Chapter 1: "I had a dream last night"
Chapter Text
It was a cold and dry night in town, 1he moon hung high in the night sky, a puff of breath escaped him in the cool air. He stared into the vastness of the forest that stretched on for miles, the distant glow of the Blu base along the horizon. It was pitch black that night, no stars nor a cloud in sight. He sighed, he didn't have a good reason to be outside other than he couldn't sleep. It wasn't that unusual, the night air was fresh, the breeze felt nice against his warm skin. But something out here just felt so off.
He never could quite place it, this place looked so uninviting at night. There were no sounds at all, not even the wind blowing through the trees. It was just silent. Not that he was complaining, no. He liked the quiet, it was much more peaceful, and it made his job easier. The less distractions the better. But it was unnatural. It left the air feeling still, the forest itself dead, the only things moving being the mercenaries.
Fritz had always wondered why they chose such an empty and desolate place to fight. A forest was a horrible place for warfare, the terrain was unpredictable and there were so many obstacles in the way. Not to mention the lack of visibility and the possibility of getting lost in the thick foliage. But he wasn't the one calling the shots, and besides, there were worse places to fight in.
He turned away from the trees and back to the base, snow crunched under his boots as the chill air stung his lungs, making him cough. He wrapped his coat tighter around himself, the thin fabric did little to protect him from the cold.
He hated this place, every moment spent here was a nightmare, but he had no choice. His work was important and the money was good. It paid his bills and kept him going, and he needed the money to continue his research. He had a lot of ideas and a lot of ambition, but very little time. He had been lost in thought, when he was brought back to reality by the sound of ice cracking. It was so quiet that even a simple crack sounded like a gunshot. He stopped in his tracks, breath hitching in his throat.
They hadn't actually seen any wildlife here, perhaps a stray animal had been caught in the ice. He looked around, squinting into the darkness. It was hard to see, the surrounding area was so poorly lit, he moved down slightly, sliding a bit in the freshly fallen snow, moving quietly. The surrounding area fell into a ditch that allowed water to flow through, a small amount, which quickly froze over.
There was a dark shape laying in the center, it appeared to be some sort of creature, a dog? No, not a dog, it was far too big. Maybe a wolf or coyote? No, much too smooth looking, he thought to himself. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to be moving, he approached cautiously, stepping down the hill and onto the frozen pond.
"Hello?"
His voice shook, he didn't mean to sound afraid. But he couldn't help it, he was nervous, not knowing what exactly he was dealing with. He crouched down beside the body, examining it closer. He gasped in shock when he touched it, quickly jumping back, the ice below him strained and threatened to crack.
A hand. A human hand.
It was an arm sticking out from the ice. An arm sticking out from the frozen water. It was a person trapped in the ice. A man, judging by the size and build of the arm.
He reached out once more, placing his hands on the frozen surface, it was very cold and slick. The ice licked the warmth from his palms and fingertips, he pulled his gloves off and stuffed them into his coat pocket, using his bare hands to dig away the snow and ice, revealing something that wasn't a man at all. With his previous thoughts discarded, he tilted the stiff creature in his hands. A hare, by the looks of it. Afflicted by some sort of disease. Horns grew from its extremities, crowding its face. Perhaps he would need glasses after all in his age,
How curious, though. He must take it with him at once for examination.
The man stood, looking back at the base, and then at the frozen body, and finally the base again. Picking up the hare with the utmost care, he began the walk back.
It had taken 4im a long while to get the thing back to the base, due to the slippery slope he had been traversing, the hare was frozen stiff, the horns made it heavy and hard to hold, and he had almost dropped it several times. By the time he had made it back, he was shivering and sweating profusely, his hands ached, frozen by the elements. He couldn't feel his fingers, his joints were stiff and his breath came in quick gasps. The door creaked open and slammed shut behind him, he winced as the noise echoed through the base.
