Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rain tapped against the windows of the rickety house. A young man was standing against the wall of an unlit room in Germany, watching the clock nonchalantly. He was born at two twenty-three PM. It was almost that time. He pushed his sleeve down to stare at his wrist, now impatient. In the meantime, he wondered if it'd snow. He'd have to find a way to warm the house. It wasn't like his parents were going to be home anytime soon to turn the heat on-- nevermind pay for it. He supposed he could try to scavenge up some firewood outside, if there was any dry timber left.

Two minutes until his birthday. Two minutes until he was officially an adult. He sunk against the wall, arms crossed. He thought that the whole soulmate notion was ridiculous, and yet he found himself anxiously awaiting his clue. Maybe one wouldn't appear. Maybe he'd be by himself. That was fine by him.

But alas, words faded in on his wrist when the time came.

Doc, heal me now! I don't believe in this Respawn shit!

Of course it was in English. He wasn't very good at English, but he could understand a few of the words. There was obvious slang in the phrase, and he hoped he would be able to decipher it later on in life.

He sighed, rolling his sleeve back down and running his hand through his ink black hair. Guess he'd better go do something about the chill in the house.

~

It was a warm summer day in Australia, years later. A young man, age of eighteen, sat up immediately. Excitedly, he rushed to turn on his bedroom light. Flicking it on, the brunette shoved his hair out of his face to examine his wrist. Today was the day. The day he discovered how he would find his soulmate.

Sniper! Get away from the door!

The boy stared at the words on his wrist in a daze, scrubbing at his eyes. He wondered why a sniper was mentioned in the future quote from his soulmate.

It was proven true that in the moment one turns eighteen, the words of the person's soulmate would appear on their wrists. It seemed very cliche and stupid, but it was shown to be right again and again. The true, difficult matter was remembering to call out the person that said the words before it was too late, because it was also proven that, if not confronted soon after the words were spoken, the best chance at love would be lost forever. The man just hoped he'd be able to stay on top of things and pay attention to someone yelling at a sniper about a door.

Though, he was shocked that he even got a sentence on his wrist. He figured that he'd be alone forever- no girl to love or care for. After all, he was a self-proclaimed loner. More like he was a bumbling idiot when it came to talking to people and stayed behind because he was afraid of messing up something. Maybe it'll all change. Who knows? He was only eighteen. Maybe he'd be able to pick out his one love when he saw them.

~

Mick readjusted his sunglasses as he gripped his suitcase by the handle, pulling it into the main office of Mann Co. He made his way into the building, blissful cool air greeting him which was a nice contrast from the dry hotness of the desert outside. He crossed his arms as he waited for the lady at the desk to call him over.

She was a young woman with jet black hair and cateye glasses, clad in purple and hair neatly done in a bun. He found it odd for someone that young to be working in a position such as this.

His mind flew back from his thoughts when the lady called him. He was the only one in the waiting room. He left his bags by the door and walked over to the desk.

"I need you to sign here, here, here, and fill this out." She slid a clipboard towards Mick. As she extended her arm, he noted how her wrist had "I gotta' bucket of chicken!" written on it.

He raised an eyebrow, but thankfully the expression was hidden by his sunglasses. He found himself pointing out people's clues to himself in his mind. It was a habit, really. It wasn't like he was going to say what was on their wrist to see what'd happen.

Fate didn't work that way.

He also noticed how he was slowly becoming more and more obsessed with what was written on his own wrist. He was forty-three and he still hasn't heard a single word uttered by anyone about a sniper and a door. His parents were growing more and more concerned for him, and they were beginning to wonder if they'd ever have grandchildren. It was purely coincidence that he had managed to sign up for a job as a sniper for a mysterious company out in the desert of New Mexico. What was odd was how the job title he was given was simply ‘Sniper’. Whatever got him closer, he supposed.

He finished filling out the paperwork and handed it back to the lady.

"I'm sure you're aware of the strict policy of working as a mercenary for Mann Co. already, but I'm required to repeat them to you, so please listen." She cleared her throat as she held up a piece of paper. She listed off, "No usage of real names. No destroying the base you're stationed at. No forming relationships of any kind with your team or the enemy team. No stealing the health kits on the field for your own personal use during ceasefire..." The list went on and on.

Once she was finished, he nodded briskly. With a farewell and a good luck from the secretary, he retreated back to his suitcase, manila folder in between his body and arm, and moved to the door in the back where a train would deport him to the base.

~

"So, you're going to be our Medic?" a voice asked.

"Yes, I am." The medic turned towards the shorter man to his left. "And you are?"

"The Engineer."

Medic grinned with what he thought was a pleasant enough smile and shook his hand. He noted his Texan drawl. "Texas?"

"Yessiree. The Lone Star state," Engineer stated proudly, tipping his cowboy hat in justification. Of course. Medic shouldn't have had to ask- the man was wearing cowboy boots and a ten gallon hat as if to announce to the world where he was from. He seemed very enthusiastic about his home state.

"I'm guessing you're from Europe, yeah?" the young boy in front of them chimed. "Funky accent. My ma's asshole of a boyfriend is from Europe. He's a frog." He smirked. "Well then... So far we've got three Americans on this train that I know of. Me, Engie, and that loud dude over there that won't stop yelling about patriotism. The rest of the crew is from other places, apparently. Kinda odd." He leaned forward and glanced around the train at the others. "So like, where from Europe are ya from? Not France, that's for sure, I'd recognize a French accent in a heartbeat."

Medic's eyes took in his appearance. This man-- no, boy-- seemed way too young and immature to participate in a war such as this. Though, the company the lot was working for paid them each a lofty sum of money each month, with a bonus attached if they won most of the battles during the course of a few weeks. Medic supposed the boy across from him was doing it for the money, but he didn't dare ask quite yet. What people did with money was none of his business. What his teammates were doing in this line of work was none of his business either. They each had their own reasons. Maybe money wasn't the main motivation for agreeing to participate in this job for everyone, like Medic for example.

There was one thing he knew about him, though. He never shut up. Medic was sure the Scout-- which he announced plenty of times to be his job title-- broke more than half the rules listed in the guide book about privacy in a single ramble. No guards or officials jumped on them yet, so Medic wasn't concerned.

