Chapter 2: Clones And Bad Feelings

Notes: Criticism is allowed! Just to clarify to anyone still confused about which map I'm using: It's 2fort, but I added some other stuff and expanded it so it didn't feel so small.

"Do you get the feeling that something is wrong?"

Medic arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Silence followed the question, and Scout pursed his lips before shaking his head dismissively. "Nothing, just, uh, just talkin'."

"Is something the matter?" He continued to inquire.

"No." He shrugged lamely. "At least, I don't think so."

He let out a low hum in answer and observed Scout grunting when he finally got the small, rusted wheel to shift. He gasped slightly at his unexpected movement, but smirked and huffed in pride before realising Medic was simply staring at him.

"Why're ya just watchin'?" He asked with a scrunched nose, waving towards the wheel. "Little help here?"

Medic took a quick glance at the thermometer, the hands barely moving from zero, before returning his gaze to Scout. "I'm watching the thermometer."

"Yeah, sure looks it."

Medic raised an eyebrow at Scout. "I suppose you can do both things at once?"

The thermometer was angled in such a way that he would have to walk around the base of the boiler just to see it, and with the valve needing to be constantly pushed to keep the fire lit inside, he'd have to run back and forth to prevent overheating the boiler or smothering the flame entirely by accident.

Scout returned his gaze to the valve after a brief second. "Whateva'." He muttered. He then gritted his teeth as he pushed the valve.

The wheel spun with a creak, and Medic concentrated on the hands that slowly raised over the 10th mark. The valve was small, and there were switches protruding from the boiler that he wasn't sure did what. He hummed and wondered if he should've brought Engineer with him instead. That would have certainly made the job easier. Though he supposed there was nothing to regret since Scout was doing just as well as Engie could've. After the hands in the thermometer reached the correct temperature, he raised his hand and Scout immediately halted.

The younger man stepped back and smacked his hands together, causing dust to fall off them. "What's with this old thing, anyway?" Scout inquired with wrinkled brows.

"The Administrator hired someone to build it," Medic explained. "So not old. New. Apparently, it needed to be built from scratch so we didn't figure out a way to kill each other and ourselves with it."

"So ya mean the old hag didn't want to spend more money repairing it?" He deadpanned.

"Ja."

A contemptuous smirk made its way onto his face, somewhat sneering. "Then she shoulda just not made this at all if she didn't want us messin' with it. We're not babies. We're able to survive without hot water and heat."

The irony of that last statement was not lost on Medic.

"We'll have separate boilers when we go to our next base."

"If Engie's right, that is." Scout's voice was distant, and he espied Scout taking one glance at the thermometer before jogging behind Medic. "So, like, whaddya think Sniper was there for? He said he thought we were the ones to shut it off. Which obviously we didn't. But he was real beat up. Worse off than we are whenever one of the REDs is having a bad day. Kudos to whoever did it, though; would've loved to have done it myself. Seriously, he looked almost as bad as Sniper—uh, our Sniper—when RED Pyro got its hands on a flare gun. Well, actually, he wasn't that bad looking. That was bad. Eugh, still gives me the creeps thinking about that day. This is more like when my real counterpart was havin' a bad day and Heavy came back with growin' bruises and a missing sandwich."

He didn't understand any of what Scout had just said, but made a noise akin to a hum and answered the first question. "I don't know."

"Probably nothing then."

Medic didn't respond as he returned his gaze to the lengthy blood trail he couldn't see the beginning of. There was no indication that it was a long fight; instead, it appeared that Sniper was attacked and dragged himself to the fence.

However, who attacked him was the real question, especially since Sniper couldn't recall anything and assumed they were the ones who attacked him.

So, either a member of the RED team defected and attacked Sniper. Highly unlikely. An outsider attacked Sniper. Extremely unlikely. Or an animal attacked him. Which was the only real possibility. But the issue with that theory was that there were no signs of an animal attack upon examining him, at least from what was visible.

