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joels6string · 9 months

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More Than My Father's Son

Joel Miller x OFC

Chapter 15 - Bring it Home

Summary: The walls of Jackson finally welcome you home after months away.

Rating: E

Word Count: 6.4k

Content: NSFW, high levels of violence normal to the TLOU world, angst, fluff, miscommunication trope (it’s Joel Miller…), slow burn, Joel’s traumatic childhood, getting together, smut, canon divergence after SLC, fix it fic

Your fingers drifted over the icy metal of the doorknob, it had been weeks since you’d slept alone, and suddenly the thought of doing so again made you uneasy.

Chapter 14 || Series Masterlist

When Joel emerged from the darkened back rooms, the blood of two clickers splattered along his coat and his machete dripping, the archive room was empty. His chest was heaving, the fight slightly harder than he was anticipating, and his lungs burning as he took off in a sprint, searching through the endless corridors for any sight of you. He’d asked you to stay put, but he should have known you’d do the exact opposite.

“Millie!” he called out, “Millie! God damnit…” he added on as a hushed curse.

“Over here.” He hated the tone of your voice already.

Amid a sea of pages and strewn magazines, he found you on your knees, chin to your chest, your eyes fixated on something in your lap. He approached slowly, coming up behind you and crouching down to peer over your shoulder, finding you staring down at photos from a ballet show published in one of the magazines. Scanning the page for whatever was triggering your damn near catatonic state, he found nothing of note until he reached the tips of your fingers covering a picture in the bottom right corner.

There was no resistance when he pushed your hand to the side, a young woman with eyes in his favorite shade of green coming into view.

He’d recognize that smile anywhere, even on a much younger face. What the article was about he didn’t care, and he suspected you didn’t either, but the blatant reminder of what life had once been was never something easy to swallow. Whatever makeup you were wearing did well to mask the freckles he knew we were being suffocated, but your shoulders were still decorated with each and every mark he intended to press his lips to at the first chance he got. Your lips were rosy pink, as were your cheeks, smoky makeup making the entrancing color of your eyes even more magnetic, the skin of your nose and cheeks smooth and unmarked by scars and time.

But it wasn’t you. Not his version anyway.

Pulling the book from your fingers, he rolled it and tucked it into his back pocket. He debated what to do with it as he pulled your hands into his; would you be ready one day? Or would this always haunt you? Taking it home was best, just in case, and if he had to keep it tucked in the attic until the pages molded then so be it.

“Forgot what my face looked like,” you mumbled, tugging your hands from his, “At least now you get to see…”

“I don’t give a shit,” he’d barely let you get your words out, and when your eyebrows knit together he knew that was a little too harsh.

Thick fingers tipped your chin up, followed by three reverent pecks to the pink line across your face, your eyes pinching closed as you resisted the wave of emotion cresting in your stomach. Before he could pull away, you grabbed his lips with your own. It had been over a week since you’d done more than a soft kiss to his throat at night, someone had always been around, tasks needed to be done, and bodies were too tired to do anything more than collapse in a heap on whatever surface was the makeshift bed of the night. Now, you took advantage, unable to ignore the way your heart sped up and your skin heated despite the cool air surrounding you.

His jacket was too thick, your fingers craved something thinner to feel him through, the thought of it being nothing at all sending another jolt to your stomach. You’d turned to face him, knees slotted between his bent ones as he continued to perch on his feet, your hands fisted in his worn flannel shirt. It was your tongue that begged for entrance this time, his lips parting at the gentlest brush and meeting your fervor in kind.

A cloud of dust puffed up from the ground when he toppled backward, finally losing his balance, his hands bracing his unsteady body on the floor as your knees slid around his waist. He opted to settle down on his elbows, your chest following his down as you refused to lose contact with him for even a second. There was no fight for dominance, he was happy to follow your lead, allowing you to take his air and find comfort in the way your mouths pressed and pulled. It was natural the way he led you down further, laying flat on his back to give his hands the freedom to grip your hips and explore your thighs, your hands moving to either side of his head to hover over him.

The world disappeared in the fiery shroud of your hair, the dirty tresses that had fallen out of your top knot hours ago caging you into a world all your own. Soft grunts and whimpers echoed off the cavernous walls, the speed picking up as it all grew messier. The desire, the need, the euphoric feeling of his hands and his mouth, it was overpowering. Moving with little control, your core pressed down on the buckle of his belt, his mouth greedily swallowing down the pathetic little gasp that stung your throat as your spine straightened, the aftershocks twitching your fingers and pausing your ability to breathe; he enjoyed the sight so much his fingers dug into your waist as he repeated the motion, your whimpering cry so sweet on his tongue.

“You need your tape,” you mewled, resisting the urge to heighten what had begun to build.

“Uh-huh,” he replied, dazed, his face tense and eyes snapped shut.

“Tommy’s probably worried.”

“I don’t give a damn.”

Thick arms wrapped around your middle as he sat up and brought you with him, your fingers immediately threading through his hair as he picked up right where you’d left off. There was no stopping your girlish giggle that bounced off his lips, his own smile stretching lopsided on his face. The weight of the world vanished for a moment, the steady heaviness of dread, guilt, and misery had lifted and you were left practically floating after twenty years of being bogged down.

“Tape,” you laughed as he moved down to your neck, his breath warming the chill that had set in, “I wanna go home.”

“Home, huh?” he teased against your throat, his beard scratching over you enough to have your hips pressing against him again.

“Mmm.”

“I like the way you say that.”

Home.

When you looked at him, that’s exactly what it felt like. Honeyed hazel stared warmly back at you, his dirt-smudged face and swollen lips welcoming you back as you kissed him once again, your hands cradling his face as he reciprocated your gentle affection. He was the four walls that the shutters slammed against when the storm raged, the levees that held back the floods, and the warm heat of a fire in a blizzard.

“Anchors are supposed to sink.”

His words had haunted you, following you around with nagging regret. You shouldn’t have left. It had been weeks of wondering if you’d ever seen him again with the knowledge that his final request had been to come back to him. It was such a simple thing to ask of you, and somehow you’d failed. Yet here you were now, perched in his lap in a dusty old library kissing him like it was something you’d done a hundred times before. He was comfortable. He was warm. He was gentle. He was home. It had only taken you months to realize it.

“Promise me everything is gonna be okay,” you whimpered against his mouth, your eyes pinched shut as you toyed with his collar at the nape of his neck.

“I swear.” As much as you wanted to believe it, the promise was empty.

“Means no dying.”

“Mm. Suppose it does.”

“You can promise me you’re not gonna die?”

“I think…scientifically speakin’ and all, I damn well might—“

A playful slap to his chest had a short, gruff laugh cutting off his sarcastic response, “I’m serious.”

“Goes for you, too,” he grunted as he gripped the backs of your thighs and stood, your arms and legs wrapping around him as he steadied, “You gonna promise me you ain’t dyin’?”

