Pedro Pascal/Character

Joel 5

Reader is injured, Joel is an idiot. The usual :D  Set pre-Ellie. And pre-QZ.

~

Bullets were flying past you as you hurtled over the cracked pavement. Joel right next to you, slowing himself down to make sure you were safe. You would have appreciated it, had you not been annoyed with him. You told him that the cities were full of raiders. Had he listened? No. Now, both of you were being shot at, and would likely end up dead. If you both survived this, you would kill him. 

Pain flared up your legs. You'd been moving slowly for weeks, never faster than a light jog. Your muscles were screaming a protest as you forced yourself to go faster, tripping over a fallen lamp post, your hands scraping along the cement. 

Joel was already far ahead, not realising you'd tripped. You tried scrambling to your feet, but your legs refused to hold you up any longer, crumpling beneath you, twisting painfully. A bullet tore through your exposed forearm. Biting back your scream, you instead crawled under a precarious structure of cars, your gun emerging from your pack. Running had seemed like the best option before, but you were not going down without taking a few of them with you. 

You squeezed the trigger, sending one to a well-deserved grave. Your hand began to tremble, refusing to hold the gun anymore. You lifted it with your other hand, struggling to aim and fire into the group of raiders.

 A rifle joined your battle, and you felt a sense of relief. You'd recognise that shooting pattern anywhere. Joel. He had a unique way of firing that your ears had became attuned to while you were surviving together. 

The shots ceased, and you were left in an eerie silence. Hands grabbed hold of your aching feet, trying to drag you out. Vision cloudy, you kicked feebly, squeezing the gun only to realise you had no bullets left. 

"Calm down, sweetheart. It's me." You were ashamed at how easily his voice caused you to relax, letting him help you out from your hiding spot. His rough fingers grazed over your skin as he took hold of your wrist, eyeing the bullet wound. 

"Joel." Your voice was clearly panicked. The bullet hadn't actually lodged in your arm, instead tearing a gash about three inches long and deep across your inner forearm. The blood was black, seeping from the jagged ends of your skin. 

"Don't look." His voice was harsh, tearing up a shirt from his pack, wrapping your arm, applying pressure. You bit down, hard, on your cheek, refusing to cry out. 

"I told you the city wasn't safer." You grunted, obediently turning your eyes to search for danger. Neither of you wanted to be caught unawares in this situation. 

His shoulders started shaking. At first, you thought he was crying. A gasp for breath. Then his laughter burst forth. "Seriously, sweetheart? You're hurt, and that's the first thing you wanted to say?" 

You shrugged. He rocked back on his heels, sliding his pack over his shoulders, his rifle over his arm as he lifted you up, one hand under your aching knees, the other around your shoulder, supporting you against his chest. You made a noise, about to protest, when a wave of nausea crashed over you, and all you could do was groan, laying your head on his shoulder. 

"I'll keep you safe." 

"You're doing such a great job." 

~~

The two of you holed yourselves up in an abandoned pharmacy. There was a locked safe in the back that Joel had little trouble breaking open, using the limited supplies to messily stitch the laceration closed, using way more thread than he needed, and you ended up with more needle holes, given how badly his hands shook. The crisp white of the bandage was contrasting to your grimy skin, and you let your head fall back against your pack, accepting the precious medication Joel pressed against your lips.