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tiddygame · 14 days

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Ghoap god type au part 7!

Edit: I cannot count [I put six instead of seven]

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7

this was going to start with a bar fight however it ran far too long. but if you would like to read 1700 words of ghost beating people up, here you go!

@imjustheretofightforlove / @pieckyghost / @life-as-a-gamergirl

[and lmk if you want to be tagged!]

Look, in his defense, he may have thrown the first punch, but Ghost wasn’t the one who started the fight.

No, that honor belonged to the man who made grabby hands at the barmaid. It’s not Ghost’s fault that the man’s friends still chose to pick a fight after watching their buddy get his shit wrecked.

Just because Ghost enjoyed getting to beat the fuck out of them doesn’t mean he was the aggressor! But the city’s guards didn’t see it that way. So, until they saw reason, he was running through the freezing, dark, and dreary streets looking for a place to hide.

Luckily, a place to hide seemed to find him.

At least, that’s what it felt like when he was yanked into an alleyway and dragged behind a building. He was too broke to have to worry about a mugging and if the mystery person managed to murder him, he’d be more impressed than anything else.

However, his alleyway savior was neither a mugger nor a murderer.

“Ghost.” The god of death looked rather exasperated.

“Oh, hello Soap,” Ghost greeted cheerily, still high off of adrenaline, panting not from exertion but the thrill of the chase.

Soap did not share Ghost’s enthusiasm. In fact, he looked like he was about to combust as he buried his face in his hands and griped inaudible curses. Ghost looked around the area, too energetic to sit still and wait for Soap to collect himself.

Instead of the musty back alley he was expecting to see, he found a small courtyard formed in the middle of a block of buildings. There were benches along the walls and garden beds with lanterns to highlight the landscaping.

The riverside city was certainly one of the most… ostentatious places he’d ever seen, much less been in. It was meant for people rich enough to afford balconies overlooking courtyards and paved roads. All of it set his teeth on edge but the flowers were pretty at least.

The courtyard wasn’t a good hiding place by any means, but it beat getting chased through the streets by armed guards. While it was open, it appeared blissfully vacant of people, only violets and pansies present to witness his grand escape.

The god gathered himself with a deep breath and asked simply, “Why?”

Ghost huffed a breathy laugh and answered with a question of his own, “Why not?”

Soap’s exasperation only worsened at that. “Why not? This is why not!” Soap whisper yelled, grabbing Ghost’s hand to gesture at his bloody knuckles. He threw Ghost’s hand back down like he was slamming a door after an argument and walked off. He began pacing a small area, never getting too close to the mouth of the alley, with his head in his hands once again.

Ghost didn’t feel any sympathy, this was retribution for all of the stress the god had unintentionally inflicted unto Ghost. Honestly, it was funny to see him stressed over something as simple as a little fight in a tavern.

Ghost peeked around the edge of the alley as he checked the bloody fabric of his face mask, feeling his nose and making sure everything was still in place. While he didn’t feel any bone protruding out from where it should be, he could feel something wet and warm.

He looked down at his fingers to see how bad the bleeding was, finding small splotches of blood. It was certainly bleeding enough to be an annoyance, but as long as it stopped at some point it would probably be fine. Probably.

Hearing footsteps, he was already stepping out of sight and behind the building when Soap grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He wondered if the target of his brutal (but deserved) punishment was some high-ranking official; Ghost had never seen such a big deal made out of a simple brawl.

“Do you know why I’m here?” Soap asked suddenly, gripping his arm tighter and turning his attention solely to Soap.

Now fully focused, he noticed that the god looked much closer to what his original depictions had shown. He was no longer a generic looking guy with a few similar features, but a mostly accurate recreation of the god of death.

“Your eyes are blue,” Ghost noted instead of answering.

Soap looked like he was on the verge of mania. “I am here,” he said rather aggressively, “Because someone just died in a bar!”

Ghost checked his pulse.

“Not you, ye’ stupid fucking idiot! The man you attacked!” Soap’s accent was thicker in his anger even as he tried to keep his voice down.

