Chapter Two:
A moment ago...
"Are you complaining?" the Spy asked, and the Medic had to resist the urge to smack the back of his balaclava'ed head. No, he wasn't complaining, not exactly. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for the Spy's help, seeing as the man saved his life. But the Spy had upended that life in the process - not to mention he'd had the doctor following his lead on nothing more than blind, desperate faith.
Just this once, the Medic would like to actually know - really seriously - exactly how much danger he actually was in. Just this once.
"Of course not, dummkopf," the Medic growled. And then softened his tone, begrudgingly. He wasn't sure why he was even bothering. It would be nice, if this blindly following the Spy's lead was going to be come a habit, if the Spy could have extended little trust in return. But that was about as likely as the Scout staying silent for a whole day. "But, if vun of us could help..."
He trailed off as they reached the open door to the Intel room. Some warning bell was going off in the back of his head, and all thoughts about their conversation suddenly evaporated. The door was lying on the ground in front of the doorway. Vhy vould-
His gaze shot to the doorway itself, as the Spy continued talking, utterly oblivious. Sticky bombs lined the doorway, little glowing red and white spiky death spheres. The Medic's reflexes had him back-pedaling almost as the sight registered, his heart in his mouth, dragging the Spy with him.
At which point his brain caught up with him. Red sticky bombs. RED. As in, the team he was on now. As in, the team that was no longer trying to kill him. The Spy was looking understandably affronted by the manhandling. Feeling like a fool, the Medic began to explain, even as the Spy began to demand an explanation.
Then there was an explosion.
There really was no other way to describe it, but even so, simply saying explosion didn't do the sensation justice. He felt like he'd just been tackled by an enemy Heavy, one made entirely of hot air and bits of shrapnel. The noise was secondary, a background cacophony to the shock of the force that hit him, and it left his ears ringing.
The next thing the Medic knew, he was lying on the ground next to the groaning form of the Spy, without any memory of landing, or even falling. The Spy stirred, in the way of someone slowly reacquainting themselves with all of their limbs and taking stock. The Medic heard him mutter, sounding somewhat dazed, "What..?"
There was a clatter from inside the room, and a shaky sounding voice shouted, "Yeh've come for more, boyo?! Aie've another helping for yeu, then! C'mon!"
The Demoman staggered into view, his sticky bomb launcher in hand. If the Medic had expected recognition, once the Demoman saw who had fallen into his trap, then he was sorely disappointed. Another glowing red bomb landed right next to his head and the Medic scrambled to his feet, hardly waiting to be vertical before starting to run, hauling the Spy after him as he went. His only saving grace, he knew, was that the bombs took just a moment to arm once they'd been set.
He heard the distinctive popping sound of the Demoman's sticky bomb launcher go off behind them, several more times, but there were no further explosions as they rounded the corner and flattened themselves against the wall.
"Well," noted the Spy, who seemed to have recovered his senses. "We 'ave found ze Demoman."
"You zhink?!" the Medic snapped.
"Tha's right! Run awa'! Git on back ta th' dark pit y' crawled out of, yeh devils!" Their assailant shouted... and then strangely enough began to count, lowering his voice to a wobbling volume just below what most people (besides Soldiers) considered a normal speaking tone of voice. "One... two... three..."
"Mm. I suppose we should 'ave expected zis," the Spy remarked, sounding far too calm and pensive for someone who had almost been blown to itty bitty grisly pieces by someone else who was supposed to be on his own team.
"Ve should haff expected zhis?!" repeated the Medic, who, conversely, was still trying to stop his heart from hammering its way out of his chest and fleeing on nonexistent legs, away to find the Heavy and cower behind him.
"'E 'as been 'olding ze BLUs at bay, ze last survivor of his team. Zat would make 'im understandably jumpy, no?"
"Es ist ein waffenstillstand!"
"And, presumably, Command attempted to tell 'im zat." The Spy arched a sardonic brow. "Apparently, it didn't take."
The Medic had to violently stifle his knee jerk retort to that smart response. He was obviously hysterical, and getting further agitated by the Spy's nonchalance was unhelpful. With a great struggle, he tried to focus on breathing in a normal, unterrified manner once more. After a few moments, while the Medic was busy with deep breathing, the Spy said, "Zat was quick zinking, by ze way..."
"Zhat vas-" the Medic began, fiercely, and then deflated, under the chilly realization of just how stupidly lucky they were. "Zhat vas... a mistake. I saw zhe RED bombs, and..."
"Nevertheless."
