Chapter Text
They fucked up. Maybe the intel was wrong. Maybe the enemy’s backup arrived sooner than it should have. Whatever had happened, it didn’t matter in this moment. What mattered was that Soap was running out of ammo, one clip immediately switched for the next one, and the hostiles’ numbers never wavered.
He had to duck as another salvo of bullets reached his area. At this point he didn’t know if they were just shooting at random and hoping to hit him. The bullets were everywhere.
A short yelp ripped from his throat as one hit his side. The pain exploded over his torso, the intensity of the feeling making him stagger. His back hit the crates behind him as he half-toppled over them, his weapon nearly sliding from his grip.
Soap moved his hand to his side, but he couldn’t locate the entry point with his vest in the way. He abandoned the attempt as his vision blurred. Even after the hit, the enemies didn’t cease their fire. Until he could shoot back again, Soap needed to find cover and recover from the initial shock.
One indirect hit wouldn’t be that bad, but it wasn’t only Soap who was getting overrun. He had lost visual of his comrades a few minutes into the shoot-out as everybody scattered to find cover out there.
There were too many people shooting at him. Soap crawled further behind the crates, his knees and elbows rubbing the ground painfully even through all the clothes as he dragged his protesting body into relative safety.
The voices from his comm sounded far off in his ear. Everyone in their unit was calling for help. Others answered as they could, still trying to help each other even in such an unfavorable position. Soap was in no state to help out anyone. He should be the one calling for help as well.
The sounds faded, voices of his friends disappearing in the background. All but one.
He heard it on repeat. Muted and far off. ‘Johnny. Johnny.’
Soap managed to turn on his back, get a weak grip on his weapon. He would need it. Soon, they would get to him and if he couldn’t move, he would have to shoot and hope for the best.
His vision blurred again. Or maybe his eyes had closed on their own. When he focused again, he saw dark in front of him, and nothing else. But the dark was moving and growing larger in his unfocused sight. Then he heard it again. ‘Johnny.’
The dark swirled and Soap was out.
.
He came to on the edge of the forest. A familiar tree line stretched ahead of him. Soap vaguely recognized it. He stared until it clicked in his brain—they had arrived from this side, ran through this forest and then entered the compound from a barely protected gate at the back of the property.
His back was propped up against the tall concrete wall of the fence, but Soap was warm, his cheek pressed to something solid but so human. He was leaning on somebody’s shoulder. A shoulder slightly higher than his own. The other person had a steady hold on their weapon, aimed to the front, alert.
Out of the corner of his eye, Soap saw the white skull mask.
Ghost must have felt him waking up and moving. “Back with us, Soap?” he asked, voice gruff. His eyes never left the tree line in front of them.
Soap groaned, suddenly much more aware of his wounds and the aches all over his body. Mentally, he catalogued the feelings, the wounds. Did the best he could, but Soap was too drained, too tired, to reach any proper conclusions. Blood loss, for sure. His mind swam with the exhaustion, but the dizziness that came with concussion wasn’t there. He could think clearly. No concussion.
For now. Clearly, they weren’t back in their base yet. They weren’t safe.
The danger lurked around. After all, there must have been a reason why Ghost hadn’t turned to look at him at all and kept checking their surroundings.
“What happen’d?” Soap asked, keeping his voice quiet. Everything around them was silent, only the wind ran through the trees, making the leaves sway and rustle.
“The mission’s gone to shit, mate,” Ghost said, going tense. Soap felt it, the muscles of Ghost’s shoulder going stiff under his cheek.
Right. He should probably move. He didn’t.
Soap tried to think. He took in their surroundings again. The last thing he remembered was getting shot, trying to find cover… any cover. And then not much else. He made the trek in his mental map, backtracking their path, trying to figure out how far from the place he was now. He looked up at the sky, wondering how much time had passed. Didn’t seem like that much. Not more than an hour.
“We’re abandoning the mission,” Captain Price’s voice came through the comm.
He shot up into a better sitting position. His vision whited out for a second and he had to touch the ground for support. “What?” Soap asked, suddenly breathless.
Ghost glanced at him now—a quick thing. He nearly missed it. Soap didn’t bother imagining worry in those eyes. Looks like that were few and far in between.
“Keep it, Soap. The exfil will be here in four minutes.”
“We need to—”
“Listen to him, Sergeant,” Ghost jumped in, voice stern.
It shut Soap up immediately. Price continued, “You were out for half the operation, Soap. If Ghost didn’t carry you out of there, we wouldn’t be talking right now.”
