tinytownn

[tinytownn]

the weight on my shoulders –

pt. v - wife number five pt.2 series masterlist

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

word count: 8.5k

summary: joel gets caught in trouble, forcing him to flee the boston qz. a few days into his trip, he takes refuge in an abandoned shed where he finds you–scared, starving, and struggling to survive. despite his better judgement, he takes you with him on his journey.

content: violence and descriptions of death, pretty much no actual tlou lore (except the infected, joel's outbreak day events, and jackson), mentions of religion and cults??, i mention child death for like four sentences idk, tw youre from indiana sorryy, age gap (27 and 49), slow burn??, no use of y/n

a/n: this story keeps running away from me i swearrr like every chapter ends up differently than how i drafted it, but i hope you guys enjoyyyy (i think i like this version better :)) there was originally going to be a lot more cult involved stuff this chapter but i ditched it for cows lol, i feel like i've made u guys go thru enough trauma

September 18th 2025 -

“If you’re up for somethin’ a little risky.”

Joel’s words replayed in your mind as you sat on the bed, huddled in the darkness. The quilt beneath you stayed twisted beneath your fingers, the iron bedframe creaking as you nervously tapped your foot.

Something in the air was seeping into your skin, telling you that these two couldn’t be trusted. If you hadn’t been watching their every move, you wouldn’t have been so inclined to eat the dinner they prepared. Joel hadn’t been that convinced though, his stomach audibly growling now and his untouched dinner plate long discarded into the trash.

The subtle noises of discomfort were the only signal to each other that you were even there. You would gently rock the headboard, swaying to ease your anxiety until Joel would let out a soft grunt in annoyance. You could hear his stomach churning and the way he would shuffle or fake a cough in hopes you didn’t hear.

There was definitely a lantern somewhere in the room, but the light wouldn’t tell you anything you couldn’t already feel. The room had been tense since the moment you walked in. Hand splayed across your back, Joel ushered you in with some newfound urgency. You could feel his fingers tremble slightly through your dress and his anxiety began to seep into you.

“We wait here until they go to bed,” he had whispered.

Although you were in the room now, his head was still on a swivel and you could hear his clothes rustling as he looked around. You nodded along, unsure if he could even see you through the darkness. Either way, he continued.

“When I went downstairs with Samuel,” his voice was even lower now, like just saying their name would attract their attention. “There was a keypad that locked most of their supplies behind a gate. Pretty sure I can find the keys and some gas cans.”

Dipping to one side, you felt Joel push himself off the mattress. His footsteps echoed softly in the room, the soles of his boots heavy against the hardwood. Each step and each moment of silence filled you with even more anxiety. Was he still trying to figure out the plan?

“How do we get the code?”

Although your voice was barely above a whisper, Joel stopped dead in his tracks at the hint of your voice. You couldn’t see his face and even if you could, you were sure it wasn’t one you wanted to see.

Usually Joel oozed with a seamless confidence, one that was just effortless in nature. He was a strong man, gruff, the type of person people didn’t mess with. And if they did? He made sure they regretted it.

You didn’t know what he was like before the outbreak–probably never would–but whatever secrets Joel Miller buried so far down, turned him into a man ready for conflict, bloodshed, and violence. Whatever came his way.

Now, he stood in front of you, thankful to be shielded by the dark. He knew you could probably feel it in the way he moved, hear it in his tone, but he couldn’t stand the thought of looking this weak in front of you. He was always good at hiding how he truly felt, no matter how tense things got. 

So what was so different now?

He had foolishly let his guard down. Like everything he had instilled within himself had gone out the door the second Samuel started his smooth talk. Something about the way the man spoke so casually, as if nothing had ever happened, Joel didn’t even notice that his gun had gone missing–at least not at first. One moment he was helping with the generator, begrudgingly following the stranger he couldn’t quite get a grasp on, and then he was happily chatting about his brother. 

Reality had only struck him when his eyes met yours, that piercing and unforgiving stare. It was only then that he realized how swept away he had been, that he had forgotten everything he had told you and that silent promise as you two split up. It was only then, when he shoved his hands into his pockets that he realized how light they suddenly were. It was only then that he patted down his empty pockets, his earlier suspicions coming to life, and a wave of nausea and defenselessness swallowing him whole.

It had been so long since Joel had a proper conversation with another man. One with meaning and no underlying favors. So when the whole facade of that friendly conversation came to light, Joel had felt like a fool for even believing him for a second.

He didn’t realize it then, but over the course of dinner while Joel did nothing but berate himself for his mistakes, he had realized the effect you had on him. That hope you carried that he had endlessly scolded you for, whether he knew it or not, began to slowly seep into his way of life–an unfamiliar optimism clouding his view. He saw that you were more than just dead weight slowing him down–a poor decision made in a lapse of clarity–but rather a glimmer of hope he hadn’t seen for decades. 

That toothy grin you’d give him even after hours of arguing, the way you told him to keep the bag of candy as if that was the most obvious thing in the world, and how every time you would pull something from the backpack that same bag was balanced on your legs so it didn’t get scuffed. He had never told you the full meaning behind the candy, that it was actually Sarah’s favorite, but you still kept the bag as clean as when he found it–not even a tear in the plastic.

Despite all that, he had done nothing but push you away, but something in his gut kept him tethered to you. An invisible string ravelling around the coils of time until it ran out of thread, tying you two at the hip. Months of being so close had definitely taken its toll, arguments and petty bickering almost a daily occurrence, but none of that would stop how you looked out for each other. 

Underneath that string, tied so tight around your wrists the flesh tore wide open for each other to see, there lay a promise–a type of promise only created in the bonds formed within this wasteland of a world. It wasn’t something spoken about or written down in some sort of contract, but rather something hidden in small glances and sighs. The way that even now, within the darkness you could both read each other's motions, each slight sound a signal to an entire language only you two could understand.

That’s why, when those words left your lips, as simple as they may have been, something in Joel’s heart crushed a little bit.

For the first time since you had met, you were lacking confidence in him.

He could hear it in the way your voice shook, that slight tremble in your words and the discomfort that hung in the air. How normally you’d be anxious, fiddling with the hem of your clothes, desperately trying to cling to his words. Now, you sat rigid, almost as if his lack of words took over your entire brain, ceasing any motor output.

Feet planted in place, almost as if quicksand was pulling him under, Joel stood frozen–contemplative. “The code is the easy part,” he huffed out a sigh, jamming his hands into his jean pockets. “I saw it over his shoulder when we went to the basement. What’s gonna be a problem is flippin’ the right switch to power the damn thing.”

Uncertain, you leaned forward on your palms, the bed creaking beneath your weight. 

“That breaker box ain’t got any of the switches labeled so it’s just goin’ to be a guessin’ game. I’ve worked around plenty of these to know there’s some sort of order to ‘em. He flipped the switch for the kitchen on the top right, so I can work from there…” He paused for a moment, like once he said these last words things would be set in stone. “If…if I flip the wrong switch, I need you to keep them distracted.”

With the risky part of Joel’s plan now splayed out in front of you, you couldn’t help the way you shuffled uncomfortably in your seat. It’s not like you had ever needed to use a breaker box before, but it wasn’t like you had never seen one. You knew the mass amount of switches on one of those things, let alone a building this big. 

Although you knew it was useless, you looked towards where you could sense Joel was standing, hoping for some sort of comfort–grounding–within his presence. But as usual, he was a wall. An impenetrable force, especially when it came to you, void of anything other and a carnal need to hunt and protect. Sure, he gave you those glimpses of nostalgic wonder, something softer deep within that icy gaze. 

But none of that was there now.

He stood there just as still as you. You could hear it from the silence in the room. No nervous shuffling of fabric, no creaky floors under pacing feet, and no scratching of hair through anxious fingers. Just the absence of noise simmering deep into every corner of the room, itching at your skin, deep within, tugging at your vocal chords.

“Distracted?” you squeaked.

“If they stay in their room, it should be fine.” You could hear him shift his weight, the floor boards creaking beneath him. For a split second, you were unsure if he was breaking or widening the distance, and you think he was unsure himself. “If I flip the wrong switch, or they hear me downstairs, you get their attention any way you can���Do whatever you have to. You understand?”

His words were stern again, an ounce of that confidence regained in his tone. Then, a sliver of the moonlight cast on his face through the window, and your perception of him in that moment shattered. 

His lips, cracked and dry, were drawn into a sullen pout and trembling ever so slightly. Head dipped low, his shoulders were hunched over in a reclusive, almost regretful stance. You hadn’t seen this look on him since that day in the bodega, that prized bag of Swedish Fish clutched in his hands. His eyes reflected this distant longing, dull and bleak, like he was impending a fate he was dreadfully succumbing to.

The look took you aback–confused you. Since the moment you stepped into this town, that bubbling anxiety had only grown and grown into a full blown panic that you had to hide beneath the layers of this dress–its pristine fabric and untattered edges a mocking reminder of your situation. Still, while the plan had its risks, you had the upper hand of strength and strategy. Confusion racked your brain, that solemn, lost of hope look on Joel’s face not adding up, until…

“Do you have the knife?”

You quickly got on your feet, nodding your head instinctively although he couldn’t see.

“Yeah it’s right…” Your heart dropped. Slithering your hand into your boot, sinking your fingers into your sock, you were only met with a damp washcloth–the sliver of soap you had saved for Joel still safely packed away. 

Replaying your memories, you tried to retrace your steps, figure out where you could have possibly left your only weapon. Joel had pressed it into your palm while bandaging you earlier between hushed warnings and stern whispers. You had clipped it to your waistband, still attached and folded on the bathroom counter. 

So focused on wrapping up the remainder of your soap, you had forgotten to take it with you.

“Fuck, it’s in the bathroom. I’ll go get it-”

“Don’t bother,” he interrupted. “It’s already gone. Looks like they did some plannin’ before we even thought about it.”

You shook your head, stepping closer to Joel, almost face to face. “ What do you mean? Don’t you have your gun? My bow?”

Standing so close, you felt his arm brush yours as he shuffled uneasily. “Don’t have it.”

You opened your mouth to question him, ask how he could have lost track of them, but the sounds of distant chatter and creaking floorboards echoed down the hallway. Joel reached out, grabbing your wrist painfully tight, sucking in a quick breath. He could probably feel your heartbeat thrumming, both of you held painfully still, not even moving to breathe.

Then, the soft click of a door, its heavy groan humming through the walls. 

Step one of the plan had begun and there was no time for questions–only action.

“Are we doing this?” you finally asked when Joel’s fingers eased up, your skin pulsing where he was once holding.

He was already walking towards the door, taking slow and deliberate steps so as to not make any noise. “Do we have any choice?”

You didn’t answer–not like he gave you any time to–and he slipped through the doorway. Shutting your eyes, you held your breath once again, trying to listen for Joel’s footsteps. It was subtle, but you could hear the creak of that grand, white door and the way it hinges squeaked open. 

Not having seen the basement, you didn’t know how long all of this would take, but you knew sitting in this room waiting for something to happen would only make you restless. Slow, careful steps carried you to the door, slipping through the crack and into the moonlit hallway.

The small window at the end gave way to some light making the room not as intimidating as before. You could see a couple doors down another cracked door, the warm glow of a lantern spilling across the floorboards and painting the walls.

Assuming they were still awake, you decided to make your way to the bathroom, hoping Joel's suspicions were wrong. Tiptoeing onto the tile, the bucket you had used lay untouched in the corner, the water foggy and soapy. The pile of things you had left neatly folded on the counter though, were nowhere to be seen, only a stray sock misplaced on the ground.

“Fuck…” you whispered, a shot of anxiety like a bullet to the chest.

Still cautious, you peered down the hallways, the door still cracked, pouring light along the baseboards. Breath held, like the air had a tightening grip on your throat, kept the room silent and only when you slipped through the doorway, that cool checkered tile underneath your feet, did you exhale. 

There was a window above the sink and two on the opposite wall, the room not as dark as the bathroom–moonlight spilled in from the two windows, the light bleeding onto your skin, exposing you to anyone who entered the room, but you didn’t care–there was a small ounce of comfort in that moonlight. A wave of detachment washed over you, ridding you of your senses, anxieties, fears–the reason you were even standing in this room completely beyond you–oblivious to your own intentions.

Then, a soft humming resonated through the floorboards, something so soft, so quiet that typically you wouldn’t have heard it. That rhythmic vibration sparked some sort of signal back to your brain, a chill running up your spine, and fear took its grip again.

Rushing to the counter where you had helped cook just hours before, you could have sworn the knife block was next to the stove–Liz had handed you one to help cut vegetables from that very spot. You squeezed your eyes shut, as if this was some sort of a lapse in your vision, that if you opened your eyes it would reappear, but it never did. No matter how many times you reached to pinch your arm, you were still standing in that kitchen, still in that stupid dress, and still defenseless.

If they had predicted your moves this far, how long would it take before they caught onto Joel? 

What if they already knew?

Fear churned waves through your stomach, a fiery heat creeping up your neck, and your hands clammy–you felt entirely nauseous. Without your bow or even a hunting knife, what were you supposed to do if you had to distract Samuel and Liz? 

With shaking hands, you rummaged through the drawers–some wooden ladles and spoons, an entire drawer dedicated to junk and old tea packets, and mostly just empty moldy drawers–not even bothering to close them, the handles one good tug away from falling off. The cutlery was limited, but taken care of, all polished silver delicately placed and organized in their trays–you grabbed the only butter knife.

Time couldn’t be wasted. Rushing back into the hallway, the first floorboard let out a groaning creak–a subtle reminder that things were still real and you weren’t just floating in some sort of dreamlike state. Carefully creeping down, just as you had before, you could see the bedroom door with that light still warmly glowing.

You cursed every part of your body for being so loud–your heartbeat thrumming, breaths coming out in deep huffs, and those echoing footsteps the adrenaline couldn’t help but slam to the ground with each step. You were stupid for even getting this close so unprotected and you felt stupid for even letting yourself get this unprotected–only a butter knife clutched tightly in your fist to save you.

“Everythin’ will be fine.” That familiar voice rang through the doorway, smoothed over like honey–something sinister catching in a crack in his voice at the end. “You just make sure that man eats breakfast. Even without his gun I’d like him knocked out ‘fore I kill ‘im–he ain’t goin’ down without a fight.”

“I don't think she’s goin’ to want to come back to Utah…not after somethin’ like that.” Liz’s voice was more firm now, less submissive than before. “You really think she won’t suspect anythin’?”

“Well, it’s too late to turn back now. We’ve been here for three months, Liz. If we don’t come back with another wife soon, Graves ain’t gonna be happy with me.”

“Who cares about Graves? Ever since his father died he hasn’t been actin’ right…and you know it. He’s sendin’ us out here to kill people–and what he’s doing with these ‘wives’? This is the fifth one, Samuel. This isn’t what they started the community for, he’s taken it all too far. We can just take the truck and ru-”

“That’s enough, Elizabeth.” If you couldn’t hear every breath, every slight movement and footstep, you would have thought Samuel was right next to you with how loud he spoke–cold and icy, freezing the blood in your veins. “We can’t just leave the community–our family–after everything they’ve done for us. Do you remember how they found us? Do you need me to remind you?” 

You could hear quick, heavy footsteps and Liz suddenly gasped. “I can throw you outside with those things if you think you can make it out there by yourself. Is that what you want?”

Before you could even think or back away, the door was being pried open, the warm light turning into a blinding spotlight, and you stood there awaiting your fate like a deer in headlights.

“Samuel, please! No, no, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean–”

Tears were streaming down her face, pleads choked out between her sobs. Samuel had her arm in a tight grip, a bruise probably forming under his hold. This lovers quarrel, domestic dispute, or whatever the hell you had walked in on suddenly froze in time. 

Like a switch flipped, Samuel’s eyes turned dark, his shoulders slumping down, like he no longer had the weight of the facade on his shoulders. He let go of his wife and she stumbled back into the doorframe, a sob escaping her lips as she lunged back towards her husband.

Fear held you in its deadly grip, fingernails slashing at your skin, digging deep and pinning your feet to where you stood. Thoughts raced through your mind, millions a second, screaming a cacophony of noise so loud that you couldn’t even think.

Then, almost as if time had skipped, jumping forward before you could fully process your next actions, you were on the ground, knees on either side of Samuel’s waist, covered in a pool of blood. You sat frozen, hands shakily gripped to the butter knife that sat plunged into the center of his neck, blood spurting all over your face and dress. 

His hands desperately tore at your skin, clawing beneath the surface, breaking the skin at your wrists. He tried to reach your neck, wriggle around and push you off of him, but he was too weak. You could see Liz in your peripheral, she was on the ground, her mouth opened like she was screaming, but all you could hear was a deafening ringing as time replayed excruciatingly slow: Samuel charging at you, his heavy hands on your shoulders as he pushed you to the ground, the body numbing pain that seared through you as your body hit the floor, and how, almost like it had a mind of its own, your hand plunged the knife anywhere you could hit.

It was only now, that your vision cleared and that weightless feeling of flowing adrenaline had fled–gravity taking its hold on you and the knife sinking so deep your knuckles met skin–you could see the sporadic slashes all throughout his body.

Samuel had made the mistake of rendering you completely defenseless, with only your hands to protect you. His rage left him blind and careless–what would soon be a fatal mistake. 

Though your mind felt blank, numb, you could still hear the familiar voice that guided you through the noise:

“Swing fast and don’t stop.”

Joel had muttered those words to you one night while going through what was supposed to be a ‘shortcut’ through a thick and dense forest. The night had crept faster than expected and as the groaning of infected grew near, he handed you his knife, gun clasped tightly in his hand with a wavering brow.

You were terrified that night, you were still injured, the bandaging on your leg soaked with puss and sweat. As uncomfortable and in pain as you were, all you wanted to do was sleep, not thinking you had the strength to run even if your life depended on it, but Joel looked right through you and said those words so confidently as if he knew that even in the tensest of moments you would be able to do exactly as he asked.

You never did end up using the knife that night–or at all. Joel whispered for you to stay back while he surveyed the scene and you anxiously picked at your fingers behind a tree until he came back, fresh blood staining his shirt and a careless nod.

“Let’s go. It’s all clear.”

And it was always like that.

Despite never needing to use your weapon or get into any real conflict, Joel was always hinting and preparing you for it. Each target practice, every hushed warning, and all those ‘what if’ plans were getting you ready for this very moment. 

He saw that innocence the very first moment he saw you, that determination to live despite the terrified look in your eyes. He knew–he hoped that if he repeated himself enough, despite how tough or unpleasant he had to be, that his voice would carry your body to fight even when your mind resisted.

And your mind was resisting.

That fateful moment, that fatal swing, the way Liz cried and screamed for her husband, reaching in the air towards him, but cowered in fear in the doorway as something outside of you, outside of your control, slashed her husband in the very room they slept. 

Your eyes were glued shut, unable to open if you even tried, like your mind was censoring a sight it knew you didn’t want to see. Maybe it was the promise you made to Joel, a completion of the plan that had driven you to strike, maybe it was his words that subconsciously trained you to be a merciless killer just like him–a skill you had seen him effortlessly perfect and shamelessly rely on–or maybe it was all you in blind anger and fear that acted in taking this man's life.

Even though this was the world you lived in now–one where killing was frequent and necessary, death always looming around each corner–it wasn’t the one you grew up in.

It was a world that went still when your classmate in the first grade, Daniel Rodruiguez, went missing and was found dead the next morning. A world that honored Daniel each year over the school’s loudspeakers and with a memorial in town that was always covered with photos, toys, and flowers. You had seen glimpses of that world sometimes–graves with the remnants of flowers and some sort of makeshift headstone or cross–it always made you think of Daniel and sometimes the twisted thought that you were glad he was dead and didn’t have to be here in this awful new world, body covered in blood like a scene from Carrie. Sometimes you were even a little envious of Daniel.

Especially in times like this.

Because Daniel didn’t have to make choices like the one coming at you, full speed like you were standing on railroad tracks and the train was inches away from your face. In your shock, the faded memory of Daniel and of that night in the woods played like one of those movies of your life that people say they see before they die–and honestly, it felt like you were the one dying.

Liz had collected herself–or completely shattered in front of you–and grabbed Joel’s gun that was hidden in the nightstand. Her eyes were wide, puffy, and red, her hands shaking around the handle, weighed down uncomfortably as if she had never held a gun before–she probably never had–your actions being the fuse to her lapse in character.

“What have you done?” she shrieked, gun aimed directly at you.

You looked up at her, mind blank. Because what had you done? Sure, it was self defense and that conversation you overheard couldn’t have been any clearer on their intentions, but the guilt that hung heavy in your chest told you otherwise. It told you that you were a killer, a ruthless being that murdered a husband in front of his wife without a second's thought. 

There was a clomping sound down the hallway, that grand door making its familiar echoing creak, and for a second you forgot Joel was actually here and not just a voice guiding you in your mind. His footsteps were unusually rushed as he made his way down the hall, abandoning his usual stealthy technique in a frenzy. 

He was downstairs, successfully through the gate and rummaging around for keys, picking any lock he could find when he heard a thumping. His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t stop his search–with two gas cans and a duffle bag of emergency supplies, he was so close to being out of here. You would be able to handle it.

It was uncomfortably quiet for a moment and he almost decided once again to abandon ship and rush upstairs, but the thudding continued again and for some reason that comforted him–to know that there was some sort of fight happening, one that he was confident you could win or at least scuffle through for the time being. 

Then there was a scream.

A scream so loud that every instinct in Joel’s body was telling him to turn and run, that nothing but trouble could be around that noise and attracted to that noise. But he knew that you were also up there and possibly the one screaming.

Joel had automatically assumed that it was Liz screaming, but as he rushed up the stairs, he realized he had never heard a true, body chilling scream from you. He had vowed to keep you safe and that he did. So could have things gone so wrong the one time he left you? 

His feet weren’t taking him upstairs fast enough and his mind raced with guilt as he thought through the night. He had never found his gun downstairs where he expected it to be and your weapon being gone as well showed that these two were more prepared than he had expected. He felt sick, rage bubbling in his stomach for even thinking this plan was a good idea, for even putting you at risk like this.

A blinding light illuminated his destination at the end of the hallway, a looming lump of something hidden in the blurs of his vision laying out into the hall. Using the wall to guide him, his calloused fingers gripped the doorframe, knuckles turning white as he gasped at the scene.

That lump of something was Samuel’s legs and the blood that pooled around it and the rest of his limp body. On top of him, legs straddled around his waist, was you, hair soaked and matted, shielding his view of your face. He could see you were shaking, trembling like a leaf in the wind, hunched over his body with your arms outstretched over his face. He fought to keep himself grounded, using everything within him not to pull you from the scene, drive off in the truck, and forget about the whole thing, but the barrel of a gun–his gun–was staring him dead in the eyes.

