Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You know our mission, in and out, no hero’s, just make it out alive. Everyone fall out.”

Price has a way with words when it comes to motivating his comrades in arms, Task Force 141. The mission was simple, recon and any information that can be collected to help on future missions. They were closing in on Vladimir Makarov, but more information meant less likelihood of being out of their elements, and with that meant less casualties. Surprises were never a good thing in their line of work, no solider likes a surprise. It could often cost them their lives. However, there are outliers to that train of thought, Simon Riley. Well, not Simon Riley, Simon Riley was dead, buried in a house that barely had any love in it and exuded torment and childhood trauma. Simon Riley experienced too much, felt too much, saw too much, and no one that experienced what he has lives to tell the tale. A phantom rose up to take his place, and phantoms, as everyone knows, can’t feel pain. How can you feel pain when you’re dead.

The mission begun without a hitch, Price and Gaz would push in first while Ghost and Soap would cover them from a high vantage point, picking off any unlucky lackies that had the misfortune of picking this line of work and walking outside on a day like this one. Ghost and Soap would then make their way to the building and go up while Price and Gaz went down. The building itself had a total of 4 floors and was at some point in time meant to be a warehouse of some kind, but when it was taken over by Makarov and his people it was converted into more of an office/torture den. Price had previously mentioned on the helo that if Gaz and him found any survivors in the cells they would be rescued and questioned for information, Soap quickly citing that torture does tend to push the torturer to ask the darndest questions. Price had smiled at that and then moved on with his brief.

When shit really started hitting the fan it was about 4 in the morning. Inside the building was freezing. Whoever had constructed this building didn’t use enough insulation and the cold winter breeze from outside was causing Soap to shiver. “Freezing my bloody balls off over here Lt! Lets keep moving!” he whispered in a very obvious annoyed tone. Ghost was taking point when they got to the 4^th floor, reaching the top step and then stopping. After about 5 seconds and no response from his superior, Soap heard Ghost’s breath hitch in his throat. “What’s wrong Ghost, talk to me. Use your words.” “Something is off Johnny, this floor is where the server room should be, so why the hell aren’t I seeing any guards around?” What an incredibly valid question to ask, but it was one that sent another shiver up Soap’s spine.

Soap jumps when his and Ghost’s radio crackles to life in the silence of the staircase, of course Price decided now to check up on them, he had some of the worst timing sometimes. “Soap, Ghost, This is Price, How Copy?” “We are on the 4^th floor Captain…something is wrong.” Soap whispers, trying to keep his voice from travelling anywhere else but the radio. “How you mean Sergeant?” Price sounds concerned, he should be, it felt like they were walking straight into a trap. “Laswell information told us the server was on the 4^th floor, correct?” “Affirmative Sergeant, why do you ask?” “Because there is no one in the hallway, and you would think they would want to protect whatever they have on that server.” The line went quiet for roughly 7 seconds before a confused sounding Price continued talking. “Here’s the plan Sergeant, we have 2 survivors with us, Gaz and 1 will escort them out of the building and to a safe area. I will then make my way back to the building and meet up with you and Ghost to sweep the floor. DO NOT move without my say-so, is the clear?” “yes Captain” Soap responded quickly. “I need to hear you too Ghost.” There was silence for another 5 seconds before Soap hit Ghost’s shoulder, causing his to let out an annoyed groan “Loud and clear Captain.” “Good to hear, I’ll be there in 10”

10 minutes came and went and there was no sign of Price. “I don’t like this Lt, what’s taking Price so long?” “We haven’t heard any gun fire from downstairs of outside. It’s probably just one of the survivors causing them to lag.” Ghost muttered as he continued to check both side of the hallway. Always alert, always knows how to calm him down Soap thought to himself, a light smile creeping up his face. He loved that about his superior. Ghost always had this air about him, jaded, takes no shit and will ignore your existence if you weren’t important or capable, which is exactly why Soap felt that little bit special that Ghost interacted with him so often. Las Almas really solidified their relationship to what it is today. Soap trusts Ghost with every fiber of his being and he hopes that Ghost feels the same in some way. Soap knew it was difficult for Ghost to trust anyone, he could count the amount of people Ghost trusted on 1 hand. As long as Soap was one of them however, he vowed to himself that he would try and help Ghost discover that the vast majority of people weren’t out for blood.

“We are just sitting ducks out here. If we don’t start moving now we are screwed!” Soap was pulled out of his train of thought by Ghost’s annoyed whisper. He was right however. This mission was supposed to be done under the cover of night where (G)host’s and ghouls roam free and where the majority of Task Force 141 felt the most comfortable. The shadows would protect them from any stray bullets and their heroics (or crimes) would be a secret that only the stars would know about. But now it was creeping closer to 5am, and with it being the winter the sun would start to rise and force its deadly light into their hiding places, robbing them of their safety blanket. Task force 141 wasn’t any less dangerous during the day, with all the training they did they made sure of that, but everyone was afraid of the dark and what lurked in it, and they used that to their advantage.

