Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The ceiling was particularly interesting today. Especially with the incessant ringing of Scout’s alarm. It’d been ringing on and off for what felt like the past few hours. He had to get up, but dear god was getting up the last thing he wanted to do. He had a job to do. But he was so, so tired.

He’d spent the entire night tossing and turning, contemplating thoughts that he’d never share aloud. Not that he hadn’t tried to share them before, when he was young he very much tried, but the responses were… less than savory. He learned to keep his mouth shut when it came to his own mental bullshit.

When he finally turned his alarm off, it took him another solid five minutes to actually get up. Honestly, it was barely even “getting up”, he just swung his legs over and planted his feet on the ground. He tested his weight a little, rolling forward onto the balls of his feet before easing back again.

Sighing and burying his face in his hands, he considered the consequences of just… rolling over and going back to bed. Getting yelled at by Soldier wouldn’t be too terrible, but the potential of a dock to his pay made him uneasy. He funneled a decent wad of his salary to his ma. A way of taking care of her from so far away. If he lost some of that pay…

Scout groaned, but slowly rose to his feet. He rolled the knots out of his neck, popping his joints. He bit his lip, fumbling for his roll of wrap. He covered his knuckles, as he always did, then brought the bandages up over his forearms. Nobody seemed to notice the ever-changing distance in the height of his wraps. Not even Medic. Good. He was still getting away with it.

Securing his bag over his shoulder, Scout reluctantly opened his door. His hands shook with effort. He was met with a slightly aggravated Solider, arms pressed solidly against his sides.

“You’re late, son,” Solider said, not withholding his volume. Scout’s head throbbed.

“Yeah, well, I’m up now, ain’t I?” He mumbled back. “Outta the way, you’re gonna make me later.”

“This is the fourth time this week you’ve gotten up this late.”

“Thanks, captain obvious.”

“You watch your tone with me, boy,” he growled, scowling at Scout from beneath his stupid helmet. “Don’t let it happen again.”

“Mhm,” Scout had already stopped listening. Or, his brain had stopped processing. His ears felt stuffed full of cotton. He shoved Soldier aside with the little strength he could manage before dragging himself down the hall. He could feel the older man’s eyes on his back as he left, and suppressed a shudder.

--

The fight against BLU had been nothing short of a disaster. Scout died more times than he could count on two hands, or could count in general. When he checked over the respawn machine after, his number was the highest. A solid 56 deaths. Christ.

To be fair, he hadn’t necessarily tried to live. He stayed out in the open, dissociated and distracted by the stinging ache on his arms and thighs. Every time he turned, he felt wounds split open. Next thing he knew, he was shot, or stabbed, or burnt to a crisp. Every death felt more and more painful, more intense than the last. The achy feelings carried on between respawns. Maybe the machine was busted.

He shook his head. A big talking-to was on its way. Soldier wasn’t anywhere close to being the team’s leader, but he did everything in his power to make it seem like he was. He was loud and strict, so it was fitting if anything. He always led post-round rundowns. Especially after bad rounds. Simply, Scout was fucked.

He tried his best to tuck himself into a corner of the room, crossing his arms to appear smaller. He just wanted to get back to his room so he could rest again. He just wanted out. His eyes drifted shut wearily.

“SCOUT!” Solider’s voice snapped him to attention. Oh great, he was being singled out. He exhaled sharply through his nose, using his arms to push himself off the wall.

He stood in front of Soldier, trying his best to appear calm. Normal. His shaking legs weren’t helping.

“You had better have a damn good explanation for your performance out there!” Soldier continued, forcefully poking Scout’s chest.

“‘s none of y’r business, Solly,” He whispered.

“LOOK AT ME AND SPEAK UP LIKE A MAN.”

“I said it’s nunya damn business, asshole!” Scout spat, shoving his own finger into Soldier’s chest. “God forbid a guy have a shitty day! Now can we get this ovah with so I can go the fuck to bed?! I’m sick of havin’ ta listen to your obnoxious bullshit!”

“IT’S NOT BEEN ONE SHITTY DAY, SCOUT! IT’S BEEN THE WHOLE DAMN WEEK! If you don’t get your act together, you will be benched until you can!”

“FINE THEN! BENCH ME!” He threw his arms out forcefully. “YA THINK I WANNA BE RUNNIN’ AMOK OUT THERE WHEN I CAN BARELY FORCE MYSELF TO GET OUT OF BED EVERY MORNIN’!? FUCK NO! SO BENCH ME! I DON’T. CARE.” And with that, Scout turned sharply on his heel and walked out.

