My Brother’s Keeper
Chapter 1: Three Months Gone
Pairings: Joel Miller x You
Summary: Hours past curfew, you sneak your way through the alleyways of the Boston QZ. You haven’t seen Joel Miller in months but you have nowhere else to go.
CW: Alcohol abuse, mentions of drug use, unplanned pregnancy, canon typical violence
Welcome to my first ever Joel Miller fic! I’ve been lusting after some amazing TLOU fanfiction for quite some time and definitely had to get over imposter syndrome before tossing this out into the world. Special thanks to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for being a menace in my comments and encouraging me 💜 Please heed chapter warnings! There will be a lot of heavy topics. It’s The Last of Us. Please proceed accordingly.
Master List
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You wrap the flaps of your threadbare coat around you as you slink through the familiar dark alleyways. The zipper had broken a month ago and your shoddy button job was destroyed after nearly being torn apart by infected outside the QZ last week. Supplies are low this winter and there’s nothing for it but accepting what you have and just dealing with it. The cold biting through your thin clothing was nothing compared to the dread you felt in your heart.
How did this happen? How the fuck could you let this happen?
Ducking behind the familiar blockades to avoid the night patrols, you swallow down the shame and regret. Like your meager possessions, they’re just a part of you now, leading you toward the one person in the QZ you’ve been avoiding for almost three months.
Joel Miller.
The man that saved your life more times than you could count. The man that taught you how to set traps and look for animal tracks. The man who taught you how to draw others in so you and yours could survive on their leftovers. The man who called you sweet girl, even after the terrible things you’d done. His brother, Tommy, never understood Joel’s methods and motivations. You did.
Your heart is in your throat as you remove the loose slab that seemingly closes up the basement window of the five story apartment building. You place it back, careful to make as little noise as possible. The backway to their apartment is familiar. You’d taken it enough times with the Miller brothers that you could find it with your eyes closed. Stay low on the main level, avoid the windows. Up three flights of stairs. Knock five times. You hear shuffling and a grumble.
“Yeah?” a gruff voice asks. You’d know that voice anywhere. You see the shadows of his legs through the bottom of the door.
“Joel. It’s me.”
The door is unlocked and open before you can say anything else. Joel takes you in, eyebrows raised. You can only imagine how you look. Pale, thin, and frozen.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks incredulously as you push your way inside. “It’s three hours after curfew!”
Your hands are shaking and you feel sick. That raw, tender thing that you thought had died when the world fell is bare and vulnerable. Joel narrows his eyes at you, looking you up and down. He says your name, calm and direct. It’s surprising how steadying that small thing can be after going so long without seeing him.
“I’m pregnant,” you whisper, holding your breath so you don’t sob or vomit all over their… his living room floor.
Joel blinks, eyes roaming slowly down to your still flat belly and back up to your face again. His hands clench and unclench at his sides as he silently stares at you.
“What did you just say?” he asks, voice dangerously low.
He remains so still but you can sense the rage beginning to simmer underneath his sharp and hardened exterior. A whimper escapes your lips when you try to answer and you cover your mouth with both hands as your body bends, folding in on itself. Your knees hit the floor with a crack that has Joel moving quickly toward you and gently touching your shoulders with his large, warm hands.
“Joel I… I don’t… I can’t…” you sob, chest burning as you tried to just fucking breathe…
He sinks on his knees in front of you, wincing only slightly. His eyes never leave yours as his strong hands rub soothingly up and down your arms.
“Breathe, sweet girl,” he says lowly, mouth so close that you can feel his exhale on your lips. “In and out with me. There ya go. That’s it.”
You inhale as deeply as you can, feeling the iron crackle of your lungs as they try to expand beyond your panic. Exhaling, you grasp at Joel and curl your fingers in the flannel fabric that’s rolled at his elbows. His own hands still on your arms, thumbs still moving in soft soothing circles.
“Good girl, that’s it. Nice and slow.”
Tears flow freely down your face and you can’t bring yourself to care. Your heart clenches at the thought of what the future might hold for you and another sob escapes you. You can’t do this. You can’t. You might as well have been eaten alive by infected for all the good surviving did you.
Something shifts in Joel, then. His normally stern face and cold eyes turning soft, the small bit of humanity you knew was left inside him shining through as he takes your face gently in his hands. Your lower lip trembles as he wipes your tears away with his thumbs, eyes moving over your face until he slowly pulls you closer.
“C’mere, sweet girl,” he says, sighing as you bury your face in his chest and sob uncontrollably.
Large, calloused hands roam your back as your own comparably small ones cling to his. He’s talking to you but you can barely make out the words he’s mumbling as he holds you. You feel his breath on your ear as he moves his lips to kiss your temple, one of his hands cradling the back of your head as you slowly settle under his touch. It could have been ten minutes or an hour for all you knew.
“What am I gonna do, Joel?” you ask finally, voice small and muffled in his shirt.
He sighs, pulling your face back to meet your eyes. His face is stern again but you can still see the soft glimmer of light in his eyes as he looks at you.
“I dunno, sweetheart,” he says finally, thumb soothing the apple of your cheek.
You just nod, knowing there’s nothing to be done. There’s no use in him lying to you, as much as it would comfort you. You wipe your nose on the back of your sleeve, grimacing at the mess it leaves on the tattered material. Standing up, you wrap your arms around yourself again, shoulders slumped.
“I’m sorry for bothering you, I…”
You can’t look at Joel. You can’t bear to see the anger and disappointment in his face. He moves toward you but you back away, closer to the door. The authority in the way he says your name this time makes you jump.
