Well...I don't know what to say, this time. Other then the usual sorry for an extremely long wait because I wanted to make this perfect and, in truth, was reluctant to end this story.

But all things must come to an end, right?

/ / /

Aggiefan15:

Unfortunately, it wasn't a reference to the helicopter pad. Steph was the one who won the question of the last chapter that I almost forgot about. It was Advanced Warfare, when Gideon carries the main character, Mitchell.

Thanks for playing, though; was fun for me to read through the reviews, haha.

Dumbledore19:

I'm so glad you liked it. And yes, Logan is remembering some events, and his cheek was the best thing to write there. It's a little off centre here, as it's the Epilogue and about recovery, but eh.

The brothers do draw the short and shortest end of the straw time and time again, but it helps develop their characters and push them closer. The Feds have some smarts, yes, but certainly not enough to fool the Ghosts, haha. And Rorke is a dick, yes. A smart jerk who won't die.

Thank you so much for your long, lovely reviews each chapter. They make my day, really.

Steph:

I'm glad it was worth the wait, but will this chapter be? And yes. Recovering it hard for poor Logan, but that's life.

And yes, you're correct! Thanks so much for participating in the last chapter's game that was so long ago I pretty much forgot until now!

bleedingangel95:

*thumbs up* Hope you like this chapter.

Marioexpertken:

Things get better for the brothers, yes. This is all about recovery.

doubtedbus406:

You are my saving grace. Without your review, I probably wouldn't have updated now. Thank you for it. I'm glad you love this story. Have solace in the Epilogue.

Sakin2003:

How is that going to help me update? There is no love in 'hope you update', except for when I squint and realize you enjoy this story. Please, be kind, and in turn I will be, too.

Guest:

Well, it's here now. I love you enjoy this. Again, apologies for the wait.

/ / /

It's the end of an era. I'm sad to see this go. I hope all of you deem this a fitting end to this story.

Also, last chapter's winner of the reference was Steph. Give them a digital cookie, yeah?

But yeah, please, have solace with this Epilogue. Tell me your thoughts with a review or PM if you wish; I would love to discuss it.

On a side note, if anybody wants to continue this story, be my guest. You'd just have to PM me about it, yeah?

Please, enjoy the final chapter of Ghosts of the Past.

/ / /

Summary:

Logan Walker is a changed man. Chained down under Rorke's imprisonment, he's lost the part of what make people who they are: his memories. Lost and trying to get a grip on everything happening around him (and everything in his head, because a darkness is resurfacing - one he can't control), Logan must choose between the Ghosts and the Federation, before it's chosen for him.

/ / / / /

Epilogue:

"When do you think you started to experience dissociate identity disorder?"

"Ha, right off the bat, huh? I think we all know where it manifested, but where it began…huh, I'm actually not too sure. I'd love to say it was in The Pit, but...I, err…I don't think that's where it began."

"You mean it started before you became a POW?"

"…I…Maybe. Look, my memory's still a bit fuzzy, so can we leave that for another time?"

"If 'another time' is in the next few days, I'm willing to comply."

"But-!"

"Don't, David. They've already done me a huge favour by waiting this long for answers. Letting them win that is the least I can do."

"Thank you, Sergeant Walker."

"…Shit, I just called you 'David', didn't I?"

"Yeah, but no hard feelings."

"May we continue?"

"Sure. Whenever you're ready."

/ / /

The walk back to the squad is insanely long and awfully quiet.

Hesh opens his mouth to say something on multiple occasions but always closes it, instead choosing to focus on finding the makeshift path of snapped twigs and dented bushes.

For Logan.

Logan, who knows he's his brother. Logan, who is as silent and troubled as before the beach. Logan, who may not be his Logan.

And maybe that's why he doesn't speak. Maybe the bone-chilling thought that the Logan before him is the dark beast itself keeps him quiet. Maybe remembering how one creepy smile sent him into a panic attack keeps him looking down. Maybe knowing what 'it' can do keeps him walking a few paces behind him.

