What a miserable morning. Not in the sad sense, really. It was more aligned to the weather. And the fact that he'd run out of coffee did make it any better.
With a quiet click, Sniper shuffled out of his van, looking like he'd been run over by a truck. It felt like it too. He had thrown on his clothes without much thought. His shirt was less like a button up and more like a second vest under his lopsided real one. Good thing he always wore a white top underneath. The marksman hadn't bothered to tuck either shirt in, his mind was stuck on a one way street.
But the cold rain helped shake the grogginess from his eyes at least. Through the wet muck, Sniper made his way into the building. Even from here he could hear the commotion from the Mess Hall. It was too far away to make out who exactly was making such a racket, but it wasn't hard to guess. In fact, the mornings were so predictable that Sniper often bet with himself to what he would walk in on. And he was going to do that, even though he was still half asleep.
Now, the three people who woke up first were usually Engineer, Soldier, and Heavy. Scout was an early riser as well but his schedule, if you could call it that, was never reliable. Demo woke up typically after himself, always with a hangover but sober. Course, that never lasts long. And Medic, Spy, and Pyro were mysteries.
Sniper listened to the cacophony of noises bleeding through the Mess Hall's double doors. Soldier was a given. Only one person would be stupid enough to shout every word this early in the day. He was probably fighting Scout, they were always at each other's throats, and it would explain the other shouting. Besides that, there was little to no talking. Sniper took a wild guess that Heavy and Spy were watching the fight. And if Oi'm wrong... Sniper thought of a worthy risk to his bet, already knowing what his reward would be, Oi'll personally start up a conversation with Scout and not zone out.
Sniper shuddered. Please, please let him be right. That kid could talk for hours and never get bored. And never pick up on social cues. Like when the conversation is over. It wasn't that Scout was a total bore, his stories were always wild. And exaggerated beyond belief, full of ego boosting and jabbing remarks towards their team. At least Sniper could actually understand the kid, unlike when he forced himself to talk with that pyromaniac. Sniper shuddered once more. Never again. With a groan, Sniper slid into the room.
Well, time to add Talking To Scout on today's agenda, because the mess he had walked in on was nothing like what he had pictured. In the large room with two large tables and an even larger kitchen were nearly all his teammates, the only one missing being Pyro.
The men were all in their typical uniforms with the German being the exception, who was wearing a cream colored sweater vest and white button up. Soldier was indeed shouting at someone, only that someone was a very grumpy Scotsman and not some snarky Bostonian. The kid in question was watching the argument with an impish grin, occasionally saying something to keep the men at each other's throats when he wasn't stuffing his face with some sugary cereal. Heavy and Spy were chatting to each other about some novel, ignoring the fray and ducking whenever a utensil or muffin was thrown their direction, too enthralled in their discussion to give the fighters the time of day. Engie was trying to calm Soldier and Demo down, much to the dismay and annoyance of Scout. And Medic was busy in the kitchen having a battle with their fickle toaster. That blasted machine was a joke. It either sent back a slab of charcoal or a slice of bread fresher than when you got it. And Sniper couldn't help but feel sympathy towards the doctor as he sat back down at the table with a fuming snarl and a fuming black block.
"Yo, Snipa! You missed some s**t, man!" Scout jabbed a thumb at now wrestling mercenaries. Snipa hummed in agreement as he made his way into the now vacant kitchen.
"Did Soldier tell Demo that Scotland isn't real, again?" Sniper drawled, busying himself with the community coffee machine.
"Nah, he-"
"WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO KNOW, YOU COWARDLY, CAMPY EXCUSE OF AN AMERICAN!" Soldier roared before his jaw was shut by a mean uppercut. Sniper shook his head in response. What a proper loon.
"Like I was tellin' ya," Scout started again, reaching for the muffins on the table, "he came waltzin' in with a sour mood already and got all pissy when I wouldn't move."
"That seat is rightfully mine, it's a seat only worthy for the most grizzled, battle scarred veterans, which you are not!" Soldier spat back, sitting on Demo's back with the Scot's head locked in his elbow.
"That's whot ye said yesterdai, an tha dai before that, an the dai before that!" Demo sputtered, bucking his assailant off. "Each an' evary dai ye choose a new spot ta seat yer bloody *rse onta! An' Scout was already there! 'Snot his fault he woke up before yeu did fer once!"
"I'll have you eat those words, you sorry drunk!"
"Now fellas," Engie sighed, whatever energy he'd recovered while sleeping was sapped away by the idiotic argument, "how 'bout we all just calm down and finish yer fightin' later. Preferably not when we're tryin' ta eat breakfast."
"A true man of liberty would never postpone a fight they are currently engaged in!" Soldier croaked from the knee that made contact with his gut. "And I'll have you court marshaled for suggesting otherwise!"
"Yeah, no dice, Engie. Might as well sit back and watch da fireworks." Scout said as he stuffed a blueberry muffin into his mouth. The Engineer continued to chastise the brawling men as Sniper made his way past the linoleum battleground.
