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hankwritten · 3 years

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These Hands Have Done a Mighty Violence

Day 4 of the tf2 valentine’s day event, Boots n Bombs

Resupply. White. Sterile. He was on an empty battlefield, looking in but also out as he wandered in search of his foe, peering in every corner and imagining the man in places he couldn’t possibly fit. They were meant to fight soon. Any minute now, he would get the drop on that bastard who was looking for him just as hard, and then this whole thing would kick off once again. It was a plan of the moment. Or it would have been, if the Soldier hadn’t somehow ambushed him. Which shouldn’t have been possible, not when he had been so alert so vigilant, yet there Soldier was: claiming the high ground and lauching into his familiar battle cry. Demo dodged the first rocket—barely, the new ones were much faster than the old—and returned fire. The pill went wide. The pill went wide and Soldier was still coming, raining down from the sky, rockets cascading out before him-

Resupply. White. Sterile.

Demo shouldered his ‘nade launcher again, determined to get that son of a bitch, the one who didn’t have a face anymore, just a slowly encroaching shadow as the helmet swallowed his head with every sequence through defeat. It terrified Demo. That anything that was once familiar about the man was slowly being stripped away, leaving him grotesque, unrecognizable. Or, even worse: the mask was falling off, and there had never been anything underneath to begin with. Demo shuddered, focusing on his task, he had to be around here somewhere-

Resupply. White. St-

The shotgun had taken him in the back. Demo had heard it rather than felt it, though every part of him knew that shouldn’t have been possible, that the pellets themselves were travelling faster than the speed of sound. Yet the shot was all he had. Gritting his teeth, he slammed open the door of his locker, looking for a new strategy, anything that might help him take down his mortal enemy. He could forgo the shield, that might be something. It’s not like the extra resistance had ultimately stopped the damn rockets. Nodding to himself, he pulled the Scottish Resistance into his inventory.

The change in weapons did nothing for the pickaxe that took him in the side of his skull.

Resupply. Wh-

There was no tactic that could stop Soldier, and Demo knew, knew he was trapped, a vicious cycle, being killed over and over again to the Voice’s disappointment. Nothing he did would change it. He couldn’t stop the deaths. He couldn’t stop when the Soldier pinned him down and managed to rip his sticky launcher from his grasp.

At first Demo thought he was going to strangle him. Then, he realized it was much, much worse as he felt a thumb shove dangerously close to his eye. The Soldier began to press.

He always hated this one. It was the single worst way he had ever died, and now he had to relive it again, the memory hot and fresh and searing as the pressure built and blood spurted from his one good socket, his strangled cry rising to meet Soldier’s furious screaming. He could feel it dripping down his face, knew it was spraying the man above him whose weight was impossible to move as Demo screamed no no god no.

The Soldier didn’t listen. The thumb kept going, pushing into tissue then brain and by all rights Demo should have been dead by now, but the rules here were different, and he was allowed to feel every second as the digit burrowed inside his skull. Allowed to know what it was like to have the tissue that contained his thoughts, his very personhood, exploding beneath the pressure.

Resupply. The beginning of the cycle again. The starting point where he’d have to try to think of a new plan of attack, any trick he hadn’t used against the Soldier before, something that would help him even though he knew it was pointless. He wouldn’t win. He’d already lost this War, years ago, but he was still back in Resupply and so he had no choice but try again.

Except something was wrong.

Demo staggered backwards, away from the Soldier that was waiting by the door. He couldn’t be here, he couldn’t, this was RED’s respawn and the Soldier couldn’t already be inside-

But, as he had said: the rules were different now. Soldier charged from the corner in which he loomed, hidden in a shadow that couldn’t physically exist in the wash of Resupply’s fluorescent lights, screaming with a voice that was hardly human since the helmet’s shadow had now taken his mouth too. Demo was thrown to the ground again. He gripped for his sword, his sword, but found nothing. No, that couldn’t be right, he should have respawned with his weapons it wasn’t fair otherwise-

But fair didn’t matter anymore. “No, no,” he begged in a way he hadn’t in real life, where fear had been overshadowed by beaten, limping, wounded pride. He didn’t have pride here. He grabbed at Soldier’s wrist with both hands and demanded-

“No!”

