Prelude for Losers?: Simmons
Find out what happened before the events of When We Were Soldiers in the Prelude for Losers? specials!
In this prequel collection, you'll find connected character-specific introspective one shots that delve into the backstories of our favorite mismatched group of soldiers before they arrived in Chorus.
The first story is Simmons'.
Main Pairing(s): Grimmons
Background Pairing(s): 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.
Prelude for Losers? — Simmons:
From Richard "Dick" Simmons' perspective, the party was far too loud and suffocating. The redhead hated these kinds of events, and he especially hated how his father forced him to attend them.
This was his father's party. These were his guests and business associates, not Simmons'. Simmons was only fourteen! Forcing him to attend these professional parties was practically tantamount to torture.
Simmons was fourteen, gangly and awkward. He was well aware of the fact that his father saw him as more of an embarrassment to their family's proud lineage than anything else. The look of disappointment that crossed his father's face whenever his lanky son entered a room didn't go unnoticed.
Truthfully, why his father even wanted Simmons at these types of events given his utter disdain for his offspring was beyond the boy's comprehension.
This party was even more insufferable than the others Simmons had attended in the past. Being forced to "mingle" was destroying what little anxious nerves he had left. The atmosphere was stuffy and downright oppressive. Simmons couldn't breathe.
The conversations around him were either all of the dull and super boring variety, or they were of the depressing topic of the ongoing war and how their region was evidently now a Red one.
The pale skinned boy hated hearing about a planet-wide conflict being broken down into numbers and business models, especially when real people were out there fighting and dying for whatever reasons they might have. The thought of it all had always been enough to turn Simmons' stomach.
His mother would say his reaction was because he was a sensitive soul. His father would say it was because he was weak. When it came to how he viewed himself, Simmons honestly wasn't sure which of his parents' sentiments was the most truthful, and that made him feel even more pathetic.
Simmons could picture his father's disapproving glare, could hear the mental accusation that was no doubt lurking beneath those cold green eyes. He wondered, for not the first time in his life, if in his father's assessment he had found his truth.
After what seemed like hours and hours, his mother looked up from her conversation with some of his father's business associates' spouses. She only ever seemed truly happy in these fleeting moments by herself, and that always made Simmons feel sad and guilty somehow.
The redheaded woman must have noticed how miserable her son appeared. She offered him a sympathetic sort of smile and nodded her head, giving him the out that he had been desperately craving since the night began.
Simmons took it without a second thought, relieved to finally be free from the stagnant party of adults.
When Simmons came bounding up the steps to the third story of the mansion that his father called their family's "residence," he was at first undisturbed by the sight of the open door to his sanctuary. Honestly, the teen was just relieved to get away from the source of his anxiety.
At this level, party noises still filtered through the floors in soft, muted tones. But, he could tune them out if he focused enough. At any rate, it was far better than being down there in the midst of a stuffy business gala.
Still, the sight of his bedroom door being opened gave him pause. He always kept it closed due to his father not wanting to be reminded of his son's more academic leanings. Simmons likened the room to being his own private sanctuary of sorts, so that was fine with him. Really.
The door being ajar wasn't entirely unusual though. Perhaps one of the servants had just forgotten to close it again, which meant he should do so now to keep them from getting in trouble with his parents. Considering how the redhead had planned on staying in there the rest of the night, it wouldn't pose a hindrance for him.
But, just as Simmons reached for the door's control panel, he paused at the sight of one of the party guests standing in the middle of his bedroom.
He vaguely recognized the older man from his father's earlier introductions, though it took a moment for the name associated with the weathered face to mesh inside the lanky boy's surprised brain. Malcolm…Hargrove, he believed it was.
All Simmons really knew about Hargrove was that he was a business associate of his father's as well as something of a friend. Oh, and that he was intimidating as fuck.
The older man hadn't even turned around, but he apparently sensed Simmons' dumbfounded expression on his back.
"Quite an impressive collection of scholarly achievements, Richard." Hargrove told him, motioning to the wall where Simmons' awards and good scores, even though he still wasn't the best at test taking no matter how hard he tried, were displayed.
Simmons was so caught off-guard by the compliment that he blinked, his brain unsure of how to process it.
"My father thinks they're pointless." He finally blurted out, and he could kick himself for saying something that would probably get back to his father and make him even more disappointed in his son.
Hargrove turned to look at him directly then, and there was something in his assessing gaze that caused Simmons to stand up straighter. It was like the look his father stared through him with, only a million times worse because Hargrove was directing it at him. The redhead couldn't help but squirm uncomfortably under the intensity.
"Yes, well," Hargrove smiled thinly, "Your father has much to learn when it comes to intellectual pursuits."
