Chapter Text
The first thing Ellie felt was the pain. A deep, pulsing throb behind her eyes that made her skull feel like it was caving in. Her mouth was dry. Her limbs were heavy, useless at first, like her muscles had forgotten how to move. There was a high-pitched ringing in her ears, fading in and out like waves lapping against a broken shore. She blinked slowly, once, twice, and the lights above her sharpened into focus—white and sterile and humming.
She tried to sit up. The motion made her head spin, nausea curling in her throat. Her hands gripped the sides of the gurney she was laying on—cheap plastic rails slick with sweat. Cold sweat. Her palms were clammy. Her pulse throbbed beneath her skin like it was trying to escape. She stayed still for a moment, breathing through it, eyes darting around the room.
Where the hell was she?
The walls were white. No, not just white. Bleached. Like they’d been scrubbed clean one too many times. One window, reinforced glass. No sunlight coming through. Just that humming ceiling light. One door. Closed. A metal cart in the corner. Some wires. Some machines.
She was in a hospital.
Her heart leapt, but her first thought wasn’t herself.
“Joel,” she whispered, voice hoarse like she’d swallowed sand.
Where was he? Was he okay? Was he even—
She stopped the thought before it finished forming, the panic already crawling up her throat. Her brain scrambled for the last thing she remembered. The ambush. Someone throwing something—
A flash. A loud bang. A sharp pain, then… nothing. Just black.
Her hands gripped the thin blanket over her as she forced her body up again, slower this time. The movement dragged at her skin. That’s when she noticed the gown - thin, ugly blue. One of those scratchy hospital gowns that tied in the back—except hers wasn’t tied. It was hanging loose, barely covering anything, her back open to the cold air of the room. She took the time to painfully reach behind her back and tie herself together, though it wasn’t as easy as she thought it would be, she got it done on her fifth try.
Her stomach turned again, not from pain but shame, and something darker. She wasn’t wearing her clothes. She wasn’t even wearing her undergarments.
What the fuck.
Her eyes swept the room, desperate now. No clothes. No boots. No backpack. No switchblade. No pistol. Nothing. There wasn’t even a damn chair in the room. Just her, this gurney, the machines, and—
She glanced down.
An IV was taped into her left arm, a clear bag hanging beside her, its contents slowly dripping through the line. Something cold coursed up her veins, and suddenly she was very aware of the unnatural stillness in her muscles, the weakness in her limbs.
She yanked it out without thinking. A sharp sting, a short gasp of pain. Blood beaded at the spot and started to drip, but she didn’t care. Next was two sticky pads on her chest, wires coming out of her gown. But the moment she tore them off, the monitor beside her began to shriek.
Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep—
It spiked, louder, faster, and then—
That mechanical, soulless scream of a flatline filled the room. Ellie froze, heart racing like a jackrabbit in her chest. The panic she’d been trying to keep down slammed into her like a wall. If anyone was nearby, they’d definitely hear it. She sprang off the gurney, nearly losing her balance. Her bare feet hit the cold tile floor, knees trembling, but she pushed through it.
“Shit, shit, shit—” she hissed through gritted teeth.
She staggered over to the wall, grabbed the cords in both hands, and ripped the heart monitor’s plug from the socket. The machine went dark, the noise cut off in an instant. But the silence was worse somehow. Oppressive. Her heart was still hammering, loud enough she could hear it in her ears.
She was exposed. Vulnerable. Alone.
And Joel was nowhere in sight.
Her fingers trembled as she wiped the sweat from her forehead. Her entire body was shaking now, either from adrenaline or withdrawal or the aftereffects of whatever the hell they'd pumped into her. It didn’t matter. She needed to move. She needed to get out of this room. Find her clothes. Find a weapon. Find Joel.
But the pounding in her skull made it hard to think. Every beat of her heart sent a fresh wave of pain through her temples. She gritted her teeth, biting back a groan as she braced herself against the wall. Her bare feet slid slightly on the tile, and she realized again how exposed she was.
They changed her. They undressed her. They hooked her up to machines. They touched her while she was unconscious.
