"Dibs on shotgun!" Scout shouted, running out of the base, swinging his overstuffed bag on his back.
"Scout, ya always get that spot. Ah don't see why ya have ta do that every time." Engineer called after the runner, but Scout had already slammed open the van's door and was clambering into the seat adjacent to the driver's seat before he could respond. He had been forced to change back into his (still wet) clothes by both Miss Pauling and the rest of the team for reasons they refused to explain – much to the annoyance of Scout.
Slamming the door behind him, Scout took off his bag and sat down, ignoring the seatbelt as he sat back and put his feet up on the dashboard. This was definitely better than being stuck in the back, forced to listen to Heavy's 'funny' stories and Soldier's patriotic rants.
Speaking of the rest of the team, he could hear their chatter as they all exited the base, each class carrying a bag of some sort as the walked over to the van. Medic broke off from the rest of the group, making his way around to the other side of the driver's cabin as the six other men (and one of an unknown gender) made their way into the back part of the van, somehow stuffing themselves and their luggage between the array of medical equipment and arms already occupying that space.
"Scout, get your feet off there." Medic snapped, stuffing a black bag underneath his seat as he sat down in front of the steering wheel.
Scout rolled his eyes and sat up as the German started up the vehicle. There was a sudden yelp of drunken protest from behind them as he moved the ambulance out of its parked position and into to motion.
The rainclouds had fled from the sky, casting the land in the bright sun of a summer morning – a rarity for the decrepit base – as they started their drive through the rain soaked fields and plains of wherever-the-hell-in-america they were.
But even as the sun dried up the remains of last night's elemental chaos, Scout couldn't help but feel that this was only a temporary lull in the storm.
Sighing, he reached into his bag and dug out an old comic book. Flicking its slightly yellowed pages to where he had left off, he began to read. While he could certainly do a lot of things fast, reading was certainly not one of them as the minutes and eventually an hour ticked by as he poured over the book.
Certainly enough time for Medic to notice what he was reading.
"That is an old comic." He commented, his eyes wandering from the empty road ahead to the faded cover.
Scout looked up from his comic at the speaker, his eyes flicking between the two as he finally got what he was talking about.
"Oh jeez…" He guiltily shut the book and gave the Medic an apologetic glance. "Uh...sorry? I mean, I didn't mean to offend ya or anything...its kinda the only thing I brought along ta read – unless ya count the-"
"It's fine." He sighed. "I thought you vould be reading something a little more...modern, that's all."
"Hey, ya gotta respect the classics. An' anyways…" Scout's voice trailed off.
"Anyvays vhat?"
"I…" He glanced back up at Medic. "I 'pose I can't really hold back, can I? I mean, ya told me your...secret thing." Sighing, he propped his feet back up on the dash. "This aint mine. Well, it kinda is now, but it used to be Mike's. Mike's my oldest brother from my ma's first marriage with a dude called Ralph. He was an' Engie like ol' hardhat an' back in the war, he loved comics. Collected them like crazy, 'specially the ol' Captain America ones." he flicked the comic's cover to illustrate his point. "So Mike kinda got his love of comics. An' his patriot-ness. He was kinda like Sol now I think about it."
"Then just after my second bro, Joe was born, he was killed in a freaking bar fight. So, Mike got his entire comic collection."
"But how did you get them?"
"I...I…" Scout's voice cracked for a moment before he quickly consoled himself. "I kinda inherited them. Ya see, I ain't exaggerating when I say he was like Sol. As soon as he was old enough, bam! He went into the freakin army. Got sent off to Vietnam. An'...an' he freaking died there. Flamer like Pyro got 'im."
"And that's vhy you are scared of Pyro?"
Scout nodded, unable to say anything for a moment.
"I...I was seven when it freaking happened. An' I swear, my life went to the freaking pits when my ma' got the letter. She gave me his comics an' his 'tags." a bandaged hand went to the dog tags around his neck as he spoke, his voice on the verge of tears. "I don't know how I freaking managed after that. Mike was the only guy who ever cared for me and now he was gone, I...I…"
The van slowed to a halt and Scout looked up at Medic, half for an explanation to their sudden stop and half for some sort of consolement. The German took off his glasses and looked at Scout, his blue eyes…
His blue eyes.
Scout froze like a deer in the headlights, the sudden wave of emotions too conflicting for him to make a definite choice about what to feel.
How could he make that mistake again?
"Oh fuck…" He whispered, fear finally overriding all other emotion.
"Spy?" The voice of the actual Medic came from around the truck as the doctor's head appeared at the driver seats window. He had removed his glasses and was blinking his eyes free of sleep as he blindly peered into the cabin. "Vhy haff ve stopped?" Putting his glasses back on, his expression suddenly changed from one of confusion to one of fear and anger. "Spy? Vhy are you disguised as me…?"
The BLU Spy dropped his disguise and opened the door, pushing past Medic and out of Scout's line of sight without a single word.
There was a silence as Scout removed his feet from the dashboard and slumped over it, burying his face in his hands in a desperate attempt to hide his tears.
The van started back up, filling the silent cabin with the gentle rumble of an engine. Minutes passed, but Scout didn't move at all.
"Vhat did he tell you?" Medic finally asked.
"He didn't tell me anything." The Bostonian mumbled through his arms. "It's what I told 'im."
"And vhat did you tell him?"
"I told 'im about my older brother."
"Vhich one? You haff six."
