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“I need you to listen to me, Johnny,” He says, “Really listen.”
He opens his eyes to blur. Not that surprising considering the pain that was wracking through his whole body along with the heavy, fuzzy feeling. What had happened?
Memories flash in his mind. Information retrieval mission. An explosion. Ghost fighting his way to get to him and Price spitting venom at the people who held them both down. Dark laughter. A plunge into his neck followed by darkness.
“Look who’s awake,” A voice says. There’s an American undertone to it and it’s strangely familiar. Soap blinks a couple of times. Then he sees the face of a man that he shouldn’t. Graves.
His shock must be prevalent on his face as the man in front of him smiles and let’s out a chuckle. How the hell was he still alive. “What? Seen a ghost there, Johnny?” he asks, adding on, “Oh, not the one that’s your little boy toy.”
“Graves,” He snarls back.
“In the flesh. You didn’t think I’d be dumb enough to put myself in a tank on a base that has c4 all around, right? Not with you being a demolitions expert and all. Speaking of which, pretty neat trap right?”
He remembers it vaguely. They had walked into the room and went for the computer sitting on the desk. Now that he thinks of it, it did seem a little too easy.
“Gaz, how we looking?” Price had asked. The sergeant that was in a sniping position in the distance didn’t respond. As soon as Soap open the computer, a click sounded in the distance causing his heart to drop. He only had enough time to tackle both Price and Ghost onto the ground when the hallway they just came from blew up.
He brings himself back to the present, giving the man in front of him his best glare. Graves only smiled back. “You’re going to die for this, Graves,” He growls. The grin falls from his face.
“You first.”
He leaves the room, then. Soap desperately tries to look around for any type of way to escape. The chair they have him in is metal, wouldn’t break if he flung himself backwards and would make way too much noise. He could feel the handcuffs digging into his wrist. Maybe if he found something, he could pick the lock.
His eyes scan the room again. Specifically the table in front of him that has a bunch of tools on it dedicated to torture. Bingo. A flathead screwdriver. He inches as close as he can without making much noise.
“You’re going to teach me how to what?” Soap asks incredulously.
Ghost stands in front of him, jaw tight under his balaclava as he stares at the sergeant. His shaking hands were in his lap. The sun has set long ago so the only light filtering into the bunk was from the small lamp in the corner. The clock read “1 am.”
“I’m going to teach you how to survive being buried alive.”
“Why?”
Ghost looks away from him, his eyes unfocusing for a moment before he clenches his fist and comes back. He swallows, “Because it’s good to know.”
Before he could even reach it, the door opens again and this time two men come in. Shepherd being one. His blood burned hot at the sight of the man that caused him all the shit he endured after his betrayal. Graves looks over to the table and shakes his head, saying, “Nice try, Johnny. Too bad your time is up.”
They step near him and he fights every bone in his body trying to tell him to jump away. He’s able to fight it until they’re undoing the ties on his ankles that were keeping him in the hair. “Get the fuck away from me,” He spits.
Cold metal rests on his forehead with the sound of a click. He registers quickly that it was a gun. Shepherd stares down at him, gaze hard. “I wouldn’t do that,” He warns, “Otherwise, you may end up with a hole in your head.”
Afterwards they haul him to his feet, dragging him though the dark building. It reeked of mold and death. The gun was still resting on his temple.
They lead him to a door and he’s immediately assaulted by the bright sunlight when it’s opened. He squints against it. The cool air blows through his sweat soaked hair as his boots now dig into dirt and he gets a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Never in his times of being tortured have his captors ever decided to bring him out into the open world.
Once his eyes adjust he finds himself staring at a group of shadows a little big off in the distance. They were by a pile of dirt. And a hole in the ground.
Upon seeing this he tries to fight back against the men grabbing him. Getting shot in the head is quick. Whatever this was, made bile form in his stomach. Shepherd shot the gun at the ground in front of him, a warning to behave. He freezes, trying to slow his heart rate.
“I heard a rumor you wanted to be like Ghost,” Shepherd states, “That can be arranged.”
They make it to the hole and to Soap’s horror there it was. A coffin within it. They were going to bury him alive. As soon as the cuffs are off of him, he throws a punch at Shepherd in an attempt to grab the gun. It lands right where he wants. But as soon as his hands touch the blessed object, he’s shoved. And he’s falling.
For a good amount of time, actually.
His head hits wood. Hard. He tries to sit up but then the sun that was there just a second ago is gone, leaving him in the darkness. Panic rises in him. He starts pushing and banging on the lid. It doesn’t falter. Voices above him were complaining, something about hurrying up.
