. Sniper is looking for you, you know. This isn’t the best hiding spot, Hase.”

Scout was squirming around subtly, definitely very uncomfortable with his position. He looked between Medic and the floor, eyes dating back and forth.

“You just want me to come outta here. So you can take me back ta the infirmary,” Scout said slowly. But he appeared to be thinking about Medic’s words, furrowing his brow and pouting. And he’d stopped biting himself.

“Genau, genau, of course I want that! But… instead I’ll give you some time. A truce, if you will! Oh, I’ll still get you on my examination table, someday,” Medic grinned, while Scout flinched again, but lesser this time. “Don’t you worry about that, Herr Scout…” He sat up momentarily, groaning at the way his back cracked and protested, and grabbed what he’d brought with him.

He set the small health bottle down next to the couch. “Here,” he directed at the boy still hiding. “Heal yourself, alright? And no more hiding under couches. Also, eat your vegetables, bitte.” With a sigh, Medic stood and brushed the knees of his trousers off. Poor Scout was probably covered in dust bunnies under there…

“Wa— wait…!” Scout called, sounding a bit high-pitched and unsure.

Medic stopped in surprise. What on earth? Quickly, he knelt back down, and his forelock of hair slipped out of place as he tilted his head to catch a glimpse of the boy’s pale, distressed countenance. He was still half glaring distrustfully.

“Hey, uhh… Gimme your coat. Hand it over,” Scout said, and Medic watched him extend his arm halfway out of its curled position. “C’mon…” He made an urgent waving motion with his hand, while his buckteeth worried at his lip. Hmph, Medic should just grab him right then…

“Mein coat?” He replied instead, genuinely bewildered. He raised his eyebrows at this bizarre development. “What on earth do you want my coat—”

“Hey!” Scout snapped, though the effect was ruined by his shaky voice. “You sedi- sedated me offa roof, pal, so stop askin’ questions and gimme it! C’mon,” he repeated.

Ah. That was certainly true… He supposed he did owe Scout something. “Very well,” Medic replied. He unbuckled his belt and slid the braces off, and then shrugged the long white coat off his shoulders. He had a few identical ones back in the infirmary, so it was hardly a loss, but… Well, he really would like to see how ridiculous Scout looked in it, if that was even what he was going to do. Medic also wouldn’t be surprised if his coat ended up as an offering to the Pyro.

“Here,” he said, and pushed the folded fabric halfway under the couch. He watched in amusement as a narrow hand darted out and snatched it close. “If that is all…?” He couldn’t help but add, smiling.

“…Yeah.” It sounded more muffled now with the fabric buffer. There was a beat of silence. “…Thanks.”

“My pleasure, Herr Scout.” Ah, he supposed it was time to leave. Standing up once more, Medic sighed and gathered the belt. He left through the rec room entrance, waving when Pyro enthusiastically did. Perhaps time for that drink… he always needed one when his work went awry…

Now, Medic had a plan, of course. Physically chasing the Scout would always fail, possibly catastrophically. He’d have to go about it in a more thoughtful manner, and goodness knew Scout had little defense against ‘thoughtful’. It definitely was irksome, giving up for the moment. Still, what was that English saying… give a little, take a mile? Ah, a good motto to live by.

Chapter Text

The dusty camper looked lonely out in the bleak dawn light… just like a little box that Sniper holed up in all the time, sequestered off from the rest of the team, apart and othered. Kinda like Scout’s own room, even though he genuinely liked his room… how weird.

He approached it with caution, much more than he usually brought, and felt the unnerving sense of being watched. Was he? There was a window, after all, set into the side of the van. Sniper could be looking out through the blinds and dusty panes, and Scout would never know.

Scout slowed down as he approached, shoving his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t fidget all over the place with ‘em. There was a light breeze today, and Scout could still smell a hint of smoke from Sniper’s campfire, though it had been put out. The guy never ate dinner with the rest of them. He hunted his own food, cooked it himself, and ate it alone.

Scout heard the click of the camper door opening, and the handle turn. He yanked his hands out of his pockets.

“Scout.” The door opened with a high-pitched creak. Sniper came into view, leaning halfway out of it, squinting down at Scout who stood on the ground a few feet away. Scout waved, despite his initial “plan” to come in swinging. He could count on one hand the number of times they’d hung out together, if he could even call it that. A few team cookouts, and a short mission once. That was it. But every time, he had enjoyed the bushman’s company, quiet though it was.

And yet. Around Sniper, he’d always felt a bit…hunted. In a wide, wide scope of sight and knowing. This was somebody who lived connected with the violent earth and could eke anything he wanted from it. Be it by his hands, or his rifle. Sniper was a man who watched and waited, and Scout was a man who acted first, thought later. Or never. Sniper was the ultimate definition of a predator, and it made the quick heart in Scout’s chest run uneasy. A wild man with a person’s cunning. Versus a city boy who reacted with instinct and little else. Scout got the sense (a rare thing) that it was a matchup not in his favor.

“…You’ll come in?” Sniper asked, or maybe stated, startling Scout. Would he? Nothing worse would happen than what already did. Unless Sniper had decided to take up an interest in birdman taxidermy since last night…

“I’ll come in.” Scout stepped up as Sniper held the door for him, though it led to an awkward shuffle to squeeze inside for both of them. Once through the doorway, he took in the curious, cramped interior of the van.

Scout wrinkled his nose at the scent hanging around the still air. Kind of stale, black coffee and an unwashed body, and the mixed scents of various items, mostly weapons and gear. Metal and gun oil, and wood, rawhide, and leather. Not atrocious, but still strange and immediately noticeable now that he was here with a clear head, though he was already getting used to it.

It was very… Sniper, in here. A few of his weapons on the walls— bow, rifle, two different knives. And basic necessities, very basic, looking like a spartan disaster shelter. There was a chipped mug on the small counter, a tin of coffee. A tiny metal sink that didn’t look like it saw use. Shadowed in the upper overhang, Sniper’s cot bunk was unmade, a light, knitted blanket spilling over. Scout had to wonder how the hell he crammed his tall, lanky body in there.

Sniper lingered over Scout’s shoulder, watching as Scout looked about the place.

“Sorry, its kind of—“ Sniper began, at the same time Scout blurted, “So what’s the deal—“

Sniper paused. “Ah. Go ahead, mate.” He gestured vaguely. Right now he wasn’t wearing the usual shades, and Scout could see his pale blue-grey eyes as they flickered over him. Unnerving. Exactly that type of hunter’s stare Scout thought about earlier.

“Yesterday,” Scout got his face into what he hoped was a suitably ‘don’t mess with’ sort of look. “Yesterday, you… you saw somethin’, right?!” He demanded.

He needed answers, right away.

Sniper nodded. “Yeh. I put your bones back in place for ya. Was dislocated, see. The… well, the wings you got.”

Scout hadn’t expected anything else, duh, but hearing it confirmed just like that? He clenched his teeth.

Sniper suddenly rushed on, with widened eyes, spitting his words out faster than Scout had ever heard him. “I ain’t gonna tell a soul— bushman’s honor, Scout. I think it’s brilliant, real, real, amazin’. I want to see ‘em again, all out properly, with the feathers in the sun. I didn’t want to do it while you were unconscious, y’know. It just seemed a bit… er, disrespectful. I know you’ve been hidin’ the wings— been hidin’ ‘em this whole time, yeah? Don’t worry, you’ll be safe with me.” When Sniper halted, he breathed a little heavier than usual, and audible. He was gripping the edge of the counter tightly, white knuckles under tan skin. He was also smiling enough that Scout could see his slightly coffee-stained teeth, though it looked eager in a tentative sort of way, like he worried admitting this would be bad for him. Weird, since Scout had never once thought of the Sniper as ‘tentative’.

“Holy shit, dude,” was all Scout could think to say in response. Overwhelmed. He grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut for a second, unusually taking a moment to think. Right…so….

Sniper waited patiently. And when Scout opened his eyes, he could see the tight grip had relaxed, and Sniper was looking back at his friend… acquaintance in concern. Right… It was just Sniper, after all. Maybe he was an oddball, and kind of antisocial, and didn’t take baths, and occasionally said wack shit… But he was an alright guy— just sort of reminding Scout of a half-feral stray dog sometimes.

“Okay…okay… yeah… this is fine. I guess it’s all fine!” Scout sighed explosively. Hey, as long as it was true, it was fine. But what the hell, right? God, Scout spent every waking moment covering his freaky mutant self up… Hiding from everyone but his immediate family… And now. Out of nowhere, there was a new person in on the secret. “Dontcha dare tell anyone, ‘kay?” Scout snapped suddenly, regaining a bit of his sense. “For serious. I’ll bash yer big freakin’ mullet-head in, ya got me?” Chest puffed out and chin raised, Scout made the most of his stature, glad the sleeves of his jacket at least showed off his totally strong and epic forearms.

“Yeah, I getcha.” Opposite of Scout’s state, Sniper had calmed back down. “Believe me, I’m glad. Really glad. You have no idea… Let’s…let’s have ya take the jacket off…maybe? You can, in here. It’s safe. Hell, I… I really want to see your wings again.”

Ah. Okay. Snipes wanted…

Well, he had helped Scout majorly, yesterday. And yes, Scout had said he’d pay him back. Not that Sniper was cashing in the favor— most likely he never would… Scout fiddled with the pull of the zipper, staring hard at Sniper, who was unbothered.

Before he could second guess his decision, Scout thought fuck it, nothing else to lose, and pulled the jacket off. The t-shirt followed in short order, and then the bandages. The air in the van was very temperate, and there was no breeze, but little goosebumps sprang on Scout’s forearms while he was watched. And who could blame him? Actually, Scout liked to wrap his wings around himself for comfort sometimes. They insulated well, and it reminded him of home, somehow. He resisted the motion now. For a moment, the air was filled with the sound of feathers rustling, before Scout stilled.

“Incredible. Seriously, mate.” Sniper’s mouth was slightly ajar as he looked, and he leaned forward with one hand flat on the counter and the other creeping forward, before he stopped himself.

Incredible…? Really?

Can I… touch them?” Sniper asked in his direct manner, to Scout’s surprise. He was looking right at the colorful, folded appendages, the tightly clamped down and uneasy limbs that Scout didn’t want looked at, much less touched. Or so he thought… So he’d always thought. But as Sniper’s words actually registered, Scout found that some part of him, his foolish heart, felt newly excited. Interested, curious to know. Because even Ma hadn’t really touched the wings… not outside of baths when he was young, and when her and Scout had been figuring out how to tie them down those first times. Scout glanced around the camper, looking for something to hold his attention, so he didn’t have to see the… the honesty on Sniper’s face.

“Why?” Scout ended up saying, his voice a little raw and awkward. He frowned as he inevitably looked up at Sniper, as if that would quash his own odd feelings. “How come ya wanna touch ‘em? They’re all gross and weird…” They were. They looked almost mutilated, though in reality he’d been spared that fate. They were so ugly. Perhaps it was just the interest in how a human could have wings on his back. Sniper blinked in surprise.

“What? Nah, mate…” Sniper looked legitimately bewildered at Scout’s words, like such an opinion had been the last possible thing on his mind. “They’re amazing. I’m serious,” he added, when Scout furrowed his brow and pouted in disbelief. “Stunnin’. They just need a little care, yeah? For the feathers, an’ all.” Sniper spoke in a coaxing sort of voice now, belied by a genuine smile creeping up his angular face.

“You’re not gonna… you’re not gonna… I dunno…” Scout cringed and rolled his eyes in frustration. What the hell was he even trying to say? A good idea came to mind then, and he seized upon it with relief. “You gotta getcha hands off when I tell ya to, alright? I’m serious, pal.” Scout said roughly. Dry feathers rustled as he shifted his wings, antsy.

Sniper nodded. “‘Course. I ain’t a barbarian. Can I…” He leaned forward, gaze roving over what little he could see of the wings, something in his eyes looking almost hungry.

Scout nodded and shrugged, hardly grasping how he’d ended up in such a situation, not knowing what else to say without making himself sound stupid.

When Snipes stepped close, standing over him like some sort of scarecrow, Scout turned around in the small space, his heart beating in his throat as he displayed a part of himself that had always been under lock and key. Braced for the touch, wings raised from their usual resting position with tension, as if cords held the joint up and unnatural.

Scout felt the pressure first, evenly distributed from four fingers resting lightly on the russet feathers. Okay… Then slowly, Sniper flattened his hand, until his palm rested against the wing, warming the spot quickly against the insulation from the feathers. A second touch to his other wing made Scout jump slightly, wings twitching in surprise. Sniper did the same to it, mirroring the simple, light pressure across both.

Besides the foreign warmth, it didn’t feel like much to Scout… Similar to the sensation of the bandages before he tightened them. Physically, anyway. Mentally, Scout’s mind was racing, thoughts of how bad it would feel if Sniper for some reason chose to turn violent… if it might feel good to have the wings stroked, or if he’d hate the sensation. That last thought was the most troubling. Almost outta nowhere, Sniper wrapped his large hands around the long edge of Scout’s wings, thumbs resting over the joints closest to the ends. Suddenly, it felt very different.

Inside his shoes, Scout’s toes flexed with the urge to push off and run, or fly, even. He wobbled slightly on the balls of his feet as his brain sent confusing signals back and forth. Cupping his hands, Sniper carefully but confidently ran them down the length of the long, clipped feathers, to the sad ends, blunted and frayed. The lean muscles shivered with the weird sensation.

“You gonna molt these off, someday?” Sniper suddenly asked, his low voice abruptly loud in contrast with the relative silence, only broken by Scout’s breathing. Scout jumped again.

“The— oh, yeah. Yeah, they all come off at the end a’ summer… And then they grow back all prickly, and then I have to cut ‘em, again.” Scout hoped his voice didn’t sound too off, as off as he felt. He tried for a grin and shrug, though nobody was watching it.

“You shouldn’t,” said Sniper, and he suddenly let go of one warm wing, placing both hands on the other, to Scout’s alarm. He twisted and looked over his shoulder, trying to see what the hell Snipes was doing, but didn’t think to yank his wing away from that grasp.

Fluidly, and without causing any discomfort, using a turn off his wrist and a lifting motion, Sniper extended Scout’s wing to its full span, displaying the palette of soft, pretty colors, and surprising Scout, who was attached to the damn thing.

“Whoa, hey—!” Scout blurted out, as he felt the air against his feathers. And sudden embarrassment and ill-forgotten dread at being seen. In that moment, he wanted to slap the hands away, ‘cause what else was there to do? Where the wing joint connected with Scout’s back, muscles twitched with the automatic reflex to pull away and fold up. He paused before he could, though, frozen at the sight of Sniper’s face.

The Sniper’s expressions usually tended toward impassiveness. Or sometimes intense staring. But now he looked… awed. Marveling at Scout’s living wing held gently in his hands.

“Crikey… What these must look like all healthy… With all the feathers grown in…” He shook his head, grinning now, and met Scout’s eyes like he could barely drag them away from the sight before him. “Bonza, mate. You’re gorgeous… What even are you?” Sniper chuckled to himself as he examined the thin, flexible wing, spreading the long feathers out like splayed fingers, bending it slightly this way and that. As Scout tried to appear like his everything hadn’t just been upended. His jaw was probably on the freaking floor right now, and he goggled at Sniper examining the wing, letting himself be led in turns and small steps in the world’s strangest dance in the cramped van interior, so the other man could see every angle.

“Gwah!” Scout yelled all of a sudden, wing and body twitching, as Sniper curiously burrowed his calloused fingers beneath the dense layer of feathers, and touched the delicate and thin skin underneath. A squirmy sensation jolted up his spine. That tickled— and he hated it, immediately. “Awight, awight! That’s enough! Quit it!” Scout snapped, hunching inwards, glaring breathless, and tugging away from Sniper’s hands and flapping for a moment to clear the feeling.

Unwittingly, his every feather puffed up, standing on end for a few moments, before he ruffled and shook them out in a shuddery motion that Sniper intently watched. Scout smoothed the uncooperative feathers down with assistance from his own hands, the involuntary sensation not unlike goosebumps on his human limbs.

“You puff up, just like a bird,” Sniper added helpfully, and Scout’s head snapped up to see him looking absolutely delighted. At least he was keeping a decent distance while the heebie-jeebies went away. “That’s wonderful, just fantastic. Do ya make oil, for the feathers? An’ how do you wash them— with water? Or dust? They look nice and clean. Can you move ‘em about again?” Christ… well that was practically another freakin’ essay, coming from Sniper.

“I guess with water… I dunno anything about oil,” Scout answered with a feathery shrug. Sniper’s smile stayed, the lines at the corners deepening, as he watched the movement and nodded.

“And, uh, do you really think they’re cool?” Scout asked. Experimentally he flapped his wings again, turning to the side and back, splaying the clipped feathers as he did so. Now he felt almost excited. Scout watched Sniper lock on to the sinuous movement, ever the dedicated hunter. As he turned, the edges brushed one corrugated metal wall of the van, and swept lightly over the counter with things that could be knocked over. Sniper’s tin of coffee slid a few inches, and his chipped old cup rattled as it was buffeted.

“Ah, whoops!” Scout said sheepishly, with an awkward grin. He quickly yanked his wings out of the way, though. Even blunted, the tips of the feathers carried sensation all the way to Scout’s brain, and he was able to narrowly avoid knocking crap over if he focused. Sniper casually waved it off.

“Sorry, mate. Kinda cramped in here. But yeah… What you said, I mean. I do think they’re cool, absolutely gorgeous. Like nothin’ I’ve ever seen before. Though I’m trying to figure that part out, about what you are.” While he spoke, he easily reached forward and stroked the soft inner feathers with the back of his knuckles. “But honestly, I could sit right here, could admire ‘em all day… not get any work done…” Huh, it felt…

Scout felt so suddenly the same rush of pleasure he did when somebody finally looked at him in the middle of some bid for attention, like flexing his totally swole arm muscles, yeah, or hitting a ball clear across the desert… A warm, giddy sensation from showing off, preening and basking in another person’s positive attention. Excited and proud, Scout’s wings made little twitching motions, like flapping, but short and without extending his wingspan.

“Whatcha tryin’ ta figure out, Snipes?” He crowed happily, puffing his chest out and shoving the wing further into Sniper’s fairly conservative hand, wanting more. “Whatcha mean? I’m like, awesome and unique and all!”

And— damn it, Sniper patted his wing twice, and then took his hand away to turn and gesture a few feet away at some lame old books on his table. Scout glared at them.

“Er, those. A bit esoteric, they are. I got ‘em from Demo, from the ones he gets from home, you know? Books on the occult, myths, beasts… yeh, that sort of thing.” Sniper fiddled with his tooth-adorned hat for a moment, apparently feeling awkward. “I just was wondering if winged people were mentioned in one of ‘em. You know, I wasn’t sure if you’d let me see your wings again… I figured I could do some looking into in the meantime.”

There… there could be books about people like him and Ma? Alarmed, Scout pushed and darted around a surprised Sniper and shoved the old-looking books across the small table, worriedly trying to decipher the titles, one of which he wasn’t sure was even in English. Sniper came up behind him.

“Hey now, careful, I’m only borrowing those,” Sniper said, all low and calm and not getting it. Scooching one text away from the edge. “Scout? What’s the matter?”

“Whuh— what’s da matter?! I thought nobody knew anythin’ about what me an’— about me, yeah?” Scout shook his head, agitatedly scruffing up his hair. He licked his suddenly dry lips as he squinted at the letters. “Didja find anythin’, Snipes? Is ‘dere a chapter about mutants, about people like me?”

“Nah, not yet, mate. Afraid Demo didn’t know anythin’ when I asked about it, neither.” Sniper supplied, as if that wasn’t totally horrifying information. Scout stopped dead with an open book in hand, and looked up at the bushman in horror.

“You told Demo?!”

Sniper told? He just put it out there, and to someone occasionally smart, like Demoman? Scout’s ensuing laugh bordered on hysterical. Might as well tell Engie and Medic, too! Fuck, if Demo, or anyone Demo and Sniper told, were to find a stray feather…

“I didn’t tell him about you, obviously! ‘Course not!” Sniper looked bewildered. He had his hand raised placatingly, like Scout was about to go for the throat. “I’ve asked him about all sorts of beasties, before. She’ll be right, Scout. Really…” Sniper smiled again, with his crooked incisors poking out. It was a bit of an awkward one, like he was trying to assure but didn’t quite know how to arrange his face. “Besides, no one would hurt you if they knew, yeah? Maybe in the civilian world… but you don’t hafta worry about that ‘round here. I’ll, er…I’ll…” Sniper mumbled something quickly, that sounded almost like ‘take care of ya’. He went a bit red.

Scout sucked in a breath and held it, aware that he probably looked like a fish. Okay… Anyway, that wasn’t as bad as he thought, right? If Snipes really did ask Demo about similar stuff often, then this wouldn’t raise any suspicions… and Scout collected every one of his feathers, painstakingly. There were none left behind, because his wings were always, always wrapped down when he left his room. There just wasn’t any opportunity to shed feathers someplace else, not a single time he’d been without the bandages since he’d started this contract…

As for Sniper’s insistence that Scout would be okay…

“Well, I guess it’d be fine if some a’ the guys knew, like Demo, I guess, an’ probably Heavy, or somethin’. But I’m not tellin’ them! Not in a million years, pal,” Scout crossed his arms to get the seriousness of the point across. “Don’t friggin’… say anything, like at all, about this, awight? Not even whatcha already did, Snipes.”

Sniper nodded quickly, a strand of his hair falling out of place with the motion. “I won’t, I promise. I won’t tell anyone. It’s our secret, mate, just us two.” He started carefully stacking the books again, and Scout dropped the one he was holding to the pile. “You’ll…keep comin’ around, roight?” He watched Scout, that same intense look. “I really wanna see ‘em when you grow the feathers back.”

If he could trust him not to tell…

“Yeah… I think so. This is…” Scout paused to really think about it. “I liked it. Maybe ya can tell me whatcha know about birds, an’ stuff.” He looked cautiously up at Sniper. He was met with a grin.

