Even in perpetual darkness, Simmons and Grif find light in each other.
Pairings Beyond Grimmons:
~Tucker x Andersmith
~Carolina x Four Seven Niner
~Background Locnut
Other Notes for This Story:
~A Final Fantasy XV AU.
Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.
Choosing Hope
It had been hours since the Hunt, but Richard "Dick" Simmons couldn't stop himself from rather violently shaking all the same. He knew it was well into what were traditionally night hours now, but it wasn't as if anyone could tell the difference simply by looking up at the sky anymore. The only thing one would find there, if someone could so much as peer through the harsh artificial light that now flooded the dirty and far too crowded streets of Lestallum, would be the perpetual, inky blackness that had swallowed the sky whole.
The last rays of fading sunlight that had been constantly getting weaker had altogether disappeared entirely a week ago, and even though everyone had been more or less prepared, it had still been a heavy blow. Yet another further sign of how much they'd lost. Simmons missed the sun.
More than that though, he missed the sight of white clouds dotting a blue sea overhead, an endless expanse of graying fluffiness that signified the return of falling snow in his home region, a place perpetually locked into winter. It had been a far better sight than the thick, black swarms that now engulfed everything overhead, threatening to reach down and devour each and every person who remained, crushing them all against the inescapable.
Most of all, Simmons missed the sight of a clear night sky with a shining moon and twinkling stars dotting the canopy above. When he'd been younger, riddled with anxiety and constantly worrying over his father's disparaging remarks about his being a good-for-nothing cripple back when he'd been holed up in his bedroom recovering from cybernetic surgery, the redhead had looked out of the window and used that same view to calm himself to sleep.
He didn't really think one could calm themselves by gazing upwards now, and that depressing thought both alighted his panic anew and filled his heart with an all-too familiar and keen sense of sadness and loss. He supposed, in a way, that having found himself inadvertently at some backwater dive set aside for weary, terrified people to drown their sorrows was something of a blessing. It kept him from trying to instinctively lift his head since he'd be rewarded with a glimpse of a grimy ceiling. The bartender said nothing as he refilled the spotted glass at Simmons' side before doing the same to someone else's.
Very few people showed much interest in talking to Simmons, and he preferred it that way. It was better, at any rate, than the overly hostile remarks he'd often receive whenever someone did happen to pay him attention. He'd only ever been able to describe himself as socially awkward under the best of circumstances, and being surrounded by a sea of veritable strangers didn't exactly help. His nerves would've been shot even if they weren't currently dealing with end of the world complications.
And, to think, growing up in a rather small and isolated village with a severely critical father near the heart of an expansionist empire had once made Simmons actually yearn to travel. That recollection currently had him smiling in a rather self-deprecating way. Getting the chance to travel freely and escape on his own terms would've been a hell of a lot better than fleeing a dying land amidst a group of shell shocked and utterly terrified people, their numbers constantly dwindling every hour as they tried to make their way against hostile terrain and nightmarish creatures using whatever bits of transportation was left to do so.
The maroon-wearing man had barely slept during that trek, and he was hardly sleeping here either. There were simply too many disturbing anxieties regarding the future that kept him up at night, too many nightmares of the past refusing to give him any reprieve. At the rate things were progressing, who even knew how much longer someone like him would make it?
He wasn't like Carolina, the spear-wielding Glaive from Tenebrae who singlehandedly helped a group of Hunters traverse into the empire's former territory on the off-chance that any survivors there could be found and rescued. Thanks largely to her efforts, they'd found the scant thirty or so of Simmons' fleeing group. His party had managed to make it to the desert only to find that none of the remaining trains were working anymore. The group had been at least a hundred when they'd first started out, including Simmons and five others from his village, along with others from neighboring spots and even some fortunate enough to have survived Gralea. They had started meeting up along the way once they knew Niflheim was gone for good, but daemons and Magitek Troopers had thinned their numbers considerably.
None of Simmons' group had been fighters, so the cluster of them were easy pickings. Traveling incessantly did in the rest who became too weak to continue. Others had simply wandered off after getting sick, a harsh and far too fresh reminder of his own mother vanishing one night many months before. If they returned, it was only to lead other daemons back to the group.
