Chapter Text
01 —
| October 09, 2010 |
John “Soap” Mactavish
Soap quietly entered the building, it was deafeningly silent and darkness surrounded him, only every so often some sort of light flowed from above due to dusty hanging bulbs that hung overhead.
He wasn’t new to walking into eerily silent places like this, but this one especially made his skin crawl.
At the earlier briefing he had been warned to expect some hostiles and resistance, but no one seemed to be lurking in the narrow halls of this maze.
Still he stayed on guard, carefully stepping quietly with each step. He knew he should and squinted slightly to help him see ahead into the darkness.
Carefully he turned on his heels to get a better look into a room, gently pushing the door open further with the end of his rifle.
His eyes flitted around, but caught no sign of movement or anything else interesting.
Again he turned back to the main hall and continued down it.
It was like one of those American horror movies where the main characters enter some creepy abandoned house or something and explore around despite the fact they all know it’s probably haunted.
They all ended mostly the same. The cast gets chased around by some creepy guy with a knife or something and dies. Most of the time one or two survived and then a shitty sequel was made.
It was a guilty pleasure for him to indulge in when he had time off.
Was it wrong to think this place was haunted?
He had watched a few of those odd ghost hunting shows once with some of his old team mates once months ago and they had talked about all kinds of stuff.
Maybe a poltergeist? A malevolent spirit might even be lurking here to try for revenge. Maybe a demon? A haunted object belong to a passed on owner?
Soap sighed heavily, he was getting distracted. The fact he thought this place was haunted was juvenile enough.
Then again with multiple tipped over shelves and papers spilled out on the floor paired with the lights that were almost all out could anyone really blame him?
Finally he paused as he entered what seemed to be a large common area.
A few tables, some were flipped on their sides. Chairs knocked around every which way. And more silence. Who knew silence could be so stressful.
It made him tense up even further and the hairs on his arms stand up. His skin became clammy and made his shirt stick to his chest.
God he wished he could click on his radio and talk to someone, but this was a stealth mission and he was advised against it unless absolutely necessary.
Was keeping your sanity in a creepy building considered a necessity?
Taking a tentative step forward he began to realize he’d have to report to the team leader eventually that the target wasn’t here and the building looked like it had been through a tornado or two.
As he raised his hand he heard something shift under his feet.
Shit. Pressure plate.
He froze and didn’t dare move an inch, yet he soon realized he really wouldn’t have a choice no matter what.
Fuck it.
Quickly he raised his foot off the plate and tried to back away simultaneously, which worked somewhat as an explosion went off, sending him into a wall.
His head knocked against the wall and he groaned quietly, quickly he noted his head and nose were bleeding and he had a large gash at his ribs.
Speaking of his ribs, he would be lucky if they weren’t broken and only severely bruised.
There seemed to be something digging into his thigh and looked at it with hazy eyes.
A large piece of shrapnel jutted from his skin and made blood leak every which way.
He raised a shaky hand to hold the wound on his side that showed no signs of slowing down in terms of bleeding and his head was pounding like someone had repeatedly bashed it into a wall.
Raising the other hand to try and get ahold of Price he realized it wasn’t on him and he glanced around wildly.
It was a few feet away from him in quite a few pieces.
Shit. Was he going to bleed out alone in some enemy territory?
A chill ran down his spine and he turned his head to look in the other direction.
Stairwell. A few hanging light bulbs glowed around it, but the one under the stairs seemed to be flickering.
Something was standing under it.
A stained off-white skull mask seemed fitted to its face as dark eyes just watched him. It seemed to be wrapped in darkness itself, as the light only bounced off the mask and top of the things head.
It looked human, but not really human. Something was off about it.
The human-thing moved forward suddenly, a tall and well built man seemed to surge forward.
Fuck. An enemy here to put him out of his misery?
There was no sound from the boots the thing seemed to be wearing as it approached him till it was looming over him.
Soap didn’t have the strength to look up and face it.
”You look like shit.” It muttered in a gruff British accent.
Okay then, asshole poltergeist thing. Two can play that game.
”Fuckin’ Brits” He hissed through clenched teeth in response to it.
The thing went silent for a moment and Soap finally looked up.
The skull was stitched onto a plain black mask. He was seemingly wearing a dark turtle neck under an even darker cloak. It’s black eyes framed by blond lashes.
Skull face crouched down next to Soap, and it made him even more tense. It was only a few inches from him now.
”You can hear me?” The thing said quietly, his voice giving away no signs emotion of any kind.
”What—? Yes I can fuckin’ hear you.” He spat out, wincing as he held the bloody side gash tighter.
”Huh they usually can’t hear me.” The masked man mused.
”Why—“ He paused.
”Soap! Fuck you look like shit!” Another soldier ran into the area suddenly, worried eyes catching on the Scot.
The man grasped at his comms as he quickly approached Soap and helped him to his feet. “I’ve located Soap. Call up medical, stat.” He quickly spoke into the speaker before helping Soap out of the building.
He leaned against the soldier for support as he limped around on his good leg. The two navigated through the narrow halls once more.
Soap was starting to see dark spots in his vision. Blood loss or pain? Maybe both at that. He tried to turn his head to look for the masked man but spotted nothing.
”Skull mask” He gasped out. “Whatta bout’ skull mask?”
The other glanced at him like he was crazy. “Soap are you seeing things? What skull mask?” The man looked at Soap’s bloody head for a moment. “Did you hit your head that bad mate?”