“Attacked is a strong wor— Wait, I killed him?” He knew the man looked like a cowardly little bitch but he didn’t think he was that fragile.

“Yes!” Aside from the insanity, Soap’s tone was hard to pick up on. He didn’t know if the god was happy, disappointed, or plain driven mad. Knowing Ghost’s unmistakable ability to provoke people, it was probably a mix of the last two.

Retracing the fight, Ghost muttered to himself, “I guess I did slam his head against the bar…” He paused, thinking further before he added, ”And break a window with his face…”

“And what did you do after breaking the window?” Soap prompted, his tone making it clear he already knew the answer.

“I, uh,” Ghost stuttered. He didn’t want to admit it, feeling a little silly for being surprised he died once he reflected on the fight.

“Yes?”

“I threw him out of the window,” Ghost muttered like he was a kid admitting to stealing a cookie.

In his defense, the bar was full of people and he wanted to move the fight outside to avoid any innocent patrons becoming collateral. It was only a coincidence that the easiest way to do that was via the window. Again, not his fault. And it was only a ground floor window; It wasn’t like he fell a couple of stories or anything.

“And?”

Ghost remained silent for a while like he could wait out Soap’s patience and avoid answering the question. It didn’t work. He wasn’t ashamed of his actions per se but he didn’t feel like answering for them either.

“And I beat him into the ground. A lot.”

‘A lot’ was an understatement. He probably still had some of the creep’s teeth stuck in his knuckles. As brutal as it was, it was still deserved. If the dude didn’t want to get murdered he shouldn’t have been so easy to kill. Not Ghost’s fault that the creep was weak minded and weak skulled.

Soap interrupted his recollecting, “Do you not see the problem here?”

“No?” Ghost answered with the truth on instinct before he remembered self-preservation. “I mean— his death, what a shame, truly — A tragedy even!” Ghost pretended to mourn, not caring enough to try to make it convincing.

“No it’s not,” Soap shut down immediately. “But you committed a murder.”

Ghost nodded once, “Yes.”

“And the guards are going to be looking for a murderer.”

Ghost nodded again, “Yes.” That is, in fact, how the law works.

“Ghost!”

“Soap!”

Soap looked ready to start his own brawl. “How the fuck do you plan on getting out of here without getting arrested?!”

Oh, was that the problem Soap had?

“Run,” Ghost answered plainly. There was a very long pause as they stared at each other, Soap both pissed and exasperated while Ghost enjoyed the show.

Their little stare down was broken up when guards entered through a different side of the courtyard. As soon as they saw the pair, orders were shouted and several very well armed men rushed towards them.

“Speaking of running…” Ghost didn’t hesitate, grabbing Soap’s wrist and following his previously stated plan to avoid arrest.

He ran, dragging along the god of death through the alley in a reversal of his rescue from however many minutes earlier. He made sure to keep a firm grasp on the god as they rounded the corner and booked it down the streets.

Ghost wasn’t worried about losing him, he just wanted to drag Soap along as payback for… some transgression Soap had surely caused at some point. Yeah, Ghost couldn’t think of one specific example that substantiated turning him into an accomplice to murder right at that moment, but Soap still deserved it.

Or maybe Ghost was just an asshole. Either way, he wasn’t letting the god pop out of existence just because they might get charged for a capital offense.

They were still a ways from city limits and with the number of guards on their asses, there was no way they’d be able to hide again. Ghost headed towards the river, hoping the waterline would give them a clear path to follow away from the city without risk of them going in circles.

“Ghost,” Soap shouted behind him without any hint of breathlessness despite their running, “Please tell me you have a plan!”

Ghost’s response was much more breathy. “I already told you,” Ghost grinned behind his bloody face mask, “Run!”

The cobbled streets were covered in rain puddles in various states of freezing; Some cracked and splashed underfoot and some threatened to send them sprawling on the ground. He could barely hear the late-night dockworkers milling about over the sound of thundering footsteps.

Ghost took random turns in the hopes that it would prevent the guards from realizing his destination and setting a trap. Even then, they were still at a disadvantage. Each turn could be a dead end and the men chasing them would know the city in and out while Ghost was (literally) playing it by ear.

