Pit-Trap: I don't own these characters, TF2, etc.

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U is for unicorn.

Both Scout and Pyro stared at the Ballonicorn.

"It's a unicorn," Scout said bluntly.

"Infs perfnnft," Pyro sighed dreamily.

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U is for United States.

"Gaaa-" The RED Medic's scream was cut off as Soldier's shovel connected with his jaw. The swing killed him and caused him to be flung to the ground, body now waiting for respawn.

"Ha!" Soldier taunted. "Welcome to the United States of YOU JUST GOT DOMINATED!"

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U is for underweight.

Medic had a habit. Not particularly a bad habit, but certainly a habit. He tended to watch his teammates. He already technically had to watch out for all of them on the battlefield. He had to keep check of who was hurt and who needed to be healed. But Medic scrutinized his teammates off the battlefield as well. Medic watched mostly to pick up if anything was wrong with his teammates like the doctor he was. He was almost as good as Spy when it came to observing people now, especially his teammates.

But when one scrutinizes others, they tend to notice things about the others they never noticed before. Medic noticed little things about all his teammates. Pyro had a strange thing for guacamole. Demoman always tapped one foot when he sketched. Spy didn't smoke as much as his teammates claimed he did; maybe one or two cigarettes a day (counted outside of battle, of course). Heavy read a lot of mystery books. Engineer hummed when he was busy with something. Sniper didn't like swimming. Soldier was actually pretty good at making people laugh. They were interesting little quirks, but not the ones Medic paid the most attention to.

Scout had a little something, a little quirk, Medic noticed almost everyday. And it wasn't a good something. Medic noticed how little Scout ate and how underweight Scout was because of that. The Bostonian usually ate only two meals a day and maybe a snack. He would have pancakes for breakfast, maybe swipe half a sandwich for lunch, and halfheartedly eat half his dinner and then push his corn around with his fork during the rest of the meal. Being a doctor, this bothered Medic. He had only confronted Scout about this recently (two weeks ago), but the runner had, of course, denied not getting enough to eat and being perfectly healthy. Scout had even let Medic do a checkup on him after that confrontation. Medic found Scout to be underweight and advised Scout to eat more accordingly for his health. Scout had said he would try.

But as Medic currently watched Scout at the table, picking at a bread roll with disinterest, it was clear that Scout had forgotten what he said to Medic at that last checkup. Medic needed to confront Scout again. So after the meal, Medic caught up with Scout. "Scout," he said as he walked up to the runner.

"What's up?" Scout turned around to face Medic.

"I need to talk to you."

"Shoot."

"In private," Medic gestured to the nearby infirmary.

Scout raised an eyebrow. "Okay," he said slowly and a little unsurely, but walked into the infirmary anyways.

Medic followed, making sure to close the door once he walked in.

"Alright," Scout faced Medic once more. "Whatever it is, I didn't do it."

Medic sighed. "Scout," he said, looking at the other BLU. "Step on zhe scale." He pointed to a nearby scale in the corner of the infirmary.

Scout's eyes widened. "Aw, not this again, Medic!"

"Scout," Medic repeated. "Please step on zhe scale." He crossed his arms and stared the other down.

Scout bit his lip and glanced between Medic and the scale. Medic was still blocking the doorway, so making a break for it probably wouldn't work. Or really be worth it. Scout glared and huffed, but eventually slunk over to the scale. Glowering at the device, Scout stepped on it.

Medic briskly walked over to look down at the scale. "Congratulations," he said sarcastically to Scout when he saw the numbers. "You haf gained vone pound since I last saw you two veeks ago. You now weigh vone-hundred-and-fourty-vone pounds."

Scout bit his lip once more. "That's still bad?" he asked slowly after a moment.

"Scout!" Medic all but shouted. "Zat's very bad! Do you not realize how underveight you are? You are skin and bones!"

Scout didn't flinch. "I'ma Scout!" he shouted back. "I'm supposed to be skinny!"

"Not zis skinny," Medic placed a hand on Scout's shoulder. "Not only vone-hundred-and-fourty-vone pounds."

Scout violently shrugged Medic's hand off. "I don't care! I'm fine," he said, scowling.

Medic let out a heavy sigh. He walked over to one of the infirmary's beds and sat down on it.

Scout stepped off the scale and stood there awkwardly for a few tense seconds.

He was about to storm out of the infirmary, but stopped when he heard Medic say, "I care."

"What?"

"I said I care," Medic repeated. "I care about how much you veigh. I care about you being underveight."

Scout's scowl fell and a slightly confused face too it's place.

"It is my job," Medic started to explain, still looking at Scout. "To keep track of my team's health during battle. To know how healthy and fit zey are and how healthy and fit zey need to be to be able to function on zhe battlefield correctly and efficiently. It is my job to make zhem healthy and fit if zey are not. I think I am doing a fair job of it and-"

"Good for you," Scout snapped, interrupting. "Would ya like a Medic of the Year Award for your good job?"