He slammed his door shut when he made it back to his room, chest heaving with anger. It pulsated through his veins. With an angry shout, he threw his bat into his wall. It broke through, lodging itself in place. It wasn’t enough. He unwrapped his arms and hands.

Scout frantically began to punch at his hung punching bag. He threw hits indiscriminately, not caring for any particular tactic. He just wanted to feel the stinging pain of his knuckles getting ripped open. That was all he needed. Pain. Pain would make the storm in his chest go away.

When the bag proved useless, simply frustrating him more, he turned to his nightstand. He tore the drawer open, shoving various items out of the way until he found— Ah. There we are. A pristine blade. He stored a set of them underneath everything else. He’d stolen most of them from Engineer, but a few were his own. He’d grabbed them as a last ditch measure. ‘Just in case,’ he told himself. He scoffed. Last ditch measure. Such bullshit.

Scout slumped down onto the floor. He quickly tugged his pants down to his knees, inspecting his thighs for any blank space. Nothing higher up, so he moved down to about mid thigh. He readied his blade, took a breath, and made the first cut.

Instantly, Scout could feel the tension begin to melt from his shoulders. He carefully dug the blade back into the same cut, pressing down and pulling through again. It opened a little more. A soft white beginning to dot over with crimson. As much as he wanted it to go deeper, too much blood was pooling in the wound now. He simply moved onto a new spot. And did so again, and again, and again, and again, until he felt truly and properly numb.

His arms and thighs were coated in bleeding cuts. Nothing too serious, he was far too scared to go much deeper (ironic, considering his job), but he felt amply satisfied. Now, for clean up.

He sat a little straighter, opening the second drawer of his nightstand. In it, an enormous amount of first aid equipment. He grabbed some gauze, wetting it softly with a bottle of water, and began to clean the blood off of himself. He’d worry about the floor after the bleeding stopped. He dabbed at his wounds, using up piece after piece of tissue. With the amount of cuts, he knew this process would take a while. Luckily, he still felt floaty from the actual act, so it didn’t feel very daunting. He hummed a nameless tune under his breath, patting himself down until the bleeding slowed enough.

Once he felt he was done with clean up, he stood. He dug into his small dresser for a pair of loose pajama pants and a new red shirt. He pulled on a comfy pair of socks, bundled his dirty clothes into a little ball, and tossed them into the pile with the rest of the stuff he hadn’t washed yet. The bloody gauze was strewn about his floor, just next to his bed. He used it to clean the bit of blood off the floor.

Exhaustion began to fully set in, now that he couldn’t feel anything. Scout yawned, stretching and ignoring the feeling of his clothes rubbing against his wounds. He lazily crawled into bed, tugged his blankets over his shoulder, and shut his eyes. He fell into an empty, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Sniper was concerned. Hell, the entire team was concerned. He could see it worn into their faces. The way they moved around each other. It was glaringly obvious.

After Scout’s outburst, the team had sat in shocked silence for a solid few minutes. Sure, the boy was prone to anger and explosions, but never to such a genuine degree. Even Soldier seemed uncomfortable, being seen fidgeting with the ends of his shirt mindlessly ever since.

Everyone knew that something was wrong with Scout. His lack of energy and enthusiasm stood out like a sore thumb, and the ever-deepening bags under his eyes pushed their worries further. Medic had tried to meet up with him for a checkup, but the boy waved him off and flitted by under the excuse of needing to do something.

Even Sniper, who Scout was arguably the closest with, had barely seen the younger at all. Nothing but a quick glance during missions. It made his skin crawl.

He wasn’t sure when it started, but the two had come to some sort of a routine. Late on the nights when they just couldn’t sleep, they’d meet together in Sniper’s van. Usually it’d start with Scout airing out any thoughts muddled up in his head, but it’d eventually taper down to him quietly doodling while Sniper hummed a tune. After a bit of warming up to each other, Scout started taking to sleeping in his bunk with him. As strange as it was to see him in such a toned down state, the sharpshooter enjoyed the time they spent together.

Then, without warning, the meetings stopped. Scout stopped coming by, despite the fact that he definitely wasn’t sleeping well in any regard.  That was when the spiral started. Or at least, that’s when Sniper could best pin it down. He couldn’t be too sure.

Maybe that was the reason he finally spoke up.

“Sum’n’s wrong with Scout,” Sniper mumbled at the dining table that night. Another dinner without a single appearance from the man in question. He felt the entire table sigh in relief. Seems they’d been waiting for someone to finally crack into that.

“I’ve been meaning to bring it up, but,” Engineer started, fidgeting with his collar. “I dunno the kid well ‘nuff. Didn’t wanna step outta line.”

