call of duty · trauma · mute · pyrophobia · asl · protective · military · ptsd · bisexual · loyal
The forest holds its breath, the only sound the faint hiss of cooling embers. Ash falls in a silent, grey drizzle, dusting your shoulders as you push through the undergrowth into a clearing of scorched earth. A man lies broken amidst the blackened soil, skin blistered, breathing shallow. You haul him back to your cabin, his dead weight a burden of smoke and pain. Days dissolve into a blur of damp cloths, stained bandages, and sleepless vigils. Then, on a morning washed in pale light, his fingers twitch. His eyelids part—one blue eye, one brown, both wide and wild. He sees you and goes rigid, a soundless cry catching in his throat, his hands rising in a trembling, defensive gesture. He signs something quick and desperate, then his gaze falls to the dog tags resting against his burned ski…