Hey, this is my first TF2 fic and contribution on this board. I hope it’s posted correctly, if not, please let me know. Concrit is welcome, although I guess there isn't much in the way of plot or characterization or you know, words to concrit. But any help is welcome, I always like to know how I could do better. Thanks. ------------- Vice Versa The familiar sounds of fighting reached him even here, isolated as he was from the battlefield. He could hear screams of agony accompanying round after round of gunshots, the cacophony lovingly punctuated by occasional explosions, and now, the intruder alarms. But before long, it became clear that only a few of his teammates had survived to breach the enemy defenses, and the foolish, fragile hope he had been nursing ever since the battle started immediately deflated. Sighing, he mentally mapped out the enemy Heavy’s path into the interior of the base, that thunderous tread increasing in volume as it neared his location. The bottles of Red Shed began to rattle on the rickety shelf, almost as if shaking in anticipation of the bloodbath soon to follow. Though muffled by the walls imprisoning him, he could decipher the gruff bark of the Soldier and the frantic yapping of the Scout, their useless, empty threats. If only his team’s Heavy had made it through this time, or even their Demo or Pyro, these bumbling idiots might have had a chance, but it was just these two. Always these two. Like actors following a not very original script, the scene played out the exact same way it had the last several (dozen, hundred, he can’t even remember how many) times. The door opened briefly to let in a peek of light and a rush of warm air, but before he could speak, the Heavy had retrieved his sandwich and slammed the refrigerator shut again. There was the slightly revolting noise of jaws working around layers of white bread and meat and cheese, and then the much more revolting noise as his two teammates proceeded to have their bodies brutalized by the fully healed enemy. Every now and then the impact of a particularly violent blow would jostle the refrigerator door open and knock down a bottle of beer, giving him a quick glimpse of the horrific melee occurring outside. Not that he really wanted to see the Soldier or Scout being smashed apart and torn limb from limb, but sometimes they made funny faces in their death throes. At least it was more entertaining than staring at the Medic’s collection of monstrous hearts all day long. The last high-pitched scream trailed off into a nauseating gurgle, the two would-be rescuers whisked back into Respawn, and inside the refrigerator, the Spy impatiently took another draw of his somehow still-lit cigarette, waiting for his own release. -------------- Something was different this time. This time the Heavy’s agonized roar joined the groans of the dying Soldier. The refrigerator door suddenly whipped open, and instead of the enemy’s beefy hand reaching in to grab the sandwich, his own Scout appeared in his line of vision. “Kill me,†he wheezed out of habit. “Not today, Frenchie.†With a gap-toothed grin made noticeably gappier by a missing incisor, the Scout scooped him up, petri dish and battery and all. “Today, you’re going home!†“Kill me?†he repeated, rolling his eyes towards the refrigerator with as much meaning as he could muster. “Wha-? Oh yeah, thanks!†The Scout hurriedly stuffed the leftover sandwich half into his mouth and raced off, leaping over the already fading lumps of flesh that used to be the Soldier and the Heavy. With all of the trouble they apparently had getting to the common room of the RED base, he was not sure how the Scout expected to get out in one piece with a disembodied head slowing him down. Not only that, but enough time had elapsed for some very angry REDs to have respawned. A disheveled enemy Medic caught sight of them, his mouth opening for a furious shout, but whatever he meant to say got completely obliterated in the ensuing bomb blast that sprayed shrapnel and guts everywhere. The Scout danced out of the way of the red-suited Pyro’s flamethrower before it got eliminated by a round of bullets pumping through its mushy flesh, but that only pushed him into the line of sight of the other team’s Sniper, who managed to blow out the Scout’s knee with a lucky shot. A loud boom and ensuing scream signified their Sniper’s success in taking down his counterpart, but too late, for the damage was done. Time slowed to a crawl as the boy crashed to the ground, and the Spy bore witness to the following events with the extraordinary clarity of a man who thinks he is really about to die, probably, at least for a few minutes anyway. With a desperate last-ditch effort, the Scout threw him high into the air, and he and his cigarette and attached battery described a graceful arc above the heated chaos of the base. Rather than feel any indignation at this treatment, all he could express was mild horror as his team’s Demoman held out his arms to catch him, a considerable distance away from where he was projected to land. The mild horror quickly turned to ass-clenching terror (well, if he had any buttocks to clench) as the Pyro, seeing this same discrepancy, churned out an air blast in his direction to correct the trajectory, alas to no avail. “I gotcha, I gotcha!