georgethequeerpuppet-blog - Tumblr blog

georgethequeerpuppet-blog · 2 months

Text

For @strangerfandomfiascos

Some good ole Steve-centric angst!

Pathological

By George The Puppet (curiouser_n_curiouser on Ao3)

Trigger Warnings

Implied ED

Implied SH

Implied S*cidal Thoughts

Dissociation

Mania/Hysteria

Mental Breakdowns

Mentions of Vomit

Word count: 1561

Enjoy!

He'd been convinced he was okay.

Eddie was healing.

Dustin was slowly becoming himself, again.

Max was awake.

Everybody was alive.

And yet...

He was drowning again.

Steve found himself stuck in a cycle. Boredom meshed with his downright shit mood, and suddenly he was walking in circles around his empty childhood home.

He was sure that there would be a visible path along the floorboards, soon. His socks caught on the cracked floor sealer. His steps felt crackly.

It made him want to throw up.

Steve was stuck. The knowledge that he was hungry pressed against the back of his mind. But every time he stepped onto the kitchen tile, his knees grew weak and his stomach sank to his feet.

He couldn't do it.

And so, the loop would start again. Through the kitchen, with nothing but a sidelong glance at the fridge. Back out into the dining room, and through the doorway into the living room.

There, he'd sit on the couch for hours at a time. His thoughts echoed in his ears. Deafening in the silence of an empty house. He was choking. Suffocated. Smothered by an irrational fear that it was all just going to stop.

Then he would heave his aching body off the couch, drag himself up the stairs with legs made of lead, and collapse into his bed. The plush mattress and light blue sheets weren't comforting, anymore. The fabric felt greasy against his raw skin. The mattress held his body in such a firm grip that he was suffocating all over again.

A sleepless night bled into a restless morning. On the days he could force himself out of bed, it would be the beginning of another loop.

On the days he couldn't... well... he'd spend hours in the same position. Eventually forced to move by his screaming joints and tingling muscles.

Sleep continued to elude him.

Steve couldn't remember the last time he had gotten more than an hour or two at a time.

It was torture. Self-inflicted. Brutal.

Days bled into weeks, and Steve could feel himself wasting away. Every few days, his body would push him just that little bit further. Survival instincts would kick in. He'd eat a couple of the frozen dinners out of the freezer in the basement, turn on the TV for once, drink some hot chocolate, and pass out on the couch for a day.

His body was trying. But that was more than he could say for the rest of him. Steve wasn't even sure if he could feel anymore.

The moments when he thought he could... When he felt it swell in his chest...

They would quickly turn to hysteria.

Mania. Something so fucking toxic that he'd end up in the bathtub, rocking himself back and forth under the lukewarm stream from the shower– desperately trying to stop the hysterical laughter that often had him leaning over the toilet, spitting bile.

It fucking hurt. In more ways than one.

And what hurt more, was the fact that he'd had practical radio silence from the others.

He was alone.

It's where he was now.

The shower was running cold - it had been for a while. His hands and feet ached with how long they had been subjected to the harsh spray of water.

Steve was just trying to breathe. It had stopped a while ago - he was trying not to think about it. If he didn't think about it, he would be okay.

Someone was knocking on his front door.

Which was weird, because he hadn't had any visitors in a month - and now someone was here.

Steve dragged himself off the couch, bringing the knitted throw with him. He could feel it dragging along the floor. It was fine.

The dread didn't settle in until his hand was turning the deadbolt. Even then, it took an extra moment for him to figure out that it was, in fact, dread. And the door was open by then.

Four familiar faces looked back at him, each a portrait of shock and concern. Each more distraught than the next.

He moved to close the door again– only for a leather-clad arm to shove back against it.

"Nuh-uh, Harrington. Don't you dare close this door on us."

The words were firm and hoarse.

That bubble was growing thickly in his chest. Fuck.

But he couldn't speak. He couldn't tell them to leave. Because if he opened his mouth now, it would all spill out before he'd prepared himself for it.

He felt like he was dying.

Steve stepped back from the door, eyes locked onto the tiles of the entryway. He watched them come inside, each toeing off their shoes next to the empty shoe rack.

Steve kept backing up. His feet tangled in the knitted blanket. His ankles ached something fierce. And there, right in front of the stairs, his knees buckled.

