#all that remains

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: In a tense encounter, you meet two brothers trying to survive the city’s dangers. Distrust lingers, but a shared goal to escape forces you to navigate a fragile alliance.

note: we are following game canon here for a bit, but will be veering into show and blending the two, as mentioned in my table of contents. hope you still enjoy :)

Moving through the apartment building ahead, Joel stops at a window and looks out, assessing the drop below. Without a word, he swings his leg over the sill, stepping out onto the ledge. You freeze for a moment, watching as his broad, muscled frame somehow moves with deliberate care along the narrow edge. He’s so steady, so deliberate—it’s frustratingly graceful for someone who looks like they’d be anything but.

“Careful,” you say instinctively, though it’s barely more than a gasp. The sound of crunching earth and the low rumble of an engine echoes from the street below. The turret again.

Joel glances below, his expression calm but focused. “S’okay,” he calls back quietly, his voice a low reassurance. “They can’t see me from here. Come on now.”

Ellie goes next, her small, nimble body moving sideways with surprising ease. She presses her back flat against the wall of the building, her boots shuffling cautiously along the edge.

You hesitate, your palms damp as you grip the windowsill. The ground below looks impossibly far away despite the ledge only being two stories up. The rumble of the turret sends another shiver down your spine, but you force yourself to follow.

Joel reaches another window and glances inside. He motions for Ellie to wait as he carefully lifts the frame and slips inside. That’s when it happens.

Shouting erupts from within—low, angry voices, followed by the heavy sound of fists meeting flesh. Your heart leaps into your throat. Ellie moves quickly, panic flashing across her face as she shuffles faster to the open window.

“Joel!” she shouts, jumping inside after him.

Your pulse hammers as you make your way along the ledge, the unflinching height pressing against every nerve in your body. You shuffle sideways, your fingers gripping the rough wall until you finally reach the window. Throwing yourself through it, you land in a room filled with chaos.

Joel is on top of a man, his fists flying in brutal, controlled movements. The man’s dark skin is already puckering red, blood trailing from his nose as he tries to shield himself. The younger boy—a kid, really—stands frozen near the corner of the room.

But it's the gun in the kid’s hand that makes you scream for Joel.

“Stop!” Ellie screams, yanking at his arm with all her might.

“Joel!” you shout, your voice cracking as you raise your hands up in surrender, “Look!”

Joel freezes mid-swing, his red knuckles hovering above the man’s battered side. His chest rises and falls heavily, his breath ragged from the adrenaline coursing through him. Slowly, he looks up, his sharp gaze landing on the boy—no older than thirteen—standing just a few feet away.

The boy’s hands are trembling, but the pistol in his grip doesn’t waver. His wide, fearful eyes lock onto Joel, but there’s a determination there too.

“Leave him alone!” the boy yells, his voice high and tight with fear.

Joel’s body remains tense, his fists loosening but his posture still coiled like a spring. His eyes narrow, assessing the boy in front of him. He doesn’t move right away, as though calculating whether the kid would actually pull the trigger, “Easy son,” Joel says as his jaw tightens, but he slowly raises his hands, signaling that he’s stepping back. Sam watches him carefully, his finger twitching near the trigger.

The man beneath Joel groans, rolling onto his side as he wipes blood from his split lip. “It’s alright,” he says, holding his hand out to the kid defending him.

The boy—Sam—doesn’t lower the gun. He glances at the man, clearly torn between protecting him and doing something he might regret.

“Sam,” the man says, his tone firmer this time. “They’re not the bad guys. Lower the gun.”

Finally, after a long, agonizing pause, Sam lowers the gun. He keeps it clutched in his hand, though, his wary gaze flicking between all of you.

Joel exhales sharply through his nose, standing slowly. His movements are deliberate, careful, as though trying not to spook the kid.

The man on the ground pushes himself up, grimacing as he leans against the wall for support. “Damn,” he mutters, dabbing at the blood on his lip with his sleeve. “You hit hard.”

Joel’s face remains unreadable, his voice flat as he replies, “Yeah, well, I was tryin’ to kill you.”

“Yeah, I thought you were one of them too,” the man says, brushing himself off as he stands. Now that you get a better look at him, you realize he can’t be much older than you—mid-twenties, maybe. He adjusts his jacket, his sharp eyes flicking between the three of you. “Then I saw her,” he adds, pointing to Ellie.

Both you and Joel instinctively glance at her before turning back to him, frowning.

“If you haven’t noticed,” he continues, “they don’t keep kids around. Survival of the fittest or whatever.”

“You’re bleeding!” the younger boy—Sam—says suddenly, his voice tight with worry as he gestures toward the gash on the man’s arm.

