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coco-loco-nut · 8 months ago

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Look for the Light

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Best Friend!Reader

Summary: You are Oscar’s best friend, but when you get sick, how is he going to cope

TW: cancer, death, grief

You will probably cry, I did while writing it at 3am

Based off of the song from Only Murders in the Building

requests are open! masterlist

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Being Oscar’s best friend was the best thing you had achieved in your life, and you made sure the both of you knew it. You grew up a few houses from each other and from the moment you both met, you were inseparable. Spending your childhood on the beach, playing and having adventures of a lifetime. He never minded going to explore with you, especially the lighthouses, they fascinated you. The silent call, the notion of looking for safety, looking for the light. Oscar adored that about you, it’s why he always wanted to spend time with his best friend.

That didn’t stop when Oscar started karting, in fact, you were his number one supporter. As his career took off, he never missed a chance to hang out with you, nor you with him. Some of his friends back home throughout the years teased him about your relationship, but both of you knew that there was nothing more to it other than the tight knit bond, once that was more akin to siblings than romantic.

It was one early fall weekend that you both were on the beach, near your favorite lighthouse when you collapsed. It shifted your worlds forever. Oscar became more reserved and you spent more and more time in the hospital for treatments.

It was cancer, caught early and quickly curable, plus, you were young and healthy, at least that’s what the doctor said. That’s what you all thought. The doctor was right, at least the first time.

You stopped going to his races, falling out of the racing world’s eye, but the bond between you was stronger than ever, especially as his career took off even more. When you ended up in treatment for the second time, he was even more determined to spend time with you. Even now, he sits by your bedside watching a race. He looks at you closely, your skin losing some color and the adventurous spark dimmed in your eyes.

“I love you, Y/n. I’m scared, I can’t lose you,” Oscar admits one day. You both knew what he meant. You are basically his sister.

“Os, it’s ok. I am too, but we gotta be brave,” you choke a little, tears welling in your eyes. The spark in your eyes has all but dimmed out, you find it harder to get through each day.

Oscar is getting his first real shot at F1, but he doesn’t want to miss a moment with his best friend, the one who he has vet every girl he’s dated, because if anyone knows him best, it’s you. The one person he can keep private from his public life, he can hide your pain and suffering from his crazy world.

“It’s not fair,” his eyes well up. The air is thick, the looming darkness has been settling in, the both of you don’t want to acknowledge the truth of it.

“Oscar,” your frail hand grabs his. “I love you, you are my brother, my closest friend, and I am incredibly grateful that you are in my life. Now, adventure is calling, so go and be brave,” you give him your best smile, not wanting to waste his F1 Australia debut, in Melbourne nonetheless, worrying.

“Y/n, I’ll wait by the shore for you,” he says, and you squeeze his had tighter.

“My love is a lighthouse, look for the light,” you whisper. He glances at the clock and with a heavy heart leaves the room to go to the track. Socials think that he is just going charity visits this week since he is home, but the man is so reserved even Lando can’t get him to talk. He calls every night, and you demand to have the races on while you write in your notebook.

Your family is in the room with you, you had taken a turn for the worse overnight but you didn’t want to worry Oscar, not when the race in Melbourne was today, not when you knew what it meant to him. You finished the poem you were writing as there were ten laps left, the strength to write leaving you.

Your mom tried not to cry as she took the notebook and pen from you, your dad slipping beside you in the bed, holding onto his baby. Your mom called Oscar’s mom, who immediately picked up, knowing what the mid-race call meant.

“It’s time. She wrote to Oscar, and I don’t think she will make it past his media right after the race,” your mom chokes out, tears flowing as she hangs up and gets on the other side of you.

“Look Mom! Oscar is in the points, he made it to P8,” you smile at her weakly, your dad filming your reaction to Oscar crossing the line, but he quickly stops it when your monitor blinks irregularly. A nurse rushes in, having talked with you and your family about this moment earlier in the morning. She pushes medicine so you will be able to step into the light without pain, without suffering.

