Well, I stayed up longer than I should have writing this one. Good news! We've almost hit the halfway point in the story(depending on if I can actually keep to my plan). Sad news, I won't really be able to write anything from the 26th to the 9th because I'm housesitting for my grandparents and aunt so the next chapter is gonna take longer. Sorry in advanced! Hope you enjoy this chapter, I really had fun writing some parts, others, hm, not so much. Okayseeyabye
A morning should be quiet. Key word being should. Because it wasn't. Not a bit.
At first, it was. Sniper had been sleeping, because he wasn't able to do so in over a full 26 hours by the time they'd found a campsite to stay at. It was dreamless, which was honestly a blessing. But then, of course, the door had slammed shut and jolted Sniper into the waking world.
Now he was laying there, a full ten or so minutes later, having shoved his head into his pillow trying to fall back asleep. So far, no such luck, probably due to the migraine he'd woken up with. Brilliant.
Sniper groaned and flopped onto his side, glaring at the door. The kid just had to slam the bloody thing. He shoved his face back into his pillow. At least it was dark. And warm. Warmth that was not carrying into his hands. He held his hands close to his chest, rubbing away their chilly itchiness. Bloody circulation problems.
Well, at least he could feel sleep coming back-
SLAM! "Aw s**t, oops."
Never-bloody-mind.
Sniper pushed his face further into the pillow, attempting to smother either the ruckus Scout was currently making or himself. Either one would be nice right about now. Anything to stop the noise or his pounding skull.
The runner was doing something, and Sniper hoped it was getting back into his little makeshift bed so that he could fall back asleep. But then he heard the benches being folded back into benches so that hope was doused quickly. The soft shuffle of socks on the floor and the weighty thuds of the table being brought down were followed by some more whispered swearing. Then silence. Beautiful, fantastic silence. Sniper felt his eyelids grow heavy.
"Snipah?" The marksman inhaled sharply.
"Yo, Snipes." Sniper threw the blanket over his head to muffle the Bostonian's voice. "C'mon man, it's like nine already, we gotta get going." He growled loud enough for Scout to hear and get the message. But apparently the message was lost in translation.
"Do ya need caffeine or somethin'? I can make some of dat gross plain coffee ya like." Scout's voice grew quiet as he walked over to what Sniper assumed was his coffee machine. Sure enough, the sound of brewing filled the small camper after a quiet moment. Just more unwanted sounds. Sniper's groan was muffled by the downy cushion before he shuffled further towards the back wall, away from the noise. Was it really too much to ask for another five minutes of sleep?
A clink of glass against wood. "Alright, come get it while it's hot!" Scout's obnoxious voice sang out. Sniper responded with another hoarse groan and curled tighter in on himself. The blanket got tangled around his legs. He tried kicking them looser. It didn't work very well.
"Dude, get out of da freakin' bed!"
"Go kick rocks." Sniper's muffled growl responded. A very audible sigh from behind him. Encroaching footsteps.
"Get up."
"P*ss off."
"Get. Up." Sniper went with the tried and true method of pushing his hand out of the blanket and flipping Scout off before pulling it back in with verbal bristling following after it. Sniper could feel the heat waves coming off of the American. He smiled to himself.
Then the blanket was ripped away.
Sniper shot up, mind filled with over a thousand different ways to kill an annoying loudmouth. A mind that also forgot just how low the ceiling was. A dull slam filled the camper tailed by Scout's barking laughter and Sniper flopped right back down rubbing his forehead and cursing.
"You moron!" Scout managed to say between laughs. "Aw man, you should have seen your freakin' face, holy crap!"
"Oi'm going to kill you."
"As if! Look, I could've done way worse ta get your *ss outta bed, really you should be thankin' me-" Scout trailed off as Sniper dropped down from the bed and stood at his full height, "uh, oh hey, your leg's all better. See, told ya da medkits would be enough-"
"Oi suggest getting out of strangling distance." Sniper hissed. Scout's twitchy grin faltered.
"Oh, uh, yeah, uh, I'll let ya get dressed, see ya." He said before bolting out the camper and slamming the door behind him. Sniper stood watching the door for a second before snatching up the steaming mug of coffee and downing it like a shot.
The scalding liquid burnt his tongue and throat on the way down but he'd had worse. After chugging the dark brew, Sniper sat down at the now table with his face in his hands. He stifled a yawn.
Exhaustion clung to his joints and mind. It was hard to move and harder to think. Sleeping had done nothing to recharge him and it brought along this splitting headache. And getting this angry this early wasn't doing Sniper any favors. Another yawn was stifled.
Sniper groaned for what had to be the fourth or fifth time this morning. A new record, he was sure of it. And Scout was once again the cause.
Scout. The marksman's cold hands clenched into fists. No, this, this was ridiculous. He shouldn't be allowing himself to get this frustrated over the little piker. Even if the kid deserved good flogging- stop. Sniper pushed the heel of his hands into his eyes and sighed. He was getting like this because he was tired. He was tired because of what happened yesterday or technically a day ago. That happened because Scout left him behind. Sniper's jaw tightened.