The thought made her want to vomit.
She looked around the room again, slower this time, more calculating. No cameras. No vents she could crawl through. The window was thick, reinforced. The door had no visible lock on her side. The only chance she had was if it unlocked.
She clenched her fists and immediately regretted it—her fingers ached like they’d been bruised.
How long had she been here?
She couldn’t tell. Her muscles felt stiff, but not atrophied. Her hair felt greasy, not matted. Maybe a few hours? Long enough to drug her. Long enough to change her.
Her legs wobbled as she took a step. Then another. She crouched beside the bed, eyes scanning beneath it for something—anything. A mop handle. A pen. A scalpel. But it was spotless underneath. No dust. No trash. No hope.
She swallowed the rising scream in her throat and moved toward the door.
She pressed her ear to it.
Silence.
Not even footsteps. Not even voices.
Where the hell was she?
And more importantly—where the hell was Joel?
Because if he was alive, he would’ve found her by now. Would’ve torn the walls apart to get to her. Would’ve put a bullet in anyone who laid hands on her. Unless—
Unless he was dead.
The possibility sent a chill through her chest that no drug could numb.
She backed away from the door, breathing shallow now, almost hyperventilating. She needed to focus. She needed to survive. She could figure out the rest later. Right now, she just needed out.
Her fingers hovered just over the door handle when she heard them.
Voices.
She froze, the air in her lungs going stiff like her ribcage had turned to stone. Ellie’s hand trembled slightly as she slowly pulled it back from the handle, her entire body straining to listen. She pressed her ear to the cold metal, her breath shallow, her cheek slick with sweat.
Two voices. One male. One female. Neither was Joel.
Neither even sounded familiar.
They were muffled through the heavy door, like trying to hear a conversation underwater. No clear words, no names, just the low drone of speech, the woman’s voice slightly higher, clipped and fast-paced. The man’s was slower, rougher. They weren’t shouting, but they were getting closer.
Closer to her.
Ellie’s heart stuttered in her chest.
Shit.
She backed away from the door, her mind spinning. No windows. No vents. No weapon. No Joel. She looked around the room again, this time with real desperation burning behind her eyes. Her hands twitched with the instinct to do something. Anything.
Her bare feet padded quickly over the tiles as her gaze darted across the empty walls, the empty corners. Even the damn gurney she woke up on was bolted to the floor. There was nothing in this room. Nothing but machines—and a metal IV pole.
Her eyes landed on it.
Tall. Solid. Heavy.
Ellie didn’t waste a second. She rushed over, fingers wrapping tightly around the cool shaft. The pole wobbled slightly as she jerked it upward. She had to tug harder than she expected—the thing was wedged in a base with wheels, but eventually she tore it free with a metallic screech that made her flinch.
Her teeth clenched as she held it in both hands, testing the weight. It was awkward, longer than a bat and thinner than a pipe, but it was the only thing she had. She adjusted her grip. Raised it like a bat. She’d hit someone with worse.
She positioned herself behind the door, pressing her back to the wall, the IV pole held tight in her hands, ready to swing. Her chest was rising and falling faster now, like the panic was trying to claw its way out of her throat.
She couldn’t be taken again. She wouldn’t let that happen. Not without a fight.
Not after everything.
Her thoughts spiraled.
Where the hell was she?
Why wasn’t Joel here?
Why wasn’t he tearing through this place already like she knew he would if he could? Her stomach churned with uncertainty. Had they killed him? Had he left her?
No, he would never leave Ellie behind. Although he’d once said she was cargo, she knew that after everything they’ve been through, she was more than just cargo.
Her grip tightened around the pole, her knuckles going white. Her breath hitched. A cold sweat had broken across her back. Her hospital gown clung to her skin like a second layer of humiliation. She felt naked. Exposed. Weak.
And yet—underneath all that—there was something hot and flickering.
A spark.
The same fire that burned in her when she was stuck in that cage in Silver Lake. Alone. Helpless. But not broken. Back then, she had only herself to count on. No Joel. No Riley. No Fireflies. Just her, and her will to survive.
Now, it was the same. Only this time, she knew what she was capable of.
