Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Privet, Doctor!”

Ludwig startled at the exclamation towards him, turning towards the noise.

The large man that towered over him suited the full-bodied voice that called out to him. 

“Oh, hallo! You must be the Heavy, ja?” Medic adjusted his glasses as he took in the details of his teammate. 

Although his figure had softness, it was clear that the majority of his flesh was made up of muscle. A well-trained individual, but with a weak spot for seconds. The thought of that endeared Medic, although he made sure not to appear so amused. He felt that if he were to begin their interaction through a blunt observation of body type, he might not even last until the first battle. 

“Correct. We have been tasked to aid each other on the field today! Engineer says doctor has fancy technologies for healing me during battle!”

Everything the Russian man said sounded more like a shout, and Medic wasn’t sure if it was intentional or if he simply suffered hearing loss from previous combat. 

“Yes, the medi-gun. I am rather proud of it,” Medic beamed at the thought of his own medical equipment, “I am looking forward to testing out the prototype on the battlefield, hoo hoo! It won't be long before I will start implementing more of these technologies, some of which require some simple medical procedures, however I thought I would start myself off with something less… invasive,” the doctor couldn’t help but smirk at the end of his explanation. 

He had a clear destination for certain surgery implementations, however the administrator had told him he would need to establish himself before he is allowed to experiment on the team. He thought it would be smart to spin it in a way in which it seemed like a choice on his part. 

“Hah! Doctor is a funny man. Reminds me of evil scientist.” Heavy patted Medic’s back with an unintentional force that almost knocked the doctor to the ground.

Medic felt himself bristle a bit at the comment but chose to take it in stride, “Yes, I suppose you could see it that way. I simply view it as innovation,” the conversation died out beyond that as their attention was drawn to the upcoming fight. 

In their first battle together, Medic did not find himself very attracted to the brute nature of Heavy’s work. Where he prided himself on efficiency of healing, Heavy prided himself on efficiency of death. Despite his medicine being wrought with its own brutality, Heavy’s get-in-and-go method was a bit of a shock to the doctor who had previously been comfortable in the backlines of combat. 

Although he was not keen on the strategy of the Heavy, Medic had to admit that they performed exceptionally well together. This was not unnoticed by the Administrator, who began to assign the doctor to Heavy more often. 

As they began to spend more of their time together, Medic was pleased to learn that Heavy was extremely well-read. 

The German doctor came to realize that the man had about as much intellect as he did himself, although in different areas of study. Heavy’s job simply did not require it like Medic’s did, meaning it was a hidden aspect to the Russian's life that not many have been exposed to. Medic was unique in that he immersed himself in that side of Heavy, where most of their teammates turned a blind eye. It was a point of connection where originally he had thought there were none, and he was wont to cling onto those connections in people. He began to love hearing the Russian man talk about the nuances of literature between languages, and he knew that Heavy himself loved to hear Medic talk about his latest experiments. 

As their friendship developed, they spent more time with each other during ceasefires through soft activities such as chess, baking, dinner dates, and book sharing. 

Soon enough they found themselves tangled up in a domestic bliss that both men leaned into, even finding intimacy in such morbid acts as surgery, murder, and brutality. Their dynamic was something Medic was not used to, but he found himself enjoying it for what it was-gentle brutality, a perfect storm of brains and brawn. 

Chapter Text

Medic has never been very efficient in love . He fancied people, yes, but he has found that when you view your partners as potential experiments, the fires of infatuation tend to die out quickly in the receiving party. Usually, the desire for scientific discovery prevented him from any long-standing relationships. “Victims,” they all call themselves. To hell with traditional expectations of love. For Medic to find the Russian giant, Heavy, who was a fine beast of a man that feared no form of human discovery, was a pleasantly rare occurrence. He did not want to take such a catch for granted. These thoughts of love in regards to his Russian friend came long before they were ‘official’.

He often thinks about how the actions too, had come much earlier than the label had, although it did not make ”the moment” any easier. The day they became “official” went like any other baring of souls. 

It had been just another date-night-but-not-really, with Heavy at Medic’s doorstep carrying flowers, a table set romantically with candles and wine. 

“Misha! How good to see you!” Medic wrapped Heavy in a tight hug, caressing his shoulders as they parted. Heavy held up the flowers to his companion and beamed at the smile that set on the doctor’s face as he took them, “Thank you for the flowers, liebling. Come sit, tell me how your day was.” Medic ushered Heavy to the table with enthusiasm to spare. 

Heavy halted before the table and put his hands up to pause the Medic’s well-meaning pushing and prodding. “Just one second, doctor. I must ask something of you before we continue our dinner,” His confidence sank a bit upon seeing the concerned look Medic gave him. His nervousness had revealed itself in his voice against his will. 

