Chapter Text
September 2036
His initial feeling is nothing but pure relief. She’s here, in one piece. She’s alive.
The knot in his stomach ceases at last and he disregards all the paranoias his mind had concocted on the way here: flashes of Ellie ripped apart by a clicker or starved and motionless in some nearby area.
He revels in the stillness for a moment, but soon the scene before him fully sinks in and settles. There she is, sitting in front of Saint Mary’s Hospital—an image just as horrifying in its own way.
The moment she pushes him away—rejects his embrace—he knows he’s done for. He knows exactly what’s about to happen, the dreadful anticipation of it following him around for years.
She begs for the truth, and although he knows there’s no getting out of this—no lie he can tell to make it go away—he’s frozen. Maybe if he stays still enough Salt Lake will melt away around them and they'll actually be in their home, nestled onto the couch with Jurassic Park queued.
“Just say it.”
His eyes squeeze shut. He takes his time and savors the current moment, accepting it as their last true time of peace. He’d stay like this forever if he could.
“Joel.”
Fuck.
He reluctantly obliges. His words are slow and vague, but for the first time in years, they’re honest. It’s all she needs.
And just like that—it’s over.
He remains there for a while, wallowing in the aftermath of it all. Ellie is way ahead of him by now; she left him in front of the hospital, the Firefly blood spilled at his hands haunting him still.
It’s probably been at least a half hour since she galloped away on Shimmer, hopefully keeping her promise and returning to Jackson. He prays he took care of any leftover Infected on the way so that she won’t run into any problems. He knows what she would say if she were still here.
I can take care of myself, Joel.
It’s true. She’s seventeen, nearly an adult, and she’s been going on patrols for almost a year now. Still, he feels the need to keep her close—keep her safe— a task he only trusts himself with. Despite her protests and relentless need to grow up, he knows that somewhere inside she feels the same. They watch each other’s backs. It’s just what they do. What they’ve always done.
But she’s not a little kid anymore. She hasn’t been in a long time.
Sure, plenty of things have stayed the same over the years. He rustles her hair to mess up her ponytail. She jokingly pushes his shoulder after he makes a cheap shot, something about her height or goddamn stubbornness. It’s followed by a shut the fuck up, old man that should make him angry, and maybe once it would have, but now only makes his heart burst.
But he knows the tension had been bubbling beneath the surface for a long time. After the car ride back and that lie—the first lie—he could always feel it floating around them.
I swear.
Just two words and everything had shifted.
He remembers static flooding from one ear to the other, drowning out the sounds of late Spring. He remembers anxiety pooling at the pit of his stomach as she scanned him for traces of insincerity. There was nothing but brutal quiet for a few beats, but her surrender came soon enough.
Okay.
She knew. Not all of it, obviously, but she knew. Of course she did; she’s smart as hell.
Still, that half-convincing okay made his chest settle. It was enough for the time being.
We’re going to Jackson, he thought. And nothing is ever going to hurt her again.
But then he lies again.
There was no cure, just useless test after useless test.
And again.
They were using you like some kind of lab rat.
And again.
There are dozens like you.
And although he never actually said the exact words, he knows it all culminated to the same, fake conclusion:
Your immunity means nothing.
Like everything else, it’s a lie. It could mean everything. But so does she. And to him, it’s a no-brainer.
He finds himself imagining what it would be like if he’d given her what she’d wanted. He sees Jackson, Tommy and Maria, vaccinated and living free of fear. He sees the world slowly begin to heal and return to a shell of its old self. He sees young girls that resemble Sarah, living without worry of falling at the hands of Cordyceps, or anything adjacent to it.
But then he sees Ellie in a hospital gown, lifeless and heartbreakingly pale. She’s been operated on, head cut open and brain out beside her. All her puns, dinosaur facts, memories—all of it—extracted and placed carelessly on cold metal. A limp hand hangs. Doctors hover and touch her, making his stomach flip at the thought of how much she’d hate it. He fights the urge to reach into his own head and throw them off her.
In the midst of his delusions, a memory of real Ellie —alive Ellie—pulls him back to the present. He can hear her make some dumb joke about his age, a goofy smile plastered across her freckled face. It’s then, and all moments like it, that he knows it for sure.
He wouldn’t take back a damn thing.
But now, standing alone, Ellie’s angry screams still clouding up the air, the fervor of his choice beats down on him mercilessly.
She had cried hysterically after his confession, and he can’t stop dwelling on the fact that he’s the cause of those tears.
