#finished part 6… | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

strangersteddierthings · 2 years ago

Text

Porcelain Steve - Part 7

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

((TW for this part; period typical slurs and internalized homophobia. Read the tags before clicking readmore if you want the details))

Steve has been a porcelain doll for seven weeks when disaster strikes.

"What is that," Jeff says, because even though the words are in an order which would suggest that it's a question, the tone of voice Jeff uses decidedly is not questioning.

"What is whaaa-AH! Nothing! It's nothing!" Eddie, who was torso deep into his closet throwing things around to find his backup amp cord, turns to look at what Jeff was talking about, and is now launching himself across his room to stand between Jeff and Porcelain Steve. Porcelain Steve, who Eddie had lain on his bed, propped slightly on a pillow, headphones carefully perched on his little head, hooked to a cassette player currently playing the first hour of last week's Top 40 countdown that Eddie had taped for him (all three hours of it, leaving out the chatter of the radio show host. He'd had to use two tapes to get it all).

"Nothing sure looks a lot like a doll in headphones, Munson," Jeff has an amazing poker face but Eddie's certain he can see a bit of judgement underneath the carefully blank expression Jeff is wearing.

"I don't know what you're talking abo- hey! Hey, no, no, don't!" Eddie tries to bodily block Jeff when he moves forward and the two end up wrestling, a match that Eddie almost wins, if not for the hazard that is his messy room. He gets Jeff walked almost to the door before he steps wrong on something, ankle rolling and sending him down sideways. He clutches at Jeff but can't make purchase and Jeff, the bastard, does fuck-all to try and catch him. Instead, Jeff leaps out of arm's length, then lunges onto the bed as Eddie collapses to his floor.

Eddie frantically tries to stand and, in his haste, ends up with his feet tangled in a pile of dirty laundry and that sends him crashing down again, this time forward onto his hands and knees, so he gives up on standing and crawls the few short feet to the bed, finally looking up to see that the damage has been done.

Jeff has picked up Steve, holding him inches from his own face, eyes squinted in suspicion. Eddie is frozen, horrified and afraid, and can't bring himself to do anything as Jeff examines Steve closely, turning him around, poking his torso, flipping him upside down to examine his shoes more thoroughly. It's only when Jeff reached for the shirt, pinching the hem of it between two fingers that Eddie kicks back into action.

He lunges up, one knee on the bed, leaning over to grab Steve and yank him from Jeff's grip. His first instinct is to throw Steve over his shoulder, out of sight out of mind mentality, but as soon as he does, he realizes his mistake and twists, lunging to catch Steve in midair. He does manage to catch Steve, but it sends him bouncing off his dresser and almost back to the floor before he manager to regain his balance, where he proceeds to cradle Steve to his chest, which is heaving from the adrenaline, wrestling match, and subsequent dive after Steve.

Jeff is giving him a concerned look but something else piques his interest; Jeff reaches over and picks up the headphones, holding them up to one ear. His face goes through every emotion a human could possibly experience in less than fifteen seconds as he listens to whatever track was at the forty-ish minute mark on the Top 40 countdown.

Slowly, Jeff lowers the headphones, letting them drop to the bed before he gives Eddie a new, more judgmental, yet infinitely more concerned, look. "Eddie. What. The fuck."

Honestly, he's not sure there's anything he can say in response.

"Why- I don't... are you okay, man?" Jeff sounds both scared for Eddie, and scared of him, at the same time.

"I'm fine," Eddie manages to squeak out.

"Eddie," Jeff says seriously, "this is not fine. This is- this is insane behavior. You know that, right?"

"I've no idea what you mean," Eddie doesn't even know what he's defending himself from but his default response to anything is to defend himself. He grips Steve tightly around the torso with one hand and then moves both his hands to be behind his back so Jeff will stop staring at Steve.

"I mean this fuckin' insane shrine you have dedicated to Steve fucking Harrington. How did you even get a doll that looks like him. Did you- did you make that?"