No one stirred, they were all fast asleep, and for that he was grateful. He didn't feel like answering any questions about his late night excursion. As he quietly stumbled through the dark quarters, his eyes scanned the room for his desk. When he found it, he set the hare on the counter, taking a deep breath.
The creature was covered in thick ice and frost, the horns and ears were frozen stiff, the fur was coarse and brittle, it looked almost painful, if it hadn't already been dead. He placed a gloved hand on the creature's side, momentarily leaving it to grab a bucket of hot water to more easily thaw the body.
When the ice was finally gone, Fritz got his first real look at the animal. It was a strange creature indeed. Its horns were large and curled, sprouting from its head, not only was it usual for a rabbit to have horns, one might easily mistake it for antlers. Truth be told, it was neither. These protrusions seemed to be made of a keratin-like material, they were tough, and sharp, like a claw, yet smooth and curved, like a horn.
Not only did they protrude from the head, but also the eyes and several spots on the face, including out of one ear and part of the creature's mouth. The face was contorted into an agonized expression, as if the beast had died screaming in pain.
The small animal was solid white, as were their species in this region, but this one had a tinge of yellow along the horns, and the eyes had a pale blue tone to them, rather than the expected black.
The doctor stared at the rabbit, studying it intently, noting the size, the color, the shape of the horns, everything. A fascinating case for sure, he muttered to himself. A chill ran up his spine, like he could feel a presence nearby. He whipped around, hastily looking around the room, there was nothing there. Just the usual darkness of his workspace, and a lone bottle of medicine on the floor.
It was late, very late. Th3 others would be awake soon, and he didn't want to deal with their questions.
He picked up the bottle, setting it on his desk, wrapping the corpse in newspaper before heading to the morgue section of the medibay. He was getting in his head, he should probably get some sleep, his mind was starting to play tricks on him, he hoped.
Chapter Text
Fritz was cast in d4rkness, his mind felt foggy and thick and his thoughts were slow to coalesce. He knew that he was lying on his back, his eyes were open but there was nothing to see. Where was he? How had he come to be there? Why was it so cold? So many questions he didn't have the answer to. The ground felt oddly warm, but was quickly losing heat. He lifted his hand up, covered in a thick red viscous liquid.
"No-”
He spoke softly, beginning to sink into the floor, he began to panic. Surrounding area reeked of copper, a scent that was all too familiar to the man, though his heart sank and he fought desperately to free himself from the liquid's grasp.
It grasped at him as yellow eyes peered at him from above, with no discernable body. Hands arose from the blood pooled on the ground, reaching and clawing their way towards him. Fritz struggled and tried to scream but no words came. His throat was sore and his chest felt heavy. A voice was faint and muffled in the distance, finally becoming legible.
"ᵃᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ ʷᵃᵏᵉ ᵘᵖ ᴡᴀᴋᴇ ᴜᴘᴡᴀᴋᴇᴜᴘwaKEUPWAKEUP-"
Fritz awoke with a start, sitting straight up. His bed whined with the movement, creaking in several spots.
For a few minutes, he sat in a daze, unsure of what was going on. He couldn't sleep, he'd been like this for hours it seemed. It wasn't like he had a strict schedule to abide to at the moment, with their team on sabbatical and all, so he didn't have to worry about being late or tardy for a particular meeting or engagement. He was still on stand-by, technically, ready to hop into his medigun the second his superiors called upon him, but aside from the occasional visit from one of his teammates and usual checkups, everything was unusually quiet.
Fritz thought of it like the eye of a hurricane, he had grown so accustomed to the bloodshed, the screams, and the violence. He stared out the window, eyes looking at nothing as he was deep in thought.
Then came the thoughts. He had pushed them down as far as he could, and usually they never got past a certain point, but this was an uncharacteristic lull in activity and he found the silence too deafening for him.
He'd made a lot of mistakes, it was inescapable, his team was constantly in shambles because he didn't do enough, because he couldn't help enough. He had his methods and all, but it just wasn't enough. Although they worked well together, it seemed as though they only lived briefly just to die another way.
