CAN YOU FEEL THE SCHADENFREUDE?

IT HAS COME TO THE ATTENTION OF TFINDUSTRIES THAT THE PUBLIC ( SOMEHOW ) BELIEVES THAT THE MERCENARIES UNDER OUR EMPLOYMENT IN UNIT [ TEAM FORTRESS 2 ] ARE “ PSYCHOPATHS ” AND “ MENACES TO SOCIETY. ”

WE UNDERSTAND THAT THE BEHAVIOR THEY HAVE DISPLAYED IN THE “ MEET THE TEAM ” VIDEOS WE HAD FILMED FOR INFORMATIVE PURPOSES MAY WARRANT CONCERN, BUT IT SHOULD BE NOTED THAT THIS IS DUE TO AN ENTIRELY INTENTIONAL EXAGGERATION OF THEIR ECCENTRICITIES THAT WAS ENFORCED BY THE DIRECTOR ( WHO HAS UNFORTUNATELY BEEN PREMATURELY FIRED FOR HIS UNPROFESSIONALISM ) FOR THE SAKE OF ENTERTAINMENT VALUE.

WE AT RELIABLE EXCAVATION DEMOLITION BELIEVE THAT THE BREVITY OF SUCH VIDEOS MAY HAVE GIVEN THE PUBLIC A LIMITED UNDERSTANDING OF THE PROFESSIONALS THAT WORK FOR OUR COMPANY.

TO DISPEL ANY MISCONCEPTIONS, WE HAVE OPENED THIS ONLINE BLOG WHERE THE PUBLIC WILL BE ABLE TO ASK WHATEVER QUESTIONS THEY HAVE TO [ THE MEDIC ]

THE MEDIC WILL NOW MAKE A STATEMENT

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀…

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀…

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀…

Greetings! This is the Medic of Reliable Excavation Demolition speaking! I’ve been made aware that my behavior comes across as, ahem, concerning to quite a lot of people.

Are my methods unconventional? Yes. Believe me, none of you would be the first to tell me. Should I perhaps not have blown up my friend’s heart? Yes! Though, in my defense, I really didn’t think that would happen! I never wanted Heavy’s heart to be destroyed anyways — it was such a wonderful thing! So plump, so strong! And with such unclogged arteries! I grieve its loss everyday. 😔

Unfortunately the sheer power of my Übercharge was simply too much for the human cardiovascular system to handle … BUT! Such sacrifices are necessary for medical advancement! And besides, we were at WAR! A stupid and rather pointless war, granted, but it was a war nonetheless! And as my team’s Medic I sought to not only keep my comrades alive and healthy, but to take them and turn them into unkillable warriors who would DOMINATE the battlefield! Is that so wrong? I certainly don’t think so! And if you do then you’ll need to remind yourself of who the doctor here is.

Und no, just because I lost my medical license does NOT mean that I lost my medical degrees, thank you very much! I’ll have you know that I am just as educated and trained as any “ legal ” doctor out there. In fact, I’m better than die Langweiler. I’d dare you to name another practitioner of medicine who could turn men invincible and bring back the dead. Or keep a team consisting of 8 other, er, biologically interesting mercenaries alive and functional. I always do my best to ensure that my patients are at the peak of their health, though they may sabotage their health in some STUPID ways despite my many warnings. 😒

Ahem.

Regardless! Rest assured that I am a perfectly qualified medical professional who has his patients’ best interest at heart! ☺️ ( Well, the ones that I like, anyways. )

Don’t be afraid, my friends! I am really quite amicable! So please, feel free to ask me whatever question comes to mind! Frankly I’m excited at the opportunity to interact with you all!

|| Hello! Welcome to my blog!

I’m new to RPing Tumblr so please forgive me, I’m not very sure how things generally work around here. Regardless, I wanted to try it out, and Medic is such a fun character to write so I decided to give it a shot!

Feel free to send me questions or engage with me!

RULES:

No bigotry will be tolerated here.

Do not accuse Medic of being a Nazi. Medic is not a Nazi nor has he ever been one. I will not be responding to anything that even suggests it.

This blog will contain NSFW content such as gore, mentions of disturbing or gross medical stuff, graphic violence, death, corpse desecration ( Medic experiments with dead bodies, ) trauma etc. Given the nature of TF2, I feel like the violence and gore is a given so I won’t put a warning for it unless it’s particularly gruesome or grotesque, so please keep that in mind when you look through my blog and scroll to your own discretion.

Please be patient with me! I try to be as timely as I can with replies but I won’t always get them out quickly!

