A/N: And here's the third chapter! We spent all of today writing, so the fourth chapter should be finished and posted up soon, probably by tomorrow morning~ Again, we're trying to keep this fic moving and updating, so there's no schedule but for when we have a lot of time in the car and wi-fi afterward - which, granted, is pretty often.

Thanks to Lanny-Sama for keeping me going, and to anyone else who may have spotted this fic and gotten interested! I hope you all enjoy!

WARNING: Rating has gone up to M for grotesque violence, blood, and foul language.

Both teams eventually ended up retreating after BLU's Demo brought down the roof covering a large area of the field, each to their own base to nurse their wounds. Scout waited outside, sitting upon a rooftop ledge, watching the rest of his team return inside. Soldier seemed to hesitate, scanning around the area once more, but he finally went inside. Scout huffed, reaching for his headset and flicking the switch for his mic off. He could still hear the audio coming in, but the rest of his team wouldn't hear anything coming out. Scout's reputation would be doomed if he were caught feeling bad for an enemy. But with Respawn down, and the RED Scout still – probably – in that shed, he felt like he at least owed the kid access to his own Medic. If their Medic decided not to waste his gun on him, that was his choice.

Scout hopped off the roof, landing quietly in the dust below. He tucked the bat into his pack, slowly opening the door to the shed, flinching when it creaked. Scanning the darkness revealed the still-unconscious form of the RED team's runner, sprawled out on the floor, his hand laying awkwardly, the fingers bending grotesquely. Scout tugged his headset off, laying it around his neck. He bent down and pulled off the RED Scout's as well, putting it over his own head, listening to the RED team's sudden flood of conversation. It was…strange, to hear the other team have simple, friendly chatter over their channel, when the BLU team's channel usually remained silent save for commands and calls for help. Stranger still was hearing voices that sounded so like his own teammates, and yet each sounded a tad different. As he listened, he heard various nicknames being tossed around to other team members.

"Can I has sandvich now?" That deep voice could belong to none other than RED's Heavy.

"Nein! I just stitched up your stomach, dummkopf! No eating until tomorrow!" Scout pondered at the Medic's tone of voice; it was not irritated, or annoyed, but amused.

"But I'm hungry…" complained their Heavy.

"If I so much as see you take vun bite out of that sandvich, I vill gut you myself!" The German's tone was lighthearted, despite the threat. BLU's Heavy would probably have taken the threat seriously, and yet no such thing seemed to happen here.

"Doktor no fun. Vant food."

"Heavy, ya'd want to listen to 'im. 'E's the one who had the medical license, for however short 'e did actually have it." Their Engineer sounded like BLU's own, his voice a bit deeper, rougher. He paused, and the sounds of power tools filled the silence. "'Ey, Snipes, have ya' heard back from Scout yet?"

" 'ah haven't. 'E didn' come back ta' see you?"

"Nope. Has anyone else seen 'im? I last talked to 'im right before that attack." Their Engineer sounded…worried. What was going on with this other team? Or perhaps, what was up with his own? Something was different between the two.

"I have not seen him, but I can go look, if you wish." The accent was French, and yet it was lacking the dripping sarcasm and bitter tone that BLU's own Spy so loved.

"Please do. I'm worried for the kid," their Engineer told the Frenchman.

"Leetle Scout better be okay, or I will have many men to kill!" the Heavy chimed in.

Scout sighed softly to himself and leaned over, slinging the unconscious RED's arms over his shoulders, careful to not jostle his hand. He stood slowly, making certain to balance correctly with the new weight on his back. The door was still open, and he scanned the darkness. A shadow seemed to move in the corner of his eye, but when he glanced over, there was nothing there. He moved outward, heading into enemy territory.

"Has anyone thought to ask Pyro?" their Soldier burst in.

"Could yew even undah'stand him if 'e did? 'Sides, 'e 'asn't left 'is room since…since we found out Respawn's down."

By then, Scout had reached the edge of the shadows in front of the RED base, and he gently set the Scout on his back in the dust. He cleared his throat, and pulled the mic closer, groaning – he hoped convincingly. The conversation in his headset stopped.