“Joel…”

“Honey,” he sighed, placing you down to sit on the checkout counter, the affectionate moniker enough to have your breath hitching, “Don’t make me have to lie to you.”

It was a promise no one could keep.

“Then promise me you’ll try,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his as your fingers found his hair once again.

“I swear,” he assured softly, sighing before pulling away and offering you a hand.

Once your feet hit the floor, he didn’t let go, his grip gentle but strong as he led you back to the archive tapes. Warm, calloused fingers threaded with yours, and you couldn’t help the way you gravitated into him, pressing your body against him as your free arm wrapped around to clutch his bicep. The canvas of his jacket was coarse against your cheek, but the immediate peace you felt as his warmth seeped into your skin had your eyes fluttering closed.

“Okay…” he drawled as the archive room once again came into view, “Make this quick.”

Dusty old VHS tapes danced between fingers, murmurs of titles and frustration barely audible as you both searched for the only one that mattered. The ink had faded after decades abandoned, some close to being entirely illegible, his eyes squinting as he tried to make out which each aged strip of tape had etched on it. His grunts of frustration had you holding your breath to prevent the giggle bubbling in your throat, the battle finally lost when he rubbed the side of the box on his jacket like polishing it would help his case.

“Somethin’ funny?” he grunted, his slivered gaze shooting over to you.

“You need glasses,” you quipped, snatching the video from his hand and easily reading that this one held some former President’s inauguration speech, “This one isn’t it, either.”

“God damnit, there’s one more shelf.”

With only three to go, you found the coveted prize: the moon landing. Joel’s eyes lit up as he smiled, sighing in relief as he pulled it from your fingers, “Guess we’ll just pray it still works, then.”

The cold battered against you like a brick wall when you opened the doors to the library, Tommy having started a small fire for himself and the couple who sat cooking over the flickering flames. Days moved slower the closer to Jackson your convey got, sleep was more restless, tempers flared, a few brotherly physical altercations were broken up, and too many clickers for comfort were taken down as the gates drew nearer.

“We’re gonna have to send clean-up crews out,” Tommy muttered, chest heaving, blood dripping off his fingers.

“Yeah,” Joel sighed, collapsing down against a tree, “Everyone else okay?”

“Looks like it, your girl is over that way and seems to be all in one piece.”

In one piece, but hanging by a thread. The road home had made you all weary, you spent most days asleep between Joel’s shoulder blades on the back of the horse, your nights restless and panicked no matter how tightly he swaddled you against him. He’d found you staring out the window one night, watching for any threats that may come by, and no amount of gentle or stern urging had convinced you to return to the makeshift bed on the floor.

“Two more days,” he’d assured just moments before the infected that now lay dead at his feet had appeared, and as he looked at you staring off into the graying skies, he contemplated trying to convince the party to make it a straight shot back to Jackson.

“We should find somewhere to hole up for the night,” Tommy suggested, “I think that river runs somewhere around here, we can get some water to clean up with.”

“What if we just pressed on through,” Joel replied, his eyes still locked on you.

A heavy sigh clouded around both brothers, and Joel knew Tommy had been thinking the same exact thing. Snow crunched under the younger of the two’s boots as he approached the older couple emerging from their hiding spot and Joel took off in the opposite direction, cautiously slipping his hand onto your lower back.

“Ready?” he asked tentatively, “We’re thinkin’ maybe we just go straight on through. No stoppin’. Might need you to take the reins for a minute–”

“Sure,” you confirmed, turning to catch his hazel gaze with a soft smile, “You’re a mess.”

“Huh?”

Your hands worked a ball of snow until the white powder had turned to frigid water, your fingers gently wiping the blood spattering on his face clean with focus and precision. It felt oddly good, his cheeks hot and hairline damp with sweat despite the temperature. He was still getting accustomed to these gentle touches, you both were, but as the days wore on they’d become more frequent and less tentative. It had been too long for it all to be natural–giving and receiving–but through shaking breaths and trembling hands, it was slowly becoming easier. Hearts no longer pounded anxiously and the fear of rejection had almost entirely subsided, but there was still so much missing and it was a void you could both feel.

“Here,” you cooed, pulling a small tin out of your pocket and dipping your middle finger in the thick balm that it housed, “This might help you a little.”

The way his eyebrows knit together as you dabbed the salve onto his wind-chapped lips had a smile lifting your cheeks and he breathed in this moment and the way it made your eyes sparkle in the haze of twilight.

“Whatchu got there, Joel?” Tommy called as he approached, “That’s some nice lip gloss.”

“Shut up,” Joel replied as Tommy laughed to himself, not turning his head away before you’d finished your task, “That ain’t half bad,” he commented as he tapped his lips together, testing the new sensation.

“You’re somethin’ else,” Tommy chuckled with an affectionate lilt, “We’re good to ride through if that’s still the plan. One of us might have to man their horse overnight long as you’re up for it, Millie.”

“Should be fine,” you answered quickly, eager to get back into the safe gates of Jackson.

When the sun came up and your shift atop Lee and Corbin’s horse ended, Joel nestled you into the saddle in front of him where you passed out within seconds swaddled in his warmth and subjected to the steady sway of the trot. It was too comfortable here with your head tucked into the curve of his shoulder, his other arm wrapped securely around your middle as the paths grew more and more familiar. Tommy had begun giving the tour of the patrol paths to the two newcomers as the sun began to set on the final day, and when the tall wooden barricades of home came into view, he finally slumped down in relief.

“We’re home,” Joel whispered into your hair, somehow you’d slept the entire day away and he knew it was the longest stretch you’d had in months, “Wake up.”

Jackson’s stables welcomed you, Joel’s hands guiding you down to the ground as you breathed in the familiar scent of home. Tommy had quickly taken to tending to Lee and Corbin, Joel stopping you from approaching with a stern look on his face.

“He can take care of them,” he said, the sun a ring of fire around his head and shoulders, “Let’s get you home.”

Arguing would be futile and a shower was far too tempting, as was a couch and a mattress and a pair of sweatpants. It was a short walk from the stables, you just had to make it through the center of town first. Joel had already prefaced that word of your supposed death was sure to have traveled to every ear by now.

“Ready?” he asked quietly, and you nodded.

“Well, I’ll be damned! That ain’t a corpse as far as I can tell.” You couldn’t even remember the man’s name as he came and pulled you into a hug.

Before Joel could get you out through the doors, more people began filing in. It grew louder and louder, more hands and embraces than you could count, your heart hammering against your chest; Joel had been separated from you in the crowd as the words being said to you became indiscernible in the crowd and the air grew thick as space closed in.

“That’s enough!” a woman’s voice called out, “Move out! Joel, get her.”

Maria Miller. You’d never been happier to hear her voice. She was standing atop of pile of boxes, towering over everyone else despite her small stature, her blond hair pulled back in a short ponytail as the townspeople obeyed her every word.

