Chapter Text
The return to base was quiet, Ghost’s grip on the steering wheel lazy as he followed behind the vehicles in front of them. The entire team was understandably exhausted from their successful mission– one they now seemed to be driving to escape from. He allowed himself a moment to look in the rearview mirror, searching out Soap's face. As if he knew he was being stared at, Soap’s eyes met Ghost’s with a glimmer. He broke eye contact, returning his full attention to the vehicle in front of him as they approached the gates, taking note of the soldiers standing guard in the rain. The hair on the back of Ghost’s neck began to prickle.
Those weren’t Alejandro’s men.
Something wasn’t right.
One of the guards held his hand up .
“What the fuck?” John said under his breath, taking in the scene in front of him as they came to a stop. Alejandro was the first one out, his shoulders squaring back strongly as Graves exited the vehicle in front of them.
“What’s this?” He called, gesturing to the men scattered around– their hands resting on their weapons. Ghost immediately noticed it wasn’t a relaxed grip– but one with purpose… and promise. Graves looked back at him, and Ghost wanted nothing more than to smack the smug look off of the other man's face.
“This is the immediate future.” Graves responded, his own grip already firmly on his weapon. “Step away from the gate.”
“What?” Soap exclaimed incredulously, positioned just a few feet behind Alejandro. Ghost glanced over at him, to the Shadow directly in front of him, and back to Graves. He could feel the presence of another behind him. It only took him a moment to count the amount of friendly bodies versus adversaries.
They were considerably outnumbered.
“You heard me.”
“You’re crazy. This is my base.” Alejandro’s voice was calm, but laced with disbelief. Ghost remained next to the driver's side door, hands hanging loosely next to his body as he considered his options. He had his pistol in its holster on the front of his vest and just a few knives strapped in various easily accessible locations on his person. Not much firepower, but he had done more with less in the past with ease.
“It’s not a base. This is a sizable covert facility and I admire it- So I’m taking it.” Graves said.
Bastard.
“You boys have been relieved,” He continued. “Thank you for your service.”
“No, no, no.” Alejandro responded, “I don’t take orders from you.”
Graves slowly stepped forward, his voice low and threatening. “Didn’t Valeria say that? Now that makes me wonder what else I don’t know about your affiliation with a drug lord?” Alejandro looked back over his shoulder at his men in disbelief at the accusation.
“What the fuck did you just say to me, pendejo…” He asked, stepping forward to stare down at the shorter man. Soap dove forward, one hand on Alejandro's shoulder as he tried to place himself between the two men. Ghost shuffled on his feet, uneasy, wanting nothing more than to place himself in front of Soap and separate him away from Graves. It wouldn’t have been a logical thing to do, and he wasn’t quite sure where the urge was coming from– both Alejandro and Soap were perfectly capable at holding their own, and having the three of them in one tight space would inevitably prove easier to mow them all down in one fell swoop.
So he stayed, feet planted firmly but ready to strike, ignoring the protective surge that caused a muscle in his jaw to twitch.
“You’re out of line, Graves,” Soap warned, the lines in his neck and shoulder noticeably tense, even from where Ghost stood. Graves stepped back, holding a finger up towards the two defensively.
“Don’t do that. Don’t…. Do that. No one needs to get hurt here.” Ghost used this as an opportunity to come closer, just barely, his hands twitching– itching in anticipation of when he would need to strike.
“Are you threatening us?” Ghost asked, trying to ignore the flex in his jaw when he saw Soap’s hand resting on Alejandro’s chest. It dropped only moments after Ghost took note of it as Graves spoke again.
“I don’t make threats. I make guarantees.” Ghost almost snorted at the cheesy line. “So let's not do this.”
There was a brief moment of silence before Soap turned his back and began walking away, his shoulders stiff. “I’m calling Shepard.”
“General Shepard sends his regards.” Graves called out, his voice was cold, losing the friendly charm he had historically used while addressing Soap up to this point. Ghost watched as Soap froze in his tracks. “He told me y’all wouldn’t take this well.”
“He knows about this?” Ghost asked incredulously. Graves briefly glanced over at him before turning back to Alejandro.
“He’s put me in command of this operation from here on out,” Graves responded, his tone growing more tense by the syllable. “So y’all need to stand down. It’s time to let the pros finish this.”