“Where the hell do ya think you’re going?” he asks, moving between the door and you. “You wanna get caught outside curfew by fucking FEDRA? Earn the both of us a nice vacation in a dirty cell, or worse?”
Something sharp and angry inside you snaps.
“Considering I’m the only one who hasn’t gotten picked up at all since we came to Boston you can fuck right off.”
“Really? That’s what you want me to do?”
“It’s what you Miller boys do best right?” you snap, heart jumping as Joel flinches.
It was a low blow and you regret it immediately. Joel inhales sharply and waves to the door as he moves to the kitchen.
“You wanna leave? Be my guest,” he growls, pulling an unlabeled bottle of liquor and a glass from a cabinet before sitting at the small, rickety dining table.
For the first time Joel looks small to you, sitting alone and hunched as he pours his preferred method of oblivion into the tumbler. The smell of whiskey hits your nose, the familiar scent an odd comfort. You slowly move toward him, sinking down into the seat opposite him. The chair that belonged to the man you both are mourning. Joel’s fingers are tapping on the side of his glass.
“I’m sorry,” you all but whisper.
Joel works his jaw but avoids responding by taking a large drink of the amber liquid. He takes a deep breath and then exhales, shaking his head.
“You’re staying here tonight,” he says roughly.
He’s staring you down, daring you to argue with him. You don’t. You can’t. He’s right.
“I appreciate it,” you say mildly, toying with the sleeves of your coat again. “Can I…”
Joel raises an eyebrow and takes another drink. You hate asking Joel for things, especially after the past few months of barely seeing him at all. Shame hits you as you realize you weren’t the only one Tommy abandoned.
“Can I please sleep on the couch?” you ask.
“I am not letting you sleep on the couch, sweet girl,” Joel scoffs. “You’re sleeping in the bed. S’not like you haven’t practically lived here since we came to Boston.”
You swallow, not meeting his eyes.
“I don’t… I don’t want to sleep in our room. His room. Please.”
A large hand placed itself over your fidgeting fingers and squeezes. Your eyes meet his look of understanding.
“Take my bed tonight. Tomorrow we’ll see what’s to do, okay?”
“We?” you ask, your fingers slightly threading themselves through his on the table.
His thumb briefly runs over the back of your hand before he disentangles himself. He sniffs out another derisive laugh, shaking his head as he goes to ready his bed for you.
“Yes, we. You don’t have to do this alone, sweetheart.”
Tears threaten to spill over again at his words and you try to breathe evenly to control them. The constant tears were one of the first signs that you’d noticed. That and the fact that your breasts were so tender you’ve had to avoid sleeping on your stomach. You listen as Joel changes the sheets on his bed and pulls clean blankets from his trunk.
“Alright, you should be set. If you need anything just let me know,” Joel says, exiting his room.
“Thank you,” you reply and he nods. “Joel? Do you… where’s Tommy?”
The combination of Joel tensing up and exhaling is an interesting one. He’s not a man who wears his emotions on his sleeve like his brother.
“I wish I could tell ya, sweet girl. When he left we… well it could’ve gone better.”
You snort, trying to imagine the two brothers getting through that separation without punches and insults being thrown. Definitely impossible. Your own conversation with Tommy hadn’t gone much better.
“But… you know where he went right? With the Fireflies?”
Joel just looks at you, shaking his head. You know you sound hopeful. Maybe even naive. After all, you’re the one who chose to stay in Boston. This is all your fucking fault and now you’re dragging Joel into your shit. You already owed him too much.
“Sweetheart, he hasn’t contacted me in months. He’s not with the same group he left with.”
Your stomach drops and you stare at him.
“So… so we can’t even tell him? I…”
Joel moves and kneels in front of you, clasping your hands in his again.
“I’ll do everything I can to find him. I owe him an ass kicking for a few other things so this is just more incentive,” he jokes, earning a small sniffled laugh from you. He squeezes your hands again. “You’re not alone, sweet girl. I promise.”
———
Joel drains his third glass of the night as he stands in his bedroom doorway, watching you. Your small frame is curled in on itself, buried in the extra blankets he’d grabbed from his trunk. He’d never call you fragile. Joel knew better than anyone that your smaller frame boasted a feisty and, at times, lethal woman who would do anything to protect those she cared about.
The sight of you when he’d opened his door felt like a punch to the chest. It was as if the shell of you had wandered back to him, lost and vulnerable. Joel sighs, fist clenching around his glass as he heads toward the kitchen. He has no pills and damn did he crave them tonight. He wouldn’t have taken them though, not with you here.
Sitting down on the couch, Joel leans his head back and closes his eyes. He cannot fucking believe this. The relief at seeing you on his doorstep immediately gives way to anxiety as he starts to plan next steps. Find Tommy, if he can. Keep you safe. Gather everything you might need. Avoid FEDRA. Keep you alive.
The hurt and anger Joel feels toward Tommy flares bright, bitterness continuing to grow. Fuck Tommy and his hero complex. Fuck him for leaving you.
Familiar regret washes over him, all those “what if’s” playing in his head on repeat. What if he’d tried harder, begged Tommy to stay? What if he didn’t let you leave, found you before you disappeared into the QZ? What if he’d ignored his fear and told you how he felt all those years ago?
What if…
The comforting haze of alcohol gently rocks Joel to sleep as he slumps over on the couch.
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Thank you so much for reading! If you’d like more of this story please let me know! 💜
Edit: the readers have spoken! My Brother’s Keeper will be returning with more chapters.
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