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Joel Miller was a fucking tank.
That's what Ellie reminded herself as they moved through the university, gun in her hands while she listened to the old man gasp and stumble behind her. They'd been in a thousand fights together since leaving Boston, and not once had he been truly injured. He had been shot, beaten, stabbed, and even grappled with Clickers more times than she could count, and every single time he brushed it off with nothing but a mutter and another layer of makeshift bandages, flexing his broad shoulders.
He was not going to die by fucking rebar.
All they needed was to get away and find a safe place to hunker down for a while, because Ellie wasn't stupid. It had gone straight through him, for crying out loud. He would need some time to recover before returning to his usual physical prowess. Blood was still drip, drip, dripping onto the ground from his wound, and her hands were sticky and coated red with the stuff too. It was a lot of blood, and she knew that couldn't be good, but he'd be okay. There was nothing he couldn't heal from, nothing really crippling. Hell, maybe in some short time he would be complaining more about the blow his back took against the ground than actually being impaled. Though maybe that was a little wishful.
She glanced back at him, teeth worrying her bottom lip as she took in his hunched form. He was bent almost double, an arm pressed weakly around his middle where — oh man — blood continued to pour out of his body. How much blood did he even fucking have? Was he running out? He looked a little pale, maybe he was just going to bleed to death before they got out of here. No, no, he couldn't. He was still conscious and moving, shuffling, really, but moving nonetheless.
“Joel?”
The man grunted, head lifting slightly to look up at her, his face tight and eyes glazed with pain. She'd never seen him like this, never seen more than a hiss and a wince as he fixed whatever was wrong. Her body felt so much tenser looking at him, worry and terror wrapping her guts in knots. It was fucking scary, seeing him almost helpless, staggering and swaying as his pistol slipped slowly from his blood-slicked grip.
Ellie blinked, forcing her gaze away. She had to be Joel now, had to protect them and get them out. The gun lifted in her hands, its weight familiar now. Her ears were straining for any sound from their attackers, eyes darting across each room before she entered.
She was still shaking with the effort of pulling Joel off of the ground, or maybe it was the adrenaline and fear that was doing it. He'd hit the ground hard a minute ago after trying to get through the window, another thing that had shocked her to her core. Joel had never had any difficulty vaulting over ledges, but this time he fell headfirst to the ground. That couldn't be a good sign.
Peeking out through a doorway, Ellie checked quickly both ways before moving through. She was talking, as if filling the silence would fix something, anything. Listening to him heave for breath and stumble was far more terrifying than any hunter.
A heavy crash sounded behind her and she spun, catching the last second of Joel collapsing against a fallen vending machine, his body hitting roughly against its surface. Ellie darted towards him, muttering as she grabbed his arm to lift him up. “Oh man. Here, lean on me.”
Joel was heavy, so much of his weight on her as he fought to regain his footing. “No,” he gasped out, still leaning on the machine.
“Well, can you walk?” She demanded, fear frying her nerves. Her tone was a little harsher than she intended, but she couldn’t control it.
A pause as he panted, gritting out a harsh “Yes!”
“Then fucking walk!”
Ellie moved into the next space, a large atrium. They were almost there, they were almost there. What would Joel do? Protect her, and encourage her. “You’re doing good.” She said, head snapping back and forth between him and the swinging doors ahead. Yeah, ten outta ten with that one.
“Come on!” Ellie called, running ahead. The place seemed clear, devoid of anything except a crumbling staircase and toppled furniture. Callus had to be less than a hundred feet away, once they were with him they could just ride off to safety.
Behind her, Joel lurched to one side, legs uncoordinated before he staggered towards her again. “Joel!?”
He slumped against a cabinet, body bent over its corner until his legs gave out again, throwing him to the ground. “Ellie!” He cried as he slammed unceremoniously against the concrete. She didn't have time to check on him as she heard voices sprinting down the stairs. Her heart seized in a split second of indecision, everything inside her warring against each other to check on Joel and to kill the people who were here to kill her.
One of them yelled something from the top, and she shot at him as he jumped downwards towards her. He died with a yell as he hit the ground, a fact that she found no pleasure but even less remorse in. These people had tried to kill her, and had injured Joel, and right now they were in the way.
She continued firing at the other man, but either her hands were too unsteady or he was moving too fast, because none of her shots hit their mark. Instead, she found the gun empty and in need of reloading, which she desperately tried to do as the man approached her, spitting curses. Oh, Joel would have been really useful right now. “Oh shit, oh shit!”
