delightfulnutinfluencer-blog

[delightfulnutinfluencer-blog]

Spook

Pairing: 141 x f!reader, Soap x f!reader

Wordcount: 4.1k

Warnings: MW3 spoiler, mentions of death, injuries, bodies, the morgue.

Authors notes: First post here or anywhere, and not proof read (sorry). I've been watching a lot of witchy series recently and this idea wouldn't leave me. Mainly because I reject mw3 canon. Am new to posting to tumblr, so constructive criticism welcome, though this is a throwaway, so will anyone read this? Who knows.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake with a start, sucking great gasping breathes of stale air into your lungs. Moving your hands to clutch at your chest, your right-hand catches as you lift it, a large cannula tugging painfully at your skin.

Where are you?

The last mission comes back to you in short bursts, the waves of enemies, the dark, trapped in that large room trying to call your team. Makarov. Soap. The shot. It still rang in your ears, along with the agony of watching him fall. The shouts of the rest of the team pushing forward, desperate to reach you both. Your screams. Then… nothing.

He had always been the one to look out for you, when the rest of the men on base looked at you with suspicion and distrust. He was the first one to welcome you to the 141, to show you around, helped you train, kept you company in the suffocating days between missions. He was the closest thing to a friend that you’d had in years. You felt his loss like your soul had been carved from your body, leaving a just shell behind. But you could still feel him, tickling the back of your mind.

Like he was sat right behind you, leaning in to whisper in your ear.

I’m here, hen. I’m still here with you.

Sitting up slowly, you tear the scratchy blankets off your torso and legs. Hunching over, you feel the lingering pain all over, in your bones, in the back of your teeth, in the bittersweet taste lingering in your mouth. Your head feels like it’s in a vice. You feel for your power, eyes closed you reach for it in the dark of your mind, feeling it slip through your fingers like smoke. Still there, slowly rebuilding.

What the fuck happened?

Deep breaths, in and out, in and out, you fight a wave of nausea, squeezing your eyes shut until it passes, pressing your fingers into your eyes, trying to dispel the migraine building up behind them. The room is blissfully dark, some kind of hospital or infirmary, a soft yellowish glow filtering through glass window at the door giving enough light to show a handful of machines, beeping harshly in the dark. A chair sits empty in the corner, but the blanket thrown over the arm tells you someone was sat there recently, keeping vigil over your sleeping form. A clear bag sat on the floor beside the chair containing, you assume, your clothes and anything else you had on you when you came in.

Spook!

You snap your eyes open; you knew exactly what you have to do. Reaching over, you peel the adhesive bandage from your hand, and pull the cannula out of your flesh hissing at the pain. Whipping the blankets completely off your legs, you swing them over the edge of the hospital bed, taking a moment to ground yourself before slipping forward and placing your bare feet on the cold floor.

You grip the mattress tightly, breathing through your nose before pushing up onto your feet. Swaying slightly, you steel your spine and take a step forward, grabbing at your bag in the dim light and turning to dump the contents onto your bed.

Rummaging through the clothing, you stop when you see the flecks of blood on your t-shirt. Soap’s blood, dry and rusty, flicked up the centre of the green cloth. You tear the blue gown from your body, throwing it to the floor and pull the soiled shirt over your head, arms aching at the movement. Stepping into the combat trousers, pulling them up your legs like a second skin.

You always hated wearing the uniform, it never felt right to you. You weren’t a soldier, this was not the life you were supposed to live, but after the great Awakening you had no other choice. Memories of the Trials flitted behind your eyes, being corralled in a great camp for sorting, the endless tests to determine your skill and designation, and finally being assigned to the exact place you dreaded going- military. All your hopes, and dreams, your plans for how your life would go snuffed out in a matter of months, all control taken from you, and your future already decided- you would become a weapon. A tool, used by men who would despise you, until you were killed in the field, either by natural or unnatural means, or sent back to holding to rot. A shudder passes through you at the memories, you push them down. You have a job to do, you owe Soap everything, and you will give it to him.

