these hands had to let it go free

by swtinfinity

Summary:

But the silence that day...

The silence that filled the air that day was harder than the fight itself. 

If he thinks about it hard enough he swears he still can see Johnny breathing. Maybe just the slightest rise and fall of his chest, barely there, and barely visible to anyone but someone insane enough to pay that much attention. He thinks he can still feel Johnny's pulse. Faint, light, a flutter, but a hint of life. 

And he wonders if they made the wrong call. He dreams about it. Nightmares of Johnny being buried alive. Johnny being cremated while still fighting to stay alive. He knows it's not sensible. Knows that no one survives that much blood loss, or the injuries Johnny sustained, and if they did, he knows they'd never be the same. But the 'what if' is always stronger than rationality. 

OR
The MWIII fix it: soap lives but goes undercover and the 141 has to learn how to move on
(tags will be updated throughout)

Notes:

hiiii ok so this wasn't supposed to be posted yet, but i realized it's canonically (reboot) soaps death day so i was like yolo lets just post it lol. i wrote this at like 2am so bare with me if there are minor mistakes. this is supposed to be a multi chapter fic which incorporates some elements of the original mw universe so yeah the rest of this fic may take a while for me to write and post. BUT ANYWAYS MORE OF ME YAPPING AT THE END ENJOY THE FICCCCC

title from: this love by taylor swift

Chapter 1: these hands had to let it go free

GHOST

The wind blew through the air, so loudly it almost filled the void beside Ghost. Almost. The bag on his shoulder feels heavier than it should've considering the fact barely anything was in it. Except everything was in it. 

Ghost thinks back to the day in London. The train station, the silence after the battle. The lull after a fight. Usually filled with relief, filled with some kind of hope that maybe they were one more mission away from peace, one more mission away from never having to do this job again. 

But the silence that day...

The silence that filled the air that day was harder than the fight itself. 

If he thinks about it hard enough he swears he still could see Johnny breathing. Maybe just the slightest rise and fall of his chest, barely there, and barely visible to anyone but someone insane enough to pay that much attention. He thinks he could still feel Johnny's pulse. Faint, light, a flutter, but a hint of life. 

And he wonders if they made the wrong call. He dreams about it. Nightmares of Johnny being buried alive. Johnny being cremated while still fighting to stay alive. He knows it's not sensible. Knows that no one survives that much blood loss, or the injuries Johnny sustained, and if they did, he knows they'd never be the same. But the 'what if' is always stronger than rationality. 

It's good for now, Ghost thinks. The voices in his head plaguing him, criticizing his every movement, they fill up the silence. 

He looks beside him. Garrick, and Price. Both still reeling from that day. Both probably still trying to make sense of their new reality. He remembers the days after Johnny. It was like the 141 fell apart, ripped apart at the seams. It wasn't just Johnny who they lost, the fact was that they also lost each other. Johnny would've hated it. Would've hated how they all avoided each other, yet when they had received word that Johnny's ashes would be making it back to them, they all collectively agreed on one last thing. One last mission as the 141. One last mission with the four of them. 

Of course it was unspoken. The fact that the 141 was nothing without Johnny would have made the situation too real. For now it was easier to pretend. To just ignore the absence left by the loudest member of their group, and pretend he was on leave, or a mission. For now. 

Ghost shifts the bag off his shoulder, placing it at the ground by his feet and Garrick's. Slots it right where Johnny would've been. The sun was setting. Oranges, and pinks swirling above the lake they found themselves staring over. It's what Johnny would've wanted. It's what Ghost hopes Johnny would've wanted. 

Price glances over at him. His shoulders are tense, his jaw hardened, eyes flickering back to the horizon. It's time. 

Not yet. He's not ready yet. 

Price doesn't give him the option. The sun is setting, they're running out of daylight. 

"He was the best of us," Price starts. His voice is flat, steady. Probably because he was compartmentalizing. Ghost tries not to let his brain wander and create scenarios that maybe they had all moved on. Maybe he was the only one still stuck in that tunnel. 

"The toughest," Garrick adds. 

Or Price was the anchor they needed. Because unlike Price, Garrick's voice rasps, shakes, like how it did during the debrief, and the endless psych assessments following. It makes Ghost remember that Johnny was gone. He wasn't on some mission, or on leave, because if he was Garrick wouldn't be crying, and they wouldn't be in the middle of Scotland holding a funeral for a man who's ashes had no home except for in a broken task force. 