A warm, rough hand circled around your wrist and tugged, Joel’s familiar brown canvas jacket stretching across his broad shoulders as he led you out into the open streets. He didn’t stop, continuing on towards the residential area past his own white house and around the corner towards yours.

“Wait!” a small voice yelled frantically from behind you, “Wait!!!!”

No sound could have had you moving faster. You wrenched your wrist free of Joel’s grip, turning to intercept the 15-year-old girl barrelling into your arms. Her hair was soaking wet, just a thin hoodie and jeans covering a body you knew was still too thin, and it took only seconds for tears to soak the front of your jacket. She was shaking from the cold and the emotions raging in her, the way she was holding you almost keeping air from your lungs.

“They said you were dead,” she was muttering over and over, not even a hand cradling her head to your shoulder or your shushing sobs were enough to calm her down, “You were gone.”

“I’m so sorry,” you choked, and somehow saying those words made it all worse.

This is what it felt like to let someone down, to break someone’s heart. It was painful and it was horrifying, it made your joints ache and your chest seize up; was this what love really was? As you held that crying girl in an iron grip, the weight of the consequences of your actions fell onto your shoulders. This was your doing. No one else’s. You were the one who left at the slightest hint of adversity, ran away like a petulant child, and avoided feelings you’d known were there for so long they’d boiled over and burned everyone in the surrounding area.

“I’m sorry,” you cried out again, your cheeks soaked.

Arms long enough to contain you both pulled you in, Joel’s chin resting on your head as you leaned into him, and you stayed in that shelter until Ellie finally lifted her head. Swollen, reddened green eyes stared up at you, her expression telling you she still thought this might be a dream, and your palms cradled her face to say the words you couldn’t.

“I missed you,” she croaked out, fighting the urge to let her head fall back down to the drenched patch of your coat, “You missed Christmas.”

“I know,” your voice quavered, “I missed you, too.”

“Let’s get you home,” Joel, who’d been silent and steady up until now, urged, dropping his arms as you slung yours around Ellie’s shoulders.

With every step, it felt like a small piece of the gaping hole in your chest filled in. Ellie had calmed enough to rattle off a few new puns she’d learned in your absence, Joel’s horrified groans at a few making smiles involuntary. When your house came into view, Ellie began to bob with excitement, confessing she’d visited every day and watered the plants and that her time on farming which she’d always dreaded had actually come in handy in keeping your green collection alive and well.

It was just like you’d left it, not a thing out of place. It was warm, Ellie having kept the heat going for the sake of the inhabitants, tension from months in the mountain winter’s air beginning to melt away. While Ellie retold her adventures in horticulture, bringing one back from the brink of death while separating two different stems from one pot that seemed to be competing, you and Joel stood by and listened, just glad to hear the sound of her voice again.

“Hey kiddo,” Joel piped up when she’d finished revealing she had watched a few of your movies, “Why don’t you wait for her to get cleaned up and then bring her on over to our place for dinner. There’s no food here and store’s closed.”

You audibly moaned when the warm water of the shower hit your skin. Time was limited as you rinsed weeks of dirt from your body and hair, needing to shampoo three times to get it all clean. Ellie had snuck in and warmed another pot of water, announcing it was done as she closed the door behind her. And you needed it. There were still razors in your drawer and clean towels in the cabinet, although they were a little dusty. Clean, comfortable clothes waited and after carefully combing the knots from your hair, you put the hood of your sweatshirt up and took off with Ellie down to the house on Rancher Street.

Joel had already started dinner by the time you arrived, his beard trimmed and face weighed down by exhaustion. He hadn’t slept in what was close to three days and here he was prepping food Maria had definitely delivered for him, his fridge was just as empty as your own.

“So…” Ellie began as dinner was being finished, “We can do Christmas tomorrow.”

“It’s February,” Joel replied in a flat tone.

“But she missed Christmas! And we have gifts for her!”

“S’fine by me, but I ain’t decoratin’ again.”

“C’mon! Don’t be such a Scrooge!”

“Scrooge? How do you even know who that is?”

“I watched the movie with Cat and Dina.”

“Yeah, Joel,” you hummed over the mug of tea still hot in your hands, “Don’t be such a Scrooge.”

“Don’t take her side,” he cautioned softly as he sat back with a grunt that signaled defeat, “Fine, but no damn tree.”

“A small one?” Ellie pleaded, “Just enough to put gifts under!”

“What? Like a bush?” he asked sarcastically, that crooked grin lifting the left side of his mouth, “Yeah, go on and chop down a Christmas bush. You know where the hatchet is. Just make sure it ain’t one of Eugene’s.”

With a promise to return tomorrow for the planned festivities, you bid her goodbye with another tight hug, Joel opening up the door and leading you home like he had so many times before. Small talk about the relief of being home filled the short walk, how nice it was to shower and have a homecooked dinner, and before you knew it you’d both walked up the three steps to your front door.

“Alright then, I’m sure you, uh, want your space,” he sighed, “Just come on by tomorrow when you’re ready. I’m sure she’ll be up makin’ the whole damn house a mess.”

“Yeah,” you laughed, butterflies erupting in your stomach, “Okay.”

Your fingers drifted over the icy metal of the doorknob, it had been weeks since you’d slept alone, and suddenly the thought of doing so again made you uneasy. It was safe now, and warm, you didn’t need to share a cramped space where danger lurked in every breath, but you were afraid you’d become too used to it. You’d had a few nightmares along the way, but notably less, though at the time you’d attributed it to the lack of time asleep. Maybe it had been him, though.

“G’nite,” he decided for you, batting your hand away and opening your door himself.

“Night,” you responded as you contemplated the risk of grabbing the collar of his jacket and pulling him inside with you.

Would he kiss you goodnight? Could you kiss him goodnight? He was so tired, you were surprised he was still standing, the purple bags under his eyes hadn’t been this dark since well before Jackson. You both just needed a solid night’s rest, this clearly wasn’t a conversation he wanted to be having right now. He likely wasn’t even capable of it.

Closing the door and entering your home didn’t bring the reprieve you’d hoped it would. It felt too empty, too quiet; when had you begun to detest solitude? Someone had dropped off groceries, multiple people it looked like, your counter full of items that hadn’t been there before. A note was pinned to your fridge by a magnet Indy had gifted you, the simple, messy penmanship scribbled reading ‘I thought I told you to stop pulling this shit. And you couldn’t even say hi?! These were all sitting on the porch, figured I’d drop them off. You better be with Ellie. Sophia and I are a thing…by the way…and I do still live at the same house, in case you were wondering. Same address. Same place… See you tomorrow (don’t make me go to Joel’s.) -Indy’

While you were placing all the donated items into the pantry, a soft knock echoed through the house. You debated leaving it unanswered, it was probably just another bag of food or something of the sort, or maybe it was Indy, but either way, it was 10 PM and you should be asleep, whoever it was should understand.

“Millie?”

You could have ripped the door off its hinges with how much force you tugged it open with, Joel standing on the other side with frost-blushed cheeks and a nervous expression.

