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reds-skull · 1 year ago

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Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART] [AO3]

I'll make a separate post for all of my thoughts (because I have a lot), but I'd like to thank all of you. This has been such an amazing experience, being able to tell a story from start to end. This has been a lot of firsts for me, first fic, first serious writing, first time I reach the end of any long form story I made.

Each and every one of you reading, liking, reblogging and commenting made this ride that more enjoyable.

Now, it's time we finish it, with the longest chapter yet.

Its name on AO3 will be "Together."

All that could be heard in the small room were crackling flames. For a while, they just stared at each other.

“Revenants of light, huh…” Johnny whispers, fingers gently caressing Simon’s hand. He scoffs in disbelief, “I can’t believe we actually did it…”

Simon sinks into the flames hugging his skin, “did what?”

“Broke that prophecy. Lived. Fuckin’ created a new Reaper.” Johnny’s eyes shine, his voice full of reverence, “you think this was… a new deal?”

Heat strikes down, deep in his chest. “It would make sense… new Reaper, new powers…” Simon trails off.

“New death.” Johnny grins lopsidedly, “looks like yer stuck with me ‘till the end, LT.”

“Till death do us apart, Johnny?”

His Sergeant laughs brightly, Simon grinning like an idiot under the mask. Johnny takes his other hand in his, donning a more serious expression.

“Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone.” he recites slowly, eyes not moving from his. Simon inhales sharply.

“I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One.” his heart beats like a war drum, strong and heavy.

“Johnny…” he doesn’t recognize the lines, but the meaning expands beyond cultures.

“I give ye my Spirit,” he lifts a hand to cup Simon’s cheek, “’til our Life shall be Done.”

Simon leans in, resting his forehead on Johnny’s, chuckling in incredulity, “you’re fuckin’ mental, Sergeant.”

The Scot hums, nudging his head, “thought ye knew that already, mo chridhe.”

Fuckin’ hell, his heart won’t stop beating so loudly. Simon knows Johnny was half joking but…

But still his heart strives to etch the words into his rib cage. A vow seared into their very flesh, marked by forces beyond their comprehension.

An oath, so powerful it joins not only their lives, but the lives of otherworldly horrors, being who do not care for such things as human connection.

And yet, it is that very thing that changed the course of destiny, in a way not even Reapers could predict.

Simon leans close, to the man he calls home, a hearth to never be extinguished.

And he feels safe. He feels… complete.

When they finally leave the room, the air outside is considerably colder. The safe house is quiet, in a way it can’t be, for the amount of soldiers it contained before Johnny dragged Ghost away.

He catches the attention of a passing Vaquero, and the man tells him most have left for the base, as it was liberated once Graves died. He also informs them their teammates are waiting outside by the vehicles.

Price and Garrick smile at them knowingly when they reach the armored truck.

“Bloody hell, finally! What took you two so long??” Gaz kicks off the side of the truck to scowl at them.

Ghost squints, face heating up, “none of yours, Sergeant.”

Gaz opens his mouth, but Price pats his back, “we can argue in the damn car. I need a fuckin’ shower.”

The Sergeant instantly forgets his previous grievances, and floats away to the passenger sit, “oh fuck yeah! I’m drooling just thinking about the bunks. You think Rudy would make us tea again if we ask really nicely?”

Soap swings the door open while shaking his head, muttering, “feckin’ Brits and their shite tea…”

Ghost slides besides him and cuffs him over the warhawk, “you better respect Parra’s tea in this car, Sergeant.”

Johnny rolls his eyes, unable to stop the smirk spreading on his lips, “what are ye gonna do? Report me to the king?”

“You little…” Ghost starts wrestling his Sergeant in the back sits, Price sighing deeply and turning the ignition.

When Soap somehow manages to kick the Captain’s headrest, jostling his hat dangerously, Price turns to glare at the two of them.

“You stop that, or I’m leaving you on the side of the road.”

They both immediately freeze, “sorry Captain.” Soap mumbles.

The truck is left parked between the others already on base, and the taskforce makes its way to the barracks.

Rudy finds them after a shower, smiling, “hermanos. Feeling better?”

Garrick is still drying his hair with a towel, “feel fuckin’ human, brother.”

Alejandro rounds the corner, laughing, “Rudy got something even better than a shower.”

