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arctrooper69 · 3 months

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What Hurts the Most

A piece I wrote as a gift to @staycalmandhugaclone featuring her OC Doc and my Jedi!OC Danika. Set sometime after the season 2 finale.

❤️ Thank you for giving me permission to post this ❤️

Doc x Danika

WARNINGS: PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING. Viewer discretion advised. This is a bit darker than my usual fics. Suicidal ideation, self harm, survivors guilt, blood, medical care. Major angst but there's a good amount of comfort.

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I couldn’t help myself.

The knife was in my hand, fingers curled tightly around the handle. It was almost surreal, but some part of me knew what I was doing. Some secret, sick, violent part of my mind urged me on, begging me to end things right here and now.

I don’t know why I did it. It just kind of happened. The knife seemed to slip as if it had taken on a life on its own and I was simply a passerby watching as the edge slid across my skin, drawing such a beautiful red.

It would make the pain go away. Of that I had fully convinced myself. The deeper the blade sunk, the more I found myself sinking along with it. Those heady crimson rivets fell like waterfalls and I wanted nothing more than to let them wash me away.

Let the Force take me like it took so many others before me.

It was only fair. Why did I have to be the one left behind again and again? I was nothing.

I was angry.

What did I do to deserve all of this? Why was I destined to fail each and every time I tried so hard to reach for success? What was the point of being a Jedi when there was no one left to save?

I had failed them. I had failed all of them. Master Plo. Lia. Echo. Hardcase. Fives. Kix. Comet. Sinker. Commander Wolffe. I couldn’t name them all and that broke me too. What good am I if I can't even remember the names of all the lives I could’ve saved?

All the Jedi? I remembered some.

Asher. Kylah. Willa. Torik. The younglings I pulled from the burning Temple. They were all gone now too - a testament to my weakness - only proving that I didn’t have what it took.

And Lia.

My precious Lia. Sacrificed herself in battle to save her men and I wasn’t there to save her. I felt her life flicker out like a candle and a part of me was gone as well. Maybe Master Plo knew, though he never said anything. I found myself wishing that he did - that maybe it would’ve been enough for the Council to throw me out - to spare me of all the pain to come.

Then Kix.

I’m so sorry, Kix.

Gone. Dragged away by Separatist droids as I lay bleeding in the street, unable to do anything but scream for them to stop - as if they’d listen to me. Powerless. Unable to help.

More like unwilling.

I should’ve forced myself to move. I should have willed my body back together. The Force could’ve done such miraculous things. But not through me.

The cybernetics in my spine ached - a gift from Master Krell. I tallied Umbara as the highest price for my failures. Allowing my anger to save and defend the honor of lives that would ultimately be lost anyway. Brother against brother orchestrated by Krell’s own hand.

Another unforgivable act.

I should’ve been able to face him. I should’ve been able to subdue him - to protect my men - not be flung aside like some helpless child. Maybe Kix would’ve been able to save more of his brothers if he hadn’t had to come and save me.

The thoughts came faster and more chaotic as they came, swirling and spiraling ever downwards like the blood that fell from my wounds.

---

I could hear footsteps now, thundering up the stone pathway. Quick and deliberate.

The sky was so pretty tonight, sun sinking low over Pabu’s golden beaches. The way it fell reminded me of others I had failed to save in one way or another.

Crosshair. Tech. Omega.

“Doc, get up here! Hunter!” Wrecker’s voice was loud. I didn’t mind though. The way his footsteps made the sandy ground tremble could have rocked me to sleep. It would’ve been peaceful. Finally success in something I could control.

It was taken from me then, knocked violently from my hands. Some stranger’s voice cried out as Wrecker’s vice-like grip locked around my arm and wrist, desperately trying to keep that crimson from flowing smoothly into the dirt. It wasn’t fair. That strange voice crying out for him to stop couldn’t have been mine. The pleas for him to let me have some semblance of control couldn’t have come from my lips because that would mean I had failed once again.

“Dani, why?”

I didn’t know his voice could sound so broken.

The agony of my reality didn’t hit me until Doc’s medkit hit the ground with a thud ringing though my head like her voice barking out orders.

I’m sorry, Doc. I just couldn’t take it anymore. It hurt too much. Please understand.

“Cyar’ika, why?” The crack in her voice hurt worse than the screaming icy sharpness that coursed nearly unbearably up my arm as she did what she was meant to do.

I found it endearing how easily she’d picked up the Mando’a from her boys.

Her words may have been gentle but her hands were not. I hadn’t realized how deep that blade had gone until her fingers pinched together the pulsing artery beneath my skin, forcing such a gutteral cry from my chest at the white hot sharpness she inflicted so ruthlessly.

I tried to run - to jerk away and hide from the agony of Hunter’s willing hands which twisted and wound the tourniquet obediently under Doc’s command, but I found that Wrecker’s arms, though gentle, held me fast.

Her voice was gentle with an edge of disappointment now - all of it laced with a quiet heartbreak. I couldn’t help the tears that streamed down my cheeks, nor the whimper of pain that tumbled over lips that had begun to go numb.

“I’ve got you, Dani. Look at me.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. I couldn’t bring myself to see how my actions had cut her just as deeply as the knife I’d used on myself.

“I need you to look at me.” Her fingers glided beneath my chin, caressing the same skin that she had kissed only hours before.

I wondered if she noticed how I watched her lips tremble as she brought my face up to look at hers. I wonder if the same shame that gripped me, now held her in its claws as well. I wanted to tell her that it wasn’t her fault. I wanted to tell her that I loved her and never meant to hurt her like this.

“I’m sorry...” The words that leaked breathlessly over my lips were all that came out. I didn’t know what else to say.

The determined look she’d set over eyes shielded the tears I knew lay beneath. They were the same tears she had shed so long ago when she told me about her past. It seemed so long ago now, almost in a different life. I’d fallen in love with her then, though I wasn’t sure I’d ever told her that.

Had I failed her too?

“I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

She made no sound to answer me.

I couldn’t stop the hissing moan as she folded my arm over my own chest and pulled me into her arms.

“I know, cyar’ika. I’m sorry.”

My head felt so heavy. With so much weighing me down, I couldn’t fight how my head rested against her shoulder.

“Doc… let me help. I got her.” Hunter’s voice sounded strained, like I’d added another thousand pounds onto his already heavy shoulders. I couldn’t help the tears that came again, burning hot with shame that choked me like a fist around my throat.

