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It started out as a small, inconvenient thing he dealt with.
He was unsure how it got this far.
First it started with rubbing his eyes when he got tired. To his words seemingly freezing on his tongue. To everything being too loud. To the fights his team got in beginning to get worse when he'd freeze up. To the tears. The tears were the worst part.
He didn't cry. Ghost was a strong man, he prided himself on it.
So why did he feel so small? Like a child.
Why did he cower instead of fight back?
This was a new development for him. He had always fought alongside the team member who was correct when things were bad. But now… Now the words were stuck in his throat. His eyes felt glassy.
He'd retreat as soon as he noticed. Scurrying off as if he wasn't this tall, scary man.
As if he had to hide.
Ghost tried to push down Simon Riley as much as he could. The missions getting longer, and each return his vulnerability heightened just enough to be noticeable by himself and not others. The way he intended to keep it.
Until he couldn't quite hide it so well.
The team noticed the immediate retreat to his room the moment they got back on base. As a lieutenant (and a man with far too many problems for roommates to be around), he had his own room. Special request, technically.
Ghost needed to destress. Except his typical way of going to the gym was out of the question with these icky feelings.
The only way he could describe it made him feel like a child. Icky, gross, weird… He couldn't come up with something constructive that didn't sound like a child thought of it.
He couldn't even journal the way Johnny taught him. His letters got jumbled and he forgot what he was saying while he was writing. He settled on sketching. Sometimes it would help. But, more often than not, it would turn into scribbles of nonsense.
It would always feel like a slap in the face when he looked at what he'd made. Expecting something good.
It didn't feel good. It felt wrong. All wrong.
And there was that feeling again. Icky.
It clawed at him from the inside. When he was feeling okay, this problem never arose. But when he felt this icky, gross sensation in his chest… it came out wrong.
It wasn't really as icky as he thought it was. Ghost kept pushing it down, because it was all he knew. He could ignore his problems, usually. So he believed there would be no problem.
Ignoring it, the tightness grew in his chest still. At a steady rate. Every low after a mission, it was like another notch ticked up. He'd shout at the recruits for something small, then he'd have Soap or Gaz take over. And there wouldn't be another word from him the whole day. Even if there was a mission, nothing came out of his mouth. Not a sigh, not a scream, not an order. Nothing.
Either it be from fear, curiosity of how far this would go, or concern, this was never questioned. Except for the off comment about the possibility of Ghost seeking assistance with whatever his issue was, but it was always shut down.
This vulnerability would go away, Ghost was sure of it. He had to be sure. There was nothing else he could do.
He spent longer in his room. Paperwork had gotten neglected quickly over time as this issue progressed. He told Price it was being worked on.
It wasn't.
His mind would always wonder. He'd caught himself doodling on some sticky notes. Too distracted.
There was an attempt to go back to his usual gym routine. The lights were blinding and it was too loud. He left as soon as he arrived.
Back to his room. It felt cold there, but it was all he had for now. He set up on the corner of his bed by a window. The remaining bits of sun peeking through the blinds. He held his notebook again.
Tapping his pencil as if the words would come to him. He never got far. It added to his tenseness and aggravation.
He felt like an inexperienced child.
Like he had no skills, nothing to go off. Nothing to build his journaling. His mind clouded and fuzzy. Eyes wandering once again. This time to the door. He wanted to go see Price.
That urge was pushed down the second it came up.
This could not be exposed to anyone. At least Ghost believed that. He thought it was an illness, something that made him crazy. A new PTSD symptom appearing. In a way, it was.
Unfortunately, that knowledge wouldn't assist Ghost.
He was driving himself mad. His nightmares slowly centered themselves back to his childhood. But instead of his dad being harmful, it was his team. One of his most vulnerable spots. He trusted his team not to hurt him, which is why this team was so significant to him.
He awoke with a genuine cry. Soft and small, but one nonetheless. His thumb tucked into his mouth. He hardly realized he was sucking on it like a pacifier.
It soothed him regardless. The cold bed didn't. Everything was cold. He had to get used to it if he wanted to push on. He had to try to get used to all of this. It was a secret, it had to be.