"So," Scout started when Sniper sat down in the empty seat next to him, "ya all packed up for Harvest tomorrow?"
"There ain't much packing needed, honestly." Sniper sipped his warm roast. Not as good as the brand he bought but it would have to do. He made a mental note to take the rest back to his camper.
"Oh, right. Well, ya can neva be too sure. Last time we relocated, I didn't notice dat I didn't pack my headpiece until a week after we moved here. I had so many contracts that I needed ta do, it was stupid! Well, I mean, Miss Pauling was giving them out so it wasn't so bad. Wanna muffin?" Scout asked as he plucked a chocolate baked good from the basket.
"Poppy seed, if there's any."
"Ma, y rarly lok da tap?" Scout managed to say while having an entire muffin stuffed in his mouth. But, he offered Sniper the small, sweet loaf.
"Thanks, mate." He peeled the wrapper off and took a bite. Kinda dry, but at least it was edible.
"By da way," Scout swallowed down the rest of the muffin, "When you were walkin' down here, did ya see any baseballs?"
"Today iz ze last day to pack, and you still 'aven't found that thing?" Spy looked over at the Bostonian with distaste. It wasn't clear if his expression was from the idea of Scout being so irresponsible, or the crumbs covering the runner's shirt.
"Well, exxxxcuuuse me, ya royal High-up-your-own-*ss-ness, but I've actually been looking for a couple days now! And I wasn't talkin' ta ya, so butt out, ya frog!" Scout scowled, turning back to Sniper. "Anyway, didja see it?"
"Nope, sorry mate. But Oi also wasn't looking for it." The boy next to him seemed to deflate. "Oi'd check high up, in rafters, pinned between support beams, the like."
"Sniper is right," Heavy agreed, his voice low in thought, "Scout hits tiny ball to go fast and high. If tiny man hasn't found tiny ball on ground, he should look up and search in places ball would be stuck in."
"Yeah, dat makes sense, but don't call me 'tiny'-" Scout's tirade was cut off by the slamming of Demo's body onto the table. Soldier was soon to follow. Food flew into the faces of many. Pitchers of OJ and milk flooded the table and into the laps of the team. So it was no surprise when a group of eight angry mercenaries began shouting at the top of their collective lungs.
"-Ye bleedin' idiot!-"
"-AY! Watch it, knuckleheads!-"
"-Oh bloody h*ll! And Oi liked that cup too!-"
"-I just had zis dry cleaned, you imbeciles!-"
"-What is the matter with you!?-"
"-Dagnamit, flamit, flagit,-"
"-Scum sucking, Maggot lovin-"
"SHUT UP!" Medic slammed his fist on the table and glared at the explosive men, "IF YOU TWO DO NOT CEASE ZIS IDOTIC FIGHTING, I VILL PERSONALLY SEE TO IT ZAT NEITHER OF YOU GET HEALED BY MYSELF OR ZE HEALTH PACKS IN OUR NEXT BATTLE!"
The room went completely still, with the only movement being Medic's rapid breathing to quell his anger. Then, as fast as lightning, all the men sat back into their seats and the two instigators stood ashamed under the doctor's icy glare.
"He started it." Demo mumbled.
"I. Don't. Care." Medic growled, fists clenched. "I am ending it! Now sit down, both of you, before you do somezing we'll all regret!" The two men sat.
"...Ah don't mean ta pry, Doc, but ya seem ta have a tad smaller fuse than normal. Everything alright?"
"I have stayed up trying to pack everyzing and I am only halfway done." The Medic groaned, rubbing his tired eyes. "Mein doves have made a game of hiding in mein boxes vhile I pack, and zen I need to unpack zem to free those schupid birds!"
"Well, Ah reckon I'll be finished with my own belongings soon enough, so Ah can help ya keep those darn birds outta your hair til your done."
"Danke, Engineer," Medic smiled as he stood, "I vill be in mein lab packing preferably not mein doves and instead mein belongings should anyone need me." And with that he pushed himself away from the table and walked out the room. Scout made to do the same.
"Yeah, I gotta find Archiball, my Sandman's worthless without it." Spy snorted in laughter.
"You actually named that tattered thing!?"
"SHUT your trap!" Scout stood up so fast that his chair fell to the floor.
"Ah, I suppose you're right, I shouldn't speak about Monsieur Archiball zat way, even if it's to inform you of where he is."
"Ya know where it is? Tell me where he is!" Spy raised a brow at the Bostonian, who was leaning far into the table to be within five inches of the Frenchman.
"Ah yes, because I am completely willing to give out information to rude, uncultured boys." The rest of the men rolled their eyes. Whenever Spy was annoyed, probably caused by the spilled milk soaking his pants, he made sure at least one other person was just as if not more frustrated than himself. Something the runner and Spy had in common.
Scout scowled before he spoke again.
"Please tell me where my ball is." He said with clenched teeth and fists.
"It is somewhere in the base. I don't know for certain where it is." Spy replied as he lit a cigarette.
