Throwing this fanart out there because I donât know what else to do with it *toss*
10 notes
¡
View notes
That one sliver of skin will sustain me for the rest of the year. MY GOD PEDRO
3 notes
¡
View notes
WOW WOW WOW WOW this was AMAZING
Born lucky, under a bad star.
Summary: Joel has always been lucky, in the worst of ways.
Pairing:Â Joel Miller x f!Reader
Word count:Â ~13k (sorry)
Warnings:Â game!Joel, major spoilers for tlou part 2, angst with a happy ending, major injuries and recovery, anxiety, depression, relationship healing, mentions of death, mentions of violence, suicidal ideation
Disclaimers and A/N:Â Though this fic was based around some events in tlou part 2, almost all of the canon after the divergence from the canon timeline is thrown out. This fic is also based entirely around game events, characterization, and canon. This is honestly one of the most difficult things I've ever written. It took months and many many drafts, but I'm very proud of her. I hope you love her too, she was a labor of love.
As always, thank you for reading! I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback!
Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.
- Kait Rokowski.
The lights of the clinic are so bright theyâre blinding.
Your hands are still shaking, covered in Joelâs blood. Itâs been hours since you returned to the safety of Jacksonâs walls but thereâs still a frantic, frenetic energy in the air. Everyone is shaken. It feels a little like a thousand year old tree has been felled, like a giant has been swung at and leveled, like something monstrous and infallible has been brought to its knees.Â
Youâve seen it happen before. Rebar right through his belly. It should have killed him. It would have killed anyone else. Youâve pulled more bullets out of Joel than you would care to count, and swaddled him in probably several football fields worth of bandages over the years.
Still, nothing like this.
Because Joel has always been lucky, even when he hadnât wanted to be.Â
Lucky, in all the worst ways.Â
That fucking rebar, you think bitterly. It should have hit at least one organ, should have severed his fucking spine. But it didnât. He walked it off, really, mostly, at the end of it all.Â
This though â to see him tortured, beaten, bleeding to death slowlyâ
Your edge of your vision tips black, like your mind is already refusing to go back to that room, like youâll pass out if you think of it for too long.Â
A part of you wonders if maybe itâs your fault. Maybe you forgot to stick lavender in his pocket before he left that morning, like you always do.
Someone pushes the door open, snow swirls in against the tile. Voices, rising and falling. The cold that rolls through the tiny waiting room is frigid.Â
Itâs still so red, his blood, even dried and crusted around your fingers and up your wrists.Â
Tommy is still bleeding and even Maria hasnât been able to convince him to sit down and let someone look at him. No, all attention needs to be focused on his brother. Anyone with any medical know how, has to be with Joel.Â
You agree.Â
Tommy, you, anyone elseâcan fucking wait.Â
Ellie is sitting next to you, looking just as numb and shocked as you feel, her fingers twined with Dinaâs.Â
The chatter reaches a crescendo. Something about the worsening storm, something about tracking folks with that big of a headstart through a storm like this one, something about the rapidly deepening darkness, night coming on, something about well who could do something like that anyway? Who the fuck would we even send?Â
The quiet that follows is painful.Â
Joel.Â
Joel is the one you send. Joel is the one that could get a job like this one done, the one that could track people through a blizzard with a dogged determinism, with pragmatism and infallibility.Â
âWhat did they want?â Someone asks the room at large. You arenât sure who asks, you canât make the shapes in the room resolve into people you know. âWhy us? Why Joel? They wanted something right? Who were they?âÂ
You and Tommy look at each other, Ellie makes a half muffled, pained sound beside you. Joel crossed a lot of people, maybe there wasnât any sense in guessing.Â
No one answers. You look at your hands again and wonder if the crimson will ever fade. Â
Someone says your name and you look up. A coat is tugged over your shoulders. You didnât realize you were shivering and you donât know what happened to your own coat. One of the patrolmen is looking at you, his name slips your memory but Jesse is standing behind him, Maria on the other side.Â
You feel the ghost of Ellieâs hand against your arm. Odd, you think distantly, because she hates you. She has for a long time.Â
âWhat happened?â
You look around, but Tommy isnât where heâd been standing just a moment ago. Did they ask him, too?Â
Thereâs a dark hole in your memory.Â
âI donât know.âÂ
And itâs the truth.Â
Thereâs no one more dedicated, more involved, in keeping Jackson safe, than Joel.Â
Aside from Tommy, maybe.
Joel is an effective killer, like an executioner with a mission. Itâs the thing that scared Tommy the most about his brother, and itâs also the thing that had kept him alive long enough to get his second chance in Jackson. Itâs the thing you have always loved most about Joel, the violence born of necessity.Â
And, you suppose, thatâs what heâd been. Dispatcher, destroyer. Â
Protector.Â
At the heart of it all, the meat of it is, that it had always been that with Joel. It had always been in the name of protect, provide, survive. He never shied away from telling you of his days as a hunter, or, something close to a hunter. And even then, it was keep Tommy alive, it was survive until Boston, it was we needed fucking food.Â
Survive and provide and protect.Â
Joel.Â
Jackson had been wary of him, at first. The stories of his dealings with infected and raiders alike at odds with the way he moved in the commune, with kindness and a certain gentleness, a competency and dependability, with something so soft in his gaze when it came to that little girl he arrived with.Â
That reticence and worry had dissolved as quickly as it had come.Â
They describe him as quiet and funny, because heâs prone to good natured teasing. They describe him as fierce and short to anger, because no one can say a word about him or his. They describe him as wonderfully dependable, ask Joel for something on a supply run and you would have it in short order; sigh about the state of something in your home and it would be taken care of, fixed, the very next day.
Jackson loves Joel.
Especially that softened up, gentle creature that had emerged in the wake of everything that had happened between Boston and Jackson. Joel had always had a soft interior, trotted out in brief glimpses over the years, but the shell he wore had been so thick and sharp it was near impenetrable, nearly unknowable.Â
Ellie is around plenty in those first couple of weeks after. She even takes to sleeping on the living room couch. She doesnât say much to you or Joel, hardly anything at all, but sheâs there and you figure thatâs what matters. It seems like she isnât sure what to say, and desperate for the connection that nearly shattered.Â
The first few days when Joel comes home from the clinic, someone knocks on the front door every couple of hours and you open it and have the same conversation over and over and over again. Itâs always people worriedly asking after Joelâs wellbeing, dropping off food, expressing their anger that something like this could happen to one of their own, that it could happen to someone so widely and wildly beloved.
When the knocks finally stop coming, and you can convince Tommy to go home to Maria, before Maria has to walk over and collect her husband again, you take the stairs slowly up.Â
Youâre exhausted. You hardly sleep and when you do, you have nightmares of Joel. Formless, mind numbing dreams that you can never remember when you wake up gasping. You arenât sure if Joel dreams of it, too. Heâs always mumbled in his sleep, eyes flickering behind closed lids, so itâs hard to tell.Â
And he hasnât really been coherent enough, awake enough, to ask, anyway.Â
âHey,â Ellie says when you round the doorway into the bedroom, lowering the comic book in her hands. Sheâs beside Joel, sitting on your side of the bed, back against the headboard. âSleeping again.âÂ
âWas he awake?âÂ
âA little. Drank some water.âÂ
Despite the tension of the last few years, you know sheâs thinking of another time that Joel had slept a lot, injured and only half alive.Â
Now isnât like then, but in some ways, itâs worse.Â
You nod and take a seat at the edge of the bed by her feet. âThatâs good,â you reassure her. âItâs a good thing that heâs sleeping. He needs it.â
Ellie just holds up the comic in her lap and then jerks her chin at the box on the bedside table, Joelâs glasses and book about space pushed aside. âI, uh, found them in the study.âÂ
You shrug. âHe always picked up any he found on supply runs.â You watch her from the corner of your eye and then shift your gaze to Joel. The slow rise and fall of his chest is reassuring in its steadiness, though you hate how still he is.Â
The skin by his temple is puckered and red, the stitches a neat little row up to his hairline. It still looks raw as a live nerve, the swelling extending to his eye, purple and shadowed in a dark bruise that trails down his cheek and jaw.Â
âHe never saidââ She stops and shakes her head. âSo stupid.âÂ
âWell,â you scoot closer and pat her extended leg. âYou didnât exactly want to talk then. We tried giving them to you, once. Left them outside your door. They got a little rained on.âÂ
âYeah,â she says, mouth twisting to the side. âSome of them are. . .canât fucking peel the pages apart.â In that moment, she sounds like that little kid you left Boston with, being told not to touch something and doing it anyway.
That might have been when you fell in love with Ellie, watching her snap at Bill, and watching Joel react like any father would. It had come back to him so quickly, so naturally.Â
Thereâs a long pause in which Ellie flips rapidly through the comic book and doesnât say anything, her fingers nervous. She looks how you feel â exhausted. âWhy donât you go get some sleep in your own bed?â You ask, reaching out to twitch a fallen lock of auburn hair behind her ear. âYouâre just across the yard. If anything happens, youâll know.âÂ
She looks up at you, eyes flicking over your face. âI was fucking mad at you too, you know,â she whispers suddenly. âWhy didnât you tell me?â
You drop your hand and shake your head before looking back at Joel. He sleeps deeply now, deeper than you thought possible for someone like him, even drugged and injured.Â
Thereâs a knot tangled in your chest, that only tightens further with her question. âIt wasnât my place. He didnât. . .he didnât say anything to me about it for a long time, either. Wouldnât explain what happened while we were separated. He told me the same lie. And you were going to be mad at me, too, no matter what. It had to be between the two of you.âÂ
âAnd you think he was right,â she accuses hotly.Â
âAnd,â you level your eyes to hers, âI think he was right.â You dip your head. âI wouldnât change anything, Ellie. I wouldnât. You know Joel wouldnât either. You matter more than that.â
Her bottom lip trembles for just a second. âEven knowing this happens?!â She gestures around the room, maybe just the situation at large.Â
Some of the tension knotting up your shoulders bleeds away. âHeâs still here. Itâs not too late.â She glances away and sucks in a harsh breath. You wait until she meets your eyes again. âAnd Ellie, it is not your fault. Itâs not. None of it.âÂ
âIt almost was.â Her voice is strained. âToo late.â
You shrug. âHe knows you care. Trust me, he does.âÂ
She scrubs roughly at her eyes with the sleeves of her hoodie. âYeah, uh, well, Iâm still gonna sleep on the couch.âÂ
âWhy donât you just stay right here, then? With Joel?â You ask and stand. âIâll take the couch tonight.âÂ
It is the ultimate admission of how scared she is, that she does not argue, doesnât even try to. Â
For the first few weeks after the attack, Joel is in and out of consciousness. He sleeps much more than heâs awake.
And, itâs hard to tell, at first, why heâs sleeping so much. The pain medicine? That carefully doled out, nearly impossible to come by miracle drug â was it just knocking him out? Was he just sleeping because thatâs what his body needed? Or, was it something deeper? Brain damage?Â
âHeâs fucking. . .old!â Ellie says to you one morning around a mouthful of toast. Itâs kind of odd, how easily sheâs taken to old routines. And how weird the old routine is, because the third piece of your puzzle is missing, sleeping. âOld people take longer to heal, right?âÂ
Right.Â
But heâs also Joel. And he isnât that old.Â
It feels wrong, that heâs so still and silent.Â
âItâs notââ Her fist opens and closes. She sets down the toast in her other hand on the plate and turns, pacing the length of Joelâs kitchen, fidgeting with her fingers as she goes, white morning light slatting over her. You eye the toast. Itâs hard to get her to eat, these days but you figure most of one piece is better than nothing. âHis leg. Itâs not infected or something, right? Weâd know if it was.âÂ
âItâs not infected,â you agree. When your own hands start to shake, you set down your mug, afraid to drop it or spill hot tea all over the floor, and make Ellie even more anxious in the process.Â
You donât like to talk about it. You donât like to think about it. The memories are like a hot brand.Â
The staircase creaks with the heavy thud of footsteps, before Tommy appears in the kitchen archway. Youâve always thought Tommy and Joel resembled each other, but now you see similarities in the kinds of expressions they make, too, the quirks in their movements that only siblings could share, and Tommy is sometimes a little hard to look at.Â
âHeading out?âÂ
âYeah, heâs, uh, sleepinâ again.â He leans against the doorway and crosses his arms over his chest.
Ellie doesnât say anything, just slips past Tommy and heads up the steps. Tommy looks after her and then back at you. âShe wonât say it but she doesnât like leaving him alone,â you explain.Â
Tommy nods and then pushes away from the door to settle at the kitchen table. âWell, I donât like the idea of it either. Good sheâs with him.â He tips the chair onto its back legs and tilts his head. âHow ya holdinâ up?âÂ
âProbably about as good as you are.âÂ
He huffs a bitter laugh. âYeah. Maria told me you want off partols.âÂ
You swallow and look away from him as you take the seat across from him at the table. âI - I know weâre down people already but I canât. . .Tommy I canât even look at the goddamn gate without feeling likeââ You shake your head. âI just donât think I can do it. Iâd get somebody killed.âÂ
âAll right,â he says, not unkindly. âWeâll figure it out. Itâs okay.âÂ
A burn starts at the back of your eyes so you stand again and swipe your fingers against your cheeks. âYou want coffee before you head out?âÂ
âNah, save that for Joel.â Then, âHow you think this is gonna go? When heâs awake more?â
âI donât know. Youâd know better than me.âÂ
Tommy laughs. The chair scrapes against the linoleum as he stands. He looks tired, and worried. Itâs an odd look on him. It isnât like Tommy at all. You and Tommy have always bonded over teasing Joel. Thereâs none of that now.Â
âLike hell. Youâve spent the last fifteen years with him, not me.âÂ
âHeâs your brother.âÂ
âAnd youâre the love of his damn life.â He pauses and leans on the counter next to you.Â
That makes your mouth twitch, the pleasantly warm feeling in your chest consumed in the next second by a lancing pain that can only be an approximation of grief for someone and something that still breathed.Â
âI just canât help worryinâ,â he continues. âThis might be enough for us, but not for him. If Joel canât ever do anything againââ
âHe just needs time, Tommy,â you cut him off quickly. Not able to stomach the thought. âWeâll figure it out. Heâll figure it out,â you say with more conviction than you feel. âWe can probably figure something like a prosthetic out. People have been making them for thousands of years. We can do it. Itâll be fine. But itâs going to be different.â
Tommyâs right. Youâve spent the last fifteen years with Joel. You arenât sure who you are without him anymore. You arenât sure you know how to get along without him anymore. And you never want to have to find out. âHeâs alive,â you finish with a nod. âEverything else, we can figure out.âÂ
He nods. âYou think we shoulda went after âem?â
âMaybe. But this is more important.âÂ
Before he goes, Tommy wraps you in a hug. âSo long as you and that girl stick around, itâll be all right.â
âEllieâs been playing the guitar up there,â you answer.Â
He nods and pulls back, one big hand clapping down on your shoulder. âSee? Things might be all right yet. Always told Joel sheâd come around eventually.â He releases you and heads toward the door then. âAnd get some sleep. Yâlook terrible,â he calls over his shoulder. âOrders from Maria.âÂ
For the first time in weeks, Joel wakes with some semblance of clarity. The bedroom is warm and dark, the tiniest pool of light washing over the form next to him from a little light plugged into the wall.
Itâs the nightlight he found for Ellie when they first got to Jackson and her nightmares gave her more grief than she cared to admit to.Â
His whole body aches. He feels sick.Â
The sharpness of the pain is disorienting. Heâs only been awake in brief, muddled flashes, the dulled fingers of drugged pain lancing through him and consuming most of his thoughts. Heâd only been awake long enough to eat or drink or be helped to the bathroom like some kind of damnâ
He remembers Tommy at his bedside. He hears the ghost notes of music in the air, your voice in his ear, the gentle slide of warm fingers over his skin. He remembers Ellie reading aloud, curled on her side next to him, like she used to do when she was younger, like when theyâd stop for the night on the road.
That canât be right, though. She hasnât done that in years. She wouldnât do something like that. Not anymore.Â
Youâre next to him now, face tilted against the edge of his pillow. Itâs hard to make you out in the dark, the shape and slope of your features hidden in the dim light.Â
When he says your name, you twitch, the slightest wrinkle to your nose, the tiniest spasm of your fingers against the sheets. âDarlinâ,â he tries again. His voice grinds, catches and snags around his teeth. It feels like he hasnât spoken in years.Â
He reaches for you and itâs agony, because his shoulder must be broken. His ribs contract painfully right, like the shrapnel of the bone is digging up into his lungs, piercing his heart. But your skin is soft and warm, pliant, beneath his fingers. It smells like youâve been burning sage again. He wants to burrow his fingers beneath your skin, youâre so warm.Â
The cut of your cheekbones are sharper, the angle of your jaw reminds him of winter in the QZ, winter traveling with you and Ellie. Discolored circles line the space beneath your eyes like little hollows. You look exhausted, wan.Â
You blink, slowly at first, then more rapidly. âJoel?â Your voice is a whisper, like the dark is stealing it away.Â
Your fingers slide through the backs of his against your cheek when you shift closer, so careful about it, until youâre pressed to his side. âJoel,â you repeat, eyes sliding shut, forehead against the edge of his sore jaw.
He breathes you in, the warm scent of your skin, the smells of hearth and home, lavender and sage and woodsmoke. He closes his eyes for just a second when you shift up and tilt your forehead against his, breath whispering against his chin. âJoel.âÂ
âYou all right?â His voice still sounds rocky but clearing it doesnât seem to help any.
Slowly, you sit up, hand still in his when you pull it away from your face. âYouâre asking me that? Youâre kidding, Joel,â your voice creaks. Youâve never really been a crier, but thereâs a thickness in your mouth, softening out the vowels and snapping at the consonants. âAre you - We didnât want you to be in pain. But youâve been sleeping for so long, we gave you a lower dose so thatââÂ
âI feel okay,â he interrupts your fretting, sweeping his thumb against the back of your hand. âConsiderinâ.âÂ
You swallow and nod. âHungry?â You glance at the window, where a gray, pale morning light is starting to leech into the room, the color of dirty snow.Â
âYep.â He wishes youâd keep your eyes on him. âIf youâve got somethinâ ready.âÂ
âWe have anything you want,â you assure him. âAnything.âÂ
Joel nods and attempts to push himself up next to you, chest and shoulder aching something awful. He bites back a groan but it still pushes past his teeth.
âCareful,â you say sharply. Before he can protest, youâre up and around the bed, one hand behind his back. âYour shoulder is broken in a million places.âÂ
âA million?â He grunts.Â
âThree.âÂ
âThat ainât a million.âÂ
You donât laugh and your hand doesnât move from his back. âAnd broken ribs. Now lean back.â He does as you ask, real careful about it so you donât worry.
An odd feeling creeps up inside his chest, dulled by the lighter dose of pain medicine coursing through his veins. It ainât just a sick feeling, but something else. A helplessness, maybe. It feels wrong, in more ways than one.Â
Joel becomes acutely aware of what he already knows, every single injury, the graveness of them. He knows about the broken shoulder and ribs that had to be reset, torn skin that had to be stitched together, that he has internal bruising but by some miracle no internal bleeding. His face throbs suddenly, his temple tight with pain. He feels his heartbeat behind his eye and in the swelling in his cheek.Â
And, the worst of it, leg amputated to just above the knee. Sick crawls up the back of his throat. He doesnât dare look.Â
The feeling in his chest swells until it chokes him.Â
Helpless, useless â something hard and fanged digs into his mind. It feels like grief, but what is he supposed to be mourning, exactly?Â
Everything, maybe.Â
His whole damn life.Â
âIâm fine,â he grunts suddenly. Sharply. âQuit fussinâ.â Â
He feels like fucking crying.Â
âJust - shut up, Joel,â you snap back. âYou almost fucking died.âÂ
A fist curls around his throat, warm and tight. He almost canât breathe through it. âYeah,â he croaks, voice breaking the word in two. Â
âYeah,â you snarl. âSo shut up and let me fuss.âÂ
You turn and leave before he can say anything else, footsteps rapidly descending the stairs. Voices trundle up, creased and folded, rising but muffled. Youâve always been mean when you got scared, ever since Joel can remember. You were mean as hell when he first met you, a hissing kind of frustrated, new to the QZ and new to trying your hand at smuggling.Â
Youâve softened up over the years. He hasnât seen you like this in a long time, maybe not since you got separated in Salt Lake City.Â
More footsteps, this time heavy, stomping, coming upwards.Â
Ellie appears in the doorway a second later. Her hair is messy; her eyes are wild. Sheâs in sweatpants and a shirt thatâs too big for her. She looks tired but unharmed. The knot tangled up around his lungs eases just a little. âHey, kiddo.â He tries not to sound surprised.Â
Her eyes flick over him and then away. She doesnât answer, but she doesnât leave either. Instead she picks up a book from the corner of the dresser and settles in the chair across the room.Â
A firm but unyielding presence.Â
He closes his eyes, tips his head back against the wall, and tries to push down the feeling of failure rising in his throat like a tide.Â
Joelâs fingers are clumsy.Â
He canât walk, canât work, canât do much of anything without irritating every ligament and tendon and bone in his body.Â
But even worse than that, he canât remember how to play the guitar.Â
And nothing makes him feel so helpless as that.Â
Even after not playing for twenty odd years, the notes and the placement of his fingers on the strings and frets had come back easily to him, almost like heâd never stopped playing at all.Â
Now, it doesnât.Â
In part his shoulder is to blame. Even nearly healed, itâs stiff. But the other part of it is that he canât remember how to play. Every note seems wrong, and he canât decide if heâs hearing it wrong, if thereâs something wrong with his hearing, his perception, or if the note really is just wrong.Â
Ellie plays for him, instead.Â
Itâs easier than talking. Neither of them are really good at that, anyway. Heâs just glad sheâs around at all.Â
He canât help but think of that last conversation heâd had with her on the back porch, that she wants to try to forgive him, even if she thinks she might never be able to. He supposes this is her way of trying her hand at that.
Sometimes he wonders if it would be like this if he hadnât almost died, if he wasnât collecting sympathy from everyone like there was some kind of shortage. Maybe that conversation on the porch would have meant nothing, otherwise.Â
The thought hurts him, no matter how glad he is that sheâs there.Â
One evening, pretty late, as snow peppers down through the early winter black that curtains the window, she stops playing.Â
The living room is quiet, aside from their breathing and the crackle of flames in the fireplace.Â
âI was going to invite you over to watch a movie.âÂ
The metallic twang of the last note she plucked hangs in the air.Â
âI was - I was going to fucking ask you to watch a movie with me. That night. One of those dumb action movies you like. Like the ones we used to watch, remember? Curtis and Viper 2.â
She doesnât look at him. She stares at her fingers, idly, nervously, twisting the tuning pegs of the guitar. âThink I saw that one before,â he answers, voice a little choked. âPretty good.âÂ
Ellie rolls her eyes and doesnât say anything for a few minutes. âYeah, you would think so, old man,â she replies eventually but still doesnât look up, her mouth twisting to the side. âI just - donât want you to think Iâm only here because youââ She shakes her head, and props the guitar against the wall before she stands and paces the room twice, toying with her fingers in that way she always has. âI never wanted anything bad to happen to you. Even when I was really mad.â
âEllie,â he says but she doesnât seem to hear him. âI know.âÂ
âAnyway, I meant what I said.â
âEllie.â
âI wanted things to get better. I wanted to try. I was going to.âÂ
âEllie.âÂ
She spins suddenly toward the front door, one hand on the back of her neck, rubbing awkwardly. âI gotta get going.âÂ
âKiddo.â This time she turns and finally looks at him. The scent of pine and smoke fills the room. The red of the flames flash across her face, so serious and anxious.Â
When they first came to Jackson, they spent a lot of nights on the couch together. His neck always ached the next morning from sleeping upright but heâd never complain about it. Then the distance between them had grown, and he doesnât know when the last time something like that had happened.Â
But that same distance is slowly shrinking now, even if things might never, never be the same again.Â
So many times when he looks at her, he still sees that fourteen year old kid. Heâd had the same problem with Sarah, looking at his twelve year old and seeing her at five and eight. It was just how it went, being a parent.Â
âI know, Ellie,â he reassures her. âI do. Itâs all right. Even if you didnât mean a word of it, itâs all right. I meant what I said, too.â Â
And even though she said she needed to leave, she nods and sits down again. She plucks a few notes out on the guitar when she pulls it back into her lap.Â
âD'ya still wanna watch it?â
She does.Â
Joel is whittling.
