Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

”No real man worth his salt asks for help, son."

His father’s words rang incessantly in his ear as he clutched his hip where a fresh stab wound lay. Sniper clenched his teeth and let out a frustrated snarl. He was up in his nest and had just taken out an enemy Heavy that was posing problems for his own team’s Medic and Pyro, at the cost of letting the BLU Spy get the drop on him.

“MEDIC!”

The gunman kicked the now-dead Spy’s head clean off his body in frustration as he eased himself into a sitting position, blood overflowing over his hand that was tightly clasped around it. “Augh, piss ,” Sniper hissed as he shed his shirt, hat and glasses hastily, ripping his undershirt into ribbons and trying to fashion some haphazard bandages. He wasn’t injured enough to be sent through respawn, but the pain was just bad enough that if left unbound, would cause issues in his performance.

He quickly tied the “bandages'' as best he could before sliding on his red shirt and glasses again, dusting off his akubra and placing it back on his head as he re-assumed his position. Sniper watched Medic run from Pyro to Soldier to Heavy, then to Demo and Scout and back again, the order constantly changing and being thrown off by an occasional request from Spy.

“MEDIC!”

Oh, no. He certainly wasn’t going to ask Medic to traipse all the way up here, and truth be told, he was going to be a huge sitting duck if he himself tried to make the long trek down. Best only do that after the match, when absolutely necessary. The bushman couldn’t help but appreciate Medic’s contributions to the team, no matter how risky (or downright terrifying) his off-the-clock endeavors were. It didn’t seem fair that there was only one of him, but the doctor was anything but a slacker. Scout typically got credit for being the track-star of the team, but Medic could certainly move for someone that was saddled down with so much equipment. Not even Engineer could keep up with him, and he had more obvious muscle than Medic did. Sniper swallowed, holding his breath and taking a shot to defend his team’s cocky Scout, who Medic was trailing loosely behind with his medigun.

“HEY, MEDIC!”

“Nice shootin’, Snipes!” Scout praised over the comm, and Sniper heaved a sigh, trying to steady his breathing. “I mean, I could’a taken care of it myself obviously. But thanks!” The youngest mercenary amended, pointing his finger in a gun-shape up in Sniper’s general location. Sniper’s sharp eyes were already lining up his next shot, a Soldier that was giving unruly amounts of trouble to poor Pyro.

The wounds protested against the Sniper’s movements as he crouched down and held his breath, eliminating the Soldier with a satisfying CRACK . Then, there was Medic again, rushing to heal the Demoman that had been caught in the firefight with the Soldier he had just offed. Those white, freshly-pressed coat-tails moved gracefully on the battlefield as the Medic stopped and shot an appreciative glance at Sniper, the somehow-intimate eye contact making his stomach do a flip. He had probably just lost too much blood at this point.

“MEDIC!”

Sniper elected to try and press his hip against the wall he was ducked behind, desperate for the pain to go away. In all honesty, Teufort had spoiled him. If he was out in the wilderness, where he’d found himself always longing to be, he probably wouldn’t even be complaining about such pain. Not that anything in the wild could possibly be responsible for a near 7 inch gash in the side of his belly. Not even crocs or bears could catch him off guard like a skilled Spy could. He remembered the aches and pains he’d put his body through in the past when he had nobody but himself, and that stuff was usually just for the sport of it. The medigun took away the mercenaries’ pain so quickly and so effectively it was as though it was never even there. Right spoiled bastards, they were.

“Sniper, how are you faring up there?” Medic asked over the radio, and the gunman had to duck down to avoid a headshot by the enemy Sniper. His hat rolled away just out of reach, and Sniper returned the shot as his enemy was reloading. Only a ding, not a fatal shot. Still, he held out the hope that the bastard would back off. He’d nearly forgotten that Medic asked a question to him directly. “Sniper?” He called again.

“Sorry doc, all’s good here. Watch out, lads. Enemy sniper in the northeast tower-“ He let the sentence die in his throat as the enemy Sniper tumbled out of the tower, slamming into the hard-packed dirt below with a nauseating crunch . In the window was his team’s Spy, who in turn leaned out of the frame and flicked the ashes of his cigarette down on their shared enemy, observing his good work.

