Disclaimer: I do not own Call of Duty, it belongs to Infinity Ward.

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains hanging and self-harm, please proceed with cautions.

A/N: Finally finished the chapter after a week of delay. There are just too many distractions that are hindering me from writing, and that's no good at all! School is starting again on Monday, after two weeks of eastern vacation. I might write less but I'll still stick with the schedule of Saturdays update, if not then Sunday.

Chapter Five

The faint chirping of the birds and the sunlight hitting his face woke MacTavish up. He had a painful headache and couldn't remember a single thing from last night. He tried to move but got alerted as he found himself tangled in someone's arms, his back pressed against warm flesh of the torso, he could feel the raising and falling of the man's rib cage as he breathed behind MacTavish's head. He wasn't facing the man, he had no way of knowing who it was but one thing was certain, it wasn't Price. MacTavish slipped his hand below his pillow, unsheathing the knife he secretly hides for cases like these. He slowly turned around to make sure it wasn't somebody he knew, but suddenly the man behind his back tightened his grip on him, whispering his name to his ear.

Startled, the Scot slammed his elbow with great force against the man's rib, hearing cracking noise, then he kicked him off bed and jumped on him, pointing then tracing the knife on the lower part of his neck, blood gushing out of it. The wound was not deep enough nor near any vital nerves to be called fatal but it was still a wound for trouble to occur if left unattended for too long. The cut pained the man severely, enough to make him forget about the other injuries he received.

Ghost groaned. "Well that was a nice wake up call." He said ironically while putting up a smile on his pale face, trying to hide even a little of the obvious pain.

MacTavish immediately dropped the knife upon realizing it was the Brit. "Not again." His voice below whisper, head shaking in denial. "Ghost, sorry. I didn't mean too." Stuttering and shaking in fear, he pressed his trembling hand against the wound he inflicted on the man to stop the bleeding.

His heart raced and his head throbbed, panicking and not knowing what to do. "It's all your fault!" Voices started to whisper inside his head. "You're insane." Everything became blurry and distorted. Black insects started to crawl on Ghost's face, pilling up and fully covering it with moving blackness. His eyes opened, glowing red while he had an sinister smile plastered on his face. "You should go die like your parents did before you kill anybody else." The voice so deep and low like it was created by a technical device.

"No. Stop it! Go away!" MacTavish mumbled to himself, covering his ears with his blood stained hands. He forgot all about Ghost as he was sucked into his mind. "It was an accident! It wasn't my fault! I'm not crazy!" His voice became louder and aggressive.

"An accident? Not your fault? Always with these excuses, but wasn't it you, yourself who hurt them? How could it possibly be not your fault? Why were you even born? You are fault in everything." The voice accusing him.

He took in deep and fast breaths. "No...I...I..." His head was spinning. He was scratching himself, digging his nails deep down the skin and ripping off the flesh, leaving it to bleed. He was crying yet laughing. MacTavish's eyes started to move fast and uncontrollably. The shaking was followed by his whole body.

"You're a disappointment!" His parents called him.

"You criminal!" Roach's mother shouted.

"You make me sick." Price said.

Ghost pressed his hand against the open cut, placing pressure to reduce the pain and the blood from flowing out. "Hey, MacTavish! Calm down, I'm still breathing!" The Brit said shaking the other but it was no use, the Scot wasn't responding, he was trapped in his own unstable world. He has to find a way to bring him back before it's too late for both of them.

About a minute passed until the seizure settled down but the crying still wasn't put to a halt. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." MacTavish continued to mumble. Ghost was very overwhelmed with all the happenings. He was never near someone who was having a fit before. He didn't know what and what not to do in these situation.

The Brit needed to think of something and fast, his time was ticking as blood continued to gush out of the wound. A slap on the face could pretty much do the trick but he was reluctant to do it, he didn't want to hurt MacTavish more than he already is mentally, except he had no other choices, his life was in stake. Anything else would be out of question with his current state and position. "Snap out of it!" With a loud clap his hand collided with the other's face, stunning and leaving the Scot speechless.

The sight of Ghost was horrible, like a crime scene. Blood already pooled on the wooden floor and the red tainted everything within its reach.

"Ghost."

"Hey, glad you made it back." He uttered with the last of his strength, sighing in relief before falling unconscious from the shock of losing too much blood.

-xxxx-xxxx-xxxx-

Ghost woke up lying on a bed in what seemed to be a hospital room, there was a sharp pain on his bandaged neck and rib, he was undergoing an intravenous treatment as there was a bag of blood and saline solution hanging just above him. Both bags were linked together by the drip chamber, the contents then flowed through the flexible polyvinyl chloride tube leading to the back of his hand.

