“are you man enough” but it’s just jason todd trying and failing to cope with the fact that he doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror. he scares himself sometimes, because in his head, he’s still fifteen years old. jason todd my arrested development king.
jason todd who becomes so clumsy after coming back from the lazarus pit. he’s bigger than he remembers, hands and fingers too large. shoulders too wide. he bumps into things and people, far too often for his taste, and he feels like a bull in a china shop for months.
he has to relearn all his dexterity to fit with his now hulking frame. it makes him sick.
summary: being mute wasn't easy, especially in a cruel world like this one. but meeting ellie made it easier. it made everything easier.
word count: 9.7k
BY THE TIME they arrived, everything had been reduced to ashes.
Smoke hung heavy in the air, and the screams had long since faded into silence. Half the village's population laid dead, and most of the survivors were critically wounded. Tommy and the others from Jackson had tried to offer aid, but it was futile. There was no saving what remained.
Ellie arrived at dusk, accompanied by other members of the patrol sent to assist. Her stomach churned at the sight. The village was a graveyard. The smell was unbearable; blood, char, and rot. The auburn haired girl stood just behind Tommy, her face partially hidden by the scarf wrapped around her mouth and nose. Her eyes scanned the broken skyline, resting briefly on each ruin, as if trying to memorize every scar the city now wore. They were here to help—if that was even possible anymore.
Jackson's people moved between rubble and collapsed storefronts, pulling out the few who were still breathing, if they could be found. The silence was worse than the screams, it made it feel like the world had already ended.
Tommy looked over his shoulder at her. “Ellie,” he said, voice rough from smoke and exhaustion, “check the perimeter. There might still be people hiding. God knows I would be.”
She nodded without a word, shouldering her backpack and tightening her grip on the rifle slung across her chest. She didn’t need to ask where. She knew how these things played out. Survivors fled to the woods if they could—out of instinct. Somewhere, anywhere, away from fire.
She passed the last burned building and moved through the tree line, her boots sinking into damp, scorched soil. The deeper she went, the quieter it became. Just wind and trees, the faint whisper of smoke following her like a ghost. Then she saw something, some odd movement, just barely.
Ellie froze. “Hello?” she called out softly, not too loud to startle anyone, or anything.
No answer. Just the rustle of leaves. Cautious now, she took a few steps forward, her eyes narrowing at the form ahead, curled up beside the base of a tree, almost camouflaged by dirt and blood.
That was when Ellie found you. Filthy, bruised, covered in cuts—some old, some fresh. Your clothes were torn, bloodied, and your skin had a ghostly paleness that made Ellie stomach twist. She dropped to her knees beside you, reaching out carefully with trembling fingers.
“Shit,” she breathed, kneeling. “Hey… Hey.” She gently pressed her fingers to your neck. Nothing. She pressed again, harder this time. There, a faint thrum. Weak. But it was there. Ellie exhaled in relief. “Holy shit,” she whispered.
But the moment her hand lingered a second too long, your eyes shot open. And then the screaming started. Or... at least, it should have been a scream.
Instead, your mouth opened wide, terror erupting in a voiceless shriek, body convulsing in panic. Arms flailed, and your fists struck weakly against Ellie’s jacket, lips moving rapidly in a silent scream that clawed at Ellie more than sound ever could.
“Hey, hey—no, no, no—” Ellie backed off slightly, raising her hands. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I swear, I’m—”
But you weren’t hearing her. Your mouth moved in desperate gasps, and your hands jerked in odd, frantic patterns—almost like you were trying to say something. Something important. But there were no words. You clawed backward until your body was pressed against the tree trunk, chest heaving, and tears running down your cheeks, blurring your vision.
Ellie’s heart pounded. “Shit… okay, okay, slow down.” She lowered herself into a crouch again, moving like someone approaching a wounded animal. “I’m not gonna touch you, alright? I’m with good people. We came to help. We’re not the ones who did this.”
You were desperately shaking, head darting side to side, as if still expecting the attackers to leap from the trees. Your lips moved again, but still, no sound. Only tears now. And those trembling hands.
Ellie noticed it again. Those movements. Your fingers twitching in repeated, frantic motions. Not erratic. Repetitive. Intentional. Were you trying to speak?
“You’re—” Ellie hesitated. “You’re not talking. Are you mute?”
Your wide eyes locked with hers. Your hands stilled. Then, slowly, you nodded.
Ellie let out a slow breath, her voice gentler now. “Okay. It’s okay. I got it.”
She moved closer, keeping her body low and her hands visible. “I don’t know what you’ve been through,” she said. “But you’re not alone anymore. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m gonna get you out of here.”
You looked at her—really looked—and something shifted. You didn’t flinch when Ellie reached into her bag, pulling out a flask of water and setting it on the ground between you.
“I don’t know sign language,” Ellie admitted, her eyes never leaving yours. “But… we’ll figure something out.”
You blinked slowly, still tired. Your hands twitched once more—this time slower, more careful—but Ellie still couldn’t understand.
“It’s okay,” Ellie repeated, voice quiet and steady. “You don’t have to talk. Just… nod if you trust me, alright?” A long pause. And then, finally… a tiny, hesitant nod. Ellie smiled. “Good. We’re gonna get you out of here.”
She gently wrapped her jacket around your shoulders, ignoring the flinch that followed, then reached for her radio.
“Tommy,” she said, pressing the button. “I found someone. She’s beat up bad. Young. Alone. Looks like she’s been out here a while. Prepare a medic or two.”
“Copy,” Tommy’s voice crackled back. Ellie looked back at you, who now sat curled beneath her jacket, eyes glassy but no longer wild with panic.
She crouched beside you again, softly: “You’re safe now. I promise.” And for the first time, you didn’t recoil when Ellie reached out.
THE ROAD back to Jackson was long. Too long.
The snow had picked up again, dusting the road ahead in cold silence. Smoke still curled in the sky behind, faint against the horizon, like the town they’d found you in was still screaming. Even if no one could hear it, not anymore.
You sat bundled in the far corner of the transport vehicle, if you could call it that. It was an old military truck with benches bolted to the inside, just enough room for the wounded survivors Tommy had ordered to be brought to Jackson. Ten of them. Mostly women. A few kids. One old man who hadn’t stopped crying since they pulled him from the rubble.
