#phillipgravesredemption

[snobbybastard]

Phillip Graves Angst

i got this idea for a one shot where daddy issues graves survives the tank and he's in the hospital and for days shepherd doesn't visit him and he's left to stew and realize everything he did was for nothing and shepherd never cared about him and he confronts shepherd when he finally visits and shepherd is just like welp you're not useful to me anymore, just another loose end to tie up and then graves starts feeling weird and shepherd is just like teehee I got the nurse to give you too much morphine and graves dies 😝 and um it's literally just angst which I usually don't do I like happy endings but I was feeling evil with the idea

!!not really proof read!!

Warnings: Mentions of violence, OD , Self-hate? , Phillip Redemption ❤️

Wordcount: 2k

Floating. That's the only way he could describe it. Weightless. Like zero Gs, drifting around so calm. Without care in the endless void he found himself in. Is he dead? He has to be.. Right? Phillip doesn't remember what got him here, so peaceful, and he's thankful for it. He doesn't have the strength to resist the promising luxury of rest. A long overdue break from the overworked aching in his veins, the unbearable muscle fatigue, the sleepless nights slowly but surely taking its toll. The images of his soldiers corpses piled up with bright crimson painted beneath them plaguing his mind, eyes sunken and bloodshot. He regretted he couldn't spare them the horror, they were under his orders and he failed them. Guilt had infected every inch of his being. He could've helped, but he didn't. He sent them out there. To die. Like lambs to a slaughter. And he might as well been the butcher.

It stings. His comfortable void had changed into a searing heat, like he was drowning in boiling water. He wanted to go back, to feel the previous serenity. He wasn't able to. He didn't deserve to.

When he finally woke up and opened his eyes the lights overheard blinded him, making him squeeze his eyes shut again. He wasn't dead. He couldn't be. Not with the smothering pain shocking though his system. His limbs were exhausted and he had a splitting headache. It felt like someone had put a bullet in his skull and it was rattling around, hitting against every nerve and causing as much damage as it went along.

Reluctantly Phillip opened his eyes, taking a minute to adjust to the vivid bulbs. His sight was still blurry, he wished he was in any condition to make sense of what transpired, but all he knew was he really fucked up. Things were staring to come into focus. A sterile room with a small window and bland curtain. He was dressed h in normal hospital clothing. It was silent, dead silent. Save for the light breeze outside and the steady beeping of a monitor. The room seemed untouched. Not that he was expecting any visitors. He didn't have any contact with his family nor anyone who would care if they received that unlucky letter in the mail. But what about Sheperd? He was certain the word about him being hospitalised would've gotten around to him by now. And by the looks of it, he didn't even blink an eye. Sure he was only his superior, a busy guy at that, but after all they've been through, everything he risked, he can't just be disposable, he's got to be worth more?

His head felt like a thousand pounds as he looked around, eyes already threatening to shut once again.

How long was he out for?

Phillips limbs were locked, desperate to function. He continued to scrutinize his surroundings. Searching for something he couldn't quite remember. An IV in his arm accompanied with bad bruising and severe burns peeling back on his skin. His fingers curl restlessly at his sides as Phillip tries to use his elbows to prop himself up. He sits up and the shifting of his weight irritates every injury he had obtained, His body yells for him to stop moving. He thinks of yelling himself, but the desire to cry out sits firmly in his thoughts, even if he wanted to his throat is cracked and dry.

He raised his hand instinctively to the scarring on his forearm. He gently traced the indent, wincing slightly at the feather-light touch. The skin was still sensitive after what had happened.

The mattress he was laying on was like a brick, it might've been comfortable at one point but Graves could feel the imprint he had made from laying down so long, being able to feel each and every sore on his back from being bedridden. Phillip is military, so he could sleep on a rusty bed of nails if he had to, but there's still a very noticeable difference between pitched tents in the middle of nowhere and some temporary apartment he rented out. And right now, he'd do anything to be back in the warm embrace of his home.

A few days blew by, only in the company of passing nurses who tried their best to make their visits as quick as possible. As much as Graves would hate to admit it, he was lonely. He missed the Shadows. His boys. His family. And given all that time alone, Phillip was left with his thoughts. The same ones he tries his best to get away from.

--

It mostly revolved around the Shadow Company. Usually if there was a mishap and some tragedy happened he'd always make sure his boys got the best treatment he could manage, and if they didn't make it, he'd inform their families as soon as possible and help them as much as possible while grieving. But recently, with all the deaths, all those lives.. nobody could have kept track. Now those families couldn't get the closure they needed, only able to go off some stupid information that they're MIA, giving them a sliver of hope, false hope. Or if they found a body- or what was left of one, KIA.

They deserved more than him.

He wasn't a leader-, he wasn't brave.

He was foolish.., gullible and reckless.

He put his trust blindly in someone who would send all of the Shadows in a building engulfed in flames without a second thought. Someone who would berate his men on the daily. Toss their lives around for fun. How could he have been so stupid?

He thought he could keep his guard down- if only for a moment, just because he felt as if Sheperd had good intentions.

Sheperd didn't care about him, not in the slightest. He treated Graves like shit, and he tolerated it. Pushed him away like a new pet desperate for attention.

But he would be lying if he said he didn't feel the need to make up for losing the missiles, especially since it was someone he was loyal to.

His mind would also wander to the things he had done.

