Tue, 19 Sep 2023 03:07:36 GMT

🧵 {drowning} 🧵

CW: mission gone wrong, (almost) drowning, angst with a happy ending, no mcd | {#ghostsoap #soapghost #mw2 #cod}

{quick note: baby's first fic! this was my very first thread i posted to twitter, and i have done 0 editing since then lol. i'd like to think my writing has improved since, so it may seem a bit off from my more recent stuff. enjoy as i figure out how to use this app! <3}

Ghost and Soap had been sent out on a stakeout mission. Their order was simple enough - stay in an abandoned apartment overlooking a facility that was recently flagged for suspicious activity and determine if their source was correct.

Sure, it felt a bit haunting to be out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a thick forest, but the two of them always seemed to make the time pass well. There was a good chance there wasn’t anything of concern out here anyway. They’ve received bad intel before.

Regardless, an order is an order, and they’ve been taking turns on watch for the last three days. Rotating so one can eat or get rest while the other vigilantly observed, ensuring no harm comes to them.

Soap was on the second floor, looking down the scope of his sniper rifle, checking for movement. It was Ghost’s turn to rest, and he had insisted on doing so on the musty couch downstairs, rather than share the mattress on the floor that Soap had used hours earlier.

Despite the fact the two would never be resting at the same time, Ghost didn’t want to force himself to crawl into a bed that smelled like Johnny. That was still warm from his body heat.

So he simply shouldered his rifle, walked downstairs, and told Soap to wake him up when his shift was over. Soap found the hours blending together, running out of thoughts to keep his mind occupied.

His shift was almost up anyway, maybe he could wake Ghost up a few minutes early? While the Lieutenant was always a man of few words, he missed the interactions the two would have if they didn’t have to keep swapping places like this.

Rustling downstairs broke Soap from his thoughts. Was Ghost already up? That thought was quickly abandoned when he heard grunts of pain and boots scuff along the ground. Ghost wasn’t the only one downstairs. They were under attack.

He sprang up, abandoning his long range weapon in exchange for his pistol, and barreled down the stairs. He made it down to the landing just in time to see a group of eight assailants struggling to subdue a flailing Ghost.

He looked at his Lieutenant with wide eyes. His mouth had a cloth tied around it, his limbs wrapped in restraints. Soap wondered how they got the upperhand on him. He’s "The Ghost". No one sneaks up on him. But they have - and on Soap’s watch.

One of the assailants barks an order to the others as Soap leapt at the closest one. They seemed to splinter into separate groups. Six manhandled Ghost out the door while Soap was left with two, clearly staying to prevent him from following them.

Soap shot at the one he lunged at, allowing the other the opportunity to land a punch to his temple. He folded for a second, before regaining his balance and slamming his fist into the assailant’s chest.

As he stumbled back, Soap grabbed him by his head and brought it into contact with his knee. Hard. Soap barely waited for the distinct crunch, feeling the body drop to the ground, before he was already sprinting out the door after Ghost.

By the time he made it outside, he stood alone. He swiveled around abruptly, not spotting anyone else in his immediate area. His heart beat fast in his chest, his head repeating “Find Ghost. Find Ghost” like a mantra.

He was on the verge of panicking now, beneath the dark sky as rain pelted his body. He needed to find Ghost now, but what could he do without a lead? He ran a hand through his mohawk in frustration, eyes dropping to the ground. It’s then that he saw it. Tire tracks.

Soap nearly slips on the mud beneath his feet as he makes a 180 turn, sprinting to his own vehicle. It was loaned to them for this mission, only to be used to venture into the nearest town for food and supplies to keep them alive. He gives it a quick once-over.

Of course their attackers weren't smart enough to puncture his tires, take his battery - anything to stop him from pursuing them. Ghost was probably giving them too much hell for them to have the time for anything other than their escape.

He fished out the keys from his vest pocket and popped it into the ignition. When the engine roared to life, he peeled off in the direction of the tracks, racing to catch up before the rain washed away his lead. Soap was on their scent now.

His carelessness was the reason Ghost was taken so easily, and he wasn’t letting anything come between him and getting his Lieutenant back.~~

~~He didn’t know how long he drove for. He only knew that his foot never lifted from the floor of the vehicle, and that he would surely be breaking a speed limit if he was in a more densely populated area.