"Scout?" Strange – RED's Medic did not use the same titles that BLU's did?

"Doc'…?" Scout groaned again for good measure, exhaling suddenly and thumping the ground beside him, as if he had just passed out. He slipped the headset back onto his counterpart and sprinted out past a large rock, ducking behind it just as the replacement doors burst open. He peeked around the corner and saw RED's Medic rushing over to the downed runner, but he was stunned to find that their Heavy was nowhere in sight. Perhaps that stomach wound kept him from moving too quickly?

The German knelt beside RED's Scout, checking him over. He did not hesitate for a moment when he finally saw the condition of the kid's hand, pulling out his medi-gun and starting it up, muttering a couple of phrases into the headset. Scout could not quite pick up what he was saying, but he could guess easily enough. Doubtless he was telling his teammates not to worry, that their little runner would be alright. It was odd to think of a team that cared—

Scout's head snapped to the side when he saw more movement, certain that there was someone there. He scoured the darkness, letting his eyes re-adjust to the lack of light. Before he could actually see what was there, though, he heard a rough shout, familiar in its tone. A sequence of shots rang out, piercing the silence, and the RED Medic jerked upright where he knelt, a dozen holes erupting in his chest. Blood spurted over the RED Scout, and the German doctor blinked, surprised, before falling forward over the unconscious runner.

"Pyro! Check the grounds! I want everything burnt to a crisp!" Scout cursed and pulled his headset back on, realizing that he had missed all of this planning. He flicked the switch for his mic, reconnecting to the channel.

"What the hell is your problem! He didn't do nuthin' to ya'!" Scout leaped out of his cover, standing in the lamplight outside of the enemy base. He did not care if the RED team could hear him – at this point, he did not care if their Announcer could hear him.

"He was an enemy!" Soldier replied, as if that was reason enough.

"Fuckin' hell! Did you even think before doin' that?"

Thundering footsteps drowned out Soldier's response, and Scout whirled, facing the RED base. Their Heavy was standing there, his gaze catching on one thing only – his dead teammate. Scout watched his expression change from shock, to grief, to rage in the space of three seconds. He flinched under the Heavy's furious glare, and for some reason, the large Russian turned to Soldier, his hands tightening on his beloved gun. "You vill pay for what you have done!" he roared, charging forward.

Pyro leaped out from the shadows, his flamethrower lighting the path up before him, aiming to ignite RED's Heavy. As soon as the first lick of flame touched the large Russian, the man whirled and mowed down the BLU firebug. Pyro dropped where he stood, his fireproof suit riddled with holes. The Heavy paid him no more heed, turning back to face Soldier. However, the general had taken cover by then, and the only one left out was Scout. The RED Heavy turned to him, stopped as if he had realized something, and turned back to where he thought Soldier was hiding. Scout checked himself over, surprised not to see ragged bullet-holes erupting in his chest. The rapid fire of the heavy machine gun started up again, and he dove, sliding across the dirt, toward the now-awakened RED Scout.

A horrified yelp reached Scout's ears, barely audible over the roaring of the machine gun. He reached his younger counterpart, meeting his shocked gaze. "C'mon kid! You've gotta' move!" he growled, hefting the Medic's body up as much as he could, giving the other scout some room to squirm out from underneath him. RED's Scout did not move, staring up at his dead teammate. "Move!" he shouted, startling the younger man back into reality. The other scout scrambled out, crying out when he put pressure on his broken hand. "You're still hurt, stupid," Scout huffed, moving to help the other scout stand.

"What the hell did'ya do to me, asshole!" the RED asked, trying to pull away, wobbling slightly before Scout caught him again.

"I just saved your life. So shut the fuck up and fuckin' come this way. Your Medic's dead, and you may just end up dyin' too if you don't get some help, kid," he huffed, dragging him away from where RED's Heavy was trying to murder Soldier. The war general was huddled behind a rock, firing return shots every now and again, clutching his leg, blood seeping through his fingers.