Maybe…maybe…

He dismisses the thought, shaking his head.

Because if this isn't Logan, he'll deal with it. If it is…

Well, Hesh's going to get one hell of an explanation. He'll make sure of it.

/ / / / /

Logan Walker

/ / / / /

He's numb. Hazy. Troubled.

Maybe that's why he doesn't know he's stumbling back onto the battlefield until they're hands on his shoulders and a voice – a faraway whisper.

"This way."

"Come on, Logan!" A childish laugh, a six-year-old beckoning him over, sand sticking to his feet as he runs along the beach. "This way!"

An excited giggle follows as he struggles to race after his faster brother, careful to track his brothers' footsteps like they're his own.

A hand on his wrist sends him rocketing into the present, Hesh dragging him along the worn dirt path.

A stray thought enters his mind. Fuck, I'm going to be roasted alive. It leaves immediately after, for the brothers are now in front of the other Ghosts, who are around a Jeep previously hidden behind a clump of trees, a machine gun rising out of the midsection.

Keegan has the top half of his body sticking inside the open side door, fiddling with something on the passenger seat. Merrick has his back to them, crouching while training his assault rifle on the road ahead, acknowledging their arrival with a small nod of his head, not bothering to turn and properly greet them.

Kick notices them first, a large grin on his face as he bounces in excitement. "Logan, you're…!" The energetic Ghost freezes when he gets a good look at his face. "Oh…oh god."

Standing in the middle of the dirt path, Logan puts his free hand on his cheek, pulling it back to find flakes of dry blood stuck to his fingertips.

He must look like he stabbed a man to death, which is incredibly boring. Why not like a cloud tainted with the black beginnings of a thunderstorm? If blood was black he'd be set; maybe when he's got a black eye he could say that. Not that he's a soft, fluffy pillow. He probably leans more towards the 'I kill children' aura.

He should really stop thinking before the painkillers kick him into cloud-nine.

The grip on his wrist eases when Hesh lets go, his bother walking over to stand beside Kick. Missing the warmth his hand emitted, Logan grips the spot with his flaky hand, rubbing it with his thumb, smearing a light red line where it rubs against his tanned skin. "Don't worry," he supplies with a reassuring grin, "it's not mine!"

Okay, so…that's the worst thing I could've said.

A few questionable looks, along with a gasp.

Logan winces. "Okay, sorry. Uh, the painkillers are starting to catch up."

Merrick is watching him now, blinking. "Kid, what did you do?"

"Kid, you gotta eat something. You'll starve."

Logan shakes his head. "Fuck off."

A hesitant hand on his shoulder snaps him out of the dark memory; Logan blinks with the sudden cold pit in his stomach. Murderous intent. Yay.

"Uh, murdered a Fed. Gruesomely. With my fists…and a knife."

Hesh turns to Merrick, hand unmoving. "He didn't stop until I called him."

Humming in agreement, Logan nods. "Yeah…didn't even notice him." He looks at his brother's hand. "Hesh, I suggest you take your hand off me." Elaborating doesn't seem to be forthcoming; Logan can feel his limbs start to tense against his will.

The hand comes off; his eyelids droop as the cold evaporates.

Logan looks past the wary Ghosts, examining the car.

The seats…oh shit…how comfy would they be to lie on?

Fingers click in front of his face; Logan blinks slowly.

"You listening?" Merrick asks, and when Logan looks, he finds the face swimming.

"Yeah, definitely…" He gets a hand up to rub his eyes, head buzzing. "Not listening; you're not shapeshifting, are you?"

Hand falling, the young soldier hums as the world refocuses.

"We need to get him in the car. Now."

The words fly over his head as it fills itself with bees.

"But-"

Bees.

"He won't be focused enough to attack anyone, Hesh, let alone stand. You know that."

Buzz. Buzzzzz. Busy, buzzzzzzzing bees.

A sigh. "Okay…okay."