Death wasn’t a novel concept. Not here. But Soap’s inside twisted with an unpleasant feeling. Wounded again out in the field. Close to death again. How many times had it been already? He wasn’t sure he would be able to count it even if he tried.
Price didn’t say more. Soap knew the captain was right. “Yes, sir,” he said and then picked up the hand-gun holstered at his thigh. He wasn’t about to let Ghost do all the work.
They had already established that the mission had gone to shit, but it could always get worse. Sometimes that happened. Not often. Not to their task force, but they couldn’t always predict everything. All the external factors. Today was just a shitty day.
Later, when all the reports were written up, all the footage gathered and reviewed, they might learn what had gone wrong. For now, Soap was content to think of it as that—another shitty day. Not as shitty as the whole thing with Graves, though.
Soap had enough mind to shuffle a bit away from Ghost and his personal space. Their thighs had been touching, their sides pressed together as Soap had leaned on him. Ghost had allowed it, but Soap wouldn’t lie to himself and pretend the other man wasn’t bothered by the prolonged contact.
It was simply because Soap was wounded. Nothing more. Ghost didn’t like people getting close, much less people actually touching him.
And Soap could be a considerate fella. Sometimes he couldn’t stop the little slap on the back, the pat on the shoulder or a fist to his arm. Those little touches escaped him without any conscious thought behind them. When his mood was high enough, Soap could get a little tactile. Even with his commanding officers.
But he could respect the man’s wishes. Could try to, anyway.
“Thanks, Lt.,” he told him.
Ghost beside him grunted in acknowledgement and then they were back to the silence, watching their surroundings.
Once, those four minutes would have felt like eternity to Soap, but he had learned during his first months in the military how to work with his nerves. Now, his mind was calm and quiet as he watched the tree line. The sky above, the tall fence behind them here and then.
The four minutes passed in a blink of an eye. The evac car sped toward them over the uneven terrain. The driver was just as heavily armored as them. He nodded in greeting as the car stopped by their position.
Soap had some difficulty standing up. A bunch of gauze was pressed against his side, a bandage crudely tied around his chest to staunch the bleeding. It still hurt as hell. Especially when he moved to stand up. He had to use the wall for support.
Seeing his struggle, Ghost pulled a hand under his arms and got him up. With a hand over Ghost’s shoulders for support, and the strong arm around his middle, carefully a couple inches away from the bullet-wound, they got into the car.
Their hold on each other didn’t break even as Soap holstered his gun and opened the back door with his free hand while Ghost still covered their backs. Then, he threw his gun inside the car and they climbed up. Soap had to bite down on his lower lip to keep the pained scream in. He nearly bit through the soft flesh.
They got in and fell on the bench of the car in one heavy heap.
The driver floored the speed pedal as soon as the door was closed.
Over the comm, Price announced that they would meet at the landing strip and the helicopter would take them home to their base. Soap sighed and Ghost acknowledged.
A couple minutes into the painfully bumpy ride, Soap started to feel the fabric of his pants sticking to the bottom of his thigh. The metallic bench under them wouldn’t soak up anything. He frowned, wondering if he had missed a gash or something.
His thigh felt fine. He didn’t feel drained from more blood loss, and neither was there any pain. Had he gone numb with the adrenaline? But as he glanced down, his pants were in one piece. No cuts, no torn fabric. They were all kinds of dirty but not ripped anywhere.
Soap turned his head an inch to the side and— “Ghost! You’re fucking bleeding!”
Ghost calmly followed his gaze to the wound on this thigh. “Ah, yeah. Seems so.”
Before he could think, Soap was pulling out a small kit from his pouches. They had to stop the bleeding.
“Sit tight, Johnny. You have your own wounds to worry about.”
“Don’t think so, Lt.”
When it became clear that Soap wasn’t going to rest until Ghost did something about the wound, he sighed and took the bandages from Soap’s hands. There was a light tremor to them that he couldn’t stop. Soap was pretty banged up himself and the adrenalin was starting to fade. He would crash soon.
Ghost took the stuff and quickly and efficiently tied the wound on his thigh. Over his trousers. He didn’t appear to particularly care.
“There,” Ghost said. He leaned his head back against the window and let his hands rest in his lap, the sterile packages from the gauze and bandages littering the floor of the car.
“Yes, sir,” Soap said lightly and let out a breath. They would be fine. He didn’t know how many of their men were KIA, but not him. And not Ghost.
He closed his eyes, wanting to rest a little till they got to the heli. Knowing Ghost, the other man wouldn’t rest until they arrived at the base. Even if Soap dozed off now—which was becoming more and more likely—he would be fine with Ghost watching over him.