"We have to do something about this." Engi told Medic at the end of the day.

"Just... hold still."

"Poor fella clearly can't go on like this."

"Mm-hmm."

"I tried keepin' an eye on him today. Sure wasn't pretty. I died a lot."

"Uh-huh..."

"Are you listening to anything I'm saying?"

Medic finally pulled his head out from Engi's exposed rib-cage and fixed him a pointed look. "I'm trying to fish sentry bullets and shrapnel out of your lungs. What do you think?"

A sheepish chuckle. "Right right, my apologies."

"Could you stop talking for just one minute? It's hard to keep a steady hand on your lungs when your diaphragm keeps moving like zhat."

And so Engi obliged, keeping his flapper shut till Medic stitched him back-up with the rays from his Medigun. The sound of Medic snapping off his stained gloves followed suit, along with a long and satisfied sigh.

"Zhere we go. All besser! Now... vhat were you saying, my friend?"

But the Texan was interrupted again, this time by Heavy barging into the room with a big crate of something or the other in his arms.

"These are heads Demo took from day. He say you can have for experiment."

"Oh, wunderbar!" The German rubbed his hands together gleefully, carrying the spirit of a Christmas cheer come early. "Das ist just what I needed!"

"You say that about every part of human."

"There can never be too many spare organs!"

"Uh... Actually," Engi arched a brow and surveyed the room as if to prove a point. The man was shrouded in nothing else but 'donated' organs. But when his gaze got back in line with Medic's inquisitive one, he just grinned and waved it off. "You know what, sure. What the hell."

Probably best not to say anything.

"Anyway, I was saying..." He tried to get back to the point. "Pyro's not holdin' up so good."

"Oh, yes. Of course! How could I forget?"

Engi had to bite his tongue again. He knew damn well why he would so easily forget.

"Yes, how is he doing?" Medic pressed on.

"Well... How to put this shortly?" Out of habit, Engi started tapping the wrench in his hand as he busied himself with thought. "How many times were stabbed in the back by a Spy today?"

"Eleven."

"Twenty two!" Was Heavy's indignant response from the distance. "I start to look like pin-cushion!"

The Texan made a 'voila' gesture with his hand. "There you go."

The German's brows furrowed into a line of concern. Had it been anyone else, he would have told them to just get over it. After-all, better a helium balloon than their life (even though that was pretty much renewable here in their team). He knew better, however. Pyro worked differently, and Medic needn't deduce that from any form of routine psych evaluation.

"Unfortunately his balloon has been damaged beyond repair. My Medigun only works on organic flesh."

Suddenly, his eyes brightened with an idea.

Engi nipped it in the bud. "We aren't making Pyro a balloon out of human skin, Doc."

The German seemed affronted by his decline. "Well, why not?"

"Cause he ain't gonna like something that looks like a hairy containment of baby batter!"

Heavy looked towards Medic with an air of confusion- he did not understand this overly fanciful analogy. When Engi motioned downwards and towards the general area of his lap, it clicked in the Russian's head and he chuckled.

"Da, Heavy get it now..."

Medic scoffed. "It was still a gut idea..." He muttered to himself.

"Look, if we plan to make the guy a replacement, it needs to be bright, colourful and pretty. Human skin just ain't gonna cut it, no matter how much you try to dress it up."

"Fine. Do you have any ideas?" The doctor shot his team-mate a deadpan glare. "And before you say anything, ve are not making it out of steel."

Engi reflected his glare with a scowl. "Why the hell not? Steel means it's durable and strong. Means it can take a beating."

"Ja, but zhen how is it going to float like a balloon? Last time I checked, steel was still very heavy."

"What?"

"No, Heavy, not you. I meant the adjective!"

"So you think it's more acceptable for his balloon to look like a guy's wrinkly baby makers?"

"Oh- mein Gott! Would you just say it? You are not 12 any more and we are all adults here. They are testicles! Testicles!"

"That don't make 'em any more appealin'!"

"STOP!"

A loud slam. The room vibrated a little.

Heavy had had enough of their childish squabbling. He couldn't believe that it was actually up to him to act like the grown-up.

"The answer is simple. We no use man-makers or metal."

Medic scoffed again. "And I suppose you have a better idea?"

Even Engi looked sceptical. Luckily, his uncertainty in his eyes was masked by his goggles.

The Russian gestured for the two of them to make room on the operating table with a wave of his arm and the two shortly complied- Engi scooting off it and getting back on his feet and Medic sweeping off any residual tissue and bullets onto the floor.

Heavy huddled over and unrolled a piece of paper he had apparently been working on this whole time as they were arguing. When he laid it out in-front of the two, he stamped his stubby finger right in the centre of the sheet.

"This- is what we need."

What followed were the sounds of the other two men marvelling in surprise at what they saw before their eyes.

"Heavy... I had no idea you could draw!"

The man in question frowned. "Where do you think all these paintings in the room come from?"

"Ah... I thought zhey were from your sister."

"I don't have a sister."

An awkward pause. "You should speak vith your mother."

When Heavy tried to get a more elaborate answer out of the doctor, he averted his gaze onto something else.

"I've clearly underestimated your abilities there, pal!" Fortunately, Engi's pleasant surprise served as a temporary distraction. The Texan clasped a friendly hand on the Leviathan's shoulder. "This is some really good stuff. I can't believe I didn't see it before!"

The Russian huffed triumphantly. "So it's settled then. We go with Heavy's plan."