“I…uh…” he stammered, averting his eyes to the icicles hanging from your awning’s roof, crossing his arms over his chest as his tongue knotted.

Whatever he had to say didn’t matter. Flinging your arms around his neck you pulled his lips to yours, tangling your fingers into his silky gray hair as he kicked the door shut and locked it behind him. His fingers dug into the skin of your waist when your tongue brushed against his, a groan of relief vibrating from his throat into yours. With no prying eyes to find you, weeks of pent-up energy flooded out. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d felt this throbbing at your core. Sex had been nothing but a tool, fodder for barters, or something taken by force, not something you’d ever wanted or craved, but when you pushed his jacket from his shoulders as your back thudded against the wall you couldn’t help but feel as frightened by it as you were thrilled.

The nerves didn’t stop you, however, your lips continuing in their dance and noses pressed to cheeks. His hands stayed on your hips, and you knew he was feeling all the same things you were.

“Upstairs,” you huffed out against him, his eyes wide as he looked for signs of hesitation on your face. It took all your effort to maintain a steady stare under the weight of his.

“Lead the way,” he whispered in a husky tone, goosebumps rising on your skin and leaving a fire in their wake.

The staircase stretched for miles as you led him by the hand to your bedroom, a fresh set of sheets and blankets put on by Ellie or Indy at some point in the hours since you’d gotten back. One less thing to worry about, but the list was still a mile long.

“Did they bring my bag back?” you asked as the door clicked closed, the empty hook jogging your memory.

“Uh…” he murmured, that hadn’t been what he was expecting, “Yeah. I think so.”

“Okay. There’s just..stuff in there that I need.”

“Uh-huh.”

You were stalling now, the butterflies in your stomach kicking up enough speed to churn, your fingers nervously wringing on your stomach. It didn’t help he was watching so intently, either, looking for the first sign of discomfort to talk him out of what he wanted just as much as you did. This was just one step you didn’t want to take first, you just didn’t know how to tell him. But it was act now or watch him leave, again.

“Can you…” you sputtered, closing your eyes and tipping your chin.

“Can I what?” he asked, the mischievous lilt to his voice was reassuring, his boots slowly creaking against your floor as he closed the distance between you.

Heat burned your cheeks so hot you knew they had to be glowing even in the dim light of the moon, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip that still tasted like him. His knuckle tilted your face up, your eyes shooting open to find him towering over you with his extra eight inches, and you did all you could with the expression on your face to beg him to continue. You tried to stay relaxed, mouth hanging open slightly, gaze fixed in what you hoped was curious and thankful. If you held his head, he couldn’t deny anything, so you threaded your fingers in his hair again, scratching affectionately before giving him a small nod. Can he … this?

A crooked smirk decorated his face before he kissed you, this time it was your turn to hum appreciatively into his mouth, and he swallowed it down as he pushed you against the door just as he had on the wall downstairs. He was slower this time, giving you time to relax or stop him if you wanted to, but you found yourself only easing into his arms that were wound around your waist, and in that comfort you braved undoing the lowest button of his flannel, pausing and giving him time to put a halt on everything. He didn’t.

There was no stopping the way you shook as you slid his shirt over his shoulders, his grip around you releasing until the fabric sat in a heap on your floor. You felt him tense, reassuring you that you weren’t the only one mortified at the thought of someone seeing what was under your hoodie and pants, but he had no reason to shy away. Dark hair covered his toned chest and stomach, a gnarled scar puckering the skin just right of his navel.

“What happened?” you asked, concerned despite whatever it was being fully healed. You knew that this one had almost claimed him.

“Rebar,” he answered, “Fell a few stories off a balcony. Went all the way through.”

“When?”

“Bringin’ Ellie to the Fireflies.”

So, recently, no more than a year and a half ago give or take. It wasn’t hard to find the matching roughened patch on his back, and when you kissed him again it was hard enough to convey the turmoil raging in your thoughts. There’d been a chance he could have died before ever finding you. And how much different your life would be, if you still had it. Your sweatshirt was too thick, it created too much distance between your skin and his, so when you stopped to take a breath you pulled away just enough to pull it off over your head, your hair in its loose bun falling down around your shoulders. It was still warm even in just the thin, worn tank top you had underneath, and you flattened your palms on his chest to push him back towards the bed, your nails grazing through the soft hair until he was sitting down in front of you, your body notched between his knees.

With a surge of bravery thanks to the way he was gratuitously drinking the sight of you in, you shucked your pants off as well, climbing into his denim-clad lap in just panties and the top. He needed no other invitations, the tips of his fingertips sinking into the plush of your ass as he gripped you tightly, his kiss growing sloppy as his focus was pulled to new areas and sensations. The ache between your legs was growing unbearable, and you could feel his own similar issue stiffly beneath you that was doing you no favors in containing the pathetic little mewls escaping into the dark. Your throat was currently being explored, the scratching of his beard heightening every brush of his lips and tongue, making it all the more impossible to keep yourself quiet.

“Can I take this off?” he panted, toying with the hem of your shirt, and when you nodded he did exactly that, pushing the fabric up to your neck as he ran his hands all the way up your body before finishing the job.

Before he even drifted his gaze to what he’d just uncovered, he grabbed you by the hips and laid you down, head on your pillow, his eyes drinking you in splayed beneath him. It was nervewracking, he was taking his time, a calloused thumb circling your pebbled nipple slowly. It felt so good your whole body jerked as it searched for more, and when his lips replaced his thumb that moved to give your untouched side the same attention, your spine arched off the bed as you cried out, holding his head against you as he suckled and swirled his tongue over your neglected skin. He seemed to be enjoying it as much as you were, grunting softly as he lavished you, exploring every inch of your breasts with his lips, grazing his teeth and sucking with just the right amount of pressure to have you dizzy.

“Oh, shit…” he whimpered, dropping his forehead to your chest as he sighed, hot hair huffing out against you as you realized he’d just come from nothing but pleasing you.

You could finish yourself off quickly at just the thought of that, your fingers would make quick work of the spell he’d put you under, but after a moment to regain his breath he was back at your lips kissing you softly, the gentleness of it a cruel tease in your current state.

“Just, gimme a few minutes,” he breathed, yours pecking at his moving lips desperately, “Am I free to do as I please?”

The gravelly way he spoke and the things he said sent another burst of pressure to your core, and you wanted to scream he could do anything if it would stop the ache, but you held your frustration at bay and nodded. His mouth tasting its way down your torso distracted you from his hands pulling your panties down and throwing your knees over his shoulders, your bare cunt centimeters from his face when you realized your current position. One hand pinned you to the bed by the stomach as the other kept one leg firmly down, his tongue slipping through your soaked slit and tasting the fruits of his labor, a wanton cry ripping free from your chest.

“You know, I was never a big fan of sweets,” he commented as you wriggled in his hold seeking more, “But god damn.”

