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No. 2024
Starting a new thread for stories related vaguely to Respawn of the Dead, but could stand on their own as well. Might just have a lot of scraps in here, but I'm going to start with a multi-part fluff piece, at the suggestion of an Anon responding to Respawn of the Dead. It doesn't really have a title.

For those who haven't read Respawn of the Dead, it can be found here: http://www.tf2chan.net/fanfic/res/17.html and http://www.tf2chan.net/fanfic/res/1146.html

Yeah, I know at the time I'm posting this the second thread is still on the front page, but it won't be there forever, so yeah.


As soon as he had stepped off of the train, Medic felt that he was going to hate it here.

The RED and BLU bases were directly across from each other, in the middle of the desert no less, with no sign of civilization for miles. The brush surrounding the base just outside of the chain-link fence that encircled both bases was dry and brittle-looking, like paintbrush tips sticking out of the parched soil. RED base, the one that Medic had been assigned to, looked like an abandoned barn, whereas BLU’s was a much more modern-looking facility, made of concrete. Wooden cut-out cows were staked outside the fence on RED’s side, for no discernable reason that Medic could think of. He ignored his teammates as they also disembarked, a few of them making awkward introductions. Medic felt that such a thing would be redundant; he had the opportunity to go through the medical files of each of his team members while he was sitting on the train.

This whole operation was suspect, really. Opposing fortresses stationed in the middle of nowhere, regularly scheduled fighting for enemy intelligence, an unexplained device that would insure that nobody /stayed/ dead… it seemed more like some sort of odd experiment rather than a proper mercenary job. Not that Medic considered himself to be a mercenary; he was a scientist, first and foremost, and he was only really doing this because it paid well and he would be able to test out his invention, the Medigun, extensively. The mindless fighting was merely a means to an end.

Going past the gate from the platform to the base, Medic noticed that he was only coming off the train with six other men. Another man, the Sniper, if he remembered correctly, was already waiting for them. He leaned against the beam alongside the entrance, not making any real effort to be friendly and introduce himself. He merely tipped the brim of his hat upwards slightly with his thumb, revealing a pair of aviator sunglasses, and scanned over the group with narrowed eyes.

“Well, howdy!” someone chirped in a friendly manner. Medic turned his head to see it was the Engineer, a short, stout American man from Texas. All Medic knew about Texas was from those deplorable American western films, and actually /hearing/ someone speak like the cowboys from those film made the doctor’s stomach churn.

The Sniper turned his head to Engineer, and smirked. “‘Mornin’,” Sniper said.

“You sure showed up early,” Engineer noted. “Yer th’ Sniper, right?”

“‘S wot it says on my résumé,” Sniper replied with a shrug. “I’m guessin’ you’re th’ Engineer.”

“Guilty as charged,” Engineer stepped forward and offered the assassin his gloved hand. “Pleased t’ make yer acquaintance.”

Medic watched as Sniper cautiously offered his hand, filthy and covered with gun oil and God only knew what other grime, and Engineer took it enthusiastically, shaking the man’s hand perhaps a little too strongly. Sniper’s glasses were thrown askew and slid down his nose, and the Demoman let out a very loud, short burst of laughter. The doctor cringed a bit at the sound. He had looked over Demoman’s papers with interest, wondering how on earth a Negro could possibly consider himself to be a Scotsman. There was little information to be found, though, as he was apparently orphaned at a young age. The doctor dreaded having to deal with a man who was a combination of the two.

Sniper tucked his hand into his back pocket. “So, ah, yeah. Anyway, I just got ‘ere yesterday. Soldier’s been ‘ere for about a week, now, by ‘imself. I ‘ad t’ deal with ‘im plenty yesterday. Guy’s completely raving starkers.”

“I HEARD THAT, PRIVATE!” A loud, authoritative voice boomed from inside the barn. The Soldier came marching into view, and Medic found himself trying to suppress vicious laughter. The man seemed to be more a caricature of an American G.I. than a real human being, as he strutted forward, chest out and back straight, looking like an absurd peacock. He stopped just short of Sniper, stomping his boots firmly on the ground, and peered out at the new arrivals from underneath his helmet.

“You’re the sorriest sacks of walking vomit I’ve ever laid upon,” Soldier snarled. “You honestly think any of you spineless, lily-livered momma’s boys have what it takes to be able to beat any of those BLU bastards on the battlefield? HA!” The other men exchanged puzzled glances, and Medic merely locked his gaze onto the American, smiling with a quiet sort of amusement. There had been some very brief notes in Soldier’s medical file about him being rather /unstable/, to say the least. RED seemed to have a very liberal policy regarding hiring standards.

“I expect to see the lot of you down in the War Room at 0900 hours,” Soldier barked. “Show up late, and you’ll be dropping and giving me 50! Dis-missed!” And with that, he turned on his heel and marched off.

“Th’ hell is that guy’s problem?” asked the Scout. Medic looked the young man up and down. Lean, athletic build, boyish features… he would almost be appealing if it weren’t for that /voice/.

“Ya don’t wanna know, trust me,” Sniper said. “Th’ ‘War Room’ is Soldier’s room, by th’ way. ‘E already staked one out.” He gestured to the rest of the new arrivals. “Now, git on over. Bastard wields a mean shovel.” With that, he turned inside, and the Scout was already at his heels. The others followed as well, and Medic watched the Pyro waddle past him. Had he really come over on the train wearing that gas mask and gloves the entire time? Out of all the men, Pyro was a complete mystery, most of his file being left blank; his gender wasn’t even marked down. Medic made a note to try and catch the man without his mask on… if it even /was/ a man.

Medic watched the rest of his new teammates go inside. He noticed that one of them was missing. Suddenly, he heard a very loud “HELLO, COMRADE!” A large hand patted him rather harshly on the back, sending him pinwheeling forward. He whirled to see their team’s Heavy behind him, laughing loudly at the doctor’s reaction.

“Vhat is matter, leetle Comrade?” the Heavy asked. The man was built like a large, bald gorilla, and his voice rumbled from deep within his barrel chest. “Am I too strong for tiny man?”

“Do me a favor und do not touch me anymore,” Medic snarled. “I prefer not to have mein bones broken before I even get a chance to fight.”

The Heavy chuckled. “You are team’s doktor, da?”

“Ja,” Medic answered dryly. “Truly, your powers of observation ah unsurpassed.”

Heavy’s brow furrowed, trying to process the very large words that the doctor had thrown at him. Medic snickered at the larger man’s mental struggle, and started to follow the other members of RED team inside.

“Vait! Comrade Doktor!” Medic cringed at the sound of Heavy’s voice, and could hear the massive footfalls as the Russian jogged up to meet him.

“Don’t call me ‘comrade,’ bitte,” Medic said flatly. It made him ill to here a bastardization of "Kamerad" used by a Russian.

The giant of a man paused for a moment. “You are from vest side of vall, then?”

“I left Germany after ze var.” Good God, why was this man so insistent on talking to him? It’s not like Medic was acting particularly friendly or anything. Hopefully, putting up that armor of aloofness would get this boisterous man off of his back.

“Oh.” Finally, the Russian fell silent. He was still trailing behind Medic a bit too closely, and the doctor tried to put more distance between the two of them as they descended down further under the barn, and into the actual base. During the entire trek, the much larger man would continuously catch up closer to Medic, and Medic would repeatedly take much wider steps to get away from him. Once or twice Heavy managed to accidentally step on the doctor’s heels, eliciting an angry cry from Medic, followed by him muttering softly under his breath in German.

They could not have arrived at Soldier’s “War Room” sooner. The door was open, and most of the other members of RED team were already there and seated around a long table. There was not much room for the actual chairs, and Medic scooted past Sniper and Demoman to an empty chair towards the end of the table. He had just sat down only to look up and see the Heavy, trying to suck in his huge gut as Sniper tried to pull himself in as close to the table as he could, and Demoman found himself being pushed forward as Heavy mumbled a half-hearted “sorry.” Medic sighed as Heavy took a seat next to him, grunting as he sat down and the chair creaked under his weight.

Soldier was standing up at the far end of the room, arms crossed over his chest as he peered out from under his helmet, scanning over the faces of the new recruits. “Someone’s missing,” he growled. “Where’s the Spy?”

“Right behind you.”

Soldier immediately jumped, and whirled around to punch the materializing Spy in the face, only to have the Frenchman deftly dodge blow, sliding up behind the American and pounding a closed fist on Soldier’s back.

“If I had my knife on me, you would be a dead man right now,” Spy said, his voice low and threatening, and the grin on his face wide.

“I let you do that,” Soldier said gruffly.

“Of course you did,” Spy said dismissively. He slinked off to a corner of the room, and leaned against the wall, pulling his cigarette case from inside his coat jacket while he did so. “You may start now.”

“I don’t need /your/ permission to start, you sneaky, snail-eating sonuvabitch!” Soldier retorted. Spy reacted by only raising an eyebrow, and this served to further provoke the American. “Who the hell do you think you /are/, anyway?”

“I zink I am ze only person in zis room who ‘as worked for RED before signing on for zis particular job,” Spy said casually. “Am I correct in assuming zat?”

None of the other men in the room contested this, looking over at the Spy and waiting for him to continue. “I zhought so,” Spy said, flipping the case in his hand open as he plucked out a cigarette. “Well, gentlemen, I suppose I should inform you on how we do business here with RED…”

“I was just about to do that!” Soldier barked.

“Oh, were you, now?” Spy asked, his cigarette now held between two fingers as he replaced his case and fished for his lighter. “Well, zen. By all means, make a fool of yourself in front of all us.”

“I /will/, thank you very much!” Soldier retorted, causing several of his teammates to start snickering. He shot the offenders a rather nasty glare, and then thrust out his chest as he started to speak.

“Welcome to RED base, ladies! This base right here, is now the complete center of your very existence. You have no other purpose in life than to /fight/, defend our intelligence from getting captured by the enemy, and capture the enemies’ intelligence! Even when you are not fighting, you will be /thinking/ about it, /talking/ about it, and living and breathing it. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Oh, yeah, perfectly,” Sniper leaned back in his chair a bit. “I think we’ve been all made well aware as to just how absolutely off yer rocker you really are, /Sarge/.”

Everyone else in the room sniggered at the Soldier’s expense. Sniper seemed rather pleased with himself, basking in his own wit for a moment before the broad side of Soldier’s shovel came down upon the crown of his head, sending his chin crashing onto the table.

“OW! Jesus, what th’ hell was that for?” Sniper took off his hat and rubbed the top of his head.

“I think you /know/ what the hell that was for,” Soldier sneered. “Where are you from, son?”

“Australia,” Sniper grumbled. “Though, I’m sure ya couldn’t tell by me accent or /anythin’/.” He shielded his head to protect himself from another shovel blow.

“That’s the problem with you foreigners,” Soldier spat. “No respect for authority.”

Medic found himself trying to stifle his laughter, holding his hand over his mouth and letting out a few odd nasal noises. Soldier turned quickly towards the German. “Is there something /wrong/, Doctor?” he asked.

“Nein… Nozzing is wrong... I’ll be fine.” Medic has regained his composure, for the most part. The though of a loud, boisterous American lecturing these goons on discipline struck him as both sad and hilarious.

Soldier cast a wary glance at Medic, and his upper lip curled into a sneer as he looked over the doctor. He turned away, and started to pace back and forth along side the table. “Around here, men, we have some /rules/; rules that exist in order to maintain /order/. Obey these rules, and you will manage to survive.”

“I don’t think we gotta worry too much about dyin’,” Scout said. “They got that ‘respawn’ thing, right? So, we won’t be dyin’ or anythin’ anyway.”

Soldier rounded the table and loomed over the Scout, getting his face uncomfortably close to that of the younger man’s, causing Scout to wince a bit. “Wise guy, eh?” Soldier asked. “I’ll be making a note of that.” He straightened back up again. “One of the first rules around here is, that under no circumstances are /any/ of you /ever/ to give out your real name. We will identify each other by our class titles /only/.”

“Yeah, why is that, anyway?” Scout asked.

“Stop asking questions, maggot!” Soldier snapped. “You /will/ be silent when a superior officer is speaking to you!”

“A shame zat zere are no ‘superior officers’ here, zen,” Spy said casually, before taking a drag on his cigarette.

“What’s that?” Soldier asked.

“We’re all ze same rank, Monsieur Soldier,” Spy said. “Zis job requires zat each of us works togezzer as a /team/. RED never gave any /ranks/ to any of us.”

“Oooh, tough break, big guy,” Scout said. “Looks like ya ain’t runnin’ this show after all.”

“What’s your name, Private?” Soldier asked, bending over so that his face was level with Scout’s.

“Ya jus’ told me not t’ tell ya.” Scout said warily.


“Okay, Jesus, my name’s-” Scout was quickly cut off by a quick whack over his head with Soldier’s shovel.


Scout was clutching his head in pain and grimacing. “But you said-”

“EXACTLY!” Soldier bellowed. “Nothing like a little negative reinforcement to keep your trap shut.”

“Hey, now, that was jes’ uncalled for.” Engineer stood up from his chair, leaning over the table and supporting himself with his palms. “Th’ boy was jes’ followin’ yer orders. Ya shouldn’t go an’ send mixed signals to ‘im.”

“I don’t recall giving you permission to speak, Tex!” Soldier hollered.

“But th’ Spy just said-”

“Are you seriously going to listen to /him/? He’s French!”

“Well, fuck you, too,” Spy scoffed.

“I think we’re off to a bad start, here,” Engineer said, trying to sound as calm and controlled as possible, although his annoyance was quite obvious. “If we’re gonna be livin’ together an’ workin’ as a team, we’re gonna need to reach an understanding.”

“We are,” Soldier said. “And that understanding is that this team needs a strong, fearless and also quite handsome leader, which is why I nominate myself as commanding officer.”

“Fine,” said Engineer. “We’ll put it to a vote. ‘S only democratic.”

Medic raised an eyebrow at the Engineer, and turned only to notice that the Texan’s choice of words had a very definite and profound effect on the Soldier, who seemed to be reeling back a bit. “What are you /implying/, exactly?” he asked cautiously.
“It just seems t’ me that it would be far more prudent to put this sort of thing to a vote, instead of initiatin’ a hostile takeover,” said Engineer.

Soldier snorted, and crossed his arms over his chest. “/Fine/. We’ll put it to a vote then. But you group of /women/ should know that a team without strong leadership is hardly a team at all! It’s like a chicken running around with its head cut off, flapping around the barnyard spraying blood all over the place. And most of the time, they die eventually, but /sometimes/, sometimes it lives, and then before you know it you’re feeding it with an eyedropper down its gullet and going on tour with it all over the country, so people can pay to money to see your hideous freak-chicken, which is our team. /We/ are that hideous, headless freak-chicken, and don’t you forget that!”

There was a very long, awkward silence that followed, with all of the team members simply staring wordlessly at Soldier. Soldier seemed to be equally confused by their reaction.

“Yeah, I think ya just about killed your chances a’ bein’ elected leader a’ this outfit,” Sniper said dryly. Soldier grabbed for his shovel and Sniper shielded his head with his arm again.

“Ve do not need team leader,” Heavy spoke up. “Team works together, ve all be equal. Is fair that vay.”

“What do you think we are, goddamned dirty commies like you?” Soldier sneered. “Well, I refuse to be a party to any pinko commie shenanigans. So there!”

Heavy stood up from his chair. In the small, crowded room he appeared to be even larger than usual. His eyes were narrowed and his expression was stern, and he stepped forward a few paces so that he could look down upon Soldier. “Vhat did leetle man just call me?” he asked.

“You heard me, Goliath.” Soldier said, puffing out his chest. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Medic laced his fingered together in front of his face, trying hard to fight the smile that had crept over his face. To see two representatives of the Allied forces potentially beat the snot out of each other was enticing, to say the least. It was a win/win situation, really, especially if they managed to incapacitate each other. It was hard to pick, really, which one he wanted to see go down more.

“See, this ain’t gonna work!” Engineer said. “Look, we’re all workin’ fer RED here, an’ we need to learn t’ all git along despite our differences, otherwise we ain’t gonna be able to fulfill our job requirements. Our first battle against the BLU team is tomorrow an’ if we’re having ideological arguments instead a’ plannin’ our strategy, we’re gonna lose to ‘em.”

“Th’ Engineer’s got a point,” the Demoman said, speaking up for the first time since he arrived. “We should be usin’ this time t’ be plannin’. Much as I love me a good ‘bout, we should be savin’ our energy fer those BLU dandies ‘cross th’ bridge.”

Engineer seemed to be a little startled by Demoman’s voice, but quickly shook it off and nodded. “Exactly,” he said nodding. “Thank you. Ah… yer our Demoman, right?”

“‘Course I’m th’ Demoman!” The Scotsman replied. “I look th’ part, don’ I?”

“Sorry, I just, ah, was told that our Demoman would be /Scottish/,” Engineer said nervously. “An’ well, ya sound th’ part, but I really wasn’t expectin’ ya t’ be… y’know…”

“T’ be /wot/?” Demoman asked, his good mood suddenly melting away.

“Well, uh…” Engineer was floundering now, deeply regretting having turned the conversation in this direction. “To be… uh…”

“SAY IT!” Demoman commanded, slamming his bottle on the table for emphasis.

“Well, I dinnit’ even know they /had/ Negroes in Scotland!” Engineer blurted out. “Ya can’t blame me fer bein’ a little /confused/!”

“Oh, yer jes’ /confused/ now, are ye?” Demoman asked condescendingly. “Lissen’, /pardner/, I’ve had enough racist shite comin’ at me from me own homeland. I donnae need any o’ it ‘ere!”

“I wasn’t bein’ racist, just cool yer jets!” Engineer said defensively. “You were agreein’ with me just a minute ago ‘bout how we all gotta git along an’ now yer bein’ confrontational…”

“Oh, so it’s /my/ fault now, innit?” Demoman said. “A Scottish black man’s practically a freak a’ nature, innit? Ye ‘ad t’ go aboot pointin’ it out t’ th’ whole team like th’ backwards hick ye are!”

“Listen ‘ere, I ain’t backwards at all. I got 11 PhDs, boy, an you best-”

“‘Boy?’ D’ye jes’ call me ‘boy,’ now?”

Spy started to laugh hysterically at the exchange. Demoman growled and threw the bottle in his hand at the Frenchman, who only narrowly dodged it as it shattered against the wall.

“NOT SO FUNNY NOW, IS IT, YE PRANCY FROG?” Demoman bellowed.

“You got your cheap moonshine on my suit,” Spy sneered. “I would tell you to start sleeping with one eye open, but you seem to be /lacking/ in zat department, aren’t you?”

Demoman immediately stood up from the table, backing his chair into the standing Heavy. Heavy immediately tried to restrain the Scotsman, only to be headbutted in his massive gut. As Heavy doubled over, Soldier stepped in swinging his shovel and screaming incoherently. Demoman stepped backwards to avoid the blow, tumbling onto Sniper in his chair, and the broad side of the shovel collided with Heavy’s bald head, causing the Russian to roar in pain. Heavy retaliated against Soldier by grabbing Soldier by the collar and lifting him off of the ground and throwing him into Spy, who was unable to move quickly enough to avoid being crushed by the American. Demoman got his wind back and was trying to make his move towards the Engineer, who had found himself backed up against the wall. Sniper was trying his best, however, to pull the Demoman back, and received a blow to the face for his trouble. Pyro, who had been silent and uninvolved the entire time, slid out from his chair and hid under the table, cowering with his hands over his head and making muffled little whimpers, and Scout seemed to throw himself onto Heavy’s back and was attacking him almost solely for the sake of being involved in the fight. Medic was still sitting in his chair, watching all of these events unfold. Suddenly, this wasn’t amusing anymore.

“YOU IDIOTS!” he shouted, standing up from his chair and causing the members of RED team to pause in their battle against one another. “You call yourselves men? You ah nozzing more zen a group of screaming /children!/ Und tomorrow, vhen ve fight ze BLU team, ve ah going to lose! So, go ahead! Keep fighting, you Dummkopfs. I don’t care. I’ll be in mein quarters. Good /day/!” And with that, he kicked his chair violently out of place, marching past his team members and squeezing between them to reach the door to Soldier’s room, which he slammed violently behind him.

He hadn’t noticed the silence as he continued to march down the hall, poking his head through various doorways in search of the Infirmary. He had been told that there would be a room for him in there, and he wanted nothing more than to flop down on his bed and take a nice, long nap. A trunk of his belongings should have arrived before he did, and he was looking forward to listening to one of his records. Perhaps some Bach to calm his nerves.


He jumped at the sound of that voice, and turned to see the Heavy behind him. He had bee so deep in thought he hadn’t heard the massive Russian. “Ach, it’s /you/,” Medic said, trying to mask his disgust. “Vhat do you vant?”

“Doktor vas right,” Heavy said. “Everybody has stopped fighting. They do not vant to talk, though.”

Medic sighed. His new role on this team seemed like it was going to be playing the nanny to these men. “I don’t really care any more. I just vant to be alone.”

The Russian chuckled. “You sound like that actress… vhat is her name? Garbo?”

“Greta Garbo?” Medic asked, raising an eyebrow. “You know she is Svedish und not German, right?”

“Oh, da,” Heavy said. “I am sorry. I have seen her in some American movies. I have not seen very many, though. But the vay you talk sounds… same, a leetle.”

The doctor tried his best to mask his surprise that the Heavy had any knowledge of cinema at all. “Ah you suggesting zat I sound like a /woman,/ Herr Heavy?”

“Nyet! You sound like a man!” Heavy was now fumbling to recover from this horrible implication. “Tiny, leetle man, but still man. And I am happy to be fighting vit you, Doktor!” He patted the doctor on the back, much more gently this time. “RED tell me ve should stick together in battle. Ve vill make good team, da?”

“Ve shall see,” Medic said, brushing off Heavy’s hand. “Now, if you vill excuse me, I vish to take a nap. Do not disturb me, bitte.”

“Da, Doktor!” Heavy boomed. “Have good rest!”

Medic found the infirmary door, and slid inside without a further word with the Russian, letting out another sigh as he closed the door behind him.
Marked for deletion (old)
>> No. 2025
Hell yes, this is awesome. Have I mentioned I love your Demoman? I love your Demoman.
>> No. 2026
>> No. 2027
I wuv you Cat Bountry.
>> No. 2028
Excuse me while I abuse the capslock but OH MY GOD YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES


>> No. 2029
Cat Bountry is credit to team!
>> No. 2030
Oh god Heavy is so friendly jesus christ I just want to hug him
>> No. 2031
Oh god Heavy is so friendly jesus christ I just want to hug him
>> No. 2032
Medic laced his fingered together in front of his face,

Cat, you are a true winner.
>> No. 2033
Holly Crap Cat! I want you to know I was running around my room laughing my ass off after I read that fight scene.
>> No. 2034
I chuckled at the almost-brawl that occurred here, I am SO glad to see more of your writing being posted <3


Perhaps some Bach to calm his nerves.Sarge
could be coincidence, but I get all giddy thinking it's not! ILU!
>> No. 2038
>> No. 2042
>> No. 2043

You /might/ have had some influence on my writings, good Madam.
>> No. 2053

>> No. 2055
you don't need my approval, but I shall give it to you anyway.
>> No. 2062
This looks really promising Cat!
Have I mentioned how much I enjoy your takes on the team?
-- Seeing the Heavy and Medic get to know each other will be awesome and adorable.
You know... Since, You, I and Cap never got around to writing it... because... I'm lazy and such.
>> No. 2064

It's okay. This way I can tie it into my other fic and stuff and make it even /more/ BAAAAAAAWWWWW-worthy.
>> No. 2065
More stories from Cat Bountry? Today is a good day.
>> No. 2082
Beautiful and malicious. I love it!
>> No. 2097

I am both honored and delighted <3 Please... may I have some moar? Your writing... it is exquisite.
>> No. 2107
YES <3 CONTINUE WRITING. As always, I love your characterizations!
>> No. 2188
More, MORE!!!!
>> No. 2189
More, MORE!!!!
>> No. 2190
More, MORE!!!!
>> No. 2191
You trying to tell us something, anon?
>> No. 2201

I think, Captain, that the Anon is trying to tell use they either want or require more.
>> No. 2204

Yeah, but three times? I know the fic is good but COME ON.
>> No. 2206

>> No. 2209


(that anon(x3) above wasn't me btw)
>> No. 2222
FFf... Your last piece of work, "Respawn of the dead" truely inspired me to make my own fan fiction. In chapter three, there is a fight scene very similar to this. I think I may have been a bit too inspired.
>> No. 2240
I am FREAKING OUT over here. I'm proud to be that Anon who had requested the companion pieces.