At this point, it seemed like Scout was rambling to himself, so Medic turned back to the Engineer to make conversation. "I never did get a chance to answer his question. He talked over himself," Medic said. "I'm from Germany, but I moved here recently to find a job. My status in Germany wasn't exactly the highest."

Engineer gave him a skeptical look at that. "Now, I'm not one to assume, but you don't seem as if you're from a poor part of the country, partner. You've got a pretty dang good outfit, pair of shoes--"

Medic stopped him. "That isn't exactly what I meant." He shook his head and sighed. "Never mind that. I'm not quite sure whether or not I should explain it or not, so I think I will stay safe and not."

The conversation drifted back and forth between politics and food from their respective countries. Somehow, the topic shifted to the undeniable fate that was tied to everyone once they became an adult. Medic supposed it came about when Engineer was talking about his wife and kid back home. When asked if he had a family back home, Medic shook his head and tugged his sleeve over his wrist. It was ridiculous, but he found himself embarrassed by the fact that the words hadn't yet disappeared from his wrist. He was almost fifty- he shouldn't worry about such frivolous things.

The action of hiding his wrist did not go unnoticed by Engineer. He put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Hey, don't worry, you'll find that special someone someday."

Medic rolled his eyes, but he managed a smirk. "Thank you, Engineer." He paused, glancing over at the Scout. He murmured, "His says 'Look out, idiot'. Why am I not shocked in the least?"

Engineer laughed at this. "Y'know, mine said 'I hope I'm not intimidating you with these cow udders'."

Medic laughed along with him at how goofy the phrase was. He could imagine the Texan waking up on his birthday to find a sentence regarding a cow's udders on his wrist in confusion. "The lady at the main office had chicken mentioned in it."

"I saw that! I found it interesting," Engineer agreed. He shrugged. "To each his own, I guess." Leaning back, he asked, "What does yours say?"

"'Doc, heal me now! I don't believe in all this Respawn shit!'" Medic stated. He didn't even have to look at it anymore. He had it memorized so he could recall it in a moment's notice, whether he understood what "Respawn" meant or not. It was all English babble to him when he first saw it, but now that he was fluent in English he could tell that the tone of the message was urgent. "It made my father think I needed to learn to be a doctor. So I became one. It has served me well, and I quite enjoyed it."

"What's Respawn?" Engineer asked.

"I was sort of hoping someone here would be able to tell me. I don't know," he sighed. "So it isn't some English slang I wouldn't understand as someone that isn't a native?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Hmm."

They were almost at the base. They had to make a few more stops for supplies before their final destination.

~

Sniper, Mick's new name from here on out, sat alone in a corner of the train observing the others. He watched everyone else chat and carry along. A few had tried to summon him over to a conversation, but it felt a bit awkward to walk over and talk to people he didn't even know as if they've always been good buddies. So, he kept to himself.

Sniper looked up when a large man sat next to him. Sniper pulled his legs a bit closer to himself on instinct.

"You are loner, yes?" he asked in a gruff voice, shocking Sniper into nervously glancing up at him. He wasn't going to deny that he was a bit intimidated by him. He looked like someone that could break your spine like a mere twig if messed with.

"Uh, yeah, I am, I guess." Sniper looked back down at his feet.

"It is okay. I prefer to be away from people too." The man leaned back in his seat and looked out the window at the scenery flying past them. "Haven't ever been in States before. But here I am."

Sniper could tell. His English was choppy and it seemed like he had only a few years' practice using it. Sniper nodded slowly, then said, "So where are you from, mate?"

"Russia." Heavy turned his head again to look at Sniper. "Is a nice place. Very pretty. Lots of snow. Cold, there are a bunch of bears as well. Skimpy man like you would never survive," he chuckled, smacking him on the shoulder in a friendly gesture. The act made Sniper stumble out of his seat even though it was meant to be lighthearted.

Sniper found himself on the floor now. "That sounds like a challenge. I could probably handle it quite fine," he retorted.

The man laughed again. "Maybe, maybe not. None of you seem built for cold."

"Hey, pal, listen up-- have you ever lived in Boston during the winter?" Scout exclaimed.

"Baby man, Boston is probably no match for Russia."

"'Baby man'?" Scout looked offended. He stood up and pranced over to the bigger man. He jabbed his chest. "Look, I ain't no baby! I'm an adult!" He punched his jaw.

Their teammate seemed unfazed. He stood up, looking like a tower against Scout. His face was contorted in annoyance. "Really? Then why are your punches so weak?"

Scout was enraged. He held his ground, fists out like a boxer.

His opponent smirked. He stepped forward, arm swinging back. His fist collided with Scout's face with an audible thump.

Scout flew backwards, past where Sniper was sitting on the floor. Scout was sprawled on the floor, mouth agape. He scampered against the wall, staring at him with his fingers pressed against his jaw. "Lard-ass!" He stood up, wavering slightly as he went back to his own seat.

Heavy rolled his eyes and looked at Sniper. "He should have seen it coming." He held out his hand to help him up off the floor. "I am Heavy Weaponsguy."

"I'm the Sniper." Sniper dusted himself off and plopped back down into his spot. "So, Weaponsguy, what exactly are you going to do during the battle? I really don't know what exactly I'm doing. Finding a perch and shootin' I guess."

"I have gun. Mow enemy BLU team down. And please, call me Heavy. Is easier to remember."

"Heavy? But isn't that a bit... Offensive?"

"No, because I am not offended by it."

"Oh, okay."

"I do not know why others find it offensive. Is just a description to describe someone a bit bigger than them. And is true. I pushed you off chair with simple pat." He shrugged nonchalantly.

Sniper sighed and leaned against the window. He watched as the base got closer and closer. "Did they tell you how the sleeping situation was going to be?" Sniper asked out of pure curiosity and the want to keep the conversation going. It seemed wise to stay on the Russian's good side.

"Dorms I think. May be separate rooms but it could be one room for a few."

"Maybe they're dividing it up by Offense, Defense, and Support. That'd make sense."

"Yes."

