Sightless

He couldn't remember much. Everything would just fade out; the pulsing, the ringing, clutching weakly to nothing. Gone. Just gone. And it would jump right back as if it had never left. He still wasn't sure if he was breathing. He could hear murmurings and creaking when he would fade back in. He still couldn't remember how to function anything other than his fingers. Pain was starting to set in and he faded out again.

The murmurings were louder. He could hear distinctions in the voice, but couldn't make out the words. His body was rigid and he could feel pinching across him. His forehead, his torso, his elbows, his knees, his ankles. Something was tight and pinching him. He wanted it gone. His arms and legs were stiff and straight, hands feeling glued to his sides. He clenched his fingers, curling them tight into the fabric of his pants.

The pain shot through him like rockets, his nerves and muscles twitching as the fire and ice collided and exploded and shattered and crawled through his skin and bones. His eyes shot open and he was greeted to a bright light that made him see red. His body tried to arch and curl and hide away from the pain, but he was pinched and pushed back down. His knee and side and head tore pulses throughout his body, spreading the pain like wildfire and electricity and shards of glass, his toes curling in his shoes and his fingers blistering through the fabric of his pants. His chest sealed as his lungs hammered into his ribs as his breaths came out sharp and quick and sharp. His heart stabbed as it bruised as it thrashed in his panic and pain and agony. His eyes darted, unable to move his head. He couldn't see where he was. Bright lights and black stars and red. All he saw. All he could hear was his racing heartbeat, his squeaks as he tried to call out in confusion and pain. Sweat rolled down his brow and his fingers flexed and he was shaking and tears pricked and fell and rolled down his cheeks.

He only managed to scream when something was clasped harshly over his mouth, but then it all faded back to nothing.

It was pitch black when he woke up. He was seated against cold walls, slumped over. His breaths rolled out shaking and harsh, his whole being quivering and pulsing. He felt so heavy. He whimpered pitifully, struggling to raise his weighted arms to hug himself. He didn't know where he was, he didn't know what happened, he didn't know what was going to happen, he felt numb and everything hurt and he couldn't see anything and he was so scared. At least he was free from the pinching restraints. That was good... right?

His body drummed. His heart and trembling breaths were the only things he could stand to hear. The only things he figured he would hear. But he would wake up, home, his Ma yelling at him to get his ass outta bed and get some pancakes. Or he would be at base, stupid dumbass Spy jumping on his bed and whacking him with a pillow. And he wouldn't be alone and confused and feeling so heavy that it hurt to keep his arms up.

He found himself crying.

Even after minutes of sitting in the dark, eyes open, he couldn't see anything. No outlines of the walls or furniture. Nothing. He was stuck in complete darkness, with nothing more to comfort him than his mewling and the pain surging in his aggravated injuries, that still felt merely numb.

He heard footsteps, but he didn't move. He was too scared to. They got closer. Echoed louder and louder until the stopped.

The voice that called to him was soft and tired. "Stringbean?"

Scout sniffed and looked up, blinking and frowning as he still saw nothing. He choked out a sob, cringing at how pitiful and weak he sounded, "H-Hardhat?"

"Yeah..." the man's words wobbled. "H... How are ya holdin' up?"

"Where are we?" he squeaked, ignoring the man's question. "H-How'd you know i-it was me? I... I can't see n-nothin'."

There was a long pause before the brunette heard the man openly cry, blubbering, "I... I did somethin' bad, Stringbean. And you... you... Dammit, I didn't want this..."

"Wh-What are you talking about?"

"Your eyes are gone." the Engineer blurted, voice quaking and cracking. "I did something r-real bad and now y-you're blind and the others... God, I don't know what's..."

The Texan's sobs faded from existence as the words sunk in. Your eyes are gone. Your eyes are gone.

His eyes were gone?

His eyes were gone.

His eyes were gone.

"...my eyes are... gone...?" he whispered in disbelief. Then he repeated it. Louder. Louder. Louder. So loud he could only scream. Just a sound. Just a sound from the bottom of his guts into the air as he hunched over and clawed at his face. It didn't stop. His throat was sore and his lungs burned for air and he could feel it as his hands rested over his eyelids. He had no eyes. His eyes were gone. Engineer had sat next to him and held him and cried and whispered apologies over and over again and his voice was breaking and cracking. His eyes were gone. His eyes were gone and his teammate consoling him had something to do with it.

He shoved the shorter man aside and crawled away, flinching when his back bumped harshly against something. Tears streaked down his face and his stomach clenched and his chest hammered and his heart pounded and his head felt like an inferno and his body wouldn't stop shaking.

"Stringbean, I..."

"What d-did you do...?" his voice was hoarse and scratchy and came out as less than a whisper.

He gained no response from the other man.

"W... Why did you...?"

Silence.

"...my eyes...!"

"I... have to go... or it'll just get worse for you." Engineer finally mumbled after another pause, Scout flinching as the man stepped closer. "Before... Before I go... I have something for... to... cover your..." there was a heavy sigh and he felt the man kneel down. There was a shuffle of fabric before the man resumed. "I ain't asking you to forgive me. I never will ask you to forgive me. It's just... something... something to help..."

Scout swallowed, feeling on the ground for some way of escape. His fingers didn't search far, his whole body freezing as the man lightly tilted his head forward. He didn't know what he was expecting. He figured it would hurt. He grimaced, expecting pain.

Something soft wrapped around his head instead, covering his eyes and ears as the man tied a knot behind his head, before pushing the fabric behind the younger man's ears.

"...I hope it helps... somehow..." the Texan's voice wavered and he started to walk away. "I'm so sorry, Stringbean... This wasn't what I wanted."

There was the screech of a metal door closing shut.

"Wait!" he called out, trying to look in the direction he heard the man walking. "W... What happened t-to everyone else?"

There was a pause.

"I... left when you were all pushing the bomb before respawn was... shut off. I... don't know where the others are." the Texan mumbled under his breath.

Then the Bostonian was alone. His body felt heavier and his breathing fell out in haggard breaths and his stomach was lumped in his throat and his heart in his ears and all he had was his mind and it roamed and stretched and compressed and repeated and repeated he had no eyes he had no eyes he had no eyes he had no eyes. No no no it had to be a lie or... a dream. He couldn't not have eyes. He had to have eyes. He was just dreaming. Dreaming dreaming dreaming and he would wake up and his Ma and brothers would all be there and his Ma and brothers would all be there and they would all be there and he'd be safe and safe and safe and he'd be able to see em and he would see their smiles and their faces and he'd be able to see them.

He wanted to see them.

His mind and body continued to race and rampage and compress and knot and he found himself out of tears, just heaving as he hugged himself with his weighted arms and collapsed in a heap on the floor. It was just a nightmare... It just had to be a nightmare...

He didn't want to be lost.