Though his strategy of going down whatever street took his fancy paid off in the end. They landed on a street that was more occupied, one with people wandering around but more importantly, horses. Ghost took a second to survey them, finding the most expensive looking one and running towards it.

There was very little space between them and the guards. Ghost yanked the reins from the hitching post and lept on, startling the poor horse. He half-helped/half-dragged Soap up behind him, urging the horse on as soon as his feet were off the ground.

Now with the advantage, he went straight for the docks. The guards weren’t able to keep up and the distance between them grew. Soap was clinging on to him as tight as he could with both arms encircled around his midsection; Ghost didn’t know if it was to make sure he didn’t fall or to make sure that if he did fall, he’d take Ghost down with him.

Considering he’d just been dragged through icy streets being chased by men with spears, it was probably the latter.

Ghost’s theory about the docks giving them a path out was validated soon enough. While the paved road turned back into the city, there was a clearshot out into the surrounding plains, a partially worn path following the shoreline.

He didn’t slow down until the lights of the city had faded into twinkles amongst the dark horizon. With no other plan materializing, he continued along the grassy shore. The river’s slow erosion had chipped away at the bank until it became more of a miniature riverside cliff, a wall of mud and rocks lifting them away from the edge of the water.

He watched as their barely-there reflection leisurely chased them along the water, the deceptively fast current distorting the picture. His breath visibly puffed out as he laughed at the fact that his half-baked plan worked.

He leaned down a little, petting the horse’s neck; Without him, Ghost would probably be halfway to being tossed off a mountain by that point. The frogs sang them a beautiful chorus to applaud their escape, their croaking smothering any other calls from the wildlife.

“Ghost,” Soap called quietly, getting his attention. Glancing behind him, he could barely see the god resting his cheek against Ghost’s shoulder, staring off to the side and watching the river.

“Yes?” he answered, keeping the quiet tone that Soap had started, not wanting to break the calm that had settled over them.

Soap murmured, “Do you normally do this?”

“Beat a man to death or run from the cops?” Ghost asked.

Soap chuckled, “No, I’ve been with you for long enough to know that beating someone to death isn’t unusual for you. I meant the murder charge and grand escape on horseback.”

“Normally I don’t get caught.”

“So the ‘throwing someone out the window and beating them in the street with a crowd watching’ is new.”

“Eh,” Ghost shrugged but felt bad for the reflexive action when it jostled where Soap was resting his head. “Depends on your definition of crowd.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Soap asked, lifting his head and pulling away slightly to stare at him baffled before he quickly added, “Actually, wait— no. I don’t want to know. Keep your secrets.”

The sudden change in heart had Ghost chuckling as well. It was the lightest he had felt in… years, probably.

The realization almost sent him on yet another introspective spiral but he shook the thought from his head, refusing to do such deep level thinking after the chaotic night they’d had.

He pulled his cloak tighter, mostly to busy his hands, and Soap scooted closer, wrapping his arms around him, once again acting like he had any body heat to share. But, exactly like last time, Ghost appreciated the notion nonetheless and didn’t say anything.

The warmness of the gesture made up for the lack of heat.

Ew, gods, what the fuck was that?

“Soap?”

The god somehow pressed closer. “Yes?”

“I think,” Ghost started the sentence without knowing what he was thinking. “I might be drunk…”

Soap dropped his head against Ghost’s shoulder and sighed, “Motherfucker…”

Whether it was cursing Ghost, the situation in general, or both didn’t matter, it made Ghost crack up either way. It started with quiet chuckles but the more he thought about the absurdity of the situation, the funnier everything got, ending with them both laughing like idiots at nothing in particular.

No, he wasn’t drunk, he had to be fucking wasted. He didn't think he drank that much, but he felt that too-many-glasses-in floaty feeling all the same.

Soap tried to hide his laughter by ducking his head but it didn’t help his cause when he ducked closer to Ghost. When the god managed to get a hold of himself, he squeezed his arms again and Ghost thought he was about to let go, but instead Soap only held on tighter, hooking his chin over Ghost’s shoulder like a koala.

