agnes @womenlover0 - Tumblr Blog

May 23

4 times Ellie tried to confess + 1 time she did ღ

Word count: 5.4k

Note: had to throw in some angst at the end whoops:'(

1. Jackson – Ellie’s bedroom.

The air in Ellie’s shed was thick with summer heat, even with the window cracked open. A soft breeze drifted in now and then, doing very little to help. The mattress dips comfortably beneath your weight as you’re leaned up against the headboard. In your lap lay a newly found chapter of ‘Savage Starlight’, courtesy of Joel. Every time a new comic is found on patrol, you and Ellie read through it like it’s tradition. This time however, it was your turn to read it out loud.

Your eyes fly across the page as you read the dialogs with your best Dr. Daniela Star impression. A light giggle grows in your throat with each line. You glance up at Ellie, expecting her to laugh at your terrible performance. But she doesn’t. Instead you are met with Ellie already looking at you.

For a second she doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you, almost like she’s lost in thought.

“...What?” you ask softly.

Ellie blinks and looks away, almost like she got caught.

“Nothing,” she says quickly. “just thinking.”

“About what?” You ask.

She’s quiet for a moment, her gaze stuck on the ceiling. Her hands lay on her stomach, fingers fidgeting with one another. A nervous tick of hers. One she thinks you don’t know about.

“Do you ever think about leaving Jackson?” Her question cuts the silence like a blade.

The question stuns you for a moment.

“What?”

Ellie shifts slightly on the bed, one arm moves to lay underneath her head like shes trying to make the question sound casual.

“Like…get out. Just going somewhere else.” She shrugs, still avoiding your eye.

“Not really. Why?” Your fingers fidget with the pages of the comics. What could she possibly be thinking about?

“I don’t know. It just feels like people always end up stuck somewhere.” she shrugs again.

For a second, no one says anything. The question still rings in your head. Ellie and Joel joined the community just a few years ago, why would she want to leave already? You glance down at the yellowed and worn pages of the comic book in your lap. You are about to start reading again when Ellie’s voice cuts in.

“If I did leave,” she says, a little slower now, “would you come with me?”

You look at her properly this time. There’s no sly smirk on her lips, no joke brewing in her head. Nor is there a heavy seriousness on her face. Just hesitatioj. Like she’s testing the waters.

Your eyebrows furrow at the question. “...Depends.” you answer slowly. Almost sceptical, like there is some underlying meaning to the question.

“On what?”

You glance back down on the comic for a second, like you need it as an excuse to think.

“On where we’re going.”

The answer makes her scoff softly, a small smile threatens to break out on her lips.

“That’s a cop-out answer.” She says with an eyeroll. “You’re annoying.”

“You asked me.” You giggle.

“I didn’t think you’d be this useless at hypotheticals.” Ellie mutters. There is no real bite to it, just a playful banter. It makes you smile, the tension easing just enough to make your shoulders drop.

“Next time just ask better questions then.” You retaliate back, flipping a page of the book.

Ellie hums in response. Low and thoughtful. Almost like she's actually considering it. Her eyes dart from you to the ceiling.

“..I might.” She shrugs. She looks at you again, like shes checking how it landed.

You pause and look up at her, “Might what?”

She huffs at you, “Ask better questions.”

The air between you shifts again, it’s subtle but there. You can’t quite place your finger on it. Before you can brew on it further she adds quickly, like she needs to take it back a little:

“Don’t get too excited.”

You let out a snort, “Too late.”

Ellie huffs a laugh, a real one this time. Her shoulders relax slightly, but not fully. Like her mind is still not satisfied. She turns her head back towards the ceiling, like shes trying to hide it. But she settles either way.

“Keep reading.” She says with a smile. It doesn’t sound like an order. More like shes clinging to the normality of it all. To you continuing to read. To things staying normal, even though something inside her doesn’t feel entirely normal anymore.

2. Seattle – Valiant music shop.

The smell of rotten wood is the first thing you notice as you and Ellie step into the music store. Plants have overgrown the entire store, down from the floor, snaking its way up the ceiling. As if it’s claiming the place as their own.

It didn’t take any thinking to follow Ellie to Seattle. After Joel’s passing, you stayed by Ellie’s side. Not because she asked, but because leaving her alone with that kind of silence and burden felt worse than anything else. So when word went around the community of Tommy’s departure for revenge, you and Ellie were hot on his tail. The journey to Seattle was painstakingly long. The conversations were normal. Well, as normal as it could be. The usual playfulness between you was still there, yet grief hung from every word.

Ellie moves through the wrecked shop like she belongs in it. Her fingers trail the dusty shelves as she looks around for extra resources. A set of old drums catch your attention as you shove a couple of rags in your backpack. You drag a nearby chair closer and sit down before them. The wooden chair creaks under your weight as you settle into a somewhat comfortable position.

Your hand hoover over the dust drum skin. You tap it once. A dull, hollow thump echoes through the store. You hit again. And again. A smile growing on your lips.

Ellie is now standing in front of the drum set as you hit the high-hat as your last note.

“Oh. Wow. That was…that was an interesting beat.” She says, like she’s trying (and failing) to sound impressed.

“Excuse me, I am a natural.” You shoot back as you walk away from the drumset to collect a few more rags from the floor. “Admit it.” You say as you stand up.

The grimace on her face says enough. You jokingly roll your eyes, “Whatever. We’re starting a band.”

“How about you be my groupy.” She suggests.

“Your what?”

“Okay. Bands apparently had these hardcore fans that would just follow them around.”

You hum at the explanation, “Isn’t that what I'm already doing?”

“Uh…I guess so.” She chuckles.

You both proceed to the second floor of the store. Upstairs, the space is similar to the lower floor. Shelves lined with old CD’s and Vinyl’s, plants reclaiming the building. One room in particular is quieter. Almost like the walls remember the sounds but have long stopped carrying it. The room is nearly swallowed by plants. Vines crawl around the wall and ceiling, wrapping around old shelves and broken frames.

A large window stretches across one side of the room, its glass smudged and dirty from time. Yet sunlight still manages to creep its way through, softened by all the overgrowth. The plants scatter it across the room in a muted glow, providing a strangely warm atmosphere instead of abandoned.

In the center sits an old music box, withered with age but still intact. And right infront of it, a guitar case. Ellie slows as she sees it. She approaches it in silence and kneels. The case snaps open under her fingers. For a moment she stares at the case. Then she slowly opens the case and sees a beautifully preserved guitar. Almost like it's been frozen in time.

Then she carefully lifts the guitar out, like it might disappear if she’s not careful enough. She tests the weight in her hands, adjusts the stings, then walks over to the music box. Without saying a word, she sits down on top of it. The wood creaks slightly under her, but she ignores it as her fingers settle on the strings. And the room goes even quieter. You stay a few steps back by the doorway, just waiting.

She strums the strings with careful precision. Just one. Then another. She’s hesitant at first, like she’s remembering something. Or someone. She starts playing a familiar tune, Future days, Joel’s favorite song. The realization sits heavy in your chest as you watch Ellie. It’s rough at first, hesitant and slow, but it quickly settles into something softer once she finds it again. The sound fills the room with something that doesn’t belong here, in this world, but you stand there and enjoy it.

When she finishes, the last note fades into silence. She looks up from the string and her eyes find yours first. Like they were already looking for you before she even decided to.For a moment, something settles in her expression, almost invisible unless you’re paying attention. Her shoulders loosen slightly, her grip on the guitar easing like she forgot she was holding it at all.

It looks like she’s about to say something.

Something real.

Her mouth parts slightly and her eyes stay on you. And you can see it there, whatever it is she hasn’t figured out how to turn into words yet. Something caught between impulse and understanding, something too new to be named properly. But her gaze flickers for a second. Almost like she’s realizing her whereabouts. The ruined shop, the overgrown vines. A quiet reminder of why she is here. Joel.

The shift is small, but immediate. Her eyes drop away from yours and her hand moves back to the strings like she needs something to do with them again.

And whatever almost happened… doesn’t.

Not yet.

She stands and puts the guitar away, leaving it leaned on the music box. As she walks towards the door she says,

“...We should keep going.”

So quietly you almost don’t hear it.

3. Seattle – The old theater.

The bucket of warm water hangs heavy in your hand, the metal handle digging into your palm as you walk towards the worn dressing room of the theater. Your mind wanders to the past events in this particular building. The bustling from the crowd, voices echoing in the auditorium with a quiet excitement. And backstage, performers and producers running around behind the heavy curtains with anticipation and hearts beating out of their chests. The thought is bittersweet. Life seemed so colorful back then. Before the outbreak, before the depressing grey tone of the world. The chipping paints, crumbling buildings and lingering stench of death.

The sound of trembling, quick breaths breaks you out of your thoughts as you enter the dressing room. The room is semi lit from the somewhat functioning vanity mirrors. The room is cluttered with old and worn costumes. Dust lingers in the air and heavily on the different surfaces in the room. In the middle sits Ellie on a divan sofa, hunched forward like she's trying to appear smaller. Her elbows rest on her knees, her trembling hands hanging between them. She’s rocking, barely noticeable at first but it’s a steady back-and-forth motion, almost as if her body is searching for something steady her mind can’t provide.

Just a few minutes prior Ellie returned from Lakehill Seattle Hospital in search of Nora. She came back covered in blood. Not injured nor frantic. Somehow worse.

Quiet.

Carefully, you kneel in front of her.

“Ellie,” you say softly.

Nothing. Her eyes stay fixed on the theater floor. You hesitate for a second before reaching toward the hem of her shirt slowly, giving her enough time to pull away if she wants to. She doesn’t. Her arms lift weakly when you guide the fabric over her head, movements slow and detached, like she’s only doing it because you asked. You set the shirt aside and grab the soaked cloth from the water bucket.

As you carefully swipe away the dried blood off her back you can see that, for a moment, all movement stops. Even her breathing. Ellie goes completely still beneath your touch, her shoulders tense like something is stuck inside her chest. You freeze, for a second you think she stopped breathing completely. Then her lungs give in with a shaky exhale.

“I made her talk.” Her voice barely sounds like her. It’s stripped from its usual sarcasm and wit to a mere shaky mess. Her hands fly to her mouth, almost like she is just processing her actions, and they drop just as fast.

“Hey…” You say quietly, not quite sure what to say, “It’s okay.”

The words don’t feel right to say, so instead you carefully wrap your arms around her neck, leaning your head against hers. It takes a few seconds for her rocking to come to a halt and her hand to wrap around your wrist. At first touch you’d expect her to push your embrace away. Instead her fingers wrap themselves tighter into your wrist to keep you there. Almost like shes scared you’ll pull away.

“I don't want to lose you…” Her words crack on their way out

Your arms tighten on instinct, a shaky exhale leaves your lips.

“I know this is…fucked.” she mutters weakly, “And I know I’m–” she cuts herself off.

Her breath falters again, “If anything happened to you because of me, I…” she starts quietly. She stops again. Swallows hard. You sense her hesitance and squeeze her between your arms as reassurance. Reassuring her that she is safe here, with you.

“I couldn’t…” Her sentence dies there. It sits heavy and unfinished between you. Ellie squeeze your wrist tighter for a second, almost desperately now. Almost like she needs something real before she loses control. You feel her trembling where she is pressed against you, and it’s not only from shock anymore, it’s something shes actively trying to contain. Something deeply personal. Before you can think or even say anything, her grip loosens slightly. And then, abruptly, she pulls in a shaky breath and stands. Shes unsteady but determined, reaching down to pick up her shirt and tossing it on with precaution of her wounds.

“Forget it.” she mutters as she walks towards the door, “I’m just tired.”

You don't see her for the rest of the night.

4. Seattle – Flooded shopping mall.

You have never been this sick of water. The flooded shopping mall stretched further than you anticipated. Water submerges the entire lower floor, leaving only the upper walkways and broken ledges above it. Stores sit half-submerged, signs barely visible through the murky water. Shelves and displays look warped floating beneath the water's surface.

To get anywhere without getting a bullet to the head, you’re forced into the waters. It’s cold the second you step in. The deeper sections come up fast, forcing you and Ellie to swim in places where the mall's structure dips below the surface.

And then there is the boat.

The WLF motorboat sits idly in the middle of the flooded mall like it belongs there. A WLF soldier stands in it trying to salvage the old motor. Soldiers patrol the upper levels of the mall, voices echoing faintly through broken glass and flooded corridors. You both stay low as you move through it. Ever since the theater yesterday, something between you and Ellie hasn’t fully settled back into place. But the mission of finding Tommy and avenging Joel must go on.

You hear it before you see it, the crackle of radio static somewhere above you.

“Sniper spotted in 12. I repeat, sniper spotted in marina. Likely a trespasser. Any nearby units report. Over.” The radio crackles as the message is delivered. Above you, you hear the soldier devise a plan to split up. While distracted you and Ellie manage to climb to the back of one of the stores. The wall split open giving you a view of the city.

You run to the gaping hole of the building, ready to get the fuck out of here.

“Ellie, we can get to the marina through here.” You say, still slightly out of breath while pointing to the open city.

“No. We’re taking their boat.” Ellie is quick to say, pointing towards the open water inside the mall.

Your eyebrows furrow at the crazy plan, “You heard them, right? They’re talking about Tommy.”

Ellie shakes her head with an unsure look on her face, “We don’t know that.” she whispers.

“Who else is it going to be?” you reply with a clipped tone. You feel your patience running thin. Ellie glances towards the motorboat and back at you with a shake of her head.

“If it is him, he’ll be gone by the time we get there. Abby is where he’ll be headed, so we just foll–”

“What if he’s in trouble, Ellie?” You interrupt her

“He can take care of himself.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“The best way to help Tommy is to go after Abby…” she pauses “You do this, i’m going on my own.”

Your brows furrow at her sharp words. She’d just leave you like that? The world stills between you for a second. Ellie’s sharp eyebrows soften for a seconds as she hears her own words, regret settles in quickly.

You don’t retaliate right away. It’s not because you have nothing to say, but because it doesn't feel like there is a clean way to respond to it. Just like that, she’s willing to leave. Ready to step away from you like it wouldn't change a thing. Like what happened in the theater didn't already shift something between you that neither of you have said out loud.

You look at her, and it’s strange. Even now, with everything, she still looks like Ellie. But not fully like the sweet Ellie you’ve been following all this time. There is something in her that feels further away than shes physically standing. Almost like if you blink wrong, she might actually follow through with it and leave without you.

The thought stings. You swallow once, slowly.

“...I really hope you make it.” you say firmly. Then you climb down the edge of the building, onto the collapsed ruins beneath it.

Ellie’s jaw clenches as she watches you leave. She doesn’t stop you nor call your name. Her fingers curl at her side like she’s wanting to reach for you but caught herself halfway through. Time stretches too long and you are about to disappear from her line of sight when her weight shifts forward, like shes about to say something. Your name almost makes it out, you can feel it behind you. But it never comes. Ellie swallow it down. And instead of calling you back, she exhales sharply through her nose and looks away.

“...Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, “Just come back.”

But you are already gone.

The confession: Seattle – The old theater.

A gunshot cracks through the building. Your body shoots upright on the couch upstairs, heart already in your throat before you even can register it. And for a second you sit there, disoriented, sleep still clinging to every cell in your body. Then another sound echoes below you. Frantic movements. Shouting. Chaos.

