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No. 715
So a Scout on run-of-the-mill stimulants is rather predictable.
But what if a slower class was given the opportunity to partake of a can of liquid speed?

And so our (multi-part) story unfolds...

As the sun beat down on pale slate metal silos, distinctly dissimilar pair of footsteps hitting the pavement echoed through the sweltering, shimmering air. Pursuer and pursued, however, had a common goal in this arena.

“Race ya to the other end, fatty!” Heavy made no reply, but managed a strangled war cry as he huffed and puffed, the gap between him and his opponent ever-increasing.

“Run while...hah...you can! YAAAH!” Scout chuckled, tossing a metallic object back and forth as he sped forward. Did he really expect this race to end any differently than the last dozen or so before? Slowing to what he judged a slow jog, he turned around to see Heavy several yards behind, still desperately waddling towards the end. Time to drive home the fact that no one, no one else on this earth could match his speed, and this time he’d brought something that would really rub it in for that Russian lardball.

Heavy squinted as he heard an odd popping noise followed by the sound of fizzing. His opponent had vanished! Panic set in as he whirled around looking around himself frantically. Was this a new brand of Spy, tormenting him to the point of exhaustion before striking?

“Woohoooo! Look at me now, fatso!” A sky-tinted streak tore through his field of vision in less than a second, coupled with an enthusiastic victory whoop before zig-zagging towards the opposite wall. With a solemn groan, Heavy plopped down onto the ground, staring dejectedly at the Scout performing a celebratory dance in the shade. He just needed to try a little more. He was sure he was a few feet less behind this round - soon, soon he would show this scrawny excuse for a teammate. “Hey! Are you gonna move or let the sun roast your ass?”

Move? Did he think his speed gave him the authority to order him around? As he scowled at Scout, Heavy felt a searing pain in his palms that he had pressed to the ground to support himself.

“AAAAAGH! GROUND IS LIKE FIRE!” he screamed, running back inside. “MEDIC!”

Hearing the stentorian roar of his hulking charge, Medic cradled his temple with one hand and allowed himself a frustrated sigh. Some people never learned.
Marked for deletion (old)
>> No. 756
As a side note, I'd like to offer my thanks to Pelli[can] for being the beta reader for the WIP.

Hopefully the story doesn't sound so stilted now, readers. On that note, don't be shy about criticism either; I haven't written any fiction for the past 3-4 months, so any advice and comments will be greatly appreciated. :3

II.
Dejected, Heavy shuffled downstairs as the sun began to set, cooling the immense steel barracks that housed him and his colleagues. Plodding towards the mess hall, Heavy froze when he picked up a certain cocky Bostonian accent.

"Yeah! So we were out there, sun coming down 'n all, intense heat, but you can guess what happened. When is 'e ever gonna learn that I'm the fastest one here, huh?"
"Would you just can it already? How many times do you have to tell the same bloody story?!"
"No, no, see, this race - this one was different-"
"If the Heavy lost, it's not diff'rent at all. Hic!"
"Yes it is! It is, see, 'cause I brought a little extra something to drive home the point." Scout held up a brilliant-labeled soda can so it glinted in the dim overhead lights. As they observed the curious beverage, Medic sighed again before adding his two cents.
"Mein gott. Do you even KNOW vhat goes into that...that concoction?"
"Uh...there's something about sugar - hold on, lemme read it."
"Even with your youth and activity, you vill kill yourself very quickly if you keep drinking it. Zat is cardiac arrest just waiting to happen in a can!"
"Aw, come ON! Don't knock it if y'haven't tried it!" Noting his audience was unmoved, Scout tried a different tactic, hopping up and down on the table with his arms tucked. "Or are you all too chicken, huh? Bawk buk buk buk!"

"Oh, wonderful. Now I can gut him like a-"
Everyone backed away when Spy's balisong lodged in the wooden table, his hand pinned down by Engineer's. "Get off me, idiot, I was speaking in jest! Merde, does no one in this god-forsaken place have a sense of humor?"
"You expect us to trust a Spah?" Engineer tugged the knife out and snapped it closed, glaring at him before turning his attention to the Scout. "And boy, you ever heard of a thing called pride?"
"Yeah! What about it?"
"Pride. Comes before a helluva fall, so says the Good Book. Careful, son. You just might get what's comin' to ya."

