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sprout-fics · 9 months

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Woodsmoke (Joel Miller x F! Reader x Joe 'Bear' Graves)

Chapter Two: Smoke

Masterlist

Rating: Mature (Rating will change) Word Count: 7k Warnings: Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault (Non-explicit) Tags: Character Study, Angst (Literally so much angst), AU- Canon divergence, Sheep Farmer Joel Miller, Patrolman Joe 'Bear' Graves, Domesticity, PTSD, Night Terror, Cuddling by a campfire, Touch starvation, Unrequited pining, Complicated emotional relationships A/N: This is part two of me going 'Lol what if these two DILFs in a threesome' and then rapidly descending into a 20k character study fic, many hours watching Six and re-watching TLOU, and countless conversations with @writeforfandoms @guyfieriii and @soapskneebrace (To whom this series is dedicated to) Also it's been literally four months since I posted the first chapter Jesus fuck I'm so sorry ahahahaha

Summary:

Bear, by contrast, is a the bright, licking heat of a campfire. The gentle glow of him in the distance brings you closer, beckons your cold hands into the warmth of him. You bask in the entrancing flicker of him, watch with glinting eyes the dance of the flames, unable to look away. It tugs something in your chest that wants more but knows that if you reach your hands into the flare that you might somehow breathe in the flames, allow him to burn the hollow of your ribs to make space there just for him.

It takes time for you to notice, but you see the way Bear holds himself in his frustration, in the vague mentions of before that you hear Caulder and the others murmur about in hushed tones. There's something in Bear that has been broken long ago, and the pain of it threatens to bubble to the surface, snap like the sudden crack of a log that sends sparks scattering up into the nighttime sky. It's a dangerous, searing thing that he refuses to show to you no matter how much it consumes him. A ferocious, burning brightness that sets himself ablaze to keep others warm, even if it means turning to cinders as a result.

Instead, he sets his gaze upon you. You see embers dance in the darkness of his pupils, a hypnotizing temptation that you want to touch even though it might singe the edges of your soul. The presence of him threatens to burn your world to ashes, if only so he can lift you from the carnage and into his hands, cradle you there until you surrender to him.

It takes weeks for you to approach these strange new men in the place you call home.

Joel offers them the house on the hill, on the other side of the valley. You watch from the kitchen as he invites the men inside the house, keeps them corralled to the living room and away from you, sheltering in the kitchen. Your hands, damp with soap and water, tremble from the presence of strangers, of armed men, of the threat of danger-

Yet Joel's voice wafts from the doorway. Low, even, like the slow, murmuring crackle of a fire against your too cold palms. The warmth draws away the chill of your memories, the ones where silhouettes in the dark reach for you with grasping hands. You focus instead on the sound of his voice, feel your shoulders shift and sink, reminding yourself that even in the presence of these strangers, Joel will keep you safe. He always will.

Eventually you peek from the archway as the conversation continues, carefully observe the men who Joel has entrusted to keep the farm safe.

There's four of them. Two sit with their backs to you, one of them with his back turned towards you, his dark skin cast in warmer hues by the fireplace beside him. To his left is his thinner, wiry comrade. You saw him look at you from his horse, face calm but eyes sharp. Ready as you stood trembling with the shotgun in your hands. He seems to hear you behind him, casting a brief gaze over his shoulder as if checking behind him before he faces forward again. The motion draws the attention of his friend, who makes a larger effort to glance at you, offering a kind smile that you briefly return.

Across from the two of them, Chase and Fish, you later learn their names are, is a man who appears so much younger than he truly is. He looks almost boyish despite the flecks of grey beginning in his curly, dusty blonde hair. Caulder, you're told later, doesn't glance at you, instead focused unwaveringly on Joel, who speaks in low, serious tones with the man seated beside him.

Bear.

Bear sits with his arms crossed, feet planted and legs spread. Whereas Joel bends forward, his elbows on his knees in contemplation, Bear looks alert, observant, ready for motion at the drop of a hat as he leans back, arms crossed. He regards Joel silently as he speaks, listens respectfully with little nods and noises of affirmation. When he does speak, his voice is a low, dragging mumble that has you sometimes struggle to make out the words. Yet there's a steadiness to his tone, an unflinching resolution that's reassuring in the face of the danger posed to you all.

