#voltac drabble

“It’ll be fine, Si.”

“It’s just a quick recovery Op. There and back in no time.”

“I’ll be done ‘n dusted before you’re finished with the rookies’ PT.”

The words echoed in the back of his head. Distorted by the chill that climbed up the back of his spine as he felt the shadows bleeding from his skin. The world around him barely registered, the veil between nightmares and reality blurring together until he watched Roba’s men cower in front of him. Vaguely he was aware of the warmth leeching into his mask, a pressure along his gums building until elongated fangs pressed through the skin.

He could feel the fabric tear beneath his fingers, talons forcing their way through his nailbeds until they hooked through the material in front of him. It was impossible to see through the red smoke surrounding him, a desperate rage fueled by vitriol and fear pushing him through the barriers in front of him. He tried to remember where he was – what had sparked the anger searing through his bones.

Flashes of a broken smile, torn lips pulled back into what was supposed to be reassurance. Slate grey eyes standing out in horrific contrast to the broken blood vessels surrounding them. Dark bruises and discolored skin. Tattered clothes with fresh crimson soaking into the material, sticking painfully against new and old wounds with each movement. It hit too close to home.

Too close to Coahuila.

To Roba.

“Ghost-! Wait-.”

The words echoed around him, familiar but aggressive.

Worried.

             Panicked.

They were in danger.

She was in danger.

The aggression flared back to life. Wrath and violence cut through his flesh until it sunk hooks into muscle. A mind numbing cold settled across his bones, the now familiar taste of death heavy across his tongue as the shadows leaked from his lungs. The darkness was familiar and safe – power that had saved them when nothing else could.

Intoxicating and freeing.

They wouldn’t go back.

“We lost contact with Alpha Team.” Muscles coiled along his spine, jaw clenching until he tasted copper at the back of his throat. “Response Team is MIA.”

He felt bone beneath his palm, teeth biting into the flesh with each blow. The cold metallic scent was overpowered by rot. Sulfur and ash filled his lungs until he felt the dark clouds permeate his skull, pressure building behind his eyes with each swipe he took at the phantoms. He could hear Roba’s voice now, mocking and condescending as the man sneered down at him.

Taunts countered by a soft caustic sarcasm. A gentle warmth surrounded by jagged barbs. The anger was palpable – familiar. It spoke to a shared understanding. They were the same. Shadows curled inward, tearing through flesh and bone until they hooked into the soul. Gnashing teeth and jagged claws biting into the essence of their target.

“Simon!”

The voice tore through the darkness like a beacon. A searing spotlight targeting the stilled heart beneath the shadows and death. A quiet warmth blossomed amidst the blizzard. Twisting and churning until he could feel the ice melting from his ribs. The surrounding shadows shuddered. Coiling vipers melting back against the ground, basking in the sun as the figure moved forward.

He became acutely aware of the viscera embedded beneath his claws. The metallic tang of blood heavy in the air as something soft ghosted across his cheeks to settle along his jaw. The crimson mist surrounding him slowly faded, darkness bleeding back into the corners of his mind as the sun settled across his skin. The lingering shadows around him hummed at the familiar comfort, heat buzzing along his spine as grey pools clashed with black. The monochrome calm before a storm staring back at him through the waves of aggression and fear.

“Simon-.”

She was solid now.

Real.

A physical manifestation of patience and forgiveness reaching up to counter the manifestation of malice and hate. Her hold was absolute. Fingers hooked with a gentle resolution around his jaw. An unyielding tether that pulled him further and further out of the storm until his forehead rested against something solid.

“Hey, hey… Need you back with us, yeah?”

Her voice was quiet. Words spoken so softly he was afraid they’d shatter if he moved too quickly. The pressure against his forehead continued, a firm reassurance that the threat had passed.

“They’re gone now, Si.” She assured. “It’s over- We’re safe.”

Black recedes into an endless forest. Brown clashing with grey as the man resurfaces, the wraith lingering so closely he could feel its breath enveloping them. Inky black shadows danced around them, coiling like protective vipers until the world outside was hidden away. Somewhere beyond the smoke and shadow he could sense the other occupants of the room, anxiety buzzing through their bones as they lingered.

He expected the same fear from the grey eyed woman. A caustic voice pouring venom into his ear with each dull thud against his ribs. Despite the voices – in spite of the voices – the woman remained calm. Worry and anxiety hooking painfully into his chest as she clung to his frame. Gentled reassurances passed bruised lips in waves. They were barely a whisper, warmth sparking anew in his chest with the realization.

It was just for him.

Images of a broken body flickered behind his eyes. The devastation replaced by wide grins and gleaming teeth. Elbows digging playfully into his side as her smaller frame moved around the shared kitchen in their den – home. Flickers of irritated glares and frowns that didn’t match gleaming eyes. The clean scent of spices and flowering hibiscus chasing away the smell of rotten graves and heavy blood.

