Chapter Text
Ludwig could confidently say, thanks to his many experiments and the miracle of science, he looked like a man thirty years his younger. Unfortunately, he was 97.
The man once known by all around him simply as Medic was the last man standing.
After that adventure with Mann Co., the war against Gray Mann's robots and the elder mercenaries of Builder's League United, and the fallout of the Administrator's grand design, Team Fortress had just sort of... stuck around. They'd been working together for years at that point, and when Ms. Pauling took over Mann Co. she needed enforcers who could keep Saxton's constant takeover attempts at bay. They didn't have anything better to do, and for Medic in particular the prospect of keeping Mann Co.'s resources was a tantalizing one.
To the shock of all of them, Scout, the youngest of them, was the first to go. The only one who wasn't surprised was Jeremy, but on the other hand, none of them really expected to live as long as they did. The young man had eventually married, divorced, married, divorced... he could never seem to find the one. But he had four wonderful children and he loved them with a ferocity that exceeded any of them on the battlefield, and then on the eve of December 4th, 1987, he died. Medic still had nightmares about it. No one deserved to go like that. Scout was only forty.
Soldier went next. The idiot poisoned himself; he'd noticed a different taste to the water bottles he'd been given, and accused them of trying to kill him. When they told him that no, this was the first time he wasn't drinking lead-poisoned water, he refused to believe them and drank a bottle of liquid that was 40% lead by volume. Thankfully he was still stealing Merasmus' kill-me-come-back-stronger pills.
Poor Sniper. Mick's eyes started going in his old age, but his hands were as steady as ever. It had been on his yearly hunting trip in the Outback. He wasn't wearing the vision-enhancing visor Dell made for him, and didn't see the kangaroo family until he was almost on top of them, and they didn't appreciate him being so close to their joeys. By the time they found him there wasn't enough left for Medic to put back together.
Next Soldier died again. He was the oldest of them and he wouldn't believe that age was slowing him down. He mistimed a rocket jump and burst into a shower of gore. He came back again, thankfully, due to a passing friendly alien, and the madman never even noticed.
As Demoman grew older, his body became so dependant on alcohol that he couldn't supply it fast enough. At the end of it all, his system was demanding more scrumpy than his body could actually hold, and the withdrawal killed him. It was fascinating, honestly; Medic studied Tavish's corpse for years trying to figure out how he survived for so long.
Soldier died a third time, and this time it sadly stuck. Jane refused to openly acknowledge it, but he had been feeling age catching up with him again and had snuck into Merasmus's castle to find an age reversing potion. Instead, despite the wizard's warning, Soldier drank something that turned him inside out. Merasmus felt no obligation to save him, and so Soldier died to his own stupidity for the final time.
Spy was never the same after Scout died. Not long after gaining permanent employment as Pauling's corporate espionage specialist, he retired from regular mercenary work and went to Scout's mother and spent a decade rekindling their romance. He eventually told them his name was Jacques, but it was such a stereotypically French name that Ludwig was never convinced it was real. One day, not long after Soldier's death, Jacques vanished. He left no note, gave no warning. According to his wife, he donned his old mask one last time and then walked out the door and out of her life. They never heard from him ever again.
Ludwig had always had a skewed perspective regarding death. He missed his passed friends, yes, but that was just the way of the world. Everyone but him died eventually, no one knew better than him! But Mikhail's death hit him where it hurts. His dear, sweet Heavy. It happened so suddenly. One day, he was perfectly fine. The next, he was dead, having suffered a heart attack during his sleep. Medic could have brought him back, but... Heavy had made him promise not to. He was old and tired, and ready. It hurt, but Medic let him pass.
Dell was just as sudden, and one that hit Medic nearly as hard. The two were close friends, both learned men of science, and over the years they had accomplished much together and made many leaps forward in their joint research. Medic had extended his life in many unnatural ways, but Engineer's method was even moreso. He had slowly been replacing his body parts with more and more prostheses as time went on, intending to eventually become a machine in truth. The question of how to transfer his intellect to a computer brain was a stumper, but Medic could keep that part healthy until he figured it out.
Engineer was about eighty when his heart gave out. They'd been prepared for it, but when they went to replace the worn out muscle with a mechanical pump, there were complications. Despite all of Medic's efforts and expectations, Dell's body rejected the robotic heart. He died on the operating table, under Ludwig's own knife.
Then it was just Medic and Pyro. And then it was just Medic, because once Engie was gone, Pyro fell into a slump. They walked into the woods a few months later, and when the forest burned to the ground, they were nowhere to be found.
