-  [WT]  [Home] [Manage]

Posting mode: Reply
Subject   (reply to 3759)
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. 3759
for Zuul. She knows what she's done! Apologies to Germans, Nazis, doorframes, large people, etc.


The German military machine was a thing of efficient beauty, and that just wasn't the nationalism talking. It was textbook fact that his homeland had taken a vicious defeat in one world war only to start another in a mere two decades. People didn't give that enough credit. They pounded over England, rolled through France, captured most of Eastern Europe and then there was Russia.

Slow. Dim-witted. Outfoxed by a bunch of scraggly Finns. This great big country and no real strength of arms to show for it. The Eastern Front was nothing but bodies and snow. The greatest of their generals could only think forward in a great human wave; send one man out with a gun, the next with bullets. When the first fell to superior firepower, the second could pick up his weapon and reload until he fell and the third came next. Relentless, but stupid.

Medic often found himself reminded of this as Heavy charged forward, roaring loudly over his minigun as if he could shout the enemy down alone. He wasn't always faced with the backside of Heavy's vest alit with the glow of the medigun; Soldier was faster with a modicum of tactics under that helmet and there was always something joyous in the maliciousness of Pyro when under the effects of a √úberCharge. But by battle's end, Medic was wincing at the noise and fury of Heavy's charge, reminded of Russian snows and cursed Georgy Zhukov.

It was foolish! Wasteful! He often found himself recoiling from a respawn because Heavy had bounded off in the wrong direction or didn't hesitate after the tell tale beep of a sentry. He tried shouting at him, poking him with the barrel of the medigun to warn or just try and gain some order on the battlefield but Heavy was undaunted. Even out of ammunition, he'd just use his big fat fists and plow through. Relentless, but stupid.

And when, not if, it worked- damn them both, it worked gloriously. Heavy piled bodies that Medic hurdled in order to keep his great human wave of one moving across the battlefield until the √úberCharge was set and the axis of the field turned on them and them alone. It meant nothing to Heavy at the end of the day, a clap to Medic's shoulder and a bass cheer of 'WE MAKE GOOD TEAM', even when when tallies said otherwise. Even when Medic was grumbling and ranting about the bullets he had to pull from his mammoth flesh, cleaning fresh burns and resetting bones. Heavy would never watch him work or react to it; the wounds meant nothing, eyes always pointed forward until he was spun sideways by respawn and then it was back to the fight and the front lines. He laughed in a great booming tone and would sing to himself over the noise of Sasha's barrel, but the Medic knew full well how cold a Russian front could be.

Dodging through the entryway of the RED fort, Medic kept his gun trained on Heavy with one eye, the other scanned ahead towards the bridge. He thought he saw something glimmer in the air... maybe heat. Maybe a Spy. The blue dot that stood out like a spotlight against the wall he was ducking from told him there would be sniper fire waiting for them the moment they put one boot outside and rocket fire was distantly growing closer. Charge indicators on the medigun told him he was getting dangerously close, it was merely a matter of timing and a distinct goal to focus-

Sasha wailed her way through his thoughts as Heavy noticed none of the threats Medic had caught on to and was already out the door, "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

"Dumkopf!," Medic yelped in frustration, eyes squeezed shut as the first bullet was a miss, Sniper's shot going right through Heavy's shoulder like a ball-peen hammer strike to a bowl full of jelly and it didn't faze him in the slightest. Medic could have shouted, screamed, blew sirens or perhaps took a few shots of his own but there was one way to make sure Heavy got his point.

He turned the medigun off. Feeling the regenerative push slowly leave his body, Heavy whirled around to see the Medic, looking back at him in the doorway of their own fort like an angry mom catching a past curfew son. They stared at each other, good and hard until Medic armed and loaded his needle gun. Angry, Heavy charged towards him, high-pressure needles whistling past him to perforate a de-cloaking Spy mid-knife strike.

All satisfaction from the high pressure puncturing the Frenchman was lost as Heavy got to the doorway and shoved them both inside.

"COWARD!," he bellowed as Medic took a handful of Heavy's bandoleer and pulled them out of the Sniper's shot range.

"Du! Was is LOS mit du? Ein soldat kann nicht lauft vorwarts- Hinein ein lauern Kugel, ich behaupten- mit keine Entwerfen! Hast du nicht ein Gehirn im dein elefanlicher Schaedel?!," Medic railed in a moment of frustration, breath heaving from shouting and the adrenaline of the moment as they stood nose-to-nose.

Understanding none of it, Heavy's mitts gave the Medic another shove, sending him a short stumble back into the wall. "COWARD!"


