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This Just In: Scout Cries at Rainbows (a oneshot) (5)

1 .

Somehow I only JUST listened to the Spy domination sound clips yesterday, because I'm an awful fan like that. Aaaand then I woke up in the middle of the night last night and wrote this! After much beta'ing to combat sleepy typos (thanks Jess!), have a fic. Not really super silly, despite the title.

One day, I'll write something non-Scout-centric. ...one day.

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Today’s battle hadn’t gone so hot.

Well, no, that was wrong. In Scout’s book, it was the worst fucking battle they’d ever been in, as usually they could escape from the BLUs with a couple scrapes and maybe a dislocated shoulder for Medic to cheerfully pop back in. But no, they’d been freaking /ambushed/. Four Pyros and a Heavy, what kind of fairness was that?! The REDs had been utterly decimated, and spirits were beyond low.

Worst of all, though? They’d lost some men.

This was war, Medic had told Scout as they trudged in from the drizzle of the Sawmill, it would happen sometime. Heavy had reminded Scout stoically to always remember to pat teammates on the back before battle, as sometimes, he’d said tactlessly, “they will come back with nothing but pieces to pat”. The youngest of the team had shrugged them both off, but none of the rest of the remaining REDs had anything more positive to say. Sniper slunk away to be alone, and the Demoman stuck to his explosives. All holed away on their own, not saying a word.

No one said one. /Freaking/. /Word/.

Scout was about to go crazy – didn’t the REDs get it?! They’d fucking /lost/! They’d fucking lost, and now some of them were dead. Pyro and Soldier were /dead/.

The boy hadn’t gone on an angry rampage, though. Before the silence could cause him to snap, Scout jogged out into the rain and mud, needing to clear his head. The overcast skies weren’t exactly spirit-lifting, but at least they matched his mood. Heck, the mud was matching it too. It looked like utter shit – and that’s what he felt like. Shit.
Scout didn’t know where to go, so after running around for a half hour to burn off his frustrations, he eventually slumped down onto a sheet metal rooftop. Muddy footprints marked his passage, but fuck, if a BLU dickwad wanted to come pick him off now, the sucker could come do it. Like it fucking mattered. Pyro – Pyro was dead, riddled with bullets under a sheet in Medic’s office, and Soldier? Medic hadn’t even /let/ Scout look at what had happened to Soldier. Scout hadn’t wanted to. Just seeing Pyro, even with that damn mask on, had made his stomach churn more sickly than he’d thought it could after months of bloody war.

Scout stared out at the horizon line, eyes unfocused. They were gone, and unprompted, Scout’s mind drifted to life at the base just days ago. While a formidable monster to enemies, Pyro was…okay, well, the weird little fucker was a wackjob, but a friend to the team. Scout had never known what went on under that frighteningly primal-looking mask, but with the cheery thumbs-ups and excited Go-Go-Go! (or something close, in muffles) when charging out into battle, he liked to think he’d been a pretty happy dude. Like a crazy uncle! If crazy uncles could set you on fire and laugh about it later, Scout /still/ had some singe marks on his ass from one of those “jokes”…

A small smile had crept onto his lips at the warm, strange memories, but the rain was soon to drown his thoughts back into a cold, dreary reality. Pyro was dead. Soldier was dead. His team was inside in their own little worlds, and he was out alone in the cold. At least he knew he wasn’t the only one torn up about it, though; Engineer had to be worse. Trudging in from battle, he’d seemed to be taking it particularly hard, as Pyro had always hung around while he’d made schematics and plans for their upcoming attacks. The masked man never said a word (or if he did, nothing intelligible), just wandered around and looked at things and read the blueprints, fiddled with tools but stayed out of Engineer’s way. Scout thought it was weird, but who knew, Pyro was fucking weird. He’d tailed after Sniper for a while before that, and even Heavy and Medic for a couple of weeks. He never really did much, just watched the rest of his team and muffled out a few comments here and there, meshing into all their lives with a certain consistency. Pyro was always there, sitting around and playing with a match, flipping through your blueprint plans or just sitting next to you around the campfire, tossing in brush and mumbling out happy noises as it burned. Once Scout got over that creepy-as-fuck mask, Pyro was an okay guy.

…/had been/ an okay guy. Past tense, man.

The dreary Sawmill seemed to come back into focus then, pinning Scout back into the present. Only for a moment, however, as his thoughts drifted to his other fallen teammate. Soldier? For the first few weeks after joining the REDs, Scout had fucking /hated/ Soldier. Everything about him! He yelled at everything, acted like a big fucking tough guy and strutted around like he /owned/ the place. He wasn’t even that tall! Scout had tried to fight him a few times, and while that ended embarrassingly for the Boston boy, he still actively hated the big blowhard douche.

It was only until after Scout watched him pull a bullet from his own arm – with his /teeth/, in the middle of /battle/ - that Scout’s opinion of the guy began to change. He was a windbag, but fuck, he was one crazy badass motherfucker. From then on, Scout had always cheerfully egged Soldier on when he started to rant about his war escapades, helping the crazed “war hero” start fights and arguments and generally cause a ruckus around the base. Scout smiled to himself on the rooftop, remembering how much Medic had /freaked/ when he and Soldier had destroyed a few of their own buildings for “safety measures”. The old sheds were coming down anyways! And, okay, he and Soldier both liked a good explosion. That one time, they’d even grinned at each other, and a true smile out of Soldier was a damn rarity. Having a love of mayhem in common may not have been heartwarming, but it worked for Scout.