Tears stung at your eyes when he pushed up into your waiting hole, his thumb rubbing on your clit as he slid in and out, circling over your walls to collect all you had to offer. A thin sheen of sweat had you practically iridescent in the moonlight, hair sticking to your forehead and cheeks as you finally succumbed to the burning pressure in your belly. It was a perfect eruption of bliss and relief, his name falling from your tongue like a prayer. He seemed to enjoy that, his mouth working harder over your swollen, sensitive clit, fingers slipping into your channel and working to scissor you open while curling to press against a spot deep inside no one had reached before.

He gave you no time to come down, your body immediately responding and building up once again, needing more than just the two thick digits currently pumping in and out. The way you writhed beneath him and scratched across his back told him all he needed to know, the head of his cock pressing against your opening. You gave him consent with another sloppy kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue while knotting your fingers into his hair, the stretch as he pushed in giving you pause and making him freeze.

“You okay?” he asked, clearly trying to keep control.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, trying to relax the wince set on your face and the tension in your thighs.

“I’ll go slow.”

Gently, he pushed in a little more and waited, pulling out just enough to slip back in with more of his impressive girth and length. With every testing pulse, you eased more, your grunts of discomfort evolving to heavy breaths of bliss. You’d adjusted enough to take the second half of him in one thrust, his hips meeting yours as you sheathed him entirely, and you relished in the closeness this brought. His chest was pressed to yours, lips locked together, hands in hair, and you’d never felt better or safer.

“You feel so damn good,” he sighed, pulling out and slipping back into your now-drenched hole, you could feel the thick thatch of curls at his base growing damp from what was leaking free.

“Yeah,” you agreed, trying to find simple words for you knotted tongue, “You too.”

Every roll of his hips grew sloppier, his desire to be swaddled by you battling his need for friction as he climbed into the clouds, you wanted him to meet you there. You were so close to release, but you wanted to topple over the edge together with him, so you pathetically whimpered 'please' against his panting lips, flicking your hips and clenching your cunt until he tugged on your hair enough to hurt, moaning quietly into your ear. At the first sensation of him spurting hot and thick inside of you, you locked your ankles at the small of his back, letting this wave of euphoria slowly wash over you like the tide. It was gentle and warm, leaving every muscle lax and pliable as you cradled his head where he’d collapsed down onto you. It lingered, the buzzing sensation, his damp hair still soft as you combed through it.

“I’m,” he started, he’s half asleep already, “I got…snipped–”

“Ssshhh,” you cooed, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head while laughing to yourself. Of course he would be thinking about that even in his current state, “Just go to sleep.”

It didn’t take long for him to obey, his breathing slowing and deepening beneath your gentle touch. You fought sleep for as long as you could, enjoying the way he was relaxed and knowing it was you who had given that to him. He needed you, or at least that’s what it felt like here as you held him in your arms while he slept.

You wanted him to need you, to be his solace though you’d been nothing but his nightmare for so long already. The smell of his shampoo was still evident in his hair when you buried your face in the gray strands, two tears slipping free from your eyes and resting like dewdrops on the grass.

Love could also be this. But was that worth everything else?

Chapter 16

#the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #joel miller fanfic #gameverse joel #more than my father’s son

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joels6string · 1 year

Text

More Than My Father's Son

Joel Miller x OFC

Chapter 14 - On the Road

Summary: You wake up and face the fact you can't run from this any longer. A decision needs to be made.

Rating: E

Word Count: 5.9k

“Promise me you won’t just leave without a word.”

Chapter 13 || Series Masterlist

The sun shined brighter in the winters, the white blanketed over the ground working like a reflector straight into your window. It had never been this bright before, the typical dull gray hue of sunrise you were used to now hitting your sleep-sensitized eyes blindingly.

“What fucking time is it?” you grumbled to yourself, sitting up slowly to allow the ache in your bones to throb, throwing the blanket off yourself roughly as you swung your legs over the side of the couch.

Wrapped in the discarded wool was a familiar lump of brown canvas; Joel. Your fingers curled into the fabric as you searched for him in the room and found no one, panic rising, your heart beating rapidly. Was he gone? The last thing you remembered was him leaving to clean up last night, sleep finally taking you as the comfort of his smell ingrained in the threads of that coat had lulled you off to sleep. You hadn’t needed to pretend or try to remember it, it was surrounding you, keeping you safe even in his brief absence.

Clutching it to your chest, you ran from the room, following the quiet murmur of voices to the living room where the sight of his broad shoulders and thick gray hair had you sighing in relief loud enough to catch his attention.

“Mornin’ sleepy head,” he announced with a crooked smile, his eyebrows furrowing at the distress on your face.

“Hi,” you choked, long strides bringing him to you within seconds, his hands softly gripping your upper arms as he studied you, “I’m okay. What are you doing?”

“Packin’. Go get some food, it’s in the kitchen.”

Your eyes fell to his lips, the desire to have them be the first thing yours touched every morning sending a foreign warmth radiating outward from your stomach. His chest looked so welcoming, the henley he wore so tightly stretched the one button he still had done up looked like it was ready to pop. Your fingers twitched as your eyes focused on the patch of dark hair descending down the open collar, your cheeks were burning, and it was a toss-up if it was desire or embarrassment fueling the fire.

“Okay,” you exhaled, breath shaking, causing more concern from him as you quickly spun out of his grip and walked as fast as you could into the solitude of the kitchen.

His and Tommy’s clothes hung damp around the wood stove Corbin had installed to cook with, the crackling of the flames like fireworks as panic began to set in.

“Shit…” you muttered, eyes darting around, “Fuck…”

There was that nagging voice, the hammering in your chest, the drop of your stomach.

“Not this time. Not this time. No.” You recited it like a mantra under your breath. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”

“Millie?” Not the voice you were expecting.

Tommy walked cautiously into the room, leaning his back against the counter you’d braced yourself on.

“Thank you,” he said, your eyes snapping closed as you readied to try and converse with him about something that wasn’t the storm raging in your blood, “They’re comin’ back with us.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you blurted out, “They never said a word to me when I asked.”

“Huh. Well, either way we’re packing whatever valuables they have and heading out this afternoon. Can you check what food can be carried? We packed the fresh meat, hoping keepin’ it packed with snow will keep it cold enough to travel.”

“Sure. Yeah.”

“You alright? You seem…nervous.”

“What am I going back to, Tommy?”

It has been a question lingering like a whisper behind the chaos.

“Well, we left within a few hours of the group gettin’ back so I assume Ellie is a little on edge. And Joel well…Joel did a little damage to Paulie’s face. But, I don’t think it’s anything that can’t be forgiven given the circumstances—”

“Where is Ellie now?”

“Maria is keepin’ an eye on her. I know she’s cooking for her. And she’s got her friends and I made Maria promise no farming.”

That made you laugh. Ellie did always hate farming rotation. It was certainly a reprieve for her to be free of it.

