Holding his breath, the bushman slowly raised himself up and off of the bed, his eyes blurry from pain. As soon as he was up and reasonably steady on his legs -or as much as he could be- the Australian offered his hand out for Dennis to use as support, for a moment the older man considered picking up the Scout and taking them both to his room, it was the least he could do after the kid had cleaned him up and satisfied him...However Micks legs shook from the sheer thought of adding extra weight to the hunters frame so right now walking together would just have to do.

Now that both men were on their feet all that was left to do was to get to the Snipers room at the far corner of the corridor, thankfully not that far away from the medical bay although it seemed like a marathon no less. Mick stared down at the Bostonian as they began to walk, squeezing his had reassuringly and smiling warmly each time Dennis looked up at him.
"Can't w-wait to get some shut eye...Could sleep f-for a million years..."

The corridor windows lit up with an almost blinding white light as a bomb exploded nearby, causing Mick to instinctively force Dennis behind his back and out of direct firing line of any shrapnel getting fired their way, it was only a few seconds later that the bushman remembered that they were safely behind the "war-proof glass" of the base and thus unable to be harmed by ammunition of any kind. The older man breathed out a steady sigh of relief as he regained his composure and smiled gently at the youngster he had tucked behind himself for protection. No words really needed to be said right now. In Mick's head the time for talking was when they would be both safely cuddled up in bed in some couple of minutes time. It could not come soon enough. Really it couldn't.

Dennis tried his best to help Mick up, without touching his side or ribcage too much in fear of causing more pain rather than being helpful. It was hard for him to even support himself when he got up, even harder to try and help the older, bigger and heavier man to stay on his two legs that probably were about to give way underneath him. The young bostonian clenched his teeth and sucked in air through his teeth to try his best at walking up straight, and not fall down on the floor and curl up in a ball like his body wanted to as the pain kept eating at him. He was sure he could feel his own pulse right in the area of the burnwound, like it was moving and throbbing. He denied himself to look and see if it was true.

Grabbing Mick's hand and holding on to it, the Scout made sure the australian was able to stand on his own, but he was ready to help should Mick's legs give up on him. Once more the young bostonian had tunnel vision. The only thing in his mind was to get them both back to a room, any room, and a bed where they could sleep. Nothing else mattered to him, and he kept telling himself that after this one last push he could finally rest, finally close his eyes and escape the pain for just a little while.

The youngster didn't realize it himself, but his hands refused to leave Mick's body. Though they were not holding on to him tightly, they were there ready to catch him if he began to fall. Granted, Dennis was in no shape to even TRY and lift that extra weight, but stubborn as he was he refused to accept that fact. If the bushman needed him he would be there, even if it in the end would mean that they ended up sleeping naked on the cold floor. The young Scout was not going to leave the older man's side, it was completely out of the question. He was so focused on his task, that his ears felt like they were filling up with cotton. This was why, when the Sniper spoke up, Dennis glanced up at him but his words didn't register. All the youngster could see was those smiling lips, moving in speech, followed by the sound of the older man's low, soothing voice. How he could even smile was a mystery to the youngster, who felt like he was in the worst place possible. Though he was happy about a number of things, all of their values were wiped out by the fact that the sharpshooter could end up dead by the next morning if they weren't careful. And even then, there was a chance this would be the last time Dennis would see him alive.

The thought was clearer to the Scout than anything he heard, even the explosion outside was just a low sound that didn't grab his attention. He squeezed Mick's hand, and it was first then that Dennis realized he'd been shoved to the side by Mick, who had attempted to shield him from something that couldn't even cause him harm. Well, not in there, anyway. With eyes that had begun to lose their light and their ability to see straight, Dennis looked up at Mick who was once more smiling. Life was slowly draining from both of them, and yet Mick who was worse off than the bostonian was showing so much life, but his actions seconds before also showed he wouldn't think twice about protecting Dennis even if it would cost him his life. This was concerning.

The youngster pulled his eyes off the older man, and pushed him forward to try and get him to walk again. Though, it wouldn't really be called a push, more of a nudge in the right direction. Dennis didn't like the fact that Mick could end up dead as soon as anyone or anything posed a threat to the young Scout. It would make the bushman's life at the base even more dangerous, he would be easily spotted and easy to shoot. Really, it would just be better if Dennis left, if he wasn't at the base so the Sniper could go on and do his job that he was excellent at. Right now, if they went out on the battlefield it would only be chaos. It was horriffic to think that if Dennis stayed close to the only one at the base who he actually gave a shit about, it would be a greater chance that the person he was trying hard to protect would end up worse off or even dead, if he stuck around. What was worse, was that it seemed Mick wouldn't let him go even if Dennis tried, and the youngster himself knew that if he was forced to see and be around the australian he wouldn't be able to stay away from him, despite his willpower.

"Come on, g-go already.." Dennis' voice was weak as he focused on the door by the far end of the corridor, pushing Mick forward with him. He could stand and stare at the gentle, smiling face for hours, because it made him feel safe somehow, but he knew deep down that the both of them were still in a very bad place and it wouldn't do just standing around.

Just one step more...and one more...one last step, almost there, and then they could sleep.