I couldn't stop laughing at Solly's little "headless chicken" speech. YOU WRITE HIM SO WELL.
And the fight was just.. ffffff... so silly.

Can't wait for more. <3
>> No. 2249
Please, sir, can I have some more?
>> No. 2250
you got cheap mooshine on mt suit.

>> No. 2265
Original anon here, I just wanted to clear something up for everyone. I orginally posted "More, MORE!!!" for just one time, but the internet was slowing down for some reason, so I posted again a few minutes later after. It did the same thing and I posted again after. I did like RotD and this one,so I say again, legitimately, MORE!
>> No. 2266

Soon as I finish up the weight test animation that's due tomorrow, I'll work on it some more. I've got like, four more frames to draw and then I have to scan all my drawings, and if I have time I'll write some more.

It's got like, five pages now, so it's about half-way done.
>> No. 2272

this is awesome.
>> No. 2291
Part Two is finally here! Sorry it took so long. Pippers beta'd for me this time around, so we'll see how that goes.


There was a sudden but gentle knocking at the door, and Medic found himself jolting up out of his sleep. He really did not want to be disturbed. “Vhat do you vant?” He asked loudly, not bothering to get up from the bed.

“S’me, doc.” The Engineer replied. “Just brought ya some dinner. Can I come in?”

Medic was still too groggy to put up any sort of resistance to this invasion of his personal space. Besides, he reasoned, it would probably be wiser to just let him in, and hope he would leave quickly. “Ja, come in.” He forced himself to sit up from the bed as Engineer came in, holding a plate for the doctor with a smile on his face.

“Hope ya don’t mine meat an’ potatoes, Doc. Shame we don’t seem to have any gravy around, I’ll hafta see if RED can hook us up.” He placed the plate gingerly on the doctor’s nightstand, and then pulled up a nearby chair and sat down.

Medic sighed inwardly, feeling as though he had already made a grave mistake. “Is there somezing I can help you viz?” Medic asked.

“I actually wanted t’ talk t’ you about that Medigun you invented,” Engineer said, pointing to the device in the corner of the room. “Well, I was allowed t’ look over the original notes you made while developin’ it, an’ I wanted to let you know that I was /very/ impressed.”

“Vere you, now?” Medic asked stoically.

“Well, yeah!” Engineer said. “I was actually lookin’ quite forward t’ meetin’ ya, actually. Heck, I’m jes’ tickled t’ be workin’ with another man a’ science.” He extended his hand towards the doctor, beaming. “It’s a pleasure t’ meet ya, Doc.”

Medic looked over Engineer’s hand like he had just been handed a dead fish, and cautiously returned took it, finding the Texan’s grip to be firm and strong, though not as excited as he had been with Sniper. “Nice to meet you,” Medic said rather half-heartedly.

“Pleasure’s all mine!” Engineer said cheerfully. “Actually, I wanted to show you somethin’ I had been workin’ on. I actually got th’ idea from seein’ your plans for the Medigun, an’ well, I got t’ thinkin’, there’s only gonna be on a’ ya on the field out there, an’ yer not gonna be able to help ev’rybody at th’ same time, right?”

“I suppose…”

“Well, I’ve developed a machine that will release the vapor that you concocted for the Medigun, only it’ll remain stationary,” Engineer was practically gushing at this point, as though he had wanted to tell somebody, /anybody/ about this for a very long time. “Not only that, but I managed to work it out so it’ll be able to provide ammunition for us as well. I don’t really have a patented name for it, since I sold it t’ RED, but its workin’ name is just the Dispenser.”

The doctor raised a curious eyebrow. What exactly was Engineer expecting out of him? Approval? A pat on the back and a “Well done!” from him? The man was expecting some sort of reaction of Medic, as he sat there, with that rather goofy expression on his face, waiting for Medic to say /something/. “Ve shall see how it vorks tomorrow, zen,” Medic said curtly. “Zank you for bringing me dinner.”

“Don’t think nothin’ of it!” Engineer said, getting up from his chair. “Listen, you need anythin’ at all, jes’ let me know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go pay a visit to our Demoman. Seems we had a bit of a misunderstandin’ durin’ th’ meetin’ earlier, an’, well, I ain’t one t’ leave any animosity between me an’ another fella’ if I can help it.”

“Good luck viz zat,” Medic said flatly. He honestly could not see any sort of attempt to appease the drunken, black Scotsman going well at all.

“Thanks,” Engineer replied with a smile. “Sorry to have bothered ya. You take care now.” And with that, he headed to the door and left, but not without casting one last glance at the doctor before closing the door behind him. The doctor looked to the plate. High in starch and protein, he noted. He stood up off of the bed, and lifted the plate off of the night stand. He might as well take this to his desk in the infirmary, he thought. As soon as he was sure Engineer had left, he opened his bedroom door, plate in one hand, and crept out to his new desk. There, he would eat in silence, and dread the inevitable humiliation his team would no doubt have to endure tomorrow.



“All right, men, listen up! A lot of you are probably thinking this is just a test-run, like this doesn’t actually matter. Well, you’re wrong, and it does! If we lose today, I will personally gut the lot of you like rainbow trout! Does everyone remember their positions?”

“Actually, Soldier, ya kinda glossed over th’ whole thing…”

“Quiet, you! Just build your sentries where I told you to! Now, men, I expect each and every one of you to perform at the best of your abilities. You are fearless! You are merciless! You are going to give those BLU bastards hell, and I’m damn sure that you will be- WHERE THE HELL IS OUR PYRO?”

All the other men in the room looked around, and noticed that the Pyro was absent.

“MISSION STARTS IN 30 SECONDS.” The Announcer boomed.

“You mean he wasn’t walkin’ in here with us?” Scout asked.

“Well, apparently not, numbnuts! Otherwise he’d be here, wouldn’t he?” Soldier barked. “Goddammit, how are we supposed to spy check if we don’t have a goddamned Pyro?”

“Maybe he’s on ‘is way?” Sniper suggested.

“A fat lot of good /that/ will do us!” Soldier roared.

“I got a bad feelin’ aboot this,” Demoman said, shaking his head.


“Stop having bad feelings!” Heavy roared. “Ve go and show cowards how /real/ men fight! Ready, Doktor?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Medic grumbled, keeping his Medigun trained on the giant Russian.


The doors to the Resupply room opened, and the members of RED team scrambled to their positions. Heavy let out a battle cry as he trailed behind Scout, Soldier and Demoman, who were all charging towards BLU base. Medic looked down at the Ubercharge meter on his Medigun for a split second, only to hear a gunshot ring out. He looked up to see Heavy collapse onto the ground, a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Medic let out a panicked shriek. “SNIPER!” He cried out. “LOOK OUT FOR ZE SNI-”

Suddenly, there was a loud cracking sound, and Medic found himself back in the Resupply room. The sensation of being displaced so swiftly had left him feeling a little dazed. Only a second ago he had been outside… had he died? Was that respawn?

“DOKTOR!” Heavy shouted, running out in front of Medic. “HURRY! TEAM NEEDS US!” It took a second for Medic to remember what his job was. He glanced down at the Medigun, noting that the Ubercharge meter had gone back down to zero before training the beam back onto Heavy. This man was so slow, but he was bulky enough to be a perfect meat shield, as long as Medic kept healing him. Medic stayed close behind the massive Russian as they charged back outside again, as Heavy released a massive spray of bullets from his weapon, perforating the BLU Scout and Soldier with more holes than a sponge. This seemed to be working out better than the first time around, especially since Heavy seemed to catch onto the BLU Sniper’s presence, and was now zig-zagging in front of RED base, making sure that at least the front entrance would be protected.


Medic whirled around. Their Scout was calling out for healing, and he was on the other side of the bridge, just outside of BLU base, and was bleeding quite profusely. Surely, he wasn’t worth running across the bridge for, Medic thought. He could just respawn. The boy could suck it up.


Dammit. Persistent little bastard, Scout was. “A LITTLE BUSY HERE, HERR SCOUT!” He shouted back. He could see the BLU Demoman running closer to their Scout, and was perfectly content to let him get blown up were it not for Heavy breaking into a run and charging in the direction of BLU Base.

“HOLD ON, LEETLE SCOUT. VE ARE COMING!” Heavy boomed, slowing down as the barrel of his minigun started to spin. “DOKTOR, GO HEAL SCOUT!”


“NO TIME FOR TALKING,” Heavy roared, keeping his weapon focused on the entrance of BLU base. Medic let out a frustrated groan and reluctantly trained his Medigun onto the Scout.

“Took ya long enough.” Scout said, as if the doctor were a waiter that had arrived late with his meal. It took all of the doctor’s willpower to keep from whipping out his bonesaw and hacking the boy to pieces. He hadn’t been expecting the rain of blood and the pelting of his head with meaty chunks of what used to be the Heavy, and turned out just in time to see the BLU Demoman fire a grenade in the direction of both him and the Scout. The doctor let out a horrified yelp and turned to run, but wasn’t fast enough to avoid the blast, and found himself back in the Resupply room, again, alongside a very irritated looking Scout.

“Nice goin’ there, doc,” Scout said, before taking off like a greyhound chasing a mechanical rabbit. The doctor said nothing, grumbling to himself under his breath about what an ungrateful little bastard Scout was. He quickly found the Heavy again, and fired up his Medigun. Hopefully this time he could stay alive long enough to build up his Ubercharge. He hadn’t noticed his target moving far too quickly behind him. Medic tried to turn to figure out what was happening, only to have his head pulled back and be overwhelmed by the sensation of a cold steel blade plunging into his spine, and the sound of BLU Spy’s low, malicious chuckle.

In fact, the entire day seemed to go like this. Just as he learned to avoid one kind of enemy, a new one would spring up. As soon as somebody called out for him, Heavy would always insist he go to the teammate in need, and most of the time Heavy would end up dying horribly as a result. If Medic managed to survive after that, he’d usually latch onto Demoman or Soldier; Medic hadn’t seen Pyro during the entire battle. It was hard to decide which of them was more erratic and unpredictable, since the two of them had a flare for running head-first into situations which could only end in death. Medic had been repeatedly shot, stabbed, slashed, hacked, incinerated, blown up, bludgeoned, and even punched to death. On top of that, not once had he been able to build up an Ubercharge. In any other war, shooting the Medic would be a crime, but here, it was not only condoned but actively encouraged. Hours had passed of this repeated and unrelenting abuse, and he grimly thought to himself that this must be what Hell was.

“THE ENEMY HAS CAPTURED OUT INTELLIGENCE! YOU FAIL!” The Announcer cried, and the sound of a bell ringing signaling the end of the fighting could not have been more welcome to the doctor. He was still healing the Heavy, who let out an angry bellow upon the announcement.

“HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?” Heavy cried out. “Is like I am fighting along side /babies/!”

Medic didn’t even dignify the insult with a response. He looked over to the other side of the bridge, to see the members of BLU team triumphantly mocking them, making several rude gestures. Their Sniper even took a few potshots by Medic’s feet, causing the doctor to dance around a bit and give out a shrill, girlish shriek in surprise.

“INSIDE THE BASE, LADIES,” Soldier shouted, his pride visibly wounded. “NOW.” The members of RED team all slowly filtered back inside, their heads hanging from shame or exhaustion or both. Medic let out a great, heaving sigh as he trudged back with the others. He could hear Heavy behind him, silent now, but he was practically stomping on the ground as he walked, pouting like a small child.

“Vhat ah /you/ so upset about?” Medic asked. “Zis is only ze first day.”

“‘Only first day?’” Heavy repeated in shock. “Ve still /lose/, Doktor! BLU team make us look stupid!”

Medic merely sighed in response. He was also upset, but more because he hadn’t had the chance to use the Ubercharge in battle than his team losing. As far as Medic knew, their pay would not be affected by whether or not they won or lost, and he really didn’t much care about the intelligence. Nobody on RED team would be looking at it anyway, and any captured intelligence would be sent straight to RED headquarters for evaluation. He headed downstairs, his head hanging in exhaustion, not looking forward to the meeting in the War Room only a few minutes away.


“Let me just start out this meeting by saying that every one of you is a GODDAMNED DISGRACE TO YOUR UNIFORM!”

Soldier had wasted no time cutting to the heart of the matter, and a few of the men sitting in the room with him winced at the sheer volume of his voice. He let his statement sink in for a moment before he continued. “We were BLU team’s /bitch/ out there today. They had their way with us and penetrated our open, willing defenses with the long, hard cock of their offense, and we just laid back and thought of England! You know what that makes us? PUSSIES!”

“Yesterday, we were a headless chicken, and today we’re twats,” Sniper commented dryly. “You might want t’ choose your metaphors better, ‘cause it seems t’ me you’ve got a thing for BLU’s long, hard cock.”

Demoman nearly choked on his grog as he tried to stifle his laughter. The rest of the RED team joined in with their laughter, though Engineer seemed to be trying his damndest to suppress a wry chuckle.

“Oh, you think you’re pretty funny, eh, Sniper?” Soldier asked. “I’ll bet you weren’t laughin’ when that BLU Spy was cutting up your scrawny ass like you were a goddamned Christmas turkey!”

Sniper crossed his arms and his grin faltered. He shifted a bit in his chair and cleared his throat. “Just haven’t gotten into th’ rhythm of this place, yet.” He said. “S’ my first day out here.”

“Like that’s any excuse!” Soldier snorted.

“Hey now, Sniper’s got a point,” Engineer said. “We went in there without any real strategy, and we were licked pretty hard. I think we can use this as a learnin’ experience so that we’re more prepared next time.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that,” Soldier said. “You can put whatever positive spin you want on this, but it doesn’t change the fact that we /lost/. We didn’t even have our whole team with us! The goddamned Pyro went AWOL!”

“Yeah, I ain’t seen him the entire time we were out there,” Scout said. “Did any of you?”

“I dinnit’ see ‘im,” Sniper said with a shrug. “Maybe he abandoned ship.”

“Pyro is coward!” Heavy said. “Vhat kind of man does not even show up to fight?”

“Maybe he got nervous,” Engineer suggested. “Poor lil’ guy might not a’ ever fought before he came out here. Prolly got cold feet.”

“Zat would be shirking his responsibilities, which is a violation of company policy,” Spy said. “Unless he was seriously ill, zat could be grounds for termination.”

“Well, he /does/ kinda wheeze through that gasmask a’ his,” Engineer said.

“Listen, I don’t care if his guts are coming out of his stomach, I want him in the Resupply room, ready to fight with the rest of us!” Soldier slammed his fist down on the table for emphasis, startling the others. “Now, I want that sonuvabitch found, or I’ll bash your skulls into paste! And that is an order!”

“What, right now?” Scout asked.

“YES, NOW, NUMBNUTS! GO, GO, GO!” With that command, everyone got up from their seats and scrambled for the door.

Medic really had no intention of trying to find the missing Pyro. He had a very long day, and was perfectly content to retreat back to his quarters and listen to his records. He opened the door to the infirmary, and checked to make sure he wasn’t being followed by Heavy. He had seen more than enough of the man for today, and he wanted his privacy. Closing the door behind him carefully, he then walked over to his desk, pulled out the chair, and sat down. His feet then bumped into something large and round, and he scooted his chair back in surprise. He looked down under the desk to see the team’s Pyro, curled up in a ball, hands over his head. He was in full uniform, and was whimpering like a small child.

“Vhat ah you doing under zere?” Medic asked. “Come out.” Pyro winced a bit at Medic calling him out, but obliged, crawling out from under the desk tentatively, looking up at the doctor through those smoky black lenses. His eyes could not be seen, but Medic imagined his expression under his mask was equally pathetic as his body language.

“Soldier is looking for you, you know.” Medic said, his arms crossed over his chest. “Ve lost today und your absence certainly did not help matters.”

“Urrhm surreh,” Pyro said, twisting himself around to sit on the floor. “Urrrh gurrt surrk thsssh murrninnng, urrrn urr ceerrm turr suurr yuurr, burrt yuuur wuurrnt thuurr.” He hung his head. “Suurr urr wurrted.”

“Take off your mask,” Medic commanded. “I cannot undahstand a zing you ah saying.”

“Nuurr! Urrr currnt!” Pyro said, pulling down on his mask for emphasis. “Duurrrn tuurrk eeerrf muh mrrssk!”

“DOKTOR! ARE YOU IN OFFICE, DOKTOR?” Heavy’s voice could be heard echoing in the hallway. Medic groaned, and before he had the chance to respond, the infirmary door flew open and the massive Russian was halfway inside. “Oh, there is Doktor! Have you seen tiny coward Pyro?”

“Urrrm nurrt urr currweerd!” Pyro protested, popping up from behind Medic’s desk like leathery mole.

Heavy’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Vhat vas Pyro doing under your desk, Doktor?” He asked.

“He vas hiding in here,” Medic said simply.

“Oh, I see,” Heavy said, his face twisting into a scowl. “Ve lose today because of you, leetle Pyro. I get stabbed by BLU Spy many times.” Pyro retreated back under the desk as Heavy lumbered closer to the desk.

“To be fair, ve probably vould have lost anyvay,” Medic said.

“That is not true!” Heavy protested. “Ve could have von! And now tiny Pyro vill be fired for not showing up and making team lose!”

“Nurrr! Urr durrn wuurrn turr burr furrd!” Pyro yelped, and crawled underneath Medic’s chair, peeking out from between his legs.

“Stop zat,” Medic said sternly. “No vone is getting fired.”

“He is not?” asked Heavy.

“Urrm nurrt?” asked Pyro, poking out his head.

“If ve report Pyro, he vill be fired, leaving us viz no vone to fill his position until RED sends anuzzah vone, und ve have no idea how long zat vould take,” Medic said calmly. “Besides, if I heard him correctly, he vas sick zis morning, and unable to fight anyvay. Bettah to have a sick Pyro zat can easily be treated zen no Pyro at all.”

“Pyro… vas sick?” Heavy looked down at the fire starter for confirmation of this.

“Urr frreew urrp thrrrsh murrninng. Urr lurrt.” Pyro admitted bashfully. “Urrm surruhh.”

Heavy laughed. “Leetle Pyro looks like bad leetle dog!” Heavy said. “Is okay, leetle Pyro. Doktor has point. You get off easy thees time, but you go avay again, I crush you!”

“Durrn crrrssh muur,” Pyro begged.

“I’m sure he does not mean it,” Medic said. “Now, get out from under zere. You are a grown man, ja? You should not be behaving like a child.”

Pyro shuffled out from under Medic’s chair, standing up and brushing off his knees, staining them further with soot. “Durrr yurr weerrnt turr eerrksshurrmern mree, Mrrderk?” Pyro asked.

“Don’t vorry, about it,” Medic said. “I’m going to guess you simply had an anxiety attack und got an uneasy stomach. I’ll fill out ze necessary papervork latah. Now, go to your room und get some rest. Und try to avoid Soldier. I don’t vant you coming back viz a concussion.”

“THURRNK YUURR, MRRDERRK!” Pyro exclaimed, and wrapped his arms around the doctor’s neck in an overly-enthusiastic hug. The doctor’s body tensed at the contact, but Pyro didn’t seem to care or notice as he let go and waddled out the door. Medic looked down at his coat in disgust at the soot now dusting him.

“Vas nice of you to do for Pyro,” Heavy noted.

“I vas simply being practical,” Medic said, trying to dust himself off. “Vhat ah you still doing here, anyvay? Unless zere is something I can help you viz…”

“No, is nothing, Doktor,” Heavy said, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable.

“Good,” Medic said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I vould like a little /privacy/ before ve have dinner.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Heavy turned to leave, but stopped. “Doktor?”

Medic tried to hide his annoyance. “Ja, vhat is it?”

“You fought vell today, even if we do lose.” Heavy said. “Ve make good team.”

Medic seemed a bit taken aback by the compliment. “Danke, Herr Heavy,” he said. “You may leave now.”

“Da, Doktor,” Heavy said, and walked out of the office, closing the door behind him gently. He stood outside the door for a moment, lingering and listening for any noise from inside the infirmary. There was none. Heavy’s chest heaved with a great sigh as he plodded back to his room, silently cursing his poor grasp of English.
>> No. 2294
I love the Pyro so dearly, he's my very favorite. And you write him so lovely, it makes me get all giggly and stupid. STUPID, I TELL YOU.
>> No. 2295
Poor Medic, one of the shittiest first day on the job a person can have! Pyro is a fucking squish-pillow, he's soft, cute, and I wanna squeeze him as hard as possible. But the last part with Heavy, now that really has my interest perked!
Please update soon. :D
>> No. 2296
I've always loved [playing] pyro; he's just too squeezable D:
But when you came out with this
:'( more pyro! I LOVE YOU.
>> No. 2297
>> No. 2298
Oh man, I feel so bad for Medic. I bet he has a red face with all the face palming he must be doing! But at least Heavy's got his front! Kind of.

You also made Engineer and Pyro ADORABLE. I pretty much d'awwed a thousand times reading Engie gush about the machinery like he did. And Pyro, the poor thing, all scared and hiding in Medic's office. It breaks my heart knowing what's going to happen to him in the end...
OKAY YOU KNOW WHAT I'm just going to pretend this is seperate from RotD because whenever I think of the ending I get teary and sad.
>> No. 2301
his invention, the Medigun
Ooooh reaaaaaally? 8D

I love this. It's so neat to see the team relationships beginning to form. I'm going to have to second Engineer and Pyro being absolutely adorable as well. MOAR, plz! <3
>> No. 2302

What can say? I knows good ideas when I sees 'em.
>> No. 2318
There is so much adorable near the end. Cute little Pyro and then semi-awkward Heavy. <333 It makes my heart swell and, at the same time, /ache/ to know how close they become.
>> No. 2319
I'm totally looking forward to more. Guuuhuhuh.
Much love for Heavy <3.
>> No. 2454
ohhhh i really hope for some more soon :D
>> No. 2455
Sage, please.
>> No. 2456
CURSES! I thought there was an update! On another note, more please!
>> No. 2459
Sage next time you failing gobshite!
>> No. 2461
You guys are in luck! Here's Part Three!

Although, I feel like I may be pushing some boundaries in this one, like trying to figure out where the line between /fanfic/ and /afanfic/ is. There was some... experimentation involved.

I don't know. Judge for yourselves.


Heavy walked into his room, having eaten his fill at the dinner table, and sat down on the tiny bed. It creaked and sagged under his immense weight, though Heavy didn’t much care or notice. He was too busy thinking.

When he was at RED headquarters, originally being briefed on his new job requirements, the mention of wanting to stay close to a Medic stuck with him. He had asked the man in that tiny office if he knew anything about the Medic on their team, and the man simply said that the Medic was a German gentleman. Heavy was a bit uneasy about the prospect of being saddled alongside an enemy of the USSR, but he was quickly reminded that there were three Americans, a Frenchman, an Australian, a Scotsman, and a mysterious masked man on his team as well. Out of all of them, the one who might be most likely to be a fellow Communist had to be the German, assuming he was on the eastern side of the wall. That didn’t turn out to be the case, sadly.

