[[i love this chapter tbh. this was fun to write]]
"It's not unusual, to go out at any time!"
As per Sniper's request, Scout didn't sing along to the lyrics, instead whistling and snapping his fingers in rhythm. He heard Sniper busying about the camper as the record spun beside him on its player, the sound coming through surprisingly clearly despite the obvious age on the thing.
"But when I see you out and about it's such a crime!"
"This bloke needs to calm down," Sniper commented. "Sounds like he's keepin' th'poor girl hostage."
Scout laughed at that. "Nah, he just likes 'er a lot or somethin'. She doesn't even know he likes her. That's… pretty much the whole point."
"Why doesn't he just say somethin', then, if it pisses 'im off so much?"
"Same reason you never talk to nobody, probably," Scout replied brightly.
There was a short pause filled only with the music from the record-player. Scout felt his grin falling away. He wasn't sure if that had been funny or not. Was Sniper mad at him now? Would he kick Scout out into the desert again? Which way was the base from here?
"You're a right bugger, ya know that, right?" Sniper finally asked, but there was a lightheartedness to the reply, and Scout felt the fear seeping out all at once. "God. "Nevah talk to nobody"—y'wanker."
"I do not sound like that," Scout protested, and Sniper just snorted.
"Anyway, 'm headed out for a bit," Sniper said, and there was the sound of keys jangling. "You want me to lock the door behind me?"
"Wait, you're leavin'? Like, leavin' leavin'. Goin' somewhere." There was that fear again.
"Yeah. I got some business to take care of." A pause. "I'll only be gone an hour max, mate, no need to look like a kicked puppy, geez."
Scout quickly tried to school his expression. "I didn't!"
"Ya looked like I just knocked yer grandma's lights out over Smissmas dinner."
"I did not!"
"Ya did."
"Didn't!"
"Did."
Scout crossed his arms, slouching back in his chair. "Well, what if somethin' happens? What'll I do then?"
"Die, probably," Sniper said nonchalantly, only to backpedal, presumably noting the way all the blood drained from Scout's face. "Nothin' bad's about t'happen, mate, no worries. If it makes ya feel better, I can set ya back in the base where the others're around."
"Ugh, no. They'd start tryin' pranks an' shit the second I showed up."
"You could always just nap until I get back. Rest s'more."
"I just woke up like two hours ago."
"Well, this's been the longest you've been awake since the accident," Sniper reasoned, and Scout considered this.
"…Okay. Yeah, okay, fine. I think I'll do that. Uh, but question—you don't have like, anything sharp or fragile just layin' around, do ya? Like, so I don't hurt myself on somethin'."
"Naw, I put away anythin' made of glass an' everythin' else is in boxes an' drawers."
"Okay, cool. Good to know."
The sound of keys being put into a pocket, door opening. "I'll be back later, I'm lockin' the door. You can get outside, but if you leave, it'll lock behind you," Sniper said, and Scout waved, lying back in the chair. The door closed, the sound of keys in the lock, and then silence but for the record player, waiting to be flipped over. Scout just moved the needle and turned it off, sitting in silence for a second, or a few seconds, or maybe a minute.
"Well," Scout said aloud to himself, "Time to explore."
He spent about twenty minutes just memorizing how big the inside of the camper was, feeling out the walls and where furniture was. He found the bathroom after about ten minutes, and got the nerve to climb the ladder onto the bunk after another ten. Or… it might've been ten minutes. He had no idea in actuality. He couldn't tell the passage of time. He considered getting a clock with a second hand just so he could listen to the ticking of it, but decided that would just be a waste of time anyways. He started to do little laps and circles around the tight inside of the place, memorizing how many steps this way or that way, then starting to commit it to muscle memory. It was easier than he thought it would be, but it was still a bit time-consuming. At least it was enough for him to be able to move freely, which is all he really wanted at that point.
Doing these miniature laps started to make his legs protest with soreness, and he began considering what he'd do to keep in shape. He couldn't exactly go out on runs anymore. That was a staple in his entire daily routine.
