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sinful-sonnet · 1 month ago

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The Space Between Us

Chapter 4: "Tethered in Danger"

W/C: 8k

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A/N: idek if you guys are interested in this anymore so I’m really just writing this for myself lol. Leave a comment 👉🏻👈🏻

You hadn't expected to be leaving Jackson so soon, but the supply run couldn't wait. They were running low on certain medicines and tools, and Tommy had asked specifically if you, Joel, and Ellie could handle it. He trusted the three of you to work as a team, and until now, that trust had felt well-placed.

The morning air was cold as you stepped outside the gates, your breath forming small clouds in front of you.

Joel walked beside you, his rifle slung over one shoulder, while Ellie kept pace on the other side. The silence between you all was weighted but familiar. Even after what happened yesterday-the intimacy and the rush of emotions-Joel was as focused and steady as ever. But you could still sense an undercurrent of protectiveness radiating from him, as if he could shield you from the world just by being close.

Ellie marched along, trying to appear relaxed, but you knew her well enough to notice the tension in her shoulders.

Supply runs weren't a novelty, but there was something about this one that set everyone on edge. Maybe it was the rumors drifting through Jackson— strangers spotted near the old mill, supplies disappearing, infected sightings too close for comfort.

Your heart fluttered uneasily, and you tightened your grip on your own weapon. Joel caught the movement and shot you a look that seemed to say, Keep it together. You nodded once, forcing yourself to steady.

The old pharmacy Tommy wanted you to search was just outside the settlement's perimeter. It was a squat, crumbling building overtaken by vines and rot. Joel insisted on leading, his posture defensive, shoulders squared.

Ellie hovered close behind him, and you brought up the rear, your eyes scanning every dark corner as you eased inside.

The interior was worse than you'd expected. Shelves overturned, broken glass crunching underfoot. A stale, musty smell clung to the air, mingling with something else-something metallic and foreboding.

You ventured deeper, the three of you spreading out slightly. Joel signaled silently for you and Ellie to keep close.

His eyes flicked from shadow to shadow, and you followed his lead, trying to breathe quietly and listen. The only sounds were the drip of water through a cracked ceiling and the soft scuff of your boots.

Then it happened so fast.

A flash of movement from behind a ruined display counter. A curse, low and sharp, ripped from Joel's throat as a figure lunged forward-human, not infected-swinging a length of pipe. Joel dodged, the blow glancing off his arm.

Ellie cried out, fumbling to lift her gun.

Your own heart hammered as you raised your weapon, but before you could aim, more shapes emerged from the dark.

Raiders. Three, maybe four of them. You fired a shot and missed, the bullet splintering the wood behind them. They shouted, voices echoing in the cramped space. You heard Ellie's panicked breathing, Joel's growl of frustration.

"Ellie-behind me!" Joel barked, repositioning himself between Ellie and the attackers. You tried to circle to the side, hoping to flank them, but your foot caught on a broken stool, causing you to stumble. In that split second, one of the raiders caught sight of you and lunged.

You swung your rifle butt up, catching him under the chin. He staggered but didn't fall. Fear surged, adrenaline flooding your veins. From the corner of your eye, you saw Ellie desperately trying to line up a shot, her hands shaking. Joel was locked in a struggle with another man, fists and elbows smashing into ribs and jaws.

The man you'd hit recovered faster than you expected. He rushed you, knocking you into a shelf. Your head cracked against something hard, sending stars across your vision. As you struggled to stay upright, he grabbed for your weapon. Panicked, you kicked out, your heel connecting with his knee. He grunted, but wouldn't relent, his grip tightening painfully around your forearm.

"Joel!" you gasped, voice strangled, desperate.

You heard him swear again, heard the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground.

Ellie screamed something-it might've been your name or Joel's, you weren't sure. Everything blurred together: the harsh breath of your attacker, the stink of sweat, the roar of blood in your ears.

Just then, a gunshot rang out-Ellie's, by the direction of the sound. Your assailant jerked, his face twisting in pain. He stumbled, giving you the opening you needed. You wrenched free and swung the butt of your rifle again, this time connecting with the side of his head. He dropped to the floor, unmoving.

Heart hammering, you spun around, searching for Joel. You found him near the entrance, one raider down at his feet, the other grappling with him, pressing a blade dangerously close to his throat. Ellie stood a few feet away, her pistol raised, but her face was pale, her grip unsteady.

You tried to lift your rifle, but your arms felt leaden. The fear in Joel's eyes seared into you, and your stomach twisted at the helplessness you saw there. It was the same man who'd clipped him moments ago, desperate now, pressing the blade harder against Joel's neck.

If you didn't act, he would kill Joel. Ellie looked torn-if she fired, she might hit Joel. You had to move, but your vision swam from the blow to your head. Your knees nearly buckled.

"Don't!" the raider snarled, eyes darting between you and Ellie. He tightened his grip, a thin line of red appearing on Joel's skin. "Drop the guns!"