It is decidedly not going well.Â
Heâs too distracted for it. He never realized how much pressure settled on his shoulder, how much it pulled at the muscle around his ribs, from doing something as simple as this, and he doesnât like the nausea that comes with the pain.Â
But itâs something he can do, so he does it.Â
Itâs snowing outside again, wind raking against the siding, rattling the window panes. Thereâs a thin stream of air coming in around the windowâs frame, cold.Â
His hands are chapped and raw, blood pooling at the seams of his knuckles.Â
The fix would be easy enough, but everything he needs to do it is in the basement. And the basement is a near impossible location for him to reach, so he puts up with it, hands growing more frustrated by the second because he wants to fucking fix it.Â
You use the office, his work space, often enough, and itâs one thing for him to be cold and uncomfortable, but another thing entirely for you to feel that way.Â
But he canât make it down to the living room without help these days, let alone down two flights of stairs to the basement, and then back up them, too.
âJoel?â
He glances over his shoulder to find you standing in the doorway. You have a pair of shears in your hands.Â
âStill want me to cut your hair?â
He wants to do it himself. But youâd offered earlier, because youâve been doing it for him for a long time, for years and years now. And heâd always liked it because your hands are kind with it and youâre better at doing it, anyway. But now it just feels like one more thing he canât do for himself, one more thing heâs relying on someone else for, and that makes guilt and shame choke him.Â
Joel canât seem to do a damn thing, not for himself, but, worse, not for anyone else either.Â
âJoel?â You ask again when the silence stretches until itâs uncomfortable. âI donât have to; you can do it yourself.â
He shakes his head. âNo, itâs all right, darlinâ.â You start forward when he labors up from the chair, teeth gritted, but quickly stop when he meets your eyes, warning you away with a glance.Â
You donât say anything else, just back out the door and pad down the hall to the bathroom.Â
He isnât sure if your feelings are hurt or not, all his focus directed on hauling himself upwards and then limping down the hall with one crutch under his arm. Feeble threads of pain lance up his leg, centering in his joints, the hinge of his knee. The space under his arm is sore too, from the crutch, even wrapped in cloth.Â
Joel is used to pain. Heâs used to temporary aches, the sharp stab of healing wounds, the quick rip of a bullet or knife through skin, chronic pains from age and long healed injuries. On cold days, his side aches something fierce, like that rebar never really came out of him.Â
But this pain is different, without origin, and heâs having a hard time adjusting to it. Or maybe heâs just having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that this is not a healable injury, at least, not in the way he wants it to be.Â
For the rest of his life, he will be disabled. Heâll never get back to himself, never be what he once was.Â
The bathroom light is gold. It washes his skin into a better color, not so pale and strained and pained looking.Â
He hates looking in the mirror now. Joel never considered himself particularly good looking, never thought about it much, really. And, for most of his life, looks havenât really mattered anyway.Â
But seeing his reflection now is a reminder of his failures. Itâs a reminder of everything he canât do.
His whole body is nothing but reminders.Â
He is a patchwork quilt of scars.Â
He doesnât know how you can stand to look at him. But you just brush your hands through his hair when he leans the crutch against the counter and sits heavily on the stool you dragged upstairs.Â
The bathroom is thick with the scent of lavender and earth. Every winter it turns into a makeshift greenhouse, all the plants that canât survive the winter dragged inside for the season.Â
The feeling of your hands through his hair is soothing and the tension in his shoulders slides away.Â
âI can do it myself,â he grumbles, despite himself, and without conviction when you run a comb through his hair.Â
You hum under your breath, not really paying him any mind. You know he doesnât really mean it. Even if he feels like a fucking burden for it, itâs something youâve always done for him, so itâs a little easier for him to accept. âI know. I like to.â You tilt his chin up and Joel steadfastly avoids looking in the mirror. âBesides, Iâm better at it. You take to it like itâs a hack job.â
The trim doesnât take long, since he keeps his hair longer anyway. Itâs mostly an excuse for you to rake your fingers through his hair.Â
âThe window needs fixinâ,â he says when you slide in front of him and set about trimming his beard without asking. Thatâs fine, too. âI know you been, uh, kinda cold in that room.âÂ
âItâs not so bad,â you say when you finish with him, brushing your fingers against his cheeks and then through his hair. You smile, eyes crossing his face, tracing his features like a well known map, before you twitch a lock of hair away from his forehead. âYou gonna fix it for me or what?âÂ
âMighty big ask of ya,â he grouses, irritation itching at the edge of his mind.Â
Youâre still smiling faintly, touching his face, the curl of hair behind his ear, the scar along his hairline and then the one over his nose.Â
âI just canât see how,â you say and Joel almost snaps. He wants to. He wants to say you donât fucking get it, that you donât want to get it, that itâs different now. He wants to say heâs not the man youâve always known, that shit ainât as easy as itâs always been. He canât do shit for you, anymore, and isnât that the reason youâve stuck around all these years?Â
But then you continue. âI left that damn caulking gun on the side table three days ago.âÂ
âYou what?âÂ
You shrug. âThought you might have noticed it too. And Iâve always been so bad at that stuff.âÂ
The guilt that settles in him is heavy, but familiar. The shape of it is different, but it's still like shrugging on an old coat, itâs so natural and intimate.
He must be destined for some kind of failure, born under a bad star, something.
Everything he touches falls apart, no matter what he does. Everyone he holds dear, leaves him, one way or another, somehow. His mama, Sarah, and then Tommy, and then Tess. Most recently Ellie, though maybe things there were being mended. Maybe you were next, soon as you came to your senses.Â
Joel has spent most of his life taking care of people. And when he wasnât taking care of people, he was moving, working. He hardly ever sat still. He didnât have time to sit still.Â
Not before the outbreak, and certainly not after.Â
Even in Jackson where the pace of the world is slower, he was always busy. If he wasnât on patrol, he was on wall duty, looking after Jacksonâs security. Or, he was fixing something for someone, building something, helping with the horses. If he wasnât doing any of that, he was improving his house, he was working on a new carving, he was playing the guitar. Â
Healing up, itâs involved a whole lot of sitting still and feeling useless. It had involved a lot of other people fussing over him.Â
A lot of sitting still and feeling like he was failing everyone he knew. Like he had already failed everyone he knew. For all the effort he put into it, it would never be enough. He cares wrong, he loves wrong, and now he canât even do that.Â
He fails you in this, too. Of wishing he could accuse you of all the things he thinks of himself.Â
Joel knows you think of it too, you just havenât gotten frustrated enough with him to say it yet. You havenât had the full weight of his broken, uselessness on you, yet.Â
That day will come. Thereâs no way it wonât, because he canât do for you what heâs always done, what he was put on this god forsaken earth to do. The one thing heâs always been able to do. Not just for you, but for everyone. Ellie, Tommy and his family, Jackson at large.Â
Itâs always been the thing he could point to and say look, this is why I am like this, this is why you need me, why Iâm around. You survived because of me. Because I made sure you did.Â
So heâs not worth much now, really, and all the promises he made you and all the promises he made to himself, he canât keep them anymore. And isnât that why you stuck by him all these years? Despite all his shortcomings?Â
âSorry, darlinâ,â he cups your face in his hands, smoothes his thumbs over your cheeks, the hinge of your jaw. âIâll get right on fixinâ that for you.âÂ
âI know you will. Thank you, Joel.â The full weight of your head tips into his hands, and your eyes slide shut. His hands are large against your jaw, scarred and calloused, harsh. Reminders, maybe, of what he used to be. He looks at the hollows beneath your eyes, the raw, worried skin of your bottom lip.Â
You donât sleep anymore and when you do you have nightmares. You hate to leave the house. And sometimes you flinch even when nothing is happening around you, like memories are snapping at your heels.Â
He did all that to you, too. Terrible gifts heâs given and canât take back.
When he glances back up to your eyes, youâre staring at him, a worried, anxious kind of look lodged there that he absolutely hates.Â
âWhat?â He asks, smoothing his thumbs over your cheeks and then the delicate hinge of your jaw.
âNothing.â Your eyes shift away from his, and you twitch in his grasp. He already knows what youâre about to say, because youâve never gotten better at saying it, just like him. He doesnât need you to say it, but you do anyway, and he hates how much he likes hearing it. Itâs like a ray of golden sun. âI love you, Joel,â you murmur and hook your hands around his wrists. Â
For a long time, you just look at him, the silence is heavy with unsaid words, but he isnât sure which of you is the one not saying something. âThat enough?â He eventually grunts. âFor you?â
You frown. âWhy wouldnât it be? Do you think itâs not?âÂ
It shouldnât be. All those promises stack up in his mind again, everything he canât keep. Â
âIt shouldnât be.âÂ
You pull his hands away from your face with a shake of your head and lean in to kiss him. Your lips part softly against his, the hitch of your breath sweet against his mouth. The heat of you is so close and intoxicating, itâs something he never wants to have to give up, not when your thumbs are pressed to the pulse in his wrists, and not when you taste like apple, honey.Â
He shakes one of your hands away to wrap his arm around your back and pull you closer, until the warmth of your body is pressed securely to his chest. Your tongue slides against his, teeth nipping gently at his bottom lip. Something warm floods his cheeks and his chest goes tight.Â
When you pull back, you tug on a piece of his hair then touch the blush pinking on his face. âYou look real handsome, Texas.â Â
He tucks his forehead against your collarbone, and you fold your hands against the back of his head. âItâs enough,â you say. âAlways has been.âÂ
The next day, he finds that most of his tools have been relocated upstairs, either to one of the cabinets in the living room, or to the office upstairs.Â
Either way, he no longer has to traverse two staircases down and back up.Â
He isnât sure when you had the time to do it, or why he didnât at least hear you doing it.Â
Joelâs chest swells with love for you, right alongside the guilt that does nothing but grow.Â
He fixes the window.Â
Some days are easier than others.
He has good days and bad, and some of the bad days are worse than others. He sows the feelings up inside himself, cocoons the bad away inside his chest. Itâs easier that way. And itâs necessary now. Itâs just another thing youâd have to deal with.Â
Heâs never been good at saying the things that needed said, anyway.Â
He tries not to snap at you. Heâs trying not to get mean, and he canât just walk away like he used to be able to when his mind got messy. But heâs been failing because he wants you to fight with him, wants you to hate him.Â
Joel wants you to say that he fucking failed, that heâs been failing his whole life at the one thing he was supposed to be able to do. The one thing heâs really good for.Â
âStop it,â Joel snarls one day in the spring, when you offer your hand down the steps to the living room.Â
He doesnât mean to snap at you like that, but he doesnât take it back either. Heâs in too much pain. And he doesnât want to admit it.Â
The smile slips off your face as you step back from him, a stoney expression sliding over your face instead. Itâs routine, you helping him, and maybe thatâs the problem. He grits his teeth, that look reminds him of Boston, reminds him of the time before you used to trust each other.Â
âI ainât helpless.âÂ
You raise your hands and take another step back, looking away from him as you do.Â
The breeze that comes in the landingâs open window is cool. It isnât quite warm enough for the window to be open but the house needs airing out after such a long winter, such a hard winter. The air is crisp with the scent of pine and the lavender hung in dried clumps above each doorway.Â
âI know, Joel.â
When he looks at you, you visibly brace yourself.Â
A wave of self-hatred so hot it burns immediately follows the guilt. But it also doesnât stop the angry, frustrated pulse beneath the surface of his skin, pressing against the back of his teeth.Â
âI donât know why you didnât just leave me there.â The words are bitter, poisonous. Accusatory. âYou should have left me to fuckinâ die.â Â
Whatever you might be expecting him to say, it isnât that. Your breath catches hard.Â
You can be cruel, too. He waits for your anger, the burn of words he deserves to hear, something mean and hateful but true.Â
But the words donât come; your anger doesnât come. You just look tired and empty, sad.Â
You pace the landing, the soft shush of your footsteps echoed by the creaking of the floorboards. Your silence pricks at him. He wants you to scream at him, blame him, for failing, for being so fucking stupid.Â
âWhat if it was me?âÂ
Your voice is so low, he almost doesnât catch your words.Â
The quiet of your footsteps come to a halt. âWhat if it had been me, Joel? It could have been. It could have easily been me. They knew who you were. Weâve done a lot of the same shit. Weâve made a lot of the same enemies over the years.âÂ
Your hands are shaking, your breath comes in quick little pants. The acrid, bone aching feeling of cresting anxiety and panic floods the little landing. âMe and you and Tess, we were kind of a package fucking deal. So, what if it was me?âÂ
The breeze sliding through the open window feels different now. Colder, older, more brutal.Â
âThatâs fuckinâ different and yâknow it,â he snarls.Â
âWhy?â Anger floods your face, the curl of your fingers harsh against your arms when you cross them. âWhy would that have been different? Because you think I always need to be taken care of?âÂ
He doesnât answer. He looks away from you, but he canât go anywhere. Heâs at your mercy and you both hate it.
Joel leans heavily against the wall, his right hand curling around his left wrist, a nervous, anxious tick heâs never been able to shake.Â
âTell me,â you beg. âSay it, Joel. How is it different? Why?âÂ
He shakes his head once, slowly, and doesnât look up at you. âYou can say it,â you continue, your voice eerily quiet. âYou never trusted me to have your back.â
That ainât it at all.Â
Itâs not your failure. Itâs his, in every single way. He doesnât blame you or Tommy or Ellie or anyone else. He doesnât believe for a second that you donât know that.Â
It would have been better, probably, if he died.Â
He doesnât understand the guilt you feel.Â
He canât take care of you anymore, canât protect you anymore.Â
Worse, he canât do that for his kid.Â
If heâd died, maybe that final sacrifice would have been enough to make up for everything else. Maybe it would all just be done.
Heâs the one breaking promises, not you, just like he always has been.Â
Sometimes, when he thinks of Sarah, he can only remember her final moments. He canât think of anything else but her blood, how red it was in the dark. He canât think of anything else than what could have been. He can only see the halo of that mounted flashlight glaring into his eyes, his own voice pleading. Please donât.Â
If heâd just been shot, he would have died first, he wouldnât have ever known how bad he failed in that moment. He would have died first, like a parent was supposed to. No good father should ever outlive his kid.
Maybe, this had been his second chance, to finally die first.Â
Born lucky, bad star, like always.Â
So, what would he do, if it had been you? Heâd have taken care of you, just like youâre doing for him. But that is not anathema to him; that is just how things are supposed to go. It wouldnât have been a failure.Â
Heâs no use to you anymore, no use to anyone.
He doesnât say any of that.Â
Instead, he nods.Â
âYouâre right.â He shrugs and pain splinters across his shoulders. âIt would have been different.âÂ
Your expression flickers blank and you turn away. It would have been easier to stomach if you screamed at him, if you slammed a door.Â
But youâre just quiet.Â
Once, during the late autumn, when you were traveling with Joel and Ellie, you noticed Joel wasnât eating.Â
Food was in short supply. None of the houses or buildings you looted turned up anything edible, and wild game had been elusive for weeks as the weather turned wetter and chillier.Â
Youâd noticed him doing it a few times before, but nothing like then. Joel would dole out carefully rationed food and not allocate any to himself. The bags under his eyes deepened. His temper was shorter. Heâd gotten pale and hollows appeared in his cheeks that meant he hadnât been getting enough. Joel had always been huge, broad and strong and tall, with thick arms and thighs, but when he dropped weight, it always showed in those little hollows first.
Then, one evening, after clearing out a barn of infected, heâd stumbled, hand to his forehead, pale as youâd ever seen him. âChrist,â heâd mumbled.Â
âJoel?â Ellieâs voice had pitched up with worry. Sheâd looked at you, and said, âHe hasnât been eating.â The words were all a rush, accusatory and begging for you to do something.Â
âEllieââ Heâd growled.Â
âI know sheâs right, Joel,â Youâd interrupted with a snap. âYou think we wouldnât notice? You think I wouldnât notice?â
Heâd gotten pissed off and marched off into the woods to the stream to refill your canteens. Youâd given him a wide berth for several hours, making the newly cleared barn into something livable for the night with Ellie. When dark had started to set in you went after him, boots crunching through frozen leaves.
Heâd been sitting by the creek bed, an inscrutable expression on his face. âWe ainât got enough,â heâd said, not looking at you. âYou and Ellie need it more. Iâm fine.âÂ
âBut you're not. You canât just not eat. You canât take care of us if you arenât okay, Joel.âÂ
The air had smelled like earth and decaying leaves and stagnant water and ice. The scent reminded you of better times, of apple cider and cinnamon and new beginnings, of autumn fairs and coffee shops.Â
Youâd sat behind him, pulled him against you for just a moment, chin on his shoulder, and said, âItâs all right to let me look after you, too.âÂ
You figure that even with the change in circumstances, things are still like that with Joel. Heâs always doing the metaphorical equivalent of making sure everyone else eats first, even if it means heâs starving.
Heâs never been one to give up or give in or let go. When Tess was bitten, Joel hadnât wanted to leave her. Heâd wanted to stay and fight. To fight a useless and unwinnable fight. That mindset was never going to fade.
You donât speak for a few days. Guilt swallows the whole of your heart and leaves you dry and empty. Joel blames you, you think, even if he wonât say it.Â
He comes to you late one night.Â
Itâs dark and the bedroom is overly warm. He sits heavily but without help at the edge of the bed. Heâs getting better at that, even if he doesnât think he is.Â
His hair is longer and it falls into his face when he leans over you, fingers against your forehead and temple and then your cheek.Â
âWhen I was real young,â he says. âMy dad died. We didnât have much money and my mama worked all the time.âÂ
You turn on your back and try to make his face out but his expression is unreadable.Â
Joel hardly ever talks about his folks.Â
âI got my first job when I was fourteen, to help with the bills. Money was better on account of half of it not beinâ drank away, but we still needed the cash.â Joel pauses and you scoot over. It takes a minute for him to find a comfortable position with you but when he does, he continues. His voice echoes against your ear, the beat of his heart pounds against your cheek. His chin rubs against your forehead, one large hand splayed across your shoulders.Â
âSince she worked so much, I was always takinâ care of Tommy, of damn near everything else. And my mama, too, sometimes.â He swallows, and you feel the bob of his throat against your forehead. His chest is warm beneath your cheek, even through the two layers he always wears. âSo I knew I was young when Sarah came along, but I didnât really feel it. I took care of her and her mother, âtil she went her own way. Just the way I always had.âÂ
The rise and fall of his chest is steady. He cups his free hand around yours and tucks your palm against his heart.Â
âI know Iâm not easy, in any sense of the word. I never have been.â A heavy tug of shame weighs his voice down. âToo mean and bitter, I guess.â Thereâs a long pause, and you want to protest but youâre sure if you interrupt, Joel wonât finish saying whatever it is he needs to.Â
âSo anyway,â he continues. âI try to make up for it. By doinâ what I always have, even if it means I end up alone. I wouldnât change anything. I donât know what Iâm good for ifââ His hand slides up your spine, thick fingers resting at the base of your neck. âAnd I canât do it anymore. Canât take care of ya. So, it woulda been different, if it had been you. Because itâs you weâre talkinâ about.âÂ
Joel goes quiet after that. His palm continues its nervous path over your spine. The bristles of his beard are soft against your temple. The rhythm of his breathing is still slow and even, but you feel the prickle of nerves in the way he touches you.Â
It isnât easy for Joel to say the things he feels, even to you, even all these years later.Â
His body is so familiar to you, so warm and strong beneath you. Comfort, in short, in its purest form.Â
You arenât expecting him to say any more, but he does. âThings. . .they always have a way of fallinâ apart, in the end.âÂ
When you lift your head, he doesnât look at you. You press a finger against the edge of his jaw, turning his head gently until his eyes meet yours. âJoel,â you touch your forehead to his. You arenât good with words either, but you try. âYou are more than that. More than what you can do for people.â
Heâs quiet for a long time, eyes fluttering closed, his breath a calm pool against your mouth. âAnd Iâm more than that? To you?âÂ
âJoel, if I only wanted some guard dog, I would have gotten one that could listen better.âÂ
He snorts, and a little of the tension melts away. âYeah, I reckon you would have.âÂ
The dark is a warm cocoon of things less easily said in the light.
âYes,â you say quietly after a long, peaceful silence. âJoel. Youâre so much more to me than that.â
Itâs late spring again. The Wyoming air is mild, and heavy with the scent of blooming life.Â
Sage grows in dense clumps up in the mountains, deep between the ridges of the sharp peaks. The smell of it, earthy and crisp, chases itself on the breeze, all the way down to Jackson. It twines with the smell of flowers painstakingly planted along his front path.Â
Arrowleaf. Goldenrod.Â
Lavender, right by the mailbox, courtesy of some superstition held onto from before the outbreak.Â
Itâs thick, cloying, pungent.Â
Itâs overripe, rotting. It smells like death.Â
Itâs making Joel fucking nauseous.Â
He squeezes your arm, a warning without words that he needs a break.Â
Itâs the smell.Â
Itâs the sun and the gentle breeze.Â
He tells himself the sick, crawling pain mixing sourly in his stomach has nothing at all to do with his newly fitted prosthetic leg.Â
Slowly, without a word, you turn and guide him back through his familiar backyard to the porch.Â
He sits heavily on the steps, just inside the cool pool of shade, and pulls in deep breaths that rattle in his lungs and do nothing to stave off the dizziness, or the pain.Â
Your hand slides up and down his back before your palm settles against the back of his neck and urges his head down between his knees.Â
Joel feels like a fucking kid. His hands are shaking.Â
âDamn thing is useless,â he growls after a minute when the nausea passes and he can lift his head, because itâs the only thing he can do, because itâs goddamn humiliating.Â
Everything is, these days.Â
You just bump your shoulder into his and hum low under your breath, used to his attitude, used to his bark that only sometimes has a bite.Â
Youâre patient with him, but tough, not willing to indulge his foul moods. âItâs just something you have to get used to,â you assure him. âItâs not going to be like before.âÂ
Joel doesnât want to admit that he wants to take the prosthetic off. Itâs like admitting defeat before heâs even gotten a chance to fight.Â
And heâs tired.Â
Exhausted, really.Â
âHey,â you dig your nails into his wrist. He meets your eyes, pragmatic, practical, his match in everything. âWe arenât supposed to go at it so hard anyway, remember? You did really well.âÂ
He doesnât want to admit that, either, that your praise washes pink in his veins, that he likes to hear it, thrives on it. If heâs doing right by you, good in your eyes, things canât be awful as they might seem.Â
Thatâs what he latches onto. Your pride. Your acceptance.Â
âThis was just the first time, Joel,â you continue. âYouâll get the hang of it.âÂ
He ainât so sure about that, not with the way his leg aches. A leg that isnât even there anymore, chopped off right above the knee, to save his life, apparently. Itâs part of why it hurts so goddamn much. Feels like heâs pushing his calf into something it canât fit in, like the long gone meat and bone are getting ground up into his thigh.Â
But if he gets the hang of it, then things will be better. Heâll at least be able to move on his own. He might be able to find some way to work again. Wall duty was looking pretty good, because all you really have to do is sit there and watch the horizon and be able to shoot pretty well.Â
There is hope in the future. There is hope in you reminding him of that, realistic to a fault, pragmatic to your core.Â
And unlike Joel, youâve never had it in you to lie.Â
Joel tightens his hand on your forearm again, pressure on your sun warmed skin. Itâs a poor substitute for the thank you that you deserve. You seem to get his meaning though. Your hand feathers through his hair again and the sun doesnât feel so abrasive, and the smells of spring donât seem so weighed down by death.Â
âEllieâs coming for dinner,â you offer. âSaid sheâs got a movie or a game or something that she wants to show you.âÂ
Yeah, so maybe the day ainât so bleak as he thought it was.Â
âAll right.âÂ
You offer him a hand up, and slip your arm behind his back. He carefully drapes his arm around your shoulders, mindful, even now, of his weight against yours. âWhat a strong thing you are,â he comments, not able to stop the corner of his mouth from twitching. You look so determined.
