It was amazing just how far a fake mustache can go when it comes to fooling people. Sure, Miss Pauling had several disguises that were more "realistic" but none were more satisfying to use than the oversized policeman outfit she always saved in the back of her car because of how ridiculous it really was. And today was no exception.

"So let me get this straight," the real police officer began as he watched Miss Pauling, or Detective Markus as her fake badge read, "you need the rest o' us fellas to leave so that you can search the building for any signs of sabotage or things like that?"

"Yes," Miss Pauling answered with an exaggerated deep voice.

"Uh, okay, should I get the boys to work on keeping them protestors away?" The cop jabbed his thumb towards the group of hippies behind the yellow police tape who were busy protesting the Mann Co. factory they were currently at. It was slightly confusing to her considering the fact that the factory had been closed for investigation and thus the protest was completely pointless in her honest opinion. But they were hippies, probably high out of their minds and known for making pointless decisions. Kind of like Soldier in that area, not that she'd ever tell that to his face. Miss Pauling quite liked having her arms intact and her throat un-strangled. Besides, it didn't seem like she'd even have the chance anymore anyways.

"Yes, it is imperative that my work is kept free of any and all distractions. Also the more people that are around, the more likely it is that evidence will be tampered with." Miss Pauling nearly spat out the last few words as several strands of the mustache she plastered on had gotten into her mouth. The officer nodded while chewing his cheek.

"That does sound reasonable. Right, I'll do that. Hope you find something Mister…"

"Markus."

"Mr. Markus. Don't worry, we'll keep those pesky hippies off your back." A nod of thanks before the cop began calling for his peers for crowd control. Thankful for the instant trust and obedience, Miss Pauling slipped underneath the yellow police tape and began towards the gigantic building.

If the huge billboard outside wasn't enough, the size of the factory would make it clear to all that it was made and owned by Mann Co. The industrial bricks and dark grey paint piled high as walls. Double doors the size of cars marked the entrance. And foil tubes along with blockish air vents darted the ceiling. Hitching her oversized police pants up, Miss Pauling took the oversized handle and opened the factory.

The smell of sour milk greeted her first.

As Miss Pauling's nose instinctually wrinkled from the odor, her eyes wandered around the barren darkness of the factory floor. The lights were out, leaving the industrial windows lining the walls to push back against the shadows. It was completely empty of life. Heavy machinery lay abandoned and dusty. Chains of iron hung from the ceiling and the treadmills for building were immobile. And surrounding everything were what appeared to be high strength fishing line.

It was white, if not slightly translucent, and it gave off the palest of glows. The string was strung up, growing on the floor like fungi, and webbing the walls. There wasn't much but it was enough that Miss Pauling had to skip over the suspicious alien substance every so often as she dwelled deeper into the compound.

"What is all this…?" She wondered out loud. Her whispers carried throughout the room. There weren't any of these strings at Sawmill when she first investigated. Were these strange attacks related or were they simply coincidences? It required further investigation.

Miss Pauling knelt down near a bundle of strings. Then, she slipped off the satchel she brought with her and took out a pair of medical gloves. There was no way she was touching that with her bare hands. After the rubber had been slipped on, she took a pair of tweezers and took hold of a string. It was taunt and gave little give and when she released, the sound was like a metal wire, warping and bouncing off the walls.

A moment later and a piece of the material was safely trapped within a vial she brought out. The Administrator would want any and all clues as to what happened brought back to her. Knowledge was something she held higher than life itself it seemed and when that knowledge was kept away from her hands, well, the results spoke for themselves.

Miss Pauling whistled a small tune as she crept deeper into the ruined factory. She couldn't remember the name of the song but it was something about bananas she was pretty sure. The rooms off from the main floor were just as empty and webbed up. It wasn't like she knew exactly what she was looking for but something had to be around. Miss Pauling just didn't know what yet.

After about thirty minutes of searching, the assistant finally made it to the lower levels, the area where the factory workers would keep extra supplies and other things she wasn't completely aware of. There was a reason Miss Pauling was an assistant and not a blue collar worker, which of course had its perks, but knowing all the ins and outs of manual labor buildings was not one of them.

The rancid smell was far worse down below and Miss Pauling had to get rid of her fake mustache as its hairs seemed to trap the smell right below her nose. And the light from the windows was completely snuffed out due to the noticeable lack of windows. So, out came the flashlight she brought alongside the pistol she always kept on her holster. The emptiness above ground didn't mean a thing down below and she wasn't taking any chances.

Thick concrete pillars held the building up and filled the expansive rooms Miss Pauling went through. Most were simple storage rooms and held nothing and no one. But there were a few that were made for human life. She stood outside the door to one with her flashlight and pistol raised. The door was closed but unlocked based on the splintering doorknob. Almost like it had been kicked open. Miss Pauling did the same. With a light tap of her foot, the door slowly swung open.

Again, there was nobody. Nobody but a chair and a desk with around eight monitors lying on it. Security tapes. Information, evidence. Miss Pauling, in her haste, set aside her flashlight and weapon, sat down and darted her hand forward to press the computer's power button.

Nothing. She tried again. Still nothing. Perhaps it had been unplugged. Or perhaps it was sabotage. Miss Pauling pushed the chair out and bent down to find the power cord. Even through the darkness, she could make out the torn up wires and outlets. They were mangled beyond repair, but not the computer. And if the employees were more competent than what Miss Pauling gave them credit for, they would have kept the security logs recorded on tapes within the computer.

She looked to her left and spotted the tape processor, just below the main console.

"Bingo." Miss Pauling took hold of the tape processor and pressed the ejection button. A sharp whirring noise lit up the room but nothing else occurred. She sighed through her nose and pressed again. If she tried forcing the tape out it could be damaged in the process but it might be the only way if the processor was too battered. And that was quickly becoming the reality. Well then.

A slight huff and then the assistant lifted the tape entrance. Yup, there was a tape in there. It wasn't a smart idea but drastic times call for drastic measures. Sticking her slender fingers into the slot, Miss Pauling took hold of whatever little crevice the tape had and started to wiggle it loose. Better than just yanking it out, not that she could even if she wanted to, the slot was too narrow to fit her entire hand in. So she wiggled. And wiggled. And wiggled before the tape finally sat in her hands, cradled as if it were made of Australium.

Triumphant, she placed the tape into her satchel and made to stand when another door caught her eye. It stood in the darkest corner of the room. It was so dark that Miss Pauling's vision swirled and cracked if she stared too long. But there was a door. And it was open.

Well, The Administrator would want her to be thorough in her investigation. So she stood, took her light and gun once more, and crept towards the entrance. The door, it seemed, was also kicked open. But from the inside. Which wouldn't have been a big deal if the room wasn't a dead end.

It was a small thing, only holding a couple employee lockers and benches to rest. A break room of sorts. Along the ceiling and wall was a hefty vent whose cover had been smashed out and hung limp on its one remaining screw. And in the middle of the floor sat a small drain hatch. It sat open, filling the room with a deep hole so dark Miss Pauling's light couldn't push it back. Webs emerged from that hole like a virus, spreading along the floor like roots.

And there was red.

Red splattered over the vent, over little sharp nicks in the cement floor, and in the red was dark strands of hair. Blood wasn't the only thing red in the room. Along the lines growing out from the drain, small flecks of what appeared to be flesh peppered the webs and floor. What appeared to be flesh because the longer Miss Pauling looked, the stranger it got.

Little pieces of muscle and fat that glistened and seemed to shift in the light. Like their colors faded or grew depending on the angle the light hit them. Staring at it all left Miss Pauling with an uncomfortable feeling so she looked away to grab her satchel. Using the tweezers once again, she grabbed the largest bit of tissue and held it up to the light. It shone and dazzled with rainbow light. But the most prominent of all was a deep blood red. She trapped the substance into another vial.

There were far too many questions this factory left behind. And whatever was left that could give answers were encrypted with even more questions. The low drone of the compound's industrial fans was the only noise besides the assistant's breath.

Miss Pauling stood and stretched, looking towards the vent. The possibility of finding a body in it was more likely than the drain pipe since it was big enough to fit one. So, she stepped over the open hole and the webs and over to the broken vent. It was still too high for the petite lady so she dragged one of the benches over and used it as a stepping stool. With a light hop, she stood on the bench and peered into the darkened air duct.

The square tunnels were empty and covered in the glistening strings along with some dried blood. No corpse to be seen. If there was one, it had been dragged far deeper into the building's foundation. Miss Pauling leaned in as far as she could, sticking her head completely into the vent to shine the light further down. Nothing to the left. But when she shone down the right, something metal glinted off the flashlight's beam. She reached in and grabbed it without a second thought.

It was small and cylindrical, about the size of a fired bullet, much unlike the bulking machinery of Mann Co.. Little flecks of the strange flesh coated the thing along with droplets of blood. Copper wires and green chips could be seen through the thick plastic top. And there was something engraved on the side of the unknown device. Miss Pauling retreated from the vent and stepped down from the bench. She held the device up to the light and shone it upon the engravings. Wiping away the biological debris, the words written on the side were revealed.

The words held little substance and even less knowledge to Miss Pauling. But it was far more important than anything before. Perhaps even more precious than the security tape. Slipping the strange device into her satchel, Miss Pauling reattached the mustache and sped out from the room.

Out from the factory and out from the yellow tape, slipping past the oblivious cops and drugged up hippies and back into her little purple convertible. The disguise was removed and shoved into the passenger seat as Miss Pauling snatched up the brick like phone from the cup holders. The dull ringing sounded into her ear as she stared at the silver bullet-like machine. Even if she didn't understand the importance of the words written on its smooth surface, she might.

The light beep ended the distant ringing.

"I believe it is safe to assume you've found something of importance?" The Administrator's drawl followed.

"Yes ma'am," Miss Pauling agreed, holding the device up to the daylight, "I believe I have found our lead." her fingers traced along the cold letters cut deep in the metal.

Property of Gray Industries.


The patter of rain was what brought Sniper into the waking world albeit quiet. Maybe that was why it did. There was no other noise to be heard within the small camper van. That, or the rain muffled the sounds because it was just slightly louder than everything else. It was hard to tell with one's ears still filled with sleepy cotton.

With a stretch and a groan, Sniper slipped down from his bed and onto the floor. The morning light was filtering through the small windows, giving the van some much needed grey light. Smoothing his black tee shirt down, the marksman looked around the space and caught sight of one thing laying on the table. From this, three pieces of information were gathered.