"You son of a b***h!" Scout leapt over the table to strangle the older man, only to grab empty air as the Frenchman cloaked. He landed straight on his face, making the other men cringe in secondhand pain. But he shot back up without pause and sprinted down the hall, shouting about how he would shove his bat down Spy's throat once he found him.
Sniper sighed and looked down at his coffee stained top: a souvenir for an average day with the team.
Even with his eyes closed, that didn't stop the sun from forcefully reminding Sniper that it was blinding. He groaned and rolled over. The glaring red of his eyelids faded and he could once again be met with the sweet embrace of slumber. At least, he should have been. Laying there for another five minutes without results was a pretty obvious wake up call.
Groaning once more, Sniper opened an eye. It was much brighter than usual in the camper, with soft sunbeams filtering in through the small shutters on the camper's wall and illuminating the everdancing dust suspended in the stagnant air. The pleasant April warmth encompassed the van with drowsy, comfy leisure. And if Sniper wasn't already accustomed to the waking world, those threats of heavy eyelids and the pull of sleep would have taken him by now.
He scanned the van with that tired eye and noticed that he was alone. The thin blanket he'd given Scout was laying crumpled up on the cushioned bench, forgotten by the runner. On the table stood an empty mug. Even from here Sniper could see the faint dark smudge on the cup's lip where Scout's own lips had been. How long had that been there? How did the sound of the coffee machine not wake him up? And how long had Scout been gone? He didn't give himself time to worry.
Probably just gone out for a p*ss or morning jog. He hasn't had a proper run for a while. Sniper reasoned. Slipping down from the raised bed, Sniper stretched, his whole body trembling from the effort. As his fingertips grazed the ceiling, the marksman opened his eyes. And froze.
Before him was the door, unopened. And next to that was the barren camper walls. And they should not be barren.
What was Scout doing with his Kukri?
Like a flash, Sniper was at the door. Opening it, he stepped out into the clearing and instinctually paused to take in the view. It had stopped raining sometime in the night, with the remaining raindrops clinging to the tree needles and grass blades like a thousand crystals. The deep, dark storm clouds had passed, leaving mountains of cumulus clouds as white as doves to float lazily along. And that sky, a soft lavender, was quickly fading into a baby blue. So, the sun had just recently risen. But… how long has Scout been gone, then!?
"Scout?" Sniper called. The only response was some cooing Mourning Doves. His heart began to race. He shouldn't have to worry about something like this this early in the morning!
"Scout!" He shouted, sending a flock of sparrows into the sky. Could he hear him? Had something happened while he'd been asleep? The marksman cursed himself. If something happened to that boy while he'd been unable to do anything-
"Oh hey, you're awake," A monotone voice called from behind him. Sniper snapped around to watch as Scout stepped out from the far foliage. The kid was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, only this time the mud was washed off. Traces were still there as his once white socks were a light toffee brown. He was hunched and dragging his feet behind him like a dead weight. And in his one remaining hand was The Kukri.
"Oi, where've ya been? Woke up to ya gone and moi knife missing!" Sniper all but shouted at the disheveled Scout. As he got closer Sniper could see dark rings encompassing the runner's eyes and a minuscule stain near the corner of his mouth. At least the scars crisscrossing along his cheeks were nearly gone.
"Did you get any sleep last night?" He asked, forbidding his former snappish tone to resurface.
"A bit. It stopped rainin'." Scout shrugged, still holding the knife with a tense grip.
"Well, yeah mate, the sun's rising," Sniper grinned, pointing at the golden glow over the horizon, "we won't have to worry about getting pneumonia anymore! And, once Oi get the van started up again, we can make a whole heap of progress. Oi'd even say that we'll reach Landfall by evening if we're lucky." Something that looked like a smile flashed across Scout's exhausted face.
"You're chipperer dan normal. But sweet! Let's check da engine and den move out-"
"Hold it," Sniper held up a hand to stop Scout's enthusiasm, "first you're going to tell me whot you were doing out here and whoi ya have moi Kukri." The kid's face fell and he looked everywhere but Sniper's eyes.
"Told ya, it stopped rainin'. And rainin' keeps da Faker away."
"The Faker? So you've come up with a name for… whatever it is you're obsessed over." Scout nodded, ignoring Sniper's annoyed tone.
"Water keeps that b*stad away. Or anything like water. Blood works too, and maybe alcohol. Hopefully dat would mean dat thing too…" Scout said the last part to himself, his voice lowering until Sniper could barely hear him.
"And whoi does that have anything to do with moi knife?" Scout dug his shoes into the damp grass and mumbled something Sniper couldn't decipher. He didn't have any clue as to why Scout was sharing this information now, seeing as it was a supposed weakness against "The Faker" as Scout called it, and he'd been so worried about being followed. So water hurts it? No, that would mean if it was real that it would die instantly from the water vapor in the air. So liquids supposedly hurt it, like gasoline and blood for example. Blood...
"Wait a minute." Sniper uttered, feeling his hands grow cold. "Lad, you haven't been… You- ya didn't, please don't tell me ya…" Confusion was growing by the second on Scout's face.
