Chapter Text
A safe house was supposed to be safe. Backup after backup safehouse, yet Phillip was anything but safe. Under normal circumstances, he would have been safe. Being searched for by the 141 meant he wasn’t safe at all. There was no security each time he jumped from safehouse to safehouse, it simply left a trail. Opened and empty food containers on counters, messy blankets on the beds, still damp bathtub from showers. It left signs that he didn’t think to clean up before he was onto the next place.
The 141 had their reasons, just like Graves had his for running. Every second of his time had been plagued with a strong headache, it made things fuzzy in a way that was far too familiar. He abandoned his shadows, knowing some were dead, lost, or hopefully somewhere actually safe. Maybe even with their families, though Phillip knew not to hope too strong for that. Men like them hardly got their happy ending. With the 141 and Los vaqueros searching for all of them, it was a death sentence. Searching for Graves like their lives depended on it. No rock left unturned.
It was only a matter of time before they found him. In a shitty little apartment next to a main road, it was the only place he could find on such sort notice. Somewhere that wouldn’t be expected of him. Graves was on his own, that’s all he had to worry about. But he worried, and the headache only grew.
He should have ran further, as far as he could go without leaving a paper trail. It was dangerous. Fucking careless. His head was cloudy, almost a static to his vision as he moved. Sleep was restless, his appetite was gone. All he thought to do was run, but his weary body wouldn’t make it under those conditions. He needed to go, find anywhere else. It just wasn’t an option as his body begged him for sustenance, for sleep.
The bed was so welcoming… If he just laid down for a few minutes, it would be okay. He’d just rest his eyes, he told himself that was all he would do. The longer he laid there, the less control he had. His eyes closed, and his body finally went lax into the mattress. A crappy old thing, but it felt heavenly to him.
Thirty minutes, and he swore he set an alarm. But in a dream like state, it was hard to tell what was real. He let himself drift, believing an alarm had been set that would keep him safe.
Dull voices flooded through his ears as he began to wake.
He counted as he listened, british, british, british, scottish…
Fuck, he was a dead man. His breathing slowed until he managed to force himself to hold his breath. Phil clutched at the pillow under his head, laid on his side, curled up just a bit. Pain sputtered like an engine as it engulfed his body in quick surges until it settled back in his head. Silent. Stay silent, he told himself, as if that would get him out of any of this. He didn’t even have a weapon on him. Foolish mistake.
Terror set deep in his bones, along with the burning of his tense muscles/
“Grab him, we’re leaving.” John Price, Graves noted. He was torn between wanting to shove his fist in his face, and wanting to cower… His eyes shut so tight it dazed him, or maybe it was the lack of oxygen. But he’d held his breath for longer.
Orders changed quickly.
“Stop.” He heard as steps approached his bedside. The fucking scot talking. “He’s awake.”
Silence followed, Phillip assuming they were watching him. He kept holding his breath, even though his lips were probably going blue at that rate. Dizziness settled in.
“Open your bloody eyes.” Ghost. The one he was unreasonably scared of. Something in him felt like it died, perhaps his pride. It was so far from what he had wanted when he had met them all. To end up a dead man at their hands… they’d kill him once he lost his usefulness. And to think he had thought that maybe, just maybe, they could have been okay. His orders fucked it all up.
As much as he wanted it all to be over, and to just be home again. A knot formed in his throat as his eyes flickered open. Blue eyes taking in the surroundings, specifically where each man stood.
Price blocked the door. Ghost blocked the window, and the sargeants stood near the end of the bed. Chances of getting out with a pure adrenaline run plummeted to zero. He was completely fucked. If he hadn’t napped, he could have defended himself.
“Up, Graves.” The captain spoke harshly, arms crossed over his chest.
By some miracle, Phil complied. There was no choice but to surrender. No shadows backed him, he was alone without a weapon on his hip. Fear forced him into agreeing with their wishes, he could only hope he’d be allowed out… All his things were in his car, they never made it to the apartment. He didn’t even need it all! Maybe just a blanket, his favorite one. He could cuddle up with it. A few minutes was all he needed. But he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t have to be told.
The men seemed equally surprised that Graves did as told. No bullshit, no snapping back.
A big fist grabbed him by the back of his neck, as if he was scruffing him. A gloved hand, thinning on the trigger finger. Ghost. A breath forced it’s way into his lungs, and the dizziness slightly subsided. Gaz stood almost silent, glaring daggers his way. Hateful, like he should be. Yet it still hurt, buried deep into his chest, tightening the knot in his throat.
His rigid arms were forced behind his back, held by another forceful hand. It promised quick injury if Phil even attempted to get away.
