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faofinn · 9 months

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The Past Coming Back With The Light In The Morning

Part 1 | ???

You guys wanted it, here it is! This is part 1, so things might look a bit familiar, but there's plenty more to come :)

Winter, the worst time of year. Or, at least, Harrison thought it was. Deals were so much more difficult, stakeout so much harder when you could see your breath and not feel your feet. Cold season had well and truly got its claws in, and they'd found a firm hold on Harrison.

He wasn't going to let it stop him, but the fuzzy head and persistent cough and sniffle made him wary. The last time he'd pulled out of his job, the rest of Fred’s men had been quick to tease and taunt him, and he wasn’t in the mood for a repeat.

When the page went off in the middle of the night, he grumbled. It was just his fucking luck. Despite his protests, he still made it, turning up at the depot fuming.

The evening passed in somewhat of a blur, the fuzzy tinge to his thoughts only settling further. He knew he ought to just go home, but he couldn't let his small team down. He wasn't sure where the rain of bullets came from, but he saw Chris fall, felt the heat as they whizzed past them.

Harrison shouted down the radio, opening fire in return as he dragged Chris out of the way. He was more stunned than anything, a graze to his thigh and shoulder. The man Harrison had only ever known as Romeo finished the attackers off, rushing to their side as the alley silenced once more.

Reinforcements were quick to swarm them, the van swerving between warehouses to pick them up. They were quick to jump in the back, the five of them quickly taking stock and checking each other over.

Harrison quickly braced himself against the side as they started moving, the sudden movement sending a lance of pain through his abdomen. He groaned, unfortunately all too aware of the pain. His vest had a nick out of it, and he could tell by the budding bruises growing under it. The pain was worse than just that, and he couldn't quite believe it as his fingers came back red.

The bullet had missed the vest, only by a fraction, but that was all it needed to make its mark. He swore quietly, pulling on the velcro. The vest was stuck to his top, and his top to his skin, sticky red seeping through the fabric.

It took him a moment to catch up, and to realise he was being gently convinced to sit down. Their hands were gentle, though they shook. He rested his head against the side of the van, his vision starting to fade. He groaned, shaking his head as if to clear it, his brow furrowing.

"Fuck." He breathed, breaking off into heaving coughs. "This is bullshit."

"Hars, what do we do?"

He managed to glare at them. "Are you fucking wit' me?"

"There's just - it's a bit - it's just - "

"Fuck off with that." Harrison didn't have time for his crap. "One of you call…call Fao."

He barely managed the sentence, each word slurring into the next. He pitched forward as the van swerved, but he made no attempt to save himself. There was a dull thud as his body fell against the floor, his eyes rolled and unresponsive.

"What's going on back there?" The driver called gruffly.

"Harrison’s down."

"What happened?"

"I don't know!" His voice whined, his age showing through his panic.

"Call a medic alert, get the kit out and treat the fucker."

When Fao’s phone rang in the middle of the night, he startled awake, fumbling for it in the dark. He’d been out for dinner that night, definitely wasn’t sober, but the adrenaline was already doing a pretty good job of fixing that. They didn’t give him much information over the phone, just that they’d got a GSW and their rough location, in code so they’d be safe if anyone else happened to be listening. They were too far out to get back to the basement, and Fao would need to meet them halfway to treat.

He woke Ely, gave her a quick update, and pulled on some clothes, the first thing he found on the floor, his shirt and trousers from the evening. He didn’t have time to go looking for anything else, and bolted out of the house. There was kit in his car, and he knew there was kit in the van. He wasn’t sure what he’d need, but between both he’d probably have everything he needed. He sped through the streets to the meet location he’d been given, ditched his car somewhere safe, and scrambled into the van.

“What am I doing? Talk to me.” He asked breathlessly.

Harrison had become combative as he deteriorated, struggling between conscious and not. It scared the men, and they'd all taken a step back, too uncomfortable to help.

Fao was a welcome sight, his reputation preceding him.

"Uh, Harrison got shot. He won't let us near him, so we haven't."

Fao’s heart sank. Of course it was Harrison. “Oh, good. Just him bleed out all over the van, then.” He snapped, quickly throwing his hair up into a bun. “I need proper light, one of you sort that.” His voice was cold, commanding, rolling his sleeves up and quickly looking Harrison over. It wasn’t hard to see where the blood was coming from, and he shifted his weight to brace himself as he grabbed gauze and put as much pressure on it as he dared. “You. Come here, take over the pressure.”

“I, uh, I…”

“Shut up, I don’t want to hear it. Cover my hands with yours and hold the pressure until I say otherwise. Unless you want to start an IV? No? Didn’t think so.” He snapped, as the other man took over. He wiped his bloody hands off on his shirt, and shifted over slightly to Harrison’s arm, eyes looking critically for a vein as he rifled through the kit.

The pain somehow got worse. Harrison wasn't sure how, but it did. He cried out through gritted teeth, trying to arch away. It took a moment to coordinate, but he started swinging, trying to get away.

Fao ducked out of the way, catching Harrison’s fist and gently forcing his arm back down. “Harrison? It’s okay, you’re okay. It’s Fao, I’ve got you. Try and relax, you’re safe now. I’m helping, alright? Let me help.”

"He's going to hit me!"

“He’s half unconscious, try harder to dodge him.” Fao shot back. “I’m working as fast as I can.” He gritted his teeth as he tried desperately to get a vein, struggling with poor light and Harrison’s struggling. He got one eventually, shouting triumphantly. It wasn’t enough, and he wanted more access, but he could at least get some pain relief in, hopefully settle him.

Harrison twisted as Fao shouted, whining as he tried to get away. His chest heaved as he struggled to get his breath, the feeling he was drowning all too much.

“Sorry, sorry.” Fao soothed. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. It’s gonna be okay, Hars. Just focus on doing that breathing, let me to do the rest. Giving you something for the pain, now, gonna make it easier.” He told him, quickly checking the drug before he gave it.

His shouts died down into cries, quiet whimpering softly to himself. The pain had started to ease slightly, making it easier to focus. It made breathing more difficult, though, and he couldn't stop the panic coursing through him.

“You’re okay, that’s it. Well done, keep breathing for me.”

He turned his head, looking towards Fao's voice. "Help."

“I’m helping, I promise.”

"It hurts." He managed, finally managing to focus on him.

“I know, I know. I’ve given you some painkillers, they’ll work soon.”

"'m dying."

“No you’re not. Just focus on your breathing for me, let me sort the rest.”

"I am."

“That’s it, good.” Fao reassured. There was so much blood, and he was really struggling to properly control it. The van went over a bump and jolted, and Fao tried to brace himself on his knees. “Fucking hell.”

Harrison whined, trying to pull away from the pain. It was everywhere, though, and there was nothing he could do.

“Well done, that’s it.” He soothed. “I’ve got you.” He stretched for his kit, rifling through to try and find what he needed. He needed a trained someone, anyone who he could trust. Not Harrison’s little team.

Frustrated and tired, he started fighting against the other man. He got a solid elbow in their ribs, the relief of pressure against his side just bliss.

“I know, I know.” Fao murmured, moving to try and pack the wound.

He twisted again, curling away from Fao. His scream died on his tongue, his hands pushing against Fao's.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” Fao muttered. He was happy enough with the packing, and moved to try and get a listen to Harrison’s chest. It was loud on the van, and he struggled to keep his balance as he listened, swearing to himself.

Harrison could feel himself slipping, the ceiling of the van swimming in and out of focus. Even the pain couldn't keep him conscious, his head lolling.

Fao’s stomach twisted as Hars lost consciousness, but he was relieved in a way. At least he wasn’t in pain. He didn’t like what he was hearing at all from his chest, and dug in his kit to find what he needed for a chest drain. It certainly wouldn’t be perfect, but it would do. He didn’t even bother talking to the other men as he grabbed a scalpel, found his landmark, and made the cut.

He definitely felt that, and he cried out again, but he wasn't with it any more. The men beside Fao retched, especially as blood quickly poured from the drain.

