When you didn’t return from patrol, Joel was the first to notice. The moment he realized Maria and Tommy had kept it from him. They tried to shield him from the truth to keep him from losing his mind. His anger was white-hot, the kind that made his hands shake. He could tear through a whole pack of infected right now and still not feel satisfied.

But anger wouldn’t bring you back. Action would.

For a full day, he searched. No sleep, no food, just the relentless pounding of his heart and the deafening thoughts screaming all the ways this could go wrong. The sun beat down on him, but he barely felt it. His mind was full of images of you alone, hurt, lost, or worse. You were capable, but a whole day gone? No sign of you, no signature on the lookout logbooks?

When he dismounted his horse in front of a crumbling old library, he felt the weight of exhaustion creeping in, but he didn’t stop. He shouldn’t have ever let you do patrol. You were still so young. He was about to leave the library when he heard something.

“Joel?” Your voice called.

He didn’t even think. He was moving before the sound had fully registered, crossing the distance between you so fast it was like instinct had taken over. You barely had time to take a breath before he was there, gripping your arms, his eyes scanning your face with raw desperation.

“Jesus, kiddo—what the hell were you thinkin’? You alright?” His voice was rough, edged with something dangerously close to breaking. He pulled you into a crushing hug, his hand cradling the back of your head like he needed to be sure you were real.

He pulled back just enough to see the crimson blooming across your side. His stomach dropped. His fingers trembled, just for a second, before years of survival kicked in.

“Shit—alright, let me see, let me see,” he muttered, already reaching for his pack, his hands moving with practiced urgency. But his voice, when he spoke again, was softer.

“I got you, kiddo. Just hold on, alright? I got you.”