He toyed with the thought, the dance with death was far too enticing. He had thought this more tha7 once, more than any sane man he would argue. The game they played, death had become so much of the norm it felt eerie to see a teammate alive for an extended period of time, he was so used to patching people up only to watch them die soon after. It had gotten so bad for a while he considered retirement. He did, it wasn't just an empty thought he considered several times over the course of his career. He almost went through with it a few times, but the allure was far too powerful.
A buzz in the back of his mind and in his blood was too hard to resist.
And now he had too much time on his hands to think. He felt a sense of disgust well up in the back of his mind at how eager he was to get back on the field, to jump right back into that game, even if it was only to watch everyone die again. His gut bunched up in such a way it felt like someone was reaching inside him, grabbing his heart, and pulling as hard as they could. A brief memory passed his mind, a memory of blood on his hands. He rubbed them, trying to rid the feeling of something warm and viscous flowing between them.
"Too much time on my hands." Fritz chuckled, glancing to the clock on his bedside. It flashed 4:44 am. His eyes slid down, briefly catching his own reflection in the mirror he kept there. For a split second he thought he saw someone else staring back at him. Just his imagination he supposed, or so he told himself, as his own face came to life. He shook the idea of the mirror lying to him away, continuing on. He shifted himself off of his bed, deciding to make his rounds. Maybe he could start his day early, it was something at least. He felt too uncomfortable laying down anyways.
He knew that it wasn't good to let his thoughts go unchecked, especially when they led him into dark, morbid thoughts. His job as the team doctor and field medic was hard enough already. The job had already left its toll on him, he wouldn't spend time dwelling on it now.
He quietly shuffled around his room to the door, heading down the hall. The soft pad of his house shoes that would normally be quiet sounded like someone dropping a pile of bricks down the steps. The lack of the usual battle sounds, of people and bullets, made everything eerily quiet and hauntin6, leaving a sickening silence that hung over everything. The windows flooded soft moonlight over his path as he went down the stairs. He felt a slight sense of deja vu wash over him. He found himself recalling the image of his old life before this one. How similar was he now?
The trip was quiet, so much so, he was startled by the shadow of a tree branch swaying against the window. His mind jumped back to when he was a teenager and his own father would scold him for jumping at everything. A few more minutes in, he was already wishing that there was someone around to keep him company.
Shadows painted the walls like black ink swirling and encapsulating everything around him. He rubbed his eyes, shaking himself off as he reached the bottom floor. His foot caught on the edge of a step. He felt himself tip, hands desperately grabbing the rail for balance. It didn't stop him, he was falling backwards and down the last few steps, he turned and shielded his head with his arm. His side met with the wall. He crumpled against the step and landed in a heap on the ground.
The doctor looked at himself, surprised and embarrassed, the last few seconds playing over in his head.
"How stupid..." He scolded himself, rubbing the sore spot on his back. It was not 3ven morning and he already injured himself. How embarrassing. He felt as though someone was looking at him. Fritz glanced back, a ghost of the feeling dissipated soon after and a chill ran down his spine.
It was too quiet and his mind was racing again. Fritz wished to keep moving, keep doing something and not just think. When he was finally met with the darkened kitchen, it was pitch black. The light from the windows did not reach this part of the base, and he could barely make out where everything was, let alone his surroundings.
Fritz moved further inside, shuffling quietly towards the door, keeping close to the wall in case he misstepped again. He reached around for the light, but his ears quickly picked up on the breathing of someone nearby. His heart began to beat rapidly, pounding at his chest, and he froze up in a mix of shock and fear. The dark suddenly felt as though it were swallowing him whole, he could only make out the faint outline of someone standing in the dark and they weren't moving.
His hand slowly went back to the wall, trying to feel for the light switch. As if the figure heard him, it took a step forward, he was practically flat against the wall as he scrambled for the light.
The sudden brightness blinded him and the other person, both hissing in unison until their eyes adjusted. He had quickly realized it was only the engineer, his brows knit together and he smacked the chest of the shorter man a tad harsh.
