A/N: I can't believe it's over. I don't know whether to be happy or sad! I guess a mix would work. But this is it, you guys, the last chapter! I only regret one thing plot-wise, but I'm happy with it otherwise. I never would have gotten this far without Annacat101, though; writing chapters without her is much harder! And she was the one who got me to actually write in the car, and make a story out of what would have been countless hours of boredom otherwise.
And another big thanks to FauxPromises, who's been around almost the whole time - if not for the first two chapters or so - and has reviewed every single chapter, telling me what I've done well, explaining her worries for where she was afraid I would go and hoping I didn't, telling me what I'd done well and what could have been better, whether or not my characterizations were totally off, and so on and so forth. I'd be just as lost without her, especially because she was the one who kept asking me if I'd finished, and when was I going to write more, and wasn't I done yet? And she'd chat with me when I wasn't writing, or point out a direction I could go in, or tell me I hadn't clarified enough on a certain plot point. You can't believe what an inspiration she was (and she's not even my beta!), especially because I knew there was one person who liked this story enough to bug me and bug me to finish it - the same goes for all you reviewers!
Every review is like a little piece of heaven in my inbox; I love seeing what you guys think of this! You've been the genius behind a chapter - you know who you are - and the commentators who tell me how to make my characters better! I'd be lost without you, and so I've written this last chapter for all of you, and finished this story, a year after I started.
So anyway, enjoy, everyone, for the last time!
And please, please, even if - and especially - you've never reviewed before, drop a review on your way out, tell me how you felt, what you liked or hated, and how you liked this story! Thank you so much everyone, for sticking around even though it took so long, and reading each new chapter! I love you all~
Scout froze, and then felt the rage coil within him. It flared up, burned through him, until he was on fire. "No, you're not," he responded vehemently.
The RED seemed confused, frowning. "But of course I am, you may ask your mozher if you believe otherwise."
"A scumbag like you ain't my pa, no matter what ya' say." Scout spat on the ground for emphasis. Who did this RED think he was, coming up to him now, to say he was his dad? This was a ploy, he was sure of it. Maybe an attempt to make him feel guilty for leaving them behind, for wanting them dead. Who knew how many ways this man knew how to manipulate?
"Why else would I have left you alive when I was told Respawn was down, little rabbit?" the Spy asked him, suddenly irritated, his brows furrowed in displeasure.
"No, ya' don't understand. Maybe yer' my pa', but I don't give a shit, 'cause you weren't ever there," he started, advancing toward the RED, who began to back away, "ya' never sent any money to Ma, who coulda' used it to get outta the shithole we lived in," he held up his bat now, threatening, "an' ye've never done shit fer' me here." The bat was pointed straight at the RED's throat, who looked positively guilty now. "You. Ain't. My. Pop."
"I could not! Any of zhose actions would have exposed me, and made you and your mozher targets!" RED's Spy explained quickly, hands up in a nonthreatening gesture.
But Scout was having none of it. "yer' a lousy spy if ya' can't even protect those ya' love. Piss off, an' don't act like ya' deserve my ma. Ya' left her, an' ya' left all o' us. We don't want ya' back." The Spy tried to take hold of his bat, to placate him, but Scout jerked away and spun on his heel. The RED wouldn't hurt him, so he had no qualms about turning his back on him. Not if he was really his father. Not that it mattered. Scout had done just fine without a father for sixteen years, and then he found one in Sniper. And Sniper had taken a hit to the stomach for him. Let RED's Spy try to top that.
He went cold with the realization that he had wasted all the time that Sniper had bought him, talking to this sorry excuse for a RED. He vaulted up the fence, careful about the barbed wire, and dropped down to the other side, glaring at the RED Spy before turning and jogging off.
Like he'd ever accept that bastard for a father. Who did he think he was, treating him like he should hop into his loving arms and be a happy family? As if. It was one thing to wrong Scout, but a whole different thing to wrong his Ma. Scout couldn't forgive a rich asshole who wouldn't send his Ma money. He'd heard about ways to get money across the world secretly, with offshore bank accounts or something. Not that he knew how. But it was possible. All those lies RED's Spy had spouted wouldn't have convinced him for the world. Not ever.
He shook his head, taking his mind off the subject as he ran, inwardly chiding himself for being so bothered by one annoying Frenchie. Instead, he pulled his bag out in front of him and took an inventory. A week's worth of beef jerky, if he was careful, and a couple of days' worth of water, if he didn't do anything stupid. A couple of days to run a hundred miles. Well, he could finally put his endurance to the test.
