Am I coming out of hiatus? Even I don't know.
:::
"So. Is everyone here?"
There were some hums of acknowledgment, and a "get on with it, hippie". Engineer shot Soldier an unseen glare from behind his goggles. He wouldn't be surprised if the other American was returning it from under his helmet. The rest of the team seemed similarly annoyed with Engineer's call for a group meeting on a ceasefire day – it was, in the words of Sniper, "a time away from you wankers".
(Sniper would probably have a mild stroke if he realized nearly all his ceasefire days have been in the company on his fellow mercenaries.)
The Texan ignored the looks he was receiving and cleared his throat.
"I'm sure ya'll have lots of important things to attend to this day off, but I'm also positive ya'll will wanna hear what I have to say," announced Engineer.
"Surely you will leave us in further suspense," drawled Spy from his lean against the wall, tapping his cigarette ashes onto Heavy's shoulder. The Russian raised one brow, arms crossed, and glanced over at the Frenchman before returning his attention to Engineer.
"Mmts mphnt mmnying mphrs, mms mmt?" asked Pyro, hands nervously clasping at the zipper of his uniform.
"Oh, it's serious all right, Pyro. Deathly serious," Engineer responded, eyes obscured by the darkness of his goggles.
"We're out of toilet paper."
Silence filled the kitchen.
"Eh," Demo finally said, squinting his one eye, "Ye sure lad? I'm sure Miss Pauling and her lot always keep the bases stocked."
"I'm sure. I checked all the storage closets, and the basement," Engineer said grimly.
"How did ve run out of all of it?" hummed Medic, one hand rubbing his chin in genuine confusion. All eyes turned on him.
"Doc, I'm sorry to say this," started Scout, sounding completely not sorry, "But your cooking last week might have destroyed all our digestive tracts."
"Nonsense," huffed the German with a slight chuckle at such a silly statement. "Sure some of the ingredients may have been past their expiration date, but it vas all okay."
When no one agreed, Medic glanced around the kitchen, eyebrows furrowed.
"...right?"
Silence.
Medic turned to meet Heavy's eyes. His best friend looked terribly solemn.
"Heavy?"
The Russian shook his head slowly, and placed a hand gently on the doctor's shoulder.
"It was very bad, Doktor."
"Well," interrupted Spy, blowing some smoke as he pushed off the wall and walked into the center of the meeting. "Regardless of why the toilet paper ran out, I assume the laborer called us here to arrange a shopping trip, correct?"
Spy turned to Engineer with a raised brow. The Texan nodded with a grim frown.
"So," started Spy, turning back to the rest of his group. "Any volunteers?"
"I refuse to waste this glorious day shopping for paper to wipe my ass!" announced Soldier, balling up his fist. Realizing there was no nearby object to slam it on, the patriot pushed past Sniper and slammed his fist against the counter behind the Aussie.
"I'll just use leaves, like a real American," he finished, crossing his arms with a proud smirk.
"We'll just draw lots," Engineer suggested, as if Soldier said nothing at all. "Names in a hat, the two picked will go pick up the toilet paper."
"Well, I'd say that sounds bloody brilliant," said Sniper, before yawning. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going back to finish up my nap."
"Hold up, lad," said Demoman, blocking the doorway. "Ye can't just walk out on this. Unless ye plan to commit to some sort of wiping your arse with leaves like Solly."
"Only Americans can do that," called out Soldier from the other side of the kitchen. Sniper smirked, shaking his head. He turned to give his fellow mercenaries a smug look.
"Unlike you lot, I have a shit-ton, no pun intended, of toilet paper in my camper. I'm ready for a shitstorm, pun intended." With that, Sniper mock saluted his team with two fingers and whistled his way out the kitchen, past a bewildered Scotsman, with a shit-eating grin. (Pun maybe, possibly, intended.)
"Vy do ve need two people for just toilet paper," asked Medic, deciding that it was completely not worth anyone's time to chase down Sniper. Engineer's face turned dark.