The voices were right outside the door now. She could hear them pause. One of them muttered something, too quiet to catch. A beep sounded in the hall—some kind of keypad or scanner—and Ellie’s lungs froze.
This was it.
Her legs were shaking. Her arms too. The metal pole felt heavier by the second, but she didn’t loosen her grip. She tried to steady her breathing. Tried to stop the tremble in her jaw. She forced her mind into focus, into the familiar survival logic that had kept her alive all these years.
Hit hard. Hit first. Aim for the knees. Stun them. Run.
Find Joel.
That last part was the only one that mattered and her brain repeated it like a mantra.
Find Joel. Find Joel. Find Joel.
Because if Joel was here—if he was alive—then everything would be okay. He’d find her clothes. Her backpack. Her weapons. He’d carry her out of this place if he had to. Just like he always did.
He was her safe place. Her gravity. He was the one thing that made the world feel less like it was constantly on fire.
But he wasn’t here.
And that meant something was wrong.
Ellie raised the pole as the door creaked open, slow and careful, the new people probably expecting her to still be unconscious.
She didn't move. Didn't breathe.
She clung to the shadow just behind the door, clutching the bent IV pole so tightly that her palms had begun to sweat again. Her arms trembled, not just from the strain, but from the rush of adrenaline screaming through her bloodstream like fire. Her ears were ringing again, but not from the flashbang this time—it was her pulse. A wild, frantic drumbeat in her skull.
Two sets of footsteps entered the room. One soft, rubber soles. The other heavier. Boots.
“Are you positive he won’t be a problem?” the man asked. His voice was tight, hesitant. Nervous. He was dressed in blue scrubs with a surgical cap still on his head, and a white mask hanging around his neck like some forgotten accessory. A doctor.
A familiar voice answered, cold and sure.
“He thinks Ellie is dead, and he’s been escorted out of the hospital.” A pause. “My men are going to shoot him at the old library to make sure he doesn’t get any more bright ideas about coming after her.”
Ellie’s blood ran cold. Her vision blurred for half a second, the rage boiling up so hot it nearly blinded her. But it wasn’t just the words. It was the voice. Now that it wasn’t muffled behind the door, it clicked into place. That voice—smooth, commanding, always calm.
Marlene.
That was all Ellie needed to hear.
Joel was alive.
Alive.
But not for long if these bastards had their way.
Before either of them could step further into the room, Ellie swung. She didn’t hesitate. The pole whistled through the air and connected with a sickening crack against Marlene’s knee. The sound was sharp and awful, followed by Marlene’s scream as her leg buckled. She hit the ground like a toppled statue, gasping, snarling, her hand reaching down as she writhed in pain. Ellie swore she felt bone give beneath the force of the blow, the metal pole bending on impact.
She didn’t wait to see if the bone had broken.
Her hands darted down, yanking the large combat knife from the sheath strapped to Marlene’s thigh. It came free with a smooth hiss of steel. Before Marlene could so much as reach for Ellie, she was gone—already bolting for the open door.
“Fuck!” Marlene shouted behind her. “Get her, Anderson!”
But Ellie was halfway down the hallway before the stunned doctor could even react. Her bare feet slapped loudly against the cold tile, the sting of each step sharp against the sharp grit of debris scattered across the floor.
Ellie ran on instinct, pain forgotten.
She didn’t know where she was going.
She just knew Joel was about to die, and these people were fucking liars.
The hallway was long, sterile white, lined with closed doors and fluorescent lights that buzzed overhead like angry insects. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and the throb in her skull returned with a vengeance, pounding like war drums.
She turned the corner and skidded to a stop.
Two guards stood at the top of the staircase—fully armed, casual, mid-conversation. One had a rifle slung lazily over his shoulder. The other held his across his chest, barrel pointed at the floor. They hadn't seen her yet, but the moment she froze, their eyes lifted. Confused. Alert.
Then came the shouting behind her.
“Stop her!”
Dr. Anderson.
The guards snapped into motion, confusion fading into clarity. Ellie could see it in their faces as they raised their rifles, startled but focused. She turned her head, mind racing, looking for any open room, any escape route—anything.