They all needed help. Badly. And yet somehow, you looked like the worst of all of them. You hadn’t looked at anyone. Your hands gripped the blanket Ellie had given you like it was your lifeline, fingers white-knuckled around the fabric. Blood still crusted on your face and arms. Dirt smeared your cheeks. But every time someone tried to touch you—to help—you flinched, trembling so hard your teeth chattered, and recoiled like they were going to burn you alive.
Tommy had tried once. He’d crouched beside you, speaking gently. “You’re alright now. You’re with us.”
But you didn’t look at him. Didn’t move. Your eyes stared ahead like you weren’t even there. Like your body had made it out of that place, but your mind was still buried somewhere near the ash and the blood. Tommy stood back up, exchanging a glance with Ellie. He didn’t say a word, but the worry was clear on his face.
Ellie never left your side. Not for a second. She didn’t try to talk much. She didn’t push. She just stayed close. Always between you and everyone else. Like a silent promise that whatever had happened before—no one here was going to hurt you again. Not on her sight, at least.
The closer they got to Jackson, the more tense everyone became. The survivors were coughing. A child had developed a fever. One woman was clearly suffering from internal bleeding, her skin pale, lips cracked. They weren’t going to make it much longer without help. When the gates of Jackson came into view, Ellie finally exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. You didn’t even lift your head.
At the gates, Maria was already waiting. She scanned the truck as it rolled in, taking in the bloody, battered survivors. Her mouth pulled into a tight line.
“What the hell is this, Tommy?” she asked as he jumped down from the front. The man grabbed his wife’s arm gently and pulled her aside. Still, you could hear their conversation perfectly.
“People,” Tommy said simply. “What’s left of ‘em.”
“I can see that,” Maria snapped. “But we don’t have room in the medical wing. We’ve got our own people who need care. You were supposed to be bringing back supplies.”
Tommy stepped closer, voice low but firm. “Maria. These people are dying. Kids, too. We couldn’t leave them. They need our help.”
The blonde’s jaw clenched. Her gaze flicked toward you—slumped in the corner, unmoving—and for a moment, just a moment, her expression softened.
“Alright,” she said finally. “Triage in the rec center. I’ll talk to the medics. But if anyone from Jackson dies because we couldn’t spare the meds... this is on you.”
Tommy nodded. “I can take that.”
As people started helping the survivors down from the truck, Ellie reached out gently, touching your shoulder. You didn’t flinch—not from her. Just stared down at the floor.
“She’s with me,” Ellie told Tommy, her voice lower now. “I’ll make sure she gets looked at.”
Tommy frowned, watching the way your eyes still hadn’t moved. “What’s goin’ on with her?” he asked. “She hurt or…?”
Ellie hesitated. Then she replied, “I think she’s mute.”
The word hung heavy in the air. Tommy didn’t press. He just nodded and stepped aside.
Later that day, the rec center looked more like a war zone than a gym.
Medics moved between bodies, and in the corner, on a thin mattress with a frayed blanket, you sat curled up. Ellie was nearby. Sitting in a folding chair, elbows on her knees, watching you. But you hadn’t glanced at her way. At least you stopped shivering, and you finally agreed the medics to check on you, to run a few tests.
Still, her knee bounced. She couldn’t stop staring at you. You looked so... small. Not just physically. You looked like someone who had been shrinking for years.
The door opened, and Joel walked in. Dusty from the road, beard longer than usual, with Dina trailing behind him, scarf around her neck and bow slung across her back. They both looked tired. Patrol had taken them out past the rivers this time. Almost a week gone.
“Jesus,” Joel muttered, taking in the scene. “What the hell happened?”
Dina’s eyes swept across the room—until they landed on Ellie. Then you. She moved toward them quickly. “Ellie—hey. You okay?”
She didn’t answer at first. Her jaw was locked tight. Joel followed her gaze, landing on you in the corner. “She one of the survivors?”
Ellie nodded, slowly. “She was alone when we found her. Barely breathing. Beaten up, bruised.”
A medic passed by, glancing at the group. “The girl in the corner? She’s the one with the damaged vocal cords.”
Joel frowned. “What do you mean?”
The medic lowered her voice. “We ran tests. She’s not just mute—she’s been that way a long time. Her vocal cords are scarred. Chemical burns, maybe. Poison. Acid, even. Could’ve happened years ago.”
Ellie felt it all hit at once—revulsion, fury, heartbreak. The kind that rises like bile in your throat. She looked at you again, your back still turned. Your shoulders hunched. Your silence now explained, and still unbearable.
“She never had a chance,” Ellie whispered, mostly to herself. “Not even to scream for help.”
Dina stepped up, arms folded tightly. Her voice broke the silence.
“My sister taught me sign language,” she said gently. “She worked with non-verbal kids in New Mexico.” Ellie turned to her, startled. Dina gave a small nod. “I could try talking to her.”
Ellie didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she nodded. Grateful. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Joel stood silently, staring at you. Something heavy behind his eyes. Something haunted. “Whatever she went through,” he said, his voice low, “we make sure it ends here.”
Ellie looked at you again. You hadn’t turned. But now… maybe they were finally close enough to reach you.
THE MORNING LIGHT in Jackson was comforting. The storm had passed, but everything still felt heavy.
You sat curled in a chair near the window of the medical wing, blanket pulled around your shoulders. Someone had brought tea. It had long since gone cold on the little tray beside you.
You weren’t shivering anymore. You weren’t flinching when people walked by or whispered. You were just quiet. Still. Like the air before snowfall.
When footsteps approached, you didn’t turn.
“Hey,” Ellie’s voice came from the doorway. Softer this time. Less like she was afraid of scaring you, more like she didn’t want to break whatever fragile moment you were wrapped inside.
You turned your head slightly. Just enough to see her standing there with Dina.
“Mind if we come in?” the brunette asked.
You hesitated. Then gave the smallest nod. They moved in quietly, settling on the bench near your chair. Dina took the spot closest to you, while Ellie sat beside her, leaning forward, hands between her knees.
Ellie tried first. “How are you feeling?”
You blinked. Looked down at your lap. Then, slowly—almost unsure—you raised your hands. Your fingers moved with care, like it had been a long time since someone had truly watched you speak this way.
Dina leaned in. “She’s saying... she’s better today,” she translated, glancing at Ellie. “Tired. But not scared.”
