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No. 486
(Repost of Western Front, since it was actually Eastern Front, whoops. Enjoy your cheesy bromance fic)

1941 – Moscow

The devastating cold of the Russian winter brought the German offensive to a halt. No one was prepared for a winter war, not even their Fürher. The war on the Eastern Front had been more than what they had bargained for, and as soon as the chill of winter set in, the war with the Soviets became a war with frostbite. Hitler’s troops were ill equipped for such conditions, thousands of them dying from the cold’s exposure. Russia, however had seized the opportunity to gather themselves and prepare for a counter offensive, and took advantage of the biting winter’s effects on the Nazi army.


The young man didn’t budge. The troops pushed on, trudging through the blizzard, passing by the limp body lying in the snow. One of the soldiers took his pulse. Nothing. Now and then the men would kick him gently, prodding at him to see if he was still among the living. It was bad enough that the troop’s men were dropping left and right before the battle could continue, but the medical units were essential to the survival of the soldiers in this weather.

It wasn’t long before the German troupe had vanished from sight. Not even their footprints, which had been quickly covered in snow, remained. The medic weakly looked through his frosted lenses to see himself surrounded by a blank white sheet. He was more dead than alive, his life flickering as the falling snow coated his body. The strange pack he was carrying on his back was the only thing keeping him alive, but he felt that he was already snuffed out.

A faint figure began to draw towards him, its dark body contrasting with snowy countryside. Was it the delusion of the cold? Was it death himself? The crunches of the snow underneath the man’s feet ceased. He was now towering over him. The medic felt his body shift as the stranger lifted him from the snow, and cradled in his arms. Was he being rescued by a man or a monster? All that the medic cared about was the feeling of warmth emanating from the stranger’s body.

The German began to slowly regain his senses, trembling as his body adjusted without the strange pack he was carrying. It felt that he was out cold for what felt like days. He was sitting in a chair covered in warm wool blankets with his feet in a galvanized tub filled with hot water. He didn’t care where he was, or whatever happened to him, he was just thankful for the heat returning to his cold bones. He weakly looked into the roaring fireplace he was sitting in front as he collected himself and viewed his surroundings. He was in a small wooden house, nails poking out of the walls, a floor made of poor material, dusty shelves with books that hadn’t been touched in ages, a sink filled with dirty dishes, a few woven mats, tin cups and tools littering the tables. All but one that sat by the window, which held a chess board, its pieces neatly placed in its squares. The doctor smiled slightly, wondering if the man who had rescued him was any good at-

The medic froze.

He had forgotten all about the man who found him in the snow.

Stories from the Nazi regime rushed into the German’s mind about the Russians. They were filthy and uncivilized men, and completely inferior to the Germans in every way. They were enemies, but why would this one in particular take his time to save the life of his foe?

The medic shifted his body a bit and flinched, realizing he couldn’t budge his arms. They were tied tightly behind the chair. Had he been taken captive? The man couldn’t have been a soldier, maybe some countryman who was taking the initiative to dealing with the Nazi himself? He felt like he would have been better off a frozen corpse outside.

“Вы имеете разбудить? То хорошо…”

His thoughts were interrupted by the booming sound of a man’s deep foreign voice. Yes, that was definitely of Russian tongue, the medic thought. The Russian stepped into the room, wiping oil from his hand with an old rag. He was immense. He was about half a foot taller and possibly hundreds of pounds bulkier with fat and muscle. The man could have easily been mistaken for a bear from a distance. With that in mind the Medic hoped his temperament was better than that of a bear.

The Russian walked towards the captive Nazi and threw the dirtied rag onto the floor behind him. He kneeled down to his visitor’s level and gave him a serious look.

“Вы чувствуя более лучше?” he asked. The fevered medic looked up at the man, afraid but too weak to do anything. He answered the man unintentionally with a sneeze in the Russian’s face . The man wrinkled his nose and shook his head and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “ Несколько лучше“ he muttered, his deep voice turning it into a growl before reaching for something in his pocket.

The medic cringed and sank his head into his shoulders, anticipating the man to retrieve something to punish him for his mistake, but instead felt a kerchief up against his nose. If the doctor wasn’t in such a condition he would probably question hygiene, the kerchief more than likely used before by the man, but it felt nice to be taken care of despite it being the man you are to wage war upon.

The Russian withdrew the kerchief and returned it to his pocket and placed his hand on the German’s forehead. It was hot, but it was an improvement. He stood up again and began to walk out of the room. As he reached the door he emerged from, he turned around and gave the medic a grin. “Не потревожьтесь. Я позабочусь о вы”.

Despite the language barrier between the two men, his tone felt somewhat reassuring.

