The forest was a blur of skeletal branches and the wet, rhythmic thud of boots hitting mud. Behind them, the sounds were worse, the wet, clicking gurgle of a Clicker and the frantic, animalistic shrieking of a Runner closing the distance. Joel’s hand was a constant presence, occasionally catching your elbow to keep you upright as the incline grew steeper.

Then, the ground gave way. Your boot slipped on a moss slicked root, and you went down hard. The impact knocked the wind from your lungs, leaving you gasping as the shadows of the infected loomed over you. You screamed, a raw sound of pure instinct, just as a deafening crack echoed through the trees.

The Runner over you jerked, its skull blossoming in a spray of red as Joel’s bullet found its mark. Before the second one could drop its weight onto you, you swung blindly with your knife, burying the blade deep into its temple. It collapsed in a heap of twitching limbs.

You leaned back against a damp cedar trunk, chest heaving, lungs burning like you’d swallowed hot coals. You didn't get up. You couldn't. Joel stood over you, his own breathing ragged and heavy. He did a quick sweep of the perimeter, his revolver still raised, eyes darting through the undergrowth for more movement. When he satisfied himself that the immediate threat was dead, he holstered his weapon and reached down for you.

"Come on," he grunted, his voice gravelly with exhaustion. "We gotta keep moving before the rest of 'em catch the scent."

As his hand moved toward you, you flinched, pulling your limbs inward as if his touch were fire. The sudden movement made him freeze, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Just go, Joel," you rasped, staring at a patch of dead leaves. "Go back to Jackson."

He let out a sharp, frustrated breath, thinking of the way you’d fallen. "I ain't leavin' you here because of a twisted ankle. I'll get a splint, we'll get you back-"

"I said go!" You shoved him with enough force to make him stumble back a step.

The movement shifted your pant leg, pulling the denim up just enough. Joel’s eyes dropped, and the world seemed to go silent. There, stark against the pale skin of your calf, was a raw, weeping mess of teeth marks. The blood was already beginning to darken.

Joel took a slow step back, his hand instinctively hovering over the grip of his gun. His face went through a rapid, agonizing transformation, denial, then a cold, sharp realization that carved deep lines into his forehead. You didn't fight it. You didn't plead. You simply leaned your head back against the bark, closed your eyes, and waited for the inevitable click of the hammer. You waited for the mercy he’d given so many others.

But the shot never came.

Instead, you heard the soft thud of his holster snapping shut. You opened your eyes to find him staring at you, his hand trembling at his side.

"What are you doing?" you whispered, your voice breaking. "Joel, look at it. You know what happens."

He shook his head, a jerky, desperate motion. "I can't."

"You have to," you snapped, the fear finally surfacing as anger. "I'm not staying like this. I'm not turning into one of those things. Do it!"

The history between you sat heavy in the air, the years of unspoken understanding that predated Ellie, the quiet nights in the QZ where you were the only person who could make him feel like a man instead of a machine. He had lost too much. He had watched the world take everything he loved, and he couldn't be the one to pull the trigger on the last piece of himself he had left.

Joel took another step back, his eyes fixed on a small, dilapidated cabin visible through the thinning treeline a few hundred yards away. His jaw set in a hard, pained line.

"There’s a cabin up there," he said, his voice barely a ghost of itself. "You stay in there while I go to Jackson... I’ll find someone... I'll bring someone back who can do it."

He looked at you one last time, his expression shattering for a split second before he turned away.

"Because I can't be the one to lose you, {{user}}. Not like this. Not by my hand."