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They’re a week out from Kansas City when she finally starts to petter out from the breakneck pace she’d set. He hasn’t said anything about it, he figures she just needs time to burn off some of the pain she can’t compartmentalize yet. Joel has no such problem, he’s been a pro at stuffing his pain into a deep, dark place for over twenty years. But on the sixth day, when she finally starts to slow down, he won’t say he’s not thankful. They’ve been running on pure adrenaline since they lost the truck, and even he’s starting to feel it.
What’s got him worried is that she’s still not talking, shit, only a week ago he would have been thanking Jesus that she finally shut her damn mouth, but now the silence has got him feeling edgy. It’s unnatural for her to be silent. Puns, inane facts, opinions on anything and everything, and god, the questions are so much a part of her that without them, it's like walking with a ghost.
That night, when they’ve set up camp, he tries to engage her by asking what types of dinosaurs she thinks might have roamed in this area all those centuries ago, but she just gives him a mumbled, “I don’t know, man. Doesn’t fucking matter. They're long dead, just like everyone else.”
She puts down her barely eaten can of beans, tucking the little piece of tinfoil over the top to save it for the morning, and crawls into her sleeping bag, turning her back to him. He sighs, closes his eyes, and thumps the back of his head softly against the tree he’s leaning against in frustration. This kid is driving him crazy. He shouldn't care that she doesn't want to talk to him or that he can hear her crying quietly in her sleeping bag late at night when she thinks he’s asleep. He shouldn’t care about any of it. All he’s supposed to do is make sure she gets to the fireflies alive and in one piece.
Her mental well-being shouldn’t be his business. Except when he looks at her, emblazoned in his mind is her horror-struck face as she watched Henry put the gun to his head and shoot, the tiny desperate noise she made as his body slumped to the floor. The feeling of her small form curling into him as he pulled her into his arms to carry her away.
Neither of them has talked about the aftermath of Sam and Henry, of him carrying her into the other room, rocking her in his lap, her face pressed against his shirt, hot tears damping the fabric against his chest. Speaking to her softly, nonsense words to soothe her until her sobs had quieted and her tears had stopped. That moment shared of comfort stood in his memory, separate from everything else, a bubble of time that burst all too quickly as the realities of their situation seeped in.
She’d told him they needed to be buried, he’d almost fought her on it but changed his mind. If putting the brothers in the ground gave her some semblance of peace, he would do it. It was the least he could do after failing her as entirely as he had. The gun had been right there and he had not been fast enough to grab it. Instead, it had been Henry who had to save her, who had to shoot his own brother to do it. He owed her at least this.
So they'd separated, him to roll the bodies in sheets and carry them down to the waiting dirt and her to find shovels to dig the holes. Once the bodies had been buried and they had left the motel behind them, not another word was spoken about the compassion he had shown, and Joel could only hope that it would be forgotten. Standing at the graves, all Joel could think was how easily it could have been a different body he buried that day and how he didn’t know if he could live through failing another little girl.
He shakes himself from his revive and shuffles around their little campsite, cleaning up for the night. Once everything is tucked away, he returns to sit against the tree that gives him the best view of their surroundings. The day had been long, and the hours of walking start to creep up on him, too soon, he feels his head begin to tip. With a low groan for his aching back, he pushes himself to his feet to start moving, hoping it will keep him awake. As he passes by Ellie, he can see that she’s shaking, her teeth chattering in her mouth. He crouches down next to her and goes to pull her sleeping bag up further around her shoulder when he feels the heat rising off of her.
Frowning, he lays the back of his hand against her forehead. Shit, she’s burning up. He brushes a strand of sweat-dampened hair behind her ear and gently shakes her shoulder, “Hey, Ellie. Wake up.”
She makes a distressed noise, scrunches her little nose up, and opens bleary eyes to stare at him with confusion. “Urggg man, what the hell do you want?”
“Kid, how are you feelin’?” he asks as he watches her try to burrow down deeper into her sleeping bag.