They were quiet for another moment or two more, and then the Spy left the wall to creep up to the corner and peek around it. Reluctantly, the Medic followed, taking a moment to unhook his Medigun from the pack on his back and turned it on, pointed at the Spy. Neither of them had taken more than a few cuts and bruises, but it was a familiar habit and he felt better with his "weapon" at hand. Looking past his friend, the Medic could see that the hallway was littered with sticky bombs, and the Demoman was nowhere in sight.
"Per'aps if we used an Ubercharge..." said the Spy, thoughtfully.
"Zhat... could vork," the Medic admitted, slowly. It would mean that they would be standing here, waiting for the charge to build, but there were worse alternatives. Like being blown up.
"What in tarnation is goin' on here?"
The Spy and Medic turned, in unison, to find the Engineer standing a few feet away, toolbox in hand. The Medic had to admit, they probably looked more than slightly foolish: Two grown men, nervously peering around a corner like frightened children, too afraid to go into the dark spooky hallway all on their own. "I thought I heard somebody yelling," the Engineer said, still frowning at them.
"Ah. Zen you missed ze explosions," replied the Spy.
"Explosions?" the Medic heard his mouth saying, without input from his brain. "Zhere vas only zhe vun."
"Zere were multiple sticky bombs. Technically more zen one explosion."
"It still only counts as vun."
"Are you sure?"
The Engineer's frown grew even more irate, and the Medic was belatedly reminded of why he, when in possession of his full and un-rattled senses, didn't tease the touchy inventor. Ever. At all.
The Spy was a terrible influence.
"Will one of you stop foolin' around and fill me in?"
"Oui!" said the Spy, helpfully, and then announced, unfurling the words like a victorious banner, "We 'ave located our new Demoman."
The Medic elbowed him, sharply. "He vasn't expecting us."
"Y'don't say." The Engineer shot a look at the Spy. "How'd you fella's come to that conclusion?"
Considering how bedraggled and battered they both must look - or, at least, he must, though the Medigun would have spruced the Spy back up once more - the Medic felt that this was self evident. The Spy, however, answered, "'E tried to blow us up." He paused, and appeared to be considering this, thoughtfully. "Which we are taking very calmly, aren't we?"
"Nein," the Medic corrected him, before he could stop himself. Normally he had better restraint, but at the moment, there was a lovely cocktail of adrenaline and endorphins swimming around in his veins after their little brush with death, and it had turned his sarcasm dial up to eleven. After all, his options were to become angry and sardonic, or gibber hysterically in a corner somewhere. Getting angry was so much more satisfying. "You are taking zhis calmly," he added, though he suspected the Spy really was not nearly so calm as he appeared. "I am furious."
"Ah, I see." The Spy sounded smug. "Well done me, zen."
"Spy," growled the Engineer.
"Yes, yes, very well," the Spy visibly regained a measure of dignified composure, which was his serious face. "If I were to 'azard a guess, 'e zinks we are ze BLUs."
The Engineer's irate frowned softened into one that was mostly just thoughtful. He came over to take his own look around the corner at the booby trapped hallway. "He's still defending the briefcase, huh?"
"Oui. You 'ave to admire 'is determination."
The Medic privately disagreed.
"You try the other door yet?"
"We were just regaining our bearings, as it were."
"Hmmm." The Texan set down his toolbox. "How 'bout you go check it? I'll see what I can do from here." When the Spy arched a skeptical brow at him, the Engineer's tone acquired an edge to it. "I reckon I oughta know a thing or two about sticky bombs, don'tcha think?"
"Ah," said the Spy, and turned to go. When the Medic moved to follow, he forestalled the doctor with a raised hand, and then vanished with a quiet wsshh from his cloaking device.
Leaving the Medic alone with the Engineer.
This really shouldn't have been the sudden terrifying realization that it was. But, the Medic felt his stomach drop down to somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles and curl up into a tiny little ball. He could have counted on one hand the number of times that he and the Engineer had been in the same vicinity without at least one of their other teammates around, and still have enough fingers left over to allow him a proper grip to throttle the annoying out of the Scout.
The last time was particularly memorable.
It hadn't gone poorly, exactly. It had gone more or less the opposite of poorly. Before their last encounter, the Medic had been nursing the most unreasonable of grudges against the man, would still have been nursing that grudge, except... Well. It was difficult for him to resent someone who had, essentially, had him over a barrel - a metaphorical barrel filled with metaphorical knives, rusty nails and rabid wolves - and then refrained from dropping him in. Or even really acknowledged that he'd had him over the barrel to begin with.
It was baffling. He had to grudgingly admit that he'd misjudged the man, and was... profoundly grateful that he had. Words could not being to express...