There was a silent exchange between the four of them, before Ghost pushed Phil out of the apartment. Walking and walking. Every hall looked the same way, he hardly bothered to pay attention to the numbers on the wall. It all blurred together, like he was stuck in fog. Nothing was clear, just the end destination. Wherever the 141 wanted him, really.
None of it was kind, he didn’t deserve kind.
In a blink of an eye, Graves was put into the back of the 141’s transport. A black military transport van. Phil made no effort to buckle in, and just sat there instead, eyes glued to the floor. His blanket, he wanted his blanket. He ignored the orders spat at him from Ghost, something about buckling up and cooperating. Phil’s mind was elsewhere, if anywhere at all. He felt like fog was in his vision, in his head. Drowning things out, making it all fuzzy. This was the worst possible place to feel like that.
The others loaded up and the car began to move. Price took the seat closer to the front of the vehicle, Soap took a seat by Ghost, and Gaz took one closer to the rear view window. It all felt cramped, even though there was plenty of space. No one was touching him, but he could hear them talking, could feel them glaring. Or at least Soap and Gaz.
While Graves felt genuine fear and guilt. He’d hurt these men, but they hadn’t actually hurt him yet. The other shoe was bound to drop soon. Each glance around that he took, he tucked himself further and further back, resorting to staring out a window.
Ghost watched him, hardly taking his eyes off. Phillip Graves being scared was a new thing completely. He was the fearless leader of the shadows, never taking no for an answer. Always fighting back. But there he was, trying to shrivel himself up like a depressed plant. Or shrinking back on himself like a scared kid. That’s how he felt. A scared kid. He had no defenses, just his neglected body that could only take a hit or two before it fell apart.
Phil’s lip was tugged into his mouth, teething working one spot till it was bare and bloody. His shoulders shook, but he had kept his hands at his sides. Once his legs were pulled up to his chest, he seemed to lose all the rest of his fight. His eyes wondered back to Ghost for just a moment, lingering on the mask then looking at his tac gear. The guns at his sides.
“You scared of a Ghost, Graves?” The deeper voice spoke, boring a hole into the side of Graves’ head with his gaze.
His shoulders tensed before they shook harder, gaze immediately averted. The dim sky had his attention next, but just barely. Graves did what he could to square away, though half his face was still visible. Hot tears poured from his eyes within a few seconds. Yes, he was scared. Terrified. The mask only added to the fear.
A small dribble of blood mixed with spit leaked down his chin. Phil gnawed at his lip, until something in it popped. He swallowed his own blood, while one hand covered his lips and chin.
Graves attempted to shake his head. Weakness. They were only tolerating him now, the crying would only make it worse. But the tears kept falling, dampening his face. He was tired, hungry, sore, and scared. It was a mix that would make any little one sick. His legs worked quickly, forcing himself away from the group. Not buckled up, despite being told to minutes ago.
The tone in the van shifted as the others looked towards Price. It could all be a play to get them to lower their guard, they all were thinking the same thing.
But Price’s eyes were soft as he got up. A little one in distress, how could he not? With gentle steps, he came to Phil’s side, kneeling down next to him.
“Graves,” The captain began, a hand resting on one of his knee, “I know you’re scared… But this is important.” He was firm, but still gentle. That mix of captain and father-like tones adding a bit of warmth to the air, but Graves only shivered.
His eyes squeezed closed after looking at Ghost one more time. Phil fearfully pushed his leg out in an effort to make more space between him and Price. A small nudge, he swore that's all it was. Then his leg was grabbed and put down forcefully, his cries only getting louder.
“We don’t kick, Phillip.” Price spoke in a much more stern tone, scolding him like he was a child.
Graves whimpered at the tone. He’d been bad again. He didn’t mean to kick! His eyes opened, just to look apologetically at Price before he saw Ghost in the background and closed them again. The mask- he was terrified of it- Ghost’s mask scared him when he was already terrified enough.
“Phil, we’re not going to hurt you, we just need to talk.. You’re in trouble right now, but we won’t hurt you. You have our word.” Price softened at that reaction, his hand resting back on Phil’s knees as he rubbed small circles. It didn’t work the way he wanted it to, the boy just wouldn’t even take a breath.
The reassurances felt like nothing more than empty promises. He was far too aware of the reasons he shouldn’t be allowed such comfort. He had been running so long while fully convinced they would hurt him, like he had done… Though not exactly willingly.
“N-no.. wanna go home!” Graves sniffled, his bloody lip poking out from his mouth as he spoke. Just more blood dripping down his cheek as he tried to pull himself away from all the contact.
“I know, kid. I know.” The captain stood, simply patting Graves on the back. He took a look around, silently checking in on his boys. The sobs grew louder when Price finally turned his back, as if he felt even worse now.
The skeptical glances turned to ones that seemed genuinely concerned, confused even. The attempts Price made, no matter how half hearted it was, didn’t work enough to get Graves a single gasp of air. The tears fell harder, soaking the collar of his shirt as they fell down his face and neck. The bloody lip even making a mark as it dripped.
