Archive of Our Own ^beta

An involuntary growl escapes Tommy’s mouth when the nail gun jams for the third time. It’s on its way out, and it’s determined to be his damn problem. He curses under his breath, fumbling to clear the mechanism when the emergency siren echoes across Jackson. Fire. Not a drill.

“Shit,” he mutters, dumping the tool on the nearest flat surface of what will become Jackson’s new schoolhouse. Just as he yanks his radio from his belt, Maria’s steady voice crackles, “It’s the Tipsy Bison.” The tavern is filled with gas lines and grease traps. They’ve drilled the fire brigade on this scenario more than others; an explosion there could devastate more than one gathering place.

He’s already moving, heart racing as he sprints through falling snow toward Main Street. Smoke is visible before Tommy even rounds the corner — a thick black plume rises above the rooftops, dark and oily against an ice-gray sky. The Bison is their most important gathering place, and it is fully staffed this late in the afternoon. Too many people, too much danger… He has to get there. Now.

The air is thick with the stench of burned wood and chemicals, highlighted by the smoke hovering above the ground. A crowd has already formed outside the tavern when he arrives, and several soot-smudged people are sitting on the curb, coughing and looking shell-shocked. Maria stands at the center of the action, barking orders with the same calm efficiency that’s kept Jackson together this long.

Tommy pushes through the onlookers, the urgency that drove him across town in record time settling into an adrenaline-fueled calm. He sweeps the curb, picking out faces one by one. There were nine on rotation today, plus Seth at the bar. Ten people in total, but when he tallies heads, only nine are being fussed over by the town medics. Someone’s missing.

Another, slower check confirms he hadn’t missed someone in the chaos, and the duty roster cycles through his mind — who was scheduled, who’s sitting where, who isn’t. Seth is hovering over the teens, and with an icy dread, he realizes:

Dina was on KP, and she is nowhere to be seen.

He’s next to Maria in seconds, panic blossoming through his chest as he gasps, “Dina — have you seen Dina?”

His wife’s eyes widen with alarm, hand already reaching for her radio. “They said everyone was out,” she says, trailing off as she scans the crowd again. Her voice goes tight, clipped — the tone she gets when things go sideways. “They did a headcount, I know they did a headcount.”

“Well, they fucked up,” he growls, turning toward a sudden commotion at the far end of the line. The crowd parts as Dina barrels through, her jacket half-on and her boots untied, panic written clear across her features. Terror replaces the momentary relief at seeing her alive and unharmed when he sees how frantic she is. That girl doesn’t panic; not like this.

Before he can take another step, she skids to a stop in front of him. “Where’s Ellie?”

“What—”

“She was covering for me,” Dina chokes out, the words tumbling over each other in her rush to get them out. “I wasn’t feeling well, so she took my shift. Where is she?”

Tommy’s world tilts. Ellie. Inside. The words don’t connect at first, then slam into him so hard that he bends forward, hands bracing on his knees as his vision tunnels. Ellie was inside when the fire broke out, and now…

Not Ellie. Christ, not Ellie.

“Maria!” he bellows, trusting that his wife will follow him as he sprints to Seth.

“Ellie,” he rasps at the man, barely able to force the name through the vice on his throat. “Did you see—”

“Bolted through the back door.” Under other circumstances, he would be concerned when the bartender breaks into a wet cough that doubles him over. “Right as the flames started spreading from the kitchen.” Seth’s hand shoots out, fingers digging into Tommy’s forearm hard enough to bruise and forcing eye contact with an intensity that cuts through the panic. “She’s not in there. I swept that building twice over; I promise you, no one is inside.”

Seth was a cop before the outbreak — two decades on the force. He knows how to clear a building, how to account for bodies. If he says it’s clear, it’s clear, but that doesn’t explain where the hell Ellie is.

Tommy whirls away from Maria’s hurried approach and the people watching the spectacle and barrels straight for the alley behind the tavern. The snow is ankle-deep here, crushed into a filthy slurry in all the chaos. He almost doesn’t register boots scrabbling behind him until she seizes his upper arm, yanking him to a stop.

“What happened?” she demands, scanning the alleyway for anything out of the ordinary.

He points, breathless, down the narrow alley between buildings. “Ellie was inside. Seth says she got out the back, but—” The rest of the sentence dies in his throat because he can’t say it out loud, can’t give voice to the possibility that they missed her, can’t handle the thought of standing here panicking when he should be in there, finding his niece.

His wife’s jaw tightens as she rushes alongside him, catching herself on the corner of the building when the ice threatens to take her legs out from under her. The back door of the Bison stands crooked, its hinges warped by heat. Black soot streaks the wall above the doorframe in a fan pattern, and his stomach drops — those marks mean flames came roaring out of this door at some point. If Ellie had been near—

Tommy scans the ground, forcing himself to slow down and think like the hunter he was. Despite shaking hands, he knows what to look for — weight distribution, stride length, tread pattern… Ellie’s been restless since the first snow, and he’s gotten used to counting the light imprints of impractical sneakers. It takes only a second to spot them, weaving far beyond the stamped-down tracks under his own feet.

“There, that’s her. That’s gotta be her.”

“Go,” Maria orders. “I’ll get word to Joel. Radio when you find her.”

He follows the trail at a run, tracking turn after turn in a maze of side streets. The world narrows to those tracks, everything else fading to background noise. She’s easy to follow — another sign something is desperately wrong — but halfway down the block, a disturbance in the snow catches his eye. There are faint streaks of blood visible within two small handprints. Shit. Ellie must have gotten herself banged up in the escape. She fell hard enough to catch herself with her hands. The blood isn’t much, but it’s enough to tell him she ran blind and panicked, not caring about being followed.

He blinks, and he’s in Austin on the day of the outbreak, following his brother’s tracks at a run as the world burns around him. The memory threatens to double him over — sending Joel and Sarah ahead of him, following Joel’s footprints to the river and the gunshot, the gunshot, the gunshot. He shakes his head hard, forcing himself back to the present. There’s no time for flashbacks or shitty memories. Not now. Not with his niece at stake.

