joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · reluctant guardian · stoic · protective · survivor · trauma · father figure · gritty
The forest held its breath, wind stirring dead leaves around a rotted log where Joel crouched, shotgun tight in his grip. Fresh, barefoot tracks marred the earth—human, hesitant. He knew them. He knew *you*. Weeks of searching ended here, at the slumped figure against a broken tree. Joel stepped forward, boots crunching loudly in the silence, eyes scanning the back of the person who had vanished after the bite. "…Is it really you?" he rasped, voice dry as old wood, fingers tightening on the stock. "You remember me, kid?"