He remembers once being the only one able to stop her sobs, his voice soothing enough to bring her back down to earth. The thought of her being hurt makes his stomach lurch on its own, but knowing he was the one at fault makes him feel downright sick.
He can’t move. How long has he been standing here? Minutes? Hours? He’s not sure anymore.
His eyes glance up to the hospital. That goddamn hospital.
He was there once, breath hitching at the sight of her unconscious body. Seeing his Ellie—always fidgeting—completely motionless brought him back to twenty years earlier. She looked…
Well, she looked dead.
The memory, even in the present, makes his heart sink to his feet. Another girl he couldn’t save, another small precious body to bury while he’s forced to keep living.
No, he thinks. She’s alive. I made sure of it.
And in the end, that’s all that really matters. He’s content with her never speaking to him again, if that’s what she really wants. Anything is better than the alternative—a grave with her name on it.
A vow of silence, never-ending screams, he doesn’t care. As long as she’s breathing, he’s done his job.
He mounts his horse and heads for Wyoming.
Heading back to Salt Lake was not an easy decision, but it was something she had needed to do. Nevertheless, a mixture of both hope and dread gnawed at her the whole way there. She was ready for clarity, but worried about having to deal with the truth. Things were good the way they were; she had a good life.
But Joel’s always been an awful liar, and his constant disregard for her rising curiosities made her head spin. She could never pinpoint what exactly he was hiding, but plenty of possibilities floated around her mind. With each lie her patience wore thinner and thinner. He was slowly losing her, and the only thing she really needed from him was honesty.
And she mentioned as much when he found her there, sitting defeated with a tape-recorder in hand, truth spilling out of its speakers. It confirmed her suspicion: she’s the only known immune person. It had mentioned something else, something she had considered before but hoped wasn’t true.
The only person who could develop a vaccine is dead.
People had gotten hurt—at Joel’s hands, no doubt.
He had a reason, she first thought, desperately. It was justified.
But it wasn’t. Not to her.
She glances down to Shimmer, the only company on her cruel, lonely trek back to Jackson. Soon enough, she finds herself fixating on her right arm. Her tattoo is nearly done. It still needs a few more finishing touches, but it already looks cool as fuck.
Her fingers graze the skin, loosely tracing the bumps of her self-inflicted chemical burn and the bitemark it masks.
Old grief returns and looms over her. She pulls her hand away.
That fucking bite.
It was nothing but a symbol for the destruction that seemed to follow Ellie wherever she went. Despite the immunity, it was like she infected everything she loved in one way or another.
Her mother had died during birth. Her birth. Riley was forced to turn all on her own, since some malfunction in Ellie’s system stopped her from following in her footsteps. There was Tess, Sam, and Henry, all people who had died because they dared to associate with her. They all died for her in a way. Lives all lost because Ellie needed to get from Point A to Point B.
It can’t be for nothing. That’s what she had said to Joel. They had both been through hell to get to the Fireflies, but she knew it would be worth it. All the chaos caused and pain endured would be rectified. Ellie, who had been nothing but a curse all her life, would finally matter and do something good. Save people. Save the world.
And she was so close. A few more minutes and everything would’ve fallen into place. Sure, she’d be dead, but it would’ve been a small price to pay for a second chance at life for everybody else. It’s the least she could do after all the suffering she’d caused.
But none of that even matters because it was all for nothing. It’s no different than all those times before. Just another example of how Ellie’s existence is nothing but a plague.
Hell, the world literally demanded her demise in order to be saved. A world without her is healed and free.
But she’s still fucking here and the world continues to be shit.
The more she thinks about it, the more red floods her vision. Although Jackson is safe for the most part, plenty of people have gotten injured on patrol. Some have died. She’s been able to run around on the ground they’re buried under, kissing Cat or sneaking out with Jesse and Dina for the past three years.
Their blood is on her hands.
Marlene had made it clear: the fate of the world lies upon your shoulders. And although Ellie had wondered why she of all people would get a second chance, she didn’t want it to go to waste. Being the only hope for a cure was a big responsibility, but she had understood it fully. She was willing to fight for it. Joel had known this; he had seen it.
Joel. The name lingers with a sour aftertaste. Her mind flickers to the image of him, a little younger, brutally murdering an innocent doctor in ways he doesn't deserve.
Did he die easily? Or did he put up a fight?
She imagines a bullet shooting through the very same air she breathed, lying unaware and exposed in her blue hospital gown. Her eyes sting.
I was there, she thinks. I was in that fucking room.