Fuck. Holy fuck. What can he say to defend himself here? Is there a single way for him to come out of this not sounding deranged? If he agrees, let's Jeff's drawn conclusion be the truth, then that's all but confirmation to Steve about his big fat crush, so when Steve's back to being Steve he'll never look at Eddie again. Jeff might think he needs mental help, but he'll be here for Eddie. If he tries to deny the accusation, then he'll need an explanation. He'll have to tell Jeff something that make him seem less like a creepy stalker, but what? He can't tell the truth, not without letting everyone know he's going to tell Jeff. There's a whole other secret he'd have to let out to even have a chance of Jeff believing him.

Jeff must take his silence for acceptance or guilt, because he's speaking again. "I.... man, this is not healthy. Please tell me you aren't, like, hoarding a lock of his hair or his clothes or something."

Involuntarily, damningly, his eyes dart to the closet, where several of Steve's sweaters hang from when he'd borrowed them and never returned them. And it's not like Steve doesn't have several of Eddie's own articles of clothing, like his battle vest and a few shirts. But Jeff doesn't know they easily, willingly, swap clothes, so his eyes go wide and dart towards the closet, as if he can pick out which pieces belong to Steve on sight.

Actually, he probably can.

"This really isn't what it looks like," Eddie says because he has to say something. Being silent is too incriminating.

"I don't think you're aware of what this looks like," Jeff says, wiggling himself off of Eddie's bed to stand at the foot of it. "Of all the boys in Hawkins.... I knew you liked Steve but this is.... creepy. That doll looks so much like him that I recognized it. Does Steve know you're in love with him, or is this like a way to process your crush without having to-"

"Jeff!" Eddie yells, mortified. He can feel his whole face heat up, knows he must be bright red. Because Jeff just said, out loud and for Steve to hear, the thing that Eddie very much hasn't even said out loud to himself, even if he knows how he feels deep down.

Jeff must know he's overstepped some invisible boundary he wasn't even aware of because his face immediately shows regret. He takes a step forward and Eddie takes a step back.

Immediately, Jeff stops his forward momentum. "Shit, I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm sorry."

When Eddie answers, his voice sounds like he's been eating gravel, "Just, can you go wait in the living room? I'll be right out, and we can talk, or whatever, but can you just..."

A nod, and then Jeff is gone, closing the door behind him.

With shaking hands, Eddie brings Steve back to the front of him. Looks down at him. He's not even aware he's crying until he watches his tears mark Steve's tiny polo. He can't keep holding Steve. Can't keep looking at him. Not when- not when his best friend just outed him in the worst way possible. And Eddie can't even be upset or hurt about it because Jeff didn't know. He's teased Eddie about his crushes before, and in the safety of his own room, there was no reason for Jeff to have to watch what he was saying.

Even knowing that Steve is okay with Robin, loves her anyway, without the ability to confirm that Steve doesn't hate him right now, Eddie's going to freak out. But he can't. Jeff is waiting in the living room, and the band is waiting back at Gareth's. This was just- they were supposed to just grab the amp cable and get back, a fifteen-minute job at most, and now.

Now Eddie is staring down at Steve, willing himself to not have a panic attack.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have heard it like that, it s-should have come from me. It should- you-I'm sorry," Eddie gently underhand throws Steve onto the center of the bed. He lands face up and Eddie sinks to the floor because he can't stand anymore, and he can't really breath.

Steve knows Eddie's a fucking faggot now, and that he wants Steve, and there's no way he'll get to keep the friendship they had before this. There's no universe in which Steve isn't creeped out by this information. There has never been an instance where a straight boy found out about his crush on them and didn't abandon him. Not always cruelly, he'll admit. He's had friends that learned and just... slid from his life with no words and no fuss. Eddie just never spoke to them again because they never came back around, but they also never outed him.

That's what will happen with him and Steve. He'll quit inviting Eddie around, or calling when he's bored, and eventually it will get to the point that Eddie only sees him at BBQ's that Joyce drags him to.