And, on the whole, words hadn't. Since the aftermath of that tense stand off, the Medic couldn't say that he'd spoken more than four words directly to the Engineer. Neither of them had really spoken about what had happened, back there in the BLU base, or even alluded to it at all. The Medic knew that he should. He owed the man a thank you, or at the very least a hello.
The trouble was...
Zhis is embarrassing.
The trouble was... It boiled down to the fact that talking to the Engineer was a little like walking a tight rope over a sleeping tiger, after you'd covered yourself with barbeque sauce. And the tight rope was made of fishing line. And the tiger was covered in spikes. Past experience had taught him that opening his mouth around the Engineer was an exceedingly dangerous thing to do, and there hadn't exactly been that much present experience to contradict it. It didn't help that, even when he'd been holding the grudge, the Medic had been trying not to offend the Texan... and failing horribly.
He was, in short, extremely intimidated by the man. Turning back to the Engineer and realizing the metaphorical tiger was loading his shotgun, the Medic was quick to add: With good reason.
Knowing full well he was chickening out, the Medic shut his mouth and did his best to be unobtrusive.
The Texan shot him a sidelong glance, and said, "Just stay outta the way, Doc."
That he could do. However, when it quickly became clear what the other man was up to, the Medic pointed his Medigun at him, and turned it on.
The Engineer started down the hallway towards the nearest clump of bombs, in what the Medic could only describe as a purposeful stalk. Before he got within blast radius, he pointed his gun at the bombs and fired. The "stickies" came apart like paper, with only a small twinkle of light for an explosion. The Engineer seemed altogether unimpressed, and didn't even slow down. The next clump of bombs met a similar fate.
Which was when the Demoman gave a yelp of alarm from the other room, and all the rest of the bombs went off at once. From farther off, an identical explosion went off, presumably around the other door, and the Medic spared a quick twinge of concern about the Spy's whereabouts. The noise was much less dramatic at this distance: Just a very loud noise and a quiver in the ground and then everything was back to normal. Even the Engineer, who was much closer, had just raised an arm to shield his face and slowed for a moment.
With the explosive obstacle out of the way, the Texan started forward again, with the Medic trailing reluctantly behind him at the very end of the Medigun's reach. He did not like fighting Demomen. Bullets were unpleasant, but at least they traveled in straight lines. Grenades tended to bounce around, past the flimsy protection provided by the bodies of his teammates, with the unpleasant tendency to land at his feet. And unlike his patients, no one was frantically attempting to keep him upright and breathing.
There was a clatter in the room ahead of them, and just before the Engineer reached the doorway, the Demoman reappeared, staggering like the floor was seesawing under his feet. (From his perspective, it probably was.)
"So!" he yelled, though if the Medic had had a thesaurus handy as well as the time to flip through it, he might have chosen howled or possibly bawled to describe the words, instead. There was a desperate quiver to the Demoman's voice, like he was a hair's breath away from simply breaking down and weeping. "Yeh think ye've come t' finish it!"
Bright red grenades - vaguely pill shaped, the size of a can of cola or a little larger - were lobbed in their direction. The Engineer had stopped in his tracks, where he could still sidestep the barrage without much difficulty. Any closer, and he'd get a grenade to the chest before he could duck out of the way. The Medic found himself scrambling out of the way of the bombs that got past him.
Someone yelled for a Medic. The Medic couldn't actually hear them over the shouting and explosions, but he knew it, all the same. It was a sudden alarm in his head, a tiny moment of disquiet and certainty. It didn't come in actual words, but he imagined that if it did, it would be most easily summed up like this: Over here! I am Completely Uninjured and Not on fire!
He ignored it. After all, he had slightly more immediate problems to deal with than being pestered by the Scout. Of course it was the Scout. Who else would be shouting for a Medic while he was entirely unharmed and in no danger at all? The dummkopf did it on a regular basis.
"You crazy sonnuva gun," the Engineer swore, as a grenade went off close enough to make him stumble out of the way. "Use your gosh darn eye, wouldja? We're REDs, you maniac!"
"Oh, aye, sure y'are, boyo. Me own bloody team, back from the- ngh!"
Under the Demoman's raving, there was a distinctive wssh as the Spy reappeared behind the hysterical Scotsman. The Demo had heard the sound and started to turn, but not quickly enough. The Spy struck his head with the butt of his revolver, and the Demoman went down like a sack of bricks.
"Well," said the Spy, into the silence that fell, as explosions and shouting ceased. "Zat was... dramatic."
Finding it now safe to enter the room without endangering life and limb, the Engineer came in to join the Spy over the prone form of their newest teammate. "And I s'pose you had no idea this was gonna happen?"