“It doesn’t hurt, I promise. Tell Oscar I love him, and thank you for every moment. I love you both, thank you for choosing me as your child and loving me forever. I will love you beyond my last breath. Look for the light. Will you sing the song to me?” You ask your mom, tears streaming down your face with a small smile.

“Hush little one, let me sing you to sleep. Moonlight has come so drift off to a dream. Sail from the day to the wonders awaiting you out there, in the deep. Off little one, chase the wind on the wave, adventure is calling so go and be brave. But if you get lost as your tossed in the dark of the sea, look for me,” your mom sings the haunting lullaby, watching your breathing slow. On the TV, the camera pans to Oscar celebrating with his team. Your eyes glimmer with happiness for the last time.

“No, baby, no,” your mom pleads, your dad pulls you tighter into him. With the last bit of energy you can muster, you squeeze their hands as your eyes close and a shuttering breath leaves your body. The screams of a mother can be heard over the flatline. The nurse unplugs your machine as another makes a phone call to Oscar’s mom, something you asked a while ago privately, knowing your parents would be too distraught. The nurses follow your wishes with heavy hearts.

———

Oscar gets back to his driver’s room with a large smile on his face, having just celebrated with the team and gone through media. The first thing he sees is his Mom’s tear stained cheeks and he drops his helmet.

“No,” he whispers.

“She’s gone, Os,” his mom cries, pulling him into a hug. His body wracks with sobs. Lando sees the two and quickly leaves, having intended on congratulating his teammate, but now going to inform the team that Oscar won’t be doing press. Lando wasn’t sure what happened, but he knew it had to be personal and that was enough.

“She’s not gone, she’s not,” Oscar says after a minute. His mom wipes a tear off and looks at him with a mix of pity, sorrow, and compassion. “NO,” Oscar yells, his grief taking over, he slumps on the couch, sobbing more. The light house trinket you gifted him years ago sits on a table, a glint of sun shining off the top, as if to provide a comfort, a goodbye.

“I’m sorry. She asked me not to talk you it got worse last night. Her mom called during the race to let me know,” his mom says gently a few minutes later. Social media buzzes as pictures of Oscar’s tear stained face as he left the paddock spreads and speculation grows, but he stays silent.

The funeral is quick, small, near the beach that is home to your favorite lighthouse. It’s more of a memorial, your family having chosen to go with a closed casket burial because you didn’t want to be remembered in that state. So here Oscar is, outside Cape Otway, sitting on a rock, your unopened letter in his hand. It’s two pages, and he hasn’t had the strength to open the folded pages. He looks at the sunset, it’s rays washing over him. The ocean seems to tell him to open the letters.

Oscar,

Words cannot describe how proud I am of you. My best friend achieved his dream, what more can I ask for? More time? No. It’s odd, writing a letter about my own death. I can only assume how you feel. I’m sorry that I left you, but I never truly did. I’m in the light, I went peacefully and painlessly, surrounded by love. The sunset you see, the stars shining on you, a ray of sunshine bouncing off of something, that’s me. Don’t wait forever by the shore for me, you don’t need to weather each storm, standing by until I return. I will always be with you. Don’t be afraid to grieve, share my light wherever you go, keep me with you and alive in spirit. I love you, my best friend and brother.

Your lighthouse, beyond my last breath,

Y/n

Oscar moves your letter behind the next, his eyes looking at the poem, this one’s writing significantly harder to read. Your weak state evident in the messy lines, but it’s perfect to him.