One, the table was no longer a bed which meant Scout was awake. Two, there was a still steaming mug of coffee resting on the table so it had to have been no more than fifteen minutes ago. And three, Scout was missing. Again. Sniper wasn't surprised.

What did surprise him was that the coffee was smoother than normal when he finally took a sip. It was still bitter and had no sweetness to be found, but rather than the watery consistency Sniper normally had, it was creamy. And sure enough, when Sniper went through his mini fridge, the milk was noticeably misplaced from where it last sat.

Well, even if it wasn't what he was used to, caffeine was still caffeine, so Sniper took a seat at the table and sipped at the drink while he waited for Scout to reappear. As he did, Sniper scratched his hand and flinched. Okay, so it was still sore.

Yesterday, right after they had reentered the van, Scout immediately began rifling through his stuff trying to find some bandages. When asked why, he said that it was for protecting his hands once the medkit did it's job. At the time, Sniper had no idea what that was supposed to mean as the medkit would heal basically everything up fine. But now he did.

Medibeam would heal him, but it wasn't enough to stop the annoying itchiness that always followed little wounds. Luckily, the bandages wrapped around his hand gave his fragile skin some protection from his scratching urges. Now, his left hand looked a lot like Scout's if it was bigger.

The runner was the one who told Sniper how to wrap his hand like he did. Scout had tried showing him, but after he had taken the bandages to wrap his hand, he gave them back when reality set back in. After Sniper bandaged his own with Scout's help, the kid made him wrap his remaining one to prove the marksman was listening to his instructions.

Sniper set his mug down, now empty of its contents. How long had Scout been out? Where was he? Well, the kid could take care of himself so he wasn't worried. If he didn't return after Sniper got himself something to eat, he'd go looking. The patter of rain made him grimace at the thought of walking through it.

Nearly half an hour later Sniper was slipping on his rain jacket and into the outdoors. Breakfast was made, then he waited a bit, then he sharpened his kukri a tad, and then he had to admit to himself that he was just meandering at that point and forced himself to actually follow through with his plan. So he got dressed, and stepped into the rain.

Wind blasted his face, peppering it with sharp, cold, droplets. A snarl, then Sniper pulled his hood up. The campground was a muddy mess and it seemed that the weather change ran off most of the campers whose vacations were most likely ruined. The only other sign of life was a blue tent about fifty feet away. And that meant no Scout.

He really ought to keep the gremlin on a leash, this was getting ridiculous. How many times had Scout run off in the mornings? What did he even do, go for a run? No, the first couple times his ankle was injured so running was unlikely. But then what?

Sniper sighed as the cold wind once again showered him in rain. Mud made it hard to walk from his boots getting sucked to the ground. And it was just cold in general. Nasty day this was going to be.

Where was he?

"Scout?" He called, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the drizzle. So far, no sign of the kid. Did he seriously apologize and willingly give himself up to be beaten in order for Sniper to take him in again just to run off? Scout was stupid sometimes, yes, he'd even argue most of the time, but not brainless. Another blast of frigid air.

"Scout!" Sniper called again. Thank goodness no one was around to hear him. Including the one person he was actually looking for. Maybe he'd just gone to the showers to wash himself off. That made sense.

"Bloody h*ll…" He cussed himself out and turned around, back towards the path that led to the camp showers.

Along the way Sniper spotted a small skunk trail cutting through some old brambles about 75 feet away from his trailer. Well, it probably led somewhere he couldn't reach but still, he had to check all his options. So, he stepped onto the path and through the snares. The sharp thorns would catch on his pants and some would even nick his ankles making his attitude even worse.

But eventually the small path reached its end: a sizable clearing along a slight incline. Towards the side was a boulder the size of a juvenile elephant, one that, from the way it rested, created the slightest overhang. Moss coated its top and leaning against the boulder's side with his arms crossed over his knees sat Scout.

The young man was a statue, unmoving to the world. Even when the overhanging moss dripped old water onto his head. As Sniper got closer, he could see that the runner's eyes were closed. That, or he was just squinting them really tight. And he was soaked.

"Oh for the love of…" Sniper groaned as he finally reached Scout's side. "Scout." No response. So, the marksman gave him a light jab with his foot directly into Scout's side. The runner's eyes snapped open as he scrambled around from the foreign touch.

"Wha- what da, whaz happenin'!?" Scout cried, voice raspy from neglect. His panicky state quelled when he caught sight of Sniper's boots. Then he looked up to meet the annoyed Sniper's eyes with a worried grin.

Scout was wearing the exact same clothes as yesterday and either forgot that his shirt was covered in bile, blood, and whatever else, or simply didn't care. Sniper didn't know which one was worse. But somehow that wasn't the thing that really caught his attention. That would be the nasty scabs running down the kid's right cheek.

"Er- wonderful weather we're havin', right?" Scout said, eyes flickering every so often away from Sniper's own. The marksman took a long, deep inhale before speaking.

"...Kid," He started, voice low, "Oi have been looking for your skinny *rse for about fifteen minutes, calling for ya with no answer when this entire time you were in earshot, whot in the actual h*ll are you doing out here?" Scout mumbled something before getting to his feet. The slight tremble of the runner's legs didn't go unnoticed.

"Just stuff, it's not important."

"It was important enough for you to leave without a single trace and jus' plant yourself down in the rain without any kind of protection. So, Oi'm asking you again, whot were you doing out here?" Under his sharp glare Scout began to squirm.

"Just went for a freakin' run, man, and you were still sleepin' so I was waitin' till you woke up and just zoned out, it's not dat big a deal." Scout growled, staring at his shoes and scratching at his arm.

"It is when Oi'm going to have to be the one taking care of your skinny *rse if you get sick. Now come on," Sniper grabbed Scout's wrist, ignoring his meek protests, and began to drag him towards the path.

"I can walk just fine!" Scout twisted his arm out from Sniper's grip, "don't need ya pullin' my arm like I can't."

"Oh shut it, the moment Oi take moi eyes off ya you disappear and Oi'm sick of it. Now come on," Sniper took Scout's slender wrist once more in an even tighter grip and began to drag him towards the showers. His companion made some pathetic protests but soon gave up and allowed himself to be taken prisoner. When Sniper finally let go of the surprisingly slim arm, it was in front of the men's public washroom.

"You," he grabbed Scout's shoulder(the grip tightened when Sniper felt the boy flinch under it), "are going to go and clean yourself up. Standing in the rain isn't a proper bath and ya reek." A light shove and Scout was in front of him and the door.

"...fine, whaddeva." the Bostonian mumbled before he kicked the damp earth, dirtying his shoes, and stepped into the building.

Sniper rolled his eyes and turned back towards his home. While doing so, a fat raindrop landed on his nose, making the man flinch. Were they ever going to outrun the storm? It kept right at their heels and for some odd reason Scout didn't seem to mind. Well, water apparently hurt the Counterfeit and he hadn't seen heads or tales for a couple days. So maybe he didn't mind too much either. Still hated the cold though, and no one could fault him for that.

By the time he arrived back at the van the marksman was about as wet as Scout had been when he found him. It had also been a good ten minutes since he left the runner at the showers. It was a good amount of time to get one's self cleaned up so Scout should be back at any time. As long as he doesn't go for another one of his "runs". Sniper scoffed at the notion as he began washing the dishes that had been piling since day one. There had been no time to do so and the last few days hadn't really put him in a dish washing mood.

The small sink was filled with soapy warm water and soon was joined by the plates and silverware the pair had left. At least this water was warm. And clean. Rain was fresh but probably full of bacteria and other particles Sniper didn't appreciate ingesting. The other blokes all had around the same reactions save for Scout and Soldier. Anytime they were stationed once more in Sawmill the fellas would make a fuss about the weather. Rain rusted machines, rain ruined clothes, rain made the ground slick and unstable, rain made the air full of fog and cold.

There was a time, right around when they had all been assigned on RED when the power to the entire base had gone out during a heavy storm. That led to the only light being outside and the team were forced out into the elements to both fix the generator and actually tell what they were doing. Spy, himself, Heavy, and Pyro were staying beneath the one roofed porch, Engie was on the side of the building fixing the fuses, Demo and Soldier were dumb enough and drunk enough to have a contest of who could gain the highest speed when sliding through the mud using explosives, and Medic was chasing Scout and scolding him for being stupid enough to go outside without a jacket. Scout in response ran circles around the older man, laughing and jumping in every puddle he could. For someone who wanted so badly to be treated like an adult, he sure didn't act like it.

How old was Scout anyway? Nineteen? Younger? Not older than 21, surely.

As the last dish was cleaned, Sniper emptied the sink of the now brown and lukewarm water. Reaching up and opening one of the hanging cabinets, Sniper grabbed a hand towel and started to dry his belongings. In no time at all, it too was wet like his shirt.

Shouldn't Scout be back by now? Surely nobody took thirty minute showers. And he was always so quick with everything else. Unless he slipped and busted his *rse on the tiled floor. Sniper was polite enough to keep his snicker at the thought to himself. But still, Scout was taking far too long and they needed to get a move on. Wiping off his hands, Sniper tossed the towel aside and-

Scout didn't have a towel. Or a clean change of clothes. Ph- no bloody wonder why the kid was taking so long! He should have forced him to get all that before washing up. But hindsight was twenty twenty. So Sniper grabbed a towel and the first pair of clothing that reasonably looked like Scout could wear them without looking like a malnourished orphan. Then, once they were tucked tight under his arm, he stepped back outside and towards the showers.

On the way there he saw a few campers, one of which was a wrinkled old mess of a man smoking on a pipe. The man didn't say a word, content to just stare at Sniper as he walked past. Just before the man passed beyond Sniper field of vision, the marksman could have sworn he saw him smirk.

In no time he was back in front of the men's washroom. With his shoulder Sniper pushed it open and entered the steam filled building. Steam filled was an understatement, this was a bloody fog pea soup thick. And it was loud. Really loud. Whoever installed the plumbing ought to be ashamed of their self because the rattling, the clanking, and the harsh hissing of water was enough to make a man go crazy.

The only other light besides the buzzing orange lamp in the ceiling was the thin window lining the wall. There was a row of small shower stalls beneath it painted a strange mint green contrasting horrifically with the orange tiles. All were empty save for two, and the closest had a stained blue top and light brown pants hanging from the stall's door. Sniper walked up and knocked. It was barely audible over the horrid pipes and deafening water streams.

