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No. 960
Haha... wow... didn't intend for it to be 'self-titled', but it seemed a fitting name. Yes, apparently I am also a writefag, and this is my first attempt at a TF2 fic. The general idea for this entire story, from start to finish, popped into my head a couple nights ago (this NEVER happens to me) and it seemed like such a good concept I HAD to type it. So, this is part one, will keep submitting more as I write if it doesn't suck too bad! I apologize for any confusing sentences or horrid grammatical errors, as I don't really have any hardcore TF2ing friends to beta read =X


Dr. Engel heaved a tired sigh as he closed the door to his quarters. The last of the day’s battle-wounded patients were finally tended and off to bed. It was beginning to seem to him that he was always the last to get any sleep in the place. His aching body shivered with relief as he sank onto his cot, leaning his shoulder against the comforting coolness of the painted block wall. Engel smiled faintly to himself, knowing that, though he was always last to bed, the team as a whole was getting more sleep since their ‘arrangements’ with BLU… an agreement to not kill members of the opposing teams.

The selective armistice had allowed everyone to breathe a little more easily, but it certainly didn’t dim anyone’s competitive spirit. It became a contest to find creative ways to harass the opposing team, to bloody them up, without ending their lives. That was two months ago, and it felt strange to Engel to finally be with a RED group long enough to make it worth knowing their real names (though he still rarely called his allies by them). It was a pleasant surprise to him that many of his teammates also bothered to learn his name, though he was still ‘Medic’ during battle.

In the dim light of the single bulb in his quarters, the RED Medic smoothed his lab coat, as though restoring his usually-clean appearance might ease the tense feeling in his muscles. His gloves crinkled faintly as he gripped his medigun and raised the barrel of the instrument upward. Even through his gloves he could feel the soothing warmth of the device, driving away some of the chill so prevalent in the poorly-heated base. Engel rested his chin on the barrel of the medigun, and slid one hand slowly along the glorious contours of his healing companion before letting it rest on the trigger lever. He glanced briefly back to his door, and, seeing that it was indeed locked, he gave the lever a gentle flick.

An ethereal, faintly-glowing red plume issued from the barrel of the gun. The warm caress of its healing energies against his skin caused Engel to shudder with delight… and anticipation. His eyes slid shut, and he parted his lips, as though in preparation for a lover’s kiss. The Medic inhaled a deep, slow breath, feeling that glowing warmth rush down his throat and fill his expanding lungs. That delicious heat spread rapidly, carrying with it an almost electric tingling sensation. Engel’s eyes lazily slid open to a different world.

The light from the bulb hanging overhead seemed shattered into a million different colors that cascaded over everything in the room, giving each object its own sort of strange texture. The dancing lights created a kind of indescribable music, a symphony of discordant and beautiful melodies. Every throbbing beat of his heart caused the swimming colors in Engel’s vision to ripple and pulse. A fly buzzed by so slowly that the doctor could see its individual wing beats, and the wake of colors it trailed behind it in the air. In his state of euphoria, Engel found even this repulsive, unsanitary insect to be beautiful. The words “mein Gott” escaped his lips, a barely-audible whisper.

After a too-brief moment, the Medic exhaled. A few faint red wisps of vapor curled away from his nostrils and slightly open mouth like smoke before gently flowing away into oblivion. The vivid colors drained away from his vision; replaced by the drab dullness of reality… at least the pain in his muscles had faded as well, exactly as he’d hoped.

Engel unbuckled the harness that lay across his chest and waist, and allowed the heavy pack that the medigun was fed from to fall free from his back, onto the bed. He placed the entire device on the floor at the foot of his bed with a satisfied smile. One more day of battle, and then he could enjoy the relaxation of the weekend ceasefire, which couldn’t come soon enough as far as he was concerned.

The doctor stripped to his boxers, neatly folding his clothes before gently placing his glasses atop them. He noticed that, in the afterglow of his ‘indulgence,’ he seemed to be able to feel every thread of the sheets against his skin as he pulled them over himself. Engel couldn’t help but smile again as his eyes slid shut. He would not get to rest as long as the rest of the team, but it would be a damned good sleep…
Marked for deletion (old)
>> No. 967
hahahahhh you fan-ficced the bong taunt.
>> No. 972
Continuing, please let me know if this is turning out boring, or unintelligible. I know that /I/ am enjoying writing this, but I want others to be able to enjoy reading it, too.. X3


“MEDIC!” the Soldier shouted across the table, flinging a few bits of half-chewed bacon from his mouth. A fleck of the meat shrapnel landed on the left lens of Engel’s round-rimmed glasses. “Vat /is/ it?” the doctor half-hissed in reply while pulling a handkerchief free from his pocket to clean his glasses.

“You know that Medic on BLU?” the Soldier asked before shoving a forkful of scrambled eggs into his maw. The RED Medic gave a pained sigh. Honestly, Soldier had worse table manners than Sokov the Heavy, of all people.

“Doktor Fleischer?” Engel replied with a frown, as though the very words tasted bitter in against his tongue. “Vat about him, ‘Sergeant,’?”

The American’s mouth twisted in displeasure, “Do not take that mocking tone with me, son! I’ve snapped the spines of a dozen Kraut maggots just like you for a lot less!”

Engel rolled his eyes and bit back a cutting response, reminding himself that the self-proclaimed man of rank wasn’t ‘all there.’ “Vat is it about Fleischer zat you had to tell me?”

‘Sergeant’ placed his hands on the table, and leaned forward for dramatic effect. In a low, ominous voice he stated, “the Sniper saw somethin’ funny about that Reich monkey’s medigun through his scope last night.” Engel briefly glanced about the table, and noted that the Sniper was not there… probably already up in his nest. “Seein’ as you two Nazis were colleagues during the war…”

“Verdammt!” Engel interrupted, “do you listen to everysing zat Spy says?” The Medic shut his eyes tightly, pressing his fingers to his temples. A few months ago the RED Spy had produced some papers that were supposed to be confidential, and ‘accidentally’ left them lying about where the rest of the team could find them. Engel was convinced the skulking Frenchman had done so simply to irk him. The doctor had long ago decided that the Spy was no end of trouble. “Ve vere not ‘colleagues’! Now, vould you get to ze point?”

“Aye,” the Demoman (‘McKinnon’, was it?) butted in, shooting the Soldier a glare. “I saw it too. He turned tha ‘ting on their wounded Scoot, and the lad went daffy! Had ‘dis crazy look in his wee fancy eyes, and came runnin’ at me swingin’ his gun like a club!”

Engel frowned thoughtfully. “Ja…” he said quietly. “Come to zink of it, zer whole team seemed a little… savage… yesterday.” It occurred to the doctor that Fleischer may very well have altered his medigun, perhaps to increase the aggression of the people he was using it on. Engel knew the other Medic’s twisted mentality, a preference of bloodletting over healing (not that the RED Medic didn’t also enjoy drawing blood from time to time). That penchant of indulging in the pain of others had been Fleischer’s hallmark when the two doctors had worked at the camp, and Engel had wanted nothing to do with the man.

His suspicion aroused, the RED Medic gave a faint nod to the rest of the present team. “I vill see if I can get a look at his machine during ze fighting today. I highly suggest that the rest of you stay as far avay from him as possible.”

With his warning issued, Engel left the table, returning to his room to strap on his gear and prepare for another day of dodging gunfire and healing wounded teammates.
>> No. 973
Love it!
>> No. 974
OK, you won me over, now I needs moar.
>> No. 976
LOL, yes. I love picking up little things like that and expanding it in fun ways X3
Thank you so much! At least now I know this drivel can't be TOO horrid!
“DOKTOR!” came a loud bellow from behind a parked train car. Engel responded quickly, turning back towards the RED side of the battlefield, where the shout had issued from. He sprinted across the small bridge over the canal at the BLU base and over the old train yard’s only active railway. From there it was easy to follow the spotty trail of blood to Sokov, leaning against a train car, and gripping the massive chaingun that he had named ‘Sascha’.

The huge Russian man had one hand over his rounded stomach, and his fingers were stained with blood. The cloth of his pants over his left knee was shredded and bloodied as well. Despite all this, Sokov smiled upon seeing his team’s Medic. The doctor couldn’t help but give a faint smile in return. He had always been amazed at the punishment the Russian could take on the battlefield… and without complaint. Sokov had also been very diligent about protecting the doctor from enemy bullets, even if it meant doing so with his own body.

Engel trained his medigun on the big man and pushed the lever forward. The wispy red healing ethers snaked from the barrel to his wounded teammate. The Heavy moved his hand away from his stomach, revealing a cluster of small, ragged holes in his flesh. It looked to have been caused by a scattergun fired at point-blank. The medigun’s energies were already healing over the holes, but all of the lead pellets would have to be surgically removed later.

“Vaz it ze BLU Scout?” Engel questioned, “vaz he… ach… ‘daffy’, as ze Demoman said?”

“Da, Doktor!” the Russian growled in response. “Leetle man scream like crazy! He run up and put tiny backside on Sascha!” Sokov halted his broken-English rant and stroked the chaingun, as though reassuring it. “I vould have crush him, but he attack and then run away like BLU coward he is!”

Engel sighed, and shook his head in dismay. “Zis day has been a nightmare. I have not seem zem attack us this vay since before our agreement, and never vith such enthusiasm.” The doctor recalled seeing the RED Pyro an hour before with a kukri gash in his side so large that he was almost beyond saving. It had been his thick fire suit that had saved his life… along with timely action on Engel’s part.

At last, Sokov’s wounds were closed, and the Medic released the trigger lever. “Zere, all healed. Und I vill have to see you aftervards to remove ze projectiles.”

Engel turned to head back to the rest of his team, and was stopped by the large man’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder. He turned back to face Sokov. “Doktor,” the Russian said, “you not look so good. Need more resting at night, da?”

“Ja. Veekend starts in ten minutes… /zen/ I have to take ze bullets out of all of you before I can rest,” the Medic stated with a faint smirk. The Heavy gave a bellowing laugh in response, hoisted Sascha back into place at his side, and strolled back around the train car to rejoin the battle.

Engel followed the Russian for awhile, and split away from him when they reached the canal on BLU’s side. Sokov and McKinnon ran into the BLU base, probably after an enemy sentry gun. That’s when the RED Medic felt something impact his chest, quickly followed by a loud bang.
>> No. 977
now I know this drivel can't be TOO horrid!
You think too little of yourself!
>> No. 1020
I hope I'm writing these guys alright, I don't want to drag them TOO out of their original character! Also, long post is looong.
Engel looked up just in time to see the BLU Sniper in his perch, ducking out of view. He was dimly aware of something hot and wet against the skin of his chest and stomach. The RED Medic quickly darted behind one of the abandoned railcars and looked down to see a stain of bright crimson blossoming across the front of his labcoat, its center on the lower right side of his chest, along with a ragged bullet hole in the fabric.

The wound didn’t hurt at the moment, a reaction of the doctor’s body to the sudden shock of the injury. Engel knew it wouldn’t last long, and decided to take advantage of it, making a sprint towards RED’s side of the battlefield. He was acutely aware of his blood-soaked undershirt sticking to his skin, growing cold against his flesh as he ran.

Panic welled up inside the Medic as he realized he was becoming winded far faster than usual. “Help! Someone, bitte… schnell!” he cried out between increasingly labored breaths, but none of his team was in sight… or earshot.

His legs were getting so heavy and tired, and each breath came with more difficulty. The doctor wasn’t sure if this was caused by blood loss, or if the bullet had grazed his lung… or both.

A spike of pain came suddenly from the bullet wound in his chest. He gasped in surprise, and immediately regretted it. Engel felt his throat close up at blood was sucked into his lungs, and had to stop and lean against the rail yard’s chain-link fence as he fell into a fit of violent coughing. Each spasm sent a bolt of fresh pain lancing through his chest, and the bullet hole felt inexplicably hot.

When he finally managed to clear his lungs the doctor could hear the sound of approaching footfalls some distance off. His hopes soared as he imagined Sokov lumbering around the corner to take him to the safety of their base. The doctor’s smile faded, though… No, the footfalls were too light, too deliberate.

Engel caught a glint of metal at the edge of his vision, and turned to see the BLU Sniper emerge from behind a large crate about ten yards away, gripping his kukri. The Medic found his presence out in the open to be highly uncharacteristic of the usually evasive man… What was more unsettling, though, was the aggressive smile on the Sniper’s face.

“G’day, Doc!” the Aussie called out, once again flashing the shark-like grin, causing terror to rise up once more in the RED Medic.

That gripping fear gave Engel a sudden burst of energy, and he broke into a stiff run, his tiring body struggling to carry him forward. He could hear a loud ringing sound, and flashes of lights near the railway up ahead… the train was coming. If he could just make it his allies’ side of the tracks in time…

The doctor began to choke again as he ran, and flecks of blood spattered his lips every time he exhaled. He couldn’t stop though… he could hear the Sniper gaining on him. He couldn’t risk tripping to turn and fire his Blutsauger at the man, either.

Engel strained to go faster, but the weakness in his muscles and the pain radiating from his chest with every gasping breath was almost too much to bear.

“C’mon mate, I just wanna have a little chit chat with ya!” Sniper yelled over the roar of the approaching freight train.

They were getting so near the tracks, but the train, dragging dozens of heavy cars behind, was nearly there. It was going to be very close. The doctor could vividly imagine the steam-powered behemoth striking him, instantly crushing every bone in his body and splattering what was left along the tracks for miles… It was a horrifying image, but not as bad as the thought of being slowly hacked apart by the mad Sniper.

Engel finally reached the tracks, and, with the train barreling down on him he leapt, and the Sniper swung his blade. The Medic felt the tip of the sharpened kukri dig a shallow cut into his back, heard the blaring horn of the train… and then felt the sudden rush of air as the train blasted by, missing him by a mere fraction of an inch.

The doctor reeled away from the tracks and fell backwards against a stack of wooden crates. As he slumped to the ground he could catch glimpses of the BLU Sniper between the train cars rushing past. The man was clutching his bloodied, mangled right arm, and his blade was nowhere in sight. Engel saw the Aussie’s mouth moving, and was sure he was uttering screams and curses that were drowned out by the roar of the passing freight train.

The Medic managed to drag himself behind the stack of crates where the enraged man could no longer see him. He could see his base a mere hundred yards away, but it seemed now an impossible distance.

“Someone,” Engel called out weakly, “help! Bitte…” Nobody responded, and he could feel his life bleeding out of the bullet wound with every beat of his pounding heart. He started to turn the medigun at himself to heal the wound… but it was a desperate notion that he did not long entertain. The feedback created by aiming those energies full-on at their source would be disastrous.

He tried to cry for help again, but it came out as a blood-choked gurgle. It was suddenly a burden to even keep his head up, so Engel rested his chin on the barrel of his medigun for support. The doctor closed his eyes, and felt the blood continue to flow. He could feel the tightness build with every pained breath as the fluid filled his chest cavity. It would take at least fifteen minutes for him to die at this rate, and he felt so cold and alone.

Engel ached for someone, anyone to hold him, to carry him to the safety of the base that lay so tantalizingly close, yet just out of his reach. His eyes opened suddenly when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. The face of the BLU Spy was inches from his… he must have been cloaked and waiting. The lithe-looking Frenchman was crouched in front of him like some kind of predator, casually taking a drag from a cigarette.

“Docteur,” the Spy greeted with a soft smile. He leaned in, and blew the smoke from his cigarette into the Medic’s face. Engel struggled to keep himself from breaking into another painful coughing fit, and weakly reached for the bonesaw hanging from the belt at his waist.

It took the Spy little effort to bat the Medic’s hand away from his weapon, and knock him painfully to his chest with a kick. Engel tried to push himself up on his elbows, but the Spy placed a hand between his shoulders and forced him back down. The doctor managed to kick out, and felt his boot strike something with a loud crack, resulting in a string of French curses from the other man.

The Frenchman placed his knees hard against the backs of the Medic’s legs as he tried to kick out again.

“Zat was very unkind of you, Docteur,” the Spy hissed, his voice sounding a bit more nasally than before. Engel could hear the man unfold his knife, and feel fingers probing his lower back, as though searching for something.

“You will not be doing zat to me again, I assure you,” the Frenchman cooed. The doctor felt the fingers stop at a place on his back, and they were joined by the sharp point of the balisong. The pressure at that point built painfully, and the German cried out weakly as the knife was thrust into his flesh. There was a sudden shock, like electricity, as the blade stabbed through his spine. The medic could no longer feel the Spy’s knees pressed into his legs, and was terrified to find that he could not move hit lower limbs.

“Zhere… all better,” the Spy chuckled lowly. The Frenchman grunted with effort as he turned the Medic onto his back. He grasped the heavier man by his ankles, and began unceremoniously dragging him across the ground, leaving a trail of the doctor’s blood as they went.

Engel gripped his medigun tightly against his still-bleeding chest, holding it like a frightened child would grasp a teddy bear. His heart was beginning to flutter now, and his vision faded into a hazy gray tunnel.

“Bitte… help…” the Medic could barely hear his own choked voice as the world went black.
>> No. 1021
Gah, forgot to namefag
>> No. 1023
From Ha Ha Bong Taunt fic to something more! Ooooo!
>> No. 1031
I hate it when my teammates leave me alone to die, too
>> No. 1060
oh man poor medic. is there more?
>> No. 1071


Yes on both counts! Am working on the next chapter.
>> No. 1345
Hooomigod. This is frikin amazing. Keep it going i got major chills from reading this.
>> No. 1361
Okay, pretty long update. I was in a really writey mood today I guess, lol. Thanks to everyone who's reading =D


Engel looked down at the woman lying on the table in Fleischer’s lab. Her bare skin was a sickly pale color, and riddled with bruises, smeared with sweat and blood. The only thing adorning the trembling flesh was a fine chain around the neck with a fine golden six-pointed star resting between the woman’s breasts, and a five-digit number tattooed across her right forearm.

The woman’s brunette hair had been chopped short, and her eyes were shut tight in unconsciousness. There was a small pool of blood under each ankle, where the Achilles tendons had been cut, Fleischer’s favorite way to hobble his ‘patients’. She would likely never walk again. That didn’t matter, though… it was her hands and head that Engel needed.

The doctor curled an arm under the woman, and slung her over his shoulder. Fleischer wouldn’t like it when he found out that one of his would-be experiments had been taken. As the chief medical officer of the God-forsaken camp, Engel didn’t much care how the lower-ranking doctor felt about what he did.

The twinge of death and terror hung about Fleischer’s immaculate-looking lab like a miasma, and Engel was quick to leave it with his prize. None of the camp’s guards questioned him as he walked through the halls. It was common enough for even the medical staff to take female prisoners to their quarters for ‘entertainment’.

Dr. Engel flipped the light on in his quarters, and latched the door behind. He placed the woman on his bed and mopped the blood and sweat away before covering her with a sheet. The doctor pried open one of her startling green eyes, and noticed that the pupil was tightly constricted.

“Drugged, of course,” he huffed, letting the eyelids slide shut once again. He would just have to wait.

Engel stepped out of the bathroom in his quarters with a towel wrapped around his waist, more out of courtesy for his ‘guest’ than anything else. He looked up to the bed, and his face paled as he realized that it was empty. Something wrapped tightly around his left ankle, and the next thing he knew he was face-down on the hard-wood floor, his right arm twisted around and pressed painfully into his back. He had sorely underestimated how aware the woman would be when she came to.

“Please, mein frauline…” he grunted with a forced smile, “I vill be needing zat.”

“Is zat so?” the woman hissed in her French accent. “Did you plan to use me as a lowly lab rat, like your colleague ‘Herr Fleischer’?” She twisted Engel’s arm a little harder, eliciting a muffled cry of pain from the man.

“Nein, I had other uses in mind for Frau Bouvier’s talents.” The doctor’s smile was quickly swept away by a hard slap to the left side of his face that brought slight tears to his eyes.

“I am not some cheap street corner whore, Docteur…” she spat, clearly enraged.

“Ja, I know that,” Engel said, a slight apologetic tone to his voice. “Perhaps I should have vorded that differently… You have a brilliant mind, Frau Bouvier, exactly ze kind I need help from. Those are ze talents I speak of.” He could practically feel the French woman’s indignant glare burning into the back of his head.

After some explaining, the woman hesitantly slid off of Engel’s back and grudgingly accepted his aid in getting back up on the bed. The two stayed up late into the night, and as Engel continued to share his plans, showing stacks of papers with diagrams and designs on them, the woman became less angry, and more intrigued.

Bouvier finally looked up from a paper of equations that she had corrected, into the doctor’s icy blue eyes. “Ze other prisoners…” she started quietly, “zey call you ‘Todesengel’. What does zat mean?”

Engel pursed his lips a bit at hearing the all-too-familiar name. “It means ‘Angel of Death’.”

Dr. Engel woke in a cold sweat. Panic swelled within him as the familiar scent of terror, death, and antiseptic hit his nostrils. The immaculate, white-tiled ceiling was one he never imagined he would be looking at... though it was oddly swimming in a rainbow of colors. The steel operating table felt frigid against the bare skin of his back, and he could feel the coarse threads of restraining straps pulled over his wrists, ankles, chest, and forehead. He tried to will himself to stand up, but his muscles defiantly remained limp.

“Stupid Snipah!” the hissed words echoed unnaturally in Engel’s ears, but they travelled on the most terrifying voice in the world. “Ve are lucky that you did not kill him with that shot! You are fortunate I vaz in a forgiving mood, othervise I vould not have felt too inclined to heal your arm…” Wait… ‘Sniper’? Engel felt a jolt of realization… the mad Sniper, the Spy and his knife. This wasn’t the camp… this was far worse.

Engel’s fear mounted further as Fleischer leaned into view. The younger man’s blonde hair was a bit disheveled from the battle before, and his icy blue eyes stared coldly down at his former superior as though he were an insect preparing to be pinned and labeled.