“And Paulie,” Tommy continued, “Well, I think he was expectin’ a little anger. Ain’t like you all have a good history. He’ll live, and hell, maybe we can get Joel to apologize.”

“When hell freezes over maybe,” you replied with another breathy chuckle, Tommy's blue-green eyes soft as they wrinkled in the corners with a smile.

“Yeah, suppose you’re right. Look I wanted to talk to you, about somethin’ else.”

You hoped your silence was a response enough for him to continue, those nerves bubbling once again in your stomach.

“Joel he uh, he’s been through a lot. I don’t know how much you know about…his life before…but…he can’t take someone else walkin’ out on him,” you could hear the anxiety in his voice, the hesitation to divulge too much of a story that wasn’t his to tell, “I need you to promise you’re gonna do right by him. And I’m not sayin’ I think you’ll do anything but, I just…I need to know he’s gonna be okay.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” you confessed, “So I don’t know if I can promise anything.”

“Promise me you won’t just leave without a word.”

Well that was sort of your signature style. And you were well aware Tommy knew that, he must have figured it out with how many times you’d tried to escape or walked away at the first sign of conflict that didn’t involve a weapon in one or both hands. It had been the exact thing you’d been contemplating before he'd walked in. It was like a reflex at this point, snapping whatever thread of attachment you formed instead of weaving it stronger.

“You’re important to him,” he continued, “So please, just bear that in mind.”

“Okay,” you finally acknowledged, not answering the younger Miller’s request but at least confirming you understood his sentiment.

“Tommy, what the hell are you doin’?” Joel snapped as he came searching for you after too long a delay, “Let her eat for Christ’s sake.”

“Please,” Tommy repeated one more time to you, and you nodded, hearing the clap of Tommy’s palm on Joel’s shoulder as he returned to the living room.

“What’s he on about?”

“What?” How much did you divulge? This didn’t feel like the time or place to tell Joel you’d just gotten the talk from his brother, especially since it immediately followed your own contemplation on whether or not this was something you could even handle.

“I told him we’d make it to the path by dark. He ain’t listenin’. Keeps askin’ everyone if those clouds look like snow and the latest we can leave… Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

Two thick forearms caged you in against the counter, your chest turning to brush against his as that radiating warmth returned. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, the deep scar indenting his nose, the white competing with black in his beard, the sunspots, and tiny nick scars that practically glowed against his sun-weathered skin.

This time you couldn’t resist. Your heels left the floor as you stood on the tips of your toes, pressing your lips to his hard, taking a chance despite the fear of rejection that told you it would only last a second before it all came crashing down.

But it didn’t. He pressed in closer, one hand twisting into your hair as you tugged his bottom lip between yours, fisting his shirt by the collar and silencing the demons that were telling you this couldn’t happen. It was happening. And here you felt safer than you had alone in this kitchen moments before. His hands, his heat, the familiar smell, how every kiss was focused and reverent, you could feel the gratitude in the every brush and pull, and when he lifted you to sit on the counter to be at his level, you wrapped your arms around his neck and granted his tongue’s request at the seam of your lips.

He swallowed your pathetic little mewls, his body pressing between your thighs enough to reignite a long abandoned flame. Your fingers craved to feel him, dragging up over his shoulders and onto his neck in their quest. The fringe of his soft gray hair and searing hot skin satiated the growing desire licking against your resolve, his beard scraping against your chin, the risk of being heard by the people in the room just next door something you didn’t care enough to consider.

When his hands slipped just beneath the hem of your shirt and landed on the untouched skin of your waist you gasped, fingers tightening in his locks and tugging enough to have him groaning quietly. It was still clumsy and lacking finesse, teeth still clacking and marks missed, but as you slowed down he read the cue, and when his fingers pressed harder into your skin and struck another chord, he met your desperate fervor with need of his own.

Air was in short supply but for a moment you wondered if you needed it at all. This was a moment of reprieve, another pocket of stolen time reminiscent of the overlook, the only thing that mattered was this and him and whatever you were finally allowing yourself to feel after years of solitude and resentment.

“Get out,” Joel barked as footsteps you assumed belonged to Tommy began to draw closer, your fingers now scratching soothingly over his still-twinging scalp.

“You grew your hair,” you panted as he pecked at your mouth again.

“You said you liked it longer.”

“You grew your hair for me?”

“I guess so.”

Buzzing, frayed nerves had been replaced by warm, flowing currents, his palms drifting to the plush of your denim-clad thighs as you lightly traced the lines on his face with your now-free hand, ending with a gentle peck to the scar across his nose. His eyes were closed as he took in the sensation, his mouth turning into a frown you knew was born more from the lack of affection he’d been shown and the control he was trying to keep on himself. It made you wonder if it would break the next time you were alone, which wouldn’t come for weeks.

“Joel…” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his as you cradled his jaw, your throat closing in as you attempted to muster the courage to say the words, “Thank you.”

He pulled away to stare at you questioningly, and you answered with sad eyes of your own, a heavy sigh preceding his response “Millie, I need to know what the hell you want. I ain’t guessin’.”

It was so blunt, designed to not allow you to skirt the question. He’d been planning this in your time away, though your continued affections toward him probably surprised him as much as it had you. But it could easily be read as relief to finally see a familiar face, not longevity.

“I want to try,” you replied, straightening your shoulders and nodding. There was no going back now.

“Alright then. Me too.”

Tipping your chin up with his thumb and pointer, he kissed you so lightly it was a tease, your body craving for more as he pulled his lips just out of reach while his fingers kept you in place.

“Okay,” you sighed, allowing the feeling of relief to consume you.

“Okay.”

And with that he walked off, shooting you a crooked smile over his shoulder as he passed through the doorway, your eyes turning to thin slits as your cheeks lifted in a smile that had your cheeks twinging from disuse.

“You done making out like a teenager and ready to fuckin’ help?” you heard Tommy chastise as you threw the oatmeal that was still warm on the hearth into a bowl, “You’re the one insistin’ we leave today and you ain’t helpin’!”

“Shut the hell up, baby brother,” was Joel’s response, and you could practically hear his grin.

By noon, the horses were packed with as much as they could carry, only three to hold the goods and all five people heading back to Jackson. Corbin and Lee shared theirs while Bill would have to lug both you and Joel around, Tommy’s carrying the bulk of Corbin and Lee’s personal items. It would be a long two weeks on the road and you dreaded every second of it—this was the first time you could say you just wanted to be home.

“Joel,” Corbin called from a few yards away, “Can you help me with something?”

You took over the task of giving Bill’s saddle one last fit check, your eyes following him as he walked up the path and took what looked like a gas can from Corbin’s hands. It all still felt like a dream. Seeing him again had been a pipe dream from the moment you’d woken up in Corbin’s basement, your chest in agony and your hands strapped to the bedposts. There’d been no way to check if you were infected, and he’d taken a chance on bringing you back, something you’d be forever indebted to him for. But now Jackson was two weeks away, your chances of making it back almost guaranteed thanks to the two brothers flanking the man who’d risked his life to save you, a swell of gratitude hitting you like a tsunami.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Lee sang out from behind you, a breathy laugh blowing out through your nose, “It’s a rare thing to find. But it’s not hard to see.”

