Yellow, my readers! I was originally going to make this chapter merge with the next as one big mega chapter, but decided to separate them due to setting differences and tonal shifts. And if anyone is wondering, no, this won't end up a romance story, this is a thriller/serious story but it will have some more lighthearted moments. There's a surprising lack of good stories centered around Sniper and Scout as friends. I mean, their dynamic is a goldmine for comedy, which I'll show hints of throughout the story(the next chapter I'll post for example), but not a lot because this is a serious tale. Anyway, please let me know if there's anyway I can improve the chapters and my writing, I want to make this story as good as possible! Thanks for reading and enjoy this chapter!
Deciding he would sleep on a chair to let Scout have the bed one last time had not been one of Sniper's best ideas. His shoulder was sore from leaning against the wall, his neck had a painful crick right at the bottom of his skull from a lack of cushions. And to top it all off, Scout wasn't even in the bed when Sniper woke up. Some strange scratching noise had broken through his dream's barrier and when he finally woke up to find its source, lifting the hat that had slipped over his eyes, Sniper spotted the kid sitting across from him, sketching on a ripped piece of paper.
"Oh, ya woke up," Scout said, his head resting on the wounded arm as he drew. He was still wearing the old clothes Sniper had given him after the tumble the kid took yesterday, a beige top that was too big and some torn cargo shorts. Sniper looked out the small window parallel to his bed. Still raining, but it was more light, like the gentle drips the Sawmill was known for.
"How long have ya been awake?" Sniper said with a groggy voice. As he blinked to dislodge any leftover sleepiness, Scout looked up at the man, not bothering to move anything but his eyes.
"Dunno, maybe thirty minutes, maybe an hour."
"Feeling any better? The arm and ankle, Oi mean."
"They ain't bleedin' anymore, if that's what you're askin'." It wasn't, but it was the only thing Sniper would get.
Stretching his stiff spine out, Sniper finally stood up and grabbed the watch he had placed on the counter last night. 8:12, it read.
"Ya should've tried to sleep longer, it's barely eight."
"Couldn't sleep." Scout replied.
"So ya just got up and started drawing… whotever it is you're drawing?" Sniper clipped the watch to his wrist.
"Yeah."
"Wait, did you go through moi belongs to get that-!?"
"Relax, man," Scout paused and stared at him again, "I went through one cubby and it had paper and some pens. Why would I go through more when I got what I wanted?"
"Cause you're nosy and like going through people's personal belongings." Many an incident occurred in the past where Scout got himself into more trouble than one would imagine possible by not understanding the meaning of privacy. One particular violent interaction started when Scout somehow thought it would be a good idea to search through Soldier's room. Sniper still didn't think his hearing had fully healed from the sheer volume of the insane man when he had caught Scout. A fight had broken out, heads rolled(quite literally, only Soldier would keep a collection of decaying heads), and it took himself, Heavy, Demo, and Pyro to finally pull the two Americans off each other. Course, when they couldn't beat each other with fists, the two had resorted to words with Scout spitting such vitriolic profanity that Sniper didn't even know half of those words existed until then, and Soldier calling Scout a Russian spy sent to bring death to his beloved Lady Liberty(something Heavy scoffed at, stating that Scout was "too leetle to be Russian.").
Scout didn't deny the Sniper's accusation, instead just shrugging and continuing his drawing.
"Just didn't feel like lookin' I guess."
"So, whot are ya doodling, anyway?" Sniper asked as he once again started up his faithful coffee machine.
"Uh, well," Scout finally stopped drawing to scratch the back of his head, "I was thinkin'-"
"Well that's surprising."
"Shuddup. Anyway, so, uh, since I'm assumin', and you're assumin' too, dat you and me are, y'know, uh, da… da last ones around?" Sniper stiffened. He really didn't want to talk about the dead, not yet. But Scout was chugging along like a chatty locomotive.
"Well, I know dat we were all just coworkers just doin' our jobs. But we're still a team, and yeah, not all a us got along, I really didn't like Spy or Soldia most of da time. But we're still, well, we were a team and… I dunno, I think we should do somethin' ta honor them or somethin' like dat…"
Sniper sat back down holding two steaming mugs and placed the smaller one by Scout.
"Well, whot do ya have in mind?"
"What's this?" Scout gestured to the little cup near his elbow.
"Coffee. And like Oi asked, whot did ya have in mind? Pouring one out or…?" Scout reached for something Sniper couldn't see on the seat next to him. The runner then placed a small stack of papers on the table and slid them over to the bushman.
Sniper had seen some of Scout's drawings before, usually just on the corners of notebook paper or chalkboards whenever the kid got bored. And then of course there had been that time Scout sabotaged Spy's "dying wish" event when they all thought they'd die in three days. Most of his art was either of cartoony violence or rather questionable subject matter. But there were always exceptions, like the seven portraits laid in front of him.