However, it hardly mattered when he finally got off the train and saw the Medic for himself. They had all been in separate cars, and finally looking at the other teammates for the first time was a bit jarring until he saw the doctor. Right away he could tell that this man was the Medic. He looked to be a man of science; strong jaw, dark hair graying at the temples, small, round spectacles on the bridge of a Roman nose… he seemed far too immaculate for this dusty, sun-scorched place. Heavy decided that, this being the man he was going to end up working with on the battlefield, he should probably introduce himself.

It didn’t go very well. The man was cold to him from the get-go, looking over Heavy with what might have been disgust. He tried to be as friendly as possible, hoping he could reach over whatever barrier this man had set up around himself. It didn’t seem to be working. Normally, Heavy would leave well enough alone, but there was /something/ about this man he couldn’t figure out. There was an air of mystery about him, almost, and despite better judgment, Heavy kept after him. Part of it was curiosity, he supposed, but another part was that the doctor was… pretty? No, not pretty. /Handsome/ was the right word.

Heavy felt a nervous, sinking feeling deep in his gut just from the thought alone. Pursuing those kinds of thoughts get men arrested and sent to Siberia, to the gulags. That’s why he had married. To make matters worse, his wife seemed to pick up on this. He had loved her, he really did, but she /knew/, and she left him. Having a woman to share his bed with was better than having no one at all, but he had no choice. He suppressed those feelings for as long as he could, and looking upon that stupid, pretty Medic undid all of it. He hoped and prayed the doctor didn’t pick up on it. Heavy thought that when they first arrived, the doctor was checking out Scout’s ass, but that could have just been him projecting.

He lay back on the bed as it groaned underneath him. It was so hot here. He had never been to a place this hot and dry in his entire life; he had been convinced that such a place only existed in photographs. He wasn’t wearing his vest at the moment, and peeled off his t-shirt from his barrel chest. His skin cooled from being exposed to the air. It felt good to get that shirt off, sticky with the days sweat as it was. Tomorrow, they wouldn’t be fighting, but they would start up the day afterwards. It might not be a bad idea, Heavy thought, to relieve some built-up stress.

It didn’t take him long to get completely undressed, and his body was responding quickly to his own touch. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly and deliberately, conjuring up images of the doctor in his head. In his mind, the German was kinder, smiling with a cat-like satisfaction as his hands trailed over Heavy’s chest, and he looked up at him over those round little glasses, his eyes no longer cold and distant, but warm, intense and focused. The doctor now wanted Heavy as bad as Heavy wanted him, and that feeling of wanting, of /needing/, swelled with every stroke. He tried to conjure up the way the doctor smelled after that long day of fighting, the sound of his voice, what his body was shaped like under that uniform… it was still fresh in his mind. As the pressure built up he became more desperate in his movements, picturing the doctor on top of him before finally erupting with a quiet, suppressed groan.

He laid still for a few moments, catching his breath and feeling the afterglow burn up like fog under a steadily climbing sun. When he opened his eyes, he was alone, lying in bed completely naked and sticky. There were tissues in the room somewhere, but he didn’t get up right away. Instead of feeling relieved, he was overwhelmed by a creeping melancholy. Medic wasn’t there, curling up next to him with his body head pressing under Heavy’s arm. No, he was on his back, having just fantasized about a man who he had only just met yesterday.

He was going to have to use the showers alone tonight.


Today was an off day for both of the opposing bases, and Medic decided that physical examinations of the team members was in order. While it was true that the members of RED team already had physicals before their arrival at the base, Medic wanted an opportunity to know what he was dealing with, so to speak. His announcement of this at breakfast that morning got him a few puzzled glances, but no one questioned him, and this was perfectly acceptable to the doctor. He would be expecting them to arrive one-by-one at regular intervals throughout the day.

The first to arrive for his examination was the Scout. As lithe and nubile as he was, any attraction Medic might have had to him was killed whenever the boy opened his mouth.

“You know we already /had/ our physicals before we came here, don’cha, Doc?” Scout asked. He had been surprisingly quiet up until now, and he was sitting on top of the examination table, stripped down to his skivvies.

“I am aware of zat, Herr Scout, but I prefer to have zis for my own personal records,” Medic replied in a very slow and deliberate manner, wrapping the cuff of a sphygmomanometer around the young man’s arm.

“Yeah, whatever,” Scout said dismissively. He was quiet for a moment as Medic pumped the bulb on the device and inflated the cuff. “So, what’s your deal, anyway?” He finally asked after a few moments in thought.

“My ‘deal?’” Medic asked.

“Yeah, man, why are you all fuckin’ snobby an’ shit, like you’re too good for th’ rest of us?” Scout asked. “Yesterday, every time I called for you, you acted like a jerk an’ you either ran off or came over when Heavy yelled at you, like I wasn’t worth th’ trouble.”

“You /weren’t/.” Medic said flatly, letting the device deflate. “Your job is to go in und get ze intel. Unless you ah carrying it, I hardly see vhy you should waste my time on ze glassjaw vhen I could be healing my own meatshield.”

“‘Glassjaw?’” Scout asked. “Is that what you think I am? You sayin’ I’m a wuss?”

Medic unwrapped the cuff around Scout’s bicep and smirked. “How old are you again, /boy/?”

“I’m twenty friggin’ years old!” Scout exclaimed. “An’ stop callin’ me ‘boy,’ you fuckin’ Nazi faggot.”

The doctor bristled a bit at the insult. “You have not exactly inspired a lot of respect from me, young man.” The doctor said, picking up his clipboard and scribbling down Scout’s blood pressure. “I’m just trying to do my job.”

“Yeah, well, your /job/ is to friggin’ heal people.”

“Mein /job/, Herr Scout, is to help ze team capture ze enemy intelligence,” Medic said, his irritation showing through as he dabbed an alcohol-soaked cotton ball onto the crook of Scout’s arm. “It’s not like you vould not respawn, anyvay.”

“Jeez, you’re a dick, you know that?” Scout said, retracting his arm from Medic’s grip and sneering. The doctor yanked Scout’s arm back and quickly tied a surgical tube around his bicep.

“Und you ah annoying,” Medic retorted, plucking up a syringe from a metal tray beside him. “Now, hold still. I’m going to need ein blood sample.”

“Wait, whoa, what?” Scout suddenly became very visibly nervous. “That thing’s fuckin’ huge. You could fuckin’ gore somebody with that.”

The grin that broke out slowly over the doctors face was enough to make Scout shudder. “You are not fond of needles, zen. Am I correct, Scout?”

“N-no, of course not, don’t be stupid,” Scout said. “Just, you know, most of ‘em aren’t like fuckin’ harpoons.”

“Zis vill only take a second,” Medic said, grabbing the young man’s arm harshly. “Just try not to zink about it, und it vill be ovah quickly, ja?” He tapped the vein he was searching for, and took his sweet time before penetrate the soft, trembling flesh with the tip of the needle. Scout was looking away and gritting his teeth, and the doctor pulled out the plunger at an almost leisurely pace, humming to himself as he did so. The glass tube gradually filled with dark red blood, and Medic found himself taking much more than he could possibly need.

“I think that’s enough, Doc,” Scout said weakly.

“So it vould seem,” Medic said, still smiling as he removed the needle, letting the hole bleed a little bit before he placed a square of gaze on top, and bandaged over it. “Zank you for your cooperation, Scout. Zat is all I need from you today.”

“Yeah, whatever, freak,” Scout said, jumping off the examination table and grabbing his clothes. “I’ll bet ya got off on it.”

“Oh, you have /no/ idea,” Medic said softly under his breath.


“Let me just say right off the bat that I don’t trust you.”

“Is zat right, Herr Soldat?” Medic asked.

“/Soldier/. Call me ‘Soldier,’ goddammit. This is America, we speak /American/ here!” Soldier was crossing his arms over his bare chest, sitting on the examination table. As Medic has requested, he was stripped down to his briefs, but still wore his dog tags and his helmet. The doctor couldn’t help but think the man looked comical as he sat with his chest thrust out and back arched, trying to look imposing when he was completely at Medic’s mercy.

“English,” Medic said.

“I beg your pardon?” Soldier asked gruffly.

“/English/, dummkopf!” Medic repeated. “Zere is no such language as ‘American.’ Ve ah speaking English.”

“Oh, /sure/,” Soldier said, “that’s just what they /want/ you to think.”

“Of course,” Medic said indifferently. He pulled the stethoscope that was looped over his shoulders and put the buds into his ears, and placed the disc over Soldier’s chest. It had a very strong, steady beat. Physically, Soldier seemed to be in very good health for a man his age. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for his mental state.

“You like the sound of that, Doc?” Soldier asked. “You’re not gonna find anybody else on this team in as good of shape as this man right here.”

“I’m sure,” Medic said, moving the bell up Soldier’s chest. The man’s body was well-sculpted and battle-scarred, and Medic couldn’t help but admire it. He couldn’t let his gaze linger too long, however. It was hard to predict exactly how this man acted. Insanity had a way of doing that to people.

“Like I was saying, /Doctor/, I don’t trust you,” Soldier repeated, waiting for a response from Medic.

“Und I should care /vhy/?” the doctor asked.

“Because you’re a goddamned Kraut, is why,” Soldier huffed. “You’re the enemy. We licked you in the War, and if you cross me I’ll rip out your guts and jump rope with them!”

“It vas Russia zat really defeated ze Nazi forces, Herr Soldier,” Medic reminded him, bringing out his blood pressure meter. “Perhaps, if I were Japanese, zat threat might carry a bit more veight.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” Soldier grumbled as the doctor wrapped the inflatable cuff around his arm.

“Vell, considering zat you vere not actually in ze Var, you may remembah zings differently zen ze rest of us,” Medic said. “Hold still, bitte.”

Soldier was completely silent as Medic read his blood pressure. As soon as the cuff came off, however, he could no longer contain himself. “It’s not my fault the War ended before I could get over there.” Soldier said. “Besides, there were still Nazis over there. I know there were.”

“Of course zere vere,” Medic said in a very patronizing tone. “I’m sure you vere vell received ovah zere, vhat viz you cracking open innocent people’s skulls und vhatnot.”

“You’re certainly one to talk,” Soldier said simply.

Medic’s sardonic smirk faded into a very stern, stoic expression. During the rest of Soldier’s examination, he was totally silent, and it was now Soldier’s turn to watch over the proceedings with a smug grin. By the time Soldier got dressed and left, Medic’s mood had turned completely sour, and not even drawing blood from the man had gained him any satisfaction.

Next time Soldier needed healing in battle, the doctor was going to go out of his way to ignore him.


“Please, Herr Pyro, take off ze suit und ze mask.”


“How am I supposed to examine you if I cannot see you undah zere? Off viz it!”

“Nuhh-urrhh. Urrr durrn gurrt drssshed furr nurrburrdeh.”

Medic sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger and thumb. “You ah being difficult. I am your doctor. I need to examine you.”

“Urrm scurrred.” Pyro said simply, covering his head with his gloved hands. “Urrh duuurn lurrk purrpurrl suuurrn murr feesh.”

“Stop being childish,” Medic said, arms akimbo, looking down at the man sitting on his examination table. “You ah a full grown man, ah you not?”

“Yurrsh,” Pyro admitted sheepishly.

“Zen take off ze suit. NOW.”

“NURRVEER!” Pyro shouted, leaping off the examination table with a surprising amount of agility. Medic tried to grab a hold of the man, but found him slipping through his fingers. He stumbled over and found himself tripping over his own rolling tray, spilling his supplies onto the floor where the landed with a loud, metallic clatter. Pyro had fled out of the infirmary door, which was now swinging ajar.

“GET BACK HERE!” Medic shouted after him. “YOU COME BACK RIGHT ZIS INSTANCE YOU… YOU…” He found himself suddenly inarticulate, and turned to picking up his instruments off of the floor, grumbling to himself in German, where he had no shortage of insults for the fire starter.


“Me wot now?”

“Your eye, Herr Demoman. How did you lose it?”

“It donnit’ say in me records?” Demoman asked with concern.

“It simply says ‘Accident,’” Medic said, glancing over Demoman’s file.

“Well, there’s a story t’ that,” Demoman said. “D’ye wan’ t’ ‘ear it?”

“Sure, why not,” Medic said with a sigh. He figured he would end up hearing it eventually, anyway.

“Well, I was jes’ a wee lad of abou’ six years,” Demoman started, “an’ I lived along th’ Loch Ness, wi’ me folks. See, if ye were growin’ up aroun’ there, ye’d ‘ear th’ stories abou’ th’ monster in th’ lake.”

“Ze Loch Ness monster,” Medic said, his eyes half-lidded.


“Isn’t zat a hoax?”

“IT’S NOT A HOAX, YE BLOODEH FOUR-EYED BASTARD!” Demoman said, the words practically exploding from him. “Ye say that again, I’ll skin ye alive an’ wear ye as a hat!”

“How crude,” Medic replied, recovering from Demoman’s outburst. He adjusted his glasses nonchalantly. “Continue, bitte.”

“Fine,” Demoman said, slipping back into his storytelling voice, leaning forward with a glint in his remaining eye. “So, I was jes’ a wee lad at th’ time, an’ I dinnit’ care fer beasties. Far as I was concerned, th’ monster needed to be dealt with. An’ well, me father ‘ad gotten rich from a minin’ operation a’ some sort. I think it was coal.”

“You /zink/ it vas coal?”

“Ach, I donnae even remember. I ‘anded o’er th’ business a long time ago. But tha’s not wot this story is aboot. Me father, ‘e ‘ad a knowledge o’ explosives, an’ I picked up some things. Dad always said I was a bright boy for me age.”

“I’m sure you were,” Medic said sarcastically.

“So, anyway, I was set on blowin’ th’ beastie t’ kingdom come. I set up th’ charges an’ th’ bombs all aroun’ th’ lake. I hadn’t really done any calculations at th’ time, an’ I were only six, so I really wasn’t sure of ‘ow exactly t’ go aboot it. But, anyway, I had th’ whole thing set up, an’ unfortunately, bein’ six, I knew I couldn’t get th’ bombs wet, so I placed ‘em along th’ edge o’ th’ lake. It made sense at th’ time, y'see. So, I got th’ whole thing set up, an’ I set aff th’ charges, an’ KABLOOIE!” He gestured wildly with his arms, trying to simulate the force of the explosion. “Before I know it, I got a bit a’ shrapnel in me eye, an’ I’m rollin’ aroun’ on th’ ground, screamin’ in agony!”

“Serves you right,” Medic said. “Zat vas stupid of you.”

“Oh, aye, trust me, I learned tha’ right quick,” Demoman said glumly. “Turns out me mum an’ me dad were walkin’ along th’ edge o’ th’ Loch when I detonated th’ bombs.” He looked down at the floor, with a haunted look on his face. “I was only /six/, fer Christ’s sake. Six years old, an’ I killed me own parents. I dinnit’ ‘ave any other family, least not in Scotland, anyway, an’ nobodeh else wanted anythin’ t’ do with me. I spent th’ rest o’ me childhood in an orphanage. Soon as I turned 18, they booted me out an’ wished me th’ best a’ luck. So, I sold off th’ family business, an’ got inta demolition, an’ next thing ye know, I’m signin’ up fer RED an’ ‘ere I am.”

“Interesting zat you decided to get into explosives, considering zat zey killed your parents und took your eye,” Medic observed dryly.

“It’s wot I knew best,” Demoman said with a shrug. “Ye wanna see where me eye used to be?”

Medic suddenly leaned forward with interest as the Scotsman lifted up his eyepatch, revealing his empty left eye socket. To his delight, Demoman pulled the lids open so that Medic could better see inside. It was completely hollow, and the doctor was fascinated by it.

“May I get a light?” Medic asked.

Demoman laughed. “Oh, aye, sure, knock yerself out. Most folks r’ a bit sickened by it, really, start boakin’, but I dinnit’ wannae go aroun’ wi’ a glass eye. It donnae look right, ye know?”

The doctor was now looking around his desk for his pen light, then returned, leaning over the Scotsman and prying his eyelids open, and shining the light inside. He could see the bone and muscles and tissue inside, and took delight in being able to see the man’s sinuses up close.

“Ye enjoyin’ yerself, lad?” Demoman asked, flashing a pearly white grin.

“Very much, danke,” Medic said, smiling.

“Ye know wot? Yer not so bad,” Demoman said. “I thought ye were a right prick when I first saw ye, but ye donnae seem like a bad man. Jes’ like I was wrong aboot Engie. Nicest bastard I e’er met, I swear it.”

Medic’s smile faded, and his demeanor turned icy again as he turned off the pen light. “Ve should move onto ze rest of ze examination,” he said flatly.

“Suit yerself,” Demoman said with a shrug.


As soon as Heavy walked into the infirmary, Medic felt himself tensing up a bit. Each of the men on RED team were enemies of the Reich (assuming Pyro was not from a country that was part of the axis powers), but it was the Russian that made the Medic most uncomfortable. The fact that he seemed to be fond of following the doctor around outside of battle and sitting beside him at dinner certainly didn’t help matters.

“Hello, Doktor,” Heavy said with a nod. “How are you doing today?”

“I’m fine,” Medic said, not even looking up at the man from his clipboard. “Strip down to ze unterpants und step on ze scale, bitte.”

Heavy did so obediently as soon as the doctor turned his back towards him. One he was down to his boxers, he walked over next to the scale against the wall. “Am ready, Doktor.”

Medic turned around and glanced over the now almost-naked Russian. Seeing him like this, Medic realized just how much of his body was pure muscle, with layers of fat that probably served him well in the cold, Russian winters. A barrel chest, trunk-like arms, wide shoulders… the doctor felt as though he were only just now noticing the monstrous but fascinating proportions of this man.


“Ja, coming,” Medic said, marching over to the scale. “Vell, go on. Step on it.”

“Da, Doktor,” Heavy said with a nod, stepping on the scale, as it gave an odd, metallic creak under his weight.

Medic took his pen in his hand and nudged the weights on the scale until the weights were perfectly balanced. He peered over the rims of his glasses. “159.1 kilos,” He said aloud.

Heavy chuckled. “I lost some veight.”

The doctor didn’t respond, and merely extended the height rod up, bending it on its hinge so that it rested on top of the Russian’s head. “204 centimeters.”

“Zey already measured me before I got here, Doktor,” Heavy said.

“I know zat,” Medic said. “Hop on ze examination table, bitte.”

Heavy stepped off the scale and pulled himself onto the table, causing the table to rattle and creak underneath him. Medic flipped through the Russian’s files, looking for anything particularly noteworthy.

“It says here you vere a boxer before you signed up for RED,” Medic said, raising an eyebrow.

“Da,” Heavy said. “Vas good at it. Not vhy I came here, though.”

“Oh?” Medic asked, removing a tongue depressor from a box off of his tray.

“RED vas interested in Sasha,” Heavy said proudly. “I built her myself.”

“Sasha?” Medic asked.

“Da, my gun,” Heavy answered. “Is my, how you say, ‘pride and joy?’”

“How interesting,” Medic said. “Open your mouzh und say ‘ah.’”

Heavy opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, letting out a long “ah” as Medic pressed the tongue depressor down and peered down Heavy’s throat. The size of the man’s mouth was enormous, almost cavernous. His teeth seemed to be well taken care of considering his background. Medic found himself slipping the stick of wood further back into Heavy’s throat, and noted curiously how the man didn’t seem to gag. He removed the depressor from Heavy’s mouth and tossed it into a nearby, metallic wastebasket.

“Everything all right, Doktor?” Heavy asked.

“Fine, zank you,” Medic said. He picked up his clipboard and scribbled down some notes, and Heavy leaned forward and tried to peer over his shoulder. Medic shielded the clipboard from the Russians view defensively, hugging it to his chest and casting a rather annoyed glare at the man.

“Sorry,” Heavy mumbled apologetically.

“I’m sure you ah,” Medic said, putting the clip board down. He wanted to get the formalities out of the way as quickly as possibly before he was able to get to the drawing of blood, though he had a feeling that getting it from Heavy would not nearly be as satisfying as it was from Scout. He pulled his stethoscope from around his neck, place the tubes into his ears before placing the disc onto Heavy’s chest. “Take a deep breazh for me, bitte.”

Heavy complied, his massive chest swelling and relaxing. Medic could hear the man’s giant, steady heart thumping through his chest; it was perhaps far more impressive than Soldier’s. It seemed to flutter a bit at Medic’s touch, though it was probably due to the cold metal touching bare skin. Medic returned to his clipboard and wrote down his results.

“Vhere are you from, in Germany?” Heavy asked.

“Stuttgart,” Medic answered, pulling out the sphygmomanometer from on top of his tray and wrapping the cuff around Heavy’s arm. He could barely get it all the way around.

“Oh,” Heavy said as Medic inflated the cuff. He watched as the doctor took his reading and deflated it again, unwrapping the cuff and jotting down even more notes.

“You do not like people much, do you, Doktor?”

Medic paused, surprised by this observation at first, but then found himself amused by it. Heavy had made an earlier remark on their first day at the base, but the massive bear of a man was apparently far more perceptive than he would have previously thought. “Vhat makes you say zat?” he asked, plucking up the surgical tube and stretching it out.

“You are alvays vanting to be by yourself,” Heavy said. “You don’t like to help anybody. Is not good vay to vork in team, Doktor.”

“Is zat so?” Medic asked. He was not in the mood to be lectured by this half-witted ape of a man.

“Da, is so,” Heavy said as Medic tied the tube around his arm. “I feel sorry for you.”

Medic was very visibly jarred by this statement. “You vhat?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“You must be lonely man,” Heavy said, sounding a bit more cautious now. “I vould not vant to be lonely.”

The doctor was scowling at Heavy now, swiftly picking up a cotton ball and dousing it with alcohol, his movements giving away his irritation. He yanked forward on Heavy’s arm as he swabbed at his arm. “So vhat?” He asked. “I prefer to be alone. Do you have a /problem/ viz zat?”

“Nyet,” Heavy replied. “I just tink you need friend, is all.”

“A /friend/,” Medic said, eyes narrowed as he picked up a fresh syringe. “Und I suppose you zink zat /you/ could be my /friend/ zen, is zat it?”

Heavy nodded silently, looking more than a little hopeful.

“I don’t need to make any friends here,” Medic hissed. “I’m just here to do mein /job/, not socialize viz a bunch of mentally defective /degenerates/.” With that, he stuck the needle into Heavy’s arm, quickly drawing a very generous amount of blood. Heavy winced a bit and a satisfied smirk broke onto Medic’s face. “Und I certainly do not to need to make friends viz a stupid, clumsy brute like /you/.” He retracted the needle, careful not to break it off in the man’s skin, however tempting that may have been. “Ah ve clear, Herr Heavy?”

“Da,” Heavy said, scowling back at the doctor. “You are sadder leetle man then I tought.”

“Zink vhat you vant,” Medic said, putting down the needle and crossing his arms. “Now, get out.”

Heavy hopped off the Examination table with a grunt, picking up his clothes off of the chair he has placed them on, and getting dressed quickly. Once dressed, he stomped off to the door, but stopped short of it. “You are terrible liar, Doktor.” He said. “You tink you are scary and mean, but I know better. I saw vhat you did for Pyro. If you vere evil man, you vould have had him fired.”

“Ah you quite finished?” Medic asked.

“Da,” Heavy said. “You just remember this tomorrow, vhen ve fight again.” And with that, Heavy left, slamming the door behind him.

Medic grumbled to himself as he wrote some very insulting observations about the team’s Heavy for his files. There was another knock at the door.

“Vhat do you vant?” Medic shouted.

“S’ me, Doc,” Engineer said, peering inside. “I’m, uh, here for my examination.”

