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nhett · 14 days ago

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"Ever After" is a continuation of our story exploring moments beyond the ending of All That Remains. These chapters are non-chronological, but each will include a clear timeline (e.g. 4 years, 2 years, etc.) after the events of Part 1.

Summary: Four years after everything, you and Joel find a fleeting moment of peace on the dance floor—until cruel words shatter it. The next night, as forgiveness begins to take shape, Joel finally breaks, and you hold him through it. warnings: (canon) slur word. This does contain spoilers for part 2 so if you don’t want those don’t read! notes: I just love them so god damn much

The warmth of the Tipsy Bison is infectious that night, lightness and laughter seeping into your bones, wrapping around you like a well-worn blanket. Music and chatter echoes off wooden beams, glasses clink in toasts, the excitable clamber of a three-piece band filling the air with something rare—something that feels a little like peace. Even Joel, ever guarded, carries a flicker of something lighter in his expression. Not quite joy, but something close. A twinkle in his eye that softens the lines of his face, makes him look a little less haunted.

When he pulls you onto the dance floor, his touch is warm, steady. One hand resting on your waist, the other clasping yours, his grip is sweet and tender as he guides you easily, his steps sure even if yours falter. It brings you back—these kinds of nights, this kind of music. The echo of a life you knew a long, long time ago.

Frank had tried to teach you to dance once, back when your dad would play piano after dinner. You stepped on his toes so many times he finally threw his hands up with a dramatic groan before scooping you up and spinning you through the living room instead, laughter bouncing off the walls until you were breathless. Those were safe, golden moments. Ones you don’t let yourself think about too often.

Joel twirls you, pulling you in close again as the song winds down. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s something in his expression, something hesitant, like he’s allowing himself this just for tonight. You let yourself lean into it.

“Did you see who’s here?” you ask, a little breathless as you drift toward the wooden bar when the song ends. You both reach for your drinks, the sweat from the glasses cooling your fingers.

Joel follows your gaze across the room. She stands a little apart from the others, tall and lanky in a dark blue plaid over a gray tee, hair tied back messily, a few strands slipping free. Ellie. Her gaze is distant, locked on a pair of dancers throwing themselves into the next song with wild, careless abandon. Then, as if sensing it, she glances up. Her green eyes meet yours, unreadable.

You smile.

She doesn’t return it. Instead, she shifts, turning her attention to Jesse as he steps beside her.

Joel’s expression changes. The twinkle is gone. The warmth that thawed him, even just for a moment, snuffed out. He stands still, his beer glass lingering at his lips, forgotten. His gaze drops, something heavy settling in its place.

Your chest aches at the sight of it. You reach out, brushing your fingers against the back of his hand. A quiet tether.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright,” he says, his voice soft. He sets his beer down with a dull thud, turning his back to Ellie and Jesse as if he can’t bear to look anymore.

A ripple of movement catches your eye. Across the dance floor, a girl approaches them. Dark hair pulled up in a loose bun, her confidence easy and natural. She tugs Ellie’s hand, pulling her into the center of the floor.

The next song is a slow one, the kind that sways in your bones. You reach for Joel, offering a small, hopeful smile. “I like this one. C��mon.”

He lets you pull him back in, his hands settling on your lower back. Your arms loop around his neck, fingers playing absently at the nape where his hair has grown longer, streaked through with more gray than before.

You lift onto your toes and press a small kiss to his chin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, baby,” he murmurs, his eyes only on you. “S’alright.”

But you know how much he’s been hurting. Since the day Ellie left him that note, telling him to find her in Salt Lake, things have shifted. She learned the truth—years of her quiet suspicion festering as your lives went on. She found out that the truth about the Fireflies, that Joel had taken her away, stealing that supposed chance of saving the world. That you had lied to her too, standing by Joel through and through.

He came back with her that day, safe but somber, something hollowed out in his chest. He tried to hide it, but you saw it in the quiet moments. In the way he carried himself. He told you right away what happened, and all you could do was go forward now knowing she might never forgive you.

Ellie and the girl are closer now, smiling at once another and then suddenly, the girl is kissing her.

You gasp, eyes widening as Joel’s head lifts, following your gaze.

“Stop starin’,” he mutters into your ear, though you can hear the small smile on his lips.

“They’re so cute,” you whisper back, grinning up at him.

For a moment, Joel just watches. And then, something in his face shifts. That twinkle, that happiness sparks in his big brown eyes again. Eventually he looks at you again, leaning down to brush his lips against yours, warm and easy. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him closer, letting yourself sink into the feeling of him—

A voice cuts through the warmth, sharp and sour.

“Hey!”

You break apart, glancing toward the sound. Seth, the bartender, stands in front of the girls, his expression twisted in disgust.

“This is a family event,” he snaps.

Ellie and the girl pull apart, both looking a little sheepish, maybe caught off guard. You see the girl say something, an apology maybe, but Seth doesn’t move. He lingers, waiting. Pushing.

The girl’s expression hardens. She takes Ellie’s hand and turns away.

“Remember next time there’s kids around,” Seth sneers after them. You hear the girl apologize again, though this time it’s got more grit to it as they walk away.