Simmons had been glad that his mother had simply contracted the "vanishing disease" and left, that she hadn't come back as anything nightmarish. It was bad enough that the last memories of his father was of him being cut down when he'd stubbornly tried to fight the onslaught of daemons that had overtaken their village.
No, Simmons was nothing like Carolina. He wasn't someone who'd survived untold years of hardship under imperial subjugation and actually fought for them, only to later defect, who still decided to risk going back even as everything went to hell all around them in order to try and save others. All he'd had at the time was his stupid, metallic arm and he'd even managed to get it disabled in an assault.
Carolina had been impressed that he'd gotten himself injured while shielding a child, but he hadn't really thought at the time it was all that heroic to have simply blocked a knife when it would have only delayed things a few more seconds at most if she and the Hunters hadn't arrived. But she'd somehow managed to convince Simmons to at least talk with the Hunters, and he'd agreed shakily to seek out enlistment and training later should he happen to survive the ensuing trek through what was left of Niflheim and Accordo to Lestallum.
Carolina patted him on the back encouragingly when they managed to arrive at humanity's last outpost, and even showed him where to go to sign up. He hadn't seen her since then or her rather odd companion Caboose, a friend of her brother's apparently, a subject that was still painful for the both of them. But that was to be expected with Glaives being sent out on constant duty outside the barriers to keep daemons at bay and help survivors make it to what little safety there was left.
Simmons had lost count of the number of times he'd been nearly killed since, but he figured that was par the course. He either stayed within the walls and barricades here, dying of boredom and unsure of what to do, or he died out there, at least attempting to do something with the short amount of time that they had left. Both options were pretty sucky, but at least doing something helped keep him out of his own head. He was fairly certain that was the only reason he hadn't yet keeled over from sheer stress or gone insane from flashbacks.
Simmons glanced at the dagger resting in its sheath by his glass. Most dual-wielded knives, but he hadn't mastered that particular skill yet. He'd barely gotten through training with just the one, and he was pretty certain that the guy who'd been training him, a grizzled Hunter named Sarge with an exasperated assistant called Lopez who seemed to speak an entirely different language than anyone else, had just said that he could make due with killing weaker daemons and monsters just to get his embarrassing self away from the other recruits who might have better shots before he could demotivate them. At least his cybernetic arm was capable of reflecting damage.
This latest assignment had been fairly routine. Simmons and a group of Hunters had gone out to retrieve a supply shipment that a caravan of refugees had been forced to abandon when their truck broke down and they'd fled the rest of the way on foot. Considering that the likelihood of supplies would become scarcer given just how many towns and outposts were abandoned now that every other major area was no longer capable of mass-producing in large quantities, and that the power to lights would always have to be Lestallum's top priority, retrieving what they could was extremely vital.
Most of Simmons' missions consisted of scavenging and retrieval nowadays. Still some escort ones, but the number of people making it to Lestallum or getting in contact with the city for help was growing less and less. The only other person in the party that he remotely recognized was a loudmouthed guy named Tucker, who was apparently originally from an outpost. The teal-wearing man hadn't seemed to be taking the mission all that seriously since it was closer to Lestallum than not, but he'd changed his tune along with the rest of them when the Iron Giant appeared.
The enormous daemon had raised its cleaver-like blade up and over Tucker's head as the dark-skinned male dove under it to strike at the creature's legs with his sword, and Simmons had stupidly tried countering with his knife. The effect on the weapon had been what one would expect: it ricocheted off the daemon's blade with a resounding clatter, but the blow had been enough to distract the daemon and turn its attention, resulting in the Iron Giant's focusing on Simmons instead of on Tucker, who somehow managed to get to one of its few, hardly indiscernible weak points.
Simmons' body had still been shaking from the reverberations following their return with the supplies, and he ignored Tucker's "Hey, wait up!" afterwards, the redhead figuring that he'd just get berated for being a dumbass or a dirty Nilf again. Which led to him being here, though he would hardly call it hiding. He just wanted a place where he could hang out until he felt like finding a nice spot in an alleyway somewhere to rest. He didn't really feel like eating, but perhaps some alcohol could settle his nerves to where he could finally get some sleep.