Which left the BLU team. But they were obviously not responsible either, since, as eager as they were to pick a fight with RED, they had all been in the base before this, and the only one who could even fight him at the time was the BLU Spy, and he was currently a headless body in their freezer.

Whatever the case was, it's unlikely that the thing that attacked Sniper was still around.

He and Scout arrived at a familiar location, with water wading in the man-made river that separated their side from the RED team as Scout bounded to the bridge. The enemy base was only a couple of metres from them, protected by a double door. All it would take to enter the base was a simple knock. Although he doubts they'd let them in that easily. At least not for a reason, like wanting to "hang out."

"Finally," Scout began. "I'm starving! Hopefully dinner's done-"

Then there was a deafening boom that shook the ground, followed by the deep snap of wood and glass.

Medic stumbled at the sound, but Scout quickly recovered, turning to face the source of the noise. They both saw one of the top floors of the RED's base room windows shatter, and there were incoherent yells from inside the structure.

"The hell was that?" Scout questioned.

"Junge-" Medic went to tell him to move back when a voice yelling interrupted him.

"INCOMING!"

There was barely a split second moment when another boom sounded, louder than the previous one.

He slapped his hands against his ears too late, grunting as he felt the piercing sensation of pressure buildup in his ears, combined with the ringing in his head from the thunderous explosion. Everything became muffled, and he scratched the outside of his ears in an attempt to hear properly again.

It was as if he'd been dunked in water, with dust from the explosion being kicked up and splintering cracks sounding from the RED base's wooden structure. The floor beneath, where the explosion occurred, collapsed, and he could hear the yells of the RED team amidst the ringing in his ears.

When the dust got too thick, he covered his nose and mouth to ventilate his breathing. He noticed Scout coughing a few feet in front of him but focused on trying to breathe and what was going on.

The Administrator prohibited them from destroying the buildings for a variety of reasons, including the fact that it would be too costly to repair them each time they were destroyed, as well as the fact that it would take too long to repair them, leaving them in a ceasefire until the damage was reverted.

And God knows how bloodthirsty and eager for a fight everyone, including RED and BLU, became when they were unable to battle.

So why would they use explosives inside the building?

Medic looked up at the now gaping hole in the wall, trying to see what was causing the commotion before a black object fell towards him. It felt as if time had slowed for an excruciatingly long time. Thoughts raced through his mind, wondering if he should dodge or cover his head.

But the moment quickly ended when a bang was heard.

And…

Oh.

Did he die?

Medic dashed through their base's winding halls, looking for an extra healing pack that someone hadn't taken. Despite the fact that he had lived on this base for seven months, he would still occasionally get lost. Thankfully Ms. Pauling offered them maps so that they wouldn't get too lost.

He glanced at a map hanging on a wall in a picture frame, seeing the symbol of a healing pack and turning the corner, focusing on a shelf that contained health kits before clicking his tongue when he noticed the last of the health kits had vanished and Demoman was fleeing the scene.

"Demo-" Medic tried calling for him when he realised he was too far for him to hear him.

Annoying, but he was used to it by now.

He gazed down the long hallway before turning to see out the window where most of the fights were taking place. He scanned the area for an injured teammate he could assist, as well as an opening through which he could sneak into the secondary building and steal one of the health packs hidden there. But before he could get a good look, a rocket explosion kicked dust up from the ground, and he grimaced before returning to the hallway.

Muffled explosions, ricocheting bullets, and laughter filled the halls, as did yells of pain from whom he couldn't tell. He would look for the owners of the voices, but right now, he needed that health pack. He would rather not die so soon again.

He slid around a corner and noticed the exit that led to the main battlefield, staring at the open doors and debating whether he should just say scheiß drauf and rush in. It would certainly save him the trouble of having his teammates chastise him again for failing to heal them.

But it wasn't his fault that they weren't "properly" healed. Soldier always rocket jumped away after he healed him, leaving him to die, and Scout would always request healing when he didn't need it, not to mention that he never received a 'thank you' for any of the times he healed them; instead, they would chastise him for not healing them sufficiently.