"Hey, Scout, Oi brought ya a towel," he called. Did he actually say something or had he gone mute halfway through? Didn't even hear himself speak it was so loud. "Listen, Oi'm going to take these," he grabbed the runner's nasty clothes, "and leave ya with these." Sniper placed the clean clothes onto the door. No response. Did… Did Scout actually slip and get himself injured? Nah.

"Hey, can ya hear me!?" Sniper called, rapping on the door again. The water behind it was inconsistent, falling hard and light without pattern so Scout was definitely in there. "Look, Oi'm leaving the towel here for ya but you best hurry up, we're wasting precious daylight!" Again, no response. Sniper looked around the small building. There was no one else besides himself and the two other people using the showers. Chewing on his cheek, Sniper rapped one more time and felt the door nudge loose. Okay, whoever installed the stalls had to be in cahoots with the plumber because this was a huge breach in privacy. But Scout wasn't saying a d*mn thing and although Sniper would never admit it, the silence was unnerving. Well, the lack of talking because the showers were anything but silent.

"OY! Scout! Listen, Oi'm opening the door but Oi'm only handing you the towel!" Sniper shouted as he grabbed the flimsy door's edge and began to push it open, "So don't get yourself in a tizzy about this-"

What happened next was so fast and so chaotic that even if you had all the strongest computers in the world combined into one, it still wouldn't be able to help Sniper process what the actual **** just happened.

One moment he was trying to hand Scout a towel and the next he was standing back outside holding Scout's old clothes with whoever was within earshot of the highest pitched scream Sniper had ever heard looking towards the showers with an expression of both pain and fear. And honestly, who could blame them? It was loud enough to shatter glass. In fact, it did. There was a large crack in the slim window where there wasn't before. And Sniper could still hear that painful ringing the runner's shriek caused.

Eyes wide in a daze, Sniper shook his head, trying to dispel the ringing like water from his ears before heading back to the camper. Other eyes that were also stuck wide watched him head back. A flush of heat filled his cheeks as he pulled his hat's brim lower and quickened his pace. He just wanted to hand the kid a bloody towel…

Another five minutes and now Sniper sat in the driver's seat of his van taking a drag from a cigarette. After that entire fiasco, he sure needed one. Scout would no doubt make a fuss again. Unless Sniper finished it before the runner arrived. He took another drag.

Soon the slim figure of Scout could be seen trotting towards the van. Crushing the lit end of the cigarette on the shoulder of his dashboard's bobble head, Sniper turned to greet the now clothed Scout who glared in response.

"Oi'll have you know that Oi knocked at least three times before opening the door." he said.

"Thing is ya didn't have ta open it at all. Coulda just tossed everythin' over it." Scout growled, cheeks still red from the shower's heat and embarrassment. Sniper just rolled his eyes.

"And that would have gotten the clean clothes Oi brought ya wet. And you're welcome for that." The runner's indignant gaze fell to the ground. When the silence grew too long for Sniper's tastes, he opened his mouth to tell Scout to put the towel in the back. Scout beat him to it.

"...thank you, Snipah." he said before turning and walking towards the camper's door. The marksman sat still for a moment. Then he leaned back and drummed his fingers along the wheel, waiting. The wait was short lived. A light rocking of the van announced the arrival of Scout who took the passenger seat without a word.

"All set?"

"Yeah." Scout replied as he struggled to get the seat belt buckled. It was slightly painful to watch just how long it took the Bostonian to actually get the bloody thing buckled but it was in the end.

"Is…" Scout managed to say when the ignition started and the van began to move. Sniper looked over at his surprisingly quiet companion.

"Is da plan still goin' back ta Sawmill?" he finally said.

"Well, yeah," Sniper replied, "the plan hasn't changed, mate, don't know whoi ya thought it would." At that, Scout shrugged with a despondent expression before leaning back in his seat and staring out the window. Well, if Scout was going to pout, he had every right to do so, just like Sniper had every right to ignore him. Which was what he did. The forested campground was left behind as the pair turned onto the highway.

Pines grew into firs and firs grew into rolling hills which rose along with their elevation. The overcast sky soon blossomed into herds of towering clouds so white it would hurt to stare without Sniper's aviators.

The marksman drummed his hand along the wheel as the highway slowly but surely filled with other cars and trucks. The only sound that filled the compartment were the rushing winds of speeding vehicles. Well, that, and the light scratching noise of Scout rubbing his shirt together under his fingers.

"So," Sniper began, causing the runner's eyes to shoot up towards him, "Oi'm guessing ya didn't sleep well last night." Scout shrugged.

"Not really, but at least I wasn't sleepin' on some freakin' wet grass this time." Sniper nodded, drumming his fingers along the wheel even more. Scout was doing something similar along his injured arm, chewing his cheek in silence. That silence lasted longer than either wanted.

"I uh…" Scout started, "so, just so y'know, all them bruises were from fallin' off a stupid rockface, not da… our, uh, y'know."

"Whot?"

"Wh-, well whaddya mean what, you saw them! Freakin', y'know, da ones all over my back and arms, crap like dat. I fell off a cliff and all kinds of stupid rocks just, y'know…" The runner's voice pilfered out into silence again.

"Uh, right." Sniper replied. Scout nodded, looking at everything but Sniper.

Silence.

His fingers drummed against the wheel to the tune of Beyond The Sea.

Scout was cracking his knuckles using his thumb.

Silence.

A light pattern of miniscule sprinkling rain hit the windshield.

Pitter-patter.

Sighing through his nose, Sniper looked over at his companion. The runner was simply sitting and bouncing his leg up and down. Sitting so quietly. Quiet. The marksman's grip tightened.

It was too quiet.

He reached over and did something he hadn't done willingly in years. Sniper turned on the radio. The sound of muffled static talking filled the compartment. The dial twisted and turned from station to station with Scout watching in interest.

There was a station about the news so gargled it was useless, the twang of an acoustic guitar and trumpets, more talking about things Sniper simply didn't care about. He didn't know what he was searching for but it wasn't any of these-

"Wait! Go back," Scout rang out. "Uh- please." Sniper turned the dial back a notch.

"-the fourth inning has started with The Braves leading The Dodgers by two points-"

"Uh, whot's this about?" Sniper asked, eyes back on the road building with traffic. Scout snapped his own eyes up with a horrified expression.

"It's freakin' Baseball, man! Da best sport ever freakin' made!?" The runner exclaimed, still horrified. Sniper huffed.

"Well Oi'm not exactly a sporty fella like yourself, how was Oi supposed to know that this was about baseball?"

"Cause "Innings" are part of Baseball and Da Dodgers and Da Braves are freakin' teams? Where else are ya gonna hear da word "inning"?" Sniper simply shrugged.

"Ya still act like Oi know whot those are."

"Okay so Innings are basically da rounds during da game; there's nine in total just like da number of players, which is nine, and da innings last until both teams have gotten three outs when batting."

Oh no, what did he inadvertently get himself into?

"Da first team up ta bat is da visitors and second's da home team. Games can last hours depending on how good or an hour depending on how s**t a team is.-"

"Waitwaitwait, slow down. Firstly, who's playing again?" Sniper managed to slip in through Scout's surprisingly dense knowledge on the sport. Actually, was it really that surprising? Scout paused mid sentence with a blank face.

"Wh-wha?"

"The teams," Sniper repeated, "whot teams are playing?"

"Da Milwaukee Braves vs. Da Los Angeles Dodgers."

"Okay, and who's in the lead?"

"Da Braves, weren't you listening ta da radio?"

"No, Oi was being polite and listening to you. But if you'd rather listen to the radio than ramble about things Oi don't care about, that's fine too." The van slowed to a near crawl with the traffic backing up. He sat up straighter, trying to get a good look over all the cars in front. Had an accident occurred?

"I… yeah, okay, I'll just… yeah." Scout said before crossing his arms and staring at the noise maker.

Their progress was painstakingly slow and Sniper's patience, although large, was starting to wear thin. Only slightly but wearing nonetheless. An inch was made every minute it seemed and to the sharpshooter's somewhat dismay, Scout was the only entertaining thing around.

While the words on the radio were like a foreign language Sniper couldn't speak, Scout was hearing his native tongue. He was captivated by the small radio, completely engaged. The announcer would say something and Scout would shake his head in disappointment, the muffled cheers and whistles of fans would cheer and Scout would either whoop along with them or snap his fingers in annoyance or groan and boo when his chosen side "got out" or something like that. It was quite the spectacle since Sniper had no idea where the game was even taking place and couldn't picture what was happening for the life of him.

Scout was miles away watching a game and Sniper was here sitting and watching them inch along. Leaning on his arm, Sniper turned to look at Scout who was now crossing all of his fingers again and staring at the radio with bated breath. At least he was having a good time.

"So, are The Braves still winning?" Sniper drawled, watching the little raindrops race down his side window. Scout started from the sudden voice and un-bit his lip.

"Uhh, nah, Da Dodgers took da lead in da seventh inning and it's gettin' real close," Scout turned back to the radio, listening to the event unfold, "They'll need at least four runs just ta break even and I don't think they'll manage dat this inning."

""Runs"? Whot's that?" The runner was quiet for a moment, looking over at Sniper with an expression that plainly read "are you pulling my leg or are you being serious?".

"Runs are basically when a runner goes through all four bases and crosses home without getting out. Each run scores ya a point and da team with da most points by da end of da ninth inning wins."

"So," Sniper scratched his cheek, "is that short for "Home Run" cause that's about the extent of moi knowledge."

"Nahnahnah, Home Runs are when ya hit da ball over da outfield fence dat's still in fair territory. Doing dat'll getcha a free trip around da bases without gettin' outed."

"But whot is "outed" or "outting"?" With each question asked Scout was getting more and more distracted from the game and giving Sniper more and more of his attention.

"Okay, so, there are a lotta ways ya can get out, which means dat you're sent back ta da benches and ya turn's used up until either everyone before you gets a run or three batters get out. If ya get three strikes, you're out. If ya hit da ball but it's caught before it hits da ground, you're out. If ya get hit with a batted ball while off of a base, you're out. If ya get tagged with da ball when ya ain't touchin' a base, you're out. Go more than three feet away from da baseline? Out. Da forced base gets tagged before da forced runner gets ta it? Out. Run past da runner in front a ya? Out. There's a lotta outs and when me and my brothers were startin' ta get da hang of it we made tons of other really stupid rules ta out somebody, it was awesome!"

