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Burn Ward (Medic x Pyro) (5)

1 .

Notes: If folks are interested in this, I will continue it.
We're going old-school.
No named characters, no proofreading, no comic canon, final destination.

No warnings until later sexual installments


Burn Ward

He knew it was sick.
It was in the way it slouched when it thought no one was looking; the wet sound when it breathed heavily. It took a week before the audible wheezing became evident even when not exerted, and another before the sound of distant coughing began to be heard throughout the base.The sound disturbed Medic from his methodical and careful organization and cleansing of his tools, pushing anger through every vein as the wet distant noise continued to mock him. Sterilizing his neatly lined syringes, he remembered bitterly what had happened in the washroom just a few days prior and cursed when he dropped one of the small cylinders to the floor from the distractions of his musings.

He bent, picking up the larger shards remembering how It too was bent a few days prior. He was in the hall when he heard a thick solid sound strike the tiles of the washroom followed by that familiar damnable coughing. He stuck his head in and saw the red rubbery figure’s back curled forward on one knee, clutching the sink in front of it for dear life. The sound of the wet coughs that struggled through the respirator echoed through the room, as gloved hands instinctively clutched at its throat. When it had noticed it wasn’t alone it looked up and tensed, hands trying to cover a face that was all ready masked, but failing to covering the source of its distress. Medic flinched back in shock and revulsion as strings of mucus and phlegm trickled and bubbled out of the metal ring below its great black eyes with each ragged breath. The horrible thing was drowning on its own phlegm from an ongoing infection that went stubbornly untreated.

Recovering from the repulsion, his reaction was a professional one. Medic quickly and calmly walked to the pyro, and with a firm grip, yanked the thing from the floor onto it’s feet and lead it out the door and down the hall. Pyro, winded from the coughing fit, stiffly complied, until he realized the destination that Medic had in mind.
It was in front of the infirmary where the Medic’s mission came to an abrupt halt. He had not expected the fast left hook to the face that left his grip loose and his glasses shattered. After all, who would have guessed that someone with such a horrible respiratory infection would have the energy to break a nose as well as flee the scene?

The broken nose was easily repaired with the aid of the Medigun, and RED, after countless maimings and “accidents”, had a whole crate of round silver glasses just for Medic. The only thing that could not be readily repaired was Medic’s now frayed pride from the unexpected attack. Unlucky for him and the syringe that the broom now swept up, the coughing only tended to aggravate his “condition”.

While cleaning the last bits of glass from the tiled floors, he sighed. Even without having his nose broken in, his professional side was already disenchanted with how Pyro had “solved” medical problems in the past. He hadn’t been aware it could pick locks until he caught the red rubber bastard elbow deep in his locked medicine cabinet a few months back, taking anything that could be used to treat pain. Wasn’t until a few days later that a written confession stating that it suffered migraines appeared, did Medic relent enough to give Pyro what it needed, but such kindness had since then been worn away. It would take a lot more than passive aggressive letters to gain treatment for whatever it was that going on inside of Pyro’s lungs. While it irritated him on a professional level to have a teammate with an illness, his pride and anger far over weighed any unwanted kindness from Medic.
Glass cleared he went back to cleansing the remaining syringes, still angry, but more focused on the task at hand. So absorbed in his work, he never noticed the sound of gunshots, or the lapse of silence from the coughing until the Scout began to scream.

Scout screaming was nothing new, and typically went ignored by every member of the team. Such had long become routine since the boy had far more attitude than common sense. This often proved to be fatal and damaging in the presence of stronger and less forgiving teammates. When Sniper came knocking on his door, poking his head inside his office, he expected it.
“Doc, ya better come see this.”
Medic rolled his eyes.
“Vhat has the little idiot done now?” not even turning to look at sniper.
“I don’t know. Come down, and maybe you can make sense of this.”
Grudgingly, Medic followed Sniper down the wooden hall, growing ever closer to the noise. He felt a headache from his temples begin to form as the higher pitches began reaching his ears.
When they had reached their destination, that same damn washroom, Medic sighed.

