Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The problem with curling up, is it doesn't actually make the pain go away. It tricks your brain into thinking you're safe and sound, while your body is screaming in agony.

It's only good at making you harder to find.

Soap was currently curled up in the dark. He knew it was cold, and he knew he was hurt, but he couldn't uncurl. His brain was too scared of the perceived pain to let him unclench his muscles. No, that wasn't right. His brain was too scared of the pain that would come if he unclenched his muscles. Yes. That was right.

...No. That still wasn't right.

He couldn't uncurl.

Each attempt to uncurl caused his legs to jut up against something. His head was periodically butting against a wall. He was shivering. Each shiver brought a scraping sound as he touched the edges of his darkened prison.

Ah.

Clarity came to him between scraping shivers: He was trapped.

Trapped by what? Debris? Was he in a building? No. No, he remembers commenting on the stars—something about how Sirius flickers so much a lot of people mistake it for a UFO when in reality it's atmospheric refraction—and then... And then...

“Go lay those charges, Mactavish, before you compromise the mission!”

The memory made him curl harder, forcing a frozen wheeze out of him. It had hurt then, and it hurt now. He didn't want to remember that. He focused on breathing. And stars. Stars were nice. Stars were quiet. If he opened his eyes, he could imagine he was looking at them again.

Hissing and muddled voices reached his ears and he shut his eyes again. He tried to think about stars and space. For example! Space is actually very loud if you have a big enough eardrum. The entire solar system is sheathed in a sonic boom that originates due to the solar wind. Neat.

Something cold fell onto his face, disturbing his train of thought. He shivered more as it melted and sloughed off. Wait. Melted. Snow. He was trapped in a pocket of snow.

Avalanche.

The thought should have panicked him. It only brought him resignation. They were supposed to blow up an enemy base—except the enemy blew it up before they could get to it, and caused an avalanche. Right.

Soap felt his lip curl as he snarled. His team would blame him for this, he knew. They always did. 141 hadn't done it yet, but it was bound to happen. His love of explosions and his eagerness was easy to blame, and he had no proof he didn't do it... Well, except for the C4 still in his bag. They wouldn't listen though. Not when they were already pissed that the mission had gone south.

More hissed murmuring reached his ears. Maybe... Maybe they would just leave him. He's already buried—so they wouldn't have to worry about a funeral. Just send a letter home to his parents that their dead son was now even more dead. Maybe they would celebrate under the stars.

The stars.

Soap wanted to see them again, but couldn't get himself to try and move. He had stopped shivering when the snow fell off his face. Maybe the pocket of snow was warming him? Maybe he would see the stars again. That would be nice. He let his eyes shut once more and went deaf to the sound of shovels above him.

Chapter Text

Ghost was freaking out. No. Simon was freaking out. Ghost was shoveling. It was evident in the giant, heaving breaths between each methodical shovel. Perfectly paced, eyes constantly scanning.

Gaz was holding a heartbeat sensor in his hands, shakily aimed at a spot in the snow, praying the lines belonged to his best friend. His eyes were glued to the the screen, frowning as the beats slowed more and more. Eventually he tossed the thing aside, grabbed his own field shovel, and joined Ghost.

Price was watching them through his scope, frowning as they dug deeper and deeper and still had no Soap. He mentally cursed—he hadn't expected the enemy to scuttle their own base. They had sent Soap to go plant the charges, causing him to be in the avalanche's path. They had stayed behind. They had stayed safe. Ghost was going to have Price's head later.

Price refocused when both men threw their shovels aside, reaching into a pocket of snow, pulling out a very pale, very blue, very unconscious Soap. Fuck.

“Medivac is on the way,” he called to them on his radio. “Is he breathing?”

He watched Gaz take a few deep breaths before keying up his own mic. “Barely.”

“Get to me, boys. Let's get him as warm as we can.”

Ghost wrapped Soap up in his arms and marched toward Price. Gaz gathered the shovels and the monitor and dutifully followed. Price tracked their progress in his scope as he swapped radio channels to update the medivac on their status. They replied they were ready to receive when they landed, so there was at least some hope.

Ghost and Gaz reached Price as the medivac began to hover overhead. Price packed up his rifle, stood, brushed his fingers along Soap's frozen cheek, and turned towards their ride home.

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“Hypothermia, cracked ribs, concussion, and a broken collarbone,” the doctor stated when they were back on base. Ghost was looming behind Price, eager to get into the room where his Sergeant was. Gaz was shifting his weight from side to side, eager to follow Ghost. The doctor spared Ghost a nervous glance, and continued. “He's being kept sedated for now, until his body recovers from the frozen temperatures. We're warming him slowly to prevent infection, pneumonia, and limb loss. Once he's deemed stable, he'll be allowed to wake up.”

“Approximately how long does that take?” Price asked over Ghost's low growl.

“Could be anywhere from two days to a week. We'll call you when we know.”

“Thank you,” Price nodded his head, grabbed Ghost and Gaz, and hauled them out of the medical bay.

“John,” came the whine from Gaz. Price ignored it, and shoved his Lieutenant and Sergeant against the wall outside Med Bay.

“You both are going to behave,” he growled. He watched with small satisfaction as both officers stiffened. “You are going to stay out of Soap's room until they call me. You are going to let the medics have space to work. Once they call me, I will call you and let you both in as long as you both behave. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, sir!” came the joint response.