“Okay,” you brushed off, “Well, we’ll see. What’re they doing?”

“Burning the house.”

“What?!”

“Hunters and worse have tried to take it from us for years. I’d rather see it in ashes than used as some kind of base.”

Joel’s uneasy gaze found yours across the farm, questioning you, almost asking for permission. The urge to scream no was building in your throat, whatever small semblance of serenity you’d stolen ripped away as reality finally came pouring down, its riptides ready to whisk you away back out into the lonesome sea.

“It’s okay,” Lee sounded again, “We have a new home now.”

“Fuck…” you muttered your breath as you nodded to Joel, his own chin tipping slightly in acknowledgement.

With the house that stood through winters, summers, apocalypses, and countless attacks swallowed by flames behind you, you nestled into Joel on the back of Bill as you began the trek to Jackson. You could hear the crackling and shattering of beams that had withstood the worst moments of a family’s life, your arms wrapped tightly around Joel’s middle as you tried to drown the sounds out of at least one ear in the valley between his shoulders. The scent of gunpowder had been replaced with wood oil in the months since settling, his jacket thick with the air of familiarity, his fingers threading through yours on his stomach as his other hand gripped the reins.

It continued like this for miles, hazy comfort and warmth despite the frigid temperatures battering against the protective bubble surrounding you. Your fingers stayed locked with Joel’s until they were practically numb from the pressure he was gripping you with, the fear that you were gone that had held him captive still whispering in his ear.

You tried to remember when it all fell into place, whatever this was. What was the catalyst? The fairytale moment where the stars aligned and the clouds drifted away—that second you looked at him and realized he was the one.

None of that had ever happened.

It had come on gradually, there was no beginning, middle, or end. It just existed. Even from the earliest days your heart had searched for him. It began as your fingers finding the small hole in the collar of his t-shirt as he carried you bleeding and limp to safety when leaving you would have been easier. It continued in the rough way his voice sounded in the morning and when he was tired from a long day, or the songs you’d caught him humming when he thought no one was around. When it all should have changed and come tumbling down, the burden of your safety off his shoulders, he’d remained. Fetching groceries, tending wounds, helping you acclimate to a world strange to both of you, forcing him to adjust faster than he needed to to continue being whatever it was he knew you needed him to be. And he’d done it all without expectation.

In this, there was no need for showmanship, it was never booming fireworks or grand storybook gestures. It was walking into your home after a long day, an easy comfort, the smell of wood oil and sawdust, the plucking of guitar strings melding with the crickets’ song. It was him and it was you and it was simple.

Loving him had always been easy, even when you’d tried your hardest to not. Leaving him had been the hard part. Whether it had been walking away or ignoring the fists slamming against the fortress you’d built around your heart, every second away from him had felt lacking. And you had no questions about whether or not he felt the same. It wasn’t a worry, it was unspoken and known. You felt it in the way his thumb hadn’t stopped moving up and down on the top of your hand since the journey began, saw it in the way he snuck a glance at you behind him every few minutes, his shoulders relaxing with every assurance you were there and you were well. Being loved by him could be easy, too.

“Joel…” you mumbled into his coat as the sun began to drift below the trees, “Joel…”

“Hmm?” he hummed, squeezing your fingers softly as he turned an ear back.

“Are we stopping?”

“Not here. Little further up.”

The neighborhood surrounding you was one you were familiar with. The rushing of the river, that old white house, the snow stretching for miles…this was where you thought your life had ended. Bill trotted past the very spot you’d slipped off a rock into the rushing waters, a particularly brutal coughing fit had been enough to send your fever-weakened body toppling over, lightheaded and close to fainting. You’d tried to claw your way up onto the rocks that sped by you as the current swept you away, but the water had been too cold, your joints effectively frozen, lungs useless, and you’d realized you could spend your last few minutes panicking or simply accepting your fate. You’d chosen the latter.

You’d thought of Ellie, beaming ear-to-ear as she hit a particularly difficult shot at the target with her arrow, the raucous reaction to learning Darth Vader was Luke’s father that had her jumping on Joel’s couch much to his dismay, and as your head smacked against the root of tree protruding on the bank, you’d just begun to hope you’d made a difference for her in the short time you knew her. Then it had all gone black until you'd woken up in what must have been your ninth life.

Three hours later, Joel’s hand guided you off your horse in a garage, the only one in the area that still had a roof. The house was like every other you’d set foot into—destroyed, looted, the ghosts of its owner’s still lingering in shattered picture frames and trinkets with no value in whatever semblance of a society still remained. Tommy instructed everyone to search for anything useful, bullets, clothes, medical supplies, the usual, and you opted to check the upstairs with Joel no more than five paces behind you. It was the same as always, a few sweaters, jeans, some shirts for Tommy and Joel, old rags and even half a bottle of rubbing alcohol, the empty boxes of bullet shells in the master bedroom frustrating Joel who grumbled something about not having enough to make it home.

“I’m starving,” you finally sighed as you closed the closet door, turning to find Joel staring out the window at the plume of smoke stretching into the winter clouds.

“I’m sure Tommy’s got somethin’ goin’,” he answered, eyes still locked ahead of them, his voice distant and distracted.

Food was in abundance for the trip at least, Corbin and Lee’s chicken and canned goods all being stashed in Tommy’s saddle bags. He’d estimated it was more than enough to get everyone home if it was used wisely. And using things wisely was one of Tommy’s strongest suits. This would be a rare moment alone with Joel, the group already establishing that sleeping in one location on the ground floor would always be safest, regardless of how many beds the house held. You knew he was grappling with his hand in burning everything those people had held dear. He'd forced them to choose between their home and traveling for weeks with them to a world unknown, wondering if it would be worth it in the end and knowing if it wasn’t, they had nothing. He’d had a home once, one he left behind. You’d overheard him and Tommy talking about it not long after your arrival, about Tommy’s visit back down to Texas some years back, those four walls still standing as if it was waiting for them to return. All but one.

“Let’s go see,” you instructed, his nod of agreement finally pulling his attention.

Dinner was cooking on a small hot plate, Lee fretting over Tommy’s shoulder as he laughed affectionately at her concerns of overcooking. Joel stopped halfway down the staircase, your brow furrowing as you turned back at the absence of the creaking wood when you’d hit the floor.

“Tommy,” he called out, “Gimme a hand with these mattresses.” His attention then fell to you. “Go and eat. Don’t worry about leavin’ anything.”

“Joel…” you exhaled, but he’d already turned away, “Tommy, Tommy…” you grabbed the man passing you by the forearm, “He needs to eat.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Tommy assured, patting your hand softly, “Don’t you worry. Make us some bowls.”

