Dude don’t look like he’s in his 30’s the dude is a foxy grandpa.
That’s his appeal.
Also he should be old enough to have participated in some way in WWII that just makes things interesting.
Do you hate old people or something?
"If some of us prefer him to be in his thirties, or even built a younger character, what’s wrong with that? Maybe I should go bitching around “what’s this kawaiii uke stuff? Are you afraid of real men?”"
Man I hope I didn’t miss anything from that list or I’d be so upset with myself : C
This started in Des’s stream. IDEK. Edited at 5:40AM so fuck you. With butts.
Sadly, I didn’t cop on that stream had a limited feed so this is a bit shorter than the original. If anyone has the first few bits, I’d be grateful for them. Anyway, here’s what I have.
Saxton tore Spy’s…
Perfect. I have yet to read better fanfiction!
Medic raised one eyebrow. “Again? I’ve given you enough passes from battle for a lifetime, Herr Spy.”
“Look at me,” Spy hissed, “I’m dying.”
“Vell don’t be so melodramatic about it.” Medic rolled his eyes, but gestured to nearby bed. “If ze medigun does not vork, zen you are simply not injured. Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?”
Spy grimaced, hand over his stomach. “Oui, ostie de trou de cul.” He hobbled over to the bed and carefully sat down. It didn’t help. “Sainte-bénite,” he groaned, “your fucking medigun ‘asn’t fixed anything.”
Medic frowned as Spy turned white and a sheen of sweat glazed his skin. “Alright, zen. Don’t be such a baby. Lie back.”
Spy bared his teeth at him, but obeyed. Pain arced from the base of his spine to his stomach and every fibre of flesh in between. Knowing his luck, it was probably an Australian STD. He groaned and covered his eyes with the back of his hand.
“I’m dying, doctor.”
“I can only hope,” Medic replied dryly. He skipped the traditional vital signs and pushed Spy’s shirt up.
“‘ey, what de fuck are you doing?”
Medic looked heavenward for patience. “Herr Spy, I am trying to palpate your abdomen. Vether I do zat as part of your physical examination or your autopsy is up to you.”
“Good.” Medic gently tapped the lower quadrants of Spy’s abdomen, which looked particularly distended and tender.
Spy groaned like a pregnant sow. To his eternal embarrassment, a long, throaty fart completed the effect.
Medic turned away, eyes watering. “Vell it certainly smells like something is wrong.”
“Fuck you.” Spy turned away and cross his arms. “I am not going out dere like dis. What use is a cloak if all I do is cut walnuts five feet from de RED team?”
Medic waved his hand around to clear the smell. “Ja, I can see ze logistical problems.” He jerked his chin to the side. “Turn back over and next time you feel ze need to cut a valnut, turn your backside away from me.”
Spy scowled at him, but obeyed. “Nazi.”
“My infirmary, my rules,” Medic replied, uncontrite. He still wore a pinched a expression and when it was clear Spy would take his time repositioning himself, he went to his desk and turned on the fan.
“It’s not dat bad.”
“Herr Spy, I vill need a tetanus shot.”
“From what I ‘ear,” Spy said slyly, “‘eavy can give you plenty of dose.”
Medic cuffed him.
“Ow! Does de ‘ippocratic oath mean nothing to you?”
“It vas more of a suggestion zan an oath.” Medic adjusted his glasses. “Now hold still.”
Spy scoffed but didn’t put up a fight when Medic began to gently press against his abdomen. It hurt, but not intolerably. He shifted when Medic pulled on his belt, which dug into his stomach.
“I’m getting fat,” he grumbled. “Dese pants are perfectly tailored.”
“How long has zis been going on?”
Spy flushed. “A while.”
“So zis whole time you’ve had zese problems and you never zought I should know about zem?”
Medic pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mein Gott.”
Spy crossed his arms, which only made him abdomen look more pronounced. “I didn’t know getting fat was a medical emergency.”
“Herr Spy….” Medic shook his head and turned towards the new sonogram nearby. “I didn’t zink I’d ever have to use zis contraption so soon, but it vill give us a clear look vithout cutting you open.” He reached for disposable gloves and pulled them on with a deliberate snap.
Spy started to sweat. “Doctor, what exactly are you doing?”
Medic held up a bottle of SAXTON HALE’S ALL-PURPOSE LUBRICANT and smiled.
“Fuck dat.” Spy lurched half-way off the bed like a walrus.
“Herr Sp-Spy!” Medic grasped his torso. “I vasn’t serious. Scheisse. I’m suggesting an ultrasound.”
“Dat looked very serious to me,” Spy said, clutching his abdomen. A fart squealed out regardless. “I’ve heard de stories. No colonoscopy for me, doctor. No dank you.”