Several days passed, and the German was making a full recovery. The Russian was amazed how someone so ill clothed for the cold made it without frostbite. The medic had spent much of his time now in the Russian’s bed, but as his health improved he became restless. When the Russian man would return to his room, he would find his things scattered around. Desk drawers would be cracked open, belongings would be misplaced. The Russian figured it was out of the German’s paranoia from being rescued by his own enemy, searching for any information that he could find for the Nazi regime. However, being out in the middle of nowhere during a biting winter wouldn’t do a thing for the Medic, which the Russian behemoth knew very well. However he would play stupid with the doctor, pretending not to notice the changes. The Russian knew he was not the smartest looking man, and took this to his own advantage. One day when the Russian man walked into the room carrying a bowl of soup for the German man, he saw him jolt from his clothes cabinet and into the bed like a child trying not to be caught for snooping. The Russian man smirked and set the soup down on the table before sitting down at the foot of his bed. He cooed some foreign words and patted the medic gently on the shoulder making him flinch, trying not to make eye contact with the man.

“Is alright.”

The doctor paused, hearing the first two words that made any lick of sense from the Russian titan. He had studied a bit of English in his school days, and poor as it was, at least he could interpret what was said.

“You know English?”

“A leetle.”

With what little of the second language they knew, they conversed throughout the night, a barrier being broken down. Questions like “Why did you help me?” and “What are you doing here” were asked, and the Soviet answered them to the best of his ability.

“My father is in the military” the Russian said, pulling up a stool that seemed to have seen better days, “ My mother is long gone, and he need someone to take over farm”.

“A farm?” the medic was unaware of what existed outside of the small house, but it made sense, being in the middle of the countryside, the only view from his window being the vast white sheet of snow.
“I understand but…”

“Why I help leetle man like you? Nazi?”


The soviet man’s cheerful expression faded. “Is coward to leave somevone to die, even if it is enemy” he said, finding it hard to find proper words, “ Besides, is lonely here. I have nothing, no information for Nazis, so trying to keel me would be useless. It seemed like good risk”.

The Medic looked at the hastily shut drawers he was perusing earlier and felt somewhat guilty. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he was just doing this out of his good of his heart?

No, that is not what the regime had taught him. The Soviet people were lying cowards. Yes, that’s it. The Russian must be trying to lull him into a false security.

If that was the case, then it was working.

“I see….Danke…” the German said, looking up at the Russian, unable to help but smile, “ One more question. Vat ist your name…?”

From that night on, the drawers and cabinets of the room were left shut.
Marked for deletion (old)
>> No. 487
“Check mate, kamrade.”

Medic scratched his head, looking at the chessboard in hope of a square to move his king, wrinkling his nose irritably. He sighed and took a swig of the vodka bottle sitting on the table and winced at the alcohols strength.

“Pfah! Zat vas only luck” he mumbled, returning the bottle to the table.

“So doktor, you are telling me the last five times were luck as well?” the large man grinned, taking a drink himself.

“Nein, I’m telling you zat if I vasn’t drunk I vould be making you vish you vere never born,” Medic laughed, reaching for the vodka.

The German man had recovered quickly from his illness, no hypothermia, no frostbite. The Russian figured that the peculiar pack that Medic was found wearing somehow prevented this. The doctor had explained that it was his own invention which he made to keep himself in top condition on the battlefield, disguising it as a regular medical pack so that he wouldn’t have the Nazi party take credit for it themselves. It seemed as though Medic wasn’t completely devoted to the regime he belonged to, giving the large man a slight form of relief.

The doctor came off as a very suspicious and tense person at first, but as time went by he proved to be rather affable and talkative. However at the same time he was reserved, falling silent at anything mentioned about the German warfare, Heavy taking note and stepping off of the subject. He was well trained to conceal any information, but he didn’t seem to be spiteful when the Russian bear questioned him.

Now that Medic was intoxicated, Heavy almost felt obliged to see if he could squeeze any information from him. Not that he would be able to communicate any special details being out in the middle of nowhere and lack of neither telephone nor telegraph. He was more-so interested in information about the doctor than the going-ons of the war, wishing to hear something more uplifting during the depressing winter.

“So…..Why did you join?”

Medic removed the bottle from his lips and placed it on the table, the man’s balance already disturbed, nearly dropping it on the surface.

“I did not have much of a choice” he stated, clumsily adjusting his glasses, “Not many of us did. But ah…I suppose it is alright. Ve are paid vell. Mein family can eat, vhile I put my medical knowledge to work. It is tedious, but… there is worse. I am content with my work”.

