patrollingboston

[patrollingboston]

I Didn't Mean To Wake You

I go on holiday tomorrow! Although I have chapters pre-written I won't have access to upload so this is going to be the last chapter for a few weeks! I hope you guys enjoy it, thank you for the support so far <3

Post-Outbreak - Jackson

The snow flurried down beneath the streetlamps of Jackson. Della sat curled in an armchair, wrapped up like a baby in a blanket, her eyes following the snowflakes as they fell. Her teeth chattered as the heating in her house clicked off.

Her gaze drifted toward Joel’s house across the street, warm orange light glowing from the windows, so inviting it almost to hurt to look at.

Then, with a soft clink, the lamp beside her went dark. One by one, the streetlamps outside flickered off.

“What the hell-” Della stood, the blanket slipping from her shoulders as she followed the wire to the wall like it was some ancient map that held all the answers.

Her house, now suffocated in darkness, felt unfamiliar. She’d let herself grow too comfortable with light, too distant from the acceptance of darkness. Her chest tightened as cold rushed through her bones like a bullet train.

She looked back toward Joel’s house. Even his once-cozy windows had been swallowed by black. She hated herself for the constant conflict he caused in her own mind.

“Must be an outage,” she muttered to herself.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

After an hour had gone by, Della was still sat clutching her blanket, her teeth making their own music as they danced in the cold. Unable to fall asleep, she sat wide awake, left with her own thoughts to ridicule and bully her.

She had a thought. Joel was a handyman. He’d have some form of portable heater, right? Maybe even a spare she could borrow. But no, she was too stubborn to ask him for help.

They had hardly spoken since the patrol, exchanging quick glances at the tipsy bison, and pretending to ignore one another on horseback patrols.

Della hated the hold he had on her.

“Fuck it.”

Della stormed out of the house, the blanket wrapped around her like a cape as she trudged across the snowy ground toward his front door. She knocked gently, it was the middle of the night, after all.

He opened the door, a thick hoodie draped over his frame, his hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Damn, did I wake you?” she asked softly.

“Yeah- no… What’re you doin’ here?” His voice was rough, sleep still clinging to it.

Della swallowed, forcing down the flood of memories that voice stirred, she thought of the mornings she used to wake up wrapped in it.

“I— uh I lost power. I was wondering if you had a spare heater or somethin’?”

She hated asking. Hated letting him see this vulnerable, exposed version of her, the side she worked so hard to bury.

Awkward tension filled the space between them, but there was something else, something subtle and warm.

Joel blinked, brow furrowed. “Nobody told you the protocol for outages?” He shook his head. “Damn... I ain’t got a spare, but c’mon. Get inside before you freeze.”

Before she could refuse, he stepped back and opened the door wider.

A wave of warmth spilled from the house. She hesitated, then gave a small nod.

“Thanks,” she murmured, stepping inside as awkward tension fluttered around the pair.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Half an hour later, Joel sat on the couch while Della was wrapped in layers of blankets, his blankets. The scent of them clung to her, subtle but inescapable. Her mind spiralled with every inhale, memories creeping in with the warmth.

Joel cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

“You warmin’ up?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, eyes on the flickering candle. “Feelin’ a lot better.”

He gave a small, half-hearted smile in her direction. “Well… you’re welcome to stay the night. Couch is yours, or y’know, whatever you wanna do, Dell.”

“Don’t call me that,” Della said, a breathy sigh escaping her. “Not when you’re being so nice to me.”

Joel tilted his head, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “Just… it’s easier to hate you when you’re not being decent.”

He didn’t answer right away, only studied her through the low moonlight.

“You think I like that things turned out this way?” he said quietly. “I don’t.”

Neither of them said anything after that. The silence returned; but this time it was heavier, full of all the things neither could quite say.

“I’m tired of hating you,” Della murmured, her voice fraying at the edges. “But I don’t know how not to.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, slow and steady. “I’m real tired of you hatin’ me too.”

Della looked up, her eyes locking onto his. The moonlight caught the brown in his gaze, softening it, making him look more like the man she remembered than the one she’d tried to forget. For a long moment, they just looked at each other, words lost in the heaviness between them.

Then she leaned forward.

Her head rested gently against his stomach, like it was the only place in the world she could find solid ground. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. Just stayed there, still and silent, letting her breathing sync with his.

Joel’s hand hovered before settling, fingers threading slowly through her hair. A small gesture, but tender in a way only he could be, with a touch that said everything neither of them could.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Della woke to the sound of birds chirping outside, the white morning light spilling through the window, reflecting off the thick blanket of fresh snow. Her body was still wrapped in warmth, not just from the covers, but from the arms loosely draped around her.

“Um… good morning,” a voice called, uncertain but amused.

Ellie stood at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes flicking between the two of them: Della nestled into Joel’s side on the couch, his arm still half around her.

Della jerked upright, scrambling out of his hold as Joel blinked awake.

“Ellieee,” Della said, drawing out her name with awkward tension.

“Dellaaa,” Ellie shot back, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

Joel groaned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Ellie, go back upstairs.”

“I will,” she said, crossing her arms with a dramatic flair. “As soon as one of you tells me what the hell is going on.”

“There’s nothin’ goin’ on,” Joel grumbled, waving a dismissive hand at her.

“Bullshit,” Ellie said flatly. “I just caught you mid-cuddle on the fucking couch, man.”

Della opened her mouth to respond, but Joel spoke first.

“Ellie, it’s complicated.”

“It’s always complicated,” Ellie muttered, already turning on her heel. “Whatever. Just don’t make it weird- or loud?”

She disappeared upstairs before either of them could react.

Della stared at the empty stairs, then slowly turned back to Joel.

“Well. That was... horrifying.”

“Shit, sorry-  she’s not usually up before midday.” Joel muttered, running a hand through his hair as Ellie’s footsteps disappeared upstairs.

“Um… thanks for last night,” Della said softly, already gathering the blanket she’d wandered in with hours earlier. “I’ll get goin’, head home.”

She made it to the door before Joel’s voice stopped her.

“Hey, Dell?”

She turned, her curls catching the morning light like sparks off flint.

“It’s nice… y’know, talkin’ to you,” he said. His voice faltered, that old nervousness sneaking in, the one she hadn’t seen since the day he’d first asked her out all those years ago.

“I know,” she replied, a small, genuine smile curving her lips.

And for the first time in twenty years, something softened in her chest. A flicker of forgiveness. Fragile, but real.

She opened the front door and stepped into the snow-covered street, blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders like a cape. As she crossed, she passed Tommy heading toward Joel’s porch, coffee mug in hand.

“Joel?” Tommy called out.

“What?” Joel answered from the doorway, the early sunlight catching in his tired eyes.

Tommy smirked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “You wanna explain why Della just walked outta here half-dressed, wrapped in a blanket, first thing in the damn morning?”

Joel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t ask.”

Tommy chuckled. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Joel just stood there for a moment, watching Della’s front door click shut behind her, a strange warmth lingering somewhere under his ribs.

[patrollingboston]

Everybody moved on... I stayed there.

[patrollingboston]

Scare-Mongering

Hi everyone!! thank you so much for the support so far, it is what keeps me writing :) I have just been empl*yed so updates are gonna be a bit slower whilst I settle in. Anyway, things are starting to take spooky turns in Della and Joel's world.

Pre-Outbreak - Austin

It had been a few months since Joel and Della’s first date.

Della still fought the ever-present anxiety that came with stepping into something new, a relationship wasn’t something she was used to. But lately, the good was starting to outweigh the bad. Joel was patient with her, kind to Casey, surprisingly decent in the kitchen, and had even made it a tradition to show up every Friday with a bouquet of fresh flowers, usually stolen from a client’s garden.

Not that she minded, gave her nightstand a pop of colour either way.

She dipped her brush into paint, streaks of yellow soaking into the canvas as she worked in calm silence. Behind her, Joel sat in the armchair, a paper held between his fingers, eyes scanning it like he was searching for something important.

Sunlight spilled through the glass roof, casting golden beams across the room. From upstairs, she could hear the soft murmur of Sarah and Casey’s voices, the hush of secrets and laughter shared between girls.

Joel crept up behind Della, slipping his arms around her waist and resting his head in the curve of her neck.

“How’s it coming along?” he murmured, his voice low and close.

“Good… I think,” Della replied, stepping back slightly so he could get a full look at the canvas propped on the easel in front of them. “What do you think?”

Joel rubbed at his jaw, his stubble catching against his fingertips, mouth parting slightly in quiet awe.

“Jesus, Della… it’s goddamn beautiful. Is that—”

“The lake,” she nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Glad you recognised it.”

Painted across the canvas, the lake from that summer afternoon stretched wide in shades of gold, blue, and green. The colors swirled together like memory, soft and sun-soaked, pulled from the kind of moment that stayed lodged in the chest long after it passed.

“My clients would pay good money for this,” Joel said, eyes still fixed on the painting. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Della shrugged gently, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Life’s just been real inspirin’ lately, what can I say?”

Joel smirked and closed the last bit of space between them, cupping her face as he leaned in. They kissed under the warm cast of afternoon light, the golden rays spilling around them like the very scene she had captured on canvas.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

“Sarah, Casey, come get your food, sweethearts,” Della called out, carefully balancing a plate stacked with burgers.

