Man, I am just blazing through these. This will probably be my last chapter of the year, can you believe that I've been working on this thing for nearly a year now? I started posting in March, back when my little novice hands thought making chapters 5000 words was super long. Oh, how naïve I was. Anyway, I hope you all are ready for a chapter I've been wanting to write for months at this point, hope you enjoy :)


"Do you have any idea jus' how dangerous that was!?"

"It worked, d-didn't it?"

"That's not the bloody point," Sniper rubbed at his tired eyes, "you could have gotten killed doin' that!"

"Well I didn't, so-" Scout sneezed, stumbling backwards. Sniper shot a hand out and grabbed his upper arm before the kid fell onto the soaking wet grass. Not that it would make much of a difference, they were already soaking wet with freezing cold water, and that water just kept pouring down along with some serious wind furthering their future hypothermia. To combat the cold, the two had silently agreed to walk as close as possible. That, and without the extra support, Sniper could safely assume neither of them would be able to walk. Pulling Scout upright, the marksman resumed holding his side to keep his screaming nerves at a bare minimum. The broken rib was a real pain in his *rse but he wasn't going to complain. That pain, the sharp jabs and splintering deep in his muscles, was proof he was alive, along with the limping man to his left.

Scout wasn't faring any better. At this point, it was a bloody miracle he was still walking. And not just the fact that he'd willingly let himself become a jumper cable to restart Sniper's heart using a lightning bolt, but the cold was obviously stealing away what was left of the runner's energy, or what was left of the lightning that might have been stored away.

A bloody lightning bolt

"Honestly, whot made you think that doing that was in any way a good idea?" Sniper demanded to know, forcing himself to talk without stuttering from the cold. Scout, already hunched over to preserve body heat, slouched even more.

"I didn't know what else would work, okay?"

"So you let lightning strike you?"

"I just wanted ta-"

"Doing that won't jus' fade away, Scout, getting struck can kill you! Not to mention the burns, possible permanent nerve and brain damage, and tons of other bloody problems we can't deal with at the moment!" Luckily, neither of them seemed to have any permanent issues, at least, from what Sniper could tell while sporting a concussion. But the way Scout kept stumbling, stopping and looking around confused, it was pretty obvious that he was, at the very least, highly disoriented. All Sniper could hope for was that it would be temporary. He didn't want to drag around a man whose sense of time and space was forever altered.

"I just didn't want ya ta die on me, is dat so wrong!?" Scout finally snapped. His tone was biting and cold, but his expression revealed the hurt underlying it. Sniper sighed.

"No, I jus' think you could have gone about it differently, so that it wasn't such a gamble." he said, looking back. They'd been walking for a good fifteen minutes at this point, now closer to the BLU base than the RED. Although the tall firs blocked most of the skyline, Sniper could make out through the branches the dusty red boards of the large building they left behind. Perhaps they should have looked in it, tried to find something, and communicated with someone. But they didn't, and still, the two of them were still alone, with nobody knowing where they were or if they were still alive. He turned back towards Scout, who held his arm, bandaged poorly in a tattered shirt, close to his chest.

"...Whoi'd you do it?"

"Huh?"

"Whoi did you do it? Even after whot, whot I said." Sniper repeated. Scout furrowed his brow in confusion, before he realized what Sniper had meant.

"Well, anyone woulda done it, I mean, it's da right thing ta do, right? And I promised I wasn't gonna let ya drown so… yeah." Scout said, using his hand to make small gestures at nothing in particular, "and I kinda figured ya didn't actually mean what ya said cause I know dat ya hated bein' there, like how I hated bein' in Landfall and said things I didn't actually mean. So, yeah, and… ya didn't mean it, right? What ya said, ya didn't actually mean it, right?" Sniper opened his mouth to say… say what? That he didn't? That he did? Because on some level, in all honesty, he… he did mean it. Could it have been handled with more tact, with some more nuance. But it was the truth, and Scout needed to understand that. Needs to understand that. They were not… he wasn't… the kid wasn't bad, he wasn't too intolerable, but, this, all of it was… he couldn't say it though. He couldn't just ditch the kid now, after what he did, after what they had to deal with, but, ugh, why was this so complicated?

"You didn't actually mean it, right?"

"...let's jus' focus on getting out of this wretched rain, awright?" Sniper mumbled, looking away. Besides him, he felt Scout tense up, before the kid let out a quiet "...okay."

The pair limped through the evergreens, dirtying their shoes, shivering from cold and exhaustion. Behind them, the rumble of thunder faded into the distance, like a good natured farewell, see you soon. Another ten minutes of walking, and never before had Sniper been so happy to spot his home.

The van was untouched, waiting patiently. The inside would be safe, have warm clothes, blankets, towels, and food. A bed with a real mattress he could lie on, and some bandages that would help keep his ribcage together. There he could use some Medkits to heal himself, and then get them the h*ll outta dodge.

They reached the door, and Sniper let Scout in first since the runner looked ready to collapse. And collapse he did, right onto the bench. It wasn't as warm inside as Sniper wished it was, but it was dry. With shivering hands, Sniper slipped off his waterlogged, torn tops. Well, these were ruined. Sure, he could sew them back, but that would take a lot more time and energy than he had at the moment. Besides, they weren't exactly sentimental. While rummaging for the driest, scratchiest towel he could, Sniper looked over at his companion. Scout had either died, or more preferably, had fallen asleep.

The runner sat there, looking like he'd just survived a typhoon. His clothes, once dry and clean, were now coated in mud, blood, and cave water. Skin pale and glistening with rain trails, Scout resembled more of a half drowned rat than a human at the moment. And he needed new bandages.

Wasn't there something else he needed to tell him? The slate of his mind had been wiped clean when the kid had told him he'd brought him back to life using the elements, which had been quite the shock…

That was awful, okay, now he was making puns, he really had hit his head hard. After finally finding a towel and drying himself off, Sniper slipped into a long sleeved shirt(that wasn't a button up), and limped his way over to the still wet pile of Scout.