"'m not a kid,-!" The runner's insult was interrupted by a groan of pain, and he swayed slightly. Scout held him up, half-dragging him back to the BLU base. RED's Heavy roared in anger, causing Scout to glance backward, and it looked as if the Russian had been hit a couple of times by Soldier.

"You're four years younger'an me, an' you act like you're twelve. Now shut the hell up!"

"'Oi, Scout, what's goin' on down there?" Snipers voice came on over the headset, and Scout silently thanked him for the reprieve.

"Soldier's injured 'an trapped down here. Can ya' fire some shots down here, scare off RED's Heavy? Maybe jam up his gun?" Scout grunted as the younger RED tripped and almost lost his footing. "I'm gonna need Doc'. He awake?"

"I am here, Herr Scout. Vhere is your injury?" Medic asked.

"'s'not me. RED's Scout's gotta' broken hand and probably a concussion," Scout answered, staggering up into the field of light outside of their base.

"…RED's Scout? You vant me to heal a RED? Zhat is vhat they have a Medic for!" the German doctor snapped.

"He's dead," Scout muttered as he pushed the doors open, slipping back into safety.

"Dead…?" asked Engineer suddenly.

"Soldier killed 'im. Their Heavy found out, killed Pyro, and is tryin' to kill Soldier now."

"Laddie? Did'ya just say Pyro's dead?" Demo sounded…almost sober.

"Yeah, man. Sorry," he added softly, trudging down the hallway. A single, loud shot rang out, and Scout recognized the sound as one from Sniper's rifle. The sounds of gunfire outside stopped for a moment, started up once more, and then were finally silenced.

"Soldier! Get back inside, ah'm coverin' you," Sniper announced, and the general's only response was a grunt and a shuffle. Scout reached the doors of the hospital wing and found Heavy still staring out the window at him. The large man opened the door, glaring at RED's Scout. The younger runner returned the hateful gaze, his lip curling.

"'s'not like I wanna' be here, chucklenuts," he growled quietly. Scout jerked him forward, pulling him to one of the beds, nodding to Heavy as he closed the door behind them. He sat him down roughly, earning himself a glare and a slight wince from the younger.

"You wanna' keep your head, you'll watch your mouth," he told him, turning to greet Medic.

"You are asking quite a lot from me, Herr Scout. Zhe rest of zhe team will not appreciate the vesting of zhis gun on an enemy."

"Let 'im keep his broken hand, then. Just make sure 'e doesn't die, 'lright?" Scout turned without a farewell to the RED, slipping out through the double doors. He spotted soldier limping heavily down the hallway, and yet he did not complain. The general pushed open the doors without waiting for Heavy and sat down across the room from the RED team member. Scout had to pull his headset away from his ear the instant Soldier started shouting, cursing the enemy to hell and back. He kept walking, knowing that Heavy would probably keep blood from being shed in there.

Demo turned around a corner, then, and saw Scout walking towards him. "'e's really dead, eh?" the man asked him, and the younger noticed his usual bottle of Scrumpy was there, but unopened. Strange.

"Yeah. He went down tryin' ta' get their Heavy off'a Soldier." Scout scratched the back of his head, glancing away.

"'is body?"

"Outside."

"Ah see. T'anks laddie, fer tellin' me." And with that Demo walked off. A few seconds later, Scout heard the sound of a bottle smashing against the floor.

Scout was sitting at a table in the cafeteria, his headset beside his plate, picking at the remnants of his meal. He had shoveled down the larger part of it, but was hesitant to leave the room, to head to bed. No one was talking very loudly – in fact, few were talking at all – but at least here he wasn't alone. His mind wandered to the conversations he had heard earlier that night. It was strange, how much RED cared about each other. He stabbed a meatball ferociously. It made them weaker, in the end, he thought. To care so much that you would endanger yourself even after they were dead…it seemed stupid.

"Are ya' done shreddin' that piece of meat yet, mate?" Scout looked up and saw Sniper seat himself across from him, looking down at the meatball with an eyebrow raised. The runner glanced down and saw he had indeed minced the meatball, leaving it in shreds across his plate. He quickly put down his fork, smiling crookedly at the Australian, though the expression did not reach his eyes. Sniper frowned at that, asking, "Somethin' on yer mind?"

