Beginning Notes:
Tumblr: boredgrace23
Don't be afraid to criticize! I want to improve as a writer and any sort of critique or analysis is welcomed!
I'm sorry for the late update! My internet turned off for a week and a half (which wasn't so bad, I got a good break out of it for the first time in months too! I didn't realise how much was stressing me out) and now I'm back! And stressing again… hoo boy.
But, uh, WOW did I miss a lot, I got a LOT of comments, hits and kudos for the first time in like… months, I'm pretty sure. New regulars and fanart too. Which is just INSANE. Welcome new readers! I hope you have a fun time reading this fic! Happy reading!
Chapter 20: Originals And In Three's
"Bloody shame it is, having a bloke as talented as you here instead of some high-end hospital. Could've done all sorts of good, in me honest opinion." Tavish muttered in the terse silence.
And it was true, Medic would've done a lot of good if he wasn't as morally grey as he was.
He felt Medic's fingers pause, the palm of his hand brushing against his ear with the fabric he was using as a makeshift bind, slightly loosening but not enough to unravel completely. His skin was cold to the touch, but he welcomed it, the warm blood seeping from his injured eye socket mixing with the hot desert air, sticky and messy on the makeshift bandage.
He had no idea where they were in the base anymore, and even now, some time later, he still felt the panic of being somewhere unfamiliar he couldn't see.
Though, thankfully, Medic had described the surroundings when he asked.
They were in an extra room, apparently. One made to be a misdirection during construction. There wasn't much in the room from what he was told, but there were windows they could climb out of, saving them from having to travel through the base again.
Medic's fingers nimbly wound the fabric, the material coarse and the texture itchy. There was another pause, when not a second later, he heard another tear of fabric.
The coarse object presses against his eye, and Tavish hisses, baring his teeth and with his jaw clenched. Blood dripped off his chin coolly, warm against his skin, as he heard a soft muttered word in German. An apology, if he remembered correctly.
As Medic wrapped the material around his eye, he said, in a numb tone. "I'll need to use the fabric of your pants."
"Aye." Responded Tavish.
His hand expertly finished wrapping a fabric around his head, tight enough to keep it in place but light enough to not hurt him.
A doctor through and through. It was almost a shame that his medical knowledge was being squandered here in the heart of buttfuck nowhere. However, without him, none of them would've accomplished nearly as much as they have. It's not like there was any other doctor in the world who could reattach limbs or cure any "incurable" illness. Hell, Medic might revive the dead if he worked hard enough.
Then again, it was RED Medic who decided to use his opportunities out here, not BLU. BLU never had a choice.
He felt a tug on his leg, and he jolted back from his musings, ripping his leg away from where he felt the tug. His fingernails dragged against the concrete, and he pressed his back against the wall with a gasp.
His fingers and toes twitched as he failed to gather himself, with sweat beading around his neck and forehead, his heart thumping. There was a shuffle, then a low hum that came from the doctor.
"It's just me," Medic murmured.
Tavish swallowed thickly. "Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, I… know." He replied, pausing with each word.
He was grateful Medic gave him a minute to recuperate himself, choking on a sigh as he exhaled through his nose. Anxiety welled in his brain, and he quickly squashed any sort of panic that tried clambering in him.
It was just Medic. It was obviously him. If it were one of the monsters, he would know. So he wasn't sure why he was so jumpy. He'd lost his sight before in battle, either from it being shot out or having splintered rock or glass lodged in his eye, sometimes even being dug out by a knife if the BLU Sniper and BLU Spy felt like being extra cruel.
Then again, he always had respawn available to him, or any of the healing items. He never went long without his vision, and even then he wasn't in some life altering situation with fucking monsters from hell itself. Neither had he gone this long without a bottle in his hand, but he supposed he can never win at life. Working for this company proved that.
Minutely, his muscles relax.
He sighed through his nose, and he wiped his nose. Now that he had a moment to gather his thoughts, he could feel a sinking headache, along with his skin heating, as if he were having a fever.
"Just, uh, sorry 'bout that. Ain't…" he rubbed his cheek with his palm, blood coming off his skin as he did so. "Aint' doin' so hot at the mo'."
"That's expected, seeing as you're going through withdrawals." Medic said, not kindly.
Silence followed his statement.
"Uh… huh?" Tavish dumbly replied.
"When was the last time you drank?" He inquired.
Tavish pinched his lips in thought.
"Yesterday?" That sounded about right.
"That's no surprise."