Fao rolled his eyes as the men retched. What he wouldn’t give for Steve or Finn or someone. Trying to manage this completely on his own wasn’t working. He took a set of obs as best he could, blood soaking his trousers and making them cling to him. The numbers he got back were more than a bit concerning, despite his interventions, and they weren’t getting any better. Fuck.

Harrison coughed and choked, spots of blood on his lips. His resps were through the roof, his heart rate doing its best to compensate for his blood pressure circling, for his blood volume pooling on the floor. He managed to catch Fao's eye, and he met his gaze with panic and fear in his eyes.

Fao locked eyes with Harrison. “I’ve got you, Tomcat. You’re gonna be okay.” He told him firmly. Things were just consistently getting worse, though, and Fao felt considerably out of control. He gave as much TXA as he felt he could, but it wasn’t close to enough to help the bleeding.

“How far out are we?” He snapped, asking whoever cared to listen.

"We've still got at least fifteen minutes."

“Fuck’s sake.”

Hars could feel himself slipping again, missing parts of the conversation. He grabbed for Fao's top, his hand leaving more bloodied streaks across it.

"I want Steve."

“We’re gonna be with him really soon, Hars.” Fao murmured. “He’s gonna be waiting for us at home.”

He shook his head. "I'm not gonna make it."

“As if I’m giving up on you. I’m gonna make sure you’re okay, alright? Hold on for me.”

He knew Fao was trying his best, and he’d continue to do nothing but. He trusted Fao with his life, and they unfortunately kept ending up in situations where it was tested. It didn’t take a genius to know he wasn’t okay, and the small bit or working brain he had left had worked out it probably wasn't going to end well.

He forced his eyes open again, though he didn't remember closing them. "It's okay."

Fao’s repeat set of obs were no better. In fact, they were worse. He swallowed thickly, digging around in his pocket for his phone. He needed to talk to Steve, needed someone medical he could talk to, to reassure him he wasn’t completely out of his mind.

He chucked it on the floor of the van on speaker as it rang, and he prayed he’d answer.

"Fao, talk to me. I heard the call for medical."

“It’s Hars, and it’s bad. We’re still miles out, in the back of a shitty van, and all I have is my kit.”

Hars stirred again. "Steve?"

"Hey, Hars. You causing problems for Fao, eh?" He tried to sound light for him, but even he could hear the waver in his tone. He cleared his throat. "What's happened with him? Head to toe, obs, and what kit do you have?"

“GSW, it’s gone just under his vest, entry is the abdo but exit is further up into the chest. Haemothorax on the right. I’ve got a drain in but it’s putting out so much fucking blood. Pulse 138, BP 76/50, SpO2 94 on high flow, Resps sitting at 36, he's still not getting chest rise on the right. He's with it enough, but he's starting to pass out and stay out. I've given the TXA but it's just not stopping. The floor is covered, I'm covered. It’s my kit, it’s decent. Airway kit, ket, paralytics, TXA. I’m just out of my fucking depth here, nobody else knows a fucking thing and I feel like I’m going insane.”

Steve took a moment. Well, fuck. "Right. Take a breath. Reassess, keep going ABCs. You need to get on top of that bleeding. He's not going to be able to compensate forever. Have you got anything to give? Will they follow instructions?"

“I know he won’t compensate forever.” Fao snapped. “I’ve got saline but no blood. They’re fucking useless, hadn’t touched him at all when I showed up. Not even put pressure on.”

"Fucking hell. Okay. Fluid bolus, see if that helps his pressure at all. He's not going to hold his airway by himself if he goes, so just be careful."

Fao quickly set up the fluids, wiping his hands on his trousers as he struggled with the connectors. Fluids running, he forced himself to breathe. “Alright. Fluids in. I want to sort his airway before it becomes a problem.”

"If you're thinking RSI, you need to trust they can help."

"Steve." Harrison interrupted again, apparently unaware of the conversation.

“I don’t think I’m going to have a choice, Steve. I’m watching him deteriorate in front of me, and we’re still miles out.”

"You can see him, not me. Do what you think is best."

Unimpressed by Steve's lack of response, he shoved at Fao with a frustrated grunt. "Steve."

Fao huffed. “Thank you, Hars.” He muttered under his breath. “He’s very insistent that he wants you, Steve.”

"Hars, we're just trying to help you."

"No." He shook his head, though Steve couldn't see, and Fao wasn't sure he didn't realise that.

“We are, I’m doing my best right now Hars. Focus on breathing like I said.”

He sniffed, setting himself off coughing again. The pain exploded again, despite the morphine, and, once more, slipped under.

God, it was just getting worse. He hated watching Harrison slip into unconsciousness again, powerless to stop it.

"Fao, talk to me." Steve's tone was tense, and Fao could hear him pacing.

“Unconscious again, I’m repeating obs.” Fao replied, his own tone similarly tense.

"Come on, Hars. Don't do this." Steve murmured, wishing he was there with them.

The blood pressure cycled, protesting at the numbers. It continued tightening, way into the two hundreds, and Harrison gave a whine. He tried to pull away from it, panicked.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Just give it a minute, I know it’s uncomfy.” Fao murmured, but it wasn’t a good sign. He knew full well it wasn’t high enough to need that kind of pressure - it was just struggling for a read full stop.

Harrison, of course, didn't listen. He twisted away, an unintelligible shout in both pain and frustration.

"Hars, listen to Fao. He's looking after you."

“It’s alright, it’s okay.” Fao tried vainly to soothe. But sure enough the blood pressure gave up, failing to get a read, and Fao’s stomach dropped. “Fluids haven’t done shit. It won’t even read, just cycles until it gives up.”

"You're going to have to give more, you can't RSI that low. Has he got a radial?"

It took Fao a moment. “No. Nothing.”

"Give him fluids."

“I might as well just pour them on the fucking floor.” Fao muttered, but swapped the bag over to give more.

"Just try."

“Yeah, they’re running.”

Harrison screwed his face up, managing to squint at Fao. He was sure he'd heard Steve too, but the huddle of men behind Fao were too small to be him.

“That’s it Hars, you’re alright.” Fao said softly, half as reassurance for himself.

"Where's Steve?" He slurred, more of a mumble than anything.

“On the phone with me.” Fao replied.

"Right here, Hars."

“Both of us are looking after you.”

"Sorry."

“Don’t apologise.” Fao said firmly.

Harrison lapsed back into silence, somewhere between conscious and not. As the blood pressure started again, he whined once more, but didn't pull away.

Harrison’s blood was drying on his hands, as Fao waited for the machine to read, praying it would give him something. Just a number would be better than the endless cycling.

Harrison's breath caught in his throat again, and his frown deepened. He knew Fao was looking after him, and Steve was there too, somewhere. He could see Fao leaning over him, doing things in slow motion. Which left Steve..

"Dad?"

Fao’s stomach twisted, and the noise Steve made over the crackled phone line was less than dignified.

“I’m right here, Hars. I’m right here, I’ve got you.” He replied, his voice wavering. “You’re going to be okay.”

He seemed to have a sudden rush of energy, though his observations were still terrible, and his prognosis even worse.

"Thank you." He muttered softly.

Fao sucked in another deep breath, forcing himself to re-focus. He had to keep doing this. “Blood pressure is a little less shit. I’ve at least got a number.”

"That's good." Steve managed.

Harrison reached for Fao’s hand, for a moment of comfort in his desperation.

Fao squeezed his fingers. “I’ve got you.” He murmured. He laid out his airway kit with the other hand, leaving smears of blood all over it, though he didn’t notice. He needed the blood pressure up a bit more before he could fully RSI, but it never hurt to prepare.

The squeeze managed to help, a tiny hint of a smile gracing Harrison's blood-splattered lips. He tried his best, his fingers twitching in Fao's before his eyes rolled. It didn’t take long for things to go south, as Hars took a breath and then stopped.