On the second day, he twisted his ankle on a rock he hadn't seen, and he had to slow down to a walk. As much as he tried to speed up, it hurt too much, and he growled in frustration, sliding a hand into his pocket to check for the memory stick, as he did all too often now. Running across the Badlands was bad enough without an injury. He'd make it though, he had to. He'd been very careful with his water – it was too easy to get dehydrated around here – and still had enough for about three days. Hopefully he'd make it. He had no idea how far he'd gone, or how far he had left to go. Or even, really, if he was running in the right direction. What if he'd been going in the wrong direction? There weren't that many bases spread out around here. He could have been heading the wrong way this whole time. Maybe he'd end up by a road, and find a city. Then again, if the other bases were anything like TeuFort, the nearby town knew all about the mercenaries, and where the bases were.
That was to be his new plan, then. Find a road, and hitchhike his way to the nearest base, which would undoubtedly be Double Cross. He reached into his bag and pulled out another piece of beef jerky, tearing at it in frustration as he limped across the desert. He'd not even had to run from pursuit – seemed like the French bastard hadn't raised the alarm. All the better, considering he couldn't run like this. Of course, why would they chase after him? They might just assume him dead. It was easier, after all. And it's not like anyone had noticed the disappearance of Spy. The goodfornothing BLU had just run off and left them high and dry.
"Damn all them Spies!" he growled, tearing off another bite of jerky. It was easier to walk when he was mad, when he could ignore the pain in his foot while he let the storm of his anger drag him on. But then he'd remember Sniper, and he'd lose all desire to keep walking. And then convince himself he had to keep moving because of Sniper. He was probably dead already – the thought made him flinch in a way it never had before – and his only way of coming back was through Scout. And what if, when someone had been dead for too long, Respawn didn't pick them up? He hurried his pace, ignoring the lance of pain that shot up his foot with every movement – he'd suffered worse, damn it –and watching the horizon hopefully.
On the third day, he saw something dark on the horizon, and held out hope that it was the canyons around Double Cross. He was able to jog now – a short nap during the hottest part of the day had given him energy – and the pain couldn't stop him if it knocked him cold. It wasn't just for Sniper any more, it was for the whole team. Soldier, who'd engineered the plan to get him out of the RED base, Spy – as much as he hated him – for fighting off RED's Soldier and finding him, Demo, who'd provided backup to get him out, Engineer, who had probably thought of pulling out his chip to help him, Medic, who'd actually done it, and Heavy, who'd brought him home that first day. And Sniper most of all. But it was for the whole team, now.
Because what else could they have become, over the past days? They'd always been a 'team', but all that meant was a group of killers who worked better alone. Some had banded together, like Heavy and Medic, or Sniper and Scout, or Soldier and Demo, but never as a whole team. Now, though, now they'd worked to each others' strengths, covered for each others' flaws, and created a unit.
Until they'd started dying, of course.
But it wasn't over. If Scout's stupid ankle would listen, and work like an ankle was supposed to, he'd be that much closer to his team coming back.
Or most of it, anyway. Pyro wasn't ever coming back. Scout reached that thought with a pang of pain, slowing down. He'd liked the firebug, wordless though he was. They'd play pranks on RED whenever they weren't fighting, or just read comics, or maybe play some video games in their downtime. And he was gone, for real, now. Scout shook his head and sped up again, trying a slow limp-jog. He managed it, and got ever closer to the dark smudge on the horizon.
On the fourth day, sometime in the night, Scout nearly fell into the canyon.
He hadn't been looking, not carefully enough – it was how he'd twisted his ankle in the first place – and found himself scrabbling backward to stay on solid ground. The canyon dropped away before him, into darkness, and he stared down. It was black and deep, as if he could fall forever in there.
No lights, anywhere.
His legs gave out underneath him, and he stared into the darkness, transfixed, hypnotized. He'd come all this way, and wound up in the wrong canyon! Of course he had – what were the chances he'd find the right place? The bases weren't easy to find even if you knew where you were going, after all.
Scout pulled out a bottle of water from his bag, drank the last of it – just a sip – and reached for another. His hand came out with just the bag of jerky, and no water. He had enough jerky to last two more days, but no more water. Pulling out a couple of pieces – to hell with rationing, he'd die without more water even if he had jerky – he tore them to bits and chewed on them angrily, dangling his legs over the canyon.
Now what? He couldn't just get up and expect to make it to civilization, not without any water to keep him going.
He decided to think about it later, and sleep the darkness away; maybe his ankle would hurt less in the morning.
Scout woke up to a circle of birds on the ground around him, staring at him as if they were trying to approach but too wary to do so. He shouted at them, calling them bird spies sent by RED, the bastards, and they flew off.
He sat up eating a bit of the jerky, regretting that he had no water to wash it down with. It had been a stupid decision to sleep the night away. It had been his only shade from the sun, and now he was stuck without water, in the full sunlight, with no destination. What was he supposed to do?