“Aces! Absolutely, whenever ya want, mate. Maybe I can help ya, if your wings are sore, or whatnot. Had to take care of animals a few times in me life— er, not that you’re an animal… but I can help. Listen, lemme get some coffee on… you can have a sit if you’d like…”

Scout did sit down on the seat by the table, relaxing his wings and occasionally stretching and flapping them as Sniper made the coffee with the air of someone who could do it with his eyes closed. Or, in this case, his eyes fixed on his winged coworker… friend.

Chapter Text

Enclosed in the tightness of the bandages, Scout’s wings twitched as much as they could in aftershocks of delight. Even pinned back down, they felt better than they ever had. Still hurt, still numbed, but better. Good. All of Snipes’ touches seemed to remain buried into the roots of the feathers, and Scout decidedly wanted them to stay. And get some more, later. He peeked his head in through the old entrance door to the base and looked around quickly, making sure no freak doctors lurked in the corners.

But his mind was focused on what Snipes had said before Scout left. It was all he could think about.

“Maybe…” Sniper had said cautiously, frowning, as if Scout might bolt at whatever the idea was. “Maybe you could fly… Up here, especially. Good air currents.”

Ah. Scout had paused and felt shame fill him.

“Yeah… I can’t. About the flyin’.” Scout mumbled. He turned his head to the side, staring at the mug of coffee Snipes he’d given him. Wings curled in closer, swathing him in downy self-comfort, hunkering down with his dejected and ashamed slump. “I- I’m sorry.” He’d wondered if Snipes would lose interest, now that he knew Scout couldn’t fly like a real bird.

“You’ve tried, before?” Sniper said quietly. And he reached over a hand on one closed wing, thumbing over the silky little feathers.

“Never got a chance. I lived in the city, yanno.” Despite himself, Scout pushed his wing into the touch. “Not much space ta be flyin’ places. An’ they’re all busted n’ crap now. I dunno what they’re for, even…”

“For flying or gliding, mate,” Sniper replied, as if it were simple. Scout looked up with a glare. Did this guy just not listen? Was he just ignoring the unfortunate truth?

“Scout… come on. You never tried it— how do you know for certain? I’ll admit I dunno either, but surely there's a chance. Even if it seems like you can’t. You had to have been born like this for a reason.” A pep talk from Sniper was the last thing Scout expected, and he must’ve pulled a face in amazement at Sniper’s words, because the man chuckled in his raspy way.

“I… I could always jump offa something tall, here,” Scout mused, chewing on his lower lip with his buck teeth. “After the feathers grow back, an’ before I cut ‘em.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sniper frown at the mention of cutting them. But his excitement came back at the rest of Scout’s musings.

“Yeah, mate, yeah. You could go up one of me nests, ‘s not too high up, so you wouldn’t get hurt...” Both he and Scout had talked about it, though there was only so much speculation to be had without action.

Flying. Scout wanted it. He thought about how it would feel as he ascended the stairs and trailed a hand over the wooden walls. He’d always wanted it, but he’d forced the prospect down whenever it came up, or whenever he saw a bird doing it so easily. It was hard enough, battling his own mind, and now that Sniper had joined forces to urge him to try, while he’d happily stroked Scout’s wings with both hands at once…

Scout and Sniper had hung out for a couple of hours. But eventually, the Sniper’s solitary nature became apparent, and he started answering Scout’s chatter with grunts or single word replies. Soon after that, he muttered something that amounted to “Scout, get out” and kicked Scout from his van, though not cruelly. Before Scout left, he’d promised to be back after dinner. Well, specifically he’d promised to work on the flying thing after dinner, with Snipes. That had got him a nod, and a hand ruffling the feathers close to his back.

So. Now Scout was determined. He had someone on his side! Scout eagerly bounced up two steps at a time ‘til the next landing, where he turned into the kitchen for a quick snack. He did have a plan brewing, after all, and he needed the brain fuel.

So here was the thing. Medic, right, he had a veritable shit ton of those white pigeons hopping and flapping around. A whole flock of them, really. Too many for Scout to count (he ran out of fingers trying). So…

Would the Medic notice if he… borrowed one for a bit? Just for a bit! He’d return it after like, a week, and Medic would be none the wiser. The guy had so many! Surely one taking a little vacation wouldn’t even register.

Scout would have to be very, very careful grabbing it, though. He’d need to time it to be certain Medic wouldn’t be anywhere near the infirmary, because boy, would that suck getting caught. Scout thought about it for a while, and concluded that eating tonight’s dinner really fast… faster than normal, and then dashing over there, nabbing one, and getting the hell out would be his best bet. Medic was old, so he took friggin’ ages to eat, just like Spy, so Scout would have at least thirty minutes. It was almost foolproof, if he did say so himself. And he did say so.

“Scout? You been butterin’ that there bread for a while now… Y’alright?”

Scout fairly leapt out of his skin. Engie frowned at him from over the fridge door. Whoops! Scout hadn’t seen him behind there… The guy was short, okay? And yes, he had been buttering the slices of bread for way too long. Scout dropped the knife into the sink.

“I’m fine, hardhat! Allll good!” He huffed and readjusted the cap and smoothed his jacket down. “Hey, who’s makin’ dinner tonight? Is it you?”

Engie frowned and jabbed a thumb at the chart hanging on the kitchen wall. The chart that listed everyone’s cooking jobs for the month. Scout himself was on it only once, for some reason.

“Come on, son. We put that chart up so you’d stop askin’…”

Scout hurried over to it. Ha! Even better! It was Medic’s turn to cook, which meant he’d stay longer afterwards to package it away into the refrigerator…

“Perfect…!” Scout happily said aloud, grinning. Engie opened his mouth to ask, but was interrupted by Scout bullying his way in front of the fridge to grab deli meat.

“Listen, whatever you’re planning…” Hmph. This guy was always cautioning Scout against something. He didn’t even know!

“Ain’t got nothin’ to do with ya, Engie! Don’t ya worry your eggy head about it!” Scout’s cheerfulness would not be dampened by that wet towel.

The Engineer did not look convinced. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t mess with the damn Medic, Scout! It ain’t gonna end well—”

Oh god. He’d got all that from the fact that Scout was pleased it was Medic’s night to cook? Engie was friggin’ scary, sometimes…

“Gotcha, gotcha,” Scout answered as he whisked the plate off the counter, the haphazard ‘sandwich’ sliding around and nearly off. He crammed a bite into his mouth. At the doorway he stopped and turned back, looking with suspicion at the Engineer. “Don’ tell ‘im… anythin’. Mm, not ‘dat I’m doin’ summin’…”

Engie sighed. “Right,” he waved Scout off. “Don’t ruin your dinner, son!”

Ha! As if. Scout noisily chewed and swallowed as he walked. He had to be a little more careful though, now that he was deeper into the base. More likely to come across Medic. And the rec room was up ahead… with voices coming from inside. Scout paused in the hallway before the door, pressing his back against the wall. Was there a German accent among those voices…? He munched quieter. It seemed to be… Heavy. And where the Heavy was, often there was also…

“I underestimated the amount it would take! He’s so small, I thought a quarter of the usual dose would be…” Medic trailed off with a sigh. “It was nearly correct. I simply can’t believe I misread his blood volume. I thought just the tiniest bit more of the sedative would’ve knocked him out completely… Which obviously I didn’t want… no fun to examine the unconscious…”

Oh god, thought Scout. He’d been so right about that lunatic.

“Hmm… Doktor should just… leave leetle Scout alone, da? Much trouble. Small man is healthy from Medigun!” Heavy chuckled and contemplated the board for a moment, big hand resting on his chin, before he delicately lifted and set down a piece. “Ah, is checkmate, Doktor.”

Medic looked sourly at the board, scanning it all over with narrowing eyes. Then abruptly, he flipped the entire thing off the table, pieces scattering wildly onto the floor, rolling away. From somewhere, Pyro mumbled and excitedly started clapping his hands.

Oh boy. Time to go. While Medic’s back was turned, Scout dashed the rest of the way up to his room.

*****

Scout scarfed down the meal Medic made that evening. It was some sort of soup, and it did taste pretty good… but Scout had a mission that he would not be distracted from. Not even by the little crackers that went in the soup, and were fun to chase with his spoon…

Anyways, Sniper was absent from the table, as he always was, and Scout had taken a seat as far away from Medic as he could get. Which did mean that Medic stared him down for the entire meal… making Scout’s stomach churn and his palms sweat. Even when speaking amicably with the Spy or Heavy, he kept an icy blue eye on Scout. To distract himself, Scout clinked the spoon noisily around the bowl until he got everything, and because leaving leftovers would totally give the Medic an excuse to keep him around. Scout didn’t know what the guy would be planning next, but he definitely didn’t trust that whole ‘truce’ business. Uh oh, he was staring again…

No way he knew Scout was planning some shit… Right?

*****

The entrance to the infirmary loomed, bright and scary, though in reality the door was the same size as any other, with only the overhead sign to distinguish it. Creepy, still. This was a place he never wanted to set foot in… at least while the Medic was there.

But Scout couldn’t leave Sniper without an answer. He had to try, and this was the best thing he could think of. Scout would fight tooth and nail for his scraps. Watching a real bird up close, it meant he didn’t have to make a fool of himself flapping around. If he got it… surely Snipes would praise him. And they could hang out for longer. If he stayed as he was… well, there wasn’t anything that would keep him interesting after Snipes got bored of the novelty of useless wings. No, Scout absolutely couldn’t waste time trying to figure it out on his own.

Scout pushed the door open. Somehow, it immediately felt colder, and he shivered as he walked through and fumbled the lightswitch on. The floor was shiny and tiled, and every footstep clacked like he was wearing clogs. Quite unsurprisingly, medical equipment was everywhere, with the examination table in the center of the room, an IV stand and cart of things Scout did not want to examine beside it.

Also, pigeons! The infirmary wasn’t too big, and pigeons took up the rest of the available perching space. One on the IV, one on a desk off to the side, and many more on the various cupboards and shelves. They all immediately fixed their beady eyes on Scout as he stopped a few feet in, his dusty shoes scuffing the floor.

There sure were a lot to choose from. The further into the room Scout walked, the more uneasy he grew. The birds avoided him, fluttering away as he came close. It sort of freaked him out… like there was something lurking behind him… And he really didn’t like the sight of the restraints tucked surreptitiously underneath the exam table, nor the scalpels and saw sitting on the cart…

So when a shape came swooping at him out of nowhere, Scout leapt three feet into the air and had to clap his hands over his mouth to keep from screaming.

A— a friggin’ dove. Of course. Scout willed his frantically pounding heart to calm down, as he looked at the little beast settling innocently on the table in front of him. Well, that was simple. Scout hadn’t accounted for the little guys practically jumping into his hands.

Unfortunately, this one wouldn’t work. Scout grimaced— its chest was speckled heavily with blood, making it stand out from all the others. If he took this one, Medic would absolutely notice.

“Aw, can ya tell your buddies to come down here, too?” Scout whispered to it.

“Coo,” answered the dove. And it fluttered away before Scout could make a quick grab for it. Well fine. He didn’t want that one anyway!

It alighted on a large cage that Scout hadn’t seen from the entrance. Most of the doves clustered by it, getting ready for bed. When Scout stood on his toes and looked inside, from a distance, he found it lined with comfortable looking perches. Unfortunately, none of the birds were actually in the cage… and so evaded Scout’s best efforts to snatch one up.

Just as he was starting to grow antsy about the time, Scout finally spotted one alone and not paying attention. It looked the same as the others, no suspicious bloodstains, and was up on top of a tall cabinet which sat where the ceiling was lowest. It was busy pecking at a box shoved to the far side of the cupboard, and its back was turned. Perfect. Just what Scout needed.

If he could just grab it quickly…

Scout looked around the room, face intense in his concentration— yep! The way up was clear. With no more thought than that, Scout braced and tensed his adept leg muscles, springing lightly up onto a crate near the cupboard, no effort at all, and then off diagonally, easily clearing four feet in height to scramble up the side of the cupboard with one well placed foot. The last bit, the scramble to the top, was done in a fast, forceful leap up and mostly forward, right into the space between cupboard top and ceiling, and right next to the dove. Hand darted out, he closed his fingers around the small, feathery body, a big grin already on his face.

“Whoo! I got it! I got it!” Scout crowed, joining the dove’s affronted and shocked cooing as it squirmed and bobbed its head.

Dove secured in his hand, Scout made to scramble back down and get the heck outta dodge. He shifted. Well. He tried to shift, but even though his muscles flexed, and he spent the effort… nothing happened. He didn’t budge an inch. The dove in his hand let out a coo.

Uh… what? Scout wriggled again.

The ceiling of the infirmary was protected by thin metal sheets, each one about five feet in length and riveted into the wood above it. Of course, the building was old, and not constructed in a precise fashion, something Engie always grumbled about, and Scout had liked…until now.

Now, Scout was pressed into the space above the cupboard, hunched over with one knee to his chest, and the other leg sort of out behind him. His back and bound wings were jammed against the ceiling, and it felt like the entire building was weighing down upon him. The force of Scout’s jump straight into that small space had bowed the sheet metal upwards, just a little, before his momentum had run out, and friction had stopped him where he currently remained. And critically, the first length of metal that had been slightly moved with Scout’s body had now settled back into place. Really, it was only a few inches of give that he no longer had, but it was enough. He couldn’t move.

No. No way was Scout stuck. No freakin’ way.

“Shit… Shit, no way, oh god,” Scout said aloud. He frantically wriggled, got nowhere, and looked desperately around for a solution. There wasn’t a single thing to grab onto, to haul himself out— not even the edge of the cabinet. It was out of reach. Scout took shallow breaths, and it was all he could do with his lungs compressed from the pressure of the ceiling above and cupboard below. The dove cooed again. Scout shot it a glare.

“You— ‘Dis is all your fault! Ya damn chicken!”

The dove blinked its beady eyes, and tilted its head.

“Why’d you have ta come up here, huh? I only needed you ta teach me how to fly!” Scout nearly wailed, slamming his free fist down, frustration and panic beginning to well up inside him. “Fuck, what do I do? What am I supposed ta do?”

The dove made a musical ‘hooroorooo’ noise. Scout couldn’t tell if it was mocking or comforting him. Or maybe just doing dove things. It probably wasn’t all that smart, unlike Scout.

Scout felt the ceiling get heavier. It seemed that way to him, at least. Terrified, he tried to flap his wings with all his might, and the muscles in them and his back flexed in desperate vain. Sweat broke out on his brow and dampened his shirt. His dog tags clinked against the wood. He tried to shift his leg, tried to push off of something that wasn’t there. Scout’s wheezy panting grew loud in the silence of the infirmary, only it and the quiet hum of the lights, and the occasional soft ‘coo’ to join him.

Oh god. He really, really was stuck.

Scout had released the dove when he tried pulling himself, and now it pattered around by his head, while Scout scrabbled and scratched frantically at the wood underneath him.

“Hoo-roooo,” it called, its little feathery chest puffing up. Scout’s body ached as he looked at it in despair, sniffling.

“Aw…shit… I can’t— M-Medic’s gonna come back, huh…? He’s g-gonna see me here… No, no, no…” Scout stammered breathlessly over the words with a choked up throat. It was hard to breathe. Even worse than before. “Oh no… oh no— Snipes… I need ya… oh god, I need—”

Scout heard the medbay door open. A creak and woosh of air. He clamped his mouth shut. Bad. This was real bad. He couldn’t even see down there, but whomever it was would be able to see him in mere moments.

“Wait,” Scout whimpered frantically under his meagre breath, to the dove that was peering over the edge of the cupboard and lifting its wings. “No, don’t, don’t leave, he’ll see ya—” It took off in a feathery rush of air.

“Parmenides?” An accented voice called, surprised. The Medic. Obviously. Scout bit his lower lip, and tasted blood.

“Why are you not with the others, hm?” Medic continued. “Is there something—”

Scout’s foot was definitely visible, sticking out from the edge of the cupboard. And it wasn’t so tall that the rest of him couldn’t be seen too, when someone really looked. And Medic was really looking.

“Ah… ein anderer Vögelchen. Oh my. Scout? Come down from there! I can see you.” His voice came to Scout almost sing-song. Clearly, he thought this was funny.

Scout hid his face in the crook of his arms. Go away, go away. He was breathing too loudly, each hard-won gasp ending in a whine.

“Scout? Scout, are you all right?” Well now he sounded concerned. As if. It was definitely fake. But the ceiling was pressing down, and Scout couldn’t get a breath, and his wings were sharply pulsing in pain…

“M-Medic!” Scout wheezingly cried, abandoning the wish for him to go, putting a clammy hand forth, reaching in the direction of that voice. He pressed his sweaty forehead to his other arm. “Medic—” Calling like that required lung capacity, which Scout currently did not have, and could not obtain.

“Junge? Don’t move, stay still! Are you hurt? I’m coming up there, hold on, bitte!” Scout could hear a door open, and then a sharp metal screech that grew louder. He tried not to spiral further, but it wasn’t working. A touch to his ankle, and Scout flinched and probably worsened the bruises he’d be getting from the contact with ceiling and cabinet.

Medic’s voice now sounded from much closer. Low and calm. He’d got onto Scout’s level somehow, maybe a stepladder. “I see… Listen to me, Junge, I’m going to get you out. Tell me, are you bleeding? Have you any broken bones?”

“No,” Scout bit out in a whimper of pain. “I— I can’t get out… it hurts…” It wasn’t agonizing— he encountered far worse on the battlefield, but the battlefield didn’t crush him with claustrophobia and terror of discovery. And embarrassment. It never made him feel so small and utterly helpless. A barely-voiced clicking noise warbled from his throat.

Medic paused for just a second, frowning, before he gently squeezed his ankle. “I’m going to push up on the ceiling, alright? When I do, you need to fall onto your left side. Then you’ll be able to crawl free. Don’t panic, Scout. It’ll be alright. Just fall onto your left side. Can you do this for me?”

Scout nodded. He was still burrowed into his arms. He could do it, though.

“I will say when. Get ready…”

Scout heard Medic take a deep breath, and exhale about half of it. There was a rustle of fabric, and the squeak of rubber on metal. Medic grunted, the metal popped. Then, the force keeping Scout pinned lessened.

“Now, Junge—”

Scout toppled onto his side. He got his legs together, and his arms braced in front of him. He wriggled away from the spot he’d been trapped, though that didn’t matter at this point. He heard the metal above him squeal again, and stupidly his first thought was that it was all collapsing down to crush him completely— he shrieked, and rammed face and arms first into Medic’s chest.

“Doc—!!” Scout called, reflexively curling up, and accidentally kneed Medic hard in the ribs. Medic let out a breathy grunt of “sheiße!”, and he fell forward onto Scout, stopping with one hand on the cupboard. With this motion, he had accidentally further curled his own body over Scout’s, and to complete the unintended hug, his other hand pressed to Scout’s back.

“Oh! Scout, I am sorry— Did that hurt? Are you well?” The Medic lifted his head off Scout’s waist, and worse, he carefully rubbed his hand over Scout’s back. “…Hm? What is…”

“Geroff…” Scout gasped, pink in the face. He shook his head, confused about just what was going on— apparently the ceiling was staying where it was. Ha ha… Duh. Everything ached still, particularly his knee and wings, as they had been taking the brunt of the pressure, but his hip and sternum needed to be massaged as well.

…Actually, his wings hurt a lot. They’d basically been crushed. It was going to be a hellish few days under the bandages.

“Ah. I… I see…” Medic was mumbling something. What did that mean, he saw? Scout finally laid eyes on him for the first time in this whole debacle. He was frowning intensely, and his eyebrows were drawn up in curiosity. “…Let me get you down from here. Ja…ja…”

Medic slipped an arm under Scout’s knees before he could protest about being carried this way for the second time, and another came around his sore upper back. But it was the only way for Medic to lift him off the top of the cupboard, and Scout was eager to be out of there as soon as possible. To Scout’s stomach-swooping alarm, as gravity reasserted itself, Medic turned right around on the top of the stepladder, and smoothly held Scout up in a bridal carry.

“Holy shit—! Don’t do that, man! What the hell is wrong witcha?!” Still, Scout had no interest in being dropped, so he clung to Medic’s shoulder and twined his clammy fingers in the coat lapel with all his strength. The brim of his baseball cap, somehow still on, jabbed Medic in the side of the neck. Medic tsked and craned his head away.

“Ach— Goodness! Stop that, would you! Sit still, I’ll have you on the ground in a moment…”

…The doc was pretty strong, wasn’t he? He carried Scout with ease, even down a stepladder. And Scout had a suspicion that the Medigun may have weighed quite a bit more than him.

Utter relief came moments later, as Scout was able to squirm out of the hold and get his feet on the ground. Finally… He never wanted to do something like that again. Both the getting stuck, and the rescue.

He remained slightly hunched over. Standing was causing his wings to ache more. And he had nothing to show for that ache. Damn. Damn it. He’d failed… Hell, he could almost hear the admin’s voice condescendingly proclaiming it over his comms.

And without the bird… there went his hangout with Sniper. Aw, he wouldn’t be happy. What was he going to do? Just sit there with Scout and attend to his wings again? Sniper wouldn’t want to do that… Shit. What kind of friend was Scout?

So lost in his own head, Scout did not notice the Medic approach him further from behind. He didn’t notice the hands lightly touch his belt, and then poise themselves at the hem of his jacket, and his tucked-in shirt. It was only when fingers brushed his lower back that he caught on, and started to jump away, heart leaping to his throat and sticking there. Medic seized the fabric in an unbreakable grip, the large rubber-gloved hands that easily caught fistfuls enough to untuck the shirt with just that grabbing movement. The second the shirt came free, Medic slipped his thumbs underneath, and the Scout twisted and looked behind himself, but he had failed to recognize the danger in his positioning. Medic swiftly and thoroughly yanked the shirt up Scout’s back with enough force to bend him forward. And Scout’s bandaged wings were exposed for his bright, knowledge-hungry eyes. The choppy ends slipped free from his belt, the same as yesterday, after which he’d had to borrow Medic’s coat in order to get upstairs ‘invisibly’. Now, the wings which had hours before been practically massaged by Sniper, carefully treated with awe, suddenly felt like a chain dragging him to the floor in front of Medic.