"RED's Scout is a prick."

"Ain't that a surprise? 'E's RED, after all." The Australian did not quite seem to understand why this one thing alone would be enough to bother the young man in front of him.

"Sure, sure, but they love him. It's weird." He laughed then, grinning. "How could you love such an annoying brat?" the smirk died away at the question. "Somethin's up with that team."

"Whadd'ya mean?" Sniper leaned forward, his head tilted in confusion.

"Like…their relationships aren't professional or nuthin'. They're all friends, buddy buddy, chattin' it up on their channel. It don't make any sense. Why're they like that?" He felt the need to move, or do something, so he picked up his fork again and dragged it across the plate, pushing around the various bits and pieces of food still left. "For cryin' out loud, they were worryin' over their Scout! All of 'em."

"I dunno, mate. Why, d'you want that kind'a thing?" Sniper almost looked…concerned, then, or sympathetic, or something. Scout couldn't quite tell.

"Naw. I mean, it makes 'em weak, y'know? Their Heavy was so pissed when 'is teammate died that he went berserk. I don't doubt he's pretty beat up now a'cause of it. It just seems stupid. This is a war an' all, an' we're here to kill. Relationships get in th' way, don't they? 'das what everyone says, and it seems ta' be true." He shrugged, staring down at his plate, shoving a piece of lettuce across the plate.

"Most 'a the time, yeah. But if a team don't care at all, well, you'd 'ave a bunch o' carcasses soon enough. It was cause we cared that we went out lookin' fer you yesterday."

"Was that really yesterday? I don't believe ya'." It had felt like ages since Respawn had gone down – so much had happened…people had actually died. He supposed that stretched time quite a bit.

"It was, 'ah swear it." Sniper smiled warmly at the younger.

"Speakin' o' which, how's your side?" Scout asked, leaning forward and looking down as if he could see the wound from where he sat.

"Better. Sore an' all, but better. Ah'll be fine." The Australian shook his head with a smile on his face. "But enough o' that. You should get some rest. You look tired."

"'m not tired," he grumbled. "An' I'm old enough to go ta' bed myself, man."

"As you say, mate," Sniper replied, laughing as he stood. "'ah'll see you tomorrow, kid." He picked up his sniper rifle, slung it over his shoulder, fixed his hat, and left the table. Scout finally decided that he should throw the rest of this food away, since he was definitely not going to eat it. It had long gone cold. He stood up, replacing his headset over his ear, and picked up his plate. He dumped the rest of the food in the trash, rinsed the plate, and tossed it by the sink to dry. He strode out of the room, turning down the hallway to his room. Along the way, he saw Engineer coming out of his own room, heading in the other direction, toward the cafeteria.

"Engineer! How's the fixin' goin'?" Scout asked, stopping by him.

"It ain't. I think ah' found where tha' chip is supposed ta' go, but it's too risky to actually check."

"You're afraid that if you try and find it, you'd end up killin' one of us, huh?" Scout asked, knowing just how afraid he would be of going under the knife for experimental purposes.

"Exactly that. I'd ask Medic to check out Pyro, but…well, fer one, 'e's still outside, and fer another, I can't ask 'im to cut up one o' 'is teammates. 's just rude." Engineer shrugged, spinning his wrench and hooking it up to his belt.

"I doubt Doc' would refuse if it could save our lives, y'know? 'sides, he'd pro'lly enjoy it."

"Ain't that the truth. Still, I'd feel weird askin'. We'll see if I can find out anythin' new tomarrah."

"We're countin' on ya'."

"'ah'll be damned if I don't know that," Engineer laughed, waving goodbye to Scout and walking away. The runner turned and walked back to his room, opening the door and pulling off his headset. Next came his hat, and then his bat and pack, all piled on the floor. Lastly, he kicked off his shoes and pulled off his belt, falling back onto the bed. He toed off his socks and groaned softly, shifting until he could find a position that didn't dig into his various bruises. Sleep was slow in coming, he thought as he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Eventually, though, exhaustion caught up, sending Scout to a dreamless darkness.