From the start (Joel Miller x Reader) (EDITED)

Chapter 3.

Joel scooped you into his arms without hesitation, and the moment your body sank against his chest, the weight of fear and pain began to lift. His steps were sure and steady, each one taking you farther from the terror that had just unfolded. The forest, once a maze of danger and isolation, now seemed quieter—safer—with him beside you.

You clung to the warmth of his body, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart as he carried you through the underbrush. Relief surged through you, tinged with guilt.

"I'm so sorry, Joel," you whispered, your voice raw and tight. "This is all my fault."

He shook his head, gaze flicking down to you with gentle insistence. "Hey. Don't do that," he said softly. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just glad I got to you in time."

There was something in the way he said it—firm, grounded—that made you believe him. The storm inside you began to settle.

You breathed in the scent of pine and earth clinging to his clothes, trying to center yourself, to push past the lingering panic. After a few moments of silence, you tried to lighten the mood.

"So," you murmured, "ever had to save someone from a bear before?"

Joel chuckled, the low sound like a balm to your frayed nerves. "Not once," he said. "Though I've pulled a few people out of messes almost as ridiculous."

You smiled faintly. "Well, thanks for being my bear hero today."

He raised an eyebrow, a crooked grin playing at his lips. "Anytime. Just don't make a habit of this kind of trouble."

Despite everything, you laughed—a soft, tired sound—and for the first time all day, it felt real.

The trek back was long, your injuries making the journey grueling, but Joel never once faltered. When the cabin finally emerged between the trees, a quiet gasp escaped your lips. The sight of it—humble, weather-worn, but safe—felt like a miracle.

Joel carried you up the steps and through the door. The moment you crossed the threshold, the chaos of the forest seemed to melt away. Inside, it was warm and familiar, filled with the soft scent of woodsmoke and home.

Dani, who had apparently returned earlier, stood awkwardly in the corner, guilt flickering across his face. But Joel's expression turned cold the instant he saw him.

"Out," Joel said flatly. "She doesn't need you here."

Dani opened his mouth to protest, but one look from Joel silenced him. He left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.

With a protective steadiness, Joel wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you gently to the bathroom. His presence felt like a shield, a buffer between you and the raw chaos of the day. The small room, with its warm lighting and faint scent of cedar soap, offered a quiet haven. Even the worn edges of the tiles and the fogged mirror seemed to invite rest, not judgment.

Joel helped you sit on the closed toilet lid, his hands firm but respectful. He knelt beside you, reaching for a first-aid kit under the sink with the practiced motion of someone who had done this before—maybe too many times. You watched as he laid out antiseptic, gauze, and bandages with clinical precision, yet nothing about him felt detached. His every move carried intention, care.

He began with your arms, dabbing at the abrasions with a soft cloth soaked in warm water. The sting made you flinch, but his voice was there immediately, low and soothing.

"Easy now... I know it hurts. Just a bit more."

There was something grounding in the way he worked—in how he didn't rush, in the calm surety of his touch. You found yourself watching his face: the crease between his brows as he focused, the quiet compassion behind his eyes. He wasn't just cleaning wounds; he was tending to the part of you still trembling from what had happened.