Sadly the Scot didn’t get to ask on what he meant by what he said.
The world finally blurred before outright going dark. He could feel shaky legs no longer help him along.
<<•
Later he woke up. A week later at that. He managed to walk away for the most part with a liter or two of blood lost, a few broken ribs, a concussion, a fractured wrist, and a shit ton of stitches in his side and thigh. And many, many bruises had fixated their ugly colors of blues, oranges, yellows, and purples across his skin.
His head had quite a few and so did his chest and back.
No one had asked him about skull mask. And by now he thought he’d have been pulled into a interview on who the fuck was standing over him in enemy territory.
It was like the other hadn’t seen the man. Like he hadn’t seen the ghost haunting the buildings halls.
2 —
| June 17, 2012 |
John “Soap” Mactavish
A mission to bumfuck Russia to get intel on some organization that was causing issues and dealing out threats to anyone and everyone who wasn’t a buddy of theirs.
It had been almost a year and a half since he last saw skull face, but constantly felt himself drawn back to thinking on what or who the man was.
Soap had sketched down the man many times in an effort to never forget what he looked like. He’d made notes speculating on who or what this ghost was.
He highly doubted he’d get any answers on it.
The gash and injury in his thigh only left faded scars, and since then he’d also been much more careful of where he stepped.
The rest of his unit had split off into pairs and went spread out in the complex, while he was heading more into the southern part.
Why was he always the one getting sent off alone? He wished he had someone there to watch his back or even just talk to when the silence was to much to bear.
The near death encounter had only amplified his want for a partner to watch his back.
But there was nothing much he could do but make a few off handed comments on it to higher ups to try and hint he wanted one.
They all seemed to notice, but not really care about it.
Whatever. He had to find this file so this mission could get done.
He quickly swept room after room, every so often taking down a hostile or two that appeared in his way.
The hallways here were wider and well illuminated in here, the few hostiles he had been encountering always carried hand guns or knives.
Just some small fries at the end of the day.
Silently he turned the corner into a small room and quickly whipped his gun around before mentally deeming it clear.
As he turned to leave he managed to barely dodge some sudden gunshots and duck into the room once more, holding his back against the wall.
He waited for the shots to stop before emerging and shooting them all down with no hesitation.
Quickly he exited to sweep the area for any other hostiles and just as he had turned his back on the rest of the hall, a bullet dug itself into the back of his shoulder.
Shit.
He turned once more and began to fire at the hostile, he heard a body thud.
Soap took in a sharp breath, his nerves starting to try and calm themselves.
Upon hearing something stumble behind him he turned.
All that met him when he turned to investigate was a knife to the gut, which was quickly retracted and pushed back into his stomach.
Pulling out his hand gun he fired at the already wounded target and put a bullet through the man’s head.
Stumbling back he held the bloody knife wound, the blade still stuck in his stomach and he knew better than to remove it in fear of making the blood loss worse or causing further damage.
He ducked into a small room and shut the door. His back slid down the door till he was sitting in the floor holding his wounds.
Raising his available hands to his comms he quickly tried to radio someone; “This is Soap, I’ve been injured. Need medical stat.” He spoke breathlessly.
No one responded.
His eyes adjusted to the dark room he was in, a thin stream of light entering the room from under the door.
Fucking hell. Another stop on deaths doorstep.
He jumped slightly upon hearing some distant yells and gun shots.
Soap was well aware that him just tightly holding onto the wound to try and keep the blood in was doing little, but it was enough for the moment.
Suddenly the hair on his arms stood up.
Something caught his eye in the corner.
It was skull face.
”Oh. It’s you again.” He hissed through clenched teeth.
Skull face was wearing his attire from last time. The skull mask and turtle neck covered by a dark cloak.
”So you can hear me… this is interesting” The man muttered and approached Soap, then crouched down in front of him.
”Who the fuck are you?” Soap tried to sit up a little more, pain shooting up his abdomen.
”You can call me Ghost.”
”You an actual Ghost or what?”
No response.
”Yer here when ’m dyin’ you the grim reaper?” Soap grinned at the figure.
“Yeah. Yeah I am. And your John “Soap” Mactavish. You’re already supposed to be dead.” The figure stood up then, cold eyes meeting his own.
His smile faltered slightly before out right dropping.
“This is Alpha team. Omega come in. I repeat omega come in.” His comms cracked suddenly.
”Well lovely to see you again then- but I ain’t dyin” Soap struggled to his feet, almost falling over, but eventually he leaned against the door and eventually leaned against the wall.
Ghost watched him silently.
”This is Soap. I’m here, lost touch with the others.” He clicked his comms.
”You wounded Sergeant?”
He paused. “Uh- yeah I got two stab wounds, knife is still in me.”
”We will be there shortly, stand by.”
Soap muttered a few curses to himself and was about to fling open the door when the voice of Ghost sounded again behind him.
”I wouldn’t head out there yet.” His voice was quiet and gave away no emotion.
”What?” He muttered and turned.
As he was about to ask what the masked man meant he heard many yells in Russian and pounding footsteps go by the door.
Quickly he looked from Ghost to the door before returning his gaze to Ghost.
”I thought you were supposed to take my soul.” He asked sarcastically.
He didn’t get a response as he finally pushed the door open once more.
Soap had wanted one.
<<•
He spent a good three days in the hospital.
After some good ole’ surgery on his gut and more stitches, the internal bleeding had stopped and he was promised a new scar to his seemingly growing collection. His shoulder also had a few stitches from the bullet hole.