I wondered if she knew how I felt that spike of protective instinct shooting through her soul as she stood, cradling me against her chest, pulling me closer and ever so slightly away from the concern of the others. I wondered if she was aware of the regret that weighed so heavily on my chest. I hadn’t meant to hurt anyone.

Her feet moved quickly with practiced purpose down the stone steps and across the landing platform.

“How can we help, Doc?” Wrecker’s voice echoed through my ears and her reply sounded almost comical as it warped and blended in and out with everything else. All I wanted to do was stay here in her arms. She was warm and safe. Everything felt different with her.

I could’ve floated into a dream where everything was alright again. A dream in which the weight of our actions had no effect on the galaxy around us. It was just simply us. Doc and Danika. What a beautiful world that would be, and I wondered briefly if she ever felt the same.

The sudden cold hand of reality cruelly pulled me back once again beneath fluttering eyelids and that thin cot of the medbay I was suddenly placed upon.

“No, no, no. Danika, don’t you dare!” Her voice was sharp. Panicked fingers pulling desperately at the lids of my eyes, forcing me into a sudden, uncomfortable wakefulness. I couldn’t help the twinge of despair in realizing she’d once again pulled me back to her.

I would only fail her again, and even that thought flooded me with a tangible guilt I could feel in my mouth.

“Don’t do that again!” She nearly shouted in an angry relief. “I won’t lose you too!” Her voice quieted, “I can’t…”

I could only turn my head to regard her under lidded eyes that were aready threatening to close again. I found myself unable to keep from shivering as I watched her gather what she needed in frantic movements.

I nearly smiled. It took a certain kind of courage to efficiently do what needed to be done even when the life of someone you cared about was on the line.

“Here.” She layed a blanket over me. Her eyes were kind but oh, so tired. It was the kind of tired where even a thousand nights of sleep would not ever been enough.

Her hand felt cold as she brushed the hair from my neck with nimble fingers. She held the autoinjector in the other.

“Just a pinch,” she warned, smiling in a sad, but comforting expression as I met her eyes.

I barely noticed the slight burn of the sedative she’d given me as I felt it pull me into the grasp of unconciousness. A terror suddenly gripped me tighter than anything I’d ever felt before and I felt myself fight how that sedative pulled me down. I couldn’t let myself be taken away like this - not when she meant so much to me. I knew then, whatever it took, I had to fight to stay with her. She was my rock. I was hers. She would be my reason to keep living.

---

Gentle fingers weaving through my hair, woke me slowly.

The door to the medbay hissed open. “How is she, Doc?” Hunter’s voice held that same tired concern as it had before.

The fingers in my hair paused their movements. “I think she’s starting to wake up.”

“Do you think we should - “

“Yeah,” her curt reply cut him off. “She’ll stay here for awhile. Just so I can keep an eye on her.”

“Good. I’ll give you some privacy then.” The door hissed shut and she sank into the chair with a sigh.

“Hey…” I whispered. She stiffened, pulling her hand from my hair. She stood up suddenly, moving her hands as though she didn’t quite know what to say.

“Hey!?” She repeated incredulously. The sudden sharpness of her tone startled her as much as it did me. “That’s all you have to say to me!? Hey!?” The anger she’d tried so hard to convey, cracked at the last few words. She took a breath as if to calm herself. My chest felt heavy. I knew I’d hurt her, but I hadn’t realized just how much.

“I…” I began.

“Oh, no.” she interrupted me, a fire ablaze in her eyes. “You don’t get to talk just yet!”

I fell silent.

“H-how dare you do something like that! How dare you…” her voice cracked as she collapsed back into the chair beside me, placing her forehead on mine, pressing so hard I could taste the salt of her tears on my lips as they fell. Her hands gripped my face as though she was afraid if she let go, I’d slip away once again.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” The anger in her voice was gone now, replaced only by grief and sorrow.

“Am… am I allowed to speak again?” I asked timidly, hoping a small grin and some infantesimal amount of good humor would help lift that awful weight from her shoulders.

She chuckled with a broken sniff as she wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, “Yeah… I guess you can. Maker knows, I can’t stop you once you get started.”

It was my turn to chuckle.

“I… I’m so sorry,” My own words breaking over emotion I couldn’t hold back any longer. She wiped the tears with her thumbs as they flowed.

“I… Sometimes it’s just so easy to get all caught up in my own head,” I sobbed.

She moved, sitting on the cot beside me, lifting me so that my head rest against her chest. The beat of her heart was soothing. I could sit there forever and that sound would be all I needed to sustain my living.

“I know, she said, placing her lips on the top of my head. “That’s what I’m here for though, right?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, closing my eyes, leaning into her embrace as she wrapped herself around me.

“Promise?” She asked.

“I promise.”

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freakshowtwopointoh · 6 months

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Not sure if they meant this romantically but Imma do it anyways. So rivals with crushes. Pre canon. MASSIVE TW FOR SELF H@RM. I DESCRIBE IT. PLEASE CLICK AWAY IF THAT WILL TRIGGER YOU.

@simp-for-hurt-comfort

You never expected to still be struggling with self harm in college. But the pressure only got more intense, and all you wanted to do was prove that you deserved your spot at GodU. You'd tried to quit so many times - flushing razors down the toilet only to buy another next week. But you still were at the top of your class, so it didn't really matter. It's not like anyone had to know.

Especially not fucking Jordan Li. Arrogant, cocky, too pretty for their own good Jordan Li.

Jordan's POV

Every time you raise your hand in class, you can feel their glare on you. Every time you state your opinion, they just have to play devil's advocate.

Sometimes it would wear you down, if you're honest. You wanted them to like you, and when their eyes were on you, it made your heart flip. You'd debate back and forth, getting way more involved than necessary for your classes. But then you'd get a bad grade or be unable to complete an assignment, and they'd go in on you.

Like you didn't already feel bad enough.

You'd spent all night fighting with the demons in your head, telling you that you deserved to hurt, or you needed to cut. You'd been able to ignore them, but you'd forgotten about your assignment. You ran into them before class, clearly empty handed.

"Slacking already, [Y/L/N]? Tsk tsk tsk, I knew you wouldn't be able to cut it. Just give up now, I'll be happy to take the top rank." You did not have time for this today. You glared at them and went to the back of the room, feeling the weight of the blade in your pocket.

