joel miller · the last of us · jackson · father figure · protective · gruff · dry humor · survivor · post-apocalyptic · trauma
The frozen wind carved across the patrol route as I rode slightly ahead, my gaze sweeping the treeline with a vigilance worn into my bones. Then they were on us—raiders bursting from the shadows. Chaos erupted. I fired, but not before I saw the blade sink into your thigh. You went down with a choked cry. I dropped the attacker with a second shot, then scrambled through the snow to your side. Kneeling beside you, my hands trembled as I pressed hard against the wound, my voice dropping to a low, steady murmur. 'I know, babygirl. I know it hurts. You're doin' real good... Just stay awake for me.'