There was no longer any doubt in the BLU Pyro's mind. He was completely and unquestionably alive. The information didn't sink in until he was dragging his battered body back towards base after the mission ended.
He went over the day's events in his head. The RED Demoman had somehow picked up on his plan to kill RED's new Engineer. It was easy enough to outmaneuver the Scot, and he supposed that was where he had erred. He had been cocky enough to stop to taunt the Demoman, and that was when the explosion had knocked him into a wall and sent shrapnel ripping through his body.
Deafened and very nearly dead, he had somehow found refuge behind a stack of crates, where he removed his mask and prayed to any god still willing to listen him.
His mind went completely blank when the RED Engineer rounded the corner with his shotgun raised. He had a moment of stunning clarity while the Engineer had the shotgun pointed at his chest. A bizarre calm washed over him, and he had almost come to terms with his fate when the Engineer abruptly lowered his weapon and walked away.
He probably should have been relieved, but the only thing he had felt at that moment was curiosity. The Engineer had a perfect shot, a guaranteed kill. There was no way for Pyro to resist in any way. He had lost his flamethrower in the Demoman's blast; he was too weak to lift his axe or shotgun. There was no reason for him to be alive, and yet there he was, limping back to the BLU base, somehow still standing.
His mother had firmly believed that everything happens for a reason, and he began to wonder if there wasn't some truth to her statement as he blacked out in the foyer of the BLU base.
The BLU Pyro woke up staring at a very bright light. He thought for a moment that he had died after all, and then realized he was in the infirmary. There were tubes in his mouth and nose, and one in his arm. He sat up and began to pull them out, triggering several alarms in the process.
The Medic was not amused. "You are lucky you didn't pull something vital out," he tsked, adjusting the monitors surrounding his bed, "You were barely breathing when Sniper brought you down here."
Pyro felt a surge of guilt under his customary belligerence. Medic was the closest thing he had to a friend on the BLU team. He was a very old man. He had been working with BLU for fifteen years by the time Pyro was born. His hearing was mostly gone, but he was still sharp as a tack. He was a damn good Medic, and he cared for his teammates like sons.
The unfamiliar guilt has subsided by the time Medic had finished adjusting the equipment. The old man walked back to his office and returned with a sheaf of papers. Pyro groaned. "I'm real ill, Doc," he said feebly. "I think I need more rest."
Medic cuffed him gently. "Nonsense," he said, a little too loudly. "I need to fill out and process these forms, and I want to do so while your injury is still fresh in your mind." He paused to fill in the basic information. "How were you injured?"
Pyro shifted slightly. The sheets of his rarely used bed were heavily starched, and he couldn't find a comfortable position. "The RED Demoman hit me with a grenade."
"Judging by your injuries, you were struck by shrapnel rather than the blast itself. You were quite lucky, you know. Your vital organs were not damaged, only bruised. The shrapnel passed cleanly through your body, rather than lodging itself in your muscle. Your only risks were infection and blood loss." He made a note on the forms. "What happened immediately afterwards?"
Pyro winced at Medic's overloud voice. The dull pressure in his temples was promising to become a full-blown migraine. "I don't know. I got away from the Demoman, and I hid behind these crates near the RED loading dock."
"And what happened afterward?"
Pyro hesitated, his head still throbbing. He didn't feel like talking about his encounter with the RED Engineer. He still wasn't sure why the Engineer hadn't shot him. The experience felt personal. He was reluctant to talk about it with Medic, who would tell headquarters. He didn't want the stuffed shirts at BLU speculating about the Engineer's motives for sparing him.
"I… I stayed there. Until the match ended." Which was technically the truth.
"And you didn't try to call for me?"
There was an uncomfortable silence. "No," Pyro admitted finally.
"And why would that be?"
He hesitated again, perhaps a moment too long, because Medic threw him a sharp glance over his clipboard. "The new RED Engineer had a base set up nearby."
"And he didn't see or hear you?"
"No," he said lamely.
After what seemed like an eternity, Medic recapped his pen. "All right," he said, "I know you're not telling me something, but I can't imagine why. I have everything I need for my forms. If you remember anything else, tell me." He stood and flipped through the papers on his clipboard before looking back up at Pyro. "I'm going to hold you for observation overnight, but you should be fine to return to your room tomorrow. Also, I'm prescribing an antibiotic. I'll be in my office, shout if you need anything." He bustled off, presumably to finish filling out the paperwork and get copies sent to headquarters.
Pyro settled back against the pillows on his bed and tried to relax. He didn't know why he had lied to Medic. The strange guilt returned, and Pyro could not dismiss it as quickly as he had before.
Pyro was sound asleep when the BLU Medic checked on him fifteen minutes later. Medic chuckled softly and paged Sniper, telling him not to bother bringing a plate down. He went back into his office, shut the door, and put a record on his turntable.
He fiddled with the volume, keeping an eye on Pyro through the window on his office door. His hearing was shot, and he had no idea how loud his music was anymore. He liked to have something to listen to while he reviewed his files, but he had gotten more than a few complaints about playing his music too loudly at odd hours. Satisfied that Pyro was still sleeping, he started going through his papers.
He kept the files of every member of BLU that had ever been under his care. In over thirty years, he had accumulated hundreds of pages about his teammates. Flipping though them was as good as looking though a photo album, and a hell of a lot more informative. He usually liked to take his time when he reviewed his files, pausing frequently to look at the records of old friends and reminisce about the good old days, but Soldier had called for a strategy meeting that day.
Whenever there was a personnel change on either team, there was always a big show of recalibrating tactics to accommodate the newcomer. It had taken him years to realize that the plan never really changed. There had been a time where they'd lose three Heavies a month to death and transfers, and yet he always ended up tailing a great bear of a man, healing every teammate he came across.
It used to bother him that the people were less distinct than there jobs, but he had grown accustomed to it in his old age. In all likelihood, he was just desensitized, an old man who couldn't rightfully remember how long it had been since he had last been off base.
He was almost overwhelmed by a wave of melancholy. He slid the papers into Pyro's file, and stood. He shut his record player off, turned the light out, and locked his office door behind him. Over half of his life with BLU, and all he had to show for it was a pile of dead men's medical records.
Has it become apparent yet that I know almost nothing about medicine? Anyway, HOLYSHITUPDATE. I finally managed to get myself a new computer to write on, which is exciting. Even though I now have a means of writing, school recently started again. I'm hoping to be able to update once a week or so, but I can't really make any promises. As always, please contact me if you have any questions! You're not bothering me, I promise! So thanks for reading, please review and tell your classmates.