Tavish sat up sharply, sweat clinging to every inch of him, sheets wrapped around his body in an attempt to suffocate him. There was a light on in his room, painting everything in too bright of a glow, doing nothing for the phantom pain pulsating behind his eye. He gasped, breathing in great heaves, knowing he was awake-

But. Oh god. Oh god no.

He couldn’t be awake. He couldn’t be awake because the Soldier was still here.

He was in Tavish’s room, grabbing him, grip viselike on Tavish’s forearm, and just like in the resupply he shouldn’t have been there. Maybe Tavish couldn’t escape him in dreams but he should be awake he should be safe-

“No,” he repeated, scrambling backward, vulnerable even when he thought he’d escaped the nightmare. “No stay back!”

Pain erupted in his skull. He’d smashed himself on the headboard in his panic, and the hand gripping him only tightened further around his bicep. “Tavish, Tavish it’s alright, it’s not real.”

The distortion from the nightmare clouded his thoughts, but he still heard the sharp distinction in Soldier’s voice. How, in this reality, intelligible words poured from his mouth, urgent and terrified, his features visible in the yellow light of the table lamp. None of that could be said of the specter who’d been ripping through his skull a moment before.

“You’re alright,” Soldier repeated, but. No, not Soldier. He hadn’t been the Soldier for a while now, and as Tavish haltingly regained his senses, he was finally able to see Jane’s concerned face for what it was.

“Christ,” Tavish said as he relaxed fractionally. “Christ, it was so bloody real.”

Jane’s hand loosened, and he slid closer until he could rest it on Tavish’s shoulder. The gentleness of it all allowed Tavish to release the tension that had still been wound inside him, dropping his chin to his chest and running a hand on the back of his head. It throbbed in-between his fingers, but they came away bloodless. That was good. He didn’t think he had the energy to go through another nightmare-inflicted patch job right now.

He moved closer into Jane’s body, their sides meeting. Jane’s hands came to gently cup Tavish’s face, and the relief of having his partner hold him chased away the last traces of Tavish’s panic.

At least, it did until Jane’s thumb brushed along Tavish’s cheekbone.

He jerked back, getting a full view of Jane’s widening eyes as he witnessed Tavish’s sudden reaction. “Oh,” he looked away shamefully. “That one.”

“…Yeah,” was all Tavish could say.

They hung in silence a moment longer, Tavish shuffling still closer until Jane relented and wrapped him in a hug. It was unhealthy, perverse even, that the only thing that brought him comfort from waking in a cold sweat was the person who’d triggered those nightmares in the first place. That the only thing he wanted when it was all said and done was the man who’d physically tormented him more than anyone else ever had or ever would.

“It’s probably not right,” Tavish found himself saying, “to be finding comfort from the same place that’s doling out the hurt. One of those textbook, ‘bad relationship warning signs’.”

Jane hummed into his shoulder. “Does it count if it’s mutual?”

“Aye. Actually, I think it’s considered twice as bad. Co-dependency or something like that.”

There was a faint grunt. After a while, Tavish thought that might have been the end of it, until Jane said, “I don’t really care what anyone else thinks.”

“Neither do I,” Tavish affirmed.

Briefly, he clenched his fists, but then resolved himself. He took one of Jane’s hands and guided it up to his face, back where it had been a moment before as he’d brushed a hand along Tavish’s cheek. It immediately set his gut into a twist of anxious knots to have it so close again, but he needed this, needed to prove to himself that he didn’t fear Jane anymore. Ignore everything else. Ignore that he could hardly breathe.

“Tav…” Despite Tavish trying to hold it there, Jane drew back his hand. “You don’t have to do that.”

“But I can,” Tavish pleaded. “I should. I don’t want to be flinching away from you like a kicked dog.”

“No one has to be alright all the time.”