When he finally had returned to work he was met with a new assigned team to work with.
Soap obviously had asked questions on why he was being moved and what about the team he had already been on?
He had received the news he was the only survivor out of a team of 15 people.
The only one to even have been pulled out alive from Russia.
3 —
| August 11, 2015 |
John “Soap” Mactavish
It had been a little over three years since his last encounter with Ghost.
Not that he missed the reaper.
It was comforting in a way, that he kind of knew the man who would he taking his soul.
But he didn’t really know him. Sure he knew what he was and his title; but that was it. And by the way Ghost had said his name at the last encounter, he was rather sure the mysterious man knew more on him.
For weeks after being pulled out of Russia the only thing that had haunted his dreams was Ghost looking over his old teams bodies, staring at them.
Every time after he had awoken in a cold sweat.
Soap had thought about therapy a few times, but always chose against it. What would the therapist even say to a man claiming he talked to the grim reaper?
Being discharged from the military and getting mandatory mental help would be in his future if he blabbed.
There was a sketchbook. One he kept tucked in the very back of the bullet proof vest closest to his chest. It was nothing important. Well to anyone else they’d assume it was a journal of some kind if they spotted it.
All that filled it was doodles and drawings of the masked man. Full body drawings in his cloak and just headshots with his skull mask and brooding dark eyes.
They had become messier and less like the reaper as more time had passed due to his memory fogging up.
Never before had he ever wished for a certain reference picture.
Its cover was a dark brown leather and the pages were a worn off-white shade. Some were a little torn and the cover looked like it had definitely seen better days.
And now there was a new mission. Somewhere in the outskirts of Iraq with his new team plus some add ons.
They had lost a few over the three years. One had lost himself to alcohol abuse and had been dishonorably discharged. Another took a bullet to his head while undercover after he’d been caught. Someone else had been killed in crossfire.
He wondered if Ghost was there with them as they lay dying.
Did he try to help them like he had helped Soap? Give them some advice on where to go and when to move?
Or maybe he was special?
Okay that was pushing it. Soap knew he couldn’t run from death.
Maybe Ghost had reaper friends that would stop his good luck streak of escaping deadly situations.
He was getting off track. A new mission to no-where Iraq. He and some of the team were supposed to head into old mineshafts and try to locate proof of the targets movements.
Above ground the other part of the team would be trying to spot two major players in war crimes. Supposedly there was supposed to be a huge weapons deal between some groups of interest that had more than their fair share of crimes against humanity.
It was stupid of him to wish to see Ghost again. It meant he’d have to be dying. But god did he want to see that pale skull mask that let dark eyes peer out.
He was pretty sure the reaper had blonde lashes. Maybe blonde hair as well?
Soap could only imagine how the man looked. Possibly a slight stubble? A scar or two? Actually was he even human? Maybe at some point.
Now here he was. Thinking on someone meant to come collect his soul while creeping through old and dusty mine shafts.
It was humid and damp at the same time, it made him sweat through his shirt.
Darkness was an understatement. Only a light on his gun pointer ahead helped him to navigate anything.
Soap almost fell on his face a few times tripping over a stone or something else.
Thats what he had thought he had tripped on.
”Fuck-“ He muttered.
Madison turned to look at him. An annoying American. Not all bad he supposed. Tall, dark hair and eyes. “Damn you just keep tripping over shit don’t ya?” He scoffed.
“Oh shut yer ass up.” He swore at the man who just let out a breathless laugh.
Soap would have laughed too. Till he heard a click and rumble.
Whipping his head around he looked at what he had tripped over.
Trip wire. An active trip wire.
”Madison—!” He turned to the man, he met the Americans dark eyes that were lit up by his light before the ceiling of the mineshaft collapsed on top of them.
His back hit the ground and all the air was knocked from him as rubble tumbled down around the two. He didn’t have eyes on Madison anymore.
Raising his arms to cover his head he tried to prevent debris from coming anywhere near his neck and head. The last thing he needed was a concussion or head injury.
Despite his best attempts, a few shards of sharp rock knocked against his head and quite a few more sliced up his forearms and hands.
Finally the world quit falling.
He was trapped, that much was apparent. Soap shifted around a little, and the rubble did as well.
Then he decided he didn’t want to try and move around anymore.
Madison was no where in sight, and this little pocket of air was all he had.
It was probably large enough for him and another person to be squeezed into.
The light from his gun illuminated the entire space. It lit dull rocks of warm and cool grays.
Soap was incredibly aware of the blood leaking down the side of his face, the shards of stone embedded in his arms and palms, the pain of his right hand.
His eyes cracked open and he looked at his hand. Rocks were piled over it. No way his fingers weren’t shattered and broken.
One of his legs wasn’t feeling to great either, his shin ached something bad. There was a little splotch of blood growing on his leg, so he guessed that was an answer.
“—avish! Co— in! Mactavish!” His comms glitched a few times before he finally heard Madison crackle through the somehow intact speaker.
How the cheap and flimsy plastic was still held together was nothing short of a miracle.
He raised his left arm up slightly and clicked the comms to respond. “Hey I’m alive- but ‘m wounded and pinned down. This place is covered in traps, ya gotta get outta here mate.” He said weakly.
“I can’t leave you-“
”Just go Madison. I’m alive and I ain’t some porcelain doll. Get in touch with the rest of the team and watch where yer steppin’” He interrupted.
“Don’t die.”
He wanted to laugh but his chest hurt quite a bit. “Not plannin’ on it.”