†Demo shouted, against all physical evidence. “Murrdda hudda!†In the end, the Engineer was the one to catch him, darting out from behind the cover of the Sentry and diving forward several feet to save him from an unpleasant meeting with the earth. He would have sobbed in relief but for the fact that his face was currently pressed into denim overalls. “Heads up, boys!†the Engineer bellowed, not realizing the humor in his choice of words as he turned and lobbed the head of his rescued teammate towards the BLU’s Heavy and Medic. The Spy had a brief respite to mutter, “Merde,†and then the Heavy caught him, cradling him safely in bulky arms. But this harrowing game of catch was all worth it in the end, he thought, because in front of his eyes there appeared a vision of surpassing loveliness he had often dreamed of during the dark cold hours spent in the enemy team’s refrigerator. That is to say, the rest of his own body. Posed elegantly in a designer blue pinstripe suit, the impression of international suaveness was marred by the gouts of blood seeping profusely from the exposed neck and into the collar of the expensive dress shirt. A dozen questions raced through his mind, the most pressing of which was the whereabouts of the nearest competent dry cleaners, because the last one he went to did not press his trousers to his liking, but he could not voice any of them before the Heavy plopped his head back onto his gory shoulders. “Now this might hurt a lot,†the Medic warned, his tone not particularly comforting. The Spy simply said, “Oh,†as the Medigun was levelled at him, the battery wire yanked free, and finally, finally, he lost consciousness.
I like it! (I know, not particularly useful if you're looking for concrit, but a new and refreshing take on events subsequent to solid canon is nifty. I'll leave most of the crit to those better versed in it. Except for this: how is the body still actively bleeding?)
Cool. I always wondered how BLU Spy would return to normal. It's rather touching that it wasn't from RED Medic perfecting his Ubercharge research, or the Administrator scolding him for being an idiot, or a dozen other things. But it was because his team came and rescued him.
>>2 Probably the same mechanism that allows the mercs to explode brilliantly into dozens of bits with gallons of blood over minor flesh wounds. We call it Art Direction. Also, I like it, too.
i love it! Is this a one short or will it continue? I'd like to see where it goes from here. Poor spy, I'm glad to see him get his body back.
Oh I like it! The writing itself is well done and the action sequence had excellent pacing. Tying canon together through Meet the Sandvich and Meet the Medic was quite clever and something I haven't seen before. I loved the little glimpses of Spy's thoughts, especially the bit about the trousers. I like your style and I hope to see more--good work!
I have to say, this made me laugh a lot. In a good way. Great fic.
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“I gotcha, I gotcha!†Demo shouted, against all physical evidence. This line made me seriously laugh out loud. So perfect. >>3 This. ThisthisthisthisthisTHIS. I get that Spy is the loner of the Team, even more than Sniper, and a shifty invisible guy to boot. And I get that the mercenaries are ruthless killers and are used to violence and death. But come on, a co-worker they have been fighting side-by-side with for months or years gets kidnapped by the enemy combatants, is being kept prisoner and possibly being tortured, and the others don't give a fuck? I could never buy that.
Aww, thanks for the comments, I'm glad y'all enjoyed and had a good laugh. I actually have no idea how or why the Spy could get his body back but I like the idea of the team being a team, and no man or part of man gets left behind. For anyone wondering, I did have more planned, a whole saga outlined, but I figured this was a good stopping point.