As the two of them spoke, he tapped his shoe, delicately knocking on the sole to quietly indicate he was going to rip some fabric off his pants.
Tavish tensed at the movement, but relented and let him after a second. It was Medic. While he still didn't have any strong feelings for the guy, he could trust him at the moment, had to.
Tavish felt a tug on the hems of his pants not a second later, careful, this time, though his body was still stiff. There was a quiet tear, and a chilly breeze hit his leg, either from Medic's skin or his skin being exposed to the elements, or even both. He twitched slightly.
"Uh, is, uh, withdrawals a good thing?" Asked Tavish.
"In any other setting, yes," Medic said, and his grip released from his pants much to Tavish's relief. "While I would normally never suggest this, we need to find you some alcohol."
Not for the fourth time that night, Medic's actions left him puzzled.
"Yer feckin' with me." Tavish stated, incredulous.
Tavish furrowed his brow, and he immediately regretted that small action when a hitch of pain shot through his eye, burrowing deep in his nerves. He grunted, and his hand twitched to rub circles on the wound. He didn't, though, not wanting to let the bandaging the doc did to come undone. But he really wanted to.
The RED doc had done everything in his power to get Tavish to quit drinking, not for the sake of his "future" or whatever—what future did they have working for this company, anyway?—but because he died more often than Spy did of natural causes.
Now that Tavish had the right opportunity to quit, the BLU Medic was telling him he needed to drink? He wasn't complaining, not one bit, but why?
"A person going through withdrawals needs to be put in a safer environment, and they need to be more mentally and physically equipped. Especially for one that drinks as frequently as you do."
His finger brushes over his eye, his icy fingers felt through the coarse fabric wrapped around his head.
"But we neither have the resources, time, or effort to do so." He heard a shuffle of clothing. "Besides, I don't particularly care if you're drinking. You're not my patient, after all."
There was a gentle tug behind his ears, and he heard soft shoes tap against the concrete before more clothes shifted. He heard rustling to the right of him, and Tavish assumed he was sitting beside him, letting the silence fall over between them.
"'Sides that," Tavish began. "What're we doin' after we get me some medicine?"
Silence fell for a few seconds as Medic pondered what to say, Tavish's hand tenderly feeling the large knot behind his head, his eye pounding with pain as cool blood soaked into the fabric. It wasn't a particularly large knot, but it was small enough to stay out of his way.
Huh. Now that he thought about it. He's never actually seen either of the Medic's use their actual medical knowledge to heal them, usually preferring the healing kits and the Medi-gun.
"We're going to call Miss Pauling." He explained, more rustling coming from him. "I called her earlier while you and Sniper were gone."
Tavish paused. "Ye called her? What'd you say? What did she say? Why didn't ye tell us?"
"We were only updating each other on our circumstances. She didn't have much to offer besides that she was heading to the town." He muttered as he spoke, low in volume, and somewhat deaden.
"The town? Seriously? That place is crawling with those things if you were right about the water."
"Do you truly think she would let herself be taken by those monsters?"
"The lass is strong, but so was Heavy, so was Pyro, and yer team. Even…" Tavish trailed off, and he felt his shoulders slump. "Even just the baby monsters took some of us out, but she'll be in a town with dozens of those large ones if yer water theories true. How'll she… she won't survive that."
Medic doesn't deem him a response, until, quietly, he says. "We're just going to have to hope she does."
Tavish pinched his lips, and he sighed. "And why didn't you tell us you called her?"
"With everything going on, I didn't have the time, and with…" there was a long, uncomfortable pause. "Everything after, I couldn't."
Silence reigned.
"So we're going to the town, then? After… if we escape?"
Medic hummed, and Tavish didn't have anything else to say to that.
Everything just went tits up after they split. Scout's dead, Jeremy's nowhere to be seen after fucking off to who knows where, and he lost his eye to Spy. He wasn't sure how Medic was faring after losing Scout, either.
It was obvious the two were close—like family, like they were the only people they had left, the only people who gave them a sense of humanity—maybe not so obvious during battles, but Tavish could tell there was some favouritism going on.
He wondered how Medic was still standing, still able to treat him even after that. Tavish sure as fuck knows he would be a blubbering mess, screaming at the walls and wailing until he was hoarse out of grief alone.
He knew it hadn't been long since Scout turned into a monster, only being under an hour—an entire thirty minutes since that had happened—but there Medic was, acting as if nothing was wrong.