It was their team. They weren't incredibly detailed but they weren't overly simplistic. The familiar thick linework and harsh shadows of Scout's handiwork was still there, and it made the smiling faces on the lined paper all the more genuine. Soldier with a patriotic grin, Demo with a bombastic sneer, Engineer with a hospitable smile, Medic beaming with some mad curiosity, Heavy with a stoic simper, Spy with a classy smirk, and even Pyro seemed to smile through the shine on his mask's dark lenses. The men were drawn at their best, whether it be in war or calmer moments.
"I thought dat we could do some kinda memorial or da likes, cause, y'know, their bodies disappeared, so we can't bury them. Figured we can just set these up on a log somewhere and burn it after a while or somethin'." Scout explained as he drank the caffeinated beverage. "Ugh! What did you put in this, Snipes!?"
"Nothing," Sniper was still examining the pictures, "It's plain dark roast."
"Man, you have horrible taste! Who drinks this stuff raw!?"
"Oi do."
"Well, you're a freak; you don't count." Man, what a way to start a new day.
Scout placed the photos on the moss covered stump they had found. The pair had agreed to Scout's memorial idea and were now setting up the final touches to the event. It had taken some time to find a suitable stump to prop the pictures on but Sniper finally found one not too far off from the van. It was in a small clearing and the two now stood looking at the seven faces smiling back.
"So… I guess we should say somethin'? Dat's what people do at these sorts of things, right?"
Sniper just shrugged. "Ya can if ya want, mate. Oi'm fine with letting them have a moment of silence."
Of course when Scout needed to use his words the most, his mind blanked. Just his luck. He squinted at the ground and played with the zipper of the jacket Sniper had let him borrow for the occasion. They both had tried to do something to look as formal as possible, Sniper more so, but Scout just wanted to get on with the event. He himself has just flattened his hair and tucked in the baggy shirt. Sniper had changed into some off white button up shirt, at least Scout guessed it was a dress shirt, the only time he'd worn something that fancy looking was when he and his brothers were forced to go to his Aunt Carol's wedding. That had been the most boring thing the Bostonian had ever gone through. They had wanted him to say something there as well, being the youngest of the expansive family. What could he say other than "Aunt Carol and her weird nerdy boyfriend are married, guess I got an uncle now, whaddeva." That had gotten him an earful when he and his family drove home but they forced his hand! He hadn't wanted to be there and they got what they deserved for dragging him along. But now, when he stood there above that stump and actually wanted to be there and actually say something about the men he worked with, the words escaped him.
"I…" Scout started, taking his cap off and fumbling with it, "well, I didn't know many of da guys personally. We weren't really allowed ta give up our private information ta other people. But from what I learned on da battlefield and in ceasefias, they were real swell dudes."
Scout looked over his shoulder at Sniper; did he want to say anything yet? He hoped he did. Sniper nodded at him to continue. Great. Scout took a breath and continued.
"Well, I guess when ya get down ta it, I'm tryin' ta say dat you guys were cool. Mosta da time, at least. I…" Scout stumbled on his words. What should he say? He really did want to say something nice about his teammates, honest. But all he could think of was what they did to annoy and tease him when they were still alive.
"Aw crap. Listen, I ain't a girl and I ain't a poet. I'm not gonna lie and paint a little happy picture and say our time togetha was all sunshine and smiles, cause it wasn't! You guys sucked." Scout could feel Sniper's stare burning the back of his head, but he continued.
"But I sucked too. H*ll, we all sucked. A buncha suckas tryin' ta shoot and kill each otha over worthless piles of rocks for money. Or maybe just ta kill people, I ain't one ta judge. I annoyed and beat da crap outta you, you annoyed and beat da crap outta me, but when it came down ta it, we still had each otha's backs. At least when we weren't assigned on different teams, dat was a weird year.
"We are- well, we were a team. Da most violent, loudmouthed, sons a guns I eva had ta live with, and dat's sayin' a lot comin' from yours truly. Ya won't see or hear me cryin' for ya; I don't cry. And honestly I don't think ya'd want me ta. We're mercenaries, we maim and kill for a livin'." Scout looked up at the sky, it was starting to rain slightly harder. He needed to finish up.
"Did ya guys know dat we actually had a team name? And i'm not talkin' bout freakin' RED or BLU, those were just sides we had ta switch ta from time ta time. Miss Pauling told me a couple months ago when I found her at the Teufort bar. She said dat we weren't da only group Miss Grouchy-mic had hired. They had names like Team Valor, and other fancy-schmancy words. I don't think she meant ta tell me dat, though; think she was drunk. She's real cute when she's drunk. Anyways, while those other guys got cool names, guess what we got?