The man waves him off with a faint smile. “I’m fine,” he says, kneeling to take the gun from Sam’s trembling hands. He slides the weapon into the boy’s backpack, his movements practiced and quick. Standing again, he meets Joel’s sharp gaze. “I’m Henry,” he says. “This is Sam. Think I caught your name was Joel, right?”

Joel doesn’t answer right away, but Ellie steps forward, her usual wariness overridden by curiosity. “I’m Ellie,” she says, her tone light.

Both you and Joel shoot her a look, a silent reprimand for being so open with strangers. You were raised to be cautious—especially with strangers—and Ellie’s casual introduction feels reckless. In your 25 years, you’ve met very few people, and even fewer who weren’t dangerous, selfish, or outright cruel. 

But then Ellie points to you and says your name as well to them. Your stomach tightens as Henry’s attention shifts to you. His eyes flick over you, his expression unreadable but lingering, “Nice to meet you,” he says easily, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You nod faintly, unsure how to respond, but Joel steps in before the moment can stretch any further.

“How many are with you?” Joel asks abruptly, his voice curt, almost annoyed at the exchange.

“They’re all dead,” Sam says quietly, his focus on wrapping a makeshift bandage around his arm.

“Hey,” Henry says, crouching slightly to meet Sam’s eyes. His voice softens. “We don’t know that.” Straightening, he turns back to the three of you. “There were a bunch of us. Someone had the brilliant idea of entering the city to look for supplies. Those bastards out there ambushed us. Now we’re scattered and trying to get out.”

“We can help each other,” Ellie says suddenly, her tone bright with optimism.

“Ellie—” Joel snaps, his voice low and warning.

“Safety in numbers and all that!” she explains, throwing her hands up.

Henry nods in agreement, his focus on Joel. “She’s right. We could help each other. We’ve got a hideout not too far from here. We’d be safer if we talk there.”

Joel’s expression hardens, his jaw working as he looks between you and Ellie. You can practically see the wheels turning in his head, weighing the risk, calculating every possible outcome like he always does. It’s a familiar look—pragmatic, focused, cold even—but this time, there’s something in it that makes your stomach twist.

His gaze lingers a fraction too long, his dark eyes flicking to you before returning to Ellie. It’s Ellie, you tell yourself. It’s always Ellie. She was here first. She’s the one who matters most, the one he’s sworn to protect, the one with the mission.

And yet…

When his eyes find yours again, there’s a flicker of something there, something that makes your heart pump louder. It’s almost like you’re having a silent conversation, one layered with everything neither of you says out loud. You know what he’s thinking: Are these strangers worth the risk? Is it safe to trust them? Will they put Ellie—or you—in harm’s way?

You don’t have the answers, but you try to convey what you’re thinking in return. I don’t trust them. I don’t trust anyone. But staying here isn’t an option, and going alone… You shift slightly, holding his gaze, trying to will your thoughts across to him. This might be our best shot. For now, at least. We have to try.

You think he might understand. His eyes narrow slightly, as though he’s reading every thought you’re trying to send, weighing them alongside his own. He’s calculating again—your worth in this trio, your ability to survive, whether you’re just another liability. Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe he’s just trying to figure out how to keep you alive long enough to get Ellie where she needs to go.

The moment stretches longer than it should, and your stomach twists. You feel a strange, fleeting sense of uncertainty—is it me? Is he thinking about me? You shove the thought down quickly. It’s not about you. It’s about survival. It’s always about survival. Just living to see another day.

Finally, Joel exhales, the sound sharp in the stillness of the room. His shoulders stiffen, his decision made. “Alright,” he says reluctantly, his voice heavy with the weight of his choice. He nods toward Henry. “Take us there.”

Henry nods, his expression guarded but relieved. “This way,” he says, motioning for Sam to follow.

As the group moves cautiously through the dim building, Joel falls in step beside you, his hand resting near the gun on his hip. His eyes flick toward Henry more often than not, his unease palpable.

Ellie, however, chats easily with Sam as they walk, her lighthearted tone cutting through the tension. You keep quiet, your focus shifting between Joel’s tense figure and the strangers leading the way.

Once inside the safety of the hideout Henry and Sam call home, you finally let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The space is small but practical—an abandoned office with faded blueprints of houses and buildings pinned to the walls, their edges curling with age. Scattered paperwork and maps litter the desks and floor, and it makes you wonder what life was like here…when people apparently had ‘careers’ in an office like this. In one corner, signs of Henry and Sam’s makeshift life are evident: a stack of canned goods, a few blankets folded neatly, and an empty lantern resting on a low shelf.

You hop onto a desk near the middle of the room, your legs dangling off the side as you try to take a moment to relax. Across from you, Henry leans back against another desk, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, while Joel pulls up a swiveling chair and sits beside you. His posture is rigid, his hand resting near his thigh, where his pistol remains holstered.

