1 . Name: Lo @ 2012-05-17 07:44

First fanfiction I'm posting here. It was written at an absurd hour of the morning so there are probably loads of mistakes. It's could be considered crack, conceptually speaking, mostly on account of the machinima influence, but not in an adolescent "lol so randumb" way. I could say it's merely sprinkled with a fine dusting of crack. I have no idea what year I've managed to set it in. Nevertheless, enjoy.

---

Few things were unanimous on BLU's side of Doublecross. Medic constantly pestered Scout about his constant cola consumption, though the boy swore by his Bonk and drank as much of the monthly shipments as he could before anyone else could touch it. Heavy and Soldier's philosophies saw the two in an extended state of slightly aggressive debate-- Sun Tzu and Machiavelli could apparently shout louder than Plato and Karl Marx, though, so Soldier usually prevailed in these forums. Spy often climbed to whatever nest Sniper chose to hole himself up in only to insist in the most shit-eatingly mocking way that Sniper did no work whatsoever. This didn't lead to arguments between the two so much as it led to violence that left both parties covered in bruises and scratches. Really, the only BLUs who didn't seem to have any serious points of contenion with their teammates were Engineer (on account of his reclusion), Demoman (due to his everlasting inebriation), and Pyro (who might have had a bone to pick with his teammates, but it was a mumbled, hardly comprehensible bone).

There was one thing, however, that everyone could agree on: Pyro's music was completely obnoxious. It was unlike anything else any of them had ever heard. It didn't inspire feelings of nostalgia and patriotism like Engie's downhome country music could, nor was it as moving as Medic's opera or Heavy's rousing Russian classical. It didn't even cause cravings for baguettes, as Spy's love for accordion accompaniment often did to him and at least two other reticent members of the team. Pyro's music came in the evening as the sun went down, thumping and saccharine and fucking catchy, damn him. The mumbling maniac loved house music, and he loved to play it all night long. For Sniper and Engineer, this wasn't a problem. Engie worked in the basement, and Sniper slept in his van. They didn't have to deal with it as long as they stayed away from Pyro's room.

That unfortunately left the rest of the team to press their pillows to their ears and try to sleep through it. Few of them had learned to do so. Every single one of the affected parties had tried to convince Pyro to turn it down to no avail. If they came to scold him in the evening, he couldn't hear them. In the daytime he argued, wagging his finger at them and leaning right into their personal space. Soldier had even decked the poor pyromaniac once in frustration, knocking him unconscious and earning a righteous lecture from Medic about manners, teamwork, and not punching people in the head. Yet even the good doctor knew that the whole issue of Pyro's music was getting entirely out of hand. Just because Heavy and Demoman could snore through it didn't mean they all could. The team was losing sleep, and it was making life harder for every one of them when it came time to fight. He decided alongside the Spy that an intervention was in order.

Engie and Sniper wouldn't have any part of it initially, and had to be convinced and strong-armed into it, respectively. The grumbling, slightly bedraggled BLUs gathered outside of the room Pyro had all to himself at nine in the evening, many of them clad in pajamas save for the two unaffected parties as well as Medic and Spy. The whole hallway was thumping with bass, the team had to shout at each other to communicate anything. "How're you fixin' to have an intervention when he can't hear ya knockin'?!" Engineer bellowed.

"We are not going to knock!" Explained Spy, producing a screwdriver quite obviously taken beneath Engie's notice, and a hairpin from god-knew-where. Using these implements he proceeded to pick the lock on the door that kept a good deal many of them from simply barging in to put a stop to Pyro's music once and for all. The men formed a tight, curious throng around Spy as his hand closed on the doorknob. None of them had ever actually seen what Pyro's room looked like. They'd never seen him without his suit on, not even on the off hours. He never even took off his mask. Now, they were about to see exactly what was beneath the fire-and-expression-and-speech-retardant coating they identified Pyro by. Even Spy knew that he was about to open the door to a defining moment for the team. He glanced back over all of them, fighting a snicker at the dumb expressions on some of their faces. Finally, he pushed the door open.

