Um. Hi. I wrote this thing. You can read it if you’d like. This is currently a one shot story with no plans for continuation; my hope is that you get the gist of prior events in the reading. While these are meant to be the RED Soldier and Engineer, I’ve used Jane Doe (RED Soldier) and Dell Conagher (BLU Engineer) for names, just to stick somewhat within acceptable TF canon. I’ve stretched it a bit with events after the war which, I am not ashamed to admit, are heavily influenced by Cat Bountry and TenCentBastard. For the sake of simplicity (and because I have never been good with remembering italic code) things meant to be in flashback or read by a character will be in //. I Never Said I Wasn’t Jane Doe stared at the package on his bed. //“-and finally, to Sargent Jane Doe, I leave behind items which are to be mailed at the conclusion of my funeral. Mr. Doe, do you accept?†“AFFIRMATIVE, MAGGET.†“Alrighty then. Next, to Mr. Dell Conagher-â€// It had started to snow during Medic’s funeral. It had been a light dusting. Scout had cried like a child. Hell, they all had. Everyone except Jane. They’d put him to rest beside Heavy, dead three years prior, at the foot of the scrappy little tree in the back yard of the house by the sea- that same house the pair had always talked about together, when they thought no one was listening at night. And then this. It wasn’t a dangerous artifact. Jane knew the Kraut wouldn’t give him a bomb or a box full of a virus and besides, Dell’s scanners hadn’t picked up anything unusual. “Looks like clothes, Jane.†he’d said. His eyes were still red. He’d been crying off and on for days. “Clothes and some other stuff. You want me to be here..?†Jane had done the wise thing. He’d told Dell that he wanted to open it alone. He took a box cutter and thought briefly that Shovel would do the job with more honor, but she was out in the barn with the half-finished sentries and the souped up four wheel drive. Besides, she might wreck whatever was inside. Jane neatly flicked the flaps back with a callused thumb. He stared. They were packed in mothballs and lavender, as the Kraut had always packed for long journeys between forts. Folded, pressed, not a tear to be found. Here was the hat, its braid still tight, the crossed skull and bones at its center shining. Here was the captain’s insignia, the double S, the medals. Jane didn’t know what they meant. He recognized the Iron Cross, the only medal that wasn’t neatly pinned. Hooked into its back was a silver ring, edges bent as though it had been worn and twisted around a finger for years. Jane closed the box and went for a long drive. He arrived at the mostly empty gravel quarry and he screamed, long and loud. He screamed every slur he knew, every obscenity. He made a few up for good measure. He slammed shovel against rocks, he fired his double barrel at nothing and dodged the shot when it bounced off the granite slabs that had been deemed imperfect. He ranted until he was hoarse and then he went on ranting until he was close to coughing up blood. Dell found him the next day. Afraid, the man begged him to come home and it was only because he was exhausted, both physically and mentally, that Dell managed to convince him. Jane did not tell Dell what was in the box, or where it was. He left it. For three months. When he finally went back to it, he noticed something he hadn’t before- that underneath the hat with its death’s head, there was a letter, with his name on the envelope. Jane did not want to read the letter. He opened it. //Dear Soldier, If you ever open this envelope- and I believe you will, someday- I want you to know I’m writing it because it is snowing. You think I don’t know how much you love snow, but I do. When you see it, your face transforms, for just a moment. It is a lovely thing. It is one of the things I admire about you. The war is over now, Jane. For the both of us. Who won or lost- it doesn’t matter. It seems distant for me, though it shouldn’t; it will always have immediacy for you, though it shouldn’t. I’ve come to accept that about you. What you do with the contents of this box are your decision. I thought to burn them in the fire. Perhaps I should have, but there are some roles in life one must always remember. I am not a good man. You knew this- you knew it better than anyone, better, perhaps, than Heavy. You saw me for what I was the moment you met me and what you saw was a monster. I love you like a brother for that. You knew I was not a good man. You fought with me anyway. You never asked me the question. The one question that must have burned you, night after night, battle after battle. I don’t know why you didn’t ask. Maybe it was because you wanted to preserve me in my white coat, with the gun that makes you a God. Maybe you deemed it unimportant. Maybe you were afraid of letting friendship dissolve in the face of a greater evil. The why, I suppose, doesn’t matter. Thank you, Jane. For never asking. For letting me keep that illusion of control. I don’t know when I’m going to die. I don’t even know if I will ever escape this eternal war. After all, it is the perfect place for me. If I leave- if by some miracle all I have irrationally hoped and dreamed does come true- I will welcome a peaceful death. Maybe a soldier wants to live forever, but Doctors do run down. I have had this fight with myself for a long time now. Every man imagines the words of his will, but few have something so heavy to give as I. So I will give you what you always wanted, Jane. I will give you the right to judge. Because you never asked- but I never said I wasn’t, either. Good luck, soldier.// It was signed with his name, all the spidery swoop and curve of his impossible handwriting. Jane recognized the stationary. It was from Viaduct. Jane folded the letter up small. He went to the War Room (really, it was a den, but Dell let him call it what he would) and stuck it in the band of his helmet, beside his playing card and his emergency cigarettes. He took out each piece of the uniform. He turned the ring over in his hands, twirled the hat around a finger, smoothed the creases in the jacket. When Dell pulled up the drive he saw that the fire pit out front was burning hot, and Jane was standing in front of it, playing his bugle. He parked, walked over to his friend, took off his hat and placed it over his heart. He knew a funeral when he saw one. When Jane was done Dell asked, “Is everythin’ alright, Jane?†“...Affirmative.†Dell didn’t question the Iron Cross on the corkboard behind the stand in the den. He thought it looked nice alongside Jane’s hand made medals. When he raked out the firepit later, he found things; a bit of melted metal, a single charred scrap of black wool. He buried the lot of it and that night played one of Medic’s favorite tunes on his old guitar. “Looks like snow.†he said, gazing up into the cloudless texas night. “Sure, Tex.†Soldier said, pulling his helmet down a littler farther on his head. “Sure.â€