Scout shrugged, but leapt off the table and opened the fridge.
"Last chance, guys. Once I put it in here to chill, no one better swipe it or they're in for a world a' hurt."
"Never," Spy sniffed as he picked at his dinner. "I'd rather be given a bottle of that disgusting swill Americans call beer."

Behind the entrance to the mess hall, Heavy grinned. If such a tiny drink could boost that runt, then certainly the effect would be even greater when that liquid was coursing through the blood of a proper man!
>> No. 767
III.
Medic looked apprehensive when Heavy strode into the cafeteria, beaming at them all as he sat down with a loud creak. Even Demo paused with the bottle halfway to his mouth, unsure what to make of this giant's optimism. Only Spy had the barest hint of a smile in the tense silence that fell over the diners.
"Heavy..." Medic ventured, readying himself to bolt out of arm's reach at a moment's notice, "you look vhery happy today, ja?"
"Yes!" he boomed, before taking a giant bite of sandwich. "I feel great today."
"Could you tell us...vhy you are so joyful?" Heavy looked around to ensure Scout was out of earshot before he replied.

"Because today, I realize I am not only very STRONG, but very SMART as well."

Before Sniper could retort, Medic knocked the wind out of him with a don't-you-dare-or-else-we'll-all-suffer look. Engineer attempted a polite cough, while Demo took a large swig of scrumpy to drown out his reaction. Spy trembled, his breath coming in such abrupt gasps that Medic considered giving him an experimental version of the Heimlich Maneuver. Seconds later, Spy stumbled over the bench and cloaked as he ran back down the hall.

"Wot the bloody hell was that all about?" Sniper asked, now backing away from the table with a hand on the kukri hanging on his belt. The answer came soon enough as Spy collapsed a safe distance away in tears. His nasal laughter, punctuated by the occasional snort, echoed all around the complex.

To the astonishment of his team, Heavy smiled even wider as he munched on an olive. Let the sneaky man laugh now while he can. He'd show them - in just a few hours, they'd see for themselves. As the team started to wind down in the late afternoon, Heavy volunteered to clear the table just as Engineer was finishing off a glass of sweet tea. The glass shattered on the floor as Demo gave the stunned Southerner several sound thumps on the back to clear his throat before Medic intervened. Sniper mumbled his thanks and headed up for the battlements again, while the others settled into their respective bunks.

After arranging the plates into one tall pile in the kitchen sink, Heavy pulled open the fridge door and retrieved the energy soda from the back shelf. He stared at the neon blue and yellow that covered the label, squinting at the tiny print of the ingredient list. Well, never mind reading that, he had seen the effects for himself that afternoon. But a test...just a little bit couldn't hurt.

He pulled the tab and took a sip. Well, Scout was right about the sugar. All in all, it wasn't too bad for a soda, although it might make a nice mixer with some good vodka. Strange, it had been several seconds already, but he didn't feel any faster. Perhaps another sip would help things along.

In the course of a few minutes, the can was empty, but he still didn't notice any change. He belched and waited for a few seconds more before crushing the can and tossing it into the trash. Maybe it would take a few hours to kick in for him as opposed to seconds for the Scout. Peering through a nearby window, Heavy guessed that there was a half-hour of daylight left. Perfect for a short jog to distract his mind in the meantime.
>> No. 768
Oh jeez. Can't wait to see what will happen!
>> No. 769
"Because today, I realize I am not only very STRONG, but very SMART as well."
BAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I admit, I'm one of those people who thinks Heavy isn't as dumb as he seems, but oh god I just couldn't help but laugh at this.

I can't wait to read more of this :D Moar, moar!
>> No. 770
Haha, I do think this seems quite sweet.
>> No. 782
>>4
Thank you, kind anon. Funnily enough, the main thing that's keeping me from posting more often is that I try to get each section through a beta reader and at least a brief edit before throwing it up here.

