[[fuckin' shoutout to the guest who straight up asked if this was gonna be gay and added a winky face at the end in a review. like, same. yes and also same. we are off to an excellent start here and i love it]]


He woke up somewhere unfamiliar, unable to see, not knowing what time it was. For that reason, he was, understandably, a bit freaked out. The previous events flooded back all at once, and he was sitting up, twisting his head around, trying to get any sense of the space he was in.

"Yo, uh… yo Snipes, you in here?" he said hesitantly, and he heard the sound of motion just to his right, a bit below him.

"Yeah, just over here, mate." Did he sound tired? Scout wasn't sure. "We're in my place. Y'slept through the whole night."

"What time is it?" he asked, reaching an arm out and feeling the edge of the mattress, kicking off blankets.

"It's about ten in the AM."

"Huh? Why ain't you off fightin'?" Scout asked, brow furrowing.

"We're in a cease-fire. Gonna be free of fightin' for at least the next five days. Got called an hour after the mission ended yesterday."

Scout winced. "Administrator lady found out?"

"Dunno 'ow she wouldn't've. Half the team leavin' the fight midway through like that in some great parade or summat."

"Yeah, what was up with that?" Scout asked, stretching his arms, wincing as his joints popped. "I uh, I couldn't tell what was goin' on. There was fire, an' I fell down, an' I think someone carried me, right? What happened?"

"I heard the screamin', went down and caught a look while you lot were leavin'. S'pose that Spy saw ya get hit an' killed the Pyro, then went to get Medic when ya weren't gettin' up or respawnin'. Heavy carried ya outta the match for the Doc when ye weren't wakin' up an' Spy went along to cover or summat. Tried to help out where I could—got their Demo on his way over."

"Huh. We probably got creamed, right?" Scout said, moving on to stretching out his legs. He was more sore than he'd expected.

"Oh, yeah. Hardly even a proper match. We lost bad."

"Figures." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and went to hop to his feet. "So when—?"

"Wait!" Sniper cried, but Scout had already moved to get up, and then he was falling—

His knee collided hard with the ground two meters below and made him yelp in pain, but the rest of him didn't follow, instead caught hastily just before contact. His shoulders were a bit squished, and there was a brief moment where it felt like they were both gonna fall over from the momentum, but it was better than getting himself knocked out for the third time in two days.

"There's a ladder down, ya bugger," Sniper said from somewhere above him, voice a growl, clutching tightly, and Scout had frozen up. "Whot're ya tryin' ta do, gimme a heart attack? Bloody 'ell."

"S-sorry," Scout stammered, heart going a mile a minute in his chest, threatening to bust through his ribcage. "Didn't know you had a bunk bed. Good catch, though. I, I gotta. I gotta keep you on your toes, huh?"

He was hauled to his feet, and he shook out his leg, wincing. "It's not a bunk-bed, it's just elevated. I slept on the chair." He heard Sniper moving around, and he suddenly took Scout by the arm, putting something in his hand. Fabric, familiar. "Found ye hat for ya," Sniper said. "I wos plannin' on goin' back to look for ye dog tags again today. It'll be easier to see with the sun up."

Panic struck him in the chest suddenly when he remembered their absence. A hand went to his own collar, feeling it strangely bare. "Right. Thanks, Snipes. I'd do it, but…" He gestured vaguely up towards his own face, pulling on his cap, brim lower than usual. He wondered how his eyes must look. He was too scared to ask.

"S'all right." There was a pause. "Whot's the deal with 'em, anyways? Got you in a right tizzy when ye figured out you'd lost 'em."

"Oh. Uh." He fidgeted with his hat a bit. "Jus' somethin' I had a real long time. It's real important to me, an' it'd be… well, I can't get 'em replaced is the thing."

There was a long pause as he waited for Sniper to reply. He didn't. Silence reigned for all of twenty seconds before Scout broke.

"So, I'm hungry, can we like…? Y'know. Get food or somethin'?"

"Mm? Oh. Yeah, sure." And Scout nodded, reaching out in the direction he heard Sniper from, hand meeting first what felt like his back, then managing to find his arm. Sniper stiffened at the contact. "The hell ya think y'doin', mate?" Sniper asked sharply, and Scout flinched back at the tone as if burned, moving away as quickly as he could.

