#jesus christ so many joel tags lmao

[agentmarcuspike]

"All My Casualties of Love"

pairing: joel miller x reader/oc (third person, unnamed) cw: descriptions of injuries, unprotected piv, painful sex (it's not supposed to hurt!!), murder (they had it coming), flashbacks, tess is dead (rip), no ellie wordcount: 5k a/n: i've spent too long editing this and i'm still not happy so... please just take it

Joel had decided to never love again. His brother left to find a different life, he lost his partner to the horrors, and now he finds himself wandering, gathering courage to end it all, secretly yearning for a reason not to. And then he finds her. And she ruins everything.

The smoke rises thick and black from the burning house as Joel passes it from a safe distance, the fire emitting some light to the surroundings, but not enough to reach him. He has his rifle on his chest, fingers on his handgun, in case the fire attracts anyone, even though the thick dark and the snow covered ground muffling his steps feels like protection enough. The rare winter storm had narrowly avoided him, but a stray bolt of lightning must have found the house, he gathers. 

It’s been months since he’s seen another person. Walking through the deep forest, the sound of only crunching leaves and screaming birds driving him insane before the snow came and softened everything, and he swears he has started hallucinating. Even now, as he moves a little closer to the burning house, stealing some warmth from the flames, he swears he hears something. It must just be his lonely mind playing tricks on him though, and he’s about to turn and walk away when he hears it again. 

A scream.

The sound is all too familiar, and his breath hitches in his throat. Driven by instinct he starts running towards the noise, but stops himself to think. It could be a trap. It could also be someone in need of help. But that’s not his problem. Not in this world. And yet, when he hears the yell again, he can’t stop his feet from running.

In the orange glow of the flames, about ten meters from the house, Joel can barely make out the contours of a person, face down in the snow, crawling in the opposite direction. Rifle pointed forwards, he takes a few more steps. 

“Hey!” he bellows. The figure freezes, and as he gets closer, gun still pointed at them, he can tell it’s a young woman. No older than 30. She doesn’t look sick, but he asks anyway. No response. He moves to stand in front of her, the butt of his rifle still pressed firmly against his shoulder. 

“I asked you a question,” he repeats. “You infected?” 

The smoke moves heavily around them, and he pulls her to her feet, dragging her towards the road where he came from. When they’re clear of the smoke, he throws her to the ground, pushing the gun back in her face until she scrambles up on her knees and meets his gaze.

Something in her eyes reminds him of the past. A something he’s buried deep down. Six feet to be exact. The look of fear. An emotion he hasn’t had much of for the past fifteen years, because he hasn’t had anything to lose. He lost everything long ago.

“If you’re gonna turn it’s better I end it for you right now.” He still hasn’t looked at her without the weapon between them.

“I’m not,” she finally manages, not breaking eye contact. He doesn’t want to believe her, but he does. 

“Good for you,” he replies, finally lowering the weapon a bit. 

He doesn’t admit, to her or himself, that he wouldn’t actually mind too much if she did turn, thinking it might be an okay way for him to go. Maybe saving her even if she was already doomed might give him some extra karma points before he goes himself.

While the dark makes it hard to see anything at all, his aging eyes not helping, he can see enough to give her a quick once over, making sure she isn’t too hurt and be on his way. But he doesn’t move. The way her eyes never leave his, how she never raised her hands in surrender like people usually do when he aims at them. He’s not sure what it is he sees. Whether it’s just the reflection of the fire in the distance, or something else sparkling, something resembling a will to live, a thirst for life. Which it can’t be, not out here, not anymore. Right?

She doesn’t move until he does.

Desperate, impatient, gulping, choking down the water, thirsty from the smoke she inhaled. He has given her his water bottle, knowing he can easily melt more snow later. They’re walking side by side in the forest, out of sight, but with the road they’re following almost visible through the trees. 

She gives Joel the bottle back, and he briefly considers letting her keep it, but accepts it with a nod.

He clears his throat before speaking. 

