Patience does not come easy to some. And for Scout, that specific virtue felt utterly foreign besides certain circumstances, like the one he found himself in now. Call it foolishness, call it denial, but despite how the other two times Scout found himself waiting for someone to return ended, he couldn't pull himself away from the windowsills, watching that sole, dusty road for his best bud to come back.

At least he knew Sniper was coming back soon. Spy had arrived with little fanfare, mostly due to him showing up at four in the morning. With him he brought news from Minerva about the team's local marksman. He'd be arriving some time tomorrow, or very late tonight. When questioned by the team(but mostly from Scout but that's not important) about why, Spy wouldn't say, stating he was merely repeating what Miss Pauling had told him.

Scout didn't know if he believed that, what with Spy being the secret keeper/finder of the group, but any further prying was met with the threat of a butterfly knife to the face by the very tired and grouchy Frenchman. So now, here he stood with his elbows leaning against the dust covered windowsill, watching and waiting as he fought back a yawn.

Maybe he should go back to bed. The sun peeking over the small buildings they'd been guarding continued to rise at a snail's pace. Scout huffed, then sneezed when his breath disturbed the dust he leaned on.

"Waitin' by the window ain't going to get him here any faster, son," Engie's groggy voice rose up. "We won't be seein' him til tomorrow." Scout grumbled, standing up and stretching out his back as a faint click!

"Py, c'mon now, ya can't go takin' pictures of people without permission, we've been over this."

"Mmhhphh php, mmep!"

"I don't care if Scout would make a good subject for a photoshoot, you don't snap photos without permission first."

Pyro continued to grumble, but put her camera away. As Scout trotted over to the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards for something to eat, Engineer gestured to the pot of oatmeal he'd been making.

"Could serve you up some, if you'd like."

"Nah," Scout yawned, opening the fridge and grabbing a water bottle, "don't like oatmeal. Tastes gross, no offense."

"Now, hold it right there, I can understand not likin' the texture, but the flavor? That's just too far, son."

Scout merely shrugged. "Just don't like it," he said. Engie sighed as he turned back towards the pot.

"Alright, just thought I'd offer. By the way, have you started packin' yet?"

"Nope."

"Boy, the deadline's tomorrow! The h*ll you mean ya ain't started?"

"It's barely eight, man, get off my *ss!" Scout grumbled, taking a swig of his water. "Not like I got a lot anyways, it's basically all clothes and comics."

"And your firearms and weapons, trinkets and trophies."

"Look, I'll get to it soon, I just wanted to wait and see if Snipes would be cool with me ridin' along with him."

Engie turned to look at him again as he dished him and Pyro up the oatmeal, a skeptical expression lining his features. "And what if he don't want to share his van with ya? Does he even have room in it for your things?" Scout scoffed as he threw his empty bottle in the trash.

"He'll let me ride with him, I got that natural charm. And… uh… Heeeeyyy, Engie?-"

"Me and Py are planning on leaving this afternoon," Engie cut him off, "I've got to get there first to properly set up Respawn for worst-case scenarios. The back of my truck is already pretty full, but if you get your stuff packed up and brought to the garage before eleven, I'll take it with us."

"You're the best! Like, no joke, you're awesome. Thanks, man!" Scout shouted, racing away to get his things packed away. Engie let out a huff, shaking his head as he sat with Pyro. The arsonist pulled out their camera again and made a small pleading sound. The Texan gave him a deadpan stare before sighing.

"Alright, but I'm not gettin' up."

Pyro jumped up and pulled Engineer into a painful grip as his camera flashed.

The day went by horribly slow after that. Scout managed to throw all his belongings into just three cardboard boxes and drag them out to the garage before ten. The only thing he kept on him was his duffel bag full of spare clothes for the drive to Bigrock.

Engie and Pyro left at around one, and Spy drove off later in the afternoon. Soldier and Demo were still packing by the time evening came, and Heavy and Medic, while packed, planned on driving early the next morning as neither were good drivers at night. Scout spent the rest of the time waiting by the window, getting a snack or drink, then back to the window. Soon his eyes grew tired, and his body followed right after, and Scout was forced to bed around midnight.

No dreams or nightmares plagued him, and hadn't since he'd left Minerva's apartment. Not only that, but the cramps faded, he wasn't as tired, and his skin didn't itch as bad. Guess Medic's apparatus surgery worked.

