Simmons and Grif have nightmares at the same time, leading to a small moment of comfort.

Pairings Beyond Grimmons:

~N/A

Other Notes for This Story:

~N/A

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Fever Dreams

Richard "Dick" Simmons bolted upright in his bed, eyes wide open. His breath caught in his throat as he blinked, taking in his surroundings.

A glance at the clock to his left indicated that it was now early morning hours, and everything was as he had left it before going to bed the night before. His room was virtually spotless beyond a few geeky odds and ends that he'd carefully arranged to give a "somebody obviously super cool lives here" vibe. There was nothing out of place. There was no…

There was no blood. No splotches of crimson decorating the walls and floor, no heavyset body instead of his own lying on the sheets…

The redhead gulped, blood turning to ice in his veins as he remembered the dream that had resulted in his waking up in panic.

Simmons shuddered and closed his eyes, desperate to get the image out of his head. Grif was fine. They all were. The Reds and Blues had safely returned to Iris after who knew how many fuck-ups, and the orange-armored soldier had been with them.

After all, Grif had come to rescue them of his own volition. The orange-armored soldier had done exactly what Simmons had hoped, had believed, he would do once he got the message Simmons had attached to Lopez.

It wasn't as if Simmons had just come back by himself, desperate to reunite with Grif and say all of the things that he had meant to say but found he couldn't, like something had frozen him solid because emotions were things they all sucked at giving voice to.

…Only to find a trail of crimson leading to his room, to find Grif huddled on his bed as if he'd been trying to go for safety and comfort only to find neither.

Simmons let out a shaky sigh. That was it. He needed to get up and do something, anything, to keep these nightmare images from flashing through his mind.

…At the moment, there was only one thing he wanted to do.

The base's route to Grif's room was quick considering that they lived right next to each other. The maroon-wearing soldier found the door slightly open, and Simmons tried not to think about the malicious intruders of his nightmare as he chalked it up to Grif's usual laziness.

He pushed the door open, letting the dim hallway lighting enter into the space. Compared to his own bedroom, Grif's was far less organized and much more cluttered, though Simmons had always been impressed by just how readily Grif knew where everything was. Cleaning was obviously kept to a bare minimum to avoid Simmons' or Donut's nagging whenever they caught sight of what lay beyond Grif's doorway.

There were no splotches of red here either, nothing to indicate that anything was in disarray save for the constantly moving sheets on top of the bed. Simmons frowned, knowing Grif was a pretty deep sleeper who hardly ever twitched. Now it seemed as if he was thrashing, caught up in…

And then it hit him. Grif was probably not having a pleasant dream either. Before he even realized what he was doing, Simmons managed to make it through the room without tripping over anything. He looked down at Grif's grimacing, sweat-covered face.

Definitely a nightmare. Grif had had them from time to time when they'd been bunking together in both Blood Gulch and Chorus. Simmons refused to think of how often he actually missed those times. Back then, Grif had been as eager to share what his nightmares had been about as Simmons had been with his. Which is to say, not that much. The one time Simmons had tried to wake Grif from one, he'd been met with the tan-skinned man's stony silence and refusal to make eye contact for the better part of a week.

Given that previous experience, Simmons was unsure as to why he now decided to tentatively reach out and put a hand on Grif's shoulder, especially as his mind screamed at him that it was a majorly bad decision.

Grif's eyes shot open almost instantly at the contact, and he stared at Simmons as if not really seeing the cyborg at all.

"Grif?" Simmons asked once he'd recovered from his own shock at the extreme action, preparing himself for the inevitable silence or the curt demand to leave his room.

"Simmons?" Instead, Grif blinked at him and then ran a hand over his sweaty brow, as if this exchange between the two of them was remotely normal.

"Y—yeah, it's me." Simmons decided to gloss over why he was there entirely, instead focusing his concerned gaze on the other man, "You okay?"

Grif snorted, "Never better." The sarcasm was obvious in his voice as he maneuvered so that he was sitting up in bed. Simmons didn't wait for an invitation to join him, instead silently sitting on the edge of the mattress himself, wondering just when it was that their dynamic had evolved to the point where this was an okay occurrence.