Os- I finished the lullaby, find comfort in it when you miss me. Look for the light

Hush, little one, let me sing you to sleep

Moonlight has come, now, drift off to a dream

Sail from the day to the wonders awaiting you out there

In the deep

Off little one, chase the wind on the waves

Adventure is calling, so go and be brave

But if you get lost as you're tossed in the dark of the sea

Look for me

I will wait at the shore for you

I will weather each storm standing by 'til

Safe, you return from the night

My love is a lighthouse

So look for the light

The light

I will wait at the shore for you

I will weather each storm standing by 'til

Safe, you return from the night

My love is a lighthouse

So look for the light

The light

Oscar sniffles, carefully pocketing the papers. He pulls out his phone and watches the video he hasn’t dared to open until now, the one your father sent to him, a smile gracing his face as he sees you cheer as he crosses the line, but it drops as he hears the beeping before the video cuts. He looks up at the lighthouse for a minute, taking a picture for his personal memorial, before returning home. He changes his helmets to include a lighthouse, refusing to put one on that doesn’t.

The drivers and the McLaren team notice a shift in the driver when he appears in Baku. Lando takes it upon himself to try and get information from Oscar but fails. Instead Oscar turns to Pierre, Mick, and Charles.

“Her name was Y/n, she was my best friend, my sister. She died shortly after I crossed the finish line in Melbourne,” tears sting the young drivers eyes as he lays out his grief to the two drivers who know his pain better than anyone. Mick encourages Oscar to share the good, not the illness. It isn’t much, but the driver’s spirit has lifted a little bit, and the four agree to share their grief with each other more often, finding a healthy outlet with each other.

Lando only praised his teammate for his strength when asked about that Melbourne day, and reiterated that private matters were just that, private. Shortly after talking with the other three, Oscar sat Lando, Andrea Stella, and Zak down and let them know the basics of what happened.

“I’m sorry man, I didn’t even know you had someone that close to you,” Lando put a hand on Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar looks at the sunset with a sad smile.

“It’s ok, she’s here,” Oscar says, a hand over the lighthouse on his helmet.

oscarpiastri 2 April 2023 • I will wait by the shore for you, look for the light

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#oscar piastri x reader #f1 x reader #oscar piastri imagine #f1 imagine #you will cry #i sobbed #why did i make this #writing at 3am should be illegal

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darth-mortem · 10 months ago

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My friend @g8se transleted several of my COD fanfics into English. This is one of them.

ATTENTION: This fic contains Call of Duty MW3 spoilers.

Having buried Johnny, Ghost no longer wants to live. He tries to commit suicide, but at the last moment, a real miracle saves him. From that moment on, this miracle accompanies Ghost throughout his long and stressful life. 4172 words.

Post-canon, fix-it, angst, hurt/comfort, love

When the wind carried Johnny's ashes over the mountains of Scotland, Ghost finally realized that he was gone. There would be no more of his radiant smile, no more cheerful banter and jokes during missions. Ghost would never hear his voice again, feel the touch of his hands and tender lips, or run his fingers through his ridiculous mohawk. The opportunity to say what Simon hadn't had the chance to say, thinking he would do it later someday, was now gone. Simon himself was no more, having died in the underground with Johnny. Now, only Ghost remained, who would never again remove his mask.

You can read on Ao3 or here:

All the way to the small motel where the three members of Task Force 141 had stopped, Ghost remained silent. He didn't utter a word, even when they were sipping from a bottle of whiskey, reminiscing about their fallen comrade. "Rest in peace, Johnny" were the last words Ghost heard from Price and Gaz. The latter looked at the lieutenant with concern, but Ghost seemed oblivious. He sat, staring into space, seemingly not hearing anything that the other two soldiers were saying as they remembered Johnny. When the bottle emptied, and it was time to go to their rooms, Ghost quietly stood up and, without even attempting to say goodbye, went to his own room.

Price and Gaz stopped in the room next to him. For a while, Ghost could hear their muffled voices, and then everything fell silent. He then stood up, pulled another bottle from his backpack, and placed it on the table by the window. Next to it, he placed his pistol.

Ghost didn't know how to express emotions, but now, after a significant amount of alcohol on an empty stomach, he felt that he could no longer take all the pain that was literally tearing him apart from the inside. His hand, that was clutching the glass, trembled, and burning tears rolled from his eyes, washing away the black face paint, and soaking the fabric of his balaclava.