Fleischer leaned closer, until his face couldn’t have been more than an inch from his captive’s. “I vish you knew how much I have vanted this, Herr Engel… to have you on my table after all ze trouble you caused for me at ze camp.” The RED Medic wanted to shiver, but his body simply would not respond. He couldn’t even blink, or close his slightly-open mouth.

“Vhat vas it ze prisoners called you? Ah… ‘Todesengel’ I believe it vas.” Fleischer’s lips once again twisted into a malicious grin. “You vill be ‘Todesengel’ again, Herr Engel… but this time it vill be your teammates that you escort to ze grave.”

“Doc, are ye sure it’s a good idea ‘ta be tellin’ him all that?” came a Texan drawl that could only belong to the BLU Engineer.

“That is vat the drug is for, dummkopf. His mind vill not file memories away as it should, he vill not even remember zat stupid Snipah shooting him. I do not need you distracting me… keep quiet until you are needed!” The Texan went silent.

Fleischer reached up over the operating table. There was a loud click, and Engel wished he could have shut his half-lidded eyes against the blinding lights that shone down on him, and an accompanying flash of twinkling colors.

When Engel’s vision cleared he could see the BLU Medic had taken up a scalpel… but the edges of the blade, and everything else, wavered and flickered with colored lights. It reminded him of the dreamlike euphoria that came with using his medigun for ‘unintended purposes’… only this was a nightmare.

The medigun… that had to be why Engel was still aware of what was going on… Perhaps it had temporarily altered his brain chemistry… just enough so that the drug wouldn’t quite work as intended.

“Ve are going to have so much fun, Herr Engel,” Fleischer purred as he lowered the scalpel. The RED Medic could feel the cold blade bite into the skin of his abdomen, but the pain seemed somehow distant, as though it were happening to someone else.

Engel could feel hot blood trickle down his chilled skin as the cut was lengthened, from the bottom of his breastbone to his navel. The scalpel was raised, and brought back down out of sight. Engel could feel, rather than see, the line previously cut through his skin being redone in his muscles. There was a loud metallic clank as the scalpel was placed on the table.

“Give it to me, Herr Engineer,” Fleischer commanded lowly, expectantly holding out a blue-gloved hand, now stained in the other Medic’s blood. The Texan reached out and placed something in the BLU Medic’s hand. It looked like a slightly smaller version of one of the Demoman’s cylindrical grenades, with several modifications.

“Your team all depend on you, Engel,” Fleischer sneered as he took the device. “Und it vill be their undoing… Zey all come gathering around your feet to be healed und looked after, right into ze blast radius.”

Everything went white for an instant as Fleischer forced his gloved hand, still holding the device, into the incision. Sweat beaded on Engel’s skin and his breathing quickened. His heart was pounding in his chest, causing the colored lights at the edges of his vision to flicker and dance. He tried to scream with all his might, but only a faint whimper managed to escape.

Fleischer’s head instantly turned when he heard the sound, and he flashed Engel a predatory smile.
“You don’t like it vhen I do that?” The blonde man chuckled, and released his grip on the bomb before removing his blood-soaked hand. He brought his thumb up to his lips, and licked the blood off with a smile, as though savoring the taste.

“Mein Gott,” Fleischer murmured, “exquisite… you should try it…” The BLU Medic placed two bloody fingers against Engel’s parted lips before thrusting them into his mouth. The older man wished more than anything that he could move, so he would be able to remove the arrogant bastard’s fingers with his teeth.

“I have ze feeling that such fine fare is vasted on you. Ve alvays different ideas of vhat vas savory…” Fleischer withdrew his fingers from the other’s mouth.

Engel could feel the blood continuing to run from the wound in his stomach, and the dancing lights were turning into a gray haze. He could see the BLU Medic lean over and pick something up… his medigun. It had been modified, though. There were pieces changed, or replaced, and Engel noted what looked like several vent-slots on the barrel of the device, filled with a yellow-white glow.

“Do you like it, traitor?” Fleischer grinned. “I call it ze ‘Kritzkrieg’. Quite an improvement on vhat BLU sent us. It may not have ze shielding powers of ze medigun, but it works nicely in other vays…” He pointed the barrel at Engel and pushed the trigger lever forward. A trail of glowing blue energy, flecked with yellow sparks, snaked to the RED Medic.

Engel could feel the incision pulling closed, feel his vitality returning. He could also feel his muscles trying to tense, and a spark of anger form in his mind. The colored lights filled his vision, though, and chased that consuming anger away, before everything faded once more into blackness.
>> No. 1362
Hey, hey. I want to know what's gonna happen to Medic.

I've only ever seen one fic with kritz I think. This is pretty cool.
>> No. 1363
Aw shit yeah!
>> No. 1464
I Demand Moarz!! I'm loving this!!
>> No. 1475
Need mooooar, please.
>> No. 1479
Sage, I die a little inside every time I think there's a new post but it's people demanding MOAR.

Also... MOOOOAR, please.
>> No. 1486
I'm glad you're all so enthusiastic, it really helps keep me motivated to see this thing through to the end! However, there comes a time in every story I write where I suddenly feel like my writing ability takes a dive into the toilet... I'm afraid that this may be that time, and for that I am sorry =X

“Frau Bouvier?” Engel asked quietly, looking over the top of one of the papers she had handed him. The French woman was sitting at his desk, looking over all of the wires and metal piping and tubes that he had managed to collect. She was wearing one of his button-down shirts, and a pair of his trousers, but she had a petit frame, causing the clothing to bunch about her oddly. He knew that there was clothing in the camp that would fit her… but he couldn’t stomach going to those grisly piles, knowing that the ashes of the former owners were raining down upon him…

She turned to look at him with her blazing green eyes. She had begun looking healthier over the past weeks, especially since Engel had been sneaking extra rations for her.

“Zis device…” Bouvier started, “I zink I have found a way to store the energies in a sort of pack. It wouldn’t be too terribly heavy; you could carry it on your back.”

The doctor nodded, leaning back against the edge of the desk that he and Bouvier had been working at. He returned the paper to her after thoroughly inspecting the complex diagrams she had drawn on it. She truly was brilliant… and hiding under the nose of the Reich, her talents overlooked because of her gender and heritage.

“Ja… zat vill vork perfectly,” Engel said. The man went silent, though, and suddenly stiffened. He could hear the loud clicking of boots walking down the tiled floor of the hallway, headed straight for his quarters. He looked at the desk, at all he and the French woman’s hard work, at his dream of redemption… and terror welled up within him. He couldn’t allow this project to be discovered, not now that it was so near to completion!

Engel pushed himself back so he was suddenly sitting on top of the desk, on top of the papers. “What are you…” the woman began to protest, and gave a startled yelp when the doctor took her by the wrists, and leaned forward so that their faces were mere inches apart.

“Play along, frauline, or ve vill both end up in ze furnace,” he whispered darkly. The sound of clicking boots fell silent right outside his door, making the pounding of his own heart seem unbearably loud. Engel could feel Bouvier’s pulse racing as well through his fingertips, still resting on her wrists.

There was no warning knock. As the handle was turned, Engel lunged forward those last couple inches, bringing his lips against hers. He could feel her body tense under his hands from… shock? Disgust?

The door was flung open, revealing a tall thin man wearing the immaculate uniform of the Totenkopfverbände. He stood stiffly, staring at Engel with an expression that was frighteningly unreadable. The doctor slowly leaned back, and looked at the older man in the doorway with a faint, almost friendly smile.

“Is zere some kind of problem, mein Herr?” Engel inquired. He swore he could see the guard smirk, a faint twinkle of amusement in his eye, and was sure he caught the scent of alcohol. The man stepped into the room, and came to a stop right next to the desk, the reek of liquor now unmistakable. Instead of looking at the papers, he looked to the French woman.

“My my, Doktor,” the man slurred through a crooked smile, “vhat a lovely hure you found. I have enjoyed many of zem since ve took Paris, but I had no idea you were hiding such a prize from me.”

Engel watched Bouvier, and saw the rage seething just behind her eyes. He swallowed his breath, fearing that the proud woman who had lost so much would lash out. She did… but not as Engel expected.

The woman seized Engel’s tie in her hand, and jerked him forward so hard he nearly choked. Their lips were brought forcefully back together, and the doctor’s eyes went wide in shock at the enthusiasm with which Bouvier’s tongue was now assaulting his mouth.

The guard shook his head and softly clucked his tongue. “She is too aggressive for mein tastes, Doktor. I’m sure you vill be able to get her properly trained though, ja?”

“J-ja, Herr Kappel,” Engel managed to stammer out after pulling away from those exploring lips. “But she is very spirited… und I am busy with mein vork. You vill have to give us lots of time…” he narrowed his eyes faintly at the other man, “und /privacy/.”

Kappel gave a raucous laugh, apparently satisfied with that answer in his obviously drunken state. He gave the doctor a hard pat on the back before slamming his still-open hand into the right side of Bouvier’s face.

“Just to get things started for you, Herr Engel,” the man smiled, turning his back and heading for the door. The doctor gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into fists. He started to rise, but a sharp tug on his tie snapped his attention back to his companion, whose gaze seemed to say “don’t do anything stupid.”

He heard the door close, followed by the clicking of boots receding down the hallway. The threat had passed… for now.

“Did you really mean to fight him?” Bouvier hissed incredulously, releasing the doctor’s tie. An angry red mark had already formed on her lovely face, and it would surely leave a livid bruise.

“I vould have very much liked to have broken some of ze teeth out of zat smug face. I /hate/ zat man… ze drunken letch,” Engel said through gritted teeth, jaw clenched tight. He opened his mouth to say something, and suddenly found the French woman’s lips against his once more. But… the danger was gone… there was no more need for such a charade… right?

The woman’s lips were so soft, though, and her hands were slipping around behind his back and, oh God, the way she tasted… He forced himself to pull back, away from her.

“Frau Bouvier…” Engel started, merely a whisper, “your husband…”

“Is dead,” her eyes shimmered with barely-concealed tears. “I loved him, Docteur, more than anything… but he is dead… and I will not simply stop living because of it.” She flashed him a small smile.

“Docteur?” her voice sounded different, almost dreamlike. “Docteur, can you hear me?” She reached out and took hold of his shoulders before giving him a hard shake. He suddenly felt very tired, and sore. “Docteur, are you alive?” The world began to spin. “Docteur!” that voice was so familiar, and no longer female. “I zink the Docteur is waking up.”

>> No. 1488
>> No. 1489
Why U gotta be a dick, Kappel?

But for serious I am lovin' this
>> No. 1490
Gaah! If this is what you write like when you're afflicted by writer's block-- then you're even more amazing than I first though o/
>> No. 1491
Quite nice~
>> No. 1512
You guys make me blush <3 And... CAT BOUNTRY!? In MY thread!? It's more likely than I thought! =O

Engel shook his head weakly. He felt as though he was on a ship at sea, rocking faintly up and down on choppy waters. He felt soaked to the bone, and shivered from cold.

The doctor finally forced his eyes open, and found that he was not moving up and down on ocean waves, but on one of Sokov’s broad shoulders as the massive Russian walked through the threshold of RED base. Engel slowly lifted his head a bit to see that their Spy was following behind. The Medic couldn’t help but narrow his eyes at the man after the encounter with his counterpart.

The Spy returned Engel’s glare with an irritatingly smug smile. “Bonjour, Docteur, nice to see you after your little swim, oui?”

“Swim?” the German man questioned, letting his head sink once more against the Russian’s back. He felt so cold, and the big man’s body heat felt nice, even through his shirt and heavy vest. He could tell by the sudden transition to carpet on the floor that they had now entered the base’s designated ‘common room’, where most of the team would undoubtedly be unwinding after the hostilities.

“Oui, Docteur. I found you just after the battle, hanging onto the edge of the canal on BLU’s side. Your face was only just out of the water. I did not know you enjoyed the company of the fish zat much.” Engel could practically see the man’s terrible smile, even though he had closed his eyes.

“I bet chucklenuts there was high on ethers and fell into the drink.” The Medic felt his body tense upon hearing the Scout’s voice, and his accusation… he had been so careful!

“Vhat is tiny man talking about?” Sokov growled.

“I saw ‘Herr Doktor’ huffin’ off his medigun a couple weeks ago in the infirmary. Started starin’ at the damn wall the way Ben ogles a sentry he’s just finished buildin’.”

Engel wanted so badly to get his hands on the loud-mouthed Bostonian, but he didn’t even feel that he could lift his arms.

“You watch yer mouth, boah,” came the unmistakable Texan drawl, “a brand new sentry’s a beautiful thing, and well worth appreciatin’. And, that’s a mighty nasty accusation yer makin’ at the Doc.”

The sounds of the arguing Texan and the Scout were left behind. Soon the Medic could hear Sokov’s boots making the familiar creaks and thuds of footsteps down the hallway where all their quarters were. The doctor opened his eyes when the Russian stopped before the door with the red cross and circle on it. The big man pushed the door open, and walked inside.

Engel’s quarters at RED base were a lot smaller than the ones he lived in at the camp, and yet the tidy room felt much more comfortable than that place ever could.

“I told Doktor he needed more rest,” the Russian said with a faint chuckle that brought a smile to Engel’s lips. Since they had come to know one another, the huge man had alternated between worrying over the doctor like a child and looking up to him like a father figure.

“That you did,” Engel agreed. “Perhaps I should listen to you more often, ja?”

“Da. Doktor is smart man, but work too hard for own good.” Sokov lifted the man off of his shoulder as though he weighed nothing, and carefully set him on his feet, supporting him for a moment until he was sure the doctor’s trembling form could hold itself up. The Russian had already removed the pack from Engel’s back, and was holding it and its attending Medigun under his arm.

“Scout is right, Sokov,” the Medic said, pulling his gloves off, and unbuttoning his drenched lab coat. “I have been… indulging…” Engel winced as he undid the last button on his coat, his stomach feeling unusually tender at the slight touch. “Perhaps I decided to partake at a bad time and wound up in ze canal…” but it just didn’t seem right…

“Doktor is not stupid!” Sokov asserted, pulling the Medic’s wet coat free, and hanging it from a hook on the wall. “You would not do such thing during battle, Engel care too much about team for that.” It was heartwarming that the Russian would defend him, even when he wasn’t even sure he believed in himself.

“I just can’t remember, Sokov,” the Doctor said, rubbing his temples in frustration, eyes squeezed shut. He reopened them quickly when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Scout stuck his head into the open doorway.

“Hey, fags!” he said through a grin. “Don’t forget to breathe real deep, Doc! Those fumes shouldn’t go to waste!”

Sokov set the Medigun down and turned to face the doorway, and Scout suddenly didn’t look so cocky. He turned and sprinted down the hall, and the Russian took off after him like an angry bear.

“WHEN I CATCH YOU, LEETLE SCOUT, I CRUSH YOUR TINY SKULL!” the man boomed. Engel smiled weakly to himself, closing the door to his room and locking it. He knew that he lumbering Russian would never be able to catch Peter. Eventually he would wear out his legs, and his temper, and the Scout would be safe.

The RED Medic finished peeling off his cold, wet clothes, hanging them up to dry before crawling into the welcoming warmth of his bed. He set his glasses on his nearby desk, and gave a frustrated sigh. Engel tried hard to remember how he had wound up in the canal, but simply couldn’t recall how it had happened.

The doctor hummed quietly, trying to soothe his own anxious mind, idly resting a hand on his stomach. The touch elicited a hiss of pain from the man, and he jerked his hand away. What on earth had /happened/ to him?
>> No. 1519
Medic go boom? :D
>> No. 1523
Another helping, because I felt somewhat inspired to write today =p

Engel’s eyes snapped open for what had to have been at least the fifth time that night. He kept having strange dreams that would escape his memory the moment he woke, and he was having shooting pains in his abdomen.

The doctor wearily slid out of bed, nearly recoiling at how cold the floor was against his bare feet. He put his glasses on before slipping on a pair of briefs and pants, unlocking his door, and starting down the hall. The Medic found that being upright and having weight off of his stomach seemed to relieve the pain.

“Boo!” Engel yelped in surprise, and whirled around to see McKinnon, holding an armful of crudely-made fireworks.

“Mein Gott! Vhat in ze /hell/ are you doing!?” The doctor whispered harshly, one hand over his now-pounding heart.

“Aye, sorry Doc, I dinnae mean ‘ta scare ye /that/ bad,” the Scotsman chuckled. “Me an’ Pyro are gonnae shoot off these wee beauties. Ye look stressed out, maybe ye should join us?”

The RED Medic shook his head in response. “McKinnon, don’t you dare vind up blowing yourself and ze Pyro up…”

The Demoman smirked, and gave a shrug. “Your loss, Doc,” he sing-songed before continuing down the hall, not even noticing as a piece of the ordinance fell from his arms. Engel frowned, and looked at the fallen object. It was one of McKinnon’s grenades. A flash of terrifying images raced through the doctor’s mind as he stared at the thing, and his face went white as a sheet…

Engel turned and raced down the hallway, back to his quarters. He shut and relocked the door before leaning against it, using it for support. The doctor put his hand back to his chest, where he could still feel his heart thudding away, and the beginnings of a sheen of sweat. He slid his hand down slowly, determined yet terrified to know the truth.

The doctor’s hand suddenly found that tender spot, just above his navel. He set his jaw and took a few deep breaths before pressing against the flesh with his fingers. White-hot pain shot from his middle, and spots of light exploded in his vision. Engel could feel something beneath the muscles though… about the size of a first, with hard edges.

“Nein… nein, nein, /nein/, verdammt!” Engel cursed, letting his hand fall away before snatching up his Medigun and falling into his bed. A sudden, deafening boom made the Medic jerk and yelp, nearly jumping out of his skin. He was still alive, though.

“Scheiß fireworks…” the doctor managed between his frantic gasps. This had to be some kind of horrible, twisted nightmare. He gripped his Medigun tightly, holding the barrel up to his face before giving the trigger lever a slight and shaky push.

The warm plume of glowing ethers had scarcely left the barrel when Engel breathed in as deeply as he could. He felt the healing energies fill and warm his body. One by one, the doctor could feel his muscles relaxing, and the pain in his stomach began to dim as the room began to swim in vivid colors. But that one breath was not enough, and so he flicked the lever a second time, and a third, until his thoughts were so obliterated that all he could think of was how very wonderful he felt.

It was like floating, lost in a world without pain or fear. Engel gave a languid half-smile, his eyes glazed over in bliss. His hand fell away from the trigger lever, and the swirling colors pulled him gently down into the peaceful realm of unconsciousness.
>> No. 1535
Don't do it, Doc! Drugs aren't the answer!
>> No. 1594
Oh god, he's not going to remember his revelation is he? D':
>> No. 1598
God, I love this fic. MOAR PLEASE.
>> No. 1601

I dunno, the medigun was what apparently helped him to fight off the drug and the 'rage' side-effects of the Kritzkreig, so the fact he's now high off the medigun fumes...

Y'know what? I have no idea what is going to happen at all. Moar soon so we can be put out of our misery plz!
>> No. 1628

I love it when I get people guessing... means I'm writing half-decent, lol. Anyhoo, took the laptop to work today so I got some more done on this creature. I hope it's not getting too wangsty =p

Dr. Engel capped and pocketed the empty syringe just in time for Fleischer to enter the infirmary. The younger man gave his superior a salute that was clearly mocking.

“Herr Engel,” the blonde sneered, “I couldn’t help but notice that mein patients have suddenly begun to expire vhile I am avay.”

Engel turned to face the man with an impassive expression. “Perhaps there is some sort of disease spreading among them? Something swept through bunkhouse four just a veek ago, und all the prisoners inside vere killed…”

Fleischer’s jaw clenched visibly, he was obviously not satisfied with the explanation. “Mein infirmary is perfectly clean!” the man stated proudly. “It is a model of sanitation, und it is not so easily compromised!”

The older doctor pressed his lips together in a thin line, making it very clear that he was not sympathetic to his subordinate’s dilemma. “You are very hard on your ‘patients’, Herr Fleischer. Expecting them to survive your treatment for long is very unrealistic.”

“Don’t tell me you feel /sorry/ for the schweinhunds,” Fleischer said in a low, accusing tone. “You aren’t slipping away the ideals of our Führer, are you?”

Engel knew that he was being baited by the other doctor, but he stoically refused to bite. “Subjects that are pushed too hard die quickly, Herr Fleischer… Subjects that die quickly do not yield much data,” he replied flatly. “Zat is why I take only a few subjects at a time und make them last as long as I can.”

The immaculate infirmary suddenly wavered. The edges of the walls and equipment began to distort and twist in a nightmarish fashion. Engel backed up towards the door, only to find that the door was no longer there, replaced by a seamless wall.

“You can’t escape, Herr Engel,” Fleischer said, reaching into his coat. “You have alvays been so good at escaping, ja?” He removed his hand from his lab coat with a flourish, holding what looked like a remote control with a single button on it. “But I caught you this time… und neither you nor your precious ‘family’ vill be getting avay!” Engel had just enough time to scream in rage, terror, and defeat before Fleischer slammed his thumb down onto the button, and the world ripped apart in a blinding, agonizing flash.

The RED Medic awakened with a jerk. He blinked blearily a few times as someone placed his glasses on his face. His vision now cleared, he could see two men standing over him. One was Ben, the Engineer, wearing pair of flannel pants, and holding a hand over his left eye. The other was Sokov, wearing only boxers. There was a large bruise on the man’s belly since the scattergun shot had not yet been removed, and he was leaning on his chaingun. Behind the two, Engel could see that the door to his quarters had been smashed off the hinges.

“Ach!” the doctor exclaimed tiredly. “Vhat is ze meaning of this? Engineer, vhat happened to your face? Und, Sokov, why did you bring Sasha in here?” The Medic frowned as he questioned the two, realizing as he did so that he was soaked in a cold sweat, and trembling faintly.

