vaccination | (no subject)

He takes his time waking up. Things feel far away, sort of floaty and stomach-churning like they do after a steady bottle of whiskey on an empty stomach – just on the right side of blitzed, just on the wrong side of woozy. In fact, the only thing that seems to be anchoring Joel to the bed is the warm stone of weight in his hand. He turns his head. Waits for the blur to subside.

By the mercy of Jackson’s fine doctors, nothing hurts. No memories of pain, either, not with the chemical haze making him struggle to make sense of what was right in front of him. A hand in his, attached to a familiar enough forearm. Tattooed ferns and moths springing out of burn tissue… not quite like he remembered, but it was hard to focus. Ellie’s hand in his. He tries to squeeze, and maybe flexes his fingers a little.

“When’d you get it finished?” At least, it’s what he means to say. There’s no country twang rising through that almost-coherent slur, but Joel feels like he’s forming the words through a mouthful of cotton with a tongue made of sandpaper.

As much as she tells herself she'll sit there, keep watch, let Tess go take care of whatever business needs to be seen to... she does doze off. She can't sleep or eat and it catches up to her. She's in some restless in-between, eyes shut and half off of the chair she's perched on, but she's jolted awake by a voice that isn't the doctor's and isn't Tess'.

Holy shit. He's awake. He can speak even if it's a mess of sounds and that's more than she thought she'd ever get.

"Joel," she breathes out, grasping his hand so tightly she doesn't register that it might hurt him. He's on enough pain meds. "Oh my god--"

She's sat here, thinking about what she wants to say to him, all the things she thought she might never get the chance to, and now she can't find the words because all the emotion is balled in her throat and she's torn between trying to breathe and trying not to cry. She needs to get Tess, needs to get someone, but the shock of him opening his eyes is almost as deep as witnessing the attack that nearly shut them forever.

It’s not so bad, being gripped like that. It holds him close to earth when he feels like he might start rising up again. Ellie’d just have to hold on and he’d carry her all the way to the moon, Joel thinks sort of madly, and for a second he struggles for some way to share that joke with her because it’s great, he’s hilarious, she’d love it –

But the thoughts become indistinct as dust motes, and when he blinks they’re gone.

It’s just Ellie again. She’s very close – all crazy, wide-eyed. Still holding onto him like she’s ready to haul him up over a cliff through sheer willpower. “Kiddo.” That’s a croak that comes out more like a word. He squints, tries again. “Ellie, what –” happened, maybe. What the fuck wasn’t unlikely, either.

She feels crazy. Just that one word, kiddo, and the tears are streaming down her face freely. No sobs, no gasps for air, just weeping.

And then it hits her: he doesn't know about his leg. He's so doped up he can't feel the damage done to him. Ellie has no idea how to explain that, or if she even should. Tommy had visited in the morning and tried to cheer her up, saying he's now easily the more handsome brother, and Ellie didn't laugh because his face was at least still there. Joel wouldn't care about a few more scars.

His leg? His leg was fucking gone.

"It's--it's gonna be okay," she finally manages, because if he's alive and awake there's at least a chance for that much. She stares at him. Why does she feel as helpless as she did when those fuckers had her pinned down and went at him with a golf club? Panic begins to rise in her chest, and before it can grip her lungs entirely, she calls over her shoulder.

"Tess! Tess, get in here!"

Tess is doing dishes. Not something she generally enjoys, but it's something to keep her mind off the reaper looming over her partner, and it's something to do to show gratitude for the doctor and his family, seeing as they've all been so accommodating in the wake of this nightmare. She thinks she might have worn several grooves in their old hardwood floors, pacing back and forth, night after night.

She's working out a particularly stubborn spot of dried food crud when she hears Ellie. For an instant she looks down the dark hall, letting the urgency of a get in here pick at her worst fears, and she lets the plate drop back into the dishwater. She walks down the hall, drying her hands on a tea towel. She walks briskly. takes a deep breath as she meets the door.

Opens it and drops the tea towel.

"Joel," she says, just off her breath. Thank fuck. Thank fuck he's pulled through.

She rounds the bed so she's on his other side. For an instant she worries he might break under the slightest pressure, so her hand ghosts over his hair, where she might like to brush his messy, matted hair back, and then actually settles on his shoulder. Bracing.

