Chapter Text
Losing on the field always reminds me of losing a game back home. I used to just feel disappointed and upset, but when I started dating Amelie in high school she knew just how to make me feel worse.
Burned into my memory of her is this one instance where I had asked her if she was coming to watch me play on Friday in front of her friends. She looked at me like I was lost and just said “no.”
“Why not?” I had asked.
“You lost last time. Why would I waste my time just to see you fail again?”
Out of every baseball game and track meet I was involved in that year, she only attended around ten of them. And I was doing one or the other at least twice a week almost. She never went with me to any of my practices either.
I know now that she was wrong and an overall shitty person, but every time I mess something up I can’t help but think of what she said. Even if nothing is really my fault, I feel like everyone’s eyes are on me, blaming me, knowing I’m just a useless screw up. It’s how I feel now, focusing on getting my supplies put up and getting out of the garage so I can push away the rest of my team’s voices.
“You were right there, why didn’t you just move a couple more inches?” Spy was mumbling to Soldier, although it was more of a quieted exclamation.
“I was bleeding and waiting on more help, what were you doing besides blindly swinging that knife of yours where we don’t need it?” He shouts back, already on the verge of probably destroying something as he shoves his finger into Spy’s chest.
“Oh, you think you’re more useful than me? Would you like to try forming strategies in your head while running and getting shot at instead of mindlessly rushing enemies and dying a thousand times? Hm?”
“To be fair, Soldier did need help before he could advance, I was just busy healing Engie,” Medic pipes in.
“Who wasn’t even doing anything! If you had been on your feet I would’ve had it in the bag,” Soldier declares, hand over his chest. Spy sighs and utters something in French. This situation isn’t going to improve whatsoever. I need to get out of here fast.
“Excuse me? No one else was defendin’ and that damn Spy was gettin’ me every second, my hands were tied! I didn’t even get any help from...hey, Scout what were you even doin’ that whole time?”
I had shoved the last of my gear into their respective lockers and containers when I froze. I turn around and shrug. “Uh...my best?” I offer, slowly side stepping toward the door. Sniper chuckles.
“How is your best worse than last week?” He asks.
“I...um...s-situational...errors. Yeah. I’ve gotta go,” I spit out as my final answer, fumbling for the doorknob while still facing the group until I finally just whip back around and rush out of there.
“My best. What kinda jackass answer is that? God, he’s gonna think I’m...they’re all gonna think I’m brain dead now.” I sigh to myself, rubbing my eyes as I sprint back to my room, hoping no one follows me. At least they weren’t ragging on me the whole time. I don’t think I did too bad on the field, actually. Or maybe I did and I was just too tired to notice. What if I just did nothing? I can’t even remember what happened anymore. Did I help? Did I even move?
I take a deep breath. That wouldn’t make sense, someone would’ve said something if I had just been inactive. I’m just tired, that’s it. Emotionally and physically. I want to sleep but I know if I do I won’t rest well at night again and the cycle will continue. I’ve gotta do something, but for now, I just want to change clothes.
But what if? The thought persists, scratching the back of my mind as if someone were trying to pick a lock in my brain. What if you’ve just failed everyone all over again?
I didn’t, though. It’s not a big deal, and we always have tomorrow.
They’re gonna hate you. Perhaps they already do. You didn’t even apologize. You’re disgusting.
I’m not.
I am.
“I’m not.” I repeat, although this time the words accidentally escape my lips.
Just hang yourself by those dog tags around your neck right now. Do them all a favor. Sniper hates you, there’s no need to worry about him missing you.
I don’t know what to say, what to think, even. I’m arguing with myself over my own worth. My hand hovers over the doorknob. I hadn’t even entered my room before things started getting out of a control. Looking down, I can see that I had been digging my nails into my palms again. One spot was even bleeding a bit.
All that over nothing?
And just like magic, I’m not worried about work anymore. I’m more upset at how pathetically I handled everything. I cant keep letting myself get overwhelmed by stupid shit.
“Scout?” I hear, not too far behind me. I shut my eyes and take another shaky breath.
“Yeah?” I respond, turning around and forcing a more natural expression while wiping my palms on my pants, partly to soothe the stinging and urge to scratch them.
“Are you...eh...okay?” Sniper asks.
“I’ve already said today, I’m fine,” I say, a little too harshly. He holds up his hands in defense.
“I know, I know. Was just uh...wondering. You seemed a little lost in thought. You ran out of there so fast, I barely had time to talk to you!”
