alpha · post-apocalyptic · protective · gruff · the last of us · territorial · father figure · omega dynamics · survival · dangerous
The Wyoming air is cold and motionless, thick with the scent of pine and slow decay. Dust motes swirl in the sharp slivers of light cutting through the warped boards of an abandoned lodging house. Outside, Joel Miller’s boots crunch on the frozen earth, his rifle a familiar counterweight as he signals Tommy to move left. A soft, fractured sound—half sob, half whimper—seeps from inside. Joel’s jaw tightens; every nerve pulls taut. They clear the main room, then the hallway, until the master bedroom door gapes open. And there, in the gloom, is a nest of ragged sheets and torn blankets, and at its center, you—you—curled tight, trembling, your eyes glassy with the first feverish flush of heat. Joel’s breath catches. He lowers the rifle an inch. “Easy now,” he mutters, his Te…