Chapter Text
He made himself nothing
by taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
Philippians 2:7
«Are you sure this will work?»
«I have no idea!»
Engineer was crouched beside a door in the middle of the room, one hand buried in a cluster of cables while the other held his wrench, slamming it violently against his new invention. Around him, the workshop was in its usual state of organized chaos. Blueprints covered nearly every flat surface, while those that had fallen to the floor drifted lazily whenever the cold desert wind slipped through the open windows. The chill was unpleasant, but necessary to prevent the machinery from overheating. Spy bent down to retrieve a sheet of paper that had blown against his shoe. It contained a rough sketch of a door, covered in measurements and annotations written in Engineer's hurried handwriting, identical to the one standing in front of him. It looked like an ordinary doorframe that had somehow lost the rest of the building around it, but with dozens of wires disappearing into its hinges and along its edges.
At last, a faint blue glow appeared around the frame.
«Remind me once again why you've decided to do this.»
Dell finished tightening a connection and stood up, grinning in satisfaction as he dusted off his hands.
«My teleporters really need an upgrade. The cooldown is too long, at most one person at a time can use them, but above all-» He grabbed the doorframe and pointed it out to Spy. «-I need to build the exit for them to work. Spy, imagine if I could just create an entrance from a pre-existing door, and from there someone could exit through any existing door nearby. Wouldn't that be incredible?»
Spy looked from him to the door, then back again. The blue light around the frame pulsed.
«That would be, yes.» He approached, heels clicking softly on the concrete floor. «But how do you plan on making other doors compatible with this? They need to be connected somehow, don't they?»
Dell sighed. «Yeah, that's the part I still need to figure out.»
But a hand was quickly placed on his shoulder in reassurance. Spy's grip was firm, deliberate. «Laborer, don't let yourself be overwhelmed. It is a great idea. I'm sure that brain of yours will have it figured out in no time.»
Engineer looked up at him and smiled. «Thanks.»
There was another pulse, stronger than before, accompanied by a low hum that vibrated up through the floor and into their teeth. They both noticed it.
«Mh. That is not supposed to happen.» Dell stepped forward cautiously, reaching for the brass knob to push. But as his fingers brushed the metal, the door was suddenly pulled towards him with surprising force, knocking him backwards onto the floor.
«Dell!» Spy leaped backwards and in one fluid motion, that spoke of years of practice, drew his revolver and aimed it straight at the door as it creaked open.
A shifting mass of light filled the frame, twirling over itself and pulsing more and more.
Then, his eyes framed the silhouette of a lean man on the other side. He placed his index finger on the trigger. «Show your hands! Or I'll shoot.»
The mysterious figure was quick to obey. A man dressed to the nines like a bellboy, with almost unnatural red hair and definitely unnatural blue eyes framed by freckles, stepped out of the door with his arms raised.
His voice was smooth, accented in a way Spy couldn't place. Relaxed. Almost amused. «Gentlemen, let's not rush to-» but the mischievous grin that accompanied the words faded quickly as he began to look around. The amusement drained from his face, replaced by something rawer. «Where am I?»
«New Mexico.» Dell loudly groaned, getting up from the ground and holding his bleeding nose. The stranger turned to him, then to the door behind him.
«Engineer, don't give him any information!» but the redhead ignored the hostile tone, and with a snap of his fingers he made the bruise that was slowly spreading on Dell's face disappear and the blood that was dripping to the ground evaporate, leaving behind only the faint scent of copper. Dell blinked and touched his nose; it was whole again. «I apologize for my rudeness. I should have knocked first.»
Spy, uncertain, lowered the gun. «What the hell...?»
«When am I?»
Dell studied him incredulously, mouth opening and closing like a fish pulled from water. Then he looked at Spy, and despite everything a grin spread across his face. «This might be the best thing that's ever happened to me.»
Spy tensed his arms again, raising the revolver back to eye level. «Or the worst. Care to state your name?»
The stranger looked at him with an expression that made Spy feel cold through his backbone.
He asked again, and this time his voice dropped. It sounded distorted, layered, as if multiple people were speaking through the same mouth. «When?»
Engineer quickly reached Spy's position, stretching his arms in a placating gesture towards the redhead. «1968! This is 1968.»
He snickered. «This is simply not possible.»
But before any information could be gleaned from that skeptic answer, the door started to tremble abruptly as if overloaded with power, the blue light strobing erratically. The hum escalated into a scream.