Medic sighed, placing his hand on his head, “Things vere so much better in ze camp. Not like out heah, trudging in ze snow. I am a man of science! Not… not some mother running at the heels of her children to administer first aid for their injuries. It is insulting that someone of my standard is a simple field medic!”

The camp?

The Russian man had heard stories from his father about what happened to those hapless human beings who were contained in the Nazi camps. Horror stories about people being burned alive in ovens, and suffocated by toxic fumes. But surely this man couldn’t have been such a person, no. He did not give off the presence of a sadistic madman. He seemed too intelligent and sophisticated for that.

No. He did not want to believe that.

There was an awkward silence between the two that lasted a minute or so, which was abruptly broken by Medic stumbling out of his chair as he reached for another drink, losing his footing and slamming his chin on the table’s end.

Heavy quickly kneeled down to help the doctor, who seemed more dazed than in shock. “Scheisse….” Medic winced, bringing a hand to his chin. He had developed a deep cut, oozing blood which smeared across where his hand had touched.

“Are you alright, Doktor?”

“Ja….but it is deep. I will have to stitch the wound. Could you fetch me my pack....perhaps a mirror…”

Heavy picked himself up from the floor, momentarily forgetting where he had placed Medic’s field pack. He clumsily headed towards the other room and quickly returned with his belongings and a small cracked hand-mirror.

Medic fished for cotton to clean up the blood that was dripping from the wound and a spool of medical thread and a needle. Already picking up on the situation, Heavy held up the mirror to the doctor’s eye-level. He was surprised that the Medic had started to stitch up the gash without any painkillers, the man barely twitching each time the needle pierced through his skin. Guessing his lightweight behavior, the alcohol probably dulled the German’s pain already, and watched him as he carefully mended himself.

After about fifteen minutes of quiet cursing about his drunken unsteady hands, the Medic had completed the final stitch.
Heavy placed the mirror down on the floor and helped the German to his chair before fetching his friend some water. He handed the cup to Medic and he gratefully obliged, taking the cup and quickly downing it. He coughed and sputtered, the Russian quick to assist him, patting him on the back.

“D-danke…” Medic choked, the last of the water removed from his lungs, “I cannot thank you enough for all of your help, Heavy…”

“вы радушны. It is not a problem, doktor”

Medic smiled.

“Your hands”


“They are very strong”

“Of course they are! It is obvious!”

The doctor laughed and nodded, his glasses nearly falling off of his nose. Heavy sighed and pressed them back up himself.

“I am thinking you are needing to sober up, Medic.”
>> No. 489
Oh man, this is pretty cool so far. Keep going!
>> No. 492
I love this story. To me it feels like Heavy and Medic knew each other before Team Fortress 2.
>> No. 515
So cute. I'm glad there's more now.
>> No. 1158
Weeks had passed since Heavy brought Medic to his home, and the Russian giant had finally established trust with the skittish doctor. However he did not expect to receive much gratitude from the man, knowing the Nazi regime’s strong hatred for communists. It was unusual to have a man associated with the Nazi party residing under your roof. But even more-so when they are diligently cleaning one’s home and tagging at one’s heels.

It was nice at first, the German cleaning dishes and clearing the house of trash and dust. Heavy usually shrugged off any sort of house work, only cleaning the dishes when the smell became intolerable and the floors when you could see your own footprint in the debris, so Medic doing the work for him was warmly welcomed. But when simple work had evolved to Medic washing the floors and furniture every day, aligning chairs and tables to strict angles, and running for a cloth every time Heavy returned from chopping firewood, instructing him to take off his shoes so he could clean them.

“Nein!” Medic stated, puffing his chest out, “I vant to repay you for your kindness!”

Heavy sighed as Medic soaked his sponge back into his bucket of soapy water and resumed to religiously scrub at the old wooden floors. “You have already repaid me,” Heavy muttered, trying to think of a way to get Medic to stop, “Come, Relax. We play chess or cards, yes?”

The doctor wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up at his friend and pondered. “Ja… zat vould be good,” he said with a nod.

Heavy grinned at his success, however it soon faded as soon as the doctor resumed scrubbing.

“…After I finish, zen we can play.”

The Russian groaned and retreated to his favorite armchair, giving up on convincing Medic.

The doctor had made his usual rounds around the house, finishing with the kitchen. After sweeping the charcoal from the wood stove, he noticed a peculiar string attached to the ceiling. It was connected to what appeared to be a door, locked with rusty hinges which had seen better days. In short, a door that led to the attic.

Medic paused, curious to see what was up there. Perhaps Heavy was lying, and was in fact housing military weapons and supplies for the Russian army. Or, that it simply led to a messy room filled with tattered books and crates. After opening the door and climbing the ladder that descended from it, Medic discovered it was the latter. It was relatively clean compared to his expectations, only thin layers of dust coating the interior.