Lestallum was currently suffering quite a lot with so many people living there. Most businesses and inns had started letting people live in them as makeshift shelters, but they'd started turning people away once the population numbers became too high. Simmons was often one of the first to be asked to leave since he was alone and had no family or friends who needed shelter too as priority was always given to those who did, along with the elderly and children. Being a man who wasn't too young or too old, and being from Niflheim on top of that, well, these things were bound to happen.
Even though they were supposed to be working together now, many hadn't forgotten who'd started the war. Civilians were not exempt from that anger or from the ire of those simply wanting to place blame and vent, and Simmons with his cybernetic arm was often mistaken for a former part of the imperial army. He often tried to find other arrangements simply to avoid unnecessary confrontations. It wasn't like he was ever sleeping much, anyways.
As he continued sitting in the dive, another shiver ran down his spine that was completely unrelated to his earlier nerves. Someone had been looking over at him ever since he came in, but he'd tried ignoring it since that sometimes happened with Nilfs. So long as no one acted on that hostility, it was fine. But the regard had been persisting for awhile now, and it was getting to the point where he just wanted to get up and leave. The redhead sighed, setting his glass down to reach for his knife…
Footsteps approached then, the eyes still glued onto Simmons' back as an unknown man's voice asked, "How much?" Simmons blinked in surprise at the question and looked over as a heavyset, tan-skinned man around his age sat down next to him without asking, "How much?" The stranger repeated his earlier question.
Simmons' mind went blank. He'd been hanging out with a younger Hunter named Donut and his penchant for oddly-timed innuendos too much, evidently, as his face heated up at just what this guy was saying. Amusement danced across the man's slightly scarred face as he gestured towards Simmons' already finished drink, "I meant your tab, dude."
"O—oh!" Simmons' face became even hotter as his flustered emotions rose to the surface.
Fortunately though, the bartender saved him from further embarrassment, "Active Hunters drink for free."
The stranger looked both impressed by this bit of news but also strangely resigned for some reason, "Damn, and here it looks like my magnanimous gesture is going to be wasted."
Simmons blinked again, "What?"
"You're one of the Hunters that went out on that retrieval mission today, right?" The orange-wearing man countered with a question of his own.
Simmons shakily nodded his head, "Th—that's right."
The chubby stranger grinned, "Thought so." He tapped the side of the table thoughtfully, "My pal Tucker told me that he got his ass saved by a red-haired kiss-ass from Niflheim."
Simmons sputtered, "I—I'm not a kiss-ass!" He lamely tried to retort.
"If what Tucker told me about you polishing the surplus weapons is true, then yes, yes you are." Tucker's apparent friend calmly countered.
Simmons pouted, not wanting to admit that maybe he'd hoped to get into a vendor position awhile back, like that nice Andersmith guy that he knew Tucker was now sweet on even if his flirting was terrible. Andersmith didn't exactly seem to mind though, if the extra care he put into maintaining Tucker's sword was any indication. It was a surprising match, to be sure, but Simmons hoped it worked out for them.
The unknown man, meanwhile, continued, "I figured I'd buy your drinks to pay you back, but I guess it's a moot point."
Simmons deflated, "You really don't have to—!" he began, cutting himself off as he added, "I was just lucky."
The stranger waved him off, "Did you know Tucker has a kid?"
Simmons vaguely remembered the teal-wearing Hunter proudly showing off a photo of a little boy to Andersmith and his other vendor compatriots, dubbed "The Lieutenants" for who knew what reason, a proud gleam in his dark eyes as he did so. Simmons nodded his head slightly.
"Well, Junior isn't an orphan right now thanks to you," the tan-skinned guy told him, "So I do want to pay you back. Because having to tell that kid that his dad died and trying to take care of him and my little sister all at once would be a really big pain in the ass."
Simmons blinked, "You're welcome, I think?"
"I'm Dexter Grif, by the way. Call me Grif." The heavyset man introduced himself then, "I'm something of a Hunter myself, even if I've taken a few days off."
"What happened?" Simmons asked, naturally curious.
