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Joel is trying not to be cross, but every heartbeat reminds him that he should not be responsible for keeping anyone alive. All he has to offer is death. S—his daughter is dead. Tess is dead. Sam is dead. Henry is dead. Joel is but a harbinger of all of the terrible things the fucked-up world has to offer.
It also reminds him that until ten days ago, he relied pretty heavily on pills to keep the swirling despair of every unmedicated thought at bay. His head pounds constantly, and it’s easy to give Ellie the lion’s share of rations because he’s confident that shoving more than two or three mouthfuls of food into his mouth will result in projectile vomiting. Ellie doesn’t need to see that.
To be fair, Ellie didn’t need to see a lot of what she had since Marlene saddled her with him.
He makes sure to eat just enough to keep going. Tess wanted Ellie safe, so he devotes himself to that cause wholly. It means the pills in his bag remain in his bag, untouched for fear of being too altered to protect her. He is already leading the girl to her death, each step bringing them closer to another spectacular failure on Joel’s part. He ain’t about to actively seek out ways to get her killed.
Thankfully, the continual lack of food in his stomach means he was able to shit his brains out on a real toilet in Massachusetts and not while running for her life with Henry and Sam. Joel has managed to not shit his pants so far, and if he’s basing this detox off previous ones borne of dwindling supply and overly-addicted buyers willing to spend their last ration cards, he probably won’t at this point.
Small mercies.
His body aches in a way it never has before, muscles protesting the sudden starvation of chemicals they’ve become so dependent on for ease of movement. Every other step sends sharp pain ricocheting through Joel’s bad knee, and he’s taken to trailing slightly behind Ellie most of the time to hide the way it buckles several times a day. He ignores the way she slows her pace slightly each time he stumbles.
The only useful result of going cold turkey is the resulting insomnia. He has never been a good sleeper — even as a child, his mother fretted over his inability to fall asleep and stay that way — and it was not a skill he acquired with age. It used to leave him perennially exhausted, pumped full of caffeine until he was able to behave somewhat normally. Sleep usually came in the early hours of the morning, shortly before whatever time he had to get up to be a functional member of society. After the Outbreak and before Boston, Joel adjusted to sleeping in shifts with Tommy, both men too exhausted from constantly being on the move to do anything other than give into their bodies’ need for respite.
Now, the inability to sleep means he can protect the child tasked with surviving under his care. She seems to sleep easily and he hopes that she will continue to do so as her body adapts to the nonstop physical demands. It gives him hours of silence each night, time which he uses to soothe the burning need to check the perimeter of whatever pathetic camp they cobble together as dusk approaches. Joel’s mind unfurls during those hours, drawing lethal weapon after lethal weapon from its well-stocked arsenal of memories. When he’s not reliving scant minutes of blood and gasps and terror and emptiness, Tommy’s voice berates him ceaselessly: unrelenting in its censure of his actions and uninterrupted in its accounting of his failings.
It has been several days since they buried those two boys in the ground, and each day imbues Ellie with slightly more confidence in her ability to talk at him unimpeded. She seems to have intuited that questions are currently unwelcome and unwanted, and has limited herself to opining about anything and everything they pass. Following her means he is mostly able to curb the growing desire to snap at every inane observation she shares with him over her shoulder.
Following her also means Joel begins to take note of subtle mannerisms despite his best efforts to keep the chasm between them wide and unbreachable. Bad enough he apologized to her and laughed at her joke and tried to dig deep within his being to find a way to offer a modicum of comfort after watching her friends die because he was too slow, too slow, too slow.
There’s nothing to do but focus on his surroundings, and trailing behind Ellie means that she is the point upon which his attention pivots at all times. It seems to give her a sense of purpose to lead them as the days wear on. Joel knows the route by heart, so he allows her to carry the map during the day. He hasn’t needed to question her choice of road or direction once so far.
He starts to identify the indistinct way her steps falter when she stops because she’s tired versus when she stops because she thinks he’s tired. She fiddles with her hair without thinking, hands reaching to retie a perfectly acceptable ponytail over and over again. Her hands tug on her backpack straps toward the end of the day, and he imagines the ache in her shoulders must be magnitudes beyond the ache in his own because her shoulders are so goddamn small. She rubs at her forehead with fingers that have a hint of a tremble to them when she has a headache from burning more calories than she consumes. She goes quiet, sometimes, while they’re walking, and he learns that carefully measured steps are an indication that she’s stuck in her head about something but a slight bounce means she’s singing under her breath.
She walks with her sleeves pulled down over her hands even though he is in nothing but a t-shirt; her cheeks are flushed and her forehead glistens with sweat each time he sees her face during daylight hours. She doesn’t complain about things that they can’t change, either; there ain’t a peep from her about the constant walking or the hunger that undoubtedly gnaws at her stomach. The only acknowledgment she makes of the sunburn blossoming on the back of her neck is when they come across a stream and she wets a strip of cloth with the cool water to press to the inflamed skin.
In the end, all of Joel’s observations about Ellie are useless. He should have seen something was wrong long before he did.