Please don’t come to my inbox asking Medic for legitimate advice for your problems, especially if they’re personal. You have my sympathies, but Medic himself isn’t suited to give any sort of practical help at all. He’s an unhinged character with questionable morals. Unless it concerns one of his teammates, it’s highly unlikely that you’d get a reasonable or serious response from him. Medical questions could be an exception to this ( if they’re just asked out of general curiosity and not related to any real life issue you’re experiencing with your health, ) but unlike the Medic I do not study medicine. I’ll do my research and try my best but I’m in no way an expert. You’d be better off seeking an actual medical professional. Not whatever me and Medic have going on. 😭

Please do not insert yourself or your character in an on-going roleplays that I have going on between myself and someone else without permission. This rule can vary based on circumstance, but generally I would prefer it if more story-based or serious RP threads could be kept between myself and my RP Partner, especially when I’m trying to create a narrative with them. This does not mean that you aren’t free to interact with me or them or even the both of us — you’re welcome to do so — but if I have a long thread or an interaction that is somewhat closed in nature then I would prefer to keep it self-contained so that the flow won’t be broken. This especially applies if we are both trying to ship with the same blog / character. Frankly, I don’t want to make things awkward or even competitive if both of our characters existed in the same continuity and were trying to establish a romantic relationship with the same person. We may interact outside of that, but if we aren’t making polymory the endgame then let’s keep our ship stuff separate so that we don’t get in each other’s way. It’ll save us a lot of complication and drama. All RP threads are closed unless stated otherwise.

Be respectful and have fun! I’m here to have a good time writing Medic and to hopefully give others a good time too by extension. I’d prefer to be kept out of unnecessary drama or discourse if I can, and I’d also like to avoid any problems. If you happen to have an issue with me or something that needs to be addressed, then you’re free to come into my messages so that we can discuss things and resolve them privately. Otherwise, I’m respectfully minding my own business.

EXTRA THINGS TO CONSIDER:

Mod is in her 20’s and is currently attending college. I should note that I’m no medical professional and I don’t know German, but I’ll try my best to be accurate!

Please keep in mind that I’m on the autism spectrum when you’re interacting with me, personally.

Also note that Medic isn’t necessarily a great person. He will talk about and do morally dubious things, be disturbing, apathetic, depraved and even downright evil at times. It’s par for the course for his character. That being said, I’m not portraying him as a completely heartless monster. Medic loves his doves dearly, and he does have loved ones from his past.

And Medic genuinely cares about his teammates in RED, in one way or another. He likes them because he thinks they’re interesting and working with them for multiple years has made him fond of them. I would say that he genuinely considers them as his friends, Heavy and Engineer especially. And he takes his job as their Medic / Healer seriously, despite all the unethical experiments he does. He just has a very unconventional way of expressing that care.

Still working out Medic’s sexuality but it isn’t straight. Just know that in the past he kept in the closet about his homosexuality for self-preservation’s sake and he’s since then come to accept it. Now I’d say that he isn’t particularly inclined to seek out romance because his experiments take priority, regardless of the nature of the relationship, but he can definitely develop feelings or attraction towards someone. They just need to get that side of him out. On the topic of romantic relationships, I’m open to having multiple active ships at once. I keep them in separate continuities so that I can explore these dynamics without them interfering with one another, so please keep this in mind when shipping with my Medic.

Medic is ethnically Jewish on his mother’s side but he and his immediate family have always been non-practicing.

TAGS:

# OKTOBERFEST 🕊️ ( medic posting )

# i am fully charged! ❤️ ( interactions with the red team )

# the healing is not as rewarding as the hurting 🪚🩸 ( interactions with the blu team )

# come over here! i promise i will heal you. 🩺 ( answers from inbox )

# oops! that was not medicine. 💊 ( ooc posting )

# prepare for your examination. 🩻 ( headcanons )

It's late at night. Past midnight, for certain. It's gotten windy since everyone's retired to their respective quarters, causing anything left outside to shift and beat against the walls of the RED Team's barracks. Still, there's nothing particularly abnormal about any of it.

Until, a quiet whistle is heard, just outside the door to the RED Scout's room. A happy little tune, nothing particularly ominous. Probably just the Engineer grabbing a late night bottle of water. He often whistled to himself, never one for silence, often finding it uncomfortable.

But there was just something...weird about it. It wasn't quite...musical enough. Dell knew how to carry a tune – of course he did, he'd been a musician his whole life. Whoever this whistle belonged to clearly didn't know much in the way of pitches, their notes just slightly off, whatever song they were whistling being just enough out of tune to notice.

It was likely nothing. Poor guy didn't exactly sleep very much, after all; Probably just didn't have the energy to focus on pitches.

Never mind the fact that the sound didn't seem to move down the hall at all. Never mind the fact that it stayed in one spot, like some sort of weird, eerie underscoring. Hell, maybe it was a ghost – stranger things have certainly happened, and who knows how haunted this base really is?

He lopes on over to Scout, letting out a wheezy cough as he rubs at his neck, crouching down beside him and looking at him, almost seeming...bored, with the display.

"Gotcha, ya li'l jackrabbit," he says, reaching out and around to grab Scout by the front of his shirt collar and dragging him up to his feet. "Can't run too good wit' a concussion, can ya?"

It's a horrific realization to have that the hand he's used to pick Scout up is one of flesh and bone, the one of wire and metal curling into a fist at his side. He raises it, the slightest of smiles coming back to his lips, aiming it right at the Scout's head in a very clear preparation for a punch.

