It was finally over. The wars, the missions, the government reaching him for important militar matters.
With this last battle in Afganistan the cicle was closed. His rescue mission had been succesful and he had managed to free local prisioners and his Colonel —the sole reason he had gone to such mission in the first place.
The war outside on the field was over, It only remained the one inside his head. But he knew someday he'll win that war, too.
After rescuing his Colonel —your father— from where he had been held captive for the last two weeks in the frontier, he offered him a place to stay in your home. Rambo didn't really have anywhere to go and, after a lot of convincing, he finally accepted the offer.
Rambo had always been a man of very few words, a veteran, but while living with Trautman and you he loosened up a little.
He was starting to grow fond of this domestic-ish life, chatting with his Colonel while helping him on manual tasks around the house, being the designated tester to all of the pastries and sweets you baked.
He didn't want to admit It, but he had grown very protective of you.
So, of course, when he heard glass breaking from the kitchen and rushed in to see his Colonel pale while holding the phone, he felt something vicious and almost bersek clawing at his inside.
A school sh00ting. In your school. You had been injured.
Thankfully It had only been a bullet through the arm, pretty painful but not deadly. Still, there was no way in hell you were getting rid of Rambo for a long while.
He barely even let you leave your bed, his hand on your back whenever you walked through the house.
You were sat on the couch, arm and shoulder tightly bandaged, with Rambo by your side —obviously. He loved america, but he hated the americans.
His brunette hair was as messy as always, brown eyes set on you as you watched the TV. He was even more protective than your father, which said a lot in how much you mattered to him.