«Get back!» Dell shouted, grabbing Spy's arm and pulling him away.
With a final release of energy the whole room lit up with a blinding light, several cables burst out wriggling like snakes and the frame bent inward, as something gigantic was spat against the opposite side of the workshop, before the door closed on itself losing its light.
«Shit!-» The stranger grabbed the doorknob as soon as the door clicked shut, to open it. But beyond the doorframe there was only the wall of the workshop. «Shit.»
His tense shoulders relaxed as he exhaled; a long, slow breath that seemed to cost him something. He forced formality back into his posture, clarity back into his expression, and turned to face the room.
The gigantic figure, hurled against the workshop table now broken in half under its weight, stood up. His voice was a low rumble. «Wh...at happened?»
Spy looked at the man towering over him. That thing was at least 2 meters tall! «S-stay back.» He quickly swung his revolver towards the two figures. «Both of you.»
A hulking man -presumably a vampire, judging by his teeth- with long black hair and dressed in tattered clothes was studying the surroundings with flared nostrils and crimson eyes that illuminated the darkest corner of the room. He growled, a sound that vibrated in their chest and made the remaining glass in the windows tremble. «Ain't your place to tell me what to do, stranger.»
Spy eyed him in disbelief, recognizing in him a weak French -maybe Cajun?- accent.
«Doorman, open us a portal. Let's get gone.»
The Doorman stretched his arm towards a wall with visible effort. A golden shape flickered into existence, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, dissolving into sparks that rained down on the concrete. The Doorman bent double, coughing, spattering blood across the floor. «I-I can't-!»
He panted heavily, clutching his chest. «Since the door closed... I can feel my powers physically leaving my body!»
The vampire sprinted towards him, closing the distance in a blur of motion that made Spy's finger twitch on the trigger. «How's that possible!?» But the Doorman wasn't responsive; his eyes had rolled back, his knees buckling.
He caught him before he hit the ground, easing him down with surprising gentleness. Then he looked at Engineer, and for a moment, the crimson in his eyes dimmed. «Can you do anythin'?»
Spy, after several long seconds of deliberation, eventually gave up and lowered the revolver. He holstered it with a heavy sigh and eyed Dell, spurring him to answer.
«Not us. But I know someone who, if their curiosity is satisfied, might help.»
⊰═══════⊱
The Doorman slowly opened his eyes and, for the first time in his lifespan, he felt tired. Not the abstract fatigue of a long journey or the draining aftermath of spellwork. This was physical. His eyes barely stayed open, begging him to close them again. His mind struggled to form coherent thoughts, wading through molasses. His limbs felt heavy, as if not his own, anchored to the bed by an invisible weight. Was that a real human sensation?
He slowly raised his head from the pillow to check on himself. He was fine. Still intact, at least. His arms had been arranged on top of the thin blanket, sleeves rolled up a couple of times to allow thin tubes to be inserted into his arm.
He groaned, studying his own humanly pathetic condition. He had watched humans from afar for centuries: watched them bleed and bruise and age and die. He had always felt a detached curiosity, the way one might observe ants through a magnifying glass. But now, lying here with plastic tubing connecting him to a machine that beeped every few seconds, he understood. And he had never felt so humiliated throughout his lifespan.
Fortunately, no pair of eyes were intently looking at him celebrating his awakening, as he had seen humans do in the past. That terrible well-meaning hovering, the anxious "how are you?" questions. Instead, colorless curtains isolated him from the rest of the room, though he could hear muffled voices a few meters away. Among them, Drifter's.
«So, you're a vampire? A real one?»
«Yes. As vampire-y as I can be, I suppose.»
«Wunderbar... you truly are a fascinating specimen. Can I study you further?»
«If this can be considered the payment for makin' us return, go ahead.»
«Deal! So, which one is true, then? Decapitation or stakes?»
The Doorman scoffed. That was getting ridiculous. He slowly pushed himself upright, grabbed the wheeled IV pole and strode towards the curtain, pulling it behind his shoulder with more force than necessary. A relatively old man -probably around his fifties- in a doctor's coat was studying Drifter's half naked body with a stethoscope as he sat on a stretcher.
Hearing the curtains being drawn, Drifter's pointed ears instinctively perked up and the vampire turned around, accompanied by the medic peeking from behind, who asked: «How are you feeling?»