He ignored the thought and returned to counting steps.
He was proud of himself for how well he had it down, walking with his hands loose at his sides instead of in front of him to catch himself, half-jogging when confidence and boredom set in. He ended up back in the chair again, cap over his eyes and looking for all the world like he was asleep, when Sniper did finally return with the jangling of keys from outside.
"M'sorry, mate, lost track'a—" Sniper cut himself off, and his next movements were quiet, putting his keys back away, shutting the door behind himself. A moment's hesitation, then a finger tapping him on the shoulder. "Mate. Scout. Mate."
Scout tilted his head and the hand withdrew. He let out an exaggerated yawn. "Oh. Heya, Snipes. Mind turnin' the light on? I can't see a thing," he asked, smirking.
"Very funny," Sniper deadpanned, but Scout could hear the near-laugh in his voice. "M'sorry, I lost track of time a bit—it's already almost five, the team'll be getting' grub soon."
"Oh. Huh." Scout suddenly had an idea, and he smiled, moving to stand, pulling on his cap a bit. "Guess I'll go get my shoes, huh?"
And he walked over to where his shoes had been discarded, leaning on the table's edge as he pulled them on and managed to do the laces. A beat of silence.
"How the hell did you do that?"
"Aww man, might take a nap, Snipes," Scout said, grinning openly, and he moved over to the ladder, climbing up and letting his feet swing on the edge of the mattress.
"Y'gonna bump your head, get down from—"
"I should really wash my hands before I eat, huh?" Scout said loudly, climbing back down quickly and walking to the bathroom. He pulled his hat off, tossing it onto where he knew the table was, and he heard Sniper whispering something, confusion nearly palpable. "And my face too probably, actually, I—OW!"
His foot had hit something—not something heavy, but any contact at all was enough to make him panic and over-correct just slightly to the side—causing him to walk, headfirst, directly into the doorframe to the bathroom. He ended up sitting on the ground, hand clutching at his forehead, hissing at the pain, eyes clenched shut.
"Bloody bogan," Sniper said, sounding tired, and he moved past Scout, who heard the water run for a few moments. "Move y'hand, that won't help."
Scout did, wincing, and a wet towel showed up, draping itself over most of his face. Scout took it in his hand and balled it, then held it to what was probably going to be a bump come the next day. "Thanks," he muttered, sure that his face was bright red.
"Mind tellin' me how the hell you did all that?" Sniper asked, and he was sitting on the floor too now.
"I started tryin' to figure out how to walk around in here. Figure out like, the general floor plan, just so I can get around by myself a little bit."
"An' you just had to show off, did ya?" There was more amusement in Sniper's tone now.
"Well, if I hadn't tripped on that… whatever that was, it would've worked!" Scout protested.
"That was m'rifle. I just took it in with me now," Sniper explained. "I wanted t'do some maintenance when I've got the time."
"Well, way'ta throw off my game," Scout said, trying to cross his arms and failing as the towel started to slip off his face and he had to catch it quickly.
"…What would've worked?"
"Huh?" Scout asked, confused.
"You said "It would've worked" a second ago. What would've worked?" Sniper repeated.
"I dunno. Showing off? Not looking like a dummy? Proving I can still do stuff?"
"Well, maybe next time y'won't concuss y'self," Sniper said, and Scout just hummed, eyes still closed as he pressed the cold cloth to his forehead. "Do ya still wanna eat with the rest of the blokes?"
"Yeah, sure," Scout replied. "Uh… which way's the base from here?"
Scout could hear the yelled chatter and banter of the mess hall from far away. From his place holding Sniper's sleeve he could feel the taller man tense up when there was a sudden roar of laughter, and he wondered not for the first time how Sniper could not like being around people. Feeding off of social energy, either getting attention or listening to someone who was enthusiastic about something, arguments and bickering still a form of entertainment—other people were a major source of energy for Scout, and he just couldn't fathom what would have to happen to make him suddenly dislike being around people—borderline fear it like Sniper apparently did.