“So…” He looks in towards the thick forest. “If you just follow the road, you should get to some old cabins. Just… keep an eye out for people and…” He looks at her briefly, giving a nod to signal he doesn’t really have anything else to say.

“Where are you going?” she asks, voice breaking a little. 

“Setting up camp for the night.” 

“Oh.”

They stand about two meters apart, both looking at the ground. 

“Well…” he begins, as he takes a step away from her.

“Thank you,” she cuts him off, throwing the words out like she wants to get rid of them. “I owe you one.”

Joel huffs. “You don’t owe me anythin’.” The last thing he wants is for someone to be indebted to him. That would involve some sort of connection, and that’s the last thing he wants.

“Well…” she mimics him. They give each other a nod, taking a few steps backwards, while turning and walking their different ways.

When he gets far enough into the thick woods to lay his ragged sleeping bag down on frozen ground rather than snow, curling up inside of it, waiting for sleep, he catches himself wondering if the woman has found a safe place for the night, somewhere warmer than the forest floor. But then he reminds himself, she’s not his responsibility to worry about. He already saved her once. 

She’s slipping through his fingers. The scorching tongue of the fire licking his arms as he’s clutching her to his chest like when she was a baby. She used to love nuzzling into the crook of his neck. As she got older, she’d pretend she didn’t, but whenever she fell asleep on the couch, his arm around her little shoulders, her unconsciousness would still guide her face into him, and his calm breaths would rock her to sleep, exactly like he had just a few, and yet so many, years ago.

She’s not sleeping now. He’s running but his feet aren’t moving. The fire is catching up, surrounding them. He can see her mouth moving, a silent scream as the flames engulf her, and there’s nothing he can do. He yells, and screams, his muscles aching and burning from reaching for her. But she’s lost in the fire, and he’s untouched, hurt not from the inferno but the loss. 

The fire crackles, a taunting sound, saying, “I have her now. And I won’t take you.” 

Gunfire. Joel knew the sound all too well. He had heard it up close and personal. But the bullet that had once grazed the side of his head, at the hands of none other than himself, had made sure he’d never hear it again with more than one ear. He had learned to lean into conversation with his left side, always sleeping on the right.

But people make mistakes, and waking up with his good ear down and the sound of gunfire reaching through his bad one was a good indicator that he was also a person capable of fatal error. 

Throwing himself around to look for the source of the sound, Joel is immediately confused by what he finds. On the ground a good fifty meters away from him, a body. But more confusing than that, right next to his head, a pair of boots. Connected to a pair of legs, it seems, and looking up, there she is, staring down the barrel of his own rifle. But it’s not pointed at him.

Another bang, and another body to the ground. Before he can wrap his head around the situation and reach for the handgun on his hip, a third gunshot rings out, followed by silence. 

Walking side by side, Joel hasn’t uttered a word since he was suddenly awoken an hour or so earlier. Neither has she. He’s grateful they’ve equaled the debts now, and secretly wishes that would mean they could go their different ways without being duty-bound by karma, but he also figures he owes her a thank you.

“S’pose we’re even now,” he mumbles finally, eager to be done with talking. 

“Guess so,” she replies with a half-smile. 

A few more steps in silence. Joel’s breaths come more easily, relieved and ready to move on. 

“So I’m–

“So where you headed?” she interrupts him. 

He’s taken aback for a second, confused by the sudden change of pace in conversation.

“Uhm.” He debates with himself for a second. He’s not even sure he knows. “Just… west,” he lands on eventually. 

She nods. “Just west,” she repeats. 

More silence. He doesn’t know why, but Joel feels an intense urge to fill it.

“Did you follow me?” he asks eventually.

“Not at first.” 

She tells him she was too shaken up and cold to sleep, so she stayed awake near the cabins he’d mentioned to her, which is where she heard a small group of people.

“One of them talked about seeing someone sleeping by themself in the woods, and they all went to check it out, so I followed them, assuming it was you they’d seen.”