Shouts of panic bounced off the walls. Around the inside of his skull. Behind his eyes.

Hands gripped his shoulders, his chin, his wrists. His head was tilted up, and his eyes left the floor. She was close. Almost too close.

But he hadn't seen her in so long that it didn't feel as intrusive as it should have.

"Steve, do you feel okay?" Her hand drifted from his shoulder to his forehead, feeling for a non-existent fever. "What's going on?"

A shiver shot down his spine. Steve shook his head. He didn't know how to answer that question. He didn't know what was wrong.

"We've been trying to come see you for weeks! You never answer your door, Steve. What the fuck is going on?" Robin's words cut through the brain fog. Piercing his fragile soul.

The lump rose up from his chest and into his throat. His breath caught against it. A whine tore from his chest. The sound was nothing but pathetic.

Steve jerked his chin out of Nancy's hand, curling in on himself. Every time he swallowed around the lump, it threatened to break. To send him into another episode. He hadn't been ready for this.

He didn't want to do this.

"Steve–"

He ripped himself away from them before Jonathon could say anything else, darting up the stairs faster than he'd moved since March. The blanket made it to the top of the stairs with him, before it caught on the wood skirting panel and flopped back onto the floor.

He shut himself in the bathroom and locked the door behind himself before they could even make it up the stairs behind him. His knees slammed into the tile, sending sharp pains up into his hips.

Steve ignored the banging on the door. He ignored their calls for him. Their concern.

Everything around him melted away as the lump in his throat cracked.

It started like it always did. Hot tears and lurching sobs. Fingers tangling in his already matted hair.

Heaving for a breath, Steve dragged himself into the bathtub. A shaking hand reached up to turn on the shower. Cold water slammed into him like a truck.

He curled up on his side, facing the wall - away from the door.

A loud crack echoed through the room, and Steve couldn't help the full-body flinch.

Like a switch flipping - a trigger - the laughter began. The sobs competed with it, fighting his lungs for the next breath. His head was splitting open. Throbbing incessantly.

He wished it would just stop.

At first, it was just one hand. It had him shuddering against the side of the tub, pulling away on instinct.

But the hand didn't leave. It stayed. It moved. Rubbing slow circles over his arm. Steve shuddered, his breath hitching.

"What's going on, Steve?"

What was going on?

"Is it... the Upside Down?"

It wasn't that. He knew it wasn't. This was nothing but his own mind tearing itself apart.

He was fucked. He'd actually lost it.

Steve shook his head, his hands moving back to his hair. They gripped tight and pulled hard as another hybrid noise tore from him.

It sent him into a coughing fit. Dehydration and exertion were wrecking havoc.

"Steve, Vecna is dead. So what's going on?"

He tried to pull away again. Someone turned the water off, and he had to bite back the impulse to hiss at them like a wild animal.

He didn't try to answer. He knew he wouldn't get anything out around his breakdown. More firm hands gripped him. They forced him out of his less-than comfortable position and back out of the tub he had been treating like a second bed.

They tried to get him to stand, but Steve's legs were still adamantly staying out of it. Nancy and Jonathan lowered him back onto the tiles, and Robin was on him the second he was still.

The laughter was fading faster than usual. They were distracting him from his own head. He was well aware if it, and yet every part of him screamed to just... let it happen.

They forced his fragile frame out of his icy-wet clothes. Swaddled him in towels, tighter than anyone had held him since he was a baby. Held him together with nothing but their arms around him.

Steve fell apart on the bathroom floor. But they never let him fall far.

#stranger things #steddie angst #steddie #steve harrington #steve harrington centric #stranger things fanfiction #fanfic #steddie fanfic #pre relationship #fanfiction requests #heavy angst

8 notes · View notes

georgethequeerpuppet-blog · 3 months

Text

Did a thing

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #lieutenant ghost #simon riley #ghost cod #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty fanart #fanart #ghost fanart #digital art #digital drawing #please do not repost

40 notes · View notes

georgethequeerpuppet-blog · 3 months

Text

Burning Effigy

By curiouser_n_curiouser on Ao3

(georgethequeerpuppet on Tumblr)

An angst filled time-loop Steddie fic. Full fic available on Ao3.

Chapter 1 - Connection

It was over. Fuck, it was over.

