Summary: When cleaning house with Soap, you get stabbed and he disappears.
Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x F!Reader (platonic? ish?), 1.3k words.
Era: First half of MW2
TW: Discussions of fights, stabbing, violent death (not Soap, don't worry), fainting from blood loss. Worried 141 men.
Day 23 of my bastardized version of Russian Roulette Febuwhump/Kinktober for March that I'm affectionately calling Trinket's Cause of Death. It's basically 50/50 whump/kink where I generate a number corresponding to a prompt. This first whump prompt!
Day 23: Missing on the mission with Soap (whump)
Soap’s missing and it just might be your fault.
Soap was assigned to clear the houses to the left of the neighbourhood with you as his backup, something easy and almost mindless. Johnny and you have the highest scores when it comes to cleaning house. It’s nearly effortless as you clean room after room methodically and with a speed that makes rookies shake in their boots.
How you didn’t see the hostile hiding around the corner will piss you off for months- longer if you don’t find your partner in one piece. The hit to your skull dazed you instead of knocking you unconscious, but they’d dragged you into the bathroom’s tub before you could alert Johnny or anyone else.
The bastard tried to stab you to death but only managed to get the blade around your gear once before you disarmed and slaughtered him with his own blade. He’d tried to slip the blade between your ribs, but the fucker misjudged and just gouged right on top of your seventh right rib.
Climbing out of the tub filled with slippery blood with a burning stab wound was no easy feat, but you’d fought through worse. The hall sounds quiet, almost too quiet. Maybe Soap didn’t notice you get snatched.
The entire fight only took 45 seconds, but by the time you emerged into the hallway, breathing raggedly as adrenaline pumps through your veins, Johnny’s disappeared.
“Bravo 7-1?” You pant into the comms line when you don’t immediately see Soap. “Bravo 7-1, how copy?”
“What’s wrong, Bravo 7-2?” There’s Captain Price, ready and listening to comms as always. Always ready to help his team.
“I’m injured, Cap,” you pant out and touch your wound to see how bad it is. That’s a lot of blood. “Hostile got me in the ribs with a KA-BAR, lost track o’… fuck, of Johnny.”
You can almost hear Price bristle over comms at the knowledge that you’re hurt and Soap’s out of sight. “Sitrep, Sergeant. How’s the bleeding?”
You take another moment to consider, using the wall as a crutch while inching towards the direction Johnny went. “I’ll live… probably. Soap, where the fuck are you?”
No answer over the comms system and you can feel the tension building through the line between the rest of the 141.
“Johnny.” Ghost pops in, gruff and demanding an answer. “Report.”
Once again, no response. That’s a problem- Soap never misses a chance to talk to Ghost, even when he’s been injured. So he’s either incapacitated or separated from his comms, both of which are big problems as well.
“What do I do, Cap?” You ask, more worried about keeping your rifle up than applying pressure to the steadily bleeding wound in your side. “House isn’t cleared and there could be more hostiles.”
As Price deliberates, you make it to the left turn in the hallway, slumping against the wall as you peer down. Nothing but a bloody bootprint halfway down. It’s clear that it’s fresh, but how fresh?
The comms crackle and Price speaks up. “Clear the rest of the house. Ghost is repositioning and I’m sending Gaz to assist. If you don’t find Soap, we’ll reevaluate.”
That’s code for ‘go entirely off of Shepherd’s rules and find Johnny because we aren’t going anywhere without him’. Shepherd and the brass might want this mission done, but nothing’s happening without Soap. Each and every member of the 141 has gone against orders from above before and will do it again, especially for their teammates. For Johnny.
You stumble your way through the rest of the first and second floor, doing your best to stay silent and not alert any hostiles that you’re present and severely injured. Each step you feel a little more lightheaded and every second more concerned for Johnny and his uncharacteristic silence. Is he hurt? Is he unconscious? Is he-
The quiet steps behind you make you whirl around with your rifle ready to kill, but you go too far in your dizzy state and collapse forward, vertigo getting the best of you and sending you into someone’s chest with a startled ‘oof’.
“There ye are love, dinnae ken where ye went.”
“Johnny…?” Your voice comes out too dazed for your liking, but all you can think is you’re so lucky it was an ally and not a hostile and especially that it’s Johnny. “Why the fuck aren’t you answering comms? I was looking for… f… for you.”
Johnny shifts his grip on you, easily disarming and shuffling the rifle out of the way to properly keep you upright. He doesn’t feel as warm as normal, you notice almost dazedly. “Got in a wee tussle with some Irish bastard in the kitchen, took a hit an’ shattered my earpiece. The fuck happened tae ye, look like ye lost a fight with a shark.”
Fuck, when did you get so bad off? You didn’t check the fucking kitchen? It’s a miracle you lived long enough to even see the second floor.
That draws a weak laugh and your knees buckle forward, putting your whole weight into his chest and drawing an ‘oof’ of strain. “Jesus, bon. Give a lad some warning. Ye’re fucked, hm?”
You nod, the motion setting off a spinning in your head. “Got dragged into the bathroom, bas… bastard stabbed me. By th’ time I put him down, I couldn’t find you…”
Johnny tuts and eases you down to the floor, leaning you against the wall and arranging you so he can get a good look at your side. “Steamin’ Jesus, bon. Ye were looking for me an’ bleeding tae fucking death. Why didn’t ye put pressure on this, stubborn brat…”
His hand is on your ribs a moment later, the sudden pressure drawing a pained string of curse words that you didn’t even know went together. Johnny laughs and only presses down harder, intent on stemming the excessive bleeding. “Dinnae think I’ve ever heard it put quite that way, birdie.”
Soap’s other hand nonchalantly digs in your ear and plucks your comms free, popping it into his own ear without a care in the world. “Cap, it’s Johnny. Aye, I found 7-2. Lost my comms in a tussle sir, nothing’s wrong. ‘Cept birdie seems intent on bleeding out.”
“Don’t tell him that,” You hiss but Johnny only playfully covers your mouth with his hand, giving you a boyish wink and glancing around to make sure no other hostiles appear while he listens in on a conversation you’re not privy to.
You blink and suddenly Gaz is there as well, patting your cheek and looking down at you with those worried brown eyes. He softens some when you blink up at him, relieved. “There you are, love.”
“When’d you get here…” You mumble, the words slightly slurred. Didn’t you only blink? When did he sneak up? When did Soap move to your side, looking much more like a Sergeant at work than your teammate as both hands keep pressure on your side. His gaze is hard and focused, even as the cut on his eyebrow from his struggle bleeds into his eye.
“You passed out,” Kyle informs you and takes your rifle entirely, passing it to Soap. “Decided to take a nap and scare Johnny half to death. Think it’s time to get you home, hm?”
Johnny gives a scoff in the affirmative and helps Gaz get you up, both men ignoring the way your legs won’t hold your weight or how you curse in pain. “Jesus fuck son of a…. Be gentle.”
“Yes ma’am,” Gaz deadpans as he and Soap each take one side, leading you out of the house and to a waiting Price and Ghost who look entirely unimpressed. Their expressions both shift when they see the state you’re in. It’s easy to see how much they care once you know the men. The way Ghost’s jaw muscles ripple with frustration and worry or how Price immediately lights a new cigar.
You’re going to be in for the lecture your life… once you’re stitched up in the medbay. At least Johnny turned out to be okay.