"How do ya remember all of that?"

"Ah dat's easy! Three rules: don't get tagged, get ta base before it gets tagged, and hit a ball so freakin' hard dat it'll reach heaven before hittin' da ground."

"Huh." Sniper said, unsure how to respond. There were a lot of rules. And it seemed like Scout was just getting started.

"-And then da Grand Slam, dat's when ya get a Home Run with every base loaded so every runner gets to finish their run and cross home base. Brody used to get them all da time when we were stuck usin' da old court behind da old barbershop. Course, we only called them Grand Slams because every ball he hit would end up behind "The Barkin' Fence" and nobody but nobody who valued his manliness would jump over and get them back. "Leave them ta da dogs, better those balls than your own!" Dat's what Jamey always said whenever one a us was stupid enough ta try and get one back. Well as ya can imagine, we ran outta baseballs soon because Brody was a stupid meathead who just kept getting home runs over The Barkin' Fence. Well, Tommy had da bright idea of using da old brick parts from da discontinued lot near da East Parts. Ya can imagine how dat went. Poor Stan Parle was never da same since. We stopped usin' bricks after dat. And da best part? Brody remains a meathead to this day!" Scout finished with a chuckle. "Aw man, I bet he still opens soup cans like a freakin' gorilla."

"...Oi'm jus' gonna pretend Oi know who any of those people ya jus' mentioned were- wait, Tommy's your brother, right?"

"Yup, he's da one dat came right before me." Scout was grinning now, completely forgetting about the Baseball game, "Basically there's Jamey, Davey, Wesley, Brody, Harvey, Henry, Tommy, and me! So yeah, we get handsomer the further down ya go." Sniper snorted, causing Scout to snap his eyes up in annoyance.

"Don't believe me? Well I'm right and they all agree too. There's a reason they always ganged up on me and dat's because they're freakin' jealous of my manly charm." Scout leaned back, nodding to his reasoning. Sniper on the other hand was just watching the cars trudge along.

"Ya sure do have a lot of brothers." He finally said. Scout nodded again.

"Yeah, I think Ma was trying for a girl but she just kept gettin' boy after boy. Kinda the opposite of uhhhhh… what's dat fat king's name again?"

"Do ya mean Henry th' Eighth?"

"Eh whuddeva, he's been dead for, what, a thousand years or some s**t? Anyway, Ma got all of us instead, just a pack of mad dogs."

"You were that bad, huh?" Sniper mused, "probably gave your poor ol' mum hundreds of gray hairs."

"Ey, I wasn't dat bad! It was da older guys dat were ****ed up, okay? Well, ****ed up but still cool. Don't ever tell them I said dat or I'm freakin' dead, okay?"

"Eh- okay-"

"Cool, well, Jamey's pretty chill but kinda borin'. Davey sucks, Wesley was an airhead, Brody's a meathead, Harvey's real cool, Henry's a freakin' smart*ss and Tommy's kinda… uh… well he's cool too mosta da time."

"Hm. Yeah, Oi can't imagine livin' with anything more than four people."

"Yeah, they all suck but we always had each other's backs. Mosta da time. If they could stick da blame on ya for somethin' they did, they would. I got smacked so many freakin' times cause they'd pull some s**t like dat. Lemme tell ya man," Scout turned to Sniper with a dead serious expression, "ya haven't known pain until ya get your bare *ss beat with a wooden spoon." At that, Sniper once again snorted.

"Oi wouldn't know, my parents used other methods when Oi got caught flaking on moi chores."

"Like what?"

"Moi dad would take his belt-" Sniper raised his right hand to show Scout its back, "-and would whip the back of moi hand till it turned red. Hurt like h*ll."

"Hey dat's what Davey would do if I messed with his stuff!" Scout grinned. Then his grin fell. "Well, he'd just use it wherever he could. If he could catch me."

"This Davey bloke of yours sounds like a real piece of work."

"Aw dat's not even da worst thing he did, check this out," Scout turned away from the marksman and pulled his left ear back. The traffic was still immobile so Sniper took a look. And cringed.

An ugly ridged scar racing down the back of Scout's ear made it look like it had been sewn on instead of existing there in the first place.

"He and Wesley came home from a fight one day," the runner began, "and I was sittin' in da livin' room organizin' my baseball cards, right? Well, at school I managed to trade some of mine for a more rare one with a friend of Tommy's and I thought "man, everybody in this house likes Baseball! Wait'll my bros see this!" so I ran up and just started talkin' all about da card and how freakin' awesome dat day was. Turns out Davey and Wes lost da fight and were in a s**tty mood and while Wes was able to slip past(he was always like a freakin' ninja) Davey was stuck listenin' ta me. And he didn't like listenin' ta me.

"About three minutes later he started yellin' back about how he was sick of me always talkin' and annoyin' da crap outta everyone and Ma. Then he asked how I would like it if someone talked my ear off and grabbed me and tugged so hard dat my ear basically ripped right off. Yeah, I don't remember anythin' after dat but we never could get da stain outta da carpet."

"...bloody h*ll." Sniper sat there staring at the runner who had let go of his ear and leaned back like before.

"Yeah, well, it's not like I wasn't used ta it," Scout mumbled, leaning against the window, "whenever Ma had to get someone ta watch me, things like dat always happened. Some a them were worse than others but yeah, for a while I wouldn't talk ta any of them unless I had too cause when I did dat they wouldn't rip my ears off. Course then I got a freakin' brain and started talkin' just ta annoy them. I'm allowed ta talk and they can't boss me around no more! And then they started actin' so freakin' high and mighty when I took this job like they ain't never beat a person ta near death! They freakin' taught me! And now you're tellin' me dat I'm da bad guy just because I get ta do it for cash now!? Yeah nah, **** em, alright? They're just a buncha freakin' hippo-crates. Cept for Harvey, he's still alright."

The van's compartment went silent after that as they inched along. Scout had gotten himself into a sour mood thinking about his brothers. Sniper sighed.

"Oi know the feelin'." He finally said. His companion looked at him. "About your family not agreeing with your career choice. Bloody h*ll Oi know."

"Ya folks don't like it either?"

"Not a bit," Sniper admitted, "they're always worried that Oi won't make it back for the holidays and how sniping's not a "real job". It's a real pain ta argue about each time it's brought up."

"So… how did ya become a sniper?" The marksman smirked and looked over at the Scout.

"Well, when you're the runt of the entire country, ya have to learn to defend yourself somehow. And with all your peers being so strong, getting into brawls won't cut it. So, ya take whot you can get."

"Which was what?"

"Climbing up trees and lobbing stones at them. Got real good at it too." This time it was Scout's turn to snort.

"So ya went from hurling rocks ta blowin' heads off a people? Kinda feels like you're leavin' some steps out, guy."

"Well, it went from stones to arrows when Oi was old enough to hunt on moi own, and then it was moi dad's hunting rifle for a time, and when Oi got real good at shooting animals and pests for people, moi skills were noticed and Oi was offered a job where instead of killin' dingos, it was killin' men."

"Oh."

"Yeah, not as groundbreaking as you'd think, huh?"

"I guess," Scout shrugged, "kinda what happened ta me. I was already known for bustin' heads up but what really got me da job was runnin'. Guess they couldn't find someone as fast as me ta fill da role." The sharpshooter hummed. Made sense. The kid, while violent, was a living lightning bolt.

"If ya don't mind me askin'... whoi didn't ya become one of those baseball players you like so much? Or even the Olympics, Oi'd say you're fast enough to win golds." At that, Scout chuckled. Then barked out a bitter laugh.

"Ya honestly think da big leagues would choose a guy like me!?"

"...Yeah?"

"Well think again," Scout sneered, "they'd never pick some kid from Southside livin' in The Slums over da prissy prep goons from private schools. Cause it don't matter if da poorer guy can run circles around da rich kid, it's all about lookin' good! And it sure doesn't help dat money speaks louder than da records ya set. People don't go for da guys who come from places like I do."

"Sorry to hear that." Sniper replied, eyes back on the road when the traffic started up again.

"Well what can ya do. Harvey was da one who suggested it first cause he wanted me ta "live up ta my full potential" or some crap like dat. But honestly," Scout leaned over after looking around as if there could be anyone else in the two person compartment, "he just wanted me ta stop taggin' along when he and da others got into brawls after Ma gave them all a beatdown."

"It sounds like you're playing favorites, mate."

"Well, everybody else does it in da family so I don't see why I can't- woah woah woah wait…"

"Whot?" Sniper glanced over at Scout, who was now gawking at him with a dumbfounded expression.

"...Could ya stop peering at me like that, mate-"

"You could be Harvey's freakin' twin!"

"Wait, whot?" Scout nodded, realization flooding his eyes.

"Dude, just minus da scar and make ya eyes green and nose crooked and boom! Harvey! Well, he also doesn't have a horse face like you do but-"

"Excuse me?" Sniper deadpanned. Scout paused, fumbling on his words before his mind started working again.

"Aw crap- look I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like it was a bad thing cause it isn't it's just dat ya do have a long face and Harvey doesn't which also isn't a bad thing but yeah and I'll stop talkin' now." The runner's spiel ended not with a bang but with a whimper. Sniper drummed along the wheel.

"Oi never really got the chance to play favorites with moi family. Mostly because Oi'm an only child."

"Ain't never had a brother or sister?"

"Nope."

"Wh- well what about cousins, ya gotta have some a those, right?"

"Only one who's about a decade older than me. And Oi only ever saw her on Christmas."

"Oh. Well you're missin' out dude, can't believe ya don't know what it's like ta get noogied or give noogies."

"Eh," Sniper shrugged, "Oi've enjoyed being alone with moi folks. Nothing and no one to bother you, just the great outdoors and yourself."

"But I thought ya said you guys don't get along?"

"That was only after Oi chose to become an assassin. Before then, yeah, we'd get into fights back when Oi was a stubborn twat but those were rare. And Oi get along with them jus' fine, as long as the conversation doesn't stray into career paths."

"Oh, like when ya call them? Cause I've seen ya talk on phones for hours sometimes and then you're always in a b***hy mood afterwards."

"If you would be too if you were in moi shoes."

"I kinda already am we just went over dat- OH S**T!" The sudden shout startled Sniper right out of his skin.

"Whot, whot!?"