A lazy shrug in response, "Oh, just a few too many near death experiences that told me I could use a break."
Simmons could understand that, he really could, "Is being a Hunter how you know Tucker?"
Grif nodded, "Yeah. My sister Kai and I were originally from Galahd."
Simmons had heard of the island before, but only in passing when it had been taken over by Niflheim.
"Right." Grif said when he mentioned his familiarity, "A lot of people left afterwards, us included."
"Oh." Simmons honestly wasn't sure what to say.
"We didn't have the requisites to live in Insomnia, so we headed to the Cleide region instead." Grif began. Eventually, the siblings had made it to the outpost where Tucker and Junior lived. Tucker had gotten a Hunter pregnant, and she'd died shortly after Junior was born, making Tucker want to become a Hunter himself. Grif and Kai had helped him out, until shit had really hit the fan and they had to get to Lestallum. Grif shuddered at the memory, remarking, "And I'd thought leaving Galahd had been hard."
Simmons nodded his head in understanding. It was the only thing he could think to do.
Grif glanced over at the redhead speculatively, "I figure trekking across countries while this shitstorm was starting wasn't too much fun either."
"That's putting it mildly." Simmons closed his green eyes as if that would somehow block out the horrific memories.
When he opened them, Grif was staring down at the table, a frown on his face, "I figured."
Simmons didn't exactly mind the conversation despite it bringing up some rather painful topics, but he couldn't help but wonder why Grif was still there and choosing to talk to him, "Is your sister still in Lestallum?" He asked, though it was probably a dumb question. No one left the city anymore unless out on assignment.
He nodded, "She's getting food with Junior and Tucker right now." Grif shrugged, "I just got some news I haven't been in the mood to tell them yet, so you could say I'm hiding out."
Simmons awkwardly let out an "I'm sorry." then, unsure if he should pry any further or not. They all had to deal with such things now, after all.
"It's fine." Grif shrugged as though it were no big deal, "Things are just shitty all over, you know? Why should our lives be any different?"
Simmons frowned, again not sure of what to say to this total stranger.
"Do you have anyone left still?" Grif asked him, like he was trying to make small talk.
Simmons shook his head, "No," he told him quickly, "My father died as we were leaving and my mother," his voice nearly broke then, "She contracted the 'vanishing disease.'"
Grif frowned in thought, "I can guess what happened then."
Simmons gripped his arms tightly, "Yeah."
The silence was heavy, and Simmons felt guilty at having managed to ruin the somber atmosphere even more, he stood up shakily, "S—sorry." He muttered, "I should go."
But Grif surprised him by grabbing his cybernetic arm even though his dark-eyed gaze never left the table, "Do you even have a place to stay?" Simmons blinked at the unexpected question and Grif frowned up at him, "I thought not." He noted, "You don't look like you've slept well in forever." As Simmons tried to come up with a retort, Grif's hand tightened marginally around his arm, "I still don't feel like heading home and facing the others yet." He looked up at Simmons, "Wanna go with me somewhere?"
Despite himself, Simmons shakily nodded his head.
Simmons wondered what was wrong with him as he followed Grif throughout the crowded streets, thinking that he should just leave. It wasn't like Grif wasn't giving him any chances to do so. He didn't know Grif, after all, but the heavyset man had been upset by something and… Simmons sighed, unsure himself.
Grif glanced back at him, suddenly asking, "Do you ever wonder why we're here?"
The question threw the redhead off, "In Lestallum?" …Because the answer to that was pretty obvious.
Grif sighed, "I get that. World ending and shit." He looked rather speculative again, "But even still, why are we here at all then? What's the point?"
Simmons frowned, finding it rather uncomfortable to note that he'd mulled over those very questions one too many times himself, even before all of this.
"It could all be chalked up to one of life's greatest mysteries." Grif stated quietly.
Simmons took in a deep breath at the orange-wearing man's tone. He was caught off-guard, however, by their arrival at a rather rundown and shabby-looking apartment building. Simmons looked it over and frowned as Grif stepped inside, making his way to a boarded-up room that he promptly kicked open. The room inside was little more than a glorified closet with a bed and a cabinet.
