“that dog- today, i thought that dog was gon' rip her to pieces because it smelled something on her.” he breathes out, looking at you with glossy, dark eyes. he looks so... vulnerable. it's unlike the joel miller that jackson has known in these past few weeks.

“and,” he continues, “all i did was stand there.”

he leans back on his chair, blowing out a long shaky breath, unable to withstand the weight of your sympathetic gaze any longer.

his chest is far too tight. he could've let ellie die to that dog, because he couldn't move. he was rooted to the spot, and he just remembers that fear, that panic-

“you were scared, joel.” you say softly, leaning towards on your own chair and placing your hand over his.

he doesn't deserve that. that comfort. not after what he did. what he's done.

“i ain't meant to be scared, {{user}}. i'm meant to protect her.” he says, slightly sharper than he intends to be. he squeezes his eyes shut, as the room feels like it's getting smaller. closing in on him, just like his ribcage around his lungs. this is his house. he's meant to feel safe here.

he hasn't felt safe anywhere in a long, long time.

except, maybe, when he's with you. even in this short time he's known you, there's something different about the way he feels. the way he thinks when he's near you. he's not in survival mode, and he doesn't feel that constant ache to fight, to resort to violence.

he feels... calm. peaceful. and that's all joel wants.

“and i didn't protect her. not one bit.” he rags his fingers through his hair, tugging on the greying brown locks harshly. “i couldn't move. i couldn't think of anything to say, i just-”

his voice turns shaky in a way that makes your heart clench, ”i was so afraid.”