#just pretend the tense shifts aren't there shhhh

[nezclaw]

don’t mess with the medic: or how i managed to give myself heavy+medic feels

blood, violence, needles, (it’s tf2), and just a *teeny* bit of angst

(posted a more edited version to AO3. I'm nezclaw there too)

Heavy hears a concerning amount of yelling from the Medic's lab and goes to investigate.

   "... should try being a little more *careful* next time, hmm?" the medic hisses. Scout is bound to the examination table, surrounded by wicked medical implements.

   "Hey Doc come on man! I was just looking for a band aid!" Scout protests, struggling against the straps holding him tightly against the table.

   "Ach, zhat ist vhat zhey all say. Jusst a bandaid." Medic says, browsing his collection of vicious syringes. His accent is much stronger, the hard consonants gutteral and sharp.  "But it ist never *jusst* a bandaid, ist es? Zhere'z alvays zomething else to vaste my time!" He tests the sharpness of one needle, and grins as he turns back to Scout. "Isn't zhat right, Scout?"

   "Uhh no Pyro used up all the bandaids in the general first aid cuz they were the fun patterned ones and I cut myself while making lunch and Ma always told me to take care of cuts immediately or they'll get infected and I'll die from it and-" Scouts voice cracks as he babbles, eyes on the massive needle in the Medic's hand.

   "Oh, vell vhy didn't you say so?" Medic asks, voice almost normal as he smiles at Scout. Scout has about half a second of hope that this was all a misunderstanding before the Medic grabs his bonesaw. "Clearly it needs to komm off! Don't vorry, zhis vill only hurt a lot!"

   "Doktor, is not necessary to butcher little Scout. Why are doing this?" the Heavy asks, one large hand gently, yet firmly preventing Medic from chopping the Scout's entire hand off.

   The Medic spins, grabbing an unidentified syringe in a power grip and wrenching his other arm away from Heavy in a surprising show of strength. His eyes are wild with rage, and he is practically frothing at the mouth.

"Er hat interrupted meine Arbeit for zhe LAST time!" he screams, lunging at Heavy, lapsing into his native tongue in his fury. (He has interrupted my work for the LAST time)

   Heavy easily catches the Medics wild swing, and carefully removes the syringe from his grasp. "Heavy thinks Doktor should not operate while angry." He grunts as the bone saw catches him a glancing blow. "Nyet. Bad Doktor." Ignoring the blood flowing freely from the wound, he grabs the Medic by the back of his shirt, picking him up like a feral kitten.

   "Schweinehund! Put me down! Jetzt! Schnell!" The Medic thrashes in the Heavy's grip, six feet of pure German fury, rendered helpless by the massive Russian.

   "Doktor will calm down first." Heavy says firmly.

   "Nein!"

   Heavy ignores the Medic's enraged thrashing and carries him to a side room. The Russian man is easily able to carry the enraged German, even with one hand clamped over the gash the Medic managed to score with his saw. He shakes him slightly as he tries to get a grip on Heavy's arm.

   "Biting will not help you." he says as the Medic manages to sink his teeth into the Heavy's arm when his previous efforts failed. "Had to help raise three baby sisters."

   "*Let. Me. GO!*"

   "Nyet. Not until you are calm." Heavy locks the door and puts the Medic down. Hopefully someone will be by to let Scout out of the restraints.

   "I AM CALM!" Medic shrieks, frothing at the mouth.

   "Da. And Heavy is girl scout." Heavy watches as the Medic paces around the room, snarling in German. Most of it Heavy doesn't understand, but he does catch "schweinehund" and "dummkopf" a couple times, which he's pretty sure are insults.

    He leans against the door and wonders if this is going to be a regular occurrence. Maybe they should get some pillows for this room.

   After a few moments the Medic charges at him, fingers bent into claws, and tries to gouge out Heavy's eyes. Heavy catches him and sits on him, to keep him from hurting himself  or Heavy.

   "OAF! RELEASE ME-(more german swearing)"

   "Nyet. Perhaps story will help. Here is Russian story I would tell baby sisters when they were angry..." It is full of blood and gore. Medic stops his struggling partway through the telling.

   "Is Doktor feeling better now?" Heavy asks, once he's finished the story.

   "Ah... yes, I am. I'm quite sorry you had to see that." Medic's voice is a bit raw, but otherwise normal, devoid of overt malice. "Er.... Would you be so kind as to let me up?"

   "Da." Heavy stands and helps the Medic up. The Medic straightens his glasses and coughs.

   "Danke. I... appreciate it." he says, not meeting Heavy’s eyes.

   "You promise you will not maim Scout?" Heavy asks, hand on the doorknob.

   "I promise not to inflict unnecessary or excessive harm on the Scout," the Medic promises. Heavy chuckles at that phrasing as he opens the door.

   Scout is still there. He screams when he sees the Medic.

   "Here is your bandaid. Now get out of mein office." he says as he undoes the straps holding Scout down. Scout does not need to be told twice, and promptly disappears in a cloud of dust.

   The Medic sits down in a chair, leaning forward and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He sighs. Then he pauses, nostrils flaring.

   "I smell blood. Sind Sie bleeding?" (Are you bleeding?)