“Y’with me, Si?”

“…Always…”

The assurance went deeper than the promise they’d made all those years ago. An oath spoken in dark stillness before they were dragged into the grave. It was unyielding and unbending, one of the natural truths that they’d built on their shared foundation. There was nowhere either could go that the other wouldn’t follow. Something recognized even by the harsh malevolence of the wraith trapped beneath their ribs.

Her eyes crinkled at his response. Relief flooding her features until it washed away the lingering worry, frame. Her hands shifted from his cheeks, ghosting across his neck until they hooked behind his shoulders. A tired sigh escaped her as she buried her face in his shoulder, body sagging against his. A frown pulled at his lips, arms encasing her smaller frame as she muttered quietly into his neck.

Simon had lost control.

She had expected him to snap to some extent. He’d bordered on over-protective since he’d pulled them from the grave in Coahuila. But the wraith in front of her was positively feral. It wasn’t Simon tearing through the enemy right now –

It was Ghost.

A physical manifestation of all the man’s fear and hate and malice. A creature born of desperation and survival now tearing through soldiers with such lethality that it made what was once a specialized force nothing more than victims. The distance between their skills too large to be considered adversaries.

They never stood a chance.

“Lass – stay back!”

She knew Soap meant well.

He was just looking out for her. Just as desperate to reach through the swirling darkness to the man trapped within the wraith. But she knew better – she’d been there. Trapped beneath her ribs sat the same malignant rage. A ravenous aggression that would raze cities to the ground to protect the precious few she clung to.

“Simon!”

She lunged towards him, fingers curling against the Scotsman’s arm as he hauled her backwards. She couldn’t feel the ache of her wounds. Pain dulling as her attention zeroed in on the feral wraith tearing through the enemy in front of them. Panic built in her chest, throat twisting painfully as she threw herself forward.

She knew what he was seeing.

She recognized the shuttering breaths and swirling smoke. Eyes that passed over them without really seeing them. She could feel the mounting fear in her skin. A cold desperation settling deeper in her bones with each wide arching slash of incorporeal claws. She could practically hear Roba’s jeering words and the suffocating darkness of the grave.

They were running out of time.

“Simon-!”

Her elbow dug into the werewolf’s stomach. His grip loosening just enough that she was able to surge forward. The shadows struck out on instinct. Ghosting across her skin with all the aggression of an evening breeze. Despite the vitriol crackling at the surface, she was able to slip through the swirling darkness.

Recognized.

She could feel the familiar pressure along her spine. Breath leaving her in thick grey clouds as she bolted through the shadows. A forgotten heaviness settled in her ribs, chill causing a shiver to break out across her skin as she reached out towards the rampaging wraith. He’d turned towards her at her approach, black eyes unseeing until her fingers settled across his jaw.

His feral state made him taller. Frame dwarfing hers until she was forced to roll onto her toes to reach him. The pads of her fingers settled gently as she pulled his face down towards hers, forehead resting against the chilled flesh of his. Grey intertwined with black, old wounds leaking fading smoke that was quickly suffocated by the swirling mass surrounding her.

“Hey, hey…” She cooed quietly, forcing her words to remain calm. “Need you back with us, yeah?”

She prayed they reached the man within the wraith. Eyes clenching shut when the shadows shuttered around her. Anxiety spiked as her grip tightened. She knew the rest of the pack was afraid – not necessarily of the feral state but of the possibilities.

An uncontrolled wraith could be devastating.

Was devastating.

There was no end to the possibilities.

“They’re gone now, Si.” She felt herself mutter, eyes sliding close as a wave of fatigue threatened to overwhelm her. “It’s over- we’re safe.”

It was a quiet reassurance.

A promise.

The shadows shuttered around her again. The darkness that had leaked from his lungs began to fade. Inky black slowly swallowed by white as brown orbs turned towards her. The shadows enveloping her hissed, thick arms settling across her back while large hands grasped at the back of her shoulders. Simon’s frame was visible again, all but curling around the battered woman as he took shuttering breaths between clenched teeth.

The chill of death was melting from his bones, muscles relaxing with a painstakingly slowness as the darkness continued to melt back beneath his skin. Without the smoke to obscure it the battle sat openly across his frame. Viscera and gore clinging to his uniform and skin, painting a macabre scene across new and old scars. The heavy metallic scent was overpowering, almost suffocating the familiar spices and smoke she’d come to expect.

“Y’with me, Si?”

It was always the same question.

Simple at the surface but with deeper meaning that was lost to the onlookers outside of their orbit. Patience and warmth tethering them to the present. Waiting unflinchingly as they broke down feral instincts and bloodlust. Peeling back the raw panic and anger that accompanied long buried memories and living nightmares.