It’s almost dark by the time she gets back to Jackson. The journey had been hard, but not because of Infected or hunters. She had cleared mostly everything during her initial trip to the hospital, and she figured Joel had taken care of anything that remained when he followed her.
After situating Shimmer at the stables, she decides to just go home. She’s not sure when Joel left Salt Lake, but he probably won’t return for at least a few hours. She’ll hide out in the garage forever if she has to—anything to ensure that she’ll never have to look at him again.
Eyes fall onto her as she walks the busy streets of Jackson. Their— her —house isn’t too far from the stables, but it’s a Friday and it’s nearly dinnertime. The crowd, paired with the fact that the community is small enough for everyone to be in each other’s business, makes her feel too exposed. Everyone knows about her departure—and by extension—Joel’s. They see, now, that she’s returned alone. She worries they can sense everything, that their glares can crack her skull wide open and feast on every secret.
What would happen if they knew she was immune? What if they know what Joel did?
No, she thinks to bring herself down. No one knows.
But then she sees a turned back, familiar brown hair and a denim jacket. Tommy. He doesn’t see her, thank god, but an unsettling thought nestles at the back of her mind.
Tommy knows. He must. Surely he had plenty of questions about the cure, or rather lack thereof, when they first returned to Jackson. Part of her wants to believe that he’s been fed the same lies. That Joel wouldn’t dare tell Tommy the truth and not her.
But then she thinks of the days out shooting with him or at their house babysitting. The days where he subtly mentions how much Joel cares about her. The less-subtle days where it’s clear she’s stuck in her head and withdrawn, and he practically begs her to give his brother more than a simple morning and see you later.
Call it plain, old brotherly love, sure; but if Ellie’s realized anything about herself, it’s that sometimes she just knows things. The two put on a good show, especially Joel, acting like they’re big and indestructible, but their intentions are strewn all over their faces. She’s always been able to see right through Joel, but it’s carried over onto Tommy. They’re made of glass.
And now, looking at him, even just the back of his head, she feels it deep within her gut; he’s just as much of a liar as his goddamn brother.
She keeps walking. She’s not sure how much anger she holds towards him, but all that matters right now is that he’s just too Joel. His features, the southern accent that she thinks they must be exaggerating sometimes to mess with her. It’s uncanny.
But he has a different scent. They both smell of wood to some extent, from the construction and woodworking, but Tommy always smells vaguely of diaper cream and Maria’s home cooked meals.
Joel, on the other hand, can’t cook for shit. He can handle the basics, but they both find themselves at the dining hall more often than not. Pancakes are a go-to for him, something that’s mastered and at his disposal for when he needs to prove to her that the kitchen appliances, in fact, do not go to waste.
She doesn’t complain; she’d never had pancakes before coming to Jackson, and they’ve become a quick favorite. Sometimes she bullies his cooking just so he’ll whip some up to prove her wrong. It’s not rare for the scent to linger on his clothes a little after breakfast, and she breathes it in when he pulls her into his side before leaving for the day.
However, summing up the difference between Tommy and Joel’s smell can be achieved with a single word. Coffee. Goddamn, does he drink a lot of fucking coffee. It fills up the whole house, and when he brings it with him to check on her in the garage, the scent dominates her space as well.
She hated the smell initially. Straight up burnt shit. But she’d grown accustomed to it. It had become a comfort more than anything else. It signified his presence.
But Tommy doesn’t really drink coffee. And—similarities aside—he’s still not Joel.
She’ll give him a chance to explain, tell her everything he knows. But not now. Not when he’s an uncanny shadow of his brother and just the mere thought of Joel makes her want to crawl out of her skin.
She thinks she’s in the clear once she quietly slips past him, but then she feels a hand on her shoulder.
“Holy shit, Ellie.”
Cat stands in front of her. They’ve been dating for a couple months now and things were good, even if no one really knew. Tommy and Maria didn’t seem to notice, and if they had then they kept it to themselves. Definitely not Joel. Just Jesse and Dina.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
“Nowhere. I just—”
“I heard Joel went fucking crazy when he found out,” Cat interrupts, something she does a lot. She has plenty of good qualities, but she isn’t always a great listener. “I’ve never seen anybody run that fast and—wait, where the fuck is he? I thought—”
Ellie knows Cat doesn’t mean any harm, but the more she brings up Joel the larger the pit in her stomach grows.
She doesn’t want to talk about this. Not now, and honestly, not ever. Speaking it into the air would make it too real, like none of it will be true until she actually says the words out loud: Joel and I are done.