The door opens as you finish buttoning your trousers, a nurse pushing her way in with a fresh IV bag in hand. Looking up, she startles.

‘What are you doing? You need to be in bed’

‘Where’s my team? Where’s Soap? I need to find Soap’

The nurse places the IV down, eyes following you warily, watching like you’d watch a wolf as he circled closer to you in the dark.

‘Your team isn’t here, you need to get back in the bed. Now’

You step back from the bed, and begin to circle towards the door. If she won’t help you find Soap, that’s fine. You would find him yourself, following his whispering voice. The feel of his lifeforce, faint but still there. Barely. You needed to hurry, before you run out of time.

‘I don’t have time for this’ you say, taking another step forward, towards the door ‘move, or I will move you’

The nurse looks scared now, you can see it in her eyes and feel rolling off her in waves. She doesn’t move to let you go, but she does reach to the wall beside your bed and presses down on the panic strip.

You’re in for it now, hen. You can hear Soap smirk against your ear.

The door burst open, a doctor and MP standing in the door frame, shock painting their faces.

‘What’s going on?’

‘She’s up, she wants to leave. She threatened me, how is she even up? She was supposed to be sedated when she came in. She should be completely out!’

Ignoring her completely, you take another step towards the door feeling for Soap again. Trying to find where he was, where you needed to go.

‘What’s the plan here, doc?’ the MP asked, stepping through the doorway to stand just in front of him.

‘She needs to get back into the bed, we can sedate her again whilst we wait for the team to collect her. We aren’t equipped to keep her kind here’

Now that caught your attention, the sneer in his voice, that hateful condescension you had felt your entire time in the military still nipped at you even now. You felt anger lick up your spine, power cracking through your body like waves of electricity, causing the lights to flicker once out in the hallway.

‘you put a hand on me, and you won’t like what happens next. I have somewhere to be, I suggest you move. Now’

The next moment felt like it happened in slow motion. The nurse and doctor stepped to the side as the MP, a large muscular man, stepping towards where your now stood at the foot of the bed. Large, gloved hand extending out to grab at your wrist, you raise a single hand, two fingers extended, and he's frozen. Every muscle paralysed.

You assumed he had never seen magic this close or been on the receiving end of it. Your kind were still very rare here, usually reserved for specialist units or personal protection. His face mirrored what you had seen countless times before. Fear, anger, distrust. You couldn’t blame him, really. It’s one thing being told witches, warlocks, and magic all exists, puncturing everyone's entire world view, it was another to see it in the flesh. See the power people like you held, and realising how small and weak normal people really are.

Tipping your fingers to the right, the MP flew with them. Pinned to the wall, feet dangling off the ground. You look to the nurse and doctor as they scuttle back to get away from you, and step past them into the corridor.

Didn’t even break a sweat, eh? You’re getting good

You follow his whisper like a bloodhound, walking confidently down a long corridor towards a set of lifts. You hear the commotion behind you as they frantically try to pull the MP from the wall, shouting for help. The thundering footsteps of more MPs running from the opposite end of the building to catch up with you and detain you. Or worse.

You break into a jog, bare feet slapping on the linoleum floor as you rush towards the lifts. As you reach them, the doors open and a familiar face steps out.

Oops, dad’s here. Best behave.

‘Captain!’

He looks shocked, looking from you to the chaotic scene behind you, three MPs sprinting down the hall, nurses and doctors scattering to the sides to make way. All staring to see how this would unfold.

Captain Price steps forwards, reaching for you and placing his large hands on your shoulders, the warmth seeping into your bones, grounding you. His eyes searching yours to work out what was happening, concern reflecting in them as he gives you a once over, eyeing your crumpled, bloody clothes and bare feet.