Nothing.
Except—
A window.
The hallway’s emergency exit window was old, cracked slightly at the corners, reinforced but not impossible. A chair sat abandoned against the wall nearby, paint peeling on the legs.
It was stupid.
So fucking stupid.
But Joel needed her. He thought she was dead. And she wasn’t going to let them kill him.
Without thinking, Ellie grabbed the chair and swung it into the glass. The impact sent shards flying, the crash echoing like gunfire down the corridor. She tossed the broken chair aside and climbed onto the frame, the jagged edges of the window biting into her feet.
She didn’t care.
Blood ran in thin, hot lines down her heels. The metal sill burned against her skin. She stepped up, looked down.
The second floor.
Maybe thirty feet up.
Below was a rust-colored semi-truck, the kind used for supply runs or medical shipments. It sat idle in a narrow delivery alley, roof flat, dusty. All she had to do was jump far enough. Just far enough.
“Don’t do it!” Anderson shouted behind her. “Ellie!”
But it was too late.
She jumped.
And for a split second, she flew.
Then, the corner of the truck hit her ribs, the air was knocked from her lungs, and pain exploded across her side. She scrambled with her arms, fingers clawing at the metal. But she was slick with sweat and blood, and there was nothing to hold onto.
She slipped.
Her body hit the pavement below with a heavy, sickening thud. Her head smacked the concrete, stars burst behind her eyes. The world tilted and spun, and for a moment, everything went black.
Was this it?
Was this how it ended?
It would be funny—so close to freedom, so close to saving him. Dying like this. Like her life had always been meant to end this way instead of making the cure that could save humanity.
But the pain.
The pain was still there.
Her ribs screamed. Her head pulsed. Her feet stung like they were on fire. Every part of her wanted to give up.
But she wasn’t dead, and Joel still needed her.
Voices shouted from above. She blinked and saw one of the guards at the broken window, crouched on the sill like he was about to jump after her.
“Go around!” someone shouted. “Get her! Don’t let her disappear into the city!”
Ellie’s body moved before her mind caught up. She rolled to her knees, one hand clutching her ribs, the other wrapping tightly around Marlene’s knife. Her vision swam, but her legs pushed forward anyway, unsteady, bleeding, but not broken.
The alley stretched ahead—narrow, shadowed, a maze of dumpsters and rusted fences and escape.
She ran.
She ran like hell, feet smacking against the pavement, every step tearing the cuts wider. She didn’t care. The fire in her chest fueled her, the panic in her lungs driving her forward.
She didn’t look back.
Didn’t think.
Didn’t breathe.
All she could see was Joel—his face, his voice, his worried glances, his stupid puns. And Ellie ran faster, her lungs burning, body aching and chest heaving. She could hear Joel’s voice in her head, telling her to slow down, to check for traps or raiders or infected. But Ellie didn’t care about any of that. Not when Joel thought she was dead, not when the Fireflies plan on executing him.
Ellie burst from the alley, lungs burning, legs barely holding beneath her. The sun hit her like a slap—bright and brutal, blinding after the dim, fluorescent tomb of the hospital. She staggered forward, throwing up a hand to shield her eyes, the knife still clenched in her bloodied fist. Sweat trickled down her brow, mixing with the blood at her temple, probably from her stupid fucking jump, stinging her eye. She could hear Joel in the back of her head yelling at her for her recklessness. Who jumps out a fucking window?
For a second, she just stood there, squinting through the harsh light, trying to get her bearings. The city stretched out around her—part modern, part ruin. The edges of old Firefly banners flapped weakly in the wind, half-ripped from the sides of light poles. Cracked pavement underfoot, broken sidewalks overtaken by grass, a place once claimed by people now left to rot.
She turned slowly in a circle, head throbbing, scanning for anything familiar.
The old library.
Where was it?
Come on, think.
She remembered passing it once. Joel had pointed it out when they arrived, said it reminded him of an old university he once visited. It had massive stairs, ivy strangling the front columns, a broken stone lion guarding the front doors. She remembered begging Joel to let her go in to look for more Savage Starlight comics. He’d just laughed at her and said maybe on the way out of the city they’d loot the place.
