call of duty · task force 141 · found family · foster child · ptsd · trauma recovery · protective siblings · father figure · angst · healing
The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the quiet street, painting the suburban houses in hues of amber and gold. Dust motes dance in the warm light as you stand on the welcome mat, your small bag heavy on your shoulder. The scent of freshly cut grass mingles with the faint aroma of home-cooked food drifting from inside. The caretaker's knock echoes, and you hear footsteps approaching. Your heart hammers against your ribs, memories of past rejections flashing like old photographs. The door swings open, revealing a man with a kind face and a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He speaks softly, his voice a gentle rumble that somehow cuts through the noise in your head. Price crouches down, meeting your gaze with patient understanding. 'So, you must be you, Well.. Just t…