Logan laughs.

Two sets of hands grab his arms. "Okay, kid. Let's get you to the car."

Humming, the young soldier lets the world blend together as his limbs fail to cooperate.

It's sudden when his body lands on something hard and cold, which is when he resurfaces from his haze.

Cold. Cold like snow.

A breathy laugh escapes his lips, remembering chucking it up in the air and forming snow-balls to throw at his brother – and unfortunate civilians.

Keegan and Kick share a look; Logan's out before they reply.

/ / /

"You said your personalities 'manifested' when you were in The Pit. What do you mean by that?"

"I mean exactly what I said, Green. The poison the Feds put in my food made me lose my memories. With my everyday treatment escalating, it, uh…made a monster out of me."

"A monster? You mean the one you call…'It'?"

"Yeah. I don't call it 'It' anymore, though. Not really. Mainly because the personalities were all a part of me. When the Split occurred, it created different mindsets that all connected to form the real me. Those being what I call Truth, Lost, and Killer. I know they aren't creative names, but they all fit in a part of my life that left a big impact on me."

"So, what you're saying is, the three personalities you created were who you were at some point in time."

"…Something like that. Like I said, they manifested; they rose above the me they were based on. Ah, that's confusing; think of it like this: Killer was based on my first few months as a soldier, focusing on when I first became okay with killing. This personality manifested when it was in The Pit. Killer changed from a scared rookie who hesitated shooting the enemy to a hateful murderer who wanted to coat their hands in blood. Does that make any sense?"

"A bit more than before."

"…Did you just call yourself a hateful murderer?"

"No-…Damn, you got me."

"Field Commander Walker, if you're going to distract our speaker than I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"…Geez, you don't have to be such a killjoy, Ms. Green. Don't give me that look, Logan!"

"You'll be sent out of here if you're not careful, Hesh, and…I need you. For emotional support."

"…Fine. I'll be nice."

"Good. And for the record, Commander, if you insult me again, I'm kicking you out. For good."

/ / /

It hurts. Holy shit, it hurts.

Waking up isn't something Logan wanted to participate in, but hey. In a bumpy ride, on a cold surface and hearing loud, painful voices, he doesn't have much choice.

Wait…is that…?

"Shit! They're flanking us! Go faster, Kick!" Merrick, sounding worried; just what has happened since he's been out?

"I'm going as fast as I can!" Voice echoing in his ears, Logan groans.

Peeling open his eyes, he growls. "Would you guys shut it? Your voices are killing me!" And my chest. My chest is very much killing my ability to breathe.

Surroundings focus and-

Oh.

Oh.

"You've got to be kidding me." He breathes, watching Jeeps loaded with angry Feds drive alongside them – and get shot down.

"Not kidding." Kick deadpans, swerving to avoid incoming fire.

Blinking, Logan stares at their driver. "They found us."

A nod. "They found us."

Logan glares. "Your fault."

Sighing, Kick nods. "My fault."

"You done there?" Merrick yells, his voice echoing in his ears. "Because we need you shooting, Logan."

No rest for the weary.

It's all a bit of a haze from there. Getting his Maverick AR, somehow shooting accurately despite his shaking – hurting – limbs, losing the Feds in the forest once more…

Bits and pieces are there, but most of it isn't. Like most of his memory now, really.

That thought would've made him slump if he wasn't already lying back down, – when did that happen? – eyelids closing.

/ / /

"Out of your three personalities, which was your most dominant one?"

"That's easy. Lost was me for the majority of my time in The Pit. I became…wholer when I escaped with the Ghosts and…well, whole when they saved me from Rorke that second time. Whole to an extent, that is."

"'Wholer' isn't a word."

"It is in my dictionary."

"Commander…!"

"Sorry!"

"When my memories started flooding back, my personalities shrunk into each other until we were one. It doesn't mean they're completely gone, though; I still get the urge to murder the bastard who continues to steal my coffee cup each morning."

"I believe that's normal."