Finally, Dennis put his hand on the handle of the door and pushed it open. He was completely working on auto pilot now, they were so very close to gettin the peace and rest they needed, and although he was ready to collapse he pushed on, and near pulled Mick over to the bed. There was no way he would allow himself to trip on the finish line. With breathing uneaven and both shaky and quick, Dennis helped his older companion to lie down on the bed, and made sure to try and make it as painless as possible for Mick. He put a hand against the bed, feeling his head spinning as his last resources of energy were running out, and while leaning his weight on that arm and his weak legs the Scout gently pulled up the covers over Mick. He was almost standing leaned over him, and this of course caused their eyes to meet for just a moment. Dennis' eyes were shining with fatigue, stress, pain and unhappiness all combined. He wanted to be able to smile in support back at Mick, so assure him with a smile that everything was alright and that he didn't mind his own injury as long as Mick was fine. But he couldn't. There was not a single muscle in the youngsters face that could even attempt a smile. There was simply nothing to smile about.

Dennis groaned and growled as he straightened his back again, and made his way over to the other side of the bed. He couldn't leave Mick alone, he just couldn't. The fear that the older man would slip away in his sleep was too great for Dennis to be able to leave him. And what if Mick would need something? What if he injuried himself even worse or what if his bandages ended up soaked in blood and he needed them changed? What if his heart stopped, what if he stopped breathing, what if-...
Dennis' legs gave up on him just as he was trying to climb on to the bed, and he fell down against it without being able to control how he landed. The softness of the bed was sharp and horriffic against his burned skin, but his attempt to scream only came out as a tight whimper. He was shaking, his heart was working hard to keep him alive and he was sure he had forgotten what it felt like to not be in pain. Dennis wriggled and made big efforts at turning himself over so he was lying on his side, though not the burnt side, and as the covers hurt him he decided to only let his hips and down be allowed the warmth.

The youngsters light blue eyes opened, and through the dark he stared right at his companion. He could see, and hear the older man breathe, see signs of life that greatly relieved him. Without a word, and not giving a shit about what Mick might think or what anyone finding them might think - though he was sure nobody would be waking them up early as it usually was, considering both teams would most likely be getting the rest they'd been robbed of during the night - , Dennis pushed his face against the warm body of the sniper. He was careful, but made sure he could feel the warm skin against his face, and searched for the older man's bigger hand with his own smaller ones.

Closing his eyes, Dennis listened to the soothing though distant sounds of Mick's breathing and his heartbeats. As long as he heard that, the bostonian would be able to sleep. He needed to hear it, to know Mick was alive and breathing, for it was the only thing that could soothe him and give him peace; knowing the bushman was alive.

The minute that the two men entered the bedroom felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of their shoulders, or atleast for Mick anyway. Just looking at the bed felt like he was looking at heaven. Being able to lay down on the bed, even more heaven. The bushman let out a long sign of relief as his battered body came into contact with the cool bed sheets, for a moment he felt himself drift into the unconciousness of sleep before snapping his amber eyes open to make sure that Dennis had gotten himself safely onto the bed also. The body looked completely spent, lacking any energy or any soul for that matter, Dennis looked like a lifeless puppet that had been dragged through the woods and thrown onto a fire -although Mick would never tell him that...not right now atleast- seeing the boy this way when he was known for being so full of life felt like a weight on Micks heart, the person he was looking at wasn't even close to a shadow of the Scouts former self.

Without any warning Dennis' body gave away and dropped onto the bedsheets, out of instinct the bushman shot up, propping himself up onto his elbows to try and help the youngster up, the familiar warmth of blood spreading itself across his skin underneath his bandages came as no surprise, Mick couldn't feel it. The older mans golden eyes glued themselves to the Bostonian in silent fear as he watched the younger mans silhouette drag himself into a more comfortable position on the bed.
Mick's eyesight began to slip shut, with not enough energy to power his eyelids anymore the most he could hope for was to stay awake long enough to hear Dennis slip into a deep sleep. The feeling of the bostonians small frame seeking out his own larger one made the sharp shooter crack a small smile at the young mans need to be close, the feeling to be wanted, ineeded/i by someone...it felt alien to him.

Now that the two men were safe in bed and just about ready to slip into a coma it felt a lot more peaceful, to the Australian atleast. He stroked the back of youngsters hand with his fingers, replaying the past events in his head. Replaying how sad Dennis had looked since this all happened, being with him was meant to make the kid happy, this didn't seem the case. But if Mick was going to do one thing to make the Scout feel calm and relaxed on this horrific night this would be it, and it would be his last shot before he himself slipped away into unconciousness.

iGive me a home among the gum trees,
With lots of plum trees,
A sheep or two, a kangaroo.
A clothesline out the back,
Veranda out the front
And an old rocking chair.

You can see me in the kitchen
Cooking up a roast,
Or vegemite on toast,
Just you and me, a cup of tea.
Later on, we'll settle down,
And mull up on the porch
And watch the possums play./i

Mick's voice was quiet, low and soft as he began to sing to the youngster who was curled up next to him. Mick focused on the sound of the Scouts breathing, taking solace in hearing it calm down and regulate. The bushman continued to sing his song;

iThere's a Safeway on the corner
And a Woolworths down the street,
And a New World's just been opened
Where they regulate the heat,
But I'd trade them all tomorrow
For the simple bush retreat
Where the kookaburras call.