They hate know it all's. Fucking innocent looking show offs who act like they have no idea what they're doing. Hand always the first up, always ready to correct them no matter who's listening. Yes, they were talking about [Y/N].

If Jordan didn't know any better, she was coming for their spot.

And if Jordan wasn't lying to themself, they wanted her more than that wanted that spot. Wanted to make her shut up, make her pretty lips say their name.

They shook their head briskly. Focus, Li. Don't forget anything, look cool, make your way to the training field before your one on one with Brink fast enough and you'll have time to train.

They had a great session but couldn't keep her off their mind. They'd tell themself it's just because they want to beat her, but they knew it was a lie.

After their appointment with Brink, they made their way to the restroom. When they walked in, they nearly dropped their bag.

Why is there blood?

Your POV

You took the new blade out of its package and stared at it. You felt a little sick to your stomach, but you just wanted that moment of relief. You'd fought so hard last night, but it didn't feel like it mattered at all. Why bother fighting anyways? Jordan was right, you weren't cut out for this. You should just give up now. You pressed the blade to your wrist and cut. Over and over again, until it was covered in thin cuts and dripping blood. You wished it made you feel better. It used to, or at least you thought it did.

You got up to rinse your arm when you heard the door open and you sprinted back to the stall, heart racing.

"Hey, you ok? Need a tampon?" And before you could even register that it was Jordan's voice, the door to the stall swung open accidentally.

"Fuck." You tried to reach the door, but Jordan caught your arm.

"Don't move. I have a first aid kit in my bag." They pulled the backpack off of their shoulders as you stood frozen.

"Don't worry about it, I'll be fine." Your voice shook slightly as you attempted to make your way back to the sink.

"Don't be silly, those need to be cleaned. You don't want an infection." Your hands started to shake and you could feel tears falling down your face. They took your hand and began cleaning your arm very gently.

Jordan's POV

They thanked their lucky stars they were used to first aid, because their brain was running a mile a minute while they forced themself to stay calm and collected.

Why was she doing this? They knew the science behind it, but like, she seemed like her life was so perfect. Always had the right answer in class, always looked beautiful. Kind to everyone, always smiling.

They tried to think if they'd ever seen her in short sleeves. Then they wished they hadn't.

"Sorry about this." She said softly. "I keep trying to stop but it never sticks. Don't worry about me though, I'm fine." She wouldn't meet their eyes. After they finished cleaning her arm, she pulled a bandana from her pocket and tried wrapping it around her arm.

"Let me." They murmured, carefully wrapping it around her injured arm before securing it in a knot. "And um... If you ever need someone to talk to, or just to keep you company, let me know." She looked at them, eyes still shiny with tears.

"Do you really mean that, or are you just saying it to make yourself feel better?"

"I mean it. Anytime." She held their gaze before nodding.

"Thank you, Jordan. You're not as much of an asshole as you seem." They smiled at this, and tried to ignore how it made their heart feel when she said their name.

Later that week, they were coming home from clubbing with their friends when they saw a shadow leaning against the tree outside their dorm room. It almost looked like...

They walked over in spite of themself.

Your POV

You heard Jordan call your name. You fiddle with your fingers, almost wishing they wouldn't have seen you. But you wave, and walk towards them.

"Sorry for just showing up, I meant to message you but I wasn't sure what to say." You admit.

"I'm glad you're here. I'm not ready to sleep yet." They pulled out a joint. "Care to share?" You nod and the two of you begin to walk. You start out talking about nothing - what shitty TV you like, favorite color, etc. Then, you look to the stars. You sigh at the light pollution.

"I wish I could still see the stars. It's so peaceful, staring up, finding constellations, imagining who else had seen these stars."

"I know what you mean. Whenever nothing made sense, and no one understood me, I'd go lay under the stars. Always changing and yet always constant." You both laid in silence, trying to make out constellations.

You break the silence, not looking at them as you talk.

"Everyone acts like hard work is all it takes to succeed. But it's a fucking lie. You can work your ass off and you can still fail. I always thought that I'd have such an easy time at college. More people, less rules. And yet I still feel like I'm drowning. Like everything is falling through my fingers, and if I make one wrong move everything will tumble down. I'm exhausted." You keep your eyes on the stars, terrified of what they are going to say.

"Fuck. I thought I was the only one who felt that way." They said softly. "You always seem like you have it all together. Always smiling, always pretty." Pretty? You blushed. "Meanwhile, I spend all my free time punching shit, fucking people, or doing drugs. Trying to drown my insecurities before they drown me."

"You always seem so confident. I was always jealous of that. Meanwhile, unless I'm across a classroom, I try to talk to you and my heart goes all funny and my mouth goes dry." The weed was making you over share. "Fuck, I should not have said that. Ignore that." You laugh, but they roll over onto their side, looking at you intently.

"Do you know why I debate you in class all the time?"

"Because you think I'm wrong most of the time." You laughed.

"No. Because you're smart as hell, and strong as hell, and hot as hell, and it's intimidating." They said seriously.

"Haha very funny." They grabbed your chin to force you to keep their gaze.

"I'm serious. And if I wasn't so intimidated by you, I would've asked you to be my girlfriend by now." And then (neither of you would ever admit to initiating your first kiss) your lips were on theirs and you were kissing and sparks were flying and your heart was racing. You tangled your fingers in their hair.

"Holy shit." You said breathlessly.

"So will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Go out with me." Your heart skipped a beat. After everything they've seen... Did they really still want you? You felt the real reason you'd reached out in your pocket and on your arms. You were broken. You'd only be a burden on them. Your demons were getting louder, and you pulled your legs in tight.

"You don't want that."

"Why's that?"

"I'm fucked up, Jordan. You've seen pieces of it but once you see all the broken pieces, you'll run. I shouldn't have come, I don't even know what I wanted, I don't know what I need. I should just go." You turn to go, and they grab your arm. You gasp in pain.

"Nothing you could do would scare me away. And I'm not asking you out because I pity you, or because I expect I can fix you. I just can't stand to not be there to hold you through all your pain. I understand that now."

"I do want to go out with you. But I'm so scared." Your eyes fill with tears.

"Don't be. I've got you, ok?" They usher you to their dorm and unwrap your arms.

