Disclaimer: I own nothing of the TF2 franchise. This is a collection of small stories that reflect on my adventures in the world of Competitive TF2. I hope you enjoy.
Heavy
Sometimes before I sleep, I think.
I think about my family back home and how I miss them.
I think about all of the people I've met, and whose lives I've affected.
I think about all of the people who despise and hate me as much as I despise and hate them.
I then think about the deaths of the people I used to know and call "friend."
I'll never admit it to my teammates, but sometimes I feel like crying.
They need me to be strong, though. I love those around me, and I must fight to protect them.
However, when I don't drink, I'm left to these thoughts before sleeping.
I can't stand it.
I found myself standing in the door of the Infirmary, looking down at the man who has helped me dozens of times in battle. He looked tired, but was still awake. He had been working on some papers.
I lied down on one of the beds and I asked him to converse with me. We talked idly about some of the other competitive teams out there that we saw on the television screen. I asked him to talk to me about what was on his mind. The various strategies he had, the types of books he enjoyed reading, everything. I eventually passed out and woke up to being tucked in under the covers.
My Medic is a good man.