Scout didn’t think, or yell, or look back— he just did what he did best, and ran. A seam ripped somewhere on his shirt, blaring in the quiet, before the fabric tugged free from gloved hands.

Those restraints… those restraints… The blood that had soaked permanently into the welding seams of the table and the tile grout. The saws and scalpels.

It would be him under the doctor’s knife.

Scout heard nothing but far away, underwater echoes. He planted his palms against the door the moment he made contact. He needed to be gone, yesterday. But— he slammed into the door, jarring himself so hard he saw stars swirl at the edges of his vision. Medic had locked it behind him. It stunned Scout badly, the floaty daze after a shake to the skull, he floundered in front of the exit, clumsy and stupid.

“Oh, no, no. Verdammt…! Come here.” Medic, far away somewhere close by. Scout swung an elbow out, catching nothing but air and dizziness. He fell backward into arms made strong from hauling heavy equipment and running to and fro on the battlefield. Medic’s heady scent was in Scout’s nose, and he murmured something that was lost in the dizzy rush.

Scout turned to claw at the face speaking those words, and his sweaty palm glanced harmlessly off Medic’s coat. An arm encircled him. Oh god, was he being moved…?

The table… it swam into view, rapidly clearing as he blinked. No, no, he didn’t want to go there. Absolutely not. Fighting the urge to throw up that nice last meal, Scout opened his mouth to call out.

“Unh… S…Snipes… help…” Scout’s eyes were half lidded, his words slurred and quiet.

Of course, the Sniper was nowhere nearby. And the only way he would’ve heard such a pitiful call would be if he were standing in the room. Scout was on his own.

As Scout pleaded, Medic was also saying something, a fact Scout gradually became aware of as his vision cleared. Their path to the table suddenly stopped short. Scout couldn’t conceive of what was going on; he could barely put one foot in front of the other, even as he was directed. And then Medic, who murmured another unintelligible sentence, brought Scout unwillingly in tow past it. Scout couldn’t fight it, but he still tried his best, unwilling to give up even though his strength would be better saved for whatever awaited him.

Chapter Text

Sniper was waiting outside his van, leaning against the metal beginning to cool off from the day’s heat. He chewed a toothpick in absence of a cig, and it also helped to remove bits of stringy meat from his teeth. The small lizards that scurried around the cliffs were tasty, but tricky to eat.

Scout ought to come around, soon. He’d said so, anyway, and hyperactive and twitchy as the Scout was, he didn’t just forget a promise. Not the type.

So Sniper was beginning to grow agitated. Uncharacteristically. He was a frighteningly patient man, capable of sitting in one position for hours and hours, waiting. But Scout wasn't a mark— not Sniper’s mark. The worry came about from potential other hunters… like the Medic.

With a muffled snap, Sniper bit the sliver of wood in half. Damn. Could Scout have gotten into trouble already? And more importantly, could the Medic be attempting to steal him right out from underneath Sniper’s nose? Medic already had a bunch of birds— he didn’t need one more. Scout didn’t belong in the infirmary, he belonged out here with Sniper, in the wind and sun, and dirt beneath his feet.

Anxiously, Sniper peered at the base, tilting his hat up with a flick. It…wouldn’t hurt to check on him, yeah?

*****

Outside, the weather was balmy, but inside the RED base the air had remained cool. And silent, which Sniper was grateful for. Where would Scout have gone..? Not back to his room, surely. Maybe he’d been distracted by Pyro, and the two were in the rec room. Scout and Pyro were friends, right? Or was it Demo he was friends with? A frown tugging at his lips, Sniper realized with consternation that he didn’t know much about Scout, nor about his other teammates.

Shaking his head slightly, and deciding to worry about that later, Sniper decided to check mess hall first. It was the closest. His long legs got him there quickly, and he found himself standing in the doorway, watching as the Engineer placed dishes in the sink, an annoyed frown on his face.

“…Engineer?” Sniper said, voice gruff from not speaking. Engie jumped slightly.

“Oh, hey there, pardner. Surprised to see you around here— didja need something?” He gave Sniper an amiable smile.

“Scout.”

Engie stared at him, surprised. He set the last plate he’d been holding in the sink. “The Scout, huh? That’s funny, he’s the whole reason Medic skipped town and left me with the dishes, you know.”

…That didn’t sound good. Scout hadn’t wanted anything to do with Medic, so much so that Sniper had resolved to cut off the doc’s hands if he saw him laying one upon Scout. Scout had looked queasy when he’d said it, though. And said that that was ‘kinda extreme, pal’. Which Sniper wasn’t. He was just being a good friend. He was not crazed. Obviously.

“What do you mean? They’re together?” Sniper asked anxiously.

“Fool boy was up to something in Medic’s infirmary. I told him that, Medic, I mean, and he rushed right off after Scout. Figure the boy’s getting a stern talking to, right about now.” Engineer chuckled and shrugged. To him, this was rote, not worthy of much more than mild amusement at Scout’s expense. He wasn’t being malicious or unkind— after all, Scout really was up to some mischief, and in any other scenario, Sniper would’ve had a laugh about it all as well. But in this particular instance, to Scout, and therefore Sniper… this was bad.

“Damn it,” Sniper cursed. “Had to go and open yer big mouth, didja, mate?” It was a little unfair, but Sniper felt a surge of anger on behalf of Scout. He glared venomously at Engie, who looked taken aback.

“Son? What’s got bees in your—”

Sniper turned and sprinted back through the door, already pushing the Engineer from his mind and concentrating his focus, as he always did on important matters, on getting the hell up to medbay.

“Wha— Sniper!” Called Engie from the doorway. He jogged after Sniper. Despite his short stature, he kept up reasonably well, as Sniper took the stairs two at a time and dashed down the short hallway to the infirmary entrance. He stopped dead in front of it.

Running up stairs and down halls without a warmup hadn’t treated Engie nearly so well— he puffed out loud breaths behind Sniper, tiredly fixing his hardhat. “Damn… C’mon, now…” He groaned when Sniper ignored him and placed a hand on the door. “You oughtn't interfere— I don’t want a damn team feud on my hands, and I reckon neither do you!”

Sniper continued to ignore him, privately thinking that the man was a hypocrite. Sweating, he pushed on the door… and it was locked. Shit.

“Er. You got the key?” He asked Engie.

“Were you even listenin’ to me? No! And you need’ta leave it alone!”

Sniper took a step back, and Engie started to say something, likely in relief. The words would be wasted, though, as Sniper lifted one long leg, drew back slightly, and delivered a heavy, stomping kick to the door, right by the lock and handle. Old wood splintered, nearly shattering around the area of impact with a loud crack. The door itself swung shudderingly open to slam into the other side of the wall. He wasted no time in getting through and talking in the scene before him.

In the middle of the infirmary stood Medic. Understandably, he looked completely surprised. At his side was Scout, unharmed and awake, to Sniper’s immense relief. He felt a bit of his heart that he hadn’t known was clenched in worry relax. Unfortunately, he could see that the Scout’s jacket and shirt were rucked halfway up his torso, and they hadn’t slid down enough to cover the ends of the bandaged wings behind him. He heard the Engineer step in behind him. Medic tightened his rubber grasp on Scout, as he held the boy at his side in a position that would normally seem tender. But to Sniper, Scout looked only like a prisoner. Scout looked up. He was only ten or so feet away, and his face looked pale and peaked. He met Sniper’s eyes briefly.

“What on earth do you think you are doing, Herr Sniper?! That was mein infirmary door!” Medic cried. He did not look pleased.

Then and there, Sniper resolved to snatch Scout back and keep him in his camper van, thoroughly away from Medic. He balled one hand into a fist, and glared at Medic.

“Give him here,” Sniper growled, not wasting anybody’s time. His upper lip drew back in a vicious snarl. “He’s— …I found ‘im first. Hand ‘im over, roight now, and things won’t ‘ave to get ugly.” That was right. Scout was his. He’d done the job of fixing him up after Medic got him hurt, he’d been trusted with Scout’s secret, and he’d been who Scout called out for, just now. Sniper’s fists clenched by his sides, blunt nails digging in, and he had to force them back open, enough that he could grab the hunting knife at his belt if he needed it. After all, the Medic was unarmed. A knife to his prissy throat would suffice.

A bit behind him, the Engineer shifted in place. “Now, hold on… we’re all on the same side here, fellas. There ain’t no need—” Ever a reasonable force, yet the Medic soundly cut him off.

“Was!? Fool, Scout is not ‘yours’,” Medic snapped darkly, ignoring Engineer and focusing only on Sniper. He showed no signs of releasing Scout on his own. “You ravening animal. Perhaps that is how bushmen think, but you cannot play ‘finders-keepers’ with a… person, Herr Sniper.” His eyes were steely behind his glasses, his face set with grimacing superiority.

Tucked against him, Scout pawed at the white labcoat. Pushed and wriggled at his side. Damn. Poor bloke must be scared outta his mind. Sniper hardly gave two shits what that quack was saying— he was moments from trying to snatch Scout back anyway.

The Medic’s point may have been more worthy if he didn’t contradict himself moments later. “I am his doctor. His Medic! Und he is staying right here, where he belongs.” One of those doves Medic kept made a cooing noise, as if agreeing with its master.

For Scout’s sake, Sniper tried one more time. He shifted his weight and released a sharp breath. “He don’t want to. Look at ‘im, he wants to get away from ya. You’re scarin’ the poor bloke something awful.” And he was. Scout shuddered in the hold, attempting with everything he had at the moment to get as much space as possible between them. The fact that he wasn’t loudly berating the Medic, or hyping himself up, or speaking at all, worried Sniper.

“Medic,” the Engineer reasoned, “maybe you ought to let the little feller go for now. Ain’t he gonna hurt himself more, strugglin’ like that?” For his part, Medic did look regretful. Not particularly remorseful, but unhappy that he was causing Scout distress. Still…

“Nein. Scout is my patient, and he has suffered an injury under my care, in my medbay. I am not hurting him, and I will be helping him.” Medic said it with a toss of his head, and with finality.

Fine then. Sniper wasn’t a man of words, anyway. Before the Engineer could speak again, and he was certainly about to say something civil, placating, and useless, Sniper moved.

First, he lunged forward, and put his hand over the scruffy top of Scout’s head, covered it. He had a couple centimetres of height on Medic, and length of limb too. Sniper’s hand slipped the knife from the sheath in one easy flick. Hundreds of real life opportunities to perfect it. Medic had no chance, not even to speak.

He forcefully slashed away from the Scout. A liquid spray of blood hit the air, dark and red. Medic’s throat parted under the razor edge, and Sniper watched his teammate’s eyes widen, and the look in them turn to agitation, astonishment. He choked on blood, his gloved hand twitching up to futilely stop the flood of it. The Engineer yelled something in the background.

Medic’s arms slackened as the life fled his body, as his eyes went glassy and unseeing. Blood speckled Sniper’s hand on Scout’s head, none making it onto the boy himself. Sniper could move in close now, and he did, letting the Medic fall away, and encircling Scout in his arms. Scout, who made a choking noise of his own, and then a voiced gasp, verging on a shout. A thud sounded as Medic fell and hit the ground.

“Fuck!” The Engineer cried, which Sniper assumed was the worst cussing anyone had ever heard from the politely-spoken man. “Fuckin’ dagnabbit, boy! What the hell’d you go and do that for?!” He rushed past the two and stood helplessly over Medic, who had either bled out or suffocated, Sniper hadn’t watched which.

Sniper wasn’t sure what the big deal was. Unlike Scout, and like Sniper, the Engineer was a hard man. He understood what needed to be done sometimes. And he’d wanted Scout released as well. So why the hell he was suddenly looking at Sniper like he was a lunatic… was beyond him.

Sniper softly patted the Scout’s bandaged back. To Engie, he said, “The Doc’ll respawn. He’ll be fine, y’know.” In Sniper’s arms, the Scout wasn’t moving much. That wasn’t good, surely?

“Scout?” Sniper prodded gently. “Hey… alright, there?” He could feel the quick rise and fall of Scout’s chest against his own. It was a very pleasant sensation, and despite everything happening, Sniper wished he could luxuriate in the feeling for a while. Scout minutely shook his head. Sniper heard him mutter something that sounded a lot like “…doc.” Or maybe he was just shifting around. All right.

Sniper bent, grunted with the slight effort, and picked Scout up the same as he’d done the other day, one arm supporting his bottom, and the other carefully wrapped around his wings. Ah… those wings. Shit, Scout wanted them kept secret. Had the Engineer seen…?

“Sniper!” Even with the goggles hiding his eyes, Engie didn’t look too pleased. But he was still standing by Medic’s corpse, and didn’t look likely to try and take Scout away. Still, Sniper made sure his friend was held out of immediate reach, turned to the side. He tugged the red t-shirt down surreptitiously.

Engie wasn’t done, though. His bare fist clenched as he gestured. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doin’? You can’t kill your own teammate, son! And put that Scout down, right now! Medic said he’d been injured.”

“No,” Sniper growled, taking a measured step back with one foot. While nowhere near as fast as Scout, the Sniper was no stranger to a quick escape. And, killing the Engineer would be much more difficult now. “Go meet the Medic at respawn, if yer so worried. Don’t interfere with me, mate.”

Scout stirred. Sniper could feel him pick his head up from where he’d laid it against Sniper’s shoulder.

“My…” What was he saying? Sniper turned his ear toward Scout's mouth. “Are ‘dey hidden, Snipes?” Scout whispered, and Sniper suddenly understood that the meek behavior had at least partially been borne of not wanting attention drawn to him, for once. It was sort of ironic, in a sad way. It didn’t really suit him.

“…Not that well,” Sniper admitted. The ends peeking out, while not really recognizable as feathers, were still visible…

“Aw, hell…” Scout wriggled suddenly, despite being held, he somehow managed to turn his body so his back was hidden from Engie, who was sighing, attention again monopolized by Medic’s corpse as respawn filtered it away. “Okay, now put me down.” He looked up at Sniper, his face worried but set. Even with the hat blocking Sniper’s view a bit, he could see that the Scout’s eyes looked reddened, and his cheeks were splotched with color. He… hadn’t been crying, had he?

Sniper liked holding the Scout. He was light and kind of bony, but a solid presence, and nice and warm. He smelled good, too. …Was that weird? But he’d get nowhere by ignoring Scout’s demands, and so he set Scout down, reluctantly releasing the warm hold.

“Ah, dangit. The Medic really ain’t gonna be happy, stretch. I’m none too pleased either.” Hands on his hips, Engie looked up from the spot where Medic had lain. A quick glance at Scout, and Sniper saw that he didn’t look happy either. Relieved, maybe, but certainly not cheering about what Sniper had done. Scout looked down at his feet.

“And you,” Engie continued, fixing his gaze on Scout. “Are you injured like he said? I warned ya not to mess with Medic, son.” He shook his head.

“He didn’t hurt me,” Scout snapped, glaring and jerking his chin up. “He’s the doc.”

Now this threw Sniper for quite a loop. Scout, defending Medic? The man who’d just scared the shit outta him, and drugged him once already? Attempted kidnapper and certifiable sadist Medic?

“Snipes!” Scout called, aggressively looking up at him once more, his blue eyes determined. “Let’s get outta here, c’mon.” He hopped awkwardly backward, and sidled while motioning rapidly for Sniper to follow. When Sniper did, awkwardly extricating himself from the situation before Engie could protest, Scout seized his hand and pulled him back through the door, and turned tail and ran down the hall, dragging Sniper along for the ride.

Sniper didn’t bother to watch where Scout was running to. He was focused on the point of contact between them. Smaller, less calloused, skinny fingers gripping his own. Kind of sweaty, and bandaged over skin. But warm. And nice. Scout had grabbed Sniper’s hand of his own volition. Whoa. Sniper felt much like he did when coaxing a wild critter to eat out of his hand, a special, new kernel of trust that made him feel fuzzy inside.

Scout suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, faltering, and Sniper collided with him before he could stop himself. He grunted as the back of Scout’s skull collided with his collarbone, and quickly grabbed hold of Scout’s shoulders to prevent himself from taking them both to the ground with the momentum.

“Shite, sorry— Scout? Mate?”

Scout shook his head. Sniper watched him worriedly. The danger had passed, hadn’t it? Thanks to him. But Scout was still unwell…

Yes, Scout wasn't doing so hot at the moment. He stopped so suddenly because of a wave of vertigo. He was no stranger to violence and killing, so it wasn’t the Medic’s death at the hands of Sniper that bothered him… right? It wasn’t how he’d ran into the door and rattled his brain… oh wait. That probably was the reason. And there was something a bit baser, too. Simple pain. His wings really friggin’ hurt, and he wanted them free, and he wanted to flap around, and lift into the air with a jump and wingbeat, and have Sniper watch and compliment him, really looking at him for once—

And Scout was a coward. A weak, goddamn, freakin’ coward. He should’ve… punched Medic or something. Jabbed him in the ribs, bit him, or hell, even just yelled at the guy. Maybe part of it could be explained by how dizzy he’d been, and still was. But the other part was just plain old fear forcing him into a pathetic state. One where he had to wait for Snipes to come save him. Like some swooning floozy on the cover of one of Ma’s romance novels. Friggin’ useless. He was so…

Sniper stepped in front of Scout, leaning down and trying to take a look at the face hidden beneath the bill of his baseball cap. He made an easy decision then, and scooped Scout up into his arms for the third time. And suddenly Scout found he didn’t care at that moment about whether he was weak or strong, or about the Medic or Engie, or his worries about keeping Sniper’s attention.

Scout clung fast to Sniper. Wrapping his arms tightly around broad shoulders, and pressing his face to cool leather. He focused on Sniper’s steps as he started down, the gentle swaying motion of walking, and the more abrupt movement of going down stairs. Against Sniper’s neck, nose brushing the open collar of his button-up, Scout breathed in his familiar smell. Somehow, it was comforting. It helped soothe terrible thoughts away.

He inhaled again, and tilted his head down, so the curve of his nose fit against Sniper’s neck. Somehow, his limbs still felt off and weak. Dazed. He wanted it to go away.

“…in shock.”

What? Sniper was saying something. Scout could feel it rumble in his chest. He blinked slowly.

“I think ya might be in shock, mate. Seen it happen to birds before. They hit somethin’, or get caught by a predator and get away, and get all dazed. Some of ‘em are fine after a bit, some of ‘em die. Er… Not you, Scout. You won’t die, your body just thinks it might. You’ll be roight… I gotcha…”

Oh, good. Did that mean Scout could take a nap? He was also tired. A lot had sure happened, huh. He sort of felt like he shouldn’t… like there were pressing matters happening… Unfortunately, Scout’s eyelids grew heavy, weighed down by a desire to recuperate, now that he was…safe. It called to him, impossible to resist, helped along by his other senses telling him it was indeed alright now.

“…in me camper. ….nobody’s getting in…you can…..”

Scout fell asleep to the soothing sound of the low, gravelly voice just above him.

Chapter Text

As befit his youth, Scout’s torso, and what was visible of his back beneath feathers, was smooth and unscarred. In the van, the first time Scout has shown the appendages, Sniper had tried to stare and examine him in an uncreepy way, and wasn't sure if he succeeded or not. Scout hadn’t gave him any weird looks, though that might have been because he’d been very focused on his wings being complimented and stroked. Sniper meant every word and touch, but he couldn’t deny that it was helpful, how easily Scout was distracted.

Anyway, that unmarred flesh— Sniper had been curious what muscles Scout possessed. If he had an extra set of limbs, wings being closest to arms, he ought to have had a second set of pectorals as well. But Scout’s torso was simply that of a human. There was nothing there to indicate the wings could move and articulate just as a bird’s. And yet, they did. So far, Sniper had begun looking into Demo’s more nature-like books, on beasts and whatnot, the ones that didn’t deal with magic. Scout likely wasn’t a magical creature. He was too stable, too human, and not enough glowing eyes and eerie mist… but his wings must’ve existed beyond what typical science could explain. Sort of like the unnatural workings of Respawn or the Medigun, as opposed to the complicated but grounded reality of Heavy’s minigun or Engie’s turrets. Still, the wings were flesh and blood, and they were fragile, susceptible to injury.

Scout himself damaged them. Crushing them against his body and cutting the fight feathers. It wasn’t good.

That was why Sniper was so relieved to hear that his friend wanted to fly. He absolutely had to keep the wings intact now. He’d moult the feathers soon, and Sniper would do anything to keep them whole and healthy.

*****

“Okay, try as hard as you can.”

“I am!” Scout loudly proclaimed, exasperated. He stood with Sniper at the farthest reaches of the cliff that made up Upward, though keeping their distance from the abandoned BLU base. It was a bit nerve-wracking to be outside uncovered, but they were hidden from the RED base by the many empty buildings ringing the area. It was daytime, and Scout had spent the previous night in Sniper’s uncomfortable camper van-bunk-thingy. Where Sniper had bedded down was a mystery to Scout, as the van had virtually no floor space, and even the bunk barely fit one. Anyway, after a breakfast Sniper had made of canned something heated on the portable burner, Scout was trying out his wings, which luckily did not hurt from yesterday’s activity.

“I dunno what you’re expectin’, Snipes! I ain’t gonna get off the ground…” Especially not with the clipping job he’d done to the poor things, and without a dove to watch and learn from… “I look like a freakin’ chicken or something! C’mon, are ya laughin’ at me? This ain’t gonna work!” Scout gestured with both hands and wings, throwing them up in the air in exasperation and embarrassment. In the sunshine, the muted colors almost glowed, and it shone through the tips, lighting them silver. Sniper was sitting casually on a crate by the outer wall of the building, and watching Scout flap in the morning sun. He took a long drink of his gross black coffee. Scout pulled a face at him.

