Title: Eternal Summer
Chapter: 6 – By Popular Demand
Pairing: None Yet (Eventual Grif x Simmons)
Warnings: Swearing, Violence
Summary: Simmons isn’t the only one who’s not completely human.
Author’s Notes: Due to popular demand, I’ve accepted the challenge of livening up Grif’s fight 😉 I figure if every one of who commmented wanted the same thing, well.. I couldn’t argue. So, consider the opening scene your collective doing. I hope you appreciate it.
I feel like it’s only fair that I dedicate this chapter to tttroy, who’s so sweet and yet I decided sow doubt all around her. I hope this chapter makes you happy. You deserve the answers this one provides. 😉 I can be a dick sometimes. I’m sorry. I think I might have made up for it, though. Heh.
When the blue skinned tentacle slammed Simmons aside Grif was through playing Spartan. Instead of pulling back and resorting to firearms he threw himself at the creature. He slashed with deadly silver claws, finding his mark when the indigo beast reached for him with a tentacle. The limb writhed on the mossy ground, suddenly separated from the hunter.
The beast’s tactic changed quickly, it’s remaining tentacle drawn back and held out of harms way behind it’s shoulders. Instead the creature circled Grif, clearly all to aware of the dangers of giving the man room to move. It sprang, sickle-like claws raking against Grif’s armor and throwing up sparks. The armor flexed under the assault gave way to the beast’s claws in ways MJOLNIR wasn’t supposed to. Grif lashed out, catching the creature in the shoulder and tearing long gashes that bled violet.
The pair separated and circled again, this time the beast’s rush came with less warning. It wrapped it’s forepaws around Grif’s shoulders, tearing with the claws and biting at his exposed face. The teeth dug into his left cheek and jaw with a searing pain. He stabbed upwards, digging claws into the beast’s head and throat. When the jaw’s tightened the fervor of Grif’s attacks increased, tearing in a desperate attempt to get the creature to release his head.
The fight ended abruptly. The jaws slacked and the beast fell away. Relief washed over Grif in a wave, only to be followed by a searing pain that seemed to numb his entire body before settling where the creature had bitten him. He tried to walk towards Simmons, to seek help, but his legs gave out and he collapsed to his knees. Save for the lancing pains emanating from his face, Grif felt nothing. He didn’t feel the warmth of the blood he was kneeling in, or the chill of the breeze that was blowing. Only the sharp stabs of pain kept him alert enough to be bothered to notice the distant rust-toned shadow that loomed nearby.
Despite the agony of moving the muscles in his face, Grif forced himself to growl a warning at the shadow when it grew too near. The shadow spoke, it’s voice was far away and difficult to understand, seeming like little more than a murmur. The world seemed to thin for a moment, letting him come closer once he’d realized what had been said. He realized that the voice belonged to pack “Si.. Simmons?” The words came with difficulty, and then the world seemed to distance itself again, hiding beyond the searing pain. When the pack-brother reached out Grif ground out the words that came into his mind, trying to tell Simmons that he couldn’t move. His demand was ignored instead, and he was dragged upright anyways. His pack-brother’s voice came through the veil of pain, worried and indistinct. He quieted, focusing on the steps he was being urged to take.
Simmons kept dragging Grif onward, away from the dead creature that would likely attract more of the nasty denizens of this planet. Assuming this really was Kael it was no wonder the Kaelsar were so aggressive. They’d have to be tough to survive with that sort of thing just wandering around. “Common, Grif. You need to carry some of your own weight.” He was getting worried, Grif was seeming less and less focused as they went, phasing in and out of lucidity. Now he’d reached a point at which he was only really here for moments at a time. They weren’t far enough, but Grif needed a rest. Honestly, Simmons felt like he could use one, too. Grif was more solidly built that he looked, heavier than someone his size had any right to be.