"Oh, sweetie. Do you have a sharp on you?" You nod, and pull it out of your pocket. They put it up for now. "I'll get rid of that later. Do you have more at home?" You nod again, and they agree to help you get rid of them in the morning. They clean the rest of your injuries and wrap them carefully. They give you some pj's and you put them on. They try not to stare at the scars on your legs.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me for that, sweetie. It just kills me knowing how long you struggled alone." They pause awkwardly.

"You ok with sharing a bed? I won't try anything." You chuckle and blush a bit.

"Would you hold me?" The words fell out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. They smiled.

"Of course, darling." They peppered pet names in so easily, and it made your heart flutter every time. You crawled into bed with Jordan, falling asleep easier than you had in years.

#self h@rm #jordan li #self injury #tw #tw sh #tw si #jordan li x reader #jordan li imagine

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toointojoelmiller · 5 months

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please don’t go

chapter 39

post-episode 8 - rating: mature - content warnings re: s/a, violence, gore, s/i, more

read the whole story on ao3! transferring all of it over to tumblr is daunting + I don't want to flood your dash (work in progress)

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Joel takes note of the wind for the first time as he crouches beside Ellie, struggling to pull her sopping wet boot off her foot. The air feels harsher than it had on the other side of the river, with the chill of the ice water being pushed towards them. There's a new coldness spreading out from his core, too - an anchor dropped inside of him and tugging him down from the surface, out of reach of any warmth from the sun.

"Get your sock off, fast," he says. He drops the boot to the ground to tear his gloves out of his pocket and shove them onto his freezing cold hands. “Water'll make you lose heat faster.” His voice comes out strained.

Water pours out of her boot when he grabs it and flips it upside down. He gives it a few hard shakes, more droplets flicking outwards from it each time he flicks his wrist.

When he glances up, he sees right away that the proof-of-life-pink is no longer anywhere on Ellie's face - back to ghost pale, just like that.

Birds are cawing again in the trees somewhere. Crows. Something dark and tired in him gets stuck on thinking that recovery is just too fragile for the harshness of a winter like this.

Ellie braces against his shoulder as she tugs at her sock, light grey soaked dark. It stretches and clings to her skin when she tries to pull it off from the bottom, and she growls in frustration, her little hand pressing harder down onto him as she wiggles her fingers under the cuff and peels it down. She yanks hard to get it past her heel, nearly tipping herself off balance.

"Wring it out," he tells her when she finally gets her foot free.

He looks back down to the boot he's scrunching in his hands, only stopping when it's no longer dripping over his gloves. He tries to dig his numb fingers under the boot’s insole next, and after a few clumsy moments he finally gets a grip on it, tugging it free. He rolls it up tightly in his hands, water trickling down to the snow as he does.

Too fucking slow at all of it.

Water drips from the sock as Ellie twists it, and the dead man's gloves she's been wearing seem to have a waterproof outer shell - it's beading and running off, rather than soaking in. She hops on one foot, struggling to keep her balance as her body sways from one side to the other.

Joel pictures the pair of dirty but dry and warm socks in his bag, and the need to get them onto her as fast as he can is so strong he thinks it might pull him into pieces if he doesn't give into it - but he knows it's the wrong move. The socks need to stay dry - if she wears them now they're just going to get shoved back into a wet boot. He can't think of any way around it.

Their day of walking is done - shelter and heat is all that matters, the only focus until she’s completely dry. He stares at her bare skin as it shines with the water and sunlight.

“Hang on,” he says as he quickly shifts closer, hastily yanking open his jacket. The zipper gets caught on his shirt and he rips it off roughly, splitting it apart for good. He gets a fistful of the bottom half of his shirt in his palm and uses it as a makeshift towel to dry off her foot.

She hops again, trying not to fall over, but with how firmly he’s holding her heel in his grasp she can’t correct her balance enough and stumbles backwards. It takes Joel's brain a moment too long to react, and he's just barely starting to reach out and try to brace her fall before she lands on her butt in the snow with a pained groan.

“What the fuck dude,” she complains. There’s a baleful whine in her voice, the product of exhaustion and being so far past the limits of what she can handle. He feels small, with no fix for any of it.

“I'm sorry,” he says as he moves the now damp fabric of his shirt to her ankle and lower leg. "S’just - better to dry like this than let it evaporate -”

“Yeah, well, that fucking hurt,” she complains in a near shout, tugging her foot again to try to get out of his grasp.

Her teeth are already starting to chatter steadily - keeping time as it slips away on them.

No, no, no.

“There - done.” His eyes race up the leg of Ellie’s jeans as he says it. The denim is deep blue, saturated with water just past her knee, splashes reaching even higher. His mouth goes dry on him.

"Your jeans," he says. The urgency from his pounding heart is leaking out in his voice, pressured and taut. "I - can you - are y'able to twist em up or anythin'?"

"What d'you mean?" She says.

"To get the water - here - can I try?"

She's wary, but nods once, so he reaches out and grabs the hem of her pant leg, trying to bunch the denim up in his hands as much as he can. Her ankle and painfully skinny calf are fully exposed, blindingly pale in the sun.

It's hard to get enough to twist. Only a small bit of water drips out - not nearly enough to feel like it's done anything. And he can't really get much slack gathered at all any higher up - pointless. Not going to help one bit.

She looks at him nervously when he drops his hands back to his sides.

"Okay, back on, quick as you can," he urges her, pointing to the sock she’s holding.

He turns around on his knees to reassemble her boot, pushing the liner down and grimacing at the freezing cold and wet inside of it. He can’t get his hands to move fast enough. Can’t do anything fast enough.

He glances at her foot quickly sure she has the sock on again. "Pants off, quick. Get out your dry ones."

It's casually tossed out into the air, and he almost blows right past it before he realizes what he's just said. Flippantly - the sort of brisk command that would rush out of him once in a while when he was stressed and Sarah was making them late, giving him hell over getting dressed in the morning.

The last thing he wants to be flippant about with Ellie.

She reels back in a brief flinch. Small, but enough to hurt them both. If he could punch himself in the face without freaking her out he would.

"Sorry - it -" he stutters, flustered.

The sentence hangs unfinished between them as he berates himself.

It what - it slipped out? It’s fucking cruel - he's fucking cruel, after the way she’s hidden away those jeans all week - memories and grisly proof that she doesn’t want to look at, and that he might as well have just slapped her with.