Itâs the way you always look, when put to task. Â
You roll your eyes. âLucky for you.âÂ
âLucky for me,â he says, soft about it. Â
The stairs are the worst part of getting back inside, but it's much easier than it had been before.Â
Itâs a relief to collapse into the couch and take the prosthetic off. The phantom pains still ache and stretch painfully tight, like the skin is being pulled taut, like there was a knot that just needed massaged out. He grits his teeth and represses the urge to reach down and rub sore muscle that no longer exists.Â
Itâs a relief to collapse into the couch, even if guilt punches him in the chest for it.Â
Itâs an even bigger relief when you press yourself into the space next to him. He doesnât know how you stand it sometimes. How you can look at him and still not hate him for every mistake heâs ever made.Â
âKnee always fuckinâ bothered me anyhow,â he comments, turning his head so his words brush against your temple. âDonât gotta worry about it gettinâ stiff now, I reckon.âÂ
You reward him with a snort, the scrape of your fingernails against his cheek, a kiss.Â
Itâs easier to get around, with the prosthetic that he hates.Â
But heâs slow. Slower than heâs ever been in his whole life. And sometimes, most times, it frustrates him.Â
Being able to walk is one thing. Itâs a fine thing. But he needs to be able to do more than that. Run, fight, shoot. A fucking pipe dream. But heâs back to building, carpentry, and thatâs something at least. Something useful.Â
Joel has tried asking you about that day, because he doesnât remember a whole lot besides the pain. But your chest goes fluttery with panic, the rise and fall of it unfamiliar to him. You donât get nervous. You never have, not over anything.Â
But when he asks about that day, you mutter something about Tommy and blood, and he canât get anything else out of you. Tommy does the same, eyes cast to the side, thumbs hooked in his belt, foot starting a nervous rhythm.Â
He doesnât understand whatâs wrong with either of you, what the goddamn problem is.Â
In some ways, Joelâs always thought you were tougher than him, a balance of brutal and rough and unforgiving with softened sweetness. Bash the skull of a hunter in with a metal pipe, then use your unsullied hand to stroke back Ellieâs hair, to offer help to strangers, to pat the nose of your horse gently.Â
He would never want to be on the other side of the wrath you kept wrapped up inside your heart.Â
But, now, you donât leave Jackson anymore. You havenât been outside Jacksonâs walls since that day.Â
Tommy tells him you canât even bear to take a shift on the wall, which mainly comprised of sitting at the top of the wall and doing a whole lot of nothing, looking at the horizon, shuffling your feet to keep warm.
Itâs unlike you. You love to patrol, just like him.Â
Thatâs his fault, too. Your nightmares, your sleeplessness.
Ellie plays the guitar for him, even after he gets the hang of it again, even after heâs walking on his own again, the chords coming back to him easier and easier. They donât have to talk much, that way.Â
Sheâs still mad, but he almost died, and sheâs willing to try with him.Â
She comes over for dinner. She always brings a movie.Â
It gets easier.Â
And slowly, by the end of the summer, she smiles when she sees him.
Heâs gotten the hang of walking again, which is never a sentiment he thought heâd have about himself. Joel always assumed heâd be killed before something like really old age could set in, or something like this, a disability he doesnât want to learn to live with.Â
Itâs rained recently and the yard smells like perchitor and the ever present mountain sage. The grass is just a little muddy from the many loops around the yard. âYouâre going to fall and break your neck, old man.âÂ
âBreakinâ my neck canât be much worse than what it is right now. We ainât goinâ around the yard anyhow. Now câmon, put your shoes on, kiddo.âÂ
âItâs still raining,â she complains.Â
âMeans no oneâs outside to see me humiliatinâ myself.âÂ
Ellie only rolls her eyes but does it anyway. He doesnât need a hand anymore, but heâs shaky sometimes and despite your best efforts heâs still refusing a cane. But he also hasnât been using the track in the yard in weeks.
That, and he actually has somewhere to be these days, figuring out better security for Jackson, looking after the patrol teams, assessing who was ready to be put into rotation. Managing is what he should be calling it, though he doesnât care for it. He and Maria butt heads too often for it to be anything close to enjoyable.Â
When they pass the mailbox, Ellie points to the lavender. âI never thought to ask about it before. Itâs everywhere. Some nailed above the door and everything.âÂ
âSome kinda thing about protectinâ the home,â Joel explains. âFar as I remember, it protects from bad energy. Somethinâ like that.âÂ
âI thought that was sage?â
âSage you burn,â he explains. âAnd we get plenty of that too. Whole damn house smells like it.âÂ
âSeems like the kinda thing Dina would do,â she says and then seems to realize who sheâs said it to. But she doesnât change the subject. âDidnât take her for the superstitious type. Doesnât seem like it really works anyway.âÂ
Joel shrugs. âShe was before the outbreak, I guess.â He watches Ellie from the corner of his eye. Sheâs steadfastly not looking at him, but she also doesnât usually say so much to him. âDidnât have reason to think of it for a long time. Lavender wasnât exactly in high supply in Boston.âÂ
Ellie nods.
âShe used to, uh, put some in your backpack when she knew you was goinâ out. Same with me, always put some in my pocket.âÂ
Thereâs a long silence. Jacksonâs streets are oddly empty in the pouring rain. Lights glow in the windows; inviting, homely. âShe didnât have to do that.âÂ
He shrugs and his shoulder only aches a little for it. âItâs just the kinda thing parents do, even if it donât make any damn sense.âÂ
âYeah,â Ellie agrees as the turn toward the center of Jackson. âYou wanna stop in the Bison?âÂ
âSure,â he agrees. âFor a minute.âÂ
âFull schedule?â She teases. âArenât you supposed to be in your sunset years?â
âWell, gotta have something to fill up the days, kiddo. Maybe one day youâll actually be able to keep up.â
She just scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, whatever."
Joel tries not to smile. Â
Being mobile again, busy again, feels good.Â
It feels good, but it also means heâs in near constant pain.
He tells himself itâs good, that pain sharpens him, makes him better.Â
Until heâs slumped on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night, heaving his guts up from the ache in his leg.Â
You find him there, sweaty and panting, with a glass of water in hand. Joel pushes himself upright against the wall with a sigh as you close the lid of the toilet and flush it before sitting beside him on the cool tile.Â
âYouâre overdoing it again,â you say, not unkindly.
âI ainât tryinâ to,â he mutters and takes the glass of water when you offer it to him.Â
âI know.â You cover his free hand with yours. âWanna get up?âÂ
You smell faintly of peppermint, burned incense.Â
When he shakes his head, you stretch to flip the light switch over your head. Heâs plunged into darkness, alone, for just a moment, before you settle again. The warmth of your head against his shoulder feels stolen.Â
For a long time, neither of you say anything. He breathes through the pain still crawling around his knee, the phantom flesh of his calf.Â
âI was a goddamn fool,â he whispers into the silence. âYou know what I was thinkinâ that day?â Heâs not sure where the words come from, the confession. It feels a little like the words are being pulled up out of his body, yanked right from the center of his chest.Â
âTell me,â your nose is warm when it bumps against his collarbone.Â
ââBout Ellie. How Iâd want someone to help her, if she needed it. So I helped that girl. Almost got all of us fuckinâ killed.â
You donât answer, not at first. But eventually, you lean into him and say, âIf you want me to blame you, I wonât. I will never find fault in kindness.â Your thumb strokes his knuckles slowly. âNever. Especially not yours.âÂ
He brushes his mouth along your hairline, skin silken against his mouth. âYâknow when we was on the road, I was sure youâd get us killed. But yâalways knew when to trust someone. How much to trust âem.âÂ
âI. . .â you start and then trail off, fingers squeezing around his. âI was always lucky, and I always knew I had you at my back. If I messed up, you were always there.âÂ
His eyes have adjusted to the darkness of the bathroom, and when he meets your gaze, he can see the glaze of tears in your eyes. You suck in a shaking breath and clear your throat but donât continue. âAnd Iâm sorry I wasnât there the same way.âÂ
âThis ainât on you,â he says. âDonât think that. Itâs me. It was a long time cominâ somethinâ would catch up to me.â
You settle in against him, one hand digging into the sore muscle of his thigh. The heat feels like, the flex of your gentle fingers even better. The pain that doesnât exist fades just a little.Â
âAnd for the record, darlinâ, you were there the same way.âÂ
Itâs autumn again when you go back onto the patrol rotation. Thereâs frost on the windows and on the spikes of overgrown grass in the front yard. He just got back from a night watch on the wall. Â
Youâre taking his old routes with Tommy, and you donât tell him about it until the morning of. Not a fucking soul breathed a word of it to him, and heâs the one figuring out the goddamned rotations.Â
And Joel realizes though heâd been worried about you not wanting to leave Jackson anymore, not even being able to go near the gates, he was glad you hadnât wanted to. It meant you were safe. Even if he couldnât keep you safe anymore, the walls of Jackson could.
âIâm not doing this with you right now,â you say before you leave, pretending like he canât clearly see your hands shaking before you walk out the door.
He follows you onto the porch. He canât remember what he says, just that you look upset and then hurt, just that you donât say goodbye when you walk away and that you probably donât have lavender tucked into your pocket like he always did.Â
âPlease.â A word he hardly ever says, a plea he never gives into.Â
He says it to your retreating back as you pass the mailbox, but you either donât hear him or choose to ignore him.Â
Maybe he didnât say it at all.
That day is hell. Itâs long and pocketed with anger and anxiety. If something happens to you, he isnât sure what heâll do. He doesnât like that you left him upset.Â
Maria doesnât entertain his outburst about it when he finally corners her after looking for her all morning. âShe was ready.âÂ
âI didnât even know we were considerinâ sendinâ her back out!âÂ
Maria just levels him with a glare that could freeze hell over. âThat isnât up to just you. And why do you think she didnât want to tell you?âÂ
Heâs at the stables with Ellie that evening when you come home, waiting. Itâs cold and his leg is aching something bitter and awful but he doesnât move and Ellie doesnât suggest going back home because she knows he wonât hear it. Dina stops by and he listens to them talk. Ellieâs face softens when she looks at Dina, cheeks a soft pink in the fading light, ducking her head and fidgeting with her fingers.Â
Joel tries not to pay them any mind, but it's hard not to find endearing.Â
When you and Tommy get back, itâs full dark. He wants to throttle his brother for not telling him you were going back out on the trails, but itâs too cold for much of that. All thoughts of strangling Tommy fly from his head as soon as he sees you, because you have a smear of blood on your cheek and down your neck.Â
âGoddamn it, what happened?â He demands, hands against your face before youâve even fully dismounted.Â
âIâm fine.âÂ
âThat ainât what I asked,â he sweeps his thumb over your skin, flakes of red shifting to the ground. The knot in his chest tightens as he watches it flutter through the air. âWhat happened?â He growls again. âTommy?âÂ
âThe usual, Joel,â you pull his attention back to you. âIt was just cleanup. A couple of infected. Nothing.âÂ
âUh huh,â he tilts your face one way and then the other.Â
âJust some splatter.â You shrug and smile at him; your mouth twitches, and he realizes youâre teasing him.Â
âSplatter,â he repeats flatly. âThat ainât funny. You ainât funny. Câmon, letâs go home.âÂ
Ellie and Dina have disappeared with your arrival but they arenât far; he can hear their chatter as they walk along the street toward the center of Jackson, the echoes of their voices reaching back towards him. âIâll deal with you later,â he says to his brother.Â
Tommy just raises his hands and says heâll stable the horses. But heâs grinning and maybe thatâs a good thing. Itâs been awhile since his brother has seemed himself. Itâs been awhile since the two of you have given him grief together.Â
âLeave Tommy alone,â you say as you walk toward Rancher Street. You seem steadier than you had been that morning, more confident, more yourself. It isnât a long walk back, even with his leg, though he limps worse than usual because of the cold. You wrap an arm around his waist, your fingers digging into his back pocket, body warm against his side. âWe did good together today.âÂ
âMhm. Iâm sure you did.âÂ
âYou mad at me?âÂ
âI wish youâd tell me,â he murmurs. âWhen youâre goinâ off to do somethinâ stupid. I need you to talk to me. Worried the whole goddamn day. You ainât exactly in practice out there anymore.âÂ
You hum and then nudge closer to him. âPut your arm around me.â
âIâm fine,â he grunts, maybe a little harshly.Â
âJoel,â you laugh and nuzzle your face against his shoulder. âCâmon. Iâm cold and I had a rough day. Put your arm around me.âÂ
So, he does. And he leaves it there until youâre in the bathroom, sitting on the counter in front of him, lavender plants stacked in the sink behind you once again as the colder weather sets in.Â
This is better. So much fucking better, than the other way around. This is right.
He cleans the blood away, finds the swell of a bruise on your shoulder and a cut lengthways over your collarbone.Â
Itâs easy enough to take care of. It isnât as bad as what heâd been imagining all day long.Â
Heâs well in practice for this sort of thing, for bandaging and assessing wounds.Â
âSorry,â he says as he works. âFor this morninâ.â
âMhm.â
âI worried all day. Not much I can do now, if you get into a spot of trouble.â
âI handle myself fine. Tommy was there. Heâs a good partner out there.âÂ
Joel grunts, dabs rubbing alcohol along the cut. âHe is,â he agrees reluctantly. He supposes if you had to go on patrol with anyone, heâd prefer you go with his brother. Â
You touch him as he works, fingers patting over his jacket, the collar of his flannel, the frayed edge of the t-shirt beneath that. âI had to go back out, Joel. You would have argued with me and I canât be afraid and useless forever.â
âUseless,â he scoffs and unspools a length of bandage. âYou donât know nothinâ about that.âÂ
âJoel,â you say softly, exasperated. âBaby, you donât know what it was like that day. I thought you were already dead.â Your voice trembles and you have to swallow harshly before you can continue. âHelpless and useless doesnât even begin to cover what I felt. What I still feel.â You shake your head and cup your fingers around his. âI dream about it every single night and I still donât really remember what happened. That scares me a lot.âÂ
He slides his thumb along the gauze, your eyes wide and worried when he meets them.âIâll never be who I was, sweetheart.â His voice sounds mournful to his own ears.Â
âYouâre exactly the same man, Joel. Iâm just happy youâre here and alive and youâre worried you arenât alive the right damn way.â You shake your head. âI canât ask for much more than what I have. Than what we do. Me and you. Ellie back in our life. A home. Food. Family. You,â you touch his jaw and smile. âStill here. Still taking care of me.âÂ
Thereâs a lump in his throat, hard as a stone. âYep.â He coughs in an attempt to clear his voice but he sounds just as wrecked when he speaks. âPatrol musta been real good to yâtoday.â
You just laugh, and the sound of it is wet. âYeah. It was. I thought it would be terrible but I missed it.âÂ
âI know you did.âÂ
âYou should come on a ride with me sometime,â you say slyly. âI bet itâd feel good to be back in the saddle. Youâve always been a good shot from the back of a horse.â
He has.Â
Maybe he should.Â
đ If you made it this far, thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. đ
1K notes
¡
View notes
A quick warm-up I did today of the The Pale Elfâ˘ď¸
3 notes
¡
View notes
please god give me "[ CLING ]: having finally been reunited, the sender pulls the receiver into a tight, overwhelmingly relieved embrace, clinging to them and burying their face in their shoulder" with astarion and gale.
â astarion ancunĂn + f!tav!readerâ CLING
His voice is a near shriek â full of irritation.
"What is wrong with you, hm?!"
"Astarion, I am not in the moodâ"
"Oh, well pardon me, my dear lady," comes the snarl of a snarked jest as he follows hot on your trail, "Had I known you weren't in the mood, I would simply have kept my mouth shut and let you die!"
"I had it handled!" you fire back, throwing your hands in the starry, night air and very much ignoring the inquisitive looks from the rest of camp. Astarion does not let up, in fact he jogs to follow more closely than before â right on your boot heels.
"He had a knife to your throat!"
"Wouldn't be the first time that's happened!"
"God, you are the most stubborn woman I have ever metâ"
You finally reach your tent and slam your pack down on your makeshift vanity. Inside, the stolen wares rattle amongst pinched gold and silver. A few scrolls, a few potions; enough to get you and your rag-tag team through the next few days on the road.
You'd embarked into the town at sundown, with Astarion by your side, to pull a few old tricks. You're not a stranger to the silver-tongued methods of a thief. A few plucked lute strings, a few batted eyes. Usually, it's quick work. But, tonight you'd met a bit of resistance behind the town's tavern.
At the edge of camp, it's darker. The moon is hung half-full in the sky, and you gather your matches lighter to ignite your trusty lamp. However, the moment you move to flick the ignition, there's a hand on yours.
"Will you listen to me?"
"I told you," you huff haughtily, "I'm not in the mood, Astarionâ"
Suddenly, he slaps the pack of matches from your hands.
It hits the ground a few feet away.
You look up at him, brow wrinkled in shock and confusion.
"...Rude..."
His face is set in a firm frown. And then, suddenly, he's pulling you into an embrace that is as unpracticed as it is rough. Your arms are cramped to your sides as the vampire presses his face hard into the crook of your shoulder. You can feel him huff, and then soften slightly.
Your attitude melts away.
"Don't do that again," comes a quiet, desperate utterance. You swear it will cling to your throat forever more; the sound of his true intentions, "As much as I hate to admit it, you've grown on me."
Your eyes slip shut. "...I'm sorry."
He scoffs. His nose, cold and delicate, brushes the skin of your throat.
Astarion can feel the thrum of life beneath your skin there; a familiar feeling. His heart pangs in want. He knows your scent best â comforting. Home. Even if you aren't entirely aware of it.
...But, he'll keep that to himself for now.
And maybe forever.
â gale dekarios + tav!reader â CLING
It's a long trek back to camp â and by morning, you've never been happier to smell the last embers of a fire that's burnt noon and night.
Morning rays, fresh from the dawn, spill over the horizon as you meander into the camp. There's dew on your boots and blood in your hair. The gash along your side has long since coagulated into a sticky, cold mess; your leathers are drenched in all sorts of gore. Not all your own. Most belonging to the three Gnolls who had attempted to take you along with your hunted prey for the camp's dinner.
You lost the boar, your favorite bow, and a good amount of pride in the scuffle.
The moment you cross the threshold of camp, you can taste the tang of magic in the air.
You know, immediately, that it's Gale.
Perhaps it's your own awareness of the Weave, or a particular tenderness for the Wizard himself, but you feel him before you see him.
And then, it's a crushing embrace.
His toiling is long forgotten the moment he lays eyes on you, in all your brutality, and he can't help but surge forward with enough momentum to nearly knock you both breathless.
"Where the hell have you been? Avernus?" he mutters, one hand moving to gently cradle the back of your head. His palm is warm, radiating already with a healing magic that alights the air with the smell of lavender.
"Met a bit of trouble fetching us dinnerâ"
"Karlach will have your head," Gale says, leaning back to eye you up and down as a warm sweep of light graces your edges. You feel it, like a touch white-hot against bare skin. Intimate. Caring. Different entirely from Shadowheart's healing entirely, "She has been out all night searching for you â Astarion, too."
"I'm fine," you mutter â pointedly keeping the fact you had been chased up a tree by the aforementioned Gnolls to yourself â hands falling to his waist, "And I'm ruining your robes."
"Hush."
The magic pulses hotly, and you slip your eyes shut at the intrusion. His sternness comes robed in warmth. A safe sort of thing.
Gale pulls away only long enough to plant a kiss on your brow.
AS ALWAYS: prompts are here, the ask box is here.
2K notes
¡
View notes
IVE HAD AN EPIPHANY!!!!!!!!!!!
9 notes
¡
View notes
the day i write my pre-bg3 astarion fic is the day you all will regret.
picture it: you've died of an epidemic sweeping through the city only a month after marrying one of the city's most influential magistrates. you're heralded as being the beauty of baldur's gate, and your widower will do anything to bring you back â like bringing your exhumed casket to cazador's palace in the middle of a stormy, summer night.
cazador assures your grieving love, yes, yes he can bring you back, of course. but there are unspoken conditions.
when you awake, you're hungry and you're cold and all you can see is the thrumming, fulfilling heat of a feast before you. you dine, you breathe, you ignore the sticky tang of blood that runs down your chin and chest. it is warm, after all.
love is best served alive.
astarion and the others do well to hide their winces. to cazador, it's better than any comedy he's ever seen: he's just had the beauty of baldur's gate fall into his grasp. now, you've gone and drained the life from the one person you've ever truly loved. no easier pawn has been played.
the horror of realizing you've reveled in your love's blood is a sound astarion thinks about often. and so, you're new in the ranks. perhaps it's pity that has astarion burdened. perhaps it's the remembrance of kindness. you haven't had that snuffed out of you quite yet.
you grieve. it cracks him wide open in private. you swear you'll never love again. astarion honors the oath. friends are forged and a hundred years winds away. you've become his one reprieve. as close to sunshine on his skin as he'll ever get again.
[ENTER BRAIN WORMS]
174 notes
¡
View notes
Me @ all the people getting Astarionâs scars tattooed on their bodies
4 notes
¡
View notes
There is just something about â¨himâ¨
10 notes
¡
View notes
Oh hurray, porn bots are at it again
2 notes
¡
View notes
strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader
after - part twenty-nine
SERIES MASTERLISTÂ |Â MAIN MASTERLISTÂ |Â READ ON AO3
nothing goes according to plan.
a/n: Iâm 25 mins late but here it is! a big one, lots of ground to cover, getting closer to Wyoming and yâall donât even know whatâs coming yetâŚ.
word count: 7.2k
warnings: lots and lots of violence ahead, the moodboard should be a warning in itself, and if you watched the show, you know whatâs coming.
â¨@friskito-library for updates on new parts/worksâ¨
Ellie holds your hand as you make your way back down all thirty-five flights, back through the garage youâd entered through. Itâs a quiet trip, all five of your settling into tense silence as you get closer and closer to the ground.
Joel keeps pace with you, his hand brushing your back every so often. Keeping an eye. Your face pounds with every step, and youâd kill for some kind of painkiller, but everything you had left was in the truck. At least Ellie had bandaids.
You wait for the road to clear, Joel holding an arm out in front of both of you as one of those armoured trucks rumbles past. You pull your hand from Ellieâs long enough to take out your gun, loading the chamber as she glances between your face and the weapon.
âYour cheek looks better,â she says.
âThatâs good,â you murmur, taking her hand again and squeezing. âHurts like a bitch.â
As soon as the coast is clear, you all dart across the street, Henry and Sam in front, you and Ellie in the middle, Joel bringing up the rear. You hurry through the marble lobby, trying to duck around a corner, but the entire bottom level is walled with glass. Youâre sitting ducks the longer you stand here.
âWe need to get outta sight,â Joel says, his hand resting on your shoulder.
âHenry, which way do weââ you start, but the words are drowned out as a bullet shatters one of the glass doors behind you. You can just make out a figure across the street. Henry and Sam take off, and you push Ellie in their direction. âGo!â
Joel grabs your hand, trying to pull you along with him, but you plant your feet. âLiv.â
âGo,â you tell him, ignoring the way your throat is going thick. His eyes go wide for a second, jaw going taut. You can see this for what it is; whoeverâs shooting, theyâll call for backup, theyâll follow you, and youâll all die for it. Someone has to stay behind. He knows it too, you know he does. âGo,â you repeat, pulling your hand from his grip. âIâll find you.â
âLivââ
âYou promised, Joel. You promised me.â
Another bullet flies, shattering more glass, and Ellie squeaks.
He grabs you by the collar of your shirt, pulling you in for a kiss that steals the breath from your lungs. Your chest is tight with worry, and you let the kiss go on longer than it should, pushing him back so hard he nearly stumbles.Â
âIâll find you.â
Without another word, he turns on his heels and sprints after the kids. Ellie stares back at you as Joel rejoins them, your name falling from her lips, but you just shake your head, sliding your finger over the trigger of your gun as you position yourself out of the line of fire.
You watch until they disappear around the next corner, Joel half-dragging Ellie along, and she stares at you until youâre completely out of sight.
A bullet shatters the stone corner above your head, and you flinch, pressing against the marble wall.
âFuck.â
You wait until you hear the click of an empty barrel, the telltale shuffle of reloading weapons, and strike. Thank god you had the sense to grab ammo from the truck when you were attacked yesterday. You empty the clip, bullets pinging off the metal frame of the doors. There are two of them now, both shouting as you fire. You hit one of them in the leg and he drops, howling in pain, and the other, a woman, moves in front of him, a fierce look in her eye.
Then your blood goes cold.
Sheâs got your bat.