“Like shit, but what else is new.” she quips as another shiver runs through her body.
“Ellie, you’re burning up. I gotta take you out of that sleeping bag and get some water into you.” He reaches a hand out to pull back the sleeping bag, and she rolls away from him with an annoyed groan.
“Joel, just leave me alone, okay? I’m freezing.”
“I know you feel like that, but that’s just the fever talkin’. C’mon.” He scoots closer to her and snags the corner of the bag. She fights him, but it’s half-hearted, telling him how bad she must be feeling. She usually doesn’t give in this easily. He unzips the bag and helps her to sit up, she’s drenched in sweat. “Shit, kid. Okay, we need to get you out of this jacket and try to cool you down.”
With one arm securely behind her back holding her up, he reaches for her backpack lying next to her and pulls the canteen from the side pocket. He removes the cap and holds it to her lips. “Take small sips, slow, that’s good.” He gets about four sips in her before she turns her head away and weakly pushes it away with her hand.
“No more, it hurts.”
“Ellie, what hurts?”
“My throat.” She rasps, and he notices the flush to her cheeks, and he starts to strip her jacket from her far too pliable body. He grabs one of her hands to pull the sleeve over it, and she hisses. He can’t see well enough by just the light of the moon, so he pulls her flashlight from the other pocket of her bag and points it at the palm of her hand. It’s covered in small red blisters.
A memory of a much younger girl with deep brown eyes and coiled chestnut hair waking him up in the middle of the night complaining of a sore throat and itching hands and feet surfaces in his mind. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few deep breaths, pushing the memory away. Once he’s back in the present, he reaches over and pulls her other hand into the light of the flashlight. Sure enough, surrounding the bandage he has over the cut in her palm from her ill-conceived attempt to try and save Sam are more small red blisters.
“Ellie?” He has to shake her when she doesn’t answer right away, her body limp against him. She grunts and tries to look at his face, but she’s disoriented and weak.
“What? Fuck Joel, what already?”
“Do your feet feel hot or itchy?” He asks, cupping her cheek to help steady her head.
“Yeah, they hurt.” She says and goes to roll away from him. He lets go of her face and lifts her more solidly against his chest.
“Hold on, kid, just a little longer.” He pulls her jacket the rest of the way off and bundles it in a ball. He gently lowers her down so her head is resting on it. She makes a slight sound of discontent when he moves away from her but otherwise stays where he put her.
Joel unzips the sleeping bag the rest of the way and looks up to Ellie. Her face is tight in discomfort, leaving a little furrow between her brows, which Joel has a hard time stopping himself from reaching out to smooth in with the pad of his thumb.
“Ellie, I’m gonna take off your shoes, okay? I wanna get a look at your feet,” he calls up to her.
“Your funeral. No clean socks, probably stink.” She answers, just barely coherent. He scoffs, gently unlaces and tugs her beat-up Converse off her feet. While her feet don’t smell like roses, they don’t smell too bad, considering. He holds the flashlight between his chin and chest, and with the utmost care, he pells one of her socks off. Again, he sees the telltale little red blisters all over the sole and some of the top of her foot.
“Well, kid, it looks like you got a case of hand, foot, and mouth disease,” Joel says while pulling the sock off her other foot and verifying that, yes, the spots are there too.
“What you say? Nose, ear, and tongue disease?” Ellie asks, her arm now flung over her head on her makeshift pillow.
“No hand, foot, and mouth.”
“Elbows, knees, and toes?” She says, a little twist of her lip being the only thing that gives her away.
"Har har, you're hilarious." He grouses and rests back on his heels, taking her in. If his memory is correct, this particular illness is going to take a little over a week to clear up, and that's in the best circumstances, which they aren't in at this present moment. She's also not going to be able to walk. The blisters on her feet are gonna burn and itch like a bitch.
He needs to find someplace they can hole up in until this has run its course. Which ain't gonna be easy since she can't fucking walk. He groans and runs his hand down his face, trying to remember if they passed someplace today that might work. It would be easier to backtrack over ground he's already cleared than push forward with no idea if he'll come across anything.
