#ghost is cursed

[motzglorp]

God you had me giggling and kicking my feet, just that happy chest squeezing feeling!

I have so many more but less refined and I admit that I dont want to come across as pushy so thats why you got another ask and not a private message

The anxiety goblin is strong when it comes to human interaction

Also have you thought about a witch that gets visited by Ghost cause of I dont know but they get scared and reflexively throw a handful of salt at him? Salt against bad Spirits, but thats just a highly trained soldier with the unamused stare of a fish

Anxiety is a bitch, but look at you, communicating and all! The internet helped me a lot to find connections, when I was younger and didn't have many friends IRL. And as I said before, don't worry about being pushy. This is fandom. We are all excited here.

I've been watching Supernatural again, so let's go!

Being an elite task force that dealt with situations the public didn't need to know about sometimes lead to very interesting discoveries. Basically all of them knew too much, saw too much and were too observant to gaslight themselves into ignoring when things seemed fishy. They didn't talk about it, but they all knew there were things in the shadows that couldn't be stopped by a bullet alone. Although Soap insisted that an explosion still worked in most situations.

They would leave it at that, but due to the nature of their occupation, there was always someone who was desperate enough to get creative. So from time to time they needed help from a very special group of another kind.

Ghost made sure that he wouldn't be seen, it wasn't a secret mission, but he wasn't the kind of guy that got overlooked and being discreet probably saved both sides from annoying questions. He had gotten the address from one of Prices contacts, a specialist that could help him with the too real nightmares. Nice little house on the outskirts of the town. Didn't match his expectations of a specialist, but then again even experts needed to live somewhere and it was the middle of the night.

The other thing he didn't expect when he knocked on your door, was to be greeted by a hand full of salt, thrown into his face, and a swing from a cast iron poker that he barely blocked.

"Fuck off, ghost, I am not in the mood!" You snarled when you opened the door.

~

You had just made a big mug of hot chocolate and were ready to settle for the night. It had been a long day and tomorrow was most likely to be the same, Bobby had mentioned a military contact that needed your expertise. You really wanted to be rested for the inevitable fight against misinformed prejudice and denial and the curse itself. If it was a curse. With military it usually was. A family member who survived that cursed the soldiers they made responsible for their loss. A terrorist that wanted to prevent them from coming close and made a deal. Hopefully you could help.

When you noticed the darkness approaching, you didn't even think about it. You were too tired to wait for the thing to go away, you needed your sleep. A hand of salt and a swing with your iron should do the trick for tonight. And when you opened the door, you just threw the salt, yelling.

"Fuck off, ghost, I am not in the mood!"

The ghost didn't fuck off, it blocked the poker and hissed in pain. Solid. Massive. Darkness around him like an aura. But not ethereal, although you were not quite sure he was fully human.

"Oh shit, so sorry, I thought you were a ghost." The iron clattered on the floor when you dropped it and hurried the man inside to wash the salt out. Apparently your client was not wasting any time. And judging by the darkness that followed him, he really needed your help. You had assumed to be dealing with a recent curse, hopefully only surface level. But what you felt was older. Layered. And when he told you his call sign instead of a name, you got a feeling that you would have to be very careful not to go too far.

"I'm going to make a new batch of hot chocolate and then we can start. I will ask you some questions and you will answer honestly. You will not like my questions, but if you want my help and not risk this to go horribly wrong, I need you to trust me."

"Affirmative."

You nodded. This would be interesting. Too bad he was a client. Just your luck that a man just your type showed up at your doorstep only to turn out to some elite soldier with too many issues to forgive you, once you forced him to face them. You knew that you often were an intruder in your clients most painful memories. They were thankful for your help, but they couldn't stand to be around you any longer than necessary.

Well, you could think about that later. Now, you had work to do.

---

Part 2

[motzglorp]

Cursed

Part 1

It had been a long night, full of uncomfortable silence and reluctant truths. But not one lie, and you deeply appreciated that. Ghost might have pushed away a lot of trauma, but he didn't try to negotiate with your expertise. He was here, because there was no other option and he knew it, so he was willing to do what was needed, even when he didn't like it.