Tavish, in the tense quiet, rubbing soothing circles in the back of his hand to keep himself from spiralling at being plunged in the darkness, asked the burning question that's been on his mind:
"Do… ye like being Medic?"
Not a medic. But Medic himself.
Out of everything that happened this past day, the monsters, the loathing, the fear, the despair. Medic, through it all, acted as if he were on a loose thread with how often he denied he was a clone.
Tavish, after the day they've had together, could confidently say that Medic despised being a clone. He made it obvious with how deep in denial he was, with how often he'd fight them over it. But now that he had a moment of silence, a moment to himself without having to worry if those monsters will find them, that he didn't hear crying, sobbing, laughing, please, help, God, please help them- he could finally breathe and think.
There wasn't a response from Medic, and the only reminder that Medic was at his side was the cool air that exuded from his chilly skin.
"I dunnae know yer problem with bein' a clone, why you continuously fight against it." Tavish patted the nearby ground until he felt Medic's thigh, patting two times before pulling his hand back. "But don't let that denial consume ye, eh? There ain't nothin' wrong with being a clone."
Medic still lacked a response, and he went back to making circles with his thumb on the back of his hand. That was that, then. He knew problems didn't go away in only a day. It was a miracle that Tavish had even felt a bit of companionship with Medic in this short amount of time. That any of them grew to respect each other, even if by just a pinch.
And maybe that was all Tavish needed.
Because he was a blubbering fool who held too much sympathy for the enemy team.
First Soldier, now Medic.
God, what the hell's become of his life? Talking to his enemy team and feeling sympathy for them a little more than he should, when he should be killing them.
He couldn't even be angry at Soldier when he should be. The asshole betrayed him, but he wasn't angry. Because the worst part of it all is that he knows Soldier didn't truly betray him, at least to some degree.
BLU Soldier was different like the rest of the BLU team were. He was calm, he could think for himself. Intelligent like RED Soldier, but with enough coherency to display it.
A man like that wouldn't betray without reason.
But obviously, Miss Pauling didn't know what kind of man BLU Soldier was now, or else she would've used a better excuse than a weapons deal.
Soldier wouldn't have accepted a weapons deal, and if she or another agent tried using the excuse that Tavish was calling him a 'civilian' or a 'useless American,' it wouldn't work. Because BLU Soldier was more cunning and less enthusiastic, he never ranted about the American dream. Albeit, admittedly, with small moments here and there.
Freedom, a straight up lie, an offer Soldier couldn't refuse. Tavish didn't know what kind of deal he was offered, but he knew it was enough to betray him over it.
He guessed he'll never find out, not with him being… gone.
He missed his chance.
Tavish hung his head.
What felt like minutes had passed. No other noise besides the white noise filled the silence, and he suppressed the twitch of his hands, arms jerking while he pushed his palm and dug his thumbnail into his skin.
One minute.
Two minutes.
He lost count after that.
It wasn't until he heard a quick gasp from his right that he broke from his thoughts.
Medic broke the stillness between them with a chortle that was removed of any humour. It was quick, easily mistaken for a scoff if it hadn't been for the stilted snicker that followed it.
He then barked a laugh, which was chased by a hollow, emotionless peel of laughter. Tavish listened because it was all he could do, because he couldn't see his expression, which he desperately wanted to see, because no sane man laughs like that.
He didn't say anything to the doctor, but maybe he should've, maybe he should've said something to break the utter crackle of chuckling that seeped from the older man, dragging on for too long to be some sort of inside joke.
He didn't, though, and he listened aptly to the empty chuckling of the man.
It wasn't long before it bubbled into laughter, that Tavish so desperately wanted to see his expression, goosebumps forming on his skin at the sheer emptiness of the laugh.
There were intervals of laughter that clambered to be louder than the last, the laughter lacking any humour, or anger, or desperation, or anything, for that matter.
There wasn't anything behind his laugh besides something bitter and delusional and shattered.
He desperately wished he could see now.
Through his breathy chuckling, he whispered something that he couldn't understand, words broken up by his increasing breathing. He didn't ask him to repeat himself, knowing from the tone itself that he was too out of it to understand the Scot coherently.
Tavish wasn't as in tune with what was safe or not like Spy, Scout, Heavy, or Miss Pauling were. He never got 'bad feelings' like they did. He died daily without having to worry about death, growing up in a good enough home that he didn't have to worry about if he could eat next week. So, bad feelings were practically alien to him.