"Awright, c'mon," He grabbed the runner's shoulder, waking him up, "you'll freeze to death if you stay like that."

"Lay off," Scout grumbled, already starting to shiver more. Sniper sighed, plopped the towel on Scout's head, and began to ruffle his hair with no mercy. Well, as much as he could while injured.

"H-Hey!" Scout tried to retort, grabbing at Sniper's arms, "lay off! Quit it!"

"Don't need you catching a head cold," Sniper grunted, ignoring his victim's protests, "Medkits don't cure those."

"Will you stop!? I don't n-need your help!" Grabbed the towel, Scout ripped it out of the marksman's hands, giving his broken rib a spike of pain, and away from his now fluffy but still slightly damp hair. Surrendering the hair drying to the runner, Sniper instead got to finding some dry clothes for him.

"Did you pack any trousers of yours? All Oi'm finding are shirts."

"I-It's near da b-bottom."

"Well Oi can't find the- is this a pig?" Sniper lifted up the squishy, plush filled toy out of the backpack. It was soft, if not very worn down, and had a large brown spot on its back that he couldn't tell if it was part of the design or some old stain. Scout had paused his hair fluffing and had frozen at the sight of the toy.

"Put dat down!"

"It's kinda cute," Sniper chuckled, squeezing the plush in his hands, "whoi is it so round? That's adorable!"

"Gimme it!" Scout shot forward, ears red. Sniper was quicker though, as he stood from the ground and lifted his arms high above his head despite the pain it caused, out of Scout's reach.

"Did ya write your name on its hooves?" Sniper turned the animal around, looking at it from all angles with a grin. "It's so round!"

"GIVE HIM TA ME!"

"Oh, a him, huh? C'mon, tell us whot ya named him."

"Screw you, give him back!"

"Not till you tell me whot you named him."

"No!"

"Then Oi'm keepin' him."

"Screw you, no you're not, give Mr. TruffleSnuffle back!-" Scout clamped his mouth shut, red spreading through his cheeks. Sniper laughed in disbelief.

"Mr. TruffleSnuffle?"

"SHUT UP!" Scout leapt up and grabbed his pig out of Sniper's grasp, which had weakened from the marksman's laughter, and stumbled away, indignant.

"You're such a f-freakin' *sshole…" Scout hissed. At that, Sniper's merriment took a pause at the viciousness of Scout's tone.

"Oi'm jus' teasin'," Sniper replied, grabbing his side again, "Oi honestly don't care if you have a stuffy or not."

"Don't you have a van ta drive away from this hellhole?" The runner limped back over to the bench, placing his toy on the table top, and shakily slipping off his jacket. Sniper froze, then slapped a hand to his forehead.

"Ah, bugger, that's right. Okay," he grabbed Scout's backpack and tossed it to the runner, who was knocked onto his side from the force. "Get changed, wrap you arm up, use some Medkits and save some for me once Oi get us out of this d*mned place." And with that, Sniper grabbed the keys laying on the countertop, stepped back outside, and was instantly peppered with rain and far away rumbles.

"Ah, p*ss!" he swore as he trotted to the driver's seat. Of course he forgot his rain jacket. Rocketing behind the wheel, Sniper started the car and relished in the gravelly purr the engine erupted into. Taking one last scrutinizing look at the forests, the marksman shifted gears, and soon the trees and bases were fading into the mist crawling over the hills.

Once he could no longer see the BLU base as it was covered by firs and hills, Sniper let out a breath he hadn't noticed keeping. The soft pats of raindrops hitting the windshield, and the feeling of leather under his palms as he gripped the wheel, it was all so familiar.

And soon Sniper was overcome by an overwhelming sense of Deja-vu. Driving away from Sawmill, the rain pouring down, and having a less than healthy Scout in the back.

Right. Scout. The runner who had risked his life to save Sniper's. The marksman sighed, running a hand down his face.

The kid shouldn't have done that, it was so dangerous. He wasn't ungrateful, thanks to Scout, he was alive, just… he could have gotten seriously injured. More than he already was, the kid was just too impulsive. At least it worked out in this situation. Sniper sighed again.

He shouldn't have teased the kid about his little toy, it was immature. Acting like he was back in grade school, and like Scout was just a…

No. His grip on the wheel tightened. No, why was he getting worried, Scout could do whatever he wanted, he wasn't Sniper's responsibility. If the runner wanted to risk his own life to bring Sniper's back, then let him. If he got himself killed, well, then that would simply be how life played out. Even if that thought tasted sour, Scout willingly joined. He chose to be a mercenary, he knew what the risks and costs were.

Actually, Scout probably didn't, although Sniper couldn't tell if it was on purpose or simply ignorance on the Bostonian's part. He acted like the team were all supposed to be friends, as if he knew absolutely nothing about the power that title held in their line of work. "Friends" with assassins, hitmen, contracted killers, arguably the most morally bankrupt people on the planet(with exceptions), was a one way ticket to getting hurt. Showing any kind of interest, weakness, or vulnerability around people like them could and would be used against them. That was simply what happened again and again.

Trust was something that couldn't be built, comradery was something that couldn't be built, love was something that couldn't be felt, grief was something that couldn't be felt. Those were always thrown back in your face, he had the scars to prove it, either by being betrayed or losing the people you let yourself grow to care about through moral disagreements, or death. Scout himself added to them.

At least the runner came back for him.

He came back. Yes, Scout was rude, annoying, didn't know when to shut up, egotistical, and had basically no manners. And he did ditch Sniper when the going got tough, like so many others. It felt like too many to count.

But Scout still came back.

…he should have at the very least helped Scout dress his arm up before driving. Having one hand wouldn't do so well with keeping the wrappings together. It was the right thing to do. Sniper groaned, massaging his forehead.

