Hello, tis me, tis an update, it's the longest one so far which I did not expect! Welp. But we're reaching the climax, I hope you're ready. I sure ain't!

Also, if you've been liking this story, liking it's tone, the grittiness, the no pulled punches, the drama! Then check out The Stars Moved Over Teufort by Gonturan0. She's helped me find typos and without her, this fic wouldn't exist. So go check out her works, they're very good!


"Miss Pauling?" The Australian exclaimed. Miss Pauling let herself smile.

"Sniper," she started, "you are one hard man to find."

"'Cuse moi language but bloody h*ll are you a sight for sore eyes," Sniper said, stepping down from the van to not tower quite so much over her. It didn't make much of a difference, she still had to tilt her head back a bit in order to meet his eyes. "How'd… wait jus' a moment."

"Hm?" Miss Pauling didn't have the chance to ask when Sniper took hold of her wrist. A moment passed, and Sniper let go, noticeably more relaxed.

"Jus' had to make sure," was what he said when she gave him a confused look.

"Um, alright," the secretary said, "now how about you invite me inside," she looked over his shoulder towards the van, "we have a lot to talk about."

"Ah, right," Sniper stepped aside to let her in, "if you don't mind me asking, how did you find us?"

"I made a spiral sweep from your last known recorded location, which was Sawmill, and found you. Figured you wouldn't go too far this time."

"Sawmill? But we left a month ago. Were you searching this whole time?"

"You were there just four days ago, weren't you?"

"How did you-"

"Scout made contact over your contract line."

"He did?"

"You… did you not know that?" Miss Pauling asked, stopping at the doorway. Sniper shook his head.

"He never told me. Though," He scratched his neck with a solemn expression, "the last few days were a bit… much."

"What- oh, right! Scout! Is he still with you, is he here?" She marched into the van, not waiting for an answer. "Oh my-"

"Don't wake him up," the assassin ordered from behind her.

"What happened to him?" Miss Pauling gasped. Scout was asleep. Or she hoped he was only asleep. Her merc was pale, undernourished, and his arm. It was even shorter than she remembered from the security tapes! It honestly looked like he'd been poisoned.

"Did you poison him, Sniper!?"

"No Oi didn't poison him, and keep your voice down please," the marksman closed the van's door. Miss Pauling turned back towards the man.

"Then what-"

"Long night," was all he said. And that was all she was going to get from him. Miss Pauling could press, could demand he tell her under threat of his employment or life, but what would that do? Not only was it rude to do it in the man's own home, but he was also one of only two people that had the information she so desperately needed. And, though it sounded mean, she didn't want Scout being the one to tell her everything.

"Alright," she sighed, slipping onto the bench opposite of Sniper, "now, I have a lot of questions-"

"Oi do too," the marksman interrupted, standing up from the table and grabbing a steaming coffee pot. "Want some?"

"...yeah, sure," Miss Pauling leaned on her hand, "the last one I had was around… oh, what time is it?"

"No idea."

"You have a wristwatch."

"It was broken."

"Ah, well it had to have been hours by now and-" she yawned, "-it's wearing off."

"Don't have too much left," Sniper mumbled, looking through his cupboards and grabbing two mugs, "had to make quite a bit of it the past few days."

"I had to have a lot too, being behind the wheel for over 42 hours tends to do that."

"All nighters?"

"All nighters."

"Sorry about that," Sniper set a full mug in front of her. She nodded a thanks and took a sip, instantly scrunching up at the bitter black taste, "seems we both had a couple."

"Why'd you stay up?"

"Scout." The marksman said, running a hand through his hair. "Like Oi said, things were hectic."

"...what happened to you two?" Miss Pauling asked, "Why is his arm shorter than before?"

"How did you know about his arm?" The tone was slightly lower than the rest of their conversation. The tiredness Miss Pauling felt was slipped into a folder and placed in the back of her mind as she locked eyes with Sniper.

"I'm afraid that is classified," she stated. Sniper's eyes narrowed by a hundredth of an inch.

"...it sure took you a while to start searching for us," the marksman began, never breaking eye contact, "a month since we last spoke. Whoi didn't you start a spiral sweep then? Unless there was something… more important than two renegade mercenaries?"

"The Administrator sees you as expendable, other matters not so much. And I'm afraid such matters are classified towards expendables-"

"Miss Pauling," Sniper slipped off his aviators and slipped into the bench opposite of her. His tone was lighter, and his eyes had the appearance of relaxation. But there was a cold fire behind them, with the frostbite gray of his eyes matching the kukri he had placed on the table top.

"Considering the fact that Oi've personally been affected by this whole ordeal, as well as moi teammate behind you, to a worse extent, Oi think it's fair to want a tad bit of information. Jus' a tad, you understand. Perhaps about whot that creature is that's been hunting us down as of late."

Miss Pauling remained quiet, posture proper but relaxed with her hands folded in her lap, only a few inches from the pistol holstered to her thigh. It would take a second to grab it, and another to unlock the safety while bringing it up towards the marksman in front of her. As for Sniper, it would take less than a second to close his hand over his knife and swing at her. Ducking wasn't reliable, the table was in the way, and since Sniper was right handed, he'd swing from her left, forcing her to the right and into the tin wall of the van, effectively trapped.

She didn't want to fight him. She wouldn't just lose. She wouldn't just lose her life, but a valuable ally who she knew wasn't as expendable as The Administrator wanted her to so desperately believe. Miss Pauling sighed.

"When he's awake, I tell you what I believe to know. I don't have all the facts. And I still can't tell you everything. But I'll try to answer any questions you ask, alright? Is that fair?" Sniper remained silent and wary. After a moment of keeping eye contact, the marksman blinked and leaned back, the tension dispersing.

"Awright," he agreed, pulling the kukri off of the table and putting back on his aviators, "that's fine. Jus' think we deserve some answers after everything."

"I understand," Miss Pauling said before the pair's attention was stolen by a light groan and the rustling of blankets. Sniper's eyes snapped over her shoulder with an expression she couldn't quite place. But it was one that she didn't know if she ever saw him wearing before.

"Aw h*ll," he mumbled, "well, guess we'll get some answers sooner than later. Oy, Scout, getcher self up, we got some company." Miss Pauling turned to watch as Scout rolled around in the thin blanket with an irritated expression. "C'mon lad, can't sleep the whole day away."

"Don't want company…" the runner whined into the mattress.

"Ya might like this one. Come on, wake up,"

"No," Scout growled, covering his head with his arms, "tell. Tell 'em thanks f' comin', and **** off. 'M sleepin'." With that, the Bostonian rolled back over and went quiet. Sniper sighed, stood, and grabbed his own mug from the countertop. After taking a sip, he roughly began to shake the runner. Scout made a noise of annoyance, and then another when Sniper refused to stop, then he pushed himself up.

"Fr'k'in fine, 'M aw'ke!" He grumbled. Miss Pauling held back a smirk. Scout definitely looked more alive like this, now that his eyes were open. His hair was a mess, sticking up and grazing the ceiling, and his eyes were slits that were slowly taking in the camper. Finally, they met Miss Pauling's, and widened by the tiniest margins.

"Hey Sc-"

"Holy crap, an angel!" He proclaimed. Miss Pauling stumbled on her words as Sniper glanced in her direction.

"It's… it's Pauling, Scout."

"What's th' difference?" The sleepy Scout asked while rubbing his eyes. Her eyebrows shot up. Sniper took another sip. She opened her mouth to respond, didn't, then cleared her throat.

"Man, thing's 're quiet in here," Scout noticed, blinking away any remaining sleepiness. Then, he focused back to Miss Pauling, eyes cleared. "Wait, Miss Pauling?" His eyes shot open and paled, "MISS PAULING?"

"Hello," she said as Scout fell from the bunk, kicking away the blanket. He shot to his feet, ears redder than a tomato.

"Nice landing," Sniper commented to the runner. Scout snapped his head towards Sniper with an irate expression.

"Dude," he hissed, "why didn't you say Miss Pauling was here!?"

"Oi said we had company."

"Company! Not Miss freakin' Pauling!"

"Didn't think it mattered that much,"

"You didn't-"

"Guys," Miss Pauling interrupted, causing the two to pause and look her way, "come on, we have actual important stuff to talk about. Right, Sniper?" The marksman stood straighter.

"Ah, right, c'mon kid," He pushed the runner towards the bench. Scout stiffly sat down, followed more leisurely by Sniper.

"Right," the marksman began, "so, now that you're awake, me and-"

"Man, are you a freakin' sight for sore eyes!" Scout blurted out, cutting Sniper off. The assistant felt the corners of her mouth twitch up as Scout continued. "Like, geez, we've been plannin' on callin' ya for weeks now! And now you show up like a, like a freakin' mind reader, this is awesome!" He gleefully elbowed Sniper's arm, "it's her! She's here, man! We actually got a somethin' good for once happenin'! How'd," he turned back to her with awe, "how'd you find us? Mick's been keepin' us movin' for, like, a month now." Miss Pauling glanced towards Sniper, or "Mick" as Scout was so quick to call him. So they were on a first name basis, now. "Mick" refused to meet her eyes, instead staring into his mug as he took a sip.

"Actually, I found you two through you, Scout," Miss Pauling explained, "through your call for help on the contract line."

"Wait, you heard dat!?"

"Yes."

"Then how come-"

"Yeah, about that," Sniper cut him off, turning to face Scout with a miffed expression, "whoi didn't you tell me you made contact? And when the h*ll did you do it cause it wasn't during the last few days, Oi can tell you that!"

"I didn't even know she heard dat, why didn't ya respond?"

"I tried to," Miss Pauling said, "my phone was in my backpack and a corpse landed on me-"

"Now hold on, Miss, when did you send out a message, Scout?"

"When it trapped me your dorm, my backpack got loose and dropped s**t everywhere-"

"Wait, it? What "it", are you too talking about-" At that, both mercenaries turned towards Miss Pauling, talking over each other to explain.

"-It's a shapeshiftin' freak dat-"

"-been following us for days-"

"-it got Snipah at Landfall and-"

"-there's two of-"

"Oh for ****'s sake," Miss Pauling declared, "we're getting nowhere like this!" The mercs' rambles pilfered out. "Start from the beginning; I want to know what happened at Sawmill."

She'd said something wrong. The atmosphere had changed. Sniper stiffened, and began to glare at her until he looked away, scratching at the table top. Scout's eyes widened and he went impossibly still. Then, he curled up, rubbing his shoulder with a somewhat pained expression. Neither of them would meet her eyes.

"What, is that somehow off limits?" Miss Pauling asked.

"It's classified," Sniper stated, "Oi'm sure you understand." The marksman's gaze was steady. He wouldn't tell her anything. She turned towards Scout, who looked away instantly.