“When you molt those feathers is when you’ll be able to. That's soon enough, isn’t it? In the meantime, why not build up the muscle n’ all? And practise the movements. I ain’t laughin’, mate. It's brilliant to watch— I just don’t think I can do much more for ya than sit here.” He gave Scout one of his awkward smiles, and Scout couldn’t help but grin back at how it looked on Snipes’ face. “But…if… ah, never mind…”

“What?! What is it?!” Scout flapped in excitement and interest, and sent the dust on the ground aswirl once again. With one big wing beat, he hopped in close to Sniper, ducking right under the guy’s hat to stare intensely at him from inches away, close enough to see his own reflection in the shades, and Sniper choked on his coffee, leaning back in alarm.

“Ah hell, Scout. Gimme some room here…” When Scout did not give him some room, Sniper slid off the crate to the side, out of Scout’s personal space. Hmph.

Scout immediately leapt onto the crate Snipes had vacated, swinging his legs over the edge and leaning back on his arms. “C’maawwwwn, man. You can’t say something like ‘dat and not expect me ta wanna know! What is it? Somethin’ that can help me fly? Or you got some info? Come on!”

“Jeez, jeez, alright…” Sniper sighed and looked off to the side at an uninteresting rock. “Was just gonna offer to… lift ya… up off the ground when you flap your wings. Maybe it’d feel similar to taking off. But, it’s sorta stupid. So I didn’t want to say it out loud…”

“You want to lift me up…? Like ya did those other times?” Scout sheepishly scratched at the back of his head, face going pink as he remembered. “Uh…yeah, it felt kinda nice, ackshully…”

He’d been held more this past week than in the last fifteen years or so. For some reason, he really did enjoy the feeling. Being carried…it had to mean that the person doing the carrying wanted him. Else, why would they?

“Heh, that's so girly, mate.” Sniper grinned at him, chuckling when Scout puffed up indignantly.

“Nuh-uh! It isn’t! Anyway, you’re the girly one— you’re the one pickin’ me up an’ stuff in the first place! And you suggested it just now!” Scout answered hotly. Sniper watched the feathers quiver.

“That just makes me the man, and you the sheila, don’t it?”

“Shut it, chucklehead!” Scout hollered. Snipes didn’t get it, and Scout wasn’t about to explain. “Betcha can’t throw me for real!” Though Scout would’ve been utterly mortified if anyone else saw him flinging himself into Sniper’s arms, he stood up fully on top of the weather-beaten crate, and confused Sniper by doing so. The other man took an unsure step to the side.

“You gonna jump off firs— Ack!” Sniper was cut off by Scout launching himself in his direction.

“Yo, catch me Snipes!” Scout called in a rush, and he beat his wings fruitlessly, sending russet feathers afloat, just for the fun of it. He soared briefly through the clear sky and landed solidly in Sniper’s arms with a thwump and a grunt of air from each of them. And a few more stray feathers. Snipes was a good sport— even surprised, he caught Scout around the ribcage and quickly allowed his slowed weight to carry through into a sort-of bear hug. Scout began flapping his wings rapidly, as his instincts told him. There was something at odds in Scout’s racing mind. The idea that a predator had just caught him and he needed to get away, versus the fun of playing and using his muscles. It made for an exciting little mix, and Scout was delighted. It had been a long time since he’d roughhoused for the fun of it; his brothers had either ignored his attempts to play, or had been too worried about his hollow bones to wrestle once he started growing up. Sniper was nothing like them.

“Gah! Foine then, ya little hooligan— how d’ya like this?” Sniper lifted Scout under the knees as well, briefly transferring him to be held in both tanned arms. Scout’s stomach swooped with delight as Sniper spun around and with a heavy grunt of effort, slung Scout into the air with the momentum.

“Whoo-hoo!!”

As he soared through the air, Scout once more felt excited and scared. The sweat on his skin cooled and evaporated in the rush, and he nearly lost the hat on his head. With a loud whoop of joy, he twisted his body and flapped his wings as the ground rushed dizzyingly around his vision. One wing pointed down, the other bent to adjust his trajectory and angle… Scout got his lean legs bent and poised to land, and he jerked his wings into the proper place, and hit the ground with a puff of dust. He wobbled only for a moment, and then looked up at his friend with a bright grin.

“Oh hell yeah! Didja see that, Snipes?! Didja see me? ‘Dat was awesome— I landed right on my feet, heh!”

Sniper was impressed. “I saw you alroight— you’ve got good control. Properly stuck the landing, jus’ like a cat, even. Nice job, mate.” Hell yeah.

Scout proceeded to make Sniper toss him into the air many more times, demanding that each be harder to twist out of into a landing, until Sniper was exhausted and waved Scout off, groaning as he wearily sat back against the crate and pulled another button of his worn shirt open, and mopped his damp forehead with his cuff. Scout could hear him breathing deeply in the dry, hot air.

“Crikey… I think… ya killed me damn back n’ arms… ya birdbrain…” He puffed.

“Huh?!” Scout exclaimed, already scrambling for another go. He felt perfectly fine and good— Sniper definitely needed to get on Scout’s level. “Dat was only like, six times, man! Pick me up again, come on!”

He tugged ineffectively at Sniper’s hand, but to his great annoyance, was unable to budge the dead weight. Sniper smirked as he tried, snickering until Scout bent down and snatched away the coffee mug he was about to drink the last from. Scout hopped out of grabbing distance with his treasure in hand, and then tipped his head back and drank the rest of the brew. And promptly gagged. And sprayed coffee-tinged spittle across the ground.

“AW— eugh! What da hell, why are you drinkin’ this crap…” Scout thought it was atrociously bitter. He coughed and wiped his tongue on his arm to get rid of the taste.

“Me coffee! You… you little magpie!” Despite his exhaustion, Sniper lunged up from the crate at him, and Scout barely danced out of his long reach. Sniper scowled, unamused.

“Whoa-ho! You gotta be way quicker than that, Snipes!” Scout laughed. He hooked the empty tin mug on one finger and dangled it high in the air, letting the metal catch the sunlight. Again, Sniper lunged for him, fully getting up into a ready stance, his boots firmly set against the packed earth. At the calculating, focused look in his pale eyes, Scout once more felt an exciting zing of danger. And a childish urge to poke and needle.

He shrugged nonchalantly, wings twitching. “Gee, not much of a hunter, are ya? I thought ya caught stuff, yanno? Ain’t ‘dat your whole job?”

“I’m a sniper, mate.” Sniper said, low and steady. He’d gotten his breath back, and his eyes did not so much as flicker from Scout’s. “‘S a good job, yanno. I caught plenty a’ what others thought impossible… And your skinny arse don’t even make the bottom of that list.

“Okaaayyyy….” Scout drawled out, putting his years as a younger brother to work making it sound as annoying as possible. “Sounds ta me like you’re all talk an’ no—” Scout yelped loudly as Sniper grabbed for him once more. His wing, which he wasn’t used to the physicality of, didn’t follow the rest of his body closely enough, and Sniper managed to catch hold of it.

The pressure startled Scout, who jerked away without thinking, only wanting to get out of the grasp. With a curious and uncomfortable tugging sensation, an entire fistful of feathers pulled free and ended up clutched in Sniper’s hand, though it also freed the wing, and Scout folded it back. Sniper looked at his fist, alarmed, and Scout did too.

“Oh, shit. Scout—” Sniper said, opening his fist and letting the little bouquet of them scatter and flutter lazily to the ground. “Shit, did that hurt? Are ya bleedin’?”

“Nuh…No…” Scout replied, though he was just as alarmed. He twisted his body and folded his wing to look at the back of it. Sniper hesitantly looked too, creeping forward like he thought Scout might tell him to get away. “Um, it doesn’t hurt… I think I’m good.” But there was a patch missing where only the littlest downy feathers remained. Scout flexed the wing, spreading the flight feathers out and exposing the patch. The tugging sensation… actually, it was familiar.

“Snipes!” Scout yelled, grinning at the other man, who suddenly looked like he’d been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “It’s just molting! ‘Dat’s all! This happens every year, like I was tellin’ ya. Sometimes, if I’m real stressed— I mean, not ‘dat I’m stressed, haha… uh, it comes earlier.” Now Sniper looked like he’d gotten his cookie.

“Aw, aces.” Reassured, Sniper stood close and coaxed the wing back out, stroking it and avoiding the patch as Scout closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling. The coffee mug lay on the ground beside them, forgotten. “That means…in a bit of time, you’ll have ‘em all healthy and feathered properly, yeah?”

Scout nodded. He stumbled along as Snipes drew them back toward the shade, putting his hands on Scout’s wings like it was nothing. It still amazed both of them, for different reasons. “Sure will! But… ya remember I hafta cut them in the end…right?” Sniper tilted his head down, casting his angular face in shadow.

“Yeh. I know you said that before. You know, I think that—” A loud noise interrupted both men.

They could hear it even from here, the piercing siren that signaled a BLU encroachment on their territory. Sniper and Scout looked up at each other at the same time, after a beat of confusion, and Scout grinned with excitement at the thought of finally, finally getting to bash some heads in! It had been way too long— his bat was getting rusty! Sniper didn’t grin, but his eyes lit with excitement for that moment, before they both quickly collected the remains of their presence, hastily shoving Scout’s wings into the wrappings, and then made haste for the RED base.

****

Engie had given the world’s quickest pre-battle rundown to the team, with equally helpful and unhelpful additions from Soldier, and then the nine men were back out in the sunshine and ready to beat those BLU bastards all the way down the cliff. Scout had had time enough to secure his wings properly and grab a few extra sodas, while Sniper had disappeared to go do his job. Without even saying bye!

But hey, the battle was going well. So well in fact, that Scout had just run by a healthpack and hadn’t had to use it! The BLUs hadn’t made much headway with their stupid bomb, thanks to Demo and Engie. It was only a matter of time before the BLU mercs realized it was a lost cause and hauled ass outta there to go lick their wounds. Still, the match had only just started, and RED had taken damage as well. Luckily Medic was keeping them all in tip top shape, even the Sniper. Though from the glimpse Scout caught earlier, Medic had scowled as he trained the beam of the medigun on their resident bushman. Scout had avoided the uh, freakin’ elephant in the room when talking to Sniper earlier, not sure what to say or how to say it.

Regardless of team drama, Scout had a job to do now. Flanking! He was going to go pick that annoying BLU Soldier off before he could crash down on any more of them. What a meathead. Him and his stupid shovel. Their own Soldier was a meathead too, but at least he—

“Scout,” came a voice to his left. Scout skidded to a long halt, raising his bat and looking wildly about. As he did, he saw straight into the entrance of a small room, and into the interior, where the RED Medic lay against the wall in a sitting position, hunched over, with blood drenching his shoulder and front.

Oh shit!

“Medic!” Scout put a hand by his mouth and called out, and then he switched track instantly, turning so hard he sent a wave of sun baked dust flying in the opposite direction from under his feet. He ignored the sounds of battle coming from the area he’d been heading toward, and ran between the buildings, hopping over a short fence to get to his injured teammate. He blew through the doorless wooden entrance while looking wildly around for danger, and skidded to a halt in front of the injured Medic.

Medic… It was Medic. Oh. Scout was avoiding the Medic, had been since Snipes killed him, since Medic had rucked Scout’s red shirt up and…

Well… Scout didn’t actually have any quarrel with the doc. He was only just a tiny teensy bit scared of him… but Medic couldn’t hurt him right now. And the team needed their Medic.

Decided, Scout crouched down quickly before he could change his mind. Yeesh… the doc didn’t look so hot. Scout panted quietly as he hurriedly looked over the injuries. Oof. That bit there looked bad…

“Ah, fast as ever, Herr Scout,” Medic chuckled hoarsely. His hair and coat looked rumpled, askew. Blood dripped from bullet wounds in his shoulder and abdomen, pooling next to him where he sat. “…Thank you, Junge. Ja, how wonderful for you to arrive to save me! Now listen, you won’t be able to use the Medigun, so instead I ask you to get me a healthpack, bitte, there’s—” Medic cut off in a fit of pitiful coughing. Blood speckled his thin lips. Uh oh… That sounded real bad. Scout couldn’t help but feel terrible for him.

“Aw, hell, doc!” Scout babbled, rumpling the baseball cap under his hand as he nervously shifted on his knees, because— what was he supposed to do about this? Ugh, if Medic asked Scout to send him to respawn, he would, but… man, he hated doing stuff like that—

Wait. A healthpack?

A healthpack! Aw, yeah! Scout grinned as he remembered. He’d just ran by one, too!

“Got it, doc! Be right back, so fast ya won’t even blink! Jus’ stay here, awight? I’ll help ya!” Scout chirped, and didn’t stop to hear any more words, he simply turned and pushed off from the ground into a sprint, bolting back the way he came.

“No, Scout! Come back! There’s one here, foolish—!” Scout vaguely heard Medic shift, and then groan sharply. Despite himself, Scout skidded to a halt outside the shack yet again, confused, turning on the spot and squinting to look back at what Medic was doing. He saw the guy toppled over, bracing himself up with his good arm, and scowling at Scout, looking alarmed.

Scout had stopped right up against the low wall he’d jumped over earlier, and in his confusion, and unsure what to do now, he floundered for a moment, bouncing on his toes, looking back and forth, and fiddling with the strap of his bag.

It was just enough time for the enemy Sniper to send an arrow sinking into Scout’s shoulder in a blaze of agony.

Scout must’ve screamed or something, but next thing he knew he was flat against the wall, head throbbing where he hit it, making a wretched moaning noise and clutching at the projectile with a trembling hand. Shit. This shit never really got any easier, did it? Still hurt like hell, even knowing it would be over soon enough. Beyond his own noises of pain, he could hear someone yelling at him. Scout lifted his head from where he curled in from the new wound, and gritted his teeth as he opened his eyes. The world looked a little blurry, and sweat was stinging his eye, and the image didn't help his sudden nausea. But he dutifully raised his head all the same, ‘cause he felt like this might be important. Ah, yeah…Now he remembered. The pain ebbed a little, and Scout met Medic’s eyes from across the way. Whoops… he didn’t look pleased…

Scout’s next move was to get out of the line of fire before the enemy Sniper’s next shot landed between his eyes, even if he had to crawl. But as he moved, he found himself briefly stuck, just a bit of resistance from the very tip of the arrow sinking into the weathered wood of the wall behind him. Scout let out a cry of pain from between his teeth as the bolt embedded in him dragged against his flesh, before it came free from the wall. His shirt was soaked with blood around the entry wound, but it wasn’t bleeding terribly, the arrow’s shaft keeping it stoppered. BLU’s Sniper likely meant for him to be pinned against the wall right now, out of commission, as respawn was more of a minor inconvenience for the Scout, given how fast he could be back in battle.

The other Sniper let every arrow loose with the exact amount of force needed to make it as much of an obstacle as possible, ‘cause arrows in particular were absolute hell to remove. You had to break off one end or the other and shove or pull it through. Specifically, the BLU Sniper’s arrows always ended up exactly how far through he wanted in order to use them as an immobilizer.

That’s how it should have been, this time too. But Scout had more to him than a regular human, more than the other Sniper would surely have estimated based on his body type. Scout’s wings, in fact, just stopped the arrow from reaching and keeping enough force to pin him to the wall. Lucky…? At least the asshole wasn’t shooting at him again, Scout thought. He heartily hoped a teammate was beating his ugly BLU ass right about now.

Across Scout’s crumpled form, a large shadow fell.

“Ach… fool,” Medic’s voice? It could be heard above the sounds of battle, harshly murmuring at him from above... Huh. Scout peered up in surprise at the white-coated man, who was standing over him with a worried and stern frown.

“Medic? You’re fine…?” Scout squawked in pain as Medic lifted him from the ground, agonizingly jarring his pierced shoulder and wing with a hurried apology, as he trundled Scout back into the shed he’d just been in. That hurt… Scout’s eyes stung with wetness as he had no choice but to let Medic maneuver him into relative safety.

“Apologies, Junge,” Medic soothed, while he set Scout on a sturdy barrel, letting him curl against the wire lattice to the right. Scout hooked his fingers into it, the metal becoming slippery with rapid condensation from his hand. Medic was still touching his shoulder.

“How’re ya…” Scout frowned and winced, the view of the room spinning. “How’re ya all better?”

Medic gestured, and Scout followed the movement to an empty medkit lying haphazardly on the floor. Oh.

“If you had listened to me, I’d have told you there was one in this very room! And then, you wouldn’t have gotten shot, hm?” Medic snapped, looking real severe about it.

Scout chuckled, nervous and embarrassed. So Medic had just helped himself, huh? No need for Scout… No need for Scout to mess things up. Of course.

But… hang on… why had he called out then, if he could just—

“Scout, you’ll have to bear with me for a moment.” While Scout had been lost in thought, Medic had come up close next to him, and was pulling his rubber gloves off, the material squeaking annoyingly. “I’m afraid the Medigun can’t force an arrow out of the body like it can with bullets. Ah, but you know the procedure. I’ll break one end off and remove it, alright?” Scout nodded, frowning. He’d had it happen to his leg before, and it wasn’t fun.

“We must work quickly. Did the arrow go all the way through? It looks as though the arrowhead may still be inside…” Medic asked seriously, light blue eyes focused as he adjusted his glasses and examined the feathered shaft sticking out from the front of Scout’s shoulder.

Scout nodded, then shook his head. The pain was making him dizzy, his head filled with cotton. “Uh…I think it’s most a’ the way out….” He was feeling a sense of apprehension, of something approaching that shouldn’t… but he couldn’t quite pin the feeling down. His shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his skin, tacky and warm with blood, breath wheezed. Medic batted his wandering hand away when he lifted it to tug at the fabric.

“Stop that— I’m going to examine the back, and push the arrow the rest of the way out if need be, hm?” And Scout suddenly was awash with a dreadful sense of deja vu.

“Whuh— wait a minute, doc…hang on…” He shied backwards, fumbling at pushing the hands off himself. “‘Dat… ‘dat’s okay, ackshully… Why don’tcha send me ta respawn instead? I’ll be back in the thick a’ things in a flash!” Scout rambled as the Medic’s interested expression turned to a frown.

“Was? I do not kill mein patients. Ah, not the ones on my team, anyhow. I’ll put the Medigun on you so it does not hurt nearly so much, Junge- Oh.” At the end of his reassurance, there was a change in tone that sent dread washing over Scout. “…Ah…hah… Of course…silly of me…” Scout wondered if he could somehow make it to the door. But Medic was everywhere in his space. And Scout squirmed as the man suddenly leaned even further in, an alarming motion.

Scout panicked. “Waitwait- don’t touch—!”

Medic now left only a few inches between them, and Scout could smell antiseptic and cologne, and see the stubble on his face. He gripped the leather braces holding the medigun’s backpack, raised a leg to strike with, and it was shoved back down with a broad hand on his knee. Shit. But Medic did not linger in Scout’s vision. His lips were right by Scout’s uncovered ear, and Scout could feel the breath ghost over the fine brown hairs behind it. He murmured in a clear, low voice, hand on the uninjured shoulder.

“Listen to me, Scout. I know exactly what you are. I may even know more than you.”

No… No, that wasn’t… Gooseflesh prickled on Scout’s arms and legs, and his feathers wanted to puff up too. A slick, cold sensation crawled across his scalp.

“Mein Vogelchen. You have no need to fear me. I won’t sate my curiosity on your flesh and bones, nor on your feathers.” Crooning, soft and calm, he petted Scout’s shoulder. Medic’s body felt sturdy and dependable where Scout’s legs almost hugged it, where his face rested on the broad shoulder. So different from Sniper’s capable ranginess. “Vogelkin…winged boy, Your kind have no name, but I am knowledgeable about you. Come to mein office after the battle and we will talk. I won’t hurt you. You… attempted to save my life, after all. Surely we have a bond now.” What…? But Sniper had looked in those books, and he hadn’t…

“Medic… I…” Scout whispered hoarsely. His grasp on the braces loosened somewhat, his half-curled hands pressing to Medic’s chest, plied in warmth. The bloody arrow wound in his shoulder ached and sent stabbing pains through him constantly, depriving him of any reprieve. But Medic was distracting him from it, in his own way. Scout felt Medic lean down, heard the shifting of the medigun’s lever, and soothing reddish light enveloped him. It washed over the many little accumulated wounds and healed them, and the pain from the arrow wound lessened considerably. Scout sighed in relief, head drooping further against Medic’s shoulder. That was nice…

At his back, two broad hands returned, and brought with them an uncomfortable and somewhat painful pinching sensation, a feeling of something ripping through flesh. The arrowhead emerged from his torn jacket. There was a snapping noise, one that made Scout jump slightly, and then the pinching returned, this time sliding as well. And the arrow came free from Scout’s body in Medic’s hands. The wound closed under the healing glow, and the last of the thrumming pain died away for Scout.

“There we go, another successful procedure…” Medic’s voice rapidly cleared, or rather Scout’s ears and brain did. He blinked owlishly up at the doctor, who smiled at him. “Yes, you’re all better now, mein Haustier!” He hefted the Medigun once more.

Fumbling, Scout looked down at his stained shirt, touched the area where the wound had been.

“My medbay, after battle, Junge. Remember this, ja? You can bring my coat back to me as well. I will not harm you, so please come, my curious thing.” He reached forth and patted a bewildered Scout on the head. So bewildered that he forgot to be scared.

Chapter Text

The battle was won that day, BLU’s bomb stopped and then foiled by Engie before any damage could be done. The BLUs did hightail it out of there, to raucous cheers and jeers from the RED mercs. Scout in particular was happy to find that the BLU Soldier and Sniper had ended up dominated by their way awesomer counterparts, and he slapped Solly and Snipes on the back with the rest of the team.

“Scout, a moment, if you would.” Scout turned from the hubbub to find Spy, cigarette in hand as usual, and his stupidly expensive suit immaculate. How’d he keep it so clean? Did he have spares stashed on the battlefield?

“Yeah? Here to tell me how great I am?” Scout grinned. He had done a great job today, if he did say so himself! He’d got the other Demo at the last moment, and the guy hadn’t been able to get his stickies exploded! And then the other Engie’s sentry—

“…Certainly,” Spy said, rolling his eyes. “Very… impressive. But non, I have something of actual import to tell you. Mainly— get the Medic and your Sniper under control, if you would.” He raised an eyebrow and gestured, and Scout followed the motion to find the Medic and Sniper in question staring at each other.