The footsteps turn onto Rancher Street. Home, he realizes with no small degree of relief. Thank God. She ran home. Of course she did. When Ellie’s scared, she runs to Joel. Always.

“Ellie!” he bellows, skidding across the threshold and into the front hall. The door hangs wide open — she didn’t even bother to close it behind her. Snow has blown in across the floorboards in a thin white dusting. The house is silent and still, ratcheting his heart rate up even higher. He’s about to tear the first floor apart when a muffled sound catches his ear. Tommy freezes, straining to hear over the rush of blood in his ears. The sound comes again — a whimper from the basement.

He pounds down the wooden steps, taking them two at a time until he hits the concrete floor. The basement is dark, lit only by dim gray light filtering through a single high window. The temperature drops at least ten degrees down here, cold enough that little clouds form with each exhale. His eyes are still adjusting when another whimper reaches his ears. It slices through the adrenaline and terror flooding his system, breaking his damn heart.

“Ellie-girl?”

Snagging one of the flashlights Joel keeps mounted on the wall, he sweeps the light across the room, frowning when he sees nothing but storage shelves and stacked boxes. Just as he’s about to call for her again, coughing erupts from his left.

Coughing means breathing. Breathing means alive. The thought steadies him; that’s all he cares about right now.

He rounds the stairs, the beam bouncing across the storage cabinets. Only one is unlatched, the door cracked open enough for a skinny teenager to slip through. Dropping to one knee, Tommy angles the flashlight beam inside and gradually opens the doors. Ellie hunches in the far corner, face buried in knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tight around her shins. She’s made herself as small as possible, folded up like she’s trying to disappear. Singe marks dot her clothing, small holes on the shoulders and arms where embers must have burned through the fabric. The smell of smoke clings to her, acrid and out of place in the musty basement, but it’s her eyes that stop him cold: wide and glassy, staring at something he can’t see.

“Well, howdy, li’l miss,” he murmurs, setting the flashlight on the concrete, angling it away from Ellie’s face when she flinches at the brightness. “You okay?”

No response. She’s breathing too fast, each shallow pant whistling in her chest. Could be smoke, panic, or both. Either way, she’s in distress.

The cabinet smells of old wood and dust. There’s barely enough room for her, let alone for him. He needs to get her out and get her upstairs. “Sorry, that was a stupid question, huh? I must be losin’ it like your old man. Can you look at me, Ellie?”

Her breathing hitches, the wheeze worsening, but she doesn’t move. She’s not present, but trapped in whatever hell her mind’s conjured up. Lord knows he’s had his share of episodes, but he doesn’t know what works for Ellie. Maria talks him down; Joel’s the one who handles Ellie. But Joel ain’t here.

“We’re in Jackson,” he begins, inching toward her with agonizing care. “You’re safe now. Just gonna let Maria know I found you, ‘kay? She’ll tell Joel where to find us.”

That, of all things, garners a response. “Joel’s dead,” Ellie mumbles, raising her head a few inches.

Even though he knows — he knows — his brother is alive, a spark of horror lands in his belly. His brother is probably frantic, pushing the horse to its limits to get home, but unhurt. Hearing it in Ellie’s voice, flat and certain, makes him want to vomit. It’s the voice of grief, yes, but not fresh grief. This is despair, pure and simple. As far as she’s concerned, Joel is dead and has been for a while.

“No. No, no, Ellie-girl, Joel ain’t dead. He’s on his way back from patrol right now. Soon as he’s in range, we’ll have him on the radio for you, okay?”

The girl shakes her head, a tiny, jerky movement that Tommy would have missed if he hadn’t had every speck of attention on her. Her eyes don’t focus on him or even register his presence. Without context for whatever she’s trapped in, he’ll have to be careful with his words.

“He’s gone,” she whispers, pointing to an empty spot on the floor. “I tried to get him up the stairs, but I can’t. So I’m just gonna stay with him.”

Oh.

Jesus Christ. The details of what happened after the pair left Jackson are patchy, but he knows Joel got injured and Ellie was kidnapped by the worst of humanity.

This isn’t the first time Ellie’s gotten lost in the past, but he’s never had to pull her back alone. The night she decided short sleeves were more important than allowing Tommy to eat his dinner in peace, he and Joel had a long conversation about what happened after they left Jackson. Joel kept everything vague, but told him Ellie had lived in a sort of fugue state until the thaw. He mentioned it happening a few times after they’d settled in Jackson — how she’d wake up screaming, or go somewhere else altogether — but always in the privacy of their home.

“Ellie-girl, look at me.” Tommy edges closer, extending his hand, careful not to startle her. “Joel’s alive. Probably pushin’ poor Beardy to his limits, tryin’a get back to you. You saw him off this morning, remember? He and Eugene were coverin’ Hoback today.”

Her eyes don’t track to him, instead fixed on something beyond the basement walls. He’s seen that thousand-yard stare before — hell, he’s had that thousand-yard stare — but watching it on his niece only deepens the nausea. It’s one thing to carry that weight yourself, to wake up drenched in sweat or lose the world for minutes, days, hours at a time. It’s another thing entirely to see it on a fifteen-year-old who should be worrying about getting caught drinking at Dina’s. The silence is back, her gaze unfocusing even further as he watches. She’s slipping away, retreating deeper into the void of a breakdown.

Tommy pulls his radio from his belt, thumbing the talk button without taking his eyes off Ellie. “Maria, I got her. We’re in Joel’s basement.”

Static crackles before Maria’s voice comes through, tight with worry. “How is she?”

“Wheezin’ a bit, might have a few burns. Nothin’ real bad.” He catalogs the damage again. Singed shirt, scraped hands, panting and wheezing — all fixable. After a moment of hesitation, he lowers his voice. “She thinks Joel’s dead.”

“I’ll make sure he knows to radio as soon as he’s in range,” she promises. There’s a pause, and he can hear the question in it — how bad is it, really? “Do you want me to send Doctor Vee?”