“I have tried to speak with zhe boy,” Medic added, “but he seems to be rather frightened by my presence.”

“Ah, the wee lad is avoidin’ all of us, nowadays.” Demo said, swirling the alcohol in his bottle around a bit. Despite the presence of the alcohol, the man was starkly sober. “I widnae take it too personally.”

From across the table, Soldier sighed. For a moment, his squared shoulders loosened. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Even still, he remained silent.

“A…. depressive episode, I reckon. Or somethin’ like it.” Sniper thought aloud, fists clenched in his lap.

“Yes, I suppose zhe exhaustion and irritation would align with such a state,” Medic agreed. He leaned against Heavy slightly, appearing to be sinking into his thoughts.

“Not to mention him wrapping his bandage things further up his arms.” Spy’s voice was quiet when he spoke, but it pierced through everyone as they registered the words. A collective breath stuck in their throats.

Medic sighed, brows furrowed. “I figured I wasn’t the only one who noticed. At first I thought it was for more support on his wrists, but the blood was rather telling.”

Now that was news to Sniper. For someone whose entire job was observation, how had he missed that? He swallowed thickly.

“He died the most out of all of us today,” Soldier suddenly said, looking down. The groups necks snapped his way. “I checked the respawn machine. 56 deaths.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Sniper whispered. He rubbed an anxious hand down his face, letting everything sink in. “Wha’ are we meant to do?”

Silence. No one could answer that one. It made Sniper irrationally angry, though he could barely think of anything either. Engineer chased his food around his plate, appetite lost. The others chewed on small bites thoughtfully.

Sniper slammed his fists on the table. “I’m gonna go talk to ‘im.”

“You sure that’ll do anythin’?” Engineer muttered.

“No, I agree with zhe Sniper. He and Scout are closer to each other zhan any of us combined.” Medic sat straight. “We will go from what happens during zheir conversation. I would like to meet with zhe boy as soon as possible though. I need to assess his injuries.”

“I’ll try my best,” Sniper breathed, rising from his seat shakily.

He set off, fists clenched at his sides. The mercs watched him leave with bated breath. Sniper felt their eyes on him. The pressure felt crushing, but he kept moving. He had to. For Sc— …for Jeremy , he had to.

--

When Mick approached Jeremy’s door, he felt his heart rate spike. His palms clammed up. God, he’d never felt this level of anxiety in his life. It made him want to vomit. He shook his head, gently slapping the sides of his face to get his shit together. Get it together.

Slowly, he raised his hand and knocked.

“Ah… Jer?” The nickname felt foreign on his tongue, despite the many times he’d said it. “Can we talk?”

There was an unbearable stretch of silence. For a moment, Sniper thought the man was asleep. Or— no , no. Not dead. Snap out of it.

Finally, “uh, yeah. Jus’… gimme a sec, m’kay?”

“Yeah, o’course. Take your time.”

Rapid shuffling. The ease open and snap shut of a trashcan. Labored breathing. Mick felt anxiety well up further and further in his throat, but he forcibly swallowed it down. He had to keep his head on.

The door eased open gently. Jeremy leaned out, tilting his head. It took everything in Sniper’s being to not react in some way. He looked even worse than when they last saw each other. He was shaking, pale, with eye bags so deeply purple they looked like bruises. His fingers twitched against the frame of the door. His nails were bit back, cuticles ripped away. Dried blood was caked along the line of where they used to be.

Mick wanted to scream, to shake the man, to beg him to come to his senses.

“Can I come in?” is what he said instead.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Jeremy pushed the door open further. “Sorry ‘bout the mess.”

“No worries.”

Mess was a soft word for it. His sheets were wrestled askew across his bed. A massive pile of laundry was lying against the nearest right corner of the room. His trash was overflowing. The skimpy posters of barely clothed women had been torn off his walls, lazily rolled up and scattered across the floor. Tiny holes took their place, dotted across the sickly, pale, white wallpaper. A thin layer of dust coated every surface.

God, Mick felt sick. This wasn’t Jeremy’s room. This wasn’t Scout’s room. Not even close. Something must’ve come in and destroyed it. Must’ve torn it up and threw every notable thing about it away. A storm of something terrible.  

The only remaining thing was a dusty framed photo of Jeremy and his mother. The photo was turned away from his bed.

“So,” Scout said, clearing his throat. “Whaddya wanna talk about?”

Mick sat on his bed, hoping to set an example to get him to join. He did so quickly.

“Jeremy, this…” he took a deep breath, feeling suffocated. “This isn’t okay.”