"Easy," she warns, but it's as much for Ellie as it is for him. "Easy –– Joel, don't push it. You're pretty doped up."

“I’m fine,” he counters instantly, not taking into account how he feels, what’s going on, where he is. These are all questions that he has, and that he cannot answer, but there’s no panic, no pain. He repeats himself sort of indignantly. “I’m alright.”

It’s weird that everyone else is panicking, though. He doesn’t know what to make of it at all, but Tess’ hand adds to the weight bringing him back, and Joel shifts a little under them both. The effort is tremendous – he feels good, weird, awful in sweeps that are more confusing than the flutter of activity going on around him.

Tess smells like soap, and the scent cuts through the nausea so he turns toward her instead of Ellie. He needs a rock right now, and Ellie’s fearful little holler is still rattling around in his brain. She looks so scared, and he doesn’t really know what to do about it. Tess usually did.

“Hey,” he says to Tess, for lack of better inspiration. Blinks blearily at her, sagging a little against the unfamiliar pillows.

He might be the second most fine person in the room, Tess being the first. Ellie doesn't let go of Joel's hand, but she stares at Tess, desperate for her to know exactly what to do. It has to be good that he can be stubborn and insist he's fine. It has to mean that his stubbornness will get him through no longer having two legs.

Her free hand wipes her face, then just settles over her mouth in case the sobs do want to bubble up. All she can do is watch Tess and follow her lead. She feels like every emotion there is is all caught up in her throat, and if she opens her mouth, it'll all pour out.

Is it strange to be relieved at the pushback, the refusal to just take the order laying down? Tess rolls her eyes a little, but it's not without some great swell of fondness, some appreciation for the miracle. He's not dead. He's even well enough to resist her fussing.

"Hey," she repeats, softer.

Because she wants to keep herself together, she doesn't look at Ellie. For at least an instant, it has to be her and her partner. She thumbs at the collar of his shirt, then lets her palm settle on the side of his neck, feeling out the thump-thump of his pulse. She just knows she's about to rip something out from under him.

"Listen. Do you know where you are? Do you remember what happened?"

He flails a little, gets his hand up around Tess’ forearm with a clumsy grip. He hums, blinks, tries to suss out what she’s clearly wanting him to remember instead of actually trying to remember, and he winds up confused, sort of frustrated.

Frowning up at the ceiling, he realizes that he doesn’t know where he is. That in turn makes him think about where he’d been, before.

The Baldwin Estate, the shotgun. Out of order he remembers the patrol, Tommy knocked to the floor, the horde chasing them and that damn girl. It comes in stuttering slices, an incomplete rush. He shifts again in the bed, feeling another wave of that not-so-good nausea. “Where’s Tommy?” he asks, cold and fucking angry, thinking of Ellie’s silent tears. She’s still weeping when he turns his head in another blurry arc, and lightheadedness sweeps over him.

Fuck.

There's something Ellie can manage to answer.

"He's okay. He's at home, with Maria." She and Tommy got roughed up, but it's all bumps and bruises compared to the beating Joel got. Her voice is thick and painful but she manages to get that out.

"He'll--he'll come back to visit when you're ready."

Tess leans a hip against the side of the bed. In part it's to be closer to him, but it gives her just enough leverage to hold him in place if she needs to. The adrenaline of that day has left her own memories of it very clear. There is precious little good news to deliver. No one could be expected to take it with grace.

She glances at Ellie and nods. Tommy is fine.

"We're at Dr. Nyugen's clinic," she adds, very calmly. "You took a pretty bad hit, Texas. You've been out for four days."

Joel settles more willingly with Ellie’s quick reassurance. She wouldn’t lie – she’s always been as honest as a brick to the face. Not like him. That old guilt rises up to add its weight to the nausea and confusion sitting on his chest – a Pavlovian response to Ellie crying. He takes his time turning away from her teary face back to Tess, feeling very tired as that white-bright fury-fear reaction recedes.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles again, readily dismissing pretty bad hit because he’s still sort of offended by the nursemaiding going on – but it’s nice having both his girls around again. It makes him settle.

“Four days?” That sounds like a lot, and through all the bruises and scrapes, he squints up at Tess as if he’s distrusting of that count. It doesn’t make a bit of sense… but Tess isn’t a liar, either. Worst she does is obscure the facts with all those layers of hers. “Are ya sure?”