"Mike. He was the oldest. Til he freaking died." Scout lifted his head. "He got freaking flamed to death in Vietnam."
"And vhat is wrong vith spy knowing?"
"'Cause he's gonna put that against me. He's gonna use it as blackmail or some other spy shit." He sat up properly and rubbed at his eyes with the back of a hand. "Christ, what the freaking hell is wrong with that bastard?" He bent down and retrieved the comic from the floor where it had dropped in all the action.
"That is a question one can ask all of us Scout."
"Yeah, but…." Scout trailed off as the full implications of the statement hit him. "Hey! Are ya calling me crazy?"
"Crazy is a vord I vould use to describe Pyro. I am not that kind of doctor, but I do not think you are that unstable."
"So ya still think I'm 'unstable'?"
"Yes."
"Seriously doc? Ya think I'm unstable?" Scout's voice increased in speed as he talked, pausing not even to take a breath (much to Medic's confusion). "Heavy talks to his gun, Sol' thinks the other team are commies, Snipes throws his own goddamn piss at us, Demo has a freaking drinking problem, Engie cut off his own freaking arm, Spy is a fucking pervert, you care more about ya stoopid birds than us an' I don't even know where to fucking begin with Pyro...I'm the sanest person on the entire fucking team! What the fuck's wrong with me?"
"That is simple." He turned his head, his (thankfully) brown eyes meeting Scout's steel blue ones. "Scout, vho is your father?"
"I don't have one." He flatly replied.
"And there is your problem." he turned his eyes back to the road. "Vi all know who he is. Including you."
"Medic, I don't have a father." Scout insisted, his voice suddenly and strangely serious. "I don't know and I don't care what your science says, I do not have a father."
Medic let out a satisfied 'hmm', having proved his point.
"Is that seriously ya only bit of evidence? I mean, ain't you science-y types all about 'data' and 'information'? So where's the other evidence? And if I ain't the sanest here, then who is? 'cause it certainly ain't you pal."
"I do not know vho is the 'sanest' here Herr Scout. As I said, I am not a psychologist. And while you certainly do not talk to guns or heads, I can definitely say that you are not the epitome of mental health."
"The epi-what now?"
"Nothing." He sighed.
The cabin lapsed into silence as neither person wanted to continue the conversation they were having.
Not wanting to open the comic book again, Scout turned his attention to his wrapped hands. The bandages, which had been a pristine white barely a day ago, were now a dirty shade of brown, stained by his fall into the mud earlier. Teasing out one end from underneath the wound cloth, he began to unwind the dirty wrappings from his hand.
Scrunching the discarded cloth up into a ball, Scout inspected the bundle before rolling down his window and throwing it out of the truck. He turned back to catch a disapproving glare from Medic, which he only shrugged off.
He picked up his back from off the floor and rummaged around in it, before pulling out an empty red spool.
"Aw crap." He swore, inspecting the spool for a moment before tossing it out of the window too. "Hey doc, ya got any bandages up here?"
"Check the glove compartment. But please close that vindow."
"Sure, whatever doc." He shrugged, rolling back up the glass.
"Danke."
Scout opened the glove compartment before him, only to be greeted with an indignant coo as a pristine white dove poked its head up and looked angrily at Scout.
Well, maybe the 'angrily' part was just Scout's imagination,
"Jesus!" Scout yelled, flailing his arms about in surprise. "There's a freaking bird in here!"
The bird in question flew out of the cramped compartment over to its master, where it perched on his shoulder.
"Nein Descartes." He muttered, shooing the dove away. "Ich fahre."
"Descartes? What happened to ol' archie? An' who the freaking hell is 'Descartes'?" The bird landed on Scout's arm, his claws painfully digging into his bare flesh.
"Archimedes is in the van. I think I saw Pyro feeding her. Descartes was a french philosopher who came up with-"
"Right. Old French thinker dude. Got it." Scout cut in, not wanting to find himself at the receiving end of one of the Medic's philosophical lectures.
"Descartes was more than just a thinker Scout. He was also a mathematician."
"Ok, old French math dude too." He replied, pulling out a roll of bandages from the compartment.
"Scout?"
"Hmm?"
"Vhere did that scar come from?"
"What?" Scout looked at the German, confused by the sudden change in conversation.
"The one on your hand."
"This? It's nothing. None of your freaking business."
"As your doctor, it is my business."
"Fine. got it first day here. Bumped into the other Spy and he decloaked right in front of me. I had no freaking idea of what the freaking hell was going on so I grabbed 'im. 'Cept I grabbed his freaking knife, not his arm. The blade made this." He pointed at the faded scar. "You had just put a freaking bird in me, so there was no freaking way I was gonna go to you for help, so it kinda healed by itself."
"That vas...anticlimactic."
"Hey, sorry but I ain't some freaking movie star. Kinda wish I was though. I mean, do ya know how awesome a movie my life would make? I mean, I'd make it at least a hundred and ten percent cooler than what really happened-"
"That is not how percentages vork scout."
"-I mean, I'd be the one who defeated the other team and then Heavy's sister (who is really hot here by the way) would come and propose to me over the dead body of the RED Spy but I'd refuse 'cause I'd be saving myself for Miss Pauling, who is totally in love with me here…"
changelog 18-6-16
+ added chapter
/ hooray! new chapter! and a much better one at that! back when this was in an alpha stage, this one and chapter 7 were switched around kinda, so we got scout's story in front of the lamp and medic's in the truck. but, hey, things change