By morning, his hand ached but the rest of his sleep was peaceful. Something so simple as having his thumb in his mouth helped. Odd for him, really.
Ghost was bothered by it. Chastising himself for being that way, always silent unless he was alone.
He paced until his legs were exhausted. He wasn't sure how long he'd walked for, but it was too long. Stomach twisted in knots as he finally pulled out his laptop. Finally to get answers.
His fingers stilled on the keys. What was he supposed to type? Confess his everything to his google search bar? He clicked to open a private tab. It was better at least than one that kept the history.
Ghost took a shuddering breath, looking down at the screen. He felt all too small, too vulnerable. Everything around him felt so big. So impossible. The paperwork he needed to do was being neglected. Not because he didn't want to do it, but because he physically couldn't do it.
Words were typed into the search bar, what he thought would get results.
“feelig like a scared kid after big scary thinfs”
Typos weren’t usual for Ghost. His hands not cooperating with him. He felt like a fool.
The bar to the results page slowly loaded. It was not what he wanted to see.
“They may regress a few years back from their current age or, in some cases, return to a child-like or infant-like state. Regression is a normal and temporary condition for children, and it can be a coping mechanism for stress and untreated trauma in adults.”
Great, so he wasn't completely crazy, but he had a new problem.
Age Regression was surely not something he could have and stay safely in the military with, he thought. This had to be a secret. Secrets usually weren't hard to keep.. but in this state? He had no clue.
The laptop closed, and Ghost set it aside. He curled up in bed with his blanket and a pillow to his chest. Easily ignoring the sounds of daytime. He could just lie and say he was sick if ever questioned. Better and easier that way.
Well, better for everyone else. He'd have to keep burying this.
Ghost didn't deal with these problems, Simon Riley did. And if he kept pushing that down, then Simon Riley would go away too. He just had to ignore it all. Using Ghost as a cover, a defense, an alter ego, maybe. Pushing himself down had to be the solution.
Easier said than done.
It ate at him constantly. Food all seemed unappetizing. Rest seemed boring. Work seemed scary.
He decided he had enough.
Not enough to ask for help, but enough that he needed to stop working for a few days. He didn't properly file for it, but he gave Price a note saying he needed a week off. And Price seemed to take care of it for him.
Relief.
No more paperwork to complete, no more recruits to talk to.
Until he started being asked questions by his team. Which were all mostly ignored. He didn't have the energy nor strength to deal with them. He was too exhausted.
Hell, it felt like a weak cold.
Was it the regression, or a genuine sickness?
Ghost assumed the first. Because it was easier than accepting that he was also sick. He wasn't sick, he was imagining it. Or maybe it was a simple stuffy nose, or the brain fog that gave him the impression of an illness.
He was used to having a clear head. Even his preferred music wouldn't clear his head. A good classical song did no good. Not even the loud stuff Price liked helped…
Back to square one. Back to hiding in his room until he figured it out. Technically on sick leave for a few days, as he requested. This would help, he hoped.
Being alone, surprisingly, didn't help like usual. It merely brought him knowledge that he wouldn't be disturbed.
Focus went out the window every time he tried to sit to journal down his feelings. He began to scribble… letting himself scribble this time.
It brought an ease to his shoulders. A calm hum to his breaths. It was helping.
This was what he needed to do. It finally felt like air was in his lungs rather than smog. His head rested on the wall with the journal in his lap. Nothing of substance in the scribbles, it helped regardless.
He allowed himself a soft smile. The corners of his lips just ever so slightly curled up. Ghost was satisfied with this knowledge.
It settled his mind just enough to let his shoulders drop.
Lukewarm showers began to turn into hot baths. With salts and maybe a candle to make it smell better. He'd read up on ways to help tension. Sometimes it helped, other times the heat made his skin red and the water made him feel sick.
But the times it worked was worth it. Those nights he'd fall into a comfortable sleep, and would usually sleep the whole night rather than waking in segments.
His spending habits got worse. But the money he'd been saving hadn't been saved for anything, so it was just there to use. Ghost decided a treat was in order. Or maybe a few treats.
