Kurt Vonnegut said, "Write to please just one person" This story was intended for a single person, and yet,you people who read it, say such nice things, it makes me smile. The person I use to write this story for... had a falling out with me during the time I started writing this. It took me a while to pick it back up, and I'm very sorry. To make it up to you all who waited patiently, and impatiently, I made sure it was longer, and now I write for you. Enjoy. (please feel free to critique away, I was sad when I wrote it :c)
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He was shot. Or maybe it was stabbed? No, he wasn't hurt. If he was, then it would hurt, right? Well, it should. But, it didn't. So, it wasn't. Right? Right? Then why was his vision getting fuzzy? Then why were all the explosiony sounds and girly wails getting softer? He was getting tired. The last thing he saw before he passed out was his beautiful wife, Elenore. He didn't quite make it into her arms before passing out. And she didn't smell quite like her lovely perfume either. More like... Alcohol.
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He was back home. Back home, in his beautiful state: Massachusetts. It was snowing, but, he couldn't feel it; too warm with the feelings of excitement and joy. Under each arm was a present for each of his children. And at his side, bounced a small puppy. Elenore didn't know that he was coming. He hadn't called her. She wouldn't know, and nor would Little Tommy, and Dina.
His smile grew wider the closer he got home. And there she was. The children only six and eight, playing in the snow, building a snow family together. Their mother in the doorway... She looked at him, and her face lit up. Coat missing, hair a mess, she ran out into the snow, and nearly knocked him over.
She smelled like rubbing alcohol. It burned his nose.
"Herr Soldat, sit zhe rest of zhis battle aut, hokay? Herr Pyro vould be heppy to vatch ovah you until ve ah sure zhe BLUs vont attek for now." The voice was quiet, commanding, kinda soothing and nice. Smelled like rubbing alcohol. Why did it hurt to breath? He coughed. "You were hurt. You von't die zhough. I vill mek sure auf dat." He coughed again. There was a low hum nearby. A few low hums. He didn't pay attention to them. He closed his eyes. Or. Were they closed already?
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His hate for the man burned. From where it stemmed, he blamed it on the man being born German. Blamed him for what his people had done. What he had obviously done for being German. And now killing a puppy? Sure. Soldier may have been violent, but he wasn't evil, like the "Good Doctor". Damn no. Hell no. Fucking... Fuck no. But here the man was, waiting for an explanation to why an innocent dog was laying on the mad man's table, opened up for display like some... Some... Museum display.
The German's mouth opened. Brow furrowed. He shook his head slowly. "I vas fi-" The alarm sounded, and an aged woman's voice boomed from above and through-out the empty halls. Echoing like the bad omen it always was.
"OUR CONTROL POINT IS BEING CAPTURED!" She screamed as if this was a brand new thing. It wasn't. Before the message was completely relayed, the three REDs hurried out of the medical bay, gathering weapons and supplies quickly. The small blip of a heartbeat had continued quietly from the small life on the table.
The air was alive with gunpowder by the time the Soldier joined in the fray, being slower than the others - it wasn't easy carrying a rocket launcher, he would remind them occasionally. A rocket flew at him, and he swore - his life did not flash before his eyes. And if it did, it looked very much like a rocket, heading straight for him. There was an explosion of air behind him, it almost knocked him off his feet, and knocked his helmet off his head. The rocket was knocked off course, and was re-directed at a nearby construction. Was it barrels? A barn? Sniper's beloved van? He didn't have time to hazard a guess, as it exploded anyway.
"Thanks." He said, firing off a rocket of his own in the direction of the other team.
"Hurrr..." His savior replied before deciding there was an excellent time and place to burn as much air around as possible. And Soldier was glad for this Pyro's elevated caution: the other one didn't care much for team safety. It just wanted to kill things. It even had shaped its flamethrower to have a mouth full of teeth, and painted angry eyes on it. This one? Not so much.
Of course, as careful as this Pyro was, the enemy's Spy was probably just as, if not more so - at least around this one. And, as soon as the doll-eyed creature ran off to burn more things, the Spook appeared. Soldier fired off another volley.
Soldier smiled. So did Spy. The rocket hit it's mark: that man would not be going home to his wife and kids. He didn't feel bad about it. Nor did Spy, knife poised and then-... Well... It didn't hurt... Not really. Or... Did it? If he was stabbed, then... Then it would have hurt, right? He thought that maybe it might have hurt, just a bit. A whole lot actually. But... He didn't know. He saw Elenore. And she smelled of rubbing alcohol.
