Archive of Our Own

“Hey guys. Hey guys. Hey guys .”

“What is it, Scout?” Engineer asks, the only one willing to deal with his antics after the shit show of the battle that had just taken place. Everyone is strewn around the common room, too exhausted and battered to drag themselves back to their own rooms. 

That is, of course, with the exception of Medic, who had disappeared out the doors the moment he was sure no one was going to bleed out in his absence. Unfortunately, you could never be too sure with the mercenaries.

“Alright, so, hear me out,” Scout starts in that obnoxious Boston accent of his, gesturing in the air. He’s flat on his back on the ground, and no one bothers to ask him why. “And don’t call me crazy, you hear? I mean this genuine, one-hundo percento-”

“Get on with it,” Spy snaps impatiently. He rubs at his temples and the headache beginning to grow there, making a mental note to ask Medic for his especially potent painkillers and sleeping pills. 

“Jeez, man, don’t rush me!” Scout exclaims, terribly offended. He shoots a glare at Spy, who simply rolls his eyes and makes a ‘get on with it’ gesture. “Anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted-”

“- Scout-”

“I think Doc is a full on vampire guys.”

Silence. 

In a building full of eight people, ninety percent of them male, silence is a rarity. It’s usually considered a gift to some of the mercenaries - see: Spy, Medic, Engineer and Heavy - but it often comes with a price. 

As in, some form of dumbassery that Scout or Demoman may have purposefully started for the hell of it - seeing as incidents caused by Soldier or Pyro are usually less voluntary and mostly a symptom of who they are as people. 

This silence is neither welcomed or met with unease. 

It simply exists. 

For one, two, three precarious moments before Sniper bursts out laughing and the others are quick to join him, sans Scout. There are even muffled giggles erupting from behind Pyro’s mask, and Heavy is smacking the couch with his hand in his laughter.

“Oi! I’m being serious!” Scout shouts at them all, like a toddler begging their parents to believe that their imaginary friend is real.

“Sorry, sorry, kid,” Engineer responds, recovering the quickest - though he’s still chuckling slightly. Scout bristles at being called a kid , since he’s a grown adult like the rest of them, but doesn’t interject as he continues, “But ya sound ridiculous .”

“If you guys just heard me out!” Scout groans, throwing his hand into the air to emphasise his words. He thumps his head onto the concrete ground so heavily that Sniper and Spy wince, but it goes mostly unnoticed. 

“Wait, wait, perhaps we should hear him out,” Spy corrals the group. 

Scout stares at him with wide eyes, absolutely shocked that Spy is taking his side for once. Spy makes sure that each of his teeth are visible as his lips stretch into a mocking grin, which Scout recognises instantly. 

Scout’s expression goes sour, the corners of his lips tugging down into a more intense frown and his brows furrowing. He huffs and somehow finds the effort to get to his feet. “Forget I said anythin’!”

“Don’t be like that Scout,” Engineer tries to placate, half-reaching out to pull him back. 

“We’re just takin’ the piss outta ya mate,” Sniper agrees with an empathetic nod. It would be reassuring, if anyone could understand what he was trying to say. 

Everyone turns to Spy then, expectant looks all across their faces. Engineer not-so subtly raises an eyebrow at him. 

“We jest ,” Spy drawls, wishing he had a glass of red wine in his hand. They keep staring at him, so he offers a sharp, sarcastic smile and eventually they get the hint.

“Hear me out, properly, alright, no one interrupt,” Scout chatters, pacing back and forth in front of the boxy television. Pyro gives a muffled noise of assent. “So, Medic.”

Spy bites back a taunt, since at this point he knows it’ll only irritate Scout further. Wouldn’t that be entertaining though?

“He’s a freaky guy, right? Like. Really freaky. Super freaky.”

Heavy got up and left without a single word, drawing a few snickers from the group.

“Get to the point,” Spy chides, and gets an accusing finger thrown in his face for his efforts.

“I said no one interrupt!”

Spy levels him with a flat stare until Scout continues his spiel, pivoting on his heel with a huff and angling himself more towards Engineer.

