#thread: jackson + river | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shellshocklove · 17 days ago

Text

dried roses | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x female!reader – post breakout & no ellie AU

summary: recovered from his wound joel struggles to settle into his new life in jackson, his new life without you.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni!!! swearing, drinking of alcohol, blood, guns, tw suicidal thoughts, angst, no use of y/n

a/n: this is the fourth part to this. one eternity later i'm back with a new chapter and it's still not the last part 😭 i'm so sorry i just don't know when to shut up.

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3 / playlist/ fic updates

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

Across his wooden table, pieces of Joel's gun laid scattered. Picking it apart, and making sure it was cleaned properly before putting it back together, was the closest thing Joel came to serenity these days– to a quiet mind.

Life in Jackson was busy; on the days he didn't go on patrol with Tommy, he kept himself busy helping out his neighbors with odd jobs here and there– like fixing a broken window or mending a chair that needed a new leg. Lately his brother had started nagging him about taking on more responsibility. Every few weeks Jackson saw new refugees coming in and the small settlement needed upgraded houses and infrastructure; which Tommy had gotten it into his head he needed Joel's help with.

"Miller Contracting back together again," Tommy had boasted, but Joel had turned his brother down every time.

It wasn't that he didn't want to help out, it was just that Joel knew what the people of Jackson thought about him, about how he'd ended up in Jackson, and about you. He saw the looks they gave him out on the streets, the judgment in their eyes. It was so different to how they looked at you, the pity they gave you– pity about having to endure a man like Joel.

A monster.

It was unbearable; unbearable to watch how for every new face arriving in Jackson, their life would restart. It had happened to Tommy; his baby brother now married and a father to a beautiful son, his own family. For Joel, arriving in Jackson had ended his life. How much loss can one person take? Joel wondered. How much grief can he continue to carry?

His thoughts had plagued him for months, and at night, dreams of the horrors he'd endured kept him awake. Everything was so heavy, like he had rocks in his shoes keeping him glued to the ground with every step he took. He felt older too; his joints aching and his back acted up any chance it got. Every morning when he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, it was a reminder – he could see it in his hair and in his beard, silver threads through the brown.

Taking a sip of his whiskey, Joel glanced over at the envelope he'd propped up against the cold metal of the brass candle holder. He'd written it months ago, the letter, and every single night since he'd placed it on the table along with a bullet as he cleaned his gun. He didn't know what he was waiting for, but he never seemed to be able to see it through. The world was so cruel and filled with death, and Joel had sure as hell paid his own dues in the violence. But ending it on his own felt somehow cowardly, like it was against the cosmic joke the universe continued to throw at him. Joel knew he had it coming for him, yet when Joel pictured his death, it was always at the hands of others– and never his own.

Three decisive knocks at the door pulled Joel from his nightly ritual.

He sat completely still and waited for a beat, before he slowly set the gun down. A short glimpse out the window over the top of his glasses told Joel lies about the time– the summer sun lazy and stubborn to go to bed.

Maybe they’ll go away.

Three more knocks came along with a familiar voice, "Joel?", and Joel knew there was only one person who'd visit him at this hour.

With a grunt, Joel pushed at his chair, the sound of the wooden legs against tiles loud and grating as he removed his glasses. Out in the hallway, the sound of Tommy letting himself in caused an almost knee jerk reaction in Joel, and his hands grasped for the gun. Clicking the safety on, he quickly tucked it into the back of his waistband.

"It's just me, brother," Tommy hollered.

"It's late," Joel yelled back, leaning up against the doorway to his kitchen where he did his best to block the view of the kitchen as he waited for Tommy to pass through from the hallway.

Tommy's chuckle could be heard before he saw him, "It's only 9pm, you old fuck."

"Well I was up early– 'm tired," Joel complained, fitting a hand across his brother's chest to push him back from entering the kitchen and earning himself a raise of one of Tommy's bushy eyebrows.

"You ain't the one with the one-year-old, brother– I think 'm winnin' that competition," Tommy countered with an easy smile, and Joel relented.

"Sit down… I'll bring the whiskey," he sighed.

Listening to his brother's steps fading down the hallway, Joel quickly grabbed the letter and bullet from the table. Folding the letter down the weathered seam he hid it away in the junk drawer before he pocketed the bullet. Clear of the evidence he grabbed a clean glass for Tommy, his own half-finished one and the bottle of whiskey he'd nursed.