"What? I didn't do what?" Any and all words died on Sniper's tongue, so actions would have to do. He raised an arm, turned it palm up, and made a slicing motion above his forearm. The message was loud and clear. With an even paler face than before, Scout shook his head with ferocity.
"What!? No!" Scout shouted in disdain. "I already got a stupid infection, I don't need anymore stupid cuts and bruises! Yeah, that's a stupid idea. Could just spit on da thing and it'll work. Probably." By the look on Scout's face, Sniper couldn't tell if he was more offended that he had suggested Scout was hurting himself or that he was still skeptical of The Faker's existence.
"Awright, Oi was jus' making sure, you've jus' been acting on edge a lot more."
"Gee, wonder why, it's almost like we're da sole remaining teammates from some monster attack!" He kicked at the dirt, and anything that resembled a good mood from him was lost. Sniper sighed.
"Okay, let's just focus on getting the van up and running again. Maybe some water got into the pistons and that's why she wouldn't work. We'll leave the van open and dry her out, and in the meantime we'll have some grub." Sniper grabs Scout's shoulder and guides him to the van, taking the large weapon out of his clammy hand.
"And Oi don't care if ya aren't hungry, you're going to eat." He stated. Scout opened his mouth to argue but a yawn took away his retort.
Sniper watched as the runner entered the van. He took a short detour to open the van's hood to dry the engine and entered the van himself.
"So Oi noticed ya made yourself some coffee without telling me." Scout mumbled something under his breath and plopped down onto a bench. Sniper just took whatever was left in the coffee pot for himself, ignoring the static tension building between them. "Jus' how long were you awake?"
"Dunno," Scout grumbled, resting his head on his arms like a pillow, "a while."
"Okay," Sniper sighed, "do ya want to try and sleep some more before we head out or…?" The runner scratched at a burn mark on the table, narrowing his eyes in thought.
"Or ya can wait til we're on the road to pass out, Oi doubt you'd be able to sleep long anyway."
"'M takin' da bed." Scout rasped and made to throw himself onto the tall bunk. Before he could, though, Sniper had grabbed the runner's shoulder again.
"How about we clean your arm first. Won't have to worry about it later that way." Scout grimaced and absentmindedly picked at his left arm's wrappings.
"It freakin' hurts, though," He mumbled, "do we have ta?"
"If ya don't want to-"
"-die from freakin' Sepsis, yadda, yadda. I get it! But just skippin' a day shouldn't be too bad, I already got a ****ing headache, I don't need my arm ta feel like it's busting open too!"
"Better than having your body rot from the inside out or burning yourself to death from an uncontrollable fever. Now get up on the counter." Scout could have won a Saxxy from the dramatic sigh he gave just then. But, he did hop onto the counter with no further arguments.
Sniper took the arm Scout jutted towards him in a firm but gentle clasp and began to unwind the cream colored bandages he'd put on last night.
"Where's that piece of croc hide I gave ya yesterdai?" Sniper asked as the wrappings fell away faster and faster.
"Uhhhhhhh, I think I put it in da jacket?" Scout chewed his inner cheek, thinking. "No, wait, it's in my pocket!" With his hand Scout reached into the large pocket of his baggy pants and pulled out a faded green leather strip. And with a flick of his wrist, shot it into his open mouth like a peanut at a baseball game.
"Well, already it's looking better than last night," Sniper analyzed the stump with keen eyes. The skin was slowly but surely beginning to close itself together with the help of the stitches Sniper did. And the once beet red flesh was simmering down to a moderate blush.
"Mhhhm," Scout said from behind the thick hide in his mouth, "cmn whh geh ish oher wffth?"
"Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on," Sniper opened the first aid kit he had left on the counter the night before and pulled out the bandages and the antibiotics he'd been using. The marksman felt his companion's muscles tense underneath his vice-like hand. A light pang of sympathy, then back to the present.
"So, Oi had a dream last night," Sniper stated as he grabbed a paper towel and dipped it under the open antibacterial medicine.
"Whyll, yhha. Dhhth's whhth shpusht th appin whe yar sthlppn'," Sniper rolled his eyes at the poor attempt at talking with one's mouth full of dead reptile.
"Well, the weird thing about this one is that it wasn't so much a dream than a memory. You know how you can't remember anything?" Scout looked The Marksman in the eyes, his stormy blues piercing. After a moment, Scout nodded with hesitance, keeping his eyes locked on Sniper's cool grey ones.
"So it turns out that Oi couldn't remember s**t either. Not that day, at least. Maybe it's because of that blow to the head," Sniper brought a hand up and felt the nasty scarred wound under his hair, "But either way, last night Oi remembered the morning. Do you remember it?" Scout sat still before shaking his head.
"Oi had just walked into the Mess Hall. You were there watching Demo and Soldier fight like schoolboys and kept egging them on."