Ghost cried silently. His shoulders shook, he breathed convulsively, tears blurred his eyes, but not a sound escaped his chest. The whiskey was already starting to make his head spin; reality swayed and blurred, but he still finished the bottle, set it aside, and reached for the pistol.

His fingers instinctively gripped the handle. Ghost automatically checked the magazine, removed the fuse, and racked the slide. Price and Gaz talked about revenge, but the lieutenant knew that it would bring him neither comfort nor solace. Even if he burned the damn world down, it wouldn't bring Johnny back. He didn't care whether Makarov lived or died in agony. Johnny was gone. If he was now in a better place, Ghost didn't believe in Heavens, he would still not care about the damn revenge, to the futile attempts of those still alive to give his death some meaning.

Ghost's lips trembled, as if he wanted to say something, but he couldn't, even now, when his hand already raised the weapon. He pressed the muzzle of the pistol to his temple and closed his eyes. His finger rested on the trigger. He could no longer and did not want to live. Not after his restless Johnny, the glimmer of warm light in Task Force 141, finally managed to see beyond Ghost's skull mask; managed to bring him to the surface; helped him remember what it was like to be human. Not after the indifferent and cold piece of lead took away that warmth and light, in an instant destroying all the careful and uncertain dreams that Ghost might still have some life left. That maybe, someday, Simon would take over, and then he would take off the mask and walk away from the army with Johnny, leaving all this behind for the sake of simple and quiet human happiness.

Ghost's finger began to slowly pull the trigger when suddenly someone's strong hand seized the pistol by the barrel and yanked it towards them, pulling it from his palm. The lieutenant opened his eyes, expecting to see Sergeant Garrick or Captain Price in front of him, but...

Johnny stood before him. The gaze of a seasoned soldier immediately noticed the absence of the scar on his chin, the wrinkles that had appeared on his face a few years ago despite his youth. Johnny was dressed in jeans, a dark blue t-shirt, and his usual sand-coloured armour, and behind him, his wings shone with a warm yellowish light, immense and incredibly beautiful.

"What’re ye doing!" Johnny exclaimed, stepping forward and clenching his fists. "Don't ye dare! I won't let ye!"

And he rushed toward Ghost, embracing him tightly. His wings curved around him, sheltering the lieutenant from the whole world, immersing him in an endless ocean of warm and gentle light. It delicately touched the bleeding wounds on Simon's soul; tiny rays pierced through the armour of sorrow and despair; it touched the heart; it took him as if with tender invisible hands, touches that bestowed healing and peace.

All of this turned out to be too much for Ghost. His fingers slid powerlessly over Johnny's shoulders, which seemed so real and tangible, and then his weary consciousness left him, and he hung limply in the arms of someone whom just a few hours ago he considered absolutely and eternally lost.

One-four-one should have been heading back to base as soon as possible, but Captain Price didn't wake up the lieutenant, wanting to give him a chance to get some sleep. He and Kyle had breakfast together at the café near the motel, hardly speaking, only occasionally glancing anxiously through the window towards the door of the lieutenant's room.

Ghost woke up late, with a very heavy head. He vaguely remembered last night, and lying in bed with his eyes closed, he couldn't gather his thoughts together and understand what had happened. He distinctly remembered planning to shoot himself. The lieutenant had made that decision when he hugged Johnny's cold, lifeless body in the helicopter on the way to the base. He knew that instincts wouldn't allow him to do it, so he deliberately got heavily drunk to dull them. And when he was ready, when he felt the chill of the gun barrel even through the fabric of his balaclava, something happened.

He saw Johnny.

Of course, Ghost knew that it was just an illusion. The response of an overtired brain to lack of sleep, food, an excessive dose of alcohol. But Johnny looked so real that Ghost still felt, with his hands, how he touched him.

