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!
This was supposed to be an intermission chapter, but it ended up becoming this. So, uh, whoops.
Chapter 17: Clones And Their Identity
"Heavy, c'mere a second?" Engineer called.
Once he caught his attention, he waved his hand to a quiet Demoman, who was sitting in the corner of the room, gaze fixated on his hand. The two men stare at him, one laced with concern, the other curious about the sudden focus on the Scot.
"He has been that way since this morning." Heavy replied in lieu of waiting for an answer.
Since the battle in the morning, Demo had been lingering behind them after confronting his own counterpart. From what Heavy saw, they didn't exchange any words with each other besides RED Demoman throwing the usual slurred insults.
What was it he said? "Yer just a bloody one-eyed freak"? He probably said something similar to that effect, but with so much going on, he couldn't recall the precise words. Though he wasn't so sure why Demo was shaken by what he had said, there wasn't anything necessarily different from what he said in the ordinary.
"Sorta figured," Heavy hummed after Engineer said so. "Thought he woulda felt better after getting some drinks in him. But he hasn't even had a sip of the alcohol."
That caught Heavy's attention, blinking. Demo didn't drink any of the alcohol?
He turned back to Demo and stared for a few moments longer, observing how he was slumped over, food left untouched in front of himself, with his solo red cup slowly slipping out of his other hand while he stared fixedly at his free hand. His gaze was unfocused, glazed over in what he assumed was contemplation.
Now that he thought about it, he hadn't spoken to any of them after he came back from the battle, going straight to his room afterwards and only coming out at Pyro's insistence. To say it was odd was an understatement, considering Demo was one of the more social members of their team.
"Coulda check up on the man, Heavy?" Engineer asked, voice low so as to not catch anyone's attention. "Looks like he ain't doing so hot."
Heavy grunted in reply, moving away from the small crowd of mercenaries to check on the shockingly quiet man. He pushed through the balloons that Pyro made, words individually written on each one that said 'happy birthday' or 'congratulations.' Congratulations for what? Heavy didn't know.
As he approached his side, he noted how he hadn't noticed him, ignorant of his presence, or more like unaware of anything in his surrounding area.
The chair creaked as he pressed his weight into it, turning from Demo to the rest of the team that were sharing drinks. Laughter echoed in the room, music pouring from the old radio, as Soldier messily took a frustrated Spy into a headlock, with Scout laughing in the background.
They were celebrating Sniper's birthday. Though, of course, the man himself was standing far away with a red cup in his hand, looking at the party as if he didn't want to be there. He couldn't blame him. Even if Heavy wasn't a recluse like he was, he wasn't exactly social, especially when parties became loud with everyone present.
Demo was the main source of the party, the main focus who pushed things forward and made them more exciting, whereas Soldier and Scout were the fuel to the oil. They never had many parties all at once for that reason, but they tried to keep enough together so they didn't go stir crazy. Which is why he was concerned that Demo was sitting here and not participating, despite the fact that he would have been the first to suggest something completely out of the ordinary.
A minute had passed of him sitting next to the slumped Demo before he made a throaty hum to catch his attention, watching as Scot flinched slightly at hearing the sudden intrusion in his thoughts. His head pivoted towards him, eyes blown wide and shocked by his presence.
He staggered on his words, mouth opening before closing into a pinched line. He spoke through his lips. "Ah, uh, Heavy, lad, didn't see ya there." Demo said, clenching the hand he was staring at into a tight fist.
"Demo." He greeted him.
"'Was distracted by somethin' to have not noticed ya." He replied instead, sucking on his cheek. "How're ya doin'? Party treatin' you well?"
"Fine."
"Aye, that's good, lass—lad, I mean, lad… I…" Demo's tongue stumbled, and he groaned, giving up on speaking. "Sorry 'bout that; ye ain't a lass. Just a rough day, 's all."
He hums, resting his hands in his lap and continuing to look at the team, where Spy was only growing more frustrated. Demoman placed his half-filled cup on the table, staring at it with a frown unlike himself, though Heavy didn't speak his thoughts aloud.
"We all have one." He said after a minute.
"Yeah…"
They sat in companionable silence, Heavy crossing his arms and leaning in the seat, while Demo curled further into himself. He was chewing his lower lip while staring at his hand, deep in thought, like he was looking at something alien.
It was an unusual reaction, given that he was looking at himself rather than an outsider. He watched as the man examined his hand, rubbing the callouses and fingertips and thumbing the tips of his nails as if he was attempting to rub them off. If he listened carefully enough, he could hear his hands rubbing together roughly, as if he was attempting to wipe away any imperfections.
"You were focused on your hand." After some time, the Russian began, looking off to the team. "I was worried."
Demoman shrugged off his concern. "Nah, it's nothin'. Just, uh, got caught up in my mind is all."
Heavy was silent, waiting for him to continue. Some time passed before Demo hummed dully, sniffing.
"Do you… know…" He started slowly, speaking with pauses in between each word as he waved his hands in an attempt to find the proper words. He spoke reluctantly, low, as if the second he spoke any louder, he would be caught in some imaginary lie. "Why—no, I mean, why I'm… why do I feel so… wrong?"
The older man looked at Demoman, raising a brow in quiet query.
"I… I just feel… weird, ya ken? Y'know? Words don't feel right, they ain't… comin' out right. My accent feels weird, I… feel like… my—my skin ain't right. My feet, my hair…" Demo leaned forward and grasped his hair, chewing his lower lip and ripping skin off with his teeth, voice wavering and vulnerable. "My hands don't look like mine. I ain't… proper, you know? I feel like… I ain't… me."
Spy was yelling at Soldier now as Scout bowled over on top of Pyro, who, judging by the way their shoulders were bouncing, was laughing as well. Their laughter was noisier than the radio, and not a second later, Spy turned his attention to admonish them, too. Heavy would be lying if he said their laughs weren't infectious, but he didn't feel like laughing.