A new journal, some colored pens, and a new weighted/heated blanket.
He didn't need these things. But he wanted them. He deserved them for all he'd been dealing with. That's how he reasoned it to himself.
The purchase of the three items went through easily. Though, he looked at the confirmation screen and significantly tense. Regret, or maybe fear.
His teammates may be the first to get the items, that was the last thing he wanted. He couldn't let them know, though a lie would be easy enough, his mind didn't process that he could do that.
Ghost was still set on receiving his items, he watched his email for delivery updates almost constantly. Nerves wracked his system. Scared. He hated that. Scared and small.
Like a little kid.
Regression had really taken its toll on him. Made him feel like he was gross for being that way. Even though pretty much every source he read said otherwise. Said it was healthy for some. But was he the some it was good for, or was he the ones it hurt?
His email checking was interrupted by a google search. He had to know more, the distractions weren't quite working as well any more.
Ghost momentarily forgot the packages. Working on the research instead. At least he was alone, where no one could loom over his shoulder. He upped the text size, unable to fully comprehend what was on the screen. It bothered him.
The text felt smaller anyways, and the words felt more blurred. Realistically, he knew it wasn't. He knew he was just seeing it wrong. It would all normally have been chalked up to him not sleeping well, but this was different.
Ghost grew incredibly frustrated with it. The phone was tossed aside, to care to where it landed. He closed his eyes, the balls of his palms pressed against his eyelids. Upset, and angry at himself.
It felt like his skills were regressing too. Not just himself. Ghost didn't know how to cope with that at all. He was so good at a lot of things, but he felt it was all falling apart.
The phone was left on the floor the remainder of the day. Ghost saw no reason to pick it up. Plus it had to be at least another day until the packages arrived, so he had time. He hoped base security wouldn't look through it all too hard. He used his real name for the packages, maybe that was a mistake but he wasn't thinking. He hardly was thinking these days.
Being on “sick” leave made it easier yet harder.
The days kept fading into each other. Always messing Ghost up. Losing track of his last full night of sleep (or his last nap).
The rare but gentle knocks at his door only served to bother him. He didn't say a word to whoever it was. Too exhausted, too annoyed. Everything was too much.
It all weighed on him like was a small kid, learning all the torment of life as his father continuously ruined his childhood.
The knocks at the door felt like loud bangs and shouts, even though they were accompanied by soft words. Often asking Ghost to come out, or asking if whoever could come in to check on him. The person outside the door was never greeted with any sort of response.
Ghost made sure no one saw into this mess. His mental mess had made its way to his floor, and the tops of his surfaces. Bed a mess of blankets and the occasional lost pen as well. His journal made its way to the floor, and his phone remained on the floor where it had been thrown.
Either he forgot, or he had been slowly fading in and out of an awake state. Ghost caught himself staring at the blank wall infront of his bed. With a defeated sigh, he fell back against his mattress. His head hitting the cool pillow. It didn't bring any comfort. Not even the warmth of his blankets did.
It all felt so cold still.
Captain Price came back to his thoughts. How he could use a firm, warm hand on his shoulder. The way his voice softened in concern whenever Ghost was struggling with himself again. He was aware that Price’s door was always open to him. But his stomach twisted back into knots.
Before he realized, tears began to wet his cheeks. Maskless because he was “sick” and hiding in his bedroom. He didn't have a mirror, so he didn't have to see the mess he was.
Ghost tried to fist at his eyes in an attempt to stop the tears, to stop this bottomless pit of uncomfort in his stomach. Not a sound fell from him, other than whimpers that he deemed pathetic. He pulled his blankets up to his shoulders. What else was there to do?
Run to Price? Cower in bed? He couldn't even begin to comprehend these new things while feeling this way.
The tears kept pouring, years of bottled up distress. He needed to let it out, yet it was scary. He felt scared of his own emotions. He wanted to sleep, to ignore it. But there was no way he could now. Not with the ache in his chest, the stinging in his eyes. The quickly cooling tears on his cheeks only added to the discomfort.
