Fandom: Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare
Pairing: Past-Will Irons/Mitchell, Pre-Mitchell/Gideon
Length/Rating: <1.5K, Mature
Tags: Nightmares, Sleepwalking, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Summary:
He would have followed Will anywhere.
Written for Day 7 of @whumptember: Don’t leave me”/Abandoned/Nightmares. Thanks to @sugaredmayhem for editing!
Posted here on A03 or you can keep reading below!
Mitchell stared at the clock, his eyes focused on the second hand as it slowly clicked around and around again. It was an old fashioned clock, kind of like the one his grandpa used to have sitting on his desk. Clunky, wooden, and with that loud tick-tock that you could hear across the room. And ugly as hell.
One time when Mitchell was younger, he snuck into his grandpa’s office and carefully unscrewed the back of the clock, curious to see how it worked. All the tiny pieces, how the little metal gears hooked in just so, and everything ran smoothly together. It was a masterpiece. He had stared at it in awe until his father found him. Mitchell shifted in his sleeping bag, as the memory of his dad tanning his backside in response flitted through his mind.
If it hadn’t been for his father, Mitchell thinks he would have tried to go to college, maybe even become an engineer. But that was no career for a ‘real man’ and he found himself agreeing to sign up for the US Marines, even if it was just for the opportunity to escape his parents.
But then Will decided to enlist as well, and suddenly the Marines didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
Mitchell had planned to tell Will at some point that he was in love with him; that he had fallen head over heels the first day they met in school. It felt like yesterday that he and Will were bumping shoulders, trying to one up each other on the shooting range…
*ding ding*
The clock rang, indicating that it was midnight, pulling Mitchell abruptly from his memories and back into the harsh reality of the present. Mitchell raised his hand to wipe at the tears that had started to fall in earnest, but really, it was quite pointless as more soon joined them.
A whole year had passed since Will’s death, and Mitchell was still barely holding on.
They were supposed to be helping clear out some suspected KVA hideouts tomorrow, having flown into Greece that evening. That should be Mitchell’s main focus, getting sleep and remaining focused, to ensure the safety of the rest of his team. But he couldn’t help but long for a bottle of whisky to get him through the night, pouring several out for the love of his life.
Reaching into his pack, Mitchell dry swallowed two sleeping pills, knowing that they didn’t work the best, but he needed whatever he could take. He then wiggled into his sleeping bag, appreciative that he didn’t have to share a room that night. He didn’t need anyone to see him like this.
He closed his eyes, trying to slow his breathing. His last thought before falling asleep was of Will.
*
Gideon grumbled, shifting awkwardly in his sleeping bag. One would think that after years of being created, that some smart person out there would have been able to make a more comfortable, portable bed, but nope, still as uncomfortable as hell.
If not for the time change and the flight time, Gideon would have recommended they fly over and head right into the op, but soldiers needed sleep. And the team was looking a bit weary these days with back to back KVA raids. So Gideon had suggested a stay over, and with the grateful look that Ilona sent in his direction, he knew he made the right choice.
But that meant sleeping bags. Hard floors. Crappy safehouses.
Gideon swore under his breath. He had finally fallen asleep only to be woken by something. But as he strained to hear any noise, his hand already halfway to his service weapon, he couldn’t hear anything but silence. Maybe a rodent. Ugh, Gideon thought to himself, shuddering at the thought.
Gideon turned around to face the door, hoping that the new position would help him fall back asleep, only to jerk even more awake at the silhouette that was standing at the door frame. Yanking his penlight from his vest, his hand firmly on his weapon now, Gideon shone the light at the person.
Letting out a loud sigh when he recognized the youngest member of their team, he set the weapon down again. “Fuck me, Mitchell. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” he growled, angling the penlight down so it wasn’t shining directly in the younger man’s face. But when he didn’t get a response in a reasonable amount of time, he shined the light back up, wondering what was going on.
Mitchell was standing awkwardly, his shoulders back, his body held stiffly, almost like being at attention. His hair was a mess, pieces sticking up all over the place, generally defying gravity and making the man look five years younger. And he was topless, which wasn’t abnormal for sleeping but not something Gideon was used to seeing.
But it was his eyes that bothered Gideon the most. Mitchell’s eyes weren’t their usual sparkling blue, but instead, were dull, and unfocused, gazing across the room as if Mitchell didn’t even notice that Gideon was there.
And then almost as quickly as Mitchell had appeared, the younger man backed away from the doorway and started jogging down the hall, leaving Gideon scrambling to pull on his own shirt before sprinting after him.
Mitchell was clumsy, moving down the hallway almost as if he were drunk, but it didn’t seem to impair his speed.
Gideon stepped up his pace once he realized that Mitchell was at the door. The safehouse they were using was an office building, but they were on the top floor, and that exit led directly to the roof. Mitchell was halfway out the door when he managed to snag Mitchell’s elbow, yanking the brunette around to face him.
“Bloody hell, Mitchell, wake up!” Gideon said, shaking Mitchell roughly. He knew that people said not to wake up people having a nightmare or sleep walking, but he couldn’t let Mitchell walk off the roof either. He was not expecting the punch that was thrown in his direction, and only managed to dodge part of the swing, inadvertently letting go of Mitchell in the process.
“I told him that I would have followed him anywhere!” Mitchell shouted, pushing Gideon back when he tried to move towards him again. “But Will’s dead, and I’m still fucking here,” Mitchell swore, turning back in the direction of the edge of the roof, but he didn’t take a step forward, instead freezing in that position. Gideon could see a shudder go through Mitchell’s body, could see the sob before he heard it, then watched as Mitchell fell to his knees.
Figuring it was safe to move again, Gideon rushed to Mitchell’s side, carefully watching as the younger man came back to his senses. He wanted to wrap his arms around Mitchell, wipe the tears from his face, but that wasn’t his place. So instead he sat. And waited. And if he hadn’t been so quiet, he likely would have missed Mitchell’s last comment.
“It should have been me,” Mitchell whispered, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hands.
Gideon couldn’t hold back any longer. He reached his arms around Mitchell, waiting for the younger man to relax before tightening his grip. “I’m glad it wasn’t Mitchell. I’m glad it wasn’t.”
The two of them sat for what felt like hours, but was likely only minutes, Gideon’s arms wrapped around Mitchell as Mitchell sobbed into Gideon’s chest. Gideon closed his eyes, hoping that he was offering some level of comfort to the younger man.
Gideon knew what it felt like to be willing to follow someone anywhere.
Because that’s exactly how he felt about Mitchell.