But which direction?
Ellie blinked through the blur and looked to the sun again. It was high—maybe mid-morning.
East.
If she could just figure out where the hospital faced, she could orient herself. Her brain spun as she tried to remember the layout of alleys and streets she just ran through. Joel always kept track of that stuff. He would’ve known in seconds.
But he wasn’t here.
It was on her now.
She took a shaky breath and turned south. That felt right. Her gut told her so. Beyond a row of smashed storefronts and a buckled street, she thought she could make out the corner of a building with a busted dome roof. It might’ve been the university building next to the library. Or maybe it was wishful thinking. Either way, it was the only lead she had.
She started to run again.
Her ribs screamed in protest with every step, the pain sharp and deep, like the shards of glass embedded beneath her feet. Her bare feet slapped the pavement, glass and debris slicing her soles.
Up ahead, the streets grew narrower, more choked with debris. A bus lay on its side, long abandoned, one of its windows shattered open just wide enough to squeeze through. Ellie didn’t think twice—she scrambled up the back bumper and pulled herself into the hollow husk of the bus, crawling through broken glass and torn fabric.
It smelled like mildew and rust. Something dead had once been in here. She held her breath and climbed through to the other side, dropping onto the pavement with a grunt. The jolt rattled her ribs and sent white-hot pain shooting through her spine, but she bit down hard and pushed forward.
She could see the dome now. Closer. Bigger. Just a few blocks away.
And just past it—the library.
She could feel it.
Ellie’s pace slowed to a lurching jog, one hand wrapped tight around her ribs like she could hold them together by force. Every step jarred through her body like a hammer against a cracked wall. Pain radiated through her side—sharp, hot, and deep—and she couldn’t tell where one rib ended and the next began. She tried pressing her fingers against the side of her torso, wincing as she felt the tender, swollen skin beneath the thin hospital gown.
Were they broken? Bruised? Cracked?
She didn’t know how to tell, not really. But they felt broken. Breathing was hard. Not the kind of hard that came from running too long, but the kind that made her body flinch every time her lungs tried to expand past a shallow inhale. She couldn’t get a full breath. She couldn’t even stand up straight without agony tightening around her chest like a vice.
Still, she kept going.
The dome-topped building was closer now, rising above the skyline like a monument of rot and old purpose. Cracked windows. Ivy trailing up the stone walls. It stood silent and massive at the edge of the overgrowth-choked road, like it had been waiting for her.
But her ribs tightened again mid-jog—one too many jarring steps, one breath too sharp.
The pain tore through her, sudden and consuming, and before she could stop it, she doubled over, a raw, wrenching noise escaping her throat. Her stomach twisted violently, and she dropped to her knees on the edge of the sidewalk. A weak stream of bile splattered the ground in front of her, hot and bitter. Nothing solid came up—there hadn’t been anything in her stomach—but the nausea didn’t care.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her trembling hand, spit and sweat slicking her skin. Her body trembled all over, her bare legs stained with dirt, blood, and dust. Her breath came in shaky gasps, but the retching had loosened something ugly in her chest—panic, fear, rage—and it was bubbling up fast.
She forced herself to her feet again, each movement dragging pain along with it, but she couldn’t stop. Not now. Not with Joel out there. Not with the library in sight.
She dropped into a speed walk, slow but steady, trying to ignore the rhythmic thump in her ears, the pounding of her pulse in her head. The air was dry and bitter, stinking faintly of rot, exhaust, and sunbaked blood. Her hands were filthy—gripping the knife tighter than she needed to, white-knuckled, as if it were the only real thing grounding her.
As she walked, the thoughts came rushing in. She couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t keep them out.
They’d made it. They had made it to the Fireflies.
Joel had gotten her there. Through the snow, through David, through everything. And for what?
So Marlene could lie to them both?
Marlene had promised a cure. Promised safety. Promised hope. For Ellie, it was her only chance at redemption.
