"What's'a matter with you?! You haven't said a word all morning!" Sniper exclaims, taking his eyes off the road briefly as he places them on the lean figure who sits next to him in the passenger seat. He can't ignore Scout with his expression so dull and legs propped against the dashboard. "'S not like you at all t'stay so quiet."
Sniper hopes that the younger man wasn't regretting his decision to accompany him on his expedition to the mountains. He would be the first to admit that his idea of leave was less than invigorating to most people—especially the energetic youthlike Scout. Yet somehow Sniper can only fear that Scout is only seconds away from demanding the Australian turns around and takes him back to 2fort despite the wayward dent in the distance he'd already made since this morning.
Perhaps Scout was simply beat. The weather was certainly grey, a rainy slush of a dreary bastard that only seemed to spread in its influence the farther along the van went along the highway. Though a warmth sprawled its way about the outside, March typically known for running a bi-polarized course that whose end either meant heaps of snow or the beginnings of an insufferable heat. Sniper could crack a window and let the air whip inside, turn on the radio, tell an interesting story or two, yet nothing seems to stir the speechless Scout beside him.
Scout's face twists into an apathetic, lethargic smile, his eyes gazing out the front of the windshield.
"Ain't nothin' to talk about for real," Scout snaps, Sniper scoffing, smirking as he faces the barren highway again. He chuckles at the idea, shaking his head gently; like Scout ever ran out of things to say.
"What's so funny?!"
"Nothin', absolutely nothin'—"
"Plus you're always whinin' 'bout how I don't shut up, so guess what slugger, wish fuckin' granted—"
"—Well, sure does look like y'got somethin' on your mind, whatever it is it's eatin' right through ya'nd takin' a piss all over your mood," Sniper comments, his voice light and curious, Scout letting out a grunt and nothing else.
"Nah, just takin' in the scenery," he sounds so underwhelmed, Sniper notices, the only sound now being the squeak of tires against the wet asphalt of the linear road, the grey skies of the approaching northwest scattered above their heads.
"Never known ya t'be a silent observer," Sniper jests, Scout turning his nose upward and and resting the tips of his fingers against his temple.
"There's a lotta shit you don't know about me," Scout spits, though unaware of his friend's raised eyebrows, his lips curled in a takenaback grin as he brings his gaze back onto the road before them.
"Oo, sassy."
Neither of them speak again. Scout brings a hand to the bulky knob along the dashboard, the taped fingers twisting it in hopes of picking up at the very least a jumbled talk radio. Hell, even a gentle undertone of shoddy radio transmissions would play a part so as to shatter the eminence of aggression seeping from the younger man.
Sniper dares another swift, subtle jerk of the head in an attempt to peek yet again at the scowling brunette beside him. Strange how it was that silence and peace were the things Sniper had pleaded of Scout. Though now, in a present in which any sort of verbal expression from the Bostonian was less than expected, he would have relinquished the world if it meant making the boy beside him smile in one of his wide, sincere grins.
Sure, the forests on either side were thick and Scout liked the way the van smelled of pine when Sniper let the windows down, and he enjoyed hearing tales of Sniper's life back home, but it just seemed so neverending, and it didn't help that he'd been cramped in the passenger seat since seven that morning, and that it was already noon and they still weren't there yet, and that they hadn't passed another car in ages.
"Yo, you got your license, wombat?" Scout asks with sudden realisation, Sniper laughing with a deep menace.
"'s neither here nor there, Scout—let's just hope my ten year old Australian one cuts it," he grumbles, drumming his hands along the steering wheel. "Not that I'm tryin' to get us pulled over,"
"Yeah, well, this fuckin' thing's been rattlin' for the last hundred miles; you didn't tell me we would be ridin' in a fuckin'deathtrap..." Scout sighs, wondering just how the Hell he managed to get his van from Australia to the U.S. in the first place...
"She'll be alright—y'don't know'er like I do..."
"Well you better not get our asses fuckin' stranded," Scout snaps, looking out the window and back at Sniper.
"...You've been here ten years and you still ain't got a license?!" he asks suddenly.
"When you're huddled up in a bloody nest shootin' brain matter about for a livin', you'd be bloody surprised just how much o'daily life starts to slip past ya," Sniper snaps, turning off the painfully straight line in what Scout feels may as well behours.
"'s long as you got yours, there shouldn't be too much of a problem," Sniper mumbles, though out of the corner of his eye he can see Scout retreat back to the bored pout his face has embodied all day now.
"You wanna go lay down? I can pull over 'n let you in the van if ya want—"
"S'alright..."
"...You gonna tell me wot's wrong, love?"