"Uh. I just. Don't wanna trip on anythin', Snipes," Scout said sheepishly. "Geez."

There's a moment's quiet. "Piss. Sorry, just…" A sigh. "God, this is gunna take some gett'n use'ta, isn't it? Aw, hell."

Scout just shrugged. Sniper shifted.

"Awright, just… 'ere. Take the back of m'vest, try an' walk where I do. Y'lucky I keep th'place clean, otherwise you'd trip left an' right."

Scout just had to believe him there. And again when they exited the van and Sniper muttered to himself about how bright it was. And when they got to the base itself and Sniper handed him a glass of something, and when he brushed off Scout's question of whether he's tired, and when he said it's about eleven and that everyone else finished eating about ten minutes prior. He can't tell for himself. He can't do much of anything.

He hates it. It's been less than a day, and he hates it. He feels scared and helpless and alone and useless and he just wants to be able to function again.

He's intimidated into silence by Sniper's… well, Sniper. Everything feels too close and too far away, and he doesn't know how to move correctly all of a sudden, and after the second time he almost knocks over his glass trying to find it on the table he just keeps it at his fingertips.

"Y'bein' quiet," Sniper mumbled from across the table.

"Yeah, well," Scout started to say, but then he thinks he hears something off to his left and he stops, head turning. There's a beat of pause.

"Mate. There's nothin' there," Sniper said slowly.

"Oh. Uh. You sure?" Scout asked. "Sorry. A little jumpy over here."

"Like a jackrabbit, yeah, I noticed," Sniper muttered, and Scout felt his face heating up. He scowled at the offhanded remark, bristling.

"Hey, you try gettin' your eyes taken out, see how great you feel!" he snapped.

He heard Sniper shifting uncomfortably in the moments following. "…Y'right. 'M sorry," he said, and Scout forced himself to relax.

"It's cool," Scout said back, and he took another drink from his cup. Hell, even that's ruined, because he can't see how full it is, and every time he takes a drink he has to tip slowly or end up with soda up his nostrils. He drinks and resists the urge to turn his head to look over at the side of the room Sniper has already said is empty.

"So… can ya see light and dark, at least?" Sniper asked.

"Huh?"

"Can ya tell the difference between when you're somewhere dim and somewhere bright, I mean."

"Uh. I dunno," Scout admitted, head falling.

"Well, it was nearly pitch dark in the camper, then bright sun when we left it," Sniper said.

"Oh. Then I don't think so, no."

"Hmm." Another lull, and the Scout itched to fill the hole in the conversation, only now he thought he heard something from behind him. He took another drink. Sniper spoke again. "Any kind of… I dunno. Place you wanna go next?"

"Well, not much I can get up to," Scout mused. "Usually I'd go out and run or go bug someone or somethin', but can't do much of that now."

"Not a fan of just lazin' about?" Sniper asked.

"Nah. Nothin' fun about nothin', that's what I always say," Scout said, and he tipped his glass to either side, listening to the sound of the single piece of ice hitting the sides of it.

"Interestin' take."

"I've got a lot of those."

"Huh. Good'ta see that at least a bit o'the ol' Scout is still swingin' somewhere in there," Sniper said with a huff.

"Whaddaya mean by that?" Scout asked, turning his head up slightly, trying to do his best to approximate looking him in the face.

"Ey, no need to be so touchy, I just figured you'd keep bein' all mopey and sour for at least the next few days. I mean, 'stead of the sulkin' that you been up to. An' a'course the peace an' quiet ain't half so bad, just feels odd considerin' it's. Y'know. You."

"Hey! I take offense to that!" Scout said, glaring towards the man, then promptly glugging down the last bit of his soda and starting to chew on the ice cube.

Sniper chuckled. "Aye, there's some fire. Honestly, would'a started ta think you were a Spy in disguise if ya kept that attitude up, would'a had t'ask Pyro to Spytest ya."

"Hey, y'know what, funny you should mention Spy," Scout said conversationally around his mouthful of melting water.

"An' why's that?" Sniper asked.

"Just thought it was a pretty funny coincidence that you would bring the guy up, is all," Scout said, shrugging, turning his empty glass over in his hands. "Hey, is this one of those nice new glasses we got, or the old ones?"