Sniper stood back and opened the door wide for medic to see what awaited him inside and then quietly disappeared when Medic walked in mouth slightly agape.

“Mein Gott...” was all he said in bewilderment. He wasn’t expecting so much blood.

Blood and bits of flesh painted Scout and the opposite wall from where he now sat, still screaming with his hat in his lap, desperately trying to clear chunks of what medic assumed was skin and fat from his hair . Medic turned his gaze to Pyro and grimaced. It had looked like his midsection and chest exploded, leaving a horrible pulpy, exposed organ mess all over the wall and floor. Scout’s scattergun lay in front of Pyro’s body, which made medic turn and face the hysterical boy.
“Stop your whining!!” Medic shouted, the headache worsening by the moment. “Vat did you do, Scout?!”
Scout silenced himself by swallowing hard, trying to grasp for enough air to articulate.
“I DIDN’T FUCKING DO THIS!” He finally managed, voice cracking and strained, “HE FUCKING SHOT HIMSELF!!”
Medic looked onward to Pyro’s horribly disfigured body and to the tiles on the wall above him. There were two spatters where rock salt had destroyed most of the white tiles and painted the rest in red.
“Vhy is there two shots, if you didn’t shoot him Scout!?”

Scout, with rage in place of hysteria, began to shuck off his shirt into the nearest sink.His hands were shaking when he tried to do the same with his spattered arm wraps.

“Scout, that doesn’t make sense,why-?!” Medic froze in mid sentence, hyper focusing on that word.


It would take at least three times longer for the respawn sweep to catch pyro’s body in the middle of a cease fire, and Medic slowly turned away from the gore and headed towards respawn taking his watch out to estimate how long he had before Pyro returned.

Once there, he sat on the bench and pulled a small silver watch and a small leather case from a coat pocket. He opened it methodically, looking at two large sterile hypodermic needles on one side, and two small ampules on the other. Deftly, he took an ampule, busting the fragile glass to get at the liquid within. He filled both of the needles, setting one on the bench and holding the other in his hand at the ready. He took a quick glance at his watch and began counting to himself.



Pyro materialized.
They had not noticed medic sitting in the corner who now stood, quietly biding his time.

It took a moment to register its surroundings and then attempted a long deep breath. The wet struggling was even noticeable through it’s respirator, and the action was deeply regretted as the sick creature buckled forward to its knees in gasping coughs and moist panting. Over its own infected coughing, Pyro did not hear the soft click of jack boots and was not prepared for the larger German suddenly grabbing the back of its neck slamming down into the cold hard tiles below. The coughs grew into hard wheezing as Pyro struggled underneath Medic’s grip which turned into panic gasps when he felt the side of his right thigh erupt in a sting followed by a spreading warmth.

Having pierced the thick suit,successfully injecting tranquilizer into his newly acquired patient, Medic released the smaller man and stepped back. When Pyro tried to get up off the ground to run, Medic gave him a swift kick to the stomach, putting him back on the ground. Winded, it made his fight for breath even more severe.

“There. We are now even.”

Medic turned, cordially setting the spent syringe down in his open case and picked up the full.

He walked back over to pyro who was now on his side, curled up in pain that was accentuated with each eruption of coughs. Looking down at him, he felt a certain amount of satisfaction.

“Welcome back from re-spawn herr Pyro.” There was a small groan between coughs, which Medic took as acknowledgement of his words. “I must admit, your dedication to ignore proper treatment truly knows no bounds. Was trying re-spawn it a rash decision? I somehow doubt it as you selected the smallest weapon with the largest spread available to you and even had the foresight to take out both lungs.”

He paused to kneel on one knee next to the fallen, making a small clicks with his tongue to feign sympathy. The respirator was flooded with phlegm again, of which the thick discharge began to bubble every time a cough passed through it. Mild disgust ran though the medic as his mind as it briefly pondered how full the mask must be of his sick.