Sneaking a glance from behind his cold hands, Sniper eyed the half empty coffee pot. He yawned, and stood to grab another mug full of caffeine. Blinking away the watery sleepiness, Sniper filled his cup again and downed the drink even faster than last time. A feat that would cause most to either receive third degree burn in their esophagus or have a coughing fit. For Sniper, he got jack squat in return for burning his taste buds. Yes, it took a bit for caffeine to actually do its purpose but it still left the marksman scowling down into his empty cup. And his hands were still freezing. Itchy too.
Sniper, having placed his glassware to the side, slumped back into his seat. With his hands now free once again, he ran them through his hair. When was the last time he showered? At least a good three days by now. There was a building near the entrance to the campsite that had showers, he could probably take one there. Later. Once, once he got his bearings. Sniper dropped his hands to the table and rested his head on them.
Bloody h*ll he was tired.
"Yo, Snipah." A voice said from the left, dragging Sniper out from his slumber. Something tapped his shoulder and Sniper buried his head further into his arms, cutting off the unwanted sound. Another tap, stronger than the last, and Sniper groaned.
"Dude, come on, ya can't sleep da d*mn day away!" Scout huffed.
"Watch me." Sniper replied with his head still cushioned by his arms. Another tap, then a light shaking as Scout grabbed his shoulder.
"Why are you so freakin' tired, you drank da entire freakin' pot!" Sniper shrugged, never bothering to open his eyes due to the incredible weight of his eyelids. That is until Scout delivered a nasty right hook right into his shoulder blade.
"Whot's the bloody matter with you!?" Sniper snapped before a yawn that threatened to dislocate his jaw interrupted his ire.
"What's da mattah with you!?" Scout glared. "Seriously man, it's, like, ten in the morning now, and you've had an entire freakin' pot of coffee and you're still crashin'!"
"And whot's it to you if Oi decide to sleep longer than yourself?" Sniper stood and matched Scout's glare with his own, rolling his now sore shoulder back. "Not everyone is born a spastic mongrel who can't sit still to save his hide like yourself, kiddo."
"I ain't a freakin' kid," Scout grit his teeth, "and it ain't my fault your lanky *ss is made for campin' like a coward and couldn't run fast enough ta not get trapped under a freakin' cabinet like a moron!" Sniper's hands twitched.
And a moment later they were entangled in Scout's shirt having lifted the younger man up with surprising ease till he was at eye level with the Australian. Scout's face was only inches away from his own and because of the short distance, Sniper could see all the small details in the runner's startled eyes. Too bad he didn't give a s**t.
"Oi'm not in the bloody mood to argue with your gremlin *rse right now," Sniper's voice was low as he spoke, "but if you keep prying and poking like you are now, you're going to get a lot more than jus' some nasty words thrown back." Scout only stared back, eyes flicking ever so slightly. Then, he glared.
"If you wanna beat my *ss, at least wait till we have our plan figured out." The younger man said, jabbing a finger into Sniper's chest.
"Whot plan?"
"Oh, I don't freakin' know, just da plan we've been followin' for over a week now!" Scout snapped. "Landfall was a complete failure and we still don't know what da ****'s goin' on, we ain't got a Medigun and communication's a bust. So what's da plan now, pally?" Sniper didn't speak. Instead, his jaw tightened along with his fists, so much so that he could feel his nails digging into his palms from beneath the fabric. And the world was starting to turn a concerning shade of red.
What happened next was a clouded crimson mess. No recollection of what he did or said, just the blistering anger that caused it. One moment he was still holding Scout up and the next he was outside with a spare change of clothes in his hands. What?
The marksman stopped and stood still. The day was overcast with a warm gust blowing through the firs surrounding the campsite. There was a faint smell of bark dust in the air, a dry, camp-like scent that managed to smother some of the red from Sniper's sight. And thankfully there was no one else around. They were probably all still in the sparse tents and trailers around the small forest area eating breakfast. Something he should probably be doing. But then why was he outside?
Sniper furrowed his brows and stared down at the clothes in his hands. There was no way he came out here to change. Was it the.. The things? The, the showers, that's it. That must be it, yeah. A shower would be bloody fantastic right about now. The Australian set off towards the washrooms, scratching away at his left hand till it turned red.
There wasn't much to do. Sniper's camper was way too freaking small for anything cardio. Not that Scout really needed to, he already had his morning run and even got to see some hot chicks standing around the bathrooms chatting. But at least doing some jumping jacks or sit ups or jogging or jump rope would be something to do! Yeah, he could go outside, but he already did that twice.
Scout could draw. But he wasn't feeling it so that was a no go. What if he tried to fall back asleep like Sniper? That jerk did it, why couldn't he? Course, then when Sniper eventually comes back he'll scream about Scout being a hippo-crate or something along those lines. Maybe even hit him. He frowned at that.
The marksman was still mad. Okay, Scout hated that fact but what the heck could he do that he already didn't try? He apologized, helped find a campsite, made sure the guy got his leg healed right, let him have the bed, and made him some of that gross plain coffee! Scout had done everything he could but Sniper was still acting like a b***h! The runner groaned and finally got off from the floor where Sniper had thrown him. The guy was strong, he'd give him that. And if he hadn't caught Scout off guard, Scout could've pushed back! Sniper played dirty, it wasn't Scout's fault he felt a bit off. And, honestly, he was feelin' off for a while.