Some people like their houses
With fences all around,
Others live in mansions,
And some beneath the ground,
But me, I like the bush, you know,
With rabbits running round
And a pumpkin vine out the back/i

He had no idea how long he had been singing the same song over and over, no doubt if Dennis had still been awake he would have learned all the words off by heart. But the youngster had said nothing, not moved, breathing had stayed relatively the same save the occassional hitch from the pain biting at his unconcious. At this point the hunters song had become more of a slurred mass of what we loosly refer to as "words", anyone would think him to be pissed drunk. As all sense left the sharp shooters body the final dregs of thought passed through his brain i Dennis...Medic...Blood...Dennis...Dennis.../i

And then. Darkness.

Dennis was falling into unconsciousness, finally allowing himself to do so now that he knew he'd done everything he could to help Mick and make sure he was in a good place. They were safe now, well, safer at least and the bushmans wounds and urges had been tended to. They had made up after their fight, and if it wasn't for the injuries the both of them had suffered this would be a very pleasant position they were in. But, the feeling of Mick's naked body close to his own didn't cause Dennis' heart to flutter, or butterflies to dance in his stomach, or even arouse him. It just gave a feeling of security, to have the older man so close, to hear him breathe and breathe in his scent with every breath the young bostonian took. The bed smelled just like Mick, the room as well, and Mick of course was the source of that scent that seemed to work like a calming drug. Honestly the scout found it hard to believe how he could ever have been able to sleep in his own bed, because he couldn't imagine himself doing it now. He simply needed to be by Mick's side, needed to hear and feel and scent him. Maybe it was because he was tired, or maybe it was because he was in so much pain he had trouble keeping his thoughts straight, that Dennis confessed all these things to himself in his head and allowed himself to even think such thoughts of the australian.

Mick's voice was so far away, but yet Dennis could hear it, as well as a faint melody the bushman's words followed. Was he seriously...singing? The young bostonian could feel his companions fingers gently touching the back of his hand, stroking it as if he was trying to give him comfort while the low, soothing voice of the australian kept singing. Dennis wanted to tell him to shut up, to save his strength and stop killing himself slowly by wasting energy. But Dennis couldn't speak, he could barely keep his eyes open anymore. A faint sqeeze of Mick's hand was all he could accomplish, before he felt himself slipping off into unconsciousness. Oh well, let the man sing...
One last thought passed through his mind, before it all went dark.
iJust don't die on me./i

When Dennis opened his eyes again the sun was already up. It was quiet, in the room as well as outside. The whole base seemed like it was empty, no sounds of steps or coughs or voices talking even though it was late. Well, late by their standars. Usually the men were woken up at roughly 6-7 am to get ready for the day, then they could either sit around and wait for an attack or cause some mayhem themselves, if they felt lucky. Now it was almost 11 am, and still Dennis didn't feel well rested. But he'd gotten enough sleep for his body to be able to handle him being awake for a little while, plus sleeping wasn't the only way to recharge batteries. His stomach felt like it consisted of a giant void, there was nothing in there for his body to turn into energy. He needed to eat, they both did.

Still feeling like shit, the youngster looked up at the face of the sharpshooter sleeping by his side. He found their hands were still holding on to each other, and the youngster could still feel every breath and every heartbeat of Mick, as their bodies were closely touching. It took a few minutes for the youngster to remember and piece together their journey to the med bay and from there to the room they were in, before he remembered everything they had went though. With a sigh he closed his eyes. All that shit, and it had all been his fault.

He stared at the sleeping bushmans face, seeing how he breathed and swallowed automatically in his sleep. Signs of life. He was warm still, and pretty much the only source of heat Dennis had got during the night as his upper body hadn't been allowed the covers.

Slowly an carefully Dennis slipped his hands out of Mick's, moving carefully in the bed. He wasn't in too much pain at the time, but once he started to move his side was giving him a great amout of grief. It wasn't burning hot anymore, and the ointment Mick had helped him apply was probably to thank for that, but it still hurt.

Staying in bed wasn't an option, even if he wanted to see to it that Mick would wake up. He had survived the night, so he should be able - he must be - to survive a few hours more until the medic had time to take care of him. If the doctor was still alive...The thought caused Dennis to tense, what if the medic had died? What if in their newly awoken state the guys had been less protective of him and maybe he hadn't looked out for enemies well enough, maybe he was gone? Usually the rest of the team protected their doctor more than they protected each other, because of the simple fact that the crazy german was what and who would and could keep them alive if - more like when - they got injured. But maybe this time the doctor hadn't survived and was dead, because of Dennis...and if Mick didn't get any real medical aid maybe he would die too, because of-...
Dennis closed his eyes tightly and got up off the bed, quickly and without even wincing at the pain. He couldn't think like that, of course Mick would survive! There was no way the australian would die on him, it was simply not possible.

As the scout tried his legs he found that the sleep had done him some good after all. He wasn't shaking, and his steps were secure and balanced. He was still hurting but it was a lot less pain to deal with than it had been during the night. Still, he refused to let himself look at the burn. He didn't want to see it.

