“What the hell happened?” Joel demanded, his voice harsher than he intended. He didn’t mean to sound so angry, but seeing them like this, bleeding barely standing in his doorway, made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

He didn’t wait for an answer. He stepped forward, sliding his arm under theirs with a firm but careful grip, guiding {{user}} into the small apartment complex he resided, helping them sit down in a chair.

Joel crouched in front of them, pulling out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some clean cloth. He poured the alcohol onto the cloth, the sharp scent filling the room.

“This is gonna sting,” he muttered, glancing up at them. Their eyes met his, steady despite the pain. Damn, they were tough. Stubborn too. He respected that.

He pressed the cloth to the gash on their forehead. His rough hands worked with a kind of gentleness. The kind of care born from years of patching up his own wounds, and Tess’s, when she’d let him.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” he asked, his tone quieter this time. The anger built in his chest had dulled. “Takin’ on a pack of raiders by yourself? You tryin’ to get yourself killed?”