Her feet shuffled uselessly as the man swung at her, his weapon catching her across the cheek with enough force to knock her to the ground. Hot, wicked pain bloomed across her face, stinging like nothing else. Finally the gun clicked and she shot, emptying bullets into the man’s chest before he could swing again.
Immediately, Ellie was scrambling to her feet, fighting to get Joel upright again as she blinked back hot tears and tried her best to ignore what would likely be a deep bruise. She continued to yammer as Joel clung to her shoulder, god, he was so heavy, but she swore that he laughed weakly at something that she said.
Each step took them that much closer to Callus, but their progress was painfully slow, Joel crushing her from above as her heart beat fit to break a rib. They'd be okay. They were almost there.
She pushed through the glass doors, into the biting wind of the open campus. Joel tumbled — again — down a couple of steps, but before she could help him up, there was a shout of surprise; another hunter. Ellie shot him twice without hesitation, half her mind focused on Joel while the other spiraled and fluffed thick and stupid with fear.
“Just- get the horse.” He wheezed, and she sprang up from his side, running to grab Callus’s reins. Joel struggled to his feet behind her, low mutters and staggering breath telling her all that she needed to know. There was already another pool of blood at his feet, along with a trail that traced up the stairs.
Ellie took his arm to guide him to the horse as he listed sideways, until his arms shakily made it over. She didn’t miss the way he almost fell against him, too unstable to even stand for long. That wasn’t good. How long had it been since he had been injured? A few minutes? And already he had lost so much blood, no, they needed to get away fast.
Her hands shifted to his back. “Can you get on?” She urged, and in lieu of response, he just gripped the saddle and made a wounded noise as he pulled himself upwards, her arms pushing to help. Joel slumped into the saddle, head hanging low and eyes half closed. She clambered quickly up after him, and they were off. Even Callus seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, galloping swiftly away.
She wrapped her arms around Joel’s side, fingers still clinging to her gun. The sting of her face was starting to go numb already from the bitter cold, and she pressed herself close to Joel, feeling the heavy heat of his body and the wet of blood leaking from his injury. They were almost there. All she had to do was get far, far away, stitch him up, and then let him recover. They were going to be okay.
Callus slowed as they reached the entrance of the university, and Ellie kept her eyes on their surroundings for any trace of the hunters. There didn’t seem to be any, but each rustle of leaves made her heart jump. In front of her, Joel was less responsive, breaths shallow and strained. She kept her hands at his side, even as blood continued to ooze through her fingers.
Ellie glanced back briefly, comforted by the lack of pursuers behind them. “I think we’re safe.” She murmured, letting out a weak breath. Big mistake.
Joel groaned, keeling heavily to one side, hanging precariously off of the saddle. “Joel?” She clung to him desperately, trying to keep him up. He fell to the asphalt roughly despite her, unmoving. Ellie leapt off of the horse, kneeling at his side. “Joel - here.”
She tried lifting him, raising his head and then his arms as her guts climbed into her throat. He wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t he moving? He wasn’t dead — hot spirals of air were still puffing out from his mouth, but his eyes were closed and he wouldn’t move or speak. He needed to get up, she didn’t know what to do or where to go. They were still so close to the university, he had to wake up.
“Get up, get up, get up!” Ellie cried, pulling frantically at his heavy body. He still wouldn’t budge, and she wanted to scream to the sky to make him get up. She shook him, fighting the hot prick of tears and the thick lump in her throat. “You gotta tell me what to do!” He didn’t so much as look at her as she begged, grasping at his shirts and jackets, pulling at him.
Taking him by the hands, she dragged him upwards, choking on sobs. “Come on… you’ve gotta get up!” The wind itself seemed to laugh at her, rustling uselessly around them. “Joel!”
—
Ellie wasn’t Joel. She knew as much because David was on top of her.
His voice was sickening, slick and honeyed and poison to her ears. His grip was too tight, freezing cold and burning a harsh brand into her shoulder that she knew wouldn’t fade. She bucked and writhed with what little strength she had, but he was heavy, and despite being stabbed three times, still strong. Stronger than her.
Her head hurt. Her ribs hurt. Breath came shallow and hot, stinging with the scent of smoke. Thoughts, every scrambled and half-baked plan she could’ve cooked up wouldn’t come. Everything was thick and hazy through the terror and the blood that rushed so quickly through her veins. She was going to die in this steakhouse, trapped under a man with bad intentions and surrounded by the fires of hell. That was it, then. Or maybe she was already dead and this was her punishment.