The ‘pros’. American PMC’s? That’s laughable.
Ghost slowly looked over to Soap, their eyes meeting in understanding. They both knew they were about to have to either fight or run like a bat out of hell.
“And why the hell are we talking like this is some kind of negotiation?” He continued. “It’s not. I’ve got my orders, and now you have yours.”
“And who the fuck do you think you are, cabrón?” Alejandro spat, his voice quickly rising to a shout. “My men are inside!”
“I’m afraid not,” Graves' voice was low. “Your men have been…. Detained.” A brief moment of tense silence.
One man in front. One behind. Next to Soap. Next to Graves. Multiple close to the gate, and–
Alejandro cursed and lunged .
Oh, bloody fucking hell.
“Graves, what the fuck!” Soap yelled, the commotion quickly boiling over. Alejandro was slammed into the side of the vehicle, Graves and his men quickly pulling their weapons up to fire. Soap was fast, however, quickly grabbing the closest soldier in a chokehold. Ghost wasted no time either, easily taking out the two men that reached for him, his knife burying into the neck of a third.
“Get your fucking hands off of me!” Alejandro shouted, grunting then hitting the ground with a thud when the butt of a weapon smacked into the side of his skull. Ghost turned his attention to Soap, watching as the man pulled his pistol out– dropping one of the men to the left of Graves. Graves quickly fired his own weapon, most of the bullets landing into the human shield Soap had protecting him- but one bullet buried into his upper arm near his shoulder. He lost his footing, falling back with a shout of pain.
“Soap!” Ghost yelled, his name coming out in an uncharacteristically alarmed shout. He dropped down into a crouch, circling behind the truck for cover, pushing as close to Soap as he could without compromising himself.
“Go Johnny!” He called, relief surging through him when Soap’s eyes flicked in his direction. “Get out of there!”
Soap grunted, pushing the now useless body off from his own.
“Soap- GO!” He yelled again, panicked.
Soap scrambled up, throwing himself over the closest barricade– sliding backwards down the steep hill, grass wet and slick from the storm– yanking his pistol out from its holster. One of them dropped, Johnny aiming as best as he could in his descent– a bullet piercing their skull through the eye socket. Ghost used the opening as an opportunity to slip away.
He felt a twitch deep in his core, unrelated to the unusual and still unfamiliar fear he felt at this fellow man being injured, and furrowed his brow.
He filed it away for later.
Picking up a light jog, Ghost found himself burrowing deep through the forest towards the heart of Las Almas, keeping his footsteps silent as he blindly worked his way into the night.
John’s shoulder was stinging, throbbing as blood flowed freely from the wound— complaining loudly about the now warped chunk of metal that was buried deep in the muscle. The rain didn’t help, water mixing and assisting the flow of blood. He grunted, using his good arm to provide some kind of purchase and stability. His earpiece crackled as he swapped channels, doing his best to ignore the panicked screams of men and women being murdered just yards away from him. He panted, leaning against a dilapidated concrete wall, sliding down to the ground. He continued flipping channels on his radio, orders from the Shadows being interrupted as he searched. Finally he landed on one that was silent, and he waited for a few long, long moments before calling over.
“This is Bravo 7-1 in the blind… How copy…” He gasped desperately into the cold air.
Silence.
“Ghost, this is 7-1, do you copy?”
Silence.
“Fuck… Where are you, Ghost?” He grunted, peaking around the corner before bringing himself back up. He was unarmed, having to abandon his empty weapon; injured; soaking wet; and pissed . Not exactly the best mindset to be avoiding the roach soldiers slaughtering anything that moved. His head swam as his blood pressure plummeted and he stumbled, slamming hand first into cobblestone that had already been stained with other’s blood. His wrists screamed in protest at the force, but a sprained wrist was the least of his worries.
Adrenaline surged through his body when he finally heard his earpiece come to life, allowing him the strength to stand back up.
“Soap, this is Ghost, how copy?” John's head spun, nauseated. He didn’t respond, clenching his teeth together instead in an attempt to avoid vomiting. “Johnny?”
His heart sang at the worry lacing Ghost’s voice.
“ Johnny, how copy?” Ghost’s voice called over the radio again, albeit much more severely than his first.
“Solid. ” He managed out, blinking tears and rain out of his eyes.