Maybe Sniper was going through the same thing. Maybe he was off too.
At that, Scout looked towards the little kitchen area to his left. Sniper had said to "not touch anything" and to "make a new plan if you're so bloody adamant on one." which Scout was going to since the freaking Aussie was throwing a fit. And the guys said he was the immature one, ha! What a funny freaking joke. But the first thing he had said might just be ignored as an idea formed in Scout's noggin.
He walked the short distance to the "kitchen". Peering through the few cupboards, Scout searched for what he could use, or even make. Sniper was mad at him. Scout was mad at Sniper. And if what happened earlier was foreshadowing for the entire day, well, Scout could bite the bullet for once. He could be mature, even if the others didn't think he could, especially Spy and Heavy. At least Heavy's pretty cool to hang with, unlike the frog.
As Scout scrounged through the camper, he found what he was looking for: peanut butter. Funny, he could have sworn Sniper had an allergy or something. Maybe it was Medic? Soldier? Scout couldn't remember, but it apparently wasn't Sniper. Now, did the guy have any bananas…?
Minutes passed as the runner perfected his masterpiece of culinary craftsmanship. There weren't any bananas to be found, unfortunately, but they'd probably be all brown anyway. So the next best thing was looking for jelly. Scout managed to find some blackberry jam that tastes great when he tried some(just to know it was up to code, it was only a spoonful anyway) only after finding some gross vegetable jelly thing that smelled sour called Vegemite(there was no way in h*ll he'd taste that). And so, two beautiful sandwiches stood before him with generous helpings of jam and peanut butter. The camper also hadn't burst into flames the moment Scout touched a knife so that was a plus in his books.
He really only planned on making one for Sniper as a truce, but the freaking blackberries stole his heart and taste buds so now there were two, one for Sniper and one for himself. The thought of eating food made his mouth water. When was the last time he ate something? He… neglected to yesterday. And now his stomach was roaring at him to stuff the sandwich down his gullet. Who was he to say no?
With a quick hand, Scout snatched up his portion and bit into it. To anyone else, it would have been a pretty average PB&J, but to Scout, it was like heaven itself opened up and delivered him a sandwich fit for God himself. One second, there was a sandwich. The next, there was none with only the small smears of jam on Scout's cheeks as evidence it had ever existed in the first place. And by the time he realized what had happened, both sandwiches were nothing but empty plates and bread crumbs. That was when the van's door opened.
Sniper entered the camper with a fresh change of clothes and damp hair that was sticking up like porcupine quills. And if Scout wasn't frozen in place, he probably would have made that comparison out loud. But he didn't. He only watched as Sniper closed the door behind him and turned to meet Scout's eyes.
Neither said a word for a moment with Scout hovering over two obvious plates and Sniper standing still while running a hand through his wet hair. An unwanted warmth crept through Scout's face. Sniper's already cold eyes grew colder.
"Oi thought I told you not to touch anything." He said. Scout swallowed, the tart taste of blackberries on his tongue.
"Well, yeah," Scout admitted, unable to look away, "but ya can't exactly make yourself breakfast without touching anything. Plus, I'm kinda forced ta touch stuff, like da floor cause a gravity, and da air cause I need ta breath and s**t…" His ramble died before it had a chance to live as a harsh glare shot his way killed all the words he wanted to say.
"Right," Sniper looked down at the plates, "let me guess, you needed two plates to make whotever you had, right?"
"No, well, I mean, kinda…" Scout mumbled, finding his socks far more interesting than Sniper's irritation. "I made two of them, one for you and me. Sandwiches, I mean. Cause I thought I was bein' a bit of a d**k ta you earlier and wanted ta make up for it, I guess." Sniper didn't respond, content to watch Scout dig his own grave. The runner squirmed. "And I didn't mean ta eat yours, it. It just sorta happened after I ate mine cause. I mean, I wasn't really payin' attention, I guess. Honest, I didn't mean it, I just wasn't really thinkin'-"
"Yeah," Sniper spoke, the burn of his stare cutting straight through Scout. The Bostonian squirmed more under the icy spotlight. "Ya don't tend to think at all, do you?"
The guilt ridden nausea that followed made Scout wish he never made the d*mn sandwiches.
It was around noon when Sniper finally decided that it was time to leave. Before the pair had exited the van again, Sniper put on his hat, made himself more coffee, and drank it all straight from the pot like an absolute barbarian. And if Scout wasn't both upset and mad at the guy, he would've been impressed. He was impressed, but there was no way he was making that known to the Australian. Not now, at least. After that was when Sniper told Scout the game plan.
"Sawmill!" Scout bellowed, drawing the eyes of the few campers actually outside their tents and trailers, "Your great idea is going back ta freakin' Sawmill!?"
"Pipe down, will ya!?" Sniper hissed over his shoulder as Scout shut the camper door behind them. "Crikey. And it's the best option we've got so unless you can think of a better one or another base that jus' so happens to be nearby, we're sticking to it." The marksman started towards the van's driver seat. Scout followed him like a loyal puppy, slipping on the jacket he used yesterday.
"What about Snakewater?"
"Scout, we were stationed there once in the four years we've worked for the Mann brothers, do you honestly think you can remember the way?"