“Price told us to wait Lt. It would do you no good to be written up for insubordination. Plus, you would be subjected to one of Price’s lectures, and not even I would be able to save you from it.” Soap got a dramatic distant look in his eyes as if he was having a flashback to a past lecture. Ghost rolled his eyes, “His lectures to me aren’t that bad because I know when to keep my mouth shut.” “Ouch! Words hurt Lt.” “Glad you’ve finally clued into why I even talk to you Johnny.” Soap lets out an offended gasp and lightly hit Ghost’s shoulder. Even with his face turned away from him Soap could see that Ghost was smiling slightly under his skull mask. It was the way his ears moved up slightly that gave it away which in turn made Soap’s own ears get a bit hot with flush. It was the little things like making Ghost smile that fueled the fire under Soap. Make Ghost’s life at least a little bit easier for him, that’s all he could hope for. Why he felt like this about his Lieutenant, even he didn’t know. He didn’t feel this way about anyone else in the 141, and he cared about every single one of them deeply. Soap would give his life for anyone in the 141 with 0 hesitation, but there was just something about his feelings for Ghost that felt different, the frustrating part being that he couldn’t even pin down what the ‘different’ was. He didn’t have time to unpack all of that however when they were running from warzone to intel mission to warzone. It would be a future him endeavor, or more likely a ‘never him’ endeavor considering his line of work. People like him rarely get to glimpse a future, unreachable…unattainable.

A few more seconds of silence pass before Ghost whispers “Fuck this”, turning slightly to get Soap in his periphery so that he could still watch the hallways. “I flank right, you flank left, we meet in the back of the hallway after sweeping all the room. We go in the server room together. Got it?” “But…“ “Price is taking too long Soap, it’s now or never. We don’t have the luxury of waiting any longer.” Ghost gave him a stern look. Soap sighed. He knew Ghost was right and he hated it. “On your call Lt.” is all Soap says in response. Ghost gave him a quick nod and then turned back to the hallway. Soap watched Ghost bring up his fist and then gesture for him to go with a swift hand gesture. From where Soap entered his side of the hallway he could see about 3 sets of doors. He turned to see a roughly similar layout behind him where Ghost was heading. Soap turned back towards the first door, finding it unlocked. He carefully opened it and found a pitch dark room. Pulling down his night vision goggles over his eyes, he could see that the room was completely devoid of anything except for a few empty boxes. Soap assumed that Ghost had the same luck as him with his first room when he heard through his radio “clear”. They both started heading towards their next rooms when Price was heard over the radio. “Clear? What do you mean clear? Soap and Ghost, how copy? You 2 better not be doing what I think…”

However, before Price was able to finish scolding the 2 men, Soap watched as Ghost slowly opened his door, hearing some type of wire snap, a flash of light, and Ghost going flying.

Soap has vowed to himself that he was going to try and make Ghost’s life just that little bit easier because he knows hes been through a lot. It doesn’t take a genius to know that. But how could he accomplish that when it seemed like fate herself had it out for Ghost.

Chapter Text

“…Fuck”

Soap only felt the word leave his mouth, he couldn’t hear it, being swallowed by the ringing in his ears and the crackling of fire. Sitting up elicited a groan to escape his mouth, chasing after the expletive he had muttered seconds previous. Taking in his surroundings he saw a door off its hinges, smoke and fire pouring out of the room that Ghost had just breached, Ghost laying motionless on the floor…Ghost laying motionless on the floor!

“GHOST!”

Adrenaline shot straight through his body at the sight he was forced to take in. Soap was on his feet and sprinting towards Ghost when he felt a bullet fly merely centimeters away from his head. His stomach sank and he knew he had to take cover but he had to get to Ghost, he had to get him out of the path of the bullets that were now flying. The bomb must have been set in order to alert Makarov’s guards when Ghost and Soap reached their floor. Did someone slip up and allowed one of Makarov’s lackies to alert someone on the 4^th floor that 141 were sweeping the building? Did they already know that they were coming? Too many unanswerable questions made its home in Soap’s brain as he ran into the stairwell for cover. He shot back towards the direction that the bullets were shooting from. This was bad, very, very bad, Soap’s brain was drawing blanks on ideas of how to escape, he was getting desperate. The smoke from the room was providing Ghost with some cover but it wouldn’t last for too long, and it was blocking Soap’s view of the enemy.

From behind him, Soap heard thundering steps making their way up the stairs and his blood ran cold. “Bloody Fuckin’ Jesus, can we catch a break?” Stress from the situation at hand causing his voice to shutter.

How the fuck was Soap going to get out of this? He is about to be taken over by both sides, he wasn’t going to make it out of this alive, and neither was Ghost. The thought of that stung more than the thought of his own life ending. What the fuck is going on with me? How could I think like that?

Soap continued to do what he could to cover Ghost from where he was, knowing that if he tried to get to him, both of them would just get shot. Ghost was low to the ground, he would be a difficult target to hit in the position he is at now, at least that’s what Soap told himself.

As the footsteps behind him started to get louder, he realized that it wasn’t the sound of multiple people running up the stairs, the sound was only of 1 person. And then Soap saw it, that stupid hat that Price always wore, he had never been so happy to see that hat.

“Soap, what happened?” Price whisper yelled over the sound of cascading bullets and billowing fire. He sounded angry, but it didn’t completely overshadow the concern that wormed its way into his voice.

“No time, we need to get Ghost! He’s hurt, cover me!” This was going to be risky but he didn’t have a choice. Price had Soap’s back, he knew that, but bullets always like to find their home in the closest warm body.