"Scout," the runner winced, "what happened at Sawmill?"

"...uhh… I, well, ya see, what had happened was… uh. We-" he began to drum his fingers along the table "-got ambushed. Yeah, got, like, "ambushed" is da right word, right?" Scout looked over to Sniper. The marksman shrugged, still watching Miss Pauling. "Yeah, okay, ambushed. Uh… t-there, uh, there was a, well, it…" the runner seemed to deflate, expression devolving into that of solemnness, "it… it was m-"

"Messenger," Sniper said, the glint of his shades glowed as he nodded, "it was a messenger. Well, disguised as one's more accurate. Thought she had sent them so we let them right on through. Didn't work out well."

"Oh no," Miss Pauling massaged her temple, muttering to herself, "it really was meant to be a spy." The pair before her froze, and she felt her muscles tense up in preparation.

"...Whot." She heard Sniper growl. "Whot did you jus' say?" The secretary sighed through her nose.

"Dude," Scout jabbed Sniper in the arm again, "don't freakin' act like dat, c'mon!" He leaned over towards Miss Pauling and whispered "What da heck did ya mean by dat exactly?" She locked eyes with her mercenary, stormy blue with jade greens. Then, she sighed.

"...tell me everything," she implored, looking at the two men, "tell me everything that happened, everything that you went through from Sawmill to when I showed up. Please," she met Sniper's incredulous gaze, "if I don't know anything, I don't know what I can help with." It was a gamble, letting herself seem even slightly vulnerable, slightly out of her depth. But it would help. Scout was already proving that fact. The runner was nudging the marksman with his elbow.

"Come on, man," he said, "ain't this what we've been waitin' for?" Sniper was silent with his arms crossed. "Maybe she knows how ta kill it, c'mon." The marksman didn't respond verbally. He looked over to Scout, who was giving him what appeared to be some very convincing puppy eyes. Then his shoulders fell and he rumbled "Awright," Sniper turned towards Miss Pauling, the distrust in his gaze no longer biting, "where would you like us to start?"

"I don't need a play by play," she looked pointedly at Scout, "just the key events. If I have questions, I'll ask them." The sharpshooter nodded, and turned towards his younger teammate.

"Would you like me to start?" He asked. Scout shrugged, resting his head on his arms. "Oi'll start then. Right, so, when we were attacked the first time, it tried taking me out first," Miss Pauling sat up straighter, "Oi don't remember much, got a blow to the head from moi nest collapsing on me. That thing likes to make quite a bit of collateral damage. Knocked me out, and when Oi woke up, the rest of the lads were gone. Supposed since Oi was covered, it thought Oi was dead. Don't know for certain. But there was no one left besides him," Sniper took hold of Scout's shoulder, "he'd managed to lead the blasted thing away from the base and lose it in the forest when Oi came across him."

"How?" Miss Pauling asked, facing the runner, "how did you escape it?" Sniper made to answer for him, but Scout cut him off.

"Da rain," he mumbled, "it was pretty wet and… and water was makin' it weak, I guess. It… it did get me, it grabbed my hand, and-"

"She said she doesn't need a play by play, Scout," the marksman noted softly. Scout paused.

"...right, yeah, but basically I shot my hand off-"

"You did what!?" Miss Pauling exclaimed, causing the two men to jump from the volume, "sorry, but, that's… that's extreme. That, I… I didn't think you'd, that you were even capable of doing something like that. Uh- not that you're a bad, like, that just sounds like something, well, you'd do," she gestured to Sniper, "due to, well, everything about you. No offense."

"None taken," the marksman affirmed as the runner shrugged with a lazy grin.

"Yeah," Scout said, "I just kinda panicked, I guess. Anyway, yeah, shot it off, blood got everywhere, don't remember da pain at all so dat's nice I guess, and I ran into this guy," he slapped Sniper's back, causing the man to start coughing into the mug he was drinking from. Scout continued, ignoring the glare he was getting, "then I passed out and woke up in here and wonderin' where da h*ll I was, when Snipah walked in, and I didn't know it was him 'cause, y'know, it shapeshifts and I shot at him, 'cause I grabbed it, my pistol, when I heard da door open, right? And-"

"Right, okay, Sniper," Miss Pauling said, "where did you two go after you took in Scout?"

"We figured that the best course of action would be to try and contact you or, well, anyone really by heading to another base. Maybe to get a Medigun too for Scout's arm."

"It looks like you got that, at least," the assistant looked over her shoulder at the medical miracle maker. It was still glowing a faint blue from the barrel but it flickered, and would sometimes go out before turning back on. Something was wrong with it.

"Not till recently," Sniper mused, looking at the thing with a bitter smirk, "bloody thing gave me the worst trouble trying to fix it. Still isn't healing properly, only jus' kept the lad alive."

"I could fix it," she stood and grabbed the machine and buckled under the weight.

"You can?" Scout asked. Sniper stood and helped her move the machine onto the table. "How?"

"Medic taught me how it works."

"Wh- when, what, why'd he do dat!?"

"I asked him to."

"A… okay? So, you can fix it?"

"Yeah," Miss Pauling looked around the camper, "any tool boxes around?"

"In that lower cupboard," Sniper pointed out the compartment, "and yeah, nah, we didn't find anything valuable at Landfall."

"Ah, so you stopped at Landfall?" She grunted as she set the toolboxes on the table with a thud!

"That's whot Oi said-"

"Well, we did find somethin' cool." Scout butted in, "my basher, remember? If I didn't take dat we would've freakin' died dude."

"We still fell," Sniper pointed out.

"Eh, potato, po-tat-o."

"Oi'd say it gave us worse trouble because one, we still fell and since we didn't die, Oi'm pretty sure we wouldn't have died even if you didn't catch me, and two, getting your stitches ripped out was what got you Gangrene in the first place so-"

"You seriously complainin' about me savin' your life again!? This's da third freakin' time you've started whinin' about me not lettin' ya die!"

"Sniper, did you complain about Scout saving your life again and two times before now?" Miss Pauling drawled as she unscrewed the Medigun's barrel off. She honestly didn't know what they were talking about, and Scout was probably exaggerating his feats again, but it was so funny to hear the marksman begin to sputter like a faulty car engine when she took Scout's side.

"Yeah! He is!"

"Whot's this, a bloody struggle session now?" Sniper scoffed. "And it wasn't three times, h*ll, it was only the one and you know whoi Oi was thinking that!"

"It was three times! H*ll, it was four, there's Landfall-"

"Hey now, Oi had an even better reason for being mad then-"

"What happened at Landfall?" Miss Pauling looked up from her work and spotted the two glaring at each other. But there was no malice behind them, more like an easy rivalry. The glare dissipated when she spoke up, leaving the men to scramble to collect their thoughts.

"Ah, uh, we had a run in with it there," Sniper started.

"Snipah didn't think it was real da whole time till it showed up lookin' like Solidah," Scout continued.

"It's not moi fault ya kept explaining it horribly," Sniper grumbled, "but fine, yeah, got a bit of a shock when it showed up. Got a bigger shock when it caught me."

"What did it do?" Miss Pauling asked, untangling some wires. The marksman tensed up.

"Woke up upside down hanging from the ceiling," he grumbled, scratching at his left hand. Scout was also tensed up, looking away from the two, "nose and leg were broken, and Oi couldn't get loose. It came around, it had these," Sniper frowned, gesturing at thin air, "these strings-" Miss Pauling sat up, "-that it stuck into moi skin. Oi'm guessing that's how it takes blokes' looks, because it looked like me after that. It was… a… an experience to see moiself, like that. And whot it… whot it did next. It… because it…" he stopped, looking down. The camper went quiet with Sniper seemingly no longer having the motivation to keep talking. The secretary simply waited for him to continue. But he didn't. Not until Scout decided to act.

The runner moved closer and nudged Sniper's shoulder with his own, leading to the marksman to look up at him. Scout nudged him again. Sniper silently sighed.

"Maybe it wanted to be more authentic," he mumbled as Scout leaned into him, "to be a better me. It got in moi head," he sneered, poking at his temple, "trying to- well, it rifled through all moi memories. It jus'... Oi was stuck in moi own head for so long… went blind during it… And it wasn't jus' moi thoughts, it got to moi feeling's too. Made them worse. Made me numb, made me murderous... Then he came back and got me loose, and we left."

"So it stuck those nerves in you," Miss Pauling said, "and you said you were hung from the ceiling, were you trapped in a pod?" The pair paused, and Sniper nodded.

"You've stumbled across some, haven't you?" He asked. She nodded, "and there were people in them, right?"

"Dead ones." The Marksman froze, eyes wide. Scout had a similar reaction, though his gave way to one of horror as he faced Sniper.

"D-" Scout stammered, "Dead ones?"

"One fell on me."

"Oh no…" Sniper uttered as Scout's reaction kept growing worse.

"Aw crap, aw crap, they- they actually, they're actually-"

"Now we don't know that," Sniper was quick to say, "maybe those blokes were already dead when they we-"

"What are you two talking about exactly?" Miss Pauling interrupted, "Could you fill me in instead of sitting there like I'm not right here?"

"Da guys!" Scout cried out, "our team! Demo, Heavy, Medic, Engie, Spy, Pyro, Soldiah, Snipes found them all hangin' in da mines! It's been a month!"

"So they were captured!" Miss Pauling murmured to herself, "in the mines, no wonder why I couldn't find them. Okay, now- Scout, calm down," the runner was face down on the table, pulling his hair and making pitiful noises of despair. "They might not be dead yet."

"See?" Sniper said. Scout didn't seem convinced.

"Okay, uh, look, Sniper, just give me the basic rundown of what you two did on your end."

"Uh, right." he started, giving the now quiet Scout a quick glance, "after we left, we decided to head back to Sawmill to get the Medigun, had a few disagreements about that, reached Sawmill, found the Medigun, he contacted you, and-"

"Don't forget my copycat," Scout mumbled. Sniper grimaced.

"Right, that. Listen, Miss Pauling," he turned towards her, "whot th' h*ll is it? Because when we got there, there were two of them, and one of them looked like Scout, apparently even before he was caught. Is that right?" Sniper looked back at his companion. Scout nodded.

"Yeah, looked just like me when it took me ta your dorm."

"But then whoi didn't you scream or something? Fight back?"

"I don't know," Scout whined, "it was friendly, I guess. Like, it just, it was nice, it helped me up when I fell da first time around."

"But it was disguised as you, mate."

"Wasn't da first time I talked ta myself so, y'know, just thought it was my conscience or somethin'."

