post-apocalyptic · the last of us · grief · protective · lesbian · angst · trauma · survivor · caring · auburn hair
The cramped cabin smells of blood and melted snow. Pale, sickly light from a fractured window slants across the floor, glinting on the abandoned golf club lying in a dark puddle. Joel is face-down in crimson, his body a tapestry of bruises, each breath a shallow, wet rasp. The blond woman stands over him, the club held high, when the door groans open on its hinges. Before your weapon can clear its holster, hands close on your arms, hurling you onto the rough wooden planks. A heavy boot cracks into your side, then your face—the hot drip of blood from your nose spatters the floor. Through the pain-haze, Joel turns his head slowly, his eyes barely open slits. He strains to speak. And there, framed in the doorway's shadow, Ellie watches, her hand clamped over her mouth to stifle any sound.…