An Ubercharged Friendship
A TF2 Fanfiction by Renn Cameron
The red, dust-covered building basked in the heat of the low sun. All was quiet in the base, aside from the faint sound of whistling coming from the barracks. The Heavy Weapons Guy of Reliable Excavation and Demolition (RED for short) sat in his bunker, polishing his beloved minigun and whistling all the while. Heavy cared for his minigun as if it were a sentient being; feeding it, cleaning it, putting it to bed. He even went as far as to give it a human name: Sascha.
As soon as he was finished, Heavy gently set Sascha on the bed and sat down next to her. He loved his minigun more than anything in the world, and wouldn't let anyone else near her. He recalled seeing an enemy spy sneaking into the base and how he accidentally brushed up against Sascha's barrel. That spy didn't live long, but he didn't stay dead long, either, thanks to the respawn system. Heavy would have to make sure he stayed dead if such a thing happened again.
A series of knocks came from the other side of the bunker door. Heavy carried Sascha with him toward the knocking, preparing for the worst. Thankfully, it was the familiar hard-hat and overalls of the RED Engineer that greeted him.
"Evenin', Heavy," he said in his thick southern drawl, "I hope I'm not interruptin' anything."
"Nyet," Heavy responded in his strong Russian accent, "I was just cleaning Sascha."
"Uh…," uttered Engineer, who couldn't exactly think of a response, "Well, she certainly looks clean."
"Yes, she is," confirmed Heavy, "What is wrong?"
"Nothin's wrong," the Texan reassured, "We just need to talk."
"Okay," Heavy agreed, and pulled up a chair for Engineer to sit down while he sat down on the bed, still cradling Sascha.
"Heavy," Engineer began, "You know that everyone has to have the Uber technology implanted in `em today, right?" Heavy nodded. The Uber technology would heal the team faster during battles, as well as make them invincible for a short period of time. Heavy knew all of this. He was one of the few people that read the entire contract instead of stopping after "use of explosives and military arms."
"Well," Engineer continued, "Everyone else is good to go, including myself. You're the only one left. The last one." Heavy understood that; he knew how to use deductive reasoning.
"But," Engineer went on, "you weren't always the last one. In fact, they called you to the operating room first. But you said you had some business to take care of, so they skipped you. And every time they called you after that, you didn't come. And now you're here. Shut up in your room." Engineer's tone started getting serious. Heavy drummed his fingers on Sascha nervously. Engineer is catching on, he thought.
"So, riddle me this, partner," Engineer said with a tone colder than Teufort in the winter, "Why are you avoiding the Medic?" Heavy sighed deeply. There wasn't a point in hiding it anymore.
"I do not like doctors," Heavy finally said, shamefully.
"You mean you're afraid," Engineer asked, wanting an explanation.
"Doctors hurt little Heavy," he explained in the third-person, "They poke him, stab him with sharp needles, touch his chest with cold metal thing." Engineer finally understood. Heavy was suffering from previous, doctor-related trauma.
"Listen, there's nothing to be afraid of," Engineer said, trying to be reassuring, "This doctor'll take great care of you." Engineer could tell Heavy was still nervous, however.
"Come on," he offered, gesturing toward the hallway of the barracks, "let me show you something." Heavy hesitated, then stood and reluctantly followed Engineer to the medical bay, tightly holding onto Sascha all the way.