Ellie smiled, just a little. “That’s good. I’m glad.”
You watched her for a moment. Then signed again, slower this time.
“She wants to tell us something,” Dina said. Her voice dropped. “She’s going to tell us what happened.”
Ellie’s posture stiffened. She glanced at you, her chest already tightening. No survivor have had the guts to explain what happened. A man tried once, but panic overtook him before he could finish.
You began signing. Dina translated, her voice quieter now, more careful. Like she was laying out pieces of you with every word. “She says… after her father died, she lived in that village for a few years. Alone mostly. The others… they knew she was there, but no one really asked her about it. She couldn’t talk, so they just… let her be. She fixed broken things. Helped tend the crops. People were kind enough, but it wasn’t home.”
You paused. Your face was blank, but your fingers tightened before moving again.
Dina continued. “She had a place at the edge of the houses. Close to the woods. Far enough that she could sleep without hearing people at night.” Your hands kept going. “She says one morning, a group of men came. Not infected. Just people. They looked like they’d been traveling for weeks—scarred, armed, desperate. They claimed they were traders at first. But they started asking about supplies. Ammunition. Medicine.”
Your hands stopped briefly, fingers trembling, then continued.
“They found out the village had nothing to offer. No luxuries. Just the basics. So they… they took what they could. Someone had hidden away rations, alcohol, painkillers—things scavenged over the years. When the men couldn’t find more, they got angry.” Dina paused, her throat tightening. “They lit the houses on fire.”
You looked away now, your shoulders hunching inward. “She tried to help. Tried to pull someone out of a burning home. But one of the men hit her—hard. Threw her against a wall. And when they noticed she couldn’t talk, they took her to the forest. The men—uh—”
Dina stopped talking. Ellie didn’t need to hear the rest of it. You didn’t look at her, but you heard it. The room went quiet. You finally looked at Ellie. And signed, slowly: “And then you found me.” Dina translated it. But she didn’t need to. Ellie understood that one.
Ellie’s eyes met yours, and something cracked inside her. Not pain. Something warmer, something painful but… human. She didn’t say anything. She raised her hands awkwardly, fingers a little stiff. Then, slowly, clumsily, she moved them. “You. Safe.”
It wasn’t perfect. Not even close. But you understood it. Your throat tightened. You gave her the smallest nod.
A WEEK had passed since your arrival.
The snow had finally started melting around the outskirts of the town, revealing muddy patches of earth where winter had gripped too tightly for too long. Ellie stood near the wooden gate, arms crossed, watching the group of survivors getting ready to leave.
The ones from the burned village were chattering quietly, packing up what they'd been given. Fresh food. Blankets. Maps. A promise of an escort back to whatever scraps of family they still had waiting. They were smiling. Everyone was grateful. Excited, even. All except you.
Ellie spotted it immediately. You were off to the side, near the stone edge of the wall, body drawn in tight, like you were trying to disappear into yourself. Your arms were shaking. Your fingers twitching against your thighs.
She took a step toward you just as Dina’s voice called from behind her, “They’re almost ready to head out. Maria’s gonna do the final check-in.”
But Ellie wasn’t listening. Her eyes hadn’t left you. You looked like you were about to vomit. Then it happened: a sharp shake of your head. Violent. Repeated. Your breath caught. You stumbled back, and then you were trembling, hands raised, desperate to sign something, anything, but your fingers were sloppy, frantic. You couldn’t get the shapes right.
Ellie was already moving. “Hey—hey, what’s wrong?” she said, dropping beside you.
Dina and Tommy were just behind her, closing in. Maria walked fast from the other side of the gate, frowning. Tommy crouched, reaching gently for your arm. “It’s okay, kiddo. We’re gonna get you back to your people—”
But you yanked away like his hand burned. The panic boiled over. Your eyes wide, breath sharp, and you were signing in quick bursts now, so messy even Dina had to pause before translating.
“She says—she says she doesn’t want to go back,” Dina murmured. “She says there’s nothing left fot her there. No family. No one waiting. It’s… it’s bad there. She says she can help here. That she wants to help. Please—she’s saying please over and over.”
Maria frowned. “We agreed Jackson doesn’t—”
“She can stay.” Ellie’s voice cut clean through the air.
Everyone looked at her. Maria blinked. “Ellie.”
“No, listen.” Ellie turned to her, stepping between you and the others. “She’s not sick. She can learn to help here.”
“She needs care—” Maria started, but Ellie didn’t flinch.
“—so give her care,” she said. “You did it for me. For Joel. You do it for people all the time when it’s the right thing. This is the right thing.”
Maria looked like she wanted to argue. But Tommy stepped forward, hands resting on his hips. “She’s right,” he said quietly. “Let her stay.”
Maria turned to look at you then. You were still shaking, eyes wide and full of raw, silent fear. But you weren’t signing anymore. You were just… watching. Waiting. And something in Maria’s face cracked.
She exhaled slowly. “We’ve got one unoccupied space down by the south end. It’s small, but it’s clean. I’ll clear it with the board. But this is your responsibility, Ellie. If it doesn’t work—”
“It will.”
Maria nodded, tight-lipped, and turned away.
The space wasn’t much more than a glorified shed.
An old maintenance room near the edge of the farming district, with one small window and thin walls. The mattress was clean, the oil lamp on the table was half-full, and someone had left a knitted blanket at the foot of the bed—blue with crooked stitches.
You sat on the edge, shoulders hunched, staring at the floor.
Ellie knocked once and stepped in.
“You, uh… you decent?” she joked half-heartedly.
No answer, of course. You looked at her slowly, eyes rimmed red from earlier. She walked in anyway, looking around. The room was bare. White walls. No posters. No clothes. No books. Just a silent girl and an untouched space.
“No pressure or anything,” Ellie muttered, “but this place kinda sucks.” Your mouth curled, barely. Just enough for her to notice.
Ellie reached into her jacket and pulled something out. A folded square of paper.
She handed it to you and waited while you unfolded it. A sketch— rough pencil strokes, smudged shading. A moth, wings spread wide, drawn on the corner of a windowsill.
You traced the wings gently. “I dunno,” Ellie said, fidgeting with her fingers. “Figured maybe you could put something on the walls.”
You didn’t sign anything. But you nodded. It was the first nod you’d given all day.