Opening his eyes, the lieutenant saw a ceiling with cracked whitewash above him. He swallowed a bitter lump that had formed in his throat and slowly raised himself on his elbows, intending to get up and go to the shower, but...

Johnny was sitting on his bed, on the unoccupied half, his legs crossed, looking at Ghost with a slightly sad but still shining smile. Seeing that the lieutenant had woken up, he immediately got up, approached, and embraced him, making him lay back on the bed again.

"Never ever do that again!" Johnny exclaimed furiously, leaning over Ghost, and looking into his eyes. "Ye can't die now, ye understand? Yer time has not come yet!"

"I've lost my mind completely," Ghost thought, looking into Johnny's bright blue eyes.

"Not at all," he smiled cheerfully, then gently stroked Ghost's cheek, slipping his hand under his balaclava. "Ye weren't supposed to see me at all, tis against the rules and all that, but when ‘ave we ever followed the rules, huh?"

"Johnny?" Ghost whispered almost silently, his lips barely moving, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes again.

"That's right!" he replied cheerfully, then leaned in, lying on the lieutenant's chest and gently traced his fingers over the exposed part of Ghost's face in the opening of his balaclava. "Ye asked me if I'm with ye, and I said ye already know the answer. Even death won't change that. Ye protected me, love, and now it's my turn. I wuldnae disappear; I'll be with you all your life. And then, when yer time comes, I'll take ye by the hand, and we'll go together where there's no more war, no fear, pain, cruelty, or death – only light and love. There, we won't have to part anymore, and we'll be together forever."

"Johnny..." Ghost whispered. "This isn’t an illusion? Are you really here?"

"I really am here, Simon," Johnny replied and looked into his eyes. "I loved ye so much in life that the ones up there wouldn't dare tae separate us even after my death. So now I'm sort of your guardian angel. Cool, huh? But keep in mind, no one but ye’ll be able to see or hear me. It won't be easy, but..."

"I love you too," Simon interrupted and embraced Johnny, pressing him to his chest, feeling the warmth and weight of his body and his breath on his neck. "Even if I really lost my mind and I'm hallucinating – I don't care. It's better this way than without you."

"Then get up," Johnny laughed cheerfully. "Cap’s already waiting for ye."

On the way to the base, Price and Gaz no longer could hide their concerned looks towards Ghost. He still didn't say a word, his eyes constantly staring into emptiness, not focusing on anything specific.

Deciding to give the lieutenant some time, captain Price quietly ordered Kyle not to bother Ghost as well. They hoped their friend would pull himself together, but everything got only worse. Riley continued to remain silent, responding to all questions with nods, head tilts, or shrugs. However, this only applied to cases when someone living and real addressed him. Several times, the lieutenant was noticed in remote corners of the base muttering something to himself, yet again staring into emptiness with the insane gaze of his dark eyes. Laswell even hinted to Price that it wouldn't hurt to send Riley for a psychiatric evaluation or therapy. The captain, though reluctant, was ready to agree, as he himself had noticed that Riley had become too strange. But unexpectedly, Makarov's trace appeared, and the one-four-one had to move quickly in that direction.

Time was short, yet Price managed to carve out a moment to talk one-on-one with Ghost. Sending Gaz to check the helicopter's readiness, the captain called the lieutenant over, took him by the shoulders, and shook him slightly, forcing him to pay attention.

"Simon," he said, "tell me you're okay, because I need your cool head and your combat skills right now."

Behind Price, Johnny was clowning around. He was making faces and, holding an imaginary microphone, sang very off-key:

“Don't wanna close my eyes

I don't wanna fall asleep

'Cause I'd miss you, baby

And I don't wanna miss a thing!”

"Simon!" Price raised his tone a bit, noticing that he was once again staring somewhere past him.

"I'm okay," the lieutenant finally replied calmly, and as his eyes narrowed in the skull-mask eye sockets, Price understood that he was smiling.

