Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The low sun etches long shadows across the undulating hills encircling Jackson, each weathered wooden slat and looming watchtower of the community's defenses imbued with a welcoming glow. To the pair of footsore travelers trudging their way up the beaten dirt road, the sight is like a lighthouse welcoming them home. Ellie and Joel, their bodies etched with the toll of their journey—both physical and unseen—press on, the sight of those homely walls nurturing a small spark of relief in their tired hearts, flickering against the encroaching dark.

A symphony of life echoes around them. The earthy petrichor of fresh grass mingles with the rich soil underfoot, intermingling with the vibrant buzz of a community thriving against all odds. It's a heady cocktail of life persisting, a stark counterpoint to the skeletal remains of cities they've left in their wake; a sensory postcard from a time before everything went to hell.

Joel's voice, gruff and comforting as the setting sun, slices through the ambiance. "Reckon we're close enough to smell dinner cookin'." His vigilant gaze remains tethered to Ellie, tracking her moves and moods like a hawk eyeing its chick.

Ellie snorts softly, a wry grin tugging at the corner of her lips. "If by dinner you mean horse shit, then yeah, we're close."

But beneath her bravado, her heart flutters like a trapped bird, the enormity of their arrival pressing down on her chest. Joel, ever attuned to her, senses Ellie's unease, his calloused hand tightening around hers. It is a silent pact, a vow repeated in reassuring tones as often as she'd needed across their long journey from Salt Lake City: I'm here, baby girl, and I'm not goin' anywhere.

"Y'know, you don't have to keep holding my hand like I'm five," she teases.

"Who's holding whose hand, kiddo?" he shoots back, his gruff exterior not remotely concealing the undercurrent of affection. His gaze, weary yet resolute, holds hers, silently reiterating his promise to keep her safe, always.

Spotting an approaching rider, Joel hails. "Name's Joel, Tommy's brother. Maria's brother-in-law. The girl's Ellie. They're waitin' on us." The rider, initially cautious, eventually gestures for them to follow, riding ahead while signaling the guards with a white handkerchief. They lag behind, giving him time to relay their arrival to Tommy, while the memory of a snarling, infection-sniffing dog from their past stirs unease within them.

As they draw closer, the fortress-like gates of Jackson groan open, revealing two familiar faces. Tommy, his features softening into a warm smile, strides forth, arms open in welcome. Slowing her stride behind him is Maria, her hands protectively cradling the swell of her pregnant belly, beaming at their arrival. As Tommy embraces Joel, their shared history resonates in the silence of the moment. Ellie observes the reunion, her mouth curving into a tired smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. She knows she's home… but home, like everything else, is an enigma—a map unwritten and a code undeciphered; a place she's never truly known, but has never stopped yearning to belong.

"Goddammit, you old bastard, look at ya." Tommy pulls back, his weathered hand thumping Joel's shoulder with brotherly affection. "Had us worried sick!"

"We were always comin' back," Joel manages, his voice choked with emotion. "Just took a while longer'n we expected."

Ellie, ever the observer, takes in Maria's radiant glow, her heart twinging with an unnamed longing. She's never seen a pregnant woman up close before, and the image of new life amidst such desolation is both jarring and comforting.

"Maria," she greets, stepping forward, "you're... uh… looking good. And fucking huge. In a good way, I mean."

Maria's laugh is a warm burst of sound that momentarily sweeps away the remnants of their journey's hardships. "Thanks, Ellie. Feels like I'm about ready to burst. Can't wait for our little one to make their debut. Glad the two of you made it back safe and sound!"

Joel's gaze lingers on Maria's rounded belly, the symbol of life continuing amidst the chaos. His thoughts wander to Sarah, to the world that could've been. He blinks back the sting in his eyes, focusing back on the present.

"Y'know, Ellie," he murmurs, leaning in close, "You might be called on to help Maria out once the kid comes. Takes a lotta energy to deal with a newborn, and we can't be countin' on Tommy to know his own ass from a diaper."