Ellie stayed until the sun dipped low, and the light faded into that soft blue shadow you only get in the mountains. When she stood to leave, you reached out—not to stop her, but to hand her the drawing again.
She shook her head, smiling at you. “It’s yours now.”
You didn’t smile. But when she left, you pinned the drawing to the wall above your bed. And for the first time since you’d arrived, you slept through the night.
YOU WEREN’T used to peace.
At first, it made you feel anxious. Like quiet was something dangerous. But days passed, and nothing shattered. No fires. No screams. No alarms. Just the thump of boots on snow-soft ground, the whinny of horses, and the occasional dog barking across the fencing.
And people? They weren’t what you expected. No disgusted stares. No cruel whispers. No pity in their eyes. Just… quiet nods. Respectful distance. Some even smiled when you passed. They didn’t expect you to speak. They didn’t press. They just treated you like a normal human being.
It felt strange. But not bad. You kept yourself busy, anyway. Staying in your room made the silence loud again, so you found ways to fill the hours.
At the stables, you brushed and fed the horses. At the medical wing, you helped sort herbs, stitch torn blankets, organize kits. The nurses didn’t talk much, but they smiled in thanks when you caught their mistakes. You were good at reading patterns. Noticing things.
And at the storage barn, you worked beside Dina. She didn’t say much at first. Just stacked crates with you, passed you water, bumped your shoulder when you looked tired. But by the second day, she started moving her hands in a way that caught your attention.
Sign language. Half of it wrong. You raised a brow. She laughed, shrugging. Then signed: “My sister taught me, but lost practice.”
From then on, every time you worked together, she practiced. She corrected herself when she got it wrong. You teached her simple phrases that could be useful for patrols, like— “Are you okay?, help me, stay quiet, Danger.”
Sometimes, Ellie joined you both during free time and watched, arms crossed, pretending she wasn’t interested. But you caught her mouthing the words. Her fingers twitching, trying to mirror yours.
Still, there were people who found odd your… limited vocabulary, to say the least. You were mute, but not deaf. The elders sometimes offered fake kindness, and a couple of teens treated you like you were a sideshow. Whispered jokes behind your back. Laughed when you turned, knowing you couldn’t call them out.
You were at the stable, finishing your chores for the day, when a group of young teenagers snuck inside. As you stepped into the storage room to grab some tools, the door slammed shut behind you. At first, it was just the sound. The thud of it. Then came the click of the latch. And then, darkness.
You froze. No light. No cracks in the wood. No way to see the space around you.
And just like that, it hit you. The woods. The smoke curling up into the treetops. The cries. The screams. The pain. Your body limp and bloody in the snow. Now here you were again. Trapped. Powerless. Alone.
Your breath caught. You pounded your fists against the door, over and over. You wanted to scream. Your body tried to scream. But nothing came. Just air and desperation.
You crumbled against the wood, nails scratching at it like an animal. Tears blurred your vision, heart hammering. You were shaking. Falling back into yourself, into the dark part where the only thing that existed was fear.
Time slipped away. You didn't know how long you were in there. Ten minutes? Thirty? An hour? It didn’t matter, because it was long enough. Long enough to collapse into the floor, fear and guilt eating you alive.
Ellie noticed you were gone the moment she got to her room.
Your notebook was still on the table. The blanket was folded the way you always left it when you planned to come back. Something was wrong.
She went to the medical wing first, and asked if you'd stopped by to help with the supply run. Then the town hall. Then Dina’s greenhouse. Each time, her voice got tenser, sharper.
“No, haven’t seen her.”
“She was supposed to help with the stables today, wasn’t she?”
Ellie froze. The stables. Of course. You always stayed late there. Shimmer was like your therapy, your comfort. If something had happened—
She was already running. By the time she got to the stables, the sun had dipped low, and the place was nearly empty. Most of the horses were asleep in their pens, the lights dimmed to a faint amber glow. It was quiet.
Too quiet. Ellie’s stomach dropped.
She walked past the rows of stalls, listening. Nothing. Nothing but the quiet huffs of horses and the creak of old wood. Before she could leave, she heard a sound. Muffled. Faint. Almost too soft to notice.
And it was coming from the supply room.
Ellie rushed over, her heart now pounding in her ears. The door was closed. No light leaked from under the crack.
She pressed her ear to it. And heard a whimper. A cry. Shaky, broken. Yours.
“Shit—”
She threw herself at the door. It didn’t budge. Again. And again. On the third try, the old hinges groaned, and the door burst inward.
The sight stopped her breath.
You were huddled in the corner, back against the wall, arms wrapped around your knees. Your chest was heaving. You were soaked in sweat. Your nails had blood under them. You didn’t even look up at first— just shook violently, stuck in the loop of whatever memories had come rushing in.
“Hey,” Ellie said, dropping to her knees. “Hey, hey—look at me. It’s me. I’m here.”
Your eyes flicked up, wide and full of terror. Then softened. But the tears kept falling.
You reached for her. Barely. She pulled you into her arms. She held you so tightly, you could feel her heart thudding against yours.
“You’re safe,” she whispered into your hair. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
She stayed there with you until your breathing slowed, until the shaking lessened. Until the memory began to dissolve just a little. She didn’t let go.
Later that night, wrapped in a blanket in Ellie’s garage, you sat beside her on the old couch. Your eyes were red and tired. Your hands moved slowly, shakily.
“I thought I was back there,” you signed. “In the woods.”
Ellie nodded. “I know. I know.”
“It felt the same.”
She reached out and gently brushed your knuckles with her thumb. “I should’ve been there. I’m sorry.”
You shook your head. “It was not your fault.”
Ellie sighed, then moved closer. “You're here now. That’s what matters. You're safe. And I won’t ever let anyone do that to you again.”
You let her lean her forehead against yours. You exhaled softly. Your fingers moved once more.
“I was scared.”
She pulled you against her side, her arm around your shoulders.
“I was scared too,” she admitted quietly. “When I couldn’t find you. I thought—” she stopped, swallowed hard. “I don’t want to lose you. Ever.”
You nodded, slowly. Then leaned your head against her shoulder.
Outside, Jackson carried on with its usual rhythm. But in that garage, all that existed was the hush of breath, the warmth of touch, and the unspoken promise that Ellie would never let you fall into the dark alone again.