"Ain't nothin' wrong for real, I just—" Scout begins, but a sudden frustration wells inside of him, rendering him unable to speak. "Fuck it," he pouts, Sniper saying nothing in response.
"I just didn't think it would be so damn boring,"
"Well maybe I shoulda left your arse back at 2fort, you ungrateful bugger," Sniper snaps, taking a sudden offense to Scout's ingratitude. "'S not my fault Luc beat ya home to Boston—yeah, s'right, I know about you'nd Luc! Would'o appreciated it if you'd told me my colleague o'ten years was your Goddamn stepdad, y'know..."
"Maybe it wasn't none of your Goddamn business, you ever think about that?!"
"'Twas always a possibility,"
"Well I don't give a shit about where the fuck that cuntrag's goin'; he sure as Hell didn't beat me nowhere, either,"
"'S not the way he was makin' it sound,"
"FUCK HIM, MAN!" Scout whines, Sniper chuckling to himself as he thinks he's found the source of Lawrence's frustration.
"Damn shapeshiftin' rat,"
"You shouldn't talk 'bout him that way, he really does care a lot about you all," Sniper explains, Scout's arms folded and brow wrinkled, his head leaning against the glass of his window.
"I may not always see eye to eye with 'im, 'nd he can sometimes be a bit of a bastard, but I do know he loves you and your mum and brothers very much,"
Scout scoffs.
"Nice to know he just dishes shit out about our personal lives,"
"'Nd I know you were always real close t'your Mum 'nd Dad—"
"Just drop it, wombat—"
"Well imagine how she feels, her youngest son goin' off to war like that!"
"I didn't just go off to war, Snipes! I have my fuckin' reasons!"
"You enlisted to rebel against Luc—the best way to get back at the man who'd been stealin' all the attention from mummy these last few years was to enlist for the opposite faction 's soon as you were old enough t'sign your life away—"
"Hey, fuck you, alright?! That wasn't it at all—!"
"'S not what Luc said—said you've been threatenin'im with it for years—"
"'S not even true!"
"Oi, I'd've appreciated it if you'd told me my comrade's been livin' with you and buggerin' your mum the past fifteen years—"
"It never freakin' mattered though—why in the Hell would I talk about'im if I left home to get away from that shit in the first place—?!"
"See?! You're even admittin' you left your family for your own selfish gain—"
"I certainly wasn't no fuckin' help feelin' miserable and handin' out newspapers for a living—!"
"What about your brothers?!"
"They were fuckin' gone!"
"Well you're still a bloody idiot, enlistin' 'cause you wanted payback on your stepfather—what were ya gonna do, actually kill'im?!" Sniper asks in a strained tone of curiosity, Scout's eyes watering as his hand steels against the handle of his door, as if Sniper's question sent him smacking back against a wall.
"When it comes right down to it, you, towerin' over'im, Luc beggin' ya for mercy—are you really gonna be the one to do'im in because mummy wasn't tuckin' ya in a night at twenty years old?!"
"What fuckin' right do you have to question me—?!"
"I'm askin' ya because, whether you could do it or not, whether you truly hate him so, you've landed yourself in the middle of this conflict because of it. Whether it's bloodlust you've got ragin' in that little body o'yours, or whether they're just the leftover dregs o'teenage senses of rebellion, you've got nine highly trained mercenaries after your head 'cause you're pissed at your stepdad," Sniper explains gravely, Scout's expression wrinkled with fury, his arms tucked moodily, his lips puckered in a seething pout.
"Did you even know anythin' about the factions?! Or the missions before enlistin'?! Is this what you wanted?!"
"You have NO fuckin' clue why the Hell I enlisted, or what I want! You or Luc don't know shit, alright?! You don't know nothin' about me, or my fuckin' family, or Boston, or where the Hell I come from—you haven't spent a fuckin' day or even anafternoon in my fuckin' house, so don't say shit or try to fuckin' read me like you know what you're gettin' into!"
Scout's furious lash strikes silence from the older man, who, though he had a million and one things to say to shut Scout up in return, finds the confinement of the van to be much too small and the ride to be much too long in order to use them.
Still, Sniper can't help but laugh at the end of Scout's rant, wondering too if Luc wasn't right about the Scout being all that good of a match for him.
"Touchy, aren't you—?!"
"Forget about it—let's just—can we talk about somethin' else?!" Scout pleads, but sure enough that same awkward silence plays between them again.
Sniper turns his head every now and then, the scoffs and mumblings of his companion wrenching him from his attention to the road.
"Sorry, I s'pose it isn't any o' my business,"
"No, it really ain't," Scout scathingly hisses in return, and the two men say nothing until the patter of rain hitting the windshield begins picking up again, and all Scout can do is groan.
