Greetings! Thanks so much for the reviews! I was so happy to receive such good feedback for the story, so…instead of posting one small chapter, I typed a big chapter for you! This chapter was actually two separate chapters in the outline for this story but once I started typing, it just kind of flowed out and kept growing. So here you go! Please review and leave suggestions and comments for me please!
Ayayne458: Thanks! Grif and Simmons are definitely canon for me. I mean, when are they ever apart really in the series?
AgentTex: Thanks so much! Here's your next chapter, nice and long for you.
Rurple101: Thanks! This story is outlined to be between 25-30 chapters long because there will be some flashbacks to explain some of the back-story I mentioned. Please enjoy!
Shadowkat121: Please enjoy! Thanks for the review and the 4-star rating.
Thanks for the reviews! Please enjoy your next chapter!
Sarge's booted foot came down again and again on Grif's unprotected body, bones cracking from the unrelenting force. Grif had curled up as much as physically possible, covering his face with his arms. Breathless yelps and grunts of pain escaped his bloody lips. Blood and spit spat from his mouth as each blow to his torso caused more and more harm.
The only sounds that were heard in the kitchen were Grif's cries of pain, Sarge's occasional sadistic chuckle, and wet crunching snaps. These snaps were the result of Grif's ribs breaking like twigs, fragments of the bones puncturing his lungs and hindering his ability to breathe even more.
"Sar-ge….please stop….please…" Grif's voice was barely a whisper, unable to get enough air to speak louder. Tears leaked from his tightly closed eyes, the agony of his injuries unbearable. His ordeal was worsened even further as Sarge switched to his fists and narrowed in on his face.
A sickening crunch echoed through the kitchen as Sarge landed his first punch. Grif silently howled in pain, his right hand wrapping around his broken left hand. This left his face unprotected and Sarge wasted no time in switching targets.
Grif felt something pop in his face and pain seared along his cheek and eye socket. Blood trickled into his eyesight from a hairline cut as Sarge's armored fists bit into his skin. A whimper escaped Grif's throat, quiet sobs echoing softly in the kitchen.
Never before had Sarge beat him like this. Sarge had never been this angry and sadistic or this uncontrolled in his temper. The never-ending blows continued to rain down on Grif's battered body, Sarge now adding in knees to the torso and chest in combination with the punches.
"Please….don't kill me…I'm sorry….I'll do anything….Pl-" Grif's ghostly plea fell upon deaf ears. If anything, Sarge became angrier. A throaty growl escaped Sarge as he ceased his assault on Grif. He stood up and snarled before snatching Grif by the hair.
A startled cry came from Grif, his eyes wide with fear and pain. Sarge slammed him against a shelf in the kitchen that held glasses and plates, glaring with all his might and animosity at the normally orange clad soldier. Several glasses and plates shattered, shards of glass rained down on Grif, cutting his exposed skin. Grif whimpered silently, trembling from the pain of his wounds and the anger emitting from his commanding officer.
"You stupid fucking piece of shit. You think I'm going to let you go now? I will fucking kill you!" screamed Sarge. Grif sobbed, frightened by the outburst and the promise that he was going to be murdered. What had he done to anger the Red soldier so much? Why would he want to kill so much?
Sarge cut his internal questioning short and slammed him down into the pile of broken glass. Grif cried out as he was stabbed repeatedly by the shards. His suffering was worsened when Sarge stomped on him and pushed the glass deeper into his body. The white-hot pain blinded Grif as his thoughts shifted to Simmons and the hope he would save him.
His inner musings were interrupted as Sarge started to drag him down the hallway, toward the Red base bedrooms. Grif stumbled along, unable to keep up or fight. Blood dripped from his wounds, leaving an eerie trail from the kitchen to the bedroom Grif and Simmons shared.
Sarge slammed the door open, nearly knocking it from its hidges and forcefully threw Grif headfirst into one of the walls. The beaten soldier's head snapped back, his body careening backwards towards the unforgiving cold floor. Grif was on the verge of losing consciousness, darkness overtaking his vision for a few moments. The room spun as he fought to regain awareness; he knew that Sarge would kill him if passed out.