It's only when Joel looks away for a brief moment towards one of the other men that Bear looks up at you from under thick eyebrows, the lines near his eyes wrinkling in a gentle, entreating smile.

You feel your heart thump in your chest a little louder, trying to decipher apprehension from the vague stir of interest at the kindness that glints against blue eyes.

Eventually the men stand, and Bear clasps his hand against Joel's in some sort of agreement you can't make out. They shuffle outside, and you hover at the door of the kitchen, a touch nervous, as they each give you a small nod or 'ma'am' as they pass. Bear brings up the rear, once more pauses, draws your eyes up to his taller form.

"You let us know if you need anything, yeah?" He offers, voice a low, soothing murmur that feels all too much like autumn wind through the shade of the forest.

You only nod at him, once more feel that strange stirring in your chest, one that almost wants to reach out, ask more of him that you know how to.

He leaves, and you watch from the window of the front door as the four of them set about tending to their horses, leading them up the hill and towards the barn nestled next to the pastures.

Joel stands with his hand on the frame of the door until they've left the perimeter of the house before turning to you. You blink at the wrinkle of his brow, the thin, taut line of his lips that you know to be displeasure.

"You don't have to talk to those boys if you don't want to, understand?" He tells you, and you watch his scarred hand curl on the wooden plane of the door. "If they make problems, you let me know."

You nod at that, still a little unsettled by Joel's tone, the way he seems to both trust and distrust these men he's summoned. Yet when you listen to the echo of his words in your thoughts, you realize there's something there you almost missed. Something that almost sounds possessive.

Yet then you watch Joel's shoulder sink all of a fraction, his fist drop from the door as he carefully closes the distance between you. His hand is warm when it lands on your shoulder, familiar and welcome. Even though he doesn't speak, there's words conveyed there that you understand in the absence of his voice.

We'll be okay. I've got you. I trust you.

Please trust me too.

----

You avoid them.

Bear bypasses Joel’s offer of the desolate house atop the other side of the valley, says it’s better to be close to the barn. They set up camp in the hayloft, the four of them crammed together in such a way that there's scantly any space between them. It helps, you think. The nights get frigid in the shadow of the valley, and more than one night you think about how they might be cold, might be sore from the wooden planks under their backs. It's not comfortable by any means, the barn is drafty and musky with the scent of the horses and manure. Yet you don't hear a single word of complaint from them in the mornings from the group aside from a grumble or a grunting stretch. There's a hardiness, a drive and resolve to them that you both recognize and are unfamiliar with.

They're different from the FEDRA soldiers. They're humble, respectful, and don’t use their positions as armed guards to sway you or intimidate you. Yet there's some recollection in your memory of the way they shove playfully at each other, the appreciation they have for their weapons, the way they snap to attention when given instructions. The glint of focus, of something dangerous and intense in their gazes has you maintain a berth when you can, heart murmuring in caution at the unknowable things in their eyes.

You wonder who they all were before this.

You try not to think about it too much.

Joel puts them to work soon after they arrive, and you're surprised by the shortlist of tasks he gives them, as if he's been waiting for the extra help. There's repairs made to the roof, fences mended in the disused pasture, the well is dug deeper, and you soon find even your chores being assisted with. The men grumble at first about the labor, but a firm word from Bear has them shrug, set about aiding where they can. It's a welcome help, and you can't deny the relief at having some more time to yourself as a result.

If Joel sees you drape extra blankets on the ladder to the hayloft, he doesn't say anything.

You pass your new guests throughout the day, still trying to make yourself scarce where you can. They're rowdy with each other, words sometimes a little too biting and caustic for comfort. More than once you come into the barn to see them boyishly tugging at each other, only to freeze when they spot you. You wonder if maybe you make them uncomfortable with your skittishness around them.