His comms went silent.
Soap started to close his eyes, he wanted some sleep. Just a short nap.
”Johnny.” A gruff British voice made him open his eyes and look to the other side of the pocket of air in the rubble.
It was Ghost.
God he was sure he’d never been more happy to see someone before, as stupid as it sounded.
”Ay’ it’s you again.” He said softly.
Ghost was sitting across from him. He just nodded.
”As stupid as it sounds at least I know I won’t be dying alone.” He grinned to the man.
“I could disappear right now and you would die alone.” Ghost said painfully blunt.
Soap scoffed lightly and coughed, some blood splattered from his lips.
”You wouldn’t do that to me.” He said sarcastically. His smile dimmed then slightly. “At least I hope not.”
Ghost didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I wouldn’t leave you to die alone Johnny.” His voice was quiet and he could barely hear the masked man.
Curiosity got the better of him as he blearily looked over the mask.
”Why do ya’ were that? You hiding an ugly mug or something?” He mused.
”Quite the opposite.”
”I doubt that” He snorted.
”I’m sure you do.” Ghost huffed.
Neither said anything for a long moment, Soap knew what he wanted to say, but wasn’t quite sure if he had the balls to say it.
“Was if you back there? Three years ago with the rest of the team dyin. Was that you?” Soap finally mustered some courage to ask.
”So what if it was. They were all to far gone.”
”And I wasn’t?”
The masked man seemed to hesitate. “No you- you could be saved. They couldn't.”
“Really now?” His tone layered with bluntness.
”You got an issue with that Johnny?” The figure hissed. “Cause I sure as hell can take your soul to. Nothings really is stopping me after all.”
Soap didn’t say anything to that for a long moment.
” ‘Least I would die in the service. You get run over by a car? That why ya so miserable?” He muttered.
The figure seemed to tense and suddenly leaped at him.
Cold hands grabbed at the collar of his shirt. They were to cold; like a dead man’s. The dark eyes were lit with anger that he had never seen before.
He let out a hiss of pain as his crushed hand shifted and his chest seemed to feel even worse as he did so.
Neither moved for a long moment, both engaged in a long staring contest. Soap’s breath left him in ragged gasps and sweat plastered to his forehead began to drip down the sides of his face, mixing with the blood.
Tired. God did he feel tired. His eyes began to flutter to a close, he broke off from the staring contest first.
Suddenly those cold hands let him go and all the added on pain disappeared. His chest didn’t feel as bad and his hand didn’t feel just as pinned down as it did a minute ago.
He coughed a little, panting rapidly, he didn’t open his eyes.
“Mactavish.” Ghost hissed over him.
Soap finally cracked open his eyes and looked at the man looming over him.
”You gonna kill me?” He grinned.
Ghost seemed to get ready to say something but he was interrupted.
Soap’s comms crackled to life once more. “Hey Soap you alive?”
Raising his working arm to clicked to reply. “Never better.” He muttered into the speaker.
The dark eyes stared at him, looking him over repeatedly, but they always seems to to linger a little longer on his wounds.
”Okay, I found the others and we’ve avoided the other traps, we are trying to get in touch with the unit above ground.”
”Madison just watch where ya step.” Soap said once more.
”Yessir.”
”You say something like that again I will kill you.” Ghost hissed after a moment of peace.
”So why haven’t ya yet?” He mused quietly, his head was starting to feel light but the rest of him seemed to weigh down even more.
The masked man said nothing in response to that. Soap didn’t even know if he had one.
Soap didn’t know how long he sat in that air space with the masked man just watching him in the silence, the eyes burning holes into his head and wounds.
Neither said anything. Soap didn’t look at Ghost despite knowing Ghost was looking at him. Watching him.
The light on his gun finally clicked out after a while, now darkness surrounded him and Ghost.
Soap tried to reach for it after a moment to grab the light to really see if its battery had died or simply gone out.
He hated that. Being wounded in the dark. Made him feel as though all his wounds were bleeding faster and all the pain felt amplified.
Eventually he tried to sit up, letting out a hiss of pain as his chest shifted.
Soap couldn’t see Ghost anymore, but he sure felt the heavy presence of him.
Another minor shift and he held the light, at the cost of his crushed hand being torn from its resting position, which he let out a quiet yelp.
Clicking the light a few times he made sure it worked, it did. The battery wasn’t dead just yet.
With a heavy sigh he let his head fall back a little.
”All for that light?” Ghost almost seemed amused at the fact Soap would do all that for a little light.
”Yeah, no regrets.” He breathed.
Soap finally chose to meet the eyes of the other, studying his features.
The angles of the skull mask, the darkness that seemed to envelop him, and those dark eyes.
Soap also made a mental note that the eye lashes were indeed blonde.
”Soap we’ve gotten in touch with retrieval, they are coming early to get our asses out of here. Above ground has faced casualties and quite a few for them are KIA.” Madison suddenly crackled through his comms.
Huffing he reached to respond. “Ya wanna hurry up? I think I got a punctured lung or something and my head don’t feel good either.” He scoffed.
He heard Madison let out a quiet chuckle before responding. “We are almost there, don’t die yeah?”
”Like I said; ain’t planning on it.”
Soap could feel Ghosts eyes on him when he said the words.
“Hey I’m going to take a nap.” He muttered to Ghost, though he doubted the masked man cared what he was doing.
”You do that Johnny.” The masked man responded quietly.
He let his heavy eyes shut, his limbs ached and chest hurt so much. He could taste the metallic blood on his tongue. Not much he could do about it.