Ghost settled his left hand over Soap’s arms, an attempt at assurance that he wouldn’t let him fall. They rode on in silence only a moment longer before Soap spoke again, using that same quiet tone from earlier.

“Stop down by the shore there?” he requested, pointing to a low point where the bank actually met the water.

Ghost wordlessly nodded, steering his stolen steed towards the water. He dismounted and offered Soap his hand, who gratefully accepted the offer for help. Soap moved slowly like he was nervous and tried to gradually slide off the side.

When Soap’s feet hit the ground, Ghost grabbed his waist to steady him with Soap’s hand grabbing his shoulder in return. There was a pause after which Soap patted his shoulder and nodded his thanks before walking on towards the water. Admittedly, he likely would have been fine with or without Ghost’s help, but he wanted to keep his silent promise about not letting Soap fall.

Besides, it’s not like he dismounted on his own the last time he was on a horse…

…Fuck.

Ghost just made a fool of himself, didn’t he?

He tried not to outwardly groan at his own idiocy. It’s not like Soap is a god or anything, of course he needed Ghost’s help!

Did Soap smile because he was thankful or because he was trying not to laugh? Or was it an awkward smile from Ghost overstepping? He internally sighed at his own incompetence and followed Soap to the bank.

Soap was kneeling down with his hand in the water to check the temperature and only spared him a glance when he huffed and sat down.

Ghost peeled off his soaked mask and shivered at the winter air hitting the wet blood. His nose was still bleeding and suffocating himself with his own blood sounded like a pretty shitty way to end such a great night.

He pulled the collar of his cloak up to his neck to compensate for the newfound lack of protection from the cold. He tried to lick his lips to alleviate the chapped feeling but grimaced when all he could taste was blood.

Apparently his scrunching his nose and spitting to the side was enough to draw Soap’s attention as he turned from the river and commenced his favorite hobby: staring.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Ghost asked with a grin, knowing his face was covered in his own blood.

“Gods, you’re stupid,” Soap muttered. He stood, shook out his hand, marched over to Ghost, and yanked his mask out of his hands. Soap fiddled with the fabric, finding the non-bloodsoaked side and holding onto it as he dipped it in the river.

Once it was to his liking, he kneeled down next to him and grabbed his chin. Ghost had never seen someone be able to do something angrily yet gently, but Soap managed to do it as he wiped away the blood and checked for damage.

Even though the water was freezing, it felt nice on the scrapes and soon to be bruises that adorned his face. Ghost knew that his nose was fine, he’d just checked it, but he had a feeling that trying to tell Soap that wouldn’t do much of anything beyond adding further proof to the god’s stubbornness.

When he was done, Soap didn’t say anything, only hummed in what Ghost assumed was some type of approval. He would have thought that was it, but based on the way the god paused and stared at his knuckles before rinsing the mask again, he had a feeling there was still more to come.

Soap was somehow even gentler as he cleaned his hands, knowing they housed more cuts and scrapes that were significantly more sensitive than the few shallow ones around his face. He took his time, being very careful and rinsing the improvised rag several times so as to not smear more blood and dirt on what he was trying to clean.

Despite knowing the futility, Ghost couldn’t help but prod, “You know I’m just going to clean everything myself when I get back to camp, right?” The running water was a good start, but the cuts would still need to be properly disinfected. “I’m not that stupid,” he defended with a (slightly painful) huff of laughter.

Soap shook his head as he answered, “No, I know, I just… I can’t not check it myself, I—” Soap registered the second half of his statement and got a weird look, “I know you’re not stupid. I’m doing this because I want to, not because I think you’re helpless.”

Ghost didn’t know how to respond to the much more serious answer to his joking jab at himself. “I was joking,” he clarified in case Soap missed his tone.

“Yeah,” Soap dismissed without looking up and continued cleaning away dried blood.

Gods, all of this conversation shit was easier when he didn’t give a fuck. What do normal people do when they fuck up a conversation? Bring up something else to talk about? Apologize? Make a joke at their own expense? (Well, that was what started it, so probably not that one.)