"Double Cross?" Scout asked, walking over to the passenger side of the van.
"In New Mexico."
"Teufort?"
"Also New Mexico."
"Coldfront!?"
"That's in bloody Alaska!" Sniper slipped into the driver seat. "And we can't jus' drive through another country to find a base when there's one we can use only a four days drive from here."
"I don't freakin' care!" Scout spat, slumping into his own seat, "Better than headed back ta Sawmill. Anything's better than dat!"
"Landfall would disagree with ya." Sniper said while starting the ignition.
"Dat one doesn't count."
"Well, no one's forcing you to come along," The marksman leaned his arm on the open window, staring at Scout with a bored expression. "You've got a pair of working legs so if you're so keen on Coldfront, you can get out of moi van and walk there. Or you can sit there and shut your yapper while Oi drive us back to Sawmill. Like you said, ya ain't a kid, you can make your own decisions, and if you decide that you want to leave, go ahead."
"Are you serious?" Scout asked, staring slack jawed at Sniper. The man raised an eyebrow. "I ain't walkin'- ugh, look, there's gotta be another base or somethin' around here dat isn't Landfall or Sawmill, I can drive if you ain't wantin' ta-" He was cut off by a barking laugh.
"Like Oi'm going let you take the wheel of moi van." Sniper said while pulling out of the campsite.
"I did yesterday, and da day before yesterday!" Scout retorted, rolling down his own window to let the bark dust air in. "I know how ta drive just fine!"
"Yeah, after you left me behind." At that, Scout slouched into his seat, watching them drive up to the campsite's exit. The van slowed to a stop. Neither spoke as they watched the occasional car drive past on the forested highway. The silence was only balanced by the faint scratching sound of Scout picking at his arm's bandages.
"...If you really don't want to go back there, Oi'm not going to force you to," Sniper began, watching the road with a hollow look, "But Oi'm not changing moi mind about this either. You can get out now, Oi let ya grab what you need, we'll part ways, and end this on a neutral note. Or you can stay in that seat and we head back to Sawmill to get in contact with Miss Pauling or The Administrator. Your choice."
Scout sat there in rare silence, looking at his companion. Sniper wasn't looking at him, but by the drumming of his fingers on the steering wheel, he could tell the marksman was listening. The guy was right, Scout didn't have to stay here. He could open this door and walk right out. Leave this all behind. Leave and forget about everything.
That oh-so familiar urge to run flooded his veins. Run away from it all. Away from Sniper, away from this situation, away from everything keeping him chained. Back to Boston, back to his family, back to the way everything was before taking the job.
"Well," Sniper turned to him after a moment, "What's it going to be, Scout?"
"Yeah, sorry, man," Scout leaned back in his seat with arms crossed, "ya can't get rid of me dat easily. I'm staying. Sides, someone's gotta keep an eye out for dat freakin' demon, and I'm pretty sure I'll lose my job if I left if we didn't lose them already."
His friend only nodded as the van started forwards and onto the highway. They drove in almost silence with the only sound being the rushing wind through the open windows. The wind filled the small compartment, ruffling Scout's hair and sending the brim of Sniper's hat shaking like mad. Along with the wind came that smoky scent of campfires and forest trees. The question was if that was carried from the campsite or a forest fire. Scout stuck his head out the window, squinting at the greyish-green blurs known as trees. They didn't look dead or burnt so the fire thing was probably not the cause.
From within the car Scout could hear Sniper opening up the glove compartment. Weird, what was even in it? Why was it called the glove compartment anyway when all the cars he was in only ever had brochures and other paper garbage? Did people store gloves in them when cars were first invented? When were cars invented? The runner only pondered away as the wind roared in his ears and forced his eyes into slits. The feeling made him smile.
He pulled his head back in the car and leaned back into his seat. Of course, every good thing had a bad thing to go along with it, and now the car was filled with chilly overcast air. It was already making Scout's nose itch. Good thing he put on the hoodie again. Shuffling deeper into the thick fabric, Scout shoved his hands- hand into the packets and brushed against something oddly smooth and cold.
"Da heck?" He asked himself, feeling around the strange object. When had he grabbed this? It was thin, and felt fragile. It even had some joint thingies that swung like legs but stopped at a certain point. Oh. Oh.
"Yo, Snipes, do ya remember when ya shot dat freakin' monster and sent us flyin' into da ground?" The marksman nodded, sparing a glance Scout's way. "Well, uh, I think you lost something when ya did-"
"If this ends up being some cheap shot or innuendo, Oi'm not in the mood."
"You're never in da mood but no, I'm bein' serious here, ya dropped somethin' when we crashed and I forgot I grabbed it." Sniper looked skeptical. "Honest!"
"Well, whot is it?"
"These." In Scout's hand were the marksman's aviators. Sniper took, Scout would swear to his dying day, the greatest double take of all time. And he couldn't help but grin when the dumbfounded sharpshooter took them and put them on with what was the closest thing the runner had seen to a smile since Landfall. But that grin faltered when his companion's head turned just enough for Scout to spot his lit cigarette.
"Why da h*ll are ya smokin'?" He blurted out. Sniper stole a glance towards him.