If the door creaked, no one heard or cared. Each of them had to shield their eyes in the sudden onslaught of flashing, strobing light, but when their vision adjusted they found themselves equal parts mortified and impressed. The room was a veritable replica of a dance club, if a very tiny one; a dark space innundated with intense shifting lights. There was a very expensive sound system blocking the window, which had long since been covered over with a black plastic tarp after being shattered by the bass. Most of the furniture was shuffled into one corner of the room, leaving plenty of space for the lone being in the middle of it to dance ecstatically. "Fuckin' sweet!" Scout exclaimed somewhere close to Medic's ear. The team's collective gaze went to the jigging form of their mumbling comrade and remained there in something not unlike shock.

Pyro was still wearing his entire uniform, mask and all. The rubbery surface of it reflected the strobes that passed over him. He danced like no one was watching him, a blue glowstick in each hand as he bounced and flailed around his bedroom. It was notable that Pyro wasn't a bad dancer, not at all-- just a very energetic one. He didn't seem to notice that he had just been intruded upon, even though the flourescent lights from the hall were definitely disrupting the vibe in his little dance club. Ultimately it was Demoman who called his attention. The scotsman outright dropped his bottle of scrumpy, which rolled off into the hall, and threw his hands up in furious exasperation. "An' whot the bloody hell izzis? Have ye lost yer damn mind, Pyro?!" He roared. The other men actually parted around him. Engie wiped flecks of scottish spittle from his dome. That was one polish he didn't need. Pyro stopped dancing, standing stock still in the middle of the floor and staring at the mob intruding on his rave. Nobody could tell what he was thinking, but most of them were almost certain that he was unbelievably angry with them.

Spy, at the vanguard of the party, drew back. If Pyro was upset, they were probably going to get roasted. Respawn was turned off during the off hours, and frankly the Frenchman didn't fancy the idea of dying in a fire (as he usually did), especially if he wasn't coming back to do it again. Thankfully, Pyro did give his onlookers some indication of his mood-- a muffled giggle bubbled up out of his mask, and he clapped his gloved hands together excitably, bouncing on his heels. Several confused glances were exchanged. Pyro skipped over to his enormous stereo and turned the music down to the low hum they all would have preferred. He then trotted over to his team with arms open in welcome. Pyro ushered them into the room and shut the door behind them, plunging them into strobelit pseudo-darkness. "Yr crmm fuh drns miff me?" He asked pleasantly. Again, confusion reigned undisputed until Medic saw fit to translate. He'd learned to understand Pyro out of necessity.

"He vants to know if ve are here to dance viz him." He explained. Pyro's posture turned bashful as the doctor glowered at him. Medic didn't really realize how sternly his face was set, but Pyro knew that it meant he had done something wrong. Medic was scary to him. "Ve are not here to dance. Ve are here because you haf been playing zat verdammt music all night, every night, for an entire month." The German struggled with the 'th' sound so foreign to his mouth.

"Imph forry." Pyro tucked his hands behind his back, ducking his head in shame. "Iff frst... Mrchl Gruh nght! Dun yr grs lkh Mrch Gruh?"

"No, Pyro, ve do not like Michael Gray, especially when his music is keeping us avake night after night!" Medic wagged his finger like he was scolding a two year old.

"Why can you not listen to Tchaikovsky? Russian music iz very relaxing. Team could fall asleep to The Nutcracker!" Heavy insisted enthusiastically.

"The Nutcracker?" Soldier was outraged. "We don't need to hear any of that sissy Russian crap! A real man sleeps to the American national anthem and wakes to the William Tell overture!" The psychotic patriot stood at attention and began to belt out the former. "Ohhh say can you seeeeeee, by the dawn's early liiiight, wh--" Engineer shoved him, cutting off his off-key reinterpretation of a song they both loved.

"I'm about to crack dis here guy's nuts if he don't start keepin' it down." Scout grumbled, raising a fist in Pyro's direction. Medic shot him a chastening look, but it didn't have the same effect on the boy as on Pyro.

"Zere will be no cracking of nuts, no punching, no violence at all." Said the German. "Pyro, you are going to turn your music down, und you are not to play it loudly between eight in ze evening and noon. Are ve entirely clear?" Pyro drew a circle on the floor with the tip of his boot and murmured something even more unlikely to be understood than usual. "Vhat was zat, mein freund?" Medic pressed on.

"Ai dun wrrna." Pyro repeated. "Urf ai hrl un urn crndrfm." A ray of orange light passed over Medic's glasses, but it lent the effect of his eyes filling with fire momentarily. He placed his hands on his hips, drawing himself up in irritation and essentially looming over the shrinking figure.