Looking back at the attic’s entrance and listening for any traces of the Russian, he began to sift through the boxes once he was sure the coast was clear. Going through clothing, memoirs and tools from the boxes, he searched for anything suspicious that they may contain. Several crates later, the contents of the boxes had remained the same.

About to give up and take his leave, Medic came to a halt as he came across several black cases in the corner that he had overlooked. His curiosity piqued, he headed towards them, each step creating a muffled squeak from the floorboards. The doctor tried to walk as lightly as he could without making noise until he made it to the cases. However as soon as he got to them, he had to control himself to refrain from laughing at his sheer luck.

One was a violin case.

He carefully pulled it out from underneath the other cases and placed it onto his lap, opening it with a click and staring at the instrument in awe. It a bit worn, but was still in good condition, and was more than enough for Medic. All of the years spent serving the Nazi party, he was forbid to keep an instrument of any kind.
Before enlisting, he was an avid violinist, wedged between his love for music and morbid curiosity of the human body. Signing up to become a lab and field medic, he tried to sneak his instrument in his rucksack. However he didn’t expect to go through a thorough search before entering the camp, his violin being discovered and confiscated. He had nearly forgotton about his passion for the instrument during the next several years of enduring strict training and dicapline to become another one of the Fuehrer’s model soldiers.


He held the violin under his chin and gently ran the bow against it’s strings, trying to play as softly as he could. After twisting at it’s knobs and tuning it, he began to play a few scales as he refreshed his memory on how to play. From the scales and straight into Beethoven’s 5th violin sonata, he closed his eyes and began to play louder and more vibrantly. Sure, his lust for plunging sharp medical instruments into pale, soft flesh was fulfilled in the regime; however it never gave him the peace of mind that music granted him.

“ Is very good, doktor”

The song halted with a screech as Medic spun around to see Heavy poking his head out of the attic’s entrance with a grin on his face. The flustered doctor tensed, wondering how long Heavy had been there and started packing the violin away.

“ I am so sorry…” Medic stuttered, placing the violin and bow in it’s case.

Heavy’s grin fell and he shook his head. “ Niet! Do not stop” he said, climbing into the attic, the floorboards creaking underneith him. He approached the remaining cases and pulled out a rectangular case before motioning back towards the exit.

“ Come! Music is good for spirits. Good for winter” he says to the medic, “ Da, let us play together!”

Medic gave a sigh of relief and shut the violin case, following Heavy out of the attic towards the fireplace. So good natured was the man with the strength to punch someone to a pulp, however Medic pondered why he was not the least suspicious of himself rummaging through his belongings. He was being truthful about being just an ordinary man in an ordinary house. But those thoughts were not important now.

That night, a Hungarian dance song could be heard played by a violin and accompanied by a squeeze box.
>> No. 1177
You write so adorable.

Keep going with this.
>> No. 1185
this... is so cute. I hope there's no conflict between the two of them. I'd cry.
>> No. 1189
this is shaping up to be a most intriguing story, and very sweet.

can't wait for more.
>> No. 1196
Please sir/ma'am, may I have some more?
>> No. 1198
This is fluffier than a down pillow.

It's wonderful!
>> No. 1239
> That night, a Hungarian dance song could be heard played by a violin and accompanied by a squeeze box.

This is just about the cutest thing ever. Just beautiful.
>> No. 1277

Please, continue ;-;
>> No. 1344
Oh p-lease please please continue! I love this story so much.
>> No. 1459
God, this is wonderful. I hope you're writing more \o/
>> No. 2199
Hey, is this story ever going to be updated?? It is honestly one of the most interesting fanfictions I've read on this site. I also like the plot, it's original and refreshing to read. :] This story is great!
>> No. 2208
>> No. 2231
please continue! im loving this!
>> No. 2234
>> No. 2235
This story is wonderful. I'm intrigued and I've love to see more of it! I agree with 17.
>> No. 2244
“Не потревожьтесь. Я позабочусь о вы”. Auto translators are EVIL D': Better ask some russians next time.

Despite that, I really like the fic and where it is going C: Keep it up!
>> No. 2256

My bad. But yeah I'm starting on another chapter for you guys
>> No. 2269
Hooray! Thank you!
>> No. 2276
You had me at "The Russian knew he was not the smartest looking man, and took this to his own advantage."

I feel diabeetus coming on.

>> No. 2281
Can't wait for an update. This is an awesome story.

