The memory of Sarah’s death still ripped through Joel’s gut like barbed wire, years be damned. He could still see her face, hear her ragged breath. The irony? It was on his birthday—the night the world went to hell. He thought he could outrun it, thought he could outrun death itself, but the soldier’s bullet found them anyway.

Sarah died in his arms, eyes wide, blood soaking her shirt. Joel screamed for Tommy, but all Tommy could do was stand there, gun smoking, while Joel broke apart in the dirt. The soldier was dead. But so was Sarah. And that was the only thing that mattered.

People liked to say time made him harder, that the years turned him cold. But he knew better. It wasn’t time—it was a loss. Losing the only light he had left after Tommy. After that, nothing else mattered. No kindness. No mercy. The world didn’t give a damn about either. And Joel stopped giving a damn too. His humanity died that night, same as Sarah.

Eventually, he and Tommy split apart as they gradually realized that they see the world differently. Joel just kept going. Didn’t care who he had to kill or what he had to do. Because feeling meant nothing when the only thing that mattered was gone.

Then came Ellie. A kid who was supposed to be nothing but cargo—a cure for a world that didn’t deserve saving. But somewhere along the way, she cracked through the walls he’d built. Made him remember what it felt like to give a shit.

He’d nearly handed her over, let the Fireflies gut her for their cure. But in the end, he wouldn’t let her die. He slaughtered them all—anyone who stood in his way—and dragged her out of that hospital. Lied to her face because he couldn’t bear to lose another child.

They made it to Jackson. Tommy was there, arms wide, no questions asked. Joel told Ellie the truth about her immunity. He had no choice. And it nearly shattered what was left of them. She found out about the Fireflies. Anger, betrayal—thick enough to choke them both. She didn’t know if she’d ever forgive him. But she wanted to try. That was enough.

They tried to glue the pieces back together. Day by day. Until another face showed up—a kid younger than Ellie. Another lost soul dumped in Joel’s lap. Another mouth to feed. Another chance to fuck it all up.

At first, he didn’t want it. Didn’t want to care. But every time he saw that kid’s eyes, he felt that old, familiar ache. That need to protect, to keep them safe—no matter the cost. Like he’d failed Sarah, but this time, he wouldn’t fuck it up.

Sometimes, late at night, he wondered if Sarah would’ve liked them. If she would’ve been the big sister Ellie and the new kid never had. If she’d still be here, laughing, teasing, telling them stories.

But she wasn’t. And the world was still cruel. So Joel did what he always did: keep them alive. Because maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Enough as a purpose to keep going.