In some ways, he understood where Demoman was coming from. He didn't feel right, either. He felt like he was parading in someone else's skin, and the worst part was having that confirmation through the memories of the RED team. Mikhail's, to be exact.
"We all feel that way," Heavy said slowly, carefully, as if one wrong word could scare off the Scot. And that was likely the case, seeing as Demoman had gotten skittish as of late. "That thinking has… affected us all. Scout and the Soldier are the most affected, but I have been affected, too. I feel like a stranger at times. Some days are worse than others. It is not unusual for me to feel off in my skin."
There were some days he woke up feeling off, looking in the mirror only to see his doppelganger behind him. But it wasn't truly his doppelganger, because he was the doppelganger. That still never stopped the delusions that invaded his vision each morning when seeing a stranger stare back at him in the mirror.
Demo bit his lip and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and holding the back of his neck while hanging his head. There was a pause before he groaned discreetly, and Heavy looked off to the side to peer through the clerestory window. Wind blew past the window, leaves and dried grass racking up in the corners.
He waited for a moment before speaking, hesitant to believe his own words, nevertheless saying them out loud. "But… I have come to accept that we are not the RED team. We will never be them."
It was nothing short of a lie, while he played along with what Medic told them, practically enforced on them, that they weren't clones. He knew those words the doktor said were nothing short of a coping mechanism, and Heavy was never one to lie to himself. He could never afford to, what with his memories of Mikhail having to support his family through even the worst that humanity had to offer. But he knew Demoman needed to hear these words.
And he was right in his assumption; upon hearing them, Demo twirled his head towards him, eyes wide with furrowed brows, like he had said the dumbest, most puzzling thing. It was a stupid thing to say, but it was enough to pull him out of his mullings.
"We are… very lucky. Yes. That we are not them. But that does not mean we are not clones of them, either." He picked the skin around his nails, trudging up what to tell him and trying to make himself sound believable. "We are… ourselves. Or at least, learning to be ourselves. Just because we are clones does not mean we must be their clones."
Demo straightened and stared at him, eyes narrowed. "Yer mom and your siblings, what about them? Ya always… ya miss 'em, Heavy. I sure as feck miss me mum." He asked, tone in utter disbelief.
"I miss them. I miss them very much." Heavy answered, thickly swallowing the knot that formed in the pit of his throat.
He mourned them even when they weren't dead.
Some nights he stayed up, staring at his ceiling, and imagined he was having his mama's soup again, teasing his sisters and them teasing him back. He missed them being mean to him; he missed those moments where he got so frustrated with them that he wanted to slap their heads to knock some sense back into them.
He missed those times when he would come back through the doorway with food he had hunted, those small moments where they would get frustrated not being able to button a part of their clothing or be unable to put a boot on because it had grown too tight.
He missed looking over at them when reading a book and watching their small habits, like how Zhanna would stick her tongue out in concentration, Yana's smile would curl up like someone had told her the funniest joke, and her cheek would have small indents, and how Bronislava would smirk whenever she made a sarcastic remark that had Zhanna telling her to shut up.
His heart ached for those times, and he would give anything to go back to those times. Even if he's come to accept he was stuck here without his sibling's knowledge that he would never see them again, he could live with the fact that they were safe, that Mikhail would keep them safe.
"But I cannot keep holding onto the past I do not have." Heavy said, avoiding eye contact with him as he stared at the team, the lie lying thick on his tongue. "We… should try to grow… as our own selves now, yes? Clinging to the past is only hurting us."
"Heavy, I don't mean ta sound negative. But how? I only know this. I ain't—I can't be someone else. If I'm someone else, I ain't me." His voice cracked near the end of his sentence.
The Demoman leaned forward and held his face, speaking through his hands like he was trying to conceal the vulnerability in his expression. Panic laced his voice and body language; shoulders hitched up, with his knees tucked to his stomach, fingers twitching like he was on the verge of dying.
"Heavy, I dunnae know if I can be me own person. I—I can't. If I—bein' someone else, I'll… disappoint me ancestors and mum, and bein' a Demoman is what I was raised for, if—if I can't be—who—who can I be? I ain't—I can't be someone else. Don't make me someone else. Please. Heavy, I don't want to be someone else."
Heavy watched as his shoulders slowly and rapidly climbed in their pace, grasping his face like he was trying to claw the skin off of it. He heard his breathing hitch, whimpers that he assumed were involuntary escaping him. He watched him for only a second longer, surprised by the sudden attitude change, before resting a hefty hand on his shoulder.
"I am not telling you to be someone else." He said, murmuring in his ears.
"Then what?" He sharply replied, snapping his teeth at him. "What, then, Heavy? Ye ain't foolin' me with that self-righteous bullshit. We should be our own selves? What? You in denial like our daft bastard of a doc, too?"
He spoke each word with venom. His gaze was severe, peering through the cracks in his fingers. His expression conveyed hurt, anger, and anguish, and Heavy knew he had made a mistake.
He wasn't sure what to say, so he stood up and patted Demo's shoulder a few times before returning to Engineer's side once more. Demo didn't need comfort; he just needed space, and he sighed through his nose, disappointed and more than guilty.
It was obvious those thoughts had been on his mind, and Heavy had only brought them back up.
In Engineer's ear, he whispered. "Give him space."
He was unsure whether his words had any effect on the Scot following their "conversation." He never asked, and Demoman never mentioned it again. But he did know that a month later, he had stopped drinking.
He praised him for it, and the entire team congratulated him. The journey was obviously difficult for him, and they spent a lot of time dealing with him going through withdrawals, but he had been three years sober before this incident.
Everyone was happy for him. Proud of him.
Heavy swallowed the thick laden grief in his throat, his facial muscles tense in grief and sorrow. His heart clenched, and his stomach twisted with nausea and agony.