“It’s been rescheduled.” Medic said. “Come back Vednesday.”

“But, Doc-”

“I said, 'Leave!'” Medic snarled. “Und tell Sniper und Spy not to come here, eizzah.”

Engineer recoiled a bit from the outburst. “Uh, sure, Doc, whatever you say,” he said simply, and quietly closed the door behind him.

Medic waited a few moments after the Engineer had left, listening in the hallway for any approaching footsteps. He then scooted his chair cover to his desk, and took off his glasses with a shaky hand, before letting his head fall into his crossed arms with a heavy sigh.
>> No. 2463
IS GOOD DAY! As always, you have THE BEST THE BEST character interactions. I especially love the way you characterize Medic here, with real depth, a flawed human being. I am also falling deeply in love with your characterization of Heavy. It's going to be very interesting watching the relationship continue to develop! Humbly awaiting more....
>> No. 2468
Update day is always a good day!
I like how you used the examinations to flesh out the RED team a bit more. What really got me was how you characterized Heavy, he's got more character in him than I've ever seen, and more intelligent. The part about building Sasha himself is a new one, since I usually think that it/she was made by the company.
Absolutely cannot wait for the next update, and anxious to see how Medic and Heavy's relationship develops.
>> No. 2470
I had to look up the world "sphygmomanometer"... I word that silly looking has no right being a real word, seriously.
So it goes, eh? Awesome work, Cat.
>> No. 2478

I can't put it better than what these two said.

Excellent work, tons of anticipation here.
>> No. 2479
I just realized, an hour later, that I was feeling a little heavyhearted and it was my left over emotional response from reading the third chapter. Reading this made my heart ache-- not a bad thing at all! An amazing effect that your writing gave me a feeling I couldn't shake <3
I feel for Heavy :C .. (it is him I'm empathizing with, mainly)
>> No. 2497
I love Pyro's over-the-top reaction to his check-up. That's always something I wanted to do when I had a doctor's appointment.
>> No. 2535

You guys. Hey. You guys.

You don't have to sage when you comment on my stuff. Actually, I would prefer it if you didn't. I love getting comments, and I like to be able to look up at the top of the page when I get new ones. I think saging when you comment on stuff does more harm than good. It's like Owl said, and I feel like I've actually gotten a lot less comments than normal, and I don't know whether or not it's because I suck or if people simply aren't reading it. Getting lots of feedback encourages me to write more, since it gives me a good indication of how many people are reading it, and this is pretty much being written for you guys since there was a demand for it. Fics getting bumped gets them exposure. THIS IS A GOOD THING.


Good Lord, what the hell is your /problem/?

No sage because I'm making a point, dammit.
>> No. 2536
Reading this at the speed of light.
Characterizations. So. GOOD. UNF!
>> No. 2538
>>52 Yesss pervert Medic, all fascinated by blood. MOAR!

This is America, we speak /American/ here!LOL for accurate observation.
>> No. 2539
...I'm going to have to check my closet and under my bed for Pyscho Engies now.
>> No. 2540
Oh goddammit, wrong thread, SORRY!!
>> No. 2547

Sorry :C I've made a habit of saging my comment-type posts. It's from having my ass yelled at multiple times as an anonymous for bumping posts when I was commenting on how much I loved the OP's content. I'll remember to not sage in this kind of circumstance. Not saging this. For EXPOSURE (<3 :C ). That said, I'm looking forward to more of this so hard I might have developed hypertension from the anticipation. THE ONLY PRESCRIPTION IS MORE MEDIC (and heavy).
>> No. 2548
I feel a little bad for saging earlier, because dangit, if anything deserve to be bumped it is THIS!

Moar coming soon, I hope?
>> No. 2552

It's okay. I understand not wanting to ruffle feathers, but those anons are getting out of hand.

I haven't even started part four yet. I'm still trying to work out where exactly to pick up after I left off from the last chapter. That, and I've got another animation to work on.
>> No. 2554
Hey, I understand. Life can't wait.
Oh, also- I don't think the last chapter got too hot to kick it into /afic/ (you were concerned about that), but personally I would not mind some well-placed adult content in this story. Up to you, though.
Hope your animation goes well!
>> No. 2557
For a second, I thought you posted the next part :(
>> No. 2559
I just now got around to reading this. So lovely. I like seeing where Heavy and Medic started out at.

Also, as always: Oh, Pyrrrrooooo.
>> No. 2561
This is America, we speak /American/ here!

I used to say that all the time.
>> No. 2562

YES! My old history teacher would say that.
>> No. 2598
I guess I'll just get in line with the dozens of other people whining about NEEDS MOAR UPDATE.

Seriously though. NEEDS MOAR UPDATE. I'm all aflutter with anticipation.

p.s. Need moar /afanfic/ content as well. Well, okay, doesn't NEED, but would certainly be delightful.
>> No. 2655
Humbly agreeing with these two.
>> No. 2660
Awww I thought this was updated
>> No. 2669
I eagerly await for more, this gave me a lot of cracks in my face due to the smile I had after reading this. It's wonderful, and it's always good to receive more stuff from you, Cat.
>> No. 2692
Boy oh Boy Cat you just made my day.
Can't wait for more of this awesome.
>> No. 2693

Sorry this chapter is a tad shorter than usual. Next one should hopefully be better.


Bullets whizzed past Medic’s head as he watched the Übercharge meter climb. Eighty percent. Higher than he had ever managed to reach the other day, though having learned from past mistakes and having their Pyro out on the battlefield fighting certainly helped matters. He stuck to a similar strategy as before, sticking behind Heavy, who was noticeably less vocal as they fought. Two days ago Heavy had been barking for Medic to respond to every single call for aid, and today when Medic had ignored Soldier’s cries and let him get riddled with bullet holes from the enemy Heavy’s minigun, the Russian didn’t seem to notice or care.

In fact, during the entire course of the battle, Heavy was rather stoic, as opposed to his rather boisterous, cocksure behavior during their previous battle. Medic supposed he was still sore over the confrontation they had yesterday. Especially since he had forgotten to bandage the puncture wound from drawing the man’s blood. Heavy hadn’t spoken a word to him for the rest of the day. This suited Medic just fine, really. He wouldn’t have to listen to the man’s awkward attempts at striking up conversation or have him following him around.

Ninety percent on the Übercharge meter, now. It was so close, so /very/ close. If they could manage to stay alive for only a few more seconds, Medic could finally deploy it. He was finding it hard to contain his excitement, snickering to himself as he watched the meter rise. He was so near, he could practically taste it.

When the moment came, Medic could feel the jolt in the Medigun as it started to buzz and crackle with raw, caged power. He could feel it hum and vibrate in his hands, and it had the most beautiful tingle. So this is what it felt like to be fully charged, he thought. He could feel himself shudder in anticipation.

The moment of bliss was broken, however, when he noticed a blue dot on the back of Heavy’s head. Without any hesitation or warning, Medic triggered the Übercharge, and everything just went red. Both he and Heavy were enveloped in a bright, red glow. The fumes of the Medigun were healing so rapidly, the gas becoming denser and the pair of them appeared to be shining red metal monsters. Time seemed to slow down as the BLU Sniper’s bullet bounced off of Heavy’s skull harmlessly. Medic found himself letting out a triumphant laugh as Heavy pushed forward, minigun blazing upon a group of enemy BLUs. Finally, he had activated it in battle, finally feeling as close to Godhood as he would ever get, in command of an unstoppable killing machine. Heavy, too, let out a roar of laughter, as the minigun suddenly stopped firing bullets, clicking as it continued to spin.

To make matters worse, enemy BLUs were still standing in front of them.


Heavy scrambled to equip his shotgun, and the Übercharge fizzled out. The BLU Soldier, currently being healed by his team’s Medic, took the opportunity to fire a rocket straight into Heavy, blowing him up for what could have easily been the fifth time that day. Medic was being showered in blood and gristle, again, and didn’t even bother trying to avoid the rocket that headed directly to him. “Zat’s just perfect,” he said before it collided, and he found himself back in the respawn room, next to a very embarrassed looking Heavy.

“Sorry, Doktor,” Heavy said, still lingering inside the resupply room. “That does not happen to me, most of time.”

“I’m sure you say zat a /lot/,” Medic said with a sneer.

The barb seemed to go over Heavy’s head, and before he had a chance to let the meaning sink in, Medic was ushering him back out onto the battlements.



“Goddammit!” Scout shouted, having only just re-emerged from the resupply room. “Again!”

“Somezing tells me ve ah going to be hearing zat a lot,” Medic sighed, looking across the 2fort bridge at the cheering BLU team.

“You gave me charge from healing gun too soon!” Heavy said. “You vait longer, ve take out more BLUS.”

“You /ran out of bullets/, you big, fat, shtupid ape!” Medic hissed. “Besides, zeir Sniper had his sights aimed on you und I had to deploy ze Übercharge, ozzervise /bozh/ of us vould have been taken out by him!”

Heavy’s anger seemed to melt away slightly. “You charge me… to save me from Sniper?”

“Ja, because if I didn’t, I vould be out zere, alone, und Soldier, Demoman, und Pyro vere not close by, so I’d be out zere viz only ze needle gun und ze bonesaw to defend myself viz against bullets und rockets!” Medic thrust out his chest and got up in Heavy’s face, getting on his tip-toes to better harangue the massive Russian. “Do you have /any/ idea how hard it is doing zis? Running around trying to heal you /amateurs/ vhile I am getting shot at constantly? Und zen I get fully charged, und /you/ run out of ammo, leaving us open und vulnerable as soon as ze Über vears off? Do you have /any/ idea?”

Heavy found himself letting out a low, rumbling chuckle.

“Vhat’s so funny?” Medic asked, scowling up at the Russian.

“And here, I vas tinking you vould let BLU Sniper shoot me,” Heavy said. “But you charge me instead.”

“I vould not vaste an Übercharge,” Medic growled.

“WOULD YOU TWO WOMEN QUIT HAVING YOUR PERIODS OVER THERE AND GET YOUR BUTTS INSIDE?” Soldier was standing in the doorframe, no doubt giving the two men the nastiest stink-eye he could muster from underneath his helmet.

Medic had whipped his head around when Soldier was shouting, and he slowly turned back to Heavy. “I’ll deal viz you later.”

“Aren’t you going to meeting?” Heavy asked.

“Vhy bozzah?” Medic scoffed. “I do not need to listen to a madman yelling at me for half an hour. I’ll be in ze infirmary.” He turned and walked away, but stopped in the doorway to RED base and turned back. “Und don’t follow me!”

“But zis is only vay inside,” Heavy said. “Except for sewer.”

“Zen take ze sewer,” Medic spat, and retreated inside.

Heavy stood outside, watching Medic as he left. He had absolutely no intention of taking the sewer entrance inside the base. He figured he would wait until Medic was far enough ahead of him before he would go in. Such a strange man, Medic was. Heavy was questioning if it was even worth it putting up with this man, who seemed to do nothing but yell at him and mock him and make him feel stupid. And yet… perhaps it was wishful thinking on Heavy’s part, thinking that Medic might have cared enough to shield him from the Sniper’s bullet. It probably wasn’t the case, but at the same time, he wanted to believe that it was.

He sighed, and finally trudged into the RED base, Sasha feeling so much heavier in his hands.


The aftermath of this battle had not been as humiliating as their first one. RED team had less deaths overall, but this meant more men who had sustained injuries during their battle would require medical attention, instead of simply leaving their wounds to be treated by the many, many respawns they had to go through. When Medic finally managed to make it back to the infirmary, he quickly saw that he was not the only one who decided to skip out on Soldier’s scheduled post-battle ravings.

In fact, every member of RED team with the exceptions of Soldier and Heavy had been standing outside of the infirmary. Had Medic not been so exhausted, he would have no doubt relished this, but now, it was something of a chore. The occasional agonized scream he could get from them, however, provided a bright spot in having to work twice as long as the rest of these /lowlives/. He had finally gotten to his last patient of the day, Spy, whose injuries were the least severe. He had several bits of buckshot embedded in his left calf from the BLU Scout’s scattergun, and he was now lying on his stomach on the operating table, his pant leg rolled up and exposing his wound. Medic had just come over with a freshly sterilized tray of instruments, when he stopped, noticing the smoldering cigarette still between Spy’s lips. Medic noisily cleared his throat.

“Is zere a problem, Docteur?” Spy asked indifferently.

“Put zat out,” Medic said. “I’m trying to keep zis room sterile.”

“It keeps me calm,” Spy said. “And given zat I’m being treated by a quack like yourself, I zink I’m going to need it.”

Medic sneered at the Frenchman and prepared the local anesthetic. “Ze painkillers vill keep you calm enough,” he said. “Put it out.”

Spy sighed, taking a very long, final drag on his cigarette before carelessly tossing it into a corner. He cast a glance back at the Medic, looking rather smug. “Zere, it’s out.”

The doctor grumbled to himself in German, something Spy only caught bits and pieces of, though he did recognize the word “Franzmann” in there somewhere. Spy had stopped his sniggering as soon as Medic painfully jabbed the needle into his leg, causing him to cry out in pain.

“Oops,” Medic said, smiling now. “I seem to have missed ze vein. Perhaps I should try again.” He jabbed the needle into Spy’s leg again.

“Fils de pute, you’re doing zat on purpose, aren’t you?” Spy hissed.

“Shut up, Herr Spy, I am your doctor,” Medic chided, and he pushed the plunger in. “Ze vorst part is over.”

“It had better be,” Spy muttered under his breath. “Stupid Scout caught me off guard somehow.”

“Such a shame,” Medic said without the smallest ounce of sympathy. He disposed of the needle in a nearby waste basket, then placing the syringe back onto his tray. “All ve have to do now is vait for ze local to kick in. It should only be ein moment.”

“Doktor? Are you in?”

Medic turned to the voice coming from the doorway, to see Heavy peeking in rather sheepishly, most of his body still outside in the hallway.

“Vhat do you vant?” Medic asked, turning his back to the Russian and picking up his scalpel, holding it up to the light for a moment to admire the cold, steel beauty of it.

“Pyro is making dinner,” Heavy said. “But I guess you are busy right now.”

“Very,” Medic said curtly.

“You are letting ze pyromaniac handle ze stove?” Spy asked. “Whose brilliant idea was zat?”

“Pyro insist,” Heavy said with a shrug.

“I’m sure he would,” Spy said, flinching a bit as Medic started to carve into his flesh.

Medic was concentrating intensely on his work. Exhausted as he was, he still appreciated the dark beauty of cutting through living flesh. Blood pooled out onto he surface of the table from the incision, widening it enough for the tweezers. He loved this much more than the battles… he almost wished his days could consist of just operating on these men, instead of getting blown up and shot at all day. Though, if he could manage to get more Übercharges in a day, it would certainly improve his outlook.

There was an overwhelming feeling that crept over Medic, a distinct feeling of being watched. He turned around and saw that Heavy was still in the doorway, watching him with intense interest. “Is zere somezing I can help you viz, Herr Heavy?” Medic asked in a rather clipped tone.

Heavy snapped out of his daze and retreated farther back into the hallway. “Nyet, Doktor, is nothing. I go now.” He slipped back out into the hallway and shut the door awkwardly behind him. Medic sighed, and returned back his work.

“What was zat about, I wonder?” Spy asked slyly.

“Ach, I do not know, ze man has been following me around like a lost child,” Medic said dismissively, picking up his forceps. He could see one of the pellets he was searching for, and dipped the instrument into the wound, pinching around the foreign object.

“I could not possibly imagine why,” Spy said, smirking.

“I don’t eizzah,” Medic replied, pulling out the pellet and examining it briefly before dropping it on his tray, where it fells with a clang and rolled, leaving a tiny semi-circlular blood trail. “I’m finding it razzah /distracting/.”

“I’m sure he is finding you razzer distracting as well,” Spy said under his breath.

“Vhat vas zat, Herr Spy?” Medic asked.

“Nozzing, Doktor,” Spy said. “I’m just talking to myself.”

Medic said nothing in response and returned back to his work, as Spy lay there patiently, smiling like a cat who had just caught a canary.


Heavy was already getting into the habit of showering after the rest of his teammates had already gone to their rooms. It seemed to be safer this way, Heavy thought, as he left the showers. He was shirtless, letting his gut hang out over the top of his pants, as he dried off his face with a starchy, white towel. He was making a conscious effort to hang around the other members of the team a bit more, though having only been at RED base a few days, socializing was something everyone seemed to be feeling their way around with. But shower time was his time, and he preferred to keep it that way.

Already, he had drawn conclusions about his teammates. Engineer would go around, trying to strike up conversations with everyone, and though Heavy liked him, he felt as though he were in a bit over his head when he was dealing with the man. Scout, too, was talkative but not actually… /friendly/, really. The boy just liked to talk... Constantly. Demoman was moody and hard to predict, going from friendly to irate at the slightest provocation. Sniper kept to himself, not really seeming to make any effort to talk with much of anybody, though he would occasionally acknowledge Demoman or Engineer. Soldier was loud, abrasive, and had a hatred for Communists, and Heavy was pretty sure he already hated the man. Spy was haughty and snuck around like a creep, and Pyro was simply… odd. Pyro seemed to behave almost like a small child, if a small child were to be turned lose and set people on fire with a flamethrower.

And then there was Medic…

The Russian heard the sound of a violin being played down the hall. It was coming from the infirmary. Heavy had heard Medic playing his records before, but this sounded much sharper and clearer than the record player he had used before. Curiosity got the better of him, and he wandered over, placing a hand gently on the infirmary door, and pushing it open just enough to peek inside.

There was Medic, standing up straight, with a violin resting underneath his chin, his back turned to the door. He was no longer wearing his labcoat and gloves; they were draped over a chair which sat off to the side, along with a well-worn violin case. The melody was played was graceful and distinguished, and it had an air of solemnity to it, with the faintest hint of sadness. Medic seemed to not even notice Heavy’s presence; he was both lost in the melody and completely focused on playing. As he drew out the last note with his bow, he seemed to move slowly, like a man in a dream.

“Vas beautiful, Doktor,” Heavy found himself saying softly.

Medic whirled around, obviously startled. Upon seeing the owner of the voice that broke his reverie, he sighed. “Oh, it’s /you/,” he said. “Vhat ah you doing here?”

“I just came from showers,” Heavy said. “I heard you play and I vanted to listen.”

“Ze showers?” Medic asked incredulously. “Zis late?”

“I prefer to shower alone,” Heavy said. “Vhat vas zat you were playing?”

“A piece by Vivaldi,” Medic answered. “Usually I do not play many compositions by foreign composers, but I am quite fond of him.”

“Foreign composer?” Heavy asked.

“Ja, he vas Venetian,” Medic said. “Ze Italians, zey certainly knew how to write good music.” He seemed to be in a much better mood suddenly, when he wasn’t discussing battle or taking blood. There was a genuine glow in his features, faint as it was, and Heavy decided to seize the opportunity that was laid out before him.

“Could you play it again?”

Medic seemed a little surprised by the request, as though it were hard for him to fathom Heavy having any sort of taste in Baroque composers. At the same time, however, he seemed to take some pride in having an audience. “Very well,” he said. “You’re not going to leave me alone anyvay. Sit down. Preferably, not ze chair my coat is on.”

Heavy edged into the room, closing the infirmary door gently behind him. He saw an empty chair sitting up against a wall, and pulled it over, scooting it across the floor next to the chair draped with Medic’s coat. He sat up straight, trying to look as refined as he possibly could while being shirtless and having a damp towel draped around his neck.

Medic cleared his throat, and brought his instrument back up to position, resting it under his chin and playing starting Vivaldi’s Siciliano. Medic started up again, building up into it with the same warmth and passion as he had done before. It was a short piece, three minutes long, but Medic was clearly taking his time, his movements deliberate and precise as he seemed to firmly coax the notes out of his instrument. By the time he brought it to a close for a second time, Heavy was no longer sitting up straight, but now leaning forward, completely enraptured.

“Amazing,” was all Heavy could say.

“You really zink so?” Medic asked.

“Da, I do tink so,” Heavy said. “Vhere did you learn to play like that?”

“Meine Mutter taught me, vhen I vas a boy,” Medic said. “She used to tell me I vas a prodigy, zhough, I zink I have… /stagnated/ since zen.”

“I do not tink so,” Heavy said. “You play well. Better than any man I have known.”

Medic smiled a bit. Perhaps, he thought, the Russian was not completely beyond hope. He seemed to have good taste, anyway, and Medic certainly loved to be flattered. However, when he realized he was smiling, he had to make an effort to become straight-faced again, clearing his throat as he did so. “I should be going to bed,” he said, placing the violin back into its case. “You should leave.”

“Zere is no battle tomorrow,” Heavy said. “You could play some more.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Medic said, closing the case. “Go to bed.”

Heavy didn’t say anything in response. He got up from his chair with a grunt, and turned to leave. Medic watched him as he walked to the door and stretched his arms over his head, his back muscles rippling under his skin. The doctor averted his gaze; he did not want to be caught staring at him.


“Vhat is it, Herr Heavy?” Medic asked, looking back up at Heavy, who was idling in the doorway.

“Vould you play again for me tomorrow?” Heavy asked.

“Ve shall see,” Medic said. “No guarantees.”

“Da,” Heavy said with a nod. “Good night, Doktor. Have good dreams.”

Medic tried not to roll his eyes. “Good night, Herr Heavy,” he said.

Heavy gently pulled the door shut behind him, smiling as he walked back to his room. He sung to himself happily, but not loudly. Today had not gone well on the battlefield, true, but it had been salvaged.

All in all, things were looking up.
>> No. 2695
awww. Lovely chapter. I can really feel the emotional tensions within and between Medic and Heavy. Makes me feel saaaad.

I feel like a huge dork routing for relationship to form, but I am. Love the interactions, as normal. Especially towards the end of the chapter. Oh jeez, I feel all squishy >:C .

I'm /delighted/ that you have Medic a fan of Vivaldi! I was thinking the other night that Medic would probably enjoy his work.

As always, I'm dying for more. This chapter is like the intellectual version of a cock tease. <3
>> No. 2696
I forgot to mention how hot shirtless Heavy (with his vodka gut<3 ) sounded.
>> No. 2697
I enjoy that their relationship is difficult. This is the kind of thing that makes me want to read and read and reaaaad.
>> No. 2699
Seconding all of the above. It's a joy to read how the relationship gets started. I got warm fuzzies seeing Medic start to warm up to Heavy, even if it was only a little bit.
>> No. 2700
You phrased that way better than I could. I agree with this, wholeheartedly. Even if it is painful. JUST MAKES IT BETTER, THOUGH.
>> No. 2701
Oh thank god for some cheerful writing. I needed that. (And alright, more RotD inspiration C: )
>> No. 2705
Loved this chapter. Spy's comments made me smile a lot, though I smell trouble coming from his side (well, that's something new, ain't it?). And Heavy listening to Medic's music with awe? Someone needs to draw that. ;)
>> No. 2707
Everything is so sweet ;-;
I LOVE how Medic is being an uptight ass, happily knowing that he'll later be loving the shit our of Heavy. It makes me tingle.
>> No. 2708
Heh, Venice.

Medic attempting to deny everything is cute, and Heavy's interaction with him is adorable <3
>> No. 2760
Commenting for fic love and encouragement!

This Medic. This Medic is the best medic. I am also desperately yearning for more Lessons in Awkward Courtship from Heavy.

CRIT(!!?) When I first started reading ROTD I thought that how the accents were written out in the dialog were going to drive me insane, but you manage it well, keeping it comprehensible as well as using it to accentuate characters personalities. 'N shit.
>> No. 2761

Aw, thanks!

I actually love to write accents and speech impediments. I blame this pretty much on my love of comic books and old newspaper comics, since they're more likely to write out accents then books, although I have read some that have. Hell, I just love to write dialog, since I think that's one of the best things I have going for me.