Everything proceeded as usual. The remnants of Task Force 141, with support from Kate Laswell, tried to catch the elusive Makarov, who kept evading them, leaving traps, bombs, dangerous chemicals, and other things behind that could harm both his pursuers and civilians. Ghost's strange behaviour persisted, but during missions, he remained a professional as before, so Price abandoned thoughts of treating him. Lieutenant Riley was needed in combat, and besides, he had the most right to seek revenge.

As for Ghost, at some point, he got himself a Bluetooth headset, and rumours about the Lieutenant from 141 going crazy and talking to himself started to gradually die down. Even Gaz relaxed and stopped closely monitoring Ghost. Only Captain Price remained concerned because he knew well that Simon had no one to talk to on the phone.

The first episode occurred during one of the missions. Task Force 141 encountered overwhelming enemy forces. Ghost and Gaz had to retreat to the evacuation point under Price's cover, who coordinated them, lying with a sniper rifle at a considerable distance. The two soldiers managed to obtain the necessary information, but now they had to somehow get it outside the territory of the enemy base.

The hard drive was in Garrick's hands, and Ghost understood that now the sergeant's life was a priority due to his valuable cargo. Ordering Gaz to go first, the lieutenant covered him, trying not to fall too far behind. He no longer had grenades and throwing knives, and he had just loaded the last magazine into his assault rifle. After, there would only be a pistol - a fifteen-round Beretta, one magazine of which was half-empty, and the other lay in the pocket. Ghost knew that this wouldn't be enough for the retreat, but he didn't worry because Johnny was circling above him, spreading his wings.

Price, who was watching his boys through the optic sight, saw how Ghost suddenly stopped and looked up, and then both he and Garrick clearly heard his words.

"Yes, Johnny," Lieutenant Riley said, "let's give it a try."

"Ghost!" Price shouted into the microphone of his radio, but it was already too late.

Riley darted off to the side, drawing the enemy's attention to himself. The captain understood that his top priority now was to protect Garrick with the information, but he couldn't help keeping an eye on Riley. He ran along a broad path, responding to the enemy's actions so precisely and accurately, as if someone was guiding him.

"Not 'someone'," Price thought, "it’s Soap." Only with Sergeant MacTavish did Ghost work so seamlessly, as if there was a special connection between them on a level that’s superior to others.

"Go!" Johnny ordered sharply, and Ghost leaped from his cover toward the next one, gripping his assault rifle. "To the right! Drop! Move!"

Riley sprinted, following these short commands, and Soap, from the height of his flight, saw everything, not missing a single bullet fired towards the lieutenant.

Later, when all three were in the helicopter, having obtained what they came for, Price looked at Ghost, who was sitting relaxed across from him, as if someone was leaning against him, resting their head on his right shoulder.

"That was quite a run," the captain finally said.

Ghost raised slowly his head, looked at Price through the openings of his mask, and replied briefly:

"Thank you, captain."

Kyle became a witness to the second episode. Then everything happened very quickly: a fragmentation grenade was thrown at them, and the sergeant managed to fall for cover, but the lieutenant did not. Gaz got up almost immediately, overpowering the disgusting squeal in his ears, and he saw Ghost rising from the ground completely unharmed.

"How did you survive?" Kyle asked in amazement. "The shrapnel had cut everything around you!"

"Luck," Ghost replied shortly and, shaking his head, added, "let’s go!"

Of course, Gaz could not know that a mere second before the explosion, Johnny pushed Riley to the ground and fell on top of him, covering them both with his wings. The fragments bounced off the shining orange feathers, and Ghost remained unharmed.

There were also less obvious things. For instance, Lieutenant Riley, who used to grumble about smoking to all the soldiers of the 141, sometimes even to Captain Price, began smoking himself. Moreover, he chose the same cigarettes that Soap preferred. Also now, he could often be seen munching on chocolate chip cookies, which Johnny loved. Furthermore, he now quite frequently preferred sweetened coffee. Garrick and Price closely observed these peculiarities but didn't attempt to ask any questions, knowing that Ghost wouldn't answer.