>>5
This section actually ended up being built around this quote and its delivery; I'm glad to see it paid off. :]

>>6
Thank you. Is it sweeter than a can of Bonk? :v

IV.
Though the evening cease-fire was strictly enforced, each team still found several innovative ways to annoy the other throughout the night. For Snipers, this meant using their laser-guided scopes to catch the other unaware and blind them temporarily. The RED Sniper smirked as he inched the spot of light closer and closer to his snoring BLU counterpart. But as he moved his scope across the field, he nearly dropped the rifle in disbelief when he caught sight of an enemy Heavy.

Granted, seeing one so far from his home base wasn't unusual, but this one was alone, and there wasn't a teleporter exit in sight. How had he gotten this far in so short a time? But never mind that, this one would make for excellent practice. Sniper smiled as he raised the rifle to his shoulder again, deliberately trailing the dot behind the target before aiming at the center of the large forehead.

But each time he attempted to take a shot, Sniper found himself dragging his scope to the right to re-center the crosshairs. This...this couldn't be a Heavy, real ones didn't move out of his vision that easily, even when closing in! He considered shouting a warning to the others about a Spy, but paused to take a second look for confirmation. Even if this was a disguised Spy, how and why was he moving so quickly? Their lives depended on mimicking the other classes down to their movement and mannerisms.

"What is the matter, Sniper? Your aim is not so good?" Heavy shouted, stopping a few yards short of the battlements.

"Ah, piss off, y'fat wanker!" Incensed, Sniper reached for a nearby jar and hurled it at the heckler, anticipating the sound of shattering and cries of disgust. There was the clink of breaking glass, followed by...raucous laughter?
Oh no. No, he couldn't have missed. That was impossible at this range!
"Rahaha! Maybe you aim better tomorrow, skinny man!"

The RED Sniper could only stare, slack-jawed, into the distance as Heavy started to jog around the RED base. Removing his aviators, he peered toward the horizon to see if he'd disappeared, only to cringe at a brilliant flash that wiped out his vision.
"Crikey," he muttered, "oi've never seen anything like - aaargh!"
BLU Sniper laughed softly before lying back down, smug and satisfied with his 31st consecutive victory so soon in the evening.

"Aye, now ye know how I feel, lad," said the RED Demo, stumping along the wooden tower. A muffled thump echoed in the twilight, followed by an agonized scream.
"Why? Ach, why does it ALWAYS have to be me guid eye?!" Demo roared, reeling from his teammate's punch.
>> No. 784
This is a lovely fic.

Perhaps not as sweet as bonk, but then again, I've eaten sugar which would be less sweet than bonk.
>> No. 787
V.
"Marco..."
"Fine. FINE, y'sneaky mother hubbard - polo! Polo!"
"There, zat wasn't so hard, was eet?"
"You shoulda popped into sight already," the RED Engineer groaned, clasping both hands to his head and looking around wildly. "I sure didn't put up a dispenser and by now the capacitors shoulda caused the field to malfunction."
"You're missing ze point, laborer."
"Then gimme back my hardhat. I won't bother yer little French head with particle physics if you do."
"Hmm...non. Shall I translate?"
"NO! Dammit, dammit dammit-!"

A mechanical whir and a single beep cut both of them short as the Sentry clicked into place, blinking red and poised towards an approaching enemy. Engineers took the semantics of "cease-fire" to heart, continuing to build as the daylight waned, but taking out the ammunition beforehand to allow them a means of detecting a wayward opponent. (In fact, a separate clause to the policy was added because of this workaround, as the extra hours and the inability of anyone to damage the buildings during the night allowed an Engineer to place Sentries at inaccessible heights and upgrade them before the morning bell. Since adding the rockets and shells back into the machine took only a single swing of the wrench, both sides were endlessly decimated for a few days before HQ intervened.)

