Medic was not in the best of moods today. After battle, when ever anyone asked him for help, he would try to find some excuse not to do so, but always fell short of a few words and slipped into German insults, resolving to help his teammate anyways. Scout figured he was still upset about getting knifed in the back by the enemy Spy, or maybe he was mad about breakfast when he came down to eat and not much was there. There were a number of things to be angry with, especially for a guy like Medic. He could never catch a break, it seemed, and Scout was surprisingly worried.
"Hey Doc!" He greeted him in his usual manner as the battle finished up, passing by in the hallway, "What's up with you?"
"Not now, Scout." Medic grumpily replied with a bit of a harsh tone, pushing off the younger mercenary, "I am in no mood for you today."
"Aw come on, ya gotta tell me what's goin' on!" He hastily followed him around, "What happens when you're the one who needs a medic, Doc? Either way, we're a team!"
"Scout!" Medic turned on heel, bearing down at him with harsh blue eyes, going for for his bonesaw, "Vhen I say I am in no mood, I mean it! Now vould be zhe best time to go avay, before my blade finds your neck."
"Alright, alright, geeze!" Scout stepped back at the word 'blade', glancing down to Medic's hand reaching for it. He hesitated after backing off, then fled back down the hallway to the locker room.
–
Finally at his locker, the Scout rifled through his bag, complaining to himself for being stupid enough to actually give a shit about how Medic was feeling. It wasn't his fault that Medic was feeling shitty, and at least he tried to help! But something about Medic today made him worried, which should be no surprise, seeing as he's usually a creepy and happy-go-lucky madman of a doctor. When he's down, so is the team, but god was he stupid for worrying. No one worries about Medic. No one.
"Something bothering you, petit?" Spy uncloaked near the entrance, the familiar smell of tobacco flooding the air with him. Scout didn't jump; he was too used to his Spy by now. The other Spy was a different story.
"How long have ya been there?" He asked flatly, stopping his movements but not facing his teammate.
"Long enough."
A pause.
"It's just the Doc."
"Ah, yes. I 'ave been witnessing his behavior, and as of late, he appears to be 'aving some trouble...Per'aps it is personal?"
"Since when is anythin' personal with the guy? All he cares about is blood and birds."
"You 'ave a point."
"Anyways," Scout picked up his bag, zipping it closed and strapping it around his back, "I'm gonna head off t'bed. See ya, Frenchie."
"Wait." He stopped him before he made it to the door.
"What is it ya du-"
"Shh! Don't you hear that?"
"Hear wha-"
"Shh...Follow me."
Spy gestured Scout to follow him after he grabbed his bat. He was sure something bad was about to happen, so it was best to be armed. Of course he heard nothing, until they got closer to the source further down the hallway. Spy, arming his pistol, peeked around the corner of an opening that lead to the backyard pathway, but quickly shifted back so he wouldn't be seen.
"Merde." He snarled.
"What? What is it?" Scout curiously leaned forward to get a better listen. He could barely make out the angry grunts of Medic during a battle, but he could sure as hell hear Merasmus' voice over the rest of the noise.
"FOOL! YOUR SCIENTIFIC THEORIES ARE NOTHING BUT THOUGHT! WHAT ARE YOU TO DO WHEN MAGIC IS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR VERY EYES!?"
"Zhis is zhe last time ve fight, vizard!" Medic hissed, aiming and firing his syringe gun. Apparently it didn't work, as the sounds of him becoming frustrated and throwing it were heard, "Zhere is alvays a logical explanation for everyzhing!"
"THEN EXPLAIN HOW YOU ARE NOT ABLE TO KILL ME, MAN-OF-SCIENCE!"
"You schtupid ectoplasmic demon! You can't even explain vhy you're repelled by SALT!"
"IT...IT TASTES BAD!"
"Ohh ja, zhat makes sense! It is because you are made of ectoplasm! You are vulnerable to zhe most simple zhings!"
"PROVE IT!"
"As you vish!"
A large explosion rumbled, causing the room Scout and Spy stood in to shake, followed by Merasmus' shrill screams. There was a long pause before Scout looked the the Frenchman, and received a nod as if it were ok for them to move forward.
When the two exited the room to the outside, they found Medic collapsed and heavily breathing, surrounded by piles of what looked like salt. Merasmus was swiftly visibly fading into a pile of green sludge, moaning in pain as he lay on the ground.
"Doc! Are you ok?" Scout swiftly rushed to his aid, throwing Medic's arm around his shoulders and standing up.
"Ja...I'm fine...Finally defeated zhat dummkopf...," He was about to chuckle, but was quickly stopped by a pang of sharp pain in his back, gritting his teeth.
"C'mon, man, let's get ya to your medi-gun." The Bostonian turned back, facing the doorway, with Spy waiting for them to move on. Everyone focusing on Medic, no one was aware of Merasmus picking himself back up.
"VITAM VICISSIM!"
"WATCH OUT!" Spy called after Medic.
He had no time to react as the spell made contact with his medipack, thus causing a surge to shoot through him, as well as sending off Scout. Medic screamed, howling in pain, struggling to remove the medipack, shuffling backwards and tripping. He fell on the medipack, causing it to explode in a cloud of red fumes.
His screams were silenced.