Heavy pushed through his bubbling anxiety to continue, “Ludwig, I do not know how you view us. I want to make sure we are on same page. I enjoy time spent with you, as doctor, teammate, and friend. But I feel much more for you.” Heavy looked to Medic’s face, searching for his answers before Ludwig even knew the question. 

Heavy sighed, “Doctor, I do not want to be led on. Are your feelings for me as deep as mine are for you?”

“Misha… I love you” 

Heavy would be lying if he said he did not shed a tear that night. 

After, everything continued as it had been, but they finally had that security of knowing. They knew when they stole glances that the energy was mutual. They knew the dinners and chess games meant more between the two of them than it meant between any other. 

It felt nice to know.

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Medic spent his entire life focusing on himself, he did not take a deeper approach to people most days. 

It was never intentional, he just did not have the capacity to “care” in the same way that everyone else seemed to. He has heard the same words from many past suitors: emotionally absent, cold, sociopath . He hated the last one in particular. He cared. He was just inclined to put himself first, it often seemed like the most logical thing to do. He is a doctor, but sometimes people just have to deal with their own symptoms! That’s what he thought anyway. This mindset created a rift between him and his lover much too early in the relationship. 

Heavy wanted gentle reassurance that Medic seemed unable to provide. There would be quiet moments together that soured when Heavy would display affection, only for Medic to act uncomfortably. 

“Liebling, I do not want this right now. Please respect that,” Medic would create physical distance, and Heavy would feel guilty.  

Heavy tried to reason with himself. He knew Medic enjoyed his company. It hurt to reflect though, on the early days of their infatuation - the gentle intimacy of handholding, cuddling, soft kisses. What was different? 

It ate away at Heavy, the thought that he needed Medic more than Medic needed him. He decided he needed to confront the doctor before it became too much.

Ludwig had been sucked into a large pile of paperwork that he had let sit for a couple days too many, when Heavy would approach him in his office with his concerns.

“Hello, doctor,” Heavy spoke guardedly.

Ludwig broke away from his papers to glance up at his partner, “Ah, Hallo Misha! I will be a little while, I have a lot of paperwork! Was there anything urgent?”

Heavy softened at the nickname, but pushed on, “Ludwig, I need to share some emotions I am feeling about us. It will only take one moment,”

“Ok, perfect! I will continue on with my paperwork but I will also listen,” Medic resigned himself to the papers in front of him, giving Heavy a quick nod to show his attention. 

Heavy “Ludwig, sometimes I feel you do not express as much gentle affection as I need. I know I seem like tough russian warrior, however I do desire that intimacy.”

“I give you as much as I am comfortable with.” Medic stated simply, not even looking at Heavy before returning to the paperwork sprawled out on his table. 

“Would you be fine if I initiate the affection?”

“Ah, yes, I’m sure. However, I am under no obligation to return it if I do not want to,”

“May I give a hug right now?”

“No, I don’t think I want a hug right now,” Medic looked up once more to Heavy. The doctor’s expression was difficult for Heavy to read. He felt a pang of hurt at the rejection but steeled himself quickly. At least he tried to. 

“Doctor, I need a break from you,” Heavy could feel his voice shake but he hoped it was not too obvious.

Medic looked up quickly, “Misha, where is this coming from?”

“No, Doctor. Name is Heavy. Leave me be,” without waiting for a response, Heavy left Medic's office. 

Heavy wouldn’t speak to Medic beyond battle strategy after that day.

Chapter Text

Medic never dealt well with problems in his life.

He buried himself in his work. He experimented on himself in darker moments. It brought a new meaning to the word “self-medication”. He found himself doing this a lot more often.

One night he sat in his lab, concocting a new medicine with no goal in mind but to ease himself. He missed Heavy- no Misha. He missed Misha. He wanted to forget just for a moment. He needed to sleep. He hasn’t slept well since the day they fought. 

“Oh, my liebling… what have I done,”

Medic downed the distillate he had in his medical flask and sat back in his office chair. The effects were almost immediate as the medicine hit his stomach. He felt the warmth crawl up his body, and his heart swelled with something he could convince himself was contentedness. It felt temporary, and it felt good. That’s all that mattered. He looked around his office in an attempt to ground himself as the inebriation of his mixture set in. The surgery tools stood out to him against the otherwise unassuming surroundings. 

Absent-mindedly, he picked up a scalpel. He cleaned all his tools after each procedure, and took pride in the sanitization of his medical environment. 

He felt anything but clean staring down at the medical blade in his hand. 

He was hyper aware of his med-induced numbness in that moment. With little thought, he lifted his sleeve to his elbow and dragged the scalpel across the flesh of his arm. It hadn’t been with too much aggression, but it bled well enough to send streaks of red down his arm, away from the incision. ‘Sharp’ he thought to himself simply. 