“What’s that?” Soap asks. Price’s eyes fill with wonder, and Ghost already knows the answer.

Alejandro swings an arm around the Sergeant Major, “how does ‘Parra’s infamous tea’ sound like?”

Gaz cheers, floating up a few inches, while Soap grumbles disappointingly, “sounds like bloody heaven, Rodolfo!” Garrick reaches to pull the Vaquero into a hug, “thank you!!!”

Rudy pats the Sergeant, laughing, “it’s nothing, hermano. A little thanks for all of you, for helping us with Graves.” he looks over at Ghost, the two sharing a nod of mutual understanding.

Soap pouts, “feckin’ tea though…?”

Alejandro smirks confidently, “we also got some… shortbread, you call it?”

Now that puts a spark in Johnny’s eyes, “ye all are saints, Alejandro.”

The Colonel laughs loudly.

They meet Commander Karim and Keller on their way out, duffle bags slung over their shoulders.

Farah smiles warmly at the Captain, “ah, Price. Glad I could find you before we leave.”

“You’re already going back to Urzikstan?”

The American sighs, “yep. The Vaqueros volunteered to search for any of our people, but currently we need to go back to protecting whoever we still have.”

“Graves may be dead, but this is far from over.” Farah looks over the serene hills surrounding the base, “as much as I want to get Shepherd, I cannot let myself be blinded by revenge.”

Ghost understands the sentiment. Revenge is a fuel, what you put it into could make or break your reality. “When we find him, we’ll make sure you’re there to take it.”

Farah nods, perceptive eyes landing on his, “I appreciate it, Lieutenant.” she turns to the rest, “thank you for everything. God willing, we will meet on better times.”

Price wraps a hand around her shoulder, making Ghost realize just how small the Commander is compared to him, “stay safe, Farah.” he winks at Alex, “make sure she takes breaks from time to time, will you?”

Keller laughs, “you know not even I can do that. Cya around, Cap.”

As the two walk away, Garrick mumbles, “think they’ll be alright without Graves supporting them?”

Price sighs wearily, eyes somber as they track Farah and Alex’s form, “they’ll have to be.”

They say their goodbyes to the Vaqueros, with a hopeful note to work together in the future, and get ready to board a plane to England. After a few hours, where the team took time to fix their undoubtably horrid stench and growling stomachs, and got to sleep (Soap dragged him to a sofa to nap, and Ghost will forever deny it was the best sleep of his life), Laswell called.

Ghost initially prayed they’re not being sent to another mission, in a way he never did. To his credit, the last few months were absurd.

She didn’t contact them for work, instead inviting them to stop by for a drink before they all leave for the UK. The promise of a good drink had them instantly agree.

The flight is spent mostly sleeping, again, as they were all incredibly tired, bone deep fatigue, emotionally and physically.

Garrick made sure to make his annoyingly aching shoulder everyone’s problem, complaining he couldn’t find a good position to rest in, until the Captain showed mercy and let him float around the cabin, leg held fast by Price.

Kate greets them warmly in a little bar hidden within Chicago’s winding alleys. Their drinks have been ordered beforehand, and everyone makes their gratitude known by taking a sip and melting into the bar sits.

Laswell smiles knowingly, letting them relax before starting, “this has been quite a ride for you boys, huh?”

Price sighs, “you can say it again.”

The CIA agent shakes her head morosely, “they got past us.”

“Well, they had a head start.” the Captain lifts his drink, “to cutting heads off snakes.”

Laswell clinks her cup with his. Ghost joins their conversation while they take the toast, “any sign of Shepherd?”

The woman puts the drink back on the counter, “totally off the grid.”

Gaz looks down at his whisky, frowning in conviction, “we’ll find him.”

“No,” Laswell answers, Garrick locking eyes with her, “we’ve got bigger fish.” she glances at Soap, “I did some digging on the Russian experiments.”

“That’s a dirty job if I’ve heard one”, Price mutters under his breath.

“Ultra-nationalists are after the fabled ‘revenant-killer’, John.” Price shakes his head minutely at the words.

“Kate,” he says lowly, “this is over.” almost begging her to let his boys rest.

“No. It’s not.” she ignores his pleas, as do all Reapers above and below. “They’re working with someone new.”

She pulls out a picture and shows it to Price, his expression instantly morphing into shock, and then cold rage.

Ghost tries to ask the Captain what he’s seeing, but he doesn’t need to.