“Fuck.” Fao muttered, snatching up his kit. He couldn’t put this off any longer now, he needed control of his airway. Unsure just how conscious he was, having watched him flick in and out, Fao chatted away to him as he sorted it, half to keep himself from losing it. “Alright Hars. That’s you finding your limit, hmm? It’s okay, I’ll take over from here. Got some meds to get you off to sleep now, so you can have a nap whilst I do the hard work.” He quickly pushed the ket, watching him carefully. There were men clustered around Harrison’s head, and Fao snapped at them to move, which they did. Happy with his sedation, he pushed his roc, bagged until he was happy with it, and snatched up his tube and laryngoscope. He was rusty with his intubations, of course, so what better time to practice than in a dark, moving van covered in blood? But Harrison, for all he made Fao’s life difficult, apparently wasn’t a difficult airway, and Fao got it first time. He shouted triumphantly, checked his placement, and then secured it.

“Tube’s in, airway’s secure.”

Steve let out a shaky breath. "Good. Well done."

Fao couldn’t breathe for Harrison forever, not if he was going to continue to manage the bleeding. “Which one of you lot is the most competent here? Who’s not a complete idiot?” He asked.

They were all quiet, slightly afraid of Harrison and definitely afraid of Fao. After a moment, one of them stepped forward.

"I can help. What do you need?"

Fao looked up. “Are you capable of breathing?”

"For him?"

Fao huffed. “Essentially, yes. Every time you take a breath, I want you to squeeze this to breathe for him, too. Can you do that?” He asked, demonstrating. “I can’t sit here and do it, I’ve got other stuff to do.”

Panic flashed across his face. "Okay. Yeah." He swallowed, taking a moment. It was Harrison. He'd got him out of shit so many times before, it was only fair to return the favour. "I can do that."

“Just whenever you breathe, breathe for him too. Just got to think about breathing. Okay?”

"Okay." He moved to take Fao's place. "I can do that."

“Shout if you get stuck.” Fao murmured, and moved away, to carefully take yet another set of obs, praying they were better than before.

Steve hated being so far away, so unable to do anything. "Fao, talk to me."

“I’m taking obs.” Fao shot back. “I’ll tell you stuff when I know it.”

"You just went silent. I need to know what's happening."

“I’m trying to concentrate!”

"Fine, hurry up."

“Going as fast as I can.” He muttered. For once, Harrison’s obs had trended slightly upwards, and Fao was glad of it. “A bit better. SpO2 has come up, as has his BP.”

"Good. The tube will be helping with his sats."

“Yeah, that’s why I did it.” Fao said flatly.

"I just mean that he's not going to be resping at fifty or some shite."

“Yeah.”

"How's the bleeding doing?"

“Still fucking bleeding.”

"I've put a call out for more blood, you just need to get back."

“I’ll need the whole trauma setup.” Fao muttered, doing his best to manage the bleeding. “Can you go up and wake Ely? I’m going to need her."

"Everyone's up. They're just sorting the basement out."

“Good.” Fao was relieved he had a team waiting for him.

"If the second lot of fluids helped, you can give him another 500 bolus."

“It’s helped, but I don’t know for how much longer. I’ve got no pressors, and limited fluids.”

"You just need to get him back. If he's still got pressure, give it."

“Giving it now.” He muttered, trying to push his hair out of his face.

"Give me a run down of his obs once you've done that."

He finally got it connected and running, discarding the spent bag. His ‘assistant’ was doing well ventilating, surprisingly, and so he quickly started on obs. He hated having to do this in such an old fashioned manner, he missed his hospital conveniences and continuous monitoring.

But as he started, he just knew it was wrong, and when he didn’t find a pulse, his stomach twisted. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

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travellingdragon · 1 year

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Febuwhump 2023, Day 2: flinching

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday2 #9-1-1 #tw blood #tw injury #tw gunshot #tw gsw #911 4x13 #911 4x14 #9-1-1 art #9-1-1 fanart #911 art #911 fanart #my art #my 9-1-1 art #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley #911 on fox

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parameddic · 1 year

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“I just had to stop you from toppling over. You’re not okay.”

meme | always accepting!

"I'm okay, I'm..." He - um...

Ow. The guy pressed a hand against TK's chest (partly because he caught him - because he had just stopped TK from toppling over), and this drew TK's attention, at last, to the fact he was bleeding right through his very nice red shirt, and apparently had been for a while. "Wow." A dumb thing to say, and a little meekly at that, but when had that happened?

There hadn't been any time for it. He hadn't even noticed the bullet hitting him, it had been a mad rush to get the guy's weapon and then people who needed help and ... this wasn't even the first time he'd been shot, he realised, with some amusement. His medical history was a nightmare.

He had to catch the guy's arm when his legs gave out under him, completely, the sudden awareness of the blood making him just as aware of the way the world was lilting, light-headed and hazy. "I'm an addict." An addict, so he couldn't have opiates, he...

There was no time for this, really. Genuinely. He was a paramedic, he could still be helping, he looked up to the guy to argue (sure he was light-headed but he was still going, if this was going to kill him it would have killed him already), and then - "Your head..." TK was not the only one who was bleeding.

@amicablemedic

#uuuh #amicablemedic #i am not sure i like this but i wrote it and so i am handing it to you sfjlakdfjlsdkjg #gun violence tw #bleeding tw #gsw tw #@ me if you'd like to plot otherwise I am happy to swim along!

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antvnger · 2 years

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Me? A badass? Oh gosh, thanks. I appreciate that very much. I think that’s a new one for me. Or at least, it’s a term that hasn’t been used on me in ages.

Thanks, 🍀Anon. I appreciate the support.

#ask scott lang #scott lang #ant-man #🍀 anon #badass #injuries #recovery #tw gsw #tw gun mention #ant man #antman

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sleepdeprivedandinsane · 1 year

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Love You Like I'm Never Gonna Love You Again

Evan 'Buck' Buckley x Fem!Reader

angst with a happy ending

summary: Reader gets shot on a job. When she flatlines on the way to the hospital, Buck is worried she won't make it out alive.

POTENTIAL TW : : mentions of gsw, blood, grief, guns? I think? If there's any I missed or should add lmk! Enjoy 🫡

I only have one thing to say for this... sorry 🥲

It was times like this that Buck wondered why he did what he did. Everyone was silent as they sat at the dinner table. No one bothered to try and say anything, and no one looked up either. They all focused on their polished black shoes, not having the stomach to look up and see her empty chair.

He hears people say, "it all happened so fast," but when the shot rang out and he watched the blood spread on her shirt, everything was in slow motion. The shot echoed in his ears. He was too shocked to scream as her body fell slowly to the ground. Realization hit when he felt her blood on his face, and everyone rushed to her aid. It was like someone shocked him, like he jolted awake from a nightmare. Only, when he woke up, she wasn't better.

"No..." He said. "No, no, no!" He screamed, rushing to her.

Bobby and Eddie held him back as he fought to get to her, Hen and Chim working with shaky hands.

"This can't be happening..." He whimpered.

She looked at him, a weak smile on her bloody face, blood pouring from her wound."It's okay. It'll be okay." She muttered fraily.

She nodded, as if trying to convince herself as well.

"Please- let me go!" He yelled desperately, "please! I need to go to her!" His eyes watered as he begged Bobby and Eddie to let him go.

They, too, were on the verge of tears, trying to hold them back for his sake. It wouldn't have made much of a difference, though. All his focus was on her.

Once they got her loaded into the ambulance, they let him go. He ran to her side and sat down. He took her hand, brushing the stray hairs that fell from her braid away from her eyes. She looked up at him with watery eyes, swallowing thickly because she knew it wasn't good. A bullet wound is supposed to hurt. It isn't good when it doesn't.

"Try not to move, okay?" He said shakily.

She nodded, squeezing his hand to assure him. She felt somewhat guilty that she was even trying when she knew she probably wouldn't make it to the hospital. She couldn't bring herself to lie to him. She couldn't find the words to tell him how much she loved him either.