But he knew people, knew how they acted, knew what they would do when pushed enough, he was emotional enough to know how they reacted, and he knew what a broken man looked like. How they acted. How they sounded.
He was a broken man himself, after all.
But this was different, 'cause of 'course it was. Medic was always different. Because his laugh sounded like the monster's laughter. Inhuman, like the person inside the monster was barely there, but conscious enough to know what it was laughing about. Empty, dead, not present.
Leave, his thoughts mumbled, he needed leave.
Medic wasn't safe anymore.
He no longer felt secure being blind around the man, logic slamming into place that this man was his enemy. Had been for the last four years. Suddenly reminded that this man was ready to kill himself along with Jeremy, an enemy who had threatened him not even an hour into meeting, who was willing to use them as stepping stools if that could keep him and the BLU Scout safe.
That, despite the vulnerability he'd shown him early, despite him being Soldier's teammate, despite Tavish's sympathy, this man was a right bastard who lost his mind a long time ago to deniability, who was willing to take if that meant he could live, willing to kill just to live in his own delusions.
Medic sucked in air, gasping, as he tittered into choked coughs.
Fear struck him silent; confusion prevented him from understanding what was happening. All he knew was that he needed Medic to stop, to control himself.
He wasn't sure if the wheezing was any better, however, it swiftly dissolved into gasps and pants that sounded as if he was gagging on hysterical sobs. There were rustling clothes, and he could hear a hand slapping against the cement and nails dragging through the crevices.
He coughed through his sobs, snivelling with each gasp and chuckling between them. There were more muffled slapping noises, and Medic's voice drifted away from him, his sobbing becoming muddled.
Medic quieted down into anguished, muffled sobs that eventually turned into light crying after a few minutes, leaving only gulped wails and barely audible panting.
Ah… there it was. He was wondering when Medic would finally break.
Tavish didn't know what to say, so he chose to remain silent. They needed to leave; they couldn't stay here, especially since that creature was likely nearby. But he didn't know what would happen if he didn't let Medic come down from whatever this was, so he shifted himself until one of his knees was tucked to his chest, resting his arm on it.
Medic kept sobbing, and he let him.
Mick stalked soundlessly beside Engineer, leading him to the garage where most of their cars were, occasionally casting glances at him, his eyes narrowed but, thankfully, concealed by his yellow-tinted glasses and the shitty lighting in the RED base.
Their steps were quiet, and a silence hung in the air between them.
Even with his goggles shattered, his expression remained unreadable, barely casting looks around the RED base as if he'd been through the halls a million times.
And, unfortunately, that was the case.
Everyone has been through these halls millions of times in the last 7 months, as opposed to the BLU base, which consisted of only dusty halls and desolate rooms to which almost no one went. Mick had never seen the base in its entirety before, and even then he only barely walked through a quarter of it.
He supposed to Engineer, the RED base would've been a walk in the park to figure out. Especially since they have had 7 months to map out every location and, for the most part, nothing else to do. What with only gathering intelligence, stealing capture points, and delivering bombs for an utterly stupid war in every single way.
Now that Mick thinks about it. For a team that defends, they've been on the offence a lot more these past 7 months.
Huh… that explains why they've been losing more recently.
"Why do you keep staring at me?"
Mick was snapped out of his musing's when he noticed Engineer staring at him without turning his head, a look concentrated on him that he couldn't discern. His eyes widened slightly before he averted his gaze from him. Ah, shit.
"Nothing you need to know." He muttered, terse.
"Now," he said, voice holding a haughty tone. "Don't be getting snippy with me, I've had a long day—"
"So have I."
Engineer continued without pause. "—And I'd like to have a friendly chat before we start throwin' blows."
Mick's eyes returned to him, noticing that he hadn't shifted his gaze away from him as they slowed to a saunter. Dangerous, his mind whispered, and he was well aware of how dangerous he could be.
He was, after all, Engineer, and he knew exactly what Engineer was like if pushed hard enough, as well as what BLU Engineer was like when pushed.
Out of everyone on both teams, Mick never knew how to plan against either Engineer's. They were always lurking on the sidelines, assisting where they could but never fully fighting on the front. It was mainly why he stayed out of their way rather than face them. He had neither the skill nor the abilities to beat them in a fight unless he got lucky, or Engineer wandered far enough from his sentries.
"How's about we negotiate this like men?" He hummed after saying so.
He continued down the hall without saying a word, Engineer keeping pace with him, his steps slow and steady as if he didn't have a care in the world. It was an intimidation tactic used by his own Engineer. One that Pyro used, whether they knew it or not. And one that even BLU Sniper used.