Glad you like my Medic. I feel kind of afraid that I gave him a Draco in Leather Pants treatment by not making him evil or anything.
>> No. 2777
off topic-- I wish I had your encyclopedic knowledge of Tropes, just because they're so god-damned fun to say. But going to TVTropes causes me to black out and wake up six hours later-- no knowledge of where I've been or what I've done-- and a strange headache caused by useless information overload...
>> No. 2783

I love gathering useless information. I'm like a sponge. And if you squeeze my head, it starts to leak out. Just like Sponge from Salute Your Shorts.



A week had passed. By now the members of RED team were starting to form something of a rhythm, not just in their daily lives but on the battlefield as well. It was far from clockwork, but as the men grew accustomed to battle, they started to bumble less and communicate more. They still had lost every round they fought in, but today was going to be different.

By some divine providence, Medic had not died yet. Whether his luck would continue to hold out was unclear. Heavy had died multiple times, but would always come back, completely undaunted. A few times, Medic would break off to follow around Soldier or Pyro, and Medic had been lucky enough to Übercharge the Pyro once, completely destroying the BLU Engineer’s sentry, as well as setting BLU Engineer on fire, watching him scream and run around like a flaming scarecrow. All things considering, today was going very well. Perhaps they might even win today’s arbitrary battle over the intel.

Things had come to a head. RED team was keeping BLU firmly out of their base and slowly encroaching on BLUs. Medic was currently healing Heavy. Their assault was blocked, however, by the BLU Engineer’s sentry.

“Vhen do you get charge, Doktor?” Heavy shouted over gunfire.

“Almost zhere,” Medic said, glancing down as his Übercharge meter go dangerously close to being full. “Be patient!”

Just then, from the halls of BLU Base, came the RED Scout, being chased by almost the entirety of BLU team. “OH GOD, THEY’RE AFTER ME!” he screamed, having not gotten this far with the enemy intel before today. He ran as though his ass were on fire, and given how close the BLU Pyro was getting to him, he probably soon would be.

Medic could feel his Medigun tingle and crackle with life. “I AM FULLY CHARGED!” he shouted. “GO GET ZEM!” And he activated the charge as soon as Heavy stepped in front of the doorway.

The sentry was the first thing destroyed. Scout had managed to avoid the spray of bullets, practically leapfrogging over Heavy as he landed on top of the roof of the 2fort bridge. Heavy laughed as he and Medic plowed forward, bullets ripping through enemy BLUs as they tried to turn tail and flee. Most of them never made it down the hall before the charge fizzled out. The screams of the surviving BLUs could be heard as they ran into the RED Pyro and Soldier. Heavy and Medic made their way further inside, only to see their Soldier come around the corner, followed by the Pyro.

“Good work, privates,” Soldier said. “You put those goddamned BLUs in their place! Now, /that/ is what I like to see!”

“Is no problem!” Heavy said. “I could not do it vithout Doktor.”

“Just doing mein job,” Medic said, keeping a straight face.


“Vhat!” Heavy exclaimed. “But leetle Scout had suitcase!”

“Ve’re still on BLU’s side,” Medic said with a wry smile. “We’re hearing ze announcement meant for zem. Look outside.”

The four of them stepped out of BLU base, to see their own team members hollering and whooping excitedly. Demoman was the first to rush over the bridge to greet his teammates.

“WE GUBBED ‘EM!” he shouted, hoisting his ever-present bottle into the air. “Bunch a’ fannybawz dinnit see it comin’, 'ey?”

“ENTIRE BLU TEAM IS BABIES!” Heavy shouted, loud enough so that any BLUs who happened to be nearby, his confidence in his team fully restored.

“Boys, you’ve finally done me proud,” Soldier said, beaming with pride. “This calls for a celebration! Everyone, into the base!”

Soldier marched forward into the base triumphantly. Sniper had come down to the ground level of RED base and was standing just inside. “Wot’re ya thinkin’, Solly? Time t’ crack open a few beers an’ ‘ave a shindig, then?”

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, son, otherwise I’d smack you in the mouth for that hippie talk,” Soldier said.

Sniper raised an eyebrow, looking incredulous. “D’you just call me a hippie?”

“You’re dirty enough,” Soldier scoffed.

“I’ll drink th’ lot o’ ye unner th’ table!” Demoman said, his challenge directed to anyone within earshot. “Show ye all how t’ git proper drunk, boyos.”

“You’re inebriated most of ze time, anyvay,” Medic said flatly. “I fail to see how zis vould change anyzing.”

“Eh, goan an’ bile yer ‘ead, sauerkraut,” Demoman said dismissively. “Yer no fun, anyway.”

“Come on, Doktor, drink vit us!” Heavy said, wrapping an arm around the doctor and pulling him close in a jovial manner. “Ve von today because you charge me! Stop being grumpy and have good time.”

Medic pulled himself away from Heavy and dusted himself off. It was true, today had been a good day, and getting two Übercharges in one battle without dying was certainly an astounding achievement. He wasn’t sure if it could be chalked up to pure luck, or if he was actually getting the hang of this sort of thing.

“Very well,” Medic said reluctantly. “But I vill probably only have vone bottle. I have vork to do tonight.”


Medic downed his eighth bottle of beer, and let out an undignified belch. “Two Übercharges!” He said, holding up three fingers. “In ze same day! You know vhat? I could… I could get zhree. I’ll show you. I’ll show zem all!”

“Doc, I think you’ve had enough,” Engineer said, tuning his guitar idly.

“I’ll tell /you/ vhen I haff had enough,” Medic slurred, leaning forward and pointing his finger at Engineer. “You… you ah so short. You know zat, Engineer? You ah like… ah… like…” He was having trouble coming up with a simile.

“Lurrk uhh hurrbiit?” Pyro suggested, looking up from the bonfire that the entire team was gathered around.

“I don’t… I don’t even know vhat zat is,” Medic said.

“I think he just called Truckie a hobbit,” Sniper said with a chuckle.

“I heard him!” Medic said. “I just… don’t haff /any/ idea vhat zat is…”

“They’re… like these little short people with ‘airy lil’ feet,” Sniper explained. He was obviously a bit tipsy, but he was still sober enough to collect most of his thoughts. “They’re from those ‘Lord a’ th’ Rings’ books. I read ‘em back in university… least, I think it was back in university. How many years ago those books come out?”

“Thurrterrn,” Pyro said.

“Oh,” Sniper said. “That’s not right, then. They came out afterwards. Doesn’t seem like that long ago, though…” he trailed off, his eyes landing on the bonfire in front of him.

“What was yer major, if ya don’t mind me askin’?” Engineer inquired.

“Doesn’t matter, ‘cause I dropped out anyway,” Sniper said. “Wasn’t for me, mate. I only went t’ make me mum an’ dad happy. Dad hated th’ fact that I dropped out. Dinnit’ want me takin’ this job. Pretty sure he hates me.”

“Man, you should be able ta do what ya want, man. Fuck ‘em!” Scout said. Scout had drank less than Medic, but seemed to be just about as drunk, gesturing wildly and nearly slipping off the crate he was sitting on. “Whoa… I’m all right… I’m okay.”

“Tiny leetle Scout cannot stay on box,” Heavy said with a chuckle.

“Shuh… shut up, butterball,” Scout said. “I can sits just fine. Not like Demo ovah there…” He gave an exaggerated nod over to Demo, who had fallen over onto his back, his legs still draped comically over the crate he had been sitting on.

“Ah ken gi’ up whene’er I feel li’e it!” Demoman protested his speech more slurred than usual. He lifted up his arm as if to signal that he had not, in fact, died. “Ah jes’ donnae feel li’e it righ’ naow.”

“You know, Demoman, I can barely understand a word you just said,” Soldier said. “Quit that jive talk or whatever it is you’re saying.”

“S’not jive ye stupid… ye stupid git,” Demoman seemed far too incapacitated to put up a proper fight; that would involve having to stand up. “M’Scottish.”

“Like that’s any excuse,” Soldier growled.

“Ah’ve ‘alf a mind te smack ye in th’ puss!” Demoman said. “Soon as ah ken git up.”

“Somezing tells me zat ‘e’s going to be down on ze ground for quite some time,” Spy said, still slowly going through his first bottle.

“Man, whuzzah mattah with you, anyway?” Scout asked. “Ya hardly been drinkin’ nothin’.”

“It’s not my fault zat American beer tastes like piss,” Spy said with disgust.

“I know,” said Medic, lifting up his bottle. “Und yet, I keep drinking…” He brought the empty bottle to his lips and tilted it back. When nothing came out, he drew back, looking disappointed and confused before haphazardly tossing the bottle behind him. “Somebody give me anuzzah.”

“I think you should prolly get goin’ t’ bed,” Engineer said firmly. “Believe you me, any more an’ yer only gonna regret it.”

“Fack you, you’re not meine Mutter…” Medic said, his head bobbing as he tried to maintain eye contact with the Texan. “You’re… vhat Pyro said. Ein hobo.”

“Hurrbiit.” Pyro corrected.

“Ja, ein Herbert,” Medic affirmed.

“Dang it, will ya knock that off?” Engineer was clearly getting annoyed. “You should just go t’ bed or somethin’, sleep it off.”

“I can take him back,” Heavy volunteered, getting up from the crate he was sitting on.

“Thanks,” Engineer said. “You think you could take Demoman back too?”

“I don’t zink ze Heavy is very interested in taking ze Demoman back to ‘is room,” Spy muttered with a smirk.

“Whuzzat supposed ta mean?” Scout asked. He was sitting right next to Spy, and apparently was the only one that heard him.

“Nozzing,” Spy said with a shrug. “Forget I said anyzing.”

“I come back for Demoman,” Heavy said to Engineer, lifting Medic off of the ground and slinging him over his shoulder. Medic found this development hilarious, and burst out laughing, gibbering in German as Heavy walked off.

“Ah donnae need yer ‘elp, ye big galoot!” Demoman shouted to the Heavy’s feet as he passed by. “Ah’ll be fine. Ken take care o’ meself.”

“I doubt zat,” Spy said wryly.

“Gute Nacht, everybody!” Medic said with a wave, his head bouncing up and down with each step Heavy took, and the two of them disappeared back into the building.

The rest of RED team watched them go. Scout was the first to speak up. “That guy… that guy is fuckin’ weird.”

“Do you mean ze Medic or ze Heavy?” Spy asked idly.

“Th’ Doc… he’s weird…” Scout said, leaning back on his crate. He leaned too far back, however, and fell backwards with a “whoa!” onto his back, landing next to the Demoman.

“Ah, Scoot, nice a’ ye te join me,” Demoman said, laughing. “Now, go git me another beer, would ye?”


Heavy opened the infirmary doors, still hoisting a giggling, drunken Medic, and flipped on the light switch. The long, fluorescent lights flickered to life, and Heavy looked around. There was the examination area, Medic’s desk, and three doors; one off to the right, the left and one off to the side on the wall facing Heavy, which came out farther past the examination area. Heavy’s brow furrowed. “Vhich is your room, Doktor?”

“Zat vone,” Medic said pointing to the door they had come in.

Heavy sighed, and headed to the door across the room. He opened it, and sure enough there was a neatly made bed inside. At the foot of the bed was a trunk of Medic’s belongings, and beside it was two stacked crates forming a make-shift nightstand, upon which rested a book and a simple desk lamp. Heavy lumbered over to the bed, and lifted Medic off of his shoulders, placing the man as gently onto the bed as he could.

“Good night, Doktor,” Heavy said, and turned to leave. He found himself stopped, though, by a hand gripping his wrist.

“Don’t go,” Medic said softly. Suddenly, he wasn’t so giddy. “Stay.”

Heavy was surprised by this. Most of the time, Medic was trying to get rid of Heavy. Even when he visited the infirmary to listen to Medic play, the doctor would always make it very clear that he was only allowing Heavy in because he wanted an audience. Now he was looking up at him, his eyes having trouble focusing, but still looking distinctly sad. Heavy was certainly not one to deny this man company. He sat down on the bed next to the doctor, not really sure what to do next. Medic crawled across the bed and fumbled to turn on the desk lamp, before turning his attention to Heavy.

“You… you ah ze only vone here who is /nice/ to me, you know zat?” Medic said, putting a hand on Heavy’s shoulder and leaning on him.

“Engineer is nice to you,” Heavy pointed out.

“Engineer is nice to /everyvone/,” Medic said. “You… you ah nice to /me/. Vhy… vhy ah you so nice to me?”

Heavy was hesitant to answer. Medic was very drunk, and Heavy wasn’t sure if he should give an honest answer. The doctor probably would not remember any of this in the morning, but that feeling of apprehension still hovered over him. He found his head being turned by Medic’s fingers, and was now face to face with the drunken man, who was studying Heavy’s expression, trying to concentrate as hard as his intoxicated state would allow him.

“You got quiet,” he observed. “I zink I have… a /zheory/, zhough.” He closed his eyes, and stumbled forward, trying to keep steady as pressed his lips against Heavy’s.

This completely took the Russian by surprise. He was not expecting this. He hadn’t even thought he would be in this position. But here he was, sitting on Medic’s bed, with his lips locked with Medic’s as the doctor wrapped his arms around Heavy’s neck and climbed into his lap. He felt Medic’s tongue flicking past his own lips, and opened his mouth. Heavy could taste the beer on Medic’s breath as that tongue invaded and started to twist and writhe against his own. This couldn’t be happening, Heavy thought. This shouldn’t be happening. Medic broke the kiss, pulling back with a smirk on his face.

“So… I believe zat hypozhesis has been proven correct,” Medic said, rubbing Heavy’s chest. “Zis… zis explains everyzing.”

“You are drunk, Doktor,” Heavy said, trying his best to regain his composure.

“Und you vould take advantage of a drunk man, zen?” Medic asked, smiling slyly. “You ah sneaky for such a large man. I do not give you enough credit.”

“You keesed me first,” Heavy said, averting his gaze from Medic.

“Und you could have stopped me,” Medic said, jabbing his finger into Heavy’s chest. “But you didn’t. You even… even let me put mein tongue into your mouzh…” He pulled Heavy’s head back so that the two of them were face to face again. Neither of them said anything for a moment, merely looking into each others’ eyes. Heavy braced himself for another kiss, and Medic started to lean in again before he rested his head on Heavy’s shoulder.

“Are you okay, Doktor?” Heavy asked, wrapping his arm around the doctor to rub his back.

Medic didn’t respond. His chest heaved and spasmed, and he started to make pained, choking noises, before finally vomiting all over Heavy’s shirt and vest. Heavy cried out in disgust, pushing the doctor away back onto the bed. He immediately got up and left, trying his best not to dribble the mess all over the floor.

Heavy found a small hand washing sink in the examination area and stripped off his vest and shirt, throwing them into the sink. He turned on the faucet, trying to rinse off the foul mess, when he heard sobbing coming from the bedroom. He turned his attention back to the room, and let out a sigh. There was a laundry bin inside the infirmary that seemed to only have Medic’s dirty uniform coats piled inside. Heavy turned off the faucet, wrung out his sopping vest and shirt, and tossed them in the laundry bin before going back into the bedroom.

Medic was lying face down on his bed, face half-buried in a pillow, sobbing uncontrollably and snot running out from his nose. He looked absolutely pathetic, not at all like the proud, dignified man of science that Heavy had first seen stepping off the train. Heavy walked over and sat back down on the bed, and put a hand on Medic’s back.

“Oh, Heavy,” he sobbed, sniffling back tears and mucus. “Entschuldigung, I did not mean to do zat…”

“I know you didn’t, Doktor,” Heavy said, rubbing the doctor’s back affectionately. “Is okay.”

“You must /hate/ me now,” Medic said in a choked voice.

“I do not hate you,” Heavy said reassuringly. “Stop crying. You are grown man. You should not cry. Babies cry. And you are not baby.”

The doctor let out a choked little hiccup, and nodded. “You ah right… I am sorry. I’m sorry for everyzing. You… you ah nice to me, Heavy.”

“You should blow your nose, Doktor,” Heavy said with a chuckle.

“Oh… I should…” Medic sat up, pawing his own pockets until he found his handkerchief. He held it up to his face, blew his nose noisily and then tossed it over his head behind him, onto the floor. “Ugh… I am so sorry…”

“Is all right, Doktor,” Heavy said. “I have had much vorse tings happen to me.”

Medic managed a very small, wavering smile. “Danke, Heavy,” he said.

“You’re velcome, Doktor,” Heavy said, patting Medic on the back. “I tink you should sleep now, before anyting else happens.”

“Sleep viz me, Heavy.”

Heavy recoiled in surprise.

“Not… not like zat,” Medic said. “Just… sleep in mein bed. Viz me.” He patted the bedding to emphasize his request. “Bitte.”

Heavy considered this for a moment. Medic wasn’t asking for sex; just company. He had to admit that sharing a bed was someone was something he had not done in a while, and to potentially share a bed with a man whom he had affections for… well, this opportunity probably wouldn’t come up again. He finally accepted with a nod. “Okay, Doktor.”

“Ah… das gut!” Medic said, already starting to unbutton his labcoat. “Gut… now, help me get undressed.” He kicked his foot on top of Heavy’s lap, waiting expectantly for him to take off his boots.

The Russian bit his lip and nodded, holding Medic by the ankle and gently wiggling his foot free. He barely got the first boot off before Medic switched his feet in anticipation. By the time Heavy managed to get the second off and place it by the floor besides its brother, he noticed that Medic was no longer moving about. His jacket was half of and his suspenders were hanging from his shoulders. His head was resting on his pillow, but his eyes were still open. “You need more help, Doktor?” Heavy asked.

“Ja… I am tired…” he said rather absentmindedly. “Take off mein shirt and pants.”

“Da,” Heavy said with a nod, trying his best not to give in to his impulses. He undid the doctor’s belt with trembling hands and tugged off his pants, taking care to fold them carefully and to place them on top of the trunk at the foot of the bed before going to lift Medic up gently so that he could remove his coat. Medic watched him do all of this, removing articles of clothing and folding them neatly, until the doctor was stripped down to his boxers, undershirt, socks and garters. Heavy tried not to stare as he removed his boots.

“Admiring me, vere you?” Medic asked lackadaisically.

“Is hard not to,” Heavy admitted.

“I appreciate your honesty,” Medic said. “Now, come to bed.”

Heavy took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly. He climbed onto the bed, not bothering to get under the covers; it was too hot here for that. He laid down on the bed, and found himself surprised how eagerly Medic snuggled up to him. Heavy smiled, gently plucking the doctor’s glasses from his face, and planning them on the crates.

“Good night, Heavy,” Medic sighed, already starting to fade into unconsciousness.

“Good night, Doktor,” Heavy said, turning off the lamp and settling into the bed, as Medic fell asleep at his side.


Medic found himself being woken up by harsh beams of sunlight on his face. His head was throbbing, and he grabbed his pillow to cover his face. How much did he have to drink last night? What on earth did he /do/?

Suddenly, he became aware of a warm, breathing body pressed against his. Panic was the first thing that went through his head. Oh God, what had he done? Had he slept with one of his teammates? Who was it? Medic slowly lifted his hand from the pillow, feeling the body of the other man in bed with him. Very large, well-muscled, a layer of fat around the midsection… oh, no.

Not /him/.

Despite how much the light hurt, Medic sat up and took the pillow off his face, and gazed in horror at the big, fat Russian man who had been sleeping back to back with him, completely shirtless. Medic looked down at himself, noticing that he was stripped down to his socks and underwear. Heavy shifted his weight a bit before rolling over like a great, sleepy bear to face the German, his eyes slowly opening to see Medic staring at him, his face twisted into an expression of shock and outrage.

“Get out,” Medic hissed.

“Vhat?” Heavy asked, barely awake.

“I said, GET OUT OF MY ROOM!” Medic shouted, startling Heavy so much that he rolled off the bed. Medic grabbed one of his boots from on top of the trunk and held it over his head, poised to throw it at the larger man. “SCHWEINHUND IWAN, GET OUT! GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!” He threw his boot at the Russian, who was trying to gather his own footwear, and it bounced off of Heavy’s head.

Heavy paused, not moving for a second as Medic grabbed his second boot and threatened to throw it. The Russian straightened up, his own boots under his arm, and glared at Medic. Medic found himself backing further into the corner of the room.

“If you vere any other man, Doktor, I vould have crushed you for that.”

Medic didn’t respond; he only tensed up more. Heavy turned and left, closing the bedroom door behind him. The doctor was still tensed up, listening to Heavy’s footfalls until he passed through the infirmary doors and was out of earshot. When he was sure the Russian was gone, he backed into the corner, and slowly sunk to his knees, burying his face in his hands and groaning in defeat.
>> No. 2785
It seems that I arrived at the proper moment!

This chapter was so sweet, and then the end was a complete buzzkill. Medic needs to learn how to deal with his feelings better, because that was just... :(
>> No. 2786
I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but laugh at giddy, hammered Medic. It was really sweet to hear him confess his feelings for Heavy. I figured he'd be pretty nasty when he woke up with an alcohol-hazed memory... poor Heavy.
>> No. 2788
I too enjoy absorbing useless information, but TVTropes is like krypotnite. Chocolate kryptonite. Delicious, deadly deadly tropes....
You've made me drunk, you know. Listening to accents makes me take on an accent.
Reading about people being drunk makes me happy-drunk. Good times, Cat, good times.
hehehehe :3c
>> No. 2789
Beer, y'gotta love it. :D
I was hoping for some manlovin', but the barf-and-cry was actually better. Even though I did expect Medic kicking Heavy out, doesn't make it hurt less. ;(
>> No. 2790
:3c indeed
>> No. 2794
Damn you Medic, how can I like you if you keep treating Heavy this way! I look forward to the moment when he eventually pulls the thermometer out of his ass and realizes how awesome Heavy is. Drunk Medic is adorable, in all his goofy, demanding, 'zheory'-havin ways.
I appreciate that you went for OPTION TWO: PUKE rather than the makeout I want to see. You are a horrible tease, and I like it!
My love for nerd!Pyro is strong. It is now clear why no one can understand him: he is obviously speaking Sindarin under that mask!
ALSO ALSO Engineer becoming Team Mom (if I've got my tropes right) is wonderful.
Never stop it with your characterizations.
I will stop typing now.
>> No. 2802
Stupid revert got rid of all those lovely comments I had.

I'm such a fucking narcissist, I love reading them over and over...
>> No. 2812
Reposting my comment!

I JUST DIED IN YOUR ARRRMS TONIGHT started playing in my head. And this part was so painful and I liked that. You're hurting me, Cat, and I LIKE IT.
>> No. 2862
reposting my comment as well

Aww damn it, I wanted to write a drunk victory party with Heavy/Medic action in my fan fiction but you beat me to it.
Hell of a lot better than I could ever do though.
>> No. 2863
Haha, I understand about the comments, Cat. I was wondering if I should repost mine, so I'll try to remember what I'd said, mixed with new thoughts.
'But I vill probably only have vone bottle. I have vork to do tonight.' Medic downed his eighth bottle of beer, and let out an undignified belch.
I lol'd HARD.

I loved reading the interactions at the gathering and all the drunkenness! Hahah, drunk Medic's a lot like drunk me *cooough.* Been in Heavy's place, too, though.

I'm really really glad that you didn't make Heavy take advantage of Medic (that kiss was totally out of the blue, I can't blame him). I feel it goes well with his character. Heavy seems like a modest person with quiet integrity.

Loving the build up.
>> No. 2864
There is not enough drunk team interaction around here. Nice work Cat! And no worries, I think everyone values the comments they get on their work. =)
>> No. 2878
Drunk Medic is the best Medic. At least, outside of the /afanart/ and /afanfiction/ boards :P
>> No. 2879
Hurrrrr, I'm pumping out chapters when I should be busting my ass on final projects. I've got one totally done and out of the way, but yeah...