Then they stepped into the mess hall and every voice suddenly fell silent, and he understood.
"Shite," Demo finally quietly, breaking the silence. Sniper took a tentative step forward and Scout started walking again. He heard the sound of a chair scraping on the floor and Sniper's hands on his shoulders guided him to sit in the chair, similar to how it had worked earlier when they went to go eat.
Then Sniper was off and Scout could feel the presence of so many people around him, but none moved to speak again. The silence pressed in and Scout could feel it nearly restricting his breathing, clenching his chest like a vise. This was horrible. He hated this. He hated this.
"Fuckin' what!?" Scout snapped, and there was a palpable recoil from the table.
"Mate," Sniper warned from the kitchen. Scout crossed his arms and sat back in his chair.
"Leetle Scout is looking better," Heavy finally said from somewhere to his right, and some of the tension lifted the moment anyone spoke. Heavy didn't sound particularly perturbed, just as calm as ever.
Scout tilted his head up slightly. "Oh, yeah. Hey, I didn't actually say thanks yet for gettin' me off the field. That was cool a'ya, I appreciate it."
"Is no problem. Scout is small, not much heavier than Sasha," Heavy said dismissively.
"Hey!" Scout said, trying to glare.
"Where've ye been, lad?" Demo cut in before the situation could escalate. He sounded like he might be sitting right next to Scout, on the left. "I haven't seen ye since I caught'a glimpse of yer parade leavin' the battle!"
"Oh, I've been hangin' with Snipes," Scout said. "He's been helpin' me out with all sorts of stuff and whatever."
"There," Sniper murmured from just behind Scout, and he felt the man leaning over him, putting something on the table with a dull thunk. There was the sound of a spoon clattering. "It's soup, mind ya don't spill it."
"Thanks," Scout said, picking up the spoon and pulling the bowl towards him as Sniper sat to his other side. "See? He's helpful as heck."
"I can see that," Engie chuckled from another part of the table, surprising Scout, who hadn't realized he was present.
"Oh. Hey, Hardhat. Y'know what, okay—roll call, who's all here?"
There was a short lap around the table starting with Demo, and it turned out that everyone except Soldier and Medic were present. Medic was apparently still working—Heavy said this with a touch of bitterness, which had Scout wondering—and Soldier was just AWOL.
"So how is leetle Scout feeling?" Heavy finally asked, a note of solemnness in his voice. "Must not be easy thing to have happen."
"Well, yeah," Scout said, trying to keep his voice as level as possible. "It ain't a walk in the park or nothin', but hey, I'm survivin' somehow, y'know?"
"Barely," Sniper muttered from beside him, so quiet that Scout wasn't sure anyone else had heard him, and earned an elbow to the upper arm.
"Mostly I'm just wonderin' what the loudspeaker lady's gonna do. We can't stay in a ceasefire forever, right?" Scout said, carefully taking a spoonful of soup. Or stew, rather. "An' if I don't get better soon, what'll happen then? Will we just have to wait it out or somethin'?"
"Me an' Demo were just talkin' about the same thing earlier," Engie said quietly. "I reckon we can't exactly do much in the way of cappin' points without a Scout, can we?"
Scout felt a swell of pride at that, sitting up straight with his head held higher. "Well, duh. Obviously. I'm the best at cappin' points!"
"Arguable," Spy muttered.
"Uh, excuse me, who holds the point cap record on our team?" Scout asked sharply.
Pyro did something to reply to that. Scout was quickly beginning to realize that Pyro was even less comprehensible when he couldn't see their body language. But it sounded agreeable for the most part.
"Uh. Right," Scout said hesitantly. "Well, I'm not—"
He was interrupted by the sound of the doors busting open, probably breaking some part of them by the sound of wood cracking. "I HAVE EXCELLENT NEWS!" came the telltale yelling of their resident militant nutcase.