"...Okay? So then. Ah, okay, but whot-"

"I'll tell you once you're done," Miss Pauling reiterated. Sniper took a breath, then nodded.

"Awright. So, after Scout found me-"

"And after ya shanked me."

"Yeah, after Oi ended up stabbing the wrong Scout, the original one showed up-"

"After you shot da me one."

"Yeah, after Oi shot the Scout one, which didn't kill it, the original one showed up. Least, Oi think it was the original. But we got chased and ended up falling through the floor and into the mines below-"

"After I caught ya from fallin'-"

"Yes, after that, and after we still fell down, we woke up in the mines-"

"After I kept ya from bleedin-"

"Scout."

"Okay, okay, geez! Just sayin', you're leavin' out a lot a stuff."

"Stuff that's not important," Sniper mused before continuing with Scout grumbling about how it was important stuff, "anyways, woke up in the mines, busted moi head open, found the lads hanging in a cave, the things turned up and chased us down, we escaped through an underground pool, wound up at the RED base-"

"Ya freakin' died too." Sniper stopped, and gave Scout a look. "What!? Ya did!"

"Okay, Scout," Miss Pauling said as she fiddled with some bolts, "how about you finish. Make it fast."

"Fast is what I do best, Miss P. So, da thing basically pulled him back under, I went after them and got Snipah free, but it turns out he's already drowned, so I did dat CPR crap, but dat also wasn't workin', and there was this storm, right? And I got this idea, which Snipah says wasn't a good one but it worked so-"

"Scout, I said fast."

"Right. I woke him up, we found da van, we drove away, I-" Scout stopped, expression blanking. Sniper and Miss Pauling paused. The runner's eyes were darting back and forth between them.

"I…" He stammered, "I-I can't remember…"

"Whot, like, when we got here?"

"No, not, not dat, what," Scout locked eyes with Sniper, "what happened before, before I got sick, I- I don't freakin' remember."

"...Oi'll remind you later, awright?" The marksman said. His tone was soft. Too soft for someone like him, and much too soft towards someone like Scout. Miss Pauling narrowed her eyes in thought.

What exactly happened to these two?

"Yeah, right, yeah. You, you tell her da rest," Scout waved Sniper away, going back to resting on the table, "ain't much left."

"We got here and discovered Scout had gotten himself gangrene, so Oi… took care of it. Best as Oi could. He still nearly died, but Oi got that working," Sniper nodded towards the Medigun, "he survived, and he woke up two days later. And then you showed up the day after, which was today."

"Sounds like you had quite the journey," Miss Pauling observed as she screwed in some screws, "Now, I need to know everything you know about that thing."

"Now wait a minute," Sniper protested, "we told you whot we know, now it's your turn. You don't get to slip by this like you usually do when things get bloody!"

"Whoa, hey, calm d-"

"I need to know everything about your monster in order to explain what I know, Sniper." Miss Pauling stated, giving the older mercenary a steely glare. "It won't do anyone any good to act stubborn about this."

"Guys-"

"Stubborn has nothing to do with this, you know whot it is, we told you whot we went through, like you asked-

"Snipah-"

"-so it's only proper to actually do whot you said you'd do!"

"Which I am more than willing to do, if you'd just cooperate and tell me what that thing is capable of-"

"Guys!"

"You already know whot it's capable of! Maybe it was a slip, but "meant to be a spy" isn't painting you in the best light. Would it be unfair to assume that this, all of this, was planned? That you had a hand in thi-"

"Mick." a hand found itself on the marksman's shoulder, forcing away the man's attention from the assistant and towards the runner, "none a this is helpin'." Sniper's glare eased back. Scout turned towards Miss Pauling.

"Dat thing, I can tell ya about dat thing." He said.

"Now wait a moment, you don't have to do that," Sniper turned to fully face his teammate, but Scout wasn't having it.

"Well you ain't doin' it, and Miss Pauling wouldn't pull somethin' like this on us, she's tryin' ta help, man! Why'd you even want her here if you didn't want her ta know what was goin' on!?" The older man didn't respond. Instead, he looked away, arms crossed with a worn expression. Taking this as an acceptance, Scout faced Miss Pauling.

"So, what, what exactly do you want ta know about it?"

"Well," she began, "what it looks like for starters." Scout winced, chewing on his lip in thought.

"Right, uh, it's about as tall as me when it's, when it's normal, I guess? Uh, it still has a person look ta it, just, uh, just more… fleshy. But it… it usually looks big. Like, really big, where it has these… uh, like, when it's turnin' into someone? It like, gets these growths, like, in Landfall?" He snuck a glance at Sniper, who still sat silently, "and it can get these. Like, it's able ta have a lot of heads, a lotta appearances, and talk at da same time, and…" Scout hung his head, "I think it likes ta… I think it likes ta play with people. Like a cat? And it's, there's like, there's somethin' about it dat, dat…" the runner came to a stop, hand scratching at his collarbones.

"It's evil is what it is," Scout finally muttered.

"Evil?" Miss Pauling repeated. The runner nodded, looking rather… small. Yes, he was her youngest mercenary and the slimmest, but he had a good five inches on her, maybe six. And yet now he looked… well, something about his change made her want to change the subject.

But she couldn't. Not yet.

"It was a bloke, too," the pair turned to find Sniper joining the conversation. He seemed tired. "Underwater, it was a man. Out of water, that's when it looked… wrong."

"What did the man look like?" Miss Pauling asked, attention solely on the marksman. Sniper drummed his fingers along the table.

"White, dark hair, darker eyes," that sounded familiar, "around Scout's height, Oi suppose. Sharp features, maybe Italian based on his nose," that sounded very familiar. Miss Pauling stood.

"I'll be right back, I need to get something, and it will help explain what I found out," she gave Sniper a look. The Australian relaxed but Scout had stood with her.

"Is it heavy? Do ya need help with anythin'?" She gave him a half smile.

"No, it's just a suitcase, I'll be right back," and Miss Pauling stepped outside and towards her purple vehicle she'd parked in the decrepit parking lot. From the trunk, she hoisted out the black leather suitcase. The small antennae on the side thankfully didn't bend when the car's truck door smacked it as she closed the compartment. As she tried to lift the baggage, Miss Pauling suddenly wished she'd taken up Scout's offer to help. He might have been missing an arm, but he was still stronger than her in the legs department, and right now hers were starting to burn from the weight.

She pushed open the door with her hips and took two long steps to drop the suitcase on the table before the mercs with a heavy slam! They watched as she put in the code and unlocked the intel within. A minute of rifling through the papers and avoiding touching any of the buttons on the top of the upper lid, Miss Pauling found her prize. She set the identity sheet down in front of the men along with the thick folder it came from.

Sniper took hold of the paper and began to read it as Scout pushed into him trying to read it too. His eyes focused on the black and white photo and sharpened instantly.

"That's him," he said, placing the paper on the table and pointing at the man printed on the paper, "that's who Oi saw." Scout looked over his shoulder, squinting.

"Jacob Connery," he sounded out. Then, Scout drew back, as if bitten. "I… I've seen those eyes before."

"This," Miss Pauling started, "was what took me so long to find you too." The mercenaries looked over the papers she brought out with Sniper scanning through the papers at lightning speed and Scout struggling to keep up.

"This is insane," the marksman muttered, "this is, this is wretched." Scout was still looking over Connery's file, slowly taking in everything he could. Suddenly, Sniper slammed the folder shut, startling the other two, and sharply turned towards Miss Pauling with a look that made her tense up.

"Which one ordered this?" He snarled. "Redmond, Blutarch, which ****ing one ordered this!?"

"Neither." Miss Pauling said bitterly, "it was neither of them, and I'm afraid that's all I can tell you."

"This is bloody wretched, bloody wretched," Sniper muttered again, running his hands through his hair. "It really… it really was a man deep down."

"...I can't read this," Scout mumbled, catching the others' attention, "I can't read… there's too many weird words." Miss Pauling sighed.

"What you're holding is the file of the man who was turned into the monster that's been hunting you," she stated, gently taking the paper out of Scout's loosened hand. "It turns out that RED, BLU, and Mann Co. have made an enemy who's very intent on destroying everything connected to the institutions along with the institutions themselves. And I believe, based on the evidence I've uncovered, that that enemy was creating "classes" to do so."

"Wait, so, then what's dat gotta do with da monster?"

"That "monster" was the prototype for The Spy class. It seems that whoever funded the creation of that thing wanted a living organism to have both the complete obedience of a robot, but also the cognitive problem solving of a human."

"That sounds impossible," Sniper said, "those are two very different things, even brainwashing is faulty."

"Exactly, which is why all the people who made it are now dead," Miss Pauling stated as she gathered up the information, "and why it's now on a war path towards anything RED or BLU related, including mercenaries," she met both the men's eyes at once.

"Dat don't… but dat don't explain why there was two though, cause, cause you said this guy was made into a monster, spy monster. But I wasn't, and… and it still looked like me." Scout scratched his neck. "I don't get it."

"I have a theory," Miss Pauling said, "but I don't know for certain. To make this as simple as possible, I think it has something to do with your missing hand." Scout stiffened, eyes wide.

"Does it have any weaknesses?" Sniper asked, "We thought water, or, any liquid really, worked like acid, yeah? But it didn't kill it."

"...What exactly does the water do to it?"

"It melts it," Scout butted in, "like da rain kept makin' it's flesh slide off. Like, melt into this white goo crap."

"Yeah," Sniper nodded, "like he said before, normally it just looks like a person's silhouette except, well, constantly having skin grow around it. Honestly, it was… it was kind of mesmerizing.

"And like Oi said before, it turned back into that man under the water. Might be that liquid just… makes it vulnerable."

"Yeah, cause bullets don't do nothin'."

"No, they really don't. Not when it's dry, at least."

"Interesting," Miss Pauling noted, resting her lips on her clasped hands. She didn't know about that, there was no mention of anything like that besides that janitor's recording, and even then, it wasn't clear what he had been talking about. But this, this was new.

This was exploitable.

"Hey, so uh… did ya fix dat up?" Scout asked, pointing at the Medigun lying in front of her. The light vibration of the table was no doubt caused by him bouncing his knee at a rapid pace.

"I think so," Miss Pauling said, turning the healing weapon towards the mercenaries. The two perked up, "need some healing?"

"Aw h*ll yeah!"

"If you'd kindly."

Miss Pauling grabbed the grip lever and pulled it down. The twoom of the machine bursting to life was a welcome sound, and a more welcome sight followed. Deep, powerful beams of healing light erupted from the barrel and encircled the men with that swirling smoke.

Sniper instantly relaxed, the dark bags under his eyes lessening, and his skin growing rich from the tired paleness from before. As he rolled back his shoulders, Scout had a large grin plastered to his face. Miss Pauling watched the same change happen to her merc.

