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The ground was muddy, rain an hour prior.
Keegan hated fresh mud.
It left tracks during sneak missions, it was slippery, it snuck into every crease of your boots and overall, it's just a plain mess.
His shoulders worked with a great effort, age already catching him but he pulled harder. "Skipping meals again." it strained his throat, but he continued none the less, "Your brother won't like that, Kid."
It was stupid remembering that story, the one Hesh told in a drunk haze. Logan would always try to sneak away during dinner time, back in their childhood, always wanting to read whatever comic the boy had at hand. Hesh would drag him back to the table every time.
Russ lifted the boy out of the pit and onto the mud before quickly joining him with a low grunt. His shoulders ached but he ignored it while slowly crouched beside Logan, reaching his hands out again to pull the other up into an embrace, only using it to lift him up onto his shoulder.
It took them years to get to this point and Hesh was damn near delirious with how hard he looked for the younger. Logan this, Logan that, Logan hated suits, Logan loved when Riley pretended she didn't notice him sneaking up on Hesh. Logan hated onions but still ate them because Hesh did. Keegan himself thought of the boy too many times to count as just knowing and working with him, especially that night he donned the mask. The way Logan looked at him, so filled with determination and duty.
The perfect Ghost.
A devastating chill, the kind that felt like and was despair, swept through his chest. Logan was surely strong, someone even Keegan admired as his superior, but survival took more than just strength.
His boots landed heavy into the mud, following his own steps back through the familiar trees' shadows. He had to go back, the mission was somewhat finished. Sergeant Logan Walker has been recovered. Even in rescue, the walker was as quiet as ever. Keegan admired even that of him.
At the forest's exit, Keegan quietly set Logan down against one of the many trees he could see, sitting down to the right of the younger in a quiet trance. Logan was quiet. He always was but now he lacked sound, not even a quiet sigh. His arm landed around the other's shoulders, as brittle as they were, his hand raised onto the mess of long coarse hair.
So as if asking for permission, he hesitantly raked his gloved fingers through the mess. Keegan hated mud. It smudged the more he moved but he didn't care. Logan wouldn't care. He knew that.
His other hand gripped around his radio, lifting it to his mouth and listened to the click. "Retrieval mission complete. The Target has retrieved." His throat ached from dread, grip tight around the plastic. "Waiting for extraction. Over." click.
It was quiet, even after hearing back from command. It was eerie, hearing nothing but your own breath, and the leaves of every tree brushing against another in the light wind. It was humid too. But Logan was cold. Warm, never loud Logan was cold. The same carrot hating Logan that Hesh tricked into drinking carrot juice.
Life had terrible humor. Keegan wanted to laugh, no. He wanted to scream, to throw something, to kill Rorke but he couldn't. Not yet, not now.
Without any other purpose, he brought his hand down from the top of the other's head, peering at his watch, the time looking back at him in a mocking manner. It was the morning of the next day, a day he knew unfortunately too well of.
His hand tiredly found its way back on top of Logan's head, patting it slowly twice before just leaving it there. Keegan looked toward the field in-front of them, his fingers loosely carding through the other's hair. It was more to comfort the anger and guilt in his own gut more than Logan's if he had been able to express anything. Keegan's lips parted behind the mask he wore, the mask he donned on in-front of the boy just a few years before, his throat forcing itself open.
"Happy Birthday, kid."