In the dim light, Grif's face looked flushed. Simmons remembered Grif hadn't been even as minimally energetic as usual, even when bantering with Kai and Donut earlier that day. In fact, the chubby soldier had uncharacteristically staggered away from dinner, so it didn't take a genius to figure out what was the cause of his unrestful sleep.

"How long have you been sick?" Simmons surmised quietly.

Grif shrugged, "Dude, it's just a slight fever. Let's not make it a big deal." He told him, as if trying to reassure both himself and Simmons.

Simmons frowned, "But…"

"I'm fine, Simmons. Leave it."

The two fell into an awkward silence, Grif staring at Simmons speculatively as if wondering just why he was there in the first place. Simmons glanced down at the mattress and messy sheets instead, noticing how close their fingers were to touching.

A slight blush fell onto his face, as he knew neither of them would really want to talk about their bad dreams just then. …Or maybe ever, really. Emotions weren't something either of them excelled at communicating.

Even still, Simmons couldn't help but mutter out, "I had a nightmare."

Grif raised an eyebrow, "Want to talk about it?"

Simmons thought about the blood-filled vision he had of a time that had never been, of his relief at it not being true upon seeing Grif here, followed by his immediate concern at Grif's own, all-too-real condition. He shook his head, a self-deprecating smile on his lips, "Not really." He managed to get out.

"Good," Grif nodded as if that was the only suitable answer, "Since I sure as fuck don't want to talk about mine."

"You still need rest though!" Simmons pointed out nervously, "And plenty of fluids. And maybe…"

Grif's expression had become both fond and amused all at once, "What are you, my mother?"

It was meant as a joke, but they both knew that Simmons showing even a slight modicum of concern was far more than what Grif's mother had usually done when either of her children had been ill. Kai had confirmed as much to Simmons once when she knew Grif wouldn't overhear her. The Grif siblings often had to look after one another whenever they had gotten sick. Sort of like how Simmons had usually just been told to "man up" over any bouts of illness he'd gotten growing up, though now was hardly the time to dwell on that.

The redhead frowned, "I'm serious, Grif." Simmons told the other man succinctly, "That fever isn't going to go away if you don't take proper care of yourself."

"I know, I know." Grif rolled his eyes, before he suddenly cast an oddly unsure glance Simmons' way, "Maybe sleeping together might help?"

Simmons raised an eyebrow, thinking about how fevers were usually a sign of contagious germs. Given Grif's lack of other symptoms, the cyborg doubted that his much heartier immune system would catch anything, but the idea had still thrown him momentarily off-guard.

"I mean, since you're such a big baby that you had to come in here to check in on me after one little nightmare." Grif added, quick to turn the situation around to tease Simmons.

The maroon-wearing man's face got hot, "B—but you were having a…!"

Simmons trailed off when he realized that Grif was no longer looking at him, instantly regretting that he said anything at all as a frown joined his face's blush. Simmons instantly remembered his nightmare, remembered seeing how upset Grif had been during his, remembered the concern he still felt for the slightly sick man, and then he saw just how close their fingers were to touching on the crumpled sheets.

The cyborg smiled slightly, "S—sure. I can stay for a little while at least." He told Grif and, with the last sparks of his courage igniting quicker than he ever thought they could, Simmons tentatively reached over with his fingers and laid his hand down over Grif's on the bed.

Grif didn't pull away as Simmons had expected he might, and the redhead was further surprised when his chubbier fingers entwined with his own. Grif smiled over at him, looking oddly relieved, "Thanks, Simmons."

"No problem."

As they both leaned into the touch, Simmons knew that neither one of them would be having bad dreams for a while.

Author's Notes: Just a short oneshot this week because I've succumbed to sickness and didn't have the energy for much else, but I still desperately wanted to write and get out into the world some soothing comfort! :D

Hopefully I'll be feeling up to writing a continuation for one of my WIPs sometime soon. I might do something special around the time of the Season 17 premiere too, but I guess that will totally be up to how I feel by then.

I hope you enjoyed this comfort fluff fic, and thank you so much for reading! :) Stay healthy, everyone! :D