Each was with a separate group, ostensibly speaking with them, but they had eyes only for the other. In a real bad way. Uh oh. Scout didn’t mind a good fight, even within the team. But those rough-and-tumble brawls always happened between mercs like Solly, Heavy, and Pyro… and maybe Demo if he was a certain type of drunk. It was all fun and games. Snipes and Medic, though? Apparently those two didn’t play around, so Scout could understand what Spy was getting at. He’d seen it firsthand…

“Are ya kiddin’ me?” Scout gestured to himself for emphasis. The Spy grimaced at the battleborne filth covering Scout. “Whatcha mean, Spy? I can’t make ‘em stop! Snipes killed Medic the other day, yanno! He ain’t gonna let that go, right?”

“Ah! That is where you are wrong, Scout. They are not trading blows back and forth, non. They are fighting over you.” Spy stated, with another insufferable eyebrow raise. “Like a pair of starved hyenas, but still. No one wants an intra-team feud on hand. In fact, the Engineer and I spoke yester—”

“What! That short, nosy—!” Scout’s indignant holler was cut off with a wave.

“Quiet! My point is, you must nip this in the bud, oui? I suppose temperance is a lot to ask of you…but do try. Have they each offered their hand in holy matrimony? Perhaps if you accept one, the other will make his peace with the outcome,” Spy drawled.

Hang on, wasn’t that… “Wh- Mat- matrimo…?!” Scout squawked, leaping backward, before he registered that Spy was making fun of him. “Shaddup! I don’t know why they’re fightin’, but it’s not about me. Believe me… I’d rather they not, yanno? It’s kinda…” It kind of made him feel sick. He wasn’t some sort of prize to be won… Though he was ignoring it. Yup! They totally weren’t doing that…!

Spy sighed through his nose. “Well. I advise you to waylay any future murder attempts to the best of your limited abilities. None of us want to touch the mess.” And he left it at that. And Scout was left wondering just what the hell he was supposed to do about it.

*****

“It’s just ‘dat… I dunno, I feel like it’s a bad idea to go see Medic, but at the same time, I’m not gettin’ the usual heebie-jeebies I get from weirdos, yanno?”

“Mmmpphh…”

“Uhhh…stranger danger! Yeah, ‘dat’s what Ma called it. Well, she said I got no sense of it. It’s like, no gettin’ into vans even if ‘dey offer ya some really tasty lookin’ candy, or a new flavor a’ bonk!, or one of those Hale comics— ooh, do ya read those, Pyro?”

“Umphmmphh…”

Pyro pointed, and Scout focused on the butterfly…thing that he was supposed to be coloring in.

“Oops, yeah.” For a few seconds, Scout went silent in order to focus on making the wings a nice shade of purple. “I mean, I guess I got into Snipes’ van… but he didn’t offer me candy or nothin’, and he’s not a weirdo, right? Haha!” No, he was definitely a weirdo. Just not the kidnap-y murder-y kind. Well…not to Scout.

“Mmhh….” Pyro looked up from his drawing for a moment. It was a…pony? Maybe. He leaned over, and Scout moved his drawing hand out of the way, as Pyro grabbed one of the many crayons and began scribbling something on Scout’s paper.

“Hey! I was gonna make a background…” Scout couldn’t see what Pyro was drawing; the bulky glove blocked it, but the crayon squeaked across the paper from the vigor of Pyro’s creativity.

With a flourish, Pyro finished his doodle, and began clapping his hands together and squealing as they both looked upon it. It was… Medic, Sniper, and Scout……holding hands.

“P-Pyro! What tha hell?!” Scout spluttered, looking back and forth in mortification as Pyro giggled. He did not do that with them! He just got carried around sometimes! It was normal! It was—

“Och…how adorable...” A voice said from behind them.

Scout whirled around on his floor cushion, assuming the worst, which was that the Medic was here to seize him by the ear and drag him to the infirmary. Shit!

But it was only Demoman, peering over them. He smelled of alcohol, as he always did, but he wasn’t too drunk, Scout thought. He still wrinkled his nose at the scent, which was not his favorite.

“How wee… Look at ye, holdin’ hands! Moves a man ta tears, it does…!”

Scout blushed a furious red and scowled at the chortling laughter Demo let out, and aggressively waved him off while covering the picture with his body, like a chicken hiding eggs. “Yeah, yeah! Yak it up, man!”

Demo flopped heavily onto the sofa, still grinning. “Listen, lad. Medic asked me ta tell you to visit his office. ‘E says you made an appointment or something. Dunno why he can’t tell you himself… Ah, Pyro, yer show’s on, ye know.” As Pyro clapped and began moving for the television set with alarming speed, Scout despaired. What should he do? Go, and get answers maybe? Hide in his room…?

“Stressin’ ye, huh?” Demo looked back down at him, the mirth gone, but a small smile still on his handsome face. “Might be better t’ just get it over with, eh?”

For a man with one eye, Demo was perceptive. When he was sober-er like this, anyhow. Scout had thought about Medic’s bid a lot in the few hours since the battle, as the proposed time had come and gone, and he had begun hoping and fearing that Medic had forgotten about it. He thought about bringing Sniper with, and then dismissed that bright idea. Maybe Demo was right. Medic already knew about the wings (Scout’s body shivered at this), and if he wanted, he could just drug Scout’s food or stick him with a syringe to get him in medbay. It was his typical MO, too. Since he had asked…perhaps things were different? And yesterday, hadn’t he been bringing Scout past the exam table to what was presumably his own private quarters?

“You’re right, Demo. Uh, thanks,” Scout replied. He realized he’d been sitting in silence and fiddling with his dog tags for a minute or two. Pyro had abandoned the coloring he’d dragged Scout into, and was watching the television up close, to Demo’s mild annoyance.

“Pyro, move yer big bloody head! Solly’ll be here in a bit, and he’s goin’ ta take the whole set if ye— Oh! Sure, lad. Good luck!”

*****

Time to do this. Yep. Time to head on into the infirmary, where Medic was waiting. Yeppp… Scout readjusted the cap on his head, fixed his dog tags, made sure his belt was on straight, tapped the toes of his shoes on the floor… Oh, what-freakin-ever! This was pathetic! Scout put his hand on the door and pushed, and it opened with a gust of air.

“Herr Scout! Wunderbar!” Wait a minute— Medic was standing right there. Scout froze. The tall, white-clad man was waiting for Scout mere feet from the door, a clipboard, book, and pen in one hand. Scout looked him up and down, from his shiny black boots to his grinning face with glinting spectacles. Okay. Ohhhh-kay, he looked way too goddamn excited. Scout’s heartbeat quickened. A few doves cooed in the background.

“Uh, Medic! Hey ‘dere, I— oh!” And before Scout could finish, Medic had him by the shoulder, steering him inside. Oh shoot.

With a mantra of ‘stay calm, stay calm, fucking stay calm’ in his head, Scout very tensely “allowed” this. He moved with short, stilted steps on the mildly bloodstained tile further into Medic’s domain. A clock tick-ticked somewhere.

“I must admit,” Medic said as he steered Scout through the room, keeping a decent distance from the exam table, “that I have been finding it hard to contain my excitement ever since your attempt at mischief in my medbay, when I figured out what you are, and why you’ve been so recalcitrant over my mandatory examinations!” Scout looked around in alarm, hardly listening to whatever the doc was saying.

“Where- where are we going, doc? What—”

“My quarters! I’ve set it up, no need to worry!” Medic cheerfully told him. Scout was left wondering what the hell was ‘set up’ in there. But Medic had steered them right up to the door, so he figured he’d be finding out real soon.

Scout’s eyes did not need as much time to adjust to the dimmer lighting as a human’s did. And when Medic flicked the lights on, it was even easier to see what the good doctor’s personal room looked like. Somewhat bare, ‘cause possessions were difficult to move from base to base. But his bed was there, and a dresser, a writing desk, and bookcase. Stuff that would remain behind and emptied when they moved on. A few books, pens in a cup on the desk, the chest of clothes by the foot of the bed, and a paperweight were the things of Medic’s currently visible. But it was weird. On the bed, there was a strange shape that Scout couldn’t make heads or tails of.

“You can sit there, Herr Scout. The blankets are clean of course! The stories say your kind like to build themselves nests, so I tried my hand at one. You may arrange it however you wish, if you’d like. Those same stories say that it’s a comfort to you…” He released Scout’s shoulder, and intrigued, Scout approached the bed and so-called ‘nest’.

It was a circle of blankets with an opening, the wall of them rising up to Scout’s waist when he sat on the mattress. He fit perfectly in the middle. Huh…

“Oh yes, there’s an extra for your body.” Before Medic finished, Scout had seized it. This was nice… but it wasn’t chilly enough for him to want it, so he set it aside.

“Oh, I see. My offering was not accepted…” Medic murmured, a finger resting on his chin, ice-blue eyes gleaming. “But the nest itself… Do you like it, Vogelchen? Wouldn’t you like your wings free, so you can relax?”

Well, it seemed safe in here, Scout thought. It wasn’t too cramped, not too roomy either, and these blankets were nice… There was a human, but that was okay, wasn’t it? He could go out and bring food back for Scout. And yeah, his wings did hurt…they always hurt. And he did want them free. He shuffled about, turning his back on Medic, and tugged the annoying jacket off.

“Do you wish me to help?” And when Scout nodded, Medic put his surgeon’s hands to quick work, pulling Scout’s shirt over his head and stripping the tight bandages off, freeing Scout’s wings in a flurry of russet, blue, and tawny molted feathers. Scout flapped them. They were going to get all prickly and itchy soon, maybe even tomorrow, but for now it was just the old feathers coming loose in an avalanche. Scout brought his left wing around himself, raising it to his mouth, where he began delicately tugging the stubborn loose feathers free with his teeth. He dropped them to the bed, and pushed the stiff, broken ones onto the floor, but kept the downy fluff to line his new nest with.

“Ohh, I am blessed. How magnificent…” Medic whispered. He stood transfixed at the edge of the bed, not daring to come closer, for fear of spooking Scout during this precious time.

Medic waited patiently. It took Scout fifteen minutes to preen both wings with his mouth and fingers, as buried instinct surfaced and he got the hang of it. Finally, Scout wove the feathers into place along the walls of the nest, completing the natural insulation effect.

Scout was happy. His nest was very nice, wasn’t it? It was warm now, smelled like himself, and was clean and dry. Good! Now the okay-human just needed to—

Wait. The…

“Medic!” Scout practically wailed, horrified, bandaged hands shooting up and crossing over his bare chest to cradle his own shoulders, wings pinning tightly back. In horror, he looked up at Medic standing by the bed. What the hell? What had he been doing this entire time? Preening his goddamn wings?! In front of the Medic?! The fucking Medic?!

“Thank you, Scout! That is one of the things I’ve wished to see. Do you feel better now?” asked Medic kindly. He now moved in and closed the distance between him and Scout, to Scout’s uncertainty. Scout’s wings felt much better, in fact. But…

“Ya tricked me! Ya made me go all birdbrained!” Scout spluttered, aghast. He wanted to kick Medic, hard. How could he be so stupid? He could barely even recall through the pleasant glow what he’d been doing for the last fifteen minutes. Just sitting there, preening? Without a care in the world…a sitting duck.

Medic waved his hand carelessly, even had the nerve to smile with all his white teeth. “Only a little bit! I only tricked you, say, halfway! The rest you wanted to do. Don’t you feel better now?” Medic asked again, coaxingly. “Your nest is very nice, how pretty! What a good job you’ve done!” Scout fluffed up in happiness, puffing his thin chest out, and smiling smugly at the deserved praise.

“Yeah, it is, huh? I feel good! I put the feathers in the sides, and now it’s really warm. And my feathers are good-lookin’, aren’t they? They got nice colors. They… Wha— Wait! Hang on! You’re doing it again!” He slicked his pretty feathers flat and viciously jabbed a finger in Medic’s direction, glaring hard at the insufferable smile on his face. Medic put his hands up in a false gesture of surrender.

“Calm down now…I haven’t made you do anything you don’t want, have I?” Well… uh. Maybe that was true. Scout thought about it with a squint.

“I… I dunno… What’s the deal anyway? This nest… Actually, start at the beginning. Tell me stuff.” Scout concluded. “You asked me ta come here because you know about me, right? More than I do, ya said.”

“Ah, this I can do.” Medic nodded, then walked over to the desk and moved the chair back close to the bed. He sat, but kept a small distance from Scout and his nest. In the meantime, Scout grabbed the blanket he set away earlier and wrapped it around his shoulders and wings. Maybe…he was just a little uneasy still, around the doc… Medic looked visibly disappointed. Whatever… Damn weirdo.

A calculating gaze lingered over Scout’s form. Calculating, but somehow fond at the same time. Gentle, even.

Medic nudged his glasses up his aquiline nose, looking just like some professor. “Now, to begin… Let’s see. Your species, Scout, and you are indeed belonging to a race outside of humanity, does not have a name. At least not one that humans know. You see, your people are vanishingly rare, and only grow rarer with every generation. Every reference to your kind only exists in fairy stories, song, and vague mentions in text. There’s simply not much out there, I’m afraid,” he told Scout kindly. Scout nodded slowly.

“You’re saying I ain’t a mutant?” This was news to Scout, who had spent his whole life believing that him, Ma, and Gramps had been the only ones like…this.

“Not as an individual, though I suppose it’s possible your species was originally this, similar to blue eyes becoming a part of average genetics. Not that you’re anything so commonplace. So no, not a mutant. Anyhow, there are a few names I’ve come across that refer to winged people. One is just that— some variation of ‘winged people, humans, men,’ et cetera. And translate that into other languages, and you have what people refer to you as in legends and tales and the like. Vogelkin, I heard in my own childhood.” Medic paused, and Scout remained quiet as he continued to listen.

“As I said, there’s not many of your kind. It is a great shame. You were never fecund, and as such are dying out. Helped along by humanity, of course. I certainly never expected to meet what I always thought would be a figure present only in fairy stories.” Scout absorbed this information in a way he never had before when listening to a lecture.

“Let’s see, as for what the stories say… You apparently build nests, live in family units, and are omnivorous. You have hollow bones, and some say that magic plays a role in your anatomy, which I am inclined to believe as I look at your muscles. And you’re very fast, even on the ground.”

Even? Did that mean…?

“Doc,” Scout whispered, breathless. His eyes shone and he leaned forward in the nest. “Doc, you gotta tell me— can I fly?”

Medic brightened at this, genuinely looking giddy. “Oh yes! That would be the most common point in any story about your kind, Scout. Yes, you ought to be able to fly through the air, and at speed, too! Oh, what else…”

Scout suddenly laughed out loud with happiness, and grinned so wide his face hurt. He could! He could fly! Medic stopped, and couldn’t help but smile along with him. For Scout, this was a relief. And a big hope. Something he could achieve!

“Medic! This is freakin’ awesome! Oh my god, I can learn ta fly!” Scout crowed. He flapped for joy, sending feathers whirling through the air, and Medic even caught a few in his hand, and tucked them away in his coat. “Ha…” Scout chuckled as he settled back down. Snipes was gonna be thrilled too. If Scout had to be stuck with these wings, the least reward would be to use them.

Medic spoke. “You know, your little heart beats much faster than a human’s does. I bet it is doing so right now. Just like a bird, so fluttering and quick.”

“O-oh…” Scout had felt Sniper’s heartbeat earlier that week, but it hadn’t registered to him until now how much slower it was than his. Ma’s heart beat at the same rate as Scout’s, and he’d never felt another. Was he that different from a human? At that deep of a level?

“And you are capable of making vocalizations that humans cannot. Chirps, warbles, clicks, sounds like these, which birds also make. Let’s see…”

At this pause, Scout braced himself, clutching the fabric of his knickerbockers tightly. His feathers puffed on instinct. Medic leaned forward, and then unexpectedly snaked his hand around under the blanket, very thoroughly pressed in between Scout's wings at their base, and Scout let out a startled warbling noise, exactly as Medic had intended him to. The noise itself started Scout; he leaned forward from the touch.

“Watch it!” Scout yelped. “What the hell? You… Oh. I did make a weird noise, huh?”

“Ja, but it sounds nice. Cute! Perhaps when your feathers are able to grow in whole and healthy, and you have a nest to call your own, and a flock, you can become better in touch with those ancient instincts of yours. You’ll look magnificent, as well. Oh, ja. I imagine collectors would pay a very grand sum for you.” The delighted expression on the Medic’s face soured as he said this last part.

“C-collectors?” Scout spluttered, confused and put off, even though he didn’t quite understand what Medic meant. He nervously shifted his small feet together, tucking his legs further into the nest, while Medic leaned back in his chair and contemplated.

“Oh yes, collectors of valuable treasures, exotic animals— anything appealing and rarefied. Such men exist in the world, and the rich ones especially often plunder it with impunity…” Medic said it like Scout should know already. Scout shuddered. That…

He had never considered such a person before. He always imagined the type of people who might hurt him were like…government agents or mad scientists… people Scout definitely did not cross paths with. Well. Excluding Medic… A fantastical kind of thing to fear. Maybe he’d been scared of hunters once he met Snipes, but that also seemed far out of the ordinary. He hadn't expected that danger could come from someone who simply found his form appealing and rare.

“There… there are really people like that, doc?” Scout wanted Medic to say otherwise— proclaim he was just telling a bogeyman story to make Scout cautious.

“Ja. To be quite honest with you, I had assumed that our Sniper was one of them.” He raised a hand to Scout’s immediate protest against the notion. “I had assumed. I no longer do, though I still don’t really like him. He avoids my checkups so!”

“Uh, I do that too, doc.”

“Oh no, no. It’s not the same.” Medic stated, matter of fact. He waved it off, even though Scout was pretty sure that it was. “You’re such a bright and healthy young specim— patient, that I don’t mind the chase! Oh-ho, it reminds me of the past…” Medic smiled as presumably he recalled the joys of capturing unfortunate patients.

Scout shook his head. “You an’ Snipes are the exact same. Ya both don’t wanna lemme alone… ya both get all excited about my w…wings…” It was still a bit hard to mention them out loud. “And you both act like the other one’s crazy.”

At this Medic looked royally offended. Scout was ready to take back his words in an uncharacteristic move, as he really didn’t want Medic getting angry with him. But then the doctor’s grimace smoothed into a mild frown as he appeared to think about Scout’s words.

“I’ve always thought of you as someone who likes attention. Craves it, even, and wishes to be the center of it, ja? But I suppose that is somewhat at odds with your desire to keep your differing species a secret. Is it nerve-wracking, how Herr Sniper and I have been acting?”

“Jeez… I mean, yeah, doc. I got you chasin’ me, and Snipes actin’ like a guard dog, going and killing ya…and you tryin’ to get me to come in here all the time… It’s freakin’ hard, man,” Scout sighed, the words coming out unthinkingly. “And my freakin’ wings hurt all the time, and I don’t wanna break ‘em from keepin’ ‘em cramped all day, and I always want ta fly an’ stuff, ‘cause the idea’s really eating at me. I’m just stuck, and crap.” There was a pause after Scout finished speaking. He glanced away and took the end of his wing, playing with the tips of the clipped feathers, twining them around his fingertips to self-soothe. Medic reached out too, then paused.

“Ah… Herr Scout, might I touch and stroke your wings?” Well that wasn’t what Scout was expecting in response to him spilling his guts like that. He sullenly nodded anyway, because at least it would feel nice, and braced for the hand as it met his feathers, and…

Oh. Oh. Whoa, wait a minute… that felt… That felt so good. Scout gasped, his brows furrowing before he relaxed in bliss.

Warm, perfect pressure. Medic’s big hand slid over the feathers, perfectly cupped, not the slightest awry movement. Pleasant feelings practically thrummed through Scout's wing muscles, and his wings twitched in pleasure. And they did so again and again, tiny little involuntary movements as Scout tilted his head back and closed his eyes. The blanket had slid free. How… It felt incredible. So good that Scout had trouble finishing the thoughts that flowed away under the soft rush.

Medic hummed lowly. “These marvelous limbs of yours don’t have to hurt, Vogelchen. Truly, they do not. Why don’t you let me help you?”

“Uh….” Scout mumbled through the pleasure. “Help me? How’s that…?”

“As your Medic of course! And perhaps as a bird fancier? Oh-hoh! I know quite a bit about avian wings, much more than… I mean, I would be the best person to help you, Scout. Both to help you fly and to keep you healthy. Don’t worry, I won’t even cut you open! I’ll do all my observing from the outside.”

“Uh, yeah, you’d better.” Scout pressed his wings into Medic’s touch just the way he wanted, and Medic adapted to it perfectly. “An’ I can have the nest?”

“Why of course! You can have anyth— …Er, once it is off of my bed, correct?”

Scout frowned at the idea of having to move his nest. It was perfect right here! Medic could just sleep on the floor or something.

“Yeah, I guess…” he reluctantly agreed. But the reluctance was mostly for the nest. As for Medic’s help… that seemed way better than one measly birdnapped dove! “Okay, doc. It’s a deal?”

“Jawohl!” Medic breathed, and he smiled brightly where he leaned over Scout, and he did not falter in his gentle petting.

*****

Scout wasn’t coming over, huh? Sniper poked at the fire, upending a smoldering branch and letting embers fly up into the afternoon air. A bit early for a fire, but he had some stew that needed cooking for a few hours. Despite living alone, his teammates still included him on their list of cooking jobs.

He’d killed that other Sniper for shooting Scout and laughing about it, and the other Spy that had got in a backstab when Scout wasn’t looking, and also that other Soldier for stomping on the scrawny thing as he hopped about. In fact, Sniper had dominated during that battle. It made him feel good, but while Scout had grinned with buckteeth and pink cheeks, and had clapped him on the back, he hadn’t come around to visit yet.

And maybe Sniper would’ve turned him away anyway. They had already hung out for a while, and social stuff wasn't Sniper’s strong suit, to say the least. He’d rather just hunt a really big lizard and drop it at Scout’s feet instead of figure out how to talk to him.