Tommy pauses, considering the girl in front of him. Ellie hasn’t moved, hasn’t blinked, and keeps staring at nothing. She’s terrified and confused, lost in a way he knows all too well. No doctor is going to fix it for her. “No. Reckon it’ll scare her more. She just needs her daddy.”

The walkie-talkie crackles again when Maria signs off, leaving him alone with a niece who has disappeared into a hellscape of her own making. “You know what I was doin’ when the siren went off?” he tries, keeping his voice low and steady. It’s what Joel did for him, back when the flashbacks and panic attacks were new to them both. The drone of a familiar voice helped him; all he can do is hope she’s comfortable listening to him. “Wrestlin’ with that daggum nail gun again. Third time today that piece of shit seized up on me.”

He studies her face, hoping for a flicker of recognition. Nothing, not even a twitch. God, she’s in deep. It’s not fair, being so young and lost like this. “Your daddy keeps sayin’ I should use a hammer like God intended, which is bullshit. Think the nail gun was his favorite tool when we was workin’ together back in Austin. Honestly? I think he wants it for himself — thinks he can fix it up.”

The wheeze in her breathing hasn’t eased up any, but it hasn’t worsened. That’s something at least. Six or seven burn marks dot her shirt, but they all appear superficial. Given the lack of blood on her person, he assumes her hands are just scraped to hell from her fall. And she must be frozen through, hiding down here after a frantic run through Jackson in nothing but a t-shirt. Wrapping her in his jacket, like he wants to, might worsen things. The best he can do is hope Joel wasn’t too far out when they radioed.

Tommy shifts his weight, settling more comfortably on the cold concrete. His knees will ache like a sonofabitch, but that’s a problem for later. Right now, all that matters is keeping Ellie in sight until Joel gets here.

She’s so damn small, curled up in that cabinet. Small, and terrified, and fifteen, and it ain’t fair. None of it is.

“Joel’s comin’, sweet pea,” he murmurs, more to himself than to her. “Reckon it won’t be much longer ’til your daddy’s breakin’ the front door down. S’gonna be okay.”

Still no reaction. Sighing, he settles in to wait.

“I ever tell you ‘bout the time my brother drove us into a swimmin’ pool?”

The second Joel’s voice sounds through the walkie-talkie, Ellie goes rigid.

“Right here, I got her right here. Hang on, let me…”

Tommy fumbles with the radio as he turns so she can hear. Clumsy fingers slip on the dial thanks to the tension thrumming through his body. She flinches at the movement, but he keeps himself steady, holding the radio between them.

“Ellie? You there, kiddo?” Joel’s voice crackles through the static, ragged with exertion and fear.

He expected a slight softening of relief. Instead, a keening, heartrending whine escapes her mouth. It’s pure anguish, and for a second, he can’t breathe. There’s no way to tell if hearing Joel is helping or hurting, but the way Ellie’s face contorts tells him just how deeply she’s trapped. Her breathing grows more erratic, more rapid, and he’s afraid she’s going to hyperventilate herself into fainting.

“I’m comin’ home right now,” he continues. “Hear me, baby girl? I’m just a few minutes out.”

The second Joel stops talking, the static goes quiet except for the faint crackle of an open channel. Tommy presses the talk button. His thumb shakes against the button. “Ain’t sure this is helpin’. How far are—?”

“Two minutes. Less,” Joel cuts him off, voice strained as much as he’s ever heard it. “Still in the basement?”

“Back left. Maria gave you the rundown?”

“Yeah. Yeah, she told me. Turnin’ onto Rancher now.”

Less than a minute passes before the front door creaks, followed by the urgent thump of footsteps overhead and — mercifully — down the steps. The relief that floods Tommy’s chest is almost painful. Thank God. He’s not sure how he would’ve kept it together much longer.

“Over here,” he calls even though Joel’s already scanning the room, eyes wild and face flushed from the mad dash home. The man’s a mess — hair windblown and dusted with snow, jacket half-buttoned — but his shoulders drop as soon as he spots them.

“Christ,” his brother mutters, crossing the distance in a few short strides. “She say anything?”

“She, uh…” Tommy scratches the back of his neck, hating every word he’s about to say. They hurt his throat, ready to choke him. “She thinks you’re dead.”

Joel squeezes his eyes shut, torment flashing across his face until he gets it under control. “Fuck,” he breathes, eyes falling closed for a moment. “Those are the worst ones,” he mutters to himself, dropping to his knees. The dull thud that follows makes Tommy wince. “Ellie? It’s me.”

The more he learns about this kid’s background, the more he wants to hunt down every sonofabitch who put that haunted look in her eyes, to make them pay for whatever hell they put her and Joel through. His brother won’t talk about it, not really, so Tommy’s knowledge is limited to scraps of information about cannibals and injuries and kidnapping. Even if he knew names or places, it wouldn’t help Ellie. That’s the worst part — he’s a crib monitor right now, tasked with watching over this girl until someone more competent can take over.

He watches Joel settle in front of the cabinet with deliberate movements. The way his brother moves speaks of practice; he’s done this before, enough for them to establish a routine. Instead of reaching for Ellie, he sits cross-legged on the concrete and shrugs off his jacket, placing it within her reach.

“Hi, baby girl.” An ache settles in Tommy’s chest, pasted between his heart and lungs. A year ago, the idea of Joel using such a gentle, raw tone of voice was unfathomable. He thought he’d never hear it again, not after Sarah. “Heard you’re havin’ a bit of a day.”

No response. Ellie continues staring past Joel as though he’s not there, her eyes fixed on the spot she pointed to earlier — where she thinks Joel’s body lies. The memory of her flat, certain “Joel’s dead” keeps replaying in his heart. That wasn’t initial grief; it was acceptance. She’d been living with it for a while.

Everything inside Tommy wants to plant himself on the basement steps and wait for Joel to tell him what to do, how to fix this. The basement feels too small, like he’s intruding on something sacred, but he can’t bring himself to leave. Not until Joel orders him out.

“Maria was waitin’ for me at the gate, kiddo,” Joel continues, turning his head enough to catch Tommy’s eye as well. “Said the fire’s out. Reckon Seth’ll be coughin’ for a while, but everyone’s okay. No one even needed the clinic.”

