Pauling's car disappeared over the horizon, leaving Tavish standing with the sword still clutched in his hands. Her parting words rang in his ears like an entire orchestra was tuning him to death, the warbling notes getting higher then lower with no rhyme or reason.
She had to be wrong.
You know she isn't. She works for the Administrator. She knows everything.
But that was impossible. Jane would never do this, not after the best six months of Tavish's life had left them faster friends than they knew how to processes. They had a bond, something unbreakable.
Obviously you didn't mean as much to him as you thought.
Tavish recoiled from the truth, but that didn't mean he could fully deny it. Just like he couldn't deny the pain in his chest that clawed at him even harder as the minutes ticked by. He blinked away the green glow in his eye and tried to make sense of it all.
Jane had taken a hit out on him. After everything they'd been through.
That bastard.
Tavish's hand tightened around the sword. Fuck him. Fuck everything. There was a very real pain inside the Demoman, a gaping hole where his friend used to be. He chose to fill it with anger.
Monday. The start of a new battle. Only this one didn't bring Tavish a sense of excitement that his job usually did, the first day of the War sucking out any motivation from his otherwise joyous career. It was dry, lifeless, the only thing keeping him upright and fighting was the scrumpy and a need for revenge.
Tavish stood over the battlefield, the open area of Dustbowl cleared as RED retreated to the first capture point, but the goals of RED team and the goals of the Demoman no longer exclusively aligned. He had points to win now, ones that were earned by killing his former best friend instead of playing the usual game. The announcement had blared to the assembled RED before mission start, telling his fellow teammates how lucky he was to be allowed to compete in this special assignment.
"The winner will receive a prize," the Administrator had explained. "Let this be a lesson to all of you; this is the price of betraying me and RED. With your friend-making."
The other REDs had looked at him, but he had ignored their awkward side-eyes and judgmental glares. They wouldn't understand why he'd done it in the first place. Like any of those dunderheads had emotional depth greater than a teaspoon, or could imagine having a friend that wasn't just for getting plastered and talking about ass. They couldn't fathom why he'd put it all on the line for a BLU.
They wouldn't get how much he'd loved that man.
Tavish blinked, still searching for any incoming BLUs, his new weapons lying heavily across his back. Could he even do it when it came down to it? Would he even be able to strike down Jane out of malice instead of contractual duty?
It's not like he's going to hesitate. He didn't when he took that deal.
But still, the thought of hurting Jane…not even killing but betraying him, it made Tavish's gut clench.
The twenty-minute announcement clicked on, and that's when Tavish saw him. It was the first time they'd looked at each other since the War started, and despair forced its way into Tavish's chest when he saw the Soldier's face. Some part of him had still been hoping Pauling was wrong, that Jane was just as confused as he was, but the look Jane gave him wiped all that away. Underneath helmet was a snarl of pure hatred, one that the American reserved purely for communists and dog shit. There was no doubt who he was looking at, no hiding from the fact that Jane planned on killing Tavish here and now.
You don't matter to him. Not when there's a fabulous prize on the line.
Tavish's hand tightened on the sword. That was all he was worth, huh? A new fucking rocket launcher to sit on Jane's shoulder? A scream of rage boiled from within the Demoman, and his vision ignited in green.
The scream carried him forward, bringing his new shield in front of him as he tore down the hill. Jane reacted, but clumsily, the pure ferocity of Tavish's charge startling him. A rocket landed to the left, but Tavish barely felt it, and it didn't even slow him and he shoved the shield's metal spike into its target.
Jane was thrown back with a yelp, the force dislodging him from the spike and sending him against the rock wall. Tavish's follow-up swing came down, so confident it felt more like the sword was pulling him than he was swinging it. Jane looked up, still clutching his stomach, and only barely moved out of the way as the Eyelander clanged against the wall behind him.
"When I'm done with you, you're going to wish I'd killed you the day we met!" Tavish screamed, his voice sounding warbled and unearthly to his own ears.
Jane staggered, but held his ground. The hatred in his eyes burned sharper than ever, the surprise that had replaced it now gone, and he clutched at his side for his shovel-
Only to pull out a menacing looking pickaxe. It was already stained with blood, from what Tavish couldn't guess, and didn't want to either.
Jane smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "Hope you like your new fairy-wand, maggot. BECAUSE YOU'RE GOING TO BECOME REAL AQUAINTED WITH IT WHEN I SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS."