The sound of dirt hitting the lid causes ice to fill his whole body and it just doesn’t stop as the top gets heavier, and heavier. It gets to the point where the top won’t budge. The voices were long gone. His heart thumps out of his chest as his demise settles onto him at an alarming pace.
“First things first: don’t panic. Panicking will decrease the amount of oxygen you have due to how quickly you’re breathing. Calm yourself.”
Ghost’s voice suddenly says in his head. He closes his eyes, despite the fact that it’s just as dark when they’re open. The panic seeps away.
“Good, Johnny. You only have about an hour of air, two if you’re lucky. You’re going to want to breathe in through your nose, out through you mouth slowly. Hold it in between for as long as possible. This will give you more time.”
“You done this before?” He chuckles into the darkness.
“Don’t make any noise if you can. Takes up oxygen.”
He feels like he’s lost it, as he’s talking talking to a fake Ghost in his head from a conversation they had months ago at this point. But yet, he listens. He breathes in through his nose, holding his breath after.
“Good lad. It’s going to be dark and you can’t light a match or anything. It’ll burn through your time. Run your hands along the top of the coffin, what does it feel like? Is it wood? If it is, give it a push. If it’s old, it may break easy. That’s the best case scenario. If it’s felt, you’re proper screwed and will have to try to conserve oxygen until I come find you. And don’t be mistaken, I will find you.”
A flash of the protectiveness on in brown eyes flashed at the last part of that sentence. He wants to drown in it. But still, he cant. Soap listens, still holding his breath. He’s already determined that it is in fact, wood. He moves onto the next step, planting his hands firmly on the lit and giving a slight push. It creaks in response. Yes, the wood isn’t too sturdy. They probably made it themselves rather than gone to an actual coffin maker. If they had, he’s sure he’d be fucked. He almost lets out a sound of relief but decides against , instead choosing to breath out slowly. He holds for a moment or two before repeating before, breathing in through his nose and holding it in.
“You’re doing so good, Johnny. You might just survive.”
He supposes he can’t blame himself for this. Everyone has their coping mechanisms, his just happens to be hearing the voice of his lieutenant that he also may or may not be in love with.
“Focus, Soap. Your next step is to try and cover your nose and mouth with anything you can find. A shirt works perfectly fine.”
He grabs at his t-shirt that was now starting to get wet with not only the blood from his injuries but the sweat at the heat around him. He tries not to focus on the sensation. The hot, tight air around him may cause him to freak out again if he does.
He maneuvers the shirt off of him. The wood splinters into his arms as they knock into the walls of the coffin. He lets out a breath.
He continues doing what was instructed, not breathing until he couldn’t anymore. He sucks in air through his nostrils once again.
“I’m so proud of you. I’ll owe you some scotch after this one for a job well done. Wrap the shirt around the lower half of your face and tie it in the back. It blocks the dirt from getting in so you’re not swallowing any. Wouldn’t fancy a mud-pie while trying to get topside, now would we?”
He places the shirt on his face, the smell of earth replaced with the irony smell of blood along with the musk from his own sweat. Lifting his head he ties a knot on the back.
“Good, Johnny. Now find something to help you break through… if there’s another body with you use it’s jawbone.
There’s a long pause afterward in like there had been when they actually had this conversation. He remembers it so vividly. The way Ghost’s knuckles had clenched until they were white and how his eyes seemed to get classy.
He breathes out.
His lungs were burning and his head was starting to feel woozy from the irregularity of his breathing. Most likely with how hard his head had cracked against the wood also.
“If there’s not, find something else. Something that will help you pierce through the wood. Metal is your best option.”
He pats along his person, finding nothing as he was stripped from all of his gear. Panic starts to come back to him but he takes a deep breath in, trying not to let it consume him. His hands brush against a coldness. His belt.
“Good man. That’ll do.”
He slips the belt off of his waist, wrapping it along his hands. He adjusts it so that the metal part rests against his knuckles. A clock ticks somewhere. About thirty minutes have passed, most likely.
“Hit it with as much strength as you can and don’t stop until you hear a crack.”
Soap winds his fist back as much as he can. Then, punches. Metal digs into his skin. It hurts. But the wood seems to protest against it. He keeps punching with gentle praises in his ear as he does so.
All of the pent up anxiety goes into those hits, desperation clawing at him as the clock ticks louder in his head. He can’t tell if his vision blurs but he can tell he’s crying as his cheeks feel wet. Hot tears trail back to his ears. He grits his teeth.
—
Ghost wakes up again to the smell of smoke in his nose. He blinks. There’s hands on him with screaming, telling him he needs to move. He allows himself to be pushed up onto his feet, stumbling away from the heat that surrounds him.