And then, loud enough for the entire room to hear, Seth scoffs, “Just what this town needs—a couple loud-mouth d*kes.”

You barely have time to react before Ellie spins back around, fury burning in her expression as she pushes forward, pointing an angry finger. “The fuck did you just say?”

You’re already moving through the crowd, but Joel is faster. He shoves Seth, hard, sending him stumbling back.

“Get the hell outta here,” Joel growls.

Seth’s face twists. “Get your hands off me.”

You push into Joel’s chest, palm flat, grounding. “Hey,” you say, voice softer, urgent. “That’s enough.”

Maria and Tommy are already storming over, grabbing Seth before the situation can get worse. The room is still buzzing with tension as they haul him outside.

Behind you, Joel turns to Ellie. His voice is gentle. “You alright, kiddo?”

Ellie’s eyes are sharp. Her chest rises and falls with short, angry breaths. She looks between the two of you, and the defiance hardens into something colder.

“What is wrong with you?” she snaps at Joel.

Joel flinches, just barely.

“He had no right—” he begins.

“And you do?” she cuts him off. “I don’t need your fucking help, Joel.”

Silence falls like a blade. Joel looks around as people stare, and then his eyes fall to the ground, his fingers twitching uncomfortably at his sides.

“Ellie, that’s not—” you begin, putting up a hand to try to soothe.

“Don’t you start with me,” she snaps, turning to you. “You’re no better.”

Joel tenses beside you, his fingers curling at his sides. “Ellie,” he says, softer but still with that paternal firmness, “don't talk to her like--"

"It's okay," you exhale softly and touch his arm. “let's just go home.”

He hesitates. Then, sighing, lets you guide him toward the door, stepping out into the frigid night air. The cold hits instantly, sharp against your skin, your breath misting in the dim glow of the streetlights. You cling a little tighter to his arm, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of him, the quiet weight of his presence. Joel exhales, watching the vapor curl and disappear, his jaw tight, shoulders squared like he’s bracing against something much colder than the wind.

The warmth of the dance hall is gone entirely.

The night settles over Jackson, the air warmer but still biting as you keep your coat hanging over your shoulders, the kind of evening that makes it a little easier to linger outside. The town has quieted, save for the occasional murmur of voices drifting from others heading home, the band still playing from inside, the low silence of footsteps on snow threading through it all. The porch light casts a soft glow, flickering slightly, catching on the edges of Joel’s face as he sit on the end of the porch swing, guitar in his lap.

His fingers pluck absently at the strings, slow and thoughtful, a melody without words. Your feet rest in his lap, and his hand comes down once in a while, absently tracing small circles against your ankle in the quiet, warm and grounding. The touch is natural, unconscious. He isn’t one for casual affection, not really, but these quiet moments have chipped away at that over time.

You hold a book open in your lap, but you haven’t turned the page in a while. Not when Joel keeps glancing at you between chords, eyes flicking from his fingers to your face like he’s committing something to memory. Not when he hums low under his breath, so quiet it barely reaches you. It’s easy to sink into the feeling of it—of him, here, with you, like this.

Then, his fingers stop. The abrupt stillness pulls your attention up just in time to follow his gaze to the steps.

“Ellie,” you say, surprised but offering a small smile. She stands at the bottom of the porch steps, her green eyes wide as they look between the two of you with hesitation. Quietly, she steps onto the porch, boots scuffing against the wood. Joel’s hand slips from your ankle as he leans forward, his whole body stiffening.

You can feel the conversation coming before it even begins.

“I’ll… I’ll just be inside,” you say gently, easing your legs from his lap. “Gotta clean up dinner.”

Joel looks at you then, something brief but grateful in his expression, something heavy and sad. He stands, coffee mug in hand, guitar by the door. He gives you a small nod, and you return it before slipping through the door, leaving them to whatever needs to be said.

The house is quiet as you pad into the kitchen, the wooden floor cool beneath your feet. You set your book aside on the table, rolling up your sleeves as you move toward the sink.

Both of their voices carry through the open window, their words slipping as much as you try not to listen in. You can still see them, though their backs are turned to you, just a sliver of Joel’s face is visible and you cast your eyes down to not pry.

“Whatcha drinkin’?” Ellie’s voice, careful, almost hesitant.

“Coffee,” Joel answers. His voice is low, even.

“Where’d you get that?” she asks, surprised.

“Uh, those people that came through last week. A little embarrassed as to what I had to trade to get it but… not bad.”

You smile to yourself, recalling the way Joel’s eyes had lit up at the mention of coffee beans. He’s smelled like it every morning since, cradling his mug like it’s something sacred.

There’s a long pause before Ellie speaks again.

“I had Seth under control.”

You still, hands gripping the plate in hand a little tigher. Joel’s response is too quiet to catch, but Ellie presses on anyway.

“And you need to stop harassing Jesse about my patrols.”

Joel says something too quietly for you to hear, and you look up to see him nod before he asks, a little louder, “Dina… is she your girlfriend?”

The question hangs in the air, weighty. That was the girl’s name. You can only imagine the look on Ellie’s face—a teenager being asked about her love life.

