So this is my first attempt at a Red vs. Blue fanfiction. I've written Dragonball Z fanfiction before but it's been awhile. A long while… Anyway, I have several ideas for different fanfictions but I want to try this story first. Let me know what you think please. I haven't written anything like this before but this idea seemed to just take a life of its' own. I don't really have a favorite character from RvB because I like all of the characters but my favorite pairing is definitely Grif/Simmons. Enjoy!
Summary: Set after the events of Revelation. It's no secret that Sarge can't stand Grif and routinely threatens to kill him. But in light of Grif's and Simmons' changing relationship, what if Sarge finally snaps? What if he actually tried to follow through on his threats?
Valhalla had never been as quiet or as peaceful as it was on this day. Clouds floated slowly on by in the sky; birds chirped happily as they flew in and out of the valley. The two bases that occupied the territory were silent as their occupants stirred in the early morning. This was a far cry from the military operations that had once taken place in the area, but its' soldiers would never ask for any 'real' action. But, of course, for the lazy, not-so-talented soldiers in Valhalla, life would never stay quiet for long.
Donut moved around the kitchen, busying himself with making pancakes for his teammates and cleaning up the place. Since his 'resurrection', Donut had taken it upon himself to clean up and decorate the base, seeing as nobody else on the Red team cared enough about furniture arrangement or color schemes. His near fatal gunshot wound had healed well considering the circumstances under which he had been injured.
He hummed merrily, setting a plate of piping hot pancakes on the table in front of Simmons, who was patiently waiting for breakfast to be served. His copper colored hair was combed away from his face, letting his comrades see his bright green eyes. An early riser and champion ass-kisser, Simmons was already outfitted in his trademark maroon armor, ready for a day of patrol duty with Donut.
Across from him sat his fellow team member and resident slacker, Dexter Grif. Seeing as it was fairly early in the morning (say 10 o'clock or so), Grif was in no mood to participate in team activities or even be out of bed for that matter. His dark brown hair was messily mussed and hiding his chocolate colored eyes from the Dutch-Irish staring at him from across the table. Still in his pajamas, which consisted of boxers and a white t-shirt, Grif yawned loudly, mentally adding 'take a nap' to his to-do list. But first, he needed to focus on breakfast.
Simmons chuckled under his breath at his normally orange-clad teammate; over the past couple of years, he had experienced some weird feelings toward the lazy Hawaiian. Both Spartan seemed to be feeling the same thing, but never wanted to take the first step towards something more than a mostly uncomfortable friendship. His musings about Grif were interrupted by the former mentioned soldier's stomach growling extremely loudly. Once again, Simmons laughed, only this time Grif glared at him through half-closed, sleep-filled eyes. This action only caused Simmons to laugh more, however his amusement was cut short when Sarge entered the room.
Tension immediately filled the room-Donut concentrated on serving the remainder of the pancakes to Grif and Sarge and Simmons sat up straight in his chair, greeting his superior with a 'Good morning, Sir!'. The last member at the table, Private Grif, flinched at the sight of Sarge, but didn't say a word. Sarge barely acknowledged Simmons and Donut with a tilt of his head, but stared icily at his least favorite soldier. Grif swallowed a lump in his throat, fear slowly creeping into his eyes. He blinked and turned away, back to his pancakes, ignoring the questioning look he was getting from Simmons.
Silence reigned in the kitchen as the members of the Red team ate breakfast. Simmons was aware that there was something going on between Sarge and Grif and he wasn't sure that this was a good thing. He chewed his last bit of pancake and syrup and decided it was now or never to talk to Grif.
"Hey, Grif, after you finish eating, why don't you go on patrol with me?" Simmons asked his fellow soldier. Grif stared at him for a second, trying to figure out why Simmons would want him to go with him, seeing as he was the resident slacker of the team. However, Simmons had a knowing look in his eye and Grif suddenly understood what was going on. Relief flooded through him because that meant he wouldn't be alone with Sarge at the base.