"I haven't called Ma since this whole thing started!" Scout cried, pulling at his hair, "she's gonna be so freakin' p*ssed dat I lost a hand!- OHHHH no, I gotta tell my bros too! Aw ****!" Scout whined before slamming his head on the dashboard.

What a drama queen.

"Oi'm sure they'll understand, Scout, this isn't really a situation ya can predict."

"They won't freakin' care! They're just gonna be upset dat I lost a perfectly good hand and demand I quit. At least dat's what Ma'll do. And Jamey and Tommy and Harvey. Davey, Henry and Brody will just say "I told ya so" or some stupid s**t like dat."

"Uhh, didn't ya have another one? Wester? Sounds like the kinda bloke who'd understand."

"Yeah," Scout replied, voice muffled from his arms, "he would if he was still around." Sniper winced and found that he couldn't say anything for a few seconds.

"Oh… oh bloody h*ll, Scout, Oi'm so sor-"

"No, like, he's literally gone. Like, gone-gone, we don't know what happened ta him," Scout gestured aimlessly to make his point, "just up and left with a couple of his things years ago and-" Snap! "-gone with da freakin' wind."

"...Doesn't that worry ya though?"

"Nah. Wes's airheaded, sure, but he's still got Madigan blood, he'll be fine. He'll come back when he wants to."

"Are ya sure about that? If you haven't heard from your brother in years and he didn't even leave a note-"

"He'll come back when he wants to." Scout repeated. And that was the end of that.

For about five minutes, the pair rode on in silence with the radio turned off and forgotten. That is, until Scout once again started to talk. The runner shifted in his seat before turning towards the sharpshooter.

"Hey," he began, scratching at his arm, "do ya think we could stop soon at a payphone so that we can give our parents a check up? Cause if I put it off any longer, Ma will probably fly down just ta beat my *ss and then your *ss for bein' too close."

"Oi don't know where a payphone would be, Scout. For all we know, we jus' passed the only one for miles back at the last campground." Sniper's companion visibly deflated.

"...oh." Scout murmured, looking absolutely crestfallen. The longer they rode on, the more Sniper stole glances at the younger man. He seemed to get more visibly pathetic the further they went. The marksman sighed.

"Okay," he said, "when we stop for lunch Oi'll make sure it's a place with a payphone so you can call your family, alright?" Scout perked up instantly.

"Really?"

"Oi don't really see the need to not find a phone, it's jus' rude at that point. And if you were being serious about your mum, Oi'd like to keep moi *rse unbeaten, thanks." The runner grinned and Sniper felt one of his own pulling at his mouth.


"Finally!" Scout near shouted as he burst out from the van and into the small diner's parking lot. As the runner did just that, run, Sniper exited the vehicle and stared at the building they stopped at.

It looked exactly like a homely rinky-dink log cabin. The windows had red plaid curtains and best of all, there was a payphone right outside the front door. Just a normal looking cabin diner so there was no reason why the marksman's heart was racing so badly. It was bloody ridiculous, it wasn't even close to Landfall's base. But that didn't stop Sniper from reaching back into the van to grab something.

"Yo, what's takin' so freakin' long?" Scout called, stretching his arms around. Sniper didn't respond. Instead, he gave the runner a look and placed the cigarette he'd got on his lip. The judgmental glare he received was more funny than threatening.

"I thought you said you wouldn't make it a habit?" Scout growled.

"Oi'm not, this is only the second one today, relax."

"Ya had another freakin' one!?" A laugh slipped past as Sniper lighted his cig and laughed again at the disgusted expression Scout was giving him.

"Whoi are ya getting so worked up over this, the others smoked all the time, especially Spy."

"Well I don't care if dat frog kills his lungs or not, dat's what chain smokin' gets ya!" Scout exclaimed. After taking a drag and feeling his nerves quell into something manageable, Sniper peered over at his companion.

"And yet you're giving me a hard time for smoking on the rare occasion. If Oi didn't know any better, Oi'd say ya actually care about moi lungs." At that, Scout picked up his pace and reached the diner before Sniper. Not before the sharpshooter caught sight of the runner's reddening ears.

The kid didn't even hold the door open. How rude.

Inside was warm and filled with fruity smells so potent it was making Sniper's eyes water. It was probably caused by the scented candles on every booth. Scout had at least waited for him before sitting himself down at a booth. And it seemed that they didn't even need to wait for someone to notice them. The moment Sniper reached Scout's side, who was busy trying to hide as much of his injured arm as possible, a short woman who had to be at least sixty had greeted them.

"Good afternoon, boys," her voice was high and nasally with her eyes so small they looked to be stuck in a good natured squint. They nodded a greeting with Scout also saying "wassup." for good measure.

"Afternoon. Oi don't suppose there's a-"

"Ya got a free table in this place? We're lookin' for some grub and kinda in a rush." Scout interrupted. Resisting the urge to smack Scout upside the head, Sniper instead pushed the bold Bostonian behind him to address the now puzzled lady.

"Don't mind him, he's a talker," Sniper gave Scout a very pointed look, "but yeah, is there a booth we could have if it's not too much trouble?" The old waitress smiled.

"Oh, of course, didn't even have to ask. So polite," She said before turning and heading deeper into the diner. The mercenaries took that as their cue to follow. "Most young men around here haven't been raised properly. Or the women. It's so rare to find a real gentleman these days." Sniper smirked and Scout very subtly flipped him off whilst rolling his eyes.

The table they got was one by a window which Scout seemed to enjoy. As they sat down, a light gasp reached their ears as the waitress caught sight of the runner's mangled arm.

"Oh sweetie, what happened?"

"OH, uhhh-"

"He was in an accident," Sniper explained, drawing the attention away from Scout, "some bloke thought it would be fun to have a joyride after hitting the pub. To make a long story short, the guy died and left Tim needing an amputation. Just got checked out of the hospital today and thought it would be nice to take him someplace for a bit of a celebration."

"Oh dear," the waitress tutted, shaking her head, "well I'm sorry to hear that, Tim." she sympathetically patted Scout's shoulder who was currently wearing the most ridiculous expression.

"Yeah, uh, thanks?"

"I'll be right back with some coffee for you boys to get you started, alright?"

"Sounds good." The duo watched the waitress leave and once she was far enough away, Scout rounded on Sniper.

""Tim"? Seriously!?" He hissed. Sniper shrugged.

"First name Oi could come up with on the spot for a younger guy."

"But freakin' Tim!? Dat's not even close to my name!"

"Ever heard of an alias, mate?"

"What do freakin' maps hafta do with anythin'?"

"Whot?"

"And besides, I'm not dat freakin' young, I'm a grown man!" Sniper snorted at that, slipping off his shades.

"Barely. Whot are ya, nineteen?" At that, Scout gave Sniper one of the worst glares he'd ever received.

"I am twenty-****ing-three!"

"Wh-" Sniper managed before he was sent into a coughing fit. "Wh-When did ya turn 23?"

"This year last month!"

"So, waitwaitwait, you're only seven years younger than me!?"

"You're only seven years older!?" Now it was Scout's turn to look appalled at the new information, "I thought ya were at least 40!"

"Wh- excuse you!?"

"Well it's not like you look freakin' seventeen now do ya? Look I'm just gonna come right out and say it because apparently nobody else was gonna say or said it so I'll just say it… ya ain't agin' well. In fact I'd say ya gonna age like a bucket a milk." Scout leaned back, seeming confident in his answer. Sniper just stared at him.

"...Oi feel like Oi would be offended if Oi didn't completely agree with ya." He managed to say as a new waitress came over with two mugs and a coffee pot.

"Yeah, cause I'm right and ya know it- wait, what?" Scout asked as Sniper nodded a thanks to the waitress.

"Oi agree with ya," he said, taking a sip of the scalding liquid. Black, just like he liked it. "Oi know Oi wasn't the handsomest bloke on the team and Oi'm fine with that."

"Well duh, that title goes to yours truly!" Sniper forced down a bubble of laughter, "but ya gotta be, like, at least third!"

"And you're going off of whot standard, mate?"

"Lady standards!" Of course. Biting back the many, many jokes Scout had just handed Sniper on a silver platter, the marksman instead nodded along.

"Which are…?"

"Bod, muscles, voice, hair, exoticism, tons a other stuff!"

"Huh, okay." Sniper replied, content to leave the conversation there. Apparently Scout didn't get the memo seeing as he was still talking about how he rated sexiness.

"-Like, you're a freakin' Aussie which already gives ya a huge head start from the other guys. Y'know how ta use a bow. And hunt. Ya probably da third thinnest guy on the team while still havin' muscles and-"

"Alright, Scout, Oi get it," The longer Scout went on, the more Sniper was beginning to think the runner was pulling his leg. And while he could take a joke, this was feeling a bit too personal.

"Eh, okay, just sayin' man, ya could pull in so many freakin' chicks if you wanted."

"Suuure, okay."

"I'm serious!"

"Okay." Sniper took a sip.

"Look, I'm just tryin' ta freakin' compliment you, geez! It's not like ya got da sexiest voice on da planet dat could be used ta get with da ladies or somethin'!"

Thank goodness Sniper brought his hand up in time so that the scalding coffee he spat out got all over his shirt and palm and not the table or Scout. The Scout who was currently laughing his *rse off.

"Oh crikey, it burns!" He coughed out between laughs. "H-Hand me some bloody napkins, will ya?"

"H-heere ya goo-o-o-" Scout breathed, unable to talk without wheezing.

"Aw h*ll Oi soaked, you little rat b*****d!"

"Yup!" Soon there was a pile of soiled napkins on the table and Sniper still had a nasty brown stain on his skirt.

"Oh **** me," he rasped. Scout started laughing again.

"Nah, no thanks, I like ladies." Sniper gave Scout venomous look.

"Oh shut the **** up you gremlin." He said as he stood, "Oi'm going to go clean moiself up. Ya owe me a bloody clean shirt."

"Yeah okay, have fun!" Scout called after him. That cheeky mongrel. Finding the restrooms near the back, Sniper spent a good fifteen minutes or longer trying to dry his shirt. The stain didn't matter too much since the fabric was black. Actually, it was probably more than fifteen minutes considering when he found Scout again the little tyke had already ordered for them and the order apparently arrived.

"Seriously?"

"Hey, you were takin' forever and they could've kicked us out any minute! Sides, it's not like there was anythin' better on da menu." So apparently there was nothing better on the menu than what appeared to be a normal cheeseburger.