He watches his brother’s shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh, the kind that comes before a difficult task. “Can, uh… Maria said she’s got a handle on everything, if you don’t mind…”

“Just tell me what you need,” he murmurs, sighing when Ellie’s entire body shudders.

With a small, grateful nod, Joel turns to address her directly. “Everyone’s okay, kiddo,” Joel repeats slowly. “Everyone got out. Including you.”

There’s a patience in his brother’s posture that he never would’ve believed possible after Sarah. The man Joel became after the outbreak was too impatient, too determined to push everyone away for this kind of careful, gentle handling. He should head upstairs to give them privacy, but he can’t make his feet move. Joel asked him to stay, and that means something. His brother doesn’t ask for help unless he truly needs it.

Joel’s hands rest open on his knees, his shoulders relaxed despite the tension Tommy knows is thrumming through the man’s body. Every few sentences, he pauses, giving her space to process, to breathe.

“Hey, Tommy,” Joel says in a tone that tells him this is for Ellie’s benefit. “I think Ellie left a library book on the coffee table. Could you grab it for us? Maybe a couple of blankets, too. Gettin’ a chill down here.”

“‘Course,” he agrees, grateful for something to do with his hands. As he climbs the stairs, Joel’s indistinct murmur continues to drone on. The words themselves are lost, but the cadence is familiar — the same one he used when Sarah was sick… the same one he used when Tommy was trapped in his own all-consuming hellscape. It’s the sound of safety. Home. He hopes to God Ellie can sense it.

It doesn’t take long to collect the requested items, but something makes him pause. It is cold down there, and while he can’t do much about it, he can put a kettle on for them… worst case, he has himself a cup of tea.

After a brief detour to the kitchen, he makes his way back down on light feet. The scene hasn’t changed much, but Joel’s posture has subtly shifted. He’s leaned forward a fraction, just enough that Tommy can see concern settling more deeply into the lines of his face. The murmuring has stopped, replaced by a heavy silence broken only by Ellie’s ragged breathing.

“Thanks.” Joel sighs. “How long was she in there? Maria made it sound like she got out quick, but…”

“Not sure,” he admits with shame. He should’ve asked Seth, but the blind terror of finding out that his niece disappeared from a burning building was all-consuming. “I can find out.”

Joel nods, glancing up in surprise when Tommy drapes one of the blankets around his shoulders. “Said you were chilled,” he mutters, unfolding the heavier quilt. “Got one for you too, sweet pea. How ‘bout I put it over your legs? Bet it’ll feel nice, havin’ somethin’ warm on ya.”

Ellie’s gaze remains fixed on that same empty spot on the floor, her chest jerking with each rapid, shallow breath. It takes a second for him to maneuver himself close enough to reach the girl. Carefully, he lays the blanket across her legs. He half expects her to panic, to kick it off, but she remains still. The lack of response is worse than if she’d fought him. At least fighting would mean she has a trace of awareness.

“I put the kettle on,” he murmurs, settling on the bottom step. “Figured somethin’ warm might help.”

Joel nods absently, all his focus on Ellie. “Yeah. She… usually, she’ll eat or drink when I tell her to.”

Christ. The quiet resignation in his brother’s voice tells him they’re in for the long haul. He wonders how many times they’ve been through this, how long it took for Joel to figure out what helps and what makes it worse. When Tommy got back from the desert, he spent the better part of a year overwhelmed by, and under-prepared for, the invisible scars that sent him into a spiral without warning. Joel had sat with him through countless panic attacks and flashbacks, diligently cataloging dates, times, and triggers. Looks like he’s done the same for Ellie.

“How long do they last?”

Joel shakes his head, the muscle in his jaw twitching with more than tension. “Depends… could be a few minutes, could be…” He rubs a hand over his face, head bowed. “The ones where she thinks I’m dead — those… those last the longest.” He trails off, but Tommy doesn’t need him to finish the thought. The thought of his brother sitting through this alone, watching his kid mourn him while he’s right there, alive and helpless, combined with the way Joel takes on all the pain and guilt he can find… it tears into him with a unique sort of heartbreak.

“Want me to head out? Give y’all some space?”

For a moment, Joel seems to consider it, then sighs. “The fire… that…” Joel shakes his head again, fists clenching as frustration drives itself into the set of his shoulders. “In… Colorado. When she…” His brother’s face screws up for a second before he manages, “I found her outside a burnin’ restaurant.”

Jesus Christ.

“If you don’t mind stayin’—”

That Joel’s asking for help — again — tells Tommy just how bad this is for them both. “‘Course I don’t,” he answers immediately. He’ll sit here all night if that’s what Ellie — and Joel — need.

When the kettle whistles, he takes the steps slowly and heads straight for the kitchen and yanks it off the burner. The last thing they need is for some random screech to send Ellie deeper. Mugs, tea bags, steaming water… for a second, he can almost pretend this is a regular evening. Almost.

Sighing, Tommy pulls the radio from his belt. “Maria, you copy?”

“Go ahead.” Her voice comes through, strained but — as always — composed.

“Need you to ask Seth somethin’.” He leans against the counter, watching the steam rise and curl above the mugs. “How long was Ellie in there? In the building, with the fire.”

Static, then, “Give me a minute.”

Setting the radio on the counter, he finishes fixing the tea and starts washing the handful of dishes in the sink.

“Seth says three, maybe four minutes? She was at the sink when it kicked off, bolted for the back door when it hit the ceiling.”

“Copy that. Thanks.”

Three or four minutes doesn’t sound like much, but it’s a lifetime when surrounded by smoke and flame, blind and choking. He closes his eyes, trying not to imagine Ellie trapped in that kitchen with the heat, the smoke burning her lungs. Worse, she’d been through something horrible that culminated in escaping from a burning restaurant… No wonder she’s so far gone.

The stairs creak under his boots as he heads back down, careful not to slosh the tea. Joel’s still sitting cross-legged on the floor, Ellie’s still curled in the cabinet, and the basement is still damn cold. He sets the mug on the second step, out of the way but still within reach.

