-  [WT]  [Home] [Manage]

[Return]
Posting mode: Reply
Name
Email
Subject   (reply to 5217)
Message
File
Password  (for post and file deletion)
  • Supported file types are: None
  • Maximum file size allowed is 1000 KB.
  • Images greater than 200x200 pixels will be thumbnailed.
  • Currently unique user posts. View catalog

No. 5217
Don't my fics all have such awesome, creative names? Anyway, seems kind of pointless to write this since the comic will eventually wrap this up, but what the hell.

Part 1 of 2

---------------------

/Bloodeh hell.../

Never had those words held more potent meaning to the RED Demoman, lying on his side, clutching his left shin in both dark hands. Blood was quickly seeping through his fingers. The sight of it forced his breath to increase rapidly. The Scot heard heavy footsteps drawing nearer. He released his hands from the pellet-laden wound, the dirt staining with blood as he fought for more effective leverage.

/Is' all over anyway.../

The Demoman's only eye watched as the BLU Soldier slowly reeled in to his position, a smoking shotgun gripped in both bare hands. By the time his foe had reached him, tall boots only inches away from his face, Demoman's heavy breathing had relaxed. He slowly lowered his face, staring into the dirt and swallowed.

"No traps?" the American asked curiously, the barrel of his weapon still trained faithfully at the back of the Scotsman's head. The RED only shook his head slightly, as if ashamed.

"No..." the Scot said quietly. "Jus' finish me."

/Least my final thoughts'll go out with a boom./

Demoman almost chuckled to himself.

The pain in his leg intensified. His breathing rate was increasing again. Demo grit his teeth viciously to prevent himself from whimpering. He'd shown enough weakness, it would be unacceptable to display anymore.

/What the bloody hell is takin' him so long!?/

"Do it ya wet sissy! I ain't got all day!" the Scot yelled as he lifted his head back up. However, it wasn't dusty gray shotgun barrel he thought he'd be staring down. Instead, he was staring straight into the piercing blue eyes beneath Soldier's helmet. The weapon was limp at his side. The RED Demoman had never seen a more distraught expression on the man's face. The RED didn't say anything. Taking in a deep breath, the Soldier slowly knelt down next to the injured Scotsman.

"Finish me!" the Demoman loudly repeated. "How many times do ah gotta say it!? Are ye deaf!?" The Soldier, seemingly out of spite, laid the weapon on the ground, well within his enemy's grasp. His eyes were no longer visible.

"You know you should get that looked at," Soldier said, rising back to his standing posture. The Scot barely had time to consider whether the American was being sarcastic or not, before he was carefully stepping around the Demoman's limbs, arriving at his injured leg.

"Don't move," Soldier ordered as he ripped his empty grenade belt from his shirt, and knelt down again near the RED.

"What the bloody hell are ye doin'!? Yer supposed to be killin' me!" the Demo contested ferociously. Soldier didn't reply. He looped the material around the Scotsman's leg and prepared a knot over the wound. The American hesitated for a moment before clutching both ends of the belt and pulling tightly. The Demoman groaned in pain, slamming his bare fists into the ground. Soldier reached and grabbed the Demo's bloodied left hand and wrapped it over his own shoulder, hoisting the injured man to his feet.

"Let's go."

---

The BLU Medic, startled, literally leapt from his desk chair. The infirmary door had been violently kicked in, the shattered remains of the metallic lock clanging and scattering across the floor.

"Soldier!?" the doctor gasped as the American stomped his way into the room. "Vhat are you-" the German stopped. Practically hanging off of the BLU Soldier's shoulder was someone the doctor had never expected, or wanted, to see within their own base. "Vhat is zhe meaning of zhis!?" the Medic demanded as the duo shuffled past him to the nearest bed.

"He's hurt, Doc," Soldier said in between lengthy, exhausted breaths. He eased the wounded Demoman gently onto the white sheets until he was sprawled on top of the bed on his stomach. His teeth were grit and his eye forcibly held shut; he appeared nearly unconscious to the doctor.