Why couldn't he just stop this? Scout was not his friend. He was just a coworker who just so happened to survive the attack at Sawmill and Sniper had had the good enough sense to take him in so that he wouldn't die. That's what happened, and that's what it stayed as.

Course, if Sniper had just left as soon as he regained consciousness, he wouldn't be having this discussion with himself, and he wouldn't be this worried over some scout he happened to save, who had seven brothers, whose second favorite sport was Hockey with his first being Baseball, who could split an apple in half, who had a huge family whom he obviously loved, and-

Sniper rolled down his side window and let his hand slip out, letting the rain shower his skin in frozen shards. Soon enough, his hand was dripping wet, and the cold had seeped deep into his nerves. A distraction from the roundabout turmoil his mind kept playing out. He didn't want to get any closer to Scout, but he couldn't just…

This was going to be difficult, but it had to be done. For both their sakes.

He forgot to tell Scout about their team! Stupid bloody concussions… Alright, he'd have to break the news to the runner once they stopped. Sniper snuck a glance at the side mirror, as if he'd be able to see through the van and check on his companion using it. The inside didn't have a seat belt like the actual…

He hadn't buckled up. Slightly irritated at everything but mostly himself, Sniper finally put on his seat belt after, what, how long had they been driving already? W-What time was it anyway? How long had they been underground, how long had he been comatose, what day was it!?

Sniper looked down at his wrist. His watch read 6:45. However, neither hand moved, the water had damaged it.

D*mn.

Okay, so, obviously he shouldn't be driving for very long if his mind was still skipping like a vinyl disc. But Scout was a danger to himself and others behind the wheel, especially now, and besides, he didn't want anyone behind the wheel of his van while he was still conscious.

Ah, bugger, he'd forgotten to turn on the windshield wipers. No wonder he was having such a hard time focusing on the road, the road was currently impossible to focus on.

Yeah, monster who looked like an average bloke or not, Sniper was going to stop at the closest campsite or hiking trail and call it a day.

He could not keep doing this for six hours straight.


Sniper finally stopped at an out-of-the-way lookout point after about six hours of driving. He hadn't planned it, he passed a good three campsites they could have used, but he forgot that he was supposed to stop driving after a while. The rain, thankfully, had stopped, passing the torch to a thick white fog. While the parking space was small and unkept with grass and moss inching out from the large cracks within the broken cement, the actual landscape the lookout was made for was vast.

Hills, and melting into the horizon, mountains grew from the earth, evergreens coating the formations in soft blues, greys, and greens. The mist from the storm was crawling through the trees, appearing almost like claws cutting scars into the ground. And behind the far country, deep billowing clouds, now white from lack of water, moved as one; a nimbostratus migration.

It would be the perfect place to birdwatch. Or hunt, but one of those seemed more legal than the other. And Sniper had more important things to do at the moment than search for Blue Jays.

Oh boy, Scout, right, hopefully the kid didn't get too ruffled up from the drive. But so what if he did, why should he care?- No, no, none of that at the moment, he didn't need to get back into this right now. Filing his mental debates away and into the back of his mind, Sniper made his way to the camper's door, and entered.

It was dark inside, with the only light coming from through the thin cracks of the closed blinds. It was quiet too, much too quiet for someone like Scout. Sniper closed the door behind, worry prickling at the back of his head. Where'd he-

Oh, he was asleep. There was Scout, curled up on the bench, wrapped in the blanket he'd pulled from Sniper's bed, and cuddling his little pig with his face pressed firmly against the toy's side. Well, perhaps the drive wasn't as bad for the runner as Sniper thought it would be. Either way, Scout was fast asleep. Well, that was alright, Sniper had some things to put away anyway.

Kneeling down and grabbing their backpacks, Sniper placed them on the table as quietly as he could and began to sort through them.

First he went through his own. Out came his kukri and back on its hook, then some jars and bottles of water, some food they didn't eat(Sniper's mouth was starting to water just looking at it), rope, batteries for torches, the toolbox he'd picked up in Engie's workshop, and the ammo he'd also found. Next was Scout's bag, noticeably heavier. No wonder the kid had such a hard time walking. In it was his Machina which he unloaded and put on the safety before leaning it against the wall. The Medigun followed after, heavy in Sniper's arms and completely useless. He sneered down at the lifeless hunk of metal and other bits and pieces only Medic knew made up the contraption. They really risked their lives for this, and it wasn't even working. He placed it on the counter with the toolbox. Maybe he could try fixing it, though he'd probably do more harm than good.

Along he went, taking out and folding the clothes Scout had haphazardly stuffed into his bag, some headsets that he didn't want to touch just yet, food, water, rope and… was there something missing? Sniper furrowed his brow, looking down at the red blazer he was busy folding. It sure felt like it, that they had lost something. Or, maybe they'd forgotten it? Sniper took his bag and rummaged through it again.

…no, it was empty, and now Scout's was too with everything packed away and stored. Was it… ah, it was a couple things actually. That club Scout brought, and his aviators. Well d*mn, and those were already his spare ones, he didn't have another pair. That was disappointing, to say the least.

Slightly glum, Sniper grabbed one of the granola bars they'd packed, and began to tear into it. He never liked the chewy ones, the hard kinds were far superior. Of course, the hard kinds tended to burst into crumbs after the first bite, which, like clockwork, happened to Sniper, covering his shirt in oat particles. Well, that was just the way the cookie, or in this case, granola bar crumbles. Brushing his shirt off, the marksman's eye caught sight of something lying on the floor.

Picking it up and instantly shivering from the wet, freezing touch, Sniper recognized it as the jacket he'd lent Scout. Figures that the runner would just leave it here and not hang it up to dry. Grumbling, the marksman searched through the pockets mostly out of principle. Not checking pockets before putting things in the wash was a sure fire way of losing things like lighters, dollars, lists for groceries, errands, people needing sniping, that kind of stuff. He didn't really think he'd find anything but it was still good to keep a good habit going-

His fingers grazed something cold, metal, and smooth. Sniper grabbed it, slipped it out of the sodden coat, and laughed in astonishment.