Ellie's voice cracked: "Joel-"

Joel's eyes were on you, wide and dark, and for the first time, you saw raw fear there. He tried to speak, but the blade's pressure cut him short. You felt tears prick at your eyes, panic clawing at your throat. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. You'd just let yourselves be happy-just for a moment

—and now the world was reminding you how cruel it could be.

You lowered your weapon slowly, hands shaking. Ellie hesitated, tears shining in her eyes, before following your lead.

The raider barked out a harsh laugh, shifting slightly. Joel tried to jerk free, earning a hiss of pain as the knife grazed his flesh again.

A single thought flashed through your mind: I can't lose him.

Before the raider could react, you lunged. With no weapon in hand, you grabbed his arm, trying to wrench it away from Joel's throat. The move was reckless, fueled by sheer desperation.

The man twisted, howling in rage, and you felt a searing pain in your shoulder as the blade nicked you instead.

Joel moved in that instant. He seized the opening, driving a savage elbow into the raider's gut. The man choked, loosening his grip just enough for Joel to break free. You stumbled back, clutching your wounded shoulder, as Joel tackled the man to the ground.

They struggled, grunting and cursing, until Joel finally gained the upper hand, pinning him down. Ellie hurried over, her pistol aimed, and the man went still, eyes wide with fear.

Breathing hard, you pressed a hand against your shoulder, feeling warm, sticky blood seeping through your fingers. Joel got off the raider, yanked him up, and threw him out the door with a force that made you wince. Ellie followed, shooting him in the head.

Joel turned to you, his eyes searching your face, his own wound on his neck welling with blood. "Dammit," he growled, voice thick, "You're hurt."

You shook your head, trembling. "You-he almost-" Your throat closed up.

"Don't," Joel said, his voice unexpectedly tender, even as he was breathing hard. He pressed a hand over yours, trying to staunch your bleeding shoulder. You saw guilt written plainly across his features, mingled with a sort of stunned relief. "I'm here. We're both here." His gaze flicked to Ellie, who hovered behind him, eyes big and wet.

—-

No one spoke for a long moment. The pharmacy was silent but for your ragged breaths and the distant noises of a world that would never truly be safe.

You tasted salt and realized tears had slipped down your cheeks.

You'd wanted normalcy. You'd wanted hope. Instead, you got blood and terror and the reminder that nothing came easy. But Joel was alive, Ellie was alive, and so were you. That had to count for something.

Joel leaned closer, pressing his forehead to yours. "We'll fix you up," he promised, voice strained but sincere.

"I'm not losing you."

Your chest ached with the weight of the day, but you nodded, tears falling freely now. Outside, Ellie stood guard, and you knew she'd be shaken too. This wasn't just a supply run. It was another memory you'd all carry, another scar that would shape who you were becoming.

Everything hurt, inside and out, but you clung to Joel's hand like a lifeline. The world outside was cruel, but maybe, together, you could hold onto the light you'd found. Even if it meant fighting for every second of it.

•

You were still leaning heavily against Joel’s side when Ellie called out from the back of the pharmacy. She’d gone to check the rooms you hadn’t cleared yet, her footsteps tentative in the half-light. The fight had left everyone shaken, and Ellie’s voice was quieter than usual—no jokes, no sarcastic quips, just a strained urgency.

“Guys?” she called, voice echoing from somewhere behind the ruined shelves. “There’s… there’s something back here.”

Joel tightened his arm around you, helping you steady yourself. He’d patched your shoulder as best he could with a makeshift bandage torn from a clean strip of cloth he found in the aisles. His own neck still bore a red line, but it had stopped bleeding. You both moved slowly, careful not to disturb the debris. Every small noise felt amplified in the aftermath, scraping shards of glass, the soft splash of puddled water. The silence that followed the fight was too loud, too tense.

The backroom smelled damp and stale. A flimsy door hung half-open, revealing a set of wooden steps leading down into darkness. Ellie stood at the top, flashlight in hand, its beam cutting through swirling dust motes. She looked back at you and Joel, uncertainty etched into her features.

“Found a cellar,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Could be something good down there… could be nothing.”

Joel frowned, shifting to stand in front of you slightly. You knew he’d rather keep you away from more potential danger, but this run wasn’t optional—and it certainly wasn’t over. “Ellie,” he said, voice gravelly, “wait here, I’ll—”

“No,” you interrupted gently, placing a hand on his back. You were still hurting, but you weren’t helpless. “We go together. Just… careful.”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, expression torn, but eventually nodded. Ellie gave a tight, understanding smile and began descending the steps, her flashlight bobbing with each cautious step. Joel followed next, gripping his rifle, eyes sharp. You took a deep breath and forced yourself forward, ignoring the dull throbbing in your shoulder.

The cellar was cramped and cold, each breath stirring dust off cluttered shelves. The beam of Ellie’s flashlight played over stacked boxes and overturned crates. A pungent smell of mildew and time pressed at your nostrils. You tried to pick out shapes: jars, old bottles, what looked like a metal toolbox. Joel guided Ellie’s flashlight beam with quiet instructions, scanning for movement. When nothing lunged out of the shadows, the three of you inched deeper, heartbeat by heartbeat.