"Scout, you didn't let me finish," Medic sighed, making sure not to snap back. When Scout said nothing, he went on. "Anyvays, zat is my job. To keep zhe team healthy and fit during battle. I do not haf to care for my job. Technically, I do not haf to care about your overall health, just make sure you are able to battle. I just haf to heal you if you are injured. You are fit, uninjured. You are not necessarily healthy, though. Am still I doing my job correctly?" Medic didn't wait for a reply. "Yes, I am. But I am doing more zan just my job. I am caring. I am caring about your health, your veight. I do more zan my contract says, more zan my job requires. I am caring about you and zhe rest of zhe team. And for your benefit and zhe entire team's benefit, I need you to be healthy, Scout. Not underveight."

Scout's face fell as Medic went on. He looked down at the ground. After a long hesitation, he said, "I guess the rumors are true, then? Ya actually have a heart?"

Medic snorted. "I just vould prefer not to haf you fainting vhile ve're fighting at Lakeside. It vorries me."

"Hey, I didn't faint!" Scout insisted. "I passed out in a manly fashion! It was really hot that day 'n' I ran outta water!"

Medic said nothing and stared at Scout pointedly.

Scout bit his lip. "Look, doc, you got it wrong," he started to explain. "I do care about how much I weigh. Contrary to popular belief, I did read my contract. I know our contracts looked pretty similar 'cause we're all BLUs, but they prolly differed between classes, yeah? I dunno if ya know, but in Scout contracts there was a little clause that said somethin' about our weight. If we Scouts get too heavy, if we way too much, we get fired, no questions asked!"

"Scout," was all Medic said before bursting out laughing.

"S'not funny!"

"I know, I know," Medic shook his head, still grinning. "But I already knew zat."

"What?"

"I haf known zat Scouts get fired if zey veigh too much," Medic said.

"Well then ya know that's why I gotta keep my weight down!" Scout crossed his arms, staring at his fellow BLU. "That's why I weigh what I weigh."

"But, Scout, you simply veigh too little. You are nearly fifty pounds avay from zhe veight of vhich zey vould fire you at," Medic frowned.

"So I got no fear-a bein' fired," Scout nodded.

"Yes, but your current veight is not exactly healthy for you either, especially at your age," Medic explained.

"But… I don't wanna get fired…"

"And you von't," Medic's face set. "Not vith my help. I can help you vith a diet, ja? Help you know vhat to eat and vhen. So you can gain a few pounds and be healthy. About ten pounds vould do nicely. And gaining ten pounds vould still be vell avay from zhe veight limit Scouts are set at."

Scout still looked uncertain. "I dunno…"

"Scout," Medic sighed wearily, but smiled. "At least give it a try. To ease an old man's vorries."

Scout blinked. After a moment, he smiled back. "Only as long as your diet doesn't include Demo's haggis."

Medic laughed out loud once again. "Deal."

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U is for ugly.

"Ugh," Scout groaned as he put his gun in his locker. He walked over to a bench and sat down. He was in the resupply room after a battle had just ended for the day. And Scout was not too happy. "Well this has been a fun day, huh?. Gettin' Dominated by the RED Heavy. Twice."

Someone snorted next to him. Scout turned just in time to see Spy disguise as someone. Specifically, the RED Heavy. "Oh, it was too easy, leetle Scout!" Spy said, perfectly imitating the RED Heavy's voice.

"Hey, fuck you," Scout spat, glaring first at Spy and then the wall. A moment later, he looked back over to the disguised Spy once more. "'sides, he's a little uglier."

The "RED Heavy" frowned. He then turned around, but not a second later, turned back around to face Scout. The "RED Heavy's" expression was by far the stupidest expression Scout had ever seen. Scout nearly laughed out loud at the face. He actually did laugh out loud when Spy let out the dorkiest sounding laugh, still impersonating the RED Heavy.

"Pretty close," Scout grinned.

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A/N: Scout-Medic feels. Poorly attempted Scout-Medic feels. CAN YOU HANDLE THEM. And I lied. I had one more Disney reference… How did that Guest know. Kudos to anyone who actually recognizes it.

I actually need to explain "underweight". Firstly, I know nothing about the correct and healthy weight of young males. I literally Googled a weight chart for men and picked a random height for Scoot and looked at the healthy and not healthy target weights. Sorry, but I ain't majorin' in health here! Secondly, I've seen a few stories where people interpret Scout as wanting to be bigger than he currently is. Y'know, stronger and meatier like the rest of the mercs. It's a nice concept. I reversed it a bit, though. I could totally see Scoot fretting about his weight, but this time about it being too much. The heavier you are the slower you run, right? Scoot needs to be fast (and thus skinny) to do what he does. S'kinda like modeling if you think about it. If you're too fat or weigh too much then you're booted.