Medic scowled. “Scout’s vords, I presume?”
“Zat boy zinks everything is a colonoscopy.” Medic uncapped a bottle of ultrasound gel and spread it across Spy’s abdomen. He arched one eyebrow when Spy blushed. “Zis is just part of ze procedure, I’m afraid. If you vant an actual colonoscopy, I vant to be vined and dined beforehand.”
Spy glared at him. “When ‘ell freezes over.” He winced when the gel touched his skin. “Dat’s fucking cold.”
Medic wheeled the ultrasound towards the side of the bed, then pulled down the articulated-arm that held a small but ominous looking transducer probe.
“Now,” he said helpfully, “zis vill be cold.”
Spy grunted when the probe touched his belly. “Did you leave dis in de fridge or what?”
Medic looked shifty. “No, zat is for other zings.” He adjusted his glasses and squinted at the display screen. “Now let’s see vat ve have here.” He moved the probe back and forth, then frowned. “Hmm, zat’s odd.”
“What?” Spy propped himself up on his elbows. “What is it?”
“A mass. Right…here.” Medic glanced at the probe. “Strange.”
“Mass? Like a tumor?”
“If it vas a tumor, my medigun vould have caused it to shrink, not expand.” At Spy’s blank look, he added, “Ze medigun uses ze template scanned in vhen we first came here. It vould have repaired your DNA and ze cancer cells vould have stopped growing. You vould have gone into immediate remission.”
Spy’s voice rose an octave. “But what if I ‘ad it when I arrived ‘ere?”
“It vould still cause it to shrink. Besides, I don’t zink it’s….” Medic leaned closer to the screen. “It’s moving.”
“But it still could be a tumor.”
Medic shook his head. “Zis has grown too fast.”
“But you said—”
“It’s not a tumor.”
“Den what de fuck is it?”
“Sit still so I can find out.” Medic cast him a withering glance. “Honestly, you’re behaving like a child.”
Spy returned the look. “Fine, let’s just get dis done.”
Medic muttered under his breath, but moved the probe across Spy’s belly and lower abdomen to map the mass. He frowned, leaned forward and then back again, and continued to watch it shift at odds with its surroundings.
“Mind if I smoke?”
“Very much,” Medic said.
Spy flopped back down on the table. “You’re making a rut around my belly button. What is it?” He studied Medic’s face. “You know what it is, don’t you?”
“Vell….” Medic pushed the probe away. “Under normal circumstances, I vould have no trouble vith zis diagnosis. But….” He cleared his throat.
“But…?” Spy sat up again. “Doctor, you’re making me nervous.”
Medic turned the sonogram towards Spy and brought the probe back down his belly. “Zere’s a baby in zere.”
Spy burst out laughing. “You asshole. You ‘ad me going dere for a minute.” He pushed the probe away and sat up. “Ugh! And dis gel shit is going everywhere. Fucking gross.”
“Herr Spy,” Medic said slowly, “zere is a baby in zere.”
“Oui.” Spy rolled his eyes and glanced around the room. “Do you ‘ave a towel or something?”
Medic pulled the sonogram close and pushed the transducer against Spy’s abdomen hard enough to make him flinch. “Look at zat, Herr Spy. Vhat do you see?”
“Ow ow ow, stop it.” Spy pulled away until pain stopped zinging through his body. He shot Medic a dirty look, but examined the small screen. “De ‘ell is dat? Looks like a cashew.”
“Commonly known as a baby.” Medic pushed the arm away and looked at Spy. He opened his mouth, but had no words. After a moment, he simply shrugged.
Spy looked down at his stomach. “Fuck.”
Woot part 2! I just adore how you’ve written Medic here : )
You are most like Captain America. You have a strong “good guy” ethic, and hate injustice of any kind. Understanding what it’s like to be pushed around helps you fight for the little guy. You are not one to give up too easily, and often get yourself into tricky situations just to prove your worth. Your high ideals and old fashioned manners set you apart from most of your peers.
I got the same
You are most like Iron Man. You don’t crack easily under pressure, and rather enjoy the spotlight. You’d rather do your own thing than listen to others, and you’re always ready with a witty remark. You’ve been called vain and unpredictable. But when it comes down to it, you try to do the right thing… Because even though you may come across otherwise, you really do care.
I WASNT EXPECTING THAT
Still Tony Stark. Why am I not surprised? >.>
You are Thor god of THUNDAAHH
You are most like Thor. You are strong, good looking, and ambitious. Though slightly immature at times, especially when you don’t get what you want, you are loyal to the bone and will always stand for what’s right. You are a family-centered person. You tend to take some things for granted, which leaves you hurt and confused when they’re taken away. You have a high capacity for forgiveness.