The big, scary Ghost felt.. small, and weak. Everything was out of his control. He could deal with the usual PTSD symptoms, but this added problem took him out. He was typically the one to keep a level head, it was something that gave him pride. Made him feel good when he could help. Now he wasn't sure he could even help himself.
Normally, Price's office would be Ghost's first stop. The thought of leaving his room made him just sink further into the mattress. If anyone saw him like this, he wasn't sure he'd be able to live it down. He'd seen his men cry, he'd seen them fall and beg for help, but asking for help himself when he wasn't physically injured seemed like such a large task.
Too big of a task for him to handle. Too small, too little to hardly understand that he needed help before he got worse.
Ghost let it get worse. The packages for himself became a distant thought. He'd brush them off as gifts if anyone questioned. Though, most knew not to do something that could even slightly upset him. His head began to constantly ache, his chest felt sore, his stomach felt bunched up, his body felt too heavy.
Too small.
His mind felt too small to deal with these big things. Ghost hid away. Under his blankets, head tucked under like a kid scared of the dark. He felt like that.
He had people to go to, friends that would listen. Every time he tried to get out of bed, it was like the world was tearing apart. Ghost believed he was safe in bed. From the scary world. From all the work he needed to get done.
He wanted Price again. To pull him out of the water he was metaphorically drowning in. To cover his wounds. To sit him down and just be there.
As if on cue, there was a firm knock on the door. Firm, not violent. The door was locked, but Ghost couldn't bring himself to stand. Weakly, Ghost gave a small hit against the wall. Loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to be concerning.
“Simon, son, open the door for me, yeah?” Came Price's low, but warm voice. Something Ghost simply wanted to fall into. To just listen to. It was getting harder to bury himself further. Maybe he'd let Price see in for once.
Begrudgingly, Ghost pulled himself out from under the warm bedding. Pulled on his mask from his side table. He had to attempt to cover it, if it didn't work maybe he'd let himself stop hiding completely. He might let Price in.
The door was slowly opened from Ghost's side. His eyes red, and his posture similar to a shrimp. He didn't want to be perceived. The poor man looked exhausted.
“Sir.” Came his croaked voice. He sure sounded sick, but this looked much worse than sick. Price seemed to register that.
“Come with me, son. Need you for a minute.” Probably an excuse to get Ghost out of his dirty bedroom, but it seemed clear that Ghost wasn't thinking enough to notice it.
So he nodded, and followed Price’s lead through empty halls until they reached Price's office. It already felt so much warmer than Ghost's sad excuse of a bedroom. It even looked warmer.
There was a gentle hand placed on his shoulder, just as Ghost had wanted. The slow guiding to the old couch in the office, where Price coaxed him to sit. The door was closed behind them, and then Price joined Ghost on the couch.
“let’s take that mask off, Simon… I know you're not feeling well.” Price was always so smooth with his words and movements. Ghost envied it, but he did sink into the comfortable couch as the mask was slid off by the other's hands.
“Tell me, what's goin’ on?” The dreaded question. Ghost realized he didn't even have his phone, he had to speak out loud. He wasn't sure his voice would cooperate. The tears filled his eyes again, and his head turned.
“Simon, son…” There was a sigh, but it wasn't disappointed. There was no sharpness, no anger and no sadness. But a gentle concern instead.
Price was met with silence. Without the mask to hide his face, it was increasingly obvious just how messed up Ghost was feeling.
“Son, Talk to me.” Price spoke firmly. His hand lingered on Ghost's shoulder. Of course the captain was the one that noticed everything, every little difference.
“I can't think.” Is what Ghost decided to start with. It was met with the most concern he'd seen from Price (excluding the times any of the team members were hurt).
“Okay…” There was a long pause while Price visibly debated on what to do. “Do you want to try to talk about it?” Did he? Could he even try? There wasn't much of a response from Ghost. It took a while to get a response. More questions were asked with only small differences, and still hardly an answer.
One that got a response was, “Are you scared?” And yes, yes he was. Ghost gave only the smallest of nods. But it was what Price needed.
Slowly, Ghost was talked through the tears until the tears had dried in his eyes. He was held steady by the hand on his shoulder, it never left. Price had him here. Made it known he'd help Ghost however was needed.