"Spah! Spah, see if y'can get a peek around that there corner. I think we got ourselves a live 'un," the Engineer whispered, readying his spanner.
"Non. If I gave up my location zat easily, that wouldn't be any fun, now, would it?"
"You coward, it's a cease-fire! A look wouldn't hurt ya," he hissed, stomping one foot on the ground in exasperation before backing up against the wall. The RED Spy remained where he was, his self-satisfied smile invisible to all but himself as he watched his colleague edge forward towards the corner. Again the Sentry beeped and rotated, clicking as it attempted to load non-existent shells.

"DAHAHA! I am faster than tiny, itty-bitty machines!"
"What in tarnation?!"
"I AM BULLET-PROOF!"

As the cry of the distressed Engineer reached his ears, Spy felt an immense weight cannon into his shoulder. He gasped in pain as he was blindsided, flying into the wall as an enormous dust cloud settled over him, rendering his cloak useless and his suit in a lamentable condition. Engineer grunted and pulled himself into a sitting position, but threw himself onto the ground again when he saw his missing helmet lying in the dust.
"Y'got anything t'say for yourself, Spah?" he asked, replacing it on his head and staring past his grit-covered comrade, wondering what on God's green earth had happened in the last few seconds.
"Y-ye...oui."
"Well?"
"How would you Americans put it. What ze fuck was ZAT?!"
>> No. 791
I'm enjoying this story a lot. The plot is one no one's tried before - at least, not to my knowledge - so it's very interesting (and cute).

I wish I had more to say, but that pretty much sums it up nicely.
>> No. 792
I am loving this more and more with every syllable. :D
>> No. 797
>>10

Thank you. :]
Many a chat, cross-class uniform shenanigans have been discussed, but I'm very surprised to see that cross-class weapon trades have never driven a plot here. (This is also me trying to see how far I can stretch the game universe for the lulz given the updates and characters for inspiration.)

VI.
"Fuck if I know."
"Private, on the behalf of our unit's physician, I will ask you ONCE and ONLY ONCE more. WHERE is that thick Commie henchman located at this very moment?"
"Ok, solly. Lemme break it down for ya. I. Have. No. FUCKING IDEA."
"WELL YOU BETTER GET ONE PRETTY DARN QUICK, SON, BECAUSE IF HE'S NOT BACK IN THIS BASE BY 0400 HOURS, I'LL-"
"You'll what, finally pull your helmeted head out of your ass?"

With a hollow "thoomp!", a spiked grenade arced over their heads and landed in the center of the room, emitting a steady blue glow. The argument ceased as the BLU Demo raised his launcher at them in a threatening gesture before being cut off by their Medic.
"Thank you, Demo, and though it pains me greatly to say this, I zink our Scout is telling ze truth."
"See? Even the Doc can see that I'm not lyin'."
"However, he has ze best chance of finding him, seeing as he can cover more ground than our absent Heavy."
"Huh, what? You want me to actually look for that fat - uh...y'know what, I'llbegoingnowthanks!"

Before Medic could ask why his opinion on the matter had changed in mid-sentence, Scout had leaped across an empty chair and bolted out of the meeting room. Demo grinned and pulled the chair back into place, pocketing the detonator he'd been waving at Scout and leaning back with both feet on the table. Soldier shrugged, retrieved his copy of the Art of War, and marched upstairs for some evening reading. Medic sighed as Pyro came through the doorway empty-handed save for a lantern.

"Vell, I suppose you have not seen him, either."
"Mmm, nnmph," Pyro replied, extinguishing the wick and sitting down.
"I just sent Scout outside, just to try once more. Mein gott, who knows what he's gotten himself into this time," he muttered, absent-mindedly polishing an ominous-looking hybrid of a surgical saw and syringe. "Still, I think we should all have seen zis coming, myself included."
"Dinnae worry yerself, doctor, as long as he finds his way back 'ere before mornin', we'll do fine."
"Zat's what worries me. It takes a considerable amount of time for any of us save Scout to reach the other side and back, and the Engineer cannot make a teleporter until we know vhere he is."
"Hmm phffm mmph mmm mmf." Pyro held up 3 gloved fingers.
"Aye, three oors until daylight. Nothin' we can do in the meantime, so sit tight, boyos."
>> No. 798
Mild science warning.
(But c'mon, I'm a sciencefag and this is a discussion between the two most educated classes, how could anyone not see something like this transpiring between them?)