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Waking up in the medical bay, instead of a nice warm bed, with arms wrapped around a nice, warm, and sweet smelling wife, which he was dreaming about - and wished it was true... Well... Soldier was anything but pleased. Especially when the medical bay violated every single one of the senses, and it... No... it didn't hurt to breath... But, it didn't really help that, there was a tube stuck in his arm, making sure his movement was limited. Although, he did try to anyways. Stupid needle. Trying to tell him what he could and could not d- Okay. That hurt.
"Trying to get up iz not advisable..." Medic said quietly from his desk. He was writing something. Soldier didn't particularly care what it was about. But it did bother him that the German was being so calm, and that he was listening to American music. It was quiet too. But it was still audible, and it was still very much American. Sounded nice... But, it was a love song.
Soldier reluctantly stopped his twitching, and stared hatefully at the ceiling. He hated that ceiling. Really did. Because it was here. "What happened out there, doc?" He didn't want to talk to the man. But. Hey. He didn't know how the battle went. He wanted to know. Also, it would have been awkward just listening to that song and the scribbly sound of the pen.
"Ve von."
"How."
"Zhe hed a hasty retreat."
"What happened to me."
"You got lucky."
"How."
"Zhe knife of zhe Spy missed you' spine, and managed to not hurt anyzing... Zhat important."
"Oh." That... That worked, Soldier thought. It would explain why he was in pain now after all. And... Well, he was sorta glad Medic didn't get too technical on him. He really was in pain right now. And he bet if the doctor embellished, then, maybe it would hurt worse. Science had that kind of affect on people. But something still didn't sit right with him.
"Hey, doc." There was no answer.
"Doc." The pen was still scratching along, so he knew the medic was still there.
"Doctor."
"Vhat?" He sounded irritated.
"Why'd you help me?"
"Zhey vould dok my pay if I kept refusing you treatment." It... It was suppose to be funny. Right? It sounded like it was suppose to be funny. But... Medic's voice was flat. So, maybe not?
"Oh."
"Soldat, I must finish zhis, hokay? Give me... Dri- zw-... th-thhr-...thwee minutes." Medic said, obviously struggling to make the English words come out clearly. Yet still solemn he was. Soldier frowned. The ceiling wasn't that ugly if he kept paying attention to the music. Medic had paused in his scribble writing at one point, and to make sure his record player played the song again.
"...regret the years I'm givin', they're easy to give when you're in love. I'm happy to do whatever I do for you. For you maybe I'm a fool. But it's fun. People say you rule me..." The lady's voice was actually quite nice. Soldier thought that he knew who it was, but... Couldn't quite place it. Although, he thought he should know who...
"She sounds nice." Soldier said when he heard Medic putting his pen down. The scraping of the chair legs against the linoleum floor was anything but pleasant. And not even the lovely voice could cover it up.
"Really? Zhis isn't really my first choice in music." His voice sounded closer. He was getting closer. Soldier's hackles rose.
"Then... Why're you listening to this?" He was being a good boy. He was staying calm. Even though the Nazi's face loomed over him. Hovering... He was hovering.
Medic carefully removed the needle he had put in Soldier's arm. It hurt, obviously, or else the American wouldn't have winced like he did. And blood started welling when the metal pipe was taken out of the flesh. Medic was already taking care of that, pressing a cloth against it gently.
"Well?" Soldier asked, as he was helped into a sitting position. Medic grabbed the man's unstuck arm, and prompted him to hold the gauze against his damaged skin himself while he would examine the back wound carefully. Poking and pressing at different parts around it, and at it, itself. It hurt. Soldier will admit that. It really, really honestly hurt.
"Zhere's people I zhink you vould vant to see, vanting for you outside. Put you' shirt on, und go tell zhen zhat you' fine." Medic said before returning to his record player, stopping the machine in the middle of a different song, to go back to the one they'd been listening to the whole time Soldier was conscious. Although, judging by Medic's obsession with it, he was probably listening to it longer than Soldier knew. Frowning slightly, mostly due to the fact that he was still here, and it still smelled like rubbing alcohol, and the Nazi just... dismissed him so casually, without any insult or hint of a fight, or aggression. Soldier did as he was instructed, simply dropping the bloodied gauze onto the floor when he slipped his shirt back on, and hopped off the examination table, and out the door.
