The air around him felt cool and crisp as he inhaled, his gaze set on the sandy, but otherwise solid ground before him. Above him he could see the sun as it set - the once bright, orange skies giving way to a soft blanket of darkness.

The Scout moved quickly on, his breath cutting sharply into his lungs as he ran.

He didn't know for how long he had been running. What started off as a light, tired jog into the sandy wastelands - soon became a crazed, fast sprint, alternating between speeds as he forced himself to keep moving forward. He didn't stop. He didn't want to.

What started as an ache, grew into a numbing pain - and now, near the point of physical breaking - he didn't know how to stop himself. Because, in the end, this was the only way he knew how to escape. The only way he had ever let himself cope.

As the last rays of warmth left the badlands, the Scout's knees buckled from beneath him, and he fell, clumsily, and unceremoniously, into the sand.

For a brief second, he let himself close his eyes. The fall hurt. Breathing hurt. His whole body ached terribly, as his brain rang out in pain and nausea. Without as much as a road, or any form of civilization in sight - there was no light, no warmth in the vast desert wasteland.

As he slowly opened his eyes to a cold, and empty reality - the Scout had finally accepted that he was all alone.

~oOo~

The Medic clenched his jaw, steeling himself for the harsh intervention.

Before him, the Sniper and Demo seemed to loom over the man - their expressions tinged with worry - and doubt.

"Demo told me about what happened." The Sniper said quietly. "He told me about the incident with the Scrumpy - and the concerns he felt as he spoke with the boy."

The Medic returned the two men's steady gaze on him, his clasped hands and tense expression betraying what he truly felt. "...Vhat of it?"

"The change in Scout happened right after his trip to the infirmary." The Sniper uttered monotonously, inhaling a sharp breath. "...Something happened while he was here - and most likely, between you and him."

The Medic closed his eyes, responding to the two with silence.

"I dunnae know the full story, Doc." The Demo looked away from the two, casting his gaze to the ground. "But I think I know enough to put two and two together."

"Snipes told me what happened after his room was destroyed by RED." The Demo continued, clearly uncomfortable with being put into the spotlight. "He explained that Spy had taken charge of putting Scout under your care - and that, Spy later mentioned that the Scout was to stay in your room - in your quarters, instead of in the infirmary."

"...Ja. Zhat is true." The Medic returned quietly, his knuckles white as he clasped his hands together.

"Look, Medic..." The Demo continued. "Something happened between the both of ya, that we don't know about."

Demo paused, briefly taking the time to choose his next words. "...When the Scout was drunk - he talked a lot about 'home'."

~oOo~

He felt like he was freezing.

In the dark, vast space of the badlands, Scout could barely make out the shape of his own hand, as it lay idly in front of his face.

The Scout blinked, letting his gaze hazily focus off somewhere into the distance. As much as his body hurt - as much as his exposed fingers and bare arms threatened to freeze and fall off to frostbite - the Scout couldn't make himself feel anything.

In an odd, almost tranquil apathy, he wondered if he was going to die.

He didn't really know where he was at that point - how far away he was from the base. Would respawn kick in if he died here? Would it reconstruct his body and force him to live again?

...What if it didn't?

They were in a middle of a ceasefire. The respawn machines weren't turned on as far as he was aware of - he had heard cross mutterings from the Engineer, time and time again, that they were already running on limited Australium.

As the Scout closed his eyes, he wondered what it would feel like to disappear.

He wondered what would happen to him - where he would go after life. If he'd see a heaven (although he knew he was definitely headed for hell), if he'd see a dark tunnel with a light at the end - or if he would simply, cease to exist.

He wondered what his mom would think of, if he disappeared. What his brothers would feel. Maybe some of those jackasses might even regret what they did to him - although he somehow doubted that any of them would give a damn.

His mind drifted to his teammates - his other family. If he died, would they mourn his loss? Would they miss him? He imagined how quiet the base would be after he passed - none of the other guys really spoke as much as him. Idly, he wondered what would happen if they never found his body - and secretly, he actually kinda hoped that they wouldn't.

As he forced a thin, humourless smile - he wondered if anyone had even noticed that he was gone.

He knew, that somewhere, deep down there - he wanted to be missed. He wanted to be heard, to be cared about - like the others seemed to care for each other.

He didn't want to be the tough guy anymore. He didn't want to be strong.

He had always felt the need to prove himself - wherever he went, wherever he called home, he never really felt like he mattered. And he knew, more than anyone, that his team was great. They were all damn amazing at their jobs - and there was no exception to that. All of them were badass, epic killing machines - although some of them were slightly crazy. But he didn't mind that. As long as he did his part, and he did it well - he was always part of the team. A part of a pack.