Mick forced himself to ignore him. He couldn't afford to openly display his nerves, not when his own nerves can be used against him. Instead, he tried to figure out what to say to him, and how to ask the question that had been on his mind since he stumbled upon him.
Engineer was dead. That's what Heavy had told them, and unless he lied about his own teammate being alive—which there wouldn't have been any reason to—Engineer should've been a monster. Should be a monster.
Yet, somehow, there he was, standing relatively fine and not a monster.
But that wasn't what truly confused Mick. He wished that's what truly confused him.
What Mick feared the most was the answer.
If he had his answer, if he was told how Engineer survived that initial attack. Every single one of his doubts would be confirmed. That what Medic said in the recording would be true. And he wasn't sure if he wanted that confirmation—
"I don't have all day."
—But things were never that easy for him, because things never went the way he wanted them to. Because, of course, he always learned things he never even wanted to learn against his own will.
"Heavy… said you were gone." Mick slowly starts, pushing the words out of his throat.
He dreads his answer.
Engineer gave him an odd look. "Gone?" He repeated incredulously.
He didn't want an answer.
Mick doesn't respond, allowing him to draw his own conclusions about what he meant. Engineer's lips tightened into a frown as he looked ahead at the hallway, where the two of them had turned a corner to see a staircase.
His thoughtful look was replaced by a scowl, remarking sarcastically after a minute. "Do I look gone to you?"
If the roll of eyes were a tone, he somehow achieved making it possible.
The Australian's eyes went to his mangled arm, and he bit back an equally snarky, 'might as well be with that fucked up arm.' he didn't say that out loud, knowing it would sound ironic considering Jeremy had lived as long as he had with a more fucked up arm. Or lack of arm.
When Mick hadn't answered, Engineer rolled his non-injured shoulder, groaning lowly as he muttered to himself. "I'm gettin' too old to be runnin' around like this."
With a blurt, he says. "Heavy said he saw you. In that monster when it attacked him."
That gave Engineer pause, and Mick slowed to a stop to stare at him.
The two stood motionless in the hallway, hovering near the staircase as the lights above them clicked, Mick's body tensed as he waited for Engineer to speak.
"Why would he go and say that…?" He muttered to himself. Engineer gazed up at Mick, the singular eye showing through his goggles narrowed. "Why does he think I'm gone?"
He didn't get his answer when they heard a muffled scream.
Jeremy laid his head on the floor, holding his chest as he laughed, the noise echoing slightly in the large room.
Holy shit.
He was safe. He was actually safe, and not outside or stuck in that suffocating BLU base.
He stared up at the ceiling, listening as the building settled, creaking in the wood, moaning, and hearing the faintest of water sloshing through the pipes. He heard ringing as well and looked up at the bulbs that flickered in the ceiling lamps.
His chest bounced with each of his disbelieving laughs, and he closed his eyes, enjoying just this singular moment of safety.
Hours of running, of hiding, of pleading, of watching everyone be killed, having to make hard choices about who would live and die, and wondering when the fuck he would get out of there, out of that suffocating building. All of that for just this single, fleeting moment of being somewhere familiar.
Laughter rumbled from deep within him, shaking his body as he tightened his grip on the fabric around his chest. For a brief moment he thought he'd alert one of those monsters to his location, and the moment had quickly died as his fit turned into wheezing, the sound desolate of any humor and relief, trailing off into shallow pants. It didn't take long until he was lying in complete silence.
Jeremy was never a fan of silence. Couldn't exactly get used to it growing up with seven brothers in a cramped household where everyone was moving around at the crack of dawn, dishes clattering in the sinks, footsteps being heard across the house, with loud talking and bickering heard through the paper-thin walls, solely dependent on a single mother's income, and later on, a druggie and a store clerk.
Even after having moved to the base, he wasn't used to hearing nothing when everyone was within proximity—the whir of Engie's equipment, the clanging of pots at 5 in the morning, even the battles, which were the highlight of his day.
But now? Now, without the familiarity of the noise, it unsettled him more than he'd like to admit. More than when he was alone heading to the security room, because at least than he knew what he was going to return to. Even in the BLU's base, even in the BLU Medic's infirmary, even if he was an asshole, he was safe.
He didn't know if there was anything he could return to now. If Demo and Medic somehow lived, they'd think he just abandoned them, and if he told them what happened to Heavy, Medic would think he killed him. So, Jeremy couldn't return. Not now.