The two girls appeared hand in hand, as they often did. Joel liked to joke they reminded him of the twins from The Shining; always creeping up in total silence, uncanny in their bond.

“Juice is on the table, go on and sit down.” Della gave them each a gentle pat on the back as they passed. The open windows welcomed the hum of cicadas into the room, a familiar, persistent buzz that settled into the bones of anyone who’d lived in the country long enough to miss it once it was gone.

“Burger for you here, Joel.”

“Thanks, darlin’.”

Joel passed through the kitchen, snatching up his plate with the casual rhythm of a school lunch line. Della paused, letting the moment soak in: the sound of laughter, the shuffle of bare feet on hardwood, the soft clink of dishes.

She loved this. A full house. A life that felt… real.

Reaching for her own food, her eyes flicked to the newspaper Joel had been reading earlier. Across the front page, bold letters shouted:

SEPTEMBER 12, 2003 — MORE PEOPLE GROWING VIOLENT

Curiosity sparked. She leaned in, scanning the text. With every line she read, her heartbeat ticked a little faster. Something about it felt wrong; not sensational, not dramatic, just… off.

“Joel?” she called, taking a cautious bite of her burger.

“What?” he answered from the other room, voice muffled by food.

“Come here a second, would ya?”

He wandered back in, wiping his mouth with the side of his hand, and leaned beside her against the counter.

“You seen this?” she asked, tapping the paper.

Joel glanced down. “It’s a bunch of bull. You know how the media spins things.”

“But what if it’s not? This one says it’s in Louisiana. A woman attacked by some rabid patient in a hospital.”

Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “You think ‘rabid’ is a real medical diagnosis? Come on, Dell. People get worked up too easy. You start giving this kind of stuff attention, it turns into panic for no reason.”

But Della didn’t look convinced. Her eyes lingered on the page a second longer, the cicadas outside suddenly louder than before.

“Tommy said the same thing today. You gotta believe us.” Joel’s voice was steady, but Della still felt that whisper of unease tug at her thoughts.

She turned away from the counter, trying to shake it off like a chill. “Oh, speaking of him, I was wondering if you’d want to invite Tommy over for lunch?”

Joel raised a brow. “To meet you and Casey?”

“That’s the plan.”

He smiled at her, a soft, genuine one that made her chest ache in that way she hadn’t gotten used to yet.

“I know you’ve got work on your birthday,” she continued, “but I was thinking maybe the day after. Forecast says the weather’s holdin’ up, we could do a BBQ out back. What do you say?”

Joel nodded. “Sounds great.”

Della grabbed her plate and made her way to the table, sliding into the seat beside Sarah and Casey. Joel followed behind, settling in with the same ease he always seemed to carry.

But as the low hum of conversation filled the space, quiet laughter, the clink of cutlery, Della’s mind kept circling back to that headline.

MORE PEOPLE GROWING VIOLENT.

The words clung to her like smoke she couldn’t quite cough out.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Della clung to her wine glass, her lips brushing its rim as she took a slow sip. Her eyes were locked on the television, brows creased with growing unease.

A news anchor, perfectly poised in a sleek suit, read from her desk, a calm voice at odds with the panic lacing every word. Behind her, shaky footage played on loop: street-level chaos, sirens, screaming.

“Joel,” Della whispered sharply, careful not to wake the girls upstairs. “Joel, look!”

He was already moving, bracing his hands on the back of the couch as he leaned in, eyes narrowing.

“Jesus…” she muttered, her heart pounding. “That’s Houston. Joel, that’s- this thing is getting closer.”

He said nothing. Quietly, he slid down beside her, the cushion dipping under his weight. On-screen, a man was tackled to the pavement by someone moving far too fast, too erratic. The footage cut to static, then back again.

“Holy hell,” Della breathed. She wrung her thumb against her palm until it stung. “Joel… I’m scared. Should we be packin’ up? Do we need to leave?”

Joel reached out, his hand closing over hers—rough, steady. He rubbed his thumb along her knuckles, trying to soothe something unspeakable.

“No, darlin’. If they’re talkin’ about it on the news, that means they’ve got it handled. They wouldn’t let it get outta control.” Della didn’t answer. She just nodded once and leaned into his shoulder. But the tension in her chest didn’t ease, and her eyes never left the screen

[patrollingboston]

Outfit's i'd wear in The Last Of Us! ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚

Going on patrol with Joel and Tommy.

[patrollingboston]

Don't Act Like You Care

Bit of angst for your weekend! I was in a bit of a writers block but luckily I have the next few chapters pre written so there shouldn't be a delay on that front. Thank you so much to everyone who leaves hearts and comments, they mean the world to me!

Post-Outbreak - Jackson

Group patrol. First one. What a joy.

Della’s boots sat snug in the stirrups, her hands gripping the ropey reins of her newly assigned horse. Much to her dismay, he came with a name, but in all honesty, she didn’t hate it.

“There’s a good boy, Frankie,” she muttered, patting the thick muscle of his neck as he snorted, his warm breath curling into the morning chill. He was all black, save for a few scattered white patches across his coat like missing puzzle pieces.

The patrol group lined up behind the front gate as the guards cranked it open. Despite surviving on the road for nearly twenty years before Jackson, Della felt something close to nerves. She knew how to handle herself, people even said she was a good shot, but this was different. Here, there were rules. Expectations. Witnesses.

Dina, Tommy, and Joel flanked her on their horses, each one carrying loaded rifles and pistols. The familiar weight of danger settled over her shoulders.

The gate creaked and clanked, groaning on old hinges before sliding open. The group set off into the woods, following the creek’s winding path. Birds scattered from the trees with light flutters, and squirrels darted up trunks, skittering from the horses' hooves. The stillness reminded her of the city, but quieter. Wilder. Like something holding its breath.

“So, Della,” Tommy began, his voice soaked in the same Southern drawl she remembered all too well, “we follow the trail, clear out any infected, and mark it in the checkpoint logbook.”

“Gotcha.”

“I like your hair, Della,” Dina said, her voice sweet and disarming, so unlike the steel that usually lived behind those eyes. Della hadn’t spoken much to her before, but she’d seen Ellie trailing behind her like a loyal pup.

“Well, that’s real sweet of you. Thank you, Dina.”

A rare smile touched her lips, warmth blooming in her chest. Her hair was twisted into a loose braid that swayed over one shoulder, streaks of white threading through the red like lightning. Age, stress—she couldn’t tell anymore.

Joel hadn’t said a word, but Della felt his eyes on her.

He rode behind her, just close enough to make her skin crawl. She didn’t have to look to know he was watching, she could feel it, sharp and unrelenting, cutting through the fabric of her jacket, right to the ink etched on her back. The one his fingers used to trace like a map.

“You’ve got a Southern accent; where you from?” Dina asked curiously. “Are all of you Southern?”

“She’s from Austin,” Joel cut in, answering before Della could even draw a breath.

Dina's head turned, eyebrows knitting together as she glanced between the two of them. “Didn’t realize you two knew each other…”

Tommy glanced at Della, his eyes quickly faltering awkwardly.

Joel must've spoken to him.

“We—” Della started.

“Wait, stop,” Dina interrupted, pulling her horse up short and raising a hand. She pointed to a carcass sprawled out ahead, half-hidden in the brush.

Joel didn’t hesitate. He urged his horse forward and took point. “On me.”

An anxious knot twisted in Della’s stomach, like someone was threading wire through her spine. She straightened in her saddle, eyes sharp, breath slow. Alert like a tawny owl.

“That old barn,” Tommy said, hopping down from his horse and unholstering his rifle. “We split off and check it. Dina, with me. Della, you’re with Joel.”

Of course. It’s always me and him.

Joel’s eyes met hers. They looked almost apologetic. Like he was silently saying I didn’t ask for this either.

Tommy and Dina were already moving around the barn’s far side, weapons drawn, boots crunching softly through the brush.

“You lead,” Della whispered, nudging her rifle forward.

“You ain’t gonna shoot me, are ya?”

She rolled her eyes, pushing past him with her weapon steady, though her hand trembled slightly against the trigger.

Joel eased the barn door open. A wave of rot hit them like a slap to the face, thick and sour, curling in their nostrils and coating the back of their throats. Inside, the barn was dark, the wooden beams groaning with age and something else.

A low, wet snarl broke the silence.

“DELLA!” Dina screamed.

Della barely had time to react. A runner slammed into her, knocking her flat. Her back hit the barn floor hard, and suddenly she was drowning beneath its weight. The thing bared its teeth inches from her face, breath hot and sour like spoiled meat, saliva dripping from its throat.

She fought against its wild swings, legs kicking, arms straining.

Then...schlick.

A blade sliced clean through the runner’s skull. Its body collapsed on top of her, twitching once before going still.

Joel wrenched his knife free, his breath ragged.

Before Della could even sit up, another shriek tore from Dina’s throat.

Della whipped her head around just in time to see another runner charging from the shadows. Dina raised her weapon, but her hands were shaking.

A shot rang out.

The sound cracked through the barn like lightning, and everything went still. Tommy lowered his rifle before running towards Dina.

“Everyone okay?!” Joel called out, his eyes snapping to Della before anyone else could answer.

“I’m fine. No bites…” she muttered, wincing as she pulled her hand away from her side. Blood bloomed through the fabric of her shirt like a spreading shadow. “I caught my side on something sharp, that’s all.”