"It's only the - water -" he blathers pointlessly.

"It's fine," Ellie mumbles, looking at the ground as she drops her bag and rummages in it.

She finds the jeans and starts to lift them from her bag, but it’s as though she gets stuck and the moment just stops. Her hands are shaking. She licks her lips and says in a horse sounding whisper, “I don't want to.”

She's still not looking at him, and he can't look away from her.

“You - we don't have -” he starts to plead, hearing his voice crack as Ellie starts to cry and tries to hide it from him, keeping her face towards the snow.

"I can't." Her voice is low enough that it's hard for him to hear.

She swipes her hand across her wet face, the skin of her knuckles left glistening. He watches her rub the tears away into her jeans, and she keeps digging her knuckle in harder, pressing until he can see it denting into the side of her leg.

His tongue feels as though it might be glued down, sour saliva pooling at the back of his clenched jaw. They don't have time to waste. There's no way he can make her.

"Okay," he says. "I - okay."

He takes off his pack, digging into it in near panic to find his other pair of jeans, and looks at them with a grimace as he takes them out.

He forgot how revolting they were. Smelly, stained with blood and pus from his stomach - piss, probably, too, and -

“Goddammit - these are -”

Calling them a fucking biohazard wouldn’t be an exaggeration, he thinks. They'd be completely massive on her, too, slowing her down, and that's if she’s lucky - probably more plausible that they'll fit so poorly they'll trip her up altogether. Forget about running.

But she snatches them from his hands desperately before he can say or think anything further, and at a loss for what else he can do, he turns away as she starts to unfasten her pants.

The shame running through him finds familiar footholds.

“We’ve had some... concerns expressed by a few of the other parents. And Sarah's teacher has shared similar observations.”

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, and they'd sworn to him that Sarah was just fine, but the anxiety kept building up on the drive over - was she being picked on? Wasn't she too young for that shit? Maybe just having a hard time being away from him again - for the first couple of weeks of the year she would get herself worked up, and the only thing that would calm her down was going to the school office to call him at work - he’d try to soothe her over the phone while his boss shot daggers at him, always laying into him afterwards for tying up the phone line.

The woman had been all surface level niceties - angel trinkets on her desk and scripture on the walls, blonde curls piled high on her head, all surrounding a smile so razor sharp it might draw blood.

“I don't mean to be rude, ma'am, but exactly what kind of concerns are you talkin' about?” Joel said, squirming in his chair as his stomach sank.

He looked down at his grease stained hands and saw clumps of dirt left on the white linoleum floor by his work boots. A vague call at work from the school principal felt about as urgent as anything could, so he’d left right then to meet with her, but as he sat covered in filth in her immaculate office he felt like a moron for not stopping to at least change his clothes.

The woman flashed him the grin again, and it felt more like a warning than a comfort.

“Unfortunately, it seems that Sarah's been sent to school in dirty clothes several times this year. Is everything alright at home?”

He blinked at her as her words carved a well of humiliation through the middle of him.

“Dirty clothes?” he repeated, swallowing thickly and tasting acid in his mouth.

There was only one time he remembered, a few weeks back - Sarah had spilled milk all over her lap a few minutes before they had to leave and everything else was dirty - he’d had no choice but to tug the purple pants she’d worn the day before back out of the laundry hamper - but they were hardly dirty, she'd only been in them a few hours the day before -

And there was that T-shirt from the zoo, an embroidered sunset with the silhouettes of an elephant and a giraffe - she’d insisted on wearing it for almost two weeks straight, but he’d hand washed it in the bathroom sink and hung it up to dry every night so she wouldn't be going to school in dirty clothes -

“I understand you’re a single father - is that right Mr. Miller? There’s no Mrs. Miller at home?”

It felt like an accusation because it was one. Sarah was the world's best kid. He was the problem being discussed.

He wondered sometimes if maybe she'd been onto something. Seen through to whatever it was inside of him that made him so sure to fail.

Ellie clears her throat and mumbles out, "You can turn around."

If he wasn't so panicked he thinks he'd probably cry at the sight of her. She's back on her feet, holding the clownishly oversized waistband of his pants up by a fist, looking like a little kid playing dress up. As long as he ignores the grisly stains all over the denim.

He leans forward to grab the cuff of each leg and rapidly rolls them up - once, twice, three times, again and again until he gets them clear of her feet, and then holds her damp boot out for her so she can wiggle her socked foot back into it.

She's shaking from the cold already.

He straightens up. “Come on. We gotta move. Faster the better.”

If there is a gas station ahead, somewhere with four walls and a roof and out of the wind, that's where he needs to get her. He leads the way, and she hobbles along after him, one hand still stuck holding the pants up. She winces each time she steps onto the wet boot.

"Fuck me," Ellie sighs heavily after a minute. "I - that was so fucking stupid."

He looks back at her, and wonders if all of his fear and worry is making his face look sharper than he realizes when she almost flinches again under his gaze.

"It was an accident," he says, speaking carefully and trying to make himself come across a bit softer. "I didn't see the ice either."

"We're so screwed," she says.

He shakes his head, looking around them as dread keeps rising up along his spine.

"We're fine," he lies.

He rushes, as fast as he can go and have her still keeping up, with his eyes fixed on the metal sign coming in and out of sight through the branches. It's less than a mile but still feels too far. Warm life leeching away from Ellie with every gust of wind hitting their backs.

He rehearses the next steps in his head as they move. If there is a building, clear it fast. Find somewhere dry, fully out of the wind. Boots off, dry socks, into the sleeping bag. He tries to think through how long it might take to get wood together, build a fire - how long until it’s actually burning enough to start giving her back some heat,

How many hours will it take to dry her clothes - her boot, especially - how long will she be stuck being a sitting duck in socked feet?

The question of if her starved little body will even be able to warm itself up fast enough gnaws at him. He’ll wrap the other sleeping bag around her too, insulating her as much as he can while he works on the fire. He'll climb in with her if he needs to, though he hopes for her sake that he won't.

The other unknowns are too frightening to look straight at, so he lets them slip away from his mind as quickly as they slide in - has the cold done too much damage already? How will it be for her, stuck next to a fire for hours when the most she's managed has been a few short minutes? Will someone notice the smell, the smoke?

They’re a bit more than halfway there when he hears her teeth chattering, and she lets out a small noise of discomfort. “My foot - my t-toes are burning,” she whispers.