I don't know, but I never saw Heavy as stupid; not a secret rocket scientist either, but I wouldn't put him as below average.
>> No. 2283
Yay for more!
>> No. 2709
Days turned to weeks and weeks into months, and soon enough the snow began to melt away and patches of green grass poked out through the frosty white. Spring had come to the quiet countryside, posing as a bigger issue for the heavyset Russian on keeping his friend hidden. He had never thought of any relation to hiding a Jew from the Nazis compared to hiding a Nazi from the Russians, but if he did it would strike him as ironic. The doctor had no longer held any doubts towards him, and had given up his loyalty to the Reich (or so he said) giving him more the reason to keep him out of harm’s way. More-so, he had grown rather close to the doctor… well… heterosexually he hoped, despite how friendly Medic had become with him.
The doctor had made awkward advances towards him now and then, but Heavy just passed it as another example of weird German behavior, such as fretting over small injuries such as splinters, full massages every night and offered sponge baths, all in which the Russian declined as polite as he could. He tried his best to think otherwise of the man, that he was not particularly fond of the man in that way, but he couldn’t help but begin to grow a similar like to the doctor. Perhaps it could just be another effect of cabin fever from being cooped up for so long. Yes, that had to be it.

Heavy had worked inside of the barn often during those winter months, crafting specialized munitions.
Previous to the war, his father had been a gunsmith. Picking up on things and often helping out his father’s business, he had been working on his own weaponry as a hobby. It was always a thrill to wield a weapon to match his own physical power, small artillery such as pistols and revolvers proving to be too small for his hands and broke easily if he wasn’t too gentle with them. He had been working on making a minigun, a multi-barrel machine gun for ages. The weapon was never known to be used un-mounted due to its immense weight and recoil, boding well with the titanic Russian. If he could handle such a gun with ease, perhaps some of the pride lost in his childhood being called “Fat” and “Obese” would be returned, instead to now to be known as “Strong” and a “Giant”.

The German man would keep him company, often bringing him food or just simply being there. At first he was weary at the fact that the Russian had actually been working on munitions as he had previously predicted, but upon the realization that no harm would befall him remedied that worry.

“You are very close to zis, ja?”

Heavy looked up from repairing the gun’s motor to see the doctor wearing a cat-like grin on his face. He smiled, jovial as always. “Da. Very much,” he replied, chuckling, “I even gave her name”.

The very thought of the man naming his weapon and referring it to ‘her’ amused Medic. The love between a man and his weapon that went to the point of giving it a name always seemed like something that would occur in books, no-one in the Reich having the gall to do such a thing to their own weaponry.

“Well then, vat is her name?”


“Ah… Sasha… Why is zat?”

At this point Heavy seemed to grow a little shy of the conversation. “Ha ha… vell…” he began, “Zere in village eez most beautiful girl, name Sasha. Ven I was leetle, I vas alvays made insult to, being called fat and hideous! But not Sasha. She vas alvays so kind to me.”

Medic almost felt touched somewhat from the person’s kindness until what came next, his amusement dying in an instant.

“Da, I love her,” he said, sighing happily, “Perhaps ven winter eez over, I vill ask her to marry.”

Despite feeling hurt, the German hid his emotions and bit his lip, nodding as though Heavy never made that statement. “… Vhat does she look like?” he asked slowly.

Heavy chuckled and leaned back in the chair he was working in. “Ah…she eez very lovely. She has long brown hair and deep blue eyes.”

“Deep-blue eyes… ja…”

Yes. ‘Deep-blue eyes’ looking up at him pleadingly as he stood over her, the woman strapped to a medical table. He would look into them and smirk, putting on a pair of medical gloves and pulling them with a snap to see those eyes widen.

“Her skin eez like snow… I can only imagine how it feel to touch it.”

“Hm. Like snow”

Yes… soft pale skin… being pierced by his trusty bonesaw and sliced to ribbons with his scalpels. Perhaps he would be merciful and let her off with a warning about getting between his Heavy and himself.

“Da. And her body eez slim but well fed. Good hips, you know?” he says, his hands motioning the woman’s proportions.

Maybe only remove one of her limbs… just one. He could imagine her hobbling off in horror, a trail of blood staining the snow, disappearing forever in the distance.

“She vould make good wife,” he sighed cheerfully. “Come Summer, I think I vill propose. Is good idea, yes?”

Medic’s fantasy of taking the Russian’s dear Sasha out of the picture was demolished by the imagery of a happy family living out their lives in the Ukrainian countryside. Perhaps they would have a few children, a newborn baby in the woman’s arms or both.