You are already on your feet before you can think. You run down the stairs through the dimmed theater. Your worn boots hit the old wood and metal too loudly and exposed. When you reach the main floor you see it. Tommy laying unconscious in one of the storage rooms. You rush towards him without thinking, turning his body onto his back. Blood seeps out of his eye, although not enough to kill him. You place your hand on his cheek as comfort, to him or yourself, you’re not quite sure. But he’s alive. That’s what matters. Your eyes dart around the room as your mind shifts immediately.

Ellie.

You run out the doors of the storage room, past the rows of broken seats, past the stage. Behind the curtains, where old props, broken scenery and dust hangs in the air. You run past all of it, one goal set in your mind. To find Ellie.

And you do. You see Ellie laying on the floor almost completely defeated, her eyes are dazed and face bloody. Above her is another girl, who you assume is Abby, with thick muscles wrapping around each limb. Her arms are swinging towards Ellie’s face with an incredible force, so hard you wince at the sight. But despite that you dont hesitate, you sprint in and tackle the girl off Ellie. Just hard enough for the both of you to hit the ground. You win leverage against her for a moment as you reach for your pocket knife and swing it at her. Once. Twice.

Fast and messy. Just enough to cut up the skin of her beefy arms. Once she registers it she fights back, hard, but it doesn't stop you from swinging your knife. Not until a sudden sharp thunk cuts through everything and pain explodes in your shoulder. An arrow. You freeze for a second, just enough time to turn your head before another impact slams into you. Your skull hits the floor hard enough to blur the world instantly. Pain explodes in your face as the room tilts and sound distorts, but not before a hand grabs you again. By the hair or the collar, you can’t tell anymore. Your head is forced back up just enough to see Abby by your side, eyebrows pinched in fury and slashes across her face and forearms. Your vision flashes, and for a second no one moves. Then Abby drives your head into the floor. Once. Again. And again. Until your vision goes black.

As Abby grabs you by the hair again, she turns your body to your back, holding you up against her chest with her knife under your throat. She faces Ellie’s beaten figure laying paralysed on the ground.

“Stop!” Ellie yells in desperation. It was never her plan to get you involved with Abby.

“Stop! She had nothing to do with this.” Ellie says breathlessly, softly gasping for air.

Ellie’s pleas fall on deaf ears. Her vision blurs and head spins from Abby’s brutal punches yet she musters up another plea:

“Please…she’s the only reason I’m still here.”

Abby pauses. Her grip doesn’t loosen, but her expression shifts just slightly. Like she's weighing the words against everything she already decided. She exhales through her nose.

“Yeah?” A second passes “Then she should’ve stayed out of it.”

Abby’s spine straightens. Her hand grips the knife tighter, ready to finish the kill. But a young voice interrupts her,

“Abby!” Lev’s voice cuts through the space sharp with panic. One look between them is all it takes for Abby to shove you off her. Your body hit the floor hard enough to knock air out of your lungs. Ellie gasps behind her, choking on the blood still running down her throat, her hands shaking as she tries to push herself up. Abby stands over her for a moment, before she leans down slightly,

“Don’t ever let me see you again.” Her eyes flick to your figure briefly before she turns and leaves. Lev is hot on her heels as the sound of their footsteps quickly fade into the distance. Silence fills the space left behind, and for a moment Ellie can’t move. She lies in the same spot, chest rising unevenlly, coughing and shaking, trying to drag air back into her lungs. Then she turns her head and sees you. Half-conscious, barely there. Something in her face breaks.

“Hey–hey, hey,” she rasps, crawling towards you on unsteady arm, “No, no, no…”

Her hands find your shoulders, then your bloodied face like she's confirming you’re still there. Her hands tremble as they cup your face,

“I’ve got you,” she whispers and tries to sit upright with your face in her hands. Her forehead briefly presses against yours and her breath stutters. And then, it comes before she can stop it.

“I can’t lose you,” she pauses “I can’t– I just…I can’t do it without you.” Her voice breaks around the edges as tears mix with blood on her face.

“I know this is fucked, I know I should’ve said it earlier, I Should’ve–” her voice crack completely. But she finally says it, like its the only thing keeping her upright,

“I love you.”

Her forehead stays pressed against yours. And for the first time since everything started, Ellie has nowhere to run from it.

—

1 year later

Mornings at the farmhouse always started quiet. Not the eerie kind of silence you’d grown used to surviving through. Not the kind that had your body awake before your mind, where your heart races and hand is already reaching for a weapon before your eyes have even opened.

This silence was soft. The kind of soft that settled over the house with the early morning sun and the sound of restless animals waking in the barn in the back. Floorboards creaking gently beneath shifting woods. Just silence that asked nothing from you.

Your mornings had slowly fallen into routine here:

Wake up to sunlight spilling through the curtains in warm streaks, its glow stretching across tangled sheets and worn old blankets. Some mornings Ellie would already be awake beside you, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm while the two of you cuddled in bed just a little longer than necessary.

Other mornings, you’d wake up alone. And at first it hadn’t worried you. Ellie had never really been a heavy sleeper. Even back in Jackson she’d wake up at the smallest sounds. But here…it was different. Sometimes you’d find her outside before sunrise sitting on the porch steps with tired eyes and a half-finished cup of coffee beside her. Other times she’d be in the kitchen pretending to clean her gun for the third time that week, her movement distant and somewhat mechanical.

And sometimes you’d wake up to her breathing too hard beside you. Sharp and uneven breaths like she’s been running. At first, Ellie always brushed it off before you could ask,

“Bad dream,” she’d mutter.

Or, “I’m fine, just couldn’t sleep.”

Her excuses were always casual and too quick. And the longer you stayed at the farmhouse, the harder it became not to notice the cracks forming underneath everything else. The way loud noises made her shoulders tense before she could stop herself. Or how her eyes drifted too far away in the middle of chores and how her hands stayed frozen halfway through movement.

She still smiled. Still teased you while feeding the sheep or stole bites off your plates and complained dramatically whenever you made her do the dishes. But somewhere within you, you could tell it was practiced some days. Almost like she was trying to act like this life fit her better than it actually did. And the worst part was that sometimes it really did. Sometimes you'd catch her laughing so hard she snorted quietly under her breath, her eyes crinkling at the corners exactly like they did back in Jackson. Sometimes she'd kiss you absentmindedly while passing through the kitchen like it was second nature. And worse of them all, sometimes she'd look at you like she actually could imagine staying. And those were the moments which made the rest harder to ignore, because you could see how badly she wanted this to work.

So when Tommy arrived at the farmhouse that one afternoon, exhaustion written deep into his face and the limp in his leg, you could sense the air shift as he pulled out a worn map from his backpack. Ellie and Tommy were seated at the dining table while you stood at Ellie’s side.

“So I’ve been putting out feelers for months now.” Tommy said as he flattened the map on the table, “And this new guy heard my story, told me about a woman that he traded with while he was moving through California. Described her as built like an ox, traveling with a kid with scars across his face.”

Abby and Lev.

The names hadn’t passed your mind since the fight at the theater. And now a year later, when life finally fell back to normal, the mention of the two sits heavy in the dining room.

“He said they were living along this coast in a beached sailboat. Right here.” Tommy pointed at the map.

Santa Barbara, California.

Before you could say anything Tommy’s face hardened as his fingers tapped at the map again.

“That’s gotta be her.” His gaze never left Ellie’s face. You looked at Ellie sitting hunched beside you. Her breath was shaky and her eyes darted around the room, like she was searching for an answer. You turned back to Tommy to answer for her,

“We’re done with that, so…” Both glanced at your direction. No one said anything.

Tommy turned to look at Ellie again in disbelief, waiting for her to confirm whether your statement was true. Ellie glanced between the both of you before she exhaled slowly and lowered her head.

“I’m sorry.” She muttered while her fingers nervously fiddled in her lap.

Tommy’s eyebrows shot up at the apology, disappointment and shock painted his face as he cleared his throat.

“Well, I can’t go.” He said with a scoff.

“I know.” Ellie whispered with a torn look on her face.

Tommy sighed and scoffed, “Alright.” before placing his backpack on the table, ready to leave. As he swung the backpack on his shoulder and stood on shaky legs, he glanced down at Ellie,

“Reckon it’s easy to forget about her when you’re sittin’ all comfy way out here–”

“Hey.” You interrupted him with a firm voice, already displeased with his ideas. It didn’t stop Tommy from continuing.

“‘I’ll make her pay.’ That's what you said when we got back to Jackson–”

“Tommy.” You interrupted again. You could see Ellie turn her head away from Tommy’s burning gaze. He stared at her, waiting for something. Anything. And when he got nothing, he stood straighter with a scoff

“What a joke.” He muttered as he walked towards the door, leaving Ellie at the table with an expression you couldn’t quite name at the time. You dropped a hand onto her shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze before you walked out the door to deal with Tommy. What you didn’t notice was the map he’d left behind on the table. Or the way Ellie's eyes stayed on it long after the door shut behind you.

The rest of the evening passed quietly.

Ellie barely touched her food. Barely spoke. And whenever you’d catch her staring off somewhere, she’d blink and force herself back to ‘normalcy’. Later that night, long after you’d fallen asleep upstairs, faint guitar strings echoed through the farmhouse. Ellie sat alone by the dining table with Joel’s guitar resting on her thigh, her fingers softly strumming the worn string. The map still sat on the table. She tried not to look at it. Nor think about Tommy’s words repeating in her head.

What a joke.

Her jaw tightens at the words. The nightmares had never stopped, neither had the panic attacks. Or the guilt eating her alive. Every morning beside you felt warm enough to make her want to stay. But the nights reminded her why she couldn’t. Ellie’s fingers slipped against the string suddenly, the sharp sound snapped through the silence.

Her breath caught, and for a second all she could see was blood.

Joel.

Seattle. You lying unconscious beneath Abby’s knife.

She closed her eyes tightly. She was tired. Tired of pretending the panic would eventually fade. Tired of waking up choking on memories. She was tired of feeling like a part of her had been left behind in Seattle while the rest of her played house in a life she didn’t know how to maintain. Her eyes opened again and landed at the map again. And this time she didn’t look away.

The farmhouse stayed silent around her as she reached for it, her fingers tightening against the paper before she could second guess herself.

Upstairs, you were still asleep.

And downstairs, Ellie was leaving you behind.

By the time the sky had turned pale with early morning light, her backpack was already packed.

And she didn't turn back.

#the last of us part two #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie tlou #angst #tlou game #tlou spoilers #joel the last of us #joel miller #joel tlou

womenlover0

Oct 10, 2025

-ˏˋEpilogueˊˎ

Series masterlist

Summary: You rely on two fragile anchors: a strained but familiar love with Abby and a new, volatile bond with Ellie in Jackson. What you don't know is that one anchor is about to destroy the other. Fueled by the lie of your death, Abby's relentless quest for revenge on Joel is leading her straight to Jackson, where her arrival threatens to shatter both worlds and every fragile piece of stability you've fought to build.

Warnings: SMUT (MDNI) ALL CHARACTERS INVOLVED ARE 18+, homophobic slur, weed, canon-typical violence (tlou), graphic violence, blood, injury, angst, betrayal, character death, grief.

Note: And she's complete. I cannot thank you guys enough for being so patient with me through this journey! This is my first born child and the amount of love and support from you all have been my biggest motivation. You all have a special place in my heart and I'm excited to share my future projects with all of you!!! I love you guys lots and enjoy! Happy reading!

Word count: 19.3k

The evening sun shone through the open ceiling of the SoundView stadium, ribbons of sunshine brought warmth to the chilly breeze. As the sun sets and duties are over, people scramble to the messhall for dinner, ready to retire for the day. You however, remain in your place. Sitting crosslegged in the grass of the outside kennel — back resting on the metal fence, the interlocking steel wires sit uncomfortably in your spine, pressing and prodding at your muscles. Despite the discomfort you stay.

Laying halfway across your lap, content and snoozing, is Alice. After an eventful day consisting of patrol and playtime with Bear, she settled in your lap with a huff and dozed off. As you sit there, legs growing numb by the minute — your right hand continuously strokes the soft fur on her back coaxing her into a deep slumber. Your mind reels with memories of today's duties. Earlier this morning Mel had you up and running in the clinic, assisting treatment for a bullet wound and a broken arm. After another lunch consisting of grainy stew, you were called to the kennels to do routine check ups on the pups.

You haven’t seen Abby all day. Last time being before you left, giving her sleeping face (many) kisses goodbye. Her blanket was pulled under her chin — face buried in her pillow and arm searching for your lost figure, your side of the mattress growing cold by the minute. You sat down at the edge of the mattress as your hand reaches for hers. As if on instinct her fingers are quick to curl around yours, a deep sigh escapes her nose. You see her eyes move under her eyelids, eyebrows scrunching as she finally opens her eyes. Her blue orbs stare back at you with haze, eyelids hanging heavy with sleep.

After your early departure to the clinic, yours and Abby’s duties kept you worn down and busy. Due to a significant rise in Seraphite sightings close to the perimeter, days like these became the norm, where you and Abby go hours without seeing each other, not until later at night where you crawl into bed together. You can see it starting to take a toll on Abby. You can see the extra weight on her shoulders, the dark circles hanging heavy under her eyes and the blank stares. Like her mind is reeling in a constant exhausting speed. It sparks worry inside you, noticing how she crawls into bed and claims to be too tired to talk.

It was a routine at this point. Before falling asleep, you’d talk about your day, talk about your duty, talk about Manny tripping up the stairs or Alice toppling you over in excitement. But slowly, she stopped talking. She’d claim she's too tired, drained from her patrol. And you’d understand. Of course you did. But it became an everyday thing, where she’d dismiss the conversation and go straight to sleep. Her arm laying heavily over your waist, body heat radiating off in a suffocating way. It wasn’t just a routine, it was an anchor. An anchor to keep your mind steady, safe. Without it you could feel your mind drifting away. Without the anchor, you could feel the doubts creeping in slowly, antagonising, waiting to taint anything pure.

The screeching of the rusty fence door swinging open snaps you out of your thoughts, the sound leaves behind an aching feeling in your ears. Someone has to oil that thing. As you look up you spot Abby, her worn backpack in one hand while the other shuts the door close again. You can see the shine of sweat on her forehead underneath the evening sun, she must’ve come straight from patrol. Alice's head shot up at the sound of the door, ear perked and sharp, eyes alert. Just how they trained her, ready for action. Yet when she spots Abby, her demeanor relaxes — her tail thumping in the grass with excitement, tongue hanging off the side of her mouth as if she’s grinning.

Abby’s eyes meet yours first, exhaustion lingers heavily on her face yet when your eyes meet it’s replaced with a smile and a sweet ‘Hi’. Her eyes are quick to find Alice’s, her voice softening significantly.

“Hi sweet girl,” she coos, crouching in front of Alice, “Oh, how I’ve missed you.” she says while scratching her behind both ears. You feel the weight of Alice’s body relaxing on your lap. The dog barks as if conversing back to Abby,

“Yeah, I know you missed me too.” Abby says.

“Should I give the two of you some alone time?” you ask jokingly.

