Chapter Text
The harsh trill of his alarm jolted Scout from his sleep. Groggily, he sat up and raised his arms to stretch, when instantly a sharp ache pierced through his back. He winced, rubbing at the spot while groaning. Of course he had to sleep on his back wrong the last night of a ceasefire. He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to encourage his body to wake up. As he dressed for the day’s work ahead, he silently thanked whatever insane genius created the respawn machine. At least he could be rid of this uncomfortable ache after the first death of the day. He winced once again as he slipped his shirt over his head, the stretch of his arms causing the pain to ignite again in his spine.
As he checked all his gear during the short minutes before battle began, he heard heavy speak from across the room.
“Scout. Machine says respawn needs new reserve state. You should fix. Would hate for you to be squashed like little bug and not come back.”
“What? You gotta be kidding me! I reset the damn thing just last week before the ceasefire!”
“Machine does not lie, Scout.”
Scout groaned for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, and toed his way around his teammates to squint at the screen, still holding his half polished scattergun. As he scanned his eyes down the list of the team’s statuses, there it was. Red, ugly letters alongside his name, declaring proudly; “NEW RESPAWN STATE NEEDED”. He sighed, opening the door to the back room to reset the offending reserve state, and about a minute later, he was back where he began, finally finishing the polishing of his beloved scattergun. Not a moment to late either, as the administrator gave the final warning, and began the battle.
As the doors shuttered open, Scout launched into a run to scout the field (Hey, the name fits, y’know). Today’s objective was to stop the other team from delivering a payload. Okay sure, whatever, he had done this a million times before. But as he reached out to vault a crate, that sharp pain rang through him again. Shit.
He froze as the realization hit him. He had reset his reserve state, so respawn wouldn't fix his backache, it would only renew it. Internally, he shed a tear, but somehow he managed to push the thought away and continue his stride. He had dealt with worse than this. His deaths from the enemy Pyro’s flamethrower were at least ten times worse than this pulled muscle or whatever it was.
The battle felt like it lasted days, as after every death Scout’s piercing pain was sharpened. But finally, as the last few seconds of the battle ticked down, he breathed a sigh of relief. Somehow, he had helped his team achieve victory, and the payload remained undelivered. Just as the final moments slipped off the clock, Scout felt another sharp pain in his spine, but this one was all too familiar. The enemy Spy, of fucking course.
Scout cursed every god he could think of as he stepped out of respawn, hearing the final buzzer ring across the battlefield, his pain once again sharp as the blade driven into his back. Fuck you, Spy. He rubbed his muscles mournfully as he watched his teammates clear out the other side and head back to base, bumping fists and chests in celebration of another victory. As his team crowded back into the prep room, he shucked off his gear in near silence, offering half-assed smiles to his jubilant teammates. He slunk back to his room and very nearly collapsed onto his shitty Mann-co. Bed.
He allowed himself a good few minutes of self pity, groaning and trying to stretch and dull the ache in whatever way he could, but eventually he rose again, deciding to slip into a hot shower. He sulked down the hall, waving tiredly at his celebratory team, gathered around the cards table with various opened cans around them. On a better night Scout would gladly join them, even though he lost every time. His poker face was shit, but it was good to feel that camaraderie every once in a while. He rounded the corner to the showers, and grabbed the worn towel from his cubby. A very crudely drawn album cover painted the back wall, with big letters spelling ‘SEX BOM’ and ‘SCOUT’ lining the top and bottom edges. Among the other cubbies sat his other teammates’ various artistic renditions of different subjects.
Scout shucked his shirt off as he walked to a shower stall, throwing it haphazardly over the curtain rail. Soon his socks, shorts, and boxers followed suit, before he carefully placed his towel on top of the unstable stack. He pressed his back into the cold tile as he turned on the water, desperately trying to avoid the freezing spray. Eventually, though, it warmed up, and he let out a huge sigh as the hot water rolled down his body.
He gave himself a decent wash, but spent the most time trying to massage and warm that aching spot. By some miracle, he thought it was working. He was mistaken, though, because as soon as he turned the steaming water off and stepped out of the stall with his towel, the ache returned in full force. Scout nearly wept, and bonked his head against the tiled wall a few times to express his frustration. He fought not to tear his hair out as he walked back to his room, passing the cards table once again. It seemed the team was still going strong with the celebration, and the once small pile of empty cans in the corner had probably tripled in size since his last passing. As he made it to his door and opened it, he heard a voice rise above the rest from the table.
“Alright, Meine Freunde, I think I have had enough for the evening, and so now I retire. Gute Nacht, gentlemen.”
Scout turned to see Medic stand and push his chair in, turning down the hall to head for the med bay. Suddenly, for about the third time that night, he was struck with something close to an idea. For his sake, he hoped this one worked out.