The look that the Spy gave the Engineer said Really? "If I 'ad ze slightest suspicion," he said, with the patronizing air of someone explaining how a magic trick worked to an audience composed of small, uneducated children, "zen I wouldn't 'ave let myself nearly get blown to smithereens."
To his credit, the Engineer seemed to get a hold of himself, and relented. "Good point." He crouched down to check on the unconscious Demo. "Reckon we better tie 'im up or somethin' before we letcha bring him 'round, Doc?"
As the Engineer turned to look up at him, the Calling for Medic! feeling twinged again. This time, it came like a bucket of ice water applied directly down his spine, into the core of the bone itself. Cold horror crept through him. His lunged seemed to have forgotten how to work.
This time, now that the commotion had died down, he could hear who was calling for him. This time, he could hear, faint and far, far away...
The Heavy's voice, shouting, "Doktor!"
And the sudden feeling of disquiet, the sudden rush of knowledge and certainty told him: Over Here! I am Near Death and Not on Fire!
He spun on his heel, throwing himself towards the door, and ran. Ran as fast as his feet could take him. Faster.
x x x
Fifteen minutes ago:
The RED Sniper watched as their Spy lured the good doctor off on some errand, and stifled a snort. Bloody spook's just trying to weasel out of all the 'eavy lifting. Though, even as he thought it, the Sniper knew it wasn't entirely true. While avoiding getting his posh hands dirty with heaving and carrying couldn't have been far from the spook's mind, the Sniper hadn't ever actually known the Spy to shirk from dirty work without an entirely legitimate reason that he could cite, if called on it. And it was perfectly reasonable for someone to go find the Demoman, and perfectly reasonable that the Medic should go. Dragging the Medic along added that extra validity to his alibi.
'Course, there was nothing to say they couldn't just send the good doctor on that little errand by himself, jumpy though the Doc was. Nothing, of course, except that the Spy didn't like heavy lifting...
Or he was worried, and trying to head trouble off at the pass. Something about their newest assignment had the spook spooked. If you turned it that way, then this was the Spy trying to get the first crack at talking to the Demoman. Which suggested that the Demoman knew something they didn't, or at least the Spy thought he did.
But the bloody wanker was also trying to avoid the heavy lifting.
Truckie and the others were beginning to unload the van. The Sniper joined the haphazard queue to pick up a load and nudged the Scout as he did so. "Why don'tcha go and give the place a once over."
Given the option between hauling heavy boxes or stretching his legs after a long car ride, the Scout didn't even ask why the Sniper would want him to do such a thing. The casual tone of his "Yeah, sure" didn't match the eager way he went sprinting off, just a moment later.
That sorted, the Sniper strolled up to pick up a couple of suitcases that the Engineer handed down to him. "Where's he off to?" Truckie asked, in a low tone, as he passed them over.
The Spy probably would have lied. The Sniper, on the other hand, had just an inkling what kind of damage that would do. "Making sure the BLUs didn't leave us any surprises."
The Engineer frowned. "I know they're out t' get us, but it is a ceasefire after all."
"That's true." The Sniper hefted his load, taking a nonchalant glance to see who all was in earshot - the Heavy was already on his way inside, the Pyro had disappeared, and the Soldier was further inside the van, wrestling his gear out of a crate. Lowering his tone, the Sniper remarked, "The spook's worried."
"Him? Why?"
The Sniper shrugged, turning to go. "Doesn't 'urt t' be careful."
Once inside, the gunman stopped in the courtyard and debated for a moment. Then he hung a right instead of a left, and made for the battlements. From all accounts, he'd get a good view of the other base from there. He'd never actually been to a Two Fort before, but it seemed likely he'd find the battlements if he followed the great big sign what read 'battlements.'
He did, both follow and find. Just as he reached it, the Sniper heard big clumping boots behind him. Apparently the Soldier's hearing was better than he'd given him credit for. Giving the American a polite nod, the Sniper turned to inspect what would be his new home away from home. It was dark, though there was some light coming in from a couple of lamp posts outside the chain link fence that walled off the battlefield. The battlements were basically a long, thin porch with a small shack sitting right in the center of it. There were alcoves on either end, but otherwise, it was wide open, overlooking the moat between the bases, and the covered bridge that spanned it.
Across the moat, maybe a hundred feet away, was the BLU base. It was identical to the hulking shape of the RED base, in every way. Right up to the two figures standing on the battlements, looking out. As the Sniper squinted at them, the Soldier came up along side to join him. The Yank glowered at the BLUs, though since his helmet was down over his eyes, the Sniper wasn't sure how he could see them at all. If he was actually seeing them. Then, he decided it didn't matter.
