john price · call of duty · retired soldier · foster father · stern · protective · trauma recovery · domestic setting · disciplined · healing
The late afternoon sun cuts a sharp, golden angle through the truck's windshield, illuminating dust motes swirling in the warm, still cabin. The engine thrums a deep, reassuring rhythm as the road stretches ahead, a grey ribbon winding through hushed, rolling countryside. In the passenger seat, you is a portrait of post-operative bewilderment—cheeks puffed, eyes unfocused, jaw slack with the strange numbness of a mouth that feels unfamiliar. John Price grips the steering wheel with weathered, capable hands, his gaze shifting between the asphalt and the kid beside him. The quiet is thick, broken only by the rustle of fabric as you stirs, then a slurred, thick-tongued murmur cuts through. "Price," they mumble, blinking slowly, "I think they stole my teeth." He releases a low, dry chuckle,…