Back in Joel's living room, Tommy had sprawled himself out on the couch.

“So,” he said as Joel crossed over the threshold of the living room, a smile spreading across his face as Joel poured him two fingers. "How 'bout those infected– thought I'd seen Seth for the last time for a second there," Tommy said, talking about today's patrol.

"Wished they'd killed him," Joel grunted, falling back against the couch cushions, his own glass in hand, "I hate that fuckin' guy."

"Yeah, well… I'd miss his cookin'," Tommy countered, and took a sip of his whiskey.

"Still an asshole," Joel argued, and Tommy let out a short chuckle.

"You know, a lotta people say that 'bout you too," Tommy noted, lips shaped into a shit-eating grin behind his glass.

Flashing Tommy an angry look, Joel pushed hard at his brother's shoulder as he tried to hide how the comment seemed to sting in his chest. Joel knew damn well the only reason he'd been welcomed in Jackson was because of his brother – anywhere else and he'd be six feet under with a bullet rotting in his brain.

"Hey-hey-hey, 'm gonna spill m'drink," Tommy whined.

"Serves you right," Joel mumbled through a sip of his own drink.

Looking past his brother, Tommy hummed out a sound. "You know, 'f ya just helped out a little more– show your face 'round, then people wouldn't be so scared of you," Tommy said softly.

"Scared?" Joel huffed out in disbelief, "So that's what they are, huh?"

"They just haven't had a chance to get to know you, brother… You haven't let them–"

"I ain't talkin' 'bout this again," Joel cut his brother off, "Just say what you're here to say– I know you ain't here just to chat 'bout patrol or gettin' me to build your houses."

Chewing on his bottom lip, Tommy held his brother's gaze for a beat before he relented, “Benji’s turning one.”

“Congratulations,” Joel said with a snarky grunt as he sat the glass down on the coffee table in front of Tommy, and poured himself another drink. Beside him, Tommy scoffed, shaking his head as his teeth sunk into his bottom lip in mild affront.

“Yeah, well we’re havin' a party,” he continued, “Nothin' fancy, just some friends and family... Benji’d be real pleased if you were there.”

“Yeah, well,” Joel said under his breath, before he took a sip of the whiskey, the amber liquid warming his chest as he swallowed it down, “Think he’d be the only one.”

Tommy gave Joel a look, and Joel knew exactly what his brother was thinking. It was still a blur in Joel's head how you'd arrived in Jackson. He'd been half-dead and filled with fever dreams, and everything that had led to your rejection had happened devoid of Joel's input. Tommy had told him everything in the aftermath, when the fever had burned out and Joel had his head put on straight again.

It had all been a huge misunderstanding.

But the huge misunderstanding had had even bigger repercussions.

Joel blamed Maria for it, still, even after Tommy had forced him to hash it out with her. She'd put all the wrong ideas in your head, made him out to be this villain who killed everything in its path. For the last twenty years, Joel had lost everything and more, but with every loss he'd picked up the pieces of himself and glued them together with superglue, his heart growing harder and harder, until he'd met you. After stumbling upon the farm, your smile, your laugh and your tender kisses had chipped away at the armor he'd clad himself in, and the man in Maria's stories, that cold and ruthless man, was a man Joel hadn't been for a long time.

He could never, and would never hurt you, and even the idea that anyone thought he could repulsed him.

From an outsider's perspective he could understand how it might've looked when you'd arrived– him half-dead and you covered in blood and shaking with fear. In a way, Joel respected the way Maria had looked out for you, took you in and made sure you were safe and comfortable when he couldn't, but to Joel, the damage she'd done was nevertheless irreversible.

She'd apologized to Joel on Tommy's request, and Joel had accepted it begrudgingly. He'd done it for his baby brother, like he's always done, but there was nothing left in his heart to forgive her, it had all burned away with the fever, and Maria knew it.

“Look, please just come?” Tommy begged, pulling Joel out of his thoughts. When Joel still said nothing, Tommy’s expression morphed into something more playful, a knowing look Joel had seen one too many times before, a look that meant trouble. “She’ll be there too, y’know.”

Now Joel reacted, his lips pursing as he gave his brother an unimpressed look.

