Chapter Text
He hated himself.
Oh, sure, Scout loved his job. He got to run and shoot and beat people over the heads with baseball bats while yelling and insulting them as much as his little Boston heart wanted. But the problem wasn’t with his job. It was with his teammates. Well, no, it was with himself, but his teammates weren’t helping. Sniper would pound a couple beers with him and Demo every once in a while, and make snide comments about how well Scout could hold his alcohol despite being a girl. Sure, they were lighthearted jokes that Scout laughed along with, but in the middle of those nights, while he would have Pyro hold his long hair back while he threw up, it just made him feel worse. Heavy would tease him when he couldn’t lift something heavy, Engie would never let him help with anything, Spy and Soldier ignored him for the most part, and Medic… Medic tended to keep to himself in the lab with his doves. That wasn’t really a ‘them’ problem, though. That’s just how the team treated girls, and Scout being the youngest wasn’t much better. The only reason Miss Pauling and the Administrator got any respect was because they were the ones who pulled the strings, and even then the team treated them with only the most basic respect. Scout, on the other hand, was just considered a little girl.
It was raining the day that the team was assigned to Sawmill. It was always raining, so Scout just assumed that the Administrator simply waited until it was raining to assign that location. Just like how they never got assigned to fight on Coldfront until wintertime. Still, Scout woke up earlier than everybody else did, just like usual. He crept out of the room he shared with Soldier and Pyro, and headed to the showers, hoping that no one else was awake. He'd gotten something that he wanted to try. Showering quickly, Scout made sure that every inch of skin was clean — he hated smelling bad. He got dressed, but before putting on a shirt, he pulled out a roll of bandages. Yeah, it wasn’t the smartest idea, but anything to get rid of his chest.
Running that day sucked. Not only was it raining, so Scout got soaked almost the second he stepped outside, but his chest burned and he had trouble breathing the whole damn time. Still, he loved the look of his flat chest, though he was really the only one who noticed. BLU won the rounds that day, something that RED didn’t appreciate. Nobody said it out loud, but from the looks Scout got, he knew that his team all blamed him. He was the woman of the group, of course, and he was supposed to be good for four things only. Running, shooting, hitting, and counting as two people on the control point. As Scout shuffled back into the RED building, behind everyone else, a coo from above him made him jump. Archimedes, Medic’s beloved dove, landed on his shoulder. Birds aren’t supposed to show human emotions, but Scout swears that Medic had messed with that bird’s brain — it had looked at him with an almost knowing look. Scout gently reached up to pet the bird, earning him another coo as he walked inside.
“Archimedes?” was the first thing Scout heard as the door slid shut behind him. Medic was calling for his stupid bird, and Medic was the last person Scout wanted to see. He’d get a barrage of questions about his health, why he wasn’t running as good today, why was he having trouble breathing, etc. etc. Still, as Scout walked around the corner, he was greeted with the familiar face of the German.
“There you are, Archimedes!” Medic exclaimed, though he raised an eyebrow at seeing Scout’s expression. Scout, clearly, wasn’t in a good mood. His long hair was dangling like wet spaghetti under his hat, falling into his face messily, and his sodden clothes were bothering him.
“Get your stupid bird offa me,” Scout commented dryly, reaching up to lift Archimedes off of his shoulder and depositing him in Medic’s gloved hands. He could see that Medic was about to ask him a question, and he held up a hand. “It’s not anythin’ medical, I just wasn’t feelin’ it today. Tell birdbrain to quit lookin’ at me like he knows somethin’.” Before he could walk off, though, Medic tapped Scout gently on the shoulder.
“If it was a medical problem, you would come see me, right?” the German asked, a grin spreading across his face. “After all, I do need more lab rats.” Scout just rolled his eyes.
“Uh huh, sure I would, Doc. Hey, call me if ya need a Medigun bashed to pieces again,” he said dismissively, before walking off. He needed a shower, some food, and most importantly, to get out of his clothes.