Steve let out a breath. His lungs rattled, ribs creaking. Bone-deep exhaustion settled in. Pain wracked up and down his limbs, sharp throbbing assaulting his sides. His head pounded along with his heart.

The trailer was filled with stuffy air and disintegrating bats. Particles floated through the air around them, swirling.

Dustin sobbed into his shoulder.

"- the vents. We missed the f-fucking vents."

Dustin's cries were a painful reminder that even though it was over, and they had won, they had still lost.

"We need to go." Nancy stood in the doorway, sympathy mirroring Steve's.

He didn't know Eddie well. Sure, he knew of him, he knew about him. But Dustin had some restraint. He hadn't spilled all of Eddie's secrets when talking about him to Steve.

Steve hauled Dustin to his feet, leading him to the gate. He helped Robin through, and she quickly tossed down a new sheet rope. Then Dustin went through, then Nancy. Steve sighed, glancing back out at the park beyond the doorway.

God, he wished he could go back.

He wished he could have saved Eddie. For Dustin.

And maybe even a little for himself.

Maybe it was time that he started wanting things for himself. Maybe it was time for Steve to actually follow his own heart for once. For Eddie.

Hauling himself up the rope, Steve narrowly avoided the closing edges of the gate, and let his body flip the other way up.

Steve let go. He let himself fall. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he tried to persuade himself that none of this had happened.

He fell for what felt like an eternity. His body turned cold against the open air.

A tight grip wrapped around his ankle, and his bare back slammed against rough, dry, cold ground.

Steve's eyes snapped open. The cloudy sky swirled above him. His skin tore against the ground. Steve twisted, pulling the flashlight from his pocket. He slammed the butt of the light into the dry ground. The bag crinkled and tore, before the solid shaft caught in a large crack. His arm was yanked near out of its socket. Suddenly the vine around his ankle was gone.

Steve rolled, heaving with winded lungs. Cold air bit at his already raw throat.

Fuck, he'd thought it was over.

Screeches filled his ears, coming at him from all sides.

God, he wanted it to be over.

Steve took a breath, as deep as he could with bruised lungs. He looked up and around himself. The bats were closing in, and the boat was further away this time.

Steve rolled into a crouch, wracking his brain for ideas.

How the fuck was he going to do this?

If he went for the boat, he couldn't be certain that the bats wouldn't get to him first. If he ran for the woods...

Well, if his theory was correct, the others wouldn't know where he was.

Steve looked back at the gate, it's red glow cutting through the darkness. He could see Nancy's figure climbing out of it.

Suddenly, a bat swooped him. Instinct took over and he straightened from his crouch. The bat circled him, before launching back toward his face.

Only this time around, Steve knew their patterns of attack. Maybe not as well as he would have liked. But it was better than nothing.

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around the thing's grotesque little head. It screeched against his palm, prompting another creature to dive bomb.

He ducked, hunching over and drawing his shoulders up to protect his neck. He could feel it's tail searching along his back.

At first, he thought it would fly away, and then re-engage. But then it's tail wrapped around the bicep of his free arm, and Steve was forced to wrap his other hand around the long tails trying to pull him over.

The bat in his right hand flapped frantically, teeth biting into his palm, but not gaining any traction or latch.

The bat in his left hand screeched and squirmed, trying to get away from him. It’s tail was like a cat’s tongue, scratching up his palm, tearing his skin.

"Steve!"

Robin's voice cut through the air, and Steve's head whipped up to look for her. All three of them were running at him, Nancy and Eddie with oars in hand. Another bat swooped him, before latching onto his side where he stood.

Fuck, he guessed if they were desperate enough, they would completely bypass actually downing him before attacking.

He let out a yelp, falling to his knees in pain.

It was worse without the tails around his throat to distract him.

Nancy reached him first, just as he slumped backwards onto his back. And he was hit with a sense of déjà vu when she whacked the thing with her oar. She said something, but he was too caught up in keeping his grip on the bats that he didn't hear it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others were now fighting off their own bats.

Steve heaved himself back onto his knees as best he could with his elbows.

He needed to deal with the biter first.

With all his might, he slammed the thing into the ground, head first. It screeched in pain, so he did it again.

And again. And again. And again.

And again, and again, and again.

Until it finally went still, it's blood mingling with Steve's own.