Liz stood only a few feet away, hands not even on the trigger, the lack of confidence in her stance giving way to her distress. 

Joel warily lifted his hands to his head, palms splayed wide for her to see. “Woah there, I ain’t got a weapon, okay? But I’m sure you already know that.”

She didn’t waver, whether it was from some sort of confidence, anger, or pure shock, she stood her ground, gun still pointed right between his eyes.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” She screamed to no one in particular, her words crying loud enough to maybe reach the God she muttered to under her breath while clutching that cross necklace–the same one tangled around your fingers, coated with blood on Samuel’s neck. “Samuel was supposed to leave with me and none of this would have happened! I never wanted to leave Utah, I knew nothing good would come out of this! What have you done, what have you done, whathaveyoudone?”

Her whole body was trembling, the sounds of her shifting her weight audible against the floorboards, and the gun unsteadily swayed in front of Joel’s face. She kept blabbering on, her screams growing incoherent, her eyes glazing over with an unbridled fury. You had watched the scene unfold from the very moment Joel walked in, but something–maybe that subconscious Joel you always seemed to have crawling in the back of your mind–told you to keep still and wait. You weren’t quite sure what you were waiting for, your mind was still mostly blank while simultaneously being busier than a highway at rush hour, but for a split second, something flicked in Liz’s mind, like a moment of realization shared between the both of you, and you found what you were waiting for.

You hopped to your feet, the body that had just felt so heavy you couldn’t even lift your head, now weightless as you sprung towards her. Bloodied butter knife still clutched in your hands, you charged towards her, rushing to beat the clock, as her fingers scrambled for the trigger. Joel, almost as if he could read your every thought, ducked down the second you moved, and a bullet went flying through the wall behind him. 

Before she could fire off another shot, you had her tackled to the ground, more clear minded than the last time. At first, you took this levelheadedness as an advantage, but as soon as that gun slipped from her hands, clacking against the hardwood as you pushed it away, her face turned back to that helpless, distress gaze. 

The knife you once held so confidently felt slightly slack between your fingers, and for just a moment you both looked at each other human-to-human in a moment of pure survival. Stripped down to nothing but the situation in front of you–the story of how you got here, who this woman was, who you even were all void and irrelevant in your mind in this moment–only pure guilt and fear hung in the air between you two now, sloshing together in one big jumble of mixed emotions and decisions. 

Knife shakily held to her throat, just where it met her husband’s moments ago, blood dripped down to meet her necklace, pooling in the hollow of her neck. The movement didn’t come as swiftly to you as they did earlier, the jarring dullness of the knife making you sick as you barely applied pressure. 

Before you could even continue, there was a thick hand on the back of your neck, pulling you backwards and off of Liz. In the scurry, Joel had grabbed his gun that you had slid out into the hall, now back in its rightful place–confidently gripped between Joel’s fingers, steadily aimed with precision. 

His eyes–and gun–were focused on the woman on the floor, for a second you thought he was going to shoot her, and for a moment, he thought the same. You couldn’t decide if you wanted him to or not, but eventually after a long moment of collectively held breaths, he sighed and lowered his gun without a word. His eyes glazed over for a second, like his mind was replaying some distant memory, all three of you somewhere far off in your minds.

Then, he draped an arm over your shoulders, heavy with the weight of the room. He ushered you out into the hallway, stepping over Liz and shielding you from peering back at the sight. You leaned into his chest and were internally amused when he shifted his shoulders, blocking your view of the doorway like you would want to see that again, like it wasn’t already burned into your memory and playing on loop.

The descent downstairs was silent, not even the house daring to creak as you two walked into the basement. Joel kept his gun in the hand that was draped over your shoulder, the other grabbing a duffel bag and slinging it over his arm so he could carry the two gas canisters. Everything was set up on a table, so he could grab it without letting go of you–his silent way of reassuring you. 

A light buzzed above, flickering from time to time, filling the silence that hung between you two. It wasn’t necessarily an uncomfortable or awkward silence, no lingering tension needing to be filled, but rather a mutual understanding that the events of today were ones to be unspoken.

Eventually, Joel found the keys to the truck hanging on a small hook in the garage, the light even dimmer than in the basement. The truck was old and dusty, once a bright shade of red that caved to time and was now a sun faded orange tinted with rust. The silver handles were chipped and cracked, barely hanging on as Joel hauled the door open and lifted you inside, it wasn’t a necessarily tall truck, but with the way you leaned against him–the weight of your thoughts and body too much to bear–he figured you could use the support.

When he slid into the driver’s seat after piling items into the back, he clicked the keys into the ignition, the engine roaring to life. It had been years since you had heard or seen a functioning vehicle that wasn’t chasing after to kill you and you had forgotten how comforting the low hum of the engine was, the gravel crackling beneath the tires.

It took some effort, but the garage door creaked and hauled itself into a partially open position, the sound attracting loads of infected to the area. Typically you would have been terrified at the sight of that many infected, but it was all soon behind you as Joel pressed the gas, leaving the town in a cloud of dust. 

Tilting your head to the side mirror, there was still a small view of the old building–those pillars standing proud and unassuming of the horrors inside. The thin road ahead of you merged off onto a bumpy exit, one lined by trees and unattended signs that had vines creeping along the posts and grime coating the edges, leading to a more open highway that Joel had to weave through abandoned cars and random debris along the four lanes that led to the city. 

The truck ran smoothly, the excessively rumbly engine to be expected with a car this old and it was good noise to accompany the silence of the out of commission radio. The both of you drove for a while, mostly in silence other than basic comments about your surroundings.

“Look, there’s some horses.” The comment had surprised you at first, but as Joel slowed down the truck, there were a group of horses running around, playing amongst each other in the overgrown roads beneath the bridge you drove on. 

There was one horse, more distant than the rest, that sat beneath one of the trees that lined the road–a large oak tree whose branches hung over the powerlines and tangled between them–finding comfort in the shade it was resting, watching the rest of its group frolic about, not worrying about joining–knowing this wouldn’t be the last time they would all get to do this. 

You envied that horse.

Shaking that feeling from deep within your bones–that feeling of existential dread–you turned to Joel, his eyes waiting on yours while the truck stilled on the road. He let the moment linger, your eyes on his, his eyes on yours, while the clomping of hooves and whinnying and neighing of horses in delight rang through the windows you had just now realized were open.

Your breath stilled, for in that moment–for the first time since you stepped in that alleyway in that godforsaken town–you felt some sort of comfort, a feeling that everything was going to be okay.

When your eyes finally flickered away, his unyielding gaze too much to bear, he shifted back into drive and slowly took off again. He didn’t want to break whatever serenity that moment had caused, so he kept silent, not wanting to ruin the moment with his lack of way with words.

“Cows,” you had mumbled out next under your breath when you had caught a glimpse of a group of cows grazing in a field a little while later, the words had just slipped out, the only thing that made its way into your mind besides the couple, and that light down the hallway, and that stupid dress, and that godawful look on Liz’s face that just wouldn’t leave your mind.

Once again, the truck slowed to a halt, shifting into park as you admired the view. This time, you were merging onto an exit, some town you didn’t know the name of, but didn’t question how Joel knew just where to go, the means of your destination still uncomfortably vague. The roads were surrounded by a grass patch and some foliage, a group of spotted cows stood and lay alongside–one just a few feet from the truck.

There was some rummaging on Joel’s side of the car, but you didn’t care to look over your shoulder, the weight of the night unbearably heavy. The sunrise was rolling in, the peak of the morning coming to a start, and the early morning birds began to chirp their peaceful melody. 

Given the view, you should have felt at ease, some sort of peace, but the blood dried to every inch of your skin, itching, peeling, flaking, was not only uncomfortable, but a constant reminder of what you were running from in this truck. You felt like you hadn’t moved in ages, like the very thought of how to move was even too much for your body and so it had been permanently cemented to this seat, like you had been there forever and knew nothing but.

Noises of opening doors and rummaging through boxes blurred in the background, not even knowing if Joel was trying to talk to you, get you go somewhere–like you’d be much help anyway–you just focused on the cows and the yellows and blues and oranges that all melded together to create the sunrise. 

“C’mon, turn over here.”

His voice shocked you, but your body sat rigid, like it was aware of his presence before your mind. You weren’t sure when he had opened the door, or if he really did–maybe this was all some sort of daydream and he was still in the driver’s seat chugging along. You felt numb, nothing felt real, and that figure that might be Real Joel kept talking to you, but you couldn’t hear him anymore–his voice a distant echo.

He must have noticed that absent look on your face, the glaze over your eyes, because he gave up any attempt at words, knowing he wasn't getting through to you. Instead, he placed a warm hand on your thigh, centering you, grounding you, and bringing you back to reality from whatever far off place you had been in. 

The guilt and horror was eating you alive from the inside out, nipping away at each nerve, each fiber of your being until you sat there, a lifeless shell. It was brief, that quick electric shock that shot through your body and tingled in his absence, a feeling you hadn’t felt for a long time, one that brought you back to a time before all of this. He didn’t give you much time to think though, with a damp cloth in hand, he began (not so gently) scrubbing at your face.

One hand was placed firmly on the back of your head, his finger entangled with your hair as he supported your head. You leaned into his palm, putting most of the work on him, but he didn’t seem to mind, just kept that same rhythmic pace as he washed the blood from your skin. He worked quickly, not aiming for perfection, but his eyes diligently scanned your face, ears, neck, trying to get as much off as possible.

The warmth from his hand radiated through your body, that tingling sensation coming back each time he adjusted his grip. When he got to your ears, he clamped his fingers down harder, applying some more pressure as he grabbed you to tilt your head. His fingers, brushing the underside of your jaw surprised you and with a small huff of air you slightly jumped back.

He didn’t stop scrubbing, his eyes still focused on the side of your head. “You tell me if I’m hurtin’ you, okay?"

You hummed in response and kept your gaze low, more towards Joel’s shoes, so he couldn’t see the light tinge of pink on your cheeks. You didn’t like how you felt under his touch, the comfort it brought you before turning uncomfortable, making you squirm in your seat. It was like he was staring right through you without having to even look in your eyes and with each scrub of the cloth he was peeling back the layers of your skin until you sat beneath him, raw and real.

He had seen you at your lowest, hunched over a man, blood pooled along your skin and matting your hair, the breath taken from your lungs with deep heaving breaths, and not even the slightest look of remorse in your eyes. Sure, the guilt was eating you alive now, but in that moment you jumped without thinking, only to try and do it again–the conflict of your morals and survival instincts waging war in your mind. 

When the blood was mostly gone from your skin, only a reddish hue staining some crevices, the dried flakes still under your nails and clinging to your hair, you finally felt clean again. The dress you were wearing was completely dried now and there was so much blood on it that it seemed as if the dress was always that color, always that deepened brown, until you looked at the back and saw remnants of that emerald green peeking through.

Joel must have noticed you looking down at it because without skipping a beat he said, “I got some clothes for you in the back.” He paused for a moment, maybe hoping you would say something–give him some sort of approval. “I can drive somewhere better for you to change, but I thought you’d like to get out of that dress.”

You had never heard Joel talk so much at once, let alone fumble for words, but here he was, in front of you grasping at every word like if he said the wrong one it’d spit bullets through your skin. You felt bad, you truly did, the look on his face was something unreadable–a mix between guilt, regret, and grievance as if he had lost something or someone back in that house alongside Liz–his eyes screamed for a response, something to tell him you were alright, but your body physically couldn’t muster another word.

“Y’know you did the right thing,” he whispered, eyes shifting between somewhere on your face and the dashboard behind you. “Listen I…I don’t know what happened back there, but we had a plan and you went through with it. All I’m tryin’ to say is that if I were in your place I would have done the same thing…probably worse things.”

That last part came out so hushed that if you weren’t inches from his face, you wouldn’t have heard it. His muscles tensed and the arm that rested above you, leaning on the doorway, slapped the top of the truck with a loud bang. Backing away with a nod, you thought he was just going to round the truck and continue down the road, but instead, he warily outstretched his hand towards you. 

Confused, you tilted your head, but gently placed your hand in his, at least giving him the comfort of your company rather than your words. His much larger hand clasped yours gently, like you would shatter if he held any harder, and he led you towards one of the cows that lingered alongside the road.

With a loud huff through his nose, the cow seemed apprehensive at your presence, but despite your hesitation, Joel pulled you closer. 

“He ain’t gonna hurt ya,” he chuckled softly, moving his hand further up to encase your wrist, gently tugging your hand towards the cow’s nose. “They like bein’ scratched on their heads where they can’t reach.”

When your palm met the soft fur, your fingers instantly curled around his snout, scratching his nose as he nuzzled into your hand. The cow closed his eyes contently as your fingertips grazed along his fur, soon bringing both your hands up to cup his face. When you were done petting him, your hands now coated in oils and fur–a much more pleasant feeling compared to the blood–he let out another loud huff, this time followed by a moo as if he was saying “Thank you!”

The corners of your mouth twitched until they fully curled into a full smile, your hands eagerly going to pet the cow again. 

“You ever pet a cow before?” Joel’s voice sounded hesitant to be asking a question, not wanting to make you feel compelled to speak.

Without thinking though, you shook your head. “You’d think being from Indiana that I’d have more run-ins with ‘em, but I lived more in the city.”

Surprised you had answered beyond a nod, Joel cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets as he racked his brain for what to say next. He didn’t know why he had felt so pressed to speak, but something in the back of his mind kept telling him that this was his fault, the way you had broken into a million pieces right before him, and he was going to put you back together.

He wondered for a moment why you hadn’t mentioned you lived so close, and that conversation with Samuel earlier had him convinced you had ties to Missouri, but he knew better than to dig up the past–especially at a time like this. So, he stuck to what he knew, to keep to the present and what was currently keeping you more grounded than he knew how to get you.

“Had lotsa buddies with farms back in the day, they had some really beautiful animals. Knew a guy with one of ‘em big ol’ long-haired cows, she was real pretty.”

Joel had his hand trailing along the back of the cow, focusing intently on her while he dug back deep to that memory. You kept your eyes on him, picturing the animal alongside him, weaving your fingers deeper into the cow's coat to try and imagine such long fur.

It was then that you realized how grounded you were in the present, both your body and mind working for one cause while you actually focused on something currently happening instead of your mind buzzing back and forth through different events of the night. 

The sun was fully over the horizon now, sun spilling onto Joel’s face as he faced your direction, looking at the field. The morning light cast something softer across Joel’s face, maybe it was that early breeze or the peaceful twittering of birds that made him look so relaxed–his shoulders finally not held in that tensed hold, the wrinkles on his face slight and natural instead of being so creased and forced by his worried brow, and the corners of his lips twitched into that same carefree grin, but this time he didn’t wipe it away or try to hide it. The sight was a pleasant one and it made you want to imitate it as if just replicating his posture would make you feel the same comfort he displayed. 

You didn’t know what in the field had him so enraptured–maybe a couple of cows playing, some birds flying high in the sky, or just the picturesque sunrise–so turning around to see a plain grassy field with the sun too bright to see much of anything, you turned back in confusion. It was only then that you realized Joel hadn’t been looking back out at the field, but rather at you, finding comfort in the ease you both had in this moment–able to push back the events from that house for just a moment and relish in the present.

“Thank you,” you mumbled for nothing in particular.

You felt grateful for him in that moment, each electrifying touch, hushed word, and shared laugh brought you back to a comfort that was hard to find in this world. Joel didn’t question your words, only humming in response as he flicked his eyes away and back towards the truck, a silent question of if you were ready to go back.

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ @anoverwhelmingdin @lowrisemiller @iamawkwardandshy @lanadelray1989 @worlds-we-write @princess76179 (message me to be added or removed)

[tinytownn]

new chapter coming out soon !! shit gets crazy and im finally getting to my favorite part of this seriessss

the weight on my shoulders –

pt. iv - wife number five pt.1 series masterlist

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

word count: 3k

summary: joel gets caught in trouble, forcing him to flee the boston qz. a few days into his trip, he takes refuge in an abandoned shed where he finds you–scared, starving, and struggling to survive. despite his better judgement, he takes you with him on his journey.

content: violence and descriptions of death, pretty much no actual tlou lore (except the infected, joel's outbreak day events, and jackson), u and joel fight again (not sorry), age gap (27 and 49), slow burn??, mentions of religion??, no use of y/n

a/n: i'm backkkk !! this story didn't end up going as planned so ignore me while i change some of the masterlist around, but hopefully not feeling so confined to my original outline will allow for more frequent updates !! alsooo this shit is unedited as fuckkkk so apologies <33

September 17th, 2025 -

The air in the room had changed. What was once a feeling of homeliness, the sense of a slight comfort slipping over your shoulders that you hadn’t felt in ages melted into a thick, tense uneasy puddle at your feet. 

Samuel, completely oblivious to the change, blabbered on about whatever him and Joel were so happily chatting about moments before. Lingering talk of Tommy–who Joel had briefly mentioned to be his brother–and some sort of grand trip before the outbreak left a sour taste in your mouth. 

After weeks of prying about the mysterious destination you were headed towards did Joel finally cave in telling you about his brother. His words were short. Brief. As if the topic pained him to think about. Now, you knew that wasn’t true. You had heard him laughing, more content than you had ever seen him, talking about that subject with the very person he told you not to trust moments before.

His words now falling of deaf ears, Samuel quieted himself and began laying out the meat on the counter. Almost as if she could feel the tension slipping out into the hall, Liz reappeared, numerous bottles of hand-labeled seasonings balanced in her arms. Hip-to-hip with his wife, Samuel got to work, generously rubbing a concoction of seasonings onto the meat.

You tried to focus yourself on being useful, the pile of unpeeled potatoes lessening by the second. The bowl of skins in the sink overflowed now, but with that pressing feeling of Joel’s eyes boring into the back of your skull kept you from turning around to toss them. 

“You girls get along while we were away?” Samuel teased and you could see him playfully nudge Liz in your peripheral. “Smells great up here already. Seems like you two make a great cooking duo, hmm?”

Liz hummed in response, walking over to the sink to grab the bowl of peeled potatoes. 

“S’nice to have some company ‘round here,” Liz said softly, eyes flickering to you for just a moment. “Too bad they can’t stay for much longer.”

She poured the potatoes into a pot of boiling water on the stove, droplets of excess water sizzling in the flame. Now left with nothing to occupy your hands, you hesitantly turned to the group, back against the ledge of the sink. As expected, Joel was staring at you, trying to gauge any sort of emotion your body would tell him. 

“We should probably get goin’ right after dinner,” Joel started, eyes still on you. “Give us a chance to find somewhere before it gets dark.”

Samuel scoffed from his place at the counter. “That’s ridiculous, you can always stay here for the night. There’s no use n’tryin’ to find your way around the dark. You’re jus’ askin’ to get killed.”

You could see the contemplation on Joel’s face. His brows scrunched together, debating this man’s offer as if he wasn’t just buddy-buddy with him moments ago. Anger surged through you. All Joel had done today was bark commands at you, just to go and break his own rules.

Enough was enough.

“That sounds great,” you sang, trying to cover up the bitterness that seeped in your tone.

If his eyes weren’t already on you, they were now. This was probably the first time all night you had dared to speak to Samuel–exactly what Joel had told you not to do. But consequences didn’t matter anymore, not when he got to play by his own rules.

Joel’s lips parted, jaw slack in shock for a split second. With a pensive hand, he scratched through his beard, a scowl hidden beneath his palm. 

The couple was shocked as well. Liz’s face had turned beet red, only to dip her face deep within the steam erupting from the pot to cover it up. Samuel had turned on his heel, face joyous as ever, hands clapping in agreement.

“Then it’s settled!” Without giving Joel a moment to protest, Samuel hopped to his feet and rushed to the sink. “We’ll get the guest room set up down the hall for ya. And you two have got to join us for breakfast in the mornin’.”

Your stomach growled at the mention of breakfast. If dinner was this well prepared, you could only imagine what the morning had to bring. Memories of blueberry pancakes and bacon flooded your mind, a wave of nostalgia taking over.

“I’m not sure we can stay that long,” Joel interrupted. “We have a long day ahead of us. We’re already off schedule.”

Defeat was evident in his voice. His words had bite to them and you could feel his eyes piercing through you, but this wasn’t the angry Joel you knew. If he was truly mad, he would have dragged you out of there by the arm, knuckles turned white while he lectured you on how childish you were. 

But none of that was there.

He kept his distance, more than he ever did, especially in a situation like this. His eyes never left you, carrying this glint of something almost like an apology–altough you know he’d never actually say it.

You wanted to snap back at him and you knew he could tell. Finally glancing over at him, those hazel eyes met yours, wide and waiting. Waiting for you to come back at him like you always did with that choked back sob and tears of frustration. Just so he would know everything was normal. That everything was okay.

But you never said anything.

Instead, Samuel placed his hands on the counter with a sigh. Liz stayed silent in the background, the sounds of meat sizzling on the stove occupying her focus, yet her ears stayed open.

“I know you’re off to see your brother…” Samuel’s gaze shifted, almost as if he was questioning his next words, like they would cross some boundary. “But I really think y’all should come back to Utah with us. I know I told you a little ‘bout the farm Joel, and you really seemed-”

Joel’s voice was rushed, but affirmative. “Samuel. Don’t.”

The man at the counter shook his head, glancing back at his wife who now stood frozen at the stove. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, shifting her weight from side-to-side while she twiddled with the wooden spoon in her hands. If you hadn’t been over there moments ago you would have thought she was cooking, but the pot she was stirring was completely empty, the potatoes now fully cooked and cooling on the counter.

“I’m not tryin’ to force you into anythin’, I just think it’d be somethin’ to sleep on.” His southern drawl grew deeper now, a slight desperation hinting in his voice. “Y’all just seem like nice folks and I’d hate to send you out there knowin’ what could happen. We have all sorts of houses like this and home cooked meals each night–it’s like nothin’ ever happ-”

“But things did happen, Samuel. You can’t just go on ignorin’ that. How do we know this place is safe? That this place can sustain resources?”

You could see the gears turning in Joel's brain, all the questions he wanted to ask. All the questions he never allowed you to ask him.

Samuel’s patience had worn thin, his tone sharp and heavy, a smile no longer on his face. “You think it can’t be safer than what’s out there? You must’ve lost your damn mind.” 

Liz’s head snapped the moment she heard her husband curse, the spoon clattering in the pot.

“Mind my manners, honey. It’s just…I can’t…we have a car.” A deep sigh escaped his lips and he looked up at Joel, an earnest look in his eyes. “We got enough gas to get us to at least the next safehouse in Indiana. I know Utah is further than where you’re tryin’ to go, but we got enough gas to make it the whole way. We could use people like you on the farm.”

