Unorthodox Care Plan (TF2 G/t and Soft Vore!)
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Unorthodox Care Plan
[CW: Medic being Medic, Pain, Shrinking, G/t, Medical Setting, Fear, Safe Soft Vore, Medic being insane and oblivious, Medic feeling all Parental, Unwilling Prey, Caring Pred, Healing Vore, Fulltour joke/threat, scary old men PDA because Heavymedic, tiny Scout, Accented/Phonetic Dialogue]
Summary: Scout forgoes sunscreen for a shadeless summertime mission and comes back horrendously sunburnt. Since he’s being a whiny little brat about Medic trying to apply topical aloe gel before he blisters, the medic uses his usual unnerving genius to find a way to make sure Scout gets the treatment he needs—he just needs to borrow a little gadget from their Engineer first!
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The R.E.D. compound in New Mexico had been scorching in the badlands sun since the earliest hour of the morning—hitting 80 degrees Fahrenheit before ten o’ clock and promising to only continue the cloudless tyranny for the rest of the week. Regardless of these conditions, the Administrator had delivered new orders, and Mother Nature took a backseat to that woman every time.
Their Scout, Sniper, and Demo man had been tasked with infiltrating and rigging up their B.L.U. rival’s shipping depot on the opposite side of the desert to blow, with their Heavy Weapon’s expert waiting in the wings for back-up and to cover an escape should angry adversaries survive the blast of over ten kilograms of nitroglycerin. Dr. Ludwig—the mercenaries’ field medic and one of their resident Mad Doctors—sighed hard upon glancing back at his copy of the orders and their spy’s sneakily-obtained photographs of the gravelly open space enclosed with razor-wire and scattered with armed guards and shipping crates. He hated thinking about his comrades being out in that shadeless boiling hell, especially not their Heavy. Though he was at least assured that Misha was the one who was going to protect his skin, and to bring actual hydrating fluids with him. On the outside he looked simply grumpy and intimidating as he bent over his desk next door to his operating theater, absent-mindedly stroking the head of the nearest fluffed-up and happy dove with one finger; on the inside, he was wound up tight with worry—everything either clenched frozen or thumping/huffing at a much too-elevated rate. Herr Mundy was a veritable piss factory, and poor Tavish simply couldn’t function through a day’s mission without a flask of something 15% alcohol by volume at least. Those poor men were going to be husks by the time they got to him and the still-mild interior of the basement infirmary, but at least those two covered up with hats and sleeves. They’d be dehydrated but not charred. Aheh. Not from the sun, at least.
And this left the Scout. The medic grumbled and rolled his eyes at the thought. That poor, Bonk-addicted junge hopefully remembered his ball cap. If not… oof. The doctor did not relish how the kid might look when he returned. Of course, Misha would definitely have a tube of sunscreen and would be the one merc to think to share it, even in the heat of a killing spree upon their pursuers, especially if he noticed Jeremy starting to turn a pinker hue…
It wasn’t long before he heard the commotion of their transport van pulling back into the garage nearby—the muffled holler of Dell greeting someone followed by Tavish drunkenly cackling and their Scout very loudly boasting of their success (and of it being all down to him—of course). Dr. Ludwig sucked in a sharp inhale and stood, preparing himself to engage his violent and reckless friends with some cheery reminders to DRINK SOME WATER, DUMKOPF!
He could be quite convincing when needed, even when flashing a smile. Hm. Especially when flashing a smile, now he thought of it…
No matter! He may have patients in a moment, and that was no time to entertain wandering thoughts! He tidied up the infirmary intake area of miscellaneous paperwork, test tubes, and unique… specimens… He turned when he heard the doors swing open behind him.
“Oho! Misha—” the medic could not resist the grin blooming over his face, even while noticing the slight slump in the Russian goliath’s posture and the quite sour slant that his brows had taken on, “—you are back very early, mein Schatz. How did zhe mission go?”
“Da, is done.” Alright, the huge man was definitely distracted by something. He was being downright sheepish; Ludwig suppressed a chuckle—he was quite adorable like this!
“Do you need anyzing? You know, I can remove any shrapnel you may have picked up, no matter how small—”
“Nyet. Not me. Wanted to warn Doktor,” Misha’s voice lowered, his massive hands settling firmly on the medic’s shoulders to jolt him out of his giddy mood and back into focus, “Is Scout.”
