It was a rather peaceful Sunday afternoon. Peaceful in the only way a day can be with nine hardened, slightly crazy mercenaries relaxing in their own hardened, slightly crazy ways. The smell of gunpowder and sulfur was naught but a trace on the cool summer breeze as his two most explosive comrades were busy having a contest to see who could touch the mountainous white pillars of clouds quietly hanging over Harvest first. The sounds of far off explosions followed by a puff of smoke trailing the two distant figures spinning like ballerinas in the blue sky before falling like meteors back to Earth in order to continue the rocket waltz. While it wasn't the most exciting form of entertainment, a day like this was perfect for such leisurely activity.

The rest of the team held the same opinion. Engie had taken Pyro to go into town for a small shopping trip for campfire supplies, though no doubt also bringing home piles of scrap metal, candy, and the occasional forgotten bazooka; stairs were outlawed in that town, and for the life of him he couldn't understand why. It wasn't Teufort after all.

Heavy was on the porch, reading. Spy stood close by reading something as well. From where he sat, he couldn't tell whether it was a magazine or a hard cover. Somewhere Medic was busy doing Medic things, like letting his doves out for a walk, or fly, or creating some unholy abomination that would make even Soldier cringe in fear. So, yes, by all accounts, a peaceful August afternoon quite suitable for a cool drink on the top of his camper van.

As Sniper watched Demoman make an airborne cartwheel, he felt something slam into the van, rocking it on its axis. He sighed.

"There's a ladder, you know," the marksman said to the runner pulling himself onto the roof with a huff.

"Screw ladders, don't believe in them," Scout replied without missing a beat. As the younger man stood up, Sniper gave him a quick once-over. The kid's scars were healing nicely, that weird corkscrew one around his neck now only a thin red line. Given how his belongings were shipped away to his home state, Scout was forced to borrow clothes and buy some from the closest town. There were only two other men on the team who's clothes wouldn't drape over him like a curtain, and Spy didn't let anyone, even family, touch his suits and shirts. So, that led to Scout wearing a plain yellow tee of his and a baggy pair of cheap green jeans from the only clothing store for miles. The runner was also his temporary roommate until they could actually make his dorm into a livable space again. Good thing he already got used to it months ago.

"You don't believe in the physical metal bars welded into the side of moi van?" Sniper deadpanned as Scout plopped himself down at his side.

"Nope."

"...Fair enough." He looked back just in time to watch Soldier careen straight through the wall of the base's second floor. Scout shouted that the patriot was a moron and yeah, he was.

"Doc got ya hooked to Respawn yet?" The runner nodded, the glint of the aviators he always wore glinting off the overhead sun.

"Yeah, now my neck itches," Scout replied, scratching the back of his head. He then stretched. "So, us dyin' is gonna be a thing now. Real death but like, temporarily, yeah?"

"Basically," Sniper said, straightening the own pair of blue polarized shades he was wearing. Why Medic didn't insert the Respawn chip while he was sewing Scout back together, Sniper didn't know. The German probably had his reasons. Maybe if he did the surgery before bringing Scout back it would spawn his dead body instead of a living person. Maybe it had something to do with what Medic had told him he used to grow back the burns, scars, and missing pieces of his companion. That, Scout didn't need to know about. Would never know about, not by Medic, or anyone else; he'd make sure of it.

Something nudged his arm.

"You want some?" Scout had in his hand a white paper bag, outstretched towards the marksman. Sniper peered inside.

"Whot is it?"

"It's like, chocolate covered berries and crap," Scout grabbed something out from the bag and pulled out a little shiny, brown ball. "They're okay, kinda sour-y."

"Y'mean tart?" Sniper asked, taking one of his own. It had a hard shell, and from what he could tell was a raspberry once he popped it into his mouth.

"Tart, sour-y, what's da difference?"

"Well the difference being one's a word and the other isn't," he replied, "where'd you get these anyway? Ya don't seem like the type to buy yourself this."

"I'm not," Scout agreed as he shrugged, "Spy gave 'em ta me and I thought they were those real fancy chocolates from Europe, but nah, it's fruit. You can have da rest if ya want," Scout plopped the bag in Sniper's lap, "I don't really like em dat much, da seeds keep gettin' stuck in my teeth." Spy gave him these?

"Did he want a favor or something?" The marksman asked though already knowing the answer. Spy had gotten much more openly… nice? Ever since Scout was revived last Thursday, the double agent had been less combative, less scornful, and showing something that was almost affection towards his recently brought-back-to-life son. If it could be called that, it was more like an occasional soft honesty.

The rest of the team had a mixture of reactions when they witnessed the runner standing in the base like he owned the place. Most were of horror or shock. Perhaps a mixture of both. Pyro had been the first to accept Scout back into the ranks, crushing him in the second hug he got that day. The others took longer to realize that their youngest member wasn't just a mass hallucination and even then, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. Engie and Demo were still closed off but thankfully kept their thoughts to themselves, and Sniper could tell the pair were relieved at least on some level.