I want to apologize to Applecup in advance. They did a Gmod that actually was eerily close to a scene in the part and I decided to "borrow" the wording from the post because it fit so much better than what I had at the moment and I'M SORRY.



Heavy hadn’t seen Medic all day, not since he had been kicked out of the doctor’s room so rudely. He was probably still hung over, given how it seemed as though he couldn’t remember anything that had happened the night before. Last night had been so pleasant, and the revelation that the only reason Medic had been kind to him was because he was drunk… well, it was a harsh blow. Fortunately other members of RED team also seemed to be nursing post-revelry hangovers, and nobody asked any uncomfortable questions.

It was evening now, and Heavy left his room for the showers. He left his room at the same time every night, and every night after he was done, he would head to the infirmary to listen to Medic play for him. He wasn’t sure if he’d be allowed back there, though. Medic did not handle waking up next to Heavy very well, and Heavy could only imagine what Medic thought had happened. A part of him felt that it was worth it, just to have Medic’s body curled up against his, and to have kissed him. His heart fluttered just thinking about it.

He walked inside, taking off his shoes and placing them against the wall before he started to remove his clothes. He had gotten his vest and shirt off before he paused, noticing a faint, but acrid burning smell behind him… like smoke.

“I know you are there, Spy,” Heavy said. “Come out vhere I can see you.”

Spy uncloaked in front of Heavy, his cigarette dangling from his lips, as he gave Heavy a slow, congratulatory golf clap. “Bravo, Monsieur Heavy,” he said. “It would seem you are not as slow as I zhought.”

“Vhat are you doing here?” Heavy asked.

“I merely wish to talk to you,” Spy said, feigning innocence. “I wanted to get you alone, however. I would not want any unwanted ears listening in on our conversation.”

“You could have just asked,” Heavy said.

“Not my style,” Spy said dismissively.

“Vhat did you vant to say to me?” Heavy asked.

“You never came back for Demoman last night,” Spy stated flatly.

Heavy tensed up a bit. Only now did he remember that he was supposed to have gone back to take Demoman to his room. “I am sorry,” Heavy said. “Medic got sick. I had to stay and take care of him. He would not let me leave.”

“I see,” Spy said. He took a slow drag on his cigarette and exhaled smoke through his flared nostrils. “Is zat why he was screaming at you as you left ze infirmary wizzout your shirt zis morning?”

“Is not unusual for men to share bed vhere I come from,” Heavy said, his voice wavering a bit. He was averting his gaze from the Frenchmen’s, looking down at the tiled floor. “He did not understand.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Spy observed.

Heavy looked back up at Spy, noticing the Frenchman’s expression was much more serious, his eyes half-lidded and his mouth drawn into a thin, straight line. Heavy sighed. “Ve did nothing together. He get sick on me, I take off my shirt, and he ask me to share bed with him. Then he vake up and tink ve did someting. I did not have time to explain. That is all.”

Spy seemed to consider this a moment, taking another thoughtful drag. “Zere is still somezing zat you are not telling me,” he said. “And I have a feeling I know what it is.”

“I tink you should leave now,” Heavy said, the menace in his voice very clear.

“It would seem zat I have struck a nerve,” Spy said, his smile returning. “How long ‘ave you ‘ad zis crush on Medic?”

“I do not know vhat you are talking about,” Heavy said, looking away from Spy again.

“Au contraire, mon ami… you know /exactly/ what I am talking about,” Spy said, shaking his head. “Really, you have done a very poor job of hiding it. I zink ze only reason zat no one else suspects anyzing is because you do not appear to be ze type to be interested in men. But I know better.” He was grinning now, looking like a shark about to tear into its wounded prey. “And I can tell zat you have fallen for our Medic quite hard.”

Heavy didn’t answer. He merely looked at the floor tiles in shame. Spy knew. He /knew/, that bastard, and the way he was talking made it sound like he was going to do something with this information.

“Are you doing to... dark-mail me?” Heavy asked, obviously unsure of his choice of words.

“You mean ‘blackmail,’” Spy corrected, “and no, actually. It is… such an ugly word, I zink. He’s way out of your league, anyway.”

“Vhat?” Heavy’s confusion was painted all over his face.

“Let us not beat around ze bush here, Heavy,” Spy said, sauntering up closer to the large Russian man and putting a gloved hand upon his shoulder. “Our Medic is a very good-looking man. And being as handsome as he is, he could probably ‘ave ‘is of any man on ze team… ze Scout… ze Sniper…” He paused, briefly, a lecherous smile creeping over his face. “Ze Engineer...”

“Engineer?” Heavy asked.

“Just naming people to make a point,” Spy said. “Point is, wiz all zese men for him to choose from, why would he choose a big, fat, hairy Russian man such as yourself? I’m sure he’d sooner drug anozzer member of ze team zen sleep wiz /you/.”

Heavy swatted Spy’s hand of his shoulder, causing the Frenchman to recoil in surprise. “Zat is not true.” Heavy said.

“Is it now?” Spy asked. “Come now, Heavy, be /reasonable/. He was /drunk/. And zen he goes and screams at you ze next morning. Surely he’s not worzh ze trouble.”

“Vhy do you care, anyway?” Heavy asked.

“I feel pity for you,” Spy said with a shrug. “Really, it’s just /painful/ watching your awkward attempts at courtship wiz ze Medic. I’m doing you a /favor/. Save yourself ze trouble and give up on him before zis turns into a fiasco.”

Heavy’s large, paw-like hand lashed out, grabbing Spy by his necktie and yanking him forward. He then bent down to eye-level with the Frenchman, his face now only inches away from Spy’s. “You stay out of this,” he said.

“Are you zhreatening me now?” Spy asked, seemingly entertained at the thought.

“Yes,” said Heavy.

“Touchy,” Spy observed. “Very well, zen. I shall take my leave. Don’t say zat I did not warn you, zhough.” He tugged at his tie, and Heavy loosened his grip. Spy slunk past him, tucking his tie back under his vest.

Just as Heavy was about to take off his pants, he was interrupted by the voice of the Frenchman.

“Just out of curiosity, Heavy… if by some divine intervention you /do/ manage to sleep wiz ze Medic… how do you intend to ‘ide it from ze rest of ze team?”

“I tink about that later,” Heavy growled. “Leave.”

“Fine,” said Spy, holding up his hands in a gesture of defeat. “But ze ozzers, zey may not be so accepting of zis as I am. Especially ze Soldier…” With that, he left, not even waiting for Heavy to respond.

Once he was satisfied that Spy was gone for good, Heavy got undressed and to the showers. He was glad he did this alone; he was going to need the time to think.


Medic had been pondering the events of last night over the course of the day. The katzenjammer was gone, thank God, but so were most of his recollections of the night before. He could vaguely recall being slung over Heavy’s back like a saddlebag, being laid onto his bed… and then…

Everything after that was a blank.

When he had awoken, he immediately assumed the worst… that the Russian had taken advantage of him, possibly even molesting him in his intoxicated state. Seeing Heavy’s shirt and vest in his laundry bin only intensified his fears. It took a while for him to gather up the courage to examine the discarded articles of clothing. They were still slightly moist, as though washed quickly and haphazardly. After much hesitation, he brought it to his face and quickly sniffed it. Much to his relief (and disgust), he couldn’t smell any traces of semen. Instead, his olfactory senses were assaulted with the pungent odor of vomit. He quickly tossed the offending vest back into the laundry bin. He didn’t recall Heavy being that drunk; he had been drinking, but the man seemed to possess a tolerance for alcohol that put Demoman to shame, and hardly seemed buzzed. When he realized what exactly had happened, Medic suddenly felt something that he had not felt in a very long time.

He was filled with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

The man had taken him back to his room, had been puked upon for his trouble, stayed with him the night, and had even neatly folded the doctor’s clothes… and what was his thanks? A boot to the head. Medic had trouble recalling the last time anybody had bothered to be so kind to him… nobody else on this team was terribly nice to him; most of them kept their distance. Sure, Demoman was friendly enough when he was in a good mood, and Engineer made it a point to get along with everyone, but Heavy… he was the only person who continually would try and make him feel welcome, try to strike up friendly conversation, cover for him during battle… and, most importantly, he listened to him play.

He immediately felt his pride come swelling back up. Heavy must not know of this, he thought. Give that man an inch, he would no doubt take a mile. For the rest of the day, he spent most of his time filling out medical reports. He was hardly paying attention to the things he was writing before he noticed that he had repeatedly written Heavy’s name in the place of other words. He tossed out the reports, and leaned back in his chair, while his hubris and his loneliness waged battle with each other. Would Heavy even be willing to talk to him again, after what he did? Did he really /want/ to talk to him? And why on earth was he suddenly feeling this way towards the man? These thoughts gnawed at him all day, as he sat holed up in his office.

When it came around the usual time Heavy would be leaving the showers, Medic found himself sitting in his office, his violin sitting in his lap, not being played. He had gone over the bow with rosin, tuned it precisely, fiddled with it… but was not actually playing it.

He wasn’t coming, Medic thought gloomily. He had frightened off the person who was the closest thing he had to a friend in RED base. He looked down at the violin in his lap, and sighed. He might as well pack it up.


Medic whipped his head to face the infirmary doors, and to his relief, there was Heavy, standing in the doorway, towel draped around his neck and looking slightly embarrassed. Before the doctor had a chance to say anything, Heavy spoke up.

“I have something I vanted to say to you, Doktor,” Heavy said bashfully. “May I come in?”

“Ja, of course,” Medic said with a nod, trying not to seem too excited. “Sit down, bitte. Zere vas somezing I vanted to say to you, as vell.”

Heavy pulled up the chair he usually sat in for these sessions, and wrung his hands nervously. He didn’t speak right away, chewing on his lip in thought. “Maybe you should go first,” he suggested.

Medic nodded. “All right,” he said, taking a deep breath. This was going to be difficult. “I… I vanted to apologize to you. For zis morning.”

The Russian looked up, looking bemused. “You vhat?”

“I vas rash,” Medic said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “I had… jumped to some conclusions… und you did not deserves zat. In fact, if vhat I zink happened actually happened… zen I should be zanking you. For taking care of me.” He looked back up at Heavy, not sure exactly what to expect.

Heavy seemed to consider this a moment before he broke into a soft smile. “Is okay, Doktor,” he said. “I forgive you.”

“You do?” Medic asked. “Even aftah everyzing?”

“Da,” Heavy said with a nod.

“Vhy?” asked Medic. “I have not exactly been very kind to you, you know. Vhy ah you so nice to me?”

It was now Heavy who was shifting in his seat uncomfortably. “That vas vhat I came here to talk to you about,” he admitted. He was now rubbing his arm and trying his best to maintain eye contact with the doctor. “I… I /like/ you, Doktor.” He paused. “A lot.”

The silence was so all-encompassing that Medic could have swore he heard the other man’s heart beating in his chest from across from him. It was probably his own, he thought. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed after hearing this confession before Heavy spoke up again.


“Ja?” Medic asked, almost without thinking.

“Are you all right, Doktor?”

Medic let out a nervous little laugh. “I’m fine,” he said. “Vell… zat /does/ explain a lot. Perhaps I should have picked up on zat sooner.”

Heavy said nothing. He was embarrassed, actually blushing like a schoolboy with a crush. “I should go,” he said quickly, standing up from his chair. “Vas stupid of me to say. You are… out of league, for me.”

“Vait!” Medic cried out, causing Heavy to stop and look back towards him. “Don’t leave. Not just yet.”

Reluctantly, Heavy took his seat again, and stared at the space between his feet. “I’m sorry, Doktor.”

“Stop apologizing,” Medic said. “You are a proud man on ze battlefield, Heavy. You have /confidence/ out zere. Try showing some off ze field for vonce, hmm?”

“Sorry,” Heavy mumbled.

“I said, ‘stop apologizing!’” Medic chided. “Really, it’s like you ah a completely different person vhen you have zat gun in your hand.”

“Sasha,” Heavy reminded him. “Her name is Sasha.”

“Ja… Sasha,” Medic said.

There was another uncomfortable silence between them, as both men seemed to be trying to figure out what to say.

“I have something else to confess, Doktor,” Heavy said.

“Oh?” Medic asked.

“Last night… vhen I take you back to your room… you keesed me,” Heavy’s voice was steadier now, and he spoke more clearly. “I let you do it.”

Medic winced. What little chance there was of him hiding his own sexual preferences from Heavy was completely gone now. “Und… ve did nozzing else… right?”

“Ve did not,” Heavy said. “I could not do that to a man. Especially not a man that I like.”

The doctor smiled, and quickly tried to cover it up with his hand. He cleared his throat and tried to return to his stoic expression. “I appreciate zat, Heavy,” he said carefully. “I… I don’t /hate/ you. I actually… enjoy your company.”

“Really?” Heavy asked.

“Ja,” Medic admitted. “I do like to have an audience vhen I play.”

The smile that came over Heavy’s face seemed to illuminate his features completely. Causing somebody to beam like that was not something Medic was used to. “Does zat Doktor likes me too?” He asked.

“Let’s not get hasty now-” He was cut off when the Russian stood up from his chair, made his way over to the doctor and embraced the doctor in a bear hug, lifting him from his seat.

“I AM VERY HAPPY, DOKTOR!” He boomed. “Oh, zis is good day for me!”

“Put me down, Heavy,” Medic said as he was being squeezed against the larger man’s chest.

“Oh. Sorry,” Heavy gently put the Doktor back in his chair, then retreated back to his own, realizing he had overstepped his boundaries. “I get excited,” he explained.

“I noticed.” Medic said, adjusting his glasses. “Listen. I vant to make somezing perfectly clear. I vas very drunk last night, und I may have done und said zings I did not mean. I am not interested in you like /zat/… zhough, I am flattered zat you find me attractive.”

“You do not find me handsome,” Heavy said. It was less a question than it was a flat-out statement.

“I did not say zat,” Medic said. Heavy could certainly stand to lose a few pounds, and Medic had seen handsomer faces, but Heavy was certainly not /bad/ looking… and Medic was a sucker for a muscular build. “It… it vould be fraternization, Heavy. Ze ozzers vould not be happy about zat. Besides… I do not zink I am interested in having any sort of /relationship/ right now.”

“Oh,” Heavy said quietly. “But we can still be friends zen?”

Medic took a deep breath. “Ja… friends.” He hadn’t thought of anyone being his friend in years. It was odd to think of somebody else as being a friend again. “You can be mein freund, Herr Heavy.”

Heavy could not suppress the big, goofy grin on his face. “Am very glad, Doktor!” Heavy said. “Is good to have you as friend now!”

“Ja… das ist gut…” Medic said with a nod. “Now, I assume zat you vould vant to listen to me play, ja?”

“Da!” Heavy said. “I vould like that very much!”

The doctor took up his bow and violin again, and played for Heavy. Brahm’s Hungarian Dance No. 5 could be heard out in the hallway, and Spy stood outside the door, leaning against the wall and blowing lazy smoke rings towards the ceiling. He closed his eyes to better absorb the sound; Medic was probably more skilled at playing his violin than he was at performing surgeries. He became so absorbed in it he almost didn’t notice Engineer walking down the hall.

“Well, hey there, Spah,” Engineer said with a friendly nod. “What’re you up t-”

“Shush,” Spy hissed. “Ze good docteur will hear us.”

“Ya don’ want ‘im to?” Engineer asked.

“I zink Monsieur Medic prefers to 'ave ze Heavy be his only audience,” Spy said slyly.

“Is that right?” Engineer asked, hands on his hips. “Huh. He an’ th’ Doc are turnin’ out t’ be somethin’ of an odd couple, ain’t they?”

“You could say zat,” Spy said. “What brings you around here, anyway?”

“I could ask you th’ same thing,” Engineer said.

“I appreciate good music,” Spy said simply. “Yourself?”

“Heck, same here, actually,” Engineer admitted. “I could hear this all th’ way down in my workshop, an’, well, I had t’ come by an’ have a listen.” He went quiet for a moment. He was still wearing his goggles, though Spy imagined he was closing his eyes as he listened. “Ya don’t think th’ doc would mind us, would he?”

“‘E woke up wiz a pretty bad ‘angover zis morning, from what I ‘eard.” Spy said. “I would not approach him again until tomorrow.

“I suppose yer right,” Engineer said with a sigh. “I guess I’d best be goin’ t’ bed anyway. ‘Nother battle against th’ BLUs tomorrow, we’ll see if we can’t win twice in a row. You take care now.” Engineer walked off, humming along with the song Medic had been playing. Spy watched him go, taking another drag from his cigarette as he ogled him with a sensual eye.

“Bon nuit, Laborer,” he said in a hushed voice, before cloaking and slinking off to his quarters.
>> No. 2881
I'm glad I started reading this now because if I had followed you from the beginning my heart ache would have been so prolonged you would have heard about me on the evening news: ANON DED FROM NO FIC.

There is something so curl up in a warm fuzzy blanket about watching this all come together, every characterization dead on (Demoman, someone I don't honestly get a kick out of is just fantastic, he needs more cameo!), Heavy so wonderfully heartbreaking and Medic... oh Scarecrow, I'll miss you most of all. I'm so glad you're telling this story and I'm so glad I got to read it in one big dose then languish in a daze until the update arrives. I'm like a drunk German, enjoying the haze while a big Russian boxer named 'RotD Companion Tales' carries me to bed.

I hope I don't puke on you.
>> No. 2883

Well... Anyway, yay for the fluff at the end! I'm glad Medic came to his senses, and Heavy being so joyful is just, aww. ♥ And then Spy looking over Engie when he's right there, just talking to him and being all sweet and Spy's all reserved but also sexual, and we all know how that shit ends up, and God, you're so fucking great. Seriously.

I love this thread so hard, man.
>> No. 2885
I have to agree with the anons, you're doing some interesting stuff. I love to see a prequel that makes you question the opinions you formed from the original. You know what happens. You know you should hate them. But in the now, which is the then, but what about the later, which is sort of now?
It's too late to be waxing nonsensical...
>> No. 2886
oh cat, I <3 you so much, you make me have such conflicting emotions towards these guys
and you do it so well!
>> No. 2887
forgot to namefagy myself, sorry bout that
ah! again, i can't tell you how much i love this
>> No. 2889
Delighted at your music choice, again (Hungarian Dance No. 5). Love that piece and actually imagined it'd be something Medic or Heavy would like or Medic would play. Pretty cool.

Nice, weaving in Spy's little one-sided romance.
>> No. 2891
No need to apologise. I'm actually rather flattered (and, alright, a little amused, though that has more to do with my narrative than yours).

On topic: Wonderful writing, as always. I loved Heavy's confession, and Medic's insistence at denying everything, even to himself, is adorable.
I must admit I'm curious as to why Spy really cares, though. Does he want the Medic for himself (Along with Sniper, and Engie, and oh dear)? Is he just a giant douchebag?
Speaking of Engie... sweet, oblivious Engie. RUN FOR THE HILLS, TRUCKIE. THE HILLS.
>> No. 2898
Great chapter as always, Cat.
>> No. 2902
Medic is such a dick. It makes me sad.
>> No. 2903
OH CAT BOUNTRY. Oh god. Never stop writing, goshdarnit.
>> No. 2908
oh fuck an update YES
>> No. 2910
Boot to the head.
Heh heh heh. Good work!
>> No. 2913
Cat, You've Done it again. Excellent work!
>> No. 2921
Medic is coming around! This is getting better and better with each update, and fills my heart with equal parts warmth and grief!
>> No. 2922
What does Spy gain from telling Heavy that? I has a confusion.

>> No. 2923
I love you. This always brings a bit of happyness to my day.

>A boot to the headSomeone needs to make a TF2 version of that skit.
>> No. 2926
FFFFF I thought of that skit the minute I read that part!

Cat Bountry, I fucking love your writing. Never stop, or I will make heartbreaking, sad puppy faces.
>> No. 2928

And one for Engie and the Scout!
>> No. 2931
Cat, this story is filling me with all sorts of joy and sadness. I love it to pieces. <3 Don't ever stop.

Oh, and my friend made this in GMod; thought you'd appreciate it: http://www.anothersoft.net/fewtoomany.jpg
>> No. 2932



>> No. 2937
Cat, I want to kiss you on the mouth.
>> No. 2939
Finally had time to read this chapter. And ohmygod... This brought tears of joy to my eyes, seriously. How do you do it? But it breaks my heart, knowing their fate in RotD.
>> No. 2961
I squeeze this fic like Heavy squeezes Medic.

>> No. 2963
Augh, oh man, it's horrible and delightful all at once, seeing the way things build up and knowing how they end.

I agree with Anon. A LOT.
>> No. 3006
"“Bon nuit, Laborer,” he said in a hushed voice, before cloaking and slinking off to his quarters."

>> No. 3017

>> No. 3024
Hello Cat, I just like to tell you how much I love this story. I copied it all and put it into book form, removing the comments and adding chapter headers. Both the original tale and what's in these Companion Tales make 285 pages total. Congrats on writing a whole book!
>> No. 3043
My advent calender is almost empty and I am fat with chocolate. I long for the day where you'll come back to us from Bond and continue from where my jaw hit the floor.

>> No. 3044

Patience, Grasshopper. As soon as I finished my final project for my History of Animation class done, I'll start work on part seven. In the mean time, check out whose fic got a recommendation on TV Tropes: http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/FanficRecs/TeamFortress2

>> No. 3045

wow cat, congrats
>> No. 3047
you deserve it. I've read many a fic before but none have moved me quite as much as yours did. that and I started reading at night so the zombie parts were creeping me out.
100% honest, one of the best I've ever read
...i think i need to go draw some heavy/medic now
>> No. 3049
>> No. 3096
Hah, I've finally read through all of this and RotD! =D I look forward to the next chapter.
>> No. 3209
no update makes me a sad potato...
>> No. 3231
Sorry for the long wait for this one! I'm afraid it's kind of a weak, transitional chapters that's all over the place again and dangerously walks the line between /fanfic/ and /afanfic/. Hopefully, the next one aught to be better. I had finals to work on and soon I'll be going on a trip to New York for my break, so it might be a while for Part Eight.



RED Team was losing badly. All around, Medic’s teammates were being cut down by enemy BLUs. Medic searched frantically for ammo; his syringe gun was empty and he was desperate for any kind of protection. The BLU Pyro had him cornered, and eerie, muffled laughter could be heard coming from through the gasmask filter. Medic found himself splayed against the wall, sucking his stomach inwards in a futile attempt to flatten himself completely, and avoid the fire that would belch forth from the enemy’s flamethrower like the foul breath of a terrible dragon.

“HELP!” Medic screeched, as the flame’s licked forward, spewing ever closer. BLU Pyro was taking his precious time, savoring the doctor’s terror. “SOMEVONE HELP ME!”


Medic looked up, and the BLU Pyro, too, turned around, only to get hacked roughly in half by a double-edged sword. There, coming down from the sky, surrounded in a brilliant light, was the Heavy, outfitted in chainmail armor and a Viking helmet, riding upon a giant, almost monstrous, overweight white stallion. No, not a stallion. It was a unicorn. Medic wasn’t sure where Heavy had gotten it, or why he hadn’t noticed the ivory, spiraled horn sticking out of the center of the beast’s forehead sooner.

“Heavy!” He cried out. “You’ve saved me!”

“Of course!” Heavy said triumphantly. “Is Doktor okay?”

“I’m fine… just a bit singed,” Medic said with a nervous laugh. “Vhere did you get zat?” He gestured towards the Russian’s steed.

“Oh, this?” Heavy looked down at his mount, and patted its flank affectionately. “Vas gift from Pyro for my birthday.”