"I feel the same as you do," Johnny once said, as always walking to the right of Riley, who was heading to the mess hall. "So, when ye kiss me, I feel it twice as keenly as ye do. When ye drink whiskey or that disgusting stuff of yours, I taste it."

"Where are you leading with this?" Ghost asked, and they turned to look at him, but upon seeing the blue light of the Bluetooth headset, lost interest.

"I wantae taste the flavour of a burger, chips, ‘n’ my favourite biscuits!" Johnny exclaimed, and the feathers on his wings stood on end. "I wantae remember what it's like tae smoke a cigarette with coffee!"

"Okay," Ghost replied calmly and turned towards the cafeteria, where all of this could be bought.

Gradually, everyone got used to Lieutenant Riley's strange new behaviour, and even comrades-in-arms stopped paying special attention to it. In the 141, they recruited a new soldier, and eventually, they found and killed Makarov, avenging their fallen comrade and saving the world from the Russian villain. After that, Price, Garrick, and Riley gathered again on the hill where almost a year ago, they scattered the ashes of their deceased comrade.

"Now you can truly rest in peace, soldier," Price said, looking into the distance where the sun was setting behind the mountains.

Ghost smiled under his balaclava and glanced to the right, where Johnny stood beside him.

"I can't say I'm not glad that we killed that bastard," Soap said, hugging Ghost and extending his wing around him.

Though the battle continued. One threat was eliminated, but there were still many others that the soldiers of Task Force 141 had to deal with. Without much enthusiasm, Lieutenant Riley accepted a new soldier, though he still preferred to work alone. Meanwhile, rumours began circulating at the base that Ghost was invincible. Of course, he occasionally got injured, spent time in the hospital, but much more often he got off with a whole skin from the worst, almost hopeless situations.

Years passed. The cast of the unit changed from time to time, and eventually, Price retired, with Major Riley taking his place. Now young soldiers were telling legends about his invulnerability and the discussions of this strange phenomenon never ceased.

"He’s definitely guarded by some higher power," Gaz once said, when the entire 141 was in the rec room after another hellish mission. "Some kind of angel."

"Or a demon," another soldier said thoughtfully.

Ghost just smiled and looked, as it seemed to everyone, into emptiness at an empty chair pushed away as if someone had been sitting in it.

Major Riley retired when he turned sixty. They tried to persuade him to stay and take a staff position or become an instructor, but shuffling papers or dealing with young recruits wasn't what he wanted. Leaving the army, Ghost went to Wales, where he settled on the coast, having bought an old, non-functional lighthouse for a song. He personally restored it, turning it into a cozy home, far enough from people so that no one would disturb him.

Finally, peace settled in the soul of the old soldier. He fulfilled his military duty and left the ranks, making way for the young. In the village where he went for supplies, they called him Major Riley, but he felt the identity that made him a soldier, a Ghost, gradually fading away.

Simon still woke up early, but now he allowed himself to linger in the cozy bed – too big for one, but he wasn't alone. Johnny was with him, covering them both with his wing, and they talked or just stayed silent, listening to the sound of the waves coming in through the open window.

Johnny hadn't changed at all. He was just as young-looking as when he died, as Simon first saw him again. His happy smile and charming blue eyes still shone when he looked at him. Riley aged slowly, keeping himself in shape, his body hardly changing, except for his hair turning completely grey, and wrinkles lining his face. Old scars had faded, becoming less noticeable, and Simon gradually swapped his balaclava for a buff with the same skull print. However, now he only wore it when he went to the village or when old friends visited – Price, whom he now simply called John, and Kyle.

"Let's buy a boat," Johnny suggested once, as they stood together on the top balcony of the lighthouse, accessible from the lantern room. "It's strange to live by the sea and not have a boat."

"Are we going fishing?" Simon asked, leaning against the metal railing as he smoked.