When they do approach you, however, it's always with good intentions, offers of assistance in the task you've set out with. You see Bear always watching them from the corner of his eye as they near you, ready to step in at the moment you shy away. It happens more than once, at least in the beginning, and it's Bear's firm hand on the shoulder of one of his men that alerts them, tugs them away from your nervous, shifting stance.

Always, there's an apology on his lips, a careful offering that has you meet his gaze once more.

You think the blue of his eyes looks like a gentle summer rainstorm.

The men take shifts once darkness begins to fall. There's a smaller camp set up at the top of the valley, in the vein that runs between the hills. It's simple. A tent, a campfire, and a loaded gun to fire into the darkness of the valley below in case of an attack. You look to the orange haze of the fire at night, high up on the rise. You stand, watching it sometimes from the porch, a shawl wrapped around your shoulders, praying the fire doesn't go out, that raiders don't descend into this place you've come to call home.

Joel sits outside with you some nights, doing much the same, as if he himself doesn't entirely trust the soldiers he's hired to properly warn you all of danger. Yet when the hour grows late he suggests, in that gruff and stubborn way of his, that you go inside and sleep.

You do and try not to think of the memory of a bonfire licking at the stars and the screams of others in the freeze of a winter forest. The phantom sound of the shotgun haunts your dreams, waiting for the moment it will crack like the sound of thunder and rain chaos down on you all.

When morning comes, it's quiet once more.

It's on one of those quiet mornings that you run into Bear.

The forest path is soddened from the drizzle of the night before, the world still muted and grey as the last of the rain moves through the mountains. Sunlight weaves its way through the canopy of trees and overcast clouds, dappling bright for mere moments before it's shielded once more. You walk under it, further into the woods where Joel's animal traps lay, where kindling lays against the bases of trees, knocked loose by the storm. You gather the damp branches idly, gingerly checking the snares that yield little success in the over-picked glade.

It's the small bit of pale color in the corner of your vision that makes you pause, turn to examine the strange flora that sprouts from the remains of a rotted log. Mushrooms, the kind untouched by the apocalypse, reclusive and now rare. Their small, ridged, white caps poke from the deciduous ground, and as you gently pad over, kneel with your legs in the soft, damp earth to examine them, you can't help but wonder if they're edible.

You reach for them, dirt smeared fingers outstretched, eyes enraptured by the silent, strange symbolism of them.

The snap of a branch behind you.

You gasp, twist so violently you fall on your bottom, kindling spilling and fingers fumbling for the knife at your waist to whatever predator has stalked you through these woods. You draw it up with a trembling grasp, holding the blade outwards even as your arms try to draw into yourself as a shield from danger.

You expect a wolf, or perhaps a mountain lion or lynx. Yet standing before you is none of those things. Instead, it's a man, standing at a distance, his hands held up in a gentle entreaty, brow furrowed in concern. His looming stature towers over your fallen form, eyes gentle as he realizes he's startled you.

It occurs to you then, in gazing into his blue-eyed stare, that you know this man.

"Bear." You breathe at last, muscles loosening. Yet even then you don't tuck away the blade entirely, lowering it enough for Bear to ease his stance, wet his lips before he speaks.

"I- uhm, didn't mean to startle you." He offers, and still does not yet lower his hands from either side of his head in surrender, keeping them well away from the rifle slung over his shoulder. "I was doing a patrol, thought maybe you heard me coming."

You blink, and his soft, rumbling voice manages to slow your stammering heartbeat. The cool, damp earth presses into your lower back, with you braced against the rotten log like it can somehow provide you shelter.

When you don't speak, Bear's eyes flicker to the mushrooms you were so close to touching, and there's a flicker of amused disbelief that tugs the corner of his mouth, makes a single eyebrow raise.

"...Sure you want to eat those?" He tries to joke, and the humor should relax you but it doesn't. Instead, with Bear's massive form standing over you a distance away, your mind summons memories of a dark figure backlit by a roaring campfire, the glint of a blade held in his hand. He steps towards you in your memories, even as you scramble backwards in the snow, feet kicking uselessly as he advances on you-

"You alright?"

Bear's voice breaks the memory, and your eyes flicker up to his once more, seeing the confusion and concern etched across his gaze.