“If only you knew that re-spawn system made constant copies both in and outside of battle to minimize memory loss in subjects...and that includes biological matter and maladies such as the one you are currently suffering from.” He bent closer, a smile creeping up his lips. “Imagine having all of your internal flora and fauna stripped from you with each death...we would simply be too sick to fight one another as we would all have the immunity of infants. Truly fascinating, don’t you agree?”

He straightened again, focus drawn back to the syringe which he theatrically began to prepare for injection. At the sight of the needle, Pyro’s breath began to wheeze again, panic rising.

“You have one of two choices, herr Pyro…I have injected you with a reasonably small dose of tranquilizer. At that dose, you will remain lucid but are prevented from lashing out at me with any real strength or running away from me like the stupid child you are.” He gestured to the now prepared needle in his hand.
“Now, I can inject you with a full dose and you will pass out. I will then grab your leg and drag you through the base to medical, and for my troubles I promise you that I will treat your illness in the most painful ways I know how. You will get well, but you will suffer.” He flicked the needle one final time for effect which made the figure on the floor flinch. “However, if you calmly cooperate now, I will help you walk to the infirmary with dignity and I will treat you as quickly and as efficiently so we can both put your foolishness behind us. ”

He bent down, needle at the ready.

“Now, will you come with me like a rational adult?”

There was silence for a moment, and then a small nod.


2 .

I like it so far! You write a really schemey Medic, but it's good! I'd be down to see more.

3 .

I want to see where this is going!

4 .

Love to see this continued! Wondering what happens next

5 .

Thanks a bunch for the support guys.
Expect an update sometime around the 1st of Dec.

6 .

Thanks for the positive feedback ya’ll. Let’s see how far this goes.

Looking for someone to proofread for me. Last installment has as many conflicting proper nouns as a middle schooler essay about God would contain. Send me a note via electronic mail at distasty@gmail.com if you wish to ease my grammatical suffering.

Chapter 2

They had made it to the top of the stairs when it fainted.

Medic had not been expecting it and nearly lost his footing when the smaller man he was supporting went limp. Swearing, he slowly dipped Pyro’s body to the ground, propping it against the wall so it would not drown it it’s own excretions. Perhaps he over-estimated the dosage? He doubted that, as he was careful to compensate for its reduced height. He guessed the stairs were too much of a strain on an already compromised respiratory system, which matched the horrible sounds that crept through the respirator along with the amount of strain it gave while hauling itself upward. Although he would never openly admit it, he theorized the sedative probably had not helped.

As a final attempt, he bent down and gave the Pyro a hard slap and a forceful shake in hopes it would rouse him. When it remained slack and unresponsive, Medic let out a groan. Despite its small size, Pyro’s weight proved too much for Medic to carry outright, which left him with the dragging option he had threatened mere minutes ago.

He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation, his head-ache arching in a glorious crescendo in response to the situation. He would have some aspirin and a cup of coffee when he made it back to his office.

Medic bent down and hooked his arms underneath Pyro’s, gripping around its middle tightly and started to pull it through the hall backwards. Rubber soled boots left thick black marks on the wood and emitted a high pitched squeal as they dragged down the hall at an agonizingly slow pace. The sound and the strain did nothing for Medic’s headache and he found himself fantasizing on how to get back at this horrible little creature that was causing him so much trouble.
Perhaps, after it gained consciousness he would “miss” the vein a couple of times when setting a catheter for an IV? Or maybe abstaining from analgesics altogether though Pyro’s healing process? He supposed it would not be impossible to schedule an exploratory surgery and accidentally misplacing some forceps inside his patient because those kind of accidents did happen after all. There were many options to choose from once they made it to there destination and from the sounds of its wretched breathing, he summarized they would be spending a lot of time together in the near future.

So caught up in his lurid fantasies of petty vengeance, Medic failed to notice the large head poke out of an open door he had already passed by.

“Doktor, what are you doing?”

