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the first thing joel feels is not the wound, it’s the regret.
the first thing joel feels is not the ache, it’s the despair.
the first the joel thinks is not that he’s dying, it’s of ellie. she’s so young and seen so much, felt so much, done so much. he takes the wood from the wound in the hopes that it will take the responsibility he’s so unjustly put on the girl’s shoulders. the blood pouring over his fingers will not wash away the sin of choice.
he fades in and out of consciousness, ellie’s face becoming sarah’s. they’re so similar. spitfires with a soul yet unmarred by the bad he’s seen, the bad he’s been. he thinks, is this what dying feels like? he thinks, is this how my daughter felt when she looked into my eyes and knew i couldn’t save her?
he comes to with ellie’s begs a cacophony of sarah’s own, memory and reality morphing into one. joel thinks, bitterly, hell was supposed to come after death.
he pushes ellie away, feels the violence in his hands, sees the hurt on her face. the hurt on sarah’s face. watches the sunlight etch ellie’s anguish into his memory and stops to thank god that it was nighttime when his daughter died. the technicolor rendering of his worst fears is enough now.
one job he couldn’t do twenty years ago. one job he can’t do now. how often are we given a second chance? how often do we throw it away? he thinks, i’ve failed her. he thinks, i wish i sang her a song. why has every effort gone to waste? she was just cargo. she was just cargo. she was just cargo.
when ellie’s footsteps stop and hesitate on the stairs, he almost breaks. she has no life as long as she stays. just another person who has left her. just another person who has died. he hopes, no, prays, she gets away before she can witness it. he thinks of a future where they both survive, and tommy comes, and as his eyes close, he lets himself think he’ll watch her grow up.
he dreams as he’s dying. he dreams of sarah, of seeing her grown and children of her own. he dreams she protects them like he never could. he dreams of a world where his last words, his last breaths, happen before hers. he dreams of a world that cannot hurt his daughter. his daughters. he dreams of a world where ellie’s childhood wasn’t ripped from her. he dreams of a world where ellie never has to hold a gun, where ellie can tell every joke she thinks of and it doesn’t have to be a way to save herself the tears. he dreams of a world where she gets to be a kid. he dreams of a world where ellie has family that isn’t him, because god knows she deserves it. he dreams of a world where he can protect his daughters.
when joel wakes to shaking hands in his own, he almost cries in spite of himself. he thinks, why did she come back? he thinks, this little girl with the world on her shoulders. he thinks, my ellie. when he sees the needle and thread in her hand, he almost laughs, if it wouldn’t split him open. he thinks, she’s stronger than i’ll ever be. he thinks, i wish she didn’t have to be.
joel lets himself dream of a world where everything is right. and when he opens his eyes, he almost thinks he sees it.