“Scout?” The doctor’s eyebrows twisted in vexation, and he adjusted his wireframes a bit higher on his nose bump, “Vhat is the matter vith him now?”
“Uhhhhhh…. You will see. Told him to come here.” The heavy’s steely eyes had narrowed in a wince, though still flooded with that gruff yet parental concern that he produced in abundance. Ludwig often wondered how he did it—make the care he felt for teammates, for family, and for his Doktor so palpable, so visible. The medic cared just as deeply, but for some reason the others had a harder time believing it.
Well, he did have to admit Misha just had such a lovable face. That alone could be it. With his smile becoming less toothy and more tame, Ludwig relaxed somewhat before reaching up and cupping the side of the larger man’s jaw with affection.
“Danke for the warning, liebe,” Misha allowed himself to be guided into tilting his face down, within reach of the soft peck his Doktor planted on his rough, stubble-studded cheek. “Ah well. I’d better take care of zhe trouble our hase has gotten himself into, heheh.”
“Doktor will be nice this time, da?” Misha raised a brow, teasingly.
“Alright, alright.” Ludwig chuckled as they parted, “I vill give Herr Scout my patience. Vhat is left of it, ehahah!”
“Doktor…”
“Don’t give me zhat look, you know I love zhe little Dumkopf. I’ll make sure he is well.” The medic smirked, “Even if he does whine about it.”
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Their Heavy left to attend to his still-smoking minigun, and the medic heard Scout approaching down the hall soon after. Whistling. Hm, he didn’t sound like he was injured. Jeremy practically kicked open the infirmary doors and sauntered in with his customary greeting:
“Hey, doc!” Didn’t sound sick either or even disgruntled—sounded very pleased with himself, in fact. Dr. Ludwig peered over his shoulder from where he was washing his hands and had to pull a double-take. His pleasant-if-eerie expression dropped as fast as his eyes bulged. “Yeah, Heavy said I should check in with ya—dunno why. I’m feelin’ pretty great!”
The doctor’s expression now morphed to an exasperated scowl, and still stricken with shock at what their lanky young runner looked like he stormed over to immediately start accessing.
“Mein Gott, hase!! Vhat did you do to yourself??” The shrill pitch of his scold did a great deal to snap the Scout out of his smug daze, and the sensation that lit up every nerve fiber in his scrappy body the moment the medic’s first two fingers lightly tugged on one of his sleeves and brushed some bare skin snapped him the rest of the way. The both of them jolted in surprise at the blood-curdling squeal the young man emitted. The pain clearly only got triggered further as the Scout made to clutch at the searing area, hissing and jolting away as if burned.
Because, of course, he was burned. The poor boy was practically well-done; from head to ankles, every exposed piece of skin had been scorched to a red as bright as the tomatoes on Heavy’s sandwiches. And what had been plain to the medic from that split-second graze was this was just now being noticed by the sun’s victim.
“Oh, Scout—” Medic’s features wrinkled sharply, holding his hands clear of any lobster-tinted parts of his patient, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to aggravate—”
“OW—what tha’ hell, doc?” Scout squeaked out between sharp little intakes of breath when the rough fabric of his shirt and his short’s legs shifted to tickle his sunburn’s edges like Satan’s fire poker. He’d crunched inwards to a human crescent, his stance frozen, unnatural, and automatic. And, Dr. Ludwig could tell—very counter-productive. It only caused more fabric to scrape over different spots on the poor kid’s extra-crispy arms and legs. Even the pitiful wincing of his was causing his youthful dimples to attack the singed cheeks and burnt lips. Even his eyelids were taking on a pink coloration, armes Ding..!
“Jeremy—agh! Come now, hold still ein moment, let me see—” Not good. Very not good, but at least the boy stopped and listened so he could get to relieving this epidermal disaster, “Scout.”
“What?” It was clear from that pout he was trying to sound tough, trying to match the older man’s displeased frown.
“Did you remember to apply your sun protection before heading out?”
“Well… no.” Scout shuddered. “Ya know I hate that stuff. It makes me all greasy… and it takes so long ta put on—”
“And it prevents you from coming back looking like a beetroot!” The medic growled before letting out a heavy sigh, “Sheisse… this is not going to be pretty in a short time. You need to let me treat it right now or most of it here and here are going to blister…”
“Bl-blister?” Scout’s red face switched right away to an expression of revulsion and terror, “Even… on my face?”