Abby chuckles as she moves forward and kisses your forehead, her dry lips feel soft and warm against your skin. She moves them down to meet yours and as your lips clash softly, she lets it linger longer, like she's soaking in your presence. As your lips part, she flops down on the grass beside you, shoulder brushing yours in a familiar manner. Your right hand continuously strokes the fur on Alice’s back as she settles down in your lap again.

“How was patrol?” you ask.

She sighs heavily, “Surprisingly uneventful.” She bumps her shoulder against yours before continuing, ”I missed you today.” She finishes by intertwining her pinky with your left one, a simple touch with an even bigger meaning.

You smile at her words, ”I missed you too, Abs.” you say as you lay your head on her meaty shoulder. You hear a heavy sigh coming from Alice who is still nestled in your lap, snoozing away with her paw twitching in her sleep. The sight makes you giggle as you absently stroke her fur.

”Someone’s sleepy.” you giggle.

Abby hums in amusement, ”You know, if she keeps this up, I’m going to start getting jealous.” Abby’s voice is playful, but there’s a thread of honesty woven into it, the kind that makes your lips twitch with a hidden smile.

You glance down at Alice, sprawled across your lap like she owns the world. Then you look back at Abby, one brow raised. ”Jealous? Of what, exactly? The fact that she clearly has a favorite?”

Abby scoffs, narrowing her eyes at you before flicking Alice’s ear lightly. ”No. The fact that she’s getting all your attention while I’m out here killing myself on patrol.” She straightens her back, rolling her stiff shoulders with an exaggerated groan. ”Do you know how depressing it is, walking in here all sweaty and sore, only to find out my spot’s been taken by a dog?”

”A very good dog,” you counter, smirking as you stroke Alice’s fur with slow, lazy motions. The pup sighs, sinking deeper into your lap, as if to punctuate your point.

Abby lets out a huff, flopping back against the fence behind you so hard the wires rattle. ”Unbelievable. First Manny steals my shift, now Alice steals my girlfriend.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling out before you can stop it. ”Oh, so that’s what this is about. You just don’t like competition.”

She tilts her head toward you, eyes narrowing with a mock glare, though the corners of her mouth betray her with the beginnings of a smile. ”Damn right I don’t. Especially when the competition drools in her sleep.”

That makes you snort, your hand pausing briefly on Alice’s back. ”Can’t argue with that. But in her defense, she doesn’t hog the blankets or steal all the pillows.”

Abby gasps in feigned outrage, pressing a hand to her chest. ”Wow. Low blow.”

The both of you break into laughter, the sound mingling with the distant chatter from the messhall. For a moment, the exhaustion in Abby’s face lifts, replaced with the glow of someone who has finally — finally — let herself relax.

When the laughter dies down, silence settles over you. Abby’s shoulder presses solid and warm against yours, her fingers finds yours again, tangling loosely with yours. The quiet between you isn’t heavy - it’s steady, like an anchor. For the first time in what feels like weeks, you can breathe.

”I really did miss you today,” Abby says again, softer this time, almost like she doesn’t want you to hear how much she means it.

Your chest tightens. You tilt your head just enough to rest it fully against her shoulder, eyes falling shut. ”I know,” you whisper. ”I missed you too.”

She hums, the sound low and fond. You feel the press of her lips against your hairline, lingering there. The world around you falls quiet — no barking dogs, no shouts from the messhall, just the rhythm of Abby’s breathing and Alice’s steady snores. For once, there’s nothing to rush toward, nothing pulling either of you away. Just this.

And you let yourself have it.

—

Two years have passed since the clicker attack in the abandoned grocery store. Two years since the dam inside you shattered under pressure, and you couldn’t help but fall into Joel’s comforting embrace. You don’t remember how long you and Joel sat in that moldy basement, the lifeless bodies of clickers surrounding you. The aftermath of your near death experience was a blur, all you remember is the grounding weight of Joel’s arms wrapped around your trembling frame. His beard scratched your forehead as he rested his head on yours, rocking your bodies in a lulling pace. The scent of him — something familiar, comforting, home.

Ellie stayed with you that night, providing a comforting presence in the dark and empty space of your own house.

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” she promised. Only for you to wake up that morning to the sight of her curled up by your side, face buried in your neck and arm thrown over your stomach. Your chest tightened at the unfamiliar warmth, your stomach fluttering at the sight of Ellie so domesticated, so unguarded.

When her eyes finally blinked open, wide and panicked, she scrambled out of bed in a flurry of blankets, muttering half-formed excuses as her cheeks burned crimson. She left your house in a hurry, boots thudding down the stairs before the front door slammed shut. It wasn't the first time you slept in the same bed, yet her acting as if it was, made laughter bubble in your throat.

From that morning forward, something unspoken lingered in the air between you. A shift so small, yet impossible to ignore. Glances held a little longer than necessary. Words softened around the edges. A brush of fingers that neither of you pulled away from quickly enough.

What began as hesitance blossomed over two years into something deeper. Ellie grew into your shadow, then into your anchor. She filled the silences you used to drown in, carved out space in your life you never thought you could have again. And slowly, she began to look at you in ways that made your throat tighten and your heart ache with something terrifyingly close to love.

But love in Jackson was never simple. Not when Joel hovered at the edges of every moment, carrying his persistence like a weight, clinging to a vision of normal that Ellie no longer believed in. Their bond cracked under the strain of unspoken truths and broken trust, the distance between them widening no matter how many times Joel tried to bridge it.

And you, caught in the middle,learned to live in the aftermath. Your relationship with Joel would never return to what it once was. The betrayal, the blood on his hands, Abby’s ghost that lingered in your memory—it left scars too deep to forget. But it wasn’t the black-and-white monster Abby had painted anymore either. With time, your anger dulled into something sharper, quieter, but less consuming. Not forgiveness, not absolution. Just… context. Enough to coexist.

And so, the three of you carried on in the fragile in-between. Joel clinging to what he’d already lost, Ellie searching for something new, and you—stuck in the messy, aching middle—learning what it meant to stay when everything else threatened to fall apart.

—

March has rolled around and the multiple layers of clothing does nothing against the blistering and bone-chilling snow. Each step in the thick blanket of snow leaves numbing tingling in her feet, but she pushes on. They are so close, yet so far away from finishing this. Years of heart shattering agony and brutal training have led up to this moment. To kill Joel Miller. The man behind the killing of her father, of her lover. Everything falls on his hands, his blood soaked hands. And he’s out here, in a remote town, living freely? Not for any longer.

Abby walks ahead of the crew, her head bowed down to try and escape the harsh wind. This agonising slow hike towards Jackson county has stretched on for almost a month. Mel and Owen requesting to stop and rest on more accounts than she can remember. Each time her irritation builds, why would they need that much rest? There is no time for rest, they could lose this precious window of opportunity if they keep this up.

Abby’s mind can’t help but wander, it seems it’s all it can do nowadays. She thinks of Joel, of Isaac, and of course you. The thought of you feels like electric shocks through her body. Her body rejecting the painful memories left of you. But when she thinks of Isaac, her blood boils in rage. Yes, he had been her biggest support in this man hunt for Joel, but his betrayal digs deeper than any wound.

After your declared passing, Isaac kept a watchful eye on Abby. He’d watch her during training, watching her fall behind her peers, head clouded with grief, anger. He’d send his closest soldiers out on patrol with her to watch for him. Each incoming intel proved that Abby, his top scar killer, was slipping behind. He couldn’t afford her slipping up under active duty, not when the stakes are high and the number of scars are multiplying. So, while Abby was out on her usual patrol, he ordered her and your quarters to be cleared out.

“For security reasons” he’d say, claiming she, or you, might’ve left behind intel or personal effects tied to your ‘betrayal’.

WLF soldiers went through Abby’s belongings while she's out on assignments in the early morning. They weren’t gentle about it, drawers overturned, bedding stripped, every note or photo examined. But then they found the polaroid of you and Abby, the one where her eyes are set on your laughing figure, a soft smile adoring her face. Found tucked under her pillow and is immediately flagged and brought to Isaac’s office.

“Sir, we found this in Anderson’s quarters. Looks personal.” the soldier says, sliding it across Isaacs desk. Isaac studies it for a long moment — your laughter caught on the picture, Abby’s soft look, he doesn’t miss the closness between you. Then he scoffs as he throws the picture on his desk,

For a second, something like a smile ghosts over his face. Then it’s gone.

“Get this printed,” he says finally, voice flat, cold. “Everywhere. Mess hall, training yard, armory walls — everywhere they’ll see it.”

The soldier hesitates. “Sir, you want this one? It’s—uh—it’s personal.”

Isaac looks up, the faintest trace of irritation in his eyes.

“That’s the point.”

He grabs the photo and pulls a red marker from his drawer. The sound of the cap snapping off is deafening in the silence. He circles your face — one deliberate, brutal motion — until your expression is swallowed in crimson.

Then, at the bottom of the photo, he writes in heavy strokes:

Name — Traitor to the cause. Executed.

He slides the photo back toward the soldier. “Get it done before sundown.”

And just like that, it begins.

By evening, your face is everywhere. On the walls of the mess hall, tacked to bulletin boards, slapped over training notices and missing-person sheets. The red circle bleeds through the paper under the heat of the lights. People stop and stare as they walk by, whispering. Some shake their heads. Others scoff. A few turn away, uncomfortable.

“Did you hear? That’s Anderson’s old partner.”“Yeah. The one who turned on them.”“Shit, they executed her?”“Guess Isaac’s not playing around anymore.”

The evening had settled heavily over the stadium, the last streaks of sunlight cutting through the rafters and pooling across the concrete floors. The air felt thicker than usual—heavy with heat, dust, and something else Abby couldn't quite name.

The day’s duties were long over. The mess hall hummed with low chatter, the clatter of cutlery echoed down the hallways, but she didn't join them. She had come back from patrol, grime still clinging to her skin, her backpack hanging loosely off one shoulder. Normally she’d beeline straight for you in the kennels — anywhere but here — but something feels… off.

People moved differently tonight. Eyes flicking toward her, then away. Conversations dipping mid-sentence when she passed. She’d catch snippets—half-heard words that evaporated before she could piece them together.

She slowed her stride, brows knitting. “What?” she muttered under her breath, scanning faces, but no one met her eyes.

By the time she reached the main corridor, that crawling unease had rooted itself in her chest. The lights flicker once, buzzing faintly, and she stopped. There—by the bulletin board outside the mess—something white and sharp catches the light.

Abby freezes.

Pinned beneath a layer of duct tape, crooked and wrinkled from hasty placement, is a photo she knew too well.

You’re in it.

The two of you, sitting side by side, sunlight spilling across your faces. She remembers Nora’s laugh behind the camera, your hand brushing against hers just out of frame. The memory punches the air from her lungs. But what stole her breath completely was the thick, red circle drawn around your face—ink so dark it bled through the paper. And underneath, scrawled in harsh block letters:

Name — Traitor to the cause. Executed.

For a moment, she just stood there. The sounds around her faded—the chatter, the hum of the lights, the scrape of boots on concrete—all swallowed by the ringing in her ears.

Someone behind her whispers your name. Someone else laughs quietly.

She ripped the poster from the wall, the paper tearing unevenly under her shaking hands. Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed down the corridor, fury building with every step.

The photo crumples in her grip, her knuckles white around its edges.

She moved fast—past the infirmary, down the hall that smells of damp and bleach, boots hitting the ground like gunfire. By the time she reached Isaac’s office, her pulse was roaring.

The door flew open, slamming against the wall.

“What the fuck is this?”

Isaac didn’t even flinch. He was standing by the table, speaking quietly to one of his lieutenants, who stiffened and slipped out the door at her tone. The photo—your photo—is in his hand.

He glanced up, expression unreadable. “You saw it.”

Abby’s voice trembled with fury. “You plastered her face on every wall in this goddamn stadium. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Isaac set the photo down, folding his hands on the table. “People need to know what happens when someone turns their back on us.”

“She didn’t turn her back,” Abby snapped, her jaw tight. “She was ambushed. You know that.”

Isaac’s gaze hardened. “What I know is she started questioning orders. Talking about leaving. Doubting me. That’s how it starts, Abby.”

“That’s not what happened!” she stepped forward, voice breaking, “She was taken. She didn’t get the chance to fight back.”

Isaac’s tone stayed infuriatingly calm. “You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment.”

“My—?” she laughed, sharp and disbelieving, “You’re lying to everyone. You’re telling people she chose this. That she betrayed us. That she—”

He cut her off. “Enough.”

Abby stopped mid-sentence, chest heaving.

Isaac straighten, taller, broader, his shadow spilling over the desk. “You think I don’t know what that girl meant to you? I do. But she’s gone. And if I have to use that to remind people what happens to deserters—then that’s what I’ll do.”

Abby shook her head slowly, her face pale with disgust. “You’re using her death as propaganda.”

His jaw flexed, but he didn't deny it.

“People need direction. Fear gives them that.”

For a moment, the room was utterly silent. Abby stared at him, her fists curling at her sides. “You disgust me,” she said finally, voice low and trembling with anger.

Isaac exhaled slowly, almost pitying. “You’ll thank me one day. When this war’s over, and the world’s safe again.”

She took a step closer, eyes glinting like steel. “The world’s never going to be safe if you have to lie to hold it together.”

He studied her for a long time, expression softening into something almost sad. “Careful, Abby. You’re walking a dangerous line.”

“Yeah?” she muttered, reaching out and snatching the photo off the desk, “Then maybe you should start worrying about what happens when your soldiers stop believing your lies.”

And she was gone before he could answer—slamming the door so hard the walls rattle.

That night, the posters came down one by one.

Abby moved through the corridors like a ghost, hoodie pulled low, tearing them off the walls until her fingers were raw. Every rip echoes in the dark. She didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. Didn’t even stop when her hands started shaking.

By the time the sun came up, her nails were torn, her palms streaked with red ink.

But the walls were bare, at last.

And for the first time since you died, she finally let herself sink to the floor—photo clutched to her chest—and sob until her throat burned.

Abby blinks at the memory, the dull ache in her chest and head pounds harder by the minute. She needs to get this job done, for her father, for you. She glances behind her, Manny and Jordan are walking quickly behind her heel. The remaining five of the group are walking further back, fatigue creeping up their limps. It’s dawn by now and they should probably find some kind of shelter for the night. As they reach the top of the hill, Abby spots it. A lodge situated by the foot of the hill. A place to rest for the night. A sense of hope creeps up Abby’s spine. They’re getting closer.

—

Jackson’s annual winter dance was in full motion. Fairy lights are strung in the ceiling of the town's church, the soft music playing in the background mixes with the loud chatter between the residents. Families and friends are gathered every year to celebrate the end of a long summer harvest, all sitting together over a feast. And to finish the night off, everyone dances their heart away. And that’s how you found yourself in the middle of the dancefloor, hands clasped with Dina as she twirled you with playful force.

“Come on!” she laughs, her bun coming loose as she spins you again. “Don’t tell me all those years of training and you can’t keep up with a simple two-step.”

You scoff, catching her hand and pulling her closer just to prove a point. “I can keep up just fine, thank you very much.”

