Work Text:
“There they are….they’re so menacing…so… so…. small!” Grif said, a tone of disgust lacing his voice.
“They’re children, of course they’re small… why do you want to use the swings anyways? You hate physical activity.” Simmons responded, giving Grif a mixed look of confusion and concern.
“Simmons… It’s not the swings I want, it’s the principle of the thing. We were here first and therefore, we deserve the swings” Grif replied. And as soon as he ended his sentence, he was already walking on the path towards the swing-set.
‘Too old for the swings, my ass!’ Grif thought to himself, reflecting upon what the soccer moms from earlier had said before they had rudely forced him and Simmons to give up their precious seats on the park’s best swing-set. Three gross children. All occupying the swing-set. Not a single chain was free from their dirty little child hands.
As Grif approached the swings he narrowed his eyes at a 7 or 8 year old girl with pigtails. He considered just shoving one of these little gremlins off and being done with it. But no, he was much more creative than that, he had ideas.
“HEY SIMMONS, GET OVER HERE!” Grif called over to his friend, cupping his hands over his mouth in hopes of amplifying his voice.
Simmons looked around, and quickly unfolded his razor scooter, riding over to the swing-set. “What, what do you want?” Simmons whispered angrily, not really wanting anything to do with Grif’s scheme.
“I need you to bore these kids with your sciencey robot shit.” Grif whispered back, motioning to the children on the swings.
Letting out a deep sigh, Simmons hesitantly obliged, standing in front of the kids on the swing “Heyyy kids, wanna hear about….robots?!” he said awkwardly, really not wanting to be a part of whatever Grif was planning.
No response.
“W-well! I’m glad you’re interested… because I’m gonna tell you about 'em for the low low price of… uh f-free!” Simmons said, his voice shaky. “See robots are really ah.. a lot more simple than modern media makes them, but-”
He was quickly cut off by a young boy wearing a backwards baseball cap, “Can robots beat up my teacher?! I watch transformers and those ones transform from cars ta stuff like giant weapons and stuff!!”
“Uh, well… noo. Robots by today’s standards are still-”
“Boooooringgg, I wanna see a robot beat somebody up! Beat somebody up! Beat somebody up!” the boy chanted.
The plan was obviously failing, and was desperately in need of some Grif-tastic intervention. As Simmons stood there and struggled for words, Grif stepped out in front of him and faced the kids.
“Listen guys! How about you give up the swing-set, and I let you beat up this loser? Yeah? Sound good?” Grif said, preaching to the children on the swings as if they were some sort of high council of judges and he was praying for his life.
“What the hell, Grif?! I’m not gonna let them beat me up! No way!” Simmons said, taking a step towards Grif, and gripping him by the collar of his shirt “I’ll get in trouble for agitating the youth!”
“Oh shut up, you kiss-ass. You scared the teachers at school are gonna get mad and you’ll get a B+ instead of an A+ or something?” Grif snorted, shoving Simmons and taking a step back.
“Grif!” Simmons cried, also taking a step back from the other.
“Simmonssss!” Grif mocked, taking another step back.
WHAM
The boy on the swing suddenly collided with the back of Grif’s head, sending the both of them falling onto the surprisingly hard sand. Grif’s vision went dark and his mouth filled with the grimy tasting sand. The sounds of a child crying and mother rushing to it’s aid assaulted Grif’s ears. He let out an audible groan, not bothering to move.
“Oh my god, you should be ashamed of yourself!” said the currently disembodied voice of a woman, accompanied by many sobs from what Grif assumed to be her child. “My poor Jamie is hurt thanks to you and your friends antics!"
Clearly the woman had barely been watching the scene go down. It was her 'poor Jamie’ that clocked the pre-teen square in the skull. This was made even more evident by the loud 'smack’ he heard the woman dish out, most likely towards the innocent party of Simmons.
"Latkyn, Kaitlyn, we’re leaving. I’m sure that your mothers would not appreciate any more causalities due to these hooligans!” the woman said, her tone of voice seeming to be more directed at Grif and Simmons instead of the children “We can have some fruit snacks after we patch Jamie up.”
Grif let out another audible groan, man his head hurt. But damn, fruit snacks. That sounded appealing right now. Well, a hell of a lot more appealing than a mouthful of dirt.
The sound of footsteps and chains rattling made their way to Grif’s ears, and he heaved himself off the ground. His eyes were met with Simmons who was standing there, rubbing his cheek. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, asshole.” Simmons grumbled, propping his scooter up against the swing set as he sat down on one of the swings.
“Oh c'mon, at least we got the swings, right?” Grif laughed awkwardly, plopping down on the swing next to his friend. “And if we’re lucky, I’ll only sustain a mild concussion! My plan worked out great!”
“Yeah right! I got a slap in the face and you got beat up by a 6 year old.” Simmons retorted, kicking his legs and swinging back and forth.
“Oh shut up, you kill-joy.”