“Look, Tommy, I was already comin' to celebrate my nephew– ain't no need for you to dangle her in front of me like some prize,” Joel said with a scoff, really selling it, before taking another sip of his whiskey.

"Alright-alright," Tommy relented, his hands up in surrender, "'f you say so."

A beat passed between them in silence as Joel took the opportunity of the lull in conversation to refill their glasses.

"Thanks," Tommy said, and brought the glass to his lips again.

Placing the bottle back down on the coffee table, Joel only nodded as he reached for his own glass. Joel was starting to feel the alcohol burning through his veins; the tiredness of his early start mixed with the alcohol and the safety of his baby brother by his side had his lips loosening, and Tommy's wasn't any better.

“So,” Tommy broke the silence as the glass left his lips. The way he cleared his throat had Joel on edge, “You talk to her much these days?”

“Talk to who?” Joel gruffed out, making a poor effort of hiding his ignorance.

“You know to who– it's been months, but I ain't seen either of you speak a damn word to each other,” Tommy told him, his eyes looking for Joel’s.

A beat of silence passed as Joel pursed his lips, setting down his drink with a decisive thunk as he cleared his throat with a dry shrug.

“She doesn't talk to me.”

Tommy said nothing, only letting out a breath in response as he let Joel's words settle between them.

“Y’wanna talk about why she doesn’t talk to you?” he asked after a beat, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

Tommy's question had a frown pull at Joel's face. “You should ask your wife,” Joel returned, his tone biting.

Tommy allowed the words to wash over him, before breathing out a sigh as he sat back on the couch, his hands clasping together in his lap. “You know she was just bein' protective of her, s’all.”

Joel has to stop himself from letting out an irritated scoff, but he couldn't stop the sarcastic shake of his head. “Yeah, alright.”

“Listen, Joel, I don’t want to fight with you 'bout Maria... not again... ’m not askin’ as her husband, ’m askin’ as your brother.”

Joel stayed silent again, his face stony as he looked at Tommy.

“... besides,” Tommy went on, “She hasn’t told me much of anythin' 'bout it, f’ya really wanna know... most I've heard 'bout it has been through the cracks in the door.”

“Cracks?” Joel asked, his interest piqued, and for a split second a guilty look flashed over Tommy’s face.

“Y’can’t rat me out,” he told Joel, his tone half-worried, and Joel gave him an impatient glare.

Tommy seemed to hesitate for a moment longer, before he sighed. “She had these nightmares sometimes... Maria usually dealt with ‘em, but the first couple times around, they used to wake us both up.”

Joel nodded for Tommy to go on, not failing to notice the way Tommy’s fingers twitched nervously in his lap. “One night, when you were still in the sick bay, she had one so bad Maria had to go in and wake her or she’d have woken the baby with all the screamin’... I saw it all through the door... she was distraught Joel, kept crying 'bout somebody named Jonah... y’know a Jonah?”

Joel was silent for a moment as he thought. Jonah. He could swear he'd never heard the name before, but something about it still sounded unsettlingly familiar, as if he had heard it in passing somewhere.

"No, ain't nobody I've heard her talk 'bout," he shrugged.

"Y'sure? Had to be somethin' real bad happen to her for her to have all those nightmares," Tommy pressed.

Behind the bones of Joel's ribcage he felt a sharp pain pinch at his heart, an ache growing in his chest with claws scratching to escape. He wanted to hold you, sooth you through the bad memories as he made new ones with you to replace them.

"I don't know… Could've been one of the raiders– she was pretty shaken up when I found her," Joel tried to explain before a memory pushed its way to the front of his brain. A memory of you in his arms, as the taste of you lingered on his lips. "Or it could've been from before."

"Before?" Tommy questioned.

"Yeah, uh, her whole family was killed by raiders. They came upon her group, and she was the only one who escaped– that's how she ended up on the farm," Joel explained.

"Poor girl," Tommy sighed, downing his drink like he had to dull her pain.

"Yeah…" Joel trailed off, and finished his own drink. "Maybe this Jonah's someone from her group, although I doubt it– seemed like all of 'em were nice people 'nd I ain't ever seen her havin' nightmares."

"Yeah, I know Maria wanted her to leave the farm behind and move here sooner, but from what I saw she had a good life with them old folks."

"They took damn good care of 'er," Joel agreed, and sucked in a breath. A surprising feeling of grief embracing him.