He pulled a knee up, moving his other hand to grip the tail of his second victim, just above his left. His hands moved up it's tail, one by one. It screamed and fluttered desperately, trying to get away. As if it sensed what was about to happen.

Once Steve reached the base of it's tail, he grabbed hold of the creature's right wing and pulled. But with the blood slick on his hand, the thing just screamed at him and flapped harder.

So he did the next thing he could think of.

Realistically, he knew he could have probably picked a different method of destruction, but his mind drifted to his previous conversation with Eddie, in the woods, and he just went for it.

He closed his injured palm around the bat's body, pinning one of the wings, and bit down on it's head, as hard as he could.

It only fought for moment, before going limp in his hands. Then, he pulled.

Lips bared, teeth glistening with black blood.

Steve tore the thing's head off.

That's how he found himself throwing the dead thing to the ground, and spitting it's own head, blood and skull fragments at its corpse.

Nancy rushed to his side, gently gripping his shoulder to take a closer look at his side and back. Her hands went to his, cupping his bloodied palm.

Fuck, he was tired.

And the next thing he knew, they were ducked under Skull Rock, waiting out the swarm.

Knowing the next series of events was a relief. Knowing he would get dizzy when he stood back up. Knowing Nancy would sacrifice her shirt to bandage him up. Knowing Robin and Eddie would both have a minor freak-out, before he'd get a vest thrown at his face. It was all a relief.

So he sped up the process, eager to get out of the upside-down, and to see Dustin, Max and the other kids. He let himself slump backwards, out of his crouch, until his ass hit the cold dirt, and his feet slid the rest of the way out from under him. Nancy spun, concern written on her face. "Steve."

"I'm okay," he tried, holding his hand awkwardly to try and avoid pulling at the open wounds.

"No, you're losing blood. Here-"

"No, don't." He wheezed, placing his non-injured hand on top of her own, stopping her from ripping her top. "Robin has a perfectly good shirt, right there, that I can replace a lot easier."

Robin glared for a moment, rolling her eyes, before shucking off the shirt.

And he was right. He could very easily replace the thing. He had gotten it for her, himself, after all. And the sweater she had on underneath was more than enough to keep her warm.

Nancy busied herself with tearing strips out of the hem of the oversized shirt, while Robin rambled about rabies and his sense of humor.

But Steve was too focussed on Eddie.

Who still seemed to be having a silent, solo freak out.

Nancy wrapped one of the strips tightly around his hand, and Steve kept his eyes on Eddie. When she asked him to move to his knees, he obeyed silently, forcing his torso as straight as he could so she could wrap him up. "That okay?"

He nodded absently at her, looking down at himself. The fabric of the button-up wasn't as stretchy as the wool of Nancy's shirt had been. But it was more absorbent, and it felt more secure.

Mind you, with everything moving so much faster than last time, Steve was well aware that it was bleeding a lot more, not having had much of a chance to clot.

"Careful, Eddie!" Nancy's voice rung out through the clearing. "Don't step on the vines. It's all a hive-mind."

Steve glanced around, taking in the sky above them. No bats, which meant that he hadn't even been aware that they had gone.

This time, he listened silently while Nancy and Robin explained how the Upside Down worked. He didn't have the energy to give his own input. His mind was still reeling.

"I have guns. In my bedroom."

He couldn't argue with her, because he'd sound insane without proof.

So they began the trek to Nancy's house. The girls walked ahead. He was curious as to what they chatted about. But he'd never asked. Steve hung back. He didn't rush to catch up with Eddie this time. He knew what the man was going to say to him. It felt wrong. Knowing Eddie was going to die. It made it hard to look at him.

Steve watched the ground while he walked. Not so much to look out for vines, but more so he wouldn't have to look at Eddie. The dead man walking.

But, eventually, Eddie slowed down to walk beside him.

"How you holding up, Steve?"

Steve drew in a sharp breath. His hand throbbed. "Been better."

His response was quiet, almost a whisper. But Eddie seemed to hear it anyway. "I can imagine. That was a real Ozzy move you made back there, man."

A small smile tugged at his lips. Same old Eddie.

"Oh, to be compared to the likes of Ozzy Osborne? I'm honored, Munson."