“Thought we lost you,” Ghost responded back, the relief in his voice palpable. John almost smiled at the sound. He finally pulled himself all the way back up to his feet, wincing at the blood that stained his glove when he pressed it to his wound. “You injured?”
“I’m not a medic.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Keep your blood in, you’ll need every drop.”
The Shadows’ voices scattered all around him, some barking orders, others confirming. He was not any safer now than he was half an hour ago.
“Thanks for the tip,” John quipped. Ghost coughed before responding as if he was trying to conceal a laugh. He slowly crept forward, trying to keep his steps as invisible and silent as he had seen Ghost do countless of times. “Where are you?”
“There’s a church. I’m headed to it. Let’s RV there.”
John nodded to himself, quickly skirting past an open alleyway that was filled with soldiers. He heard Graves' voice from somewhere and cursed to himself. A truck pulled out, and John pressed himself against a wall in response, watching as a few men piled out of the building in front of it.
“You’ll need to improvise to survive.”
“Graves and Shadow are on a killing spree.”
“Looking for Hassan.”
“Hassan and us.” He slowly crept backwards, turning towards the alley he had just passed, noting with relief it was now empty… Of anyone with a heartbeat, at least. He kept low, using a wrecked car as cover to avoid the soldiers further up the street as he crossed over.
“Fucking hell,” He whispered, wincing at the flash as they discharged their weapons. He made it inside the closest house, gripping the handle of the closest door. “No joy. Door’s locked.”
“Look for supplies- things you can make tools with.” Ghost ordered. Despite everything, goosebumps spread down Soap’s arms at the rough tenor of the other man's voice. He tried to push the sudden, impulsive thoughts of Ghost ordering him to do other things out of his mind.
Now was not the time.
“Welcome to guerilla warfare…” The other man continued darkly. Blood was splattered all over the wall, bodies strewn across the floor– someone's head completely unrecognizable from being shredded apart by bullets.
“Creepin’ Jesus.” John hissed, finally making his way through an unlocked door– yanking rope off of a dead man's ankles. “Poor bastard. Found a rope.”
“That’s a start. Keep looking.” He continued his search, sweeping the room for anything that could be used.
“Broke off a fan blade,” He suggested to Ghost.
“Tie off the blade with rope and pry open a door.”
“Sounds like you’ve done this before…” Soap immediately regretted his word– and the tone that he said it with.
“Years of practice.” Ghost said.
His breath caught in his throat. Ignoring it, he did as the other man said and used it to force the locked door open. His injured arm throbbed in protest.
“Busted the fan blade,” Was all he could manage out, dropping it with a clang.
“Get you through the door?”
“Affirmative.”
“Good boy.” John stumbled. “Stay on the hunt… There’ll be more where that came from.”
More terror-filled voices rang out, ripping John from the fuzz he was trapped in at Ghost’s words.
More gunfire. He could still hear Graves nearby. Sick bastard.
John searched for anything that could be of use, picking up pieces of metal and anything else he thought could be used as a weapon.
More dead bodies. Downstairs. Upstairs.
He watched a man stumble back, fall, and take his last breath.
“Creepin’ bloody Jesus. Found a headlamp, not too far from its… previous owner.”
“Good. Careful with it. Can light your way but attract attention.”
“Ugh.”
“What’s the latest?”
“Mercs are killing everything in their path.”
“War crimes…”
“Makes me want to commit a few war crimes of my own.”
“Tyranny. It won't stand.”
“Think we’ll get a green light to go after these guys?”
“No more green lights, Johnny. We’re on our own.”
“What about Captain Price?”
“Price isn’t here is he? The old man can’t bail us out. Not this time.”
“I trust the Captain- if he knew he’d be here.”
“Be careful who you trust, Sergeant.” Ghost warned. “People you know can hurt you the most.”
“Good advice, L.t. I wanna be like you when I grow up.”
“You wanna be better than me, Johnny.”
He liked the way Ghost said his name.
“Got my work cut out for me then,” He teased, trying to relieve the tension as he snuck– doing his best to avoid being caught.
“That you do.”
“Think I’ll live that long?”
“Probably not,” Ghost teased back, his voice a little lighter than it was moments ago. John shoved his way through another locked door, almost falling back on his ass when his light caught a massive animal stuck in a cage.
