The Lemon Book of Team Fortress 2 x Reader

Heavy: Favored and Favors

Your team had emerged victorious in a lengthy and gruesome game of King of the Hill. It wasn't easy. Everyone had died several times against the enemy team with major slip ups and comebacks. Bullet holes, bruises, and lacerations decorated every member of the team. Everyone except you.

For some reason, you remained fine. Few minor cuts and scratches but nevertheless, still capable and mobile. Everyone else had to limp back to the 2Fort. Call it divine intervention, if you will. But it was in the form of the dense and carefree Russian man of large proportions. Whenever an enemy took you by surprise, Heavy was there to take the bullets, and the kill. Whenever you seemed to be alone while the rest of your team was respawning, Heavy came in just in time to deliver a blow to the attacking enemy. Still, you won with your body standing on the Control Point all thanks to Heavy. And that's fine, right?

Everyone else seemed to sneer at you for coming out of the battle almost unscathed. They knew Heavy was going out of his way for you. Heck, even he left Medic for a pivotal moment in time for an Ubercharge so he could back you up. The whole game weighed upon your conscience. Everyone knows you could handle yourself pretty well. You just hope Heavy would realize too.

Everyone was back in the 2Fort and no one couldn't have been more irritated than dear ol' Medic who now has to work overtime. "Ugh, dummkopfs." Medic glared angrily at everyone as they looked at him, waiting for an answer. Medic grabbed his keys and unlocked the Infirmary door. "I shall shtart vith ze most injured. Heavy."

"Da, Heavy don't feel too good..." The Russian man replied, holding his abdomen as blood slowly started to drip from the seemingly worn out bandages.

You watched as the towering bear of a man entered the Infirmary. Everyone assumed positions on the chairs outside, complaining and groaning about their pain to each other who had their own problems. You sighed. Sitting in with them would probably be awkward. Besides, what could Medic heal from you? You have some band-aids in your room. Those would suffice.

You wondered what else would suffice. Heavy saved your life multiple times back there. You wanted to make it up to him. But how? And then you remembered.

There she lay on top of the living room table, bloody and covered in who knows what. Sasha was all dirty. You wanted to clean her up. For Heavy, at least. You stepped closer to her, grabbing a nearby rag that was on the sofa. Who owns it, you don't know. Nor do you care. You remembered having the jug of cleaning solution in one of the cabinets under the sink. Ah, there it is. Now back to where she was.

Sasha was beautiful. You wanted to make her shine again. You thought about taking her apart and cleaning her would be the most effective way, but figured Heavy would kill you for it if you do. What the hell. You just want to clean as much as you can before Heavy gets out. Putting some of the solvent onto the rag, you started with the numerous barrels that spew the fiercest bullets.

Blood both new and old came off the metal cylindrical tubes. It took some effort but you got one done. 5 more to go. You were feeling pretty good about what you were doing. If only Sasha could talk, she'd be thanking you for fixing her right back up. Oh, there's a dent here. Maybe you should talk to Engineer about this—

"OH, DON'T TOUCH MY DARN THING!" You heard Engineer's pained voice back at the hallway.

"Heh, wonder what this does? BONK!" A certain Boston accent said, followed by a sound of a metallic hit.

Screams and laughs could be heard outside, followed by more clanging and cheers of men bored out of their minds who wanted to see some action. Maybe Engineer would have to wait. Sorry, Sasha. But it didn't matter. You hummed a cheery tune to yourself as you wiped more blood and grime off of her silver-colored plates.