With 0 second thoughts, and Price preparing to rain down hellfire to make sure his team gets out, Soap quickly started to close the distance between himself and where Ghost lay. Ghost wasn’t motionless however when Soap reached him, and that caused a wave of relief to wash over him. He watched as Ghost painfully reloaded his handgun and started firing in the direction of where their foe was situated. With a swift movement however, Ghost’s gun was switched from his dominant hand, to his least dominant hand while a knife was yanked out of his belt and pressed to Soap’s throat.

“It’s me Lt, it’s just me. Your knight in kevlar armour! Let’s get you out of here!” Soap gives him a shaky smile as he tried to quickly assess Ghost’s injuries.

Ghost groans in relief, letting his arm that was holding the knife to Soap’s neck fall to his side. “I can’t stand Soap, my ankle…can’t put any weight on it. I’ll shoot, you drag.”

Soap gave him a quick nod, taking hold of the shoulder straps on Ghost’s tactical vest, and as fast as possible, dragging Ghost towards the stairwell.

Soap would like to think of himself as a very built guy. He worked out when he could, and when he couldn’t, fighting in a warzone was a workout within itself. He was strong and capable, but even he was struggling to get the mountain of a man known as Ghost the few feet to the stairwell. If Soap didn’t have pure adrenaline coursing through his veins, he surely wouldn’t have been able to move Ghost as ‘quickly’ as he was moving him now.

“Fuck Ghost, are you made of stone?” He was nearing the stairwell, only 2 more feet and they could get Ghost out of here and to a medivac.

“Shut up, McTav-“ Ghost was cut off by 2 bullets hitting him, causing an explosion of pain to course through his body. 1 bullet hit his abdomen where it peeked out from right under his tactical vest and the other hit his left shoulder. He was seeing stars, not unlike the star that decorated the sky at night, the exact stars that watched the 141 lurk in the shadows, the ones that promised to keep all their secrets. He was going to pass out, Soap had to leave him, especially considering all of this was his fault, he couldn’t drag Soap down with him. He was about to turn into dead weight, it would be a death sentence for the exact person who was trying saving his ass right now. He needed to turn and convince Soap to just leave him behind, to save himself. Besides, Ghost wasn’t worth all this effort, he wasn’t worth risking ones life for. Ghost accepted a long time ago that his fate was to finally have his body die on the battlefield, that’s how he wanted it, any other way would just seem pointless and derogatory. In all the ways that mattered, Ghost was already dead, his body just hadn’t gotten the memo.

During their time in Las Almas, Ghost had stated very matter-of-factly that friendship wasn’t in the field manual, he meant that. Friendship was a deadly swansong that preyed on every poor soul and leaves millions in its wake. It often went something like this:

1. 2 or more people become friends.
2. 1 or more of those friends die.
3. Their friends either try to save them and die trying or arrive back to base with survivor’s guilt.
4. The surviving soldiers with guilt, wracked with grief, end up getting sloppy on the battlefield.
5. When they get sloppy it either gets them killed or causes someone else to die.
6. The cycle restarts anew.

Ghost tried to warn his Sergeant of exactly this but Soap is stubborn. Ghost knows this, and admittedly it’s one of the traits that Ghost likes most about Soap, however there are points in time where stubbornness is a great asset and others where it isn’t, and in this situation it can get him killed. Ghost only hopes that after today, his lesson would finally take root in his Sergeants brain. But, in order for that to happen, Soap needs to get out of this situation alive. Ghost reached up with his good arm to take hold of Soap’s wrist that was gripping the shoulder straps of his tactical vest, using his waning strength to loosen Soap’s grip.

Soap’s attention immediately shot towards Ghost’s hand, noticing what he was doing. “What the fuck Ghost!? Stop that! We are almost there! Just hold on! Don’t be a stubborn bastard!”

“I’m holding you back Sergeant, I won’t be able to make it down the stairs in my condition. You can still get out…Johnny, go!” he huffs

“Fuck you for thinking I would listen to a bullshit order like that! Just trust me for once! We are getting you out!” Soap yells over the gunfire. He barely registers a bullet that grazes his shoulder, causing his grip to slip momentarily. His resolve only gets stronger though, allowing him to reach the stairwell in record time.

Taking one quick look at Ghost, Price’s stomach drops. There’s a lot of blood and he can see that Ghost is slipping, they needed to get out, now! “This is going to hurt Ghost but you’re going to have to work with us son. We are going to stand you up and we are going to get down these stairs and right into the medivac, but you have to stay conscious.” His voice sounding determined.

“Price, I…” Ghost starts.

“I don’t want to hear it, Lieutenant. Just do as I say! No man left behind! That’s an order!” Price retorts quickly.

Ghost can only nod before he’s dragged upright into a standing position, causing a low, guttural hiss to escape his throat from the pain, “Sorry Lt, but we gotta go! No time for readjustments!”

Price and Soap were on either side of Ghost, supporting him as they quickly, and painfully climbed down the stairs, only stopping 2 times to shoot anyone trying to follow. When they finally busted through the back entrance that was discovered hours previous by Ghost while sniping a guard, they were met with the heavy winds from the medivac, readying itself to immediately take off the second the 3 men made it to the helo.