Somehow, the man’s face got paler. “What’re you—“

“You know what ‘m talking about.” He interrupted firmly. Jeremy wrapped his arms around himself tightly. Mick sighed. “Why… ah, why haven’t we been talking?”

“Nothin’ to talk about.”

“Bullshit. Scout, look at this room. Look at it. Look at yourself . This is…” He searched for the words, but they died on his tongue. He took a breath and started again. “They’re worried about you.”

Jeremy blinked rapidly, eyes glazing over. “Are you?”

Mick laughed humorlessly. “‘m terrified.”

There was a long moment of silence after that. Scout tightened his grip on himself, forcibly looking away. His forearms itched. His head ached.

Worried. Terrified . It almost made him want to laugh. More than that, it made him want to cry. He wanted to cry so bad. He wanted to fall into someone’s arms, to bury his face in someone’s chest and hide from his awful thoughts and feelings.

Before he could stop it, Scout’s bottom lip quivered and his eyes gleamed with tears. He dropped his head slightly, ashamed as pained cries began pouring out of him. His chest ached with every feeling he’d been begging to be noticed, to be heard. He just wanted to be heard .

He buried his face in his hands. Tears spilled down his cheeks, like a broken tap had been turned on and nothing in the world could make it stop. His entire body shook with every sob.

“‘m so tired,” he finally whined. He felt childish. Pathetic. Girly . Boys don’t cry. Not like this. But he couldn’t stop. He struggled to catch his hiccuping breath between each outburst of emotion.

“I know,” Mick whispered. He carefully wormed an arm around the man’s shoulders, unsure of how he’d respond to physical touch in such a state. Jeremy leaned into it immediately, latching himself to Sniper’s side. Warm tears and bubbly snot dripped onto Sniper’s clothes, but he couldn’t give less of a shit. He got the man to open up. He could help now.

“I’m s-so sorry,” Scout choked out. Sniper shushed him, rubbing his back. “I-I didn’t… I didn’t know what to do—“

“It’s okay. We’re gonna help now, awright? I promise. All of us.”

Jeremy wiped his nose, looking up. “Ya mean it?”

“More than anythin’. ‘cept maybe Spy, the bloody uptight ass he is.”

Scout giggled (a laugh!), rolling his eyes a little. He sniffled, leaning into Mick a little more. The humor quickly wore off as he realized he’d have to face the others like— this . He bit his lip until it bled. It stung; he’d already been biting his lips apart, so he was tearing at raw skin.

“I dunno what ‘m gonna say to ‘em all,” He mumbled. “‘s embarrassing.”

“Mm, that’s awright. I’ll be there with you, yeah?”

Scout said nothing. He began to mull over everything he could possibly spit out. There were so many things to say, and he frankly didn’t want to say any of it. But he had to. It was the only way he’d get better. Still, he felt his stomach flip at the very thought of it.

“I do want you to know that the doc wants to check you over,” Sniper hummed. “Jus’ to make sure your injuries don’t get infected or anythin’.”

A sigh. “So he knows about them?”

“Mm,” Sniper nodded, “he requested to be the first to see you after we spoke.”

“Wait— does that mean they all know about them???” Scout sat up straight as a board, staring with wide, reddened eyes.

Mick rubbed the back of his neck. It was a response in and of itself.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” the man groaned, falling backwards onto his bed. It squeaked, protesting the sudden movement.

“Sorry, mate.”

“No, it’s…” Scout pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed shakily. “They were gonna find out eventually.”

Following a lull of silence, Mick eased himself back and laid next to Jeremy. The two were quiet for a long time, breathing each other’s presences in. The younger turned onto his left side. As he did so, his right hand fell suspiciously close to Sniper’s own. The man almost pulled away, but he couldn’t. Especially not after Scout’s pinkie curled around his. It was such a small show of affection, but it made Mick’s heart swell.

Despite his outward persona, Scout was an incredibly affectionate and clingy mercenary. More than once would he be found curled into Engineer’s side, or laying his chin over Pyro’s shoulder while they drew, or leaning against Heavy’s arm while waiting for a round to begin. He craved attention, sure, but he needed physical and social interaction to survive. It made him feel safe. Like he mattered. Like he was alive and real.

Total isolation was basically a death wish for him and yet, he enforced it on himself.

Scout took a labored breath, “you promise you’ll be there?” He hated being so vulnerable, but he wasn’t sure what else he could do at this point. He’d been torn open by Mick’s gaze the moment he opened that door. It didn’t take much for everything to spill out after a look like that.

With a soft smile, reserved only for him, Mick tightened his pinkie around Jeremy’s.

“Promise.”