Somewhere deep in his mind, Joel was contemplating. Samuel had such a way with words that now even Joel, if for just a split second, was debating going to Utah. In any other circumstances he would have declined immediately and left no room for debate. 

But things were different than how Joel painted them to seem.

Within the first few months of you trying to crack open the mystery that is Joel Miller, he gave you very limited knowledge of his situation. Only filling in the gaps where they applied to you, a basic outline of your destination had been splayed out: Joel had a brother named Tommy who lived in a community in Wyoming. Seemed simple enough.

What Joel had left out though, and what secretly kept him up at night, was a different story. Four years ago when the brothers had split, contact was very limited. It was only within the past few months that Tommy had been able to get word through to Joel that he was even alive. He had briefly mentioned some sort of group that was planning the beginnings of a town and how things were looking promising. With barely a city or county to go by, Joel only had the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket and whatever hope was left to help him find whatever possible camp his brother wrote him about. So now, with no real promise of there even being a town in Wyoming, Samuel’s offer didn’t seem too bad.

The silence in the room was thick. Clinking of dishes in the cabinet stole your attention from Joel, who sat in an introspective reclusion. Samuel grabbed four plates, lining them onto the counter where Liz began to lay out food.

One final fleeting gaze hung between you and Samuel, a desperate last attempt clinging to the air around you. “There’s enough gas here to get us to Missouri. You can at least ride with us ‘till then and decide.”

“Okay,” biting the inside of his cheek raw, Joel didn’t dare meet your gaze, his voice almost a whisper. “We’ll ride to Missouri, but I make no promises other than that. You hear me?”

“Understood.”

Your breath caught in your throat, a tight, squeezing grip on your vocal chords as you coughed out a surprised gasp. All heads turned towards you, even Joel’s now. Three pairs of eyes on you as you tried to grasp the situation.

“Missouri? What town?”

Samuel’s brows scrunched in confusion, but didn’t question anything as he ran a hand down the leg of his jeans. 

Clicking his tongue, he turned to Liz. “Can’t remember the exact town name, but it’s further north–near Kirksville.”

Liz nodded in agreement, loading a heaping serving of vegetables on her husband’s plate. “You from there or somethin’?” he continued.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Your mind was in a battle between truth and lie. There was nothing essentially wrong with where you had come from, but the memories tied to how you had left were long behind you now. And you wanted to keep it that way.

It was only then that Liz spoke up, a sharp wave of the tongs hitting his wrist. “Don’t be nosy Samuel. You can’t just ask things like that anymore.” Her voice was hushed, still filled with that quiet urgency.

“Pardon my manners, darlin’,” the shift in his tone was slight, but noticeable, smoothed over sweet like honey as he sauntered over to you. “I jus’ figured we’ll be spendin’ a lot of time together, might as well get to know each other.”

Fingertips met your waist, causing you to tense up and take a step back. Your eyes flickered to Liz for reassurance, some sort of semblance that you were overreacting. Her eyes however, were glued to where her husband’s fingers chased after the curve of your waist, an unmistakable rage hidden beneath her silence.

Then, something like a smirk, carved deep and smug into Samuel’s face, tugged at his lips. His eyes flickered to Joel for a moment and you followed suit. You could see his teeth digging into his cheek, gnawing like a dog fervently waiting to attack, and his knuckles gripped heavy into the back post of the dining chair, grounding himself from pouncing on Samuel that very moment.

It was obvious you were uncomfortable, keeping your distance the entire night, backing away from any physical contact, but he urged on without second thought now. 

“Joel and I had a nice conversation earlier,” his tone was cocky, but that cheery smile did its job at sweetening his words. “Thought we could continue over dinner.”

–

Dinner was tense. The table spanned the length of the room, a once grand cloth lay over it, now tattered and faded. A deep burgundy filled the fabric, a velvety pattern hidden within the stitching, and a yellow tassel skirt at the bottom. Ten chairs total sat proudly around the table, most belonging to the original set with matching burgundy cushions, but three miscellaneous chairs filled the spots where some had gone missing. 

The material was scratchy against your skin each time your fingers dipped beneath the table to fidget with your dress. You and Joel sat next to each other, the other couple across from you, Liz thankfully on your side.

Conversation was filled with tense talk of the farm and some underlying religious questions–mainly targeted towards you.

“Did you go to church growin’ up?” Samuel asked, smiling bright and cheery as he popped another bite into his mouth.

You shrugged, feeling tense thinking about your life before the outbreak, “Wasn’t really my thing I guess.”

It was slight, but his chewing stilled for just a moment and his smile twitched into a frown. Just as quickly as it happened though, he was right back to his usual grin. 

“Well, we’ve got a great community back in Utah. Faith is a great thing to have in times like these, maybe it’ll turn into ‘your thing.’”

Joel surprisingly didn’t say much. Unfortunately leaving most of the conversation to you and Samuel. The moments of silence you did get, or times you couldn’t stand Samuel’s unsettling eye contact, you got a glance of the man that had suddenly gone mute. He poked at the food on his plate barely having touched it even when Liz cleared the table. His brow was furrowed, but not in that tight and angry way he usually did, something softer–more contemplative. It was like he wasn’t even listening to the conversation, but rather an entirely different one that he was having with himself in his head.

You couldn’t exactly place what he was thinking, but the thought stuck with you. Samuel’s instant questioning didn’t give you much time to dwell on it though. Between huffed out answers and bites of food, you would catch a glimpse of Liz who had mainly stayed quiet throughout dinner. Her nostrils were flared, her cutlery scraping violently against the dishes as she scarfed down her food without a word–things between the couple seemed suddenly tense.

Dinner passed by in a frenzied blur, most of the events clouded by a sickening anxiety, and the couple waved you off to your room assuring you that: “You’re our guests! Guests don’t do dishes!”

It was nearing midnight now, and to conserve power, Samuel had shut off the lights upstairs. Only lanterns in a far off bathroom and bedroom illuminated the creaking hall, the end nowhere in sight. So even though the night’s interactions had mostly been compiled of angry stares, lies, and tense conversation, you stood jarringly close to Joel on your way down the hallway.

“Only the third door on the right!” Liz had said before retreating to the kitchen.

The directions seemed simple then, but three doors down this hallways felt like an eternity. And the man next to you, silent and dreary, was not helping.

His foul mood was evident, shoulders hunched over and a look on his face that could kill a man with one sharp stare. His feet dragged along the hardwood, the planks wailing under his weight. Every step, each sighing breath, it was all putting you on edge.

You hadn’t even made it but ten steps down the hall when you finally broke the silence.

“This whole situation…it’s like–this is all really fucking weird to you too, right?” Your words came out in one jumbled gasp. 

Although he had started it, both of your actions had led to the results of tonight–the things you had both agreed to. A combination of broken promises and petty getback left you with an outcome that left an uneasy feeling in your stomach.

The moment you had agreed to go to Utah something in the air, in the whole house, had changed. Even though you still had the chance to leave, it felt like the doors were locked, the walls were closing in on you, and the floor was crumbling beneath your feet. That first flicker in Samuel’s eye, that cocky grin, his whole demeanor change, rang alarms in your head that something was off.

“I’m not likin’ this either,” Joel said softly, his voice shaken.

You stopped, the darkness of the hallway consuming you. Joel’s footsteps stopped as well, standing right in front of you, you could hear his breathing. Only a faint outline of him could be made out in the dark. His arms were tense, head darting back and forth trying to find anywhere else to look other than forwards despite the room being so dark.

The next words hung stubbornly in your throat, like saying them would erase any chance at unpacking what had happened earlier. You bit your lip, thinking about not even saying it at all, giving into the situation you had gotten yourself into and seeing how it played out. But your stomach churned at the thought of waking up here tomorrow morning–if you would wake up.

“What do we do?”

Your words hung in an uncomfortable silence for a while. One that almost made you regret saying anything to begin with.

The only recognition Joel even heard you was through the sounds of his foot tapping against the ground and the scratching of denim beneath his fingernails–key signs he was formulating some sort of plan.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “I think I can get us out of here…if you’re up for somethin’ a little risky.”

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ @anoverwhelmingdin @lowrisemiller @iamawkwardandshy @lanadelray1989 @worlds-we-write (message me to be added or removed)

[tinytownn]

the weight on my shoulders –

pt. iv - wife number five pt.1 series masterlist

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

word count: 3k

summary: joel gets caught in trouble, forcing him to flee the boston qz. a few days into his trip, he takes refuge in an abandoned shed where he finds you–scared, starving, and struggling to survive. despite his better judgement, he takes you with him on his journey.

content: violence and descriptions of death, pretty much no actual tlou lore (except the infected, joel's outbreak day events, and jackson), u and joel fight again (not sorry), age gap (27 and 49), slow burn??, mentions of religion??, no use of y/n

a/n: i'm backkkk !! this story didn't end up going as planned so ignore me while i change some of the masterlist around, but hopefully not feeling so confined to my original outline will allow for more frequent updates !! alsooo this shit is unedited as fuckkkk so apologies <33

September 17th, 2025 -

The air in the room had changed. What was once a feeling of homeliness, the sense of a slight comfort slipping over your shoulders that you hadn’t felt in ages melted into a thick, tense uneasy puddle at your feet. 

Samuel, completely oblivious to the change, blabbered on about whatever him and Joel were so happily chatting about moments before. Lingering talk of Tommy–who Joel had briefly mentioned to be his brother–and some sort of grand trip before the outbreak left a sour taste in your mouth. 

After weeks of prying about the mysterious destination you were headed towards did Joel finally cave in telling you about his brother. His words were short. Brief. As if the topic pained him to think about. Now, you knew that wasn’t true. You had heard him laughing, more content than you had ever seen him, talking about that subject with the very person he told you not to trust moments before.

His words now falling of deaf ears, Samuel quieted himself and began laying out the meat on the counter. Almost as if she could feel the tension slipping out into the hall, Liz reappeared, numerous bottles of hand-labeled seasonings balanced in her arms. Hip-to-hip with his wife, Samuel got to work, generously rubbing a concoction of seasonings onto the meat.

You tried to focus yourself on being useful, the pile of unpeeled potatoes lessening by the second. The bowl of skins in the sink overflowed now, but with that pressing feeling of Joel’s eyes boring into the back of your skull kept you from turning around to toss them. 

“You girls get along while we were away?” Samuel teased and you could see him playfully nudge Liz in your peripheral. “Smells great up here already. Seems like you two make a great cooking duo, hmm?”

Liz hummed in response, walking over to the sink to grab the bowl of peeled potatoes. 

“S’nice to have some company ‘round here,” Liz said softly, eyes flickering to you for just a moment. “Too bad they can’t stay for much longer.”

She poured the potatoes into a pot of boiling water on the stove, droplets of excess water sizzling in the flame. Now left with nothing to occupy your hands, you hesitantly turned to the group, back against the ledge of the sink. As expected, Joel was staring at you, trying to gauge any sort of emotion your body would tell him. 

“We should probably get goin’ right after dinner,” Joel started, eyes still on you. “Give us a chance to find somewhere before it gets dark.”

Samuel scoffed from his place at the counter. “That’s ridiculous, you can always stay here for the night. There’s no use n’tryin’ to find your way around the dark. You’re jus’ askin’ to get killed.”

You could see the contemplation on Joel’s face. His brows scrunched together, debating this man’s offer as if he wasn’t just buddy-buddy with him moments ago. Anger surged through you. All Joel had done today was bark commands at you, just to go and break his own rules.

Enough was enough.

“That sounds great,” you sang, trying to cover up the bitterness that seeped in your tone.

If his eyes weren’t already on you, they were now. This was probably the first time all night you had dared to speak to Samuel–exactly what Joel had told you not to do. But consequences didn’t matter anymore, not when he got to play by his own rules.

Joel’s lips parted, jaw slack in shock for a split second. With a pensive hand, he scratched through his beard, a scowl hidden beneath his palm. 

The couple was shocked as well. Liz’s face had turned beet red, only to dip her face deep within the steam erupting from the pot to cover it up. Samuel had turned on his heel, face joyous as ever, hands clapping in agreement.

“Then it’s settled!” Without giving Joel a moment to protest, Samuel hopped to his feet and rushed to the sink. “We’ll get the guest room set up down the hall for ya. And you two have got to join us for breakfast in the mornin’.”

Your stomach growled at the mention of breakfast. If dinner was this well prepared, you could only imagine what the morning had to bring. Memories of blueberry pancakes and bacon flooded your mind, a wave of nostalgia taking over.

“I’m not sure we can stay that long,” Joel interrupted. “We have a long day ahead of us. We’re already off schedule.”

Defeat was evident in his voice. His words had bite to them and you could feel his eyes piercing through you, but this wasn’t the angry Joel you knew. If he was truly mad, he would have dragged you out of there by the arm, knuckles turned white while he lectured you on how childish you were. 

But none of that was there.

He kept his distance, more than he ever did, especially in a situation like this. His eyes never left you, carrying this glint of something almost like an apology–altough you know he’d never actually say it.

You wanted to snap back at him and you knew he could tell. Finally glancing over at him, those hazel eyes met yours, wide and waiting. Waiting for you to come back at him like you always did with that choked back sob and tears of frustration. Just so he would know everything was normal. That everything was okay.

But you never said anything.

Instead, Samuel placed his hands on the counter with a sigh. Liz stayed silent in the background, the sounds of meat sizzling on the stove occupying her focus, yet her ears stayed open.

“I know you’re off to see your brother…” Samuel’s gaze shifted, almost as if he was questioning his next words, like they would cross some boundary. “But I really think y’all should come back to Utah with us. I know I told you a little ‘bout the farm Joel, and you really seemed-”

Joel’s voice was rushed, but affirmative. “Samuel. Don’t.”

The man at the counter shook his head, glancing back at his wife who now stood frozen at the stove. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, shifting her weight from side-to-side while she twiddled with the wooden spoon in her hands. If you hadn’t been over there moments ago you would have thought she was cooking, but the pot she was stirring was completely empty, the potatoes now fully cooked and cooling on the counter.

“I’m not tryin’ to force you into anythin’, I just think it’d be somethin’ to sleep on.” His southern drawl grew deeper now, a slight desperation hinting in his voice. “Y’all just seem like nice folks and I’d hate to send you out there knowin’ what could happen. We have all sorts of houses like this and home cooked meals each night–it’s like nothin’ ever happ-”

“But things did happen, Samuel. You can’t just go on ignorin’ that. How do we know this place is safe? That this place can sustain resources?”

You could see the gears turning in Joel's brain, all the questions he wanted to ask. All the questions he never allowed you to ask him.

Samuel’s patience had worn thin, his tone sharp and heavy, a smile no longer on his face. “You think it can’t be safer than what’s out there? You must’ve lost your damn mind.” 

Liz’s head snapped the moment she heard her husband curse, the spoon clattering in the pot.

“Mind my manners, honey. It’s just…I can’t…we have a car.” A deep sigh escaped his lips and he looked up at Joel, an earnest look in his eyes. “We got enough gas to get us to at least the next safehouse in Indiana. I know Utah is further than where you’re tryin’ to go, but we got enough gas to make it the whole way. We could use people like you on the farm.”

Somewhere deep in his mind, Joel was contemplating. Samuel had such a way with words that now even Joel, if for just a split second, was debating going to Utah. In any other circumstances he would have declined immediately and left no room for debate. 

But things were different than how Joel painted them to seem.

Within the first few months of you trying to crack open the mystery that is Joel Miller, he gave you very limited knowledge of his situation. Only filling in the gaps where they applied to you, a basic outline of your destination had been splayed out: Joel had a brother named Tommy who lived in a community in Wyoming. Seemed simple enough.

What Joel had left out though, and what secretly kept him up at night, was a different story. Four years ago when the brothers had split, contact was very limited. It was only within the past few months that Tommy had been able to get word through to Joel that he was even alive. He had briefly mentioned some sort of group that was planning the beginnings of a town and how things were looking promising. With barely a city or county to go by, Joel only had the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket and whatever hope was left to help him find whatever possible camp his brother wrote him about. So now, with no real promise of there even being a town in Wyoming, Samuel’s offer didn’t seem too bad.

The silence in the room was thick. Clinking of dishes in the cabinet stole your attention from Joel, who sat in an introspective reclusion. Samuel grabbed four plates, lining them onto the counter where Liz began to lay out food.

One final fleeting gaze hung between you and Samuel, a desperate last attempt clinging to the air around you. “There’s enough gas here to get us to Missouri. You can at least ride with us ‘till then and decide.”

“Okay,” biting the inside of his cheek raw, Joel didn’t dare meet your gaze, his voice almost a whisper. “We’ll ride to Missouri, but I make no promises other than that. You hear me?”

“Understood.”

Your breath caught in your throat, a tight, squeezing grip on your vocal chords as you coughed out a surprised gasp. All heads turned towards you, even Joel’s now. Three pairs of eyes on you as you tried to grasp the situation.

“Missouri? What town?”

Samuel’s brows scrunched in confusion, but didn’t question anything as he ran a hand down the leg of his jeans. 

Clicking his tongue, he turned to Liz. “Can’t remember the exact town name, but it’s further north–near Kirksville.”

Liz nodded in agreement, loading a heaping serving of vegetables on her husband’s plate. “You from there or somethin’?” he continued.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Your mind was in a battle between truth and lie. There was nothing essentially wrong with where you had come from, but the memories tied to how you had left were long behind you now. And you wanted to keep it that way.

It was only then that Liz spoke up, a sharp wave of the tongs hitting his wrist. “Don’t be nosy Samuel. You can’t just ask things like that anymore.” Her voice was hushed, still filled with that quiet urgency.

“Pardon my manners, darlin’,” the shift in his tone was slight, but noticeable, smoothed over sweet like honey as he sauntered over to you. “I jus’ figured we’ll be spendin’ a lot of time together, might as well get to know each other.”

Fingertips met your waist, causing you to tense up and take a step back. Your eyes flickered to Liz for reassurance, some sort of semblance that you were overreacting. Her eyes however, were glued to where her husband’s fingers chased after the curve of your waist, an unmistakable rage hidden beneath her silence.

Then, something like a smirk, carved deep and smug into Samuel’s face, tugged at his lips. His eyes flickered to Joel for a moment and you followed suit. You could see his teeth digging into his cheek, gnawing like a dog fervently waiting to attack, and his knuckles gripped heavy into the back post of the dining chair, grounding himself from pouncing on Samuel that very moment.

It was obvious you were uncomfortable, keeping your distance the entire night, backing away from any physical contact, but he urged on without second thought now. 

“Joel and I had a nice conversation earlier,” his tone was cocky, but that cheery smile did its job at sweetening his words. “Thought we could continue over dinner.”

–

Dinner was tense. The table spanned the length of the room, a once grand cloth lay over it, now tattered and faded. A deep burgundy filled the fabric, a velvety pattern hidden within the stitching, and a yellow tassel skirt at the bottom. Ten chairs total sat proudly around the table, most belonging to the original set with matching burgundy cushions, but three miscellaneous chairs filled the spots where some had gone missing. 

The material was scratchy against your skin each time your fingers dipped beneath the table to fidget with your dress. You and Joel sat next to each other, the other couple across from you, Liz thankfully on your side.

Conversation was filled with tense talk of the farm and some underlying religious questions–mainly targeted towards you.

“Did you go to church growin’ up?” Samuel asked, smiling bright and cheery as he popped another bite into his mouth.

You shrugged, feeling tense thinking about your life before the outbreak, “Wasn’t really my thing I guess.”

It was slight, but his chewing stilled for just a moment and his smile twitched into a frown. Just as quickly as it happened though, he was right back to his usual grin. 

“Well, we’ve got a great community back in Utah. Faith is a great thing to have in times like these, maybe it’ll turn into ‘your thing.’”

Joel surprisingly didn’t say much. Unfortunately leaving most of the conversation to you and Samuel. The moments of silence you did get, or times you couldn’t stand Samuel’s unsettling eye contact, you got a glance of the man that had suddenly gone mute. He poked at the food on his plate barely having touched it even when Liz cleared the table. His brow was furrowed, but not in that tight and angry way he usually did, something softer–more contemplative. It was like he wasn’t even listening to the conversation, but rather an entirely different one that he was having with himself in his head.

You couldn’t exactly place what he was thinking, but the thought stuck with you. Samuel’s instant questioning didn’t give you much time to dwell on it though. Between huffed out answers and bites of food, you would catch a glimpse of Liz who had mainly stayed quiet throughout dinner. Her nostrils were flared, her cutlery scraping violently against the dishes as she scarfed down her food without a word–things between the couple seemed suddenly tense.

Dinner passed by in a frenzied blur, most of the events clouded by a sickening anxiety, and the couple waved you off to your room assuring you that: “You’re our guests! Guests don’t do dishes!”

It was nearing midnight now, and to conserve power, Samuel had shut off the lights upstairs. Only lanterns in a far off bathroom and bedroom illuminated the creaking hall, the end nowhere in sight. So even though the night’s interactions had mostly been compiled of angry stares, lies, and tense conversation, you stood jarringly close to Joel on your way down the hallway.

“Only the third door on the right!” Liz had said before retreating to the kitchen.

The directions seemed simple then, but three doors down this hallways felt like an eternity. And the man next to you, silent and dreary, was not helping.

His foul mood was evident, shoulders hunched over and a look on his face that could kill a man with one sharp stare. His feet dragged along the hardwood, the planks wailing under his weight. Every step, each sighing breath, it was all putting you on edge.

You hadn’t even made it but ten steps down the hall when you finally broke the silence.

“This whole situation…it’s like–this is all really fucking weird to you too, right?” Your words came out in one jumbled gasp. 

Although he had started it, both of your actions had led to the results of tonight–the things you had both agreed to. A combination of broken promises and petty getback left you with an outcome that left an uneasy feeling in your stomach.

The moment you had agreed to go to Utah something in the air, in the whole house, had changed. Even though you still had the chance to leave, it felt like the doors were locked, the walls were closing in on you, and the floor was crumbling beneath your feet. That first flicker in Samuel’s eye, that cocky grin, his whole demeanor change, rang alarms in your head that something was off.

“I’m not likin’ this either,” Joel said softly, his voice shaken.

You stopped, the darkness of the hallway consuming you. Joel’s footsteps stopped as well, standing right in front of you, you could hear his breathing. Only a faint outline of him could be made out in the dark. His arms were tense, head darting back and forth trying to find anywhere else to look other than forwards despite the room being so dark.

The next words hung stubbornly in your throat, like saying them would erase any chance at unpacking what had happened earlier. You bit your lip, thinking about not even saying it at all, giving into the situation you had gotten yourself into and seeing how it played out. But your stomach churned at the thought of waking up here tomorrow morning–if you would wake up.

“What do we do?”

Your words hung in an uncomfortable silence for a while. One that almost made you regret saying anything to begin with.