“Hell’s fucking bells!” He exclaimed, then froze, listening intently.
Fuck. They heard him.
“Go check it out!” One of the soldiers shouted from downstairs. John only allowed himself a second to panic before his eyes fell on an open balcony door. He quickly ran, throwing himself over the railing, grunting as he tried to keep most of his dangling body weight off of his bad arm. He dropped, satisfied as how quiet he was able to land. Ghost would be proud. He began running, approaching a gate.
“You may get a brag rag for this.” Ghost spoke. John scoffed in response.
“A medal?”
“Chest candy.” The way he spoke felt almost suggestive.
“I deserve one.”
“You said you wanted a win. Congratulations, you’re a winner.”
“Away n’ bile yer heid!” He laughed.
“English, MacTavish.” Ghost sighed, annoyed.
“Sorry, sir, let me translate.. Go fuck yourself.”
“Much better.”
The two men stayed silent for a while as John worked his way through, dodging soldiers and collecting whatever appears useful. More metal, duct tape, anything he could get his hands on.
“Church is on the north side of the city. I’ve set up a sniper position in the church tower. Find your way there, and you might just make it.”
“Graves is rounding up cops.” Soap spoke quietly.
“He’s judge, jury, and executioner now.” He continued on, the two men’s conversation low as they worked through solutions.
“They’re talking about us,” John said, smirking as he listened in on the conversations around him. “They’re scared o’ you.”
“Are you scared of me, Sergeant?”
“Negative.”
“Shame. I need to fix that.”
John’s heart sputtered, then pounded.
“I managed a smoke bomb.” He spoke, his voice wavering.
“Well get on with it and get out of there.”
John took a deep breath and rounded the corner quickly, chunking the vase filled with chemicals as hard as he could at the neighboring wall. It shattered, but worked– smoke clouded the air surrounding the soldiers blocking his way. They began sputtering and coughing, their eyes certainly burning painfully by the shouts and groans they let out.
He took off running past them, closing his eyes long enough to make it through the cloud. They would definitely be feeling the burn– John's own eyes began prickling with tears despite how tight he squeezed them.
“It’s pishin’ it doon out here.” He grumbled, however thankful he was for the rain relieving some of the stinging as he moved closer to safety.
“Speak English.”
“It’s rainin’ fuckin’ hard!” John snapped back in his best American accent.
“Then say so.” Ghost responded, his own voice thick with his natural British accent.
“I did.”
“Rain’s good, it’ll cover your tracks.”
“Covers theirs, too.”
“Let’s worry about you, Johnny.”
“So you do like me?”
Ghost was silent for a moment before choosing to respond.
“I like you alive.”
“Hmm.”
John made his way through an already busted window to another stench-of-death filled home, noting, impressed, at the trip-wire rigged to set off a shotgun should anyone enter through the front door.
“Ghost, you missing a knife?” He asked, yanking a blade out of the neck of a body crumpled below him.
“Several.”
“I think I found one.”
“Some of the dead Shadows are my handiwork.”
“So you did come through here?”
“On my way to the church…”
He quickly worked to relieve the springs off the weapon, testing its weight in his hands. “So much for no man left behind.”
“I’m used to working alone. Just make your way to the church. Trying to keep you alive and get you here in one piece. One of us needs to survive to tell the tale.”
“Ghost?”
“Soap.”
“Found a tripwire rigged to a shotgun. Disarmed it. Took the gun.” Ghost made a sound in the back of his throat that almost sounded like impressed appreciation.
“Open hearts and minds with it, Johnny.” He said, his voice a low grumble. Figuring he was a dead man walking anyway, Soap couldn’t help but speak his mind.
“You’re gonna owe me for this.”
“Why?”
“We’re fixin’ each other's problems.”
“What's my problem?” He feigned offense. John was in too deep now to change the conversation.
“The mask… Take it off.” He practically purred, his stomach swirling. He wasn’t sure if it was from the blood loss or something else.
“Show my face?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Negative.”
“Are you ugly?”
“Quite the opposite.” John believed him.
“I doubt that.” Liar.
“I can see you now, Johnny. Be careful. Shadows everywhere.”
“Right.”