It would probably be a while yet before they were truly a functional unit again, or not. Believing everything would go back to normal once Scout was back like it was as easy as flicking a light switch was foolish and unrealistic. All he could hope was that it got close enough to not feel so different.

"I thought dat he did," Scout admitted, leaning back to get a better look of the clouds, "like he wanted a favor or some crap, y'know? But yeah, nah, he just gave 'em ta me. But he has ta want somethin', a guy like him always wants somethin'."

"Maybe he jus' wanted to be nice for once in his crummy life," Sniper pointed out. Scout didn't look too convinced. Well, that was to be expected when talking about Scout and Spy. Sniper frowned. Even after everything, the frog was content to leave the kid in the dark.

"Ya sure you don't want these? They're pretty good," the marksman asked. His friend nodded.

"Yeah, I'm not hungry anyway," Well, alright, if he was sure. Though, it had been a while since breakfast and Scout wasn't seen at all when the team gathered for lunch, and someone like him whose metabolism was greater than everyone else's combined…

He looked back to the runner who was laughing at Soldier once again slamming against the base, earning some distant yelling from what sounded like Medic due to the high pitched, fast accent.

"Idiot," Scout chuckled. He briefly glanced over at Sniper, and his grin faltered. "What?"

"Is there something you want to tell me?" The grin fell completely as Scout snapped his head back towards the landscape.

"What, nah, nah, nothin's wrong, why would somethin' be wrong? I'm alive, right? You're literally talkin' ta Lazarus 2.0 here!" He puffed out his chest, "I should know, I met da guy!"

"You met Lazarus."

"Yup! In Heaven, because I was dead, remember? He's cool, likes dates. Da fruits, not like girl dates, I don't think dates existed back then, not da fruit kind but da romantic kind. Pretty sure dads would just give other guys their daughters and like, just because? But anyway-"

"Scout," Sniper said firmly. The runner fumbled to a halt, growing quiet and finally falling silent, scratching as the grooves in the van's ceiling. After a moment, he brought his knees to his chest, hugging them and looking away entirely.

When Scout finally spoke up his tone was completely different.

"Look, I'm fine," he started, sounding resentful, "I'm fine because I'm alive. I died, I killed dat thing and died. Now I'm back alive, and I'm fine."

"You're sure about that, mate?" Sniper pressed, setting aside the bag and sitting straighter. Scout nodded after a moment that went on for two seconds too long. "And you're being honest? Because nothing about this feels honest, kid; we both know how horrible you are at lying." Scout wasn't being honest. His own admission of guilt was curling up tighter, looking away even harder. That wasn't what Sniper wanted, though, so he pulled himself just a tad closer and lightly placed his hand on the runner's shoulder.

"Ya know, whotever this is can't be harder to talk about than that, right?" Sniper pointed out softly, "unless it has something to do with it…?" Scout remained quiet. "It does, doesn't it?" Still no response other than the muscles under his palm tensing. Oh. Letting go, he pulled himself further up to enter into Scout's peripheral vision.

"Oi'm swore to secrecy, remember?" The marksman held up three fingers with a slightly cheeky grin. "Sniper's honor." Now that got a little chuckle, which caused a butterfly effect leading to Scout breaking out from his unresponsive cocoon with a shake of his head and slightly annoyed and humored look.

"Nah, it's- it's not- well, kinda but, it's… it's just so freakin' stupid," Scout leaned on his hand with a nonchalant, cynical expression, staring at nothing in particular. "I mean, I'm back. I'm alive and not dead, breathin', hurtin' and everythin', so there's no… there's no good reason why I still feel. Why I still can't, can't stop gettin' stupid freakin' nightmares." The expression fell into anger, "I literally freakin' died! Had da worst of da worst happen! I've had da worst possible thing dat could happen happen and I'm still ****ed in da head! How's dat- it ain't freakin' fair." He took a breath.

"I still see it," Scout said, anger fading, and Sniper could see goosebumps starting to form on the runner's arm, "when I'm tryin' ta sleep. Like, like just lyin' there, not movin', can't move and… it's not even it but… more shadow-y. All black, and like it's made outta tv static or somethin' and- and I shouldn't still be afraid ta freakin' death of it, I know where I'm goin' when I do so… it ain't fair, I should've been normal by now." He pushed his face into his forearms, "I should be normal again. It should be back ta normal now, I did everythin' right, had everythin' bad happen and everythin' got better but I'm still screwed up…" Oh Bilby… if only it were that simple.