"Uh… the old?" Sniper answered, sounding more confused with each passing second.

"Cool. But yeah, funny coincidence. Turns out that when you can't see, you end up listening to stuff a lot harder, an'—" He heard a sound off towards his right where he knew the door was, and he threw the glass towards the noise with a shouted "Oh no you don't!" He grinned when he heard it connect with someone, accompanied by a yelp and some colorful French vocabulary.

"Ow, zat hurt you little—!"

"Spy?! The hell'd you get here!?" Sniper startled.

"Yeah, I could hear you, asshole, look who's sneaky now!" Scout snickered, and he could tell Spy was fuming. "So the fuck you want, Frenchie?"

"I was simply checking in, ensuring zat you two are getting along," Spy answered stiffly.

"An' why wouldn't we be?" Scout asked, hoping that he was looking as annoyed as he felt. He hated not being able to see expressions. That was ninety percent of interaction.

"Well, for starters, you are an extrovert, an' ze bushman is most certainly not," Spy said dryily, and Scout had to admit that he had a point. Not out loud, obviously. "Secondly, you are an annoying chatterbox, thirdly 'e looks ready to 'it you in ze face—"

"Oh puh-lease, he always looks like that," Scout snipped back.

"'Ey, don't drag me inta this, ya mongrel," Sniper said from one side.

"—Fourth, you were gripping onto 'is jacket like a lost puppy earlier—"

"Yeah, guess I'll just frickin' trip over everything, sure Spy—"

"An' finally, he has 'is goddamn knife on him," Spy snapped, finally getting to the point. "Zat is a little bit concerning for most people, and I thought you should be made aware."

There were a few beats of silence. "Well, duh, Spy," Scout finally said.

"…I beg your pardon?"

"I said "Well duh"—I knew that, idiot," Scout said, scoffing.

"You did." Spy's voice was flat.

"Yeah—do ya need your ears checked or somethin'? Yes, he has his knife. I knew that. You ain't tellin' me anything new. So, if that's all, could ya step off maybe, let me eat in peace?" Scout said, waving him off.

There was an annoyed sigh and a bit of French grumbling (some familiar cursing mixed in) as the man left the room, continuing as he went down the hall, and finally it faded into silence. The two still sitting at the table didn't move or speak.

"Yo Snipes, where are ya?"

"Right 'ere."

Scout punched him on the arm. The man yelped. "Ow! The bloody hell're ya playin' at, you maniac?!" he complained.

"You brought your frickin' knife!?" Scout hissed, trying to keep his voice low. "What the hell, man?! Do you carry that stupid thing with you everywhere?!"

"No!" Sniper replied, voice falling similarly. "But I ain't ever needed t'watch someone else's back s'well as mine before, 'ave I?"

"We're not gonna get ambushed in the frickin' kitchen, dude, maybe cool it!?" Scout said, and he heard an annoyed huff from the other side of the table. "Look, I—I get it, an' I appreciate the sentiment, but seriously, you don't need to carry a frickin' knife around, weirdo."

"Awright, awright," Sniper surrendered, and a beat of silence fell between them. Scout scraped his fork across his plate, leg bouncing idly.

"Oh shit," Scout said, suddenly, sitting up.

"Wot?"

"I just realized I can totally still work a radio, probably," Scout said. "Or my record player. Dude. Okay, we're headed back to my room and I'm grabbing my music and you're gonna have to deal with me blastin' nothin' but Tom Jones's "It's Not Unusual" until I get my eyes back."

"Since when do you listen to music?" Sniper asked. "Wouldn' figure you could hear it over yourself talkin' all the time."

"Uh, of course I listen to music," Scout replied, deciding to ignore the second part. "I'm an alive human on this planet, ain't I? Music is great."

"Well, I s'pose as long as you don't shriek along t'the lyrics, I won't mind," Sniper muttered, and Scout smiled. "If you're done, may s'well go get ya things."

"Alright! Let's go, wombat!" And Sniper picked up their plates and they made their way out of the room, Scout holding the back of his vest, both of them surprised at how quickly they were finding a rhythm with each other.


"It's probably really messy, so, this is gonna take a little while, just bear with me."

"Define "messy"."

"Annoying to walk around on. Just… this'll take a hot minute."