"Listen Lawrence, I'm not gonna cart your pissy arse around for the next week,"
"Fuck you—"
"'Lright, Scout, I'd calm down'n watch who I were fuckin', the fact you're sittin' here next to me is all a favour for you—I didn't want you t'be alone 'cause I care about ya, but if you don't drop the 'tude, I'll drop you' right here, on the side of the road—"
"I wish you would! Anythin's fuckin' better than being stuck with you in this rattlin' piece of shit—!"
But Scout falls silent as Sniper swerves to the edge of the highway, and Scout can feel the van bounce and jerk underneath him as it hits the outskirts of the unlevel forest floor.
"You always threaten me with shit but never follow through, wombat," Scout explains in that scolding sarcasm he loves so dearly.
"You wanna see me follow through, mate? 'Cause I'm waitin' on ya t'go ahead'n find your way out,"
Scout chuckles, nodding his head and smirking, his eyes still under the fumingly silent gaze of his friend; the gaze Sniper was certain was assigned to the expression of choice whilst murdering...
"Well you ain't gotta wait long—" Scout smirks, lifting the lock and lacing his hand along the handle.
"Get out—!" Sniper growls, Scout smiling still, a laugh of disbelief escaping his chest.
"What—?"
"I'm not givin' you much longer, boyo, so I suggest you find a way t'get your scrawny arse out the van before I push you out myself,"
"You're jokin', right?!" Scout laughs nervously, but Sniper's eyes are cold behind his glasses, his expression free from any of the telltale signs of weakness Scout had learned to recognize.
"You're really just gonna leave me out here?! In the fuckin' rain, don't even know where the fuck we are—!"
But Scout's skin tingles with an unpleasant sense of realisation as he looks from Sniper to back out the window, rain water falling in lazy sheets along the glass.
"Alright, then," Scout nods, his voice cocky but somewhat cautious, as if testing the man, as if Scout is certain he'll let up with a punch to the arm and a deep chuckle.
He lets the handle of the door lift, and the rain, hitting the drenched soil, gets louder as the door proper flies open, Sniper staring him down ever still, silent as the marksman could possibly be..
"I don't believe this, wombat!" Scout shakes his head as he places a black kleet into the soggy earth, his leg slipping as muddy traction ceases to exist.
He shakes it off, however, his shirt staining with the rain falling onto his body, and turns to face the older man who sits comfortably behind the wheel.
"Have a nice camping trip, dingo!" Scout salutes, Sniper reaching over and slamming Scout's door closed, the van starting, sputtering mud every which way beneath its wheels before the man takes off without another word.
"Fine then! Get fuckin' lost already! Ya Aussie bastard!" Scout shouts after the van that finds itself back on the road, Scout raising a self assured eyebrow.
"Yeah, yeah, Jack, I know you'll be back. You can't just leave me out here!" Scout shouts after the continually fading spec of an automobile in the distance that is the camper van.
"Kangaroo killin' fucker."
Scout twists left and right, moving to lift his kleets from out of the muddy entrenchment, his hair soaking rapidly, his clothes darkened with moisture. Though despite it all Scout maintains his haughty grin, because there was no way Sniper would ever leave his own friend alone on the side of the highway without money, especially considering the weather and the fact that he had no fuckin' idea where he was.
"Guess I should go find somewhere t'sit," Scout mumbles, his thighs nearly reaching his chest, the slush of rainy dirt clamps so powerfully against his feet.
"Yeah, s'alright, better than sittin' around with his borin' ass," Scout scoffs to no one in particular, for internally Scout knows that he himself can hardly believe the words he speaks.
The memory of the man's words about wearing a jacket cause the young man to scrunch his face with indignation, his taped hands latched onto his filmy, goosebumped biceps. He'd simply decided his standard grey pants with a light grey, form fitting t-shirt would suffice, finding the fitted dark green thermal undershirt, windbreaker, and thick brown pants Sniper had worn excessive, and yet now he knows just why the man had dressed so. The sleek shine the water influences on his skin gives Scout a sort of squelching sound each time his hand slides along his arms, his grin faltering as not a single car goes by.
"Damnit, Jack! Come back already! This shit ain't funny no more!" Scout screams, looking left and right down the barren road to make sure no one is about to witness the young man in such a conundrum.
"Jack!" he calls, knowing full well it would bear no result. He steels his leg and wrenches the kleet from the swampy glue of the earth, Scout cringing at the wet, bubbling sound of suction that occurs when he pulls his foot free, his whole calf and shoe covered in mud.