The grudging sarcasm he initially offered in response to Ellie’s attempts at levity as they made their way to Bill’s town and as they fought to survive alongside Henry and Sam dissolves into outright contempt. The infinitesimal part of his brain that is still human — the part that sounds like Tommy — points out that the ever-progressing disdain he feels probably directly correlates to how long it’s been since he’s had any chemical relief from living.
She puts up with his increasingly sour demeanor with surprising grace until she doesn’t. Ellie has been leading them west for hours with a gait he can’t quite make sense of — a combination of the measured steps that indicate she’s thinking about something serious mixed with a slight drag to her feet that he hasn’t seen before — but she talks incessantly as if nothing is wrong. Joel doesn’t acknowledge her ramblings — tunes them out entirely, if he’s being honest — until an empty plastic bottle nails him right between the eyes.
“Do you always have to be such a motherfucking bastard?” she demands forcefully, arms crossed defensively across her chest as she adopts a wide stance directly in his path.
Joel’s head is on a swivel, uncomfortable in the open with no cover to be seen. “Lower your goddamn voice,” he hisses when he reaches her.
“I’ll lower my fucking voice when you pull the huge fucking stick out of your ass. I thought we were past this fucking bullshit,” she spits as she stalks a few feet away from him. She turns back suddenly, face set in a livid expression as she takes a deep breath. He can see the anger rolling off her in waves. “I’m not asking you to be my fucking friend. Fuck, I’m not even asking you to be nice to me. You’re a grumpy asshole, I get it, but you don’t have to be outright fucking mean to me. I didn’t ask for this either, you know. I didn’t ask for any of this,” she says as she gestures wildly to the emptiness surrounding them, volume increasing with every word.
“I should be a monster trapped in a fucking mall, but I’m not and I’m trying to make the fucking best of a really shitty situation. And you know what? That really fucking sucks because I made my fucking peace with not existing anymore but now I have to keep doing it,” she hisses, body rigid as she unloads her anger at him. “I know you have your own shit and you never wanted to be stuck with some fucking bitch kid, but the fucking least you could do is acknowledge my existence when I’m spilling my goddamn guts to you because you haven’t said a fucking word to me that wasn’t absolutely necessary in days and the silence makes me want to rip my own fucking eyeballs out because it is so. fucking. loud.,” she roars, panting slightly as her eyes blaze with righteous fury.
Two sentences into her monologue, Joel realizes that saving Ellie doesn’t just mean keeping her safe. He’d forgotten that even though she’s tough and brash, clearly unwilling to put up with his more unsavory personality traits, she’s still a kid who needs interaction. Her humanity didn’t die violently next to a river in Texas amidst a symphony of gunshots and terrified gasps. Blood didn’t bubble between her fingers until it congealed and crusted in the crevices of her hands, staining her fingers and her jeans and her skin and her shirt and her life with blood red that had no business existing outside the beautiful and perfect little girl that carried her heart around outside of her chest. She never pulled the trigger of a gun pressed to her temple with the intention of ridding the world of the malignant waste that is her body.
The realization washes over him with all the subtlety of a tsunami, and he can feel himself physically wavering under its force.
He hates it.
Still, Joel stands firm under her gaze, meeting her eyes before turning to survey their surroundings once more. He shrugs off his pack and sits on the ground, arms hanging limply over bent knees. He meets Ellie’s confused stare and nods toward the road, watching as she accepts the invitation by throwing her pack to the ground and sitting a few feet away from him. She’s not looking at him, but he turns to face her.
He bows his head but keeps his eyes on her as he takes a deep breath. “You’re right,” he says flatly. She stiffens at the words, and he recalls the tears that fell from her eyes when he apologized to her. Joel is probably the first adult who has ever apologized to her. He’s probably the first adult who directly acknowledged being called out by her, too.
Somehow, telling this girl that he has been little more than a semi-functional junkie for longer than she’s been alive feels wrong, so he doesn’t. “You’re right,” Joel repeats, gaze lingering on her before dropping to the pavement. He drops his hands and starts to run his fingers over the decaying surface. “Ain’t gonna excuse it.” She turns then, and he can tell from his peripheral vision that her glare softens slightly in the wake of his admission. “I ain’t a good person,” he continues. “Haven’t needed to be. It’s…” He shakes his head in frustration at his inability to grasp a single one of the maelstrom of painful truths circling in his head and put it into words. “I dunno how to- how to do this,” he confesses finally, gesturing futilely at the space between them as he meets her gaze once more. “I’m sorry. You… you deserve better’n I can give.”
Ellie lets out a shuddering breath and hunches forward, eyes fastened to her jeans as she begins to pick at the fraying hem. He watches as a tear drops from her eyelashes to land on her thigh and is suddenly transported to a kitchen in Texas where another little girl screamed at him until she cried, hormones and rage and fear meshing together to create the perfect storm of torment that could only be released through tears and a raised voice.
Joel hadn’t deserved it then, but gladly bore the burden if it meant she expressed herself the only way she could. Sarah had thrown something at him too, he remembers idly. An orange. It bounced off his shoulder. She had always been better at soccer than softball, no matter how many pitching lessons Tommy gave her in the cul de sac.
