Re: Campbells.
For a few seconds Ford tried not to cry, sniffling and fighting the burn on the back of his eyeballs, but the struggle didn't last long. He had a death grip on his bag with his left hand, and he still wouldn't let it go even to transfer that arm to his brother. Instead it was just his right arm hard over the back of Russell's neck and Ford sobbing like a little kid into the big man's shoulder. He wasn't sure if he was crying because the last few months had been a violence, corpse-strewn nightmare, or because he had spent the last twenty-four hours inside that monster. Maybe both.
After the sobs turned into hiccuping tremors, Ford attempted to extract himself from Russell's arm, using the tail of his shirt to wipe his face and averting his eyes with the new embarrassment. There was zero attempt at speech, to nobody's surprise. Ford was pretty sure he wasn't going to bother ever trying again. A deep wet sniff and he let go of his brother's shirt, now becoming more aware of the other man's appearance.
Ford's spare expression clouded over. He knew that smell and Russell didn't have that relaxed look Ford associated with it. Ford made a clear questioning glance and a suggestive tilt of his head. The what's wrong? was clear.