Simmons was unsure of how to respond to what seemed almost like a jab at his father. So, he simply nodded mutely, figuring it was his best option.
Hargrove moved past him to leave, stopping for just a moment to pat Simmons on the shoulder, "I hope the rest of the evening finds you well, Richard." He told him in a disinterested manner that indicated he didn't really care either way.
Simmons remained standing in the doorway for a long time after Hargrove left, not exactly sure how to process the strange encounter.
It was about a week later that his father told him out of the blue that Malcolm Hargrove would be adopting him. Simmons had stared blankly at the serious expression his father wore, unsure if he had heard him correctly or not.
"Did I stutter, Richard?" His father asked after several moments had passed.
"I… No." Simmons blinked, swallowing down all of the unprocessed feelings the news was bringing to the surface, "I'm sorry, Father. I heard you."
The adoption would officially take place when Hargrove arrived back in the region next month, though the papers had already been signed.
His father seemed pleased, as if he had made a great profit at someone else's expense. He even smiled proudly at his son for the first time ever, and that actually hurt.
Simmons' mother said nothing on the topic, but she would often gaze at Simmons as though she wanted to cry.
Simmons felt much the same way.
A week later and Simmons was standing in front of the rubble of the mansion that his father had always called their "residence" instead of their home, battered and alone.
He was fourteen. His parents had been killed in a pointless war and now he truly had no one.
Relatives he had never known about had swooped down onto the rubble like vultures to see what his parents had left them. They had wanted nothing to do with the shell-shocked boy his parents had left behind, especially after they learned of the adoption plans.
After all, in their view that meant that he was no longer a competitor for anything from the Simmons' estate.
Simmons was fourteen, had nothing, and was alone.
He couldn't breathe, he couldn't even cry. He just wanted to collapse somewhere and never move again. But, he didn't want to stay here either. He wasn't sure he wanted the future that his father had planned out for him, one that would surely be waiting if he lingered.
Simmons was fourteen, and he was alone. So, that was why he ran away.
Simmons was huddled in a street corner somewhere, his clothes nothing more than gritty rags over his slender limbs. He was starving and thirsty, having no idea which region he had stumbled upon.
The redhead didn't even have the energy to ask anyone if they were Red or Blue this week. He was so tired he didn't even care that he was covered in dirt and sweat. Honestly, he just wanted to sleep and ignore the pain in his belly and give in to the exhaustion seeping all over…
Someone poked him with their foot just as he was drifting off.
"Hey, kid! You okay?" An unfamiliar male voice spoke from somewhere above him.
"He's fine, North. I mean, he just felt like collapsing here. Obviously." A testy female voice remarked.
Simmons started, surprised to see two older teenagers with pale blond hair and blue eyes regarding him curiously.
"You hungry?" The boy apparently named North asked him gently.
Simmons' stomach betrayed him even before his green eyes filled with tears.
Their names were North and South Dakota, and they were twins who had grown up in the area all by themselves. They brought Simmons into their home, taught him how to survive.
For a time, Simmons was almost happy. He was fourteen and, for the first time in his life, he felt like he could maybe pretend like he had a real family.
The next time everything changed for Simmons was actually, in the grand scheme of things, a quiet, uneventful day save for the fact that the region they were living in had changed to Blue overnight.
The changes between the sides were so common in this region that the twins had something of a pool going on regarding it. In fact, this last time South had betted North it would take at least another month for Red to fall. She probably wouldn't be too happy about having to pay up.
Simmons had gotten some food in return for helping a local mechanic for the day, and he was eager to share it with his two roommates. He was beyond surprised when he bounded up the stairs, all gangly and full of happy energy, to find the apartment door open.
The sparse furnishings they'd had were gone, leaving the suddenly not cramped living space empty beyond South standing in the middle of it. Judging by the guarded expression on her face, she had been waiting for a while for him to come back.
"I told North that you'd left already, so he wouldn't have any reason to wait." South informed the younger teen without preamble, "Figured that would be for the best."
"Wh—wha…?"
But, South cut the redhead off with a wave of her hand, "Listen, we have been wanting to leave and head west for a while now, but we both knew you wouldn't survive out there. You've been holding us back."
Simmons stared dumbfounded, knowing what she was saying was probably true but really unsure of how to respond to her declaration.
"North just didn't have the guts to tell you, so it's up to me to be the bad guy. Again." There was a bitterness to her voice that suggested this wasn't the first time she had felt this way, "That's that, I guess." She moved to walk past him, "Sorry, Simmons, but I have to look out for the two of us first. We're family."
As she reached the open door, South turned and regarded him for a moment, her expression cold yet unreadable beneath pale blond hair streaked violet. Suddenly, she was pressing credits into Simmons' free hand. He was dimly aware that it was probably the money she had been planning on paying her brother regarding the bet.