Pondering about what to do now that he was up and able to walk properly again, a chilling thought struck the youngster. The towels, they were still in the medical bay, covered in blood and...something else, that undoubtedly would awake suspicion.
Fuck, the towels, they needed to get the towels out of the way! What if they had already been detected? The only ones not out on the battlefield the night before had been Scout and Sniper, if two towels with blood and...other bodily fluids was found in the medical bay - along with their clothes scattered all around the shower room - it wouldn't take a genius to realize that the clothes, the towels, the blood iand/i the jizz belonged to either of the two. It would not look good, not good at all.

"Ah fuck" Dennis cursed under his breath, his eyebrows lowered in irritation but also worry. He really didn't want anyone to find that towel. Throwing a glance at the still sleeping bushman, Dennis decided he wasn't going to wake him up. The man needed his sleep, he needed to stay still as much as possible until he could get some real help. So, it was up to Dennis to clean up their - well, originally it was his - mess. He couldn't do it naked, though. So, since he didn't have his own clothes in Mick's room he opened the australians closet and pulled out one of his red shirts. He put it on, and found it was much too big. Lucky for him it reached down beneath his butt and covered his genitals perfectly too. Even if it would look odd seeing the scout running around in the sharpshooters shirt - naked -, Dennis preferred to be seen like that than be seen completely naked running around the base. He only needed it for the short trip to his own room, though.

Partly dressed and with growing worry and determination Dennis gave Mick one last glance before he exited the room. He knew it wasn't a polite thing to do to leave someones bed like that before the person had woken up, and he also knew that if Mick woke up while he was gone the bushman might think Dennis had regretted anything that had happened the night before, and simply left him. The youngster wasn't planning on being gone for too long, and he was hoping the older man would be out cold for a while longer. The worst that could happen was that Mick did wake up, saw Dennis wasn't there and went to look for him in all his naked glory, stumbling around like a newborn calf and dragging attention to himself. No, that needed to be prevented at all cost. Dennis would make a quick trip to the medical bay after getting dressed, he'd grab the towels and hurry to the showers where he'd clean up a bit too and put the towels with the rest of the dirty towels, blending them so it wouldn't look quite as suspicios and maybe nobody would even notice the semen on one of them. But, if they did, they wouldn't be able to point a finger at anyone.

Dennis looked around in the corridor and listened for sounds of anyone walking or being on their way out of their room. But, he heard nothing. So, barefoot and with only a far too big red shirt to cover his body, he hurried back to his room best he could. Once he reached his door and got inside, the youngster could feel his heart working on overdrive to keep up with him, even though he hadn't run very fast. It was obvious he didn't have much energy to spare even though he'd been sleeping for a long time. The fact he'd barely eaten anything in the past 24 hours was most likely a factor. But as long as he wasn't about to drop, there would be nothing stopping Dennis from hurrying around the base with the mission in mind to cover his and Mick's tracks.

The bostonian pulled off the bushman's shirt and dropped it on his bed, only to get dressed in his own clothes which actually fit. It was unpleasant to wear a shirt and have the fabric rub against his injured skin, but the scout refused to walk around without a shirt on, showing off the horror that was his torso. No thank you, he preferred to keep it hidden even if it hurt him more to do so.

Now dressed, Dennis slipped out of his room and headed for the medical bay. He was afraid the doctor would be there, and that he would have found the towels, on the other hand the doctor being there would be great because then Dennis could get him to give Mick the aid he needed. But as the youngster slowly pushed the door to the med bay open and stuck in his head, there was silence and emptyness. Nobody was there, not even the german's cooky birds. It was like the entire place was a ghost town. iMaybe there was nobody left, but Mick and Dennis.../i
No, that couldn't be. The teams had had many vicious fights, but, not one where the entire team dropped, it wasn't possible.

Dennis quickly found the towels, and grabbed them both. His eyes faintly glanced over at the bed the towels had been lying next to, and he was swiftly reminded on just what had happened there. iBy God what had he even done.../i
Looking away, Dennis cleared his throat, almost as if someone else had been there and asked him about the bed, like he was trying to get away from the subject or felt embarrassed. Well, he was feeling something, exactly what he wasn't sure. Maybe he was a bit embarrassed, a bit ashamed, but the thought also brought out a warm feeling that quickly filled up his chest, and the warmth worked it's way up to his cheeks when he relived those moments he could remember so clearly. The groans and gasps Mick had uttered, his large hand squeezing Dennis while urging him on to continue, to go faster. The feeling of the older mans body tensing, shuddering and damn near convulsing because of the youngsters touch that brought him so much pleasure it seemed unreal. The sweat beading his face...
No, that was quite enough of that.
He shook his head to get the images out, and turned his back on the bed as he moved to exit the medical bay.

The next stop was the showers, that looked just as untouched and unvisited as the medical bay. Where were everybody? Dead? No, they couldn't be, if that was the case the BLU would've won and stormed the base to get anything and everything they could from the beaten team. The rest of the REDs were probably around, somewhere.

The scout looked around the shower room, noticing sewage shit and his and Mick's dirty clothes scattered around on the floor. It looked a mess, and although there was a harmless explanation to it all, Dennis really preferred removing his and Mick's clothes from the scene. He put the dirty towels with the others, and threw his and the bushman's clothes in the wash as well, except for his own shirt which had been burned to shit anyway.