What didn't go away was Scout's thirst, however, as when he was woken by the tapping on his window, his throat felt stuck together. Groaning and blinking, the runner looked up to find what was making the racket. He blinked again, rubbed his eyes, then looked back at the small brown owl sitting on the outside windowsill.

"Hootsalot?" Scout rasped, sitting up. The owl stared right back. "I thought Sniper let ya go back in Borneo! Where the h*ll did you come from?" Hootsalot didn't answer, because he was an owl and didn't speak English. But the bird just shook out his feathers, and tapped the glass with his beak. "I ain't lettin' you in, you bite."

Hootsalot glared at him.

"Don't gimme that look, like you ain't been a freakin' a little devil to me! How about you go and wait by Sniper's van, alright? He'll be happy to…" Wait a moment. Scout straightened up, then rushed to the window and ripped it open. The motion startled the owl, who swooped up with a shriek as Scout thrust his head out to catch a glimpse at the marksman's campervan. While the lights were off, a fresher pair of footsteps could be spotted just outside the van's door.

Scout wasted no time. Shutting the window, he snatched up his bag, swinging it over his shoulders, grabbed the aviators, slipped them on, and sprinted through the base. Only pausing to slip on some shoes, Scout was out and racing towards Sniper's van with Sir Hootsalot overhead in the overcast sky. The owl landed on top of the tin roof as Scout reached the door, sending up a small dust cloud as he stopped and knocked.

"Sniper, ya in there?" The runner called, standing on his tiptoes to try and peer inside the door's small window. No one answered. He knocked again. "Hello? Earth to Sniper, anyone home?"

A rustle inside.

Scout hopped back as the door's lock clicked. The handle jiggled, and a moment later the door swung open.

"Hey, man! Been a while, how was the…" Scout's chipper voice died out as Sniper came into view. He leaned on the doorframe, pushing the heel of his palm into his dim eyes that were surrounded by dark, worrying circles. The man wore a faded, worn jacket, wrinkled from use that only accentuated the ragged and drained expression Sniper held.

Scout knew he was staring, and that staring made people uncomfortable, but the man standing before him, unshaven and sickish, filled him with something far more potent than just discomfort.

"Bud, are you okay?" He blurted out. Sniper finally met his eyes as he lowered his hand. A strange, taut smile grew on his pale face.

"Just tired, mate, that's all."

Scout's eyebrows shot up when Sniper spoke, at the rough and raw nature it had. Like he'd spent every waking moment before now screaming his lungs out.

"You've been alright, then? Kept yourself busy?" Sniper asked, snatching back Scout's attention.

"Uh, ugh, no. Week's been bout as horrible as it can get."

"Oh."

"Apparently I got app-appenti- I can't freakin' pronounce it- but I got real sick and Doc had to take something out so that I wouldn't freakin' die so I dunno if it's cause you're a good luck charm or what but yeah, I had a crumby time."

"...sorry to hear that, Bilby," Sniper replied quietly. A small, throaty keen piped up from above, and Scout watched as Hootsalot swooped down and landed on the startled Sniper's arm.

"Hoots?" He said in disbelief, "How- where'd you come from? Ya ain't meant for this environment." The haughty owl merely preened his chest.

"I don't know how he found ya, man. The little guy woke me up by tapping on my window," Scout explained, staring at the bird with narrowed, distrusting eyes. "Thought he was too wild to be a proper pet."

"He is. Or I thought he was. Didn't like the idea of takin' him along. You belong in a forest, mate," Sniper muttered to his feathered friend, "not a bloody desert. Shouldn't have followed me out here." Hootsalot blinked at him.

"Well, speakin' of bein' movin' environments," Scout piped up, "I'm guessin' ya already know the plan involvin' Bigrock and drivin' there. Engie and Mumbles already left. Same with Spy. No clue about the others yet, but I was wonderin' if I could catch a ride with you?"

"Don't have room for your stuff, kid," Sniper replied, still looking at his owl and petting its feathered chest.

"Already got that covered, Engie offered to take most of my stuff. All I got now is some clothes in here," Scout jabbed a thumb at his bag. "Ain't a lot, could easily fit in a cupboard or under the front seat!"

Sniper didn't look enthusiastic. In fact, his dull expression now held a slight hint of annoyance. "Just got back. I wasn't hoping to have to drag someone along."

