The Call to Protect
Why We’re Drawn to Characters Who Guard Home and Family
Every year, when September 11th passes, I grow quiet. The memory still holds weight, not just for me but for so many of us who lived through that morning. I was in high school then, sitting in the living room with my family, glued to the TV as the towers fell. We didn’t have answers. We barely had words. What I remember most was my father turning to me and saying, “Don’t worry. It will be fine. I’ll take care of it.”
Without missing a beat, I answered back, “We’ll take care of it.”
That moment lodged itself deep inside me. It’s why I joined the military soon after. My time in uniform was complicated—part noble, part disillusioning, part transformative. But one thread ties it all together: the instinct to step up when there’s danger, to say not on my watch when home or family is threatened.
My father had a name for people like that. He called them sheepdogs.
Sheepdogs live in the tension between the herd and the wolves. They protect the sheep from predators, but once the danger is gone, the flock often fears the sheepdog too—because in tooth and nature, the sheepdog resembles the wolf it fights. It’s an idea popularized in a well-known essay that’s been passed around military circles for years, and one I’ve carried with me into my own work as both a writer and a reader. We cannot claim this for what it is. It comes from a popular essay titled ‘On Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs’ by Dave Grossman that I encourage you to read.
And it’s here that fiction comes in. Because some of the most powerful characters across film, literature, and comics are built on this very foundation: protectors of home and family.
Why the Protector Archetype Resonates
Stories are about conflict, yes, but they are also about belonging. At the heart of belonging is home—whether that’s a house, a family, a village, or a chosen community. Threaten the home, and suddenly, we see what a character is made of.
Protector characters are compelling because they embody sacrifice. They take on wounds, risk isolation, or walk morally gray paths, all to keep the people they love safe. They are both aspirational and cautionary: we admire their courage but also recognize the toll it takes.
Readers and viewers connect to protectors because we all know, on some level, what it means to want our loved ones safe. Fiction amplifies that desire into extraordinary circumstances—whether it’s a father storming across Europe to rescue his daughter, or a quiet lawyer standing firm in the face of a town’s hatred.
The archetype also challenges us. A protector character makes us ask: What would I do? How far would I go to keep my home safe?
Film Example: Bryan Mills (Taken)
When people talk about modern protector characters, Bryan Mills from Taken is one of the first names to surface. Played by Liam Neeson, Bryan is a retired CIA operative whose daughter is kidnapped abroad. The premise is simple, but the execution turned into a cultural touchstone.
What makes Bryan memorable isn’t just his “very particular set of skills.” It’s those skills, honed in the service of country, now channeled into the service of family. The story pivots from global espionage to personal urgency. Bryan doesn’t move for patriotism or orders—he moves for his daughter.
This shift matters. It reframes the archetype of the warrior: not someone fighting because it’s their job, but someone fighting because home has been threatened. Audiences love Bryan Mills not because he’s unstoppable, but because we all understand the instinct that drives him.
Literature Example: Atticus Finch (To Kill a Mockingbird)
Protectors don’t always carry weapons. Sometimes, their shield is principal.
In Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, Atticus Finch is a widowed father and small-town lawyer who takes on a case that pits him against his entire community. He defends Tom Robinson, a Black man falsely accused of raping a white woman in 1930s Alabama.
Atticus knows he will lose. He knows his children will face cruelty for his choice. And yet he does it anyway—because he believes justice demands it, and because protecting his children means teaching them courage in the face of hatred.
Unlike Bryan Mills, Atticus’s battlefield is the courtroom. His weapon is moral conviction. His protection is not from physical harm but from moral rot. By standing firm, he protects not just his client but his children’s sense of right and wrong.
Readers gravitate to Atticus because he reflects the idea that protection isn’t always about violence—it’s about values.
Comics Example: Martha and Jonathan Kent (Superman)
When we think of protectors in comics, it’s easy to jump straight to the heroes in capes. But before Superman was Earth’s protector, he was a boy on a Kansas farm, raised by Martha and Jonathan Kent.
The Kents are ordinary people, but their protection of Clark is extraordinary. They shelter him when his powers first manifest. They teach him restraint, compassion, and humility. They give him a safe place to be himself.
Without the Kents, Superman could easily have become something else—weaponized, embittered, detached from humanity. But because of their quiet guardianship, he becomes a hero who protects not just the world but its ideals.
Their story reminds us that protection isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it looks like creating a home where someone can grow into who they’re meant to be.
The Sheepdog’s Burden
Across these examples runs a shared thread: the cost of being the sheepdog.
Bryan Mills sacrifices peace. Once he unleashes his old skills, he can’t put them back in the box.
Atticus Finch sacrifices his reputation. His community will never see him the same.
The Kents sacrifice anonymity. Raising Clark means constantly living on guard against exposure.
Protector characters often stand at a distance from those they defend. Their methods or sacrifices set them apart. In this way, they mirror the real-life tension of soldiers, law enforcement, and first responders: deeply necessary, yet sometimes misunderstood.
This paradox is why the archetype resonates so powerfully. It’s not just about safety—it’s about loneliness, sacrifice, and the thin line between hero and threat.
Beyond the Archetype: Local vs. Global
Another fascinating aspect of protector characters is scale.
Some guard the world: think Wonder Woman standing against Ares in Wonder Woman or Katniss Everdeen taking on the Capitol in The Hunger Games. Their protection expands from personal to societal.
Others guard the hearth: a mother shielding her children in A Quiet Place, or a father defending his farm in Signs. Their stakes may seem smaller, but the emotional weight is no less powerful.
What ties both scales together is motive. Whether saving a daughter from traffickers or a world from tyranny, the protector acts out of love and duty.
Why We Keep Returning to These Characters
At the end of the day, protector characters remind us of something deeply human: we all need guardians, and at times, we all become them.
As readers and viewers, we find comfort in their presence. We also find inspiration. They encourage us to consider our own responsibilities—what we would guard, what we would sacrifice, and how we would hold the line.
For writers, protector characters offer rich soil. They create natural tension (how far will they go?), natural stakes (loved ones at risk), and natural conflict (the sheepdog vs. the sheep). They also force us to wrestle with questions of morality, isolation, and the cost of vigilance.
That’s why they endure. Because no matter the era, the culture, or the medium, the call to protect never loses its power.
Closing Reflection
When my father told me not to worry, that he would take care of it, I believed him. When I said back, “We’ll take care of it,” I didn’t know I was stepping into the lineage of protector characters that have always populated our stories. I’d just felt the urge to step up and do something other than talk about it.
The sheepdog. The guardian. The defender.
Whether it’s Bryan Mills with his relentless pursuit, Atticus Finch with his steady moral compass, or the Kents with their quiet shelter, these characters speak to the same truth: safety comes at a cost, and someone has to be willing to pay it.
In fiction, we return to them again and again because they remind us of what’s worth protecting, and they challenge us to imagine ourselves in their place.
And maybe, when the wolves come to the door, they remind us to say, “We’ll take care of it.”