His anger had had died down, feeling more depressed than anything. If Heavy truly wished for a life like that, he shouldn’t try to get in the way of it. The man probably didn’t share the same feelings that the doctor had for him whatsoever, and perhaps never would. He felt almost betrayed, kicking himself for falling for the man who had rescued him. He had been enticed by other men back in his homeland, but if any feelings were shared, he would be surely thrown away in jail or sent to the ovens. But this, this had felt different.

Whereas any man right in their mind would simply execute or turn him into the Russian authorities, Heavy had done the opposite and took care of him. He was a cold blooded killer; not on the field of duty, but in his lab, along with many other doctors as they conducted horrendous experiments on the Jews, many ending in life-long injuries, and many more in death. He had always felt somewhat guilty, despite the fact that they were filthy Juden to him. But still…what did he deserve to have this man?


Medic snapped to attention as the large man loomed over him with a slightly worried expression. “Vat are you thinking?” he asked.

“… Nozzing,” Medic said, shaking his head and smiling, “I just got lost in ze moment, Herr Heavy.”

Pleased to see that his friend was alright, he gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder. Eez alright, Medic. Besides, eez late. Time for sleep, yes?”

“… Ja.”

In the bed they would always share together, Heavy noticed that night that his friend had slept on what little there was on the other side of the mattress rather than leaning against him for warmth.

The German was such a confusing man.
>> No. 2711
YAY FOR UPDATES. But I'm bawing at poor Medic. D:
>> No. 2713
Oh, oh Medic. I cry for you.
This story keeps getting better and better with every installment, no flinching from who either of these characters truly are. It's beautiful and true and awesome. Please keep writing or my heart will break.
>> No. 2714
YES UPDATES. Also Medic baaaaw. Please tell me this goes gay in the end, please? I love the bromance but Heavy/Medic is my favorite pairing and there are way too few Heavy/Medic fics.
>> No. 2715
Aww man. I'm alil sad for the sadist bastard. But really, what makes him deserve such a nice guy?

I hope this doesn't end badly.
>> No. 2716
>> No. 2717
Wow, Medic had some real evil creepin' up there, and then his heart grew ten sizes that day. As sad as I feel for him right now, I'm really glad he decided NOT to slice up Heavy's woman... that would probably put a real damper on the possibility of a future relationship and all.

>> No. 2719
Oh man, I'm so happy there was an update. Every time I saw this thread Jump and it was just a comment i got SO depressed. Too many stories I think, don't catch the essence of the characters right.This is fabulous,please do continue.
>> No. 2730
Oh God, this fic is gorgeous!! Heavy/Medic is not my OTP, but this story is so awesome I just can't resist. If only you could update more frequently.

In the bed they would always share together, Heavy noticed that night that his friend had slept on what little there was on the other side of the mattress rather than leaning against him for warmth.
I just bawwww'd, coz it's SO DAMN REALISTIC D':
>> No. 2738
So in character and beautifully plotted! I love this, though I did start squirming for Sasha when Medic began planning her torture and demise. I look forward to the next installment.
>> No. 2781
Buuwaaah!! Yay an update!!! This made my day incredibly happy!!
Glad to see it continued! :]
>> No. 2905
THis. I agree.
>> No. 2956
For crying out loud, the story is amazing!
Russian phrases sound funny, though. In case you might want to change 'em - poke me, comrade. I might be of help >:3
>> No. 2960
>> No. 2967

I might. I'm not sure how to edit posts though :\
>> No. 3492
Why hasn't this been updated yet?
It's so refreshing to see a creative AU in the TF2 fandom.

I loved reading this and the quality of the writing is outstanding. I hope you can find time to update this soon. Until then, thanks for your work so far and take care.
>> No. 3528
Not a big update but here's a little more

Several days afterwards, Heavy had noticed that the doctor had become much less talkative than usual, going about chores with a pained expression. It was rather unusual how quickly his disposition had gone downhill. The Russian pondered if it had to do with homesickness or something of the like. Asking what was the matter wouldn’t work, the doctor always replying with the same “It eez nozzing”. Whatever it was, he figured that things would work themselves out hopefully, and tried not to pay it any attention. Instead, he would let the doctor sort things out himself and let him have some private time, leaving the farmhouse and traveling into town to receive some needed food from the local breadline.

The doctor would head into the attic as they agreed, and would remain hidden until Heavy returned in case anyone was to make an unexpected visit and discover him. There seemed to be an unusual bit of irony in all of this, but Medic couldn’t put his finger on it.