The two of you move with easy rhythm — your laughter mixing with hers, your boots scuffing against the wood. People clap along as Dina dips you dramatically, her grin wide and unapologetic. When she pulls you back upright, you’re breathless, cheeks warm from laughter and whiskey.

The music swells, and she leans in close, voice raised just enough to be heard over the song. “Alright, I’m stealing enough of your spotlight. Come on.” She jerks her chin toward the bar, where Ellie and Jesse stand.

Ellie, dressed in her worn down light blue flannel, is leaning against the counter, half-smiling at something Jesse said, though her eyes keep flicking toward you. Her auburn hair is tied back in her typical low bun, a strand of hair framing her face. Jesse’s posture is tight — hand gripping his glass, jaw set in that way that betrays frustration no matter how hard he tries to mask it.

As you and Dina approach, the tension hums like static. Jesse offers a quick, forced grin. “Having fun out there?”

“Yeah,” Dina says, matching his tone but not his warmth. “You should try it sometime.”

He huffs through his nose, looking away. “Maybe if someone didn’t ditch me for the dancefloor.”

The air goes heavy, the kind of silence that draws eyes. You sense Ellie shifting beside them, uncomfortable. You step in front of her and reach for her glass on instinct, downing the last of her whiskey in one go.

“Hey,” Ellie says, brows raised. “That was mine.”

You set the glass down with a quiet clink, ignoring the burn in your throat. “You looked like you were done.”

Dina shoots you a look that says thanks — anything to redirect the tension — but the damage lingers in the air between her and Jesse. His jaw flexes, his eyes downcast. Dina sighs softly, muttering, “Not here, Jess,” before stepping back from the bar.

Ellie catches your glance — a silent let’s get out of here passing between you — just as the music changes. The upbeat rhythm fades into something slower, softer. The kind of song that asks for closeness.

You tilt your head toward the dance floor. “C’mon, before someone else asks me.”

Ellie blinks, caught off guard. “What? No, I don’t—”

You grab her hand before she can finish, tugging her gently toward the open space. “Relax. Just a dance.”

She follows, reluctantly at first, her boots hesitating at the edge of the crowd. But once you find the rhythm — her hand at your waist, your fingers laced behind her neck — something shifts. Her stiffness eases. The world narrows down to the flicker of the fairy lights and the warmth of her palm against your sides.

“You’re not much of a dancer,” you tease quietly.

“Yeah, well,” she mutters, a faint grin tugging at her lips, “no one’s ever asked me before.”

You look up at her — really look — the dim light painting her freckles in soft gold, her hair loose and curling against her neck, the small scar on her eyebrow. “Their loss,” you say softly.

She snorts under her breath, trying to hide her smile. She exhales shakily, her eyes flicking from your mouth to your eyes. The song slows even more, the space between you shrinking until there’s nothing left but the faint brush of breath. You can feel her heartbeat against your chest — quick, uncertain.

For a moment, it feels like the whole room disappears. No laughter, no chatter, just the two of you swaying in rhythm to something far more fragile.

“Ellie…” you start, but she cuts you off — or maybe you both move at the same time. The kiss is tentative, soft, like testing the edges of something that’s always been there. Her lips taste faintly of whiskey and warmth, her hand trembling slightly where it rests against your back.

It deepens only for a heartbeat before the world crashes back in.

“Hey!”

You both pull apart, breathless. Seth stands a few feet away, red-faced, a hand gripping his drink too tight. “This is a family event,” he spits, the words slurred and venomous. His eyes dart between you and Ellie, his lip curling.

You and Ellie back away from each other, you glare at Seth.

“Sorry.” you scoff with an eyeroll, making your irritation clear to him. You take Ellie’s hand in yours and begin to walk away, ready to retire for tonight, when his voice slices through the music and chatter.

“Remember next time there’s kids around.” his voice rings out.

You glance back, “Yeah, like you’re setting such a great example.” you say back, already done with this conversation. And as you and Ellie near the exit, Seth speaks up again, this time his words carry more venom.

“Oh, just what this town needs. Another loud-mouthed dyke.”

Everyone around stills, anticipation hanging thick in the air like fog. You feel Ellie’s steps falter behind you, the weight of the moment settling heavy on both your shoulders. But before you can say anything, she’s moving — storming forward with a glare sharp enough to cut glass, her finger pointed straight at Seth.

“What the fuck did you just say?” she snaps, voice shaking not with fear, but rage.

The chatter dies completely. The band stops mid-note. Even the creak of boots seems to pause. All eyes turn to Ellie — to you — as tension ripples through the room like a drawn bowstring.

The townsfolk of Jackson have never been the type to stare, not anymore at least. They’ve always been polite, accepting, even kind. But now? You feel their gaze like heat on your skin — curiosity, judgment, discomfort — all swirling together in the silence Seth’s words left behind.

Seth’s face twists, defensive already. “You heard me,” he mutters, his voice loud enough to carry, his lip curling. “Don’t need kids seein’ that kinda—”

“That kinda what?” Ellie cuts in, taking a step closer. Her voice cracks like a whip. “Go on, say it.”

He flinches, but only barely. “Ain’t right,” he says, shaking his head. “You two— it’s not natural.”

Ellie laughs, a sound sharp and bitter. “Oh, so it’s not natural when it’s me? When it’s her?” She points toward you, eyes blazing. “But you’re fine with drunks falling over themselves every damn dance? You’re fine with married men sneaking out with whoever will have them? That’s natural, huh?”

Seth’s mouth opens, but no words come out. His face reddens, shame and anger mixing until they’re indistinguishable.

You step forward, placing a hand on Ellie’s arm — gently, grounding. Her muscles are coiled, ready to strike, and for a moment, you think she might actually throw a punch.

“Ellie,” you murmur.

She turns to you, eyes flashing, chest heaving. “No,” she says, her voice low but trembling. “No, he doesn’t get to say that. Not to us.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding. “I know,” you whisper. “But he’s not worth it.”

Seth scoffs, muttering something under his breath about “respect” and “tradition.” Ellie’s head snaps toward him again, but before she can move, Joel’s voice cuts through the tension.

“Hey!” Joel exclaims as he shoves Seth back. “Get the hell out of here.”

“Get your hands off me.” Seth says as he steps closer to Joel. Before the situation can escalate, Maria comes between them, placing each hand on their chests and pushing them apart.

“Enough.” Her voice stern. As she leads a grumbling Seth away with Tommy, Joel turns to you and Ellie, eyebrows furrowed, his face tense with worry.

“You alright, kiddos—?” Before he can finish Ellie is quick to interrupt him.

“What is wrong with you?” she says throwing up an arm, the other is securely wrapped around your waist.

“He had no right—.” she interrupts again,

“And you do?” she asks with disbelief. You see her face harden before she continues,

“I don’t need your fucking help, Joel.” Her voice laced with venom.

You stare at her with disbelief. You knew their situation was bad, but she had taken it too far. You glance at Joel, his face is tense with shock, embarrassment. He glances around him, down on the floor then quickly meets Ellie’s angry eyes,

“Right.” he says shortly while backing away, his eyes meet yours for a second. You shoot him a look that says Sorry, he gives you a quick nod before he turns and walks out the door. Ellie’s eyes are set on his figure, her eyebrows slowly unfurrowing. You look at her face and see, what you can only guess, regret. Your hand lands on her back, gently coaxing her to walk with you.

“C’mon, let’s go home.”

The walk home was quiet. The kind of quiet that settled deep into your bones, that made the sound of your footsteps feel too loud, too heavy. Ellie hadn’t said a word since you left the dance. Not after Seth’s slurs, not after Joel’s confrontation, not even after you brushed your thumb over her knuckles and told her it was fine. That you were fine. You weren’t sure if she heard you.

Back in your house, the silence followed her inside like smoke. She paced the living room while you leaned against the counter, watching her jaw clench and unclench, the vein in her neck twitching with every shallow breath.

“He doesn’t get to say that shit,” she muttered. “He doesn’t get to—” Her voice cracked before she could finish.

You crossed the room and stopped just close enough for her to feel your warmth. “Ellie.” She didn’t look at you. Her hands curled into fists.

You reached up, fingers wrapping around her clenched fists. “You should talk to him.”

That got her attention. Her eyes snapped to yours—sharp, uncertain. “Joel?”

You nodded. “He’s been trying, Els. You don’t have to forgive him, but… maybe it’s time to stop carrying it like this. You’re both just—hurting.”

Her jaw tightened. For a second, you thought she’d tell you to drop it. But the fight left her shoulders all at once. She exhaled through her nose, a shaky sound that almost broke your heart.

“Yeah…I’ll go,” she said finally, voice low. “But just to talk.”

You smiled faintly. “That’s all I’m saying.”

When she stepped out into the cold night air, she lingered on the porch for a moment, staring at the glow of the streetlamps flickering over the snow-dusted path. The town had gone quiet—just the soft whistle of wind through the pines and the distant bark of a dog.

By the time she reached Joel’s back porch, the air smelled faintly of pine and coffee. Warm yellow light spilled from the windows, and she could hear the low, deliberate pluck of a guitar string around the corner. As she walks up the steps to his porch, the strumming comes to a halt. Joel stills at the sight of Ellie standing by the edge of the porch, arm resting against the wooden fence. He sets aside his guitar and moves to lean his forearms against the fence. They both stand there for a minute, the silence feels charged.

“What’re you drinking?” Ellie is the first to break the silence. Offering the olive branch .

“Coffee.” Joel answers.

The silence lingers.

“I had Seth under control.” Ellie says sternly.

Joel nods, almost in defeat, “Yeah, I know.”

“And you need to stop asking Name about me.” She finished.

“Okay.” He exhales. Joel opens his mouth, but is quick to close it again.

“Name…” he starts gently, “Is she your girlfriend?”

Ellie huffs in disbelief, her silence lingers, “Ehm…” she exhales heavily “Yeah, I suppose she is.” she says fighting a smile.

Joel nods, as if he’s happy with the answer, “Look, I don’t know how long you’ve been together,” he pauses, “But y’all are lucky t’ have each other. She’s a good kid.”

Ellie looks away for a second, as if she's containing her words. But she snaps back,

“You’re such an asshole!” Ellie exclaims after a brief silence. Joel gently throws his hands in defeat,

“I’m not trying to–.” He says softly before Ellie’s next words cut through the air like a knife.

“I was supposed to die in that hospital. My life would have fucking mattered.” She hits the side of her palm against the fence to prove her point. “But you took that from me.” Her voice falters, a familiar burning ache lodges itself in her throat. Her eyes sting, filling with fresh tears but she’s quick to look away. She takes a shaky breath before scoffing and shaking her head. She thinks back to the similar conversation you both had two years back. How you both exchanged secrets that hung heavy in your heart.

Joel is silenced by her words, his face twists before they harden as he stands straighter.

“If somehow the Lord gave me a second change at that moment…” he pauses. As if he’s bracing for their shattered relationship to crumble even more after his next words. “I would do it all over again.” He finalized, his gaze clashing with Ellie’s bewildered eyes.

Ellie laughs dryly, bitterly. “You know what’s messed up? Me and Name… we talked about this. Years ago. Back when I finally knew the truth.” She shakes her head, the corners of her mouth twitching between anger and heartbreak. “She told me about Jerry. How much he meant to her. What you did to him.”

Joel stiffens. The muscles in his jaw twitch once, twice, then still.

Ellie takes a step forward. “So tell me something, Joel.” Her voice lowers to a sharp whisper. “If you had the chance again… if you were back in that operating room, standing over Jerry—would you still kill him?”

The silence that follows feels endless. Only the low hum of cicadas fills the space.

Joel’s lips part, but no words come. He looks away, staring off into the trees as if the answer might be written there. When he finally does speak, his voice comes out rough, deliberate. “I’d do it all over again, if it meant saving you.”

Ellie recoils, her eyes narrowing. “Even Jerry?” she snaps. “Even after what that did to her? You know she still—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head, fury and sorrow colliding in her chest.

Joel’s face softens, but the guilt doesn’t fade—it just shifts, revealing something deeper beneath. “That girl…” he starts, voice low, almost a whisper. “She didn’t deserve what came her way. Not findin’ him like that. Not her organisation turnin’ on her. And sure as hell not losin’ the people she cared about.” He swallows, looking down at his hands. “She’s been through more than most, and I’d take that hurt from her if I could.”

He looks up then, and there’s that flicker in his eyes—the same one Ellie’s seen when he looks at her, the same quiet, fierce love that’s equal parts protection and punishment.

“She’s family, Ellie,” he admits finally. “Always was. Like you. You both are.” His voice cracks, almost imperceptibly. “But I couldn’t lose you. Not again. Not after Sarah. Not after… everythin’.”

Ellie’s breath catches. She wants to scream at him, to tell him that doesn’t make it right—but her throat won’t let her.

Joel steps closer, just enough that his voice falls softer, tired. “You can hate me for it. I get it. But every choice I made that day… every goddamn thing I did—it was ‘cause I loved you. Same way I care about her. I wasn’t strong enough to lose another daughter.”

That last word—daughter—hangs in the air like a ghost neither of them can face.

Ellie stares at him, anger burning through the ache in her chest. She wants to tell him he’s wrong. That love shouldn’t come with that kind of cost. But as the words die in her throat, she just exhales shakily, eyes flicking toward the door.

“I just…” she swallows “I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for that,” she says finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Joel leans his forearms on the railing again, his breath comes out choppy and he fights the grief showing on his face.

“But I would like to try.” Ellie finishes with a shaky voice, her face crumbling yet refusing to let a tear shed. Joel exhales a shaky breath at her words, relief flooding his body, his tense muscles finally relaxing.

His breath shudders and he clenches his eyes shut as they fill with tears of relief, “I’d like that.” he says with a nod.

“Okay… I’ll see you around.” Ellie says as she turns to leave, “Yep.” Joel finalizes with a shaky voice.

She lingers for just a heartbeat longer, eyes darting toward him before she finally turns and disappears down the path, the evening air swallowing her whole.

For a long while, Joel just stands there. The night hums around him—crickets chirping, wind stirring the dry grass beyond the fence line, the faint smell of pine drifting in from the valley. The mug rests in his hand, half-forgotten, coffee gone cold.

And then, slowly, he exhales.

Something eases in his chest—something that’s been wound tight for years. The guilt, the silence, the ache of losing her before she ever left. It doesn’t vanish, but for the first time in a long while, it feels lighter. Manageable.

He sits back down on the porch stool, elbows resting on his knees, and lets his gaze drift toward the night sky. The dark has taken over, painting the sky with the constellations Ellie used to never stop talking about . He smiles faintly to himself, that small, quiet smile he rarely shows anyone.

Maybe they’ll stop by tomorrow. Maybe they’ll share a meal. Maybe, just maybe, things can start to feel right again. He knows Ellie’s still angry—he can see it in her eyes—but there was something else there tonight too. Something small, fragile. Forgiveness, maybe. Or the beginning of it.

Joel reaches for the guitar again, plucking the same soft tune he’s played a hundred times before. It drifts through the evening air, warm and steady, wrapping around him like an old friend.

He thinks about Ellie’s smile, the way she used to laugh when she thought he wasn’t funny, the quiet stubbornness that reminded him so much of Sarah. He thinks about you, too—how you’ve been trying to put the broken pieces back together, same as him. How maybe, just maybe, they were all finding their way through the wreckage of what they’d done.

