A/N: Some chill and maybe even soft interaction? Ghost is seeing some similarities. Soap is struggling with things he's kept trapped inside himself.
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The rest of the evening had been rather tame. No phantom sheep. No potential murder plots that he was aware of.
The meal Simon has prepared was surpringly delicious. Soap didnt know the name of the dish, but it was packed with umami flavours, the onions and garlic seeping into the beef that practically melted in his mouth, the noodles coated in a savoury sauce that was delectable at the very least. He'd attempted some excuse at conversation during the meal, though it had remained fairly surface level.
Soap was somewhat surprised that the man was able to cook well, given that he was already sinfully attractive and apparently willing to help some stranded stranger who sidled up to his door. Though, he was a sarcastic and unforgiving bastard, so maybe that was what made up for it.
Even so, he'd brushed off Soap's offer to clean the dishes, waving him off and suggesting he get some sleep for the night, reminding about the expectation to help out with chores on the farm the next day.
Soap elected to make use of the bathroom without prompting, though he made sure to tidy up extra after himself. He was raised to be respectful of the things he was offered, overtly so. The times that Gaz had waved him off, stating that he'd do the dishes himself, Soap had always meandered unsure before thanking him for it.
Gaz had always looked at him incredulously after that.
After wiping the counter of any condensation, and the floor after the few drops of water had missed the bath mat, he'd slipped quickly into the guest bedroom and shut the door quietly, making sure to be as unobtrusive as possible.
Soap was a polite houseguest. He prided himself on it. It was one of the few things he knew he could get right. Accepting the kindness of others without intruding. If he did it properly, Simon would barely notice his presence.
He spent a few moments debating in front of his suitcase, before deciding that it would be truly inappropriate to sleep in a strangers bed without a nightshirt, electing to keep the t-shirt he had on. He did slip his shorts off, convincing himself that his boxers were practically the same as shorts.
It was acceptable. He wasn't disrespecting the hospitality given to him by doing so.
The bed was surprisingly comfortable, the quilts cool against his skin as he burrowed beneath them. He spent a scarce few moments shifting the pillows before sinking down, finding himself utterly exhausted. It'd been a long few days. This bed beat any he'd found in a roadside hotel. He didn't even notice when his eyes slipped closed, his mind fading into sleep.
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The dogs were howling again, loud and long whines that pierced his ears. Soap curled his arms around himself. No. Not Soap.
He was Johnny right now.
His eyes flickered over the metal cages, several pairs of eyes staring out at him, pleading. The light was shining off of them, reflecting in an eerie way. Expectant. Waiting.
He pushed through, step by step as he made his way to the door at the end of the room. His hands trembling as he pushed against the bar, the mechanism clicking as the door slowly creaked with his effort. It always seemed to take so much more work in this body, his arms straining as the metal swung open. His normal strength seemingly vanishing into nothing.
The office was dim, lit only by the lamp resting over the examination table, the metal glinting faintly under the warm spotlight.
"Mam?" He could hear his voice slip out, not actually feeling it. It sounded small, shakier than he would ever let show.
The room was oddly empty of anything, but the glint of metal instruments. The dull shine of a computer screen, powered off.
He stepped forward, the door gently swinging shut behind him with a faint click.
"...mam?"
There was silence. Stillness.
And then a low growl.
Johnny could feel his heart stutter in his chest, ears straining as his eyes strayed around the room in alarm.
He would've assumed he'd imagined it, but he'd been here before, so so many times.
A growl. Again. Closer.
"M-mam? Where are you?"
Silence.
And then the quiet click of something against linoleum. Claws.
Johnny whipped around to pull at the door behind him. It was locked. Like usual. His hands gripped the handle desperately as the low growling behind him grew louder.
The door never opened. He knew.
"Mam!? Mam please-! MAM!"
It leapt through the shadows toward him. A hand landing on his upper arm, tightening painfully...
Soap jolted up with a ragged breath, scrambling against the quilts on the bed, before falling off the side of the mattress. His breath escaped him, already lacking, leaving him wheezing for a long moment to regain it.
The same dream. The same one.
His lungs managed to inhale properly after a minute, the cold sweat against his skin slowly slipping down, shirt drenched.
Fuck.
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Despite the constant threat of phantom sheep, Soap needed air. It didn't feel right wandering Simon's private home, the idea of it seeming intrusive.
So, after slipping a pair of sweatpants on, Soap made his way outside, the night air thankfully cool compared to the usual heat beating down during the daylight.
