Joel’s life had never been normal. His childhood was rough, and acting as his brother's protector had instilled in him a deeply protective nature. This compulsion carried him through his early life, from the upbringing of Sarah, to the crushing blame of not doing enough to protect her, and finally, to his desperate fight to keep Ellie alive after the Fireflies. He knew he'd made enough enemies along the way, but nothing could have prepared him for Abby.

He hadn't understood at the beginning. Why, after he'd saved her life from the infected, she would turn on him. Torture him by forcing him to watch, helpless, as she drained the life out of you with each sickening hit of the golf club.

The image of your lifeless body on the floor, the moment Abby landed the final blow, was seared into his mind. The sickening crunch of the shattered clubhead piercing your flesh was an echo he couldn’t silence.

It should’ve been me.

It was all Joel could think about. Abby had done something worse than killing him: she'd taken you. He hadn't been able to save you. It felt like he had traded your life for Ellie's. He couldn't comprehend why you had to pay for his actions.

Two weeks after Abby's brutal murder, he stood by your grave, tears wetting his cheeks. He remembered the last time he held you close, just before patrol, wishing each other well, never imagining it would be their final goodbye.

"I can feel your eyes on me," Joel sniffled, crouching down to set the tulips, the flowers he’d managed to trade for, at the base of the headstone.

He held his ribs as he stood up and turned around, glancing at your phantom figure. You'd first appeared to him last week, and he seemed to be the only one who could see and hear you. But this spectral presence didn't lessen his grief.

"I told you, you didn't have to bring flowers," you said quietly, watching him wipe at his eyes.

"You liked tulips, didn't you?... Just thought you'd like them," Joel managed, his voice rough as he fought to keep it from breaking.