For the first time in years, Joel feels something like peace. A soft, tentative hope blooming where the guilt used to live.

He leans back in his chair, guitar resting on his lap, eyes tracing the early night.

Tomorrow, he tells himself. Tomorrow will be better.

—

The morning after the winter dance, you woke up before sunrise. You laid there in the dark with Ellie curled up close to escape the nipping cold, you traced your thumb against her freckled cheek. You left a lingering kiss on her forehead before sneaking out of bed, letting her sleep in before your early patrol. Last night she came back late, the whites of her eyes were streaked red but her shoulders seemed lighter than when she’d departed earlier that night. She didn't have to say anything for you to understand that it had gone well between her and Joel. You didn’t push her to talk, just gently led her to bed. As you laid there, sleep pulling you in, Ellie murmured in the dark,

“Maybe we can invite Joel for a movie tomorrow?”

You smiled at the suggestion, running your fingers gently through her messy hair.

“Yeah, that would be nice.” You say as you both fall into a deep slumber.

The sun is slowly starting to rise, painting an orange and golden hue on the town, the sunrays bringing warmth to the chilly morning. You are walking to the storage rooms to refill your inventory before your patrol, when you cross paths with Joel. He’s standing by the stables with his horse, Old Beardy, all saddled up and ready. As his eyes meet yours, you slow to a stop in front of his horse, giving the old stallion some muzzle scratches.

“Mornin’ kiddo.” Joel says with a heavy southern draw.

“Morning Joel. You headed out this early?” You question as you pull out some spare sugarcubes from your pack, the stallion is quick to gobble it up from your palm.

“Yeah, me n’ Tommy are headin’ out early. Been sightings of a big hoard up by the ski lodge.” He says while petting Old Beardy’s neck.

“Look, I’m sorry about last night. I know y’all had it handled with Seth.” he says.

“It’s alright Joel. I know you meant well.” you say with a soft tone, the events of last night far forgotten.

“Your talk with Ellie went well, I take it.” You bring up.

“Yeah. She’s willing to try n’ forgive me.” he says with a nod, his facial features seem warmer at the mention of Ellie.

You can’t help but smile, despite the dull ache in your chest. Abby is still not forgotten. Your heart yearns for a life you’ve chosen to leave behind. It wasn’t an easy decision, you wanted to run back to the WLF, to Abby. But Jackson brought a security and comfort you’ve longed for while being a Wolf. Jackson now feels like home. Despite the ache in your chest whenever you think of Abby. The version of the girl you love is gone. She died with her father that day. You have come to accept that. It’s a constant battle between your heart and brain.

“Well, we’d love to have you over for a movie tonight. I’ll make us some dinner too.” You say with hope in your voice.

Joel is quiet for a second, his eyebrows drawn up, almost like he’s at a loss of breath. Then — he chuckles, one of his deep chested chuckles, his eyes wrinkle at the sides, “Yeah, I’d love to.”

Your eyes light up, you can’t wait to tell Ellie. “Great! Well, stay safe out there and we’ll see you later.”

Joel gives a short nod, eyes crinkling when he smiles back. “You too, kiddo. See you tonight.”

He mounts his horse, still wearing that faint, content smile — the kind he doesn’t show often. For once, he looks… at peace. The morning sun spills over the edge of his jacket, painting him gold as he rides toward the gates.

You watch him go, arms folded against the early chill. The faint echo of his chuckle still lingers in your ears, the kind that makes your heart ache in a way you don’t fully understand. Neither of you know it’s the last time you’ll speak — and that’s what makes it cruel. Because it wasn’t a goodbye. It was just another ordinary morning.

—

The constant chatter in the streets of Jackson has grown comforting, despite the early morning. The hard workers are up and running, catching up with each other as they pass. As you walk through the busy main street with Ellie at your side, you can feel the stares, you can hear how conversations dim to a deafening silence as you and Ellie walk past. You glance to your right, Ellie’s expression shows no care of the whispers but her tense shoulders and fidgeting fingers says otherwise. You can see her pace quickening as you spot the entrance to The Tipsy Bison. Maria requested your presence before your scheduled patrol, Just for a quick chat she’d said.

As you enter the busy bar, Maria’s voice cuts through the jumbled conversations,

“Girls! There you are. C’mere.”

As you approach you see her scratching her arm before leaning against the bar counter,

“Seth’s got something he wants to say to you—.” Her sentence is interrupted by Ellie’s.

“I don’t want to hear what that bigot has to say.” she shakes her head.

“Do it for me. Please.” Maria’s tone leaves no room for objections.

“Of course. Anything for you Maria.” you say with boredom, ready to get this over with. Ellie snorts quietly while bumping her shoulder with yours. As you glance up again you see Seth approaching from the kitchen, hands holding what seems to be wrapped sandwiches. You hear Ellie murmur a Fuck me before he greets you.

“Hey.” He says with awkwardness lingering.

You and Ellie stare at the man, waiting for him to continue.

“Look, last night…I was drinking too much.”

“Oh really? I couldn’t tell.” You say with an eyeroll. You hear Maria hiss your name.

Seth clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable, eyes darting between you, Ellie, and the sandwich wrappers in his hands. “Yeah, well… It was outta line. I was outta line. And, uh–” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m tryin’ to say I’m sorry. For what I said. For–” he exhales through his nose, “for how I acted.”

The bar feels quieter now, the hum of conversation fading just enough for everyone to pretend they’re not listening. Ellie shifts beside you, jaw ticking. You can feel the restrained anger radiating off her like heat from a fire.

Maria gives her a look — the kind that says be the bigger person. Ellie’s tongue pokes into her cheek, but she doesn’t say anything. You take the sandwiches he’s offering, his hands brushing yours for a second. They’re trembling slightly.

“Thanks,” you mutter, the word tasting bitter. “Guess that’s something.”

Ellie finally speaks, voice low and clipped. “You think sayin’ sorry makes it better? You humiliated us in front of the whole damn town.”

Seth’s face twitches, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Yeah. I know. Just… tryin’ to make it right.”

You look over at Maria, who’s watching the exchange with that practiced calm of hers, the kind that hides both disappointment and relief. “Are we done here?” you ask, lifting an eyebrow.

Maria sighs. “Yeah, I appreciate that.”

Ellie scoffs but lets you guide her away by the arm. The two of you push through the crowd until the chatter swells up again, swallowing the awkward moment whole. Once outside, the cold air bites against your skin. Ellie’s still fuming, muttering curses under her breath. You take one of the sandwiches, handing it over wordlessly.

She takes it but doesn’t eat. Her fingers pick at the paper instead. “He gets to just say sorry and that’s it?” she says, voice tight. “He called us—” she cuts herself off, shaking her head. “And everyone just watched.”

“I know,” you say softly. “But you know how this place works. Maria can’t afford any more tension.”

Ellie looks at you then, her eyes darker than usual, glassy with unshed frustration. “Yeah. Guess that makes it okay.”

You step closer, nudging your fingers against hers, grounding her. “No,” you murmur, “it doesn’t.”

For a long moment, neither of you say anything. The wind hums low through the streets as you walk to the stables, carrying faint laughter from the bar behind you. Then, quietly, Ellie huffs out a breath and tears off a piece of her sandwich.

“Still tastes like shit,” she mutters.

You can’t help but smile. “That’s Seth’s cooking for you.”

It earns you a tiny laugh, it’s small, but enough. The tension eases just a little, settling into something quieter, something almost… tender. Ellie bumps her shoulder into yours, a silent thanks, and you bump back, warmth pooling somewhere deep beneath the chill.

The sandwiches were finished, much to Ellie’s annoyance, when you arrived at the stables. The air inside was cool and smelled faintly of hay and leather — a familiar comfort. Lantern light flickered against the wooden beams, casting soft golden patterns over the stalls. You spot Robin standing with Whiskey and Shimmer, both saddled and restless with morning energy.

“That’s a good girl,” Robin says, patting Whiskey’s neck before glancing up with a grin. “Look who’s here!”

“Good morning.” you say.

At the sound of your voice, Whiskey lets out a soft nicker, ears flicking forward as she takes a few eager steps toward you. Your chest warms instantly.

“Hey there, sweet girl,” you murmur, reaching up to rub the spot between her eyes. She leans into your touch, snorting softly as if she’s been waiting for you all morning. “Missed me, huh?”

Robin chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ve spoiled that horse rotten. She barely listens to anyone else anymore.”

“That’s because I’m her favorite,” you reply, scratching under Whiskey’s chin. “Aren’t I, girl?”

Whiskey exhales through her nose, almost like she’s agreeing with you, and Ellie laughs quietly beside you.

“Can’t even get Shimmer to like me that much,” Ellie mutters, patting Shimmer’s neck. “Guess I don’t hand out enough apples.”

You glance over your shoulder at her, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “You barely hand out a good mood.”

“Ha-ha,” she deadpans, but the corner of her mouth twitches, that almost-smile she can’t quite hold back.

Robin hands you the reins, still smiling. “They’re all yours. Try not to let her con you into skipping patrol again.”

You feign offense. “That happened one time.”

“Yeah, and Tommy still won’t let me hear the end of it,” he says, walking off toward the tack room.

You run your hand down Whiskey’s neck, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath. She turns her head to nudge your shoulder, a soft reminder of the bond you’ve built through long rides and quiet mornings.

Ellie steps closer, watching with something warm flickering in her eyes. “You know,” she says softly, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you liked that horse more than me.”

You smirk, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face. “She listens better than you do.”

Ellie scoffs, clicking her tongue. “Alright, that’s it — you’re riding with Robin next time.”

You grin as you swing into the saddle, patting Whiskey’s neck once more. “She wouldn’t let you, anyway.”

Ellie rolls her eyes but the fondness there is unmistakable. As you ride out toward the gate, the early morning light spills across the snowy ground, glinting off the frost. Jesse stands prepared with his horse tied to the fence, two rifles in hand.

“Ahh, look who decided to join us.” he teases as he hands each of you a rifle.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She mocks back while checking the ammunition.

“Open it up!” Jesse barks an order at the gate guards. As the wooden gate splits open, a gust of icy wind sweeps over you. The white blanket of snow travels as far as the eye can see, snowflakes whipping with the wind. This will be a painstakingly long patrol, you think to yourself.

“Settle down, children.” he says with a pointed glance at you and Ellie.

“Alright. You all know the drill. Run your routes. Mark your logbooks. Clear any infected you see. You run into anything you can’t handle, you come back. Be smart about it.”

“You heard him. Be smart.” you say to Ellie with a sly grin.

“Oh, shut up.” she scoffs.

“Alright, get goin’.” Jesse barks his final order.

Everyone splits into their designated groups. You glance past your shoulder to look at Ellie, checking if she’s ready. She nods. You turn back around, hands tightening around the leather reins as you click your tongue and dig your heels into Whiskey’s side. You barrel forward — past the wooden gate, away from your safe haven and into the blistering cold. Completely clueless of what's about to come.

—

The storm had gotten worse — much worse. What started as a gentle flurry over the patrol trails turned into a whiteout, the kind that eats up the world and leaves only the sound of the wind howling through your bones. Snow whipped at your faces, stinging every bit of exposed skin as the temperature dropped by the minute. Ellie was shivering beneath her layers, her gloved hands gripping the reins so tightly her knuckles turned white beneath the fabric.

“I can’t see shit!” she shouted over the wind.

You squinted through the haze, the shapes of trees and rooftops barely visible through the curtain of snow. Then, just ahead — a faint silhouette, familiar and half-collapsed, but still standing. Relief washed through you.

“This way!” you yelled back, guiding Whiskey and Shimmer through the drifts. You could feel Ellie’s hesitation behind you, but she followed, trusting you to know where you were going. By the time you reached the library’s cracked stone steps, your faces were raw from the cold. The double doors gave a stubborn groan as you shoved them open, the heavy wood scraping over frozen snow. Inside, the air was still and dry, the silence almost eerie after the chaos outside. You tugged down your scarf, catching your breath.

“We’ll wait it out here. Eugene showed me this place a while ago, used to bring me down here when the weather got bad.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow, snow melting into her hair. “Eugene? Man, I miss him. He was a genius.”

You smiled faintly, leading the way down the concrete staircase that spiraled into the library’s basement. “Yeah, he was a good man.”

You pushed the metal door open with your shoulder, the loud screech of metal piercing through the air. When you flicked the lightswitch, the beams of light cut through the dust, revealing what used to be his hidden paradise — rows of shelves lined with dried-up plants, jars still neatly labeled, and a faint but unmistakable smell lingering in the air. The familiar scent of weed was pungent in your nostrils — it brought a smile to your face, the smell felt somewhat nostalgic. The makeshift grow lights hung overhead, long since dead but still intact.

“Oh…oh my god.” You hear Ellie mutter as she enters the den behind you. Her eyes are wide with wonder, bouncing around the room.

“How come you didn’t tell me about this?!” She asks, crushing a dead weed leaf in her hand. You hear her mutter something about how Maria would lose her shit over this. You reach out to grab one of Eugene’s most brilliant inventions before replying,

“Well…he was a very secretive man. I swore to secrecy.” You turn back around “Hey, check this out.”

Eugene’s gas mask bong. The mask was rough with age — mold growing on the edges, the glass bong rusted over.

“Oh man, that’s sick.” Ellie chuckles, before she continues her exploring.

You crouched near one of the wooden crates, rummaging through old tins until you found what you were looking for — a small metal box tucked under a faded towel. You popped it open with a grin. Inside lay Eugene’s ‘emergency’ stash of joints.

Ellie turns around at the sound of the rattling jar in your hand, a smirk creeps up your face at her surprised reaction.

“You think it’s still good?” she asks.

“Does weed go bad?” you respond, handing her the jar to open.

She shrugs her shoulders at the question. One hand tightens around the base of the glass jar, while the other tries to twist the lid open.

“I don't know. Let’s find out.” she says, her voice strains at the end. She tries not to show it, but she’s struggling. You smile at the sight, placing your backpack on the ground and unbuttoning your jacket. She bends forward trying to gain some kind of leverage, yet the lid wont move. You hear a faint grunt from her lips.

“You having a hard time?” you giggle at her struggles.

“No, I got it.” Her voice is confident, yet she lets out another grunt.

“Give me that.” you laugh, grabbing the jar from her hands. Once her hands are free she slips off her pack and jacket onto the floor, same as you did.

“Oh, yeah, like you’re going to get it–.” She barely manages to finish her sentence before its interrupted by the sound of glass shattering. Glass shards fly across the floor, some joints damaged by the shards. You crouch and pluck the undamaged ones. As you stand, Ellie stands frozen before you, her hands raised by her mid-section.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She uses her raised arms to gesture. Her voice is playful with a hint of sarcasm.

You scoff at the question, “I got it open, didn’t I?” You say as you walk to the battered and worn down couch. You sit down with your legs tucked under you — your left side leaning against the backrest, the cushions sink under your weight and the ache in your legs ease. Ellie sits down in front of you — her back leans against the armrest of the sofa and one leg is propped up against the cushion. You feel her sharp gaze set on you as you light the tip of the joint. As the fire spreads along the joint you wrap your lips around the other end and inhale the thick smoke. It burns as it travels down to your lungs but you hold it in. Your eyes clash with Ellie’s — a smirk is drawn on her face, her pasture relaxed against the sofa and you exhale the smoke in her direction. Her eyelids flutter as the smoke hits her face.