"My turn," he husks. "Show you what a real punch looks like."

He shifts, and takes a swing – the feeling of metal plowed into bone is sure to be a foul one, and–

It never comes. His fist stops mere centimeters away from Scout's head. And then, he gently taps it against where he would have hit, a laugh coming out of him.

"Probably send ya back to respawn with that one, huh?" he says, laughing through his words. "Fortunately for you, my brother says no killin' his teammates. Well, technically, it was no hurtin', but we's at the point where I'm willin' to take that flack."

He readjusts, and without warning, the real punch comes, directed right into the center of Scout's chest.

"Y'all just make it too fun."

"No—!" He gasps, squeezing his eyes shut as Conagher swings - but the light tap makes him almost lightheaded. The laugh sends a shudder through him as he looks up at the guy—

And then, with a sickening crack, the air is driven from him as pain erupts through his chest.

There's probably a moment where he blacks out, because now he can taste blood at the back of his throat and his breaths are coming in short, rattling gasps. His chest feels like it's been caved in, and he tries to cough but it comes out weak, choked and bloody. Definitely a broken rib or two - but more likely a broken sternum. He's damn lucky his heart didn't stop beating.

Well, considering his situation, maybe he isn't.

He shrugs, letting go of Scout and letting him drop to the floor, crouching down shortly thereafter. It was tempting to go further, to see how far Scout could bend before he really broke, but he was already going to have an awkward conversation with Dell – if that little bugger tried to retaliate then by God he didn't have a problem with socking him in the nose – and he really didn't want to deal with what he'd get if he killed the little bastard.

"'S alright. Y'all got one o' them Medic types for a reason, right?" he reasons. "Sure, I could just pop ya in the skull, send your sorry ass back to respawn and have ya come out brand new, but...Shit, you know the hot water I'd be in if'n I did that here where everyone'd hear the gunshot? Frankly, I'm damned surprise nobody's bothered t'check in on all the racket you done been makin'. Maybe nobody gives a shit, huh?"

That adds up in his head. Nobody cares about Scouts, that's why they were always so easy to get ahold of. Although, there was one other issue...This little fucker might blab, and then what?

"Hey...You ain't gonna tell nobody of our li'l meetin', are ya?" he asks, and there's no room for anything but a 'no'. "I mean, my baby brother might find out anyway, 'cause he's one smart li'l bugger, but...You wouldn't tell, right? I'd hate to have t'disappear ya."

Holding himself up with shaky arms, he looks at Conagher, fighting back another wave of hacking coughs. There's a reason he's fast, but when your opponent corners you then yeah, they're going to see how easily you break. And of course nobody's heard them - it's after midnight, just about everybody is asleep. They would have come running if they were awake, obviously. Right?

But the thought that he's just going to walk away, that Scout's going to have to drag himself to Medic... He'd almost prefer to just respawn at this rate.

Conagher speaks again and About looks up at those goggles, so uncomfortably similar to Engie's, so impassive and, in a way, kind of terrifying. The threat isn't subtle, but what more could this guy do to him right now? Well... A lot more, but Scout's not going to point that out. He manages to shake his head, even though the gesture makes him want to throw up.

How the hell is he going to explain this, though? Even if he did go to Medic, there would be questions, and after everything tonight he's not sure he wants to risk a visit to the doc.

"Jusdo it," he manages to gasp out the words, hanging his head almost shamefully. "I can't... Medic—" he coughs again, but at least there isn't any blood in it this time. "Respawn," he gasps, in case Conagher's not catching on. "Send me— t' respawn. Then, stay... th' fuck 'way from me,"

He lifts his head and looks at those goggles again, his expression hardening. "Or I will tell'im."

He's on shaky ground; he knows that if Conagher wants to come after him, there's not much he can do about it - but that threat exposes the guy's one weakness, and Scout ain't quite as dumb as he lets

It's not a lot, but any leverage is still something.

Although, it does give him a couple ideas...

"Hey...Y'know. If'n...If'n you want it that bad, I reckon..."

He tugs his glove off, revealing the robot hand underneath – it's much less cleanly-built than Dell's is, looking like it was cobbled together out of whatever scrap Zed could find. The fingers are painted in mismatched colors, the tips of them dipped in red paint. At least, one could hope it's paint, and not something far more nefarious.

He reaches out with the hand, curling it around the side of Scout's head, fingertips resting at the back of his head, his thumb resting just above his eye, his other hand reaching out to seize and lift him up by the neck. The metal fingertips drum against Scout's scalp, and Zed stares at him, still as unreadable as he's been since he first turned up.

"Maybe you could help me test somethin'. See...I made some improvements to t'hand, gave it one hell of a grip strength, an'...I ain't had nobody to test it out on, yet."

A sharp pain shoots through his chest as he tries to gasp, and he knows he ain't gonna be able to recover on his own. It wouldn't be the first time he's had his skull crushed though, so he knows what to expect - some of BLU's more sadistic bastards like to play with their prey, too, but they have less qualms about ending it.

