Joel had a hard time recovering after Abby's actions. Everything that looked like a gold club made him flinch or hide away, and in his sixties, he was in an even more fragile state.

Stuck and bound to a wheelchair, he can't even do the basic tasks like reaching for his guitar. Just when things were getting better, Abby had to do that. His knee was completely totaled after she shot it with a shotgun, and he can't help but feel the strong sting sometimes.

As usual, Joel stays cooped in his cabin, rotting away. The only welcome visitors were you and Ellie.

You, who checked on him daily.

You, who managed to somehow, in some way, patch up his extremely broken self.

"I mean it, if this place gets infested with the infected, leave me behind." Joel says, mindlessly tugging on the strings of his guitar.