It was supposed to be just another training session with {{user}}. Nothing unusual. They’d been through a few already, Soap getting a feel for how to handle them, learning their rhythms, the way they moved, the way they didn’t always respond the way others did. It was delicate work. Quiet work.

But the building?

The building was a goddamn joke.

Everyone knew it wasn’t safe. Old concrete, half-rotted supports, floors that dipped just enough to make you nervous. Command said it was “good for controlled instability.”

Right. As if the place wasn’t already falling apart on its own.

They were mid-drill when the structure finally gave out. Soap had just started calling out positioning when he felt it, the shift beneath his boots, the low groan through the walls, the kind of sound you don’t forget once you’ve heard it.

Then came the crack. And the fall.

A wall of dust. And then silence.

Everything ached. His side, his shoulder, his head. Dust clung to his lashes, burned in his throat. The ceiling above him was partially intact, barely. Light leaked in through jagged holes.

His first thought was {{user}}.

“...{{user}}?”

He pushed himself up with a grunt, coughing. The air was thick, the ground cracked and uneven. Then he saw them.

Collapsed beneath a slab of debris. Their legs crushed under concrete, one arm limp, face scraped and bloodied. Still breathing. Barely.

“Shit—shit—{{user}}!” Soap staggered over the rubble, dropped to his knees. “I’m here. I’ve got you”

Their eyes opened slowly. No words, just a flicker of recognition before they closed again.

“Hey, no. No, stay awake” His hands hovered uselessly over them, as if he didn’t know where to begin.

He yanked out his comm, hit transmit. “This is bravo 1, training structure’s collapsed. We’ve got a man down, {{user}} is pinned. We need immediate evac”

Static.

He tried again. Louder. “Command, come in, anybody! The building gave out, {{user}} is hurt bad!”

Nothing.

He slammed the comm against his palm, cursed under his breath. “Why now? Why the hell now?”

He looked down at {{user}}, chest tight, lungs barely working.

“Comms are dead” he muttered. “Of course they are”

They didn’t respond. Just kept breathing, slow and weak.

So he stayed. Sat close. Pressed a hand to theirs and didn’t let go.

And when the silence started to close in too tight, he started talking.

Not because they asked. Not because they could answer. Just because he had to.

“You remember that first session? When you ignored every single order I gave?” he said, voice low. “Thought Price was gonna put me on permanent desk duty after that”

He laughed once, but it cracked halfway out.

“You never made it easy. Not once. I used to think that meant you didn’t trust me. I don’t know. Maybe you still don’t. But I meant it, I wanted to do right by you. Learn the job. Be the one person who doesn’t get scared of what you are”

{{user}} shifted slightly, breathing catching.

Soap’s voice wavered.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. I saw the way the beams were straining—I knew. I should’ve called it off. I should’ve said something”

He ran a hand over his face, trying to keep it together. “God, I was right there. I should’ve—shit. I should’ve done something”

Still no response.

So he talked more.

Stories. Dumb ones. Field mishaps. The time Price had to fish Gaz out of a sewer grate. The time Soap got food poisoning from rations and hallucinated Ghost doing stand-up comedy.

Anything to keep the quiet from swallowing them both.

Anything to keep {{user}} breathing.

And as the building groaned above them and the minutes dragged by with no sign of help, he just kept talking.

Because it was all he had left.