Fuck. FUCK!

He's not sure how long he's on the floor but eventually, he finds the will to get back up and resume digging through his closet to find the amp cord. It doesn't take long, he was ridiculously close to finding it earlier, it seems.

Before leaving his room, he picks back up the cassette player and headphones. Silence comes from them, so he pops the tape out before flipping it to the B side and popping it back in. He puts the headphones around Steve's head again and presses play, doing his best to not actually look at Steve. He'll just have another breakdown if he does.

He trudges out of his room, closing the door behind himself before taking the short walk to the living room, where Jeff waiting on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes faraway as he stares towards the wall in front of him.

"Hey," Eddie says, to get his attention.

"Hey," Jeff says, sitting up straight and turning towards Eddie. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? I'm the fucking psycho here," he sighs, leaning sideways against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, hand clutching at the amp cord just for something to ground him.

"Forget that, whatever I did, or said, or whatever, you were- when you yelled my name. You looked terrified. Of me," Jeff almost whispers the last sentence, and if not for the stark silence in the trailer, Eddie wouldn't have heard.

"Not of you, Jeff," Eddie whispers back, but his voice doesn't stay quiet because 'quiet' isn't a thing Eddie does easily or often. "Of... of myself, and these- of how I feel- I'm a goddamned faggot and now that Ste- when Steve finds out I'll lose him! Like I've lost every fucking person who ever even suspected I was a fuckin' queer!"

Silence stretches between them, enough to make Eddie fidget, dropping his crossed arms to twist the amp cord about anxiously with both his hands.

"Look, man, I don't know what's, like, the appropriate thing to say so I'm just going for the honest thing. You got me. You'll never lose me. And all those other assholes that you think you lost? You're wrong. They lost you. And if Steve Harrington is gonna be another one of those, then you aren't losing him. 'Cause he was never really in your corner to begin with."

If this were anyone else, with the exception of his uncle, he would be able to hold it together better. But it's Jeff. His best friend. Who never believed Eddie committed unspeakable horrors over Spring Break last year. Who didn't question the strange, new friends he suddenly had afterwards; who accepted as the only explanation a softly spoken 'they saved me' and that was enough. Who had said 'ok, cool' in response to Eddie telling him he was gay, years ago now, and continued trying to find out if Eddie had a secret relationship, switching girlfriend for boyfriend like it wasn't a big deal (Eddie did not have a secret relationship; his good mood that week was the result of snooping for his birthday present and finding the guitar hidden under his uncle bed).

It's Jeff. So, Eddie does the most metal, manly thing he can and bursts into tears, blindly reaching for Jeff and pulling him off the couch so he can bear hug him and sob into his shirt.

"There, there, you big baby," Jeff rubs his back soothingly, "let it out. Then pull your sorry ass together, because Gareth and Brian are going to think we died in a car crash on the way here if we take much longer."

"Ah, fuck," Eddie manager to say around the sniffling he's trying to get control of, "you're right."

"You good, though?"

"Uh, I will be."

Jeff nods and steps back. "How about this. We go to practice, and then you can come to my place tonight and we can like, hangout and talk. If that's what you want."

He's already nodding as he says, "yeah. That would be good. I- uh, I have something to do after practice, but yeah, after that I'll come over."

Eddie tosses the amp cable to Jeff after they climb into the van and head off.

Halfway there, Jeff says, "you know Gareth and Brian are in your corner, too. If you ever feel like telling them one day."

"One day," Eddie agrees, "but today has already been... a lot."

Practice goes well, with some ribbing for their tardiness allowed. If Gareth and Brian notice Eddie's been crying recently, they keep it to themselves. Which is good, because Eddie cannot handle one more thing today.

A promise to meet up with Jeff later and Eddie's back home.

Back to where he left Steve, who will be laying in silence on his bed because it's been well over two hours since he and Jeff left, and the tape only held an hours' worth of music on each side. Back to the nightmare of not knowing if Steve hates him now, or if Eddie's, and this is the most likely scenario, being a bit overdramatic.