Demo, the man everyone laughed with, who even made Medic laugh at the sheer stupidity of his antics, who went through withdrawals to better himself for everyone and his own future, who looked out for them even when he wasn't feeling well, was here, a monster.
It was hard to accept that the man lurking outside of the crate was his friend. Difficult, since he no longer looked like Demo, but a cheap mockery of him. It was a painful irony that Heavy couldn't laugh at.
"Heavy!" He cried, coughing and sniffling mixed with hysterical chuckling echoing in the giant container yard. "Heavy, please, lad! I dunnae like ye avoidin' me! Makes me feel bad, ye ken?"
He tensed, all of his senses numbing as the ringing increased in his ears, white noise filling the silence in between each of Demo's words. If he focused enough, he could feel a light pressure behind his shoulder, along with firm, slim fingers clenching his shirt.
The inside of the crate echoed every small noise, each shoe squeak and audible breath causing Heavy to tense further as the sounds reverberated off the walls.
Jeremy was no better than him, clasping his shirt and flinching violently with each noise as he burrowed further behind him like a skittish rabbit.
It was strange, to say the least, how clingy Jeremy was despite being on different teams. He wasn't sure what Jeremy's relationship was with Mikhail, but judging by how comfortable he felt holding Heavy, he was probably close enough with the other man to rely on him for protection.
Jeremy would never admit it, though, and Heavy didn't expect him to. But he still found it odd, since he wasn't used to someone clinging onto him for protection, not for years at this point. Admittedly, he acted somewhat like a little brother who was scared of the monster in the closet, though in this case the monster was Heavy's own teammate who could and would turn them into horrific beasts.
But that didn't negate the fact that it was Jeremy clinging to his arm, someone who was practically a stranger wearing Scout's face.
Now that he thought about it, he hadn't asked what had happened to Scout. He likely couldn't ask either, not with Demo outside, waiting for one of them to make even the slightest noise.
Silence reigned and the two men pressed against each other's shoulders, deathly still, waiting for either the BLU Demoman to pass them or for them to find an opening to sneak out of the crate.
He could still hear him screaming his head off for him to show himself, to come back out and go hang out at a pub. Not to drink. No, of course not. He didn't drink anymore. Demo was loyal to his motivation, that being he wouldn't fall back into bad habits again. He didn't want to betray Heavy's trust, he also didn't want to go through withdrawals again. But sometimes the taste just lingered on his tongue, the memory of the alcohol burning his throat engraved deeply in his being.
And hey? Remember that time they were both competing to see who got the most kills, and Demoman had ended up with the most because he blew himself up far too many times to count? Oh man, was Medic pissed off at him for that one. He had gotten after Heavy too for encouraging his "childish behaviour." What a memory, eh?
Heavy closed his eyes and internally counted backwards from ten, fruitlessly attempting to block out Demoman's voice, who sounded too desperate, too alive.
One breath.
Two breaths.
Three breaths.
He took deep, methodical breaths in a repetitive pattern, counting to four each breath to calm his racing heart, to not listen to the man just outside the crate. Lingering. Waiting.
Yet the Scot continued to yell questions, wondering where he was, inquiring why he was avoiding him, because friends don't do that. Brothers don't avoid each other. Because that's what they were, family. And wasn't he a family man? Families don't abandon each other, or hide from each other. They don't leave their family wondering where they are. And where the fuck is he?
The ringing in his ear was ceaseless—buzzing and annoying.
"Heavy…?" Demo's voice wavered, and his heart dropped to his stomach, nausea pooling in him. "Please say somethin'? Anythin'? Please, I don't want ta hurt you… I—God… what's happened to me?"
Unintentionally, Heavy gasped out a single word. "Stop…"
He couldn't say anything more. Wasn't able to with the giant lump in his throat.
The man outside wasn't Demo anymore. But that didn't stop the urge that surged through him, wanting to run out and ask if Demo was still aware of himself. He was too alive.
Jeremy whimpered, gasping slightly at both his and Demoman's voice, and Heavy almost instinctively pushed him deeper behind, despite his fingers twitching and trembling slightly at the horror lying outside.
Jeremy had Scout's face, and even though he knew Jeremy wasn't Scout, it was impossible to tell the difference when they were in a dark container and he had Scout's voice.
Not to mention, he needed a distraction from Demo. He didn't want to hear his voice, the desperation in it, the anguish.
Jeremy, though, shoved his hand back, muttering to him with a growl threatening to leak into his tone. "I don't need you protecting me."
The Russian didn't mind. He knew it was only a fear response.
Scout was the same when he was afraid, getting pushy and grumbling whenever someone was trying to protect him. He would say things like he wasn't a kid or that he wasn't some pet they can push around.
He confirmed his suspicions when Jeremy stayed rooted behind him, using him as a sort of meat shield. Heavy, in turn, stood stock still in front of him to protect him in case Demo found them.
He found it somewhat funny that even when he was placed in this situation with the RED Scout, he still felt the need to protect someone. He wondered what his life would've been had he gone a different way, had he not done what he needed to do to protect his—Mikhail's family.
Quiet lingered in the air between the two, footsteps clanging too loud in the container yard that he knew belonged to Demoman. It was a miracle that no other monsters hadn't found them with the amount of noise Demo was producing.
"Heavy! Heavy, please!" Demo moved onto begging, desperate. "Can't ya help me out this one time? You always do! Yer the best shot I got! Please!"
Heavy's lungs emptied, and he slipped further away from the container's doors, even though he couldn't do so with Jeremy behind him unless he wanted to crush him against the wall.
Hearing Demo's voice twisted and warped was more difficult than he had anticipated, given that Sniper and Pyro's voices were beyond recognition. It was easier to swallow their voices because he could block them out and remind himself that it wasn't truly them.
