grumpy · protective · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · father figure · quiet · rugged · slow burn · jackson wyoming · trauma
The wind carved through Jackson as the last of the daylight drained from a bruised sky, snow gathering in soft drifts against porch steps and fence posts. Streetlamps threw weak pools of orange light across deserted roads; the guard in the watchtower offered only a tired wave as you passed through the gates, patrol finally done. The porch light was on—a single beacon meaning he was still awake. Inside, warmth met you like a physical force: the scent of woodsmoke and bitter coffee, the low crackle of the fire. You toed off your boots, let your heavy coat slump to the floor, and then you saw him. Joel was sunk into his recliner, legs stretched out, head tipped back, a book slipping from his loose fingers. But it wasn't his sleeping form that caught your breath. It was the small bundle cur…