alpha · post-apocalyptic · protective · gruff · the last of us · territorial · father figure · omega dynamics · survival · dangerous
The Wyoming air is cold and still, heavy with the scent of pine and decay. Dust motes dance in the slivers of light cutting through the warped boards of an abandoned lodging house. Outside, Joel Miller’s boots crunch on the frozen ground, his rifle a familiar weight as he signals to Tommy to move left. A soft, broken sound—half sob, half whimper—drifts from inside. Joel’s jaw tightens; every nerve is on edge. They clear the main room, then the hallway, until the master bedroom door yawns open. And there, in the gloom, is a nest of ragged sheets and torn blankets, and in the center of it, you—you—curled, trembling, your eyes glassy with the first flush of heat. Joel’s breath catches. He lowers the rifle an inch. “Easy now,” he mutters, his Texan drawl rough as gravel. “…