"Team Fortress. Now I don't know about you guys but they neva gave us a fortress to stay in! Who names a team 'Fortress' and not give them a fortress? Dat's gotta be illegal, but then again, our line a work ain't on very good terms with any world governments. At first, I hated dat we got such a stupid name. But now dat I think about it, it's not so bad. We're kinda like a fortress. We hold our own, and got strong foundation… I dunno where I was goin' with this. Guess I'm sayin dat it fits us. We were stuck togetha, didn't really have a choice with who we worked with. And yeah, we fought and yelled, broke noses and butted heads. But we got used to da weird company.
"We were stuck together and stuck with a stupid name. And… and it fits. Fits what we had ta go through, togetha. Man, that sounds freakin' cheesy. Forget I said dat." Scout sighed, and took out the lighter Sniper had given him out of his coat pocket.
"Well, guess this is goodbye guys." Scout kneeled by the stump and ignited the lighter. Within seconds, the slightly damp paper pile had bloomed into a fiery rose. He watched as the paper shrunk and curled into black spirals, erasing the faces of his teammates.
"Like Soldia would probably say, "Godspeed, Team Fortress, ya magnificent b*stads.""
Scout heard Sniper hum in approval as he watched the golden flame slowly die. His hand was cold and the rain kept falling. But he didn't feel it, or maybe he didn't care. Scout had said his whole spiel without feeling a trace of sadness. Was that wrong? He should be feeling something, right?
"We should head back; the rain isn't going to let up any time soon."
"I'll catch up." Scout didn't look away from the pile of glowing embers. He felt Sniper staring at him, maybe thinking he wanted to break down in privacy? He didn't care. After a pause much longer than it should have been, Scout heard Sniper turn and walk back towards his van.
Scout placed the cap back on his head, chewing the inside of his cheek in thought. His analogy- no that wasn't the word, what was it? It sounded similar. Eulogy, that's it. Scout's eulogy was better than he thought it would be, especially because he winged it right then and there. But there was a bitter truth behind all those things Scout said. He hadn't meant a word of it. Well, most of it. Half. Okay, so maybe he meant more of it than he would care to admit. But it only meant something if Scout thought that his team was dead. And he didn't.
Yeah, he had said that to Sniper when the Australian had asked him, but the more Scout thought, the more he wouldn't- no, couldn't believe what he had said. Even if it was just for his sake, he didn't care if it was selfish. Scout and Sniper were not the only ones left. They couldn't be.
Scout snapped his head towards the right side of the clearing. The pine and firs were packed tight like sardines, and the thundering rain only blurred the far foliage more. He kept his eyes on that spot though, where he had seen something from the corner of his eye. Movement, and rustling bushes. The roaring of the weather clouded his ears and he couldn't tell whether the thing he had heard was the rushing of the freezing wind, or a foreign growl. Scout felt his stomach churn and twist. He should probably head back to the van. Yeah, that was a pretty good idea. A great idea, in fact.
At first he had been walking, playing it cool, playing it safe. But his heart kept pounding and the burning at the back of his head started again. That feeling you get when you know you're being watched. Scout had only meant to lengthen his stride, honest! He wasn't scared, he was just nervous! His stride lengthened, then he quickened his pace, and then he might have started jogging back. But it was only because he was cold and shivering, and jogging warms you up real fast! And Scout always jogged faster than the average joe because he was just so fast already, so when the trees flew past and his lungs burned as he reached the van, just know that it was Scout jogging. He hadn't even come close to his top speed; he never does.
"Blimey, ya look like ya seen a ghost." Sniper commented from the driver's seat. The bushman decided to start the vehicle while waiting for Scout to both quicken the van's heater and to keep himself from getting wetter than he needed to by standing in the rain.
"What? Nah, nope, I just got real cold and running warms you up so I thought, "Hey! I know an easy way ta get all nice and toasty and ta dry my clothes a bit! I'll just run back and-""
"Awright, Oi get it; Oi don't need a play by play. Now get in; we need to get going. Oi had an idea."
"Right," Scout jumped into the passenger seat, rocking the van a bit, "so we're just gonna keep driving and put as much distance between us and dat thing as possible? 'Cause dat idea has been workin pretty swell, I think."
"Yes and no; Oi'll fill you in while we drive. Buckle up." Sniper directed when Scout made no attempt to fasten his seat belt.
"I don't need a belt, Snipes. Or do ya not trust your own drivin' skills?" Sniper narrowed his eyes and stared the younger man down.
"Buckle. Up." He growled.
"Alright, alright! Jeez!" Scout hollered, snapping the belt's buckle into place. "Coulda just taken it as a compliment, dat I actually trust ya being behind da wheel, but nooooo, ya had ta act all upstart like a buttinski!"
The runner saw the corner of Sniper's mouth twitch upwards, just for a second. That jerk. Scout looked out the window while the van started forward, making a point to ignore the horrible nausea he felt crawling through his system. The rain had fogged up the glass and Scout couldn't see a thing. He hurriedly wiped the precipitation away.
Scout stared into those dark green branches, hoping that if there was something staring back, his steel like gaze would be enough to stop it in its tracks and force it back into the forest's shadows.