You hand her the joint, letting it hang from your fingers. Her smirk widens to a bashful smile as she scratches her neck, a second later she reaches for the joint. You can feel the heaviness build in your limbs, the heat building in your body.

“This your first time?” Your eyes bore into her face as she takes a hit of the joint. The smoke travels smoothly down her lungs before she slowly exhales. Your eyebrows shoot up in a mix of amusement and shock. Clearly not.

“I smoked a couple of times with Cat.” She explains as she passes the joint back. The mention of the girl awakes a once buried annoyance. You roll your eyes and your fingers hold the joint with a bruising force, taking a large pass of smoke down your lungs.

“Of course you did. I told you, she’s a horrible influence.” You mutter, the effects of the weed leaves no filter to your words.

“Yet here I am, smoking with you. You’d call yourself a better influence?” Ellie’s words are cocky, as if she finally had something to hold above you.

You scoff, “That’s different.” Ellie’s smirk deepens, “Different, how?” she leans in closer.

You meet her gaze, stubborn and unflinching. “Different,” you repeat, voice lower this time, “because you actually listen to me.”

Ellie tilts her head, a teasing grin forming. “Do I?”

You hum, eyes flicking between her lips and the joint burning between your fingers. “Sometimes.”

Ellie laughs under her breath, the sound soft and rough all at once. “Cat would disagree.” You scoff before you can stop yourself, smoke escaping with the sound. “Yeah, well, Cat also thought wearing a tank top in the middle of February was a good idea.”

Ellie’s grin widens, clearly entertained. “You really don’t like her, huh?” You shrug, pretending to focus on the joint. “She’s just… loud.”

“Loud?” Ellie echoes, amused.

“Loud, and smug, and way too touchy for her own good,” you say, sharper than intended.

Ellie’s smile falters slightly, that teasing confidence giving way to curiosity. “You jealous?” she asks, tone careful but not unkind. Your head snaps toward her, eyes narrowing. “No.”

Ellie leans in a little, smoke curling between you. “You sure? ‘Cause you sound jealous.”

You glare, trying to hide the heat creeping up your neck. “I just don’t like her. There’s a difference.”

Ellie smirks, tilting her head closer until the space between you feels thinner, heavier. “Mm. If you say so.” You take a slow drag of the joint before passing it to her, holding her gaze through the haze. “You’d know if I was jealous,” you murmur, voice soft but weighted.

Her eyes flicker — lips parting slightly, breath catching. “Would I?”

You let the smoke out in a slow exhale. “Yeah. You would.”

The silence that follows is thick, humming with something unspoken. The faint buzz of the grow lamps fills the basement, the smell of weed and dust clinging to the air. Ellie leans back, exhaling a slow cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” she teases.

“Maybe I am,” you admit. “Thinking about trying something new.” Her eyes flick toward you, guarded curiosity behind the haze. “Like what?”

You tap your finger on your thigh. “Something I haven’t done before,” you say, tone deceptively casual, but your pulse betrays you.

“You ever heard of shotgunning?” You ask. You see the gears turn in her head as her eyebrows draw into a furrow.

“Shooting the gun?” Her brows furrow deeper. You can’t help but laugh at the question.

“No, silly. The kiss.” You smile at her confusion.

“I’m lost.”

“Here. Let me show you.” You say as you take the almost finished blunt from her grasp. You take a slow but long inhale of the smoke, eyes never leaving Ellie’s. She has leaned closer, whether it’s from curiosity or instinct, you don’t know. Once your lungs are full and burning, you flick the remaining joint to the floor. You turn back to Ellie — whose eyes never left your figure, and you move possibly closer, leaving no space untouched.

Both of your palms land on her cold freckled cheeks, and you bring her closer. Your lips are barely touching as you pause to glance up at her eyes. You see excitement swirl in her heavy gaze. That’s enough confirmation for you to close your eyes and close the small distance between you, locking her lips with yours. Both your lips are cracked from the piercing cold, yet as they mend together they feel soft. You feel Ellie melt into the kiss — her lips part slightly and you take your chance. You exhale the smoke still lingering achingly in your lungs. You hear Ellie’s throat seize at the sudden smoke, but she is quick to inhale it down. Your lips part just for a second and she empties her lungs, her lips are back on yours as if they never left.

This time her hand runs from the back of your neck to your messy locks, anchoring your lips against hers. Her kiss feels more urgent, more bold. The drug coursing through your veins makes you feel every single touch. The tug of Ellie’s hand tangled in your hair, her leg nudging yours, her lips traveling down the path of your neck. The tickle of her lips and breath brushing the sensitive skin of your neck makes you tilt your head back. A breathy moan leaves your lips, so quiet you barely registered it was produced by yourself. Your hand tangles in her messy low bun, tugging her up to kiss her again. The sloppy clashes of your tongues and breathlessness sends flutters to your core, soaking the fabric of your underwear.

Your hand snakes its way under Ellie’s grey hoodie, squeezing her waist. Ellie breaks from the heated makeout to pull the hoodie over her head. That's when you feel it, the heat from your close proximity and the drug burns under your skin. Your hands get to work immediately, stripping off your layers, leaving you and Ellie in your bras and underwear. Your clothes lay thrown haphazardly on the dusty floor, but you pay no mind to it. Only on what’s in front of you. Ellie’s auburn hair is messy from your hands, her lips shine in the flickering light from your mixed saliva and her eyes are hazed, her eyelids hanging heavy from the joint. Your unsynchronized pants echo through the basement. You let the tension simmer between you, just for a second. But the ache between your legs urges your arm forward to grip Ellie’s tattooed forearm, and you let yourself fall back into the sofa cushion. The pull on her arm pulls her towards you — slotted between your legs, chest brushing chest, hearts pounding against each other. Your other hand lands on her cheek and pulls her in for another messy kiss, teeth clashing and tongues tangling. This time your hands roam free on each other's skin, leaving a burning trail in its wake.

Ellie’s hand finds its way to the waistband of your now soaked panties. Her finger curls underneath the band, pulls it up and releases it, letting it snap back at your skin with a whack!. The sensation makes you moan into her mouth. Her hand slowly creeps its way into your panties, cupping your pussy. Her middle finger brushes your swollen clit with the softness of a feather, making your hips buck up for more friction. She grants you your needs and presses her finger to your clit, rubbing slow circular motions. The moans from your mouth makes it hard to kiss her back. She moves her head back enough to leave your lips brushing just slightly, and she looks at you. Studies you. Your reaction to different speeds of her circling fingers. To certain amount of pressure on your needy clit. Her eyes never leave your face.

Watching every eyeroll. Every tremor of your lips. Every flutter of your heavy eyelids. And the weight of her heavy stare sends you closer to your climax. Sex with Ellie has never been so intense, so lustful. Over the past 2 years the sex has been good. Despite her lack of experience in the beginning.

She stops the circling on your clit, leaving you with an uncomfortable ache. But before you can protest she slides her finger lower, this time circling the sopping slit of your pussy. That movement itself almost sends you over the edge. Her finger slides in with ease. The steady movement of her finger and the brush of her palm against your clit sends sparks of euphoria through your body.

Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of a second finger entering. Her pace quickens, but not enough to push you over the edge, not yet. Your eyes open again and meet hers. She’s panting above you, finding pleasure through your pleasure. But you let your hand wander down the length of her toned torso, til they reach her boxers. Your hand slides under the garment and meets her slick folds. Her body shudders above yours and her fingers still for a second.

“Is this okay?” You ask breathlessly, eyes never leaving her face.

She nods before answering, “Yes.” She responds with a whisper. Her lips find yours again, not sloppy or messy, but slow and tender. Her fingers start moving at a steady speed, waves of pleasure pump through you. Your fingers move to her soaked slit and slide two fingers in, moving them with a constant speed with a slight curve to them. Just how she likes it. The kiss breaks, Ellie rests her forehead against your as your breaths clash and moans mix into a sweet symphony. You can tell she's close with the way her hips are jerking against your fingers, how her breathless moans tremble.

You are quick to reach your climax. The wave of pleasure crashes into you with a force that makes you let out a strangled moan and see white. Ellie is close behind you, gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut. As the climax slams into her, her body tenses and a broken fuck escapes her throat with a whine. As your climaxes roll to a slow stop, Ellie’s slack body lands beside you on the cramped sofa. The aftermath of the heated sex is quiet, except for the sounds of your slowing breaths. It’s not an uncomfortable silence. There never is with Ellie. You feel a sense of serenity. You both giggle at each other's sweaty figures, basking in the calm while the world outside is chaotic, cold. In the bubble of you and Ellie it’s calm, warm.

As you lay on your backs, your hand trances the bumps of her chemical burn under her tattoo. Despite the bumpy surface, the skin feels soft under the pad of your thumb. Ellie has only told you briefly about her self-inflicted chemical brun, her bitemark however? Still remains a mystery to you.

“I don’t think you’ve told me about how you got your bitemark.” You whisper with care, afraid you might cross a line.

She sighs heavily. Her eyes staring dead at her mark. Her free hand rubs at it back and forth before clamping down on it and lowering her arms to rest on her stomach. You prop yourself on to your elbow, turning your body towards Ellie’s quiet figure.

“Sorry. Maybe it’s a sensitive topic, I shouldn’t ha—.” You say when your question lingered in between you.

“I got jumped by an infected when I was fourteen.” She interrupts, her gace stuck somewhere on the ceiling.

“And turns out I’m…immune,” She throws up her hands before continuing, “So it healed with a ring of fucked up teeth marks and cysts.” Her sentence dies out. She glances at you, your eyebrows are drawn in a deep worried frown.

“All that at fourteen? Gosh, Els.” You sigh as you lay your head down by her neck.

“Yeah. But I’m alive and kicking.” She shrugs to brush it off.

You scoff, “I don’t know about kicking.” You smile smug at her.

Her eyebrows shoot up in mock offense, “Oh, really? I could kick you off this couch right now if I wanted to.”

“You wanna test that theory?” You ask before you haul yourself to straddle her hips.

Your body slots itself on her hips perfectly. You place each hand on her shoulders, pinning her down to the cushion. Her hands fly to your waist on instinct. The heat of her touch lingers under your skin. You both push against each other, half wrestling, half laughing. It’s messy and pointless, neither of you really trying to win. Ellie twists her hips, trying to throw you off, but you shift your weight just in time, using your legs to steady yourself. “You fight like a grandma,” you tease through a breathless laugh.

“Oh yeah?” she grunts, hands tightening on your waist as she tries again. The couch squeaks beneath you, the two of you caught in a blur of movement and laughter.

“Yeah,” you say, grinning down at her. “An angry grandma.”

She huffs out a laugh, that familiar crooked smile spreading across her face — the one that always manages to hit you right in the chest. “Keep talkin’, see what happens.”

You press down harder in mock challenge, your face hovering above hers. “What’s gonna happen, huh?”

Before the fighting could go any further you hear the echo of rapid footsteps. You both halt at the sound, turning your heads towards the source. A voice cuts through the metal doors to the basement,

“Anybody down there?” It echos. It’s Jesse.

Before you can react he barrels through the door, his gun in hand ready for use. You and Ellie scramble off the couch and reach for your clothes. When Jesse sees you his face floods with relief, until it clicks to him that you are half naked. His face drops in disbelief before he turns around to let you dress.

“Are you kidding me…” He mutters loud enough for you both to hear.

“You’re supposed to be on patrol.” He scoffs.

“There is a blizzard outside.” You say as you throw on your jacket.

“Is that weed?” He questions, completely disregarding your obvious statement.

“Why are you here, Jesse.” You sigh.

“People are counting on you! You get that? What we do matters!” His voice raises.

“Then why aren’t you at the fucking look out?” You match his tone.

Jesse fully turns around, his eyes are narrowed with annoyance and worry.

“Because Tommy and Joel didn’t show up!” His statement stills yours and Ellie’s movement. You and Ellie glance back at each other before Ellie looks at Jesse for an explanation.

“What do you mean?”

“We waited for them for an hour. I was looking for their horses when I saw lights.” He gestures towards the lamps.

“Maybe they just went back to town.” You suggest.

“Withouth being replaced? No way.” Ellie rushes to her jacket, “How much of their region have you covered?”

“Not much.” Jesse sighs.

“Then we split up. Go at it from different sides. We can cover the whole thing in a few hours.” Ellie glances between you and Jesse.

“I don’t like you riding solo. We don’t know what's out there.” Jesse says.

“Exactly! What if they need help?” Ellie swings her backpack on.

“How about me and Ellie come from east and you head west?” You suggest while slipping on your gloves.

Jesse contemplates your suggestion. He nods but points at you both, “Be smart about it, yeah?”

—

Present time

Snow slashes across your face like shards of glass, the wind howling loud enough to drown out your thoughts. Ellie is just ahead, hunched over Shimmer’s reins, yelling Joel and Tommy’s names into the white void. She urges the horse faster, rising slightly off the saddle as she crests the hill - then pulls hard, bringing Shimmer to an abrupt stop.

You rein in Whiskey beside her. Both horses snort uneasily, their flanks coated in frost.

“There,” Ellie says, voice breathless. She jabs her finger to the right.

Below, through the swirling snow, a cabin crouches behind a wooden fence. You squint, heart lurching. Firelight flickers behind a curtain — someone’s inside.

“Oh shit,” Ellie breathes.

“Could be Joel and Tommy waiting out the blizzard!” you shout above the wind.

Ellie scans the slope. “How do we get down there?”

You guide Whiskey along the ridge, searching. No path - just a drop steep enough to be risky, but not impossible.

You glance back. “We leave the horses. We can make this.”

Ellie dismounts and trudges through the deep snow to the edge, peering down. Then, without a word, she jumps. Her boots crunch into the drifts below, and she stumbles, catching herself. She turns and shields her eyes from the wind.

“C’mon, babe. You got it.”

You drop after her, the snow breaking your fall with a muted thud. She grabs your hand - ice-cold, but grounding and pulls you up.

The cabin waits below, small and dark but alive with firelight. You and Ellie sprint hand in hand through the trees, snow whipping your faces, breath burning in your chests. You vault over the back fence and land on the porch with a hollow thunk.

“Joel! Tommy!” Ellie yells, her voice raw with fear.

You scan for a way in — then spot it. “Ellie, here!”

A sliding glass door stands ajar, covered by vertical blinds. You push it aside, weapon drawn and step into what looks like a bedroom. A bed sits dead center, neatly made. Too neat. Too quiet.

Ellie enters behind you, her breath ragged. You’re about to speak — that’s when you hear it. A distant scream. Rough with age and agony. A man's scream. You beeline to the door and open it with a new sense of urgency. It takes you to a loft with two couches on either side of a coffee table, a TV shelf situated in front.

“Where is that coming from?” you hear Ellie mutter breathlessly.