But Demo's voice screamed in his head, forcefully having him admit reality, admit that Demo was a monster. His voice twisted in his brain, screwing it in.
He stamped that thought out of his head.
He didn't want those thoughts, didn't need them.
If he let the panic slip in, let himself fall into despair, he'll only prove to be useless.
Demo continued to scream throughout the container yard while his hand pressed into Jeremy's pocket, feeling something rectangular and smooth. His brows wrinkled, cringing and hoping he hadn't touched something really shouldn't have, when the faint smell of smoke wafted in his direction.
Spy's cloaking device. Scout had it before he found him.
His gaze shifted to Jeremy, who, from what he could see in the dim lighting, was staring wide-eyed at the cracked open container doors. His shoulders were rapidly raising, and his facial features trembled in what appeared to be a silent panic attack.
He returned his attention to the container's opening when he murmured, so subtly that he wasn't sure he heard it. "Did you run from them?"
It was a bad time to ask if he had abandoned Medic and the RED Demoman, but there was never a good time for anything, especially with monsters lurking around every corner.
Thankfully, he had, hearing a hissed. "Be quiet, fatass!"
Heavy leaned close into Jeremy, looming over him as he repeated his question. "Did. You. Abandon. Them?"
"Abandon who?" Jeremy asked, baffled.
"Doktor and the RED Demoman."
Jeremy's eyes widened further, expanding into two dinner plates, as his nose and eyebrows scrunched, likely annoyed at how close Heavy was leaning towards him, though he guessed he was mostly offended that he would bring up the idea.
"If I tell ya, would you be quiet? Your freakin' teammate's tryna get us!" He uttered into his ear.
Heavy grunts.
"Then No!" He claimed, defensive. "Why the hell would I do that? 'Specially to Demo? I was chased away by Spy. Freaking bastards' annoying even after he turned into one of those freaks."
It made sense that Spy would've still been around, especially since the respawn machines were still working and one of them would eventually die. 'Like a spider who's woven a web,' his thoughts whispered.
He was surprised they hadn't run into Spy earlier, given his intelligence and ability to catch Heavy off guard, even in his lumbering state. He ran around the corner a few times, only for Spy to catch him off guard by dropping his disguise as soon as he got close. There were far too many close calls.
"Then why do you have cloak device?" He questioned after a minute.
"Found it while I was running," he heard Jeremy shrugged, clothes rustling. "Dunno if it was BLU Spy's cloak, or if it was our guy's extra cloak, but yeah, I just found it. Nothin' more than that."
"And Scout-"
The two men stopped when they heard Demo's voice, which was too close for comfort, as if he were practically beside them.
"Please? Please, help me, Heavy. Please… please… I don't want to hurt you…"
It was like a whisper in their ears.
Heavy heard the Boston's breath hitch, and his heart thrummed in his ears. His lips pinched into a straight line, sweat beads rolling down the base of his neck that piled to his back. Any conversation died out, replaced by terror at the man stalking the courtyard, determined to catch them.
"I don't want ta hurt you. Run. run, please. Please!"
His hand unwittingly went to his mouth to muffle his already quieted breathing.
He was going to find them.
'But would that be so bad?' His mind uttered, scurrying to his mind and no matter how much Heavy tried to stomp the thought out, it flickered. 'Let him. You could be a monster with him. It wouldn't be so bad, then. Everyone is dead anyways, and the only people alive are people who love each other more than you. You have practically no one.'
It wasn't true, he wanted to defend. Because while he wasn't close to Spy, Medic, or Scout, he was comfortable enough with them to call them family. Even if Scout loved the both of them more then anyone on the team. They had a mutual respect that was noticeable to even the RED team.
'But Medic doesn't call you that to your face, does he?' His thoughts were taunting him, flashing through his mind and stamping out any hope he had, like a man who had his voice but a forked-tongue. 'He was always acting like you were a stranger. What if one day he leaves you to die? No one respected you enough on this team anyway. You're no more than a meat shield for them.'
And he wouldn't do that, Heavy knows the doktor wouldn't do something like that.
They were ridiculous thoughts, thoughts he shouldn't even be acknowledging or entertaining. But Demoman, with his voice ever so clear, was trudging up too many bad memories and thoughts he didn't want.
These were the thoughts he had before going to bed, the ones he would forget by morning and repeat the process the next day when he was isolated. Not now, when he was being pursued by his own teammate, who was warped like a sickening parasite.
"My hands don't look like mine. I ain't… proper, you know? I feel like… I ain't… me."
It was ironic. Terribly ironic, given the situation they were currently in.
'You don't have anybody.'
And…
And Heavy couldn't deny that.
It was difficult to deny that thought process, because it was true, in some ways.
Because the only people alive were three people who cared more deeply for each other then they did the rest of the team, and everyone Heavy was close to were dead.
'They're going to leave you alone, you'll always be alone. Wouldn't it be better to join your brothers?' It was an evil thought, something he should stamp out and never acknowledge. It was too real to acknowledge, yet it remained in his mind because he couldn't deny it.
He respected Medic, Scout, and Spy. He trusted them with his life, he didn't have a choice. They were part of his family, much like the rest of the BLU team were, people he's provided for for the past 4 years of his life.
If they weren't alive anymore, and if they didn't need him, he didn't know anything else besides providing for others.
Work and family were his only comforts.
They… didn't need him.
The realisation came too easily for him: this was the end of the line for him.
Heavy didn't have anyone to care for who truly needed him.
They were gone.
'Did they ever need me?'
His ears popped, and the ringing that twirled in his brain finally ceased. True silence washed over him, and his chest felt empty, desolate of any stress or anxiety of what was happening.
Was this what catharsis felt like? No, this was more along the lines of acceptance. Because he didn't have anyone else.