Joel deserves it now, though, and the thought makes him feel diminutive in a way he hasn’t in decades.
He clears his throat, waiting until Ellie roughly dries her eyes with her sleeve to speak. “I wasn’t hearin’ you, before,” he says with a note of shame in his tone. “Wasn’t listening neither. An’ I’m sorry for that too. I- I’ll start listening if you want me to.”
She studies him seriously for a minute before giving him a curt nod. “I do,” she says with what he can tell is false bravado.
Joel inclines his head in acknowledgment before pulling his bag over and rifling through it. He pauses and looks up sharply at her. “You ain’t a bitch. Don’t call yourself that.”
She rolls her eyes as she pulls her knees to her chest and rests her head against them. “That’s what you got out of everything I said?”
He shrugs, returning his attention to his pack. “’S one thing,” he says as he pulls out the second-to-last can of food. He pops it open and holds it out to her like a peace offering. “Eat.”
Ellie shakes her head, not moving even as he slides closer to her so she doesn’t have to move to reach the can. “What about you?” she asks, eyes bouncing from the can to his face several times.
“My headache ain’t from bein’ hungry, an’ I ain’t shakin’. Eat,” Joel insists, tipping the can toward her slightly.
She reaches for it hesitantly, careful to avoid brushing his fingers as she takes it from him with a sleeve-covered hand. “How can you tell I have a headache?” she questions quietly, pulling her fork from her bag and starting to eat slowly.
“You started rubbin’ at your forehead two hours ago,” he tells her as he takes stock of their surroundings once more. “An’ you’re squintin’ at me, even though it ain’t that bright out.”
Ellie huffs, turning her attention to the food in front of her. Joel gets the sense that she ain’t used to being seen the way he’s used to doing the seeing. It’s a scrutiny borne of twenty years of surviving in an almost uninhabitable world, he tells himself as he lays back with his head on his pack. Nothing more. Despite his chronic inability to translate his thoughts and feelings into words, he’s always been good at reading body language. And that’s all he’s been doing; reading her body language so he can provide as much protection as possible. He shoves away the notion that he’s also cataloged at least twenty-five distinct emotions her tone of voice telegraphs when he can’t see her or how he’s now able to distinguish the way her eyes widen in excitement from how they widen in fear.
Joel closes his eyes, focusing on the sound of Ellie’s chewing and pretending to be asleep until he’s certain the tremor in her hands from too-low blood sugar has abated.
When he sits up, he finds Ellie staring blankly in his direction, eyes unfocused. The can sits just within his reach, only half-empty. “Kid?” he questions softly, brow furrowing slightly in concern when she doesn’t react immediately.
She blinks rapidly, shaking her head as she directs her attention to him. “Yeah?”
He scrutinizes her face, frown deepening when he realizes the flush of her cheeks hasn’t faded despite the extended respite. “‘Y’alright? Didn’t finish your food.”
Ellie fixes him with a half-hearted glare and rolls her eyes before sighing with exasperation. “You need to eat too,” she informs him mulishly.
With a sigh of his own, Joel picks up the can and finishes it quickly. “Happy?”
“As a motherfucking clam,” she mumbles, tracking the way he gets to his feet and shoulders his pack.
He takes two steps over to stand in front of her and holds out his right hand. “C’mon, you lazy ass,” Joel needles as he lightly kicks her foot. She reaches out with her left hand, still covered with her sleeve, and allows him to pull her to stand. Her fingers are oddly tented against his forearm, though, and when fabric slips against fabric, she has to flatten her palm. Ellie lets out a pained gasp as her fingers tighten reflexively on his arm, eyes snapping shut against a sudden onslaught of pain that nearly has him dropping her on her ass in surprise.
Thankfully, Joel’s reflexes kick in and he gets her to her feet as her grip on him goes slack. When she opens her eyes, they go alarmingly distant and he’s calculating how fast he can sit her down again when she speaks. “Joel?” Ellie says breathily, her right hand extending up to grasp at his sleeve lightly.
“Are you hurt? What’s wrong?” he demands, trying to grab her left hand to ascertain what’s happening.
She sways on her feet, and he slips his arm around her waist without thinking. “I don’t…” Swallowing heavily, Ellie closes her eyes and tips her head forward. It’s practically resting against his sternum when she mumbles, “I don’t feel so good.”
He pushes back slightly to see her face when her knees buckle and she goes limp. He catches her awkwardly, the arm around her waist pulling her body flush against his as his other hand instinctively presses her head to him. There’s abnormal heat radiating from her head, and he feels it both through her hair and through his own shirt.
Joel lowers her to the ground, carefully laying her flat as his mind races with possibilities as to what’s happening; chief among them is the thought that her immunity was nothing more than a fluke, some delayed reaction that is now rapidly overtaking her body. When he pushes up the sleeve on Ellie’s right arm, though, he sees that the bites remain unchanged; the second one is now as fully healed as the first, the mycelial lines under her skin as staid as they were when he first set eyes on them. He’s sliding the sleeve of her left arm up when she coughs, her body convulsing grotesquely on the ground as liquid erupts from her mouth. He rapidly pushes her onto her side, one hand on her shoulder to keep her steady as the other sweeps her hair back from her face.