Helpless again, Tommy racks his brain for something — anything — to do. He and Joel are alike in this way — they need to occupy their hands when their people are hurting. “Will she move if you tell her to?”

“Mostly, yeah, but…” Joel shakes his head, eyes drooping shut in resignation. “No luck.”

Tommy pushes off the step, ignoring the sharp pull along his lower back. “Let me try.”

Joel gives him a sidelong look, one eyebrow raised. “What’re you thinkin’?”

“I dunno. She let me do the blanket.” He approaches with calm, even steps, crouching beside his brother. “And I got a few words outta her before. Maybe…” He doesn’t finish the thought, not sure himself what might work.

Joel hesitates, reluctant to surrender his post. Tommy understands — this is Joel’s kid, after all — but the Miller brothers spent years tag-teaming Sarah when she was little. Back then, they were a team, trading off bedtimes and homework help, one of them always available for whatever she needed. It was easy taking turns, picking up slack, running errands… something tells him they will slip into the groove with ease.

After a moment, Joel nods and shifts back, giving Tommy room to position himself in Ellie’s line of sight. He edges forward, knees protesting as he lowers himself next to his brother.

“Ellie,” he says, his voice firmer than Joel’s, but still careful. “It’s time to go upstairs, honey.”

Nothing. She doesn’t even blink. It’s like talking to a wall, except walls don’t look so goddamn broken.

“C’mon now, you got your daddy an’ me real worried.” He keeps his tone gentle but firm. “So we are gettin’ you outta this cabinet and up where it’s warm.”

He’s running on pure instinct now, praying that between his own flashbacks, handling Joel at his worst, and what he’s learned about Ellie over the past several months, something will work. She may not recognize Joel — the real, living Joel whose heart is breaking in front of them — but if she’ll follow instructions…

“She get violent?”

“No, just…” Joel gestures at the cramped space Ellie forced herself into.

Tommy sighs heavily, studying the kid in front of him. She looks smaller than usual, fragile in a way he’s never seen in her. He has a sinking feeling that the only way to get Ellie out of the cabinet, the basement, and her own mind will be to force her upstairs. “Alright. Time to move.” He stands, extending both hands. “C’mon now.”

For a long moment, Ellie doesn’t move. His hands hover, waiting, and he wonders if she sees them. Then, to his surprise, she tips her head up. “No.”

Relief floods through him — she responded. It’s a start. “Yes.” Wiggling his fingers, he tries to be encouraging. Approachable. “Been down here long enough.”

“No.” She points to the empty spot a few feet away, the one she’s been staring at since he found her. “Joel.”

Tommy’s stomach drops, and it takes everything inside not to turn at the sharp hitched breath behind him. The way she says Joel’s name — so flat and final — makes him want to grab her and shake her until she punches him. “We’re just goin’ upstairs, Ellie. Not leavin’.”

The girl shakes her head, something like anger flickering dimly in her eyes. “No.”

“Ellie—”

“No.” Her voice cracks, but the brief flash of emotion is already fading into that hollow, empty stare. “He’s alone.”

“Joel ain’t alone. He’s got us,” Tommy tries again, exaggerating his drawl. God, he is so out of his depth here. Everything feels like a wrong move, another opportunity to let Joel and his girl down.

Ellie’s gaze drops to the blanket draped across her lap. She stares at it as if seeing it for the first time. Slim fingers close around the fabric one by one. Then she shifts to pull her knees under her, moving with stilted but harried energy. Her eyes lock onto Tommy’s for just a second, filled with raw anguish that makes his breath catch, before she crawls to the spot on the floor where she thinks his brother’s body lies.

“He’s cold.”

God, he could vomit. This little girl has lost so goddamn much, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think Joel’s death broke her once and for all. He glances over his shoulder at Joel, taken aback by how ashen the man’s face is. The pain etched across his brother’s features is unbearable. Christ, and Joel said the ones like this are the worst. Again, Tommy can’t even imagine what it’s doing to Joel. Sitting here while his kid mourns a corpse on the floor? That’s a special kind of hell.

“You’re cold too, Ellie-girl. C’mon, just for a little while. We can come back down.”

Ellie spreads the blanket over the empty concrete with delicate care, smoothing it out with shaking hands. Her fingers trace the edges, folding them… she’s tucking him in. No matter how hard he blinks, Tommy’s eyes burn. Behind him, Joel makes a broken, choking sound.

“Not leaving him again.” Her voice is so small, so hopeless, that Tommy can barely hear her. “I left, and he died.”

He stares, racking his brain for the right words — any words — to soothe. She’s in so deep that he can’t tell if he’s helping or making it worse. Given Joel’s silence, he assumes his brother is in the same boat.

Finally, he turns to Joel, who looks like he’s aged ten years in the past hour. “I’ll get her upstairs. Go on, get the livin’ room how she likes it. Maybe bein’ there, seein’ you—”

“—Yeah. Yeah, maybe…” Joel doesn’t sound confident, but he climbs to his feet, a multitude of joints cracking in the silence. His movements are slow and careful, like his body might give out on him.

Tommy waits until Joel’s boots hit the first step before turning back to Ellie. He takes a breath, steadying himself. He can do this.

“Tell you what, Ellie-girl,” Tommy says, low and careful. “How ‘bout you and me go upstairs, and I’ll come back for Joel? Get you both someplace warm.”

Behind him, there’s a choked sound — somewhere between a gasp and a sob — and the scrape of boots missing a step. Joel catches himself and keeps climbing, but Tommy hears it. That shattered his brother’s resolve.

Ellie stares at him blankly. She seems to process his suggestion — which means at least something is getting through, and that’s enough for him to work with — but it’s hard to tell how well. When her attention returns to the concrete floor, her hand hovers a few inches above it, fingers moving back and forth. Petting Joel’s face. Tommy has to swallow back the bile rising in his throat.

“He won’t… feel it,” she intones, breathy and emotionless. Her chest is still heaving with those rapid, wheezing gasps. “He’s dead.”

