Red Vs Blue Book of One-Shots

Lend me a hand?

(6k say whaaaaat)

Back in the old days where Grif and Simmons would be in a box canyon in the middle of nowhere, a tragic accident happened.

Neither of te two liked to talk about the whole 'Cyborg and human cookie dough' situation.

Simmons had his robotic prosthetics, and Grif had... Well, just bits and pieces of Simmons' extra organs... Skin... Blood...

You know. Extra.

Once the pair had gotten used to their 'Improved bodies', things started o get less awkward, and they were back to bickering like a married couple.

"Grif, those are my fucking hands, you're washing them before you eat, damn it!"

"Simmons, do I look like Wall-E?"

"No, you look like a slob!"

"Exactly. So don't get your hopes up."

"Oh my god, don't you ever do something?"

"You're mistaking me for someone who-"

"You know what, forget it."

"Please. You have the memory of a girl in a relationship. You remember everything!"

"Right. But I'll just forget about it now and make you pay later."

These lovely bits of dialogue are one of many arguments that happen at red base, but it's grown into routine. Grif would dance around problems while Simmons chased after, like the animatronics at Pirates of the Caribbean.

It was a system that kept the two from spiraling into insanity, anger, and cabin fever from the Shinning. But as always, it doesn't always work.

There has been times where Simmons had completely lost all hope, curling up into a ball and staring at the inhuman thing that attached onto his body.

As a kid, he always thought Cyborg was the coolest guy in Teen Titans.

Now, he sees that maybe he was unappreciative of how difficult it was for a back story like that.

~Fast forward to present day where people are dead~

"MEN, FRONT AND CENTER, NOW!" Grif screeched, causing urgency to spread among the lieutenants. Jensen, Palomo, Bitters, and Smith all rushed to the captain, wondering what crisis happened now.

"Good morning captain-"

"OH- OH HELL NO, YOU CAN'T SWEET TALK ME TODAY, SMITH! I'VE GOT A REAL FUCKING PROBLEM!"

The troops took a step back, as if the distance would protect them. Grif kept a death glare, and raised his arm behind him to point to a pole on the roof of the war room.

"Jensen: What do you see up there?"

"U-Um... A pole?"

"Uh huh. Look closer."

"It's- Is that a bunch of-"

"YES! ALL OF MY COMIC BOOKS ARE STACKED UP THERE, STABBED THROUGH THE CENTER!" Grif yelled, throwing his hands up for emphasis. The troops were scared shitless at this time, trying to find a way to calm their captain down.

Before any of them could say words of comfort, Simmons had stepped in between the two groups.

"What's going on here?!" He shouted, causing everyone to stop and look at him.

"Someone-... Someone destroyed all my comic books..."

Simmons gave him a bitch face, and then waved his hand to signal for the troops to leave. He waited until they were out if sight to full on slap Grif's visor.

"Dumbass." He mumbled, crossing his arms while doing so.

"But-But Simmons!" Grif whined, trying to get some sort of help.

"Ugh, fine, I'll help you get them down, but I'm not going to feel sorry for you."

~~~~~

Grif was on top of a ladder, which Simmons was supporting on the bottom. The orange captain felt around for his previous collections of paper, placing them all into a box on the ground. When it came to the last couple of volumes, he realized that it was impossible to reach.

"Hey Simmons, mind giving me a hand here?" Grif called, hoping that the genius had something in mind.

Silence arrived from the ground, making Grif sigh with impatience.

"Simmons, I need-"

Smack.

It took Grif a couple of seconds to react. At first, he thought that he had been hit, but that's not possible with Simmons on the ground.

He was hit with his arm.

His cyborg arm.

"SIMMONS, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!"

"JUST GET DOWN! YOU'VE GOTTEN ENOUGH OF THEM ALREADY!"

"NO-NO- WE ARE TALKING ABIUT THIS. DID YOU JUST TAKE YOUR ARM OFF TO PROVE A POINT AND A PUN?"

"Ugh, for- FOR GOD'S SAKE, GET OFF THE DAMN LADDER!"

Grif had turned to look down at his disarmed (PUN=WORTH IT) attacker, only to realize that he didn't have any ladder rungs.

The overweight, lazy orange solider's mass came crashing down on the maroon one, causing them both tremendous amounts of pain.

The pair sat there for a minute or two, thinking about what the hell just happened.

Neither of them really knew, but there was one thing for certain:

The lieutenants got a new video recorded on their phones that day.