"Mate, ya need to understand," Sniper began, looking down at his hands, "whot happened… that doesn't jus' go away. That…" he paused, searching for the right words to use. "...Our attack. Everything that happened to us, to you, it… scars. It makes stuff, cuts things deep into ya that can't just be erased into a clean slate like before, that can't just be brushed aside like a single bad day. Sometimes it's actual scars, sometimes it's mental ones." The marksman took a breath, steadying his hands, "Nightmares, jumping at your own shadow, addictions, bad habits… all stemming from that fear, yeah? And, believe me when Oi say Oi wish it weren't the case. But that fear is staying for a long, long time." He met Scout's gaze, who looked quietly devastated. "Maybe it'll pass, Oi hope it does, for both of us. Maybe it'll pass, maybe it will quiet down so much you can ignore it, but maybe it won't, and that's something you'll need to learn to accept."

"...So… I might not go back ta normal? Ever?" Scout asked, sounding very small. Sniper could only shrug.

"That's something only time's going to tell, Buckshot, this might be the normal now. But… this probably helps, being… open. You're good at that, better than me. Much bloody better than me." Taking his own advice was so much easier said than done. He examined his nails; still short, still twinging in pain.

"Only cause I got a good secret keeper as a friend," Scout added. Sniper huffed a laugh.

"That probably helps too," he conceded. The pair grew silent for a time, watching their explosive comrades continue to slam into buildings and themselves in the air. At one point Scout managed to nab a bottle from Sniper. Or more accurately he asked for one and Sniper gave it without debate, earning a little sound of surprise when Scout discovered that what Sniper had been drinking wasn't in fact beer but instead root beer. Sometimes one just gets tired of the flat graininess the buzz comes with.

"Hey," Sniper heard Scout say after a good long while. He lifted his hat from his eyes as he'd laid down after a point. The runner was nursing his bottle with an expression that looked very familiar. Only this time Scout's teeth weren't pink, his skin wasn't paler than ice, and lightning in his eyes hadn't faded into nothingness.

"Hey, uh, since I was honest with you, about dat- dat crap, right, which means we're honest with each other- bein' honest, I mean, right now, at this moment, could- could ya too? Like, be honest for a sec?"

"Whot do ya mean?" Sniper sat up, arching a brow.

"Not sayin' ya ain't! Like, like clarify somethin' cause… cause it's been buggin', been buggin' me. A lot, actually, and-"

"Shoot."

"What?"

"Shoot," Sniper repeated, "ask away, shoot your question. Whot is it?" Now the runner's ears were growing red. It must either be rather meaningful to the kid, embarrassing, or both. Sniper was going to say both from the way Scout curled up. He had his face shoved into his forearms so when he spoke, the marksman couldn't understand a word he said.

"Come again?"

"...did you mean it?" Scout said again, just a little bit louder so his words wouldn't be stolen away by the sulfur and crabapple flavored wind. "What you said then? When I… y'know… did ya mean it?" Scout had the worst way of communicating what he was trying to say when it actually sounded important. Sniper looked away at nothing in particular, furrowing his brow in thought. Did he mean when died? What had he said then? The marksman silently rifled through his memories, hunting down that one moment that was scarred into his unconscious mind. Normally, it was a scene he hated, one he wanted to bury, leaving nothing for the vultures. For the past three months Sniper wanted nothing more than to kill off that red invasive species of a memory permanently. Now, it was his white stag, worth more than its weight in gold but just out of his desperate reach.

"C-Cause I get it, y'know," the sudden speedy speech snapped Sniper back into the present as Scout ran his hand through his hair, more stressed than how he was before. Wait…

P*ss, how long had Sniper been quiet for?

"I get it, cause I was dyin', and I was dyin' with you around and- an-and you're a good guy, got standards and crap so- so a course-

"Scout."

"-you'd want me ta be happy, right? Probably, like, like, people have ta make choices, and them choices are, like, split second and I ain' holdin' it against-

"Scout."

"-ya if ya didn't mean it, like, ju-just sayin' it ta make me feel good before passin' i- inta da great beyond. Dat wouldn't be fair, you were just- just bein' a good friend and-"

"Jeremy." That name seemed to make the entirety of existence hold its breath in its wake. Scout certainly was as he fell silent, locking eyes with the marksman and holding an apprehensive expression. Sniper grabbed his shoulder and gave it a squeeze while giving the runner a confident smile.

"Oi meant it."

A moment. A moment so unbelievably fragile and yet so incredibly human forced the wheels of time to halt in an instant. A moment that for all the right reasons was now etching itself into Sniper's mind, chiseling an image into the cliffside of his consciousness.

The expression Scout held shifted, not in look but in everything else. Raging thundercloud blues behind shields of orange crackled with flashes of warm lightning, widening in first disbelief, then realization, and finally… the runner turned away, the sun high over their heads sending sunrays to light up the kid's light brown hair, blooming into bright bronze and sparse strands of rose gold. Though despite how bright his hair was, it still couldn't outshine the glaring vermillion in his ears. Scout cleared his throat.