"Herr Soldier, zhis is zhe ENEMY you have dragged into our base!" the Medic shouted, watching as his BLU ally began untying the knot and pulling the blood-soaked belt away from the afflicted area. Soldier behaved as though he hadn't heard what the Medic was saying while he tore the trousers apart from the bottom half of the Demoman's leg, revealing the grisly wound. Soldier stood back from the bed, eyeing the injured man silently. The BLU doctor stood in silence as well, confusion and anger clouding his thoughts.

"Well, get to fixin' him, Doc!" the Soldier ordered impatiently, now looking in the German's direction.

"Soldier, zhis is a member of zhe ENEMY team, you dummkopf!" Medic explained loudly. "Our job is to KILL zhem, not drag zhem into our beds and sew zhem back togezzuh!" The doctor found it frustrating, and strange, that he was explaining this to the one man on their team that seemed to the least reservations about killing /anyone/, much less one of those whom he was specifically hired to kill.

"Fine!" Soldier exclaimed, as he began stamping around the room, throwing open cabinets and drawers while muttering rather loudly to himself. "Good-for-nothing goddamned field medic who won't even help people when their hurt, can't do his own goddamned job, I'll fix him my goddamned self..."

"Enough!" Medic panicked. He quickly stepped to the other side of the room where a trail of open drawers followed the BLU Soldier. He pried his way in between the American and the line of cabinets, forcing him back. "If I address him vill you cease destroying my work area!?" the German pleaded.

"...Yes," Soldier quietly agreed, stepping back from the doctor. The Medic sighed, stressfully rubbing his temple with his gloved fingers.

"Then, Herr Soldat, I need you to leave me to my work," the doctor suggested as he turned and started pulling supplies from the various open drawers.

"Sorry Doc," Soldier argued. "But I don't think-"

"Soldier!" the German interrupted. " I don't understand vhat zhe meaning of all zhis is, but if you want me to help him, I can't have you breazhing down my neck," he explained. "I promise I von't sabotage his state any furzher, understood?"

The American stood there, his expression blank, eyes darting back and forth between the bleeding Scotsman.

"Okay," he conceited. Soldier walked the few steps towards the infirmary door, constantly glancing back at the groaning, suffering Demoman on the bed. "I'm counting on you, Doc," Soldier affirmed before stepping out. Medic snatched up the dustbin next to his desk and propped it against the door, forcing it closed. He stared back at his patient, and sighed heavily before beginning the surgery.

"Zhis shit is ridiculous."
Marked for deletion (old)
>> No. 5218
More please.

The story flow was perfect, the actions/reactions were both unusual and IC, and the hook left us wondering "why the rescue?" and "what happened pre-narration?"

You get an A+
>> No. 5219
Kai, your characterizations are great. Just noting.
>> No. 5221
So much for this only being two parts.

---

Sitting on his bunk, bloody fatigues tossed into the corner, the BLU Soldier rotated his much-too-large helmet repeatedly in his hands, feeling each and every groove, dent, and crack underneath his calloused fingers.

/The Doc'll do it./

Soldier leaned his head back and wiped one grizzled hand across his tired face, exhaling an elongated sigh.

/I trust him./

Soldier stood up from his bed and slapped his helmet back over his eyes in confidence.

/He'll be fine. That cyclops has been through worse./

Soldier left his sleeping quarters and made his way for the cafeteria. He had been absent for the scheduled meal, but surely there were some leftovers. He wasn't hungry, but he knew his body could use the energy.

On the way to the mess hall he passed the Scout and Sniper; both gave him awkward stares, as if an arm had spontaneously grown out of his ass.

/What the hell are those ladies lookin' at./

The cafeteria was empty as expected. In the refrigerator he found a plastic-wrapped plate with a note taped to it. It said "SOLDIER," clearly in Engineer's handwriting. The American snatched it and sat at one of the many long tables, eating his mashed potatoes and pork chops. He didn't bother to heat them up. Soldier eventually started wiping the chunks of meat in the potatoes, just to make the meal go by quicker. The American was consistently swallowing mouthful after mouthful without even chewing properly. He couldn't stay relaxed.

Soldier finished his meal and threw the crumpled paper plate at the garbage can. It missed, but he didn't feel like correcting it.

"Woah there, pardner!" Engineer jumped as Soldier nearly steam rolled him back into the hallway while opening the cafeteria door. "I was jus' lookin' fer ya, Solly."