Eddie let out a shocked snort. "Well aren't you just full of surprises... and here I thought Steve Harrington was too cool for metal. Turns out I was wrong about you. I mean, Henderson said you were a badass- insisted on the matter, in fact. Sure, I didn't believe him. But, now? You're proving me wrong, Stevie. Rich parents, basketball jock, handsome, not a douche? Nah, man. That flies in the face of everything I know. Not to mention, my own personal Munson Doctrine. But, shit, man. When you bit the head off of that bat? I knew instantly that I have been wrong about you this whole time."

Stevie.

Eddie had called him Stevie.

He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks at the high praise. The nickname, though? That had him reeling.

"Th-thanks, man."

He drew in another deep breath, letting his eyes drift up to look at Eddie. The other man gave him a charming smile, before his eyes flicked back to his own feet. Steve's gaze lingered on Eddie's face. He wished he could admire the other man, but all he saw was the future pallor of death marring his usually vibrant face.

"You okay?"

Steve nodded harshly, his free hand scrunching the fabric of his pants. His locked his eyes back onto the ground.

"Here. You look cold."

Eddie shucked off his vest, and for a moment, Steve was expecting it to be thrown at his face again. But then Eddie was pulling off his leather jacket, too. The chilled leather was pressed into his hands, and for a long moment, he wasn't sure what to do with it.

He could only watch while Eddie pulled his vest back on.

"You need help?"

Steve startled at the question. He didn't know why he was so out of it. Maybe it was some sort of whiplash from being thrown back in time. "No, I'm okay."

He pulled the jacket over his arms, carefully avoiding his hand. The lining stung against his back, but the warmth was comforting. Grounding.

"Anyway," Eddie continued. "I know you and Wheeler dated, back when you were still in school? What happened with you guys?"

This was different. Steve had expected the speech about 'unambiguous signs of love' and all that. He watched Eddie for a moment. Maybe it was the fact that Steve hadn't tried to push him away yet. Maybe this was progress?

"She- I did- Jonathan and I had a fight. Barb was missing, and Nance was a mess. I should have been there for her, but I thought she had cheated on me... and I pushed her away. Then all that shit with Billy happened, and I... I couldn't even try anymore. I didn't see any point in it."

Eddie hummed. "You still care for each other, though. I mean- it's pretty obvious."

Steve snorted. "I still love her, but not romantically. Not after-" not after she shot him down back in the Winnebago. Not after she had told him he was bullshit. "- it would never work out, anyway. We want different things."

For a long time, Eddie didn't say anything. Long enough that Steve had to try and stop himself from spiralling. Did he say something wrong? Did he offend--

"Fair enough."

Huh.

"I guess I just saw the connection you two have and immediately assumed you were still pining after each other. But, I guess if you are friends with Robin, she'd knock some sense into you, huh?"

That made Steve chuckle. Eddie had no idea how right he was. Robin was the only reason he had finally admitted to himself that he was capable of loving more than just women.

"Either that, or she'd just shoot me down on Nancy's behalf. They barely know each other, yet they are terrifying together," Steve said in a low voice, trying not to attract their attention.

Eddie laughed, tripping on an exposed root. Steve's hands shot out to steady him before he fell on a mass of vines to their left.

"Careful."

Eddie nodded, his damp curls bouncing limply over his shoulders. "Thanks."

Suddenly, the ground beneath them began to tremble violently. Steve's grip on Eddie's arm tightened, and he instinctively pulled the other man against himself, bracing his right arm on a nearby tree. His vision swam as the earthquake went on, only clearing when the shaking slowed. Eddie had an arm slung around Steve's waist, hand holding onto Steve's hip. Both boys managed to stay upright, and as the quake came to a stop, Steve could see that the girls were still standing too.

And then Nancy was running, and Eddie was pulling away from him to follow her.

Steve couldn't help but notice how cold he felt with Eddie gone.

#steddie #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #also on ao3 #steddie angst #time loop fanfic #time loop #angst #steve harrington #eddie munson #dark themes

3 notes · View notes

georgethequeerpuppet-blog · 3 months

Text

Taking fic requests to try and force myself to start writing again.

Fandoms I am comfortable writing in -

Call of Duty

Stranger Things

Harry Potter

The Last of Us

Sleep Token

If your fandom isn't listed, just ask and I'll let you know if I think I can do it :)

16 notes · View notes

georgethequeerpuppet-blog · 3 months

Text

64K notes · View notes

georgethequeerpuppet-blog · 3 months

Text

Hello! Hi!