“Doc, I heard ya’ screamin’ like someone was killin’ ya in yer sleep… I guess Sokov heard too, and he didn’t much like that he couldn’t reach ya through the locked door an’ all…”

“Da! I smash little door, und bring Sasha to kill person hurting Doktor!” The Heavy glanced around the room, and his expression sank a bit in disappointment, “but nobody is here. Then Engineer try to take Doktor’s medigun. I warn him not to, but he did not listen!” Sokov chuckled faintly at that. It was then that Engel realized he was indeed holding his medigun, clutched to his chest in a death grip. His face flushed slightly in embarrassment as he slowly loosened his hold on the device.

“Yeah, Doc,” Ben said with a nervous chuckle. “I’ve gotta say, you have a hell of a mean right hook.”

“Das tut mir leid…” Engel muttered quietly in his own tongue before looking up at the Engineer. “Sorry.” He sat up in bed, and aimed his medigun at the engineer. A quick blast from the machine made the bruise forming over the man’s left eye heal nearly instantaneously.

“Thanks, Doc.” The Engineer smiled faintly, but there was a definite look of concern in his eyes. “Are ya alright, though? You were pretty out of it when Sokov hauled ya in yesterday.”

Should he tell them? Perhaps the Engineer could find some way to diffuse the device (Engel certainly couldn’t remove the thing from himself). No… no, that would never work. Fleischer would have ensured that the thing couldn’t be tampered with. Now that Peter had let the team know about Engel’s indulgences, they might not even believe him, ascribing his story to nothing more than a deluded vision leftover from his ether high. He couldn’t let his teammates be killed, though… he had to think of something… he needed time…

“Ja, I am fine,” Engel said, forcing a faint smile. “It vas only a dream.” He gave a faint sigh as he looked at his clock. Nine a.m. “I need to get to ze infirmary… there are people that need to have bullets cut out, ja?” Sokov, in response, looked to his own bruised stomach and gave a nod.
>> No. 1635
This makes my belly hurt in sympathy.

...Moar? Please?
>> No. 1659
It is late... I am tired... but I got more done, huzzah! Also, thanks to all the stuff I've read around here I can only think of Spy is a prick =p I hope this isn't getting too rambly, my train of thought tends to derail fairly easily... Another big thanks to everyone reading, it is, once again, very encouraging for the creative juices!
The bullets clinked loudly as they were dropped onto the metal table. Once the last one was removed, Engel dropped the scalpel and forceps into a tray full of antiseptic. The RED Medic looked down at Sokov. The big man’s stomach was riddled with small, and some not-so-small, bleeding cuts where the projectiles had been removed. He wouldn’t be in much pain of course, if any, given the anesthetic shot he had received.

“I think zat is all of zem…” Engel remarked, lifting up his medigun. “You are mein best patient, ze others vhine too much,” the doctor remarked as he aimed the healing ethers at his team’s Heavy. The man had practically fallen asleep on the table as the Medic had worked; such was his trust of the man.

“Rest of team is babies,” the Russian said with a rumbling chuckle. His expression suddenly turned serious as he looked at Engel. “Doktor’s hands shake a leetle today. It has been long time since that happen. Since when you first join team.”

The doctor was always amazed at how observant Sokov was, but he was hoping that his faintly-shaking hands had gone unnoticed. “Sokov,” Engel said quietly, putting the medigun down now that his teammate’s wounds had been healed. He wanted so badly to tell his friend what was going on, just so he wouldn’t feel so isolated. But then the Russian would worry endlessly over him. “It is just these dreams I keep having. I’m sure they vill soon pass.” He forced himself to smile.

Sokov didn’t look convinced, and put a large hand on Engel’s shoulder. “If you say so, Doktor,” he said before slipping his shirt back on and hopping off the table. “I very good at keeping secrets,” he offered with a reassuring grin.

“Und very good at listening… danke, Sokov,” the Medic sighed faintly. “You were mein last patient, you had better get to breakfast before zey eat everything.”

The Russian perked up at the mention of food, and walked towards the door. He briefly glanced back at the doctor with a worried expression before he walked out into the hallway, letting the door swing shut behind.

Engel grabbed an antiseptic-soaked cloth and began to wipe the steel table clean. His motions were lifelessly mechanical though, his thoughts elsewhere. As he concentrated he jammed the cloth down harder, causing the table to creak and groan. His brow drew tight as he tried to work out all the details of Fleischer’s plot, and come up with some kind of solution in which his entire team lived. The scent of burning tobacco roused him from his thoughts.

“Spy,” he groaned, still going through the motions of cleaning the table, “put it out.”

The Frenchman appeared out of thin air, standing on the other side of the table. “Very well, Docteur,” he sighed, flicking the cigarette into the tray of antiseptic. It went out with a hiss. “Docteur, I zink the table is clean, oui? I can see myself in it.”

Engel stopped scrubbing and looked down. The table gleamed like a silver mirror. He could clearly see way his hair had grayed at the temples, and the stray silver strands scattered across his head. For a moment, he felt very old. “Vhat do you want, Spy?” he growled, walking to the sink to rinse out the cloth.

“Docteur, how long are you going to keep up zis charade?” The RED Medic spun around upon hearing the words, only to see that Spy was right in front of him, standing uncomfortably close.

Engel opened his mouth to protest, but Spy interrupted, “now Docteur… zis is where you say ‘I don’t know vhat you are talking about, Spy’.” The Frenchman imitated the Medic’s voice perfectly, which only served to irritate him. The masked man leaned closer, practically pinning Engel’s back to the counter.

“I am sure you will find some solution to your predicament, Docteur, but there is no need to be so… /stressed/… in the meantime, oui?” The Frenchman placed a hand on Engel’s chest, and worked his tie loose a little, smiling at the way the German blushed, and the sweat that began to form on his brow.

“If there is anything I can do for you… or /to/ you, beau…” The Spy’s smile turned more predatory, then. Engel was already uncomfortable, and now he kept picturing the Frenchman in blue, wearing that shark like grin. He tensed up, and drew his brow tight.

“You have approached me on this subject before, Spy,” the doctor said through gritted teeth. “I told you ‘no’ then, und my answer still stands.”

The Frenchman’s expression suddenly soured at hearing Engel’s refusal. He trailed his hand further down the man’s shirt, and brought it to rest on his stomach. The Medic lifted his arms to push the Spy away, but his limbs jerked and froze as the man suddenly pressed his hand down. It felt as though the Frenchman had stuck a knife in his belly.

Engel bit back a cry of pain, but the way his body began to tremble betrayed him. A choked wail finally escaped him as Spy pressed harder, digging his fingers in. He felt his legs buckle, and he would have fallen to the floor if he wasn’t being pinned to the counter.

“Verpiss dich!” the RED Medic cursed, “scher dich zum Teufel! Ach!” He cried out as Spy stepped back, allowing him to collapse to his knees.

“Better hurry to breakfast, Docteur, before the food is gone.” The Frenchman picked up Engel’s medigun and pack, and tossed it at him. The doctor managed to catch them none-too gracefully, knocking his glasses askew in the process. Spy walked to the infirmary door, but paused and turned back for just a moment.

“Unless you are already /full/, zat is,” the man snarled before disappearing from view. Engel just sat for a moment, leaning against the cabinets as the renewed agony spurred his thoughts of a solution back into action.
>> No. 1661
Way to be a douche, Spy
>> No. 1665

But he's so GOOD at it.
>> No. 1679
WARNING! Lame attempts at characterization ahead! =X
By the time Engel made it to breakfast the only people left at the table were the Engineer and Sniper. Colors rippled through the air with every movement they made, like a pebble would create ripples in a pond. The staccato clang of forks on the two men’s plates echoed and rang with almost painful clarity. He suddenly realized that Robert was staring at him through his tinted aviators.

“Oi, mate, ya look like some kinda bloody zombie,” the Aussie stated before tearing into a strip of bacon (nearly raw, Engel noted).

“Don’t be ridiculous, there are no such things as zombies,” the RED Medic scoffed as he gathered up a plate and silverware. He grabbed a few pieces of toast, two links of sausage, and opened the refrigerator to retrieve one of his cans of orange juice… they were gone.

“There vere eight cans left yesterday!” Engel growled in dismay, closing the refrigerator door, and looking to Ben and Robert pleadingly. “Und it vas /concentrated/… it vas supposed to last until ze next supply train came!”

“Ya can just have coffee like tha rest of us, mate,” Robert muttered. “There’s more than enough of that left.”

Engel sighed as he poured himself a mug of the bitter stuff and sat down at the far end of the table, as far from the other two as he could get. Until yesterday he would have felt perfectly comfortable around the good-natured Engineer, and even the lone wolf Sniper. Now, he couldn’t bring himself to look either of them in the eye, so he concentrated on his plate instead. The dancing colors were finally fading from the edges of his vision.

“Um, Doc…” Ben started gently, pushing his now-empty plate aside. “Are ya sure there ain’t nothin’ wrong? I haven’t ever seen ya’ act so… jittery, I s’pose…”

Engel remained silent, lost in thought. In the year he had spent working for Reliable Excavation Demolition he had been through the loss and replacement of many teammates. Only Benjamin, McKinnon, and Spy had been there at the beginning.

McKinnon was friendly enough to the doctor. However, he was prone to all manner of flights of fancy, and Engel found him difficult to speak with at times.

The RED Medic was not at all comfortable around Spy. After a week at the base, the doctor had discovered the Frenchman cloaked in his bedroom, watching him sleep at night. He didn’t sleep well for days after that.

“Doc? Did ya hear me?” Benjamin was smart, the only person on the team with whom Engel could converse on the same intellectual level. He was also dependable, and made an effort to be friendly and helpful to even the most antisocial and dysfunctional members of the team.

“Ja, I heard you, Benjamin,” Engel finally replied.

“We’re havin’ a baseball game t’day out behind the base. If yer up for it you oughta come out and join us.”

Engel looked at the man’s disarming smile, and gave a resigned sigh. “I suppose I could at least come out und vatch…” and think more about a possible solution.
>> No. 1682
“Don’t be ridiculous, there are no such things as zombies,”
Doh ho ho ho.
>> No. 1683
I get filled with anticipation every time I read a new part of this

>> No. 1685
Ok, on one hand, I hate name replacements because I can never remember who's supposed to be who when they have silly things like 'first names'. It takes me out of the setting and gets frustrating the more characters in a scene.

On the other hand, I am so fascinated to know where this is going...
>> No. 1686

It is my goal to pay some kind of subtle homage to my favorite stories on the board =D


I'm glad that I have your interest! I was/am worried about the names getting confusing. I try to mention their class a lot as well, so I hope that reduces some of the frustration!
>> No. 1705

I actually find it easy to keep track of the characters by name; helps that the name all fit their respective characters so well (in my opinion anyway).

Engel, stop being a dependable medic and tell Ben about the bomb! He'll be able to help you remove the bomb - or at the very least, be able to tell you how far away to get from everyone so you don't take the others out in the blast...

Can't help but wonder what'll happen now that Spy apparently knows about the bomb. Given the fact he's being a git in the fic, I can't imagine any good coming of him knowing... Anyway, things are progressing well! Please update soon!
>> No. 1709
I happen to like the fact that you've given them proper names... for the longest time I couldn't take the fanfiction seriously when everyone was referred to by their job description (especially in adult fanfiction... I find it really absurd when they cry out "(insert class name here)!" in a moment of passion). But I digress... love their names and their characterizations, everything fits so well!

Also, I am endlessly amused by Spy being a stalker... like more than I should be... (has porny thoughts)

I'm so glad to see that this story is being continuously updated, and not left for dead somewhere in a dumpster like so many...
>> No. 1714
I seriously love you all for your kind words. Makes it a lot more rewarding to keep writing this when I know I'm not the only one getting enjoyment out of it =D

On a side note, I apologize for my accents. I realize I've probably been horribly inconsistent with what words I've been accenting on which characters, etc. =X

Engel sat in a rickety folding chair at the edge of the ‘field’, as far away from the players as he could get while still being able to see them. After several hours the game was drawing to a close. It was just as well, the doctor figured. Most everyone seemed tired out or otherwise unable to play any longer.

McKinnon was passed out on the field and currently serving as second base. Robert, preferring to be alone, had gone to his roost instead of the game. ‘Sarge’ was wandering around the sidelines ranting about “Charlie” after being struck in the head by a foul ball from Peter. Pyro had wandered off of the field, and the RED Medic could see him drawing on the side of the base with a piece of charcoal. And Sokov…

“Doktor,” the huge Russian man cast a shadow over Engel as he came to stand next to him, his hands behind his back, and a sheepish look on his face.

“Ja, Herr? Vhat is it?” Sokov held out his hands, which dwarfed the snapped wooden bat they were holding.

“Bats are too tiny… I try to be careful, but they are so tiny, und keep breaking!” It was no wonder… The Russian’s arms were huge from his days as a boxer, and hauling ‘Sasha’ around in battle. Engel had seen him break six of their ten bats that day.

“Now leetle Scout say I cannot play!” The team Heavy looked positively crushed at the declaration. The doctor couldn’t help but feel bad for him. The big man had seemed to enjoy himself immensely during the game, even though he had never made it as far as third base without being tagged ‘out’.

Engel was about to issue some words of comfort when Ben approached the two. The shorter man was holding a length of steel pipe nearly four inches in diameter. It was obvious from the way he carried it that it was quite heavy.

The Engineer stopped, and gave the Medic a smile and a nod, “afternoon, Doc.”

“Guten tag, Benjamin,” Engel replied, folding his hands in his lap as the Texan turned to the team Heavy.

“Sokov, would ya mind holdin’ this fer a minutes?” Ben said, offering the pipe. The Russian let the broken bat he had been holding fall to the dirt, and took the piece of steel, holding it in one hand. The Engineer looked thoughtful for a moment, and then smiled as though in approval.

“Well, I’ll be… I think that’ll be right perfect. Thanks, big fella.” Ben’s smile grew wider as he took the piece of steel back from Sokov, who now looked terribly confused.

“Da… you are uh… velcome?” the big man scratched his head in puzzlement before dropping his arms to his side with a determined look on his face. “Game is fun, but makes very hungry. I going back inside. Engineer and Doktor have fun… dasvidania!” Sokov turned on his heels and started walking back towards the base. Ben remained, however, leaning on the length of steel pipe, and looking at the RED Medic expectantly.

“Doc, ya looked the whole darn game like ya been thinkin’ about some mighty serious stuff… Are you sure you don’t wanna…”

“Benjamin, ve need to talk,” Engel interrupted in a low tone. “But it must be avay from ze rest of ze team.”

The Engineer looked a bit startled at how forthcoming the doctor suddenly was. “Well, sure,” he said softly. “I’m headin’ ta my workshop right now. Why don’t ya come along, and I’ll see what I can do fer ya?”

Engel hesitated a moment before rising from his seat and giving the Texan a nod. He had made up his mind during the third inning, and was determined to follow through with his decision.

“Ja… danke, Benjamin…”
The RED Engineer’s workshop was a form of organized chaos that Engel couldn’t help but wonder at. At first glance, the doctor had thought that the tools and parts around the room were scattered haphazardly. Upon further observation, he discovered that everything was grouped together based on which of Ben’s projects they were a part of.

Engel followed Ben inside, listening to the other man hum to himself as he closed the heavy door behind them. The Engineer placed the steel pipe he had carried on a work bench before sitting on a large wooden crate and gesturing to his drafting chair.

“Go ahead an’ have a seat, Doc, ya spend too much time on yer feet.”

The RED Medic hesitated a moment before sitting down. The chair was well-worn, with little holes here and there, and a burn mark or two… but it was comfortable.

“Thank you for uh… seeing me, Herr Engineer,” Engel said somewhat awkwardly. It wasn’t often that /he/ was the one seeking help at RED base.

“Anytime, Doc,” Benjamin replied with a smile. “Now, what’s on yer mind?”

Engel scratched at his chin a moment before answering. “Fleischer has taken control of ze BLU team…”

Ben frowned faintly at that. “But how, Doc? I still remember when he showed up last month. That was just after our arrangement with BLU had come into play, an’ he was always tryin’ ta disrupt it.”

The RED Medic gave a shudder at the memory of the day when Fleischer had arrived on the battlefield. “Ja… his team did not trust him very much, und for good reason. Zhere Engineer especially stayed avay from him. Now, ze man obeys Fleischer’s orders like a dog!” The doctor gritted his teeth as he spoke, clenching his hands into fists.

“I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the other team’s Engie since their team started actin’ all funny a few days ago,” Ben noted. “Fella used to put dispensers all over the place for his team… though his placement wasn’t always the best… Haven’t seen one BLU sentry or nothin’ since all this funny business started.”

“He vould not have time to make sentries und dispensers if Fleischer assigned him to create… other things.”

Benjamin tensed suddenly in a way that made Engel shift uncomfortably in his seat. The Texan was silent for a moment before quietly saying, “what sorta… ‘other things,’ Doc?” The man’s tone had gone from lackadaisical to dead serious in an instant.

“A bomb,” the Medic replied, forcing his voice to remain steady as he said it.

The Texan silently rose from his place on the crate, and walked over to a nearby desk. He shuffled several stacks of plans and papers out of the way, and picked something up.

“Found this here on mah desk just before tha game started outside. I couldn’t think fer the life of me what Spah thought I would want with’em.” He held up the object for Engel to see. It was a manila envelope labeled ‘TOP SECRET – SURVEILLANCE RECORDS.’

“What would make you think the BLU Engie was makin’ a bomb, Doc?” The RED Medic couldn’t help but admire the way Benjamin managed to keep his voice calm, as though he was trying to put the German at ease despite their topic of conversation.

The doctor was silent for a long moment, furtively taking several deep breaths. He couldn’t afford to panic in front of one of his teammates.

“I vas in their base yesterday, Herr Engineer,” he finally said, carefully maintaining a neutral expression. “I saw ze bomb.”

Benjamin hurriedly dumped the contents of the envelope out on the desk he had taken it from. It was filled with photos that Spy had taken. There were pictures of blueprints, and what looked like an unfinished version of the cursed object itself. The Texan snatched up a photo with a more completed version of the device.

“S’one heck of a sophisticated receiver… but it’s so small I’d never have imagined it was a bomb.” Ben scratched the back of his neck a bit with his free hand, continuing to stare at the picture. “It’d pack a wallop, that’s fer sure… but it’s small enough that he’d have to land it smack in the middle of us to make it worthwhile. These pictures are dated from three days ago, though… tha thing could be finished by now. Bein’ so small, and remote-detonated at that, there’s no tellin where it could be.”

For a split second Engel’s control slipped, and he glanced nervously down at himself. The Engineer had seen him, though… and the RED Medic could see the change in the Texan’s expression as everything fell into place.

Saw your comment, went to post this... bricks were shat. GET OUT OF MY MIND! =O
>> No. 1715
>> No. 1716

Also sis, it's "atuhor's nose", sorry about being an obsessive douche about that

>> No. 1718
This cliff hanger has me dangling by my fingernails. More please!

On another note, poor Sokov, leetle baby bats too delicate for him!
>> No. 1719
Ohhhgod, don't die RED team!


I now imagine Heavy taking care of babby orphaned fruitbats :3
>> No. 1720
I wiggle with anticipation!
>> No. 1721

Get out of your mind? When I'm surrounded by genius? NEVAR! NEVAR I SAY!!!

Heh, Engle going to Ben was bound to happen sooner or later! It just happened to be sooner, that's all... Didn't see the 'oh shit' cliffhanger though - really want to know what is going to happen!

(Also, I'd put money on what'll happen to the steel Ben made Sokov hold, but unfortunately I'm skint. Tis obvious but oh so sweet!)
>> No. 1723
Lol, that should be modded, or drawn.
>> No. 1724

http://www.tf2chan.net/fanart/res/4596.html Couldn't resist.
>> No. 1753



You know me, though... I can't not screw up something =p


Shhhh! My head is inflated enough already, lol.

I have more typed, but I felt it would be better if I only posted this for now.

Engel sat quietly as he waited for Benjamin to let his revelation sink in. He saw the man’s legs tense up, and knew that he was fighting the urge to back away to safety. The Texan opened his mouth to speak several times, but always stopped short, as though he simply couldn’t find words.

“Doc, I…” the Engineer finally stammered. “I’ll do whatever I can fer ya…”

The RED Medic gave a solemn nod. “Is there a vay to stop ze signal from coming through to set it off?”

“That’s the thing, Doc,” Ben said quietly. “From what I can tell from the blueprints this thing is receivin’ a signal from the trigger all the time… it’s set to go off when the signal is /lost/.”

Engel knitted his brow and shut his eyes upon hearing this. “Und ze blast radius?”

Benjamin cleared his throat before speaking again, his face grim. “Well, I reckon anyone within ten feet would be killed right away.” The man took several paces away, then stopped and turned back to Engel. “That’d be right here.” The Texan took a few more paces back, and halted once again. “Someone standin’ up to thirty feet away’d certainly be injured enough that they’d be easy enough for the BLUs to pick off.”

The doctor felt a sense of conflicted relief when the other man returned to stand next to him. Of course he didn’t want his team to be in danger from him… but he hated feeling lost alone in this nightmare.

“Ze beam from mein medigun only reaches nine meters… zat is just less than thirty feet. Und, most people vind up getting much closer vhen they need to be healed.”

A sudden bang resonated through the base, causing a few tools and parts to jump to the floor. The hair on the back of Engel’s neck stood on end as a surge of adrenaline rushed through him. The German nearly fell out of the chair he was sitting on.

Benjamin jumped as well, and gave a startled yelp. “Damned RED corporate goons!” the Texan growled. “Been keepin’ us locked out of our main supply room fer a week doin’ God knows what, and now they don’t even have tha decency to be a /little/ quiet!”

Engel shook his head with a sigh. “Ja… I had nearly forgotten zey vere there. If it is any consolation, Snipah said it appears zat BLU is locked out of their main supply as vell…”

The Engineer gave a faint nod, and went over to his main workbench, where he swept up the battery-operated radio that he had lovingly made from spare parts. He opened it up, and grabbed a handful of tools.

“After a little fixin’ this baby should be able to receive the detonator signal.” The Texan cutting wires and soldering them back together with deft precision. Engel watched silently, focusing on the way the man’s hands moved so he wouldn’t think about what now resided inside of him.