Him and Scout weren't close enough yet. He wanted to see those wings every day, and Scout’s silly smile. But Scout didn’t appreciate stuff like him killing Medic, or dropping animal carcasses at his feet, or a bit of the crocodile jerky that Sniper had been aging for a few years. He’d tried feeding it to Scout while sneakily petting the wings for good measure… but suffice to say, the piece was wasted. Damn. Sniper frowned wistfully. That had been good jerky, too…

It was fine. Scout would come to him when he wanted, and Sniper did not rush. So long as Medic stayed the hell away, damn prodding freak. Yeh, at least Sniper didn’t have to worry about Medic and Scout becoming friends. Sniper would sooner shave his own head and start shooting rockets, he would.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Ma!”

“Jeremy! Ooh, Jer, it’s been so long! When’s the last time you called your poor Ma? Oh baby, how are you doing?”

Scout laughed into the worn plastic receiver, ducking his head. “C’mon Ma, it’s only been a month or somethin’… I been…good, yeah.”

“Good? Well, I’m glad about that. Are you sure? You sound tired, or something. Is there somethin’ going on, Jer? You okay with those men? Those mercenaries? You okay with the extras?” Ma’s voice immediately tinged with worry. Man, Scout couldn’t keep anything from her notice. ‘The extras’ referred to Scout’s wings, naturally. It was how mother and son talked about it when potential prying ears were around.

“Aw, jeez… Ma, I’m so sorry,” Scout mumbled, cupping the receiver close to his mouth, wrapping the cord about his finger. “Ma…I let— I let a couple of the guys figure it out. I’m sorry.”

Ma went silent on the other end. Scout could just see the expression of shock on her face.

Scout rushed to reassure her. “Oh! But, but they’re awright! They’re my friends, yanno. You don’t gotta worry about me, and they don’t know nothin’ about you! I swear. I even let them touch uh, the extras, and they didn’t even pull on ‘em, or pluck any, or try ta manhandle me around. Hell, I even spent the night with Snipes, and it was totally fine! So…” Scout took in a breath, and Ma cut in, used to taking advantage of any pause.

She stuttered. “But— but, they’re rough types, aren’t they? You told me all about them! What about that one you’re scared of? That horrible doctor? He doesn’t know, does he? Oh, Jer…”

“Ma! I ain’t scared…jeez, uhh, where’d you get that from?” Scout chuckled nervously. He’d told Ma about the way Medic chased him around, trying to get him on the exam table many times. He never told her he was scared, though. Never! Ma was definitely mistaken. “Oh man… He does, though. He’s one a’ the ones.”

Ma exclaimed loudly on the other end.

“No, it’s okay! It’s awright, he’s not gonna tell a soul, I swear. He’s actually kinda a decent guy. Ha ha…it turns out I was scared a’ nothin’. Not ‘dat I was scared in the first place. Hey, he knows about, ya know, the extras. It ain’t uh, what we always thought.” It was sort of tricky to talk about this topic when strangers occasionally milled about around Scout. The pier was the only place with a proper telephone, and while it was technically private, it wasn’t Scout’s phone. It belonged to the workers who came and went from the little building.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s others.” Scout talked as softly as he could to be heard still. “It’s like, a real species. Real rare, an’ stuff. Promise I’ll write ta you about it. Phone call’s not the best. But… Ma, I’ll be able to, you know. You know? He’s gonna help me.” Scout stressed the words hard, and hoped Ma would get what he meant. Flying.

“Oh, you don’t mean…! For real, baby? Oh! Oh my! That’s great!” She laughed, and Scout couldn't help but join her. They were so far away from each other, but they easily shared this hopeful excitement. But Scout felt a surge of sorrow for Ma and her chopped away wings. “Oh! Tell me all about it when you succeed, okay? Make sure you eat properly, or you won’t be able to do it. I wish you could tell me your address, I’d send your favorite meals…”

“When I’m back at one a’ the other bases, yeah? One wit’ a town and stuff, then ya can.” Scout’s stomach sure wanted that. Ma couldn’t really send most cooked meals over, but she could make a mix of dried ingredients— beans, carrot, onion, meat, and bullion cube and spices for Scout to add water to. She even made enough for him to cook for the whole team. It was tasty, and everyone liked it. And it sure went a lot better than him cooking from scratch.

“Of course, of course. Did you say a couple of those mercenaries figured it out? They okay? They’re not giving you trouble?”

“I said they're my friends! Really, it’s all good. The other guy, Sniper—”

“That Austrian man? The one who lives in the van?”

“Australian, Ma. We get on pretty good! He’s gonna help too, uh, soon as I get him and Medic to be friends… or not trying to kill— I mean, fight wit’ each other.”

“Well, you’ll have no trouble at all, I’m sure. Everyone loves you, don’t they? All you gotta do is smile at them, Jer, and everything’ll be peachy!” Then she sighed happily. “Oh, my boy’s going to be able to…well!”

Scout huffed at his Ma’s kinda sappy faith in him. No, it was not that easy. But he was glad she was glad about the flying. If Ma had said it was too dangerous, he wouldn’t have been nearly so happy while attempting it.

“Listen, I got somethin’ else…” Scout sighed. He’d thought a lot about what Medic had discussed with him before he’d left that day. “You can tell me if I’m bein’ stupid, awright?”

Ma assented, worry back in her voice.

“I want to tell the others. My team. I just… I’m just…feeling sick a’ hiding. All the time, at least. You know how much they hurt every day. Medic’s a good doc, an’ he said I could really damage the bones and muscles an’ stuff when I trap them,” Scout whispered. “I really think the rest of the guys are okay. But I thought… even if they think I’m some sort a’ animal, they won’t tell nobody else. They wouldn’t sell me out.”

Ma was quiet on the other end, but Scout could hear her quiet breathing. He fiddled with the phone cord some more. Tapped his foot.

“Be careful, Jeremy. Okay? Look, if these men are your friends…” She paused to take a breath. “If they can be trusted, then okay. You’re a big boy now, so I know you can make good decisions.” Scout smiled a rare, soft smile at her words.

“Aw, thanks Ma.”

***

Medic held a pretty silvery-russet feather up to the light. Its end clipped, but still beautiful. Archimedes, perched on his shoulder, blinked beady eyes and looked as well. Scout was molting! Oh, he was going to grow such healthy new feathers under Medic’s watchful eye. Unlike the Sniper’s supervision, which would probably involve him using the exquisite dropped feathers for…arrow fletching. Medic would of course be putting this feather in the collection he’d started, begun with the feathers from under the couch, the ones that had clued him into just what the Scout was.

But speaking of the Sniper, Scout had gone happily to talk with the man about the infirmary visit, apparently unaware of his extremely jealous tendencies. Oh well. Scout would just have to figure it out. Medic couldn’t baby him too much…though if the bushman went off the deep end and started watching him sleep or something, then Medic might intervene once more.

Before Scout went, Medic had grabbed his hand. It fitted rather well in his own. Scout’s hand was small like a spy’s, with bony fingers and strong tendons. A good, healthy grasp, though lax at the moment. It was important that Scout be appreciated not just for his wings; Medic did not want to give the boy a complex. So he held his hand as Scout stammered in confusion. He blustered out something about Medic being a ‘weirdo’, which Medic naturally ignored.

Scout’s palms were soft due to the athletic tape he used daily. Only his fingers were lightly calloused, and still those were soft as well. The tender skin of youth, and the fact that he’d never had to toil, would most likely suffuse face and hand for the rest of his life. Scout was a city boy, wasn't he? And Medic’s boyhood has been spent on a farm. He had to wonder how different it would be if their environments had been swapped. Perhaps Scout would have learned to fly out in the fields of wheat when he was a child.

Better late than never. If Medic had his way, he’d be seeing that flight soon enough. And if he really had his way, the rest of the RED team would as well. This was the healthy way to go. Scout was friends with the Pyro and Sniper at the very least, and he was amicable with the Demo, Engineer, and Heavy. The Spy was secretly fond of the boy, and while the Soldier was very much off his rocker, he was fiercely loyal. Medic had decided that Scout would be fine with any of them, during those times Medic was away on a mission for their employer, or when Scout himself was, alongside another merc for backup. Though ideally that merc would be Medic from now on— he was planning on having a talk with Frau Pauling about the matter.

Medic sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose, looked at the clock. Archimedes cooed and shuffled his wings. Nine in the evening… The day had been busy, hadn’t it? Busy and eventful. He’d gotten answers to a burning curiosity, and employed only a calculated run-in with the enemy’s bullets and a bit of pathetically asking for assistance to get things moving! In the end, patching his patchy relationship with the team’s youngest and flightiest member.

He expected Scout to be fully in pin tomorrow and return for help with the little pinfeathers, which he charmingly referred to as ‘needle-y kinda creepy-lookin’ things that itch, you know what I mean, doc? And they make dust fly everywhere?’ Making a face and a jabbing motion with his fingers for emphasis. Medic would like to help him while outside, really. Sunlight was good for feather health, and also he did not particularly want his medbay coated in the ‘chaff’ from the new feathers.

He only needed to convince Scout that it was alright. Poor boy had spent his whole life in deep fear of discovery. A prey animal’s mentality. Very unhealthy for his development. But Medic was very, very adept at convincing reluctant parties to do what he wanted, even without force. Anyway, Scout absolutely wanted to be admired and praised and looked at. He was bursting at the seams with neediness. It was only the fear to be overcome, with the magnanimous help of Medic.

*****

You’re gonna look good. Scout thought. He looked into the mirror, the shared bathroom door locked. Patches of new feathers showed already. Right now the effect was hideous, particularly with all his flight feathers missing, but soon it wouldn’t be.

Real friggin’ good. Even Miss Pauling would be amazed. Medic will, and Snipes will. Scout extended the wings to their full span, which took three mirrors. Everyone would, if he let them see. Oh yeah, they’d admire. He flexed his arm muscles, and tried to admire those as well, even though he knew what he really looked like. Too scrawny. Narrow everything. Weak. But then again… maybe that was what he needed to be able to fly?

Gonna look great flyin’, too. So good that anyone would want to just look all day an’ night. Yeah, like Medic said, anyone would lock you up and—

Whoa. Scout chuckled aloud. Okay, no need to go there! He smoothed his feathers down in a self-soothing motion, making a nervous warble in the back of his throat. No one could ever manage that! Scout was a force a’ nature, after all! He wasn’t weak. And he had the guys backing him up. Maybe more than just Meds and Snipes? And no one would want to abandon him when his wings were full and good to look at. Scout shuffled happily, mind back on how their faces would look when they saw him with new, healthy feathers.

*****

After Scout left the base that late evening, he sought Sniper, who was sitting by the low campfire and whittling a block of wood with bark still on it. Scout waved, and Sniper put a hand up in greeting. And Scout spilled the beans about what had happened that day after the battle.

“That old coot…” Sniper muttered after Scout had finished. The block had been pared down quite a bit now. Scout watched his strong hands flex as he rather aggressively flicked the carving knife and a sliver of wood landed in the embers.

“Old? Well yeah, but you gotta be around the same age as him, don’tcha, Snipes?” Eyes half closed with sleepiness, Scout observed the light glinting off the knife with his head resting on his hand.

Sniper ceased whittling and gave Scout a long, incredulous look. The fire crackled cheerfully in the silence. “Mate…I’m twenty-nine.”

Scout sat up and began counting on his fingers. “Uh…damn, so if Medic’s like, fifty, then… wait— TWENNY-NINE?!” he yelped, staring at Snipes like he grew a second head. Well no, he didn’t look fifty…but twenty-nine? “Dude…you look way older! Whoa, wait— I mean, not in a bad way. You just got a whole lotta lines on your face. But ‘dat’s good! I bet the ladies love that, yeah? Now you just gotta go grey an’ stuff like Medic’s got above his ears.” Scout nodded quickly. Hey, now it made sense why Sniper acted like…well, like a guy in his twenties. Scout had a lot of brothers to compare to.

Sniper scoffed and shook his head. Another chip of wood joined the little pile by his feet. Anxious, Scout looked back at him.

“Are you mad at me? Snipes? Are ya?”

“Eh? No, I’m not mad.” Grey eyes flicked nonplussed back to Scout. “Wot would I be mad about?”

“Well…uh, ‘cause I…I dunno. ‘Cause of Medic?”

“No,” Sniper replied, but Scout swore he sounded sullen. “‘Bout that… I thought it was you who had a problem with him. So I killed ‘im for ya— and got you outta there. And before when he did that drugging business, I took you into me van.” Sniper shrugged, as if that explained the mysterious way his mind worked. Scout scratched his head.

“So…”

“So I don’t really have a problem with him, do I? Yep. Don’t mind if you get along.” Another wood sliver into the fire.

“Whew! Well, ‘dat’s a real relief! Heh, Medic had me thinkin’ you were gonna get all up in arms about it.” Scout shook his head. “That guy worries too much…”

“More stew,” Sniper grunted. Oh yeah, Scout’s second serving of the night was still half full. He leaned and grabbed it off the ground beside him, checking to make sure nothing had crawled in with the carrots and mystery meat. Snipes was a surprisingly good cook.

It pleased Sniper to see Scout scarfing down an extra serving of the gamey stew. Stuff left portioned into a bowl before carrying the big pot of it up to the base for this very reason: hope that Scout would come by again. Sniper liked the company. Somehow. Why hadn’t he and Scout done this sorta thing before? The Scout was a good balance to Sniper’s quiet solitude, filling the air with chatter and movement while Sniper remained quietly chipping away at whatever he wanted to do. Like whittling an extra spoon for Scout. Right now he used Sniper’s own. And kept absently gnawing at it. Hm. This rate, Sniper might have to make himself another as well…

The stew was also good for keeping Scout’s mouth occupied, since Sniper had no real desire to talk about Medic. The doctor irked him. Hadn’t been entirely truthful about not having a problem with the man. He was trying to steal Scout away, after all. Scout, the one person Sniper ever really spoke to. Couldn’t Medic go bother the Spy or Soldier instead? Anyone else but Sniper’s only…

“My wings,” Scout suddenly grumbled. He nearly spilled the stew out of the tin bowl when he moved in a weird twisting movement. Like an animal trying to scratch its back against a tree, except there was nothing behind Scout. “They friggin’ itch, ugh—”

Sniper hastily and eagerly set the carving aside, licking his dry lips. He himself itched— to put his hands on the wings again. “Wanna go in? Y’can take the bandages off. I’ll comb through the feathers…”

“Oof…yeah, sure,” Scout grunted, scowling and trying to reach over his shoulders behind himself. “Gawd-dammit…! Ya know I’m gonna get feathers all over your van, yeah?” Sniper nodded. That was a good thing. “They’re all coming out like crazy! I never molted ‘em this fast before. Guess even my wings know I need ta get flyin’ asap!” He rambled as he stood and followed Sniper into the camper, stumbling into him with relief when he reached forth and rubbed the wings through all the layers of fabric as a slight holdover.

*****

Scout woke abruptly the next morning. His sleep had been restless, and before waking his dreams had turned to a confusing mess of being in the desert and getting pricked by cactuses while a giant porcupine chased him around and Sniper tried to shoot it for dinner…

Annoyed and still sleepy, Scout rubbed his eyes and stretched while sitting, wings extending to their full span and arms over his head. It felt nice, and he sighed explosively.

Unfortunately, a sudden obnoxious pinching sensation made him whip one wing back around, knocking the lamp off the bedside stand, the other spasming as it fucking itched like hell! Scout’s face scrunched in discomfort as he jammed his hand into the prickly spot. Those damn…what had Medic called them? Pinfeathers?

“Gah, shit…” Scout shook like a dog might, down to the tips of his wings, and as he did so a small amount of…whatever it was that coated the new feathers released into the air. Gross. At least he wasn’t allergic to his own wing dander or whatever. But it wasn’t enough to stop that dreadful prickling itch. Blankets soon ended up on the floor as he practically rolled around on the bed trying to scratch and pull the casings off at the same time, but he just couldn’t concentrate on putting his limbs where they needed to go.

Freaking hell. How was he going to function with this? At home during this time, Scout had never confined his wings, and had stayed home from school until the new feathers had mostly finished growing. Not that he could call out sick from the merc life anyway.

Squirreling himself away in this little tower would also suck, though maybe Medic and Snipes would visit him… A bout of itching distracted Scout from his thoughts, and he flailed around on the mattress once more, grunting with effort and irritation. Already, the room and Scout looked disheveled, and Scout’s short hair was sticking up in sweaty tufts, and he’d nearly fallen a few times. The one saving grace was, as Scout flung a wing around and got a good look at a patch where the casings had come free, the new little feathers were healthy and genuinely beautiful. They looked freakin’ good. And softly blended in were the previous feathers healthy enough to remain, mostly the short type at the tops, and where his wings joined his back.

Another itch zinged up Scout’s right wing, and he yelped and shot off the bed, slim legs tangling up, straight into the wall with a thud. Rubbing against the rough wall somewhat helped… but it was nothing compared to how he used to get through this process…with Ma and an older brother carefully combing through the pinfeathers, soothing him.

“Oh— Snipes! Medic!” Scout gasped aloud, suddenly the knowledge came back to him. Medic had promised! And Snipes would help too! Scout’s happy recollection was not reflected in his physical demeanor, as he was currently scowling and cringing while attempting to reach scratchy spots he couldn’t.

It was actually verging on painful, and worse, it was becoming hopeless in Scout’s mind. It was the worry that this extreme discomfort would never end that had him bolt straight up, fling himself out the door with wings completely uncovered, and down the staircase, into the base proper.

*****

A very taxing night spent hashing out plans for sentries had the Engineer rolling out of bed like a stone, or maybe a lead block. Once dressed, Engie yawned and stepped heavily through the hallway toward his destination. It was only the thought of the coffee machine in the kitchens that had him managing it. A morning like any other…

“Hallo, Freund!”

…Well, Medic seemed chipper. Engie raised his head, wishing he’d put on the goggles when the pale light from the hallway windows shone into his retinas. The doctor was standing at the other end of the hallway, and it looked like he’d already gotten his cup of joe. The Spy exited the kitchen at that same moment, holding a plate with one of those mysteriously acquired croissants of his. Engie was halfway to opening his mouth and getting out some sort of greeting, when he saw Spy quickly look up, and Medic’s expression change, his dark brow raising and lips parting.

And then, something crashed into the Engineer’s back, and he staggered slightly, a sleep-rough cry of “Argh!” drawn from his lungs. Whatever it was wasn’t too heavy, and it was warm. And also it made a belligerent noise of its own.

“Augh! Gah, what the hell? Man!”

Engineer groaned and straightened back up, before quickly turning. Too damn early for Scout antics, weren’t it? And yep, there was the damn squirt, laid out on the floor as Engie frowned down at him. The Medic gasped a curse in the background, and footsteps rushed forward. Pete’s sake, Medic needed to stop coddling the Scout; he’d never learn if—

Engie’s train of thought screeched to a halt right there. Because right on the Scout’s back, plain as day in the morning sunlight and making short flapping motions as Scout recovered, were two large, blue-red, feathery wings.

Medic, who hurried up and stopped beside him with the buttons on his coat half undone, simply remarked in a defeated sort of voice,

“Scheiße.”

Chapter Text

“Why were you just standin’ there like a lump, Engie?!” Scout loudly whined, rubbing his chest. He stood up and dusted his trousers off. “You nearly knocked the wind outta me! Look where you’re goin’ next—”

Hey. Hold up. Why was everyone looking at him like that? Like he grew a second head… Well, Medic just seemed resigned. Scout felt a dawning sense of something wrong, and then—

He bolted for Medic, shoes scrabbling on the floor. His wings… Oh, gawd, they were bare for the whole freaking world to see, for Engie to goggle at, which was indeed what he was doing. No! With a shrill shriek, Scout dived behind Medic, surprising the man, and he hid himself behind his reliable frame, white-knuckled clutching the labcoat by his waist.

Oh no, oh no… this wasn't what he wanted, not at all. Not for people to find out— Scout hadn’t even decided if he was going to tell! Would…. Engie wouldn’t hurt him, though…right? Scout dug clammy fingers in harder.

“Oh dear,” Medic sighed. Scout was hiding his white-as-a-sheet face at Medic’s back, but he could feel how the doctor shrugged. “Herr Engineer, this isn’t how I was planning on telling you, nor was it Scout’s plan. But…” he trailed off. Someone said something else, lost under blood rushing in Scout’s ears, deafening him. “Come out here, Scout. Aren’t your… Er, aren’t they regrowing now? Come show your teammate, Vogelchen. There there…” He wrapped a sly hand around and caught Scout by the shoulder, nudging at him. Now this, Scout could barely handle, but he let Medic do it. Slowly, he sidled out from behind, and kept his face hidden in the doc’s upper arm. He clutched the dog tags around his neck so hard his hand would later have imprints, and his hair so hard he pulled a few strands out.

“Holy…” That was Engie, speaking softly. “Whoa, I… That ain’t your work, is it, Medic?” He sounded close. Scout felt Medic’s hand on the upper bend of his wing, and then it was being extended, fanned out without Scout’s permission. Scout released the grasp on his hair and pressed closer, with breath and heartbeat rapid and out of sync, causing a pain in his stomach. He curled that hand in the lapels of Medic’s labcoat. He didn’t know about this……he really didn’t know….

“Oh nein! Of course not… that would be quite the magnum opus. Haven’t you heard tell of winged people before? Legends and other things of the sort. Our young Scout isn’t human.” Medic released him and smoothed the wing back.

“…I reckon so?” Engie replied carefully. “But…that’s just a legend, it ain’t…”

“Oh-hoh! As you can plainly see, it is quite true.” Medic rubbed the downy space and bare skin between Scout’s wings. It felt very good.

Surprisingly, confusingly, Scout felt Medic tense, and he snapped, “Nein! Ask him, first!” And Scout made a noise as he was jostled somewhat further toward the Medic’s chest.

“Sorry, son,” Engie said to Scout. What, had he reached out to touch, or something? Did he want to admire Scout? “Wasn’t thinking. Listen, would you come out from hidin’, please? Ain’t gonna hurt you one little bit, I promise,” he assured in his soft southern accent.