She couldn’t wait to speak to those kids and show them real fear.
THE GARAGE Ellie had turned into her room was dim and quiet that night.
Her guitar sat in the corner, dusty but cared for. A pile of comic books sat untouched next to her bed. And pinned to the wall beside her drawings was something new.
A sketch. It wasn’t finished, but it was clearly you. It was you, brushing Shimmer’s hair. A gentle expression on your face, eyes closed in focus, hair loose around your shoulders. Ellie had started it the night before, couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how peaceful you looked.
She didn’t hear the footsteps at first.
“You drawin’ again?” Joel’s voice broke through the stillness.
Ellie jumped, stuffing the sketch under her pillow in one sharp motion. “Jesus—don’t sneak up like that.”
Joel chuckled, arms crossed. “I knocked,” he said. “You just didn’t answer.”
Ellie shifted, awkward. “Just… sketching. Helps me sleep sometimes.”
Joel looked around the room, taking in the quiet. He nodded toward the pillow.
“That her?”
Ellie’s face went red. “None of your business.”
He smiled, soft. Not teasing, just… knowing.
“She’s a good kid,” he said. “Saw her helpin’ over at the stables this morning. Gentle hands. Real focused.”
Ellie looked down, playing with her fingers nervously.
Joel leaned against the workbench. “Listen. I was talkin’ to Maria. Said some patrol members were askin’ about hand signals. Quiet communication. Stuff you can use when there’s infected close and you don’t wanna make a sound.”
Ellie blinked. “Like… what Dina’s teaching me?”
Joel nodded. “Exactly. She told me the new girl has been helpin’ with that.”
“She’s smart,” Ellie said quietly. “Learns fast.”
Joel gave a low hum. “Sounds familiar.” Ellie shot him a look, but he was already walking toward the door. “She keeps it up,” he said, “it might be worth havin’ her on patrol. Not now, but down the line. Could teach the others what she knows.” Before he left, he added, without turning. “You’re good with her, kid. She trusts you.”
And then he was gone. Ellie exhaled. She pulled the sketch back out from under the pillow. Then pinned it to the wall.
IT WAS A Thursday when Ellie showed up at your door holding something behind her back. You opened it slowly, a blanket still draped around your shoulders, hair messily braided from the day before. You blinked sleep from your eyes.
Ellie grinned. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not a bomb or anything.” You tilted your head. “I brought you something,” she said, stepping inside without asking—because by now, she didn’t need to.
From behind her back, she pulled out a CD player. A real, beat-up, scratched little thing, with worn buttons and cracked volume dials. But it had a soul. And inside it, she'd already loaded the first disc.
“I figured… I dunno. You’ve probably never had time for music. Not real music, anyway. Not the stuff that doesn’t come from a panic radio signal.” You reached out, gently touching the top of it. Ellie was already kneeling, plugging in the cord to the wall, twisting the dial.
A click. A soft whirr. Then the warm crackle of static turned into music. Not loud. Just enough to fill the room. The guitar riff was old-school. Something from the seventies, maybe. You didn’t recognize the song. But Ellie was tapping her foot and mouthing along.
“Fleetwood Mac,” she said with a smirk, glancing at you. You gave a ghost of a laugh. Silent, but real. Then nodded. You liked it. Ellie watched your face carefully.
She sat down cross-legged beside the little player, then reached into her coat and pulled out three more CDs. She fanned them out on the floor like they were cards in a game.
“This one’s The Police. This one’s the Talking Heads. And this—this is my personal favorite.” She held it up proudly. “Aerosmith: Greatest Hits.” You squinted, amused. “Don’t give me that look,” Ellie muttered, clearly flustered. “I know the covers are cheesy. But it slaps, okay? You ever heard Crazy? No? Oh man, you’re in for a ride.”
You reached out slowly. You didn't sign anything, but your eyes said enough. This meant something. Ellie just smiled at you, cheeks red but eyes proud.
“Press this button to open the tray,” she explained, showing you patiently. “And this skips tracks. Here’s the volume. And if it makes that grinding noise again, just smack the side like this.” She did it and immediately winced. “Okay, maybe not that hard.”
Two days later, Ellie woke up to a soft knock on the garage door. When she opened it, no one was there.
But lying on the step was a gently folded note, creased twice, smudged in the corner where a thumb must have pressed too hard. Ellie’s heart jumped. She recognized your handwriting immediately. It was small, tidy, with the slant of someone who’d taught themselves without anyone ever correcting them. She unfolded it slowly. Inside, in careful words, was a list:
CD 1 – Fleetwood Mac: Landslide
CD 2 – The Police: Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic
CD 3 – Talking Heads: This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)
CD 4 – Aerosmith: Dream On
At the bottom, just beneath the last line, was one more word, written in smaller script: “Thank you.”
Ellie stared at the page for a long time. She read it once. Then again. Then a third time, tracing her fingers over each song like they meant something more now. Like they were your voice. Oh. Your voice. There wasn’t a day she didn’t grieve your voice. She was sure it was the best melody of all. Above from every track. Above from any music note.
But maybe, just maybe, this was enough. Ellie sank down into the chair near her workbench and smiled—really smiled, one of those rare, crooked things that made her freckles stand out and her nose scrunch just a little. “She likes Dream On,” she mumbled to herself.
From that day on, music became part of your language. There wasn’t a day when your small cabin wasn’t flooded with melodies from decades ago.
Ellie would bring new CDs each week—stuff she bartered for, stuff she found on abandoned shelves, anything that might work. And every time, two or three days later, she’d find a note on her doorstep. Your handwriting. Your picks. Sometimes you’d even underline lyrics. Other times you'd draw a little doodle beside a title—a heart, a star, a tiny sketch of Shimmer or a cassette tape.
It wasn’t long before you started leaving music playing in your room when Ellie visited. The sound would greet her before you did, like a secret message. One day, she walked in and found you swaying slightly in your chair to David Bowie, and she nearly dropped the water canister she was carrying.
“You're gonna give me a heart attack,” she muttered, trying not to smile too big.
And you? You just gave her a thumbs up and kept dancing.
Ellie wasn’t sure when it happened. The shift.
She’d always liked being around you. She liked the quiet, the lack of pressure. But somewhere between the notes and the signs, something deeper started to bloom. Something that made her stomach twist in weird, ridiculous knots.