Once he escaped, once he finally got away from these monsters, where was he going to go? What was he going to do? The only people he truly had left were monsters, and the few didn't need him to protect them.
He was alone.
"Какой жестокий мир." Heavy muttered, noticing that the centre of his chest felt empty, as if pressure had been released. Everything that had held him back was no longer attached to him, and he felt as if he was floating free of his body.
Looking back, he realized he was never truly appreciated by the team. Any advice he gave was ignored, sometimes with a brief head nod, and most of the time they snapped at him. His protection as a meat shield would only be met with a barrage of bullets.
But that wasn't his teammate's fault; that was his for giving so much to them when he didn't need to.
And somehow, he couldn't find it in himself to hate them.
'What?" Asked Jeremy, his voice distant, obscuring to the depths of his mind.
His leaden gaze turned to him, and through hooded eyes, he observed how young he looked. It was almost unfair how someone like him could have a life better than his, but the assumption itself was also unfair, seeing as he was stuck like he was in this situation.
He couldn't get mad at him, though; Jeremy wasn't at fault for anything that's happened. Not the clones, not the realisation that they'll never truly be people, that the world will forever try to get rid of them because they aren't real. What a joke that he ever had hoped to be his own person.
"Why is leetle man fast?" Heavy questioned, voice croaking with each word, like the weight of the world was piled in each one. He needed a distraction from the hapless feeling he wasn't used to.
Maybe Jeremy understood the tone of his voice, or maybe he wanted a distraction, too, and answered him in a shockingly quiet voice unlike his usual confident self. "I, look, I got fast 'cause I wanted to run towards danger; I never—I ain't—I don't run away. I ain't a coward. I—why the hell'm I tellin' you this shit anyway? You're just a clone."
Heavy was silent.
And he stayed silent for far too long, numb and detached from the situation. He couldn't bring himself to care anymore.
"Little man runs fast." He said after what felt like a few minutes. "Always running. It is an annoying trait; you were always running circles around me, no matter if it was in battle or simply to have fun. Battles were always fun to you."
Jeremy was surprisingly silent, and the Russian continued.
"To me, they were my life. It was what I was made for, what I was fated to do until I expired like bread. Until the company had no use for me." He turned to look at Jeremy, and through the sliver of light that pooled into the container, he could see the look in his eyes, the puzzlement, the reluctant concern. "I can't run like you."
The Boston's facial features remained straight, the heaviness of the words clawing themselves onto him. Another few minutes passed of them standing face to face like they were, and it wasn't until Jeremy slowly blinked that Heavy added to what he was saying.
"Instead of running towards danger, you should run at danger." He suggested dimly.
He didn't reply, and maybe Jeremy understood the defeat in his tone, or maybe he was still struggling to accept that Heavy, the person he perceived as a clone of Mikhail, who was the strongest person he could ever meet, who looked out for him and protected the team fiercely, who laughed at the destruction he caused, was at the end of his line.
"It is scary, yes? To run at danger because you do not know what you'll face?" He stated, feeling serene despite the graveness in his tone. "I know I—Mikhail was quite scared. I was scared sometimes, too. But the BLU team gave me meaning, much like Mihail's family did for both me and him."
He stared Jeremy in the eyes, eyes hooded as he concentrated on how the younger man's eyes widened, drawn out, like he finally realised what Heavy was going to do.
"You asked Mikhail what made him strong that first year, yes? Nothing. He was simply strong because that was what was needed. 'Защищать как медведь,' is what my—his mama—had told him." The correction hurt too much to acknowledge.
He missed everyone.
He missed not having to accept this cruel reality.
He was exhausted even though it had only been hours since this entire incident began. He was tired of having to run, of having to keep pushing forward because it was simply a survival instinct by now; he didn't want to run any longer. He wasn't a runner. Never had been.
But most of all? He deeply missed his family.
Jeremy's lips twitched, his brows and eyes jittery, before finally looking him in the eyes with a serious expression.
"Ya ain't my friend. Don't… don't do that. Don't try to give me advice like a friend would, alright? We ain't friends; we're enemies. Terrible enemies who kill each otha every day. En-eh-mies." He spoke through gritted teeth and glared at him. "Don't do that. Don't try to tell me how I should be strong, or—or try to be some guardian. We ain't friends."
Much like Demo, Jeremy didn't need his advice, either.
Heavy stared down at him, gaze blank and empty of any emotion. He wouldn't have cared even if he didn't feel so empty on any other day, because the Boston was right, they weren't friends.
The both of them weren't some heroes in those comic books Scout and Pyro read, they were only two people trying to survive against incomprehensible monsters, and Heavy just happened to be the one to give up first.
Maybe he just wanted to occupy his time before the inevitable, and maybe he just wanted to part someone else with some words before he went. Wanted his memory to be carried on even if the person he was telling it to would forget in a few months time.
He wished the BLU team were here. Then again, he didn't want them to see his vulnerability.
Perhaps that was why he felt so comfortable displaying his defeat to Jeremy: they weren't friends, and he could mock him for being weak without giving him any comfort.
"We ain't friends." He repeated.
"No." Heavy said, the words coming to him easily. "We are not."
Jeremy gave him a look he didn't bother deciphering, and when they heard those heavy footsteps above them, heels clicking against the metal of the container, he didn't find himself freezing in fear.
He could feel Jeremy's fingers snaking around his wrist and clenching, as if the second he let go, he wouldn't be able to hold onto him again. So weird, this boy, because not even seconds ago, he was telling him he didn't need his protection or advice.
'I'm a meat shield.'
Heavy shouldered him behind him, although unlike before, Jeremy didn't resist. Couldn't, frozen in terror.
He wanted to whisper to him that it would be alright, that he'll make sure that it won't be painful. Nothing came out though, finding himself breathless. It was then that he was abruptly aware that he wanted to throw up.
Vertigo set in.