Still, it wasn't like he wasn't a valued member of the team. They were always so caught up in the moment that they didn't exactly care about others' feelings. Medic was very much the same four years ago, only wanting to heal them so they could harm the other team.

He acted like…

Medic white knuckled the handle of his Medi gun.

No, he wasn't him anymore.

He was himself.

He was real.

He stared at the open doorway for a moment, biting the inside of his cheeks in thought, before sighing through his nose and readying his Medi gun. It wasn't like they died permanently anyhow; he might as well get this over with.

He began to run when a deep, familiar voice rumbled from behind him, stumbling over his feet in an attempt to balance himself at the surprise of hearing the voice. "Doktor."

He felt his shoulders slump in relief. "Heavy." Medic murmured.

He always enjoyed partnering with Heavy; it was fun to ubercharge him, and Heavy was a great patient when it came to regular checkups and surgery. Not to mention that he was the only one who would protect him on the field and have his back when it counted, as opposed to the rest of the team.

"Ja, Herr-"

The building's wooden beam got closer than he would've liked it too, and it wasn't until his forehead made contact with it that he realised there was a giant hand wrapped around his head. The pain didn't process until seconds later.

Medic yelped and staggered, holding his head as his vision swirled. He blinked repeatedly and unevenly, pressure building behind his eyes and unable to determine which direction he was facing.

Before he had a chance to gather his thoughts, the enormous hand seized him by the neck and violently slammed his head against the wooden beam.

He tried to shout for help when his words died in his throat at the expression of, whom he now recognised as RED Heavy, giving him a chilling glare full of malice that Medic never knew the giant was capable of. Medic pinched his brows, not understanding the reason behind the giant's reaction, before he felt the giant lifting him off the ground by his neck.

Medic let out a feeble cough that only resulted in saliva being trapped in his airway. He panicked more once he realised he couldn't cough it out with RED Heavy's hand around his throat.

Guttural gasps escaped him, and he flailed, scratching Heavy.

He barely made a dent in the man's skin, with his latex gloves covering his nails as he scraped vainly. His heart pounded in his chest, and his mouth was agape as he struggled to breathe.

Medic failed to say anything, and all he could think about, do in that situation, was comfort himself and tell himself that he was fine, that he'd respawn, and that the panic that had crept into his mind would vanish in an instant.

But there were the quiet thoughts that chastised him for being a trusting idiot, and whispered to him that he should've checked his back first because he was always the first target on the field.

He wasn't even too sure why Heavy was letting him slowly die like this.

As far as Medic was aware, the man wouldn't torture unless someone had done something to someone he cared for. And as far as Medic is aware, he's done nothing but what he was supposed to do, which was be a medic for the enemy team.

Medic tried kicking and poking Heavy's eyes, though the man simply shoved Medic's hands away as if his strength meant nothing.

"W—hat…?" Medic gasped out. "Do?"

He wasn't sure if Heavy understood him, and he thought he'd die looking at his enraged gaze. There was something chilling in his eyes, somewhat demonic that Medic just couldn't place where it was coming from. But he managed to get his question across to the big man.

Heavy leaned close to his face, and Medic desperately tried to push it away, tears unwittingly forming from his lack of breath and the pain of trying to breathe. His breath felt scorching against his cheek as he whispered. "You are cheap version of Medic."

He looked at the bigger man with eyes almost as wide as a dinner plate, heart dropping to the pit of his stomach.

"It is joke to call you real."

Where did that come from?

Medic felt his blood drain, and he gritted his teeth, trying to form words and scream that he was real, that he was a real person. He was a real person. He was. He knew he was a real person. He wasn't a lab rat like Heavy and the rest of the RED team that Ludwig performed surgeries on. He wasn't. He was real.

"I'm…" His voice was pathetic as he spoke, almost like a squeak. He tried for more words, but he couldn't muster any more; his voice compressed under the mass weight of the hand.