She caught herself watching you more.
Not just because she was worried or curious. But because she liked the shape of your laugh, even if it was silent. She liked the way your face lit up when she remembered something you didn’t think she would—like how you always skipped track three, or how you preferred peppermint tea over chamomile.
She liked how your eyes crinkled when you teased her with hand signs, “slow down, you talk too fast.”
And she really, really liked when your fingers would brush hers while passing a note, and you didn’t pull away.
WHEN spring came, you were a completely different person.
Gone was the ghost of the girl who’d arrived trembling and blood-soaked on the edge of Jackson’s woods. The one who wouldn’t let anyone near. Who flinched from a soft touch and couldn't fall asleep without checking the windows five times.
Now, you stood taller. You looked people in the eyes.
Your hair had grown longer and shinier, often braided back with a little green ribbon Ellie found in the trading post. You’d gained weight, enough to make your clothes fit better, and your eyes look less sunken. You looked healthy. You looked present. And you looked happy. Words weren’t necessary to notice it. They never were.
By now, sign language had spread across Jackson like wildfire.
Dina had started it—volunteering to teach lessons in the evenings at the town hall for anyone who wanted to learn. What started as a curiosity quickly turned into something vital. Because once people realized how useful quiet communication could be during patrols, it was no longer just a gesture of kindness. It was about survival.
There were stories—a team who spotted a runner too close thanks to a signed warning. A pair of patrol members who navigated around a horde without making a single sound, all because they could speak with their hands.
You became the unofficial teacher, alongside Dina.
Some nights you’d stand in front of the room with a small notebook, writing down sequences and watching the crowd mimic you. Kids learned fastest—teenagers who liked how slick it felt to talk in silence. Old folks struggled with the finger speed but didn’t give up.
And Ellie? Ellie learned just for you. She still fumbled sometimes. Signed something completely wrong and ended up telling you she was a “sad fly” instead of “feeling tired.” But she always made you laugh. And the look she gave you every time she got something right? Pure gold.
It was early, the sun still low behind Jackson’s rooftops, when someone knocked gently on your door, The Cure making everything softer. You opened it to find Maria, hands in her jacket pockets, eyes kind but serious.
She waited a beat before speaking. “You’ve been doing real good around here.” You tilted your head, unsure where this was going. “You’ve been… helping. At the stables. Organizing supplies. Teaching.” She paused. “We’ve been watching. You’re steady. And smart.”
“Thing is, there’s a patrol scheduled tomorrow,” she continued. “North route. We could use someone with your skills. Think you’re ready to head out there?”
Your heart pounded. Ready? You hadn’t left the gates since the day you were brought here. You looked down, fingers twitching slightly, signing the word for yes, slow but certain.
Maria smiled softly. “We thought you might agree to that.”
Ellie was the first one to volunteer. The only one, really. The next morning, you stood by the gate—nervous but prepared. Bow slung over your back. Hands steady.
She grinned when she saw you. “Got your game face on, huh?”
You signed “fuck off,” and she burst out laughing.
“You’re too good at that, it’s not fair.”
You rode side by side out into the woods. The snow had mostly melted. Green was returning to the world, shy and slow. Birds chirped above you, and the air had that damp, earthy smell of thawed soil and new beginnings.
Ellie showed you how to spot tracks, how to tell the difference between deer and runners, where to look for broken branches and disturbed dirt. You, on the other hand, taught her how to signal danger in complete silence, how to hold up a closed fist to stop, how to sign clicker or infected or hide in seconds.
You worked like you'd been doing this together for years.
And when a pair of clickers stumbled too close to a creek where you rested, you didn’t panic. You touched Ellie’s shoulder and signed two, right, close— and she nodded instantly, pulling her knife free. It was very effective, to say the least.
That patrol became two. Then four. Then a dozen. You and Ellie became a team. Every time your name was on the board, so was hers.
The rhythm of riding out, scouting, signing small jokes, and sharing your rations. Watching the sun rise over misty hills. Sitting in watchtowers with your boots kicked up and her shoulder brushing yours.
Sometimes you caught her staring. Sometimes she caught you doing the same. Neither of you said a word about it. But everyone else could see it.
IT HAD STARTED like any other patrol.
The clouds were heavy that morning, hanging low and gray over the mountain ridge. You rode out alongside Jesse and another scout, Cal, toward the outskirts of an abandoned rail line two hours away from Jackson. You were tracking a runner sighting someone had reported near the water tanks.
Ellie was on a separate route that day. She’d offered to switch with Jesse when she saw your name on the roster, but Maria insisted she stay on her scheduled path to cover more ground. You kissed her knuckles before separating at the gates, your silent way of saying, be safe.
She signed back, “always.”
You felt something wrong about five minutes before it happened.
Cal had to take a break a few minutes ago, staying by the station, leaving you alone with the other man. Jesse walked ahead, scanning, his rifle slung over his shoulder. You stayed back, close to the train tracks, half-swallowed by grass. You were just signing to Jesse that you thought something was off when a gunshot cracked through the trees. Then pain. The next few seconds blurred into chaos.
You hit the ground, hard. Your ears rang. Two masked men came out of nowhere—one of them slammed Jesse’s head into the ground with the butt of a rifle. You tried to pull your knife, but a boot pinned your wrist to the mud.
They weren’t infected. They weren’t raiders looking for supplies. They were looking for you. Sudden flashbacks of that one night came running through your mind as more hands grabbed your arms. You kicked and thrashed, but they hit hard and fast, knocking the wind out of you. You reached for your belt, trying to scream for help. But nothing came out.
Just air and silence. Your throat pulsed, desperate and useless.
They laughed when they realized you couldn’t scream. One of them leaned down close, breathing in your face. “That’s new. Ain’t that something?” He shoved your face into the mud. “Try to scream. Come on. Do it.”
You gasped, silent, your body wracked with panic.
They started to beat you then. Not enough to kill you, but almost. One of them held your arms while the other kicked your ribs, again and again and again. Another hit your face with a rifle stock, splitting your lip, knocking your head sideways.
“Let’s see what sounds she makes when we break her.”
You couldn’t scream. So they kept going.
By the time they dragged you into an old barn nearby, Jesse was still unconscious, and you were barely breathing. Where the hell was Cal? Did they got them too? Blood trickled down your jaw and pooled in your shirt. You tried to sign for help, your hands shaking uncontrollably. The tall man laughed and tied your wrists.