And that was all it did.

Scout's grin faltered, then fell all together when his left arm remained a bandaged stump and not a freshly grown hand. Another moment and a very noticeable change in atmosphere filled the camper.

"...Why isn't it growin' back?" Scout asked with an even tone. The two others shared an anxious glance.

"...it's… Mate, it's mostly scar tissue now," Sniper tried to explain, moving to place a hand on Scout's shoulder, "the Medigun doesn't fix that. Oi'm sor-"

"Right," Scout growled as he shot out from his seat.

"Wait, Scout-"

"Jay-"

"I'll be back later," Scout grabbed the camper door, "and don't worry, I ain't breakin' my promise, I just… I'll be back later." And with that, Scout was gone with a cold slam of the door. Sniper lowered the hand he'd reached out towards the runner with a dejected expression.

"Aw h*ll," he sighed.

"What promise, what was he talking about?" Miss Pauling asked, turning off the Medigun. Sniper shook his head.

"Not moi place to tell you, sorry," the marksman stood and made his way towards the door. "He better not have gone far."

"I doubt he would," Miss Pauling said as she followed Sniper outside, "unless he gets lost."

"Scout doesn't get lost easily, you know that."

"Yeah, he doesn't." Miss Pauling watched as Sniper looked around the lot, searching for any sign of the runner. When he found nothing, he turned on his heel and headed towards toe driver's seat.

"You're not planning on driving, are you?"

"Nah," she heard him say, "jus' getting something to pass the time." Sniper came back with a little box in his hand and a cigarette on his lip.

"Would ya like one?"

"Why not." Miss Pauling gingerly took on of the cigs he offered and let him light it. As she took a drag, and resisted the urge to cough out a lung, she heard Sniper chuckle.

"Don't smoke often, do you?"

"Hardly ever," She affirmed, "I don't like risking addiction, it would tamper with my work." Sniper nodded in understanding.

"Jus' don't let Scout catch you doing it, otherwise he'll give you a verbal dressing down."

"He doesn't like you doing it?"

"Not a bit," Sniper tapped some ash onto the cement, "each time he caught me he'd throw a hissy fit about how it's bad for moi lungs and that it smells bad, how he couldn't breathe when Oi had one, that kind or stuff." The marksman faintly smirked, "asked him whoi he cared so much when he didn't give a s**t about Spy's nasty habit, and believe me when Oi tell ye that his ears could direct traffic after Oi asked." Miss Pauling grinned at the thought. Yep, that sounded believable.

The two stood there, leaning against the van's wall, waiting. The lit cigarette hung loosely between Miss Pauling's fingers, used only once and continued to burn away into glowing embers and powdery ash. After a while of using her own thoughts as entertainment, she heard Sniper sigh.

"Suppose Oi owe you an apology," he said, letting the butt of his cigarette fall to the ground, "for acting like Oi had been. Was unprofessional, and unwarranted. Jus' haven't had much good happen since all of this started, so… Oi suppose Oi assumed you weren't going to bring much when you showed up. And Oi'm sorry."

"That's alright, I guess I'll just have to work on my deflection and negotiation tactics." At that, Sniper smirked.

"Hm, maybe, but Oi already have to deal with one spy, Oi'd rather not add a Spy-in-the-making too."

"You're giving me way too much credit."

"Oi don't think so," he stepped on his cigarette, grinding the last smoking bits to dust. "If you think Oi'm giving you too much credit, then Scout would drown ya in it."

"Probably."

A lull.

"You seem friendly with him," she said warmly. Sniper hummed.

"Well, that's bound to happen when you're stuck with the bloody b*****d."

"He knows your name."

"He asked for it."

"And you told him?"

"Worst he could do with it is cuss me out using it," Sniper shrugged.

"It just seems… strange, for you to do."

"Understandable."

Another lull.

"You trust him, don't you?"

"If you're trying to say Oi'm making a mistake, Oi completely agree," Sniper once again shrugged, "but Oi jus' can't seem to care this time."

"Or maybe you're caring too much."

"Maybe Oi am, but Oi do owe the kid about three life debts so Oi suppose that's only natural."

This time, Miss Pauling nodded in understanding, watching the faint embers in her stick fade into smoke.

"Are you worried?"

"Hm?"

"About Scout running off."

"A bit, Oi suppose."

"Why? He can handle himself just fine, at least physically."

"Oi know. And Oi know you're jus' trying to get information," Miss Pauling felt her hands grow cold, "maybe out of habit, not accusing you completely. But Oi really can't say whoi. If Oi knew every exact reason whoi Oi did anything in life, Oi'd probably be a more successful bloke."

And that was where their conversation ended as the pair's attention was stolen by the young man who came walking out from the tree line with his head hung low.

"How about next time you decide to run off, you tell me when you'll be back so Oi'm not having to wait out in the bloody cold." Sniper said coolly. Scout gave him a glare.

"I said I'd be back," he grumbled. He turned towards Miss Pauling and spotted the lit cigarette in her hand. His eyes widened. The assistant was suddenly regretting life.

"You don't smoke, why're ya smoking?" Scout wondered, looking very worried.

"You left and I had no idea if you'd actually keep to your word and come back," was what she said. Scout grew more worried.

"Aw s**t, I'm sorry, I just wanted ta punch a tree or somethin', I wasn't leavin' ya behind, I'd never do dat!"

"Well now that you're back, we should go back inside," she said. "It's pretty cold out here."

"Right!" Scout leapt forwards and grabbed the door handle, pushing it open, "ladies first."

"Thanks." She walked in and waited for the others. Though it seemed there was a bit of a strange stand off.

"You can go on in, Oi'm not stopping ya," Sniper pointed out.

"I said ladies first." Scout replied before getting smacked upside the head.

"Ya bloody piker," the marksman growled, "that's the last time Oi'm waiting out in the cold for your springy *rse."

"Well dat's what ya get for smokin'!" Miss Pauling held back her laughter as an irritated Sniper entered the van with a sassy Scout on his heels.

"Ya hypocrite, you've got some nasty double standards, ya tiny b*****d!"

"No I don't; Miss P was smokin', and I opened da door and said ladies first! Same thing with you."

"Ah shut it, you're a little nasty imp and Oi should shove you right back out that bloody door!"

"Well dat's not very ladylike," Scout argued.

"Oi'm not a sheila!"

"Sure ya are, you're just a really ugly one." Miss Pauling snorted, causing Sniper to round on her.

"Oh, find that funny do ya," he asked. "Sure, go right on ahead, join the bloody dogpiling. Figures you'd take that mongrel's side."

"Because she knows I'm right," Scout snapped.

"No she doesn't-"

A shrill, ear piercing beep filled the camper, causing Scout to jump a mile high, Sniper to freeze up, and Miss Pauling to scramble towards the black suitcase. Another beep went off as she struggled to unlock the case after pulling the antennae up. A third passed when she ripped the case open and flicked on the miniature television embedded in the suitcase's insides.

A crackling static followed as the small screen lit up and revealed a face that made all three stiffen with varying emotions.

"Hello Administrator," Miss Pauling said, composure straight and professional. The Administrator sat on the other side of the screen, glaring into the enclosed space and towards her secretary and the two stunned BLU mercenaries.

"Ah, you've found them," she drawled, disinterest dripping from her voice. Behind her, Miss Pauling felt Sniper bristling and Scout growing restless. "Mr. Mundy, Mr. Madigan, I am so very relieved to see you safe and sound." She heard Scout whisper "she is?"

"No, Mr. Madigan, I was being sarcastic," The Administrator said, taking a drag, "but Miss Pauling convinced me to let her continue her search for you two after she'd completed her other, more important duties. Obviously she believes you to be valuable assets. Perhaps she is right," Miss Pauling stood stupefied, along with Sniper and Scout. "After all, you did manage to survive for this long, and survive an attack from an unknown entity created for the sole purpose of killing you. Well done." The woman on the chair gave the mercenaries a single golf clap.

"Uh, thanks?" Scout replied. The Administrator fixed her eyes on him.

"But it seems we've hit a snag, haven't we?" She looked towards Sniper, who very subtly flinched. "That creature isn't dead yet. And that is a problem considering that one team is down to two members. And that problem I will no longer have tampering with the Mann Brothers' work.

"You are to destroy it tomorrow."

"Wait, what!?" Scout blurted out, "but we've tried killin' it and it doesn't die! Closest we got was drenchin' it with water, how are we supposed ta kill it without any weapons?"

"Miss Pauling will supply you with any and all weapons you need to annihilate that beast," the voice stated, "explosives, incendiary weapons, heavy weaponry, it will all be sent. I do not want excuses, boy," she stared down the runner, "I want results. And I want them by tomorrow at the latest. I will not wait another week or month for this to be solved, and I will not tolerate failure. Should you fail and that creature goes free once again, your contracts will be severed effective immediately without receiving your final paycheck. Do I make myself clear?" The pair stiffly nodded. "Good. Do not fail me. And Miss Pauling," the assistant stood at attention, "the new applicants' forms have arrived and they must be reviewed and filed. I have faxed them to your car, once you are done creating a plan of action, deal with those forms."

"Yes Ma'am." And with that, the screen cut to black with an electric deeooop. And behind her, a certain runner was boiling over.

"She can't be serious, she ain't ****in' serious!"

"She is, Scout," Miss Pauling sighed.

"This is bulls**t! Completely and utter bulls**t!" Scout snarled, trying to pace in the small space filled with two other people. "Tomorrow? How can we possibly kill it by freakin' tomorrow!?"

"We can figure something out," she said, gesturing to the table, "come on, let's think about this."

"With all do respect, Miss, Oi'm with Scout," Sniper shook his head in defeat, "we hardly know anything about that thing still, and whot hurts it, let alone kills it."

"Well, I can think of one thing that could work," Miss Pauling stated, "fire."

"I hit it with a Molly in Landfall, it didn't die, it just got pissed off." Scout grumbled, crossing his arms.

"Come on, guys, let's at least try to figure this out, do you want to lose your jobs?" Sniper and Scout both shook their heads.

"Seems like we won't have much of a choice in the matter either way," Sniper mumbled as he sat down. "But we don't even know where it is now."

"Maybe it's still at Sawmill," Scout mentioned, "like, y'know how it saw you in da same place as where it put da guys? Maybe it's protectin' it, like territorial-like."

"Maybe. Either way, we can't leave them hanging. Dead or not, it's not right." Sniper scratched his hand, "it's not right."

"Yeah, we gotta get them loose," Scout nodded in agreement.

"Well, like The Administrator said, I'll supply you with anything you need for this. And… and I'll help you if I can," the two locked eyes with her, disbelief lining their faces, "you'll need all the helping hands you can get."