But when Ellie had woken up, Joel wasn’t there. She hadn’t even been allowed to see him. They’d kept them apart from the start, lied to him. Why? Why not let him stay?
Because Marlene never planned to let them walk away.
She told Joel that Ellie was dead. Whatever lie she chose, it had to be cruel enough to break him. And then… what? Walk him to the library and put a bullet in his head like he was just another problem to clean up?
Ellie felt her lip curl, a snarl of disbelief and fury forming under her breath.
Why?
What was their plan? Lock her in a hospital room for weeks? Months? Hook her up to machines until her veins collapsed, until her body failed? Until there was nothing left of her but data? Were they going to bleed her dry and keep her alive while they did it?
Marlene wanted her caged. A test subject. A prisoner.
And Joel… Joel had always known something like this could happen.
That’s why he had fought so hard to protect her. That’s why he’d hesitate when she talked about the cure. He never said it out loud, but she saw it in his face. He didn’t trust the Fireflies. He didn’t trust anyone.
And he’d been right.
The only person in this entire world Ellie could trust was Joel.
And now Marlene wanted him dead for it.
A hot surge of fury pulsed through her chest, stronger than the pain. Stronger than the fear. It gave her fuel. It gave her purpose. Her legs moved faster. She felt her breath steady, shallow but consistent.
The library rose above her like a monument to everything she was terrified to lose.
Ellie stared at it through the haze of pain and exhaustion, the world around her blurring as her legs finally gave in to a shaky stop at the base of the crumbling steps. Her chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, every breath scraping against her ribs like jagged glass. The sun had shifted, throwing sharp beams of golden light across the entrance. The cracked dome glared back at her like an empty eye socket.
But she was here.
She made it.
She sucked in a breath—too sharp. Too deep. It punched through her ribcage like a knife and sent her staggering forward with a cough that rattled her entire body. Her arm came up to brace her side. The pain didn’t matter. None of it mattered.
Joel was in there.
Or at least, she hoped he still was.
Unless I’m too late, her brain whispered cruelly.
She swallowed hard, pushing the thought down, forcing herself up the stairs one slow, dragging step at a time. Her bare feet throbbed with every movement, sticky with dried blood and dust. She kept her knife clutched tightly in her hand, the only thing grounding her to this reality. Her mind was a whirlwind, spinning so fast she thought she might vomit again. When she reached the top, she didn’t burst through the door. Instead, she paused, breath shallow, ears straining. She expected yelling. Gunfire. The bark of commands. Something. Anything.
At first, there was nothing. Just the wind whispering through the ruined glass, her own heartbeat thundering in her ears.
And then—
She heard it.
So faint, it almost wasn’t there.
Crying.
Ellie’s stomach twisted. That… that wasn’t what she expected.
Not a Firefly. Not someone hunting her. Just soft, broken crying. The sound of someone falling apart.
She stepped inside slowly, her breath catching. The main lobby was shattered and silent. Books were scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. Furniture lay overturned and splintered. Shafts of light cut through the broken skylight, illuminating dust that danced in the air like ash.
And then she saw him.
Joel.
Her knees nearly gave out.
He was kneeling on the floor, his back to her, completely still except for the trembling of his shoulders. At his feet were two dead Fireflies, blood pooling around their limbs. One of their rifles lay discarded, half under a fallen table. Joel held her backpack in one hand—gripping it so tightly it looked like he was afraid it would float away. In the other, he held his pistol.
Pointed at his head.
Ellie’s stomach dropped.
No. No, no, no—
Her heart thudded violently against her chest. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Everything around her disappeared—just static and that single moment, frozen in time. Her throat tightened, and she had to force herself to speak through it.
“Joel…” her voice cracked on his name softly, as not to startle him.
He flinched. His grip tightened on the pistol, but he didn’t lift his head, didn’t move.
Her feet carried her forward before she could think, pain radiating up her legs, her ribs, her skull. It didn’t matter. Nothing did except him. She was breathing too hard. Crying before she even knew she was crying. Her face was hot, her body cold. A thousand emotions tore through her at once—grief, relief, guilt, terror, love.