Ellie’s face, flushed only a few minutes ago, now has a sallow tone that fans the flames of anxiety in his chest. He’s bent over her, trying to ensure her airway is clear when he notices a strip of fabric crusted to her left hand, brownish stains overlapping grotesquely. He moves her away from the puddle of sick and props her back against his knees when she stills, carefully cradling her left hand in both feet of his. He makes a point of being as gentle as he can even though his fingers shake slightly with the adrenaline coursing through his veins, relieved when she moans as he peels the fabric away. A long, neat cut bisects her palm, skin partially healed by her pinky but puckered and angry red, sluggishly weeping blood and puss when it reaches the meat of her thumb.
Joel curses softly but lays her hand on the ground gently before lightly tapping her cheek. “Ellie, can you wake up for me? C’mon kid, work with me here.” She moans again, head moving slightly as her brow furrows. Whether it’s in pain, confusion, or both, he’s not sure. “We ain’t layin’ around here, kid,” he says as he grips her chin and squeezes, tapping her cheek more insistently as she shows signs of waking. “Wake up.”
Her eyes open slightly as she slurs, “‘M’up. I’m up.” She doesn’t move, though, except to swallow hard.
“Eyes open, then,” he urges harshly, hand stilling to rest against her face as she struggles to follow his instruction. A few minutes pass before she manages it, and her gaze is hazy when she turns her head to look up at him. “Joel?” she says, confusion coloring her voice.
Joel pushes the hair from her eyes once more, allowing himself to cup her cheek as she regains alertness. “Right here,” he murmurs kindly, free hand reaching out to rub her arm. “Take it easy. Your hand’s infected.”
Ellie sighs sadly, turning her face into his hand as she takes a few deep breaths through her nose. “Was gonna show you tonight,” she mutters weakly as her eyes slip shut again.
While Joel would love to go off on her for being reckless and allowing infection to fester, he knows deep down that she trusts him to keep her physically safe but has no reason to believe he cares at all about her wellbeing. “You got a pretty high fever, kid. How long has it been this bad?” he questions mildly.
She wrests her eyes open once more. “Since last night,” she sighs, starting to move restlessly. “We gotta keep going.”
He presses his hand to her shoulder to keep her still. “Not yet,” he says softly. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere like this.”
Ellie starts to struggle against his hold, good hand grasping his sleeve. “No, we can’t stop. We haf’ta find Tommy, remember?”
“I remember,” Joel soothes, fingers curling into her shoulder. “But you ain’t gettin’ far with a fever this high, kid. Gotta get you feelin’ better first.”
She relaxes slightly at his words, glancing around as if she’s only now realizing where she is. “Did I pass out?”
He nods, rubbing small, comforting circles on her collarbone when he’s certain she’s not going to try to sit up. “For a few minutes, yeah. How’re you feeling?”
She closes her eyes and releases a slow breath before answering unconvincingly, “I’m fine.”
He hums, hand stilling. Joel taps two fingers against her, waiting for her to open her eyes before speaking. “Give that another shot,” he tells her with a raised eyebrow. “Truth this time.”
“I feel like shit,” Ellie mutters dejectedly, turning her head away so she doesn’t have to look at him.
He presses his fingers to her neck, frowning at the rapidity of her pulse, before gingerly picking up her right hand and palpating her wrist for a few moments. “Think your blood pressure is real low,” he murmurs as he lays her hand on her stomach and gives it a pat, sitting back slightly and observing her. “Need to know what you’re feelin’, kid. Dizzy?”
She lets her head roll to the side so she can see him clearly. “Yeah,” she admits defeatedly. “‘M hot an’ my head really hurts. And my hand,” she confesses in a whisper.
Joel nods slightly, sighing as he regards her. “Yeah, figured it does.” He sighs again, pursing his lips as he looks at their surroundings. “Alright,” he says thoughtfully, “think you can sit up if I help you?”
She nods and starts to push herself up, only to be stopped by a surprisingly gentle hand on her shoulder. “Not yet,” Joel murmurs. “Wanna run through the plan in case you pass out again.” Ellie grimaces but stays silent. “You ain’t in a condition to walk anywhere, an’ we ain’t passed a structure in miles. There should be a town a couple of miles up the road, which means we should be comin’ up on shelter soon. I’ll carry you—” she groans, but he continues firmly, “I’ll carry you, an’ once we find some sorta hideout, I’ll give that hand a good cleaning. In the meantime,” he says as he unshoulders his pack and digs through it once more, “I’ve got some medication that should help. You got any allergies?”
Watching as he withdraws two plastic baggies from the side pocket, she sighs. “Don’t think so,” Ellie tells him softly.
“Good,” Joel says as he pulls his canteen out as well. “You’re lucky I smuggled drugs before I smuggled kids, ‘cause I got painkillers and antibiotics. Just gonna give you a little of the antibiotic now to make sure you ain’t allergic or nothin’. If that sits fine, we’ll try the painkiller before I clean your hand. Okay?”