"But those forms-"

"I'll inform her of BLU team being trapped and probably not dead, anyway to save on hiring a new mercenary, she'll do it."

"So she does care?"

"Oh no, it's just very time consuming," Miss Pauling explained.

"Okay, but here's the thing," Sniper began, "they're located underground, and the only other entrance to their cave is from the top with no way of getting back up. And Oi can't remember the way to find it."

"I could do it," Scout jumped in, eyes lighting up, "I could free them!"

"You don't know where the cave is, mate," Sniper pointed out. At that, Scout deflated.

"There's still the problem of actually killing that thing, which is our main goal by the way," Miss Pauling said, tapping her foot in thought, "if it's there and you're too focused on saving the team, you'll get caught."

"So we would need a distraction," the marksman muttered, "to keep it away from the mines long enough to free the others. And long enough to get them back to working order if they're still alive."

"...I could do it," Scout said quietly. The other two turned towards him.

"No, we're jus' brainstorming, Scout, nothing's final-"

"I don't care!" The runner shouted, "they've been stuck there hangin' for over a freakin' month, Mick, they shouldn't- I'm fast, I'm loud, I'm da perfect distraction."

"We would need you to be out there for a seriously long time, mate, and you're jus' getting back in working order. If we need a distraction, Oi'll-"

"I'm bein' da distraction," Scout stated. He left no room for argument.

"...Would the others be able to fight after they're freed?" Miss Pauling asked. Sniper sighed, and shrugged.

"Oi doubt it," he said, "they'd probably fall asleep the second they're out to be honest. But they might, if they're put in the right mindset."

"Here's what I'm thinking," Miss Pauling said, leaning on the table and meeting her mercenaries' eyes, "a distraction isn't a bad idea. If Scout is able to act as a distraction for long enough for you to free the others, and if I'm able to get you the appropriate weaponry for them to fight back, then all Scout would have to do is lead it back to the group where it's effectively cornered."

"Might work," Sniper admitted, "only bloody thing we have, really. Unless you have another idea?" He turned towards Scout. The runner shook his head.

"If I did, I would've said it."

"Somehow Oi doubt that. Anyways, this needs some fine tuning. Miss?" Miss Pauling met his gaze, "we could use your planning abilities."

She gave him a grin.

The knowledge of such a situation hanging over their heads like a guillotine made formulating a plan both a stressful and brilliant pastime. Miss Pauling would give an idea, Sniper would either dispute it or add on to it, and Scout would give his two cents even when he didn't need to. For the next many hours they sat and planned and planned and planned, trying to negate any and all possible sinkholes they could imagine. Until finally, when the sun was dipping below the horizon line, Miss Pauling was walking out of the van, her mind as heavy as the suitcase she was carrying.

The plan was set, they'd run out of time, and Miss Pauling had quite the hoard of weapons to prepare. As she set the suitcase in the trunk of her car, she heard the fast footsteps of feet behind her.

"Oh, so ya didn't need help with that," Scout noticed.

"Nope," she closed the trunk, "but thanks for the concern."

"Yeah, totally, I'm just full a concern." Miss Pauling turned to face the runner, who was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"Is there something you want, Scout?" Her mercenary jumped as if shocked by an electric fence, then began to stammer.

"W-Well, yeah, kinda, just, y'know, I wanted ta… wanted ta let you know dat…"

"Did Sniper add another little detail to your role, again?" She deadpanned. Scout shook his head.

"Nah, I just… wanted ta say see ya later."

"You already had." Miss Pauling mused.

"And ta stay safe," Scout muttered, scuffing his shoes against the concrete. She blinked.

"Again, thanks for the concern."

"And if you see a me walkin' around, know dat it's not me, and run da h*ll away from it because da real me, me, is here, stayin' in Mick's old shrimpy van."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Miss Pauling replied as she entered the van. Sure enough, just like Helen had said, there was a large pile of applications faxed from her dashboard faz machine lying on her passenger seat.

"Well, I'll uhh… I'll see ya tomorrow, Miss P! Don't die!" Scout gave a little wave before trotting back to the van. As she watched him go, she caught sight of the brilliant red of his ears.

Sniper was right, they could direct traffic.

Taking one last look at the van she was leaving behind, Miss Pauling took a breath, and sighed out in relief. The two were valuable assets. And they'd managed to stay together for Miss Pauling to find.

They'd be just fine.


Paranoid, that felt like the right word to use right now. He was just paranoid, scared over nothing, it was just a trick his mind was pulling, he was fine. Scout was fine.

The quiet stillness of the van sure wasn't helping though, or the time of night, maybe that was the cause, actually. And now would be the perfect time to… which he wasn't going to do, because he was fine. Scout was fine.

And of course he was, Sniper himself told him that he was fine, that there was nothing wrong with him, and that he wasn't going to be horribly mutated into a shapeshifting creature. Because he was right, and Miss Pauling backed him up, that it really was just a horrible guy who was turned into an even more horrible guy which meant that what it did… to him, that it really was just done for the h*ll of it.

Scout didn't really know that, and, and neither did Sniper, but… and he didn't really, fully, honestly believe it, yet, maybe? That he really was fine. But he was. Scout was fine.

He had to be.

And this, right now, this- it wasn't real, his- it just-

Then why-

Groaning silently, the runner turned over once again onto his side, tangled up in the thin blanket. Sleep wasn't coming. It had, for a while, but of course he had another nightmare, and of course he couldn't fall back asleep, and of course there was a deep, crawling sense of nausea too. There shouldn't be, but there was, and it was all that Scout could do to try and ignore that gross feeling.

How long had he been lying here at this point? When did he originally wake up? He wanted to sleep, he wanted to sleep so badly, if not for his exhaustion then at least to make this thing go away. But it wouldn't. There was only one thing, well, two things that would make it stop. And Scout couldn't do them, because he promised he wouldn't. And he wouldn't. Because he was fine.

Another wave of queasiness forced the younger man to curl himself up, hugging his middle with eyes shut tight. Okay, so, not completely… maybe not completely fine. Through clenched teeth, Scout took mediated breaths. If he took in too much air, he was sure he'd feel worse, but he couldn't not breathe. A deep prickling warmth was trying to push past the back of his head and into his throat. He wouldn't let it. He wasn't going to leave this bed. He wasn't going to hurl, this nausea wasn't real, he was paranoid. And it would fade any second now

Any…

Any sec…

Second… now…

Scout held back a curse as another wave rocked the runner's core. It wasn't stopping. He snapped around and pulled his pillow into a tight hug, digging his nails into the fabric, trying to rip into it. The movement made his sickness worse, and he could only just keep himself from whimpering.

It was so freaking quiet! It was awful, there was nothing, no rain, no snores, just his own hiss-like breathing. There was nothing to distract him from his own stupid brain working him up like it always did at night like this. And the one noise that was there, the rustling Sniper would make when turning in his bed, only happened a few times, barely anything! If there wasn't noise, Scout would start to think think, and that led to him feeling sick, and that made him want to do things that really weren't okay or stoic. Things like the things he- ugh, just thinking about it was making it worse!

Scout never should have opened up like that, to him, and made that promise. Talking was supposed to help though, that's what Sniper said, that's what everyone would say. Ma, Jamey, Harv, Tommy, late Ol' Gramps, Demo, Sniper, they all said it, said that talking about things made them better.

Liars.

No, they… maybe it was just him. He was the oddball, it just didn't work for him like it did with them. How could they've known?

Well maybe if they actually listened whenever he talked it would work! But that was also the problem, Sniper had listened to everything, and there was no way he was just going to forget about what Scout told him. And that meant he would just, whenever Scout had, or, he just, whenever something might happen where he looked like a little b***h, then Sniper would just, he would, he'd-

The train of thought came to a screeching halt as Scout shoved his face into the pillow. He wanted to bite it, rip it apart with his teeth, but he couldn't open his mouth. He couldn't, it would just, the- letting his jaw unclench and actually giving an opening, he couldn't, even though he knew he was safe here. There was nothing that would force itself in, nothing.

Stupid brain. Stupid, stupid brain. Scout just wanted it to shut up. He wanted his stomach to shut up and stop churning, to let him sleep. Let him just go back to normal. He was supposed to be normal now!

He wasn't supposed to be sick, he wasn't supposed to want to get hurt just to make sure that the blood coursing through his veins was still crimson, he wasn't supposed to feel so weak as to want to share the bed again, he wasn't supposed to want to do any of that!

His hand shook, clenched tightly to the pillow with his nails digging into the downy insides rather than his own skin. Scout made a promise, and d*mnit, he was keeping it! Even if it made him sick.

Even if he couldn't breathe right.

Even if his throat was tightening from that feeling. That feeling in his head, an emotion that he didn't really recognize too well. It wasn't a good one. That feeling. Like… it felt like…

It was like he was stuck. On a problem, or, in a box. And that there were ways of fixing him, of getting out. But the ways were bad ones, or cut off, lost, and Scout was stuck in that horrible, sick, see-through box, or that hair pulling problem he just couldn't solve. That feeling was hurting his eyes, making them burn and sting with saltiness.

Scout wasn't going to cry.

The writhing pain deep down wasn't going to make him cry, the quietness and solitude of night wasn't going to make him cry, that "stuck" feeling that was really trying hard to make him cry, but it wouldn't! He couldn't, not again!

He never should have cried the first time, not in front of someone, not in front of Sniper. And the Aussie wouldn't forget. No one forgets when a guy cries like a little kid. No one forgets when a guy snuggles up to you after crying. And no one forgets when a guy tells you all his stupid little situations that made him look so freaking stupid and weak!

Sniper would never forget what Scout told him, what Scout did, that Scout was weak. Those looks thrown his way during the day were proof, the way the marksman talked when Scout's arm didn't grow back was proof.

And those changes would never go away. He'd absolutely ****ed over the way Sniper would act around him forever.

Just his luck, just like him to ruin it by running his mouth when the guy had simply asked. He… He just sounded so real, though, so honest. That he actually wanted to listen, to care, maybe? And… and he said, that if Scout ever felt weak, too weak to keep the promise…

Scout looked over his shoulder at the motionless mass on the bunk that was Sniper. No. He wasn't going to wake him up just to ask to share the bed again. By now he probably knew that Scout lied about the whole sleepwalking thing. By now he was probably thinking that Scout was a wacko, a freaking weirdo who liked crawling into other people's beds. By now he wouldn't believe Scout if he came clean about how it was the only way to keep the nightmares at bay. And even then, it wasn't foolproof, like last night.

No more. He couldn't do any of that anymore. Besides, there were- Sniper told him there were other ways of telling. Yeah, what were they?