As promised, Tommy did ensure Joel ate the prepared stew after they’d lugged two mattresses down to the living room. With those and the couch, everyone would have a softer place to sleep than the floor, enough blankets being found that a fire wouldn’t be worth the risk. Tommy and Joel did one last perimeter sweep before settling in for the night, Joel welcoming you onto his chest as good nights were said and flashlights flicked off.

Both of his arms swaddled you, his palm gently cradling your head where it lay tucked into the crook of his neck. In the company of so many others, the words of relief you both wanted to speak sat idle on your tongues. You wanted to tell him you’d remembered how it felt to be held by him while you slept, that memory the only thing that could get you to sleep most nights. His heat, his smell, the feeling of being safe and content, nothing had ever compared. The way his heart thudded against your cheek transported you back to that night—the night it all changed—but there was no longer the dread of regret that lingered over the moments of comfort. The second chance had come.

Sleep came quickly, a drowsy warmth trapped beneath the blankets and trapped between where your bodies met lulling you to restless images too vivid to differentiate from reality and dreams.

Crack!

Joel shot up at the sound of gunfire crackling through the frigid morning air. His eyes fell first to Tommy across from him on the couch, his brother also alert and tossing his blankets off in a scramble to get out the front door. You were nowhere to be found.

Crack!

The sound echoed through the abandoned neighborhood as they ran out into cold, two bodies lying off in the distance on the snow-covered ground. They took off in a run, pistol and revolver drawn, crimson pooling on the crystal white beneath two very dead men, bullets sunk right through the sides of their heads.

“Morning boys.” The greeting had Tommy chuckling and Joel sighing. “It’s about time you woke up.”

You popped up on a rooftop to their right, Corbin’s rifle in your hand, snow covering the front of your jacket from laying flat on the slanted surface. Joel took off immediately as you moved to slide down, reaching the back of the house where you’d used an old charcoal grill and the dilapidated roof to a covered porch to get yourself up, his face tensing at the fact despite everything you were still just as reckless.

“What the hell are you doin’?” he asked, grabbing your lower half hanging off the beams of the porch and placing you gently back down onto the ground.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you answered, dusting your clothes off, “Came outside to see where the sun was and heard them down the road.”

“Tell me you knew they were a threat,” Tommy called out from the side of the house, Joel meeting your eyes with a much more sympathetic look than Tommy’s inquiring gaze.

“They were looking for the people who burned ‘that crazy old kook’s house down’,” you retorted, “Figured that was good enough. You could still see the smoke from here this morning, maybe not the best idea.”

“Yeah, well, hindsight’s always 20/20,” Tommy acknowledged, “We’ll be outta here soon. Let’s go pack up.”

As Tommy took back off down the road, you stopped at the two victims in the street, searching them for anything useful. A pistol, a rifle, and a fair number of bullets later, you found the real prize: a freshly rolled cigar. You held it up proudly for Joel, his lips forming an O as he exhaled loudly in excitement, his nose pressing to the paper and inhaling deeply.

“Yeah,” he chortled, “Yeah, that’ll do. Keep that away from Tommy.”

Days turned into a week, the time spent quietly with Joel on the back of Bill a pocket of bliss you knew you’d never have again. Occasionally, you veered off from the group, and he told you about the task him and Tommy had begun of renovating Jackson, how much Ellie had improved on the guitar in a few short months, and that he’d managed to pilfer and save enough seeds to have a small garden started for you in a makeshift greenhouse in his downstairs bathroom. You crossed so few adversaries thanks to Joel’s expert clean up work on the way down, it gave you the time to just be.

“That look like a little town square to you?” he asked one afternoon with an estimated six days to go.

“Probably,” you confirmed, Joel’s whistle to get Tommy and Corbin’s attention shrill in your ear.

“This way!”

The group wandered through the streets of what was once a bustling town center. The remnants of a farmer’s market lay destroyed, the tents and stands still barely displaying shop names and prices with sun-worn paint and ink, scattered totes and wooden boxes that once held homegrown produce discarded throughout the street. It must have hit differently out here, you envisioned the panic of the shoppers as they came in contact with their first infected on what was probably a cool autumn morning. They’d been out with their families, enjoying the last of the summer’s harvests, shopping for pumpkins to carve, fall decorations…then everything had been ripped away.

“Right here,” Joel announced as you stopped in front of an old brick building, “We’ll just be a second. You three keep watch, we’ll go in.”

“What are we doing here?” you asked as Joel helped you off the horse, grabbing a weapon for each of you and heading off up the walkway without a response.

It was a public library. Even more questions floated into your head as you entered what would have once been considered a sanctuary. It was almost frozen in time, books still neatly placed on the shelves, the only indicator anything had been awry the shattered windows, spindly sticks that no doubt sprouted green ivy throughout the space in warmer months, and a layer of dust proving you were the first to set foot in this space in years. Joel walked immediately to the directory, clearly after something specific, muttering to himself about archives and videos, and you grabbed the first book left strewn on the counter, flipping it open to marvel at the still partially stiff pages. Had someone been checking it out? Was this their choice of the week read that they’d enjoy in front of a crackling fire as the sun began to set? Or was it one someone had already learned from? Taken new life from?

“This way,” Joel interjected, threading his fingers with yours and taking off towards the back.

He entered an old storeroom, labeled boxes lining the walls, a table set in the middle of the space, and he got to work immediately rummaging through.

“What are you looking for?” you finally asked, crossing your arms over your chest impatiently.

“Moon landing,” he answered so bluntly it was hardly an answer at all.

“The moon landing? What for?”

“Ellie.”

“Uh huh…”

“I found a place to maybe take her for her birthday if it’s still standin’ and we can clear it out, an old museum, so I need this.”

Ellie’s fascination with space was no secret. She swore she was going to be the one to restart the space program single-handedly, and you’d never even considered squashing that dream. Nor had he. He was laser-focused, reading date after date with his flashlight, and you knew you should help him but you were so enamored at the sight of him diligently looking for this small thing that could bring a smile to that girl’s face you couldn’t move.

Then, the color drained from your face, the too-familiar vile clicking echoed, both you and Joel’s attention snapping to the doorway leading into a back hall that was missing its door. He stood up straight slowly, gently unsheathing the machete strapped to his backpack, turning with his left arm out as he backed up until your body hit his. With your pistol already drawn, you batted his protective arm away, moving to stand beside in whatever fight came next.

“I’m a better shot than you,” you whispered, his nostrils flaring.

“Not at close range,” he retorted, and he was right. “Stay put.”

Before you could snatch his arm and pull him back, he was advancing into the hallway. You cursed silently, turning and going out the way you came to sweep the larger library; if he could go looking for a fight so could you. You walked shelf after shelf, your eyes sweeping and finding nothing, your ears still on high alert to any sounds of distress or unwanted visitors, but it was quiet. Terrifyingly silent.

Chapter 15

#the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #joel miller fanfic #gameverse joel #more than my father’s son

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