He wasn't going to tell Heavy how nervous he was about this new job. It made tons of money and he was going to be doing what he was good at, but he was afraid of dying. That was what his parents warned him about when he told them he was going overseas to America to fight. Upon being asked what the fight was for, Sniper had clammed up. Mann Co. had told each mercenary to not tell why they were fighting.

The Gravel Wars were for the company and the New Mexican territory. It was RED versus BLU, teams ran by Redmond Mann and Blutarch Mann, respective. It was a pointless battle, but he was hired by RED because of his commendable skills as a marksman. It wasn't like he was going to be doing much of anything else during his life. Might as well do something he wasn't bad at. The contract was for four years but you could choose to stay longer if you wished. The main question was whether or not he'd be able to survive the entire term.

Chapter Text

The train slowed to a stop in the middle of the desert in isolation rather than a station. Medic sighed. It looked as if they were going to have to walk. He waited for everyone to pass him until he got out of the train car, following them through the sand. The base wasn't far. He could see it in the distance.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Docteur," the man greeted. He blew some smoke in the opposite direction. He had a dark red balaclava and pin stripe suit on, which was odd given they were trudging through a hot, dusty desert.

"How did you know I was the Medic?" Medic asked suspiciously.

He shook his head. "I know about everyone here." He removed his hand and put his cigarette in his mouth to adjust his tie. "I am just trying to say hello to my fellow teammate."

"Well, I'd like to know who you are, first off."

"I am the Spy." He pulled out his cigarette case. "Care for a smoke?"

"I don't smoke," he said.

"Ah." Spy tucked it back into his pocket. "Fair enough."

They walked in silence.

"I'm going to assume you're trying to figure everyone out," Medic said to him. "Trying to, ah, spy and keep information as blackmail."

"Oh, of course not, Medic." He grinned and leaned in towards Medic. With an evil glint in his eye, he murmured, "Just know that I know your backstory. I know what happened in Germany and why you aren't a doctor there."

Medic stared at him, eyebrows furrowed in anger. He opened his mouth as if to defend himself, but Spy stopped him abruptly and began to laugh, a few snorts snuck into it. "Your face! You should've seen it!" he cried. "I don't know why you're here at all. I'm just messing with you." Spy patted him on the back again and chuckled as he placed his cigarette back into his mouth.

Medic glared at him. Somehow, he had the sneaking suspicion that he actually did know what happened to him in Germany. He shrugged it off. He had attempted to avoid telling the company that was hiring him that he had his medical license taken away from him after ripping a patient's skeleton out and being ran out of his village. Though, he was sure Mann Co. didn't care and was fully aware of his occasional psychotic behavior.

Everyone would probably find out eventually. Did it matter if he made friends here?

They finally made it to the base. Heavy went first, lifting the garage door open. He latched it so it wouldn't fall and led the way inside. Soldier, the loud and obnoxious patriotic American followed, flicking on the light in the garage.

"Hey, my van's here!" someone in front of him cried. "I didn't think it'd make it!" The mercenary with a hat and yellow-lensed aviators ran up to it and unlocked it with the keys that were in the keyhole. He climbed inside it to check it. "Everything is intact."

He hadn't met the Australian yet. Medic could've, but the man kept to himself on the train and Medic was busy chatting with Engineer and Scout to walk over to his side of the car.

"It smells," Scout stated, poking his head in. "You live in here or something?" He wrinkled his nose and looked around the camper van.

He murmured something under his breath, embarrassed. Medic smirked. That probably meant yes, he did live in a van.

"Okay, well, we should probably check out the base first before anything," Engineer said, opening the door to inside the base. It seemed that he didn't fail to notice that his white pickup truck was there, as well, though. Medic could assume it was his given the Texan license plate. He began to wonder if Engineer had just driven to the office himself. Texas was neighbors with New Mexico.

Medic headed straight to the infirmary to make sure everything was in place like the woman at the office had said. She said that they could have a few carry-ons on the train but the major luggage-- such as vehicles-- would be transported to the base by the company. He entered the infirmary, clicking on the light. It was a big space with white walls and white tiled floors. Gurneys and cots were in a room that led from the main room that was equipped with an operating table and various equipment. There was another room to the right that was closed. He was told that he would have his own bedroom. Medic went to the room to see how it was.

The sheets were red and the bed was comfortable from what he could tell by sitting on it. The room wasn't too big, but it was nice. He sat there for a while, taking in the room. In the corner, there was a large bird cage with five or so doves in it, one of them blood-stained.

"Archimedes!" He leaped off the bed to tend to the doves. "You made it here safely! I'm glad," he cooed, stroking the bloody bird's feathers on its head. He closed the cage back up and set about unpacking. He threw his violin case on the bed and pulled out various clothing items such as vests and undershirts and hung them up in the closet. In the closet already was the RED Medic uniform, which was really only a lab coat but the uniform required khaki pants and boots to be worn with it. There were multiple sets of the coat, probably in case one got tarnished.

After unpacking and arranging, he stopped by the bathroom to wash his hands. As he did so, he glanced at the words on his wrist. He sighed, still unsure as to what Respawn was. Maybe he would figure it out here.

~

Sniper was in his van, parking it outside the base in the desert. He felt it best to not keep it in the garage but rather out a bit in case he wanted to retreat to it and away from the base. Scout was right. It did smell. They were allowed to go into the town during ceasefire, so he told himself to buy an air freshener when he went. He slid into the back and onto the bed, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the ceiling. The window was open, bathing the interior with the warm desert sun as it began to set for the day. He heard that desert nights were fairly cool and pleasant.

He had shoved some things from home in various compartments into his van so he could have them on hand in New Mexico. That included records and various books and photo albums. He rolled over and fished for a photo album. It had a navy cover, which he now found ironic since he worked for the RED team. He pulled out a picture of his mum and dad and taped it on the wall.

Before Sniper went to sleep, he tugged his dog tags out from underneath his shirt. They were all given a set. This, once again, brought about the worries of dying. He shook his head, trying to not think about it as he climbed under the covers and went to sleep. He threw the dog tags to the side, as if it would rid him of the unavoidable thoughts of being killed in action.