"You're gonna be okay. You have to be." He said firmly, denial dripping from his tongue.

She shook her head. "No." She whimpered. "I'm not."

He shook his head defiantly. "Don't say that. Say anything but that." He said, his voice cracking.

Hen and Chim had to choke back the words 'she's right' because they themselves didn't want to believe she wasn't going to be okay. They wanted to believe she'd be okay like Buck did.

"Okay." She said. "Then I need to tell you something. Before I don't get the chance. I-" She started.

But he cut her off with a shake of his head. "No, you can tell me when you're better." He said.

They all knew what she was going to say, but no one said anything. Everyone, including each other, knew about their feelings for each other. Y/n was afraid of it all going sour, however, and she didn't have the courage to take the plunge and risk losing her best friend. Evan, he wanted to save them both the heartache in case it didn't last. Mostly himself, if he was honest. He knew they'd come back from it, but it'd never be the same. They didn't want to take that chance, and everyone thought it was stupid. Anyone with eyes could see they were crazy for each other. Absolutely head over heels.

"You can't leave me. Please don't leave me." He said desperately, tears streaming down his blood stained cheeks.

She reached up and wiped away his tears, her hand lingering when he leaned into her. "You'll be okay." She said sadly.

"No." He croaked. "I won't." He shook his head, placing his hand on hers.

"You'll have Maddie, Bobby, Chimney, Hen, Eddie, and Christopher. You'll be okay." She tried to convince him.

"But I won't have you." He whispered. "You can't give up yet. You have to fight." He said defeated.

"I'm so tired." She said weakly. "I'm sorry." She said, struggling to get the words out.

"I know it hurts-" He said, but she cut him off.

"It doesn't. It doesn't hurt." She whispered.

"Please, it's not supposed to end this way, I still need you. We still need you." He said.

She smiled weakly, wiping his tears once more. She gasped, her chest heaving, before she stilled, her eyes going blank. For a moment, her hand remained against his cheek, but he knew she was gone. Her smile faded, her mouth agape as blood spilled from the corners. Her hand fell, and Buck never knew silence could be so loud. The constant beep, the solid line, seemed to taunt them. Hen angrily shut it off. Chimney slowly took his hands from her wound where he attempted to stop the bleeding.

"No." Buck said, getting up and starting cpr.

He wasn't ready to give up on her. Henrietta shut her eyes tightly, fighting back tears of her own. Chimney shook his head, determined to see her smile again. To see them finally happy together. To see her in a white gown as he watched his best friends say their vows. To see little baby Buckleys running around with Jee-yun. He reached into her wound, closing off the source of the bleed. Hen sniffled as she turned the machine back on, the consistent beep sounding again. What was a taunt became motivation to them, and Buck continued to try recesutate her.

"C'mon..." He said. "C'mon!" He yelled desperately.

Tears mixed with the dried blood on his face, but he hardly noticed either. Hen tried not to look because seeing one of her best friends lay lifeless on the gurney, while another desperately tried to bring her back, would be too much. She knew that would break her. Break her faith in the job. She needed to try to remember why she did it instead of seeing a reason not to.

As Chimney ran beside the gurney, Hen filled in the doctors and nurses, but Buck didn't hear. He just heard a ringing in his ears, the gun shot echoing in his head. Her lifeless eyes stared back at him, the blood still spilling from her mouth. It gave him a little hope, though, because if she was totally gone she wouldn't be bleeding... right?

"Sir, we can take it from here." A nurse said, easing Buck from his position above her as he tried to get her heart beating again.

Chim was eased into paper blue covers as they rolled them into surgery.

They hadn't been ushered away yet. They could see nurses starting chest compressions and giving her O2. They could see the doctors gently ease Chim's hand from her wound. They could see the blood pour from the wound as a result. As the minutes droned on and her heart didn't start, he felt his own shatter.

It wasn't quick. It was slow. Painful.

Hen could see her blood spilling onto the floor. Her hope quickly diminished seeing the amount.

Finally, Buck could see her heart re-start and her chest rise, and he released a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

Then, Buck finally broke down. He fell to his knees, sobbing. Hen knelt down with him, pulling him into her embrace, but it offered neither of them comfort. Bobby, Eddie, and Athena rushed to them.

Athena's face fell. "She flat lined. Didn't she?" She said sadly, defeated.

Hen nodded weakly. Eddie dropped to his knees, hugging Buck as well.

"I'm gonna get this son of a bitch." Athena growled, storming out of the trauma bay. "Call me when she's out of surgery." She said as she determinedly walked away.

Bobby hung his head, unwillingly letting the tears fall. None of them could bring themselves to leave. None of them wanted to.

It wasn't until Chim finally returned, covered in blood, and said they wouldn't know anything for several more hours.

It took some convincing, but they finally got Buck to leave to finish his shift. But none of them truly left the ER.

Buck had an empty plate in front of him, but he couldn't bring himself to eat. Not when he saw her blank expression every time he closed his eyes.

Their families all came out to support them, the community coming together to put out candles and figures of good luck and healing, hoping and praying for the firefighter and her family and team. Praying for good news. The sight was bittersweet.

Buck couldn't stand the silence. He stood abruptly and left, heading to the locker rooms.

He had to choke back a sob. He didn't want to live without her. He didn't want to love anyone else but her. He didn't want to do this job if she wasn't beside him.

"Evan, you were made to save a life."

His mother's voice rang out in his head.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to sob. He wanted her back.

He missed her smile, he missed her laugh, he missed the stupid jokes she'd tell to cheer everyone up on a hard day. He missed her warm hugs and how she smelled like roses and lillies: her favorite perfume. Her hair always smelled fruity, and her skin was always so soft. He missed her giggles and the way she'd gently caress his face. He wanted her back.

He wanted to hear from the damn hospital. Wanted to hear them say she made it through. It was nearing six hours after the shooting, and it felt like the longest six hours of his life.

He stood in the locker room, leaning against the metal doors of the lockers, his head down. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to think of her in any way that wasn't the lifeless look in her eyes. Even if she made it, that sight would haunt his nightmares. He mentally kicked himself for not telling her he loved her sooner. He knew she knew. Hell, everyone else did too. But he needed to know she heard it. And right now, he was praying for any miracle. He was praying that he'd get the chance to tell her, kiss her, hold her, anything.

He screamed and stood, hitting the lockers to try to ease the pain in any way. He punched and punched, angry and distraught and so many other things. He wanted order. He needed something to ground him. Right now, that was the stinging pain in his knuckles. He punched the doors again and again until his fist was as numb as he was inside. He fell to his knees, crying weakly.

Maddie came in, silently sitting next to him on the floor. She didn't try reassuring him that she'd be okay because truth be told, she was terrified too. She also knew nothing she said would help ease his pain. So she simply laid a gentle hand on his cheek, turning his face to her. She smiled softly, pulling his head forward and placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. He leaned on her, laying his head on her shoulder as he sobbed tiredly.

"I just need to know that she's okay." He croaked weakly. "I just need her to be okay." He sobbed.

"Shh," she cooed softly, "I know." She whispered. She held his shoulders, letting her own tears fall.

"I'm not going to lie to you and say it'll be okay. I don't know if she's going to make it, and I won't try to pretend that I do. But I know one thing: she is incredibly strong." She said, pulling him away just enough to look him in the eye.

"She's got a lot of fire left in her, still got a lot of fight left. She doesn't give up easily, and I refuse to believe that this time is going to be any different. She's too stubborn and bull headed to let someone else decide when it's her time to leave. And I have that to hold onto." She said.

He smiled faintly. "Thank you." He whispered. "That helps." He said, nodding as he closed his eyes.

"You need to go home and rest." She said concerned.

He shook his head. "I can't sleep without knowing she's okay." He said defiantly.

Just then, Chimney ran in, Jee on his hip. "It's the hospital." He panted. "They've got news on Y/n." He said.

Maddie and Buck shot up from the floor, running out to the main floor where Bobby was on the phone with the doctor.