"Because Oi wanted to?" Sniper replied, eyes back on the road.
"But why? Smokin's Spy's thing, not yours! It's freakin' gross, put it out."
"One, it was Spy's thing. And two, Oi'm not putting it out, both windows are open.
"Like dat helps at all." Scout scowled, both at Sniper's insensitivity, and his replacement of Scout's "is" with "was".
"Whoi do ya even care? Jus' stick your head back out the window." Sniper sneered, his grip on the wheel tightening.
"Because it's freakin' bad for you? Duh! And it smells horrible." Scout glared at the marksman who was pointedly ignoring him. Jerk. An involuntary shiver went up Scout's spine. Freaking cold air. As he shimmied further into his jacket, he kept his eyes on Sniper. The cold air wasn't affecting him like it was Scout. Did he even notice it?
As the pair drove on, Scout did end up sticking his head out the window. It was then he realized that he never put on his seat belt. And that Sniper never pointed that out. Once he buckled his seatbelt, Scout turned back to the quiet, smoking Sniper who couldn't feel the cold. The marksman's left hand was covered in pink scratch marks.
The day went on without further incident. There were no clear cut memories Scout could recall; It all melted together. Except for when Sniper had drifted into the second lane and nearly got them into a car crash because he fell at the wheel even after "Two freakin' pots of freakin' coffee, you complete dumb*ss!" After that outburst that led to a nasty fight, the third or so that day, Sniper hardly said a word unless Scout did something he didn't like or was stating something that needed to be done. Another campsite was found, they ate, they slept(or tried to at least, neither of them got more than four hours) and were on the road again with no sign of The Counterfeit freak.
This day was a blur too. One moment Scout and Sniper were talking, well, he was talking, Sniper was just there, and eating breakfast and the next the sun was already setting and Scout was left wondering where the hours had gone.
Recollection was coming slowly as he stared out the passenger window towards the last licks of sunlight. It was still overcast, more so than yesterday. And the air was filled with static which meant a storm.
"I don't think we're gonna find a campsite or something anytime soon, pal." Scout sighed. Sniper didn't say anything, but Scout knew he was thinking the same from the way his eyes darted around the endless trees surrounding them.
"Oi think you're right." Sniper finally admitted. They'd been driving for so long and Scout's feet were itching for some movement. Hadn't even stopped for lunch, not that he was hungry anyway. But Sniper must be, unless he wasn't also. Scout frowned.
"It's gettin' dark."
"Really? Huh, couldn't tell." Sniper's sarcasm did not go unnoticed as Scout sat up with a deeper scowl.
"Well, we can't drive da entire night away, or at least you can't. So what's da plan?" The marksman drummed his fingers along the wheel in thought. His left ones were slightly paler than the right, Scout observed.
"Okay, there's got to be an off shoot from the highway. If we can find one, we'll take it and set up camp there."
"Alright," Scout yawned, "and what if we can't?" Sniper didn't respond. He didn't have to in fact. For right as Scout asked, the road rounded a corner, and in the far distance through the darkness, the Bostonian could spot a dirt path to the left of the road.
"Huh, cool."
By the time they reached it, the headlights were turned on. A much needed development as the dirt road was thin and worn down. Even with the high beams Scout had to squint to see the shambled mess of a pathway. It was long too.
"Crikey, how long is this thing?" Scout's thoughts exactly, except a little less "Crikey" and a little more-
Ka-Thunck! His head slammed against the ceiling as they drove over a pothole. Same thing happened to Sniper, who was now gripping the wheel with an iron grasp and swearing away the pain.
"Hey, maybe we should just stop here. Far enough away from da road, and it don't look like anyone's been down here for a while so we probably won't be bothered all dat much."
"Yeah," Sniper, for the second time today, agreed, "and Oi'm not aiming to meet the bloke who owns this road if he lets it get this bad. His house's probably in the same shape, if there is one." With that, the pair pulled off to the side and finally parked.
Scout was the first one out, itching to release some pent up energy, while Sniper dragged himself out with a yawn. There was a slight clearing, nothing too special, right next to the van, big enough for a group of two to five people if they were roasting hotdogs. Behind him, Scout heard Sniper mumble something and the sound of the camper being opened and closed followed after. The runner stood and stretched, feeling his back and shoulders pop. He really wasn't meant for small spaces.
Night had fallen, even if it was only about eight or something in the evening. And as expected there were no stars or moon. It was all covered with heavy clouds and thick tree branches. So it was dark. Real dark. Not even the headlights were on. Anything could be out there in the woods. Scout swallowed.
"Hey, Snipah," he said when he entered the van. The sharpshooter was just sitting at the table staring at nothing when Scout opened the door. But when he called his name, Sniper's eyes sharpened and flicked to the runner. Oooookay.
"Hey, so I was out there, yeah, and there's this cool little clearin' thing and it's, like, da perfect size for roastin' somethin'. So I was wonderin' if-"
"No."
"Ya didn't even let me finish-"
"Because you're going to say that you want to have a campfire out there or something along those lines and no, Scout, we ain't doing it."
"Aw c'mon!" Scout whined as Sniper rolled his tired eyes, "It's, like, da perfect place for a campfire and- hold it, I ain't finished!" Sniper shut his mouth and gestured for Scout to continue with obvious boredom. "I got more reasons than just a freakin' happy little roast fest.