You shift your aim a bit higher. The last two bullets miss, zipping past both of them and hitting the cars on the street out front. You curse, ducking back behind the wall to reload as the woman lifts her gun, rapid fire hitting the corner, too close for comfort. You duck out of the way, curling into a ball, waiting for her clip to empty.
You hear the click again. âIt doesnât have to go this way!â you shout, your voice echoing off the marble walls.
âTell that to Bryan!â the woman sneers back, and your gut twists.
You do what you have to.
You round the corner as sheâs reloading, lift your gun, and fire. The first two bullets miss her, but the third finds her shoulder and her gun clatters to the floor. The man beside her is too busy clutching his leg. Thereâs a pool of blood on the floor around him already; you must have hit an artery.
The fourth shot makes a home between her brows. Her eyes roll back, and she topples backward. You cross the distance quickly, keeping your gun trained on the man. Thereâs a radio at his hip, and as you get closer, you cock the gun again.
âIs anyone else coming?â you bark, moving the gun up to his face. Your bat is beside the woman, and you keep the gun steady as you reach down to grab it. When he doesnât answer, you get closer. âWho did you call?â
âNo one, I swear!â he shouts, and then whimpers, still grabbing his leg. âPlease, we didnât call anybody!â
The radio crackles. âSimon, status report. Whatâs going on down there?â
Your eyes dart between the radio and his face. âSounds like you did.â
âNo!â
âDo you need backup? Simon, report.â
You crouch down, leaning forward to jam the gun under his chin. âTell them everything is fine.â
âPleaââ
You flip the bat in your hand, thicker end pointing down, and bring it down on his leg, right where the gunshot is. He howls.
âTell them everything is fine,â you grit. He tries to move away, but doesnât get very far, whimpering as more blood smears across the floor. âDo it. And make it believable, or this is only gonna get worse.â
He whimpers again as he reaches for the radio. Heâs not as young as Henry, not as old as Joel. Maybe your age.
At the last second, he reaches for a gun instead, but you fire before he can. His body slumps back, joins the womanâs, more blood pooling beneath them both.
âFuck.â
The radio crackles again, the same voice asking Simon to report again. You fall back on your ass, narrowly missing the blood on the ground.
Fuck.
You need to keep moving. The radio sounds again, and this time, you reach for it, yanking it off Simonâs belt and hitting the button on the side. âSimonâs dead.â
âCara?â the voice warbles back, and your eyes dart to the womanâs unmoving form. âWhat happened down there?â
You look around, watching the dust settle. You get up slow, gather their guns and ammo, take what you can from their belts and pockets, curl your fingers around the batâs grip. âInfected came out of nowhere,â you reply, wincing as you remember what Henry said. âMust have crawled out of the tunnels.â
âInfected?â the voice replies, clearly shocked. âStay where you are, Cara. Perry and his guys are close by. Iâll tell them to come get you.â
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
You run back in the direction Joel had disappeared. Thereâs a heavy metal door labelled EMPLOYEES ONLY. That has to be where they went. Your hand touches the handle as the loud rumble of a truck sounds, the screech of tires and the crunch of glass. Turning on your heel, you sprint in the opposite direction of the door, towards another labelled STAIRS. But they spot you as you run across the lobby, gruff hey!s shouted in your direction.
You slam the door shut behind you, cursing when you see thereâs no lock. Through the small window, you can see the men â Kathleenâs men, you assume â getting closer, guns raised. The glass of the window shatters and you drop, crawling toward the stairs leading down. Itâs dark, and your heart leaps into your throat. Maybe thereâs a basement or a garage, maybe it meets up with the tunnels.Â
Maybeâ
âHands up!â
Fuck.
âPut the bat down and hands in the air, or my next shot goes through your head!â
Thereâs cool metal pressed to the base of your skull, and you freeze. Someone grabs the end of the bat, wrenching it from your grip, and your choice is made for you. You lift your hands slowly. âPlease, Iâm just trying to get to Des Moines!â
The lie rolls off your tongue smoothly, and the barrel prods at your nape. âThen who killed our people in the lobby?â
âIt was Infected!â you shout, and your hands are shaking. It sells the lie a little harder, you hope. âI was just trying to get through! Please, I just need to get to Des Moines.â
âWhat about the others?â
âWhat others?â you ask, turning your head slightly. The gun stays where it is. âI didnât see anyone else, I swear!â
Youâre not sure if they believe you or not, but then someone grabs your shoulder, turning you roughly. The man keeps his gun pointed at you, and you have to tilt your head back slightly to see his face. Heâs older, dark salt-and-pepper hair pushed back over his head, a thick grey beard covering his face. Heâs wearing tactical gear, his face smeared with dirt, and his brow furrows as he stares at you.
âWhatâs your name?â
âCowan,â you say immediately, adding to the lie. Your voice cracks as you say it. âJessica Cowan.â
âWhere you from?â
âNew York, originally. I was travelling with people from Georgia but theyâŚweâŚâ You shake your head. âIâm the only one left.â
The man stares at you for a long moment, considering. âGive us your weapons,â he says, the words almost too slow, âand weâll take you somewhere safe, Jessica.â
You donât believe him for a second, but your options are even more limited now. You try and bolt, heâll shoot, and thatâll be it. Holding your breath, you hand him the bigger gun youâd taken from Cara.
âThatâs one of ours,â another man says, peering over.
âI took it from the bodies,â you say quickly, handing over the other gun youâd swiped. âThey were dead when I got here.â
âYou said it was Infected.â
âIt was,â you agree, nodding. âYour people were dead when I got to the building.â
Another man comes into view, rounding the corner of the lobby. Your heart rackets as he approaches, saying something to the man holding you at gunpoint, too hushed for you to hear.
Realization settles over the manâs face, and he lifts the gun slightly, training it on your forehead. âLast I checked, Infected donât know how to use guns.â
And you put multiple bullets in both the people in the lobby.
Fuck.
âYouâre a shit liar, Jessica,â he continues, âthough Iâd wager that ainât your real name.â
âPlease,â you say, pleading, lifting your hands in the air again. âIâm just trying to get to Des Moines.â
âCuff her,â he says, addressing one of the other men. âWeâll take her to Kathleen, see what she can get out of her.â
They take the rest of your weapons, your gun and Tessâs, the knife at your belt, and cuff your hands behind your back. You donât resist, letting them take you out of the stairwell, through the lobby, past the pools of blood where the bodies were and into one of their trucks.
Fuck.
+
Theyâve been waiting down here long enough.Â
Joel is antsy as hell. Heâs sat himself down in one of the chairs, leg bouncing beneath the table. He wants to keep moving, but he knows Henry is right. They need to wait for night, give themselves some extra cover.
He needs to get Ellie somewhere safe so he can turn right around and find you.
The conversation with Henry makes for a good distraction, and he learns a few unexpected things about the young man. But then he brings you up, and Joelâs mood sours.
âYâknow, your wife is a badass,â he says, admiration in his voice as he says it. âCanât believe she stayed behind like that.â
Joel averts his eyes, letting them land on where Ellie and Sam are playing with a soccer ball. âWe promised each other.â
âPromised what?â
âThat if anything happened to either of us, weâd get Ellie to safety first. We make it out of the city, find someplace safe, and then Iâm going back for her. Iâll find her again.â He inhales deeply, ignoring the pang in his chest. âI always do.â
He can feel Henry staring at him. âYou two have any kids of your own?â
Joel turns back to him. âNo. Liv and I knew each other before, but weâŚreconnected after the outbreak. I had aâŚâ He trails off, looking away again. Heâs not having this conversation, not now.
Henry nods, but thereâs a flicker in his eyes. âSo you get it, then. You might not be Ellieâs father, but you were someoneâs. I could tell.â
Joel reaches for his gun, getting to his feet. He canât sit anymore. âWeâve waited long enough.â
He walks over to where the kids are, tapping Ellie on the shoulder. She nods at Sam before turning to Joel, peering up at him. âWhat?â
âCheck your gun,â he tells her, sliding the cartridge out of his own. âHow many bullets you got left?â
She pulls the gun out of her coat pocket, copies his movements and counts out the bullets. âSeven. Why did you let her stay behind?â
The instant ferocity in the kidâs voice makes Joelâs brain stall. âSomeone had to.â
Her brows pull down. âBullshit.â
âNot bullshit. Someone had to,â he repeats, his face mirroring hers, âor else weâd all be dead, all right? I get you somewhere safe, and then Iâm going back for her.â
Ellieâs anger abates, but itâs replaced with fear. âWhat if those people get her?â she asks, concern plain in her voice. âWhat if sheââ
âNo,â Joel cuts her off, lifting his hand. âSheâs strong. Capable. Sheâll be fine. We just need to get the hell out of here, and then Iâll find her, okay? Promise.â
Sheâs clearly not convinced, but she stows her gun again and nods. âOkay.â
+
When they put you in the truck, they blindfold you. Not like it matters; you wouldnât know where you were even if you could see. The drive is chaotic, lots of sharp turns and the rumble of other vehicles on the road. One of the men keeps a gun trained on you, the barrel pressed to your rib cage.
Eventually, the truck rolls to a stop, and youâre pulled out of your seat, set on your feet. âCome on,â a man says, and you recognize the voice to be the grey-haired one that had first stopped you. âLetâs go.â
His hand curls around your arm, and you let him lead you. Youâre taken inside â you can tell by the slight change in temperature, the way the noise shifts â and up some stairs. Other people cross your path, and you learn the manâs name is Perry.
Up another set of stairs, turned down a few hallways, and then you come to a stop. Perry bangs on the door. âKathleen,â he calls. âGot something for you.â
You hear the sound of a door opening, and then a womanâs voice, higher pitched than youâre expecting. âWhat is this?â
âShe killed Cara and Simon,â Perry answers, and your heart hammers in your chest. âTried to say it was Infected, that sheâs just passing through.â
âNo one passes through Kansas City without us knowing about it,â Kathleen replies, and while Perry says nothing, you imagine he nods. âBring her in.â
He pushes you forward, through the doorway, and your boots nearly trip over it, but Perryâs grip on you is tight. You take a few steps into the room and then he pushes on your shoulder, forcing you to sit in a chair.
The blindfold is removed a second later and you blink hard, your eyes adjusting to the change in light. Your cuffed hands make your shoulders push back, and you grit your teeth, leaning back slightly in the chair. A woman steps into your sight line â Kathleen, you assume.
SheâsâŚpretty. Soft features, dark hair, dark eyes. She looks more like a Disney princess than a resistance leader. You lock eyes, and she tilts her head to the side slightly. âWho are you?â
Perry nudges your shoulder. âAnd no lies this time, Jessica.â
You sigh. âMy name is Olivia.â
Kathleenâs eyes flick to Perry over your shoulder. He says nothing. âWhat are you doing in my city, Olivia?â
âPassing through.â
âYou killed two of our people.â
Your eyes narrow slightly. âThey shot first. I was defending myself.â
Her eyes flick to Perry again. âWe pulled guns off her. Some of ours, some of hers.â
âSimon was one of our best marksmen,â she says, looking back to you.
âGot lucky, I guess.â
âHmm.â Kathleen paces slightly, her arms crossed over her chest. âWhere are you from, Olivia?â
âTexas,â you answer, watching her move, your eyes tracing her steps. She makes you nervous. âOriginally. Then Boston.â
Her brow twitches. âYou left the QZ?â
You just nod.
âI thought Boston was still FEDRA-controlled.â
âIt is.â
She makes a face. âYou just walked out?â
You shrug. âSomething like that.âÂ
âAnd then walked all the way here?â
Your jaw goes tight, and you know youâve given yourself away. May as well lean into it. âNot exactly.â
Her eyes widen just the slightest. âThe truck in the laundromat. That was you.â You drop your eyes. âYou killed Bryan.â
âNot exactly,â you repeat. Itâs not a lie. You didnât kill him. Joel did.
Your eyes are still downcast, but the click of a gun has your head snapping up. Sheâs got it pointed right between your eyes. âYouâve killed three of ours. I should kill you for it.â
You press your cuffed hands together behind your back. âYouâre not going to kill me. I know youâre not.â The gun pulls back an inch, the metal no longer pressed to your forehead. âIâm not afraid of people like you, Kathleen. Iâve dealt with far worse than you.â
She presses the gun forward again, and you school your face as stoic as possible. âHow do you know I wonât shoot you right now?â
âBecause I know where theyâre going,â you say, and she nearly drops the gun, taking a step back. âYou take me back to my people â alive â and Iâll give you Henry and Sam.â
+
âSo we cross the river,â Ellie says, âand then what?â
Itâs dark now. Joelâs not sure how long theyâve been walking, but every step he takes makes his gut twist a little harder. Everything in him screams to turn around, to go find you, to rescue you if he has to, to make sure youâre safe.
But he made you a promise.
âDunno yet,â Henry replies.
âWell, weâre goinâ to Wyoming,â Ellie tells him, and Joelâs head snaps back to her, trying to give her a look through the darkness. âWhat? Itâs a huge state, it can fit two more people.â
He says nothing, and turns back, shaking his head as he keeps walking.
They keep talking, Ellie mocking him, her voice going deep, but he ignores them. What if youâre dead? What if that woman, Kathleen, what if she got her hands on you? What if they killed you because he killed Bryan? What ifâ
Gunshots cut his train of thought short. Ellie yells and he grabs the back of her backpack, pushing her behind a car. âMove, move! Go!â
More shots ping off the cars littering the street, one hitting the pavement and sending up a little spray of asphalt.
âThe fuck is that coming from?â Henry asks, and Joel bites at him to shut up.
Slowly, he lifts his head over the hood of the car, following the direction the bullets flew from. He can see a house, towards the end of the road, and his eyes just catch movement in the window on the top floor. Another shot whizzes past and he ducks, turning back to the kids. Ellie stares at him, her eyes wide with panic. The next shot hits wide, and Henry grabs Sam. âFuck it, letâs move. Letâs go!â
He pulls the younger kid away from the truck theyâre crouched behind. âWhat are you doinâ?â Joel shouts.
âGetting the fuck outta here!â Henry shouts back, but then they stagger back when the next bullet hits the car right in front of them. âOh shit, oh shit!â They run back, returning to their spots, and Henry looks at Joel. âWhat do we do?â
Joel glances at the house again. Not a lot of options. Sighing heavily, he tucks his gun into its holster. âAll right, stay here,â he tells Ellie, and her panicked expression doubles.
âWhat?â
He grabs her hand. âIf you donât move, heâs not gonna hit you. Iâm gonna go around, try to get in the house through the back, then Iâll take him out.â
âBut if you go out there,â she protests, âheâs gonna kill you.â
âItâs dark, and he has shit aim,â Joel shoots back, shaking his head. âNo oneâs gonna kill me.â
âThen heâs gonna kill us.â
Joel sighs again, squeezes the kidâs hand. âDo you trust me?â
She contemplates it for a second. He can see it on her face. And he doesnât blame her; he knows sheâs mad that he let you stay behind. He could feel it in every step through the tunnels, every time he looked at her. His own guilt is enough, but sheâŚ
She nods.
+
As it turns out, you donât have to tell Kathleen where they are. They find out before you can offer the shoddy information you have. Itâs their mistake, truly, when they blindfolded you after grabbing you. Your sense of direction is next to abysmal to begin with, but now you truly have no idea which direction to point them in.Â
Shortly after your stand-off, Kathleenâs called away to deal with something, and both she and Perry disappear, leaving you alone in the room, sat in the chair, your hands still cuffed together.
Please let them get away, you think to yourself, tilting your head towards the ceiling. Youâve never been a religious person, and after the damn outbreak you found it very hard to believe that this was all part of some grand plan, but as you sit there and wait, you find yourself praying. Please let them be all right.
Youâre not totally sure how much time passes. It wasnât early by the time you left the office building with Joel and the kids, and your eyes are glued to the window as the sun dips in the sky. Enough time has passed, you think, for them to have gotten out. Unless they ran into any Infected in those tunnels, but even thenâ
âTime to go.â Perryâs voice cuts through your inner monologue, and your head whips around as he steps back into the room. Your brow furrows as he unlocks the cuffs, but spins you, grabbing both wrists in one hand and zip-tying them together. He takes your arm roughly, dragging you from the room, down the hallways over and over until you reach the lower levels. Itâs not the same path he brought you up through, and this one ends in a large garage, Kathleen standing proudly in front of a monstrosity of a truck. The front of it looks more like a snow plow, and you idly wonder if theyâd hijacked one of FEDRAâs car-clearing tanks to get all that metal welded to the truckâs front bumper.
âYour usefulness has expired,â she says as you approach, Perry still with a tight grip on your arm. He pushes you forward as she unholsters her gun, pointing it at you almost lazily. âI know exactly where they are, and youâre coming with us.â
Your heartbeat is in your ears. Did she send people ahead already? Is this tank of a truck all they have? What if youâre too late? Please let them be safe, let them be alive, let them be okay.
âWhy not just kill me now?â you ask, your stomach roiling with defeat. âJust get it over with.â
She gets in your face, more than she had before, and it makes you flinch as she presses the barrel of her gun to the underside of your jaw. âBecause you killed two of our own. Because that man with Henry and Sam, your husband, your boyfriend, I donât fucking care, I know he killed Bryan. And because Henry Burrell is the reason my brother is dead, and I wonât forgive. I wonât forget. Iâll kill every last one of you because this is how the world is now, Olivia.â
You try to keep your face neutral, stoic, but a tear seeps out of the corner of your eye, betraying you. âJust kill me now.â
âNo,â she says, nearly laughing, mocking you. âI canât do that. Not yet. I need a bargaining chip, donât I, to get them close enough. It wonât work if youâre dead.â
+
Joelâs just far enough that he canât hear every word that bitch is saying. Damn his hearing.
He assumes her to be Kathleen, with the way all the soldiers behind her hang off her words, their guns raised for her protection. Joel can just make out the kids ducked behind a truck, and he sees Henry turn to Ellie, say something that has her shaking her head.
ââŚchange your mind,â he picks out the end of her next sentence. Her voice is high, and even at a distance, sheâs not the ruthless rebellion leader heâd imagined.Â
But then he sees her retreat to the truck sheâd gotten out of, opening the rear passenger door.
And pulls you out.
Joelâs blood runs cold.
Your hands are bound in front of you, your bruise like a shadow across your face. You donât look any worse than when heâd left you, but then Kathleen jams her gun under your chin, fisting your hair and wrenching your head back, and he swings up the rifle, peering through the scope.
There are tears on your face.
âCome on out,â she calls, her voice louder now, loud enough for him to hear her clearly. âAnd maybe we can make a deal. Henry comes with me, but the three of you, you canââ
âLiar!â you scream, struggling against Kathleenâs grip on you. He has the lines of the scope trained on Kathleenâs forehead; his finger twitches on the trigger. It would be so easy, but her finger is also on her own trigger. You wince and he sees her cock the gun, pressing it harder into your jaw. If he missed, youâd be gone.
But then, just past her, the large truck that had collided with the house and exploded tips forward, disappearing into the earth, engine-first. Scraping metal echoes through the night, but thenâŚ
Snarling. Screeching. Shrieking.
Kathleenâs soldiers spread out, guns raised from all sides, and Joelâs finger twitches on the trigger. His eyes dart to Ellie and Sam, crouched behind the car still, and Henry a few steps from them, near-standing, like he was about to give himself over.
Suddenly, theyâre everywhere. Scrambling out of the hole, climbing over each other with animal-like movement, snarling and screeching the whole way. The scene before him descends into madness in an instant and the gunfire starts half a second later, the sound of bullets echoing through the night.
Joel sees Henry move back to Ellie and Sam, and his eyes try to find you next, but then his attention is grabbed by an Infected getting too close to the car the kids are crouched behind.
He aims, pulls the trigger, and the thing falls. He sees Ellieâs face turn in his direction, her face full of fear. The kids start running, another getting too close to Ellie, and Joel shoots again. The Infected falls, but so does Ellie, and Joel keeps shooting as he follows her path, heading directly for another car across the road. He takes down another as she clambers through the window, spattering blood on the window, but thenâ
+
Youâve never seen one that big.
The high-pitched screams, youâre mostly used to them by now. But thisâŚthe deep, booming growls, the snarls, the way it thunders towards the group of soldiers.
As soon as the shooting started, you were no longer of interest to Kathleen. Sheâd released you, but your hands were still bound, and you knew if you didnât fix that soon, youâd be dead. You had no weapons, no ammunition, nothing.
As the gigantic Infected runs for the soldiers, you hear Perryâs voice, telling Kathleen to run, but theyâre out of your eye line. You donât know if she stays or goes, by the giant Infected screams a moment later, the sound of tearing flesh echoing, and you canât say for sure which one of them it got its hands on.
Your instincts are kicked into high gear. Find something sharp, free yourself, find Joel. You know heâs up in that house, that he most likely took down the sniper that had given their location to Kathleen. You dart through the mess as quickly as you can, dodging hands that try and grab you. A bullet skims your thigh, ripping through your jeans, and you wince as the blood starts to flow, soaking your pant leg, but you refuse to let it slow you down.
Then you spot it. Her.
Thereâs a minivan parked on the far side of the street. In the front passengerâs seat, you can just make out a figure, a ponytail, familiar.
Ellie.
And an Infected child, crawling through the open back window.
You sprint, as fast as you can go without losing your balance, ignoring the pain in your leg, trying not to fall. It all happens so fast, and Ellie is scrambling out the door as you slide into her, using your momentum to slam the door shut. The Infected kid inside screams, scratching at the glass, and you lean against the van.
âShit.â
âLiv!â Ellie nearly yells, and goes to hug you, but then sees your bound hands. âShit. Here.â
She pulls her knife from her pocket and makes quick work of the zip tie. You reach for each other, getting to your feet as Ellie pushes her gun into your hands. You turn, looking up to the house, and see Joel aiming a rifle down into the chaos.
Ellie calls your name again, tugging at your jacket, and you follow her eyes, seeing what looks like Sam and Henry stuck beneath a parked pick-up, two Infected trying to grab them. You can hear their cries from where youâre standing, and Ellie tugs at you again.
You look back up at Joel, and even from a distance, you see him nod. A shot rings out, whizzing past both your heads and taking down an Infected that had been creeping up on you. âGo,â you urge Ellie, and push her ahead, following behind as your eyes dart left and right, making sure no one lunges at her from the side. The gun in your hand is a welcome weight. Joel fires three more times as you run, taking down three Infected that get too close. He doesnât miss a single time.
As soon as you reach the truck, you split up, Ellie grabbing the Infected trying to get Sam, you for the one near Henry. You drag the Infected away from the truck, angling it away from the kids before planting the barrel of the gun in the back of its head and pulling the trigger. Thereâs a screech as Ellie buries her knife in the thingâs neck, and the body thumps to the ground a moment later.
âCome on!â you shout, reaching a hand toward Henry as Ellie pulls Sam to his feet. âToward the house!â
They take off in that direction, you bringing up the rear, gun still in hand, leg screaming in pain with every step you take. You can only hope that Joel is still watching.
You get right to the edge of the fray when a voice, familiar to you, rings out. âStop!â
Kathleen stands between you and the chaos, her gun raised, pointing it between the four of you, waving it back and forth almost manically. Like sheâs trying to decide where to shoot first.
You make her decision for her, spotting the Infected kid that had tried to get Ellie in the minivan creeping closer to her. Your bullet finds her leg and she drops with a howl as the Infected kid lunges forward, instantly tearing into her throat and face.
âGo!â you command the kids, trying to push them deeper into the trees. Ellie is frozen in place, watching the kid destroy Kathleen. âEllie.â
âThat could have beenââ she starts just as Joel breaks through the trees, rifle still in hand.
Thereâs a half second, a moment where he grabs the back of your jacket, twists the material between his fingers. The kids are still stuck in place, and Ellie is still watching. Finally, Kathleen goes still. âRight now!â he bellows, pushing at Ellieâs shoulder with you. âMove!â
As you push through the trees, you can still hear the shrieking and shouting.
+
Henry leads you all through the darkness, his footing sure as the trees give way to the bridge heâd promised, and then over it, another road, this one much less dense than the suburb youâd left behind, even less so than Kansas City.
Itâs a good bit of walking, and it doesnât take Joel long to notice that youâre injured. Youâre favouring one leg, and when he finally has the chance to get close to you, he can smell blood, fresh blood, beneath the gunpowder and that distinct smell of you.