VII.
"Om nom nom...nom nom." The sound of someone enjoying a midnight snack echoed through the base as the RED Medic examined the third case of the evening in his pajamas, berating the RED Spy as he did so.
"Schiesse! At zis rate the whole base will be on bedrest by morning. Asclepius himself wouldn't be able to keep you dummkopfs alive for a minute on the field!"
"T'wast no accident, Doc, someone out there just up and blazed straight past us!"
"Even if it vas a Scout that stumbled into him, ze impact would not cause ze dislocation of a shoulder. Perhaps you aren't telling me ze whole truth?"

At this, the RED Engineer proceeded to defend his account with an eloquent explanation of how he'd used footprints and constructed a rough chronometer to prove otherwise. By measuring the average stride length and using the readout of his sentry's detection to measure the time taken (in addition to observing the compression and depth of the print given the soil composition), Spy had been struck by someone with a mass of 158.757 kg traveling at approximately 3.57632 meters per second. Spy balked at the mention of such elaborate methods and figures, but the RED Medic parsed the information in a heartbeat, as he had an appreciation of the sciences that overlapped with Engineer's.

"So...what ees zee laborer saying, in simpler terms?"
"You vere blindsided by ze enemy Heavy sprinting at about thirteen kilometers an hour..."
"What?! Zat is-"
"...physiologically impossible, mein hardhatted friend," Medic finished, seizing RED Spy's upper arm and forcing it towards his shoulder. With a pop and an audible oath (on Spy's part), the joint moved back into place. "There. I will finish ze healing for you and Demo after giving Sniper his eye exam. God knows vhy, he vas the one to ask."
"Now look here, Medic, science ain't a liar! Strange as it is, we gotta take this into account before we go out there again."
"Nnng...I cannot believe it, myself," Spy said, testing the replaced shoulder and wincing, "but ze evidence, it speaks for itself."

"Nein, nein, nein. Zis is a matter of anatomy, not physics; he could not hope to achieve such a sprint in a lifetime. See, ze overall structure of ein Heavy is endomorphic, and their training capitalizes on zat."
"Maybe with all zat brute muscle, he 'az figured out how to run?"
The RED Medic shook his head, again turning to the Engineer.
"Physiology does not work zat way. More muscle does not mean more strength, as the tissue itself is very dense. It has to support its own weight as vell." Engineer slid a hand under his cap, puzzling over this countertheory in silence. "A simpler problem from one scientist to another: if ein Heavy vas scaled up by a factor of two, how strong vould he be?" Spy gaped at the thought, horrified.

"Zat would be a monster! Of course 'e would be stronger."
"No...I think I see what you're getting at, Doc. Strength's a Euclidean vector, while muscle mass is a scalar variable."
The RED Scout, up for a short pre-morning run, couldn't resist adding his take on the matter from the office doorway.
"Yo, I ain't into all that sciency crap 'n stuff, but I could take 'im on. I mean, all that'd do make 'im more of a fatty."
"See, it is obvious. Even Scout can understand."
"Hey thanks, doc!" Scout beamed, jogging in place. "Guess I am pretty smart after a...waitaminnit..."
"So...he'd have double the strength, but an eightfold increase in mass. So to answer your question, he'd only be a fourth as strong as a normal Heavy if y'do the math."

Skeptical, Spy slid off the examining table, still clutching his arm. "Then what of my injury, can your math explain zat?"
>> No. 800
>>13

Wow, I feel smarter and I don't think fan fiction should have that kind of effect.

Usually it has the opposite.
>> No. 802
wait now I'm confused... 13 kilometers an hour? i think i walk faster than that...

Other than that relatively boring last chapter but an enjoyable story, capital story, sir!(or ma'am)
>> No. 806
Well, it'd be about 8MpH..

Haha, I'm enjoying reading this.
>> No. 807
>>14
Where's that iconic shooting-star rainbow when you need it.
The more you know...