The trip was grueling. Every step he took, he could feel himself beginning to grow weaker and weaker. He couldn’t afford to stop now, not when he knew he was getting close. John was thankful for Ghost’s invisible cover, and the conversation that at times he felt got a little too close to flirting territory. He knew he was just imagining it, letting his delirious mind go wild, probably as a form of coping with the situation at hand. It made perfect sense why he would latch on to the man helping keep him sunny side up.
Despite the situation, however, John couldn’t help but enjoy the banter. He was learning about Ghost, even if he wasn’t meaning to. The Lieutenant had the exact sense of humor you’d expect from an army brat, dark jokes and puns that caused John to roll his eyes harder than he ever has before. It was a nice way to pass the time.
“Ghost… I found the tunnel.” John said, dropping quietly into the waist deep water.
“The church plaza is on the other end of the tunnel. Push through, you’re nearly here. You’ll be going in blind, I can’t cover you from here.”
John quickly stationed behind a pillar, careful to keep his movements calculated. The moment he fired, all hell would break loose and he’d have to fight like hell to get to Ghost. He propped the gun up, using the side of the pillar to keep his hands steady as he aimed. He didn’t have much ammo, and the knife and duct tape he commandeered would only go so far.
His gloved finger squeezed the trigger, the soldier he aimed at dropping like dead weight.
Shouts rang out, echoing throughout the tunnel. He hid himself once more, quickly reloading before twisting around to the opposite side, laying another man out. Gunshots rang through the air, deafening. His ear started burning, and realized with horror that the soldiers had begun firing blindly and nearly got him- the warmth of the blood now dripping down his neck from the bullet that had grazed him. He discarded the shotgun.
Not intending to get shot a third time today, John dropped down into the water- taking a deep breath as he did so. He squinted through the murkiness, slowly until he reached the Shadow looking in the wrong direction for him. Pulling Ghost’s knife out, he shoved the blade into the man's leg. He heard him shout, but only briefly as John yanked him underwater and slit his throat- twisting the weapon out of his hands before it hit the water. Popping up, he shot the last remaining soldier, doing his best to ignore the pain radiating from his arm and head.
Soap groaned as he exited the tunnel, keeping the weapon drawn and ready.
“Having fun without me, Sergeant?”
“A blast.”
“Try to cut through the shops. You’re almost here.”
He did as he was told, weaving his way in and out- the bright lights of the church calling to him from the not so distant like God himself was lighting the way. He reached for the door handle to step back outside, ready to book it straight to Ghost– but the door swung open before he was able to.
“Fuck!” He shouted, the butt of an assault rifle colliding with his forehead. He fell to the ground, his vision spotted in black and white.
“Get down!” The offending soldier yelled, pointing his rifle at the fallen man. “All Shadow stations, got one near the church!”
“Kill him!” He heard Graves shout over the radio, but before the soldier could blood splattered all over John and he dropped.
John scrambled up, twisting the rifle out of the man’s hands as two more soldiers rushed towards him. He fired, killing them quickly.
“Holy hell. Ghost, was that you?”
“Who else? Now go!” He shouted.
Another soldier popped up. John cursed, firing.
“Bloody hell, give me a break!” He groaned. “Ghost, how copy?”
“Johnny, got company in the church, and they’re not here for forgiveness. Get to the steps, I’ll be there.” His radio was crackling now, sounds of gunfire and shouting disrupting the transmission.
“Copy, L.t.”
The short trip to the church was grueling. His energy was waning, fast. Working his way around the large building, he shoved himself into a corner next to a dumpster.
“I’m around back, Ghost. By the trash.”
“Rubbish. You’ll fit right in.”
John closed his eyes, his head falling back with a dull thwack against the brick. He tried to steady his breathing, knowing hyperventilating would just prove the bullet wound more painful. He also didn't want to seem weak in front of the Ghost, as pitiful as that sounded. Anyone would be brought to their knees by a gunshot wound to the shoulder, even Ghost.
The two men didn’t speak after that, all John could hear was occasional rustling– a slight squeak of the Lieutenant’s books slick with rain picking up on his radio.
His even, controlled breaths, like a caress.
John shook his head, trying to clear his mind as best as he could. This was getting ridiculous. The fantasies, the erotic thoughts. All highly inappropriate and not grounded in reality. They only proved to sour his mood further. He’d gone way too long without relief, even from his own hand– he was certainly losing his mind.