Beside him, Tommy hummed before a silence settled over the two brothers.

Turning his empty glass in his hands, Tommy let out another sigh. "Well, thanks for the drink," he said and stood to his feet with a grunt, leaving it at that.

"'m gonna head out. See you in the mornin' for patrol?"

Nodding his head, Joel watched as Tommy grabbed Joel's empty glass from his hands and disappeared into his kitchen. Tipping his head back against the couch, Joel's head swam with thoughts muddled with whiskey.

Where'd he heard that name before? Jonah?

Walking Tommy to the door, Joel's shoulder ached as he opened it for his brother, the pain unlatching a memory. A memory of a man's lifeless body beside you as you'd shook with panic, and the blood pouring out of him. Once again the wound ached, and Joel remembered who's bullet he was walking around with.

The gravel gnawed under your shoes as you listened to the tambourine sound of the leaves through the trees.

It never got easier – the heaviness of grief.

Summer caressed your cheek like a lover, and it felt cruel that you were the one standing here and not them. You hadn’t cried yet, and you’re not sure you ever will. Another thing to add to your list of failures. They deserved some tears, deserved some emotions spilling down your cheeks for all they’d done for you.

You hunkered down under the tree. The rock was a little crooked, but it didn’t look like it had been moved. A real gravestone could’ve been made, but what would be the point? There were no bodies, and no one here knew them… well except for Joel.

The gravel moaned as you readjusted yourself, sitting down properly to give your thighs a break.

He’d never known them like you had. Didn’t know the way they loved to joke at each other’s expense when they thought you weren’t listening. How Arthur used to make up stories when you were feeling down; stories you were ninety percent sure he'd ripped from movies he'd watched before the outbreak, retelling them with enthusiasm. Or how you would find Alma, sometimes, standing in the spare bedroom upstairs, her thoughts clouded as she breathed in an old kid’s t-shirt.

A bumble bee buzzed past you, legs heavy with golden pollen as it searched for more, more life in all this death. Picking at the grass, you sat with them, the veil between the living and the dead thin as they lived on in your memories. One minute they were gone, feasted on by cruelty, and in the next they were as real as the ache in your chest.

The sun hung high in the sky already, warming your skin through the gaps of sunlight between the branches of the large oak. You tried to welcome the warmth, to finally feel it on your skin after everything that had happened. It burned at your chest, and you wished it would burn away everything hidden away behind it, burn at the heaviness inside you, everything that held you down like an anchor.

All you'd thought about lately was Ben, your old boyfriend, your first boyfriend. So many firsts; first kiss, first fuck, but also first love. It had been a childish love, but still a love. Thinking back, it had been like every one in your group had waited for it to happen– like your first relationship had been arranged from the start.

Out of all the families that had travelled in your group, your family and Ben's had been the closest. Ben's father had known your father since childhood, and by simple luck or perhaps a strike of faith, they'd ended up joining the same group when the world had ended.

You'd wondered in the weeks after settling down in Jackson, when the adrenaline had sifted through your body and your mind had cleared from the fear, if it had been luck or faith that had struck again that night.

Ben had always looked like his father; the same strong nose, the same angled jaw and the same kind almond eyes– eyes you'd thought you'd never see again. Through fire and smoke Jonah's eyes had caught your own while the world burned down around you at his hands.

For years you'd thought you'd been the only one who survived the raider's attack on your group and family; the only one left to carry the memories of the people you'd loved. At first glance you hadn't recognized him, his dirty clothes and thick beard making him look weathered – but it's strange how easy it is to recognize old ghosts.

The raid had happened so quickly. Joel had taught you to handle a gun, but in the moment of truth it had been like everything he'd taught you had fallen out of your head. Most of the bullets you'd managed to send through the walls, but when one of the raiders had grabbed a hold of Alma it was like the world stood still. It was fight or flight, and your body had chosen to freeze.

The memory of the raider's bullet through Alma's head would never leave you, nor the sight of Arthur bleeding out in the snow while your home was consumed by fire. Never would you be able to hold them again, to laugh with them or tell them how much you loved them. Without them you'd be dead, without you they'd be alive.

Jonah had taken you away screaming, tied up and slung over the back of his horse like a piece of meat. When the tears and snot had frozen on your face and your throat screamed rough and raw, it was dark. How many days they rode until they came upon the cabin was nothing but a blur to you; every waking thought you'd spun in the belief that Joel had heard you somehow, that any minute he was coming to rescue you.

