The Last Of Us: Part I - Darker Days (Male Reader)

Chapter 13 - A Way Out: Part II

Death was catching up to him.

He knew it. His guardian angel of luck was drying out, and Death was close to his locked door. Standing with the key in hand, ready to unlock it and open up with the fiery tendrils of a long awaited, painful passing.

Did he deserve it...? The death that awaited him. Four years living with ghosts and nightmares, it wasn't hard to think that perhaps a small part of him was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was just a matter of time.

But yet he was still here. Alive. Breathing.

He could count on one hand alone the amount of times he could've — no, he would've died. If not for those in the present company. Though it had been Ellie that had saved him yet again, and a part of him wondered if a guardian angel had been swapped out for another. A real, human form.

And a part of him was against it. He didn't want a guardian angel to save him. He didn't want it. He didn't want to...

Sighing, Y/N stepped into the room he had split off to, Y/N felt a brief shiver run down his spine, but not from the cold, nor from any drafts that threatened him with elements. His eyes settled in on the contents of the room. It was small, probably enough to house a couple of people, supplies and the lot.

But that's not what had Y/N gripping the sheath of his hunting knife.

The place was built to accommodate a small classroom. Wooden desks and laid back chairs littered the room. A chalk board was at the front most of the room, and the floor was covered with matts and play toys.

It reminded him so much of...

'What the fuck...?'

He smelled it first, the putrid, vile rot hit his nose like a freight truck. Then his eyes found them, his pupils dilating, and eyelids widening in surprise. In the corner, huddled together, were dead bodies. Their remains long since degraded away, making their features nonexistent. But their skeletal remains were still there. Their bones had been preserved.

The first was an adult, he could tell. Bigger, broader. A bullet in their head, a pistol in their limp, dead hand.. Arms displayed wide, covering the twin bodies around them. The other two, they were children, couldn't be any older than Sam. Sharing the same fate as their elder. A bullet through the head, quick, clean. The wall behind them was sprayed with blood, their blood, long since dried up.

Y/N had seen such displays before. Dead bodies lined up against walls in quarantine cities. Executed. But this was different.

Worse.

His heart began to beat faster, as his eyes glossed over every detail. He couldn't pull away. It was like he was trapped, ficiated on the death and pain in front of him. His heart started beating in his ears, the blood pounding against his ear drums. As the air around him began to suffocate him again. And the panic that stirred beneath him unbuckled.

Just like before, back in Pittsburgh, back in the closet.

He was having a goddamn anxiety attack.

Y/N buckled, he reached over and held onto a desk to his left, clutching it hard enough with one hand that his knuckles began to turn
white as his breathing got worse and the uncomfortable feeling in his chest expanded.

His hands shook, trembled, and sweat began to drop from his forehead. As light surpassed his eyes, a flashback played in his mind as he phazed out again.

His lungs felt like they were on fire. Burning hot, cooking him from the inside. Like someone had set the dial to the stove to max, and he was the canned food ready to burst.