looshelle

You roll over, your back arching from the painful combination of the intense stress of the last few days and the shitty motel mattress you've been trying to sleep on. Tommy had been the one to deem the old Motel 6 safe enough, and Joel volunteered to keep watch despite your protests. He hadn't slept, not really, since it happened, but he'd simply kissed you softly with the assurance that he'd be fine and that you should get some rest. Tommy had made no such protest, but where he passed out quickly, for you, unsurprisingly, sleep never really came.

Sarah wasn't your daughter, not really, even if you'd just recently begun allowing yourself to imagine what it would be like to fill that space in her heart, but it still haunts you in a way that must pale in comparison to the weight on Joel's shoulders. But Joel is Joel, and while all of you try to process the impossible, all you can do is help him through it.

With a heavy sigh, you instinctively check the clock on the table between the beds, only to find the digital screen dark. You glance at your watch instead, the small hands alerting you that someone should take over the watch, but when you glance over at the chair where you expect to find him, it's empty.

"Shit," you say out loud, rousing Tommy from where he'd been snoring on the other bed. "Tommy..." you warn as he blinks the sleep away, and it only takes seconds for him to come to the same conclusion you have. He's up just as quickly, grabbing his rifle as he heads to the door, swinging it open and exposing you both to the cool morning air.

"He's fine," the younger Miller brother insists, although you're not sure if he's convincing either of you. "I'm sure he's just, I don't know, doing a fucking perimeter check or something."

"A perimeter check?" you question, just before the distant sound of one of the infected causes you both to turn. "Fuck. You go left, I'll go right?"

Tommy nods curly before turning his back to you, gun already drawn as he heads down the side of the building. You step in the opposite direction, heart beating in your chest as you will yourself not to scream his name. There's no guarantee now that any sound you make won't draw attention, but it doesn't stop you from increasing your pace the further you go.

You try to reassure yourself that maybe Tommy is right. Joel's probably just out checking the perimeter the same way the three of you had done the night before, but it isn't until you find him behind the motel that you finally allow yourself to breathe a sigh of relief.

He's illuminated by the soft morning sun, his back turned to you, pack at his feet, and for a moment it's almost like he's simply admiring the sunrise, with pastel purple clouds turning to pink and eventually yellow in the sky that stretches above you. There's birdsong, somehow drowning out the distant sound of explosions, and you take a step toward him, your mouth already opening to call his name when you see him raise the gun to his head.

"JOEL!"

Your cry rings out a split second before the crack of the gunshot, Joel slumping to his knees as you rush forward, catching him just before his body fully hits the ground. The gun clatters against the pavement, and you kick it away, holding him against you as the wound at his temple begins to bleed.

"Fuck," you mutter, immediately ripping at your sleeve so you have something to help stop the flood of red. Tommy appears within seconds, the sound of the shot directing him to where you cradled Joel's head in your lap, but he stills when he puts the pieces together.

"I've got you, baby," you whisper, rocking him back and forth slightly as you keep pressure on his wound. He's looking up at you, eyes somewhat clear in what you're taking as a good enough sign. Tommy pulls the shirt off his shoulders and passes it over to you to help, but you don't dare move, keeping the pressure of the now stained fabric pressed against the side of Joel's head. He tries again to hand the shirt to you, but you glare at him, and Tommy backs up a few feet as you turn your focus back to his brother.

You can feel the way he's gripping your arm, clinging to you like a lifeline, and, you realize, you are his lifetime right now. "Why the fuck did you do that?" you whisper to him as your body begins to rock again, the same way you'd watched him rock Sarah just days ago. "Why, Joel?"

"I..." he begins to speak, and while you have no idea how deep the wound on the side of his head is etched into his flesh, you can feel the tears slip from your eyes at the sound of his voice, sure and steady. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't fucking do that to me ever again," you return before he can say anything else. "Don't you..."

"I won't leave you," he cuts you off, and you can feel Tommy's eyes on you as Joel continues. "I promise I won't."

It doesn't feel like enough, not after everything that's happened over the last few days, but it has to be. You remind yourself of that as you push his curls back on the opposite side of his head with your fingers. "You promise?" you ask again anyway.