"Because, accountability. Not that I don't trust ya'll, but I would feel much better knowing that the mission succeeded by the afternoon at least, instead of tomorrow because somehow someone ended up getting into a fight with a civilian, or forgetting to pay for groceries, or any other nonsense I know will end up happening," Engineer explained.
"Mmt mphnly mmnend mpnce," Pyro mumbled shamefully, attempting to hide behind Soldier's bulky form.
"That one time led to your arrest and two weeks community service," said Spy pointedly. Pyro hung his head.
"Let us pick now," Heavy said, "I grow tired of standing and talking about nothing."
"Right," said Engineer, removing his hard-hat, "Everyone write your name on a napkin and throw it in here."
Ideally, hoped Engineer, it would be Medic and Heavy. They worked well together, hardly ever argued, and were inconspicuous enough to get in and out of the supermarket with no problem.
:::
The bell above the door jingled as two tall men walked into the town's local supermarket.
"Try to not do anything to attract attention."
Demoman glanced over at Spy, one hand adjusting the tight button-down he borrowed from Medic.
"Yer wearing a mask, and I have one eye."
Spy blew out some smoke, pushed his sunglasses further up his nose.
"Duly noted."
With that, Spy grabbed the nearest cart, threw out the can of soup in it, and stalked into the store. Demo followed along, slapping a hand to his face. The Frenchman hurriedly pushed the cart toward the toiletries aisle.
"Hi! Can I help ya find anything today?" A sales assistant had appeared suddenly from around the corner and was fixing the two mercenaries with a cheery smile. "We just got a new shipment of those fancy new coffee makers-"
"We're right okay, lassie," interrupted Demoman with a smile. As much as he would enjoy chit-chatting with such a pretty lady, Engineer made it seem imperative that the two finished the mission asap. Likewise, Spy seemed like the sort who would prefer to go on straight ahead with no dallying and-
"And the ground beans are all separated into their own containers?"
Demo stared in disbelief as Spy was examining the advertisement the saleswoman had presented to him. The Frenchman's eyebrows were knit in concentration, one hand stroking his chin as he read the fine print.
"Yup! My husband and I just bought one and it works like a charm!" the saleswoman seemed more than happy to have a willing customer, and Demo hesitantly placed his hand on Spy's shoulder.
"Er, we already got a coffee maker and it's well good," the Scotsman said, earning a dismissive shrug from Spy as he shook the larger man's hand off his shoulder.
"This one fits little cups of pre-filled coffee," stated the Frenchman incredulously. "Can you believe that?"
"Aye, I can see the ad from here. We got a mission though so-"
"Where can I find this machine?" demanded Spy,shaking the ad in front of the saleslady's face.
"Aisle four, just back there!"
Spy made to turn the cart around, and Demo slapped his hand over the edge to hold it in place.
"Engineer said we just need to get the toilet paper. None of this-AGH!"
Spy hit Demo's wrist with his folded butterfly knife. The Scotsman pulled back his hand in pain, and Spy shot off toward aisle four without hesitation.
"Ye crazy bastard!" called Demo, waving a fist. He huffed, turning in the opposite direction toward the toiletries. He didn't need Spy, or even the cart for that matter! Hell, he should just leave the snake and drive Engineer's truck back alone. Disregarding of course that he had a bit of Scrumpy, and was perhaps the worst driver on the entire team due to the blatant lack of depth perception.
Shaking off any rational thought, Demo spotted the correct aisle he was looking for and hurried down, eye scanning the shelves. There, at the end, two full rows of toilet paper. With a whoop of success, he reached for the closest 24 pack, then paused, and grabbed another. No telling when the doc would cook again.
Satisfied, Demo started toward the cashier, glancing at the aisles overhead. It had taken no time at all to get the toilet paper...maybe he could briefly check out what kind of booze the town's market would have. Demo nodded to himself, taking a turn. Just a quick look – maybe they would have something new, like that stupid coffee maker that had won Spy's attention.
:::
Spy couldn't believe his luck. There, neatly tucked in the back of a shelf, one last coffee maker. The Frenchman smiled, making a beeline for the product. At the other end of the aisle, he saw an elderly woman pushing her cart, seemingly heading for the coffee maker...