"Hesh, don't be a dick."

"As much as I hate to admit it, I agree; that isn't a valid example."

"How about wanting to squeeze my fingers into the typists' eyes because the sound of him typing on that lanky keyboard is driving me up the wall?"

"…Now he's looking at you funny. Five points to the guy who can't read the room."

"I was just stating a valid example."

"Let's diverge onto another topic."

"Lets."

/ / /

When he wakes up, he feels comfortable. Cosy. Safe.

Maybe that's what puts him on edge.

Opening his eyes slowly, – if only because of the weariness attempting to shove him back asleep – Logan acknowledges the cool air on his lips, the oxygen mask light against his skin. It obscures his downward sight and, though under the covers of both a blanket and doona cover, inhaling the air threatens to make him shiver.

His right hand moves before he really thinks about it, grasping the plastic cup with relative ease and pulling it up, ruffling his long (what?) hair while it goes past. The mask is soon getting placed on his pure white bed covers…which tempts Logan to look up.

More white on the walls, but blander – the constant brightness is starting to make his head throb. Three wooden chairs with a white, cushioned bottom stand against the walls on his left and right – both with windows above them, one with closed blinds and the other open.

A hospital… Noticing the needles and IV line in his arms, his gaze finally settles on the heartrate monitor; a slightly faster beat than it was when he first awoke.

There's a sense of oddity here, but he can't place a finger on it. Something off about this whole scenario.

Is it that no one's here? The idea is immediately discarded when he looks out the open blinds and into the lobby ahead, spotting a nurse behind the counter and a female doctor with their nose in a clipboard. Hmm…what about…

And it becomes a guessing game. Like when he and Hesh and Dad sat underneath a tree and played 'I Spy'.

"I spy, with my little eyes, something beginning with…" Hesh squints. "G!"

"Hmm…" Elias cocks his head, eyes glinting. "Grasshopper?"

The teenager grins. "Nope!"

Logan, feeling lighter, looks down, brushing a small hand against the grass.

"Hey!" A hand clamps on his shoulder and rubs. "What's that?" He gestures to what Logan touches and he bites his lip.

Should he answer? Yes? No?

"Gra-ass." His high voice catches and drags out the rest, but it's a word.

And then he's getting smothered – both physically and verbally. "Oh, Logan! Well done, son!"

Basking in their warmth, he hugs back with a small smile.

He comes out of it slowly, this time. Nothing to drag him back, focus on, attack.

Maybe that's the answer to his question.

Another beep, followed by a faster one.

Looking at the machine, he feels the urge to smash it and barely stops himself from indulging in the fantasy. There's an easier way to stop it.

The memory of Keegan showing him the proper procedure ghosts beside him while he turns and slowly lifts his arms.

It's tricky. He feels a lot weaker than he should be and it only cements that fact when they shake at eye-level. But he gets there in the end, pressing the power button and sighing when there's just silence.

Where is everyone? It sticks in his head and he realises that he has free reign now, to get out of bed without the monitor squealing.

And he follows that trail of thought.

Rip out the IV line, the other lines in his arm, the heartbeat monitor.

(And slowly, so very slowly, whatever the fuck the thing down there is, because what the fuck is that doing there? Think about the fun, happy times. All those limited moments over the last few days…not helping, me.)

It's when his bare feet have touched tiles that he recognises his status.

A little dizzy. Sober – god, he needs to get drunk. Weak – a 'no movement for ages' weak.

Logan thinks he knows his situation.

Hesh isn't here. Nor are the others. He knows with certainty that his brother would've been here when he woke…if it'd been only a few days after they arrived.

A reality he doesn't want to acknowledge weighs him down.

He looks down. Eyes wander over the blue and white hospital gown – light, too light – and the bandages wrapped around his arms. There's a pull underneath the clean bandages there and, when he presses an arm against his stomach, a sensitivity that sends pins and needles scattering.

Pain meds. Not as heavy as before, but enough to keep it away. Enough to keep him down.