He closes his eyes, swallowing back the bloodied bile once again as he gives a small nod to Conagher. If it means the guy will leave him alone, fine - let him have his fun. At least, if they ever do this dance again, Scout will know better what to expect.

"Heh. 'Fine,' he says. 'S if he's got a choice."

The fingers on the robotic hand start to curl inwards, clicking and whirring softly. At first, it's a rather inoffensive feeling, maybe a bit odd, but certainly not painful. But then...

The edges of the fingertips start to dig into flesh, metal cutting into skin, digging in until they threaten to pull it back. Steam hisses out of the pipes sticking out of the body of the contraption.

"Oh, I forgot to mention..." Zed starts, "the son of a bitch tends to get real fuckin' hot. See, I was gonna try'n fix that, 'cause when I overclocked the thing's main motor, it started causin' overheatin'. But then I thought, hey, why bother? Just makes it more fun, an' it makes a helluva lot less a mess, on account of it's just built in cauterizin'."

As he talks, the palm of his hand starts to get alarmingly warm, until the scent of burning hair and flesh started to fill the room.

"Whoo-wee, ain't that quite a smell? People always get uncomfortable about the smell of people burnin'. Reckon it's cause most folk don't like seein' other folk get hurt, 'specially in such a slow, hurtful way. Me, I never really cared too much. Smells like barbecue, a real, damned fine barbecue."

His hand whirrs and grinds in effort as it tries to bust through bone. Zed hisses through his teeth as the machine's cuff starts to make his skin heat and sizzle where it sits on his arm, and he makes some sort of comment about how he 'should probably fix that'.

As bone begins to crack and skin continues to burn, he starts humming to himself, tapping his foot in time; just like his whistling, it's not particularly in tune, but it's at least recognizable. An old traditional spiritual, one he starts singing under his breath to further entertain himself. Figures he'd know songs like that; he's a man of the South, after all.

"Joshua fit the battle of Jericho, Jericho, Jericho...Joshua fit the battle of Jericho, an' the walls came tumblin' down..."

The ill-tuned singing makes for an almost bizarre underscoring to the sound of machinery struggling and the sound of bone cracking and giving way –

"You may talk about the men of Gideon, you can talk about your men o' Saul, but there weren't nothin' like Joshua at the Battle of Jericho..."

He doesn't expect it to be so slow.

A soft cry slips out as the metal fingers dig into skin, but there's really not much flesh between the scalp and the skull. Scout keeps telling himself he's had worse, but the bar for "worse" needs to keep rising the longer it goes on.

The bar disappears entirely as the palm gets hot against the side of his head. He's barely paying attention to Conagher's little ramblings, so he doesn't expect it to reach searing levels so quickly. He can't hold back the next cry that slips out, a drawn-out scream that's underscored by the soft, tubeless singing of the sadistic interloper crushing his—

Zed admires his handiwork, the look of blood and gray matter that covers his hand and the burnt flesh that sticks to his palm, for only a moment, well aware that the scream – boy, was it music to his ears – was likely to draw attention.

He has to shake his hand a bit to dislodge it from the dead Scout's skull, letting his body drop to the floor, brain matter and blood and god knows what else spilling out of that cracked open dome and onto the floor. He needn't worry about the mess – Respawn's already got her claws in him. She'll clean it up for him.

What he does worry about is the sound of someone rousing down the hall. He moves quick, snatching up his glove and kicking Scout out of his way as he books it out of the room, shutting off the lights and closing the door on his way out. He'll be gone by the time anybody bothers looking.

Down the hall, he's dragged into another room by his baby brother. Harsh words are surely exchanged – his brother was a smart one and surely knew something had transpired – and they no doubt bicker. What comes of it is no more than a threat to stay quiet, followed by the sound of two things colliding, something popping, and a sharp yelp from a younger voice.

“Rest assured that you will be fine, Engineer. The pain is nothing that can’t be managed with medication. Now. Shall I give you a prescription?”

"Naw, I'll be alright, doc," he says, grinning at the Medic in a sort of goofy way, the way he does when he's no doubt about to say something insane. "I mean, heck, I cut my own hand off wit' nothin' but a Sawzall 'n' a belt, this ain't nothin' compared to that."

He sounds strangely proud of himself as he recounts that rather painful – and extremely messy – night he'd had in his workshop. Definitely wasn't the ideal way to fit himself with the Gunslinger, but, hey, it worked pretty well! And he didn't even bleed out!

Medic, evidently ( or perhaps not, as he mused with a deceptively casual demeanor ) did not reminisce on the advent of the GUNSLINGER with as much fondness as his colleague. Don’t get him wrong: he was more than impressed by the skill and tenacity that Engineer exhibited then; and his weapon, for all the messiness behind its outfitting, came out wonderfully. He even admired it when all was said and done. But Herbert definitely would have much preferred to be the one to do the amputation and attach such a marvel of murderous mechanical design to his friend’s body. In fact, he should have been the one to do it. Metallic as the replacement arm was, it was still an arm — a limb that required the handling of someone who was an expert in the human body. That was undeniably MEDIC’S domain, and in his professional opinion it would have been far better if Engineer allowed the process to be done on his operating table, under a practiced hand and a controlled environment where blood loss and health risks could’ve been left to a minimum. And how fun would it have been to handle a robotic prosthetic for the first time? All in the name of scientific advancement and killing their enemies too? He’ll never get to know now unless Engineer somehow lost another one of his limbs.