You try to speak, you do, but instead your mouth opens and closes uselessly, hands shaking as you try to erase the hands that reach for you, haul a knife far above your fallen form-

Bear must see the panic written across your gaze- something foreign to him that chokes the moist air from your chest and threatens to send you drowning in your own thoughts, into a memory which has no end.

"Hey." He offers quietly, and as you try to control the mounting gasp of panic inside you Bear gentles himself, remains steadfast, softening at the edges under your eyes. "Hey, look at me."

You watch as he sinks lower, keeping his eyes on yours all the while to see any fear his movements spawn in you. Yet you watch as Bear goes down to one knee, makes himself smaller, less intimidating. He's still not quite at your height, but it's fairly close, and he no longer stands above you, dwarfing you with his size.

Whatever he sees in your gaze, it must be enough for him to understand, because his shoulders ease, and he exhales a soft sigh through his nose. The beard partially covers the tight, concerned draw of his mouth as he regards you like an injured animal, fearful and in need of aid.

"It's alright" He offers in a rumble that reminds you of the clearing rainstorm above, dampening the soft earth under your form. "I'm not going to hurt you."

It's the tone of his voice, more so than his words, that allows the tremble in your hands to abate, lets your grasp fall to your lap as it holds the blade Joel gifted to you.

"I didn't mean to scare you." He tells you again, and there's something akin to regret in his eyes. It's enough to make you blink, to make the memory of a silhouette gently wash away from your thoughts.

The air in your chest loosens, and you swallow, remember how to breath. When Bear watches you force yourself to exhale, long and slow, there's a smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes.

He doesn't coo over you, doesn't offer praise or patronize you the way so many others have before in response to your terror. Instead he remains where he is, the offer from him silent but transcending words.

Come to me when you're ready. I'll wait.

As the rainstorm at last lifts from the heavens, you see Bear in a new, radiant light.

---

It's a gradual process, the closing of the distance between you and Bear.

It's caught in the moments in between, the morning greetings that slowly turn into conversations, the offerings of favors that are returned in kind. You leave breakfast for the boys in a basket on the steps to the hayloft- bread, boiled eggs, some milk, a tin of coffee and cups to match. It's simple fare, and you at the beginning leave it and then dart away before they can thank you. Yet soon you find Bear awaiting you when you arrive just after dawn, sitting on the ladder and a weary but pleased smile on his lips. The soft 'Thank you's turn into exchanges about chores, about the day ahead, and soon transform into other things entirely.

You find yourself liking his company. Bear has a gravity to him that feels like the pull of a riptide at your feet, dragging you further into the sound of his voice. Yet it doesn't push you under, doesn't force waves crashing above your head. Instead, you simply float in the goodness of him, and often wonder about the things that lurk beneath.

You see it sometimes in the way he talks with his men, the steeliness of his eyes that changes into flinty resolve at the mere mention of danger. Unblinking, acute, nearly cataclysmic. It startles you the first few times you see it, when there's a noise that's too loud in the distance, the sound of an animal crying out in surprise or pain. Whereas you are jumpy, nervous at the same things, Bear spins, muscles coiled and tense, ready at any moment to attack, defend, conquer.

Once, while you two linger outside the barn one morning, you hear Caulder shout as he descends down the hill. You don't even have time to process it before Bear has one arm pushing you behind him, against the wall of the barn, the words he was rumbling a mere heartbeat ago now dead in his throat. There's a hand on his pistol, and when you grasp his arm in surprise he seems not to notice you, eyes glinting but dark in their intensity. You don't see him breathe until his gaze lands on Caulder, who rights himself from a short tumble down the steep slope with a curse and a kick at a stray rock.

You wonder about the things Bear has seen, the things he's done to warrant that look in his eyes. Ready to sear the world to ashes at a moment's notice, drown himself in the smoke that spills from his open, scarred palms.

You sometimes wonder if it will burn you too if you get too close.

Bear is gentle with you, that much is obvious. There's an interest there, as if he's found a beautiful, wild creature in the woods, is trying not to scare you off. He allows you to come to him, lets himself be open and ready to see you take a step forward. It's familiar to you, somehow, reminds you in some ways of a pair of almost sorrowful brown eyes that feel like cinders flickering against your gaze.