“Especially your face, from vhat I’m seeing,” the medic had leaned in closer, cringing hard at the harsh dryness that was setting in on the high points of the boy’s facial topography. “I wouldn’t worry about your vanity, though. It’s when zhose blisters start breaking open, leaking pus and fluid, and zhe peeling—”
“Euuuuyyuck—c’mon, that’s enough!” Scout half-gagged, “Just do what you hafta do to fix me, please!”
“Ja,” Dr. Ludwig beckoned the Scout to follow him to an examination cot close by before turning on his heel to pick through the mixture of very mad science and very mundane substances in the supply box on the counter. The Scout swallowed hard as the medic came up with a mystery implement that looked a little too much like a cheese grater before he grunted and tossed it aside for the much more harmless jar of clear gel that had been stuffed behind it.
“Alright, Herr Scout.” Ludwig aimed his most genuine grin at the boy to reassure him. “I’d like you to remove your shirt and pants, bitte.”
“What?”
“Take them off, junge. They’re going to be in the way of applying zhis aloe gel—”
“Awww, man—you’re gonna rub different goo on me?!”
“It’s gel. But yes! It’s going to cool zhose burns and help moisturize and repair what’s possible—urf! Scout! You almost knocked my glasses off, schweinhund!”
“Eugh, eww! Ack—and it’s freakin’ cold! OW! And it still hurts! Nononono—quit touchin’ me with it!”
“Dumkopf, I am trying to help you!”
The fact that the Scout was the youngest of the mercenary troop was painfully obvious as negotiations (and in retaliation, bedside manner) deteriorated; Jeremy had tensed to hop up and make a dash for the exit, forcing Dr. Ludwig to resort of “hands-on” measures for when a patient was not helping him help them. The medic was able to pin their team’s jackrabbit with an arm looped around his torso, catching the boy’s arms tight against his ribs to stop him prying the doctor off or keeping the free hand attempting to apply gel away. But as skinny as he was, pain from the mostly unsoothed burns gave a burst of adrenaline strength—and combined with his natural determination made Scout a very difficult catch.
Ludwig hissed with effort just to keep the boy contained. Even if he managed to get the scratchy tank-top off and significant surface area of the burns coated, this was not going to work. Every wriggle was just creating more friction—more damage and inflammation—just as fast as the topical aloe was reducing it.
“ACK—Scout! Did you just bite me?” The medic yanked his hand back, shaking it to dispel the sensation of human teeth indenting hard against his knuckles.
“And I’ll do it again, ya bastard—rk!”
The Scout had to stop for breath, winded by the medic finally losing the kid gloves and slamming him down onto the cot. The medic also took a breather, using his much greater weight to pin the youngster down and discourage more escape attempts.
“Owww…”
“Huhh… sheisse…” The doctor shot a half-hearted glare down at the poor contrary dumbass trying to squirm free and razing his dermis with fiery nails of agony in the process. It was hard to stay that pissed off at the kid—especially when he was in such a state. “Okay… hase… I zhink… we should try something else.”
“Please,” Jeremy whimpered, “An’ get offa me. I’m freakin’ dyin’ here..!”
“Vhen I get off you,” the medic’s voice was low, strained, and very done with the scout’s bullshit, “You are going to stay right here, ja?”
“Okay, okay! I swear.”
“Gut, kinder. You will stay here,” he shifted, preparing to relinquish his hold and stand in one fluid movement, “And I will figure out a different method to treat you… Since you are being such a baby,” he sniffed.
“Mnot bein’ a baby…” the boy grumbled, narrowing his eyes and huffing but thankfully staying limp and still on the cot. Getting up so soon would just rasp at his sunburns again.
“Maybe not—” Dr. Ludwig relented, eyes still darting about for signs of squirrely movement from his patient, “You are still being difficult. Mein hase…” the irritation in his face softened, “You know I’m only trying to heal you, ja? The more you fight me, the more pain you’ll be in. And as bad as zhat it for you, it’s also unpleasant for me.”
“I know…” Jeremy pouted again, gingerly raising his arms, experimenting with getting his shirt off as comfortably as possible and inhaling sharply as even that failed to be very doable. “Ugh… It’s just… I can’t stand that stuff there. I just like… turn inside out if I touch it. It’s so sticky and gross. My own hands hurt just thinkin’ about tryin’ to do it myself.”
“Hmm…” The medic’s eyes glistened in thought like the lenses of his specs. “So topical aloe upsets your tactile issues?” Eyes narrowed, “And I assume so does the sunscreen?”