The situation was dire, but Soap was grateful for 1 thing and 1 thing only, the sun had taken mercy on them as it was taking its sweet time to rise. The sky was still pitch black, only the fewest of stars being visible. Maybe even they were using the shadows of the night to hide, to keep safe. Soap however wanted to think that they too, along with the sun, were taking mercy on them, dampening out their own light so that these 3 desperate men could make it to safety. Bullets still flew towards them, trying desperately to find a victim, the guards determined to take them out, but with the stars help, none were finding purchase. That was until one bullet, one malicious bullet, which told all the stars in the sky to go fuck themselves, found its home in Soaps back. Soap stumbled, bringing Ghost and Price down with him.

‘God…it really is a cold night tonight.’ Soap thought to himself and we allowed the softness of the snow around him to envelop him in a hug he so desperately needed.

Chapter Text

“Get up soldier!”

The voice sounds distant, too far away to be important to Soap. That’s what Soap told himself, but he couldn’t help but notice the sheer amount of panic that was dripping off of the words and soaking into his already goose-bumped skin. Soap was cold, he didn’t know why, but he was cold and the words that sounded miles away didn’t help. He shivered, and he didn’t think his body could handle anymore wet, bone-deep cold, no matter the form it came in. He surely had hypothermia at this point…did the voice know that? Was that why it was yelling?

The second thing Soap’s mind noticed was just how worn down his body felt. Had he been running for days? Why would he have to do something like that? What would he be running from? Why hadn’t he reached safety yet? His body ached from the exhaustion, limbs feeling like they were being held down by someone much stronger than him, like Ghost…Ghost.

“Soap! Talk to me son! Were you hit?”

That same voice from before was talking again, but now it had somehow gotten closer, more desperate. He didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed before, but the voice sounded familiar. Was it Ghost? No, it couldn’t be, Ghost’s voice was deeper than the one that was talking, it hid more secrets and had more pain blooming around its edges. Where was Ghost? Had he also been running? Had he made it to safety and just left his fallen comrade behind for him to fend for himself? Soap shook his head vehemently, trying to erase the sour idea from his brain. He had to give his superior more credit, especially after Las Almas, Ghost didn’t leave him high and dry then and he wouldn’t do that to him now. So where was he?

“Soap, you’re not bleeding but there is a bullet lodged in the back of your tac vest! I know it hurts but you need to get up! Ghost is in bad shape, and I can’t lift him without your help!” Price’s voice was rich with desperation. Gaz was trying his best to defend their position on the field, but his ammunition cache was dwindling fast. If that wasn’t bad enough, the snow around Ghost was turning a haunting shade of red. Price wasn’t liking their odds of getting out of here, but he wasn’t known for giving up, he didn’t get to the ranking of Captain by giving up when missions got tough. Looking around from where the 3 men lay, Price could just barely make out roughly 4 or 5 bodies skewed so beautifully around the field, beautiful in a way that only weathered soldiers could find beautiful. These scattered bodies meant there were 4 or 5 fewer people out to get them, 4 or 5 bodies to fertilize the grass once they have decomposed. Maybe the grass where they lay will be greener. That’s all these people are good for, becoming fertilizer. If they didn’t hurry up, however, Ghost would end up joining their enemies. That nearly happened once in Ghost’s life, Price wasn’t going to allow it to happen this time.

‘Ghost is in bad shape…’ The phrase bounced around in Soap’s head, seemingly hitting no corners on its way out of his other ear. It just didn’t make any sense. Sure, Ghost had gotten injured previously in the line of duty, it’s virtually impossible to come out unscathed 100% of the time in their line of work. However, it was never more than a bullet wound or a dislocated shoulder, Ghost always just walked it off after, much to the dismay of Price and the medical staff on base. But that was Ghost, he was a force to be reckoned with, and to some poor new recruits, an actual ghost. So how could their resident fantom be ‘in bad shape’? Ghost(s) can’t die.

Sluggishly, still feeling like his bones were made of lead, Soap moved his left arm so that he could get enough leverage to get up. The action, however, was met with a groan of pain that forced itself out of Soap’s throat. The entire left side of his torso ached with a pain that winded him instantly. Pushing through the pain was torturous but Soap’s senses were finally returning to him after seemingly taking an unearned vacation. Something about the voice that continued to linger in the air around him was quickly making its way through his brain fog as if it was wielding a machete. But then, there were hands on his shoulders, shaking him to get his attention.

“Sergeant! For the love of everything that is holy! Get the fuck up and help me get Ghost to the medivac!”

It was then that all the memories of the past hour and a half bum-rushed and tackled Soap’s brain into a chokehold. His eyes widened, meeting Price’s. Price felt a semblance of relief as he watched Soap’s face twist into a stressed expression. Soap was here with him now, in the moment, he had all his mental faculties, he was alert.

“Good to see you again son.” A smile started to creep across Price’s face until a bullet whizzed passed his head, missing by mere centimeters.

“We need to get outta here!” Soap retorted

“Couldn’t agree more!” Price moved with the speed of someone unencumbered by space and time itself. The snow around them was deep enough to crest their shins if they were to stand. Trudging through it took effort, but even with the obstacle Price seemed unfazed. There was a determination in his eyes, one that burned so deep in his soul that he feared he may add a few more burns to Ghost if he were to touch him. His ranking of Captain came with the unspoken fact that he’s seen a lot of death. Whether that was of his comrades in arms or his enemies, his memories always tended to have a red film over them. Sure, he had grown accustomed to losing his men, but where others would become hardened and complacent, he grew more determined to save the ones he could. To him, getting his men back to base relatively intact was just as important as the mission itself. Many other Captains would see his type of mindset as foolish and juvenile, to be setting himself up for failure, when in actuality it was the exact reason why so many of his men survived. His men actually trusted him, and trust in their line of work was often the difference between life and death.