"Right, yeah, just wanted ta, yeah, just been wonderin' and now I ain't wonderin' so… yeah, uh, yeah." The kid's eyes were darting about like dragonflies, until finally landing back on Sniper, who hadn't moved at all. A second, then another before Sniper braced himself just in time as Scout let himself fall into the marksman's side, arms crossed.

"Thanks, Mick."

They stayed like that, because it seemed that it wasn't as uncomfortable as previously thought. There was a comfortable silence Scout didn't feel the need to break. There was a contact Sniper didn't feel the need to shove away.

Above them the clouds continued to migrate across the vast countryside. They were impossible to ignore, some dark with moisture, others whiter than snow. Large, unstoppable, and yet they were fading, separating, the bright, hopeful blue of the sky breaking through. With the way the wind was blowing, it would continue to send those clouds away.

Would there always be clouds? Of course. And there would always be rain, storms, and lightning. But there would always be a blue sky as well, waiting for its chance to shine and brighten the world. Always a cycle of good and bad.

But for now, and for the two mercenaries, it was safe to say that the rain clouds had finally, finally, passed them by.


And with that dear readers, we've reached the end of this year long journey. I have many a thing to say, things such as my final thoughts, how much of the story was planned out and what wasn't(you'll be surprised), and other projects I have ideas for. But before all that, I want to thank each and every one of you who has not only read my story, but followed through to the end. And to those who have commented their support, their reactions, their highs and lows, I wish I could personally thank each of you for bringing the biggest smile on my face when I read them, but if I did, I'm pretty sure the notes would pass the word limit. Though as it stands, from the bottom of my daydreamy heart, thank you.

Now, this story was a doozy to write. When I started, I had no idea what I was putting myself into. Like I said before, I didn't think it would originally be past 50,000 words in length. Heck, my first word bracket was 20,000 words, can you believe how innocent I was last year!? But the original draft I wrote just proved not to be enough, I kept getting ideas as I wrote, kept getting inspiration from the world around me, stories and other fics I read, and simply realized that my original plan wasn't good enough. I kept the basic skeleton, but so much had changed. But before I go into the making of the story, let me first talk about my thoughts about it.

Is it perfect? No, absolutely not, I still very much find the third chapter my least favorite. With every chapter I posted there was something I felt like I should have added. A sentence, a different word choice, conveyed what I saw in my head better. And that's not even mentioning the grammatical errors and technical problems(I'm still finding some :/). But, despite all of it, I'm pretty darn proud of my first fanfic that I published. I've "written" others before but never finished and sucked. They sucked bad. This one hasn't, and it is by far the longest I've ever spent on a single project, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. I still want to draw a picture for each chapter, I've even had the idea of letting others pick a chapter and draw a scene from it to add to those chapters(with credit of course) but that would stray away from my own vision and other little issues and yeah, still working things out about that.

Now, onto some trivia! My original vision of the story was far different than the final project; it was more horror focused, had less character bonding, lighter and darker in places, characters were meaner to each other, notably Sniper because I didn't have a very good grasp on his character when I was planning it out. It was far more Walking Dead-esc(kinda, never watched the show). And guess how many things were decided on the fly? Here's a list: Miss Pauling's B-plot, The Counterfeit's "origin", Not-Scout, Sniper's character arc, Scout believing himself to be infected by the Counterfeit(I only thought it out during the writing of chapter 2), and basically all the bonding moments between Sniper and Scout. That's right; all of that was improvised during writing. None of it was planned from the start. Sniper was going to be a static character for the most part, Scout's arc was only going to be about lying to Sniper about their team and his guilt towards leaving them behind. Miss Pauling wasn't going to be a character or have any pov chapters, Not-Scout wouldn't exist, The Counterfeit wasn't going to have any explanation as to what it was or why it does(my first thought was to make it just an alien but that's boring). And as for cut content? Spy was going to join the party for, like, a chapter before getting caught. Originally, he was never going to have been caught in the first attack on Sawmill, instead cloaking and forced to survive alone after getting trapped in the mines, and when Sniper and Scout fall into them would group up with the pair. For like the chapter, and then he would get caught after giving Scout his cloaking watch in order for the runner to escape, because I am a sucka for Dadspy.

Now, I do, in fact, plan on making more fics. Could you imagine if I had this and a little ship fic in my arsenal and just vanished? Never to write again? Nah, I have tons of ideas, most are longer ones but I do want to write oneshots too. One fic I actually wrote a prologue for and published but deleted because I wasn't ready to write two large fics at the same time. I'll still write it most likely so look out for that, and other fics ;)

But as the greats once said, all good things must come to an end, and thus my piece has been said. Thank you all for reading, commenting, it really means the world.

Take care!

-FiveBucks