That was over a decade ago, now. Pauling was gone, too. Mann Co. gave Medic a lab and left him to his own devices, Bidwell too frightened of him and Reddy too apathetic to fire him.
Zhanna visited every now and then. They had tea and remembered the old days. She died just a few years ago. He was alone now.
Medic was 97, and he looked like he was in his mid-60s. He could probably make it another fifty years. His research constantly broke new ground, and he could keep slowing his aging, theoretically, indefinitely. His hands weren't as steady as they used to be, but his eyes were those of a much younger man and he was working on finding a hand donor too. Eventually he might even reverse aging. That young inventor Loopty Goopty (what a name...) claimed to be on the verge of a breakthrough towards that very thing, but he and his partner refused to accept his calls.
But it didn't matter. If Ludwig was honest with himself, he should have died decades ago. Age should have claimed him already... but the previous Heavy got to him first, and in the throes of death, Ludwig made a deal. It had required some fast-talking and ill-advised gambling with souls that weren't his, but he had made a deal with the Devil for fifty years more life.
That ended today.
Part of him wanted to believe it had been a dying dream, while an experiment he had forgotten revived him--more likely than you'd think!--but deep in his soul he knew it wasn't. So he tendered his resignation with Mann Co., appointed his most promising student as his replacement for their Medical Division, renewed his will so that Scout's grandkids got all his wealth (Demo's kids were wealthy enough, and Soldier's would have refused what they saw as charity), put all his affairs in order, and retired to his library. He stared at the fireplace, and waited.
It was very sudden.
"Ah, Mr. Ludwig," the hulking red figure said, smirking. "I was wondering if you would be joining us."
Ludwig took a precious moment to adjust to his sudden displacement, then plastered a grin on his face. "But of course! I wouldn't miss it for ze world, you know."
"I'm sure." The Devil straightened a sheaf of paperwork and Medic took a moment to note then nameplate on his desk. In the clarity of death, he remembered it hadn't been there before. It said 'Satan.'
"I'm not sure why I'm even here," Medic said, memories flooding back. "If you'll recall last time, I told you you didn't have a majority share of my soul. And you've failed to redress the balance since zen, ja? You still only have two--no, three compared to my six." Medic's smile widened to show a few more teeth. "Unless you want to go double or nothing? Another fifty years to try?"
"Ha! No," Satan said, full of good humor. "No, as much fun as it would be to watch you grow old and feeble and lose the mind you're so proud of to the vagaries of age and time, I'm afraid we've had a policy change since our last meeting."
"Oh?"
Satan stood from his chair--or, perhaps given his size relative to the desk he was sitting on the floor? Either way, he stood so he could properly loom over the damned soul in front of him. "Congratulations, Mr. Ludwig. You managed to weasel yourself out of our contract. I no longer have claim to your soul, it was decided."
"Oh, good!" That was good news. "So I guess I'm going to heaven after all!"
Satan laughed. He laughed long, and hard, and loud, so loud that the windows of his office rattled. The fires outside flared, drawing Ludwig's attention away from the unnerving laughter.
He squinted. Was that farmland, beyond the flames? This was Hell, yes?
Satan chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye as the laughter died away. "Oh ho h-ho, that was a good one. I needed that, you wouldn't believe me if I told you. Between Mammon's meltdown and Asmodeus' recent scandal, I needed something to laugh at, trust me."
Ludwig smiled uncertainly. "I'm afraid I don't get ze joke, Your Darkness."
"You really don't, do you?" Satan said in wonder. "Ludwig Humboldt, you are not going to Heaven. Of course you're not going to Heaven. Are you insane? Wait, of course you are, what am I saying?"
"What? Why not?"
"All of the crimes against humanity, would be my guess."
"Ridiculous! I have provided life-saving medicine to millions of people through my studies!"
"Studies which involved turning people into pumpkins and tearing out their organs while still alive."
"That's unfair, I haven't vivsected anyone in years."
"We both know that that's only because your hands shake too much to hold a scalpel anymore, doctor." Satan shook his head, darkly amused. "No, Heaven's gates are closed for you. And to all your friends."
Ludwig gasped, affronted. "We'll see about zat! How about we take it to a vote?"
"That's not how it works anymore." Satan paused, grimacing. "That's not how it ever worked, but we didn't have the paperwork for this abomination you've made of yourself before. No, Lucifer's judgement is that all the souls you've... grafted on to yourself... are going to follow you down here."
"Even Heavy?"
"And Mr. Conagher and DeGroot and Doe. Not that they were likely to make it to Heaven anyway."