I reel back a bit, wondering how to approach this. “Did you have something you wanted to say?” He raises an eyebrow.
“No? I just wanted to chat, is all.”
“About...what?” He shrugs.
“Anything, really,”
“Why?”
“Because we’re friends, of course. I don’t need a reason to want to talk to you, do I?” He chuckles. I know it’s meant to be rhetorical, but for a second I search for a genuine answer. I look down, unable to meet his gaze any longer. We stand in awkward silence for a while. I wonder what he thinks of it.
“I just…didn’t think you’d want to talk to me, really.” I finally answer. It’s probably one of the truest things I’ve said in a while. Sniper crosses his arms. I can tell he’s studying me behind those shades of his.
“Why would ya think that, mate?” He prods. I scoff.
“It’s just that I-uh-have better things to do, I wouldn’t have time to think about you...botherin’ me.” I try to play things off smugly, but Sniper just laughs at me.
“Oh yeah? You mean you weren’t just gonna go off into your room and sleep or listen to that sad boy music of yours?” I glance at my door, moving to where my back was facing it slightly as I scowl at him indignantly.
“Shut up, man, I do more than that! I mean-I don’t even do that!” I retort, although I actually didn’t have any real plans, and have been craving a little nap all day.
He shrugs yet again and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Alright, alright. I see you’re a fan of lies, then. If you don’t have anything to do, but you just get so drained that your only option is to hang out with boring ol’ me, then you’re welcome in my van any time,” He says, offering a smile and his hand. I hesitate before we shake and he gives me an even wider grin.
“Don’t worry about bothering me,” he adds. “I haven’t got much to do either. Was probably gonna do the same thing you are, honestly…” He mutters the last bit to himself.
I stare at that dumb smile of his, pretty much shocked into silence. I don’t know why it’s so distressing that Sniper is yet again being a decent person to me, but it still dumbfounds me. I need to be alone for a minute before I start hyper analyzing all his mannerisms.
“Well…thanks, then.” I finally muster up. “I, uh, really appreciate it. A lot. It means a lot. To me. Thank you,” I stumble through my words, fumbling for the doorknob as I continue to stare. He laughs a bit at my struggle.
“S’no big deal. I’ll hopefully see you later, then?” He asks, a hint of eagerness in his voice.
I finally get my door open and step halfway through. “I’m…yeah, hopefully, I guess. See ya,”
“Hopefully.” He repeats, nodding to himself. He gives me a little wave before walking off. I stare after him a couple steps before quickly entering my room and shutting the door. Letting out a big sigh of relief, I feel some of that pent up tension drip out of my body.
Moving over to my bed, I shove away a couple clothing items and junk to make just enough room for me to flop down comfortably. I lay down on my side and bring my hands up to my face, observing my palms I had harmed moments earlier.
The bleeding had stopped and there was that gross build up of scabbing I’d have to properly clean later. I use my right index finger to trace the little lines on my left palm. I can never tell if they’re natural, caused by me, or there for some reason simply because there’s just too many. My arms are where things get even worse. Thankfully I kept those covered by the tape I always wear.
“He wants to see me. What’s so hard to understand about that?” I say out loud, trying to force an answer out of myself. I still didn’t really know why I refused to believe people could care about me. I guess I technically do know, but I’m not quite ready to admit why I still let it affect me.
I take a breath and sit up. I have other things to do besides sleep. First off, getting out of these ragged clothes. Everything else after that is up for debate. Whatever keeps my mind from working, I’ll do it. I just need to get through a few more hours of the day, then I can sleep and things could be better. I hope I don’t have those kinds of dreams again.
Seafood always either smells like the inside of a cat’s throat, or unseasoned chicken with a tang of oceanic flavor. I’ve always felt pretty neutral about it, but the more nights I spend eating with this Australian, the more I realize how much I take land mammals for granted.
“Dude, that’s like, the twentieth pound of shrimp you’ve made this week, and I don’t even wanna know about the nights I wasn’t here,” I comment as I watch him perform his same ritual of barely dusting the little crawfish with seasoning.
“I see no issue.” He responds nonchalantly.
“That’s the problem, you’re like those hoarders on TV, millions of piles of junk an’ they can’t even breathe in their own house. Yet they keep sayin’ it’s fine when it’s a clear detriment to their health,”
Sniper turns to face me. “It’s not killing me, and it won’t hurt you, either. You’re the one who decided to come here, ya bugger.” He resumes dusting the raw fish with spices, mumbling something under his breath. I roll my eyes in annoyance, but he’s right.