Oh, Engie… He was sorta meddlesome…but he was kind enough to Scout. Got on his ass about eating three square meals a day, and having water instead of Bonk!, typical stuff. Scout had spent some melancholy evenings in his workshop listening to the scratch of his pencil or the beeps of machinery. Chatting to a friendly ear, even if Engie just let it wash over him half the time. He smelled like leather, mechanical grease and metal, and whatever soap he used.

Engie had no reason to hurt him, no stake in selling his secrets, and he was Medic’s friend besides. Not like Spy, or something. Good thing that chain-smoking jerk was not around.

Scout wanted to be admired and praised by everyone. He wanted to be safe and free from predators. He wanted to keep his secrets safe, and he wanted to share them and become closer to his buddies. He needed to clip the new feathers, and he needed to let them be in order to fly. Humans were frightening, frightening things, and they were the only companions he’d ever had outside of family.

It. Was. Confusing. And Scout hated being confused. It made him feel stupid and weak.

…Putting all that aside, Scout didn’t want to remove his face from Medic’s warm coat and face reality just yet, so instead he unbent his left wing, only slightly, and pressed it back until it met Engie’s hand.

Medic made a noise of excitement. “Oh! This is monumental, freund. A display of trust… how beautiful to witness.”

“I’m not a wild animal, doc. Come on.” It came out in a very muffled sigh.

“No no, of course not. Oh, do you see this, Engie? The flight feathers have begun to grow back. Ja, right there.” Scout felt Medic prod at a place on the edge of his wing.

“That’s…well now, that's incredible.” Engie’s broad fingers swept strong and gentle over the surface, parting feathers as he went. By chance, he touched an area that had been seriously bothering the Scout, shoved to the corner of his mind until now. Scout shuddered, and the feathers fluffed for easier access.

“No, don’t move!” Scout called, because the Engineer was trying to take his hand back, the bastard. “Righ…right there, yeah…!” Embarrassing little noises crept from Scout’s throat as he pressed his face back into Medic’s chest, as Engie haltingly obliged, but the relief was so powerful that he couldn’t really care. He arched his back and wing into the touch.

And then Medic hummed in satisfaction, joining in. Perfectly, perfectly touching exactly where Scout needed it. Of course, the guy was a bird expert.

“Hmm…” With the hand still free, Medic cupped the back of Scout’s little head, rubbing and petting his fine hair. Scout almost whimpered, stopping the embarrassing noise at the last second. “Your feathers grow back very fast indeed. An evolutionary advantage you have over other birds. Doesn’t it look like he could be flying by tomorrow, Herr Engie?”

“Ah, well, the only birds I ever took care a’ were chickens. To be honest, it doesn’t look like Scout here should be able to fly, scientifically speakin’. But if you’re right, then I reckon some decent feathers are all he needs.” Now Engie spoke like the scientist he was, putting aside any disbelief, shock, and awe, and analyzing what lay before him. A winged Scout. “Damn! This sorta thing could turn the tide of battle real fast. Can you imagine him raining fire down on the BLUs, doc? Hoo-eee! And that ain’t even mentioning how I’ve been thinkin’ of developing flyin’ sentries and the like… I wonder if studying him would help…” Chuckling, he began to measure Scout’s extra limbs by eye.

“Uh, heh, yeah I’m great in battle! Real good. Uhhh…you’re not gonna tell anyone though, about my wings. Right? Don’t.” Finally Scout extracted his wing from Engie’s grasp and turned around to face him, Medic moving to rest hands on each of Scout’s shoulders. It didn’t seem like Engie wanted to let go, but in the end and with some tugging, Scout got it back. The short man wasn't wearing his usual goggles, so Scout saw his rather piercing eyes track his wings as they moved with his body. Then Engie lifted his gaze back to Scout and offered his typical affable smile.

“If that’s what you want, Scout. Medic?”

“Me? Well, I think he’d be more comfortable if he told the rest of the team. Physically. Ach, I would be unsure about his stress levels when the news is broken.”

Scout had no thoughts to spare about this crap. Engie’s maneuvering of his wing had made the itching flare up something awful, and so Scout tugged at Medic’s coat sleeve. “Doc… uhhh…oh, right. My wings. Please…?” Scout pleaded, looking up with big eyes to move it along, gritting his teeth. It was getting pretty bad again…

“Ja,” Medic said firmly, with a smile for Scout’s pleading. “But will you come to my infirmary? Ah, no, I thought not,” he chuckled upon seeing Scout nervously blanch. “I am afraid my bedroom is off limits as well— I don’t want to clean the place afterwards.”

“Got a spare garage y’all can use,” Engie added in. “Right in the entrance to the base— not even the BLUs get in. It’s clean and warm, surprisingly. Uh, sometimes I fall asleep in there…” he shrugged sheepishly.

“Y-Yes friggin’ please, man,” Scout stuttered, ‘cause Medic had just put his hands back and was gettin’ a real good spot right now…

*****

Scout winced as Sniper accidentally scraped his skin, brushing the flakes of keratin free from the wing laying on his lap.

The other wing, the one Medic had pulled close to his body, was not suffering the same. Medic was dexterous and efficient, and he had neatly trimmed nails and softer fingers. Sniper’s nails were raggedly bitten and his long fingers so calloused it was like rawhide. Scout didn’t want to tell him to stop, even though he could have asked Medic to take over. The wings were just a little sensitive right now…but he could stand it without whining annoyingly.

Sniper was a tough man, someone who survived well in the wild, and Scout compared the two of them often now…and therefore was not about to diminish himself in the man’s eyes by complaining about nothing.

Medic carefully worked some of the itchiness away, rubbing the feathers and then combing through until he could sweep that dust off Scout and onto the floor. Scout mumbled some appreciative nonsense into the back of his hand-wraps and ruffled up in pleasure. Never in a million years had he imagined something like this happening.

Sniper and Medic didn’t think he was gross or subhuman…

They didn’t pull his wings around like they were a costume prop.

They wanted to help him, and for nothing in return! They admired him, even! And told him how pretty the wings were and how special and awesome he was. It made Scout preen and blush and grin widely, tug at his baseball cap. He had to make sure they kept doing it— saying those things and giving him attention.

Most of the pinfeathers had been taken care of, but little patches still remained here and there, like this aggravating area right by the base... Scout spread the feathers and shook his wing invitingly to get Medic or Sniper to attend to him. Which they did, both of the men leaning over Scout and trying to be the first to pick through the tawny, silver, and blue fluff. Medic won the battle, and Scout gave a huge and dramatic sigh of relief as the itch was taken away. Medic even blew on the spot afterward to clear remaining dust, another nice little warm feeling.

“Mostly done developing, oho!” Medic commented. Scout raised his head and turned to look at where Medic clasped a tuft of feathers between his fingers. He shot Scout a sharp smile. “Have you started to flap your wings? Even before the ability to take off, fledglings often do this to build the skill.”

Before Scout could answer, Sniper quit brushing and laid his hand possessively over the bend of a wing. The warmth sank through the feathers nicely. “I practiced that with him. I’ll take Scout here flying tomorrow.”

“Thanks for gettin’ along, guys,” Scout said cheerfully, pleased that he’d succeeded in what Spy had asked of him— now he could rub it in the frenchie’s face. He’d not had high hopes of success… Medic hadn’t exactly raised a fuss when Scout insisted on calling Snipes to the base, but he made it clear— peevishly, perhaps— that he had wanted to do it alone. Surely Sniper felt the same… he wasn’t that jealous a guy, right? Scout continued, “I can’t wait, Snipes! And Medic, do you really think I’ll be flyin’ tomorrow? I, uh, I been thinking of it for…a long time. I mean, what use are hollow bones otherways?”

“It’ll take some time, I imagine, but you can certainly start now that your lovely wings are—”

“Yeh,” Sniper cut in. He tightened his grasp on one flexible, newly glossy wing. Scout perked up. “You’ll be able to, Scout. I’ll help ya.”

Scout smiled up at Sniper and did not see Medic rolling his eyes.

“Hey, ‘danks, Snipes! But you gotta be there too, doc. You will, right? Oh hey, I was thinkin’ a bit about this other thing… Maybe you an’ Engie can figure out some way for me ta keep the wings hidden that doesn’t hurt? And a way for me not ta clip them? ‘Cause honestly it gets pretty, uh, really sore after a whole day and I wanna be able to fly whenever. Yeah. I wish I didn’t have to hide… Uh, but if you can do that, it wouldn’t be nearly so bad…?” Scout cringed slightly and trailed off.

Medic frowned, and with his knuckles brushed a few short strands of hair from Scout’s forehead. The other hand resumed petting his wing, just like Sniper’s, but a bit better, if Scout was being completely honest. “I cannot believe you keep your very limbs bound down like that! It is so terribly unhealthy. I will have to…ach, never mind. To answer your question… indeed, something will have to be done about this. Anyway, Schwälblein…when you’re around your—”

Again, Sniper interjected. “Won’t have to do that around me, mate. You know, I can keep you safe an’ sound in me van—”

“Fick! Stop interrupting me!” Medic finally snapped. He slammed one hand down on the metal worktable the three were perched on. It was loud in the small garage Engie had set them up in, echoing off the metal and tile. “As if he’d ever live in your filthy van!” Great, thought Scout. “What the interior of that vile little mud-caked capsule must smell like, I shudder to think of. That vehicle is barely hospitable, even for a bushman, and certainly not for Scout!”

Amazed at this turn, Scout’s mouth dropped open. Uh oh. These guys were supposed to be getting along…

Sniper let out an honest-to-god growl at these words, deep and snarling, and Scout yelped and whipped his head up to see sharpish teeth bared and pale eyes narrowed. Boy…he looked pissed. “My van is just fine, doctor. It’s clean, and Scout can sleep in me bed, and I’d stab anyone who tries to come in. Got plenty of knives… I don’t mind testin’ ‘em out, know what I’m sayin’?” Both his hands tightened on Scout’s wing, and suddenly Scout’s breath caught in a squeak of alarm, slender muscles tensing too. Not quite painful yet— but he didn’t like it…

“Stop that!” Medic snapped, at the same time Sniper gasped, “Fuck! Sorry,” as he realized what he was doing. He took his hand away abruptly, like he’d been burned. Scout shook his head, rolling slightly away on the comfy duvet placed down on the work table. He winced as he gave a brief flap, trying to settle his nerves, as Ma would say, and turned onto one side to face the Sniper and give him a quick pat on the forearm.

“S’alright,” Scout replied easily, because he really didn’t mind, and Sniper nodded at his words. But his eyes were worried and dark under the lenses, and he still tried to soothe Scout with a tentative stroke along the flight feathers.

“It ain’t. I need t’ remember. I’m not used to bein’ close with…” Sniper muttered. He trailed off… Wasn’t going to bare his soul with the Medic listening. The man already thought him an animal. But Medic was tactfully silent on this matter.

“Uh. So…” The awkward, stony silence stretched between the three in that spare garage for a few moments, and Scout tried to find something to fill it. He didn’t want Medic and Sniper to fight anymore. Not just ‘cause of meddling ol’ Spy, but because it was stressful, like Medic had deduced and informed him. Scout hadn't really realized that before, not even after Medic was killed by Sniper. After all, fighting and violence was normal in this job.

He just didn’t care for it happening with his friends, it turned out. Especially when they were fighting over him. It should’ve been flattering…but it actually made him feel like a thing.

As Scout fiddled with the end of his feathers, the answer practically smacked him in the face. He sat up excitedly, and looked between them. “Can I try flying, now? Maybe I can’t really get up in the air yet, but I should try, right? Like ya said, doc, about the little birds. And what you said, Snipes, about helpin’ me! I mean, the weather’s perfect righ’now, and BLU ain’t gonna attack after how they got licked last time— oh yeah, we so beat their asses! Heh, that was great, I was so on top a’ my game… Uh, so it’s perfect! Perfect time to fly!”

Medic hummed thoughtfully to himself. A smile spilt Sniper’s impassive face, and suddenly he grasped Scout by the wings, just under the ‘wrist’ joint, making Scout lean closer from the pleasant pressure. The long flight feathers spread reflexively and brushed against Sniper’s arms.

“Hmm, I do believe Herr Sniper wants to,” Medic snorted wryly. He couldn’t help but seize what was left of Scout’s wingspan, that being the base where the tertiary feathers and downy fluff sat close to Scout’s narrow back, resting big, ungloved hands over the area. Scout sure tried not to let his eyes slip shut. It really, really felt nice. It felt so friggin’ good. Why on earth had he been so very scared before?

Chapter Text

“Wait!” Medic called. He put a hand up to stop Scout. “Be careful, bitte… Make sure you can land on your own feet, and if you fall, please do so properly. Don’t…flail around like usual, alright? Beat your wings very hard, ja? And don’t panic, that won’t help…” Medic smoothed the shoulders of Scout’s t-shirt and plucked at the collar, adjusting what didn’t need to be adjusted. He wore a worried frown and his eyes were focused over the tops of his glasses.

Medic himself had cut long slits in the back of this particular t-shirt, so Scout’s wings could poke through, so his skin would be somewhat protected from any falls to the ground. Which was definitely about to happen.

Scout huffed and let Medic fuss with him a while longer, as Sniper, who stood with crossed arms in the shadow of the open room they’d found a good distance away from base, looked on from under his hat and shades in amusement. Scout shot him a look.

“Awright, awright, doc. C’mon! I got this! You know that.” Scout spread his wings out wide as they could go. Stretched to their full span, and with new feathers of russet, steel blue, and pale gold glinting in the sunlight, they were extremely magnificent. There was still a bit of feather-growing left to do, but for the most part, they were whole and healthy. It was remarkable what a good molt could do. All the previous pain and shame had been wiped clean, and Scout felt literally lighter than ever on his feet. He liked the way Medic and Sniper stared, eyes glued to his awesomeness, as well. He didn’t quite realize how hungrily they looked on, just how much they wanted to hold him in their presence for as long as he’d let them.

The three stood on a decently high building facing the edge of the cliff, though still a distance from it. They were surrounded on the other sides by buildings of varying height. Importantly, this location was very hidden from prying eyes on both the RED side and the BLU. But it wasn’t so encased as to block winds and sunlight. That came in from the cliffside side. Scout could already feel warmth blowing underneath his wings, and it excited something in him that’d been buried for a long time. He knew he could rise into the air with certain wind currents, while others would buffet him down if he wasn’t careful.

“I know, Junge. I’ve got the crossbow ready, anyhow… but I am confident in you.” To Scout’s surprise, Medic cupped his face in one warm hand. He squeezed Scout’s cheeks briefly and Scout reacted with a squished pout and wriggled out of the grasp.

“Hey…! Watch it…! I ain’t your pet, doc. Ya so freakin’ handsy…” Despite these words, Scout went pink in the spots Medic had touched, and he fought a stupid little smile off his face. “Geez. Alright… Watch this! Oh yeah… you ready for ‘dis, guys?!”

Grinning wide now, Scout spun around and peered down off the ledge at the hard ground below, wings flexing for balance. It was only twelve or so feet. Still seemed high even for what he was about to do…

“S’fine to just wait and watch for a bit, Scout.” Sniper spoke up quietly. “Get a feel for the wind. Or for your feathers.” Scout nodded. He angled his wings slightly, spread the translucent flight feathers and let the warm wind rustle them. It smelled lightly of water, sunbaked earth, coal, and wood. In battle the tang of blood and smoke would have been carried on the breeze, but that was absent now. Actually, it did smell a little bit like smoke, but not the gunpowder stuff. A little spicier, but very very faint. Maybe Sniper’s campfire smell had carried all the way down here, or something.

Scout took a small shuffle forward until his feet were poking over the ledge, not entirely sure whether to get a running start, or to tip over and try to glide. A nervous chirp embarrassingly squeaked from him.

“Shut up, dumbass…” Scout hissed under his breath to himself, annoyed at the stupid, inhuman noise coming out. It was a little different than when the Medic made him do it. Now he was just acting like an animal for no good reason. He smoothed down the front of his shirt to recover.

Flying was new territory, instinct or not. So he got as close as possible to getting his feet off the ground, and waited for that instinct to tell him what to do.

“Oooh, I wish I had brought mein Videokamera…”

“Shh!” Sniper hissed.

The background noise went mostly ignored by Scout. He felt his heart beating faster, like a hum. His toes curled inside his shoes. But his feathers didn’t try to fluff up like they usually did in an anxious situation… they remained sleek and ready to go. Scout bent slightly at the waist, he pointed his feet downward off the ledge…

And leapt into the air, off the ledge, in one massive beat of his flexible wings. Gravity tried to take him, the wind rushed in his ears, and his cap, which he really should have taken off, was knocked from his head to tumble away somewhere.

Scout flapped hard, accidentally flailing his arms too. He panicked and had barely a split second to react— the ground rushed up to meet him, violently. A spray of dirt and the wind knocked from his lungs, and Scout was sprawled in a heap of feathers and thin limbs, groaning softly. Ouch.

“Meh- Medic…!” Scout called out, picking his dizzy head off the ground and blinking. That fall had him dusted with earth, feathers gone awry. “Fuck…what’d I do wrong…?” He muttered to only himself as he sat up, squinting baffled at his wrapped hands laying curled in his lap. This was supposed to be easy now that the feathers were back!

The sun beating down was blocked by a large form hovering beside and then kneeling down next to him.

“Scout? Alright, Vogel? Did you hurt yourself? No? Gut.” Medic swiftly got to examining Scout regardless of the way he shook his head no, patting his shoulders, dusting his head off and putting a finger under Scout’s chin, lifting it to look into dejected blue eyes. “Tsk. Don’t look so sad, mein Schatz. You’ll try again, won’t you? There’s a good boy,” Medic cooed with a smile as Scout perked back up.

The doc was right. One silly fall wouldn’t keep Scout down. Medic straightened and put a hand out to Scout, who clasped it and allowed the doctor to lift him to his feet.

“‘Kay, doc. I think I know what I did wrong! Watch me again, awright? I’m gonna do it this time! You too, Snipes!” Scout yelled, squinting up at the figure silhouetted on the ledge, looking quite relieved for his usual stoicism. Sniper grinned, that other new thing he’d been doing for Scout, beckoning upwards.

“Come on, then, birdie. Get up here.”

So Scout got up there, and tried again, and again. The second had him forgetting to keep his arms out of the way again, to the same rather disastrous but injury-less consequences. Scout scowled at the layer of dust he was accumulating, and harangued Medic to get it off.

“Arms out of the way, flap hard. Don’t panic…” was Sniper’s humble advice, when Scout stamped a foot in anger after the third try ended the same as the others.

After the fourth try, Scout climbed back up and sat furiously on the floor, face red, gritting his teeth and digging fingers into his thighs. Medic sat next to him, and then dragged him to sit between his crisscrossed legs, while Scout huffed and laid his head on Medic’s sturdy shoulder, while the humans brushed that layer of dust away from his wings, till Scout felt refreshed and soothed and ready again.

On the fifth try, Medic came up behind him. Scout curiously looked over his shoulder up at the man, a life with a bunch of older brothers had made him wary of being pushed. Of course Medic did nothing of the sort— he only manually lifted Scout’s wings, and Scout held them in the position he chose.

“Doc? What’s this?”

“Ah, here…” and Medic’s strong hands bent his wings forward and backwards. But he did this weird move that Scout hadn’t tried yet. Spreading the flight feathers a certain way, and Scout could instantly feel how his wings cupped the air differently.

“Oh! Hey! Hm…” Scout copied the motion as Medic stepped back, and he generated subtly more air currents with every flap. “Doc, whateva’ ya just did, I think it’s way better! See, this is why I wanted to grab one a’ them pigeons…that ‘Paramedic’ or whatever ya called it.” Scout turned this way and that, now trying out all sorts of wing motions to see what felt best.

Medic chuckled. “Parmenides? I ought to have brought him out here. Perhaps you can go flying with my doves someday, ja?” He was only joking, but Scout would like to fly with another creature someday…

Well. Fifth time was sure to be the charm, Scout assured himself resolutely, turning back and perching on the edge. This time he thought a little more, but kept his mind loose and ready to adapt to any instincts that might surface…any inspiration on how to stay in the goddamn air… and then he pushed that frustration away too. Scout leapt again, and spread his wings at the height of his jump outward.

For that first second, he hung in the air, and then…

The ground wasn’t coming close as fast as it should’ve. Scout moved his wings the way Medic had figured, eyes wide with excitement and his mouth open to taste the air, before he closed it in concentration, hands balled into fists until he remembered again to not panic, like Medic said. He was…. He wasn’t being pulled to the earth, he wasn’t tumbling out of control…no, he was flying.

All of this took place in less than two seconds. Scout rapidly flapped again and again as he soared diagonally from the building’s ledge. He was gliding! In the air, over the earth, Scout was defying the land-bound nature of humanity with every beat of his wings.

“Whooo-hoooo!! I’m flyin’! I’m flyin’!” Scout crowed breathlessly, flapping his wings rapidly, peeking through the hands he’d brought up to his face. It was incredible. He could hear a clamor from Medic where he’d been left behind, ground-bound unlike Scout.

And now Scout was halfway to the ground, still concentrating hard, but he’d covered thirty feet of distance outward, in a swooping descent. The dry grasses and earth seemed to whip by him as he squinted down and pulled his hands away from bracing for a fall that wasn’t coming. Air was sliding smoothly under and over him as his muscles worked. And, the ground wasn’t getting much closer. Like an exponent curve, Scout had swooped low but had not touched the ground, and he realized with a start that he didn’t have to.

“Ungh…!” Scout grunted with effort, straining and forcing muscles to do as he wanted, when they never had done such things before. But sleek feathers angled as Scout suddenly understood how he might gain altitude back, lots of strong, smooth flaps of his wings, and the ground went from five feet away to ten, and then twenty…

He’d made it! Scout was back in the air now, higher than where he started, and if he wanted, he could go even higher. Somewhere below, Medic and Snipes were watching. Scout felt lighter than anything, even the air, as he winged like an arrow past another old building and circled back, spiraling up further. Wind rushed in his ears, dried the sweat from his face and body, and swept his short hair all over the place. He caught sight of his friends down below, and spared a moment of his concentration to wave and grin.

