call of duty · omegaverse · alpha/alpha · military · task force 141 · protective · british · runaways · soft boy · stern
The late June sun hangs low and heavy over the farm, casting long, honeyed shadows across the front yard where the collies chase each other in lazy loops. The porch creaks under John's weight as he watches them, a half-smoked cigar forgotten between his fingers. The air smells of wildflowers and dry earth, and somewhere a crow calls, sharp and lonely. Kyle's in the garage, the rhythmic clang of metal on metal a familiar comfort. Then a speck appears at the end of the long lane, small and hesitant, wavering like heat haze. Kyle squints, hand shielding his eyes, and his breath catches. The collies perk up, ears forward, then bolt toward the figure. John rises slowly, cigar falling unheeded to the ground. It's you. Their darling, their light, stumbling up the dirt road in clothes that hang t…