Despite my mixed feelings around the whole Sniper situation, I chose to see him again. I just felt like I was suffocating in my room, or being crushed slowly. Something along those lines.
I prop myself up and sit on the counter opposite from the one Snipes was working on. I would never admit out loud how much I enjoy his cooking, but there’s something about eating fish constantly that starts to make it taste like plastic. I just don’t know how he does it.
“I’m honestly surprised you don’t like seafood as much as I do, I could’ve sworn Boston was known for oceanic flavors or summin’.” He says, turning to face me after sliding the tray of shrimp into the small oven.
“I dunno. The most I ever ate was cheap fish sticks, and they tasted like chalk to me. You’re probably thinking of New York: big city, same accent, whatever,” I explain. He gives me a quizzical look.
“What do ya mean you don’t know? Did you just avoid the food of your culture there your whole life?” He asks.
“My ma had, like, twenty kids to feed, it wasn’t in her best interest to provide the delicacies of our nation to us,” He laughs at that.
“Did you continue to eat like a broke man through adulthood?”
“Uh…not really. I didn’t spend much time at home when I graduated high school.” There was a small pause.
“You moved around a lot?” He asks. Suddenly I feel as if I’ve said too much. I look down at my hands, rubbing my thumbs over my palms nervously.
“I mean…I guess. It wasn’t really moving so much as just going wherever.” I answer.
“Ah, so you travelled a ton? I never woulda guessed you’d enjoy leaving home,” He comments.
“I didn’t, actually. Well, it wasn’t that I didn’t, like, have fun going out an’ stuff, it’s just that I missed my brothers and Ma,” I shrug. “But that’s obvious for anyone, I guess. I like, I had to leave and all that junk, like, I had to so things could be better. But that didn’t necessarily…make things…better. You know?” I look up at Sniper, who looks as confused as I expected him to be. I clear my throat.
“Uh, sorry. I rambled a bit,” I apologize, looking back down at my fidgeting hands, a wildfire of embarrassment raging inside of me.
“It’s fine,” he assures me. “it was just a little, ah, random, heh. But it’s all good, mate.”
“It’s not.” I say softly, mostly to myself. I’m not sure why I had to say it, but it happened. I let another stupid thought get a hold of me, and now I sound like some loser fishing for sympathy.
“No, no, it’s all okay! Rambling is fun, I love people who ramble! I do it all the time,” He exaggerates his movements, almost comically attempting to make me feel better. I can’t help but smile at his tactics, though.
“Whatever, man.” I shake my head slowly and look away, hiding my stupid smile.
“Awright, you wanna hear a dumb fun fact about me, that way we can both be victims of over sharing?”
I look back at him and shrug. “You don’t have to,”
“Come on, it could be like a game! We can get to know each other more,” he exclaims, opening a small cabinet and taking out two glasses and a bottle of what I presumed to be whiskey.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Even if I had interesting life details to share, are we even allowed to know each other personally? Like, contract-wise?”
“Well, they can just piss off. I’ve been here forever, what difference is it gonna make if I find out you had a pet dog or something?” He starts to pour himself a decent glass of alcohol, stopping about halfway. “You want some?” I shake my head.
“I still don’t drink, Snipes.”
“Aw, you never do,” he complains, putting away the empty glass and the container of whiskey. He takes a regal sip of his drink and leans against the counter, looking to be deep in thought. “Right then, what do you want to know about me?”
“Anything you’re willin’ to share, I guess,” I tell him.
“Hm.” Once again he goes into a deeper state of mind, really trying to find something of value to say. It admittedly makes me pretty nervous. “Well, did I ever tell you that I was adopted?” He asks.
“Yeah. I mean, I think so. I dunno if you ever told me directly, but I know,” I explain. He nods.
“Well, along with that, I was a very stupid little bugger as a kid. For whatever reason, I thought being adopted meant neither your birth parents or adoptive ones loved you,” He laughs a bit, although I can tell something more complicated hides at the surface.
“What the hell, man? W-why?” I question with a look of bewilderment.
“Ah, I’ve no idea myself either. Maybe it was all the media, books and television shows and whatnot, always painting the story of some foster kid who goes on an incredible journey to find his birth parents. Even before I knew I was adopted, I had a weird vendetta against kids who didn’t know their real parents. It was like, ‘oi, you’ve got a strange backstory? You must be unloved or something!’ I was kind of an asshole, wasn’t I?” We both laugh lightheartedly at that.