Everything was swirling together, and the corners of his vision began splotching with black blobs.

Heavy knew nothing. He didn't know anything about him. He knew nothing about his own medic, the Red Medic. They were wrong.

He was real.

"You are experiment gone bad is what Medic said." Heavy persisted in his claim despite the holes Medic's glare could pierce through him.

The doctor thrashed around in his grasp, trying to snarl at him that he wasn't some failed experiment, that he was real, that he bled, that he laughed, and that he cried. He could love and hate, and right now, he desperately wanted to show him that he hated him and that it was a genuine emotion he could feel.

That he was him.

Squeak-like noises were the only sounds that came out.

Heavy clenched harder when those noises came from his throat, and Medic could feel his eyes roll up to the back of his head. There was a crunch and pop somewhere behind Medic's ears, and the panic vanished instantly, his arms falling to his side as if he were a puppet with his strings severed, and he felt his chin strike Heavy's hand as his head hung over.

Heavy's words rang in his head like a twisted choir as he died of a broken neck. "You came out wrong."

His memories of last week's battle faded, and he gradually became aware of his surroundings.

When he awoke, he saw Scout crouched by his side and blinked repeatedly, realising they were on the bridge. Pain set in next, and he narrowed his eyes at Scout, startled by the throbbing sensation on the left side of his head.

"Was ist passiert?" Medic inquired.

"English."

"What happened?"

"I dunno…" Scout responded, peering at the RED's base with a serious attitude that didn't suit him. "There was an explosion; you remember that, right?"

Medic nodded.

"'Kay, good, 'cause ya got hit with this big garbage bag. It was kinda funny, actually."

He rolled his eyes slightly but continued to listen to Scout's rambling, his head grinding in intense pain with each word spoken by the currently noisy and overly animated kid.

"After that, I hauled you to the bridge for cover." Then Scout added after a moment. "You're welcome for that, by the way."

"How long was I out for?" He asked, sitting up straight and noticing something warm drip from his head. He tapped the area gently, revealing blood that glistened on his fingertips. Whatever was in that garbage bag, it was enough to give him an open wound. Not a good sign, but it didn't kill him.

"Not long, maybe a minute?" Scout then looked at Medic with a worried frown. "Ah geez, don't tell me ya got that con-cuss-tin or whatever it's called."

"I'll be fine." He went to stand before involuntarily exclaiming in pain, and Scout immediately ran to his side to balance him. He looked at the kid with an indignant look. "I'm fine."

"I know, doc, but we gotta get outta here before the bridge collapses."

It was then that Medic noticed the slight tilt in the bridge, along with the realisation that the explosions from the RED's base had subsided. He knew that was a good sign, but the debris on the side of their base, as well as the holes in the building and the off-centred bridge, made his chest tighten with concern. Not for the REDs, but because the situation wasn't right. There wasn't anything right about this situation.

He dismissed the concern, though, and allowed Scout to duck beneath his arm, wrapping his own arm around his waist as Medic reluctantly pressed his weight against him. The kid's skin was still cold from his shower, and his hair was still wet, and he would definitely be made fun of for having to be cared for like this, but Medic was distracted by his headache.

He concentrated on the stinging ache in his head, the throbbing worsening with each movement and noise produced from the crunching gravel, creaking wood, and Scout's muttering. He hoped Scout would shut up soon so that it wouldn't aggravate his headache further, but even he knew that was a pointless wish.

"This is the worst friggin' day."

Speak of the devil.

"I wake up late, 'm picked on for being a clone, we lose the battle, the water was cold, we have to eat dinner late now, and there was just some random explosion and you got hurt 'cause of it. Worst day."

Medic gave Scout a sharp glare. "Quit talking."

"Geez, that's a stare you got there-"

"Be quiet."

"Okay, okay, got it. Shutting up-"

"That means now."

"I get it! Just, uh, just curious—"

"Scout-"

"Are you really gonna be okay?" Scout questioned, staring at Medic's forehead. "You should probably just respawn. It'd be easier than havin' to deal with the healing process."