/Second man I've scared today by just opening a door./

"What is it?" Soldier inquired irritably

"You ate those leftovers I saved fer ya?" Engineer asked nervously, still standing in the doorway.

"Yeah," Soldier confirmed coldly.

"Good right?" A clearly artificial smile spread across the Texan's face.

"...Fine," Soldier said.

"Good! I know you like mash-"

"You didn't come find me just to see if I ate the leftovers, Engie," Soldier interrupted. Engineer peered down at his feet, quickly rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well, you know earlier, you uh, brought that hurt RED feller into the base and asked the Doc to fix him up and-"

"And since when do ya take orders from /him/? It's not like he's our boss!" Engineer was cut off by shouting originated from down the hallway.

/What is that brat yelling about./

Soldier, however, actually knew exactly what Scout was yelling about.

"Move it!" Soldier ordered as he pushed the Texan out of the way and marched quickly towards the infirmary.

"Now Solly jus' hold yer horses a minute!" Engineer begged. Soldier ignored him.

He veered the left corner towards Medic's office. Heavy was standing in front of the busted door, slightly ajar. Scout (with his bat slung over his shoulder, no less) and Sniper were there, shooting him threatening looks in between the arguing.

"Dokter says he needs privacy for vork, he gets privacy," Soldier heard the Russian say as he closed in on his destination. Scout and Sniper both turned attention to Soldier as he approached.

"Well, if it ain't the freakin' traitor himself!" Scout taunted.

"You got a problem, maggots?" Soldier challenged. He heard footsteps closing in from behind; Engineer had caught up.

"Now listen fellas," the Texan started as he approached the scene. "I reckon we should jus' calm-"

"Stay the hell outta this, Truckie!" Sniper barked, pointing at the Engineer. Engineer backed off reflexively. His widened eyes were obvious, even beneath his ever-present goggles. The Australian turned his attention toward Soldier. "Our bleedin' problem is that we got this joker draggin' in the dyin' /enemy/, like a sick pup!" Soldier didn't say anything.

"Come on Lardo, listen to reason!" Scout bargained, staring up at the giant Russian. "We got ourselves a /target/, we can go in and bash his freakin' head in and he can't even fight back! Hell, I bet the Doc has some stuff that can put his li-"

"Dokter is dokter! Not murderer!" Heavy had swept the young American to face level, gripping his shirt collar with one monstrous hand and jerking the baseball bat away with the other. He tossed the weapon down the hallway. Terror washed over the Scout's face. "Ve kill men in battle, not in beds. Ve are /not/ kowards. If Dokter says no kowards get in, zhen no kowards are /getting in/." The Russian threw Scout back to the floor. The young American stumbled as he regained his posture.

"Whatever. Announcer's gonna have all yer asses anyway," Scout teased, feigning calmness. He retreated down the hallway, leaving his bat behind. He kept his eyes away from Soldier as if he wasn't there. Sniper started to follow.

"This won't go unanswered," he warned to Soldier in a low voice as he walked past.

"Keep your prissy threats to yourself, koala-fucker!" Soldier retorted to the Australian. He sighed, only in the company of the Russian and the Texan now. Engineer was still stunned by the ordeal; he'd never been talked like that by a team member.

"I uh... I better go..." Engineer said nervously, just before strolling away. Soldier leaned back against the wall and sighed.

"Thanks," Soldier said quietly to Heavy.

"Is duty," Heavy explained. "Is brave to help people in need. Is only kowardice to kill them." The American sighed again. "You are brave man, Soldier."

/Maybe./
>> No. 5247
Reposting this part to fix some annoying mistakes I missed and changed some things. Sage for nothing new.

------

"Hey Doc," Soldier greeted quietly as he entered the infirmary. Heavy had decided to let him inside. The room was remarkably dark; only Medic's desk lamp was on. The doctor didn't say anything. The American's eyes had to adjust to the darkness before he could properly make out the figure of the German kneeling down near one end of the RED Demoman's bed. He slowly crept over to his BLU ally, careful not to make any sudden movements to startle him. He heard the giant Russian slowly pull the broken door as tightly shut as he could.

Approaching the doctor, Soldier noticed Demoman wasn't in pain; his eye was closed and his mouth was hanging slightly agape.

"He sleepin', Doc?" Soldier asked.

