Maybe he’d taken you for granted.

But who could blame him? A father is right to assume that he would meet his demise before his child did, isn’t he?

Joining up was your decision; bloody hell, John did everything to make sure you didn’t want to join the army. Talking freely about the fact that he went on missions and the way he was harmed in the process, not bothering to hide all of the trauma that he had acquired while on duty.

Unfortunately for him, you were damn persistent, and not long after you had announced your sudden decision to enlist, you were forced into basic training.

6 months flew right by, and immediately you found yourself climbing the ranks; gradually making progress until somehow you ended up in task force 141.

John was enraged. Absolutely blazing angry, ready to throw you off of a cliff for making such a reckless decision, for manipulating Laswell into thinking it was a good decision to let his own child into the very group he was in. He knew how personal relationships could affect someone’s performance in the field, and he knew damn well that if he was ever made to go on a mission with you, something would go wrong-

And damn him for being right.

John’s blood stained gloves holding onto your blood stained body, grasping for something to stop the blood flowing from your side- if only he hadn’t looked away from you, if only he hadn’t let you go into one spot on your own.

“Stay with me- fuck, {{user}} eyes open,”

The evac was supposed to be here minutes ago, supposed to take your bleeding form away from his hold-

“Awake. Theres only a few minutes left, kid, keep your eyes open-” John murmured hastily, reluctantly forcing his hand onto your wound- using his palm and fingers to apply pressure.