Weeks pass, but they feel like years. You're back on the road, and it's the strangest thing in the world.
Joel was mostly silent. He didn't talk much at all, and when he did, it was mumbling you had to ask him to repeat. You really weren't sure what was up, but it was bizarre, how backwards it all felt. As if you were starting over, on the road, not necessarily safe, alongside you a tired, moody Joel.
It was odd to look at him now. His wrinkles had really become more. . .defined. The gray in his hair was spreading through the roots. He really was getting older – And you noticed, even in battle sometimes, if he ran too much or jumped too quickly, he'd groan in agony. Though he always insisted that it was nothing.
The silence that had overcome him, you wondered if it was because he'd told you about the Fireflies. Didn't he know you weren't upset with him? Well – Okay, you were kind of. But more because he lied to you in the first place. And everything about Marlene. . .That was tough. Really tough. But it was your life at risk and you should be grateful, right?
Who knows.
In the past weeks, you'd roamed through (mostly) abandoned cities, scavenging what little you could find after twenty years of hell. You'd slept on mattresses that had mold growing on them, chilled, even on summer nights, because you were used to layers of blankets. God damn, you really were kind of sheltered at the dam.
You would turn on your side and face Joel. He never faced you, always away. At the wall, or the door, but never at you. You knew he was awake. You could tell by the way he breathed. It wasn't calm, steady, repetitive. It was almost ragged. Like he was worried about something and it was keeping him awake.
These nights were the worst. It was a cold silence with an awkward air, and you'd lay there, waiting for him to speak first, because you knew you couldn't – But the words never came out of his mouth. They stayed, locked away, never to be heard.
What was on his mind?
You couldn't stop wondering. He had seemed fine, when you were still living there. It was only after everything happened. And then, you stop. Because you're pretty sure you know.
You sit up from your spot on the mattress, hugging your knees to your chest. You don't look at him, and he doesn't look at you. Your voice is a strange sounding whisper, the tone not fitting to the words, as if you'd forgotten how to speak.
"Joel," It's quiet, nearly fading into the night without a trace, "What happened to Tommy and Maria?"
For a while, there was no response. He continued to lay there, and you swear you saw him tense just a bit. Seconds that felt like centuries later, he said:
"Dead. They're all dead. Just us now."
You wanted to say something, anything! But what could you say? 'Oh, Joel, I'm so sorry', 'What happened?', 'Are you okay?', 'I don't understand'. You'd just sound like a babbling idiot, and the more you decided to say nothing, the more the questions poked at your brain, trying to come up with their own answer. You had nothing.
"Oh," You say. And the word falls flat. The room is silent, other than the chirping of crickets outside, the sound of wind blowing against curtains in shattered windows. Joel once said he hated the night now. When everything was normal, he fell asleep to the 'buzz' of all the technology in his house, or the TV was on, or he had music playing, or he'd hear the ice maker go off. There was always sound, a presence of something there that willed him to sleep. But now, there was nothing. Dead silence and bugs. He hated these nights, because there wasn't anything left.
Joel sits up, and that takes you away from your thoughts. He turns around, facing you, though his eyes don't meet yours. His gaze is averted to the ground, and his head is in his hands, as if he was crying. You wonder if he was for a minute, but you know Joel better -
"Ellie," He speaks, finally. He doesn't whisper like you. He doesn't sound pained or saddened, or like he's trying to speak through tears. He sounds numb, hardened by all that's happened. And that's almost worst, "Do you remember. . .What happened? Before I found you?"
"Yeah," You reply, and it all flashes in your mind. Grabbing your gun, seeing everyone in the middle of town, the alarm that went off, being alone on the bridge, the infected, Miranda, Miranda, Miranda. . .
Fire, so much fire.
"Tell me," Joel says, flat. You don't need to ask him what you're telling him. You know.
"You weren't home, and it was already dark, so, you know, I figured something was up," You begin, and he nods, for you to continue, "I had the feeling something was wrong. I grabbed my gun and went out to the square – And everybody was there. Then the sirens went off and I ran to the bridge, and even by the time the engineer guys got there, there weren't any bandits. So, while we were heading back, we heard screaming from the town. So we ran, and there were infected everywhere. I found Miranda and we went back to the house. I gave her the revolver and packed up my stuff. And, uh, I don't know. They were everywhere. She died. I thought I was dead too. I don't know."
By the end of your explanation, you have tears in your eyes. You're trying to stop crying, and you're trying to look away, but it's not making you feel any better. If anything, you just want to cry more.
You wipe away the unstoppable tears with your dirty sleeve, looking up at him. You notice he's finally decided to make eye contact – And there's a look there. It's something strange, like confusion and worry. You're not expecting it, but there's nothing that warms your heart more than the second he wraps his arms around you, head on your shoulder, and yours on his, the scruffle of his beard tickling your cheek. You sigh, and it's choked as your tears fall again. His hands stroke your back slowly, and he whispers so soft. . .
"Oh, baby girl."
And you're just stunned, because you're taken back again. To a time when your fingers and face were numb despite the fire around you. You were crying and bleeding and yelling and hacking away at David, his disgusting face turning to a bloody mush in front of you. You wanted to throw up or even look away but you couldn't – As the hatred overwhelmed you, and you had to keep stabbing. Then out of nowhere, there were hands on you, forcing you away, you screamed at the mysterious person, telling them they better not fucking touch you, and you remember that sweet voice melting the desperately disgusting situation.
"It's me, it's me!"
"Joel," You remember choking and stumbling on words, ones that you didn't quite know how to say, "He tried to-"
"Oh, baby girl."
That felt like so long ago, but in reality, it only kind of just happened.
And now you were here, in his arms, remembering that similar time, and how this moment gave you relief and hope.
It didn't now, because there was nothing to go back to. No goal. You were stuck in a world full of monsters – The people kind, and the infected kind. And everyone you loved was dead.
It was just you and Joel.