Price points at the photo, “...he’s not new.” and passes it to Gaz.

Garrick’s brows furrow at it, glancing at the Captain questioningly before passing it over to Johnny.

Soap takes one look at the image, his smile lines deepening as his fingers singe the edges of the photo.

He slides it to Ghost, hand lingering, eyes full of uncertainty.

Ghost flips the picture, and his heart hardens.

“Who is he?” Laswell asks Price.

The Captain leans in to almost whisper, “Makarov.”

Laswell tilts her head, and Price continues to talk in their minds, “the Kastovian deserter, Konchar? He didn’t leave the military for no reason.”

Flames crackle threateningly under the bar, Ghost sliding a hand over white fire.

“He worked for Makarov?” Soap growls.

Price nods, “your Reaping took his work years back, but if what Laswell says is true…”

“He’s back.” Ghost finishes.

Johnny’s hand squeezes his, and they make eye contact.

It’s never really over, is it? Some say they’ll rest when they’re dead. Their harsh reality is that they’re not even granted that.

Blue eyes reflecting flames, as well as one floating man with a warm smile, and a reassuring voice in his mind, promise him that while yes, they may never rest, it does not mean they’ll fight alone.

Together, until death, as it brought them to each other, takes them away.

Soap is furious. They leave the bar not soon after, his Sergeant walking away as they say their farewells to Laswell.

On the flight back, he’s all uncontrollable energy, waiting for ignition to blow up.

Ghost, after 20 minutes of watching Johnny bounce his leg enough to wear a hole through the damn floor, places a hand to stop his movements.

“Talk to me, Johnny.”

Soap’s eyes stay full of rage for only a moment, before softening, “I’m thinking… maybe it wasn’t coincidence that me and Konchar were in Verdansk at the same time.”

Ghost hums for him to continue, drawing nonsense patterns on his thigh.

“What if I was an experiment, Simon?” Johnny looks away, his eyes fogging with memories, “what if Makarov knew Konchar had to kill me to live, and wanted to see if I could. If I was destined to be a revenant killer?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ghost grounds. Johnny looks unconvinced, so he continues, “whatever you were destined to be… you’re not it anymore. We’re both changed men.”

Johnny stares at him with more emotions than Simon can contain, reverence and trust and… something he can’t name.

“You… how could I tell you how much I adore you?”

Simon’s heart, gut and head, all line in decision for once in his life.

Actions speak louder than words, he remembers. And so, he rolls up the mask up above his brows, and leans in.

Gently taking hold of Soap’s nape, he directs his head to his face, pressing a touch of lips to his temple.

Simon whispers in his ear, “I already know. I look at you, and I can’t explain what it does to me. What you do to me, love.”

Johnny closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. He looks almost conflicted, but the creases smooth over when Simon brushes lips over them.

“You mean everything.”

Price ordered him to his office the moment Ghost stepped foot on British soil. He glanced at Johnny, who was carrying his and Gaz’s bags. His Sergeant promised with a lopsided grin he’ll find him later, a sort of scheming glint in his eyes.

Ghost reaches the Captain’s office in record time, hoping to finish whatever this is as fast as possible.

Price, however, didn’t get the damn memo, and takes his sweet time settling into his chair. “How are you doing, Simon?”

Ghost surpassed the urge to roll his eyes, “good.” he gets the mental image of begging on his knees for Price to get to the point, and the Captain laughs.

“Alright, alright. I’ll spare you the suffering, Lieutenant.” Price’s smile slowly fades, “what happened with your Reaper, son?”

Right. He and Johnny may have forgotten to mention the new developments in the ‘Eldritch horrors beyond this world’ department.

“Our Reapers merged. They called themselves ‘Reaper of Luminary’.” Ghost huffs, “they told me and Johnny… we’re linked. We’ll live and die together.”

Price nods. He doesn’t seem too surprised, and Ghost wonders how much he already knew from his passing thoughts.

“I don’t know how long we would be able to keep it quiet…” he strokes his moustache, “this gets out, you two will have a target on your backs.”

Ghost straightens, hands behind his back at rest, “we’ll handle it, if it comes to that, sir.”