Joel was on her in seconds, holstering his knife. “Shit. Let me see.”

Della hesitated, lifting the edge of her shirt just enough to expose the wound. She was sure Joel didn’t care, not really. He just wanted to confirm she wasn’t infected. That was it.

“There’s glass in there, Dell,” he said, voice tight. “Hold still, I’m gonna clean it up.”

He didn’t wait for her response, already digging through his backpack. Bandages, alcohol, a worn flask of whiskey.

“We’ll head back to the horses,” Joel barked over his shoulder. “Patch her up and we’ll go back.”

Della sat on a flat rock, breathing heavy. Joel approached, bottle in one hand, a strip of gauze in the other.

“Take off your shirt.”

“I’m fine,” she snapped. “You’re being dramatic—”

“Off.”

The command left no room for argument. She pulled the shirt over her head, blood-soaked fabric peeling from her skin. The cold air hit her first, then Joel’s gaze. He didn’t hide the way he looked at her eyes flicking down her torso like he remembered every inch.

Della looked away.

“Hold still,” he murmured, pouring whiskey over the wound. It stung like hell, pulling a hiss from between her teeth. Joel’s touch was gentle but sure, his hand pressing a cloth to stop the bleeding. The silence stretched, thick with everything unspoken.

“I’ve had worse,” she muttered, trying to mask the flutter in her chest.

“Still bleeds the same,” he replied, not looking up.

“This- ah- doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

“…”

“I know.”

Their eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, Della saw him. The version of Joel who once splashed in the lake with the girls, who smiled without consequence. That softness. That tenderness. Like the cracks in his shell had reopened, just enough for something real to slip through.

“I always loved that tattoo,” he said, eyes flicking away as he crouched in front of her, a glimpse into what could’ve been. The admission landed soft, almost like a secret.

She followed his gaze downward. The ink stretched across her torso, faded but still bold, a cowboy mid-lasso, etched across her ribs. His rope swept low across her stomach, once playful, now a quiet echo of another life.

Della bit her lip, unease crawling up her spine. She shoved back the memory of Joel’s thumb tracing that very line. Back then. And now.

Della pushed the curls from her face, her eyes locking onto his like they always did, without intention, without effort.

“Joel?”

He looked up, bracing a hand on his knee as he rose to stand.

“I don’t know how to act normal around you…”

The words fell between them, heavy and echoing through the quiet barn. Joel blinked, confusion flickering across his face.

“What—I don’t—”

“I hate you, Joel. I really fucking hate you.”

It came out like a confession laced in broken glass, each syllable ripping out of her throat like barbed wire.

“Della—”

“But there’s always going to be a part of me that loves you,” she choked, voice splintering, “and I can’t handle that.”

She pulled her bloodied shirt over her head, the fabric sticking to her skin, then stepped over the runner’s body with a dull thump. Didn’t look back.

Joel stood frozen, her words still ringing in his ears. He swallowed hard; like he could push the ache down, bury it somewhere deep. His hand found his wrist.

The watch stared back at him, cracked and unmoving.

A reminder.

Of her.

Of all of it.

“You all good now, Della?” Tommy asked, clicking his tongue to urge his horse into a slow, steady step.

“Right as rain,” she muttered, hoisting herself back into the saddle. The fresh wound tugged at her side, but she bit it back.

Joel trailed a few paces behind her, silent. Heavy.

Dina gave a quiet nod, falling in beside Tommy as the group started their slow return to Jackson.

The trees whispered in the wind. No one spoke.

[patrollingboston]

Before The Dive

Sorry for the mini break!! I have been busy, but now It is summer break and we can all relax…

Pre- Outbreak Austin

Sunlight caressed Della’s face, making her eyes flutter open. She turned her head toward Joel, his hands steady on the steering wheel, sunglasses perched on his nose, the soft hum of tires rolling over highway blending with laughter from the backseat.

Beautiful countryside zipped past the window, all golden fields and big skies. Casey and Sarah giggled behind them, their joy bubbling up like soda in the summer heat.

Joel had convinced Della to join him for a swim at the local lake, Sarah apparently loved it, and once Casey caught wind of the idea, she begged her mom to say yes. With a cooler packed full of beers and juice boxes, the four of them had hit the road.

Della wouldn’t admit it out loud, but she felt it, that slow, steady pull toward Joel. The kind that settled in your chest before your mind could catch up. He cared about her. He showed up. That counted for more than most things these days.

“Are we almost there?” A small voice piped up from the backseat.

Joel glanced in the mirror, his eyes peeling off the road just for a second.

“Bout ten minutes.”

Della let out a long sigh, fanning herself with exaggerated flair. “Honest to God, it’s so hot today I might have to cannonball straight into that lake.”

Joel chuckled, the sound low and easy. “Sorry, miss high and mighty... next time I’ll make sure the aircon works just for you.”

His Southern accent melted over his words like honey on warm bread; slow, familiar, impossible to ignore.

“Oh, be quiet, you.”

She flashed a smile, teeth bright in the sunlight, and Joel’s stomach flipped like he’d hit a pothole.

He raised one hand from the wheel, slow and unsure, and rested it gently on Della’s bare thigh, a small, daring gesture that sent sparks flickering across her skin. Her heart leapt like it had somewhere to be.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

“Don’t go deep, you two!”

Della cupped her hands around her mouth like a makeshift megaphone, watching as Casey and Sarah tore off into the shallows of the lake, laughter and shrieks echoing across the water as the cold hit their skin.

“They’ll be fine, lifeguard’s posted,” Joel said, unfurling a towel on the patchy sand where weeds poked through like reminders, they were deep in the country. He wore a dark navy t-shirt, sweat already pooling around the collar, and a pair of black swim trunks.

It was the most skin Della had ever seen on him.

She tied her curls into a loose bun, more concerned with protecting them from the lake water than how it looked. Her swimsuit was simple, modest; just enough to leave room for Joel’s imagination to wander.

She sat with her knees tucked to her chest, eyes flicking back and forth from the girls to Joel, careful to keep her gaze neutral. But he caught her looking. Of course he did.

“You gettin’ in?” he asked, standing up, then tugged his shirt over his head in one clean motion.

Her eyes stuttered. Her breath did too. She tried not to stare. She really did.

“Yeah, course.”

Della hopped off the towel and padded toward the lake.

“Goddamn, it’s freezing,” she hissed, the shallow waves licking at her ankles like ice water. “How are y’all already swimming?” she called toward the girls.

Joel, grinning like a man ten years younger, charged past her and dove headfirst into the water, surfacing seconds later with Sarah scooped up in his arms like a prize.

“Mommy, come on!” Casey called, water splashing around her.

Della waded in slowly, each step a small battle against the chill climbing up her legs. The water swallowed her inch by inch, but so did something else , a feeling she wasn’t ready to name.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Della sat at the edge of the shore, legs stretched out as the lake’s gentle waves lapped over her skin. Her gaze lingered on Joel, knee-deep in the water, laughing as Casey and Sarah splashed him relentlessly. Her heart fluttered watching Casey’s smile, so wide, so free.

Even though none of it was her fault, guilt still pressed against her ribs like a weight she couldn’t shift. Casey had grown up without a dad. Watching her like this — giddy, unguarded with Joel — it stirred something bittersweet in Della’s chest. Something she didn’t quite know what to do with.

“Della?”

A small voice pulled her out of her thoughts. Sarah stood nearby, eyes uncertain.

“Yeah hon, you okay?”

“I think I got somethin’ in my hair… Can you get it out for me, please?”

Della smiled gently.

“Course. C’mere, let me have a look.”

Sarah plopped down in front of her without hesitation. Della sifted through the girl’s thick, springy curls.

“Just a little bit of seaweed,” she said, flicking it away. “Want me to braid it? Might be easier for swimmin’.”

“You know how?” Sarah’s face lit up like Della had just offered her a crown.

“Mhm. Got a tie, too. I keep it for Casey but, truth be told, I usually end up stealin’ it for myself.”

She started braiding, fingers nimble and practiced, tugging gently at each section. Sarah hummed quietly, shoulders relaxed, completely trusting.

Out in the lake, Joel hoisted Casey into the air, her laughter ringing loud across the water, full of joy and mischief. Della looked up just in time to catch Joel watching her.

Their eyes locked.

He’d noticed what she was doing. Braiding Sarah’s hair. Caring for her like she was her own.

His expression softened, a small, knowing smile creasing the corners of his eyes. It was subtle, but Della felt it deep; a silent acknowledgment between them.

To anyone else, they might’ve looked like the perfect family. And for a second, it almost felt like they were.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

The campfire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across Joel’s face as smoke curled gently into the night sky. Della sat beside him, wrapped in the lingering warmth of the day and the scent of charred wood. Behind them, Casey and Sarah slept soundly in the truck bed, bundled in blankets beneath a blanket of stars.

In Della’s hand was a polaroid, their smiles frozen mid-laugh, limbs tangled with affection. One for the mantelpiece, she thought. If only life were that simple.

“Today was really lovely, Joel, honest.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He shifted on the ground, elbows on his knees, staring into the fire like it held something he’d lost.

“You doin’ okay?” She laughed, but there was a nervous tilt to it.