“Did this belief, like, hinder your ability to be nice or something?” I ask.
“Oh no,” he says. “You see, my parents told me of my whereabouts when I was around...nine maybe, so I had all these silly little ideas in my head about adoption and then boom! Suddenly I fell victim to it. It absolutely shattered my heart, I thought I was just the worst kid in the world. Took nearly everyone I knew about a full three weeks to convince me that I was, in fact, loved, and a normal kid. A wild ride, huh?”
“Nah, that’s just...kinda depressing.”
“It wasn’t that bad, really, I was just an idiot. Still am, actually,” He grins and takes another sip of his drink.
“Can’t be stupider than me. I almost overdosed on vitamin gummies because I thought if I took like twenty of ‘em I’d grow to my brother’s height overnight,” he nearly chokes before I even finish.
“Seriously? I almost did that too! Not for the same reason, no, I just ate those things like candy,” We both laugh again and he clears his throat. “My mum would get so pissed at me, but I never ate healthy food right and was a really short kid so she was worried about my growth or something. She had to switch to the gross, non lethal kind without the sugar on it.”
I smile a bit at his story. “I was the smallest out of my brothers for a while, but then I got slightly taller. The oldest in our family told me if I ate the shit, I’d be tall and stuff, even though they tasted like paper clips. I guess I got real determined one night and downed them all. Don’t remember much besides my ma bein’ angry as hell at everyone,”
“Ooh, fun times, fun times. Vitamin gummies are just a child’s greatest enemy and ally. It’s all about natural selection,” He jokes.
“Ain’t that kinda crazy though? We literally kill people and die for a living now, but a couple of years ago it was dangerous to just be at home?” I ask. Sniper shrugs.
“Things change, I guess.” He says.
“A lot,” I add.
“Too much. I miss being stupid and ignorant sometimes. It was fun.” He taps his glass and sighs a bit. “Not to say I don’t have fun now, it’s just a different kind of feeling.”
“Yeah, I get it.” He nods, and we sit in silence for a moment. I feel like saying a million different things, but I can’t tell if I should, or even want to, say a single word. It’s moments like these where my brain works its best (or perhaps worst at the expense of my exhaustion). The silence. Even if it has no meaning, if it’s because there’s nothing to be said, or because things are just awkward. I could analyze every little thing.
Like the way Sniper doesn’t look at me. He stares at whatever he can when he isn’t talking. It makes me wonder if he’s avoiding me or just looking elsewhere because he can. He always has this aura of something big underneath the surface, but every time we interact he seems so surface level. I’ll never be able to tell if he’s only like this around me or not, and it eats me alive every second.
“So, Scout…” Sniper’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I nearly cringe at hearing that name. For the first time in a while, it sounds wrong to hear him say it. I don’t want him to know anything about me, yet at the same time, I have this foreign urge to tell him everything.
“Uh, how many brothers do you have again? I always forget,” he asks.
“Seven. Do you actually know this, or do you genuinely forget, because you ask enough for the answer to be either,” I question him right back. He chuckles nervously.
“Eh...mix of both, somewhat. It’s hard to fathom that each time you tell me though. Seven. God, it’s a miracle you didn’t come out...sexist or something, I don’t know.”
“It wasn’t that...bad...like, no one was abusive or anything. It was fine,” I pause. “For the most part. I-it’s a lot, and complicated, I don’t wanna talk about it.” I say. He nods again.
“That’s fine, that’s fine. Just trying to uh, start conversations.” He says.
“Yeah, whatever.” I reply, probably too roughly. I keep my eyes away from Sniper’s face so I can’t see how he reacts. I hope he doesn’t overthink anything. I hope he’s not like me.
We’re silent for a few more seconds as I watch the oven timer tick slowly. Suddenly I’m feeling less hungry and more nauseous than anything. It’s probably just guilt for making things so awkward. I scratch the back of my neck. “I should probably get to my room…” I say plainly.
“You don’t wanna eat?” Sniper looks at me with a face slightly contorted in dismay. My eyes drop to my feet.
“I feel kinda sick, I guess.” I mumble, fidgeting with the wrap around my wrists.
“You can lay down if you want, I can…get you something,” he offers. I feel my face heat up. God, it pains me to put people through so much trouble.
“No, I’m fine,” I assure him. “I just need to sleep.”
“It’s barely even past six, and I know you won’t get to sleep immediately, Scout.”
“So? What’s it matter to you?” My tone is angrier than I want it to be. Maybe not. I am angry, just not at him, really. I don’t know how to express that.