"Here they are, I'm putting you on speaker." He said when Maddie and Buck approached.

"I'm relieved to call with good news. Ms Y/l/n made it." He said relieved.

A collection of cheers sounded throughout the firehouse. And for the first time since she was shot, Buck felt all the tension leave his body. "Thank god." He muttered to himself.

"She suffered slight head trauma when she fell, and with the pain medication she's on, she'll probably be out for a while." He said.

"When can we see her?" Hen asked antsy.

"You can come down now if you'd like. Visiting hours are over, but I'll make an exception this time." He said.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." Bobby said.

Before he even ended the call, Buck was running to his jeep. He sped to the hospital, probably breaking several traffic laws on the way, but at the moment, he could care less. All he could think was, 'She's alive. She's really alive. She's okay.' In that moment, nothing else mattered to him. She was alive. That's all that he cared about.

He ran up to the receptionist, and as soon as he had her room number, he was running up the stairs.

The elevator might've been quicker, but the burn in his legs and the sharp jab in his gut as he took the stairs two at a time reminded him that he was awake, that it was real. She was really okay.

He saw her through the large window in the wall, the door slightly ajar. All the air left his lungs. He couldn't describe the immense relief any other way.

He rushed to her side, dropping into the chair beside her bed. The back of her gown was open, the bandages peeking through. Before he even registered it, he was tucking the blanket over her exposed skin. He took her hand in his, feeling her warm skin against his. He sighed, leaning his forehead against their intertwined hands. Up until now, he hadn't realized just how tired he was. His face was probably all red and puffy from crying, but he didn't care all that much anymore. He'd hang the moon if it meant she would be okay. He'd hold the sky up for her if it meant he would see her smile again. He didn't care. All that mattered to him was that she was safe.

She groaned, squeezing his hand in hers. "Hey, Buckley." She croaked out with a dry throat.

He smiled, remembering when she would call him that when they first got to know each other. At first, it was because she was bad at remembering names and relied on the name tags. Then, it became a way for her to tease him because she knew he didn't like it. He would always respond with her last name, too, but it was only her and a few other people who were allowed to call him that. The few other people being Hen, Chim, Bobby, and Eddie. And of course, his sister, but she only really did when he was about to be reprimanded for something. Other than that, no one else was allowed to use his full name. She was even allowed to call him Evan, but she only used it when it was just them.

"Hey, Y/l/n." He responded softly. He gently handed her the cup of ice water from the table beside her bed, helping her sit up slightly so she could take a drink. She nodded when she was finished and he set it down.

She smiled at him fondly. "You were right." She said. "Maybe I was being a little dramatic." She joked lightheartedly.

Maybe he wasn't in the mood, but that struck a cord with him. "You weren't being dramatic, Y/n, you flatlined. You almost died." He said seriously.

Her eyes widened and she sat forward slightly. "I- what?" She asked shocked.

His eyes began to water, and his had shook slightly. "You were dead. I thought you were gone. I was so scared." He whispered meekly.

She frowned, pulling his face to hers. She rested her forehead against his, gently wiping his tears away. "Hey, I'm right here, okay? I'm not going anywhere anytime soon." She whispered.

"You almost died. I didn't know what I was going to do if you didn't make it. I wasn't sure I could live with myself." He said softly. "I need you here. I've never loved anyone the way I love you." He admitted. He wasn't too particularly happy with the time and place, but he couldn't wait any longer. He needed to know he told her. He needed to know he said it.

She kissed him deeply, putting everything she was trying to tell him in it. That she was real, and she was alive. She wasn't going anywhere. That she loved him too.

"I love you. God, I've wanted to tell you for so long but I was too scared." He said.

"What made you not be scared anymore?" She asked.

"Oh, I'm still scared. I'm scared if we go all in and it ends badly, that I'll lose my best friend and the best thing that's ever happened to me. But seeing you lay lifeless on the gurney scared me way more. I'm still scared, but not as scared as I was when I thought you died." He said.

Her face fell. "Oh, God, you saw me flatline?" She said, a mix of emotions crossing her face. He just nodded sadly.

"I saw through the window. There was so much blood. It's something that's going to haunt my nightmares for the foreseeable future." He said.

She stroked his cheek gently. "You said I could say it when I was better. Can I say it now?" She asked.

He closed his eyes and nodded. "Please."

"I love you, Evan Buckley." She said smiling.

He smiled relieved. She leaned her forehead against his again. "I love you so much." She whispered. "I love you, I love you, I love you." She said, peppering his face with kisses until he finally smiled. "There it is." She said softly.

"I'm never letting you go again." He said, gently pulling her into his chest to hug her, just wanted to hold her for a little while.

"Well, that's good, 'cus I'm never leaving your side." She said, sinking into his embrace.

Eventually, after a grueling 30 minutes of being stuck in traffic due to a pileup, the team finally made it to the hospital, only to find Y/n and Buck asleep.

Y/n lay back, the bed sitting up slightly, but not much. Buck lay right next to her chest, her arm over his shoulders, and their fingers entwined. It looked like they fell asleep talking and watching 'Gone With The Wind' on some channel. They all smiled at the sight, happy to see the two finally relaxed.

Each one took a seat somewhere and eventually fell asleep themselves. They weren't about to leave without giving Y/n a hug and reminding her how much they love her. Besides, they were all exhausted. Physically, emotionally, and mentally. The hospital wasn't the best place to sleep, but they weren't about to leave their youngest member alone in a hospital room, let alone let Buck be there by himself. And maybe it was to make themselves feel better because they were all worried sick about her. Or maybe it was for her and Buck. All they knew: they weren't leaving her alone again.

#angst prompt #writers on tumblr #911 on fox #911 one shot #evan 'buck' buckley #buck x reader #evan buckley x reader #this is some angst angst

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plooto · 7 months

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ext 1

warnings . amnesia!neteyam , post gsw!neteyam , tw shooting , tw panic attacks , cursing ,

when you heard the sullys were returning you nearly burst with excitement, wanting to climb on your ikran and meet them halfway.

you couldn’t wait, you stood at high camp waiting to see the group of ikrans fly around the trees. blood rushed to your head, nearly making your head spin as you waited.

“ there they are! ” someone off to your left shouted, you looked up, tears nearly pooling in your eyes, spotting neteyam’s teal ikran that stood out next to his families’. everyone stepped back, allowing their ikrans room to land. you made your way through, neteyam’s eyes locking with yours. your mind went blank, only focused on wrapping your arms around him, you didn’t notice lo’ak’s arm lifting you into a hug. dizzy from your mind being taken out of focus you blink up at lo’ak.

“ y’n good to see you! y’look good! ” you smiled up at lo’ak, your eyes glancing back at neteyam.

“ t- thanks, lo’ak..i’m trying to see neteyam, ” you said, gently twisting out of his hold.

“ y’n, ” lo’ak, hand wrapping around your bicep, pulled you back. you stumbled over your feet, eyes wide with anger as you looked up at lo’ak.

“ lo’ak! let me see my mate! ” lo’ak’s grip tightened as you fought against his hold.

“ y’n, stop! neteyam- ” your forehead creased as you listened to his tone shift, “ neteyam’s he- he’s not himself.. ” you tore your eyes from lo’ak to look at neteyam being greeted and hugged, the clan elated by their return. your anger bubbled down as your mind raced, throat growing tight and your mind slowly connecting the dots. you swallowed the lump in your throat before turning back to lo’ak,

“ what are you saying? ” his ears were turned downward, his grip on your arm nonexistent as he spoke again, mumbling the last part of his sentence, afraid saying it too loudly would break you.

“ he was shot..we were trying to rescue spider. he’s fine! trust me, he just doesn’t remember you.. ” you felt cold as his words settled in you, your heart pounded in your chest, blood rushing to your ears was deafening.. you vision blurred as your breaths shortened. lo’ak’s hands on your arms held you still as you came back, tears brimming your lashes, you pushed lo’ak’s hand away,

“ you did this.. ” you hiccuped, your mind desperate to blame something, anything for the unfortunate pattern of events.