Finally, you spotted something that looked promising: a set of plastic bins, some sealed, some pried open long ago. Ellie knelt down, hands trembling slightly but determined. She rifled through them while Joel hovered protectively, as if daring the darkness to try anything.

“Jackpot,” Ellie murmured. She pulled out a box of bandages, dusty but still sealed in plastic. Another bin revealed what looked like antibiotics, though you couldn’t read the faded labels in the poor light. There were scalpels, gauze, syringes—medical supplies that could be lifesaving back in Jackson. Your chest loosened a fraction, relief stirring, if only slightly.

Then Ellie opened another box and frowned. “These meds… they’re old,” she said, holding up a bottle of pills, the label barely legible, the expiration date well past. “Might not be any good.”

Joel sighed, running a hand down his face. You knew what he was thinking: even expired meds could have some use, or at least be worth checking with Jackson’s doctors. But it was a disappointment after what you’d just gone through. Would the risk have been worth it if all you got were a handful of maybe-useful supplies and some old bandages?

“Take what we can,” Joel said quietly. “We’ll let the doc back home decide what’s good or not.” He hovered close to you, attention flickering to your shoulder. “We’ll need to clean that cut of yours properly when we’re back. Don’t want infection settin’ in.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. Your shoulder throbbed, a reminder of how close you’d come to losing something more precious. Joel stayed near, his presence steady, and Ellie kept sorting, making a pile of what seemed salvageable: a few sealed bottles of saline, some suture kits still intact, and those dusty bandages. It wasn’t everything you’d hoped for, but it was something.

Your eyes drifted around the cellar as Ellie dug deeper into crates. A creeping sense of unease gnawed at your gut. This place had once been a pharmacy’s storeroom, maybe even a safe spot, but now it felt like a grave—of time, of old attempts at survival.

A hollow silence stretched as Ellie packed what she could into her backpack. You watched her shoulders tense with each item she picked up. She wasn’t saying much, and for Ellie, that meant something was off. It wasn’t just the raiders or the dust; it was the reminder that out here, every step could be your last. There were no guarantees, no truly safe spaces.

Joel’s hand found yours in the dim light, a gentle squeeze. You met his gaze, seeing your own fear and resolve mirrored there. He wanted to say something—maybe sorry for how rough things had gotten, maybe sorry for dragging you out here. Instead, he just squeezed again, silent but resolute. You understood. You always did.

Ellie rose, shattering the hush with a shaky exhale. “This is all we’re gonna get,” she said. Her voice was flat, tired. “We should go before something else happens”

Right. The raiders. They’d killed off the survivors, but you had no idea if more waited outside, laying low in the shadows, waiting to strike. The thought sent a chill down your spine. You couldn’t linger here. Even as your body ached and your mind reeled, you had to move.

Joel nodded, leading the way back up the steps. You followed, each creak of wood under your boots setting your teeth on edge. Ellie brought up the rear, one hand on her weapon, ready for trouble. When you emerged back into the pharmacy proper, morning light leaking through the broken windows, everything looked more desperate than before. Blood on the floor, overturned shelves. The world’s cruelty etched plainly in this decaying building.

The three of you moved carefully, stepping around the evidence of violence. Joel’s eyes scanned the outside, alert for any sign of movement. Ellie hovered close, and you felt that familiar press of anxiety in your chest. You needed to get back to Jackson, to safety, to the warmth of a place where not everyone you met was a potential threat.

As you stepped over the shattered doorframe, you dared one last look back. The cellar might yield something, might help someone back home, but it hadn’t come without cost. Already your shoulder ached, a steady reminder. And Ellie’s silence—her subdued posture—told you this had left scars on her too.

Outside, the world felt no safer, but at least you could breathe the fresh air again. Joel paused, waiting for you to catch up. You realized he wasn’t just looking at the horizon—he was looking at you, checking if you were okay. You nodded once, pressing your lips into a thin line. Neither of you spoke. There was nothing to say that could make this easier.

Ellie turned, her eyes flicking between you and Joel. For a moment, her mask slipped, and you saw the fear and relief warring in her gaze. Then she squared her shoulders, shoved her hands into her pockets, and started walking, as if forward was the only direction possible.

You and Joel followed, the silence between the three of you thick with unsaid things. You’d return to Jackson with a handful of supplies and a fresh dose of reality: that safety was always precarious, that every choice carried risk. The ache in your shoulder and the weight in your chest told you this day wouldn’t fade easily.

You reached for Joel’s hand, just for a moment, and he let you take it. Your fingers were cold, his grip firm, as if tethering you to him could keep the world’s dangers at bay. It couldn’t, not entirely—but it helped. It reminded you that, for now, you were still here, together.

•

You'd barely gone a mile beyond the ruined pharmacy when you saw him. At first, it was just a shape slumped against a tree-a dark figure on the side of the overgrown road. Joel raised a hand, signaling for you and Ellie to slow down, his body going tense, rifle lifting a fraction.

As you drew closer, the rancid copper smell of blood hit you. Your stomach twisted, and you wished you could unsee the way this man's body was torn open. Long gashes ran across his torso, the fabric of his jacket soaked through, blood trickling sluggishly into the grass.

