#i had sm motivation at the start and after johnny passed out my brain is like yeah no im done

[robiinurheart33]

Part 2

This time, it happens in Alaska. (TW for depictions of gore!!)

They’re hurt and injured, escaped just by the skin of their teeth. They’ve been hastily given the coordinates by Laswell, and barged into the quiet atmosphere of the bunker. The air tasted stale and unmoving; every surface covered with a thick sheet of dust. Soap could see the particles in the air, sunset shining through the windows, creating a strangely nostalgic picture that tickled the base of his skull.

Soap looks back at Ghost, who’s in the process of slamming all the locks on the door. He then looks back down at the wound spilling over the cracks of his fingers tightly pressed against his side, and watches as he takes a deep breath and more blood starts to spill over in morbid curiosity. He hears the blood dripping rhythmically on the wooden floor. Soap isn’t quite sure if it’s due to the stim sticking out of his thigh, but he can’t feel anything at the moment, which probably isn’t good.

I’m disturbing the peace. He thinks deliriously.

“—Soap!”

“Mmh?”

His eyes meet auburn ones, wide and full of barely concealed panic. Oh, there it is. He suddenly feels incredibly dizzy, world splitting into two pieces.

“I’m-” Soap gagged, crumbling to his knees. He’s glad there isn’t anything in his stomach right now, because it would’ve been really embarrassing to throw up in front of his supervisor. He feels hands all over his body, tac vest dropping heavily to the ground. Soap hears a loud thump onto the floor, a hand pulling his shirt up. Sorry for disturbing your peace. He apologises to the house, eyes rolling up as he hears one last shout of his name.

Soap wakes up to the sound of screaming. Which he realises with oncoming horror that it’s coming from him. Blinding hot pain sinks its claws into its sides, soap letting out a strangled gasp. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

“Hh- nggh-” Soap tries to shape the words in his mouth, but all his brain can focus on is the blazing pain at his side. He gives up, wheezing as he looks down to see Ghost pouring antiseptic across his wound. Ah. That’ll do it then. He tries to keep his mouth shut for ego purposes, somehow finding the time to try not to burden Ghost as much as he knows he is. He fails, obviously, grinding his teeth together as groans rip their way through his throat. Panic seizes up his hands, his eyes blown open as he feels wetness drip, drip, drip.

Ghost moves with ever loving speed, holding Soap down as he steadies a hand with a needle and thread. He can’t help but thrash his body away from Ghost, chest heaving. He’s saying something but Soap can’t hear anything else at the moment through the ringing in his ears. The white light burns through his retinas, forcing him to close his eyes. Hurts, hurts, hurts. It hurts. He lets out another strangled gasp, needing to consistently get oxygen in his system or he would pass out again from the pain. Soap throws his forearm into his mouth, biting down on it while his other hand claws on the floor beneath him, stilling his body for Ghost to patch him up.

Soap kept almost slipping under, Ghost tapping his face a couple times to keep him conscious as he feels the needle pierce the skin of his abdomen over and over again. As a kid, whenever Johnny’s skin got cut on his finger, he used to flex it to watch the cut open and close, feeling the strange sensation of nerves doing their job. Now, the sensation increased tenfold as Ghost pulled on the string, closing him back up again. He could feel the lines of sweat travelling down his neck, tracing the length of his spine. His hands slipped as he rubbed them over his face, labouring wheezes slowing down as Ghost placed the gauze and wrap around him.

When Ghost pulled his hands away however, Johnny’s hand shot out and grabbed his in a clammy hold.

“Stay.” He whispers, voice cracking.

Ghost looked at him for a moment, sunken eyes meeting pained ones.

“… You got it, Johnny.”

He sighs in relief, hand slipping from his wrist. He allowed himself to fully relax, as if the throbbing in his head and the wet feel of his wound went away. He could rest. He can rest. Please, can he rest?

“Rest, Johnny.” He slips under.

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