During that private time, Medic would pace back and forth with his hands behind his back, trying to think of something, anything he could do to make his way back to Germany. Homesick? Not in the slightest. Who knows what became of his troupe. It would be suicide to make his way to their checkpoint alone, but he didn’t want to risk Heavy if he was to accompany him. No, his fellow soldiers would surely kill him. It was out of the question.
It would only be a matter of time until he was found out. And what’s more, if he stayed here, Heavy would surely be dragged into this as well and punished for protecting him. He couldn’t bear to let that happen to this man.

His train of thought was later derailed as the house’s door creaked open, making the Medic nearly jump out of his skin. He hunkered down and quietly made his way behind one of the attic’s crates to hide, leaning his back against it and hugging his knees to his chest. “Hello?” a loud and familiar voice boomed from downstairs, “I am back, doktor!” Medic made his way down from the attic to see Heavy removing his thick wool coat and ushanka, a bag of meager rations he received from the line tucked under his arm.
“Hello, Heavy” Medic said, pressing his spectacles up against his nose, “How vas your trip”. Heavy placed the bag on the table and turned around, a large grin on his face. “On ze vay zere I meet vith Sasha,” he chuckled.

Sasha this, Sasha that. Despite rarely bringing her up in conversation, Medic felt she was all he would ever talk about.
“Tomorrow, her parents leave for two days!” he continues, holding up two fingers eagerly, “I vill be out to visit her for then. Her parents do not like me. So is good time to see her.”
Wait. Was he actually going to go out and fornicate with this woman then? Was that what he meant? The doctor felt his heart sink into his stomach at the thought of him having intercourse with some undignified woman. And at the same time, leaving him at home to stew in his own misery, knowing that someone now had the man he loved yet could never have. He suddenly began to feel rather ill.

“… Ja,” he nodded weakly, looking rather defeated as he looked down at the floorboards.

Heavy took a step towards him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You look out of sort, doctor,” the Russian said, a worried expression on his face, “Sick?”

He received the same answer that he had always gotten. “Nein. I am fine,” Medic muttered, and with that the doctor turned away and made his way back up the ladder heading into the attic. “I just need more time to think, Herr.” Before Heavy could think of something to say, the doctor had made his way into the crawlspace, leaving the Russian man speechless and confused.

While Heavy was gone the following day, Medic continued to stay in the attic. He had grown anxious and tried his best to keep his mind off of what may be happening during the Russian’s visit. He had already tuned the violin to perfection, swept up the floors and moved all of the crates into a neat single file line, not an inch out of place. He was growing restless, the sick feeling in his stomach from the other day nearly becoming nausea. It was like his anger, depression and jealousy had collided with one another, creating a violent storm inside of the man’s gut. He wanted to die.
Was his affection for this man stronger than he thought? He had heard of stories about patients falling in love with their doctor or nurses, but would have never believed that the tables would turn in such a way that they did, especially with a large man from an allied country. He had felt similar attractions to the same sex before, but brushed them aside, the regime teaching him that such a thing was a tremendous sin and imperfection, and having such feelings would undoubtedly have him sent into the very prisons he was stationed at.

Heavy would be with Sasha and Medic himself had only a sliver of a chance of returning home safely to Germany, or even to reach the Russian border alive. Staying in the farmhouse was out of the question. With winter over, he was positive that sooner or later, someone would discover him. And if they did, who knew what would happen to him, or Heavy, who would be charged for hiding him rather than reporting the man to the Russian military. No, he could not stand that. The best decision he could come to was to continue down the path he arrived on in hopes of reuniting with his troop. The directions were still fresh in his memory, yet somewhat hazy, but he was certain he could make it as long as he kept out of contact with any civilians.

Medic leaned up against the attic wall, slowly sliding down until he reached a sitting position as he tried to collect himself. His trembling hands were at his forehead, grasping at his prematurely graying hair, his cold blue eyes burning into the floorboards beneath him. He had suddenly felt an immense sense of insecurity, feeling vulnerable and weak, something that he hadn’t felt since he was a child. He drew a conclusion that he probably would never get the chance to release his stress again, whatever that may happen to him.

All he could do was hug his legs to his chest, the once proud man now sobbing uncontrollably into the crook of his knees, unable to mutter anything other than the name of the man he loved.

It was decided. He would leave tonight.
>> No. 3530
oh, poor medic :<
>> No. 3533
Ah jeez
>> No. 3534
Dammit, I emptied an entire box of tissues at Medic's misery!
>> No. 3535
Now I have to know what happens!!