It was his sunglasses, completely uncracked or dented. He turned the attire around in his hands, smiling at the small accessory. Apparently though, his single bark of awe was a bit too loud, as Sniper looked up to see Scout shifting and sitting up.

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean ta wake ya," he apologized. Scout sat there, rubbing his eye, and covered in the blanket making him look that much younger. Then, the runner yawned, and then wearily opened his eyes, all the while slightly shivering.

"Freakin'... what da heck, dude, can't a guy get some freakin' beauty sleep around here?" Scout grumbled, squinting at the marksman. "Think you can j. Just hog dat stuff," he sleepily smirked, and held up his pig, "heh, get it? Hog?"

"...Hilarious." Sniper deadpanned, dropping the coat on the counter.

"Heck yeah, I am. Betcher just jealous of my natural charm, dat'll ggeet all da hot chicks. You're so freakin' lucky Fran's taken or else she'd be smitten with me, y'hear? So lucky I don't go after taken chicks."

"...Who's Fran?" Scout's eyes snapped wide, staring at Sniper like he'd just turned into a combustible lemon.

""Who's Fran?", he freakin' says, getta load a this guy! What, did ya h-hit your stupid fat head gettin' back here or somethin'?"

"Well, yes, Oi did."

"You freakin' serious?" Scout asked, "Like, dead on, ain't pppullin' my leg or somethin' like ya already do all da time?"

"...No?"

"Fran. Fran, da girl you had goo-goo eyes for since ninth grade, Frannie, Francine, your freakin' sweetheart, Francine Potts? YOUR GIRLFRIEND!?" Scout shouted, staring Sniper down. The marksman only stood there, aviators in hand, staring back at the runner in silence. Scout was still talking, slightly stuttering, and still shivering. Sniper spoke.

"Whot's moi name?" Scout paused.

"Wha?"

"Whot's moi name?" The runner scoffed, the blanket slipping from his thin shoulders.

"Geez, first ya forget Fran then ya forget your name, nah, you really are just pullin' my leg again! S-Screw you, Harv, seriously, you're da worst, makin' me worried over nothin'." Scout rubbed his nose, glaring at nothing, "and why is it so freakin' cold in here, did you leave da window up? In February?"

"...It's not February, mate."

"Why da h*ll are ya talkin' Aussie? Ya don't look nothin' like one, and it sucks."

Ouch. Fiddling with his shades, Sniper sighed, and moved to stand in front of Scout before kneeling to be at eye level, wincing slightly at the pain it caused his side.

"Scout," he said slowly, softly, trying to make every syllable count, "where are we right now, whot are we in?" Scout made a funny face.

""Scout"? I ain't never been a Boy Scout, dat was Henry. Man," he poked Sniper's forehead, "you really did hit your head, huh? Ma'll kill ya when she finds out."

"Kid, where are you right now?" Sniper repeated, putting Scout's hand to the side. The runner gave him a look before turning his head around, peering at everything. The longer he looked, the more his expression went from annoyed to nervous, and then to horror.

"...this ain't our room." he murmured, catching sight of the kukri hanging from it's hook. "Aw… aw crap. Aw crap, where are we!? How'd we get here!?"

"Listen," Sniper grabbed Scout's shoulders, keeping him grounded. "Oi'm going to tell you, awright? If you remember anything that Oi'm going to tell you, let me know, awright?" Scout only stared at him, and at this point Sniper didn't know if the runner still saw his older brother or him. But after a tense moment, Scout nodded, and Sniper felt the kid relax a bit. He let go, sighed, and tried to figure out where to start.

"Okay, let me first do this, maybe this'll help," Sniper slipped on his aviators with no reaction from Scout, "Awright, you don't go by Jeremy or Jay here. You're Scout, you were hired as a mercenary to fight in a war spanning… Oi don't know, bloody centuries at this point, in New Mexico. Oi was too, we fought on both sides, sometimes each other. Do you remember who Oi am?" Scout swallowed, and shook his head. "That's okay, Oi'm the Sniper, and we would fight on teams that had seven other positions. They're the Pyro, the Soldier, the Demoman, the Heavy, the Spy, the Medic, and one other. Do you know whot the last class is?"

"N-no?"

"The Engineer. We all fought together and… ya gettin' any of this?" Sniper paused his talk when he met Scout's eyes. They were wide, and confused, but there was something. Perhaps more… recent events would work better.

"Right now you're in moi camper van, do you know whoi?" Scout again shook his head, looking more nervous than before, "in one of our bases, we were attacked. Oi got knocked out during it, so Oi don't know moiself whot happened. But you and the rest of the team were attacked by a monster- don't give me that look, it's the truth. You and the others were attacked, there were bullet casings everywhere, blood on the floors, the walls were torn apart. And when Oi woke up, you lot were missing. All of you, gone, without a trace… except you." Sniper took Scout's shoulder, who flinched in response, "you managed to survive. Not without some scars, but you survived. And when Oi found you, Oi took ya in, got ya stitched up, and we've been on the run ever since.

"Do you remember any of that?" Sniper asked. Scout sat there, silent, wary and shaking.

"k-Kinda, I don't know," he whined, "didn't ya… I'm not at, I'm not home. You ain't Harv, I ain't home. And my hand's missin'..." The runner stared down at his damaged arm, clearly disoriented.

"Before you fell asleep here, you… well, ya saved moi life. Twice."

"I di- Oh crap, I did!" Scout perked up, almost smiling, running his hand through his hair. Sniper rolled his eyes, of course bringing that up would do the trick. "When ya fell- when we fell, and ya did hit your head, and then ya kept fallin' and wobblin' around like "woah, hey, what's, what's goin' on, fellas?" as if you were drunk or something, and I save ya with lightning, and then you woke up, and then you told me, dat, dat it was a... a bad idea…" The runner's ramble ran its course, and Sniper was left to pick up the pieces.