âItâs not deep,â you tell him when he fits himself against your side, tugging one of your arms around his neck to help support your weight. âJust skimmed me.â
âShe had you,â he grunts, turning his face against your temple and brushing a kiss across your skin. âI thought she was gonna shoot you.â
You shake your head, tilting your head slightly so it rests against his. âItâs gonna a lot more than a crazy bitch like that to take me down.â
Despite it all, the corner of Joelâs mouth lifts. âAinât that the truth.â
You stumble slightly and wince and Joel tightens his grip around your waist. âHenry,â he calls, and Henry turns to look at him, his hand tightly wrapped in Samâs. âHow much longer?â
âAbout a mile or so,â he answers and Joel nods.
âThink you can make it?â he asks you. He knows youâll play it off, but between the blood on your leg and the bruise on your face, the no-doubt lingering concussion from the hit youâd taken in the laundromat, heâs more than worried. âWe can stop if you need to, weâre far enough away by now.â
You shake your head, and your eyes flick to Ellie, whoâs walking beside you, her gaze far away, head tilted toward the ground. âNo, we keep going. We need to get somewhere thatâs actually safe.â
As promised, a mile or so later, an abandoned motel comes into view. Some of the windows are shattered, but itâs quiet, and Henry leads you to a room on the main level. Itâs mostly cleared inside, the windows intact, the door actually locks. As soon as youâre inside and heâs cleared all the rooms, Joel grabs what little first aid you have left in Ellieâs bag. Thereâs not much, but Henry offers the dregs of a bottle of water and a strip of bandage. Itâs not ideal, but itâll have to do.
Ellie seems to snap partially out of whatever reverie she was in as soon as youâre settled. Joel cleans your leg, the bullet having left a decent hole in your jeans, and wraps the bandage around your thigh. The bleeding has slowed now that youâre off your feet, but he knows you need rest, at least a bit of time to recover. Ellie and Sam claim the bedroom for themselves, and you and Joel and Henry let them.
Henry takes a seat on a stool propped against the wall, picks at the food youâd given them back in the high-rise. Joel settles against the long-cold heater and guides you down beside him, helping you keep your leg straight as you lower yourself to the floor. He puts his arm around your shoulders, tucks you against his chest.
Youâre all shaken, thereâs no getting around that. He can see in Henryâs face, the shake of his hands. He can feel it in you, the way you burrow closer to him, squeeze your hands around one of his. From the bedroom, you can all hear Sam and Ellie carrying on, Ellie reading out one of the comic books from her bag.
âYou think theyâll be okay?â Henry asks, and when Joel looks at him, he can see his eyes are on the kids.
He feels you nod slightly, but Joelâs the one that speaks. âYeah, I think,â he pauses, reaches his hand up and brushes his fingers through your hair. âItâs easier when youâre a kid, anyway.â Ellie continues reading, and Henryâs eyes slide back to Joel. He continues. âYou donât have anybody else relying on you. Thatâs the hard part.â
Your hands tighten around his and he turns his head, kisses your forehead.
âWell, I guess weâre doing a good job then,â Henry replies.
You perk up slightly. âWeâre doing all we can, protecting them.â
Joel nods, juts his chin toward the bedroom. âWhatâs that comic book say? Endure and survive?â
âEndure and survive,â Henry repeats with another nod, but Joel can hear the fear in his voice, sees it on his face when he turns back to him. His eyes are shiny. âThat shitâs redundant.â
Joel grins. âYeah, itâs not great.â
Henry laughs. âNo.â
You squeeze Joelâs hand again, and the words seem to just flow from his mouth. âLook, I donât know exactly how weâre gettinâ to Wyoming. Weâre probably walking, and itâs gonna be slow goinâ. But, you know, if you want toââ
âCome with us, is what heâs trying to say,â you finish, perking up again. You lift your head from Joelâs shoulder, turning to look at Henry. âIâm sure thereâs more than enough space, and we need all the help we can get out here.â
âYeah,â Henry nods, looking between you two. âYeah, um, yeah, I think itâd be nice for Sam to have a friend. Iâll tell him in the morning. New day, new start.â
You nod. âNew day, new start.â
You let the kids read for another hour or so, and Joel makes sure you stay in place while he finds the means for a makeshift bed. Henry goes into the bedroom to tell them lights out as Joel moves you onto the pile of blankets and foam heâs managed to find. He waits until Henryâs closed the door, settled onto his own makeshift bed, and the room is dark.Â
âI would have come back,â he murmurs softly, the two of you face-to-face, his arm around your waist, your hands tucked against his chest. âIf they hadnât, I would haveââ
You stop him with a finger to his lips. âBut they did. And Iâm here. Iâm fine, and you donât need to worry about it, okay?â
âYouâre not fine,â he grits. âWe donât have the truck anymore, Liv. From here to Wyoming, I donât know how weâre gonnaââ
You cut him off with your lips this time, a hard kiss pressed to his mouth as you take his face in your hands. âWeâll figure it out, Joel,â you say after a moment, pulling away. He can just make out your face in the dark. âWe always do. Iâll be fine, and youâre fine, and the kids are fine. Weâll be okay.â
âWe go slow,â he insists, snaking his hand up the back of your shirt, flattening his palm against your spine. âSlow as you need.â
You nod, kissing him again. âOkay, old man. We go slow.â
Joel ignores the quip, pulling your torso tighter against his, wrapping both arms around you.
Youâre fine.
+
You all wake to the screaming.
The bedroom door bursts open and Ellie falls to the floor, Sam snarling and wailing at her. When you realize whatâs happening, you go to jump to your feet, but your leg sings in pain and you stagger against the wall. Joel left his gun on the ground beside you, and he lunges for it, but Henry gets there first.
âNope, nope, nope,â he chants as Joel gets to his feet, instantly positioning himself in front of you as Ellie screams both your names. Everything in you wants to dart forward, but Joel holds his arm out in front of you.
Joel goes to step forward and Henry shoots at his feet. Ellie is struggling against Sam, sobbing as she does it. Tears flood your own face and you scream at Henry. âStop!â
Joel growls at Henry as he points the gun at him, lifting both his hands in the air. âLiv!â Ellie screams, and you try to inch around Joel, but then Henry points the gun at you.
âNo!â
âEllie!â you scream, and Henry swings the gun away from you and Joel.
The bullet echoes and Sam falls to the floor. Thereâs a spray of blood on the wall behind him.
For a moment, everything is deathly silent, except for the sound of Ellie breathing. Theyâre panicked breaths, and as soon as Joel lowers his arms, you hear him call her name, but you lunge forward, damn your leg, and reach for her. She lets you pull her away from Samâs body and you slide back across the floor, your arms as tight around her shoulders as hers are around your middle.
She continues to breathe heavily against your collar, and you can feel her tears soaking your shirt. âYouâre okay,â you murmur to her, putting one hand against her hair, rocking her softly. Youâre running on adrenaline and instinct, and she clings to you.
âEllie,â Joel says again, âare you okay?â
He takes a step forward, and Henry points the gun at him again.
âEasy, easy, easy,â Joel chants, putting his hands in the air.
âNo, Henry, please,â you start, tightening your grip on Ellie. âPlease, justââ
âHenry, give me the gun,â Joel says, his voice nearly shaking.
âGive him the gun,â you echo and Ellie muffles a sob against your chest.
âWhat did I do?â Henry says, staring between you all. Then his eyes land on his brotherâs unmoving form. âWhat did I do? Sam?â
âHenry, give me the gun,â Joel repeats. âGimme the gun.â
âHenry, please,â you say, âgiveââ
The shot rings out just as Joel screams, âHenry, no!â
Ellie whimpers as his body hits the floor.
PREV | NEXT
78 notes
¡
View notes
Iâm going to DEVOUR this
Tale As Old As Time | A Joel Miller Fantasy AU (Masterlist)
Summary | A Prince, cursed to be unloved, hardened by years of staring at his scars and sitting in his loneliness. A girl, headstrong and wanting of adventure, to escape the life curated for her, a breath of fresh air against the dark of his heart and his home. Can she really learn to love the beast he has become? Truly, a tale as old as time.
Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader (A Beauty And The Beast AU)
Fic Warnings | 18+ Minors DNI, Dark themes, Explicit Smut, no fur involved, kidnapping, violence, explicit descriptions of scars/violent injuries, consumption of alcohol and food, a period drama piece, no use of Y/N, descriptions of magic (this is a fantasy AU), talk of arranged marriages/betrothal.
Fic Notes | Honestly, just a huge thank you to my girl @cavillscurls for not only trusting me with this exciting new project, but for creating the most gorgeous moodboard. This one is for you. My first foray into AU so please be kind.
Chapters
Chapter One - Coming Soon
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
555 notes
¡
View notes
âYouâre very brave Ken.â âThank you Barbie.â
24 notes
¡
View notes
Clive Rosfield exists:
Me:
16 notes
¡
View notes
strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader
after - part twenty-seven
series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3
you reach Kansas City, things donât go exactly as planned.
a/n: remember when I said this was gonna be up what a week ago? MY BAD. love you allđ¤
word count: 8.6k
warnings: if youâve been reading this far, you know the drill. a good chunk of violence in this one.
â¨@friskito-library for updates on new parts/worksâ¨
Ellie wakes to a strange rattling noise. It sounds almost liquidy, but metallic at the same time, but definitely fucking annoying.
With a quiet groan, she pokes her head out of the sleeping bag, finding the source of the noise. Thereâs some kind of container on the camping stove, like a taller version of the pot sheâd watched you warm the ravioli up in last night, but more narrow, the handle attached at two ends instead of one.
The sunâs up, the ground beneath her isnât as hard as she anticipated, and slowly, she rolls onto her knees, still encased in the sleeping bag as she shuffles forward to inspect the thing on the stove. The lid looks like plastic, and she can see the liquid inside, dark brown and sputtering as she flips the lid.
The smell hits her like a damn truck, and she groans loudly. âUgh! What the fuck is that?â
She hears your instant laughter, turning to see both you and Joel standing at the back of the truck, packing things back up. You have the rifle slung across your back, and Joel lifts his brows at Ellie. âYou donât like coffee?â
She makes a face in response, rolling back over and flopping onto her back, and you appear a moment later, backlit by the cloudy sun, hands on your hips. âUp and at âem, kid. We need to get a move on.â
Once all the packing is done, you and Joel start to bicker about whoâs driving first. Joel keeps insisting that he take the first shift, and you keep reminding him that you took the first watch, so you drive first. Ellie doesnât miss the way his jaw goes tight when your voice drops and you say something he canât make out, but then he shoves the thermos of coffee at you, stalking towards the trucks and climbing into the backseat. Your eyes follow him, but then shoot back to Ellie, who nearly flinches, reaching for her bag. âLetâs go.â
It takes Joel all of five minutes to pass out in the backseat, and you shake your head, glancing at him over your shoulder as you pull back onto the highway, the truck wobbling slightly as it goes from grass to asphalt.
âStubborn as fuck, I tell you.â
Ellie settles deeper into her seat. You leave the radio off to let Joel sleep, and when you reach for the thermos, Ellie keeps her voice low. âIs that seriously what those Starbucks in the QZ used to sell?â
âHah, they had better stuff than this. Bill had a stockpile, but none of it was as fresh as theirs.â
She wrinkles her nose. âIt smells like burnt shit.â
You huff a little laugh. âUsed to be able to get it with all kinds of stuff, caramel, cinnamon, hazelnut. Smelled like a damn dream.â You jut your chin towards the little door in front of Ellieâs legs. âOpen that, yeah? Get the map out. I think I know where Iâm going, but the last thing we need is to get lost.â
âWouldnât want that,â Ellie agrees, and reaches for the handle. The door drops open when she pulls on it, and fishes the maps out, unfolding it in her lap. âHave you ever been to Wyoming before?â
âNever,â you reply, sipping the coffee again. She watches as you close the cap one-handed, your other braced on top of the steering wheel. âWe moved around a bit when I was a kid, but I guess itâs not far from where my sister was born, now that I think about it.â
âYou have a sister?â Ellie asks instantly, her curiosity piqued. Sheâs still not quite sure what it is about you that has her so curious, her questions coming one after another. And sheâs no fool, she knows Joel has about had it with the questions, but you indulge her, and itâsâŚitâs nice.
âHad,â you say quickly, and Ellie bites her tongue, instantly regretting it, wondering if youâre about to make another rule for her, like you had back in Lincoln. âShe was in Austin, with our parents, but then Joel found her in Cincinnati. She, uh, she died. She got bit and FEDRA dragged her off.â
âShit, Iâm sorry.â
You lift a shoulder, moving both hands to the steering wheel. Your eyes are glued to the windshield in front of you.
But Ellie canât help herself. She wants to know; she has to know. âWhat about your parents?â
âRemember how I told you they bombed Boston?â you say, and Ellie nods, remembering the story, the craters in the streets, how it looks like a fucked-up moon. âAustin was overrun, and FEDRA levelled the city. My parents were in a shelter when they dropped the bombs, and no one survived.â
The map flutters in Ellieâs grip as her finger curl, the paper crinkling. âIâŚâ
âYou donât have to say youâre sorry, kid,â you say, but she can see the strange expression on your face, something she doesnât have a name for. âIt happened a long time ago.â
You both go quiet for a while, and the only sound is the rumble of the truck, Joelâs quiet breathing in the backseat, and the rustle of the map as Ellie tries to figure out where you are, where youâre going. You offer help where you can, splitting your focus between the road and the map. âRight about there,â you point, âthatâs where we camped.â
âOkay, so itâs 76 West, and then 70 West for, like, ever.â
âThen Wyoming?â
Ellie nods in agreement. âAnd then Wyoming. Do we know where in Wyoming, exactly?â
You shake your head. âJoel knows. Thereâs a radio tower that we used to send messages through it; I canât remember the city. Last we heard from Tommy, thatâs where it came from.â
âTommy is Joelâs brother?â
âHe is,â Joel answers, startling you both. He leans forward from the backseat, reaching for the thermos of coffee. âThe tower is in Cody.â
Ellie turns back to the map, ignoring the loud slurp as Joel drinks from the thermos. âCodyâŚCody.â She spots it, along the fold in the map. âAh, man, that is deep up in there.â
âGreat,â you mumble, reaching for the thermos as Joel hands it to you.
âYeah,â Joel grumbles in response, and Ellie sees the way his hand lingers on your shoulder, squeezing lightly.
âAnd if heâs not there?â she asks.
âThen odds are, heâll be near a settlement,â Joel replies, âprobably close to another city. Ainât too many of âem in Wyoming, thankfully.â
Ellieâs eyes find another city name on the map. âChee-Yen.â
âCheyenne,â you correct, and she looks at you.
âCheâreally?â
The corner of your mouth quirks and you nod. âReally.â
âCheyenne,â Ellie repeats, searching for more cities. âLaramie. Casper?â Another question piques, and she turns to Joel. âIs Tommy older than you or younger than you?â
His brow furrows in that way of his and he reaches for the thermos again. âYounger.â
âWhy isnât he with you?â
âLong story.â
âYou people and your long stories,â Ellie groans, tipping her head back. âIs it longer than twenty-five hours? Cuz I think thatâs what we got.â
Joel sighs, and she sees his eyes flick up, no doubt meeting yours in the mirror. Your grin is gone, your lips now pressed into a tight line.
Another sigh, and then the man speaks. âTommyâs what we used to call a âjoiner,ââ he starts, fiddling with the cap on the thermos. âDreams of becominâ a hero. So, he enlisted in the army right outta high school. Few months later, they ship him off to Desert Storm. Itâs what they called that war, it doesnât matter. Point is, beinâ in the army didnât make him feel much like a hero. Cut to twelve years later, outbreak happens, and he convinces me to join a group makinâ their way out to Baltimore, which I did, mostly to keep an eye on him, keep him alive. Thatâs where we met Tess, and her husband. That whole crew. We, uhâŚâ
He trails off, and Ellie sees his eyes flick up again. You adjust your hands on the steering wheel.
âWell,â he continues after a beat, staring down into the thermos, âfor what it was, it worked. Until it didnât. We got kicked outta Baltimore, Tommy convinces us to try Boston, andâŚâ
Ellie looks at you. âAnd then you found each other again.â
You nod slowly, your lips still pressed together.
âWe did,â Joel agrees. âAnd it worked, again, being in the QZ, keepinâ ourselves busy, keepinâ the smuggling under the radar. Then Tommy meets Marlene, and she talks him into joininâ the Fireflies. Same mistake he made when he was eighteen.â He shakes his head. âWants to save the world. Pipe dream. Him, Fireflies, all of âem, delusional.â
You inhale sharply.
ââCourse, last I heard,â Joel says, âhe quit the Fireflies, too. So now heâs on his own out there, andâŚwe gotta go get him.â
It goes silent in the truck again, save for your quiet swallow as Joel gives you the thermos again. But itâs only a moment before Ellie breaks it. âIf you donât think thereâs hope for the world, why bother going on? I mean, you gotta try, right?â
Joelâs brow pinches again. âYou havenât seen the world, so you donât know.â His eyes flick up again, but yours stay glued to the road ahead. âYou keep goinâ for family. Thatâs about it.â
âIâm not family,â Ellie says, and ignores the way the words make her chest hurt.
âNo,â Joel says instantly. âYouâre cargo. We made a promise to Tess, and she was like family.â
She turns her head away from him, staring at the world rolling by outside. âWhat if you donât find him?â
âWe will,â you answer, a strange waver in your voice. âWeâre persistent people, Ellie. Capable people. Weâll find Tommy, and weâll get you to the Fireflies.â
Sheâs too distracted by the weird tone in your voice to notice the truck rolling to a stop. You push the stick on the middle console forward, and your eyes flick up to Joelâs.
âOutside. Now.â Before Ellie can say a word, youâre getting out of the truck, your eyes flashing to her before you shut the door. âStay here. I just need a minute.â
Ellie just watches, the truck wobbling slightly as Joel shuffles out after you, slamming his door shut. You walk around to the front of the truck, your hands clenched into fists at your sides, and Joel follows.
+
âCargo?â you shout, whirling on him when Joel reaches for your arm, your name halfway out of his mouth. âAre you fucking kidding me, Joel?â
âWhat are youââ
âSheâs a person,â you nearly cry, grabbing the front of his jacket with both hands. âSheâs just a kid, Joel. You canât fuckingâŚCargo?â
âIâm sorry,â Joel grunts, wrapping a hand around your wrist. âIt just came out, all right? I didnât mean toââ
âIâm gonna say it once,â you say, smacking his hand away, pointing a finger in his chest. âDonât ever call her that again. You hear me? Sheâs not fucking cargo.â
He just stares at you for a moment, lifting his hand again. When you donât immediately smack it away again, he curls his fingers around your wrist, tugging on your hand. âLiv, Iâm sorry.â
âIâm not the one you need to apologize to.â
He lifts a brow. âI donât know the last time you snapped on me like this, so maybe you are.â He presses his fingers against your pulse. âTalk to me. Tell me whatâs going on in your head.â
You try to turn away from him, but he sees your bottom lip wobble, and pulls you back. âLast night, I justâŚI let my mind wander.â
âAnd?â
âAnd this feels like some kind of karmic joke,â you say, shrugging your shoulder, your eyes going shiny. âWeâve been hiding what I am for what, almost fifteen years? We could have stopped this a long time ago, and yet somehow, here we are, doing favours for Marlene of all people, putting our asses on the line, taking this kid across the country on a wing and prayer, and for what? To make up for all the terrible shit we did? She could save the damn world, and Iâd still feel guilty.â
âLiv, you donât have toââ
âI know,â you say, cutting him off, lifting a hand in the air. âI know why we made the choices we did, Joel. And I donât regret them â I donât regret choosing you over everything else. I never will. Ever. But this kid? Sheâs not just cargo, okay? Itâs more than that. And donât try to tell me that itâs not.â
Joel swallows hard, the guilt gnawing at his gut, and he pulls you against his chest, his words muffled by your hair. âI made you a promise,â he says, your words from the forest echoing through his head. âNo questions asked. AndâŚit is more than that. I know that. I justâŚâ
He pulls back, holding you at armâs length, and his eyes catch on his watch, just visible past the cuff of his jacket. Your eyes follow his, and you cover it with your hand, brushing your fingers against the band. âJoel.â
âWe need to keep goinâ,â he says, effectively ending the conversation. He turns on his heel, swallowing down the barrage of emotion thatâs crept up his throat. You donât fight him as you follow, slipping your hand into his as you walk back to the truck. From the corner of his eye, he sees you wipe your cheeks, and you donât say a word as he gets into the driverâs seat, you taking his place in the back.
Ellie glances between the two of you as he shifts the truck back into drive, the tires starting to roll as his foot comes off the break. âYa got up pretty early,â he says to the kid. âIf you wanna grab some more sleep.â
He can see the flash of protest in her face, but then she nods. In the backseat, you pull your jacket over you like a blanket, curling up on the seat. Joel pushes the gas pedal, the engine revving as he finds a comfortable speed. He puts the Linda Ronstadt cassette back in, keeps the volume low enough, and itâs not long before youâre both asleep. He finishes off the coffee, gripping the steering wheel one-handed as the grey sky starts to darken, but not into night.Â
He can almost smell it, the shift in the air, the feeling of rain before it comes. His joints ache, and he can hear your voice in his head: old man. He keeps his eyes on the road, humming along with the cassette, and when she croons out Bill and Frankâs song again, his eyes dart to your sleeping form in the backseat.
His eyes slide to Ellie next, passed out in the passengerâs seat, her head tipped back, mouth wide open. That thing crawls up his throat again, but he swallows it back, shakes his head, clears his throat.
Not now.
The thunder starts first, loud rumbles that echo inside the truck cab. You both sleep through the first few, but as the rain starts to fall, he hears you stirring, one hand reaching for his arm, calling his name softly.
âWe might have to stop for a bit,â he tells you, covering your hand with his free one. âDunno how bad itâs gonna get.â
Not thirty minutes later, and heâs pulling the truck to the side of the road, trying to tuck it amongst other abandoned vehicles. Ellie wakes a little later, clearly confused, and you put a hand on her shoulder as you explain why youâve stopped. Joel does his best to ignore the twist that forms in his gut, seeing you be gentle with her.
Not here.
Thankfully all the food is in the cab of the truck, so you fish out some dry stuff, trail mix and some semi-stale crackers, a sports drink passed between the three of you. Ellie makes a face at the yellow colour, and Joel shakes his head. âThey all taste the same.â
âThey do not,â you laugh, taking the bottle from Ellie. âIs it weird to say the yellow ones were my favourite?â
âYes,â Ellie says instantly, making a face as you take a big sip. âIt literally looks like pee!â
âLemon-flavoured,â you shoot back, waggling your eyebrows. The kid barks a laugh, and Joel chews the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling.
A few more puns are told, Joel shaking his head at you both, and you field a few more of Ellieâs questions. Only one of them has you glancing in his direction, unable to give her an answer. Are all the QZs like Boston?
âNo,â he says bluntly, staring out the truck windshield, at the watery world beyond, smudged through the soaked glass, âno, they arenât.â
Itâs answer enough for the kid.
The rain refuses to let up, and itâs getting cold in the cab of the truck. You and Ellie switch places, some artful manoeuvring on your part that ends with you more in Joelâs lap than the passengerâs seat. You linger a moment, and he brushes his hand across your back before youâre folding yourself into the other seat. Youâd thought to stick the sleeping bags in the cab as well, and Ellie unzips hers, tucking it around herself as she settles into the backseat. Itâs not long at all until sheâs passed out again, face buried in the sleeping bag.
You shed your boots, and Joel reaches for your sore ankle again, rubbing the same way he had in the forest. You hum happily, leaning half against the door, half against the seat. The blanket is settled over you both, stretched across the console, and Joel lets his hand snake a bit up your pant leg, fingers seeking your warm skin, massaging your muscles.
âYou are damn good at that, Joel Miller,â you murmur, watching him from your spot, your head cocked to the side.
He lets the corner of his mouth lift. âIâm an expert when it comes to touching you, baby.â
Your grin matches his. âAinât that the truth.â
You both fall quiet, and the only noise is the patter of the rain on the roof of the truck, the softer noise of it against the windows, and Ellieâs quiet breathing. He doesnât let up on your ankle, and for a long moment, you just stare at each other, your head still tilted to the side, Joel looking up at you under his eyelashes.
âIâm sorry, for snapping on you earlier,â you say, pushing your head against your fist. Your eyes are shiny again.