With a sigh of relief the youngster exited the showers, and upon deciding whether or not to go back to Mick's room to check up on him, he felt hunger tare at his stomach so viciously it made him want to lean forward and wrap his arms around himself. Food first, then Mick. He could probably make breakfast for the sharpshooter as well, instead of forcing him to get out of bed, get dressed and drag his ass down to the kitchen. It would be best if Mick stayed in his bed for most of the day, until the medic had got to take a look at him and treated his wounds appropriately. So, breakfast it was.

In the kitchen, Dennis heard the first sign that his teammates were still alive. He could hear steps while he was trying to figure out how the coffeemaker worked - because, he knew Mick enjoyed coffee, however he had no idea how to make it -, and soon enough he wasn't alone in the kitchen anymore. For a second the scout had worried it was his older companion who had come to look for him, and the thought itself caused him to grow irritated. But when he turned around, it wasn't Mick who was standing there. It was the soldier, who looked more pissed than usual, and he had the demoman by his side. They both had taken quite a few hits out on the battlefield, that was obvious, but they were able to stand walk and talk just fine which meant they weren't in as bad of a state as Mick was. But the fact nobody else was seen around, did not bode well.

Quickly Dennis realized the older men were not there to get breakfast or early lunch, they had spotted him on his way down to the kitchen and followed him. What did they want from the young bostonian? Well, that became quite clear when a clenched fist hit his face with such force he fell backwards against the counter. His ears were ringing, the soldier's large hand had a lot more power in it than Dennis ever could put into a punch. He was grabbed by the collar of his shirt, and yelled right in the face by the furious helmetwearer, who blamed everything on Dennis. The youngster glared back up at him, teeth clenched and eyebrows lowered in defiance as he tried to wriggle his way out of the tight grip, with no success. He knew it was his fault. He KNEW he was to blame for everything that had happened, but it still angered him so greatly when he was blamed for it all, reminded that he was a fuck up who'd set many peoples lives in danger.

The "payback" was short, probably far shorter and less violent than any of the older men wanted it to be. But they knew just as well as Dennis that injuring each other especially now when the team was already crippled and had taken a big blow, was not the thing to do. When Dennis was left on the floor of the kitchen, he was left with a bloody nose and a black eye, along with the knowledge that a man had died because of his little midnight adventure. The guilt was wrecking him, the knowledge that he had indirectly killed one of his teammembers, one innocent man who had never done the youngster any harm taring him apart. He hadn't thought he'd feel guilty the day before, hadn't believed he'd ever feel remorse for his actions. But now, it hit him with such force that he really didn't know what to do with himself. He should've been the only one to die, it was obvious the team would be better off without him. Everyone would be, even Mick, no matte how much the bushman might want to bark against him on that fact.

Alone again, Dennis got upp off the floor. He wiped away the blood from his nose, detesting the taste of it as the stream of blood had reached his lips. Quietly, and though his face felt like it had been broken, Dennis continued to make breakfast for the sleeping sharpshooter, who hopefully hadn't noticed he was gone yet. He made a cup of coffee, hopeful it tasted good, and he also put together a breakfast sandwich with cheese, ham, a few slices of cucumber and some salad. He wasn't sure if it would be to the bushmans taste, but he'd have to eat it anyway. He needed to eat.

Finding a small tray, Dennis put the plate with the sandwich and the cup of coffee on it, and grabbed a big red apple from the fruit bowl for himself. He wasn't hungry anymore, in fact he felt like puking, but he knew he needed to eat as well. An apple would have to do.

He quetly walked back to Mick's room with a face of stone, a face that hurt quite badly. His nose had become swollen, just like his eye that also already showed signs of bruising. But maybe Mick wouldn't notice.
A small drop of blood left his upper lip and dripped down on the tray, as Dennis opened the door to Mick's room.

The past events flew around Micks head, drowning any chance for a sound nights sleep. Images of war, blood, death, the screams of his comrades as well as his enemies. Dennis. Nightmare after nightmare involving the young Scout plagued the bushmans mind, every scenario ending in the same outcome of Mick being alone. This was simply a thought he could not bare to stomach, but why? For as long as he could remember the Sniper had been an aloof, laid back loner who much prefered his time alone rather than being in the company of others. However the man was a hunter, a born survivor whos instinct and ability to adapt to a situation made him the best of the best. Mick was in short, a murderous, violent, sly, calculating hit man slash assassin who took immense pleasure out of seeing the light of life fade from the eyes of men, women and children by his hand alone.

The first day he and Dennis met was quite hard to remember, mainly because the Sniper didn't openly introduce himself rather than leaving it up to his other team members to discover him and introduce themselves first. On first meeting one another neither Dennis nor Mick felt any perticular bond to one another, they weren't enemies, they weren't close, they were just...Well...iThere/i. Two people who had two entirely different roles within the team and who had pretty much zero contact with one another out on the battlefield. So what exactly happened in between meeting and now that forged such a strong bond? Honestly Mick wasn't sure himself, there could have been numerous reasons why the youngster and himself had become closer. The mutual respect perhaps? Or perhaps the friendship sparked over the occasions that both he and the Scout used their forks to flick various veggies at the Soldiers helmet whilst trying not to get caught at dinner times. Regardless of what had happened in the past it was the present that Mick cared most about, he had sworn to protect Dennis no matter what and these recurring dreams of the Snipers impending loneliness only made the bushmans resolve stronger.