"Are you finally going to kill me?" you'd spat as Jonah had entered the dark and dank room. The rope had burned against your wrists and your shoulders had ached from being bent behind your back for so long. The blinding orange of the candle in Jonah's hand had stung your eyes after hours locked in the dark room, and you'd had to turn away when he came closer.

"No, sweetie," he'd answered, and just the lilt of his voice had brought you back years to the past. It had unlatched something inside you, opened the gates of the dam of emotions you'd put up, locked away in a pond of the past close to overflowing.

"W-what happened to you?" you'd whispered, unarmed by memories.

"The same thing that happened to you," he'd answered, his voice as calm as you remembered yet still interspersed with a profound sadness.

Finally starting to adjust to the light, you'd noticed the bowl of food in his hand. Jonah had worked in careful strides, placing the candle and bowl on the table before reaching for the pocket knife hanging from his belt. A fear had squeezed around your lungs as he'd closed in on you, and released just as quickly when he'd cut the rope tying your hands.

"So… you do remember me?" you'd mumbled, your fingers massaging the raw wound around your wrists.

Handing you the bowl of food he'd sighed your name, "I could never forget you, kiddo– now eat."

The food, if you could've called it that, was a bowl of something brown with suspicious bits of meat and what you'd assumed was vegetables. It hadn't mattered though– you'd been starving. Backing up against the back wall, Jonah had slid down the paneled wall. He'd watched you eat, his eyes clouding over with emotions one second, then icy and dark the next. He'd looked nothing like himself, and at the same time you couldn't remember him any differently.

When you'd pushed the empty bowl away from you, Jonah had finally spoken, "We're holing up here for a bit– a week maybe…" he'd trailed off.

The way he'd talked to you, like the years that had passed between you were nothing and you were back with your family again had startled you, the food in your stomach turning with worry.

"Jonah," you'd shook your head, trying to make sense of what had happened, "I thought you were dead."

His laugh had startled you. Loud and devoid of any humor. "Yeah, well, turns out I'm not as easy to kill. You on the other hand," Jonah had snickered, pointing a lazy finger at you, "you're alive because of me– again."

A furrow had pulled at your eyebrows, "What are you talking about?"

"The attack. Who'd you think made that diversion so you could sneak away? They'd already taken my wife, and you remember what they did to my boy and your parents– I couldn't let that happen to you too."

Squeezing your eyes shut you'd tried to remember, fumbling around in the darkness of your mind for your memories of that night, grasping for a glimpse of what had happened to Jonah, but you couldn't. It was like your mind had been wiped of everything except your parents’ deaths, covered up in black sot.

"Jonah…" you'd tried, "I don't understand–"

A knock at the door had cut you off, and Jonah had jumped to his feet. Huffing out an annoyed breath he'd flung open the door, "I told you I didn't want to be disturbed."

The rest of the conversation got drowned out behind the door shutting and the lock clicking as your head had fallen back against the wall. The flickering light from the candle led your mind on paths to escaping. You could push it over, let the flames catch on the furniture, the walls, and burn this place down and the men inside it– let them pay for what they'd done to your life and the people you'd loved.

Loved. Love.

Joel.

Where was he?

Did he think you were dead?

Did he care?

Did he grieve you? Seen the ashes of the house and left for the wilderness?

Without you he was finally free. Away to the wind to find his brother. His mission finally fulfilled.

A pressure had laid itself over your chest, squeezed at your lungs and heart so tightly tears had welled up in your eyes. If only he'd been there with you, his arms crowding you and your head pressed into the crook of his neck. The safety of his touch you'd always craved, and the calming lilt of his voice in your ear.

Where was he?

The pipe dreams about Joel could not save you from captivity, and the candle was no use. It had been a suicidal thought; they'd locked the door to your prison, and death by fire would not purify. Not your captors, and not yourself.

They hadn't killed you yet– you were kept alive for some purpose or another, and you'd intended to figure out why.

In the days following that first conversation with Jonah, the pieces of your memories had started to shift into place. He'd feed you once a day, always the same bowl of brown broth, and with each passing day he'd stay a little longer. He'd watch you eat and when you'd finished he'd talk to you– tell you about that day and the years between.