The only recognition Joel even heard you was through the sounds of his foot tapping against the ground and the scratching of denim beneath his fingernails–key signs he was formulating some sort of plan.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “I think I can get us out of here…if you’re up for somethin’ a little risky.”

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ @anoverwhelmingdin @lowrisemiller @iamawkwardandshy @lanadelray1989 @worlds-we-write (message me to be added or removed)

[tinytownn]

okok soooo after the really long chapter last time, i've been really struggling with how i want the rest of this story to be written. i had the chapters planned out in a specific way, but things got shifted around a little bit and this part is longer than i thought...finally i came up with a solution to just make this next chapter have two parts so i don't feel so unorganized and all over the place like i did last time.

sooo if things look different, that's why! and i hope to be less overwhelmed since i won't have to fit so much into one chapter

[tinytownn]

AFTER A MONTH THE NEW CHAPTER IS OUTTTTT !!!! I finally gave you guys like four pages of you and Joel actually getting along so enjoy it while it lasts lol

the weight on my shoulders –

series masterlist

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

i. what would you do for a granola bar?

ii. time heals all wounds

iii. gossip girl (no…like please go piss girl)

iv. wife number five

v. home sweet home

vi. i know a spot.../weeping under the willow

vii. a bad case of man flu

viii. reader…there’s a girl behind you

ix. rejection therapy

x. reason #2,673 not to yell in the apocalypse 

xi. the weight on his shoulders

i have no words...don’t be fooled by the chapter names, they’re so unserious to deceive you lmaooo (and counteract how fucking sad this made me)

[tinytownn]

the weight on my shoulders –

pt. iii - gossip girl (no...like please go piss girl) series masterlist

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

word count: 12.5k

summary: joel gets caught in trouble, forcing him to flee the boston qz. a few days into his trip, he takes refuge in an abandoned shed where he finds you–scared, starving, and struggling to survive. despite his better judgement, he takes you with him on his journey.

content: violence and descriptions of death, pretty much no actual tlou lore (except the infected, joel's outbreak day events, and jackson), u and joel fight again (not sorry), age gap (27 and 49), slow burn??, mentions of abuse???, no use of y/n

a/n: so...after a month i return!! this chapter is pretty long, but very lightly edited. sorry about that...if i looked at this piece any harder i would have just scrapped it again. it's kind of all over the place and i hate it but i have better parts coming so i just need to truck thru

August 3rd, 2025 -

Something within that tiny corner store on the outskirts of New York softened something between the two of you. Conversation flowed, as much as it could for someone like Joel, his thick and gravelly voice something you became accustomed to. Occasionally, if you caught him on a good day, you would be able to pull a small laugh from his lips that he’d quickly brush away with a pensive hand. 

Your arguments, however, were still as harsh and unforeseen as the last. The proximity of your opposing personalities sometimes drove a wedge between you–Joel’s anger and distrust for the world mixed with your hopeful innocence led to some differences.

He tried to be patient though. 

Instead of resigning to his usual bids of silence, leaving you anxious and bitter for days, he would attempt to reason with you. He opted to explain his discernment, never going into great detail, but sharing enough to know he’s lived enough life for the both of you.

So, slowly throughout the following months, you began to trust his judgment, and followed his lead more than you already had. He had done more than enough to prove he knew his way around–hunted and scavenged for food, knew the best routes to avoid infected, and was strong enough to handle anyone you encountered. 

You had willingly put your life in Joel’s hands from the beginning, but now he fully had your trust too.

The journey hadn’t been all smooth sailing though. Joel seemed to be in a better mood–whatever had happened before you met slowly began to slip off his shoulders. However, the change in atmosphere didn’t dull his survival instincts. Each person you passed, while not many, immediately received a scowl from Joel. He was distrusting, almost hostile, towards anyone you passed. 

Sometimes though, it was for the better. 

Ducked low in the forest, somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania, it was a dull and dreary day, rain pouring down from above. You both walked, hunched through the trees, trying to gain whatever coverage you could. 

Suddenly, a rustling echoed through the forest. Before you could react, an arrow whizzed past your head, digging deep into the trunk of the tree beside you. You gasped, ducking to the side, and Joel’s arm instinctively pulled you to his side.

“Stay close,” he whispered, words barely audible over the downpour. “Be ready to run.”

It was the same simple words he always said. A short ritual of shared heartbeats and sweaty palms. Tense shoulders brushed against each other, sending a shiver down your spine, while you both carefully crunched through the leaves. 

Then, like a flash of lightning, a spark of navy blue rustling fabric shot out through the trees. You whipped your head to catch more than a glimpse of the stranger, but Joel was already ahead of you. His arm left your side, already bounding for the shadowy figure weaving through the brush. 

The sound of a windbreaker wooshed past branches, the fabric snagging and tearing, leaving behind a trail for you to follow. You were ways behind the two, Joel nearly catching up on their heels. Just as the person was about to take a turn, Joel lunged forward, tackling them to the ground.

There was a scuffle in the leaves, stray pine needles and mud sloshing beneath them. Staggered grunts and heaved breaths were the only thing heard from the two men wrestling on the ground. 

As you neared, attempting to catch your breath, you finally got a look at the stranger. Long, blond hair cascaded down the back of his neck, face covered in a messy scruff, and balancing on his nose was a crooked pair of glasses, the right lens cracked.

Joel loomed above him, heavy hand and a firm grip pinning him to the dirt. It was obvious that the crash had already taken a lot out of the men, but Joel persevered, pulling back his arm and following through with a swift punch to the cheek. The man wriggled defenselessly, only movements being an attempt to get away from Joel’s radiating anger.

“Motherfucker,” Joel growled, arm recoiling for another punch. “Why were you watching us?”

“I wasn’t,” the man gasped, eyes squeezing shut, awaiting Joel’s fist. “I swear! I was just passing by! I don’t want any trouble, please.”

“Bullshit,” Joel seethed, fist cracking against the man’s jaw. “You fucking shot at us!”

The noise made you cringe–knuckles against bone. A crack rang out, a cry and helpless whimpers leaving the man’s lips.

“Joel,” you said softly, afraid to disturb whatever beast had awoken in him. 

He didn’t move, knuckles turned white underneath the staining crimson. He gripped the stranger’s shoulders violently, like they would snap if he squeezed any harder. Pure rage flowed off of him, rendering the man underneath him speechless–even before his jaw hung slack from Joel’s punches.

“Joel,” you said more confidently this time–voice firm. “You don’t need to kill him.”

He didn’t even turn to you, a low growl leaving his lips. “Why shouldn’t I? A few inches to the left and that arrow would’ve shot you dead. I’m not leavin’ this bastard here still breathin’.”

Your eyes flicked between your shoes sloshing in the mud and the limp, whimpering body in the leaves. For just a second, your eyes met his, a deep, pleading stare piercing through your skull. Suddenly you felt nauseous, the sight of his mangled jaw and bloodied face too much to take in.  

“Joel, he doesn’t even have a bow,” you yelled, your feet bringing you towards him before you could even think. “I’m sure he’s learned his lesson.”

Hands outstretched, you pushed your palms into his steady shoulder, his hold on the man unyielding. You did little to move him physically, but your efforts snapped him out of whatever trance he was in.

He rose to his feet, the blood and mud caked heavy onto his clothes. Taking a look at the man beneath him, he saw that you were right. The only thing around his chest was the tattered windbreaker and stained white tee–no sign of a bow.

Guilt panged his heart for a moment, his brain leading him to wonder how cruel this world had really made him. But then, another arrow sliced through the air, just barely missing Joel as he stood up. 

Deeper in the woods, hidden behind a thick tree, stood a woman crouched in the shadows. She held a bow shakily in her hands, the quiver lazily strung across her back. 

Bang!

The familiar click of Joel’s gun rang out and your eyes shot to him. Before you could even blink, he pointed the gun to the ground, the man from before still laying in pain. Pulling the trigger, blood painted the forest–and your shoes. 

Your mouth hung open, there was such a deafening ringing in your ears, you didn’t know if you screamed or not. The man, now corpse, lay lifeless in the slush, the hole in his skull gushing out spurts of blood that made you sick. The same thick liquid–a mixture of mud, blood, and rain–covered your boots, oozing underneath them and sticking to the soles. 

Shock having taken over, Joel was far out of your sights before you could tear your eyes away from the scene. Another deafening gunshot pierced the air, your stomach dropping at the sound. 

Then, from through the trees, Joel emerged. Bloodied, but unscathed, he jammed the weapon back into his jeans pocket, wiping some blood off onto the denim. You stood frozen, unable to process everything that had just happened. 

It was all so quick–Joel pouncing on the man, the sound of his jaw cracking, and then as it all seemed to be ending, the moment of betrayal left Joel with one choice, and shockingly no hesitation.

You had always known him to be a man of action, but the icy stare the moment that second arrow shot out scared you. His jaw untensed, breaths evened out, and brow unfurrowed as if this brought him some sort of serenity–a precise, tactical rage that was both deadly and terrifying.

“Here,” Joel muttered, pushing something into your palms.

In your daze, focused on the corpse’s dead weight sinking into the earth, you didn’t notice the weapon in Joel’s hands. 

The sight sickened you.

In his bruised and bloodied hands he held a bow and quiver–the same one that woman held in her trembling hands. He pressed the leather strap of the bag into your hand, outstretching the weapons towards you.

“Figured you could use a weapon,” he said in response to your silence.

You took a step back, adjusting the straps of your backpack. “I figure I’ll be fine,” you mocked, a bite of anger in your tone. “Plus, I’m no good at shooting one anyway.”

That was a lie. In this world, you needed a weapon just to be able to fall asleep peacefully at night. But each glance at the bow repainted the picture of the previous owner cowered in fear as she met what could only be a nightmare inducing scowl from Joel.

“I don’t know what your fucking problem is,” he spat, slinging the bow over your head. “But I just saved your life. Now I’m not expectin’ no thank yous, but droppin’ the attitude would be nice.”

A tense silence filled the air. The same kind that always happened just before one of you and Joel’s arguments. The few moments while you questioned if you really wanted to push his temper–you always did.

“He was running away.” Thunder cracked out from above, rain pouring down even harder now. “You didn’t even bother to see that he had no weapons!”

Wiping a hand over his beard, he groaned, reaching for his backpack long discarded in the leaves. 

“Well his friend did,” he said, grunting as he pulled the arrow from the tree. “Or do you not remember this almost going through your skull?”

Harshly tugging the quiver at your side, he tossed the arrow inside. The bag thudded against your hip, the quills scratching against your arm as you struggled to match Joel’s quickening pace.

“You didn’t even try to talk to them. You just pounced on him…like one of those things.” 

Your words, laced with venom, made him freeze.

“If you want to go around making friends,” he paused for a moment, then resumed his steps to create some distance. “I’ll just let you get killed next time.”

This time it was you that froze. Rain fell heavy like bullets onto your skin, stripping away your flesh until you stood there completely vulnerable. 

Those words alone were like a death sentence. It wasn’t like you couldn’t fend for yourself, medical knowledge and basic survival skills became an ingrained part of everyday life in this new world. It was your innocent naivety that would be your demise–something that Joel didn’t have.

He kept you on a good path, having a sixth sense for danger and every corner it loomed. He had the confidence to know that he could protect not only himself, but you as well, without needing the help of others. He knew other people were far more dangerous than any infected could ever be.

And without him you probably would have been dead tonight.

August 16th, 2025 -

The following days had been painful. 

Despite the beginnings of opening up in the bodega, Pennsylvania had shown to be bringing nothing but bad omens. The state was filled with people, most of them looking for trouble, and after your first encounter in the woods you begrudgingly decided to let Joel take the lead.

Still, you slept with one eye open, not leaving the events of that night behind. Something about it stuck with you, that almost mechanical-like need to kill that filled him in that moment. The image of the man’s face–jaw unhinged, glass from his lenses piercing into his skin–stayed in your mind even in your sleep, dragging the days along slowly.

Joel noticed your shift in energy towards him. You honestly expected him to say nothing about it, taking your retraction as a blessing and bidding his usual vow of silence. The first week was awkward, Joel trying to fill the space with small talk and forced conversation, but the effort was there. Still, your anger raged on–mostly in some unrecognized way of being cautious. 

You figured after a week of brushing off his attempts at talking to you he would give it up. The next morning however, he woke you up with a gentle shake.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” he grinned slyly down at you, something held in his hand hidden behind his back.

The nickname made you huff out, both in embarrassment and frustration, wiping the sleep from your eyes. As usual, your makeshift pillow of sewn together tattered clothing left you neck stiff, a shock of pain only adding to your annoyance.

“I thought we were staying for another day?” you groaned, facing the man with pouted lips.

A few days ago, the two of you had settled in a small town. It was void of any life, or infected, the perfect spot to stay for a few days. Joel had decided the location of the town’s cinema–the most intact building. 

So, the two of you sat on the stained, red carpet of the grand entryway. The velvet ropes that usually formed that line were wrapped around the door handles–something that took Joel too much effort to cut through. Stale popcorn sat in the warmer, butter caked on the glass, and the drink machines reeked of mold and mildew. Above the lonely hallway where Joel had inspected each branching room, hung a black board filled with tattered lettering of the last movies played before the outbreak.

‘Fin ing N mo - 7:30 pm - Ro m 5’

‘Lord f th Rin s - 8:00    -  oo  7’

‘Hulk -  :00 - Room 3’

Reading the names washed a wave of nostalgia over you when you had first walked in, remembering each movie in vivid detail.

“That’s one thing I miss the most.”

Whipping your head around, Joel was behind you, watching you read off the film names. He had been off checking each theater, both for supplies and any lurking infected–you hadn’t expected him back so soon. 

“You liked movies?” you said, a slight surprise in your tone.

“Loved ‘em.” A slight smile twitched at his lips, a distant memory clouding his eyes.

It was odd. Ever since that night in the woods, Joel had been more avid than ever to start conversation. Whether he popped out from within the shadows, filled the empty space while you walked, or spoke to the darkness while you fell asleep, Joel would try to piece together some sort of conversation starter. It was mostly superficial, occasionally hinting at bits of his past life, but always quick to cover it up with rushed steps and a pensive hand across his chin. 

The way you met had put you both in an odd position, but the way Joel had acted throughout the months of knowing you was even odder. 

When his actions towards you were on the softer side–tending to your wounds, providing for you–his words were nothing but cold, his stares icy. But now that you had seen this side of him–violent, impulsive–it seemed like each word he said was calculated, smoothed over with honey. Like he was trying to give off a certain impression, convincing you, and himself, that he wasn’t a monster.

So now as he shook you awake, hands more gentle than ever, you didn’t buy it. If this was his true character, then he should have shown it to you before, not in some cruel attempt to cover up his actions with faux smiles and sappy nicknames.

“We are,” he said, voice low while he cautiously brought his hands from his back–the blood-stained bow now cleaned in his hands. “I just thought I could finally teach you how to use this thing. I’d feel a lot better sendin’ you out with a weapon in your hands.”

He stayed crouched beside you, shoulders tense, awaiting your response. 

The bow in his hands looked cleaned–brand new almost–like it had been rid of everything it had been through. The quiver laid on the ground behind him, the quills peeking out behind his boot, like a tempting wave.

His effort tugged at your heart, a softness in his gaze that almost seemed too real to be an act. You imagined him, deep in the night, washing away the blood, probably splintering himself in the process. 

Since he had first slung that wretched weapon around your shoulder you swore you could smell the stench of death wafting from it–although you knew it was impossible. But he had noticed and taken the time to try and scrub away the memories that haunted you–and unknowingly himself too.

“Sure.”

That was all you gave him with a simple nod as you rose to your feet. You didn’t take the bow from his hands, if you were even able to, just the sight of it made you uneasy. 

Joel stood alongside you, palms splayed across your back as he led you down the hallway. The red carpet grew more stained in the shadows, popcorn and drink cups strewn about, while he ushered you into theatre number seven.

The trip down the walkway was silent. You had fully expected him to bring you into the woods, shooting at some bottles on stumps, or some birds in the trees, not lead you into the depths of a dark and grimy theatre. As you rounded the corner though, a sliver of light caught your eye. A couple lanterns sat posted in the corners of the room, doing a decent job at giving the room a warm, comforting glow.

A display of cardboard cutouts and movie posters were placed at different heights along the torn screen in the front of the room. Jack Sparrow and his pirate crew were plastered in the middle, a cutout of Buddy the Elf standing proudly in the corner, and the shark from Nemo staring dauntingly from the bottom corner–barely visible.

You couldn’t help the laugh that left your lips, “What is all this?”

His lips curved into a playful smirk, once again offering you the bow.

“Target practice.”

“You’re kidding,” your tone was flat, but your face was anything but–a childlike smile on your face, eyes wide.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.” He lowered his head, removing the quiver from around his shoulders. “Pick a target and shoot. We’ll work from there.”

He walked towards you, closing the gap you had been purposefully creating for days. Carefully–almost as if he was waiting for you to push him away–he hung a wary hand near your head, the strap of the bag balancing on his forefinger. Then, when you didn’t flinch, he gently wrapped the leather around your shoulders, adjusting the quiver until it fit snugly against your back.

You couldn’t help the soft blush that warmed your cheeks as he worked–his soft breaths against your ear, arms wrapped around your body, fingers grazing your waist. It was a casual movement, one that didn’t come with much thought from him, but that didn’t stop your find from temporarily racing.

The fear, embarrassment, frustrations–every emotion you had towards this man crashing down on you in that one simple moment. You didn’t know anything about him–nor did he know a thing about you–but the months you had spent by his side were enough to pick away the important parts of him. You felt like you had some understanding of him, and in this moment you realized it was the same for him.

That discomforting feeling in your chest, the one that bubbled each night with crippling fear, you had thought it was fear of Joel at first–his rough demeanor and harsh words were nothing but unkind. But you had soon come to realize your fear and unwarranted anger towards him came from the harsh reality Joel faced you with: that you weren’t ready to survive in this world on your own.

“When did you do all of this?” you asked in awe, taking an arrow from the quiver.

Stepping to the side, Joel leaned back, taking a full view of your figure. You felt small beneath his gaze, uncertain in your movement as you clipped the quill to the string, pulling it back with all your strength.

“Took me a couple nights,” he mumbled softly to let you focus. “Those cases up front weren’t too difficult to crack open. I was afraid I’d wake you up gettin’ them open.” He let out a small chuckle, eyes still focused on your poor form. “You slept like a rock.”

Your fingers let go of the string, a burning sensation brushing across as the thick cord released. Aiming for the center of Johnny Depp’s face, your gaze never left the tip of his nose–where you hoped to hit–until the arrow plunged into Keira Knightly, all the way on the left.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath.

“I take that’s not what you were aimin’ for?”

Your gaze fell to your shoes, embarrassment creeping in. 

“It’s pretty bad isn’t it?”

Softly, you heard Joel's heavy footsteps creep up behind you. His hand, warm and calloused, gently took hold of your arm that held the bow. His chest was pressed firmly to your back now, his beard tickling the side of your face as he leaned down to see your view. Cheeks flushing a deep red, you were glad he couldn’t see your face, but his cheek pressed so closely to yours, you were sure he could feel it.

“Better than when I first started,” his voice, deep and gravelly, sent shivers down your spine as he encased your hand in his. “You just have to steady yourself.”

His boot tapped the inside of your ankle and your breath hitched at the contact. 

Typically tailing feet behind him, the image of Joel in your mind was usually his broad shoulders, boots trudging in the dirt, occasionally reaching a hand up to scratch through his peppered hair. Now, the proximity gave you a glimpse of the man you had never seen before–the scent of cigarette smoke and some earthy undertone flooded your senses, his skin a roaring fire that burned with each touch, and the coarse hair scratching against your smooth skin.

You widened your stance at his request, his foot planted firmly between yours. 

“Take a deep breath.” He lifted the bow with you, sliding his arm around to place an arrow between the fingers of your other hand. He held that one too, fingers entangled with yours around the thick rope. 

“Hold it as you pull back.” Steadily, he pulled back, allowing you to do most of the work, but keeping you still. “Don’t breathe until you release.” 

Then, his hands left yours, taking a step back and leaving you with an unexpected chill. Releasing the bow, the arrow slicing the wind, it struck into the center of the poster. 

A gasp left your lips and the bow dropped to the ground as you jumped in excitement. 

“I did it!” you squealed.

Joel leaned back on the wall, amused at your enthusiasm.

“Not too hard now is it?” his said, hands once again secretly hidden behind his back.

Taking another arrow from the bag, you took it in your hands, inspecting it proudly.

“I could get used to this.”

He smiled. “That’s what I want to hear.” Pulling his arms out from behind him, a small plush polar bear sat in his hands. “You keep up the good work and this is your prize.”

Turning the figure in his hands, you saw it comically had a red sweater and a slushie–the iconic ICEE bear.

“No way,” you gawked, immediately going to snatch the toy from his grasp, until he held it from your reach. “Not fair! Where did you find that thing?”

It was tattered, the sweater gained a few holes during his stay in the rubble filled theatre, but the nostalgia he brought you was more than enough. You jumped up, even balancing on your toes to try and tear it from his hands.

“He was behind the counter.” Joel laughed–a real, hearty, genuine laugh. “I thought he’d be a good motivator. Looks like I was right.”

September 17th, 2025 -

“Keep in the shadows,” he mumbled, voice low and even–he was serious. “Don’t know what’s out here.”

Your feet trudged on the broken sidewalk of what used to be a town somewhere in Ohio. With your leg healed, you both were able to cover more distance than before, a partial reason for Joel’s lift in spirit. 

As you strayed behind him, pace steady, a familiar feeling began to build in your lower abdomen. Crossing your legs and quickening your pace, you tried to fight the feeling, but it persisted.

‘Fuck, not right now.’

Biting your lip, you debated telling Joel. You knew he’d be annoyed by the inconvenience, but he would be even more upset if you slowed him down with your constant leg shuffling. 

Each step had you on your toes, wobbling side to side trying to ease your pressing bladder. You tried placing your focus on Joel’s heavy steps ahead of you, attempting to replicate them. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Joel’s stern whisper caught you by surprise, earning an especially tight press of your thighs.

Legs crossed and movements jittered, you shamefully refused to meet his piercing gaze. You could feel this patience thinning and knew the truth was the only thing getting you out of this. Supplies had been running low, Joel taking the lesser half had left him particularly exhausted and agitated the past week. His eyes–encompassed in dark clouds, lids hung low–were only a further demonstration of that.

Hands awkward clasped behind your back, you spoke in a barely audible whisper. “I think I have to pee…”

His grip, tight on your wrist, caught you by surprise. A low groan left his lips at the comment and embarrassment panged in your chest.

“I told you to go before we left,” he growled, words sharp. “Go back there. And make it quick.”

