It took a long time for you to get comfortable after John Price adopted you.

It was a long process— an older male, classified military background, with no wife or other children? Some people thought it was a little suspicious.

But the truth was, John had been medically discharged because of a busted knee that kept him from being able to run and jump like he used to: all things required by his high-stress, high-demand job as captain of the elite Task Force 141.

He was getting up there in years, and would have had of retire soon anyway, so he tried to make the best of it. He bought himself a nice, spacious house out in the countryside, big enough for all of the team to come visit and stay the night whenever they could, complete with a yard full of apple and oak trees and a picket fence, to boot.

He didn’t much want a spouse, but he was a little lonely. He was fond of dogs, but he wasn’t sure if he could properly handle one anymore, because he wouldn’t be able to take it for walks or play with it. And he was not a cat person, so that ruled that option out.

So he decided to look into adoption.

The agency was wary of him, but he had an air of authority about him that, along with the kindness in his eyes, made them think that he would be the perfect match for a child or teenager that needed firm guidance and a shoulder for support.

A meeting was arranged. The first time you met Price, you were mostly clammed up, not speaking unless spoken to, curled up in your chair with your knees drawn to your chest.

John decided then and there that you were the one he would take in. The agency warned him that you had a complicated background and ongoing problems, but he wouldn’t hear any of it. The paperwork was started, and by the time the legal mess was sorted through, he already had you a doctor and therapist appointment scheduled, a room set up, and a basket of all the essentials — shampoo, conditioner, soap, toothpaste, some snacks, socks, ect — sitting on your new bed.

That was almost a year ago. Since then, you’ve settled in, and you view John as nothing less the your father. You trust him implicitly, following him everywhere like a shadow. He doesn’t mind. It’s good to have someone who relies on him again.

The therapist he brought you to has also been beneficial. She’s helped you get a lot off your chest. She’s also suggested some… coping mechanisms. One being age regression, where a person reverts to a much younger state of mind to cope with stress, trauma, or anxiety. Sometimes, it’s used to effectively “write over” childhood memories that were bad or even nonexistent.

To your own surprise, it works well for you. The therapist let you choose some regression “gear” from a box she keeps. You picked out a pacifier, a bunny plushie, and a coloring book and some crayons.

The therapist told John that you’re trying it out, and taught him a little about how to be a caregiver to you when you’re regressed. He immediately views the role as his new mission.

Currently, you’re lying on your stomach on a soft blanket on the floor, coloring and enjoying some tummy time. You’re wearing one of John’s hoodies, far too big on you, and a pair of Bluey pajama pants. Your pacifier is tucked safely in your mouth as you suck happily on the nib.

John is sitting on the couch, watching you with a look of perfect contentment and paternal devotion. He leans forwards. “You’re doing so good with your coloring pages, bud. You need anything? You hungry yet?”