“Yeah, like… any skin goo.” Jeremy shot the medic a pleading look, “Isn’t there a pill version of th’ stuff? Or like… does it still work if ya drink it?”
“An… ingestible version of aloe vera? Vell, yes,” Dr. Ludwig blinked. “It’s quite healthy, actually—well, wizzout the preservatives and the latex in the topical form. The pure form is much more like watery sap zhan gel.”
“Couldn’t I have that, then?”
“Ja…” Jeremy had missed those enigmatic signs of seriously bizarre ideas turning the gears in the mad doctor’s head out of hope for avoiding any and all dreaded cold goo. “Yes… yes, I zhink you can have zhat. Hmm..! I believe I have some in my other supplies…
“Aheh, and I will have to borrow a piece of equipment from Dell for zhis.”
Mention of the other mad scientist should have set off the alarm bells. But, stinging all over and full of hope for relief, it did not.
Not yet!
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Jeremy waited in anxious, sore silence for a few minutes for the medic to return from rummaging in the larger storage and ducking over to the Engineer’s workshop to borrow a something. And, at first, the Scout assumed this “something” was the odd little juicer-like device he had balanced inside a largish beaker next to several chunks of fresh aloe leaves he had produced, and not the small but still conspicuous gun-like object poking out from his white coat’s breast pocket.
“Here ve are! I just have to liberate the juices from the latex-y bits and it vill be ready…” Ludwig set his items up and began skillfully feeding the aloe into the juicer, squeezing out the clear and far less gloopy insides from the green, spiny skin and its underlying yellowish latex layer. Jeremy watched it collect in the beaker—somewhat disappointed when all those hunks of the healing plant only filled it up about an inch deep.
“Hey, uh… doc,” Scout winced as he finally managed to disentangle his aching shoulders and arms from the fabric menace he’d been wearing. “’S that gonna be enough of the stuff? I got burnt kinda… all over, uh…”
“Hm? Oh ja,” the medic tilted his head, swishing the fluid a bit contemplatively, “I could alvays dig out some more, but, eheh, we also don’t vant it to be too much.”
“Oh… I guess, yeah.” Scout hadn’t the attention at the moment to be puzzled by that concern. Maybe it was a dosing thing. But he’d said it was safe to eat… or, uh, drink more like. As safe as putting on skin. He didn’t know—he assumed it was important and heck, he wasn’t the doctor here.
“Alright—down ze hatch—”
Jeremy’s jaw dropped as he watched the medic give the aloe juice a final swish before tipping the beaker back and slurping the entire contents of his treatment. He had a second to blink and try to speak, almost able to form a surly “What gives?!” before the medic set the beaker aside and his hand moved up to draw the gizmo straight from a sci-fi superhero comic from his pocket before stepping closer to level it at the young patient at point-blank range.
“Very curious taste…” The doctor was oblivious to the Scout being speechless with fright at suddenly being at “gun”-point; he gave a mostly neutral little hum, licking a bit of residue from his upper lip. “A little citrusy… veird aftertaste, though. Don’t zhink it’s going on my list of favorites. Now…” Scout watched Dr. Ludwig’s trigger finger begin to tighten in slow motion, “…your turn—hold veeeeery still.”
Jeremy had expected a gunshot, but he was blasted instead with a brilliant flash and dull electrical crackle not unlike the noise of one of Dell’s work-in-progress teleporters. Something had hit him since he felt like he was falling back. Wait, no? He was still sitting upright. Something was fucky with his depth perception—the medic seemed to be getting farther and farther away. There was a queasy lurch as he suddenly sensed his own body as oddly light, the cot’s padding beneath him firmer as if no longer depressed by his sitting on it.
From disturbingly high above him, Dr. Ludwig leaned closer—watching with a look of powerful intrigue. Scout breathed faster and tried to push himself to his feet and off the cot. He wobbled upright, but—well, that also wasn’t right, he was still so far below the medic. And he wasn’t standing on tile, but balancing on a spongier, softer footing. The… the cot?
How did he get up on top of the cot like this?
“Zhis size should do,” the medic’s voice murmuring from directly overhead made him jump, and he craned his neck up to see Dr. Ludwig looming massively over him, the device set aside and a gargantuan hand reaching up to adjust his glasses. “Vell, hase, how do you feel after that? No sharp pains, no headache..?”