“I really like you, Della,” he said eventually, voice low, like he was afraid saying it too loud would make it untrue. “The way you treat Sarah like she’s your own — it just…”

Della smiled, brushing a curl behind her ear, heart hitching.

“She’s a beautiful little girl,” she replied. “You’re raisin’ her right.”

Joel nodded; gaze still fixed on the flames.

“Casey’s got your smile,” he added, quieter now, hoarse, like the words were caught on something raw inside him.

Della’s chest ached.

Their first kiss came softly, clumsy yet certain. The stars seemed to lean in with them, and the moon traced their profiles in silver. Della’s hands slid gently to Joel’s face, fingers threading into his beard, feeling the texture of him, the reality of him.

His breath warmed her cheek. Then their lips met.

It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t loud. It was quiet and complete, like two puzzle pieces finally finding each other in the dark.

For a moment, that was all there was ; his mouth on hers, the taste of salt and smoke, and the slow collapse of everything she thought she knew about him.

But something shifted.

Joel leaned in deeper, more desperate now, his hands roaming her waist, finding her back, her ribs. Her own fingers dug into his shoulders. Breath tangled. Fabric rustled. The night pulsed with heat.

“Mmm… Joel—stop. Not here.”

She pulled back, breath ragged, eyes scanning his face. He looked dazed; lips parted; brows drawn, like he’d come up for air after drowning.

“Sorry,” he murmured, glancing away. “I got carried away.”

“No…” She reached for his leg, resting her hand softly on his thigh. “I loved it.”

He looked at her again, and this time, his eyes weren’t just hungry; they were hopeful.

[patrollingboston]

Return To Sender

Okay chapter 7! Stick around as things really pick up in the next chapter!! Sorry I want that slow burn to burn for years :3 Sorry this chapter is a bit shorter!

Post-Outbreak – Jackson

He was haunting her every move. Whether it was intentional or not, Della didn’t know, but everywhere she turned, some piece of him lingered. Him, or his newly found, nosey offspring.

Some kind of cruel joke, that he’d wound up in the house opposite hers.

Every morning, she pulled back the curtains in a symbolic gesture to let in the light, only for it to spill darkness instead in the shape of the man across the street, elbows deep in soil, pretending he wasn’t watching her too.

Ellie, though. Despite her loud mouth and endless questions, she was growing on her. They worked together a few days a week, painting walls and signs around town. It was becoming a routine. A welcome one.

A knock rattled through the house, sharp and sudden. Della blinked herself out of her thoughts and opened the door.

There he was.

Joel. Hair tousled, hands dirt-stained. The same man she used to know, and somehow not at all.

"Wait, don’t shut it. Just… let me in. Talk to me. You can’t avoid me forever, Della."

His hand was wedged in the frame, blocking her. He’d always known how to press the right buttons.

"I don’t want to talk to you, Joel," she said, quiet but firm. "Don’t make a scene."

"Della, for fuck’s sake. Let me inside."

For a moment, she stared at him. At the lines deeper on his face, the familiar eyes, the unfamiliar weight in her chest.

Finding herself unable to say no, she stepped back wordlessly and opened the door wider. Music from her record player drifted faintly through the hallway. Her eyes glanced down to the tattoos stretched across her body, her mind wandering to the version of herself who would have opened the door with no questions asked.

"You’ve still got records? Good choice," he muttered, clearly trying to smooth the awkward edge hanging thick in the air.

"What do you want to say?" she asked, arms folded tight like a shield.

Joel shifted and rubbed the back of his neck. A habit she remembered too well.

"About that day… I—"

"Don’t."

Her hand cut through the air like a blade.

He stepped closer, face strained. "You’re really gonna keep pretending you don’t know me? That we’re strangers? Do you know how hard it is to see you every day and not say a damn thing?"

Della clenched her jaw, looking up briefly to keep the heat behind her eyes from spilling.

"Tell me, Joel. Who made that choice?" Her voice cracked just slightly. "Who chose to be strangers?"

"I—"

He faltered. "It’s been twenty years, Dell."

That nickname landed like a brick in her stomach.

"Exactly," she breathed. "You don’t know me anymore."

Joel looked at her like he was drowning. "I should’ve believed you. I should’ve gone with you. Not a day’s gone by I don’t regret it."

The silence that followed was too big for the room.

"It wasn’t just me you hurt."

Her voice cracked. She stepped back from him, tears spilling freely now, soaking into the fabric of her shirt.

Joel’s jaw clenched. His eyes shut tight, like maybe in the dark he could take the blow slower.

Then he asked, quiet and afraid, "She’s not here?"

He already knew. Deep down, he’d known since he moved back. Casey would’ve been what,twenty-five, twenty-six?

Old enough to walk past him in the street. Old enough for him to recognize her smile, one so similar to her mother’s.

Della let out a bitter laugh, the kind that sounded more like a sob.

"Does it look like she’s here, Joel?"

Silence flooded the room. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak, and that hurt more than anything else could have.

"Don’t for a damn second think it doesn’t haunt me."

His voice cracked with the weight of it.

Joel reached into his jean pocket, his fingers trembling just slightly, enough for Della to notice. He pulled something out and slammed it down on the table beside him. No more words.

Then, in one smooth, heavy movement, he turned and walked out the door.

Gone.

Della stood frozen, her heartbeat in her throat, her body still buzzing with the shock of it.

She bent down, wiping at her cheeks, sniffling as she picked up the piece of paper he’d left behind.

It was old, torn, yellowed at the edges. The ink was bleeding and faded almost beyond recognition.

But she knew exactly what it was.

Joel, You can call me crazy, say I’m paranoid, but believe me, whatever’s going on is beyond us. I’m getting me and Casey out of the city. Trust me. Please, Joel. Pack a bag for you and Sarah. Come to ours. It’s not going to be safe for long. I love you. Della

She stared at it.

Her breath caught in her chest.

"Shit," she whispered.

[patrollingboston]

RainCheck

I'm eating pastries as im writing this so life is good. Okay finally they are dating!!! I loved writing this chapter, domestic fluff is just AAAA. I'm planning on more of the steamy side to be in the future (post outbreak) :)

Pre-Outbreak - Austin

Della sat at her vanity; her hair curled into tight coils that bounced with every slight movement of her head. She didn’t have a large selection of makeup, but it still took her a while to decide which lipstick suited her sundress best.

Casey sat at her knees, quietly brushing a doll’s hair.

The babysitter was booked for seven, and Joel was due to pick her up at half past.

Her nerves were in tatters. She hadn’t had a single romantic interaction since Casey’s dad passed away a few years earlier. The thought made her stomach twist, like moths fluttering violently around the light inside her.

Her eyes flicked to the photo on her vanity. Her husband was twirling her on their wedding day, wide grins frozen in time, unaware of the future looming over their love. Della shook her head and pinched the skin of her arm lightly, grounding herself in the present.

A pink lip gloss would be best.

The phone rang, its melody echoing around every corner of the house.

Della rushed to stand, catching the hem of her dress on the doorframe. The sound of ripping fabric tore through her ears.

“Mommy, your dress!” Casey cried out, her voice laced with exaggerated sadness.

“One second, hon,” Della said breathlessly, unable to focus on anything but answering the phone before it rang out.

She grabbed the receiver and pressed the cold plastic to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Ms. Wells, it’s Amber. I’ve come down with the flu. I’m going to have to cancel babysitting tonight. I’m so sorry.”

Della bit down her frustration. It wasn’t the teenager’s fault, not with the congestion and guilt in her voice.

“No problem, Amber. Feel better soon, sweetheart.” She gently placed the phone back on the hook, her expression tight with irritation.

Casey came trotting into the room, her face full of curiosity.

“Shit, ain’t that just peachy,” Della hissed under her breath.

“What happened?” Casey asked, her big brown eyes wide with worry.

“Amber’s sick. She can’t come over. Mama’s gonna call Sarah’s dad. Sit tight.”

Della rushed back upstairs, snatching her mobile off the bed and dialing Joel’s number. As she tapped the last digit, the doorbell rang.

Casey ran to the door and eagerly cracked it open, peeking out. Joel stood there, hands in his pockets, his usual stiff posture present.

“Casey! What did I say about openin’ the damn door when you don’t know who it is…”

“But it’s—”

“Howdy, Della.”

She opened the door, her freshly manicured nails catching Joel’s eye. His gaze flicked across her, head to toe, before he bit subtly at the inside of his cheek. He was dressed smart, in a button-up shirt and a noticeably nicer pair of jeans than what she was used to seeing him in.

“Joel! Damn, you’re early. I was just about to call. Casey’s babysitter cancelled. I can’t go out.” Della sighed, a frown pulling across her face as Casey watched silently from behind her. She gently patted the little girl’s arm and nudged her back inside with one of those gestures that clearly meant, Let the grown-ups talk.

An awkward beat passed. Joel shifted on his feet, eyes flicking around like he didn’t quite know what to do with the hiccup. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, a habit Della had started to notice more often.

“You eaten?” he asked.

“No—”

“Hm. Well, you look lovely, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”

Della’s cheeks flushed, heat rushing to her face like a teenager caught off guard. “Thank you… You don’t scrub up bad yourself,” she said with a shy smile.

“Let me cook you dinner.”

“In here?” she blinked.

“If that’s alright.”

“It’s a bit messy, but... that’s a sweet gesture, Joel.”