It was only a little odd for Ghost to ask Price to just stay. But there wasn't a thing Price wouldn't do for Ghost in this fragile of a state.
Once their silence filled the room, it started getting uncomfortable. The silence usually wouldn't bother Ghost, but it was chewing at him. Bothering him.
“Say something…” Ghost muttered. In the smallest voice Price had ever heard from him.
“You don't want it to be quiet, hm?” Ghost felt as though Price was treating him like a small child with those words. Yet, it felt soothing. Calming. His airways opened again. Allowing a breath.
“Just keep talking.” It was a little dismissive on Ghost's, though it was paired with a nod. Price was right after all. The quiet was somehow too overwhelming. Too much.
“I was thinking about letting you watch some TV while I worked, would that be okay, Simon?” The Captain asked, his hand moving to rest on Ghost’s upper arm before slowly pulling away.
The cold on his arm was like a shock to his systems. Alone again. Ghost knew Price needed to work, that didn't mean he wanted him to. He shook his head in response.
“Understood… How about we turn on TV anyways, yeah? Give you something to listen to and I'll stay here.” Price insisted he'd stay. It comforted Ghost as much as it could in this state. His brown eyes big and sad.
“I know you don't want me to go, so I'll stay here. Right by you, son.” Price put his hand back on his shoulder. But it was better than before. His hand rested on Ghost's far shoulder, while his arm rested along his upper back.
Ghost swore he stopped breathing. The warmth surrounded him.
When his breath hitched, Price was quick to make sure Ghost was okay.
“Simon, hey,” His voice cut through Ghost's floaty hearing, “I'm right here. Lean to me, yeah?”
Ghost couldn't say no. Both physically, and because he didn't want to. He leaned into Price's warmth. There was a shaking exhale, but he relaxed again. His heart in his throat. The darkness was fading. The confusion wasn't as strong. His mind felt just a little bit more clear. He still felt small, but it wasn't so dooming.
“I feel like a kid.” Ghost confessed. As he expected, the captain seemed confused about that. His confused expression replaced by sympathy.
“Then why don't we watch a kids show? To settle that working of yours.”
Never a day in his life did he think he would agree. He didn't want to say no. A kids show would be good. Something quiet and peaceful. No mean adult fighting, no gorey wounds like the usual shows Ghost watched.
“Yeah.” Ghost nodded, soft and gentle. His head rested over Price's shoulder. His short blond hair brushed against Price's beard.
It made Price smile. This vulnerable side of Ghost was so rare to see, but so sweet. Being trusted by Ghost to see him like this was a feeling like no other. Price reached for the remote, just at Ghost's other side. A gentle reach. Nothing too much. Ghost didn't move.
Price turned on a children's channel, and Ghost was simply enthralled by the little characters. He hadn't watched a children's show like this in so very long.
It took about ten minutes before Ghost was settling. Both he and Price leaned back while Ghost inched closer. His head on him still. His legs were pulled up onto the couch as well.
There wasn't a moment where Price moved. It proved worth it. Because Ghost was finally resting. He had calmed.
Ghost sucked his lower lip into his mouth, chewing slightly. There wasn't much that could be done about it, he would be okay for now.
Over time, his eyes began to close. Despite not being laid down, he was comfortable. Finally comfortable and content. Content and happy.
It took a moment before Price realized this, his other arm looped around Ghost to hold him steady.
“Sleep, son.. I've got you.” That was what Ghost needed to hear. It took another thirty minutes until Ghost managed to sleep. Still lightly suckling at his lip like it was a pacifier. In a way, Price found it adorable.
The next few days, Ghost was practically glued to Price's side. Every drop, Price was there at his side. The both of them learned as they went. Even though it was hard at first when neither of them knew how to help Ghost when things were bad.
It got easier over time. Whenever Ghost was little, he was Price's little guy. Cartoons and relax time were usually how they got Ghost settled and comfortable. Eventually, they had upgraded to laying in Price's bed for quiet time. Often using Price's laptop as a TV for Ghost's cartoons. It always soothed him.
Well, Price always soothed him.