“Shower, and get some food. Soap would be so upset if we didn't take care of ourselves...” He let that sentence hang in the air as he released his officers. He got greater satisfaction from watching them scurry off toward their bunks to take care of themselves. He nodded. Just like Soap would have wanted. He followed at a slower pace to do the same.

Ghost and Gaz stayed good, even if they were annoying the shit out of Price. They did their duties. They were eating in the mess hall. They were even working out together. The problem was they also took turns checking in with Price every chance they could starting on day two.

“Is he awake yet?”

“Any word?”

“Status?”

On the morning of day three, Price pinned a sheet of paper on his door:

Medical has not called. I will text or call those appropriate when they do. For all other business, feel free to knock.

-Captain John Price

Relief was brief. Laswell marched onto base on day four. She stormed into his office, paused, backtracked, read the note, sniffed, then came into his office, shutting the door behind her.

She pointed at the door. “MacTavish?”

“MacTavish,” Price wearily replied. “Medical isn't letting him wake up yet.”

Laswell frowned, then shook her head and straightened her back as she said, “Found the men who scuttled their base. Need a team. Got one?”

“Ghost and Gaz. I need to stay for Soap.”

Laswell nodded. “That'll do. Call them.”

Price sent them off before dawn of the fifth day, so of course Soap chose that night to cause trouble.

A medic barged into his office as he did paperwork. He looked up, mundane paperwork still clenched in his hand. The medic leaned on the door frame, chest heaving until she caught her breath enough to gasp, “He's gone.”

Chapter Text

Soap woke up cold and alone.

Admittedly, it was better than the previous time he woke up cold and alone, but unfortunately instead of being under the snow and stars, this time he was surrounded by the nauseating smell of disinfectant and cleaners. He gagged against the smell. He needed to get away from it. He needed fresh air. He needed...

He needed to see the stars.

Urgency blinded him to pain or cold as he staggered out of bed, ripping cords and needles from his skin. He snuck out of the room he was in, snagging a roll of medical tape as he passed by an abandoned nurse cart. He sighed as the fresh air hit his skin. He took a deep breath. Then another. Then another.

He started walking. He wrapped his hand as he walked, dropping the roll of medical tape when he was done—he didn't need it anymore. He climbed instead. The stars were too far away and he needed to be closer. It was awkward, and everytime he tried to move his arm, it strained against more bandages. He ripped them off. Muscle memory pulled him up a building and up onto a ledge. He sat. He looked up. He saw stars.

He doesn't know how long he sat there staring at the stars, but he only recognized he was cold when a warm blanket wrapped itself around his shoulders. Soap blinked, and looked down and to the side. A kind-looking man was looking at him. Talking to him. He knew this man, and this man knew him. Soap swayed, and the kind man reached out to steady him. The stars aligned and words had meaning again.

“Soap? You with me, lad?”

“...Price?”

Price heaved a relieved sigh. He sat on the ground next to Soap and pulled him down into his lap. Soap made a minor sound of protest, but Price quickly shushed him. “You shouldn't be moving around so much, lad. You were really hurt. Scared the shit out of us. Just sit here for a moment. What were you doing out here?”

“Stars,” Soap managed to croak out.

Price's forehead wrinkled in confusion before smoothing out as he looked up. “Ah. Yeah. The stars are out tonight. I can give you about five more minutes before we gotta go back inside, okay?”

“M'kay.”

“Just lean against me, lad. There ya go. Everything's alright. I gotcha. Simon'll be back soon. He's on a mission right now, but when he gets back he'll come straight to you, okay?”

“S'mad?”

“No, he's not mad. He's worried. Scared the shit out of us, lad. I thought I ordered you to your death. I didn't think the enemy would scuttle their own base. I'm sorry. I'll apologize again later when you're less drugged.” He felt Price shift and felt the blanket adjust around him. He sank into the warmth with a sigh as Price pulled out a phone and held it up to his ear. “No, I got him, Kate. He's on the roof of medical.” A pause. “No, he wanted to see the stars. Understandable considering...”

Soap let the one-sided conversation fall into the background. He happily stared upwards. Price shifted once more, putting his phone away before wrapping a thick arm around Soap. Quick, thudding footsteps got closer to their place of rest. Against his will, Soap let out a whine. Price gently shushed him. “I just need help getting you back down, lad. You shouldn't be using your arm. You broke your collarbone. You need to rest and you threw your sling—Simon?!”

Soap was gently pulled from Price and into a warm, firm body that smelled faintly of gunpowder and spices. He nuzzled into it. “S'mon,” he slurred. “S'mon.”

“Fuck,” Ghost rasped. “You had to wake up while we were gone, huh love? Do you know how many people are currently out looking for you?”

“How'd he even get up here?” a third voice mused. Soap wiggled until Gaz graced his view with a grin. “Hi, Tav. Are you aware you're pantsless?”

“Kyyyyyy.”

“Oh,” Gaz laughed. “He's still loopy. Shall we get him back to bed?”

Soap whined and looked back up. He tried to reach up toward the sky, but a hand gently pressed his arm down against his torso. He felt Ghost nuzzle into his neck. “The stars will still be there tomorrow night, love. I'll make sure you can see them tomorrow.”

“Pr'mise?”

“I promise.”