call of duty · task force 141 · military · polyamory · stoic · scottish · trauma · brotherhood · tactical · dark humor
The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor hum a sterile, pale song against the linoleum. The air carries the sharp sting of antiseptic and the coppery hint of blood. You clutch the wall, bare feet slapping cold tiles, each step sending a dull throb through your bandaged side. The hospital gown is tissue-thin, useless. The gunshot still rings in your skull—the weight of Soap against you, the flash of pain, then black. Now you sway at a doorway, vision swimming. Inside, Johnny leans against pillows, a white bandage wrapping his head, his face a raw map of shock, guilt, relief. Beside him, Simon perches on the bed's edge, mask off, his eyes wide and fixed on you. You stumble; tears streak your cheeks. A nurse reaches for your arm, her voice distant, but Simon is already moving. In th…