Yet the more time you begin to spend around Bear, the more Joel becomes quieter, withdrawn. There's an odd pinch to his face you catch sometimes when you mention Bear, a tight draw of his lips that speaks of emotions he'll never say out loud. It's hard to tell if he's just concerned for you, if he doesn't entirely trust Bear, or if there's still secrets inside him he refuses to show you. Sometimes he turns from you after you've disagreed with him on something, and you catch only a glimpse of the hurt lurking under his gaze.

You want to draw him back to you, want the familiar feeling of the two of you in mutual, comfortable silence as the fire burns in the hearth come evening. Yet when you dare to reveal the barest sliver of your heart, your worries and doubts to Joel, his voice instead meets you with that gruff, distant tone that hides the true confines of his barely mended heart. He's too afraid to let you get closer, too scared of being broken again, even if he refuses to tell you the thing that did it in the first place.

Joel is your shelter, you think. He's the canopy of the forest that shields you from the driving rain, the trees that offer a solemn, needed silence from the chaos of your thoughts. You walk alongside him, feel the shifting silence of him like the rustle of branches. The calm, protective respite of him allows you a grace you desperately need, a place to nestle the hurt fringes of your soul. Yet the deep loom of shadows that lurk in the woods feels so much like the hidden words that you can see scarcely concealed in his gaze.

There's mysteries left in him you'll never understand.

You find yourself drawn to it anyways. You feel the frost and cold embrace of your dreams chased away by the too-bright flicker of his warmth. While Joel keeps you safe, shelters you, it's Bear who melts the remnants of frostbite from your weary spirit, opens you up into the warmth of sunlight.

There's a night where you awake in darkness, feel the dreaded whisper of snow and an icy grave lick at the tumult of your thoughts, and find yourself rising from your bed. You stand on the porch, staring at the campfire on the rise, and in some strange semblance of gravity find yourself pulled there. The cold wind licks at your skin as you huddle your jacket and shawl around you, boots digging into the damp earth as you climb. You're not sure how you know Bear is there keeping watch, but when you appear at the perimeter of the fire he doesn't seem surprised to see you either.

You perch a way away from him, sitting on a log and feeling the flames dance in your gaze. Bear is quiet but alert, watching you from the periphery of his eyes even as he scans the wilderness for signs of approaching danger. Ever the watchman, the guardian, the pyre.

"I had a nightmare." You whisper, and for a moment you think your voice has been swallowed by the wind. It's childish, you think. Like a little girl huddling in the darkness jumping at shadows. When you look up, Bear is gazing at you unblinkingly, his eyes a little mournful, the flames glinting against his eyes.

"Tell me." He offers quietly, and you feel like his ribs crack open so he can hold you that much closer to his chest.

Your heart clenches.

He's different, you realize. Joel will shake you from your nightmares, will allow you the safety to regain yourself, but he won't open himself to you. If you try to spill your fears to him he'll tell you only a 'It's fine. You're safe' and refuse to let the bitterness linger. Yet here is Bear, asking, opening his palms so you can drop yourself and your aching fright into his warm gaze.

So, you do. You tell Bear all the things you've never spoken of to Joel. You share the story carved into your heart. You tell him about escaping the Seattle QZ, fleeing from the infighting caused by rebels along with a group of others. You tell him about entrusting yourself to a pair of older smugglers along with several others and running into the wilderness in search of a settlement. You tell him about the long harsh nights sleeping in abandoned houses, of eating meager rations not knowing where your next meal would come from.

You don't tell him about how the smugglers demanded payment.

The chill of your fingers is warmed as you press them to your chest to quell the ache there, grimacing at the pain of remembering. Yet you feel unable to stop, a drain unplugged and letting your sorrows circle downwards bit by bit until you feel almost empty with them. Bear listens, asking soft questions as you speak, allowing you the space you need even as your eyes water, staring up into the starry sky to keep them at bay.

You tell him about the night it all fell apart.