[Ugh, sorry about the delay, I really was trying to write a coherent, plausible story based on what canon has shown about BLU team, this was as far as I got. Let me know how badly I failed, and thanks again for reading this, whatever it is.] ---------------------- He woke up with a start, his heart thumping painfully fast, his throat dry and sore as if he had been screaming. Drawing in a ragged breath, he shut his eyes tight against a tremor of pain that burst against the base of his skull and raced down his vertebrae. His memory began to return in hazy, barely comprehensible fragments, but he remembered enough of the long imprisonment in the enemy’s refrigerator and the traumatic rescue up to the point he blacked out to decide that more screaming might be in order. Mostly out of a long-engrained habit of self-preservation, he furtively glanced around the room through narrowed eyes, at the long blue shadows, the familiar wrench logo stenciled on sterile walls. His team must have taken him to the infirmary afterwards, tucking him into a bed while he was unconscious and apparently confiscating all of the weapons and gadgets they could find, which was not everything that could be found. He shuddered at the thought of his teammates rummaging through his clothes with their dirty, filthy paws, but those same teammates had saved him when it would have been easier to let him be. As much as he loathed to admit it, he owed them his life, his future, the continued use of his arms and legs... “Herr Spy? How are you feeling?†the Medic asked, suddenly looming over him. He barely managed to refrain from making good on that promised bout of screaming before realizing that this was his team’s Medic, and not the madman in RED who had imprisoned and tortured and humiliated him in various unspeakable and speakable manners. There was a difference, he reminded himself; there, in the worried crease between dark brows, the comforting hand resting lightly on his sweat-damp forehead. Licking his chapped lips, the Spy croaked out, “I feel like hell.†He paused, grimacing, then added, “Is this the best you can do? I’m dying here.†“Excellent, that is excellent news.†the Medic replied, withdrawing his hand and looking rather relieved for a physician whose healing abilities had just been insulted by an ungrateful patient. “...Eh?†Not the most suave line of questioning the Spy had ever uttered, but it was all he could manage through the headache. Always eager for a chance to explain to a captive audience things that no one really wanted explained, the Medic did not fail to deliver. “You see, the excruciating agony you are feeling means your brain has successfully reformed neural connections to the rest of your spine. At first I had feared there might be some initial tissue rejection, taking into account the length of time you spent with the opposing team, but happily for us, that was not the case.†The Medic beamed at him, and while that smile could indeed be described as a maniacal grin of an extremely unhinged mind, it was also the smile of a man pleased to see a co-worker back after a long absence. At least, that was what the Spy chose to interpret it as, and was about to give his reluctant thanks when the Medic quickly shone a pen light into his eyes, causing him to blink and wince, and then pinched his nose, taking advantage of him opening his mouth to gasp in order to complete the crude examination. “Hmm, everything seems to be in place. No permanent damage, nothing visible anyway...†He sounded a little disappointed and set an ominous looking instrument back down on the bedside cart alongside the other tools of his bloody trade. Only then did he remember that his patients generally liked to have all of their teeth and eyeballs in proper sockets. “Which is a good thing!†“...Merci, Docteur, for everything,†the Spy mumbled stuffily, trying to remember to be grateful. “Ah, but I can not take all of the credit for putting you back together. We as a team decided to put you back into Respawn after the reattachment, and it took care of the rest.†“Wait, you put me into Respawn... how?†He thought their Engineer had turned off friendly fire after that one disastrous incident in the Intel Room they were not to speak of again. Why, the only way his own team could “put him into respawn†is if they dragged him out to the battlefield and had RED team take potshots at his defenseless form... “That is not important, how,†the Medic said as the Spy began to frown. “The important thing is that you are now in one piece and back where you belong. Here. With us.†The Spy stared at him coldly. Deciding it would be a good time to change the subject, the Medic reached over to adjust the settings on the Medigun, directing its warm healing ray back towards the Spy. “And very soon, my friend, you should be back on your feet, as good as new. Better than new! While you were indisposed, I took the opportunity to make a few improvements to your body, as I did for the rest of the team.