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It’s fucking freezing, but he makes do with the thin jacket draped loosely over him, the fleece lined one still hanging around Ellie’s shoulders. She sleeps through the night, slumped, exhausted against his chest. Joel passes in and out of consciousness, startling awake every so often, heart pounding in fear, only to look down and see her pale little face, eyebrows scrunched even in her dreams.
It’s morning now, the weak winter sun filtering through the dirty glass. They can’t stay here. They need to move. Joel doesn’t budge, watching her even breaths. Waiting.
He can tell when she wakes up, limbs stiffening under his arms, breath catching against his undershirt. He makes a soothing nonsense sound, pulling her gently towards his chest. She knows where she is. That’s how she’s going to sleep from now on. Like a wild animal, waking to reality instantly. Survival instincts kicking in immediately. He knows. Because that’s how he sleeps too. It makes him want to stab that fucker’s knee cap all over again. Burying his knife into every last one of their necks and slowly watching the life drain from their eyes, listening to their dying gurgles.
She’s just a fucking kid.
Joel clenches his jaw, the only tension he allows his body right now, resting his hand softly on the back of her head, careful of the tender bump. He closes his eyes briefly, leaning his head forward minutely.
“We gotta get up, baby,” he whispers. “Gotta get safe.”
She’s lax as he maneuvers her upright. Her cheek is red, creases where she pressed against his shirt. Her eyes are puffy and tender looking, hair in wild disarray. Ellie allows herself to be pushed to the edge of the couch, thin shoulders hunched. Body aching and stomach pulling with pain, Joel sits with his stiff back against the moldy couch.
Gotta keep moving.
First things first.
With the utmost care, he untangles the elastic from Ellie’s hair, careful not to tug. She makes no move to stop him, so he starts to comb his stiff finger through the greasy strands. It’s been years and it’s a different texture, but he’s done this before. Joel starts in small sections, gripping the ends first in a tight hold so it doesn’t pull at her scalp when he hits a snag. Painstakingly, he untangles the knotted strands, moving methodically through her hair.
By the time he’s satisfied, the sun has moved a little higher, warming the back of his neck through the window. He smooths her hair back, gently gathering the strands into a high ponytail and wrapping the stretched out elastic around the bundle. Joel lets his fingers linger for a second at her temple, wanting to press a kiss there, but losing his courage as the moments pass.
He moves out from behind her, grunting in pain as he stands. Carefully, he pulls up the edge of his dingy undershirt, inspecting the wound. Shakily, he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the swelling has gone down, no puss leaking from between the stitches.
“You going to live, old man?” The quiet words startle him. He turns abruptly to look down at her, dropping his shirt.
“Ba—Ellie?” He says hesitantly, she’s staring off into the distance, but her cheeks are dry. She blinks slowly, drawing her eyes up to his face.
“Well?” Her voice is a hoarse croak, ripped through from screaming, but there’s an edge there. A barely perceptible tremble. She needs him to answer. And that’s familiar too.
Just look at me, focus on me, don’t look away. It’s okay. We’re okay.
“Yeah,” he answers her question quickly, clenching the hand furthest from her, trying to channel all his feelings into the sharp press of his nails into his palm. “Yeah, I’ll live. Medicine did the trick.”
Her dirty boots twitch, body pushing up and off the couch. Joel lurches forward, hand ready to catch her. Sure enough, her knees buckle and he grips her elbow. How long has it been since she’s eaten? Ellie doesn’t push him away, allowing him to support her as she sways in the small living room.
Priorities.
“We gotta get you something to eat,” he’s thinking out loud.
“Us,” the words look like they require effort. She’s trembling slightly under his hand, cold or shock or something else.
“Huh?” He’s taking in the pinched expression on her face.
“We have to get something for us to eat,” she says.
“Yeah,” that’s what he said. “We gotta move. Food. Shelter.”
It’s unlikely that anyone left in the community would be coming to look for them, but not impossible. Judging by the fact that he hadn’t seen a soul when he had been searching through the buildings for Ellie, he wagers that the ones left aren’t fighters. But still, he’d given them the night to re-group. No sense in risking it. Gotta get a move on.
“You—” he stumbles, you okay, baby? “You okay to move?”
Ellie nods jerkily. Hand still cupping her elbow, he moves them towards the door, bending to pick up her pack and sling the rifle over his shoulder. The cold that hits them is bitter, and immediately cuts through his light windbreaker. Gritting his teeth, he pushes forward, hand sliding down to twine with Ellie’s fingers. Again, she doesn’t protest.
Moving slowly into the trees, they walk away from the direction of Silver Lake. However, they don’t make it a mile before Joel is leaned up against a tree, head spinning.
Fuck. Christ.
He grinds his forehead harshly into the tree bark, willing his traitorous heart to stop its sickening racing. Softly, Ellie rests her own head against his shoulder and that gives him the brief momentum to swallow down bile from his empty cramping stomach and push ahead.
An hour later, Joel messily shoots the head off of a rabbit, holding the bloody carcass with his free hand as they keep going.
They make it to another tract, stumbling into the smallest of the houses. It’s not much better than where they came from, but it will have to do. Ellie is as white as a sheet and Joel is about to fall over. Using the wall for balance, Joel rifles through the kitchen, predictably empty. Fuck. The rabbit will have to be enough for right now.
Tiredly, he smashes a kitchen chair against the wall, tosses the splintered wood into the fireplace, and strikes one of their precious matches, praying it won’t get them seen. Grunting, he lowers them to the floor, finally releasing Ellie’s clammy hand. He pulls out his knife and starts to gut the rabbit methodically, comforted by the warm glow of the fire at their sides.
When it’s done, Joel eats ravenously, the grease from the rabbit coating his fingers and lips. He forces himself to slow down, not wanting to vomit up the first food he’s eaten in days. Ellie is picking at her own portion, nibbling it listlessly. Joel watches her from under his lashes, feeling relief every time he sees her swallow.
They sit in silence, Joel desperately thinking, heart squeezing as he looks at her dirty fingers plucking at a piece of meat.
“How do rabbits travel?” He asks abruptly.
Ellie’s eyes snap up to meet his, confusion reflected there.
“By hareplane.”
She stares at him, mouth dropping open.
“That’s really dumb,” she says in disbelief. She isn’t smiling, but her eyes look more alive than he’s seen them since she stumbled out of that burning building covered in blood.
“I guess,” he acknowledges, sucking some gristle off a bone. “Just made it up.”
“Well, considering that, it wasn’t complete shit,” she says, shoving more rabbit into her mouth.
Joel feels a prick of tears behind his eyes, a lump rising in his throat, threatening to choke him. He clenches his jaw hard, looking away from her. Fuck.
After eating, they drag their feet to the second floor bedroom, sloppily piling on leftover sheets and blankets. It’s still light out, but who fucking cares. Joel wedges a chair under the door handle, moving to sit on the mattress, back against the wall.
“I’ll take the first watch,” he grunts.
Ellie nods, climbing onto the nest on the bed, pressing close, forehead leaning delicately against his side. He waits, time passing, the sun lowering in the winter sky. Her breathing has evened, puffing against his shirt. Hoping she’s sleeping without dreaming, he finally lets his shoulders relax slightly.
“Night, baby,” he says quietly into the cold room.
A few seconds go by before he hears it, so quiet in his bad ear.
“Night, Joel.”
His heart squeezes again and he bites his lip against the emotions bubbling up in him, hand rising to swipe at his nose. The cold is making it run. When his hand drops, he lets it rest next to her head on the mattress, touching the edges of her ponytail.
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