"Well, it was, it was a really stupid decision," Sniper admitted, scratching his neck, "n-not that Oi'm not grateful for you doing that. For me. But… you could have seriously gotten hurt."

"Like I'm d-da freakin' picture perfect model of not-hurt dudes right now."

"Oi'm being serious, getting struck like that, heart starting or not, is deadly, whoi is this not connecting?"

"Why do you keep bringing it up like what I did was so freakin' bad!?" Scout shot back, "I saved your life."

"While risking yours with no forward thinking! If it had gone awry in any way, you and Oi wouldn't be standing here discussing this." He argued. The runner sat there, glaring at him. But not out of anger, something else.

"W-Why do you keep doin' dat?" Scout asked, running his hand through his hair. That was not the question Sniper was expecting.

"Doin' whot?"

"Bringing up me gettin' hurt from it." The runner explained, "You told me dat you don't… dat you don't like me. In da mines, you said dat. So, freakin', just why are you actin' like you care?" The question was followed by a tense silence with neither party wanting to follow up. But Sniper eventually did, slowly as he was still formulating his thoughts.

"It's not, Oi, Oi didn't… It's not that Oi… That Oi don't, don't care. It's, well, Oi never said Oi don't care about ya. But, ya need to understand, we… this, this can't…"

"But you still don't like me?" Scout pressed, "You "care" but you still hate m-my guts?"

"...Hate is… a bit of a strong word, lad." The runner said nothing, but it seemed he didn't need to. Whatever he was looking for, whatever he wanted to hear from Sniper, he got. He turned away, pulling the blanket around him, curling himself into a tight ball, making himself as small as possible. And Sniper was left standing there, waiting for a response he knew he wouldn't get.

After several moments of nothing, he walked to the door, telling Scout that he would be back in a bit, that he needed some air. Behind him, he heard Scout mumble something, but it was too quiet to decipher. One thing he could understand completely though, was the kid's face. The sight left a bitter taste on his tongue as he shut the door behind him.

He made his way to the front of the van, creating small plats whenever he stepped in a little puddle. With a huff, Sniper slipped back into the driver's seat and collapsed back into the cushioned chair. After a moment of just resting his eyes, Sniper plucked off his shades and rubbed the corners of his eyes where water had been forming from just how tired he was of all of this. The runner had taken it the wrong way, not that the right way was any better.

Ugh, he shouldn't have said anything then, not with how unstable Scout was, not right after being mistaken as his older brother. He'd been impatient, unprepared, and handled it with less tact than the marksman normally had. Now the expression Scout had when he left was etched into his vision. Anger, disbelief, misery. He didn't even tell him the good news about their team. Should've started with that, maybe then Scout wouldn't be so stuck on this issue. Maybe he wouldn't be so stuck on this issue. Sniper swallowed down the lime-like aftertaste building on his tongue. Just, that dejection he'd spotted right as he turned, right in the corner of his eye.

No, so what if Scout was upset, or offended. Offense was taken, not given. And he wasn't entitled to Sniper's company. It was about time he learned just what their titles cost them.

Opening the glove box, Sniper fished out the package of cigarettes he kept stashed, and with a shaking hand, took one.

He could really use a smoke right now.


The soft sound of light rain woke Sniper up from his nap. He didn't know when he'd fallen asleep, or how long, but it was still day by the looks of it, perhaps around two in the afternoon. Or only five minutes after sitting down. He made to check his watch, but remembered it was broken. Cursing under his breath, Sniper opened the door and stepped outside, nearly standing on the two cigarette butts he'd tossed out the window. Chill, silent water drops landed on his hat and shoulders, barely registered by the marksman as he put on his shades and limped back towards the camper's door. This blasted broken rib of his.

It would only make things worse if he waited longer to clear up what he'd left behind. No doubt that Scout, the stubborn b*****d, would ignore, or downright scoff at what Sniper would try and say to him. But he couldn't just leave the kid like that, so disoriented.

He shouldn't have left at all, it was a shirking of… not responsibility, something else. But it wasn't proper, and Sniper wasn't going to let whatever this thing, these emotions or what have you, get in the way of him setting the record straight.

Mentally preparing himself for the firestorm of wrath Scout was no doubt festering, Sniper opened the door.

Like before, it was dark. And like before, it was quiet. Sniper scanned the small space, stopping at the bench Scout was last sitting in.

He wasn't there. Sniper froze. Looking around, it was clear that Scout wasn't in the camper at all. The blanket had been bunched up, tossed away. And that was the only thing out of place. Nothing else on the counters, on the table, his bed, or the walls were in a position or place they shouldn't be in.

No.

There was one thing missing.

One thing Scout had taken with him.

Sniper jumped back out, slamming the door behind him. Where, where was he? Where did Scout go? He made to call out the runner's name, but it was then he noticed that the only thing he could hear was the rainfall.

The uneven, light tips and plips of the water landing on cement, trees, and his shirt, were the only noises the marksman could hear. Not the wind, not a bird, not a creaking branch or distant roaming vehicle from the highway ten minutes away. To break such a silence felt taboo, like laying a curse on himself. So he didn't. Instead, Sniper began to search.

As the light tap dance of rain fell onto his shoulders, Sniper headed towards a hiking trail he'd spotted from the overhang. It was the only place he'd think to look at. Making his way through the sparse trees and past the parking lot, he came to the trail sign.

So there were three paths that separated from this main one. The first went downhill, the second kept straight, and the third went uphill. P*ss, was he going to have to check each one? That would take forever. Perhaps he could just wait. Scout always seemed to come back, sometimes it took hours, sometimes days, sometimes Sniper didn't want him back, but he still kept coming back.

