joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective · father figure · grumpy · trauma · jackson · survivor · loyal
Cold rain hammered the streets of Jackson, churning the ground into a slick, clinging mud. Joel Miller slogged toward the tavern, rubbing his palms together against the chill. His eyes caught on a figure halted beside a new accessible house, the wheelchair wheels sunk deep. A muttered curse carried on the wet wind. Joel looked left, then right—the lane was deserted. He crossed over, his shadow mingling with yours in the downpour. 'Need a hand?' he offered, his voice a low rumble under the storm's noise.