If he had taken a glance at the medic just before he left, he would have noticed that the man was shaking.
But he was too focused on the sight that awaited him outside the too clean smelling room. There, sitting as a small group was Scout, and the kind Pyro. Crazy Pyro should have been somewhere close by - the two fire-lovers were always close by whenever the two companies were fighting. But that wasn't important. What was important, was that cradled in Scout's lap was a small ball of brown fur. Soldier would have called it a brown puddle, but it had a distinctive ball shape. And also it had a pretty big white wrap around it's middle. Nice Pyro was hovering over it, rubbing its head carefully with one large finger. It was sleeping, and shifted slightly in Scout's arms, batting Good Pyro's finger away to get at an itchy nose. Scout looked up at Soldier and grinned. Soldier grinned back. Kind Pyro was too busy making soft humming noises at the little thing to notice, or care for that matter.
"Where'd you find a dog on such quick notice?" Soldier nodded to the puppy.
"When'd it be okay to get killed?" Scout shot back. Soldier sat on the other side of Scout, and looked down at the fuzzy thing.
"So Chester's ..."
"He's doin' fine. See? Dad'n I are takin' care of him." Scout said, nudging Nice Pyro, who, as of right that moment was 'dad'. He looked up at the two other men with his big as dinner plate eyes, and hummed as if he just noticed that they were both there.
"That's good... That's good..." Soldier said, scratching the dog's rump. The tail quickly hid itself between the back legs.
"Doc gave him some stuff to sleep. Says it'll help."
"Really? Then... Maybe I should thank him?" For not killing my dog was left out.
"Nah, leave him alone, man. He's kinda stressed." Scout said getting to his feet. Pyro and Soldier followed suit.
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The men... were as young boys. Boisterous and loud. Things were breaking, and dropped and smashed while the play fought in the large lounge-type room. The couch had been moved back to make even more room in the center for a pseudo-wrestling ring. They had all gotten out of their "work clothes" and dressed in a more casual get up. For some of them, it simply meant taking off their armed, rigged, and armored vests and belts, for others, such as the two pyros, it meant a new wardrobe completely. Demon Pyro wore different odds and ends of others' torn and considered useless clothes. He wore gloves made up of their different emblems. It was good to know though, that there was someone in their base that knew how to mend rips and tears-buying new apparel every time they were done fighting was starting to cost. A lot. Saint Pyro on the other hand, simply wore overalls and a t-shirt.
Nice Pyro, Spy, Soldier, and Medic sat out on the nightly activities of the other men. Good-guy Pyro and Spy sat on the couch. Actually, Spy was more or less laying on it, trying to claim the whole thing with his long limbs, and despite saying that he had dressed down, he was basically just missing his jacket, and vest. Tie still around his neck, loosened only a bit, gloves still on his hands, mask always on. Always. He watched with slight interest Sniper and the Demo-man fighting. In every way looking like a cat. A cat minus a tail, and that smoked. Jolly Pyro on the other hand curled up on the couch like a child, with little Chester on his lap, keeping the pup still whenever a random burst of energy came over the small thing. He looked like he wanted to join in, in the men's merry making but, didn't dare voice his thoughts once, preferring to care for the small and injured first and foremost.
Soldier was in very much the same way. Except instead of being in charge of a small wounded animal, he was simply just wounded. And Medic? Actually. Where was Medic? And for that matter, where was the loud bear like man that they had all become partial to?
Sniper and Demo-man finished their row, tagging out for Scout and Odd-ball Pyro. Spy moved just enough to let Sniper in, then laid back down, Sniper's lap now being used as a pillow. Demo off to the fridge for something to drink. Scout and Pyro grappled. Soldier's brow furrowed. This was kinda bothering him. Was the Heavy Weapons Man off with Engineer? No... No that couldn't be, since... There Engineer was, eating one of the Heavy's sandviches. Was he with Medic? No, no... Medic was alone last time he saw the man... Then...
"Hey. Where's the bear?" The jolly attitude of the group seemed to drop. Scout lost interest in pinning Pyro. Nice Pyro focused harder on the dog in his lap. Spy dropped his cigarette on the floor, where Sniper stepped on it. Engineer decided then was a nice time to fill his mouth with sandvich, and Demo came back holding what looked suspiciously like Scout's soda.