He clawed his way back to consciousness and then wished he didn't. Pain flared in his limbs, his ribs throbbing with the beat of his heart. His head felt like it was splitting open and he couldn't keep his focus. As his vision finally cleared enough for him to see semi-clearly, he saw Sarge towering above, a macabre grin crossing his face.
Grif shook in terror, his eyes growing wide. Sarge kicked him over onto his stomach, eliciting a cry of anguish from the terrified soldier. Said soldier squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to go to his happy place. Thoughts of his death raced endlessly through his head. He wasn't getting out of this. He pleaded to whatever higher deity was listening to spare him.
In the middle of Grif's silent begging, Sarge threw himself on top of Grif, the heavy weight of his armor aggravating the orange private's injuries. A breathless moan of pain left Grif's cracked and bloody lips. Sarge snickered at the bane of his existence's torment and then proceeded to take off his chest piece and cod piece. The black bodysuit's zipper was now exposed and he began to unzip it slowly, reveling in the fear he was instilling in Grif.
At the sound of the hiss and clink of armor being removed, Grif began to struggle with all his might, ignoring the fire that burned through his limbs. Something had clicked in his head and he knew what Sarge was planning to do.
"No! Get…off! Stop!….please! Please don't….do this!" Grif yelled as loud as he could, running out of breath almost instantly. He drew a harsh slap in response, Sarge's armored hand smashing into the side of his head. Blood immediately started to stream from the resulting gash just above his ear.
Sarge took Grif's momentary distraction and used it to grab the pair of handcuffs attached to his belt. He roughly seized Grif's wrists and yanked them together behind his back. Grif screamed breathlessly in agony; his injuries protested the sudden harsh movement. Tears ran down his face, mixing with blood and sweat.
"Stop! No, Sarge, please! I'll do anything!" Grif shrieked in absolute terror, gone from the land of reason and focused solely on stopping the assault happening to him. Sarge snarled angrily, clubbing Grif in the head again. Darkness claimed his vision again and he faded briefly into unconsciousness. He fought against the heavy mist threatening to take him completely over and clawed his way back into consciousness.
By the time his vision cleared and his head stopped spinning violently, however, Sarge had found a roll of duct tape and was looming over him dangerously. Grif inhaled sharply, just before Sarge started to wrap duct tape around his head, sealing off his mouth. He began to panic and thrash, his nose and throat blocked partially with blood and saliva.
All protests died in his throat, unable to get past the tape blocking his mouth. Exhuasted, out of breath, and aching, Grif collapsed onto the cold floor, sobbing pitifully. Sarge laughed manically at his least favorite soldier's despair. Grif sobbed even harder when Sarge lowered onto him and pulled his shorts and boxers down violently, his armored hand scratching his lower back and thigh.
Pain tore through his body and his eyes flew open as Sarge entered him forcefully. Grif yelled out, the duct tape muffling his voice. He began to scream and thrash, trying to throw Sarge off, but Sarge merely took hold of Grif's arms and anchored himself to him. He continued to violate, thrusting into Grif repeatedly. Blood trickled down Grif's legs.
Grif's sobs quieted as his body began to shut down from the trauma it had endured. His eyes were half-lidded and rolled back in his head as he began to choke on the blood, saliva, and vomit clogging his windpipe. Sarge quickly pulled out, not bothering to finish. He zipped up his bodysuit and put his chest and cod piece back on.
He nudged Grif with his foot, flipping him over onto his back, enjoying the dying gurgles that could be heard. Grinning, he reached down and yanked Grif's boxers and shorts back up, relishing in the moment. He leaned in close to Grif's bloody ear, whispering, "No one will come for you. You're going to die…alone. With no one. No friends, no family, and no Simmons. No Simmons."
Sarge straightened up abruptly, hearing sounds at the front entrance to the base. 'Shit, Donut and Simmons are back. No time to hide his body. Fuck!' The red soldier growled and pulled the bedroom door open quickly. Hearing the other members of the Red team in the hallway leading to the kitchen, Sarge quickly ran toward the back entrance of the base. As he exited the base, he heard Simmons exclaim, "What the hell happened here?" and he knew that they had discovered the blood and wreckage in the kitchen. He ran straight for the Warthog and jumped in. Activating the vehicle, he slammed his foot onto the accelerator and tore out of Valhalla, heading for somewhere he could hide.