†In the friendly blue glow of the Medigun, the Spy tried to relax, although his heart began thrumming loudly, and a touch of dread, of excitement, sparked through his neurons like lightning. There was no way, it was just a coincidence... As calmly as he could, he asked, “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with the Ubercharge mechanism you had been working on?†The Medic chuckled, pleased to have his work acknowledged. “Working on? I have finally perfected it, Spy. And it was all thanks to you!†“What?†The Spy listened in fascinated horror as the Medic recounted the trouble he had in the quest for his ultimate weapon, how the opposing team’s Medic apparently overcame the obstacles he encountered, much to the devastation of the BLU team, and how one fateful glance at the Spy’s decapitated body while it was rooting around in the infirmary refrigerator inspired a brilliant solution he promptly put to use. More disturbing than the fact that the doctor experimented on him without his consent, which was actually on par for the Medic, was the convenience of it all. How common were mega baboon hearts in the first place? It felt wrong, too neat... Too suspicious, and that was speaking from experience as a connoisseur of suspect activities... By the time the Medic finished speaking and waving about his research notes like a madman, the Spy had formulated several theories, cross-referenced them with his intimate knowledge of BLU Industries, discarded some of the more wild ideas, modified the most likely theories with the bits and scraps of stolen RED intelligence he had managed to decode, then finally, he concluded, without a doubt, that he needed a cigarette very badly. “Where did you put my cigarette case?†The Medic paused, looking affronted. “I would be insane to let you smoke in your current state.†It was difficult to not roll his eyes. “One cigarette, please, and a glass of water, that is all I ask.†“Soup for now, porridge for supper, solid foods starting tomorrow,†the Medic retorted, snapping the over-stuffed folder shut in a gesture of finality. “You monster, even RED Medic allowed me a cigarette. Me, his prisoner!†“Because he obviously cared nothing for your well-being!†“And you do?! You experimented on me without my consent!†“I’ll have you know that your body did, in fact, consent!†The Medic brandished a sheet of paper written in tiny font in typical American legalese, no doubt brokered by their Soldier, and there was no mistake, that was “BLU Spy†in his handwriting on the bottom line. Albeit crooked to the point of veering off the bottom of the page. He could have kicked his own body. Except that would be impossible. But he would have tried.
I love the morbid humor of this. The ludicrous notion that a headless body could write out a consent feels just like something TF2 would have. I'm also experiencing a great amount of feels from the feels the rest of BLU have for BLU Spy!
I'm glad to see more of this story. It's very light-hearted and endearing.
I loved the humor and dialogue, it's really well-written, but... More disturbing than the fact that the doctor experimented on him without his consent, which was actually on par for the Medic, was the convenience of it all. How common were mega baboon hearts in the first place? It felt wrong, too neat... Too suspicious, and that was speaking from experience as a connoisseur of suspect activities... I really, really hope you aren't implying that the BLU Medic secretly plotted to have BLU Spy beheaded and captured by the REDs so that he could use the headless body for experiments. One of the reason I loved your original story so such is that it was about teamwork and comradeship, that it portrayed the mercenaries as people who genuinely cared for their teammates. If it now turns out that BLU Spy was betrayed by his own teammates, it retroactively fucks up the heartwarming mood of the first chapter. Or maybe you are just implying that the BLU Company (aka the Administrator) did the plotting without the BLU mercenaries knowing. This one seems more likely, but so many TF2 fics characterize Medic as somebody who happily does horrible things to his own teammates that I've almost come to expect it.
12 and 13: Thanks, I was going for morbid humor, makes me glad I at least got that across, somewhat. 14: To answer your question, I wasn't trying to imply any betrayal of BLU team against their own teammate, I know that's not apparent from interaction with Medic, my own patients hate and suspect me and there's not much I can do to convince them otherwise if I want to continue my practice. But like nearly all of the Spy-centric stories on the chan, the Spy does suspect a horrible conspiracy, and upon his discovery of the secrets behind the war, he will go totally batshit insane. I am picturing something like "you blew it all to hell, you damned dirty apes!" or another favorite, "sandvich is people!" (Those have been done before, right?) Regardless of how the plot turns out, I still intend for there to be a heartwarming teamship atmosphere, assuming I get around to writing it anytime soon. I hope that reassures you, thanks for expressing concern!