Tavish hesitated. Jane had never woken him in the middle of the night with a nightmare, but he could always tell in the mornings when the former Soldier sat over his coffee with a deadened look in his eyes. He knew he’d messed up too, had hurt the man he’d loved just as badly, and he felt like a leech soaking up as much of Jane’s sympathy as he did. But all that was too much to say, too much to try and condense here in their bedroom while the wall clock ticked by.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “You do so much to try to make things better and I just never…”

“Hey.” Jane gripped him. Not by the face, but by the shoulders, turning him until they were staring each other down. “No more sorrys, remember? We fucked up, we apologized, and we’re moving on. We are going to take all the time we need with that, but if there is one thing I will not stand for in this company, it is guilt wallowing. Do you hear me private? You have apologized and you do not need to do it again.”

Tavish let out a shaky breath. He knew, on a fundamental level, that Jane was lying. That the Soldier himself was still apologizing, in thousands of small ways, like how he was so much more cautiously delicate with Tavish than he had been before the War. Maybe it was different from Tavish’s constant, guilty confessions, but it was still remorse running hot through his system.

But, maybe he had the right of it. Maybe that was the only way he could stomach what they had done to each other, was to keep moving forward and let it lessen with hands held in front of a flickering fireplace, with nights out on the deck watching the stars together.

“Alright,” Tavish felt himself say, resignation tainting his breath. “Alright, no more sorrys.”

“That’s what I like to hear, maggot,” Jane nodded, pleased. “Now, let’s get up. I’m going to make you some eggs.”

“Breakfast?” Tavish looked at the clock on the wall, the one with little raccoons on each of the numbers and that made a chittering noise every hour on the hour. “It’s four in the morning.”

“An hour before sunrise! Now, hop to DeGroot.”

Jane was already out of bed, pulling on some pants.

Tavish groaned, but he honestly didn’t feel like falling back asleep either, which Jane probably knew. Plus, eggs sounded delicious now that he was thinking about it, due in part to the fact that Jane always poached them perfectly. The toast would come out a little singed, but hey, the eggs were what mattered. Tavish freed himself from the covers and gratefully followed Jane to the kitchen.

#dontneedavalentine2021 #demosolly #tf2 fanfiction

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 7 years

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TF2 Headcanon

@camiluna27 gave me a weird headcanon and it ended up like this. It is TRASH.

Title: For Fuck’s Sake

"Jesus christ, when I said GET A ROOM GUYS, I didn't mean it like this!" Scout shouts down the corridor, only slightly above the awkward cacophony of moans, groans, cries and... slapping sounds he didn't wanna think too hard about, really.

It'd been a hell of a long day, well, week actually. And sure, everyone was entitled to let off steam however they wanted, but this... this was ridiculous. There was a moment when Scout paused in horror, realising that somehow he'd become the fuddy old guy just trying to sleep, while all the 'kids' got freaky.

"Oh no... I'm old." he whispers, feeling sick.

Though not as unwell as the sound of his father getting it on did, and god, the bastard had to be putting on a show just to fuck with him. Wait, no, wrong phrasing!

Scout shakes his head, trying to pretend none of this was happening. None of it. They definitely didn't get louder after he shouted at them, nope...

Live in Denial. That's his new motto.

It was hard enough to look everyone in the eye after hearing them all like this in individual pairings, because people say the weirdest shit when they're banging... but this? This was overkill.

Not like he could escape, either.

Scout had realised what was going on about an hour ago, and grumblingly made his way outside towards Sniper's camper. Surely the guy would let the runner kip on his little couch, if he saw the bags under Scout's eyes, right?

Wrong. Oh so very wrong. He didn't know who else was in there (well, he did, their voice was distinctive but he wouldn't admit to the knowledge)... but it was clear that things had a 'do not disturb' scenario ongoing in there.

Well fuck... he'd tried to go back to his room and ignore it...

Heck, he questioned going to the Infirmary for some sleeping pills... but about two feet from the door he realised that SOMEONE was playing doctor in there... and he didn't wanna know at all.

At the very least, he could try Pyro, right?

The guy, uh, gal, uh... whoever under that suit, had a good grasp on ignoring reality. Might as well see if they had a solution... perhaps he could borrow one of the pyrovision masks?

...oh, oh that was a bad idea.

He'd had no idea that those two... were together, but clearly...

Defeated, and desperate for sleep, he stumbles into the common room towards the couch. He could make do. The room was far enough away from the dorms that it should be quiet enough, right?