Ellie's eyes widen, her lips parting in a small 'o', as Tommy shakes his head and chuckles. Just a few feet inside the gate, and Joel's slipped right back into 'pain in the ass big brother' mode. She glances at Maria, who's watching them with a soft smile, and nods. "Fuck yeah, I'll help!"

Tommy nods at the guards manning the gate, then makes a grand sweep of his arm, ushering everyone inside. "Alright, let's get y'all settled in. It's been a long trip."

Joel's gaze, touched with an uncommon softness, lingers on the sprawling community beyond the gates. His pulse quickens at the echoes of the past—the remnants of an old world where laughter was not a rare commodity, and children were just children, not survivors. An unspoken sigh settles heavily in his chest, pressing down on his battered heart.

"We're home," Ellie murmurs, pulling him from his thoughts. Her voice carries a note of relief, a bittersweet melody that reminds him of how far they've come.

"Feels like a damn lifetime ago," Joel muses, his voice gravelly with exhaustion. He turns his gaze to Ellie, his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that goes beyond simple affection. "But we made it, kiddo."

A smile tugs at the corners of Ellie's mouth, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Her grip on Joel's hand tightens a fraction, an anchoring point amidst the swell of emotions.

"Yeah," she answers, her voice a murmur as she presses her forehead against his arm. "We made it."

Ellie's gaze roams over the vibrant settlement, drinking in the sights and sounds of life thriving within the walls. The joyful shouts of children darting about the courtyard, the synchronized melody of hammers striking nails in a distant workshop, and the cheerful laughter punctuating the air tell a tale of life lived not in fear but in hope; of lives preserved within these walls, shielded from the horrors of the world outside. It's a stark reminder of what she might've had if the world hadn't turned to smash. The normalcy of it all tugs at her heartstrings, filling her with a sense of longing and regret.

Observing her, Joel's gaze softens, a silent empathy reflecting in his weathered eyes. The rough edges of his hardened exterior give way to the tenderness that he reserves just for her. His fingers, strong and calloused, give a gentle squeeze to her hand still entwined with his. He draws in a deep breath, tasting the hopeful air around them.

"S'okay, darlin'," he murmurs, the Texan drawl in his voice a soothing balm over her swirling emotions. The simple affection laced in his words pierces through the turmoil within her. "We're gonna do our best to make it here. I promise."

Ellie nods and lets out a soft sigh, the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly as they roam over the settlement. It's a moment of respite, a chance to gather herself before facing the uncertainty that awaits. The well-meaning smiles around them hold a promise of camaraderie and healing. But the ghosts of their past journey, the trials they've endured together, and the weight of Joel's confession about what happened at the hospital continue to haunt her thoughts.

Their past refuses to remain buried, casting long shadows over the bright prospect of safety. It's a bitter pill to swallow, the knowledge that the cost of her life has been etched in scars and loss. As they venture further from the walls, the gates creak shut behind them, an echo of finality. Her gaze involuntarily drifts back, a wordless goodbye to the renegade existence they're leaving behind.

The walls of Jackson feel sturdy, impenetrable even. A rare sight in this world, a haven where humanity has carved out a space to exist in harmony and rebuild. Ellie's mind, however, cannot shake the persistent whispers of doubt. How long will this illusion of safety last? It's a question that slithers through her thoughts like a venomous snake, reminding her of the fragility of their existence.

But this is where they're settling now, the closest thing to home they're ever likely to find. It's a shot at a fresh start, a chance to heal and experience more than just survival. And for now, that has to be enough.

"Ready, kiddo?" Joel's voice interrupts her thoughts, his eyes searching hers for confirmation.

Ellie turns back to him, her gaze steady, their clasped hands remaining a quiet tribute to their unyielding bond.

"As ready as I'll ever be," comes her resolute reply.

Tommy and Maria guide them down the well-trodden path, their steps a synchronized dance echoing the lively and spirited rhythm that beats within the town. The rustic, blue-toned wooden house stands modestly among its neighbors, its weathered exterior revealing the resilience of the community. As Ellie takes her first steps inside, she's struck by the warmth emanating from within, a sensation she hasn't experienced in a long while.