He was still breathing, but just barely, each ragged inhale sounding like a death rattle.

Ellie sucked in a sharp breath behind you. Joel stepped forward, gun still raised but finger off the trigger. "Hey," he called, voice steady but quieter than usual. "You alive?"

A stupid question, but what else was there to say? The man stirred at Joel's voice, his eyelids fluttering. He was middle-aged, maybe, hard to tell beneath the grime and pain contorting his features. One of his legs was bent at an awful angle, and scratch marks-not the neat slicing of a blade, but the ragged, uneven tears left by infected nails-marred his arms and neck.

"He's been attacked," Ellie whispered, her voice shaking. She didn't say by what—you all knew.

"Stay back," Joel warned her quietly, and she did. You hovered close, your own breathing uneven. This was too soon after the pharmacy fight, too close to the reminder that life out here was cruel.

The man's lips moved, a whisper you couldn't catch. Joel stepped closer, crouching down, but not too near.

"What happened?" he asked, tone gentler now.

The stranger managed a sound that might have been a laugh if he weren't choking on his own blood. "Infected," he rasped, voice barely audible. "Two runners... I-I got 'em. But they got me.." His voice trailed off, eyes glassy with pain and resignation.

Your heart clenched. He had done what he needed to survive—he must've fought them off, killed them before they could finish him off entirely. But the price was steep: a slow, agonizing death, or something worse. If the bite was there, hidden among the claw marks...

Ellie hovered behind you, face pale, her hand on her pistol. You could guess what was going through her mind. One infected encounter away from losing everything. How many times had you been in too-close calls?

Joel shifted, looking at you over his shoulder. His eyes told you what he was thinking: We can't leave him like this.

But there was another question lurking under the surface: How far do we go to help him?

"Please," the man wheezed, his voice cracking. "Don't let me turn. I-I think they got my arm-" He tried to lift it, and that's when you saw a deep set of teeth marks near the elbow. Your stomach dropped.

He was done for. In a few hours, maybe less, he'd be one of them. A walker. A monster. Unless someone did what needed to be done.

Joel's jaw tightened. He was good at this kind of thing-taking on the weight that others could hardly bear. But you could see the strain in the set of his shoulders. He didn't want to shoot an innocent man. Not again.

Ellie stepped forward, voice subdued.

"You got a name?"

The man's eyes fluttered, surprised by the gentleness in her tone. "Ar-Arthur," he managed, words slurring. You noticed his hand curling weakly around something at his side: a backpack.

Bulging with supplies—medicine, by the look of it; maybe even better stuff than you found in the pharmacy.

Your throat constricted at the cruel irony. He had what you needed, but at what cost? Would you take it from a dying man? Would it matter to him?

Arthur coughed, flecks of blood staining his lips. "My bag," he whispered. "Take it... don't let it go to waste." Tears welled in his eyes. He must have known he was done, must have known his things could help someone else. Maybe that was all the comfort he had left.

You knelt down carefully, ignoring the pain in your shoulder. Joel stiffened but didn't stop you. "We'll use them well," you said softly, voice wavering. "I promise."

He nodded weakly, relief flickering across his ravaged face. His breathing grew harsher. Ellie clutched at your sleeve, silent but trembling. Joel stood guard, rifle lowered, eyes hard.

Arthur swallowed, trying to speak again, but the words wouldn't come. Finally, he forced them out between gasps:

"Don't... let me turn." His gaze met Joel's, then yours. Pleading, desperate.

Joel looked at you, his jaw set, waiting for your signal. You felt tears sting your eyes. This wasn't fair. Nothing in this world was. But what choice did you have?

The silence dragged. Ellie turned her head away, swallowing hard. Finally, you gave the smallest nod. Joel understood immediately. He stepped forward, raising his pistol, a grim resolve settling over him like a shroud.

Arthur closed his eyes. You murmured a quiet apology, though you weren't sure if he could hear it. Joel's finger tightened on the trigger. A single shot rang out, echoing through the quiet woods, scattering a few startled birds into the gray morning sky.

A sob escaped Ellie's throat. You pressed your lips together, blinking back tears. Joel holstered his gun, face drawn and pale. The smell of blood still hung heavy, and now there was a new silence-one that you carried inside, a reminder of what this world demanded.

You reached for Arthur's backpack, your hands shaking. Inside, you found bandages, real gauze, a bottle of antibiotics with a mostly-legible date that was only a year or so expired. Some cans of food, a water filter. Precious things. Things that might save someone else. Maybe you. Maybe Joel. Maybe Ellie.

Guilt gnawed at you as you slung the pack over your shoulder. Arthur's life had been the cost of these supplies, but maybe they'd prevent another death down the line. That's all you could cling to-the smallest sliver of meaning in tragedy.

"Come on," Joel said, voice rough. "We should get moving."

Ellie nodded, wiping her eyes fiercely with the back of her hand. You forced your feet to move, your thoughts spinning. The woods pressed in, silent witnesses. The day hadn't turned out how you'd hoped, not even close.