"You wouldn't! It'd just be us! Y'know, like, like before! And Hoots too, I guess, if you're still wanting him around."

"Look, I just," Sniper raised his voice, then paused, running a hand down his face. The sudden volume seemed to startle everyone as Hoots puffed up and Scout took a step back, eyes wide. Sniper took a breath. "Can't you just catch a ride with the others for a change? I. I'm not in the mood to deal with-" he stopped again. "Don't think I'd be able to be nice if you end up on my nerves. Too tired to pretend otherwise."

Scout's stomach dropped.

"...you only… pretend to like me?" He tried to keep his voice steady, but it still came out brittle and rejected.

"No! No, that's not it, not how I- that's not what it is," Sniper said hastily, his motions spastic and jerking. "I, I'm just not up for… I…" he took a breath before a rough sigh escaped him. "Was it too much to ask to be left alone till I least got used to the bloody time zone change?" Hoots took the man's sudden frustration as his cue to fly back up to the top of the van.

"...I can go see if Demo could drive me over," Scout mumbled, scraping the dirt with the toe of his shoe as a raindrop fell on it. "Him and Soldier are the only other options, though, so I'm… I'm kinda freakin' screwed if they ain't cool with it."

"You said the doc and Heavy are still here."

"Heavy hates me. Why would I wanna be around him?"

Sniper shrugged, crossing his arms in a way that made it seem like he was trying to twist his arms off. Scout scowled at the ground before turning away.

"Fine, won't bother you then, I'll go bother someone else. Guess I'll just walk the way there if no one wants to drag me along. See you later," Scout grumbled over his shoulder as he walked away. He made it nearly thirty feet before Sniper stopped him.

"Alright, fine! You can ride with me!" Sniper shouted. Scout turned back, fiddling with his bag. "But we're leaving now then. I'm not staying to chat with anyone. That clear?" Scout quickly nodded. Sniper then jabbed his head towards the front of the van. "Hop in. I'll be there in a mo'." With that, Sniper disappeared back into the camper, and Scout darted up to enter the passenger's seat as more raindrops fell.

He slipped his bag under the seat and plopped himself down. The seatbelt was quickly clipped, and soon Scout simply waited for Sniper to show so they could get moving. The wait dragged on, and Scout got more and more antsy. Because the longer he sat, the more he sat in silence, and the longer silence reigned, the more Scout was forced to think. And think he did, about Sniper in particular. About how he looked, how he acted, how the whole ordeal sent the back of his mind itching in discomfort.

Before he could come up with reasons for his friend's disheveled state, the van rocked as Sniper entered the driver's seat, dressed in his normal work attire; glasses, hat, and all.

"We gonna need a map?" Scout asked. Sniper shrugged.

"We could always call Miss Pauling and ask for directions, or Engineer if he's gotten there already."

"True, yeah, we should be fine."

,,,

"Hey, wait, are we takin' Hoots too?"

"Flew away when I came out," Sniper muttered, starting the van and putting it in reverse, "if he's as determined to stick around as he seems, he'll find his way to us."

"But what if he-"

"He'll be fine. He can take care of himself. He'll be fine."

Scout didn't reply, but still felt off about it as they pulled away from the base and onto the dirt road, leaving the base behind.

Hours drifted by with the pair making light conversion here and there, but nothing that stuck for longer than a couple minutes. Sniper just didn't seem to be in the mood for talking, which was fine, it was cool. Sure, Scout was majorly bored now, with nothing but the endless road and desert landscape to keep him entertained, but really what was on his mind was why everything felt off.

He wasn't as sick anymore, and while he was super thirsty, that was totally normal after sleeping the night away. Really, all he was doing was trying to tell if Sniper's withdrawn state was normal. Or close to normal. How was he acting before he left?

Withdrawn? Stiff, stilted, and always like he was being put on the spot for everything. But all of that seemed more subtle, not like this. This wasn't normal. Wasn't it?

Wracking his brain for what could possibly be making the drive so uncomfortable, Scout came up with jack squat. Defeated, he leaned back in the seat, looking out the window.

So more time passed in silence and Scout felt ready to explode. He turned to the marksman.

"Snipes?"

No answer.

"Yo, Sniper."

Still nothing. Scout frowned, then lightly punched his friend's arm. Sniper jumped, as if slapped awake.

"What?" He asked.