"He would've fought the world barehanded," Ghost says. Robotic, forced, he couldn't spare any emotions right now. If he lets himself cry, he doesn't think he'll be able to stop. 

Price clears his throat, ready for round two. Garrick clenches his hat in hands. The wind blows stronger. His hood threatens to fly off. Pieces of his blonde hair fall in his face. He looks up at Price, the older man nods.

Ghost reaches down at the bag by his feet. His fingers brush against the cool metal of the urn. It takes him a second to remember he's not wearing his gloves. It takes another second for him to actually fish the urn out of the bag. 

It sits like a weight in his hand, but it feels so light at the same time. Johnny, the man who could fill a room with just his presence reduced to nothing more than grams. It doesn't feel right. Nothing feels right. 

Garrick's hand presses down on the top of the urn, Price joins, grabbing the other side. The latter starts speaking again. Ghost forces himself back to present. 

"Who dares win. Sleep easy soldier," 

"See you down range brother. We'll take it from here," Garrick says.

That hurts Ghost more than he cared to admit. They wouldn't take it from here, he knows that for a fact. He can see that in Garrick's face, in Price's face as they turned to face him. They would go back to base. Go back to doing their own jobs, and try to move on.

He spent the past three weeks fighting with the voices in his head telling him they mistakenly declared Johnny as dead. He had been kept awake by nightmares of it. 

Stage one of grief: Denial.

He learnt that a long time ago. He witnessed people experience it. He thought he had gotten used to death, that he could skip the four stages, and skip right to acceptance.

He hadn't realized he was in denial until Garrick's words shakily and painfully made their way out of his mouth. 

Johnny was gone. 

And no matter how long he spent thinking about it, there was nothing he could do. 

But what he can do right now is send Johnny off the way he would've wanted. In his homeland, the place he always talked so proudly about. It would never be enough, but he could at least do this one thing for him. 

"Rest in peace Johnny," he mumbles. 

He doesn't feel any different after saying it. The black void in his chest is still there, and that horrible silence still lingers. He doesn't feel any different but he thinks he's accepted the reality. Nothing was ever going to be the same again. 

His hands remain on the urn. Clutching tightly, like if he were to let go Johnny would be gone forever. Garrick, and Price both let go, and turn to face him. They were letting him do it. 

He thinks about Las Almas. He remembers the rain, the jokes, the smell of sweat and blood. He remembers the ride to Rudy's safehouse. He remembers pulling the bullet out of Johnny's arm. 

He remembers the feeling of finally letting someone in. Finally letting down his walls, letting Johnny burrow his way into his life. 

But now he knows he's going to remember the feeling of letting go. And he knows that it's going to haunt him forever. 

The urn is cold against his bare hands. He twists the lid, and then swiftly, dumps the ashes into the air. He lets Johnny go. The ashes fall before the wind picks them up. And whatever is left of Johnny flies over his homeland, finally free of whatever shit show was happening in the real world. 

The silence stays, filling the space of all that was unspoken. Ghost looks at the empty urn, and then back at the sky. The wind howls and takes Johnny away.

Chapter 2: only 20 minutes to sleep

Summary:

the tunnel. part 1.

Notes:

heyyyy so remember when i said i feared the ao3 curse and i was gonna write everything out first and then post? yeahhhh so i fear i am a LIAR ! (ao3 curse got me and i am suffering thru a cold or smt rn) but good news ! here's part one of the tunnel (part 2 is written and will be out shortly)

chapter title: epiphany by taylor swift

(tags updated)

"keep your helmet
keep your life son,"

-------

SOAP

3 weeks earlier

The horrible feeling of anxiety that's currently made it's home in Soap's gut seems to calm down when Price pats his shoulder, like how he always does whenever he tries to reassure any of them. It was just another mission. If he followed orders, and stuck close to his captain, he'd be back home this time tomorrow.

Soap finds himself nodding, waiting for his captain's signal.

"Alright, come on," Price mumbles.

Soap falls into place, close beside Price. SFO members follow them too, but at this moment he only really cares about making sure they don't get run over by the trains the Konni were sending through the tunnels every other minute.