"Listen, alright? So dat thing hates water, yeah? Anything like water. Problem is, it ain't rainin', not yet at least. Storm's not dropping yet. But it also hates fire; everything does, cept Pyro. Ya followin' yet? If it sees da fire, it'll probably stay da h*ll away from us like it does with water so by makin' a campfire, not only are we able ta make smores and stay warm, dat freak won't mess with us."
"So let me get this straight," Sniper began, hands up to pause Scout's talking, "you want to make a campfire to keep the bloody spook away, even though there's been no proof of it following us? And to make smores?"
"Hey, you don't know if it's been followin' us, it could be! It was last time and you were sayin' da exact same thing!"
"Oi haven't seen a single thing-"
"Which is why I stuck around," Scout pointed out, "You don't even know what ta look for, I do! And I feel it's a pretty safe bet ta assume da worst from dat shapeshiftah. And plus," Scout paused for dramatic effect, looking Sniper dead in the eye, "we still got those four mollys I didn't use. Think about it, man, drinkin' beer by a roastin' campfire, I can't think of a better way ta spend da evening than dat." Boom. Perfect. Scout could literally see the gears in Sniper's mind turn. Oh yeah, they were doin' this.
"...Fine, Oi could use a drink anyway."
"Yes! Yeah, let's do thi-"
"You-" Sniper stood and snatched a flashlight from the counter- "can go searching for firewood. Dry stuff, not too big. Go." Taking the flashlight, Scout saluted and made for the door. Not before also grabbing his jacket resting on the bench seat. As he stepped outside, the runner slipped the hoodie on and with a click, the forest was alight.
For a place surrounded by trees, you'd think there'd be more dead branches and sticks to find. But everywhere Scout looked there was nothing but ferns and dead needles covering the ground. After a good ten minutes of searching, the only thing Scout had to show for it was about ten medium sized sticks and a couple bigger ones. Didn't ya need something else called tinder to actually start the thing? What the heck was the stuff? Ah, who cares.
Scout started back towards the van. By the time he reached it, Sniper had already set up the campsite. The middle had been cleared of all flammable material, leaving a wide circle of dark earth. There were some foldable chairs placed down and Sniper was currently wrestling with what looked like a little barrel.
"What da h*ll is dat thing?" Scout asked as he emerged from the trees.
"It's a keg," Sniper grunted, not bothering to look up at the runner, "That beer you got is the cheap stuff, Oi'm gonna need something a lot stronger to get anywhere near tipsy."
"But what is it?" Scout dropped all the firewood in the dark circle.
"Ever heard of Moonshine?" The marksman replied as he finally got the keg's stubborn cork out. Scout's eyes widened.
"You're a hillbilly!?"
"No."
"But moonshine's-"
"Homemade alcohol. And if you want some, you're going to have to ask nicely." Ask nicely? Seriously? Who did Sniper think he was, a preschool teacher?
"Fine," Scout groaned, "Now let's get this fire goin' already!"
It didn't take long for a small campfire to begin once Sniper started on it. Scout tried to first, but he apparently kept blowing too hard even though fires need air to grow. Wasn't his fault the stupid little smoking cinders weren't strong enough to withstand his airflow. But when the fire became an actual fire, that was when the mood finally lightened.
Sniper didn't have any hotdogs to roast, but he did have marshmallows and cookies so Scout was left making some chocolate chip smores for dinner while Sniper just leaned back and watched. Or maybe he fell asleep, Scout couldn't tell with his hat being over his eyes and all that.
"Ay, so how many you want?" He asked the immobile Australian. "Two, three?"
"One's fine." Sniper replied, voice muffled by his hat. Scout lifted the crispy brown mellow away from the flames and sandwiched it between two of the small cookies. Beautiful. Placing the treat on a plate, he got up from his own chair and walked over to Sniper's. The marksman took it with a nod of thanks.
When Scout got back to his own chair, he looked up at the sky. It had gotten way darker than earlier. The clouds weren't just overcast anymore, they had shapes. Like the deep billowing smoke of house fires or volcanos. Weren't all mountains volcanoes? That's what Demo had said. Just old volcanoes that didn't erupt anymore except for the ones that still do.
"Y'know," Scout started, taking hold of the beer bottle sitting to his right, "this is kinda like back before we got attacked. Like, with the guys and just hanging out on Fridays after matches thankin' our lucky stars we survived another day around a fire. Engie would cook some ribs or burger with some cool lookin' grill thing he made. Soldier always had some new animal he found names General Nibbles and s**t like dat. And after everything Demo would start tellin' those ghost stories of his. Man, dat guy tells great stories." He took a swing of his drink. Man, the stuff tasted awful. Sniper was right, this stuff is cheap!
"Oh yeah, you lot would have barbecues those days." Sniper said while taking his third shot of moonshine. The guy brought his own shot glass out shaped like a koala. What a freaking stereotype.
"You were there too sometimes," Scout added, taking another hearty swig, "like dat time you, Spy, and Medic all got into a fist fight after… uh, crap, what was it?" Sniper just looked confused. "You know, one of you did something dat set everything off. It left all of ya with bloody noses and banned from usin' da roastin' sticks for, like, three months."