He tried to make himself believe he was pressured into doing it- it's not 100% wrong, but he wanted to prove himself. Show people that he's not just some coward, though he feared it had done the opposite effect.

He deserved to die, in that tank.

No, it wouldn't make up for everything that was lost, but it would get rid of one more problem.

He knew he made a mistake.

Just like many, many times before.

He couldn't get rid of the feeling of pure guilt, that just slowly gnaws away at you, that follows you endlessly. Like a heavy strain on your shoulders that you can't seem to ever shake.

He didn't think he would end up like this when he took the job. He was a good man before this.

He just got mixed in with the wrong kind of people. An honest mistake, really.

He didn't want this.

Phillip Graves wanted to help people.

After the merciless massacre in Las Almas, he became an empty shell of a man, following orders without question. He was a husk of someone he used to be.

An empty pit in his stomach. Never-ending and condemned.

He had seen a lot, more than most. Full of enough pain and misery to destroy most. He held strong, well, tried to. He had one two many reasons for an emotional break.

But he didn't, not until Sheperd. Phillip had thought he saw everything, but the General had brought a new kind of brutality to his work.

--

For the first time today the door of the hospital room creaked open. Phillip, who was half asleep, snapped his eyes open, the sudden sound avoking newfound curiosity, he gave his full attention to the two figures in the doorway. It was a nurse- and Sheperd.

He looked fine, no ounce of regret, no softness in his features to show he messed up- the kohl on his eyes only highlighted the sharpness of his gaze. A tight coil in Graves chest tightened, just the sight of him- all high and mighty, no remorse for all the lives his so-called 'operations' cost, made every drop of his blood boil. Like molten lava, bubbling and waiting to burst.

Phillip clenches his jaw so much that he can feel his teeth squeak. Sheperd tips his head slightly, taking a few steps forward until he's at the foot of the bed. If Phillip hadn't been bedridden for days he would have jumped up on him right now and punched that fucker right in the face.

The men remain silent as the nurse goes to the beside, rumaging through a tray full of medical tools and equipment. Sheperd looks down at Phillip, a sorry sight. An eery, serene stare that send chills down Graves body. "You look like shit, Commander."

That's the first sentence he spoke to him in over weeks.

"I can't imagine why," He'd quip back, venom radiating from his tone. Sheperd gave him so much as a glare, crossing his arms.

The nurse approached Phillip with his daily needle of pain killers, and disinfected his arm with a cotton pad before injecting a needle into his arm, right into a vein, a light hiss escaping his lips.

"Where the hell have you been?" He asked Sheperd, narrowing his eyes. He thought he'd like some company or atleast someone to talk to after all that time alone but he's already irritated by his presence.

"I've had work to do, it seems to have piled up when someone fucked up the past few operations," Those words sliced into Graves heart sharper and more precise than any blade. He was only following orders. Orders from him.

His jaw couldn't have gotten any more tense and he balled his fists, his white-knuckle grip digging half moon crescents into his palms. 

"I gave everything I had, everything, and you blame me?!" His voice faltered, and he swore he saw something in Sheperds expression, his nostrils flared, a manic look in his dark eyes. Usually Sheperd was more of a private person. More shielded and not as easy to read. A poker face always plastered on. Now he had something more easily identifiable—more of a primal feeling, something hostile.

Theres silence, layers of thick tension.

"...I thank you, for that.." Sheperds voice is disturbingly passive, his tone is calm compared to his incensed body language. Two conflicting feelings are giving mixed signals to Phillip.

"—But you are no use to me anymore."

"What?" His voice was unfamilarly quiet, almost forgien to his ears.

"You served your purpose, quite poorly. But

that's beside the point. You're useless to me now."

His breath left his lungs as though he had been sucker-punched. Phillip feels like his gut had been ripped open, he was used.

He couldn't be serious.

Why would he do this? He proved himself practical multiple times, maybe having a few slip ups but he always tried his best to fix them. It painted his usual black and white world, red. There was a strain on his chest that persists even as he pushed it down, a cold shiver shocks through his body as he tries to defend himself to the best of his ability.

"I'm... I'm not.."

"And by the looks of it, you're just another loose end to tie up." Sheperd interupts sharply with a small shrug of his shoulders.

The anger Phillip felt was watered down, diluted into heartache. The person he thought he could trust the most, had betrayed him.

"I can still—"

"No. No you can't. You've had enough chances." He breathed out a sickening chuckle.

Phillips breath seemed to be caught, like he was choking. He didn't know what was happening, he went wide eyed with panic. His eyes went to the nurse for help, but she only stood back and watched.

"I told you, you're only another loose end to tie up."

It was horrible. He had no choice but to watch the two as his head was hung down low and his skin was as cold as ice. He didn't even know if he was still breathing. The room was quiet once again this time only for the sounds of a mix between gagging and coughing. He struggled, until his body goes limp, he lies flat on his back, and stares at the white ceiling. The ceiling seemed to spin in circles and a deafening buzz rung out in his ears.

"Pathetic."

Phillip Graves knew he would die, slow and painful, it was only a matter of time. Only a matter of wounds that had yet to scar over. It was always coming

He believed- knew that he would die alone. Just as he deserved— charred and broken by his past. Trust was a risk, and Phillip took it like a fool. And now here he was, alone again, burned and betrayed once more.