The small smile had yet to leave Scout’s face as the memories came and went, the rain not feeling as cold anymore. It still chilled him, though, and reality was hard to ignore. Pyro and Soldier, man…both were gone. Scout thought of his ma; she’d always been a religious lady, dolling Scout up for church in suit and tie and every little embarrassingly frilly garment that guys got beat up on the /streets/ for wearing. He’d gone and sulked the whole way and tried to uncomb his hair, but while flicking bits of torn-up pamphlets at the old geezers in front of him, he’d picked up a few things in that place. Like Hell. Big, scary, fiery bad thing, way down under the dirt, where bad dudes went to burn.

Pyro and Soldier killed people. They were probably in Hell, huh?

Scout’s chin sunk to his knees, depressed mind mulling this over. They were the good guys here! But, uh, they had kinda ripped apart a lot of men out there, he was pretty sure he’d even seen Soldier munching on what looked like a kidney once. Did kidney-eaters get a chance in heaven…? Scout frowned, many years of forced-upon Sunday school making him quietly doubt it. Maybe… Maybe Pyro and Soldier were in Hell.

Well.

Well, maybe Hell wouldn’t be so bad.

Shit, Pyro--! Pyro probably even liked it! That little shit had loved burning things to a crisp – what better way to spend an eternity than knee-deep in flames? Scout’s lip actually twitched at this, almost becoming a smile. What good would angel wings and halo do a crazy fucker like that? Pyromaniacs needed to burn things! Nothing better to burn than the souls of the damned.
But what about Soldier? Scout was on a roll now, the young man finally dragging his gaze (once glaring dully at the ground below him) to the sky. Soldier had been a fucking /fighter/, man. He wouldn’t let no damn Devil get him down! Naw, he’d even stood up to their own Heavy a few times, shouted in his face and even thrown some punches at that impenetrable gut. You couldn’t help but respect balls like that.

Soldier, king of Hell. That had a ring to it! And Pyro, fuck, he’d keep all those other dead (BLU, of course) bastards in check, burn their little heels when they didn’t march march march where he wanted them to go. Pyro and Soldier probably loved it, away from the chaos of war and able to relax and lounge in the comforts of their own private paradise. Hell.

After all this quiet rationalizing, Scout was finally, truly smiling. He’d stopped hunching over his knees, he’d let his nails stop digging anxious dents in his calves, and the rain? Even the rain was stopping. It was like some sort of fucked up sign, like his own thoughts controlled the world, just for a few seconds. Pyro and Soldier would be doing okay. And if all of RED died, and burned in Hell for a lifetime? They’d have some crazy, awesome buddies to do it with.

No sooner had that final thought crossed his mind than did a few gray clouds part, something faint appearing in the first patch of blue sky yet. Scout stood up and squinted, shaking some water from his cap as he did. Wait, was that color up there?

It was.

…a rainbow. A fucking rainbow.

It was dim and still covered with a misty sort of fog, but Scout knew color (there was a damn lack of it around the sawmill, other than red splashes of blood) and that was it, no mistaking. His ma always pointed them out whenever she could, and while a bored, church-weary little Scout had no interest and had just mumbled that he saw it… It wasn’t like that now. Not at all.

Without his consent, something wet rolled down Scout’s cheek, the boy hurriedly smudging it away with the gritty heel of his hand. He couldn’t let people see that--! He didn’t cry, Scouts didn’t /cry/. But…whatever, no one was here. Spirits lifted, the boy sniffed once and grinned, plopping his sodden hat back on and scrambling down from the roof. His team needed cheering up! Especially ol’ Hardhat. Maybe he’d go find him.

Once Scout had left the rooftop, the air was still, the rain no longer making its loud patters on the sheet metal, the mud from his footprints washed away. With the rain gone, the BLU Spy’s cloak would now be undetectable, not that it mattered. The RED Scout was already off, jogging back to his base just a few meters off. Spy reminded himself sternly that he was on a mission for reconnaissance only, despite the temptation that the unprotected back of the Scout provided, he had to hold back. Besides, it wasn’t as if there wouldn’t be a time for it later. Today’s attack had only been a preview, as in the coming week? There wouldn’t be a RED left alive.

Spy smirked, uncloaking and sauntering down from the rooftop, watching vaguely as the RED Scout turned a corner and was gone. He hadn’t learned much on this outing as far as the mission went, but he had seen something interesting. While not exactly useful for blackmail or the likes, Spy wouldn’t easily forget the little softie on the roof. After all, who would have known?

He never would have guessed - Scout cried at rainbows.
Marked for deletion (old)

2 .

Aw, this is sweet and sad. BLU Spy now has the ultimate blackmail.

3 .

This is the best. I have nothing more constructive to say.

4 .

Aw... this is adorable, so sad and lovely.

5 .

I really enjoyed this. Its short and sweet. I also liked how you described Scout and Soldier's relationship. All in all, this is a nice oneshot.

6 .

Aah I laughed despite the sad overtone. Good depth and smiles all 'round!
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