Spy grit his teeth, and walked faster. Almost there...
"Oh, how lovely!"
Spy's hand touched the box just as the old woman pulled it from the shelf. She oohed to herself, placing the box into her cart and idly reaching for some of the remaining boxes of measured out coffee ground cups on another shelf. Spy smiled, sidling up to the woman's cart, one finger gently pressed against the coffee machine.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, accent strong. "You wouldn't be willing to part with such a fine machine, would you? You see, I have just moved here from France and have been having such a hard time-"
"Scram, ya commie."
Spy blinked. Did she just call him a communist? With a forced playful laugh in response to the woman's narrowed eyes as she tugged her purse closer, Spy continued.
"I'm afraid you misunderstand. I simply-"
"Oh I understand all fine and dandy, you French commie coward. The coffee machine's made in America, and it's for my grandson, bless his heart. So you can just turn yourself and your frog accent around and get out," the woman said, eyes wide and threatening. Spy blinked again. He was somewhat offended, and likewise curious if he had just run into a relative of Soldier's.
"Right," said Spy slowly, before yanking the coffee maker from her cart and running down the aisle, his own cart abandoned. Before he could reach the end, something caught his legs and he went tumbling down, the coffee maker sliding from his hands. Scrambling, glanced down to see the woman's purse tangled around his ankles. He didn't have much time to be impressed by such aim, as the grandmother was making her way down the aisle with a look of pure madness.
:::
Demo was thoroughly unimpressed by the liquor selection. He sighed in dejection, hefting the toilet roll packages up. He could barely get his arms around them, and instead, decided to stack them in his arms. Of course, now he couldn't see too well, peeking out from the side to make sure he didn't run into any other customers. Turning into a new aisle, the mercenary missed the bright yellow sign on the floor, and with less than a second of realization, found himself slipping back onto the floor, toilet paper packages falling onto his face.
If Demo was anyone else, perhaps nothing else would happen and he would get up, have a laugh, and head to checkout. But, well, he was Demoman. And he had a penchant for abnormal things happening to him since he lost his eye, coupled with the sheer oddity that came about when working under RED. As Sniper often complained, strange shit happened to them all the time. With Demoman's luck, this extended to his life even off the field.
So, when one package bounced against the other as they fell, and hit a display of locally prepared spice jars, Demoman wasn't surprised. He just didn't expect the events that followed.
Jars went flying onto the ground, breaking and sending spice into the air. Demo squeezed his eye shut, missing that collapse of the entire spice display. Glass shattered as all the jars hit the ground one after another. A fog of tiny particles of roots, seeds, bark, and whatever the hell people had decided to put in spices filled the back of the market.
The smell hit Demo like one of Scout's farts post-Bonk binge. His eye snapped open, then watered. Senses overcome, he felt his hearing dull. From his watery vision, he could see several customers falling onto the ground with cries of pain, others trying to crawl out of the spice fog that Demo had unleashed onto the area around him. Demo saw one man carrying a bag of shredded cheese searching the ground before bending down to pick up some prepackaged flour tortillas. Sound slowly started to come back as Demo's nose twitched and he let out an enormous sneeze.
:::
Spy dodged a can. He clutched the coffee maker tighter as the elderly woman raised another can of beets at him. The Frenchman crouched, waiting. The woman narrowed her eyes, gripping the beets. For a moment, neither moved.
Spy jumped onto one of the shelves as the can whipped past his shoulder. He used one hand to climb up the shelves until he was at the top, overseeing the entire market.
"Agh!" Spy screamed as a can bounced off the side of his head, sending his sunglasses off his face. He collapsed on top of the shelf, bringing the coffeemaker to his chest and rubbing where the can hit him. He stared in disbelief at the blood on his gloves. Did this lady just assault him?