He'd told you about how he’d seen you, seen how you'd hid away in the trees, but he wasn't the only one. Amidst the chaos, one of the raiders had stalked after you and Jonah had acted on impulse. He'd fought his way through the madness, killed and screamed with a monstrous rage. All hands on deck, the raiders had flocked around him, diverting their attention to him and what he'd thought would be his death. That's when you had run– you'd remembered.

Except, death never came for Jonah. He'd done too much damage. Their leader and over half of the raiders' crew were dead, and in the void and gripped by grief Jonah had risen through the ranks quickly. The people they'd come upon in the coming years, only collateral damage, driven by a fierce violence fueled by grief. The original crew was taken out: an accidental drowning, a twist of an ankle at the edge of a cliff, or a mysterious herb mixed into a bowl of brown slop. It had happened quietly, and the new men joining as they'd made their way through the country replaced them as quickly as they'd perished. A year later it was his crew, his guns, and his loot. That's why you hadn't recognized anyone but him. Your family's killers were all dead.

"So now what?" you'd asked him, "You want me to join you too?"

"No," he'd said it no-nonsense. "No– I'm done."

"Done? Done killing people?"

He'd been responsible for something more than himself for years now. A flock of wolves. A wake of vultures preying on the last honest people in the world. You'd found it hard to believe him– hard to believe he'd walk out of here just like that, unscathed.

"I'm not saying I'm a good man," he'd sighed your name, "I haven't been a good man in a long time, but… I–I lost everything. My family, my best friend…"

Tears had pressed behind your eyes at his words, and you'd had to look away. Seeing him again had dug up memories you'd tried your best to bury; the memories surfacing hurting your heart too much. Jonah reminded you too much of your father, and how much you'd missed him.

"We've all lost people we care about," you'd mumbled.

"I know," he'd said softly, moving to sit down next to you, his hand slipped into yours. "But I don't want this life anymore– I've been thinking about Ben, and he'd kill me if he knew what I'd done to you– to your folks."

Hearing his name spoken out loud had been like a punch to the gut. You'd loved his son, you'd always love him, but that was over now– it had been over for a long time. Time had closed up the wound and the longing had slipped away in the wind of time; slowly healed by another man.

Jonah had squeezed your hand, and you'd had to turn your head away as you'd gathered your thoughts. You were so tired of this, tired of this life. The violence fed on violence, and the circle never ends.

"So what are you saying?" you'd wondered, defeated.

"I'm saying I'm sorry." He'd squeezed your hand again, forcing you to turn your head and meet his gaze.

A rogue tear had ran down your cheek. This broken man before you, this man who used to be your family, like a second father to you, was asking for the impossible.

"Sorry isn't enough," you'd told him as another tear wet your skin.

"I know," he'd sighed, "You don't have to accept it, but I'd like for it to be a beginning?"

Could you allow it? Could you ever forgive him? And did you have a choice?

You'd been there for days now, locked away and kept alive on Jonah's orders. The burning hope for Joel to come find you had been reduced to just a few smoldering embers, and at this point Jonah looked like the only sure way of your survival.

Wiping your tears, you'd nodded your head once, curtly.

"Thank you." Jonah's voice had been full of sincerity.

Looking at him, you'd hoped you could pretend. Pretend he was the good guy he'd been all those years ago. That man who'd sung songs around the fire, and taught you which berries were safe to pick. The man who'd raised a lovely son who'd treated you well.

This apology could've only come from that man. But not this one.

"I just…" you'd tried to gather your thoughts, "I don't want any more people to die because of me– I'm tired of it."

"They won't, sweetie. I promise," he'd told you, wrapping his arm around you in a hug.

A mixture of emotions had started to bubble up inside you then. The forgotten familiarity of parental love intertwined with a longing for a hug from your own father. A longing to hear words of comfort from your parents – from someone who knew you a little too well, to be told everything would be okay even if it wouldn't– even if it was a lie.

You'd had no choice but to believe him.

"What now?" you'd asked him a few moments later, "We'll just walk out of here and they'd let you leave just like that?"

Jonah's deep sigh had tickled over your skin as he'd squeezed you a little tighter. "No–"

Then the sharp sound of gunshots had cut Jonah off and startled you. The look in Jonah's eyes had made your hackles rise, and quickly he'd stood to his feet to grab his gun.

Infected?