Somehow, at the moment, the nighttime didn't seem so scary. Not compared to everything else.
Soap found himself down by one of the fields, leaning against the wood fence and running a hand through his dampened hair, eyes shutting tightly.
It had been the same thing since forever. The only new part was the room. The room that was always empty, except for whatever lurked in the shadows. The examination room had been a new addition within the past month.
He'd tried to explain it to Gaz once. Gaz had tried his best, done more than his best. Sat with him all night as he tried to express the fear that had bubbled within his stomach. Tried to explain what it could have possibly meant to his subconscious mind. Gaz wrapped warm arms around him when he'd broken down into loud sobs, trembling uncontrollably as his friend rubbed soothing circles against his back. Even in the early hours, Gaz had always found him and tried his best to comfort him.
The dreams never stopped. They never had stopped. Just evolved to draw him further into fear and despair.
"It's a bit late to be sightseeing, no?"
Soap practically jumped out of his skin when the low rumble interrupted the faint crickets and brush of the wind, his eyes snapping open and his entire body jerking roughly. His head snapped towards the somewhat familiar voice, deep browns peering at him between faintly furrowed brows.
Simon seemed to pause, pulling back in surprise at his reaction. His hands were frozen by his sides, gaze searching.
"...clearing your head?"
Soap felt some of the original tension leak from his bones, his muscles loosening barely. He didn't ask why Simon was out here. Why he was barely dressed and sleep mussed, looking at him like he was a bomb about to go off.
"Thought I'd catch irrefutable proof of phantom sheep." He croaked out, his voice unintentionally wavering.
Simon was silent, shifting slightly in place as Soap looked away, staring out over the dark fields once again. His gaze caught on a cluster of purple flowers by the wooden post of the fence. Even in the dark, the blooms seemed so vibrant, bursting with life.
Almost unfair.
Soap could feel the shift of air when Simon leaned on the fence next to him. Could see the shape in his peripheral vision. They were both silent for a long time, the breeze brushing through Soaps hair, shifting the strands against his scalp.
The silence stretched for a while, but it wasn't uncomfortable.
"Do you like hot cocoa?"
Soap turned, eyes blinking for a moment.
"What?"
Simon sighed, eyes still trained on the fields. "Hot cocoa. Milk. Chocolate. Maybe even some marshmallows. It's a drink."
Soap blinked a bit more, mind stumbling over itself. "I know that, just..." He tried to process where the heck this came from for a long moment. "Yeah... I like cocoa....?"
That seemed to be all Simon needed to hear, straightening up with a faint stretch, back cracking before he started strolling his way back to the farmhouse.
"Best keep up, or I'll keep it all for myself."
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Simon made sinfully delicious hot cocoa.
Soap didnt know what the hell was in it, but it was a warm comfort he hadn't expected when he went to take a small sip. It warmed his belly in a way that had his body sagging in the kitchen chair, mind numbing comfortably as his hands swirled the melting marshmallows around the surface of the drink.
They hadn't spoken much, beyond Simon asking if he even liked marshmallows. Soap had attempted a pathetic excuse of a conversation, something about the origin of the first marshmallow recipe, before giving into the lack of thought in his head. Or more like the lack of expressing what was in his head.
There was a lot in there. There always was, thoughts racing around uncontrollably like racecars around a track, except they'd go offroading into the recesses of his mind quite often.
But at the wooden table, he didn't feel like he needed to voice all those frantic thoughts. If anything, they seemed to fade into a slow hum as he sipped the chocolate beverage, eyes shut as he savoured the sweet tang on his tongue.
Soap had learned something about the man who'd invited him into his home. Simon knew when silence was more powerful than chit chat.
Or maybe Simon didn't do chit chat. Either way, they spent the early hours drinking their hot cocoa, silence permeating the kitchen, before the man scooped up the mugs and began washing them.
Soap moved towards the hallway, ready to climb the stairs and collapse back into the borrowed bed, before pausing hesitantly.
"...thank you." He murmured softly, eyes avoiding Simon as he shifted in place.
Out of the corner of his vision he could see the man pause, still faced away.
Soap left it at that, nodding slightly, before slipping out of the room. When he climbed back into the guest bed and settled, his mind was oddly free of the frantic thoughts that usually plagued him.
the holy trinity of motherhood vs prophecies, tragedies that can't be stopped, lust for power, sacrificing one's own children and being called the disease that ruins families and dynasties