"Oh yeah!" Scout swiped the croc out of his mouth in excitement, "Ya looked like ya'd slept with Death! All groggy and squinting like an old grandma-"
"Yeah, yeah," Sniper groaned, "and you looked like a pig when ya kept stuffin' your big mouth with muffins."
"Hey! Iznot my fault they were freakin' delicious and I was freakin' hungry!"
"And what was your baseball's name? Archiball?"
"Scrw yu." Scout glared as he shoved the hide back into his mouth.
"Hey, Oi'm jus' teasin'. At least it's a fun name, not like Heavy's weapons." That got a smirk from the runner.
"Yhha, wh nums ah ghn "Shthhah"?"
"Bite down, mate." Sniper advised. He gave the young man a second to prepare before pressing the damp towel on the infected wound. And it was a good thing he had grabbed Scout's arm again, as he felt the runner twist and instinctually pull away from the painful burning. He should distract him more.
"Did ya ever find your ball?" He looked up to see Scout's eyes clamped shut. Scout fiercely shook his head. "Ah." He continued to hold the runner's arm in place. Its trembling was starting to grow.
"Easy, only a few more seconds." Either Scout hadn't heard him or physically could not take it easy. The kid's face was pulled back in a grimace, sweat being to build on his forehead. His grip on the counter was so pale Sniper could see the veins and tendons beneath the white knuckles.
"Awright, Oi'm done," Sniper pulled the used paper away and let Scout recharge, "now that wasn't so bad, was it?" If looks could kill, the marksman would be dead and decayed faster than light.
"Betcha wouldn't be sayin' dat if you were da one with a ****ing crippled arm!" Scout spat as well as the hide from his mouth.
"Fair," Sniper said as he wrapped a clean bandage around Scout's arm. "...awright, now that that's done, go get some shut eye while ya still can. We don't know how long it'll take for the engine to dry, if that's even the problem." Scout rolled his eyes as hard as possible before hopping down and climbing up into Sniper's bed-
"AH- No shoes!" The runner snapped his head around and glared as he kicked off the damp, dirty cleats. After a nod from Sniper, Scout shuffled into the bed. And at the same speed the runner did everything in, he was out like a light.
The camper was opened and Sniper stepped outside. He made his way around to the front and stood before the engine. Looked just like yesterday but much drier and the morning sun was able to highlight all the little details Sniper couldn't see from the rain. He clucked his tongue and entered the driver's seat.
And realized he'd left the keys in the van. Grumbling, Sniper again got out, went to the van, opened the door, and entered the camper. What he saw almost made him laugh. He felt that barking chuckle build in his throat but swallowed it. It hadn't even been a minute since he left!
Scout, it seemed, couldn't even be bothered to stay still while sleeping. He was halfway off the bunk, letting his torso and head dangle in the free air. The patchwork blanket was wrapped around his legs like a tangled slinky, determined not to come undone without a fight. And his mouth was open in complete ignorance with even a faint line of drool crawling down, or up, his cheek.
Prying his eyes off the unfortunate Scout, Sniper opened a cabinet drawer where he always kept his keys. He took them, exited the van again, made his way around to the front again, and got back into the driver's seat. And the marksman waited.
The sudden rock of the van snapped Sniper awake. S**t, he hadn't meant to fall asleep. Guess the coffee Scout left wasn't enough. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the Australian groaned. Which was cut off by the sound of the passenger door opening.
"Alright, let's go!" The new company chimed as he climbed into the seat. It took Sniper a hot second to realize that the disheveled, blinking and shaky mess of a man was Scout and not some hobo looking for a quick fix.
"Ya slept well?" Sniper asked with feigned innocence. Oh, the look Scout gave him, if only he had a camera.
"Like a ****ing baby." Scout growled, his voice low from both anger and exhaustion. "What time is it? Sun's higher than it should be."
"It's…" Sniper peered down at his watch, "A quarter to ten. So ya slept for about three hours Oi'd say."
"D*mn. Sure doesn't feel like it."
"Also, was that shaking just now because of you?"
"Oh, yeah, I kinda got tangled in da blanket and fell off da bunk. Didn't hurt, but it sure was one h*ll of a wake up call." Sniper chuckled at the thought. He knew that blanket would do some damage.
"Awright, well, let's get going then. Fingers crossed, Buckshot." The runner crossed his fingers and his other two for good measure. Slightly impressed at how Scout managed that without a second hand, Sniper inserted the keys and turned the ignition.
Stuttering met their ears and hope was already fading.
C'mon old girl, don't this to me. Not now. Sniper silently pleaded. And his pleas were answered.
A jolt, a groan, and an aggressive roar from the engine ripped the pair's ear drums. But to them it was like a heavenly choir. Cheering was an understatement as the small compartment was brimming with joy.
"YEAH! Yes! If this stupid camper was a hot chick, I'd make out with it so hard!" Scout whooped as the two drove onto the road.
"Well it ain't, so don't try to make any moves on my home, thank you." Sniper chuckled as the forest began to thin more and more. Man, they'd been so close to leaving the pines behind yesterday. It was just a couple hundred feet more.