She fights the urge to sob, although it’s not like she’s never done it in public before. During her first few months in Jackson, small breakdowns were almost a routine. Always at the worst possible moment and always followed by a worried Joel leading her outside to cool down.
It was embarrassing at first, but soon she accepted her fate as Jackson's resident crybaby, as she named herself—a nickname Joel wasn’t too fond of. He reassured her that no one saw her as a crybaby, and that even if they did, she deserved to cry as much as she “damn wanted to” after all the shit she’d been through.
But Cat isn’t just a random resident of Jackson; she’s her girlfriend. Sure, she'd gotten teary around her before, but over sad songs or the slight stab of a tattoo gun. They haven’t been dating for that long, and although she feels comfortable, Cat has no clue how incredibly fucked up Ellie’s life actually is. If she did, she’d surely run for the hills.
Plus, Ellie decided she was done crying. It was over, and that was that. Best not to think about it and move on.
But when Cat starts talking, she can not stop.
This must be how Joel feels, Ellie muses, but quickly shoves the thought away. No use in thinking things like that anymore.
“Is he alright?” Cat asks.
No, I left him back in fucking Salt Lake. Guilt settles in her stomach before a much stronger feeling of fuck him roars through her.
But then she thinks of giraffes and spaceships and pancakes and Bob Dylan and her vision goes sort of blurry. She gets flashes of the last three years of her life: the good, the bad, the really bad, and it sinks in that it’s all dead and gone now. Memories buried all the way back at Saint Mary’s, right beside all of Joel’s victims.
Her mind turns to mush. She needs this day to be over. She needs to be asleep; if she’s asleep she doesn’t have to think, and if she doesn’t think then it will all just hurt a little bit less.
“Ellie? You good?”
Big fucking no. But yes, because to Cat, the answer has to be yes. Still, the word won’t escape her. She feels gutted, like something is reaching down into her throat and taking all the words right out of her.
There’s no denying that she must look utterly insane. The lump in her throat threatens to burst but she buries her sobs. Cat cannot see her like that.
Without thinking, she runs.
She nearly jumps out of her skin when she sees a figure lurking near her door. It’s dark now, and in the shadows, she’s almost certain it’s him. How he would magically end up back before her, she doesn’t know, but the thought is enough to make her freeze. A small yelp escapes her no matter how hard she fights it.
The figure turns, and Ellie’s pulse slows when realization sets in. Dina lets out a sigh of relief and rushes to her.
“Oh my god, Ellie.” Her voice is gentle and it keeps Ellie from toppling over. “I’ve been knocking on your door like every hour.”
Shit. With her confession comes the return of Ellie’s guilt. She pictures Dina worried sick, knocking desperately just to be met with no response. It breaks her heart.
“Sorry, I was…” Her voice trails off. She really doesn’t want to lie to Dina; she’s her best friend. So, since there’s nothing that can be said, she’ll be vague.
“There was just something I needed to do.”
She knows Dina won’t push her, which is a relief. Plus, if she looks as much like shit as she feels, then Dina will definitely know to save her interrogations for another day.
“Are you okay?” she offers instead.
Ellie’s mouth opens to share the safe response, yes, but then she meets Dina’s eyes and it’s clear she already knows the real answer. Her lip quivers and her body works all on its own to rush forward, falling into Dina’s embrace. Her friend shushes her sobs while softly cradling her head as it rests upon her shoulder, hands rubbing light circles along her spine, just like Joel used to do.
Joel.
Her sobs turn guttural.
He makes it back to Jackson pretty late, ignoring the guards’ confusion as to why his return is separate from Ellie’s. He should go home—go to bed—but he knows being able to sleep would be an absolute miracle right now.
The first person he goes to for a pick-me-up currently hates his guts, so he tries the next best thing.
He walks past his own house on the way to Tommy’s, just to ease his mind. He sees Ellie’s light on and feels a sense of relief knowing that she’s made it home.
What he really wants to do is knock on her door and see her with his own eyes, but just the knowledge that she’s safe within Jackson’s walls will have to suffice.
Still, he lingers for a moment, fixating on that old garage. It was always just treated like a separate room in their house, despite it being totally removed. It was less a garage and more a bedroom they’d enter by way of grass rather than wooden hallway.
The two seem heartbreakingly separate now. Just two different houses on the same street. Nothing but neighbors.