His uncle is home, so he greets him, asks after his day, gets told dinner is Fend For Yourself Night (which just means leftovers or a TV dinner), and gets asked about Steve. Because of course he does.

"You sure he went on a vacation willingly with those parents of his, and he ain't actually kidnapped and trapped somewhere?"

That's a little bit too true. If only Wayne knew. "Well, no. I'm not sure. All I know is what he said when he left."

Wayne gives him a look. One Eddie is used to seeing, that says 'I know more than you think but I'm waiting for you to tell me' and Eddie's a little afraid of what Wayne thinks he knows. So, instead of prying that box open, Eddie just says he's tired and goes to his room.

Steve is exactly where Eddie left him.

Suddenly, without reason or logic, Eddie is angry. He's so pissed at Steve for being gone for this long. For having transformed in the first place. For not being able to assure him they'll still be friends, regardless of Eddie's stupid crush.

He snatches Steve off the bed, hand clamping around one of Steve's arms and his torso so he can hold him up with one hand. Steve's face, permanently stuck into a blank expression, looks back. Even knowing that Steve sees and hears through this thing, Eddie's so angry at the doll. If Steve hadn't been turned into this stupid thing, if Eddie wasn't so helplessly in love with him, this wouldn't have happened. Eddie could have taken his own time telling Steve, instead of hearing his deepest secret spilled easily from Jeff's lips. Instead of this not knowing what Steve is thinking, or how he feels. Is he recoiling in disgust at the fact Eddie's making him look at his face? Or is Eddie being awarded the same kindness as Robin, a quiet acceptance that won't change their friendship?

Eddie doesn't know that answer and he hates it.

He's so angry with himself because he should know better. He's forcing his own insecurities onto Steve, about acceptance and caring, when nothing Steve's done since they've become friends is prove that he'll always be Eddie's friend and not even the apocalypse could change that.

"I'm going to hang out with Jeff, so you're gonna be alone a bit longer. Or maybe I should drop you off at Robin's when I go," Eddie goes to toss Steve back on the bed when something pinches his palm. It's a startling sharp pain, quick to fade, but it's surprising enough for Eddie to let go.

Eddie watches, horrified, as he falls to the floor. He twists in the air, landing with a dull thump and cracking sound on his left arm before falling onto his back.

"Shit. Shit! Fuck, Steve, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to," Eddie is crouched, already in the process of reaching for Steve when he freezes.

There is a crack on Steve's left arm, a line that starts above his elbow on the inside of his arm and runs down and across his arm to his hand, where Steve's pinky finger is gone. Looking slightly to the side, Eddie can see the small porcelain piece that Steve is missing laying on the ground next to him. Eddie's own hand is hovering in the air above Steve, shaking.

This can't be- how did- Eddie wracks his brain. Was the crack there already? Did Eddie cause the crack when he bounced off his dresser earlier? When did it happen? Does that fucking matter when it's Eddie who broke a piece off him? If Steve didn't hate him before, he's got to now. Eddie doesn't have time to panic about this, he's got to- El. El can talk to Steve. Find out if he's okay. What if breaking him-

Eddie launches himself up and to his dresser, grabbing at the Walkie up there. He pulls the antenna up, clicks it on and tries not to actually shout as he says, "Code Red! Code fucking Red!" He lets off the talk button, counts to seven in his head, enough time, he reasons, for someone to respond before he repeats the process. "Code Red!! Code Red!"

He repeats this process for three minutes with no response. Where the fuck is everyone!? How is he supposed to- Oh! The phone!

He tears down the hall and to the phone. He must look a right state, because Wayne looks very concerned and is halfway to standing up when Eddie gets to the phone beside him. He yanks the phone up and dials the number for the Byers-Hopper household, holding up a shaking finger to Wayne, a silent plea to give him a moment.

