For requests, what about Soap dropping someone be it fellow soldier or civilian, just slipping from his fingers, could happen to anyone etc, but he blames himself for not being strong enough 😈 bonus points if 141 are like 🤨 soap you can literally bench press all of us wtf is this self hate coming from
The first time it wasn’t a big deal
“Ghost! I cannae hold on!”
“Drop me, Sargent! That’s an order!”
Soap let go, painfully aware of the bleeding in his bicep and watched as Ghost’s limp, ghoulish body tumble down the steep hill and into the murky ravine below.
After a week in each in medical, Ghost roughly knocked Soap’s bad arm, smirking at the flinch and hiss of pain.
“Better shape up, Sargent. Don’t want a repeat incident.”
A dark shadow of doubt settles over Johnny; his mind clouded by imagines of Simon grunting in pain, steeling his body to cover Johnny while he was already down and trying to reload. He remembers the horrible taste of metal in his mouth when Ghost slumped against him.
He remembers the horrid , somber tone of Price, asking if Ghost was KIA.
Ghost playfully nudges him again and turns, parting the sea of soldiers as he makes his way towards Price’s office. The soldiers clustered in the hall move for him, pressing themselves closer to the painted over brick walls, watching in awe at Ghost’s sheer masculinity. A week ago he had four new bullet wounds in his chest, infected by swamp water, and now he lives up to the hellish nightmares his callsign produced; even though Soap dropped him, Ghost continues to rise from the dead.
That also, unfortunately, means the rumors of Soap’s negligence have named him a traitor, selfish , and, the one he’s heard the most, weak.
He wouldn’t drop another teammate.
And he meant it; that’s how Ghost finds him in the gym, 2:07 A.M flashes above him in haunting red lights. It’s quiet except for him, the heavy motion sensor door is propped up with weights as to not lock him in. Ghost steps in, his own insomnia keeping him up with flashes of Johnny’s terrified face, his trembling voice begging Ghost not to let go…
Towards the back of the gym is the man his nightmares won’t allow him to forget; strangled grunts and a whimper, Ghost saves for himself, leads him to the weights. Johnny stands at the mirror, pulling 150 lbs in a grab-and-pull method, his sleep shirt, one of Gaz’s old police academy shirts, is drenched in sweat, the once heather red now fully grey.
Ghost watches from the sidelines, hiding between machines to watch as Johnny works himself into another fit of frustration when his arms begin to tremble and they can’t keep up the pulling motion. Ghost watches as Johnny angrily throws the weight down, creating a small dent in the concrete flooring below them. His breath is labored, hands slippery and shaking, fail to open his water bottle, and with more frustration, he throws that too.
Ghost slowly retreats, leaving Soap to his demons and whatever evil nightmares his brain has created.
He’ll check on him in the morning.
The second time it happens, there’s a write up.
Soap was trying to prove himself; he knew it, Price knew it, and Gaz suffered the consequences.
They were stationed in Germany, helping their friends exterminate two underground human trafficking rings and bring British, Scottish and Irish prisoners back home.
They’d been on lookout for days, waiting for when the next round of “shipment” was to come in; intel was shotty at best, Laswell was fighting red tape wherever she could but almost everything had to be done through the German Government.
It was day 19 and they were finally seeing some real action…and Gaz was alone.
On the top floor of the three level compound was a balcony that overlooked the German mountains; it was small, barely big enough for one person, but sources said most of the time it was so the “cargo” could get sunshine without fully leaving.
Soap follows after Gaz, he’s a floor below and pushing himself further than his body is capable of going but Gaz was right above him, fighting the boss herself, trying to capture instead of kill. He could hear the sounds of the struggle on their continuous comms (it wasn’t used often but when the team was split up by floor it was helpful). He could hear Price and General Von Goethe calling for him, asking for an update, but he ignores them.
Soap can hear the Madame and Kyle fight over custody of the gun, which only pushes him to run faster.
What he comes up to is much worse; Kyle is bent almost fully over the edge of the balcony, only his knees to keep him from fully falling off and the Madame has his legs, teasing him over the side, gun long forgotten.
“Soap?! Status now!” Price demands but Soap quiets the mic. Without thinking, he shoots, luckily getting rid of the target but Kyle begins to fall. Soap is quick to kick the body away and grab onto Gaz’s boot, trying to pull him back onto the steel platform.
“I got you!” Soap cries out, using the last of his strength to pull when there is a sharp pain in his side. The Madame jumps on him, wrestling to dig the knife deeper into his side. Soap’s grip loosens once again and Kyle manages to flip himself some so he’s now hanging on by his hands but the Madame works quick, digging the knife in before yanking it out and wielding it above her head, ready to kill Johnny for good.
Soap doges , tackling the woman to the ground, the wrestle for a moment , her hands finding purchase on his open wound and digs coffin shaped nails into inflamed flesh. Johnny grunts, biting back and agonizing groan but manages to over power her, taking the forgotten gun and ending her rein of terror.
“Sargent that’s an order. Where are you?!”
With the Madame taken care of Soap slumps to the side, heavy, labored breaths escape him as he tries to reason that taking the knife out is better than leaving it in.
It’s Gaz’s tired, pained gasps that snaps him back to reality and fear settles in.
Soap is quick to move, with slippery hands he grabs at Kyle, trying to gain a grip on any dry part of him.
“Gaz! G-Gaz! I cannae— fuck! I cannae hold on!”
Gaz had two broken legs and a concussion to thank for Johnny’s negligence.
As they wheeled him off, Ghost comes up behind Johnny, a somber smile pulls at his stubbly lips.
“Could’a been worse…could’a died.”
He knows Ghost is trying to help, trying to keep whatever peace can be salvaged but Johnny has failed, again.
“Fuck off Ghost.” He mutters, moving to turn down the hall, back to lick his wounds in his private room but Ghost’s beefy arm stops him, gently grabbing at his bicep to pull him back.
“Fuck. Off. Sir.” Soap spits and yanks his arm out of Ghost's hold, storming away, down the hall, ignoring the echo of Simon’s worried voice.
It’s late when Price finds him, tucked into the farthest corner of the common room; he sits pitifully at the small desk in the corner, head bowed, shoulders hunched, and his face, hidden in trembling hands.
With soft footfalls, the captain makes his way over, his cigar burning a red glow into the dark, gloomy room. He sits beside him, spreading out so his mucked up boots rest on the arm rest of Soaps chair.
“Come on, son. What’s on your mind?”
Soap doesn’t answer, just curls in on himself further, pushing away whatever shred of kindness Price thinks he deserves.
And price, the persistent bastard he is, pushes.
“You know…back when I was a lieutenant, long before I met that old boyfriend of yours, I was like you; strong willed, cocksure, and so blinded by my own damn ego.” Price laughs, taking a short drag.
“ I was convinced that the world was settled on my shoulders and I was the only one to fix all the fucked up shit I was born into. And then…then I led a team of 14 other men and women, younger than you, into a fire fight set up for us to fail. When it was all said and done, I was back on base with the only other survivor and you know what my captain said to me?”
Price drops his legs and leans forward, gently brushing hair from soaps tear stained face. Their eyes meet as Johnny pushes his face into the comforting palm of John’s hand.
“She told me ‘John, you can’t save everyone, but you saved one’. You saved Gaz, John. Wheather you believe it now or not, you saved one. Yeah, he’s a little worse for the wear, but he’ll pull through. My boys always do.”
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