Deep from within the confines of his subconcious Mick began to hear noise, stirrings of the outside world that began to disperse the horrifc nightmares that were currently warping his psyche. The familiar sting of pain greeted the sharp shooters body good morning. The hunters eyes wearily opened, squeezing shut again as his pupils strained themselves against the harsh light of day. After taking a few seconds to properly compose himself, Mick instinctively reached out to caress the young Scout that had spent the night with him only to find that he was alone in his bed. Mortified, the Australian bolted into the upright position, his mind racing frantically with panic so strong he thought he would vomit. After what felt like major heart attack, Micks eyes clocked the fragile figure of the Scout -ihis Scout/i- entering the bedroom holding a tray of sandwiches and coffee. iGod damn that coffee smelt delicious/i.

The Snipers amber eyes glued themselves to the Bostonians small frame as he closed the door to the room and placed the tray onto the older mans lap. Reluctantly Mick's eyes broke away from his young lover to look down at the bounty that lay before him, it looked wonderful. Without saying a word -ihis own way of scolding the youngster for getting him breakfast in his state/i- the sharp shooter scooped up one of the sandwiches and revealed his pearly white teeth to take a bite. The bite however, never came.

Blood. A single droplet of it to be precise, lay in a small splattered pattern on the plastic tray, previously hidden from sight by the sandwich. Mick's eyes stared down at the crimson droplet and then to Dennis' face which had previously been hidden out of proper sight. The Australians face was blank with pure rage as he stared with glazed eyes at the bostonians bloodied and bruised features. iHow fucking dare they mark bmy/b boy/i.
In all the time that Mick had worked with RED he had come to known each team mates traits and personalities and there was only one person on the team that would actively go out of his way to harm one of his own team members as punishment for a failed mission.

iThat filthy yank cunt/i

Without saying a word to his battered lover the Sniper gently placed the breakfast offering onto his bed, stood up and put on his pants and a shirt, buttoning it up enough to hide the bandages on his chest and walked out into the corridor in the direction of the mess hall. If Dennis had said anything whilst getting up and walking out was unknown to the Aussie, right now he couldn't hear a thing, couldn't take anything in, pure rage hung over the sharp shooter like a pitch black storm cloud that was begging to rain its fury down on the bastard he knew was responsible for harming the Scout. There was no pain, no feeling at all, just immense anger.

Unaware of if Dennis was following him Mick soon found his way to the mess hall where -just as he expected- the Soldier and Demoman were sat chatting to one another. The Soldier had barely made eye contact with the Australian when a fist connected directly with the Americans face, knocking him clean off of the chair and onto the floor. The Soldier although shocked and cradling a now broken jaw screamed in fury and lunged at the taller man like a wild animal, unleashing a barrage of punches to the hunters ribs, chest, arms and face, anywhere he could land a punch the Soldier did, and with rapid succession.

iStill no pain/i.

Eventually Mick managed to successfully knee the American bastard off of his body and wiped away a small stream of blood trickling down his mouth. The two men were now stood up, eyeing each other up with deadly intent, there had been pleanty of small fights within the group over the years but nothing ever on this scale. Mick wasn't out to hurt the Soldier. He was out to ikill/i him. Cautiously, the bushman stepped backwards towards the kitchen counter, his hands down by his side, his expression unreadable.

"So..." he began, voice dangerously low, "...you like beating up members of our group when they've done nothin' wrong, eh?" His back was now up against the side of the kitchen counter,
"You like seeing the blood, the fear, as you beat them senseless? Hm? You can't stand the sight of their iungrateful, honourless faces/i...So you take a fist to em instead, ye?" Without breaking eye contact with the furious American, Mick calmly grasped the handle of the coffee holder that sat underneath the dispenser itself, swirling the steaming hot liquid as he spoke once more.
"If you've got a problem with the way our Scout looks...so much so that ya feel ya need to change it by hitting him...bTHEN MAYBE YOU SHOULDN'T LOOK AT ANYONE ANYMORE!/b"
In one fluid motion Mick charged at the Soldier, launching the scolding hot coffee holder at the Americans face and smiling wickedly as the boiling liquid came into contact with the mans skin, melting the sinews of his eyes and facial muscles. The rocket jumper screamed and dropped to the ground, clutching at his scolded face. Defeated. The man would be lucky if he ever saw the light of day again.

For a moment everything was quiet, still, even peaceful. Until. Pain. Mick's eyes widened as excrutiating agony wracked his body, hot blood seeping through his hidden bandages. His ribs crackled and crunched with each pained breath, his shoulder felt as if it was being lanced with a white hot blade and his chest burned with intense heat. The Australian could do nothing but fall to his knees in agonising silence, hoping what he had just done was worth it.

