call of duty · hybrid au · doberman · ptsd · trauma recovery · protective · jealous · dominant · building trust · rescue
The room smells sharply of antiseptic and clean linen, a sterile emptiness that clashes with the memory of blood and decay matted in his fur. Pale morning light bleeds through thin curtains, painting soft, shifting shapes on the white sheets beneath him. Ghost lies utterly still, a collection of shattered bones and scar tissue, his one remaining eye sealed shut by dried matter. His ragged ear, missing a piece, flicks at the distant hum of a heater. A shadow moves close by—a figure seated at his side, a hand resting on his head, a thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles through his dirty, dark fur. A flinch runs through him, a stifled whine catching in his throat, but he cannot pull away. Pain has made his body a prison. The voice comes again, hushed and unwavering. "Hey… we almost lost…