The next day was to be spent unpacking, getting to know each other, and ultimately preparing for the battle the next day. Oddly enough, there were no commanders or leaders to guide them through the battles. They were left to fend for themselves against the BLUs. They didn't even know for sure what kind of mission tomorrow was-- the guides that they were given told about the different objectives, such as capturing a point or intelligence or pushing a cart with a bomb in it. Peculiar missions, Sniper had to admit.

Sniper woke up at the crack of dawn out of habit. He enjoyed the peace and quiet of the mornings when the sun was first beginning to rise and he had the cool mornings to think during. He entered the base to see what the objective for breakfast was. He just hoped that the base had coffee hidden somewhere. He was a coffee addict and he wasn't going to deny it or do anything about it anytime soon. He needed it to start his day and he'd be in deep trouble if there wasn't any laying around. He dug through the cabinets in the kitchen. Ahh, yes, coffee. He figured he should make enough for anyone else if they wanted any.

Sniper started the pot of coffee and turned back to the cabinets to see what there was for breakfast.

"Good morning," Spy called from the doorway. He was clad in his suit and tie again, ever-present cigarette in between his lips. "What are you up to?"

"Mornin'... Spy," Sniper said, trying to memorize his teammates' class titles. "Looking for food. Is there any?"

Spy opened the cupboard on the opposite side of the kitchen. "Yes, some pancake mixes and cereal." He tossed the pancake mix box at Sniper. "Let's make some for everyone, shall we?" Sniper nodded in agreement.

"We should have a system," Sniper said. "Y'know, like, such and such people make breakfast this day, such and such people make dinner, do the dishes..."

"Dividing it up into the three groups seems fair enough," Spy said, gathering a piece of paper and a pen. "So, Mondays and Tuesdays will be the Support dorm's breakfast duty..." He set about calculating even duty days, including laundry and various other chores.

"Geez, I didn't mean for you to get that much into detail." He looked over Spy's shoulder at the neat list comprised of many, many different tasks that each class or group of classes could handle.

"Everyone else around here lives like slobs."

That seemed true. Demoman, the Scotsman that wasn't ever too far away from a bottle of scrumpy, always appeared to be making one mess or another. He was apparently oftentimes drunk, which made the messiness make some sense. Sniper was also quite an unorganized person himself.

Spy stuck the schedule on the fridge with a magnet. "There we go." As he was washing his hands, he caught Sniper staring at his blank wrist. He sighed, "Yes, I did have a soulmate." He cleared his throat and wiped his hands on the checkered kitchen towel. "But I've had many, many lovers afterwards." He turned to look at Sniper coldly. "I do not believe in fate."

Sniper raised an eyebrow. "Well, I still do." He turned his attention to the pancakes in the skillet. "And I've been looking forward to the moment I meet my partner ever since I was young and I deny that I am gettin' my hopes up for nothin'," he said sternly.

Spy snorted.

"Even if I'm almost mid-forties, going a bit bald earlier than is probably normal, kind of lanky and smelly..." Sniper droned on. He became silent. What if Spy was right? He remembered the day he turned twenty-two clearly. He had stood in front of the mirror and comforted himself that it would be okay if he never found the one. He repeated it to himself year after year on his birthday until he was thirty-something. He gave up on telling himself to wait patiently. But now he felt even more and more desperate, fearing that his luck had run out and he had brushed away his soulmate without noticing.

He sighed and piled the pancakes on a plate. With the help of Spy, he managed to make enough to where each person could have two pancakes.

Slowly, everyone went into the kitchen one by one, some in a group and some alone. A shorter teammate waddled in first, flame-retardant rubber uniform already on. The... Person seemed much more comfortable in their uniform than what they were in the other day, which was a large coat with a scarf wrapped around their face to cover their head completely. They seemed to be a strange little fellow, if they even were a person to begin with. Sniper had noticed that the mercenary seemed to be extremely immature as well, always giggling and bouncy and chatty. They had become friends with all of the others. More like they mumbled incoherently and excitedly until the person they were talking to walked off tensely after they got tired of pretending to know what they were saying. Their title was Pyro and Sniper was afraid to know what exactly that entailed.

Pyro sat in one of the chairs and happily swung their feet back and forth, sipping orange juice out of a straw that went through a slot in the gasmask. Sniper observed them carefully, wondering why they didn't just take off their mask. Spy leaned in towards Sniper and murmured, "I am a bit worried. Be careful around the Pyro. They are, after all, a pyromaniac, as hinted at by their title."

Sniper nodded slowly, eyes still locked onto the masked figure. He sipped his warm coffee, peering at them still from the top of the mug.

~

Medic paced his office in circles, trying to organize his thoughts while going through the paperwork on the other members of RED. He dug his gloved hand through his hair. He had decided to try on his uniform, which actually happened to include bright red latex gloves. Medic stopped at the supply closet, opening it carefully in case things were crammed in there and could spill out and onto him. In it was a strange looking gun of sorts and a bone saw. He gently lifted the weird machinery and set it onto the table. He dug the saw out as well, tucking it behind him as he fiddled with the equipment to see what it did. The lady at the office had told him that there would be top-secret machinery and supplies that he could use to tend to his teammates' wounds quickly. This must have been one of the said items. He fiddled with the gun-like object.

Amidst the fooling around, Medic managed to neglect the fact that he had a saw in his hand and sliced his leg when he was going to pull his arm out from behind him. "Scheiß!" he cried, jerking his unoccupied hand back. He hit a lever on the machinery as he twisted around to look at the gash. As he was focused on pressing his hands against it to stop the blood flow, he heard a faint humming noise. Snapping back around to the equipment, he saw that it was faintly glowing red and vapors were streaming out of the gun. His eyes widened as the mist surrounded him and his leg. What came next was a slight tingly feeling where he had cut himself, and a few seconds later the gash was patched up with not even a scar left. Medic stared at where the cut once was, mouth agape. Yes, that was definitely the top-secret healing equipment.

He quickly turned it off and flipped it over to show the red cross symbol that decorated the front. He read the label on the side. "So you're a Medigun. What a lame name for such a high-tech piece of machinery such as you," he pondered aloud.

He went to fetch a new pair of pants. His skin patched itself up, but unfortunately the Medigun could not mend clothing as easily. Maybe with some tweaking, Medic could change that. He'd rather save his teammates the humiliation of all of their clothing being burned off and it not being fixed along with the wearer himself.

