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No. 2008
or, Why Scout Curls Up in the Fetal Position Upon Losing.

sometimes i like to pretend i can write. inspired by Scoot’s losing animation, this is just a quick something that i cranked out once I got the idea. and since I don’t like re-reading my stuff more than a few times, it’s pretty unpolished and bleh.

==================================

“You failed!”

The sound of the Announcer’s harsh voice announcing their defeat was nothing new to the RED Scout. He didn’t like to admit it, but yeah, they’d lost plenty of times before (not that it was ever his fault, of course. He practically carried the team himself.) They all knew the deal by now: the losers had to put away their weapons, while the winning team stormed their base and got to do as they pleased. Out on the bridge, Scout was safely away from the worst of the killing, but he hadn’t come out here for that. He just… he hadn’t really been having the best day.

----------------------------------

As he did every morning, Soldier began rounding up the team with one of his stirring calls to action – let’s move out, no time to get yourselves dolled up, this a war we’re fighting – while banging on his helmet with his shovel for good measure. Scout was usually up and ready by this time, so as not to give Soldier any reason to come in his room and hassle him. Shoes on, cap firmly in place, shirt tucked in. (just like his ma always made him do) He was almost ready to go, only now he couldn’t find his bat - wonderful. It was always in the same spot every morning, propped up between the side of his bed and the wall, and Scout was sure he hadn’t moved the damn thing. But before he could tear apart his already cluttered room to look for it, a familiar dull glint caught the corner of his eye. The bat was lying just behind the door…but what the hell was it doing there? Whatever, at least he’d found it. He bent over to pick it up –

– and froze, his gaze falling on the top of the low bench that took up most of the side wall. Littered with papers, it was where Scout kept all the letters and photographs his mother had sent him. Whenever the mail came, Scout always eagerly picked out his letters first, making sure to read them in the privacy of his room. Like hell he was going to let the others to think he was some kind of mama’s boy.

Scout picked up the most recent letter, resting on the top of the pile, and read it again for the umpteenth time since it arrived. He couldn’t help smiling; getting mail was the best thing that happened to him here. For the most part it was a pretty standard letter from home: hope you’re doing well, your brothers all say hello, wish you could be here for the annual block party (“Rosa’s finally giving me her lemon cake recipe!”),you’ll always be my special little guy .

Her special little guy. Shit, why did she have to throw that in? His ma had been saying that to him ever since he was little; usually to comfort him after his brothers had given him a particularly bad beating, and at the time he’d always brushed it off. Being the hotheaded child he was, he couldn’t stand losing to his brothers /and/ having his mom pity him. But reading it now, fighting a war years later and a million miles from home, made him realize just how homesick he’d felt all this time. That old phrase was like a punch in the gut. The smile slipped from Scout’s face and he forgot all about getting ready for battle. To hell with this place, to hell with the BLUs, to hell with fucking everything. Damnitdamnitdamnit.

The door creaked behind him, and Scout quickly dropped the letter to see who’d come in. Fucking bastard just /had/ to walk in on him now, didn’t even knock. He’d teach them to –

“You almost ready in there, boy? The others are getting mighty restless,” Engineer’s voice came from the doorway. He’d always had the decency not to barge in on others in their rooms, and already Scout could feel his sudden burst of anger slip away. If it were anyone else he’d have bashed their skulls in, but not Hardhat. He couldn’t stay mad at old Hardhat.

“Yeah, I’m coming. Keep your goggles on,” Scout muttered and pushed past him. Halfway down the hall he got the impossibly strong urge to turn around and spill his guts to Engineer. He was a nice enough guy, and he had family back home, didn’t he? Of all the people on the team, he’d understand why Scout was feeling so low, right?

But Scout wasn’t that kind of guy; that touchy-feely crap wasn’t his thing. He couldn’t even admit to himself that one stupid letter made him feel like a lost kid that wanted nothing more than to go home. So there was no way he’d ever say it out loud. No, not even to Hardhat. He kept walking until he reached the rest of the team, hoping the BLUs wouldn’t put up too much of a fight for once.

----------------------------------

Boy, was he wrong there.

The BLUs had stolen their intelligence before the REDs could put so much as a dent in their defenses. None of Scout’s teammates were looking forward to seeing the enemy parade through their base and pick off anyone who wasn’t already in respawn, as they always did after a victory.

Scout stepped out onto the bridge just in time to see an enemy Heavy take down their Pyro with nothing but his fists. The guy hadn’t even put up a fight, and seeing him as he stood gloating over the masked man’s corpse sent Scout reeling for the first time. His ma wasn’t going to believe this.

“Hey ma,

Hope you’re doing all right. Everything’s fine over here. The guys and I had kind of a rough day today, but like you always said, that’s life. Say, remember that huge guy I told you about, the Russian one that’s like a big shaved bear? I just saw him punch one of my teammates to death, can you believe it? To fuck- ah, sorry about that. To freaking death. And let me tell you--

--oh wait, think he’s coming after me now and holy shit what do I do my gun’s fucking jammed. Damn it ma, I don’t want to have all my blood punched out and there’s no one else here to help. Oh my god oh my god oh my god —”

And that was it. Scout’s knees buckled, dropping him flat on his ass as he threw his arms over his head. He held his cap in place with one hand, the other pulling his knees in tight. So what if he looked like a fucking idiot, so what if he’d respawn in a little bit – he just didn’t want to die now. All he could think about was home: this kind of thing would have never happened if he’d listened to his ma and just stayed home. Fuck, why didn’t he listen? Hell, he’d take a beating from his brothers like old times over this crap; at least they wouldn’t kill him. And kill him. And /kill/ him.

Something was casting a shadow over Scout, and he knew full well what that something was. As the BLU Heavy’s giant hand closed over his shirt collar and lifted him up, Scout decided he was going to give his ma the biggest hug ever, when – or if – he ever made it home in one piece.

And he wouldn’t care who saw him.
Marked for deletion (old)
>> No. 2009
aww jeez. so cute
>> No. 2010
Noes, look like lekkle Scoot is gonna get his head bashed in.
>> No. 2012
aaah, you posted it.
this is still so fucking cute. poor little scout. ♥
>> No. 2013
Awww cute



Scout's my favourite cahracter.
>> No. 2015
Aww, this was touching.


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