Pit-Trap: I do not own these characters, TF2, etc.

.

.

.

.

.

.

D is for danger-prone.

"You are so danger-prone."

"I'm what?" Scout frowned, glancing back towards Spy.

"Danger-prone," Spy repeated.

"It means yer prone ta gettin' inta danger," Engineer tried to explain. "Ya know, like dangerous things keep happenin' to ya."

"What?" Scout now scowled, turning completely around to glare at Spy. "I am not danger-prone!"

Spy snorted. "Yes, you are. Danger follows you everywhere," he said. "You get into trouble all zhe time."

"Considerin' our line-a work 'n' all, I would think danger comes with the job."

"Hmm…" Spy smirked, humming in thought. "Zat may be true, but you still manage to get into trouble outside our normal workday."

Engineer chuckled. "I'm afraid I have ta agree, Scout," he said sheepishly. "Danger does tend ta follow you around like a stray dog."

"Oh, yeah?" Scout now scowled at both of his fellow BLUs. "Name one time I got into trouble outside of a battle."

"Well there was zat one time with zhe pitfall," Spy noted as he pulled out a cigarette.

"I remember that," Engineer snapped his fingers.

"How the hell was I supposed ta know a pitfall was there?"

"Well eet was RED territory you were trespassing on," Spy raised an eye brow at the Bostonian.

"That-"

"What about that time with the RED Spy?" Engineer wondered aloud.

Scout screwed up his face in disgust at that memory. "Ya mean when he snuck into our base when I was in the infirmary?" he asked.

"Yep."

"That definitely doesn't count," Scout argued. "I was injured! And, hello, that rat snuck into our base!"

"Wnff aboph mph tinf wifff Mermphunf mph hwn hn murph infoo nyuh swnnf?" Pyro said as he rounded a corner, jumping into the group's conversation.

"That was Solly's fault!"

"That one was kind of an accident," Engineer piped up. "I'm mean, really, how was Scout supposed to know that of all things would happen?"

"Mph drinf wnnf mnnf foff Sulldnph, Myye gunff," Pyro pointed out.

"Still caused me more than a few 'eadaches," Spy snorted.

"Wow," Scout frowned, glaring at his fellow BLUs. "Standing right here, guys."

"Mph abnph mph tnm wiff mph snph?"

"Ah, that freaked everybody out. Put us all in danger it did."

"There was zat one time with ze 'orseless 'eadless 'orsemann."

"Mph snm phinf hanfph tff mph RNFF Scph."

"Still here, guys."

"So yer sayin' both the Scouts are danger-prone now?"

"Inf colph bee muh Scph phinng."

"Ah, yes. Zat would explain why-"

"Oh my god!" Scout interrupted loudly. "I am standing right here! And I am not danger-prone! All those things yous guys listed had probable causes for them happenin' to me! Causes I couldn't control! Jeez! An' you guys're just standin' here, grippin' like all that shit ya just listed off hap-"

"Vatch out!"

The warning from Medic came a bit late. A gurney carrying a screaming Soldier was flying down the hallway at an alarming rate, and headed right for the four mercenaries. Spy, Pyro, and Engineer quickly jumped out of the way, hugging the wall to avoid the path of fast approaching gurney. But Scout was too busy ranting to realize how close and quickly approaching the Solider-carrying gurney was. Pyro yanked him out of the way just in time to avoid being hit by the gurney. The four BLUs then watched as the gurney sped past them and down the hallway. A frustrated Medic ran after the gurney and Soldier, making sure to curse every two steps he took. He soon disappeared down the hallway as well.

Scout, Pyro, Engineer, and Spy looked down the hallway a second longer. Then, Pyro, Engineer, and Spy all snapped their heads to look smugly at Scout.

Scout twitched. "I could-a-"

"Danger-prone," Spy and Engineer said at the time.

"Mmm-hmm," Pyro agreed.

"Ugh…"

.

.

.

D is for die.

"So, Pyro," Scout walked next to his fire-loving teammate as all the BLUs headed back to the base. "How many times did ya die today, huh?"

"Mmm," Pyro looked thoughtful before snapping his fingers. "Forphy-enuff."

"Forty-eight?" Scout grinned. "Hey, that's a personal record, ain't it?"

"Mmm-hmm," Pyro said happily.

"Pffft, I was no where near my personal record," Scout said glumly. "I only died fifty-six times today."

"Awnf," Pyro cooed apologetically. "Yollnf dnf moph tomoruff."

"Yeah, I-"

"Are you two seriously," Spy cut in. "Keeping track of 'ow much you die each day and keeping personal records of 'ow many times you died zhe most?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Zat is zhe single most s-"

"How many times did ya die today?" Scout asked.

"Quoi?"

"How many times did ya die today?"

"You 'onestly think zat I keep track oh 'ow many times I die?"

"Uh-huh," Both Scout and Pryo nodded.

"…" Spy looked both taken aback and slightly offended at the same time, but after a moment eventually sighed and said, "Thirty-seven."

"Oohhh," Both Pyro and Scout said at the same time.

"That's real nice, Spy," Scout brought a hand up to pat Spy on the shoulder. "But tomorrow, try to die forty times."

"Wait," Spy looked even more taken aback now. "You two are keeping track of 'ow many times you die and trying to increase zhe amount of time you die in a battle?"

"Duh."

Spy narrowed his eyes. "Zat's being a bit counterproductive, don't you think? I would think you should be trying to die less."

"Pfft, what's the fun in that?" Scout grinned. "'sides, me an' Pyro still do plenty good at our jobs. I still get the Intel and Pyro still burns Spies to death."

"Mmm-hmm."

Spy just slapped a hand to his face.

.

.

.

D is for darts.

There was a dartboard in the BLU "living room" (as they lovingly called it). Sniper used it. Whenever he was bored or just needed to think, he would go to the living room and throw darts. It wasn't as fun as getting a headshot on a target, but it still passed the time or relieved his boredom. Getting bull's-eyes all the time wasn't all that bad either (being a sniper really helped with getting them and all). But because of that it was rare when he actually got one of his teammates to play with him, though. Sniper did get Scout to play a game of darts with him once.

Halfway through the game of darts, Scout finally realized why he was losing so badly.

.

.

.

D is for Demoman.

"I think he's dead."

"Hmm…"

"I mean, look at 'im! He hasn't moved in, like, a whole freakin' hour!"

"Mye dunnf…"

"Is he breathin'? Can ya tell?"

"Nnotf rrry."

"See? He's totally dead!"

"Wouldnph refonph tnnk hm mph hmf dnnf?"

"Respawn? Yeah, I guess…"

Both Pyro and Scout stood in the doorway of the living room. They were looking at the room's only couch, which held Demoman on its cushions. They were debating whether or not he was dead. The Scot had been lying there for well over an hour, in the same position! Demoman was facing away from Pyro and Scout, with his back to them. His face was pushed into the back of the couch. Pyro and Scout watched for a few more moments.

"Mueayb mph shnnf-"

Pyro was interrupted by a loud snore. Demoman rolled over and right off the couch, landing on the ground with a thump. "Uuhh... 'm a grass… a' th' pain train… gonna hafta glue… that Sol's a…Scrupmy…" he incoherently mumbled to himself. His eye was closed and he was hugging a bottle of booze. Oh. So Demoman had gotten wasted and was sleeping it off.

"Snf?" Pyro motioned towards his sleeping teammate. "Demo wnf jstf drunnph, nff dnnf. Hnf jstf bnnmn hmmslph."

"Yeah, you're right. Demo's just being Demo."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N: Ah, D. I did not like you. You were not as fun as I thought you would be.