While in his room, he retrieved the Hippocratic oath statue that he had held onto since medical school and set it next to his supplies for battle. He chuckled at the irony. When graduating school, he had sworn to never do harm as a doctor. Then came the incident in Germany where he killed a patient on a fit of psychotic rage. He was ran out of his village and into homelessness with no family, food, or money. And now, here he was, about to brutally murder men that were on the BLU team. He might as well just use the damn thing as a weapon.

Along with the other weapons, he also found a syringe gun. "Like getting pricked with tiny little needles is going to do much of anything?" he muttered to himself. Of course they were going to give the healer of the team the weakest weapons. Fighting wasn't supposed to be his main job. That made him slightly glad that he had brought along the Hippocratic oath statue as a powerful weapon rather than a keepsake to remind him of a bad past.

Medic left the medical wing to go find his other teammates. It was the evening now, almost dinnertime. When Spy had stopped by an hour ago he had mentioned that he created a schedule for who would be cooking when. According to the list, the Offense dorm would be cooking the evening meal. He was a bit worried, as the Offense dorm consisted of Scout, Pyro, and Soldier...

The rec room couch had a few people sitting on it. Engineer, Demoman, and Sniper were lounged about when Medic walked in. Though, he was the only one in uniform out of the few so he felt a bit awkward, but it wasn't like it was an outfit he wasn't supposed to be in. He was just trying it on was all.

"That suits you," Demo commented, taking a swig of his scrumpy. "I haven't put my outfit on yet. It comes with a cool vest." He glanced at him with his one eye. "The tie's your add on I bet."

Medic rolled his eyes. "Yes, it is. I'm afraid it'll get caught on something or that this sweater vest that I have under it will get too hot, but whatever. I'll find out tomorrow." He perched himself on the arm of the couch that the trio were sitting on, next to Engineer.

He held up a case of sorts. "I brought my guitar over," Engineer stated, opening the case. "I figured we'd sit around a campfire at some point. Lame, I know, but you never know. These deserts are good for that kind of thing." He strummed it some, attempting to tune it.

"Oh, you play an instrument?" Medic asked, delighted. "I brought my violin. It's back in my room, though I'm not sure if anyone here even enjoys that kind of music."

"Aye, I like classical all right!" Demoman announced. "My mum forced me to play piano back when I was young, but I still remember it! I know a lot of those fancy Bach songs. He was German, right?"

"Yes, he was." Medic pulled a face of mild surprise, impressed by his knowledge.

"I recognize that face you're giving me, Doc. I may be a drunk all the time but I do have class, don't forget it." He drank out of the brown bottle again, this time belching. He slapped Sniper's shoulder. "Sniper 'ere told me he plays the tenor saxophone."

Sniper shrugged idly.

"It's kind of funny," Engineer said, hands on the guitar halting for a moment. "We're a bunch of trained professionals that were hired to kill men because we're apparently the best of the best at that sort of thing, and yet we're all sitting around discussing music taste in a civilized manner." Engineer started playing his guitar again.

"I think they only hired us because we can kill without feeling anything about it," Sniper said, speaking up for the first time in a while.

Engineer abruptly stopped again. The three others in the room turned to look at him.

"What? Am I wrong when I say we've probably all killed a man in our lifetime?" Sniper asked defensively, looking at each one in turn.

Engineer looked down at his guitar, shaking his head as he continued to play a tune. "You're not wrong, I guess, Sniper."

Demo chuckled nervously and Medic sighed.

"I thought so," Sniper mumbled to himself.

Medic had to admit at that point it was probably a dumb idea to feel even remotely remorseful about what happened in Germany. These men had just proven to be as whacked up as he was.

Chapter Text

The day of the first battle came, and Sniper had gotten up to change into his uniform to make sure it fit. He was afraid of his pants being too short for him, as pants usually were, and he wanted to make sure he would be able to fix them some before they headed into battle. Professionalism was key when it came to his job.

Well, nevermind the fact he lived in a van and stunk a bit sometimes, but at least his outfit was snazzy and actually fit him correctly.

He had to admit that he admired Medic's uniform a bit. It was professional-looking, along with fancy. He was amused by how the coat tails fluttered behind him when he turned to leave the rec room the night before. He hadn't spoken to the man, though. Medic was a bit intimidating with the outfit on. Professional indeed, which ties together well with strict and calculating. Even though he seemed nice enough.

Sniper shrugged to himself.

He rolled up his sleeves on his shirt, causing him to glance at his wrist. He sighed. He may never find that one person. Thinking about Medic and the words on his wrist made him wonder-- did the doctor have a phrase on his wrist as well? His uniform sleeve and the rubber glove were covering both his wrists so he wasn't able to tell. He shook his head to clear his thoughts as he locked his van and went to the base to prepare for the battle.

They were greeted by a mysterious voice over loudspeakers once they were all together in a sterile-looking room from which glass doors lead to another room with cubbies of sorts and benches and a locker with supplies in it. The Administrator, as the voice claimed to be, explained that the room they were in currently would be where they "Respawned". The room the glass doors led to was Resupply, where ammo and health could be regathered. She said that the enemy team could not enter their Resupply room and once a teammate left the Respawn area they could not re-enter unless they were Respawned again.

Sniper met Heavy's eyes by chance and raised an eyebrow when the Administrator mentioned "Respawn" in her commanding voice. Heavy shrugged simply, equally as confused. She briefly stated that Respawn was used to bring the mercenaries back to life. A couple of the teammates snorted. It sounded like a bunch of baloney if you asked any of them. Probably something used to persuade people to fight in the war.

After the Administrator explained how they were capture the control point in the center of the battlefield, she counted down the seconds until the mission began.

"Mission begins in three..."

Sniper took a deep breath.

"Two..."

He glanced around at everyone as he slowly exhaled, silently bidding everyone good luck with a simple nod.

"One."

Sniper, along with the rest, let out a jeer as they dashed out to situate themselves amongst the map. He swung around to a set of stairs, leading up to a small nook where he could shoot from. He crouched down into the corner, deciding the best way to go about this. He kept an eye on his teammates, popping the heads off of their attackers if they needed help. He squinted into the distance. The Scout that was running out of the BLU Resupply looked... Familiar. Almost like their Scout. He shook his head and continued to stare into his scope.