But what kind of message would that send, that Scout's interpretations were right? That Sniper really just wanted Scout dead so that he wouldn't have to carry him around anymore? No, he may not be a good man, but he wasn't that cruel yet. Sniper began to memorize the trails, judging their length and difficulty each would have with his broken rib. As he looked, tracing the downhill trail, the marksman spotted something from his side.

To any normal person, a truly average joe, no one would notice or care about the barely there deer trail cutting through some ferns. And perhaps Sniper wouldn't have cared either if he wasn't already on high alert. But Scout had used animal trails before to find a place of solitude...

It was worth a shot.

He marched down the uneven path, not caring if he left some footprints; he'd want a way back after all. Through ferns, bushes, and beneath towering pines, firs, and cedars Sniper limped. Soon the ferns gave way to ankle high grass, coated in glistening dew. Trees, once dense, distanced and grew sparse. And the clear air was soon filled with a thick, snow white mist. A deep cold clung to the air, sending shivers through the marksman's arms. The further he went, the more the mist surrounded the land, and the rain, once soft, had grown into a pattern, just enough to cause the grass to bend under its weight.

And as if it was a call, an invitation, Sniper entered the grove.

The clearing was wide, filled with nothing but that shining grass, rolling mist, and moss covered boulders. That, and a shivering, small figure, standing alone with his back towards Sniper. The sight of Scout, without any form of protection from the elements, caused a spark of irritation and…

Concern.

"Oy!" he shouted, forgetting the mystical silence he'd first worried about, "Oi get that you wanted to get away from me but did you have to go without a bloody jacket?" No answer. He opened his mouth to say something else, something snarky, something serious, but the words died on his lips. His companion didn't move, only continued to shiver, holding his arms close to his chest so that Sniper couldn't see them. The rain fell upon the grass, and the mist rolled past their ankles.

It was far too quiet.

Something was up.

"Scout?" The runner's head looked up towards the sky, letting the droplets coat his hair in freezing water. Sniper didn't say a word as he watched his teammate, who was the most energetic ball of smugness and caffeine he'd known, slowly shift on his feet, like he was encased in molasses. After far too long, Scout had turned just enough to show the side of his face, one that held an expression far too world weary for someone like him to ever have.

Something was wrong.

"Mate?"

"...Y'know, I've always kinda liked da rain," Scout said, his voice hardly louder than a whisper, but from the silence around them, it was loud enough to carry through the distant trees. "it has a real nice sound when it's hittin' da bricks, makes da sidewalks shine under da streetlights, and it washes away all da junk and dirt dat builds up everywhere. Dat's another thing," Scout turned away again, staring up at the white sky, "it just… just washes it all away. Like, when you lose a fight you thought for sure you'd win, it'll wash da blood from your face and soak your clothes so da stains don't stick. O-or, when you do something stupid, and you know it was stupid, but you did it anyway, it'll make you all wet so dat your brothers don't know you've been cryin'. Rain helps. It helps ya out a lot." The runner's voice wavered, growing slightly louder. "A-And I thought it would help with this, too, but…

"Nothing helped, a-and I thought dat, maybe, maybe da rain would help. At least a bit, not just for me, but ta keep da two a us safe. From dat freak, I mean. But it didn't, I saw, it didn't kill it. Water, all it does is just slow it down." Sniper watched as Scout shuffled his feet in the grass, soaking his shoes. "Like guns, and blood, and fire. It can't die, it… and honestly, I shoulda known cause all I've been doin' is slowin' it down. Nothin' worked, I mean, I didn't… I started too late. I was too late and all I was doin' was just checkin' dat I was..."

"Kid, whot are you talking about?" Sniper finally asked, "Look, you're disoriented, tired, not in your right state of mind. Let's head back, awright, before ya make yourself worse." He started to step closer to the runner, "Oi don't want ya gettin' worse, so jus'-" He had barely taken three cautious steps when Scout snapped around. The speed forced Sniper to stumble back, widening his eyes at the venomous glare Scout had as well as the kukri pointed at him.

"Do not come over here sayin' dat crap." Scout hissed, teeth bared and breathing hard. "I know you're lyin'; da only reason why you came lookin' was for this," he waved the kukri around, "You're stupid knife. Dat's all you care about here, dat's what you want, you just want Mr. Chop-chop back." the runner continued to wave the knife around to emphasize his words with no regard to himself. Sniper could only watch in silent horror whenever the blade got too close to Scout's skin. And the runner didn't seem to notice when he cut a nick into his damaged arm.

He needed to get that thing out of Scout's hand.

"I ain't dat big of an idiot, so you can stop it with da freakin' "Oh, even though I told ya I hated you and dat you're a worthless excuse of a human bein', I actually care about you a lot" crap, okay!?" Scout's voice was growing loud and soft in irregular patterns, as if he was constantly being told by someone Sniper couldn't see to lower his voice, "You ain't my friend, never was, never will be, okay, you make dat," Scout swallowed, his glare softening, "really… really freakin' clear, all da d*mn time…" He stood there, looking down, holding the kukri close to his chest like a lifeline. Sniper remained silent as the runner started again, with a voice that held none of the hatred from before. A voice that was far too small for someone like Scout.

"It's just… I wanted ta think dat… maybe I'd get ta know what it feels like. Ta have someone around dat wants ta hang out with… with you, and not one of your way cooler older brothers. Dat someone would actually call you their friend and not just "my friend's little brother".

"...I thought I could do dat here. Cause I wouldn't be just "da runt", anymore, I'd be… be more. I-I thought dat, dat if I just, I just show them, just show you all dat I'm strong enough, strong enough ta kill and, an-and could fight, make jokes, dat things would change. Dat you'd all. All listen and… You'd all want me here too…" Scout stopped, then raised his gaze to meet Sniper's.

"Guess not.