"But-"
"No buts. You can show your gratitude through other way-"
"Oh, so you're a bust kinda guy." The marksman's mind blanked like someone had just taken an eraser to a chalkboard.
"...Oi'm a whot?"
"Ya said no butts so ya must like da girls' chests more, am I right?" Of course the tyke would take Sniper's words literally just to toy with him. The s**t-eating grin plastered on Scout's face didn't help.
"That is not whot Oi meant and you know it!-"
"Hey, there's nothin' wrong with likin' da chest more than the behind! I personally think dat both are good. Chicks are freakin' hot, dude!"
"Oi ain't going to talk about what we find attractive, Scout. It's too early for this."
"Aw c'mon! It ain't like anyone else is around ta hear us! Besides, all I wanna know is if you're a Bust or Butt kinda guy."
"Oi'm a Shut-Up-Before-Oi-Drive-Us-Off-The-Road kinda guy."
"Why da heck are ya gettin' so defensive? We're two grown men, we can have these kinda conversations- wait," Oh no. Sniper could practically hear the gears turning in Scout's head. The burning in his face only grew when his companion's own seemed to glow in realization. "I was right, wasn't I?"
"No you weren't-"
"I totally was! Your face is beet red, dude! Aw man!" Curse that loudmouthed American and the ones who brought him into this world.
"Oi don't have a preference when it comes to either, Scout." Sniper made sure that the Bostonian heard him through his cackles. He was not going to repeat himself.
"Yeah, okay, ya ain't slick but fine. What type do you like then, if you're so indifferent?" The warmth in his face grew more.
"Oi am not contractually obligated to answer that question."
"C'mon man! Just tell me!"
"Nah."
"Tell me."
"Oi plead the fifth."
"Ya ain't American, dat don't work for ya!" Scout's smug grin was slipping into an annoyed frown. When it was clear that the Marksman wasn't going to talk more, the runner huffed. "Fine, I'll tell you my type first then you hafta tell me yours!"
"That's a bloody trick, you don't have a type, you flirt with every female ya meet."
"Actually I do, Headshot, but I gotta keep myself from gettin' rusty somehow!"
"Well, spit it out, then!"
"Look, say what you want about girls and s**t, but you can not go wrong with da classy ones! Y'know what I'm talkin' about, right? The kinds that always dress nice, smell nice, can read, always got their hair up and outta da way, small, polite-"
"Ya still like Miss Pauling? Oi would've thought ya moved on by now." Scout looked like someone had just struck him in the face with a wet fish.
"What? No way! She's amazing! And it's your turn so no more flaking on me, man! Spit it out!" Sniper took a deep breath and sighed for as long as he could.
"Fine," Scout's perked up like an excited puppy, "but no jokes or anything else Oi'll kick ya to the curb and drive off." The runner nodded and Sniper sighed again. "Awright. Oi… bloody h*ll, awright, so, ya know how-"
"Waitwaitwait, lemme try and guess first! I think I got it!" The silence that followed made Sniper wish a hitman would show up and kill him before the embarrassment could.
"Said ya didn't have a preference… no whistles or nothing ta classy ladies… small… no jokin' at your type…" Scout murmured to himself. "Huh, 'M startin' ta think you're inta Compressors." Once again, Sniper's mind blanked. With absolute confusion, he asked the question.
"Whot the bloody hell is a "Compressor"?"
"Dat's what da guys down in Southside called da kinds of girls dat could crush a dude's head in between her thighs like a compressor. Y'know, dominant girls, da ones dat are taller, stronger, can pick ya up no problem and take da reigns? We called them Compressors, Big Sisters, one dude even started calling them "Amazonians" cause he was a nerd and liked history class. And we called da guys dat were inta dat sorta thing "Melons", cause they liked da idea of getting their head crushed between da girls' thighs like a... melon… holy s**t."
"Don't." Sniper hissed. But it was too late.
"You're a freakin' Melon, ain't cha?"
"Look," Sniper said defensively as his face burned, "when the only sheilas you're surrounded with your entire life are just as strong as the men, can grow facial hair faster than yourself, and can snap in half you like the twig you are, you settle for whot ya can get!"
"Woah, woah! I ain't judging, man. Just didn't take ya as da type. But yeah, strong girls are pretty sweet."
"But you're into Miss Pauling."
"She's strong in her own way!" Now it was Scout's turn to shout defensively, "She might not be able ta crush a fruit between her legs but she's smart! And beautiful! So freakin' beautiful…"
When Sniper took his eyes off the road for the few seconds he did, he didn't expect to see the wistful and dazed expression Scout had. The kid was staring out ahead of them but wasn't taking any of it in, content to just stay inside his own little head.
"So ya like the girl for her looks."
"Well, duh, but not just dat. She's smart, like I just freakin' said, and can read super good. She always smells like lavender and plums whenever she doesn't smell like blood and a walking corpse, wonder if it's because she always wears purple. And her glasses are always kinda crooked, makes her look real cute, even when she's hacking limbs apart, she's great."