“N-no, b—wh—” At a loss, the Scout panned around and his stunned synapses finally cobbled together what had just happened: The cot stretching like a vinyl-coated rooftop, his own crumpled shirt laying like a collapsed circus tent next to him, the older man towering as if over a hundred feet tall… “Did you shrink me?”
“Ahah—zhis alternate treatment really wouldn’t work if I didn’t, ey?” the medic chuckled, his voice feeling ten times more booming and resonant to the Scout’s new tininess. The giant medic’s gaze shifted down to the youngster’s similarly-shrunken running sneakers, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Could you remove your shoes, bitte?”
“Wha—why?” A tingle of dread began to creep up the boy’s spine, and his feet started to automatically sidle him back and away from the doctor.
“Junge, even the cleanest-looking shoes have… ugh! Zhe point is I know what is growing on the bottoms of shoes, and I want this to be as hygienic as it can be.” The colossus shuddered before letting a friendly countenance return, “Come on… If you are not being a baby, then I shouldn’t have to do it for you!”
“H-hey—get your hands away! I mean it!” The scout scurried back another few steps—now just a few inches—as Dr. Ludwig slowly reached his way, index finger and thumb pinching towards him playfully, “What’re you gonna do, doc?!”
“Immerse you in zhe aloe treatment,” he chirped in reply. Scout blinked. Twice.
“Uhhh… but you drank it.”
“Ja.” Medic reached with his off hand, sneaking it around the Scout’s side while he was still mentally grappling with what this implied. “Now come here, junge, and let me help you.”
“Rrk! W-waitwaitwait—” Jeremy protested the moment the two fingers and thumb clasped around his relatively unburnt torso, the one place he could be grabbed that wouldn’t scourge the poor kid with more needles of pain. Despite how gently the doc was applying force as his feet left the cot’s surface, Jeremy could not get any purchase to worm out to freedom, no matter how he pulled or pried. “Please, doc, wait..!”
Detecting the whimper in the tiny patient’s voice, Dr. Ludwig’s smile fell a fraction and he hesitated with a sigh. “Calm down, mein Freund, zhis is not going to harm you—”
“Couldn’t you just…” Scout’s gaze frantically shot around for any other option, landing on the empty beaker (which was now as large as one of the rooftop watertanks on base to him), “—stick me in that? With the burn stuff?”
“Hm, nein, with how much I’d need to fill it to immerse all your burns, there’s a real risk you could drown…” The medic frowned and lightly shook his head, “Zhis way will take far less aloe, and I can make sure you have some air to breathe. At your current mass, your metabolism shouldn’t need much!”
Medic’s other hand crept forward, pinching onto one of Scout’s doll-sized running shoes. It took Jeremy by surprise enough that his reflexive kick and a light tug caused it to slip off.
“Ah…” Medic examined the miniscule sneaker with a raised brow, “Oh… I vill need to talk to Dell about how to fix zhis later.”
And no matter how much Scout’s renewed panic let him fight, the inexorable strength of the behemoth doctor could not be denied and he managed to catch and tease off the other sanitary hazard. Setting both shoes aside by the preposterously mis-matched size shirt, it was clear to Scout that he was trying the medic’s patience again. But it seemed worth it, especially now, not to be…
Aw, crap—medic was lifting him up to his face. Jeremy yelped and shot out one leg like a piston, somehow landing a hit square on the tip of Ludwig’s unique and prominent nose. He knew he’s fucked up as the giant grunted, recoiled—and then returned to fixing his menacing attention back on his miniature comrade. Scout gulped, ineffectually with how dry his mouth had gone and ducked his head as if to hide from that sinister and very irate glare.
And—ohhhhh… crap. There was the eye twitch. And worse, with eyes still simmering with madness, Dr. Ludwig’s lips tugged apart slowly, baring his pearlescent teeth in a humorless grin.
“Scout,” His huge voice wavered with retrained rage, “You are being very bite-able right now.”
“D-doc, h-hey, I didn’t mean it—” From this close to the medic’s jaws, the thought was terrifying. Scout’s legs now hung weakly, unable to muster the nerves since they’d been jello-ified by fear, as he finally comprehended just how small he was now—how easy it would be for the doc to actually fit him in his mouth. It wouldn’t matter how much he struggled—if the medic could get him in his mouth, he could definitely get him down his throat, “Please—please—just don’t do this. I-I don’t wanna be eaten!”
By just a few notches, the fiery temper cooled in the medic’s expression. Now he just looked exhausted with the struggling, his crowsfeet creasing more obviously as he let out a huff of breath (that unintentionally ruffled through the Scout’s short, sandy-brown hair).