"I know," he says, hoping he sounds reassuring though his own panic feels like it might crack through the surface at any moment. "Not much farther. You're gonna warm up quick in those sleepin' bags. It'll keep - it'll be fine."

“It really h-hurts,” she hisses a few minutes later through a strangled sounding sob, and he knows right then that he's got no other choice, so he stops and turns to face her.

“Alright. C'mon, then, I’ll carry you.”

She glares at him, shaking her head and walking past him. “Hilarious,” she says flatly. “You’re really f-fucking funny.”

“Don't want you to keep walkin’ if it's hurtin' bad like that,” he insists, trailing after her. "I'm serious, Ellie."

He spares her the gory details - fingers and toes and ears he’s seen disintegrating from cold exposure over the years, scalding red or numb white, eerie blue-grey - black, eventually - how people pushed too hard to work in the cold in Boston would up mangled so much worse, the labour ruining the frozen tissue that they would later watch rotting away helplessly.

The way his hands had burned as they thawed - agony that he had to wade through with nothing to take the edge off. 'Not keeping any sitting around for now,' was how Tess had said it.

'Didn't know you took orders from Tommy,' he'd growled at her.

Not that he even needs to tell Ellie about any of it to get her to give in. She starts floundering in front of him as he watches, limping harder with every step, cringing from the pain. She doesn’t admit defeat out loud, but after one last reluctant hobbling step forward, she comes to a stop with a pitiful whine, hanging her head and splitting his heart in two.

He takes off his bag quickly and turns it around, sliding it onto his arms so it’s on the front of his body instead. It’s incredibly uncomfortable - puffy and restrictive and heavy, pulling his weight forward enough to make his back feel pinched right away, but there's fuck all he can do about it so he blocks it out.

“Here,” he tells her, his back turned to her. “Not far anyway.” His knees groan in protest as he crouches down slightly, and he digs his teeth into his lip to keep it from showing.

“Are you k-kidding me?” she says incredulously. “With your sh-shitty f-fucking hundred year old m-man back -”

“You're wastin' time we ain't got,” he cuts her off, looking back at her in frustration. “Get up.”

The reluctance is obvious through her moan, but she shuffles closer to him. He crouches down lower so she can get her hands over his shoulders, and he reaches back to support her legs as she does a little hop to climb up onto his back.

A groan slips out of him automatically as he straightens up with her weight fully on him, gripping his fingers tight behind her knees to keep her in place. She wiggles a bit and gets one arm looped around his shoulders and neck, her other hand letting go - back down to her waist to hold the pants on, he figures.

“Good?” he gets out through his gritted teeth.

“Yeah. You?”

“Mh,” he grunts, starting forward again.

His heavy steps in the snow and his loud, jagged breathing set a steady pace that he focuses on maintaining, keeping his eyes fixed to the snow so he doesn’t stumble and launch her into the ground.

It’s hard on his out of shape body, like he knew it would be. He has to take it step by step, the exertion making his muscles start to shake far sooner than he would have guessed. The metal sign ahead is closer with every brief glance upward, but his heart feels like it just keeps accelerating, running so fast in his chest that he’s soon gasping his air in.

Ellie squeezes tightly to him, saying something on the side of his bad ear that he can’t hear. He doesn’t have the breath to ask her to repeat it. He keeps his head down and forces himself to keep moving.

Finally, they’re nearly there. He gets a glimpse at something new through the trees, and a few shuffled steps forward later he sees a building.

As it comes fully into view, his legs start to feel on the edge of giving out. Ellie must feel him faltering, because without a word she loosens her grip on him and slides down from his back. He folds forward, bracing his hands on his knees as he pants to catch his breath.

She’s saying something else to him that he still can’t make out, though he can guess at it well enough.

“M’fine,” he gasps as darkness spots his vision, bleeding in around the edges. His legs burn, still quivering as he looks up.

It's just a small place - once some sort of general store. Wooden slat siding, mostly worn bare, all grey and brown and rotted. He runs his eyes over the building - well, half of a building. A large tree crushed the back of it, and not recently. From the angle Joel's at it looks like it's taken down at least half of the rear wall with it. Four walls and a roof might have been too much to ask for.

His guess at a gas station had been right, though it would have been a tiny one - there’s just one pump that’s been dismantled ages ago, mangled rusted metal standing alone in the snow.

"C'mon," he urges Ellie forward, putting an arm around her to support her weight as she hops on her dry foot, leading her over to stand behind the gas pump.

“Stay - until I clear - it - okay?” he pants out as he gets the rifle back into his hands.

She takes her gun out as he moves away from her, trying to crouch but having to give up on it as his legs threaten to give out.

He looks around as he makes his way to the side of the building and tries to get his breath back - clocking some downed branches in the trees, looking for a woodpile he knows logically would be too rotted out after twenty years of exposure to be useful.

There's a small second floor to the building, but only on one half - he figures it might have been a split storefront or something. Two dark, small sliding windows are on the second floor, cracked from weather and time. An air conditioning unit is somehow still in place hanging from one of them, dark rust stains leaking down from it.

It's silent, no shapes or hints of movement through the windows. If anyone was here they'd surely have been shot at by now - he hadn’t exactly approached the place subtly, sputtering for breath and nearly collapsing in the snow.

An old ice box still sits next to the entrance door to the store, only the metal doorframe remaining, the glass panel broken out long ago. He glances through the windows as he moves past them, and pauses for a second when he reaches the entrance door to listen for a few seconds. Still hearing nothing, he leans his head to the side just enough to see inside.

It wasn't just the rear wall that the tree took down - a third of the roof, maybe, is gone too. A little corner of the store looks still sheltered and intact, tucked away along the wall shared with the other half of the building and behind the cash register that still sits on the countertop.

Time has eaten away at the walls and the roof, and nature has long ago threaded itself through the space inside. Snow's been blown in through the open gaps, a large drift spilling halfway across the store and little white patches scattered across the floor. The ground that isn't covered is some sort of peeling tile, coated dirt and leaves and dead, dried out plants.

No footprints to be seen, anywhere.

He jolts in shock as a bird takes off, loudly flapping away from behind a standing metal shelf in the centre of the store - bare, and coated in near-black grime.