He looked outside the window, the sky was clear and the sun was high up which indicated that it was already noon. Looking back into the room he saw MacTavish sitting on a chair, staring blankly at the air.

"MacTavish." He called with his now rasping voice, shifting himself to sit on the bed.

The Scot immediately hurried over, helping him to the position. "You shouldn't be moving around too much. " He advised, taking a seat beside the bed.

The Brit grunted. "What happened to me? Last thing I remembered is that you were still crying."

"You passed out from blood loss and I called the ambulance. The doctor said that you still have to stay here for at least a day or two to recuperate."

"Oh."

There was this unbreakable, suffocating silence between them. The one wasn't sure how to apologize and the other one was choosing his words wisely to what to say of the whole situation.

MacTavish decided to say the first words. "I'm sorry. You're here because of me." His expression revealing remorse.

"Hey, don't worry about it. There's no need to apologize, you couldn't do anything about it. I'm still alive, so everything's fine."

This again. Like Roach, even Ghost wouldn't blame him for his obvious fault. It made him angry, feel pathetic. "I almost sent you straight to your grave! There's nothing ok or fine with it! Just because you people think I'm sick doesn't mean you have to be blind for justice and take my state into consideration! Blame me, take revenge, just don't make me feel less than what I am!" He said out loud.

The Brit got furious at the Scot's words. His voice raised in volume. "MacTavish, you-..." He made an abrupt pause in the sentence, taking a deep breath, rethinking what he initially planned to say. This is exactly what MacTavish intended to do, breaking up his connection with him. He tried again with a voice lower and calm, not letting him be provoked. "MacTavish, remember this. Only those people who truly love you in any kind of form will forgive and forget your sins. You shouldn't feel hopeless about it, you should be happy because there are people who love you for who you are."

"Bloody hell to it!" He shouted standing up, the chair falling back and crashing to the floor, creating a loud noise. "Love you call it? You lot are confusing it with sympathy! Who in their fucking right mind would love me? Everything is just so wrong with me!"

Their argument was suddenly interrupted by the knocking on the door. "Excuse me, is everything alright?" The nurse asked as she entered the room, her face showing worry at the sight of MacTavish almost looking like hes ready to land a punch on the patient.

"We're sorry about that nurse. We're just having a small talk, you know haven't seen each other for a while, excitements are getting over the roof. We will keep our voices down from now on." Ghost said so business like, following with a fake smile which wasn't obvious to notice.

"Thank you for your understanding." The nurse smiled in relief, believing the Brit and took her leave just like that.

The short presence of the nurse seemed to have calmed MacTavish down a bit. His voice returned to its usual tone. "I think we shouldn't hang out anymore, things will just get more bloody." He warned. "Send me the hospital bills, I'll take responsibility for what I've done." With that all settled, he brought the chair back up, putting on his coat which hung over it.

"Wait!" Ghost grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. "You can't keep escaping from every person forever. Everybody needs somebody to hang on to and I'm willing to be that somebody for you, MacTavish."

"Why would you go through such lengths, Ghost?" The question asked with suspicion. "What could you gain from staying with me? We've only got to really know each other for a few weeks. There's no need to torture yourself with me. If its a friend you want, there are plenty of others out there, who are more fun to hang out with and more stable than I am."

"Its because I love you, MacTavish."

The Scot took a deep breath, shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair. All he wanted was to keep a safe distance from everybody, he doesn't want to hurt anyone anymore, he's so tired of everything. He has to end Ghost's feelings for him, this has to be done, before it gets too complicated to get away from. His eyebrows furrowed while staring at the other, trying to create a hateful expression as best as he could. "Stop uttering lies! Like I said, you are confusing it with pity."

The Brit saw through MacTavish's acting. "Bollocks!" The word spouted was filled with rage. "Stop lying to yourself! Think about it, we are both men, don't you think my love is true enough? Tell me, what in the bloody hell can I do to prove it? "

"I don't know, but now's not the right time for you nor anybody else to be around me, it's for the best of us all."

-xxxx-xxxx-xxxx-

Price was in a hurry, in a big hurry to be exact. Ever since he heard the voice mail Roach sent him quite a while ago he couldn't stop thinking even as he was driving. The message was bugging him the whole time, it made him worry about MacTavish. He already tried many times to get in contact with the Scot but he just wouldn't answer his calls. Grinding his teeth, he could only curse and blame his job if anything really did happen.