Medic drooped more weight over Scout's shoulders, sighing hard through his nostrils, frustrated because his head felt like it would split open and because Scout wouldn't. Stop. Talking. Making his headache worse. And realising that he probably did have a concussion and that he could and should respawn, and wondering why he hadn't considered it earlier.

Medic narrowed his eyes in thought as he listed the symptoms of a concussion:

Memory loss, check.

Disorientation, check.

Slurred speech, check.

Headache and/or pressure in head, check.

Bothered by noise, check.

He paused and watched how the blood methodically dripped onto the gravel floor, the red substance blending with the pebbles, sand, and dirt. Slowly, he pulled the revolver out of his pocket and eyed it, seeing Scout glance at it before looking back at Medic with an almost bashful look.

He looked back at Scout with curiosity.

"Sorry," Scout began, and Medic gave him a questioning stare. "I said I'd protect ya."

"You didn't say that," Medic corrected. "I said you would somewhat protect me."

Scout sputtered. "I—well, yeah, but you said somewhat, so it's expected you'd come back a little banged up, but not completely dead. They'll make fun of me for this. But I promise, it's not my fault this time. So just promise 'em—no, promise me you won't tell 'em anything-"

Medic grimaced and raised his index finger in the universal sign of "shut-up." Scout's teeth clicked together as he shut his mouth.

He took a second to gather his thoughts, inquiring. "Would you be fine making your own way to the base?"

"Better than lugging you around." Scout immediately answered.

"I'll meet you back with the others, then."

In an attempt to end this quickly, Medic didn't wait another second before pointing the revolver to himself.

There was a muffled pressure in his head, and he felt himself collapse to the ground.

Darkness greeted him.

Scout blinked, and Medic's body was gone.

He never understood how the respawn worked; all he knew was that one moment someone was a corpse, and the next they were gone, waking up in the respawn room. But however it worked, it was useful in a pinch like this.

He crouched down and examined the pistol—or was it a revolver?—that was left behind. It looked like Spy's, and he quickly flicked the gun to open the barrel, revealing two bullets inside.

He briefly considered following Medic's lead and shooting himself. It'd save him time from having to walk back, but looking up to see that their base was only a few feet away, he chewed the inside of his lip before sighing and pocketing the pistol. There'd be no point if it took less than a minute to reach the base. He'd just be wasting a bullet and time.

Scout stood up and returned his gaze to the opposing team's base, where, after Medic passed out, the noise had died away, leaving a chilling stillness. There were no exclamations of surprise, distressed or furious yelling, bullet shots, or even more explosions; only the occasional smashing of wood or glass. Even then, that soon died after.

With the deafening silence, Scout felt a sense of unease, as if he needed to leave. And he never, ever ignored that feeling. He learned enough from Jeremy's memories to know that a bad feeling meant bad.

Bad meant an alley fight involving a bloody bat, a smashed skull, and multiple stab wounds.

Bad meant mourning.

Bad meant there was some shit going down that he had no way of winning against.

Bad meant staying hidden or running as far as he can.

Growing up in the bad part of Boston, Jeremy developed instincts like this at a young age. Shootouts, robberies, and break-ins, all of them happened every hour of the week. He needed to learn to fight to thrive, to be faster than everyone else, to understand the nitty-gritty of the world, and to know when and how to persuade his way out of situations or when to not be involved at all.

Not to mention that even if Scout was stupid enough to investigate, he wouldn't be able to cross the bridge without it capsizing completely or him crashing through the weakened floorboards and into the water.

With quick steps, he was on his side of the battlefield, approaching the base's front doors and pounding on them.

"Hey!" He shouted.

No one responded.

"Open up, will ya?"

Still no answer.

"C'mon, I wanna eat now!"

Nothing.