You stumbled deeper into the alleyway. Broken glass crunched underneath your feet and bits of plywood and garbage practically made you unable to see the ground. A rotting, rusted dumpster sat in the corner, its presence dismal and grimy. It wasn’t an ideal place to use the restroom, but it was the only cover you had from Joel who kept guard at the entrance.

His back was turned, his broad shoulders and thick muscles flexing through his sleeves as he surveyed the area. He kept a tight hold on the small gun you had found on a previous supply run. There were minimal bullets left, but Joel knew to use them well and sparingly. 

Fingertips fumbling at the waistline of your jeans, you struggled to undo the button. You danced on the tips of your toes, your bladder threatening to burst at any second. Your fingers restlessly worked at the worn button that was sloppily resewn, mumbling silent curses to yourself. 

Then, a low groan rumbled through the depths of the alley. Your entire body froze, tensed in fear. Pupils dilated, desperate to adjust to the shadows, you kept your wide eyes focused on a pile of wood pallets and trash where the sound erupted from.

Not taking any chances, you took a careful step backwards. Too terrified to tear your eyes away from the corner, that low rumble still vibrating off the walls, a stray piece of trash caught your foot. Stumbling backwards, you regained your balance with a yelp. Shooting your head back towards the pile, a hand crept out from the rubble, anchoring a spongy, rotted body from the trash.

Without hesitation, you started your way towards the light of the street. Feet carrying you as fast as they could, you grabbed ahold of Joel’s gray sleeve, tugging him towards you.

“Joel, run!” you screamed, hands travelling down to get a more secure hold onto his arm, nails digging into the skin.

It had been a while since you had encountered any infected, let alone a clicker. The groups you stayed with hid deep in the woods, far from any wandering infected. Most patrol groups were led by the men, leaving you to tend to things back at the camp–not that you minded. All your close calls and encounters with infected were at a young age, leaving traumatic, scarring memories of their reeking flesh inches from your face.

Just simply seeing the decaying, fungus flesh rise from the rubble struck an unfathomable fear within you. Joel had sworn to protect you and you never had any doubts in him, but you had seen what those things could do.

Joel was quick to match your pace, instead taking your arm in a firm grasp, dragging you behind him as he began to outrun you. He didn’t bother to question the situation, the deafening clicks that rang from the alleyway were enough to piece things together. 

You had only seen him like this a handful of times–jaw so tense it might snap, every muscle tensed so harshly a sweat formed at his brow, and nails dug so deep into your skin it bled. Nothing was on his mind except whatever last second escape plan he had formulated in his head. Despite the thrumming heartbeat you could feel in his wrist, his body oozed an unmistakable confidence as he twisted through corners and ducked under fallen signs.

Your panicked scream, combined with the persistent creaking of the berserk clicker had attracted a swarm of runners from a nearby building. The group had at least five infected, arms outstretched, croaking out horrific sounds as they hurled themselves towards you. 

Each time you would sneak a glance over your shoulder, you would stumble over your feet, Joel harshly tugging you upright. 

“Focus,” he huffed, voice breathy and ragged.

Firing off a few hurried shots, Joel widened the distance, striking the clicker until only two bullets remained. The rest of the infected shrieked at the sound, their pace slightly staggering at the sudden shock of the bullets ringing out.

His chest heaved, shoulders tense from the tightening of his lungs as he pushed himself to keep running. The deeper he ran into town, the more buildings and obstacles he could use to lose the band of runners. Their animalistic howls and slobbering grew more distant, but he didn’t dare look back just yet.

Then, as you reached the center of town–a large bell tower in the middle and four surrounding buildings–Joel brought you up the stairs of the town hall. Four grand, white pillars stood proudly at the entrance, allowing enough coverage for you to hide behind them. 

The windows of the building were boarded securely, a contrast to the rest of the town that had been scoured through and destroyed. Even the door was securely shut, something that was rare nowadays–most doors blown to bits, or the lock busted off. Instead, the two stately doors, knobs still golden and glistening in the sun, stood proudly as if the very town it stood for wasn’t in shambles.

A deafening silence filled the air. The only sounds came from your thrashing heart and Joel’s staggered breaths. His hands on his knees, he tried catching his breath, the sound of the runners finally having subsided. 

The peace didn’t last long though, a rattling of chains echoed from behind the door, the metal eerily scratching against the wood. Joel was quick to react, sliding from his place behind the pillar and slinging an arm around your waist, the other reaching for the gun in his back pocket. He pulled you so close you could hear his heart beating almost in time with yours, his breath fanning on your ear as he whispered strict instructions.

“Whoever is in here–do not trust them,” he warned, gun steadily aimed towards the entrance. “Let me do the talkin’.”

You nodded, the lump in your throat keeping you from responding–as if you had any time to. The doors groaned open and you held your breath, hoping for a kind face, some water, or simply any refuge from the infected that were surely still roaming the streets. 

A low creaking rumbled the porch beneath you, the doors opening slowly with wear and time. Behind them, stood a couple. A man was in front, maybe in his late thirties, with a thick head of brown hair in a bowl shape on his head. The woman looked much younger–even younger than you–her long, blonde hair cascading down her back. Both were dressed in an unusually put together outfit. Her ankle length dress seemed almost untouched and a simple gold cross necklace lay delicately on her collarbone. He was in a tucked in polo, unscathed khakis, and matching silver cross.

“Get inside!” The man waved his hand, ushering you both towards the door. “Quick! Before they track you here.”

At first, you didn’t hesitate, the fate of whatever was in store for you inside seemingly better than the horde of infected on your trail. But then, in a firm grip, Joel took your wrist and pulled you back towards him.

Brow furrowed, you turned to face him. 

Was he crazy?

You had pretty unfriendly encounters with people before, but surely this situation called for an exemption of Joel’s typical distrust. The two figures in the doorway looked like they would blow away if the wind blew hard enough, there was more chance of taking them on than the group of infected.

Back pressed to his chest, you could feel his hesitance seeping into you. His breaths were heavy, the groaning sounds of infected coming closer left him with little time to think, and you knew he was trying to come up with something, anything, to not have to enter a house with strangers.

Unexpectedly though, he held you close to his side, but still taking the lead as he walked through the doors. The couple promptly shut them behind you, a series of locks being wrapped and chained shut.

“Are y’all crazy?” the man huffed out, his southern thicker than Joel’s, almost incomprehensible. “I ain’t ever seen a group of those things that big and y’all still waited to come inside! You two musta met some real crazy folks hestiatin’ on an offer like that.”

The arm wrapped around your waist tightened, his fingers digging deeper into your side, bringing you hip to hip. Looking up at Joel, there was a clear scowl painted across his face, trying to give off an intimidating air. His other hand had a careful hold on his gun, fingers curled around the handle–and trigger–ready to shoot at any moment.

“It’s a dangerous world out there,” was all Joel muttered, eyes burning holes through the man’s skull.

“Couldn’t agree with you more.” Seemingly unfazed, the man stuck out his arm to Joel. “The name’s Samuel and this here is my wife Liz.”

Samuel lowered his hand when Joel only nodded in response. 

In a slight effort to ease the tension, your gaze fell upon the petite woman, almost cowering in her husband’s shadow. Liz’s hands gently clasped in front of her, shoulders slightly hunched forward as she bowed her head downwards, eyes focused on her shoes.

“Well,” Samuel continued, breaking the thick silence. “Liz and I have been stayin’ here for a while now and don’t mind y'all stayin’ as long as you need,” he paused for a moment, eyes suddenly flickering to you. “But I can’t just keep two strangers in here, now can I?”

“We’re not stayin’,” Joel said firmly.

He started towards one of the windows, trying to get a peek through the boards, but never fully turning himself away from the two. 

The scene outside had calmed, most of the infected had been lost in the chase, but there were still others staggering about. They dragged the worn soles of their feet across the pavement, gasped breaths and painful wails escaping their decayed lips.

“Well you can’t possibly be thinkin’ of going out there.” 

Joel’s shoulders stiffened and his eyes glazed over, probably scheming up some way to get out of this situation. 

“Just stay for dinner.”

Samuel offered yet another solution within Joel’s introspective silence. The offer was so casual, too casual even. Being invited over for dinners wasn’t something too common nowadays, most food being rationed and eaten in portions. Not only were they offering their valuable food to strangers, but ones that wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there.  

“Fine,” Joel caved, his hand dipping deep into his pockets, fingers curling around the hunting knife he always kept with him. “But if things clear up before then, we’re out of here.”

“Of course,” the man nodded, wrapping an endearing arm around his wife. “We wouldn’t want to stop ya from where you’re headed.”

The next moments were filled with a thick, awkward silence, only growing by the second. Liz stood stiff under her husband’s arm, eyes focused on her dusty mary janes. Not once during the conversation had her eyes lifted to meet yours–or anybody’s. Her retraction piqued your curiosity, such a contrast to the personality of her partner. Samuel had answered each question, invited you inside, and persisted you stay for dinner all while his wife stood like a statue.

Joel’s eyes were focused, not once caring to look your way, only caring about the potential danger in front of him. He still stood uncomfortably close, the hair on his knuckles tickling your fingers as they brushed past, ready to grab your wrist and run.

It was the same practice every time he sensed a threat, but this time it persisted. Usually Joel took you by the arm, dragging you away the moment he got uncomfortable, and leaving it at that.

This was nothing like those times.

Joel was trapped and he didn’t know what to do.

Like a caged lion he sat, waiting for his captor to strike, and then would tear him to pieces.

Then, his eyes flickered to you, sticking just a moment too long. You shifted under his gaze, his eyes panning uncomfortably low. It wasn’t until then that you realized the damp, sticky feeling through your jeans.

In the chase, your bladder must’ve let loose, the fear and adrenaline taking hold of your body. You were too focused on survival to notice, but now, the denim stuck to your thighs set a dark crimson hue to your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I-I didn’t realize,” you stuttered out, voice cracking in embarrassment.

Eyes dropping to your shoes, you couldn’t bear to look at the reaction of those around you. Joel’s face kept replaying in your mind–those hazel eyes growing wide, unable to look away as his brow softened with a newfound pity. 

Instinctively, he shielded you, stepping in front of you to cover whatever dignity you had left. With his back turned to you, the worn soles of his shoes all that you could see, a slight weight was lifted from your shoulders knowing these strangers couldn’t see your accident.

“That’s quite alright,” Samuel laughed–not a teasing one, but a warm, almost comforting laugh. “I’m sure Liz has something you can change into. Right dear?”

“Yes, honey,” her voice was just as small as her, barely able to pick up on the words she said. 

“Perfect,” Samuel waltzed dangerously close to Joel, closing the gap with a hand to the shoulder. “We’ll help you get settled and how about you help me get the meat for dinner tonight?”

Joel stiffened, straightening his back to both shield you and try to brush off Samuel’s hand.

“Whaddya mean?” he asked suspiciously.

Samuel tightened his hand, pulling himself to stand side-by-side with Joel–too touchy for both of your likings. His other hand waved in the air, pointing towards a grand double staircase that stood in the middle of the room. 

“Ya see,” he beamed proudly. “We were able to get a generator and some fuel. To save power we only have it hooked up to the freezer downstairs, keeps all the meat nice ‘n fresh. I need your help connectin’ it to the kitchen so these ladies can get to cookin’. We’re havin’ a feast tonight!”

His voice echoed through the mostly empty corridor and despite his enthusiasm, Joel didn’t seem any more impressed–only more suspicious.

Finally turning back to you, Joel looked over to you with apologetic eyes–not something he gave very often. Sweat drenched hair clung to your skin, cheeks slightly flushed, but what his eyes stuck on was the streaks of red trailing down your arm. 

In his frenzy, Joel didn’t think about how rough he grabbed your arm—only that it was enough to keep you upright and running. 

Now, he didn’t waste time slinging the bag from around his shoulders, brushing off Samuel’s hand. Stepping away, he placed it on a nearby bench, fishing though for the pack of medical supplies.

“I need to patch up her arm first,” he muttered, knowing he was mostly stalling for time. “Then I can help you.”

Once again, Samuel stepped a little too close–this time to you. He took your arm, lifting it to inspect the wound. 

“Nothin’ my Liz can’t fix.” That same toothy smile plastered on his face. 

Taking your other arm, Joel had stepped behind you, gently pulling you towards him.

Between the two men, you felt minuscule. Joel’s intimidating presence had always made him seem so much bigger–stronger. But the vibe Samuel gave off was even larger, more discomfoting–demanding even. 

His constant proximity and physical contact took you back, it was almost like interacting with people from a distant time, before all of this had happened. Their pristine clothes, sunshine smiles, and glistening skin were all so out of place in this dilapidated home–but so were you with your urine soaked jeans, blood stained t-shirt, and the gruff man leading you around like a dog.

“I’d like to take care of it myself.”

Palms in the air, backing away in defeat, Samuel retreated towards the stairs. 

“A man wants to take care of his wife, I respect it.”

You opened your mouth to correct him, but the words didn’t find their way. Something about the way Joel took your arm in his hand, giving it an immediate tight squeeze as if to say keep your mouth shut. 

So you listened, too embarrassed to say a word even if you had the chance.

The couple made a slow retreat, Samuel with a teasing grin and directions to the kitchen, and Liz with a slight wave and soft promise to return with clothing.

“What the fuck,” you whispered, not even waiting for the two to fully ascend the stairs.

Cloth in hand, he dabbed the blood from your skin, the slight tinge of alcohol burning into the wound. His fingers curled tightly around your wrist, pulling you closer before he spoke.

“I don’t like how they’re tryna separate us,” he mumbled lowly, voice thick with concern and his stare sharp and intense.

Rolling your eyes, you flicked your focus to the interior of the building. It was all white with dark, wooden accents on the railing and support beams. The building was old for sure, but hadn’t cracked to time, the foundation was still standing as strong as ever. The furniture had mostly been cleared out of the room you stood in, but down a darkened hallway, you could make out the shapes of a library filled with bookshelves and papers strewn across the floor in some sort of barricade. 

The upstairs looked more put together from what you could see. A small bust statue intact at the top of the stairs and other historical paintings and documents sat faded on the walls. A low buzzing could be heard through the floorboards, most likely the generator Samule spoke about in the basement. Another staircase, this time more compact and discrete, sat hidden in the corner of the room, a little latched door covering the entrance.

“You don’t trust anybody,” you teased, finally meeting his gaze. “Surely me saying we’re not married isn’t gonna get us killed.”

He huffed at the realization you weren’t on his side–or that you at least wouldn’t be taking this as seriously as him.

“They don’t need to know a damn thing about us,” he warned, his voice even lower now–almost threatening. “If I can’t find us a way outta here in time, you don’t tell that woman a damn thing. You understand?”

His gaze kept shifting between you and the stairs, like he was waiting for Samuel to come back down and intrude. You knew he couldn’t help his distrust, the topic being a hot point of contention, but it still irked you. These people had shown you more kindness than most had given you in the years since the outbreak, and despite Joel’s attitude, still invited you to dinner.

“C’mon, they’re trusting us down here all alone and you can’t even give them your name?”

Still warily close, you noticed the way he stood on edge, like any misstep and the floor would crumble beneath him. In all the moments you two had been pressed against the wall–hordes of infected on your trail, the whizzing of bullets as Joel shot back at raiders–he always knew what to do, or at least acted like it. Now, it was evident he had no plan with how his eyes nervously shifted and each word you spoke made him bite the inside of his cheek raw.

As he wrapped the last of the bandages around your arm, he gave you one final waning stare, eyes sharp and intense. “We’re not doin’ this here. I don’t care about whatever little peace project you’re trying to pursue here, but we are not here to make friends.”

Instinctively, you opened your mouth to snap back at him, but his patience wore thin.

“We’ve already been over this. You’re stayin’ with me so you keep your mouth shut if you want to live. I’m not gettin’ a good feeling about these people.” His words were so hushed, you had to lean in so close his breath fanned your face. 

His paranoia had begun to seep through your skin, creating a deep pit of anticipation in your stomach. You began to grow uncomfortable under his stare–the alcohol dully buzzing on your skin, the way his fingers pressed onto your skin, and the darkened denim that awkwardly clung to your thighs in a moistened, clammy grip. 

Almost as if on cue, just as Joel was pulling away, his words still lingering in the air, Samuel pushed open the doors at the top of the staircase. His footsteps were heavy, clicking against the wood in hurried–almost impatient–steps. The ever-present smile on his face told a different story though as he looked at you over the banister, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“I hate to intrude,” he sang, southern drawl thick and crisp. “With everyone tryin’ to get to Chicago, people’re in too much of a rush to get outta here. So, we usually don’t get any guests.” Samuel’s eyes flicked to Joel. “Can’t help but be cautious. No offense.”

Joel nodded warily. The distance he had created was slight, but still enough to grab you in a moment's notice. 

Since the stay in the old theatre, Joel had been more inclined to trust you to handle yourself. He seemed to fully trust you to protect yourself–and him if needed. The moment you stepped foot into this building though, the floor creaking and door groaning almost like some kind of call, Joel had been on edge. His distrust was a usual trait of his that annoyed you, but this proximity and paranoia was beginning to worry you.

Your shoulders stiffened as Samuel's gaze trailed back to you. Not wanting to abandon what little faith you still had in the world, you stood straight, trying to ignore the growing pit in your stomach. The feeling of something wrong was beginning to pile in your chest, a cold sweat forming on the back of your neck as the two men exchanged words muffled by your anxiety.

Although he was talking to Joel, when you regained focus you could see that Samuel was still looking at you–or maybe through you. And Joel had definitely taken notice. He tried to ignore it, brushing it off by urging conversation, now more keen to the idea of getting Samuel out of here–even if it meant being alone with him.

Joel had creeped slightly up the stairs now, leaning onto the railing, knuckles turned white as he gripped the wood. “How come I ain’t ever hear anythin’ about this group before?”

His words confused you, dropping into the middle of a conversation you were meant to be paying attention to. 

“I thought it was the Fireflies at first,” Samuel said, his long legs carrying him down the staircase. “But it seems like some other group that thinks they can save the world. Sounds like a lot of lies to me, but they had lots of people convinced. Whole group of ‘em came through here ‘bout a month ago talkin’ about some museum.”

Eyes thinning, Joel looked at the man skeptically. Although confused, you joined in on the skepticism, as many people as you had been around, you hadn’t ever heard of such a group.

“How come you haven’t joined them yet?”

Samuel shook his head, letting out a soft chuckle under his breath. “Like I said, I don’t believe in any of that stuff. All that genetic mutation and human trials they’re doin’ down there just ain’t human. It ain’t God’s way.”

The way those words left his lips, the sharpness of them, sent a chill down your spine. Throughout your stay, Samuel had been nothing but cheerful, that characterizing grin never leaving his face. Now, it was replaced with a deep scowl that spread across his entire face, his eyes melting into something darker.

Joel hesitated for a moment, the noticeable shift in the air catching him off guard. “Don’t sound like anything we’d be interested in either. Chicago wasn’t on our itinerary anyways.”

Almost as if nothing happened, that toothy grin returned to Samuel’s face. “Listen, I don’t know where y’all are headed,” his gaze was slightly more serious now, his voice having a deep, more affirmative tone to it. “But Liz and I belong to this group out west that I could really see you two havin’ a place in. I ain’t tryin’ to force nothin’ on y’all, but thought I’d make the offer before you left.”

Knowing Joel would protest, Samuel took a careful step forward, holding out a handful of clothes he had tucked beneath his arm. He took a glance over the pile in his hands, then one more analyzing look over your figure, and you instinctively shuffled your legs, trying to cover the stain.

“I was scared these wouldn’t fit,” he said, urging the clothes into your hands. “But lookin’ at you close up I think you’ll be just fine. Should fit like a glove.”

If you weren’t in the middle of the apocalypse–sweat clung to every inch of your body, standing with piss down to your ankles–you would have thought he was making some creepy attempt to hit on you. This unflattering situation though, just made his persisting kindness seem like pity and an unnecessary kindness you hadn’t been shown in a long time–not even from Joel.

So despite your intuition telling you something was off, you bathed in the short lived attention, graciously taking the fabric from Samuel’s hands. Unfolding it, you held a thin, cotton dress–something you hadn’t worn in years. You couldn’t remember the last time you had worn something other than pants or shorts, anything else seeming like a luxury of the past. 

The dress was a darker green with a delicate floral pattern threaded into the neckline. It was a similar cut to the one Liz wore, modestly spanning to your ankles, and the sleeves puffing around the shoulders with an elastic hem. A thick band of an even darker green wrapped around the waist, slightly cinching it, but the most noticeable feature was how spotless the whole thing was–like someone had spent hours caring for it.

“This is way too nice,” you shook your head, pushing the dress back into his hands. “I can’t take this–I’ll just ruin it.”

A deep, hearty laugh erupted from Samuel’s lips, taking both you and Joel by surprise. 

“Don’t even worry ‘bout it,” he chuckled, placing his hands on his thighs as he doubled over. “All that woman does is sew these dresses. She’s thrilled to finally have someone else wearin’ em.”

Nodding your head in appreciation, you clutched the dress to your chest. Each stitch looked professional, the entire piece beautiful, and you made a mental note to thank Liz later.

Turning back to Joel with a small smile, he gave you a slight nod of approval. For just a moment, his eyes flicked to the dress tightly held in your hands, followed by an even quicker glance to your frame, picturing how you would look in it.

Before you could catch him, the familiar creak of the door began to rumble through the floorboards once again. All three heads turned and a timid Liz peeked her head through the opening. 

Looking at his wife, Samuel’s lips curled into an even tighter smile. “Perfect timing, dear. Why don't you get dinner started, hmm? You can show our new guest around?”

Joel’s eyes met yours with a knowing stare–you were out of time.

You both would have to face the inevitable and go your separate ways.

Taking a few cautious steps towards the door, you didn’t dare look back at Joel again. There was something off about him. How instead of exuding confidence and an unwavering boldness, he now leaked fear from every pore and his brow knit with worry. And it scared you.

Even when running from the infected, you felt the fearlessness coursing through Joel’s veins, and your confidence in him was strong enough to give you the will to look back over your shoulder. Now, you felt nothing but uneasiness behind you and knew looking back at him would break you–and any hope you had.

Most of the upstairs was shockingly dark, curtains drawn and doors shut to most of the rooms down the hallway. A large kitchen and dining room stood openly connected, taking up most of the space of the second floor. To the right, slightly branching off from the two, was a half bathroom, a small flickering lantern balanced on the lip of the sink.

Her voice, light and airy, barely drifted its way towards you. “You can use that bathroom to change. I left a washbucket in there if you’d like to use it.”

You gave her a thankful nod and started towards the bathroom. It was dimly lit and you stumbled on the cracked tiles beneath you. On the floor next to the sink, sat an old wooden bucket filled with water that steamed up into the air. A patched washcloth sat along the edge of it along with a pair of washed undergarments, also adoring a few sewn on patches. 