Ellie and Sam have already claimed the worn-out couch near the far wall. Their voices are soft at first, but bits and pieces of their conversation drift your way. Sam’s shy laughter mixes with Ellie’s animated tone as they exchange questions and answers—how old they are, favorite things, and even a few lighthearted jokes. You catch Ellie saying something about trying to catch blueberries in her mouth, and Sam’s laugh grows louder, more carefree.

You glance toward the two of them briefly, a small part of you easing at the sight of Ellie being a kid, even if only for a moment. Her laugh is light, unguarded, a sound that feels rare in this world.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that,” Henry says softly, his voice almost wistful.

You turn to him then, catching the faint smile that tugs at his lips and the softness in his eyes. For a moment, he seems far younger, less hardened. Then he shifts, that easy grin returning as he looks at both you and Joel. “You guys want any blueberries? Found a whole stash of ’em.”

“No,” Joel says quickly, his voice clipped.

Henry raises his hands in mock surrender. “Hey man, relax. We’re safe here.”

“Then why haven’t you left?” Joel replies, his words sharp.

Henry doesn’t miss a beat. “Just waiting for the right opportunity.” His answer is smooth, casual, but his eyes linger on you, making you squirm slightly.

“And?” Joel presses, his tone flat and untrusting.

Henry stands and gestures to the window. “Take a look.”

You and Joel move toward the window, peering down at the street below. More hunters prowl the streets in groups as they guard what appears to be a large gate.

“These sons of bitches,” Henry mutters. “They’re there all day, congregating to guard the bridge out of the city. Come night though…” He side-eyes both you and Joel, his grin widening. “It’s a skeleton crew. After sunset, that’s our window. We can sneak right past ’em.”

Joel studies the scene for a long moment before nodding stiffly. “It could work.”

“Oh, it’ll work,” Henry replies confidently.

You step away from the window, moving back to your seat on the desk. “So, where were you heading? When you were with your crew?”

Henry pulls up a chair this time and sits, his expression softening just slightly. “We heard the Fireflies are based out west somewhere,” he says, leaning back casually. “We’re gonna join up with them.”

Joel sits down as well, his body tense but his expression neutral. “Yeah…” he says, a note of sarcasm slipping into his voice, a deep sigh releasing as he relaxes into the chair.

“Something funny?” Henry asks, his tone losing some of its lightness.

Joel shrugs. “Just seems like there’s a lot of people putting their stock in the Fireflies these days.”

“Maybe there’s a reason for that.” Henry quips.

“So… you don’t know where they are, and you’re gonna drag him across the country to find them?” Joel says, his tone sharp and questioning. The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you glance at him, surprised.

Weren’t you doing the same thing with him? Traveling across a dangerous world, hoping there’s something worthwhile at the end. Though, you suppose it’s not exactly the same. Joel has an end goal—Wyoming, his brother, some semblance of purpose. You still aren’t sure where you fit into his plan. Maybe you’re just along for the ride, a tagalong he hasn’t found the right excuse to shake yet. Or maybe you’re useful? Someone who can drive the truck when he’s tired, someone who can shoot when he’s out of range. As long as Joel lets you stick by him, you will. Even if you don’t know where you stand in his world.

Henry’s easy demeanor fades entirely at Joel’s question. He pulls his chair closer, leaning into Joel’s space. The closeness makes you stiffen, your legs ceasing their anxious sway as you bristle.

“How about I worry about my brother, and you worry about your girls?” Henry says, his voice low but charged.

Joel doesn’t flinch, his gaze steady and unfazed by Henry’s attempt to intimidate. After a beat, he nods slowly, his tone measured. “Easy. We’re lookin’ for the Fireflies too.”

Henry exhales, glancing between you and Joel, his stance relaxing slightly. “Alright then,” he mutters, almost embarrassed. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded map, spreading it across the desk.

“This is us,” Henry says, pointing to a spot circled in green marker. His dirt-caked finger moves northwest. “There’s an abandoned radio station just outside the city. Any survivors from our group are supposed to meet us there tomorrow. If you guys want to join us, it goes down tonight.”

The room falls quiet for a long moment, the weight of the decision settling over all of you. Finally, Joel exhales, his hands pressing to his knees as he stands. “I guess we best rest up then.”

His eyes meet yours, holding your gaze for a beat longer than usual. “C’mon,” he says, motioning for you to follow.

[chrissy-kaos]

I remember, don't lie to me

You couldn't see that it was not that way

Swear I never gave up on you..

[sarvyl]

"As much or as little as you want. No one tells you how to mourn."

[floppycacti]

If I could choose one video game character that breaks my heart more than anyone else, it would be Hawke. However you decide to run through the game, Hawke loses everything.

Before the game even begins, Hawke loses their dad.

Then they lose their king. They lose their home.

Then their sibling dies.