He can feel himself detaching from the situation as the adrenaline pumps through his veins. But he still covers Price. He still methodically aims, pulls the trigger, and clears the tunnels. He feels a million years away, but at the same time he feels more locked in than ever.

There are bodies scattered in the ventilation passage they're working through. Price's voice echoes through the silence as he reports to Laswell.

"Ghost, Gaz, what's your status?" Price asks through the comms.

Ghosts voice sounds muffled as he updates Price. Soap's pretty sure he can hear gunfire, can hear Gaz in the background shouting something, and that's enough for him to assume they aren't in the best position at the moment.

His eyes shoot up to glance at Price. The man is staring down the hall, his thoughts are so loud that Soap can practically hear his brain working.

"Give em all you got. We're all leaving here alive," Price says. He states it. Like it was a fact. Like he was confident that this was ending here and now. Soap believes him.

He nods back at his captain. They make their way through a few rooms, free a few more hostages. There's a timer going off in Soap's mind, as the SFO were busy splitting up so they could get the civilians to safety. The constant ticking in his head is starting to drive him crazy. They were moving too slow. They need to move, or Makarov would get away again.

Soap's heart beats rapidly against his chest, but he forces himself to calm down. This was just another mission.

Laswell's voice chimes through his earpiece as they all gather by the crossover door. "That's Makarov's last known position,"

Half the SFO continue with them through more tunnels. Gaz and Ghost's voices come through on the comms. They're so close to finishing this. He's already thinking about how him and Gaz have plans to go to the bar once all of this is over.

If they get lucky, he could convince Ghost to come with them.

But he doesn't have time to think about that right now. His eyes dart around the tunnel, and then he sees it. A bomb.

"Captain," he calls, his voice barely is barely audible over the gunfire. "Konni's guarding a bomb,"

Soap rushes in before the SFO even have time to settle into position. His hands make their way to the bomb. This is what he needed. The wakeup his mind needed, suddenly awake as he works with the bomb, his inner voice sharp and clear as it breaks through the gunfire and shouting behind him.

Two minutes.

If there's one thing Soap knows he's good at, it's disabling bombs in extremly high pressure situations. But this feels like overstimulation from hell. The bullets rush over his head, and he can hear Price calling for backup. Gaz's voice crackles through the comms.

Smoke grenades, Konni, bullets flying his way every other second. He steadies his breathing, focusing on the task in front of him.

"Six, bomb is a two-man job," he can barely hear his voice over the sound of gunfire. Price doesn't turn to acknowledge him. He's still busy trying to deal with the endless swarm of Konni.

The ticking in his mind grows louder. Fuck.

"Captain!" He shouts, trying to draw Price's attention. "We're losing time! I cannae do this alone!"

Fuck. Fucking hell.

Seconds feel like hours, but Price finally joins him by the bomb. He's rambling instructions, trying to make sense of it. If it goes, the tunnel collapses. If the tunnel collapses, they probably don't make it out of here. And with the amount of Konni soldiers lurking, if they get trapped down here, they're probably destined to get picked off one by one.

Soap cuts a wire, the timer resets.

But it still counts down. The ticking in his mind grows louder, drowning out the sound of gunfire. His own thoughts ringing through his ears as he tries to make sense of the bomb in front of him. And then Ghost's voice crackles through. It cuts through everything else, the ticking, the bullets.

"Makarov's coming your way,"

It's not news they wanted, but Ghost is coming. And that's enough for Soap to rewire his own brain, and focus on this fucking bomb. Ghost will cover him. Ghost always covers him.

"I'm not leaving this bomb, Captain," Soap mumbles. Price lets out a grunt of acknowledgement.

Ghost will be here soon. Gaz too.

The gunfire grows louder, and suddenly Soap comes to the realization that it's just him and Price.

Fuck, where are you Ghost?

His mind is back on alert again, and it's like suddenly he can focus on everything but the bomb in his hands. He can't let go either, can't access his gun without compromising all his work. It's him or the bomb at this point, and something in him knows that if this bomb goes off they're all fucked.

He really doesn't care that there's a clear gunfight going on behind him. He doesn't care when the first bullet hits him either, right in the shoulder. He's not leaving this bomb.