She leaves out the part where she managed, armed with only a big branch and a pocketknife, to hit the one standing guard over the head without alerting the others closing up on Joel, and used the unconscious man’s weapon to gun down another one before getting to Joel and his rifle, but he can fill out the blanks himself.

The gun is now strapped to her hip, and she gives it a squeeze. It feels foreign, and it is. She had her own gun with her when she sought shelter in the house, the one she’d had with her for years, but there was no need to go back and look for it under the ashes now. Either way, this one she had preyed straight from a dead man’s hands. She’s done worse, and yet she feels bad about it.

“Thank you,” he says, eventually looking up at her. “For… that.”

She nods and gives him a half-smile. “I owed you one, didn’t I?”

She doesn’t give him much, and it’s not like he wants anything either, but he still feels compelled to ask. To know. 

“You traveling alone, then?” 

She doesn’t answer for a while. 

“My sister…” she begins. Silence again. Joel thinks he understands. He’s about to tell her she doesn’t need to say anything when she continues.

“She was a baby when it began. I was basically a kid too, but when our parents got sick, it was just the two of us. I raised her I suppose. And then a few months back, we had a falling out. We ran into some people, they wanted to join us, she wanted them to join as well. I said no, felt too risky. So, she…” The woman takes a shaky breath. Joel wants to put his hand on her shoulder, show her he understands. He too has felt the pain of a younger sibling leaving. “She, uhm…” 

“S’okay, niña,” is all Joel can muster. “You don’t have to go there.”

She sniffs quickly, and he thinks he sees her wipe a tear away, but then she huffs.

“Niña…?” 

He looks at her with raised brows. “Somethin’ wrong with that?”

“Nothin’ wrong, viejo.” 

A quick huff escapes him. She did not just… 

“Oh, fuck off,” he groans, but he can’t hide his smile while she sneers.

The air feels lighter, and Joel takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“Guess we could share the road for a bit,” he grumbles to his feet, but he catches the smile she can’t contain in his side vision. 

Avoiding the cabins Joel had suggested earlier, he didn’t think they would come across any more houses for a while.

But there it is. In the middle of the woods, covered in moss, surrounded by trees standing so thick the windows seem unnecessary as no light is going to seep through the branches anyway. It can barely be called a shack, but it has walls and a roof, and seeing as the trees stretch to cover the door as well, Joel guesses it must have been left alone for years, untouched. 

He pulls out his knife to cut the branches covering the door, and his new companion takes out the pocketknife from her jacket and starts uncovering the windows on the same wall to see if it’s possible to have a glance inside.

“Wow…” she whispers from beside him, when she uncovers a sliver of glass and peeks inside.

“What? S’it look like anyone’s been in there?” 

“No, it’s… Just get the door open.”

She goes to join him. Even with all the branches and roots and snow covering the bottom of the door removed, it will barely open when they both pull at it. Joel counts to three, and when they yank together it comes off its hinges, parts of the rotten tree of the frame coming with it. He moves it to the side, pulls his handgun out, and takes a step indoors.

As the daylight spills into the room, years of abandonment become glaringly evident. The shack, untouched for a long time, has gathered layers of dust and is swathed in an air of nostalgia. Cobwebs, like delicate lace curtains, hang in forgotten corners. A mysterious stillness prevails, only disrupted by the distant howl of the cold wind outside.

He understands her immediate reaction now. Wow, indeed. It’s like a time capsule. Clearly well lived-in, but not for years. Not since it all began, Joel thinks. It’s a tiny place, one room only. The floor hidden by the thick layer of dust, and the walls covered in frames and postcards. There’s a twin bed in one corner, and a loveseat in the other end of the room. The other corner houses a kitchenette, with a wood burning stove and jar on top of the bench that reads “cookies” in a quirky font. 

“Wow…” The exclamation falls out of her again. Joel looks at her, once he’s certain that the place is safe. She’s looking at the pictures on the walls, touching their frames with a careful hand. He lets her have a moment and moves to open one of the two kitchen cabinets.