"Huh. Somehow Oi doubt that."

"What, don't like freakin' burgs!? What's da matter with ya, ya freakin' stupid?" Scout sneered. Whatever aura Scout was going for was nulled by the large chocolate milkshake sitting in front of him.

"Oi'm fine with them, Oi'm jus' saying that Oi'd like to be able to chose moi own food next time." He said as he took a seat.

"Sucks ta suck."

"You were the one who made me spit."

"It's not my fault ya weren't takin' me seriously."

"Fine, whotever, drink your stupid shake and shut up." Scout obliged, looking smug the entire time. Gremlin. When the runner looked away towards his drink, Sniper took one of the chips on his plate and flicked it at his teammate. It smacked him dead center of his forehead.

"W- Hey!" Scout barked. Sniper turned away, pretending to not notice the annoyed merc in front of him. "Well, fine then! Thanks for da fry!"

"Hm?" Sniper turned back and watched in disgust as Scout dipped the chip into his shake and ate it. "...whot the h*ll, Scout…"

"Ey! Don't knock it till ya try it!"

"Nah, Oi think Oi will, thanks."

"It's not dat bad!"

"It's wrong is whot it is-"

"Freakin' try it, mother****er, bet you won't!."

"You're right, Oi won't"

"Oh come on," Scout pushed his towering drink towards the sharpshooter, "I've seen ya eat worms before and dat's, like, ten times worse than this. Just try!"

"Nah."

"Coward." Scout mumbled as he swiped a chip and repeated the events from earlier. Sniper cringed away.

"Quit doing that."

"Make me." Scout said as he took another chip.

"Well first of all these are mine so bugger off," Sniper slapped Scout's hand away, earning a yap of pain, "if you wanted chips you should have ordered some for yourself."

"Ya d**k!"

"And second, if you keep pulling that gross s**t in front of me, Oi'm throwing the rest of that shake into your face."

"...you d**k."

"Sucks to suck," Sniper smirked as he started on his food. Scout, after flipping him off, went back to his drink and kept his hands to himself. The minutes went by in steady silence, one where neither felt the need to fill it with mindless noise. That is until Scout had something important to ask.

"Hey, uh, could I borrow some quarters?" He asked, drawing Sniper's attention away from a Mourning Dove sitting on a nearby powerline.

"Hm?"

"Could I borrow some quarters real quick? I wanna call my family, ta get it over with."

"Oh, awright," Sniper brought his wallet out, "how many do ya need?"

"Six." The coins were traded, "hey thanks man! I owe ya one!"

"You owe me six, actually." Sniper called out to the runner bolting out the door. Couldn't even walk to the bloody thing. From the table they were given, Sniper had a front row seat to the payphone, where Scout was currently standing inserting the quarters and punching in some numbers. Even from here he could tell the kid was tense and it was a gamble to see who he was calling first.

From the looks of things, the first call had gone well. And short. Scout had shuffled a bit and played with the phone cord some but his expression didn't turn into one of rage like the next one did.

It had to have been either Davey or Henry by his reaction because his mannerisms had shifted from reclusive and restrained to dramatic and loose. He swung his stump around, wore a furious expression, and many times pinned the phone between his shoulder and neck just to run his hand through his hair.

The next three calls were a mixture of the first two and Sniper got bored watching the fourth due to its length. Turning back to the table and after making sure Scout was still preoccupied with his phone, Sniper took one of the few remaining chips he had and dipped it in remnants of Scout's shake.

Okay, it wasn't too bad. Not that he'd ever admit that to the runner, but yeah, definitely better than worms.

Another set of minutes and he was exiting the diner having paid for their meals, well, meal and drink. Once he was outside, he walked over towards Scout, who was still on the phone with somebody. By the tone of his voice, Sniper was guessing it was Harvey or Tommy.

"Yeah.. yeah, nah I… no, Tom, I'm not freakin' quittin'. Not unless I have ta. I… dude, no. Yeah I-" Scout met Sniper eyes, "Yeah I know, I'm gonna call her next! … Well because you know how Ma gets when my job's brought up, and when I tell dat I lost my hand she'll lose her s**t! ...Listen Tom, I gotta go, my fr- my teammate's out here which means we gotta get movin'… Wait a sec, Tommy. Hey Snipah, ya wanna say hi?" Sniper shook his head, "Ah okay nah he doesn't wanna say hi, he's kinda shy."

"Whot."

"Shuddup. No, Tom, I was talkin' ta Snipes… No I don't know what his real name is, we're mercenaries! We got codenames, man, keep up! Use dat dense brain of yours for once!... Yeah, gotcha, I'll call, uh, soon-ish… h*ll if I know, look, I'll call when I can, okay? Yeah. Yeah, okay, love ya t- don't freakin' call me dat! D*mnit dude, no, y'know what? **** you. Talk ta ya later." With that, Scout ended the call and looked sheepishly back at Sniper.

"Uh, could I bum another quarter? Harvey and Henry talk really long." Another quarter was exchanged, "thanks man, this's da last one, I swear." As Scout punched his mother's number, Sniper leaned on the payphone.

"Do ya want me to wait in the van?"

"Nah, it's cool, this shouldn't take long if I can keep Ma from screamin'."

"Awright." The faint ringing of a distant phone line filled the air as Scout tapped his foot and Sniper started looking around and eventually settled on a Stellar Jay thirty feet away. Then the phone was answered.

"Uh, Hi Ma-"

"JERRY BEAN!" A woman's voice as loud as a jet engine erupted from the speaker, sending flocks of birds into the sky. As for the two men, the younger seemed used to the volume while the older seemed to have gone into a state of shock.

"Ma, c'mon, I'm a grown man, I ain't a "Jerry Bean" no more!... No dat's not what I'm sayin' it's just I got a coworker right next ta me and I… well, it's kinda embarrassin'... yeah, I'm doin' good I- well, actually- HEY, hey, no nothin' like dat! It's just… uh… I kinda lost somethin'. Uh, no it wasn't the photos ya sent it- no, Ma, not dat either just- I- Ma,itwasmyhand!"

"Ma please stop cryin', I swear I'm okay, it's not dat big a deal. Sides, it was my left one, I can still write letters and crap… Ma please stop cryin'." Scout was using his arm as a cushion for his head as he stared at the ground, "I… I-I can't go home I'm still hired to BLU. Ma… No, look I… Ma, I'm not quittin', it's da best cash we've ever gotten, I'm not just gonna throw dat away! No, I don't care, I'm stayin'!... Ma please stop cryin', it's not like I'm freakin' dead yet- okayokay, shouldn't've mentioned death, right… Look, Ma, I can't talk for hours this time, I have ta go… We're, uh… we're repositionin'. Movin' bases. Yeah, and my teammate is waitin' for me ta shut up so we can go so- Ma, don't be rude! Which one? Uh, da Aussie… No, da… da other one… no. Look, I gotta go, I'll call as soon as I can, I promise! Yes, I know, things have been hectic… Yes I'm gonna call as soon as I can, yes. Yeah, yeah okay, love ya too. Bye Ma." With that, Scout ended the call with a long sigh.

"...So "Jerry Bean", huh?"

"Go ta h*ll, Snipah."

"That was shorter than Oi'd thought it would be," Sniper admitted.

"Well don't ya wanna use the phone too?"

"Nah," He replied as they walked back to the van, "Sides, moi folks would be asleep right now. It's probably 3:00AM in Australia right now."

"Oh, right, time zones. Gotcha."

"Well then," Sniper looked over at his companion, "ready for another six or so hours of driving?"

"No."

"Good." The van was started and the pair were off. Through forest and hills and down winding roads shining with puddles. And the clouds flew lazily along in their silent migration.


Hours went by since they left the diner. Now the sky was melting from ash blues to a deep orange with the billowing clouds bleeding into the reds and greys of the sunset. The view was unfortunately blocked by the towering firs of the small campsite they found. The camper was parked, the pair stepped out and Scout was instantly stretching and running around. Sniper himself was fine with stretching his back out and watching the kid trip and fall face first into a pile of ferns. He didn't even try to hide his grin as Scout shot back up spitting dirt from his mouth.

"Ugh, ya didn't see anythin'!" He said as he trotted back to the camper.

"See whot?"

"Exactly!"

The camper was soon filled with two mercenaries, one of whom was busy changing his stained shirt while the other lounged about yawning so hard it looked like he was dislocating his jaw. Slipping on a light orange top, Sniper looked over at his companion. Scout was sitting on the table ruffling his hair and staring out the small window. And then yawned again.

"Tired?" Scout made a series of noises that were almost words but not quite there. Sniper took that as a yes.

"Well, don't get comfortable, Oi want to take care of your arm first." A strange slamming sound responded and when Sniper looked back over, Scout was flatten against the wall glaring at him.

"No," the runner hissed, "no way!"

"Uh, yeah, it's been far too long since we've-"

"No!" Scout somehow flattened himself even flatter against the wall. Sniper sighed.

"Listen, there's only one way this will end and that's with you getting treated so we can either do this the easy way or the hard way-" Scout chose the hard way.

In an instant a force connected with the marksman, sending him to the floor. Before Scout had a chance to escape however, Sniper grabbed his ankle and dragged him to the ground. The runner writhed and fought but couldn't get himself loose from Sniper's grip. And the grip found itself pinning Scout's only hand behind his back and pulling him to his feet. He was trapped.

"C'mon, man!" Scout pleaded, looking over his shoulder towards an annoyed Sniper, "Y-Ya don't get it, it freakin' hurts! I'd rather get shot than go through dat s**t again! Please!" The sharpshooter's expression softened but he shook his head.

"It's so that ya don't die, Scout. Don't need that on moi conscious. Sides, it'll be over before you know it."

"No it won't!"

"Yes it will, Oi promise."

"Why can't we just use a medkit!?"

"Because we don't know how it would affect your arm. Could get rid of the infection or make it worse considering it grows tissue back." Sniper explained, "Now come on, it'll be fine, Oi promise." Scout met his eyes, the younger man's storm colored ones filled with scrutiny. But then they softened as he looked away.

"Fine." Sniper released his grip and Scout began to unwrap his bandages as he took a seat. While he got the supplies, Sniper got a look at the runner's arm and held back a string of profanities. Yeah, it really needed this. Badly.

"Ready?"

"No." Honestly, Sniper couldn't blame him. The runner was stiff and gripping the seat with a shaking hand. He took the inflamed appendage and held it tight. It was feverish to the touch.