Price gets up to cover him, and he's back to working on the bomb himself. Ghost and Gaz are stuck somewhere, which is really not ideal considering the fact that they have literally no backup with them right now, and they're currently under fire so heavy Soap can actually smell the gunpowder.

His shoulder is starting to throb, the bullet is definitely still in there, and he can feel the blood steadily making its way down his back.

"0-7 to Six, we're punching through now," Ghost's voice crackles. Soap lets out what might be considered a sigh of relief. He doesn't have the luxury to bask in it for long. Price slides back into his line of sight.

"What's next, Soap?"

The silence is eerie, considering they had been getting sprayed by gunfire less than maybe thirty seconds ago. He has no idea how Price held them off, but he doesn't have time to think about that. He keeps rambling instructions, buying time, watching as the timer keeps resetting to the two minute mark. It still doesn't feel right, something still lingers in the air, waiting to strike.

The air settles, silence basking over them. And for a split second things seem possible. Until Soap sees him in the corner of his eye. Makarov.

He shoots to his feet, but he's too slow. The bullet pierces through his gut, buries itself on the right side of body. He falls, just beside Price. The older man is calling for him. Everything feels too much. His body burns, shoulder and gut synchronizing in white hot throbs.

Get up MacTavish. Get the fuck up.

Makarov's voice cuts through the fog of pain. "Never bury your enemies alive,"

He can feel his blood pooling under him, and the adrenaline isn't even enough to numb the pain. Yet his body moves. Bravery? Or stupidity? He knows Price is probably going to give him shit for this later, but right now his brain is zeroing in on the very real possibility that all of them are getting blown to hell if he doesn't get Makarov away from Price.

He pushes himself up, grabs his knife, and lunges with everything he has. He gets Makarov in the shoulder, right where his own shoulder is bleeding sluggishly.

Makarov fights back, grabbing his wrist, twisting it painfully, and things slow down for the first time today.

He feels the cold barrel of the pistol press against his skull.

The ticking in his mind stops.

Two gunshots ring.

"Price! Johnny!" Ghost. They made it.

Soap falls.

There's a burning growing on the side of his head. His ear feels like it's been submerged in water. His hand shakily reaches towards his head. It comes back red. Makarov must've fucking shot him right after Ghost or Gaz. He's not sure who shot, but he knows if they had been even a split second later, he'd be dead. He was lucky they had made it when they did, and luckily, the bullet only scraped his skull.

His whole body seems to forget how to work. He's bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds. He can actually smell his own blood pooling underneath him. Blood drips down his temple into his eyes, his mouth, and fucking hell, the ticking in his mind continues.

Right. The bomb.

"Fuckin' hell," someone mumbles. Ghost.

Soap tries to mumble something, but all that comes out is a whine he didn't even know he was capable of making.

He's been shot before. Multiple times. He can remember the last time he was shot. Las Almas. He remembers the growing sting in his arm. How it grew every minute he spent running through the streets. How close he came to throwing in the towel and just lying on the rainy wet cobblestone ready to accept the fact that he'd be dying alone.

But he didn't. Because Ghost was there. Waiting for him. And no one ever really waited for him the way Ghost did.

"Bombs going to blow. We got to go!" Price shouts.

Soap tries to sit up. Pain spreads across his whole torso from his shoulder down to his stomach. He didn't have time to explain what to do before Makarov fucking shot him.

"R'd wires, capt'n." His voice sounds foreign, like it's not even his, and there's a growing ringing in his ears accompanying the ticking that is getting increasingly closer to zero.

Ghost is poking at his stomach, and Soap feels his body slouching onto him. His eyes feel heavy, and Ghost is warm, and he could honestly just fall asleep right here and now. Price and Gaz are talking in the background, trying to figure out what red wires Soap is rambling about, and it's like his internal sense of panic dies down.

And then the gunfire starts again.

"Sit-rep Ghost," Price calls. Soap cracks his eyes open. Price has his gun drawn again, as he tries to work on the endless swarm of Konni. Gaz perched beside him. Bullets fly overhead.

Ghost works silently, but Soap can sense something shift. It's not even just Ghost. It's Gaz. It's Price. It's Laswell's voice through the comms telling them they have to fucking move.