It’s very difficult for Joel to focus on what he’s being told when his thoughts keep ricocheting off each other.

It's been the longest four days of her life. It's all felt like one long, dark night, Ellie's only indication of time coming from Tess or Dina or Tommy. Her free hand wipes her face, palm pressing hard into each eye, willing herself to just keep it together.

"Yeah. Four days," Ellie confirms. "Scared the shit out of us."

Not that she isn't still scared shitless, but. He's awake. Talking. She tells herself that's good. He might hate what he's left with, but at least he's alive to be pissed.

Ellie looks to Tess. "Should I go get the doctor?"

Maybe he needs to be drugged again... or will be, once he realizes his leg is gone.

Tess considers that a moment.

"Might be wise," she says. She glances at Ellie, and there's something a little warning there, a little strategic –– Ellie will want to be here when the axe comes down, and she's sure of that, but the girl better be ready to run for the doctor if things get ugly.

Tess passes a hand over Joel's hair, still ginger. It's a relief that he woke up at all, and she tells herself that no matter what happens next, it's fortunate that it's just that. Just a leg. She swallows the little bubble of fear, gently keeps his face turned to her.

"Joel," she says. "I'm sure. Do you remember taking a shotgun to your knee?"

He does.

He remembers the confusion and anger, the hurt and fear. Joel’s bleary expression takes on a little of all of those things to have Tess turning his mind back to it. She must mean well by that hand petting over him, so careful over the aches he’s starting to become aware of, but he shies away from it.

A lot of him hurts through the fading chemical haze.

One part doesn’t. That absence of pain leaves him more tender than the worst of his bruises or fractures. Joel tries to look down, but all he can see are clean white blankets, layers of them laid out all neatly over his chest and lap and legs. He means to sit up – can’t quite manage it between the drugs and Tess’ careful hold keeping him back against his pillow. She knows him too well – he does struggle then, if very weakly. He tries to pull his hand out of Ellie’s grip, tries to duck away from Tess looming over.

Nothing more really needs telling. It’s confirmation enough how only one of his bare heels scrapes over the starched sheets, how the other just… doesn’t.

“Shit. Lemme up.”

She gives Tess the smallest of nods. There's no way she'd hide from this, not be here for Joel, but if he's a danger to himself or them, she knows she'll be running out the door. Ellie watches his face, brow creased, and sees the dots connect.

It breaks her heart.

Ellie doesn't let him take his hand back. Instead, she stands, to keep a grip on him, other hand on his shoulder to help Tess keep him from getting up.

"Joel, stop," she says, firmly. "You gotta stay."

"Nuh uh," Tess murmurs, putting the barest bit of pressure into his chest as he struggles. She feels as though she might as well be putting a gun to his head, wounding him more than he already is, but she's had four days to prepare for this conversation. She still doesn't feel ready, but readiness has always taken a backseat to obligation. What she should do for her partner.

She steels herself when she feels the little prickle of teariness on her eyes.

"You're not going to be on your feet for a while. You lost the leg."

With the both of them on top of him, Joel has no hope of getting anywhere. He’s gone strung tight like a bowstring, his breathing hitched as he tries, one last time, to shrug them away. It does him no good, and with a humiliated flush rising up in his face, Joel stills. He has to: the nausea rears up so strong he thinks he might be sick.

“Yeah, I figured that out.” There’s a meanness in his tone that he hasn’t used in a while, and the lines in his face have gone craggy with the force of his frown. It’s thick enough to cover up the fear – it’s got to be. “Get off me.”

Ellie looks momentarily horrified that Tess just says it like that. But is there really any other way? She audibly swallows, and obediently lets go of his shoulder. He's not going to jump out of the bed. She lets go of his hand, too.

"It's... it's gonna be okay," she tries, not sounding like she believes that much herself. Whatever she sees in Joel's face, she interprets as anger, even if in her heart she knows him better. "The doctor said when you're out of the woods you can come home. I'm--I'm gonna move in, so I can help out."

It's almost a question. Does he want that? Maybe it's not something to say or talk about now, but Ellie has so much bouncing around in her head that she really doesn't know what to say or do. She feels like that helpless little girl, sitting in a shopping mall, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Tess eases back, but she keeps a hand over his chest, at least at first. She's never felt afraid of him, much less afraid of him when he's laid up like this, but she feels wary when she hears that tone. She's known him a long time, ridden those ups and downs, watched storms roll in and roll out again. She keeps that hand on him to brace him just as much as keep him in one place.