"Don't think it's safe to zone out on the road, pal," Scout pointed out. Sniper just shrugged. He looked out the windshield. "You gonna turn on the wipers, or…?"

"Oh, yeah, right." Now the sound of the wipers waving to and fro filled the otherwise quiet compartment. That, and the little dance of the rain above them.

…

"So how was you mission, anyway? Didn't seem like you had it easy, y'know, since-"

"Don't ask about that," Sniper stated, voice low. Scout clamped his mouth shut.

…

"You wanna find a place for lunch? Bigrock's all the way in Nevada and that's still some ways away."

"Not hungry."

"Oh, yeah, okay."

…

"Can we listen to some tunes?"

…

"Sniper?"

"Hm?"

"Can we put on the radio?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, go ahead."

Scout clicked the radio on, static filling the small space. The sound made him ansty, the auditory tv static somehow worse than the previous silence. Fiddling with the dials, Scout managed to find a few working stations but none caught his attention.

Finally, a familiar tune seeped through the small speaker. The twang of the guitar and soft-spoken voice made Scout pause. Then, he turned to Sniper with a grin.

"Hey, it's the singer guy you like! Dan McLoin or somethin'!"

"That's not his name, you yobbo," Sniper mumbled, though a small smile pulled at the edges of his mouth.

"Close enough," Scout replied before quieting down to listen to that almost familiar song again.

By the time it was over, the weird feeling that hung over the runner faded enough to be ignored, though now his thoughts were flooded with another kind.

"Wonder why he killed himself."

"What?" Sniper asked, sparing a glance his way.

"I mean, I know there's a lotta reasons why people get to that point. You kinda see a lot of hopeless bums when ya live in the poor parts of big cities like we did. And I heard a lot about the time my aunt had to live in a Hooverville. Ma had a lotta stories too since she had to live through the Depression, y'know? Losin' money, can't feed your family, lost your job and savin's. Just, people had a lot of reasons back then, but I don't know if that artist dude had the same reasons."

Sniper didn't reply right away, simply staring out into the puddle covered road. When he spoke, his voice was monotone and quiet.

"Maybe he just wanted to control how he went." He said.

"Whaddya mean?"

"Like you said, people have many reasons for reaching that state of mind," Sniper explained, "it's not so outlandish to think someone might just want to choose how he dies, and where."

"Guess not,"

…

"I'd like to go somewhere in a field, I reckon," Sniper said softly, "Somewhere open, at least. But anywhere outdoors would work. That would be how I'd like to go."

"You want to die?"

"Not now, no. Not here. Just… if I ever got the choice, about where and how I had to die, I'd like somewhere quiet. And empty. Wouldn't really care what time of day as long as it's cool."

"But who would bury you, then?"

"Don't really care about that, to be honest with ya," Sniper replied, rubbing his cheek with a yawn. "If some animal came up and started stripping my bones clean, at least the critter gets fed." He looked over at Scout. "And what about you? Can't imagine being disemboweled by a grenade was how you wanted to go."

"Uh, no, not really…" Scout said, fiddling with his shirt's helm. "Never thought about it all that much."

"Thought yourself invincible?"

"No, just… well, kinda, but… I guess I wanna die from old age, if possible. With someone around. Don't know where though, I'll, uh, have to get back to you on that one."

Sniper hummed, and the conversion began to fade.

But it seemed the marksman wasn't quite done with the topic.

"What did it feel like?"

"Huh? What did what?"

"When you died," Sniper said, staring straight ahead through the rain-varnished windshield. "Was it painful?"

Scout sat there, looking at him. He then let out a breathy, little laugh.

"I mean, I kinda exploded my guts out, course it hurt!-"

"Not then," Sniper cut him off, still staring ahead at the winding road, "when you actually died. When you croaked, did… did it hurt at all?"

"...I…" the runner's voice faded into a near whisper as he wrapped his arms around what was once a gaping, blood filled hole. The memories of that moment were faint and weather-beaten. From the blood loss, or the adrenaline, or just because he died, Scout couldn't say. But he let the scene fester, remembering all he could.

He remembered how loud everything had been, and yet couldn't remember half of what he or Sniper had said. Remembered the cold, remembered the blisters, remembered how he couldn't hold a breath in. Pushing past that, the memories grew fainter, brighter, colder.

Dead.