Standing up, he walked over to the canyon, staring once more into the rock-walled hallway. Just then, he saw something, another smudge in the canyon! He ran along the cliff, racing toward the blob, his ankle forgotten, and skidded to a stop when he got near.
Sure enough, it was Double Cross! Scout whooped with joy, suddenly grateful he'd stayed the night by the canyon. He could have left, given up, and been right next to his goal all along! Which made him wonder, why hadn't there been any lights on?
He shook himself of the thought and studied the cliffside, searching for a way down. The two bases straddled the canyon, one clinging to each wall, so it didn't matter what side he was on, he could easily sneak over to the right base later. Not that that mattered – he was so covered in dust and dirt that his shirt was brown instead of blue.
There was a tiny, old trail, barely visible in the dirt, worn away by time. It hadn't been used in ages. But it would have to do. Scout began to scramble down the path, slipping and sliding, doing his best to keep his footing, but really just trying to not fall off the edge. The path was too narrow, something only animals would be brave enough to traverse, but he had to do it. He pulled the memory stick out of his pocket and put it into his mouth, holding onto it tightly. Better to keep it there than in his pocket, where it could fall out at a moment's notice. He squatted and began to slide down the trail, trying to keep himself from gaining too much speed.
What felt like an hour later, he reached the bases, and stopped, staring into the wildly fought-over area. There was still the debris in the center of the bridge, the crates, the pathway below, and, strangely, no movement. No fighting. No sounds.
He slid down once more, putting the memory stick in his hand, and pushing off the cliff, jumping to clear the fence, and landing with a thud and a crunch. Scout rolled over, groaning at the pain, and pushed himself into a standing position. His injuries could wait – his team couldn't.
So he wandered into the empty base – turned out he'd ended up on RED's side of the canyon – and crossed the bridge, wary the whole time, but unable to move fast. The dehydration should have taken him by now – he hadn't been generous with his water rations –and it was an effort to move each step. His arm had been the thing to snap during his fall, and he tried to shrug it off, clutching the stick with his good hand, limping slowly, clinging to the adrenaline rush from his fall. What a sight he must be, bruised, beaten, broken, tired and thirsty.
He knew the base well, though, and so he found his way inside and down to the Respawn room, finding the machine and wrenching it open with the hand that held the memory stick. He searched for a port that looked like the one Engineer had showed him, and found it a moment later. Slowly, carefully, he slid the gadget in, and waited, shifting impatiently. A screen lit up, then, and numbers and words started flashing across it, going by too fast for Scout to see, let alone understand. He left the device and moved as quickly as he could to the Supply room, where his team should respawn.
After five minutes or so, the lights in the room dimmed, and with a flash, something appeared in the room connected to the supply room. That is, someone. Heavy, to be more exact.
He stumbled out, the doors sliding open with a whoosh, and stared down at his heads.
"I am alive?" he asked, incredulous.
"That ya' are, man, that ya' are."
"Leetle Scout!" Heavy grinned at him, and then his face fell as he saw the runner. "You are injured!"
Scout waved if off. "I'm fine, man. Ain't nothin' a shower an' a Dispenser won't fix." At that moment, another flash slammed their eyes, and Medic appeared, clutching at his chest.
He looked down at his hands, and then up at Heavy and Scout, and smiled in relief. The German actually smiled. "It is good to see you again, mein kamerades!" he exclaimed, coming out to see them. Heavy clapped a hand to his shoulder, nearly sending him sprawling, and yet Medic did not seem to mind.
Another flash, and then Demo was visible, walking out surprisingly steadily. Scout wondered if he'd drunk any Scrumpy since he'd heard about Pyro. "'Ey, there ye are!" He waved to them, moving to clap Scout on the shoulder. He bit down a yelp, as the impact jostled his broken arm, but Medic saw and rushed over.
"Mein gott, I knew you were dirty, but injured too?" He shook his head and studied Scout's arm, reaching for a medpack that hung against the wall.
He was setting the runner's arm – who yelled out in pain and surprise – when Engineer arrived, unnoticed. Not one to draw attention to himself needlessly, he stepped up close to observe Medic working on Scout – the kid seemed dirty and exhausted beyond belief. He remained unnoticed for a few moments, when Demo spotted him and fell over backwards in sheer shock. The others looked to him, and then the direction he had been staring at, and jumped in surprise.
"Engineer! Zere you are. No injuries, I assume?" asked Medic, all clinical professionalism again.
"Naw, I'm alright," he responded, a relieved smile on his face.
That was when Medic chose to ask exactly how they wound up here, considering the last thing he remembered was a roof falling on top of him.
