Please note: I do not own TF2, nor will I ever have any sort of ownership over TF2. Don't think this little disclaimer is necessary, but I'm doing it anyways.
'Twas the night before Smissmas, a quarter to ten
And an unusual calm settled onto the town.
As the snow fluttered down, and fell to the ground
The sounds of life had all but piped down.
Stockings, red stockings, and a singular mitt,
Presents stacked high under trees brightly lit,
The houses outside, were slathered in snow,
While their Christmas lights gave off a soft gentle glow.
And it was on this one particular night,
A group of nine men had been granted a stay.
In a small lonely house at the edge of the town
To keep danger they bring with them far, far away.
Not often were they known to stay silent for long,
As the nine men of Teufort were used to the songs
The songs of battle, of war and of death
It'd be hard to believe they ever stopped to rest.
But going for long without putting a stop
Could get anyone human to instantly drop.
As the sun retired beyond the horizon
And darkness draped over the winter night sky,
The cozy small cabin of nine mercs from Teufort
Began to grow quiet as time slipped by.
The Scout, tucked safely away in his bed,
As dreams of grandeur danced in his head.
The Soldier, laid on the couch, snored loudly
Dreaming the dreams of an maniac proudly.
And as for the Pyro, he'd left without a trace
Gone in the blink of an eye.
The only hint that he'd been there at all
Was a single balloonicorn floating on by.
The Demoman laid on the counter,
Passed out from one drink too many.
The Engineer, asleep in his chair,
Drained from working more than plenty.
Tucked away in her bed, Sasha grew cold
Hours after her handler relinquished his hold.
The Heavy, beside her, wrapped in all red,
Sleeping so soundly in his cozy little bed.
Draped over his work, though his body was well
In his dreams, the Medic stood in hell.
The Sniper relaxed in his rugged camper van
Enjoying the rare moment of silence at hand.
And the last of the mercs, the frenchman, the Spy,
Smoked out on the porch as Smissmas was nigh.
The miners of Upward departed for home
The nighttime desert dwellers began to roam
And as the motors of Turbine came to stop
A brawl was brewing high up top.
Claus against Nick,
Saint against Saint.
The spirits of Christmas
Both of red paint.
One for the spirit of holiday cheer
The other, the spirit of childhood fear.
The toymaker, the boy breaker
The giver, the taker.
Santa was stronger
Old Nick was faster.
The lords of Christmas,
Amateur against master.
Snow flew up into the cold night sky,
Reindeer went wild, bells flew awry.
Blow after blow Saint Nick did land
But Santa refused to fall by his hand.
Neither was willing to give up their ground
Bashing and crashing up against their foe.
It seemed as if things wouldn't change at all
Then one of them faltered, and time seemed to slow
The king of the north swung with all of his might
Sending his foe off into a dangerous plight.
Recovering quickly, he returned fists a' swingin
Barely missing his foe, his arms now stinging.
Swinging his deer skull into Santa Claus' gut
Old Nick gained himself a moment to rest.
And as he paused to catch his breath,
The two rose again, to try to best.
Blow after blow, they did exchange
A brawl of the saints, a thought truly strange
The two men battled off into the night
To all who beheld t'was a spectacular sight.
And as they fought, arose such a clatter
Though no one came to see what was the matter.
For not one was awake, except for a girl
One who wandered the streets in the snow
Stripped of her family, her power, her home
Left with nothing but her jacket, and soul.
They say you don't know what you have till you've lost it
And this girl knows this to be true.
While most children wished for toys and for games,
The girl longed for comfort since her life'd gone askew.
Before, she held the whole world in her hands,
From her home in the desert, to far-off foreign lands.
And while she was fine as she would pretend
All she had ever wanted was a friend.
And then, they came,
And took everything from her.
Her father, her power
Out to the streets, they did drive her.
Now, all alone, as the cold stung her cheeks,
She thought of her fruitless hunt for love, and turned weak.
She thought of the men who had left her to die,
And a sliver of anger formed in her mind.
As anger often goes, the anger did grow
It grew from a sliver, to a whisper or so.
The whisper took hold, and continued to boil
And it grew from a whisper to a trickle, then a spring.
From that small spring, the anger did flow,
It grew and it grew till it took shape of a thing.
The thing let loose a roar filled with rage
And the rage filled the thing till it couldn't be caged.
The spring fueled a stream, and the stream became a river,
And to think this had all started with a small sliver.
The river welled up inside the girl's head,
Till it lost all its form and turned to a sea.
A red sea filled with hate, with rage and with fury
A sea that could flood the entire country.
And the thing, in morphed to a gargantuan beast,
That dived into the sea, and then it did feast
On the rage, the fury, the hate and the pain,
The girl did fill her sea with till it couldn't contain.
And the girl did shout, and cry out
Then in her wrath, she swore on that day,
To stop at nothing to find the nine men
Who had ruined her life, and make them pay.
As all became calm once more
The night was quiet, save for a few snores
A dispute was settled, a victor did emerge
Watching the other fly off, in an upward surge.
Victorious again, Claus stood tall
Old Nick fled the scene of the brawl.
With a sigh, old North gazed below him
Watching the town sleep away.
There was nothing that remained to be done
So he hastily hoped in his sleigh.
A laugh, and smile, with a sparkle in his eye
With a ripple in the air, the sleigh began to fly.
In his coursers seemed to reignite a flame
As he called out to each of them by name;
"Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer and Vixen,
"On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Dunder and Blixem!
The air shimmered with magic, the cold seemed to recede
The jolly old man laughed out merrily
The bells strung on the reins of the deer
Shook in the wind, they sang out verily.
With a twinkle, and a ding, he shot out of sight
Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night!