It was only moments later that Ben closed the radio back up, and switched it on. “Now… let’s see if I can’t find tha frequency,” he said as he began turning twisting the tuning knob. After a few turns the radio suddenly let out a loud screech that made both men cringe. The Engineer quickly turned down the volume, much to Engel’s relief.

“That’s one mighty strong signal,” the Texan muttered. “Doc, I’m gonna walk round the base with this thing and make sure that there ain’t any places the signal goes dead. It’s gonna take awhile though, so ya might wanna find somethin’ ta busy yerself… maybe get some rest.”

“Ja…” Could his entire team see how tired he was? “I think I vill be returning to my room. I seem to be safe from blowing up there,” Engel added in a humorless tone, eliciting a wince from Ben.

The Engineer unlocked the door to his shop, and turned back to face the team Medic with a determined expression. “Doc, we’re darn lucky to have you… and I’ll be damned if we don’t find some way to get you out of this.”

Though he was pleased to hear the words, Engel simply could not manage a smile. “Danke schön, Benjamin…”
The ashes fell like snow, now. Since the prisoners had gotten word of Allied forces landing in France there had been a sizeable uprising in the camp. Several guards had been killed in the insurgency, and the participants were now working the furnaces overtime.

Dr. Engel brushed the human dust from his uniform and began his stern-faced march down the line of fresh prisoners. Being chief medical officer he would get first pick, and the other camp doctors stood at attention, anxious to fight amongst themselves for what was left like hungry dogs snarling over table scraps. A few of them were already craning their necks at the line, probably seeking out twins. Twins had been an obsession that had rapidly spread to the camp from Auschwitz.

There were no twins here today, but there were children. So many children… Many of them clung to the skirts and arms of mothers who glared hatefully at Engel as he passed. Most of the children were already broken. Their dull, lifeless eyes seemed to project the horrors their young minds had been witness to. They could not be helped, and Engel passed them by.

One blonde-headed boy of about eight had a wide-eyed mixture of fear and curiosity on his face as the doctor approached. A slightly younger red-haired girl down the line seemed fixated upon the glinting medals that adorned his uniform. At the far end of the line was a boy about the same age as the red-headed girl, who fidgeted, and scuffed at the dirt with the toes of his shoes.

Engel stepped back from the line, and silently pointed, one by one, to the three children whose eyes still reflected the youthful ignorance of pain and evil. Their parents kicked and screamed and fought, clinging desperately to their children as the guards came to separate them.

The doctor turned on his heels and began the march to his infirmary. He did not break stride when he heard the angry curses and running footsteps of one of the parents breaching the line and coming after him, nor did he flinch at the resulting gunshot.
>> No. 1756
...I'll admit, I snickered a little at Engy and Medic jumping at a loud bang. I feel mean now. :(
>> No. 1757
I'm so addicted to this fic it's not even funny. ( Fail pun not intended. Seriously. :I )
>> No. 1762
I love this fic to an ungodly degree. Keep it up, you're fucking awesome.
>> No. 1770

We can be mean together, because I pictured it in my head as I wrote it, and I giggled.


ILU guys soooooooooo much <3

Okay... I was determined to get to this point before I went to bed, so here is a rather long update!

The loud banging on the now-repaired door caused Engel to snap back into the world of wakefulness and the present. He groaned and rubbed his eyes before putting his glasses back on and walking to the door. The RED Medic was most displeased to see Peter standing on the other side of the threshold when he opened the door. The young man was shifting his weight from foot to foot, knees knocking together.

“Doc! You gotta fuckin’ help me, man,” the Scout implored.

Engel regarded the youth with a clear expression of annoyance. “Vhat do you /vant/, you insufferable /dummkopf/?”

Peter’s eyes darted nervously up and down the hall before he whispered, “nng… Doc it hurts so bad… I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

“Ze restroom is down ze hall.” The Medic moved to close the door, but the young man, now doing a little jig, blocked it with his arm.

“Doc you don’t understand,” he whimpered. “I fuckin’ /can’t/…” Engel suddenly noticed how flushed the boy was, the way he trembled and sweated, and he knew immediately what was wrong.

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” the German cooed in a syrupy sweet voice that made his teammate cringe. “You see, I just voke up, und I’m afraid zat being so tired, I can’t hear you zat vell.”

“I can’t…”

“Louder,” Medic interrupted.

“I said I…”

“You are not speaking clearly enough.”

“I CAN’T FUCKIN’ /PISS/, DOC!” the Scout screamed. His voice echoed loudly down the hallway, prompting a fit of uproarious laughter from McKinnon a few doors down. The runner’s brown drew down into an angry scowl.

“Oh, vell then… ve had better get you to mein infirmary right avay to see vhat is wrong, ja?” Engel didn’t give the young man a chance to answer; he simply grabbed his arm and began dragging him down the hall. The doctor was pleased to note that his silence on their journey caused Peter’s expression to grow increasingly worried.

At last they reached the infirmary, and Engel gave the RED Scout a push towards the examination table.

“Take off your shirt und get on ze table,” the doctor said commandingly. The runner hesitated a moment, but finally obliged under the Medic’s heated glare. The boy shivered and rubbed his hands along his arm.

“Why’s it always gotta be so fuckin’ freezin’ in here?”

Engel made a show of putting on a pair of latex gloves. “Because ze organisms zat cause infection grow best vhen it is warm… Und a chilled body does not bleed out as quickly during operations.” That last comment made the youth give a nervous gulp.

“Now, Herr Scout…” Engel started as he seized the boy’s chin in his hand. “Zhere are several possibilities as to vhat could be causing your ailment… some of which are very serious…” He yanked Peter’s mouth open and shone a light inside. “Have you experienced any nausea or stomach cramps?”

Unable to speak, the runner simply nodded. The RED Medic removed his hand from the boy’s face, and grabbed a stethoscope. He put the device on, and pressed the rounded metal plate to his patient’s chest. Peter hissed from the cold, but, much to Engel’s delight, remained otherwise silent.

Scout’s heart was hammering, but sounded perfectly healthy just as the doctor suspected. He removed the stethoscope from Peter’s chest, and replaced it with his hand. A quick shove had the youth lying on his back.

“Does it hurt vhen I do this?” The German asked sweetly, firmly prodding just below the boy’s sternum with his gloved fingers.

“It’s kinda fuckin’ creepy, but it don’t hurt,” the Scout muttered.

“How about vhen I do this?” He pressed again, right against his patient’s kidneys.

The runner squirmed, and suddenly cried out, “alright alright! I drank all your faggy fruity orange shit! I was outta soda!”

Engel withdrew his hands, immensely satisfied at the confession he had just extracted. He pulled open one of the supply cabinets and removed a catheter and a collection bag. Peter whimpered when the doctor turned back to show what he was holding.

“Doc… I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean,” the boy fumbled over his words. “Can’t you just use your medigun on me?” he pleaded.

“So sorry, mein Scout,” Engel said. “Ze excess… fluid… has to be drained avay first.”

“I… uh… maybe I’ll just wait and… and I can do it on my own?”

“Nonsense!” the RED Medic said with a flourish of his hand. “You came to me for assistance… vhat kind of doctor vould I be if I didn’t help mein teammates? Unless you’d like something to rupture…”

Engel tapped his foot impatiently as the Scout divested himself of his trousers and briefs. After that, the doctor wasted no time in threading the length of thin tubing in. Despite how irritated he was at the boy he did his best to be gentle, getting the runner to confess had been revenge enough.

Once everything was set up and moving along the Medic pulled off his gloves and fetched a wool blanket from one of the cabinets. He placed it over the shivering Scout, keeping his expression indifferent.

“I do not need to deal vith you catching cold as vell as being an idiot,” he muttered in a scolding tone that came out more fatherly than he had intended.

Engel watched as Peter wrapped the blanket around himself. “It vill probably take at least a little vhile. Most people seem to prefer to sleep through it.” He turned to walk away, and was startled when the young man’s hand gripped his sleeve.

The Medic turned, prepared to admonish the boy, but his aggravation faded when he saw the pleading look on the Scout’s face.

“Doc I can’t sleep,” he whimpered. The German pulled his sleeve free of Peter’s grip, and crossed his arms.

“Und why not?” he sighed. “I know it is uncomfortable, but it is not /zat/ bad, ja?”

The RED Scout bit his lip anxiously, “I can’t sleep without music… my ma would sing to me…” He frowned suddenly, “but I’m not some kinda little pussy! Don’t you have a record player in here with that fruity opera shit you like to listen to? Even that’d be better than fuckin’ quiet.”

Engel knew the boy missed his mother… Being nineteen, though, and given the Scout’s attitude, it wasn’t something he would readily divulge to his teammates. It warmed the Medic, though, to see a softer side show through Peter’s usually boisterous and ‘tough-guy’ demeanor.

“Mein record player is vith Benjamin,” the doctor said apologetically. “It vas getting worn out und needed repairs.”

The Scout sighed, and his expression sank momentarily. “Doc?”


“Um… did your ma ever sing you to sleep?”

The red-headed girl was the last to be brought into Engel’s infirmary, and she looked up at the man with big brown eyes as he locked the door. The child’s eyes were red-rimmed, and her face was stained with tear streaks.

The doctor knelt in front of the girl, and placed two fingers under her chin, gently turning her face up to look at him.

“Mein Liebling, why are you crying?” he asked softly.

The girl sniffled. “I want my mutter,” she whimpered, choking back more sobs.

“You vill get to see her as soon as I am finished.” That statement seemed to put the girl a little more at ease.


Engel smiled warmly at the child, and gently brushed a few strands of hair away from her face. “Ja, I promise. Now, I need you to sit on ze table.”

The child looked up at the high table, then back to Engel with an adorably pouty look.

“Doctor, it is too high! I am not tall enough to reach it,” she whined. The man scratched his chin with a pensive look on his face, and suddenly smiled.

“I bet you could reach it if you vere able to fly, mein Liebling.”

The girl’s face lit up, and she opened her arms expectantly. Engel gathered her in his arms and stood up quickly. She laughed excitedly when he twirled around with her before placing her on the steel table. The doctor chuckled softly, and lightly tapped a finger to the tip of the child’s nose, causing her smile to widen.

“Now, no more tears, ja?”

The girl sniffled faintly as she nodded, still smiling a little.

“Vhat is your name, Liebling?”

“Adelle,” the girl replied softly.

“’Adelle’… hmm… it is a very lovely name. I like it.” The girl positively beamed upon hearing this.

“Danke schön, Doctor!” Adelle giggled. “My Vater gave me the name. He had pretty blue eyes like yours.”

Engel turned to a nearby tray of syringes. He selected one with a fine gauge, and stuck the needle into a vial of tranquilizer. As he drew the liquid up inside he glanced over his shoulder to see the girl idly playing with the Star of David hung about her neck, humming a nursery rhyme to herself.

Once the syringe was full he capped the needle, and turned back to the girl. She looked at the implement as he placed it near the table, and tears began to well back into her eyes.

“Now, Liebling, vhat did ve say about tears?” Engel said softly.

“But… I don’t like shots, doctor…” the girl said, lip quivering.

“Nobody likes shots, Adelle. I have to give you one, though, to keep you from getting sick in ze camp. I vant you to stay nice and healthy, so you can play vith ze other children.”

The girl was silent for a moment, contemplating the doctor’s words. She finally put on a brave face, and gave a nod.

Engel smiled encouragingly, and gave her a tender pat on the back. “It vill only sting a little, Liebling, I promise. Ze shot tends to make people very tired, though, und you will probably fall asleep for awhile…”

“Okay, doctor…” The man took the girl’s arm in one hand and the syringe in the other, uncapping it with his teeth. He was about to stick the needle in when the girl spoke.


He stopped. “Yes, mein Liebling?”

Adelle looked up at him, those brown eyes full of life, so trusting. “My mutter sings to me when I go to sleep… does yours sing to you?”

Dr. Engel smiled. “She used to sing to me every night. Vould you like me to sing for you, Liebling?”

“Bitte, doctor.” The girl’s smile faded suddenly, replaced by an expression of worry. “Doctor, you said no more tears… why are you crying?”

“Ach… don’t worry about it, Liebling… it is nothing…” He made himself smile, and began to sing quietly.

“Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf. Der Vater hüt't die Schaf. Die Mutter schüttelt's Bäumelein, da fällt herab ein Träumelein. Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf…” The girl clung to the sleeve of his uniform, and stayed bravely silent as he slid the needle into the crook of her elbow, and began to push the plunger down.

“Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf. Am Himmel ziehn die Schaf. Die Sternlein sind die Lämmerlein, der Mond, der ist das Schäferlein. Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf…” He pulled the needle away. The girl’s eyelids were beginning to droop, and her grip on his arm was weakening. He could feel her pulse weakening already through his hand against her arm.

“Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf. So schenk' ich dir ein Schaf. Mit einer goldnen Schelle fein, sas soll dein Spielgeselle sein. Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf…” Engel looked to Peter, now sleeping peacefully on the table. The wool blanket over the Scout rose and fell slowly with his steady breathing.

The RED Medic took a step back and wordlessly brushed a tear from his face
>> No. 1771
Goddammit, I got all misty-eyed.
>> No. 1775
That's some goddamn high-octane orange juice you got there, Doc.

Also: Medic needs moar hugs. I sniffled. :<
>> No. 1776
...Did...did he...?! D8 My heartstrings!
>> No. 1777
holy crap. I had to stop reading for a minute, I know that song he sang.. and I couldn't read that part without crying :c

I love you Bad Medicine Never stop writing.
>> No. 1782
Oh Engel... Oh dear little Medic...

Such a sweet, and sad, update. The one before with Benjamin was also very interesting, and I look foward to seeing how Ben's investigations pan out.

(Oh, and can you tell me what the song Engel sung was please? I'd like to know the lyrics so I can get the full impact of him singing it, if you get what I mean.)
>> No. 1791

I actually got a little choked up writing it... =,(


LOL! Well, the cans were concentrate, so they should have been diluted with water first, and he drank EIGHT of them.. that's as many as four twos, and that's terrible.


ILU guys too. Eeee.. part of me feels bad for making others cry, though.


Sure! And, for all others interested, the German and English lyrics to the song are here http://www.songsforteaching.com/sarajordan/schlafkindlein.htm
>> No. 1794
Don't feel bad! it's the mark of a good author to move people like that ! o/
>> No. 1798
I have more, but I feel that this chapter fell short of the last... it was kind of a hard act to follow =X

“It’s creepy, mate…” Robert muttered, his elbow propped up on the windowsill as he held the scope of his rifle to his eye.

“Vhat is it?” Engel asked, standing at the end of the hallway (which Ben had, fortunately, declared safe), not visible through the long line of windows down the front of the base.

The RED Sniper frowned, still peering through his scope. “Doc, would ya walk down the hall an’ back real quick?” The Aussie’s tone belayed the seriousness of his odd request.

The German frowned faintly. “Ja, but you had better have some sort of explanation vhen I get back.” He began walking down the bare hall. Each step made the rickety wood flooring creak and groan in complaint. From the corner of his vision he could see a glowing blue dot on the wall, following him down the hallway, briefly disappearing from view when he moved between two windows.

He walked more briskly back to the point in the hall where he started, once more out of the BLU Sniper’s view.

“Bloody wankah,” Robert muttered. “It’s tha weekend… he’s normally off drinkin’ an’ stargazin’ up on tha roof. Now all of a sudden he’s got a beat on /you/.” Engel frowned… the BLU Sniper, using his scope, would easily be able to tell where Fleischer’s bomb was, so long as the RED Medic was near a window. To the German that was not at all unexpected.

“Tha bloke’s been twitchin’ an jerkin’ round like a boomer full of bities, too. Wanna have a look, Doc?”

“Nein, Herr Snipah... und shouldn’t you be getting something to eat? Ze rest of ze team is already at festessen.”

Robert finally turned away from his scope to look at the team Medic with a raised eyebrow. “Dinner? I already brought tucker up here. I wanna keep me eye on that fuckin’ kiwi cross the way.” The Aussie frowned, then. “Why aren’t /you/ at dinner?”

Engel vividly remembered Benjamin, only an hour ago, spraying bright orange paint along the kitchen door frames. “Signal’s kinda weak in here, Doc… best not to press your luck,” the Engineer had said apologetically.

“I vould prefer to finish mein walk,” he lied. Robert frowned confusedly at Engel as the German marched back into the interior of the base.

As the doctor walked down the hallways he vigilantly avoided any areas that Benjamin had marked with the fluorescent orange paint. He couldn’t imagine how the Engineer would explain his ‘redecorating’ to the rest of the team. The Medic did stop at one unmarked door, though… the thick metal door to the main supply room. He could hear the personnel from RED corporate headquarters working inside.

Engel narrowed his eyes faintly… His team had been strictly warned not to interfere with the staff that RED had sent, and threatened vaguely with ‘severe consequences’. At that moment, the German didn’t really care. He gave the steel door a few solid knocks. Nobody answered.

He knocked louder, pounding his fist against the door. “I know you are in zhere!” the RED Medic growled. “Answer me!” He raised his fist to bang on the door again, and froze when he felt something press against the back of his head, and heard a click.
>> No. 1801
Its that bloody Spy again, ain't it?
>> No. 1802
>> No. 1804
ARG! You and your cliffhangers! You really know how to get me going. Keep it up! I can't wait to find out whats happening!
>> No. 1806
I forsee bad things being caused by Spy...that creepy spook.
>> No. 1808
>> No. 1809

FuckinghellitsaSpy! And I have doubts over what colour the Spy is!! Either way, Engel is in even deeper trouble...

More soon please, I wanna know what is going to happen to the poor doctor (and, now that I think of it, what the hell those 'extra staff' in the room are doing).
>> No. 1816
Oh Jeez what now ? D: for some reason , I'm not sure if that be a spai. but .. well. Maybe it is :I
>> No. 1831
I just figured it out-

There is only one Spy. Ever. He just changes clothes in-between bases. Why do you think Tentaspies have purple tentacles? THEY KNOW.

Also while there is a clicking object at the back of his head, it might not be Spy, or even a gun. It could be a tv remote for all we know.

Or a camera! Pyro is feeling friendly and wants to take pictures of his favorite Medic!
>> No. 1832
how IS Engy going to explain all this bright orange paint anyway? Will he make up some random excuse in hopes they can't pay attention that long? Then again when an Engineer says 'Do not touch, because Science' I bet everyone else listen.
>> No. 1833
Guys, I am disappoint. Not in you, you folks are awesome. The writer's block struck me in the face again, so I'm afraid you just get sappy shit tonight =X

“Dr. Markus Engel…” the man’s voice was familiar… probably one of the guards RED had brought to protect their ‘project’. “Your entire team was warned to stay away from this room, no exceptions.”

“Ja,” the Medic replied in a disaffected tone. “I only vanted to ask for a little assistance, Herr… I have given a lot to RED, und figured it vas about time for some sort of compensation.”

“Your contract included room, board, and cash, just like the rest of the team.”

The supply room door opened suddenly. Spy slipped through and had it closed again in the blink of an eye. Engel’s jaw dropped.

“Put ze gun down you idiot,” the Frenchman commanded before placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting it. He took a drag before continuing. “’Eadquarters would not be happy to ‘ear zat zey must find and pay a new Medic… zey aren’t cheap, you know.”

“What in Uncle Sam’s name are you doing with that sidearm, private!?” barked a new voice. The three men turned to see Sarge, pointing his shotgun at the RED guard, who suddenly looked one step away from wetting himself.

“Drop your weapon and step away from the needle jockey, maggot!” the American growled. Spy looked to the guard, and calmly raised an eyebrow. The guard, as though given some command, holstered his weapon.

“There won’t be any more warnings,” the man hissed before retreating into the supply room, locking the door behind.

“’Sarge’, I thought you did not like Monsieur Engel?” the Frenchman finally asked, his eyebrow still raised.

The American scoffed, as though he couldn’t believe Spy would ask such a stupid question. Engel remained silent, waiting for Sarge’s response. The Medic had been rather surprised by the ‘rescue’.

“He may be a scary, syringe-wielding Kraut, but he’s /our/ scary, syringe-wielding Kraut!” From anyone else the remark would have been insulting, but coming from the Soldier it made Engel smile inwardly.

The Frenchman took another drag from his cigarette, a dubious frown on his face. “You two have fun being very odd, oui? I have work to do.” The masked man vanished before their eyes in a swirl of cigarette smoke and a faint red fog.

“Danke, Sergeant,” the RED Medic said with a faint grin.

“Don’t get all mushy on me, private!” the man growled. “This is not your pappy’s hugbox, and you’ll get no molly-coddling from me!”

Now it was Engel’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Uh… ja… of course,” he humored Sarge. “Vell zen… good luck on ze rest of your patrol, Herr Soldier.”

The American sharp salute and continued his brisk march down the hallway. Engel shook his head and started back the way he came with a sigh. The bitter sting of RED’s refusal to help him was bad enough, but the ache of his empty stomach added insult to injury.

The Medic jumped slightly when he turned the corner and nearly ran into the team Pyro.

“Mrrdkrk!” the fire-suited man gasped through the filter of his mask. Though it was impossible to see a square inch of the firestarter’s body, Engel could tell the Pyro was in an awfully good mood about /something/. The doctor was startled, however, when the firebug wrapped his arms tightly about him.

“Yrr rrlrrt!” The German tried to free himself from the tight grip, but his arms were pinned to his side. When the Pyro released him he left smears of black soot on the doctor’s previously immaculate white shirt.

“Ja, why vould I not be?” he huffed softly. The Pyro looked up and down the hall before looking back to Engel. He pointed at the Medic, and threw his arms above his head dramatically.

“BRRRRM!” the firesuited man exclaimed with a sad whimper, hanging his head.

“Oh…” the doctor said softly. “You… know about zat?”

“Brrn tlrrd mrr… Rrr wrrn trrl rrnrhrn”

“Zat is probably why he told you… but he vas supposed to keep zis to himself!”