Apparently he was stuck ruminating on his lack of social skills longer than Soap was as the god had already finished cleaning his knuckles. He rinsed the mask again but dropped it on the grass next to Ghost.

Soap asked in a much softer tone, “How do your ribs feel? Sore?”

The switch threw Ghost off before he finally answered, “A little.” It was an honest answer as he knew both that Soap would check them regardless of what he said and that he was going to regret a lot of his decisions in the morning when the bruising really set in.

“Hmph,” was all the god said in response, not buying Ghost’s nonchalance.

Soap reached forward slowly, his palms snaking under his cloak but staying over his tunic and hesitantly resting against his ribcage. Ghost had braced for unpleasantness, but really, it didn’t feel like anything at all. That would change when he started actually checking for any abnormalities, but at least the contact itself didn’t hurt.

Soap looked to the side and closed his eyes, completely focused on feeling for any breaks and listening for any sign of pain from Ghost. It did hurt when his hands pressed, but it wasn’t too bad, at least not when compared to getting into a drunken pub brawl.

Soap was methodical in his examination. He started at his lower ribs and set a pattern to follow; First he’d check around the middle of his chest, then move his hands out, then check his sides, and then he moved up. He seemed to focus on two, maybe three ribs with each pass.

The touch left him feeling all weird and tingly. It didn’t hurt but he did feel oddly anxious yet he didn’t feel like he needed to stop Soap. It was that same feeling he had in the temple when the god made his first entrance. It was the feeling of knowing that he should hate it, that his skin should be crawling, but instead finding it almost… nice.

Several minutes later, Soap sat back and did a quick once over. “If any of them are fractured, it’s just a crack.”

“So carry on as normal,” Ghost said, mostly just to get a rise out of him.

It worked, Soap giving him a nasty look that read, ‘Take it easy, or I’ll break them myself.’

Knowing the god would do it, Ghost held his hands up in surrender. He sniffled but felt something warm drip from his nose and grumbled at the fact that he disrupted the clot that had formed.

Soap was already on it, grabbing the discarded mask and holding it up to his nose, waiting for him to take it. Medical exam through with, Ghost groaned as he slowly leaned back and tried to lay against the soft grass. Tried, because Soap immediately grabbed his shoulder to hold him up and tilted his head back down.

“You’re not supposed to tilt your head back with a nosebleed, stupid,” he chastised, joining him in sitting on the bank. It was much warmer with the god next to him.

“Oh so you can call me stupid but when I do it, there’s a problem,” Ghost jokingly complained, not able to let sleeping dogs lie.

“Yes, because we both know that I don’t actually mean it when I call you stupid, stupid.”

Ghost rolled his eyes, unable to think of a good retort to respond jokingly nor a genuine rebuttal. As the conversation fell away, he carefully looked up without tilting his head back in fear of drawing Soap’s ire. It was more than a little awkward and strained his eyes but it allowed him to watch the sky without incurring the wrath of god.

The dark night looked a little lighter with the sheet of gray clouds hanging over the moon, illuminated by the stars. He could see how fast the wind was moving as small, nearly imperceptible shadows rippled across the cloudy blanket and hustled along the sky.

He almost didn’t notice when the snow first started falling.

The little white flecks managed to blend in amongst the sparse trees that dotted the other side of the river but stood out once they fell against the darker and much more solid bluff. It fell lazily with most melting as soon as they hit the ground.

Ghost thinks they only sat there watching the river and snow for a few minutes, long enough for his nosebleed to clot again and let him pocket the dirtied mask. With the ground colder, the snow began to ever so slowly accumulate with a barely noticeable white dusting gathering across the green prairie.

Soap sighed, stood, wiped off his undirtied pants, and offered Ghost his hand. “You’ve had a long night. Don’t want it to end with hypothermia, aye?”

“C’mon,” Soap muttered with that stupid fucking look of not-pity. “You’re gonna get cold.”