Dennis noticed Mick was awake, sat in the bed as he entered the room. Good, at least he was still in the bed and hadn't gone out on some crazed mission to find the youngster like a frantic mom who'd left her kid out of her sight for five minutes and thought only the worst had happened. The scout tried to hide his face as he placed the tray in Mick's lap, mumbling out that he thought the bushman needed some food, but he also told him not to get used to getting breakfast on the bed. Dennis was most certainly inot/i that kind of guy. He'd done it now because the sharpshooter really needed to stay in bed.

He didn't get an answer, barely even a glance from Mick he noticed. Maybe he was so focused on the food that he forgt how to say "Thank you" or "How nice of you". Yeah, polite really wasn't something the bushman was. Prick.

Dennis didn't let the ungratefulness Mick showed get him down though, and just swiftly grabbed his apple from the tray and took a loud bite. He was hungry, he could feel his body urging him to eat more and quicker, but his stomach was still refusing the food. To ensure he kept his face as hidden as possible, Dennis moved to sit on the other side of the bed with his back towards Mick, looking out the window. But just as he passed by the short end of the bed, the older man put the tray to the side and got up out of the bed. The young bostonian turned around and looked at him with genuine surprise. What the hell? Wasn't he going to eat? He hadn't even taken a bite of the sandwich and he was already refusing the food Dennis had worked hard to get to him?

The scout took another loud bite of his apple and glared at the australian getting dressed. Fine, he didn't have to eat it if it looked that fucking horrible. It was the last damn time Dennis ever did anything for him. But, even though hearing it straight out would piss Dennis off more, he did want a clear explanation of this behaviour. But nothing came, and as Mick reached for the doorhandle without saying a word or even glancing at him, the scout got a bit concerned. What was up with him? Why was Mick acting so strange?

Dennis sniffled, blood still pouring from his nose he noticed. He wiped it off with the back of his hand, and as he noticed the blood on the tray, right next to the sandwich Mick had been about to take a bite from, something clicked in his mind. Had Mick seen the blood? Had he noticed the black eye and the bleeding nose? Wait, if that was the case...where the hell was he going?

A cold chill went down Dennis' spine as he threw the rest of his apple across the room, hitting the garbage can, and then ran out the room after Mick. Whatever the man was up to, it wasn't anything good. It was bad enough he was up walking with his injuries, but if he'd seen Dennis injuries and wanted revenge...things would get so much worse.
"Mick! Hey, Mick!"
Dennis shouted as he saw the older man further dwn the corridor. He was walking perfectly, almost robotically, like he wasn't human, like he was programmed to walk and never stop until he reached his destination.
"Stop, Mick! Get back in your freaking room, you're not supposed to walk around!"

Mick didn't stop, and before Dennis was able to catch up with him - still having trouble even walking, running after Mick was almost impossible and he could barely keep up - the older man had reached the kitchen, where Demoman and Soldier were seated. Dennis stopped dead in his tracks. Just looking at the Soldier made his face hurt even more. He knew the mad man probably wanted to throw a few more punches, and if Dennis got over there with Mick it would seem like he had ratted the Soldier and the demoman out to their sniper, and how would that look?
Hiding behind a corner, Dennis hoped and prayed that Mick wasnt doing what he seemed to be doing, hoping that he was just loking for some sugar or milk for his coffee or something. But no, he was out for blood.

iGoddamn idiot!/i

The bostonian felt like shouting to him to stop, to run over there and stop him before he made things worse than they already were. Not only was the sniper so hurt he should be in bed for at least another day, he was also making deadly enemies for himself within his own team with the way he was now throwing punches at the Soldier, who wasn't late with countering.
As Dennis watched the fight, his hands clenched into fists, and he watched in horror as Mick did everything he shouldn't be doing. Dennis was mostly concerned for Mick's wellbeing, worried the big, bloodthirsty american would get in a good hit on him that could possibly be deadly for Mick in his already beaten up state. But, there was also the concern that Mick showing he supported the one teammember who had started the whole war that had gone on during the night, that had cost the life of their dear engineer, the ret of the team were undoubtedly going to dislike the bushman as much as they disliked the bostonian. Neither of them would be welcomed in their own team, they would be despised and hated, and Mick's chances of survival would become extremely slim.
All. Because. Of. Dennis.

When the boiling hot coffee was thrown, and the Soldiers piercing scream rang loud in the entire base, Dennis was unable to keep his legs from moving as he watched Mick fall to his knees. He ran over to the sharpshooter, placing well deserved slap right across his face before viciously grabbing his collar.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?" He roared in the australians face, throwing a quick glance over at the Soldier who had the demoman by his side. Dennis knew the demoman was a sorry excuse of a man, a drunk who liked to make things explode, but he at least was smart eough to know beating up teammembers was not good, and should be kept to a minimum. So, for the moment the scout was safe from further assaults, as was Mick.

Dennis stared back down at Mick who was still on his knees. He wanted to help him up, but since both the snipers shoulder and torso were hurt it was hard to grab ahold of him. Mick would have to get up on his own.
"You fucking idiot, do you realize what you've done?" He hissed, his face close to Mick's as his eyes pierced the older man's, showing stress and a storm of all kinds of different feelings. Mick was a bloody idiot for what he'd done, for getting himself in a position where he got even more hurt than he already was, for starting a vicious fight with a teammate and possibly blinding him just because Dennis's had gotten a well-deserved punch.