Ellie agrees, and he can see her energy is already flagging. “Okay,” he repeats as he scores a couple of pills and carefully breaks parts off. “Time to sit up. Let me do the work,” he admonishes as she starts to push herself up once more. “You’re gonna feel worse once you’re upright,” Joel says apologetically. She wrinkles her nose at the statement but allows him to snake his arm under her shoulders. “Deep breaths, now.”
He is exceedingly gentle as he slowly elevates Ellie’s upper body, fingers curling reassuringly around her arm when she whimpers and tenses against the change in position. “I got you,” he murmurs, adjusting his grip so that he can keep her comfortable. “You’re gonna rest right here against me, ain’t gotta do nothin’ but relax right here. Just breathe.” Joel can feel her attempt to do just that, monitoring each slow breath she draws as she allows him to support her weight.
Ellie’s head drops to rest against his chest, eyes half-open as she tries to breathe through the pain and dizziness. He pulls his discarded flannel over and soaks the end of one sleeve with water from his canteen before gently mopping her face and neck, leaving her skin damp in the hope that the evaporation would, at the very least, make her more comfortable. When she opens her eyes fully and looks up at him, he presses the antibiotic to her lips. He holds his canteen to her mouth next, carefully tipping it so that she’s able to get enough water without it spilling.
She swallows the pill without complaint, and he can tell from the way her breaths start to even out that she’s nearly asleep. “Hey,” murmurs, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, “you with me?”
“With you,” she responds sleepily.
He slides his pack on his shoulders. “Good,” he praises lightly. “Next part’s gonna be the hardest ’til we get to cleanin’ that cut out. You ready?”
Ellie watches as he slings her pack over one shoulder. “Not really,” she mumbles, and he feels her muscles tense once more beneath his touch. “But I don’t really have a choice.”
“Suppose not,” Joel agrees reluctantly. “You let me do all the work again. I’d rather you not pass out if we can help it,” he comments, his voice low and soothing. Ellie nods, not bothering to lift her head to confirm. He adjusts his hands so that he can pull her up with him when he stands. His movements are slow and steady as he rises to a standing position, ensuring the motion doesn’t cause any undue strain on her body. He pauses when her head limply knocks against his chest even though her eyes are open. “Almost there,” Joel assures her as he straightens all the way up.
He stoops to snake his arm behind her knees and hefts her into his arms as gently as he’s able. Ellie goes white with the motion, unconsciously pressing her face into his shoulder as she battles the resulting dizziness. He can tell from the way she convulsively swallows that she’s fighting back nausea as well. Murmuring words of comfort, he remains still until she starts to relax against him incrementally. “You got it,” he praises when she finally manages to look up at him. “Just relax. ‘M gonna start movin’ if you’re ready.”
“Ready,” she says weakly, eyes drifting closed as he starts walking.
Joel is forced to move slower than he’d like, but keeping Ellie as comfortable as possible is at the forefront of his mind as they make their way toward what he hopes is a completely empty ghost town. They’re in the middle of nowhere — days’ walk from any sort of city and several hours from the next closest town. He continues forward, arms wrapped securely around Ellie’s body. She’s silent now, her breathing slow and measured against his neck. Every now and then, she shifts slightly in his grip, but she doesn’t wake up.
The sun is starting to drift lower in the sky when he finally spies a farmhouse set well back from the road. His arms ache despite Ellie’s slight weight, and he sends a passing prayer to the universe that the house is as empty as everything else they’ve passed. When they reach the end of the driveway, he carefully jostles Ellie enough to wake her. Her eyes are glassy when they open, and he realizes with a jolt that her temperature has definitely increased since he first picked her up. “Gotta put you down so I can clear the house,” Joel tells her when she finally manages to focus on him. “If I give you your gun, will you be able to use it?”
She nods weakly, and he slowly bends to set her on the ground with her back to a fence post. He locates her gun and checks the magazine before settling it in her good hand. “Right back,” he promises as he removes his pack and sets it next to her; if something happens to him, he wants her to have any advantage he can give her.
Ellie’s eyes are half open and he’s loathe to step away, but there is no other option. He unholsters his own weapon but keeps his arms raised in surrender in case there is anyone watching from within.
The universe seems to be on his side for once. As he approaches the front door, he takes note of a well off to the side. The house is somewhat picked over but obviously long-abandoned. Layers of dust coat the wooden floors, and a survey of every room reveals no occupants, infected or otherwise. The galley kitchen is windowless, and when he tests the strength of the dining room table, he’s pleased that it seems to have been well-crafted. Dragging it into the kitchen, Joel positions it so that the only way to see the table is to look at it straight on.
Satisfied that he has a somewhat secure location to lay Ellie down, Joel exits the house. He hurries back to Ellie, who shakily points the gun at him until recognition flits through her eyes. She sags in relief and actually reaches for him after he puts his pack on and slides his arm through the straps of hers. He allows her to thread her arms around his neck and picks her up, humming tunelessly when she lightly knocks her head against his collarbone. “Few more minutes,” he promises as he makes his way up the long drive. “Then you’ll be able to lay down again.”