As Price moved out of his eye line, Soap turned to see Ghost turned onto his back where he too had fallen into the snow. Soap turned to rush to Ghost’s side when what felt like a few of his ribs shifted out of place, causing him to gasp in pain. Sure, the bullet that hit him hadn’t formally introduced itself to Soap’s flesh or organs, but all that kinetic energy had to go somewhere, and it decided to take a few of Soap’s ribs with it.

“…You’re hit…”

Soap quickly turned his attention to where the slurred words that lingered in the air had left chapped lips, hidden behind a skull balaclava. Ghost was conscious, that was a good sign. But he was clearly in bad shape and fading fast, they needed to get him to a medic, now! The blood seeping from his wounds was looking angrier by the second. With the amount of blood that was currently residing in the snow around Ghost, and not in his body where Soap preferred it to be, Soap was surprised Ghost was still with them, let alone conscious and talking. Soap pushed through the pain, reaching his Lieutenant’s side.

“Comes with the territory Lt, however, I’m not the one painting the snow red.” Soap muttered, trying desperately to add some semblance of levity to the situation. He turned his attention back to Price, watching where he put his hands on Ghost, the 2 of them quickly putting together a plan on how to lift and drag him the last few feet to the medivac.

A huff that, if you listened close enough, could be read as a chuckle escaped Ghost’s mouth, filling the void that his previously slurred utterings left behind. Something in Soap's stomach twists 360˚, leaving him gasping for air once again. He could almost convince himself it was just his broken ribs causing his lungs to spasm…that’s all it could be…that’s all it was allowed to be.

“On the count of 3 Sergeant, we lift him from under his arms and we run. Got it?’ Price eyed Soap, waiting for some type of acknowledgment.

Soap’s eyes had fallen back onto Ghost, staring at the bullet wound in his abdomen, it being the main source of the reddened snow. When Ghost survives this, the road to recovery was going to be a long one. He can only hope that Ghost would actually give his body the time it needed to heal. Soap knows how Ghost gets when he’s taken out of the field for extended periods of time, this is going to be rough. Soap’s eyes quickly turn back to Price’s, and he nods.

Price turns his attention back to Ghost, readying himself to lift the burly man. “Ok son, this is going to hurt like a bitch! You have to stay with us though. You can punch Soap later, right now just keep your eyes open.”

Through half-lidded eyes, Ghost turns to Price and just nods, not having the energy to do anything else.

“Aye, getting beat wasn’t in the package deal of me saving your ass!” Soap retorted.

“Told’a to leave me Johnny.” Is all Ghost responds.

Before Soap could fight him on it Price started the countdown. He turned his attention back to Price and when he hit 3 they both started running.

While the stars in the sky were on their side, it felt like the snow under their feet was working for the enemy. The snow fought back with every quickened step they took, trying desperately to get its freezing claws into the men who just wanted to save their friend. It was shocking how many enemies Ghost had managed to make in his lifetime. The list of things that seemingly hated Ghost went something like this:

1. People he has or hasn’t encountered
2. Fate
3. The fucking weather

However, currently, the weather was losing the battle. It fought valiantly, seeping its cold tendrils into the boots and bones of Soap and Price, but they fought back tenfold. The 3 men reached the medivac just as the sun began its climb into the hearts and minds of the battle-weary soldiers. Within seconds, the helo was off the ground and in the sky, leaving a cloud of snow in its wake. Medics rushed Ghost, starting to assess his injuries and doing what they could to stabilize him enough to survive the flight back to base.

Soap prided himself on being able to read his Lieutenant’s emotions and body language. This exact task proved difficult to many others who interacted with Ghost over the years, however for some reason Soap had picked it up rather quickly. All that is to say that Soap could see how uncomfortable Ghost was the second copious amounts of hands got on him. Ghost didn’t fight back, he didn’t even flinch, but the stiffness of his body told Soap everything he needed to know. He met Ghost’s tired eyes and gave him a reassuring smile. He tried desperately to hide the mounting worry that was clawing at his brain as he watched the medics working furiously. Soap could read the medics faces like a book, and dear god it didn’t look good.

Prying his eyes off of the medics, Soap looked back to Ghost only to see his eyes go glassy and the lids to flutter closed. Soap jumped out of his seat, falling next to Ghost’s head, taking it roughly in his hands.

“No! No Lt, you don’t get to do that! Open your eyes! Open your damn eyes, Ghost! This is NOT how you get to go out! Where’s the blaze and/or glory? That was barely even a gunfight! I know you can do better! Let yourself do better! WAKE UP!”

Off to his left, just barely in his periphery, Soap watched a medic start chest compressions.

The sunrise bleeding into the horizon was stunning, casting a red glow over the 141. There was no hiding anymore, no shadows for them to slink into. Their pain was so very visible, tinted in a red that they, nor the remaining stars would soon forget.