"Ye 'aven't 'eard?" Demo asked, managing to catch the question before he came in.
"No?"
"Thouche would'ave. Ye've unly been in Doc Patche's den all dey." He took a swig of what was in his hands.
"What happened?"
"Ol' 'eavy's dead, lad."
"What?"
"Aye! Arreh went clean through 'is 'ead!"
"What?"
"Woche not gettin' 'ere?"
"Some one should check on Medic. They were friends, right?" Soldier asked slowly.
"Nae, we should jus' let the man alone. He'll be fine." Soldier frowned. That didn't sound like very good advice. He had worked with people who lost close friends. They went mad. They killed themselves. Sometimes others. It was not a pretty sight.
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He couldn't believe he was doing this. He really couldn't believe he was doing this. The man he hated. He was checking on. To... To make sure he didn't do anything stupid. Of course. Yeah. Just that. It wouldn't do well to have another team member die. Especially since... He was just returning a favor. He knocked on the Medic's door before opening it. He knew he wouldn't have gotten a response if he had waited.
"Hey... Doc. You okay?" There was no response. The lights were on. The record player was on, but spun the record quietly. Medic sat stock still at his desk. His hands folded together, pressed against his mouth.
"Doc...?" Soldier crept forward. He thought he heard the German mumbling something behind his hands. "Medi-"
,,Er war mein Freund... Und jetzt ist er tot..."
"Wh-"
,,Lassen Sie mich allein."
"I don't understand-"
The Medic shot him a look filled with nothing but malice. He grabbed the pen from his desk and threw it at Soldier, screaming, ,,JETZT GOTT VERDAMMT!" If the medic was at all accurate, then perhaps Soldier would have been more scared. But, it bounced harmlessly against a wall, and, he took that as a cue to leave.
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Soldier sat on the now abandoned couch, staring out a window, scotch in his hand. Everyone had long gone to sleep. But, he sorta wasn't tired. Must have been due to the fact that he already slept a bit earlier. Slept out in the field. And in the medical bay. Yeah. His brow was furrowed. Someone sat down next to him. It wasn't that close. But it was close enough to shift the couch.
"He vas my friend you know..." Came the quiet voice of a very worn man.
"I know."
"Und he died today."
"I know."
"I had to leave him. Just for a second, to help you."
"I didn't know."
"He... I vasn't gone long. I came back to him. Und he vas still alive. But... Zhey... Zhey..." His hands started shaking. Soldier handed him the scotch, and the man quickly gulped it down. He cradled the glass like he would a baby. "Zhey svarmed, und, zheh vas nozing I could do. He..."
Soldier looked at him for the first time since their last encounter in the doctor's office. He looked like he was crying. But there were no tears. He reached a hesitant hand over, and patted the man on the back.
"Let me see you' vound." Medic said quietly, face down in his lap.
"Uh..."
"Bitt-...eh... Please."
Soldier frowned, but did what he was asked. Slowly of course. That was an odd request, but, he supposed if it helped, then... Then it helped. He took off his shirt, and re-adjusted himself on the couch so Medic wouldn't have to get up, and reach over the back of the furniture. He waited patiently as he felt the bandage Medic had placed there a while being pulled back. He busied himself with staring at the walls while the doctor occupied himself with the wound. That is until he felt something against the wound. It wasn't the normal pulling feel of rubber against skin. No, no. It was the tingly feel of skin against skin. The doctor's fingertips brushing over the cut and the surrounding area. It was sort of shocking. Medic took his gloves off for no one. He never let his hands out of those sweaty things. And this? This felt pretty nice. His hands there on his back.
Too bad it ended too fast. As soon as Soldier realized what had happened, the bandage was replaced with a new one carefully. And the Medic was retreating back to his room quickly. Soldier stared after him, perplexed. "You're welcome?" He asked the air.
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That night, he dreamed that he was in a warm bed with warm hands wrapped around him. He liked that. That intimate connection with some one else. He pulled the figure closer to himself. The person who's body wasn't as soft as Elenore's. The person who didn't smell like sweet delicate perfume. The person that smelled like rubbing alcohol.
When he woke up, the next morning, he sat up, and looked down. "... Shit."