It rings and rings and rings before the answering machine kicks in. Eddie presses down on the disconnect button before dialing the Wheelers' number next.

"Hello?"

"Mike! Code Red! Where the fuck is everyone and why aren't they answering!?"

"What?"

"Code Red! Where's Nancy. Put Nancy on."

"Dude, slow down, what's-"

"I broke St-it. I broke it and someone needs to get El here now. Code Red does not mean ask questions, Mike! It means Code. Fucking. Red."

"Shit, shit, right! I'll get Nancy and we'll get everyone- just- we'll be there soon."

Eddie slams the phone down and has to meet his uncle's eye now.

"Eddie. What is goin' on?"

Eddie inhales a breath and can feel his lower lip quivering. "It's- can we talk about it later? I promise I'm not the one hurt, or in trouble, or- it's not me, ok. I just-"

"Yer shakin' like a leaf boy. What's got you so spooked?"

Eddie just shakes his head and flees back to his room, slamming the door shut between him and his uncle. He can't bring himself to cross the room to Steve. He slides himself down the door to sit on the floor, pulling his knees up to hug.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. I'm sorry."

#steddie #my fic #porcelain steve #TW: Eddie calls himself a faggot and he means it in a bad way #did I make a playlist on spotify w/ Top 40 songs for June 21-27 1987 so id know how many tapes eddie had to use to record it?#yes. its 2 tapes fyi‚ using side A and B of one. a total of 2h54m. in my defense it was a writers block activity.#couldnt figure out what to have jeff say to comfort eddie that was in character and era-appropriate so... playlist it was!#if i were titling these parts this would be Eddie's No Good‚ Very Bad‚ Terrible‚ Horrible Day #I mean... he's had worse days (Spring Break '86) but this is up there for him #also back to back updates!? who am i??? but don't expect another one too soon #i started this one as part 6 originally but decided i wanted a more lighthearted piece first #so i wrote like 2/3 of this before writing what i posted for part 6 so finishing this was quick

679 notes · View notes

starlightvld · 6 months ago

Text

Bait & Switch, pt. 2

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, implied soapghost cw: angst, hurt no comfort (yet), MWIII spoilers

---

When Johnny died, a black hole swallowed Ghost whole, bones and blood crushed into numbness by an all-encompassing gravity. Work, duty, life went on, but even spreading Johnny's ashes in Scotland — a place they'd talked about visiting together during those rare moments when exhaustion-induced delirium held the cold voice of reason at bay — even that couldn't counter the gravity holding him suspended in a single moment, knees crashing into blood-soaked concrete and a choked voice calling out to a man who would never answer.

The longer they chase Makarov through his little puppet show, though, the more the numbness gives way to other feelings — pain, despair, rage — that grow more potent every day they fail to bring the bastard to justice.

They've searched for years, yet they're always two steps behind.

And this bloodbath of an op is no different.

If he has to focus his rage on someone other than Makarov, though, he's glad it's Makarov's dog, dubbed Agent Zero by the task force generals, stalking his team's steps today. The demon appeared six months after their failure in the Channel Tunnel and has hounded the 141 ever since, denying them victories, decimating their support squads, and nearly killing each of the core members at least once.

Zero seems to have it out for Ghost in particular, though. The agent has put him on medical leave more than a dozen times already, and today will be no different.

If he can escape with his life, that is.

Ghost controls his breathing and prepares for the coming fight the best he can with a bullet hole in his side. He's not bleeding out, so he'll take that as a win, even if the blood loss is making him woozy. Sunlight blazes down on him as he stands in the middle of the open area between warehouses and waits for Zero to catch up.

As if summoned, Zero stalks out from behind a building, thick body hidden behind layers of black tactical gear and a full helmet. Based on their build and the muffled growls he's heard in past confrontations, Ghost guesses Makarov's agent is a man, but the tinted glass of their helmet makes it impossible to know for sure.

It doesn't matter, though. Whoever they are, they have to die. The 141 will never catch Makarov while his dog is nipping at their heels.