And who did Dell think came to deal with the aftermath? All the blood on the floor that needed mopping up, also not to mention the recovery of the unconscious Conagher himself? It certainly wasn’t going to be any of the others, even if they did happen to be awake around that time.

That truly was the night that Medic realized that not even the level-headed Engineer had the sense to not commit reckless acts that’d inevitably lead him to the infirmary.

The revelation brought him equal parts exasperation and elation, but when his agitation soon faded what remained was excitement for the prospect of working with such a soft-spoken, amicable man who bore the same disregard for sanity as he did. That, combined with his comparable level of innovative genius, filled him with a newfound appreciation for the heir of Fred Conagher. It even comforted him to know that this shared inclination for the unorthodox meant that he wouldn’t be rejected by Dell, as he was by many others within the scientific community.

It brought him joy, in a sense, to know that he found a perfect intellectual equal and lab partner within Dell Conagher and he was very grateful for it.

Herbert smiled when complimented by the other; a nice exception to the otherwise disturbed reactions that the Über operation apparently got out of their other colleagues.

“I can always count on you and Misha to appreciate my work.”

He responded with no small amount of pleasure.

God, weren't that the truth? He still remembered the awe with which he'd regarded the Medic's newly-implemented Übercharge when he and the Heavy had first taken it out into the battlefield. It was a beautiful, remarkable shard of innovation, the ability to render a man invincible to nearly anything a man could think up being something that sent a feeling of awe – and maybe just a slight twinge of jealousy that he had not come up with it first – blooming in the Engineer's chest (alongside the mildly uncomfortable thumping of a mega baboon heart that was implemented so that he could experience the effects of an Über first hand).

Most people thought the Conaghers to be insane. His grandfather had built immortality machines and cut his own hand off (though of course Dell thanked him for the latter invention), his father constructed contraptions made solely to turn a man into swiss cheese and found a hobby in mechanically altering vehicles and tools and whatever else he could find to be more effective, if not dangerous (a process known to most outside the family as "Conagherizing", Dell thought with a chuckle), and that wasn't even counting the sheer insanity and sadism his brothers got up to.

But Medic was not one of those people, and the Engineer was glad to find someone so willing to share in the beauty of technological advancement with him as he was. Sometimes, he wished he had gone to the doctor to replace his hand, but he'd just been so excited and eager to get it up and running!

Ah, well. Maybe he could give him a demonstration of how the whole thing worked one day – maybe his BLU counterpart would make for a good participant, as he shared the same mechanical hand which Dell concealed under his glove even now, the same wires and connections which allowed it to function. Stolen knowledge, of course.

He wasn’t used to this positive reception. Of course, by the time he’d unveiled the wonders of the Medigun and the Übercharge he had his team marveling at his scientific genius but there was something … unique about the way Dell sung his praises just now.

He knew that his work was impressive. He knew that Engineer regarded it with appreciation and aptly so. What he did not expect was the tone with which he’d communicated his endorsement; with the type of fondness that he’d only heard from Misha before.

Suppose it shouldn’t surprise him. Engineer and Heavy always seemed to consider him with the most fondness out of anyone, even when their team was freshly cobbled together and their camaraderie could more aptly be defined as “mutual tolerance” at the best of times.

Herbert couldn’t say that he didn’t know why. As the only other man of science on base ( who didn’t spend the majority of his time drinking and blowing things up, anyways ) Dell Conagher was essentially his comrade in all things scientific. Their differing areas of expertise didn’t stop them in the least from collaborating in ways that God neither desired nor intended.

Throughout that partnership he came to admire the man known as Dell Conagher. He was a true genius at his core with a spirit that yielded to no conventional authority. He was an engineering savant who could build killing machines with unparalleled effectiveness and defy the laws of physics as humanity has known them, conquering the space between the unknowable and bending it to his whims. There didn’t seem to be anything that he couldn’t construct.

Herbert absolutely loved working with him as a partner, but he didn’t expect to find a wonderful friend in him as well.

He was considerate, his soft-spoken Texan manner providing a comfort whenever peace was needed. He saw Herbert in all his deranged, bizarre, not professionally licensed glory and accepted him nonetheless — admired him, even. He could look upon this disturbing madman of a doctor and say that he liked him.

Before he joined RED, he never could’ve said that he had such a companion by his side.

It was a … strange experience to have such fondness directed at him, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

It must’ve been a few moments before Herbert finally figured out how to properly respond. He let out a chuckle, hands placed behind him as his lips formed a smile that matched the Engineer’s in sincerity, however smug and evil-looking it was.