Chapter Text

“Please…just stay with us Simon…”

The air around him had a bittersweet scent to it, one that forcibly dug up memories that he had so masterfully buried a long time ago. Simon’s eyes shot open, instincts taking over. He readied himself to fight off some type of rabid animal that was typically waiting for him, but when none popped out he forced his body to try and relax. The confusion that washed over him from his reaction quickly subsided when he realized where he was. He was at home.

“What the absolute fuck is going on?” The words came out in a low whisper, confusion taking its place in his brain for the second time, this time not going away. Looking around the room, he took in the worn-out leather couch that was a hand-me-down from his uncle on his mom’s side. God that couch witnessed a lot of shit over the years, the beatings, the crying, the hiding from dad, but also the cozy nights when his father was out of the house. On nights like those, him and his mom, with some of the money that she would hide from his father, would take a trip to their local Blockbuster and she would rent any movie Simon wanted to watch. It was a tradition that young Simon never grew out of, even in his teenage years. The gesture and quality time with his mom meant the world to him. This little piece of normalcy felt like the life jacket he needed to prevent him from drowning in his sea of pain and trauma. The rest of the room consisted of a tube television that sat on a wooden table, a coffee table that had been broken and fixed about 20 times, and a small dining table located behind the couch that housed 4 chairs, non of them matching each other or the table. There were 4 picture frames littered around the various nicotine-stained walls in the room which held pictures of Simon and Tommy when they were much younger. The glass in each frame had at least 1 crack in it. The door to the kitchen was directly behind where Simon was sitting while the stairs heading up to the second floor were directly to his left.

The pictures on the walls were placed at awkward heights around the house. One could infer that the pictures were used to hide something, and they would be correct. All 4 frames hid the evidence of his father’s violence. If you were to simply move the picture frame slightly, you would be met with a fist size hole that adorned the wall, a permanent reminder of the hell this house was forced to witness over the years. When they ran out of picture frames, his father just made sure to keep his physical attacks on the house to the second level where no visitors would dare go.

This house was a home to Simon, but his definition of home was wildly different from his peers. The word home for other people always came with a sense of love, warmth, and good memories, where one goes to feel safe and hide from the horrors of the world. However, to Simon, his home was where horror was manufactured in droves. The word home always had an air of claustrophobia to it, that’s what home meant to Simon. Everything was always a little too disorganized. The walls always felt like they were creeping ever so slowly toward you until you were gasping for air. On particularly bad nights when the only sound filling his ears were the wails of his brutalized mother, he would go to his dresser and pull out a tape measure he had stolen from a convenience store down the street. He would go from corner to corner in his room, measuring its length in a tireless effort to convince himself that his room wasn’t going to try and swallow him whole. Nights like those always left him sleep-deprived the next day. His teachers would catch him nodding off in class in the middle of their lesson, and, without stopping to question why he was falling asleep in class, his teachers would call his parents to report his behaviour. If he was lucky, his mother would pick up the phone. However, Simon has very rarely been lucky, and as a result, his father would pick up the phone, and later that night Simon would go to bed with fresh injuries. The reason for these beating were never about him falling asleep in class and always about the teacher bothering his father in the middle of the day. Over time, Simon got better and better at powering through his exhaustion to a point where he could stay awake with 0 hours of sleep for days on end. That particular skill has worked wonders for him during his military career, but like so many of his other skills, it was born out of trauma and survival.

From behind him, Simon heard gentle but precise footsteps, as if they have had years of experience avoiding the floorboards that would elicit a particularly vocal squeak. He turned and watched as the kitchen door slowly opened, revealing a frail woman who looked like she was nearing her 50s but was truthfully only in her 30s. Her hair was a deep shade of brown that fell into beautiful waves when left down but was currently up in a ponytail. Her eyes were so very tired, not too dissimilar to Simon’s own eyes, their only difference being that her eyes weren’t hardened, there was still a warmth behind hers whereas Simon had lost that many years previous. When he had lost it, Simon couldn’t recall, he’s been through so much, but so has his mom. How had she managed to experience all that she has and still be so warm? Ghost has often been told that his strength, not only physical but mental, is one of his biggest assets. His peers perceived him as having an unwaning strength because of how he manages stressful situations and is able to ‘quickly’ move on when someone dies. Simon thinks their perception of strength is incredibly flawed. To Simon, what makes someone strong is their ability to look at horrific trauma in the eye and not let it change who you are on the inside. By Simon’s definition, his mother was the strongest person to ever grace this planet, and Simon himself was the weakest piece of shit to have the misfortune of continuously taking in oxygen.

Simon’s breath hitched in his throat as his eyes followed her every movement. God, it had been so long since he'd seen his mom. The good memories he had of her had started to fade with time, being replaced with new, more traumatic memories of death and battlefields. With the fading memories came a stomach-churning guilt that had started haunting him, he was starting to forget what she looked like. Nowhere on his person did he keep any pictures of her or his family, that would be too risky. If he were to be captured by an enemy, they could find the picture on him and discover who he was, what his real name was. His anonymity was key to who he was now, it kept him as sane as he needed to be, helped him keep Simon dead. All that didn’t matter now, however, his mom was right here, with him, and he could take all the time in the world to relearn her face. Not taking his eyes off her in fear that if he did she would disappear, Simon got up off the floor from where he was sitting and, with a fervour that would incapacitate even the strongest of soldiers, he hugged his mom, tears starting to well up in his eyes. He was so determined to get to his mother, he barely even noticed the thrumming pain that was emanating from his abdomen.