The sound of boots come to a stop about 10 feet behind you, the group of MPs stood, electrified batons out, one with a syringe of purplish liquid. All staring at you warily, and then to your Captain as he raises a hand, telling them to stop, taking control of the situation.

‘Can’t leave you for five minutes without you finding some sort of trouble’ he says, smiling warmly. Deep wrinkles creasing around his eyes. You wonder in that moment if he has family, he’d make a great father, you think.

‘Sorry Captain, but I have to go. I have to find Soap’

‘I’ll take over from here, boys. I’ve got this’ he says over your shoulder

‘She’s threatened the staff, and attacked an MP…’

‘That’s a lie! They wouldn’t let me leave, they don’t understand. I need to get to Soap before it’s too late’ you look into the Captains eyes, trying to will him to trust you. To believe you.

‘Staff don’t want her here, we’re to sedate her and transport her to back to holding for assessment’

You shift from foot to foot, desperate to get out. You wouldn’t go back into holding, you couldn’t. You were afraid if you went back there, you may never come out again.

Captain Price shook his head ‘She’s my specialist, have the doctor release her to me. I’ll take it from here’

‘But we’ve been told…’

‘I don’t care what you’ve been told, soldier. I’m telling you I’m taking her. Anyone has a problem with it, they can take it up with me’

That seemed to satisfy them, enough to tuck the batons away and step back, muttering curses under their breaths.

‘Now, lets get out of here. How does that sound?’

You nod eagerly, leaning into his warmth. He pulls an arm around your shoulder, his height dwarfing you as you tuck into his side. He always had a way to make you feel safe, where Soap was your friend and partner in crime, Captain Price had been your protector. Fighting to keep you on his team, protecting you from more unsavoury postings and commanding officers, he treated you like an individual. An actual person, not just a designation. It was one of the reasons you liked working with the 141 so much, it was like a dysfunctional little family unit, with Captain John Price at the centre holding it all together.

He led you to the lift, directing you both down and out of the building into the cold night air. You took in deep lungful, each breath clearing your head and your heart.

‘So… what happened in there? Those MPs looked like they were about to piss their pants’

‘I woke up in the dark, needed to find Soap. They wouldn’t let me go’

‘So you used force?’

‘Barely, the guy folded like a lawn chair. Could have moved him in my sleep with all the fight he put up’

‘Spook…’

‘I know, I know. Moderation, timing, read the room, be careful blah blah blah… I’ve heard it all. But I needed to get out, to get to Soap. He’s calling me, Captain. I have to go to him. I can help’

‘You remember what happened?’

‘Soap got shot’

‘He got shot in the head, love. He’s dead. He died on the mission’

‘I know, I remember. But I have to see him, I can help him. I know I can’

‘There’s nothing to be done, medics saw him and pronounced him. They transported his body back, we’re waiting for his family to be informed’

‘I need to see him, there’s not much time. Please Captain. John. Please’ you look at him, cool air whipping your hair around your face, tears sting your eyes. This is your last chance, you need him to trust you once more.

‘He’s in the morgue tent. No one’s supposed to be back there, definitely not you. Not sure I should take you back there’.

He gives you one last hard stare, as if trying to find something in your eyes to convince him you’re strong enough to see you late friend, or maybe he’s looking for something in you to convince him to just take you back to the barracks.

‘You sure you want to do this?’

‘Yes, please. Take me to him’

‘Fuck’s sake’

He rubs a hand over his eyes and lets out a sigh that speaks to how bone tired he is. He looks back up and meets your gaze, whatever he’s looking for, he seems satisfied and begins walking you across the tarmac, towards the back end of the base.

A small shudder rolls through your shoulders, as you wrap your arms around yourself, Price eyes you as he strides ahead.

The old man sees everything, eh?

‘cold?’

‘yeah a little, it’s never really t-shirt weather up here is it?’

He unzips his fleece and drapes it over your shoulders. You slip your arms through the sleeves and zip yourself in, wrapping yourself in his exquisite warmth and smell. Masculine, smoky, those cigars you always tease him for smoking.