Jane charged, not as long or as fast as Tavish, but certainly with as much strength. The pickaxe curved at Tavish's head, and the Eyelander seemed to jump of its own accord and block the strike.
The time for hurling insults was over. Now they danced.
Blade clashed against axe, the Eyelander's range reduced inside the tight ring they circled. Tavish's hands, Jane's face, sparks of steel on steel, it all flashed before the Demoman's mind as they dueled harder than they ever had. But the sword was broader, safer as it blocked each of Jane's swings and smashed through the Soldier's guard.
With a scream, Tavish broke the last of it, cutting Jane's arm clean off and sending his weapon flying. Jane stumbled, clutching his stump, but not forgetting to look up and stare defiantly into Tavish's eye.
Make him pay.
Tavish did, one final swoop taking Jane's head from his shoulders. It landed with a thump a few feet away.
Immediately, Tavish staggered under the adrenaline, the need to kill still coursing through his body even with no one else around. He could hear a fight, over at the capture point, but it felt so far away it might as well have been back at Suijin. Supporting himself against the wall, he struggled for balance, just like would on a particularly hard binge.
He felt sick. He'd fought Jane before but…even after they'd become friends their battles had always been joyous and lightly competitive. Now Jane's head was severed from his body like the statue in Tavish's front lawn.
He closed his eye and dried to make the green fire go away.
Fuck him. After turning his back on you, he doesn't deserve your pity.
True. But that didn't stop the guilt welling inside Tavish's stomach. It hit him then the significance; he'd earned the first point. The War had officially begun.
He stepped over to where the head was, bloody and covered in dirt. With a shaking hand, he closed its eyes. And then he retched.
At the end of the day, Tavish went back to base. He ate with the team. He sat in the rec room afterwards to watch TV. He ignored all the stares aimed at the back of his head.
It all felt so…monotonous. Lifeless. Like everyone should be able to feel what Tavish was feeling, turning over furniture and screaming in protest. But no, things went on as normal, like the whole world wasn't crashing down.
Tavish went through five bottles of scrumpy before he hauled himself off to bed, dangerously close to setting a new personal record. He didn't sleep at all that night, and saw dawn creeping through his bedroom window only to realize it was another day of War.
He stood at the gate, somehow less of a man even with the bright and shiny point to show for his efforts. There was no confidence in his stride, no love has his hand drifted over the Chargin' Targe to rub its faded paint. The sight of Jane's eyes before he'd been decapitated haunted Tavish, and he was defeated before the match even started.
Jane paid him back on the second day. Twice. It brought the total to an ugly two-to-one, and Tavish glared at the small scoreboard that had been set up under the normal one. Fire burned in his belly, a desire to carve out that self–satisfied smirk that Jane would no-doubt wear the rest of his life if he won this competition. Tavish couldn't let that happen. He couldn't let his false sympathies make him forget how thoroughly he'd been betrayed.
That night, he resolved himself. He'd win this fucking War, no matter if he had to fight himself along the way too.
But he still couldn't sleep. He slammed back more scrumpy, even dipping into his emergency stores, but somehow being drunk only made it worse. It mellowed the anger until all that was left was regret and an image of Jane's face in profile when they'd watched the Badland Brawlers play that one time…
He yelled into his pillow. God he just wanted it to stop.
It's easier when you're fighting.
Tavish sighed. It was. If he threw himself into the battle he could almost forget how much all this hurt.
But he couldn't fight forever, and he couldn't just lay here, wallowing in his own misery. He drunkenly pushed himself out of bed.
The halls of RED base were empty, its members in bed long ago, even the more nocturnal ones like Medic. Tavish wandered down corridors and through familiar rooms as though in a trance, the alcohol making him bump into furniture every now and again. After a time, he found himself in the armory, the dozens of weapons staring down with unsaid malice.
He didn't remember picking up the Eyelander. But suddenly, the sword was sitting in his hand while Tavish felt a sudden wave exhaustion sink upon him. Because as soon as he touched the Eyelander he felt…good. Like all the guilt of the passed few days was washed away, and he could oblige his body its much-needed sleep.
Something clicked in the back of Tavish's mind. This was…wrong, he…shouldn't be feeling like this. Just as quickly as he picked it up, he shoved the sword away, to several protests of heads heads heads heads.
Tavish ran up to his room and spent a sleepless night with a pillow over his face.