"Sniper and a Scout, looks like," the assassin observed.
"They're up to something," the Soldier growled.
The Sniper considered this for a moment, while the BLUs considered them back. "Looks like they're just keepin' watch."
"BLUs are ALWAYS up to something," was the retort.
"This time, I think-" There was a faint noise, like a very loud bang going off a good long distance away. Somewhere behind them, back inside their base. The Sniper turned to look back into the dark building. "Didja 'ear that?"
The Soldier spun around, shovel at the ready. "Its an ambush!"
Unease, an emotion that the Sniper wasn't close companions with, crept over him. Sabotage, that's what he'd been thinking, not... "We've got a bloody cease fire on. They wouldn't-"
And that was as far as far as he got. Because he'd turned back to look at the BLUs as he spoke, and suddenly discovered that there was only one of them standing on the battlements now.
As a shadowy figure leapt from the top of the bridge towards the RED battlements, at a speed that suggested it hadn't slowed a fraction since it had left the BLU side, the Sniper had enough time to think, It is a bloody ambush.
Something solid and wooden and moving fast struck him.
x x x
As his teammate went down at the BLU Scout's feet, the RED Soldier's thought process went something like this: That is a dead BLU. He is already dead. I am going to kill him.
This was the default reaction upon seeing any and every BLU, and in this case, it was further modified like this: There was a Cease Fire, and you couldn't kill BLUs while there was a Cease Fire, otherwise you'd annihilate them too quickly. He was not obligated to give them a fighting chance, and any way, that would be impossible, but if he killed them all, then the war would be over. So that was why they had cease fires. But this BLU had ceased cease firing first. And that made him Fair Game.
Well. Thought process might have been too strong of a word. It was more a quick series of conditions and modifiers to immediate instinct that quickly added up to this conclusion: I am going to kill that BLU. He is going to die.
There was no other possible outcome.
He arrived at this conclusion before the Sniper's body hit the ground. The BLU hadn't even slowed down, and he rushed forward to meet the Soldier's charge. Wooden bat met shovel, an upward swing met a downward one. Instead of clashing, the bat guided the shovel's swing away from the Scout's head and shoulders without losing any of the momentum. The Soldier found himself swinging farther than he'd meant to, as the BLU ducked around behind him. He spun around, even as he stumbled, and drew his shotgun in the same movement. The BLU had to redirect his swing, from bashing the Soldier in the face to battering the barrel of the shotgun out of the way, as the gun went off and spat buckshot into the wall behind them. The Soldier followed up with another swipe at neck level with the shovel in his other hand, forcing the BLU to lean quickly back to avoid the blow. Which gave the Soldier enough time to bring his shotgun up again.
The BLU ducked around behind him again, avoiding another spray of buckshot. Before the Soldier could turn again, he took a hit, like someone jabbing him in the kidneys with a length of wood. Which was accurate, because that was what had happened. Too bad for the BLU, this only made the Soldier angrier. He spun around again, and fired his shotgun right into the BLU's... Scout shaped hole in the air where the little punk had been standing a moment ago, because the shrimp had followed the turn and was behind him again. The coward was hiding from him! He was too much of a sissy to fight the RED face to face!
The Soldier took another hit between the shoulder blades. But, now he was catching on to the BLU's sneaky tricks, and spun the other way, leading with the butt of his shotgun and following with another swipe from the shovel. Only to find the BLU was even sneakier and somehow, still behind him.
With an enraged roar, the Soldier threw himself backwards, putting his weight into it, until his shoulders hit the wall. The BLU had rolled out of the way, and now scrambled around the corner, deeper into the base. "Come back here, you spineless scum! You wanted a fight, Mister, and now you are going to-"
The BLU didn't get to hear what the RED was going to make him do. The Soldier had charged after the little pansy - probably off to go cry like a little girl - only to discover an empty room instead, and then the BLU Scout landed on his head. That was what it felt like. There was a clang as the bat hit his helmet, and the Soldier stumbled as the BLU shoved off again. Disoriented and off balance, the Soldier tried to stagger into an upright position. "Where did you go, you-"
He heard the Heavy yell "Soldier!" somewhere on the other side of the courtyard. Then a wooden bat hit his chin on the upswing, and his vision became star spangled.
This wasn't right. He was indestructible! This BLU was cheating! He demanded a do over.
Blatantly ignoring his objections, not to mention the natural order of the universe, the BLU hit him over the back of his neck and shoulders. His legs mutinied on him, and then the floor rushed up to introduce itself to his face.
Es ist ein waffenstillstand = It is a ceasefire. (At least, according to google translate.)