“See, zhis is exacty why I’m doing it like zhis” The doctor’s soft laugh jostled the limp little patient, “Zhis way, you von’t be able to bolt mid-treatment as you are consistently guilty of doing!”
“D-doc, I-I’ll hold still, okay? Even if you use that nasty cold goo, just please don’t—”
“No more arguments,” and with that, the giant’s mouth opened up into a cavern of slick, pink flesh and immaculate teeth. And, as Scout’s wide eyes pierced through the darkness, the softly pulsing, muscular pit of a waiting gullet. Jeremy shrieked and desperately clung to the massive fingers he’d been trying to escape until now as he was lowered inside. His sunburnt legs tucked up on touching the firm but weirdly velvety texture of a tongue as long as he was tall. But of course, there was no getting out. His wrapped hands were dislodged from their last hope of pulling himself back up with just a quick flick of the medic’s hand.
“Doc!” His small voice echoed around the surrounding oral cavity, and he couldn’t stop himself from slipping and sliding against the living surfaces as soon as he tried to grip on. His space was suddenly and drastically limited at Ludwig closed his jaws back together—loosely—just in case the poor hase was still trying to hold onto some of his teeth. It wouldn’t do at all to end up breaking a bunch of fingers just to soothe a bad sunburn.
He did hope his body temperature wasn’t irritating the boy’s damaged skin; he could taste largely salt and grit, and as he flexed his tongue upwards to wrangle the squirming form he noted the sunburned areas were radiating some heat even into the already hot interior of his mouth. Best not to draw this out, then.
Well, if the little patient would cooperate a bit more. His first attempt to swallow was met with Jeremy throwing his hands out wide, as his legs and most of his torso was squeezed and sucked down into the start of the giant’s throat—palms planting squarely against spots dangerously close to the doctor’s mild gag reflex triggers. Ludwig resisted the urged to choke and cough—but the Scout still gained about an inch of ground and stretched out to grasp weakly around the doctor’s tongue.
Good—clear of his back molars. The doctor pressed more insistently with his tongue, which betrayed the boy’s grip as it pushed and shifted, and the medic felt (and heard) the sharp little noise of panic, and the writhing figure sinking back satisfyingly past his glottis. He exhaled in relief—the hard part was over—and he squinted as he gulped harder against this living and relatively large lump in his throat.
Scout’s discomfort wasn’t so much physical—aside from the spike of claustrophobia that being softly constricted in waves by squishy, unyielding esophagus brought on. He just about had room to hyperventilate, especially as he felt briefly pressed tighter by a bassy, regular pulse. Past the heart—and halfway down. This was freaking unbelievable. One of his own team had just swallowed him whole—sure he knew the doc was crazy, but he didn’t think he’d go this crazy. Especially not towards someone he claimed to care about. Scout wasn’t always happy about having to see his doc, but he knew it was his job and more so it was his calling—and every time the medic had finished a particularly dire check-up on the boy wearing a tired smirk, handing his a sucker candy like he was his beloved but deeply frustrating brat son, finally going back to using that little nickname, “hase”, instead of gritting out his full legal name. He had to admit he always believed Dr. Ludwig did care.
A few seconds of peristalsis later and Jeremy felt his feet, then legs suddenly have room to wiggle apart. The tight upper entrance to the doctor’s stomach cinched around Scout’s chest for a moment, then he heard the echoing grunt and third hard swallow from the giant that finally deposited the youngster full inside the pouch-like space. Not much space, but enough he naturally slid into a sitting posture with half-bent knees, sloshing into the pool of mostly medicinal-smelling clear liquid. Immediately he tried to grapple with the soft, heavily-wrinkled walls and push himself back up with feet planted in the deepest part of the medic’s gut. The sphincter he’d been forced through was now hopelessly sealed shut—and the stomach’s walls were occasionally mobile—drenched in the same stuff that was splashing around his knees. He slipped backwards unceremoniously, cushioned by the interior of the doctor’s belly but still resulting in him scrabbling back upright soaked in the mix of aloe vera and swallowed saliva. Panting for breath and trying to pull himself together, he finally found a way to sit still.