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

A few minutes later, Casey was playing quietly upstairs in her room, and Joel was rummaging through Della’s cupboard for ingredients.

“You like spaghetti?”

“Who doesn’t?” Della called back, her glass of wine clinking against her teeth as she took a sip, watching Joel from across the room.

She wasn’t used to being taken care of. For a long time now, it felt like everything had fallen to her. Her family wasn’t nearby, she hardly had time to make friends, and she didn’t quite fit in with the school moms. She always felt inferior, like she had less of a grip on the mom thing than them. She’d uprooted her life as a teenager, pregnant with Casey and married to a man who left it all in shambles.

Della’s mind ticked on, each anxious thought replaying like a broken record.

Do I have to kiss him at the end? Fuck, I’ve forgotten how this dating shit works.

Joel rolled up his sleeves, veins prominent across his forearms as he began chopping a tomato. Della stood up, set her wineglass down, and wandered toward the kitchen island.

“So… you run a company? That’s a pretty impressive job.”

She spoke with clear intention, prying gently at the man who always seemed closed off, like a gate bolted three times over.

“Me and my brother,” Joel replied, not looking up. “He’s watchin’ Sarah tonight. No doubt he’s got his hands full.”

He chuckled, and the creases at the corners of his eyes deepened, warm and genuine.

It was the first time Della had seen him really smile. It made her stomach flip.

“Right right.”

A silence loomed over the kitchen. Joel didn’t look up from the chopping board, his eyes fixed on it like it was the only thing grounding him.

“How’d you get into doing murals?” he asked. He glanced up just long enough for their eyes to meet before his gaze flicked away.

“I had it all planned out,” Della said, the words spilling nervously from her mouth. “Was gonna get an art degree, become an art teacher… but I got pregnant with Casey, and it all veered off course, I guess.” She let out a breath, barely a laugh. “I tried to get my work noticed. Local places started hiring me, and yeah…”

Joel nodded, his eyes drifting to her hands, now resting beside his on the kitchen island.

“I—” she hesitated, the words catching in her throat. “I haven’t been on a date since my husband. I’m a little rusty.”

Joel finally looked up, this time directly at her. His hand reached for hers, warm and rough, the callouses familiar somehow.

“You’re doin’ just fine, Della.”

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

The pair sat on the couch. Empty bowls rested on the table in front of them as a rom-com flickered across the television screen. Joel clutched a cold beer—probably one that had been sitting in Della’s freezer since 2001. Della sipped her wine, absentmindedly tracing letters over the fabric of her sundress.

“Wouldn’t peg you as the type of man who liked a rom-com,” Della said, turning to face him. Her curls bounced with the movement.

“Can’t say it’s my cuppa coffee, usually.” Joel leaned back, resting his hands behind his head. His chest stretched out, his T-shirt clinging snugly to his frame. Della caught herself glancing again—then again.

Above the TV hung a faded photo: Della, her husband, and a baby Casey, smiling on a sun-drenched beach.

“Your husband... how’d he—” Joel began, then hesitated like he was testing the depth of cold water.

“Car accident,” Della answered quietly. “Casey had just turned two.”

“I’m real sorry,” Joel murmured.

She didn’t reply. He looked like he had more to say, but the words stalled behind his lips.

A moment passed.

“Can I ask... Sarah’s mom?”

Joel let out a breath. “We were real young. She got pregnant, couldn’t handle the responsibility. One day I came home, and she was just... gone. No note, no warning. I’ve been raising Sarah ever since.”

Della shook her head gently. “God, that’s tough. Sarah’s lucky to have you. I’m sure of it.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

With the exception of a break so Della could read Casey to sleep, the pair had been chatting since dinner. She was carving into Joel’s closed-off demeanour piece by piece, her opinion of his usual gruffness slowly unravelling.

Joel glanced at the watch strapped to his wrist. “I should get going. Don’t wanna overstay my welcome now.”

He slapped his knees and groaned as he stood up from the couch. Della followed quickly as they moved toward the front door.

She opened it, leaning against the frame as Joel turned back to face her.

“Thank you for tonight. Seriously, it’s been real fun.”

“Meaning you wanna do it again?” he asked quietly, shifting on his feet.

“I’d love that.”

Joel smiled, and his eyes met hers. A loose curl blew across her face, caught in the evening breeze. Gently, he lifted his hand and tucked it behind her ear.

Della stepped forward, her hand rising to cup his cheek, the coarse texture of his beard scratching her palm. She closed her eyes, letting her anxieties slip away as she leaned in...

“Mommy!” Casey’s voice rang from upstairs, soft and sleepy but perfectly timed.

Della blinked her eyes open and stepped back, frustration rising in her chest like a wave.

Joel let out a breath, rubbing at his beard with a lopsided smirk, clearly amused by the interruption.

“I’ll be there in a second, darlin’!” Della called up, her voice edged with disappointment.

The moment was gone.

“See you at school, Della.”

She watched as he climbed down the porch steps, her eyes following him all the way to his battered truck. He started it up and drove away into the night.

Della took a deep breath and shut the door, gathering her curls into a ponytail before heading upstairs to Casey.

[patrollingboston]

Can we stop editing tlou to Hozier, it isn’t good for my mental health. I have about 3 edits left in me before I lose my mind.

[patrollingboston]

got bored n made this

i love her so bad man 💔

[patrollingboston]

Mind Your Beeswax

Okay! Chapter 5, this is mainly posted on ao3, so you if you prefer to read there the link is available on the master list! As I'm sure you have realised this is in fact a slow burn, but here is chap 5, I promise things pick up soon ;)

Post-Outbreak – Jackson

Della stood at the blank wall of The Tipsy Bison, her mind like an empty library, cobwebbed and echoing. Trying to come up with an idea for the mural felt like trying to run a machine without oil.

Hard to paint without a muse.

“Are you Della?”

A bright voice chimed from behind her. Della turned to see the same girl from outside his house, now standing there with a little grin and an eager posture.

“Oh, howdy... uh, that’s me,” Della replied. Her confusion must’ve been written across her face, because the girl jumped in to help.

“I’m Ellie. Maria sent me to help you out. I’m kinda into art.”

Della’s expression softened, a smile tugging at her mouth. She bent slightly, handing Ellie a paintbrush like it was an heirloom passed between generations.

“Well, shit, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been staring at this wall like it’s gonna talk back. Got any ideas?”

Ellie didn’t hesitate. “Okay, what if it’s a bison? Like, totally hammered. Beer cans everywhere?”

Della smirked. “You don’t think that’s a little on the nose?”

Ellie frowned thoughtfully, stepping forward like the wall might whisper inspiration to her.

“Okay… people go to bars at night, right? What if it’s space-themed?”

The suggestion hit Della like a spear to the stomach. The irony chewed at her ribs, subtle but sharp.

“Could be good. We’re limited on colours, though.”

Ellie glanced toward the open paint cans, mostly greys, a few dull colours, their lids rusted and spotted.

“Let’s do a moon.”

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

A few brushstrokes later, the wall had begun to bloom. Brushes dragged constellations across brick, a pale moon bloomed large and watchful above the silhouettes of trees. Something beautiful. Something that would greet the bar-goers of Jackson for years to come. It made Della feel something close to pride again.

“So,” Ellie spun around, holding her paintbrush up like a microphone, “do you know Joel?”

Della’s head snapped around, her ponytail whipping like a boomerang straight into her face. She swallowed hard.

“What is this, an interview?” She bit the inside of her cheek, eyes snapping back to the mural.

“No, I just ask a lot of questions. That’s what he says anyway,” Ellie shrugged, slumping casually against the wall. “How do you know him?”

“He found me on the road. We got into some trouble. Ended up here.”

Della paused mid-stroke. “Trouble?”

Ellie ignored the question. “I saw you slam the door in his face.”

Della stilled. Her fingers tightened around the brush.

“Then you should gather that I don’t wanna talk about him.”

Her voice came out sharper than she intended, edged with something raw. Ellie’s eyes widened for half a second before narrowing again.

“Woah.”

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the wall, picking up her brush with a dramatic sigh.

Della exhaled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just…”

She trailed off, lips pursing into a thin line.

“Let’s just get this finished, alright?”

Ellie gave a noncommittal hum in response. They painted in silence after that, the sun glowing quietly above them. The quiet lasted no more than five minutes before Ellie started thinking out loud again.

“Am I gonna have to bug him for answers then?”

“If it means you don’t keep bugging me, then yeah. Bug him.”

“So, you do know him?”

“No. I don’t.”

“So the door slam was just for fun?”

“You are so goddamn nosey.”

“Comes with the trauma.”

Della bit back a laugh. Despite the relentless questioning, she found herself growing fond of the kid.

Before she could reply, a low voice rolled out behind them.

“Ellie?”

Della didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Her heart already recognized the sound before her head did. It clawed against her ribs as she slowly pivoted around.

There he was.

Joel stood a few feet away, frayed jeans snug around his legs, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, his eyes fixed on Ellie.

“What?” Ellie replied, not even turning around.

“Time to go. C’mon.”

“But I’m not done. Look.”

Ellie stepped aside, motioning to the mural with a proud sweep of her hand. Joel’s eyes followed, landing on the moon painted across the wall. Della stood silently, watching him take it in.

He shifted his weight. His face, as always, was unreadable. Those eyes of his were like tinted glass. For a moment, they flicked from the wall to her, scanning her face like it held a riddle he couldn't solve.