"Head east to avoid the really heavy fighting." South advised him as any hint of sentimentality appeared to vanish with that one final gesture on her part.
Then, just like that, she was gone.
In that moment, the redhead realized that the twins hadn't really seen him as family after all. He couldn't blame them for it either. It was natural. It made sense. North and South had always had each other. They were each other's family. That was the way it had always been for the two of them.
There was no doubt that South was on her way to meet her brother, just as there was no doubt that North already thought that Simmons had left them all on his own. So, there wasn't anything holding the twins back from their dream now—whatever the hell it had been. The lanky boy realized that he didn't even know what it was that the twins wanted to do. He had never thought to ask and now he'd never know.
Simmons was fifteen. He was alone again. It took him a really long while before he finally left the empty apartment as well.
With not much else to go on, Simmons took South's last piece of advice and headed east.
It was in a town called Blood Gulch that Simmons met an eccentric soldier in red armor named Sarge. The redhead ended up joining the older man's crew of misfits, people who had banded together because they had nowhere else to go.
Their meeting had been actually in the middle of a fire fight. Simmons had ducked behind some crates, cursing himself for having dozed off in what apparently had been a military zone. Not that the whole fucking planet wasn't technically one, but still! His luck seemed to suck majorly hard.
If he was being honest with himself, Simmons had been fairly certain he was going to die right then and there. That is, until he heard…
"Yee-haw! Eat lead, dirtbags!"
The freckled teen hadn't been expecting to be saved by a shotgun-wielding man, nor had he been expecting said soldier to take one look at Simmons' scrawny form and tell him to follow him.
But, that was the way things had played out. Truthfully, Simmons was glad for it as the mismatched group Sarge had assembled was truly the closest thing he had ever had to a family. It had taken a long time, but it felt like Simmons had found a group he truly fit in with.
Doc and Donut were both cheerful-if-odd company to have around, and the robot Lopez was dependable even though he didn't say much that Simmons could actually understand. Tucker took some getting used to, but even Simmons had to laugh at some of his antics.
Over time, their close knit family unit grew with the inclusion of Church, Sheila, and Caboose. Carolina and Tex came later, as did Washington—along with the surprising addition of Tucker's infant son, Junior. The three former Freelancers in particular were intimidating as all fuck, but Simmons learned a lot from them too.
The redhead became a soldier and was never once left behind again. On occasion, he was even the one to wait for the others to return. But, even when their group separated on occasion, they always seemed to find one another again.
At age twenty-two, Simmons is happy and content. It is the first time in his life he can truly recall ever being so.
The door to his bedroom at the base was closed, which was odd to Simmons since he was fairly certain he had left it open when he had gone on patrol that morning.
He frowned, vaguely remembering how Sarge and Tucker had both mentioned that some new additions would be joining their ranks today. Genetically engineered ones, if he recalled the earlier conversation correctly, though he didn't know from which genetic category they fell into.
Honestly? All that really mattered to him was that they might be in his room at that very moment, so he had best introduce himself and nip any bedroom-stealing plans in the bud then and there!
Simmons swallowed nervously and opened the door, mouth open to let out a lecture about proper manners to whoever their new recruits might be.
…He really wasn't expecting to see a chubby, tan skinned young man only a few years older than himself from the looks of things standing in the middle of his room.
The man's dark eyes regarded Simmons defiantly as he protectively held the hand of a little girl who, on closer inspection, resembled him a lot.
Simmons is twenty-three-years-old when he is first introduced to Dexter Grif.
The first impression could have gone better, especially since Grif called the redhead a "nerd" a second after their meeting with a smirk on his face.
As Simmons indignantly stutters out a "fat-ass" in response, he isn't quite sure why his breath catches in his throat.
Author's Notes: My second prequel attempt for "The opposite of war is…", this time delving more into Simmons' past. It was definitely interesting writing him as a younger character than he is in the main story When We Were Soldiers, so I hope I did his journey throughout this piece justice! I experimented a bit with my writing style for this one, so I apologize if it is at all off or bizarre to read in any way.
This is the first of a collection of prequels about the characters before they arrive (or just start arriving) at Chorus. I'll be calling this collection Prelude for Losers? I also have plans for two other prequel stories not connected to this collection in any way later on as well detailing the "time in the shade" and the cyborg surgery story events that I so often allude to in WWWS.
I can't promise that the Prelude for Losers? updates are going to be on any sort of a schedule, but I can tell you that whenever I'm able to post the next story for this collection, it is going to be from Doc's perspective. Then the stories will go from there for different characters! :)
As always, thank you for taking the time to read this! :D