The message kept replaying in his head. "Hey Price, its Gary. I just want to tell you that I've seen MacTavish bringing Ghost to the emergency room this morning. It seems like something bloody was up. I'm concerned about MacTavish's well-being, he doesn't look so good. Meanwhile, I'll go check on Ghost about what happened." Many questions sprouted from it, Price couldn't keep calm until he sees him.

Arriving at MacTavish's house the old man knocked at the door and call his name several times but there was no response. He opened the door which in his surprise was unlocked. The Scot usually never left it like that, especially now that he was getting all paranoid, but thinking back in the past there was this one day when he left it open. Just by the taught of it repeating, got him goosebumps all over his body, Price quickly ran upstairs to the man's room. "Soap!"

And there he was, just like he predicted. The metallic stench of blood caught his attention, he saw the pool of red on the floor beside the bed where MacTavish was sitting. In his hands, he held a rope so tightly, staring at it with intense sorrow.

"Soap."

The Scot's feet began tapping, restless. He clasped his hands together, the rope lying in between. He brought them up to his mouth, imitating the posture of a praying person, repenting for his sins. "I don't know what's happening to me anymore. At one moment I'm perfectly fine then at the other I'm not." His voice trembling, the volume below whisper. "I almost killed two of my friends!" He said louder and angrily, his whole body shaking. "So who's next? Perhaps another one, you?" He muttered so afraid, then everything stopped, he was calm. "Or shall I be my last victim?" His tone empty and lifeless.

"Oh God." Price paced around in circles, clutching what little hair he had left. "Soap." His voice sounded desperate. He kneeled on the floor, taking the other into his arms and pleaded. "Please, don't do this to me again."

-xxxx-xxxx-xxxx-

After the death of MacTavish's mother he remained to stay at the house all alone, he had no other relatives and the orphanage was out of question because of his age. Price, the son of his mother's friend would visit him daily to keep him company. They used to play together a lot when they were little but somehow grew apart as both became busy with school.

The older one, who already started working made sure to make time for the Scot even if it was just for a few minutes. At first Price felt obligated because his mother requested to do so but his view changed immediately, he then understood why she was so worried about him. During his short visits, he saw how helpless MacTavish was. He didn't eat nor talk much. He was always spacing out and if not, locking himself in his room to cry. The Brit tried talking to him several times, but the words just entered his ear and escaped through the other, never trying to process the received information. He had no idea what to do with him, so he just gave up for the meantime and let him be, thinking the phase will settle down eventually.

But even after a week passed, it still continued. It was good enough that the Scot had summer vacation but he just couldn't stay like this forever. Price knew that the younger one was going through a difficult time at such an early stage in his life but he had to try to talk some sense into him. They sat down together at the living room, he started talking but was completely ignored as if he wasn't even there.

"John." Price called but got no response. He sighed and tried with many other names until he finally gets the reaction he was looking for.

"Soap." MacTavish's fingers twitched. It was the nickname that his family and Price called him when they were still young and playing around. He was very fond of that nickname, that they started calling him like that for quite some time.

"Soap." He called again, receiving the same reaction. "Listen to me." He then proceeded. "There are things in life that pass whether expected or unexpectedly. Your life is yours, it revolves only around you and no one else. You are your own main character in the story called life, what you do with it is your decision. But as you are now your game is paused, waiting too long the system will shut down and its game over. Your parents don't wish for you to join them just yet, I'm sure they want to see you grow into a fine man, accomplishing your goals, living with the one you love and growing old. They want to see you happy, not like this. All their efforts will just be in vein if you continue to be like this. Soap, you are not alone, I'm here for you. I will help you fight this nightmare but only if you will it and give it your best, can you turn this nightmare into that wonderful dream you once had."

MacTavish stared at him for minutes, not uttering one word, then he stood up. "You know nothing." He spoke so bitterly and walked away heading to his room.

The Brit slammed his fist on the couch's arm, rubbing his hands on his face with distress. He felt so powerless and frustrated. He doesn't even know what else to do to help him. He already tried talking him into going to a psychologist to seek professional treatment, but he just refused, getting offended and convinced that there was nothing wrong with him and that he could handle himself.

Days came and pass, there were still no changes happening with MacTavish. Always the same routine of spacing out and crying but Price never gave up on him. He kept coming, staying a little longer as days passed, everyday he tried something new to cheer him up and make him feel better.