Oh, why couldn't you have ended with that happy little polka update? I just know this isn't going to go well...
>> No. 3536
Awww, Medic! Now I feel really bad.
Please update again soon?
>> No. 3547
I really am enjoying this much more than I thought I would. I really hope that you update sometime soon. I'd love to see what happens.
>> No. 3548
Ah, poor Medic :(
>> No. 3721
Poor Medic. I can't help but feel for him, myself having fallen prey to such situations myself, though not quite so harsh or dire.
I hope you update this soon, this plot has quite firmly caught me in its grasp and has put me on the edge of my seat.
I can't wait to see what happens next!
>> No. 3803
Oh my gosh this is so damn cute. And very well written, keep going!
>> No. 3862
Oh god, please update this as soon as possible. Must know what happens to poor Medic!
>> No. 4771
sage in utter desperation for update.
>> No. 4772

or not
>> No. 4778
Please don't let this fic end with lonely medic tears.
>> No. 4779
(this story has become kind of painful to write due to being cheesy. All apoligies to whoever is cringing at the story lol)

Early the following day, the large Russian man returned to the homestead, wheezing as he entered through the front door. To his dismay Sasha’s parents had returned earlier than they had planned, the young woman’s father chasing Heavy out of their household.


Heavy had called out for him several times without receiving any answer from the attic. Perhaps he could have fallen asleep? After folding his wool coat over one of the wooden chairs he made his way up the stairs, poking his head though the attic’s opening to see nothing but the fine alligned crates up against the wall. He couldn’t possibly be hiding behind them unless he was a sheet of paper, so Heavy went through the containers one-by-one. Alas there was no sign of the doctor, just coats and tools.
As the young man was about to go downstairs to search for his friend, a tattered old sheet of paper on the floor caught his eye. It is a note left by his German friend.

I am greatful for your hospitality, but I can no longer stay.
If I do, we both will be in danger if I am discovered, and I do not wish for you to be dragged into this. I have become rather fond of you during these last few months, however fond is not an appropriate word for what I am feeling. I could never tell you face-to face nor any means but this but, I must admit that I am in love with you. Please live out a happy life with your beloved Sasha and do not hold any grudges against what I have said. I would rather have you forget about me rather than regretting our friendship.

I wish you the best of luck. Please wish the same for me.

It was difficult to make out some of the words but the message was clear. It was excruciatingly obvious now how the Medic felt towards him and the Russian’s stomach would turn if he hadn’t known that his friend was in danger. There was no time for letting this feeling sink in. With that he scrambled down the ladder from the attic and grabbed his coat, flinging the door open as he rushed out. He could only hope that the doctor had left recently if he had any hopes in finding him.

Heavy could see footprints in the melting snow, hastily covered with what may have been a branch. The doctor must have been trying to hide them in case he was found, not wanting anyone to know that the Russian man partook in aiding him. They seemed rather obvious, yet the lumbering Russian paid this no heed, making haste to follow the trail.
He was led through the countryside, white as a sheet with snow with the few exceptions of a few snow covered houses and patches of green grass poking from the white tundra. It would seem that it would be easy to spot any living being from there, however the landscape was deserted, no signs of the Medic anywhere. He could feel his heart nearly jumping out of his chest at the thought that something had happened to him. He was ill prepared and knew very little of where he was. The man could easily have been spotted by any local residents or taken by the frigid weather. In love with him or not, Heavy could not let anything happen to him.

Hours had gone by and no progress was being made as Heavy trudged on through the fields of white. The greying clouds from above had begun to snow, making the doctor’s tracks begin to disappear. Slowed down by his own girth, Heavy found himself gasping for breath, sweat dripping down his neck as he came to a halt. Panting, he lowered his head to rest for a moment before continuing on. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them back up, realizing something strange about the area he stood upon. He lifted his head to see the snow of the surrounding space flattened down and kicked about, as if a group of children had romped through a new sheet of snow. Alas, this was not caused by children but what appeared to be a squad of grown men.

Many footprints were pressed into the powder, the snow itself telling the event which had occurred. A large group of people had been making their way through the countryside and found the Medic, who must have made quite a struggle from the mess which was left behind. Small patches of blood had stained the snow, making Heavy’s stomach sink. Could they have shot him? No, they would have probably left the body behind, having no use for it. If it had been the soviet army making their rounds, it was better to believe that he was dead than to be carried out to the gulag.

The trail the men had left behind had already been covered by the falling snow, leaving the giant of a man helpless without any sort of direction. There was nothing he could do now. Defeated, he made his way back to his home, trying his best to ignore the tears welling up in his eyes.
>> No. 4781
>> No. 4788
Buckets of tears man, I am crying them. I don't care if it's a bit cheesy, it's pretty good.
>> No. 4812
NO MEDIC, you damn idiot!
>> No. 4818


>> No. 4821
Oh... please don't stop just because it's cheesy D= I like cheese, it's delish. Moar, please?
>> No. 4822
>> No. 5799
Good god, this needs to be updated.

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