A creak that came from within the walls had his eyes flying open, gaze darting to where he heard the noise before rolling to his knees while clenching the cloaking device. His heart beat in his chest, and he felt his breath hitch.
A second.
Then another.
And he slumped, sighing despondently.
His chest burned, every muscle in his body ached, and the smoke from Spy's cloak still lingered. He could smell the smoke seeping into his clothing, and he wrinkled his nose at the stench, both disgusted and dismayed at the realisation. Gross. Not only had BLU Heavy become one of those freaks, but now he had to deal with smelling like Spy. This was the worst day ever.
Jeremy grunted when he went to stand, his arm unbearably sore and screaming with each movement. Even the slightest twitch had his arm spazzing in pain.
He needed to find the Medi-gun, after that, he needed to go find Sniper at the garage. After that, he didn't know. Medic and Demo won't be in the infirmary. They're probably gone too, so he couldn't just waltz back into the BLU base hoping they'd still be alive. He couldn't exactly return to them expecting open arms, either.
But he can't run around blindly. He needs to find somewhere safe to just… breathe. He really needed to breathe after this, maybe call his ma and tell her to prepare a bed because he just wanted to be with her and enjoy her company. And… just not think about this.
Not thinking is what he was best at. Because that meant he didn't have to think about any implications and be aware of things he didn't want to be aware of. Being aware meant he would suffer as a result, and he saw what that did to any smart person who knew too much. Demo was a prime example of that. So were the BLU team.
So, he just won't think. He'll plan as he goes; he was good at that. Planning on the fly.
So, he was just going to stumble around trying to find the Medi-gun. Because he was also good at that. Because that was in his job prescription; scout. Scouting is what he was hired to do.
"I think I'm gonna die… if you don't help me…"
Jeremy wandered to the right of him, where the second entrance to the field was.
If he tried to round down where the Medi-gun was, it was probably on the first floor since he, Demo, Soldier, and Engineer were on the second floor when that large monster attacked them, and he didn't see it while all of them were running.
It wouldn't be near the third entrance, either, because that's where the monster entered. It was probably near the sewer entrance, the back entrance, or the second entrance. It could also be near the showers, inside the rooms, or outside. But he had a feeling it was on the first floor, and he's never ignored his instincts.
The wood moaned under his weight, and a light wind whistled through the cracks of the brittle structure.
Each noise had his hair-raising, tensing for a fight that he was woefully unprepared for that he knew he would never be prepared for. Everyone on both teams died by that monster, and he'd be an idiot to think after watching everyone, as begrudging as it was to admit, stronger than him, be taken by that thing, and still think he had a fighting chance.
For the first time since joining this team, he had to think about this. Think this through to live. Think ahead of time before that thing caught him.
His hands fidgeted for a weapon of any kind, something he could use as a bludgeon, but his luck was never that good. If guns didn't work against that thing, bludgeons wouldn't even work at all. Though he just wanted the comfort of a weapon, the false safety it offered.
"Doc, doc, please… please, doc. Don't go, please. I don't want to be alone. Please, doc."
Turning the corner, he saw the exit just to the middle of the right side hallway, thankfully not too far from the main entrance. Or maybe it was bad luck that the RED base was so small, because then it wouldn't take long for those monsters to find them, to scope every hiding place possible.
His footsteps were unnaturally slow as he approached the door with an uncharacteristic apprehension.
"Doc, don't go! I don't want to be alone. Please, doc. Doc. I can't—I don't want to be alone!"
He slowed to a stop when he approached the exit, halting just near the handlebars of the door. He could so easily leave, maybe steal one of his team's cars and never look back, and ditch their car on the side of the road if they found him, stealing a scooter that he found to be easier to drive.
Medic focused his gaze on Scout's non-melted side. "He isn't a monster."
He didn't, though. Couldn't.
Jeremy was never disloyal like that. He wasn't raised to betray people.
"I think he is, man. We need to go!" Jeremy shouted.
But, even in the twisted safety of the RED base, he wanted to escape, to run, that this place wasn't safe. That he was trapped.
"He isn't a monster." He became more breathless as he spoke.
The hallways lacked natural light, and he felt his mind twist as he realized how familiar walking through these hallways was to the BLU teams, while also being so different.
The BLU base suffocated him, giving him no room to breathe. The walls closed in on him, and they never stopped. Consuming, almost. He felt trapped. Every inch of their base choked him, and it was like he got nowhere in the damn place with how every hallway looked the same.