"Soldier! Where've ya been?" Demo asked. "An' the hell've ya got there?"
"I have been out searching for something, and I have found it!" he said triumphantly. "Pyro, here is your fire axe back! I no longer need it!"
Scout was really starting to wish he could see, because this sounded like a real shitshow and he would've loved to see it.
"Mmph mnn!" Pyro chimed happily, and Scout heard a few chairs scraping backward as some of the mercs presumably backed away from the masked… person.
"Now! To business! Cadet, I have a gift for you!" Soldier barked, and it took a moment for Scout to realize that Soldier was addressing him.
"Huh? Me?" he asked for clarification, getting up from his seat hesitantly. "A gift?"
"Indeed, cadet, a gift! Here!"
The thing about interacting with Soldier is that you constantly need to be ready to dodge any wayward gestures or playful (read as: painful) hitting of the arm, chest, gut, face, ears, or head. Scout was the only one who could generally dodge Soldier, meaning Soldier usually hit a bit harder than he did the others.
But Scout could not dodge this time in particular, and so was clubbed directly over the head with some wooden implement.
His ears were ringing and he was on the ground. A jolt of fear went through him as all of a sudden he felt like he was back on the battlefield again. There was definitely yelling.
To his surprise, he could hear Sniper's voice over most of the others, yelling some… really nasty stuff at Soldier, who wasn't being particularly nice in return. He was pulled to his feet, which was definitely disorienting, and he heard concerned mumbling from Pyro on his left and Engie fretting to his right. Spy was yelling too somewhere, near where the other two were fighting.
"Y'alright, boy?" Engie's voice hummed, suddenly coming through to Scout's ears clearly.
Scout was so disoriented that he almost moved a hand to press the talk button on his mic out of reflex, but halfway through he caught himself and just shifted to holding the side of his head. It was wet. Probably with blood. "Uhhh," he said eloquently, trying to remember how to make his mouth move to produce words.
He felt cold water over his head suddenly and he sputtered, wiping it from his face quickly.
"Pyro, ya gotta warn the boy before ya do that," Engie chided, starting to wipe away the water and blood with a cloth, and Pyro just hummed happily.
"Uh. Why's there yelling?" Scout asked hurriedly.
"Scout!" It was Spy, standing in front of him. "Could you call off your seeing-eye dog before he scalps the 'elmet-'eaded idiot?"
It took Scout another second to process the statement. "Snipes!" he finally yelled over the noise. He heard the fight stop. "Don't kill 'im, pal, c'mon."
"He almost knocked y'bloody goddamn head off," Sniper said angrily.
"Well, yeah, but Medic's gonna murder the guy anyways when he finds out," Scout shrugged, tilting his head to help Engie get behind his ears, making a face.
Soldier laughed at that. "Ha! What, are you gonna rat me out, cadet?"
"Nah, Heavy already left to get 'im," Scout replied.
There was a beat of silence before he heard the sounds of a struggle.
"Oh no ya don't ya bloomin' nutcase!" Sniper growled. "Demo, got an arm?"
"Nah, 'm stayin' outta this, lad."
"Fine. Engie?"
Engie went to go help hold Soldier still, and Pyro was just giggling to one side, bumping shoulders with Scout as they did. Scout could sense someone stepping into place where Engie was, continuing where he left off with the cloth.
"And 'ow did you know zat our Heavy left?" Spy asked suspiciously.
"If he was here, he coulda stopped the fight or somethin', right? An' he probably wants Medic outta his lab anyways, and I didn't hear 'im, so… one plus one plus one is three."
"Hmm." Spy paused for a second. "A good point… 'ow is it zat you have become more perceptive without your eyesight?"
Scout shrugged. "If I don't pay attention I get clobbered over the head with somethin', apparently. And that ain't any fun."
"VHERE IS HE!?"
All motion ceased when the doctor's voice echoed from down the hallway. The sound of boots clicking sharply on tiled floor rang through the room. Scout could practically hear Soldier sweating.
