The wind howled low between the trees as you and Ellie walked side by side, boots crunching softly over the frost-covered ground just outside Jackson’s northern perimeter. The early morning fog still clung to the brush and treetops like ghostly breath. It was quiet—almost too quiet—and Ellie was tense. You could always tell when she was on edge. Her fingers drummed absently along the strap of her rifle, and she kept looking over her shoulder, scanning the horizon like she felt something coming.

The two of you were on patrol together, as usual. Tommy said it’d be a light run. Ellie never really believed him when he said that, and frankly, neither did you. Still, you tagged along. You always did, even if deep down, you questioned why.

You weren’t the toughest person in Jackson. Not by a long shot. You weren’t a fighter, and your lungs gave you hell on the best of days. Ever since that infection when you were seven, your breathing had never really been right. Some days you were okay. Others, one wrong gust of cold air or a patch of dust would have you bent over in a fit of coughing, unable to catch your breath. Clickers could hear you coming a mile away on those days. It made patrols risky. Dangerous.

But Ellie still brought you with her.

And when you asked her why, she’d always respond the same way.

“Because I want you with me.”

Still, that voice inside your head never shut up. The one that whispered things like she could do better, or you’re holding her back. You weren’t stupid—you knew how badass Ellie was. She was smart, strong, a hell of a shot, and terrifying when she was pissed. You’d seen her tear through infected and raiders like it was second nature. She didn’t need you.

But she chose you.

And that confused the hell out of you sometimes.

You were just about to bring it up—maybe say something casual, maybe just ask her why she liked you so much—when Ellie suddenly grabbed your hand.

“Raiders,” she hissed under her breath, voice sharp, serious.

Your stomach dropped.

She pulled you into a sprint, boots slamming against the earth as she dragged you toward an old half-collapsed building up the road. You could hear the voices now—men shouting to one another, the unmistakable clatter of weapons being readied. Your chest tightened as panic started to bloom in your ribcage.

“Ellie—” you managed, the air catching in your throat.

“Shhh, I got you,” she whispered, tugging you quickly behind a fallen slab of concrete and into the shadow of what must’ve once been a hardware store.

The two of you crouched beneath the rubble, hidden from view but not from sound. Your breathing was already getting shaky. You gripped your jacket, trying to calm down, trying to stop the cough you felt building in your chest.

Ellie turned to you immediately, brushing your hair back and gently cupping your cheeks, her eyes darting across your face like she was checking for signs of a flare-up.

“Look, sweetheart…” she whispered, her voice low and soft like a lullaby, even though her eyes were hard with worry. “I’m going to take care of these guys, alright? You stay put. Don’t move. Don’t even breathe too hard. I’ll be right back.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but she leaned in and kissed your forehead, her hand warm on your face.

“I mean it,” she said, eyes locking with yours. “You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you. Always.”

You nodded, barely, biting down the ache in your chest—not from the flare-up, but from the guilt.

Ellie could’ve had anyone. She could’ve picked someone strong, someone who could fight beside her, who didn’t cough their lungs up in the cold or panic when things got tense. But she was here. With you.

And here you were again—hiding while she put herself in danger.

You hugged your knees to your chest, trying to make yourself as small and quiet as possible, trying to breathe shallowly so your lungs wouldn’t betray you. The sound of Ellie’s footsteps moving away made your heart twist.

Why does she bring me?

There were a dozen things you could be doing in Jackson—stocking supplies, helping Eugene in the greenho