"That's enough for tonight. I need to prepare and you should too. I don't know how far I will have to go. Or how far you will let me go. If this was just one simple curse, I could finish it now, but you have... history. The things that cling to you now have bonded with the ones that were already there. Hard to tell apart. Your trauma is a feast for them and you have carried them so long, it's almost symbiotic. The thing is, if I don't remove enough you will be swallowed eventually. And if I remove too much... you might not be you any more. Or at least not the You everybody knows. Would that even be an option for you? To start a new life, the life you never got to live?"

"Negative"

"Thought so. Alright, this is what I will do. I will look into your... mind. I will locate the curse and remove it. Layer for layer. It's not going to be comfortable for any of us. I will see more than you have told me, I will see things you chose not to remember, I will know more about you than anyone. And you will need to trust me that I won't betray you and spill your secrets."

There was a tense moment, until he nodded.

"If it helps, I am really good at keeping other people's secrets. Wouldn't be here if I didn't. And also if something should happen to me... There will be questions and it is a sure way to get you exposed. It would just have the opposite effect."

You looked at the man in front of you, observing the few facial features you could see. It was nice to talk to someone who understood that your words were not a threat but merely a statement. No need to sugar coat anything.

When he had left, you started preparing. Food and water, easy to grab, you filled your day with positive vibes, relaxing activities, resisted the temptation to fantasize about your client and how he could show his gratitude.

Maybe if he didn't hate you afterwards.

You had told Ghost to do the same. To spend time with people who anchored him in this world, to find things that gave him a sense of safety. So you weren't surprised when he brought a combat knife to your house the next day. And... a picture of his team.

Sitting comfortably, facing each other, you took his hands and closed your eyes. Deep breath, shoving away how big his hands were and how nice they felt.

Finding a beginning was difficult. Ghost wasn't even actively trying to keep you out, it was just instinct at this point. But eventually, you got there and started to work. The thing was, once you had started, you couldn't stop. Any pause would open a chance for demons to slip in.

First layers were easy. Superficial curses that lacked power, more desperation than anything. The deeper you got, the older the curses. And the older the curses, the more they had changed. Mutated. Feeding on loss, betrayal, the violence of the missions. Triggers from childhood merging with a failed mission. It broke your heart to know all of this. To get glimpses of the child that had to deal with so much so early. Who had lost so much.

And then there were moments when you felt Ghost next to you. Not the physical person who sat in your living room. No, his presence, the Ghost that he was. A twisted creature of vengence and rage wrapped around loyalty and something protective. Doing the things others couldn't. The deeper you got, the stronger the presence, watching you, essence of a sniper, a predator, deciding if you were prey, threat or just a curiosity. It got harder to see the lines between curses and trauma and you began to wonder if your client wouldn't be better off with a therapist. And it was so tempting to also try and heal some of the darkness from his childhood.

When you reached for it the Ghost immediately stopped you.

"No. Not this."

And you froze. "So you can talk. What are you then? A demon, a ghost?"

"Neither. I am what keeps him going. I am the promise to never be weak again. To protect others from the evil of the world. To use the pain and the rage to burn away as much darkness as possible. To not become like them."

"I understand. I think I am done."

When you opened your eyes your positions had changed. Somehow Ghost was behind you, one hand still holding yours, but his arm wrapped around you, pressing you flush against his front. And the combat knife pressed slightly against your throat. Shit.

"It's done."

He blinked, as if he had been in a dream. But didn't move much, merely removing the knife. And you just couldn't ignore the heat seeping from his body into your tired bones. You were exhausted and he was like a perfect warm blanket.

"How do you feel?"

"Good. Better." He still didn't move, like he was still figuring out what was different now.

"Good. I'm falling asleep now. Please don't let me fall on the floor and close the door when you leave." His grunt was the last thing you heard

--

Simon didn't move for a while, just holding you and checking if he felt any different. It was like a weight had been lifted that he had gotten used to. He knew the feeling when a mission was too long and he struggled to adjust to everyday life again, but this was different.

He was not too disturbed that he couldn't remember why he had a knife on your throat. He trusted his instincts, or whatever it was. And you seemed to trust him as well, given you were currently fast asleep in his arms, almost curling into his chest. No clue what you had done, but it must have been exhausting, if you could sleep like that after walking through his mind. And it didn't bother him that much. If he'd met you in a bar, he'd have bought you a drink or something. So he decided to stay a little longer like this, getting familiar with his feelings. Because he has seen what happened when people didn't know their feelings and you didn't become part of an elite task force if you couldn't deal with your emotions, the nice and the ugly ones alike.