The Captain sighs, “I admire your confidence, Lieutenant, but I don’t think you understand the scale of the issue. You two are the first revenants in modern history to affect the Reapers the way they affect humans. We believed our connection was a one way street - that humans are simply too weak to change Reapers.” his stare is severe, “you however? You’re powerful enough to not only go against them, but physically mold them. What Makarov is after is nothing compared to the force you hold.”

Ghost closes his eyes. Price is right, of course. But…

He has faith. Hope.

Price’s moustache twitches, “...I understand.” he raises from the chair, walking around to place a hand on Ghost’s shoulder.

“I’m happy for you, son. You and Soap make a good team.” the Captain’s eyes crease with mirth, “I heard your conversation on the plane-”

“Fuckin’ hell Price, that was bloody private!” Ghost scoffs, embarrassment coursing through him.

“I stopped listening after the first ‘love’-”

Ghost drags a hand over his eyes, “just get on with it”

“As I’ve told you, you have my blessing. If you need anything, if anyone gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to come to me, got it?”

Ghost scoffs despite the threat of tears in his eyes. He looks at Price now, and sees much more than a Captain. He sees something he has never had.

“Copy.”

It’s not Johnny that finds him first, but Garrick, floating around the hallway in front of Price’s office.

“Need the Captain, Sergeant?” Ghost inquires.

Gaz stops, “no, I got a message from Soap.”

His interest instantly piques, “go on.”

Garrick rummages through his pocket with his healthy hand and pulls out a note, “he said ‘meet me here’, and that you should ‘clean up’.” the Sergeant wiggles his eyebrows, “sounds like he has a nice surprise for ya, sir.”

Ghost takes the note, examining the location. Looks like a street in the city neighboring the base. “I’m off then. Don’t get into trouble, Garrick. Cheers.”

Gaz frowns, pointing at his injured arm, “not like I bloody can…”

Ghost smiles while walking away, “if anyone could find a way, it would be you Sergeant.”

He chuckles lowly at Gaz’s fussing as he makes his way to the base’s parking lot.

The sun has started to set by the time Ghost reaches the location Soap left for him, the sky painted reds and oranges and yellows that remind him fondly of Johnny’s radiant fire.

He changed into a more casual outfit, covering his face with only a cloth mask and a hoodie.

Ghost’s lips stretch so much he fears they’ll get stuck like that, when he spots the place. An elegant sign hangs above a restaurant, one that looks small and cozy, with dimmed warm lighting, and plants covering the brick walls.

He parks the car nearby and walks in, a waiter catching his stare and approaching him.

“Are you uh… ‘Ghost’?” he says with hesitation.

Ghost scans the tables, trying to find one warhawk sticking out, “affirm.”

The waiter sighs in relief, “your partner is already here. Follow me.”

The man leads him to a more secluded area, a low wall separating it from the main room. Ghost feels his heart thrum a familiar beat when he finally finds Johnny, sitting alone in a table for two.

“Your orders will arrive soon, please make yourself at home.” the waiter gives him a wobbly smile, and Johnny chuckles at the man practically running away.

“You really do have quite the effect on people, don’t ye Simon?” his Sergeant smiles.

Simon huffs, sitting down in front of him, “what’s all this, then?” he nods to the restaurant.

Johnny leans in, taking his hand, “I promised I’ll treat ye nicely, to a good restaurant, didn’t I?”

“You remembered?” Simon blinks in surprise.

“Of course,” Johnny grins, “I also remember ye said ye will treat me equally.”

“Had a feeling this was too good to be true…” Simon sighs, mask covering his smile.

“Oi!”

Simon pulls the mask off, making Johnny snap his mouth closed, “thank you.” he smirks smugly at his Sergeant’s amazed expression.

“Fuck me, I almost forgot how beautiful ye are.” Johnny mumbles.

Heat spreads over his exposed features, Simon looks away, “guess I’ll have to remind you more often.”

“Oh, please! I won’t ask fer anything else!”

Simon glances back at him, “we both know that’s fucking bullshite, Sergeant.”

Johnny laughs, tugging at his hand, “aye, ye know me too well.”

They quiet down to a comfortable silence, grins fading to soft smiles.

“Whatever comes next…” Simon inhales, grasping Johnny’s hand tighter. “We’ll do it together, love.”

Johnny lets his white flames caress Simon’s scarred hands, casting an otherworldly glow over them, making them shine as if lit from within.

If his heart could, it would be brighter than the sun now.

“Together.”

To be continued.

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