“I’m almost there, Johnny. Hang in there.” Anything for you. After a few deep breaths counting down from 10, 9, 8– John finally heard the whisper quiet soldier approach him.
“All right, lad.” Ghost said, John letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of the man. He dropped to his knees next to the Sergeant. “Fuck, you’re bleeding.”
“You don’t say?” John responded sarcastically, sucking in a deep breath when Ghost peeled some of the sticky, blooded shirt away to observe the wound. He quickly pulled a thick packet of gauze out from somewhere in his vest.
“Hold that,” He instructed. John obliged, hissing through his teeth as he pressed firmly in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.
Ghosts gloved hands dropped to his waist, unbuckling his thick belt and stripping it out of the loops in one rough tug. It took every ounce of willpower John had left to not let his mouth drop open and gape.
“I don’t have anything else and this’ll help as a tourniquet,” He said, and John was sure he imagined the quickness and slight panic in Ghost's explanation.
“Gie it laldy.” John muttered, groaning in pain as his hand was replaced with the other man’s belt.
“ English , for fucks sake,” Ghost complained, pulling the belt excruciatingly tight. “Before I use this as a noose instead.”
John's leg twitched.
“Maybe you should get cultured ins–” His response was cut off by Ghost's gloved hand coming down roughly over his mouth. His eyes widened at the other man, but he simply held his other hand up with one finger over where his lips were hidden under the mask. John froze, listening– his ears quickly catching to what Ghost had heard.
Gunshots, and close by.
“It’s time to go,” Ghost said, grabbing John by his good arm and pulling him up. He wobbled for a moment, his head rushing from the loss of blood. “Are you good to run?”
“I’ll be fine,” He said, doing his best to ignore the black spots as they slowly left his vision. “Please tell me there’s a truck nearby.”
“What, am I stupid?” Both men began running, Ghost moving quickly and gracefully as John did his best to keep up without making too much noise.
“I don’t think you want me to answer that.”
“Wise.”
It wasn’t a long run– one that in any other circumstances would be just barely a warm up for Soap, but it completely winded him by the time they made it to the truck. The gauze and belt did little to help, and the exertion started turning his legs into jelly.
“It’s alright Johnny– you made it,” Ghost said as they climbed into the vehicle.
“We made it, L.t.” He smiled at Ghost crookedly, their eyes meeting for only a brief moment before the back window shattered– spraying glass and water everywhere. Ghost immediately sprung into action– throwing an arm over the seat and slamming the truck into reverse, colliding with the two Shadows that had just fired bullets at them.
“That’s one way of doing it.” Soap laughed without humor.
“Thanks,” He quipped, throwing the truck in to drive and peeling away.
“Drive, I’ll cover us.” A thunk as Ghost ran over another man in their way. The tires squealed on the wet pavement, the lieutenant doing his best to fight against the hydroplaning. The bright flash of John's gun kept illuminating the cab as he dropped anything that moved to stop them. Eventually they finally made it out of the hell hole, Ghost speeding down dirt roads to some mystery destination.
“Where are we going?” John finally asked, allowing himself the risk to sit back down in his seat.
“Alejandro’s safe house. He gave me the coordinates.”
“Alejandro has a safe house?”
“It was need to know.”
John scoffed. “What if I needed to know?”
Ghost cut him a side eye, then did a double take.
“Soap, are you feeling alright?”
“Mmm.. Just peachy.” John responded weakly, a clammy sweat breaking out across his forehead. The adrenaline was wearing off- and fast.
“You’re paler than my ass, Sergeant.”
“Prove it,” John muttered under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m going to rest my eyes.”
“MacTavish, I need you to stay with me,” Ghost warned, grabbing John's chin roughly with one hand and tilting it toward him. “I need you to stay awake. No passing out on me.”
“Mmm. Haud yer wheesht. I’m tired.” John relaxed into Ghost's touch, his body finally giving out from the day's events.
“Oi, Soap, I don’t think so. Now is not sleep time. Not on my watch. Eyes on me.” He shook John's face, not too harshly but enough for the man’s eyes to flutter back open for a moment. “Johnny. We’re almost there. Johnny– please–”
And that was the last thing the injured man heard before black enveloped him completely.
Ghost cursed, slamming his fist down on the steering wheel. He struggled to keep his unconscious Sergeant semi-upright with one arm as he steered with the other. The tires spun for traction when he slammed on the breaks as he approached the safe house, missing hitting it by inches.