His heart plummeted, dread swirling within him, and suddenly, Heavy was scared.
He was caught.
After hours of running away.
He was finally caught.
He was finally caught! Wasn't this what he wanted? Didn't he want to be caught? So why was he so utterly terrified?
Hefty footsteps clambered above them, banging.
It approached the cracked opened crate, moving away from their heads and dragging its feet like it was trudging through thick mud. It echoed throughout the shipping container, noisy and taunting.
Closer and closer it came to them, approaching the opening.
Until it stopped altogether.
The white noise that filled the background abruptly stopped, and Heavy could hear screaming.
There were a thousand words held in the scream that regular words couldn't voice, agony and terror and anguish and grief that no amount of tears could fix.
Years of anger and anguish were piled in the singular scream, ringing out for miles that burst his eardrums.
His mouth twitched, and he realised it was him screaming.
Heavy gasped, lungs crying for air, yelling for him to stop because no matter how loud he screams, he'll never be heard. Because no matter how much he cried, Demo wasn't coming back to life, Sniper, Pyro, Engineer, and Soldier were gone.
And he was no longer needed.
It pained him to see those container doors open almost horribly slow even when he begged to any god for someone to just listen. Instead, it continued to open, its creaking echoing in the container yard like a weighty yowl. The inside of Heavy's ears were sore from the noise and strain that was put on them, and he stared blankly at the sudden light that poured in.
The two of them stared fixedly at the now opened container doors.
A second.
When they heard a wet 'splat.'
Through the opening, only the shadow of Demo's body could be seen, his silhouette melting and drips falling from him like sludge and oil, another arm stretched to support his weight as he held the container roof, leisurely swaying side to side.
Demo peered over the edge, looking at them through the light that flooded in.
"Lad, you're here." He said, giddish, like a child that found its friend in hide and seek.
"Heavy… Heavy…" Jeremy uttered, voice short and grave as he tightly clenched his shoulder. "Who is that… who the fuck is that…?"
Heavy shook his head. "Demo." He answered breathlessly. It was Demo.
"You ever get cold feet, mate?" Sniper had asked him one day, hands in his pocket while he leaned against the wall.
The wind whistled loudly through the cracks in Sniper's nest wood. They were both above the battlefield, the trees in the distance trembling from the impact of explosions, bullets, and fire. He heard the crack of wood and thunderous yells from miles away.
Fortunately, the RED Sniper wasn't in his own tower across from them, likely dealing with a problem below, so they had a few minutes to spare before he came back and Heavy had to rush back in to deal with the battle. He felt relieved, knowing he could avoid further bullets, Spy's backstab, and the Pyro's fire for now.
The air was humid, not cold, and warm enough to make for a pleasant day. The sun kissed his skin, and he leaned against the railing, arms crossed. It had been a month since Sniper's birthday and his conversation with Demo, and while Demo hadn't spoken to him about the conversation, he continued to treat him the same way he always had.
Heavy grunts. "Many times. It is not good feeling."
"Oh yeah, how?" Sniper leaned against the railing, side-eyeing him as he asked.
He chose not to answer, instead noting, in an interested hum. "You are not normally this talkative."
"Yeah," Sniper sniffed. "Yeah, I ain't. Just… feelin' up to it today."
He hums before returning his attention to the field. Clothes rustled beside him, and he espied Sniper adjusting his hat so that his eyes weren't visible, making the 5 o'clock shadow more prominent on his chin.
"Hey, mate, look. I know Demo ain't gonna ever say it to you. But, uh, he 'preciated that talk you two had a while back." Sniper shrugs listlessly. "Dunno what it was about, but he looked different, y'know? More… what's the word? Relieved?"
Heavy wouldn't know, though he doesn't say that.
"I, uh, also wanted to tell you…"
He quirked a brow. A second goes by when Sniper shakes his head, shrugging once more.
"Nah, nevermind. I'll tell ya another time. Just wanted to tell ya that Demo 'preciated you. "
He knew that Demo was in front of them because of his relieved look, finally understanding what Sniper had meant after all these years.
"Oh, there ya are, lad! Was gettin' worried! Thought you were avoidin' me! Ye wouldn't do that, though, right? Yer me best-friend like all the other guys!"
Heavy's facial features contorted, eyes twitching into slits, and his brows knitting together. Suddenly, the air inside the container was insufferable, invisible hands wrapping around his throat and restraining his airways. He abruptly couldn't breathe.
His mouth dropped agape, trying to form words only for what sounded like squeaks escaping him. Nothing but gasps came from him, and his mind quickly blanked until there was nothing but muffled sounds and that fucking ringing.
"Ay, ya don't look too hot, mate." He said, slithering down from the container like a water flow, his eyes squished together and barely looking like eyes. His voice was too coherent, unlike Spy, Sniper, and Pyro's, who were muddled and incoherent at best. "You should relax. Ya always preach that to me when I get too keyed up. Well, ain't like ya don't always do that. Yer always looking out for us; haven't thanked you for it. Haven't… thanked you. Haven't thanked—thanked you. Haven't thanked you."
Heavy tried to speak, tried to say something to his comrade, but a lump was caught in his throat. Ringing dancing in his brain, with every other sense of his numbing into pure and total panic.
Every emotion resurfaced, that false acceptance being pushed back in favour of anguish, and he wanted to scream and yell at Demoman for becoming whatever it was in front of him. But he couldn't because it wasn't even his fault in the first place.
It was that water that Sniper drank.
"Heavy, Heavy! Heavy help! Move! Do somethin'!" Jeremy cried, having finally found his voice.
He shook his shoulder with his nails digging into his skin. Though he couldn't feel it, everything was numb and muffled, his senses having dulled from the utter terror of seeing what had become of Demo. God, Demo, he was gone; he was truly gone.
