The RED medic's fingertips stroked his neck in deep thought. His legs were crossed at the ankle, and positioned upright upon an oak table. His mind trailed, passing through the day's activities... The usual fighting BLU mercenaries, talking with Engineer about new technological developments, intellectual discussions with Spy...

Medic looked around the room as he tapped his fingers on his chin. The high ceiling did nothing to insulate heat: it was beyond chilly in the room; his breath was visible. Despite this, a fan across the room hummed as it gently blew air through the room, further accentuating the coolness of the evening. The breeze kissed his forehead. It grazed across his cheeks. A small, low fire simmered down in the fireplace next to him. Its barely-existent orange, dancing flames cast a glow throughout the room, illuminating a variety of medical tools set upon a bloody counter. The light flickered as it caressed crusted, dark blood caked upon the surface. Vials of some deep brown liquid were scattered across the nightstand, some used, some full, others empty. Used and unused syringes littered the floor and chair he was sitting on. Most were missing their plastic caps. The medic's eyes gazed to one of his hands, grasping a half-empty bottle of some clear liquor...

He knew in this moment that he couldn't hold the pain at bay much longer. He un-crossed his legs, allowing the right foot to move closer on the table, sliding across the grain of the wood. His black boot left a slight mark on the polished surface. His knee raised slightly with this motion, and he lifted the bottle to rest there. The German's shoulders raised and lowered as he breathed deeply, lost in thought, battling with the darkness and desire...

The medic exhaled loudly as he turned his head to the unkempt nightstand. A small analog clock was rested there.

2:38

He pulled his gaze back to the bottle, taking a large swig of it, allowing the burn of the alcohol to sting his lips, tongue, and throat for a moment before swallowing. His lab coat was folded perfectly and crisply on a the floor in front of the fire. t was the only pristine article in the room. His tie was draped asymmetrically around his neck, his vest opened and wrinkled. His tousled dark brown and graying hair messily covered his forehead, plastered here and there. This, of course, was a typical night for the doctor. He was a mess. None of the team could ever know it. He couldn't ever let anyone know of the nightly parades through his paradise, of his urges to escape the snow-laden wasteland in which Mann Co. Industries deployed him. He looked to the window, snow gently landing on the windowsill, allowing his thoughts to meander...

The muscular man took another slug of the liquor, maintaining it within his mouth for a few moments. The burn of the alcohol was starting to die with the fire. This was the beginning of his intoxication. He was perceiving gravity peculiarly, and he tilted his chiseled face to the side and snickered at the sensation. He confidently took another large drink of the substance, his face contorting as it gulped down much of what was left. Satisfied, he gradually lowered the glass bottle to the floor beneath his legs. The firelight consumed it, reflecting shards of luminescence and rays of light throughout the room like a star. Freckles of orange and red and yellow danced on the walls, across the table, over the vials, and through his eyes...

The man couldn't keep the thought defended anymore. Growling at himself with disgust, he lowered his head in shame as his rebellious brain treaded towards it, now running at it, unstoppable. He looked to a framed picture on the table upon which his boots rested. Within that frame was the thought. Pull away, pull away! This photo...

His fear...

In the snapshot, Heavy stood, chest puffed out, smile wide across his face. Medic was next to him, Archimedes perched on a single finger. They were in a forest. It was dark out, and stars filled the sky. Their expressions were of sheer happiness. This was the last photo of Heavy before...

Before...

He quickly pulled his legs closer to himself, inhaling and exhaling quicker, emotions overcoming him uncontrollably. He was a mastermind! He was a intellect! He would not permit this to happen again. His comrade's death would not cause him to surrender. But Heavy was more than just a friend. The Russian was brother in battle. And he was so much more. His head rolled to the nightstand...

He needed it. He licked his lips. It was right there, so close. His mouth was dry, thirsting for it. It was a chance to be in paradise, and escape this wretched battleground...

He succumbed to the thought. To the desire. To the release.
Almost involuntarily, as if rehearsed regularly to the point of muscle memorization, his bare hands shifted, one pulling him upright slightly as the other moved through the cold air to the nightstand. Almost in a daze, his eyes followed this hand.

Seemingly on its own, it picks up a used syringe. The long, narrow needle covered with grime, dirt, and blood gleams in the last bit of firelight. His other hand grasps for a vial drunkenly, knocking two or three others on the ground. One clattered a few times before rolling to the other side of the room, to the door.

The broken man submerges the needle into the vial, until the tip reached the brown, murky liquid. He smiled not out of happiness, but out of anxiety. He was destitute, starving for it. He drew the toxic drug with two fingers, watching the syringe fill up to the maximum level. Bubbles within the plastic cylinder rose towards his hand. A familiar sensation flooded him. Everything, everyone, everywhere was this chemical. All that mattered, all that ever existed was this single thing.

He inhaled deeply, resting his body back into the chair, letting his muscles relax. He looked to the picture, his eyes swelling with a recognizable blur. Blinking, the medic allows the droplets to fall from his eyes onto his cheeks, roll down his chin, and fall onto his chest. He mutters something to the snapshot on the table, then plunges the needle into his forearm quickly, a slight sigh escaping his pale, pursed lips.