Grif stepped in, "A friend of mine said that I could use it whenever I was in the area." He chuckled, "And I doubt he'll mind now since he's off doing who knows what." He watched Simmons look around and curiously poke his head into the cabinet, shocked at the assortment of weaponry there, "Wash has always been a paranoid fuck."
Simmons asked, "Why are we here?"
Grif raised an eyebrow, "Wasn't that what we just discussed?"
Simmons rolled his eyes, "I meant here. Specifically."
Grif shrugged, "I thought it would be obvious."
At Simmons' blank stare, he gestured towards the bed with its threadbare blankets and sunken mattress, "I figured you could use a rest."
"I, I don't…!"
Simmons tried arguing but Grif walked over to a side-door nearly hidden by the cabinet full of dangerous weaponry, he grinned, "Have I told you about the plumbing here yet?"
A pause. Simmons considered, "Is there a shower?"
A thoroughly washed and cleaned Simmons felt like kicking himself later, but he really couldn't help it: the opportunity to use a real shower instead of a steam tent for once had been too tempting. He let out a contented sigh as he emerged from the tiny bathroom, dropping like a stone to sit on the bed.
Grif watched him in amusement, "It's been awhile, huh?"
Simmons closed his eyes, "Way too fucking long." He felt the bed shift as Grif sat down next to him, his face going red as he moved slightly away, "Th—thanks."
Grif said, "No problem." His dark eyes were glued to Simmons' cybernetic arm, "You know, I'd actually wanted to go to Niflheim."
Simmons looked over at him in surprise, "Really?"
The chubby man nodded, "I always wanted to fly an airship, even though they only had military ones." He looked thoughtful, "I even helped out a pilot once who said she'd teach me if I ever got there." Simmons recalled Carolina once talking fondly of an airship pilot she knew, though he couldn't help but think it would be a shame for someone like Grif to have enlisted. Grif was muttering to himself, "Though I think all of the airships are gone now anyways." He said without any intention of being overheard.
Simmons nodded his head in reluctant agreement, and started when Grif reached over and touched his arm, "Can you feel that?" Grif asked with a rather intense look on his face.
Simmons nodded, the sensation tingling and warm and not at all unpleasant.
"What happened?"
Simmons frowned in recollection, "I fell in the mountains on some snow and it had to be replaced." He didn't mention that he'd been pushed by the local bullies.
"So you must have lived by the Glacian then." Grif noted in surprise.
He was referring to the body of the giantess that kept that particular region of Niflheim forever covered in ice and snow. Simmons nodded, "Getting used to the constant snow was pretty strange," he wondered if they would all just get used to this eternal darkness too. He didn't really want that to be the case, but…
He hadn't realized that Grif had gotten so close until his breath hit his face and he started. "Simmons." His hand was suddenly grabbing onto Simmons' own, and as Simmons' brain scrambled for anything to say or do, he realized that Grif had been drinking a ton before he approached him at the dive.
"Y—yeah?" Simmons asked in a shaky voice.
"Sorry." Grif murmured as he put his other hand on the back of Simmons' neck, "I'm drunk."
"It…it's okay." Simmons' breath caught in his throat, "I am too."
Grif suddenly pulled him forward and kissed him. Simmons was stunned into silence and unsure of what to do as Grif finally pulled away, "Sorry." He muttered again.
Simmons knew something was bothering the other man, "Is…is there anything I can do to help?"
"You might want to rethink that offer." Grif told him with a smirk on his face.
"It's the end of the world, isn't it?" Simmons shyly got out, "So if I can help be a distraction, then…"
Grif frowned, "I'm not that much of an asshole."
"I—I know!" Simmons was quick to say, "But if it helps, it's not like I'm not curious…"
Grif's eyes widened, "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
Simmons' face went red, "Sh—shut up!" He glared over at Grif, challenging him.
Grif looked unsure at first, but then his expression changed to a mixture of amused and touched, "Hadn't pegged you for a one night stand kind of guy."
"I'm…I'm not!"
Grif nodded, "Neither am I. Usually." He muttered, "But the world's gone crazy right now."
