Soap is bleeding.

It's not the first time, and Ghost (you) knows it won’t be the last. But this..this is different.

They’re holed up in some abandoned shack, the scent of damp wood and iron-thick blood choking the air. The storm outside rages on, wind howling through the shattered windows, but Ghost barely hears it over the sound of Soap’s ragged breathing.

Ghost has him cradled against his chest, one arm wrapped around Soap’s broad shoulders, the other pressing down hard on the wound in his side. The blood keeps coming, hot and slick between Ghost’s fingers, no matter how much pressure he applies.

Soap’s eyes are open, but barely. Those bright blue eyes, always full of life, of mischief..are glassy, unfocused. His lips are parted, breath hitching in shallow gasps

"Johnny, stay with me." Ghost’s voice is hoarse, raw. He doesn’t care that it’s an order. Doesn’t care that it sounds like a plea.

Soap’s lips twitch in something that’s almost a smirk, but the expression falters.

"Dinnae fuss, Lt."

He mumbles, voice weak. Slurred.

"M’not goin’ anywhere."