“Plrrz drrn brr mrrd,” the shorter man pleaded. His child-like bid for leniency worked, and Engel’s expression went from frustrated to defeated. The doctor’s manner changed to startled once again when the Pyro took hold of his wrist and began leading him down the hall.

“Pyro, vhere on earth are ve going?” the inquired.

“Yrrl srr,” the man said with a happy chortle. The firebug, having a difficult time communicating with most of the team, usually showed them the objects of his interest rather than talking about them. The Medic often saw Pyro leading Peter or Benjamin around to show them some strange bug or trinket he had found… he tended to avoid the ever-busy doctor. Engel thought this turn of events unusual, but continued following the firestarter… it was a welcomed distraction.

The RED Pyro suddenly came to a stop in front of the auxiliary supply room door, standing between it and the Medic.

“Clrrs yrr rrrs” the firebug tried to sing-song through his filter.

The doctor frowned for a moment, but the Pyro remained silent, gazing up at him expectantly, so he closed his eyes. He heard the door open, and the thickly-gloved fingers of the firebug took his wrist again, slowly leading him forward… something smelled pleasant.

Engel shuffled forward as the other man lead him forward, and hissed in pain when his shin banged against something.

“Srrhrr…” his guide said apologetically. “Yrr crrn lrrk nrr.”

The German opened his eyes. The normally-bright room was now softly lit with a large, crudely-made candle sitting on a fold-up table. There was a chair as well, one of the cushioned ones from the common room.

The team Pyro gestured emphatically towards the chair, and Engel, mystified, sat down. The firebug hummed, and brought something over from a darkened corner of the room. He placed the doctor’s record player on the table and delicately lowered the needle. There was a brief hiss of static before one of his favorite Bach concertos began to play.

The firebug disappeared again, and returned with his hands hidden behind his back. Pyro suddenly set a plate on the table before scurrying out of the room, humming gleefully as he went.

Engel moaned softly at the sight before him. He hadn’t seen a plate of chicken Würzfleisch for over a decade. The doctor eagerly tried a bite of the gravy-soaked meat. It needed more salt, the gravy was a bit thick, and the chicken was just a little overcooked… it was the best meal he had ever eaten. It was like being home again…
>> No. 1834
Awww... Pyro. <3
>> No. 1835
Pyro is bestest. SO are you. That is all
>> No. 1836
>“He may be a scary, syringe-wielding Kraut, but he’s /our/ scary, syringe-wielding Kraut!”DAMN STRAIGHT. :D

And Pyro is CUTE. CUTE I say.
>> No. 1838
You've got a very nice story going on here, and I'm quite enjoying it. The way that you combine the past with Medic's present situations certainly fits together nicely, and the plot so far has me intrigued and waiting for more. Indeed, a fine story so far, and I shall eagerly await more.

P.S. Your use of "Schlaf, Kindlein, Schlaf" was beautiful. Excellent choice.
>> No. 1839
>> No. 1843
Like I'd said earlier : AMAZING. Even with writers block!
>> No. 1846
Even with writer's block you manage to reaffirm the fact that Pyros are inherently awesome! Nice little update, very sweet; makes a pleasent change given how dark the rest of the story can be at times. More soon, please?
>> No. 1847
>> No. 1849
d'awww... you guys all give me warm fuzzies... <3 I actually had a lot of fun writing Pyro, I'm glad you all like him... I was afraid of making him TOO mushy.

I am sad to report, however, that writer's block is still rearing its ugly head. It seems to be making itself at home, and I fear it will soon be making a mess of the bathroom and eating all the food in my apartment... alas, more sap!
“Play me ze Bach piece again, monsieur,” the French woman said, looking up from their nearly-completed work on the desk.

“Which one vould you like to hear, Frau Bouvier?” Engel asked with a faint smile, “I know many.”

The woman tightened a wire inside the pack. “Zat one you played yesterday, Docteur.” The German frowned faintly at that.

“Ze concerto? I cannot do it justice vithout accompanimunt, papillon.”

Bouvier gave a lilting laugh upon hearing the epithet in French. “S'il vous plaît, Docteur? Ze third movement… it is my favorite.” Suddenly, it was Engel’s favorite, too.

“Alright, Frauline… but first you must tell me why you like zat one so much, ja?”

The French woman smiled, making a few adjustments with a small wrench. “I will tell you when you are done playing, monsieur.”

Engel smiled and shook his head, bringing the polished wooden instrument to rest under his chin. “You are a very demanding woman, Frauline, but if you insist…” He lightly drew his bow across the strings, and paused to adjust one of the pegs. The second time he drew the bow across he beamed with satisfaction.

He tilted his head down a bit, and shifted the way his legs hung off the edge of the bed a little to get more comfortable. After a deep breath he began to play. The song started off swift and elegant. The notes bounced around from high to low pitch, a lively tune in minor.

The doctor’s brow knitted tightly. As the notes grew more forceful his blue eyes focused so intensely on the instrument that they might have ignited it. The melody was at once maddened and surrounded by sadness, and yet fiercely alive. Suddenly the tune drifted off and stopped. There was only a brief silence from the violin before Engel made it burst back to life, even more vigorously than before.

When at last the German finished and looked up Paulette Bouvier’s face was right next to his own, with a smile in her eyes as well as her lips.

“I like zat piece, Docteur… because it is a reflection of your ‘eart…”

Engel set the violin down, smiling softly, and leaned a bit closer to the woman, until their lips nearly touched. “Ich li…”

He was silenced by kiss. “Don’t ever say you love me, Monsieur Engel,” she commanded with a bittersweet smile on her face. “We both know I won’t be coming with you when you break free of zis place… I would only slow you down and get us both killed.”

The doctor had said many times that once their project was done he would heal her injured legs and they could both flee the camp together. No, she insisted, the wounds were weeks old, now, and already healed to the best of her body’s ability, which was not nearly well enough for her to run or even briskly walk without crutches.

“You need to be able to live without me, Docteur.”

Engel gazed longingly at the woman as she urged him to lie back on the bed. She leaned over him, then, resting on his chest with a pleasant smile.

“I vant to help you, though, papillon…”

“You already ‘ave, Docteur,” she said softly, leaning closer to give another kiss. “You ‘ave made my last days worth something.”

The doctor placed his hands on the French woman’s back, letting his eyes slide shut as she began to work his shirt buttons open. Every time her fingers brushed his chest he felt his heart surge with new life.

Though she wouldn’t allow him to say it out loud, he repeated within his soul his declaration of love to the woman who made him feel human again in this nightmare place…

NOTE - for those who want to know, here is the piece that he played, because I fail at describing music.
>> No. 1850
I don't know whether to feel happy or sad for Engel. You are the greatest.
>> No. 1854
>> No. 1857
Writer's block my ass. This is awesome.
>> No. 1858
Straight Medic? In MY TF2 fan fiction?

More likely than I thought.

Continue, by all means.
>> No. 1861

My Google-Fu was strong to find that song... I had never even heard of it before I started this fic, and I searched for at least half an hour trying to find a suitable song.


You.... you make me blush <3


Haha! I'm glad it still seems to please. <3

Last day of my summer work is tomorrow, and I will be getting out early. So, between cleaning up my apartment and utterly slacking off I should be able to get another segment written and posted.
>> No. 1865

Yeeesssssss. I wait with bated breath.
>> No. 1866

Quite possibly the best news I've heard all day!

As for the update - very short, very sweet, with an excellent piece of music accompanying it to boot. Writer's block may be making your updates shorter, but it hasn't altered the quality!
>> No. 1879
Still kinda sub-par... writers block... yadda =X

Five a.m. on a Sunday was a hell of a time to be showering, even for the early-rising RED Medic. This early the other eight shower stalls were empty, affording Engel both privacy and a safe distance from the rest of his team.

He shut the water off, satisfied that he was finally clean, and rubbed the towel he’d brought through his hair before wrapping it around his waist. As he did so he noticed that his stomach had already faintly bruised again, despite the fact that he had ‘indulged’ in his medigun again the previous night.

“Verdammt…” the doctor sighed, wiping his fogged-up glasses clean before setting them on his face. He waded through the mist his long, hot shower had created to one of the sinks, and leaned forward to peer at his reflection in the mirror. The German sighed in dismay at the fresh stubble that had grown in, and at the way the creases at the corners of his eyes and mouth seemed to have become more noticeable from the stress of the past days.

As he was lathering up his face the Medic heard the door open, and turned his head to see McKinnon stumble in with Peter close on his heels. They both looked to be nursing fierce hangovers, and were both adorned, as the Doctor, in towels.

“Guten tag,” Engel muttered as he flicked open his razor. Peter jumped slightly as the glinting blade unfolded.

“Fuck, man… why you gotta use those damned things?”

“Aye, ye could put yer eye right oot with one’a those ‘tings,” McKinnon added ‘helpfully’, shakily pointing to his eye patch. “They have safer ones now, ye know.” It never ceased to amaze the doctor that a man who played with explosives for a living (and for fun) was so afraid of blades.

“Spy und Sokov use ze same kind as I do dummköpfe. Neither of zem have ever come to me vith cuts from rasierend. Und yet, Herr McKinnon, I have heard you und ze Australich on several occasions vhining like little fraulines because you burn your faces.”

The team Demoman scoffed, pulling open the curtain to one of the shower stalls. “’At’s because ‘ole ‘Bullseye’ is a git and shaves dry ‘as me bottle ‘o scrumpy after last night’s fun.” The dark-skinned Scotsman gave a barking laugh and stumbled into his stall, swinging the curtain shut behind him.

Engel shook his head and lifted the razor so its edge was under his chin. He paused when he noticed Peter was still standing there, staring at him wide-eyed as though expecting the doctor to slip up and start gushing blood at any moment.

The Medic smiled sweetly, removing the blade from his skin and gesturing at the Scout with it. “You haven’t started to grow any hair on your face yet, Herr Scout… But, since you seem so interested, vhy don’t you come over here und I vill give you a free lesson, ja?”

The boy blinked his bloodshot eyes a few time and shook his head. “Fuck that, Doc… I’d rather keep my carrot… carotig… whatever the shit you call it… /unsliced/.” The Scout shuffled into another one of the stalls and pulled the curtain closed.

Engel smiled at the boy’s reaction, and began humming a tune just quietly enough that the two in the showers would never hear over the running water. He went to work with the razor, deftly removing stubble and foam with each flick of his wrist. The doctor felt practically at one with such a precisely-honed instrument, and was soon finished with all but a little cleaning up under his temples.

The German continued humming as he trimmed up a bit. He couldn’t help but grin, the melody always made him smile. “Atterrir en ma cœur, ma rare papillon,” the man sing-songed in some of the little French he knew. As he spoke the words he noticed something in the mirror, a sudden swirl in the wet mist that hung low in the bathroom.

Engel forced himself not to tense up and continue his humming. He leaned back from the mirror a little and ran his fingers along his face to inspect his work, all the while watching over his shoulder in the mirror’s reflection.

The way the steam moved reminded him of the waters of the Danube… how they would flow and part around submerged dangers when he fished there as a boy. The swirls and eddies slowly moved closer, and Engel continued humming contentedly.

Abruptly, the RED Medic spun and lashed out with his free hand. There was a flicker in the air as Engel felt his fingers close tightly around cloth. He gave a grunt of effort as he jerked his arm around. The BLU Spy appeared as his back was slammed into the tile wall, his shocked gaze fixed on the German’s firm grip on the front of his suit. Engel was shocked, himself, to see the man wearing the BLU Scout’s headset.

The Frenchman began to reach for his balisong, but the doctor yanked the Spy downward, smashing his face against the sink so hard that the porcelain cracked. Engel fished the knife and revolver from inside the other man’s coat before he could recover, and tossed the headset aside as well.

The doctor yanked the dazed man’s tie loose, and was only met with weak resistance as he used it to bind the other’s wrists tightly behind his back. The Spy finally lifted his head. Blood was streaming from his nose, and stained his teeth as he grinned.

“Bonjour again, Docteur.”

The bathroom door suddenly burst open, and the rest of the team came barreling in. Each man was groaning and cursing, and utterly reeking of alcohol. Confused and angry accusations passed between them.

Engel smashed the smirking Spy’s face against the mirror so hard that the glass broke, and pressed the razor into the back of his neck. Upon hearing the loud crack the newcomers went dead silent, and stared wide-eyed at the scene before them.

“Vhat are you all doing in ze showers at fünf thirty in ze morning!?” the German demanded.

“Demoman run through hallway und toss ‘free booze’ in just now, Doktor!” Sokov bellowed, indicating his soaked body and clothing. “It smell stronger than vodka uncle used to make in home country!”

As if to answer the challenge, McKinnon suddenly shouted from his shower stall, “I ‘aven’t done any such ‘ting, ya fat Russian git! Scoot an I finished all tha strong stuff off already!”

The RED Spy scowled suddenly, and pointed a finger at his bleeding BLU counterpart.

“/He/ must have disguised himself as ze Demoman and soaked us all so we would all wind up in here at ze same time!” Most of the team looked confused upon hearing this, but Benjamin and the Pyro both suddenly went rigid.

Engel slowly turned away from the distorted, broken reflection in the mirror, and fixed his gaze on the team Heavy.

“Sokov…” he said darkly. “Get cleaned up und come to ze infirmary. Make it quick… I don’t vant our guest to have to wait too long.” The Frenchman shuddered in Engel’s grasp upon hearing this, and no longer wore his smug grin.

My grammar is probably bad, but:
"Atterrir en ma cœur, ma rare papillon" = "Alight upon my heart, my precious butterfly"... so far as I can tell =p
>> No. 1880
>> No. 1881
oh shit, this probably won't end well for the BLU Spy
>> No. 1882
Engel wins so many points of badassery for owning the BLU Spy.
>“Demoman run through hallway und toss ‘free booze’ in just now, Doktor!” Sokov bellowed, indicating his soaked body and clothing. “It smell stronger than vodka uncle used to make in home country!”And once again, Sokov provides much amusement.
>> No. 1883
It's on, BLU Spy.

It's fucking ON now.
>> No. 1889
>> No. 1890
After about five minutes trying to figure out what exactly to say .. all i can think of righ tonw is : Engel is such a badass.
>> No. 1900
Oh fuck yes Engel! Kickass doctor is most definetly kickass!

BLU Spy, however, is soon going to pay for being an idiot from the looks of things. I wonder what Engel is going to do to him...? Or, based on what he said to his Heavy, I wonder what he'll have Sokov do to the Spy. Either way, next update should be very interesting indeed!
>> No. 1902
Yes! After seeing so many Medics who were sweet and kind or just batshit crazy (I love them all in kind <3) I thought it was time for some Medic badassery. And, good news! My writer's block seems to be subsiding! Either that, or I just got all excited because I got to write dark, creepy stuff again. Either way, I finished another segment!
Engel brushed his gloved hands over his labcoat once to smooth it out. His boots clicked on the floor as he approached the infirmary. He had to be properly dressed for this event; it would be hard to be taken seriously with nothing on but a towel and his glasses.

Sokov was standing outside the doors to the room, waiting for the team Medic with his huge arms crossed over his chest. The doctor gave Sokov a grim nod before pushing the doors open for them both to enter. The surgery was quite chill, as always, and quiet but for the muffled curses coming from the squirming body bag up on the table.

“I thought I told you to lay zhere quietly vhile I vent to get dressed!” Engel growled angrily. The admonition only caused the form inside the dark, heavy bag to thrash harder.

“Sokov,” the Medic said calmly, looking up at the team Heavy. “Shut him up vhile I get everything ready. I trust you vill know vhen you can stop.”

“Da, Doktor,” The Russian agreed, cracking his knuckles and flashing a wicked smile.

Engel began gathering tools and placing them in a metal tray. He inspected each instrument in turn, making sure that they were all pristinely sharp and in good working condition. He was dimly aware of a series of loud, heavy thuds coming from behind him, followed by muffled cries of pain.

When the doctor turned back the only sound coming from the body bag was wheezing.

The RED Medic leaned over the body bag and swiftly unzipped it. The BLU Spy, his face and mask covered in dried blood from earlier, gasped at the sudden rush of fresh air. The man shut his eyes tightly as the bright lights of the surgery suddenly shone down on him.

“Bitte, Sokov, get him out of zat horrible thing,” Engel said with mock pity. The Russian grabbed the bag and upended it, unceremoniously dumping the Frenchman onto the steel table. The Spy had managed to work his hands free while in the body bag, but his arms were broken so badly from the beating he had just received it hardly mattered.

The masked man gave a pained groan as Engel rolled him onto his back. The doctor used the leather straps hanging from the edges of the table to secure his captive’s limbs so he was spread-eagle.

“Why Doktor bother with straps? I make him good und still for you, already,” Sokov declared proudly.

The RED Medic picked up his medigun, and attached the hose coming from it to the pack on his back. He pointed the barrel at the Frenchman, and pushed the trigger lever forward, sending out a stream of healing energy.

“He must be able to speak, Herr Heavy,” the German said. He could see the masked man start breathing easier as his bones were knitted, his flesh made whole again as though he were never injured. Engel shut the trigger off, and set the medigun and pack aside. He seized the Spy roughly by the chin, causing the other man’s eyes to snap open angrily.

“You are going to tell me all about Fleischer’s plan, Herr Spy.”

“And, why would I do that, Docteur?” the Frenchman said, his irritating grin returning.

“I am going to get answers from you, filthy hundesohn,” the doctor said in a low, calm voice, keeping his eyes fixed on his captive’s. “You can give zem to me now, or I can pick zem out between your screams.”

The look on the Spy’s face remained confident. “You don’t have ze stomach for it, monsieur. You’ve already made your oversized pet do most of ze hard work.”

Sokov chuckled darkly when he heard the man’s words. “Doktor gets hands dirty more than you think, coward. I here to keep you busy when Doktor gets tired und needs break.”

The Medic lifted a scalpel from his tray and used the blade to slice open the front of his captive’s jacket and shirt. The Frenchman groaned in disappointment at the ruination of a perfectly good suit, and then hissed at the rush of cool air as his chest was exposed.

Engel leaned closer to the Spy’s face, holding the scalpel so he could see it.

“This is your last chance to end it quickly, Spy.” Though it did not show in Engel’s expression, he sincerely hoped the man would take his offer.

“I was given a great deal of training on ‘ow to withstand torture, Docteur,” the Frenchman replied. “I will not tell you anything.”

The RED Medic’s hopes sank. His fingers tightened on the handle of the scalpel. The German’s eyes suddenly seemed to become very cold, almost inhuman, as he steeled himself for what he was about to do.

He could retrieve his humanity later… now, it would only get in the way of saving his family.
>> No. 1903
Did I tell you that I love your characterization of Medic?

Because I totally fucking do.
>> No. 1905

Oh god, I could not agree more.
>> No. 1906

>> No. 1908

This. This, right here.
>> No. 1909

Thanks so much, guys <3 It has literally been years since I've seriously written a story instead of just RPing, so I was really worried about my plot and characterizations being a mess. I've gradually gotten more confident in how I'm writing Engel, but now I'm afraid I'm neglecting his teammates, lol.
>> No. 1910
I'm gonna "nth" the love of Medic's characterisation, even though it pretty much is a given by this point.

Is it wrong that I hope you don't hold back on the description of what Engel does to Spy...? I hope not.

Over your worrying - you really shouldn't have! Plot and characterizations are wonderful, and original too.
>> No. 1911

I've actually been a little bit torn over that. While I am a fan of blood play, for once I am afraid of going overboard. I'm working on some way of writing this so it's very clear what's happening, but with language that doesn't make it seem quite so grotesque.
>> No. 1912
Medicine, I absolutely love Engel and Sokov, they are awsome.
>> No. 1919

I wouldn't mind if it seemed grotesque.... Not at all....
>> No. 1922

You've got two people who wouldn't mind any amount of description, grotesque or otherwise, so far. The imagery would serve as a stark contrast to how Engel normally is (quite caring, has tried to avoid purposefully mutilating/abusing people during his entire), how far he's willing to go to protect his team from the BLU team's plans. That'd be my justification for the imagery in your position (although there are gonna be readers who probably aren't into such imagery... maybe try and strike a balance between grotesque and 'clean' descriptions?).
>> No. 1924
Ho hum, the fat has been flung into the fire! >:3
This shall be fun.
>> No. 1925
maybe try and strike a balance between grotesque and 'clean' descriptions?
Exactly my plan, my dear Anon.
>> No. 1937
Use as much blood as necessary, BM. You've made Medic's character and motives pretty clear here, and the board does not seem to be composed of the squeamish.
>> No. 1946
Alright, I've successfully moved back home, and will be here until school starts. This means I will have to share internet with other people and will probably not be updating this story quite as often. I'll still be typing though!

Now comes the fun part...

Dr. Engel peered down at the thin man strapped to the steel table of his infirmary. His ‘patient’ kept a defiantly blank expression on his face. To the doctor, however, his terror was palpable. His captive’s bare chest had a sheen of sweat on it, and the way it rose and fell revealed the quick, shallow breathing of barely-constrained panic.

“Engel,” the other man gulped. “Vhat are you doing? You are a man of rank! Respected und feared by ze whole camp! Are you going to just throw zat all avay!?” The doctor narrowed his eyes and grabbed the other man roughly by the chin, digging his fingers in so hard that they would surely leave bruises. He didn’t care.

“Zat is /Herr/ Engel to you, hundesohn!” Kappel winced at his captor’s angry tone. “Und as for ze camp…” Engel trailed off. The sounds of distant explosions, and not-so-distant gunshots, could be heard. “Ze British und zhere allies shall be here before long. I vould be happy if zey burnt zis entire place to ze ground,” the doctor growled. “Now… vhere /is/ she, you wretched hund?”

Kappel opened his mouth to say something. He lost his nerve, though, and quickly bit back whatever it was he was going to say. The man’s subtle gesture was not lost on his captor.

Engel silently grabbed the finished pack from his feet, nudging his violin case out of the way as he did so, and fastened the harness about his waist and chest. The pack, now covered in metal plating, weighed nearly fifteen kilos, and felt oddly warm through the back of the Doctor’s uniform. He lifted up its attending ‘gun’, and attached it to the pack with an insulated hose. A golden-white light ignited from within the barrel of the contraption.

