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The fields behind his childhood home were one of the few place John loved going, he spent his teen years hunting out the areas not many people would go. One day, he wondered pasted the farmer’s fields, past the angling areas to a random slope. It was a good twenty minute walk from the house, there was a tree with a ratty rope used as a swing, he missed the rush younger him would get when he would go off the edge and see the drop. He had sat against that tree for countless hours, with headphones, with his journal, with a book or his school work.
Not many people would visit this area, often it was kids who wanted to try the swing out or it was some other teenagers looking for a moment alone. But other than that, Soap often had the tree to himself. He never brought anyone here, he did not want to ruin the place that he would spend hours at, just existing. When he died, he would happily spend the afterlife sat underneath this tree, watching the world. There was a nest somewhere in the great, big tree, he could hear the hatchlings squawking away. He wonders how many generations of birds he heard live in that tree over the years.
Footsteps crunched under the dry grass, John looked over his shoulder to see Simon slowly approach him. He had turned his phone off, it was shoved in his pocket currently a glorified brick. He had picked his thumb raw, bitten his lip until it bled and sat under the tree until he could not feel his arse anymore. Not that he cared, he just wanted to get out the house. He was fed up. This was another thing that carried through his childhood, his horrible relationship with his brother, or lack thereof to begin with.
Simon placed himself down next to Soap, his knees cracking in the process, John would normally call him old man and take the piss. Simon did not say anything, instead he just looked at the landscape before him, “Wow, thought there weren’t any nice places in Scotland,” he tried to joke. Simon did not fancy admitting that the landscape was amazing, it was oddly intimate and secluded, he could see why John liked it.
Soap sighed, resting his head against the tree, “I’m not in the mood, Simon,” he uttered, his voice harsh but empty, he was drained of all his energy, “How did you know I was here?” his tone was cold, his patience was running thinner than normal, he was still looking for a fight with someone.
Simon sighed, running his hands through his hair, he had not put his mask back on, too busy following after John, “I mean, you’ve drawn this place dozens of times, I asked your folks where this was,” Simon shrugged, “Said you come here when your upset,”
“You looked through my stuff,” John scowled, getting ready to up and leave, he could find another place to hid, he was not short of places. But then again, his boyfriend was the Big Bad Ghost, so he could try, but he would not stay hidden for long.
“Right, yeah, when your boyfriend vanishes and turns off his phone, get back to me and we’ll have this conversation,” Simon snarked, he knew it was wrong that he went through some of John’s old diaries, he did not bother to take the effort to try and figure out what John had scribbled down, because that felt like an invasion of his privacy. Simon never looked at the books unless John let him, but desperate times.
“You do that, fairly regularly actually,” John hissed, clenching his fists.
“All right, all right,” Simon put his hands up, his voice losing the edge it had going into this conversation, “I’m sorry, but I was worried,” the fight drained from his voice, by contrast it was soft and reassuring. John did not bother thinking of a response, the silence settled again for a moment, “You never told me,” Simon said, John looked at him confused, “That things were rough with your brother,”
John let out a pitiful scoff, “Yeah, well, it’s always been like that,” John began another assault on his thumb, breaking through the dried blood, “Not because I wanted it to, I mean, I tried y’know. But it doesn’t help when in his fucking mind he’s an only child, and I’m just some random kid that my parents brought him,” he half joked, but his voice broke, the laugh turning into a sob. John rested his head back against the tree, letting out a bitter laugh.
Simon scowled at the comment, setting himself down next to John, “How do you mean by that?” Simon asked, confusion written all over his face. His body ran cold at the comment, John had always been someone so loving and caring, to give him credit where it was due, there was something about his personality. He was loud and abrasive, but he was highly intelligent, funny and knew how to talk to anyone.
“My brother didn’t want another sibling, and he never wanted me around,” the words were foreign on his tongue, he had never consciously spoken about this to anyone, “I mean, he told me that when I was young, and I just… thought it was normal sibling shit. But then I got older,” John spat, “saw all my mates have decent relationship with their siblings, and mine wouldn’t even look at me,” tears falling down his cheeks, the constant stream, adding to the hatred that had built up over the years.
He could not bring himself to take a glance at Simon, the words were already heavy on his tongue, “‘Just kept my mouth shut, no point in making a thing out of it. It’s life, we move on. Then I kept getting older, started to understand how fucked up it all was. Much much damage that bastard caused in my life. So, when I got the chance, I left, and… well…” John’s voice trailed off, “He never made the effort, so I never forced him to speak with us,”
Simon sat there, he was far to confused. This pain that he had been carrying around, John had never spoken about it, never uttered a word or gave any indication. Simon knew of his brother, he knew the basics here and there from what John had said, but the image that was created for him was of a stranger, an image that did not matched the man who stood before him just an hour ago; the man belittling John. None of what had happened looked to be new, the way John sat there, and took the abuse made Simon question if he was gone into the wrong house.
John sat there, he was not gobby, he did not snap back or hold his ground. John was just there, in the shell of a man who Simon knew him to be. If Simon looked hard enough, he could see teen John sat at that table, not Sergeant Soap MacTavish, the man who brought a literal gun to a tank fight and walked away. There was no confidence, no arrogance or cockiness, John was just a kicked puppy, shutting his mouth the second something knocking his confidence.