“… Is no longer an issue, thanks to your warning shot.” Spy declared nonchalantly, giving Sniper a satisfied nod before adjusting his tie and cloaking again, no doubt beginning his descent back to the battlefield. Spy seldom ever said thank you, especially during combat, but his body language gave off an air of mutual respect. Or maybe Sniper was reading it wrong. Either way, he was glad he was the Sniper that survived his backstab attempt.

The battle progressed slowly and RED team won by a decent margin; not as much as the mercenaries would have liked, but a win was a win. As soon as the Administrator called it, Sniper couldn’t help but heave a heavy sigh in relief. Victory be damned, he just wanted out of this tower and back to his van, where he could lay down and sleep off the pain he was in. He scooped up his hat and began his slow, painful descent down the ladder, his jaw clenched so tight he was afraid it was going to fall off. Then he’d really have to go see Medic.

Chapter Text

"No real man worth his salt asks for help, son.”

Sniper winced . Couldn’t he have a minute of peace? Was being stabbed and shot at on a daily basis not enough? Can’t ask for help. Don’t ask for help. The only one you can rely on is yourself. The mercenary tucked his shirt in, hoping that the blood wouldn’t seep through and catch the attention of Medic or anyone else as he set to make a quick pot of coffee for himself. His father was dead, had been dead for a while now. And now he was nagging him from beyond the grave. “Nobody else has any bloody problem askin’ for the-“ He was muttering to himself now, pissed off and hurt and wanting nothing more than a cup of coffee and a long nap. He should have just brewed one in his camper, but this was closer, and he could take a minute to catch his breath. He slunk to the kitchen, successfully avoiding his teammates and drumming his fingers on the counter as he willed his coffee to brew faster.

“Ah, Herr Sniper! Good shooting out there today,” Medic nearly made the gunman jump out of his skin as he was intently focused on pouring an obscene amount of creamer in his finally-finished-brewing cup of coffee. Black coffee was for work, creamer and sweets were for victories. Or when he was pissed off or in pain.

“Medic!” He cleared his throat, trying to even his voice. “Thanks, mate. High praise from a bloke that always does good work.” He nodded his head. It was easy to compliment the doctor; keeping eight men in line medically was no small task, especially when they were frequently being blown apart.

“Are you going to let me look at the wound you sustained during the fight today?” Medic asked casually, eyeing the bushman’s body language. Poor Sniper. He might as well be wearing a neon sign that says ‘I DO NOT NEED HEALING! I WILL TAKE CARE OF IT MYSELF!’ Medic couldn’t help but find the sentiment amusing. It wasn’t like the good doctor minded healing his teammates, it was his job after all. Of course, there was a way to request his services that didn’t make him want to rip his comrade’s skin clean off of their bones.

However, Sniper never ticked that box; he was always polite. His voice was gruff and he was a direct and socially-stunted sort of person, but never rude . “Uh,” Sniper muttered dumbly, clearing his throat and looking down at his coffee, sneaking a glance at the wound, which had in fact seeped through his already-red shirt and announcing itself by dying the garment a dark shade of rust. “I’m alright doc, no need to trouble you, just a knick anyway,” he tried to sound convincing. If Medic’s expression was any indication, he was failing miserably at it.

“Ja, well, be that as it may, I think you could benefit from a light treatment with the medigun, yes? It’ll just be a moment, and I’ll send you on your way.” Sniper frowned at his coffee, of which he was taking an exceptionally long drink. “You can bring your coffee too, if you’d like.” He offered, as though to sweeten the deal. He’d noticed that Sniper appeared to be someone of ritual and habit, and tended to avoid things that didn’t fit into his neat little itinerary. Perhaps he could be persuaded to deviate a little bit if he was offered some kind of routine comfort while doing something routine-breaking. Medic told himself it would be an experiment. Sniper was stubborn, but so was he.

He could tell the bushman was considering it, glancing at his hat and sunglasses that sat on the counter beside him. So much for sneaking in for a quick cup. “Aw, hell. If you insist,” he finally conceded, tucking his glasses in his vest pocket and putting his hat atop his head. Medic smirked triumphantly. Victory . The older mercenary nodded and made a sweeping gesture with his arm before making his way to the infirmary, feeling Sniper tailing behind him. “I do, Herr Sniper. Unnecessary pain is only enjoyable to witness when it’s the enemy, after all.” His smirk twisted into a grin and Sniper managed a weak laugh and a nod of his head.