“Medic and vampires. Medic is a vampire. Shut up, Spy.”

Spy raises a somewhat confused eyebrow, considering that he hadn’t even opened his mouth. If Medic were here he’d send a conspicuous shrug in return, but he’s off doing… whatever when he’s not babysitting the others. 

“First of all, does Medic even sleep?”

A surprisingly valid question, coming from Scout, who doesn’t seem to be able to be aware of anyone but himself.

“I don’t think so!” Scout exclaims like he’s just proven String Theory. Sniper squints at him, then glances sideways at Spy like his nonsense is genetic. “And have you seen him during battle? It’s hot as hell and he’s wearing like three layers and sunscreen during every match! Don’t tell me that doesn’t scream blood sucker to you guys.”

“Perhaps he would just rather not contract skin cancer like the rest of you,” Spy replies disdainfully, idly straightening the cuffs of his shirt.

“ Or the sun will evaporate him!”

“Aye, the boy’s lost his mind and he’s lost me, I’m out of here,” Demoman huffs, getting to his feet and ignoring Scout’s spluttering. “I’ll grab a six-pack and start blowin’ up some targets, you with me, American?”

“That sounds like an acceptable proposition!” Soldier shouts in agreement, following him out of the room.

Engineer’s lip quirks downwards, and he taps the turret a few times to get itself to pack up. “Sorry, Scout, but I gotta head out.”

He sends an apologetic look around the room, leaving with Pyro in tow, and then there were three.

Spy sends Sniper a look - ‘ If you leave me here with this imbecile then I will make you regret it. ’

Sniper raises his eyebrows at him but fishes a sudoku booklet from his pocket and starts scribbling in it, getting comfortable on the couch.

“Is that all the evidence you can provide?” Spy questions derisively.

“Course not! If you guys- well, you two, just gave me a second, ” Scout grumbles, gesturing vaguely. “Medic is a vampire, I swear. He doesn’t like garlic, he doesn’t leave his office, he only goes into the sun when all of his skin is covered, and have you seen the guy’s skin? It’s like paper!”

“Mate, maybe the doc is just… an introvert?” Sniper offers with a slightly exasperated chuckle.

“That’s what I thought too, until last night!”

Spy doesn’t know why he’s entertaining Scout’s mad ramblings. Any other day he would have left the moment Scout began speaking. 

He listens absentmindedly as he pulls his cigarette box out of his pocket and picks one of them out.

“He was drinking blood .”

“...Did you hit your head last night?” Sniper asks, pausing from his sudoku puzzle. Hilariously, he actually sounds quite concerned. 

Spy lights his cigarette with the matches in his cigarette box and snaps it closed. He takes in a long drag, and lets it escape from his lips in a compressed stream at Scout’s face. Scout chokes dramatically and frantically waves it out of his face. 

“I mean it,” Scout swears, sounding both indignant and enraged. “He was drinking blood! It was the middle of the night, I was just tryna get some water, and I passed by the infirmary right? And he’s just standing there in the dark, his eyes are glowing red and he’s drinking blood!”

Spy and Sniper share a glance. Scout sounds, by all accounts, utterly insane. Medic isn’t the most normal person in the world, but he’s a person - nothing more. Spy is pretty sure that if Medic were a supernatural being of some sort, he of all people would notice. 

“Well, I am done with this drivel,” Spy mutters. He takes another drag of his cigarette and finds the energy to get to his feet, rolling his shoulders. 

Scout gapes at him. “You’re not worried about this? We have a vampire in our team, who sucks blood and you’re just gonna-?”

“ We are a team full of killers,” Spy points out with a sharp look. “If anything, a vampire who does his job by healing us is the least of the problems. If you want to worry about anyone, let it be that Pyro .”

“You’re the only one who has a problem with him,” Sniper tells him, grinning at him rancidly. 

Spy flips him off, elegantly, and takes his sleeves from the room. As the doors swing shut behind him, he can hear Scout’s last desperate attempts at convincing Sniper that Medic is in fact a vampire. 