Medic looked up to his bald-headed salvation from his exertions. He let Pyro fall to the ground a bit too hard, a smile forming in spite of his headache.

“Mein Freund, could you please help me with this?” Asked Medic as a gloved hand gestured at the crumpled wheezing rubber mass at his feet. “Herr Pyro lacked the strength to carry himself to the infirmary I’m afraid, and it is quite difficult for me to drag him there.”

“Da.” Nodded Heavy, pushing himself from the doorframe he was leaning out of. Bending down, he grabbed Pyro and flung the small frame over shoulder like a large sack of flour. “Is because of cough?”

He looked at Pyro’s slumped over body on Heavy’s shoulder following a step behind Heavy, hate still seething, but soothed at the fact he was no longer dragging dead weight.

“Ja, the illness finally caught up with him.”


Medic found himself in a peculiar situation.

After a shared cup of coffee and a sachet of powdered aspirin to treat Medic’s affliction, Heavy departed, promised a game of chess later for his troubles. The large man had set Pyro on a propped clean hospital cot, dead to the world, yet ready to be examined by the good doctor. Medic had all of his needed tools, meticulously organized and clean to take measurements, samples and temperatures in a small steel tray next to the bed.

And it was in this instance, he had the revelation of how little he knew about the thing that lay in front of him and how disquieted such a revelation made him feel.

When the others became ill, there was visual and behavioral comparisons that Medic had come to rely on, but with Pyro there was no such luxury. There was a lot that would have to be guessed and assumed which he was not accustomed to in the tight knit group they resided in. He had never seen his patient in the flesh, and before this point had all but personified the caricature that the suit of red latex and the black mask with its glassy staring eyes had created. He would not know if the hue of it’s flesh would be unnatural because of it’s illness, nor if it had lost weight since the infection had set in. Had he ever seen it eat?

He didn’t even really know its gender.

He had no older medical records to act as some kind of litmus of health, and Medic had never been able to take any records himself. Pyro all but avoided the mandatory visits he induced on the rest of team like the plague, which rendered its medical file barren. Pyro had came to their base medically ready to fight, a fact never questioned until today. The necessary operations and implants needed for his medi-gun and re-spawn to function were not installed by Medic himself, something he had accepted easily, and even appreciated, as there was so many things taking up his time. He remembered asking the Pauling woman for past medical charts when it first arrived on base, and when the files never came, Medic kept locked in his office he hadn’t complained as there were plenty of willing patients and countless experiments to turn his attentions towards.

His skin crawled at the oddness of it.
Who was this in front of him?

He shook his head of thoughts and focused on the task at hand. He could not treat his patient though a barrier of rubber.

His decision on where to begin was made for him when a wet strangled sound from Pyro made a bubble of spittal form and pop on the rim of the respirator. Deft hands quickly unscrewed the wet metal ring so Medic could remove the filter, most likely flooded, from within. When he got the ring of the outlet valve removed, spittle oozed out of a now black gaping hole. Grabbing a bedpan, he quickly placed it on Pyro’s chest, tilting its head forward. Large masses of infection and phlegm ran out freely from the empty hole, and into the waiting pan. The filter canister was completely absent from the device altogether, removed most likely by the wearer, which probably kept the miserable creature from drowning in its mask. Soon, the mess slowed to a trickle, and Medic set Pyro back on the pillows and looked in the pan.

From the rusty coloration of the mucus, it appeared that copious amounts of blood was present, but without further analysis, he was unable to tell the origin. He set the pan down next to his tools and decided to begin peeling back the layers for further investigation before such explorations would be met with violence or resistance.

The shoes were the first to go.
Medic methodically took off one and then the other. He set the boots neatly at the foot of the bed, and then took off one of its socks which was damp and heavy with sweat. The removal revealed a pale foot, which Medic took in his hands and examined briefly. Wiry hairs covered the tops of its feet and toes. Either it was male or a misfortunate woman suffering from some kind of hormonal imbalance, Medic mused. Even behind his heavy gloves he could feel what was undoubtedly fever, and noticed the nails were tinted blue. He set it down and removed the other sock and discarding it on the floor with the other, and quickly checked the other foot making sure it matched its peer. Next came the left glove, discarded into the growing pile. The nails were blue, much like its feet, and Medic removed his own glove to touch the vein in its wrist, while the other fished out his pocket watch.

