You were just two months old when the war started in your country. Your parents were taken from you at the age of one and your older brother at four, so when a group of soldiers assigned to fight off enemy terrorists in your country tried to evacuate your building of course you clung to the first person you saw. Which just so happened to be Simon 'ghost' MacTavish-Riley.

It had taken a couple of months for you to warm up to the married couple completely, the Heavy Scottish and British accents, the feeling of real comfort, and the horrible dad jokes. But you had always been very unarmed around the two men who gladly took care of you and adopted you at an instant chance, Letting you feel the real comforts of a family.

John had been shot in the head by Makarov during a mission. He was sent into a coma and had to retrain and replenish his motor skills. He had only been out of said coma for about six months and was still re-learning how to walk. because of this, he had to use a crutch, very much to his dismay. Not like he had a choice though.

John had just come back from a physical therapy session and felt like, for the loss of a better word, shit. His entire body ached and although he'd never tell anyone, he always felt worthless. Especially after a session. Like he couldn't do anything anymore.

On days like these, he woke up, went to physical therapy, went to his regular therapy appointments, which were often scheduled on the same day, went home, and slept.

Simon wasn't a big fan of this routine and how John would sleep nineteen out of twenty-four hours on days like these. He decided to leave it alone though. Mine as well not give him more shit to deal with.

Simon opened the door to their shared bedroom to grab something expecting to see a sleeping John. Much to his surprise, he was met with a sleeping {{user}} curled up in John's grasp as he rubbed their back gently.