BarnBlitz. That's where the problem arose. Not saying that the merc's "predicament" started there, but for the sake of simplicity, the problem began at BarnBlitz.

It was nearing the end of the match, and the BLU team had pushed their cart jusssssttttt near the door. About two minutes were on the clock, but half the team were dead, the chances of them being able to fight back after Respawn slim; the Sentry Engineer set up were destroyed by some well-timed sticky bombs, along with him; BLU's own Sentry, set up on a cliff near the building, was at level 3 and near impossible to duck around; and it seemed like all of BLU were dead set on pushing that goddamn cart.

A glimmer of hope lay in the Medic, whose Übercharge was nearly full. Besides a random scout and maybe a spy, The BLU team were pretty close together, and Heavy, the most likely recipient of said Über, was standing near the doorway, all-too prepared to fill cowardly babies with Boolet. All the Medic had to do was wait for the perfect moment to charge him, and they could win the match.

91%... 92%... 93%...

The Cart has been wheeled up into the small room outside the Barn, pushed mainly by their Heavy, a Demo, along with what could be their Pyro. Heavy made a mental note that the entrance would probably be lined with stickies. If their Demo was anything like theirs, he was as smart as he was drunk.

94%.. 95%.. 96%...

The cart was getting closer, a closer inspection revealed that, yes, Pyro was there, but also their medic. Medic relished the thought of their lead-filled bodies adorning the pavement. Heavys started revving Sasha up.

97%... 98%... 99%,...

The BLU cart was getting closer. Heavy's face revealed that he was thinking the same thing.

"FULLY CHARGED!" *Z-ZZAP* "GET ZHEM!"

As Medic's words left his mouth, Heavy immediately started shooting at the poor cart-pushers, Blu Demo's correctly guessed row of stickies only served as a hope spot as the bombs did almost nothing on the now-bright-metallic-red Russian gunning down his comrades, all of them nearly oblivious to the Uber exchange only meters away from them until it was too late. Pyro was the first one down, then Demoman, then Blu Heavy, and finally Blu Medic, all unable to run away, all unable to do anything to reverse their fate, all having to accept failure and the sweet sweet release of death, if only for a few seconds, then the crushing knowledge that they let their team down.

Now Heavy, who was thinking about killing people and not weird phrases about the inevitability of death made by a podcast-addicted 15-year-old, was focused on the sentry, and the Engineer close behind it. The sentry went down quickly, its rockets only delaying the inevitable as Blu Engineer watched his creation break down, sharing the same fate only a few moments later. The BLU Soldier tried to intervene, but he was too late, his team's Engineer was a lead-filled corpse by the time he rocket-jumped into the scene, with Soldier himself being gunned down a few moments after, time taken for processing helplessness being left in the spawn room.

As Medic's Übercharge started waning, turning the duo from a near-unstoppable force of bloodlust akin to slasher-movie villains to a mortal-but-still-pretty-damn-bloodthirsty pair of mercenaries. Both of them, still giddy with adrenaline and the thrill of the hunt, looked around for signs of life.

"Think ve scared zhem auff? Medic exclaimed, barely hiding away a laugh of triumph.

"Maybe, Doktor," Heavy also had to stifle a laugh, "Just maybe, hmh." He looked at Medic, a feeling of triumph in his eyes.

"Well zhen," Medic looked back at Heavy with an expression of sadistic glee, then his eyes focused on something behind the Russian, "Hehe, Guess ve have to find zhem."

Heavy nodded his head in agreement, looking a bit past Medic's face "Da, Heavy thinks other babies will be very... easy to find.."

Before either of them could understand what the other was talking about, Heavy ducked, taking Medic with him. A loud SHWWINGGGG could be heard where Heavy's head was, missing by only a few centimetres. It was the BLU team's Sniper, who was waiting patiently on the rooftop for the right time to strike.

From Medic's perspective, he saw a bluish-white streak of pure cockiness rush closer and closer near them. It was, no doubt, the Blu Scout. Medic tried to warn Heavy of the incoming Boston Bastard but Heavy was too slow and had to cop some buckshot from him.