"Fuckin'—" he sobs, the sharp sniff smelling of pine and dampened nature, the reality that, he was stuck out here, somewhere that could be anywhere, with no clothes, food, or money settling in so deep as to uproot his haughty sense of bitterness toward the man who set him out in the first place.
Scout shakes his head, moving forward along the highway's edge—was pride really worth the struggle of radical discomfort?!
"Gotta find a gas station or somethin', call somebody—" Scout reasons, but who the Hell was he gonna call?! Luc, who was already trainbound to Boston?! Or Ma or maybe Christopher or Alex, his two oldest brothers?! It was always an option, and as of now, his only option. But he would call them, sure, but what could they do about it?! Drive all the way from the East Coast to come and freaking pick him up?! And then what, take him back to Boston?! Or 2fort?! It's not like he could even tell them where he was for them to come and get him in the first place!
"A fuckin' umbrella woulda been nice," he moans, his eyes weaving in and out of focus as the rain stops, the water only altering itself to form a gentle, slightly humid fog caused by the warmth of a subtle Spring. The forest, aligned with the two lane road in the middle, seemed almost like a repeating wallpaper. What was the point of going forward if forward was always just beyond his reach?! It's already been a half hour and Scout swears he's walked past this fuckin' tree at least three times already.
"Shit I'm hungry," Scout whines, scoffing as the image of him rummaging along the forest floor in a loin cloth with ratty ass hair for mushrooms settles itself mockingly in his mind's eye.
"He loves this nature shit, crazy..." Scout tries to beam, his eyes beginning to water as he realizes his friend would not be coming back.
"I'm sorry," Scout whimpers, and a rush of anxiety hints to unfurl in his chest, Scout letting his arms fall to his sides in defeat, his expression stunned. It wasn't Sniper's fault Luc had been buggin' him so badly, Scout's bad mood obviously having been enough for the Australian to handle.
"I shouldn't'a said those things, Jack," Scout mumbles, twisting his face as he steps into a large puddle, the splash of it even seeping into his mouth...
Ultimately, Sniper was right in that he really had set his own pride aside in giving into Scout's wish to be with him despite trying to remain firm in his decision. It was out of selflessness, Sniper's ultimate refusal to let Scout experience the barren, lonely reality that was the echo of a deserted 2fort.
Despite Scout's relation to the man, Sniper still enjoyed his solitude; having a 'break' meant for Sniper 'having a break from everyone', including the master of rapid recovery, and yet he'd allowed Scout to make plans with him indeed. And Scout really did want to spend leave with him—dearly so, even—but Luc of course had given him sass the day before, and all Scout could focus on was the bitter reality of his searing jealousy, his longing desire to be the only one coming home to Boston for holiday, the one his Ma and brothers anxiously awaited at the train station.
Too many times had the image of a Ma reduced to a drenched face played out in the mind of Scout, a mind that was all too guilty of glorifying his sense of self. How she'd wail and cup his cheeks and prattle on in front of the other patrons of the terminal about how he's grown, gotten taller, handsome, stronger, how he's tanned, and how his brothers'd missed him so.
He'd sometimes lie awake at night, beaming at the ceiling over the thought of his brothers begging him to share the finest of his war stories and victories, to share it all, not to skimp, and they'd all share a laugh as Ma would warn him to spare the gore over the dinner table.
The laughter only became more booming with each time the dream occurred, Scout noticed. But sometimes it also became more raucous, and though Scout's eyes were open, though he sat miles and dimensions away from these scenes, that biting laughter took longer and longer to shake away, and grew more and more mocking in pitch and timbre, until, finally, the laughter of Luc was all Scout could hear when he thought of home.
It only festered within him, this bitter resentment; why should Scout be the one who reserves himself to the confines of the base, why in the Hell was he the one poutin' in the rain on the side of the road while the 'filthly Frenchman' (as Scout lovinglycalled him) was the one bound to see the most precious people in Scout's life?! Why in all the Hell did Scout find it so damaging to his ego to share his time at home with Luc? And worst of all, he'd let it all get in the way of his time with Sniper.
"Listen to me, apologisin'—he shoulda just let me be, instead of callin' me a fuckin' brat, talkin' 'bout my family that way—he provoked me!" Scout tells himself, digging a hand into his trouser pocket.
Scout glares longingly at the twenty cents he produces from his pocket, his smirk turned grimly at the small key in his hand, the memory of Sniper telling him 'not to lose it' and that if they got separated, he always had a way back into the van.
"Some fuckin' good'is'll do me," Scout snaps, motioning to throw the silver metal, grunting however and pocketing it before doing so outright.
But of course he just keeps moving. It's all he can do at this point.