“Vhat is zat?” Kappel snarled as he watched Engel put the strange device on. “Some instrument of torture you’ve devised?” The doctor clipped the ‘gun’ part of the machine to his belt so it would hang at his side until it was needed, never taking his icy gaze from his subject.

“Nein,” the younger man replied, grabbing a scalpel in his gloved hand. “Zis is a special project zat my colleague und I vere vorking on.” The physician saw his prisoner sneer with disgust at the very notion of considering the woman an equal. “Ve did not get to try it since she mysteriously /vanished/ today vhile I vas getting our morning coffee… so I’m afraid I have no idea vhether it vorks or not.” The doctor’s mouth pulled into a humorless grin as he lifted the blade, and watched Kappel’s face slowly reveal the terror he felt and had kept hidden.

“Danke, Kappel, for so generously volunteering to help me test it…”


The doctor placed the scalpel so that the blade was nearly parallel with the surface of his captive’s chest. To the credit of the man on the table, he managed to hold back a cry of pain when Engel made the first cut. He was careful to slip his blade under only the top layers of skin, deftly drawing a line from one end of the clavicle to the other. He made two more cuts like it, stretching from the ends of the first incision straight down to the bottom of the other man’s ribcage. The wounds were so shallow that they barely bled.

“Oh, please, Docteur,” the BLU Spy groaned. “No more… zey are like terrible paper cuts!” he mocked.

“Sokov, get ze iodine,” Engel requested as he picked up a pair of forceps from the tray, ignoring the Frenchman’s comment.

“Da, Doktor,” the team Heavy said with a nod. The doctor gripped the free corner of skin at his captive’s right clavicle with the forceps, careful to only grab the very top layers. He saw the Frenchman’s fingers grip the edges of the table as he began to carefully peel the paper-thin layer of flesh away. Dots of blood welled up in places, and on occasion the RED Medic had to make use of his scalpel where the layers of skin refused to be pulled away cleanly.

When at last he had reached the lower ends of the second cuts he simply gave a sharp tug and tore the loose flesh away, drawing a jerk and a pained hiss from the Frenchman. There was glistening pink rectangle of flesh now exposed on the man’s chest, along with so many sensitive nerve endings.

“Ze skin is such an amazing organ, Herr Spy,” Engel said softly. “It keeps us safe from ze elements und from infection. It allows us to feel such vunderful sensation,” he remarked, running his gloved fingers gently down the unmarred skin on the Frenchman’s side. “Und such terrible pain,” the doctor hissed, dragging his fingers across the slick under-layer of flesh he had revealed. He could feel the Spy’s body go rigid, and see him struggle to hold back a scream that was successfully winnowed to a choked whimper.

“Zis is child’s play, Docteur,” the Frenchman whispered, forcing his voice not to break. “You’ll ‘ave to do better than zat to get anything from me.”

The Russian returned to Engel’s side, and handed him the dark bottle of iodine. “I am just getting warmed up, hundesohn.” The Medic took the bottle that Sokov offered him, and unscrewed the cap, keeping his frigid gaze locked on his ‘patient’. Engel tipped the opening against a rough hand towel, thoroughly soaking it. His voice lowered to a threatening whisper, filled with dark promise. “Und I am going to teach you some lessons, Herr Spy… I vill keep pulling you apart layer by layer, piece by piece, until I find ze information I am looking for.”

The German dropped the soaked cloth onto Spy’s chest, drawing a loud, very satisfying scream from the man. Now it was time for the real work to begin…
>> No. 1947
Your updates are like little bite-sized morsels, short, weet and delicious.

Keep going.
>> No. 1948

Coming from you, that means a lot <3

Also, they tend to be short because my train of thought gets derailed incredibly easily. Sometimes I wonder how I can sit still long enough to even boot up Word.
>> No. 1949

Heh. I wish I could do that, but I like bigger, meatier updates when I upload stuff. I usually try and make sure a chapter is at least eight or nine pages, like a book chapter, so it feels more complete when I put it up.

But I love these short little updates, too.
>> No. 1951
Oh damn, MOAR. It's getting so good!
>> No. 1952
I laughed, over-dramatic villain style.

On a less evil side, I got to commend you for your speedy updates. when I first started reading this I, waited a week until I checked for an update, and to my surprise, I came across three or four more updates.
>> No. 1953
MAGNIFICENT. Not the crass brutality of lesser man, breaking bones and organs with a single blow; rather the methodical, scientific precision of a man who understands pain on a professional level. I cringed, then cackled.
>> No. 1954
Having a recent encounter with iodine, that last sentence made me cringe.

But i digress, this is epic, and oh so deliciously dark. I love eet.
>> No. 1956
Fantastic! Don't normally cringe or flinch when reading fics, but when Engel began to torment the Spy's chest... Yeah, I had a reaction.

Delightful writing as always. I don't care how long it takes for you to update this, so long as you eventually do!
>> No. 1976
Thank you all once again for the kind words! Also, I feel there must be something tremendously wrong with me for having enjoyed typing up the next part so much. Perhaps I have gone too far!

Dr. Engel glanced at the clock on the wall of the infirmary. It was just into the afternoon, he had been at work on the Spy for hours. The doctor had taken pause only to step out and relieve himself. When he did so, he always made sure to take his time in returning, allowing Sokov to work the BLU Spy over. He had also stopped occasionally to heal his subject so that he would live long enough to be able to talk.

The Frenchman had by now been stripped of everything but his balaclava, and fine tremors ran through his entire body. Engel could guess well enough the sensations that his captive was feeling as he made a hauntingly familiar incision from the bottom of the man’s breastbone to his navel. He cut deeply, slicing through skin and muscle and a thin layer of fat.

“Seven twenty-eight,” the Spy muttered in a hoarse whisper. Upon hearing the Frenchman’s first coherent words in over an hour the RED Medic whipped his head around to look at the man.

“Vhat vas that?”

“You ‘ave… n-now cut me seven ‘undred and… twenty-eight times, Docteur…” His voice was as shaky as the rest of him, and his tone utterly miserable. The man’s eyes were bloodshot, and half-lidded. Engel was sure the Frenchman couldn’t last much longer. The Doctor knew he was walking a very fine line… his captive would either tell him what he wanted to know, or his mind would drop off into a mad abyss from which no information could ever be retrieved.

“Am I supposed to be impressed zat you vere keeping count, Herr Spy?” Engel said flatly, setting his scalpel down on the bloody table. He placed his right hand next to the wound and bent his thumb, hooking it into the incision. The Frenchman could only muster a faint grunt of pain.

“W… whatever ‘appened to ‘f-first, do… no ‘arm’, Monsieur?” the Spy gasped out at his captor as the wound was pulled open by more probing fingers.

The RED Medic barked out a mocking laugh. “You vant me to be more gentle?” he slid his gloved hand into the incision, and watched the man’s jaw clench tight. He could feel his patient’s split abdominal muscles trying to tighten around his wrist. The doctor could feel the man’s insides quivering around his hand as it delved deeper. Soon he had found what he was looking for, tucked behind the viscera. He rested the tip of a finger on a throbbing, rubbery tube.

“Ze abdominal aorta is one of ze largest blood vessels in ze body.” He turned his head and looked to the team Heavy, who was sitting patiently nearby, daydreaming probably.

“Sokov,” the man snapped to attention.

“Da Doktor?”

“Hold him down.”

The Russian giant stood up, and lumbered back over to the table. He placed one of his huge hands on the Spy’s front, nearly covering the man’s whole chest.

Engel jammed his finger against the blood vessel, collapsing it. The Frenchman tried to arch his back, but Sokov kept him easily pinned to the table. The RED Medic watched his prisoner jerk and twitch, felt the big artery beneath his finger spasm as the Spy’s heart tried futilely to keep blood circulating properly. He took notice of the way the Frenchman’s arms pulled at the straps.

“Feels like being strangled, ja?” the doctor said in a near-whisper. His captive’s breathing began to wheeze and rattle. Engel locked eyes with the man, and for the first time all day the Spy looked away from his pitiless stare. Perhaps the Frenchman had hoped that the Medic would gradually lose his nerve. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, however then the German’s had been shuttered as the day wore on. They revealed nothing of mercy, desire, or even anger.

The man strapped to the table let out a hoarse, choked scream, and began to buck and thrash against his restraints with the newfound strength of frantic horror. He moved his lips as though he was urgently trying to speak, but couldn’t make his voice work.

Engel suddenly withdrew his hand from the man’s body. The BLU Spy shut his eyes tightly and opened his mouth in a silent wail of agony as blood suddenly pounded back into his oxygen-starved system.

“Don’t forget to breathe, Herr Spy,” the doctor chided. In response, the Frenchman began to gulp air as though concept had never occurred to him before.

“S'il vous plaît…” the man whispered. “P…please…. Please…” he begged, tears flowing freely as he began to sob.

The RED Medic folded his arms across his chest, smearing more blood across his lab coat as he did so. He leaned a little closer to his patient, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

“Please /vhat/, hundesohn?”

The Frenchman opened his eyes just a little, but closed them once more the instant he saw that the doctor’s terrible, inhuman gaze was still upon him.

“Please… l-let me t-tell you… everything…”
>> No. 1979
It's okay. Had I any medical knowledge at all I probably would have enjoyed writing that too.

>> No. 1984
Coming from a medical family, I can say for certain I enjoy using the bits of anatomical knowledge I have in my writing, so I don't think you've gone too far! Though I can't help but feel so sorry for the Spy...

Excellent as always, and hoping you'll continue soon.
>> No. 1986
I felt a lump of horror and bile try to crawl out of my throat. Worst thing is, I'm almost tempted to try and see if that'd work. KEEP WRITING YOU MAGNIFICENT BASTARD.
>> No. 1999
tempted to try and see if that'd workMAGNIFICENT BASTARD
>> No. 2000

>> No. 2001
FFFFFABULOUS. Ohgod that was sooo amazing, I can't wait for the next update~
>> No. 2014
So where are the rest of the REDs? If the infirmary walls are on the thin side, I imagine the rest of the team is now huddled at the opposite end of the base, daring each other to go find out why all the screaming stopped.
>> No. 2017

The thought of them all cowering in a corner really made me giggle... does this make me a bad person?

Thanks once again for comments. Have to keep my 'notes' short, I'm vacationing for the weekend and stealing internet from the neighbor's router.
“Ze furnaces!” Kappel choked out as Engel was raising the bonesaw up again. He stopped and looked down at the bleeding man. Fifteen minutes and the guard’s arrogance was already broken. The doctor lowered the saw, and leaned closer to the man on the table.

“Vhat about zem?”

“Ze prisoners are all being thrown into ze furnaces before ze camp is invaded! Fleischer probably had her taken zhere!” The man was gasping for breath and the sound had a distinct gurgle to it.

Engel reached down and picked up a holster from near his violin case. He removed the gun and turned it over in his hand. The doctor shoved the barrel of the P38 against the man’s cheek, so he could get a close view.

“Do you have any bullets on you, Kappel?” he asked almost casually. Kappel was sweating and shaking, but managed to nod in the direction of his belt, lying on a counter nearby. Engel moved the barrel so it was right between the guard’s eyes, and squeezed the trigger. The man jerked and yelped when the gun made a loud click.

“Danke, Kappel… mein veapon vas out of ammunition.” He pulled the gun away and popped the empty clip out, letting it clatter to the floor. The doctor fished through the pouches on his prisoner’s belt, and found one with three full clips in it. He loaded one into his gun, and stuck the other two in pockets on his uniform.

“You… are not going to shoot me…?”

Engel secured the holster to the strap now running down the right side of his chest. He latched the bloodied bonesaw to the side of his belt opposite the healing ‘gun’.

“I am not going to shoot you, Kappel.”

The man looked pleadingly at the miracle device hanging from Engel’s belt as the doctor slung his violin case over the pack on his back. “Are… are you going to heal me again?”

“Nein!” the doctor nearly screamed. The icy look in his eyes had suddenly erupted into an angry and determined blaze. “You are going to stay here, on zis table, und drown in your own blood, hundesohn!”

The man coughed, sending a small spray of crimson into the air. “You… I thought you vere supposed to b-be an angel of mercy, Herr Engel…” the guard whimpered, shuddering in agony.

The doctor walked towards the infirmary door, and did not turn back as he said, “I do not believe angels care too much for ze vicked, Kappel… und you are one of ze last people I vould be inclined to show any mercy.” He flicked the lights off, and shut the door behind, leaving the guard to die alone in the dark.

When Engel threw the building’s outer doors open he was greeted by a scene of chaos. A few Allied soldiers had entered the camp, and were trading gunfire with the guards. The sounds of mortars and tank shells exploding had drawn closer. The doctor was nearly knocked over as a screaming, panicked horse galloped by. The body of an officer in his SS uniform, riddled with bullet holes, was being dragged behind, his right foot caught in the stirrup.

The furnaces were clear on the opposite side of the camp, and the doctor began sprinting towards the columns of smoke being belched into the air by the fires. The surge of adrenaline kept the German running even as a pair of British soldiers began taking pot shots at him when he darted between two buildings.

Engel had to dodge and leap over the scattered bodies of prisoners and soldiers alike. He stumbled and nearly fell when one of the bodies grasped his pant leg.

It was an American, regular infantry judging from his lack of decoration. The man was lying on his back with a bullet wound in his gut, his uniform stained darkly with blood. With his other hand, he was shakily raising his pistol to point it at Engel’s chest.

“If I’m gonna die…” the young man coughed, “I’m gonna take you down with me, you sick Nazi fuck.”

The doctor kicked the weapon from the man’s weak grip before it could be fired. He unclipped the healing gun from his belt, and pointed it at the man. The soldier defiantly stared the German down.

“Go ahead and do it, Kraut bastard… finish me off…”

“Oh, vill you shut up?” Engel growled as he pushed the trigger level forward. An ethereal beam of white-gold light drifted from the barrel, and seemed to latch onto the fallen soldier. The energy flowed into the man, and his breathing started to come easier. The soldier’s expression was a mixture of confusion and amazement. When he was finished, Engel secured the gun back on his belt, and continued running.

At last, he saw something that could speed his trip up. A motorcycle lay on its side, idling. The guard who had been riding it was lying dead several feet away. Another guard, however, ran out ahead of the doctor, and righted the vehicle, intending to run away before he joined the growing number of his dead comrades.

Engel took a running leap, and slammed into the man, knocking him from the BMW. Before the guard could stand and fight back, the doctor pulled his P38 and squeezed a round off into the back of the man’s head. He quickly re-holstered the weapon, and righted the motorcycle before jumping on.

A quick twist of the throttle caused the bike to leap forward, kicking up a cloud of ash and dust before the tires found their grip. The doctor’s hat flew off his head and went tumbling off behind him as he raced towards the furnaces. He inwardly prayed that he would make it in time… he had to.
>> No. 2019

Also, goddamn, you write so good.
>> No. 2020
This can only end badly, but I refuse to believe that anything terrible will happen to Bouvier on the grounds that Fleischer has not yet been MURDERED TO DEATH.

PS You are Awesome

PPS Don't feel bad for laughing at cowering team, for they are hilarious.
>> No. 2022
I'm wondering if Engel meets that soldier again later....
And stealing a bike got a big FUCK YEAH from me. :D
>> No. 2036

My thoughts exactly... What are the odds that the soldier Engel saved happens to be the BLU Soldier now? Probably isn't, but it'd be a hell of a twist later...!

Excellent stuff as ever, and more soon please! I want to know more about Engel's past!
>> No. 2047

Didn't Soldier only join the war a year or two after it was actually over?
>> No. 2048

/Four/ years after it ended, actually.
>> No. 2072

afgasdgae <3 thank you guys. I'm taking a brief break from 'badass' Medic, though.

Engel watched the agonized, horrified expression of the lifeless Frenchman disappear as he zipped the body bag shut. The German knew with certainty that it would not be the last time he saw that face, even if his actions were justified. He carefully kept the look on his own face stoically cold and indifferent.

“Is… there anything I can help, Doktor?” Sokov said tentatively.

The RED Medic peeled his blood-soaked gloves off, and threw them into the trash. “Mein arms are very sore, Herr. Yours?”

The team Heavy raised an eyebrow before grinning proudly and flexing his massive arms. “They are strong as bears’, Doktor.”

“Gut…” Engel unbuttoned his lab coat, and shrugged it off before looking at what a mess it was. He sighed, it was a total loss… fortunately RED had provided a few spares, but they were in the main supply room.

“Sokov, I vant you to get rid of zis trash,” the doctor said, gesturing to the body bag. “Throw it on ze garbage pile behind ze base… I believe ze Pyro is burning it tonight.”

“Da, Doktor. Is no problem.” The Russian easily hefted the bag up onto his shoulder as Engel shoved his labcoat in the trash with his gloves. He pulled the doors open so Sokov could exit, and saw Robert standing on the other side of the threshold, holding his rifle. The gun was ruined, the barrel bent and twisted, the lenses of the scope busted out. The Australian looked infuriated.

“Where’s tha fuckin’ fr… oh,” his rage trailed off when he noticed the body bag hanging over the team Heavy’s shoulder as the big man brushed past them both, and started down the hall. Engel was relieved when he saw the Russian disappear around a corner before Peter came loping towards the infirmary from another direction.

“He broke your rifle so you vould have to be down on ze battlefield vith ze rest of us… und closer to me.”

The Aussie’s face paled a bit at the prospect of being put right where Fleischer wanted him. “You got that poofter to talk to you?”

"Woah! You actually got that fuckin’ pussy to tell you stuff?” the Scout interjected, coming to a stop next to the two men. “What didja’ do to make him talk? Them frogs are all about bein’ hush-hush with their top secret shit.”

Robert gave the boy a glare, “Does that stuff on tha Doc’s face look like ketchup or somethin’? What do you /think/ he did, you wanker?”

Engel sighed inwardly… he had cleaned up everything but his face, and now the Scout was staring at him as though he was noticing the blood for the first time.

“I fuckin’ know what blood looks like,” Peter snapped at the Sniper before looking back to Engel. “But… what did you /do/ to him?” The boy seemed torn… both afraid and curious to learn what had happened behind the thick doors of the infirmary. He blinked at the Medic expectantly, with eyes that still shone with some of the innocence of youth.

“Zat is not for you to know, Herr Scout,” the German said sternly.

“Aww… come on, Doc!”

“Nein!” Engel snapped, grabbing hold of the boy by his collar. Peter wilted when the Medic’s still-icy gaze landed on him. “Ze BLU Spy is dead, und he talked. /Zat/ is vhat is important, not ze details of /how/ he died.” He released the Scout’s shirt, and the boy stumbled back a few steps. Peter’s lip quivered a bit, but he quickly hid it with an indignant scowl. Robert, as though knowing what sort of drama was about to erupt, decided to take his leave, strolling casually away.

“I told ya before I ain’t some little kid!” the Scout yelled.

“Ja, you /are/!” the doctor retorted, jabbing his finger into the boy’s chest to drive home his point. “Now, get yourself to ze kitchen und eat supper, before it is all gone.”

Peter suddenly flew into a rage. He took a few wild swings at Engel, but the doctor soon caught one fist, and then the other, in his grip. The boy was red-faced with anger, and kept thrashing, trying to free himself from the stronger man.

“Fucker deserved whatever he got!” the Scout’s behavior had quickly degenerated into a childish tantrum. He aimed a kick at the doctor, and hit the man in the shin, drawing out several sharply-hissed German vulgarities.

Engel released Peter’s hands, but before the boy could lash out again the Medic wrapped his arms around him and pulled him against his chest. This way the boy’s arms were pinned to his sides, and he didn’t have enough room to kick.

“Lemme go you fuckin’ faggot!” the Scout screamed, trying to squirm away from his captor. “I’m gonna head-butt ya!” Peter twisted his head around, but couldn’t get a proper angle with which to carry out his threat. Instead, he wound up with his chin resting on the older man’s chest, his face tilted up towards the doctor’s.

“You’re just like him!” the boy wailed as though he had been stabbed. “Fucker, you’re just like him!”

Engel frowned in puzzlement. “Vhat on earth are you /talking/ about?”

“You’re gonna get killed because of that fuckin’ frog, you fucker! You’re gonna leave us! You’re gonna leave me just like he did!” The boy’s screaming fell into angry, incoherent mumbling, and then downright sobbing. He managed to move his lower arms enough to clutch almost painfully tight around the doctor’s waist.

The Medic’s expression softened, and he released the boy. Peter didn’t let go, though. Instead, he wrapped his arms completely around the older man’s waist, and buried his face against the doctor’s chest, continuing to sob.

“Peter…?” Engel asked softly, his previously cold demeanor lifted. “Are you alright?”

The Scout looked up. He put on a half-hearted ‘tough guy’ face and waited a moment for his breath to stop hitching before he said, “I… I ain’t some little pansy… I’m just really fuckin’ tired, Doc… okay?”

The boy /did/ look exhausted. His legs trembled as though they wouldn’t hold out much longer. The Medic had never seen him look this shaken.

Engel hesitated a moment before scooping the boy up, and cradling him in his arms like a child. Peter gave a half-hearted glare, but had expended too much energy to do more than that. His eyelids had even begun to droop as the Medic started walking down the hall.

“Where we goin’?”

“To your room… und you are going to be brought something to eat, then sleep ze rest of ze night. Understand?”

The Scout opened his mouth as though to protest, but wound up giving a sleepy nod instead. He wrapped his arms loosely about the doctor’s neck, and shut his eyes.

By the time they reached Peter’s quarters the boy was already asleep. Though the Scout was lean, and fairly lightweight, Engel’s previously-sore arms and shoulders were now throbbing for having carried the boy. He gave a sigh of relief as he placed the Bostonian gently on his bed.

The doctor pulled a fresh handkerchief from his shirt pocket, and cleaned up the Scout’s face, careful not to wake him. Engel smiled when the boy’s lip twitched as his nose was wiped. He felt an affectionate gratitude towards Peter, then. The Scout had salvaged his humanity.