Thank you for the clarification :)
[This story is literally full of nothing happening, but I got inspired so I’m making some headway, however slowly.] ----------------------------- The door to the infirmary creaked open, and the Heavy poked his head in. “Is little Spy awake? Can we come in?†he whispered loudly, while the very much awake Spy rolled his eyes. “Yes, you may stay and visit for a few minutes, as long as Scout remains quiet…†The rest of the Medic’s warning got cut off by a whoop of joy from aforementioned teammate and cheers from the rest of the men. They rushed into the room and surrounded the Spy’s bed, shouting statements to the effect of “Congratulations on your reattachment!†and “If you get beheaded and kidnapped by the enemy team ever again, heaven help me, I swear I will kill you myself until you die and that may take a very, very long time.†The entire team, even the ones who didn’t like him much, which was pretty much the entire team, was laughing and patting his head as if making sure it was the real thing and not, perhaps, the RED Spy’s head, and much to his embarrassment, the Spy felt himself flushing hot at this unusual display of affection. Before too long, the Heavy caught them all up into a massive bone-crushing hug. At the Heavy’s urging, the Medic sighed and eventually squeezed his way into the group hug as well. After enough time elapsed so that the hug transformed from something comradely into something awkward, the Spy cleared his throat and asked, “Whose gun is poking into my leg?†Everyone shrugged and attempted to pat themselves down in the constricted environment, but it seemed no one was armed, and there was much confusion until the Medic cried out “Archimedes!†and pulled out a bedraggled dove that had somehow made its way into the middle of the group. “He thinks he’s human,†the Medic said to no one in particular. The Spy declined to comment, he was still feeling something pressed against his thigh, and it had an almost human insistence that was not typical of guns or doves, at least, not to his knowledge as both an assassin and a former inhabitant of the French countryside. But after weeks of his head living in isolation inside a refrigerator, it felt actually nice to have the Pyro snuffling into his armpit, the Soldier breathing down his neck, the Heavy scratching his scalp in that ticklish way, so heart-warming to have everyone acknowledging him for once instead of always pretending they didn’t see him so that the enemy would have no clue he was sneaking into their territory. He did not know if he’d ever get the chance again, so he could overlook the awkwardness, for thirty more seconds anyway. The team gradually disentangled themselves, and the Scout eagerly pulled out a get well card that he and the Soldier had composed to hand to the Spy. “Oh, you rhymed faggot with maggot, how err, charming.†The card included an insert, an overdramatized ballad version of his rescue penned by the Demo in a particularly vicious drunken haze, with an accompanying illustration drawn in crayon courtesy of the Pyro. The Engineer’s handiness apparently knew no bounds, and he surprised the Spy with a bouquet of lilies, white with a rust red pattern that almost certainly was dried blood. To top everything off, the Sniper produced a blue and gold hand-knitted scarf which he tied about the Spy’s neck, perhaps a little too tightly for comfort, “so as to keep yer head from falling off again.†Something niggled at him, the fineness of the scarf, the eeriness of the lilies, the larger-than-life quality of the ballad, as if they had been expecting for him to not make it through the regraft and had hastily converted items intended for his grave into get-well gifts, but he did not want to seem too suspicious too soon. “Thank you, everyone,†the Spy said, once he loosened the scarf enough to breathe, “for not forgetting about me.†Some of his teammates coughed and looked to the side, telltale signs that they had indeed forgotten about him, but the Soldier quickly assured him that despite his general cowardly uselessness on the battlefield, it turned out they really needed his skills after all, and not just because they were one man down and the other team felt no qualms about using their fully-headed Spy as much as possible. “It took weeks of reconnaissance and strategizing to get you back, I myself died 254 times in at least thirty different grisly ways, but I would have died 254 more times if that’s what it took. No one gets left behind. No one.†“No kidding, you woulda done the same if it was one of us!†“Got to say, missed having you around, Spook.†“Murff muhhm mumm muh muh mrmf!†“You got a good head on your shoulders, let’s keep it that way.†“Rest up, laddie, we’ll be seeing you on the field soon!†“Everyone, out. Now.†Then it was over. Just like that, the Spy was alone again in the infirmary, in the cold and the dark, but not feeling alone, nor cold, nor dark. The spying and investigating could wait, he thought, now he just needed to regain his strength. He tucked the scarf into a more fashionable knot and laid back down again, his no longer human heart full and warmed.
Augh the feels they're so feely!
Love this story. So. Much.