"Cause nothing changed." Scout growled, beginning to pace and swing the knife around, "Nothing. We were there, hired, and dat's all we were there for, ta win a war. No one was there ta stand out, ta prove dat they were just as good as anybody else there, ta make some… some… so, honestly, what did I expect?" He was growing louder, his movements becoming more erratic. "Nothing changed, cept I went from da youngest, annoyin', stupid sibling ta da youngest, most annoyin', stupidest team member! I know dat's what you guys really thought," Scout turned back towards Sniper, who flinched at the accusation, "Da way you'd look at me, tell me ta shut up all da time, dat I never had anythin' worthwhile ta say, dat I'm just a… a worthless kid. They never, ever listened!" Scout was shouting now, words tumbling out.

"So then why da **** do I- why can't I- you did it," the runner cried out, confused, indignant, eyes wild and crackling with distressed lightning, "why can't… I, they… they hated me! You hate me too, I don't, why can't I h… I can't hate you back. I-I don't know why I just… they weren't all bad, yeah, but it all. All of it. Every d*mn day. No one ever listened, cared. Why should I care, why do I care?... Why can't I hate you back, it's not fair! Why can't I just wish they'd all been ripped ta shreds, why did I save, wh- why do I still- why am I still talkin' ta you!?" Scout looked to Sniper for an answer, an answer to the emotional hurricane the kid was currently neck deep in, "You don't care! You never cared! But I just keep doin' this ta myself! It ain't fair! Why'd I survive, why'd I have ta live with this, why'd it do this!?

"Why couldn't you have just listened ta me!?" He shouted. Even from where Sniper stood, he could see too much of the white in Scout's eyes, see the rivets of water running down his skin. "Listened da first time, when I said, I told you there was a monster, why couldn't you have just listened for once!? And Landfall, Sawmill, everythin', why does nobody ever listen!? You didn't listen, Heavy and Soldiah didn't listen! Medic, Spy, they sure as h*ll don't! EVER! Dat thing dat looked like me? I told it ta let me go! It didn't listen! And it looked like me, like me! Do you know what dat means!?" Scout asked, "It was me! I was a freakin' shapeshiftin' monster who- and- I ain't an idiot, okay, I know what dat means! It was me!" The kid's accent and voice was growing heavy from emotion, and wavering, on the cusp of breaking.

"And dat wouldn't have happened if dat- dat ****in', it just let me go!- If it just let me go, so I could sti- I c- it didn't listen… I… I just wanted it to stop, but it didn't and it wouldn't let m- pinned me, gr- grab, grabbed m… I didn't want, but it, it didn't listen, just ke, just, just kept goin'... just kept…" With that, Scout's tirade ended not with a shout, but with horrible silence as the runner let the kukri fall from his hand, embedding itself in the grass far too close to his foot, and used the back of his trembling limb to cover his eyes.

Nothing besides the rain carried any sound. In fact, it seemed like all the surrounding sounds were being absorbed, stolen, leaving nothing but a thick silence that was building and building. Then, Scout's breath hitched, and it took Sniper far too long to realize that the runner was crying.

But he was trying his hardest not to. Scout's hand covered his eyes, keeping tears from falling, face growing pink from holding his breath, holding back sobs. Only when his breath hitched again did Sniper finally move.

He went forward, quietly, cautious, as if approaching a cornered animal, and stopped an arm's length away.

"It's," Sniper started, voice rough from neglect, "hey, it's awright, you're awright." Obviously Scout wasn't, but he didn't know what else to say. And when he hesitantly placed his hand on the runner's shaking shoulder, the full extent of his small companion's physical ailments hit him like a freight train.

The first thing Sniper noticed was the heat radiating off Scout's skin. Even through the cold wet fabric of his shirt, he could feel the feverish warmth seeping through. And beneath the clothes that now looked like curtains hanging loose, the sharpness of the runner's collarbones, tendons in his neck, cheeks, and the ridges of his spine creating a small mountain range through his shirt. Pale was an understatement of his skin tone, it was ghostly, porcelain, paper thin where Sniper could see the blue veins like hairline cracks underneath the surface. But seeing the runner in such a sorry state wasn't what made the marksman's mind scramble for answers. It wasn't the realization of finding his youngest teammate like this.

It was the realization that Scout had been like this for days, and Sniper hadn't noticed, or…

Or didn't care to.

When he'd taken Scout's shoulder, the runner tensed up, shaking, putting up his guard. He'd lowered his arm, revealing the red, tear filled eyes that looked at Sniper with what the marksman could only describe as fractured desperation. Noticing the still crimson complexion, Sniper gave Scout's shoulder a light squeeze.

"Hey, don't forget to breathe," he said softly, "you could hurt yourself holding it in like that." Scout swallowed, chest heaving, before taking a sharp gasp of air and launching himself at Sniper.

The feeling of his already damaged rib cage getting crushed by the hug Sniper found himself in stole his breath and made him bite his tongue. Scout had wrapped his arms around his chest and shoved his face into Sniper's shoulder, muffling the powerful sobs wracking the runner's skeletal frame. Sniper stood frozen, eyes wide, and arms stiff from the sudden contact. It took the sounds of Scout saying something into his shirt to bring his attention back to the present.

"'M sorry for leavin' ya behind…" Sniper heard the runner rasp, "'M so- 'M so freakin' sorry! Ya- ya didn't deserve it!..." The way it was said, and the warm saltwater staining his front along with everything that he'd been witness for, struck the marksman, and awoke something deep within him, long since forgotten.

Sniper wrapped his arms around Scout and held him.

"It's okay, it's okay, you've long since made up for it," he murmured, "it was a high stress situation, and there's not much you can do with only one hand, though Oi guess Oi was the one who needed a hand then." His little joke wasn't good by any stretch of the imagination, in fact he'd argue it was the antithesis of humor, but the little heh he felt Scout made was worth Sniper's attempt at lightening the mood. "But it… it happened, can't change the past so there's no point staying in it. So, Oi guess Oi'm sayin' Oi- don't wipe your nose on moi shirt, that's disgusting!" Sniper lightly pushed Scout away, who was now snickering with tears smeared across his face, and looked down at his shirt with exaggerated frustration. "Ah, come on, Oi jus' had this washed." The small look of amusement Scout had dropped.