He picked the first spot he could find that would afford any level of cover. He settled Grif into a hollow by the baes of a tree, amongst the roots. Emergency supplies were limited, but they’d be able to make do at least tonight. Tomorrow they’d need to find water, though, and how he would do that with Grif incoherent he didn’t know. Simmons took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand, resorting to the light on his gun since both his and Grif’s helmets had been more than he could manage to carry. Grif was in bad shape, his armor torn like it hadn’t been made out of some of the highest tech alloys in existence. MJOLNIR could deal with minor injuries, but Grif went beyond its capabilities. The bite on his face had stopped bleeding, but the delicate new scabs were surrounded by skin the telltale red of infection. “You should be in better shape that this. It was just a big cat-monster. You’re a Spartan.” Simmons spoke more to break the forest’s silence than to get anything coherent out of Grif. His patient was still for the most part, staying limp with litte more than the occasional growl while he removed the damaged armor. The majority of the panels on the upper body had been damaged at least superficially, something they didn’t have the equipment to deal with here. Hell, chances were they couldn’t repair the armor anywhere on Kael.
Once Grif was as settled as possible he decided on a perimeter. It was going to be a long night. One man in a forest full of God knows what, with injured team-member in a completely incoherent state.
The trials and tribulations of the night were many, with Simmons facing down unseen beasts that never revealed themselves and stalked by blue-skinned demon cats powerful enough to throw a man into trees ten feet away. By the time the sun rose and the third moon faded from view again he was exhausted. He’d kept an eye on Grif through the night, but there had been little change. The cuts on his face were swollen now, and it was still nearly impossible to get him to focus. Grif was, on a technicality, still conscious. His lucidity was definitely questionable, with even his eyes unwilling to bring anything into focus.
Simmons slumped against a tree, facing the one who’s roots were sheltering Grif. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up for long. In fact, he was already at the breaking point, dozing while the sun rose and broke through the trees. He continued to sleep, not hearing the misstep that should have revealed his attacker before it struck.
He found himself jerked violently awake as hands grabbed his elbows and pulled his arms back dangerously close to the limits of the joints in his shoulders. A rope made it’s way across his throat effortlessly, binding him effectively enough for the pair doing the binding to complete their job quickly, even going to far as to secure his legs. They were both young, but built on opposite ends of the spectrum, the first, who’d been doing the actual tying, was slight and only tall enough to brush the edges of the five foot mark. The second could easily top 6, and was built powerfully. Both were dark haired with pale eyes that seemed almost reflective. Their feral look was disturbing as they snarled back and forth, the smaller one shoving lightly at the chest of the larger, then giving a barking call over one shoulder. A shadow passed over Simmons as yet another figure appeared. The man was a great deal older than the two who’d detained him, with gray hair that matched his eyes. The snarling and growling continued between the three of them. It took Simmons a minuet to understand that they were speaking to one another, something he only noticed that one noise that recurred several times amounted to a snarled version of the word ‘Spartan’.
“It’s not just me!” Simmons knew Grif had intended to interfere, to talk to the Kaelsar first, but with his injuries it wasn’t possible. Hopefully one of them spoke English or both he and Grif were fucked. “My partner is here. He’s Kaelsar. There!” He tried to point, but being trussed to a tree like a calf about to be branded he didn’t really have an appendage suitable for pointing that was free enough to do it.
The gray-haired one rumbled something at the other two, then the three started searching. It only took a few seconds for them to notice the orange armor laying in a pile like scrape metal under a bush. Gray-hair picked up the chest plate, examining the line of rents left in it by the blue cat-beast. He spoke words that sounded like a series of barks at the other two. They’d noticed Grif at least, though now they were talking again, and their snarl-bark version of the word Spartan was flying fast. “He’s Kaelsar! from Earth!” He struggled against the ropes, wondering where in the hell the super-strength he was supposed to have was hiding. Thin, bladelike claws slide from Gray-hair’s fist as he leaned over to get a closer look at Grif.
The rumbling, multi-syllable growl from the old one was directed at the other two. The small one slid around the tree, tightening the rope around Simmons’ neck just enough to force him still and quiet. Deliberate fingers turned Grif’s head to once side, letting eyes fall on the wounds on his face. Slowly, Grif’s eyes opened and miraculously focused. It was seemed that he understood the words gray-hair was saying, but he reached up to the neck of the man’s shirt as if in slow motion. The languid, deliberate growl Grif voiced brought all three of the other Kaelsar to a dead stop.