It was too dark to see his skin's colors, those bandages around his stomach covered the scars that-

Another wave, worse than the others. The runner snatched his hand up, biting down on his finger to keep himself from whimpering. A painful throbbing, at the back of his throat, fading away into an unnerving prickling sensation.

No. No, he was not going to hurl, not now! It. Wasn't. Real. He was paranoid! JUST PARANOID!

Pulse. That was one, one of the ways, his pulse! Slipping his hand out from his teeth, Scout moved it underneath his jaw, fingers sliding up and down, searching for that rhythm. A moment passed, then another, and he had yet to find his pulse. His heart began to race, or had it? He couldn't find it, but there was something. Wasn't there? Yeah, because, because he'd be dead if he didn't have a pulse. Just… just imagining things, like always. But, just, whe- where was-

Where was his ****ing pulse? Nothing! Not his hand, neck, wrist, inner elbow, fingers, nothing was there! Noth- nothing! Where!? Where was it!?-

A rustle in the dark followed by the weighty thump of someone slipping from the bunk behind him caused Scout to freeze. He kept still, kept quiet, listening to whatever Sniper was doing. Had he fallen off? Rolled too far in his sleep? Rolled too far and fell flat on his face and still somehow managed to stay asleep? Knock himself out from the fall, bust his head open again? The runner rolled around, aiming to spot his fr- teammate, lying face down on the floor. Instead, his eyes met with Sniper's, who had frozen in the middle of standing up, staring wide eyed at Scout. The pair were silent, both too surprised to speak. For only a second.

"Uh-"

"Sorry," the marksman mumbled, his shoulders going slack as he stood, "didn't mean to wake ya."

"Was already-" Scout started to say when the consequences of his sudden movement caught up with him. Forcing back a groan of discomfort, the runner curled back up, electing to push his face into the pillow he was still hugging with his damaged arm and waved dismissively at the Australian. "Was already awake."

"Same was happening to me. Couldn't sleep either, huh?" He shook his head. Hopefully Sniper would get the hint and leave him alone and go do whatever he was planning on doing. Not so. Through the thick fabric of the pillow, Scout could feel the atmosphere in the camper grow just a tad bit tenser.

"Uh… you awright?" He heard Sniper ask. The tone, that tone again. A deep bristling began to build, forcing him to bare his teeth in annoyance.

"**** off," Scout hissed into the pillow. His companion didn't deserve that, but… he heard Sniper sigh.

"Let me guess, you had a bad dream." Holy crap, was it that obvious? Was he that obvious? Scout opened his mouth to tell Sniper to mind his own d*mn business, that he wasn't too weak as to not be able to handle it himself, but the moment he did, another bone chilling wave flooded his organs. The runner shoved his face deeper into the pillow, gripping onto something with his nails digging in.

Of all the times and places, it had to be in front of Sniper. Again. Just his d*mn luck.

"Okay, up ya get," a warm hand found itself on his shoulder, gently shaking him, "c'mon."

"I t-," Scout swallowed, "told ya ta **** off,"

"Not happening jus' yet. Come on, Scout." The runner sighed, but released his grip on the pillow, fighting past the unsteadiness as he let himself get pulled to his feet. More focused on keeping upright than where he was being herded, Scout soon found himself outside with the cold night air nipping at his ears and hair with the sound of the camper door being closed behind him.

"What're we doin' out here?" He asked, turning back to address his companion, only to find no one behind him. "Wh-"

"Figured out that there's only one thing that helps me pass out a while back," the quiet rumble of his teammate answered. Looking up, Scout spotted Sniper on the roof of the camper. "Figured that Oi might as well see if it helps you too."

"Uh, yeah, sure, just, uh… what is it?" The runner asked. His companion didn't answer, only gesturing for Scout to join him on the van's roof. Oh. Uh… yeah, he could get up there just fine.

He grabbed the ladder and stepped up. Wrapping his left arm around the bars, Scout pulled himself closer and reached for the highest bar. Rats, he couldn't reach it. He stood on his tippy toes and felt his fingers graze the metal before he felt himself start to lose his balance. And a second later, he was stumbling back onto the cracked concrete, a light wave of vertigo prickling at his mind.

D*mnit.

The runner scowled, staring up at the top of the van's wall. He could probably just jump up there, it wasn't too high up. Locking on target, Scout crouched, feeling his muscles coil. Then, he sprung.

And slammed into the camper wall with a dull bang! Scout scrambled at the edge of the roof, digging his fingers into the tin as he struggled to get a foothold on the ladder. Watching him from the top, Sniper sat quietly. From what Scout could see over his arms pushed upon the roof, the marksman had an expression that he really didn't want to see right now. He didn't need the guy's help! He could do this by himself. He could!

For the next few seconds, Scout tried to pull himself up. But that wasn't happening. His left arm was starting to hurt from the weight he was putting on it. And those little grooves in the camper weren't enough.

"Need some help?" Sniper asked. Scout scowled silently. Then nodded. With a roll of his eyes(or maybe not), Sniper stood and walked towards the runner and grabbed his wrist. The weight on his arm was levied, and soon, with some effort, the Bostonian was on the roof.

A chill breeze lessened that burning rush in his cheeks and ears as Scout sat down. Pulling his knees to his chest, the runner snuck a glance at Sniper, who sat down as well about a yard away. The man was facing the night sky, leaning back, relaxed. Scout followed his lead and turned towards the stars.

The sky was clear with only a few black clouds migrating leisurely across the horizon line. Moonlight was dim, the celestial crescent far in the distance. What little light could reach them only illuminated the mercenaries' hair, turning it from their hues of brown into a dim silver. Stars peppered the dark, like fireflies, and even the occasional light flashes of a plane flying far away. It was all so vast, and as he leaned to reach the crescendo, the dome above him encompassed all his sight, leaving but space.

It was so high up, and it was always going up, away from the world. Away from it all, reaching further and further past the stars, past the planets, past everything that meant anything. Leaving everything behind, as if it meant nothing. Down here, where anything meant everything, Scout sat with his knees to his chest, staring into the everything where nothing meant anything.

Up there, it was so much bigger, everything was bigger than down here. Down here, it was so much smaller. He was so much smaller, small as an ant down here, smaller even. And out there, he was nothing. Scout was down here, small, from a small state, with some problems that felt much too big to hold for someone so small.

A light prickling in his neck sent a chill down his spine. If he was so small, did he mean anything? Out there, down here, at all, to anyone? The quiet of the night wasn't a good companion to ask, nothing but faint wind and distant swaying trees. Nothing but his mind to try and pick up the pieces, to try and negate that weird sadness that he felt.

Scout looked back down at Sniper, who was still watching the stars. It seemed like he was having fun. Like, in the adult kind of way where it isn't fun fun but you still don't want to stop doing it. And if he was fine like that, good for him, not letting his brain get in the way like Scout was doing. It was just so quiet, and Sniper hadn't said a thing. What were they even supposed to be doing out here anyway?

The runner tried to watch the sky again, but he couldn't concentrate. It was too quiet, the wind was too quiet, the trees were too quiet, any animals, if there were any, were completely quiet, and Sniper was too quiet too. The longer Scout sat in silence, the more the prickling grew, and the louder his thoughts became. Because there had to be a reason why Sniper dragged him out here, why the guy had just pulled him onto the roof of his van and just… didn't explain jack to Scout. Maybe, but… had, had Scout done something wrong? Was Sniper trying to get him to talk again? About something? Because why else- he didn't think he did anything wrong, Sniper didn't say Scout had done something that crossed a line or went against the marksman's rulebook. But… why else would it be so quiet?

That thought stayed, and grew much louder than the rest that he tried to make. Something was wrong. Sniper knew something. And he wasn't telling Scout. Again and again the idea swirled around the runner's head, the motion filling his mind, making the prickling worse. The quiet was making things worse, the prickling worse, a shaking in his hand and head that was starting to grow. What did Sniper want Scout to say, what did he want?

A tension was building, same as yesterday in the silence. It was making him sick, this was actually awful. Why didn't he just stay in the van? That prickling was morphing into something else, something worse.

Trying to stay as subtle as possible, Scout uncurled just enough to wrap his arms around his stomach, teeth clenched. It was back. D*mnit, it didn't go away! That stupid, churning- come on, he just needed a distraction, it wasn't real.

The runner turned back towards the stars, searching for that vast apathy he felt from earlier, making his problem seem so much smaller. But it was lost, clouded by that nausea. Stuck, stuck behind that deep seeded thing that actually didn't exist. Because it couldn't, he was fine.

Scout was-

"You awright, mate?" The concerned voice of his companion snapped Scout's eyes open. He wasn't upright anymore, he was lying on the roof, curled up in a tight ball. At his side knelt Sniper with worry lacing every bit of him Scout could make out. The runner glared.

"Mind your ****in' business, I'm fine!" He snapped, pushing his arms under him. They buckled the moment he tried sitting up. Scout fell back down with a thud and bit his tongue when the nausea hit a peak.

"Well, fine then, jus' wanted to bloody help ya, you gremlin." Sniper chided, leaning back with an irritated expression. Scout made to snap back, opening his mouth and all, when he instead groaned and curled up more, fingers digging into his shirt.

He didn't want help. The swirling deep in his system grew.

He didn't want help! It wasn't real, it, it wasn't fair! He didn't want help!

Not again…

Scout looked down at his hand, his skin gleaming white in the darkness. Not a single other color to be seen.

"...Could you," he felt his mouth move all on it's own, betraying his wishes, "could you check, like, check my- cause I couldn't find it."

"Could ya be more specific?" Scout heard Sniper ask. The runner went limp, letting himself unfurl on the roof. There was no point in trying to act like he could do this. He couldn't. He was weak, what was the point of pretending Sniper didn't already know that. He took a breath, and leaned his head to the side, exposing his neck.

"Just, check, if there's a, like, there's still a beat," Scout muttered, staring fiercely towards the farthest tree line, "please."

"...Kid, you have a pulse, if you didn't-"

"Just do it!" Scout barked, "I freakin' know I'd be freakin' dead if I didn't have it, but just… check!" The light swaying of far away branches followed his outburst, leaving nothing but that horrible, sickening silence. Another wave, he could feel it building up. He tensed up in anticipation when a warm hand found itself right below his jaw.

A second passed, and another when Sniper decided to speak.