Sniper hesitates for a second, as if he wants to say something big, but something changes in his face. He waves a hand between us, trying to dismiss all the negativity.
“You’ve just been so inactive lately. I don’t know, it gets boring watching you do nothing.”
“I do do stuff!” I object, glaring back up at him. He scoffs a bit.
“Only when I make you, and even then you seem miserable some portion of the time. C’mon, mate, is it really that big of a deal that I want to hang out with a friend every now and then?”
I search his face for some sign of anger, but even his tone is calm and collected. I seem to be the only one unnecessarily upset at something so irrelevant.
“Just go chill on my bed or something, play some music, watch a movie, I promise you it’s not a big deal,” he says softly. His smile tries to convince me he’s telling the truth, but something in my brain still makes me feel like a burden.
“I don’t want to inconvenience you, I’m really tired, I’m just so busy all the time!” None of my stupid excuses ever work on him. He cares too much and can see right through them.
Well, he probably doesn’t care about me, now that I think about it. He’s just bored of the isolation of our job, finally, and needs someone to fill the gaps of time between work days and off days. He’s done this with everyone, I bet, it’s just my turn to get used.
“Stay,” Sniper says out of the blue, almost like a command. “just for a bit.” he adds gently. We look at each other for a while. Finally, I nod and sigh.
“Okay.” The word slips out before I register what it means. The look Sniper gives me is meant to be something of happiness and reassurance, but my stomach folds in on itself and I feel hollow rather than confident.
I’m not sure why I feel guilty, or what I even feel guilty of, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. I’d rather not cause a scene by leaving thirty minutes later just to be angry in my room instead of his, but that familiar cloud over my thoughts begs me to simply walk out.
I could, actually. Really I should. But the other part of me, the one I can’t ever decide on calling the sane side or the one there to make me feel better, revels in the heat of this situation. The fact that someone wants me, actively attempts to make me interact with them, whether it’s because they enjoy my company or are manipulating me, is entirely too enticing to stay away from. The idea that I might be used again pleases me just because I know that through it all I still have someone at least pretending to care and be my friend.
Oh. Oh.
Sniper, this guy I’ve only ever known as some lanky, wannabe hipster who can say the stupidest shit for someone so smart and full of ideas, is happily tending to the meal he’s preparing for himself and the friend he just convinced to stay. Yet here I am, telling myself he’s got the spirit of the devil or something much worse.
I pick at the small wounds on my palm. The guilt feels worse now that it has a reason to live inside me.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Jeremy?”
I flinch.
“Are you still asleep?” My mouth opens, but no words come out. I can't even feel a vibration in my throat, only air moving in and out of my chest.
“Whatcha need?” Someone else asks for me, and suddenly I can see with my eyes closed. The figure that spoke was small and human-like, yet had a strange cloud of whiteness around it, moving as it moved, like it was hiding something.
“I was just wondering,” the first voice whispers back, and although there wasn’t anything present before, I see him now, in front of the other figure, both seated on the bed.
Frayser.
“When did you get home?” I ask, suddenly in the position of whatever entity had been speaking before. The voice that I “spoke” with was entirely familiar while also so foreign at the same time.
“Eh, few minutes ago,” he replies. “did you want to ride?” His sentences are broken fragments that don’t make sense, yet are also complete and perfectly reasonable in my mind.
I think I’ve said something, but my throat still feels hollow and I’m focusing too much on his face. I can't fully recognize him. It’s as if I’m seeing every version of my brother ever. I think I’m starting to forget.
He smiles that royal grin of his, and gets up to leave. I reach out for him, but that’s all I can do. My body won’t move for whatever reason. I try to say anything, even whisper a small “wait,” anything to get one more second of him.
I stare at his rapidly fading figure for a long time while he calls out an incoherent mess to me, asking things, shouting maybe, I can’t tell. “Are you good?” I hear his voice, looming somewhere over me, but when I look around, all I see is darkness. Darkness and someone’s hand on my shoulder.
“Scout?”
I open my eyes slowly, and instead of my brother or even the space of my own bedroom, I see Sniper’s face a few feet away from me. I think I attempt to grumble a response, to move, but all I can muster is a slight stretch of my legs underneath the covers.
“You awright there, mate?” he whispers, and I feel his breath on my cheek. I squint and smile in response, not fully awake enough to do anything but that. I see him smile before I close my eyes and let out a quiet sigh. He pats my shoulder. I fall asleep again seconds after.