He would love for Joel’s kid to stop saying Joel is dead in such a broken, flat voice, especially since Joel is alive and sick with worry just a few feet above them. Every time she says it, it gets harder to breathe. “I know it seems that way,” he says carefully. “But I promise you, Ellie, Joel ain’t dead. He’s waitin’ for us upstairs.”

“Like… like in heaven?”

Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Tommy has to blink away the stinging behind his eyes and take a steadying breath. “Yeah, sweet pea. Let’s go on up and see him, yeah?”

“Oh.” Her gaze sharpens on him, more present than she’s been yet. “I meant to lay down with him, like we used to. So we could be together.” Her eyes lock onto his, wide and pleading. “Is he gonna be mad I was over there? I thought… I didn’t know it would be so fast for me.”

From the top of the stairs, Tommy hears another distressed sound — a choked sob that slices right through him. His hands shake. She wanted… this fifteen-year-old girl wanted to lie down and die because she thought Joel was gone. She’d choose death over a world without her daddy. His throat closes, and for a second, he can’t breathe through the horror in his gut.

“No, sweet pea, no. No, there ain’t… He ain’t got a damn thing to be mad about. We’ll… we’ll go upstairs and see him right now, yeah? He’ll tell you himself.”

He holds his hands out to Ellie, praying she doesn’t notice just how much they tremble. “C’mon, now.”

Ellie doesn’t move, and Tommy’s not sure she’ll take them. The silence stretches so long that he worries she’ll slip further away, that he’s only pushed her deeper into whatever nightmare she’s living.

But then her arms lift toward him, just the slightest bit. It’s enough. He stoops to wrap his fingers around her wrists, wincing at how cold they are against his skin. She’s been down here too long, huddled in a cabinet with nothing but a thin shirt and that blanket.

“There,” he murmurs, urging her forward. “That’s more like it.”

He eases her to her feet, keeping a firm grip on her forearms when her knees wobble. The way she sways, unsteady and disoriented, reminds him of pulling Joel from a bender. With a sigh, Tommy wraps the blanket more securely around her shoulders and ducks until they’re at eye level. “Alright, now. Let’s go find Joel.”

They reach the second floor, and he stops just long enough to tuck Ellie against him because she’s listing to the side. The living room’s right there — he can see firelight flickering across the hardwood. After the cold basement, the heat up here is cloying, almost suffocating. It doesn’t faze her; she doesn’t even seem to notice the difference.

He scans her face one more time. The blank stare, the trembling, the wheeze still rattling in her chest. Joel’s gonna take one look at her and—

No. No, his brother has experience with this. He won’t let himself fall apart until Ellie’s herself again, and even then, it will be a private, hidden moment. Joel learned a long time ago how to bury this sort of pain. All they need is to get Ellie back to reality.

“Joel’s just in here, sweet pea,” he murmurs, guiding her into the living room. “Bet he’s collected all the blankets in the house to get you warmed up.”

Sure enough, they turn the corner to find the living room transformed. The quilts from Joel’s bedroom drape the couch, with pillows propped at one end in a way that Ellie likes. The fire’s stoked high enough to heat the entire floor, and a glass of water waits on the coffee table.

Joel rises from his crouch by the fireplace when they enter, relief flashing across his expression at seeing Ellie upright and moving. “Hey, baby girl,” he murmurs, taking a slow step forward.

Ellie flinches at Joel’s approach, shrinking back against Tommy’s side and shaking her head with frantic, jerky movements. The girl’s body goes rigid, muscles locking like she’s preparing to run.

“No,” she whispers, the word laced with terror. “No, that’s… he’s not—”

Joel freezes mid-step, his jaw clenching and eyes squeezing shut for a second like he’s been shot. His brother takes a deliberate step back, hands raised in surrender. Tommy’s not sure what’s worse: seeing Ellie entrenched in the worst parts of her past, or watching his brother’s agonizing helplessness at it.

“S’alright,” Tommy soothes, rubbing slow circles on Ellie’s back. Whether he’s talking to Joel or Ellie, he’s not sure. “Let’s get you settled. Hey, Joel?”

“Yeah.” Joel’s voice comes out rough, strangled. He clears his throat, trying again. “Yeah.”

“How was patrol?” He glances over his shoulder, catching Joel’s eye and holding it for a moment. They need to ground her in the present; sitting here repeating to her that they’re in Jackson won’t get through, but maybe a normal conversation will work. “It’s been real quiet ‘round Jackson lately. Which route were you on again?”

His brother catches on quickly; understanding flickers in his eyes. “Hoback. Found a runner near the old ranger station. Mostly listened to Eugene complain ‘bout his back.”

Tommy guides Ellie to the couch, watching the girl stare at Joel with disbelief and, worse… fear. The look on her face, like Joel is a ghost, hurts his heart. But there’s more engagement in her eyes than he’s seen yet. She’s looking at Joel, even if she doesn’t understand what she’s seeing. He gives Joel another look — keep talking — as he eases Ellie onto the couch and fusses with the blankets.

“Reckon you know all about how cranky Joel’s been over the patrol schedule,” Tommy continues, sitting next to the girl and snaking his hand under the blankets to rub her back. Her spine is rigid under his palm, muscles impossibly tight. “Says Maria’s got him on too many patrols.”

Ellie’s attention darts between Joel and the fireplace, like she’s trying to figure out which is real. He can’t tell if she’s processing what they’re saying or just tracking movement. Either way, he keeps his voice steady as he pretends it is just another evening in Jackson.

“That true, big brother? You givin’ my wife grief about the schedule?”

Joel crosses his arms as he shifts his weight forward, just a hair. Testing, Tommy realizes. Seeing how close he can get before Ellie panics. “She knows what she’s doin’,” he says. “Just wish Eugene would quit his whinin’. I ain’t bitchin’ about my knee every damn day.”

“Reckon there are a lot of people here in Jackson that got some sorta pain,” Tommy agrees, tilting his head to see her face. There’s a trace of awareness there now. He can work with that. “‘Course, most of ‘em ain’t as old as you.”

“I’m fifty-seven.”