Throwing himself out of the truck, he drug Soap out from the passenger side– having to use both of his arms in an attempt to keep from dropping him. Soaps chest was pressed into his as his head lolled back in dead weight.
“You are not allowed to die on me, Sergeant, that’s an order,” Ghost grunted, shifting Soap’s weight to give him enough leverage to kick the front door open. His command was met with silence– deafening, harrowing silence. Despite the limited time the two of them had spent together at this point, quiet was not a word Ghost would easily associate with Soap– he easily filled the air with chatter. As much of a thorough enjoyer of quiet Ghost was, he found he didn’t dislike the noise; almost welcomed it, in fact. So the lack of response was jarring.
A single mattress, dusty and stained lay in the middle of the floor next to an equally dusty and disgusting couch. He gently threw Soap on to the mattress, the rusted springs creaking.
Frantically digging through cabinets and drawers– he finally found a massive med kit bag and isopropyl alcohol.
Running back over to Soap, he dumped the entire contents of the bag out onto the floor. First grabbing the tourniquet, Ghost quickly wrapped it around Soap’s arm, just above the wound, and tightened it as far as it would go. He groaned– Ghost greedily welcomed the sign of life– but didn’t open his eyes.
Ghost had to get the bleeding stopped before it was too late.
He kept firm pressure on the sopping wound for a few minutes before slowly removing his now-ruined belt and gauze. The bleeding had slowed, and Soap was still breathing. This was good.
Ghost took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He took a moment to unclip the tactical gear off of Soap's body, setting it nearby in case they had to make a quick escape. Feeling around blindly for the scissors, he cut around the sleeve of Soaps shirt so he could get a better look at the wound. It was definitely angry– swollen and dirty with God knows what type of bacteria swarming around.
“Oh you’re not gonna like this,” He muttered. Grabbing the alcohol, he twisted the cap off, dumping half the contents directly onto the wound. It was as good of a wake up call as Soap was going to get, and it barely took any time before he thrashed awake.
“What the fuck!” He yelled, trying to sit up.
“Easy there, soldier.” Ghost put a palm flat on his chest and shoved him back down.
“Jesus Christ, Ghost, what the fuck was that?”
“You passed out. Had to wake you up somehow.”
“It feels like you set my fucking arm on fire!”
“Alcohol. No fire. Not yet, anyway. It’s the best antiseptic we’ve got in this shithole.”
“God damn it.” Soap groaned, dropping his head on to the mattress. “Where are we?”
“Alejandro’s safe house. Gotta get you patched up before we can keep moving.”
“Joy.”
“You’re not bleeding so bad anymore, but I need to sew that wound shut.” Soap groaned as Ghost began palming through the supplies he had dumped out. “And… get the bullet out.”
Soap groaned again.
Ghost threw a pile of supplies onto the mattress next to Soap's head.
“I gotta pin you down to do this, Soap. You alright with that?”
“Just get on with it.” Ghost nodded, kneeling on the mattress. He pulled Soap’s arm away from his body, using One knee to pin it down by the forearm, his other on Soap’s chest.
“Suffocate me and break my arm, why don’t you, you damn brute.” Soap grunted.
“Shut your trap or I will.” He responded, gripping John’s upper arm with his non-dominant hand. “You ready?”
“No.”
“Right. Deep breath, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ghost gripped the tweezers tight enough he was sure his knuckles were white under his gloves.
He’s heard many horrific sounds before in his life. From before, when he was simply Simon Riley. From after he joined the army. When he became The Ghost. Sounds that would follow him for the rest of his life.
They were nothing compared to this.
John’s screams bore into every cell of his body, shaking his bones and sending ice cold chills up the Lieutenant’s spine. His muscles were locked right under Ghost– straining to get away. Ghost did his best to keep his hand steady as he dug for purchase on the bullet.
“ Simon, please !” He pleaded, tears streaking down his face. Lightning shot painfully through Ghost’s chest, but he finally got a solid grip on the offending metal and yanked up, holding the bullet like a trophy.
John gasped for breath, panting.
“Remind me to never get shot around you ever again.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Like he would ever let Soap come anywhere close to being shot again, period. Around him or not.
For now, Johnny was safe.