Prisoner? The other reality – that he's with the Feds.

But that's impossible. He's not cuffed – they're playing you – and there aren't any guards. Rorke isn't here, either. Big difference.

Trust them. Trust Hesh. Trust the Ghosts.

Though he stays sitting, the thought lingers. A ghost.

Shuffling so his back is pressed against the backboard, Logan sighs, slightly irritated at the position of the messy covers below him. He ignores that small problem, though, and settles in to watch for signs of the worse option.

Sleep is threatening to pull him under when movement by the door startles him into heightened awareness.

Four men, all wearing camo, all holding a hot beverage in Styrofoam cups, all looking at him with matching expressions of shock and glee.

The cup of the only one that matters falls from his hands, splattering steaming brown onto the tiles. "Logan!" Then he's getting ingulfed in a vicious hug that finally does have his nerves register pain.

And even when he's getting scolded for taking out the IV line and everything else, Logan can't bring himself to care.

/ / /

"What were the techniques the Feds used on you in The Pit?"

"…Look, my first month is still a bit fuzzy, but I'll try and outline it for ya. I can remember most of the first week; they left me in there for the entirety of the week. No human contact. No food, no water."

"'There' being The Pit?"

"…Yeah. I had a broken arm and nose; Rorke decided to kick me in the face that night on the beach and fuck it hurt. The impact of my head into the rock behind me wasn't pleasant, either. That had me dry heaving whenever I tried to move for that first week."

"A concussion?"

"A bad one."

"What about after that week? They must have given you something."

"They did. Woke up to find half a loaf in the dirt. I was starving; the hunger cramps were crippling, and I desperately wanted a bite."

"…Did you eat it?"

"No. They had to force-feed it to me when they found me half-dead."

"L-Logan…"

"Eh, can't be helped now…uh, woops. That wasn't the right thing to say."

"You never say the right thing."

"Heh, guess you're right."

"…Walker!"

/ / /

"Four months?" The cool water he almost spat out sends chills down his back as he swallows, giving Merrick, who sits furthest to his right, a disbelieving look. "No way."

Wincing, the elder man takes a sip of his coffee. "Yes way. Sorry, Kid."

Chills run down his back, and it's not from the air conditioner or the rest of the water he skulls.

"Uh, I'd rather you not…" Swallowing bile, he gags, fighting back a violent memory. "Call me that."

Understanding settles in the room. It layers thick and heavy.

Kick, beside Keegan on the left side of his bed, fiddles with his fingers. Hesh squeezes his right arm, sitting right up against his cot.

The understanding is suffocating.

Their quiet medic is the one to break the silence. "How's your head?"

And Logan laughs.

He's been hit by two memories in the short time he's been awake, one welcomed and the other supressed. A headache is starting up behind his eyeballs with not only that, but the knowledge that he's been in a coma for four months.

Chest tingling with withheld pain, he ceases his turning-hysterical laugh.

"Better." He finally says, smirking at his next words. "Still getting assaulted by ghosts of the past, though."

Everyone cackles. A release for all this horror and guilt and, for them, waiting.

Then the doctor comes in.

/ / /

"Got anyone you want to hurt?"

"Hurt? You mean kill slowly and painfully with no regrets?"

"…Uh…"

"Got two I'd love to sink a thousand knifes into, but…ah, not sure I'll ever be up to it."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you seen my medical reports?"

"Yeah, uh…right here. Say's you've had multiple surgeries to fix your broken bones and…other things."

"Yep. However, it also documents my physical abilities and constraints."

"…Ah."

"Huh? What're you saying?"

"Hesh…I'll tell you later."

/ / /

They finally get him out of the hospital three weeks after he wakes up.

Not quite fit, but fidgety, the doctors of Detroit finally allow his release. "Just be careful with your ribs, Walker. I don't want to see you back here."

"I will." Logan smiles, slowly lifting himself out of the wheelchair with helping hands before waving goodbye.