Raiders. The same kind that have attacked the outlying farms here in Jackson's territory. They caught your group unaware as you slept, and you awoke to screams, bloody impacts of blades, the snow turning red under your boots. The memory of a man backlit by the fire, advancing upon you with long, horrifying strides briefly makes your chest seize, your eyes go glassy and unseeing as they stare forwards.

Bear's hand grazes against yours, as if he's scared to touch you, as if you yourself are the flames. Yet when you don't pull away he presses closer, soon wraps his arms around you as you sag into the embrace, realizing after a moment just how starved you were for the warmth of another person. You don't cry, instead breathing in the strong, smoky scent of him that washes maple over your senses. Like a forest fire, the grief in you is slowly cindered away. In its place, soft green blooms sprout from the ashes.

You stay up on the rise until early dawn, dozing gently against Bear's side. Safe. Protected. At last, he rouses you just as scant light peeks over the horizon, chuckles at your sleepy murmur and then reminds you that you'll be missed if you linger. There's a bitterness in his gaze as he says it, and you blink upon realizing he wishes you didn't already belong to someone else. You want to tell him, want to tell him about the tear in your heart, want to confess to him the way you want Joel in the way you can only have Bear. Instead, you pad down into the valley below, trying to discern the conflict of your feelings.

Joel is waiting for you when you arrive at the house. It's still dark. The form of him is hazy around the edges with the glow of the lantern in the window. He's sitting on the steps, but as you approach he stands abruptly.

"Where were you?" He asks, voice dipping gruff and low in the way that means he's worried.

You feel something unpleasant squirm in your chest at the pinched look on his face, caught between vexation and regret. It sours the afterglow of your shared words with Bear, making you duck your head and sidle past him into the house.

"I was with Bear." You murmur as you pause in the doorway, not looking at him but imagining that maybe his eyes look hurt. You give a moment to let your words linger before you vanish from his sight.

------

It's often, after that, that you hike up to the rise to share Bear's company.

It's a shy, entreating thing at first, as you hesitate at the edge of the campfire and offer a 'Can I join you?' that Bear only smiles at and nods to the seat beside him. You hover at his side for a bit, fidgeting and conveying little bits of conversation, unsure of yourself yet wanting desperately to lean into him again, feel the warmth of his form leech into yours.

You have to fight down the feeling of guilt at being here with him. You have to remind yourself that you aren't Joel's, that you confessed to Joel only to be rebuffed, that the distance he's put between you two is the result of his own doing. You tried to tell him, tried to say you wanted to stay with him, but the memory of his eyes looking into yours with that emotion- guilt. Like he blamed himself for keeping you close.

You want him still. You want him to hold you the way Bear does. You want to feel his arms around you, want to huddle into him and be warmed by his shelter. Yet the more you drift to Bear for that exact thing, the more distance grows between you and Joel, and the further the pit of guilt opens up in your stomach. It’s selfish, what you’re doing, but you ache to be held, to be listened to, to have someone willing to open up to you the way Bear does.

You try instead to shed it away as you talk in slow, rambling tones with Bear. You talk about the day's events, about the news you get from Jackson, about the aches and complains from Caulder and the others. Eventually the topic drifts, and soon there's laughter and smiles between you both, eyes glinting with the sparks of the fire. You share with Bear the trials and tribulations of living here, as well as the deep, profound joy you've found within your healing. Bear welcomes it, tells you stories about his men, about him and Caulder from the before, their training and oath and brotherhood.

You begin to look forward to your evenings with Bear, begin bringing coffee up onto the rise with you and relish in the way his eyes light up at the scent. You stack kindling during the day for you to burn at night, watch as Bear chops extra wood to keep the fire burning brightly. There's smiles passed between you in the daytime, a deeply blossoming friendship that murmurs of something deeper you try desperately to ignore.

One evening, after a rainstorm has cleared and there's a gentle haze that dims the stars, Bear looks to the sky and tells you in a soft confession about the day that changed everything.

Friday, September 26th, 2003.

The day it all went wrong.