There’s not much there. A bag of microwave popcorn, despite there being no microwave, or seemingly any electrical outlets at all. Two cans of beans. A pack of instant ramen. It’s food until tomorrow, he thinks, puts them on the counter, and reaches to open the other cupboard. 

He instinctively ducks as a swarm of black moths fly out. The sound of their collective fluttering wings has her turning as well, and she startles, gasping, the dark swarm moving straight to where she stands in front of the room’s only light source. She screeches, throwing herself to the floor and rolls around as the moths encircle her. Joel runs to waft them towards the open doorway, shimmying his jacket off to help. 

She’s covering her head, laying completely still, as if she’s being attacked by stinging wasps and not gray butterflies, and when the moths finally scatter, he reaches out to carefully touch her back. 

“You alright, chica?” he asks jokingly, squeezing her shoulder lightly. “They’re just moths, you’re okay.”

It’s another thirty seconds for her breath to slow. She sits up slightly, looking around, as if the moths are waiting for her. “I hate bugs so much,” she whispers. Joel can’t help but snicker. In a world full of zombies, and this girl is scared of insects. He grabs her hand, helping her back up to her feet where she wobbles for a second, clutching onto his sleeves.

“I got you.” The consolation just slips out of him. She looks up, mouth slightly open in surprise, before she bursts into laughter. The sound feels like oil in a rusty motor to his ears, and he can’t help but hold back a giggle himself. They stand there for a moment, letting their laughter fill the room, tears pressing out of her eyes.

Caught up in the moment, Joel reaches out to brush away a stray tear escaping her eyes and running down her cheek. He lingers a second too long, and her laughter softens quickly at the intimate gesture as she finds her breath again. She’s the first to look away.

“Look at this,” she says, clearing her throat and walking back towards the picture she was studying minutes ago. Joel walks up behind her, straining his eyes to see the details, his chest brushing her shoulder as he leans in closer.

The dusty gold frame, now a little shinier after her fingers brushing against its sides, wraps around an old faded photograph. Two people sit on a porch in front of a house, bigger than the one they’re in now but not a mansion. The little girl sits between the man’s legs, and they’re both grinning, the young girl seemingly in the middle of a guffaw. Neither of them looking at the camera, both too busy with each other.

A memory awakes in Joel, one he’s been shoving down again every time it’s threatened to spill out. But this time he lets it come. He’s sitting on a porch similar to the one in the picture, with his own little girl laughing in his lap. She was too ticklish (as was he), it was so easy to coax a laugh out of her, even if it always made her tickle him back, both refusing to stop until neither of them could catch a breath. His brother standing patiently behind the camera, wanting initially to get a proper portrait of the two, but ending up with dozens of silly candids, which was a better representation of the duo anyway. 

“She looks like my baby sister.” Her words pull him roughly back to reality, a ringing in his head as if he’s just been slammed to the ground. He hasn’t noticed he’s been holding his breath, and a little gasp escapes him as he finds his way back to the present. The soft sound has her turning to him, and his head snaps to her when she carefully grabs his arm.

“You okay?” Her brows are furrowed, it’s a familiar grimace, even though he hasn’t looked in a mirror for months. Their eyes lock, and neither look away. Joel’s hand moves up to touch her elbow, letting her know she can let go of him, but she doesn’t. She keeps his gaze, and this time, he looks away first.

“There’s some food here. S’pose we could stay for the night.” 

She looks to the one bed, and he quickly adds: “I’ll take the couch.”

“Don’t be stupid, man. You won’t even fit. You take the bed.”

He hurriedly sits down on the sofa, leaning his head back and crossing his arms determinedly.

“Already took this one. Too late.”

She sighs diligently, and rolls her eyes at him, moving towards the open doorway. 

“Whatever, tió. I’m setting a trap or something,” she says as she exits the cabin.

Joel bites his tongue for acting so childish, he’s not sure what’s gotten into him, and he fights with himself to find an excuse that’ll stop her from going.