And that’s when they brought Ellie in.
Tied. Kicking. Bloody from a fight of her own.
Her eyes met yours across the barn, and she screamed.
“NO! No, no— DON’T YOU DARE TO TOUCH HER!”
They slammed her into a beam and tied her arms above her head. One man punched her gut hard enough to make her gasp, but Ellie barely flinched. Her eyes were locked on you, face contorted in pure rage.
“What the fuck did she ever do to you?! HUH?! You cowards!”
“Leave her alone!" Ellie shouted. "She didn’t do anything!”
They laughed. One of them stepped close to you. He grabbed your face, turning it side to side. When they saw how Ellie screamed for you, cried for you, they smiled. That was the fuel they wanted.
They pulled you forward again, cut your shirt open, and shoved you to the floor. Ellie thrashed wildly in her restraints.
“Stop it! STOP—PLEASE!”
“STOP! YOU FUCKING COWARDS!”
You couldn’t scream. You could only gasp, your body shaking violently, your lungs burning as you tried and failed to make a sound.
And when they got tired of you, they started hurting her.
One of them stabbed her leg. She howled in agony. Another one broke a rib with the heel of his boot. You could hear the sickening snap. And you couldn’t do anything. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t save her.
Until something inside you twisted. The man pinning you laughed as Ellie cried your name. Something feral surged through your chest. You watched as his arm pressed roughly on your throat. And you bit it down. Hard.
So hard, you tasted blood and tendon.
He screamed and tried to jerk away, but you didn’t let go. You bit through him until he fell back, blood pouring down your chin. You grabbed the knife he dropped in panic, and before the others could react, you plunged it into his neck. Once. Twice. A third time. Screaming silently, stabbing again and again, the blade punching through soft flesh and cartilage.
You acted fast. One of the others lunged toward Ellie. He had no time to react. You tackled him and drove the blade into his chest, over and over, until your hands were slick with red, and his body stopped moving.
You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Not until Ellie—barely conscious, bleeding out—whispered your name. “Hey. Hey, it’s me. It’s me.”
Your hands trembled as she reached for you.
Her fingers were slick with blood— her own. You dropped the knife, gasping in silence, eyes darting across her wounds.
“Blood. Blood.” You signed frantically. “Blood. You. Blood. Bad.”
Ellie reached up, her touch featherlight.
“I’m okay. I’m okay. You saved me. Look at me. Look at me.”
Her voice cracked with emotion as she whispered, “We’re okay. You did good. You did so good.”
You curled into her, hands clutching her jacket like a lifeline, heart pounding against hers. Ellie, still bleeding, still aching, pulled you closer like she could protect you from everything.
You sobbed without sound. And she held you until the others found you both.
THE RIDE back to Jackson was a blur.
You didn’t remember mounting the horse. You didn’t remember Cal helping Ellie stay upright in the saddle, or Jesse—bruised but alive—riding close behind.
You didn’t remember the whispers. Or the way people gasped when they saw the blood all over you, sticky and dried in layers.
You kept your eyes on Ellie the whole way. Her head leaned against your shoulder, barely conscious, breath hitching with every step the horse took.
You’d already cleaned the blade before anyone found you. You didn’t know why. Maybe instinct. Maybe shame. Maybe you didn’t want her to see how much you enjoyed it— how much of yourself you'd left in that abandoned building.
They took Ellie straight to the med bay.
You refused to let go of her hand. Even as Maria shouted for you to step aside. Even when they pulled back her jacket and revealed the cuts, the bruises, the deep gash along her thigh. You stayed. Not a single nurse tried to fight you on it.
You sat beside her as they stitched her up, cleaned the wounds, reset the cracked rib. She didn’t flinch once. She kept watching you the whole time, her green eyes tracing the dried blood on your cheeks, the tremble in your fingertips.
“...You okay?” she whispered, voice hoarse.
You nodded. But you weren’t.
Later that night, when the sun dipped behind the mountains and Jackson returned to its soft yellow haze of warm lights and guarded walls, Ellie knocked at your door.
She looked tired. Wrapped in a blanket. Her face was pale, the bruises starting to darken. A strip of gauze around her arm, another across her ribs. But she was walking.
And she was alone. “I can’t sleep,” she said quietly. “Wanna come to mine?”
You nodded and followed. The garage was dimly lit, smelling faintly of old leather, music, and a little bit of her. Posters lined the walls, drawings pinned in uneven rows.
You’d been here before—but never like this. You sat cross-legged on her mattress, across from her. Hands tucked in your lap, still trembling a little.
The silence stretched long. But it didn’t hurt. You watched the way she stared at her hands. The gauze on her fingers. The small cuts beneath her chin. The melody of Take On Me was caressing the walls of the garage. Ellie knew how much you loved that song.
You smiled sadly. Then your hands moved. “I’m sorry.” Again. “I’m sorry.” Your signs were shaking. Urgent. Repeating. Over and over.
Ellie moved to sit beside you. Close enough to touch. She placed a hand gently over yours. “Stop,” she said, softly. “I’m not sorry. Not for what you did. Not for any of it.”
Your breath caught. You looked at her. Her fingers trembled as she raised her hands.
She signed—slowly, carefully, but certain. “I love you.”
No stutter. No mistake. The motion was clear. Firm. Honest.
Your lips parted. Not for sound. Just for breath. You stared at her, eyes wide. And then, you smiled. For the first time since the barn, a full, real smile. And you leaned forward. Ellie met you halfway.
Her lips were warm, soft, trembling against yours.
She tasted like peppermint and tea, and the metal tang of healing wounds. Her hand cupped your jaw gently, thumb brushing the bruise on your cheek. She was careful with you, and you were careful with her.
When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered. “Not ever.”
You nodded, and your fingers rose again. “Me neither.”
A FEW WEEKS had passed since the attack.
Your injuries had healed for the most part. The bruises faded, the cuts scabbed and softened to scars. But the ache lingered. Neither of you spoke about it anymore. Not in words. Not in signs. But you both knew. You always did.
Ellie had promised you one thing the night she kissed you, forehead to forehead in the garage: that someday, she’d take you somewhere no one else knew about. Somewhere quiet. Safe. Yours.