All of this wrapped up into a little bow right after just the PROLOGUE of the game, right? In act 1 they then proceed to work so incredibly hard just to be able to make a name for themselves, to keep their family safe: their mother, their last remaining sibling safe.

Then they lose the sibling. Whether or not you choose Bethany or Carver, whether they go into the deep roads or not, Hawke does lose their last sibling. Either to the blight sickness in the deep roads, to the gray wardens (and then are left just waiting to know if the sibling is even alive for god knows how long), or to the gallows. Carver joining the Templars, and Bethany being taken to the circle respectively.

In act 2, Hawke loses their mom. You as the player are just forced to watch her death on screen, dying in Hawke’s arms. Then, what? Hawke is left alone.

And In act 3 they’re forced on the run again! Lost and on the run with nowhere to go, half of the world hating them and the other half holding them so high up on an impractical pedestal.

Dragon Age 2 may have been rushed, may reuse so many assets, but it will always hold its own in the dragon age series. Dragon Age Origins broke my heart, but Dragon Age 2 ripped it out of my chest, stomped on it, lit it on fire, put it through a meat grinder, and then put it in a box wrapped with a ribbon.

Hawke hurts my heart in a way that no other video game character has ever come close to.

[shiaawtheharmless]

This Is What Is Left

The Fall Of Snuckeys

[icherylwallace]

Aporte para la dinámica del mes de Tumblr: All That Reamins. @remains-rpg

My dreams have fallen no more to share now remains the end

[remains-rpg]

If somehow the lord gave me a second chance... I would do it all over again.

All That Remains Primer Aniversario. Gracias, supervivientes.

Endure & Survive.

[fuckyeahmhawkefenris]

Sooo I made a bluesky account to see is there's more to "social life" than tumblr...

Frankly, to me it looks more like a junkyard and it's hard to get used to new surroundings and formatting i'm slow and hate it, but I did manage to find a few things that I don't recall ever seeing on tumblr.

Gotta catch 'em all

(I'm collecting links to those artists original posts. For now navigation there is hell for me)

[tombofmemories]

I miss actually being able to find band posts when I searched for them on here. Instead it’s just unrelated garbage, if anything pops up at all. 🤗

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: Survival takes a darker turn as chaos forces you to face two sides of enemies in ways you’re unprepared for. In the quiet of the aftermath, fleeting moments of fragile connections and unspoken revelations come to light.

warnings: canon violence, murder, etc

The flames at the base of the house are swallowed in an instant, blocked out by the writhing, screaming mass of infected pouring from the sinkhole. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen—a flood of pure, relentless terror. The sound is deafening. A hundred snarls, screeches, and guttural growls rise into the air, a chaotic symphony of death that sends every instinct in your body screaming to run.

Gunfire erupts around you, sharp bursts of sound that only seem to agitate the horde. Hunters fire wildly, their shouts of panic barely audible over the cacophony. But it’s useless. You can see it already—there’s no way anyone survives this. Not when the infected are this fast, this endless.

Your hands shake as you grab Ellie’s arm, your chest heaving as you try to focus. Your mind races, torn between the urge to run and the sheer horror rooting you to the spot. The car you’re behind trembles slightly, the vibrations of the stampede carrying through the ground.

Then you hear it—a snarl, low and guttural, just behind the car.

You whip your head around, and your blood runs cold. A runner, eyes wild and teeth bared, scrambles toward you, its movements jerky and feral. The sound it makes is so human yet anything but, a scream ripped straight from a nightmare.

You barely have time to react, your breath catching in your throat, when the gunshot rings out.

The runner’s head snaps back, its body crumpling to the ground in a heap. You spin around, looking for the source, and your heart stutters. The shot didn’t come from anyone nearby. It came from behind you.

Joel.

He must still be up there, and in the glow of the fire, you just barely make out his face behind the barrel of a shotgun. He’s still watching out for you, his aim precise and unwavering.

“Okay,” you breathe, your voice trembling as you force yourself to focus. Your hands grip Ellie’s arm tighter, grounding yourself. “Listen. We run for it. Run toward the house. Take down what you can, but only if they reach you. Hide when you can. Just get to the house.”

Ellie’s eyes are wide with fear, but she nods, her grip tightening around her pistol. You glance toward Henry and Sam briefly, but there’s no time to check in.

Without another thought, you bolt, adrenaline surging as the screams and chaos close in around you.

But, fuck, the thing about plans—they never go as planned.

Almost immediately, you’re split up. The infected swarm like a wave, converging on you the moment you break cover, forcing each of you to scatter in different directions. Your heart pounds as you weave through the chaos, the cacophony of gunshots, snarls, and desperate screams crashing against your ears.

You duck low behind an abandoned car, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. You’re trying to find a way to regroup when you see it—a brief opening. A car window, the glass already cracked and smeared with dirt. Without thinking, you climb inside, pulling the door shut as quietly as you can.