"Try and catch me, fatty!" Scout shouted, confident in his running skill to help him not be turned into lead-flavoured worm food.

Heavy had a problem with Scout, maybe not as much as Sniper, but leetle man is too stubborn to accept fate and die quickly. Sniper, being both a good shot and really really high up, was a harder opponent, and Medic knew this, taking into account that he's more suited to helping others kill people, and he's better at killing people on a table anyways. If the two RED mercenaries wanted both himself and his partner to be alive when the match ended, and maybe get the chance of killing most of the BLU team, they would have to choose his attack very carefully.

And so, signalling to Medic that maybe it's a good idea for Doktor to take care of Sniper, Heavy revved up Sasha and, with not a hint of mercy, turned him into lead-flavoured worm food, aka the second-least favourable thing to be turned into when fighting someone. Meanwhile Medic executed his perfectly constructed plan of taking down Sniper when Heavy couldn't by taking out his crossbow, firing like the madman he is and trying to get most of the syringes into the piss-throwing Australian's flesh before he could push some lead between Medic's eyes.

Now, firing a crossbow requires a lot of concentration, and it requires even more concentration to do that while waving your head to-and-fro just so your brains won't get blown out. Add the slight worry that the person trying to snipe you might give up and aim for your friend, and you've got a whole problem cocktail of tunnel vision and slip-ups. Medic, naturally, has had multiple hours of practice with the crossbow, along with not having his brains spilling out his head from a large hole in his brain (He needs those brains, what else will make so many crimes against god?). He's also had a lot of "experience" looking behind his back, just in case a particularly secretive Frenchman had the idea of sticking a knife into it.

But hey.

We all have our off days. We all have slip-ups. We all make mistakes.

So, who can blame Medic for not noticing the shadow near him that slowly turned into a sneaky balaclava man with a knife?

Just as Sniper died from an overdose of whatever Medic put in those syringes, the BLU Spy saw Medic's back and decided to use it as a knife-holder. Medic was completely unaware of Spy, instead taking the time to make up for lost breaths and complimenting himself on his aim. Luckily (or, for Spy, unluckily), Heavy wasn't so preoccupied.

Juuussssssstttttttttttt as Spy's arm began to lower down on Medic's back, A loud gasp and then an equally loud "SPY!" resounded around the snowy buildings. Before either Spy or Medic could react, a very large hand grasped Spy's neck firmly, lifting him off the ground, then turned his body towards him. Spy, knowing that he was pretty much done for, looked at the face that belonged to the man that held him so high off the ground. He was smiling, not a nice smile like the thing you'll see plastered on young children at the fair or tired-yet-content elderly couples looking at their grandchildren or triumphant secret agents "neutralising" potential traitors at said fair (even if the last ones were usually fake). No, this was a smile of both malice and victory, a smile that mocked you for even thinking you could challenge the person wearing it, a smile that a large bear would have after cornering the thing that attacked their loved ones. Combined with a laugh that rivalled hyenas with its intensity and eyes that seemed to say "How DARE you to try to attack him." and one single thought crossed Spy's mind.

"Mon dieu. Zhis iz going to hurt."

Heavy, who has now exhausted his ammo count and wanted Spy to suffer differently from the others anyway, started to feel around his ribcage using his other hand. Some of the RED team has come out of the barn, Scout and Sniper coming from the numerous exits, Soldier, Engineer, and RED's spy coming from Spawn, all curious about the loud gunfire that was now replaced by silence. Medic himself had first-row seats to what was happening next. Heavy turned his head momentarily towards the titular doctor, who, after getting over the fact that he nearly got stabbed, was now smiling and giving a thumbs up. Heavy's smile seemed to soften for a moment, then flared back up with a new intensity when he looked back at Spy. "Leetle stick man thought you could best Doktor? You thought you could best ME?" His fingers were digging into Spy's flesh now, just below his ribs. "You will pay for foolishness, leetle man, oh you will pay."