And then he began to wipe it down and the camper was instantly filled with very colorful language. Scout's eyes were shut and he was screaming as many curses and swears as possible. And slurs. A lot of slurs. Then he began to curse in different languages like French, Russian, Spanish, Chinese, and others Sniper didn't recognize. And also saying slurs in those languages too. He ended it with something that sounded like an alien jargon no doubt filled with swears and slurs. And then Scout, along with his head, fell silent.

"Awright, Oi'm done, now that wasn't so bad now was it?" Sniper asked when he began to wrap clean bandages over the arm. Scout didn't respond. "Hey, Scout?"

Scout had fainted. Oh dear. Sniper eyed the medicine he was using. Was it really that strong? Pushing the thought aside, he gently shook his teammate's shoulder.

"Hey, wake up Bilby, you're all done."

"Whhhhaa…?" The runner shook his head, speech raspy and slow.

"That's some vocabulary ya got there, mate." Sniper mused, packing away the supplies as Scout finished waking himself up, "you're lucky Oi was helping ya and not Demo." At that, Scout began to chuckle weakly.

"You kiddin'?" Scout asked, meeting Sniper gaze with a grin, "Demo taught me how ta say all a those."

"Honestly?"

"Yeah, I asked him how ta curse in other languages and he got his real evil look in his eye and then he sat me done for, like, three hours or somethin' just tellin' me every ****, s**t, and d*mn ever."

"Now whoi would you ask him something like that?"

"Because Heavy didn't want ta teach me."

"Oi can see whoi." Sniper turned to say something else but paused to watch Scout blow on his arm, a look of pain still etched into his features. "...really hurt that bad, huh?"

"No s**t, Sherlock!" Scout whined, still blowing at his arm. Sniper chewed his cheek as he watched Scout cradle his ruined arm. And an idea popped into mind. It wasn't a good idea, and based on last time, it could end very very badly. But honestly, did it really matter?

"Oi think Oi know a way to make it up to ya." Scout gave him a look.

"...Kay, I'm listenin'."


"DID YOU KNow dat there's peoples dat can hear SOUNDS and COLORS!?" Scout shouted, slamming his palm on the table.

"Uhhhhhhhhhh that sounds impossible." Sniper mumbled, looking at the now empty shot glass.

"It's true! Medic himself told me dat!"

"Yeah, okayy." He watched Scout pour himself another shot. It had started as just having enough to get Scout to ignore the pain he was going through. Somehow that had devolved into a drinking game involving Two Truths and A Lie. Don't ask because Sniper didn't know. He doubted that Scout knew either.

"So, so whose turn was ittt?" Sniper shrugged. The ceiling was an odd color. "Okay… I'llll go then!"

"Okayy."

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… gemma moment."

"Okayy." Sniper said, watching his teammate's already pink face turn a deeper shade of pink trying to think of his two truths and lie. It was kiiinda obvious that Scout had a hard time thinking of a lie to make considering Sniper had won basically every round so far. The kid's lies were just too obvious. The consequence of that being Scout taking more shots than was probably safe which made it harder to come up with a more believable lie. It was a horrible downward spiral. Not that Sniper would stop it,

It was bloody hilarious.

"Uuuuuhhhhhhhh, I can't frippin' think, man!" Scout whined, face planting the table.

"It''s okayy, Oi'll go." Scout flopped his head up and down in a manner that looked like a nod. "Awroight, uh, Oi've had aroound foive dogs as a kid, moi middle name's Jackson, and Oi can wink with both eyes at the same toime."

"Ah, dat's easy! Nobody can wink with both eyes, t's imPOssible! Dat's da lie, final answer!"

"Ya choosing that?" Sniper smirked. "Ya sure?"

"Yeah!"

"Well down th' hatch then, mate, wrong again!"

'D*MNIT!" Scout shouted as he shakingly downed his shot and began to sputter like a faulty motor.

"Moi real middle name's Lawrence."

"Frippin'... whaddeva man." Scout grumbled, resting his head on the table once again, "how… hhhhhhow doya wink wif both eyessss?'

"Loike this," Sniper said, and he blinked. Scout just stared slack jawed.

"Wwwhhhhhhhaaaaaa?..."

"Wanna know th' secret to doing it?"

"Ye!" Sniper gestured for the runner who obediently leaned in. He made a point of looking around the obviously empty camper before he himself leaned in and whispered "it's called blinking."

That earned him a slap that was more like being hit with a feather duster. Whatever strength Scout had was sapped by exhaustion and alcohol so all Sniper felt was a light pat.

"Ya d**k!" Scout barked as the marksman was left wheezing and punching the table, "Ya d**k, I'm leavin'!"

"No, stop, don't, come back." Sniper drawled between laughs. But Scout had already stood and somehow got to the door without passing out.

"I'm leavin', ya brokee my frippin' trust, Snippy, goodbyeee!" It was last thing Scout said before he left the camper, never to be seen again...

For five seconds. Then he reentered.

"G'day." Sniper grinned.

"I forrgot where I was goin' so I'm back here now." Scout admitted as he made it back to the table looking very sad. Sniper gave his hair a reassuring ruffle. It was surprisingly soft.

"Don't get so down an' out, it's yer turn now anyway." At that, Scout was no longer looking very sad.

"Oh, right! Uhhhhh, I'm half Irish, I can split an frippin' apple in half wif ma bare hands, and my second favorite sport is football!"

Huh.

"Second one, final answer-"

"HA! Sucker, get bent!" Scout cheered, "My actual second favorite sport is Hockey!"

"Wh- Oi've never seen anyone split an apple in perfect halves without a knoife!"

"Dat's cause ya neva meet ME! Now drink up!" Grumbling, Sniper poured himself, what, his sixth shot, and downed it. It tasted bad but the aftereffects always outweigh the unpleasantries.

"But," he paused, getting his bearings, "but then how do you split a bloody apple in half?"

"Are there any in here?" Scout asked, looking around and nearly falling on the ground.

"Yea, in th'... in there." Sniper pointed at one of the cabinets.

"Okay, so," Scout started after retrieving a fruit and sitting back down, "watch! And frippin' learn, dude. This is how a real man cuts an appleeee!" He brought the apple up-

And stopped.

"...oh."

"Um," Sniper started when Scout let the apple roll out from his one hand, "how about you tell me how to do it? Cause Oi'd loike to know."

"Okay," Scout sighed, "Pick up da apple," Sniper did. "Hold it like you would a mug, and put your thumbsss ri… right next ta da core. Or stem." Sniper did. "Okay, so, da trick is usin' your palms ta pull it apart. Start closest to ya and just make your way, your way through and it'll just split itself open."

"Thiss is, hrm, are you sure that's how it's done?" Sniper huffed, putting all his strength into splitting the fruit in half. Either Scout was forgetting some steps or this was the toughest apple in history! Soon enough his arms were shaking from the effort and he had to stop. "Bloody h*ll."

"No, ya gotta go top ta bottom! Top ta bottom, front ta back! And use da thumb part of your palm, not da middle!"

"Oi'm trying!"

"Here, lemme help, gimma dat!" Scout cross over to his side of the table and took half of the apple.

"Whot's that going to do!?"

"You push it towards me, I'll push it towards you." The pair then started a strange version of Tug-O-War with pushing instead of pulling. A wet crick met their ears after a moment.

"It's working!" Scout growled, "We just gotta do it harder-"

The apple broke in half with each side clenched firmly in the other's hand. And the forward momentum each had didn't stop. Sniper's fist shot forward and collided directly with Scout's stomach while the runner was putting his entire weight behind his push so he launched forward and sent both mercenaries to the dirty ground.

Sniper's head smacked the floor and Scout made a pained noise as he landed directly on the dazed marksman. Sporting a headache and also a horrible sense of vertigo, Sniper did the only thing he could think of: swearing.

"S**t…" he wheezed, air still finding it hard to enter his lungs from the heavyweight settled on them.

"Ow…" came a weak voice pushed into his chest.

"Ah," Sniper sat up as much as he could with the younger man lying on him, "mate, ya awroight?"

"ow…" Scout whined into Sniper's shirt, "owwwhehehehehe…" the runner lifted his head enough to meet the marksman's eyes with a ditzy grin, "ya… ya got one h*ll of a right hook, old man."

"Sorry about that." Sniper mumbled as he laid back down. The ceiling was beginning to spin and right now he just wanted to sleep. "Do ya think you could get off me?"

"No."

"Oi'm serious, could you-"

"Nope." Scout snickered, "I got… nah, I'm stayin'. Right here. This's my home now."

"Moi chest isn't a bed, now off." Scout shook his head and stayed there. "You little b*****d, you may be a cuddly drunk but Oi'm not, off!" He made to shove the runner off but Scout beat him to it.

"'M gonna be sick," Scout whined. Oh no.

"If yer going to puke, do it outside and not on moi shirt thanks."

"...Okay," The runner pushed himself off of Sniper who was busy trying to keep the ceiling from spinning and stumbled towards the door. Somehow managing to open it, Scout thrust himself out into the night and was gone.

The ceiling was finally calming down after many moments and Sniper was able to sit up without a spike of pain shooting through his cranium. So that's what it feels like to be headshot. Yeah, this was a bad idea. A fun one, but still a bad idea. Well it seemed that it wasn't fun for one of them anymore if the abstinence of Scout was anything to go by. Getting to his feet, Sniper shuffled over to the door and looked outside. To the right he could see the very edge of the American's heel. And even if he didn't, the ragged breathing and occasional cough was enough to mark Scout's location.

"You awroight?" Sniper asked as he made his way towards his still heaving companion. Scout was currently leaning on the camper, taking in deep breaths and shaking ever so slightly. He patted the younger man's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting motion.

"...Yeah. Yeah I'm good now." Scout rasped, stumbling away from the van. Sniper caught his arm before he could fall backwards.

"Oi think now would be a good time to get some shut eye."

"Yeah." Scout nodded and let himself be led into the camper, "sounds good."

"Maybeee we shouldn't do dat crap again."

"Agreed."


It was quiet in the small camper. But not silent. Besides the subtle breathing filling the compartment like clockwork, there was a rustling of sheets from a restless sleeper. His arms gripping the blankets with an iron grasp as his expression was stuck in a grimace. Tossing and turning but stuck on something. He couldn't get loose. He was trapped.

Not again. Not again!

