Work Text:
It wasn’t a usual occurrence that Grif would let Simmons take the wheel. This, however, was different, since Grif had injured his leg. They were driving back from the mission that Grif had got his wounded leg from, which sat up straight across the dashboard with his chair all the way down, acting as a makeshift mattress for him.
Grif was assigned the job of navigating Simmons, since the maroon soldier seemed to have no clue where he was going. He was almost as bad as Donut with directions.
“Make a right turn,” Grif said, peering up over the dashboard slightly.
Simmons doesn’t turn.
"MAKE A GODDAMN RIGHT.”
“Well, you know I can’t turn right, Grif. That’s against my religion.”
“RELIGION DOESN’T MAKE YOU STRAIGHT, SIMMONS.”
“WELL STRAIGHT PEOPLE MAKE ME RELIGIOUS. IM MAKING THREE LEFTS.”