The agent weaves through the detritus of dead Konni and SAS soldiers while scanning the area. Ghost has already ordered the remaining SAS support units to fall back, and all the Konni soldiers are dead, the last one lying at Ghost's feet, eyes staring unseeing at the blue sky.

It's just the two of them now.

Despite the sun's heat, a chill pebbles Ghost's skin. This will likely be the end for one of them. He hopes it's Zero, if only for his team's sake.

Ghost himself has nothing left to lose.

The pavement radiates the afternoon sunlight, the air blurred with shimmering waves. Sweat soaks into Ghost's mask and runs in rivulets down his back.

Zero's helmet turns his way.

The agent freezes for a split second... before breaking into a dead run, headed straight toward Ghost.

Feet pound on the pavement in time with Ghost's quickening heartbeat. And just like every other time they've clashed, a sinuous familiarity in the way Zero moves wraps around Ghost's senses, more an innate recognition of form than the identification of any specific action. He ponders the sensation as Zero barrels down on him, all terrifying focus and yet easy grace. If the agent weren't his sworn enemy, he thinks he could find beauty in those movements.

He waits until the last minute to dodge, using his own speed and Zero's momentum to push the agent away. Zero is expecting the move, however, and swings around to land a hard punch to Ghost's throat. Ghost twists, the blow glancing off his tac vest instead. They round on each other and dive in again.

Attack. Deflect. Block.

So it goes for what seems like eternity, trading blows over blood-slick stones. And still, the movements haunt Ghost with that winding thread of familiarity.

A phantom ache builds in his chest, though he doesn't know why.

He dodges a fist to his injured side, and Zero pauses for a split second, helmet tipping down. Ghost uses the distraction to attempt a headlock but wheezes when an armored fist collides with his injury. In a haze of pain, Ghost grips Zero's neck harder, kicks the agent's feet out from under them, and slams them face-first into the ground. A crunching sound rings in Ghost's ears, and tempered glass fragments spill over the pavement.

The impact doesn't keep the devil down, though. Zero shoves Ghost away, using the momentum to scramble out of reach. Ghost lands on his back with a huff, the sharp pain in his side nearly blinding him.

He's getting too fucking old for this.

Maybe tonight will prove it.

He lifts himself up on one elbow to get eyes on Zero, a little confused that he's not already fending off another attack. But... his enemy is standing stock still a few feet away.

More importantly, the broken visor leaves the helmet wide open to the sunny day, giving Ghost his first, full view of the person who's been terrorizing them for years.

A broken sound of confusion wheezes through Ghost's tight throat.

From inside the broken helmet, blue eyes flick down to meet his gaze — the exact same shade of blue that's haunted his dreams since the day he lost everything.

Or so he thought.

It can't be.

It can't.

And yet—

"Johnny?"

The name rips from his throat like a desperate prayer, mangled by panting breaths of overexertion. The man's glassy eyes go wide and... confused?

And then he drops the knife in his hand like it's burned him before falling to his knees at Ghost's side.

"Hells fuckin' bells, Lt. What happened? Are ye broken?"

Scars crisscross the man's face, puckered and vicious, but... Those eyes. That voice.

And yet—

Ghost scrambles back, his frozen body falling back on the familiarity of distrust. "Get the fuck away from me," he growls. "Dunno who you are, but... but you're not him. You can't be him."

"Lt..."

A note of sadness and desperation coats the word he's heard a thousand times from lips that look just like those. The man reaches out, but Ghost smacks his hand away.

"Don't touch me," he growls.

Because it's a trick. It has to be a trick. He's not this lucky. His life is made of tragedy, the highs only there to ensure a longer drop when everything crumbles to dust. Maybe that's what this is, then? A trick to raise him up so high that the drop finally shatters him?

Maybe he's lost his mind. Or maybe he's delirious from excessive blood loss. Regardless, he won't fall for whatever game Makarov is playing now.