Theoretically, yes. But in reality... wrong, oh so very wrong.

When his own footsteps had died away, and he was motionless, everything else was amplified to an obscene degree.

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" he shouts, snapping up, grabbing the blanket he'd been trailing around with him, and one of the shabby couch cushions.

Somewhere, someone laughed and made a lewd comment back at him, but Scout was beyond registering words. He'd been in motion all day, and only respawned a few times; which meant the usual energy kick he got from dying near the end of the match, hadn't been thre today. It usually tided the runner over into dinner, showertime, then bed...

But all he could think right now was how much everything ached to just... stop. To lie down for a moment, and drift into nothing; and yet, his comrades all seemed to be of a different frame of mind. Where did they get the energy for this shit?

It was so late... well, no, it was like, eight o'clock... but that was late for the weary, alright?

He made it outside, blank eyes ceaselessly roving over the landscape outside, trying to find a solution. Sniper's van was out. So was the roof, because the ventilation shaft carried sounds like you wouldn't believe.

Sure, he could 'wait them out' under normal circumstances... but the need to sleep was too urgent. Which was frustrating, because the longer the noises irritated, the less chance he'd sleep... and in the past, he'd just end up passing he threshold of no sleep that left him exhausted but unable to rest without bothering Medic about it.

He just wandered around for a while, finally finding the ladder to one of Sniper's hidden nests.

Oh thank fuckin' god. Even if every rung felt like a marathon, he still crawled up, up, up, until salvation was in sight.

The blank, hard wooden walls were warped, ancient, decrepit. Some boards poked up and out, but Scout didn't fucking care. He shoves Sniper's crates aside; the ones the guy sat on, used to steady his rifle, and occasionally hold jars of jarate. There's enough space if he curls up a bit; nothing fancy but it'll do.

The cushion is scratchy, and the blanket too thin for the night air; but it was quiet. Sir Hootsalot made a loud hoo somewhere nearby, but that was about it.

"Finally..." Scout breathes, curling inwards, and letting aching eyelids fall shut. And with that... sleep looms out of the darkness, and consumes him.

- - -

The next morning began, as most usually do. Soldier woke first to do his insane series of fitness exercises at six am sharp, no matter what had gone on the night before; and the sound of him exercising often woke the rest up. He was not a quiet man, and shouted encouragement at himself and the raccoons the whole time. Occasionally someone would join him, but mostly they sent someone out to congratulate the guy and talk him into toning it down...

Soldier was up already, mid-routine. Engineer, one of those foul Morning People, would rise to brew coffee and get everyone else up if possible. Medic and Heavy would arrive, by seven, looking as prim and proper as ever. Pyro was always tagging around behind someone, and no one could even tell if they slept... but they were there, and responsive. Demo could be coaxed awake with the promise of coffee... and then deployed as a friendly, yet firm, Scottish alarm clock. He was the best at getting Spy up, and even Sniper -the latter of which required multiple instances of encouragement of a morning. Even if the aussie had gotten used to the different timezones, he still had difficulty waking up in the morning; and sometimes fell asleep whilst walking into the base, often slouching against a wall until someone shook him.

As for Scout, well it depended. On weekdays the kid would have to be all but dragged out of bed; but on the weekends, he'd shoot out at all times, ready for morning cartoons. Spy often made a mockery of the practice, but Engineer pointed out that there ain't no harm in having something a little fun and silly to enjoy. Then tilted his head at Pyro, who would be watching the espionage agent with that cold, blank stare... daring the man to say something against cartoons.

His absence was therefore as conspicuous as Medic operating without Archimedes somewhere in the vicinity. Though no one could quite grasp onto the notion just yet. That is to say, something felt off, but no one had cottoned on to what was missing as of yet...

Mostly they were conversing over toast and tea, laughing about the night before and prodding general fun at everyone for the noise. And that's when someone realises.

"Where's the lad? I remember he was yellin' up a storm last night but I didnae see him this morning..." Demo interjects.

"Psh, he's probably just still asleep, you know how he is. Lazy." Spy responds, unconcerned.

"Mrrruh-uh, rrmp-phy." Pyro adds, which had a few eyes looking towards Engineer for clarity.