“Too right,” he finally agreed, gripping the handle of his coffee cup so tightly that his knuckles were white. The bushman didn’t know why he always got so nervous around the doctor. This wouldn’t be his first time in the infirmary, and it wouldn’t be the last, either. It was probably because it frustrated him when he got injured in the field, and that he hated asking for help. Medic frequently had to quite literally catch him injured in order for him to get healed in combat. Getting him into the infirmary was another challenge entirely. It was like he was working with a bunch of wild animals!

Chapter Text

They arrived at the medbay and Sniper glanced at the door as it closed slowly behind them. If it was up to him, he’d be asleep in his camper by now. Bugger . “Come and sit and I’ll get the medigun going,” the doctor urged, noting the gunman’s reluctance and doing his best to offer a grin. “Come, come! I swear, Herr Sniper, you’d think I was going to remove your bones or something!” Medic laughed heartily, and Sniper chuckled sheepishly, hoisting himself on the table after carefully setting down his mug, hat and vest on an adjacent table.

“Suppose you’re right. Guess it’d be bad business’ta mangle the bastard you spent half a day savin’,” he replied, shedding his shirt and attempting a pitiful fold before placing it beneath his hat, trying to be extra neat in the sterile space. He could feel Medic watching him and wished for possibly the millionth time in his life that he was able to read minds. Or body language. Or anything that would have hinted to him what was on Medic’s mind as the doctor had paused in his readying of his life-saving contraption for only a moment.

They’d never really spoken about Sniper’s… revival.

That suited the bushman just fine; communication was never his strong suit unless it was calling out enemy positions to his teammates… and he was fairly certain he’d rather be tortured than relay any kind of emotional intelligence to anyone other than the diary and postcards he did a terrible job of keeping up with. He heard the medigun start up with a whirr as the doctor lodged it into its intimidating ceiling-mount, pivoting the machine to point vaguely in Sniper’s direction.

“You are correct! Plus, I’ve already removed somebody’s bones, and I do still love telling the story. If I did it again, it wouldn’t be very original.” He reasoned, as though talking about a novelty magic trick. Sniper watched Medic’s eyes behind his spectacles as he cranked nobs and adjusted the medigun and pivoted the contraption. The familiar noise filled the room, a dull hum that Sniper was well acquainted with. Sniper offered a nod as he pushed his trousers down just a bit on one side, trying his best to expose the entire wound without having to disrobe any further and waste more of the doctor’s time.

“Really, doc, it’s not that bad, not like a-“ He drew in a breath as calmly as possible as Medic was in his personal space now, perched on a round stool with wheels and carefully cutting off the strips of makeshift gauze over the mercenary's hip and belly. The dried blood protested against being separated from his skin, making the wound look worse than Sniper had remembered. Maybe it had been that bad. Medic held up a hand as though to silence him, his brow furrowed as he examined the wound, his eyes wandering over the other man’s torso to the jagged scars that his life-saving operation left him with.

“Sniper, really, I am starting to think you would have said the same thing about the giant hole that man blew into your chest!” He jested, watching Sniper swallow thickly, his eyes trained on his hat and sunglasses. Medic watched the rise and fall of the gunman’s chest, the crocodile-tooth necklace decorating the scars like teeth on a wicked smile. Despite his torso being riddled in scars, it seemed like the Sniper was in good health all the same. But that was only an unfounded guess; it’s not like his teammate was knocking down his door eagerly for an analysis. He refocused on the task at hand and expected Sniper to either not respond or casually deflect the joke.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Sniper admitted, leaning to the side to try and give Medic more ease of access, even though it hurt more to stretch the skin in the way he was. Oh well. He deserved it for letting the Spy get the jump on him anyway. “Wouldn’t’a said anything this time if you didn’t catch me on my way to my van,” he admitted with a shrug. “Could’ve just slept it off.” The jarman finished, and Medic frowned. It wasn’t like he and Sniper had always been best friends, but that operation seemed to have.. changed him. But then again, when the team disbanded, he supposed that left all of the mercenaries to become something other than… mercenaries. Maybe this was who Sniper always was, and Medic had only known the professional side of his teammate.

When they all came back to MANN CO., it seemed like everything was the same, as though they had never left one another. Still worked fantastically together, and not only that, but they all enjoyed it. They’d all missed each other; that much was an unspoken truth. Sniper was always a solitary person, but even Demoman or Engineer could persuade him to join in on poker nights. Now, it seemed like he was more absent than before, both on the battlefield and off. The doctor couldn’t recall the last time he’d ubered Sniper. In fact, he hadn’t been ubercharged a single time since they’d reunited. Maybe it was just Medic’s imagination and he was reading entirely too much into it.

