Thoughts on soap being forced to watch ghost get interrogated/ tortured for information?
(The like I’m hurting you by hurting them vibes)
Hmmmm this is a very good prompt and I read more angst than I write but I’ll give it a a try!
Soap had to look. Not that they gave him much of a choice. Fucking bastards.
The Mission had gone tits-up and the Sergeant found himself trussed up and trying to shake off the telltale dizziness of a concussion. No easy feat when the only light source was shining directly into his eyes. The hulking Slavic bruiser responsible for beating information out of him wasn’t giving him any time to think up a plan either. Must be Bulgarian, Soap could only catch every third word the man screamed into his face.
“Something something where is something.”
As built as he was, this prick was just a hired hand and probably had no idea who he was dealing with. None of the upper level drug lords ever did their own dirty work so all Soap had to do was last long enough for Ghost and the others to find him. He could do this in his sleep.
The interrogator punched him in the face one last time before stepping back to his supply table and picking up a radio. He grumbled something Soap thought meant “ready” but that couldn’t be what he said since he wasn’t even sweating yet.
Suddenly, the Sergeant heard the scraping boom of a metal door slamming open and several shadows began to move in his periphery. Two men, just as large as his friend, seemed to be carrying something between them and arranging it to their liking but he couldn’t be sure with the bright light still overhead. The two finished up, saluted the interrogator and left.
What had they brought in? The size of it was confusing. Maybe some sort of electrical generator? But it seemed too large for that. The table of “tools” the interrogator had at his disposal was rather limited, maybe they’d brought in his toy box?
Another bright light turned on and Soap was blinded for a moment before his stomach dropped to the floor in recognition. He’d been sure he was the last one out of the building. He’d been setting charges for Chrissakes. But somewhere between the rifle butt Soap had taken to the temple and the collapse of the building, he must have come looking for him.
Under the matching light, not even 5 meters from where he sat, was his Lieutenant. Ghost was looking rough. His mask was gone, giving Soap a perfect view of his bloody mouth and the fresh cigarette burns dotting his scarred cheeks. His tac vest was gone, his undershirt was practically nonexistent, and his body was limp. His breathing was shallow but visible and that was the only detail that kept Soap steady as the rage boiled through his bones.
He tensed as the interrogator casually walked towards where Ghost sat. Sweet Jesus was he even conscious? The Sonovabitch savagely grasped Ghost by his hair and wrenched back his head eliciting a weak cry.
Soap was reacting. You’re never supposed to react. He had training and experience and he knew he was doing everything wrong. But he couldn’t help himself. They had his LT, his Ghost. The man who’d survived the unimaginable. The man who’d walked back out of hell and come back to this life. The man who’d saved his life too many times to count. How could he just sit there?
Ghost was awake now but he remained completely silent. With every blow to his swiftly bruising flesh, with every crack of bone, with every searing hot brand or brutal twist of the blade, he remained silent. His distant gaze locked onto Soap. His eyes spoke it all:
Fuck. How much had Ghost gone through alone? How much was he willing to go through if only it meant that his Sergeant was safe? Every brutal twist of scar-tissue he was now privy to, told the story of what he’d endured. Stories which Soap only knew the barest of details were spelled out in capital letters. The savage jagged lines of a crude autopsy scar, the outline of a healed cattle brand, and even proof that this hadn’t been Ghost’s first encounter with the butt of a cigarette stood out in sharp relief. How would Soap ever live with himself for causing him even more damage.
Soap had to look. Not that they gave him much of a choice. Fucking bastards. He would look, witness every brutality, and not break. And Ghost would endure it all. Soap wouldn’t leave him to suffer alone.
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