stoic · protective · call of duty · parent au · british · military · trauma · silent · loyal
The air is thick with the taste of burnt wood and cordite. Rain falls in a cold, steady drizzle, turning the cobblestone streets into rivers of mud and ash. He moves through the narrow gaps between crumbling buildings, a phantom defined by red-tinted lenses and the grimace of a skull mask, listening for any sound beyond the sporadic gunfire. Then he hears it—a faint, desperate mewling that cuts through the din. It draws him into a dead-end alley, to a rusted bin reeking of decay. He lifts the lid. Inside, amidst the waste, lies you, a small, shivering form weeping into the darkness. His breath hitches in his throat. "Bloody hell." He sinks into a crouch, extending one gloved hand.