"...vake up, doktor."
The form that lie in the huge Russian's arms did not move. It did not laugh maniacally. It said nothing wholly inappropriate in German. It did not suddenly spring up and saw someone's head off just to see what would happen. And it wasn't coming onto him.
This was wrong, disturbing, unacceptable.
"Comrade doktor. You will vake up now please?"
Heavy shook him a little. The body wobbled a bit but still made no move on its own accord. The chest of the German's pristine labcoat grew stained further and further in a crimson both similar to and wholly different from his team's colors.
"Doktor...? I am going to help you! You will being okay, okay?"
He lay the Medic down on the floor of their hiding place gently. The smaller man still did not stir.
"...vatch over him, Sasha... tis cannot be tat hard to do..."
Carefully, he pulled the backpack off of Medic and looked at the Medigun attachment so often used on him. It was a gun, right? He knew guns. Just point and fire. Right?
"So, how does it vork, doktor?"
"Hah! Vell, quite obviously, not just any dumkompf can make this vonderful invention virk. If just anybody could do anything, than I would be herr Heavy Veapons Guy und YOU vould be the Medic."
"Aren't you just pointing and shooting?"
"Absolut Nicht! Zere are SETTINGS. You can't just blast anyone at any setting. It does not VIRK that vay. Ah, you silly man, vy do you vorry about it? You do vat you do so vell. I vill take care of you."
"And if you are hurting? Who vill care for you, herr Doktor?"
"Ach... mien lieb, mien lieb. I have mein Ubercharge to look after me, but more than zat, i have you. I do not virry about zese things because I know mein Heavy vill keep me safe as I keep him safe. Do you believe zis as well?"
"Da. Of course I do."
"Then stop zis needless virry, you silly man."
And so Heavy fired. Nothing. He fiddled frantically with the knobs on the backpack. Please. Fired again. Still nothing. His enormous frame shivered, shaking hands twisting the knobs, firing, and twisting the knobs again, over and over. Nothing happened.
At last, having exhausted all other combinations, Heavy cranked all the knobs on the backpack up to their highest setting. Even Medic himself, who adored witnessing the most disaster-prone scenarios play themselves out 'in the name of science', had remarked that only a world-class dumkompf would do such a thing, as it would surely make the Medigun explode.
Heavy didn't care. He pulled the trigger. A rush of red light flowed out of the nozzle with tremendous force, the backpack making ominous crackling and popping noises and growing very hot on Heavy's back until...
KLUNK.
It didn't explode, but it did stop working. No matter how many switches he flipped or knobs he turned, the Medigun would no longer fire.
"Nyet... Nyet nyet NYET... herr Doktor... I am sorry...!"
"...you... silly mann. C... c... come here...?"
His voice was so soft. So faint. But it was there. Eyes lighting up with hope, Heavy cast aside the broken Medigun and picked Medic off the ground as gently as he could.
"...closer, please?"
Heavy leaned in. Medic's cheek rested against his own rough, stubbly one, his lips close to Heavy's ear. His breathing was labored, and his words were so quiet that, even this close, they were hard to hear.
"...ich...liebe dich... ich... liebe..."
And there was no more. No more words, no more movement. No more breathing.
Nothing.
--------------
It was hours later, long after BLU had given up searching for Heavy and the Medic their Sniper had 'sworn t' GOD' he'd shot in the heart and left, when the rest of team RED set out to look for their two missing members. It took them a good while- it was a very good hidey-hole that Heavy had found and Demoman grumbled that it'd be faster to just raze everything- but soon enough, they caught a very strange sound.
It was a heavy sort of sound. Thick. Wrenching. Sort of like choking but not quite, like gasping but not really. Scout got a bead on where it was coming from, and the other six followed him.
The sound was Heavy. And Heavy was crying. That was shock number one- Heavy never cried. He had no reason to. Heavy laughed, he roared. He shot things into other, unrecognizable, bullet-riddled things. He ate 'sandviches' by the gross. Heavy made bad jokes, and occasionally said something surprisingly wise. But he never cried.
Once team RED got past that... there was shock number two. The reason Heavy was crying, the dark haired, unmoving reason clutched to his chest, staining his shirt a darker red. A pair of bloodstained glasses laying on the ground.
Medic. Crazy, morbidly curious, arrogant, brilliant Medic, who'd loved nothing better than learning new things in the most disturbing manner possible, working for the greater good of RED... and Heavy. Anyone could see that Heavy was the only thing that truly made Medic happy that didn't involve vigorous amounts of bloodshed, and the feeling was... extremely mutual.
But none of that really mattered now. Medic was dead.
Nobody knew what to say.
Notes: Hey there. I'm relatively new to TF2, and... what can I say. Heavy/Medic grew on me. There'll be more to come- in the meantime, please leave feedback! I wanna know if I'm doing this right. :3
And Nao, a quick translation for those who don't speak German:
Ewig - Everlasting
Dumkompf - Idiot
Absolut Nicht! - Absolutely not!
Ich Liebe Dich - I love you