Ludwig felt an alien feeling well up inside him. A sort... sucking hole in his chest. And his stomach seemed upset? Odd. "Perhaps I can do something," he reasoned. "I can... probably detach them from me, if you give me another day or two of life, I can get back to my lab and--"
"Ludwig," Satan said. "You are dead. Not dying. Dead. I can't send you back now even if I wanted to. And I don't." He chuckled. "I very much don't."
"Then maybe I can talk to Luci--Wait, Lucifer? I thought you were Lucifer?"
"Common misconception."
"I--Okay, then I can talk to him and convince him to let my friends go where they are meant to--"
"Perhaps I mispoke," Satan said, walking out from around his desk. "This is not a rule my liege is enacting. It is simply his best guess as to what will happen. We don't actually control who goes where, you know." He tilted his head. "And it would seem he was on the right track."
Ludwig frowned, then turned around and gasped.
There they were. They were transluscent ghosts, not the floating bedsheet Zepheniah Mann appeared as. His friends, blank-faced and lines up behind him. Heavy, Pyro, Spy, Scout... all of them. Waiting. "Was ist das? Why--"
A massive hand clapped his shoulder, and hot breath blew past his ear. "This, Mr. Ludwig, is the fruits of your labor. The nine of you are bound together by your soul, doctor."
"This isn't what I--" He broke off, staring at Mikhail's grim visage. "I didn't think--"
"That you would really die?" Satan finished for him. "That you could escape consequences forever? That you were above the rules of Heaven and Hell?" Wings unfurled from his back, and his face lengthened. A dragon loomed over him, eyes filled with hateful fire.
Ludwig flinched as the office abruptly became much, much hotter. "I..."
"...It doesn't matter now. I've had my fun," the Devil said with a sense of finality. "It's time for you to go to the rest of your afterlife. Sinners aren't allowed outside of Pride, after all."
"What?"
"Goodbye, Mr. Ludwig. You've been an unpleasant experience. Try to avoid the cannibals."
"The wha--"
Ludwig groaned, then his eyes snapped open. Aches and pains that had bugged him for years were gone. Then the last few minutes filtered back in and he flipped on his back and sat up.
Something was wrong. His legs were the wrong shape, his mouth felt wrong and his hand felt too big. In fact, his hands were feathers.
"What?!" He felt his head. "Oh, not this Scheisse again!"
He had a bird head. Great. As if this wasn't bad enough. Although his beak felt a lot more... expressive than before? Odd. Very interesting, actually! It felt like a hard beak but it stretched and deformed to match his expression, which was now pulled back into a manic grin. This was a far more complete transformation than that last time he had a bird head. How interesting! Did he have talons--he did! Ooh, sharp! He could operate with his feet, if he wanted to! That could be fun, actually--
"Urgh... Heavy feel funny..."
Medic's hideous bird head swiveled towards the sound. It had been twenty years since he heard it, but he could never forget that voice.
It was coming from what looked like a massive bear, but on closer inspection the shape was subtly off. More humanoid.
The bear sat up, rubbing his chest, then opened his eyes and they saw each other.
"...Heavy?"
"Doktor?"
"Heavy!"
"Oof!" Heavy grunted as the feathery missile hit him in the stomach. "Doktor, what happens? Thought I was dying..."
"You were! You did! And so did I!"
"WHAT?!" Heavy surged to his feet. "Who killed Doktor?! I will make them bleed!"
"Ugh, will you two shut up and make out already? I'm tryin' ta sleep here!"
Heavy's brow furrowed. "Scout...? But he is..."
Any explanation Medic might have offered faltered, because Scout stood up, rubbing his head, and they both stared at him in disbelief.
He was a rabbit, which was almost expected after their own transformations. But he also had wings and a halo.
Scout looked them over, blinking sleep out of his eyes. "What's'a matter, never seen a handsome dead guy before?" He looked around, curious. "Heaven's a lot dirtier than last time I was here. Where's God? I thought He'd want to see me again."
Heavy considered Scout carefully. Then he and Medic looked around. They were in a back alley behind multiple buildings, with overflowing dumpters and peeling paint. There were nine of them in total, all coming to. A raccoon-man, a parrot man, another rabbit, and... Well, Pyro still looked the same actually. A kangaroo had a halo like Scout's. A robot with a hardhat was slumbed against the wall.
Overhead, the sky was blood red. There were two moons. One shone with golden light, the other with a hideous red glow.
"Doktor?" Heavy asked, calmly.
"Er. Ja?"
"...Where are we?"
"About that--"
Soldier snapped awake with a scream. "Dammit Merasmus! Get me out of Hell this instant! It wasn't funny the first thirty-seven times!"