A quaint laugh escaped his mom’s lips and made its home in Simon’s soul. Such a thing should be impossible, Simon no longer had a soul, Simon was supposed to be dead. But somehow, in this space between life and death, the dead were allowed to roam free and feel every emotion under the sun. This was the only place Simon is allowed to feel.

“Hi honey.” She muttered softly. Simon felt her hand run up and down his back, forcing another wave of tears to breach the surface and started running down his cheek. It’s only now he realizes he's not wearing his mask, and for the first time in a very long time, he doesn’t care.

“Hi mama.” His voice shutters as he fights a losing battle against his tear ducts. It was true that he didn’t care that his face was exposed, but solely running on instinct at this point he buried his face in his mother’s shoulder.

Simon has always been the type of person to hide his emotions, it was just another survival technique he learned at the School of Traumatized Boys so perfectly located in his own home. From a very young age, showing emotion was always paired with mind-numbing pain, the 2 were married and Simon was invited to the ceremony, in fact, he was the ring bearer. He wasn’t incapable of feeling emotions, they were still very much there to the chagrin of Simon, however, they didn’t encompass his body like they used to. Simon’s misfortune when he was younger was that he felt emotion too strongly for his father's liking, and his father set out to fix that. His solution? Beat him until there was barely any emotion left or force him to feel the wrong emotions at the worst of times. Memories of one particular night, one of the many times Simon was forced to join his father at a Bone Lickers concert, him and his father came across some poor woman who had overdosed. Her eyes mirrored his own, brown, young, lifeless. Simon was shocked at how pale she was. If he didn’t know any better, he could have mistaken her as some type of misplaced and forgotten mannequin, left there to scare and scar any poor soul who passed by. Simon never was very lucky. He could do nothing as he felt his father’s left-hand wrap around his jaw to keep his head in place, preventing little Simon from turning away. The echoing of his father’s laughter enveloped him, it being mixed in with the pokes and prods from his father to push Simon himself to start laughing. It was one of the worst things his father made him do and the guilt of it still follows him, it being present in the stares he constantly feels are on him, even if there are no pairs of eyes in his close proximity. All those eyes, every single one, all of them had to know or they wouldn’t be looking at him like that.

He was pulled out of his spiraling thoughts by his mother's concerned words.

“Now honey, what are you doing here? You need to go back. You know this.” She speaks with a steady and calming tone that Simon has so desperately missed. He felt his body gain another 20 lbs of weight on his shoulders.

Simon stilled momentarily, taking in her words. He flipped them around, turned them upside-down, inverted them, translated them into Spanish, and then back into English, and he still couldn’t pinpoint what she was talking about, at least that's what he wanted to believe in the moment. It would make everything so much easier. 

“What are you going on about?” It was a stupid question to ask, one he already partially knew the answer to, but acknowledging it meant that he still had time to make it back. He wanted to run out his mortal clock, he wanted to watch the sand slip through the hourglass and laugh at its attempt to scare him into living. If he was actually dead, he certainly wouldn’t be here, in his mother’s arms. Simon never really put much thought into the idea of God or heaven and hell. Whether it was the child abuse or war, Simon understood that if God did exist, he didn’t give 2 fucks about what happened to the human race. Just like Fate, God was a cruel and unjust higher power that took great joy in seeing his creations suffer. Was there really a being called Satan or was it just God in a skull mask? Either way, his mother's arms wrapped around him felt too much like heaven for a man whose hands were drenched in so much blood that the Devil himself would be envious.

“C’mon Simon, don’t treat your dear mother as if she was an idiot. You’re dying, but you’re not dead yet. I know it hurts but you need to go back. You still have so much life ahead of you. You need to live it, if not for yourself then for me!” The desperation in her voice was palpable.

“Mama, no…no I don’t need to go back. The only place I need to be is right here, with you.” He tries desperately to hide the shaking of his voice, but he knows his mothers can see right through it, she’s always been able to read Simon like a book. Recently, Simon had met someone else just like that, but he didn’t want to dwell on that idea, it didn’t matter anymore, at least that’s what he told himself.

He continued. “I am so tired of feeling out of place whenever I’m not in the middle of a warzone. I'm tired of the traumatic memories, the nightmares, the guilt! I'm tired of the endless death! I’m a monster mama, a downright ghoul. The best thing that could happen to me is that I eat a bullet on the battlefield, which is what happened. This is me finally resting, please don’t make me go back!”

The sigh that came from his mother was bone-deep. Gently, she pulled back from the hug but only far enough so that she could look into Simon’s eyes. There was no sense of pity detectable on her face, only a soul-crushing sadness that any mother would have when they see just how broken their beloved child is.

Slowly, as to not startle him, she placed both her hands on either side of Simon’s face. Her thumb moved along his cheek to wipe away the tears that fought their own battle to escape his eyes. “Oh honey, I know you’re tired. You’ve seen and experienced enough pain to last you 100 lifetimes and you’re not even 40. You deserve to rest. But this, death, isn’t the rest that you need. There are people out there that need you Simon, that care about you. I know you don’t see it, you just see yourself as a soldier and nothing else, but you are so much more than that, I’m not the only one that sees that. Price, Gaz, Soap, don’t leave them behind. Soap...Johnny has taken a liking to you. He sees that you're more than just a soldier. I have to commend him...you've built up walls so thick and tall Simon, but he is a determined man. Don't let his efforts go to waste by fading away now." In the now quiet of the room, where his mother's words fought his self-hatred with knives and bullets, a crack that had long ago formed in the far-most right wall, grew, creating a far too beautiful fractal design. 