Sitting on the edge of the toilet, the lid ripped from its hinges and lost somewhere, you balanced on the edge, careful to keep your belongings clean. You stripped off your clothing, the cool porcelain shooting goosebumps through your skin. Fingertips dipped into the hot water, longing to be able to sink your entire body within the bucket for a refreshing bath. Lathering a sliver of soap within the cloth, you brushed the suds across your limbs, massaging the bubbles deep into your skin.

Travelling with Joel meant sticking to the forests, rivers, parks–pretty much anywhere people weren’t likely to be roaming around. Supply trips were scarce and mainly for food, water, and medical supplies. 

“We ain’t got room for luxuries.” He would groan each time you tried to bring along a cracked lipstick tube, dried out nail polish, or anything that would give you even the hint of femininity. And apparently soap fell into that category for him as well.

There was one time you had found a half-full bottle of 3-in-1 and although the sight of it sent shivers down your back, it was better than nothing. That glorious bottle only lasted a month however, before your weekly routine of river showers and hair lathering were cut short by Joel’s outrageous overuse of product.

You let out a breath of air through your nose. A smile tugged at your lips, a memory replaying, your hair sopping wet, not bothering to have dried off before storming over to toss the empty bottle at Joel’s head.

Drying off with the tattered towel hung on the back of the door, you slipped the dress over your head, reaching around to clasp the back. The mirror was faded and cracked along the edges, but the middle gave a clear image of yourself you hadn’t seen in a while. One not caked in blood, nails free of grime and dirt, and in a handmade dress nonetheless.

Patting down the fabric at your hips, you smiled warmly at your reflection. Seeing Liz’s unscathed image, her skin silky smooth, hair unknotted, and clothes ironed and unstained, made her seem like a spectacle–an art piece in the middle of this broken down town. Now, for just a moment, you felt like that as you looked back at yourself.

Shaking your head, you placed your focus elsewhere, the reality of your situation striking that sinking feeling back in your chest. Folding the rest of your clothes neatly on the counter, you wrung out the washcloth until it was almost dry. Although you knew no one was looking, you couldn’t help but cautiously look over your shoulder before slipping the last sliver of soap into the rag and into your sock, hidden in your boot. 

It wasn’t the best hiding place, or the cleanest, but you knew Joel would appreciate it nonetheless. You could imagine the short nod of approval and softening of his face that would truly tell you he liked it–although his every word would say otherwise.

You could hear him now:

“Where’d you get this from?”

“You don’t need to be stealin’!”

“What’d I tell you about carryin’ things we don’t need?”

Each word that fell from his lips would be a front of denial for the bar of soap he would likely use all of in one singular shower. But you had gotten pretty good at reading Joel at this point and knew better than to pay attention to anything that left his mouth.

Finally ready to leave the bathroom, hoping you had stalled long enough for Joel to have returned, you took a cautious step out the door. Immediately, the smell of vegetables cooking and the lingering scent of garlic filled the air. Instinctively your legs, and your stomach, led you to the kitchen.

Standing on her toes, Liz was propped in front of the oven, stirring ingredients into a large pot. The lights were now on in the shared kitchen and dining space, the overhead lights filling the room with a warm glow, and the hood fan roared in the background. 

It had been a while since you had seen actual, functioning electricity, let alone a working kitchen. You stood in the doorway in awe, watching as Liz danced from counter to counter, chopping up vegetables and measuring mason jars of broths as if this luxury was an everyday occurrence. 

Turning to grab a knife from the block on the island, Liz noticed you watching. With a slight gasp, she acknowledged your presence, a soft smile pulling her lips into a childish grin. 

She waved, urging you towards her as she held out what looked like a grape held between her fingers. “Come here! You have to try these, they’re amazing.”

Without the two men around, Liz had really seemed to come out of her shell, that meek and timid crease in her brow replaced with an uplifted joy. 

Popping the green fruit between your lips, you couldn’t help but hum at the taste. The closest you had gotten to fresh fruit were canned peaches and the berries on bushes you passed–nothing compared to this.

Eyes wide, you peered around the kitchen, looking for more. “Where’d you get these? They’re so good.”

Liz giggled, a cute, giddy giggle that she covered with the edge of her cardigan sleeve. “We grow all sorts of things back at home. The freezer downstairs lets us keep all of it fresh so we can cook with it while we’re here.”

“Back home?” you raised a brow, placing all your weight on your elbows as you leaned back onto the island. “You two don’t live here?”

Before returning to the stove, Liz pushed a wooden bowl of grapes across the counter. 

“We’re from a camp back in Utah,” she started, that warm gaze sapped from her eyes the moment the words left her lips. “There’s a whole group of us at the farm, ten married couples just like me and Samuel…”

There was a tense silence that filled the air, the only sound coming from the bubbling of the pot beneath her. You could tell there was more to what she had to say, the words stuck in a lump that bobbed in her throat, so you stayed quiet.

“Samuel got into a fight with our church leader,” a short spurt of a laugh left her lips, but nothing on her face looked like anything was funny. “So he sent us out here to gather…supplies for the farm.”

Brow furrowed, your rolled grapes between your fingers, trying to piece together her story. 

“All the way out here? Aren’t we in Ohio?”

Liz solemnly nodded. “A few men from the group set up a few safehouses, like this one, across the country. Both so we can take longer supply trips, but also in case anything happens to the farm. We’ve got crops, animals, electricity, a lot of things people would come after us for…I’m glad we’re out here.”

You sighed at the thought of this farm Liz spoke about. Working electricity, food at your fingertips, and a stable roof over your head sounded like a dream. Samuel’s offer didn’t seem so daunting anymore. So why did Liz seem like she hated it?

“This place is pretty nice,” you bit your lip, trying not to pry. “I haven’t seen anything like this in years. A whole farm full of buildings like this is crazy…”

She shrugged. “It’s not all it's cracked up to be. This world…it changes people.” 

For a moment she paused, looking you in the eyes, neither of you knew what to say. You both sat in the weight of her words, trying to rethink the situation despite your obvious envy.

“Has your husband,” Liz started up again, taking every moment of this alone time to give into her curiosity. “Always been that way?”

You laughed, immediately catching onto her lack of subtlety. “For as long as I’ve known him? Yes.” Taking a sharp breath in, you pondered how much you should share–Joel’s warning still lingering in your mind. “And he’s not my husband.”

If it was even possible, Liz’s face grew even more pale. She turned back to the stove in a frenzy, trying to cover up her pupils that had blown wide, her warm brown eyes now focused on the pot in front of her.

“But Samuel said…”

Confused by her reaction, you straightened yourself off the counter. Her shoulders stiff and rigid, only moved to chop vegetables, the clink of the knife against the counter more intense and forceful than before.

“Well Samuel was wrong. Joel didn’t say-” you froze once you realized you mentioned his name. The casual conversation with Liz had made you grow too comfortable, forgetting everything Joel had warned you about, but still you carried on. “He didn’t say anything, but we’re not together.”

“How do you know him then?” Her words were quick and sharp, like she was running out of time.

“We just sort of…met,” you shrugged, popping another grape in your mouth. “He’s looked after me ever since.”

Reluctantly, Liz tore her eyes from the stove, barely making eye contact with you as she spoke. “Does he treat you right? I mean– I’m sorry, it’s just that– your arm. A-and the way he spoke…”

Eyes wide, you shook your head, arms outstretched in front of you. “No, no, no! It’s nothing like that, we were just in a rush, that’s all. He can be a little harsh sometimes, but nothing more than words.”

“You don’t have to put up with that you know?”

Snorting, you let out a genuine laugh, only to look at Liz’s deadpan expression and saw she wasn’t joking. 

Sure, from the few minutes they were in the same room, Joel hadn’t made the greatest impression. But to hint at the idea that was unkind–abusive–to you was just absurd. Almost a complete breach of boundaries.

“Jo-” you began, only to shake your head in frustration. “He isn’t like that. I don’t know what kind of idea you’ve got, but it’s the wrong one.”

A surprising surge of confidence exuded from the girl beside you, now staring into your eyes with an unforeseen intensity.

“I’ve seen cruel people in this world and he’s one of them,” her words were icy now, venomous, as she spat them in your face. “He has nothing but anger in his heart and it’s only a matter of time before that anger is towards you. I’ve seen it happen too many times. You need to leave before he kills you.”

Stunned, you stood shocked. Liz was beside you, gripping the handle of the pot, knuckles white as she shook with rage. Or maybe fear?

Placing your palms on the counter, you slightly grounded yourself. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Liz, but I think it’s time you stop.” 

Her words were sending an eerie chill down your spine, some unrecognizable force–maybe your intuition–telling you, for some reason, that she was right.

“I can see you care about him,” her words were more hushed now, but still that direct, cold tone. “But, that man isn't capable of loving anything. He may say he cares, but he only knows how to provide. So take your heart and run before he crushes it and kills you with it.”

That soft spoken voice from before, now shot holes through your chest with each word she uttered. Her voice was like a song, singing the lyrics to a hymn that destined your fate. Each word she spoke was certain, so sure. You had no choice, but to trust her somewhere deep down in your gut.

You’d never let her know that though. You had sworn your loyalty to Joel, a silent pact as you two parted on the stairs. An agreement made in that one, simple nod.

“I appreciate you for looking out for me, but he’s the only reason I’m alive right now,” you clenched your hands into tight fists at your side. Your mind went back to that fateful night, the thud of that granola bar against your chest, the exact moment you knew Joel was going to save you. “I’m sticking by him because I care for him as a friend and nothing more. We keep each other safe.”

Guilt panged your heart, like uttering those very words betrayed your entire being. You don’t know why saying those words made you feel the way it did, almost as if a veil had been lifted to expose your true feelings.

It wasn’t something you’d ever had much time or reason to think about. Most days were spent on the go, exhaustion and hunger ready on your mind, clouding any other thoughts throughout the day. Conversations with Joel had only really been apparent within the last month, some sort of unspoken guilt laced in each conversation since that night in the woods, so you didn’t think much of it. 

Each “affectionate” act from Joel just seemed like some sort of redemption plan. A way to earn back your trust each time it frayed. And although you played along each time and gave in, you knew the motive behind his actions. 

But that doesn’t mean it meant any less–the way he let his guard down, eyes slightly softened with anticipation of how you’ll react, and the self-assured grin each time you’d clap your hands in amusement. 

Your relationship–if you could even call it that–with Joel was complicated, but not for a second abusive. If you had feelings for Joel or not would be a topic to ponder on another day, because even if you did, all of the words Liz said about him would still be lies.

Before you could bite back though, the beginnings of an argument brewing in your mind, Liz spoke up in that usually soft voice. 

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, backing down, that surge of confidence from before puddling at her feet. “I shouldn’t have assumed…he just reminds me of someone I knew.”

For a moment you felt bad for raising your voice, even if it was slight. The sight in front of you was pitiful, the woman completely retracted back into her shell just as you had met her–shoulders up to her ears, head ducked down, anything to make herself appear smaller.

“It’s okay,” you assured, lowering your tone. “I shouldn’t have gotten so angry. He’s just…done a lot for me.”

Liz softly smiled. “I’m sure he has. He looks very capable–a lot of drive. Especially to get out of here.” She let out a laugh, eyes flickering to yours for reassurance.

You returned her laugh, honestly surprised Joel hadn’t come up here and dragged you out of here already.

“Yeah…he isn’t too good with strangers.”

Bits of small talk echoed through the kitchen, conversation flowing steadily between the two of you. You helped with the rest of the prep, preparing the rest of the dish while you waited for the men to bring the meat from the freezer. They had made the trek out back to connect the generator to the kitchen and start it up, but you hadn’t expected it to take this long. 

While you rinsed and peeled potatoes, you tried to distract yourself with a silent competition of fastest potato peeling. On the fifth swipe of your finger, the tip nearly getting plowed off that time, you decided maybe that wasn’t the best distraction and settled with sitting in your thoughts.

They were heavy, unpleasant. The plopping of potato peels in the sink was now the only relief from your anxiety as Liz left the room to grab seasonings from the pantry. 

Being alone left you with this dark, unsettling feeling that something was deeply wrong. Samuel and Joel had been gone for way too long now, the freezer only one floor below, and with dinner already being prepped you wondered what the hold up was. This was unusual for sure, and you felt that with Joel’s earlier urgency, he would be desperate to get back in your sights.

All of your worries were cast aside however, when your ear perked to the familiar rasp of Joel’s voice. The deep gravelly drawl stood out against Samuel’s cheery accent–the both of them laughing? The chatter grew closer, the door at the top of the staircase letting out that familiar creak, giving you a better listen to their conversation.

At first it sounded like just Samuel laughing, but underneath his over-the-top cackle, you could hear the bits of something familiar. You had only heard it a handful of times through your stay with him, but clear as day, you could hear that low, drawn out honeyed laugh of his–and it sounded genuine.

Something–anger, jealousy, sadness–struck you in the chest, freezing your every move as you eavesdropped on the conversation. Even your breath stayed stuck in your lungs, afraid that even the sound of breathing would distract you from this moment.

“Sounds like an unforgettable trip.” It was Samuel. “Wish I did somethin’ like that before everythin’ got turned around.”

“Tommy’d kill me if he knew I ever told anyone ‘bout that,” the last bits of laughter tugged at the edge of his words, waiting to burst again. “But that story was just too perfect, I’ll die laughin’.”

Waltzing into the kitchen, Samuel was the first to enter, a large box balanced in both of his hands. Behind him, Joel was smiling, the remnants of a laugh still on his lips. As soon as he saw you though, he stiffened, and his usual stoic expression returned.

He placed the box on the counter with a thud. You peeked over the edge to see pieces of chicken freshly sliced and defrosted.

So that’s what took them so long.

Nodding, you turned back to the stove, hoping to let the men carry on whatever friendly conversation they were having before. For someone who was so uptight and distrusting, Joel walked in the room the most laid back you had ever seen him–almost casual looking. 

He must have seen the soured look on your face though, because the moment he had noticed you, he was silent, only Samuel carrying the conversation now. 

“Smells great in here,” Samuel complimented. “Where’d Liz go?”

“Pantry,” you said simply, wanting Joel to hear your shift in tone–although you knew he would probably just roll his eyes.

He hummed in response and you could hear him sifting through the box behind you, most likely sorting things for Liz.

“What’d I tell ya,” his voice was laced with pride, taking a deep inhale through his nose. “My Liz is the best cook, Joel-”

Your head whipped over your shoulder, dropping both the peeler and potato into the sink. Samuel was oblivious, but Joel had already knowingly met your gaze–his eyes wide and guilty.

His words from earlier replayed in your mind.

“You keep your mouth shut if you want to live. I’m not gettin’ a good feeling about these people.”

Within the few minutes you were alone, he had made it a point to jam that point into your head until his paranoia seeped fully into your skin. All his worry must have fully bled into you, because he was now sharing names and stories with the man he was so distrustful of moments before.

Your lips thinned, a scowl painted deep on your face. Joel’s eyes were filled with regret and guilt, his face drooping with the heaviness of his heart. It took everything in him not to interrupt Samuel right there and make some pathetic attempt to redeem himself, somehow explain how things got here.

But you didn’t give him the chance.

Turning back to the sink, you peeled potatoes angrier than ever, replaying your conversation with Liz. Maybe her judge of character wasn’t as bad as you thought?

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ @anoverwhelmingdin @lowrisemiller @iamawkwardandshy @lanadelray1989 @worlds-we-write (message me to be added or removed)

[tinytownn]

okay i know i literally disappeared off the face of the earth, but i’m back !! and with a new chapter !! i’ve been writing this chapter for the past few weeks and honestly just haven’t been happy with it at all :// it’s gonna go through some major editing tonight, but it’s finally completed. either way, here’s a little sneak peek and the word count (that will probably be changed by tmr lol). it’s a longggg one so i hope you enjoy :D

as always thank you for reading !! and if you haven't already...here's the masterlist for the series !!

[tinytownn]

ive never watched tlou since the first episode but i watched tonights episode and ohmygod??? crying???

[tinytownn]

okay i know i lowkey disappeared (blame my overwatch addiction) buttt i finally got the boyfriend to play tlou !! maybe he’ll like joel and not get tired of me talking abt him 24/7 lmaooo

[tinytownn]

finally posted the fic from these poll results!! sorry it took so long, dental exams kicked my ass :((

next one piece post —

hellooo !! with all of my drafts and requests, i couldn’t decide what i wanted to actually finish and post. soooo you guys are gonna decide for me :P

have a request?

i dont rly feel like writing out summaries so it’s just gonna be a surprise sryyy

[tinytownn]

stuck in the trees – one-shot[?]

[neighbor!firefighter!]portgas d. ace x f!reader

word count: 1.6k

summary: based off of this request...

content: lotta flirting from ace, possible mini series??, cute lil blurb, no use of y/n

leave all requests here…

a/n: [UNEDITED] helloooo!! finally got back into writing after finals kicked my ass so sorry for the delay :(( i hope you guys enjoy and i have a couple ideas for two more parts of this so i may poll it soon??

—

“Tofu!” you shouted, running down the sidewalk. “C’mon, boy! Where’d you go?”

It had been almost ten embarrassing minutes of you parading up and down the street looking for your lost cat. A package had gotten delivered to your house, one you had been anticipating for weeks. It was a large box, one wide enough to create an awkward hold, but nothing you couldn’t handle. Or at least you thought.

With the rickety screen door being held open by your ankle, your balance was already off as you swayed back and forth. The rest of your body was leaned forward, fingers grasping the edges of cardboard. You couldn’t even get the box off the ground.

Before you could admit defeat however, your mischievous cat, Tofu, decided to make a break for it.

It all happened so fast: he skittered through your legs, a white ball of fluff, as he scurried down the street.

The door slammed shut behind you and the corner of the box you had lifted thudded to the ground. Your bare feet burned against the pavement, but you didn’t let that stop your pursuit. 

Only a few seconds had passed, but Tofu was already out of sight.

“You’ve got to me kidding me…” you muttered, studying each yard as you passed.

Tofu had a habit of listening to his hunting instinct despite the fact he’s lived off canned meals his whole life. So, when you heard the familiar hiss and rustling of leaves, you knew you only had moments before he was up in a tree.

Darting off into the surrounding woods, pinecones and loose sticks jabbed your feet, but you barely noticed. All you could hear was Tofu’s distressed mewling.

There he was—clumsily perched on a tree branch, just out of reach.

“No treats for a month you stupid furball,” you huffed, stomping to the base of the tree.

Latching onto the nearest branch, you yelped as your feet scraped against the jagged bark. The cuts in your feet from chasing Tofu around, plus the searing hot pavement practically melting your skin, sent you flying backwards, your grip on the branch not enough to support you.

“Shit!”

Eyes shut tight, you braced for impact, picturing your clueless cat staring at you from above. But the collision never came. Instead, two warm arms–almost warmer than the sun beating down on you–wrapped around your waist, pulling you into their unclothed chest. 

You gasped, your eyes fluttering open in shock.

“Looked like you needed a little help.” 

The muscular arms of the shirtless stranger propped you back up on your feet, his touch lingering slightly on your waist. Your gaze met his–the lopsided grin, dotted freckles, intense eyes–an immediate heat rising to your cheeks. You couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment of how you probably looked flailing off the tree, or simply from just how hot this man was–in temperature and in looks. 

Running your hands across your shirt, brushing off any dirt, you smiled up at him. “I- uh yeah…thank you for catching me,” you said sheepishly. “Looks like climbing trees isn't my thing.”

“Might help if you had shoes,” he chuckled, nudging off his boots and kicking them toward you. “How are you not melting out here?”

“I kinda am,” you admitted, pushing the boots back. “But no way- I can’t take your shoes! What about your feet?”

He clicked his tongue, crouching down on one knee in front of you–the motion made you blush.

“Not taking, just borrowing.” He met your gaze, taking a quick, hesitant glance, before taking your ankle in a gentle hold. “Besides, I like the heat.”

You scoffed, unable to hold the stranger’s gaze while he tightly tied the oversized boots around your ankles. “You’ve got to be crazy, it’s like a hundred degrees.”

“Not hot enough,” he teased.

You stole a glance. He looked built for summer–dark shorts tightened to his waist with an orange cloth belt, his toes wiggling through his bright, matching socks, and a chunky, red beaded necklace sat strung across his collarbone. And although the sun beat down on his tattooed skin, not a drop of sweat clung to him.

He patted your knee, signaling he was done fastening the shoes, and finally you met his unwavering stare. It wasn’t threatening or scary, just intense–enticing even. Something too personal for just a stranger.

You opened your mouth to say something, words getting caught in your throat at his lingering touch. Through a tense silence, you both stared, unable to speak, until a whining cry from Tofu rang out from above.

With a gasp, you turned back towards the tree, completely having forgotten your original point of being there.

“Shit, Tofu! I completely forgot!” You turned towards the man frantically, eyes wide. “My cat got out, I was gonna try and climb up to get him but…”

“But you’re not the best at climbing trees?” he chuckled, glancing up to the cloud of fluff in the tree.

You shook your head, scratching the back of your neck. “Yeah…and I don’t even own a ladder. Should I call the fire department? They do that kind of stuff, right?”

“We get calls like that all the time,” he said, already jumping to grab the first branch. “Doesn’t look too high. I’ve got this.”

You raised a brow. “We?”

The stranger was already hurling himself around the first branch, his toes curling around the bark as he maneuvered his way upwards–much more gracefully than you had before. His chest heaved and the muscles in his arms and shoulders tensed and flexed underneath the pressure. Still, he hoisted himself up the tree with ease, not a drop of sweat even on his brow.

“I work at the station downtown,” he said proudly, despite him being so high up, you could still see the toothy grin on his face. “I’ve been working there for a few years now. I do a lot more than rescue cats though. That’s just a bonus.”

You smiled up at the man as he neared Tofu–digging his claws warily into the branch he was perched on, his tail battered against the wind, and a low, eerie grow rumbled in his chest. As the rescuer approached though, his cry softened as he used all his courage to shuffle towards him. Scooping him securely underneath his arm, he made a quick descent down the tree, opting to jump halfway.

He landed swiftly on his feet, Tofu held steadily in his grasp, right in the leaves in front of you. Shocked, you stumbled back a couple steps before thanking him.

“Thank you so much, you did that so fast!” You clapped your hands together excitedly, taking your cat back into your arms. “I can’t believe a firefighter just happened to be here at the right time.”

Tofu struggled in your grip, trying to urge his way back towards the kind stranger. He outstretched his paws to the man, a soft cry leaving his lips.

“I think Tofu says thank you too,” you laughed, handing back over the cat to his welcoming arms.