As Engineer explained the plan, the surprise attack, and all of that, Soldier arrived, as if on cue. He listened for just a moment, to catch where the story was, and barged in, telling of how he and Engineer had gone out alone to fight all of RED, to buy Scout time to get out and away, how he'd seen Engineer fall to a rocket and avenged him mightily, blowing up RED's Soldier for it. Scout listened, sitting back as Medic looked to his ankle, inspecting it, turning it, listening to his hisses of pain to understand what had happened.
Sniper appeared last of all, and as the doors whooshed open, Scout's gaze snapped up, and he grinned. He knew better than to get up when Medic was looking after him, though, so he sat still as Soldier finished his tale – probably exaggerating his heroic demise – and they all turned to Scout. Waiting for his story.
So he told them. He started out with the hallway, with Sniper taking a hit for him, and staying behind to fight off his counterpart, and stopped, letting Sniper pick up. After all, he'd fought off RED's Sniper, and won, apparently, seeing as how he'd Respawned last – if they'd respawned in the order that they died, which Scout thought seemed logical.
"Wha- don't look at me. It wasn't hard ta' kill RED's Sniper. The lazy wanker is a no-good fighter. 'specially with his shiv stuck in my stomach. All Ah had ta' do was spin 'round and stab 'im through with my kukuri. Which is, of course, sharper'n his shiv. Professional standards, and all. And then I went down inta' the base, lookin' fer' some RED's ta' kill. Didn' find any, though, 'fore I bled out." He looked back at Scout, as if his story was nothing special, as if fighting off another mercenary with a big-ass knife stuck in him wasn't something to be proud of.
"I met RED's Spy on ma' way out," Scout started, and instantly, the others scowled. They all hated spies, and barely tolerated the one on BLU. "Said 'e was my dad." Sniper's frown, in particular, grew deeper, but it was unnoticeable among the others. "Said 'e wanted ta' help me get out. I told 'im ta' piss off." He grinned proudly at that. "Hopped over tha' fence an' ran. Twisted my ankle on tha' second day—"
"Pardon the interruption, kiddo, but how many days has it been?" Engineer asked thoughtfully.
"Four? I think, maybe five," Scout replied, nodding to himself. "Yeah. So, anyway, twisted my ankle, couldn't really run, an' ended up walkin' a while. I actually found the canyon, but it was night time, an' I almost fell in!" The others looked properly surprised. "Anyway, there weren't any lights in there, an' I almost left, but I stayed, ta' sleep the night, an' would ya' believe it, when I woke up, there were a bunch o' birds watchin' me!" Sniper looked at him curiously, brows furrowed. "Anyway, I checked out tha' canyon 'gain, an' there it was! Double Cross, sittin' jes' a couple miles from where I'd slept, an' I almost left!" He shook his head in wonder. "'s a good thing I didn't, man. 's a good thing I didn't."
"Anyway, I had ta' find a way down, an' I did – some fuckin' donkey track, or whatever, but I made it, 'till the bottom, when I had ta' jump offa' the cliff ta' make it over the fence. 'at's when I broke my arm," he held up the now splinted arm, "an' it turns out I landed in RED's base. But there ain't no one here! 's a ghost town. Creepy shit, man. Cr-eepy. So I plugged in tha' stick Engineer gave me, an' five minutes later, ya' all started showin' up! Man, it's good ta' see you guys."
"Likewise, mate, likewise," Sniper assured him, stepping over to put a gentle hand on his unbroken arm. "Couldn'a been here without you," he added.
"Naw man, yer' the reason I got out in the first place." Scout grinned, looking his team over. They were looking more and more like a family to him, instead of just a group of strangers he was stuck with.
So they had a hole or two, and they were a bit dysfunctional, but this malfunction in the system had changed them. Somewhere along the way, they'd started caring. Funny, considering they believed it made them weaker. In the end, all it had taken was the permanence of death. And they'd avoided it. Mostly.
Pyro was still gone, and Spy hadn't shown up, which made Scout think that he hadn't been killed yet. Not that they would talk about it, really. Spy hadn't done much for them over the past six years that Scout had been around – the Frenchman was reclusive and elusive. But even with those gaping holes, they'd sewn themselves together, tied to each other in a way that couldn't really ever be undone.
And, Scout supposed, caring didn't make you weaker. It made you stronger, more willing to die for your friends.
In the end, it didn't really matter what his name was, or why he'd forgotten it, or why he'd never dreamed of home before or where the headaches had come from. What did matter was that his Ma was better off now, getting richer every day, and that he had a team who would look out for him just as much as he looked after them. It wasn't every man for himself.
Not anymore. Not ever again, Scout thought, as the exhaustion and dehydration finally caught up to him. The world faded and the sounds around him, so loud before, grew muffled. The last thing he felt was a hard surface as his back collided with it.