“You flatter me, Dell. Vielen Dank. It brings me great pride to hear that from you. And you know, I could just as easily say the same about you and your inventions! I mean between your teleporters and this Gunslinger how could I not? Creating a functional, highly lethal prosthetic that doubles as a repair tool and successfully attaching it to yourself with no medical assistance is no small feat! Just when I think that I’ve seen the depths of your genius you somehow find a new way to astound me.”

Medic accentuated his point by returning his hands to his front with an enthused gesture. Now that Engineer’s comfort was no longer a concern, he allowed himself to relax from the bit of professional stiffness he had to employ as his doctor, allowing himself to fully embrace the lightheartedness of the conversation.

Engineer may have assured him that the occasional aching of his Überheart had been but a manageable one, but now that he mentioned it Medic couldn’t help but stick to the subject with a musing ponder.

He put a hand to his hip, the other allowed to hang loosely at his side.

day 291

Medic through the years~ (at least how I headcanon it)

“Rest assured that you will be fine, Engineer. The pain is nothing that can’t be managed with medication. Now. Shall I give you a prescription?”

"Naw, I'll be alright, doc," he says, grinning at the Medic in a sort of goofy way, the way he does when he's no doubt about to say something insane. "I mean, heck, I cut my own hand off wit' nothin' but a Sawzall 'n' a belt, this ain't nothin' compared to that."

He sounds strangely proud of himself as he recounts that rather painful – and extremely messy – night he'd had in his workshop. Definitely wasn't the ideal way to fit himself with the Gunslinger, but, hey, it worked pretty well! And he didn't even bleed out!

Medic, evidently ( or perhaps not, as he mused with a deceptively casual demeanor ) did not reminisce on the advent of the GUNSLINGER with as much fondness as his colleague. Don’t get him wrong: he was more than impressed by the skill and tenacity that Engineer exhibited then; and his weapon, for all the messiness behind its outfitting, came out wonderfully. He even admired it when all was said and done. But Herbert definitely would have much preferred to be the one to do the amputation and attach such a marvel of murderous mechanical design to his friend’s body. In fact, he should have been the one to do it. Metallic as the replacement arm was, it was still an arm — a limb that required the handling of someone who was an expert in the human body. That was undeniably MEDIC’S domain, and in his professional opinion it would have been far better if Engineer allowed the process to be done on his operating table, under a practiced hand and a controlled environment where blood loss and health risks could’ve been left to a minimum. And how fun would it have been to handle a robotic prosthetic for the first time? All in the name of scientific advancement and killing their enemies too? He’ll never get to know now unless Engineer somehow lost another one of his limbs.

And who did Dell think came to deal with the aftermath? All the blood on the floor that needed mopping up, also not to mention the recovery of the unconscious Conagher himself? It certainly wasn’t going to be any of the others, even if they did happen to be awake around that time.

That truly was the night that Medic realized that not even the level-headed Engineer had the sense to not commit reckless acts that’d inevitably lead him to the infirmary.

The revelation brought him equal parts exasperation and elation, but when his agitation soon faded what remained was excitement for the prospect of working with such a soft-spoken, amicable man who bore the same disregard for sanity as he did. That, combined with his comparable level of innovative genius, filled him with a newfound appreciation for the heir of Fred Conagher. It even comforted him to know that this shared inclination for the unorthodox meant that he wouldn’t be rejected by Dell, as he was by many others within the scientific community.

It brought him joy, in a sense, to know that he found a perfect intellectual equal and lab partner within Dell Conagher and he was very grateful for it.

Herbert smiled when complimented by the other; a nice exception to the otherwise disturbed reactions that the Über operation apparently got out of their other colleagues.

“I can always count on you and Misha to appreciate my work.”

He responded with no small amount of pleasure.

“Rest assured that you will be fine, Engineer. The pain is nothing that can’t be managed with medication. Now. Shall I give you a prescription?”

It’s so rare that we get to speak like this outside of the battlefield, isn’t it? Not that I plan on fraternizing, you know how the Administrator would hate that — it’s just nice to have a good look at you when you aren’t shielding yourself behind your team to prevent mine from killing you! ☺️

( from: @herrhealer 🫀 )

— "Oh, hello there, Mister Ludwig. It's been a long time since I've seen you. Well, specifically, since I've seen you alive. The other day, during the battle, I managed to have a fascinating conversation with your dead head. Actually, no. That was a monologue. Anyway. Glad to see you whole and alive "

— "The Administrator is somewhat right — our teams are like the cardiovascular system. Your team is arterial blood, and ours is venous. We cannot be mixed. Hah! Und also, you probably don't see me on the battlefield very often because I'm shorter than you and my teammates. It's both a hindrance and a lifesaver at the same time"

—"But my saw saves me quite often! If you strike the enemy right in the neck, you can lop their head right off their shoulders — well, halfway off, anyway. I haven't quite perfected my swing yet "

[Friedrich smiled his most friendly smile (at least, he tried to). His gaze fell upon his colleague's hands. In an instant, he pulled a syringe and two vials from his pocket. With a light but firm motion, he fastened a tourniquet around the red Medic's arm]

Perhaps he would have been more upset by such unfavorable happenstance, had he and his own Demoman not have stopped the BLU Team’s push entirely with a well-timed Über that same round.