Joel still didn’t turn.
His voice came soft. Shaky. Broken.
“You’re not real,” he whispered, almost too quiet to hear. “You’re not real.” His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched, tears falling freely down his face. His entire body shook as his hand on the pistol trembled. “You’re not real,” he said again, more desperately this time, as if saying it would protect him from the hallucination.
Ellie couldn’t take it anymore.
A sob tore from her chest. She dropped the knife with a clatter and crossed the last few steps between them, falling to her knees in front of him. Her fingers reached out—hesitant, trembling—and gently, she wrapped her hand around his wrist, the one holding the gun.
At her touch, Joel let out a broken sob, his eyes flying open. And for a second… he still didn’t believe. But then she squeezed his wrist, just barely.
“I’m real,” Ellie said, but her voice broke halfway through the sentence. She blinked hard, forcing the tears out, forcing herself to breathe through the ache in her chest. “Joel… it’s me. It’s me, with all my shitty puns and cursing and everything.”
But he still wasn’t looking at her. He just kept shaking his head, as if trying to erase her from existence. His lips moved, whispering the same denial over and over like a prayer he didn’t want answered. “You’re not real. You’re not real.”
Ellie felt her heart shatter all over again.
She reached out again slowly, like approaching a wounded animal, her fingers gently brushing his trembling hand—the one still clutching her bag, cold and slick with sweat. His skin was rough. Calloused. Familiar. She closed her smaller hand over his and pressed it against her chest, right over her heartbeat.
“Feel that?” she whispered, breath catching. “I’m here, Joel. I’m alive and you’re stuck with me, old man.”
Joel's eyes, once squeezed shut, cracked open like he was afraid of what he’d see. They found her face, and stayed there. Watched her cry. Watched her breathe. Watched her live.
The pistol slipped from his fingers like it weighed a thousand pounds, hitting the floor.
He collapsed against her, and Ellie’s arms wrapped tight around him before he could fall completely. She held him like she never wanted to let go—like if she let go now, this would all disappear.
And Joel sobbed.
Not the kind of sobs she was used to—the quiet, grief-drenched ones he tried to swallow back after a particularly bad nightmare. These were deep and wrenching and loud. The kind of sobs that scraped at his throat and echoed through the ruined library. The kind that came from a place so broken it didn’t have words.
Ellie pressed her face into his shoulder and cried with him. All of it—the Fireflies, the hospital gown, the blood, the fall, the pain, the fear—it poured out of her in shudders and gasps. But through all of it, she kept holding him. Tighter than she ever had before.
“I thought you were gone,” Joel whispered into her hair. “I was gonna— I thought I failed you.”
“You didn’t,” she whispered. “You didn’t fail me, Joel. You never have.”
He pulled back just far enough to look at her, his hands trembling as they framed her face, brushing back blood-matted hair from her temple. His thumb traced a cut on her cheek, a tear in the corner of her mouth. His eyes were wide and glassy.
“You’re real,” he said again. This time, not a denial. This time, a revelation. A plea. A truth.
Ellie nodded through her tears. “I’m real. And I’m ready to go home.”
He pulled her back into his arms, and this time, there was no shaking. Just the warmth of him. The truth that she was alive. His little girl was alive.
Ellie didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to let go. Her fingers dug into the back of Joel’s shirt, clinging like she’d fall apart if she loosened her grip. She wanted to stay wrapped in his arms forever, where it was warm and real and safe.
But reality didn’t give a damn about what she wanted.
They didn’t have time. She’d bashed in Marlene’s knee and jumped out a fucking window, and they’d be coming. Maybe now, maybe in a minute, maybe five. But they would come.
And they would want her back.
With a shaky breath, still half-buried in his chest, Ellie mumbled, “As much as I’m coming to like your sweaty old man hugs…” She tried to smirk, tried to sound like herself, like she always did after a tough moment,“...I kinda made a prison escape and probably broke Marlene’s knee.”