You glance at her over your snow covered shoulder. Her body is tense, shoulders drawn up, eyebrows furrowed and a worried look in her eyes. You turn back around and head for the stairs leading down to the main floor. That’s when you hear it again. Cries of pain, of agony. A voice oh so familiar. Your heart rate spikes, spine straightens and your head turns frantically to find the source of the sound. Ellie, right on your heel, stops for a second. It hits you both, it’s Joel.

“Joel.” you both mutter at the same time and quickly descend down the rest of the stairs. Lying in front of the lit fireplace are five sleeping bags. Who could these people be? And what is Joel doing with them?

The groans and cries, stitched with agony, continue to ring through the living room. The sound is muffled but not any less devastating. You follow Ellie to what seems to be a kitchen. And that's when you see a door, wide open. On the other side, a flight of stairs which seems to lead to the basement. You walk closer. Could this be the way?

Almost as a confirmation, pained grunts ring through the narrow flight of stairs. Louder and much clearer this time. You and Ellie rush down the stairs and reach another door. This time closed. Ellie, with her right hand, holds her gun ready for use while the other slowly twists the cold doorknob. Her body follows the door's movements and her head slowly peeks through the crack.

All you can see is her back, but whatever she spots behind that door makes her jump into action. She only manages to take one step into the room, her arms straight in front of her, gun pointed, before she gets shoved into the door and straight to the floor, dropping her gun. The culprit, a man roughly a year or so older, lands beside her but quickly recovers before Ellie swings her pocket knife and cuts him in the face. While he cradles his face — covering his hands in blood, Ellie gets tackled by another man from behind and drops her knife. She struggles against him — putting up a fight, when another one, a woman with dark skin and dark curls comes to assist.

“Pin her down! Get her hands.” the woman grunts.

“Get off me! Get the fuck off me!” Ellie shouts.

The man who got cut in the face recovers and quickly turns to kick Ellie in the stomach repeatedly. You, who has been standing in the shadows, quickly sprints to action. Arms straight out holding your gun to his head. Too blinded by anger, he doesn’t see you rushing towards him, tackling him to the ground. Air knocked out of him, completely stunned and wide eyed, he looked at you. You are quick to hit him across the face with your gun, the sudden adrenaline giving you strength, before his accomplice rushes to his aid and drags you off him. You struggle against him, grunting from resistance

“Let go of me!” you yell, arms flailing, trying to land a hit on the man dragging you from behind. He quickly pulls your arms behind your back and shoves you forward, landing on your stomach with a painful grunt. Ellie struggles against the culprits

“Don’t fucking touch her!” she yells.

The pressure on your arm is enough to still you. The uncomfortable angle of your arm radiates pain up to your shoulder. The man you tackled stands above you, a deep snarl on his cut and bruised face. It pulls a small grin on your lips. Fists clenched on his side, he takes a step back and recoils his leg, sending it flying to your face.

The pain doesn’t hit you immediately, still pumped with adrenaline. But slowly, it starts to creep up. You feel dazed, ears painfully ringing, vision blinded by a flash of static and tears. The pulsating ache spreading from your nose to your entire skull, pounding and disorienting.

The man behind you stands but doesn’t leave your side, placing his heavy boot on your arm, pinning it to your back, keeping you in place. When the ringing in your ear clears you can hear Ellie screaming your name, in hopes that you are still conscious.

You grunt, trying to talk to Ellie but nothing comes out. Your vision starts to clear, still blurry from tears. That’s when you spot them. Tommy laying unconscious on his side, blood on his forehead. And Joel laying a meter in front of you, head bashed in, hair caked with blood. His eyes are pinched shut in pain, his breathing labored. You snap out of your daze, struggling against the heavy boot on your back.

You find your voice, yelling “Joel! Tommy!”.

Ellie yells out behind you, “You’re gonna fucking die!”, trashing against the four arms pinning her down.

You couldn’t take your eyes off Joel's barely breathing figure. A man who has been a steady pillar since he found you and brought you to Jackson those two years ago. A man you were wary of at first — guard up around him, but slowly with time grew fond of. A man you potentially saw as family. You spotted a pair of boots in front of his bashed head. Your eyes traveled up the culprit of this heinous act.

Wearing dark cargos paired with a beige long sleeve, now stained with blood and sweat. A golf club in hand, the head covered in blood and red colored chunks of god knows what. Body built like an ox, their big biceps flexing while adjusting the club in hand. Your eyes continue to travel up the culprit's figure, until you reach their face. Her face more accurately. Dirty blond hair, braided into a singular dutch braid, resting on her back. Slightly bumped nose, nostrils flared and panting of exertion. Blue eyes, now dimmed and clouded by rage. She watches two more people, a blond man and a seemingly pregnant woman, hastily enter the room from another door. Have you seen those two before? They looked awfully familiar. The man looked around the room, at Joel's still figure, stopping in front of her.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Ellie, still pinned behind you, grunts “Let him go.”

“Who are they?” the pregnant woman asks.

“They snuck in” says the man pinning you down, shoving his boot further into your back as you struggle against him.

“Why aren’t you posted up outside?” the blond man asks urgently.

"We didn't think anyone was going to show up” says the dark haired woman pinning Ellie down.

“The hell did you expect?”, the blond man turns, “We gotta get out of here before the whole town’s on top of us.”. He glances back at you and Ellie before he looks at the girl with the braid “You're done.” he says fiercely.

She steps closer to him “You want what I want, right?” “End it, now.”. The order makes her straighten her spine and grip the golf club with both hands, preparing to finish what she started. Your breathing, along with Ellie’s start to pick up. The realization of what’s about to happen hitting you all at once.

“Joel, get up” says Ellie breathlessly, pleading with him. “Joel, fucking get up.”

You can see his fingers twitching, as if trying to reach out to comfort her, to tell her it’s alright. His eyes, swollen shut, still manages to find yours and the sight breaks your heart. You start squirming under the man's booth, despite the pain traveling up your arm.

“Please stop!” you shout desperately. She slowly raises the golf club. “Please don’t do this!” you cry out, voice breaking. With her arms still raised, ready to make the final blow, she pauses and looks at you over her shoulder. The first time she takes a good look at you, the first time you really see her face. And the site makes your blood run cold, heart dropping in your chest.

You suddenly feel nauseous. Your face pales, eyes bewildered, breath stuck in your throat. As if you’ve just seen a ghost. Because you have. A ghost from your past. The past you just started to let go, started to put behind. One of the toughest decisions you’ve had to make, breaking your own heart, and hers, in the process. Her. ‘Her’, as in Abby Anderson. Your first friend, your first family, your first love and your first heartbreak.

You don’t even feel the pain in your arm anymore. All you feel is her.

Your mind floods with pieces of her — mud-streaked boots kicking the back of your heel on patrol, her laugh echoing off brick walls, the way her brows furrowed when she read you her favorite book for the fifth time. That same mouth, now tight with rage. That same girl, now unrecognizable.

Her hands, once shaking as she tucked a blanket over you during a cold night, now steady around the grip of a golf club.

"Abby?" you whisper, but it doesn't come out. Only air.

She sees you. Really sees you. And for the smallest moment, something flickers across her face. Something familiar. Then it vanishes. Her jaw hardens. She lifts the club higher.

You close your eyes — not out of fear. But because you can't bear to look at her like this.

Not like this.

The sound of your heartbeat drowns out everything — the squelch of blood, the ragged breaths, the low murmurs of the others in the room. All you can hear is that awful, pulsing thud in your ears as you watch her — Abby — standing there with that club trembling in her hands. Her eyes, once soft and full of quiet understanding, are now hollowed out by rage and grief. And still, beneath it all, you can see it — that sliver of recognition, of love she’s trying so desperately to kill.

“Abby,” you choke out this time, your voice cracking under the weight of everything that’s been lost between you. “Please—”

Her head shakes once. Sharp. Determined. “Don’t.” Her voice breaks on the word. She can’t look at you for more than a second. You see her eyes glisten, jaw clenching as if she’s fighting herself as much as she’s fighting you.

Joel groans in front of you, trying to move, and Abby’s attention snaps back to him like a knife drawn from its sheath. That’s all it takes. That shift, that single breath where she chooses vengeance over everything else.

The sound of the swing echoes like thunder. You flinch, your body tries to jerk forward without thinking — reaching, calling out his name — but it’s too late. The wet, heavy sound that follows steals the air from your lungs. Joel’s body stills, blood gushing from his crushed skull. You hear Ellie screaming behind you, the chaos spilling like fire across the room, but all you can see is Abby.

You hear blood rushing in your ears. You can’t hear your own screams for Joel, but you can feel them strip at your vocal cords. There is commotion around you. The group is yelling at each other. The guy Ellie slashed in the face reaches for his gun but is stopped by his crew. Your vision tunnels on Joel. Vivid memories of him flash in your mind. His guitar lessons. The deep rumble of his chuckle whenever you’d mess up a chord. His new wooden carvings he would show you. The sound of his singing floating from his porch, bringing warmth to your shared little neighborhood. All gone.

You don’t dare to look at Abby. How could you? The club falls from her hands, clattering against the floor. Her chest heaves, eyes wide and wild, and then her eyes drift — slowly, shakily — to you.

And in that moment, the world tilts. Her expression breaks open. Shock. Horror. Recognition.

“Name…” she whispers, barely audible over the yelling.

The others pause, confusion flashing across their faces.

“What did you just say?” Nora mutters, still pressing Ellie into the floor.

Abby takes a half-step forward, her voice trembling. “Name—you’re—” She swallows hard, eyes wide. “You’re alive.”

Manny’s head snaps toward you, his eyes widening as he finally takes in your face. “No fucking way…” His grip loosens as disbelief floods through him. “Isaac said— he said you were dead.”

The pregnant lady speaks, her voice cracks. “Oh my God… Name, is that— is that really you?” Mel. Your roommate. That’s where you recognize her.

You can’t move. You’re still laying on your stomach, your hands trembling under Manny’s weak grip, eyes locked on Joel’s lifeless body in front of you. The blood. The cold. The sound of Ellie screaming behind you — it all feels far away.

Abby stumbles a step closer, her face a warzone of emotion — guilt, grief, disbelief. “You were dead,” she breathes, shaking her head as if trying to make sense of what she’s seeing. “He said you—” Her eyes flicker to Manny, then back to you. “They told me you were gone.”

Your throat burns, words breaking through your sobs. “And you believed them?”

Abby flinches like you hit her. “I looked for you,” she says, voice cracking. “I—God, I swear I did.”

Behind her, Nora mutters, “What the hell is going on?” but no one answers. Even Ellie goes quiet beneath her captors, her face streaked with tears and fury as she watches the scene unfold.

Abby doesn’t answer. She’s still staring at you — no, through you — like she’s trying to make sense of something her brain refuses to accept. “You knew him,” she says finally, voice hoarse. “You knew him and you still—”

“I didn’t know who he was when he saved me,” You cut in, voice breaking. “Not until it was too late. And even then…” You trail off, unable to finish, eyes flicking to Joel’s body, then back to Abby. “He wasn’t the monster you think he is, Abby.”

Abby’s face twists, raw disbelief flashing into fury. “Not the monster I think he is?” she spits, stepping closer, her boots crunching against broken bones and brain matter. “He slaughtered everyone in that hospital. My dad, Marlene, the nurses—people who didn’t even try to fight him!” Her voice cracks, splintering under the weight of the memory. “You think that’s not a monster?”

You flinch at her words, but you stand your ground. “He was trying to save her, Abby. The immune girl—Ellie—she was just a kid. They were going to kill her!”

Abby’s eyes widen, then narrow, teeth gritting so hard it looks painful. “That kid was supposed to save the world,” she hisses. “You think one life means more than everyone else’s?” She’s shouting now, voice trembling with rage, pain, betrayal. “You of all people should understand that. You knew what my dad was doing. You helped him!”

“I did understand,” you snap back, tears stinging your eyes. “But after he died—after you—after everything… I learned there’s no right answer anymore. You think killing Joel fixed anything? You think it made it better?”

Her hands curl into fists, shaking. “It’s justice.”

“It’s revenge. Cold hearted revenge.” you scream. The sound tears out of you, desperate and broken. “You think this brings him back? You think Jerry would’ve wanted this? He wouldn’t have wanted you like this, Abby.”

Abby’s breath catches, her fury faltering for a heartbeat. Then she steps forward until her bloody boots almost touch your face, her expression hard and glacial. “Don’t you dare talk about my father,” she growls. “You lost the right to say his name when you chose him.” Her eyes flick toward Joel’s limp body. “When you defended the man who ruined everything.”

Your voice lowers, trembling. “And you just did the same.”

For a split second, something flickers in her eyes—pain, confusion, guilt—but she crushes it down. Her jaw sets. “At least I finished what I started,” she mutters.

You shake your head, your chest heaving. “No, Abby. You just started something else.”

The silence that follows is deafening—broken only by the wind and the faint creak of the house settling around you. Abby’s breathing slows, her gaze dropping for a moment as if she can’t bear to look at what she’s done. But then she lifts her chin again, forcing herself to stay angry, because the alternative—grief—is too unbearable.

“Get them out of here,” she says finally, voice low and trembling, not looking at you. “Before I decide you both should’ve stayed dead.”

Her words are ice, but her eyes—just for a moment—betray everything she’s trying to bury: shock, devastation, and something dangerously close to heartbreak. Her chest heaves, eyes wild with a storm you’ve never seen in her before. Not even back when you used to fight. Not even before you stormed out of the aquarium.

Everyone is frozen. Manny’s mouth opens, then closes again. Nora looks between the two of you with wide eyes, confusion and dread written all over her face. Owen takes a slow step forward, voice low but steady, “Abby, hey — enough. Our job here is done.”

“Don’t,” she snaps, her glare cutting him down instantly. “Don’t you fucking tell me whats done.”

Her fisted hands tremble. Her breathing staggers. For the first time, you can tell she’s not just angry. She’s breaking.

You can’t stop yourself. “Abs, please—”

She flinches at the sound of your voice like it burns. “You don’t get to say my name.”

Ellie’s hoarse voice cuts through the room before you can answer, full of venom and grief. “I’ll fucking kill you for what you’ve done!”

Abby turns sharply, her face twisting — half fury, half disbelief. She steps toward Ellie, but before she can act, Owen grabs her arm. “Abby, stop—”

“Let me go!” Abby shouts, voice cracking in a way that cuts right through you. “He deserved it!”

Manny swears under his breath, he lets go of you, stepping in fast. “Abby! That’s enough!”

You finally get the chance to breathe without Manny’s weight on your back. You prop yourself on your elbows, using all your power to stand up. You struggle to sit up, body feeling worn down and weak.

The sound of scuffling boots, shouts, the chaos of people trying to contain her — and in the middle of it all, Ellie keeps yelling, broken, desperate, “You killed him! You fucking killed him!”

The next thing you know, Nora’s rifle swings down hard. There’s a crack of impact, and Ellie goes limp. Her body collapses like a rag doll, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

You scream her name, trying to lunge toward her, but Manny’s hands shoot down to push you on the floor, his hand gripping painfully around your arms. “Stay down! Don’t make this worse!”

You twist and fight him anyway. “Abby! Stop it!”

For a second — just one — she stills. Her gaze snaps to you, and all the fight drains from her face. Her eyes glisten under the dim basement light. Her jaw trembles. She looks at you the same way she did at night before slumber. When she’d whisper I’ll always come back for you.