His eyes never left the path ahead of him, zeroed in on the fading tire tracks. While he drove, he let his mind wander. Not enough to distract him from his mission, nothing being more important than this moment. But enough to let himself wonder how Ghost was faring.

These had to be the right tracks, right? Would he catch up to them soon, or would they still be driving? Is he even alive, or are they taking his body back as some sort of sick prize? Proving that The Ghost wasn’t some immortal being like everyone claimed.

Soap shook his head. He couldn’t think like that, had to keep a clear head and just focus on getting Simon back. It’s foolish to assume he’s okay, how could he be if he was just kidnapped? But he hoped that no real damage had been done yet. He’s been through enough.

Looking ahead, he could make out something off the side of the road. Was that the old SUV that they took Ghost in? It had to be. He raced to pull his vehicle over, turning the car off and leaving the keys in the ignition as he jumped out.

Soap’s heart beat firmly in his chest as he made his way towards the car. Pistol raised, he threw open the trunk and peered in. Nothing. The only sign that someone had been in the car recently was the leftover heat circulating around the cabin.

He couldn’t have missed them by much. Two minutes? Three? Before leaving, his eyes caught on a puddle of rain water on the trunk floor. No, not water. Blood. A whine left Soap’s throat as his heart stopped.

He forced himself to turn from that scene and face the trees, listening to his surroundings. Begging for a sign that Ghost was near. His ears picked up a group of laughter, and he found his legs immediately carrying him towards the source.

He dodged the foliage covering the forest, hopping over downed trees, steadying himself on unsound rocks. Rushing to catch up to them. Soap pushed one last bush away from his body as he made it to some type of clearing. A hidden beach that led to a large body of water.

Quickly surveying the area, he saw a flipped over canoe out on the water. If he squinted, he could see two broken oars, drifting away due to ripples made nearby. Before he could think about that much further, his eyes snapped towards the recurring sound of laughter.

There were six rugged individuals along the beach, all with a varying degree of injuries scattered on their bodies. All were dripping wet, pushing each other around and clapping their hands on their backs.

Like they were celebrating a job well done? Soap swallows down the panic that threatened to bubble up past his throat - no sign of Simon. No one has spotted him yet. Good. He moved to position himself behind a boulder, urgency in his steps, before letting a bullet fly.

He was able to pick off two more before the remaining assailants scrambled to their weapons, and one more as he began to face returning fire. When he heard the action of reloading, he risked a glance at his two remaining targets.

Making a split second decision, Soap attempted to discern who looked more likely to give him the information he wanted. The information he needed. He pulled the trigger once, toppling the last lackey, before unsheathing a dagger from his thigh.

It was the knife from his night fighting through the streets of Las Almas. When Ghost left it behind, Soap promptly claimed it as his own and kept it to accompany him on every mission. No one had to know it was his way of having a piece of Ghost with him, always.

Ghost had given him his sheath shortly after, claiming if Soap was to keep the knife, he needed a way to easily access it in times of need. Ghost had even given him lessons after, spending his free time teaching Soap how to incapacitate someone with precise knife throws.

Soap’s chest panged again. A small part of him was proud of how fast he was taking down the men. While he knew his skills are what led him to be recruited into the 141, there were times when he needed the reassurance that came with doing something quickly and efficiently.

A bigger part of him, though, reminded him that now was not the time, that it couldn’t be until he found Simon safe and sound. Waiting for a break in the bullets flying past him, he held the dagger firmly in the palm of his hand.

The weight felt familiar to him, and he gave it a squeeze before throwing it at the leader’s shoulder. A pained grunt and thump let him know he hit his mark. Soap crawled out from behind the boulder to see the leader clamping his hand against his shoulder.

His weapon had been dropped to the ground and forgotten about. Soap didn’t make a kill shot, but he had hit a major artery. The guy had a few minutes at most, and Soap needed to make it count. He stalked up to him, gun pointed at his temple.

“Where is he?” Soap barked out. “What did you do with him?”

The leader choked out a laugh, bloody and wet. “A death fitting for a ghost, yeah?” His gaze settled on something in the distance, towards the water. “I’d like to see him come back from this one.”

Another chuckle rippled across the otherwise silent beach, the leader smug despite being moments from death. Soap followed his gaze. His face suddenly blanched with horror as he understood the gravity of what the leader had meant.

Ghost was out there, by the downed canoe. Ghost was beneath the surface. Simon was drowning.

Tue, 19 Sep 2023 01:34:07 GMT