A prequel to the Meet the Medic video. I'm going to try to do it in short chapters, for a change, for light reading. If reception is good enough, I might try the same thing with some other Meet the Team videos (I already did one with the Spy). If reception is lukewarm, then I think it's about time I moved on from TF2 stories anyway. Please critique, I'm trying to become a professional writer, I don't get very much criticism as is, and I know this can't possibly be perfect.

Klaus Vetterlein stood at the top of a hill, staring down at the old field sprawled out beneath him. The field was lit up by the last rays of the setting sun. It had clearly once belonged to a farmer; there were a few upturned tractors – some of them on fire, standing out starkly against the dark atmosphere – and the corpses of cows were scattered everywhere. These cows, who had been roaming free through the wrecked crop after their master had abandoned his homestead, were mere collateral damage in a fight that was far more important than they were. They currently served as cover for the BLUs and the REDs. At intervals stood several scarecrows, oblivious to the bloodshed that surrounded them, even as the sentinels lost their own heads and limbs to bullets and rockets.

A light rain pattered down upon everything, churning the valley down below into a muddy mess, indistinguishable from the orderly hay crop it had once been. The bottom of Klaus' white lab coat was stained brown with the mud of the hill. His boots churned into it as he shifted his weight restlessly. In his right hand he held the Overdose, a clunky old weapon that he had thrown together in a hurry, after hearing news of a coming battle. He didn't wear a Medipack on his back, nor did he carry his Medigun – which was a portable version of the Medi-Beam he had stored in the Hospital, and at this point in the war nothing more than a prototype.

Down below Klaus, in the aforementioned valley that he was so casually observing, were at least three dozen figures – men – engaged in a brutal, muddy, bloody battle. According to Klaus' calculations, the battle wouldn't go on for much longer, and then it would be time for him to go down and collect the dead members of RED, and do all he could for the wounded.

"Dummkopfs," He muttered to himself. Lately, the battle between the REDs and BLUs had been rapidly growing in ferocity. There were more casualties on both sides than ever before. New weapons and tactics were being introduced, to upset what had been a long stalemate. Recently, Klaus' Administrator had been requesting that he become a field Medic.

"Unthinkable!" Klaus had said, when the Administrator's attractive young secretary proposed the idea. "I am a doctor, a man of science and medicine! I would be of no use in the front lines!"

"You will find a way to be more useful to me!" The Administrator had snapped, through a television that the secretary was holding in her hands. "You would be wise not to fail me!"

Klaus Vetterlein had been born and raised in Germany. He had earned his medical license under the oppressive Nazi regime, and had been thrust into live war zones by his merciless superiors on many an occasion, with the actually rescue of his team members only playing second fiddle to his real task: grabbing limbs and organs in the interest of creating new life. However, there was something about the way the Announcer glared at him, and the disgusted, dismissive sound of her voice that gave him chills. That was when he began testing the Medi-beam for portable use on the field as a Medigun, which he labelled the Quick Fix – aptly named, since the Administrator threatened to throw him onto the field with or without proper tools.

And now those schweines down below were ruining his testing! RED had lost far too much ground already, and now they were pushed all the way back to the Hospital! Klaus glanced over his shoulder, at the hulking building on the other side of the hill. The abandoned medical facility had been appropriated by RED for his own convenience. He had been offered as many interns as he needed, but he said that he preferred to work in solitude ("As long as it doesn't impede your progress!" The Announcer had spat, before promising that her secretary would still be checking in).

Klaus heard the familiar sound of the air raid siren. It was sundown, and RED and BLU had a gentlemen's agreement that at sundown the dead and wounded could be collected. Down below, Klaus saw the men lowering their weapons, and dispersing. The REDs were walking up the hill, towards the doctor. Some were carrying others who couldn't walk so easily. The BLUs, apparently all Soldiers, were walking in the opposite direction, toward what looked to be an encampment in a dilapidated barn, surrounded by Sentries that had been far out of range of the battle.

Klaus walked down the hill to meet his comrades. "How many did we lose?" He asked the nearest man – Viktor, the Heavy Weapons Guy.

"We lose five." Viktor replied. "Two Scouts, One Demoman dead. Pyro and Spy are critical."

"And what about the vounded?"