The Doorman certainly didn't look well. He was paler than usual, further accentuating his tired, bright blue eyes-though they seemed less vivid than usual. He walked slowly towards them. With each step, his feet felt the tiles beneath his bare feet, and for the first time in his lifespan, he felt their hardness and coldness against his skin. The feeling overwhelmed him; he didn't know how to react.
Looking at Drifter, he wanted to answer him "Weak", but there was no way he was going to expose himself like that.
«Fine.»
It was clear that the vampire did not believe that. Something flickered across Drifter's face. Irritation, perhaps, or grudging concern, but he let it slide.
The doctor held out his hand to introduce himself. «My name's Herbert, but Medic's easier to remember. You do you.»
The Doorman stared at the offered hand and his fists clenched at his sides. He stared at the floor, counted the tiles, considered for a few seconds whether to answer.
«I am... The Doorman.»
Medic withdrew his hand and nodded.
He felt Drifter's gaze shift from him to Medic. «What place is this?»
«Ah, this is a military base. We are mercenaries, currently payed to fight a war.»
Drifter's eyebrow arched. «A war in the desert among, like, a dozen of people? What kinda war is that?»
«Well, vampir,» Medic begun, and there was a gleam in his eye now. The gleam of someone who knew a secret he'd been dying to share, «we have technology that allows us to potentially drag out this war indefinitely.»
Noticing Drifter's curious gaze and the way his crimson eyes sharpened with interest, Medic quickly resumed his professional demeanor. «I'm afraid it's not the right time for this. We'll maybe delve deeper into this later. Your companion surely needs some rest.»
But as Drifter nodded, the Doorman tsked. «We need to escape this place,» he said, gripping the IV pole tighter. The metal creaked faintly under his fingers. «I don't feel like myself.»
«Our shift is starting soon,» Medic replied, already turning away to organize his instruments. «I'm afraid you'll have to wait. Allow me to keep you monitored throughout the day, so that I'll be able to get an overview of your situation this evening.»
The Doorman's jaw tightened. «...I suppose I have little choice in the matter.»
Beside him, Drifter snickered. A low, mocking sound that made the Doorman's fists clench. The vampire was enjoying this. Watching him squirm.
But before the Doorman could respond, Herbert pointed at Drifter with the blunt end of his pen.
«And you, go have a shower. You smell rotten.»
«Huh!?»
⊰═══════⊱
«Did you just state the presence of two aliens invading our base!? We must kill them!»
Spy sighed as he closed his shirt cufflinks. His movements were slow, deliberate-a man who had long since learned that panic was a luxury he could not afford. «That is absolutely not what Engineer has just said, Soldier.»
The nine mercenaries were in the locker room, getting ready; fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a pale glare on the scuffed metal lockers and the benches bolted to the floor. Dell saw it as the ideal moment to update his colleagues on what had happened the night before.
Sniper sat in the corner, one leg crossed over the other. He listened quietly to the story with interest, though his hands never stopped moving. A small wooden figurine took shape under the slow, patient strokes of his knife. The blade scraped softly, but rhythmically. And eventually, he looked at Dell and asked: «How can you be sure they're not BLU spies?»
Medic answered instead, not looking up from the medical chart he was reading reluctantly. «Well the tall one is, indeed, a vampire.»
«But what about the redhead?» Sniper insisted. The knife paused for a fraction of a second.
Engineer slowly walked deeper into the middle of the room, his boots echoing faintly on the concrete floor. He pondered with a finger against his chin, his brow furrowed in thought. The others watched him; some with curiosity, others with barely concealed suspicion. «Yesterday, in the workshop, he mumbled something about his powers. He can't be a normal human as he let it show.»
Medic nodded slowly, flipping a page with a dry rustle. «This evening I'll check his monitoring results. Although, if he presented inhuman parameters, I wouldn't know exactly what conclusions to reach.»
But Dell quickly raised his arms in victory, a grin spreading across his weathered face. The tension in the room shifted. Not breaking, but bending. «Fellas, this is amazing. My teleporters might reach a potential never met before! We grant them a favor, and they make me understand how to build a teleporter that somehow makes people travel in the future or whatever fictional-ish "parallel universe" thing. It could be decisive in the outcome of the Gravel War!»
Silence.
Then Sniper exhaled slowly through his nose, finally looking up. His eyes were cold, unreadable.
«I fail to see how your curiosity should repay the risk we are all running.»
