#cod grim

There is no rhyme or reason, just ✨vibes✨

Keegan: Cheese Grater

Hesh: Earthworm

Kick: Fuzzy Wuzzy

Logan: Unmellow Yellow

Ajax: Black

Merrick: Raw Umber

Torch: Outrageous Orange

Grim: Eggplant

Neptune: GoldenRod

Ghost: Dingy Dungeon

Soap: Ogre Odor

Gaz: Gargoyle Gas

Price: Pesto

Roach: Dirt (or Bluetonium)

Laswell: Razzmatazz

(And one of my friend’s oc is Sharpening Pencils)

König: Purple Mountains’ Majesty

Alejandro: Campfire Flicker

“C’mon, Russ. Legal here. Eighteen’s the cut. You’re behind schedule.”

Keegan sat stiff as ever, the kid’s usual blank stare fixed on the glass like it was an IED.

Grim leaned back, smirking. “What’s the worst that happens? He loosens up? God forbid the quiet one actually speaks.”

Merrick’s sigh was audible over the noise. “You two are bastards. Leave the kid alone.”

But Torch and Grim were relentless, and eventually Keegan gave in.

An hour later, Merrick was pinching the bridge of his nose as the normally stoic sniper leaned across the table, animated as hell.

“You don’t get it,” Keegan insisted, jabbing Torch in the chest with a finger. “I could beat you in a fight. I just don’t want to. Because, ” He trailed off dramatically, lowering his voice to a stage whisper. “Because I respect my elders.”

Torch wheezed with laughter, clutching his side. “Oh, he’s a smartass drunk. I love it.”

Grim nearly spit his drink. “Listen to him! He’s got bite.”

Merrick groaned. “Kid, drink some water before you dig yourself deeper.”

Keegan turned toward him with a squint that was supposed to be serious but came off as tipsy determination. “You know what, Merrick? You’re like a father to me.”

Merrick froze, mid-sip. “…I’m three years older than you.”

“Yeah,” Keegan said solemnly, patting his arm with surprising tenderness. “Father.”

Torch collapsed against the table, howling. Grim banged his glass down, tears in his eyes. “That’s it. That’s it. He’s yours now, Merrick. Congratulations, you’re Dad.”

Keegan leaned closer, his words starting to slur. “You’re my dad now because mine took off. You didn’t. You stayed. That makes you a good dad.”

For a rare moment, Torch and Grim shut up. Merrick’s face softened before he shoved it back under steel. He cleared his throat. “Jeez, okay, kid. I’m your dad. But I liked it better when you were a quiet introvert.”

The walk back to base was worse.

Keegan refused to simply walk, he insisted on doing “patrols,” darting into alleys and crouching behind mailboxes like he was on op. At one point, he made Torch stop so he could “interrogate” a stray cat.

“Tell me your secrets,” Keegan whispered at the confused feline. “I know you’ve seen things.”

Merrick finally dragged him upright by the collar. “Russ, enough.”

Keegan blinked at him owlishly. “…Sorry, Dad.”

Torch and Grim were no help, both doubled over laughing as Merrick dragged the tipsy sniper the rest of the way.

The night had already gone sideways, but it truly hit disaster level once they finally got Keegan back to the base.

He’d passed out almost instantly, sprawled diagonally across the bed like a corpse dropped mid-mission. Merrick stood there with his arms crossed, debating whether to just throw a blanket over him or drag him into the recovery position.

That’s when Torch elbowed Grim. Both men grinned the same devil’s grin.

“Y’know what we gotta do,” Torch said.

“Euro Shop’s still open,” Grim agreed.

Merrick frowned. “No. Whatever you’re planning, no.”

But by the time he came back from brushing his teeth, Torch and Grim were gone.

Twenty minutes later, the door creaked open, and they tip-toed in carrying a plastic bag like contraband smugglers. Merrick caught the glint of foil and groaned.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

Torch ignored him, already pulling out the haul: a shiny blue balloon reading It’s a Boy! In german, a frilly baby bonnet, and, god help them, a pacifier.

Grim went to work like a field medic. They swaddled Keegan in a blanket with surprising skill, snug as a burrito. Torch tied the bonnet under his chin, then gently popped the pacifier between his lips. Grim tied the balloon string around his wrist for the finishing touch.

The kid never stirred, just snored softly in his cocoon.

Torch stepped back, hands on his hips. “Look at him. Perfect.”

Grim snapped a photo on his polaroid and wrote on the bottom: It’s a boy. Name: Merrick.

Merrick rubbed a hand down his face. “You two are actual children.”

Torch beamed. “Nah. He’s the child. You’re the proud papa.”

The next morning, when Keegan awoke tangled in blankets with a ribbon mark on his wrist and Torch cackling in the corner, he swore he’d never drink with them again.

—--

Keegan sat at the mess table pale as a sheet, head in his hands. Torch and Grim reenacted his “interrogation” of the cat for the entire squad.

Merrick dropped a bottle of water in front of him. “You’re never calling me Dad again.”

Keegan groaned without lifting his head. “Can’t promise that… Dad.”

If merrick was a number he'd be 10

If keegan was a number he'd be 8

If hesh was a number he'd be 5

If logan was a number he'd be 4

If kick was a number he'd be 9

If neptune was a number he'd be 11

If rorke was a number he'd be 3

If torch was a number he'd be 13

If grim was a number he'd be 1

Source: i dont fucking know i might be tweaking and am having visions

Is that implying something?

I wouldn't say I bring things up often. Might be a habit I've made up handling Intel for a decent amount of time... why not ask Keegan yourself?

But if you insist..