"COW-" Everything else was just rocket fire. The force of the blast threw them both to the ground, singed, bleeding, bruised. Medic readjusted his glasses, his rubber clad hands gripped his medigun like a vice. They stood up as one angry unit and charged right out that door, ducking and weaving to avoid incoming fire and whatever it was that tore them away from this bloody conflict in the first place.

Their argument would only come back later, dark into the night as their team took dinner and continued survival as a reason to celebrate. Demo's Scrumpy was passed around like pure water in an abandoned lifeboat at sea; it never seemed to reach Scout, no matter how many times he wormed his way into the passing order. They laughed and joked over the viscous damage they had done and had done to them, Medic eying each and every wound more intently than the MRE 'Mac and Cheese' Scout had been so crazy to break out for the night's supper. Heavy's tales grew louder over the rest of them as he had more than enough of whatever paint-peeling grog Demo suckled on, praising Sasha for being deadly and the other team for being so tiny.

"We turn and there is rocket, coming right for faces! KA-BOOM!" People actually flinched at Heavy's rather loud and active impression. "Fire, smoke, EVERYWHERE! We hit ground but it does nothing!" Medic adjusted the bandage he had hastily taped to his left cheek in his rush to subdue and patch up the rest of his fellows. "Back on our feet! Mighty and strong!" Heavy thumped his chest and it sounds like someone stamped on the floor. "We arm and ready, charging back-"

In his great and drunken efforts to recreate the great Battle of the Front Door, Heavy didn't notice how close he was to an actual door frame. As he turned to mimic their rush to the front, he put himself in a similar position and only this time he didn't duck to get his great height out the door. CRAK! Wood splintered on the door frame in a spot that the Scout would chuckle at for months after. Heavy had hit his head so hard he stumbled and fell backwards. The team erupted into laughter when he hit the floor, even louder when Heavy didn't get up right away.

Medic really didn't want him to be unconscious, inwardly sighing in relief as the giant stirred. Outwardly, he mostly grunted with the strain of helping the great oaf to his feet; a gash had opened up over his eye and started to swell. Heavy was dragged. lifted, assisted and stumbled towards the Infirmary. Medic put his hands on his knees once he'd gotten his patient seated on the nearest operating table. The Russian was unwieldy and weighed exactly as much as he looked if not more, but Medic had gotten him here with only a few bumps and bruises and only slightly winded from his efforts. The right shoulder of his coat had a smear of blood on it, which got him moving again to collect up the tools and supplies he would need to clean up Heavy's gash.

Wooziness ending, sobering slightly, Heavy swayed once then tried to get back to his feet. "Is nothing-"

"Nein!," Medic sighed in exasperation, just not having it in him to raise is voice or get his temper up. Dropping the tray of supplies next to Heavy, he gripped the man by his broad shoulders and looked him right in his eyes. Medic's glasses make his eyes loom large. "For vonce... Just. Vonce. SIT."

Heavy took in this information, digested it slowly then got that faraway expression of consideration. His chin held high, he looked at a far corner of the Infirmary and settled his weight on the examination table. Something in the room was lifted, an unknown quantity of weight had been exorcised surgically and Medic went bout cleaning up the gash that had exploded all over the side of Heavy's face. Moping up the blood with a lap sponge, he cleaned the cut with a disinfectant and again, not a flinch from Heavy.

"We make good team," Heavy said soberly and Medic continued his stitches in an agreed silence. Relentless... maybe not as stupid as he thought.
Marked for deletion (old)
>> No. 3760
Thanks for posting this. I still love it, but you already know that.
AND YOU, I love you, bro.
>> No. 3761
You just put the biggest smile on my face, man.
>> No. 3764
"For vonce... Just. Vonce. SIT."I could hear this in my head and the only think I could think was: Yes... leetle doktor order big man...

Hehe... I like this.
>> No. 3765
Drunk Heavy is amazing. And I like the chemistry you have between them! It's a unique relationship which you don't see often on here.
>> No. 3779
Slow. Dim-witted. Outfoxed by a bunch of scraggly Finns
>> No. 3784

For all the ones you put on mine? I consider it a small start of gratitude.

See, now I'm hearing it. In a sexy voice. STOP THAT.

I want to tell No Shit There I Was stories with Heavy all day. The man mimes a gun and says POW as a taunt. Thanks for the unique thing (watch as the Anon takes a stumbling step towards thanking someone for a comment)


It's funny because it's true.
>> No. 3795
Everything about this is wonderful.
>> No. 3797
See, now I'm hearing it. In a sexy voice. STOP THAT.
Aw... do I really have to?
>> No. 3808
... No.

Delete post []
Report post