It’s absurd. 

The notion that Medic, someone who’s personal history is unattainable for someone even like Spy and constantly covered in blood, is an immortal being that drinks blood to sustain itself…

That’s… insane. 

But so is Scout finding something substantial about Medic before Spy can - it’s almost just as ridiculous. 

Spy isn’t a paranoid man, but if someone can hide the fact that they’re a vampire, what other things could they be hiding?

That also seems incredibly unlikely, but Spy still has no idea what is beneath Pyro’s mask. 

…Spy doesn’t actually believe that Medic is a vampire, because, again, that’s ridiculous. But, if someone doesn’t do something then Scout will keep yapping on about it until Medic finds out about it - and Spy has a feeling Medic won’t exactly take it all lightly. 

So, Spy will simply have to prove that Medic isn’t a vampire himself. 

It can’t be so difficult, can it?

“ Docteur , would you like a portion?” Spy offers, gesturing to the rickety table the rest of the mercenaries are seated at. 

Medic stares at him from over his spectacles. Scout was right - his skin is awfully pale for someone who spends an hour outside everyday. “Vhat is it?”

“Garlic anchovy and lamb,” Spy answers, watching his expression keenly. “Bought in from the finest restaurant in the area, an entire two hour’s drive away.”

Medic’s eye twitches, though that could be from a myriad of things, and his lips curve into a frown. Nothing that exactly indicates that he’s a vampire. 

“I’m afraid I must decline. I have paperwork to attend to, ja ?” he says eventually, something baleful in his eyes. That could be for the paperwork. It probably is for the paperwork. 

“Of course,” Spy concedes with an amicable smile. Internally, he’s scratching a mark on the scoreboard. “There will most likely be leftovers, if you wish to have any…”

Medic gives a noncommittal hum and sends one last look at the dining table before he leaves. 

“What’s all that about?” Sniper asks, digging into his lamb like a starved man. 

“Nothing,” Spy replies curtly. 

Aside from the fact that a few weeks ago, Medic had let slip that his second favourite meal was lamb sauerbraten, right after blutwurst - blood sausages . Sure, the meals weren’t exactly the same, but similar enough that one would think he wouldn’t regard it so disdainfully.

In fact, the look in Medic’s eyes could be considered downright hostile.

Getting holy water - blessed by an ordained priest in a registered church - to the base is surprisingly quite difficult. 

At least, ordering it while flying under the radar is quite difficult. 

Because Medic so often orders things online, usually from the black market, for himself and his experiments, all the paperwork needed to purchase things online is completed by him, even if it's for the other members. 

It’s also monitored by the Administrator, as are most things. 

Spy may be paranoid, but he isn’t an idiot. Not only is he not a practising Christian, but he’s never had any use for holy water before. He could simply abandon the idea of spiking Medic’s drink with holy water… but it’ll be interesting to see what happens. 

So, he is understandably thrilled when Miss Pauling visits the base the day after the lamb dinner, investigating some mishaps that had happened there involving Pyro’s flamethrower and Soldier's rocket launcher. 

“Miss Pauling," Spy greets with the incline of his head. 

She blinks at him, clearly caught off-guard. Ordinarily, when she visits on their off-days they leave her to do what she needs to do. “Spy… Do you need something…?”

“Ah, so perceptive,” Spy compliments, and her look of surprise melts into exasperation. 

“There are forms you can fill out if you need something from out of base,” she tells him wearily. “You give them to Medic and he gives them to me. You know that.”

“What I need… is a somewhat sensitive matter,” Spy articulates carefully. 

A dubious look flashes over Miss Pauling's face as she stares up at him, forehead creased and lips frowning. 

“... Spy -”

“Holy water,” he says before she can get any wrong ideas.

“Huh?”

“I need holy water… for some private affairs of mine,” he explains vaguely. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Not really ,” she responds dryly, quirking an eyebrow at him. She glances around the empty hallway, the rest of the mercenaries forced to clean up Pyro’s and Soldier’s mess, contemplation crawling over her features. “But… since you stay out of trouble, I guess I could do you this one favour…”

“Is that so?” Spy asks brightly.