"Schweinhund! Vat do you zink you are doing standing in ze dark like zat? You nearly scared me half to death!"
Engineer's face was scrunched up as if he had tasted something bitter, his voice was a little hoarse from not speaking and from the lack of sleep, he hadn't been getting much lately either.
"Sorry Doc, I wasn't sure if you were here or not, thought you might've been someone else." The man yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. Fritz was still a bit miffed, his arms were crossed as he stared down at the Engineer.
"It vas dark,, somebody could've fal1en or hurt themselves, zis is an unnecessary risk."
He huffed, shaking his head. He wasn't exactly sure what he was expecting from the other.
"I wasn't plannin' on stayin' here long, was only comin' to get myself some coffee. I had a bad dream and couldn't get back to sleep, figured I might as well try and do somethin'."
The doctor paused, uncomfortably shifting.
"Vat,,,was it about?"
He inquired, his mind immediately jumping back to his own nightmare. The Engineer gave a small shrug, turning his back to the German as he continued to make his coffee.
"Didn't really make a whole lotta sense ta me,,,jus',,,like sitting' in a pool of blood, unable to move and drowning. I was trying to swim or somethin' but I couldn't. Felt this crazy pressure on my chest like I was bein' suffocated. There was a voice, but ah,,,"
He mumbled something before clearing his throat.
"Couldn' hear what it was gettin' at."
Dean shrugged, the engineer sipping at his coffee. Fritz thought on this for awhile, so many questions. He wasn't sure how to word them or if he should.
"Do you know who it vas that spoke to you?"
He finally asked, Engineer seemed to perk up.
"Naw, couldn't see anyone. Just a voice. Was kinda like mine but ah, I wouldn' know for sure till I heard it clearly, yanno?"
Fritz nodded, the thought stuck with him. He would have to look into it later, though his interest was piqued. Why could he hear his own voice so clearly? What the hell did those eyes belong to? The more he tried to figure out what the hell his nightmare meant, the less it made sense.
"Are you alright, Doc?"
"Ja, just thinking. I had a nightmare too."
"Yeah? Want to talk about it?"
"I-uhm...well, maybe later. You said you vere going somewhere, vhere exactly?"
He tried to steer the conversation away, the Texan nodded. "Yup, gonna try and finish this project."
"Zis early? I zought you said you weren't getting much sleep?" "Well, yeah but, I'd rather not sleep if I can't." He admitted, taking a long sip from his mug. Fritz could only nod, moving past him to make his own mug. When he finished he sighed and ran his hand through the greying strands, silver dabbled amongst the black.
"Well, gut luck mein fruend, I'll see you later."
He nodded and waved the other off, a hand raised as a farewell.
"Later Doc.”
Notes:
Wires stretched on for miles and the static called their names, leaking coolant and oil, bathed in the blood of saints.
Chapter 3: The Stillness of the Mourning
Chapter Text
Fritz approached his office, filled with a newfound sense of dread. It might have been in and of itself its own sort of battlefield, paperwork stacked like mountains on his desk, threatening to fall if not filed soon. Pens and general clutter rested dutifully about his desk, every dent in the metal sides told a story of its own. Well...no better time like the present, he figured. The day was young, and he had to do something with all of this. As he sat down with his fresh brew, he began to go through a stack of files on his desk.
There was the usual: a report here, a medical document there, and a few miscellaneous documents he wasn't too worried about. The demoman's checkup was due in about a week, it was best he get on it and nip that task in the bud before it became a problem. A quick skim revealed no obvious health issues, other than early liver failure...eh, he'd replace it later. He slid the file back in, reaching for another. The smooth and stiff paper felt cool against his hands, the slight gloss glimmered in the buzzing artificial light.
He was so lost in his work in fact, the noise of footsteps breaking the silence was utterly deafening. He sat up straight, his head darting around to the crowded boxes shifting, the jars clinked against one another before the largest fell with a loud crash.