Ghost groaned as he stretched the best he could with his ribs, “What is it with you and me freezing to death…”

“Oh, sorry for wanting to keep you alive,” Soap grouched sarcastically.

Ghost grabbed the offered hand and took his time as he stood, the soreness and exhaustion kicking him harder after the small rest.

“Bold, coming from the god of death,” Ghost rebutted, slowly trudging forwards.

“Just get on the damn horse,” Soap snapped back, his smile giving away the lack of anger behind his words.

Ghost did as he was told and once on, held out his hand to return the favor and help Soap up. While he had definitely made a fool of himself earlier by “helping” him down, Soap would certainly need help here. Getting on behind someone else was always much trickier than mounting first; You had less room to maneuver, less hand holds to grab, and a whole person in your way.

(Ghost was desperately trying to defend his second stupid instinctual decision of the night.)

But just like last time, regardless of his true feelings on the offer, Soap simply smiled and accepted the help. His only reassurance was that Ghost did indeed have to put more strength than he thought he would into lifting him.

Maybe he hadn’t made himself look like an ass…? It was wishful thinking, but it made him feel better so he was sticking to it.

Once he was up and situated, Soap grumbled just loud enough for Ghost to hear, “Maybe if ye’d stop tryin’ to stay outside when it was freezing, I wouldnae have to worry about you dying from the cold.”

Pained chuckles snuck out from Ghost even as he tried to hold them down. When he failed he wasn’t sure if he was more upset about the stabbing pain in his ribs or the fact that he laughed at Soap’s quip.

Ghost shook his head and urged the horse along, slowly pulling away from the riverside to find a road. He had to be careful; He knew where camp was relative to the city, but if he got too close to the outskirts, they’d be running again.

Soap was happy to continue his impression of a limpet, grabbing onto him as tight as he could. He thought he made it clear that he wouldn’t let Soap fall, but perhaps not. Ghost once more dropped his hand down to rest over Soap’s as a reminder that he’d catch him.

“Why did you go out to the tavern?”

Ghost almost shivered at the sudden words with how close they were to his ear. It wasn’t too loud, no, but it wasn’t until he spoke that Ghost truly realized how close Soap was to his neck. He was sure that if the god breathed, he’d have felt the words against the shell of his ear.

Ghost composed himself before he could make things weird again. “What, is there something wrong with me getting a drink?”

“No, but this is the first time in the six months we’ve known each other that ye’ve gone drinking. Figured something might’ve caused it.”

He forgot the original question and balked, “Gods, six months?”

“Yup,” Soap huffed, “Since… what? Midsummer?”

“Damn,” Ghost shook his head, “Can’t believe I’ve put up with you for that long.”

Soap shoved his shoulder lightly, “Just answer the question.”

The smile that had been growing on his lips shrank. “Got into an argument with the general. We’re supposed to be moving out to hit some isolated camp in a few weeks — he’s hoping it has some information they need or something.”

“Ah,” Soap nodded sardonically, “A celebratory drink then.”

Ghost scoffed, too angry at the memories of why he set out in the first place to play along with the joke.

Soap stayed silent until he couldn’t hold back anymore. “You don’t have to follow him, you know.”

He sighed tiredly, “Soap, please, we’ve been over this, just let—”

“Yeah, I know.”

The disappointment infecting his tone left Ghost wanting to restart the entire night just for the chance to fix Soap’s sudden sorrow. He had to remind himself that Soap’s disappointment was his own fault and not Ghost’s. He still felt bad.

This time it was Soap that offered the obvious though very appreciated change in topic. “What are you planning to do with the horse?”

Ghost didn’t catch the question, lost in the pervasive sad tone that hovered around them and had to ask Soap to repeat himself.

“The horse,” Soap patted his side for emphasis, “What are you planning on doing with him?”

“Oh,” Ghost absently responded as he thought about it. “Oh shit…”

What the hell does he do with the horse?

The heavy atmosphere was still too heavy for a laugh but Soap got pretty close. He suggested, “You could take him back to camp?”

Ghost shook his head, “I don’t think that would end well.” He was a good horse, but Ghost didn’t think it would be fair to send him off to war just because he was good at running from some guards.