“I didn’t know it vas your birzhday,” Medic said curiously.

“Da!” Heavy said. “Hop on, Doktor! Or else you vill miss party!” He extended his giant, bear paw of a hand to Medic, who took it eagerly. He pulled the doctor up onto the unicorn with a grunt, so that the he was seated on the animal behind him. Medic tried to wrap his arms as far as he could around the mighty Russians back, and found himself leaning forward against him. Heavy whistled, and the unicorn galloped forward, with far more speed than Medic would have expected than an animal of its size. The raced forward, leaping over the buildings of 2fort and into the sky. The desert looked serene from up here, like a delicately rendered painting. Medic clutched tighter to Heavy, and suddenly he could no longer feel the chain mail against him, but rather only the warmth of Heavy’s body against his, and the serene feeling of the working muscles of the mythical beast beneath him.

“Oh Heavy,” Medic sighed, his eyelids fluttering in complete and total bliss, “let’s get married…”

Medic’s eyelids flew open as the morning alarm bell sounded off, and he jolted upright from his bed, eyes nearly bulging from their sockets. He quickly remembered that there was a battle scheduled for today; the bell wouldn’t ring unless there was one. The dream he had was still fresh in his mind, and now that he was awake, he felt horrified. A Unicorn? Really? With /Heavy/? What Heavy had said to him last night must have gotten under his skin worse than he thought.

He groped for his glasses on his makeshift nightstand, plucking them up and placing them on his face, blinking as his vision went from fuzzy to sharp and crisp. In less than two hours he would have to be fully awake and dressed, ready to die in at least a hundred different ways. And this time, Heavy would not be there on a giant unicorn to swoop in and rescue him.

Thank God.



It was Soldier’s voice. Medic sighed. “Soldier needs me!” Medic shouted, shutting off the Medigun.

“Go to him!” Heavy shouted as Medic ran off towards Soldier’s cry. “Good luck, Doktor!”

Medic ran inside the BLU base, looking around for Soldier, only to find the BLU base’s halls strangely empty. He could have sworn he heard his voice come from in here. “Herr Soldier?” He asked, eyes darting around nervously. “Ah you here?”

“Right behind you.”

The doctor whirled around quickly, smacking the BLU Spy upside the head with his Medigun, purely by a fortunate accident. The enemy Spy was sent reeling backwards, colliding into the wall. Medic immediately whipped out his syringe gun and fired, pumping the Spy with needles before he even had the chance to react. The BLU Spy collapsed and slid down the wall to his knees, before finally falling to his side, looking like a human pincushion. Medic snickered to himself. He had not gotten nearly as many kills as most of his other teammates, due to being stuck with healing duty, but when he did managed to kill someone… well, every kill he got was precious. He treasured each one, and he tried to savor the moment, gazing over Spy’s corpse before it would disappear and respawn.

He had not expected the BLU Pyro to come up behind him, swinging his axe and bellowing a muffled war cry. Medic got lucky again, dodging the blow, and fired more needles at the BLU Pyro. The Pyro looked down nonchalantly at the needles sticking from the chest of its suit, yanking out them out, much to Medic’s horror. That suit, that horrible suit, it had to have been too thick for the needles to penetrate. Medic then quickly switched to his bonesaw to see the Pyro had pulled his flamethrower off his back, chortling through his gas mask and pinning Medic against the wall that BLU Spy had found himself backed up against only moments earlier. Medic could not help but feel an eerie sense of déjà vu.

“HELP!” He found himself crying out in a very undignified, girlish shriek. “SOMEVONE HELP ME!”

Pyro snorted, and fired up the flamethrower, only to turn around quickly at the sound of a minigun spinning to life, and a spray of bullets ripped through the Pyro’s suit. Medic turned to see the Heavy come in, bloodied and in dire need of healing, turning to look at Medic.

“Heavy…” Medic said, catching his breath. He couldn’t finish that thought. He did not want that godforsaken unicorn to show up.

“You okay, Doktor?” Heavy asked.

“I’m fine,” Medic said, trying to straighten up and pretend that he had not called out for help like he were some kind of damsel in distress. “I can take care of myself, zank you.”

Heavy chuckled. “If you say so, Doktor. Come! Ve have many cowards to kill!”

Medic equipped his Medigun again, and trained it on the Heavy. As the thought of how the one was always in need of the other crossed his mind, he wondered if there was a way for Heavy to be able to heal when Medic wasn’t around, or when he couldn’t find a dispenser.

Perhaps, he would look into the matter further that evening.


The battle had been long and hard, and it was eventually fought to a draw, with neither team getting a hold of the opposing team’s intelligence before the Announcer boomed that they had reached the time limit. Once they had retreated back inside their base, Heavy had, for the first time, decided to shower with the rest of his teammates. He took the shower head farthest away from the others, and much to his relief, no one bothered him. He preferred it that way, keeping his eyes trained on the floor tiles below him.

He did notice, however, the sound of bare footfalls against the tiled floor, as Heavy saw someone step up next to him and turn on the shower head. He looked up next to him, almost without thinking. It was Medic, standing next to him, completely naked and already scrubbing himself over with a bar of soap. Well, of course he was completely naked, Heavy thought, correcting himself. They were in the showers after all. He quickly averted his gaze. Just ignore him, he thought. Finish up as quickly as possible and just leave before anything /embarrassing/ happened.

“Guten tag, Herr Heavy,” Medic said casually.

So much for that, Heavy thought, wincing a bit. “Hello, Doktor,” Heavy said, not looking back up at the doctor. He hoped that Medic couldn’t see his face turning red. Why was he doing this? Medic /knew/ how Heavy felt about him, surely he could put two and two together and realize that there was a reason that Heavy preferred to shower after everyone else. Why had he decided to join the rest of them all now, anyway?

Medic barely seemed to pay attention beyond his brief greeting. He continued to wash himself humming under his breath as he did so, suds streaming down the curves and indentations of his musculature in tiny rivulets. He was a fairly lean man; his body had been well taken care of, and there were thin patches of hair on his chest and down his stomach. His stomach protruded only the slightest bit, and aside from the gray hairs on his temples, it was the only prominent physical feature that betrayed his age. Medic looked back up and to the side, and it was only then that Heavy realized he had been staring. His eyes were now locked with Medic’s as the two of them stared at each other.

“Enjoying ze view?” Medic asked slyly, finally breaking the awkward silence between them.

Heavy jolted in surprise, his face bright red as he turned away, turning off the shower head and walking away as quickly as he could on the wet, slippery floor. He quickly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist hastily, leaving the showers frantically and only calling more attention to himself as many of the other men turned to watch him leave, before resuming without any more thought.

He didn’t even bother getting dressed, as he scooped up his clothing and boots in one arm and rushing out across the hall and retreating back to his room, past a very startled and confused Pyro. He locked the door behind him, and looked down at himself, noticing that his nether regions had decided to pitch a tent from his towel. He leaned his head back and groaned, hoping that nobody noticed it.

“Stupid pretty Medic,” he murmured.


Heavy was busy cleaning Sasha, trying his best to forget about the incident in the showers only hours earlier. He ended up skipping dinner because of it, too embarrassed to face his teammates. Someone might ask him about it, and he did not want to be put in the position of explaining himself. Hungry as he was, he decided to wait until he was sure nobody else would be in the mess hall. He found his thoughts being interrupted by a gentle knocking on his door.

“Who is it?” He asked.

“It’s only me,” said Medic from the other side of the door. “May I come in, bitte?”

Heavy got up, propping his precious minigun up against the wall, and lumbered over to the door, unlocking it and opening it to see the doctor standing before him. He was holding a plate, which he lifted up slightly. On it, there was a neatly made sandwich, cut in half diagonally, with meat and cheese and lettuce and tomato, and a toothpick skewering an olive sticking out of each half.

“I’m afraid zat zere vere no leftovers,” Medic explained, offering up the sandwich rather pathetically. “Und I knew zat you vould be hungry, so I made you zis.”

“A sandvich?” Heavy asked.

“It vas ze Scout’s idea,” Medic blurted out, uncharacteristically quick to explain himself. “Zis American bread, it’s so soft und disgusting. I don’t undahstand how anybody could eat it…”

The Russian wasn’t really paying attention. He was hungry, and that sandwich looked delicious. He lifted a grubby, oil-covered hand to grab one at the sandwich, only to have his hand slapped away by Medic.

“Vhat vas that for?” Heavy asked, rubbing his hand and looking hurt.

“You ah not eating anyzing until you vash zose filzhy hands of yours,” Medic chided. “Honestly, is zat how your parents raised you?”

“I’m sorry,” Heavy said. “Vas not tinking.”

“Obviously,” Medic said. “Now, go vash your hands.”

Heavy nodded sheepishly and retreated to the bathroom. He emerged a few minutes later, hands looking immaculately clean, and walked back into his room, where Medic was standing over his minigun, inspecting her curiously.

“You like Sasha?” Heavy asked, beaming with pride.

“A very impressive weapon,” Medic said. “How did you go about making zis?”

“It took very long time,” Heavy said proudly. “I started many years ago, vhen I vas-DON’T TOUCH HER!”

Medic jolted, retracting his hand in surprise. He stared at Heavy, looking confused. He had never been yelled at like that by the Russian man, and Heavy, realizing what he had done, tried to explain himself.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I do not like it vhen people touch my gun.”

“Oh,” Medic said quietly, scooting away from the metal monster, and sitting down on the bed, hands folded onto his lap. “I did not know.”

“Is okay,” Heavy said. “She is… like lover to me. Am very… vhat is vord?”

“Protective?” Medic suggested.

“Da. Am protective of her.” Heavy said. He looked around the room. “Vhere is sandvich?” He asked.

“Right here!” Medic said, grabbing the plate that had been sitting neatly on top of the Trunk at the foot of Heavy’s bed. He offered the plate to the Russian, and waited expectantly for him to take it.

“I have never seen you so friendly before, Doktor,” Heavy observed, finally taking the plate from Medic’s hands.

Medic straightened his posture and cleared his throat. “Yes, vell, I appreciate you coming to mein aid vhen I needed it earlier today.”

“Vas no problem, Doktor,” Heavy said. “I could not leave you alone to be hurt.”

“I vould just respawn, zhough,” Medic pointed out. “Not zat I am ungrateful, mind you…”

“I know that,” Heavy said. “I just do not like to see you hurt.” He took a bite out of his sandwich, and immediately wondered how on earth Medic could think of any part of it as disgusting. Good, God, it was /delicious/.

Medic didn’t respond right away, twisting his hands in his lap. Heavy ate his sandwich rather noisily, obviously enjoying it thoroughly. The doctor got up from the bed, and pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “I should be going.” He said curtly.

“Already? Heavy asked sadly.

“Vell, ja… I have vork to do,” Medic said. "I need to modify ze syringe gun, it needs adjustments..."

“You alvays have vork to do,” Heavy said. “Stay here vit me. Talk.”

The doctor hesitated. After that awkward episode in the showers, he wasn’t entirely sure of Heavy’s true intentions… but it would simply not be like this man to /try/ anything. “Fine,” he relented. “Vhat is on your mind?”

Heavy quickly wolfed down the other half of his sandwich, and sucked a dollop of mayonnaise off of his thumb. “Not much, Doktor,” he admitted. “I vant to know more about you.”

“Me?” Medic asked. “Vell, vhat is it you vant to know?”

“I do not know,” Heavy said with a shrug. “How did you come to vork for RED?”

“Zey found me, actually,” Medic admitted. “Zey had managed to track me down und asked if I vould be interested in joining zeir company. Zen somehow, I end up being a mercenary in zis silly war.”

“Var is not silly,” Heavy said. “Is important.”

“Is it really?” Medic asked. “Vhat kind of var has its fighters coming back from ze dead constantly? Honestly, I feel like I should be punching a time clock every time I go out zere.”

Heavy frowned, and put a hand on Medic’s shoulder. “Is hard on you,” he said. It wasn’t really a question.

“I honestly have no idea how I’m supposed to last a year out here,” Medic sighed. "At least it pays vell."

“You have good company,” Heavy said. Medic looked up at him and the Russian offered him a soft, warm smile.

“I suppose I do,” Medic said.

The two of them were quiet for a bit. Heavy removed his hand from Medic’s shoulder, sensing that he had left it lingering there too long. He set the empty plate aside and clasped his hands together, pressing them between his thighs and blushing like a nervous teenager on a first date. This did not escape Medic’s notice. He tried to find a way to relieve some of the tension before his mind wandered to the rec room.

“Tell me, Heavy, ah you good at chess?”

He looked up, surprised at this sudden turn in the conversation. “Uh… nyet, Doktor,” he admitted. “I never learned to play."

“Vhat kind of Russian does not know how to play chess?” Medic asked quizzically.

Heavy shrugged. “I trained more for becoming boxer. Vas taught to fight. I vas never taught to play.”

“Zat is unacceptable,” Medic said, getting up from the bed and grabbing Heavy by the hand. “Come. I zink it is about time you learned.” He tugged at Heavy’s arm and the giant of a man offered little resistance, allowing himself to be led out into the hall by the German. They walked down to the rec room briskly, past Spy, who had been walking towards his own room.

“And where are you two going?” Spy asked casually.

“Ve ah going to play chess,” Medic said, whipping around and glaring at Spy. “Mind your own business.”

“Oh, is zat what zey’re calling it now?” Spy remarked under his breath.

“Vhat vas zat?” Medic snapped.

“Nozzing, Docteur. Carry on,” Spy said, making a dismissive waving gesture to the two of them. “You two enjoy yourselves.”

“Ve vill, zank you.” Medic said smartly. He looked down at his own hand only to realize that he was still holding onto Heavy, and released the Russian awkwardly. “Come, Heavy.”

“Da, Doktor!” Heavy rumbled, and followed Medic like a trained dog.

Spy watched the two of them leave, and sucked deeply on the cigarette between his fingers. He then tilted up his head and blew out hazy rings of smoke, watching them dissipate slowly into the air. “Ah, Docteur,” he said to himself in a soft, husky voice. “You could have done so much better for yourself.”
>> No. 3232

I love this installment. Sooo good!
>> No. 3235
Oh spy, you card
>> No. 3238
>> No. 3239
Oh, this, I love this. Have I ever even commented on ROTD at all? I'm awful at that sort of thing.

ANYWAY it makes me happy.
>> No. 3240
I laughed SO HARD at the beginning, Cat. SO HARD.

I love this chapter, it's my favorite out of all of them.
>> No. 3241
The imagery the beginning gives is enough to make me weep out of pure joy and hilarity. The rest of the chapter was painfully adorable, and I loved it. Yes, even sour-puss Spy couldn't ruin the mood, try as he might.
>> No. 3242

i'm gonna go ahead and second 'STUPID SEXY MEDIC'
>> No. 3243
"It was a unicorn."

i lost it that was a great update
>> No. 3244
Oh Cat, you're a fount of wit and wonder.
>> No. 3245
This is probably really sad, but the moment I read Heavy on a Unicorn, I had to wonder if Medic had been eating shrooms with Neil Patrick Harris...

Loving this more with each update! I know this has been said before, but it's really bittersweet, knowing what's going to happen in the future... painful in a good way.
>> No. 3247
Dream sequences are fucking amazing man! I can't help but adore how you've written the characters too - oh Spy, you wishful rogue.
>> No. 3248
Shower scene!

This entire update is win.
>> No. 3249
the unicorn bit made me stop reading for a good 5minutes since I was too busy laughing, good one
awww, I really like the pace you're going at with this
haha, oh spy, you're just jealous!
>> No. 3250
Heavy riding on a unicorn with a Medic... I swear you drew this once, Cat. :P
>> No. 3251
Another great chapter. I think my favorite part was actually, "He found himself crying out in a very undignified, girlish shriek."
>> No. 3257
I second cashew on this one. :D And it's good that you decided to add more hilarious moments, God knows that we probably are going to need them, depending on what's going to happen in next updates of course.
I enjoyed Spy's comments, especially “Oh, is zat what zey’re calling it now?”
It was worth the wait. Oh, and have fun in the Big Apple! :D
>> No. 3260
spy is so ronery ;_;
>> No. 3261
Not trying to be a downer or jerk, but I'm a little confused D:

Was Medic intentionally trying to flirt or what not with Heavy in the showers? Wasn't Medic kind of afraid of the others finding out he liked men?
I guess what I mean to say is basically.. Medic totally embarrassed Heavy in the showers. And with that sly comment he made, it seems like he did something really dumb and thoughtlessly or purposely flirted with Heavy. Aaaand Heavy left because he was embarrassed. Personally, I'd be angry if someone did that to me :C Angry because, I didn't want anyone to KNOW. But in the scene afterward, it's like nothing happened at all.

I love this fic to death, so I'm just trying to voice something that kind of struck me wrong. (don'tstonemetodeathguys:C)
>> No. 3264
I actually was wondering about that myself- if there was any point to Medic flirting with Heavy since nothing happened afterward. And yeah, not trying to be a downer either. I was pretty shocked to see Medic act so boldly, myself.

Also are you planning on dedicating a chapter to Spy? Might be worth looking into to PRESERVE THE DRAMATIC TENSION that is Heavy/Medic.
>> No. 3265

You know, you guys have a point. I think it was just filler and then it turned into... something else. I placed it badly and now I feel like I should get rid of it somehow. I feel like I've been losing my touch since this piece has been sort of meandering and doesn't have quite the same amount of planning that RotD did.

If it's any justification, I don't think anybody else saw or noticed them until Heavy ran out. Or maybe...


I have an idea...
>> No. 3266
Maybe take some time to plan things out while you're in New York and perhaps it'll come back together :> ? I HAVE FAITH IN YOU. I think this was just a little.. hiccup, if you will. Looking forward to what you're planning on :D.
>> No. 3267

Think on it and I know you'll come up with something awesome.
>> No. 3268
This fic makes my day. Updates make me happy the entire day long, and just thinking about it puts a smile on my face.
>> No. 3297
Mini Update today, you guys. This addresses the concerns of >>156 and >>157

Jay and Kui, I hope this makes sense, kind of. This might be a dumb idea, but what the hell. Fuck it.


Spy retreated back into his room, locking the door behind him. While he was fairly confident that his teammates would not be snooping around like he usually did, he felt that he could not be too careful.

He removed his suit jacket and looked up at the mask he had hanging to dry from a clothespin and a string above his desk. He plucked it off the string, noting that it was mostly dry now, and slipped it on over his face. A plume of red smoke surrounded him, before the form of the RED Medic solidified over Spy, missing his usual pinkish lab coat. He turned to a long mirror in the corner of his room, and examined himself. The disguise seemed to be in perfect working order. It was an unusual request he had made of RED, true, but he felt that having disguises for all the members of both the RED and BLU teams would be useful. And it certainly was, to be perfectly honest. He removed the mask from his face and another cloud of red smoke washed over him, turning him back into the Spy. He picked up his jacket from his bed, fishing through an inside pocket for his disguise kit, and delicately placed the RED Medic mask back inside.

This wasn’t working at all like he had planned. Trying to pry the big, stupid Russian away from the team’s Medic was proving impossible, and by now, Spy was beginning to think it wasn’t worth it. No piece of ass was worth all this effort, even if Medic was the most likely to be seduced by him… maybe. He had never been cock-blocked by anyone quite like the Heavy. What made it worse was that the Medic was becoming fond of the giant cretin.

Fuck it. Fuck the Medic. He was an uptight ass of a man and he was deranged and dangerous on top of that. Let Heavy have him, Spy thought. If Medic was content to settle for /that/, then Spy saw no reason to pursue him. His standards were not that low, and the only reason he had even considered going after Medic at all was because he just /knew/ Medic was gay. He was a Spy. He could /tell/ these things.

But there were plenty of other men on the team to choose from, right? There was the Scout, for starters… wait, no. Scout was loud and annoying and hyperactive and Spy barely had the patience to deal with him, even if he was young and lithe and nubile. Ugly teeth, though. Stupid buck teeth made the boy look like a rabbit. Sniper? Handsome, yes, and Spy had to admit that he was probably one of the best looking men on the team… but that was until he went to bother him in his loft and noticed the jars of piss sitting around. It was even worse when Spy saw him lob one of the jars at an enemy BLU. No thank you, Spy thought. No way in hell he’d try and get involved with /that/. Demoman? Lord no. Not to say that Spy did not appreciate his lovers to come in more /exotic/ flavors, but Demoman was a bi-polar, psychological train wreck waiting to happen, and Spy wasn’t sure how much of that was due to him being constantly drunk. Soldier was even worse, and probably extremely homophobic on top of that, and Pyro… Spy didn’t consider Pyro to be a human. This left him with the one man on the team he desired most…


Sure, Spy didn’t think he would like him at first. He was short, completely bald and had that terrible, hick accent. But he had a certain /Je ne sais quoi/ that Spy could not deny. Perhaps it was just how friendly he was, how patient he seemed to be when he dealt with a team of madmen. Perhaps it was the fact that the man was startlingly brilliant and still modest, almost painfully so. Maybe it was how well-built the man was, despite his height… he was stocky, muscled, and that jaw… but alas, the Engineer was a forbidden fruit. Spy found that out when he had snuck into his workshop in one of those rare moments Engineer was away. Spy took it upon himself to inspect his trunk and the drawers of his desk for anything that might be useful for him to know… he always liked to know the secrets that the other men wanted to keep. After jimmying the lock on one of the desk drawers, hoping for some juicy bit of dirt on the Texan, he opened it to be greeted by a framed photograph.

It was Engineer, without his usual hard hat and goggles, his arm around a woman even shorter than he was, cradling a baby in her arms. Spy could feel his heart sink into his stomach. Underneath it, there was a sheet of paper with words scrawled onto it in pen. Spy picked it up, and started reading over it, and the proverbial knife in his chest was twisted. It was an unfinished letter to his wife, and it was almost sickeningly sweet in the sheer adoration that seemed to gush from every line.

/My Dearest Irene/, it had read, /I trust that you are doing well. I have yet to receive any of the letters you said you would write, and I think the first train for new supplies and mail will finally arrive within the week. Every day, my heart aches over leaving you and Rosie alone, but you and I both know that this is for the best. I tell myself that every day, but it hasn’t gotten any easier. There’s a lot I can’t tell you, Irene, even though I wish I could. I haven’t even been allowed to go by my real name anymore. It’s odd, to the say the least, being called “Engineer” as though it were my name. I can’t say why they don’t want us to use our names, mostly because we haven’t been told. But I don’t ask questions, because we’ll have the money we need again./

Spy raised an eyebrow. He wondered why a man of Engineer’s brilliance would be stuck out here to begin with. He searched over the rest of the unfinished letter, and found no explanation. Well, shit, Spy thought. He’d had plenty of both men and women, but none of them were quite like Engineer… and Engineer’s heart belonged to another. It was looking unlikely he could ever seduce this man.

He thought about this, lying on his back on his bed, taking a drag on his cigarette and breathing out smoke in a tired sigh. He was denied any chance at having the Engineer before he could even ask, and now the Heavy was looking as though he was actually going to get Medic in the sack. That big, stupid, loud, fat /oaf/ of a man was going to get some tail and Spy wasn’t. It was insulting.

Spy sat up and leaned forward for his coat, and removed his disguise kit from one of the inner pockets. He flipped through the masks, landing upon the one for RED Engineer. He looked at it for a moment, hesitating before he slipped it over his face, the smoke transforming him into his Texan teammate. He looked up at the mirror and saw the laborers face staring back at him from behind smoky black goggles, and smiled.

