It Was A Monday
A Team Fortress 2 fan fiction
Summary: Inspired by Shy-Light's wonderful image of the same name. My version of the back-story.


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It wasn't often that Pyro went through the trouble of cooking.


Sure, having a pyromaniac around flames wasn't usually the best idea outside of battle, but it was the general consensus that he was the best cook on the team. Thing was, the days he ended up cooking usually ended up more than a little... Off. No one knew why, but for some reason, whenever Pyro got it in his head to make a meal, the team dynamic went haywire. Well, more so than usual.


So he really shouldn't have been all that surprised when a fight broke out around the breakfast table the morning he decided to make pancakes.


"That's it, you Kraut bastard! I'm gonna knock your teeth so far down your throat you'll be shitting fillings for weeks!"


Soldier tackled Medic out of his seat, both men crashing to the ground in a furious, cursing heap. The German did his best to fight off his fanatical teammate, pounding on the man's broad shoulders for all the good it did.


"Lassen Sie mich allein, sie Dummkopf!"


Pyro barely dodged the tumbling mass, carefully clutching the plate of pancakes close in an attempt to keep everyone's breakfast from getting ruined. However, he didn't take into account Medic's newly vacated chair skidding across the floor. It slammed into his legs, and the plate went flying.


"Nuuuu! Ev'yuns brkfst!"


The firebug spun around, desperate to at least try and rescue his hard work. Only to find it splattered all over the team's sharpshooter. Sniper just sort of stood there, syrup and half-melted butter dripping off his hat and down his face, a stunned expression upon his narrow features.


Back at the table, Engineer was attempting to break up the rather uneven fight taking place on the dining room floor.


"Now, fellas, can't y'all settle this more pragmatic- whoa there, Heavy!"


The laid-back Texan narrowly dodged his large Russian teammate, the big man's jaw set and his massive hands curled into fists as he came to his doctor-friend's aid.


"Unhand Doktor, leetle man!"


And everything simply degenerated from there.


Spy and Scout stood in the doorway, watching as Soldier screamed and attempted to fight off the enraged Heavy and keep his grip on the struggling Medic, who was being pulled out from under the pile by Engineer. Pyro was fussing over Sniper, trying to salvage as much of what remained of the team's breakfast as he could, much to the Australian's chagrin.


Scout turned to Spy.


"I am so not eating that, dude."


"Oui. For once, I agree."


The pair wandered into the kitchen, seeking out their own meal. Demoman wandered in a few moments later, Scrumpy in hand. For some seconds, the black Scotsman just stared bleary-eyed at the curious scene, the combination of his morning hangover and last night's lack of sleep slowing his comprehension. Finally, he blinked and gave his bottle of alcohol a long hard look, then shook his head.


"Ah'm goin' back t'bed..."