He squeezes his hand around your leg, pressing into the muscle of your calf. âYou donât have to apologize, Liv.â
âI do,â you say, your voice insistent, and you reach across the space between you, fingers curling in his sleeve, tugging his hands into yours. âIt wasnât fair of me, I justââ
âYou were looking out for the kid,â he says, tangling your fingers together. âI know that.â
Both of your heads turn, looking at Ellieâs sleeping form in the back. Joel doesnât let his gaze linger, focusing on your linked finger instead.
âWhat are we gonna do, Joel,â you ask, âwhen this is all over?â When he doesnât answer right away, you elaborate. âAfter we get her to the Fireflies, I mean. After we find Tommy.â
He squeezes your knuckles with his own. âI havenât really thought that far, if Iâm beinâ honest.â His brow furrows as he looks at you, sees something unspoken on your face. âWhy, what are you thinkinâ, baby?â
You lift your shoulder slowly. âI thought maybeâŚmaybe we go back to Lincoln. Billâs bunker was still full, even after we took what we did. We could give them a proper funeral, clean the place up again, build the walls up. Have our own place.â Your eyes drop to your lap. âOur own home.â
âIs that what you imagined for us?â Joel asks you, reaching over and cupping your chin in his palm, lifting your eyes to his. You lean into his touch, bending forward to make it easier for him. âWhite picket fence, big house with a yardâŚâÂ
The last part goes unspoken, but itâs loud as hell in his mind.
âŚkids?
Your face twists, a sad smile on your lips as you cover his hand with yours, keeping his hand against your cheek. âYou know, I never actually let myself imagine it after I left Austin. Cuz when I finally let myself want that with you, I had to let you go, and once I let himself start to want you again, the world ended.â
Joelâs throat goes thick. Youâve never told him that before. âWant meâŚagain?â
You nod into his palm. âOur birthday. You called me, and we talked, and youââ
âI asked you if Dean had proposed.â
Another nod. âAnd I told you if he asked, I would have said no. And you told me that youâd always be there for me. I thought about it the whole way home, and I justâŚâ You turn your head, pressing a soft kiss to the centre of his palm. âI never stopped wanting you, Joel. Never stopped loving you. I canât ever stop.â
A single tear slides down your cheek, and Joel reaches for you, centre console be damned. âCâmere,â he husks, hauling you into his lap, arranging your limbs until youâre comfortable, the blanket now draped over you both. His words are muffled by your hair. âLove you so goddamned much.â
You tilt your head back to press a kiss to the scruff of his jaw. âLove you more.â
+
The road is clear, until itâs not.
Youâre not totally sure where you are. The maps have you a bit turned around, and itâs hard as hell to pinpoint a location on the map. Youâre in the passengerâs seat again, Joel behind the wheel, Ellie in the back. You split your gaze between the maps and the outside, trying to find some kind of marker, some landmark that might help you figure out where you are. But too many signs are rusted away, the names snapped in half, the highway signs rotted and scattered in pieces on the highway.Â
Eventually, things start to look moreâŚindustrial. Youâre at a loss; you havenât been this far out of Boston since the outbreak, and even before, you never went Northwest. An overpass has you squinting at the maps, trying to find the number, but the vehicles have grown more concentrated, and Joel manoeuvres the truck around an abandoned ambulance, but then hits the breaks, seeing an eighteen-wheeler stretched sideways along the tunnel beneath the overpass, effectively blocking the way.
âStay put,â you tell Ellie, tossing the maps onto the dashboard. Joel gestures to the rifle in the backseat and Ellie hands it to him, while you unholster your gun, sliding out of the passengerâs side.Â
You walk towards the blocked tunnel slowly, both of your gazes sweeping left and right, every rustle of leaves in the wind making your sense prickle. You feelâŚuneasy.
Glancing back at the truck, you can see Ellie through the windshield, leaning between the front seats, concern evident on her face. âJoel,â you call as he sinks to one knee, peering through the small space beneath the eighteen-wheelerâs trailer, âweâre not getting through this. None of these cars are movable.â You gesture around, the smashed cars and rusted-out vans only proving your point. âYou even know where we are?â
âKansas City,â he supplies.
You scratch your fingers across your forehead. âMissouri?â
âSure as fuck ainât Wyoming,â he grunts, and reaches out a hand. You haul him to his feet, holstering your gun as you start back to the truck. âI need to look at the map.â
Ellie glances between you as you get back into the truck, instantly handing Joel the map, trying to make sense of one of the smaller ones. âHow far back are we gonna have to go to get around this?â you ask Joel, jutting your chin at the map in his hands. He traces his finger across the highway lines, but doesnât say anything, just sighs. âJoel?â
âScrew it,â he says, and shifts the truck into reverse. Ellie falls back into her seat as Joel tosses you the maps.
âWhat are you doing?â
âWe can jog right around this tunnel,â he says, three-point-turning the truck around, bracing his hand on the back of your seat as he does so, âtake the next ramp,â he shifts it into drive, âand weâre back on the road, a minute tops.â
You reach for the map again, not totally convinced as he drives off the on-ramp, leading away from the tunnel.
Somehow, you end up in the city.
âWeâre going the wrong way,â you say, shaking your head at him as the buildings start to become more and more concentrated. âJoel, this is taking us in the opposite direction of the highway.â
âWell, then where the fuck is the highway?â he shoots back at you, exasperated. His tone makes you bristle. âTell me which way to go.â
âI donât know where it is,â you say, smacking your hand against the map. âIâm all turned around, and I have no clue where the fuck we are right now.â
He glances over you, turning onto the next street. âDonât look at the state map, Liv, look at the inset.â
âYou look at the fucking inset!â You heave a sigh, shoving your hand through your hair. âSorry, Iâve never been to Kansas fucking City before. Weâre goingâŚnorth. I think.â
âAnd the highway isââ
âWest,â Ellie supplies from the backseat, and when you shoot her a look over your shoulder, she shrugs her shoulders, holds her hands out apologetically.
âOkay, so itâs gotta be the right,â Joel grunts, but then shakes his head, murmuring what the fuck?
âWeâre going in a circle,â you sigh, dropping the map in your lap. âWeâre justââ
âStop!â Ellie says suddenly, leaning between the seats. Joel slams on the brakes, the tires screeching as the truck come to a halt. She points out Joelâs window. âIs that the QZ?â
Your heart slams against your ribs as you see the QZ wall. It looksâŚabandoned, for lack of a much better word. The gate in the wall is wide open, and your hand shoots out, landing on Joelâs leg, curling your fingers in the fabric of his jeans. âWhere the fuck is FEDRA?â
âHey!â someone shouts, and you nearly jump out of your skin. Joel goes rigid. âPlease help!â
The man stumbles forward on the street ahead of you, clutching his side, half-draped in a blanket. âSeatbelts,â Joel grits out, and you do as he says, turning to make sure Ellie gets hers on.
She stares at you wide-eyed as Joel grips the wheel, steps on the gas. âArenât we gonna help him?â
âNo,â you reply, pressing yourself against the seat as the truck accelerates down the road. âNo, weâre not.â
The man shouts, diving for cover, and you spot someone on the fire escape of the building on the right side of the road. âJoel!â you shout, the rev of the engine nearly drowning you out, but a moment later, the windshield crunches, a cinderblock splintering the glass. The impact throws the truck of course for a second, but Joel straightens it out, just in time for the tires to roll over a spike strip in the road. You can hear the air hissing from the tires, the truck rocking from left to right across the road. Ellie squeaks from the backseat, and you throw your arm back, your chest going tight when her hand wraps in yours.
Another man blocks the road, lifting a gun and pointing it right at the truck. Joel shouts a curse, cranking the wheel all the way to the right, and the truck nearly slides across the pavement, speeding right through the glass front of a laundromat. The hood crunches inward as it slams into the row of washing machines, and youâre jolted in your seat, your arm bent at an awkward angle, hand still wrapped around Ellieâs.
âYou okay?â Joel asks, palm coming down on your leg. âYouâre not hurt?â
You shake your head. âNo, Iâm fine,â you reply, gritting your teeth against the slight pain in your shoulder. âNothing major. Ellie?â
âI donât think so,â she answers, a waver in her voice.
Gunshots ring out, and you all duck on instinct. It keeps coming, shattering the glass doors of the machines, and Joel pushes at your shoulder, ripping your hand from Ellieâs. âBelts off, out of the truck!â he shouts, more gunshots cutting him off. You do as he says, reaching for the handle of the door. They keep shooting and you reach for the back door the moment youâre out, nearly yanking Ellie out of the truck. Joel goes for the rifle, and when you shut the door again, you put Ellie between you two, leaning against the truck as Joel loads the gun. She has your bat clutched in her hands.
There are more of them, more gunshots ringing through the laundromat, pinging off the body of the truck, flying over your heads to the back wall. Joel meets your eyes over Ellieâs head, and you draw your gun in one hand, and reach for the bat with the other. Ellie gives it willingly. You look around for something â anything â that might help, and finally, you spot a hole in the wall to your right, a kid-sized hole in the drywall leading to the other side.
âEllie,â you say quietly, putting your hand on her arm. It makes her flinch. âYou see that hole over there?â She follows your eyes, her chin lowering once. âYouâre gonna squeeze through it, okay?â Gunfire cuts you off, and she grabs your hand, squeezing it between both of hers, her palms clammy.Â
âLast chance!â the fuckers outside yell. It makes your gut twist.
You shake your head, your attention turning to the kid, who now has a faraway expression on her face. âEllie. When I say go, you crawl to the wall, you squeeze through, and you donât come out until one of us gets you, okay?â
A bullet shatters the passengerâs side window, glass raining down on you. Out of reflex, you throw yourself over Ellie, protecting her. Her head whips around as more bullets ping off the truck. âTheyâre not gonna hit you,â Joel tells her. Her eyes are everywhere, and you try to brush glass away as Joel grabs the front of her coat. âLook at me!â
She listens. A bullet skims off the concrete floor beside your hand and it makes you flinch, an unseen mark, the burn of metal making you snatch your hand up off the floor.Â
âTheyâre not gonna hit you,â Joel says, his eyes locked with Ellieâs. âYou stay down, you stay low, you stay quiet. Okay?â
âOkay,â she says meekly, with a nod.
âGo!â Joel shouts, and you both swing upwards, aiming your weapons. From the corner of your eye, you can see Ellie slide across the floor. You just keep shooting, training your gun on anything that moves until you know sheâs against the wall. You empty your clip, dropping to your knee to reload, and sheâs through the hole, behind the wall.
Sheâs safe.
You and Joel pull the trigger at the same time, your bullets finding new homes, dropping two of your attackers. âMotherfuckers!â someone yells, and you drop back down behind the truck. Your chest is heaving, your eyes darting to the hole in the wall. Joel whispers your name, juts his chin toward an old vending machine at the back of the laundromat. He moves first, and you follow, feeling his hand on your back, pushing you to safety.
The crunch of glass gives the guy away, and you straighten, pushing Joelâs shoulder down and pulling the trigger at the same time. It only takes one shot to drop him. Youâre trying to catch your breath, forcing your eyes away from the blood now pooling around the guyâs head. Joel pulls the lever on the rifle, but itâs jammed. He curses, yanking on it hard, just as back doors you hadnât noticed burst open, a new opponent barreling through.
Without thinking, you throw yourself in the line of fire, angling yourself in front of Joel. Thereâs a barrel of a shotgun in your face, and your instincts kick into gear. You swing the bat up, knocking the barrel away as the man pulls the trigger, the shot hitting the ceiling instead of you. But itâs not enough to loosen his grip.
The butt of the shotgun cracks across your face a second later, your vision instantly tinging black, and you go toppling, your head hitting the ground hard. Joel screams your name, but the sound is distant. The bat skitters out of your grip, but you have the wherewithal to keep your fingers tight around your gun. Joel, where is Jâ
You black out for a moment, the world slipping away completely, but a loud bang yanks you back, pained grunting following. âNow youâre gonna fuckinâ pay!â Your head lolls to the side, and you canât quite make out whatâs happening. Your head screams at you to move, and you see Joelâs boots scraping against the floor. Someoneâs on him, someoneâsâ
Another shot rings out. It makes your ears ring. Someone shouts, and Joel starts coughing. Heâs gasping, wheezing, crawling on his hands and knees toward you. He grabs your face in his hands, and something on your cheek feels hot, too hot. âLiv,â he calls, his voice hoarse. âBaby, are you okay?â
Slowly, he helps you up. Your head is spinning, but over his shoulder, you see Ellie step forward, her gun trained on your attacker, now sprawled on the floor. Joelâs eyes follow yours, and they widen when he sees her weapon of choice. The realization makes your heart twist; she shot the guy attacking you.
Joel pulls his hand from your face, and you see itâs covered in blood. The man groans, and when he spots Ellie and her gun, he lifts his hands in surrender. âNo, no, no, no, itâs okay! Itâs over! Weâre not fighting anymore.â He wheezes, clearly in pain, and Joel gets to his feet, reaching down for you, his eyes trained on the guy.
He looks young. Too young.
âIâm gonna go home,â he says, âand Iâll tell everyone youâre good.â He starts crying, his voice going high-pitched. âI donât know what to do! My legs donât work!â
Even through your haze, you can put two and two together. She must have hit him in the spine.
âMy mom isnât far,â he continues, near sobbing. âIf you could get me to her.â His eyes cut to you and Joel, now on your feet. You stumble slightly, but Joel has a tight grip on you. âWe could trade with you guys. We could be friends. I didnât know. Iâm Bryan. Iâm Bryan.â
Still with a tight grip on you, Joel turns to Ellie. She lowers the gun, and he holds his hand out. You open your mouth to say something, but she sniffs, shaking her head, and hands it to him. One-handed, Joel tucks it into the waist of his jeans.
âTake her,â he says to Ellie, and it takes a second for you to realize heâs referring to you. His grip on you disappears, and for a moment, you think you might topple over, but Ellie fits herself beneath your arm, one arm tight around your waist, tugging your arm around her shoulders.
Joel pulls out his knife. âWait, wait, wait!â Bryan shouts, and pulls a knife from his belt, letting it clatter to the floor. âYou can have it! Itâs a good knife.â
âTurn around,â Joel says, nailing Ellie with dark eyes that send a chill down your spine. His tone clears away some of the haze in your head. âNow.â
âNo, no, no, no!â Bryan shouts again. âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry!â
âLiv,â Joel calls, his tone still shiver-inducing. Blinking hard, you turn Ellie towards the wall, angling yourself in front of her. Sheâs still holding you upright, and buries her face in your chest. You can feel the tears on her cheeks, and you lift your hand, letting it rest on the back of her head.Â
âPlease, please, please,â Bryan whimpers.
âCover your ears,â you whisper to Ellie, propping your chin on the top of her head. Blood drips down your face, sticky and hot, and you ignore it as best you can, though itâs hard to ignore the throb in your cheek.
âIâm sorry, please! You donât have to! Iâm sorry! Iâm sorry! Please!â
Ellieâs breathing gets heavy, the front of your shirt almost damp with it.
You hear Joel take the manâs life. You wait until the gasping stops, and then you tap Ellieâs shoulder. âItâs over.â For a moment, she doesnât move, squeezing both arms around you. You sway slightly, and Joelâs hand touches between your shoulders. It makes you flinch, and Ellie jumps back, pressing herself to the wall.
Heâs got your chin in his hand a second later, turning your head slightly, giving you a once-over. âYou okay? Nothing broken?â
âHurts,â you admit, and he wipes away a bit of the blood with his sleeve. âIâll live.â
Ellieâs eyes dart past Joel, towards where Bryan lies, and he steps to the side, blocking her view, taking you with him. Joel gestures to the hole. âNeed you to find a door or something, weâre not gonna fit through that.â
She nods, her lip quivering, and immediately climbs back through the hole, disappearing from view. Joel grabs your chin again, and you notice how heavy his breathing is, how shaky his hands are. Itâs quiet, for a moment, no more gunfire or shouting. âScared me.â
âMakes two of us,â you agree, sighing as he leans in, pressing a kiss to the uninjured side of your face, right at your jaw. âWe need to get out of here.â
He glances over your shoulder at the wrench of the truck and the front of the laundromat. âTruckâs toast, weâll figure it out. We need to find somewhere safe, for the night at least. High up, find a way out of the city. And get you cleaned up.â He bends slightly, peering through the hole in the wall. âEllie!â
âThereâs some stuff against the door,â she calls back, and you can hear her sigh.
Joelâs jaw goes tight. âWell, can you move it?â
Itâs slow-going. Your head throbs with every step, twin shocks of pain in your skull and along your cheek. Joelâs grip is tight around your waist, his head whipping in every direction as he keeps you close to the building, and then he leans you against the front of brick as Ellie pulls whateverâs blocking the door out of the way, Joel pushing hard against it to help. The moment the door swings inward, he rushes you in, shuts the door, and then motions for Ellie to help push the table back into place. âLetâs go,â he says to her. âFast.â
âRight.â
The door clangs as the table is pushed back into it. The noise makes your ears ring, and you sag against the table, exhaling heavily. Ellie sniffs loudly, and both you and Joel look at her. âIâm okay,â she says quickly, dropping down to grab her backpack. âIâm good.â She sets the bag on the table, unzips it. âI, uh, got some food in here still, and I got your light,â she says, and pulls out Joelâs flashlight, handing it to him. She looks between the two of you, wincing when she sees the blood on your face. âFuck, Liv, are youââ
âIâll be fine, kid,â you tell her, ignoring the way the words make your head throb. Your breath hitches, and you glance across at the hole in the wall. âShit, Joel, the bat.â
His face goes hard, and you know what heâs gonna say. You canât go back over there. There are bodies, evidence of the violence, and whoever sent the men will come looking. Standing here as long as you have is risk enough. âLiv, weââ
âIâll go,â Ellie says, already walking toward the wall. âI can grab it and justââ
The distant screech of tires makes you freeze and you flash your hand out, grabbing the back of her coat and hauling her backward. âLeave it,â you grit out, lifting yourself up off the table. âWe need to go now.â
âWhere?â Ellie asks, and Joel heads to the door in the back of the room, clicking his flashlight on as he pushes it open slowly. Ellie fits herself under your arm again, your forearm resting on her backpack. âWhat are we gonna do now?â
âWe go up,â you tell her, echoing what Joel had said earlier. âSee if we can spot a path outta here.â
Joel glances over his shoulder at you, eyeing your arm around the kidâs shoulders. âStay close.â
She nods. âGot it.â
You follow Joel down a hallway that leads out into an alley beside the building. There are cars scattered, and as the rumble of a truck gets closer, you duck down, wincing as you go, hiding behind an SUV as a pickup rolls past the mouth of the alleyway, followed by a larger armoured truck.
They start shouting Bryanâs name.
Joel signals for you to stay put, and darts across the alley, to the side door of the building across the way. You hold your breath as he pulls it open, peering inside before turning back to you and Ellie, giving a quick nod. You rise slowly, but then push yourself, moving as fast as you can across the pavement to Joelâs side. He leads you inside, and Ellie pulls the door shut behind you.
Itâs dark inside, and for a moment, you pause. Joel puts his gun away, and you follow suit. You sag against the wall slightly, and heâs got his hand under your chin. âLook at me,â he commands, and you listen, blinking hard as you stare back at him. âThink itâs a concussion?â
âNo,â you tell him, lifting your head out of his palm. âIâm fine, Joel.â It comes out snappier than you intend, and your body gives you away, wobbling slightly with the turn of your head. âFuck. I just need to sit down a minute, or something.â
As quietly as possible, you make your way through the building. It seems to be some kind of abandoned retail space, a bunch of different stores and shops connected by one main hallway. Right at the end of the block is an old coffee house, and Joel decides itâs a good place to spot, seeing the newspaper-covered windows and dark-painted walls.Â
âAre we okay in here?â Ellie asks as you walk in, Joel heading for the front of the shop. You watch as he peels back a small corner of the newspaper, just enough to peer through, and you sink into a chair nearby.
âFor now,â you tell her, and wipe some more of the blood from your face. The bleedingâs stopped, as far as you can tell, and something in your chest pangs as Ellie reaches into her bag and pulls out what looks like an old t-shirt.
âHere,â she says, handing it to you. âItâs mostly clean.â
The corner of your mouth twitches. âThanks, kid.â
Silence settles over the three of you as Joel peers out the window. âThat wasnât FEDRA that attacked us,â you say as he sinks back a little.
âWasnât Fireflies either,â Ellie says, and you nod. âThen who are they?â
âPeople,â Joel sighs. âLooks like theyâre checkinâ out apartment buildings first.â He shakes his head. âBut theyâll be cominâ through these places soon enough.â He rises to his feet, turning and walking towards you. Ellie takes his place, looking through the crack in the newspaper. He taps your shoulder as soon as heâs close enough, and takes the t-shirt from you. You can almost hear the ache in his knees as he crouches down and starts wiping the blood from your face. His face is a hard mask, and you can stop yourself from cupping his cheek, swiping your thumb across his cheekbone. âWhen he burst through the door back there,â he mutters, shaking his head ever so slightly, âand then I saw you drop. I heard the shot, but I didnât see where heââ
âJoel,â you murmur, brushing your fingers through his hair. âWeâre fine. Iâm fine.â
âCracked you damn good,â he replies, dabbing lightly. You try not to wince. âLucky it didnât break your cheekbone.â
Before you can respond, Ellie pipes up. âThereâs a really tall building, like, four blocks away.â
âYeah,â Joel grunts, and hands you the now-stained t-shirt. You hold it against your cheek, watching as he sinks into the chair across from yours. âSaw it.â
âThatâs where weâre going?â she asks, glancing at you over her shoulder. âUp?â
Joel nods. âAs soon as we donât hear a truck, we move. Fast as we can.â
He props his elbow on the table, puts his face in his hand, and you reach over, curling your fingers around his forearm. Heâs shaking.
You murmur his name as Ellie slides down to sit against the wall, drawing her knees up to his chest. He doesnât answer you, but drops his hand, catching yours in the process. âAre you okay?â Ellie asks, and when your eyes flick to her, you see sheâs addressing Joel.
âIâm all right,â he grumbles, but his fingers twitch against yours, his brow furrowing. Damn that hard mask of his. âAre youâŚall right?â he asks in return, and you press your fingers against his wrist. His heartbeat races beneath his skin.
âYeah,â Ellie says quietly, but she doesnât elaborate.
âJoel,â you murmur again, and he shakes his head, staring down at his boots. You donât have to see his face to know the guilt, the realization. If Ellie hadnât done what she had, youâd probably all be laying dead in that laundromat.
âThing is,â Joel says after a moment, his voice gruff, âis I didnât hear that guy cominâ. AndâŚyouâŚyou shouldnât have had toâŚyou know?â
God, heâs bad at this. You know what heâs trying to say to her, but you canât try and take over. He needs to say this himself.
âWell, youâre glad I did, right?â Ellie asks, and her eyes dart to you for a second.
âYouâre just a kid,â he says, and suddenly your chest feels tight. âYou shouldnât know what it means toâŚâ He trails off, but then lifts a hand. âItâs not like you killed him, but, shootinâ orâŚI know what itâs like, first time you, uh, hurt someone like that.â
Her eyes slide fully to you for a moment, and you just nod in return, the message silent. I do too.
âIf you, uh, wâuh,â Joel tries to continue, but shakes his head, looking at you, a near cry for help in his eyes. âIâm not good at this.â
âYeah, you really arenât,â Ellie quips, and you squeeze his hand.
âI mean, it was my fault,â he says, shaking his head some more. âYou shouldnât have had to. And Iâm sorry.â
You havenât had a chance, really, to take in what happened. What Ellie did. Listening to Joel now, feeling his pulse race beneath your fingers, and seeing tears on the kidâs face as he tells her heâs sorryâŚIt breaks your heart.
âI should have heard it,â you say, and Joelâs eyes flick to you. You lift your chin, ignoring the way your gut twists as Ellie wipes her cheeks. âI should have shot first, and I didnât. Iâm sorry, too, Ellie. I am. Weâre here to protect you, and weâŚJoelâs right. You shouldnât have had to do it.â
She nails you to your spot with those big dark eyes, wet with tears. That thing youâve been feeling since this kid barrelled her way into your lives screams at you to grab her, to hug her close and tell her everything is gonna be okay, but you feel frozen, stuck in place, unable to move.
âIt wasnât my first time,â Ellie tells you both, and your brows raise. You can see the shock on Joelâs face, too.