“ y’n, please.. ” you hiss at lo’ak, swatting his hands that tried to head out to you,

“ no, fuck you lo’ak! ” you cursed in english — not fond of the demon language but skxawng could couldn’t begin to describe your anger. horrible couldn’t begin to describe how lo’ak felt, how he assumed you felt. jake saw his disagreement with you, the use of english curse words drawing his attention.

“ lo’ak, what happened? ” lo’ak shook his head, brushing it off as nothing, but his down turned ears and still tail were clear signs that it wasn’t nothing.

“ h- hey no, ” jake put a hand out to stop his son from moving away from him. lo’ak sighed, coming clean while he struggles to meet his father’s gaze,

“ i- i told y’n about neteyam, that he can’t remember her. ” jake grimaced, lo’ak continued, reasoning his decision was its his father, “ if it was me, i’d rather know before i go up to my mate and they don’t know, let alone recognize me. ” jake sighed, nodding as he accepted his son’s explanation.

“ she’ll come around okay? just, she needs time.. ”

and time you took. you didn’t want to go out of your way to force him to remember you..you didn’t want him to shut you out..so you did what you first did—sweet smiles, and simple conversation.

but it was different..the two of you were so far past shy and awkward encounters. you could shake the weight in your heart whenever you saw him. so you stopped.

neteyam noticed your distance, but he figured you were busy. she is pretty, he thought to himself. he was following his father to the meeting with olo’eyktan tarsem when he saw you, playing with tuk as she cases you around high camp with her toy ikran.

he stopped in his tracks, mumbling words that he himself didn’t register, jake stopped two steps after his son, looking at him, trying to read his body language.

“ neteyam? ” neteyam turned to him abruptly, eyes wide with an unfamiliar emotion. his heart pounded against his rib cage, mouth going dry as he tried to speak coherently to his father.

“ y’n, she- that’s her? right? ” jake nodded, brows creasing as his confusion grew. neteyam grew antsy, his fists opening and closing with anticipation as he looked back at her, still running away from his youngest sister. his dad walked over to him, but neteyam walked over to the playing girls with long, impatient strides.

“ neteyam! ” tuk happily said, receiving a head tap from the male before he pulled you in my your cheeks, pressing a heartfelt deep kiss to your lips. your mind didn’t process it, but your body did.

the neurons in his brain finally reconnected, unlocking the memories that were slowly repairing themselves these last few weeks. tuk pursed her lips before running off to tell kiri.

when he pulled away you both were breathless, cheeks dusted with growing heat. your tanhí glowing brighter as you searched his eyes for an explanation to his sudden display, you hand gripping his wrists.

“ neteyam..? do yohmph- ” cutting you off, neteyam pressed another desperate kiss to your lips, pulling away to rest his forehead against yours.

“ i told you i’d come back, tiyawn.. even if it was the last thing i did. ”

published . october 24 , 2023

#neteyam suli x reader #neteyam scenario #atwow neteyam #neteyam x reader #. character // neteyam sully

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oneawkwardcookie · 2 years

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Flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur All that bloodshed, crimson clover Uh-huh, sweet dream was over My hand was the one you reached for

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alittleharpy · 4 months

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Infected - Zombie!Ghost

A Ghost x Y/N Oneshot (fem Reader)

Part Two

MDNI | 18+ ONLY

TW: Gore, zombification, dumbification, blood, sex, desperation

“Simon?”

Your voice cracked.

Seeing the friend you’d just watched die standing in front of you with blood dripping from his fingers made every hair on your body stand on end.

His eyes stayed on you, but he didn’t move. Like he was analyzing you.

His dog tags were still in your palm with the chain wrapped tightly around your fingers. It clinked softly as you trembled.

The sound that left his throat was animalistic, raspy, but he somehow formed words. Like his vocal chords were re-learning how to make the sounds, “You… okay?”

You let out a sharp, deep exhale, “Yeah.” You said softly, “You?”

He let out a sound like a chuckle, even though it sounded wet, “Not sure.”

Boots sounded on the floor again. More hostiles? Your head snapped in the direction, so did Ghost’s.

When you saw Price’s gun raised, heard Ghost’s snarl, you jumped up, putting yourself between them.

Price’s face was contorted in confusion, seeing Ghost standing behind you even though you’d deemed him KIA. Ghost’s chest pressed up against your back, his ragged breathing near your ear. Almost like he was trying to be protective of you.

“What the fuck is going on?” Price asked.

“I…don’t know.” You admitted, “Ghost was… he was gone. I checked. But now… I don’t know. Now he’s not.” You swallowed, “We need to get him out of here. He took penetrating rounds to the chest.”

Price looked around at the carnage in the hallway, then at the blood on Ghost’s hands, “Did he do all this? With multiple GSW’s?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Ghost did first, “Yes.” He strained. His voice sounded better with each word, more like himself.

Price just stared for a moment before he motioned for you to follow. Ghost stayed right behind you, nearly stepping on your boots with his own as you walked.

“Ghost, status update.” Price spoke over comms to Laswell, voice tense with disbelief, “Alive.”

You sat next to Ghost in the heli, watching as a medic pulled up his shirt to reveal the wounds in his chest. They were open, raw, but where red blood should’ve been pouring out, there were congealed, inky masses oozing from the wounds.

The medic pulled her hands back, just staring in shock. His eyes locked on her backing away. He chuckled again, “What’s wrong…love?” You looked up from his chest to see that he was addressing you.

You winced as the medic turned her attention to you, wrapping up your arm. The blood had soaked down your arm, drying to your skin. You could almost see a flicker in Ghost’s eyes as he noticed it, something that looked a lot like hunger.

“What’s wrong?” You scoffed, “You died on me. You were dead.” You sucked air through clenched teeth when she pulled the knot tight.

His gaze locked onto you, dull, but brimming with an intensity that mingled somewhere between the living man you knew and the undead soldier he had become. A grunt was all he could muster, laying back on the seat. You could almost see the effort it took for him to tear his eyes away from your injury.

"Dead?" Ghost's husky voice was laced with a sarcastic edge, almost as if he found the idea amusing, but the new cadence of his speech betrayed the strangeness of his new existence. "Nah, love. Just took… a nasty nap, didn’t I?"

You noticed the tension in his body right away, “You okay?” You had no idea what was going on. You didn’t even know if he was still Simon anymore.

"No. You're hurt," he said, eyes narrowing as he observed the medic finishing off the bandage. The medic finished with your arm and quickly scurried away, not daring another glance at Ghost’s unsettling wounds. The inky substance oozed slower now, his wounds almost appearing to self-staunch. He pulled his shirt down, putting a barrier between everyone’s eyes and his body.

His head tilted slightly towards the smell of your blood, a guttural noise vibrating in his throat – something primal and hungry. But he managed to pull his gaze back to your eyes with a clear effort, his expression softening, a hint of the familiar kindness peeking through. "Bit peckish, but I'll manage. 'Sides, I've got better things to focus on... like making sure you're alright."

You could tell he was struggling, every muscle in his body tensed to restrain his baser needs. It was a battle of wills within him, the soldier's discipline fighting against the chemical that had brought him back from death's grip.

The monster yearned for the taste and warmth of living flesh, but the man—the man cared for you, and that was clear even through his nearly animalistic behavior.

"Simon," you said, using his real name to try and reach whatever part of him was still human. "You’re acting weird, even for a... well, you know." You gestured vaguely to his body, the wounds, and the way he was now not quite living, yet not entirely gone.

He let out a low chuckle that seemed to rattle in his undead chest. "Weird? Might be the new normal, this." He shuffled closer, a careful movement to not startle you, his cold hand tentatively reaching towards your face.

His touch was gentle as he brushed a loose bit of hair behind your ear. The movement was a bit disjointed, but he had the right idea. “Don’t worry 'bout me, yeah? I've always been a tough bastard. Takes more than a few bullets and a touch of death to keep me down.”