You'd wondered it aloud, but Jonah had hushed you quickly and whispered, "Quiet, and don't move unless I say so."

Outside the door a slaughter was happening, and behind it a big and bright fear had started to build in your chest. Jonah had pushed you into the corner where you'd made yourself small. He'd stood all ready with his gun gripped tightly in his hand as the minutes ticked on by with tension, until the door had been beaten down.

Raising your hands above your head had been a reflex when the light of Joel's flashlight had blinded your eyes. In the seconds it had taken Jonah to pull the trigger, and for Joel to shoot him dead, you'd prayed you wouldn't be next.

"Oh, god," you think you'd said when Jonah's hot blood seeped into your jeans.

You hadn't realized it was Joel until he'd crowded you. Your body had shook with fear and his cold hands cupping your cheek had made you flinch.

"Shh," he'd cooed, "You're safe now, angel, you're safe."

Safe?

In that moment you'd never felt further from safe. But, now, months later you knew that you'd never been safer than in that moment.

You still have the nightmares from that night, but not as intense as they'd been when you'd first arrived in Jackson. In the nightmares someone you loved always died, and every night you relived the pain in an endless loop, feeding your guilt.

You were alive, and they were not.

The journey to Jackson had taken its toll. Dragging Joel through the snow was the hardest thing you'd ever done, and every night you'd been scared he wouldn't wake up. When he'd been awake he'd made no sense, muttering out a name, Sarah, as you'd tried your best to keep him on his feet.

When patrol had finally found you, the delirium was close to taking you, too. Every muscle in your body had ached, and lethargic and starved, you'd dropped Joel in hopelessness. Tears had clouded your vision as Tommy had jumped off his horse in rescue. You hadn't know it then, who he was, but Tommy had recognized his brother and in no time you'd been helped up on a horse.

The first few days in Jackson were the ones you regretted the most. You'd been sick with a cold, tired as a dog, and weighed down by the sheer violence of your experience. Taken in by Maria and Tommy, you'd spent the days in bed, in and out of nightmares. In the hours you'd been awake Maria had sat with you, held your hand in hers as she'd tried to understand what had happened, and you'd told it the only way you could from the state you'd been in.

From your bed, Maria had told you about Joel and Tommy, about their bloody past and the things they had done. You hadn't wanted to hear any of it, but hearing about the people Joel had killed, and knowing it was true from the violence you'd seen first hand, had made your cup run over.

It was better this way, you'd told yourself that night at the hospital. He'd said the same things as Jonah had. That he wasn't that man anymore, but in that moment, pushing Joel away felt like the only right thing you'd done in your life.

Turns out, it was the biggest mistake, instead.

Now, as the summer had thawed the winter from your heart, you missed him. Through the clear vision of hindsight, you felt angry at yourself for believing what Maria had told you so blindly. It wasn't that they weren't true, but you'd never given Joel a chance to explain himself, which was the worst part of it all.

Jackson life was calm, but also not what you were used to. They'd stuck you on farming rotation, which you didn't mind, but you weren't used to all the people, and when you'd finally started to recover, Maria and Tommy had helped you move into your own house. It was only a couple of houses from their own, and you appreciated them not being too far away– the only problem was that Joel lived on the same street, too.

Avoiding him forever, you knew, was impossible, but it hurt every time you saw him around. The way he'd shy away from your gaze, how he'd hurried out the door at The Tipsy Bison or how he'd stop playing his guitar every time you'd walked past his house.

You missed him. Missed him so much the longing had grown into a dark pit in your stomach. You had to fix it somehow, but you didn't know how. The words caught in your throat even at the thought of speaking to him again.

With a sigh, you finally stood to your feet and brushed off the dirt and stray grass that had stuck to your clothes after sitting down for so long. The afternoon sun cut the ground into roses as you made your way out the graveyard and out onto Rancher Street where Joel's house came to view. The house laid there empty and quiet. No sounds of guitar strings in the air or the familiar smell of worn leather and pine.

Walking down Rancher Street as you made your way to Benji's birthday party, one thought swiveled in your mind.

You had to talk to Joel.

i hope someone liked this? i'm very curious about what your thoughts for the last part will be, so if you have them please leave a comment, reply or an ask. they are always super welcomed, and they make me super happy <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

next part -> here!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #the last of us smut #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #pedro pascal

118 notes · View notes