Bloodshot brown eyes settled on her own, the far off expression slowly melting away. A jagged frown carved itself across his lips, brows furrowing as he took in each new bruise that marred her skin. For the first time since the conflict began, he was looking at her, gaze no longer trapped behind the red haze of broken bodies and desperate anger.

“…always…”

The confirmation rumbled from his chest, the assurance reverberating through her bones when his arms tightened their hold. It was an absolute; spoken with the same confidence he’d used all those years ago. Unshakable even in the face of the harshest atrocities war had to offer. More than a promise or an oath but a core belief carved into their ribs.

And she believed him.

She could feel the relieved smile curving across her lips, eyes crinkling as her shoulders sagged. The lingering worry melted away, hand lightly tapping his cheek before they slid down his neck to hook behind his shoulders. The fatigue seeped into the space fear had left behind, a tired sigh pulled from her chest as she tucked her face into his shoulder. Simon’s arms encased her, all but wrapping around her frame as she sagged against him.

“Might’ve been a lil off on that return date.” She muttered into his neck, ignoring the way his shoulders rocked with a sarcastic scoff. “Though technically I didn’t specify which PT class.”

“Whatever you say, Luv.”

“Tha’s what I thought.”

The rain continued to beat against the hillside. Thunder crackling overhead, the reverberations echoing through their bones as they tore across the trenches. It was beginning to feel too much like Kasserine. The dull anxiety threatening to spark into a full panic. Adrenaline burning through their system until they couldn’t feel the strain in their muscles or the chill of the rain.

They knew that it was going to be a fight to dislodge the Nazis from the bunkers and trenches lining the cliffs above. It had been a struggle just to push them back from the bridge along the valley floor. They’d lost more men than they cared to admit on the hillside, both from enemy fire and misfiring explosives.

Then the tank rumbled over the crest.

Roaring guns overshadowed by the raging storm above. The Canon had been easy enough to circumvent – all things considered. Something they knew they’d be telling their children about some day; how a handful of men countered one of the modern marvels of engineering.

“Hey – stay safe out there, yeah?”

Pierson could hear the echo in the back of his head. Lighthearted despite the aching anxiety that was buried far beneath practiced words. Kasserine had taught them all that the Brass were too far removed from the day to day conflict – intel could not be trusted or relied on. It was guiding words at best, recommendations without the understanding to back it up.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be back before you know it.”

Turner had been wrong.

They’d been overrun.

Daniels had been able to disarm the tank, but it hadn’t been enough. They hadn’t been prepared for the tank team to survive the thermite. Hadn’t been prepared for the officer to have a sidearm, or for the enemy reinforcements to charge from bunkers hidden behind the trees. They didn’t have the numbers to counter the overwhelming onslaught of bodies.

Pierson felt the dread sink into his chest. A hooked barb tearing into the flesh, twisting until it hooked between his ribs. Turner’s expression told him everything he needed to know. Made it impossible for him to cling desperately to the shallow hope that had sparked when Daniels dragged him back behind the sandbag wall. The Private was young – naïve. Optimistic despite the strangled cough torn from the Lieutenant’s lungs with each breath.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

He had served with Turner long enough to know what the man was thinking. He saw straight through the false mask of bravado carved across his face. Truner was terrified. Not for himself – but for his other half. The bright eyed medic who had been a pillar of calm throughout the war. Always greeting them both with a warm smile that never quite managed to hide the relief that flooded her features every time they returned from a mission.

She was Turner’s other half, and the two of them together were all Pierson had left.

The rejection of a soulbond was a tragedy.

But the loss of a soulmate was agony.

Feeling the string turn to ash was indescribable. The desperate attempt to cling to the tether even as the world started to turn black around them. Knowing – feeling as the one holding the other end realized something was wrong. There were no secrets. Just the raw anguished prayers that fear was getting the best of them; fingers clawing desperately at whatever excuse they could use to deny what they knew was looming over them.

The fears compounded as both sides clung tighter together. Winding the string tighter and tighter until the fraying thread burned their skin. The mirrored mark tearing open slowly, blood bubbling to the surface as half of their soul was torn away. The hollow drag of something bound by fate ripped away leaving a blackened wound in its wake.

Pierson still felt the rejection years later. The caustic burn that faded but never quite vanished. The dull, aching reminder of someone who should’ve soothed the pain choosing instead to inflict it. Bitter words fueled by fear and anger, reinforcing his failures at Kasserine. Compounding the loss until it was all he felt for months after they left the bloodied valley behind.

“You gotta get our boys outta here.”

No.

Pierson’s mouth snapped closed, teeth grinding together as images flashed behind his eyes. Amused smirks that twisted into lopsided smiles, eyes crinkling as they joked about the future. Warm greetings, sarcastic corrections and jokes. Plans of a house tucked away at the edge of a small forest. Away from the noise and structure of the military, a place to recover from the atrocities they’d witnessed in Europe.