“Nonsense. It’s important that you come to me if you are in pain. We are a team, there is no sense in being so proud, Herr Sniper.” He discarded the bloodied cloth into a nearby trashcan and gently thumbed at the wound with his clean hands, trying to get a gauge of how deep the gash was. He could feel Sniper draw in a breath before letting out an indignant huff in protest at the doctor’s suggestion. It’s not like he didn’t appreciate Medic’s work, quite the opposite. He and Heavy were living proof of the doctor’s genius, after all.

“I come to you when I need ya,” He grunted, his eyes meeting Medic’s as he rose to grasp the handle of the medigun. “Don’t see the need to shout for ya like some kind of damsel when it could get both of us killed in the process. If I’m alive, I’ll just… deal with it,” he reasoned, and Medic nodded, their eyes meeting as Medic’s warm hand cupped Sniper’s side, the side of his long thumb nestled against the bushman’s wound. “If it’s that bad, respawn’s an option. Not wastin’ your talent on just one bloke on the high-up when you got seven of ‘em on the ground.” He muttered, shaking his head once as an excuse to look away from the Medic’s piercing gaze. It was intense, almost like a challenge, though his voice bore no aggression.

“I appreciate that mein Freund, but you should know-“

“I know. Thanks, Medic.” This was stupid. Just take the help. You’re already taking the help. Camaraderie was part of the job, he’d worked with Medic and the others for… Christ, how many years now? Medic knew his medical history, knew him minutes before death and minutes after revival, knew him when his heart was dead in his chest before he pulled his soul back into his body. Which, arguably, was more than he’d known any of the other mercs. And anyway, why would he waste his time reviving him? There wasn’t anything special about —

“How are you faring?” Medic tried again, the medigun working agonizingly slowly. Sniper wondered if the doctor was doing it on purpose, trying to prolong his visit here. It would certainly be warranted, it’s not like Sniper made it easy for the doctor. But then again, he didn’t know why Medic would be so insistent on seeing him. He was probably just behind on his examinations. Hell, he knew he was behind on his examinations. Sniper’s brow furrowed at Medic’s question, thinking about it. Was this a loaded question? Would he sound stupid if he answered literally? He wasn’t stupid.

“Fine thanks, now that she’s doing her good work,” he nodded his head up at the medigun and Medic arched a brow, a smirk dancing at the side of his mouth.

He certainly felt bloody stupid, though.

Chapter Text

“Aha- thank you. But not this. I was talking about- these,” the pause in his voice indicated that he was reluctant to ask about the scars. As though he was approaching the subject with an air of delicateness. “Nightmares. If you’ve been having any,” he offered, trying to get the recluse in front of him to say something, anything. Not only was he medically-curious, but he was also… concerned. Sniper wasn’t just some corpse to experiment on, he was his teammate. And a friend. You couldn’t just fight in a war beside somebody and not have some sense of familiarity with them. “I don’t know if you recall, but before you came-to, well, you were asking for your parents…”

Of course Sniper recalled the fever dream he’d had, or maybe it was a vision. He wasn’t a person of faith, but he supposed he was… spiritual. Superstitious. Someone who knew what he saw. He’d done enough drugs in his lifetime to know when something was a hallucination and when it was… something intentionally showing him something. “Of course I do. I’m still not afraid to die, neither.” He corrected, the sentiment coming out a bit defensive. He was grateful that Medic didn’t press any more, only nodded his head.

“While I’m certainly glad to hear that, I apologize that we got interrupted when-“ Sniper’s eyebrows nearly shot off of his head. Apologize? What was he bloody apologizing for?

“Apologize? Oh hell, don’t apologize for anything. I’m sorry for being an idiot and getting myself in that position anyway.” He grunted, cutting the doctor off again. “Should’a never gotten shot.” Sniper muttered, his eyes going to his coffee cup. Medic’s gaze followed, and he leaned over and grabbed it, making a sound of amusement at the ‘#1 SNIPER ’ text on it, setting it down beside the mercenary in front of him. “It was sloppy’a me. And thanks,” he managed as he took a long sip, licking his lips at the taste and raising it just slightly in Medic’s direction as though to toast.