It didn’t take darkness long to envelop him.
Somehow he found a comfort in it.
•>>
Coma. He was in a coma for a month. And he did indeed have a punctured lung, a minor concussion, his hand was shattered and that alone required physical therapy, his ankle was fractured, and more broken and bruised ribs.
None of that stopped him from dragging his ass from the hospital bed to get the sketchbook filled with the drawn out Ghost.
While it was all fresh in his mind he had to place it on the paper.
When he reached his quarters his legs had buckled the moment he had grabbed the journal from his gear.
Speaking of his gear it was all neatly on his bed. He’d probably have to thank Madison for that later.
He gasped a little, his side let out a few contractions of pain as he sat crouched on the floor in anguish.
Okay maybe it was a bad idea to sneak out of the infirmary where they had him on an IV drip, but honestly he could worry about it later.
”Soap.” A voice rang out.
He looked up from the journal he held in his good hand to the darkest corner of his room.
Ghost.
A smile appeared on his face, he just couldn’t stop it. “Am I really dying righ’ now?” He scoffed quietly.
”Careful, if you talk too loud they’ll think you’re hallucinating.” Ghost said with some sarcasm.
Soap shrugged, which he regretted because his bad wrist sent a shiver of burning pain up his arm. “Maybe I am.”
Ghost walked over to him, silent like always. He looked over Soap, still crouched on the floor trying to catch his breath from his ever tightening and very pained lungs.
Crouching down next to him Ghost stared at him, Soap didn’t dare meet those cold eyes.
”What you got there?” Ghost mused and reached a cold hand out to grab at the journal.
Soap pulled it away with a quiet snicker. “None of yer business.”
Ghost just rolled his eyes.
”I have to go now Johnny.” Ghost stood up with a huff.
”Will I see you again?” Soap glanced up now.
“Only if you want to try dying again.” The masked man said bluntly.
Soap scoffed.
Ghost disappeared as light shined through the blinds of the window behind him.
4 —
| January 30, 2018 |
John “Soap” Mactavish
Three fucking years.
It had been three more years since he last saw the reaper.
Nightmares had faced him over the years where he’s been killed violently and painfully by the man in the mask.
Always he had awoken in a cold sweat and then he’d become for lack of a better word; paranoid and afraid death was lurking behind him every time he went out on a mission, every time he laid down to get some sleep, and every time he turned a corner.
He tried to never think on it. But the thoughts of death always crept up on him.
At around the one and a half year mark he had to quit drawing the man due to the fact he was on the verge of tearing the book up for not getting any of the features of the man right.
Now the journal sat unused, still tucked close to his chest in his vest.
Never would he leave it to collect dust in some drawer or on a shelf.
He had kind of become known for surviving death experiences.
Made him in a sort of stupid way a living legend. He had all the scars to prove that they all happened, and he was never doubted about any of the stories after showing off a few scars.
Soap floated between teams these days, the resident demolitions expert sent every which way in the world.
But now he actually was on a break. Had taken to attend some distant relatives funeral.
It was supposed to be two weeks of nothing but relaxation and full 12 hours of sleep.
He had been careful of injury and death, he had made sure to be careful where he stepped in unfamiliar territory. Had watched his own back when no one else would.
So why.
Because now here he was, laying on his back on pavement as rain poured over him.
His head hurt. His chest hurt. God why does every death he seem to face have to hurt so bad?
A car crash. Yeah.
The one he had joked about Ghost dying to now had to happen to him.
This was karma, just about three years late.
Soap even had the fucking right away to cross. A hit and run of all things? Asshole couldn’t even be bothered to pull over and ask if he was okay.
Ghost stood over him, dark eyes staring down at him.
”Yer allowed to laugh.” He managed to wheeze out. The masked man let out a scoff.
”So much for dying in the service yeah Mactavish?” Ghost mused.
”Oh—“ He coughed a little. “Shut up.”
”Someone’s called the cops.” Ghost suddenly glanced up from Soap to look at someone. “Maybe you’ll even get an ambulance.”
He let out a sharp pained breath.
In the distance he could hear someone talking, but it was severely muffled.
His ears were ringing a little too loud to pay attention to anything but Ghost’s words.
”You probably have broken your ribs again. Your leg doesn’t look all that good either.” The masked man commented, seemingly mocking his shitty condition.
“Thanks for letting me know.” He hissed at Ghost, who just kept staring down at him.
Soap finally heard some distant sirens that seemed to creep closer and closer.
”Guess I ain’t dying today, ay Ghost?” He grinned cheekily.
”Suppose not Johnny.”
•>>
Fractured wrist, collapsed lung, head trauma, a shit ton of blunt force trauma, minor internal bleeding, and a broken leg.
He had been discharged after two days of sitting in the hospital. He also got a bonus month off duty due to his injuries. Just great.
A large bruise stretched along the side that had been hit. It was discolored and painted his skin with swatches of purple, blues, what appeared to be browns and oranges, and yellows to blend it out.
And by god did it hurt.
He also limped around on his good leg, never had he put any weight on the broken one.
Sitting in his room he began sketching out Ghost once more in his journal, sure he hadn’t expected to be adding to it during his time off, but here he was.
New perspectives, some doodles of just the eyes. Full bodies, head shots. He had some of just the skull mask he wore.
Huffing he dropped the book and started to limp towards his bathroom.
Soap wanted a bath. Just to be warm. To be surrounded by something that wasn’t going to try and kill him.