"Vell? Vhat do you expect us to do for some peace und quiet?" His tone made it clear that he was almost out of patience.

"Drns miff me." The understanding was immediate and universal, warranting different reactions from the individual men. Heavy, Demoman, and Scout burst into laughter. Engineer and Sniper exchanged a glance and a rueful shake of the head. Medic and Spy alternated between gawking and sneering. "Ai fuffnt kiffin!" Pyro cried, and the laughter stopped immediately.

"Uh, you know what, mate? Hold on. I think we need to talk this ovah." Sniper mustered his patience and rounded up the team. "He really wants us to dance with 'im. Whatta we do?"

"I refuse. Nozing is worth my dignity." Spy said. Medic nodded in agreement.

"I don't dance." Minced Soldier.

"Ye don't know how." Said Demoman. "None of ye do. Only a Scotsman really dances."

"Not true. You try cossack dancing? Iz real dancing. No one dances like we do in mother Russia."

"Any of y'all ever tried the two-step? Ya ain't never danced until you've tried the good ol' Texas two-step."

"Learned some dances from the natives when I went to Madagascar. Pretty woild stuff." Sniper admitted.

"All of you are amateurs. If you weren't aware, the French invented formal dancing. 'Ave none of you ever performed une valse?"

"The French didn't invent the valtz." Medic argued.

"Wait, hold up, hold up." Scout interjected. He might have saved the whole matter from turning into a big fat argument had he kept his mouth shut beyond that point. "Dere's only one thing that I got from this whole convuhsation, and it's that you guys are all old as hell. Okay, maybe one other thing: I'm a better dancer than all of you." Eight voices erupted from eight mouths all at once, each fighting for dominance to insist that their dance was the best. Pyro looked on in confusion. No one had explicitly agreed to anything yet, but no one had really said no either. He really didn't know what to think, but he was sure of one thing: he hated it when the team argued. He stamped his foot, clenching his fists and finally raised his voice over the crowd.

"HUDDA!" He shouted, drawing the disagreemet to a screeching halt. All eyes were on him. "Irf wrr drr drs, wur grnna drr if mrr wr!" Everyone was taken aback to varying degrees. Pyro was normally very meek. He rarely ever contributed his opinion to any discussion, and almost never made demands. If he did, he phrased said demands more like pleas, which the team normally indulged. Something like this was unheard of from him. "Irm grnna hrch yr tr drns."

---

In a monumental feat of determination Pyro managed to get his teammates to form a circle on his dance floor. It was a little tight considering the room wasn't exactly designed with nine dancing men in mind, but they'd have to make do. Pyro was a fountain of happy laughter as he situated himself in the middle of the circle, looking over his comrades. A surprising number of them were taking it fairly well. Demoman and Heavy were grinning as they went over the finer points of jigging. Scout was already in motion despite the absence of music, though it wasn't totally clear if he was just fidgeting or actually ready to dance. Sniper had removed his hat and vest, and even Medic and Spy had reluctantly slipped out of their respective overclothes to roll up their shirtsleeves.

"Wrh wnns tr gr frrst?" Pyro asked. There was a pause devoid of obvious volunteers, but at length Demoman stepped forward. Pyro clapped for him, seeming pleased that not everyone hated his idea. He would try to be diplomatic either way-- no one would have fun if he dragged them too far out of their comfort zone. He asked Demoman to show him a jig, and the scotsman whooped with glee.

"Ye might wan'tae stand back, ladies. M'about tae show you how a true Scotsman dances." He announced. He could already hear the drone of the bagpipes in his head, though that may have just been the scrumpy. "Gimme a beat here!" He clapped his hands rhythmically until the group (excluding Soldier, who maintained a firmly cross-armed stance) caught on. The rhythm brought to mind his father's favourite song, and he immediately launched into a wild dance comprised of fast-paced steps, stomps, and short leaps. Demoman thought that it was kind of a wonder his father had been able to do this dance at all, being blind and whatnot, without levelling the whole house. Heavy seemed most enthusiastic about this, it was a little like his cossack dancing. Even Medic was pleased, though he was much more predisposed to ballroom dancing. It reminded him a bit of the traditional dances he'd seen during fairs and festivals.