"Huh."
"Did you ever find someone you wanted ta spend da rest of your life with?" Sniper stole a glance at Scout again.
"Once, around your age or younger, just before Oi got into the assassin business."
"What was she like?"
"Well, everything you described a "Compressor" to be, just shorter. Still had a wild spirit, like most of us Down Under."
"Cept you."
"Yup. Didn't need to be though, she had enough between the both of us. And bloody h*ll she was gorgeous. Long curly hair, soft brown eyes and somehow never grew a mustache, which, Oi'll admit, was nice whenever she pulled me down for a kiss."
"What happened then? Did she cheat on ya with some buffer dude or…?" Scout trailed off.
"Nah, nothing like that. We just wanted different things in life. She wasn't interested in travelling the world killing blokes and Oi wasn't made for staying in one place for the rest of moi life. Not yet, at least."
"Huh-" A jaw breaking yawn cut through Scout's remark. "Kinda ironic cause, y'know, you're a Sniper and ya camp, like, all the d*mn time."
"Aw, whotever," He grinned. "And whot about you, kid? Do you ever see yourself settling down after all this?"
"If I'm with Miss P., then abso-freaking-lutely!" The certainty in his answer caught Sniper off guard.
"Really?"
"Sure! But only with her! When we both get bored a dis job and get tired of killin' people. I mean, I don't really get bored bashing heads in, but what she does? All the tooth pullin' and fingerprint sandin' and havin' ta do all da nasty jobs and paperwork da stupid Admin gives her? I don't wanna see her spend her entire life diggin' graves and gettin' papercuts just cause some old cranky hag tells her ta do it! She deserves better."
"And do you think you can give her better?"
"You bet your sorry *ss I do! When I see her again-" Scout yawned, "-I'm gonna tell straight up what and how I feel about her! And she'll be so freaking blown away by my natural charm and truthfulness dat she'll admit ta me dat she feels da exact same way. Then we'll both quit our jobs, later, not straight afterwards cause y'know, we gotta keep the money comin' in and we need time ta go out and date. But after dat we'll quit our jobs, and I'll buy us a sick mansion by da coast in Massachusetts, or a cottage, cabin thing if dat's what she likes more.
"A year will pass and dat's when I pop da big question ta her. Course she'll say yes cause we're just so awesome together, and we'll have da best wedding da world's eva seen! You'll be invited cause a course you'll be and Ma and whatever family Miss Pauling has. And we'll live happily on da coast for da rest a our lives, maybe havin' some kids.
"One day we'll just be hangin' out, restin' and watchin' da sunset while we lay around on a hammock I'll get us." Scout's eyes began to close and his slouching form started leaning back against the van's door. "And we'll be layin' down with her restin' her head on my chest and I'll be holdin' her close when she falls asleep. I'll put a foot down onta da ground and swing da hammock slow until da sun sets and da moon creeps itself over da sealine…"
It took Sniper a long moment to realize Scout had fallen asleep and not just zoning out imagining the perfect future with his crush. Sniper turned one last time to look at his unconscious companion. The runner's head was leaning against the window, bumping slightly each time the van drove over a rock or hit a small hole. His mouth had the faintest echo of a smile. A smile that was the antithesis of everything Scout thought he was.
Sniper himself felt a smile pull against the corners of his mouth when he thought about what Scout had been rambling about. Looking back to the road, a rumbling chuckle filled the small space.
"Ya hopeless romantic…"
The snap, crackle, and pop of the gravel road filled the dark, evening air as the pair drove down the hidden road towards Landfall's main bases. With a hearty yawn, Scout looked out his window to watch the towering trees become denser and denser.
"Yo, do ya think these are Redwoods or somethin'?"
"Nah, probably just really big Firs and Spruces."
For eight whole hours the two had sat and drove the last stretch to Landfall. Scout had fallen asleep again and hot d*mn was it a good sleep! He dreamt about him and Miss Pauling. She looked different in it, a good difference. Where there weren't any dark sleepy lines under her eyes. And her hair was still held up in a bun but it was messy, and hung loose near her shoulders. They had been laying in a hammock thing tied between these two tall white trees with gold leaves. And all around them was space.
Galaxies and millions and billions of stars. Strange new plants were so close that Scout could almost touch them just by raising his hand. And so many colors filled the night sky as those space cloud things, he forgot the word.
The two just laid together, with Miss Pauling resting her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist. And he'd been holding her just as close while watching the universe shimmer and glow. If heaven was real, it had to be this.
So one could understand Scout's absolute frustration when Sniper had woken him from the one dream he'd had in the past week that didn't make him fear for his life. It didn't matter that they'd stopped at some food place for lunch, Scout wasn't hungry! And when Sniper had told him that the place sold milkshakes and he could get him one, Scout almost said that he just wanted the freaking space hammock back! Almost, because a milkshake sounded real good.
After the lunch and milkshake stop, they'd continued the drive that would last another four hours, half of which was trying to locate the hidden entrance to Landfall. During which The Great Battle for The Radio commenced, with Scout winning after using the tactic that never failed: talking someone's ear off until they give in. Worked like a charm and Rock music never sounded so triumphant.