"Y—yeah. I want…I want to try." Simmons placed his lips on Grif's shyly.
Grif rolled his eyes, "Being a kiss-ass here could give you a bad reputation." He murmured against his lips before pulling him into a deeper kiss as he guided their bodies down onto the bed.
For the first time in forever, Simmons fell into a fitful sleep with Grif's arms wrapped tightly around him as if he just desperately needed something real to hold onto. When Simmons woke up the next morning still in the same embrace with a naked man snoring softly against the skin of his neck, he couldn't stop himself from smiling ever so slightly.
Ten years later, and Simmons was meeting Carolina and Caboose on the airship field on the outskirts of the recently constructed new settlement known as Chorus. It was the first such town to be built since dawn had appeared overhead again, a tremendous monument to humanity's desire to thrive and rebuild.
It would still take a lot of work to get everything in shape, but already the buildings were coming along nicely and people were finding that their new homes and shelters were much roomier and comfier than anything that they'd been forced to endure in Lestallum. It was enough to rekindle hope in everyone, and to help put an extra spring in steps that before had nearly become too downtrodden. Thankfully, Simmons had never gotten quite that bad. He'd had a large support network that kept him going even through those traumatic years, one that he could never put into words how grateful he'd become for.
Tucker and Junior were busy helping Andersmith and his friends with setting up their supply stores. Just the other day, Junior had called Andersmith "dad" for the first time and Tucker had hugged them both and gave Andersmith a huge kiss in front of everyone.
Doc and Washington were meeting up with Donut and his new "friend" that the pink-wearing Hunter had met up with when they'd been traveling to Chorus, an intimidating former mercenary named Locus. Simmons suspected that they'd both be having a chat with Locus to make sure he never hurt their friend.
He had no idea where Sarge and Lopez had run off to at the moment, though he hoped they were helping Chorus' leader Kimball and Doctor Grey set up the clinic as Kimball had asked the older man in red for assistance earlier that morning.
"I'm glad you guys wanted to come here too." Carolina told Simmons sincerely as Caboose loudly gave his "tour speech" in the background on how the airstrip was only just a little lonely with just one transport there at the moment, but hopefully they'd have even more friends for it soon.
"Chorus is going to be very important in helping get people back on their feet." Simmons told her emphatically, "Of course we'd want to help."
The other redhead nodded appreciatively, a contemplative frown settling over her features, "It's been touch and go at times, but hopefully—"
She was cut off by someone all too familiar yelling "Goddamn it, Kai!" at the top of their lungs across the airstrip. Grif, a laughing Kai, and a thoroughly amused-looking Four Seven Niner came into view then, heading straight for the three of them.
"Oh, hello!" Caboose waved ecstatically, as if they hadn't just seen this particular group about an hour ago.
"How'd the flight training go?" Carolina asked as she interwove her fingers with the airship pilot's, "I didn't see you guys taking off yet."
"It was going great." Four Seven Niner squeezed her hand right back, before settling her dark-eyed gaze on Kai, "At least until someone decided to joke about bringing a soda onboard."
"I was thirsty." Kai stuck her tongue out again, "Besides, we'll have plenty of time to try flying all over Eos now, right?"
"Beside the point, but I guess you have us there." Grif looked over at Simmons in particular and grinned, "We can go wherever we want now."
Grif moved to stand next to Simmons then, a genuine smile on his face as he made sure their shoulders touched gently, the contact warm and welcome. They'd lost and been through so much just to get to where they were now, but Dexter Grif smiling in the newfound light of day once again had Simmons believing he couldn't think of a more beautiful sight.
Author's Notes: Well, this happened. XD I'm honestly not sure what possessed me to write a Final Fantasy XV AU story, although it is probably because I think there's so much potential for interesting stories in that story-verse in that "ten year" time period, but here we have it. This was originally going to be part of a much larger, multi-chapter epic, but since the poor thing was collecting dust in my story folder for many, many months I decided to tweak it and make it a longer oneshot instead. I hope it reads all right!
In honor of it being RvB Rare Pair Week, I also included some of my personal favorite rare pairs too. :D
Thank you so much for reading! :D