The team had just gotten back from a mission abroad, killing a man who had a hand in the death of one of their own. Yet no sooner had they put boots on the ground in Virginia Beach were they ordered to lift off once more, not given a chance to even eat due to the urgency of their mission- escorting an ambassador out of growing unrest in the Middle East. Bear and the others had already heard murmurs by that point, strange stories in the media of martial law in Indonesia. Yet it wasn't until their mission that the understood.

Infected. People who had become sick, had changed into something not human, things that didn't stop even when you shot them. Bear explains how he and the others had lost the ambassador, that one of their own, Trevor, had tried to rescue him, only to be killed himself. He tells you how the remaining five of them had spent ten hours in the air wondering if the world ended before they could get home.

They had returned to a nightmare. Infected had swarmed the city, and Bear and the others wasted no time in combing the carnage in search of their families. Fish, Chase, watched their worlds crumple before their eyes in grief, their families already lost. Buddha was the one to find his wife and children safe but not unharmed, and the group had spent the next week escorting them to the Atlanta QZ and leaving Buddha with them.

Bear doesn't mention his own family. You don't ask.

After that they moved west, towards a daring dream of California where they imagined Caulder's daughter was. They had kept up hope for years, trying to find a trace of her, only to come up empty handed. Eventually they drifted east again, traveling as mercenaries for hire, falling back on their skills as soldiers to survive. Years later they ended up in Jackson, and there they had stayed. They rest, they say, was history.

Bear relays the story with tightly concealed emotion, focusing only on events and facts, refusing to show the aching hurt inside him even as he opens himself up to yours. Even so, you can see it in his eyes, can see the regret and pain linger there when he dares to glance at you. He's burning himself, and you desperately wish the rain would return to douse the grief inside his chest. Your heart aches for him, and you fall asleep on his shoulder, eyes damp with hurt for the things he's lost.

The crackle of the fire drifts softly against your senses, merging with the rustle of the wind over the hills and Bear's soft, quiet breathing. It soothes against you, drags you down into a gentle doze where you're tucked against his shoulder.

---

You awake with a start as Bear stiffens against you, sucking in a breath and adjusting the rifle in his grip. You shift, rouse against his side, blink blearily and try to process the words Bear has just murmured down at you.

"Get to the cabin."

You snap to, standing with him as he rises to his feet. His form is coiled tightly, a white-knuckle grip on the rifle. When you glance into his eyes the orange glint of flames dances darkly in his gaze, jaw clenched and shoulders taut as he readies himself for the threat he sees in the distance. When you follow his stare, you see it, the shapes and shadows of riders on the next hill over, dark against the night sky.

Raiders.

Bear's voice is a dragging, smoky growl down at you, one hand loosing from the rifle to gently push you in the direction of the valley below.

"Now."

When you run down the hill, the devastating, thunderous sound of Bear's rifle echoes out in the midnight like an omen of destruction.

Joel is at the porch with his own rifle by the time you reach the edge of the barn, and when he calls your name it's with a shout, a scream you've never once before heard him use. It chills your blood, threatens to crack the heavens above your form. You race towards him, shawl fluttering from your shoulders as Bear's rifle once more fires into the dark, as hoofbeats echo down from the rise, as your world alights in destruction.

Caulder and the others were awakened by the first shot, armed by the second, and now as the raiders descend into the valley below they spill from the barn onto their own horses. It takes mere moments for the world around you to be consumed by the shaking ground under you, the approaching sound of riders behind you as you hurl yourself back towards Joel, legs pumping and eyes wide with terror.

You watch as Joel lifts his rifle, points it in your direction just as the shrill whinny of a horse closes in on your form. The echo of it shatters in the dark, and you stumble and fall just as Joel's aim finds the rider less than ten steps behind you, his rider-less horse racing mere feet past your fallen form.

Joel screams your name once more, in that holler that trembles the earth around you, and you stumble to your feet only to feel the side of you alight in warmth. You turn, eyes horrified as they reflect the flickering flames of a torch just as it reaches the woodpile stacked against the barn.