Oh well. Water under the bridge! RED and BLU killed each other all the time, so yet another instance of wanton murder amongst themselves hardly meant a thing anymore.

Most in this position would hear about the morbidity of Friedrich’s one-sided conversation and react with deep disturbance, but not Herbert. He was beyond such sensitivities and lacking so much in inhibition that he reacted with a suggestion of intrigue amidst his otherwise nonchalant expression.

Friedrich was certainly an interesting one, wasn’t he? He will admit: it was a shame that he missed it on account of being dead. He would’ve loved to hear what Friedrich had to say. He regarded it wistfully, endeared by the thought of his clone entertaining his head with conversation and intrigued by the idea of accessing his thoughts.

He raised a brow as his counterpart rambled on, finding amusement in the medical analogy used to describe their teams’ incompatibility — the calling out of the other’s stouter height and how it’d somehow been used to the BLU’s advantage, his progressing proficiency in wielding various saws …

The other spoke as though he wasn’t in the presence of someone who’s long perfected the art of committing murder with the most mundane of medical equipment. He can do so much to incapacitate the human body with a tool less lethal than the bonesaw; a skill that he’d picked up when he was but a boy and honed in the decades since.

Still, it was nice to hear that Friedrich was starting to get the hang of his technique. Though he was an enemy, he would still hate to see a fellow Medic defenseless. And if his duplicate displayed incompetence on that front then he should be embarrassed to see it.

Herbert attentively observed the other’s manner; how he mimicked his own enthusiasm but failed to exude any of the charismatic poise of his inspiration. He looked uncomfortable, the stiffness of his posture posing a great contrast to Herbert’s easiness, so much so that Friedrich could’ve been easily mistaken for a corpse that was only held upright by the onset of rigor mortis. Even his skin supported this notion with its tone being far-too pale for a man who’d spent the better part of his existence underneath the desert sun. When he smiled, his lips tugged with a noticeable strain. Herbert could tell that it was his attempt at wearing an amicable expression, but the most he could manage was a Cheshire grin that complimented the disturbed look in his eyes that he seemingly was never without.

Did his creator — whoever they were — design him to be like … this? Or did that come from whatever development he’d undergone on the outside? Unfortunately, he wasn’t privy enough to the process to say for certain, but one day he’ll worm his way into that anonymous circle. For now, though, he’d like to examine the living product of their research as much as he could.

It didn’t surprise Herbert to see that his interest in studying the other was mutual.

He could’ve easily stopped the BLU doctor from taking his arm and readying it for venipuncture — God knows that none of his teammates would be so cooperative — but he didn’t. Perhaps he should’ve, but where would the fun in that be?

THE RED MEDIC was a medical anomaly in his own right; an unholy amalgamation of inhuman parts inhabited by a congregation of souls that weren’t originally his own. He’s experimented and modified many patients in his day, but none more-so than himself. As such, his blood could no longer be limited to standard classification, and in fact took on unique properties of its own. No normal doctor would be able to discern its true nature, but perhaps his duplicate wouldn’t be so bewildered.

The blood vessels that Friedrich admired so much were still Herbert’s own, kept in good health by deliberate maintenance. Clearly, the BLU Medic was impressed by what he saw without further examination needed, and Herbert wanted to see what he would do with it should he be given further access. He smiled at the prospect, keeping his arm perfectly still, undaunted at the clinical sharpness of invasive metal.

All this time he’d remained in his intentional silence to give Friedrich room to speak — to see what he had to say — and he received his words with a vested interest. It was a rare chance for him to gain insight on his counterpart’s psyche, the likes of which were beyond apprehension from a simple dissection of his physical form.

“Good to hear that your technique with the bonesaw has improved, Herr Doctor. For future reference, you should aim for the spot between the third and fourth vertebrae for the cleanest result. Then again, it’d be quite the experiment to see how long one of our own could survive while only partially decapitated.“

Herbert mused. Was it strategically beneficial to give the enemy a tip for how to more efficiently kill his teammates? Not at all, but he was feeling generous, and he was hoping that his advice would allow BLU to give them more of a challenge in the future.

He sighs, clasping his hands together.

He sighs upon hearing the Texan’s lamentations, letting out a bit of subtle irritation. No one on the RED Team save for Soldier ( maybe even Pyro or Demoman ) looks forward to the Fourth of July, Medic least of all.

The destructive consequences of Soldier’s patriotic enthusiasm always, without fail, give him more work than he’d like to deal with. Blown off limbs, burnt flesh, bodies crushed beneath debris, respiratory issues caused by the inhalation of dust and silica; all problems that the doctor had been left to treat in the wake celebrations past, and the convenience of having the Medigun doesn’t make it any less annoying.