Your fingers tap against Joelâs wrist. âGive her the gun.â
His head snaps back to you, one brow lifting slightly.
âItâs hers,â you prompt, lifting your chin slightly. âGive it back.â
Slowly, he moves over, closing the small space between the two of you and her, leaning down on one knee as he pulls the gun out of the back of his jeans. Ellieâs face perks up as he hands the small pistol back to her after pulling out the clip. âShow me your grip.â
She stares up at him as she does as asked, obeying when Joel tells her to take her finger off the trigger.
âNow, who taught you that?â
âFEDRA school,â she answers.
âFigures,â he grunts, and you push your chin into your palm as he reaches for her hands, adjusting her grip, showing her the proper way. The thing in your chest relaxes slightly, watching him with her. âThumb over your thumb. Left hand squeezes down on the right. You got it?â She nods, doing what he tells her. You hear his voice soften ever so slightly. âThere ya go.â
Ellie looks at you over Joelâs shoulder, almost like sheâs looking for your approval. You try to blink away the wetness thatâs formed in your eyes, and nod at her, giving her a little grin.
âNow, look it,â Joel says, and grabs the top of the gun, trying to pull it away. But sheâs got the grip right and the gun doesnât budge. Joel pulls again, nearly yanking her off the wall, and Ellie laughs. Then she relaxes, the laughter trailing off, but the smile on her face stays in place. âOkay?â
She nods. Joel gestures for the gun back, slides the clip back into place, and Ellie watches his movements. He hands it back to her, handle first, and the triumphant look on her face almost makes you laugh. She goes to put it in her pocket, but Joel stops her.
âNuh-uh, you put it in your pack. Youâll shoot your damn ass off.â He gets back to his feet with a loud groan, and walks back to you. âHowâs your head?â
âItâs okay,â you tell him, and take his offered hand, letting him help you up. You stuff the bloody t-shirt in the pocket of your coat. âIâll feel better when we find somewhere safe for the night.â As of on cue, your face throbs so hard your eyes flutter shut. Joel squeezes your hip. âIâd murder for an ice pack right now.â
Itâs a few more minutes, a few more pauses to determine where the truck that rumbles past goes, before Joel walks to the shopâs front door, starting to pull at the wood thatâs been nailed over it. You try to help, but he waves you off. Once the door is free, Ellie comes up beside you, her hand slipping into yours. Joel sees it, and his eyes move from your hands to your faces, one at a time.
âWeâll get through this,â he says to Ellie, and you tighten your grip on her hand.
She gives a little nod. âI know.â
Without another word, Joel yanks the door open, and you step out into the daylight.
PREV | NEXT
110 notes
¡
View notes
What a GREAT ending đ����đđ
texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. xiv
series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter |
chapter summary: The final chapter
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
words: 9.2k (I love being insane)
chapter warnings: SMUT (18+only) - unprotected sex. Insecurity/Jealousy. Angst/arguments. Discussions of death, blood and injuries. Alcohol & Marijuana use. Fluff. Bisexual reader (happy pride ya'll!). As always please dm for more specifics.
a/n: This could probs use another round of proofreading but it would've delayed this even longer sooooo.... Here we go! I feel pretty emo right now and I might make a more in-depth post about my thoughts at a later date bc I just finished writing this in a hot daze so I can't put all my thoughts coherently together. But I just wanna say thank you to everyone who supported and gave love to this story. This is by far the most popular fic I've ever written, and I don't really know how? Or what I did to deserve all the love but I just want you to know how much I appreciate it. Thank you for sticking with me through all the angst and delayed updates and everything. I'll never forget you and I'll never forget Joel x Reader!! Thank you so much, I hope the finale lives up to your expectations! â¤ď¸
**I DO NOT HAVE A TAGLIST. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifs if you would like to be notified when I update my works :) **
Iâm not the kind of man who tends to socialize
I seem to lean on old familiar waysâŚ.
-May 16, 2024-
âAre you sure youâre okay if I leave you here alone?âÂ
Ethanâs voice jolts you out of a daze, and you blink your eyes open, realizing that youâd dozed off while sitting upright in a patio chair, the cheesy romance novel youâd been reading still lying open on your lap. Turning to look over your shoulder, you find him standing with one foot on the deck, and one foot still inside, cut in half by the sliding glass door.
Clearing your throat, you straighten up and nod. âOf course. Iâll be fine.â
Ethan studies you carefully, like heâs not entirely convinced. Heâs been hesitant to leave you alone unless itâs absolutely necessary â only stepping away from the house to go on patrol shifts and to bring home meals from the mess hall. Recovery has made you feel like a burden to him â to all your friends in the community, really. EveryoneâŚ.well, almost everyone, has been supportive, but youâve never been comfortable being openly vulnerable.
Unfortunately, itâs too hard to deny the pain that youâve been in since the accident, the trouble you have getting around, the exhaustion that clings no matter how many long naps and twelve-hour nights of sleep you get. According to the doctors, being so tired is just part of recovery â rest is important, but the concoction of pain medication youâve been prescribed only makes your drowsiness and confusion worse. It had been a big deal that tonight youâd mustered the energy to drag yourself outside to sit in the fresh air.Â
âIâm fine,â you assure Ethan, once again. âHave fun on your date.â
âItâs not really a date,â he says, almost a little too quickly. âWeâre just hanging out.â
âRight,â you say, matter-of-factly. âDo I know who this person is?â
Ethan looks at his feet. âYou remember the day this shit happened?â he asks, gesturing towards you. âBefore you left on patrol, the girl that said hi to me? Itâs her. Her name is Alex.â
âOh?â you tilt your head, give him a small smile. âShe was cute. Howâd you ask her out?â
âWell,â he begins, scratching the back of his neck. âI may haveâŚuh, gotten some advice.â
âYou didnât think to ask me?â youâre able to muster up a small smile.
âI wouldâve, I justâŚ..â he shakes his head. âIt seemed stupidâŚwith everything you have going on.â
âItâs not stupid,â you say, feeling a wave of guilt. Even though heâs the one looking after you, you havenât spoken to him much about anything going on in his life. In fact, you havenât really spoken to anyone in a long time, beyond thank youâs and blanket statements like Iâm doing better. You feel disconnected, and more lonely than ever. If you ever get enough energy to leave your house, you expect most of the people in the community to have forgotten you exist. âWhoâd you ask?â
âUhmâŚ.â Ethan runs a hand through his long dark hair, shifts his weight. ââŚ.Iâve been assigned on patrol with Joel Miller a lot latelyâŚ.soâŚ.â
You almost laugh when he uses Joelâs full name. Joel has been such a huge part of your life â sometimes the hero, sometimes the villain â that you donât need to hear his last name to know who Ethanâs talking about. You could know a thousand Joelâs, and heâd still be the first person that came to mind. But Joel is still a sore subject, and Ethan knows it, which is why you suspect heâs avoided telling you this in the first place. You feel your eyebrows knit together, only able to let out an unenthused. âOh.â
âI just, you knowâŚ.heâs a guy. And it sounds like you even liked him at one point soâŚ.he must know something, right?âÂ
âThat was a long time ago,â you say quickly, regardless of the fact that heâs right.
Itâs probably not fair to blame Joel for everything that has happened to you. You know this, deep down. But youâve been so helpless and isolated since youâve woken up in that hospital bed that youâre desperate to find someone to hold accountable. And Joel hadnât visited you in the hospital once. By this point, heâs abandoned you so many times that your resentment feels justified, even if your current state is not directly his fault. Because it was you, after all, who had walked into the path of those men, too angry to think clearly, too weak to take them down alone. The only person you can blame is yourself, and you really donât want to.
âDid he tell you to take her out on patrol, make her cry, and almost get her killed?â
Ethan clicks his tongue, looks down, almost ashamed. âNo. He did not.â
âYou should be careful with Joel,â you warn.
âI wasâŚâ Ethan says. âBut I donât think itâs that simple. I think heâs actually alright.âÂ
âSo youâre friends with him now,â you state, hoping he refutes. But instead, he looks up at you, frowns, and lifts his chin.
âWhat happened to you was horrible. It shouldnât have happened. And yeah, maybe you think heâs the reason you almost diedâŚ. I donât know the specifics so you can believe whatever you want. But I know that heâs the reason youâre still alive.â Ethanâs voice breaks, and you feel tears brimming your eyes before he continues. âHe brought you back here, he donated his blood, he-â
âWhat?â you cut him off.
âWhat do you mean, what?â Ethan asks. âHe was the only person there who had your blood type. You wouldâve died if he didnât. They didnât tell you this?âÂ
âWhatever it took to make him feel less guilty, sounds like,â you say, dismissively.
Something hot burns in your veins, something that must have always been there since you woke up, but youâre only feeling it now. Itâs unsettling, Joel being a part of you that way. Your lives had already seemed intertwined enough already. But now, heâs inescapable.
âWell, he stayed by your side every night while you were asleep. Fuck, I mean, he was probably there just as often as I was. He made sure I ate, and slept and showered and⌠and he never once asked for anything in return. He cares about you as much as I do, clearly, so I donât think itâs wrong to think heâs a good guyâŚ.â
You must not care about me that much, you want to say, but you stop yourself. Because itâs not true, and youâd only be saying it to hurt him. You have nothing to defend yourself with, no way to convince him otherwise, and so you just stare at him until he shakes his head and slips back inside.
Ethan is stubborn, he always has been. And itâs a special kind of stubbornness, fueled by anger â so common in most of the young people you meet these days. You understand why theyâre all like this. When youâre robbed of your childhood â you get stuck thereâŚ.waitingâŚ.. Like someday youâll have a chance to do it all over again, regardless of how obvious it is that you wonât.Â
âââ シ ・ďžâ: *.â˝ .* :âďž. âââ
-May 25, 2024-
Things get better, albeit slowly. You begin to wean off the pain medication, which makes you more alert. Itâs still difficult to leave your house, but you can move around it more easily, and you donât spend all your days sleeping. Luckily, you arenât as stir-crazy as youâd been expecting.Â
One afternoon, Ellie Williams shows up on your doorstep with a bag full of groceries.Â
âMaria wanted me to bring these to you,â she says when you open the door. âShe told me to tell you sheâll be over tomorrow, but she wanted me to give you these to tide you over.â
âThatâs very nice. Thank you for bringing them to me,â you try to take the bag from her hands, but she steps back just a little, like sheâs unsure if you should be carrying anything. You let your hands drop to your sides. âWould you like to come in?âÂ
Ellie hesitates for a split second, adjusting the bag in her arms, and then nods. âSure.âÂ
Stepping to the side, you allow her into the home. Because of how warm it is outside, youâve opened all the windows to let the breeze through.Â
âSorry for the mess,â you say, Ellie following you into the living room. There are stacks of books and pill bottles with instructions scattered on your countertop. You havenât swept the floors in awhile and all the hard surfaces are covered in a thin layer of dust. Itâs not really that bad, but you donât have the energy or strength to be on your feet for long â let alone to clean the house.Â
âI donât mind,â Ellie says. âItâs not even that bad. I donât know why older people worry about leaving your house messy and shitâŚ.no offense.â
âThere was a time it used to matter,â you tell her. âAnd I see where youâre coming from, but my thing is â if youâre going to live somewhere, you should do what you can to make yourself feel comfortable.âÂ
Ellie purses her lips, as if youâve made a good point but she doesnât know how to answer. Instead, you continue. âCan I get you anything? Water?âÂ
âNo, Iâm okay,â she puts the bag on your kitchen counter.
âYou can sit if youâd like,â you tell her. âI just need a moment to put these away.â
When you walk into your living room a few minutes later, sheâs hovering near your record player, looking through the vinyls. The turntable was already in the house when youâd arrived years ago, but it was buried in the closet and broken. Ethan had managed to fix it after a little troubleshooting and scavenging for parts. Now, you both were always looking for records to bring home, and had amassed quite the eclectic collection â jazz, funk, hip-hop, and everything in between.Â
âWow,â Ellie says, running her fingers along the shelved records. âYou found all these?â
âSome of them were already here. But yeah. Ethan and I are always on the lookout on patrol. I can play you something. What do you like?â
âEighties, I think,â she says. âButâŚI also havenât heard as much.âÂ
âWell here,â you thumb through the records, pull out a worn copy of Speaking In Tongues. âHow about some Talking Heads?âÂ
You pass the record over to her, and she stares at you blankly. Itâs only then that you realize â sheâs never used a record player before. Thereâs a familiar pang of sadness before you show her how.Â
âAre you feeling better?â Ellie eyes you wearily once the music starts, and you settle onto the couch, feeling a little worn out after being on your feet.
âYes,â you say. âIâm older now, so it seems like healing takes a lot more time.â
Ellie nods, then bobs her head to the music a little. âThis is better than most of the stuff Joel likes.âÂ
âOh yeah,â you smirk, and instinctually, you recall his enthusiasm for all things old-school country. âI remember that,â you say softly.
With so much time on your hands lately, youâve found yourself thinking of Joel a lot, reminiscing on the time youâd spent with him and Sarah. What Ethan had told you about him staying by your side was definitely making you reconsider your assessment of him, even if you were still hesitant. It was probably a trap to think youâd ever be able to feel those things with him again, but if remembering them brought you comfort, you werenât going to resist it.Â
âYouâre more than welcome to come over to listen anytime,â you offer, and she nods excitedly.Â
Ellie stays for longer than you expect. You talk a fair bit. She tells you about what sheâs learning in school â but mostly how âfucking uselessâ it is. She wanders around your living room and pokes through your stuff without asking, but you donât think to stop her â you just answer her questions and let her be curious.
Eventually, the sun dips below the horizon, and she excuses herself to go home, insisting that Joel will âfucking kill herâ if sheâs out too late. Even though youâre exhausted after entertaining her for a few hours, you find it feels nice. Being on house arrest, essentially, had left your starved for connection outside Maria and Ethan.
You see her out the door before returning to your refrigerator to look for something to eat. Ethan will be back from patrol any minute, so it may be nice to make him something even if you have almost no energy.
But when thereâs another knock on your front door, youâre shocked to see who you find staring on your porch.Â
Joel.
You almost forget to speak at the sight of him. Itâs been weeks since your accident and he might as well have moved away from Jackson since you hadnât seen him at all.Â
âHey,â you say, tentatively, taking him in. He seems preoccupied â cheeks flushed, hair rumpled, and out of breath, like he had run all the way to get here.
âHave you seen Ellie?â he asks, not even greeting you in return. âIâve looked everywhere and I-
âYou just missed her,â you cut him off, not because youâre trying to dismiss him, but because he's clearly distressed. âIâm surprised you didnât see her on your way over.â
Joel sighs, eyes closing in relief. âThank God.â For a second, you glimpse the frazzled and overworked father you used to know. âShe stayed out too late, had me worried sick.âÂ
âSheâs fine,â you say. âAlthough she did say you might kill her if she didnât get home soon.âÂ
Joel gives you an almost imperceptible smile, but seems mostly irritated by Ellieâs suggestion. âI would do no such thing.â He shakes his head and takes two steps backwards. âThank you. Didnât mean to be a bother.âÂ
Your mind floats to a memory of Joel on your front porch, late getting home from work and looking for Sarah, and you canât help but feel a bit of sadness and longing for a simpler time, a surge of affection.Â
Joel is halfway down your front porch steps when you speak again. âYou arenât bothering me.â
He pauses, turns to look over his shoulder. Thereâs something he wants to say, you can feel it, and you step outside, letting the door fall shut behind you and remaining huddled against the siding, and he turns to face you fully, sighing. âIâve been meaning to stop by, actuallyâŚ.âÂ
âOhâŚreally?â you canât keep the surprise from your voice, and he notices.
âYeah,â Joel rubs his fingers together, a nervous habit of his you know all too well. âYeah. I- well, I wanted to apologize to you.â
Youâre so startled by the words you canât answer right away. But the split second of hesitation causes Joel to continue, looking to fill the empty space.Â
âIâve been waiting to find the right thing to sayâŚ.but it doesnât seem like thatâll ever happen. Iâm not even sure I know where to start.âÂ
âOh,â is all you can manage, still taken aback. The only thing that doesnât surprise you about his admission is the sincerity. You could say a lot of things about Joel, but he isnât a liar. He always tells the truth. Maybe itâs why he pulled away from you to begin with. Itâs easier than the alternative â spending time with you, which would force him to be honest. For how much youâve changed, youâd probably do the same.Â
But the thing with Joel is that youâre exhausted. Youâre tired of the back and forth, of the push and pull, of the constant struggle to hold your care over each other's head, hoping the other will break first. Maybe this is a fresh start.Â
You step closer to him, and you see him study the way you move. Of course, youâre trying to look strong, but he can surely sense the weakness. Heâd always been good at that, better than any of the others. Your hand comes to rest on the porch railing for support.Â
ButâŚ..
Thereâs that voice in the back of your head, the one that tells you this is a mistake. The one that reminds of the pain youâve often earned through vulnerability. It likes to think itâs served you, protected you, and it has. But itâs not always right.
âI suppose I owe you an apology, too,â you say. âAt the very least I should thank you for what you did.â
Joel shakes his head, dismissively, but looks to where your hand rests on the porch railing, looks back up to you as he reaches out. âIâm just glad youâre okay.âÂ
His hand clasps over yours, and to anyone else, this might be nothing. Itâs so innocent, unassuming. But the effect it has on you is palpable. He squeezes once, and you flip your hand over, squeezing his back, giving him a gentle smile. âI am too.âÂ
Joelâs eyes fill with a warmth you havenât seen in twenty years, and your stomach flutters, your heart races. A part of yourself that youâd considered long dead seems to rouse.âWould you like to stay for dinner?â
âI told Ellie weâd go to the mess hall together,â Joel says. âOtherwise I would.â
You blink once, and Joel sees it, immediately continuing on. âBut maybe Ellie and I can come another time, join you and Ethan?â
âYeah. Heâd like that,â you say. âThat might be nice.â
âââ シ ・ďžâ: *.â˝ .* :âďž. âââ
-June 20, 2024-
You think that at the end of a long winter, bears must hate coming out of hibernation.Â
It must suck. They spend months sleeping, doing almost nothing, and then suddenly theyâre forced to function again â to hunt, to eat, to roam, to survive and socialize. You imagine there has to be a learning curve, a desire to crawl back into their den and never leave again.Â
Or maybe you could be wrong, and they love it. And youâre just a wimp who hates feeling uncomfortable.
All you know is that youâre huddled in the back corner of the Tipsy Bison, nursing a whiskey â and itâs the last place you want to be.Â
Youâre overwhelmed.Â
And despite the fact that you regularly used to attend community events, itâs been so long since you've been out in Jackson that you feel like you donât belong. To some extent, youâve always felt this â too hardened by the outside world to fully assimilate, especially when the town throws dances. But in the past, you at least attempted to convince yourself otherwise.Â
Two weeks back, the doctors had cleared you to go about your daily activities as normal â within reason, of course â but you hadnât exactly jumped at the opportunity. Tonight, Ethan had accused you of becoming âantisocialâ and âreclusiveâ. You had agreed to attend â but only to beat those allegations. So far, you are definitely not.Â
You scan the crowd, taking in the people spinning around the dance floor. Some of the women are wearing dresses. You canât help but feel a little envious of how easily theyâre able to perform femininity, which is something youâd given up on a while ago. It hadnât exactly served you before arriving in Jackson, and you predict it would be humiliating to start trying now. After all the things youâd experienced, you were left marred with scars and wrinkles, stretch marks and loose skin. Since then, youâve remained loyal to the combination of menâs denim and tank tops with flannel-button downs overtop.Â
It doesnât always stop the men in the community from descending like vultures. You might be the last pick â there are plenty others who are younger and prettier â but youâre still an option. Bea, your old partner, had always theorized that some men were particularly drawn to sapphic women, that it was âthe ultimate challengeâ. Maybe there is some truth to her theory, but you like menâŚ.sometimes. So there is always a part of you that yearns for their validation, for as many times as you tell yourself you donât want it. But it never feels good to get it after youâve watched them exhaust all their other options.
Itâs pathetic, but it makes you think of Joel. He and Ellie had been over to yours and Ethans last week for a nice dinner, and you had tried to gauge whether there was any romantic connection between you still. Occasionally, youâd caught him looking at you with a wistful smile, but he could have been lost in thought. Itâs not like you needed that from him or anything, but it might be useful information. After all this time, Joel is still so handsome, and probably has an impressive selection of potential partners here in Jackson â women of all ages. You hope heâs not here tonight â you canât see much besides the dance floor at this point â because the thought of him cozied up to anyone here, combined with the acrid taste of the drink in your hand, makes you want to gag.Â
You take another look around the room. Eugene, your partner in crime â quite literally â is walking towards you, which helps quell your spiraling mind . If you talk to him, say hello to Tommy and Maria, maybe Ethan will see the effort youâre making and you can sneak out without having to deal with anyone. Itâs wishful thinking, but itâs worth a shot. The sooner you can get home tonight, the better.
âââ シ ・ďžâ: *.â˝ .* :âďž. âââ
Joel canât stop staring.Â
He knows itâs impolite. He knows that heâs not being subtle. He knows that if any other person in this bar followed his eyeline, theyâd pick up on what he was doing in an instant. But every minute he doesnât get called out for it, he becomes more and more emboldened.Â
Itâs the first dance heâs ever been to in Jackson, and the only reason heâs here is to placate Ellie and Tommy. But even they have abandoned him in favor of better companions â his brother is deep in conversation with Maria, sitting across from him in a booth, and Ellie is out on the dance floor dancing with one of her new friends, Dina.
Joel just canât help himself. He still feels guilty for what heâs done, but he canât shake the feeling of a soft hand clasped within his own â the first time heâd felt any semblance of hope since arriving here. Tommy and Maria had already slyly let him know about all the women who were interested, but he couldnât bring himself to entertain their advances. Thereâs only one he wants, and she wonât even look in his direction.
When heâd first noticed you, you were whispering with Eugene on the opposite side of the dance floor. According to Tommy, you spend a fair bit of your time with the old man, which Joel initially thought to mean that you had some sort of entanglement. At first, Joel thought that couldnât be possible. But you were deep in focus as you listened to Eugeneâs words, nodding and leaning in closer and closer, and Joel thinks Tommy might be right. He wants to understand what you see in this man â tall and unkempt, covered in tattoos with long, graying hair and a beard to match. But Joel catches himself in his judgment, heâs probably just as unappealing â not just because of how heâs aged, but because of how horrible heâs been to you in general.Â
The next time Joel sees you, youâre at the bar, chatting with a man who Maria had introduced him to not long ago, a resident who is new in town. Joel had been too busy focusing on the fact that heâd been in Jackson long enough to not be its newest resident that he couldnât remember his name. He wishes he had, so he could keep tabs on him. Of course, he canât blame the man for being drawn to you â Joel knows very well that youâre hard to miss in a crowd.Â
Still, Joel bristles when you both step away from the bar, and the manâs hand lands just above your sacrum. He actually finds himself tensing up, resisting the urge to intervene, because itâd likely only make you angry. Plus, maybe you are interested. That question is answered quickly when you reach behind your to clasp the man's hand and place it back at his side. Where it belongs, he thinks.
âJoel!â
He snaps his attention to whatâs in front of him â interrupted, and probably for good measure, lest he get himself too worked up. Ethan approaches with a girl his age, her arm linked through his. Joel stands to greet them.Â
The terse understanding between himself and Ethan while you were still in the hospital had somehow turned into a friendship, especially after theyâd begun getting paired up on patrol. Ethan reaches out for Joelâs hand to dap him up, slinging an arm briefly over his shoulder.
âHowâs it going, kid?âÂ
âGood, good,â Ethan nods, pulling back, and gestures to the girl next to him. âJoel, this is Alex.â
âItâs nice to meet you,â she says. âEthanâs told me all about you.âÂ
âReally?â Joel asks, feeling a little bewildered.Â
âOnly good things,â Alex says quickly, as if she senses his apprehension. Ethan puts his arm around her waist. Joel recalls a few weeks back when heâd asked for advice on how to ask out a girl. Joel hadnât pried at the time, but now he seems to understand, and is surprised by the swell of pride he feels. âEthan says youâre a fucking badass,âshe giggles after she swears.
Joel looks over at Ethan. âI donât know about that.âÂ
He shrugs, changes the subject. âSince when do you come to these things?â Ethan asks.
âEllie dragged me out,â Joel answers.