Joel takes a more cautious path up to the front door this time, glancing into each window as he passes it even though he knows the house is empty. The sun is starting to sink past the horizon when he finally steps onto the porch of the house. She presses her forehead into his jaw, and he can feel how unnaturally hot her skin is against his. He carries her into the kitchen, gently laying her on the table. Ellie curls onto her side, knees coming up to her chest as she starts to shiver. With a promise to be back in a minute, he quickly scopes out each room of the house for any useful supplies. The master bedroom has a large cedar trunk filled with blankets, which Joel empties and carries downstairs to pad the hard surface of the table.
Ellie is shivering in earnest when he returns, and even though he knows covering her with a blanket is the last thing she needs, he wishes he could offer her that small comfort. Instead, he places the bundle in his arms on the counter and presses the back of his hand to her forehead. “Hey kid,” Joel whispers when she finally looks up at him. “Fever’s up, huh? Let’s get some medicine into you,” he murmurs as he pulls the bag of painkillers out and selects the smallest pill. “Gonna sit you up,” he says as he slides his arm underneath her shoulders once more and pulls until she’s resting against his chest, panting lightly even though Joel was the one exerting any effort.
Joel repeats his motions with the painkiller — pressing the medication to her lips before tipping his canteen so she can get enough water to swallow the pill — and props her against his chest as he pulls a blanket over for her to lay on. He uses her pack as a pillow so that Ellie can recline on her back when he lays her down once again.
When her breath evens out once more, he makes quick work of searching the kitchen for equipment to sterilize the well water. He manages to find a large pan, two pots, a metal serving fork, a small metal dish, and a glass turkey baster, which he carries outside to set on the ground. in. He still hates the idea of building a fire and potentially attracting any nearby people, but the need to clean Ellie’s hand with sterile water definitely trumps his desire to avoid attention. He collects enough wood and kindling to build a small fire and gets it going before he tests the well pump. It works, thankfully, and he sets a pot and the pan in the fire once he’s sure it will burn without assistance for a few minutes. Joel returns to the kitchen, checking on a still-sleeping Ellie before grabbing an errant potholder and returning to the fire. He dumps the now-boiling water and repeats the actions of filling and dumping water several times until he’s certain the pot and pan are at least somewhat sterile.
With a sigh, he returns inside, checking on Ellie once more before removing a t-shirt from his pack and ripping it into strips. He leaves half of the strips inside with the intention of soaking them in the well water to use as cold compresses. He adds more wood to the fire, pausing to survey the surrounding area for threats before dumping the rest of his scavaged surgical suite in the pot to boil along with the cloth strips.
Joel carries the pot filled with cold water inside, setting it on the counter near Ellie’s head as he reaches out to disentangle her from the blanket she managed to wrap around herself. Brown eyes pop open to stare at him when she whines lightly as he pulls away the warmth, making him feel even more useless. “You’re too hot, kid,” he murmurs as he puts the blanket out of reach. “‘Swhy you’re feelin’ so lousy.”
“Fucking freezing,” she mutters unhappily, curling on her side once more.
He sighs heavily as he wets the cloths and folds them into a rectangle “I know,” he consoles as he presses the compress to her forehead, free hand resting on her shoulder to prevent her from falling off the table when she tries to get away from the additional chill. “I’m sorry. I know it’s uncomfortable, but you gotta lay still, Ellie.”
She glares at him for a moment before relaxing slightly. “I’ve been sick before, you know,” she grumps as she closes her eyes. “FEDRA doesn’t exactly hold your fucking hand.”
Joel hums as he steps back. “‘M sure they didn’t,” he says neutrally. “How’s the pain?”
She looks at him once more, sighing as she says, “Head’s kinda better, but my hand still really hurts,” she admits tiredly.
Nodding, Joel chews on his lip for a moment, mentally calculating if he should give her another dose of pain medication now, before he starts cleaning her wound, or if he should wait until after. “You feelin’ funny or anything from the medication? Pain ain’t gonna get better when I start pokin’ at it.
Ellie frowns for a moment as she appears to take stock of herself. “I don’t think so,” she says finally.
He nods again, satisfied with her response. “Gonna give you one more, then, an’ by the time it kicks in the water should be cool enough to use,” he says as he digs out the bag of pills once more and holds one out to her along with his canteen.
She props herself up enough to drink from it unassisted before laying back down with a groan. “Why does my whole body hurt when the cut is on my hand,” she complains as she throws her good arm over her eyes.
He appraises her silently before answering. “Your body’s tryin’ to fight off infection,” Joel says finally. “Takes a lot of energy. I’m going to get the water; stay put.”
He traipses outside, using the potholder to slide the pan and pot from the dying embers. He carries them inside one at a time, careful to avoid splashing the scalding water as he leaves them to cool on the counter. After a moment of indecision, he heads into the living room to push a study-looking armchair into the kitchen and places it near the table so that he can reach Ellie easily.
She drifts off again as they wait in silence for the water to cool. When it’s finally ready, he drags the chair over so that he is facing Ellie directly. She startles awake when he accidentally clips the table with his elbow, eyes wide for a moment until she orients herself.