It wasn't long before Heavy stepped in to join the dance. Everyone stepped back. Nobody could be certain that a man of such impressive girth would be able to dance at all, much less perform such a spry series of movements. Heavy couldn't perform the kicks and leaps that popularly defined cossack dance, but he surprised them by virtue of wide, sweeping footwork and controlled movements of the arms that lent motion to his dance. Demoman cheered him on, eventually giving up the floor to the Russian's very expressive dancing. Pyro hopped in place, still clapping his hands like an excited child. "Hudda!" No one knew exactly what he meant by that, but he sounded pleased. He stepped back into the circle, holding up his index finger to call for a pause. Heavy went panting back into the formation as Pyro went over to that massive sound system of his.

A moment's worth of tinkering went by before the speakers began to pump out a tune at a somewhat lower volume than they normally did. "Crmrr." He waved them forward, motioning specifically to Heavy and Demoman. He pointed to his feet, and proceeded into a routine that would have given the king of pop a run for his money. It was, like Heavy and Demoman's dances, extremely reliant on footwork. He made an honest effort at teaching the pair to t-step, moonwalk (Demoman caught onto this move so fast that Soldier had to withold a black joke), and do the Melbourne Shuffle. The lattermost of which drew Sniper into the routine with claims that nobody could actually do the Melbourne Shuffle unless they'd actually danced in Melbourne. This drew a few strange looks, but he justified himself with an honest effort to show them a proper shuffle. Shuffling turned into popping, and popping into locking where applicable. Even Scout took to these new moves-- they were more his pace than whatever jive turkey disco dance moves Sniper was busting. Even so, he would admit that the gawky bushman wasn't a half bad dancer either.

Heavy seemed to be over the moon about the whole matter of learning a new dance, but then again Heavy was an unexpectedly optimistic man who had an enormous amount of enthusiasm for everything, whether it was killing or dancing. Demoman danced with the same kind of reckless energy as Pyro thanks to the alcohol still sliding through his system. This left only Soldier, Engineer, Medic, and Spy standing off to the side. Pyro moved between his dancing teammates to them. "Huddahrf yr?" He gestured at them. Spy pretended to be suddenly fascinated by the chipped plaster on the wall to his left. Soldier didn't budge an inch. Engie rubbed his bald head and glanced elsewhere, leaving Medic to answer the question. "About me? Ah, vell, I cannot-- and do not-- do zose dances." The German managed sheepishly.

"Wrhl wrt drmfrs drr yr lhhk?"

"I prefer to valtz, like Herr Spy, but I don't zink zat is vat you are teaching here..." Medic actually got nervous when Pyro laughed and waved away the words good-naturedly. The shorter man placed his feet evenly apart, placing his hands on his hips. He nodded at Medic, who could only assume that he was supposed to follow suit. Pyro angled his hips to the left. The doctor hesitantly mimicked him. To the right, again he mirrored the movement. Pyro got the German doing a mild hip-shake, adamantly correcting him each time he lost the beat and showing him how to bend his knees for a smoother, deeper shimmy. Pyro obviously knew the whole album he was listening to, as he would regularly change up the routine during choruses and bridges; but not so much as to lose the good doctor's participation. Under his tutelage Medic became a master of the hip shake, learning how to get low when the song called for it-- stiffly at first, then with conviction. It was obvious that Medic was having a bit of fun. He wouldn't have been putting his back into it if he weren't, though he never would have otherwise admitted it. He sometimes enjoyed breaking the personal conventions he maintained.

This freed Pyro to move to Spy. He had to vie for the Frenchman's attention, as Spy was very good at pretending not to notice him. It wasn't until Pyro became visibly frustrated that the stubbourn gentleman finally cracked, deciding to indulge the poor beleaguered pyromaniac. Pyro instructed him to raise his arms slightly, telling him to find something to do with them. Spy decided to put them on his hips as Medic had done, expecting the same hip shake, but Pyro had something saucier in mind. "Yr drns srrsr?" He asked. It took Spy a moment.