“It’s good. Looks familiar,” he said. Monotone. Almost reluctant.

Della looked sideways, trying to pretend she didn’t understand what he meant.

“That’s it?” Ellie scoffed, slinging her backpack on. “We spent hours on this. Stupid, emotionless old man.”

Joel reached out and gently smacked the back of her head. A warning tap. Ellie flinched and let out a loud, “Ow.”

As they turned to leave, Ellie called over her shoulder, “I’ll be back tomorrow, Della!”

Joel glanced back too. Brief. But their eyes met. And it was enough to rattle her.

[patrollingboston]

Save Me A Seat

I love this chapter, I like writing Joel awkward in romance as there's so many head cannons of him being a pro?? i don't think he'd be a pro. IMO he'd be nervous asf!!

Pre-Outbreak - Austin

“Okay, I’m gonna do a quick head count before we get on the bus!”

Della called out, her voice raised above the swarm of thirty-odd children buzzing around her legs like a hive of bees. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, an attempt to appear more put-together than she felt. Sunglasses sat wonky on the bridge of her nose, and the smell of suncream clung thick in the air as she pointed at the kids, mouthing numbers under her breath.

Of course I was the nominated mom to chaperone this year.

“One missing... one missing…”

“Sorry we’re late. Piece of shit truck decided to give up on us.”

Joel jogged into the crowd, Sarah perched on his hip, a pink sparkly backpack slung over his shoulder like a poorly chosen fashion statement.

Della had to physically stop herself from rolling her eyes. She wouldn’t expect anything less from Joel Miller. She’d seen how the other mums looked at him at pick-up, giggling and swooning, all doe-eyed as if they didn’t have husbands waiting at home. Sure, he was handsome. But to her, he just seemed like an asshole.

“C’mon, Sarah, follow the others onto the bus.” Della watched as Joel lowered Sarah to the ground, the movement hitching up his t-shirt slightly to reveal a flash of toned torso. She snapped her eyes away like she’d been caught staring at the sun.

Then Joel climbed onto the bus behind the kids.

“Uh, Mr. Miller? Why are you getting on?” She raised an eyebrow, already bracing herself.

He turned, slipping his sunglasses over his eyes with all the smug indifference of a punctuation mark.

Great. Now he’s even more unreadable.

“I’m chaperoning with you.” he said flatly, then turned and continued down the aisle without waiting for her reaction.

Della clenched her jaw.

Thirty children in nature was enough stress. Thirty children and him?

The school bus engine coughed to life behind her as excited chatter erupted from the kids. Della accepted her fate and climbed aboard, planting herself in the seat beside him at the front.

For the first hour, neither of them spoke. They occasionally turned to check on the kids or gently hush the louder ones, but otherwise, a thick wall of silence stood between them.

Della tugged the hem of her green skirt further down over her knees. Every so often, her leg would brush against Joel’s, and each time, one of them would recoil instantly, like the other was made of fire.

“I thought this trip was a hike. Why on earth are you wearin’ a skirt?” His voice cut through the silence, sharp and uninvited. She didn’t even have to look to know he wore that familiar scowl of disapproval.

Della scoffed, suddenly aware of every choice she'd made that morning. “It’s child-friendly. And I can hike in a skirt. But I don’t see why that’s any of your business or why it needed a damn comment.”

“Just askin’.” he replied, shrugging, turning his attention back to the window. The Texan scenery rolled by in streaks of dry fields and crooked trees. Della only hoped the destination would appear quicker than it was.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

“Casey’s mom, I’m hungry!” A chorus of agreement echoed behind her like a ripple of tiny protests.

Della turned round to address the group, her eyes settling on her daughter, who, as usual, stood side by side with Sarah. The two girls moved through the world like China dolls, always within reach of one another since the start of the school year.

She turned her head to catch Joel’s reaction, only to find him already looking at her. He broke the eye contact immediately, quickly mumbling something about stopping for food.

Something fluttered in Della’s stomach. A flicker of feeling. Unfamiliar. Unsettling.

The group sat perched on tree stumps, munching on sandwiches and juice boxes. Rough foliage surrounded them in a lazy green embrace, the leaves overhead whispering as the wind passed through.

Overhead, thick clouds gathered; grey and brooding, drawing closer with purpose.

“Those clouds don’t look too happy,” Della commented, cheeks full of her sandwich, now half-flattened by the weight of her water bottle in her bag.

She glanced toward Joel, hoping for a comment, a joke, something. Instead, he gave her a silent nod, a flash of his usual unreadable expression.

Sure enough, the clouds hadn’t been bluffing. They rolled in with vengeance, cracking thunder overhead and unleashing sheets of rain that soaked through jackets and shoes in seconds. Thirty cold, soggy kids now huddled under the care of two equally soaked adults.

As the group clambered back toward the parked bus, one of the boys slipped, his entire body swallowed by a muddy puddle with a spectacular splat.

Della didn’t hesitate. She lunged forward to help him up, her boots squelching in the wet earth. Joel stood back, letting her handle it, watching as she bent over, her skirt hitching slightly lower on her hips in the process.

His eyes caught on something he hadn’t expected: the faint outline of a tattoo low on her back. A tramp stamp. Bold, blurred slightly with time, but unmistakable.

He stared a moment too long, curiosity prickling through him. Then she straightened up, and the moment snapped shut like a mousetrap.

“Come on,” Della huffed, pushing damp hair off her face. “We need to get them back. This whole thing’s been a disaster.”

“Mhm.” Joel nodded, hand running through his dripping hair, flicking raindrops off in every direction.

Della sat on the bus, trying to hide the way her legs jittered as the cold swam through her veins. Joel tried his best not to notice, but every other second, her knee would knock into his—just enough to jolt him out of his thoughts.

“Did no one think to check the damn weather?” he huffed, only to be met with silence from Della.

“You’re freezing, aren’t you?” he asked, not even bothering to face her.

“I’m fine. There’s just a draft,” Della replied defensively, tugging her skirt over her bare knees despite the fabric being sodden.

Without a word, Joel leaned forward and slid off his thick jacket, some kind of worn, expensive-looking hide, and placed it over Della’s lap like a makeshift blanket.

The gesture caught her off guard. She choked out a quiet “thank you,” barely audible but loud enough for him to hear.

Her mind drifted,unwillingly, to places she had tried to seal off. The jacket reminded her of the one her husband had worn on their first date at the pier, riding those dangerously rickety rollercoasters, wide smiles caught forever in a faded photo booth strip.

She swallowed thickly, that barbed wire feeling tightening around her throat. Turning to the window, she searched for distraction.

“What do you do for work?”

His voice fell gently between them, like a life buoy thrown just before she drowned.

“I’m an artist. I mostly do murals around the city.”

“Mhm.”

For a moment, it seemed like that was the end of it. Joel’s guarded demeanor, as always, threatened to shut the conversation down. But then—

“There’s a bar near my house. Got a mural, big moon, real beautiful.”

He turned slightly, watching her reaction.

“The Midnight Rodeo?” Della asked, a smile tugging at her lips. “That’s one of mine.”

“Ah,” he nodded slowly. “Well... you’re talented.”

Was that a compliment?

“What about yourself?”

“I do contract work. Plannin’ mostly. Me and my brother run a company.”

“Sounds busy.”

Della found herself curious about him and Sarah’s home life. He never mentioned a wife, and Sarah never spoke of a mom. He was always the one at school pickup, now chaperoning field trips. She wondered how he juggled all of that while running a company, but still, it wasn’t her place to pry.

“Most of the time,” he sighed, bringing a hand to his face and rubbing his eyes. “I was sortin’ out a disaster at work the other night. Got caught up.”

Della swallowed. The warmth of his jacket still blanketed her lap, and for a moment, she allowed herself to let go of the grudge she’d been carrying.

“Ya alright. I was rude. I was just under some stress,” she admitted.

Joel let out a brief smile, one flickering with empathy and something unspoken. Della just managed to catch it before the school parking lot came into view through the fogged-up windows.

Joel stood by his truck as Casey and Sarah chatted below him. A few feet away, Della peeled off Joel’s jacket and handed it back, awkwardly avoiding his gaze. She caught a glimpse of herself in a nearby puddle, her hair now tightly coiled and natural, the rain having undone all effort.

“Thanks... again.” Her voice was quiet, uncertain. Joel didn’t respond right away, just stared, unreadable as always.

Della gently took Casey’s hand, peeling her away from her conversation with Sarah.

“Della?” Joel called out, his hand grazing through his beard like he was having an argument with himself.

She turned, her and Casey coming to a pause.

“Look... I’m no good at this,” he started, voice low, “but do you wanna grab dinner sometime?”

His face cracked into something she could finally read: shyness. It didn’t fit him, and yet, it made perfect sense.

Della froze. Her curls blew across her face as the wind picked up. Shock hit her first, then something more slippery; hesitation. Her mouth opened, but no words came.

She wanted to say yes. So why couldn’t she just say it?

“Some other time,” Joel muttered, retreating into himself. His shoulders dipped as he turned away, defeated. He scooped up Sarah and placed her in the truck with practiced, hasty hands.

“Joel, wait!” Della called, urgency cracking through her voice.

He turned halfway, his brown eyes catching hers. She swore they softened.