He silently counted the beats for thirty seconds before setting Pyro’s hand back down on the bed.The count had ended at fifty one. He would use the stethoscope to double check and listen for arrhythmia once its chest was bare, but having a resting heart rate of over one hundred inspite of having already taken a sedative did not bode well for its condition. He needed to hurry and remove the suit so it could be hooked up to the heart monitor. He moved to the right side of the bed to discard the remaining glove, and what he saw bare before him made his mouth agape.

Medic stopped, eyes wide and staring in awe. The shocked to what he had uncovered caused his own bare hand to come to his lips to fight off an audible gasp.

All of the day’s previous anger melted into a sick admiration at what lay before him.

Medic was no stranger to medical trauma.

When he was a boy he had an uncle that had survived the first war. A tall amusing fellow that had had an arm lost in the war due to infection. He remembered his uncle teasing and scaring his nieces and nephews by threatening them with the stump, sending children running away screaming and laughing. He was the only child that would remain after the novelty ended, utterly fascinated with what had remained of his arm. He remembered his uncle would let him touch the twisted gash of a scar that was left on the tip and would tell him the story of how he came to lose it so often he had nearly memorized the story verbatim. Unknowingly, his uncle had given him his first lesson of medicine. The smallest problems, when ignored, could result in failure of the whole, and such was morbidly fascinating.
Medic would not be surprised if it wasn’t for such intimate moments he shared with that man, he would not have gained the passion to become a doctor.

The enthrallment of the body’s ability to repair even after such extreme trauma had ceased to leave him after childhood and such survivors of old maimings were common in the male population of Germany following the war which served as fuel for Medic’s obsession. He still remembered seeing old veterans and new battle tattered soldiers come into the clinic where he was completing his residency, each case unique and endlessly alluring.There was no lack of disfigurement to both study and admire during his early medical years which nurtured a truly strange fixation in the man that ran deeper with each new disfigurement.

While his team had piped these interests in the beginning of his post with a large variety of deep scars, ancient gunshot wounds, burns, and even a missing eye, the engrossment was but a small echo of the times spent as a young man in Germany treating broken men. Since the development of the medigun, which left everything in it’s wake pristine, further created an abstinence of such perversions for Medic to devel in outside of a few select medical journals which sat innocently among his shelves.

Imagine the surprise when Medic had uncovered the single most scarring on a hand he had ever seen in his career as a doctor.


Thick ropes of scar tissue surrounded each digit down to the first palmar plates, encompassing the knuckles and disappearing into the cuff of the rubber suit enveloped Pyro’s exposed hand. The tips of the fingers, majority of the thumb as well as his palms had been spared damage, a telling sign that told Medic the hand had been balled in a fist at impact of whatever had desecrated its skin.The scarring barely missed the vulnerable arteries and veins set in his wrist, which Medic stroked with bare fingers admiringly. It must have been the sparing of this blood giving life line that made the doctor that treated this burn spare the hand from amputation.

But it wasn’t just the veins that was a marvel, he wondered how the hand itself was spared from onset infection. Once fingers, or any small appendage became damaged this badly, it was hard to keep them from becoming gangrenous. He himself had been forced to sever fingers of patients that had much smaller scale burns brought in at various levels of decay in the past. It was simply amazing that they were seemingly fully functional.

He bent all the fingers into a fist, a low hum of appreciation rumbled in the back of his throat as he did so. In defiance of the heavy scarring, the hand’s flexibility was practically profound. He could see no obvious evidence of contracture in any digit, nor any abnormality of movement in the wrist. He wondered how many hours of stretches, aches and pains it had to endure to regain such a natural range of movement.