"What is wrong with you!" he yelled, leaning over the side of the shelf to see the grandma herself climbing up the shelves toward him. Spy immediately abandoned any hope of talking sense into the woman, and scrambled to the edge of the shelf. Before he could make a brazen jump for another shelf several feet away, he heard glass shattering and looked over towards the sound. A plume of what seemed like pepper filled the back of the market, diffusing into a thick fog.
"Give it here, commie!" The grandmother jumped onto Spy's back, causing him to nearly fall over.
"Merde!" cursed Spy, stumbling around as the woman worked her purse strap around his neck. Spy made a choking sound, one hand leaving his tight hold on the coffee maker to try and pry the strap off. He let out a strangled growl, wincing as a pain shot across his head. The woman pulled the strap tighter, cutting off Spy's airway and laughing as he started wobbling.
"This is my super market, Frenchie!"
I don't want to die like this, thought Spy, pulling the coffee maker close as his view started to darken. Maybe holding something coffee related, with a lady on top of me, but not in a super market. Maybe a mall, but not a market!
"Spy!"
Spy jerked his head in the direction of his name. The sudden movement caused the woman to loosen the purse strap. Taking the opening, Spy yanked the strap away, taking the woman with it. She went flying off Spy's back and tumbled down the shelf with her purse. Spy clumsily tried to center himself, vision still unfocused. He placed his hand on his head, wincing. He brought his hand back down, seeing blood.
Oh right, I was brutally assaulted by a can.
That would explain why his head hurt. Spy stared down at the blood, vision focusing but still not quite clear.
"Spy!"
Spy found himself stumbling backwards, both hands back to the coffee maker. His left heel slipped pass the edge of the shelf. The Frenchman tipped for a moment, seemingly righting himself, before falling over the edge.
:::
Demo's sneeze was joined by several others as the spice fog started to diffuse. The Scotsmen, after another four sneezes, finally pushed himself off the ground, shakily getting to his feet.
"Holy hell," he breathed, taking in the now clear air and the scene around him. Customers were crying, some on the ground covered in remnants of the spice storm and broken glass. Others were trying to gather up their groceries from fallen carts. Broken glass was haphazardly scattered across the ground, and Demo was mildly surprised no one was bleeding yet.
"My wife!" A man screamed, coming from around the corner of another aisle. Demo saw the man's eyes focus on a human shaped mass covered in spice.
"Oh God," the man said, voice shaking as he slowly made his way to the massacre, passing recovering customers. He dropped to his knees by the spice figure. "Dear? DEAR?"
Demo watched in disbelief as the man pulled his wife from under the spices, and started shaking her.
"Who did this?"
His wife coughed into his face, sending spice straight into his eyes. The man, despite this, was adamant. "WHO DID THIS!"
"It was him!" screamed another customer, pointing at Demo while cradling a lettuce head in his other hand.
"Ah shit." Demo winced, backing up and raising his hands. "Honest mistake, aye?"
The customers started to form a disgruntled mass, all gathering toward him. Demo had enough experience with ill intentioned crowds to know he needed to make an escape. Without a second look, the Scotsman abruptly turned and ran, intent on finding the door and getting the hell up out of there.
"Spy!" he screamed catching sight of coffee cans and turning down the aisle. Demo was all about escaping, but not without making an attempt to at least TRY and save Spy with him. He didn't wait for a response, instead settling that the urgency in his voice was more than enough to get the French bastard into action. A sudden sound of heavy steps above him above him warranted a pause. Demo glanced up, seeing Spy standing atop one of the shelves near the edge.
"Spy!" he called. He watched the Frenchman waver, before going over the edge. Demo cursed, and ran to catch Spy before he hit the ground. The two nearly went to the ground, if not for Demo's current state of panic and adrenaline.
"Spy!" Demo said for a third time, setting the Frenchman on his feet. Spy smiled lightly at Demo, eyes half lidded and blood running down the side of his face from under his mask.
"I did it!" he said, wobbling on his feet as he raised the coffee maker up with pride.
"Oh Christ," said Demon, "Yer not fookin' high are ye?"
"There he is!" Demo spotted the crowd of customers over Spy's shoulder. The Frenchman was too busy cheering in his dazed state, waving the maker above his head.