Joel fills the turkey baster with the previously boiled water and rests it on the metal plate along with several damp strips of cloth before placing a chipped empty bowl on the table near Ellie’s left hand and fixing her with an apprehensive expression. “You ready? This ain’t gonna be pleasant.”
“So you said,” she mumbles, more to herself than to him.
Ellie’s eyes track his movements, and she glances at him in confusion when he picks up her right hand and places it on his forearm, patting it lightly before letting go. “You need me to stop for any reason, just gotta let go,” he tells her, his voice taking on the same kind tone it had when she first passed out hours ago.
She nods hesitantly, unsuccessfully hiding a wince when he picks up her left hand and cradles it. “I won’t need you to stop,” she says, though the small waiver in her voice betrays the confidence she tries to project.
Joel starts cleaning from the already-healing portion of the cut, glancing between her hand and her face as he gently wipes away the crusted gunk. He’s halfway down — where the pink skin rapidly intensifies into angry red — when he realizes that what he thought was swollen and puckered skin is actually short mycelial lines spreading outward from both sides of the cut. Ellie’s hand tightens against him as he reaches her thumb, where the cut seems to be deepest and puss weeps freely when he presses against the skin with featherlight fingers.
When he’s done, he gingerly lays her hand on the table and drops the dirty cloth into the bowl. He rests his hand on top of Ellie’s, squeezing lightly when she doesn’t look at him right away. “Bad?” he asks warily, threading his fingers through hers when she flips her hand over.
“I’ve had worse,” she dejectedly answers.
Squeezing her fingers in his, he says under his breath, “That ain’t exactly reassuring, kid.” She hears him, though, and gives him a little shrug. Joel presses on. “Did you, ah… did you look closely at the cut after it happened?” he inquires hesitantly.
She shakes her head and he sighs heavily, reaching for her injured hand once again. “There are… mycelial lines, I guess. Jus’ little ones,” he tries to assure her when the muscles around her eyes tighten in alarm. “Don’t think it’d even be noticeable if the skin weren’t so inflamed. But you should know.”
Ellie pulls her hand from Joel’s and starts to bring it closer to her face. When she pales slightly, Joel intercepts and takes it once more. “No lookin’,” he instructs as he lays her hand down once more. “I gotta flush it now. You wanna stay layin’ down, or do you think it’d be easier if you were sittin’ up, facin’ the other way?” She hesitates, her gaze flicking between his eyes and her hand, so he adds, “Don’t want you watchin’. Ain’t gonna do any good an’ it’ll only make you feel worse.”
He waits for a response while Ellie considers her options silently for a few moments before finally nodding slowly and pushing herself up to sit. He moves her arm away from her body slightly, situating himself so that she can lean against him if she wants while he blocks most of her view. She rests against him slightly for a moment before nodding. “Okay,” she murmurs under her breath, a hint of resignation in her voice. Joel sets to work irrigating the wound using the turkey baster, heart clenching as Ellie releases a pained whimper after the fourth flush.
Joel gives her a break then, placing her injured hand in his lap as he twists so he can see her face. Her face is flushed with pain, sweat dotting her brow as a few stray tears make their way down her cheeks. “It’s gonna be okay, kid,” he soothes. He dampens the cold compress once more and gently cleans her face before holding it to her cheek. Ellie turns into the contact with a small sigh. “Got a few more rounds of that,” he murmurs, brushing back the whispy baby hairs at her temple. “Think you oughta lay down for the rest of it.”
Ellie looks like she wants to argue but eventually nods wearily and allows him to guide her to lie on her back. She takes a few deep breaths, releasing them slowly before looking up at Joel with a pained expression and nodding curtly.
When Joel lifts her hand again, he feels the involuntary flinch travel through her body and pauses, squeezing her shoulder gently before picking up the turkey baster once more. She’s trembling in his grasp, now, pain overtaking her stubborn need to repress any indication of pain. It takes three more rounds of gentle flushing for clear water to run off the meat of her palm, and it’s not a moment too soon. Ellie turned her face away when he started, so he hadn’t been able to monitor her well.
As he looks at her now, he’s dismayed by the ashen tone of her skin and distant, hazy eyes. “Ellie?” he calls gently as he tips her face toward him. “You with me?”
She mutters something he can’t quite make out, breaths shallow and uneven. When he presses his fingers to her neck, he finds her pulse rabbit-fast, and it makes him think back to OSHA trainings on first aid and shock.
Fuck.
“All done,” Joel assures her quietly. Resting his palm on her chest, he rubs her collarbone lightly for a minute to provide some comfort. “All done, now you jus’ rest. Can you try takin’ a deep breath for me?” he murmurs. He can tell she’s trying to comply but doesn’t seem to have much success.
A confused, panicked expression falls over her face and he finds himself rushing to reassure her that she’ll be alright. Disorientation is obvious on her face, and he can tell she isn’t really with him when her eyes fill with tears. “‘M I gonna die?” Ellie asks, fear evident in the tremble of her small voice.
He moves his hand down to rest on her stomach as his thumb strokes over the soft skin of her temple. “Nah,” he says gently, a worried smile pasted on in a weak attempt to reassure her. “You’re gonna be a pain in my ass for a good long time yet,” Joel murmurs as he wipes away the tears that spill over her cheeks. “Close your eyes for a little bit,” he urges quietly.