"Scheiße!"
In his haste he knocked his mug over, standing with such a start his chair screeched back a couple inches. His padded shoes tapped gently on the floor as he approached the mess, looking around for the cause. He almost could've sworn he had seen the tail of a white coat, but it could've been his mind swimming with the lack of sleep. The room was quiet and still, all except for him, it was as if all sound had ceased, not even the soft buzzing of the overhead light could be heard. He was alone, or at least, that's what it seemed.
He sighed, looking around at the shattered glass and the liquid now spilled everywhere. His coffee was cold and the glass shards were scattered against the light blue tile in the same way stars could be seen in the early morn of the day. He crouched down and grimaced as his hip popped, picking up the large glass shards carefully, trying his best to not cut his fingers. The last thing he needed was a trip to the medigun again.
The doctor was quick to sweep the mess, the shards bristled softly amongst themselves as they crowded the pan and then were procedurally emptied into the trash. It was an old ritual at this point, the cleanliness was second nature.
He paused, the room felt tense and heavy, he looked around and found nothing amiss. He shook his head, maybe he really was going crazy. He sat down and took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs and then exit. With the messes from earlier cleaned, it was time to resume his work.
The next folder he opened was familiar, it was almost like...his handwriting, but he hadn't ever composed a file on himself. He knew exactly what was in his own health file, and it was a pretty dull read. Maybe it was just a bad copy or some weird joke, or maybe it was from the old days and he had forgotten. He skimmed the pages, the first page was a picture of himself and a list of information. He felt a lump grow in his throat.
This was a death certificate.
A chill crawled down his spine as a slight shudder racked his body. It wasn't real, he couldn't have written this, but it had his name, his picture, even the signature and seal. Only, the color was a deep mustard yellow, a color the medic wasn't fond of. The paper was a bit rougher than normal, and its scent was more stale. It smelled of rot and dust.
He flipped the page, only to be met with a series of notes. No, it wasn't just one certificate. There were several. All under his name, all sealed that wretched yellow. The dates were all in the same year, same month, damn near almost the same days. The paper read: 08/11/80, the twelve, thirteen, it continued for the rest of the week.
Each description was so vivid, and yet he couldn’t remember writing any of them.
None of these deaths could have happened in battle—these weren’t clean, efficient kills. They were methodical. Cruel. Torture, not war.
Death was no stranger to Fritz. He welcomed it often, without hesitation. But this… this made his skin crawl.
“Oy, Doc...”
The familiar voice cut through the silence.
Fritz jumped, slamming the booklet shut and shoving the offending papers back into the folder. He turned quickly, trying to mask the shake in his hands.
“Ah—You frightened me,” he said, voice quickly evening out into its usual flat cadence. “Gut to see you. Vhat can I do for you?”
“Jes’ came tae check on ye, luv. Thought ye might wanna chat.”
The Demoman offered a tired smile, flashing his chipped canine tooth.
“What were ye lookin’ at there?”
“Zis?” Fritz waved a hand and looked away. “It’s nothing. Don’t vorry yourself with it.”
His fingers were still tucking the file away, too hastily. He hadn’t even heard the man come in.
Demo narrowed his eyes, leaning on the desk. His weight made it creak.
“Are ye sure? You’re lookin’ a wee bit pale.”
He was still dressed in his nightclothes, hair tousled, his breath laced with the lingering scent of alcohol and sleep.
“Ye know ye can trust me, right?” He added softly.
“Ain’t never ratted ye out, not once.”
Fritz stiffened but nodded.
“I’m fine. Please—don’t vorry.”
He turned back to him and offered a smile, but it was thin, brittle. The images from the file burned at the edges of his mind.
“Yer a shite liar, luv.”
The Demoman’s expression was serious now, but gentle.
“Ye’ve got that look again.”
“Vhat look?”
“The one ye get ‘afore ye run yerself into the ground.”
“I am perfectly fine, danke.”
Fritz stepped away, walking toward the sink. The glass in his hand was clean, but he gripped it like it might shatter. His knuckles had gone white.