"It didn't." Scout finally muttered. "It didn't hurt. Actually it, y'know, it was kinda… a-a relief, y'know? Cause it… everything before just hurt that bad, so-"

"When did you die, exactly?" Sniper cut him off again, with that same nonchalant tone, like they were discussing the weather. Either he didn't notice Scout's discomfort, or he didn't care. "You were still breathing for a bit. Imagine you were trying to hold out for as long as possible."

"..."

"Doc said you were dead three minutes before I got you to 'im. From the blood loss, no doubt. Though I wouldn't be surprised if the injuries sent you into shock and that's how it happened. Practically mangled. Looked like the lightest tug would rip you in half."

"Why are we talking about this?" Scout asked, his voice taut.

The windshield wipers and the patter of rain filled the uncomfortable silence the question left behind.

"Just curious, I suppose," Sniper finally mumbled, checking the left-hand mirror.

"Don't see why you would be, I mean, we've all died at this point, right? Multiple times!"

"Yeah…"

"...but?" Scout pushed. Sniper let out a silent, drawn-out sigh before finally glancing over at his companion.

"But you're the only one who's experienced it without Respawn. And I want… to know if, or how, it's different. Because I was the first… the first one who went through it."

"You were?"

Sniper nodded, looking back towards the road. "Truckie shot me right in the forehead as a demonstration. One moment I'm standing there, the next I'm… not there anymore. You know what I mean, that feeling Respawn gives?" He looked over again, and Scout nodded. Sniper took a breath before continuing. "For a moment, that split second when Engineer pulled the trigger, I wondered if it would hurt. Wasn't scared, not really, but we're always told… I've always assumed that, since shooting someone in the head is so quick, that it's painless. If you do it right, at least. But then, I'm staring down the barrel, and all of a sudden, I realize that even if it's fast, and near painless, that pain is still going to be the only thing you'll feel before the end. Doesn't matter who's pulling the trigger, if they're "putting you out of your misery" or giving you a "mercy killing", the last and only thing you'll be feeling is fear and your skull splitting in half."

"...Are, are you havin' a midlife crisis?" Scout pressed gently. "Thought you liked bein' a sniper?"

The man didn't respond for a moment, simply staring out. But when he did, his once emotionless face twisted into a scowl so loathsome it compelled the now timid runner to try forcing his way into the camper's seat to hide from the wrath.

"Are you implying something?" The words rumbled like distant thunder, and Scout's already alert nerves began to send S.O.S signals.

"No! No, I'm not-"

"So what I do like being an assassin? There's not a single person on the face of this Earth that hasn't done something to warrant dirty looks. How is me being an assassin any different than someone paid to cull the population of an invasive species? Or an exterminator who hunts the animals who kill and eat people's flocks? That's all we really are, anyway! Taller, smarter animals with the exact same instincts to eat, kill, and breed. And we're all going to die like animals someday too, nothing more than worm food!"

"Sniper, dude, that's not-"

"And frankly, I'd say what I do is far better morally than any of those b*****ds that hold any sort of leadership roles. All throughout history, it's the same bloody story! Someone makes all sorts of promises to make the world a better place, somewhere that won't be constant suffering, then once they get the power to fulfill said promises, they go and make things exponentially worse! For thousands! Millions! What I do- what we do, all that happens is some single person is killed, one life ended compared to the constant suffering countless others are forced to live! Honestly, what's worse? A single person dying every couple of weeks, or millions starving, hunted down, exterminated like they're disease-riddled rodents?"

Scout didn't respond.

"Which is worse, Jay?"

"I don't know," he mumbled, staring down at his hands. Sniper scoffed.

"Yeah you do," the marksman growled, "you just don't want to say it. We both know which is worse, and I'd bet anything that there's a few of the lads who'd back me up on this too."

"...But," Scout began, though he wished he'd kept quiet when Sniper's grip on the wheel somehow grew even tighter, "it's different when people don't mean it. I've gone through enough stupid courtroom crap to know the difference between manslaughter and murder-"

"Oh, don't give me that s**t!" Sniper cut him off with a hiss. "You think I haven't heard it all before? What good is intent if someone's dead at the end of it? Good intentions or bad, they don't mean a single thing, and since you've been "though enough courtroom crap" you ought to know you still get charged at the end of the day! Murder, manslaughter, both end with someone killed and you behind bars. What real difference is there?"