"...Oi honestly don't remember." Sniper confessed, looking down at his glass even more confused. "The only thing Oi do is that I accidentally kicked the doc in the face and broke his glasses. Oi was aiming for Spy, just so happens that the b*****d was slippery." He sighed. When the sharpshooter didn't say anything more, Scout only drank from his beer and downed the rest of it. Even if the stuff was terrible, it warmed him up something fierce. Scout turned back to the sky.
"When do ya think it'll rain?"
"Don't know."
"What time is it?"
"Bout ten fifteen." Oh, it was later than he thought. Scout shivered and grabbed his second bottle. His fingers tingled when he did.
Sniper hadn't touched his share, content to drink solely from his own keg. Curiosity piqued.
"Yo, could I try some of dat?" He pointed towards the small barrel. It really was a barrel why not just called it a small barrel what was the use of keg? Sniper looked at him.
"...if you can swallow it." he said before gesturing for Scout. The runner leapt to his feet, sat back down from his vision blacking out, and got back up to get his prize. He snatched his empty bottle and trotted up to Sniper, who took the bottle and tipped the keg into its neck. The liquid that poured out and slightly over was clear and kinda white. Was it carbonated? Who the h*ll carbonates alcohol? Sniper handed the bottle back and looked on as Scout took a mighty swig from it.
Oh. Oh no. Oh **** his entire life, what is this s**t!? It burned like nothing before. Worse than peppers, worse than Jamey's homemade hot sauce hellspawn, worse than actually getting burned. It was like swallowing acid except that acid was mixed with gasoline and Pyro just set both on fire, it BURNED! Pain! Unimaginable, freaking pain-
"Smooth." Scout said casually, tears running down his cheeks. Sniper hummed.
"Oi bet." he replied as the runner wiped his face off. Then the sharpshooter sat there and downed another shot without a word. Scout felt an eye twitch.
Another thirty minutes like that passed, with Scout making comments or asking questions with Sniper sometimes answering. The guy was probably real tired since it was like, maybe freaking 3 AM or some s**t. Numbers were hard. Did Sniper know how hard numbers were?
"Diioyou know just how flip-fli- freakin', yeah, freapin' hard math is?" Scout asked. Sniper didn't respond, but that was okay, Scout knew he felt the same. There was a connection there. In the air, telephonic where he could read minds. Yeah, Sniper was a pal and pal's knew how hard numbers were.
"Cause it'z like. It'z like, a symbol, on a sheet, right? Nnnnnthen your freapin' teacher, like da b***h she is, asks ya ta, ta combine another flikin' symbol, and somehow thinks dat'll make a new symbol like it means somethin'." His lament was so heartfelt he was making himself sad that he was sad in the past. Past him was stupid and couldn't look at symbols right and that made him sad. Sad, so sad.
"Oi have no idea whot we're talking about right now."
"Math cause. Cause yes. Reading's sucks too! Letters. Letters are hard, even harder with, with, wha- scpaing, ya feel me? Yeah, course ya do, you're a best." Sniper was looking at him funny and then turned to look at his glass funny. He was talking to himself with something like "whoi da bloooooody heck ain't this freakin' thing workin roighhht?" or something- maybe he said it like that, Scout couldn't remember.
"Engie was tryin' ta teach me da symboles. Y'know." Scout scratched at his stupid arm. The funny feeling in his head was going away, aw man. "Before they disappeared, he and Demonman, Demo 'm mean, were helpin' me. I don't think they knew what they were doin' though. At least they tried, y'know? I can read medium lines now. I hope they're okay."
The crackling of the fire was far too loud and Scout didn't like that. He looked up at his friend to see him staring back with a less funny expression and more of a not funny one.
"Scout," he started, setting his glass down, "they're gone. The team's dead."
"No they're not," Scout replied matter-o-factly, "they ain't dead." He heard Sniper sigh and mutter something.
"Yes, they are. Oi know you miss them but delusions-"
"They aren't dead." Scout glared. The buzz in his head was taking a backseat now.
"Listen, lad, we were both there when it happened. Oi saw no one else there but you alive and walking around. Everything points to us being the last ones alive and Oi think it's time you accept that."
"Oh yeah, everything pointss, huh?" Scout shot to his feet, ignoring the queasiness it caused. "I think da fact dat I found you not dead and very much alive sayss otherwise!"
"And just how long do you think Oi'd be able to stay that way like that?" Sniper countered. "It's been over a week, nearly two by now since then, and if they were stuck like me, they would have died from dehydration long before now!"
"And how da, da flying **** do you know dat, huh?" Scout snarled, staring daggers down at the Australian. "We don't know what dat thing does or why it does or even what it is! Da only way you'd know dat for certain is if I let you hang there for days!"
"Oh for crying out loud, will you calm down?" Sniper finally stood, taking his turn to glare down at Scout. "It's a safe bet to assume the others are gone. There were no human sized pods, no limbs, no bodies, nothing!" A raindrop landed on Scout's shoulder. "What else could they be but dead?"
"Alive!" Scout shouted.
"Where!?" Sniper shouted back.