Soap cleared his throat across the heli, Gaz and Price keeping their eyes on him. Simon’s eyes snapped toward them like they had in the hall, almost feral and calculating. The tension was immediate in his jaw, teeth clenching as a growl bubbled up in his throat.

Every cell in your body screamed danger.

And so did the others, whose grips immediately tensed on their weapons. Your instinct was to quickly put your hand on his cheek, coaxing him to look back at you. “Hey. They’re your friends, remember?”

The moment your warm hand made contact with his cold, pallid skin, Ghost's eyes softened, the aggressive glint fading as quickly as it had appeared.

"Yeah, I know," he growled softly, "Just...feeling a bit riled up is all." His face pressed heavier in your hand, and you could tell he was trying to focus on the sensation, to ground himself in something other than the chaotic urges that the chemical stirred within him.

Ghost turned his attention back to Soap, Gaz, and Price, a semblance of recognition in his gaze as he nodded slowly. "Brothers in arms," he mumbled, the words trailing off as if he was reminding himself of who they were and the bond they shared.

Price gave a stern nod, his eyes never leaving Ghost. "That's right. You're with your mates, Simon," he said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of authority that came with his rank. "We're going to figure this out."

Gaz shifted uncomfortably, exchanging a glance with Soap, who let out a long breath. “Never a dull moment with this lot, eh?” Soap quipped, trying to inject some humor into the tense atmosphere, but his eyes were wary.

Ghost's grip on reality seemed tenuous, each moment an effort to keep the hunger and aggression at bay. But the connection between you two was clear, a lifeline for him in the swirling maelstrom of his altered state.

You could sense his dependency on you growing, the trust in his gaze unmistakable. It was as if you were now the anchor in the storm he was weathering, and for now, at least, he seemed content to let you guide him through the turbulence.

As the heli rumbled through the air, you could see the way his body shifted closer to yours, an unconscious pull towards your warmth and life force. Your willingness to bring him back from the brink seemed to offer him a small relief amidst the chaos of his undead cravings—a human connection in a situation that was anything but.

“Laswell’s gonna have a metric fuck load of paperwork to fill out over this.” Gaz adjusted his rifle strap, “You sure you’re feeling’ alright, mate?” He asked Ghost, “I reckon you’ve always been a bit pale, but you look like a sheet of paper.”

You looked down at Ghost’s forearms, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Gaz was right. You could see the blue of his veins through the paleness of his skin.

“Listen, this is a bit new for all of us. Let’s just take the questions slow. I doubt Ghost knows any more than we do.” You tugged Ghost’s sleeves down, worried he might be cold in the heli, but could he really feel how cold his own skin was?

Ghost's eyes followed your hands as you adjusted his sleeves, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Cheers," he grunted, his tone a mix of gratitude and his usual sardonic wit. "Don't want to scare the living daylights out of everyone with my new goth look, do I?"

Gaz chuckled at the comment, shaking his head. "Never thought I'd see the day when Ghost became an actual ghost."

There was a momentary lapse into silence as everyone processed the situation, the humor serving as a brief—albeit very brief—relief from the tension.

Ghost shifted slightly, leaning into your touch as if searching for warmth or perhaps the reassurance that you were actually there with him. "I can't really feel the cold," he admitted with a raspy voice that seemed to scratch at the inside of his throat. "Not like I used to, at least. But don't worry about me, I'm more concerned with keepin' you lot safe from whatever this is," he gestured loosely to himself.

Price's voice cut through the chatter, steady and resolute. "We'll get to the bottom of this, sort you out. For now, let's focus on getting back to base safely and keeping Ghost contained—just in case."

Your hand remained on Ghost’s arm, the contrast between your living warmth and his deathly cold stark and unnerving. Yet, the instinct in you refused to pull away, as if your touch could somehow keep the man within him from slipping away entirely.

#call of duty smut #call of duty #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #zombie ghost #simon riley #Spotify

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storeecbrcod · 2 months

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Whump Drabble/fic where Soap suffers realistic trauma from MWIII (though we’ll put a bandaid over his ultimate fate lol).

TW: explicit medical injuries and treatments, angst with a bittersweet ending, will likely be inaccurate in some way seeing as I’m not a medical professional nor a trauma doctor/nurse (I’m just a girl fr), Ghoap✨

Ghost had been wrangling with this worm of guilt that chewed at his heart, something that he thought he had grown accustom to over his life but was now back with a vengeance. When he wasn’t clawing his skin from his bone to try and find the fucker, he was with Johnny.

He had thought the hardest part of this would be overcoming that guilt, but he quickly realised the coma was much worse.

He’d followed soldiers after they’d suffered significant GSW trauma before, of course he had. He’d caused many himself, knew how to engineer one that would guarantee a kill, knew how impossible it seemed yet possible it was to survive a shot to the temple, nearly point blank. He knew what recovery entailed.

Yet, he didn’t know what recovery entailed when it made the soft birdsong in his life silent and still.

He was a sniper and a stealth operative, he was used to sitting in one place during recon, unmoving and hyperaware for hours on end, days or weeks or even months at a time.

Yet, he wasn’t used to searching for a heartbeat and willing it to keep going rather than aiming to stop it.

He’d never felt so restless in his life, cataloguing every detail of the man on the bed in front of him every day. He watched as bandages turned red, watched as the side of his head swelled and bruised and went so black it was like staring into space. He read the words ‘Pressure relief DO NOT TOUCH’ scribbled on the vacuum-sealed, open wound on the back of a window in his skull over and over and over until swelling bowed the dressing and the words didn’t make sense.

He watched air be pumped through tubes down his throat when his brain couldn’t do it for him, and saw urine pool in a bag next to the bed. He watched nurses exercise his body, watched the shut door as they cleaned him up with sponge baths. He’d watched the codes be called and watched from outside the room as ribs were broken in the frail, pale body that was a fifth of the size it used to be and void of the usual tan.

He watched it all. He watched everything.

Just watched.

He knew people in comas could often hear what’s going on around them, he’d learnt that when he rushed Tommy to the hospital after a particularly bad overdose. But it was like his lips were fused together, vocal cords totally lax and frozen. He couldn’t speak, wouldn’t speak, scared of what would tumble from his tongue and leave in the open when Johnny couldn’t even respond.

Spontaneity was a common tactic on the field, as much as they tried to negate it. It wasn’t very often a plan went totally right. Damage control and problem solving were heavily exercised skills that Ghost possessed.

But he couldn’t solve this. He could wish death on Makarov as much as he did before, he could research the best trauma surgeons and doctors and nurses and therapists in the UK, he could monitor Johnny’s condition obsessively all he wants, but he can’t fix it. He can’t heal the snapped neurons, he can’t dig into Johnny’s veins and fish out the blood clots that continued to threaten his life or limbs. He couldn’t crawl into John’s skin and nest there in his warmth, protect him and feel protected. He couldn’t.

Helplessness wasn’t something he’d felt in a long time, but he’d much rather be clawing out of his own grave as ravens cawed again than have to put John in one, still and unable to dig to join Simon.

So when Soap eventually does wake, it felt like an endless tunnel came to an abrupt end with blinding lights and trees, waiting for birds to call their greeting.

He made his own greeting, his imposing yet solid presence next to the bed as tubes were removed and the body was propped up and assurances were given. He was eager, after 4 months of pure silence about to be filled with music again.

But it was off key.

“Where am I?”

“Hospital, Johnny.”

A furrowed brow.

“Who th’ fuck ah you?”

Simon thought that the worst part of all this was the coma, the silence, but he was wrong. It was the recovery.

Simon had learnt that the temple was the perfect place to locate the parts of the brain responsible to speech, decision making and rationalisation, and memory. He’d learnt how irritating it could be re-explaining the same thing over and over every few minutes could be, he learnt of the shame that followed the irritation knowing that Soap couldn’t help it. He learnt how much it hurt to be escorted out of the room for routine check-ups because the once unrelenting trust between him and Johnny had relented to the shadow of unknown.