Finally he reached the bathroom and clicked the lights on, Soap made sure to close the door before stumbling over to the shower and turning the water on.
While that was heating up he carefully wrestled his shirt off as to not try to make his aching side shoot anymore pains up his arm.
Admittedly he was struggling a little bit.
”Damn Johnny, take me out first.” A familiar voice spoke up.
Soap jumped and finally got the shirt over his head then turned, spotting the source of the voice.
There was Ghost, oh so casually sitting on the bathroom countertop ledge, the mirror fixated behind him had already started to fog up.
“God damn it ye fuckin’ scared the devil out of me.” He muttered.
”Better question; why are you in my bathroom? You planning to drown me while I take a bath or somethin’?” He glanced at the masked man jokingly.
”Was just making sure you weren’t dead.” Ghost said after a moment.
“Didn’t think you’d give a shit about me dyin’ or not.” He scoffed and limped over to the running water to check if it was warm or not just yet.
Upon feeling the hot water against his fingers he bent down with a pained breath and plugged the water so the tub would start filling.
”So what do ya want?” He glanced behind him.
The masked man had his eyes fixated on Soap. Just watching. Looking him over.
”You look like you haven’t slept in a month.” Ghost remarked bluntly.
He tensed a little. Any sleep he had gotten over the two days was mostly interrupted with nightmares of the masked man.
Always the same thing, sure sometimes the details were a little different, but the idea was always the same.
He’d be wounded, heavily. Sometimes he could feel it in the ache of his ribs or the blood that ran from his side.
Always he’d be running, getting away from whatever had caused the life threatening injury.
Maybe an attacker or something else.
Never did he make it far. The skull mask would always appear out of thin air and pounce on him.
Sometimes it was a gun, other times a knife, or in rare occurrences Ghost would rely on his hands.
A bullet through the head, a stab wound to the heart, the caving in of his skull with nothing but heavy punches over and over, sometimes he’d strangle him till all he could see was light dancing around in his vision.
And every time the dream would end just before the final breath left his body.
”Maybe it’s the fact I got ran over?” He tried to joke.
”Is that really it Johnny?” Ghost said quietly and hopped off the counter, taking a few steps towards Soap, standing just an inch or two in front of him.
”I—“ Soap bit his tongue, not daring to say anymore.
Ghost narrowed his eyes. “Go on.”
”It’s nothin’ really. Just nightmares is all.” He admitted after another moment.
After another second he turned away to turn the water off when it had filled the tub around three fourths of the way.
Suddenly a cold hand was gently pressed against the back of his neck.
Minor scrapes and scratches lined the back of it from the rough edges of the pavement he had been thrown to.
Soap jumped and turned on his heels, a little to quickly at that.
He set his pained leg down on the ground, which he quickly regretted when pain enveloped his leg and hip.
Yelping he stumbled back and tripped over the tub, falling into the water.
Droplets were sent everywhere, his pants drenched and his boxers soaked through.
He was quite aware the tile surrounding the tub probably had a small puddle around it.
”Don’t-“ He let out a shuddering breath, trying to find his voice as his chest shakily rose and fell quickly.
“Don’t touch me.” He finally got out.
The masked man just stared blankly at him, unmoving from his position.
”What kind of nightmares?” Ghost asked quietly.
The warm water lapped at his skin and started to still once more, he made no move to try and not create further disturbance in the water despite his uncomfortable position.
“What?”
”Nightmares. What kind?”
Ghost took a small step forward until he was standing right in front of the tub, looking over him.
He bent down and grabbed at Soap’s wrist, gripping the non-fractured one and tugging him up until he had regained his footing on the soaked tile.
Soap dared not meet those dark eyes he had drawn maybe a dozen times. How could he explain in the first place?
”Mactavish. I want you to fucking tell me.” The voice shook him from his thoughts, new layers of venom underlined the tone, it made his skin crawl.
Ghost was still holding onto his uninjured wrist, tightly at that.
”Just forget about it..” His voice shook a little, the soaked through pants and boxers were starting to become cold. The fabric clinging to his moist skin.
”It’s me isn’t it?” The masked man asked finally.
He nodded silently.
Suddenly the grip from his wrist was gone, Ghost took a small step back.
Ghost just shook his head and exited the bathroom through the door.
Soap quickly limped to the now opened door, choosing to try to explain if possible.
The masked man was gone.
He huffed heavily and turned back to the water covered tiles and probably cold bath water. Yeah he wasn’t in the mood to clean up anymore.
5 —
| November 13, 2020 |
John “Soap” Mactavish
About two years had passed since he last saw Ghost. If anything though he had been a little more risky and less careful about him getting hurt.
He’d rush without thinking into crossfire, had skipped checking rooms when looking through rooms in enemy zones.
Yet never had he gotten hurt, no near death experiences. The room would be empty, the bullets missing him by mere inches.
Death hadn’t bothered to visit him, but by god did he want to see the skull mask again, he wanted to explain everything about the last encounter.
Never had he been given a chance.
So he took it upon himself after debating himself about it for months on end.
Another mandated break.
A nice rope he had stolen from the job months ago during a training session for the team he had been stationed with.
He hadn’t even bothered to call his mom. Hadn’t bothered to write a note to explain why he was doing what he was doing.
Standing on the stool beneath him, he unscrewed the lightbulb from its socket in the ceiling in his bathroom, after all he needed somewhere to secure the noose.
As he tied the knot around the inner part of the lightbulb, he thought. Maybe Ghost wouldn’t show up. God he didn’t know what he’d do then.
