Heavy wouldn't call himself a religious man, not anymore. He'd shed that title long ago. It hadn't protected him or his family. It hadn't protected his father.

He'd found a kinship with Medic, who'd gone through a similar process. He'd lived through a similar oppression, with a similar dictator in a similar country. Yet Medic had reached a different outcome, he'd found a different conclusion. He was happy and carefree. He said that the past was the past and that not even he could change it. Heavy wished he could think like that.

Medic had announced his religion on the first day, the moment he felt wary eyes upon him.

They were like two sides of the same coin. They'd started out the same but ended as opposites, opposites that complimented each other perfectly. Their world views where different yet they shared that same gory sense of humour. Heavy found that he trusted Medic with everything, and nobody knew why. Not even Heavy himself.

Medic was new and fresh. A great splash of colour and excitement in an otherwise boring and depressed world.

Once, Heavy had asked why Medic kept his patients awake during surgery, the answer was simple:

"I like someone to talk to. I can't work when it's quiet."

Medic was a social man. He'd talk to anyone and anything.

From then on Heavy had become a companion of sorts, he'd sit in the infirmary as Medic worked and would listen to him rattle off about his experiments. Heavy had always had an interest in the sciences. Not an interest that compelled him to study them; just one that made him ask questions about what Medic was doing.

Back when he was still in university, Heavy had taken a course in healthcare. His mother had fallen sick and he'd convinced himself that he'd be her caregiver. The illness faded but Heavy's knowledge did not, and when Heavy had reached for the correct tools that Medic had asked for, the doctor's ecstatic smile had blessed him.

With every new cadaver that entered the lab, Heavy showed concern. He did not approve of meaningless or unfair death. He knew that Medic did not fight fair. He was concerned about the death of innocent lives that he may have been condoning.

"How did he die?" Heavy asked one day.

Medic blinked owlishly, ripped from the excitement of his experiment. He looked over his glasses at Heavy, then back down at the body. The man was caucasian, blond haired and wearing a bloodied shirt and tie.

"I heard someone calling for help in an alleyway. He had this woman pinned against the wall. She ran away screaming when I got to him." He'd said.

Medic looked back up at Heavy, he was proud of himself. Heavy was proud of him too.

Now with every new body, Medic would tell a story. A story where he was the hero who'd vanquished evil. Where he was justice. Where he was right. Medic would not lie to him, he'd admitted just as much in a fit of frustration. That Heavy was the only man that he couldn't elude.

"He tried to rob me at gunpoint. Dummkopf. "

"Oh, you should have heard the things she was calling our Demoman, disgraceful. But, he was too drunk to really notice. So I took care of her for him."

"They threatened to come after everyone I cared about. I had to protect my birds. Oh and you too, my friend."

It was as though someone had told him, somewhere in his messy childhood, that he should hit back twice as hard if someone hurt him. Medic viewed himself as a punisher. He'd said that God hadn't done a good enough job of it. That God had let millions of Medic's people die and the doctor just wouldn't stand for it. He would do the job himself.

He felt no guilt because, in his mind, he was doing the right thing.

The literal skeleton in his closet belonged to a Nazi.

"He didn't deserve to live happily ever after."

Many, including members of his own team, would pin Medic as a man who was unfeeling and distant. A man who had bored his wife and only cared for a flock of pigeons; manipulating anyone and everyone. A perfect example of an affectionless psychopath. Heavy knew different.

Heavy had sat through many of Medic's mood swings and violent outburst. His discharges of energy and his crash of emotions. He'd find Medic climbing the rafters of the infirmary to coo over some baby doves. Then that same day, not even two hours later, he'd be on his knees beside a failed experiment. Weeping over days gone by and things that were out of his control.

The faster you're going the harder you crash. And Medic's mind was always going at full speed.

It was then that Heavy realised that Medic was not a god of bevelance or omniscient like certain others. He was more a Greek god. One who laughed and cried; one who got angry and one who made mistakes.

He walked among his mortals with fascination in his eyes.

Medic would cry often. He claimed that it was good for the body and psyche. Heavy had been told long ago that men didn't cry, that the strong never cry. He believed that he had to be strong for his family and for Medic. But Medic was a strong man. They never spoke of his episodes, Heavy pretended that they never happened while Medic seemed to forget them entirely.

After a particularly bad breakdown, Heavy held Medic close to his chest. He didn't know how long they'd stood there or what had even started it. His mind was blank as he rubbed circles on the other man's back. Medic was mumbling in a language that Heavy could only half remember. Something to do with God.

It felt like hours before Medic pulled away. Not out of Heavy's arms, just far away enough to look at him with teary eyes. He smiled and patted Heavy's cheek.

"You know, I could make us live forever."

Medic was well aware of Heavy's fears. Death was a big one. He feared what he'd leave behind. He feared what he would become. He feared what was waiting for him.

"Forever." Heavy echoed.

"Yes yes, or for as long as you want. Just say the word and I'll do it."

"What word?"

Medic ignored Heavy's confusion, "You and I, we could be gods." He whispered like a prayer.

Heavy didn't miss a beat, "One of us already is."