"The difference is if you're a good person or not!" Scout snapped back. "That's the real difference, pally!" His companion didn't seem to appreciate Scout's backtalk, as the van came to stop once Sniper pulled over.

Once the brake was set, Sniper rounded on Scout, a quiet rage simmering behind his eyes.

"Are you trying to start a fight, kid? That it?"

Scout held his tongue, despite the fact that Sniper was the one who blew up first. The marksman continued. "Honestly think you're the one with fewer black spots on his record? Huh, that it!? Then go on, rub it in. I know that's what you're after! Call me a murderer, a psycho! A gun-toting lunatic who ought to be locked in the psych ward and left to rot before he hurts someone else!"

"The h*ll's up with you, man?" Scout blurted out. "Does it freakin' look like I'm tryin' to start a fight over how many people we've killed? When have I ever gotten on your case about that? I've killed people too! And yeah, I'm not a good person, neither are you, but holy s**t, I'm not callin' you evil! You're not evil! But right now you're actin' like a major *sshole cause you've been snappin' at me for no reason! I've had a pretty s**t week without you around, but you don't see me gettin' all up in your face about it!"

The pair sat there, glaring at the other. After what felt like forever, Sniper broke away, running a hand down his face as a deep sigh escaped him. Neither spoke as he took off the brakes and put the van in drive. Both continued to keep quiet as they pulled back onto the mirror-like road. An ever-tightening coil seemed to wrap itself around the atmosphere of the shared space.

Was Scout the *sshole here? The longer the silence reigned, the more that seemed to be the case. But what did he do that made himself the bad guy here? Defend himself? Try to freaking help his friend? Wasn't his fault Sniper's mood was so sour. Right?

Still didn't help how tense the compartment had grown. He knew that just because things were quiet doesn't mean the world's plotting against him, that was made clear time and time again. But Scout could feel his skin crawl the longer the silence hung over them like a rotten fog.

Another minute passed before the sound of the glove compartment opening interrupted the rain patterns. Sniper glanced over at the noise and made a small sound at the back of his throat when Scout held out a cigarette. The man took it and let his younger companion light it as well before taking a long drag. Scout put the lighter back as Sniper rolled down the window to blow the smoke out, letting the cold wind snatch away all the nicotine flavored smog.

…

"'M sorry." Sniper's tired and regretful voice wove itself into the quiet between them. "You're right. I haven't been acting proper. Didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's cool," Scout said, fiddling with his seatbelt. In his peripheral Sniper shook his head.

"No. It's not cool. That wasn't fair to you."

"I mean… it ain't lookin' like you're doin' too hot yourself, pal," Scout pointed out, looking back to his friend as he took a shaky drag. "You sure you're okay? Like, actually okay?"

Sniper wouldn't meet his gaze. "I'm still breathing," he muttered as he blew out another small cloud, "and that's good enough for me." The runner just looked at him with furrowed brows and a hesitant expression.

"...Do you wanna talk a-"

"No."

Silence once more.

"I never blamed you, y'know?"

"Hm?" Sniper glanced over at him, confused. Scout spoke again.

"I never blamed you for me dyin'. It wasn't your fault my guts blew up and I bled out like an idiot. Just, just thought I'd make that clear." Sniper didn't reply, but the hand that held up his cig seemed to shake a little more. Scout tried to catch his eyes, but had to quit once it became clear Sniper wouldn't budge. He leaned back into his seat, defeated.

The remainder of the drive stayed like that; quiet and coated with a melancholic atmosphere. Perhaps the lack of conversation mixed with the soft tap-dance of the rain on the glass was what lulled Scout to sleep, he didn't know. One moment he'd been watching the water droplets race down the foggy window, the next he was opening his eyes to the sight of a dark road with the only light being the two beams of the van's headlamps illuminating their path.

Scout shook his head to dislodge the sleepiness, a groan slipping past his chapped lips. Sitting up and stretching out the crick in his lower back(car seats make for horrible beds), Scout turned towards the driver. He sat in darkness, hands gripping the stirring wheel. He'd taken off his aviators at some point. With nothing to hide behind, the marksman's dazed, unblinking gaze got the runner to sit up instantly.

"Snipes?" Scout said, his voice cutting deep into the unnerving silence. Sniper didn't respond. "Mick?"