The silence inside is startling, almost suffocating compared to the chaos outside. You press your back against the seat, gripping your rifle tightly, and try to calm your breathing.

Then, through the foggy, cracked windshield, you see Ellie. She’s doing the same thing, ducking into another car a few yards away. Relief floods through you—she’s safe. For now.

But your relief is short-lived.

You spot it just behind her—a small, nimble figure, moving unnaturally fast. Your blood runs cold as the shape becomes clearer. It’s an infected. A little girl, her body twisted and malformed, cordyceps fungus spiraling out of her head like a grotesque crown. She’s turned fully—a Clicker.

You watch in horror as the Clicker heaves its way into the car after Ellie, the sound of her movements having drawn its attention.

“Ellie…” you whisper, but your voice barely makes it past your lips.

Your hands fumble as you raise your gun, aiming it at the car she’s in. But the windows are so badly fogged, so smeared with grime, that you can’t get a clear shot. You can barely make out the distorted shapes inside, Ellie’s form blending with the Clicker’s jerky movements.

Your heart pounds in your ears as you steady your aim, your finger hovering over the trigger. But you can’t risk it. You can’t shoot without being certain.

And then, as if you thought your terror had reached its peak, another sound tears through the air. Thick, curdled, and unnatural. It reverberates in your chest, heavy and bloated, shaking you to your core.

Your eyes snap toward the sinkhole.

Emerging from the gaping hole is one of them. The thing you faced at the highschool all that time ago. In the days passing of only facing the human kind of monsters–men with guns and tanks and weaponry, you had forgotten about the true threat, the one that threw you into this new world of fear and terror. A massive, grotesque Cordyceps monster climbs its way out of the pit in the ground, its fungal body enormous, towering over everything, its limbs thick and bulging with unnatural strength. This isn’t just any infected—this is a 20-year-old nightmare, blind but terrifyingly aware of its surroundings. A Bloater.

It roars, a guttural, bone-rattling sound that makes your blood run cold. Gunshots ring out as the hunters try to take it down, bullets bouncing off its tough, fungal hide like pebbles against a wall. You know what it takes to take it down, your molotovs, your nail bombs, but this wasn’t the place for that. You were no match against all these monsters emerging into the night. Someone with an assault rifle focuses their fire on it, the rapid crack of the weapon filling the air.

You watch in frozen horror as the creature reaches out, grabbing the man with sickening speed. And then, with one brutal motion, it tears him in half.

In half.

His body is ripped apart, his screams cutting off instantly as the monster roars again, tossing the pieces aside like garbage before charging toward its next victim.

But somehow, it doesn’t notice you. It doesn’t notice Ellie.

You glance around frantically, searching for Henry and Sam. Wherever they ended up, they’re not in the creature’s path. At least not yet.

You force yourself to focus, your breathing ragged as your eyes snap back to Ellie. She’s still in the car, and bullets zing off the vehicle from Joel’s position in the window. You can see him up there, trying to take down the infected swarming the car around her, trying to get the one inside, but it’s no use. 

Then, the passenger door of Ellie’s car swings open, and she’s out.

Your heart leaps into your throat as she bolts into the chaos, her head turning as she assesses the scene. The smaller infcected girl remains trapped inside while another rounds the car, snarling as it zeroes in on her, but you don’t hesitate. You fire, the bullet striking true and dropping it before it can get close.

Ellie spins around, her eyes locking onto yours for a brief moment. Relief flickers in her expression, but then her gaze shifts to something else—something below, farther ahead.

You follow her line of sight.

Under a car, you see them. Henry and Sam. They’re pinned, their bodies pressed low as infected claw at them from all sides, trying to drag them out.

Ellie looks at you again, her expression tense, then glances toward Joel’s window.

Watch my back, her eyes seem to say. And she knows you will.

She doesn’t need to wait for confirmation. She bolts.

You grit your teeth and focus, your rifle snapping up as you fire at every infected between her and the boys. Your bullets hit their marks, some going down with your shots and others from Joel’s in the window. The chaos is a blur, the sharp crack of gunfire blending with the relentless screeches of the infected.

Finally, Sam and Henry scramble out from under the car, Ellie covering them as they stumble to their feet.

It’s your chance. You push the car door open quietly, slipping out into the chaos. The heat of the blazing house still licks at your skin, but it lights your path as you sprint toward them.

You’re almost there when you hear her.

“No!”

A woman’s voice, sharp and furious, cuts through the noise. The one that called out to Henry, the woman he must've betrayed. You skid to a stop, and your blood runs cold.

She’s there, her back to you, blocking the path to Henry, Sam, and Ellie. Her hair is mussed into a bun, her face streaked with dirt and blood. Layers of jackets and long sleeves hang from her frame, but it’s the pistol in her hand that holds your attention. It’s pointed directly at them.