Joel exhaled a sharp breath against her temple, the smallest huff of a laugh leaving him, but his body tensed beneath her. Instantly on alert. The familiar weight of his attention shifted from her to the room—calculating, aware, ready. His hand moved to her shoulder, steadying her as he pulled back, eyes scanning the broken skylight, the blood-soaked floor, the doors behind her.
“You’re right,” he said, his voice harder now. Steeled. “We gotta go.”
He helped her up gently, one hand gripping her elbow, the other hovering like he was afraid to hurt her ribs. She winced but didn’t pull away. He noticed. He noticed everything.
Once she was on her feet, he stepped back just slightly, his brow furrowed deep. “Can you walk?” he asked, eyes flicking down to her bare, bruised legs, the blood dried across her feet.
Ellie nodded, even though the answer wasn’t simple. “Yeah,” she whispered. “But… can I change first?”
Joel hesitated. She saw the war in his face—the drive to get moving, to keep her safe, to put as much distance as possible between her and the people who wanted to carve her open—but he also looked at her, really looked at her. The paper-thin gown hanging loose, stained and barely tied. The way her arms crossed over her chest without thinking. The way she stood crooked, favoring her side.
He gave a tight nod. “Make it quick.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “Just gotta find a corner that’s not covered in blood.”
She reached down and grabbed her bag—the one Joel had been clutching just a minute ago. She pulls it to her chest as she rounded a corner into a shadowed hallway, just out of sight. The moment she was out of view, the tears came again. Silent this time. Not from fear. Just… everything.
Ellie dropped to her knees and unzipped the bag with shaking hands. Her fingers brushed over the folded clothes inside and she nearly laughed. Because Joel made her carry backups and he always insisted. "Never know when you’ll need ‘em," he’d said.
Thank fuck.
She stripped quickly, biting her lip hard as pain flared through her ribs. She caught her reflection in a broken shard of glass from a cracked mirror nearby. Her chest was a mess—deep blue bruising, angry and swollen, spreading over her side and up toward her shoulder. It hurt to breathe, to lift her arms, to even think about pulling her shirt on.
She hissed as she forced her arms through the sleeves, nearly dropping the bra halfway through. It took three tries, but she got it on, barely. Her jeans went up slower, one leg at a time, and she nearly collapsed as she tried to zip them. But eventually, she was dressed—tattered jeans with a rip over one knee, and a stained, faded T-shirt with a dragon on the front, wings curled around a sword.
Because dragons were just as cool as dinosaurs.
She adjusted the strap on her bag, feeling the familiar weight settle against her back, and stepped out into the main hall.
Joel was crouched over one of the Fireflies, prying ammo from a half-empty pouch. He looked up the moment she came into view—and for just a second, Ellie saw it again. That brief flicker of disbelief. That desperate need to check, to be sure she was real.
His eyes softened. His shoulders relaxed just a little.
“Alright,” he said, rising to his feet, now carrying a full pack and slinging one of the rifles across his back. “Stay behind me. We’ll stick to the alleys, head west. Opposite of how we came in.”
Ellie nodded, her throat dry and her head spinning from more than just emotion. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She was so thirsty. The adrenaline that had kept her going since she leapt out the hospital window had burned off, and now all that was left was pain. Her feet screamed with every step. Each one was a stab of fire. She was pretty sure there was still glass buried in them, but she didn’t stop to check.
Now wasn’t the time.
Joel gave her a glance—quick, assessing—and she knew he saw everything. The bruises. The limp. The fact that she didn’t have shoes. But he didn’t say a word, because they didn't have time.
He just turned toward the fading light and led the way, rifle gripped in one hand. Ellie followed, close behind, Marlene's knife clutched tight in her fist again.
The afternoon sun was dipping low, staining the broken city gold and orange, and casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. They moved fast and quiet, slipping between alleyways, ducking under old awnings, avoiding the streets where Fireflies might patrol. And through the ache, the exhaustion, and the dull roar in her skull, Ellie kept her eyes locked on the back of Joel’s shoulders.
Because he was here.
Because they were together again.
Because no matter how bad things got—no matter how much it hurt— until Ellie’s cold, dead body was buried six feet deep, Joel was with her.
And as long as that was true, she knew they could survive anything.