Once out into the daytime air, he starts to come back to himself. The last time he was awake, it was early morning. So what changed? His memory comes rushing back to him and the last thing he saw was Soap’s limp body being dragged away.
“Johnny,” He says, twirling around. Price is with him, soot covering his face. Gaz is making his way over to them, rubbing at his neck with a wince. But no Soap.
He’s about to open his mouth when a voice crackles into his ear, “Long time, no see, boys.”
Graves. They all look at each other, eyes wide with shock and terror. Price grabs at his coms, snapping, “Graves, you bloody bastard. I’ll gut you like a fish when I fuckin’ find you. Count on that.”
“No time for that, Captain,” He laughs, “In fact, there’s hardly any time left at all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, you ugly lapdog?”
“You’re missing a member, aren’t you?”
They look around, helplessly again. Anger burns through Ghost at an alarming rate. They took Johnny and now Graves is up to his typical talking in circles bullshit. “Where is he?” Ghost now demands, Gaz flinching at his tone.
“Oh, hey Ghost. Missing your little quote unquote friend?”
“Enough with the bullshit. Where is he?”
“You could say he’s long gone and buried. ”
The world stops. It quite actually stops. His nightmare from so long ago burns behind his eyes, Johnny clawing at the lid of a coffin and screaming for Simon to help him. Ghost couldn’t. He was in his own right next to him. He tried desperately to tell him what to do but the man for some reason couldn’t hear him. This went on until the scratching had stopped and he turned to the side, finding the body that was there before was now replaced by Johnny’s.
He had woken up with a cry, drenched in sweat. He sat there, sobbing until he couldn’t anymore and made his way towards his friend’s room. The man had looked at him with annoyance that bled into confusion as Ghost told him exactly how to survive.
He really hopes Johnny listened.
“How about this?” Graves speaks again, “I’ll give you the coordinates to where he’s at. I’m feeling a little generous. That way, you guys can have his body when you find him and do whatever it is that his little heart has planned out. Burn him, bury him again— I really don’t care. I got my revenge.”
Ghost doesn’t think he’s ever seen Price drive this fast in his life but he still wants him to drive faster. Gaz clutches on the back seat, eyes wide. He feels the eldest in the car looking at him every once in a while, checking to see how he’s doing. But in all honesty?
He’s numb. Trapped in his own mind at the idea of Soap going through exactly what he had, except this time not making it. He remembers the smell of the earth and death in his nose. The feel of ripping a jawbone off of someone.
This car needs to move faster.
—
Eventually the wood cracks.
It fully breaks with one last strike. Dirt comes piling in at a rapid pace after that. Soap can’t help the shocked sound that comes from him when it happens.
“Johnny! Push it towards your fuckin’ feet!”
Ghost’s voice in his head is urgent. It springs him into action and he’s rapidly pushing the dirt away from him towards the end of the casket.
“Start to slowly stand and continue to push the dirt into the coffin. This will be the part that sticks with you the most, it’s going to be a fight after this.”
He does so, finding relief as he pushes himself up and his bones pop. There’s still earth all around him, though. It reminds him that he’s very much not out of the water yet as it piles at his ankles. He digs, heaving the dirt into the hole behind him as he pushes himself up against the pressure trying to weigh him down.
He’s pulling, pushing, anything to hoist himself upwards. He feels the grit on his whole body, leaking into his pants and resting underneath his nail beds. Hell, even in his eyes. He tastes it.
Brown surrounds him. It reminds him of the color of Simon’s eyes, the ones that he finds himself getting lost in on a daily basis and he hopes that this brown won’t plague them. He wants to live. He wants to get out.
“Keep fighting, Johnny. I will find you.”
His lungs burn. He can’t breathe.
He wants to feels the sun’s warmth rather than the cool that he feels right now. The one that’s chilling to his bone and reminds him of the cold grip of death. He continues to push, making choked out sounds as he does so. The tears leak from his eyes at a much more alarming rate. The dirt starts to feel warmer.
—
Price hardly gets to stop the car before both of the boys are jumping out. He’s hot on their trail. Ghost is running faster than he’s ever seen him run before, towards they don’t even know what.
They come upon a wooden cross with the words, “Here Lies Johnny” carved into it and he wants to yet again rip out Graves’ throat and then burn him alive at the obvious mocking of Ghost. The ground was collapsing in front of it.
He watches the lieutenant drop to his knees, ripping off the mask and digging through the quickly moving dirt. Both of the other men come up to help. The do this until they see a bloodied fist poke out of the earth, moving frantically to push through. Ghost reaches down, grabbing the hand and tugging the person out with as much strength as he could.