But she does look away, at first casting her gaze around the room just to blink back some feeling and then landing on Ellie. Sure, he's mad. Anyone would be. Either of them could calm him, but Ellie's got that magic to her, that bond that doesn't need to anchor itself in tough love.

She withdraws that last hand.

He feels them retreat individually. Ellie is quick about it, obedient for the first time in a while, and it’s fitting that she looks a lot like that scraped up little kid from the road. Tess is slower, lingering, and he feels even worse by the time her hand does finally let up off his chest, but he doesn’t look her way.

Doesn’t want to know if she’s looking at him with pity or resignation.

Ellie’s safer, even if his temper hasn’t fully broken. He half-hears her babble, but there’s a hollow sort of ringing going on in his head. Now that he’s aware of it, Joel’s not sure how he hadn’t realized his leg's absence the instant he’d been awake. It still doesn't feel real. He needs to look.

“You don’t –” want that is what he was going to chase her off with, but instead he catches his breath and swallows that bitterness back. Maybe it’s not fair to Tess… Hell, definitely it’s not fair to Tess, but Joel has a much harder time being mad at Ellie.

“Okay.” He sounds so tired again, looks even worse as he tries to prop himself up on unsteady elbows. Better go get that doctor: Joel’s on the move. “Sure, okay.”

He doesn't sound thrilled. Ellie can't blame him. She tries not to take it personally, but she's taking all of this personally. If she didn't get wrapped up in Dina. If she'd moved faster. If she fought harder. There had to have been some way to avoid this.

"Hey, easy," Ellie says, putting a hand on his shoulder again. She doesn't try to push him down, afraid he'd resist more this time. There's this incredible urge to just hug the man, cling and tell him how sorry she is and how worried, but once more she's afraid. If she makes that move, she'll lose what composure she's managed to scrounge up.

"I'm gonna go tell the doctor you're up. Maybe we can get you home real soon."

Sure he won't die in the few minutes it takes to head out of the room and down the hall, Ellie glances at Tess before unsteadily stepping away from the bed. It's a sorry sight, the three of them. Swallowing down the bile in her throat, Ellie turns and heads out the door.

"Thanks, sweetheart," Tess replies, giving Ellie a look that's ostensibly calm, but something dark is simmering just under the surface. There's a lot to think about. There's a lot to do. It's a long fucking road from waking up to getting back to normal, and it's not a road often taken in this world. Their world is not a kind one, even to those with all limbs, digits and senses in order.

She doesn't move to ease Joel back down, but she doesn't move off, either, just lingering within reach.

"What do you need right now?" she asks.

Tess has witnessed him acting a mess more times than he would be proud to admit, and fate throws another moment onto that pile: after Joel struggles up to lean against his pillows, his head swimming and ears ringing as Ellie flees for the door, he breathes for a second. He can sense Tess hovering close to his shoulder as she tries to be there for him. And later on, when he’s not so raw, he’ll be real grateful for it but in that moment all he wants to rip up these blankets. Put his eyes on it, make it real.

What he needs is help doing anything. His hands are steadier now that he’s awake but it’s not good, and his strength is flagging as a box truck of a headache starts bearing down on him, but by god he’s going to look before Ellie shows back up –

Though she’s probably seen it all herself, of course. Four days he’d been out, Tess had said.

“I’m already the last fuckin’ person to know, to see it,” he says finally, only after tearing at his blankets for a silent, frustrating half minute and getting nowhere. Whoever had tucked him in had been thorough. “Would you please just–”

"Alright," Tess says. It's about as patient as she's capable of being, halfway between deep concern and being an order. Let me handle this, then. It feels like all those little moments from Boston to Jackson, everywhere from managing Ellie on the way to the Capitol building so he didn't have to think about little girls with death sentences, all the way to covering for his rampage at the hospital.

She moves down the length of the bed and sets about untucking the blankets, reaching down where he can't or where his hands fumble. She peels the covers back with her eyes on his face.

"It's bandaged up pretty heavily," she warns him. "You're not going to see it until it has to be changed."

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still stuck at work sorry <3 <3

no worries we will happily wait for forever!!

<33333

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