As you walked, you felt Joel's hand hover near yours. He didn't take it, not now, not when Ellie could see, not when the taste of death was so fresh. But you felt his presence all the same. He'd done what needed to be done, again, and you didn't know how that would weigh on him later-on you, on Ellie, on all of you.

You kept walking, each step an effort, your heart heavy. The supplies in the backpack rustled softly with every movement. A reminder that what you carried now wasn't just for survival-it was a debt to a man whose life ended here on this road.

Maybe this world never let you forget that hope and cruelty walked hand in hand. Maybe you'd learn to live with it, together. Or maybe it would tear you apart.

But for now, you kept going, Joel and Ellie flanking you, three weary figures in a world that demanded everything and gave so little in return.

By the time you rounded the final bend in the road leading back to Jackson, dusk had settled, painting the sky in bruised purples and fading oranges. Your shoulder throbbed with every step, the makeshift bandage sticky and uncomfortable under your jacket. Ellie trudged beside you, silent but steady, and Joel pressed on at the front, his shoulders set in that determined line you knew so well.

As the settlement’s high wooden gates came into view, you caught sight of movement—figures pacing along the walkway overhead. Your heart lifted at the familiar outline of home, but it didn’t last. Even from here, you could sense something was off. More people than usual patrolled the walls, their silhouettes bristling with vigilance.

“Something happened,” Joel murmured, slowing as you neared the main gate. He glanced back at you and Ellie, his brow furrowed. You nodded, grimacing at a fresh wave of pain. Ellie’s eyes were wide, anxious, but she didn’t say anything.

A voice called down from above—Tommy’s. “That you, big brother?” he shouted, relief threading through his tone.

“Yeah, it’s us,” Joel answered, raising a hand. “Open up!”

The heavy gate groaned, revealing two guards and Tommy himself, rifle slung across his back. He hurried forward, his gaze sweeping the three of you, settling on the bloodstains and bandages. “Jesus, what happened?”

You saw the flash of worry in his eyes. Joel worked his jaw, holding the details at bay. “Ran into trouble,” he said curtly, and you knew that was all he’d share out here. “Looked like some raiders—same bunch we had at the pharmacy.”

Tommy grimaced. “We had a group try to breach the gates not too long ago. Managed to pick ’em off, but it’s got everyone on edge.” He eyed the bulging pack on your shoulder. “You find what you were looking for?”

Joel nodded. “Meds, bandages, a few supplies. They’re needed at the clinic right away.”

Your knees wobbled with relief—at least Jackson held, and at least you brought something back. Ellie let out a shaky breath, glancing towards the center of town. You followed her gaze. Lights glimmered between buildings, the comforting hum of distant voices carried on the cool evening air.

Tommy’s eyes hardened slightly as he took in your injuries. “You two look like hell. Go get cleaned up,” he said, then softened. “I’m glad you made it back.”

Joel gave a stiff nod, his shoulders loosening a fraction. “We’ll stop by the doc’s first.”

As you passed through the gates, the tension lingering in the streets was almost palpable. Guards stood in pairs, some sporting hastily applied bandages of their own. The smell of spent gunpowder and fear hung faintly in the air. People gave you weary nods, relief mixing with exhaustion in their expressions. They were glad you were safe, but it was clear Jackson had just survived a brush with danger.

Joel urged you onward, one hand hovering near the small of your back. He didn’t need to say a word; you could feel his worry. Ellie trudged on your other side, silent and pale. The three of you—battered, shaken—walked as if drawn by a magnet straight to the small clinic on the eastern edge of town.

It was a converted house with a hand-painted sign reading “Clinic” swinging gently in the evening breeze. A warm, yellow light spilled from its windows. Inside, you found Dr. Martinez and a pair of volunteers running inventory on supplies. They looked up sharply at your entrance, relief and weariness mingling on their faces.

“Joel,” Dr. Martinez said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I heard you went out. Are those the supplies?”

Joel nodded, unslinging the backpack and placing it carefully on a small table. “We got what we could,” he said. “Some bandages, antibiotics—might be expired, you’ll have to check. Found some good gauze, surgical tools too.”

The volunteers descended on the bag, sorting through its contents with hushed, grateful murmurs. Dr. Martinez came over to you, concern etched into the lines of her face. “You’re hurt,” she said, gesturing to your shoulder. “Sit, let me take a look.”

You obeyed, grateful for the help. While she peeled back your jacket and inspected the wound, Ellie hovered nearby, arms folded tight against herself. Joel paced, still full of restless energy, keeping watch from the window as if he expected trouble to follow you inside.

“Raiders tried the gates, you said?” you ventured quietly, voice tight as Dr. Martinez cleaned the cut. The stinging disinfectant made you suck in a sharp breath.

Tommy had come in behind you, leaning against the doorframe. He nodded. “Yeah. Came out of nowhere, took a few shots at the guards. We got lucky—caught them before they did real damage. But everyone’s rattled.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “We’ll double security. Ain’t takin’ any chances.”