"Salsa? Of course I dance salsa. Young ladies in Spain love such zings." He boasted, raising his chin. Not that he had danced the salsa with too many young ladies, much less Spanish ones. The closest he'd gotten was doing the horizontal tango with a woman in Italy. He made a mental note to go about seducing a Spaniard sometime in the future. Pyro nodded vigorously, gyrating his stout body to the beat. He tossed in a few claps, maybe to fool the Spy into thinking that he actually knew something about salsa dance. Spy looked at him incredulously, unsure whether or not to repeat such foolish motions, but he thought to himself that if anyone was going to look better gyrating like that, it was certainly him. He would do it with style, damn it, and when he did it was clearly enough for Pyro. Pyro looked to Engineer, who hastily made an effort to imitate what Demoman and Heavy were doing. His overall form was still a bit too folksy.

Pyro waved his finger at the Texan, tutting him audibly. "Hr drs yr srntry drns?" Engie blinked at him, dumbfounded.

"Well son, it don't dance at all." He responded, pushing his goggles up to his forehead. Pyro gave the sudden distinct impression that he was rolling his eyes.

"Hr wrrf yr srntry drns, ef irt cud?" This question seemed even stranger to the Engineer than the last. He couldn't even really imagine his sentry dancing. At last he shrugged, letting Pyro get to whatever abstract point he was attempting to touch on. "Lrk dff!" It was then that Engineer realized that if his sentry could dance, she would quite obviously do the robot. Engie didn't need much teaching, true to his nature he got the jist of it pretty quickly. It wasn't his kind of dancing, but it wouldn't kill him to try. Finally Pyro approached the stationary Soldier. He didn't know what exactly to do with the moody midwesterner, though at least Soldier was tapping his foot. Being that the Soldier wouldn't uncross his arms, Pyro did the only thing he could think of. He crossed his arms as well, and began a little shoulder shimmy. There was nothing else, no movement of feet or hips, just shoulders. It took him nearly fifteen minutes-- his shoulders almost ached at the consistent movement-- but Soldier soon succumbed to the rhythm, and those stiff, square shoulders started to move.

Pyro gave a shout of excitement, throwing his arms triumphantly into the air. He looked out over his kingdom, at his teammates all caught up in the motion he'd taught them. Demoman was by far one of the best dancers even as he stumbled and staggered in and out of moves, keeping perfect time with the music and making up some pretty original routines. Scout was getting experimental, beginning to attempt a kind of crude breakdance that, by the looks of it, he'd always wanted to try. His eyes were alight with a kind of energy that made his war face seem like a boi face. Sniper was clearly very comfortable in his Travolta routine, though given the variation in his moves it was likely that he'd seen every disco-related movie ever to crawl out of the 1970s. Still, disco and house had rhythms in common, and the Australian took to it easily. Heavy still danced mostly with his hands and arms, but he made it look passably good. He was a regular Tom Jones, that one. Medic was still moving those hips, dancing near Spy, who was borrowing moves from both him and Sniper. Spy danced with the confidence of a man who knew he could dance, whereas the doctor looked surprised that he could move like that at all. Even Soldier was still wiggling.

Finally, after a tremendous effort, Pyro had his wish. His friends were dancing with him. No one was arguing or squabbling or picking nits. Everyone was united, like on the battlefield, but now they were doing something peaceful and relaxing. He wished it could be like this every night. Everyone seemed at least mildly pleased. Pyro liked to think of the team as his family. It made him happy to see his family together, being happy too. The others probably would have called him childish for it, but it's not like they'd be able to understand him if he mumbled about how much joy this brought him. He just nodded and picked up his glow sticks, joining the party. It was really the best thing he could do. Together. Happy. Family.

---

The BLU team filed one by one out of Pyro's room in the early hours of the morning. Sweaty, exhausted, panting, disheveled, and occasionally exchanging sheepish glances, any onlooker might have thought that they'd just had a spontaneous orgy instead of a dance party. Once Pyro had bid them a chipper farewell, the men turned to one another to let an awkward silence resonate between them. Spy was the first to break it.

"Let us never speak of zis again."

"Agreed. I am as silent as ze grave." Medic chimed in.

"You'll take it to your grave if you ever mention this to anyone, yeah?" Said Sniper.

"Dancing is for pussies." Added Soldier.

"I don't think anymore needs to be said about what happened last night." Said Engineer with finality. The silence resumed. Nobody moved.

"Was good time." Heavy admitted.

"Same time next week?" Demoman said.

"Hell yeah!" Scout leaped into the air, immediately regretting it as his sore muscles screamed at him.