Sniper had come out from his place against the side of the building, and he was staring open mouthed up at Scout, hands dangling by his sides, stepped forward like he wanted to get closer, but he couldn’t. And Medic was shading his eyes with one hand, grinning like a madman with all his white teeth. The other hand was clenched in a fist, trembling with excitement. Yeesh, Scout couldn’t help but snicker up there in the blue sky, wind supporting him so he could think, those guys would pounce on him the moment he set foot down on the earth. He’d never gotten this much attention in his life…and it felt fucking awesome after being starved for so long…

Maybe afterward he’d invite them back to the nest that he’d started up in his room… They’d hang out together, like in a flock, and they could pet him all they wanted…and listen to what he had to say, and they’d eat food together…. But right now he was going to fly, and they were going to admire him from afar, because Scout was the only thing allowed in these skies— this was his domain!

Inspired, Scout shot back out away from the two humans on the ground with one lightning-fast wing beat, skimming the top of a building before pulling up, leaning back, and concentrating. He rotated his wings, swung his body weight. Just as he had hoped— the momentum was enough for him to start stalling, but before he could dip down any, Scout beat his wings again and flipped heels over head, the vision of sky and ground spinning around, as he backflipped in the air, and righted to swoop again through the sky. He let out a loud “whoop!” of pure joy, hot, snappy satisfaction bursting forth in his chest, heart beating wildly. Medic made another commotion down below, and smugly, Scout knew he’d be getting chewed out for that friggin’ awesome little trick.

*****

“Incredible…fuckin’ beautiful…” Sniper murmured. He wet dry lips and slowly shook his head without talking eyes off the winged Scout moving through the air like he’d been— actually, he had been made for this. It was so natural, the most natural thing in the world. Every animal had its niche, its speciality, and this, alongside running, was the Scout’s. He was fast, too.

“Gott in Himmel…” Medic whispered in reverent tones. No, Sniper didn’t care for that nearly savage grin stretched across the doc’s face. But…

They both loved this. Sniper flicked his gaze back to Scout, who was spiraling higher into the sky. They both wanted to protect this, didn’t they? Their Scout, what their Scout loved.

“Herr Sniper,” Medic said, and didn’t take his eyes from Scout. Sniper also remained transfixed, but he lent an ear to the doctor. “Scout…he is a rare creature. Incredibly rare…you understand this, ja? I feel it is my duty to protect him. Nurture him, I suppose. Of course, he’s also just a boy. A winged, mercenary boy, but still. I’ll crush any trouble that comes his way…anything and anyone who tries to lay a harmful hand upon him…”

“Yeh,” Sniper replied. If he hadn’t been in the presence of this sight, he’d have had something biting to say, definitely. Something born of jealousy and maybe a bit of dark, impolite greed… But damn. Right now, he only agreed with the Medic. “Y’know the same’s true with me. If you think I’d hurt him…”

“Nein…I do not. I’ll get to the point. Stop fighting with me, and I’ll stop fighting with you, ja? We are causing poor Scout quite a deal of distress.” Medic spared a glance backward. He looked solemn, the grin wiped away.

God, Sniper hated when Medic was right. Fucking of course he was right, but Sniper hadn’t wanted to let go of the anger started for Scout’s sake, even though Scout himself had since mended fences with the doc. Yeah, Sniper was being obstinate for the sake of it. Scout…little birdie probably was having a rough time of it. Sniper’s dislike of social dealings could excuse very little, since he did know what was going on…he just didn’t like to solve it.

“Wanted him to be mine. Alone. You buttin’ yer head in…”

“Clearly. I won’t insult you by reminding you that Scout is a person. Two heads are better than one, are they not? What do you suggest we do?” Medic replied lightly. Sniper could tell he was being delicate about it, even if the effect was ruined by the layer of smug condescension that always seemed to color Medic’s words to anyone but Scout. Still, Sniper could vaguely appreciate the effort.

This wasn’t the first team he’d been on, same as Medic, but it was the first with a Scout. Scouts seemed to be annoying little creatures by principle, which hadn’t been proven wrong, exactly. Also, it was the first with such an insufferable and morally questionable Medic. Anyway. Sniper was nothing if not a professional. He could get along with this man. Maybe this Medic wasn’t quite so bad. Maybe. Unnecessary needles notwithstanding.

“Obvious, isn’t it? Blow the head off anythin’ what tries to hurt ‘im. And whatever it is you do with that saw. Do it together. Keep ‘im safe.” Sniper chuckled as watched Scout skim the top of a building in a glide, his beautiful wings shining in the direct sun.

“Sehr gut, mein freund. It is a deal, ja?” Medic said, satisfied. “AHH! Herr Scout—! Be careful, you— oh! Look at that!” And Sniper was already staring at the aerial flip Scout had just pulled off. Alongside Medic, he continued watching in pure amazement.

*****

Scout was really doing it. Flying in the air like a bird and feeling like the world below him stagnated, while he alone was free, while he alone had mastery over speed and distance. As the wind whipped past him, Scout looked at the little sparrows clustered together on an old wire, ready to join him, and the eagle or something circling higher above him, and he was ready to join it. And down below… wait.

Down below…

Medic and Sniper waited. And—

Pyro, Engie, Heavy, Demo, Soldier… and Spy, who was caught in Sniper’s grip by the suit lapels. And half were looking at that sight, and half were looking…

At Scout.

This… it sent the prey instincts in Scout’s head wild. All of those circling humans down below (though they were standing still, really) ready to…

At that moment, Scout was gliding lazily above the slanted roof of a low building, so when his slim wings seized in fear, he luckily was toppled down onto the metal sheeting uninjured. His numb feet noisily skidded— poor traction— to a halt while he clamored for balance with wings and arms. The mercs’ heads all whipped up, even Sniper’s and Spy’s as they snarled at each other.

“You dummköpfe— ah, VÖGELCHEN!!” Medic hissed to the others, and then cupped a hand to his mouth and called loudly. “Scout! It is okay, Schatz! Listen, everything is alright— you can come down here and—”

Scout’s wings pulled to cradle him, in fear, he stumbled backward. He fell with a clang on his ass, scrabbled momentarily on the incline of the roof, zinging pain, cutting both hands on the old, dilapidated metal, heaving himself over and crawling to his feet. He got to the crux of the roof, and teetered there for one moment, as Medic yelled to him from below. And then Scout leapt forward and into the air once more, and he soared out away from the team, their base, and the cliff itself, out into no-man’s land.

Chapter Text

“What in the fuck is wrong with you?!” Sniper growled, facing the man who had managed to usher the entire ragtag band of mercs down to where Scout was learning to fly. Where Scout should have been safe from prying eyes, because Sniper had surveyed the area beforehand and found it perfect. Sniper was never wrong about these things— it was part of his job. But leave it to Spy to fuck it all up.

The others lined up on the open balcony now, alongside Sniper and Medic, and Scout in the sky being watched without his realizing it. Spy coolly raised an eyebrow, appearing unaffected from the top of his arrogant looking head to his shiny shoes by the way Sniper spat and snarled.

“Do you even know what my title means, bushman? I am a Spy— is it my job to know about these things. About everything.” Calmly, he reached for a new cigarette and lit the end, movements smooth from repetition. Oh, fuck this guy… Sniper’s fingers itched for a knife.

“Know? Ha! Yeah, alroight. Yer job to know…is it yer damn job to flap yer gums about it to everyone you see?”

Spy eyed him with exasperation, thin lips pursuing into a frown. “Of course. I disseminate the information I find when it benefits this team. For example, I have already notified Miss Pauling of our Scout’s abilities. She’ll arrive to investigate the matter—”

Sniper stalked forward another step, using the scant centimetres he had on Spy to look down on him, and he seized the man by the lapels of his suit.

Heavy spoke up. “Sniper, you should not—”

Spy looked moderately disgusted, and his eyes narrowed, but he didn’t bother extricating himself, as if he knew this sort of thing would happen and had prepared for it. Damn snake was probably used to it.

Sniper shook him slightly, unable to stop the fury and panic from bubbling coldly in his chest. “Fuck you! Why the bloody hell would you tell her? What if she takes Scout away?! What if—“

“Tsk. That would be eminently foolish of her. And Miss Pauling is not a foolish woman. No, we will use Scout’s abilities,” and he nodded at the sight of Scout in the sky, still unaware of the happenings on the earth. Spy couldn’t help but smile at the impressive, unbelievable display. “…to do battle in our favor. Obviously.” He finished, back to sneering at the Sniper. A drag of his ever present cigarette was blown in the Sniper’s face, and Sniper was seriously starting to consider moving his hands to the bastard’s neck. Let him try blowing smoke and flapping his gums then.

“Spy’s right,” Engineer commented firmly, with a placating air. “We ought to use this to our advantage against the BLUs. I need to study Scout some, and it’ll be easier if I don’t have to sneak around all Spy-like. No offense, pardner.” He was watching the Scout and only briefly turned to speak to the two men. Sniper’s scowl deepened.

“Anyone…notice th’ Scout’s all flyin’ about…?” Demo slurred, a hand clasped on Soldier to balance himself. Soldier too was watching Scout, slack-jawed with his helmet tipped up.

“My god. The Scout was turned into a bird…!” Soldier whispered hoarsely. “This is FANTASTIC! I’ll have to whip his pathetic little bird body into shape, but once I do—”

“No ‘whipping’ of little Scout,” Heavy said, throwing a serious look at Soldier, who harrumphed. “Heavy has heard of bird-men before…must be reason little Scout is so tiny and fragile. He has puny bird bones, for ability to fly.”

Meanwhile, Pyro appeared to be reaching new heights of joy in his life. He ran back and forth with thumping bootfalls along the rickety balcony, mumbling excitedly in his odd, deep way, and waving his hands like he could float up there with Scout. Spy gestured at the gathered mercs.

“You see, bushman? Not a single man here cares for your obnoxious little brand of jealousy. Oh yes, I am calling it as it is,” Spy sneered, for Sniper had been about to protest. “Why don’t you call Scout down, hm? Afraid you’ll be unable to monopolize his attention? Mon dieu, you are like a rabid—”

Sniper shook him roughly. “Shut up!” He hissed, the muscles in his forearms burning with how hard he crumpled that ugly suit in his fists. “It’s not like that— that’s… You wanker, you’re gonna scare him— don’t you know what he’s been dealin’ with? Why the fuck would you bring everyone here?! You ever think about the shit you uncover with all yer snoopin’?”

“Ach! All of you dummköpfe—” Medic snapped, finally interrupting. He looked furious, but then his, and everybody else’s attention was snapped back to Scout, who had finally caught sight of the damn party on the ground. "Ah, VÖGELCHEN!! Scout! It is okay, Schatz! Listen, everything is alright— you can come down here and—”

Horribly, Sniper saw Scout’s lovely wings falter, and watched his small body tumble from the sky and hit the roof below, skidding to a halt, thankfully. Sniper winced in sympathy. But Scout looked…

Really terrified.

“Nein, no, no, no!” Medic squawked, rushing forward with a whirl of white coattails. Sniper dropped Spy. Scout scrambled up the roof, trembling and pale as a ghost, and at the apex, he wobbled on his little feet, and then launched himself into the air, flapping of his wings taking him away from the safety of the team and base. Oh, bloody hell.

Sniper didn’t think on it any more, he just ran. Down the creaking stairs three at a time, easy with his long stride, and Medic hot on his heels. Medic was quick though, and he began to outpace Sniper, who wasn’t used to such fast, sudden running like this. The rest of the team was making a commotion up above, and some of them had to be following, but Sniper didn’t bother looking over his shoulder at them; he was fixed on the edge of the cliff Scout had headed towards.

“Sniper! Do you see him? I cannot!” Medic called from ahead. He sent up little puffs of dust from under his black boots. Sniper squinted again at the blue sky. They’d both lost sight of the Scout behind buildings by now.

“Nah! He go over the cliff?” Sniper yelled back, lungs aching. Fuck, he ought to run more… Chasing bird-Scouts…was difficult…

Respawn would take Scout if he was knocked from the air, if he was dashed on the cliff or the ground far, far below. Respawn took care of any physical injury, barring sickness. It did not protect one from the psychological harm of attempting something like flight for the first time ever, and ending up hurt or maimed, dying alone and afraid because nobody could get there—

The image Sniper’s brain helpfully conjured then… of Scout crumpled and bloody, with his skinny limbs and beautiful wings broken, moaning for help from Sniper and Medic… Help they couldn’t give because they didn’t know where to find him. It was horrifying to think of.

A rock in his path nearly sent Sniper face first into the ground. He corrected with his next step, and pushed off even faster, trying to close the distance between him and the edge of the cliff, where Medic was surely nearing. Sniper skidded ungracefully around the edge of a building and came out into open space. He scanned the skies, panting raggedly, painfully.

Medic had stopped on the little bridge right at the edge of the cliff, where the tracks looped up toward the RED base. He looked out over the still edge, and Sniper wearily sprinted over to meet him, not stopping his scan for anything Scout shaped on the horizon. Careful of his footing over iron and wood, Sniper joined the man on the narrow path. He hoped to god Medic could make it all alright.

“Doctor…”

“I do not…” Medic breathed sharply. His glasses had slid down his nose, and he irritatedly nudged them back up. “I do not know where he is. I saw him leave the cliff…and then nothing. He is very fast… ach, so fast. It is, well, it is rather incredible, oh-hooh!” A sort of manic grin swept across Medic’s face, but then it slipped away so fast Sniper doubted if he saw it at all. “Nein…no time for admiration.”

Desperate, Sniper grabbed Medic’s shoulder, startling him. Medic whipped his head around to glare suspiciously, and Sniper remembered the last time he’d touched Medic aggressively. Back in the infirmary, ending with Medic’s death. Well, his murder. Whoops. Sniper removed his hand.

“Roight…er, listen. Let’s some of us get down to the ground, eh? He— he can’t fly that far, right?” Sniper asked, a pathetic note of pleading entering his voice and sticking there in his throat. He licked his dry lips. “He ain’t… I mean, he’s gonna be alright…ain’t he?”

Medic swept that silly forelock of hair, which had stuck to his forehead with sweat, out of the way. “Of course…” he muttered. “Ja, ja… He must’ve gone down to the pier… Otherwise we’d’ve seen him in the sky or surrounding land. Yes. This must be so. His kind don’t live solitary lives, so he’d have gone someplace inhabited, despite his recent scare on behalf of Spy.”

“Roight then, what the hell are we waiting for? Let’s get down there.”

*****

There was a small group of the workers clustered around a tall building, a tower of sorts, presumably for looking out over the water, or anyplace else, really. And they were looking up, at something Medic couldn’t see from this angle. And hopefully they couldn’t see either, because it had to be Scout up there in the open frame of the tower’s top. Medic, Sniper, and Heavy approached this minor commotion.

The workers scattered as the mercs got closer— they all were wary of the crazy men blowing up the cliff every week, and weren’t about to risk their lives for a curiosity in a tower. Or maybe they just thought these crazy men would take care of it.

The three looked around at each other; no one wanted to call for Scout and risk him being seen…

“Sniper and Heavy will keep watch, doktor will go find Scout up tower, yes?”

“Yeh. If he got hurt…” Sniper mumbled, leveling a cold, rather intimidating look around.

Yes yes, Medic had a medical kit with him. He needed to find him as soon as possible… poor Scout, all alone…was he scared by the people— the humans, crowding around? He hoped Scout wouldn’t flee again. As fascinating as this reaction was, it wouldn’t do to repeat it. What a strange sort of experiment, one that couldn’t be performed a second time despite no physical barrier.

This watchtower, or whatever it may be, had an unobstructed entry, through which Medic ascended a winding set of stairs, very dimly lit and creaking worryingly. A square of light became visible once he neared the end of the stairs.

“Scout, it’s Medic, ja?” He called lowly into the still air, up at a hole in the ‘ceiling’, which led to the open area at the top. No response. Anxious, Medic climbed further and put his head through, back into outside air, and looked around.

And to his wonderful relief, curled up in the small space, with solid railings hiding him from the ground view, was their runaway Scout. Hardly worse for wear, and unharmed! The appearance of Medic had him on high alert for a moment, all glaring round eyes and raising wings, and then he too sighed with relief, feathers flattening from a puffed up state.

“Hey, doc. Oh man.” Scout said. He raised a considerably awkward hand in greeting and shuffled his folded wings. He looked just like one of Medic’s doves, tucking itself away into some spot so Medic would have to search for it, and then acting all innocent once found. “Good to see ya. Please tell me I imagined that up there. They didn’t all see that, right? ‘Cause I wasn’t ready… I mean, I probably looked stupid flapping around like that, huh?” Scout sighed.

Medic smiled and shook his head. “Nein, you did not imagine it, and nein, you did not look stupid in the slightest. Silly boy.” This Scout…so troublesome. So enticing. Why did he make Medic care for him this much?

“Oh. Yeah…I already talked to Ma and figured I’d be fine if they knew… I was planning on telling ‘em all someday, just not now, while I’m tryin’ to fly. Spy’s such a dick. I knew I smelled them nasty-ass cigarettes earlier. Aw god, Medic. What do the guys think?”

Medic laughed quietly at this, and it sounded muffled and intimate in the small space. But he sobered when Scout didn’t join in how he usually did, laughing even when the joke wasn't funny, or even look up. “What do you think they do, Junge?” He said carefully. “They are astonished, of course. And excited, and curious. We had to stop Pyro from wreaking havoc down here to get to you. What, did you think they would be disturbed?”

Scout didn’t answer right away, but his wings tensed, so subtly no-one but Medic would have noticed it. Medic was beginning to worry again. Where was his chipper, carefree Scout? He came up the last few steps and sat with a small sigh next to the winged boy, who eyed him and didn’t quite shrink back.

“Vogelchen…I thought you wanted to be admired…? Are you ashamed?” Medic chose his words carefully. It wouldn’t do to upset or make Scout defensive.

“…Ya just don’t get it, doc. Look, my Ma…” Scout uneasily glanced about as if someone were listening. “She cut her…wings off. Or, my grandpa found someone to do it, yknow. ‘Cause something bad’s gonna happen if people see that. Come on man, you said yourself that there’s people out there who would, yknow, hurt me. Like in a bad way. And, the wings…” Scout sighed and brought one forward, and stared hard at the feathers. “The wings are kinda disgusting. I thought it was a mutation my whole life…and it’s hardly better bein’ a different species. It’s still messed up.” He put the wing back at rest. “I don’t wanna be here anymore. I wanna go home…to Ma.” He put his head down.

Ah. Medic thought he understood. Scout’s mother had been mutilated… that must’ve done a number on him, psychologically speaking. Medic may have viewed Scout as a magnificent creature to be studied… but not everyone, even said creature himself, would think so. Had he gotten too caught up in the joy of this new experience…?

Scout fidgeted, and Medic noticed a sort of hitch in his movement. Damn, he should have asked Scout first thing, but he had been too caught up in the relief of finding him here…

“Junge, are you injured?” Medic reached for the hands Scout was holding awkwardly in front of his stomach. The bandages looked loose…

“Uh…my hands…” Scout muttered, tentatively offering them up. Medic cupped them in his own; the difference in size mildly amusing, despite the circumstances. Anyhow, it looked painful, but not grievous. The palms had been slashed, the bandages split and bloodied. Medic immediately began with the medkit he’d brought.

“Good thing you showed me. Very good. Ja, there we go… Does it hurt?” Medic worriedly peeked at Scout’s eyes, lowered as they were to watch the doctor’s healing work. He disinfected the wounds with complete perfection, and much more gently than he’d have done for anyone else.

“Naw…I ain’t a baby…” Scout blustered. Typical. Though it was a lot quieter than normal. Scout seemed to calm a bit under the touch, especially as Medic applied bandages to each little hand. The pain was mostly over, so was Scout enjoying the physicality now?

Scout flexed his newly bandaged hands as Medic put away the disinfectant, gauze, and tape. The bloodied old hand wraps were put in a plastic bag for later disposal. Perfect. This at least, Medic could do like an art.

Scout didn’t move. He stayed curled against the railing, sitting up now with his knees to chest, but just as hiding. “Doc…thanks.” He offered a smile that didn’t quite make it.

“Let me touch you? Properly, I mean. Not for healing.” Medic asked. Physical touches seemed quite good for Scout’s wellbeing. Scout looked up in surprise.

“Oh. Yeah, okay.”

Medic scooted a bit closer and leaned in, pushing his coattails out of the way, and put a gentle hand upon Scout’s back. There were little pale feathers dampened and clumped together with sweat against the skin of his back, and Medic stroked through them carefully, the way a ruffled dove might like to be touched. They were perfectly silky soft, exquisite not only to behold, but to feel, as he was blessed to be doing. Scout trembled faintly under the touch.

“Doc…” Scout’s quieted voice was muffled further by his arms. Medic could see the back of his slim neck and the tips of his ears go pink in pleasure. A charming reaction. “Doc, you’re the only one here who gets me. I only want you to see me. Not Engie, not Snipes…”

“Scout…” Medic began.

“I don’t want any a’ them touchin’ me, or lookin’ at me! Okay? Tell ‘em to buzz off.” Abruptly, Scout nudged his way forward, pushing up off the ground to sort of fall back down across one of Medic’s legs, and insinuating himself further into the petting hand, to Medic’s shock.

Uh oh. Scout wasn't supposed to latch on to him like this. And what on earth had the Sniper done to get on his bad side? Nothing at all had happened between them, from Scout’s scare until now.

“Just…don’t let anything happen to me, okay?” Scout demanded. Despite himself, the wings twitched in pleasure, almost vibrating pressed against Medic’s touch. “Doc?”

“I-I will try my utmost… Ja, but the others should—”

“Can I sleep in the infirmary tonight?” Scout pleaded, breathless. He looked up and met Medic’s gaze, and Medic immediately and wholeheartedly crumbled under it.

“…Alright, alright.” Medic was quick to assure with both words and touch. It was fine for tonight…they could work on assuaging some of this fear later, couldn’t they? What a troublesome boy.