“I’ll go,” she blurted. “I mean—I’d like that.”

Her throat was dry, her mouth suddenly made of cotton.

Joel blinked. His expression was unreadable again, but less guarded.

“Well,” she added, trying to smooth over the tension, “check your missed calls. You’ll find my number.”

He gave a small nod, barely a smile, but something in it was sincere. “Mhm. I’ll call you.”

“Looking forward to it,” she said without thinking.

Looking forward to it?!

Mortified, she turned on her heel, Casey’s small hand tight in hers.

As they walked toward their car, parked a little crooked on the side, Casey looked up with a wide grin.

“Did Sarah’s daddy just ask you on a date?”

Della kept walking. “No. Sh.”

Casey giggled, her gappy teeth on full display.

[patrollingboston]

Too Familiar For Comfort.

Chapter 3!! the awkward reunion??

Post-Outbreak – Jackson

Della slammed the front door, the metal lock clashing hard against the frame. Her breath caught on the edges of her lungs. She had made it eighteen years without a direct hit. Always dodging the past, letting it shadow her at a distance. But now? Now it had stepped right into the sunlight and looked her dead in the eye.

She dropped onto the lower bunk, elbows to knees, palms scraping down her face like she could dig the memory out of her skin. That face. That fucking face.

Still carved with that same scowl, emotionless and heavy. His hair was messier now, dusted with grey like ash, but unmistakably him. He walked like he carried the end of the world on his shoulders. Just like before.

Her eyes landed on the photos taped to the wall. A smiley Casey in fairy wings, paint-splattered sketches. They wobbled in her vision.

You're just making this up.

She shook her head hard, vision swimming.

“Della?”

She jumped. Maria’s voice broke through like sunlight under a locked door.

“Shit... sorry, Maria. Didn’t know you were in here.”

Della sat up fast, scrambling to collect herself like someone fumbling for their passport at the boarding gate.

“I did knock. Guess you didn’t hear me.” Maria’s tone was gentle, but pointed.

“Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Della replied too quickly, too sharply. “Think my mind’s just... playing tricks on me.”

Maria didn’t press. She stepped inside and grabbed one of Della’s duffle bags from the bed ladder.

“Well, we’ve found you a house,” she said, nodding toward the hallway. “Come on. Let’s get you moved in.”

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

The pair stood on the pavement, looking up at the house. It wasn’t anything remarkable. Weathered siding, a sagging porch, ivy crawling along the wooden beams. But to Della, it was about to be home. The first one she’d had in twenty years.

Wind chimes tinkled softly in the breeze, and weeds pushed stubbornly through the cracks in the concrete path.

“It’s perfect, Maria,” Della murmured, stepping forward. Her boot scraped over a loose rock as she climbed the stairs. She pushed open the door and was immediately met with warm, golden light pouring in from the winter sun.

“Basic furniture’s already in there,” Maria said, pausing at the door. “You know how to trade by now. I’ll leave you to it. Shout if you’ve got questions.”

Della waved her off and quietly closed the door behind her. The silence settled like a blanket, soft, unfamiliar, comforting.

She wandered upstairs, her footsteps echoing slightly on the wood. One room called to her. Dust swirled lazily in the sunbeams. An old easel stood in the corner, its legs splattered with paint like it had witnessed a thousand stories. Her fingers twitched with the urge to pick up a brush.

A murmur of voices outside broke the stillness.

Drawn by instinct, Della moved toward the window, catching her sleeve on the doorframe as she crept closer. She pulled the fabric free and peered outside.

There she was. That same young girl from the gates, now lugging bags into the house opposite. And trailing behind her, him.

Joel.

Her heart lodged in her throat as her mind reeled. The way he moved, the familiar scowl, the quiet authority in his body language. It was him.

But then something clicked. A horrible, ice-cold snap in her brain.

Joel Miller. Tommy Miller.

Her breath hitched. They were brothers. That’s why he was here. That’s why he was in Jackson. The realization struck with such force it felt like the floor shifted beneath her.

She had once thought this was all some cruel trick; the universe reaching back to haunt her. But it wasn’t a trick. It was real. He was real.

Her past was no longer behind her. It was across the street, carrying boxes, and looking like it hadn’t aged a day where it mattered most. And then her stomach dropped again.

That’s not Sarah.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Unsure of her next move, Della paced the worn floorboards of her new bedroom. Her boots thudded softly, a steady rhythm that failed to calm her racing mind. She paused when she caught her reflection in the dusty mirror propped against the wall. With the edge of her sleeve, she wiped a clear patch in the glass.

There she was.

Her gaze dropped to the tattoos stretched across her torso. Dark lines etched like scars. She lifted her shirt, revealing more of the ink that once made her feel powerful, fearless, invincible. Now they just felt like ghost stories written on her skin. Reminders of a version of herself long gone.

If only I could peel it all off. Start again.

The doorbell rang.

It echoed through the quiet house like a warning shot. Della froze, breath caught in her throat. Her hand trembled as she gripped the stair rail, descending step by step, the old wood creaking beneath her weight.

She reached the front door and hesitated. Then, slowly, she pulled it open.

There he stood.

Joel.

Hands in his jacket pockets, posture stiff. His eyes were elsewhere as he spoke, out of habit more than warmth. “Howdy, I’m Joel. Just wanted to—”

He cut off mid-sentence when he finally saw her.

His half-smile died in an instant.

Silence swallowed them whole.

Neither moved. Neither spoke. They just stared. Two people buried under decades of silence, now unearthed in the most unexpected way.

Della's eyes flicked over him. The years had carved lines across his face, added a weight to his shoulders, a tiredness to his stance. A jagged scar peeked out beneath his collar. His hair was greyer, his frown deeper. But his eyes...

Still the same. Still Joel.

And he was looking at her like he’d seen a ghost.

In a last-ditch effort to resist the truth standing two feet from her, Della tried to pretend she didn’t recognize him.

“It’s nice to meet you—”

“Della?”

The way her name rolled off his tongue, low, slow, stretched in that Southern drawl; sent a shiver ricocheting down her spine. It didn’t sound like a question. Not really. More like a memory cracking open.

His brown eyes twitched, unsure. They jittered like he couldn’t quite land on where to look. Her eyes, her mouth, the years between them.

She pulled the door open wider, stepping into the frame. Daring him to see the whole picture.

“Joel Miller.”

His name landed like a punch.

Joel scoffed. His hand, rough and worn, familiar, raked through his ashy hair as he took a shaky step back.

“What—wh—what the fuck are you doin’ down here?” The words burst out like he’d been holding them for years.

She lifted her chin, her voice steady even as her stomach twisted.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Where have you been all these years?” he asked quietly. His voice was soft but heavy with unspoken things.

A pause hung between them as the young girl stepped into view behind him.

“It doesn’t matter. We weren’t friends. We weren’t anything. Let’s not pretend we care now.”

Della closed the door firmly, tears prickling at her eyes, threatening to spill over. She leaned her back against the cold wood, letting it steady her shaking.

Joel stayed frozen on the other side, unable to move.

“Joel? You coming inside?” Ellie called from below the porch, hands on her hips, waiting.

He hesitated, then sighed. “Yeah... yeah, I’m comin’.”

As he stepped down the stairs, his gaze flicked toward Della’s window. There she stood, her red hair falling loose around her shoulders, eyes sharp and steady as they met his.

[patrollingboston]

Amidst The Chaos

Chapter 2!! I have changed Sarah and Casey's ages to around 6? just to make the involvement in parenting make more sense :)

Pre-Outbreak – Austin

The evening Austin sun filtered through Della’s windows, catching on the dust that clung to every surface like an old memory. She stood at the sink, hands wrist-deep in warm, soapy water, absentmindedly scrubbing dinner plates as she gazed out at the quiet street. Trees arched over the cracked sidewalks while kids raced each other up and down the gentle slope of her driveway, bike tires skidding against concrete.

“Mom! Quick!” a small voice called from upstairs, edged with panic.

Della dropped the plate back into the sink with a splash. Warm water hit her cheeks as she turned and bolted up the stairs.

At the top stood Casey, her hair pulled into messy pigtails, streaks of pen scrawled across her cheeks like war paint.

“Sarah threw up. Look!” Casey pointed urgently down the hallway.

Della exhaled hard through her nose. She was already regretting the Tuesday night playdate idea. Of course something would go sideways.

She followed Casey’s finger to where a little girl stood frozen in place, her curls limp, her face pale with embarrassment.

“Oh, goodness me…” Della muttered, rolling up her sleeves. “Alright. Casey, take Sarah to the bathroom. I’m going to call her dad to come get her.”

Della rushed downstairs, grabbing her phone off the coffee table. Her eyes darted around the room until they landed on the post-it Joel had scribbled his number on earlier. “Just in case,” he had said. Hands slightly trembling, she punched in the digits. The dial tone rang in her ear like an alarm bell as the stress started to spiral.

No answer.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she muttered, pushing hair out of her face with a frustrated huff. She hit redial.

“You’re through to Joel Miller. Leave a message, I’ll get back to you when I can.” His voice filled the room, deep, unhurried, that southern drawl like honey on a hot day.

Della stared at the clock hanging crooked above the kitchen door. He was supposed to pick Sarah up soon anyway. It was a school night. He wouldn’t forget.