"What's a fella gotta do to get some grub?" Scout muttered, scanning left and right for an opening or some sort of gap he could crawl through. When he saw nothing from where he was standing, he kicked the centre of the door, partially hoping it would break down, but mostly hoping someone would hear him. "Hey!"

He waited a second, and when there was no response, he tapped his pocket for the gun. He was too hungry to wait for anyone to hear him.

Scout shoved his hands in his pockets, about to pull out the gun, when he noticed a figure from afar.

Who…?

He squinted at the man, unsure of who he was looking at.

After a split second, despite the shadows that obscured his features, he recognised him as Demoman.

"Demo!" He called, motioning for the man to come closer, a relieved smile making its way onto his face. "You looked freaky for a minute there. Mind letting me in, pal? I'm hungry, and I don't want to be standing out here for too long. Being outside right now's kinda givin' me the creeps—uh, but don't tell any of the guys I'm creeped out. I don't want them to think I'm scared of the dark or somethin'."

There was no response, and he scrunched his brow, his smile beginning to fade.

"Hey, pal? You okay?"

Demoman staggered from where he was standing, and it was then that he noticed the blood on him.

Scout took a reluctant step back, his lips drawing down into a frown. "You're, uh, pretty quiet there."

His shoes crunched against the gravel, and he could hear his heartbeat increasing in his ears. Something wasn't right. But it wasn't the bad kind of wrong; he had a feeling that something was wrong with Demo, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know why that was.

"Bud-"

With blood streaming from his head, Demo's face came into view, lit by the wall-mounted lamp. He gave Scout an almost dazed grin, friendly, with a hint of something else he couldn't quite place. Though his grin quickly faded when his eyes wandered down to the t-shirt he was wearing, with Scout equally taken aback. They both froze and stared at each other, stunned.

RED Demoman was the first to recover, his face falling back into a scowl.

"How do, lad?" Demo was practically slouched over, his jagged breathing audible from where Scout was standing. "Ya got a scrumpy?"

"Dunno if you lost your sight, but I ain't your Scout."

Demo shrugged listlessly. "Didn't notice." The sarcasm rolled off his tongue almost as naturally as the blood that dripped from his face. "Just need a hard one after the experience I went through."

Scout looked at the bridge, which was still slanted, then back at Demo. "Where d'ya come from, anyway? I didn't hear you cross the bridge."

"Just went around the river."

"Around?"

"There's a shallow end somewhere over yonder."

"Great."

Demoman then limped towards Scout, clutching his arm, and he took another step back in wariness, tightening his grip on the pistol in his pocket. He wasn't the patient type, but he only had two bullets and wasn't sure he'd win against Demoman, who was most likely carrying a grenade in his pocket. He didn't want to waste both bullets in case he needed one to make a quick escape.

"Hey-"

"Shut yer gob for a minute and lemme have a bevvy before ye interrogate me."

"You walked to our base," Scout said, tilting his head and giving RED Demoman a strange expression. "How'm I supposed to know this isn't some kinda trap?"

"A trap he says! Ye think I can do this to meself?" Demo gave him an 'are you stupid?' look. "You saw the bloody explosion, didncha? Or at least heard it. Makin' a pretty damn loud racket."

"Yeah, what was that, by the way?" Scout asked. "We're gonna be in a ceasefire now-"

"Because you fakes love a good fight." The Boston halted, feeling his fingers curl into a fist at the accusatory look Demoman was giving him. "Bloody hell, this woulda happened even if we hadn't used explosives."

He arched his brow, surprised and intrigued now, and watched him stagger to the wall and lean against it. He would've said something about how he was dirtying their base with his blood, but he was too confused to care.

"What're you talking about?"

"After ye bampots shut off the hot water-"

"Sniper said the same thing, and again, it wasn't us," Scout interrupted and reluctantly went to stand beside Demoman. A part of him told him not to indulge in the drunkard's ramblings, but another part needed to know what happened.

"Couldn't've been us."

"Wasn't us either, had to take a cold shower 'cause of it." He responded, showing off his still wet hair, which had been slightly dampened since his shower. Given the amount of dust and debris created by the explosion, he'd probably need another shower after this.