   "Is nothing." Heavy says, despite the fact that Medic did manage to break skin while biting him.

   "Don't be absurd if I can smell it from over here then clearly you need more at than just a bandaid." Medic replies sharply as he stands. Heavy shrugs.

   "Did not want to upset you."

   Medic tch's and approaches to inspect the Heavy, taking note of the gash in his side and the bite marks on his arm. Then he looks at the bloodied bone saw and the drops of blood leading to the room they were just in.

   "Ah." he says, slightly awkwardly. "I will get the medigun."

   He is quiet as he patches the Heavy up. "There." he says once he is finished. "Now if you'll excuse me... I need to spend some time with my birds." He looks weary, the lines in his face and the grey in his hair serving a sharp reminder that the medic is likely the oldest of them, though he remains in excellent shape. Heavy nods silently and leaves.

   The Medic straightens his lab, mopping up the spilled blood and collecting his tools. Archimedes flies down and lands on his shoulder, cooing.

   "And where were you when I had Scout on the table, hmm?" he asks mildly. Archimedes nibbles at his hair, preening him. He gives a soft chuckle. "I suppose you're still getting used to the new routine with the rest of the flock." He reaches up and gives him a little scratch on the head. Archimedes makes a contented noise.

   Medic pulls out a bag of birdseed and  heads to the dovecote with it. He scatters a handful or two and sits down to watch the birds do their thing.

   It's calming. They don't have to deal with fools whose idea of a good time is blowing themselves up or putting themselves into organ failure. The soft coos and flapping of wings grounds him. It's easier when he was alone, usually then he could tell if he had a black mood coming on and could distract himself with his birds, or Archimedes could alert him when he noticed his mood dropping after reading some particularly moronic medical paper.

   Anyway they did need to understand that just because he was their Medic it didn't mean he would put up with them coming to him for every little booboo. Though he did feel bad about gouging the Heavy. Heavy respected him.

   There's a knock on the door.

   "Hmm? Wer ist es? Möchten Sie?" (Who is it? What do you want?)

   "Is Heavy. Have sandwich for Doktor." Heavy says, correctly guessing that the Medic wasn't telling him to fuck off and die in German. "Doktor is hungry after trying to maul Scout, da?"

   "And nearly mauling you." Medic replies, but opens the door anyway.

   "Is nothing." Heavy says, shrugging it off. "Have three sisters. Maybe if most of team tried, could hurt me, but one little Doktor? No chance. Can come in?"

   "Ah, yes you may. Try not to step on the birds."

   "Da. Heavy will be careful." The big man enters, birds scattering, and puts the sandvich on a table. "Nyet. Is Doktor food, not bird food." he says as he gently shoos the curious doves away.

   "You didn't have to do that you know." Medic says, eyeing the sandwich and realizing the Heavy was right.

   "Is good to take care of Doktor." Heavy says. "Is also good that Doktor can protect self if needed."

   The Medic nods and takes the sandwich.

   He is very hungry after attempting to maul Scout, and is quite surprised to find that Heavy had made a ham and sauerkraut sandwich with the *good* mustard. Very strong flavors, very German.

   "Is good, da?"

   "Ja! I see you were serious about taking care of your Medic." There is an odd emotion stirring in the Medics chest. Gratitude, perhaps? When was the last time someone had done something genuinely nice for him? He looks over at the Heavy, who is very, VERY carefully patting Archimedes on the head with one finger, a look of intense concentration on his face. Even if it was just to make sure the Medic didn't try to kill him. It still would've been easier to just avoid him, instead of seeking him out.

   "You have sisters?" he asks he watches Heavy coax a bird onto his finger.

   "Da. Zhanna, Bronislavia, and Yana. All younger. Had to break up many fights." He chuckles. "Zhanna was little terror. Often had to separate them to prevent serious injury."

   "I see..."

   "Seems technique works on mad Doktors as well as baby sisters." He smiles, gives Medic a pat on the back, and leaves.

   Medic is left with a confusing mix of neurochemicals that he's not entirely sure how to handle. It comes as no surprise to anyone that the Medic was generally pretty bad at relating to other people. His birds generally helped him fill his necessary socialization requirements, usually by him projecting conversations on them. (It's free therapy!) Of course, that does mean he has an interpersonal skills rating of Bad.

   He sighs, rubbing his face. His black moods always left him feeling like he'd been run through the wringer, leaving him exhausted. He rested his head on the table and closed his eyes.

   When he opened them again, he found that his glasses had been removed and set aside, a trick he had taught Archimedes, and there was a pillow under his cheek, a trick he had definitely not taught him, largely due to the birds being too small to move his head. Suspicious.

   Still, the nap had done wonders to reset his neurochemistry, though there was still an odd sensation when he thought about the Heavy. Whatever. He was here to be the teams medic, not make friends. Attachments would compromise the quality of his work. Of course, being friendly could enable him to experiment more... but there was a reason he only confided in his birds. It was easier, that way.

   It would be a cold day in hell before he admitted how desperate he was for a hug. So he shoved his feelings deep down inside and pretended that nothing was bothering him. He had managed this long, he didn't need friends.