The movement shifted, all fuzzy to Phil when he attempted to decipher the different people moving. He managed to figure that one was Ghost, but the others were lost on him. The heavy steps told him that Ghost was getting closer though. His own sobs drowned out a lot of it.
Ghost saw himself in Graves as the sobbing continued. Though he had no idea how small the boy had regressed, he knew that he was small enough to not be able to rationalize this at all. Taken away from somewhere safe, just to be taunted or asked far too many questions, and maybe not even let go at all. He recognized the fear.
With hesitation, the mask was removed. Ghost set it away from Phil, as it was what he believed Phil was scared of most. A small item was taken from his pocket as he knelt down where Price had been. Scars lined his face, however, he looked.. kind.
“Phil?” Simon asked, not pushing for an answer, nor any contact.
“This is scary, huh?” The man began. He kept a close eye on Graves’ every movement, like he was a ticking time bomb, but not treating him like such. Regressing wasn’t always pure… Sometimes it was screaming, crying, kicking, tantrums, and even self harm in some cases. Ghost was familiar with it all.
Just the change in tone, and the simple removal of the mask had Graves at least looking at Ghost. His eyes wandered to the scars, but always made it back to Ghost’s eyes. Deep brown, with gold-ish flecks in the light.
“That’s it, mate..” Ghost approvingly nodded to him. “Do you want something soft?” He offered, a hand already on something in his hand that he held in his pocket.
Graves sniffled as he watched Ghost, blinking as the tears kept blurring his vision. He wasn’t as scary without the mask.. But was still big, towering over him with ease if he wanted to. Right now though, he remained kneeled down at Phil’s side. He slowly nodded.
“Okay, but you gotta be gentle, okay?” A little smile made an appearance on Simon’s face. He pulled out a small object. A very tiny blanket, with a lamb head on the top corner. It showed its age, old, a little rough around the ages. But it was soft, well maintained. Ghost gently set it Phil’s knee, but didn’t let his hand linger for more than a second.
Phil was careful. His hands shook as he reached for it, holding the small baby blanket in his hands. It was softer than he though it would be. His fingers traced along the smooth fabric at the edges, then he rubbed the soft, plush fabric at the center. The tears stopped flowing as hard, he hiccuped and finally took a deep breath. The little toy was nice, it even had a silly face stitched on. Clearly a hand done job.
“It’s okay… We won’t hurt you.” That time it sounded like a promise. Like Simon wasn’t going to even let the other’s hurt him.
It coaxed a full breath into the little one’s lungs.
“See? Deep breaths…” Ghost encouraged, taking a deep breath of his own as he began again, “It’s okay.. I get scared too. Price is my.. Baba… He takes good care of me… An’ if you let him, he’ll take good care of you too.” He remained just as encouraging as he shared his secret.
Graves had to take a second to process. His bloodied lip back in his mouth as he visibly chewed it, not as hard as before, thankfully. He blinked at Ghost, then up at Price. He was a traitor, yet they were helping him like family. It was wrong, but he wanted it. Needed it. God knows he needs food, and actual sleep. Maybe he wasn’t as much of a prisoner as he thought.
“P’ice is scary…” Graves whispered, his eyes looking back to Simon, who chuckled a little at that.
“He’s just a big bear. They can be scary too, but you know what?” Simon waited until Phil made a curious sound. Ghost leaned in a tad to whisper, “Bears protect their young, and they help them. But, between you and me, he’s a big teddy bear.”
It got Phil to giggle a little rather than sniffle. The tears still dripped, but they slowed to almost being gone. Graves actually grinned a little bit, holding the little blanket lamb closer to his chest.
“He’ll protect you, bub. Don’t sweat it, aye? We’ll let you fixed up, and comfy before anything. Couldn’t let a little one walk around with a busted lip, hm?” Ghost assured him, his hand, now ungloved, rested on Phil’s leg. There were no kicks, no sobs, no whimpers.
“Uh-huh.. Ghos’ fix me up?” Phil asked in the smallest voice, stumbling over his words easily.
“‘course, bud. I’ll fix you up, and we might even be able to put on some cartoons for you while I do. How’s that sound?” Ghost responded, the smile reaching his eyes. Though he didn’t have much experience taking care of little ones, he’d do his best.
Phil softly nodded. With that, they continued to a 141 safehouse without any more cries. He had Price on his left, and Ghost on his right. His mask stayed off, tucked into one pocket. Despite it all not being perfect, or near okay, he leaned his head onto Ghost’s shoulder.
Sleep was inevitable. After his last few days of restlessness, it only made sense when Phil fell asleep on Simon's shoulder, the little lamb blanket never leaving his hands.