Recycle, rinse, repeat. Every minute he was off the battlefield, it felt like he was dying, the horrors that'd he'd done during the day impossible to shake. Just as bad were when Jane got to him first, usually killing him with that fucking rocket launcher before Tavish even knew what hit him. Sometimes he'd just wake up in respawn down a point. But more often, Jane would savor the kill, coming over to finish him off and get a few more insults in.
Tavish was averaging three hours of sleep a night. It was affecting his performance, and he was barely able to keep up with the Soldier's seemingly endless bloodlust, always trailing behind by at least a few points. It was killing him, with not even a pathetic illusion of superiority to hang on to.
Halfway through when the War was expected to end. He laid down, one of the rare nights when he actually managed to squeeze a few hours in, and dreamed.
He's sitting down, miles above the earth, legs dangling over the edge of the construction equipment as he gazes at the piles of gravel churning like an ocean. Jane's beside him, sharing the scene as their boots kick in the breeze. It's a memory, not a dream, but Tavish doesn't know that yet. "This is…incredible," Jane says, and Tavish looks over at him. He's so…happy. Here above the world, outside their troubles and the fact that their friendship is forbidden. He grins at Tavish, eyes matching the sky that surrounds them. In real life, Jane was still wearing his helmet. And they were only a few hundred feet, not miles. But none of that matters. They've snuck out here, away from the tour bus, hoping to enjoy some time just the two them. It's freeing when they talk, more than even being hammered ever brought them. They laugh, and words pour out of them that are just honest enough. "You're my only friend," Jane admits, looking at his hands. "Yeah. And you're mine," Tavish says right back. And then things change. Without thinking, without knowing why, Tavish reaches over and shoves Jane. The Soldier slips, jerking forward as terror forms in his sky-colored eyes. Suddenly their positions are different, missing frames where Tavish would have taken the time to stand. But the dream demands it, and he's standing over Jane while the Soldier clings to the metal rafters. "Tavish!" Jane yells, and it's more genuine and frantic Tavish ever thought he could be. "Help me!" And Tavish just laughs. He feels it in his body, but has no control, like this is a memory that's already happened. Because, in a way, it has. Instead, of helping, Tavish puts one boot over the Soldier's hand, and presses. "No!" Jane pleads. One of his fingers looses its grasp. "P-please, Tavish! Why are you doing this?" His eyes are wide with fear. The gravel ocean below them swirls, waves crashing hundreds of feet high. The sky has turned black, a storm surrounding the two men in the high tower. "You know why," Tavish says, and grinds away another finger. "I don't!" Jane begs. "Please whatever I did I'm sorry!" Tavish grins. He lifts his boot one final time and slams down hard. Fingers break, and Jane slides away, falling, falling, disappearing into the grey nothing, the last thing he sees is Tavish smiling above him.Tavish woke from the dream screaming. He rolled off the bed, landing on the floor with a painful thump, and didn't stop. Sweat flowed over every inch of him, the sight of Jane's helpless face burned into his mind.
Why? Why had he agreed to all of this? How could he have gone through it all after everything he and Jane had done? If he'd just thought it through a little more, if he hadn't been so angry…He could have gone to Jane. Talked it all out. Asked him why.
And worse, it was too late. Too many mistakes. He'd have to keep going through this, killing Jane again and again and again in this nightmare that was his life. Only this one he couldn't wake up from.
Tavish stumbled to his knees, his voice sore from shouting into oblivion. He needed to make it stop. Anything to make the guilt stop.
You know what to do.
He rose. Gone from his bedroom and still not sure where he was headed, he pushed past the teammates that had woken from the sound of his hysterics. He didn't care, half blind by his own tears until he makes it back down to the armory.
He needed it to stop. Nothing else mattered.
He found where he'd stored the Eyelander after last fight, clutching the pommel like it was his last lifeline to an ever-fading world.
There. Isn't that better?
Instantly, warm relief flowed up his arm. It blocked out the guilt, much like scrumpy used to dull the feelings of the real world when they got too much. When he used to get nightmares about his adoptive parents, the drink was the only thing that helped him through. He became enchanted, dependent even—but anything was better than the nightmares.
Now, he held the sword in his hand and felt the trauma melt away. It was an old friend, sitting right in the back of his mind, telling him exactly what he needed to hear.
It's not your fault, Tavish. He started this. He's insane, and betrayed you for some fancy trinkets. There's nothing you could have done.
He gasped, tears retreating from his eye as the world took on a jade tint. The pain had finally stopped.
Staggering off to his room, he dragged the blade along the wooden floor as he went. He tucked the sword under his pillow, and was asleep as soon as his eye slid closed.