Ellie's entrance is mirrored by the house: the weight of her sneakers kissing the aged hardwood floor elicits soft murmurs from beneath, as if the house is breathing in her presence. Tommy and Maria navigate through the rooms effortlessly, their voices a playful game of catch bouncing off the homely confines, filling the rooms with a sense of domesticity. The house isn't grand or sophisticated, but it's a space that's embraced life in its purest form: the kitchen humming with memories of shared meals, bedrooms echoing tales of comfort, and a living area yearning for conversations and companionship. A worn yet comfortable-looking sofa stirs a pang of longing within her. Her mind whispers images of her and Joel, cuddled together against the evening chill, the flames from the fireplace casting dancing shadows over their faces.

She wanders towards a window, her fingertips grazing the glass. The world outside is a snapshot of an era much more familiar to Joel than to any she'd known within her own lifetime. Children chase the dying sun, their laughter a melody dancing with the wind. Voices of adults, low and soothing, form a constant hum in the background, the soundtrack to their thriving community. It's a sight that shouldn't belong to the desolate canvas of their world, yet here it stands: a living, breathing testament to the resilience of humanity.

The warmth of the scene is momentarily cut by the low, timbered voice of Joel thanking Tommy and Maria. There's a tension in him she can't pinpoint—a mix of relief and apprehension, perhaps. But when he turns to her, the world outside fades, and his eyes hold nothing but warmth.

"Your room's upstairs where you left it," he says, nodding towards the staircase. "Go on, get settled in."

Ellie studies his face, searching for a hint of the unspoken. Beneath the tan and scruff, there's a stoic reassurance, a silent promise that she isn't alone in this. His words, although plain, were layered with meaning: hinting at a new beginning, and the chance for peace.

"I'm right behind ya," he adds, his drawl doing little to mask the underlying tenderness.

Ellie gives him a firm nod, her grip tightening around the strap of her pack. The seeds of their new life were being sown, the future a vast canvas yet to be painted. Even as uncertainty lingers, the thought of having a place to call home offers a glimmer of hope. This was no longer a temporary dwelling offered for a single night's stay—this house was now theirs to belong inside. She feels something profoundly sacred about this moment, a sense of permanence never tasted before. As Ellie takes the first step towards the staircase, her hand brushing against the wooden banister, she feels a tremor of anticipation. The house seems to hold its breath, the whispers of life from the rooms below growing faint, leaving her enveloped in a hushed reverence.

She follows the staircase up, each creak of the worn wood beneath her feet a testament to the lives this house has sheltered before her. A door awaits her in the hallway, plain and unassuming. She pushes it open, her heart matching the quiet creak of the hinges, stepping into a room bathed in the last hues of the fading day. The room is modest in its offerings: a bed complete with pillows and soft linens, a small table with a lamp, and a cozy nook with its window gazing out at Tommy and Maria's house across the way. I forgot how nauseatingly candy-colored this room was, she notes to herself, wrinkling her nose. But still, compared to the FEDRA dorms, it's a fucking palace.

She drops her bag onto the bed, and for a time she just stands there, absorbing the moment. She's safe. She's home. The calm it ushers in is both unsettling and welcome, a contrast she's yet to reconcile with.

Turning back to the window, Ellie traces her gaze back to Joel, now deep in conversation with Tommy and Maria outside. The sight of him—a man who's gone far beyond the role of protector to become an irreplaceable part of her life—sends a flutter through her heart. He's shouldered countless burdens, made sacrifices, and has been unwavering in his belief in their shared future. The bond they've formed over their journey is unbreakable.

But as she watches him, the struggle to fit herself into this almost idyllic picture swells, an internal tug-of-war that doesn't seem to relent. Still, she tries her best to let the thoughts fade into a softer focus. This is her home now. Ellie closes her eyes, the scents of fresh linen and aged wood filling her senses. This is their new beginning, the next chapter of their lives—one she hopes will be kinder than the last.

Candles etch shadows into the homely warmth of the dining room, casting flickering portraits of Ellie and Joel as they share a humble feast of vegetable soup and freshly baked bread. Tommy had brought it over as they were settling in, sparing them from having to take their first meal after their long journey in a crowded and noisy dining hall. The scent of simmered vegetables and aromatic herbs laces the room, a promise of Maria's culinary prowess.