"Y-Ya did?"

"Yeah, Oi'm actually standing in the wash right now," Sniper pointed to the rain clouds, and Scout snorted, wiping his eyes while a watery smile formed.

"Now come on," he snaked an arm over the kid's shoulders, gently herding him towards the clearing's edge, "ya don't need to get more wet than you already are. Let's go back and get you nice and dry, and something to eat, awright?"

"But your knife," Scout looked back at the weapon lodged in the ground. Sniper looked too, and shrugged.

"Oi'll come back for it later," He said. "After we get you cleaned up."

"...yeah, okay." Scout mumbled, wiping his nose. "I… I, yeah, i-it's really cold. Really freakin' cold out here, Mick."

"Yeah, you should have grabbed a jacket," Sniper managed to grumble before a sneeze shook him, "oh, blimey, Oi should've grabbed a jacket!" Scout only chuckled in response.


When Sniper returned, dripping wet, with his kukri after he'd dropped the runner off, he found said runner curled up on the table-made-bed in the blanket along with a quilt he forgot he had. Within the fabric fort, Scout sat there, shivering, holding Mr. TruffleSnuffle in the crook of his arm, and eating spoonful's of the jar of jelly he'd gotten from the fridge.

"You know, when Oi said getting ya something to eat," Sniper began, slipping off the rain jacket he'd remembered to grab, "that wasn't whot Oi had in mind."

"It tastessss good," Scout defended, sticking another spoonful in his mouth, "Itsz sthweet, width berriez."

"Yes, berries and jams tend to be sweet, that's whoi they make berry jams."

"I like blueberries, but this iss good too."

"Good to know,"

"Why'd you leave, a-anyway?" Sniper looked back at his shaky companion after hanging his knife back up. Scout only blinked at him.

"...Oi was only gone for ten minutes, did you seriously forget in that time frame?"

"Uh…" Scout squinted in thought, "youuuuuuu weeerrrrrre goin' ta… get somethin', right?"

"Moi kukri, yes." Sniper watched, scrutinizing every movement the runner made. Scout only continued to shiver, licking his spoon.

"...How're you feeling?"

"Cold." Scout mumbled, "my head feels funny." Sniper made his way over and ignored the shocked squeak Scout made when he placed his palm on the runner's forehead. He kept it there for only a second before snatching it away.

"You're burning up," Sniper said as he grabbed one of their backpacks from before, rummaging through it.

"Yyeah, cause I'm a… a freakin' shootin' star!" Scout mumbled into his blanket, smiling cheekily, "a-and I'm also… really hot, super hot, heck yeah."

"Do you remember any events from the past hour or so?" Sniper asked, his search growing faster. Scout gave an exaggerated shrug, still smiling.

"Nope. But you told me ta eat somethin', and wrap my arm at… I dunno, somewhere. Somewhen, 'm mean."

"Did you use a Medkit when doing so?"

"Medkit?"

"For your arm, or did you jus' wrap it up?"

"I w-wrapped it up, see?" Scout raised his trembling arm up, letting the blanket slip away. Sniper looked and felt his blood grow cold.

It was wrapped up all right, wrapped up poorly, and the once-beige bandages were stained a deep brown. Sniper dropped the backpack, and asked "did you ever use a Medkit for your arm?"

"Couldn't, I used them a-all."

"You used all of them!?" Sniper shouted, causing the runner to jump, "When!?"

"F-For you," Scout said, nervousness creeping into his tone, "when you fell a-and hit your head."

"When you mean you used all of them on me, you actually mean you used them all on me after using one for your arm, right?" The runner sat there, trembling beneath the covers, "that's whot you meant, right Scout?"

"...you weren't wakin' up though, I-I didn't know what ta do…"

"Oh no- okay, let me look at ya." Sniper sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing Scout's arm. The runner didn't make a peep as the marksman unwound the wrappings.

"Does it hurt, like, in general or when touching something-"

"It ain't hurtin' no more," Scout said, taking an interest in gnawing off some hangnails, "like, earlier in da caves it hurt like crazy, like super bad. But you were busy knockin' yourself out and couldn't walk ta save your life so I just thought "hey, my buddy here ain't doin' too hot, I'mma just ignore this" which was kinda e-easy ta do. Not da pain but knowing I couldn't do s**t about it cause I used up all a da medkits on ya made it easier ta… well, yeah, it was hurtin' bad for a few hours down there, but then I saved your *ss with l-lightning, and then it was only tingly. Like, really tingly, like little spiders just crawlin' on my skin and in my skin and in my fingers too. Now it ain't hurtin' or tinglin', I can't feel it at all actually," Scout grinned at the realization, "hey, dat's a good thing, right? Now it ain't freakin' keepin' me awake and wantin' ta cut da rest of it off!"

"...numbness like that isn't a good thing, Scout." Sniper mumbled, tearing the rest of the bandages off, "it isn't good at all."

"Why? It stopped makin' me hurt so bad."

"Because pain is how we know when something is wrong," he explained, "it's how we-"

"...What, how we what?" Scout asked when the marksman didn't continue. A moment passed, and the runner began to squirm at the silence that persisted. The older man simply stared at the younger's damaged limb with a harrowed expression. He opened his mouth to speak, before sliding a hand down his face and looking away.

"M-Mick, dude, c'mon man, you're freakin' me out here," Scout chuckled weakly. Sniper finally met his eyes, and Scout's grin faltered.

"Do…" Sniper started, words hitching on their roughness, "Oi.. Scout, do…

"...Do you know whot… whot Gangrene is?"