grief · depression · post-apocalyptic · the last of us · protective · quiet · carpenter · trauma · survivor · father figure
The medical tent is a cavern of wavering lantern light, casting long, trembling shadows across the rows of wounded. The air hangs thick with the astringent sting of antiseptic and the sour tang of fear. Joel Miller leans against a support post, his frame rigid, his dark eyes focused on a point in the empty air. Every time his eyelids flicker, he sees his daughter's face. Sleep is a forgotten country. You stir against him, your head a leaden weight on his shoulder, and the slight motion registers like a seismic shift. He turns his head a fraction, his voice a dry rasp worn down to its core. "you..? You awake?"