He squinted, watching as Medic tried to heal their Heavy. A Spy was dashing right behind his white coat. Sniper concentrated on the BLU Spy, aimed, and fired. The Spy crumpled to his death. Sniper heaved a sigh of relief. But wait... Did something move out of where the Spy had died? Almost like a ghost. Maybe he was seeing things from the heat, or his mind was getting back at him with hallucinations for signing onto a job that murdered people. His father told him not to take it. He assured him that he was not a crazed gunman, but rather an assassin.

He heard footsteps behind him. He whipped around in a hurried panic, and there stood Soldier. Sniper pressed his hand to his own chest, trying to calm himself back down. "Jesus, Soldier, you scared the shit out of me. Tell me when you're coming up next time." He bent back towards his rifle to stare out of it.

Wait.

The RED Soldier was rocket jumping over the control point right now.

Sniper heard a faint click, then a whoosh. He gasped, turning around again. The RED Spy had warned them of the disguise kits. How could he have been so dumb as to fall for it?! Sniper quickly dodged the attacker's knife. He grasped onto the Spy's arm, trying to bend it back. "I thought you were dead, you little bugger!" he growled.

"No, but you're about to be." The Spy's mouth twisted upwards into a devious grin, baring teeth. "It's called a Dead Ringer. Hasn't your Spy told you about that?" He spun Sniper around and grabbed him into a chokehold, knife pressed against Sniper's neck.

Sniper panicked momentarily. Instincts kicked in and he swung his kukri at the Spy, smacking him in the head. He was never good at close-range fights. He hoped he could make it out of this.

They scampered about, trying to win against the other. After a long and tiring scuffle, Sniper was able to land a blow on the Spy's head. This time, he collapsed, dead for good. He nudged the limp body with his foot. Definitely dead. Thank God.

The battle continued on with RED in the lead for a while. He watched both teams dart back and forth from his perch. He didn't get a closeup on the Spy's face, but he sounded quite like the RED Spy, French accent and annoying snort in his laugh and all.

The Medic hadn't traveled over to where Sniper was, even though he was close to death a few times. Luckily, where he was located, there was a health kit with various materials in it that could make him feel good as new. He supposed whatever was inside it had the same technology as Medic's Medigun, because the things in the kit healed him automatically. It was neat.

Though, honestly, he did not believe in Respawn one lick.

Saying that sort of sounded as if he didn't believe in a common religion's take on the afterlife.

Being brought back to life after dying? That just didn't seem true. He had yet to see it--or experience it-- for himself.

Hours later, Sniper noticed how the BLUs were closing in on the control point, and there were only one or two REDs on it-- Scout and Medic. He leaped down from the perch and dashed for the control point. It was adrenaline guiding him at this point, as they were going to lose if he didn't do something. He pulled out his kukri and met Medic and Scout at the point. "Aw, hell!" he exclaimed as the enemy Sniper shot Scout through the head. He was frozen momentarily, as he had just witnessed one of his teammates die right before him. He tried to not trip over the body as he sliced the enemies with the blade. He dug out his SMG and did some damage with that as well, Medic's Medigun beam trained on him. Medic was glaring at him, wondering why he was so stupid as to dash into the fray. Though, he couldn't complain-- he was in a tight situation as it was and he needed as much help as he could get.

With Engineer's aid from a sentry gun, they managed to almost take control of the point. "I'm out of bullets," Sniper muttered, stashing his SMG and pulling out the kukri. He dashed around, trying to find ammo. He grumbled to himself angrily. As he was hunting near a shack of sorts, which was dangerously close to the other team's resupply, a bullet tore through his torso. Sniper let out a sharp gasp, falling against the wall. He pushed his hand against the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. Another ripped through his side. Oh, he was so dead.

He limped towards the ammo. He managed to drag himself over to the box and shoved his hand into it to pull out some bullets for his sniper rifle. He hissed in pain as his gun, slung over his shoulder, brushed over his side. He found himself breathing faster and faster, nearly hyperventilating. This was the worst that he'd ever been shot, and he had a feeling it would get worse as time went on.

~

Medic waited impatiently for backup, trying to defend the point that he and Engineer and Pyro had captured. He heard someone calling for Medic. It sounded a bit like the Sniper's particular accented voice. He shouted to Pyro that he'd be back, who gave the doctor a thumbs up and turned back to the point with their flamethrower.

Medic dashed in the direction he saw the Sniper run in, hoisting his Medigun rather than his bonesaw. "Sniper?" he called. He found him crouched on the floor against the wall of a shack. Medic looked him over, glancing between him and the nearby resupply building of the BLUs nervously. The Sniper was bleeding very heavily, and Medic felt a bit bad. He had neglected him since Sniper was on the sidelines while Medic was more attentive to the mercenaries in the thick of the battle.

"Medic," he heard. He turned around to see Sniper standing up and creeping towards the entrance of the shack slowly. Medic bounced from foot to foot, nervously debating whether or not they should stay in that area or if they should move. There seemed to be a buildup of BLUs on the other side of the resupply door. They had to get out of there, fast.

Sniper snapped his head towards Medic and clapped his hands in front of his face to get his attention.

Medic was more concerned about the door. The BLU Demo was charging towards it, followed by the Soldier and Heavy. They were coming up fast, looking as if they were about to charge door--

"Doc, heal me now! I don't believe in this Respawn shit!!"

"Sniper! Get away from the door!"

They were both yelling at each other at the same time, a cacophony of noises only made worse by explosions caused by the BLU Demoman and his backup crew. Shrapnel flew everywhere from the grenades and rockets. Smoke billowed into the air and their eyes and onto their clothes. Fire was in their faces, scorching them.

Sniper was quick to cover his face with his arm. Medic had the Medigun trained on him, trying to heal him as much as possible as they dashed out of the way. They tried so hard to get to the next health kit.

