Pedro Pascal/Character

Joel 2

First request! From 

{The Reader is a badass (cause we're cool like that and i love it) and we've watched our friends and little family die off over the 20 years of infection. Now we're alone and living in the woods, but have taken up a system of tree-houses kind of and watch from the trees. One day you hear footsteps from both ends of the forest and check your surveillance. on one side is a group of infected, and on the other is a duo of humans (Joel and Ellie) and you are conflicted whether to kill both groups or protect the two humans before interrogating them. You end up helping them to wherever they're going anddddd you can decide the rest. THANKS}

~

You were alone. That much you knew. You'd watched your family get torn apart by the infected. First it was your mother. Then your father. Sister, brother. One by one, they all succumbed to the will of the fungi. They'd made you swear not to leave them like that. Four bullets. Mercy killing, you told yourself. They wanted it that way. It did nothing to stop the nightmares. 

Them, running to make it up the ladder, you covering them with your trusty rifle. Untrusted rifle. It jammed up, and you couldn't fix it fast enough. Their screams filled your ears as you looked on in despair. You were helpless. Your fathers voice, yelling at you telling you not to worry, they'll see you in the next life. Your hands were shaking, the rifle deciding now it was fine, that it would fire. You swallowed your tears, those would come later. Now, you took a deep breath, steadying your trembling hands, saving your family from their fate. 

That was years ago now. Your rifle was almost never used. You couldn't face the weight of it anymore. The constant swirl of fear and hate. You were safe up in the trees. The infected left you alone. You paced around almost constantly, your food supply extensive thanks to your parents' sacrifice. They'd gone into town, brought a truck full of food with them, canned stuff, that would outlast you. You'd picked off the infected, going down and bringing it up. Burying their bodies at the base of the tree on which your home resided. 

Your ammo was also well-stocked. Your father was a gunman at heart, and you were glad of it. He'd trained you how to handle them at a young age. Another thing you owed him for. Outside was a foreign land. The most you knew was the forest you could see from your perch on the shooting shelf, as your brother named it. The large balcony that spanned the entire perimeter of the house, giving you a view spanning a good mile or two, not that you could shoot that far. 

~

You thought it was going to be another day, pacing around, eating when you were hungry to conserve food, eyes staring into the distance. But this time, you saw something. A hunched figure, stumbling along, their pace too hurried to be natural. You grabbed your weapons, sighting them. The weight of the rifle heavy across your shoulders, bearing you down, making it difficult for you to think. You growled a curse to yourself, seeing the figure become clearer. Two figures, a man and a child, stumbling over the uneven floor, the childs eyes fixed on the house. 

Your gaze switched to the swarm of infected at their heels. You hadn't seen that many since.. You shook away the thought. Later. You couldn't think about it now, or they would die and two more lives would haunt your dreams. You steadied your rifle against your shoulder, taking out the lead infected. Reloading, and out as many as you could, the rifle weighing a little easier in your hands as you swung it round, the butt pressed into your shoulder, your cheek resting against it, finger caressing the trigger. A rope ladder was coiled at your feet, and you kicked it down as the humans grew closer, the man insisting on the kid climbing first, holding the ladder as steady as he could while he fired his own pistol into the swarm. 

The child, a girl, you noted, grabbed one of the guns from your hip. You tensed up, expecting a bullet, but she started firing on the infected while her father, you guessed struggled to climb up. Laying your rifle down, you lay on the floor, reaching your hand down. He grabbed it, his grip warm and rough against your own, allowing you to pull him up, his legs scrambling to get him standing as you dragged the ladder up, grabbing your gun from the kid.