“Ancient,” he agrees with a nod. “You’re makin’ me nervous, standin’ around like that, big brother. There’s plenty of room over here,” he continues, gesturing to Ellie’s other side. “Wouldn’t want you to start complainin’ about your knee.” The corner of her lips quirks up — brief as lightning, but there. It’s the first genuine response he’s seen since he found her in the basement.

“Fifty-two ain’t so young either, y’know,” Joel mutters, taking slow, measured steps toward the sofa. “I see the way you roll that shoulder when you’re workin’ the sledgehammer.” When Ellie doesn’t flinch or pull away, he lowers himself to sit next to her. Not touching, but close enough. It must be killing his brother not to reach for her.

Tommy keeps his hand across her back, grateful to feel the tension soften beneath his palm. Progress. Being up here, out of the cold, is doing her good. Now all they have to do is coax her back into her body. He shifts, reaching with his free hand to extract one of hers from beneath the mound of blankets.

“Jesus, girl,” he murmurs when his fingers close around hers. She’s freezing, but he already knew that. This is an excuse to get Joel’s hands on her without spooking her. “You’re cold as ice. Check her other hand, would ya, brother? Poor kid’s freezin’.”

His brother moves cautiously, his hands disappearing under the blanket. “Cold,” Joel confirms, wrapping both hands around hers to warm them. “We’ll get you warmed up, baby girl. Nice ’n snug.”

Ellie’s gaze darts between them, confusion settling into her features. Her breathing has eased some, but that wheeze is still there, catching on every inhale. “I’m gonna re-heat that tea,” Tommy says after a moment. “Joel’s gonna take over for me, sweet pea.”

He eases his hand away, watching Ellie track the movement and then snap back to Joel. The terror from before has disappeared, replaced by something softer, struck through with a hint of recognition. She’s not pulling away from Joel now, but studying his face like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. They’ve got this. The worst is over — or at least passing — and she’s calm enough. He can step away for a few minutes.

Tommy slips away, grateful for a moment to collect himself. His feet move on autopilot: downstairs to collect the abandoned mug, back to the kitchen, dump the water in the kettle, turn on the stove, wait.

Leaning against the counter, Tommy stares out the window. It’s snowing again, enough that the sliver of driveway he can see is covered with fresh white. He’s dealt with flashbacks before — his own, Joel’s, Tess’s, Maria’s — but seeing Ellie like that, convinced his brother was dead and wanting to die alongside him… Christ.

Running a hand through his hair, he tugs like it might erase the image of a little girl petting an empty spot on the concrete floor. The kettle’s hiss pierces through his thoughts. Just as he turns to grab it, a soft cry from the living room stops him cold. Ellie.

Tommy nearly burns his hand when he yanks the kettle off the stove and rushes out of the kitchen, skidding to a stop at the entrance to the living room. Joel has his arms around Ellie, the girl’s face buried against his shoulder. Even covered with blankets, he can see how hard her shoulders shake with silent sobs. The keening, primal sounds from before are gone now; these are softer, more manageable.

Joel meets Tommy’s eyes over her head, relieved but still tinged with sorrow. “Got through,” he murmurs, shifting Ellie into a more comfortable position. His hand cups the back of her head, protectively running his fingers through her hair. “Knows I ain’t… y’know.”

The knot in his chest loosens as he watches his brother comfort Ellie. Each sob sounds ragged, painful, but in a way that tells him she knows who’s holding her.

“Thank Christ,” he murmurs, approaching slowly. When the girl doesn’t protest, he retakes his seat, settling next to her with care. Tommy reaches out, hand hovering over her back until Joel nods permission. They fall silent while Ellie cries. Minutes pass — he doesn’t count them — before the sobs taper off, fading to occasional hiccups and shuddering exhales.

Tommy doesn’t stop rubbing slow circles on Ellie’s back, even when the tears have faded to the occasional hiccup. Joel’s still holding her close, cradling her head with one hand, the other wrapped around her shoulders. They stay like that for a while, the three of them, until her breathing evens out and the trembling subsides to the occasional shiver.

Eventually, Joel eases back just enough to see her face. “You wanna lie down, baby girl?” When Ellie nods against his shoulder, he murmurs, “Sofa or bed.”

She pulls back and points toward the stairs.

“You got it,” he murmurs, dropping another kiss to her hairline. He looks at Tommy, face a myriad of emotions. Gratitude, relief, exhaustion, sorrow, all tangled together. “How ‘bout Tommy brings you up while I use the bathroom quick? I’ll bring the blankets up.”

God, sometimes seeing his brother with Ellie is like looking at a ghost returning to life. The man Joel used to be — the patient father who sat through tea parties and pedicures, who spoke to Sarah with that same gentle tone, like she was the most important thing in the world. And she was.

And then she died, and Joel buried that softness with her. Tommy thought it was gone forever, burned away by grief and survival, but here it is again. This stubborn, incredible kid found the pieces of his brother’s heart and cobbled them back together. Having them here, where he can get to know Ellie and rebuild a relationship with Joel… It’s a miracle, really.

Ellie peers at Joel, her face blotchy and eyes bloodshot from crying, then looks between them, confusion clouding her expression again. After a long, blank moment, she nods. Not fully back then, but aware enough.

“C’mon, Ellie-girl,” he murmurs, peeling off several layers of blankets; tripping up the stairs won’t do her any favors. “Up we go.”

She weighs practically nothing as he helps her stand, and he’s struck again by how damn small she is. All that fire and gumption stuffed into a compact frame. She’s survived so much — more than some adults, even in these times — and yet here she is, detached from reality because of memories she can’t escape. It kills him to know that she’ll carry this kind of pain for the rest of her life.

Once Ellie is up and facing away, Joel doesn’t move. His eyes lose focus for a moment as he exhales heavily, head falling forward. His brother needs a minute to collect himself — he can see it in the deepened lines on his forehead, the tremor in his hands that he’s trying to hide.

“I got her,” Tommy says softly. “Take your time.”

She’s unsteady on her feet, and the trembling hasn’t subsided, but it’s less violent. The wheezing has lessened, too; he’s grateful for one less thing to worry about.

“Almost there,” he murmurs, pointing them toward her room. “Joel’ll be up in a minute.”