"Ja," the doctor replied softly. Soldier saw that the Medic was keeping the afflicted leg lifted with one hand while carefully wrapping a thick white bandage around the shin with the other. "It vas best to sedate him for zhe procedure. It vould have been unpleasant for him to be avake vhile I removed zhe pellets," he finished explaining.

"Here," the American offered, stepping around to the other side of the doctor and carefully held the Scot's foot up.

"Haben sie vielen dank," Medic thanked, now comfortably using both gloved hands to apply the rest of the bandage. Soldier used to physically cringe around the doctor's use of German, but it didn't seem so offensive now...

"So, he's gonna be okay?" Soldier asked.

"Yes, he vill be fine," Medic said as he finish applying the rest of the bandaging. "Alzhough he'll have to stay off zhat foot for a vhile, and he'll be taking some antibiotics." The doctor stood up and began forcibly yanking his latex gloves from his fingers, accompanied by loud snaps. "He's lucky your shot didn't damage zhe bone," the German finished as he turned on the faucet at the sink and applied a liberal amount of soap to his hands. Soldiers brows arched in curiosity.

"How did you-"

"Please, Herr Soldat. I am not stupid." Medic shot him a playful glance from over his shoulder. "I vas admittedly confused at first vhen you dragged him in here; I didn't zhink you were capable of such mercy. Everyvun else vas at zhe base zhis morning; no vun could have shot him but you." Soldier stood silent, like he had been caught in the middle of a complicated lie. The German turned off the faucet and snatched a dish towel from the shelf above his head. "I'm just curious as to vhy you /didn't/ finish him off. Vhy /did/ you help him?"

The American didn't respond. He merely stared back defiantly.

"I understand," the doctor said. "Sometimes zhere are zhings about ozhers zhat vhe don't vant to admit." Medic's expression stayed constant; the man actually seemed uplifted in humor from earlier in the day. "It takes strength to say zhese zhings." Medic finished drying his hands and tossed the damp hand towel into the waste basket underneath his desk. "I am going to zhe cafeteria viz Heavy to get some food for our new guest. I assume you vill vant to stay viz him? Obviously he isn't safe on his own," he added as he started for the door.

"Doc, I..." Soldier started. Medic halted in his steps and turned back toward the blue-clad commando. "I'm sorry I got you caught up in this," he admitted. Soldier slowly took a seat on the bed, making room by carefully shifting the unconscious Demoman's foot. Soldier rested his arms against his knees, staring at the floor between them. "I think I just cost us our jobs."

"Zhat's fine, Soldier," Medic said coolly. The American's face shot up at the doctor.

"What? But-"

"I said it's fine," the doctor reassured him. "I didn't operate on him vizzout pondering zhe risks. If I valued zhis position over his life, I vould have left him in your care and reported your actions." Soldier's gaze lowered, chewing over those words in his brain. "Besides, I've found somezhing better zhan any /paycheck/. I don't need to stay here anymore."

"You mean..." Soldier started, staring back up at the German. Medic nodded at the American. "So, you two..." the commando inquired further.

"Yes, zhere is no reason for Heavy and I to continue vorking for BLU," the doctor elaborated. "I know he sees no value in zhis."

The team had been talking about it for a while now; Heavy and Medic both being queer. The two had scoffed at the accusations, although thinking back, Soldier couldn't recall either of them ever outright denying it. The thought of such... deviancy intertwining with their /jobs/; it disgusted Soldier, nevertheless how /perverted/ homosexuality was in the first place.

But now here he was, sacrificing every ounce of professionalism he had for this pitiful drunken Scotsman. Soldier realized he wasn't much different than those fags, especially since he didn't regret a second of it. Maybe he was just as /perverted/ as Medic and the Russian. The thought was suddenly more comforting than disturbing. What the hell had happened to him? He looked down at the sleeping RED Demoman.

/You. This is all YOUR fault./

Soldier suddenly felt like laughing. He wanted to laugh with the Demoman again.

"I'll be back soon," the German reassured.

"Cinnamon," Soldier stated suddenly. Medic lifted his brows in confusion. "Don't get anything with cinnamon in it; he's allergic."
>> No. 5259
...wut.