Your body reacts before your brain can process.

You pull up your gun, your aim steady despite the shaking in your hands.

The crack of your rifle is deafening, and the only sound that follows is Ellie’s sharp gasp as the woman drops to the ground, lifeless.

“Let’s go!” you yell, rushing toward them.

You’re there in an instant, your heart hammering as you pull them toward the house. And then, like a shadow out of nowhere, Joel is there.

His hand grabs your arm, grounding you, his voice sharp and commanding. “This way, now! Move!”

There’s no time to hesitate. Together, you sprint away from the clearing, the chaos roaring behind you. Vaulting over fences, slipping into the shadows, you leave the burning suburbs behind, the night swallowing you whole.

The radio tower is quiet, the walls sturdy and thick enough to make the chaos of the outside world feel far away. Lanterns are scattered around the room, their warm, flickering glow casting long shadows across the worn furniture and cracked walls. The atmosphere feels strangely calm, like you can finally breathe again.

You sit on the floor with your back against the wall, a can of SpaghettiOs balanced on your knees. Across from you, Ellie lounges on an old couch, her legs draped over the armrest as she digs into a can of something with red sauce.

“What am I even eating?” Ellie asks, her words muffled by her mouthful of food.

“That,” Joel says from his spot near the corner, chewing on his own meal, “would be 20-year-old Chef Boyardee.”

Ellie pauses mid-bite, “He was goooood,” she says, dragging the word out as she points her spoon at the can for emphasis.

Joel doesn’t look up, his tone as flat and dry as ever. “I actually agree.”

It’s so deadpan that it catches you off guard. You glance at Ellie, who meets your gaze with wide eyes, and the two of you burst into laughter. The giggles bubble out uncontrollably, filling the room in stark contrast to Joel’s unchanging expression.

The conversation drifts into easy banter, lighthearted and unhurried. Ellie throws out questions about foods she hasn’t had–something called pizza that you half remember in your foggy childhood memories before everything, how creepy ice cream trucks sound, and Henry chimes in with a memory of backyard barbecues with his neighbors. For the first time in what feels like forever, the tension of the day fades, replaced by something almost comfortable. Sam is nowhere in sight, but you can hear the faint noises of his whereabouts in the next room, taking inventory of the food found today, of what was in this radio tower safehouse. He seemed withdrawn, but all of you let him go, presumably exhausted from the day you had.

Henry, sitting beside you, tilts his head thoughtfully as he finishes the last bite of his stew. “You’re pretty sharp out there, you know that?”

You glance at him, frowning slightly. “What do you mean?”

He gestures with his spoon. “Earlier, during all that chaos. You didn’t freeze up. You had everyone’s back, even with everything going to hell.” He leans back against the wall, looking at you more seriously, “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Your cheeks warm at his tone, and you look down at your can, unsure how to respond. “I was just doing what needed to be done,” you mumble, brushing it off.

Henry shrugs. “Still. You’re good at it.”

Joel shifts slightly where he’s sitting, his eyes flicking up to watch the exchange. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his attention. He barely pauses eating as his gaze lingers on you and Henry.

Ellie, sitting sprawled across the couch, breaks the silence with a loud scoff. “Oh my god, are you two flirting? Ughhh…”

Your head snaps up, heat rising in your cheeks. “What? No!”

Henry raises his hands with a grin, his tone teasing. “Hey, don’t blame me. She said it.”

Ellie smirks, shoving another spoonful of ravioli into her mouth. “You’re laying it on pretty thick, dude.”

The group chuckles again, but you can’t help sneaking a glance at Joel. He’s watching you more closely now, his face carefully neutral as if he’s trying not to show whatever he’s thinking. When your eyes meet his, he looks away, focusing intently on his soup as if nothing happened.

The conversation shifts back to lighthearted chatter—Ellie talking about the weirdest canned food she’s ever seen, Sam quietly laughing along—and for a little while, things feel easier.

But you can still feel Joel’s presence, steady and quiet, like a shadow that never quite leaves.

“Ooookay,” Ellie says suddenly, standing and brushing crumbs off her pants. “I’m leaving the adults to their adulting. You deserve some privacy.” She smirks as she grabs her lantern. “I’m gonna go sit with Sam.”

“Aw, Ellie, we didn’t mean to scare ya,” Henry teases, a small laugh slipping through.

“Not scared. Just grossed out,” she fires back with a grin as she saunters into the next room, her laughter trailing behind her.

The room grows quieter after she leaves, the light banter giving way to a more subdued stillness. Henry sighs, leaning forward to set his empty can to the side. His shoulders slump slightly, the earlier lightness fading from his face.

“I don’t think anyone’s gonna show up,” he says, his voice low and strained. “From my group.”