Yet here, in the RED base, there was a sense of being stuck, as well.
Not like the suffocating concrete that left a chilly trail of ice down his spine, but more so that there were flames of walls preventing him from leaving. Like there was never escaping this place. This job.
Sure, he could leave to see his family if he asked for permission. And sure, he could head into town during their off times. He could fuck off for days and still come back to a job with only a slap on the wrist. The only thing bringing him back is that he gets the thrill of killing people.
But nothing would ever actually let him leave.
For the first time since accepting this job, he felt trapped. Too aware that this job held no future for him. Too abruptly conscious of every decision that led him here.
And it took a damn monster that trapped him for eternity to realise that.
Whether he was a clone or not, he was trapped, much like the BLUs were.
God… what the hell has he gotten himself into?
Jeremy dragged a hand down his face, and he felt as if there was something symbolic as he turned away from the exit, walking towards the staircase that led down to the sewers.
His footfalls were heavy, and weariness weighed heavily on him.
He wanted to leave and go home to his ma, eat her food, and talk about everything interesting in their lives. He wanted to hug her, tell her how much he loved her, and sleep in the guest room that had previously been his older brother's room, smelling his family's scents on the sheets.
He wanted to go back home.
Jeremy wanted his family. He wanted to be safe again. He didn't want to be here anymore.
He wanted to get away from the ringing lights, as well as the monster's sobbing and laughter and giggling and screaming. He didn't want to hear his teammates' voices or see their faces in that monster, knowing they thought he'd abandoned them to die to save his own skin. He didn't. He would've never abandoned them if he had the choice.
His feet twisted below him, staggering and tripping over himself while wandering to the sewer's entrance.
Close. He was so close to getting the Medi-gun back. He was so close to being able to heal his arm.
Close.
Scout sobbed. "Was I a good friend?"
Turns out, his intuition was right. The Medi-gun was on the first floor.
The Medi-gun was leaning against the flimsy railing that barely functioned as a railing. He approached the healing weapon that was almost teetering off the edge, taking slow steps so that the wood barely creaked beneath his weight.
He walked towards it like it was an animal that would jump out at him, and he heard a faint hum of the dimming light source that was built in the staircase's wall.
The darkness loomed in the staircase leading down to the sewer entrance, and he could smell the mildew that grew because of the damp conditions, wiping his nose with the back of his hand in faint disgust. The light must've been busted in the sewers.
Once he had reached the Medi-gun, he used his foot to push it in his direction, away from the edge of the platform. It was heavier than he thought it was, and his expression twisted into an ugly grimace when he could finally get a good look at the Medi-gun.
It was dented in areas he knew it shouldn't be, with the handle that Medic used to prop up the gun bent beyond recognition. The top handlebar was missing, leaving only two stout metals that made up the lever behind that, if he remembered right, was the same lever Medic used to power the thing.
Crouching to its level, Jeremy brushed the damaged surface of the metal, a comforting red emitting from within the device, seen through the crevices and the barrel.
It seemed functional, or at least not damaged enough to prevent it from powering up, and he narrowed his eyes as he examined it further.
Obviously, the doctor ran into those monsters; how else could the gun get so broken? Medic would never let him, or anyone else on the team besides begrudgingly Engineer, touch his Medi-gun, let alone let it get this wrecked. The first time the Medi-gun was broken, he complained for days and targeted the person who broke it for weeks.
So, either the doc wasn't around when it broke, or something had happened to the guy.
He really hoped it was the former. He hated the guy, yeah, but at least he was only just insane. The BLU doc was a bastard, and no one believed the guy could fix this.
Even BLU Heavy, his own teammate, didn't have any faith in him until Demoman took him.
He could tell the big guy tried to believe in him, or at least tried to put on a comforting act that he did.
But from what Jeremy saw? The BLU Medic was less impressive than the RED Medic.
Medic would've been bouncing around trying to experiment on the monsters already, not like the BLU Medic who, from what he saw, was only complaining and trying to kill all of them.
"I'll figure out a way," Medic said, before murmuring so low that Jeremy almost missed it. "There's always a way."
But that wasn't his problem. His problem was with bringing the Medi-gun back to him, and fucking off back home to let the smart people deal with this shit.
He dug his arm beneath the heavy device and heaved, staggering backwards when the weight wasn't levelled.