Simon wrung his hands together, the entire situation was far too uncomfortable for him to even begin to understand, “I never mentioned it, because it’s pathetic. How fucking pathetic is it to say ‘oh yeah, well my own brother hates me’. D’y’know how fucked that is, how fucking unlikable am I that my own brother can’t stand me. He knows fuck all about me, about my life, and if I never spoke with him again, I doubt he’ll even notice,”
All Simon could do was pull John close, he wrapped his arm around John’s shoulders pulling him close. His other hand reached out, placing it gently over John’s hands, in an attempt to stop him from picking the skin off his already bloodied thumb. The blood was now under his nails, the had been picked, gnawed and shoved away. Replaced now with dried and fresh blood. Simon pulled him in tightly, his heart ached for the teen version of John who used to do far worse to himself, the version of John that needed someone to have his back no matter what.
“None of that is true,” Simon whispered into John’s temple, his voice was filled with so much certainty and love that John almost believed the words, “You aren’t unlikable or pathetic, OK, none of that shit,” he said, pressing kisses against John’s skin, “You’ve gotta know that,” Simon practically pleaded. John felt the guilt twist in his stomach even more, he had ruined the day and now he was upsetting Simon, “You’re gonna be all right,” he whispered, holding John impossibly closer and tighter.
John thought back to when he was younger, he never really brought someone home, never had anyone to bring him. So when he was up against his brother, he could not go back to his room with his partner and ask for reassurance. Instead he found solace else where, in a box, that lived under his bed, where he kept a disassembled sharpener and some bandages. He hated what he had done to himself when he was a teenager, the isolation he brought on himself, when he tried to talk to someone about his brother, they would always reply that ‘that can’t be true. I’m sure he loves you in his own way’.
“I’m sorry,” John managed out in between sobs. If being ignored, belittled and emotionally abused was his way of love, John did not want it. Because he made friends with people who treated him the exact same way, he dated people who would give him the silent treatment. It took until his twenties for the realisation to hit, and that was one of the loneliest nights of his life. Simon held onto John, he appreciated it, the feeling that someone was holding onto him, something stopped him from slipping away.
Time passed, and John just cried. When the realisation set in that this was the first time someone had comforted him about the situation, he let out a sob once again. Eventually he was able to calm down a little more, he opened his eyes to see the sun setting behind the trees, he saw Simon’s hand covering his bloodied own. The guilt was there to stay, his heart twisted as his mind supplied him with the memories of what happened just a couple hours ago, “Fancy talking a little more?” Simon asked, when John’s breathing evened out a little and his sobs became less frequent.
“What is there to talk about?” John huffed.
“How it makes you feel? Why you lost your shit so quickly?” Simon prompted, running his thumb a lot the side of John’s head, and keeping his grip on John’s hand tight, putting and end to John’s assault on his thumb.
“Makes me feel shit,” John muttered hiding his face in Simon’s shoulder, “I hate losing my shit like that,” Simon hummed, he knew how much John’s temper upset him. He did not like the fact he had a short fuse, nor did he like that fact that he would go from one to a hundred in a matter of seconds, they had been trying to work on it over the time they’ve known each other, “He makes me feel thick, like I’m little all over again. He always knew how to make me feel like that, or he always knew how to make me feel useless,”
“What hurts the most, is knowing he knows nothing about me,” John turned his head, looking out to the landscape, “He didn’t know that I used to drink, or that I used to cut myself, he didn’t know anything that I went through. He still doesn’t. He had this version of me in his head, from the shit that he sees or hears. He’s never tried to get to know me, or talk to me, or just be my fucking brother. I did it all, by myself, I didn’t need him then, and I still don’t need him now,” John let the tears fall, “Fuck him for all I care, I’m officially done trying. I said I was gonna stop when I enlisted, but I still had hope…” he took a deep breath, “I’m done, it’s all on him now,”
Simon pressed another kiss on John’s temple, “I dunno how you put up with me,” John muttered, closing his eyes, “I’m just a fucking bomb waiting to go off, all the time,”
Simon’s heart stopped aching, because instead it was replaced with a shattering heart, “Because you're worth it,” Simon said against John’s temple, hoping that it would stick in his mind, “Despite your mood swings, your temper and your ADHD, I love you, and everything that comes with you. I beg that you don’t let that bastard into your head,” Simon moved, resting his forehead gently against the place his lips had just been, “But you need help, actual help. Not just me, or Gaz, or Price,” Simon begged.
John let the words wash over him, he had been waiting over a decade for someone to say it, he knew it was wrong; seeking the validation of others. But for the first time, in a very long time, John felt as if he had been seen by someone, “How the fuck do you know I have ADHD?” John laughed.
Simon snorted, “Because I’ve had conversations with you, you div,”
“Fuck off, you wankstain,” John snickered, gently shoving Simon to one side, rocking with him, “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice losing all drive, “I’ll ring Price up, see what he has to say,” John sat there for a moment, looked at the sun that had almost set on this conversation, “I don’t think I’ll ever get him to take responsibility for what he’s done,” he whispered into the air.
Simon hummed, “Then we find other ways for you to be able to move on with life,” he offered, “That bastard will get what’s coming to him one day, maybe you’ll be able to talk to him about all this, maybe not. We’ll see,” Simon said, pressing a kiss against John’s forehead, “But whatever it is, you’re not alone anymore, you’ve got us,” he promised, holding John tightly.