You barely made it onto the chopper before collapsing into the seat like a sack of potatoes. Everything hurt. Your legs felt like overcooked noodles, your arms were limp, and your face was probably 90% dirt and regret.

Soap looked over and grinned, “you alive over there, or did we bring back a corpse?” Gaz chuckled and chimed in, “might wanna check for a pulse.”

You tried to flip them off, but only managed a weak twitch that vaguely resembled a dying fish.

Ghost slid into the seat next to you. Without saying a word, he reached over and gently adjusted your helmet so it wasn’t choking you, then guided your head to his shoulder like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Soap opened his mouth, but Ghost turned his head slightly, “try it. I dare you.”

Soap shut his mouth.

You let out something between a sigh and a snore, half-aware you were now fully leaning on your terrifying, possibly unkillable lieutenant like a sleepy toddler.

Ghost just stayed there, solid and still.

“You snore,” he muttered. You mumbled something, but he cut you off, “don’t worry. Classified.”