Demo stared at him, stunned, before looking down at the ground in thought. His lips were pressed together in a frown, and his forehead was crestfallen. It was the most serious he'd ever seen the RED Demoman, and the most conversation he'd ever had with the opposing team in general.

"Laddie, have ye noticed anything strange?"

Scout's been having bad feelings for most of the day, but he assumed Demoman meant seen anything strange. Still, he asked for clarity. "Whaddya mean?"

"Seen anything," totally called it. Right. Scout. Not the time. "Did anything weird happen to you lot after the battle?"

"Nothing more than the usual."

"Which is…?"

"Dunno, get a post-battle check-up from Medic? Plan our dinner? Talk about our day? Nothing out of the ordinary." Scout replied, gazing out at the river and RED's side of the field. He sensed Demoman's stare but remained motionless, fixating on the destruction. He scratched his neck in an uncertain manner. "You still haven't told me what happened. Why were there explosions? Medic had to respawn 'cause a garbage bag hit 'im."

"I ain't even gonna comment on any o' that." He muttered, leaning forward and holding his head. "Ack… me head's killin' me."

"I've been hearing that a lot today." Said Scout, more to himself than to his uninvited guest.

Silence reigned.

Scout looked at the RED's base once more and then back at the Scottish man, who held his head and spoke in a low voice, muttering words he couldn't hear or understand.

He let the man stew in silence, instead taking a minute to reflect on what had transpired in the last 40ish minutes: the boiler had been mysteriously turned off. There was an explosion, and he was now standing next to an injured RED Demoman who refused to tell him what the fight was about.

If the RED refused to tell him anything, there really wasn't much more he could do for him, and Scout wasn't going to press the issue if he didn't want to say anything. Unlike Jeremy, he knew when to end a conversation when he wasn't getting anything else out of it.

He pulled the pistol—revolver? He still didn't know what it was called—and showed it to the struck man.

"Look, if you aren't saying anything, best I can offer ya is a mercy kill-"

"I ain't going back into that building."

His voice was low, and his words carried an unspoken threat. But what made him pause was the thinly veiled fear in his eyes, desperate to avoid death. This was strange for a variety of obvious reasons; respawning was an easy way to heal, as well as a quick way to return to their base if they didn't want to walk the distance. Why wouldn't he want to respawn?

Scout smirked, trying to taunt an answer out of him. "Why, ya scared?"

"I'm terrified." Demo stared him in the eyes, nothing else conveyed besides pure, unadulterated dread.

Scout widened his eyes at the blunt admission. Why was he so scared? What was he scared of that he didn't want to respawn?

He momentarily frowned and winced as he looked away. He felt kind of bad, but he had no choice, either, because if he offered Demoman to stay at the base and continued to speak to him like this, he'd get in trouble and be labelled a traitor. He didn't want his money withheld or, worse, be fired from his job.

He had nowhere to go if he got fired. There weren't any family or friends to turn to besides his own team, and even then, they'd most likely be labelled traitors if they helped him.

However, if he did shoot him, he would most likely earn Demoman's scorn, and earning the RED's scorn meant being practically hunted and tortured on the field. Earning Demoman's scorn meant he'd be exploded to bits in the worst ways possible, and he didn't exactly feel like being tortured.

"Look, man, I'm in a hard place right now. I can't-"

"Ye ain't listening to me!" Demoman barked, having finally lost his temper. "We won't have a job with that thing around."

"You still haven't told me anything! How'm I supposed to listen to ya if you keep being all secretive?"

Demoman didn't answer, and Scout scrunched his nose.

"Look, if ya wanna stick around, then do, but I ain't gonna help ya."

There was too much at stake if he did.

"I'm going back, you should too before we get in trouble."

Scout spun the gun's chamber until he heard a click, then flicked open the barrel to check that the bullet was in the proper position before lifting it to his own head.