"NO!!" You scream, now pointing yourself in the direction of the blaze. Shots ring out around you, hoofbeats and shouts and whistles the only sounds in the world, muffling the growing flames that lick at the wood panels of the barn. You barely hear them, thinking instead about the animals you and Joel have spent so much time caring for, the lambs that you had watched him catch as hope bloomed in his eyes.

It takes effort to tip over the rain barrel at the edge of the barn onto the growing blaze, smoke stinging your eyes and clogging your throat. The flames are higher than you now, and as you use a bucket to slosh water higher you pray to whatever god will listen that the flare doesn't reach the hayloft.

Hands grab at you, and instinctively you scream, push back at whatever attacker has seized you. Yet Joel's voice pierces your thoughts, and when you turn you see the panic written clear across his gaze. The fire glints off both your forms, and for the briefest of moment you see Joel's lips form the words "It's me."

Together the two of you race towards the barn door, with Joel at your back lifting his rifle towards the shadowy riders that circle your homestead. It takes effort to haul open the gates inside, releasing first the horses, and then braving the growing smoke towards the sheep. They hesitate, frightened inside their corral, so you launch yourself in and scare them from the pen, watching as they spill towards the barn doors. Joel stands there as they dart in the direction of the pasture, and once more you beg the heavens that Caulder and the others can distract the raiders long enough for them to get away.

Smoke smarts against your vision now, descending heavy as the hayloft begins to catch. Yet you manage to release the other two pens of sheep before at last trying to make your way towards the barn door. As you do, you hear a terrified bleat, eyes wet as you turn towards a forgotten lamb who'd been injured in the surge. Despite the heavy smoke descending from the ceiling, you stumble and scoop the little one into your arms, desperately coughing and blinking as you fumble in search of the door. You try and follow the sound of Joel's voice, feeling heat sear against your skin.

Hands seize on your form, dragging you along as you wheeze and splutter, until at last you're hauled into the cool night air, grass sticking to your knees as you collapse. You fall forward so your head braces on the ground, still clutching the lamb tightly in your arms as you heave for air. The sound of gunshots is muffled down by the roar of the inferno, heat searing at your back. Yet the earth trembles less, the shouts and whistles have faded to infrequent rifle shots that make you flinch with each round.

You don't know how long you stay down on the ground, coughing up smoke and feeling the lamb in your tightly clutched hold tremble with you. The acrid smell of smoke fills your nose, clogs your thoughts and summon the vision of a man backlit by flames, his blade raised as he brings it down on your form.

"J-Joel-" You gasp, one arm stretching out in front of you. Your chest splutters, lungs heaving with each breath. You're so cold despite the raging fire of the barn, frostbite lingering on your lips as you try to breathe.

Hands reach for you, raise you up and soon you're dragged into an embrace, face streaked with tears and ash. You drag in a gasping suck of air that looses as sob, warmth spilling from the corner of your eyes as you struggle to breathe and cry all at once. The arms holding you smell like gunpowder and smoke and maple, holding you fast as you collapse into them. A hand grasps at his jacket, and you dare to hope that maybe, maybe the person holding you is the one you want.

Bear's face blinks into your gaze.

He presses you back to his chest before he can see the conflict in your eyes, refusing to let himself see the things that might hurt him, refuses to let you see his own pain at the look in your eyes. On his knees, his rifle discarded beside him, he drags you to him, shushes you when sobs crack in your throat, confused and hurt and wanting.

Another hand settles on your shoulder, and you don't need to look up to see who it is. Joel's grasp is solid, familiar, and you raise a hand up to grasp at his sleeve as if he might pull away. yet it only draws Bear's arms tighter around you as a result, as if trying to shield you and keep you with him just a little longer.

"You're okay." He hushes into your hair as you sob, cough up smoke, caught between the forest and the blaze as your world burns to ash. "We've got you."

"We're here. You're safe."

“You’re safe.”

Taglist:

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@yeyinde @alittlefansthings @joebeargraves @moriflos @aeoncss @havenforafrazzledmind @littlemisspascal @zwiiicnziiix

#TLOU #Joel miller #the last of us #joe bear graves #Joel miller x reader #Joe bear graves x reader #Six TV series #reader insert #fic: woodsmoke #x reader

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