"He's losing a lot of blood," Ghost mumbles. Soap can't even try and argue that he's fine because he knows he's really not. Instead he lets himself melt into Ghost even further.

"Shit! I'm hit!" Gaz shouts.

There's a flurry of activity coming through the comms. Laswell's voice is shouting instructions. Words that seem to just shift in and out of Soap's hearing. There's not enough time to cut the red wires. Not with Gaz hit, and not while they're currently covered by a few crates and getting sprayed with an endless amount of bullets.

"Ghost! Grab him! We have to move now!" Price shouts.

"Come on Johnny. You're alright," Ghost says, hauling Soap to his feet. The world sways, and the ground beneath them is slick with red.

The ticking seems to intensify, and Soap realizes it's not the same ticking that's been driving him crazy ever since they stepped into these tunnels. It's the bomb.

If he thought lunging after Makarov was hard, summoning the strength to get up, and help Ghost haul his broken body out of there was harder. And he can barely feel his legs sluggishly carrying him. Most of his weight is being carried by Ghost.

Soap can see the blooming spot of red just under Gaz's vest. Like where Makarov had shot him. It's almost comical. Both of them shot in the same spot, yet Soap feels like he's weighing Ghost down significantly more than Gaz is weighing down Price.

The bomb is going to go off soon. Soap knows that. He knows when the bomb hits the ten second mark. Price and Gaz have already taken cover in an adjacent tunnel. They're already braced for the shock waves. Him and Ghost though, they're caught right in the blast radius.

Soap saw how much C4 was attached to the bomb. He also knows that he's slowing the two of them down, and if Ghost doesn't fucking leave him behind they're both dead.

But Ghost doesn't let go. Not even when Soap tries to worm himself out of Ghost's grip. Instead his LT just grips tighter as they continue stumbling towards safety.

And they're so close.

Ghost is so close.

In another act of bravery, or stupidity, or whatever will be written in his eulogies, he breaks out of Ghost's grip. Time freezes for a second, and he can see confusion written all over Ghost's face, seeping through his mask. Soap sees when it shifts, to realization.

Soap shoves Ghost, towards Price. He sees his captain reach out for his LT, grabbing him, pulling him behind cover. Soap hears the bomb go off, and somehow manages to scramble towards his friends, his family.

Soap feels the debris hit him, before hands grab him and pull him behind cover. He's certain he's bleeding even more. He's surprised there's even blood still left in him.

The world spins, black dots flashing in his vision. He feels someone, working on one of the many injuries that currently cover his body like a bloody blanket of torn up flesh.

"Bloody hell, Johnny," Ghost mumbles, voice soft but Soap can hear the slightest bit of shakiness. It hits him deep. Ghost seems rattled almost. And Ghost never gets rattled, or at least he never shows it.

Soap wants to try and reach out, tell his LT that he's fine. Calm him down like how Ghost's presence is better than any pain medication. He doesn't really feel the white hot agony lacing his various injuries anymore, just Ghost.

There's a ringing growing in his ear, drowning out everyone but Ghost. "Come on Johnny. Stay awake for us- for me,"

He wants to. He wants to keep his eyes open because he knows sleeping right now is probably not the best idea.

Somewhere in the distance the sound of guns return, and if he was slightly more coherent he'd be reaching for his gun. Instead he tries reaching for Ghost.

Soap's eyes are growing heavy. He can feel Ghost shaking him. Can hear multiple voices shouting for him, but he focuses on Ghost. Focuses on the hands pressing down on his stomach wound, focuses on how much warmth a man who dresses like a skeleton can give off.

In Las Almas, he bled out on cobblestone. Alone.

In London, he bled out on cobblestone. This time he wasn't alone. But this time, he let his eyes shut.

 

-------

"just a flesh wound,
here's your rifle,"

 

Notes:

i've already written the next 2 chapters so i thought i'd just drop this early cuz like why not lol

tyyy for reading !! next part will be out soon <3

Chapter 3: i'd reach into your body and fix you if i could

Summary:

the tunnel. part. 2

Notes:

heres part 2 of the tunnel !!! i feel like part 1 is more trojan horse and this is blood brothers at least that's how i tried to pace it. anyways more notes at the end hope yall enjoy :))

chapter title: waco, texas by ethel cain

"i never meant to hurt you but somehow i knew i would
will it be like this forever? forever?"