“Ah, mon cher… how I have waited for this,” he said in a husky voice, and loosened his invisible tie, his eyes never leaving Engineer’s face.
>> No. 3300
Aww, poor Spy. Unrequinted love due to circumstance must hurt =<
>> No. 3301
Cat! why must you make me so confused about Spy; should I hate him or feel horribly bad for him?!?!
ahhh, wonderful
>> No. 3302

Spy posing as Medic to sabotage Heavy and Medic's blooming relationship? I LOVE IT, most certainly not dumb (don't be so hard on yourself <3 ). Sneaky sneaky. Makes Spy saying Medic could do much better even more fitting and meaningful. Still wondering about the repercussions of the awkward shower scene with Heavy. LOOKING FORWARD TO HOW YOU RESOLVE AND CARRY ON IN NEXT UPDATE <3
>> No. 3303
doh ho ho~ Spy's a mean little bastard isn't he?
>> No. 3304

SEE?? SEE?? This is why we love you. Perfect, just perfect. Explains away a bit of mischaracterization, adds some interesting development and tugs on the ol' heartstrings. Just genius.

Feel not sorry for Spy as he has all the best toys.
>> No. 3310
Damn, Cat, this is awesome. I've only read the first two parts, but your characterizations are magnificently realized, to say in the least. It's too big now for me too read all at once, at least right now. Do continue, bitte!
>> No. 3311
Just one thing from Part Seven?

>The doctor hesitated. After that awkward episode in the showers, he wasn’t entirely sure of Heavy’s true intentions… but it would simply not be like this man to /try/ anything.
Awkward episode in the showers?
>> No. 3312



>> No. 3313
>> No. 3314
>> No. 3315
Clever idea. Also adds a bit of depth to Spy's character as a bonus.

And no pressure on finishing the next installment, take as much time as you need. I can understand what you mean by losing your touch. Although the companion tales might not be as powerful and thrilling as Respawn, it's still an enjoyable read. Have a nice trip!

>> No. 3316





So I guess I'm writing unless there's a change of plans.
>> No. 3318
Well, I'll certainly be reading anything that you write most eagerly. <3

Augh, I too feel wonderfully tortured and yanked to and fro by your spy. Do I love him? Do I hate him? Do I hate to love, or love to hate him?
I'm not even sure anymore. I AM A FAGGOT HUMP MY RUMP
>> No. 3320
Now it's even better! I like how Spy is shallow and 'a little' evil, and yet you're able to feel bad for him.
>> No. 3365
Haha, Spys have fool proof Gaydars? I find this so believeable. Please continue.
>> No. 3366
Part Nine is up! Since my previous plans are canceled and I don't get to talk in person with the person designing the website for my shitty web comic, you all get treated to more fluff. OH JOY!

Oh, and, the bit that >>169 pointed out? IT IS HEREBY SCRATCHED FROM CANON. Pretend it didn't happen. If I end up reposting this is will be edited out anyways. Thanks to Mumbles for teaching me how to play chess just so I could write this. ENJOY!




“Bah!” cried Heavy, throwing up his arms in frustration. “Is stupid game. I never win it.”

“Is zat ze only reason you zink it’s shtupid?” Medic asked with a laugh, arranging the pieces back in their starting positions.

“Rules are hard,” Heavy grumbled. “Horse piece moves funny and so does queen.”

“Ze ‘horse piece,’ is called ze Knight, Heavy. I have told you zis before.”

“I still say does not look like knight. Knights have armor. They /ride/ on horse. They are not horse.”

“Ze horse is just a symbol, Heavy. Now, are ve going to have anuzzah match, or vhat?”

Heavy grumbled. This would be their third match in a row, and they usually ended very quickly. “Fine,” he said. “Ve play again.”

“Ze problem, Heavy, is zat you rush und make moves vizzout zinking,” Medic said. “Not unlike how you fight on ze battlefield.”

“Has vorked fine for me before,” Heavy said with a shrug.

“It vill not serve you vell on ze chessboard,” Medic said. “You make ze first move.”

Heavy stared down at his pieces. He looked back up at Medic, who was resting his chin on the palm of his hand, smiling like a cat toying with a caught mouse. Heavy hesitantly picked up a pawn and moved it forward. Medic responded in kind, almost without any thought at all. Heavy knew better, though. He brought another pawn forward, mindful of a previous game where he moved his pawn up next to Medic’s and it was captured. Medic responded in kind.

Just then, Pyro peered into the rec room, regarding Medic and Heavy playing their game briefly before he waddled up to the television and turned it on, adjusting the dial and flopping onto the couch. Medic looked up slowly, and cleared his throat noisily. Pyro turned around, peeking over the back of the couch. “Whurrt?” he asked innocently.

“Do you mind?” Medic asked. “Ve ah in ze middle of a game, here.”

“Buurrt Strrr Trrrk issh urrrn!” Pyro protested, as William Shatner’s introduction could be heard from the television.

“You can vatch it some ozzah time,” Medic said.

“Irrsh murrr furrvurrt shurrr!” Pyro whined. “Pleessh lurrmeh wurrtch.”

“Leave him be, Doktor,” Heavy said. “Ve can still play.”

“I came here to /unvind/, Heavy, not to be subjected to listening to zat… Flash Gordon or Buck Rogers or vhatever zat drivel is.”

“STRRR TRRRK!” Pyro corrected loudly. “NURRRT FLRRSSH GURRDEEN!”

“It’s all ze same, as fah as I’m concerned,” Medic said dismissively. “It’s all mindless garbage, anyvay.”

“Yurr meerndlsssh gurrbuge,” Pyro retorted. Heavy found himself trying his best to suppress his laughter and gave up completely when Medic glared at him.

“Very funny,” Medic said, moving one of his pawns forward. “Vhere did you learn zat vone, on ze playground?”

“Urrr lurrrnnd eert frruum yuurr murrm,” Pyro said.

It took a moment for Medic to decode what Pyro had just said. “Zat vone, I know you learned from Herr Scout,” he said as his eyes narrowed.

Pyro chortled to himself as he turned his attention to the television set before him, no longer interested in exchanging insults with the team doctor. Medic turned back to his board, and noticed Heavy seemed to be distracted by the television.

“It’s your move, Herr Heavy.”

“Oh!” Heavy’s attention snapped back to the board in front of him. He looked up at Medic, back at the board, then back up at Medic. He took hold of a pawn between his large fingers, then looked up at Medic, who shook his head disapprovingly. He let go, then grabbed hold of another piece, looking back up at Medic, who simply rolled his eyes and sighed. Heavy let it go, and then picked another pawn. Medic smiled and nodded, and moved it forward, grinning. Medic then captured his pawn and grinned even harder as Heavy’s face fell.

“Vhy did you do that?” Heavy asked, feeling betrayed.

“I’m playing to vin, Heavy,” Medic said. “Perhaps you should not rely so much on visual cues from your opponent und focus more on ze board.”

The match was going by slower than the previous two, as Heavy seemed to be trying his best to keep his pieces from being captured more than going after Medic’s pieces. Every time he got bold enough to try to capture one of Medic’s pieces, it only provided ample opportunity for Medic to come in and capture a piece of his. By the time Heavy had fallen into a trap of going after one of Medic’s rooks and found that it had left his King wide open for capture by Medic, he was just about ready to give up out of sheer frustration.

“Checkmate,” Medic said simply.

“I lose again!” Heavy cried. “How did you get so good?”

“I stahted playing zis game before I even knew how to read und write,” Medic said wryly. “Und ze first zing I vas taught is zat you must alvays be willing to sacrifice lessah pieces in order to vin.”

Heavy grunted. “I have had enough of this game tonight,” he announced, pushing his chair back and getting up.

“Quitting already?” Medic asked, sounding more than a bit disappointed. “You sure you don’t vat to play vone more round?”

“Maybe later,” Heavy said. “Am going out to valk for a bit.” He left the room, leaving Medic sitting alone at the table, arranging the pieces back into their starting positions. Pyro turned his attention away from the television very briefly, before turning back, deciding that the adventures of the crew of the USS Enterprise was ultimately more engaging then whatever was going on between Medic and Heavy.

Medic stared at the chessboard for a bit, almost blankly. He heard another set of footfalls, lighter and faster than Heavy’s come closer and closer until they reached the doorframe.

“What’s up, Doc?” Scout asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Ah, it’s you,” Medic asked. “You vould not happen to be any good at chess, vould you, Herr Scout?”

“Chess?” Scout asked, grimacing as he said the word as though it left some foul taste in his mouth. “No way, man. That’s a nerd’s game. Nerds an’ old people. Kinda like you.”

By the time Medic had stood up from the table with a murderous scowl on his face, Scout had already gotten the message and bolted down the hallway as fast as feet would carry him.


Heavy sat on the walkway alongside of the RED Base, staring up at the stars. At night, the desert was cool, and not unbearably hot like it was during the day. His legs dangled off the edge, and he swung them back and forth idly. He had a lot to think about. His feelings towards Medic were becoming more complicated, and he was afraid he would not be able to find the right words in English to convey these feelings. For now, he could only stew, and try to collect his thoughts enough so that he could have some idea of what to say to this man. If only Medic spoke Russian, he thought. This would be so much easier for him.


He turned his head to see Medic standing in the doorframe closer to the entrance of the base, only peeking out. His usually cold, indifferent demeanor was gone now; he was worried and looking slightly guilty. “Is it all right if I join you?”

“I do not mind,” Heavy said. He patted the space next to him. “Sit vit me.”

Medic emerged from the doorway, clasping his hands in front of him and taking a seat by Heavy’s side, his posture rigid as he stared over the desert directly ahead of him. He turned to Heavy, who was looking rather pensive.

“Vhat is wrong, Herr Heavy?” Medic asked.

The Russian didn’t answer right away. He looked at the ground, and tried to think of the right words to say. “I tink… that you are trying to… ah…” His brow furrowed, and Medic leaned forward with interest.

“I am trying to /vhat/?” Medic asked.

“You /embarrass/ me, Doktor!” Heavy blurted out. Yes, that was the right word. He was sure of it. “You do tings to make me look dumb.”

“Is zis about ze chess matches?” Medic asked.

“A leetle,” Heavy said sheepishly. “And also in the showers earlier.”

The doctor tilted his head. “The showers?”

“Da,” Heavy said. “Vhen I vas… staring at you and you… hit on me.” He turned away, trying to hide the fact that his face had flushed and grown men do not blush like little girls. “And then you act like it did not happen.”

“I vas not in the showers viz ze ozzers, Heavy.”

“Vhat?” Heavy looked back up at Medic, his confusion written all over his face. “But… you vere right there, next to me.”

“I vent to take a nap aftah ze battle yesterday,” Medic said. “I did not get to ze showers until latah.”

“Zen who vas in showers viz me?” Heavy asked.

The two men stared at each other, as horrifying realization dawned on them.

“BLU Spy,” Medic said simply. “It had to be.”

“But vhy vould BLU Spy come in showers vit us?” Heavy asked.

“Obviously he is ein deviant und pervert,” Medic muttered. “He must have felt sore ovah ze fact zat I killed him earlier und tried to get revenge.”

“Zen vhy did he not stab me?”

“I don’t know!” Medic cried, looking flustered. “Like I have any idea vhat goes on in ze mind of a sick, twisted Franzmann!”

“Do you tink he is still in base?” Heavy asked.

“I don’t know, Heavy,” Medic said, pushing his glasses up and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have ze feeling zat if he vas going to stab someone in ze base, he vould have by now… unless he vants somezing else.”

“The intelligence!” cried Heavy.

“Ze room is shut off on ze off hours,” Medic said. “Ze Spy vould have to know ze passcode, which apparently only our Spy knows.”

“It does not make sense Doktor,” Heavy said, scratching his head. “Vhy vould BLU Spy come into showers just to… embarrass me?”

“It is very strange,” Medic admitted. “Ve should probably tell ze ozzahs of zis. If ze BLU Spy has /zat/ kind of disguising ability… zen he is fah more dangerous zen ve zhought.” Medic got up from his seat on the ledge, only to feel a harsh tugging on his coat.

“VAIT!” Heavy cried out.

“Vhat is it?” Medic asked.

“If you tell team… they will know,” Heavy said. “About me.”

Medic stiffened a bit. Heavy had a point. Someone could ask the obvious question of how they knew BLU Spy had gotten into the base, and an answer would be needed. “Zey vould not need to know ze /exact/ details, Heavy.”

“I am terrible liar, Doktor,” Heavy said, looking ashamed.

“I have noticed,” Medic said dryly. “I’m sure ze BLU Spy has already figured it out, zhough.”

“I did not know!” Heavy said. “I thought he vas you! He come up next to me and start showing off and make me feel embarrassed and I only stare at him because I tink he is you and you are so pretty and…” Heavy looked back down at the ground.

“Because you like me,” Medic finished. “You told me zis before, Heavy.”

“I vant you, Doktor,” Heavy said softly, looking back up at Medic and meeting his eyes.

The doctor bit his lip. He sat back down next to Heavy slightly closer to him than before. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, at first, as he looked down at the ground below him. Heavy, too, turned his gaze downwards, and hung his head in shame. He was surprised when a rubber-gloved hand took his, clasping it and pulling it between the two of them. He lifted his gaze to confirm that, yes, Medic really was holding his hand. Medic took a deep breath, and his gaze wondered about nervously, but he did not let go.

“I know, Heavy,” Medic said softly. “I… I have become quite fond of you as vell.”

Heavy looked up at Medic and their eyes met. The seemed to study each others expressions for a bit, before they found themselves being drawn together, as though they were magnetized. Their lips met, brushing together in a very brief, cautious kiss. Medic grew bolder, head dipping in for a deeper kiss, and Heavy offered little resistance as Medic pushed closer, pulling Heavy in towards him. He had wrapped his arms around the larger man when he broke the kiss and rested his forehead on Heavy’s shoulder.

“Mein Gott…” he whispered. “Vhat has come over me?”

“I did not tink you felt like this about me, Doktor,” Heavy said, chuckling a bit.

“I didn’t eizzah,” Medic admitted, turning his head so that he was resting his cheek on Heavy’s shoulder, looking out back to the desert. Heavy brought his large arm around and started to rub Medic’s back affectionately.

“Is okay, Doktor,” Heavy said. “I am here for you.”

Medic sighed. He felt himself surrendering to this moment, that feeling of Heavy rubbing his back as he embraced him. He closed his eyes and hummed happily to himself. His mind started to wander, before his eyes flew open as one sharp, terrible thought pierced his mind. “Ve cannot let ze ozzahs know about zis.”

“Do they send men to prisons here for that?” Heavy asked.

“Nein… nozzink like zat,” Medic said reassuringly, pushing back against him so that he could speak to the man face-to-face. “But zey probably vould report us to headquarters und ve could lose our jobs. I cannot imagine zat zey vould be too happy knowing two of zeir teammates are… /involved/ viz each ozzer.”

“If they have problem, I solve it vit my fists,” Heavy rumbled.

Medic couldn’t help but let out a barely suppressed chuckle. “Let’s… let’s just try to keep zis a secret zen, okay?”

“Okay,” Heavy said with a nod. “Ve tell no vone.”

“Sehr gut,” Medic replied, patting Heavy’s shoulder. “Now, I do believe ve have more dire mattahs to attend to, vhat viz ze Spy zat could still be in ze base.”

“Should ve get Pyro to do spycheck?” Heavy asked.

“Please, don’t give ze Pyro any ideas,” Medic huffed. “I really don’t zink ‘setting your teammates on fire to see if zey turn into ze BLU Spy’ is a very efficient vay of confirming zeir identity.”

“Then vhat do ve do, Doktor?”

“Ve could interrogate ze ozzahs, check zeir alibis… if zey ah suspicious, ve kill zem, und if zey ah not ze BLU Spy, zey’ll respawn anyvay.” A wicked little grin broke out on his face at the thought.

“I tink you are just looking for excuse to kill teammates and get away vit it,” Heavy said.

“Me?” asked Medic, feigning innocence. “Perish ze zhought! I am ein doctor, zat vould be irresponsible und mean-spirited.”

Heavy rolled his eyes. “There is no vay of talking you out of this, is there?”

“Nein,” Medic said, grinning wringing his hands mischievously. “Let’s do some spychecking.”

“You look like Peter Lorre vhen you do that vit your hands, Doktor.”

Medic stopped, looking at his hands briefly, and then looking back up at Heavy with a bemused expression on his face.

“Much, much more handsome, though!” Heavy said, visibly fumbling as he tried to save Medic’s good mood. “Is just, when you rub your hands like that, and you get look on your face…”

“Let’s just go spychecking before you make an ass of yourself any furzzah,” Medic said, getting up from the ledge and dusting off the seat of his coat. Heavy got up as well, and followed the doctor back inside the old barn. They had only just gotten inside when they saw Sniper climbing down from the above floor, with a portable radio under his arm, looking to be in good spirits.

“Oh, ‘ello,” he said, noticing Medic and Heavy as they walked in. “Beautiful night out, eh?”

“Indeed,” Medic said. “I’m afraid I have only grim tidings to bear, Herr Sniper.”

“Why, what’s wrong?” Sniper asked, suddenly looking quite worried.

“I have reason to suspect zat ze BLU Spy vas in our base earlier today, disguised as vone of us, und I zink he may still be sneaking around.”

“Aw, Jesus,” Sniper said. “You have any idea who he was?”

“He vas me, earlier,” Medic said. “But I do not know who he is now.”

“Ya need help findin’ ‘im, then?” Sniper asked.

“All I need from you, Herr Sniper, is your cooperation,” Medic said. He snapped his fingers and pointed at Sniper. “Heavy, Spycheck.”

Sniper backed away cautiously as Heavy lumbered forward, close enough so that he was looming over the man. Sniper was the second tallest member of the team, and he still looked tiny in comparison to the giant Russian. Sniper pulled out his kukri from its sheath and waved it in front of Heavy.

“Back off, mate,” he said threateningly. “I’ll run ya right through, I swear t’ God.”

Heavy grunted in response, and lunged for the Sniper’s face with surprising speed, holding the Australians face in his hands. He turned it side to side as he pawed at the man’s cheeks, and finally let go, pushing Sniper back a bit. The Australian was too stunned to speak, and seemed to be frozen in place

“Is clear, Doktor,” Heavy said.

Medic gaped at Heavy for a moment, and then at Sniper, who was certainly not a corpse lying on the ground with all of his blood punched out of his body. “Vhat kind of spycheck vas /zat/?” Medic asked, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

“He does not have leetle mask on. Vould have come off if he vas Spy,” Heavy explained. “He is not. Is our Sniper.”

“You could have at least punched him or somezing!”

“Vhy vould I do that?” Heavy asked. “He shot many BLUs who try to get jump on me last match.”

“It’s uh… no trouble, mate,” said Sniper, finally finding his voice. “Jes’ doin’ me job.”

“See, it’s his /job/, you don’t owe him any favors!” Medic said.

“Yes, he does,” Sniper interjected quickly.

“Maybe if ve come across someone I do not like, then,” Heavy said. “Sniper is fine vit me, even if he does sit up in roost all day like baby.” Sniper responded wit a sneer and a groan, crossing his arms and muttering something inaudible under his breath.

“Vell, /fine/ zen!” Medic said, putting his hands on his hips. “Is zere anyvone here zat you don’t like, zen?”

“‘Ey, what’re you cockmuchers doin’?”

All three men turned to see Scout leaning on the doorframe leading down to the RED base, looking smug as usual. “What’s goin’ on, huh? Wombat havin’ some kinda little tea party with Grandpa an’ Tub o’ Lard here?”

“Ah, Herr Scout,” Medic said, sounding absolutely delighted. “Just ze person I vanted to see. Heavy?”

“Da, Doktor?”


Heavy cracked his knuckles and started to close in on Scout. “Vit pleasure.”
>> No. 3367
All I can say is: YES! AND A MILLION TIMES MORE YES! So happy Medic and Heavy finally get together!
As for Spychecking, this should be fun....>:D
>> No. 3368
Eeee! I'm glad we got to see Medic and Heavy get together. And Spy-checking on their first date is unquestionably romantic. <3
>> No. 3369
aw yiss
>> No. 3370
I fucking love Trekkie Pyro.
>> No. 3372
YAY <3
>> No. 3373
Nothing says love like beating up friends, merely trusting your authority. <3

Best recovery 10.0 from all judges! A concern about awkward characterization has made this story so much better by your clever use of brain power and writing awesomeness that it almost looks like you had it all planned this way from the start and that's what I will tell people from now on.

Cat Bountry totally knows what's going on. Plus a move to /afic/? SOLD! I have little hearts in my eyes just thinking about it!
>> No. 3375
Just want to add - Medic's comment about sacrificing pieces - major ouch, considering Heavy's fate. Still, love it.
>> No. 3376
It's your fault I'm in love with Heavy/Medic now D:

Exactly what I thought too
>> No. 3377
I'm gonna second the 'sacrificing pieces' bringing on major heart pains.

Romantic night of Spychecking made me chuckle in a most wicked fashion, though! And... /afanfic? YES YES YES!
>> No. 3378

Excellent. I really enjoyed what you did with this chapter :D Oh Heavy and Medic <3 Cat, you make me such a little fangirl. Anticipate the coming chapters, as always.
>> No. 3379
a pleasant read indeed, and now I'm even more excited by the prospect of an /afic/ to follow
>> No. 3380
Oh god, that actually hurt me. RIGHT HERE. In the boob. Er, the heart.

OH CAT. I LOVE THIS CHAPTER. It made me smile and I really needed that today.
>> No. 3381
Oh Cat, how I love your sociopathic Medic. "Can't we just kill them all to figure it out?"
>> No. 3383
“Yurr meerndlsssh gurrbuge,” Pyro retorted.
“Urrr lurrrnnd eert frruum yuurr murrm,” Pyro said
Now all I can see is Pyro taking off his mask only to see the face of my best friend Rosie. And it's a horrifying vision. Please don't have him use the line "yer face", or I'll never be able to shake the mental image...D:
>> No. 3387

sounds like my little brother... yes he even makes yo mama jokes at me too.
>> No. 3396

>> No. 3398
I gotta say, I think that was my favorite installment so far. Trekky Pyro is adorable
>> No. 3400

>> No. 3418
I think I'm in love... "Spy check" Hehe... now I'm forever going to think about Heavy punching out someone's blood when I hear it...
>> No. 3419
My previously mentioned best friend says 'your mom' to her brother, too. as well as her own mother...when her grandmother is right there...

Actual conversation I had with her-

"Rosie, why did you leave the door open?"
"yer mom left a door open.(innuendo)"
"That...was really stupid..."
"Yer face is stupid."
"Why do you do this...?"
"Why does your mom 'do this'?(more innuendo)"
"You...your words hurt sometimes..."
"Your words hurt sometimes! >:I"

Or we'll be watching television
"The lion stalks its prey, hidden almost entirely in the brush."
"*to the TV* Yer mom was hidden in a bush! oh-ooh!"

...I have to admit, though, that's why I love her so much. It's what makes her her.
sage because I'm rambling like an idiot...
>> No. 3420
I... I'm out of words. I adore this chapter, it filled me with warm and fuzzy kittens and bunnies (and as Zuul said, it was also a litte sad, kinda bittersweet).
And the last Spycheck scene... priceless. :'D It begs to be drawn!
>> No. 3432
Being a Trekkie myself, Pyro fills me with the utmost glee.
>> No. 3488
So very, very worth the two straight nights I spent reading all of this and the main story.

Thank you for, Idon'tknow, EXISTING with that beautiful creativity of yours!
>> No. 3498

Porn chapter's up.

Will start a new thread for not-porn stuff once I get to writing it again.
>> No. 3520
Yurr meerndlsssh gurrbugeUrrr lurrrnnd eert frruum yuurr murrm
Oh god, this had me dying. Sassy nerd Pyro is the best Pyro.
>> No. 3623
Sorry for getting anyone's hopes up, but I'm bumping this for great justice! It must be seen by all.
>> No. 5205
bumped because it's on the last page of the chan and it. Must. Not. Die.
>> No. 5206

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