"He had a reason to hit me, Mick. It was my fault. MY fault. Our engineer is dead, you get it? DEAD. He died because off ME and he aint never coming back!"
Dennis' voice was low, spitting out the words as he stared into Mick's eyes. The Soldier and the Engineer had been good friends, they had looked out for each other and spent a lot of time together, so that the clever texan was dead because of Dennis was a good enough reason for the Soldier to be pissed.

While Dennis' eyes and voice showed so much anger and frustration by Mick's actions, there was also a feeling of...gratefulness. Nobody had stood up for him like that before. Nobody had gone so out of their way to take revenge for Dennis, even when Dennis was the one who was and had been in the wrong. Mindless violence, pointless violence, because of personal emotions. It showed the passion Mick had for him, and although Dennis hated that Mick was constantly getting himself into shit because of him, it was also flattering and heartwarming - as well as heartbreaking - to know the youngster mattered that much for Mick.

Dennis lookd back at the Soldier and demoman, and told the explosionexpert to go get the medic, if he was available. He got a look from the older man that he couldn't quite read. There wasn't hate in his eyes, but no signs of trust either. He listened however, and left the groaning Soldier on the floor. Once Dennis had seen him leave, he turned back to Mick and glanced over his face with still upset eyes.

"I hate you." His voice wavered as he said it, the sentence obviously not true. What he hated wasn't Mick, he hated that all this happened because of their relationship. He hated that they couldn't be happy, that what made them unhappy - staying apart - was what would be best for them both. He hated the situation they were in.
To contradict his harsh words, Dennis reached down to kiss Mick, his lips parting as they touched the busman's and slipping his tongue into his mouth. The kiss was short, however, and the bostonian soon pulled away. He didn't have to worry about the Soldier seeing it all,since the man probably wasnt able to see anything at all at that time.

Dennis knew this all would rise suspicion. Why would Mick defend the one person in the team who fucked everything up? The one who tore the team apart? WHY would he support him, if there was nothing going on? there was no reason, no reason at all. If Mick didn't learn to keep his feelings at bay, it would sooner than later be clear as day to the rest of the men that their relationship wasn't "just teammates".

"It don't solve noting when you do shit like this"
Dennis' voice was lower, more whispering so nobody else would hear. He tried to keep the hostility out of his voice, which wasn't too hard anymore as his heart was breaking rather than causing him to see red.
"I need you alive you idiot, you can't go beat people up just because they don't like me."
Truth was, if that was the way Mick was going to act, a lot of people would end up dead or badly beaten by the australian's hand, and then he'd eventually have the cops on his ass for mass murder. Ever since Dennis could remember he'd been painfully honest with people, telling them exactly what he thought and felt no matter if they liked to hear it or not. This cause a lot of fights, when people didn't want to listen to his opinios about them and their friends, and that was the only way Dennis knew how to deal with things. He would without a doubt get himself into that kind of trouble again and again, and he didn't want Mick to run after like his back up to beat the men who treated Dennis badly worse than they deserved.

Up until the demoman returned with the medic - who looked quite tired and worn out, he had probably not slept a lot since he'd had to treat the rest of the teams wounds after the fight - Dennis held on to Mick's collar for dear life, worried and afraid that the man would fall down against the ground and never wake up again if he let him go. Had he truly hated Mick, he wouldn't have stayed with him to see to it that he got the help from the medic that he needed.

iI hate you/i

The words echoed in Micks head. The world had gone black, empty.
iI don't understand./i
The bushman's eyes glazed over, whatever Dennis had said after that had gone completely unnoticed, all words had become incomprehensible, all life in the room had become none existent.
iI've done nothing wrong./i
He couldn't help but constantly replay the three words in his head. I. Hate. You. After all he had done to keep Dennis safe, all he had sacrificed, all he had put at stake. For nothing. Why?

Mick groaned in pain, the horrific words the bostonian had said magnifying the older mans pain. It was indescribable. The next thing he knew it all senses had completely faded. No sight. No sound. No smell. No ground beneath him.
The Australian had gone into full auto pilot. His bloodied body becoming limp. The only thing he was now able to do was to just breathe, just survive. And he didn't even want that. Right now, all Mick wished was death upon himself.

Mick slipped out of consciousness, once again plagued by nightmares that he couldn't escape. Visual representations of Dennis' poisonous words biting at the snipers soul, tearing him apart piece by piece. No matter how hard he tried to run away, hide, fight, the nightmare followed him, mocked him. He was a bloody assassin! A cold hearted killer, a murderer, not some snotty little gremlins play thing. In Mick's mind, he had given the scout everything, given him his heart and soul only for Dennis to exploit it and throw him away at the slightest hint of things not going his way. Spoiled little shit. Well no more. Things would be different when he woke up, no more pushover, no more patience with lost causes. He would apologize to the soldier, explain himself fully and then continue working for RED as he always had, erasing any previous notions of the two men ever being that close again.

After what felt like an eternity of darkness the sharp shooters consciousness began to be overtaken by a pure white light. The light grew stronger and brighter with every breath the man took until eventually he came to his senses...to an extent. Micks eyes flickered open, dazed, trying to piece together where he was.
iBleachy smell...White walls...doves...I'm in the med bay.../i

iThe sooner things get back to normal the better.../i