One incision became two, then three, then his arm was a mess of blood and wounds as he even began to cut deeper into incisions he already made. He focused on the flesh as it separated and revealed hidden layers of his body. 

His arm ached, but strangely did not bother him more. He considered pulling out his medigun and quickly repairing the damage, but a bigger part of him relished in the ache. It felt comfortable. 

Instead, he pulled his sleeve back down, and watched the red soak into the white of his clothing. With a sigh, he felt himself get pulled into a deep sleep he had been trying so hard to reach.

He awoke groggily the next morning, unmoved from his office chair. His head was fuzzy and he nearly forgot the events of the previous night up until his mind caught up to the familiar ache in his arm. Looking down at the blood-stained sleeve of his dress shirt, he felt calm. 

Chapter Text

All must come to an end.

Medic wants it to be true.

The ache he felt towards his failures in life was much easier to handle that way.

In his heart, he knew that it was his fault the Russian slunk away to his room after battles, no longer enjoying the company of the team. 

Ego, however, could not allow for such an admittance of defeat. No, every “mistake” was planned, he took pride in the hurt he delivered to those who show themselves vulnerable to him.

Medic wants it to be true.

The guilt eating away at him would perhaps fade away if it were.

So, in his own stead, he willed it to be true.

His brutality became less thought out, more bloody. 

Good for the team, bad for the individual. 

He took pride in the blood he shed, the egos he bruised. Medic basked in the glow of grandiosity, and in turn, promiscuity. 

He went out with the team during ceasefires, he drank and talked and fucked and never allowed himself to stop until he was unthinking, animalistic. 

On the rare night Heavy would join the team, Medic would bring the spotlight to himself- performing under the guise of fun, but ultimately the fun he received was in the downcast look the Russian gave him as he flirted and danced with people in bars. 

It was cruel, they both knew it. 

In it all, Medic was grieving in the only way he knew. He could not hope that Heavy understood that. With every pointed action, he damaged his image more and more. 

I am a monster.

I am unthinking, unfeeling.

The message was clear.

Even if it wasn’t true, reality is defined in actions.

Medic soon began to mix his homebrew medications with his alcohol on nights out. Blackouts were expected. He maintained his inebriation throughout his free time. He continued to slice himself up during moments alone.

One night, alone in his lab, Medic was medicating himself with booze, meds, and a scalpel. In the haze, he double dosed unintentionally- he was too fucked up to remember taking his ‘medicine’ already. Part of him didn’t care either way as he dosed himself.

Once the obvious effects of overdose set in, his unconscious survival instinct took over. He realized he had puked on himself at some point. It couldn’t have been more than a minute ago.

He could feel himself fading, and he knew if he came out of this that he would not have much to remember. 

Chapter Text

Medic remembers feeling like his limbs had become dead weight as he dragged himself to the common area, to the horror of his team. 

He remembers how difficult it was to breathe as he suddenly found himself on the floor at the foot of his team, who had all but rushed to his side.

He remembers what happened beyond the pain of suffocation- the quiet void of fading out, feeling himself die.

He remembers Heavy’s face, and his voice. 

Is that what kept him here?

He awoke feeling like static. His head was full of nothing. The sunlight hit him through the blinds, caressing him into consciousness. He was alone in Heavy’s bed.

Medic looked down at himself. He was wearing one of his white button ups, however it was in rough shape. Several buttons gone, it was completely open, his bare chest the only thing underneath. His sleeves were a mess of blood and vomit, underneath them his arms had been bandaged. He was in boxers, were they his?

Movement in the room startled the doctor. He turned to find that Heavy was there, standing at the doorway. Medic hated the look on Heavy’s face. He could see every bit of pity, grief, disappointment, and anger that the large man held towards him.

“Doctor, why do you do this to yourself? Have you not hurt me enough?,” the rasp of the man’s voice sounded like the sunlight that bathed Medic, yet it brought shivers throughout the doctor’s body, as though it descended onto him as a harsh winter. It was much too soft for the intensity of the Russian man’s expression.

Medic couldn’t speak. There were no words that could even begin to repair the ruins that he found himself in. 

Instead, he cried.

It began silently, tears falling as he stared at the man in front of him.

The softened gaze that rested upon Heavy’s face at the sight of the tears only served to unravel Medic, he broke eye contact to look down at himself as the sobs escaped him. 

Despite everything, Heavy wanted nothing more than to comfort the doctor at that moment. The bitter feelings that rose up his chest prevented him from engulfing the crying figure in his arms.

Medic was broken, and he had broken Heavy, too. 

Heavy felt tears of his own fall down, and he let them.

Uncertainty and helplessness connected them in that moment.

If the pain is brought on by each other, can they even help each other?