It was dark in here. And… surprisingly full of ambient noise. The regular throb of the medic’s heartbeat formed the low background, with a dull whoosh of lungs expanding or deflating during any particularly deep breaths. And from even lower than were Scout sat, at random, a guttural rumble or a quick squelch and gurgle as the doctor’s portion of their shared team breakfast continued its fourteen-hour journey. His own guts clenched as the horrified thought shot into his head that he was simply waiting in line to be next. And unlike waffles or hashbrowns, he would have to sit, conscious, trapped, for the giant’s insides to get around to it already.
There was no further point in being afraid anymore; no, now his predicament was suddenly making him very angry.
“Hmm..!” Dr. Ludwig meanwhile had perked up at the new series of strange stimuli; he had been curious whether or not he’d be able to feel the shrunken patient’s presence, and now his questions were overwhelmingly answered! Wunderbar—this meant they had another reliable line of communications in case either of them had difficulty hearing the other. One hand tucked slowly into the front of his white coat, probing with a few fingers against where the stomach was jigsawed in place inside the abdomen, just about in the middle, above the pancreas, below the extremities of the lungs and diaphragm…
“Well… let’s see…” With a thoughtful look on his face, the medic decided upon finding a place to settle until Scout’s treatment was sufficiently enough done to cough him back up. His tread was light on the way to his desk in the next partitioned area, easing down into the creaky chair, resisting the instinct to giggle at the very blatant wriggling and pressure pushing out from every direction of his core, “Jeremy? Can you hear me from in zhere?”
“Yeah I can f*&#in’ hear ya, ya sick sonofab%!#h! You friggin’ $*#&^ @!*#% I bet ya %&^@ with your ?%#*, ya freakin’ jerk!”
“Huoh—junge—” Ludwig blinked. The younger man rarely used this kind of language (his mother distinctly disapproved), and the shocking tirade was paired with a sharp jolt to his innards that was strong enough to cause a twinge, “Zhat was uncalled-for. Please just calm down and let zhe aloe vera soak in—in half an hour you will feel much better, I assure you—uuf!”
Hm. Well, that was a problem with this strategy—vulnerability. The Scout’s legs were still proportionally strong at his size, and he definitely had a near-infinite source of weak spots surrounding him to choose from.
“Herr Scout,” he coughed, then added just a tint of threatening playfulness, “If you kick me one more time, vhen it is time to let you out you will be taking zhe natural exit.” The doctor grimaced and chuckled, “And you do not vant that.”
The embarrassing threat seemed to do the trick; Jeremy’s small form went rigidly still and didn’t dare to so much as stretch out a leg, in case it was interpreted as another attempt at booting the medic’s insides. For a moment, the unruly patient said nothing; Ludwig exhaled with relief. No need to sacrifice an ulcerless stomach lining for the hase to get his healthy hide back.
“W-wait, doc…” Jeremy’s voice picked up again—a confused peep, “You’re gonna let me out?”
“Ach, dummes Ding—of course! I’m not letting you stay in zhere longer zhan needed,” he snorted, “Not wizzout paying rent, at least.
“Vhat—did you think—” A flash of concern, mixed with hurt, shifted across his face and drained the usual humor from it, “Did you think I vas meaning to just eat you?”
“…I mean, uhh…” The Scout ducked down sheepishly, causing a soft squish and a swirl of movement in the pool of fluid.
“Hase, I vould never willingly harm you!” The massive heart thumping over Scout’s head sped slightly before the resonant, wounded-sounding assurances reached him, “Do you not trust me, after years of taking care of you? I operated on your heart, Jeremy. You offered to be first in line right after Misha!
“Vhen you were knocked from zhat water tower and concussed, vhy did you keep stumbling around back to me for the night?
“Anyone else could have kept an eye on you, but you just vouldn’t hear it. You begged me to. Even… ach, no—especially with your head scrambled like zhat you must have trusted me, ja?”
“Doc, I, ah—” The Scout recoiled from the sudden soft tightening of the stomach walls around his shoulders, “—this is kinda different, y’know?”
“Yyyes… It is unorthodox,” the medic admitted, “But still for your own good. And much less dangerous zhan a full heart transplant!”
“It was kinda hard to tell this time…” Now he was mumbling, almost guiltily, despite how terribly reasonable his terror was. Above him, he felt the deep rush of the medic’s lungs stop, mid-inhale, holding for a second or so.
“…Oh.”
“Y-yeah…” Scout managed a weak laugh, “Ya almost scared th’ crap outta me.”
“Oh please don’t—not here.”
The sudden frantic edge to the giant’s voice broke through the veil of disbelief and doom about the scenario for the younger man, and he broke into a barely-controlled snicker. Caught off guard, the Scout continued into a strained laughter that finally trailed off.