With his fingers nearly breaking flesh, Heavy shouted "HEY DOKTOR, DIS IS FOR YOU!", before plunging his hands' full force into Spy's ribcage with a loud *C-C-CRACCCKKKKK*! The force has turned Spy's ribs into splinters, his nicotine-filled lungs destroyed. Spy, rendered speechless, started to cough up blood. But Heavy wasn't just content with Spy choking to death, oh no. Grabbing the poor poor baguette man by the legs, Heavy then pushed Spy to the wall and then, with strength that could rival elephants, punched the living daylights, nightlights, and even the god-damned afternoon lights out of him.

It was….. horrendous.

It was... impressive.

It.. didn't take that long.

Those were the thoughts that circulated throughout the RED team, who have all now come out into the open to see the carnage on display. Sure enough, Spy was dead after a few blows, a loud acclamation of "FULL TEAM KILL. WELL DONE, TEAM" from the administrator could be heard booming across the arena.

They all looked at Heavy and Medic, staring in disbelief. Scout, being Scout, was the first one to break the silence.

"Holy crap," he said to Heavy, with a mix of amazement and disbelief, "Did you just freakin kill all of da BLU team?"

One by one, the rest of the mercs reacted to Scout's outburst with a series of head-nods, "holy shit"'s, confused clapping, "oh man did he?"'s, disillusioned head-shakes and "my god he did"'s. Sniper took off his hat and bowed in respect. Spy nearly dropped his cigarette. It isn't every day two of your teammates kill 9 people in about 30 seconds, and the team were reacting to it... Accordingly.

If you saw Medic at that moment, who was standing completely stunned with an expression of awe, you would think he would be shocked from the carnage as well. By all means, you would be wrong, but no one would blame you.

Heavy, his smile turning into something of a softer-but-still-pretty-terrifying triumph, went over to Medic, and patted him on the back with a still-bloody hand. "Oh no," Heavy said, lifting Medics' arm over his bloody head. "Leetle Babies wouldn't be killed without Doktor. We killed those cowards, isn't dat right, Doktor?"

Now if you looked at Medic, who was still completely still, you might have noticed his eyes looking both off in the distance and at the large strong man holding his arm up simultaneously, you might have seen a small smile creep up on him as Heavy resumed putting his arm around him. You might have heard the doctor muttering small "yeah"'s and "yups" in response to his compliments, mixed in with light chuckles, made by someone who was not entirely there. You then, connecting all those little things like the good body-movement-notifier you were, would have come to the right conclusion with a mild "oh".

Because Medic, giggling like a sadistically smitten loon, wasn't merely surprised, or scared, or amazed. Oh no.

Medic, only now just realising how much, was completely and astonishing In Love. If it wasn't already obvious, in love with Heavy. And by "In Love", we're talking head-over-heels, off-the-charts, almost-stupefyingly, wishes-he-had-brought-a-wedding-ring, would-fight-god-for-heavys-hand forget-the-wedding-invitation-he's-making-Punnett-squares In Love. There were no thoughts in Medic's head except the idea of him waking up early to the face that was attached to the blood-soaked man standing right next to him.

The match carried on without a hitch, the BLU team unable to go back to where they were before, and everyone was rooting for Heavy and Medic when the match ended and the Announcer proclaimed their victory. Things were good, but when your Medic loses his ability to pronounce words whenever he gets five meters near one of your teammates, the mercenaries couldn't just shake the feeling that shit was about to go sideways.

(AN) (James A. Janisse Voice) 14 people died in this chapter of "Anatomically Correct Heart Eyes", and with a count of 2,331 words, the fanfic gives us a kill every 166.5 words. With a Gender Breakdown of 12 men and 2 Pyros, this chapter gives us a ⅙ ratio of hot sauce to blueberry for our piechart. Yum. Golden Chainsaw will go to BLU Spy, he had 2 whole paragraphs leading to his death, and boy, did they not disappoint (but then again i wrote the thing so). Dull Machete will go to the 5 RED team deaths in the beginning, because the writer, aka me, is a hack and their off-screen deaths are only there to give a feeling of hopelessness to the setting. And that's it. "Anatomically Correct Heart-Eyes" came out in 2021, derived from the creator's love of immense gore and couples who love each other, and is planning to have 5 chapters, with the second chapter coming out when the creator makes it. But until then, I'm Wolf Archery Witchery, and this has been the Kill Count. Stay Good People.