The fire crackled as he propelled the liquid into his flesh, making sure every last drop left the device. His vision went in and out of focus rapidly, colors began to change, his heart beat irregularly. His left hand fisted tightly as he ripped the needle from his arm. A spurt of blood followed it...

A warm moan left his smile. He looked upward, to the high rafters quickly turning to an open night sky, and closed his eyes tightly. He knew when he would open them again, the pain would be gone, the anger would be gone, the battle would be over. He breathed in, smelling new scents. His fingertips felt new sensations. The vial fell. It broke into pieces as it hit the floor. The fire frisked over its sharp edges. He didn't care, he was in paradise...

He squinted at the stars that shone brightly above his head. They formed many various shapes and entities, all new and mystical to him. A recognizable orange glow flickered around him, illuminating his surroundings. A lush forest of trees, tall and strong towered over him. Their branches each held a memory. These memories were out of his reach. He needn't worry for them...

The dew-laden grass he was laying in was soft and fresh against his exposed skin. His chest rose and fell with breaths of fresh spring air. An owl hooted from somewhere. Crickets chirped around him.
Around them...
He tilted his head to the side, the customary entity now appearing...

He was formed from his rib. As he looked to his chest, the regular hole was there. A single rib was missing from his abdomen. He smiled, knowing what would happen next: The rib floated to the spot next to him, and grew, was shaped and molded into a humanoid shape, then covered with skin. It adjusted in certain places, eventually forming the bear of a man. Heavy...

A large smile formed on his face as he reached his right hand toward the big man, who reached for him as well. They grasped palms, wrapped fingers tightly, and gazed at the stars, now dancing and forming shapes to entertain them. Heavy gasped as glowing butterflies flew around them, and lightning bugs darted here and there. The crickets told them stories, and the frogs acted them out. A waterfall was heard from somewhere...

Heavy looked the doctor in the eyes.
"You came back for me?" he questioned, his raspy Russian voice echoing in the forest.
"Always, Heavy," the medic replied, rubbing a thumb across the other's hand.
They smiled at each other.
A lovely smile.
They told stories.
They laughed.
He even told Heavy about his conversations with Engineer, and his newest advancements in medicine.
Heavy laughed that great, loud, happy laugh.
He told Medic that he was glad to see him, that he never wanted to say goodbye. Their grips tightened.
Medic could hear the burly man's heart beat.
Ba-Dum, Ba-Dum, Ba-Dum...
Heavy was really there. He really was.
Medic smiled and gazed at the stars, pointing to a formation of a dove flying.
Heavy told Medic how much he missed him. How great it was here. How warm and happy he was. He told the German how he could come live with him here, just the two of them. Their forest, their paradise together.
Heavy caressed the medic's forearm, tracing every cut and scar with a soft, fat index finger.
He smiled to the man.
Whispered something.
Closed his eyes.
Listened to the owl and the crickets and the waterfall...

But...

All great things must come to an end.

The stars were the first to go, aligning and forming long, wooden beams. The trees faded into the walls of his mind, the dark memories once supported by branches now falling upon him like bricks. They were heavy, and held him down. The crickets screamed, the frogs howled in pain. The waterfall raged as a stormy sea. Medic's vision blurred quickly, focusing in and out rapidly. Lights from all around him flared orange. They strobed in his eyes. The grass decayed into the dirt, and the butterflies turned to dust and corroded in thin air...

His eyes widened. The ground shook and tremored beneath him. A great wind roared into his face, a chilled wind. Medic looked next to him, his hand now empty. A needle was where the large man's hand used to be. A pile of bones and mounds of skin was rotting next to him.

He screamed as he flung himself upright to escape...

His eyes snapped open.

Darkness encapsulated him. The fire had gone out. A thin plume of smoke continually rose from the cooling ashes. The fan blew on his face and chilled him as it touched beads of sweat on his upper lip and neck. He was sitting on the chair, back arched fiercely toward the wooden rafters, his legs still clinging to the table in front of him. His left hand's nails were dug into his chest where his heart is...

His right hand was still outstretched for the other's...

He had been out for multiple hours. The analog clock ticked away next to him.

6:21

The man fell to the floor in physical and emotional pain. He needed to see Heavy again. Just to spend a few minutes with him. He needed to touch his fingertips and hold his hand. He needed to hear his voice...

He sobbed and moaned as he cried, cold on the floor. His heart ached. He curled tightly into a ball and his chest shook as he attempted, and failed, to stow the memory away once again...

A knock.
A pitter-patter outside the door.
A pair of whispering voices.

Someone had heard him talking in his sleep... Something about Heavy...?

"Wake up, Private! Time to get out of bed!" Soldier hollered over the whispers.

Medic sat up on the floor, broken glass crumbling beneath his weight. He rubbed a finger under his nose and sniffled, forcing the thought back into its rightful place, away...

He turned to the table, to the picture. He reached a cold, stiff hand to it, and lowered the frame until it met with the filthy oak surface. He couldn't afford to let anyone see, to let anyone know...

"Jawol," he muttered back as he stood up, dusted off his pants and reached for the lab coat. He looked back to the picture once, quickly.

He would return to his paradise again...