When they reach the threshold, Ellie balks, shaking her head and trying to back away. “Honey, what—”

Her arm extends, pointing past her door toward the master bedroom. She needs to be in Joel’s space, he realizes. After hours of thinking he was dead, she needs him close.

She shuffles more than walks, feet lifting as they make their way to Joel’s room. How many times has she sought comfort in his brother’s room after a nightmare or an episode like this one? Something tells him it’s a common occurrence. The thought of a younger Ellie — five, seven, ten, crying and alone in some cold FEDRA dorm with no one to comfort — breaks his heart. At least now she has a family; she no longer has to face the nightmares alone.

Tommy helps her to the edge of the mattress, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders when she pulls her knees to her chest and faces the door. Waiting. “Y’know, I used to crawl in with Joel when we were kids. Always made me feel safe, bein’ close to him. He’s got a knack for it, hm?”

A beat of silence, then a quick nod in response. Her eyes remain fixed on the empty doorway. “He’ll be up in a minute,” he reassures her, perching close enough to continue rubbing her back. “Just takin’ an old man piss.”

A small huff escapes Ellie: a laugh, or as close as she can get right now. “Old man piss,” she croaks, her voice so raw it must hurt.

More relief. Thank the Lord. “Hey, there she is,” Tommy says softly, tucking a few stray hairs behind her ear and cupping the back of her head. “Good to hear your voice, sweet pea.”

Her face crumples again, a few fresh tears escaping, but she doesn’t start sobbing. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for.” He keeps his hand moving between her shoulder blades. Talking and contact; that seems to be the key. “Not a damn thing.”

Footsteps creak in the hallway, drawing their attention to the door. Joel appears with red-rimmed eyes and an armful of blankets, gaze snapping to Ellie the second she’s in sight. His whole body softens when he sees her sitting up, looking at him like he knows who she is. “I got everything,” he says, eyes roving over the girl. “Think you need a little patchin’ up before we settle in, kiddo. Y’want me or Tommy to do it?”

A little hand reaches out, and Joel has it clasped in his within a second. The speed, like he was waiting for permission to touch her, threatens to choke him. “I ain’t leavin’, baby girl. Just wanna get you taken care of.”

Ellie’s chin quivers as she nods, her grip on Joel’s hand tightening. “Him,” she whispers, looking up at Joel with wide, pleading eyes. “Stay.”

“You got it,” Joel promises, his voice tight, almost choked. He turns to Tommy, extending the stack of blankets with his free hand. Balanced on top is a first-aid kit much larger than the standard Jackson-issued ones.

“Here,” Joel murmurs. “D’ya mind—”

“Anything for our Ellie,” Tommy interrupts, accepting the case. Bandages, antiseptic, FEDRA-grade medication… Joel must have made some mighty trades to get such a variety of medical supplies.

It takes longer than he expects to check her over, partly because she can’t bear to let go of Joel for more than a few seconds. Every time Tommy needs her to move, she looks to Joel first, waiting for his approval before she complies. Thankfully, the worst injuries are to her hands, which are scraped raw across the palms, with deeper cuts along her right thumb. Whatever embers burned through her shirt did little damage; the only spots that need a salve are on her forearms and two along her jaw where a spark must’ve caught her.

“Think that just about does it,” he murmurs, screwing the cap onto the container. “You’ll be good as new in a day or two.”

Ellie nods, but she’s not looking at him. Her eyes are on Joel, glued to his face like he’s going to disappear if she looks away for too long.

“How ‘bout I grab you some jammies, Ellie-girl? Be real comfortable,” Tommy asks, pushing to his feet.

“Should be a pair with the blankets,” Joel murmurs, running his hand up and down Ellie’s arm. “Someone spilled half my damn coffee all over herself this morning. Lucky I was doin’ wash today.”

“Wasn’t half,” the girl mumbles. “Just splashed.”

“Half,” Joel insists, jostling her a little. There’s a teasing note in his voice, one closer to his usual tone. “At least.”

Tommy locates the pajamas and hands them over. He busies himself folding the extra blankets while Joel leads Ellie to the bathroom to change. He watches from the corner of his eye as Joel keeps up a steady stream of quiet conversation through the door.

“One of us’ll be by later with some dinner,” he says once Joel and Ellie are settled in the bed, the girl curled into his brother’s side. He spreads the heaviest quilt over them both and sets a lighter one within Joel’s reach. Out of tasks, he shoves his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to do with himself. “Somethin’ that’ll keep.”

“You don’t gotta—” Joel starts, but he cuts his brother off with a look.

“We both know y’all ain’t leavin’ this room for a while, and she needs to eat. So yeah, I do gotta.” He pauses, shifting his weight in the sudden, awkward silence. “I, uh… I’ll get goin’ now.”

Joel nods, already turning back to Ellie before he seems to process the words. “Tommy…” He stops at the threshold, turning to meet his brother’s eyes. There’s something raw in his expression — a vulnerability that Joel rarely lets show. “Thank you.”

The Miller brothers have been through hell, but Tommy’s chest constricts at the gratitude; he has to look away before emotion gets the better of him. Joel let him in — really let him in — during what must be one of the most powerless experiences of his life with Ellie. It means everything to him.

“Course,” Tommy manages, clearing his throat. “See y’all later.”

He’s fucking exhausted, but there is still a lot to be done. He doesn’t know the full extent of the damage, or how stressed Maria is. The guilty, selfish part of him couldn’t care less about the town — if he could bundle his wife and son into Joel’s room right now, if he could wrap all five Millers in a quilt and hunker down until all the horrible things they’ve been through have faded away, he would. Unfortunately, that’s not an option.

With a deep, weary sigh, Tommy heads for the stairs. It’s already been a long day, and it’s bound to get longer. But this is what you do for family. You show up, you stay, you help shoulder whatever weight they can’t hold alone. And Tommy’s family is worth every sleepless night and moment of fear, every ounce of effort he can give. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.

He closes the front door behind him, leaving Joel and Ellie to whatever comfort they can find in each other, and heads back out into the snow.