Now here they were, after finally finding the gravel road that was actually plainly obvious for the world to see with the only hindrance being the "Private Property, Keep Out" sign. Scout reckoned that Sniper must feel pretty stupid from being fooled by such a small sign. Scout was fooled too but he wasn't the one behind the wheel-
"Finally! Now that is a sight for sore eyes!" Scout turned to peer out the windshield and, yeah, he had to agree one hundred percent. Landfall's BLU Base stood before them, it's cabin-like appearance was a welcoming one after being stuck on the road for basically a week. How the heck had it taken them a straight up week, Scout knew the drive to Boston from Teufort was only 33 hours and they barely encountered any traffic, and the distance between these bases was even shorter!- Ow. Okay, no, no more thinking, his head was still thumping from this morning.
As Sniper parked his van on the side of the building, Scout jumped out and began stretching. After doing so, Scout took a long, hard look at the one story cabin before him. Yup, just like how they left it half a year ago. It was built to appear like one of those old, creepy log cabins that keeps nosy teens away(which never works, Scout's seen horror movies), but that was just the outside. The actual base was built deep below the earth with the cabin serving as the entrance to the underground facility.
Because it was built underground, the team didn't have access to any windows or natural light, meaning that they had to rely on some real powerful generators to lit things up. And the other things that need electricity to run but light was real important. To make up for the s****y lights, the base was massive. Too massive, you could get lost down there from all the winding hallways and rooms that served basically no purpose other than storage. And with only two exits, the one in front of him and the old back one hidden somewhere in the forest, the base could basically become a death trap.
Scout stared at that old wooden door with an eerie sense of dread. Licking his lips, he looked to the dark sky. The sun had set only five minutes ago, and yet the sky was more night than day with the pinprick stars fading in over his head. It was getting dark. He looked back to the cabin.
The teams always turn the generators off before they relocate as to reduce energy costs and the chance of being located by less than stellar visitors.
"Uh, Snipa?" The older man hummed in response as he exited the van. "Uh, I think we should stay in da van again. Just for tonight."
"Whoi? The base is empty and has supplies. And beds."
"Yeah, and it's also outta power. We turned the generators off, rememba?" Snipa stared at him before realization dawned on his face.
"Right, we did do that, didn't we? But that shouldn't matter, I got some torches and neither of us are scared of the dark, Oi'm assuming." Scout ignored the last bit. Mostly.
"First of all, we ain't in da freakin' middle ages so I dunno where ya got torches from. How the heck are ya even gonna light them without a lighter? And secondly, do you know how freakin' big this base is!? It's bigger than Sawmill! And, without light, you'll get lost down there pretty quick."
"Excuse you, Oi'm fine with directions, with or without light!"
"UGH, listen man, you don't live in da freakin' bases, I do! And even I get freakin' lost down there without da neon signs and lights tellin' me where everything is! So all I'm sayin' is dat let's wait til tomorrow before we get what we came here for. And, this just dawned on me, we can't talk ta Miss P. or Missus Microphone without power and I dunno about you, but I dunno how ta start a stupid generator awake let alone when I'm d*mn tired. So let's just sleep in da van and go inside ta fix the stupid power tomorrow."
At first, it didn't seem like Sniper was listening. It was already hard to get a read on the guys through his thick orange shades, now it was even harder because of the darkness quickly descending on the duo. As Scout said his piece, the marksman just stood there looking at him. But then he nodded with an expression Scout assumed was impressed.
"Ya make a good point there, Buckshot." His mouth slid into a smile when that nickname was said. "Awright, we'll wait. Might as well get some grub too since there was no time for dinner."
"Sweet! Also I'm cashing in on da bed tonight, my turn!" Sniper turned back to give him the stink eye as they walked.
"Ya little imp, Oi never shoulda let you sleep there to begin with. Sleeping and eating me out of house and home, a right nuisance you are."
"But ya did, and now you're stuck with me so get used ta it, Headshot!"
With some exaggerated grumbles, Sniper lead the charge into the van. Scout was right on his tail, insanely proud of his friend's nickname and ignoring the churning feeling he got deep down whenever the concept of dinner was thought up.
It's done. Completed. I was planning on adding one last scene focusing on what exactly Scout's been doing whenever he wakes up from a nightmare, but I'll save that for the next chapter. For now, you get to see two of my headcanons pop up in this chapter: Scout secretly being a hopeless romantic(even he doesn't know he's one) and Sniper having a thing more "assertive" ladies. I think the latter makes more sense, given that he's actually from New Zealand and he's shown being far smaller than normal Aussies, even Aussie ladies, so it makes sense that living your entire adolescence around people far stronger than you will make you biased towards a type of person. Now FiveBucks, I hear you say, isn't this categorized as a "Horror/Thriller" story? Where's all the thrills and chills? And to that I say, just you wait. Oh, my dear viewers, just you wait...