Scout entered his room, picking his way through slowly and carefully, finally reaching his record player and kneeling, sifting through a box. He found his records and picked them out, putting them carefully atop the record player and picking the whole thing up. He heard shuffling in the hallway. "Oh, uh, feel free to come in by the way," he called.

He heard the click of a lightswitch behind him, and Sniper moving into the room. "…Huh. If I'm bein' honest, I expected more of a mess," he said after a second. "Didn't think I'd see carpet, let alone a made bed."

"Oh, no way," Scout said, half laughing, moving to put the pile of things on a table, moving to another part of the room where he was pretty sure he'd left his other records. "I grew up in a tiny apartment with eight other people, dude, I learned to keep my stuff clean. Or at least like, neat. Eight folks in a three-fiddy square foot apartment keeping neat is just good enough to live in. Kinda wrecked this place a while back with all these boxes, though."

"I can see that. You need a… a shelf, or summat. What's in all these?"

"Take a look, pal."

He found his other records and started picking his way back to his starting point, and he heard Sniper rifling through stacks of papers. "…Notebooks?" Sniper asked slowly.

"Yeah! One of my brothers apparently ended up kidnapping like half of 'em when he moved out, and Ma found the others after the move, and when I went back home to visit, Ma had 'em in these boxes, so I brought 'em back with me—they got all kinds of shitty old drawings of mine on 'em! I got better eventually, but… yeah. That's what I did durin' classes all the time." He put his records down on the others, and paused, his movement ceasing all at once. He heard Sniper stop shuffling around the stack, and he quickly schooled his expression into something more neutral. "I guess I can't really… draw right now, either."

Sniper didn't reply. Scout tried to shake it off, moving to his closet and feeling through everything he had in there, trying to pick out some of his shirts and pants. "Didn't know you draw," Sniper finally ended up saying.

"Yeah. It's a hobby." He got a stack of stuff and fished around for his duffel bag. "Uh, I'm just gonna pack some other stuff too, so I don't gotta come back in here every other day to get a change of clothes an' stuff. That cool?"

"Sure, mate. I don't mind." No mention of the fact that Scout was planning for the long-term. No acknowledgement towards his assuming that he'd be there for a long time. There was the sound of more shuffling. "…You said you grew up in an apartment with eight people? God, that sounds like a nightmare."

"Yeah, but it wasn't that bad. Me an' my brothers an' Ma, all in one place. I'm the youngest." He started stuffing things into the duffel bag, his fingers skimming over them, double-checking what was before him. "Uh. What color's this?"

"Red n'white."

"Like, a jersey?"

"Yeah?"

"Cool." He pushed it into the bag along with several bundles of socks. "Uh, but there's a bunch of notebooks in one'a them boxes, then the baseball cards, an' I think I brought back this big tub of like, all my old track stuff too. An' my Ma wanted me to have some of one of my bro's stuff, too, but I couldn't bring everything back, y'know?"

"Right."

Scout zipped the bag and put it on one shoulder, moving back to his record player. But when he put his hand down where it was supposed to be, it was gone. "…Uh, where'd the—?" He was cut off by the feeling of his duffel bag being lifted from his shoulder. "Hey, hold on!"

"Whot?" Sniper asked, voice level. "You know I'm not lettin' ya carry stuff when you can't see. S'no manners to that."

"I'm blind, not crippled, Snipes," Scout said, crossing his arms and glaring. "I can handle carrying my own frickin' stuff."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"An' how do you plan to hold onta me with no hands?"

"I can hear where you are just fine."

"Can you?"

"Yeah."

"Well, then you'll be right surprised to know 'm a little bit to the right of where you're currently glarin', love."

Scout felt his face heating up, moreso when Sniper started to snicker at him. "Shuttup! At least let me carry my bag, then!"

"Nope, too late," Sniper chimed, and Scout's hand was placed on Sniper's back, and Sniper leaned slightly to one side (he sounded like he was picking something up—the record player, probably), and then they were leaving.


[[that scene with spy was N's favorite thing. ive actually written like almost 20k words of this and im trying to space out chapters and whatnot but she just... she loves it. she thinks its hilarious and so do i. anyways time for spring break where i will either write a bunch or none. lets do this]]