The figures collapse into each other, causing the blond to fall straight on his ass and pull the Scot the rest of the way out with a loud groan. Soap claws at the shirt on his face, taking a loud gasp for air once it’s off. Gaz and Price hover as Simon pulls the man into his chest, wrapping protective arms around him.
“Simon,” Soap whispers, “Simon.”
He was bloodied, shirtless, and caked with the dirt that they had just pulled him out of. Soon enough he grabs at Simon frantically, breaking out into loud sobs that shook his gritted body.
In their time in the SAS, they’ve seen plenty of men break. But never Soap. The man usually gets through cracking jokes as if nothing had happened with loud laughter coming from him. Or he gets angry then gets even. Never this. Price’s heart breaks.
“I remembered,” Soap sobs. A belt covered in blood falls from his fist, hitting the floor with a loud clank. Simon’s rocking him back and forth, tears in his own eyes as he breathes in shakily.
“I know, Johnny. I’m so proud of you. You did so good. You’re still here. I got you. You’re alive, alright?” Simon mumbles, fear in his eyes turning into anger as he glares at the collapsed grave.
Then, a chilling sentence comes from him, “You’re not dead, Johnny. You’re not dead.”
Price remembers back to the one night Ghost had told him about being buried alive. About how he still has nightmares to this day about it. The carving in the cross is louder than the the cries coming from their demolitionist. It’s a mocking, all right.
How Graves found out about it? He’s not sure they’d ever know. Probably from some files that Shepherd had or something but it’s obvious that this wasn’t just revenge on Soap. It was also on Ghost.
Price makes his way over to the cross, kicking it out of the ground before taking out a match and lighting it on fire. As if it being nothing but ash could protect his boys from the trauma just bestowed upon them with this petty ploy.
“I got you, Johnny,” Simon mumbles, “You’re alright.”
On the plane ride home, Soap doesn’t say a word. He’s sat, pressed into Ghost’s side with wide eyes as he stares at the ground. His knuckles were a couple shades lighter from how tightly he clutched the blanket around his shoulders and jumped at every little touch.
Ghost kept his now masked forehead pressed into the side of his head, running his hands through his gross hair as he spoke silent appraises to him. Gaz kept shooting worried looks over at Price, glassiness in his eyes at the way that Soap looked so vacant from his body.
Suddenly, the Scot shot up like the room was on fire. He throws the blanket off of him as if it burns, backing up and running his hands along his bare upper torso that heaved with effort. People rushed to grab him but he jumped back from the touch. Tears fell from his eyes again.
Ghost stands, yelling, “Stop!”
The commanding tone has everyone backing off from the man towards where Gaz and Price stood helplessly. He makes his way over to Soap, not touching him, “You’re okay, Johnny. We’re on our way back home.”
His voice was gentle but there was a deep pain underneath. Price wanted to jump in. But he knew that the only person that could get him back to them was the only other person on this aircraft that’s been through the exact same thing. As Ghost continues to ground him, he watches Soap’s eyes become less clouded and frantic before the exhaustion sets back in.
———
Two weeks. Ghost hasn’t seen Johnny in two whole weeks. One week was spent with him in medical while the other was because the man didn’t want to be around anyone. He’s tried but he’s only gotten himself pushed away.
It scares him.
It reminds him of him.
Price has ordered that Soap starts going to counseling but he had refused to go, apparently saying he just needs a moment to get his head back on straight. Ghost comes to his room every night, knocking to only hear the voice inside telling him to go away. But he can’t let this happen to him. Not his Johnny.
Not the man that lights up every room he’s in with just one smile. Not the man that can crack a joke and make even him, the most prickly motherfucker of them all, feel better. So he doesn’t knock this time. He just walks in.
Probably a huge breach of privacy and exactly the opposite of what you’re supposed to do but the panic was starting to swallow him whole. He pictured Johnny with rage behind his eyes and nightmares plaguing his existence, leaving him to be nothing but a dead man walking. It just couldn’t happen.
Soap sits up from his bed, furrowing his eyebrows at Ghost in contempt. Anger. Misplaced but a shield. “The fuck do you want, Lt?” He grumbles, falling back onto the mattress and under the blankets.
“Not this,” Ghost says, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed but enough space away to where they’re not touching. He wants to apologize. They did this to Johnny because of him and now his worst nightmare is coming true. Soap becoming him.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Exactly what I said. I don’t want this for you,” He responds, ever so patiently. He could be the caring hand for Johnny that he never got. He could tear the rest of him from that grave. He has to.
“Well,” He sighs, “It already happened. Didn’t it?”