He walks through the metal doorframe and moves far enough into the store to confirm that nothing is hiding behind the counter. It’s empty, and looks like it should be good shelter from the wind.

A white exterior door is centered in the wall behind the register, installed with a large drop down step coming off of it like the storefront had been an addition built beside an existing building. He steps quickly toward it and twists the doorknob cautiously - unlocked. He opens it just enough to listen again and hears nothing. He steps inside just enough to glance - a small entryway, what looks like a kitchen. Dusty. No signs of anyone, anywhere, and he's already taken too long - that has to be good enough for now.

He closes the door and drops his pack to the ground before he hurries back to Ellie. “It’ll work,” he tells her as he turns his back to her, ready to carry her again.

She ignores him, hobbling forward stubbornly instead. He reluctantly helps her through the snow to the doorframe, and leads her back behind the counter.

She lets go of him to lean against the wall for support, breathing fast as her teeth clatter - louder here, with the sound bouncing back from the wall.

“Okay,” he drops to his knees with a heavy grunt, fishing the dry pair of his socks from his bag and tossing them over to her. “Boot and sock off. Get those on fast.”

She crouches down to do so, and he works his fingers around the knots on the sleeping bag straps until he gets it free. Ellie is tugging the dry sock over her foot as he shakes the sleeping bag out onto the ground.

“In, c’mon,” he urges her as she takes off her other boot and scrambles to tuck her legs into the sleeping bag.

“My foot is k-killing me,” she says. Her face is scrunched up in pain. “My whole leg.”

“I know,” he says, twisting his mouth up against the worry that wants to pour out of him. “Can - what’s it feel like?”

“It’s all, like... p-prickly,” she mumbles, gritting her teeth. “Fucking burns.”

He nods as he works at unzipping the second sleeping bag. “Okay. That’s - that’s good, actually. Know it don’t feel good, but - when you can’t feel it is when you’re in the most trouble.”

She nods as he unzips the other sleeping bag into one big square and wraps it around her like a cloak, looped in a hood over her head. He tucks it in under her legs and the other sleeping bag to try to keep it in place. As he does, he sees the shape of Ellie's arms moving down, reaching towards her feet. He puts a hand out to rest on top of where she's moving, stopping her.

“Don’t rub at it,” he warns her, meeting her eyes. “You can hold onto your toes, lightly, if you want to try to warm them up a little faster - or put your hand inside the sock. But don’t squeeze, alright? Can hurt your skin more if it’s frozen at all. Make it worse, doin’ anythin' rough like that.”

“H-how do y-you know that? Thought it didn’t even s-snow in Texas.”

He snorted, rubbing his hands up and down where he thinks her arms are underneath the sleeping bags. “Ain��t lived in Texas for a long time, kid.”

“Still, though," she says.

He cocks an eyebrow at her. “Forgot people didn’t ever get frostbite in the QZ.”

She scowls at him and he feels bad for teasing. “That’s not - I was just wondering where you learned that. Did you have frostbite, or like, Tommy or someone? ”

He can’t tell her the truth - sometimes all it does is hurt.

It had felt like nothing short of pure, heavenly relief to finally be dead. A long out of place puzzle piece finally clicking into it’s rightful spot - dead, at last, like his heart and his baby has been for so long. Like he was meant to be, turned into nothing by bullets that should have gone through his gut, or the one that would have shredded through his brain if anything was fair, though he knew that word didn't mean a thing.

The best thing about dying had been feeling Sarah so close again - no surprise, there - and he could swear she was getting nearer to him by the second. Or maybe it was him getting closer to her - he left the snowbank behind a long time ago, and at some point stopped feeling any part of his body at all - all he felt was her, light and soft like she’d been since the day she came into the world, and all the pain and biting winter cold melted away from his skin. Warmed through to his heart again just from her presence - like all those years never came between them in the first place.

“Sarah, baby,” he had said to her, overflowing with the love she’d made blossom inside of his soul that he knew now would never fade, even in death. “It’s me. It’s Dad. I’m finally here, honey.”

He waited to see her. Ached for her. Knew somehow in his gut that she had been waiting for him, too.

He listened to the low drone of Tommy’s voice while he waited. It sounded miles away but unmistakably smooth and familiar. Long forgotten joy flickered in Joel’s chest as the confirmation sank in - he was dead, but he could still hear Tommy, so Sarah must have heard him even after she died, too.

“I love you,” he told her again anyway. One more for her to tuck away and hold close forever. Far, far from the last.

It was weird to still be able to cry, now that he was a corpse, but he felt the warmth of his tears pouring down his face anyway as he called out for her, every cell in his body buzzing in anticipation. What could be better than be able to feel her in his arms again, the way it felt when they were both alive? There was nothing he needed more.

“I love you so much baby girl. Please, Sarah, I miss you,” he told her.

Someone - definitely not Sarah, a voice harsh and gritty and very unlike hers - spoke up from somewhere closer than Tommy. “Ah, Jesus, fuck. What the hell did he take?”

“The fuck didn’t he take,” came another voice. “Look at his pupils.”

“Don’t rub his hands!”

“Tommy, they’re blue -”

Joel tried to ignore them. “I’m here baby girl,” he said again, for only Sarah’s ears. “I’m right here. Come find me, please baby, I need you. Need to hold you.”

“Motherfucker - piece of shit - ”

“Tommy -”

“Breath smells like goddamn rubbin’ alcohol.”

It started to get annoying, the way he couldn’t tune out from whatever the hell was happening near his body. He didn’t give one shit about it, but it kept getting louder, not quieter, and Sarah’s voice always was so soft and sweet - how the hell was he supposed to hear her over them?

He wanted to tell them to shut up. There’s no point, he thought at them. I’m gone.

He thanked god for it, and held tight to the new peace in his heart as he waited for Sarah to join him, wishing he could dissolve into the warmth of her spirit.

But everything went wrong, because instead finally seeing her again - whole and young and happy, the way she looked at the start of his dreams some nights before she wound up bloodsoaked - he felt her start to slip farther away.

And instead of fading out, the sounds of the people who found his body were getting clearer -

“Jesus Christ, there’s no fuckin’ warm water!” Tommy’s voice screamed into his eardrum, clear as a bell.

And a reply - Tess, he recognized easily - “Put him on the couch - blankets. I’ll grab clothes. Get anything wet off him now.”