She wasn’t exactly a fan of playdates, but when Casey came flying out of school that afternoon, hand-in-hand with Sarah, both girls beaming like sunshine, Della didn’t have it in her to say no. She remembered how awkwardly she’d turned to Joel in the parking lot, standing stiffly across from him while the girls chattered between them. He’d been polite but unreadable, his face tight and posture coiled like small talk was foreign to him.

Still, he had jotted down the number and thanked her. And now here she was, elbow-deep in chaos.

“Everything okay up there, Casey?”

“Mommy, she won’t stop throwing up. She wants to go home!” Casey called down, her voice high with panic.

Della sighed and jabbed at her phone again, frustration bubbling beneath her skin.

“You’re through to Jo—” She hung up mid-sentence, jaw clenched, and stormed back upstairs. She tied her hair up like she was heading into battle.

“Alright, Casey, downstairs. Keep an eye out the window for Sarah’s dad, will you, darlin’?”

Casey nodded seriously and dashed off. The fairy wings strapped to her back bounced with every step, lending her exit a dramatic flair.

Upstairs, she had already done her best. She knelt beside Sarah, dabbing gently at the girl’s flushed face with a paper towel. She carefully gathered Sarah’s curls and held them out of the way, her little hands awkward but kind.

Sarah sniffled, lips trembling. “I want my daddy.”

Della crouched beside them and reached out to steady Sarah’s shoulder. “I know, sweetheart. I called him, but he’s not answering yet. I’m sure he’ll be here real soon.”

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Two Hours Later

A loud knock jolted Della from her half-doze on the couch. Casey was curled up against one side of her, and Sarah lay fast asleep on the other. Careful not to disturb them, Della eased herself up, glancing at the clock as she passed the hallway. 8:30 p.m.

The front door creaked open with a groan. There he was, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. His T-shirt clung to his frame, expression unreadable, just like it had been earlier.

"Howdy," he said, voice low and leathery.

Della didn’t bother to hide her glare. “Hi. Your daughter has been vomiting nonstop for two and a half hours.”

Her tone was clipped and controlled, but her clenched jaw gave her away. Maybe he had a good reason for being this late. Still, her patience was on its last legs.

Joel’s face shifted. His brows pinched with what looked like guilt. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“If you’d bothered to check your damn phone, you’d have seen the multiple missed calls. And texts.” Her weight leaned into the cracked, red-painted door behind her. The peeling surface was still warm from the day’s heat.

He ran a hand through his hair. “I was out. Didn’t realize my phone was off. I’m real sorry.”

“Yeah, well, thanks. Whatever she had for lunch is now all over my upstairs carpet.”

“I’ll send you money for a cleaner,” he muttered, then called inside, “Sarah, come on.”

The little girl stirred, rubbing her eyes as she peeled herself away from the cushion. Joel bent to scoop her up effortlessly, holding her close.

“Well, it isn’t just my problem,” Della said, arms crossed. “Next time she’s crying for her daddy, maybe make sure your phone’s on.”

“I said I’m sorry,” Joel snapped. A flicker of heat rose behind his words. “I had something important to do tonight.”

Della scoffed. “More important than your own daughter? Right.”

Then, softening just slightly, she turned to Sarah. “Hope you feel better soon, sweetheart.”

Joel shot Della a sharp, defensive look. But he didn’t say another word. He just turned and carried his daughter out into the night.

With the quiet wrapping around her and moonlight spilling in through the slats of her blinds, Della moved her brush slowly across the canvas. She painted a soft, scenic melody in muted tones. This was her outlet, the place where the weight of the day slipped off her shoulders with every stroke. Her daughter was often her muse, and tonight was no different.

But he wouldn’t leave her mind.

The way he brushed her off. The way his shirt clung to that toned frame. The way his careless attitude clashed with her calm resolve.

She shook her head. A few strands slipped loose from her braid, as if trying to physically rid herself of the thoughts that pulled her away from the moment.

Instead, she let her focus drift to the other room, where her daughter lay curled up, fast asleep beneath soft blankets. Della’s expression softened. With a quiet breath, she lifted her brush again and let her hand move, finally returning to the painting.

[patrollingboston]

Collecting Dust ⋆˖°.𖤓 (Chapter Masterlist)

Story on AO3!

Chapter 1: New Year New Me

Chapter 2: Amidst The Chaos

Chapter 3: Too Familiar For Comfort

Chapter 4: Save Me A Seat

Chapter 5: Mind Your Beeswax

Chapter 6: Raincheck

Chapter 7: Return To Sender

Chapter 8: Before The Dive

Chapter 9: Don't Act Like You Care

Chapter 10: Scare-Mongering

Chapter 11: I Didn't Mean To Wake You

[patrollingboston]

We All Look At The Same Moon.

Hii! Chapter 1 of my new Joel x OC! I admit this chapter starts off a bit slow but I promise it will pick up further into the story. This has also been posted on ao3, the link is somewhere on my page!

Post-Outbreak – Jackson

The snow crunched under Della’s boots. Cold seeped through the soaked soles, each step sharper than the last. The gate loomed ahead; guards stood ready, their rifles trained on her. With gloved hands raised, she pulled down the bandana hiding her face and revealed her burning cheeks.

“Is it just you?” a voice called from the tower. A sniper adjusted his aim.

“Just me. I lost my group somewhere up northwest,” Della croaked, her Southern drawl catching. The world tilted. She blinked twice, vision doubling.

Two guards muttered together. A third never looked away. Finally, the shift leader barked down;

“We’re opening the gate. Any funny business, you and your so-called people won’t make it past this threshold.”

The wooden beams groaned and creaked as they slid aside, pushing fresh snow into drifts.

“Come on in, Missy. We gotta have a chat.” A man stepped through the gap, denim jacket dusted in snow, keen eyes on her. He held out a hand.

Della felt like she was knocking on Death’s door. She slid her hand into his. The world went black.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Della’s eyes fluttered open to harsh white lights. Machines beeped. Distant chatter hummed. She tried to sit up, but an IV line yanked her arm back.

“Easy now. You’re safe,” the nurse said, clipboard in hand. “That’s just an IV to keep you hydrated.”

“You fainted at our gates. Been a while since you’ve eaten?”

“’Bout three days. Where am I?”

The nurse offered a warm smile. “Jackson, Wyoming settlement. Our leaders, Tommy and Maria, will be here soon to ask questions. But first, we wanted to treat you.” She laid a hand on Della’s arm.

Della’s eyes flicked to the hallway. People walked by as if the world was normal again.

“Right. Okay.” Suspicion tightened her chest.

The door swung open on Tommy and a woman with waist-length braids and a snug scarf.

“I’m Tommy. This is my wife, Maria. We run the settlement. For your safety and ours, we’re gonna ask some questions. You good with that?”

Tommy scooted a chair beside her bed. The metal legs screeched across the floor. Maria’s eyes flicked to him, annoyance clear.

“What’s your name?” Tommy asked, voice low and Southern.

“Della Wells.”

“Well, ain’t that something. You a Southerner, Della?” His face softened.

“I am. Born and raised in Austin.”

“You don’t say. What part—”

“Tommy, ask the questions.” Maria’s tone cut through him.

Tommy cleared his throat. “Right. You said at the gate you lost your group. You with any militia? Fireflies? Fedra?”

“Nothing like that. We were just survivors, kids too. Got split up by the storm.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Maria’s voice was cool, her expression unreadable.

“When you’re up and about, reckon we can set you in a spare bunk. Find you work around here. See if Jackson feels like home. How’s that sound, Della?”

Hearing her name in her natural accent felt like a nostalgic hug. It flicked her mind back to simpler times.

“What’s in it for you? Why help me?”

Maria’s eyes softened. “We were all out there once. Folks helped us. We pay it forward.”

Della’s instincts bristled, but she swallowed hard. “I was an artist before everything went to shit. I’m good with a can of paint.”

She saw the world again. Sunlit beams on a canvas, the scent of turpentine tangled with rich soil from her houseplants.

“Interesting. I’ll see what I can do.”

Tommy nodded, and they left. Della turned away, suppressing the glimmer of hope stirring in her chest. For the first time in years, the world felt big enough to hold her again.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Della climbed a ladder, vertigo stabbing at her head, as she brushed red paint across the rough beams. The world still tilted. She had been holed up in a temporary room for the last few weeks, a bleak space with scattered bunk beds. She clung to the promise of her own room soon.

Clunk… clunk… The gates thundered open below. Paintbrush poised, she watched.

A patrol thundered in. Horse hooves struck sparks from the stone. One rider leapt down, urgency cracking his voice.

“TOMMY!”

Tommy’s hammer froze. His usual scowl unraveled into disbelief as he bounded down the scaffolding toward the man.

Della climbed down, heart pounding. A girl, barely sixteen, hovered at the edge of the crowd. But it was the man Tommy now clung to that made her blood run cold.

No. Damn it.

“Joel fucking Miller.” The words came in a rasp, her drawl bleeding through shock.

Nausea roiled her gut. The paint can slipped from her fingers with a hollow clang. She stumbled back, vision blurring as her world spun.

[patrollingboston]

I’ve started writing a new Joel x OC on AO3!

When the gates of Jackson Wyoming opened for Della, she knew her life was going to change, she just had absolutely no idea that the route it was going down would involve a painstakingly familiar face cropping up at every inch he could.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65680561