And one morning, when the sun broke through the trees in soft shafts and the air smelled like early spring grass, she showed up at your door with a half-smile and a bag over her shoulder.
“Come with me,” she signed.
And you did.
It was a three-hour hike outside the west perimeter of Jackson. Off patrol routes, through pine forest and over mossy, half-rotted logs. The deeper you went, the quieter it got. Just birds and your boots and the sound of Ellie humming under her breath, almost unconsciously.
By the time you reached the lake, your chest ached with how beautiful it was.
It wasn’t large, but the water was glass-clear and edged by smooth, sun-warmed rocks. Pines framed it like watchful giants. A single wooden dock jutted out near one edge, old and mossy but still solid.
You smiled, wide and open, and turned to Ellie in a flash of excitement.
She was already looking at you, grinning.
“Told you it was worth it,” she said, brushing a curl behind her ear.
You nodded, signing, “Beautiful.”
Ellie shrugged, bashful. “Yeah. You are.” You blinked, and she coughed. “I-I mean—yeah, it’s beautiful. It. The lake. Shut up.”
She scratched the back of her neck, trying not to look at you directly as you began to pull your jacket off. You stripped down to your underwear slowly, mostly because the sun felt good on your skin and your bruises no longer hurt. Your scars caught the light, silvered now. You stood barefoot at the edge of the lake and glanced back.
Ellie was very visibly trying not to stare. Her face was beet red. You smirked at her.
“Come on,” you signed, beckoning her.
She cleared her throat and peeled off her flannel, boots, and jeans until she was in her tank top and boxers. When she joined you at the water’s edge, she couldn’t meet your eyes.
Then you both dove in, gasping at first, then laughing breathlessly, flailing for a moment before adjusting. You swam circles around her, light and weightless in the water, while Ellie trod with a smile so big it almost looked painful.
You splashed her. She splashed back harder. You dove under and tugged at her ankle. She yelped and nearly went under, laughing.
It was like time slowed down. The world, so often filled with tension and noise and pain, had simply fallen silent. The only sounds were water ripples, quiet laughter, the distant call of birds.
At one point, you floated on your back beside her, arms out like wings.
Ellie watched you, eyes soft. The cut across her nose had faded, but her lip still had a tiny scar where the stitches had been.
You signed to her lazily, hands moving across the water’s surface. “So pretty.”
She blinked. And then she realized you meant her.
Her cheeks flushed deep red, like the sun had suddenly turned up just for her.
“Oh,” she muttered, blinking fast. “Um. You too. I mean—not that you didn’t already know that. You’re, like—yeah. You’re a lot.”
Later, you both climbed out of the lake, dripping and shivering but grinning. Ellie laid out her flannel and you both sprawled on it in the sun, half-dried, steam rising from your clothes.
Your hair was damp and tangled. Her arm was loosely draped over your thigh, fingertips idly tracing the old scar above your knee. You were still. Safe.
You’d been practicing something all week in your cabin, when you arrived at night after doing your daily chores. Ellie had shown you a few times, patiently, her fingers in her mouth, her whistle sharp and clear.
It had taken days to figure it out. You couldn’t hum or sing or shout. But this—this was yours. So, you puckered your lips and whistled. A little shaky at first. But then steady. A tune Ellie liked—one she’d played on her guitar months ago. Future Days.
She froze, and looked up at you.
You kept going. The little melody warbling gently into the air.
Ellie stared, eyes wide, lips parted just slightly. She leaned up on one elbow, and her hand stayed on your leg.
“Jesus,” she whispered. “You are the best.” You tilted your head, a questioning smile. She just shook hers. “You don’t even know, do you?”
You shrugged playfully. She leaned in and kissed your shoulder. Then your cheek, and finally your chapped lips. Then rested her head just below your collarbone, eyes closed.
“Stay here a while longer,” she murmured.
You wrapped an arm around her. Fingers tangled in her damp hair.
The sun was warm. The water glinted. And for the first time in what felt like years, the world didn’t feel cruel.
Before the sun set, you were already packing to go back home. Ellie was checking Shimmer when you nervously opened your bag. Inside was a folded-up piece of paper. You chewed your lip and stared at it for a second before finally walking over and nudging Ellie’s shoulder gently. She turned, and you held the drawing out with both hands. Immediately shy.
Ellie sat up straighter. “What’s that?”
You didn’t sign. Just pushed it gently into her hands, already starting to blush.
She unfolded the page slowly, and her eyes widened the moment she saw it.
It was her. A little smudgy in some areas, sure. Maybe the proportions weren’t perfect; her jaw was a bit too square, her nose slightly off-center, but it was her. Sitting under a tree with her guitar in her lap. Her brows furrowed in focus. Hair curling beneath her ears. A little crease at the corner of her lips like she was about to smile.
She stared at it longer than she probably realized.
When she looked up again, you were biting the inside of your cheek, shoulders hunched slightly, like you were bracing for her to laugh.
Instead, Ellie smiled. Soft. Real. Almost awed.
“Are you serious?” she said. “You drew this?” You nodded, sheepish. Ellie looked back down at it. “Holy shit. This is awesome. Like— actually awesome.”
“You're just being nice.”
She looked up, scandalized. “I am not just being nice!”
You signed with a playful grin. “Says the girl who draws like a professional comic book artist.”
Ellie huffed. “Okay, rude. Yours is just… different. It’s good. Like, warm, you know?” You tilted your head. “Like,” she continued, waving the paper, “you didn’t just draw me. You got the way I sit. That stupid thing I do with my fingers when I’m thinking.”
You lifted your brows. “Stupid?”
She gave you a look. “Yeah, you know, the thing where I— okay, you’re making that face again. Stop!”
You laughed silently, shoulders shaking. She carefully placed the drawing in her pocket, smoothing the edges.
After a few moments of quiet, you signed again. “You’re my favorite thing to draw.”
Ellie’s ears turned red. She didn’t say anything for a second. Then, shyly, “...Will you show me more sometime?”
You looked up at her with a small nod. Ellie leaned in and kissed your forehead.
“I wanna hang that one up,” she whispered. “Right next to our music notes.”
“You’re such a loser”
“Yeah.” She signed back, now more smoothly. “Just for you, baby.”
stormborns
kaledo-art
gummygunk
izzy806
blakekathryn