She stares at him like his smile is full of alligator teeth instead of regular one, eyes wide. Has she never seen a grown man smile before? “Uh, yeah, I’ll get it to you as soon as I can…”

“Thank you, mademoiselle ,” he hums, quite satisfied with the result of his efforts. 

Miss Pauline delivers the holy water the next day, packaged in an inconspicuous box. Strangely, or not, the holy water itself is contained in the sort of plastic bottle you might find at the store. 

It’s not really of any significance, since it makes Spy’s job easier. 

He simply rips the label off, which holds the image of the Virgin Mary, and waits for the right moment. 

It comes after the end of a rough battle, the reds stealing the win by the skin of their teeth. No one has found the effort to leave resupply yet, and there are more people sitting down than standing on their own feet. 

Spy grabs the water bottle he had tucked away earlier and saunters over to Medic, who has dropped the medgun by his feet and is hunched over on a bench.

“Water?” Spy asks, holding the bottle out.

Medic’s eyes flick up to his, furrowed with suspicion. 

He glances at the water bottle, and takes it, albeit hesitantly. “ Danke,” he mutters.

“It’s no problem,” Spy responds easily. He offers Sniper a drink too, as not to be suspicious, and watches out of the corner of his eye as Medic unscrews the cap of the bottle.

Medic brings the bottle to his lips, eyes not properly focusing on anything. He pauses, frowning at the bottle, and his eyes slide to Spy’s.

Spy doesn’t flinch, but he does tear his eyes away and fix his gaze on Sniper’s shoulder. 

Damn.

Heavy walks over to Medic and starts a conversation with him. 

When they eventually all amble out of Resupply, and Medic leaves for the infirmary, Spy finds the water bottle in the trash, still completely full.

Condamner.

It turns out that normal water can be consecrated if you add holy water to it, granted that the ratio is forty nine percent normal water and fifty one percent holy water.

By doing this, the entirety of the water becomes consecrated, so by technicality just having a bottle of holy water ensures you have holy water for forever, assuming you have the effort and time for that. 

Spy, it turns out, has the time and effort for that. 

It takes him far longer than he’d like to admit - several hours - but sooner than later he has consecrated the entirety of the base’s water, in essence, he’s turned every bit of water in the base into holy water.

No, he isn’t proud of that. 

The only sources of water that aren’t holy are the bottles of water that Medic likes to keep for himself so he doesn’t get lead poisoning, but Spy has hidden those in several areas where he’s sure no one will find him. 

Now, all that’s left to do is wait . 

It takes three hours after Spy’s preparations for Medic to say something. 

Spy is observing a game of pool between Sniper and Heavy. Surprisingly, it’s Heavy that’s who’s winning, even though he’s broken two pool cues already and almost cracked the pool table one time. 

Medic enters the common room, his eyes narrowed and expression taut with irritation. 

“Has anyone seen my bottles of vater?” Medic asks the three of them, sounding beyond pissed. “Ah, not you, Herr Sniper.”

Heavy shakes his head wordlessly and lines up for another shot. He strikes the ball with deadly accuracy, shooting it straight into the pocket he was aiming for.

Medic turns to Spy, an incredulous expression lifting his eyebrows and twisting his lips into an immense frown. “Herr Spy?”

Spy simply shrugs, waving his cigarette in Medic’s face like it is burning incense instead of tobacco. Medic recoils, though it is well-known by now that he dislikes Spy’s smoking habits. “I would have no idea, my friend. Would you like some of my own supply?”

Also spiked with copious amounts of holy water. 

“If it is no problem…” Medic mutters, lifting his chin somewhat. Something must have happened to the lights in the common room, because his eyes almost seem to have a red gleam to them.

Spy subconsciously clears his throat and gestures for Medic to lead the way. Spy and Medic are the only ones who keep bottled water on hand, which made it easy for Spy to make sure that Medic had to have some consecrated water in the end. 