The older man folder his handkerchief and stuffed it back into his pocket before tucking the Bostonian in and walking for the door.

He paused for a moment and whispered, “danke schön, Peter…”
>> No. 2074
D'aaawww... Engel... <3
>> No. 2075
I love this with each passing installment , seriously.
>> No. 2076
Damn, Engel. At this rate you're going to end up adopting him.
>> No. 2085
DAMN YOU, softening my stone heart! ;_; But keep writing, I can't get enough of Engel.
>> No. 2096
I couldn't stop typing! Now, there is more!

“Doc, tha way that sentry’s placed it’d tear us all t’ pieces…” Benjamin declared, turning the map of BLU base over in his hands. The paper had a few dried bloodstains on it, from where Engel had forced the BLU Spy to point out where the automated guns had been positioned.

“I mean… Spy can take out tha two others with his sappers, easy… But, he’ll never be able to reach this one.” He pointed to one of the stains, sitting on an elevated walkway just inside the entrance to BLU base.

Engel swallowed his mouthful of soup, and placed his spoon back in the bowl on the workbench before leaning over the map as well.

“Fleischer’s contingency plan… He vould prefer ve are all killed in ze blast. Zose that are merely vounded could be picked off by ze rest of his team.” The doctor frowned. “But ve have seen zat being exposed to ze Kritzkrieg’s energies makes his team behave vith reckless aggression.”

The Engineer frowned. “Y’know, I hadn’t thought ‘bout tha ‘reckless’ part, but you’re spot on, Doc. With tha risks those BLUs were takin’ on Friday our team coulda easily killed theirs if’n we hadn’t been following the agreement. That could be quite an advantage to us…”

“Ja… but ve must be careful.” Engel blew gently on a steaming spoonful of broth before slurping it down. “Zey are under ze impression zat ve do not know about ze bomb, und zat ve vill, therefore, continue following ze agreement. Ve should keep it zat vay until ze last possible second.”

Benjamin raised an eyebrow. “Doc, ya sound like a man with a plan. What’s on yer mind?” The Engineer was smiling faintly, now.

“I may have a plan, Herr Engineer… but…” He stopped as the doors to Benjamin’s shop were thrown open so hard they slammed into the walls. McKinnon was standing there, trembling with excitement.

“You two lads’ll never believe wot Bob an’ I just saw! Th’BLU Soldier an’ Sniper jes bloody slaugh’ered each other!”

The RED Medic’s spoon fell out of his fingers, and his jaw dropped. Benjamin’s expression was much the same.

“Gott…” Engel finally breathed out. “Vhat /happened/?”

“Bob’ an’ I were havin’ a wee bit o’ a drink, an’ takin’ turns makin’ some ‘friendly gestures’ at tha Sniper across tha way.” The Demoman walked into the shop a few steps and sat himself on a crate, gesticulating wildly with his hands. “Bob ‘ad some binoculars we were passin’ back an’ forth. All o’ a sudden tha BLU Solly creeps up behind tha Sniper, real sneaky-like, clutchin’ his shovel. He brought dat ‘ting down on tha Sniper’s head a’ least five times, an’ he was screamin’ so loud tha’ Bob an’ I could hear the crazy git clear across tha way!”

“What… what was he sayin’?” Benjamin finally asked.

“E’ said ‘you’re a cowardly, bastardly pile o’ maggot shit!’” McKinnon did his best to impersonate the American’s voice. “Then, ‘you and this whole team are that filthy Nazi’s dandy bitches!’ Tha BLU Sniper grabbed ‘is knife, whipped around, an’ gave the crazy git a new smile clear ‘cross his neck before he fell o’er on account of ‘is brains bein’ smashed in!”

“Herr Demoman,” Engel started in a low, serious tone.

“Go back to Robert’s perch… I vant you to make absolutely certain zat ze BLU Sniper is dead, ja?”

McKinnon stood and gave a quick salute. “Aye, Doc. If you say so, but it looked like their Solly bloody near popped ‘is eyes out of ‘is skull.” The Scotsman turned and strolled from the shop, closing the doors behind. The Medic and Engineer just stared at the doors for a moment in silence.

“Benjamin… I do have a plan,” Engel finally said. “But ze timing und execution vill have to be flawless if it is to vork.”

“Heh… you know me, Doc,” Ben said with a grin. “I’m all about timin’ an’ flawless execution.” He frowned suddenly. “Doc, what’s with the funny face?”

The doctor stared at one of the shop’s windows that faced behind the RED base. He could see the orange-red glow of fire against the dark backdrop of the late evening sky. Pyro had set the trash pile ablaze hours ago. The wind must have shifted, however, because Engel could now detect the scent of smoke, along with cooking meat.

The Medic suddenly didn’t feel like finishing his dinner, and pushed the nearly-empty bowl of soup away.

“I am fine, Herr Benjamin,” he asserted. “Can you… share mein plan vith ze rest of ze team? Even vith the BLU Spy und Sniper gone, I don’t think ve should take chances being packed too close togezzah.”

The Engineer’s expression turned serious. “No problem, Doc. You can count on me.”
>> No. 2098
I can't wait to see where this ends up.

Oh boy oh boy oh boy.
>> No. 2101
I fucking love this fic.
>> No. 2102
Ohhh boy it is all starting to come together! After this I'm standing by my theory on the BLU Soldier, at least for the time being...

Excellent job as ever! More soon please!!
>> No. 2103
I'm hooked. More!
>> No. 2105

Whether that is the case or not will be revealed in the next update =p
>> No. 2106
>> No. 2108

Next update you say?

That had better be today! (Please...?)
>> No. 2110

Seconded SO HARD
>> No. 2111

Seconding, thirding, whatever. MOAR PLZ
>> No. 2112

>> No. 2114
Hey guys, sorry to do this, but the fate of the soldier he saved isn't until the NEXT update. I had a mental malfunction and misunderestimateded exactly how much I had to go before that point... =X apologies!

The stench of cooking meat was getting stronger, but it was unlike the smell of any meat that Engel would find appetizing. It had always lingered faintly about the camp, but now that the guards were trying to get rid of their human ‘evidence’ the nauseating scent was all but overpowering.

The doctor could not repress the memory of Fleischer ‘graciously preparing’ a meal for the camp’s high-ranking officers and medical staff, Engel included. The supply convoy into the camp had been ambushed, and food was being rationed more strictly.

To the untrained eye, the roasted meat would have looked just like a cut of beef. The doctors could tell what it was, though… and Fleischer himself told the officers, who enthusiastically applauded his resourcefulness. Engel had felt sick the moment the plate was placed before him. He had no choice but to swallow back the bile and eat, though. To those men their prisoners were livestock, and treating them any better would result in dangerous suspicion from the others. Fleischer had watched him the entire time, a smug grin on his face every time the older doctor had lifted his fork to his mouth.

He could picture the bastard now, throwing another prisoner into the flames with that wicked, satisfied smirk on his features. It wasn’t just any prisoner now, though… it was /her/. The very thought caused Engel to tighten his grip on the handlebars and scream.

The furnaces were just ahead, now. The thick, brick constructions were mostly underground, the roofs at ground level. The large metal hatches, each as wide as a Volkswagen, had been swung open. The ground-level hatches gave the appearance that the sparks and tongues of flame were licking out of the earth itself, like gaping maws to Hell.

Dozens of guards were herding bound prisoners. They would throw them straight down the hatches, or shove them in with a metal gaffe from a distance when the flames got too hot. The fires had grown massive, and the roar of them almost drowned out the screaming of those who were burning within… almost.

Engel noticed that one of the guards was trying to manage a particularly large group of prisoners, and was having some difficulty keeping control of them. The doctor freed his bonesaw as he sped up behind the guard. At the last moment he swung the saw. It connected with the back of the man’s neck and dug into bone. The force of the swing combined with the speed of the motorcycle nearly tore the doctor’s arm out of his socket, and he had to yank the weapon back quickly to keep from falling off of the vehicle. The guard dropped to the ground like a stone, and Engel noticed that two of the teeth on the saw had broken off in the attack.

It wasn’t long before some of the prisoners had freed themselves from their hastily-done bonds, and taken up the fallen guard’s weapons. Engel circled on the BMW around the ensuing chaos, trying to pick out the one prisoner he was looking for. He once again was nearly knocked from the bike when he felt a hard impact high on his chest. His ears rang, and for a moment he thought that surely he had been shot. He felt like the luckiest man alive when he saw the dent the projectile had made when it had bounced off of the thick metal of his Iron Cross.

“/Markus/!” The doctor whipped his head around upon hearing the voice, and finally saw her. Paulette was making her way slowly towards him, being supported by the shoulder of another woman. Engel closed the distance between them, and came screeching to a halt, swinging the rear of the bike around. He could hear the sounds of approaching aircraft…

“Ve have to get out of here!” he said in an urgent tone. “Schnell, schnell!”

Bouvier spoke a few grateful words in French as the woman helped her onto the bike behind Engel. She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, and he sped off once more. The French woman quickly noticed that the healing gun at the German’s belt was exuding a golden-white glow from the barrel, and gave an elated laugh.

“It worked!?”

“Ja!” Engel yelled over the roar of the engine, and the sounds of artillery and gunfire.

“Docteur, there is a big hole in the fence near ze mess hall. It’s a lot closer than ze gates!” The German turned the bike sharply, and sped off towards the mess hall, an area of the camp now largely populated by Allied forces.

The woman tilted her head slightly to look at the gauges on the healing gun.

“Docteur, ze pack must be vented!” They were approaching a line of Allied soldiers, armed with machineguns. The sound of them firing on the German guards was deafening, and had drowned out much of what the woman had said.

“Vhat!?” the doctor yelled.

“I said ze pack has to be /vented/!” A sniper’s bullet whistled by Engel’s ear.

“Ach! I am a little busy at ze moment, frauline!” The line of machinegun-wielding soldiers was suddenly alerted to the approaching German motorcycle, and took aim.

The French woman grabbed the trigger lever of the device on Engel’s belt, and yanked it back. There was a loud hum, accompanied by a sound like crackling electricity as white-gold light poured from the barrel. It instantly curled back and engulfed the gun, and the bike, and both of its passengers just as the gunners opened fire.

Engel was mystified… It was like the world was moving in slow motion. He could see the waves of air moving from the bullets as they approached. Ripples traveled across the glowing shell of light engulfing their bodies as the projectiles struck. Many of the bullets seemed to vaporize when they hit the light while others glanced off instead.

The soldiers stopped firing and stared as the vehicle sped past them, leaving a trail of glowing light behind. Engel could see the massive hole in the fence now, about three hundred meters ahead, and gave an ecstatic laugh. The light around them flickered, and dissipated.

“Vhere vould you like to go, Paulette?” They were going to make it.

“Back to France… I’m taking you to wine country!” The woman leaned her head over the doctor’s shoulder, and planted a kiss on his cheek. There was a loud bang, and Engel heard a bullet bounce from the pack on his back, and a gasp next to his ear from his passenger. He squeezed the break, and the bike started to slow.

“Non!” Paulette cried, digging her fingers into the doctor’s waist. “Keep going!”


“Monsieur Engel!” she gasped again, her breathing coming in ragged gasps. “D… don’t you dare s… stop zis bike… until w… we are out of zis camp!” Engel gritted his teeth, and tears began welling in his eyes, but he twisted the throttle, and continued towards the gap in the fence. He could feel Paulette’s lips press to his ear in a soft kiss, and could barely hear her whisper.

“You can live without me, Docteur.”

“I don’t vant to…”

“But you can…” Another kiss, she was leaning more heavily on his shoulder. “If you could survive in zis place, Markus, you can survive anything.” One of her hands lifted slightly, and trailed down his chest before falling to rest on his leg.

“I love you…” her voice trailed off into a soft, almost contented sigh, while the doctor’s rose into an anguished scream as they passed through the hole in the fence. They were out of the camp, and Engel brought the bike to a halt. He scrambled off, and carefully lowered the French woman to the ground before unclipping the healing gun from his belt. Maybe she wasn’t dead… maybe she was only nearly dead… maybe it would work.

The healing beam from the gun refused to stretch out to her. He pressed the barrel to the bloody mark on her chest, and pushed the lever again. His hopes soared as the ethers issued forth… but then curved sharply upwards. He heard a click, and his gaze followed the beam to its target… one of eight American soldiers that were standing over him, aiming their weapons directly at his face.

“Looks like ‘Herr Todesengel’ is trying to run away from the Nazi round-up, fellas!” The other soldiers chuckled… all except for one. It was the man that had been shot, that Engel had saved with he and Bouvier’s invention.

“Wait! He’s the guy that saved me, earlier!”

Engel released the trigger lever, and the trail of glowing light faded. Most of the soldiers lowered their guns, except the one who had made the ‘round-up’ comment. He was a big, bull-necked man with a Southern accent, who looked as though he was drowning in testosterone and lacking in brains. He kept his gun trained on the German as he walked behind him and put his foot on his back. A solid push shoved the doctor face-first into the ground, and he soon felt a heavy boot pressing on the back of his head.

“Let him go, asshole! He’s just trying to get out of here!” the young soldier yelled at the bull-necked man. The boot kept pressing down, and Engel felt as though his head would burst at any moment. After all he had been through he was going to die… in this hellhole… for nothing.

The doctor heard the loud impact of a fist on flesh, and the pressure on his skull suddenly subsided. Someone grabbed him under his arms, and hauled him to his feet. It was the soldier he had saved, standing triumphantly over the unconscious form of the bull-necked man.

“So… ‘Todesengel’, huh?” the young man mused with a smile as the doctor regained his composure. Engel clipped the healing device back to his belt. He tore the red band off of his sleeve, and systematically plucked the medals from his uniform as the soldiers watched in fascination.

The German looked at the young soldier he had saved, and who had saved him in kind. He wanted to say thank you, he wanted to smile and shake his hand… but he was still flailing inwardly in a sort of pained disbelief.

Engel quietly placed the medals and armband in the man’s hand. “Todesengel is dead,” he said quietly. The doctor bent over and looked again at Paulette Bouvier. Her once-vibrant green eyes were now glassy and lifeless, like those of a doll. He couldn’t bear to look at them, and gently shut her eyelids with the tips of his fingers.

The German couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her in this horrible place, so close to the camp. She hung like a ragdoll as he gathered her up in his arms, and carefully climbed back onto the BMW. It was awkward; he had to sit with her leaning back against him for support so she wouldn’t fall from the bike.

Engel took one last glance at the group of soldiers before taking off onto the nearest street. The mortars and gunfire seemed so distant now, and the whole world seemed lifeless and gray… perhaps it was just the ash clouds hanging overhead, but it felt like something projected from within.

“Vine country…”
>> No. 2115
Damn, girl, you're good at this.

>> No. 2116

>> No. 2117
AWGH! I knew there wouldn't be a happy ending, but... *sniffle*

On the other hand, your updates fill me with glee. Keep it up!
>> No. 2118


You win. You win at writing.
>> No. 2119
Also, I just noticed this.

The hole in the fence... Vine country... was that intentional?
>> No. 2120

FFFUUUUUUUU..... no, it wasn't /consciously/ intentional. I was going to say hole in the wall, but all of a sudden this little voice said "use fence.. use fence.. 'fence', 'fence'" You have invaded my mind.
>> No. 2121

>> No. 2122
BRB CRYING A WATERFALL HERE. Q_Q Oh Medicine, you keep tugging and breaking my heartstrings. Keep it up. ;3
>> No. 2123
This story is absolutely brilliant and so beautifuly written!

I had a hard time reading the beginning of this last update because it kept making me gag a little haha.
>> No. 2125
brb crying forever

Also nobody else mentioned this ever but I just noticed

>>45 Ben works in Imperial Units, Markus uses Metric. It's the little details that make this awesome.

Silly Americans and their silly inches.
>> No. 2126
Oh my god. I love this, I love you, and... afhjkdshf. I can't believe I didn't read this story sooner.

Humbly requesting and eagerly awaiting MOAR.
>> No. 2127
I came here expecting to learn of the soldier's fate, and am now leaving with the desire to hug Engel after all he's been through... As everyone else said, knew it wouldn't end well but oh god....

Not gonna request more as it is a given by this point, but I'll request some form of hope soon... Please...
>> No. 2131
Once again, thank you so much for all the compliments. You give me warm fuzzies once again! I'll probably start typing out the next part today, though I doubt it will be as long as this one was.

Also, for those interested, the bike he stole was a 1938 BMW R71 http://www.vintagebike.co.uk/Bike%20Directories/BMW%20Bikes/images/BMW-R71-39.jpg
>> No. 2134
I don't know bikes, but that is an awesome bike. That thing had better be secretly stashed somewhere.
>> No. 2138
>>168 Holy jeez that bike is sexy. <3 Sexy man + sexy bike = very yes.

Also I pretty much read this in one day. This story has captivated me, which is surprising because I usually avoid TF2 fics that feature named characters, but this one is extremely well done.
I eagerly await an update!
>> No. 2140

Thank you! And yes, I was very happy to see that that was the motorcycle popularly used by the Third Reich... because I'm a sucker for that design.

Also... the end is in sight!

The RED Medic was just pulling on the lab coat that Spy had procured for him when there was a loud knock on the door. He was surprised when he opened the door to see the team Soldier on the other side. The man was already dressed in his fatigues with his helmet atop his head.

“Ja… can I uh… help you?” Engel said as he drew his brow down. The Soldier visiting anyone in their personal quarters was very uncharacteristic. The American slapped his hand against the Medic’s shoulder.

“Doc, the battle starts in exactly fifteen minutes!” he said in his characteristic, authoritative growl. “This plan of yours is crazy… suicidal, perhaps… I like it! Why, you’ve got some real vision for a loony Kraut.”

Engel raised an eyebrow. “Uh… danke?”

“In fact, I’d say you deserve a medal… so I’m gonna give you one!” Sarge fished through one of the pockets on his fatigues, and brought something out, concealed in his fist. “Why, my brother was in the war. He was nearly killed by the bullet of some cowardly Nazi sniper! He says he had a ‘guardian angel’ though. It sounds like pansy bullshit, but it’s just proof that God has a hard-on for anyone killing Nazis! When he came back he gave me the lucky memento that gave him the strength to disembowel all of those Krauts.”

The Soldier kept his loud, barking tone the entire time, finally pausing to roughly pin the object to Engel’s coat. “I don’t need luck when it comes to killing Nazis, son. I’ve got skill on my side! But, seeing as you have a bomb inside you, and you’re going after Hitler’s boot-licking little bitch, you need all the luck you can get, private.” Subtle as a freight train… and yet, coming from Sarge it felt flattering.

The man gave a sharp salute. Engel returned it, a baffled expression on his face, and the Soldier marched away. The doctor looked down at the object that had been pinned to his coat.

It was an Iron Cross… or, it /had/ been an Iron Cross. The horizontal arms of the cross had been scored and bent, so they looked like stylized bird (angel?) wings. The entire thing had been worn to a dull silver. The Soldier or his brother must have been constantly smoothing their fingers over it for ‘luck’.

Something about the way the light struck it caught the Medic’s eye, and he turned the piece of metal over in his fingers. He nearly forgot to breathe when he noticed the dent in the center of the medal.
“Mission starts in sixty seconds!” the female voice known only as ‘The Announcer’ hissed over RED base’s speakers. There were three gates leading from the base onto the battlefield, and the team had split among them, three at each one.

Engel was at the center gate with Sokov and McKinnon. He had the beam of his medigun trained on the Russian man… it would make his body more resilient against damage.

“This is crazy…” the Scotsman muttered. “We’re gonnae get blown to bits, the whole lot o’ us, we are!”

Sokov turned to face the team Demoman, looming over him like an angry bear. “Doktor’s plan will work, you’ll see,” he growled, causing McKinnon to shrink back into his flak jacket. “You just do your part, und everything will be fine!” The huge man gave Engel a pat on the back that nearly knocked him over. “Isn’t that right, Doktor?”

“Ja, of course.” The Medic’s tone was confident. He knew the plan might go terribly awry, but he had to encourage his team… and himself. He and Benjamin gone over every part of the plan, and they had reached an agreement… it was the /only/ way for the team to have a shot at surviving.

“Mission begins in five seconds,” the speakers crackled again. “Four, three, two, one…” the gates swung open.
>> No. 2141

>> No. 2142
Oh boy, I am excite.
>> No. 2146
Oh jeez, oh jeez, oh man....
>> No. 2147

That explains things then! Turns out I was wrong, but none the less...

Oh boy oh boy oh boy, can't wait to see what the plan actually is!
>> No. 2148
When I read the top half, I was squealing with laughter and saying 'son of a bitch!' over and over. I was that happy. Now eagerly awaiting the next update. :D
>> No. 2149

I have such a bad feeling about this.

I just hope I'm wrong.
>> No. 2151
>> No. 2154

“Dispenser down!” came a loud cry from somewhere on the battlefield. The BLU Demoman and Pyro had relentlessly destroyed every contraption that Benjamin had created, forcing the RED team to rely solely on their Medic for healing. It was early in the day, and there had already been one incident where a spray of bullets from the BLU Heavy’s minigun had brought nearly the entire team to Engel’s side.

The German watched as the BLU Scout came rushing over the train tracks, aluminum bat in hand and a manic, bloodthirsty glint in his eyes.

“Look out, lardass, e’s comin’ straight for /you/!” Robert yelled, firing a burst from his SMG at the enemy Demoman’s legs.

Sokov turned to face the oncoming threat with surprising speed. As he swung Sasha around, the huge gun slammed into the side of the approaching Scout’s head. The runner was knocked to the ground, and his bat clattered out of reach.

“Ha!” the Russian said with a huge grin on his face. “Tiny man is quick, but no match for Sasha!” Sokov’s smile turned to a gape of disbelief when the Scout righted himself, and took a flying leap onto his back. The boy began pounding away at the back of the RED Heavy’s head with his bare fists, which seemed to do little more than annoy the giant.