He joined in on your laughter, smothering his face into Tofu’s plush, white coat, with a wide smile. “Well thank you Tofu, for letting me pet you.”

Suddenly, through the thick cloud of fluff, that intense stare from before met your eyes again. Cheeks tinted pink, you felt your whole body get enveloped in a swarm of heat.

“I was working out in my garage when I saw you running around,” he continued. “Looked important so I figured I’d see if you needed help. I’m glad I did.”

He lifted his head from the ball of fur, his back straightened and shoulders rolled back, eyes locked on you the entire time. A lazy grin was plastered on his face and his head tilted to the side, his dark, messy hair falling with it.

Then, he outstretched a hand, the one of his tattooed arm, the bold ink catching the light when you took his grip. His unusually warm touch encased your soft skin, fingers wrapped around yours for a moment until his fingertips grazed your palm in retreat.

“I’m Ace.”

Breathlessly, you whispered your name. His presence, not only his looks, but the easy confidence he radited capitaved you in a way you couldn’t trace.

Those couple of seconds couldn’t have felt any longer, the silence growing thick in the space between you. It wasn’t awkward, but the underlying sense of something new began to brew in the air.

Silently, Ace placed the cat back into your arms, breaking the gap–and tension.

“Thank you again,” you said, hugging Tofu close. “For everything. And...apparently he likes you, which is rare. He’s not a fan of guys.”

Ace’s lips curled. “Looks like he has good taste.”

You felt small under his gaze. It wasn’t until then that you realized how tall he was, and the way he was staring at you wasn’t helping. His eyes were burning holes through your skin–his touch doing the same–each action oozing with anticipation.

“Listen,” Ace took a step back, hands fumbling into his pockets. “If this little guy ever gets out again, I’m in that house- open garage, punching bag, can’t miss it.” He motioned his head back towards the street. 

You smiled warmly up at him, nodding at his offer. “I’ll take you up on that. Beats trying to climb a tree again.”

Ace scratched the back of his neck, a sudden hint of shyness peeking through. 

“And like I said, firefighters are good for more than getting cats out of trees. Don’t hesitate to stop by if you need anything.”

You tilted your head, lips curling into a grin.

“You good at moving boxes?” 

He laughed–a real, warm, sunlit laugh.

“The best.”

—

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ (message me to be added or removed)

[tinytownn]

Reader x neighbor!Ace who's also firefighter. Can be like, reader having her cat on the tree and Ace helps her out

okokok i know this took me forever to get to,,,,but it's finally here!!! (with two more possible parts??) i absolutely love this concept and wanna write a whole chapter on ace in his firefighter uniform, driving the truck, all sweaty and focused on helping you and omgomgomg i cant

[tinytownn]

thought i failed my dental exam for the past week,,,results just came out,,,,

CELEBRATORY CHAPTER COMING SOON !!! (and firefighter ace fic finally hehehehe)

[tinytownn]

the weight on my shoulders –

series masterlist

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

i. what would you do for a granola bar?

ii. time heals all wounds

iii. gossip girl (no…like please go piss girl)

iv. wife number five

v. home sweet home

vi. i know a spot.../weeping under the willow

vii. a bad case of man flu

viii. reader…there’s a girl behind you

ix. rejection therapy

x. reason #2,673 not to yell in the apocalypse 

xi. the weight on his shoulders

i have no words...don’t be fooled by the chapter names, they’re so unserious to deceive you lmaooo (and counteract how fucking sad this made me)

[tinytownn]

the weight on my shoulders –

pt. ii - time heals all wounds series masterlist

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

word count: 4.9k

summary: joel gets caught in trouble, forcing him to flee the boston qz. a few days into his trip, he takes refuge in an abandoned shed where he finds you–scared, starving, and struggling to survive. despite his better judgement, he takes you with him on his journey.

content: violence and brief mentions of death??, pretty much no actual tlou lore (except the infected, joel's outbreak day events, and jackson), angry joel (ur lowkey a bitch in this chapter too ngl), slow burn??, age gap (27 and 49), no use of y/n

a/n: i literally have two exams and a project due tomorrow and here i am spending my whole weekend writing this chapter...i regret nothing tbh. also the support on the first chapter is insane??? thank you guys so much??! <33

June 27th, 2025 -

The moment the sun dipped below the trees, darkness encapsulating the forest, the two of you got ready to leave the dilapidated shed. 

“It’s time,” Joel whispered as he gently shook you awake.

Pushing back the tattered sheet against the entrance, he held a finger to his lips, signaling you to stay quiet. You didn’t know how long it had been, but the only noise between you two were the crunching of leaves beneath your feet and chirping of crickets.

You followed in his shadow, dragging your injured ankle as you lacked behind. Each movement was slow. Pained. Every time a branch would poke against your arm or your ankle would roll slightly a sharp inhale and stuttered breath left your lips.

The exhaustion you were pushing through was evident–knitted brow, pale and clammy skin. You wanted so desperately to cry out, beg Joel for a break, but you knew it was useless. No matter the wimpers or bone chilling cracks that left your body, he didn’t even flinch. His head stayed forward, eyes locked on his destination–wherever that may be.

All the kindness he had the day before–if any–had drained from his face. That thoughtful, pitied look he had given you when tightly wrapping your leg was now replaced with a cold and stern tight lipped frown. The few glances you got of his face when he would swat a fly from his nose, the moonlight casting slivers of warm light on his skin, gave way to the apathy in his stare. 

His face, unmoving for hours, was the only constant in the dark, grueling hours you walked. You found yourself looking to him more, a silent observer of the mysterious stranger, a desperate attempt to numb your pain. 

You hadn’t realized it then, but the night you had met him, Joel had been scanning your face with a certain thoughtfulness–like you had reminded him of a distant memory. Once he had patched you up and taken his position on the floor for the night, that restrained glimmer had faded. Even when he held you tight to his chest, hearts pounding in sync, any reminisce was gone. When he backed himself deep into the corner, his eyes finally meeting yours the first time that day, it looked like it almost pained him to do so. That he only looked so deeply into your eyes for his own safety, to prove that he really could trust you. The moment he felt your honesty he ripped his gaze to the ground, as if each moment looking at you burned. 

He hadn’t looked at you since.

Only small glances to grab your attention followed by a silent, motioning finger that you always followed. Despite his coldness, Joel radiated a feeling of safety that you couldn’t deny. With such few words, he had taken you into his care, his protection, without a complaint. Almost as if he felt he owed it to you somehow.

July 14th, 2025 -

As weeks passed, an overwhelming guilt panged in your chest. Your injuries weighed you down, slowing the distance you were able to make. You had made the mistake of trying to tough it out the first few days, biting back bitter tears as your ankle pulsed and swelled. Eventually all the mobility and pressure added up and one morning you woke up almost unable to stand. Breaks became more frequent, Joel only responding with a huffed sigh as he would take a seat wherever he was standing.

It felt like with each minute that passed on break, the distance between you grew. The days grew deafeningly silent, something that would have brought you peace weeks ago. There had been no people, no infected, only dense forests and the occasional farm in the distance. 

Joel had been in charge of splitting rations. Despite his overall unwillingness to be around you, he was kind in his portions, usually giving you the larger half. And when it came time, he rewrapped your bandages the same as he did the first night–firm grip and swift, thoughtful motions. It wasn’t much, and although you had provided the supplies, it still felt like you owed him more. 

So, after a few weeks had passed, the cut on your arm no longer bled at the slightest movement and your ankle no longer gave you as much trouble, so you dropped a solution.

“My ankle’s been feeling a lot better,” you said, feigning cheerfulness.

It was an early morning and Joel had shaken you awake a few minutes ago. You both sat around the snuffed out campfire from the night before, sorting items into the shared backpack. The air had a crisp coolness to it, the morning dew sitting still on the blades of grass, awaiting the unforgiving sun.

Joel only hummed in response.

You sunk your teeth into your plump bottom lip, growing frustrated at his unrelenting silence. Ever since that first day, after he had come across those two men, it seemed like the very thought of interacting with you disgusted him. You originally thought he had believed you–that you hadn’t stolen anything–but his every movement, every word–or lack of them–hinted otherwise.

“I was thinking,” you glanced up at him, hopeful he would at least be looking your way. Give you some sort of acknowledgement. He didn’t. “Since I’m feeling better now, we could split up at the next town. Figured I’d slowed you down enough.”

Immediately, his eyes flicked to yours.

“What makes you say that?” His voice, deep and gravelly, sent unexpected shivers down your spine.

You hadn’t expected him to answer you, just leave you hanging like he had done for weeks now…

“Why do you want to go to Wyoming?”

Silence.

“So…you got a last name? Hometown? Anything to know about you other than you’re a dickhead?”

Silence.

“Nice watch,” you grabbed ahold of his wrist. “You get this before the outbreak?”

This time, he forcefully pushed you back before snatching his arm away. “What are you, a fucking detective? Hands off and shut up. I’m sick of hearin’ ya talk my ear off all damn day.”

That stung worse than the silence.

You felt small under his intimidating stare. Fumbling with the straps of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“You said I could only stay with you until I got better.” You rose to your feet, the ache was still there, but dull. “Well, I’m better now…”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head and looked to the ground. “And what’re you gonna do then, huh?”

He put his hands to his knees, standing up with a grunt and crackling of joints. Waltzing dangerously close to you, he took the bag from your hands, his roughened fingertips grazing yours. He stood merely inches from you, his broad shoulders and intense stare burning holes through you.

“Listen, sweetheart,” the words on his tongue were bitter, spitting them into your face. “You go out there with the supplies you have left and you’re dead. And what kind of man would I be leavin’ you out there like that?”

You simply shrugged, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He shoved a granola bar to your chest, your hands slowly reaching up to grab it. Without a word, he turned and swung the backpack over his shoulder, leading the way like he had done every day. 

It had shocked you, the way he shot you down so quickly. The way he was so fast to look at you the second the proposition left your lips. The way he spoke as if the very idea of what you were saying was so stupid and unbelievable that he couldn’t help but protest.

A heat rose from the back of your neck–from frustration or embarrassment, you didn’t know–spreading to the tips of your ears and burning your whole face, cheeks dusted pink. You kept a distance when you strayed behind him, as if standing close to him would grant him access to your thoughts.

You remembered the words so vividly in your mind: “But just until you’re back on your feet. I don’t have time for distractions…”

His words weren’t as cold back then, not as devoid of emotion as they were now. But you figured the growing distance and lingering silence was a further declaration of his original words. Now, you were unsure. 

Maybe he had grown used to your company–if you could even call it that. If anything, you were more like his shadow–a silent, following observer. He tended to you like a wounded animal, holding you with such intensity as if he knew that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t convey to him how you felt–how much pain you were in. Deep down, in trying to piece together the puzzle of who Joel Miller truly is, you felt almost like your adherence to him gave him some sort of motivation. A purpose. And if you two were to split up, all that would fall apart.

July 19th, 2025 -

In the following days, you hadn’t brought back the idea of splitting up. When you reached a small town though, you noticed Joel’s shoulder stiffen, walking slower as if he were trying to delay something.

“Don’t go wanderin’ off now,” he muttered, voice low as he ducked into the shadows of an alleyway. “Stay close. Don’t know what could be out here.”

With a finger pressed tightly to his lips–as if that wasn’t the first word spoken in days–he signaled for you to stay quiet. Keeping a short distance, you stayed close to his back, watching the rise and fall of his steady breaths. If he was nervous, he wasn’t showing it.

Joel carefully surveyed the town. Windows shattered, doors torn down, each building partially cumbled through the years of decay. There wasn’t a step you could take without crushing some sort of debris, the trash harsh through the worn soles of your shoes. You made sure to take long strides, lifting your feet properly so you didn’t trip over any of the garbage.

Finally, he slowed in front of an old, run-down corner store. The gate had been pulled shut, locked and rusted–no one seemingly able to get inside since the outbreak. It was a rare sight–for a building to still be so intact. The windows, a thick layer of dust obscuring your view, were still untouched behind the cage and although it was scratched up, the lock remained clamped shut.

“Might be able to find somethin’ in here.” Joel squatted, hand on his crackling knees, while he looked down at the lock. “Need to find a way to get this open first…”

Still breathing down his neck, you looked over his shoulder, the gate rattling against his force.

“I don’t think anything in the bag will help us,” you sighed, kicking pebbles beneath your feet. “I can go look for something? Maybe there’s another way in?”

Joel turned to you, lips drawn tight in his usual unwavering stare. There was a contemplative glint in his eye as he looked you over, his stare lingering a moment too long at your injured leg. With a soft sigh, he nodded, unclipping the knife from his belt loops and pressing it into your palm.

“Meet me back here in ten,” he said sternly. “Keep this with you. Whatever you do, don’t take this out of your hand. You understand?”

His hand laid flat atop yours, the thick leather straps the sheath being the only thing separating his radiating warmth from grazing your fingertips. Curling your fingers around the handle, his hand quickly retreated, your nails digging into your skin with a newfound rage.

“I can protect myself, y’know,” you spat, shoving the knife into your pocket. “I can do more than follow you like a damn pet.”

Since your conversation a few days ago, it was apparent Joel viewed you as a liability–a frail, helpless girl. Supplies were running low, and at his objection to you going your own paths, you figured there would be some sort of division of labor. But each time he brought up the prospect of gathering materials, it was always him doing the work…

“I’ll have to find a gun soon so I can do some huntin’.” he grumbled one night over the flickering campfire. “Not really the season, but not much else to do with the food runnin’ out.”

“When we get to the next town I’ll see if I can find some more bandages,” he had said, rewrapping your ankle after a rainy night had left the cloth muddy.

“Keep quiet. I think I hear someone.” This time he had broken the silence after three excruciating days. Startling you in your sleep with a tight hand clasped over your mouth. “If you see someone, run. I’ll take care of it.”

Each proposition left you as speechless as the last. The words left so carelessly off his lips as if the thought of you helping out hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Did he really think you were that useless?

Sure, the first week of your trip had been a struggle. You whimpered and groaned as you lacked behind him, distance growing by the second. This unrelenting silence made you assume he minded, that he thought you were dragging him down, so you pushed yourself. 

Nothing seemed to work though.

It was almost as if your relationship with Joel was developing backwards–first encounter filled with curiosity and care only for each passing day to be met with silence and an unspoken distrust. 

“I said you could go, didn’t I?” Joel snapped, rising to his feet. “You’d be an idiot to go anywhere without a weapon.”

It was so easy to talk back to Joel in the position he was in–crouched down, back turned–but now, things were different. He had turned to you, tall frame looming over you, and the scowl on his face ripped back the layers of your skin until you were all flesh and blood beneath him. You didn’t know why he had this effect on you–to reduce you to nothing but putty in his hands. Joel had never hurt you, nor had you seen him hurt anyone else. His body just seemed so capable–balled fists, tight jaw, and gritted teeth–like he was made to kill.

Keeping your gaze at your shoes, unwilling to let him affect you, you spoke. “What does that make you then? Last time I checked this was my knife.”

“That’s different. I didn’t have a choice but to go out with no weapon.” He scoffed, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. “I’m giving you a choice–and I advise you take it.”

Stubbornly, you growled. You knew he was right, even he wouldn’t have survived without the safety of a weapon. So why were you so upset?

“I can fend for myself!” Throwing the knife to his feet, you stomped away. “I don’t need you bossing me around all the time!”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Joel fought back his bubbling anger. “Stop being so childish. I’m not sending you to your death.”

A gasp left your lips when a hand forcefully pulled you backwards, stumbling on your own feet on the way back. You fell against Joel’s chest, feeling his commanding stare burning holes through the top of your skull. Again, the pressed the knife into your palm, taking the time to clamp your fingers shut around the handle with a stinging pressure.

“Take the damn knife, girl.”

His words were harsh and bitter, almost a threat. Although he had never once spoken to you with a warmness in his heart, these words seemed exceptionally cold–almost frozen. Letting them thaw in the air, you stood back against his chest with a breath caught in your throat.

“Fuck you,” you pushed yourself off of him without a second glance. 

The dirt clouded up around your feet with the slow, dragged steps you made around your exploration of the area.

Girl. 

Could he be any more disrespectful?

You circled to the back of the building in hopes of some secret back window or possible fire exit, but all that awaited you was a plain wall, paint chipping off the sides.

Frustrated, a groan left your lips. “This is stupid! There’s nothing in this shitty town!”

Your fists collided with the crumbling wall, a display of all the rage you had been carrying the past few weeks. His silence and nonchalance left it incredibly hard to get angry at Joel, him usually brushing off your attitude or snide comments with a deafening silence that lasted days. He was exhausted more than not and didn’t have time to waste energy on useless fighting. He knew you would stay by his side either way. You had nowhere else to go.

A dull ache settled in your knuckles which you took as an invite to strike again. And again. Until the pain left you in a blinding fury against the wall. Blood dripped down your hands, trailing to your wrists and down your arms. It trickled onto the ground, staining the dirt a deep crimson.

When Joel had first stumbled upon you, it had seemed like a miracle. A blessing. Almost like he was an angel sent from above. Most people would have left you there to die, taking your supplies in the process. But whatever mind games Joel was playing on you was much worse than that fate. Silence stretched for days, leaving you yearning for social interaction despite the man being right beside you. 

Each night you would try to start a conversation across the fire, but the only response you received was the popping of the flames–almost as if the thought of talking to you nauseated him. Words were only exchanged only when he started it–typically a tense warning or strict instructions, nothing more.

Unknowingly, a rough hand creeped around your waist, dragging you away from the building. Despite the only noises leaving your lips being deep grunts of pent up frustration, Joel had still managed to pick up on the rhythmic thuds of skin against brick. You hadn’t even processed it at first, fists still swinging in the air, only picking up on it when you no longer felt the therapeutic shock of pain in your veins.

“Stop- what the hell are you doing!” He yelled, one arm entangled around your waist, the other reaching out to take hold of your wrists. “I leave you for one minute and you fucking fall apart. What’s the matter with you?”

Your heartbeat thrummed in your ears, a frightening speed that made you dizzy. You leaned back into his chest, attempting to push his arms off of you, borrowing some extra strength from the adrenaline that coursed through your veins.

“Is this what it takes?” You still thrashed against his tightening grip, wrist growing sore. “I have to do all this for you to finally talk back to me?”

Joel’s hold faltered, his fingers loosening slightly. You were able to slip away and face him, knuckles burning, eyes wide, and panting breaths.

“That’s what this is all about?” 

He hadn’t realized the damage his silence had done to you. Years of solitude had conformed Joel to man of reclusion–something he actually preferred. His intimidating presence and gruff words never got him along with many people and he figured you’d only feel the same. Plus, the sour reminder of how he got here bore its way into his mind every time he looked at your face.

“Please…you don’t know what you’re doing.” Eyes wide, pupils blown, she looked to him with an unfathomable desperation.

He should have just walked away.

Shaking his head, he looked down to your hands. The blood had stopped flowing down your arms, now dried in thick ropes along your skin.

“What else would this be about?” Still enraged, you outstretched your hands, pushing his chest–he barely moved. “We’ve been walking for almost a month and you’ve barely said a word to me! I follow you around night and day like a dog that you just yell at to sit and stay. I try to speak to you and you can’t even look in my eyes. I barely know your name, age- hell I don’t know a damn thing about you while I’m letting you tote around my supplies. If I knew any better I’d say you’re just as bad as the two fu-”

“Miller,” he interrupted. “My name is Joel Miller.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Fists balled up, you took a swing towards that stupid, apathetic face.

A low growl left his lips, he stepped out of the way and watched you stumble forward. You fell face first into the dirt, breath knocked out of your lungs as your vision went blurry. A rough cough dispelled chunks of inhaled soil and a heat trickled up your neck to your cheeks.

Patience worn thin, Joel snapped, taking your injured arm in a tight, unforgiving hold. You cried out, his nails digging deep into the wound, blood seeping through the bandages and underneath his fingernails.

“I told you to do what I say and you fucking agreed,” he muttered harshly. “Now, if we got a problem you can quit whining like a child and say somethin’.”

Still wriggling in his grip, you felt suddenly hot, his face so close that his breath fanned the shell of your ear. “It’s not like you’d respond anyways…”

“I’m not here for small talk.” He was practically dragging you back to the entrance now, arm pulsing in agony. “You have something important to say, I’m all ears. Other than that, keep your mouth shut. I tried being nice.”

You kept your mouth shut. Not because you didn’t have anything to say, but because the stinging that radiated through your body threatened to force a whimper from your lips if you dared open them.

Rounding the corner, the gate that had been locked shut before was now wide open, the lock lying busted in the dirt. 

“How did you- ?”

He shrugged, grabbing a brick up off the ground. “Didn’t waste my time trying to break through the wall.”

Ushering you back with his arm, he pulled back the other, grunting under the weight of the brick. He flung it towards the glass door, the bottom half effectively shattering, creating an opening to go through.

Nodding towards the door, a smug grin twitched his lips. “You said you want somethin’ to do? There you go. Go on in, kid.”

Stubbornly, you brushed past him, making it a point to collide shoulders. You poked at the jagged glass with your shoe, removing the spikes that lined the inside of the panel. Peeking your head inside, you made sure the coast was clear–nothing but frozen in time bodega. 

Shelves covered the walls and were in rows down the middle of the room, expired food and useless merchandise strategically placed in order like the day they were stocked, and the coolers along the walls were lined with drinks. The front counter had an old cash register, the drawer popped open and emptied, and the corkboard behind it had torn pieces of loose paper like someone had grabbed them in a hurry.

Pulling yourself through the gap, the glass crunched beneath your feet, echoing down the aisles. A careful hand twisted the lock and you stepped aside as Joel pushed open the door. 

“Woah- “ he gasped as he took a look around.

The tension from moments ago had no room to grow under the overwhelming nostalgia you both felt. 

You had been young at the time of the outbreak. A corner store like this one was a usual stomping ground for you after school and the memories washed over you in waves. Your fingertips dragged along the edge of the shelves, layers of dust collecting under your hands as you read off all the snack names: Cheetos, Lays, Doritos. God, how you never thought you’d be missing a fucking Cool Ranch Dorito. 

“You think any of this stuff is still edible?”

You knew the answer to that question. All this stuff was at least twelve years old, but the possibility of being able to taste pre-outbreak food was thrilling.

You peered up to Joel who held a bag of Swedish Fish in his hands. His brow was furrowed as usual and his eyes crinkled at the edges, but this time it held something different–softer. When you looked closer, it was almost as if his eyes were glossy; his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat like he was choking back a violent sob.

You knew better than to ask another question, he had just told youthat moments ago, but you pressed on. “Those your favorite?”

“Huh? Oh- no uhm, just reminds me of someone I used to know.” He looked up, surprised, as if he hadn’t heard you speaking the whole time.

He cringed at his insensitive wording.