I need help finding a fic!

It was a Call of Duty fic, probably on Ao3. I distinctly remember that it was on the shorter side - either a oneshot or just short.

It was basically about the boys walking in on some recruits prank calling a crisis hotline, and the person at the call centre recognising Ghost's voice.

That was pretty much the whole fic. It was really good - bit of a gut-punch. I wanna read it again, but I can't find it 🥲

#call of duty fanfic #call of duty #ao3 #help me find a fic #pls #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish

10 notes · View notes

georgethequeerpuppet-blog · 6 months

Text

mwiii: 🧼🔪

literally everyone rn:

206 notes · View notes

georgethequeerpuppet-blog · 6 months

Text

Me, choosing to aggressively ignore the events of MW3 so I can continue writing my silly little fanfics about my silly little fictional men:

4K notes · View notes

georgethequeerpuppet-blog · 6 months

Text

So I thought about it, and I have decided that I'm going to post my COD au here as well!

I really would love it if you guys interacted with it over on AO3, but if you wanna read it here, by all means!

Oasis ~ GhostxSoap

(Blurb)

Moving to a new town should have been easy compared to everything Johnny has gone through in his life.

And yet, life continues to throw challenges at him like he's a fucking dart board.

He didn't mean to lay his bike down in the middle of an empty street, at 3-something in the morning.

He didn't mean to come across 141.

And yet, that neon oasis might be the best thing that has ever happened to him.

Post-Military AU where Soap was never a part of the TF.

The 141 is a garage that happens to be open 24/7.

Hurt and comfort ensues.

Onto the fic!

Chapter 1 - Neon

(Soap's POV)

Like an oasis in a barren desert.

A lighthouse across stormy waters.

A beacon of hope in the vast pitch black of night.

The neon 'Mechanic Open' sign was a beautiful sight.

Against the dark backdrop of 3am suburbia, Johnny couldn't help but feel like this whole situation was a bit surreal. A new town, unfamiliar roads. Odd sounds. Hell, even the air was different. It was like the world was against him, and the nightmares had been keeping him up until odd hours.

His bike was the only familiar thing, now. So of course... he had to go and lay it down in the middle of a dew-slick street.

Thankfully, he had been the only one around to witness his own embarrassment. He and his bike had hit the ground hard.

Unfamiliar streets, and all that.

They were both scraped up, and Johnny found himself limping as he wheeled his girl closer to the town centre. His phone, miraculously, had stayed attached to its mount during the crash. Hell, Maps was still running!

He was scared to start her back up, though. There was something dripping from her engine, but Johnny wasn't about to stop in the middle of the street to investigate.

That's why when - after what felt like at least ten hours of walking - he spotted the mechanic and relief flooded his battered body.

His hobbling slowed the closer he got. Once he reached the driveway, Johnny could see that the shop was actually pretty big for the neighbourhood he was in. A large building with three open roller doors. Warm white light illuminated the space. There was a smaller building attached to the left side, another 'Open' sign flashing on the glass door.

Johnny wheeled his girl up the brick driveway. There was a vintage Cadillac in the bay closest to what he assumed was the office. Its hood was up, but the garage was empty.

The Scotsman stopped just before the entrance of the middle bay, nudging the kickstand down with his bad leg.

A clatter came from his left, and Johnny's head snapped up. The fly screen door that must have lead into the office had been propped open, and a man with an impressive pair of mutton chops was looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Bike troubles?"

Johnny shrugged, his shoulder aching from where he'd landed on it. "Had a wee accident."

The man latched the door open before walking over to where Johnny was standing. Analytical eyes ran over the bike. Over the scuffs along her side. Over the broken foot peg and the missing side mirror.

"Mostly cosmetic, but I'd be happy to look it over. Run some diagnostics and such. When'd it happen?"

Johnny checked his watch, only to find the screen smashed to shit. He plucked his phone off the mount and went back through his route history. "About... forty five minutes ago?"

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

(Price's POV)

The man in front of him was a tough bastard if he was standing outside the garage only 45 minutes post-accident.

John's eyes roved over his figure. In the dim light outside the garage, the only wear and tear he could see was a scuff on his right glove. But given the damage on the left side of the bike, John suspected that a majority of the issues were currently bathed in the darkness of their driveway.