Engel was just finishing healing their Soldier of an axe wound in the shoulder from the BLU Pyro, and immediately headed for the RED Heavy, in case assistance was needed.

“I /KEEL/ YOU, LEETLE SCOUT!” Sokov roared, trying to hold Sasha with one hand and grab the Scout with the other. The boy was quick though, and kept evading his reach.

“Don’t like when I do that, fatcakes!?” the boy said, scrambling over the Russian, making useless punches and dodging the man’s grasp.

McKinnon burst into a fit of laughter, and pointed at the spectacle. “Looks like a bloody squirrel runnin’ aboot an oak!” His eye suddenly went wide, and an expression of horror formed on his face. “Oi! Watch yer acorns, mate!”

The Scout unexpectedly dropped to the ground in front of Sokov, and landed a vicious punch below the belt. The Russian managed only a faint grunt of pain as he doubled over. Before the runner could land another blow on Sokov, the RED Medic slammed the side of his Blutsauger into the boy’s head. The Scout went down like a sack of bricks.

Sokov finally straightened his back, and moved to stand over the unconscious boy. Engel could tell that the Russian wanted nothing more than to fold the Scout into a pretzel, and he knew the huge man could break every bone in the boy’s body to do it. The team Heavy snorted and turned away though. Killing BLUs wasn’t part of the plan… yet.

The RED Pyro suddenly whipped around the corner, flailing his arms excitedly.

“Thrr trrrm rrs rrn frrrr!”

The five men gathered in the middle of the battlefield looked up at the sound of screaming. Seconds later, Benjamin, Sarge, and the Spy came barreling around the corner with smoke and flames trailing from their clothes. The RED Pyro ran over to the men, and extinguished their clothing with a quick blast of compressed air from his flamethrower.

The back of the Spy’s suit was almost completely gone, and his shoulders were burned rather badly, so he was the first to receive the Medic’s attention. Engel watched the gauges on his medigun climb as he healed the Frenchman, then Sarge.

As he aimed the healing gun Benjamin he saw one of the large doors to the nearby BLU base slide up. Fleischer marched into view with his team’s Demoman and Heavy flanking him. The blonde doctor peered at the eight men gathered there.

“DOC! I’m burnin’! I’m /burnin’/!” Peter was running down the train tracks, a hundred feet away from the rest of the RED team and closing ground fast. The tail of the boy’s shirt was burning. Engel gripped the medigun so tightly that he could feel the familiar, five-digit number in its handle through his glove. Pressure continued to build in the Medic’s pack as he healed Benjamin. The gauges were nearly full, but the Scout was almost there.

Even without the effects of the medigun’s ethers, Engel felt as though the world was all but standing still. Fleischer pulled a remote control from his coat. The gauges topped out. Peter leapt into range. And as the RED Medic suddenly switched targets and began to yank the trigger lever of his medigun back, the BLU Medic was smiling wickedly and pushing the button down.

Chaos erupted.

The shell of glowing red light surrounding Engel, and to a lesser degree, Sokov, sent off bright sparks and flares as the energy of the explosion passed into it. The look of enraged disbelief on Fleischer’s face was one that the RED Medic knew he would cherish forever.

This was no time to celebrate, though. The BLUS retreated into their base, as the RED team opened fire and charged across the canal after them with Engel and Sokov in the front.

As they entered bullets started firing from a sentry gun up above, exactly where the BLU Spy had said it would be. The projectiles either vaporized on contact with the shield of red energy or bounced harmlessly away. Protected as he was, Sokov simply lifted his minigun, the barrels already spinning, and unleashed a hail of gunfire at the automated turret. The contraption sparked, beeped, and started to smoke until it was so shredded that it simply fell apart.

The RED team quickly split into groups of three to search for their scattered enemies. Pyro, Sarge, and Benjamin headed upstairs as Peter, McKinnon and Robert took a right and went towards the base’s auxiliary supply room. The RED Spy followed Engel and Sokov down the BLU base’s central hallway as the medigun’s protective barrier disintegrated. It wasn’t long before they were following a trail of blood.

The German clipped the medigun to his belt, trading it for the P38 he pulled from within his labcoat as he ran. It was not long before he could hear Sokov yelling for him to slow down. Engel kept running, and soon left his companions behind. There was one detail of his plan that the doctor had not shared with his teammates. It was not a detail he particularly liked, and he did not want the others to be party to it.

The sudden pain in the RED Medic’s gut was not unexpected; he simply gritted his teeth and kept following the trail of blood. The red splotches and drops soon led him to the BLU base’s infirmary. He rammed the doors open with his shoulder, and heard the flimsy latch go skittering across the floor.

Engel had to quickly dart to the side when he caught a glint of steel at the corner of his vision. Fleischer had been waiting just inside the doors with a long service knife in his hand. The RED Medic had moved just in time, though, and the blade only cut into the fabric of his lab coat.

“/Landesverräter!/” the blonde man screamed in a manic rage. He was favoring his right leg, which was completely soaked in blood. That didn’t stop the BLU Medic from lunging forward and unleashing a flurry of knife swings.

Pain shot through Engel’s chest and abdomen as he twisted and ducked to dodge the blows. The swings were erratic and easily missed. Fleischer’s carefully-laid plot had fallen apart, and the defeat had made the usually-methodical man come completely undone.

“I vish I could go back, /Herr/!” the blonde roared. “I vould have vaited for you to show up at ze furnaces und pushed your Jüdisch hure in myself to see ze expression on your face!” He raised the knife again, but dropped to the floor mid-swing as the RED Medic squeezed a round off into the kneecap of his good leg. The knife was dropped, and Engel kicked it away before the other man could grab it again.

The older doctor struggled to keep his breathing even through the stabbing pains in his abdomen, and sweat beaded on his forehead. Fleischer grabbed his injured knee and smiled through gritted teeth up at his former superior.

“Vhat’s ze matter, schwein? Did I strike a nerve?” His smile broadened when he saw Engel cough out a mouthful of blood. “You seem to have fallen into bad shape, old man.” The blonde bit back his next insult when the heel of the RED Medic’s boot came down on his right hand.

“Going to torture me, Markus?” Fleischer growled. The blonde had lost enough blood that he would not be able to effectively fight back. He couldn’t even stand. It was a great test of will for Engel to push that dark temptation out of his mind.

The RED Medic nearly choked on the blood he was hemorrhaging as he pointed his pistol at the chest of the man below him.

“Nein? After all zis time you are just going to shoot me like a tender-hearted little frauline,” Fleischer scoffed. “You alvays vere…” a loud bang silenced the former Nazi. Engel could see the moment that the spark of life left the blonde’s eyes, as the bullet punched through his heart.

The RED Medic took a few steps away from the body and leaned heavily against the wall. His legs buckled suddenly, dumping him onto the cold tile floor. The doctor’s extremities were tingling, and he knew that his fingers and toes would soon go numb from the blood loss.

Lying that way reminded him of how he had been slowly dragged to the ground days before by the BLU Sniper’s bullet. He didn’t cry for help this time, though, and he doubted he would have had the strength to do so if he tried. It was all he could do just to breathe.

This wasn’t how he had wanted to die, of course. He finally had a family, a place where he belonged. There had been no other way to save them, though, and if he had to die for them to live, so be it.

Another wave of pain rushed through the RED Medic. He grimaced, and let the world fall away for a moment, trying to think of anything but the agony he was in. The doctor was grudgingly snapped back to reality by a painful pressure on his chest.

Engel forced his eyelids to open a little, and could make out the fuzzy form of Peter kneeling over him. The Scout had his hands over the doctor’s breastbone, and was doing chest compressions. /Trying/ to do chest compressions, at least. The Medic groaned inwardly, that was /not/ how he had taught his team.

The German could just make out the form of Spy standing not too far behind the Bostonian. The Frenchman glanced up from his wristwatch to look at the Scout.

“Stupid boy,” he scoffed, flicking a cigarette away. “You’re doing it all wrong.”

“Well, I didn’t see you doin’ anything to help, ya fuckin’ spook!” the boy sobbed, continuing his inept attempts to keep the older man’s blood-starved heart going. Spy just stood there for a moment, watching the boy, before pushing him out of the way.

“What are you doing, ya fuckin /frog/!?” the Scout wailed. “He’s /dying/!”

“Oui, he’s /dying/ you simpleton.” The Frenchman paused so Peter could hear the rattling, agonized breaths the doctor was taking. The Spy glanced at his watch once more, and pulled his balisong free.

“What’re you gonna do with that?” the boy said fearfully, tears now flowing unabashedly down his face. “You’re gonna kill him?”

“He’s /already dying/, imbecile. Can’t you see ‘ow ‘e is suffering?” The Frenchman glanced at his watch a third time before positioning the point of his knife between two of the Medic’s ribs. “I know a lot about killing people, Monsieur Scout. It will be a lot quicker zis way, trust me. A man stabbed in ze ‘eart doesn’t live for more zen a second.”

The Spy looked at his watch yet again, and hesitated a moment before looking at the doctor with an impassive expression. “Zis will all be over soon, and you’ll feel much better.” Engel let his eyelids fall shut once more as he felt the distant pain of the knife thrusting into his flesh.

At last the German opened his eyes, and gazed out over the French countryside. The view was beautiful from the hilltop, with verdant valleys and farmland spread out below. It had taken him less than a day to get there, and yet it seemed as far removed from the dismal suffering of the camp as one could be… which was just what he wanted.

He looked to the fresh mound of earth, topped carefully with stones. The doctor finally managed a faint smile.

“You talked about it to me so much… und you vere right… it’s vunderful.” He ran his fingers over the smooth stone at the head of the grave and gave a small sigh. She was right about another thing, too. He /could/ live without her. It would be hard… but Engel knew he could do it. She had shown him that inner strength he hadn’t realized he possessed.

“Someday, vhen my life is over… I hope I vill see you again,” as he spoke the words he wondered if there even was a place in Heaven for men like him. The doctor shook his head and tried to dismiss his worry. He had his whole life ahead of him, a whole life to search for somewhere to belong.

“Je t’aime, papillon.”
>> No. 2161

This is a goo fan fiction and you should feel proud. Bravo!
>> No. 2162
Brb, crying forever.

>> No. 2164
I'm not crying, I-I just have so much testosterone that it's leaking out of my eyes.
>> No. 2165
Why must all good things come to an end? A bitter, bittersweet end. Bravo on such a wonderful fic. Definitely one of my all time favorites.
>> No. 2166
Ohgod I cant believe it's already the end. It was amazing. You, my friend are fabulous.
>> No. 2167
Alright, maggots! Who actually saw the words 'The End' at the tail of that post? That's right, privates, I'm not done yet! There's still an epilogue, so don't douse your torches yet, and make sure your pitchforks are good and sharp!
>> No. 2168
I cried buckets.

In a totally manly, Saxton Hale-taught way.
>> No. 2170




oh no mood whiplash
>> No. 2172

>> No. 2175
This was amazing and so are you. I have to say thank you, because that was one of the best fucking stories I've read in a while.
>> No. 2178
>> No. 2187
ffff EPILOUG!? YESSSSSSSSSSSS that's like, winning the lottery on your birthday.
>> No. 2192

I ain't cryin' Sarge! I promise...!!! *sniff*

I'll hope that Engel somehow survives (pleasepleasepleaseBenjamindoesomethingsmartandsavehim) but if he doesn't... Good bye Engel, you were a noble man and a fantastic medic...
>> No. 2194

Sokov swung the massive steel bat that the Engineer had given him. There was a resounding crack, and the baseball spun away with its seams split open. The remains of the ball flew well over the fence behind the base, and the Russian laughed as he began to leisurely jog from plate to plate.

Peter sat on the sidelines. He had played for a time, but inevitably his thoughts began to wander elsewhere. The boy looked up at the dirt ‘field’ and saw that the whole team was actually playing or spectating. Well… all but one…

The Scout gave a long sigh and pulled his knees up to his chest. He gave a startled jump when he looked up to see that Benjamin had sat down next to him.

“Still thinkin’ about what happened last month?” the Engineer asked softly. He knew how embarrassed the boy would be if the rest of the team saw him having ‘feel-good wuss talk’ with anyone.

“I hope they’re all burnin’,” the Bostonian muttered. “Each and every one of’em.”

“Now, boah, don’t say that,” the Texan pleaded. “You know most a’ them BLUs weren’t bad folks, an’ they never woulda done what they did if their Medic hadn’t been scramblin’ up their heads so bad.”

The boy gave another sigh. “I guess you’re right.” He shifted his weight a bit, looking back out at the field. “Spy says that BLU is bringing in a whole new team to replace what they lost out here. First thing I’m gonna do when the fightin’ starts is bat their Medic right in the fuckin’ stones.”

Benjamin stifled a faint laugh, and gave Peter a pat on the back, drawing a small smile from the boy. “Boah, I don’t think that’s tha best way t’ introduce yerself.”

“Yeah, well I wanna see if tha fucker can sing soprano,” the Scout said, his grin broadening into a toothy smile.

“Pete, you holdin’ that thing again?” the Engineer said with a raised eyebrow. The runner looked down, and realized that he running his fingers over the old Iron Cross. He made bit of a face as he pressed his thumb into the dent.

“You really think this little thing saved him from a bullet?”

“Well, judgin’ from tha depth of tha dent, an’ the little scratches around it, I’d say that th’ only thing that coulda caused that mark’d be a projectile travelin’ at high velocity.”

The Scout raised an eyebrow. “So, in /normal/ speak… it saved him from a fuckin’ /bullet/.”

“That’s what I reckon.”

Peter’s smile faded, and his posture slumped a bit. “I miss’im…”

“We all miss’im, Pete,” the Engineer tried his best to give a comforting smile. “But you know that th’Doc wouldn’t want us mopin’ ‘round because he’s gone.”

“Yeah… I know, man.” The fact that the Scout had sometimes cried himself to sleep without the Medic there would be a secret he swore he would take to the grave with him.

The two sat in silence for awhile, watching the team. Many of them were still recovering from the previous month’s happenings in some way… except Spy, who acted as though nothing of merit had happened at all. The very thought brought a scowl to Peter’s face. The boy’s expression turned to one of confusion, however, when he noticed that the other men had stopped playing. They were all looking at a distant object travelling down the train tracks.

The Scout chewed his lip a bit. “Yo, Hardhat… think that’s tha BLU supply train?”

Benjamin squinted, and lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “Pete, that’s way too small t’be a train, an’ Spy said the new BLU team wouldn’t be here for a couple more days. ‘Sides, it’s movin’ /next/ t’ the tracks.”

The object was moving fast enough to kick up a cloud of dust that the wind carried off behind it. Peter leapt to his feet when he heard the sound of an engine, and he smiled at the way the team Pyro began to bounce excitedly.

When the black motorcycle came to a stop at the edge of the field it was swarmed. The moment the rider had dismounted Sokov wrapped his huge arms around the man in a bear hug that lifted him from the ground.

“Doktor is back!”

Engel hadn’t even had the chance to take his helmet off, and had to quickly reach up and take hold of his glasses to keep them from falling to the ground. “Ach! I vas only gone for two days! Bitte, put me down!”

The team Heavy reluctantly set the German down. He managed to pull the helmet off before a surprise hug from Pyro nearly knocked him over.

“That bike is awesome, Engie.”

The Texan smiled, “s’an old BMW. From th’ way th’Doc looked at me when I fixed it up I wondered if he weren’t gonna skin me alive fer ever lookin’ under tha tarp an’ findin’ it. I think he almost loves that thing more'n his violin.”

The doctor was finally free of the Pyro’s grasp, and unzipped the saddlebags. The six men gathered around him waited, they had each pitched in part of their paychecks for the doctor’s little supply run.

Engel handed a bottle of lighter fluid to Pyro, who seemed positively giddy to receive it. Next, the doctor gave Sarge and Robert a disapproving glare as he handed them both what were undoubtedly rolled-up girly magazines. McKinnon happily took the bottle of high-dollar whiskey he had requested as Sokov unfolded a poster of a classic picture of Greta Garbo.

“That’s a hell of’a person that’s willin’ t’die for th’team.”

“Well… /sort/ of died, Hardhat,” the Scout replied with a smile.

“Boah, he had no idea ‘bout that ‘respawn’ thing. Nobody did… ‘cept for Spah, of course. T’tell ya tha truth I don’t reckon Spah was so sure ‘bout things either. He told me that those corporate RED goons only had th’thing up an’ runnin’ a few seconds before th’Doc died. The timin’ was lucky as all get-out.”

“Man, I heard he chuked all over those RED goons when they got him in the supply room.”

Benjamin smiled at that mental image. “I wouldn’t doubt it. Doc was sicker n’a dog… feller could barely remember his own name fer a few hours. But, it was the first time that thing’d been used an’ Spah says they’ll have all the kinks worked out soon enough.”

The two watched as the Frenchman stood next to the motorcycle, waiting silently as the team Medic looked through the saddlebags. Undeniably, the Spy was determined to appear more dignified than his ‘overeager’ teammates. The masked man did finally give a small smile, and a “thank you, Docteur,” as the Frank Sinatra record was placed in his hands.

“You ask for anything, Engie?” the Scout asked as he and Ben began making their way to the bike.

“Nah. I’m all set.” Peter shook his head, knowing that the Engineer could probably /build/ anything that he needed. When the Scout stopped he noticed that the Medic was holding out one hand, encased in the soft black leather of a riding glove.

“A trade, Herr Scout,” he commanded.

The boy gave a confused look. “Hey, I was gonna give it back to ya, Doc, but I didn’t ask for anything. What the hell would ya trade me with?”

Engel brought his other hand into view. It was holding a baseball card… and it was autographed.

“H… Hank Aaron?” the boy stuttered. He rubbed his thumb over the medal one more time before exchanging it for the card. He stared at the thing, thinking that any moment angels would burst forth from it and sing.

“Doc… how the hell?”

The Medic raised an eyebrow. “Vell, I didn’t know he vas /zat/ important. He vas stopped at some little petrol station und vas signing these und giving zem to people. I know how much you like zat silly game, so I decided to get one for you.”

Even though the rest of the team was watching, Peter only hesitated a second before throwing his arms around the German and squeezing him tightly.

“I also got you a straight razor, in case you ever grow any hair on zat face of yours, ja?”

The Scout wrinkled his nose and frowned at the comment, but didn’t let the Medic go. “Doc, no offense, but you’re still kind of a weird fucker.”

Peter smiled again, though. Really, he wouldn’t want it any other way…

What a long, strange trip it's been. Ive felt downright honored to get the responses I have to this fic. And surprised, considering it's the first piece I've written in years. I have a request for you all, though... please let me know what you thought of the ending! After the whammy in the last chapter I am absolutely terrified that this ending will somehow cheapen it!

-Auf Wiedersehen!
>> No. 2195
So THAT'S what RED were up to...

Loved it. <3
>> No. 2196
My teeth have all rotted out and I'm dying of diabeetus now. YAY. :D
>> No. 2197


seriously. this is the first piece you've written in a while? you deserve 9000 medals. i know you think too little of yourself but i find that trait admirable. c:

The ending was FAAABULOUS~

also, i thought you might like this: http://www.fpsbanana.com/skins/screens/71685?img=http://image.fpsbanana.com/ss/skins/71682c.jpg
>> No. 2198
This was amazing, I've been following it from the beginning and absolutely loved how you finished it. Awesome work <3
>> No. 2200

a poster of a classic picture of Greta Garbo.
O U.

This is the best birthday present ever.
>> No. 2202
Loved it! Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. Great job! Perhaps there will be other stories in the future, maybe?
>> No. 2203
Aw jeez, I loved all of this and it ended wonderfully.
>> No. 2205
SUCH A GREAT STORY. I loved every bit of it.
>> No. 2207
I managed to stop crying buckets for a while.

Then I read this and started again, but in a good way.
>> No. 2210
Superb ending. Left me feeling all warm and fuzzy. <3

Write more stories soon!
>> No. 2225
>> No. 2226
Ha! I was wondering what RED was up to... and why Spy kept checking his watch!
>> No. 2230

I saw that! Downloaded it so fast I got whiplash!


Haw haw, thought you might like that ;D


Dunno about writing, but I will probably be drawing more.


I was HOPING someone caught the watch-checking!

On a general note, once again a huge thanks to everyone who read. Looks like I got the end posted just in time for auto-sage, too! I think I'm going to nix the silly "Bad Medicine" name for the fic though, in favor of "First, Do No Harm" or something along those lines.
>> No. 2241
That was a fantastic ending. Bravo!
>> No. 2242

Oh boy...! I'm grinning like a maniac now. This fic was absolutely wonderful, and is one of the finest fics I've read in a long time. Congrats on a wonderful job - I loved seeing everything pull together during the progression of the fic. Thank you for writing this!
>> No. 2246
I got a few ideas last night, and I'm contemplating opening a second thread for side-stories to this one from the POV of the BLU team. Thoughts?
>> No. 2247

Err... Y/N? rather... my password thingy is messed up.
>> No. 2248
ohoho, that would be awesome
>> No. 2252

>> No. 2261
If there is anything in your body resembling compassion for your fellow man, you will grant us more fic. Please!
>> No. 2270
You get an epmthatic Y/ HELL Y from this lurker !
>> No. 2457
In case anyone's still hanging around here, new fic is at http://www.tf2chan.net/fanfic/res/2353.html
>> No. 2466

Well, my dad always says that you should NEVER follow monkeys or cute children.
>> No. 2469
omfg... On the other fic which I read first I saw a comment about the respawn thing and then when I was reading this I was like: NOOO... NO. Not Engel! And then I remembered when I saw the thing and thought that I should have remembered that... haha, I'm so glad I finally finished this so I can read the other one again I AM A FAGGOT HUMP MY RUMP I'm such a bad person for going out of order. But yeah... Engel is credit to team and you are credit to fanfiction.

Ich liebe diche.
>> No. 2476

HAHA! Yeah, I really should have posted the link to this one at the very, very start of the new thread, but I'm so absent-minded... I'm so glad you liked it, though! (Also, mind the word filter)

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