The doors swung open.
"Er. Hello, doc," Soldier said stiffly.
Boots continued to click.
"How are things going?"
Boots stopped clicking.
"Anything new?"
The sound of two slaps cracked through the air in quick succession, followed by an inhale and some very colorful cursing.
"Do not hit a blinded man over ze head vith a cane," Medic said coldly. Scout tried to hold in his laughter, and he was sure his face was turning red with the effort. "Speaking of vich, I believe zhat zhis was intended to be a gift of some sort, Herr Scout, albiet a misguided vone, ja?"
Scout reached in front of him and felt the wooden thing from earlier enter his hand. He grasped it carefully, feeling it over. It was crooked and a bit splintered in some places, but it did indeed feel like a very shoddy but handmade cane.
"If you vould stand still, bitte," Medic said next, and Scout felt the slight sting of a needle in his arm followed by the singular sensation of healing on the wound on his head, the skin pulling back together easily. "Zhere. Und Herr Soldier?"
"Yessir," Soldier groaned.
"Hit our Junge again und I vill not heal you in battle until furzer notice. Gut day."
The doctor left the room again, and the door closed behind him. Heavy chuckled quietly.
"Yer doctor is scary as hell, lad," Demo said in a stage whisper.
"Yes. Very scary Doktor," Heavy agreed, and he left the room as well.
Scout heard Soldier shuffling out of the room and muttering, and Engie and Pyro sweeping away plates from the table as Engie started a "conversation" with the firebug. Scout managed to find his seat again, and he held onto his soup protectively, trying to finish the lukewarm meal as quickly as he could.
He heard someone sit in the chair on one side of him. "Aye, laddie. I had a present for ye s'well, but ah promise ya tha' I won't hit ye over the head with it. I'd prefer not t'get twice-slapped by our Doctor today, aye?"
The American felt something relatively small and fragile press into his palm. Metal and… glass, spindly bits…
"Glasses?" Scout asked, frowning.
"Sunglasses," Demo corrected. "Me mum has a pair like 'em, she's got her eyes out s'well. Guess it's spose'ta protect whot's left'a them. At the very least, keeps folks from starin' too much at th'place they should be. Like me eyepatch." Demo paused, and Scout heard him scratching at his stubbly chin. "Although yer eyes still look intact, jus' unfocused a bit."
"Wait, you… so you like, got me these?" Scout asked, frowning. "An'—you're sure you want me to keep 'em?"
"Aye, lad. All yours," Demo said with an amicable pat to his shoulder.
"Oh. Um… thanks, Demo. This is really cool'a ya," Scout said, turning them over in his hands. He poked the brim of his cap up and slid the shades on carefully. "How's it look?" he asked, swallowing back nervousness.
"Y'look like a greaser," the Scot snorted. "But not half bad."
Scout felt out the shape of them. "What do these look like, anyways?"
"Aviators, smaller than Sniper's though."
Scout nodded, opening his mouth to say something but hesitating at the last moment. Demo hadn't gotten up to move yet, but Scout couldn't be sure he was paying attention. Nevertheless, he tried to speak again. "It's. It's weird," he said.
"What is?" Demo asked.
"I lost my eyesight an' all of a sudden everyone is bein' nice to me," he said, trying for a casual, lighthearted tone but instead settling somewhere around confused.
Demo didn't say anything for a moment. "Well. When a real bad thin' happens t'ya comrades, it makes ya think, don't it? Realize what's important." He heard Demoman standing, leaning in and lowering his voice to a whisper. "Though if y'ask me, Sniper's always been nice t'ya. Jus' the way he is."
"Yeah?" Scout asked, the words lighting a spark of something good in his chest.
"Aye." Another pat to the shoulder and he was walking away, calling a goodbye to Engie and Pyro as he left.
Scout felt someone sitting down next to him. "It's me," Sniper murmured. "Y'nearly done?"
"Yeah. Didja see these shades? Cyclops got 'em for me," he said cheerfully.