“Whaddya mean ‘or somethin’?” 

But she’s already left.

They’ve eaten the beans and noodles cooked on Joel’s camp stove in silence. Stubbornly he’s made his way back on his couch, spine already aching from the springs poking through the cushions, and he’s watching his company take in the pictures she’s been staring at all evening. 

“You said she looks like your sister,” he prods carefully when neither of them have said anything for what seems like, even to Joel, too long.

“Yeah…” she answers absentmindedly, back still turned to him.

He gives her a minute before he prompts her again. “She anything like you?”

That gains him a snort. “Polar opposite.”

“How so?” He likes listening to her. Never been much of a talker himself, Joel is surprised to find he’s missed this. Casual chatting, getting to know new people. No pressure prattle, new input. Something to talk about, a break from thinking. Remembering. 

“Well for one,” She turns to him, and saunters over to sit on the armrest of the couch. “She’s a bitch.”

“Hm.” Joel purses his lips. “Thought you said opposite of you.”

A laugh. “Wow! Okay!” She nods, impressed with his audacity, charmed by his cheek. “Malo…”

He smiles at her crude Spanish vocabulary, reminded of his own sibling. “Sorry.” He doesn’t mean it.

She shimmies down from the armrest onto the couch next to him, knees to her chest, leaving half a pillow of space between them. “Who did it remind you of?” It takes him a second to understand what she’s referring to. His eyes glide from hers, questioningly, across the room to the picture on the wall.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. I just…” She searches for her words, the right way to put it. “Felt you tense up behind me. Like you were somewhere else for a second.”

She’s right, of course. He was somewhere else. Across the country, 20 years ago. Memories flood his brain as he fights to hold the tears back. Her laugh, still loud in his ears, but weaker by the day. He clears his throat before speaking.

“M’daughter.” 

An understanding silence. She doesn’t ask more, just waits patiently for him to go on. If he wants to. 

“My daughter,” he says again. “Sarah. The girl in the photo reminded me of her.” 

It’s the first time he’s shared from that chapter of his life in years. Only Tess knew the words, and she was in the frozen ground now too. Only Tommy remains, as his family and keeper of Sarah’s memory. And he’s moved on, made a new family. It feels right, Joe thinks, to talk about his daughter with someone now. So that when it’s his turn to go, someone knows.

“It’s funny, about the moths earlier.” She watches him, his brows furrowed just like hers were earlier, and she’s careful not to move, not to startle him, like she’s trying to gain the trust of a scared or wounded animal. She holds her breath until he continues, seemingly lost in thought.

“Sarah loved butterflies. Would draw them everywhere. She’d chase them when she was little, and when she got older, she said they bring good luck.” He laughs an empty laugh and shakes his head. “As if seeing a bug with pretty wings decides your future.” 

“She hated moths though. Terrified of ‘em. Just like you.” His head turns slightly at that, dark eyes meeting hers before he continues.

“Whenever one flew into her room at night, she’d scream for me to come get it out… And they’re not even that different from the butterflies she loved. When you think about it. Just… grayer.” 

All the more reason to love them, he thinks, but doesn’t say.

Joel wakes with her memory over him. He had yet again pulled her from the fire but been unable to save her. His breath is hitching with each inhale, ears ringing loudly, and it takes him a second to realize she’s there. 

“Joel?” she whispers softly. “I didn’t know if I should wake you, you were yelling, and I–” 

She’s rambling, voice unsure, but the hand clutching his upper arm is assuring, grounding him, bringing him back. With her support he sits up slowly, groaning. It feels as if he's been body slammed, every bone and muscle aching, his forehead damp with sweat. 

“S’okay,” he guarantees her, voice coming back to him slowly but surely. “Happens all the time.”

Her hand moves from his bicep to where his neck meets his shoulder, massaging him lightly, and he tenses up again under her touch. Sensing he’s on edge, she lets go of him, making his eyes snap up to find hers at the loss of her touch. 