“Der Tollkühne Narr is going to wreck the base. I swear, if I have to stop eating my dinner to haul Scout to the medbay because his leg got crushed by flaming rubble again…”

He lets his voice trail off as he dismisses the recollection of the last horrid Fourth of July. It was only one of several incidents that occurred that celebratory day.

“If we’re going to try to stop him this year then we’re in luck! I recently refilled my supply of sedatives. A 100mg dose of zolpidem should do it.”

"Ain't that the truth? I know the Yankee means well, but at this point, the amount of structural fallacies I've done had to fix up 'cause of his fun is surely up in the hundreds."

He listens to the Medic's idea – god, it's the damn horse tranquilizer idea all over again – and a subtle frown crosses his face.

"Now, I ain't gonna just knock the man out. How would you feel, doc, gettin' knocked out for Oktoberfest? Naw, I've got a better idea. See, he actually came to me wantin' me t'help him build somethin' that won't level the base all to hell." He scratches the back of his neck. "Ain't sure what brought on that idea in that head of his, but, heck, I was gonna ask him out t'work something out wit' me anyways."

He offers a thumbs up.

It isn’t as though Herbert is against letting Soldier have his fun on the Fourth of July — far from it — but Soldier, even on a normal day, can be unmanageably intense; a quality that somehow manages to be pushed to new extremes during the occasion. Naturally, Medic immediately felt that the sacrifice was necessary. He saw it not only as a way to keep the base, their colleagues and their sanities intact, but also as a favor to both Engineer and himself.

They were the ones who had the most to deal with in the fallout, after all. It would have been such a seamless way to give them both a break where they were previously granted none.

But other’s reasoning, in stark contrast to the Medic’s, seems instinctually intent on preserving the happiness of their mutual friend in the process.

It doesn’t surprise Herbert in the least to hear that his initial idea came to his displeasure. The Engineer cares about the team, as does Medic, but Dell has always been better at expressing it in a way that their colleagues were receptive to. Herbert thinks it a respectable quality; one that he hasn’t been able to grasp himself without invoking everyone’s deepest disturbance.

So he takes the Engineer’s words into consideration. He hasn’t been able to properly attend Oktoberfest ( or “Cannstatter Volksfest,” as was the Stuttgart variant ) since he was in his early adolescence and given his current status in Germany he most likely never will again. Should the opportunity somehow arise he would be more than happy to take it up. And now that he has the comparison he’s beginning to understand what exactly he’ll be depriving Soldier of should he sedate him through this American holiday.

So in short, Engineer has a point.

“Hm. I’ll concede to that.” Medic says with crossed arms, a smile forming upon bespectacled countenance, clearly pleased by his friend’s assurances.

“I’ll admit, with how he can be I’m surprised that he actually came to you for help! But at least he’s beginning to understand that we don’t want to have everything destroyed while he’s off celebrating America. I’m just tired of having to clean up his messes when we’re supposed to be having a holiday. I’m sure that you are too. Diese Arschgeiges can never give us a break.”

Just a bit of irritation slips out of him before he brings himself to a more pleased state again.

The brief moment of irritation that slips through in the doctor's words doesn't bother Dell; he was well-enough used to those moments that he barely even noticed them anymore, often regarding them with nothing more than understanding.

Of course he understood. He'd be lying if he said there weren't times where he wanted to go off on his teammates for their bouts of non-thinking or just plain stupidity. Moments where the Scout broke one of his constructs through carelessness, or the never-forgettable and of course well-known three days of the Soldier's bread teleportation were just two of the many things that came to mind.

(The Soldier, especially, was good at bringing the heat of anger or irritation to the Engineer's chest, though he rarely had the heart to let it free.)

"Hey, if we keep everything intact for this holiday, I'll grill you up one o' them hot dogs myself, doc." He did enjoy putting together a good cookout...His pa had taught him a lot more than just how to build stuff. "Heck, maybe I'll see about throwing some other stuff on the rack, too. I got a family recipe for some barbecue ribs that'll blow your damn mind."

It'd be a good team-building activity, he thought. Give us a chance to do somethin' together other'n fight and maim and experience general physical turmoil.

"I admit, it'd be less of a, uh, Fourth of July celebration, an' much more of a 'the base is still standing and everybody's out of the medbay' celebration, but, hey, nobody but us has got to know that."

The infamous Mutant Bread Tumor fiasco was only one case of their destructive foolhardiness, but unfortunately putting several violent mercenaries in the same space lended itself to creating many such eventful incidents.

That level of mutual understanding seemed to have contributed to the bond that the two scientists were able to share now, and in a way he was grateful for it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have such a terrific lab partner.

“It truly has been a while since I’ve had the pleasure of trying one of your family recipes so I’d be delighted to!”

Herbert smiled sincerely, identical as it looked to that deviously enthused grin that he wore earlier.

"They's all good folks. Not one of 'em I wouldn't take a bullet for, even if it put me down for good. ...'Cept maybe Scout."