Summary: You've spent your entire career handling your K9 until he becomes one more Ghost. Keegan tries to fix it.
Keegan Russ x F!Reader (implied? maybe?), 818 words
Era: N/A
TW: Pup death, mentions of suicidal ideation.
Day 5 of my bastardized version of Russian Roulette Febuwhump/Kinktober for March that I'm affectionately calling Trinket's Cause of Death. It's basically 50/50 whump/kink where I generate a number corresponding to a prompt.
Day 5: Loss of K9 with Keegan (whump)
You and your K9 Drywall have been working together since long before you joined the Ghosts. Your lovely K9 and partner in crime got his name from the unfortunate incident as a puppy where he ate a concerning amount of drywall the first week you had him on base, earning him his own callsign.
Your pup got along well with Riley once the two met, immediately becoming the best of buds the same way you did with Keegan. While not officially the K9’s handler, Riley took a liking to the Sergeant and spends a lot of time following him around base whenever you and Hesh aren’t training the pups.
Every week spent just the same- training with the Ghosts, training the K9s, running missions, eat, and sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. That was before a bomb placed by one of Rorke’s men took Drywall away and left you with a face full of scars and a second set of dog tags around your neck. A K9 handler with no K9.
Nobody was expecting the explosion that day. It was supposed to be gathering intel- just you, Keegan, and your sweet boy within an abandoned shopping center. Keegan swept right into one store, so you and Drywall went left into another.
“Detonated remotely,” Keegan debriefed as you recovered in the hospital bed with a face full of stitches. “Some homemade shit meant for maximum damage. Drywall didn’t have a chance and you… you’re lucky you’re walking out with scars. Lucky you’re walking out at all, kid.”
“Shouldn’t’ve walked out at all,” you mumbled under your breath as you trace Drywall’s name on his tags. He made a point to ignore that statement. The last thing you needed was to be put on leave when your best friend just died and you’re permanently scarred. No, you needed your men, whether you wanted them or not.
And good God, did you not want them around. The second you were discharged from the medbay- against medical advice that wanted you there for even longer than the two days you stayed- you shut down.
The balaclava meant only for missions became a permanent fixture to your face, the sharp tongue always dripping with wit that’s commonly associated with you turned dull and dry, only speaking when spoken to and not a syllable more.
You refused each and every offer to talk, to continue training K9s with Hesh, to go out for drinks after a mission. Keegan noticed each time you would turn in the field, catching yourself the second before you could issue a command to the empty space at your flank.
He caught the way you would glance at Riley and Hesh like something inside you shattered every time the dog barked. The way you played with your dog tags and stared into space during exfils, the time you would normally spend checking Drywall for injuries and giving him treats for doing so well. Something wistful in your eyes along with a grief that would crush you if left unchecked.
It's a stupid decision, he thinks as he rummages through the Ghosts’ personnel files. Something entirely too likely to backfire and explode in his face- no pun intended. The likelihood it will only piss you off drive you further away too likely, but it’s worth a shot.
He takes the sheet to a tattoo artist, gets the design drawn up and paid for in advance. His next stop is a little more difficult to pull off, but he gets it done. He’s not Keegan Russ for nothing.
When you finish training for the day and return to your room to shower and drink yourself into a coma for the third time this week, you’re startled by the soft whimper coming from the metal cage in front of you.
In it sits a curious puppy that looks all too much like the way Drywall did years ago. So much like him that you’ve collapsed to your knees before you can even realize, sobbing your eyes out. The puppy whines, pawing at the cage door and tilting his head curiously. His little butt wiggles and shows off the K9 vest he’s wearing.
The note on the door is in a very familiar handwriting- ‘got a gift for you. maybe he can help. part of Drywall’s bloodline. card is for a tattoo artist, pre-paid. Keegan… xx’.
The tears don’t stop when your shaky hands free the puppy from his cage, the joyful little bundle of fur licking at your balaclava and eyeblack. You could kill Keegan for this but you can’t quite fault the pup for your Sergeant’s audacity.
Two days later you come back to base with Drywall’s pawprints on your arm, taken straight from his personnel file as a pup. There’s a slight sparkle to your eyes that Keegan hasn’t seen in weeks and you think maybe he isn’t such a bastard, after all.
Meet my german shepherd pup klaus, or should i say my college. Over the next year il be training him in obedience, controlled agression and we r both gonna be learning w help from someone in the business to become a k9 static security guard and dog handler. Follow my tiktok @fvneral_moon to watch us reach pur goals n to watch me beat my mental health n addiction
Also for any anons that were confused, I am in the Air Force. I wear OCPs aka the multi cam uniform which everyone automatically thinks I’m Army even though I have Air Force tapes and ranks but here I am in my ABUs.