‘Thanks’

He nods slightly, giving you a final once over, finally noticing your pale feet on the tarmac

‘Fucking hell, where are your boots?’

You just shrug, continuing to follow him.

‘Couldn’t find them. I’ll sort it later, this first’

You continue your trek across the grounds, getting closer and closer to a large tent in the back corner of a large open parade ground. Ominous and white, it sits there in the partial darkness. Flood lights outside buzzing, as insects swarm around the bulbs, flying into them again and again in an endless death march.

You both stop at the entrance to the tent, Price looks at you once more.

‘You sure about this?’

‘I’m sure. I need to see him, please’

He nods and steps forward, holding the flap of the tent open. It’s freezing inside, even with the fleece on your teeth chatter at the cold. It’s not what you expected, though what did you really expect? You’ve never been to a morgue before, military or otherwise. Hell, you’d never seen a dead body before. You had no idea what you were even doing here, you just knew you had to get to him. You knew in your bones you could save him.

Almost there, hen. Just a bit further

The tent was wide and well lit, more linoleum on the floor.  There were gurneys lining the sides of the walkway, mercifully empty. Being in the UK, you guessed there really wasn’t much call for a morgue on base. Can’t imagine many people die here. You wondered why this one was even here, given it was empty. Empty save for one table.

Towards the middle of the room laying on a metal table, was Soap. Seeing him stole the breath from your lungs, you stopped dead, and just stared. Tears pricked behind your eyes and flooded down your cheeks. There he was. The reality of it punched you in the gut, you could feel Price wrapping his arms around you from behind, but you felt like you had separated from your body. Ringing in your ears drowned out all sound, your limbs felt numb. All you could do was stare.

Come on spook, don’t keep me waiting.

You snapped back into yourself, stepping forwards and out of Price’s grip. You approached the table, with him following closely behind, watching you closely.

He was still in the clothes he wore on the op, but his weapons and tac vest had been removed. You could see the wound at the side of his temple, flinching at the sight of it, and some blood marking one sleeve. Standing next to him, Soap looked so much bigger. Even in death, he was a beast of a man. A Titan.

‘He was the best of us, I still can’t believe he’s gone. Out of all of us. The boys are devastated, they’re waiting in the rec room. They’ll be glad to see you’

In the silence, you raised your hands, hovering them over his chest and then pressing them down onto his cold body over his heart. Breathing deeply, you listened, and felt him. Your power rolling through your fingers into him, feeling him.

That’s it, good girl. You know what to do?

‘Spook? You ok?’

You don’t move, don’t say a word. Price takes a step towards you, concern marring his face. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, but what you can do, what magic users can do, is still a great unknown, and he doesn’t like the unknown. He places a hand on your shoulder, when you don’t react he squeezes ever so gently.

‘Spook?’

Your eyes snap open, as you withdraw your hands. You turn to Price, smile creeping onto your face.

‘I know what I need to do. I think I can bring him back. I know I can’

‘That’s not possible, Spook. Even the medical witches aren’t able to do that, they assessed him, they told me they couldn’t help him. Besides that, it’s never happened, it can’t be done.’

‘I know, but please, I can see what I need to do. He’s right there, right on the other side waiting for me. Please, John. I know you’ve only known me for a short time, but please. Trust me, let me try. I know I can do it, I know I can bring him back’

Price looked at you with tight eyes, conflict raging behind them. You understood, those witches designated to healing could produce great results, depending on their level. But even the level fours could only do so much, their healing work was something to behold, nature defying in it’s beauty they could knit flesh and bone together like it was nothing, they could completely restore a battered, broken body with ease. But they couldn’t heal a damaged mind, and they couldn’t bring someone back from the dead. It had never been done, not in recorded history anyway. It had been attempted, sure, but every attempt had ended in failure. You weren’t even a medical witch, of course he didn’t trust you with his teammate, his friend.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t. We have to let him go. He’s gone’

‘I can help him, you have to let me’ you raise a hand and rest it on his chest, hoping to comfort him, to show him your strength and confidence in what you can do.