"My name's John, but most just call me ‘Cap’."

The man nodded his helmeted head, sticking out his right hand. John shook it with a significantly more gentle touch than he normally would. The last thing he wanted to do was make the man’s injuries worse.

"Soap- that's what- people call me Soap."

John wasn't about to judge him, given that his business partner seemed to think 'Ghost' was a suitable way to introduce himself. "Why don't we put her in one of the indoor bays?"

John opened the smaller roller door behind Bay 3 and took the bike from Soap's hands once he had put the kickstand back up. The three bays around the back were mostly reserved for bikes, given the smaller entrance points. Though, Bay 4 was permanently taken up by Gaz's poker table and Simon's Harley.

He set Soap's bike up in Bay 5, before turning his attention back to their new client. John had been correct to assume the damage was primarily on his left side.

There was a large graze down the side of his thigh. Denim torn and spotted with blood. Scuffs ran up the length of his left arm, with a deep gouge out of the leather on his shoulder. But what he was most concerned about was the scratch on the side of his helmet.

"You need to get checked out by a doctor, son."

Soap jolted, as if he hadn't expected John to speak. Even with the dark visor hiding his features, John could see his hesitation.

"Ahm not a... huge fan o' hospitals."

John walked around the bike to stand in front of the other man. A hand made its way onto Soap's right shoulder.

"One of my boys is a retired army medic. Wha'd you say to lettin’ ‘im check you out?"

Soap was quiet for a long moment. But then he reached up and unclipped his chin-strap, before pulling the helmet off his head.

The first thing John's eyes were drawn to was the dark, overgrown mohawk. But his attention soon shifted to Soap's eyes. A beautiful ocean blue. Too blue. It was unusual to see on someone real. Most people with eyes like Soap's were confined to TV screens.

The third thing he noticed was the bloody cut slicing through his eyebrow. And the fourth? The fact that he was exactly Simon's type. Almost ridiculously so.

"Ah guess that'd be okay. Mah leg is a wee bit sore."

"I can imagine," John snorted, taking Soap's helmet from him and guiding him towards the door to their staff room.

He set the helmet on the break table and waved for Soap to sit on the couch. "Back in a moment."

John quickly made his way back into the office. It was nearly 4 in the morning, but Gaz always got up early. He was usually in by 6. So John had no issue calling him.

The phone only rang twice before Gaz's familiar voice answered.

"Yeah?"

"Can you come in early?"

"Why?"

Despite the question, John knew Gaz was already getting up and ready to make his way over. And it wasn't just because he could hear the man moving around.

"Had a client come in. Crashed 'is bike. Need you to check 'im out."

Gaz hummed. "Ghost is the bike expert, Cap."

"No. I need you to check the client out, not the bike. He doesn't want to go to the hospital. Stands like a vet."

"Oh, shit. Okay. I'll be over in ten."

Gaz hung up before John could say 'thank you'.

Pre-emptively, he grabbed the first aid kit Gaz kept under the front desk and made his way back to the staff room.

Soap was sitting where he'd left him. Though, he'd taken the chance to peel his jacket off and drape it over the back of the couch - torn shoulder side up.

John dropped the kit onto the table before moving to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Soap took it with a grateful smile and a wince.

There wasn't much John was comfortable doing without Gaz present. But he could at least give Soap some gauze and direct his own hand to the cut on his eyebrow.

"Any ideas on how you got that one?"

Soap glanced over at his helmet. "Ah think mah intercom came loose. Ah don't know. Ah just remember somethin' cracking an' then hittin' me. It might still be in there."

John grabbed the helmet from where he had placed it. Inspecting the inside he saw that, sure enough, the bracket for the internal mic had snapped and was hanging by its wire. There was a sharp shard of plastic jutting out of the end of it.

John unplugged the jack and held up the offending piece equipment for Soap to see. "Yer right."

Soap merely nodded, taking a swig of his water with his free hand. "Ah'm just glad that mah eye's still in mah fookin’ skull."

John laughed. The kid had a good sense of humour. Unfortunately.

He was definitely Simon's type.

#call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #biker soap #biker au #biker ghost #mechanic ghost #simon ghost riley #soapghost #ghost soap #john soap mactavish #john price #fatherly john price #motorcycles #motorcycle accidents #road accident #fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic

22 notes · View notes