He attempts to stand, but it seems his body has chosen this moment to finally betray him. He groans and presses a hand into his side. A vicious hiss leaves the man's mouth as blood seeps into Ghost's glove, turning the white paint red.

"Shite. Tha's bad. Ye need to call for med evac. Are the others here?"

"Wouldn't you like to know. Makarov got you doing his interrogatin' now?"

"What? No, I'd never—"

"Never hunt the 141 for years on end. Never fuck up our missions right and left? Never ruthlessly kill soldiers without a hint of remorse? No. My Johnny would never. You, though? You've killed half of the people lying around us. Saw you do it with my scope. Now you expect me to believe you're... you're him?" Ghost shakes his head and bites back another groan of pain. "No. Johnny is dead. You're just one of Makarov's tricks."

The man's face twists into something close to panic. "Fuck. Ghost, I swear to ye... I don't... I don't remember any of tha'. What I can tell ye is I was never in tha' tunnel. Konni bastards grabbed me in Sibera and sent the 141 back with... some kind of replacement. Makarov would come see me and talk about a serum that did too good a job making them into me. Last thing I remember, I was tied to a chair in some backwater base being shot full of..."

The man trails off as he seems to realize the implications of what he's saying. All Ghost can think, though, is that even if the man is lying, the fact that he looks and sounds like Johnny means Makarov has access to far more advanced biotech than any of them suspected.

As if to underscore the realization, a faint hiss reaches his ears as his breathing regulates. He grabs the man's vest and pulls him closer, turning his ear toward the helmet.

The hissing gets louder.

The man seems to realize what Ghost is doing and tries to pull off the helmet, but it's locked down. Zero's movements become more violent the longer he struggles, a low growl starting up deep in his chest. Ghost leans up—

And then hisses in pain as his side reminds him why that's a bad idea. His reaction seems to distract the man, though.

"Med evac, Ghost. Call it in. Ye've got nothing to fear from me."

As much as he hates to admit it, the man is right. His team is long gone with the exfil helo, so he's going to need to call in his own evac. With a shaking hand, Ghost flips on his comms.

"Ghost to Watcher-1 actual."

"Ghost, this is Watcher-1. Send traffic."

Laswell's voice soothes the frayed edges of Ghost's rapidly declining confidence in his sanity. He takes a deep breath.

"Agent Zero was waiting for us. Need med evac immediately."

"Shit. You broken?"

"Affirmative."

"Med evac already inbound. Price's doing. Hot zone?"

"Negative. All clear."

"Mission sitrep?"

"Mission FUBAR but..."

Ghost trails off, unsure of how to explain. He glances at Jo— at the man with Johnny's face and clicks off the comms.

"If you want me to believe you're Johnny," he growls, "you'll come with me and prove it."

"'Course I will, Simon," the man says in a sad tone so like Johnny's that Ghost seizes up.

Laswell's voice breaks him out of it. "Ghost, how copy?"

He clicks back into the comms and explains to Laswell that he's bringing an asset with him, the faint sound of helo blades echoing in the distance as he signs off. He stares at the man with Johnny's face, waiting for an attack. Waiting for the agent to reveal his game.

But the attack never comes. As the helo appears on the horizon, Makarov's agent just stares into space, his expression reminiscent of someone slipping into a dissociative state.

Ghost's heart makes itself known for the first time in years. Yearning, sharp as a dagger slipped between ribs, suffuses his chest.

A stab in the back might be worth it just to feel the familiar weight in his arms, to let himself believe for a few precious seconds that his Johnny is back.

Ghost shakes away the feeling.

He can't afford to trust. Can't afford to believe.

Not yet.

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 >>

#john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soapghost #ghostsoap #Call of Duty #ghoap #COD #COD MW reboot #gdi this has become a thing #I will get to it as I can between BBSH and finishing up my new WIP #yes there will be a part 3 and probably parts 4 5 6 7---#why am i like this?#OG Starlight #bait & switch

76 notes · View notes