But that was lifetimes ago.

Now, she swallows hard, blinks once — and you see it. The mask slip. The guilt. The horror of what she’s done. Of what she’s said. It’s there, flickering like a dying flame before she turns away, her expression hardening once more.

“Manny,” she says, voice hollow. “Knock her out.”

“Abby—”

“Do it.”

You barely have time to whisper her name again before everything fades to black. The last thing you see is her back, rigid and trembling, standing over Joel’s body — staring down at what her revenge has cost her.

—

The air in Jackson feels wrong. Too still. Too heavy. As if the world itself is holding its breath, waiting for something that will never come back. You’ve barely slept since they brought you home. Every time you close your eyes, it’s there again—the sound of the golf club, the crack of bone, the way Joel’s body stilled. And Abby, her face. The same one that used to soften under your touch now carved from stone. Her eyes hollow, her voice venomous, her words still echoing in your skull.

“Get them out of here, before I decide you both should’ve stayed dead.”

The command was venomous and cold. She wasn’t the sweet Abby you once knew. It was like every year she spent grieving had culminated in that one violent act. And she didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t care that you were there, that you were begging. The woman who once swore she loved you didn’t even flinch when she swung that club down again.

You still hear it when the wind hits the windows at night. Still see her face when you close your eyes. Your chest aches as the memory loops again and again—Abby’s fury, the crew’s shock, Ellie’s screams before she was knocked out cold. The way Abby looked at you after, when everything had gone silent. That flicker of regret, small and fleeting, before she turned and left you in the dark.

It’s a knife that won’t stop twisting.

When you finally manage to stand, the weight of it all follows you out the door. The morning sky is gray, the air sharp with cold. The town moves in muted silence. No one knows what to say when they see you, they just lower their eyes, step aside. You can feel their sympathy like a bruise.

Maria finds you outside the clinic, her voice soft. “They’re almost ready.”

You nod because it’s all you can do.

“Remember, you don’t have to—.”

You interrupt her before she can shoot you a sympathetic look. “I have to.”

Inside, the stale smell of antiseptic fills your lungs. Joel lies on a metal table, his body covered to the chest. His face, what’s left of it, looks… peaceful. Wrongly peaceful. Like he’s just sleeping. Like he’ll wake up any second and tell you it was all a bad dream. He looks smaller somehow. The rough lines around his mouth are smoothed out, his chest still.

“Hey, old man,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Told you we’d see you for dinner.”

It’s stupid. Your voice cracks halfway through, and a tear slips free before you can stop it. You press your fingers to your lips, then to his cheek, the gesture small but desperate. “Thank you. For saving me. For everything.”

You stay there until your hands go numb from the cold. Until Maria gently places a hand on your arm and says they have to take him now. You nod, but your feet won’t move. It’s only when she says your name again, soft and careful, that you force yourself to step back even as your chest screams to stay.

The funeral takes place that afternoon. The entire town gathers under the gray sky, breath fogging in the cold. Shovels dig into frozen dirt, and no one speaks for a long while. Ellie stands across from you, distant, unreadable. Her bruised eyes never leave the ground. You haven’t seen her since you both came back—she’s locked herself away, and when she does speak, it’s sharp and distant, like you’re a stranger. You don’t blame her. You just wish she’d let you in.

When the service ends and people begin to leave, you stay behind. The air smells of snow and soil. You kneel beside the fresh mound, pull a small pouch from your pocket. Inside are a few coffee beans—dull, cracked, the last ones he’d been hoarding.

You let them fall one by one into the dirt.

“I’m sorry, Joel. For everything.” you whisper.

The wind picks up, carrying the scent of pine and smoke. You stay there until the sky starts to dim, until the snow gathers in your hair and you can’t feel your fingers. Only then do you force yourself to leave.

Ellie’s loft is quiet when you arrive. The door creaks open under your hand. Her jacket is thrown over the couch, boots by the door, a single lamp burning low. She’s sitting at the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, staring at something in her hands—a broken watch. His watch.

“Ellie,” you whisper.

She doesn’t look up. “They shouldn’t’ve buried him today.” Her voice is flat. “Ground’s too cold.”

You step closer, unsure if you’re allowed to. “I know.”

“I should’ve saved him.”

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. There’s nothing you could say that would ease that guilt, because you feel it too. You both do. For a moment, it’s just the wind between you — the gentle rustle of snow sliding off the cabin roof, the faint creak of wood expanding in the cold. Then Ellie exhales, a low sound that’s almost a laugh but has no warmth in it.

“He was right there,” she says. “Right fucking there, and I just—,” Her hands ball into fists. “I froze.”

You take another step forward, slow, careful. “There was nothing you could’ve done. There were too many of them—.”

“Don’t.” The word cuts like a knife. Ellie finally looks at you, eyes rimmed red, raw. The skin around her left eye is bruised. “Don’t tell me that. You saw what they did.”

You nod, quietly. “I did.”

She studies your face for a moment, the silence between you stretching, warping. “You knew her,” she says finally. It isn’t a question.

You feel your stomach drop. “Ellie—”

Her jaw tightens. “You knew her.”

“I did,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “A long time ago. Before Jackson.”

Ellie’s lips press into a thin line, her nostrils flaring. “And you just… didn’t think to mention that she was after him?”

You flinch, every word hitting like a strike. “I didn’t know she’d—”

“Didn’t know?” she cuts you off, taking a step forward. Her voice rises with each word. “You didn’t know she’d come here? That she’d find him? That she’d fucking kill him?”

Your throat tightens. “I didn’t,” you say again, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. “I thought she was done. I thought she—.”

Ellie lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Of course you did. That’s convenient, huh?”

You stare at her, stunned. “You think I knew?”

“I think you didn’t warn us,” she spits. “You didn’t warn him.”

“Ellie—.”

“You knew what she was capable of! You knew what she wanted!” Her voice breaks, all that grief burning through her anger. “You should’ve told us. You should’ve told him.”

You step forward, desperate. “And what would that have changed? You think Joel would’ve stopped going on patrols? You think he’d have hidden? You know him better than that!”

Ellie’s face twists, fury and heartbreak tangled together. “Don’t you dare make this about him. You are the one who brought her here.”

That stops you cold. “What?”

“You heard me,” she snaps. “You’re the reason she found us. Whether it was on purpose or not—hell, maybe you didn’t even realize it—but somehow, she found us after we found you.”

You shake your head, horrified. “Ellie, no. I would never—.”

“She knew where we were!” Ellie’s voice cracks, raw and trembling. “She knew about Jackson. About him! Someone must’ve told them. You are the only one connected to her.”

You can’t breathe. The air feels too thick, too sharp. “That’s not how it happened.”

“Then explain it!” she yells, stepping closer until her forehead nearly touches yours. The closeness that used to bring comfort, now feels suffocating. “Explain how the hell she got here after four years. Explain why the girl who used to sleep next to you just murdered the man who raised me!”

Your chest tightens, tears stinging your eyes. “Because the world is cruel, Ellie! Because revenge doesn’t die just because you want it to!”

Her expression shifts, something fragile and furious all at once. “Don’t talk to me about revenge,” she says quietly. “You don’t get to. You didn’t love him like I did.”

Your heart shatters at the words. “He was family to me,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” Her voice trembles, soft but deadly. “Then why does it feel like you helped them take him away?”

You stumble back, breath caught in your throat. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” she says. Tears fall freely down her cheeks, hot and angry. “You think I don’t see it? You and her. The way she looked at you. The way they all looked at you.”

You shake your head, voice breaking. “Ellie, I love you—.”

“No,” she snaps. “Don’t. Don’t say that. You don’t get to love me, not after this. Not after what you’ve done.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Your heart pounds, your breath unsteady. Your eyes burn with fresh tears. They never stop flowing. The ringing in your ear is deafening, yet you hear her every last word. Then Ellie takes a shaky step back, wiping her face with the back of her hand. Her voice is quiet when she speaks again, but there’s a dangerous kind of calm to it.

“She took everything from me,” she says. “Everything. And I’m gonna make her pay for it.”

You freeze. “Ellie—”

“I’m not asking you to come,” she says, looking at you with eyes that no longer feel like hers. “I just thought you should know what you started.”

Your chest caves in. “Please,” you whisper. “Don’t do this. Don’t become her.”

Her eyes are dim, looking straight through you. As if you are nothing but dust.

“You should’ve thought about that before you brought them here.”

—

You feel the walls of your living room closing in by the second. The warmth and safety these walls once held, now feel like ice. After Ellie’s stabbing accusations, she kicked you out. Slammed the door in your face before you could protest. You don’t know how long you stood outside her door, just existing. You saw her lights flick off behind her curtains and you stood in the shadows of Joel’s empty house. The biting cold at your feet became numbing. The short walk home felt like an eternity, and when you reached your door, you glanced past your shoulder. Joel’s white house. Lined against the white picket fence were rows of bouquets and cards, all sending prayers. The lights were off inside. The empty porch looked eerie without Joel sitting there, strumming his guitar. Your heart cracked at the sight. Your throat tightened and eyes burned.

Your haunting thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. You think about ignoring it, but the knocking continues—slow, steady, patient. Each sound crawls up your spine. As you walk to the door, your legs feel like lead. The doorknob is cold beneath your trembling fingers as you twist it open. The wind is knocked out of your lungs at the sight of whoever’s in front of you.

Joel stands there. His hair is long, streaked with grey and parted at the side, a few strands falling messily across his forehead. His beard is thick, uneven, more salt than pepper. Deep lines frame his mouth and eyes—creases carved by years of laughter and loss. His eyes, warm hazel and impossibly kind, meet yours with that same quiet look he always gave you when words failed him.

For a moment, you forget to breathe. His chest rises slowly beneath a worn flannel and his old leather jacket, scuffed at the shoulders. He looks tired, but alive. So painfully alive.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, voice gravelly and soft, like he’s afraid to startle you.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. The sound of your heart drowns everything else.

Then you blinked. And just like that, the warmth fades. The face in front of you shifts. It’s not Joel. It’s Tommy. His eyes are red-rimmed, jaw tight, holding back everything he can’t say. The air feels heavier now. You blink once, twice, but Joel’s gone.

“Tommy.” Your voice falters.

“Mind if I come in?”

You step aside without a word, and he slips past you, brushing off the snow from his jacket. The smell of cold air and damp leather follows him as he settles onto your couch. You stay standing for a moment, unsure if you can handle whatever he’s about to say. Eventually, you lower yourself into the armchair across from him.

His hand fidgets at the seam of his jeans, thumb rubbing at the frayed threads. His leg bounces once, then stills. “How you holdin’ up?” he asks, voice rough around the edges.

You let out a humorless laugh. “You really wanna know that?”

Tommy’s eyes flick up to you. He gives a small nod, but the silence that follows tells you he already knows the answer. He exhales through his nose, a quiet sigh that seems to carry all the weight in the room. “Ellie’s plannin’ on leavin’,” he says finally.

Your head snaps up. “What?”

He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “She’s convinced she can handle this on her own. She’s talkin’ about leaving for Seattle tomorrow. ”

You stare at him, unblinking. “Seattle,” you repeat, like saying it aloud might make it make sense.

“Yeah,” Tommy nods. “Said that’s where the ones who did it came from. She’s dead set on findin’ ‘em. On makin’ it right.”

The words hit you like a blow to the chest. Your stomach twists.

“She tell you anythin’ ‘bout it?” he asks after a pause. “You part of this?”

You shake your head slowly. “No. Not after what happened.”

Tommy’s brows pull together. “What d’you mean?”

You swallow hard, staring down at your hands. “We fought. After the funeral.”

Tommy leans forward slightly, concern etched deep into his features. “About what?”

You let out a shaky breath. “About them,” you say quietly. “About Abby. About what she thinks I knew.”

Realization flickers across his face. “She blames you.”

You nod once, the motion barely perceptible. “She thinks I led them here. Thinks I… gave them something.” You laugh bitterly. “Like I’d ever—.” The words die in your throat, replaced by a tight, trembling silence.

Tommy’s expression softens, but there’s a flicker of something else—sad understanding. “She’s hurtin’, kid. Ain’t thinkin’ straight.”

“She’s not thinkin’ at all,” you whisper. “She wants to kill them.”

Tommy exhales, rubbing a hand over his beard. “And you tried to stop her.”

“I tried,” you admit. “But she doesn’t want to hear it. Not from me. Not after…” You trail off, shaking your head. “She said some things. And maybe she meant them.”

The air between you both feels heavier now, filled with all the words that never made it past your throat — I already lost one person to revenge. I can’t lose her too.

Tommy nods slowly, jaw tight. “Then I guess she’s goin’ through with it.”

You look up at him, eyes glassy. “And if she does?”

He hesitates, then says quietly, “I’ll figure something out.”

When the door shuts behind him, you’re left staring at the couch where he sat, his words echoing in your head.

—

The morning light is pale and brittle, seeping through the snow-heavy sky. Jackson is quiet, too quiet, and the absence of voices presses against your chest. Ellie, Dina, Tommy — their tracks are gone, swallowed by the wind, swallowed by distance.

You step outside. The cold bites through gloves, through layers, through every stubborn heartbeat. Each footstep crunches against the snow, marking a path that will vanish by nightfall, just like the people you’ve lost. The house behind you is hollow, familiar. Joel’s scent lingers faintly — coffee, old wood, something steady that you can no longer reach. You bury your nose into his old scarf, hoping to anchor a memory of him, but the emptiness seeps in anyway. He’s gone. Never coming back.

Your mind races. Abby’s eyes, hard and unflinching. Joel’s painful eyes. Ellie pinned, screaming, consumed by rage and grief. Your own body, shaking, desperate, failing. The blood, the silence, the way the world felt like it had stopped moving — all replaying, unyielding.

You feel grief like a living thing, coiling in your chest, twisting with every memory. You grieve Joel, grieve what you couldn’t stop, grieve Abby’s cold certainty and the truth of her vengeance. And underneath it all, you grieve yourself. The part of you that could have loved, could have trusted, could have been enough — lost again, like it always is.

You pack mechanically. Bag. Map. Food. Each item a placeholder for the lives you can’t bring back. The door closes behind you, a soft click that feels louder than any scream. Outside, the snow stretches endlessly, indifferent and white. You walk into it. Alone. Not just in body, but in every way that once mattered. The warmth of laughter, the pulse of hope, the simple safety of love — all buried under snow, under blood, under memory.

And deep down, a truth gnaws at you: the story doesn’t end here. It never does. The past, the pain, the revenge — it follows. And you follow it, as you always have.

Revenge.

Love lost.

The same story, bleeding through every life you’ve touched.

All over again.

Taglist: @pokiiks @onyxherman @trinityobsessesovatings @mxmsuki @abigail-andersons-wife @ushijimaswife-77 @krizlan-00 @sweet-lover-girl @lia-winther @punkravioli @hauntedbybri

Dividers: @toastray

#held in the crossfire series masterlist #held in the crossfire #abby anderson #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x reader #the last of us part two #abby anderson x you #abby the last of us #ellie the last of us #abby anderson x y/n #abby tlou #abby #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie willams x reader #the last of us part 2 #ellie williams smut #tlou2 #dina #joel miller

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