Simmons entered the base, rubbing his temples. He had thrown his helmet down at the doorway, irritated with Donut's incessant rambling. Said idiot continued to babble on behind him, removing his helmet and shaking his blonde hair loose. He growled under his breath; not only was he annoyed with Donut, he was also concerned about Grif and couldn't shake the feeling something had happened to the orange private.
"Well, I'm going to go take a shower and do my nails!" exclaimed Donut excitedly. Simmons just mumbled a reply, entering the kitchen. He planned on finding Grif and finally interrogating him about his mysterious injuries. All plans of this flew out the window the second he and Donut strolled into the kitchen. He heard himself ask out loud what happened and slowly took in the scene beforehand.
There was blood splattered onto the countertops, cabinets, and the tile. A trail of blood led from the kitchen towards the base's bedroom. The shelf that held their glasses and plates was broken and splintered; there was a pile of bloody glass in front of it. Simmons and Donut stared silently at each other; Simmons' stomach dropped, he had a hunch about what happened and who this blood belonged to. He swallowed thickly, grabbing his pistol from his leg and motioning for the pink private to do the same.
He crept down the hallway, following the blood trail. It ended at his and Grif's bedroom door. A sense of foreboding filled Simmons and he placed a hand on the doorknob. Pushing open the door, Simmons scanned the room and gasped in horror. He vaguely heard Donut cry out next to him as he rushed over the broken and bruised body of his best friend.
"Grif? Grif! Answer me! Oh God, Grif!" Simmons dropped to his knees, ignoring the pool of blood he was kneeling in. He grabbed his knife and set of handcuff keys from his supply belt and sliced open the duct tape around Grif's mouth. The tape was slicked with blood, sweat, and tears. Throwing the tape on the floor and raising Grif up to gain access to his hands, he fumbled to get the handcuffs unlocked as fast as possible without harming Grif more.
The handcuffs clattered onto the floor and Simmons gently maneuvered Grif onto floor again. He took in the soldier's injuries as he checked for a pulse with shaking hands. Pressing two fingers to Grif's neck, Simmons breathed a sigh of relief as he felt a slight heartbeat. His relief was cut short though as he leaned over Grif's mouth and nose, hovering over him watching for the rise and fall of his chest.
Simmons frowned; Grif's breaths were far too shallow and slow to be enough to keep him alive. He rose up, eyes briefly catching Donut's. Donut looked frightened and horrified at the state Grif was in. Simmons swallowed a lump in his throat and snapped out at Donut, "Donut! Call Blue base and get Doc here now! We don't have much time! Hurry up! Move it!"
Donut snapped to attention, stuttering a reply before racing out of the bedroom toward the radio. Simmons looked back down at Grif and took a deep breath. He brushed his hand briefly over Grif's forehead, squeezing his eyes shut to stave off his tears.
"Don't give up Grif. Don't give up…on me. You fight to stay alive! You hear me!"
Simmons took another deep breath and placed his lips over Grif's and breathed in two puffs of air. Until Doc arrived, he would breathe for Grif and keep him alive. Tears blurred his sight as he continued rescue breathing as he recited over and over in his head, 'Come on Grif. Stay with me. Don't leave me.'
Time seemed frozen for the maroon private as he waited helplessly for Doc to arrive. He didn't notice when Donut ran back into the room, informing him that help was on the way. He didn't notice when his lips became painted with red from Grif's blood. He didn't notice that Donut had joined him next to Grif, holding his uninjured hand. The only thing he knew was Grif's life was in his hands and on the floor, slipping away slowly.
So…do you want to kill me yet? Please let me know if you liked it. I've never written something this graphic but I think I did okay. I didn't want to go too much in detail on the rape scene but I still wanted to have it in this chapter, rather than skip over it. Please review and let me know what you think!