This is awesome and you are awesome.
>> No. 5262
Need a dispensah here.
>> No. 5269
>>5262
*Places dispenser and whacks it with his wrench a few times before facing GP*
So, do I get an update now?
>> No. 5270
>>5269

I have no idea what that response was about (or why he stole my "GP") but I'm working on part 4; promise. : )
>> No. 5271
Just a question- is this story in the same continuity as the comics or a different one. Just curious since the comic mentions the two meeting at a weapons convention and I wouldn't mind seeing that in text. You know, if that's in your plan.
>> No. 5272
>>5271

I'll try to incorporate it into the existing canon as best I can. However, if the comic does resolve this dispute then this can be discounted. I probably won't write any of the events that happen before part 1, but you can expect some dialog or thoughts that elaborate on the past a bit.
>> No. 5273
Heavy and Medic are quitting?

... Are they going to live together?
>> No. 5285
THANK YOU BROMANCING. THANK YOU VERY, VERY MUCH.

+10rep
>> No. 5286
The cinnamon comment made me EEEE out loud. Oh god...
>> No. 5298
Sorry this part seems even shorter than usual, but I hadn't updated for a few days and was determined to have /something/ up before I left for work today.

------------

The Scotsman was still fast asleep when Medic and Heavy returned with a tray of food for him. Soldier offered to look after him. Medic found it strange that he was suggested to leave the one section of the base he was absolutely in charge of, but he concluded that Soldier would prefer the privacy when Demoman awoke. For what reason exactly, the doctor was unsure. Scout and Sniper were consistently providing plenty of snide looks and remarks to the German and Russian duo for their recent insubordination of company policy. Medic merely assured them that the situation was none of their business, but that Heavy was gladly on hand if they needed further persuasion. The opposing BLUs concluded that some battles were best left retreated.

Soldier was sitting still on the reddened sheets at the foot of the bed, arms firmly crossed and staring at his knees. He'd have to make sure the bedding was changed once Demo was awake.

The ajar door to the dimly lit infirmary slowly creaked open, revealing a masked individual whose thickly gloved hands were tightly gripping the edge of the door as he slowly pushed it open.

/What does he want./

Pyro stood in the doorway, nervously peeking inside as if impatiently waiting for approval to enter. Those jet black lenses were fixated on Soldier.

"What is it?" Soldier asked.

Pyro didn't say anything (not that Soldier could often understand him anyway), but merely took it as a cue to evade the doorway and slowly creep into the room, his visual attention now glued to the dark skinned patient as he approached. It eased Soldier significantly to realize that the Pyro wasn't armed. The masked fire starter waddled awkwardly toward the bed (his suit squeaking with each step) until he was peering over the Demoman, as if examining his condition. He slowly reached out a hand towards the man's face.

"Don't touch him!" Soldier yelled. Pyro reflexively curled his arm back against his chest, startled. "He might look like he /belongs/ in the circus but he's not some roadside attraction!"

Pyro's head turned back toward the injured Scotsman on the cot; he was beginning to stir. Soldier immediately stood up from the bed in excitement. Demoman rubbed his eye with one arm while gripping the bed sheets with the other.

"Bleedin' hell... wot-" he detached his calloused hand from his face and his gaze was met with the dark mask of a BLU Pyro looming over him.. "SWEET MOTHER UH' MARY!" The Demoman's eye darted to the counter top near the bed. He viciously snatched up a tiny tool from the lingering tray, sending it clattering to the floor and scattering the doctor's tools. The Scot lunged at the Pyro from the bed, scalpel gripped tightly in his hand. He didn't even seem aware of his own leg injury.

/No!/

Soldier leapt in between them (careful not to slip on one of Medic's utensils) and reached out his left hand to grasp the Demoman's weapon-wielding arm. He missed.

"Aarrrrggghh!" Soldier aggressively shouldered the Demoman back towards the cot and dropped to one knee, his right hand wrapped around his left wrist, blood covering both forearms and dripping frantically to the floor beneath him. The blade of the scalpel was pierced through the middle of his palm, emerging from the back of his hand. His eyes clenched his pain, he pried one open and shot a glance at the Pyro to his left. "Go get the Doc, NOW!" he shouted. The BLU Pyro sprinted from the room, leaving the infirmary door wide open. The American was bent over, grunting and breathing heavily.