Plans that had accommodated even him.

“No, we can still make it.” Pierson countered, eyes snapping back to the approaching forces.

They couldn’t.

Not without risking more lives.

Dragging dead weight across this terrain was suicide. And that’s what Turner was now. He barely had the strength in his hands to pull the slide back on his rifle. He could feel the wound burning across his abdomen, muscles tearing further as he struggled to force the slide back. Even if he was dragged out – he’d make them a target.

He’d slow them down.

“You have to -.” The wound flared again, stealing the air from his lungs as he swallowed the scream. “You have to retreat.”

“No. We ain’t leavin’ you.” Pierson bit back, grabbing the fumbled rifle from the mud to pull the slide back. “We made a promise – can’t leave you here.”

“You get me up. I’ll hold them off.”

The words were harsh. Clipped. An order.

It was a somber acceptance. Acknowledgement that the sacrifice would be paid by more than just himself.

They knew from experience that some promises couldn’t be kept in wartime conflicts. Not quite lies but choosing to ignore the harsh reality in favor of quiet comforts.

“You have to go.” Turner continued, blood stained teeth grinding together to stave off the grimace. “Go!”

It was the final nail in a coffin.

The spark that would burn across the tether, blackening the strand until it turned to ash. Eventually burning across the flesh at the other end, a physical representation of the loss. The crack in the foundation that would only grow until it crumbled under the weight. Grief and anguish swallowing those left behind.

She wouldn’t be alone though. Not truly.

The officers had discussed it more than once during the long patrols. Cautious words muttered into the air during quiet watches long after the rest of the Platoon had turned in for the night. It was far from an easy request. Something that proved trust beyond tactical comradery. More of a testament of the friendship they’d forged through the years than anything else.

Turner knew what Pierson had endured when he was abandoned in the aftermath of Kasserine. Beyond the demotion and scrutiny that followed, the faceless woman’s bitter rejection of the bond had cut deeply. The mark boring itself out of his skin, the wound left behind weeping and jagged long after the other scars had healed. It wasn’t easy to ask that the Sergeant risk another rejection; to open himself up for the possible vitriol and aggression that so frequently overshadowed grief.

But Turner knew them better than anyone else.

Similarly, Pierson knew better than anyone the weight of the request. The last wish of a dying man who was desperate to ensure that whatever was left of his other half wouldn’t crumble in his absence. The pair had been the picture perfect image of balance, temper managed by a gentled hand. A comforting presence backed by a sharpened edge.

He didn’t agree that he was the best choice. He’d argued against it, more than once. He’d made more mistakes than he’d care to admit, his failures had cost more lives than he’d ever be able to atone for. He was not a good fit to act as the support once the bond started to disintegrate. He’d just cause more problems, make more mistakes.

And that was if she’d even be willing to accept it.

“You’re wrong, Pierson.” Turner had deadpanned, idly twisting the lighter between his fingers. “And if, God forbid, it comes down to it – I know you’ll realize that. There’s no one out here that I’d trust more, and I know she’d feel the same way.”

He’d scoffed at the time, smoke billowing into the air. The conversation fading back to lighter topics before the first watch change approached them.

Staring down the Lieutenant’s resolve now, Pierson found himself hoping he was right. Any optimistic thoughts he’d had slipping through his fingers like smoke as the new reality settled heavily across his shoulders. Despite the thoughts screaming at the back of his head he glanced back to the advancing enemies again. Jaw clenching as something twisted between his ribs, fresh guilt and bitterness flaring to life.

“…It was an Honor.” It was a resignation, emotions heavy as his throat tightened.

It felt wrong.

“No sacrifice too great.” Pierson wanted to scoff and bite back at the parroted words, any argument dying at the tip of his tongue when Turner continued. “Go.”

Turner’s expression was anything but reassuring as he took the rifle from Pierson’s hands. Slowly forcing himself to his knees, free hand curling over the wound when it tore again. It was impossible to tell if the cold was from the severity of his wounds or the rain that continued to pummel them from above. The chill settling so deeply into his bones that the tremors had stopped, vision darkening along the edges.

“Fall back!”

The words didn’t sound like his own. Harsh orders barked over the storm in a tempt to push past the bitter maelstrom of emotions that had flared between his ribs. It took a moment for the words to register to the soldiers around them. Shock and disbelief quickly pulled back behind rigid training – for most.

Daniels’ reaction was as explosive as it was expected.

“Sergeant?!” He’d refused to leave Turner’s side, hand still fisted in the man’s sleeve even as he forced himself to his feet. “Sergeant – you can’t do that-!”

“I said fall back-!”

“Daniels – Go!”

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