Ellie wished, for the hundredth time, that Joel was here. He would kick David’s head in, smash his skull on the corner of a table like he did that hunter all the way back in Pittsburgh, or maybe he would blast him with a shotgun. The old man wouldn’t come, though. He was still lying in that basement, miles away, as close to death as she was. She wished she could at least hold his hand again.
David’s face loomed above her, each cruel line exaggerated by the flickers of nearby flame.
“You can try beggin’.” He snarled, gleaming with sick excitement.
Ellie spat, face twisting. “Fuck you.”
David turned her over roughly as his body lowered, too heavy on hers. A terrified cry gave out from her lips as he put a hand over her throat and what was about to happen finally sank in. Nowhere to go. No escape. “You think you know me, huh?”
He snarled, the harsh lines of his face descending upon her. “Well, let me tell you something.”
His other hand wrapped around her neck, and she was faced with the glistening red of the injury she’d inflicted at his collar. All that running, all that fighting, for what? Just to end up dying in a burning diner and made into stew. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
She reached an arm out wildly, waving to grab something, anything. David laughed, shifting his grip again to cover her wrist. His skin was jagged with callouses and frost, ripping into her.
“You know, Ellie, the fighting’s the part I like the most.”
She wailed, twisting and shaking while bitter tears slipped down her face. He cooed, pressing a little closer. “Don't cry. There's no fear in love.”
Ellie couldn’t breathe through his hold on her and she gagged, choking on spit and smoke and air that refused to go down. Her body was starting to burn, lungs aching and spasming beneath her ribs. Carbon dioxide makes things acidic, so when the brain detects elevated acidity in the blood caused by an excess of carbon dioxide, it tells the body to breathe. Stupid, useless fact. She couldn’t breathe.
Her other hand stretched outwards, grasping desperately, and for one, paralyzing moment, she was sure that she wouldn’t be able to reach it. Bleeding fingers scraped against the wooden handle, tugging it closer.
She moved the instant that it was in her grip, slashing upwards as something inside her howled. Or maybe outside. Yes, David was screaming, and so was she.
Ellie’s arms burned, black-tongued and venomous, yanking the knife from his body and climbing on top. Bringing it down again, again, again, again. Vicious, hot terror ripped from her like a wound, swirling and spitting and wailing everything that the unrecognizable man beneath her had done. The fury embraced her like an old and familiar song, becoming one with the fear and one with her. Every slice of the blade felt like a gash into her own skin and it fueled her, driving her wild as bone and flesh and blood flew like sparks around her, on her.
Smoke curled into her lungs and she roared it out, animal cries of desperation and anguish ringing out into the thick air. There was no relief in the violence, no sanctuary, but it tasted sweet, like liquid fire. She slowed, blinking at the mess of a face before her. Maybe he was dead already, she couldn’t tell through the haze of red film. His hand shifted ever so slightly and her heart jackhammered, sobbing anew as the knife continued to break and tear. Why wasn't he dead? Why wouldn't he just fucking die?
She could hear herself distantly, but much more present was the crunch of bone and the hollow thunk of the blade against the wooden floor. Over and over and over because every time she stopped, every time she dared think he was dead, his voice came creeping back into her head and she was sure, so sure that he was still alive.
Ellie hardly dared to look at him again, to meet the eyes that were no longer in their sockets. Instead she just kept swinging as the world swallowed her whole, snatching pieces off of her as she smashed through a useless ribcage. A voice she didn't recognize spoke, tone indistinguishable from her own screams and the snarl of flame. Look what you've become.
The fight leaked out of her slowly as the fire licked the carpet at her feet. An almighty crash resounded somewhere behind her, an undeniable sign of flame getting out of hand. Something else — emptier, calmer — inside her took control, ripping her eyes from the carnage she had caused and lowering them to his belt, where indeed, a set of keys dangled, splattered crimson.
She dropped the knife, letting it clatter dully onto the soaked carpet. She didn’t want it. Ellie fumbled to remove the ring of keys, fingers shaking far too much to work properly. Her hands were drenched in blood, dripping and slick. It smeared whatever her hands touched.
Getting up shakily, Ellie staggered a little before righting herself, not sparing a backwards glance at the corpse on the ground. She just moved away, away from the fire and away from him. Back to Joel, because she needed to find him. That was it.
The exit she had tried first to leave from was shrouded in fire. The window she had entered from was too high, and she didn't think she had the strength to push one of the massive tables over.