Yet despite the homey ambiance, an air of silence, thick with unvoiced contemplations, hovers around them. The occasional scrape of spoons against bowls creates a rhythm, a symphony of their shared solitude amidst their tentative conversation. Theirs is a simple meal, yet its earthy goodness brings about a deep comfort that starkly contrasts the cold monotony of the canned food and small game they'd grown familiar with. Beside Ellie, a piece of bread, coarse and warm, radiates an almost alien delight. She tears a chunk, the aroma of freshly-baked grain drawing out an appreciation for such simple pleasures.

Ellie's eyes flicker towards Joel, the reflection of the candlelight dancing in her gaze. Their conversation skitters like a stone over a still pond; they chatter about the chill that still clings despite the season's turn to springtime, tasks to keep them busy in the upcoming days, anything but the weight of their collective history. They exist here, in this house that's now their home, with the specters of their journey hovering just beyond the edge of their words.

Joel, with his characteristic glint of determination, peers at Ellie from across the table. The years etched into his face tell a story of resilience, survival, and an unspoken love for the girl across him. His voice, like molasses with a southwestern twang, meanders into casual conversation about a fence in need of mending nearby.

"Funny thing 'bout that fence," he says, offering Ellie a lopsided smile, "seems someone on the council insisted I should be the one to fix it. Wonder how they knew it was one of my specialties? Could it be... my reputation as The Contractor has preceded me?"

His playful words are carefully chosen, scattered like breadcrumbs into their silence, coaxing Ellie from her pensive stillness. His eyes plead for the girl to find joy amidst her turmoil, a desperate gambit to paint their present with brighter hues.

For Ellie, the soup is more than a meal; it's a distraction. She stirs it, her gaze flicking between the swirl of vegetables and Joel's face. His words flow over her like a familiar melody, but her mind echoes with his confession on their journey back to Jackson: the hospital, Marlene's betrayal, the murder of the Fireflies at Joel's hand, her chance at sacrificing her life for the possibility of the cure taken from her by Joel's decision and actions. Those actions, though a manifestation of his devotion to her, muddle her emotions, transforming the tranquility of their meal into one of contemplation.

As the meal begins to reach its end, Joel's words are replaced by a quiet understanding. It's in this quietness that Ellie finds a voice for her gratitude. The weight of her thoughts nudges her towards the edge of confession, urging her to acknowledge her acceptance of the sacrifice Joel made in keeping her alive. Her struggle with the implications of it proves to be a formidable adversary, though.

Joel, ever the protector, senses the storm within her. He reaches out in the way he knows best, with an offer of more bread and a story about Tommy's disastrous attempts at laundry—a struggle that's seemingly persisted over the last two decades. "You won't believe it, but Tommy still can't match socks. Caught him wearin' one green, one blue today," he chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth.

His warmth breaks through the surface of their conversation, extending a silent promise to Ellie that no matter what, they're in this together. Ellie receives it, holding his gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary, the hint of a smile playing at her lips. For a brief moment, the ghosts of their past recede, replaced once more by the mundane talk of meals and tasks. Yet beneath their conversation lies the continuously swirling undercurrent of their shared history. Each syllable, each pause, holds within its folds their individual and collective burdens.

Joel's gaze lands on Ellie, his weather-worn face momentarily softened by a look of worry and understanding. "You holdin' up alright, kiddo?" The rough-hewn texture of his words belies a depth of paternal concern and warmth.

She doesn't answer immediately, choosing instead to let her eyes wander over the homely setting. It's a sharp contrast to the stark, brutal reality outside the walls of Jackson where they've made their home for months and miles of time. A part of her yearns to surrender to the lull of the moment, to soak in the warmth of Joel's earnest worry, to lose herself in this borrowed tranquility. Yet, her mind inevitably circles back to the bitter truth: the hospital, the Fireflies, her life's purpose stolen away.

"Yeah," she finally answers, her words barely above a murmur. "Just... thinking."