He squeezed the trigger, but just as he was about to fire, a stronger hand grabbed his wrist, causing the gun to pop beside his ear and deafen him.

He cried out in pain, slapping a hand on the now muffled ear.

"Listen ta me." RED Demoman hissed.

He glared at the other man with a venomous look. "What the hell was that?!"

"I've been trying to tell you we shouldn't be hanging around here! That thing could still be around."

"Oh, my bad for not listenin' to the literal enemy!" His voice raised the more he spoke, still holding his ear. "Maybe I woulda listened if you gave me a better explanation? Better yet, if ya gave us our Spy's head back!"

"Lad, I'd have Medic give yer Spy immortality if that's what it takes for you to listen!"

Scout froze. "…What?"

"I'll give yer Spy back, but let me stay at your base and let me explain."

He looked at him wide-eyed. "You're not fucking with me?"

"No, am not." Demoman gave him an intense look in the eyes. "But you gotta let me explain."

He stared at him for a moment longer, trying to figure out if this was a trick. If this was a trick, he wondered what kind of prank he was trying to play. But the more surprisingly logical side of him told him that wasn't the case. There'd be no point in making a prank this elaborate. Reluctantly, he relaxed his shoulders.

He stood still for some time, unsure what to say. He wanted to ask what scared him so much that he wasn't willing to respawn, who caused the fight in their base, why they would set off explosives and have an entire shoot out.

But instead, he quietly asked the question burning in his mind, "Why do ya even care?"

Demoman remained silent, and Scout continued.

"Ya said it yourself; we're just clones, and your Medic can create more of us." As he spoke, he looked at his feet in bafflement and resignation. There would be no reason Demoman, nevertheless RED Demoman, would be this desperate to save him. "Why should it matter if something happened to us?"

"If ye were chained to the bottom of the ocean, I could give less of a shit. But this ain't somethin' close to death. If it captures ye, you won't die."

"Okay?" Demoman wasn't making a very compelling case since he still wasn't explaining anything besides being cryptic. "You keep saying "it" and "thing," whaddya mean? Why do ya keep saying that?"

"I don't know." Demoman emphasised, tugging his hat in frustration. "Alright? I don't know what that thing is. I don't know how to explain it."

"You're acting like it's some kinda monster."

"It is a monster," he looked him in the eyes pleadingly, silently begging for Scout to believe him. "Lad, that thing's a monster."

Scout's mouth was slightly agape, his brows creased, and just as he was about to ask what he meant, the front door finally opened.

"Junge, there you are. Something happened-"

Scout and RED Demoman turned to face a disgruntled Medic, who looked between the two with disbelief and caution. Though Scout was more caught off guard by the fact that he looked worse off than when he had been hit in the head with that bag.

His cheeks were pink, as if he had been running, and sweat beads rolled down his forehead. More concerningly, he appeared visibly anxious, and the doc would never display his emotions outwardly unless there was a reason for it.

"Scout," Medic began, walking in front of the younger man to protect him from Demoman. "What's a RED doing here?"

"Less questions about him, what's the matter with you?" Scout inquired, dismissing Medic's concern while scanning him up and down. "You look like ya just ran a marathon!"

"This is a conversation that should be discussed in private."

"Just say it here."

"Scout, it's important-"

He continued without pause. "Also, you have the worst freakin' timing, you know that?"

"Junge-"

"RED here was just about to tell me why they were settin' off bombs—" "I already did." "—think ya could've waited-"

"The team is gone."

Notes:
And so it begins.

I'm being genuine when I say I was listening to Alvin and the Chipmunks' songs for the first page of writing this. I was in too much pain to continue listening to the songs.

Fun fact: I had a dream about shooting myself to save someone else, and that's where I got the inspiration for that whole Medic shooting himself bit. Because in my dream, after I shot myself, it felt like a muffled pressure before waking up. One of the wackiest dreams I had because I have no idea if I hit my head while sleeping or if I imagined that's how it felt.

Anyway, happy reading!

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