"Dunno how you couldn't've found that," he said, removing his hand from Scout's neck, "it's bloody rocketing through you." And Scout could feel it. That mechanical ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump, right below his ribcage, sending light but noticeable waves coursing through the back of his head, through his arms and legs. It was so clear all of a sudden…

"Do you want to talk about it?" He heard Sniper say, "Because-"

"Is dat why you dragged me out here?" Scout blurted out. "Ta get me talkin'? Spill out my guts ta you again? Want me ta tell all my little, my little problems you can use, or, or ta-"

"No, that's not whoi Oi-"

"Then why!?" Scout demanded to know, "Why'd you drag me out here, in da dark, in da cold, where it's nothin' but quiet!?"

"You couldn't sleep, neither could Oi, so Oi figure that Oi'd try to see if moi way of knockin' it would help you too."

"But what is it!? You never even, even freakin' said what it is!"

"Stargazing, mate," Sniper said coolly, "jus' watching some stars."

"How's dat supposed ta help!?" Scout stood, swaying on his feet and beginning to pace, "I've been sittin' here for da past, like, I dunno, just freakin' stressin' my *ss off about what you were plannin', what you wanted me ta say, ta admit or some s**t!" Sniper suddenly looked confused. No, not just confused. Concerned confused.

D*mnit! Not again!

"Whoi would you assume that Oi had any intention like that towards you?" He asked. Scout gave out a frustrated shout, pulling at his hair.

"Because you were freakin' quiet!" He yelled, locking eyes with the marksman who wore that stupid pity expression, "just sittin' around, actin' relaxed, not sayin' a d*mn thing ta me after takin' me along and actin' like somethin's gonna happen! Ya don't do dat! You don't get ta do dat ta me!

"Jus' because Oi'm not talking 24/7 doesn't mean Oi'm plotting against you."

"Yeah, well, ya should've said somethin' then!" Scout scowled, "how da **** was I supposed ta know I was supposed ta feel all fine and s**t after starin' at some crumby stars. What da **** are they gonna do, huh? Make me better, make me fall asleep? Give me somethin' for my freakin'- for, for m-" and it finally hit. That wave that had been building finally crashed down, sending Scout crumbling like a house of cards.

The force of the landing knocked the breath from Scout's lungs as he lay there, struggling to breathe, struggling to keep his mind clear of any thoughts, of any wants to say screw it and grab the kukri.

"Aw h*ll, mate, you okay?"

"I can handle this myself!" Scout snarled, forcing back the nausea just enough to give Sniper his two cents. "I'm not- not dat weak yet, I can freakin', I don't need your help anymore, okay!?"

"Oh for crying out loud…"

"Shu- shut up- just," Scout's rant died before it was born as he bit his tongue in the rush to clamp his jaw shut. A deep, coppery taste filled his mouth, coating his teeth and gums. The urge to spit it out and his unwillingness to do so lead to the runner having a horrible coughing fit. It honestly felt like a lung was getting disintegrated. Something dark peppered the roof, and Scout felt something begin to give him some much needed back thumps to dislodge the coughs stuck in his throat.

"Right, you can totally handle this yourself, mhm, yes, Oi can totally see that." Sniper lightly teased. The tone was fun, just poking some fun. But it had the opposite effect. Scout stared down at the glistening droplets dotting the roof like the stars above them. He felt the warmth on his lips and tasted the saltiness.

It was red, and he felt horrible.

The runner let himself collapse into the marksman's side. He felt Sniper stiffen, just like every other time Scout pulled something like this. But there was no point in pretending anymore. He was throwing in the towel. Scout was weak.

"Sorry for bein' an *sshole ta ya," he mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "I just… was already drownin' cause a my own stupid *ss thoughts, and then you pull me out and give me da silent treatment and I just, I got thinkin' about it and I didn't, I thought you were mad at me or some s**t, cause a somethin' I did ta you dat I didn't know about or somethin' and… sorry."

"No hard feelings, mate," Sniper replied, slowly letting himself relax, making for a better cushion, "but Oi wasn't giving you the "silent treatment". Trust me, you'll know if Oi do."

"Sure felt like it," Scout crossed his arms(or tried to at least). Sniper sighed.

"Like Oi said, jus' because Oi'm not talking to you, that doesn't suddenly mean Oi hate your guts. If Oi did, would Oi bring you up here to stargaze?" …No, that sounded stupid.

"No," Scout murmured, looking at everything but the guy he was leaning against, "but… quiet's never a good thing with f- with people you, people you trust ta, like, you know, not… it's, it's not, it's not a…"

"Whoi do you hate the quiet so much?" Sniper asked. In an act of irony, Scout went quiet, letting the question roll over in his mind. He lightly gnawed at the still oozing sore on his tongue, trying to come up with the answer he felt he knew but couldn't formulate.

"...Quiet meant…" he started, fidgeting with his shirt, "when I was growin' up, quiet meant… it meant something was wrong. See, in my family, where we lived, nothin' was ever "quiet". Sure, there were times when people weren't talkin', but, there was always somethin', y'know? Like, nine of us all in a three bedroom apartment in da slums, there wasn't anywhere dat was quiet. There's always somethin' goin' on. Talkin', laughin', cussin', da old crispy soundin' radio in da kitchen, da clangy radiator dat never got fixed, neighbors shoutin' through da thin walls, and whatever da **** was goin' on in da alleys below us. All a dat was everywhere, all day, every day, nothin' quiet goin' on. Even at night there'd still be da radiator and some stupid alley cat yowlin' it's stupid head off.

"So when it got quiet, like, actually quiet, you know somethin's up. Somethin's up, and you don't know what it is yet but you just know somethin's wrong. Like… y'know dat sayin' Engie would always say?" Scout met Sniper's eyes, "Da Calm Before Da Storm? Yeah, it's dat. It's always dat. Everythin' bad always starts with people goin' quiet, like they're pullin' a prank on ya and makin' ya think you went deaf."

"It can't be everything bad."

"Well it sure was with everythin' bad for me," Scout grumbled. "Gettin' caught by Ma made everyone get quiet so she wouldn't drag you into somethin' one of my brothers did, dat whole "Juvenile Court" thing started with a real quiet conversation with some cops, and… well, like, my dad disappeared, y'know?"

"...huh," Sniper hummed stiffly.

"Yeah, I don't really remember it, like, when he did," Scout started, cracking his knuckles, "but a course things would be quieter without a whole other person around… and da same thing happened with Wes. Cause, cause he never even said goodbye, right? A-And I only found out when I got home from my paper route, and everyone was already home, and no one was sayin' anythin'! Like, it was like I went deaf as soon as I walked through da freakin' door, and they were all in da livin' room, tryin' ta comfort Ma, and I had ta ask them three times what happened ta get anythin' from them!

"...and da last conversation I had with him was about him doin' his own laundry for once, because I was sick of havin' ta do it." Scout sighed, leaning on his hand, "neither of them said goodbye ta me, and everythin' got so much more quiet because a them leavin'."

"...sorry to hear that, mate," he heard the marksman say. "For me, it was the opposite."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Grew up on a farm with the only other blokes besides moi parents living acres away. Closest city was a good thirty minutes away, so Oi was used to things being a bit quiet. If it was quiet, then everything was fine." Sniper paused, scratching his neck, "if it wasn't quiet, then something was wrong. Moi folks, if there was something wrong, they'd let you know. And they'd get loud when they got into an argument, or tellin' me off. Least moi dad did. Or if a dingo got into the chicken coop, or trying to nab a sheep, you'd hear it. All the squabbles, and bleating, you'd hear it. If you didn't hear it, then all was well."

"Oh, yeah, nah, it wasn't like dat at all for me, quiet meant either you were gonna get your *ss beat, or somethin' real bad was happenin' or will happen, y'know?" Sniper hummed in thought.

"Yeah," he said, "Oi think Oi know."

"Yeah, so, just, next time ya do this, just, like, tell me what we're doin', right? Cause, s**t, I thought you were gonna flog me or somethin', and I was already dealin' with a stupid head overthinkin' things and then you kept actin' nice and dat was makin' things worse so, I… yeah, sorry for cussin' ya out but… yeah."

"Whot kind of things?"

"Hm?"

"Overthinking. And, look, you're sending some very mixed signals, lad, and Oi'd appreciate it if you cleared them up."

"What signals?"

"Well, for starters," Sniper began to fidget with his nails, "earlier you got so offended about me not, us not being "friends". But now you're snapping like a stray at the lightest hint of care, so… Oi don't play those games, so make up your mind about which one you want."

What? That wasn't right, he just didn't want- he just, Scout just didn't want things to change. It was going so good, they were going great, and then he slipped and got weak and…suddenly Sniper was treating him weak. And… geez, why was this so hard to explain to himself?

"It ain't da carin'," Scout mumbled, pulling his knees to his chest, "it's da looks you keep givin' me."

"Excuse me-"

"Nah, dat came out wrong, it's just, it's… I shouldn't have told you. About what… I'm, about what I was doin'." Sniper's eyes widened, and then, d*mnit, he was doing that exact look again!

"Wait, whoi wou-"

"Dat! Dat right there-" Scout pointed at Sniper, "-is what I'm talkin' about, dat look you keep givin' me! And how you talk when I'm around, and what you do if somethin' happens dat I don't like! I freakin' hate it and I never should've told you my stupid head problems because now you're always gonna do it around me and never look at me da same way and dat I probably just look like a guy too weak ta take my lumps like a man and started hurtin' myself ta make myself feel normal!"

And once again, silence fell as the runner looked away, hugging his legs. His teammate was probably thinking about what Scout had shouted, and he'd probably made things even worse than before. Sniper would probably think he was insane now, a loose cannon, and walk on even thinner eggshells around him.

Dang it, why can't things just be normal.

"That's pretty bloody rude of you to think, Jay."

"Yeah, well…" Scout paused, turning back towards the marksman, "what?"

"Ya really believe Oi'm that bad a bloke?" Sniper asked. Scout rapidly shook his head.

"No! No, ya ain't a- you're awesome, whaddaya mean, whaddaya talkin' about man?"

"Well you're assuming that Oi'm constantly assuming the worst in you, and that's pretty d*mn rude if you ask me."

"But, no, that's not, I just. You, you changed when I talked, and, and actin' nicer and it felt… like, I know I'm weak but I don't need you treatin' me like I am."

"...you serious?"

"Well what else was I suppose ta think, dat you- nah, just, can we just go back, just pretend dat I never told you anythin'? Please? Don't want you treatin' me different, like some fragile… fragile thing dat needs protectin'." Sniper sighed.

"...That wasn't moi intention, Oi know you can handle yourself, Oi jus'... sorry if it came off like that. But Oi can't jus' forget whot you told me, mate," Scout turned away, "that. It's not weak. You're not weak for telling me. Oi jus' wanted to make sure you wouldn't have another… another mental breaking so… maybe it was a protecting thing," Sniper admitted, "but not because Oi think you're too weak to protect yourself."

"But then why'd you do it?'