Your gaze drifted to Ellie. She was trying to look tough, but you noticed how her eyes never stopped scanning the room, as if expecting something to jump out at her. Today had been rough on all of you. The pharmacy, the cellar, Arthur, and now this. The world had done its best to remind you that every scrap of safety could be torn away in an instant.

Dr. Martinez finished dressing your wound and gave your arm a gentle pat. “Should heal fine,” she said. “Just rest. No heavy lifting for a bit.”

Joel turned from the window at that, meeting your eyes. The guilt you’d seen earlier still lingered there, but now there was a flicker of relief. He nodded, as if to say Good—as if he’d been holding his breath, waiting for the doctor’s verdict.

You mustered a small smile, despite the ache in your body and the heaviness in your heart. At least you were home, or as close to home as you could get in this world. Jackson was standing, Joel and Ellie were alive, and you’d brought back something that might help keep people safe.

Tommy checked the supplies, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “This’ll help,” he said. “The doc’s been complaining about running low on the good stuff.”

“Glad it’s not all in vain,” you replied softly, hoping the rest of the trip’s memories would fade with time.

Joel came over, resting a hand lightly on your shoulder, careful not to hurt you. Ellie finally inched closer, too, her hands stuffed in her jacket pockets. The three of you stood there, battered but unbroken, and you realized that this fragile peace you clung to—this life in Jackson—was worth fighting for, no matter how many times you got knocked down.

Outside, the night deepened, and the guards on the walls traded shifts, eyes sharp against the darkness. Inside, you felt the weight of the day pressing down, but Joel’s presence beside you, Ellie’s determined silence, and Tommy’s watchful concern reminded you that you weren’t alone. For tonight, at least, that was enough.

The door shut behind you with a soft click, cutting off the chill of the evening air. Ellie’s footsteps faded down the path as she headed for her own place, leaving you and Joel alone in the quiet gloom of your shared home. The tension of the day still hummed through your veins—the fights, the injuries, the uneasy looks on everyone’s faces. Every muscle ached, and the lingering scent of blood and sweat clung stubbornly to your clothes.

Joel hovered near the door, as if unsure whether to take off his coat or step further inside. He watched you with an intensity that made your chest tighten. His presence was solid, comforting even, but he seemed almost reluctant to move, as if afraid that some sudden noise or shift might shatter this fragile calm.

Without a word, you began shedding your clothes. The fabric felt heavy, grimy against your skin. One by one, layers dropped to the floor with soft thumps. You didn’t pause, didn’t look at him—not yet. Every garment you peeled away felt like another barrier between you and relief. By the time you stepped into the bathroom, the house’s lamplight spilled in weakly around you, illuminating your bare skin and the bruises and scrapes you’d earned today.

You glanced back briefly, meeting Joel’s eyes. He stood in the dimness of the hallway, leaning against the doorframe. The rise and fall of his chest was slow, controlled, but you could see how hard he gripped the strap of his rifle and the tension in his jaw. You’d caught him off guard; that was clear in the subtle flare of his nostrils, the way his gaze traced over your frame like he wasn’t sure if he should be looking at all.

Shaky breath escaping his lips, Joel simply watched as you stepped into the shower. The old pipes groaned softly, then water rushed down, hot and cleansing. You closed your eyes and let the steam envelop you, washing away grime and the weight of the day. Behind the veil of running water, you knew he was still there—still collecting himself, still trying to decide what to say or do.

Right now, you didn’t need words. Not yet. Just the sound of the water and the knowledge that Joel was close by, safe, and home.

You heard the rustle of fabric behind you as Joel removed his clothes, each piece landing softly on the floor. The sound alone sent a rush of warmth through your chest, a reminder that he was safe, that he was here with you now. The shower’s steady stream drummed against your shoulders, and you let yourself breathe slowly, focusing on the warmth seeping into your tired muscles.

When Joel stepped in behind you, his presence was immediate—solid and comforting in a way you couldn’t describe. He paused for a moment, as if asking silent permission. You answered by leaning back slightly, letting him know it was okay, that you wanted him close.

The steam curled around both of you, the water washing away the grime, sweat, and fear of the past day. Joel’s hand found your arm first, a gentle, tentative touch, then slid down to your waist, holding you steady as the water coursed over your bodies. He said nothing at first, just pressed his forehead lightly against the back of your head, his damp hair brushing your neck.

You closed your eyes, your heart thudding softly in your chest. The world outside—raiders, infected, all the things that had nearly torn you apart—faded into the distance for the moment. Here, in this small bubble of warmth and running water, it was just you and Joel, breathing in sync, letting the silence say everything words couldn’t.

After a long, quiet stretch, you felt him shift, his voice quiet and low, close to your ear. “You alright?” he asked, the words gentle, almost lost in the hush of the water.

“Yeah,” you murmured, placing your hand over his. “I am now.”

His grip tightened slightly, a silent promise that you were both still here, still holding on—together.

You felt Joel’s lips graze the side of your neck, gentle yet insistent, as if he couldn’t help but lean into the comfort of being close to you. The warmth of his breath against your damp skin sent a pleasant shiver through your spine, and for a moment you let yourself savor the feeling. He deserved a moment of peace just as much as you did.