"Anywhere! But they are not dead! Dat thing turned into you once it caught ya, and it could already turn into all the others guys before dat! So it has to have them somewhere!"
"Sure, hanging as corpses after dying from dehydration."
"Ya ain't even willin' ta freapin' listen or anything! They're our friends, Snipah!"
The marksman stopped and looked at Scout. It was a look that made the runner even more frustrated. It was the kinda look adults gave whenever they thought they knew more than you. The rain was coming down now, and the sounds around them, the crackling fire, the raindrops hitting it, and the creaking trees, masked almost everything else. Everything except what Sniper said.
"They aren't our friends, Scout."
"...What?"
It was like a bucket of cold water was splashed on him. That amazing buzz was gone, leaving a thumping, confused mess of a mind.
"What do you freakin' mean they ain't our friends?" Scout asked, more baffled than anything.
"They were our coworkers," Sniper explained, "men in our line of work don't make friends with the people they might have to kill a day later."
"Then what about Soldier and Demo? Medic and Heavy? Engie and Pyro? You tryin' ta tell me they all ain't friends?"
"They aren't our friends."
"I dunno what ****in' thing you're smokin', pal, but newsflash, they are!"
"Yours, maybe." The marksman mumbled as he took his hat and shook the rain off of it. Scout stared at him, eyes wide. Realization hit him like a freight train. He asked the question.
"Am I your friend?" The answer was immediate.
"No."
Rain was falling harder now as Scout watched Sniper kick the fire out. He watched. Then glared. Then hissed out "So even after everything our sorry *sses went through, you don't even think we're pals?"
"Well considering the fact that you left me to die only three days ago, you'd be a pretty lousy friend." Sniper sneered, eyes far colder than usual behind his shades.
"As if you know anything about being a good friend," Scout snapped back, fist curled tight, "you said it yourself, you don't have any friends on da team!"
"By choice, really, since Oi'm smart enough to not get attached to every bloody bloke Oi meet."
"And dat's probably da reason why you didn't give a rat's *ss about our team "dyin'", huh?" The runner growled. "Thinkin' you're better than them just cause a your backwards way of thinkin? Always lookin' out for number one, screw everyone else, am I right?"
"At least Oi actually think, which is more than you can say for yourself."
"Alright," Scout stomped up to Sniper, eyes burning with ire, "who da **** do you think you are!? Ya say I don't think, pally, dat I'm just a freakin' idiot. Well how bout I tell ya what I think then, mate. I think you're ****in' loser! I think you're a stupid, sad waste a space who'd do da world a favor by ****in' off and never comin' back. And no one would miss ya if ya killed yourself because you're a pathetic hermit who doesn't have anyone ta care for you! So how about you go ****in' do it already, you subhuman piece of s**t!" Scout shoved the marksman away and had no time to react when Sniper decked him in the jaw.
He collided into the ground with a painful thud. The world spun and rain peppered his face. Scout managed to look up from the earth and spotted Sniper above him. Oh. Playin' dirty? Sniper didn't know the meaning of the word. With lightning speed, Scout pushed himself up and swept Sniper's feet from under him with a nasty kick. The sharpshooter fell face first into the hard earth.
The two wrestled in the quickly forming mud with Scout trying to land punches and Sniper shoving the runner into the dirt. When Sniper had grabbed Scout's elbow, he ripped it away and slammed it straight into Sniper's face. Then Scout was thrown to the ground and the world kept flickering and his face was warm with wetness. He once again swept Sniper's feet and the sharpshooter landed right on a nasty looking branch. A crack was heard and Sniper swore. Loudly. That didn't stop Scout from tackling him though.
His head was clouded. Sniper was pinned beneath him, glasses askew and bloody. Scout raised his fist.
Then Sniper brought his leg up and kicked Scout right in his stomach with his pointed boot.
One moment Scout was in the open, pouring air, the next he was on the ground coughing and heaving from the blow. Pain. It was everywhere. In his back, in his face, crawling up his burning throat until it filled his mouth with copper. Then he coughed and red peppered the ground.
He tried to stand and fell to his knees instantly. The world kept spinning and copper kept filling his mouth. Scout turned his head to look at his rival.
Sniper was gone. The sound of the van's door slamming shut cut through the rain. The rain was drenching him, cutting through the hoodie's fabric and down to his skin.
The van's door slammed again, and this time Scout could hear the sound of footsteps coming towards him. Closer, and closer. He looked up-
Click
-and into the Machina's barrel.
Time stopped. The rain poured, and Scout could only look up at the sharpshooter's silhouette. The van's faint light was behind him, leaving the runner unable to see Sniper's face.
"...Snipah?" Scout's voice was soaked in blood. Sniper didn't move. Neither did the rifle pointed at Scout's face. A faint ding of a fully charged shot filled the empty airways.
"Five." Sniper's low growl followed. Scout's eyes widened.
"Four." He stumbled to his feet, slipping on their blood.
"Three." Scout turned and ran into the dark forest.
The marksman didn't bother finishing his countdown. Instead, he watched as the runner fled into the trees. He stood there, waiting, with frostbitten eyes aimed towards the woods. And when Scout did not reappear, he strapped his rifle to his back, turned, and entered his home, all the while scratching his left hand.
