could we get some hesh content 🙏🙏🙏 sfw or nsfw idc i yearn for my sweet boy
I am so sorry! I was putting together a story of Hesh's emotional aftermath.
The roar of the extraction choppers usually sounded like salvation, but to David, it sounded like a funeral dirge. The downdraft from the rotors whipped the sand into a blinding frenzy, stinging his eyes, but he didn't blink. He couldn't. If he closed his eyes, the image of Logan’s fingers trailing through the dirt would be scorched into his eyelids forever.
Merrick was the first one to hit the sand, his boots heavy and rhythmic as he sprinted toward the treeline.
He skidded to a stop, his shadow falling over David’s crumpled form. He looked around wildly, his rifle raised, scanning the dense green wall of the jungle for the younger Walker.
"Where’s Logan? Hesh, where is he?"
David didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat was a mess of salt and raw grief. He just kept clawing at the dirt, his broken nails digging into the shallow ruts where Logan had fought to stay.
Merrick knelt, grabbing David by the shoulder to roll him over. "David, look at me! Where is your brother?"
The touch snapped something inside him. David didn’t see a comrade; he saw the world that had failed to protect the only person he had left. He swung a weak, clumsy fist, catching Merrick in the side of the head. It lacked power, but it was fueled by a jagged, hysterical fury.
"Get off me!" David shrieked, the sound tearing out of his chest like a physical wound. "Don't touch me! Go get him! He’s right there! He’s right there!"
He tried to lunge toward the trees, his body spasming in a grotesque crawl. He was lashing out at everything, Merrick’s hands, the medics rushing over with a stretcher, the very air itself. He kicked his good leg, spraying sand, snapping his teeth like a cornered animal when a medic tried to pin his shoulders down.
"Easy, Hesh! Easy! You’re into shock!" the medic shouted, reaching for a sedative.
"He’s not dead!" David screamed, his voice cracking into a high, thin wail that made Merrick flinch. "Rorke has him! He took him! You let him take him! Why weren't you here? Where were you?!"
David’s fingers curled into the front of Merrick’s vest, bunching the fabric, pulling the older man down into his orbit of agony. His eyes were bloodshot and wild, darting toward the dark treeline and back to Merrick’s face.
"He broke his arm, Thomas," David whispered, the anger suddenly collapsing into a fragile, terrifying whimpering. "I heard it break. I heard him scream for me and I just... I just watched. I watched him go."
"Medics, now!" Merrick barked, his own voice thick with a rare, trembling edge. He looked at the jungle, then back at the broken boy in the sand. He realized with a sickening hollow in his gut that the ruts in the sand weren't just tracks; they were the last moments of the Walker bloodline being torn apart.
"Let me go!" David started up again, his struggle becoming more frantic as the sedative began to prick his skin. He thrashed against the straps of the stretcher, his eyes fixed on the green abyss where Logan had vanished. "Logan! LOGAN!"
The scream was cut short as the drugs hit his system, his head lolling back against the nylon. But even as his eyes drifted shut, his fingers remained hooked like talons, clutching a handful of the sand where his brother had last been whole.
Merrick stood up, his face as hard as stone, staring into the trees as the choppers began to lift. He knew Rorke. He knew what was coming for the boy in the jungle. And he knew that the man currently unconscious on the stretcher would never truly wake up from this beach.
The door to the medical bay hissed open, a sound that usually signaled the arrival of a nurse with another round of dulling sedatives. But the heavy, rhythmic thud of combat boots on the linoleum told David exactly who it was. He didn't move. He stayed curled on his side, his gaze fixed on a microscopic scratch on the bedside rail.
Merrick didn’t say anything at first. He pulled over a metal stool, the screech of it against the floor sounding like a serrated blade. He sat down, his large frame hunched, his gloved hands resting on his knees. The silence between them wasn't the comfortable quiet of two soldiers who had survived a war; it was a vast, yawning canyon filled with the things they both knew but couldn't fix.
"The doc says your lungs are clearing up," Merrick said, his voice unusually low, stripped of its usual command-deck authority. "A few more days, and they’ll move you to a recovery ward."
David’s jaw tightened. "Get out."
Merrick didn’t flinch. He didn’t even sigh. He just sat there, a steady, unwanted presence. "Hesh. You need to eat something."
At the sound of his nickname, David snapped. He bolted upright, his ribs firing a warning shot of agony that made his vision swim, but he pushed through it. He shoved the tray of untouched food off the bedside table. The plastic bowl of broth shattered, splashing against Merrick’s boots.
"I said get out!" David’s voice was a jagged glass edge. "What are you even doing here, Merrick? Coming to check on the survivor? Coming to tell me we did a good job?"
Merrick looked down at the mess on his boots, then back up at David. There was no anger in his eyes, only a weary, hollow understanding that infuriated David even more.
"I’m here because I’m not leaving you alone," Merrick said quietly.
"I am alone!" David roared, his good hand fisted in the thin hospital sheets. "My dad is dead. My brother is... he’s in the dark, Merrick! He’s with that monster because you weren't fast enough! Because I wasn't strong enough!" He choked on the last word, his chest heaving. "There’s no 'us' anymore. There’s no Ghost team. It’s just me. And I’ve got nothing left to say to you."
He wanted Merrick to yell back. He wanted a fight, a reason to vent the poisonous grief that was rotting him from the inside out. He wanted Merrick to tell him he was being out of line, to act like a commander.
But Merrick just looked at him. He saw the way David’s hand was shaking. He saw the hollowed-out look in the kid’s eyes, the look of a boy who had watched his entire world get dragged into the trees. Merrick remembered Elias. He remembered a younger, greener Rorke. He knew that some holes were too deep to be filled with platitudes or military honors.
"You're right," Merrick said, his voice thick. "I wasn't fast enough. And there isn't a single thing I can say that's going to make that beach go away."
He stood up slowly, the metal stool scraping again. He didn't offer a hand or a pat on the shoulder; he knew David would probably try to bite it off. He reached into his pocket and placed something on the edge of the bed. It was a small, blackened piece of fabric, a charred Ghost patch from the wreckage.
"I can't fix it, David. I won't even try," Merrick said, turning toward the door. "But when you're ready to go get him back... I'll be waiting by the birds."
The door hissed shut behind him.
David stared at the embroidered patch on the bed. The silence returned, heavier than before. He reached out, his fingers trembling as he touched the fabric, and finally, the first hot, silent tear tracked through the dried salt on his cheek. He was alone in the room, but for the first time, the silence didn't just feel like an end. It felt like a countdown.
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