“But seriously—I ain’t gonna die, right?”
“Nein, Scout. I vould not allow it!”
“…You’re sure?” Jeremy tried to peer around the near-total blackness inside his teammate’s body, dubious as another low gurgle sounded from deeper below, “I know I ain’t a doctor, but I got an idea of what happens when ya swallow things…”
“Ah—” The medic brightened slightly, folding his hands over his belly as he leaned back a notch. He was still rather jarred by the miscommunication, but he did love infodumping about anatomical facts, and doing so would hopefully relax them both, “—Do you zhink I am full of battery acid, mein freund?”
“I’d believe it th’ way you go through the burgers,” Scout rolled his eyes.
“Hohoho!” The doctor shook his head, “Vell, I assure you zat unlike a burger, alive and unchewed as you are, human gastric acid does not exist in a concentration that could do damage after even a couple hours of exposure. Especially not since I have diluted mine a great deal with aloe juice.”
“And you are only going to be inside zhere until the aloe is absorbed mostly. Maybe only… twenty minutes?” He furrowed his brows in calculation, “Up to forty, at zhe most. Well within the time frame of safe exposure.
“Speaking of… it has been about five minutes now. How does your sunburn feel?”
Jeremy paused, his mouth open to reply, but instead his eyes widened a bit as he processed the question. Lifting his arms as much as the limited space allowed, he couldn’t help but notice how his beet-red elbows were forced to press past the wet topography of rugae. And now, the contact barely stung; to this from the slightest graze with a finger flaring up a white-hot map in his senses exactly where the charred nerves were being set off. In fact, he hadn’t been bothered by the pain, or the heat, or the nasty intensity of aridness that had shrunken his reddened exterior around muscles and joints—like he was wearing something several sizes too small. Not since being dunked in the medic’s bizarrely-refreshing stomach contents.
“Actually…” Scout cautiously readied to run a finger over the brick-hued stretch of his lower arm, bracing for agony. Oof—well, it was still pretty sore under pressure like this, “It’s kinda… not so intense now.” And this had only been five minutes. The boy’s slim shoulders slowly unhitched from their “fighting for his life” tenseness. “Ain’t all dried-out an’ crispy-feelin’ now, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, zat’s a good sign!” Dr. Ludwig chirped then half-stifled a small belch before stopping to re-swallow a little pocket of fresh air, “Es tut mir leid, hmf. Ah, and make sure to duck your head in it every so often so it contacts your facial burns. I’m still a bit vorried about those blistering up—nasty place for an infection…”
“Oooookay, got it doc. Just… we don’t need to go into detail with th’ infection stuff, eh…” Scout winced before doing as asked. Despite being a balmy, bathwater-like temperature the swilling aloe felt vaguely cooling at first on his scorched cheeks and nose as he plunged down into a more horizontal position, letting his upper body stay under a few seconds before popping back up. He wiped with the back of his thumbs just enough that the stuff wouldn’t get in his eyes. What discomfort this caused was… dull. Almost nothin’. Not even a big deal, next to what else he’d been through.
“Sorry I kinda jumped to th’ wrong conclusion there…” Scout sighed, leaning back against the cushioning wall of pulsing flesh.
“Zat’s alright, Scout. I am far more sorry for letting you think you could be in danger,” The medic tilted his head, eyes narrowing, “Misha has been on my back more. About… vorking on being more open and transparent?”
“Big guy’s usually right.”
“Ja, he is,” warmth returned to Dr. Ludwig’s tone. Jeremy’s reduced mass was now shifted, feeling like it was weighing heavier on the interior of his belly. Looser. Calmer. It was a startlingly comfortable sensation, not quite like the pressure of fullness after a meal and also not quite like the passive trade of heat and energy that a solid hug brought on. Both together, it was as if his body was somehow aware of how it was cradling his stubborn little friend in the most trust-dependent way. For both of them.
Jeremy was just happy to be alive—especially with skin that was feeling increasingly less like everything touching it was a razor-blade. And now that he was here, he was surprised at himself for how much he wasn’t disgusted by his situation. Helped that the medic’s guts didn’t seem all that gross (and the fresh, botanical smell of aloe certainly helped).
A quick soak—and a quicker unshrinking—and he’d be on his way to a normal tan again. He just hoped the unshrinking process would also work on his sneakers.
Those things had been expensive lil bastards…