He yelped when it fell back on top of him as he collapsed to the floor with a mighty bang that echoed in the little corridors and the stuffy staircase, gasping as the weight pressed uncomfortably against his ribs, sharp metal poking his abdomen.
He muttered incoherent groans of pain, exhaling air before he looked at the Medi-gun. He gritted his teeth while using his one good arm to shift it to his stomach.
"This is friggin'-" Jeremy cut himself off with a groan.
Okay, cool, so he can't carry the Medi-gun with just one hand. There weren't any sheets around either, not unless he travelled to the infirmary, which he totally wasn't going to do that since he just found the Medi-gun, and he wasn't going to leave it here for anyone or anything to find.
What the hell else does he do?
He pushed himself to sit upright, his palms sweating as his hand slipped a second later, stabbed by loose wood. His back hit the floor, and he let out a pained groan. Fortunately, there weren't any splinters in his skin, and he tried once again, tilting his body in a way so that he didn't jolt his cut off arm. He grunts, and after a few seconds of straightening up, the Medi-gun seamlessly rolls into his lap.
"Ho-kay." Breathed Jeremy, leaning against the Medi-gun.
After taking a moment to breathe, he nudges off the gun off his lap and rolls onto his knees simultaneously, exhaling once more. Shit, how the hell does that guy carry this thing? It weighs like a hundred-fifty pounds or something!
He clenched the lever with slightly trembling fingers, gazing down at the sewer entrance, which was too eerily close to him for comfort. If there was a monster in the sewers, it could easily climb the stairs or skip them if it saw Jeremy. There was also a chance that a monster could corner him down the hallway, forcing him to run through the sewers.
He wrinkled his brows in thought, and he tapped the lever with a rapid click of his thumbnail. What does he do? He wasn't even sure if the Medi-gun would work or not. He didn't even know how to use it.
…
Well, he was never much of a thinker, anyway.
His fingers tightened around the metal, and he cranked the broken lever back.
The device whirred to life, shuttering, with high-pitched whines emanating from the device. The sounds were almost uncomfortable to the point of disturbing, unlike how it normally sounded like when Medic used it on him.
It was too late to shut it off, though, and a red beam shot out of it, focusing on his torso as he felt all of his fatigue instantly wash away, as did his stiffened muscles, which he had no idea were so tight.
A renewed sense of relief and adrenaline replaced all of his weariness, and he slumped against the Medi-gun, sighing contentedly.
All of his worries were forgotten in favour of flexing his newly healed arm, rolling his wrist, and admiring the arm he hadn't seen in hours. His arm was back! Holy shit!
He really needed to thank the doc for creating this thing. It was God sent.
Snap.
The moment didn't last long, hissing as he felt a flaring pain in the tip of his finger, the same hand that had previously healed.
He gasped, his fingers curling into a fist while agony ripped through his hand as each bone in his fingers audibly groaned, hearing a sufficient crack and the sensation of each tissue, bone, and nail dismembered itself, pain spasming throughout his entire arm at a speed unnatural.
He staggered backwards from the Medi-gun, his other hand flying to his newly healed one when he heard a simple 'squelch.' He felt his fingers disgustingly go through his hand, and he exclaimed with a cry.
A scream tore through him as the sensation of repair, and dismemberment ripped through his entire arm.
His eyes flew to his hand.
What now? What now?
Instead of his hand.
God his hand, his hand. He needs it. He needs his hand!
There was melting flesh.
Notes:
Sometimes I feel like the plot points I've planned are really obvious, but then I'm completely taken aback when people are surprised at something that I considered to be non-important/obvious (AKA. The water being poisoned/Medic having a hand with the monsters) it's kind of funny.
This chapter was originally going to be something else, but I had to push it back since there was already so much going on in this chapter. The original plan was to write this in Medic's pov, but A) I felt like Medic's deserved breakdown would've been more effective from Demo's pov, I also wanted to try my hand at writing a blind character and describing sensory's instead of visualisation for practice, B) I needed to get Sniper and Jeremy's pov's out of the way, and finally, C) It allowed me to write from the RED team's pov.
Unfortunately, there's a high chance I'll need to make this fic 24 chapters long. WHY! 23 is like my thing, it would've been so cool to end this on 23! I'm sobbing, I'm crying, I'm wailing and breaking down like Medic.
But besides that, ONTO FANART: My friend made a piece (which you can see on Tumblr) and I've been waiting SO long to see it completed. I love the colours and the way the tv is drawn, even the eyes and the background! It's soooo good. Thank you my friend if you see this! Your art is always lovely!