-------

GHOST

Ghost knew in his gut that something wasn't right about this mission, yet he still let Soap go with Price. He trusted Price, but it was always him with Johnny. It had been that way ever since Las Almas. And it was that way for a reason. Because they had grown so closely tied to one another to the point where they were basically reading each others minds.

Ghost knows when Johnny's eyes flutter shut that they're running out of time. He can practically feel Soap slipping out of his grasp. Garrick's also hit, which doesn't make things easier, but he's still able to shoot, despite the very obvious amount of blood running down his side.

"Captain! We're running out of time!" Ghost shouts. Price and Gaz are too occupied to think right now, so it's up to him. How the hell do they make it out of here?

"0-7 to Watcher, we need med-evac and a way out of here," Ghost says, praying that Laswell can summon a miracle out of thin air, because somehow she was always capable of that.

"Garage ahead, leads to a service tunnel. I can send more SFO in," Laswell says. Her voice is calm, but there's edge to it. She knows. Time is not in their favour at all.

"Ghost! I'm empty! Switch with me and cover us!" Price calls.

The Konni are still swarming the area, and Ghost knows he has to move, but he looks down. His hands are stained red with Johnny's blood, and the man under him is stirring again. A small flicker of hope ignites in his chest. They just have to move.

It's selfish as hell, but Ghost doesn't want to leave Johnny with Price. He needs to know that Johnny's still breathing, that his sergeant is still alive. But they're losing time, and he knows that Johnny's chances of survival increase dramatically if he gets up and does what Price is telling him to do.

His hands leave Johnny's body, and he reaches for his gun. Price hauls Johnny up, and the younger man snaps awake. Ghost can basically feel the pain radiating from Johnny as he lets out the most heart-wrenching whine, and keels over, folding into their captain.

The spray of gunfire in their direction allows Ghost to detach from the situation behind him. He aims, pulls the trigger, repeats. Konni are coming at them in waves. He has Garrick beside him too, but Ghost can feel him crashing.

"Garrick, go with Price!" He shouts, over the gunfire. Garrick hesitates, glancing over at Ghost like he's been told to walk into the gunfire, but his expression hardens in a split second.

"Copy, sir,"

Ghost watches as Garrick shakily stands up, hands clutching the gunshot wound. The blood is still steadily leaking out. Garrick frowns, like he had expected the wound to have stopped bleeding. Ghost knows the bullets still in there too, and he's coming to terms that it's becoming very likely that they'll be hauling two broken sergeants out of here.

He's just finishing off the last of the Konni, when Price actually yells at him through the comms to make his way to the garage.

Good timing too, he knows he's low on ammo, and he really does not want to be stuck here alone when the next batch of Konni's circle through.

He tries not to focus on the edge in Price's voice. His captain was usually steady like an unmovable object, yet the way Price sounded through the comms could've been someone else entirely.

The pavement is slick with blood. Soap's and Garrick's combined probably. It's dangerous if more Konni come around, which is inevitable at this point. A trail, straight to their escape route. There's actually a disturbing amount of blood coating Ghost's clothes too, and at this point he's too pumped on adrenaline to notice whether any of it is actually his.

He pushes his way into the garage, and immediately feels something shift. He slides a crate in front of the door. Garrick helps him, as they continue piling random crates, and barrels in hopes of creating a barricade, but Ghost notices the other man is moving slower than earlier.

And Ghost watches as Garrick's knees buckle. The sergeant reaches out blindly and grabs onto the makeshift barricade. Ghost opens his mouth to speak, call Price, but Gaz just lowers himself onto a crate and waves his hand out at Ghost.

"I'll be fine," he mutters through gritted teeth. He's peeling up his shirt, trying to examine the wound. "Go help Soap,"

"Pack your wound, sergeant," Ghost orders. It comes out sharp, choppier than he intends it too, but anxiety is twisting around him, suffocating him and trapping him in a state of pure adrenaline. Garrick, being the loyal soldier he is, nods and accepts whatever medical supplies Ghost can offer to spare.

Ghost turns to Price. The captain has Johnny sprawled out on a workbench. There's blood dripping onto the floor, and in the dim lighting Johnny already looks like a corpse.

