A Little Fire Never Hurt (tf2 fanfic)

Grief

i re-did this chapter!! enjoy :) also i said 'guy' and 'man' a lot so dont mind it 😭 also big TW because very intense gore scene!! enjoy <3

Narrators Pov:
'Medic!' A young man called out, his face beaten in from the Blu Soldier.

He limped towards the medic on the team, a larger build german doctor. Who heard the cry and turned around in his tracks, who then switched on a device stuck on his back that began glowing. Soon, a lazy red mist leaked out and magically healed the team member.

Taking a deep breath he bid the medic goodbye and ran off, scurrying through the battlefield. Gunfire was heard all around the people on the field. Some hiding anywhere one could to regain composure.

Bombs, gunfire, and more explosions could be heard, including yelling and commands. Soon a woman's voice cracked an old intercom alive. Her raspy and cold voice snapped through.

"Mission ends in 20 seconds" she snapped, then the intercom went quiet.

Everyone knew what that meant, they needed to gather their things and finish this. Each team fighting to death, just to finish this repeating battle.

Soon an alarm sounded and the teams stopped, and backed away from any enemies they had cornered. Meeting up with another at the base spawn room.

Scouts POV:
Heavy feat hit the dust as he took off towards the spawn room. Turning the corner, he witnessed the medic and another man with a hard hat and goggles fiddling with a machine.

'The fuck are you guys doin'?" he queried, his
lips carrying a Boston accent. He swung a metal bat over his shoulders, it dripped from blood, some unlucky persons hair, and dirt. The young man had dirt and some blood smeared around his clothes, and he completely didnt mind. Just another day on the job.

The older german man paid no mind and continued fiddling with the machine in front of them. The other guy looked towards him and got up to explain.

"The uh, respawn machines broken, damn thing shorted out on us" another accent rang out from his mouth, southern.

He rubbed his face from sweat with his thick gloves, and moved his hat off his face, revealing a widows peak with dirty blonde hair. He continued to talk to the older german man about the machine and took out a tool box to help.

As the boston kid leaned against a wall near them to watch, more people cluttered into the room. They all had a signature red outfit, with patches on the shoulders.

Narrators POV:

A loud 'fsssh' sounded in the room and the young kid snapped his eyes away from the men working to the sound. A tall man appeared, adjusting his tie and shooting the kid a look of distain.

Rolling his eyes, he looked around towards the other people filing into the room. A younger man with a machete talking with a black gentleman, both going towards the lockers in the room. More people filed into the room, including a large heavy set guy who didnt speak, just held a large Gatling gun and lumbered off to the locker filled section of the room.

He came in along with a loud mouth man wearing a helmet on his head. He was coming around and congratulating the team on the win, but stopped to come eye the two men working on the so called 'respawn' machine.

The two guys talked amongst each other quietly, calculating carefully of their steps to repair the machine. Soon the southern guy unveiled the machines back to get into the wires. Touching a cross-wire he soon got it fixed. A large grin spread across his face as the machine started to boot up. Its lights blinking and the swivels whooshing around.