He had learnt that nothing is permanent.

His visits became less and less. Unsurprisingly, John (not Johnny; only his family calls him that) didn’t want a mountain of a man, full of angst and anger and sadness, haunting the corners of his hospital room. He only wanted his ma and pa, and as much as it hurt Ghost, he respected his wishes.

For months, Ghost isolated himself, got lost in his work. For months, John worked at recovery, regaining his smart mouth and witty remarks, slowly relearning his impulse control that wasn’t really as much control as it was pure will power to restrain himself.

For months, Ghost sought birdcall in the gurgles of his enemies’ throats, revelling in the garbled melodies that never matched the one he remembered, but breaking off just the same.

Beware the mockingbird, Johnny would say.

Yet here he was, searching for a blue jay’s song among the mouths of the unknown and wicked.

He got so used to the warped record that he often found himself forgetting what the original chords sounded like when they reverberated through his chest, right to his heart. Was it sweet, like the pull of a blade through supple skin? Was it explosive, like the crack of body armour in the gap between Kevlar plates? Was it deafening, like the rounds discharged that aimed for his heart?

Was it quiet, like an unmonitored heartbeat over nighttime?

Was it gentle, like the lingering touches left on his waist that still burned his skin months later?

Was it still there?

“Simon.”

Ghost blinked, looking up to Price. He hadn’t realised that he’d let his gaze wander, his mind even further.

“You need to go see him.”

There’s a cry of a broken-winged dove in his ears, overshadowed by the croon of a raven. Stability and chaos, broken and mended in one.

It hurt his head.

“He asked me to leave,” Ghost reasoned.

“When he first woke up, yes,” Price conceded. “Back when you honoured your callsign very proficiently, mind you.”

A scoff erupted from Ghost’s chest, under his crossed arms.

“Look, Simon,” Price sighed, leaning back against his desk, blue eyes of cobalt melting the sulphurous gleam of Ghost’s brown ones. “He remembers, now. Remembered Gaz in a matter of moments, recognised me soon after.”

There was a pause, pregnant and heavy as Ghost kept his mouth shut, luring Price to continue. Daring him to try and push past the raven’s sharp talons to help the dove.

A hand reaches towards the nest.

“It might be time for you to try again.”

The raven hesitates.

“The hospital staff spoke to us about how helping Soap’s brain reconnect the broken neural pathways from the trauma could help him recover faster.”

The dove coos.

“Please, Simon.”

Outstretched fingers.

“Fuck, I can’t watch two of my men crumble at the same time.”

A flurry of feathers, the screeching of breath through gravel, rubber on road, nails on chalkboard. It’s overwhelming, sending his heart into overdrive and rationality to the wind.

“Fuck you, Price.”

Yeah, the recovery hurt the most.

Looking in the mirror during recovery, specifically, hurt like a bitch. Scars that pulled over once unmarred skin, hollow cheeks where laughter and smiles once grew, gnarled soul and memories where purity reigned. It was all thrown back at you, as insistent as a murder of crows at your doorstep.

He could see the way John, not Johnny, sifted through his memory like a locked filing cabinet while trying to place Ghost, desperately searching through the unlocked drawers over and over for the file he needed, all while the closed drawers taunted him with kept knowledge. It was all right there, yet he couldn’t access it.

“Ghost, aye?”

It’s met with a grunt. Silence stretches out, black feathers shielding the delicate white ones.

“And ye were my… lieutenant?”

He was going off of information fed to him, his brow furrowed in concentration, still trying to place Ghost. He couldn’t tell where the darkness around him ended and Ghost started, obscured by inky blackness.

He doesn’t sound right. It’s not the same teasing, playful lilt that danced in the air. It’s not pronounced the same, not said the same, it’s not the same.

It’s some… imposter. Something that looks the same and smells the same and tastes the fucking same, but it’s different.

A cuckoo’s egg in a nest.

“Price ‘nd Kyle were telling me some stories about ye,” John noted with a small smile. “You’re quite the stunner out field, ‘pparently.”

It’s an olive branch, a bridge built half way. An offering to meet in the middle, to talk and revere and remember.

But Ghost didn’t remember, and neither did John.

Recovery never ends, you know. It goes on and on and on, haunting your nerves and your wits for the rest of your life. You’ll always have some sort of ache or pain, a reminder of what happened to you.

John never ended up recovering fully. He was medically discharged, left to nurse a broken cage and a silent heart. He did well, considering; it wasn’t hard when you didn’t remember the song that beat with the rhythm of your heart.

He still joined the team on outings sometimes, staying in a local hotel when everyone was back at base. They’d have a meal, or go to a pub, catch up. Re-establish connections once lost.

Ghost rarely joined them, to save his own torment.

But of course, he had to honour the dove occasionally. Just as he was now, sitting across the table from the lively Scot and with his two other teammates, Gaz and Price. Beers had been served, a single glass of warm whiskey for cold hands. The table was lively, fun, rambunctious in all the best ways.

The cuckoo had hatched in earnest, Ghost found.

It was easy to see the progress John had made, loud and bright and cheeky like he used to be. Demanding of attention, hungry for every scrap of past he could swallow to try and heal old wounds. Listening to stories about himself and his old crew when they were all together, as if it was another version of him. The right version of him.

And by god, were the scraps from Simon the most nourishing of all.

John’s mouth felt desert dry, cactus dust caking his tongue as he bit desperately into every glimpse of Ghost’s bare face, lips wrapped around glass and breath smelling of potent, liquid gold with every word. It hurt, it tasted awful, and it was impossible to rid himself from. It hurt so good, feeling his heart pull and swell in ways he didn’t understand anymore.

He felt like glass, he felt like the air, he felt like expensive liquor, he felt like it was meant to be him in their places, held and touched and breathed and consumed. It was overwhelming, leaving him starstruck and staring, a flutter in his chest reawakened.

Ghost’s own nest was erupting with displaced wind, white wings desperate to spread and carry it away, escape the raven’s hold. Right now, meeting Johnny’s eyes, he realised that the time spent captive in the nest had only lent to the dove’s healing. It was stronger now, bigger and fiercer and so, so hopeful.

The cuckoo cackled, loud and leering. Mockingbirds whistled and cawed, off key and haunting. The raven keened, shaken and damning.

The white dove flew.

The blue jay sang above the bramble.

And the two nested together, among the dappled branches of a birchwood tree, cool and calm and surrounded by colour year round. Above the bramble of the past.

Ghost had learnt one thing over everything else; a lesson that was recurrent in his life, stubborn and overwhelming. It swallowed him in waves, crashing him into the sand bank below.

Nothing is ever, ever permanent.

Admittedly, his retirement had gone well. The down payment was easy, the renovations smooth, moving in a sigh of relief. They’d have their harder days, where getting out of bed and walking without aid was difficult for Johnny, but they’d have their good days, too. They’d have their days where they’d go for walks across the countryside, watch as their service dog bounced around through tall grass, tongue lolling from her mouth.

They’d have quiet days, relaxing days. They’d have loud days, rough days.

But they were all days where the sun would rise and then set.

They were all days when the blue jay sang.

Simon had forgotten silence. His life was filled with sound, and love, and content.

Maybe… maybe the worst part of it all was loss.

Maybe the worst part of it all was the unmoving body, still warm.

Maybe the worst part of it all was the frantic screams that drowned out the silence.

Maybe the worst part of it all was the silence.

Silence.

A/N: bandaids don’t last forever

Idk if this is coherent or cohesive or any other co-words meaning readable and enjoyable. Maybe I’ll rewrite it, who knows. Probably not, I can’t post consistently as it is lmao

#tw mcd #tw medical procedures #tw violence #tw graphic #idk what this is #enjoy #I hope #there’s so much symbolism/metaphor in here it’s crazy #it probably doesn’t make sense #call of duty #cod mw ghost #call of duty modern warfare #cod fanfic #ghoap #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #angst #whump

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