Demo didn’t press. He just watched, arms crossed.
“Look, mate,” he said, quieter now. “I’ve known ye long enough to tell when somethin’s off.
I just want ye t’ know—
...I’m always here. Yeah?”
Fritz was silent. He stared down into the empty glass.
He didn't respond, not wanting to face the man. Instead, he placed the glass aside, and leaned forward, bracing himself against the counter. His shoulders hunched, his gaze downcast.
"...Danke."
His voice was soft, barely audible. The heaviness of Calum's footsteps approached him slowly from behind, and a hand fell on his shoulder.
"Anytime, Fritz."
For a moment, there was peace.
Stillness stretched between them—close, almost fragile. The Demoman’s hand lingered just a heartbeat longer than necessary, fingertips brushing the desk in a silent goodbye.
The only sounds were the low hum of the overhead light and the slow, steady ticking of the clock on the wall.
Then, just as he turned to leave—
“Wait.”
Fritz’s voice was quiet, but sharp enough to stop him mid-step.
The Demoman didn’t turn around. He kept his head low, one hand braced against the doorframe as if he needed a second to breathe.
“My office. Tomorrow evening—after the battle.”
A pause.
“Your liver’s on the verge of failure, und I’m not letting it get to that point.”
Another beat of silence.
“Aye. I’ll see ye then.”
And with that, he slipped out, boots soft against the tile, leaving the air thick with everything they hadn’t said.
__________
Fritz’s office was dim, the only light a desk lamp casting long, warping shadows across the walls.
He stood near the cabinets, latex gloves already on, the tools neatly laid out.
The battle earlier had been brief but brutal. The kind of fight that leaves its residue not in blood, but in silence.
The Demoman stepped in without knocking, eyes heavy-lidded and shirt rumpled, one sleeve rolled up.
“You made it,” Fritz said without looking up. His tone was cool, but the relief in his posture betrayed him.
“Didn’t think ye’d let me skip it,” Demo replied, settling into the seat without being asked.
Fritz moved behind him with mechanical precision—setting up, disinfecting, muttering under his breath in German.
But as he worked, the rhythm slowed. Something was… off.
“You’ve been drinking more,” Fritz said flatly, not as a question.
Demo grunted. “Better than thinking.”
“Zat’s debatable.”
He pressed lightly against his side. The Demoman flinched, not from pain—but something else. Fritz glanced up, pausing.
“You’re shaking.”
“Been a long week,” he muttered. “Me heid’s been… aff. Like I’m not really here, y’ken?”
Fritz’s hands hovered for a second. He’d been feeling the same.
“Ye ever see things? Hear things that shouldn’t be there?” Demo added.
The room seemed to inhale around them.
“…Ja,” Fritz admitted.
That one word hung in the air like smoke.
Demo nodded slowly. “Didn’t want t’ say anything. Thought I was crackin’. Wakin’ up with blood on my hands... tha' war...I think it's gratin' on me a wee bit."
He trailed off. “It's nae a real tangible ting. But lately...lad, I can touch it. Nae just see, it's there. Really there."
Fritz froze.
Their eyes met—silent confirmation that whatever was happening, it was not just in their heads.
Then, a noise behind them. A soft scritch—like glass being scored by a fingernail.
Fritz turned toward the window.
It was a frosted window, no reflection. Just the shape of someone standing in the dark on the other side of the glass.
Someone with his face.
He blinked—and it was gone.
The man froze for another moment that day, eyes fixated on where it- he, had been standing in the reflection.
"It is… likely just a side effect of respawn," Fritz said coolly, reaching for the scalpel.
"Surely it's not healthy for the body to be torn apart and rebuilt dozens of times—though, perhaps you'd get a different answer from the Engineer."
He spoke as if he hadn’t just seen his own face staring at him from the dark glass behind Demo’s shoulder. As if his double hadn’t smiled.
"Fritz, ye can’t be serious."