Scout, who had been leaning against a locker with his arms crossed, finally couldn't refrain from taking part in the conversation. He pushed off the metal surface and stepped forward, his voice sharp with impatience. «Sniper's right! We don't know their intentions.»
«Conagher family always teaches this,» Dell said, and his voice was quieter now, more serious. The grin had faded. «When you have someone in front of you whose true potential you don't know, the wisest thing you can do is to overestimate their power. Never underestimate.»
Spy nodded slowly, almost reluctantly, convinced by the speech. He finished buttoning his suit jacket and smoothed the front. «So, we are hostages to each other.»
«I suppose,» Dell said, glancing around the room. He could feel the tension coiled in every corner; in the way Heavy cracked his knuckles one by one, in the way Pyro's breathing had gone very, very still, in the way Demoman's hand kept twitching around the handle of his grenade launcher. «This is why we should try to cooperate as much as we can with them.»
No one answered right away.
The fluorescent lights buzzed on.
⊰═══════⊱
Time was passing slowly. Drifter, now deprived of his stench, wandered around the infirmary, studying and sniffing everything that piqued his interest.
Only after hours of deathly silence, broken only by the soft beep of monitors and the distant thunder of artillery, the Doorman's eyes fell on him again. The redhead had been staring at the ceiling tiles, counting the stains, but now his gaze sharpened with a familiar, weary irritation. «You, of all people.»
Drifter grunted, playing with a -fake?- skeleton's arm in the corner. He twisted the joint, making it make a dry, scraping sound that echoed too loudly in the quiet room. «I can assure you, I ain't exactly thrilled neither.»
He accidentally snapped off one of the skeleton’s fingers, and after seconds of indecision he decided that throwing it under a piece of furniture and pretending nothing had happened was the best option.
The Doorman watched him, jaw working silently. Then: «...Do you still have your powers?»
Drifter looked down at his own claws. Dark, curved, still stained of a brownish red no matter how much he had scrubbed with that industrial-grade soap. He flexed them once, twice. A faint shimmer of energy, like heat haze, danced between his fingertips, visible only for a heartbeat before fading back into his knuckles. «I still feel them, yes.» His voice was low, almost surprised.
The Doorman stood up, dragging the IV pole reluctantly. The wheels squeaked in protest, and he cursed under his breath as the bag of saline swung like a pendulum. «Gods, how is that even possible!? It's not like I meant to cross-», but he suddenly stopped, the words catching in his throat.
Drifter turned towards him perplexed. «To cross what?»
The redhead hesitated. His jaw tightened and his fingers gripped the cold metal of the IV pole so hard his knuckles went white. «An Astral Gate.»
The words hung in the sterile air like a curse. Even the distant sound of explosions outside seemed to mute.
Drifter said nothing. He simply stood there, skeleton arm still dangling from his grip, sensing the conversation was taking a serious turn. His crimson eyes narrowed. He had heard that term before.
The Doorman walked towards the window which, a few meters high, looked out onto the battlefield. His reflection in the glass was pale and gaunt. «This place does not have a connection with any Astral Gate,» he explained slowly, pressing his palm against the cold glass. «I would feel its influence, otherwise. I could sense the way to travel through it.»
Outside, men in red and blue uniforms fought and shouted in a rather uncoordinated fashion, shooting each other with every kind of weapon they could think of. Explosions here and there, people flying from one corner of the battlefield to another using the recoil of rockets fired at the ground, and "is that piss?".
«This is a remote Outer Plane?» Drifter asked, as he joined him at the window, generating no reflection in the glass.
«Neither.» The Doorman shook his head slowly. «I've never encountered any obstacle that could stop me from traveling in any of the three dimensions. For me, Space has always been a concept that could twist to my will, to bring me wherever I wanted. But Time...» He stopped, turning to face the vampire. His blue eyes were unblinking, and for the first time Drifter saw something behind them that looked dangerously close to fear. He would recognize such emotion right away, but seeing it in the Doorman's face was oddly out of place and made him uncomfortable. «Drifter, no one truly controls that. Some may see through it, but not physically move.» He paused, letting the weight of the words settle. «Besides, by 1968 we should be on the eve of the third Maelstrom. From what I've seen so far, there isn't evidence of even one here.»
The vampire grunted, and left the window to go roam again in the room. «You're losin' me. Get to the point.»
The Doorman took a breath admiring the blue sky, free from any greenish tinge.
«We are in another Timeline, one where Maelstroms are not fated to be.»