Viktor glanced back over his shoulder, at the others. The Soldier was letting Tavish, the second of the team's two Demomen (and the only one to survive the battle), lean on his shoulder. Tavish was greatly favouring one leg. The Scout, Wally, one of the three Scouts who'd fought, was attempting to help Dell, the Engineer, up the steep incline. The boy, wearing his running shoes, was slipping in the mud. Dell, while not bearing any obvious wounds to his limbs or body, had lost his helmet in the fray. By the way he was stumbling around, he had taken a good hit to the head. Behind them both was Denny, another Scout. He was wearing his trademark Bonk helm, which was sporting a major dent, but he didn't seem wounded.

"Take zem to ze Hospital." Klaus ordered. "I'll see vhat I can do. Sniper!"

The Sniper, his hat sopping from the rain, came to attention with a start.

"Do you know where the criticals are?"

"Of course I bloody do, wanker! I've been covering fire for them for the last half hour! The Pyro is over there," The Sniper pointed toward a rock in the valley down below. Klaus could see a vague red shape leaning against it.

"Our Spy is there!" The Sniper adjusted his finger, and Klaus saw the man, on his hands and knees, struggling to stay up.

"Let's go get zem!" The Medic called. "Ve might not haff much time!"

The Medic and Sniper ran down the hill. When they reached the bottom, the Sniper immediately took a covering position behind a rock. BLU was usually trustworthy when it came to truces, but Klaus had experienced... incidents... in the past.

The Medic strode across the field, his boots making squelching sounds in the mud. He tried to avoid stepping on the bodies of his enemies. It was unprofessional and dishonourable to do so during the ceasefire. He noticed that all of the BLU bodies – there were about eight of them – were Soldiers. BLU was attempting an offensive Soldier rush. Soldiers and their ammunition were both very expensive to manufacture, so it was clear the BLU really wanted ownership of the Hospital. Klaus could understand why. All of his gadgets were of his own design, and they would be very valuable to whichever company controlled them.

He hurried across the field to the nearest target, the Pyro.

"Mmm-mmmf." The Pyro bleated dejectedly. He was clutching his stomach, where he had clearly taken a stab from an Equalizer. Klaus pulled a small bottle of pills out of his pocket, and handed one to the Pyro. The arsonist pulled his mask up just far enough to pop the pill. In doing so, he revealed to himself Pyro's scarred chin and neck. Klaus ignored the man's deformities, however. Klaus handed the Pyro his canteen, and the arsonist took a swill. The Medic pulled a small pair of scissors from his jacket and cut at the suit.

The Pyro objected to having his uniform peeled away, and initially tried to stave the Medic off.

"Hold still!" Klaus ordered. "Or I'll accidentally cut into something worse!" When the Pyro refused to relent, Klaus made his point by jabbing into the man's stomach. The man cried out, the plaintive scream muffled by his mask. Klaus tore open the belly of the flame-retardant suit. "Zis is only a temporary solution," He said, pulling out a small first aid kit he had strapped to his belt. He took some salve out, and applied it to the gash in the Pyro's stomach – clearly made by the bladed edge of a shovel. The wound quickly closed, but a red scar remained.

"Only ze surface is healed, friend." Klaus warned. "Ze pain is gone, but be careful! Until I get you under my beam, you are not healthy yet." Klaus stood, reaching out his hand to the Pyro. The man clasped the hand, and Klaus pulled him to his feet.

"Now get indoors. If you're lucky, ze Administrator has laid out a new uniform for you."

The Pyro muttered a muffled "thanks", and then hurried up the hill to join his partners. The Medic turned to look at the Spy, who was now lying on his side in the mud like a wounded animal.

Klaus made haste toward the Spy, realizing that the Frenchman's situation could possibly be more urgent than the Pyro's had been. He was correct in his assumption. The Spy had a knife in his back.

"Spy!" Klaus hissed, not knowing the man's real name. "Spy, talk to me!" He dropped to his knees, and rolled the masked saboteur over to face him.

The Spy coughed, and appeared surprised when a drop of blood hit the grass in front of his face. "Get me a dry cleaner." He said wryly.

"Zhat knife..."

"Don't worry," The Spy gasped through his pain. "I can walk. The..." he grunted in pain. "The amateur missed his target."