“It appears the lead levels in the tap water around the base have dramatically increased,” Medic remarks on the way to Spy’s room. “While I am curious to see its effects on our fellow teammates, it does make it rather difficult to perform my own experiments.”

“Is that so?” Spy asks, still smoking. He doesn’t look at Medic as they walk side by side, but he can feel Medic’s eyes on him. He takes a longer drag from his cigarette and eases it out carefully. 

“ Ja ,” Medic responds plainly. 

They arrive at Spy’s room within a few minutes. Medic is one of the few allowed to see its interior, though he usually hovers by the entrance, like he does now. Spy walks in casually and digs a bottle of water out of his closet. 

Though, something prods at the back of his mind, like a needy child begging for attention. 

Vampires can’t enter a room unless they're invited to .

Spy freezes, the bottle of water - holy water - in hand. He glances furtively over his shoulder, where Medic is waiting patiently at the doorway, hands folded behind his back. 

There’s nothing he can do to prove that Medic can’t enter without his permission.

It would be too suspicious, since Spy doesn’t let anyone linger in his room, and Medic doesn’t need to be in it for any reason. 

Spy smooths his frown out and walks over to hand over the water bottle. 

Medic’s hand passes over the threshold of the doorway without trouble, though there’s something tight in his expression. 

“Herr Spy,” he says, suddenly.

Spy shoves his surprise away and raises a questioning eyebrow. “Yes, monsieur ?”

“Recently, I ran a routine health exam for Scout. It seems he had concussed himself a few days ago, so if he said anything out of the ordinary… It was most likely the concussion,” Medic explains, tongue wrapping around each word carefully. 

Is it just Spy, or are his front canines sharpened to a point?

“He often speaks nonsense, so I do not think I noticed,” Spy replies, just as cautiously. 

Medic nods in agreement, though the glint in his eyes seems purely malicious. It must just be the lighting in the hallway. He weighs the water bottle in his hand. 

“ Danke für das Wasser ,” he drawls, inclining his head. 

“ Gern geschehen,” Spy replies, meeting his gaze with steely eyes. 

Medic gives him one last sharp smile, the barest peak of ivory digging into his bottom lip, and turns away. 

Spy watches his retreating back, and feels his brows draw together. Something is wrong , but he can’t put his finger on it. 

Medic’s gait is short and confident like it always is, his posture as straight as Spy’s, one hand limp by his side, the other holding the water bottle to his chest. That wrongness needles Spy’s skin and tug his lips into a frown, but he can’t figure it out. 

It is only when he returns to the commons room, where Sniper and Heavy have switched to a game of chest, one that Sniper is losing pathetically, that he realises what had been wrong. 

His skin crawls, and he presses two fingers to his temple to remind himself that he is not dreaming. 

Sniper frowns at him, but Spy just waves him off, because… it’s simply insane what he knows now.

Medic did not have a shadow.

Medic did not have a shadow. 

Spy watches Medic carefully. 

Medic shields his eyes from the sun, and, yes, applies a thick layer of sunscreen to his skin before every match. 

He doesn’t touch the cloves of garlic in the fridge, or the compartment they’re in, preferring to use the fridge in his office. 

He requests a lead filter from Engineer, and attaches it to all the taps he uses on a daily basis. He orders a pallet of bottled water from himself, and hides it so that no one can take any of them without him knowing.

He doesn’t use any mirrors, but he remains as sharp as always. His hair is always flat against head, only ruffled by the wind or his own enthusiasm. 

His vests and dress shirts are unwrinkled, and though his doctor’s coat becomes bloodier and bloodier, there are no creases in it. 

Spy contemplates how easy it must be for a doctor to gain access to blood, any blood, especially seeing how close he is to Miss Pauline. 

Spy nails a cross to the doorway of the common room, and lingers in it longer than he usually would. 

Once, he was able to observe Medic heading towards the common room, only to pause at the doors and crane his head upwards. Medic had scowled, his lips twisting ferociously, and swivelled on his heel to head back the way he had come. 