He vaguely recalls a house a few miles back that was down a long track and behind some overgrown hedges. At the time, they hadn't been looking for shelter yet, and he'd wanted to keep pushing to cover as much ground as possible while they still had light. It might be worth it to go take a look once the sun comes up.
Until then, he needs to get Ellie's fever down. He pushes to stand and walks over to his bag. Reaching in, he pulls a rag and his canteen from the side pocket. He digs to the bottom and finds the bottle of pills he'd pilfered from one of the houses they searched a few days back. Ibuprofen 200mg, about 19 years out of date, but it's better than nothing. He looks at her and scowls. With how small she is, he's sure she'd probably be better off with the children's stuff, but they'll have to make do. He shakes out two pills into his hand and drops the bottle back in his bag.
"Joel, I don't feel good." She grumbles as he pulls her back into a sitting position against his chest.
"I know kid. I just need you to take some pills, drink some more water, and then I can let you go back to sleep." He says as he gently smooths back her hair from her flushed brow.
"Fine," she sighs and opens her eyes enough to take the proffered pills and canteen. Her hands shake, so he places his over top to help. She mumbles a thanks after swallowing the pills and a few more sips of water.
Joel wets the rag with some water from the canteen and then wrings it out, off to the side. He goes to move her back to her makeshift pillow and off of his chest but she wraps her shaking fingers in the fabric of his shirt and makes a distressed noise.
"Don't- don't go." Her voice is so small, so desperate. He sighs in resignation and settles her more comfortably against him, laying the damp cloth on her forehead.
"Alright kid, just try and get some sleep." He rests the side of his face briefly against the top of her head and rubs a hand up and down her back as he hums soothingly to her under his breath. "Tomorrow we'll go to that house we saw a few miles back and get settled in while we ride this out."
Her face smushed into his shoulder, she gives a mild grunt and says, "How long does this eyes, spine, and hair disease last anyways?"
"Usually about a week, but I got a feelin' it's not gonna give up so easily, so I'm guessin' probably more like two." He responds, reaching down to tuck her sleeping bag more firmly around her legs.
"Fuuuuck."
"Yeah, it's alright, we ain't on a timetable, it's more important that we get you healthy. I don't need no whiny teenager draggin' ass behind me 'cause she's too sick to keep up."
In retaliation for his comment, she digs little fingers into his side, which he then catches in his hand and pretends like he's going to bite. She pulls away with a weak giggle and cuddles deeper into his lap. Using her hands, she adjusts his arms around her shoulders like he's some sort of throw blanket. When she seems happy with their position, she finally closes her eyes.
He tightens his arms around her and leans back against the tree behind him as he watches the quiet forest around them. Slowly, Ellie's breathes even out, and he looks down to see her mouth open just slightly, drool soaking into his shirt.
He feels a smile tug at his lips as he lets his mind wander to another little girl who liked conking out on him like this too. For the first time in almost twenty years, the memory doesn't make him feel like his heart is being torn to pieces. Sure, it still fucking hurts, but it's more a dull ache, and it leaves him with a warm sensation in his heart. He places the briefest of kisses against her hairline and prepares himself for a long night.
It's been almost two decades since he cared for a sick kid, but some things are like muscle memory. You never really forget what it is to be a parent.
—
Joel tries to remember these fond feelings two weeks later when Ellie’s forcing oven mitts onto his hands, so he’ll stop trying to itch his own set of painful itchy bumps that have appeared on his feet.
“You better stop dude, or the next step is we chop off your feet.” She quips at him.
“That joke wasn’t funny the first three times you said it, might want to get some new material.” Joel shoots back as he surreptitiously tries to rub his foot with his mitted hand.
“Sorry man it's hard to think of good amputation jokes, they always leave me stumped.” She says with a twinkle in her eye.
“Ellie, that was just plain bad.” Joel groans, “Negative three outta ten.”
“No way that was at least a five out of ten.”