Story Notes:

This is a story of triumph, of action, and hopefully one that the reader (That's you!) will enjoy. It also comes in two parts. There is a lot of buildup and backstory, so for those of you who want to skip to the main action, find the chapter labeled 'Part Two' in the directory. You'll miss a lot of important stuff, but you'll get right to the excitement. For those of you who want to read it from the start, you've come to the right place!

The inspiration for this actually came from an artist on deviantart called Doodle-master. Their work, Medic and the Devil, was what started the fire in my head (heh) and got me thinking. But I suppose that the root of all of this is the wonderful song. Please go look at their work! http: deviantart art/Medic-and-the-Devil-157405744

Many thanks are due to my wonderful beta, penguinlove2506. Without her, none of this would have been started. You can find her at: penguinlove2506 .deviantart

Many thanks are also due to a wonderful writer called SanctusCecidit, for her advice and wisdom. She's an amazing writer, check out her work at archiveofourown users/SanctusCecidit among other places.

CYA: Valve stuff belongs to Valve. All original characters belong to me. This story is quite obviously fiction. Any resemblance of characters, places, organizations, and things to any aspect real life is coincidental. If I forget to cite any references, feel free to leave a comment and I'll take a look.

There is also art! Skilled, wonderful, amazing art which they have been kind enough to let me use as a cover. So as to avoid spoilers, the link will be in Chapter 10. Please check out the artist, Charley-the-Dragon at charley-the-dragon .deviantart

On with the show!

Clink.

Clink.

Medic shook his head as his vision blurred. Picking up his forceps, he turned his attention back to the task at hand. Clink. Another piece of shrapnel was removed from the Demoman's back and placed in the metal bowl on the table.

Clink.

They won. Today. Maybe they would lose tomorrow. He was too tired to care. Clink. It didn't really matter, did it? After every battle he would remove shrapnel from whoever made it back to base without respawn, and then do the paperwork. Whether they won or lost didn't change anything. He sighed as he thought about the onerous task ahead.

Clink.

The Demoman lifted his head slightly, taking care not to move his body. Having your back cut open and under a low healing beam while the Medic fished around in your torso had an amazing sobering effect. "What's wrong? Is everythin' ok, doc?" he asked.

Medic blinked, lifted a particularly uncooperative piece of intestine, and plucked the piece of metal out. Clink.

"Ja, nozhing is wrong. I am merely focused on my vork."

There wasn't much he could say to that. "Ah."

Medic compared the x-ray he took earlier to the number of metal pieces in the bowl. Satisfied, he cranked up the power on the Medigun. Blue healing beams knitted organs and muscle, and the Medic leaned into them just a little. He could sleep when his work was done, so for now this would have to do. Completely healed, the Demoman stretched and stood up.

"Thanks, doc! I owe ya one," Demoman said.

Medic waved his hand, sitting back. "Nein, don't mention it. Is zere anyvun else outside?"

The Demoman poked his head out of the operating room, to the rows of chairs placed outside the door. "Nah, ye're good," he called back. "I'll be headin' oot then. Will we be seein' ye at tha' celebration?"

Medic rubbed the blood off of his hands, then scrubbed at his face. "Nein, I have papervork to do. I vill see you tomorrow."

The Demoman seemed eager to leave and didn't try too hard to convince him. "Alright. Take it easy, doc."

Medic waved him off and stood up, wincing at his sore muscles as he did so. He sprayed down his tools and surfaces with some isopropyl alcohol and walked to the other end of the operating room to where his office was. He glanced longingly at the small cot tucked into the corner, and then forced himself to turn to his desk. The pile of paperwork loomed ominously.

He sat down and pulled the first file towards him, glancing at the clock. 7:24. If he got all of this done, he might have time to grab something to eat before he slept for a few hours.

It was 11:19 when someone hammered on the medical bay door outside, jolting Medic awake. He peeled his face off of a piece of paper and looked down at what he wrote.

...the arm from radial to distal phalanx was found later on the roof, with thumb missing. Thumb located inside Scout's lower intestine after battle and removed.

The hammering continued. "Yo, Doc! Ya in there, Doc?"

Medic adjusted his glasses and eased himself upright, stiff muscles protesting as he walked out of the office. He grimaced at the operating room door, then glanced down and grinned evilly. When the door opened, Scout was greeted by the sight of Medic holding up a large syringe.

Scout backed up quickly. "Whoa, woah, hey! Not cool!"

"Ja? You vant somezhing?" Medic asked, advancing.

"For you tah stop pointin' that in my face! Jeez!" Scout yelped. "Oh, and ah, Heavy's lookin' for ya."

"Scout!" a voice bellowed from down the hall. Medic pocketed the syringe and poked his head out to see Heavy marching down the corridor. Scout took one look at the advancing figure and sprinted down the hall.

"See ya later, doc! Gotta run!" Scout called over shoulder.

Heavy approached, frowning. "Did Scout wake you? I break his arm if he did."

Medic moved his glasses and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "Don't harm ze Scout, it vill only make more vork for me. I vill deal vith him later. Vhat do you need?"

Heavy looked concerned. "Did you eat, Doktor? He shoved a sandvich into Medic's hands as he asked.

Medic was surprised and looked down at wrapped sandvich in his hands. "I- uh, danke, mein freund." He leaned into the door frame.

Heavy put a hand under Medic's chin and lifted it gently. "Is Doktor ok?"

Medic laughed weakly. "I zink zat right now, I vould sell my soul to get a proper night's rest."

"Then go. Do not worry about paperwork. We have weekend for that," Heavy said.

Medic started to protest, and it turned into a yawn. "Alright, alright, I am going," he waved Heavy back. "I vill see you tomorrow, danke."

Thinking back from the vantage point of hindsight a few weeks later, Medic decided that this was perhaps not the best choice of words.

Chapter Notes: Some of you may have noticed that the characters have accents, some thick enough to cut cheese with. I personally appreciate a little accent use, because when I read it's like a movie. With accents, I can 'hear' them a little better in my head and feel more realistic. If they're too thick for some people to understand, let me know and I can email them a cleaner version.

A note on the missing thumb: Mediguns seem to operate by healing skin and organs back to their unperforated/uncut state, but are really bad at removing foreign objects. This can be seen in the Meet the Medic video, when Medic's dove Archimedes gets stuck in Scout's chest! The scene would go something like this: Someone explodes, Scout is dying of massive organ rupture, and Medic gets to him in time to save him. He survives the battle, and the thumb is only noticed and removed during the after battle check-up.