Her whole body was numb. Either from shock or the sear that lapped at her back, she wasn't sure. It seemed fate finally took pity on her, though, as it revealed a locked door hidden at the end of a hall, untouched by the approaching inferno. She would not die trapped in this place.
Ellie dropped the keys three times before finally unlocking the door, stepping outside as a gust of icy wind swept through her. The sudden cold was jarring, so completely alien to the heat inside the steakhouse. Was the whole world not on fire? She could have sworn that everything was ablaze, flickering hues of red and orange lighting up the coils of acrid smoke.
Pure, white, fresh snow was settled on the ground before her, and there was an odd feeling in her chest as she plowed through it. Her footsteps were clumsy and dragging, leaving behind a trail of red droplets from wounds she didn’t feel.
The image of David’s hacked-apart face was imprinted into some corner of her brain, plastering the vision everywhere it could manage. E-llie, he called. She flinched, staggering. Violent heart, huh?
Oh, she was stupid, so stupid. Too lost in what felt like a trance to hear the footsteps behind her, and by the time she noticed it was already far too late, because big, heavy hands were clasped around her shoulders.
The same, all-consuming fear flooded her, and Ellie wailed as much as her lungs would allow, thrashing and fighting. It wasn't possible. She'd killed him, torn him apart in ways that no amount of gauze or antibiotics could ever fix. It wasn't fucking possible.
But she'd left the cleaver in the steakhouse, in the wreckage and the flames. He was here, somehow, and all she had this time was her switchblade, which was tucked in her back pocket. She couldn't reach it, not while he was holding her hands.
She'd well and truly fucked up this time. How he had escaped, Ellie had no idea, but none of it mattered if he was back and about to kill her again, take her apart and eat her body. She would watch the diner burn to the ground as he broke her slowly, no amount of crying and begging to stop it.
Unless, of course, he wasn’t here at all, and instead one of his men (how many were left? How many had she killed on her way here? Ten? Twenty? She wasn’t sure, and she didn’t really want to know) was back for revenge. Well, he could get fucked. Ellie writhed and kicked, jaws snapping like a feral beast. She had to get back to Joel, god forbid anyone get in her way again. Pain lanced through her chest as she moved, but the damage she’d sustained didn’t slow her at all. What was one more blow to her body? What did it matter when all she needed to do was get away? She'd chew her own hands off to escape. The bruises weren't what hurt.
The person was speaking, his words garbled and incoherent and she was sure, she was so sure that David had come back as some sort of demon, death barely a hindrance in the way his desires. But the sound was different. Lower, raspier. Familiar. She knew that voice, but she must've just been imagining things. It wasn't real. It wasn’t-
“Ellie, it’s me. It’s me, look.”
And she did. It took a long moment for her body to stop pounding at him with her fists, eyes struggling to comprehend what she was looking at. It couldn't be.
Thick brown jacket and deep-set, soft eyes. She knew that face. It didn't even make any sense, he'd been on the brink of death mere hours ago, how was he here? How was he here?
Joel Miller was a fucking tank. He'd made it, pulled through despite the injury and the infection and he'd found her, he'd found her. He was alive.
She stared at him, unable to tear her gaze away for even a second. It was a miracle. Awestruck, it was all she could do to take him in, and it seemed he was the same.
Warm hands moved to cup her face, so much warmer than the bitter cold. Her breath stuttered and she let out what sounded almost like a delirious laugh, stunned.
“It's okay.” Joel murmured, gentle and so very soft. “It's okay.”
Ellie babbled in response, mumbling things that even she wasn't sure of. “He- he tried to- but I-”
She pushed herself into his chest, soaking in the deep and welcoming heat of his body. He shuddered long and low around her, strong arms wrapping carefully around her. Joel smelled like sweat and blood and ice, but beneath it was something unshakably him. He was here. He was really here.
A hand cradled the back of her head, holding her tenderly. “It's okay, babygirl.” A heavy, relieved sigh. Eyelashes brushing against her ear. “I've got you.”
She clung to him, like if she let go even a little bit, he'd sweep away with the wind. “I've got you.”
It was either seconds or minutes later when he pulled away, worried eyes inspecting her face. She mewled, already missing the contact, the warmth, his presence. Joel shrugged off his pack and jacket, bundling her in the heavy material. It was nice. She was enveloped, shrouded in his company. His arm returned around her shoulder, keeping her close. Safe. She was safe with him.
Without another word, they started moving, Joel guiding her fumbling footsteps away from the fire. Just like he always did.