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes slightly. “So there is a group?” you challenge, the suspicion still lingering in the back of your mind, but now you only ask with a teasing note. Henry’s stories have never felt completely solid.

“Yes, there is,” he replies firmly, meeting your gaze. But then he looks away, shaking his head. “But…now I’m not sure.”

Joel shifts slightly, setting his empty can on the floor with a soft clink. “Listen,” he begins, his voice calm but deliberate, “I’m headed to Wyoming. Don’t know how I’m getting there. I’m probably walkin’. But…if you and Sam…”

He trails off, his words hanging in the air.

Henry’s face softens, his usual defenses of a plastered smile or jokes slipping for just a moment. You can’t help but feel your own expression soften too. Joel Miller, offering to let someone else tag along. It doesn’t matter if Henry has gotten under his skin a little—Joel’s willingness surprises you.

Henry nods slowly, his voice barely a whisper. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Joel nods back, brief but firm, as if to seal the agreement. His gaze flickers toward you, catching yours in the soft glow of the lanterns. For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression unreadable, before turning away again.

“Time to get some sleep, I think,” he mutters, pushing himself up and walking to a corner of the room.

You follow his lead, laying flat on your back on the cold floor. You pull a blanket over yourself—one of the few things scavenged from the storage area—and tuck your hand beneath your head. The exhaustion hits you all at once, the weight of the day settling over you like the blanket.

For the first time in what feels like forever, the room is quiet, save for the distant murmur of voices in the next room. Your eyes flutter closed, and as sleep takes hold, you feel the lingering awareness of Joel’s presence, steady and near, even as the darkness pulls you under.

You’re not entirely sure what makes your eyes open in the middle of the night. The quiet hum of the night is only broken by the soft, steady breaths of those sleeping nearby. But still, something stirs you awake, and you blink groggily as your eyes adjust to the darkness. Only one lantern remains lit in the middle of the room on the faded desk, the low glow of it casting the room in harsh shadows. 

You sit up slowly, careful to keep quiet, your eyes sweeping the room.

Sam isn’t nearby, but you figure he must’ve just fallen asleep in the other room where he had taken his inventories the previous night. Ellie is sprawled out with another blanket found, her jacket being used as a pillow beneath her head. Henry’s back is to you, but the rhythmic rise and fall of his shoulders tells you all you need to know. They’re both fast asleep.

But as you look at Joel, you realize his body isn’t nearly as serene, as steady or still as the others. He’s still sitting up against the wall, but instead of sleeping, his hands are on a piece of paper, worn and weathered and old. The sound of it crinkles in his hand, the sound louder than it seems given the stillness of the room.

You hesitate for a moment, surprised to see him up, and then push the blanket off. Standing, you make your way toward him as quietly as possible, your steps muffled against the old floor.

When you’re close enough, you murmur, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Joel looks up at you, his expression neutral as if his mind is catching up to itself, deep in thought, but then the faint flicker of something softer passes across his face. He shakes his head slightly as he tucks the paper into his inner jacket pocket. “Didn’t try.”

His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, and you lower yourself onto the floor next to him, your back leaning against the wall. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the stillness stretching out in the soft glow of the lantern.

You glance across the room at Ellie, curled up with her makeshift pillow and blanket, her face soft and peaceful in sleep. “She’s tough,” you murmur, breaking the quiet.

Joel’s eyes flick toward Ellie briefly before returning to the floor in front of him. “She is,” he says quietly.

You wrap your arms around your knees, leaning back slightly against the wall. “I mean, I know kids have to grow up fast out here, but… she’s something else. Doesn’t even flinch at half the stuff we’ve been through.” You pause, the thought settling in your chest. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”

Joel doesn’t respond right away. His gaze stays fixed ahead, his jaw tight. Finally, he says, “Ain’t fair.”

You look at him, frowning. “What isn’t?”

He shifts slightly, his hands flexing on his knees before going still again. “That she’s gotta grow up this fast. Deal with all this. She’s just a kid.”

There’s something raw in his tone, something that makes you hesitate. You watch him for a moment, the way his brow furrows just slightly, the way his eyes stay trained on nothing in particular.

“She handles herself better than I do half the time,” you offer, keeping your voice low.

Joel’s mouth twitches at that, almost like he’s about to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his face. “She’s got a way of provin’ people wrong,” he says, his voice softer now.

You glance at Ellie again, her small frame rising and falling with each steady breath. “Do you ever wonder what she’d be like if… if none of this ever happened?”

Joel finally looks at you, his expression unreadable, the flickering lantern light casting sharp shadows across his face. His gaze is distant, like he’s here with you but somewhere else entirely. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, and you start to wonder if he’s even going to answer.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, the word heavy with unspoken thoughts.