Demo's voice cracked under pressure. "You saw it too. I know ye did. I feel like I’m losing me bloody mind."
"Calm down."
Not a request. A command.
Fritz's tone cut through the air—clinical, practiced. The sharp hum of the Medigun filled the silence as he worked, hands moving with mechanical precision. His eyes, however, weren’t on the wound.
Not really.
"Now stay still," he said, without looking up.
"Unless you'd prefer I nick your hepatic artery and end this little existential crisis right here."
The smell of antiseptic couldn’t hide the iron tang of blood. Raw tissue shimmered under the lights. The new liver, pale and pristine, glistened wet in his gloved hand.
A beat passed.
“Should we… tell the others?” Demo’s voice had softened, like he didn’t expect an answer.
“No.”
Sharp. Immediate.
"Aye, but—"
"What would zey do?" Fritz snapped. "Hold a meeting? Talk it to death? Ve are all damaged, Calum. Vhat’s one more hallucination among friends?"
Demo flinched slightly at the shift in tone.
"I don’t know,” he said. “But pretending it’ll go away doesn’t help either."
Fritz didn’t look up.
“Do you have a better idea, then?”
"You’re scared."
It wasn’t an accusation—it was a realization. Quiet.
Certain.
Fritz paused, fingers stiff in mid-motion. The Medigun hummed softly.
"Don't patronize me, lad." Demo's voice dropped. "We both know something’s wrong. Ye saw it. Whatever that was—it wasn’t us.”
Another long silence.
“If you truly believe this is nothing,” Demo said, eyes fixed on him, “why haven't ye told the others?"
Fritz’s jaw clenched. The silence that followed was answer enough.
Fritz’s expression finally shifted—just a little. His hands slowed, finishing the connection as the Medigun sealed the incision.
He exhaled, low and tired.
“…You’re right,” he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. “Something is wrong.”
Calum blinked, surprised by the sudden honesty.
Fritz gently placed a hand over Demo’s chest, where the beam had faded.
“But for now—rest.”
His voice was soft again. “You’ll feel better in the morning. We both might.”
Demo gave a small nod, the fear still in his eyes—but softened by the weight of trust.
Fritz watched him for a moment longer, then added, almost to himself:
“I von’t let this place take you too.”
Calum didn't argue.
There was no sense in pushing the doctor's limits—not after a battle, and not after last time.
He eased his shirt down with care, wincing faintly as the fabric brushed over the sealed incision. Fritz moved in silence, cleaning up the tools, the hum of the Medigun still lingering in the air like static.
Calum stepped toward the door, but hesitated—just a moment—one hand on the frame.
“You’ll get some sleep tonight, aye?”
Fritz’s answer came slower this time, softer:
“I’ll try.”
Their eyes met. Not long, not loud. Just a glance shared in the hush of a room that had seen too much blood, too much silence.
Fritz glanced past him, down the hallway. Empty. Still.
No footsteps. No voices.
He stepped forward, quietly, carefully. Fingers brushing Calum’s wrist.
“Wait.”
He turned fully toward him, not speaking.
And then Fritz leaned in—hesitating only a second—and kissed him.
It was brief, gentle. No urgency, no heat. Just something soft and real, like the memory of comfort. A moment stolen in the stillness, between two men who’d lived too long in a world that didn’t make room for this.
Calum closed his eyes, let it happen, then pressed his forehead gently to Fritz’s for half a breath.
When they parted, it was quiet.
“I’ll see ye tomorrow then?” He murmured, voice low.
“Same time,” Fritz said, barely above a whisper.
Calum offered a ghost of a smile before slipping out the door. No fan
fare. No lingering words.
As the door clicked softly shut behind him, Fritz exhaled—long, quiet.
He stared at the space where Calum had stood, then let his gaze drift to the darkened window.
The reflection no longer showed a stranger in his place.
Just him.
For now.
FemmeThatSaysFuckALot on Chapter 2 Fri 15 Nov 2024 12:42AM UTC
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