He felt a hitch in his throat as tears started to well up, forming from some deep part of him he didn't know he still had. And as the tears began to fall, he wondered when the need to belong - became the need for a place to call home.

Maybe he was just selfish. Needy. Sensitive. And he probably was, knowing himself. His whole life, he was labeled 'The weak one'. The runt of the litter from the day he was born - he could barely even stand up for himself. And what could you do if you couldn't fight? What choice was left for you if you couldn't even throw a punch that would matter?

His whole life, he spent running away.

Running from his brothers, running from his problems - running away from anything that could hurt him - even his own feelings.

As the tears refused to stop falling, he chuckled weakly.

...Some people were different. Some people didn't laugh at his weakness - didn't judge him for the role he was given. His mom, for instance. Although tough as nails as she was - raising nine boys on her own in the depths of the bronx - she always saw something special in him. Often, she would joke about how 'soft' he was - that his 'kind soul' would surely get him into trouble within a barbaric world like this.

When he first got the invitation for this merc job - she was the most adamant about him not taking it. He argued with her over it - they were never rich, and this job could provide for them. All of them - even his deadbeat, drug-addicted brothers.

I'm sorry, ma. Scout thought as he choked on his tears.

In reality - he just wanted to run away. He didn't want to end up like his brothers - many in gangs or in jail to petty crimes. He didn't want to end up like his neighbours, the people surrounding him - stuck in a sad, concrete jungle where nobody actually gave a shit about anyone else. He didn't want to end up like his Mother - poor, unhappy, with failing romances as her only form of entertainment. So once he got his ticket out of there - he took his chances, and he ran.

Somewhere, down the line, running didn't just become something he was good at - it became his entire life.

~oOo~

"Scout was a happy drunk. He talked a lot about the things he liked - the things that made him feel happy." The Demoman explained quietly. "His words and ideas were slurred, but I could catch most of what he meant. From a long speech about comic books and baseball cards - he started talking about us."

The Demoman paused, once again casting his gaze down. "...He only said good things about us. All of us."

"He talked about things I did nae think he would have noticed - small things about all of us that none of us usually pay attention to." Demo pursed his lips into a thin line. "He talked about how thoughtful Snipes was with others. How Heavy somehow always knew what to do to cheer up a scene. How Pyro - even though he didn't usually like their food - made a 'wack-ass' alligator steak on a pretty regular basis." Demo paused, a thin smile forming on his lips. "He talked about how Spy was a sarcastic bastard when it came to teamwork - even though, when it came to it, he was always the one to take charge and lead the team. He talked about how good Engie was on his guitar - said that he wished he played it more often. He talked about how surprisingly observant I was, and how the Soldier was the best guy to talk to when ya needed help taming a wild animal."

As the Demo met his gaze with the Medic's, his heart sunk instinctively.

"...For a long time, he talked about you, Doc."

In silence, the Sniper stared on at the two, his own emotions unreadable under a blank expression.

"He talked about how much he appreciated you. He talked about your blunt honesty, and sarcastic jokes - but he said that, when it came down to the serious things - you always knew what to say. He talked about how you were a good listener - and how you're a damn good man." Demo cleared his throat as he looked away from the Medic. "...He called you the good doc, and he said... that he would trust you with his life."

At this, the Sniper glanced away as well, his foot anxiously tapping at the ground.

Medic, before the two - was trying, but failing, to suppress his own emotions. His jaw clenched, and his hands clearly shaking, he took his small glasses off the crook of his nose, and covered his eyes.

"...Doc," The Sniper uttered quietly. "We don't know what happened between the both of you - through some way or another, you've become the one person that boy trusts the most."

"There's something wrong - and we can't fix it. As much as we'd like to help." The Sniper sighed in defeat. "He might not know it yet - but we want to be there for him. He's more than a team member - he's a part of our family."

The Medic, still covering his eyes, said nothing.

"...It's getting late." Sniper gestured to a dark window. "Even if Scout avoids us all - he can't avoid the infirmary right now. There's nowhere else warm enough to sleep. So..."

The Sniper exhaled sharply as he paused. "We're counting on you, and whatever trust you have left with that boy."

"Please, help him."

~oOo~

As the last of his tears left their stained mark on his cheek - Scout found himself losing consciousness.

Tired, cold, and aching - he slowly closed his eyes as something in the distance entered his vision.

In the cold, vast wasteland, the last thing the Scout saw was a bright- almost blinding light.