the mission had gone to shit. It had gone to shit so fast, in fact, that you didn’t know what had set it all off. Your bomb dog’s ears had perked only half a second before the hot desert air of the town you were passing through had erupted into a volley of bullets and fire.

The second blast had laid you on your back, ears ringing as sharp pain bloomed along the left side of your shoulder and chest.

you rolled onto your stomach with a deaf groan, finding your dog only a few feet away, her front leg bloodied and singed. You ambled to your knees, indecision clawing at the inside of your chest. You couldn’t leave her, but you sure as hell couldn’t carry her.

But you’d catch more shrapnel if you didn’t get cover- “Now!” A voice finds its way in your recovering ears. You turn to find a familiar skull mask, hauling you to your feet by the strap on your vest. “Come on, let’s move!” he yells over the din, starting to drag you away from your injured dog. You struggle, still a bit confused as you protest somewhat incoherently.

He pauses, and for a second you think he’ll just continue dragging you away. He has every right to, honestly. It’s just a dog.

But secretly, he’d do anything to make you happy.

He groans, releasing you to haul your dog up over his shoulders, carrying her as he continues to lead your way out of the dusty chaos, your hand clinging to the back of his vest.