But there were still dried streaks of dirt and blood stubbornly clinging to your skin, and you could feel the grime in your hair, the day’s horrors still tangible in the tangles. You needed to wash away the last traces of it—to feel clean, to start fresh, even if only symbolically.

With a quiet laugh you placed a hand against Joel’s chest, gently pushing him back. “Let me get clean first,” you murmured, your voice warm but resolute. “Then I’m all yours.”

Joel gave a soft, reluctant sigh, his hand sliding away from your waist. You sensed more than saw his understanding, the way he let you turn under the spray of water without protest. He stayed close but not too close, giving you the space you needed as you reached for the soap and shampoo. The smell of lather and steam slowly replaced the metallic hint of blood and sweat.

As you ran your hands through your hair, rinsing away the day’s filth, you could feel Joel’s eyes on you. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just a quiet, steady presence, keeping watch in the most intimate way. You were both tired, both sore, and so terribly human in that moment. There was no rush now, no panic, no claws and guns and cries for mercy. Just the steady hiss of the water and the two of you, together, safe for the night.

The water’s gentle rhythm filled the space as you worked through the last tangles of your hair, fingers catching here and there, but steadily making progress. You caught a glimpse of Joel’s silhouette through the steam as he rinsed himself off—no words, just the comfortable hush that had settled between you.

After a moment, you heard the quiet scrape of the shower curtain and the soft sound of his feet on the bathroom floor. He stepped out first, and the sudden absence of his warmth behind you made you keenly aware of the distance between you, even in these few feet of space.

You ducked your head under the spray to rinse out the last traces of shampoo, the scent of clean soap mixing with the lingering dampness of the room. When you turned the faucet off, the hush grew heavier, and all you could hear was the drip of water off your elbows and chin.

Pushing back the curtain, you emerged into the softer, lamp-lit bathroom and found Joel waiting, towel already spread open in his hands. His gaze traveled over you with quiet concern, as if making sure you were truly okay now that the day’s grime had been washed away. He said nothing, but the gentle set of his features spoke volumes.

With a tired smile, you stepped into the folds of the towel he offered, letting him wrap it snugly around your shoulders. His knuckles brushed your skin as he adjusted the fabric, and you could feel the lingering tension in his body slowly easing with this simple act of care.

No matter what waited outside these walls, for now, you had this moment—warm, quiet, and alive.

“You’re beautiful”

His voice was so gentle, so earnest, that it caught you off guard. After everything—gunfire, blood, and near-misses—you wouldn’t have expected that quiet, simple praise to shake you. But it did.

A flush crept up your neck, warmth settling into your cheeks. You gripped the towel a little tighter, your eyes drifting to the side for a moment, almost shy. Then, as if pulled by a magnetic force, your gaze returned to his.

All you could manage was a soft laugh, a timid sound that hung in the damp air. Your heart beat a little faster, and for the first time since coming home, you didn’t think about the day’s horrors. Instead, you stood there, dripping hair, tired bones, and a soul that felt lighter than it had in ages.

“Thank you,” you whispered finally, voice quiet but steady.

Joel’s lips curved into a faint, relieved smile. Without another word, he reached out, running his thumb lightly along the edge of the towel near your collarbone, a soft, reassuring gesture. He seemed content just to look at you, and for once, you let yourself bask in it—no fear, no anxiety, just this calm, safe moment you both desperately needed.

With gentle footsteps, the two of you moved down the short hallway and into the bedroom. The soft glow of a bedside lamp cast a warm light across the walls, enveloping everything in a golden hush. Each step you took left faint damp footprints on the floor, your towel still clutched snugly around you, absorbing the last traces of the shower’s warmth.

Joel lingered just behind you, his presence steady and reassuring. His hand rested lightly on the small of your back, guiding you forward without rush. Every breath felt slower, quieter, as if stepping into this room meant leaving behind the chaos and fear of the day.

You paused near the edge of the bed, towel tucked around your shoulders. Joel’s gaze swept over you again, a flicker of something tender and hopeful crossing his features. Despite the bandage on your shoulder and the bruises that marked your skin, he looked at you like you were something whole and unbroken.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The day’s ordeal hung in the background—distant, but still real. Yet here, in the dim light and the quiet, it felt like you’d carved out a small sanctuary for yourselves.

Wordlessly, Joel reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. You leaned into the simple touch, breathing in, letting the tension melt from your body. And when he finally shifted closer, his presence was warm, steady, and deeply comforting—exactly what you needed.

You looked around the bedroom, your gaze landing on the empty drawers and the sparse closet. It took a moment for the realization to sink in: none of your clothes were here anymore. The memory stung briefly—of Joel insisting you sleep in your own bed some time ago, prompting you to pack everything away in the spare room.

“I gotta get my clothes,” you murmured, feeling a twinge of awkwardness.

Joel nodded, stepping aside. He didn’t say anything, but the flicker of regret in his eyes was clear as he watched you gather the edges of the towel around yourself and slip from the room.