"Uh, Py said his room was empty when they passed earlier. Maybe he tried to escape the ruckus 'n slept on the lounge?" Engineer clarified, frowning.

"Is not in common area, though cushion is missing." Heavy says, looking pensive. Medic idly sips at his coffee, and offers nothing additional.

"Maybe he went out to the van. Did you see him, Snipes?" Engineer tried, mentally ruling out the Infirmary because everyone knew that was off-limits after dark on Fridays unless you were really messed up.

"Uhhhh..." the sharpshooter begins, shooting a glance towards Soldier, "If he did, he wouldn't have knocked..."

"Well, it seems we 'ave to find zhe idiot zhen..." sighs Spy, stubbing out his cigarette on the table and standing up. "Come along, zhe faster we do zhis, zhe quicker we can return to breakfast..."

No one remarked about the fact Spy obviously cared that the runner was missing, it would have spoiled the moment.

And that was how the great Scout-hunt began. Searching high and low, through all nooks and crannies... seeking any sign of the missing mercenary member... they eventually wound up back in the kitchen to report an inability to locate the runner.

"Just where in the hell is Scoot hiding?" Engie sighs in frustration, jaw tight and fists clenched. "We looked all over the damn base, even the roof and pipes... not that I think he'd go down there, not after the whole Loch Ness Monster story Demo told a while back."

"Oh aye, he was too scared to go near the place for a week straight it was bloody hilarious..." laughs Demo, beaming. The smile wavers slightly, "But if he isnae on base, then he's got to be somewhere close on the map, right?"

"Bloody hell why didn't we think of that?" Sniper exclaims, heading for the door. "I'll see if I can find his tracks and let you kno-... oh, we're all coming. Alright then."

They head to the main entrance and find the door slightly ajar, which would normally mean that the BLU Spy was somewhere in the building... but most were relatively confident it was Scout-related. Pyro could check later, anyway.

Sniper cast his gaze around, noting what looked like drag marks, but not heavy enough for a young man of Scout's size. "Looks like he went as far from everyone as he could, and I think he had some sort of sheet with him... looks like he dragged something."

"Fine, fine... just tell us where he is, bushman." Spy condescends. Sniper lets it go because the other is clearly trying not to show he's worried... Spy's already on his third cigarette since they started searching.

The further he followed it, the more Sniper was certain he knew where they were heading. Eventually, he stopped following the tracks altogether and just went straight for the nest's concealed ladder.

"You sure?" Demo asks, "I mean, it's well-hidden..."

"He knows where it is, showed him ages back... 'cause the other sniper got him in the knee and we couldn't find Doc to fix it. Had to stash him somewhere and find a healthkit..." Sniper responds, absently. "And he likes to stargaze too... but I suppose you'd already know that, Spook..."

Spy did not rise to the bait, and let the challenge rest. He arched an eyebrow behind the mask, all the same.

"Alright, I'll go get him..." Sniper says eventually, ascending the ladder with ease born of years of repetition. By the time he clears the top, and lifts the trap door, the aussie is finally able to sigh in relief.

There he is, the idiot.

Scout was a small ball wrapped haphazardly in a thin blanket; head angled awkwardly on the couch cushion. There were dark circles under his eyes, exacerbated by the odd pallor of his skin.

Sniper climbed in and shook the runner, getting a feeble muttering in response; so he tried again. "C'mon mate, wake up..."

"Nnnnnn..." Scout whined back, shifting slightly and shivering as flesh was exposed to morning air.

Sniper frowns, then looks down through the hole to call, "Hey Doc, could you come up here a minute...?"

He can hear the Medic grumble his entire trip up the ladder, complaining about how labcoats were not made with this activity in mind. Though eventually, he emerges, alights on the precariously creaking platform and immediately moves to Scout.

"Ah, scheisse..." Medic huffs, poking, prodding, taking pulses and observations. "It certainly seems zhat he has caught something from being exposed to zhe night air..."

"Yeah, thought so. Doesn't wanna wake up... so I'm not sure how to get him down..." Sniper admits.

"Oh zhat is easy." Medic smiles, leaning towards the open trapdoor. "Herr Heavy, vould you be so kind as to catch zhe Scout vhen I throw him through zhis hole?"