Despite the mess of the room, the Scot is completely clean. In fact, his hair is wet. Ghost remembers how many showers he has to take sometimes. But the feeling of dirt never seems to leave you completely; invading your every pore and pouring into your lungs.
“Yeah, it did.”
Ghost breathes in. He can’t be Ghost for this, he has to be Simon. So, he slowly takes off the mask before placing a tentative hand on Johnny’s ankle, squeezing slightly. The brunet visibly relaxes at the touch. “Johnny,” Simon whispers, “Look at me.”
Soap groans, sitting up aggressively before halting totally. His eyes soften at his face just like they did in Las Almas the first time he had showed his face. That time feels so long ago now. Simon picks up the mask, plopping it into Johnny’s lap. Blue eyes rake over it in confusion.
“I don’t want that to be you,” He starts. Johnny redirects his puzzled face from the fabric and the skull to him instead.
He shakes his head continuing, “What happened to you is what turned me into that. Ghost was born when Simon died in the very grave I was buried in and I haven’t been fully able to get him back since, even with your best efforts.”
The expression on Soap’s face changes into realization along with something close to sympathy but not quite. He frowns. “Lt-“
“I’m not finished. When I told you I wanted you to be better than me, Johnny, I meant it. I still do. You’re isolating yourself from everyone that cares about you and letting your anger take over. You’re acting like me. Which, trust me, is golden coming from the man himself but I can’t let it happen to you. They did this to you because they wanted to hurt us. They wanted you dead and for me to feel like it was my fault. But you’re still here.”
He turns, scooting closer to Soap. Soap who’s slowly falling apart with every word that tumbles from his mouth. He places a hand on his thigh, repeating, “You’re still here. You clawed your way out of that grave and you’re back on solid land. You didn’t die.”
Johnny stares at his hand before slowly bringing his teary gaze up to his lieutenant, trying to swallow away the emotion on his face. It doesn’t work. He feels fingers land on where they were connected.
He nods, sighing out unevenly, “I’m still here.”
“Thatta boy, Johnny.”
It’s silent between them. It’s a special kind of silence, only one that can be found between two people who completely understand each other in ways that no one else can. He knows this doesn’t take away the pain. However, it lessens the burden. Hell, as borderline selfish as it is, Simon feels some weight lifted off his shoulders as he sits in front of someone who completely gets it.
“Is that how you knew what to do? Why you told me?” Johnny questions.
Simon brings a hand up to his face, gently wiping the single droplet that started to fall from his face. The man leans into the touch, closing his eyes and placing a hand over the one on his face. “Yes. That’s how I knew what to do. That and plenty of research just in case it were to happen again. You can’t quite move on from it without feeling like it’s bound to happen to you again. It did. Except-“
“To me.”
“Yeah. Which is worse.”
It’s quiet again for a little bit. They enjoy each other’s presence just as they always have. But Simon still has so much more that he needs to say to him. So, he starts out with, “I told you because I had a nightmare about it. You didn’t know how to get out and there was nothing I could do but listen to you die since I was in my own coffin. Didn’t know the information would ever actually come in handy. Just needed to tell you for my own sanity.”
“Maybe you jinxed me,” Johnny jokes, scooting over until they were practically on top of each other.
He chuckles, “Maybe.”
After that, Simon is as vulnerable as possible. Tells him everything from Roba to coming home to his family being murdered. It’s a lot. But he figured that it was time to let the man know his full story, if it helps him stay Johnny then he’ll do anything.
In turn, Johnny tells him some of his own traumas. Simon thinks it must be a way to make him feel less exposed. He tells him about his abusive ex boyfriend,—who Ghost will definitely find a way to kill—some family shit, how he got his scars, why he hates dogs- Everything. In some ways, it helps the both of them heal.
Since they’re already being vulnerable, why not go full swing? Simon pulls away slightly, only to turn his head, as he says, “Promise me you’ll always remain Johnny. No matter what happens. Because quite honestly, I love you for who you are. I’d love you just the same if you weren’t but I don’t want to see you become someone like me.”
Soap blinks, blue eyes slowly getting wider as he processes what was just said to him. Eventually he settles for a smile. It’s the first one that he’s seen in weeks and it fills him with the warmth that he’s missed. It feels like an abrasive Scot with issues with authority. “Yeah, okay, Simon. I promise. But you’re not that bad either considering I love you too n’ all.”
Now it’s his turn to smile. He looks down at his own hands that were folded in his lap, letting the reciprocation flood through him along with the relief of Soap promising him to remain who he is. Gentle fingers direct his chin to gaze over at the man next to him once more before lips press against his own.
As they sit there trading light kisses, Simon realizes something he hasn’t in a while.
They’re going to be okay.