"Yes!" Johnny exclaimed happily, embracing him.

One day, Ghost received a call from Gaz with the sad news that Price had passed away. He died peacefully in his sleep, seemingly finding peace and tranquillity at the end of his chaotic life. With no family, Kyle and Simon took care of everything. Simon subconsciously hoped to see John when they picked up the urn with his ashes and drove to the Scottish mountains to scatter them, as Price had written in his will, but it didn't happen.

"He had no unfinished business," Johnny said when Ghost and Gaz stood on the hill, watching the wind carry the ashes of their former captain high into the sky. "He went straight to a better place. We'll meet him there when your time comes."

"Kyle," Simon looked at his friend and saw tears in his eyes, "I might go before you. I'd like my ashes to be scattered here too."

"Okay," Garrick wiped his face with his sleeve and looked at Riley. "Just let it be not too soon, alright?"

"Alright," Johnny replied cheerfully instead of Ghost, "You can count on me!"

Simon lived to the age of eighty-three. He didn't fall ill and preserved his strength and military discipline until the end. However, one day he began to feel that his time was running out. This feeling grew stronger, reaching its peak when he and Johnny sat on the shore, watching the sunset – the stern old man with a perfectly straight back and absolutely white hair, and the young cheerful guy with huge, orange wings radiating warm and gentle light.

"What do you think, Johnny," Simon spoke, lighting a cigarette, "did I live a good life?"

"A mighty good one," he replied, leaning his head on Simon's shoulder. "Ye saved many innocent lives and defeated much evil. Ye found peace here, at the edge of the world. And ye were a ray of light in my life."

"Odd," Simon smiled sadly and ran his fingers through Johnny's hair, "I always thought the ray of light was you."

They fell silent for a moment, watching as the red sun dipped into the sea, leaving glimmers of its light on the water. Simon stubbed out the cigarette in the sand, briefly closed his eyes, and asked:

"My time is coming, isn't it?"

"Aye," Johnny didn't argue and hugged him even tighter, shielding him from the cold wind with his wing. "But there's no need to be afraid. It won't hurt, love. You'll just fall asleep."

"And then you'll take me by the hand and lead me to a better place?" Simon asked, feeling a bitter lump rising in his throat and his eyes stinging with tears.

"Aye," Johnny replied again. "We'll go there together, and there will be no more pain or death."

"And we'll be together forever," Simon whispered, squeezing the warm hand of his guardian with his cold fingers.

A few days later, in the village, Simon and Johnny stood in front of the newspaper stand and looked at the page with obituaries. One of them was about the retired Major Riley, who lived in the lighthouse and was found dead on the beach near his home.

"They wrote so many good words about ye," Johnny said, playfully nudging Simon in the side.

He stood beside him – once again young, without scars, without the burden of the horrors of the past on his shoulders, and behind him were folded, shining snow-white wings. He wore his uniform and gear, but no mask. It was no longer needed.

"Odd," Simon replied, and he smiled perplexedly. "I didn't really talk to anyone here."

This time, on the hill amid the Scottish mountains, Kyle Garrick stood, thinking he was alone. He held an urn with ashes in his hands, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

"I'll miss you, Simon," he said with a trembling voice, "all of you, guys."

Ghost and Soap, standing to the right and left of him, exchanged glances, and Simon placed his hand on Kyle's shoulder, but, of course, he felt nothing.

"Ye'll join us when yer time comes," Johnny spoke. "Yer children will bring your ashes here, as ye wrote in yer will, and we'll meet ye up there."

Ghost looked up at the sky, where Johnny had pointed, and saw that the clouds had parted, and through this opening, bright warm light shone.

"Is it time for us to go?" Ghost asked.

"Aye, sir," Soap replied.

Johnny approached Simon, took him by the hand, they spread their wings, and slowly started to ascend into the sky, towards their home waiting for them beyond the bright light.

* Aerosmith «I don't wanna miss a thing»

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