He felt hands shoving his body, moving his limbs - grotesque, and grisly, to be a dead body and still feel it all so sharply - cold, and rough -

“Sarah?” he tried to call for her again, fear spiking through him as he realized he couldn't feel her at all anymore. “No. Baby?”

“Joel shut the fuck up,” Tommy snarled into his ear, venom in his voice. “If you die I’m going to fuckin’ kill you.”

The realization that he wasn’t dead sank onto him heavily, full horror, as fingers were pushed down deep into his throat, and vomit full of booze and half-digested pills billowed up his throat and choked him - as the sensation melted back into his flesh, burning pins and needles, on fire - as his body shook with the ache of the winter air.

He'd sobbed and screamed at it - at another Christmas without her, and another thwarted attempt to make things right. At being brought back to life again when all he wanted was to die in the snow - at the way he kept getting dragged back from the edge, when Sarah had been pushed right over it.

“Been through it before, with some people,” is what he tells Ellie, which is the truth. It’s a good enough answer for her to stop asking more.

She's wrapped up, looking impossibly tiny and at risk of disappearing into the blanket pile he's buried her in. Hard to walk away from, but he needs to.

"Gonna make sure it's clear inside," he says as he gestures to the door. "We'll move in if it is. And then I'm gettin' a - gonna start gettin' your boot dried out."

“Let me come with you,” Ellie says as she shifts like she’s going to get up.

He grabs onto her shoulders again, looking into her eyes sternly as he shakes his head. “No, you ain’t. You need to keep your leg inside that sleeping bag for a long while - worst thing you could do is expose that foot to more cold. Even a few seconds.”

“What am I supposed to do?” she complains, furrowing her brow. “Just fucking s- sit here?”

He squeezes his hands tighter on her arms for a moment before letting go. “Yeah, you’re gonna sit here. Can move around a bit - might warm you up faster if you keep your blood flowin’.” He nods his head towards to cupboards and drawers that line beneath the cash register, mostly wooden, a few glass-front cabinet doors somehow still intact. It looks like it's nothing but paper and books scattered on the shelves inside, but maybe something to keep her occupied, at least. “Why don’t you see if there’s anythin’ layin’ around back? Probably all picked over but don’t hurt to check. Just don't stand on that foot.”

She frowns, but she starts to wiggle closer to the cupboards as she huffs out a defeated “Fine.”

He braces a hand on the counter and struggles his way back up to his feet, legs still burning from being pushed past their pathetic new limits. He shuts his eyes for a brief moment to listen - sun warmed snow, dripping water down from the broken roof - a drawer dragging open, Ellie’s hand rustling through papers and what sounds like a wooden pencil rolling. No other sounds. No reason to think the building isn’t empty.

Still, he pats at his knife holster to make sure it’s in easy reach, and raises the rifle as he walks to the white door. His eyes drift upwards, catching onto a grime coated but once golden crucifix still hanging over the doorway.

As he turns the doorknob, he glances back to Ellie - flicking unhappily through what looks like a folder of receipts - and then he slowly steps inside, leaving the door wide open so he has a chance to hear her if she calls for him.

The curtains are all drawn so the light is dim, but there's enough to see by. There's a coat closet beside the door, and a small kitchenette space in front of him, a little wooden table just big enough for two pressed into the corner. The cupboards look emptied out, drawers and doors missing.

Newspapers stained yellow are strewn over parts of the floor. He steps over them cautiously, looking around the corner as the living space comes into view - small, similarly cramped. There's a lot of furniture. Two torn, puffy armchairs piled oddly on top of each other. More newspaper in stacks, next to a dusty black wood stove in the middle of the room.

There's a narrow dark staircase along the back wall, and he picks his way up it slowly, trying and failing to be quiet as the old wood groans under his steps. He has to duck to avoid hitting his head near the top.

There's little to see - a cramped, messy bathroom, a small bedroom that seems stripped of everything but a mattress.

As he moves back down the stairs and glances at the living space from a new angle, he sees the edges of a door, nearly hidden behind the armchairs.

The building wasn't that wide. Must be a basement.

He takes a closer look, moving the top chair and setting it aside before he sees all of the locks. The doorknob is pressed in and the bolt is turned, but there's a chain lock, too, and a heavy silver padlock that makes something uneasy swirl in his stomach. He tugs at the cold metal and confirms it's locked, and then puts his good ear against the door to listen. No sounds on the other side.

There's a sudden loud noise from Ellie's direction - glass shattering, and a thud at the same time. It only takes him a second to fly across the room, bursting back into the store faster than he really ought to without knowing what's going on.

But there's no threat - it's just Ellie, thankfully still wrapped up in the sleeping bags. She's close to where he'd left her but she's moved at some point, sitting now with her back pressed tight to the corner.

"What was that?" He asks her, bewildered. "Did somethin' fall?"

He glances at the torn open roof, wondering if more of the rotting wood gave way. When she doesn't answer he looks back to her, and he notices the hard set to her jaw for the first time. There's hot anger on her face that wasn't there a minute earlier - it's obvious that something's shifted, and he has no clue what.

"Ellie? Did you hear that?" He asks slowly, testing. She narrows her eyes at him.

"Did somethin' break?" He tries again.

When she stays quiet he takes a step closer, pausing and looking down at the sound of glass crunching under his boot. He trails the path of it with his eyes, finding a new break in one of the glass cabinet doors.

He can see what broke it, just laying there on the shelf where it must have landed. He tugs it out of the shadows to get a better look and to make sure he's seeing it right. More glass falls with a clatter as he moves it.

"Did you throw this?" He asks, and then wishes he could take the words back.

Of course she did - no reason to make her say it. She's upset, and all he's doing is pointing a finger at her.

"Sorry," he says quietly. "Don't matter."

He lets out a sigh, looking down at the Bible in his hands, and then back to her after a moment. "You want this gone?"

She moves her eyes to his, and gives him a small nod. He nods back as he wonders if he'll ever find out why.

He figures he can probably guess, and finds his own fresh surge of hot rage to soak in.

When he leaves to start collecting firewood he brings it with him, curling it in his hands. It's small. Can't remember the last time he touched one.

He thumbs through it as he walks, running his fingertips across the pages, tissue paper thin in a way he'd forgotten about. Briefly, he pictures lifting it up to his nose and breathing it in.

He thinks that the smell would probably make him sick, and tosses it into the trees.

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