"Hm?" Sniper's eyes were torn from the road as the mention of his name seemingly snapped him out of whatever state he'd been in. "You need something?"

"I, I think we oughta pull over," Scout looked around them once again. How long had Sniper been driving? "It's dark out."

"That's not an issue," Sniper mumbled, stifling a yawn. "I can see just fine. We should reach Bigrock in no time if we drive through the night." He looked in the left-hand mirror. "Don't have to stay awake for my sake, mate. It'll be fine."

"Dude, no offense, but that idea sucks. D'ya seriously think it's a good idea to force yourself to stay awake? Ain't ya dealin' with jet lag already?"

Sniper didn't reply. Scout continued. "Look, I don't think getting us horribly killed by falling asleep at the wheel is what you want so we seriously should just stop till the sun's back at least."

"I'm not going to fall asleep," Sniper argued quietly, "this isn't even the longest I've stayed awake."

"How long have you been awake then?" Scout questioned. Sniper scratched his cheek.

"Two days? I think? It's blur-"

"Two freaking days!? Holy s**t, no wonder you've been actin' so ****in' off!" Scout exclaimed before grabbing the stick shift.

"Hey, don't touch that!"

"We're stopping," he grumbled, keeping his grip tight on the stick shift despite Sniper's attempts to pry him off, "You are going to end up dead once we get to Bigrock if you don't stop! Unless you want me driving us, that is!" Sniper's lip curled into a snarl, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he took a deep breath, and let it out as the tension melted away from his frame.

"Fine," he muttered, "we'll stop."

"Good. You seriously need a rest." Scout replied, unclipping his seatbelt. The camper came to a halt on a stretch of gravel off the main road. As soon as the van was in park, Scout hopped out with his bag, stretching his limps and biting back a powerful yawn. He heard Sniper step out after, shutting the door softly behind him.

"Guessing you're hungry?" Sniper asked as the pair entered the main living space. "Can try and put something together for us. Got to be something that hasn't expired in here."

"Nah, I'm good, just tired." In truth, Scout was starving. Being on the road for hours with no breaks besides the occasional leak tends to do that. But really, what the pair truly needed was sleep. Well, what Sniper needed was sleep, and despite the man having a reputation towards his ability to fall asleep anywhere if he really wanted, Scout didn't think keeping the lights on would help. "What time is it anyway?"

Sniper paused, then looked down at his watch. He paused again to rub his eyes, making unintelligible noises and looked again. Finally, he just shoved his wrist towards Scout, who shuffled closer to Sniper's side for a better view. Ten fifteen. They'd been driving for a while.

"Looks like we oughta call it a night, huh?" Scout asked with a light smile, nudging Sniper's arm. Sniper hummed, fiddling with the watch as his expression dimmed. "Hey, c'mon, sooner we black out, the sooner we can get back on the road to fight some metalheads!"

"...Right. Yeah. yer right."

"Always am," Scout replied, slipping off those sentimental shades he took everywhere, "sooner you get that through your thick head, the sooner we'll be livin' like kings!" He heard Sniper scoff from behind as the man stepped aside.

"Castles are overrated tripe," the marksman said. "Cold stone walls, empty corridors, they're nothing but cages for colorful, rich birds."

"Some pretty fancy cages, then. With servants, warm food, tons of cool weapons, who wouldn't want to live in a castle?"

"Me."

"Why?" Scout asked over his shoulder as he slipped his tee off, grabbing a clean shirt.

"Don't want to be chained down to anything. You can't move a castle, and they're a lot of responsibility. Too big, too. Too noticeable, draws too much attention." Sniper's voice was muffled by fabric as he put on an old, worn tank top. "Rather keep my van. It's less assuming, more forgetful."

"Man, you're a real downer sometimes, y'know that?" Scout mumbled as Sniper stepped past him to reach a drawer. "So you'd rather live in some stuffy, beat-up camper van for the rest of your life than a nice, riverside mansion?"

"The more grandiose you live, the more you're trapped to that lifestyle," the marksman explained quietly. "Seen it time and again. Couldn't tell you how often I'd been paid to take out some rich bloke's political rival, or someone that challenged their status, or some other form of insurance. They get so focused on keeping their way of life the way it is, like it'd be some crime to life below their means, that it's the only thing that gives them meaning. People like that are chained." He clipped off his watch and set his hat aside. "Rather live my life as a vagabond, or a hermit, then whatever life the amount we're paid could get me. Least like this I've got freedom. 'M not chained to an expensive house that I'd be lost in, not to some career I'd grow too old to continue properly, and not to people I'm forced to trust because I'd grown too pathetic to take care of myself. Those roads are lined with snakes and backstabbers, and I don't have the patience for either."