"Look good," Sniper said appraisingly.
"I hope so," Scout said, turning back to his soup and taking another spoonful. He made a face at how cold it had gotten. "Bleh. Yo, Mumbles!" he called towards the kitchen. He heard an answering noise from Pyro. "Couldja heat this back up for me?"
He heard a cheerful noise and Pyro's heavy boots on the ground walking closer as Sniper pulled his bowl a bit away. The telltale click of a flamethrower and the bowl was placed in front of him again.
"Thanks!" he said, and he heard Pyro humming happily as they left. The next bite of soup nearly burned his tongue, but he didn't complain.
"Why're ya hangin' on to that cane?" Sniper asked with a note of distain.
Scout shifted the cane where it was leaning against his leg. "I dunno. It's a gift, ain't it?"
"He hit you over the head wiv it."
"Yeah, well." Scout turned it around a few times. His next words were spoken sheepishly. "This an' the sunglasses are the… the first gifts you guys've ever really given me."
There was silence around the table, the only noise coming from the kitchen where Engie talked fairly quietly over the sound of clacking dishes and silverware.
"Really?" Sniper asked, voice his usual half-growl half-mumble, but somehow softer than usual.
"…Yeah."
"Whot about—about birthdays, or—or holidays or the like?"
"The guys don't really give out gifts for stuff—they do ya a favor or cook or somethin', but not like, a whole gift. Gifts are for…" Scout stopped for a few long moments. He almost intended to leave the sentence unfinished, but Sniper didn't speak, waiting for him to finish the thought. Almost a full minute passed before Scout finally forced the end of the thought out of his mouth. "…Gifts are for friends."
"…Mate. A'course you're our friend," Sniper said softly.
"Nah. They don't like me much," Scout said, turning the cane over and over in his hands. He wasn't even sad, because he wasn't realizing this just now. "An' I know that. They got friends between themselves, but none'a them like me much. They put up with my shenanigans because I'm fast and good at my job, nothin' else. They put up with me an' that's about it, y'know? An' I got no right to be mad about it, it just kinda sucks."
Sniper was quiet. Scout realized he was probably being a dick by venting to Sniper—he was never a people person, he wouldn't know how to react to any of this.
"It's gettin' late," Scout said, and he picked up the bowl, gulping down the rest of his soup quickly.
"Don't choke, now," Sniper fretted, and Scout waved off his concern, nearly slamming the bowl back down when he was done.
"Alright," he said, back to cheerful, standing up. "Let's go, wombat!"
Sniper took the bowl and spoon over to the kitchen and returned to Scout within a few moments. When Scout took hold of his sleeve, he paused.
"…Ya don't wanna use y'new cane?" Sniper asked.
"Nah. You're more reliable," Scout said easily, and Sniper paused for a few seconds before he started walking. Scout frowned to himself. Did he just make this weird? He probably just made it weird. Way to go, Scout. You ruined everything. Now you gotta go find someone else to help you get around and do stuff, idiot.
"Thanks," Sniper said finally, the word mumbled, and that worry was gone in a flash.
Scout was woken from another dream—home, spring, fresh from track practice after school, talking to Ma and helping her with the dishes while his brothers goofed around in the other roo—by the sound of the door opening and closing with a creak and a light clatter.
"Snipes?" Scout murmured, voice scratchy from sleep. "Why're ya wakin' me up, man?"
There was a soft scuffle as Sniper stopped abruptly in his tracks. "Oh. Uh… I was… just out for a smoke s'all," Sniper murmured slowly. "No worries. Go back to sleep."
Scout paused, then nodded, rolling back over and closing his eyes. It looked exactly the same as when they were open.
It wasn't until the next morning that Scout realized he hadn't had a clue what time that had been, and that Sniper had almost definitely been lying.
[[medic is my fuckin boi you have no idea. just. double-slaps a man. the ol' slap-backhand. he don't even give a fuck.
anyways tom jones's music was and continues to be a masterpiece fight me]]
