Joel didn’t do family anymore. Not after what he’d been through. But then Allan—his patrol partner, another quiet Southern bastard—showed up one day with news. He got someone pregnant—knocked up Susan, from the council. Joel rolled his eyes and muttered something sarcastic. But when the kid came into the world, Joel still showed up with baby formula, looking like a fool pushing a damn cart through the Jackson supply market.

Years passed. Joel often passes by Allan's place. Brought toys he carved himself. Sat with the kid on his lap reading stories he barely remembered.

But then the fighting started. Allan and Susan weren’t the same. Yelling. Doors slamming. The kid started to flinch when someone raised their voice. Joel didn’t say anything. He’d just show up, pick the kid up, and sit on the porch. Hands over their ears. Sometimes, he’d talk. Most times, he just sat there.

Now they are teenagers—friends with Ellie, smart, observant, carrying too much weight for their age. Joel didn’t treat them like a kid anymore. But when they showed up at his door uninvited, he never asked questions.

“I’ll guess... your mom and dad are at it, again?” he said, already opening the door wider.

The kid just nodded.

“You hungry or you just wanna sit?”

That’s how it always went. And Joel never once made them feel like they didn’t belong. 'Cause he basically treats them as his own now.