However, his relief was short-lived as he went to answer Simmons. Sarge cut him off with a harsh, "No! Grif is not going on patrol with you Simmons. Take Donut with you! Grif is going to stay here and…help…clean the base. Manual labor." He trailed off with what could be described as a sadistic grin. Grif gulped, not liking the sound of that idea.
He glanced at Simmons who gazed at him from the corner of his eye. Should he say something? Argue? Plead to go with Simmons? He opened his mouth to protest but Sarge growled at him and the argument died in his throat. Simmons replied with a half-hearted, 'Yes sir' and stood up.
"Come on, Donut. Let's get going." Simmons ordered Donut, the flamboyant lightish-red private bouncing after him. Simmons shot Grif a worried look, but just received a shrug and dismissive nod from said private. Grif watched as Simmons and Donut walked out of the base, leaving him to spend the entire day with Sarge.
The red-clad sergeant stood rigid at the doorway, his stony gaze on Grif. Grif visibly paled under Sarge's cold look and jumped when Sarge yelled, "Well? Get your keester movin'!" Grif fumbled to quickly get out of his chair and went to doing all of the chores Sarge had saved up for him. As he started to rinse off the dirty dishes from the morning's meal, Grif shook slightly. Sarge was alone with him in the base and he was in a foul mood. One wrong look or word would mean physical harm for Grif and the usually orange private wasn't sure he could take any more abuse.
He had been verbally and physically abused for years by Sarge during his enlistment. His teammates knew and even participated in the verbal abuse on occasion, but neither Simmons nor Donut know of the current nonverbal assaults.
Sweat dripped down Grif's forehead; he had been working extremely hard today. Despite his self-proclaimed laziness, he knew Sarge wouldn't hesitate to beat him simply because he missed a spot. The morning had stretched into afternoon and then early evening and Simmons and Donut were due back within a couple of hours. Both soldiers had spent the day on patrol and trading any useful information with the Blues in the valley.
Finally Grif finished scrubbing down the last toilet in their bathroom. He threw the dirty sponge into the bathroom trashcan and put the bottle of cleaner into the Red base supply closet. Yawning, Grif made his way to the kitchen; he stepped up to the sink to wash his hands of the dirt and grime accumulated from his cleaning. Closing his eyes for a second, Grif rolled his head, getting all the kinks out of his neck. He opened his eyes and grabbed the dishtowel, drying his hands off.
Checking the time once again, Grif walked over to the pantry, intent on retrieving a pre-dinner snack of Oreos. He scanned the shelves for the trademark blue and white packaging and grinned when he spotted it. Grif snatched the container of cookies and closed the pantry door, making his way over to the counter. Still smiling, he grabbed a bowl from one of the overhead cabinets and proceeded to open the package of Oreos.
His mind cleared of any thought of Sarge, Grif happily served himself a handful of Oreos, blissfully unaware of the angry Red team sergeant who had stalked into the kitchen. Sarge gripped his shotgun tightly; he had to end it tonight. He had suspected that Simmons was catching onto the secret, but the exchange at the table cemented that idea. Sarge clenched his teeth; his only option was to kill the disgusting orange soldier and to do it painfully. He had restrained his rage for too long and now…now it was time.
Sarge crept toward Grif, trusty shotgun in hand. Grif stood at the counter completely unaware of the danger he was in. A sadistic smirk covered Sarge's face as he raised his shotgun just as Grif turned around. A look of surprise and fear flashed across Grif's face; this was quickly replaced pain as the butt of Sarge's shotgun crashed into his face. Grif slammed into the kitchen counter with his side and crumpled onto the laminate floor, completely at Sarge's mercy. Gasping for breath because of his now cracked rib, Grif cried out as he curled up on the floor, Sarge's armored foot coming down again and again on his broken body.
So what did you think? Let me know what you liked and what needs work. I need constructive criticism.