She continued, "When your time comes I’ll be right here, waiting to welcome you, but that time is not right now.”

The last time his mother talked to him like this, she was trying to convince him not to join the military. Her tone was so determined while it slowly drowned in emotion. If only he had listened to her back then maybe she would still be alive. Maybe he would have kicked his father out of the house before it got as bad as it did. Maybe his nephew’s age would have reached double digits. Maybe Christmas each year wouldn’t leave him alone in a room with a gun in his mouth, willing his hand to give him the only present he craved so deeply.

Simon would never know the answers to that quandary, but what he did know was that he was losing the battle in this very moment. It was him vs. his mother, and his mother held all the firepower. Ghost wasn’t known to be someone to back down even in an unwinnable fight, he climbed the ranks to Lieutenant because of his ability to think fast on his feet, but he wasn’t Ghost, not right now, right now he was Simon Riley.

“Mama…please…I can’t…”

“Yes, you can, I know you can because you are my brave little boy. I love you, I love you so so much Simon, but it is time for you to go. I will always be with you!” There was an urgency in her voice now that caught Simon off guard. The last time Simon took in the room that surrounded him and his mother, it looked like how it did in his childhood, but now when he looks around the room to assess why his mother sounded on edge…were those Christmas decorations always there? Had he missed them the first time he scanned the room for any venomous threats?

“Simon? What are you doing here? I thought you were out with some of your army buddies. When did you get home?”

No no no no no, please fuck no…no, this can’t be happening, this can’t be tonight…I lived this once I can’t live through it again! Make it stop! MAKE IT BLOODY STOP!

Simon turned to face the direction of where the familiar voice came from and was met with his brother Tommy and his sister-in-law Beth watching him expectedly. Off in the corner of the room, there was a Christmas tree covered head to toe in lights and tacky ornaments. He remembered helping his mother and brother decorate that tree a few weeks before he watched his life get engulfed in flames. He was sitting at the dining table, clinging to a fresh cup of tea, allowing the steam to envelop and fog up the memories of that night's attempt at sleep and subsequent nightmares and panic attack, when his mother walked in. As she so often does, she read him like a book before he was able to even say a word. She put forward that Simon could help her and his brother find and decorate a tree for the upcoming holiday, and when he declined, she said that she didn’t take no for an answer. It took them hours to find and finish decorating that tree, but by the end of it, Simon felt the best he had in a very long time. His mother always did know what was best for him…maybe that was still true.

He opened his mouth to try and respond to Tommy, desperately wanting to apologize for everything that was about to happen when the sound of someone pounding at their front door startled them all.

“Jehovah’s Witness’ really trying a new, more forceful tactic are they?” Tommy scoffed as he cautiously made his way to the door.

“Don’t answer that!” Simon lunged towards his brother, taking a hold of his shoulder and keeping him rooted in place.

“Damn Simon, why are you so scared? You’re past catching up to you or something?”

“Tommy, I…” Yet another sentence not finished by Simon when a bullet exploded its way through Tommy’s head.

The beginning whisps of shock started to cloud Simon’s vision when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of the haze he so wished he could curl up and die in. “You need to go! Now! Out the back Simon! I love you! Live!” There was no objecting anymore, his mother was pushing him towards their back door as he heard the familiar sounds of bullets ripping through bodies and drywall. He reached the back door just as the smell of smoke made itself known. Every piece of him wanted to stay and die with his family, but he couldn’t disappoint his mom, not again, not after everything she’d done for him.

He turned back one last time, wanting to catch 1 last glimpse of his mom for the sole purpose of etching it into his memory. He won’t forget her face again, not this time. “I love you too Mama, and I’m sorry, for everything.”

“Oh, my lovely Simon, let go of all that guilt you hold so deeply in your heart. None of this was your fault. No need to apologize. I know the guilt won’t just magically go away, but know that I do not blame you, no one does. The only one that blames you is you.” Her words exude an aching softness that makes Simon want to retreat within himself. He doesn’t deserve it. He deserves to be hated, he deserves to be blamed, but he knew his mother wasn’t going to give him what he wanted. He twists the door handle and feels the door give. Cold night air rushes into the kitchen and mingles with the heat that was emanating from the living room.

“See you soon mama.” Simon smiles.

“Not too soon honey.”

Simon pushes past the door and into the clear, brisk night. From behind him, he hears a gunshot, a groan of pain, and 2 whispered words.

“Give Johnny…”

The sky was littered with stars. There were no secrets for them to hold this night, tonight they lit the path so that a scared little boy could find his way back home.

Chapter Text

Fuck guys I am so sorry! I promise you I have not forgotten about this story and I will be writing and completing the next chapter when I can. Writer's block has been a bitch and I've recently gotten a job that's eating my time. I love y'all and all the positive messages will always and forever make me very happy! I will get back to writing these sad gay men when I can, they still consume my waking thought! 

Love y'all lots!