“Joel?” she whispers. He blinks at her slowly. “Will you let me take care of you?” 

The breath he releases makes him slump over, burying his head in his hands. 

“I don’t need taking care of,” he responds, but he believes it as little as she does.

So her arm finds its way back around his shoulders, palming big circles over his flannel. With the other hand on his knee, she continues the motion until his breathing slows to a comfortable pace. His body falls forward, elbows on his knees, and she lets her own body fall on top of his, covering his back like a heavy blanket. 

She gives a gentle squeeze to his arm, and as if on cue, he sits up slowly, giving her time to lift off from him. He’s not sure what comes over him when he leans in and presses the softest of kisses to the side of her mouth. She gives a soft gasp at the surprise, and he only pulls back halfway so he doesn’t have to look her in the eyes. 

“Joel,” she whispers again, begging him to look at her. And then he does. And their heads crash together in a kiss that’s more teeth than lips. No matter how much she thinks he deserves softness, no matter how much he wants it, it’s not in their nature. Not in this world. Softness, kindness, empathy is a rarity. It’s so hard to be tender in a world that’s so brutal.

So they give each other what they can, what they know. Teeth, bones, and the dull aching hunger of desperation. It’s no more pleasurable than sucking on a lollipop knowing a razor blade is waiting in the middle, and yet they devour each other. 

Joel sits back on the couch and pulls her into his lap. His hands firm on her hips, grinding her into his growing hardness. Their tongues fight for dominance, taking turns in each other’s mouths. A groan escapes him as she pulls hard at his curls, which are damp with perspiration. His fingernails paint red lines up and down her back underneath her shirt. 

After grinding against and moaning into each other for less time than either would have liked, Joel flips her in his lap, arms around her stomach, holding her flush against his chest. They both reach for the front of her jeans at the same time, and while she pulls them down, he tugs on his own, pulling his cock free. 

Neither of them really ready, they still crave the contact too much to wait. Holding her breath, she leans her head back on his shoulder, and he pushes two fingers into her mouth, wetting them before reaching down to palm himself. He wiggles the head of his not fully hard cock between her barely aroused folds, and they sigh in unison as he pushes in. She doesn’t mind the sting, and neither does he. Pleasure isn’t enough to keep the pain of existence away. You can only fight fire with fire, so it has to hurt.

The little moans and gasps slipping from her where she sits on top of him send waves of want from his ears to between his legs, and he grows harder inside of her. Her fingers claw into the skin on the sides of his hips as she holds herself in place, making him hiss as he pushes in and out of her, not quite sure whether from the burn or the bliss. 

Joel pushes her legs closer together with his own. She moans at the feeling of him filling her up, and she tries to turn her head to put her mouth on his, but he speeds up his thrusts, and she’s forced to hold onto his thighs for leverage. The pads of her fingers dig into his flesh, pinching him, leaving bruises to ignore in the morning. He does the same to her hips and holds her in place.

He plunges his cock clumsily into her a few more times before he reaches his climax. His arms wrap tightly around her, one across her abdomen and the other over her chest, squeezing her breast with his fingers so hard she chokes out an “ouch”, for the first time, just as his release shoots into her.

She can feel him pulse all the way in her core, almost in time with his heaving breath, chest rising and falling against her back. The only sound comes from outside, a distant howl, which she attributes to the wind, but which makes Joel freeze beneath her. Without warning he stands up, arms still supporting her, but he quickly lets go to tuck himself away, pick his gun up from the table, and he moves slowly towards the door which stands balanced against the doorway. Before he does anything else, he turns to her, brow furrowed, finger to his lips. 

With his gun pointed forwards, he peeks out the window she cleared earlier in the day.

Nothing.

He shuffles silently and efficiently across the floorboards and pushes the door open. For a second he just stands there, gun in hand, staring out into the dark, only his shoulders moving up and down with his quick but careful breaths. Almost a minute goes by where she doesn’t dare move either, before he puts the door back in place, and turns to her.

Nothing. They’re alone. 

a/n: well.......