"But, c'mon, livin' like this is way tougher than it has to be," Scout pointed out before noticing he'd slipped his shirt on backwards. "Like, you have to constantly refill the water in here, the generators gotta be refilled too, you hunt for your stuff too! That's tough, man, don't you want a break from alla that sometimes."

"It's called self-reliance, Jay. Don't have to rely on anyone but myself, and so far, I've never been let down. Even if it's tough."

"Sounds lonely. At least relyin' on other people gets you friends. That's gotta be worth something."

"That's just one more thing you get chained too. You end up tied with people if you build up relations, you're expected to drop everything at a moment's notice for them. Do you call that freedom?"

"Even if it ain't, it's still golden compared to livin' alone and dyin' alone."

"Gold, bronze, rusted iron, it doesn't matter what material they're made from; chains are still chains, and cages are still cages."

The conversation ended there. Scout had a lot of ideas about what Sniper told him, a lot of thoughts and questions. But none could formulate properly enough to be asked, and the changing into cleaner, softer clothes brought the energy levels inside the van plummeting.

Sniper offered to fold the table and benches into the second bed, but both just agreed to share the bunk. He climbed up first after the lights were switched off, and Scout swung himself up a minute later after Sniper got settled. The space was tight, just like all the other times. Sniper didn't grumble or sneer at Scout to quit squirming when the runner took far longer to find a comfortable position. In fact, he didn't make a sound, just lying on his side facing the van's wall, with the only sound being the tin above tapped by the outside rain.

A minute passed, then five, then thirty, then an hour passed and Scout was still staring out into the quiet, stuffy interior of the van. Sleep eluded him. Was it the temperature? The chill of the storm coming in through the thin walls? The texture of the sheets, the blanket? Scout couldn't place what was making him so tense.

He shimmied into the mattress, keeping a tired groan to himself. Behind him, Sniper lay completely still, and utterly silent. Might be asleep, might not be. He really needed sleep; he really did. Both of them did. Scout listened quietly, trying to tell if Sniper had more luck than him.

Deep, even breaths were what he heard. Ones that didn't seem all that even after a while. While quiet, Scout could hear the subtle shakes at the end. Rolling on his side, the runner peered over at his still companion.

Sniper was tense. He could see it in the man's shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell, the way he laid. Scout rolled back, chewing his lip in thought, then threw off the covers and hopped off the bunk.

The motion made Sniper jolt, who rolled over to check what Scout was getting up to. "Th' h*ll are you doing?" He said, voice rough and quiet. Scout didn't respond. He grabbed his bag, pulling and grabbing at items to find what he came for. Success! The thick, koala-sweater was pulled from the bag, and the runner wasted no time putting it on. "Kid, you don't have to wear-"

"Shuddup; it's cold in here, and this is like a wearable blanket. And it's soft as s**t." Scout grumbled as his head popped out of the turtleneck. He marched over to the bunk and pulled himself up, and ignoring Sniper's complaints, threw himself right on top of the marksman.

"Oy! Ya almost knocked a tooth out!"

"No I didn't, chucklehead, you're fine." Scout said, a cheeky grin planted on his face. The grin faltered when Sniper's own glare didn't waver. "Uh, but sorry if I did?"

…

The man sighed. "It's fine," Sniper muttered, "just get to sleep already."

"Way ahead of ya, pal."

The sweater definitely helped as Scout's eyes now had a hard time staying open. Consciousness slipped to and fro like the tide, and soon fatigue held a firm grip on his body. But even then, sneaking a glance at Sniper showed that Scout's sleepiness was purely his own as his friend lay awake, staring up at the ceiling. A spark of worry crossed his mind.

Out of a desperate move to get Sniper to, at the very least, shut his eyes, Scout threw his arms out and pulled Sniper into a tight hug. The man tensed up at first, but before sleep finally took hold, Scout felt his friend loosen up.

And when morning came, the pair continued the drive, one never knowing how he'd been hugged right on back, tighter than any steel coil, and the other resolved to never mention it.