He refreshes the compress when she complies, gently bathing her face and neck before laying it on her forehead. “Just rest, kid.”
He’s not sure if it’s a reaction to the pain and stress of having an infected wound irrigated without proper anesthetic or if the infection is progressing despite the antibiotics, but her fever spikes high enough that she starts to hallucinate.
The alternative is that she’s much closer to death than he realized, and he refuses to interact with that thought.
Ellie had been asleep when he dozed off, head propped on his fist as he kept watch. He wakes to her staring curiously at an empty spot to his left. “You have a really nice voice,” she says as she holds her good hand out to no one. Her eyes widen in surprise, a small grin overtaking her face. “You can hear me?” His heart drops when he realizes who she’s talking to. She doesn’t pay any attention when Joel sits forward in the chair, hand coming to rest on her leg. “I can’t believe it worked,” she murmurs, smile fading as she starts to fall back to sleep. “We’re gonna have so much fun together. I haven’t had a friend in so long.”
He doesn’t try to intervene, since it seems to be a pleasant interaction for her. It makes his chest ache with something he thought had died twenty years before, and instead of shoving it away, he manages to let it linger. Ellie’s eyes drop closed for a few seconds before popping open and looking around in confusion. “Sam?” She fixes her puzzled gaze on Joel. “Where did he go?”
Joel shifts uncomfortably as he reaches to take her extended hand. “He had to leave,” he tells her softly. “’S’alright. Go on back to sleep.”
She shakes her head, propping herself up slightly. “No, he was just here. He’s coming with us to Wyoming, remember? We have to find him.”
When she pushes herself to sit up fully, she sways and Joel stands, hands resting on her biceps. “I remember. He’s okay, but you need to lay back down,” Joel insists, trying to press Ellie down to the table without force.
“No,” she insists as she struggles against his hold. “No, we have to find him, Joel.”
We have to bury them, Joel. The words ring in his ears as he tries to reason with her. “We will, but first you need to lay down. C’mon,” he says as he tries to redirect her movements.
He is unsuccessful, and she slips from his grasp to shakily stand, good hand braced on the table for support. “Why am I dizzy?” she says to herself as she wavers in place.
Joel stands next to her, ready to intervene if she shows any sign of being unable to stand anymore. “You’re sick, kid. Please, lay down. You shouldn’t be up,” he pleads.
Ellie shakes her head, fingers tightening on the table in an effort to stay upright. “No, I- I have to find Sam. He’s little, he can’t- he can’t be on his own.”
Joel almost offers to find him, to conduct a pointless search for a ghost in a house he knows is empty, but he doesn’t trust her alone, altered like this. “He’s with Henry,” he tries. “He’s alright.”
She shakes her head again, knees buckling. He catches her and sits down in the chair, carefully pulling her into his lap to prevent further injury. “No. Henry’s dead, I saw… I saw his brain. Sam was just here, he can’t…” Ellie looks up at him with wide, wet eyes. “He can’t be dead. He’s little,” she whispers.
Joel presses her head to his chest, rocking slightly in an attempt to calm her. “I know,” he murmurs, his other hand smoothing up and down her spine slowly. “I know. Will you close your eyes, Ellie?”
She protests for a few more minutes before he convinces her to take another antibiotic and promises that they will look after she’s rested. After a few minutes, she starts to relax and falls asleep quickly, head heavy and too warm against his shoulder.
How he went from actively ignoring anything about Ellie other than threats to life and limb to cradling her in his lap in less than twelve hours is a little beyond him. There’s something that feels right about it, pouring his energy into someone else instead of allowing it to build up until it explodes out of him with lethal force.
Mercifully, she sleeps through the night. When she stretches against him the next morning, she looks up in confusion. “What am I doing here?” Ellie asks him, though she makes no attempt to get up.
Joel presses the back of his fingers to her forehead before sliding his hand down to rest against her cheek. “Your fever spiked. You were really out of it last night,” he murmurs, hoping she doesn’t recall much. “Time for more medicine. How’s the pain?” he asks as he reaches for the plastic bags.
Ellie looks at her hand, really examining it for the first time. Joel is pleased to see some of the redness is already receding slightly. “’S not as bad,” she says as she reaches her right hand over to poke at the cut.
Joel grabs it and puts it back down. “No touching,” he admonishes. “I’ll wrap it in a bit. The strips of shirt I boiled yesterday should be dry.”
“Nothing like a makeshift bandage,” she mutters before resting her head against his shoulder once more. She stays quiet for a few minutes before looking up at him. “You’re good at this,” Ellie murmurs, eyes not leaving his face.
He hums, low in his chest. “At what?” he asks when she doesn’t respond to his raised eyebrows.
“This,” she says simply as she closes her eyes and relaxes into him. “Caring. You should do it more.” Silently, he rests his cheek against the crown of her head, his hand finding a path up and down her back once more.
As Ellie falls asleep, he wonders if anyone will take the time to bury them both when Ellie inevitably ends up dead and Joel manages to pull the trigger without flinching.