It hadn't sunk in that everyone besides Scout and Medic in his team was gone. His family was gone, and he couldn't protect them.
"Lad-"
"HEAVY!"
Jeremy's voice rang out in the container, snapping him from his stupor as the pain of Jeremy's nails digging into his shoulder brought him back to his senses, that ringing in his ear continuous.
He tore his gaze away from Demo to look at Jeremy, who was fisting with his sleeve t-shirt, having torn a hole into it. The both of them stared into each other's eyes, Jeremy's swimming with terror.
Heavy shifted his jaw, pushing his voice out of his throat. "I…" he started, and he fell silent once more.
This was the end of the line for him.
And Heavy wasn't sure what he felt anymore.
Was he supposed to feel the relief that people described when they were about to die? He wasn't sure; he didn't know what he felt like. Terror was definitely one of them. Just pure, utter horror that this was his fate.
It was kind of unfair, in his opinion. He didn't do much to deserve this kind of… it wasn't even really death, was it? Or at least, he thought he didn't do anything to deserve this. Apparently, he did do something wrong in his life that he deserved to be tortured for eternity as a monster.
Honestly? It was overkill if this was a punishment for something he did.
"Heavy, ya know I ain't gonna hurt ya. Yer me best mate."
Jeremy didn't understand what BLU Demoman was saying, too in his head to figure out the jumbled words that came out of his mouth. It was obvious the BLU team were some kind of family—he wasn't sure how they hid that for this long—but he really couldn't give a shit about that at the moment, not when their "big happy family" were fucking monsters out to eat them all.
It hadn't really sunk in that this was it. That this was where Jeremy died—absorbed.
And that the strongest fucking dude in the BLU team was getting cold feet. The worst part? He actually understood where he was coming from. Hell, he would've reacted the same way if he saw his own family turned into horrific things from hell itself.
He felt a hole in Heavy's shirt and bit his tongue, looking down at his feet and feeling a familiar sting inside his nose. Goddammit, he was going to become a monster, and there wasn't jack shit he could do to stop it from happening.
He was going to become a monster and be stuck with fake copies of his own teammates.
Did he have any regrets? Not really, besides the fact that he never confessed to Miss Pauling, or got married to her and went to live in the middle of the woods, or in some shabby apartment in the big apple of New York, while raising squirts together.
Maybe he regretted not calling his ma earlier when Medic gave him the phone, and maybe now he was missing his brother's voices, having avoided them for so long because of his stupid pride of wanting to prove he was actually good at something for once in his life, that he can actually be great at something that they weren't.
He regretted not being able to live on the down low, being a coach to kids and teaching them how to be a hard hitter like he was. He regretted that he didn't just run when he found the BLU Heavy because he looked too much like RED Heavy. Like Mikhail.
And now he wasn't sure why, but the realisation was finally coming to him that, after all this time, Mikhail was absorbed by the bigger monster. And Mikhail was gone. The strongest person in his team was just gone. Just like that. In the snap of a finger.
Heavy was all that was left of him, and even then it was just a clone of him.
No, that couldn't be right. He was just his own person. He wasn't a clone of him. Not anymore. He hasn't been a clone of Mikhail in years.
He tried wrapping his head around that revelation. Heavy, BLU Heavy, was his own person with his own goals and motivations, who looked out for the BLU team like how Jeremy tried looking out for his ma and siblings, like how Mikhail looked out for his siblings and ma.
And—and God, maybe he regrets saying those words to BLU Heavy earlier, telling him that they weren't friends. They weren't, but, and while he knew he wasn't good with his words, maybe he just needed someone to speak to, because this was it.
This was the end.
And God fucking dammit, he was always such a fuck up because this was his punishment for never trying to understand those stupid ass clones.
He could see it now, how they've changed, how they all withered over time, how his own clone had changed so much that he wasn't even him anymore, and it was all just too much for Jeremy, too overwhelming.
Standing in a dark container with a monster slowly inching towards them, mockingly, like a predator that caught its prey, while he was standing behind Heavy, who was practically telling him he was going to kill himself because was life just that worthless?
He wanted to scream in frustration.
It was all too much.
He never understood suicide. It was a weird thing he never saw much of. He knew people killed themselves because they were angry or sad. One of his brothers took his life because of it, head blown straight off, but he never understood why. He wasn't close to him, but seeing how much his ma grieved, it was selfish, pathetic, and yet he felt so many mixed emotions because of that stupid freakin' clone now.
Obviously, when he's about to be tortured for eternity, the clone comes right along to destroy his worldview. He couldn't have waited until they were safe? When they were in a better situation, wrapped in blankets, drinking pop, coffee, or beer or whatever, and safe?
Jeremy felt a pain shoot through his arm, hissing, and his eyes went to the stump of his arm. Oh, yeah. It was still gone. This was the worst fucking day ever.
"Lad, I can't see you…" Demo reached out to them, and Jeremy banged his head against the container. He was going to die here and he couldn't even blame Heavy. "We can… get some drinks. How's that sound?"
"Scout." Heavy muttered to him.
Jeremy turned his focus to him, nose scrunched, exasperated.
"You should run."
He took his hand away from Heavy's shoulder and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "How?"
"I am Heavy weapons guy." He answered instead.
Jeremy slowly blinked, incredulous, as he stared up at the back of his head. "Yeah, duh, that's like your whole job, ain't it?"
"I will distract. You use cloak."
The Boston straightened, and he shot his arm out to grasp his upper forearm, eyes blown wide like dinner plates, whilst he spoke through gritted teeth. "What the hell're you doing? Are you freakin' stupid?"
Heavy looked down at Jeremy, brows pinched together, but nonetheless, despite the obvious fear in his gaze and the vulnerability that displayed in his eyes, the corner of his lips tilted upward.
"You are good man despite downfalls." He said, solemnly.