One day as Price came to visit like usual, the door was unlocked. It was strange because every time he leaves, he'd make sure to lock it. He entered the house with caution but there was no one in sight, not even MacTavish. The Brit thought nothing of it because the younger one was probably in his room crying again. He went through the rooms of the first floor just to make sure no one entered. Upon looking he noticed that there was a chair missing at the dinning table, he got nervous.

A loud crash echoed through the ceiling of the dining room. The noise came from MacTavish's room, his stomach twisted. He rushed up the stairs, running towards the room of the Scot. It was locked as he tried to open it. "Soap!" He called and banged several times at the door but received no response from him, just choking sounds. He panicked, he had no time to pick the lock or to think, he had no other option but to break the door. He started kicking it just below the handle for a few times, forcing it to open.

Price never knew that the extent of how much MacTavish was suffering from the loss was this much, until he saw the insides of the room he was forbidden to enter. The smell was suffocating, the air thick and hard to breathe in. The room was a mess, everything breakable was shattered to pieces, his clothes ripped and scattered all over. The white bed sheets and walls were tainted red by bloody hand prints. Pills and blood soaked tissues spread throughout the now red wooden floor. Near his bed, red stained instruments used for cutting. At the center of all the unholiness was MacTavish, hanging lifeless with a rope around his neck which was tied on the plank of wood, reinforcing the ceiling. His body itself wasn't moving anymore, it was only swinging loosely in midair.

After entering the room, the Brit took immediate actions. Still hanging, he placed the younger one's legs on his shoulders and held him up in a stable position so that the rope became loose around the neck, keeping him away from strangling further more than he already is. Then proceeded to remove the rope from the neck, gently lying him down on the floor with much little movement as possible. He called the ambulance right after.

While waiting Price sat next to him and examined his body. MacTavish's arms were visible, it was a first time for the Brit to see him wearing anything else besides long sleeves since the death of his parents. He was wearing a white t-shirt paired with white pants, suited for the events of what could have lead to if the suicide plan succeeded. His arms were full of deep and shallow cuts which weren't caused by accidents, they were intentional, signs of self harming. Some of the wounds were old, healed up and already turned into ugly scars, indicating that he has been doing this for quite a while now. And some of them were fresh, still bleeding and only just closed up.

But those wounds weren't his first concern at the moment, he still needed to check if the Scot was still alive or not. He pressed his thumb against the wrist's artery, feeling a faint pulse, then he placed his hand on top of MacTavish's chest and leaned his ear on his nose, he was still breathing. He deduced that the short distance of his fall was the reason his neck was still intact, but it gave him a terrible amount of pain in return. The rope blocked his airway, cutting off the oxygen to his brain, rendered him unconscious at the moment. If he probably had been a minute or two later the Scot would be brain dead and given another ten minutes or so his heart would have stopped beating.

Proceeding to execute the recovery position on the younger one. He placed the nearest arm from him at a right angle with the arm bent in the position it falls. The arm furthest from him was brought across the chest, placing the back of the hand against the nearest cheek and holding it in place. With his other hand, he gasped the far leg just above the knee and pulled it up, keeping the foot on the ground. Pulling on the leg towards him, he carefully rolled the Scot onto his side while constantly supporting the head. As MacTavish was in a side position, he moved the upper leg so that both his hip and knee were at right angles and lastly he adjusted the hand under the cheek to keep the head tilted back to keep the airway open.

Leaning back to the bed's foot board, Price took deep breaths, his heart still continued racing from the rush of adrenaline. He uttered a sigh of relief as he did all he could possibly offer to help. Then the ease was quickly followed by fear, the fear of losing MacTavish. His entire body trembled, he broke out in cold sweat just by remembering that morbid scene of the lifeless body hanging on a piece of rope. He shouted his lungs out in devastation, he couldn't help him, he was useless, he felt responsible. He broke out in tears, he knew he could have prevented it if he had tried hard enough. But that wasn't the only reason why he cried, it felt terribly painful in his chest. He came to realize that the Scot wasn't just an ordinary friend from childhood that he could replace so easily. No, he was someone with a special place in his heart that he has yet to discover.

Price made a vow to the unconscious MacTavish, he promised to be always there for him, to make him forget all about his loneliness, giving him the love he needed and to protect him from himself and everything that may cause him any harm.

A/N2: Yey, a longer chapter! My first aid lessons finally paid off but damn, this chapter was a b*tch to write. I shed some tears in this one, also my mother questioned me about my search history, she thought I was following my father's steps into the after life. It was hard explaining to her that I was writing a story involving some crazy dude. Good thing she didn't read through my story, would be awkward if she knows I'm writing porn because in her eyes I'm still an innocent girl.