When Sniper turned around, he saw that the Medic had fallen behind due to their opponents. He was crumpled on the ground, white coat bloodied and besmirched with dirt and soot. "MEDIC!" he yelled, out of sorrow and shock rather than trying to bid him over towards him. "SHIT!" he yowled, hobbling faster towards a place of shelter. He managed to get to a somewhat safe area, grasping onto a health kit and taking out its supplies. He breathed in and out shakily as the health supplies worked their magic, patching him up. He had just let the Medic die without being able to do anything about it.

And then, a bullet pierced his head.

Chapter Text

Medic felt... Nice.

There was no other way to describe it.

He felt nice.

He had no control over his limbs. He felt like we was just floating along in a dream, engulfed with numbness that made him feel worry-free.

A bright, pinkish light flashed before his eyes. He wasn't sure where it came from, but he was willing to let whatever happen happen at this point.

Was he dead?

Was he traveling to heaven or hell?

Was he in a coma because of his injuries?

They all felt possible.

The light felt as if it were wrapping around him like a silk bedsheet, making him feel coiled with energy. Suddenly, he felt tingling. It spread up from his toes to his knees to his torso. Once the tingling spread to his chest-- warm and soothing and fulfilling-- he dared to open his eyes once more. Maybe they were already open. He couldn't tell. He felt capable of motion again. He could feel his feet and hands and limbs. When he opened his eyes, he was met with pitch blackness. The only things he could see was his own body and the red glow that was traveling around his body. Funny, he didn't feel damaged or burnt or ripped to shreds like he did before he entered this strange subconsciousness. He was able to move freely now, so he stretched a bit. Yes, perfectly normal.

He wondered to himself what he was doing here. And why.

His thoughts were abruptly halted when a skull-splitting, piercing screech rattled through his head. He gasped and pressed his hands to his ears forcefully, pleading for it to stop. He could feel himself yelling, but he couldn't even hear it because of the overpowering noise. Then, a fiery pain ripped through him, starting in his head and tearing through his body. It was too much. He screamed for help, for death, for anything, as long as it took him away from this pain.

And then, everything went black again.

~

Medic sucked in air as he sat up from the pristine white tiles of the Respawn area. He panted, grasping his chest and willing his heart to stop beating so rapidly. He clutched his hair, trying to calm down. Eventually, he was able to look around the room. He stood up, wobbling a bit as he did so, trying to find purchase against the wall for support. He scrubbed at his eyes, wondering what the hell kind of insane dream that was. He pulled his hand down the side of his face. After a few minutes of feeling sick from whatever just happened, he felt good as new. It was bizarre, because he could've sworn he was just trampled beyond repair. And yet, here he was, fixed up and ready to go. He maintained his balance and walked out of the room to find his weapons and Medigun waiting for him in a cubby.

He slipped the holster for the Medigun on and situated his weapons along his belt for easy access. As he was doing so, he felt a pat on his back. He turned around to see the Heavy, smiling broadly. "Respawn," he began, "is something else!"

"Is that what that was?" Medic asked, mouth agape.

"Yes! Heavy died because of little baby BLU Scout. I will get him back for that. But I am fine now! Good as new. Is weird." He strode over next to Medic and began the process of switching out guns.

Medic let out a "huh" as he cleaned his glasses on a cloth that he brought along to stash in the cubby. "So I guess that pain that went through me during Respawn was actually beneficial."

"I guess so," Heavy agreed, nodding. He, too, had experienced it.

Medic bid him farewell and ran off to the main battle. Before he could leave, though, he heard Sniper shout behind him.

"Wait!" he called, accompanied by the automatic glass doors swooshing shut behind him as he stepped out hurriedly. "Medic, come back!" He reached out for him as if he were trying to pull him towards him.

Medic raised an eyebrow as he met Sniper halfway. "What is it?" he asked, concerned. He set his Medigun down momentarily, meeting Sniper's gaze for what felt like the first time.

He watched Sniper's breath catch and his face become flustered. He flinched slightly as Sniper reached out for his arm, tugging it gently towards him. Medic took a step closer, watching him cautiously. "Your soulmate deal," Sniper whispered, pulling the sleeve and glove away from Medic's wrist. "It's gone." He flashed his wrist at the Medic. "So's mine. Medic, do you remember what you said to be before you, um, died?"

"Yes, I was yelling at you to get away from the door," he answered, watching Sniper grin slowly in confusion. "Wait..." He double checked his own wrist for himself. "You... You didn't 'believe in this Respawn shit'." He met Sniper's eyes again, dumbfounded.

Sniper began to grip Medic's hand, trying to interlock his figures with the doctor's, waiting for him to pull away. It was tempting to draw his hand back, but he let the Sniper do so. Sniper took off his yellow aviators, slipping them into his vest pocket. "Uh--" he began, stuttering. "We barely even know each other. I haven't even talked to you."

"You have now," Medic said.

Engineer walked in on them holding hands and gazing awkwardly into each other's eyes, acting like they were confused yet comforted at the same time. But damn it, Engineer was quite confused himself. He glanced at them as he restocked his metal supply for building sentries and dispensers, trying to figure out what in tarnation was going on.

"Sniper, I--" Medic started.

He was cut off by Engineer. "Doc, they need you out on the field. Sniper, shouldn't you, uh, get goin' too? I'm going to set up a base with a dispenser near a corner, you can snipe from there if you want."

Medic and Sniper released their hands, whipping around to look at the Engineer, in total shock. "Of course," Medic chirped, readjusting his glasses in a fidgety manner. Sniper cleared his throat and shoved his aviators back on, grabbing his rifle from his cubby.

Engineer left, toting metal in his tool box as he left.

"We can discuss this later," Medic said quietly, leading Sniper out.

~

The RED team had won, barely. Both teams' countdowns were reduced to a stressful, intense overtime and RED hardly managed to take the point. The nine mercenaries were crowded around a campfire-- Engineer insisted on this-- singing songs and drinking beer and playing guitar-- Engineer also insisted this. Soldier and Demoman had decided that their first victory called for a celebration. They weren't sure what kind of celebration should be in order, so Engineer stepped in and suggested a cookout. They probably wouldn't have partied like this if it weren't for the first battle being, miraculously, on a Friday. They had weekends off as if this job were a regular, everyday job in the business world that was from 8 to 4 with weekends set aside for a break. They considered themselves lucky that they didn't have to endure a full-on work week yet. They were, after all, still sort of trying to get to know one another and the battlefield.