"Oh Jesus Solly, I..." Demo trailed off. He backed up farther against the bed, his eyebrows arched with guilt, worry and frustration. Soldier shakily stood up on the both feet; Demo noticed he had the handle of the scalpel between his scarlet fingertips. "Solly, what-"

"Ggrrraaaagghh!" Soldier bellowed in pain as he tore the blade from his hand and triumphantly threw the tool to the floor. Heaving in deep breaths, the American leaned over and slowly turned his head toward the shaken Scot. A moment passed of utter stillness while the two stared at each other, before Soldier cocked back his uninjured hand into a fist and launched his knuckles into the RED's face just below the empty eye socket, knocking him back onto the bed. Demo rolled over on the bed, cradling his face in his hands. He desperately bit his tongue against the BLU commando's actions; he had, after all, definitely had that coming to him.

"Ohhh that smarts, Solly," Demo groaned. "You hit like a bleedin' train."

"And you STABBED me!" Soldier roared, applying tight pressure to the wound through his left hand.
>> No. 5302
>>5271
What comic?
>> No. 5304
>>5302
The update comics on tf2.com, I believe.
>> No. 5306
FUCKING OW.
>> No. 5362
So much for this ending any time soon, but I'm pretty dedicated to making this work regardless. A short update, but the final one before shit get reals; consider this thread a "prologue" if you will.

---

The two wounded men sat side-by-side on the bloody cot; the RED Demoman devouring the tray of food in his lap recovered by the doctor, and the BLU Soldier pinching the knife injury through his palm. His hands were now thoroughly soaked in blood.

"Listen Solly I didn't mean to," Demo said in between bites. "It was tha' Pyro-"

"I know why it happened, numbnuts!" Solider interrupted, grimacing at the pain from his hand.

"So if this is /your/ base, how the hell did you manage to patch me up?" the Demoman asked as he peered down at the neat bandaging below his ripping trousers. "No offense laddie, but you never were much of a surgeon."

"/Our/ Medic took care of your leg, Demo," Soldier explained. "The /BLU/ Medic."

"Bleedin' hell," the Scotsman breathed while chewing a bite of lamb. "How d'ya convince 'im to do that?"

"Wasn't hard," Soldier said, his voice calming. "I just had to remind him that doctor's /help people./"

The Scot went quiet, his gaze slowly declining toward the floor (still littered with Medic's tools). "Thank ye, Solly," he finally said.

"Thanks for what?" Soldier inquired defiantly. "I /shot you/ goddamn it."

"Yeah, ya did," Demo said, his voice rising. "Ya also could've finished me off."

/Could've finished me off? Who am I kiddin', he SHOULD'VE finished me off!/

"...but ya didn't. 'Stead you dragged me busted ass back here and got me sewn up."

"Tch," Soldier scoffed. "What kind of a friend would I be if I didn't help you when you're hurt?"

Demo's only eye widened considerably. The Scotsman suddenly felt lighter, no longer weighted down by worry that this scuffle between them had truly torn them apart. Demoman lightly punched the commando in the shoulder.

"Yer a good man, Solly," Demoman praised affectionately.

Heavy and Medic returned a scant few minutes later (much to the doctor's dismay that he would have to clean and re-sanitize his arsenal of medical utensils). Heavy closely guarded the Scotsman's actions after hearing about his attack on the team's Pyro. Soldier and Demoman left the infirmary each with their own ring of bandages and sutures between them, plus an ice pack and a pair of crutches for the Scot.

"I suggest it vould be vise to immediately notify our... employers of our leaving," Medic warned. "Hopefully ve can be permitted to leave on ze next supply train." Soldier and Demoman discussed the German's words later in the American's quarters. The lighting grew progressively darker in the small bedroom as the sun lowered behind the distant desert mountains.

"Him and 'is boyfriend migh' be able to leave jus' fine an' dandy," Demo said, relaxing on the Soldier's cot. "But it's a wee bit more complicated fer us."

"Yeah," Soldier solemnly agreed. He recalled the Announcer's threat against his life if he refused to kill his friend. He leaned against the wall opposite of the bed, arms firmly crossed.

"Ye don't reckon BLU's gonna come after us, do ya?" Demoman asked. Soldier was afraid to answer the question honestly.


Delete post []
Password  
Report post
Reason