Soap threw out another suggestion, “Could turn ‘im loose?”

“No!”

Despite being sat behind him, Soap sarcastically held his hands up in surrender, “Was just saying, damn.” As soon as the little joke was done he went right back to clinging onto Ghost like a magnet. “What about… dropping him in some farmer’s pasture?”

Ghost hummed, “I doubt that would end well for him either.” Too many worst case scenarios flashed through his head, all foretelling ways he could be hurt by their oversight.

And the farmer could get charged for that creep’s murder. That would probably be bad too, Ghost supposed. Not as bad as the horse getting hurt, but still bad.

“Well you can’t return him,” Soap commented, thinking aloud as he tried to figure out a solution.

“…Hey, Soap?”

He immediately turned it down, “No. Absolutely not.”

Ghost leaned back against him to get in his way as he protested, “You don’t know what I was going to say!”

“I know it was stupid!”

“Didn’t you just chastise me for calling myself stupid?”

“Well, yes but that’s— You know what? Okay.” Soap sighed heavily and put on an overly cheerful tone, “Ghost, what was your idea?”

“Drop him off in the city then run like hell.”

“See!” Soap shouted, gesturing wildly around Ghost, “Stupid!”

Ghost paused on the road and glanced back and forth between the way to camp and the way to the city. He remembered the road they grabbed him from, maybe it wouldn’t be too hard to find it again…

He surreptitiously tugged the reins towards the town.

“No! I— I’ll do it, for fuck’s sake!” Soap huffed, grabbing his shoulders to stop him. “They probably already have posters with your face on ‘em on every corner and you want to go back for a horse?” Soap asked rhetorically.

Ghost ignored the god’s dramatics and asked, “How do I know you’d actually return him?”

“Because I know that if I don’t, you’d prove my theory about ye’ being able to kill a god!”

Ghost sighed and shook his head, not wanting a repeat of their prior debate. If it meant Soap safely returned the horse, then so be it.

Of all consequences to come from beating a man to death, he didn’t think grand theft horse would be one of his main concerns.

He turned away from the city and continued towards the camp, unconsciously slowing the closer they got. When they inevitably reached the trail that led to its gates, he came to a full stop. They sat in silence as Ghost came to the realization that he didn’t want the night to end.

He internally scoffed at the epiphany, wondering if he magically forgot about downing a whole bottle, the effects of his drinking still weighing heavily on his judgment.

That old friend’s voice was back again.

You’re not drunk. It’s called being happy, dipshit.

Ghost immediately rejected the idea as ramblings from a tombstone.

I might be dead but I’m still right.

Ghost really wished that the very unhelpful opinions of a dead man would stay in the grave with him. Even if he might, might have had an ever so slight, practically miniscule, insignificant point…

He dismounted but didn’t move towards camp. The snow had petered off but was picking back up, Ghost’s cloak waving in the wind.

“Thanks for saving me from the death penalty,” Ghost said, a small smile pulling at his lips, no longer hidden by his pocketed mask. Soap moved up, taking the reins, presumably readying for the wonderful task of innocently returning a stolen horse.

“Of Course. If not you, who else would put up with me?” Soap asked with a matching expression. Ghost pet the horse’s mane one last time, letting his hand drop to Soap’s leg.

“Guess you’re stuck with me,” Ghost said, trying not to smile like a drunken idiot.

Soap pulled the reins and began on his journey for reverse horse theft, throwing back with a tone that Ghost wasn’t sure he could convince himself was purely sarcastic, “Not too bad of a fate, I don’t think.”

Ghost scoffed and would have hurled insults at him in response but Soap was too far away. Instead, he stood there like a fool and watched him ride away in what he didn’t doubt was a rather creepy manner.

He felt something bubbling in his throat that, for once, wasn’t anxiety. His chest felt weird and fluffy, like it was suddenly easier to breathe. He felt… Happy.

Ghost felt happy.

#ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #ghoap god type au #forgotten death au #no ive never seen snow before why do you ask #me realizing I wrote the ye olde version of their get away in las almas:

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