>>15
>>16
The treadmills at the gym I go to actually measure their speed in MPH, and during my workout I experimented to get a feel for how fast was, well, fast.
3.0 mi/hr = fast walk for cooldown
4.5 mi/hr = fast jog
6.0 mi/hr = sprint
I was lucky enough to have an athletic guy a couple of machines in front running at full tilt, and he had his treadmill set to 9.0 MPH(!)

Then I figured both Medic and Engineer would use metric and converted accordingly, since one's from Germany and the other's, well, an engineer.

Many thanks for the encouragement so far, by the way, both contributing anons and namefags. :3


VIII.
A heavy silence fell over the onlookers as Spy stared at each one of them in turn. "Zere ees a saying among Spies when it comes to conflicting information. 'Belief in what others 'ave seen ees admirable, but belief in what you 'ave seen for yourself will keep you alive.'"
"Ja, I cannot deny ze extent of Spy's injury, but I suspect ze account may have been exaggerated." Furious at this second expression of doubt, the RED Engineer performed a dance that might have proved amusing under different circumstances.
"Dagnabit! What's it gonna take to convince y'all? We got an eyewitness and scientific evidence just outside the base, and still..." He trailed off into silence, staring at the entrance to the clinic. Curious, the rest of the team followed suit.

The actual RED Spy, clad in a bathrobe of scarlet silk with his customary balaclava, sighed and rubbed his eyes as he stood in the doorway.
"I 'ave not 'ad a decent rest een three straight days, and your petty bickering is disrupting my...what?"
"Dat...dat's a Spy!" stammered Scout.
"Quoi? Of course I'm a Spy, you eediot!"
"No, I mean he-"
Relishing the last hours of the cease-fire, the BLU Spy let his disguise fade with an amiable grin.
"Merci, merci. Zis has been a most lovely evening, gentlemen." He savored the astonishment of his weary counterpart before leaping through the open window with a practiced grace, cloaking as he fell earthward. The RED Scout dashed to the windowsill, but stopped short when their Spy caught him by the collar of his shirt.
"Let him go," he said, narrowing his eyes as he shook with rage.
"No freakin' way! I'll bat his head in faster than -"
"Eediot! He ees baiting us to follow him on a wild goose chase. Ze sunrise would catch us all unprepared as soon as we set foot on their battlements."

"So...any ideas on how ve should proceed?" Medic opened a closet and took out his white coat and boots, hearing a resounding crash and the sound of metal hitting bone behind him. He turned around to see Spy lying prone on the tiles and the RED Soldier standing over him in stars-and-stripes patter boxers waving a collapsible shovel.
"MEN," he barked, "THERE WAS A SPY DETECTED NEAR THE BARRACKS AT 0400 HOURS. Thought I'd sound the alarm, but I caught him myself just as he was about to infiltrate our clinic disguised as our OWN Spy!"
"M...merde..." Spy gasped, rolling onto his back in agony as his vision faded in and out of focus.

"Fuckin' brilliant, Captain Obvious. How's about aimin' for the right team next time, huh?"
Soldier rounded on Scout, raising the entrenching tool to emphasize his reply.
"YOU WILL REFER TO YOUR SUPERIOR OFFICER BY PROPER NAME AND RANK! I AM NOT A LOWLY CAPTAIN, AND MY GIVEN SURNAME IS NOT OBVIOUS! DO YOU UNDERSTAND, PRIVATE?"
>> No. 1073
More?
>> No. 1282
This is pretty good is there any more?
>> No. 4569
>>18
>>19
Yes! It liiives, mwahaha - ok, apologies for necrobumping, but I think I'll actually find the time this month to finish this.*


*May or may not reach completion in said timeframe. No purchase necessary. Void if prohibited.


VIV.
With a tummy full of purloined sandwiches from RED's icebox, the BLU Heavy removed his bandolier and hung it on a hook by the door of his bunk before examining his uneaten loot. The last of half of that third sandwich would make a nice snack for breakfast, which was less than two hours away and of course, there was ample soda to go with it. On closer inspection, the four cans looked like the first tiny man's drink he'd taken before, only in the colors of the Motherland. Taking an experimental sip, Heavy thought it tasted different, but the resulting familiar fizzy tingle confirmed his hunch. What worked for one puny man would work on another, but both of them would never be able to stand up to himself.
"хорошо!" he laughed, "Even I never knew I am so smart." When he overheard the conversation his teammates were having downstairs, Heavy pulled the blankets up to his chin and held as still as he could.