Awwwwww this is so cuuuuuuuuteeee
[Welp, I was waiting for what, a year, for something to be confirmed in canon, but obviously that never happened so I’m gonna do what I can to try to wrap things up, which unfortunately calls for the “bad ending.†Again, thanks for reading, and sorry about the wait. And you know, the bad ending.] --------------- It seemed he had only been asleep for a few minutes before the Soldier was shaking him awake with complete and utter disregard for the delicate healing process taking place. “The base had better be on fire,†the Spy muttered. He rubbed his eyes, exhausted, as he was sat up in bed, while all around them, ungovernable flames failed to billow from every window. “Get moving, princess, you can get your beauty sleep in your own bed!†“What on earth is this about?†Scout’s face, not exactly a more restful sight than Soldier’s, focused before him, his expression shifting rapidly between excitement and alarm. “C’mon, let’s go!†Bewildered, Spy opened his mouth to ask why he had to go, when he was perfectly safe in their own team infirmary, and why right now, but he did not get the chance before Soldier was heaving him out of bed and standing him on his feet. His knees buckled slightly from the sudden movement, which Soldier took as incapacitation, and which he promptly resolved by hauling Spy over his shoulder and jogging off after Scout. With incredible presence of mind, considering he was just woken out of a deep sleep after recovering from a gruesome surgery and a harrowing battlefield experience, Spy managed to wriggle around just enough to see where they were going, shooting dark threats to Soldier’s manhood under his breath all the while. Leading the way to their sleeping quarters, Scout darted ahead in the dim light, peering warily around corners before motioning Soldier forward. It would have taken Spy only two minutes at most, walking very slowly, to get to his room from the infirmary, but it took all three of them nearly seven minutes total to do the same, a fact his extremely full bladder did not overlook. “I demand to know what is going on,†Spy muttered heatedly from his position draped around the other man’s neck. “You don’t want to know, cupcake,†Soldier grumbled, setting him down not ungently. “On the contrary, I think I need to know,†Spy retorted. “You do realize we are in our own base, not RED’s base, and that is our Medic who is attending to me, not the enemy?†This was the only logical reason he could think of to explain such madness; that both men had died so many times to reach him, but never got to see him to safety, that they had to rescue him one more time, just to make sure. With a tired sigh, Spy said softly, “Wake up, Soldier. You’ve done it, you two got me back. You can stop. You don’t need to play the hero anymore.†Soldier looked away stubbornly and said nothing. “Hey, we’re here now!†Scout pointed out, before Spy could pursue the topic. “This isn’t my room, you fool, my room is…†Spy glanced over at where it was supposed to be, between Sniper’s never-used room and the broom closet, and could not help noticing how his door had been boarded haphazardly shut, as if in a hurry, and there lingered traces of bloody footprints just outside, as if scrubbing could not quite get rid of them. By the elegantly pointed toe and stylish European heel, it was obvious whose footprints, but he could not tell for certain if they - if he - had been trying to get in or get out… Turning to Scout and Soldier, Spy added in a strained voice, “And this, this is the broom closet, how do you expect me to sleep in a closet?†Scout shrugged, looking as apologetic as he had ever seen him. “There’s nowhere else on base to hide out, unless you wanna try Sniper’s bunk.†“Ugh.†“And you have to stay on base, at least for now, until you get… better.†“Or what, the REDs will kidnap me again?†Spy sneered in obvious disdain. “Precisely! And you know the first place they will look!†Soldier exclaimed, before clamming up once more. That was not the reason at all, he could tell from their expressions, but Spy let it slide. For now, he felt obliged to humor them in their insanity, if just to show his thanks and get this over with as soon as possible. He would deal with these questions tomorrow, after a few more hours of rest in his own bed, only a crawl through the airduct away. “Fine, let me see the closet.†Soldier was already trying the door knob, which did not give, and he scowled and yanked on it as hard as he could. The door still did not open, but the little metal plate proclaiming the function of the room popped loose off one screw, swinging down to reveal the original underneath. They stared, mouths agape in growing confusion. Then Spy reached forward, one hand closing over Soldier’s, unsurprised at the sound of the door unlatching at his touch and slowly creaking open. For a broom closet, it had a severe lack of brooms or mops or cleaning supplies of any kind. Only a company-issued bed with a shabby blue blanket, and next to it, a worn dresser and desk covered in a thick layer of dust. “Did you know about this?†“No. Did you?†Soldier shook his head. Clearly no one ever bothered to clean much around the base, otherwise they would have noticed this spare bedroom, and yet Spy was sure he had peeked in here once before, when he first arrived, in order to confirm that he had selected the most isolated bedroom for his own. “If no one is using it, then I might as well, just for tonight.†Of course no one was using it. The tenth team member, whoever he or she was, never showed up. That was what Spy told himself, even though right at his feet there was another set of footprints in the dust, barely visible, the same general shape as his own, but entirely the wrong size.