Another short one... D:


Part three: Breach

Torrents of rain pelted the BLU base, thrumming a rhythm-less beat. The grounds turned muddy and slick. From over his book, Dell watched Sean. The boy had his forehead pressed against a window, fogging it with warm sighs of breath. His eyes were half-lidded, bored and miserable.

He's like a puppy with too much pent-up energy, the Engineer mused.

The rain had dampened all their moods. Even the Sniper, who was rarely seen about the main base, had emerged from his weathered camper van, complaining of the raindrops like bullets against his poor baby's roof.

Dell let out a long sigh. It was nearly noon, but he, Sniper, Scout, and Spy were the only ones awake. He assumed the other five were still sleeping. It was Sunday after all, and raining to boot. Wilhelm was usually an early bird, but he and his Heavy had left for bed rather early the night before; Dell could only imagine what went on behind those closed infirmary doors.

John, too, was usually up before anyone else to salute the dawn with his bugle, but on Sundays he slept in. He claimed that "even Commie-Nazi-Hippie-maggots would never attack on Sunday, except for them no-good Japs, but we sure showed them."

Dell closed John's battered and dog-eared copy of The Art of War and stood. He guessed Solly would be up by now, and he could return his book, as well as ask about the picture. He hadn't really thought of how he'd go about it; if it was still on the floor, he could just pick it up and act like he'd never seen it before, but what if John had found it?

Ah, well, he thought, scratching his stubbly chin as he walked down the stairs to the Soldier's room. Just have to roll with the punches.

He knocked softly at John's door, poking his head in when he received no answer. "Solly?"

Inside, he saw dresser drawers and clothes strewn about the floor, sheets hanging haphazardly off the bed, the desk overturned. In the midst of the mess was John, curled on his side in his underclothes, back facing the door. He was mumbling incoherently to his shovel.

Dell stepped over the debris carefully, wearily, not wanting to alarm John. He had done this a few times before, once when he had lost his shovel, another time when there was a massive storm with thunder that sounded like detonating warheads. He usually snapped out of it pretty easily, but it made Dell worry.

"Solly," he murmured again as he approached the twitching man. "John..."

He knelt down next to him and reached out to touch his shoulder. The moment Dell's fingers brushed him, John lashed out blindly, trying to hit the other man.

He was yelling, almost screaming something over and over. Dell was thankful for the thick walls that surrounded them; no doubt they would have drawn a crowd otherwise.

John was strong, but his panic made him weak. The Texan was able to restrain him in his arms while he kicked.

"John! Y'gotta calm down, y'hear?" Dell exclaimed, trying to be heard over John.

He could now make out what the Soldier was shouting, but he didn't understand.

"THAT'S NOT MY NAME!" John's face was red as a brick and his stormy blue eyes darted about wildly. "DON'T CALL HER THAT! NOT MY NAME!"

He thrashed about for a few more minutes, and Dell had to hold on for dear life. Gradually, he calmed down, his yells and punches subsiding to hoarse utterings and feeble flails.

"John?" Dell loosened his hold on his friend and studied his face fretfully.

There was a vein throbbing in John's forehead, and his gaze was dull and reddened.

"Not... my name..." he murmured, and tears slid down his cheeks.