"Put pressure on the wound! Ghost!" Price calls. Panic laces his voice. Like how it sounded over the comms earlier. Ghost steps forward, his hands pressing onto Johnny's hip. Johnny doesn't even react. His hands gripping onto their captain's wrists. "Come on, stay with me son,"

"Status on the SFO captain?" Ghost asks. Price shakes his head. Ghost doesn't push any further.

His hands are slick with blood. His eyes glance back up at Price, who is definitely panicking now. There's blood coating the captains clothes, his hands, his face. It's even in his moustache.

Ghost's heart sinks a little further when he sees that Price also got hit. His shoulder.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Ghost snaps. Price looks up, he glances down at his shoulder, shrugs.

"Watcher, this is 0-7, status?" Ghost says.

"SFO located another bomb," Laswell's voice says. Ghost can picture her. Brows furrowed, lips drawn into a thin line. Her voice says it all. They're fucked.

"Fuckin' hell," Ghost whispers.

"You need to get out. Now. SFO are reporting more Konni. They can't get to you,"

Ghost's heart sinks. Drops right out of his chest and buries it's way into the garage's concrete floor. There's no way Price is going to be able to manage dragging a grown man's body weight out of here with one shoulder while having to fight probably a couple more dozen Konni soldiers. There's no way Gaz is going to be able to push himself much further. So that leaves him.

"Looking like you're going to have to fight your way out of there," Laswell adds. 

Ghost glances up at Price, who glances over at Gaz. Something silent passes between them. They both know they're fucked. And if that bomb goes off, they'll be stuck here even longer. 

"Price," Soap mumbles. "Capt'n." He grasps at Price, trying to get the mans attention. 

"Not now Johnny. Just rest," Ghost mumbles. Price is mumbling something into the comms. Ghost can't hear him. All he hears is Johnny still trying to get their captain's attention, and the blood rushing under skin. 

"Capt'n," Johnny tries again, his voices rasps, and Price finally, turns to face Johnny's broken body.

Price grabs onto one of Johnny's hands.

"Ye have tae... ye have tae leave me behind," 

Ghost can't find his voice, can't tell Johnny to shut the hell up before Johnny goes limp in Price's arms and for just one second Ghost feels like everything has stopped. Price freezes too, and the two of them just stand there over Johnny's body like the world just got plunged into a nuclear winter.

Price moves first, grabbing onto Johnny's vest, shaking his lifeless body. "Oh, no. Soap, no, no!" 

Ghost can't even move. His hands falling to his side, still wet with blood. Johnny's blood. There's just no way Johnny is dead, when he was just breathing a second ago. But he stares at the body in front of him. Too still, too pale. He's seen plenty of dead bodies and something in him shatters, because he knows the man he's looking at right now meets every criteria of a dead body.

"Boys you need to move. Now," Laswell's voice chimes again. 

"We can't just leave him in here," Garrick chimes, angrily. He stumbles to the table, fumbles for Johnny's wrist. 

It takes him a second, but Ghost sees Garrick's face fall. He leans against the table, his legs barely working. 

Ghost grabs onto Johnny's wrist. Tries to will some sort of pulse into existence, but he's not sure if he's feeling Johnny's or his own.

"Laswell, make sure someone comes back for him," Price mumbles. Ghost's eyes snap up. He wants to throttle his captain, force some kind of sensibility into the man.

Leave Johnny.

There was no way he was serious. 

"I promise I'll get someone in there as soon as it's clear," Laswell says. "Now, go,"

"I'm sorry," Price mumbles. He reaches for his pistol. Places it on Johnny's too still body. 

Ghost can't bring himself to snap out of it. His eyes are still trained on Johnny's chest. Waiting for some sign of life. He thinks he can see it rising, faintly, but Garrick is a mess, and Price looks like he's shut everything out. 

"Ghost, take Gaz," Price orders. "I'll take point,"

He makes his way to the door to the service tunnel. Kicks it open too aggressively for someone who's fine with the situation. 

"Ghost, he can't be serious-" Garrick starts.

Ghost doesn't respond, just looks down at Johnny's body one last time. He pushes everything aside. Tries to separate Johnny from the body on the table. 

"We got to go!" Price shouts. 