The room lapses into silence once more, the click of fiddled-with cutlery echoing through the space like the ticking of a clock, marking the passing moments. Joel, however, doesn't push. He recognizes the storm of thoughts brewing behind her eyes, and he knows all too well the weight of unspoken truths, regrets, and fears.

"Makes two of us," he confesses. The admission hangs in the air, a tangible testament to their shared burden. His confession, a mirror of her own struggles, threads a connection between them.

"What say we leave the dishes in the sink and call it a night? I'm guessin' we could both do with a hot shower and some gettin' acquainted time with our new beds."

Joel's suggestion tumbles through the air, words laced with weary optimism, but Ellie's eyes cloud over, a new storm of unease stirring within her gaze. The simple notion of separate rooms, just being a few paces apart along the upstairs hallway, injects a sharp pang of discomfort into her heart. Memories surge forth, unbidden and unwelcome, of the last time they had occupied these respective rooms—of when Joel had tried to hand her off to Tommy, to ditch her without warning, and leave her behind.

"Uh-huh," she finally manages, voice as flat as a hammered nail. "Our own bedrooms, too. Fucking fabulous."

Joel's eyes betray his worry as he tunes into the change in Ellie's voice. He's always had a knack for picking up on her unspoken signals, reading her like a well-worn map. He lets out a low sigh, hand instinctively going to the back of his neck, fingers worrying at the graying strands.

"Hey," he says, his roughened voice a familiar comfort despite the disquieting undercurrents. His eyes latch onto her with an almost desperate intensity. "Maybe it won't be that bad, baby girl."

'Baby girl'—the term of endearment triggers a landslide of emotions within Ellie. It's a sweet echo from a past life, a token of shared hardships and newly unguarded affection. The words unspool a heavy tide of nostalgia and longing, a sharp prick of loneliness puncturing her veneer of resilience like a shaking needle plunged into a festering stab wound. Turning away, she lets her gaze wander, tracing the sparse, rustic details of the dining room, deliberately avoiding Joel's gaze.

"Sure. It's just another fucking thing to get used to," she mutters, shrugging off the sudden onslaught of vulnerability.

In the ensuing silence, she remembers the spaces they'd slept in before—abandoned vehicles with torn upholstery, crumbling buildings with their skeletal structures barely intact, the hard and unforgiving earth underneath the open sky. Far from the luxury of the plush mattresses and sturdy roof they have now. It was terrifying, it was dangerous, but they were together. Always in sight. The safety net was the cadence of Joel's breath from the next sleeping bag over, the sense of safety he provided. She already longs for the familiarity, the comfort, the assurance of Joel's presence.

Meanwhile, Joel finds himself locked in a similar battle. His weathered features are etched with a deeper worry, eyes shadowed by a profound understanding. He knows Ellie's fears; they mirror his own gnawing apprehension. He hates the idea of leaving her alone, even if it's just a room away. There's a part of him that's grown to truly need her close, as vital as his next breath.

"Look," he begins, moving his chair closer to her side, "how 'bout we keep our doors open? Ain't much, I know, but... it might help a bit. And hell, I can even snore extra loud for ya tonight, if that'll make it any easier."

Ellie chuckles, the sound brittle but genuine, cutting through the somber mood. Joel, for all his gruff exterior, always seems to know how to lighten her spirits. She rolls her eyes, fighting back a smile.

"Yeah, I think I can live without the snoring, dude. Still..." she adds, her voice softening, "thanks."

Their conversation winds down, the final words hovering in the air as they begin to clear up, the clattering of dishes a mundane yet comforting routine. It's an adjustment, this new normal of individual rooms and solo bedtime routines. It's unfamiliar, unsettling, but she resolves to put on a brave face. Because that's what she does. That's what they both do.

The echoes of their exchanged words and shared silence linger, their meaning understood even as hot showers will wash away the grime and weariness of the road. They are survivors, and have always been. They will keep surviving, adjusting to a new normal, sleeping a few steps separated across a hallway, but always together at heart. They'll weather this, as they've weathered everything else—head on, and side by side.