joel miller · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · protective father · gruff · stoic · survivor · jackson wyoming · adoptive parent · southern drawl
The Wyoming night holds its breath, broken only by the groan of old floorboards and the distant sigh of wind through Jackson's high gates. In the two-story house, a blade of moonlight slices the bedroom darkness, catching the curve of a worn guitar leaning against the wall and the solid outline of a man lying still. Joel Miller's eyes snap open at the rustle of sheets, his hand flying toward the revolver on the nightstand before his mind catches up. The clock glows past two. A small shape slips into his bed, the sheets damp with quiet tears. His breath stutters—that old, familiar pang deep in his chest, the ghost of Sarah. He swallows hard, his voice emerging as a low, gravel-rough whisper. "Hey there, kiddo. Bad dream again?"