So, that was what was happening. After everyone showered and dressed in more casual clothing, they were gathered around roasting marshmallows and hot dogs listening to Engineer sing. Scout claimed, "Man, I usually hate country with a passion, but Tex over here sure makes it work."

"Aw, shucks," Engineer chuckled.

Sniper and Medic were sitting as far away from each other as possible as everyone began discussing close calls and stories from the battle. They snuck glances at each other, still unsure as to what to do about their new situation. For the time being, they were listening to Scout ramble on about Respawn. "Yeah, so like, I was bein' followed by the BLU Heavy, right? I thought I was gonna make it, but I didn't. I thought I was dead. I thought my body would have to be shipped back home to my ma and my brothers back in Boston, but nah, I was suddenly in the dark then whoosh, I started feelin' again! Man, it felt nice, though, kinda comfy and content, but then damn, it feels like there are ten thousand tiny fire ants eating at your flesh at once! It hurt! But then I woke back up in Respawn and... It was okay! I almost like, puked my breakfast out, but I made it."

"Aye, we all went through bloody Respawn at least once today," Demo said with an aggravated groan. "It seems as if it's going to be a regular thing from here on out." He tipped his head back, trying to get the last of the alcohol out of the bottle, gave up, threw it to his side, and reached for another. "'Twas somethin'."

"You're telling me," Spy said. "I really hoped I wouldn't have had to do that, but yes, I had to go through Respawn myself." He lit a cigarette, nonchalantly blowing smoke into the air.

"Hey, Frog, there's enough fire ova' here already," Scout grumbled. "Ma's shitty boyfriend smokes. You remind me of him. Like, a lot."

Spy let out a tsk.

"Partner, I've known those two for only a few days and I have a feeling Spy's his mother's boyfriend," Engineer muttered to where Scout couldn't hear. The team laughed.

"What?" Scout asked defensively.

"Nothin'," Engineer answered, grinning.

"Anyone wanna discuss the fact that the other team looked like us?" Medic asked out of the blue, intently staring at the campfire.

The team silenced all conversation amongst themselves.

"I... I was hoping I was just bein' delusional," Engineer admitted. "I saw that BLU Medic run past and I wasn't sure what to think. Had the same demanding tone in his voice and the German accent and everything."

"Odd," Heavy stated. "As I was saying before to someone, the BLU Scout looked a lot like the baby man on this team."

Scout didn't make a comeback this time. He just sat in stunned and dazed silence like the rest of them, taking this information in.

~

They all moved inside for the night. Medic was tending to his birds and about to get ready for bed when he heard a knock at his door. He approached it and opened it slowly, peering through the small crack to see the Sniper. He opened the door the rest of the way, inviting him in. Medic closed the door behind him after greeting him. He sat in his office chair behind his desk, leg crossed over the other and fiddling with a pencil. Sniper uncomfortably stood near the door, wringing his hands nervously.

"Sniper, you can sit on that chair there. Why don't you pull it up?" Medic said cheerfully, pointing to the red plastic chair against the wall with the pencil.

Sniper complied. He lifted the chair and brought it to Medic's desk, sitting down in it. Of course, it was way too short for the lanky man, but he made do. "So, um, Medic, about the... You know. You believe in fate, right? Do you? I'm not completely sure if I do or not, I'd like to but--" It was clear he had not planned what he was going to try and say and was now tripping over his words. He gave up with a sigh and leaned into the plastic chair. His hands were covering his face as if he was trying to hide himself.

They sat in an unsettling silence for a while, the only noise in the room being the steady buzz of the bright white lights above on the ceiling and the doves cooing off to the side in Medic's room. It was late; the windows in the office showed a clear black sky and the wall clock chimed that it was nearing one AM. And yet, they were both wide awake.

"To answer your question, Sniper," he began, taking a deep breath and spreading his fingers out on the desk, "I did not believe in fate beforehand, but since this message on my wrist is gone, I can't help but wonder if it's true. All throughout my life ever since I was eighteen I wondered if it were real. I would some days say I didn't mind if I never found the one, and other days I'd feel desperate." He was standing now, pacing the floor behind his chair. "Here is the catch, though. Corporate rules."

Sniper sunk farther into his chair at the mention of the policy that Team Fortress industries had implemented on the teams. No relationships of any kind.

"But," Medic continued, raking his fingers through his black hair, "they couldn't just expect us to not form friendships with anyone. If we are going to be stuck here for years, we are going to get to know each other whether we like it or not. So, I honestly do not see any issues with this. I honestly doubt anyone over at Mann Co. gives a damn. Our teammates may see it vastly differently, though. Imagine, you've just met this lot of people and you're suddenly told two of them are fate-bound lovers. It sounds insane. But, if this whole fate deal is true, it cannot be ignored."

Sniper walked over to Medic slowly. The doctor didn't notice-- he was too busy arguing with himself over the matter.

"Though, clearly, they probably don't care about the fate deal. Engineer met his wife through it, but Spy will probably only scoff because I overheard him chatting to Demoman about how his vanished years ago and got divorced to the same woman. What I'm kind of worried about is how we will be looked upon since we are of the same team--"

Medic was cut off by a pair of lips tenderly pressed against his. His eyes widened, stunned by how close Sniper was to him. The other man's hands were on Medic's shoulders, gripping them with what seemed to be with nervousness. Medic felt frozen to the spot and flushed in the face until Sniper released him, trying to avert his eyes.

Medic stared at him. Sniper wouldn't return his gaze.

"Sniper," Medic began after a while silently. Sniper began to turn and rush out, but was stopped by Medic gripping his wrist tightly. He convinced him to turn around so he could look at him. "Sniper," he repeated, sternly this time. "I'm not angry with you." He saw Sniper's shoulders relax slightly. "I'm willing to try this. I really am. Romance and love... It takes time usually. We just have to give it time."

Sniper muttered something under his breath. He was brought in for a hug by Medic. Within his embrace, he heard Medic murmur, "And besides, you're not that bad of a kisser." Sniper laid his palm to his own face at that, trying to cover his face that was as red as his uniform shirt.