"Mine! This is all mine!"
Demo grabbed one of Spy's arms and headed straight through an empty cashier line. The two exploded through the market doors, with Demo still dragging Spy, and ran towards Engineer's truck.
"Get in!" snapped Demo, throwing Spy against the passenger side of the car before he slid over the hood to the driver side. If they weren't in such a precarious situation, Demo would have cherished the seamless slide, and prioritize gloating about it to Scout. Being thrown into the passenger door unsuprisingly seemed to have knocked some sense into Spy, and he hastily joined Demoman in the car. Without missing a beat, Demo grabbed the keys from the sun visor and started the truck.
Spy, cradling his precious coffee maker, watched in disbelief as Demo struggled with the gears in Engineer's manual vehicle.
"Wait, you can't drive," said Spy, eyes widening. Demo paused, turning to fix Spy with his one eye.
"Trust me lad," he reassured.
"I don't."
With that, Demo slammed on the pedal, sending the truck careening out onto the road.
:::
Scout rocked in his seat, watching the clock in the kitchen. Trying to distract from the churning in his bowels, he glanced around the table, where his fellow mercenaries, minus two, were digging into an early dinner. The young man looked down at his nearly full plate of mashed potatoes, gravy, chicken, and asparagus, all arranged in a smiling face.
"You gonna eat that?" Soldier asked, face popping up right next to Scout's.
"Yes!" snapped Scout, earning a look from several of his colleagues.
"Mhmr mmou mmky?" asked Pyro from the stove where he was preparing two more plates.
"He's been holding his shit in," Engineer said plainly. He actually felt sorry for the boy. Demo and Spy were supposed to be gone for less than an hour. AN HOUR. Sniper laughed from the end of the table.
"Is he now?" asked the Australian between bites of Pyro's dinner. Scout grit his teeth, glaring at Sniper. "Might wanna give the leaves a chance, mate."
"Yeah, I have a whole stash behind the base," offered Soldier through a stuffed mouth.
"Can it," grumbled Scout, returning to watching the clock. The rest of the table went back to eating dinner and moved on to discussing something other than Scout's bowels.
"We made it!" Demo whooped, jumping into the kitchen with a giant smile and arms open. Behind him, Spy weakly stumbled into the kitchen, hand on the doorway for support while the other held the coffee maker.
"Thank God," breathed Spy, looking near ready to collapse.
The entire team stared at the sudden appearance of the two.
"Finally, " breathed Scout, not waiting for anyone to question exactly why the pair took nearly half a day to return from the super market.
"I was holding my shit in all day! Where's the paper?" he asked, standing up from his seat.
Demo's smile faded.
"What?"
Silence engulfed the room.
"I'll kill you!" screamed Scout, lunging for Demo. Heavy, directly adjacent to the enraged man, stopped him with a firm grip on his shirt.
"Do you know how long I've been holding my shit in?" Scout wailed.
"Ah...oh yeah!" Demo suddenly said, lighting up. "That's what we went out for, right?"
Engineer groaned. Of course. Of fucking course.
"I, on the other hand, went out for this," said Spy, weakly making his way into the room with the coffee maker held out with pride. He collapsed onto his empty seat across from Medic. The German and rest of the team, minus a crying Scout, stared at the Spy.
"Vy are you bleeding?"
Spy smiled.
"Never mind that. Do you fools not understand what this is?" he said, smile widening into a large grin. He was met with blank faces.
"Fools!" said Spy, opening the box and digging through the contents. "It is the latest in coffee technology, not that I expect any of you to understand. All you do it put in these custom measured cups of...cups of..."
Spy froze, still grinning.
"Uh. Spook?"
The only sound now was Scout's muffled sniffs.
"Well," said Demo, still standing near the door and looking completely unbothered. "I gotta get some sleep, been an odd day an' all. Night, lads!" With that, the oblivious Scotsman whistled his way out.
:::
Spy just realized he needed to buy the custom coffee ground cups to go with the coffee maker.