The Sniper shot awake in a cold sweat. Dark static met his eyes as he stared at his camper's ceiling. It… it was just a dream. He wasn't trapped, he wasn't back there. Sniper groaned in annoyance, pressing the palms of his hands onto his eyes. It was stupid, just a stupid dream, no reason for any of this. Being this scared was stupid and pathetic. He could still move freely.

Except he couldn't. The marksman's pulse shot back up trying to dislodge his legs from their prison. There was something in the darkness wrapped around him and wouldn't let go. He couldn't get free, he couldn't-

As a last ditch effort, Sniper ripped a leg free and kicked with as much strength as his sleep muddied body could muster. It collided with the mass trapping him and sent it onto the camper's floor. Free again.

"...ow." Came the prison Sniper just launched off his bed. "What da h*ll…?" Apparently whatever trapped his legs also spoke English with a Boston accent.

"Scout?" Sniper rolled over to peer onto the floor. His eyes met the runner's who was lying flat on his back. "Scout, whot the actual h*ll were you doing!?"

"Huh?" Scout sat up and wiped his nose which it seemed was bleeding. "Freakin', why da **** did ya kick me!?" Maybe it was the fact that his emotions were amplified due to the moonshine they drunk, or the fact he woke up tired and petrified and still had a slight headache, or the fact that his limit for physical contact was already met earlier. But for whatever reason, Sniper lashed out.

"Whoi did you climb up here and start hugging moi ****ing legs!?"

"Da h*ll are you talkin' about?"

"Look, Oi get that we were drunk and you're a cuddly one but you don't just climb into another man's bed!-"

"-I didn't, quit lyin'-"

"-Oi'm not bloody lying!-"

"-Bulls**t!-"

"-Says the kid denying that he was grinding up on moi l-"

"Shut da **** up, dat's not what happened!-"

"Then whoi the h*ll were you cuddling on me!?" Sniper roared.

"I wasn't! I didn't even climb up there, you probably grabbed me or somethin', ya freak!" Scout growled, nose finally drying. At that, Sniper threw what little covers he still had off and jumped to the floor. The runner scrambled away, glaring with scrutiny. Sniper glared right back and shoved his way past towards the door.

"Where da h*ll are you goin'!?" Scout yelled. Sniper didn't respond, just opening the door to leave. That is until a hand found itself on his shoulder. "Dude, wait, it's freaking dark out, ya don't wanna go out there!-" His companion barely had time to finish his sentence before he was shoved to the ground, landing with a oof!

The door was slammed behind Sniper and the marksman took two steps before plopping himself down on the cold dirt. It was too much. How loud it got so quickly, how confined it was, the darkness, how trapped he felt, and the fact that his heart rate still wasn't slowing down.

Why did the kid always do something that messed everything up? It had been going fine, they were going fine and then he just… did whatever the h*ll just happened. Well, it probably didn't warrant the reaction Sniper had but he didn't really care considering the reaction Scout had as well.

It was so stupid, honestly. Running his hands through his hair, Sniper held back a deep sigh. Or maybe he was holding his breath to calm his pulse.

The night sky held the only stars the sharpshooter had seen for days. The rain clouds were always in the way. He didn't know what time it was but it had to be after midnight.

His pulse was still racing. And Sniper let his sigh be released just as the small click of his van's door. Looking over his shoulder, Sniper met the eyes of Scout, who appeared to be hiding behind the door. The light had been turned on giving them both the appearance of shadows.

"Uh, hey." Scout said.

"Hey." Sniper replied. The runner took this as an invitation as he closed the van and sat about three feet away from the marksman. Nothing was said besides the distant owls and crickets. It stayed like that for some time before Sniper happened to look over and spot a lighter and a cigarette being handed to him. With a shaking hand he took and used them. As he inhaled the nicotine, Scout began to speak.

"So uh," he began, scratching his arm, "I think I figured out what happened."

"And that would be…"

"Uh, okay first of all ya have ta promise not ta tell anyone this, okay? If you do I swear ta-"

"Fine, whotever, there's no one left to tell anyway." Sniper grumbled, letting the smoke drift into the night sky. Scout stopped, sighed, scrunched up his face, and sighed again.

"Okay, I'm pretty sure I sleepwalked. I'm bein' serious!" He claimed when Sniper gave him a glare.

"Sure ya did."

"I did! I used ta do it all da time when I was a kid! Whenever it'd get too cold cause da apartment's heat stopped workin', which was like, all da d*mn time, or I got a nightmare I'd just-" Scout's mouth slammed shut so quickly Sniper heard the runner's jaw clack from the force. He took a drag, and then he spoke.

"So you had a nightmare?" he asked. Scout didn't respond right away. Instead he shuffled his feet and scratched his arm.

"Yeah, sure, happy now?" he grumbled into his arms, "Go ahead, laugh away, see if I care. Scout has nightmares sometimes, big-****in'-deal, it's not like literally everybody gets them or some s**t! Whatever, I'm going back inside, see ya in da mornin'. And don't worry, I won't do dat crap again." Scout made to stand but stopped when Sniper responded.

"...Oi had one too."

"Really?" Scout asked. The marksman swallowed, and nodded, looking down at the stick pinned between his fingers. "What was it about?"

"...Landfall." Sniper admitted. His voice was rough and hardly louder than the light breeze flowing through the trees.

"Oh." Scout winced and not-so-subtly shuffled away a few inches.

"Oi don't know why it's taken this long to affect me," he continued, "it jus'. Oi don't know. Shouldn't've yelled at you, though, or kicked ya, sorry about that."

"I, it's fine, seriously, didn't even hurt, wasn't even bleedin' dat badly. But uh…" Scout rubbed the back of his neck, "why did ya kick me anyways?"

"Because you had moi legs trapped," Sniper said, staring at nothing in particular, "and Oi couldn't move. Like Oi was back to being strung up again and… and it was you."

"Huh?"

"It was like Oi couldn't even control moi own thoughts then, it was all you. Every small feeling and every moment you were stuck in moi head. And whot you did." Sniper saw Scout flinch in the corner of his eye. "And that's jus' the truth, mate. Fact of the matter is Oi was stuck because you left, and Oi had no idea if you would come back or if Oi'd die down there. Alone. Not even able to speak. Jus'… slowly withering away, forgotten." There was more he wanted to say, to talk about, like his anger, the fragile hope he kept that he'd be found, the inability to blink as the world faded into a blurred mess until that too was consumed by a blinding darkness. But he didn't. Instead, Sniper turned towards his companion and saw the younger man sitting some feet away, drawing circles in the soil with his one remaining hand.

"I'm sorry." Scout said.

"Oi know you are."

"I really am sorry, Snipes."

"Oi know."

"I, I won't leave ya behind like dat ever again, promise."

They sat together in silence with Sniper staring at the cigarette in his hands and Scout staying his fair distance away drawing in the dirt. There was more the kid wanted to say, but he wasn't, and Sniper didn't know why. So they sat together in silence. Sniper took a drag, and looked back over at Scout.

"Hey," he said, and the runner barely met his eyes, "ya don't have to sit all the way over there, Oi'm not gonna bite your head off." Without a word, Scout shuffled over and sat at Sniper's side.

"If…" Scout managed to squeak out, "uh. Well, I… 'm guessin' ya ain't forgiven me yet, huh?" Sniper stiffened and Scout stiffened too. "Not dat- not dat ya have ta, dat's not what I'm sayin'. I just wanted… just wanted ta make sure if I still… wasn't."

"...Oi don't know."

"oh." Scout said before hugging his knees. "I… yeah, dat's fair. I, sorry for bringin' it up, it was stupid. Don't… just ignore what I said." They sat in silence once more as Sniper snuffed out the butt of the now finished cig.

"...you've been having nightmares for a while, haven't you?" Sniper asked. Scout's eyes darted over and after a long moment of scrutiny, stiffly nodded. "Whot have they been about?"

"Just, stupid stuff." he mumbled, looking away, "I-I don't really remember them… all dat well. Or at all. I mean," Scout briefly met Sniper's gaze, "sometimes it feels like you're in them, not that ya really do anythin' though. Just a feeling really and, it's…" the runner stopped to rub at his throat, "uh, I-I really don't wanna. Wanna get into it, man."

"...Oi won't force ya to talk about it if you don't want to," the Sniper reassured as he took hold of Scout's shoulder, who flinched in response, "but it might help, ya never know."

"Uh, uh thanks but. But I seriously don't want ta get into it, it ain't- it ain't…" Scout began to shake and scratch at his stomach, "I don't want to remember what happened. I don't, I can't!-"

"Is it about whot happened to your hand?"

"NO!" Sniper snatched his hand away as the runner shot to his feet. The younger man was shaking and looking around the small forest campground with a dazed expression.

"I'm gonna- I'm gonna, gonna go back, back inside," Scout breathed, hunched over with arms wrapped around his midriff. "I think I'm feelin' da hangover formin', I." he swallowed, "I'm goin' back ta bed ta sleep it off. I'll-I'll see ya in da morning."

"Awright…"

"Night, Snipah." Scout slipped through the door before Sniper could reply. And when the door was closed, the light was doused right after. Sitting in the dark once more, Sniper watched the door for any sign of his jittery companion. When none came up, he turned back to the ground.

"...G'night Buckshot."


Would you look at that I finally finished the freaking chapter sweet symphonies. There are some reasons why this took so long besides the length: boredom, burnout, and publishing a small ship oneshot. Why? I got into a romantic mood last month and since this is a horror and a drama/friendship, I couldn't implement any fluff of that sort in this story.

So, I got some good news for me but bad news for you the readers. I got a job(hurray! My very first!) which means I can finally earn a living. But that also means I have a lot less time to write for the story. I'll try my best to get things completed before next year though. Also, we've officially made it to the second half of the story! Questions will be answered! Tears may be shed! Hearts will be filled and crushed! Horror will commence again! And boy oh boy I can't wait to write what I have in stored got you all!

Also, just so you guys know, I've been uploading progress reports and pictures I make of the story on my Instagram so if you want to keep up to date on my progress to make sure I haven't died in the middle of writing, just look up skeleton_fred0. I've also been making a small tf2 comic(not related to this fic) but it still involves Snipes and Scoot so there's that. Anyway, see ya on the flip side!(Also, you actually can split an apple in half the way Scout explains, it's amazing when you first do it, nothing can describe the pure power and accomplishment you feel after doing so)