Wet gurgling brough Medic back from his engrossment. He suddenly remembered the words “fever” and “tachycardia” and set his fascinations aside for the moment to focus on his task. He set down its hand and begun again removing articles from the suit once again. Pyro’s harness, as well as its bandolier were absent as was its custom during ceasefire. The belt remained, which Medic made quick work of in spite of how his fingers trembled. He grasped the heavy zip and he pulled it down slowly holding his breath in anticipation of what other treasure he would find.

He let out a shuttering breath and a disquieting smile at what lay underneath.
First, “it” was undoubtedly male.
The skin on the right side was just as pale and pristine as its feet had been with patches of reddish blonde terminal hair creeping from his groin to his chest. But the left side…
A dense entanglement of thick scars flowed from the left hip coming upwards, where it spread out onto the torso. Not quite cresting his left pectoral, the scars continued running up to left side of his neck and further up into the mask. So raised and discolored was his disfigurement that the scars appeared to be a twisted crag filled dam holding back a pale sea of flesh. Medic shook his head, knowing that he had already wasted too much time with such thoughts, but could not help but stare.

He sat Pyro up, peeling away the rubber suit to free his arms from the material. While set up, he put on his stethoscope. Before setting the disc to flesh, Medic took note of his back. What should have been clear pale skin was defaced with long squarish sheet that began at the shoulder and ended at the waist. Medic marveled and ran a hand over what he believed to be an old harvest site for some kind of skin graft before putting the cold disc of the scope to bare skin in order to listen to the right lung. Even without his patient giving controlled deep breaths nor the creation of percussion around the lung, the whistling and crackling sounds of fluid and obstruction was unmistakable. He moved the scope into the left side for a listen, not surprised when it mirrored the right. He would need to give Pyro an x-ray to see what lay inside later.

He set Pyro back and took his right arm, setting a blood pressure cuff and his stethoscope along the vein to insure accuracy. He got a quick reading, which was very low. He was now certain Pyro had passed out due to the sedative. His blood pressure must have already been low due to the illness, and when the injection fully kicked in, it caused the pressure to bottom, knocking him out cold. He took the cuff off and walked to the foot of the bed to be rid of the suit.

He grabbed the cuffs of the pants, slipping the feet through before roughly yanking the rubber suit free of it’s owner. He took the suit and threw it with the rest of the removed articles. All that remained was gray cotton drawstring pants; it was the bottom piece of a standard issue for what RED considered sleepwear. Judging from his manner of dress, Medic wondered if he had woken up with the high fever and hurriedly put on his suit to try out re-spawn. From the way his spoiled shoulder reddened at its apex, it seemed clear that the scar tissue was not accustomed to the bare contact and friction of the suit.

Medic paused at that word again.


Pyro had tachycardia even after being given a sedative. With his heart in such a state, it was very possible that Pyro could have had a non-intentional visit to re-spawn in the night. The reset would have corrected any failed or organ damage caused by pyrexia and would temporarily clear inflammation enough for a person to feel “better” before relapsing rapidly back to a highly fevered state. The change of internal temperature would undoubtedly cause whatever illness that lurked inside to bloom, which in turn could create a higher fever.

Medic stripped off Pyro’s remaining clothes which were fouled with sweat, and threw them to the pile. He then gently set Pyro on his side and unceremoniously inserted a thermometer rectally. After three minutes, Medic removed it and read the results before propping Pyro back.

With a fever of 105 °F, low blood pressure, and elevated heart rate, there was enough knowledge to begin basic treatment. He left his exposed patient briefly to get what was needed for an antipyretic injection for fever as well as grabbing a bag of intravenous fluids to replace what Pyro had passed as sweat. He put various phials, ampoules and the saline bags on a small tray before walking back towards his patient.

Since the use of intravenous fluids would involve putting delicate long sharp implements into Pyro’s veins and because Medic was certain escape and panic would be fresh on his patient’s mind after regaining consciousness, the good doctor also got out some well loved leather medical restraints that he was sure would be needed.

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