The doctor frowned, observing the wound. The medigun was nearly done. He eyed the deposit of fat that hung atop Sniper’s hip, perching itself just above the line of his jeans. For every hard angle Sniper had, Medic found a soft one that complimented it. He admired it, almost forgetting to reply. “It was nothing, Herr Sniper. Just doing my job,” Medic insisted gently. Sniper raised a brow, a grin pulling at the side of his mouth.

“I meant for handin’ me the… but, thanks for this too.” He swallowed, his brow furrowing as he scowled down at his own hands. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Thank God he was good at his job, because he seemed to be exceptionally bad at everything else. Being short and to the point was how he’d always been, how he’d been raised, but it didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy pleasant conversation now and then. It would have helped if he knew how to gracefully start a pleasant conversation instead of just mumbling out small talk about the weather or battle-related speak. His conversation skills after Demo got a few drinks in him didn’t count.

Medic offered him a grin in return, looking up at the medigun and flicking a switch. The machine began to power down just as the rest of Sniper’s skin was healed, the doctor gently prodding the area with his thumb to inspect the medigun’s good work before pulling away. “All done.” He said, clasping his hands together before standing up, grasping the large handle of the medigun and pivoting it away from where Sniper sat. The Aussie slid off of the table and looked up at the top of the medical cabinet where Medic’s bird, Archimedes, sat nestled in a cozy arrangement of shredded paper, hay and what looked to be stray bullet casings; anything it could find from around Medic’s lab, he supposed.

“Thanks again, doc. I,” he started with a sigh, pulling his shirt on and fidgeting with it, tucking it in with a surprising amount of care before adding his vest and hat. His glasses remained off and tucked into his vest pocket. He heaved another sigh. “Suppose I’ll try and be better. About the healin’.” He amended, gesturing to his own torso as though Medic would know where the scars were.

Medic did know where the scars were. Intimately.

Chapter Text

“Thank you, Sniper. I try to be everywhere, but I’m starting to think that not even I am that good.” He smiled, his expression charming as he made one last attempt at a joke. Judging by the grin that Sniper returned, it landed.

“Could’a had me fooled.” The assassin muttered, feeling warmth tease at the tips of his ears as his eyes remained downcast on a non-interesting spatter of blood on his shoes. “But next time, crank the bloody gun up a notch, yeah? I can take it. Hope you’re not babying me just because I’m a billion-dollar investment.” He scoffed, remembering the staggering number very clearly and struggling to value his own life at that number. He was just some bloke that killed people, for crying out loud. Hardly a billion-dollar investment. Hell, his dad wouldn’t even invest-

“Hmm? Oh,” Medic hummed in acknowledgement as he fiddled with the medigun, repositioning the contraption and writing something down. Already onto the next thing. Sniper envied that about the doctor. He spun on his heel to face Sniper. “Well, the medigun should only be tuned to such high frequencies in relation to the patient’s heart-rate. It heals you all so quickly on the field because of adrenaline.” Medic paused, patting his own chest in the pattern of a rapid heart-beat with a grin before continuing.

“But off the field, your heart-rate returns to normal, and so the medigun must be adjusted accordingly. Otherwise, your heart would burst like a… wasserballon !” The doctor laughed, striding over to Sniper and placing his hands behind his back. His posture was always the same, but he managed to convey so much emotion through so little body language. Sniper swallowed; that didn’t sound like such a pleasant fate. He remembered Heavy jovially recalling how Medic replaced his heart after some experimental medigun treatment that the gunman certainly did not envy.

Medic leaned back casually against the table that Sniper had previously been perched upon, the toes of their boots touching. Sniper felt his heart begin to thrum in his chest as his eyes shot down to the source of the contact. “So, if you wish to have quicker treatments, then I suggest coming here with your heart already racing!” The doctor concluded with a grin and a single clap of his own hands, the sound drawing Sniper’s eyes back to Medic’s.

“Right, well,” Sniper cleared his throat and quickly made for the door, adjusting his hat unnecessarily and gave Medic a brisk nod. “I’ll remember that. Thanks again doc.” He lingered in the doorway, as though he wanted to say more, drumming his fingers on the frame of the door before quickly departing with a frown. He heard Medic call a good night to him, and he walked faster. He’d forgotten his mug. He didn’t care. He walked all the way to his van, stepping inside and locking it, leaning against the door and heaving a sigh.

He reckoned that his heart felt a lot like whatever a wasserballoon was.