A/N: This must be one of the most dramatic things I've ever written. I'm unsure whether that's a good thing or not. Hm. I also lost some of my inspiration in the middle of writing this, so I'm not quite sure of the outcome. I hope you like it, though. c:

The night wasn't as warm and comforting as it had been earlier - it had gotten cold and the stars and moon wasn't shining as bright as earlier. It was completely silent, the grasshoppers didn't play anymore, the wind didn't blow, everything was just a cold, hard emptiness. In the weak light of a lamp through a van's window, a young boy was standing, looking at the van's closed door. He was touching his scarred cheek with an expression telling he was confused over, maybe even unsure of, this was real.

Even though it was cold, he wasn't wearing more than a pair of boxers. If anybody had walked by, they'd probably thought he was crazy, standing almost naked outside in the middle of the night like this, staring at a door. They'd most likely turn away in fear for him to come after them, but he wouldn't have. He was too busy thinking of what had just happened, and wondering if this was just some kind of bad joke. If it was, it had been completely unnecessary to hit him.

The door opened, revealing the cozy, but spartan, interior inside, as well as a grumpy-looking man in his forties. He didn't say anything, he just threw out a bunch of clothes before closing the door again.

Scout slowly put on his clothes with shaky, not bothering to bondage his hands; he just stuffed the white pieces of cloth in a pocket.

He was in pain. Not physical, not directly, but still in pain. He tried as good as he could not to, but he knocked on the door. A moment later, a very tired man opened it.

"Snipes, it's cold, can't I-"

"Piss off, kid, ya got yer own room."

"Yeah, but-"

"Which part of "piss off" was so hard for ya to understand, wanker?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Scout was yelling without noticing. Yelling in frustration, anger and desperation.

Please, Snipes, let me in. What have I done wrong to you? Whatever it is, just let me in and I'll fix it, I promise.

"What's wrong with me? There ain't anythin' wrong with me, I jus' don't like kids sleepin' in me bed when I get back from missions. Especially not annoyin' little pricks like you. Yer a Scout, and you got yer own room in the bloody base."

A Scout. Not Scout. A Scout.

"A Scout," he repeated lowly, voice shaking. He was cold, tired, sleepy and hurt. Stuff like that tended to mess with his feelings. "All right. I'm a Scout. And you... You are a fucking incompetent, retarded shitface."

Sniper just raised an eyebrow.

"And you know what," Scout continued calmly. "You can just go kill yourself."

"If ya don't have anything constructive to say, I'll go to bed." He didn't wait for any response. He just closed the door, right in the face of the betrayed boy.

Struggling to breathe, he took a step backwards, away from the van. A step away from the person he loved more than anybody else. Another step backwards. Then he turned around and ran.

He ran like he'd never run before, ran like he was trying to get away from this madness, like he was trying to get away from everything. The BLU Scout didn't notice the tears that were starting to flow down his face like to small rivers. If he had, he'd probably ignored them, but at this point, he was too busy trying not to scream out loudly.

Unable to run anymore, he fell down on his knees, crying and sobbing loudly. He couldn't see a point in anything anymore. Powerless, he just slowly laid himself down on the dry ground. What had just happened? What the hell was wrong with Sniper?

The lump in his throat grew as he touched his cheek. It didn't hurt much, really, not anymore, it was how he had gotten it that hurt. He'd hit him. The moment of impact was impossible to remember, but he could clearly recon the moments right before and after.

The ground was ice cold, as the winter was getting closer, pulling out all the heat from the broken boy's body, but he didn't care. Nothing made sense anymore, there was no use in anything. He was just emptiness. A cold, empty scale, like an old snail house, or the eggshells that used to lie around on the ground when Sniper cooked them breakfast outdoors.

Thinking of that memory was like breaking a well, in a moment, he was drowning in them. Everything was there, from being with Sniper in the tower, waking up after falling down, him slowly developing love for the Aussie, finally managing to be brave enough to tell him what he felt, losing his virginity to him - everything was there. And as he slowly thought through them, he started to wonder if it was possible to forget.

Don't you remember?

The idea of Sniper forgetting it all sent yet another sting of pain through his chest. A Scout. Like he was just any scout, maybe even a Boy Scout or the RED Scout, not like he was someone he loved and cared about.

A primeval urge to stand up and scream at the moon pushed its way through everything else, and he followed it. When he screamed, it was without words, without any meaning at all if you just tried to listen to the nonexistent words, but if you could to the pain in it; the pain and the loneliness, it made sense somehow. It told a story, a story about betrayal.

Scout stopped screaming and just quietly breathed in the cold night air for some time before sitting down again. This time, there were no tears. He felt even emptier than before, it was like someone had dug out his insides with a spoon, leaving just a thin, thin shell. No matter what he thought of, it didn't change his emotionlessness.

"Scout?"

Scout turned around to where the heavily Russian accented voice had come from. He didn't care whether the Heavy wore a red or blue shirt at this point, but it was most likely a blue one.

"Leave me alone." His voice sounded much less threatening than he wished for, it sounded more like he'd been crying and screaming for the past thirty minutes. Which he had, something he didn't really want anybody to know.

"No." The big man sat down to Scout without asking first, a bit closer than the smallest man's comfort zone, making him jump a tiny bit to his left. "I couldn't sleep and suddenly I heard scream. Why did you scream?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." He demonstratively looked away.

"What's wrong," Heavy insisted. "Is it Sniper?"

"Wha-, no, I, uh," he stuttered confused. "You... Which part of "I don't wanna talk about it" was so damn difficult for ya to understand?"

Heavy didn't reply at first, but when he did, the answer wasn't the brightest thing he'd said: "I understood it."

"Wow, great job," Scout said sourly, "maybe the next thing you can learn is the word "rhetorical"." He was absolutely not in the mood for talking with anybody at the moment. He looked around, in the search of Medic. Where the Russian man was, the German was rarely far away.

Heavy must have noticed him looking around, for he said: "I'm alone."

"Whatever."

"Scout," the big man said seriously, "what's wrong? I won't tell anybody. Promise."

After a couple of seconds of doubt, Scout decided to tell him what had just happened. For some reason, this guy was one of the persons he trusted the most on the team, especially now that Sniper was removed from the trust-list. Very removed.

Heavy just nodded slowly and seriously when Scout was telling him about moving out in the van, how lovely they had it there, how he'd been thrown out after waiting for him and how he'd been told to "piss off". He avoided talking about their relationship, though, he tried to make it so it sounded like a very strong friendship that had been shattered. The farther he got in telling, the harder it got to speak properly, as his throat started to hurt from oppressed crying. He'd cried so damn much lately.

After some time just sitting there in silence with a thinking face, Heavy simply said: "I will talk with Sniper tomorrow." He looked down at Scout with the kindest eyes Scout had seen for a long time.

He nodded. "Thanks."

Heavy moved a bit closer to the young man and wrapped his big arms around him. "It will be fine," he said, squeezing the little man tighter than comfort. Scout struggled in his grip, trying to get loose, as he was unable to breathe under the pressure. Heavy didn't let go, though, and after some time, the Bostonian started to think it was okay, this hug. He was almost disappearing in the Russian's big arms, making it difficult to hug back.

"We should go back." Heavy let go of Scout without any warning, who fell down on the ground like a sack of potatoes as he was totally unprepared for the hug's ending. "Sorry."

"I ain't going anywhere."

"You can't stay out here."

Screw you, I can stay out here.

"I can stay wherever the hell I want."

Heavy didn't listen to Scout. He put his big arms under the boy's fragile body and picked him up like he was a little kid.

Then he carried him back to the base.