Down the short hallway, you found the smaller bedroom you’d used all those weeks. Pushing open the door, you flicked on the light and scanned the space. It was familiar in an odd way—these were your things, but it no longer felt like home. Even the slight mustiness told you how little time you’d spent here recently.

You rummaged around until you located a pair of underwear and a comfortable tank top. It was nothing fancy, but it would do. The fabric felt cool in your hands as you slipped it on under the towel, careful not to jostle your sore shoulder.

Finally dressed, you killed the light and made your way back down the hall. Every step felt a little like a step toward something new, or maybe something you’d been missing all along. Joel waited near the bed, his expression softening the moment you stepped into view, as though your return answered a question he hadn’t known how to ask.

You slipped under the covers, the sheets cool against your skin. Joel joined you on the mattress, settling in beside you. You noticed he’d already pulled on a pair of boxers at some point, and the sight of him in that simple, relaxed state melted away the last bit of unease from the day.

As though driven by reflex, you shifted until your back pressed snugly against his chest, silently guiding his arm to drape over your waist. He followed the cue without hesitation, tightening his grip in a gentle, secure hold. The warmth of him at your back—steady and sure—felt as comforting as any reassurance he could have spoken out loud.

For a few moments, neither of you stirred, letting the quiet of the house settle around you. His breaths fell in time with yours, and you felt his chest rise and fall against your shoulder blades. The peace that washed over you was so profound, it was almost hard to remember the violence of the day, the tension that had weighed on both of you for so long.

With his arm snug around you and the promise of morning somewhere beyond the walls, you let your eyes drift closed, feeling more at home than you had in ages.

“Sweetheart..” Joel whispered

“Are you still all mine?” Joel continued in a teasing tone

A quiet laugh escaped your lips, muffled against the pillow. You felt Joel’s breath on your neck, warm and teasing, his words sending a pleasant shiver through you. The light press of his lips against your skin was enough to stir up a gentle flutter in your chest—neither urgent nor forced, just a reminder that you were here together, safe in the hush of night.

You tilted your head slightly, giving him more access. “I think you know the answer,” you murmured, your voice soft in the silence of the room.

Joel made a small sound of amusement as he continued trailing featherlight kisses along your neck and shoulder. The slow, careful attention he paid to every inch of skin was both comforting and exhilarating all at once. You settled deeper into his embrace, soaking in his warmth, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against your back.

He tightened his hold on you slightly, hand splayed against your stomach as if to keep you close. “Just wanted to make sure,” he teased, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You couldn’t help the grin tugging at your mouth. Reaching up, you laced your fingers through his where they rested against your midsection, squeezing gently. “Yes, Joel,” you said, letting your eyes flutter shut. “I’m still all yours.”

His arm wrapped more securely around you, a contented sigh escaping him. Even with the day’s scars still fresh—the cuts, the bruises, the memories of near disaster—this moment felt like a kind of healing. You were wrapped in warmth and shared relief, a fleeting pause in a world that constantly demanded more than it gave.

And in that quiet space, with Joel’s heartbeat steady against your shoulder blades, you felt your own breathing settle, the tension in your muscles fading. Right here, cradled against him, was where you belonged.

•

Sleep crept over you like a gentle tide, pulling you under bit by bit until the warmth of Joel’s embrace dissolved into the hazy realm of dreams. For a short while, everything was soft and quiet, your mind offering you nothing but rest.

Then Arthur’s face flickered in the dark.

In the dream, you were back on that road, the smell of blood thick in the air. Arthur’s breath came in ragged gasps, his eyes pleading. You heard the gunshot echo like a thunderclap, felt the jolt in your heart. The world tilted violently, and you were suddenly left holding the backpack he’d pressed into your hands. His final plea—Don’t let me turn—rattled in your skull like an accusation. A heavy sense of guilt wrapped around you, inescapable.

You tried to speak, to tell him you were sorry, that there’d been no other choice. But when you opened your mouth, no words came. Arthur’s blood-soaked figure crumpled at your feet, and you were powerless to help him. The cold seeped through your skin, and the dream began to collapse into a swirl of confusion and regret.

You shot awake with a ragged gasp, your chest tight. The sheets bunched in your fists, and your breathing came hard. For a split second, you couldn’t remember where you were—only the lingering horror of Arthur’s final moments. But gradually, the darkness of the room sharpened, and Joel’s arm, still curled around you, grounded you in the present.

He stirred against you, brow creasing in half-sleep. “Hey,” he mumbled, voice rough. He tightened his hold. “You okay?”

You swallowed hard, forcing the nightmare images away. Turning slightly, you caught sight of concern flickering in Joel’s eyes, even in the dim light.

“Yeah,” you managed, your voice shaking a bit. “Just a bad dream.”

Joel shifted, pressing his forehead gently against the back of your head. “M’sorry,” he whispered, his sleep-rasped tone full of quiet understanding. The way he held you—firm, reassuring—was an unspoken promise that he wouldn’t let the darkness swallow you whole.

You closed your eyes again, exhaling a trembling breath. The ache in your chest lingered, but you clung to Joel’s presence like a lifeline. Arthur’s memory might haunt you, but at least you didn’t have to face it alone.

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