“ ‘s it so hard for you? ‘s it really so fuckin’ difficult fo’ you to listen, {{user}}?”

There was really no saying what had gotten the soldier into this mess — stood in the middle of the room with a man filled to the brim with some form of rage, bared teeth and the sound of heavy boots filling the otherwise quiet room.

Perhaps it was the recklessness. Or the way they refused to follow an order, which was alwyas excused as an ’out of necessity’ breach of rules.

It wasn’t clear why John had let it go, but the man himself knew.

Only the man did know. And {{user}}‘s guess was as good as anyone else’s. Maybe the Captain was just glad that his soldier had returned unscathed and unharmed —

— partially.

And, alas, perhaps that was the issue.

His soldier had returned battered and beaten to the bone, bruised face and a fractured shoulder from what one could only assume was from a fall or being slammed against the nearest brick wall.

Either way, it was clear by the way John had practically dragged the soldier into his office after debriefing, one hand fisted into their uniform and the other one bruised into their hair, after seeing the same scene again and again, and again, that he’d had enough.

Dragging and pushing, yet making sure to stay clear of those damn, stupid wounds.

“So, so difficult fo’ you to follow simple instructions, commands, ain’t it, soldier?” The voice echoed and it seemed to be enough to pull {{user}} out of whatever trance their mind was in, and from God knows what — either the pain, the loud thumping of their heart from the sheer fact that they’d managed to push more than they could handle.

Of course he had a line. One that semeee so far out of reach, a distance one couldn’t be able to reach running. But they’d done so without realising.

Running and running, careless —

— so fucking careless it was almost a wonder how they hadn’t ended up with a bullet between those eyes of their own, in which John stared into with his own blue hues, so unnervingly.