âI did the same with my aunt,â Ethan chuckles. âBut now I canât find her, and Iâm pretty sure sheâs escaped.â
âOh, is she here?â Joel plays dumb, like he hasnât been aware of exactly where you have been all night. âI havenât seen her.â
âI think she was with Eugene earlier,â Alex has to stand on her toes to speak into Ethanâs ear. Joel watches Ethanâs nose wrinkle.Â
âDo you know Eugene at all?â Ethan turns to Joel. âIâm trying to figure out whatâs going on there, but she wonât say anything.âÂ
Joel wishes that he had more information. âTommy says they seem close.â
âI know that,â Ethan says. âI wish she would just be honest with me. Itâs not like I would be mad. Whatever,â he shakes his head. âWe can talk about it another time. I just want to find her so I can introduce her to Alex.â
âWe should say hi to Tommy and Maria first,â Alex says, and Ethan nods in agreement before saying goodbye to him. Joel claps a hand on Ethanâs shoulder as he moves past him, and Alex gives him a shy smile in acknowledgement.Â
Focusing back on the crowd, Joel realizes that youâve vanished in the short span of his last interaction. Maybe youâd rejected that guy, and then heâd retaliated. Maybe youâd gone home with Eugene. Joel shakes his hand. Itâs none of his business. He doesnât need to get involved. Itâs not his job to look after you, regardless of how much better he feels when he does. Old instincts. He canât help himself.
He settles on watching Ellie and Dina spin each other around on the dance floor. Eventually, Tommy and Maria, then Ethan and Alex all trickle out of the booth to go get another round or head to dance. Joel stands to release the booth to someone who actually needs it â and is left in the corner, nursing a nearly empty beer thatâs now flat and warm. He looks towards his family and friends, but for some reason, he still feels alone.Â
Joel isnât sure how long he stands sulking, but he starts when someone approaches from behind.
âHaving fun?â
Youâre a pace or two back, one thumb hooked through a belt loop, a whiskey in your opposite hand. Joel looks back at the crowd a moment, then at the ground. âNo.âÂ
âNeither am I,â you commiserate, stepping alongside him.Â
Joel considers offering that Ethan was looking for you, but selfishly does not want to give you a reason to leave, so he stays quiet. You observe the dance floor like he is, smiling slightly at the sight of Ethan and Alex dancing. The flannel youâre wearing over a gray tank hangs loosely off one shoulder, and Joel wants to reach out and touch the exposed skin. You take your last sip of whiskey, bring a finger to swipe under your bottom lip, and Joel wishes he knew what you might taste like right now. He scolds himself for fantasizing.
You donât speak either, and you stand in silence for a while, until you eventually pop your hip, shifting closer to him. Maybe you donât realize it, but youâre already standing so close that your arm gets pressed up against his. Neither of you acknowledge the contact, but Joel is acutely aware of how your skin burns hot against his own. He feels comforted by the affection, even if itâs unintentional.
âWant to leave?â Joel asks, and can hardly believe that the words came out of his mouth, even if he wanted them to.Â
You look over at him, not bothering to hide your surprise, but your expression evens out quickly, and you give him a single nod. âYeah.âÂ
âââ シ ・ďžâ: *.â˝ .* :âďž. âââ
Joelâs still not convinced this is real. It feels too much like a dream, the weather outside is so pleasantly warm it feels like heâs floating as you walk down the street. He had never expected you to agree to leave with him, and now he doesnât know what to do, or what to say.
The greater distance you put between yourselves and the bar, the quieter the town is. Most of Jacksonâs residents are at the dance, save for the guards at the front gate and the handful of people that had been mingling just outside.
He heads in the general direction of the neighborhood, even though he lives on a different street.Â
âWhat are we supposed to do now?â you wonder out loud, and you sound a little incredulous, like youâre equally as shocked to find yourself beside him. The question carries a bit more weight than it would have coming from anyone else.
Joel contemplates. Heâs not sure what he wants from you â there are a lot of things, actually â but he doesnât know if he really deserves any of them. For now, your companionship is more than enough.
âYouâre welcome to come back to mine,â he offers. âBut if youâre looking to keep drinking, all the booze is back at the bar.â
âIâm good.â You shake your head like youâre uninterested, but look over at him with a sparkle in your eye. âI have something betterâŚ.âÂ
You reach into the pocket of your flannel and produce a rolled joint between two fingers, looking over your shoulder. âThose dances are usually terrible, so I always come prepared.âÂ
Joel canât help the chuckle that escapes him, and the sheepish grin he gets in return makes his cheeks feel warm. âWhereâd you even get that?â
âYouâve never been on patrol with Eugene, have you?â you ask. âHe has a place just out of town where he grows it. Iâve been helping him since we first got paired up, and in exchange, I get to sample the supply.â Â
Of course. Joel wouldâve never imagined that was the reason you were so close with Eugene, but it suddenly makes incredible sense. He shakes his head in a combination of relief and amusement. âYou really havenât changed.âÂ
âOh, Iâm sure I have,â you answer, smiling to yourself and looking at the ground. âBut of course I havenât shaken all my bad habits.â
âThatâs not true,â Joel mutters.
âWell, you havenât changed either, for as much as youâve tried to convince me,â you nudge him gently, offering him the joint. âWhat do you think?âÂ
Joel plucks it from between your fingers and puts it between his lips. âI think I have a lighter at home.â
âSounds perfect.âÂ
In the front hallway of his house, you slip out of your tennis shoes, shuffling behind him in your socks, pausing occasionally to study some of the doodles that Ellie had drawn and hung on the walls â it wasnât exactly a priority to decorate these days, but they certainly livened up the place. He knows how much Ellie likes you, despite the fact that she doesnât gush, but the odd comment here and there says as much. Joel remembers how difficult it had been to keep Sarah away, and Ellie now is no different. He doesnât seem to be able to help himself, either.Â
You sit next to Joel on his wicker couch, curling your feet up under you as he lights the joint and study him while he takes the first few puffs. He does it without thinking. Thatâs how soft Jackson has made him. Normally, heâd be too stressed about being out of his wits. But he canât see how hypervigilance has served him since settling down. He feels safe here, and somehow especially because heâs with you.Â
When he passes the joint your way, you look at him wistfully. âOld times,â you say with a grin.Â
Joel nods as he exhales, coughing. âOld times.âÂ
âOh yeah,â you say, as if you just remembered something. âYou canât tell Ethan about this. He doesnât know, and he will give me shit about it. I need him to take me seriously.âÂ
Joel shakes his head. âWell, you know, it sounds like he and Tommy both think you and Eugene are together.â
âWhat?â your head jerks forward in shock, eyes going wide. âOh my god, no. Do people think that?â
âIâm just sayinâ,â Joel wants to mention how he had seen you whispering to each other at the bar earlier, but then realizes itâd give a bit too much away. âThatâs what they think.â
âWell....historically speaking I mightâve liked older menâŚ. but not that old.â
Joel purses his lips. âYouâve lived here awhile, huh?â When you nod, he continues. âHas no one caught your eye?âÂ
âUhmâŚ.not really. ButâŚ.â you trail off, looking into Joelâs backyard. âTo be completely honest, I don't think about that much these days. I guess I feel like I have a lot to be grateful for. I donât want to push it.â
Joel understands, and nods pensively.
âWhat about you?â you ask.Â
âI guess I feel the same.â
That causes you to smile a little bit, look over at him. âI bet you already know this. But the women here would line up down the block for you.â
Joel canât help but roll his eyes, though he wonders if you would, too. Even if you did like him, that didnât seem like your style.Â
âIâm serious. Iâve heard the things they whisper behind your back. All their fantasies about you are pretty creative...â
âFantasies?â He grimaces. He imagines none of them know anything about who he really is. Youâre the closest thing, and all heâs done is hurt you. âIâm sure you were quick to set them straight.âÂ
âI donât say anything,â you say, then continue on, a little quieter, looking at him from under your lashes. âI like to keep you to myself.âÂ
Joel isnât sure how to respond to that. You have every right to tell all of them that you were once together, and all the ways heâs hurt you since. Yet for some reason, youâve chosen to protect him.Â
âSoâŚ.all this timeâŚ.â you wonder. âYou had to have been with other people, right?â
Joel doesnât think to hold back. âI had a partner for a long time. Tess. First, it was all business, I helped her smuggle things in and out of the Boston QZâŚand then, I donât knowâŚ.we got along, we trusted each other andâŚâ Joel trails off, hoping youâd put together the rest before he has to go into too much detail. âShe was real fuckinâ tough. Scared me a little at first. You wouldâve liked her.â
âWell, we already have one thing in common. What happened?â
âSheâs the whole reason I ended up out hereâŚ.with Ellie,â Joel explains. âBut I lost her a little over a year ago.â
He hopes you donât ask how. Maybe someday heâd be willing to go into detail, but talking about it generally is hard enough as it is. But fortunately, you seem to pick up on his hesitance. âIâm sorry, Joel,â you say softly.
He shakes his head. âI was an asshole. To her. I should've....after Sarah died I didnât want to get attached, so I kept her at arms length and I... I wished I hadnât in the end. It only made things worse.â
âYeah,â you nod, look down. âIâve made that mistake before.â
Joel doesnât want to linger any longer on the memory. âWhat about you? Were you with anyone?â
âUhm, yeah,â you fidget, looking uncomfortable. âI had a partnerâŚ.for like ten years."
Ten years? He had been with Tess for more, but something about that information feels jarring. Heâs shocked Tommy never told him this. Did Tommy even know? Suddenly, it dawns on Joel everything that couldâve happened to you since youâve been apart. Entire lifetimes. And heâd said such horrible things when youâd fought. He remembers your face when heâd told you that you didnât know what it was like to lose a child. Maybe you had. Heâd been so cruel and inconsiderate just because he was uncomfortable.Â
His throat feels tight, almost scared to learn anymore. âWhatâŚwhat was his name?â
âWell, BeaâŚ.was her name.âÂ
Joel is sure he doesn't hide the shock well. âSorry, I didnât knowâŚâ
âYeah,â you say. âI donât think I did either. Well, I sort of did, but I was too young I think when I first realized to make any sense of it, butâŚ. I met her andâŚyeah,â then, you smirk. âI mean, I went to an all-girls school and I had a really bad relationship with my dad soâŚit definitely makes sense. âÂ
Joel considers this, smiles along with you. âBut anyways. Her and I met shortly after my brother died and it was kind of the same. We kept each other alive, things developed from there. We ended up getting involved with this group who lived in the middle of nowhere. Thatâs a whole other story, butâŚâ you wave your hand. âI loved her, and I lost her right before Ethan and I got here.âÂ
Joel sees all the pain in your eyes, and wishes he could say something to take it all away. He knows he canât. You look back out into the woods in his backyard, take a deep breath, and reach back towards the joint that you had put out not long before, lighting it again. Joel gets the sense that both of you had done the most amount of sharing possible for the time being.Â
âLook at us,â you take another drag before passing it over. âOld times.â
âOld times,â he repeats, a smile working its way onto his face.Â
âThis used to be my favorite thing to do with you.âÂ
âIt was nice,â Joel agreesâŚ.hesitates before continuing. âBut I can think of some things I liked better.â He gives you a knowing look, and you roll your eyes, laughing easily at his joke. It feels so good to make you laugh, to see you smile. Why had he spent so much time resisting?
âTouche.âÂ
What happens next spills out of Joel so quickly he doesnât think to stop it. âI tried to look for youâŚ.after all this happened. I didnât have Sarah anymore, and I thought maybeâŚ.I donât know. It was the only thing that kept me going for a while.â
âI did too,â you confess. âButâŚI was with Vincent and Ethan, and I felt like I couldnât leave them alone for something that might just beâŚ. I always hoped you both made it. And Iâm so sorry sheâs gone. I really did love her.âÂ
âI know you did,â Joel reaches out to take your hand. âI know. And I shouldnât have said those things I did. Iâm still not sure why youâve been so patient with me.â
âHmm,â you shift so that youâre closer to him. âYou waited around for me back then. Itâs only fair that Iâd wait around for you now. I want you in my life. I donât care what that looks like. But itâs too hard to forget about a person that you loved.âÂ
Joel wants as much from you as youâre willing to give, and he canât tear his gaze away from you. But he wants you to see him, all of him, before he takes it.Â
âIâve let a lot of people down. Iâve done a lot of h-horrible things,â his voice cracks, and tears well in his eyes.Â
âI have, too, you know? Those things still live with me. But I think what matters is who we are now,â you reach out, fingertips brushing the scar on his temple, and Joel swears that even if you donât know the story behind it, you can see right through him. âAnd I know who you are.âÂ
âI donât want to hurt you anymore than I already have.âÂ
âYou wonât,â you say. âNo more than anyone else has. And if it makes you feel betterâŚwhen people hurt me, Iâve gotten pretty good at hurting them back.âÂ
âIf I do, Iâd hope you would.â
âI will. I promise,â your thumb strokes his cheek, marveling at him. âI would suggest a blood oath or something butâŚ.I heard we kind of already did thatâŚâ
Heâs given you every warning, every barrier, and youâre still here. He canât believe it, and he doesnât think he can hold back any longer. âCome here.â
He kisses you. He wishes that he could be slow and tender and gentle like he used to be â and certainly heâs still capable, but he realizes that heâs been depriving himself of something he wanted for so long, and canât seem to control himself.Â
Your hands land on the side of his face, and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. Maybe youâre somewhat taken aback by his urgency, you hum against his lips, but you donât resist at all. Joel maneuvers you so youâre straddling his thighs, and he grips your hips, your ass, coasts his hands up your side. Your lips part in a moan, and he slips his tongue into your mouth.Â
For a while, he stays there, savors the taste of you, whiskey and smoke still lingering on your lips. His hands cup your jaw, feel your body, grip and squeeze and stroke and you let him, continue to let him. He tries everything, wondering if youâll tell him to stop, if youâll decide youâve had too much, but you donât. Then again, he should know by now that youâre a woman who knows what she wants. He just finds itâs hard to believe that heâs the thing you want.
You break away from him, just a little, and Joel presses his nose to your neck, kisses your pulse point.Â
âShould we go upstairs?â your voice is raspy and breathless. âWill Ellie be home soon?âÂ
âProbably not for a while. We can be quick.â
âHopefully not too quick,â you raise your eyebrows. Joel canât help but laugh a little. He relishes in the way your hands rake up and down his arms, exploring him, touching him. Of course he wants you, but even just this would be enough. Heâd be content with less, he hadnât realized how starved of affection heâd been.
Youâre able to pry yourselves off one another to make it up the stairs, and Joel guides you with a hand to the small of your back. When you get to his bedroom, he opens the door, but stops you before you go inside.Â
âHold on,â Joel mutters, winding one arm around your waist, the other behind your knee.
âJoel, what-no, youâllââ he pulls you into his arms.Â
âDo you really think Iâm not strong enough?â
âI didnât say that,â you chuckle as he carries you over the threshold and into the bedroom, breath puffing against him before he lays you down on the bed.Â
When he hovers over you, your fingers wind into his hair, nails raking against his scalp. He savors every sweet sigh heâs able to pull from you, hands cupping your breasts and squeezing your hips. Youâre so pliant and open beneath his body, it makes it easier to not feel guilty about what heâs doing. He knows he shouldnât feel guilty, youâve said as much, but it might take some time before the feeling will die completely. Hopefully, he has enough time with you to see it off completely.
Clothes are removed quickly, intentionally, as you both bare more and more of yourself to each other. And while he wishes he couldâve been there to see the ways in which your body has changed, youâre still as beautiful as ever.Â
Joel, however, is hesitant to give himself away completely. When you tug at the hem of his shirt, he hesitates.Â
âI donât know if-â he pauses. âIf you want to see all that.â
âJoel,â you stare at him knowingly, kneeling across from him as he stands at the edge of the bed. âI do.âÂ
So he releases your hand, and lets you pull it over his head. Carefully, you study him, his body littered with scars. He knows heâs not as in shape as you remember. These days, he hardly can look at himself in the mirror after a shower. He expects you to be disgusted, or at least see it flit across your face before you compose yourself, but you donât. Your fingertips drag through the smattering of hair on his chest and down his torso, tracing several prominent scars â each one with a story â but you linger on the one at his abdomen, frowning.Â
He sees the question on your face, but you donât ask it. Instead, you return to press yourself against him. âIâm so glad youâre still hereâŚ.â
You kiss him, then, and Joel can only kiss you back.Â
Joel isnât the only one with battle scars. Some of them he feels are his fault, but you seem less self-concious about them, which gives him a surprising amount of confidence. Maybe itâs just a reality of what happens when you make it this long.Â
When youâre finally bare beneath him, he admires how you look, stretched out and waiting, chest heaving and shivering with anticipation. He slides his hand between your legs â feels you already wet and warm, sinking two fingers inside. Your walls flutter around the intrusion, back arcing off the bed when you sigh out his name. Joel.
Heâd forgotten how nice it felt to hear that.Â
Joel is already thinking about what heâd like to do to you next time. Heâd be more careful, more patient. Heâd bury his face between your thighs to see if you tasted as good as he remembers, heâd let your fingers curl into his hair. But right now you both seem desperate for the same thing.Â
He pumps his cock a few times with his hand, he canât remember the last time heâd been this hard â the last time heâs wanted anyone this badly. Even with Tess, it had always felt like the both of them were hurrying to scratch an itch, her eyes would wander like she was thinking of other people, and maybe he was, too.Â
Joel lines himself up with your slick cunt, teases you a little, and you roll your body down to meet him, gasping when his blunt head slides in â just a little.Â
He canât hold back. You practically suck him in, so tight and hot around him he finds it immediately overwhelming, but he doesnât even think to pull out. Only when heâs fully seated inside you, and given you a chance to adjust, does he start to move.Â
Itâs euphoric. Youâre both older now, more mature, but he still remembers all the things you liked, even if it takes a moment for him to find the spot inside you that makes you cry out, legs wrapping around his hips.Â
Unlike before, you donât bother trying to hide from him. You kiss him, hold him, touch him, look him in the eyes, tell him how good he feels â you donât hold back. Joel relishes every word you say, clings to the praise and gives it back. Your lashes flutter when he tells you how pretty you look.
He can think of nothing else other than bringing you pleasure, can tell youâre getting close when you begin to rut against him, and he reaches down to let the pads of his fingers slide over your clit.
When you come, you whine his name, lock your lips with his own and he swallows your moans. The feeling of you so impossibly tight and wet and pulsing and squeezing him so tightly has him following closely after.Â
His head is still buried in the crook of your neck when you speak again. âGod, Iâve missed you.â
âIâve missed you, too.â
The second Joel pulls out, he starts missing how close he felt to you. But you fix that by rolling over onto your stomach, curling up at his side, head on his chest, and arm across his stomach.Â
âJoel. Fuck, youâre so perfect.â
Heâs far from it. But heâs starting to think if you say it enough, maybe heâll start to believe it. He turns his head to kiss you gently, slowly. âSo are you.âÂ
âWe can do this again, right?â you ask.Â
âYes,â he says. âYes, we can.â
âGood,â you settle back against him, and very slowly, he dozes off with you right beside him. He doesnât want to sleep alone again, and luckily, he doesnât have to.Â
âââ シ ・ďžâ: *.â˝ .* :âďž. âââ
-December 4th, 2026-
When you return home from patrol, you find Joel in his living room â boots off and socked feet propped on the arm of the couch. You donât notice his eyes are closed, that heâs asleep, until you get closer, see the book heâd been reading resting on his chest as he snores lightly. You canât help but feel for him â heâs probably exhausted from constant patrols, so he must be tired.Â
But mostly, youâre just overwhelmed by the love you feel for him, catching him in a quiet moment of vulnerability. Hesitantly, you reach out and squeeze his foot. Itâs gentle and tender enough that he blinks his eyes open and looks around, taking in his surroundings, rather than jolting awake like he often does. When he sees you on the opposite end of the couch, he melts back into the pillow heâs propped against.Â
âHey, stud,â you lean against the arm of the couch.Â
âHey,â Joel answers, voice still gruff with sleep. âHow long was I out?â
âI donât know,â you shrug. âI just got in.â
âHmm,â Joel closes his eyes again, folds his hands across his stomach.
âYouâre wearing the glasses I got you,â you point out. Theyâre simple. Rectangular black frames. Youâd found them on patrol, and brought them home after Joel had been complaining that he could barely see when he read before bed. But heâd tried them on and insisted he hated the way they looked, so youâd ended up using them most of the time.
âThey do work,â he grumbles, like heâs ashamed to admit it. âBut I still think they look stupid.â
âYou look like a sexy librarian,â Joel rolls his eyes, but you can tell heâs suppressing a grin. Thereâs always a bit of defiance about him, he canât fully admit how you get him so flustered even after youâve spent so much time together. You press your thumb into the arch of his foot and he groans. âThat feel good?â you ask.Â
âYes.â
âWhatcha reading?â You gesture towards the book.Â
âSome book about the moon landing,â Joel lifts it off of his chest, where it lay face down and open, looks at the back cover. âFor Ellie.â
âHow sweet.â
âItâs a little dry,â he deadpans. âBut she likes this stuff.âÂ
You shift your massage to his other foot. Joel stretches, his arms lifting above his head, the shirt heâs wearing rides up just so, so you see a sliver of his lower belly before it disappears again, throwing an arm over his eyes.Â
âAre you tired?â you ask.Â
âAlways,â he says through a yawn.Â
âMe too,â you yawn along with him, since theyâre contagious. He pulls the glasses from their perch on the bridge of his nose and shuts the book, placing them both on the coffee table in front of him. You take your hands off his feet and he sits up a little straighter, holding out his hand.Â
âCome âere,â he says, and you do.Â
He grunts as you settle into his arms, head nestled against his chest, sprawling out almost on top of him, the only way you both can fit like this on the couch.
âYouâre so warm,â you say softly, letting him wrap his arms around you.Â
âYouâre cold. Your hands are freezing,â he holds them in his own.
âItâs cold out.â
âDonât know why you left today.â
âObligations. Patrol.â
âFuck that.â
You laugh into his chest, pausing for a moment before speaking again. âYou know, I think we might be boring.â
âWhat makes you say that?â
âWell, we donât really leave the house. We spend all day reading. And weâre old.â
âWeâre not that old.â
âBut weâre getting up there.â
âSure, butâŚâ Joel trails off.Â
âEverythingâs so quiet, so calm.â
âI think thatâs what most people would describe as content.âÂ
âAre you content?â you ask, lifting your head to look him in the eyes.Â
âIâm happy,â he says softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ears. âAre you?â
âOf course.â
âGood. Then donât worry about the rest.â
âOkay,â you settle back against your husband's chest, feel his lips brush your forehead.
His fingers search absentmindedly for the ring on your finger heâd found while clearing out a pawn shop not too long ago. The one he wore looked nothing like your own. But the marriage had been long overdue, and neither of you cared what the rings actually looked like.Â
Nowadays, you split your time between his place with Ellie, and your own with Ethan, but end up in his bed every night. At this point, you donât think you could sleep without him.Â
Years ago, another lifetime, youâd had a conversation underneath a sky full of stars. Youâd told him that for you, good things had never lasted. Joel had made a promise.Â
This will.
It took time. There was a lot of pain. But in the end, he had told you the truth.
-
-
-
615 notes
¡
View notes
*screams into void*
III. Body to Flame*
Summary: And because this is how all these meetings endâone of you by the door, imparting some horrible truth on the otherâyou pierce him all the way through with, âHonestly, donât you love him more than that?â
A/N: 2.3K words. WELL LOOK whoâs biting the bullet and uploading this fic :) Weâre approaching our angst era, girls. Thank you for your patience. <3
A History of Touch Masterpost
This is how you want him: just the soft bits. The supple bits. Worked over and molten down to what makes him the same kind of human as youâ spit, blood, acheâdesire that burns so hot his steel bones would melt.
Honest and exposedâmaking sounds you want to hear, sounds that arenât pained or choked with hesitation.
Neither of you are speaking this time. His teeth are pressed against your throat, your back against damp grass about 4 miles from the cabin with the rest of your teammates.
The moon is silver and waning, her closing eye casting a sheen of light over the muscles of Steveâs shoulders and forearms.
Youâd gone for a walk. Sometimes you canât sleep and it was pretty out. Peaceful and chilly and lonely until you heard the door click behind you, Steve in a languid pursuit.
It would be romantic under different circumstances.
Keep reading
92 notes
¡
View notes