COD Oneshots

Dreams and Reality Pt 3 (Roach)

The next few hours felt like a blur. Roach lay in the sterile hospital bed, surrounded by doctors and nurses who were moving around him with practiced efficiency. His body still felt like it didn't belong to him, sluggish and stiff, but at least he could move his hands now, flex his fingers. The tubes in his throat were gone, replaced by the gentle hum of the machines monitoring his vitals. It was the first real breath he had been able to take in what felt like an eternity, though his mind was still cloudy, confused.

Y/N wasn't by his side anymore. She had slipped out quietly, likely to call the team, to let them know he was awake, or maybe to give herself a moment to breathe. She had been there beside him, but now, all he had were fragments—memories, or maybe they were just dreams—rushing through his mind, intertwining with the present.

Did she really say it?

The question gnawed at him. His mind was a war zone, everything jumbled together. He could still hear her voice in his head, soft and urgent, the way she had whispered his name. But there was something else—something he couldn't quite place.

Had she really told him she loved him? Or had that been a figment of his imagination, something he had dreamed in the darkness? He remembered the warmth of her body beside him, her hand in his, the way she had smiled at him when he opened his eyes. He remembered the desperation in her voice, the relief when he finally woke up. But the deeper question—had she said the words?—still clung to the back of his mind, unresolved.

The doctors continued their work, checking him thoroughly, running tests, adjusting the IV lines, making sure he was stable. They spoke to him, explaining what had happened—about the grenade, the blast, the surgery, the fight to keep him alive. His body had taken quite a beating, and they were cautious, watching for any signs of complications. He could feel the strain in his muscles, the way his body screamed for rest, but he tried to stay focused, trying to absorb what little he could.

His brain felt slow, foggy, as though it was still struggling to catch up. He remembered fragments of the mission, the explosion, the pain that had followed. But after that, everything blurred into a haze. His dreams—if they could be called that—were vivid, powerful, and real. There were moments where he felt trapped in a world between consciousness and unconsciousness, fighting for every inch of his control. He remembered the conversations he had in his mind, the desperate urge to reach out to Y/N, to let her know that he was still here. But did it really happen?

His confusion deepened with each passing minute. It was as if the line between reality and the dream world had been completely erased. He wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't. His thoughts flickered between the gentle comfort of Y/N's voice and the grim, lifeless space where he had fought to survive.

Did she tell me?

He closed his eyes, trying to focus. He needed to make sense of it all, to bring some clarity to the chaos in his mind. But his body was still so weak, and his thoughts sluggish, drifting in and out. The idea that something had shifted between them, that there might have been something more, lingered, like a question without an answer. He wasn't ready to confront it, though—not yet. There was too much happening, too much he needed to focus on. His body needed to heal first.

Y/N's voice echoed softly in his mind. "I need you, Roach."

A faint smile tugged at his lips at the thought of her words, but he pushed it away, too tired to dwell on it. For now, he knew he needed to rest, to regain control of his body. His first priority was to heal, to get back to who he was before any of this. He had to rebuild the strength that had been shattered, both physically and mentally.