The way he says it makes you pause. There’s a weight behind it, a depth that feels almost too big to fit in this small, dimly lit room. You can’t help but study his face, the way his brow tenses just slightly, the faint downward pull of his mouth. He looks like he’s thinking of Ellie, but there’s something else there, too—something distant, older, and more fragile than anything you’ve seen from him before.

You wonder what’s going on behind those eyes, what memories are stirring to the surface. He’s always so guarded, so closed off, but in this moment, you feel like you’re catching a glimpse of something buried deep inside him.

The way his eyes soften just slightly, the way his jaw tightens as if he’s trying to hold back whatever’s threatening to surface—it’s as if Ellie reminds him of something. Or someone. Another time.

Who were you before all of this, Joel?

The question stays locked in your chest, unspoken, but it lingers as you watch him. He looks almost haunted, like whatever he’s remembering isn’t just painful—it’s something he can’t let go of.

“Joel,” you say softly, your voice breaking the fragile stillness between you. “What’s on your mind?”

His eyes flicker to yours, the faintest crease deepening between his brows. For a moment, you’re certain he’s going to brush you off, mutter something vague, and close himself off like he always does. But this time, he doesn’t look away.

“She’s immune.”

It’s so quiet, so low you barely catch the words. But they hit you like a jolt, your breath catching in your throat. They bounce around your mind, reverberating like an echo chamber. Immune. Immune to what?

Your gaze shifts to Ellie, still curled up peacefully in her sleep, her small frame rising and falling with each breath. And then it clicks—like a puzzle piece snapping into place, everything falling into sharp, horrifying clarity.

Immune. Immune to this world.

The Cordyceps. The infection. The way it spreads so easily, so ruthlessly, infecting anything in its path. You think of the spores, how they hang in the air like a death sentence, invisible and inevitable. How their tendrils take root in human bodies, twisting and overtaking, turning people into monsters that serve only to spread and kill, driven by nothing more than instinct.

Your stomach churns as the realization fully settles.

“She’s bit.” he explains, his voice so quiet you have to strain to hear him, “Before I even met her. It’s all healed over. You know they usually turn within hours. When I met her, it had been three weeks. Three. Weeks. The Fireflies think she’s the real thing. Could make a vaccine.”

So that’s why he was smuggling her across the country. For the cure to fix the world.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you look back at Ellie. She looks so small, so normal in this moment, and yet… she’s the answer. The impossibility of it hits you harder than you ever imagined.

“How long have you known?” you ask, your voice hoarse.

Joel’s gaze shifts back to you, and for a moment, the wall behind his eyes falters. “Since the day I met her.”

The weight of it all presses down on you—the danger, the hope, the sheer magnitude of what Ellie represents. You try to speak, but the words stick in your throat, your chest tight. How do you even begin to process something like this?

“You can’t tell anyone,” Joel says quietly, and when you don’t look at him right away, your eyes still on Ellie, your name falling from his lips like a soft plea. His voice pulls you back, and when you turn your eyes to meet his, the intensity in his gaze stops you cold.

“I trust you,” he says, his voice low and deliberate. “But you can’t say a word about her… condition.”

You blink, your throat tightening at the weight of his words. Trust—from Joel Miller—isn’t something that comes easily. “I wouldn’t—”

“Most people,” he interrupts, his expression hardening, his eyes locking onto yours, “they’d shoot first. Ask questions later. You know that.”

The truth in his words sends a chill down your spine, and you glance at Ellie again, a lump forming in your throat. You nod slowly, turning to him and swallowing hard. “I won’t say anything. I promise.”

Joel holds your gaze for a long moment before nodding, the smallest bit of tension easing from his shoulders. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, like he believes you.

You both sit there in the fragile quiet, the faint hum of the lantern and the steady breaths of the others the only sounds in the room. Joel’s eyes linger on Ellie for a moment longer before his head leans back against the wall. He closes his eyes, but you can tell sleep is still far from him.

You don’t know how long you sit there, the silence pressing in and out like a slow tide, your eyelids growing heavier with each passing second. Eventually, the exhaustion wins, pulling you under, and the last thing you remember is the steady sound of Joel’s breathing beside you.

[cha0s-tonight]

[atrhomecoming]

i saw it in the field.

[frankiebirds]

maybe (definitely) reading into it but oughhhh having thoughts about spencer saying "close enough" when rossi says the odds of something must be "a billion to one". and then later when morgan is on the phone with hotch when they find katie's body and he says "i don't really know which river this is, hotch." while reid is standing right next to him. and come on. reid definitely knows. but he says nothing. because it doesnt matter. because it didnt matter.

[countinglegoclowns]

I swear I’m still working on all that remains stuff

[travelersofchaos]

· D I E T R I C H · Nacht x Sirio | Not all demons live in hell

| @remains-rpg

[itsblackking]

"Lo más difícil no es sobrevivir; es recordar por qué seguimos haciéndolo." @remains-rpg