There's a shuffling, some concerned voices shouting that Medic 'can't just toss the lad about', and a thick "Da." of affirmation.

"Good, danke." mutters the doctor, hefting Scout up like he weighed nothing, and positioning them over the exit.

The next thing Sniper knew, Medic had dropped the runner, and there was a split-second before Heavy confirmed he had him. "Bloody hell, steady on Doc, nearly gave me a heart-attack!"

"I vould like to see you try, zhat mega baboon heart I gave you vas an excellent specimen..." Medic mumbles to himself, and Sniper let it go. No sense asking what Medic put in them anymore... no need to worry about it.

They climbed back down without any pomp or ceremony, to find the others gathered around Heavy. Engie was trying to wrap the Scout up, Soldier was ordering the 'maggot' to 'rise and shine' in an oddly soft shout, Demo was feeling the kid's forehead for fever, Spy was... pretending he wasn't worried. And Pyro was... uh, just staring.

Sniper could have laughed, because the runner just about disappeared in Heavy's arms like this. But on the other hand, it was worrying. Clearly, they all shared the same concerns.

Medic ushered them inside, to the infirmary and then threw everyone but Heavy out. Bustling about, trying to find a thermometer...

Scout made a cracked, sad sound, and it drew the attention of the mercenaries present. Heavy offered the disoriented runner some water, but stopped him gulping it down.

"hnn?" Scout queried, confused.

"You slept outside, you dummkopf, und now you have a cold..." Medic admonishes. "Vhy on earth didn't you just knock on a door instead? You vould be velcome by most of zhe others..."

No one needed to address the fact that Spy was automatically excluded from the statement.

"J-just wann'ed... sleep... t-tired..." croaks the runner, clearly still fairly well exhausted. "Loud... couldn't..."

"Alright, don't hurt yourself, hase... just take zhese und go back to sleep. It should knock zhis out of your system by tomorrow, if I formulated it correctly..." Medic soothes, handing over a fistful of odd little red pills, which Scout stared sceptically at for a long minute.

"Heavy has used them, they are safe, leetle Scout." assured the Russian, handing the glass of water back.

It's painful for everyone, watching the runner try to swallow each little capsule past what must be a red-raw throat... but eventually it is done. He flops back on the bed, worn out from the effort, and doesn't resist when someone tucks him in.

The minute he fell asleep, Medic looked to Heavy. "Vell, zhis could have gone better..."

"Hmmm, da. Maybe we should buy leetle Scout headphones, for next time?" grins the other.

"Oho, planning next time already are you, Misha?" Medic laughed, heading for the door. Heavy said nothing as he followed, merely made certain the curtains would not let in light to disturb the runner, and shut the door.

It was nearly evening the next day by the time Scout woke up properly. Oh there'd been momentary jerks back into consciousness, but they were fleeting. Expected.

This was different. Sure, he felt a little less energetic than usual but nothing else seemed amiss. Medic was delighted to find he'd inadvertently created a cure for the common cold; but then, if anyone on this earth was going to... it would be the Doc. Scout said so, and Medic actually blushed in flustered delight.

Heavy had laughed, and called the runner a flatterer.

It was late, but someone had saved him dinner, so he reheated it and went to town on the meal. He pauses in his room to grab some clothes, and laugh at the fluffy ballonicorn earmuffs 'someone' had secretly left for him; they were adorable, and fit nicely, but the handwritten note in crayon gave away who the 'anonymous friend' was.

Finally, the runner headed off for a much-needed shower, realising what sleeping through a day or so could make you smell like was unpleasant... only to do a u-turn when he realised the place was definitely already occupied.

Maybe he could use the Infirmary one? Dare he risk it?

"Yeah, fuck it..." Scout sighs, knocking on the door. "Hey Doc, the uh, shower's in Use if ya get me, so can I use yours?"

"Of course, Herr Scout, go right ahead..." Medic responds absently, revealed to be pouring over paperwork at his desk as the door swung open. "Shut zhe door please, I do not vant zhe birds to get loose."