Now he just had to do this right. If he didn’t kick the stool out right his neck wouldn’t snap, and strangulation was less preferred due to the fact it would be drawn out.
Soap snapping his neck would be quick. It would only hurt for a second. Then if everything went right, a bone in his neck would snap off and dig itself into his brain stem. Quick and painless.
But only if he did it correctly.
He stepped off the stool to admire his handiwork. The loop of the noise already tied and the other side was firmly secured to the ceiling.
What an odd moment of pride. Why. Why was he so proud of himself for this?
Shaking his head he stepped back up onto the stool, starting to slide the loosened loop of the noose over his head and onto his neck.
His hands gripped onto the rope and tightened it around his throat till it pinched his skin just enough.
”Johnny.”
He turned and looked at the bathroom door.
Ghost. He was early. Fuck he hadn’t even tried to kick the stool out from beneath his feet yet.
”Ghost.” He replied with a shaky voice. Emotions ran through his veins, making him tense up slightly upon spotting the masked man.
This is what he wanted, right?
Ghost approached him, dark eyes revealing nothing as he stepped up in front of Soap, who still stood on the stool with the rope tightened around his neck, the eye contact almost made it seem tighter on his skin.
”What are you doing?”
”I—“ His words caught in his throat, but he was finally able to regain his voice after a moment. “Are you ‘ere to stop me or somethin’?” He laughed a little. It almost sounded silly.
”And if I was?”
The sly grin on his face faltered before outright collapsing. “But why?”
Ghost seemed almost a little taken aback by the question. “What do you mean why?”
”I mean, why try to stop me? Why do you care?” The words tasted bitter on his tongue.
The masked man didn’t seem to have an answer to the question as he raised one of his arms, he slid one finger under the noose loop around his neck and slowly worked it loose till it no longer pinched his skin.
”How about you take that off, yeah?” The usually cold voice full of an unrecognizable softness to it. It was honey sweet and warm in all the right ways.
When was the last time he’d been spoke to so softly by someone? Let alone by the grim reaper?
Soap slowly raised a shaky hand and pulled it off over his head. His eyes felt hot with salty tears.
He was looking down at Ghost considering he was still standing on the stool.
Ghost took a small step back to allow Soap to step off the stool and stand in front of him.
He didn’t dare meet the reapers eyes, didn’t dare speak or move.
”…’M tired…” He finally said quietly, voice quivering.
Suddenly Ghost wrapped an arm around his lower back and pulled him in close until his face was pressed into the dark cloak.
”Get some sleep Johnny.”
•>>
He was in bed when he woke up in cold sweat, he tried to sit up, but felt something heavy holding him in place.
It was another nightmare. The ones he used to get all the time. Ghost had killed him.
This time ironically, again by strangulation. He could feel the roughened up skin around the edges of the very slight rope burn, he knew it would probably remain for a few days, a reminder of what he had done and failed to do.
Someone hummed next to him, their grip on him tightening.
“…Why’re you up?” The voice sounded. Ghost.
”I.. bad dream…” He muttered to Ghost. “Why- why are you still here?” Soap finally asked, he chose to not ask why Ghost was in bed with him.
Ir would spare an awkward conversation.
”I don’t wanna be alone again.”
”Why’d you do that?” Ghosts grip on him tightened further.
”I don’t know.” The words were a bitter lie, but by god did he not have the strength to tell the truth.
”I won’t press any further. But I do have to go.” The masked man said quietly.
Moonlight forced itself through the blinds on his window, the grip around him disappearing suddenly.
He was alone again. They both were.
6 —
| November 13, 2022 |
John “Soap” Mactavish
A new team. A new threat. A new mission.
This mission had gone to hell one to many times for his preference.
There was the betrayal, which probably was the main reason for this mess of a mission, then there had also been that drug lord, which was… unexpected to say the least.
The bullet wound in Las Almas still ached, he had made sure to clean it the best he could, but it was probably infected. He could tell by the puffy and inflamed reddened skin around it.
Now he was off in Chicago, going through a building to reach a terrorist ready to detonate a missile on the city.
After the betrayal, and getting shot, and busting Alejandro and his men out of their prison with the help of Rodolfo.
He barely had made it out of the streets of Las Almas with the bullet lodged in his shoulder. He only had even bothered to press forward due to the fact he swear the skull mask had been there. Watching him as he ran and hid in the damp streets while being hunted.
Soap swore Ghost had been there. Watching. Looking at him as he tried to navigate the maze of the city and getting to Alejandro’s safe house.
Graves betrayal probably made this worse now too. God did he want a shower. And a proper meal, not just rations.
It had been four years since he last lay in the bed with the reaper after the masked man had convinced him to quit.
After he had appeared when all else seemed lost.
The new team wasn’t all bad, just the rotten apple that Graves was.
Rodolfo and Alejandro were good men who took care of their team like a family. Price was there making sure they all stayed together to navigate this mess of a mission they had been sent on.
Gaz was great too. The banter and exchanged jokes had been a good distraction through it all.
But this sucked. He had long stopped bothering to count how many stairs he had climbed in order to reach the floor Hassan was on.
“Soap where are you?” He could recognize Prices gruff voice over the flimsy plastic comms.
”Bravo 0-7 I am in the blind, climbing to reach Hassan.” Soap responds after a moment.
“Be careful, we’ve sent Garrick in as well, he should have begun to ascend by now.”
