crap title is crap.

This is... probably my first attempt at a TF2 fic. Unbeta'd, so it'll be rough around the edges. Sorry 'bout that. Open to any and all crits.

Inspired by >>/fanart/7884 - Consider yourself warned.

~

He’d come here to forget.

They all had, in their own way, he supposed. Secrets and shames they were running from, regretted actions they stood no chance of being able to undo.

Some of them had been less discreet about it than others. More than once, he’d overheard their Engineer having a hushed, desperate conversation with his estranged wife on their unreliable telephone lines, or witnessed the Heavy angrily tearing down anti-Communist propaganda displayed prominently by their Soldier, who himself had never fully come to terms with feeling so utterly rejected by the country he loved.

And some of them... some of them hadn’t said anything at all, but it was what the failed to say that said the most – like the way the Demoman, usually the most rambunctious member of the team, would suddenly become very quiet whenever Sniper began drunkenly complaining about his relationship with his parents.

Even the Scout, barely out of boyhood, used his antagonistic arrogance as a thin and often unconvincing veneer to hide his troubled past. He was a risk-taker; they all were, of course, but the Scout would propel himself behind enemy lines and through the path of sentries with a gusto that had led him to wonder if there was another motive than simply to taunt the RED Engineer.

It was the Scout he’d come across now – a bloody, crumpled heap at the end of a bloody trail the BLU Medic had both followed here. The fact it could have been a RED trap had crossed his mind, briefly; the fact that he was alone, and injured, and both cut off from and useless to the rest of his team had made him press on.

They’d lost contact with Scout early on, after the radio transmitter had spluttered and died. The Engineer had abandoned his Sentry nest to investigate it, but not returned (and was later found slumped in front of a supply closet, a wound from a balisong in his back), and with him gone the RED forwards had made quick work of their defences. He’d tried not to pay the boy’s fate thought as he did his best to keep the rest of his team alive but RED had been relentless, and BLU’s remaining forces had stood little chance against them.

The Medic wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten away, in truth. One moment he’d been desperately trying to keep his Heavy alive, and the next he was being thrown across the battlefield by the force of an explosion he hadn’t even seen coming. The Medipak had been the only thing keeping him alive, first by taking the brunt of the impact as he fell, and secondly by the weak healing it provided him, even damaged from the fall as it was.

He’d been thrown far enough away that RED assumed – he hoped – that he was either dead or no longer a valid threat; this did, however, also mean that he was far enough away that he could do nothing to shield the last of the BLU defenders from the RED onslaught. And then he’d seen the bloody trail on the ground and...

He knelt down by the boy, gently inspecting the damage. It was bad; he’d taken a gutful of shrapnel and bled out spectacularly, pulling himself – he guessed, from the path he’d followed to get here – into this quiet corner to call for help without realising the radios were down. He had been trapped here – badly injured, alone, and unable to call for help. RED hadn’t even had the decency to finish him off – just given him a bellyful of lead and left him to die in his own time.

The boy stirred, opening his eyes and looking up his direction, almost entirely unfocused.

“Hey, Doc,” he managed weakly, blood dribbling out of his mouth when he spoke, “You took your time.”

The Medic stroked the boy’s hair gently, trying to comfort him. “I’m here now, Scout,” he said, barely able to stand the sound of his own voice, “Everysing vill be fine.”

The boy was beyond saving; he had lost far too much blood, and the shrapnel was embedded too well into his young body. If he had more time, the Medic found himself thinking, or if he’d arrived earlier, or if, or if...

All he could do, he realised, grimly, was make the kid a little more comfortable while he died.

Grimacing a little, before forcing his expression into a facsimile of a gentle smile, he took the barrel of his Medigun and aimed it at the Scout’s wounds before flicking the lever and watching as its energies worked to knit his flesh back together and dull the pain.

“Relax,” he said, as the Scout tensed up almost involuntarily, “Zis von’t take long. You von’t feel a sing.”

“Doc... what about-” He paused suddenly, coughing and wheezing loudly as the Medigun tried to undo the damage to his chest. “What about the others?”

This gave the Medic pause for a moment, before he forced another little smile. “Nein,” he said, trying to keep his voice upbeat, “Zey do not need my help.”

Concern briefly flashed across the Scout’s features, and he started to protest again but the Medic hushed him, wondering a little why the boy who took (who had taken) so much delight in harassing Engineer for dispensers or thieving Spy’s cigarettes and planting them in Soldier’s quarters had chosen now to start worrying about the rest of BLU.

He shut off the Medigun, placing its barrel gently on the floor next to him and wondering, morbidly, how long it would take RED to find them. He’d found the Scout’s trail almost by chance, but RED weren’t stupid – now that the battle was over, they’d want to make sure that all of BLU were accounted for.

In the distance, he could hear the whoops and hollering of the victorious RED team, followed by the occasional explosion as their Demoman or Soldier got a little overenthusiastic – or as one of what BLU Engineer had described as a “fail-deadly” triggered itself. As the Scout’s breathing became slower, and less laboured, Medic found himself unhappily contemplating his own fate.

Forgetting wasn’t the only thing he’d come here to do.

To begin with, he had convinced himself that he’d come here to right his wrongs. To do now what he’d lacked the courage to do then, right something that could never be righted and undo what had been unchangeably done (Maybe, he’d been convinced he’d told himself, If you can save these people, you can make up for those you failed to save-)

Slowly, though, he’d realised this was far from true. For him; for any of them. They’d all come here for one reason; a reason most of them had now fulfilled. A reason that, now he was forced to stare it in the face, he wanted nothing more than to flee from. Even then, he knew it was useless – even if he left his Medigun behind, he would move too slowly, and be picked off easily by RED. He had nothing to bargain with – they had their own, perfectly competent, Medic, and one whom they had no reason to distrust. They had the BLU base, along with all its secrets, to pick apart at their leisure.

He had, he realised, nothing.

A sudden noise in the direction he’d followed the trail from made him look up, startled, to see the RED Sniper standing there, alone, an SMG slung over his back and his scoped rifle in his hands. Medic felt fear grip him, his stomach tie itself into a leaden knot which spread upwards, curling around his heart and snaking up his throat, almost choking him.

“V-vait, please!” he stammered, holding his hands up in surrender, suddenly aware of how covered he was in blood – red blood, yes, but not RED blood. “I am unarmed, und ze boy is already dead!”

The Sniper said nothing for a moment, simply regarding the Medic with a cold, hard stare, and save for shouts in the distance of what sounded like victory there was almost total silence.

For a brief moment, the Medic allowed himself to hope that he would be allowed to surrender; to give what RED the few BLU secrets that they wouldn’t find by pulling the captured base apart in exchange for sparing his life, perhaps to go home and to truly make amends, but that fragile hope was shattered when the Sniper shifted his stance and levelled his rifle, taking aim – not that he could miss, not at this range.

“Nein,” he managed, his voice shaking and strangled, “Bitte...”

The Sniper didn’t flinch, not taking his gaze from him from even a second. Not the faintest hint of a smile or a grimace, any emotion he felt hidden behind his glasses. Even his voice was flat as he spoke; two words, which crushed everything inside the BLU Medic.

“Sorry, mate.”

It was then that he lost everything; the last flecks of hope and courage away and he shook so much that he could barely breathe, his heart hammering away in his chest and he couldn’t bring himself to look at the Sniper any longer and cringed away, clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut as he failed to fight down a terrified sob and tears ran down his face and in that instant everything he regretted that he had and hadn’t done screamed more loudly than he could ever have imagined and he couldn’t even find the words to beg and plead and -


- and then, there was nothing.