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure... sorry. Thanks, too." Scout stutters, eyes fixed on the way the man was twirling a pen around idly. He zoned out for a minute, jerking back into focus when Heavy touched his shoulder, and Scout just about launched himself through the ceiling in surprise.

"Shower is free, leetle man." the other repeated, and went over to sit by Medic, as the doctor started to speak in rapid-fire german about something related to the page before him.

Scout took that as a cue to go scrub up. Really, everyone was being real polite about it, but he stunk to high heaven... The shower was possibly the best thing he'd ever experienced in his life; there was something fuckin' magical about it, really. Soap smelled pretty good too, not like the cheap stuff in the main showers; this was like, fancy or something. Left you smelling real nice even after you'd washed the suds off.

Weird thing to think about, but then, the whole weekend had been pretty fucked up from the start. Scout towelled off, double-checking his brothers' dogtags were still firmly attached on their chain, and then slipping on the clean clothes.

It was like... having a whole new physical body, and it felt amazing. Scout would have thought it was insane to think something like that seriously, and yet... it somehow described the situation perfectly.

A large gush of steam followed him out of the small, yet comfortable, bathroom. "Hey doc, thanks, feels great!" he shouts.

"Good, you vere stating to smell..." Medic says, steepling his hands. "Und how do you feel now, hase?"

"Uh, great actually. Almost like I never got sick..." he responds, watching Medic write it down.

"Wunderbar." the other whispers, underscoring something vehemently.

Scout finds Heavy is scrutinising him for hints of deceit, but seems satisfied overall that Scout was being truthful. He stands up behind the Doctor, crossing both arms, and nods.

Medic bends down to scribble something furiously on his paperwork, and for a second, Scout is struck by how utterly lewd the innocent scene before him had become. He thinks his jaw must have fallen open, because he saw Heavy grin, and lean over to whisper something in the Doctor's ear...

"Vhat? Oh, I see vhat you mean..." Medic murmurs back in a stage-whisper. He clears his throat, raising his voice, "Are you sure you're quite vell, Herr Scout?"

"I-.. uh, I'm great..." Scout manages back, mentally flashing back through some of his more scarring memories, trying to calm down. Maybe this was a side effect?

"Are you certain...? You seem... tense." Medic queried, seemingly all business, and not noticing the way Heavy was bending down to kiss at the back of his neck.

"I-...uh... you remember that thing you said the other night about knocking on doors and asking if you can be the meat in a heavy-medic sandvich?" Scout blurts, immediately covering his mouth in horror.

Heavy hides his face so as not to laugh at the runner openly; but Medic can feel the rumble of amusement vibrating in the air. The doctor fights to maintain his own nonchalance.

"Oh? I don't recall zhe exact phrasing..." he pauses, to watch the runner tensing, like he's about to run for it. "...but I do like zhe sound of it."

"...really?" Scout's incredulous expression is what breaks Medic's composure, and he laughs.

Scout turns to run, but Medic shouts, "Vait, I vas not laughing because I am joking... you just look so very eager, und I vas zhinking about how your illness could have easily been prevented had you asked back zhen..."

"Oh." Scout relaxes, taking his hand off he doorknob. "Then ya good with that, or should I go chat up Sniper?"

Everyone in the room knew the runner wasn't going to do that. Though they weren't the most romantic types, Sniper & Soldier had something, and tended to turn everyone else away...

"You can come over here, and ve vill decide vhat to do from zhere, alright little hase?" Medic advises, as Heavy moves back to make a space for the runner to occupy.

"Sure?" Scout challenges, one more time, looking at the far-too-quiet Heavy for his take on the situation.

Misha grins, "Da, will be good... as long as leetle Scout is okay with being the bread as well as the meat."

Scout lets out a tiny, "Oh my god, yes..."

Medic puts his hand on Heavy's arm, "Now, now, Misha, don't get him too excited or he'll drop dead before ve accomplish anything fun..."

Heavy's grin turns downright lecherous. "Is always respawn."

- - -

The End

- - -

Additional:

While a handful of other mercenaries wanted to check on Scout, they all took note of the commotion going on in the Infirmary and decided to leave them be for now. Spy spent several days sending murderous looks at the trio, predominantly Heavy & Medic, but it would be hypocritical to complain about their lack of decorum.

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