And now the five of them, the remaining Ghosts, walk through the peace of Detroit per his request, past honking cars and shopping malls and bustling restaurants at their peak hour, noon.

Merrick and Hesh take the lead, with Kick at their rear and Keegan beside Logan, protected in their small dome. Though unarmed and in a safe area, the Ghosts are aware of everything that passes by, focusing on every little, too loud, sound.

It makes Logan frown, knowing that he can't do much to help in his current condition.

His foot catches on a rise in the sidewalk and he stumbles, his ribs tearing and stabbing-

Crouching, Logan holds his chest with a hand and breathes, eyes shut tight.

"Hey." He cracks open his eyes to find Keegan crouched in front of him, a hand connecting with his shoulder. "You okay?"

No. Is his first thought. How can I be a soldier if any sharp movement leaves me immobilised? How can I do the one thing I know if I can't walk without tripping over myself?

He groans instead, an easier, cowardly option, and then he's getting lifted by his armpits and into the closest store.

(They end up staying and eating at the Indian restaurant, the owner kind enough to clear the way towards a table, and Logan tries to enjoy himself.)

/ / /

"Do you have any regrets?"

"…Yeah…"

"Logan?"

"I-I'm fine, Hesh. I just, uh, it's…

"Take you time."

"…A lot. There's, uh, Dad. There's always Dad, and, uh, a lot – a lot, a lot more."

"You're okay, Logan."

"I know! I know and that's the point! I can't – I can't do anything without thinking on the past, on all my mistakes, and sometimes all I can hear is his laugh and it's – it's…"

"Just breathe, Logan."

"Ye-yeah. Yeah…"

"I'll give you two a moment."

/ / /

They make it back to base later that day and receive a large welcome. Soldiers take the chance to party and have fun, but Logan just sits in the corner and tries not to flinch at every noise, of glasses chinking together, booming laughter, the roar of his heartbeat.

Rorke, his laugh echoing through the halls-

-arm bending at an unnatural angle, screaming-

-dad, dad, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-

Admittedly, the panic attack was a long time coming and he was stupid to think it wouldn't come and bite him in the ass.

After an embarrassing couple of minutes struggling to breathe and hovering people that can't help, the world shifts and changes until a blurry face is in front of him. "Logan, breathe, okay? Just, ah…" Hands wrap around him, a chest against his own, and Logan chokes at the cold contact. "Breathe with me, okay? One…two. In…out. Just follow me."

He does. It hurts and resists and just sucks, but he does.

The event seals his fate.

/ / /

When she and the typist leave the room, everything feels lighter. The room a little less suffocating, his harsh breaths less so. The tightness in his chest is still there but subdued. Less sucking on his lifeforce; he's glad for his big brother's presence, helping him through the beginnings of yet another panic attack.

"You okay?" The Ghost asks, a mumble in his hair because Logan won't let him go.

Taking a long breath, he exhales. "Yeah." The laugh still vibrates in his skull but he can take it like this, quiet and more in beat with his heart. He's grown used to its presence since the first attack, on the couch a month ago.

A moment passes, two, three, then Hesh is pulling back and, with a quick once-over, walks around the table and to the steel door.

He feels cold, now that he's out of Hesh's embrace, the fluffy black parka jacket having warmed him in this cool weather. Unlike himself, wearing a simple black T-shirt with the words 'welcome to the dark side' in large white letters and dark blue jeans that reach his ankles accompanying his black adidas sneakers, Hesh dressed appropriately for this weather in the jacket, plain black undershirt, lighter jeans of similar fashion to his own, and brown boots.

The absence of his warmth reminds him of the harsh winter in the Pit, and Logan is quick to shut down that trail of thought.

The door opens with a small click and the typist, in a brown leather jacket, jeans, and boots, is first to enter the room, quick to avert his gaze when it meets Logan's own.

Considering he scared the shit out of him, that's to be expected.

