Pattern Breaker

A Short Drop and a Sudden Stop

"Simon? Simon– I need you to wake up." Clammy palms grasped at his face before he shifted, leaning down to press his ear against Ghost's bloodied chest.

Nothing.

"No, no, no, no, no–"

"Soap?" Price asked, alarmed.

"He's not breathing!" He shook at Ghost's shoulders, frantic, his body flopping uselessly. "No. No. No. Not now. Not like this. Simon. Wake up. Wake up. Wake the fuck up, god damn it !"

Johnny was pretty sure he was screaming at this point. He couldn't tell.

"We need medical now!" Price yelled. Johnny quickly spun, resting Ghost's back on to the ground before straddling him, one hand grasped in the other.

He locked his elbows and began chest compressions– the sound of Ghost's ribs cracking against his body weight ricocheting throughout his head. He had just moved to shove Ghost's mask above his nose to start breathing for him when two pairs of hands grabbed him and pulled him off.

"No, no, no, I can't– let me– let go!" He thrashed, kicking as he tried to break hold.

"Son, you need to let medical take care of him." Price said in his ear. He wasn't sure who the other one was restraining him. He didn't care. Johnny watched, helpless as Ghost was lifted by the medical team onto a stretcher and wheeled away— multiple sets of feet slamming across stained and sun bleached pavement.

"Let me go, Price. I can't leave him. Not again." Johnny was yelling, shouting— babbling incoherent nonsense in protest. Price released one hand and grabbed Johnny roughly by the chin, turning his face towards him.

He couldn't take his eyes off Ghost's retreating body.

"Soap. Listen to me. You need to let the doctors handle this. You'll just get in the way. You'll be the first to know what happens, got it?"

Johnny finally tore his eyes away and looked up at Price, his vision blurry with tears.

"Price," He moaned through his agony, not noticing how his fingernails were digging into the Captains arm hard enough to draw blood. "I can't— lose him like this."

Price's grip relaxed on him, and he crumbled to the ground on his knees— Price following him down. His arms came around Johnny's shoulders, and he returned the embrace. Gripping on to him like he was a lifeline.

"I know, Johnny. I know."

—-

The next two weeks dragged on longer than the previous three months had ever felt. It was grueling.

Lots of medical jargon.

Internal bleeding. Coronary artery spasm, caused by intense physical trauma coupled with the adrenaline Johnny had used on him. Lacerations. Blunt force trauma. 3 broken ribs from CPR, courtesy also of Johnny, plus two others from before. Major reparative surgery required on Ghost's foot, due to whatever the cartel had used to smash it to bits.

A temporary medically induced coma to help with brain swelling from infection, as well as to keep Ghost from protesting against any form of pain medication. Why the fuck he did that, Johnny had no idea.

But the coma was well received, that way he didn't have to listen to Ghost's cries of agony when they finally had a chance to focus on cleaning his less-life threatening injuries.

They had given Johnny back his dog tags, cleaned of blood and flesh. But it felt wrong to keep them.

They didn't belong to him anymore.