“Take ‘em with you,” you said with a simple shrug of your shoulders. “M’sure they don’t taste great, but the memories are all still there.”

Looking back down at the worn bag in his hands, he nodded contemplatively, whoever he was thinking about still on his mind. Slowly, he brought the backpack from around his shoulders, opening it just wide enough to drop the candy inside.

You went back to scouring the shelves, figuring that was enough conversation for Joel for the entire week. Piling various cans in your arms, you figured some of it might be perservable, stomach growling while you read the labels. Joel made his way towards you, strides heavy, with the backpack partially open.

“Here,” he motioned the bag towards you.

Dropping the contents into the bag, you decided to test your luck pushing the conversation further.

“You ever seen something like this?” You were standing shoulder to shoulder now, still taking in the undisturbed view. “Y’know, after everything…”

Joel sighed, shaking his head. “Not in a real long time…never thought I’d miss seein’ something like this.”

You bit your lip, a certain curiosity itching, but your previous conversation was still replaying in your mind. He seemed to be in a better mood now–both of you were. The store that was like a photo from your memory did the trick in calming both of you down.

“How old were you…when everything happened?”

His breath hitched, back stiffening at your question. The repressed memories of breakout day were already trying to barge their way into his mind, but now the gates flooded, sending a chill down his spine.

“Thirty-seven,” he said flatly, zipping the bag shut and walking to the other end of the store.

He didn’t seem angry, just uncomfortably vulnerable. You let him physically distance himself–at least he was trying to talk to you now.

A moment of tense silence passed, the only sound being Joel’s boots tapping against the linoleum, strolling up and down the aisles.

“You?”

“I was fifteen.” Tearing your eyes away from the nutrition label, you set the bag of chips back to the shelves. “Talk about a shitty start to high school.”

Joel laughed softly at your attempt to lighten the mood. But all he could truly think about was you, just around Sarah’s age, fighting your way through the end of the world–and by the looks of it–losing your parents somewhere along the way.

“Y’know,” you started up again, trying to shed the tension from creeping back in. “I’ve always heard talk about how much the outbreak has changed people. But I think everyone just reverted back to how they were in school–the cliques, betrayal, unnecessary fighting. Everything just went to shit and no one knew how to act anymore, so they started acting like kids again. Like some Lord of the Flies shit.”

Brow raised, Joel laughed at your observation. “Lord of the Flies? What is that, some stupid zombie game?”

You dramatically gasped. “You’re telling me you never read Lord of the Flies? Oh, I forget you're old, they probably had you studying cave drawings in English class.”

You didn’t know where you found it within yourself to whip out a joke like that. Many people around you had been sapped of any joy and finding someone to joke around with was a difficult feat nowadays. 

It was subtle, but you saw the corners of his mouth twitch and his hand instinctively reach for his stubble, grazing a long thoughtful hand across.

“Good one, kid,” he sarcastically chuckled, setting the bag down onto the grimy tile. “Whatchu think about spending the night in here? Seems safe enough, I can pull the gate shut and we can better look for supplies in the morning.”

You had barely noticed, but the sun hung low in the sky, darkness creeping its way into the far corners of the room. The comfort this store brought you was undeniable–a feeling you thought both you and Joel shared. So, you agreed, wanting to revel in the past for as long as you could, knowing this was probably the last place you’d ever see like this again.

“That sounds like a great idea, Joel Miller,” you teased, referencing his full name from earlier.

He groaned. “I’m going to regret telling you that, aren’t I?”

“I’ll make sure of it, old man.”

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ @anoverwhelmingdin @lowrisemiller @iamawkwardandshy (message me to be added or removed)

[tinytownn]

the weight on my shoulders –

pt. i – what would you do for a granola bar? series masterlist

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

word count: 3.8k

summary: joel gets caught in trouble, forcing him to flee the boston qz. a few days into his trip, he takes refuge in an abandoned shed where he finds you–scared, starving, and struggling to survive. despite his better judgement, he takes you with him on his journey.

content: violence and brief mentions of death???, pretty much no actual tlou lore except the infected, joel's outbreak day, and jackson (and a little bit of boston??), slow burn??, age gap (27 and 49), no use of y/n

a/n: i'm so excited for this series you guys get the chapter a day early idc!! i won't be putting a lot of warnings so nothing is spoiled, but any major tw will be listed!!

June 26th, 2025 –

The air was thick and humid, each step like sifting through a sea of tar. Making his way through the dense underbrush had proven to be difficult. Branches reached out, lashing Joel’s arms, but the heat made him too hazy to care. Sweat clung his clothes to his skin, his shirt two shades darker from the liquid. 

He was ultimately unprepared and the dry scratchy feeling that followed every staggered breath was a sour reminder of that. The search for any sort of shelter had gone on a couple days now and his hope was wearing thin. Night was closing in and he wasn’t sure if it was distant shadows, pure exhaustion, or a dream that formed the silhouette of a shed in the distance.

Hope surged through his chest, ignoring the ache in his limbs as he powered towards the building. It was an odd spot for a building–the middle of a thick forest that had long surrendered to the ways of nature–but that didn’t stop his legs from moving. He had nothing else to lose.

As he made his way to the entrance, he saw the door had long caved in, the remaining pieces of wooden scrap laid on the ground beneath his feet. Stepping onto the concrete flooring, his boots echoed through the small building. There was a wooden table and three legged chair tossed in the far corner and two bookshelves against the left wall–the rest of the items having succumbed to the hands of time.

Litter rustled underneath his feet–bits of cloth, wrappers, and leaves–while he looked for anything of value. His stomach was tight, relentlessly growling at the hopes of some sort of substance. 

Joel scanned the shelves, mostly empty other than dust bunnies and cobwebs, but a small can at the top of the second shelf caught his eye. It was hard to see, but the faded yellow and red label churned the acid in his stomach.

“C’mere you little shit,” he said, standing on his toes, his fingertips grazed the rusted metal lip. 

He nudged the can, trying to urge it towards him, but his force was too strong and the can fell on its side and began to roll to the ground. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Joel winced, expectantly awaiting the loud clunk of the can on concrete. But the sound never came. Instead, the can rolled off, out of sight, and landed with a soft thud. 

Instinctively, Joel reached an arm out, ready to retrieve the food he was so desperate for, until a low groan reverberated through the shed–bouncing off the walls. The noise was soft, but it had caught him so off guard it rang through his body, stilling every movement.

There was a small gap between the shelf and wall where the can had disappeared to. The corner was void of any light, but the sound assured Joel that something was there. 

His breath caught in his throat, debating if the mysterious can was worth facing whatever was possibly over there. But before he could even decide, the coaxing gurgle of his stomach urged his feet forward. 

His steps were slow, barely lifting his feet from the ground before shuffling them closer to the corner. Typically, he would’ve rushed in, seizing whoever was hiding before they could make any sudden moves–but this wasn’t a typical situation. Joel was weak, hungry, and exhausted from his last two days stranded in the woods. He only had the stained clothes on his back and the broken watch wrapped around his wrist. 

He couldn’t rely on his fists to protect him and he surely didn’t have a weapon, so he kept his movements quiet and steady. He squinted his eyes as they grew more adjusted to the dark. In the corner he could make out a human-like figure–slumped over and unconscious.

A sliver of moonlight slipped through the shattered window on the opposite wall, casting a slight glow on your face. Head hung low, Joel couldn’t tell if you were even alive. Your breaths, if any, were shallow. He couldn’t make out if he saw a gentle rise and fall of your chest through the blood soaked shirt that clung to your stomach. The pieces of skin that peeked through the caked crimson on your arms were pale, and a large, oozing gash dripped blood onto the concrete.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He didn’t know how he couldn’t hear it before, but seeing the reddened, aching muscle pulse made it deafening. 

Tearing his eyes from the bloodbath, he turned his focus back to his original goal. The can.

The stiffness of your body led him to believe you were, at least, unconscious–less trouble for him. A wavering hand reached out, fingertips grazing the lips of the can. When he lifted it however, his heart sank, the can rested in his palm with ease–weightless and empty.

“Goddammit,” he hissed.

Gripping the metal tight in his hands, knuckles turning white, Joel threw the can to the bookshelves. The can screamed out as it hit the wood, followed by the lingering scrape of metal on concrete as it retreated. 

Yet again, a low groan escaped your lips at the sudden noise. You weren’t entirely conscious, but the sound was enough to stir you from whatever daze your pain had you in. 

Joel held his breath as if that would make him disappear from the room. He held still, praying your head wouldn’t lift, like you were even able to, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. In his panicked glance at you however, he caught a glimpse of a tattered, blue plastic peeking out from your shirt pocket.

Another appealing possibility of food pressed another strained gurgle from his stomach. Weighing the possibilities, Joel had a decision to make.

As far as he could see, you weren’t making it out of here, practically dead where you sat. Blood covered most of your body and although your injury wasn’t life threatening, the lack of food, water, and medical supplies would take you out in days. You seemed too weak to even wrap your wound and infection would surely spread soon.

Joel was still able to move–he had made it all the way over here. And if he could get even just a bite of that granola bar it would give him the strength to find some actual shelter and supplies. Give him an actual chance at surviving. Or that’s what he tried to convince himself.

A few hours and Joel probably would had been in the same state as you. Exhaustion had already begun to tear at his resolve, the dry, scratchy feeling at the back of his throat a constant reminder of all the things he didn’t have. But here you lay, food almost out on display like it was fate for him to be here and see this.

It was decided. He needed this more than you did.

He pushed back whatever thoughts crept in to force him to change his mind. The prickling reminder of what had even gotten him here in the first place. How if he did this it would be like all of that didn’t matter and he was out here, stranded, for nothing.

None of that would matter anyways if he was dead though.

So his hand crept into your front pocket–swift and nimble–snatching the granola bar between his fingers, the plastic crinkling under his touch.

Once again, that haunting groan left your lips. This time stronger.

His movements were quick and deliberate, ready to get away from your lifeless body. The end of the world had shook Joel to his core, taking away everything important to him and showing him the darkest parts of this world. There wasn’t much that got to him anymore. But exhaustion and hunger played with his mind, it had been years since he was this weak. The events of the past two days weighed on him heavy, the screams of that girl ringing in his mind, and for just a second he could’ve swore he heard that same scream leave your parted lips.

Joel blinked in disbelief. His mind was playing tricks on him. Your head twitched upwards slightly, your lips moving, but not a sound coming out. 

Finally, through cracked and dried lips, you mustered out a soft, gravelly cry. “No…”

Shocked, Joel stayed crouched in place, as if you wouldn’t see if he stayed still enough. Guilt panged his chest, his hands tightening around the rustling plastic. He couldn’t believe you just spoke to him. 

He stayed silent, waiting for your voice just to prove it wasn’t a trick of the mind.

Then again, your voice pleaded–louder this time. “Please don’t…”

Joel didn’t know what in him had softened. He had grown used to the harsh realities of this new world, prepared to kill any threat needed to get by. But you weren’t a threat. You couldn’t even open your eyes to remember his face and track him down later. 

That didn’t stop his mind from racing…

“Please, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

The frail, broken voice rang out in his ears once again. The voice that hadn’t left his head–waking thoughts and dreams–for the past two excruciating days.

He felt sick to his stomach. The ache was still there, but the mind numbing need for food quickly turned to nausea. 

“Didn’t know you were even alive.” He didn’t know where the words came from–cold and stern–a complete contrast to everything he was feeling inside.

Joints cracked under the pressure of his hands on his knees, pushing himself to his feet. Without looking your way, he tossed the bar back into your lap. A tense silence hung in the air–thick and unpleasant–like if either of you were to say another word the floor would simply crumble to pieces.

Then a movement, strained and slow, caught the corner of Joel’s eye. You raised your head to meet his unwavering gaze. Dirt or blood–he couldn’t tell–smeared the left side of your face, caked and dried onto the skin. Desperation filled your eyes and beneath your lidded stare he could see a glimmer of hope he had lost years ago.

“Please…” you breathed out, voice still hoarse. “Don’t leave me here.”

Joel’s breath hitched.

Your hair clung to your face, eyes still on him, and sweat formed on your brow like the very act of keeping your head up was strenuous. The sight was plain pitiful–but Joel had no pity. You couldn’t survive in this world with pity.

When he had fled two days ago, Joel left with no supplies, no sense of where he was, and a vague destination. Leaving on such short notice, he wasn’t able to get a message through to his brother–his last known whereabouts being somewhere in Wyoming. Without a town or county to go by, Joel wasn’t confident he’d find Tommy, but it was the only plan he had. And if he wanted to give it his best shot, he needed to get there fast. Bringing you along would only slow him down.

He dragged a thoughtful hand over his beard like it would come up with some sort of answer. But all it brought him was more time to take in the scene before him. The torn and bloodied clothes, every surface of your body either scabbed with blood or clammy in sweat, and the pleading look in your eyes–begging him to stay.

He thought of Sarah for a moment.

Just a moment.

He shook his head. Quarantine life had made him partially forget what life was like in the wild, the choices you had to make–and the ones you didn’t get to. 

“Fine,” he spat, already turning his back to you. “But just until you’re back on your feet. I don’t have time for distractions so we go where I say and you do as I say. You hear me?”

You didn’t answer, only hung your head back down, sighing in relief.

Joel’s eyes flicked to the backpack you had hidden behind you, partially relying on it to prop you upright. 

“What’dya got in there?”

He reached for the bag, less careful than before, like you now owed him something. Snatching the backpack from your side, he was shocked at the weight and hurriedly fumbled with the zipper.

“Christ, girl,” he clicked his tongue as vast amounts of medical supplies, food, and clothes that spilled onto the floor. “Who the fuck did you piss off and steal from?”

Your head snapped, a sudden intensity in your eyes. “S’all mine. I didn’t steal from no one.”

He turned to you, brow raised. “Then what the hell’s the mat– Shit! You’re not infected are ya?”

Before the words even left his lips he was already backing away, bag clutched under his arm. 

“Does it look– Fuck!” The fabric clung to your wound had ripped off at the sudden movement, a wail of pain leaving your lips. “Some motherfucker stabbed me. I sprained my ankle trying to get away.”

Limply flailing your leg out in front of him, Joel could very clearly see even under the dim moonlight that your ankle was red and swollen. It looked painful to the touch and certainly untreated, you hissed the moment his fingers grazed the skin.

“Careful!”

Instinctively, you pulled back, but Joel certainly didn’t have the patience for this. He bit the inside of his cheek, giving you a moment to brace yourself while he gathered the necessary supplies from the bag–an old, ratty sliver of a towel and rolls of bandages. 

He reached out, grabbing your calf firm and purposefully, his calloused fingers digging into the skin. You wriggled in his grip, trying to escape the searing pain that came with his less than delicate touch. Your skin felt like it was a roaring campfire and every sense of pressure from Joel were like drops of water making you squelch and squirm.

Other than the occasional “Be still” or “Quit movin’”, Joel had stayed silent. Knotted brow, he focused intently on the swelling, securely fastening the bandage to stabilize the injury. 

Lifting your ankle slightly, tilting it so he could view it in the moonlight, he inspected his work. Satisfied with the wrappings, he pulled away, and you could feel relief wash over you now that your ankle had some sort of compression.

Curling his finger, he motioned you towards him with one swift, silent motion. You don’t know why or how, but you lifted your body, feeling almost weightless as if he was lifting you himself. By the time he had started working on the cut to your arm, you had succumbed to the pain, dwelling in the more warm and comforting aspects of his touch.

You didn’t know how long you were in there for, huddled into the dark corner, but each passing moment felt like your last. Each exhale was met with the lingering fear that maybe there would be no air to breathe in, that your heart, stuttering and frail, would no longer have the strength to beat. So when the bleeding stopped and the scorching pain finally subsided into a dull ache underneath the tenderly placed cloth, you found a brief solace within the moment. 

“Thank you,” you croaked out between harsh breaths.

Lips stretched thin, he nodded. “Don’t mention it.”

The day had been tiring for you, a bitter taste of distrust and betrayal left in your mouth. When the can had thudded into your lap, startling you awake, you were sure you were dead where you sat. It was obvious the man needed food, and in this state of the world people would do anything for just half of what you had stashed in your bag. His kindness was worth more than just mentioning.

But you stayed silent and relished in the moment.

It had been so long since someone had cared for you, dressed your wounds–and although his touch was harsh, it still felt nice to be cared for.

With a grunt, he placed his worn hands to the concrete, positioning himself away from you once he was done. 

“Should be good for a few days,” he threw the bandages back in the back, rummaging through for something. “You’ll have to rebandage it then.”

You nodded.

Silence fell over the room again, both of you too exhausted to speak. Metal quietly tinked against the zipper of the bag as Joel pulled out the canteen. He didn’t even shoot a glance your way before wrapping his lips around the opening, greedily gulping down the water. 

You watched the gruff stranger as he ate, ripping open a can of beans and tossing his head back. His face looked tired–dark circles encompassed his weary hazel eyes, his jaw was tight and movements sluggish. Relief washed over his face the second food touched his tongue, even though you knew the food that had been boiling within the depths of your bag in the summer heat couldn’t have tasted that great.

“What’s your name?” you finally asked, growing tired of the distanced silence.

His shoulders stiffened. He was busy in taking count of the supplies you had, clipping the sheathed hunting knife to his jeans, and your voice had taken him by surprise. He had left the half emptied canteen next to you, a silent offer that you graciously took, and your voice had regained a shocking amount of strength.

“Joel,” he said flatly, his eyes only meeting yours for a moment.

You nodded, whispering your name to him in response. It pained you to hear him repeat the words softly under his breath, a practice you had heard throughout the countless introductions this world brought you. You couldn’t help but wonder how long until he forgot your name too.

The night dragged on slowly. Both of you had found your respective places on the floor, using spare clothing and scrap towels as a makeshift pillow. 

Sleep didn’t come easy despite your exhaustion. You lay huddled in the same corner as before, a lingering distrust bubbling in your chest. Sure Joel had tended to your wounds, but he was still a stranger, a man–a strong one at that. 

Each time you closed your eyes, you pictured his figure looming above you–broad shoulders, threatening stare, and balled fists, ready for conflict. You tried to brush off the feeling, but this world had taught you that would be the very thing to lead to your demise. So you laid there, eyes focused on the rotting ceiling tiles. 

Occasionally, Joel would snore or stir peacefully in his sleep and your eyes would quickly snap to him as if he were a dangerous predator. But each time you were met with his unusually softened face, brow unfurrowed and jaw slack, sputtering out breathy snores. 

Exhaustion had caught up to you at some point in the night, swift and dangerous, pulling you into a deep sleep until the bright morning sun crept onto your face. You felt the stiffness in your back from sleeping on the concrete all night and the throbbing in your ankle reminded you of your injuries.

The memories of the night came flooding in, knocking down whatever dam kept the events at bay. Fear crept its way into your mind, frantically looking around for Joel and your belongings you so foolishly let him keep hold of. 

He was nowhere in sight.

“That son of a bitch!” 

Using the bookshelf, you pressed your palm to the dusty shelf and anchored your weight onto it. The rickety wood creaked under the pressure, but you were sure it would support you.

Snap!

The shelf, rotted and worn with time, caved in on itself, splitting in two. Before you could even react, concrete slammed against your ribs, head colliding to the ground with a thud. You yelped both in pain and shock, but thankful you hadn’t fallen on your arm.

The makeshift door–a long tattered and torn sheet Joel had draped over the entrance–swished to the side and heavy footsteps rushed in. 

Your heart pounded–more than it already was–the rhythmic thrumming accompanied by a deafeaning shrill. Breath still caught in your throat, lungs thrashing in its cage, you used every last bit of strength to face the intruder.

It was just Joel–and your backpack slung over his shoulder.

“What the hell are ya doin’, kid?” He snarled in a harsh whisper. “You tryin’ to get us killed?”

His demeanor had changed from yesterday. He shook with an undeniable rage and his jaw was so tense you thought it might snap. He lunged towards you, grabbing firmly at your arms, fingernails digging into the skin regardless of the blood that seeped beneath them.  

Darkness encapsulated your vision, the concrete cool against your skin as he dragged you to the deepest part of the corner. Holding you tight against his chest you could hear both your hearts beating opposite each other–his beating just as rapidly as yours.

“There’s noth-”

A hand, rough and calloused, slapped over your mouth. His nails dug into the angle of your mandible, clamping your jaw shut with a painful sting. The smell of lingering cigarette smoke stuck between his fingers and drifted its way into your nostrils each time you tried to bite out a word.

Minutes of pure silence passed, the only noise coming from your original protests and the crunching of leaves under wildlife. It was only until you felt Joel’s pulse return to a regular pace that he stirred, lifting his hand from your mouth.

“Those little friends of yours,” he grumbled, voice gravelly and unsure. “They’re still lookin’ for ya.”

You scratched at your jaw where you could feel the impressions of his fingernails. Quickly, you distanced yourself from Joel. A palpable anger radiated off of him and the displays of his strength were just making way.

“What are you talking about?” you spat, growing defensive.

He crossed his arms, eyes not once leaving yours. “Two men came up to me, askin’ for you.”

“How’d you know it was them?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “They could be asking for anybody.”

Joel was quick to bite back. “They used your name. Said you stole from them and ran off.” 

You stiffened. The distance was once again closing in.

They were still alive?

“Listen,” he said, grasping the straps around his shoulders. “I’m gonna need to start hearin’ the damn truth. Right now.”

It was your turn to furrow your brow, shooting him a menacing glare. “I told you I didn’t steal anything. They were trying to steal from me. And you don’t seem too hesitant to have a grab at my stuff either.”

Joel stood unmoving, his lips drawn tight, eyes surveying you while he pondered your sincerity. 

Slowly, he nodded. Brushing past you without a word, he started towards the window.

“We’ll leave at night. Can’t risk them seein’ you.”

Biting your lip, your gaze fell to your shoes. All your weight was being pushed on your good leg and still pain surged throughout your entire body. You weren’t sure how much distance you were going to be able to make.

“Where are we going?” You eventually asked.

“Wyoming.”

a special thanks to my taglist ♡ @anoverwhelmingdin @lowrisemiller @iamawkwardandshy (message me to be added or removed)

[tinytownn]

the weight on my shoulders –

series masterlist

[post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]

i. what would you do for a granola bar?

ii. time heals all wounds

iii. gossip girl (no…like please go piss girl)

iv. wife number five pt.1

v. wife number five pt.2

vi. home sweet home

vii. i know a spot.../weeping under the willow

viii. a bad case of man flu

ix. reader…there’s a girl behind you

x. rejection therapy

xi. reason #2,673 not to yell in the apocalypse 

xii. the weight on his shoulders

i have no words...don’t be fooled by the chapter names, they’re so unserious to deceive you lmaooo (and counteract how fucking sad this made me)