Spy orders a silver butterfly knife and spends a time carefully unscrewing a few select compartments. When he and Medic happen to be in the same room, he begins fiddling with his new butterfly knife, flipping it back and forth and around his hand. 

He feigns shock when the blade flies loose from the handle, heading straight for Medic’s throat. 

Medic’s eyes go wide and something flashes in them. 

Quicker than Spy can track, he jerks backwards, and the blade buries itself into the wall beside him. It takes him a moment to register it, and he turns to Spy with a strange expression on his face. 

“Apologies, Docteur,” Spy tells him, curling his fingers tightly around the now empty handle. “This is a new knife. I did not know that could happen.”

“Ah, das ist… strange,” Medic remarks. He glances at the knife embedded into the wall, furrowing his brows. His fingers twitch by his sides, but do not move.

“Apologies, again.”

Medic regards him with askance, his lips pressed into a grim line. “It was an accident, ja ?”

“Yes, an accident, of course.”

Medic nods, and idly fixes his tie. “An accident,” he mutters beneath his breath, grimacing. “ Ein Unfall.”

Spy corners Scout thirteen days after that fateful mission aftermath and the ensuing revelation.

Scout looks absolutely terrified , eyes darting around and his baseball bat held out protectively in front of him.

“Oi, before you get any ideas, I ain’t the one that swapped your cigarette out for weed ones,” Scout tells him preemptively, words spilling from his lips like they take up physical room in his mouth.

That makes Spy pause. He stares at Scout, who seems mostly sincere. “ What? ”

“It was Soldier’s idea alright? Or Sniper’s- Or, maybe, Pyro’s? Anyway, I only did it because they bet that I couldn’t, you know, I had to protect my honor and all that-”

“I am not here because of that,” Spy tells him incredulously, though he’ll certainly have to revisit that. “I am here about the good docteur.”

Scout blinks once, like a confused lemur, and then again. “Huh?”

“The docteur. Medic.”

“Uhm, why… ?” 

“Fourteen days ago you told me that he was a vampire and you saw him drinking blood,” Spy hisses, grabbing Scout by his shoulders, faintly aware of how frazzled he must seem. “Are you sure it was blood?”

“You say vampire kinda funny-” 

Spy shakes him slightly and he backtracks speedily.

“It was outta one of those blood bags man! That’s why it was so freaky , he was just biting into it and drinking it that way!” Scout explains frantically. 

“You’re sure ?”

“I’m pretty sure! Are you- alright ? You kinda look like you’re losing it-”

Spy drops him and turns away, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eyes. He can’t deal with Scout at the moment, his head swimming with everything he’s learned so far.

Maybe, Medic drinking blood can be explained by his usual antics - it’s not like Medic is the most ethically responsible of them, or holds himself to society's usual conventions. 

But how can you excuse the disdain for garlic? Or the thick layers under the sun, even during days so hot people start dropping like flies, or the avoidance of holy water and mirrors, or a completely wiped personal history?

How can you explain the lack of a shadow?

Medic can’t be a vampire - it just isn’t possible.

Though, Spy would have never believed that he would ever put this much effort into trying to confirm whether or not his fellow teammate was a vampire . 

It’s eating up too much of his time and energy. He should just… let the issue lie. Medic had probably been right, earlier, to say that Scout was simply concussed and talking rubbish…

Yes, that’s right. 

Just Scout’s usual antics.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

That night, Spy leaves his room for a bottle of water he had left in the fridge. 

It’s general insomnia that has kept him awake until now, sometime past three in the morning, and all he wants is a smoke and some water before trying to catch a few hours of sleep. 

Unfortunately, the universe hates him, because from his room to the kitchen is the infirmary. 

He turns the corner, and freezes at the sight of the infirmary doors which are wide open. White, sterile light spills from the room and into the hallway, cutting out a rectangular shape out of the shadow. 

He considers going back to his room and forgoing a cool drink, but he finds morbid curiosity tugging him towards it regardless. He cloaks - an instinct when he’s snooping around things he shouldn’t - and approaches cautiously. 