If it were somehow possible, Jeremy's eyes widened. "Heavy—Mikhail, what're you—ya ain't—ya can't."
Heavy pushed Jeremy's hand off himself, looking away from him. "You need distraction to run to the shutter. I'm too large to make it."
"Mikhail-"
"I am not Mikhail."
Jeremy paused, expression abruptly crestfallen and blue.
Fuck.
Jeremy's face fell, and he suddenly felt guilty. Immeasurably guilty for being such a shithead.
That revelation came too late.
He was angry, yeah, but now that he was seeing him like this, now, when he was just coming to accept he was going to die and turn into a monster? Now? Now he felt horrible. He hated this feeling. This feeling, this empathy, wasn't him.
"Grab the medic gun." Heavy began instructing him.
"Heavy-"
"If it's too heavy, use a sheet to drag it."
"No, Heavy, listen-"
"Then bring it to the RED base garage, and wait for Sniper. If he isn't there, leave."
"I ain't leavin'-"
"If Sniper doesn't turn up, grab my team's Spy."
"Quit interruptin' me!"
Heavy settled his hand on Scout's shoulder, leaning down to stare him in his eyes, voice sagely. "It is alright. Doktor will fix everything. We must have confidence."
Jeremy's eyes went from one to another, disbelieving him, because he could see the doubt in his gaze from his own words.
He didn't believe his own words, and Jeremy wasn't sure what terrified him more: that Heavy was taking this risk knowing that he lacked any confidence in the BLU Medic to fix this, or that he was going to sacrifice himself no matter what.
"Please." Heavy practically begged him.
Jeremy shot him, killed him, bruised his face until he wasn't recognisable in battle. He wondered, if, in another life, they would've been friends.
He couldn't muster any words, and with his hand trailing his arm until he completely let go, he thickly swallowed and nodded. He clenched his hand, nodding once more, before shoving his hand in his pocket.
There was a faint click of the cloaking device, and smoke swamped his entire body.
"The Scout is a Spy!" Demoman noted in alarm.
Suddenly, it was as if he bloomed into a morbid flower, webbing both the walls and roof of the container like an intricate web. Thick sludge flurried off him, staining the container's walls as he tried blocking Jeremy's exit.
He was frozen in place, but the moment was short-lived. Heavy grappled the strings and pulled at them, grunting with each thread he pulled from the walls. He screamed with each one, and a small opening was clear enough for him to climb through.
He couldn't muster the courage to look at Heavy as he escaped, pushing through the opening and careful to not disturb the threads that clung to the walls. His ears muffled out every other word and sound that came from the container while he disappeared around the corner, hearing grunts and clanging within the metallic container.
He weaved through the container yard, still cloak, as a singular thought came to him:
He never got to tell him that BLU Scout was gone.
Heavy wasn't alright with this.
Even when he was accepting of it earlier.
He wasn't alright with becoming absorbed by Demoman.
Demo wound tight around his body, like a suffocating hug that lacked the warmth that typical hugs provide. There was no comfort in this hug, only the snapping of his bones, similar to how Heavy crushed the RED team's bodies in battle.
He wondered if this was how the RED team felt whenever he used that move, or how everyone felt when they were absorbed by the monsters.
The thought vanished immediately when he heard another snap, crying as he attempted to pin Demo to prevent him from chasing Jeremy.
"WHY? WHY? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?! I TOLD YE TO RUN! I TOLD YOU! I TOLD YOU!"
"No." Heavy mustered, shaking his head in what he assumed was his shoulder. "No, we—I cannot do that."
He heard Demo cry as Heavy's lungs and vocal cords were severed simultaneously, causing him to choke and exhale for air. His ribs punctured his lungs, and he felt blood and vomit rise up into his throat. His arm was extended toward the opened container, freedom in front of him.
However, he was trapped, firmly attempting to hold Demo in place.
"Ye should've ran! You should've ran!"
Heavy silently begged for freedom. He didn't want to die or become a monster just yet. Even if Medic, Scout, and Spy didn't need his protection, he wanted to protect them. They cared for him, and he cared too much in return.
He wanted to return to them, make sure they were safe and well, and tell stupid jokes with them. He wanted everything to return to normal, where they only had to worry about getting to the next day.
But freedom never came, because he didn't allow himself to let go.
His hand was gripping the air, as if some invisible force would intervene to hold it.
There was instead a crack, followed by blinding pain and then cold numbness.
A blinding light consumed his vision, and he felt his body go limp in Demoman's arms.
"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I didn't mean to!"
Ringing.
Notes:
I feel like the characters are really ooc this chapter, so this might undergo heavy editing in the future, but I just wanted to get this chapter out. Jeremy teaming up with BLU Heavy was completely unintentional, it was originally meant to be someone else and Jeremy was actually meant to die in chapter 15.
I was also bouncing around with the idea of killing Heavy off, I sort of needed him for a really cool epic scene, but then again, that cool epic scene could go to someone else. I actually had no idea what I was doing with Heavy's character, he was just introduced on a whim, and he's somehow lived this long. I'm glad I decided early on to keep him as a static character though, it makes it easier to kill him off without any large repercussions to the narrative. But I'm also not a fan of killing characters off without meaning, so he died giving Scout meaning like he did for Demo and Sniper, and died not knowing how much the BLU team cared for him, which I think is pretty good? Hopefully?
This chapter wasn't supposed to make you cry, fyi, just upset. There isn't really any way I can make you cry with this chapter since Heavy was never really important. But if you cried, uh, thumbs up, cool. BUT GODDAMMIT, I finally learned how to draw Heavy and write him as a character and I have to kill him off now! WHAT THE HELL!
But onto the FANART!:
I got fanart made by the anonymous in the previous chapter! YES! YES! WHOO! Just the reference from all the way back to chapter 1? WHOO! YEAH! ALRIGHTTT!