The Medic gave the Spy his pill, and let the man dry swallow it, as he always did. Then the Medic cut off the man's jacket, and tore away at his vest and shirt enough to apply his medicine.

"Help me up," The Spy said, and the Medic pulled the man to his feet. The Spy stretched cautiously, loathe to reopen his newly sealed wound. "My cigarettes," He said to Klaus.

"Not yet," The Medic replied.

"Th-The BLU Spy got into the base!" The Spy gasped, attempting to steady himself on his feet. He loosened his tie, and undid the top button of his shirt to alleviate the pressure on his neck. With his blue, pinstriped suit jacket lying on the floor, the Spy's armament was clearly visible: his revolver was held beneath his left arm, in a gun sling. His knife was spring loaded, barely concealed beneath a tattered coat sleeve. "He took the disguise of one our men. He walked right past you!"

Klaus grunted. It was certainly possible that a Spy got past him. He had enough on his mind without having to take stock on whether or not everyone was acting normally. With the Pyro down here, it would've been easy. For the first time that night, Klaus' heart began to thump a little harder. "Get the Pyro, tell him to hurry to my lab! Find the intruder!"

The Spy sniffed. "Just because you saved my life, German, does not make you my l-"

The Medic advanced a step. "I haven't saved your life yet, ami. I need my Medibeam to completely heal you. So if I were you, I'd keep that Spy from stealing it."

RED Spy nodded his head at this, and then turned and followed the others. He would never run – such a thing struck him as undignified – but he was making haste with his strides.

There was movement behind the men, and both of them suddenly turned, the Spy pulling his revolver out in one motion.

"So," Klaus muttered, as soon as his Spy was out of earshot. "How much did you hear?"

There was a young man behind him, kneeling over the body of a Soldier. "I-I heard nothing, I swear-" The man cried in an American accent as Klaus whirled around to face him. The RED Medic had his Overdose levelled at the enemy doctor.

"Please," The short, blonde Medic pleaded, getting slowly to his feet and raising his hands. "Don't kill me."

"I am not a barbarian, boy." Klaus snapped. "Zis is ze truce! Ceasefire! Everybody calls it that. Do those words mean nothink to you!"

"Than why do you carry that gun?"

The Medic pulled up his jacket and undid his shirt, revealing a scar right along the waistline of his pants. "Some people don't understand ze word Ceasefire. It vas a Spy. Two years ago. But, this isn't time for idle chit chat, child, you should be keeping your teammates alive!" He gestured. "And you aren't doing a very good job vith zat vun!"

The American immediately crouched next to the man in question, a Soldier wearing a Tyrant's Helm. Klaus began to walk back to the Hospital.

"Fuck!" The young Medic suddenly cried. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Klaus turned to look at the man. The blonde was staring up at him pleadingly. "I forgot my pills back at camp. This man is going to die without them!"

Klaus stared at the BLU, neither men wavering in their gaze. Klaus' was stoic, BLU's was apologetic. After a minute, Klaus pulled his pills from his pocket, and tossed them at the younger man.

"Thank you, sir! Thank you!" The blonde cried.

When we're out on the field, Klaus thought, you will be my enemy. But until that time, they were simply two doctors, with two different employers. Klaus turned away again, and followed his teammates home.

"Whot in the bloody 'ell was that tripe?" The Sniper demanded as the pair walked up the hill. "Why did you give that man your supplies?"

"A friend of an enemy isn't necessarily my enemy, Sniper. He's a non-combatant. I would expect to be shown the same courtesy."

"And are you aware that the Soldier who you just rescued was the one who killed Denny?"

The Medic paused in his stride. "Denny's dead?"

"Gibbed, mate."

Klaus thought of what the Spy told him about an intruder. He thought about Denny with his red Bonk helm, dented in the side. He made a mental note to gut the boy next time he saw him, just in case, and then continued his stride. He was eager to get out of the rain.

"It's just as well, though," The Sniper mused, "the kid was an obnoxious chatterbox."

"He had a good heart." Klaus replied.

"That's true, he had good intentions. I mean, he was trying to feed his mother..."

"Zat's not what I meant," Klaus replied. "I mean he was in good shape, didn't smoke. He had a good, strong cardiovascular system. A shame, really."

The Sniper lit up a cigarette, and stayed quiet for the rest of the walk.