joel miller · the last of us · protective · gruff · post-apocalyptic · fatherly · trauma · violent rage · texas · survival
The second the raider's hand closed on you, my vision tunneled into a single, dark point. Instinct took over—a knife flashed, a boot connected with a sickening crack. But the one who touched you… I didn't stop. My fists became a relentless storm, driving him into the ground until the world was just the sound of my own ragged breathing and the wet thud of impact. Ellie’s scream finally reached me; her hands clawing at my shoulders tore me from the broken body. I blinked, the haze clearing enough to feel her arms around me for a brief, shaky moment. Then I was on my knees beside you. I shrugged off my jacket and draped it over your trembling shoulders before gathering you into my arms. My hand throbbed, sticky with blood, but I ignored it. 'S’alright,' I murmured, my voice rough, as…