"Oi jus' wanted to, Oi suppose."

"Dat… dat don't make a lotta sense."

"Yeah," Sniper shrugged, "it doesn't."

The conversation had come to a close as Sniper once again turned towards the sky, and Scout was left to do the same. And while the quiet was there, it didn't feel as oppressive as before. It was… fine. But the quiet didn't last.

"Why do ya like doin' this so much anyway?" Scout asked. The marksman paused, letting the question marinate.

"Well, Oi don't know about you," Sniper started, running a hand through his hair, "but it puts things into perspective, Oi suppose. It works as a reminder."

"To what?"

"That none of this matters, really." Sniper said, "in the long run, we're nothing but a tiny speck, aren't we?" The runner frowned.

"What da h*ll's dat supposed ta mean, a course we matter! This better not be some of dat phil-o-softy crap."

"Philosophy, and maybe it is, but if it works, it works."

"Why da h*ll would you actually like dat idea?"

"Well, think about it," Sniper laid down, using his arms as a pillow, "if we don't matter in the long run, then neither do our problems, do they? People don't mean much, and then neither do the problems they're facing. Look, do you think we'll be remembered a hundred years from now? Two hundred? A thousand? No, we won't."

"Hey, dat's some bulls**t, people get remembered all da time when they're all dead and crap. Like, uh, George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Julius Caesar, uhhhhh, dat one pilot chick, right? We know them, they got remembered."

"Whoi?"

"Because they're famous?" Scout stated, giving Sniper a confused glance. The marksman nodded.

"Exactly, they did famous things, of course we'd remember them. But whot about the people who don't get famous? Everyday blokes, butchers, paper boys, housewives, are they remembered? Who was the milkman in your city fifty years ago?"

"I… I dunno."

"And chances are we'll be in the same boat, mate. Maybe it's not a pleasant thought. Not good, not bad, but it's going to happen. We'll most likely be forgotten a decade after we're gone. So, whot's the point of letting yourself worry about your troubles if they'll be forgotten too? They won't mean anything to you tomorrow, or maybe next week, maybe it'll take a month. H*ll, a year sometimes, but… they don't mean anything, and getting worried about something as small as you is a waste of precious time."

"So… wait, so you don't think you matter?" Sniper shook his head.

"No, it's nothing like that," he explained, "Oi matter to me. But Oi'm not going to matter much once Oi'm dead, am Oi? Neither are moi problems, neither is anything Oi try to do. So… whoi bother worrying over things that you can't change. Does that make sense?"

"Uh, maybe?"

"Explaining things isn't moi strong suit," Sniper mumbled.

"But," Scout laid down too, "but you do matter even if you die, dat don't make sense. So, what, you suddenly just don't have anyone around ta remember you once you're gone?"

"No, it's," the marksman sighed, "Oi jus' said Oi'm not good at explaining things. There's not many people who'd remember me when Oi do nark it. So, it makes it easier to do moi job, make tough calls, when Oi don't have too many who'd get… well, Oi'm fine with being forgotten, at some point," he gave a smirk, "was never too fond of people knowing moi every move anyway."

"So… ya like da stars because they make ya feel small, and… and ya problems smaller?"

"Sounds close enough, Oi guess."

"What're you worried about? Your problem, what is it?" Scout asked. At that, Sniper stiffened, expression falling.

"Tomorrow."

Scout grimaced, and began to play with his shirt again.

"Oh. Yeah, I… well, we- we have a plan, so it shouldn't-"

"We had a plan for Landfall," Sniper interrupted, expression one of a wrung out towel, "we had one for Sawmill, and those, all of those, didn't help us. Oi planned those out, and we still nearly died each time. Each time it backfired in our faces. And Oi… Oi can't stop thinking that tomorrow won't be any different."

"It will! Miss Pauling's helpin' us, we'll get tons of weapons, and we'll get da others back!"

"You don't know that though, do you?" Sniper asked. The runner paused, then lowered his head. "Oi don't want it to happen again, but… Oi think it will. Don't want us getting hurt again like last time."

"Yeah, dat would suck." Suddenly, Scout snickered. Sniper turned towards the runner with a questioning look.

"Whot's so funny?"

"Nah, just," Scout loosely gestured towards the landscape, "this's gotta be da worst road trip I've ever had. Which is da only road trip I've ever had, so there's not much competition." At that, Sniper chuckled.

"Ah that's buggered, we'll have to change that, won't we?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

"You want this to be your only road trip?"

"You offerin'?" Scout grinned.

"You interested?"

"H*ll yeah, I'm interested! I never got ta travel, and travellin' ta bases don't count! Never even left da country till I got this job." Sniper sat up, shocked.

"Never left The States?"

"You think someone who grew up like me's gonna have da money ta see Spain or some s**t?" Scout mused. Sniper scooted over to the runner.

"Right," he started, "whot's the one country you've always wanted to visit."

"No idea."

"Oh come on, there's got to be at least one-"

"Nope," Scout shook his head, "no clue."

"Well then, we'll jus' have to figure that out later."

"Yeah, after we save the guys and kill dat thing." The marksman paused, then deflated. Scout looked over at him. "Hey, c'mon, we gotta be positive about this, man!"

"Oi don't see how you can be so confident about this," Sniper admitted, "you're the one who's getting the raw deal."

"It's only a raw deal if it can catch me. And it won't." Scout said. The marksman turned away. "And don't act like what you're gonna do is much better. Betcher gonna scream shrilly down in da caves without me babysittin' ya."

"As if," Sniper sneered. The pair grew quiet, letting the nightly breeze ruffle their hair. Scout watched the stars, and far above them, saw the tiniest flash of a comet racing by.

"Dude, make a wish," the older man gave him a look.

"Whoi?"

"Cause there's a shootin' star! Quickly, man, make a wish!"

"You make a wish, it's not like it'll come true, it's jus' a superstition."

"Mine came true, well, mostly- look, just make a freakin' wish!"

"No, it's stupid."

"Aaaaand it's gone, great, you lost your chance," Scout groaned, flopping down on the roof. Sniper rolled his eyes.

"Wishing on stars is pointless, kid. It's not bloody magical"

"Says the guy whose head got turned into an owl last year during Halloween by a stupid wizard and refused to change back for three whole days!"

"Awright, first of all, don't ever bring that up again. Second of all-"

"Look, all I'm sayin' is dat maybe it is magical, you don't know!"

"Okay, fine, maybe it is, maybe it isn't, either way-" Sniper was cut off by a yawn, "Oi don't really care."

"Eh, you killjoy," Scout grumbled. He heard the marksman chuckle. Then stand. He looked over to his companion, who was stretching out his back.

"Well, Oi think Oi'm going to try and get some shuteye before morning," Sniper said, giving the night sky one last longing glance, "would rather not crash in some dingy cave or while being chased."

"Oh, uh, yeah, yeah sure, go ahead," Scout replied, watching the marksman climb down the ladder.

"You going to stay here?" Sniper asked. Scout shrugged.

"Someone's gotta watch da stars and feel worthless about themselves."

"That is not, ugh, Oi shouldn't've told you about that," he groaned, rubbing his eyes, "it's jus' a thought process, sometimes it helps to know that whot you do isn't as important as you think it is, that's it. It can be relieving to realize that you aren't as important as you think you are."

"You're important ta me," Scout pointed out before realizing what he'd said. His companion went still, looking at him, "barely, mind you, cause you're really stupid sometimes, like, really ****in' stupid, and a freakin' grouch who doesn't know s**t about Baseball, or Hockey, and think da quiet is somethin' cool like a freakin' weirdo hermit-"

"You're not too bad yourself," Sniper said quietly. The runner's ramble came to a stop as his ears began to burn. A soft silence fell.

"Thanks," Scout murmured. He heard Sniper hum as he climbed off the roof.

"G'night, kid."

"Night." And with that, Scout heard the camper door open and felt the van rock as Sniper entered the vehicle.

Now alone, the runner looked towards the heavens, taking in the lights among the dark. He still didn't really get it; finding comfort in feeling like you're not important? Who'd want to live like that? That sounded…

That sounded sad, honestly. Lonely. Yeah, Sniper was a loner, lone wolf type of guy, but everybody had to have somebody. And he had his family, like Scout's, even if it was two times smaller than his own. But still, he'd hate living alone like that.

Scout rubbed his nose, watching a distant plane fly by. Tomorrow. His heart began to beat, and that prickling began to start again. Tomorrow was a scary thought, holy s**t.

Either they'd be able to free the guys and kill that thing once and for all, or they'd be dead. The guys might be dead by the time they get there, or maybe Sniper would get killed by them after getting them free.

What if he couldn't distract The Counterfeit for long enough?

What if he couldn't keep it's attention and it catches Sniper and Miss Pauling? What if it does what it did to him to them?

What if it caught him and did worse? Scout swallowed, clenching and unclenching his hand.

"Uh, if it's not too late," he said, the quiet of the night acting as a megaphone to his light whispers, "I'd… I'd like ta take ya up on dat wish since Mick didn't take it. Make a wish, I mean. Um… I don't know if… if there's someone listenin', like, uh, God, I guess. If, if ya are there, uh, hi. Sorry for not, uh, bein', uh… well, ya probably ain't too happy since… y'know, Sunday school was a long time ago so… yeah. But, hi, uh… look, tomorrow ain't lookin' too hot and… and I want ta wish, or, uh, ask dat we… we don't die? Right? Dyin' doesn't sound fun, and I don't really wanna go ta Hell, y'know? I actually wanna see Gramps again so… no dyin'? Please? Please and thank you?" Scout sighed, fiddling with his shirt.

"Hey," he started, "so, like, makin' wishes out loud makes them not work, right? But dat doesn't count when there's nobody else around, right? Cause, uh, I… I kinda wish dat da guys. Like, my team, and Mick, and Miss Pauling? Dat they don't die tomorrow, or, like, my team isn't dead yet and won't die once Mick gets them free? Can, can ya do dat? Cause I don't want them dead, y'know? Oh, and I can land a date with Miss P after all a this cause she's gotta, like she's gotta be my soulmate or somethin', I ain't never felt da way I do about her ta any other chick! But, uh, yeah, don't, uh, please don't let dat thing, dat spy-monster-experiment-thing kill them, thanks. Uhhhh, yeah, I uhhh… I forgot how ta end these things, so, right uh, thanks for listenin', God, if, if you are listenin', maybe not, but h*ll- heck, sorry, it makes me feel good so what da h*l- heck. So, um, night God!" Scout said as he hopped down from the roof, ears slightly burning.

Taking one last look at the twinkling sky, Scout tried to quell the unease in his mind about the day to follow, and entered the van as quietly as he could.