‘I’m sorry’, he cut you off ‘this was a mistake, I shouldn’t have brought you here. I’ll take you back to the boys’ He takes a hold of your arm, just above your elbow and begins to tug you back away from the table, trying to turn you with him towards the entrance.

He’s so strong, as you struggle in his grasp he tightens his grip, expression setting in stone as he doubles his efforts, large hand encasing your arm, fingers digging into the flesh, no doubt raising bruises beneath his fingertips.

‘Spook, this isn’t up for debate. I’m your CO, we are leaving. Now’

‘I’m sorry John’ you turn into him, and raise your hand spreading your fingertips causing his hand to release you. You gently push him back and hold him there, giving you room to work.

‘Spook, what the fuck! Let me go, right now’

‘Sorry Captain, it’s for the best’, pinching your thumb and index fingers together, his lips seal tightly, rage boiling in his eyes, and guilt flooding your own. You owe him everything, really. You only hope that if you succeed, he will forgive you. If not, you will have destroyed his trust, and the relationships that you’ve worked so hard to build over the months working with him and his team.

Best hurry, hen. He’s not lookin’ too happy with you

Sending one last pleading look at Price, you turn back to Soap.

‘Ok Johnny boy, here we go’

You step back up to the table, but you can’t get the right access. Cursing your smaller stature as you struggle to reach him properly. Knowing what you need to do, and knowing it’s going to make the Price situation so much worse, you sigh. Dragging over a stool from the side of the bench, you step onto it and then use it to swing yourself over Soap’s stomach on the table. You pass an apologetic look over to Price, who now looks a mix of absolute fury and horror.

‘Sorry! I need to see him’ you look down, ‘Sorry Soap’

You move up him, knees sitting on either side of his chest as you lean forward over his body. You press one hand back on his chest, hovering over his heart. The other you bring back up to his head, tracing the wound there. Magic crackles in your fingertips as you watch the bone and skin meld back together, leaving no visible mark behind.

Still handsome, eh bonnie?

‘Ok, here we go’ you say mostly to yourself, to Soap, and to Price valiantly struggling against your hold.

You lean forward over Soap once more, bringing yourself eye level with him, and dropping your face close to him. You pull all the magic you have, curling it around yourself and pushing it into him, into his chest. You can feel it enter through him, feel his body calling his soul back to it’s home. You feel his skin begin to warm from your magic, swirling it around his body, repairing and awakening his cells.

It draws you in, consuming everything you have, but you can feel it’s not enough. You press harder, drawing every ounce of strength you have from your very marrow, passing it into him.

‘Please, please, please. Come on Soap, you can’t leave yet’ Lights crackle above your head, you pass your spare hand up to his face, gripping his chin. Your head feels like it’s about to burst with the pressure, your body feels weak, limbs heavy, you close your eyes as a drop of blood falls from your nose onto his pale face.

You lean in close, and breathe gently against his lips, giving him everything. Every ounce of power, everything you have, your power, your sadness, your rage. He takes it all, the roaring in your ears growing, the ground trembling with your efforts to defy death.

And then silence. The world stops. You raise up, sat on his stomach, knees either side of his chest you tip your head back, completely exhausted, nothing left. You sense Price moving to your side, free from your bonds and able to move now you had expended everything you had.

He shook himself, gaining full control of him limbs before setting his rage on you. Striding towards the table, ready to rip you down onto the floor, to drag you back to the holding site, to be swallowed up by the system never to see the light of day again.

Just as he reached his hands out to take hold of you, he hears it. Soap, taking in a massive breath, eyes flying open to take in the scene around him- you straddling his chest, Price at his side face red with anger.

‘Hells fuckin’ bells’

‘Soap!’ ‘Johnny?’