Ms Green enters once he's settled down at his delegated seat, eyeing his brother, who's holding the door open, with a stern look. She's in her standard army uniform, long camo trousers and shirt, a few medals clipped by her heart.

Logan follows her advance to the metal table before him, sitting in the metal chair across from his own. Files are spread out on the desk before him, some open with pictures and documents spilling out, and a notepad with many dot points in black pen just in front of her.

When the door clicks closed, Logan feels the weight he's been harbouring this whole interview settle back onto his shoulders.

But Hesh is here, by his side, and it's close to the end; he can do this, he knows he can.

"I apologise for my earlier question; I can move on, if you wish." Settled down, pen and notepad in hand, she gives him some leeway; Logan nods, a bitter taste in his mouth. "Alright…" Eyes scanning her notepad, she locks onto something at the bottom. "My last question for you: where're you going from here?"

His frown is replaced with a grimace. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask me that."

Eyes sparking, she leans back. "Oh? We can always come back to this-"

"No." Cutting her off, Logan shakes his head. "I need to talk about this sometime; been avoiding it for weeks." The smile he gives the two is strained; he pauses, looking down.

"Logan?" It's with a small, hesitant voice that Hesh asks; Rorke's laugh rings in his head.

He opens his mouth, trying to say what he must, but no sound comes out.

How could he say what's on his mind? That everything's a mess. That he failed his last physical test. That he…that he can't-

"I can't do this." He waves his hands around, settling one on his face. "I can't be a soldier when everything hurts all the time, when I can't sleep without waking from nightmares, when my mind is just one huge mess." Looking up at Hesh, he catches his shell-shocked expression. "I'm sorry, but- I want to, I want to so bad, but I – I can't."

There's a moment of silence. Of staring at Hesh's changing expressions, thinking, please don't hate me. Of hearing the thumps of fingers on a keyboard and wanting to smash his face into the metal walls.

In the interview – or stereotypical interrogation – room, Logan inhales a freezing breath that wants to melt his insides because Hesh just smiled.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" David's breath expands before him, placing a gloved hand on his smaller shoulder. "Once you become a soldier, you can't go back." They're the same words his father asked him not two hours ago, when he packed his bags and stood his ground in front of the only door in the house.

Staying with his brother is all he needs. His plan to follow him, to protect him, to be by his side when the Feds go down, it's everything. Forget school; his home is gone, destroyed, and the Federation must pay for all the innocent lives they've taken.

He nods, a small smile on his face, and the hand on his shoulder moves to his short hair, ruffling it.

"I'm proud of you, Logan." Hesh says, a large smile on his face, and everything that follows is what he's always wanted.

In the now, Hesh asks a variation of those words, a larger hand on his larger shoulder. "Are you sure you want to do this? It…it may not be…"

Safe. An unspoken word between them; the only difference in the past.

"Yeah." He breathes, the panic bubbling in his chest fading. "I'm sure."

And Hesh moves. Hugs him tight, but not enough to hurt. "That must've been hard." He whispers in his ear. "I'm proud of you, Logan."

Tears prick at his eyes, even when the warmth pulls away. This time, the warmth manifests, staying by his side.

"So…" Hesh drawls, back in his seat, fighting back a smile. "Where are you going now?"

Logan just smiles.

/ / /

"Australia? Heard it's all desert down there." Merrick comments, arms crossed. "You sure you want to go there?"

It's only been three days since the end of the interview, and one since his discharge – one that still digs into his heart, his father's past words a whisper in his ears. Now, the four remaining Ghosts stand before him in front of the airport, all in winter jackets to ward off the cold. Though a sunny day, Logan can't help but feel the sombre mood.

"Y-yeah. It's away from everything, you know?" Cue the wince. Okay, now that's just rude. "I don't mean it like you guys are, ah, a pain of anything…that just sounds worse…" He settles on a short, awkward laugh, scratching the back of his neck.

Their laughter is what makes his error so much better. Merrick's bellow is loud, the loudest he's ever been, and it has civilians entering and exiting the clear automatic doors staring. "Now I know why you never talked much!"