Somehow Tommy knows exactly what’s happened as soon as the door swings open. Joel’s composure might seem perfectly intact to someone else, but Tommy knows him better than anybody. He’s the only one who knows about the Fireflies and the ticking time bomb that was Ellie finding out.
The fragility of Joel’s expression must give away that it’s been detonated.
They sit on the porch. The scene resembles another time, a few weeks after he’d first arrived in Jackson. Him and Tommy had gone out riding and ended up in an abandoned house for a little while. It was where he’d found the guitar he’d given Ellie. The absolute seclusion from the rest of the world enticed Joel to come clean. It was a risk, but this was Tommy for God’s sake. He was family.
But Joel had only had his brother back for a month at that point, and he worried that even he wouldn’t understand. Their little reunion back before Winter, before the Fireflies, had made it clear that Tommy still held disdain for what they’d done during the Outbreak’s early years.
What would he think about slaughtering an entire hospital? Joel had wondered.
But he trusted his gut and revealed everything. And Tommy was good about it, swearing never to tell anybody.
I’ll take it to the grave if I have to.
Now, over two years later, they sit almost identical as they had that night: across from one another, Joel avoiding eye contact meanwhile Tommy’s gaze cuts through him, begging for explanations. Maybe he would find the similarity amusing if it all wasn’t so goddamn awful.
Luckily, there’s no need for pleasantries. They can just skip right to how the fuck did this happen.
“She went back to Salt Lake,” Joel says, still looking down. He plays with his fingers.
He knows he should say more (and Lord knows he could; each painful detail is seared into him), but he feels a lump form in his throat when he thinks about reciting the events.
Tommy must pick up on it because he skips to a new question. “She come back here?”
“Yeah. Must’ve been back ‘round six or so.”
A breath escapes Tommy, relieved to hear that Ellie hasn’t run off.
He leans back, defeated. He doesn’t need the implications spelled out for him. He knows that Ellie’s supposedly done with it. Done with Joel.
But he tries for reassurance anyway.
“She’ll come around,” he lies.
She won’t. The damage is done, and it makes Joel’s eyes immediately well up with tears. He’d cried a little on the way back, but it was different then; he was alone.
But Tommy has seen him at his worst: the fights with their father, his wife’s departure. Sarah…
The thought of Sarah is the thing that pulls him over the edge. It’s a gruesome sob—gross, really. Snot and tears everywhere. Tommy shifts his rocking chair closer and places a sympathetic hand on his brother’s jeans.
Joel almost doesn’t register the gesture as his thoughts get the better of him. Memories of Sarah and Ellie flash before him in quick succession, and he swears there are a few flickers of Tess thrown in as well.
Soon they start to merge and fuse into one another. Ellie wearing a blue soccer jersey, running into his arms after scoring the winning goal. Sarah petting a giraffe by his side, urging him to be gentle. Ellie crying over some mean girls at school. Sarah’s bloody face sobbing into his chest as Silver Lake burns to the ground.
His mind switches between images of him carrying them both, wounded Sarah towards the river to meet Tommy, unconscious Ellie out of the hospital. Leading one to her death, saving the other from hers.
Suddenly, there’s a familiar lifeless weight in his arms. He’s used to his mind playing this exact trick on him, but something feels different. Glancing down, it isn’t Sarah, but Ellie.
No, he tries to tell himself. I saved her.
But her body remains, and no amount of pleading nor shaking seems to jolt her back to life.
He hears Tommy’s faint voice trying to pull him back. Deep down he knows Ellie is not dead, and he knows Tommy’s the one he’s shaking and begging to wake up, not a small teenage girl. But he’s too far gone at this point, catapulting further into his own misery, and it all feels real, so it must be.
But then his brain finally shifts the scene. He sees Ellie at Saint Mary’s, voice cracking as she screams at him.
It’s supposed to scare him, make him feel like he’s failed her like he’s failed everybody else.
But it’s what he needs to fall back into his body and release Tommy’s shoulders from their suffocating grip.
He recalls his thoughts from earlier, the decision that Ellie can dispose of him however she wants. He’s lost her, sure, but he hasn’t lost her. Not like Sarah. Like Tess.
He can live with that. He can force himself to live with that if that’s what she demands of him.
He’s still catching his breath when Tommy offers him a spot on their couch for the night. He knows he should accept, that he shouldn’t be alone tonight. But Ellie shouldn’t either. He needs to be able to watch over her, even if she’s locked herself in the garage.
He needs the reminder that it was worth it. The reminder that because of all the pain he’s caused—and all the pain he feels now—she’s still alive and able to lock him out in the first place.