Despite being cloaked and invisible to everyone, he still peeks around the corner, like a child awake past his bedtime. 

Inside is Medic, as expected, his back turned to the doors. 

Spy watches him for a few moments. 

He seems to be hunched over something, and some sort of liquid is plopping onto the floor without any certain rhythm. 

Spy feels his expression twist, bile rising to the back of his throat. 

A second later, a plastic and crinkled bag drops to the floor, splattering into the small pool of dark, crimson, blood . 

It gets onto Medic’s shoes, a small tsk escaping him. He spins around, looking for something-

-and his eyes are bright red and there’s red over his dress shirt, and his jaw, and the two white ivory fangs in his mouth. 

Spy recoils, making no noise at all, but Medic whips his head around and his eyes land squarely on where Spy stands, cloaked, supposedly invisible. Spy wrenches himself out of sight, pressing himself flat against the wall, clenching his jaw shut. 

He hears no footsteps, but Medic exits the infirmary in the blink of an eye. Bathed in the infirmary light, he looks like a nightmare. 

Medic scans the hallway, distractedly licking the blood off his fangs . He begins walking towards Spy, or the mercenaries’ rooms. Spy almost, foolishly, thinks that he is going to pass, but at the last moment he stops. 

Right in front of Spy.

He casts no shadow. 

His eyes are gleaming red.

Blood drips from his fangs.

Spy doesn’t breathe. 

Medic snaps his head sideways and makes eye contact with Spy. His hand shoots out impossibly fast, a blur in the dark, and grabs Spy by the throat. 

His jaw unhinges , a python about to devour its prey, and the last thing Spy is aware of is two sharp pinpricks of pain on his neck before the world goes utterly dark. 

Spy wakes up with a gasp, shivering and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He races to the adjoining bathroom and inspects every inch of his neck, leaning in close enough to the mirror he almost headbutts it. 

There is nothing. 

Not even a bruise. 

Spy releases a sigh of relief and braces his arms against the sink.

What a nightmare .

Swallowing, and steeling his nerves for the day, internally berating himself for being so… immature , he gets ready for the day. It’s still relatively early to be up, even for him, but he’s not going back to sleep after that .

He tugs on his balaclava, scratching at the side of his neck where Medic supposedly bit him. 

He wanders out of his room and into the common room, mouth gummy with sleep. Someone is already there by the time he walks in, but it’s only Engineer, brewing coffee for the day.

The day eases in, alongside the other mercenaries who enter the common room looking for either coffee or breakfast before battle. Strangely, Medic is the last of the mercenaries to wake, but he seems… rejuvenated.

Spy suppresses a prickle as he sets his eyes on the man. It had been a simple nightmare, as absurd as that is. 

Medic greets everyone shortly, as usual, and he doesn’t spare Spy a second glance. 

Of course, why would he?

“Mozzie bite, mate?” Sniper asks, pointing at his own neck.

Spy realises with an internal jolt that he’s scratching the side of his neck, though he doesn’t know what a mozzie is. “Something like that.”

They prepare for battle as always, the final preparations carried out in Resupply like they always are. Administrator’s voice is as crackling as fire as she counts down to battle. 

A few seconds before the gates are due to open, Medic taps Spy on the shoulder. Spy looks over his shoulder warily, tearing his fingers from his neck, still somewhat itchy. 

“Is something the matter, Docteur?” he asks. 

A smile crawls slowly onto Medic’s features, half-dead. It pulls his lips up at the corners, then widens his mouth until a sliver of his teeth are revealed, then some more. 

Medic’s eyes flash red. 

Two razor sharp fangs reveal themselves. 

“ Battle begin!” 

The rest of the team rush out of Resupply, while Spy is too distracted staring at Medic’s fangs, gleaming in the sunlight. 

Medic only offers a squeeze of Spy’s shoulder before he’s running after Heavy, lugging the medgun all the while. Spy stares after him and his shadowless form until the Administrator screams at him to get moving. 

Ça me fait chier , is the only response Spy’s mind can come up with.