Something is keeping his arms pinned. He can’t shift his head. He can’t /breathe/. Soap panics. He panics and wheezes because there’s no fucking air and he feels like his vision is going blurry. His lungs hurt, his chest aches, and his limbs are going numb the longer he’s

trapped. He can’t move. He can’t call for help. Soap just /suffers/. Despite the lack of air, he lets out a pathetic whine. High pitched and soft. The only sound he can make beyond just tiny gasps for air. It’s dark down here. He can’t see. There’s no gaps, nowhere for his

voice to come out from if he ever manages to remember how to actually talk again. If he can even gather the energy to scream. But no. Soap is stuck, help in place, and there’s no one coming for him. No one that knows he’s even gone in the first place. And it /hurts/. Something

crackles in the periphery of his senses, just on the edge of everything. It’s like static in his head, and for a moment, Soap is convinced he’s hearing things. He’s too buried deep to hear anything happening above him, especially not with the buzzing in his ears. The loud ringing

that /won’t. shut. up/. Soap can’t even die in peace. He closes his eyes and tries not for the first time to try and even out his breathing. He’s delaying the inevitable by still trying to regulate his breaths, but Soap’s not quite ready to die. There’s a million and one

regrets that swirl around in his head, nothing that he concentrates on for too long because if he does, he’s going to /lose/ it. Not that he’s doing the best at keeping himself together. Soap dares to speak. Despite the enclosed space, his voice doesn’t echo back at him. It

seems to fade outwards, stretching further than Soap can hope to reach himself. He opens his eyes only to be met with the same inky blackness, and shuts them again. Best to die w his eyes closed. Hopefully it’ll hide the fear he feels if anyone ends up coming across his body

later. The crackly sounds from before return, only a little louder this time, breaking through the tinnitus like ringing. If he concentrates, it almost sounds like his name. Soap wishes he could reach towards it. Claw his fingers through rubble to find out who it’s coming from.

It takes Soap a moment to realize the name being called isn’t ‘Soap’. It isn’t ‘MacTavish’. Not even ‘John’. No. The name being called is something only one person has ever earned the right to call him. But that’s impossible, right? There’s no way he’d know he’s down here. No way

he’d be able to dig him out. Soap lets out a gasp. Pressure builds above him. Things are shifting, but not to free him, no. It’s like more rubble piles up on top of him, punishment for thinking he might be saved by /him/. Soap would laugh if he could. A bitter and tasteless

looks up. His vision is blurry, he can’t see anything, it’s still so fucking dark. But, he- he’s- “Johnny, you’re okay. You’re safe.” Again. That voice. That name. There’s no way…? “Simon?” Soap’s voice is nothing but rasp. Barely understandable, but there’s a sigh of relief

that comes from the darkness in front of him. Familiar darkness. A comfort, unlike the inky blackness that nearly threatened to swallow Soap up. “That’s right. I’m here.” Impossible. But it sounds so real. Maybe he’s- “You’re alive, Johnny. You’re safe. I-“ And that voice

pauses. He sounds ashamed. Scared. Soap is confused. Why does he sound like that? “I held onto you too tight while we were asleep. Johnny, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” … … … /Oh/. Soap knows what’s going on now. He blinks. And blinks again. Slowly, his eyes adjust to

the darkness. There’s someone sitting in front of him, still holding his hands, and even in the dark, Soap knows exactly who it is. “Simon.” His voice is still rough, but Soap leans forward. Lifts a hand to rub his thumb along his husband’s cheek. “Look at me? Please?” Ghost

does as he’s asked. Glances up at Soap. He’s hesitant, but he’ll never deny Soap. Not ever. “Sor-“ “Stop apologizing.” He reprimands lightly. Ghost nods. He opens his mouth to say something before he stops. Soap smiles. “Good boy.” “Johnny….I should’ve been more careful.”

“Can’t control how you move when you sleep, Si. It’s okay.” Soap can see the way Ghost frowns. It’s almost cute. “I should sleep-“ “If you finish that sentence with ‘in another bed’, I’ll strangle you.” Despite his best efforts, Ghost lets out a puff of air. A laugh.

“That’s not funny.” “Really? I think I’m hilarious.” “Johnny.” “Simon.” He’s fighting a losing battle, one he’s never been able to win against Soap. Not that he complains. “Let’s go back to sleep, yeah? We can talk properly in the morning.” “Okay. I’m sorry.” He slips it

in last second, and Soap squeezes the hand Ghost is holding. “I know. Let me hold you instead?” “Yeah.”