The Last Of Us : What Remains
Author Notes : this series comes from a true love of the games dating back to 2013. Maybe in an unhealthy way this game has become a part of my soul. I am not a writer but felt compelled to tell one of my own stories to give myself closure. While we *hopefully* wait for a true Part 3. For now.. I hope you enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed writing it.
This book will be about what happens after the end of TLOU 2- please play the game if you have not! It will contain spoilers and be hard to understand if you haven't. This will be in first person, but chapters will switch to anothers perspective. Please leave any feedback you have :)
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Chapter 1 – "What's Left"
(Ellie's POV)
The gate groaned as I pushed it open—same rusted whine, same dry hinges—but today, it hit different.
The trees around the farmhouse still rustled in the wind. The porch swing still swayed like it always did. But everything else?
Everything else was gone. I stood there for a long time, gazing on memories.
The house looked smaller than I remembered—like it had shrunk in my absence. The shutters were cracked, one barely hanging on. Paint flaked off in long curls. Grass had swallowed the sides of the steps.
No sheep.
No laundry fluttering in the wind.
No Dina.
No JJ.
No sign of life.
The sky hung low and colorless. That weird kind of gray that couldn't decide whether to cry or drift off. Staring at it, I sighed. For so long, everything's been gray.
Wincing at that thought, I stepped onto the porch gingerly. The porch groaned beneath my boots—frayed things, barely holding together after a thousand miles.
Just like me. My lips half smirking at the irony.
I hovered at the door. My hand trembled before it even touched the knob. You'd think I could stop it by now—train my body not to brace for what's on the other side.
But it always knows.
When I finally pushed it open, the house let out a breath of dust—stale and heavy, like it'd been holding it in since the moment I left.
Inside, it was dead silent.
That kind of silence that rings in your ears. Makes you feel underwater.
My stomach turned.
The living room was hollow.
No couch. No toys. No photos. Just faded rectangles on the floor where furniture used to be. Dust floated in the air like ash. The kind you don't want to breathe in.
It didn't even smell the same.
No trace of warmth.
No laughter echoing off the walls.
Just… nothing.
I didn't move. Not at first. Just stared at the space where life used to live.
A life I couldn't appreciate.
Every step I took after that felt weighted. My boots clicked across the wood as I passed through the kitchen. One plate in the drying rack, a crack in the window. That's all that remained.
I moved down the hallway like I didn't have bones. Like a ghost haunting an abandoned home. Maybe that's all I was now.
The bedroom door was open. The bed was stripped clean. But someone—she—had folded the sheets and left them at the edge.
Neat. Deliberate.
For me?
I didn't want to believe it.
I don't deserve that kind of gesture.
Then I saw it—hanging off the edge of the closet door…. One of Joel's jackets.
My chest twisted. Tight and slow, like something heavy trying to shift inside me. My hands trembled as I walked toward it, reaching out before I could stop. My fingers brushed the leather—stiff, but solid.
I closed my eyes.
Did she think of me when she left it here?
Was this her way of… I don't know. Telling me she still cared?
I turned away before the thought could settle.
I couldn't afford to believe it. Not after everything I did.
The door to the art room stuck. I gave it a gentle nudge and it creaked open. Sunlight spilled through the far window like it never stopped waiting. Oddly, it was the brightest room in the house.
Everything was exactly how I left it.
Sketchbooks in piles, Paper strewn about. A pencil worn halfway down across the desk.
On the wall—a drawing of JJ. Mid-giggle, cheeks round and flushed.
Goddamnit, I miss him.
Another sketch nearby. Dina. Resting on the couch, eyes soft. I must've caught her in a quiet moment. One of those rare ones when she wasn't worrying about me.
How did I let this happen?
"So stupid…" I muttered. It echoed like a conversation I had with Joel a long time ago about Dina.
I let my fingers hover above the paper.
Didn't touch.
Like if I did, it'd vanish. As if it had never been real.
Something else caught my eye.
A record. Crooked Still.
Fuck... Her— our favorite.
The sleeve was bent at the corner—it'd been played a hundred times. I could see her now; dancing in the rec room in Jackson. Laughing, Spinning around putting on a show. Then pulling me to the dance floor. That first kiss.
Before everything changed.
My breath caught in my throat. Sharp and unforgiving. I had to turn away.
Looking down my guitar case still sat where I left it.
I knelt and unzipped it—the sound loud in the stillness. Dust swirled like a tornado as the lid came open. The wood was smooth under my hand. So familiar.
I picked it up and tried to place it on my leg like I used to. My left hand went to the neck muscle memory kicking in.
But I couldn't play.
Two fingers gone.
Forever a reminder of things lost.
The price of not letting go.
Still, I tried.
One squealed note. Then another.
Then silence.
"If I ever were to lose you…"
The words left my mouth in a whisper—shaky and broken.
"I'd surely lose… myself."
The chords twisted, falling apart. Just like me.
I shut my eyes. Then suddenly, I wasn't here.
I was on the porch under that dim light, flickering with a warm glow. The night before he died. The cold air filling my lungs. Joel leaning on the old porch rail beside me, his voice husky but certain:
"If somehow the Lord gave me a second chance at that moment… I would do it all over again." Joel stared into my eyes with conviction, and love.
He meant it. Every word.
I stared out into the wintery street of Jackson, then the words escaped my mouth. I think they had wanted out for a while.
"I don't know if I can ever forgive you for that… but I'd like to try." For the first time in a long time, I wanted this.
He nodded.
"I'd like that." His voice hitching slightly.
God, it hurt to remember.
But I let myself feel it.
Let it burn through me like wildfire.
I owed him that much.
I owed myself that much.
I placed the guitar back in the case. Zipped it shut. Rested my hand on it—soft, saying goodbye to an old friend.
Standing slowly, I glanced around the room. Taking it all in. This house didn't feel like mine anymore. Maybe it never was. No matter how hard I tried—no matter how hard she tried—I was never whole here.
I trodded down the stairs, hearing the creaks and groans of each plank. The front door was open wide.
An invitation? Or maybe… even the house agreed I didn't belong here anymore.
Stepping out onto the front porch, I tugged Joel's jacket tighter to my shoulders. Let the warmth wrap around me.
I took a deep breath *in , out* slowly.
Trying to leave it here. The fear. The tension. The guilt.
All of it.
I walked down the steps with a resolve I hadn't felt since we got back from Seattle. Almost 2 years now.
The wind caught the porch swing as I stepped off the last stair. It creaked gently behind me— like it was saying goodbye.
The sky had dimmed into late afternoon. That soft, yellow-gray light that makes everything look like it's fading.
Each step away from the house felt lighter than the last. Not easier, but lighter.
The grass brushed against my legs—untamed and overgrown. I passed the place where the sheep pen used to be. Just fence posts now, leaning in tired directions.
No bleats or soft hoof beats on the ground.
No sound but the wind and the crunch of my boots.
My pack was still where I left it—leaned against the tree at the edge of the property. I slung it over my shoulder; slouching some under its weight. Standing there for a minute, taking it all in.
This was the place we tried to make something out of.
A home.
A future.
I loved her here.
I lost her here, too.
But that chapter's closed.
I don't know what comes next—no map, no plan. But for the first time in a long time…
I'm not running.
I'm walking toward something.
I turned my back to our farmhouse.
To the memories.
To the ghost of the girl I used to be.
I started walking and didn't look back.
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