God did he want some help when he reached the floor Hassan was on.
His comms crackled to life once more when he finally chose to quit climbing stairs and look around the floor, presuming it to be high enough up.
”Sorry Captain, kind of pinned down” He could hear some shots over the comms before they went quiet once again.
Soap quickly realized that he too had hostiles on his floor. A small group down the hall that hadn’t quite noticed his ass yet.
Quickly he raised his gun, pointing it at them and firing off multiple shots, they all fell quickly to the ground.
The hair on his arms raised quickly as he heard distant yelling in Arabic.
It wasn’t distant anymore.
Something blunt hit him harshly over the head and he fell with a grown, his gun falling to the ground.
His head was bleeding, that much was obvious despite everything else around him being so fuzzy and hazy.
Someone was dragging him, the dark spots in his vision started to clear up as he realized who was dragging him- and where.
Hassan. God damn it just had to be Hassan.
Fucking hell. His head ached something awful, he could almost taste the blood on his tongue as it ran down his head.
Someone grabbed his ankle and started to drag him.
Then Hassan just had to start monologuing.
”I told you your nation would see fire. You think you can stop me?” The man sounded almost amused as his grip on Soap’s ankle tightened, a rough pull then as he continued to drag the Scot.
He released Soap and started over to the window, appearing to pull an explosive from his gear.
Soap watched in a haze as he set in on the glass, a detonation occurring just as he turned away and started towards him once more.
His mouth was so dry, his head aching.
No one would be able to reach him in time.
Hassan tossed his gun to the side, then leaning over Soap, grabbing the edges of his vest. “We are not attacking…”
The man forced the Scot to his feet, then started to push him back. “We are invading.”
Now he was being tilted at an odd angle, his arms heavy as his eyes widened.
The wind whistled by his ears, it rustled through his mohawk and the cold started to bite at his ears.
“What’re ye doin’ asshole?” His voice slurred together his body tilted at an odd angle, things still seemed a little to slow for his liking.
“Soap what is your status?” A pause over the comms. “I repeat what is your status?” It was Gaz.
He wasn’t really given a chance to respond.
Soap was shoved from the building, his hand gripped Hassan’s wrist as he fell.
No way he wasn’t dragging this bastard down with him.
He swore as he fell he saw the reflection of a skull mask in one of the windows.
•>>
”Sir… the fact he even survived the fall is a miracle, but he’s not…” The nurse hesitated, pausing what she was saying to the clearly distraught captain in front of her.
”He’s not living.” Her voice was quiet, sorrow was sprinkled in. “He’s brain dead- the only thing keeping him alive is the ventilator at this rate.”
Price didn’t full seem to accept this, his gaze hard. Garrick simply say by the bedside.
”His spine is broken in two places and the brain swelling alone would have killed him if he wasn’t already brain dead.” The nurse spoke after another moment.
”Is that all then ma’am?” The captain’s voice was rough and shaky.
The nurse nodded. “I’ll give you some time, just come see the desk to get me when you’re ready.” She whispered hoarsely before cowering out of the dull hospital room.
It was odd to him. Sitting on the floor, watching the rise and fall of his own body in the hospital bed.
Numerous machines were hooked up to him, an IV connected to one arm, a large tube for the ventilator shoved down his throat, another tube fed into his side.
His own skin clammy with a thin veil of sweat sticking to it.
The heart monitor beeped every so often, nothing changed ever. Every beat on time as the last.
Now he sat, crouched down in the corner of the room. Watching Garrick run a hand along his jaw before getting up and hurrying from the room.
He watched Price’s blank eyes look over him. They weren’t really blank, layers of loss and sorrow were in them. Tired lines seemed to grow deeper on his face the longer he looked at the sergeant.
Soap knew he wasn’t alive. Considering the fact he wasn’t in his own body.
Eyes followed the captain as he approached the undisturbed body, reaching just under the collar of the hospital gown and pulling out the dog tags beneath the pale blue cloth.
With a swift movement and harsh tug, the dog tags snapped off his neck.
Price took just another moment to look at the body before turning on his heels and leaving the room.
Silence now fell.
Soap was oddly still wearing his gear from when he fell despite his actual body being dressed in a dingy light blue hospital gown.
Suddenly a dark figure entered through the door and seemed to freeze upon spotting his body in the hospital cot.
”Ghost. We have to stop meeting this way.” He said softly with some sarcasm.
The figure turned to face him, dark eyes tracing his face again and again from where he sat on the ground.
“Maybe… stop trying to get your ass killed?” Ghost scoffed and approached him.
”I don’t have much of a choice. Have to stop now.” He muttered in response as Ghost took a seat on the ground next to him, back pressing against the off-white wall, long legs stretching out.
”This is it for you Mactavish.” Ghost was quiet.
”Guess I really am dying in the service.” His voice cracked.
”I guess you are.”
Silence fell between the two then. Neither daring to look over at the body in the hospital bed.
”Guess you really have to take my soul now, huh?”
Ghost let out some quiet, somber laughter. “I suppose I really do.”
A nurse suddenly entered the room, quick feet carrying him to the bedside of the unmoving man, a careful hand pulling the ventilator tube out of Soap’s throat.
Another two heart beats before the machine let out a seemingly never ending beep.
The nurse wandered to the outlet the machine was plugged into and pulled the cord, then walking back over to the door, clicking the lights off to the room.
“How.. how was your life?” The masked man asked hesitantly.
Soap didn’t say anything for a long moment.
”All things considered;”
”I lived it well.”