He locks his thoughts and all his emotions in the furthest part of his mind. Everything that still binds him to Simon Riley. He chains and barricades the gate, so they can't get out until he's sure he's safe and alone. And then he grabs Garrick's arm, hauls it around his shoulders, and pulls the sergeant out of there, despite the younger mans protests.

The service tunnel is quiet. Just two and a half sets of footsteps hustling down the hall. Garrick's crashing, Ghost can tell he's starting to struggle to carry his weight, as the sergeants body slowly betrays him with every drop of blood that leaks out of the wound.

Ghost can feel the emotions he trapped trying to leak out. With every step he takes, the further away Johnny is. It doesn't help that there's a silence looming overhead, masked by the sounds of all their panting, and scattered footsteps. 

The walk is so goddamn long, Ghost wishes they had cart from earlier. Would've helped them get Soap out of there too. But things are really not going their way today. Laswell's directing them through the comms, they should be out of here soon enough. 

His mind wanders back to Johnny, and Simon Riley starts to fight the barricaded locks Ghost in place. The fist crack begins to form when Garrick stumbles, and Ghost is able to see his red rimmed eyes coated with anger. 

Anger pointed right at their captain. Garrick is Price's favourite. Him and Johnny always talked about that. Whatever Price did, Garrick followed. And Price usually let Garrick get away with stuff. If he was a few minutes late to a debrief, Price let it slide. 

But the way Garrick glares at Price was enough for Simon Riley to punch a crack in the barricades. Nothing was ever gonna be the same again. All of them were going to be changed and tethered to this moment. Forever.

As they near the station entrance, Ghost can hear the distant sounds of gunfire. Price is ahead of them, covering them, and Ghost is barely sure he's able to shoot right now. At least somewhat accurately. He's starting to take more and more of Garrick's weight and it's only a matter of time now before Garrick's body fails him. 

Price kicks a door down. The gunfire grows louder. They've made it. 

It's a blur of bullets, and shots but they make it out. They board a vehicle. Garrick and Price get tended too. Ghost stares out the window as they drive off. The SFO are clearing out. Most of the fighting is over, both sides falling back for now.

Simon Riley punches through a second time. The bolts loosen, the thoughts start squeezing their way out.

It's quiet. So quiet. And it's not like the kind of silence that follows after a normal mission. This one looms over them, heavy and painful. Ghost waits for Johnny's voice to break through. To lighten the mood. But it never comes.

Because Johnny is in the bottom of the train station. Alone. 

He knows Laswell will get him out. He knows her well enough at this point to know she cares about all of them probably a little too much for her own good. And like how Garrick is Price's favourite, Johnny is-was, Laswell's favourite.

But that doesn't stop his mind. The only think he can really think about right now is how Johnny could be waiting for him. Like how he did in Las Almas. 

The silence is a painful reminder of what happened. And he wonders if he'll feel this horrible forever.

-------

'"i'd reach into your body and fix you if i could
will i feel like this forever? forever?"

 

Notes:

ok so i HAD the next chapter ready and spoiler: i was gonna include yuri and then i realized he's already in the reboots??? so i gotta rewrite some stuff (maybe unless i wanna have anothe yuri in this universe and i'm still thinking abt that) and i have one more exam, so the next chapter will probably be out within the next week maybe ??

before the next few chapter i should just disclose that gaz is literally my fave from the reboots and as i was writing / planning the next few chapters i ended up giving him a much larger arc than planned so !!! but i think it'll tie into ghosts storyline too, and then i felt bad for leaving price out so ummm this is becoming much larger than i planned it to but yay more content??

anyways thank you for reading and all ur kudos !! see yall next chapter whenever that might be :)) <3

Notes:

as mentioned above this is meant to be a multi chapter fic but ive been so busy with school and because i fear the ao3 curse i wanted to have it all prewritten before posted ADDITIONALLY i still have a ton of research to do for this fic soooo hopefully i can get the rest of this out AFTER finals but tyyyy for reading anyways !!

also quick side note: im using ghosts og mw lore just cuz thats the ghost i grew up with and know. i've played the multiplayer campaign? mw3 with my brother and would ALWAYS watch him play back in the day so thats where im getting most of my info from. BUT i do want this fic to be as accurate to canon as possible so i am doing my research :))))

very excited for this fic lets hope i dont end up abandoning it !!