"Men, I'm sorry to say that he's officially MIA as of five minutes ago."
"Mmmph mmf, mhnn phmmm fmmph."
"Ze Sniper has not seen anyzhing either? Vill you tell him to continue to keep a lookout, please."
"But if it had to happen to one of US, I'm GLAD it was that Soviet meathead."
"I'm tellin' ya, I didn't see nothin' out dere! Well, aside from our Spy leapin' out a window thinkin' he could fly. Better leave the jumping t'me. Right, Frenchie?"
"I could have sworn zat clinic was on ze FIRST floor," the BLU Spy snapped, limping past Scout. "Still, it ees astonishing, to say ze least, that he 'as not been located. Perhaps he has been sleeping zis whole time?"

In the silence that followed Spy's novel suggestion, the BLU Demo spoke first, venting his frustration without once taking a swig in mid-sentence.
"So...not a single one of ye thought to check upstairs while prancin' aboot in the dark?! All of you scourin' the bases with yer pretty pairs o' eyeballs fer nothin'!"
"Reckoned I heard some footsteps a few minutes ago," said the BLU Engineer, visibly chagrined. "Y'want me to check on 'im, Doc? I need to bring down a couple a'things anyway."
"Nein." The beleaguered BLU Medic started trudging up the stairs with a hand resting on the banister. "Ze rest of you get vhat sleep you can before daybreak!"

At the sound of Medic's footsteps, Heavy dashed to the nightstand, drained the open can of soda in one gulp and slid everything out of sight before throwing himself onto his cot once more. Seconds later, he felt a gloved hand resting on his shoulder and a soft whisper of relief in German. Though he felt quite alert, Heavy shifted onto his back and rubbed his eyes, trying to sound groggy.
"What was that, Doktor?"
"You...you are awake?" the Medic gasped. Heavy had been known to the team as a notoriously deep sleeper. A few days ago, he'd endured Scout's futile attempts to hit him awake for several minutes before wordlessly flinging both bat and owner down the staircase. "I do not mean to bozzer you, never mind-"
"Something...something is wrong?"
"Nein, I am just a bit tired, that is all."
"Haha, well, when I cannot sleep, most of the time I am just hungry, so snack makes me sleepy."
"Heavy, that's not necessary, I vas going to..."
"Wait, I go get something for you, Medic."

Medic took the plate his teammate held out to him, hoping the dim room and his exhaustion would hide his skeptical expression. Placing a tentative finger on the skewered olive that topped the rye, he realized that it felt cool to the touch, as if it had only been out of the fridge for a few minutes. When he ventured to take a bite, he was astonished to find that it actually edible. More than edible, in fact, even savory, and - could it really be...? A faint mist came to his eyes as the sharp taste of pickled cabbage brought back warm memories of childhood, and dear old Mutter. Of course, her homemade sauerkraut would always be the best, but this was the closest anything had come to that standard in years. Heavy beamed, mirroring his colleague's tired, but genuine smile, his shoulders slumped in relief.
"Danke...danke schoen, Heavy. I vill take this to my quarters to finish."
"No. Sleep here, doktor. Besides, I forgot to polish Sasha, so she will look shiny as I mow down other tiny men."
"Are you sure?" Heavy nodded.
"Good night. I hope you are not too tired when battle starts!"

Medic sighed, allowing himself to recline on the wide expanse of matress and sheets. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a tiny metallic reflection from something nearby.
"What could zis be?"
Setting down the plate on the space beside him, he reached down and retrieved the crumpled container, adjusting his spectacles to decipher the label. After dropping the can in a wastebasket, he made a mental note to remind Scout not to leave his garbage lying around in other people's rooms and fell asleep.
>> No. 4570
Glad to see this updated.

Implied Heavy/Medic makes it even better.


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