Though a tough subject, one that has Hesh's smile drop and head snap to Logan, he smiles. "Yeah, it gets a little messy."

Looking down, he uses a foot to kick his other sneaker.

Talking…it's never been a necessity. From Hesh's description, he's been quiet all his life, more so when Mum died, and, to his brother's dismay, it never went unnoticed.

He doesn't remember much of it, but sometimes, when he's lying in bed, he'll get flashes of fights, biting remarks, and anger.

From everything he's seen and heard, he didn't have the best childhood…or adulthood, for that matter.

Best not think about torture, yeah?

"Heard guns aren't allowed down there, even with this war." Kick breaks the silence, swinging Logan's suitcase like it's his own.

They all hear the same worry, though. The same underlining paranoia that 'hey, didn't Rorke's boss want you, not Rorke himself? Could they still be after you?'

Sure, it's valid. He doesn't blame Kick, or any of them, for worrying about his safety. They're probably in the right; even if their boss left him alone, Logan wouldn't pin Rorke as someone to just sit back and let Elias' sons live a happy life.

But…

"Look, I know you guys are worried, but I can look after myself." Keegan raises his eyebrows. "Okay, maybe not perfectly, but with physical therapy I should be fine. And I don't need a gun to protect myself, Kick. I'll have knives." He winks, biting back laughter. "But, seriously. I don't see another place that's further away from all this chaos. Other than somewhere cold." He adds when Kick opens his mouth to add something smart. "So…yeah. Australia."

A moment of silence. Two. Three.

"So…hypothetically, if we found out you were being targeted, where would we find you? You didn't state an exact location anywhere." Hesh twiddles his thumbs, looking sheepish, but Logan knows he needs this.

However, for the sake of prying ears, he won't give his brother what he wants.

"My sense of humour says it all." Grinning, Logan looks at the simple black digital watch his brother gave him – "It's yours, anyway." – earlier that month. "Don't have long until my plane departs." Images of their army plane crashing and burning fill his head; he pushes them away. "So…" He looks down, scanning the cracked cement. "I should go."

This is…hard. Harder than he thought. The urge to stay…it's overwhelming. He can't get his legs to move, throat clogging up.

Logan doesn't realise he's shaking until there's a hand in his, leaving him to look up into Hesh's eyes. They're a storm of emotion, but what shows is a great sadness…and acceptance.

That hurts more that anything else. Tears well up in his eyes.

"It's okay, Logan." Something cold enters his hand; a flip phone. "You'll always have us here if you ever need help. Just call, okay?" He's holding all his pain back, Logan knows, but to do that for his sake…

Tears fall, shoulders shaking with supressed sobs, and Hesh wraps his arms around him.

They all follow suit, one by one, and, in the middle of their goodbye hug, Logan, for the first time in decades, feels at peace (and in pain, because oww, ribs, but that's normal and he's not wincing, nope. He won't ruin this moment, not for the world. So…yeah. Perfect, priceless peace).

/ / /

In their red Jeep on the way back to base, Hesh's feels something vibrate inside his jeans. It's his phone; he digs into his small pocket and grabs it, clicking the power button.

The phone lights up with a text.

{Phone – Spare}

{1 new message}

His heart leaps. Could Logan be in trouble?

Clicking on the screen, he stares at the one line for a while, eyebrows furrowed.

{Logan.}

And then it hits him, and the Ghosts almost meet their mundane end by Hesh's sudden, booming laughter.

/ / /

I'm in an amazing mood, so there might be a sequel. Maybe. Nothing that will come soon, and it is very unlikely. I am currently doing a 'playground' of sorts, where I do multiple beginnings for this sequel, but please don't get your hopes up. I have many other stories I'm writing and they may take a while to finish.

This is in response to a Guest review, because they should know I can't PM them, haha. Just putting this up there in case anyone else was wondering.

Have a glorious day.