“No.” She exhales sharply. “That was just one kiss, it doesn’t mean anything—”

“But you do like her?”

Silence. And then, something too soft to make out. You force yourself to move, to grab the rest of the plates from dinner and focus on something, anything else.

Joel’s voice is steady when he finally speaks again. “Look, I have no idea what that girl’s intentions are but… I do know that she would be lucky to have you.”

There’s a beat of silence before Ellie scoffs. “You’re such an asshole.”

You bristle slightly at the sharpness in her voice, glancing toward the window. Joel must have said something in response, but his voice is too low to catch. Ellie, however, isn’t finished.

“I was supposed to die in that hospital.” Her voice wavers, filled with something raw and painful. “My life would’ve fucking mattered. But you took that from me.”

A lump forms in your throat. You need to move. You aren’t meant to hear this.

You turn on the faucet to full strength, the rush of water drowning out the words that follow. You scrub at the dishes harder than necessary, trying not to watch them through the window. But out of the corner of your eye, you can see them—Joel standing rigid, staring out into the road, something carved deep into his face. Ellie, staring away, a storm in her rigid shoulders.

You drop your gaze back to the sink, focusing on the task at hand, pretending you haven’t heard a thing.

Eventually, you watch as Ellie eventually walks off into the night, her silhouette shrinking against the dim glow of the street lamps, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. Your gaze moves to Joel as he stands frozen on the porch, watching her go, his jaw tight and eyes full of something distant. He doesn’t call after her. Doesn’t move until she disappears from view entirely.

Then, slowly, like the weight of it is just catching up to him, he steps inside.

The front door clicks shut behind him, quiet but final. He sets his guitar down by the wall, his movements stiff, deliberate, like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will. His shoulders are drawn up tight, his breath measured and slow, but his chin tremble slightly as he exhales, fingers twitching like they don’t know what to do with themselves.

“Joel?” you say softly as he closes the door behind him. Your hands wipe the sudsy water against a spare kitchen rag, your eyes never leaving him, watching every small shift, every tight line of his face. His brows are pinched, his mouth set in a deep frown, eyes downcast like the weight of the world is dragging them toward the floor.

“How did it go?” Your voice is gentle, cautious. “Hey—” you whisper as you step closer. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even glance up.

So you reach for him.

Your fingers skim his jaw, tentative but firm, tilting his face toward yours. You dip your head, searching, desperate to find his eyes. “Hey,” you repeat, softer now, aching.

He just shakes his head, refusing to meet you there.

Instead, his hands find your sides, gripping the fabric of your shirt so tightly his knuckles go white. It’s like he’s holding himself together through you, like if he lets go, he might fall apart completely. You can still hear the muffled echoes of their conversation in your mind, fragments of words lost beneath the rushing of the sink, drowned out by your attempts to give them space. Now, you wish you hadn’t. Now, you wish you’d listened.

Then, his head drops to your shoulder, and his entire body folds in.

It happens so quickly you almost don’t believe it. The Joel you know—steady, unshakable—coming undone in your arms. The grip he has on you tightens, pulling you against him like he needs to feel something solid, something real. And then you feel his shoulders trembling, his breaths shuddering against your neck, sharp and uneven.

Your chest tightens, a sharp, aching squeeze that makes your throat burn.

Your hand moves instinctively to his hair, fingers slipping into the graying strands, petting gently at the long locks. Your other arm wraps around him, anchoring him as best you can. He’s always been the one catching you, the one holding you together when you’d break—when you’d throw yourself into him after a long day, after another nightmare. But this? This is different.

This is him letting go.

And you realize, with a sudden and heartbreaking clarity, that he’s probably never let another person see him like this. Not in all the years he’s been alive, not in all the pain he’s carried.

The thought shatters something inside you.

“It’s okay,” you whisper into his shoulder, voice barely above a breath. “It’s okay.”

You don’t know if it is. You don’t know if it ever will be.

But you hold him anyway.

For a long time, neither of you speak. The only sounds are his unsteady breaths, the deep heaving, steadying sighs he takes. He adjusts, his forehead resting on your shoulder before he pulls himself back. His eyes still won’t meet yours, but you see the shiny glistening of tears wetting his brown eyes as he says, “She…she said…” he wipes his nose on his shoulder as he takes a deep breath, “She’s tryna forgive me. Forgive us.”

Something in your throat tightens. You nod, bringing your hand up to brush your thumb over the sharp edge of his cheekbone. “That’s good, that’s a good thing.”

His eyes flick away for a moment, like he’s searching for something, like he’s trying to make sense of what it means. His grip pulls you in closer, just slightly, hands still gripping your waist like he’s afraid if he lets go completely, he’ll come apart again.

He exhales, slow and uneven, rubbing a hand down his face before resting his forehead against yours. His breath is warm, still a little shaky. "I don’t know. I don’t know if she ever will." The words are barely above a whisper, like saying them out loud makes them more real.

You pull him into another hug, pressing your lips against his temple, against the deep crease of his brow. “She’s trying,” you murmur. “That’s something. Just needs time is all.”

He closes his eyes, his fingers twitching where they rest against you, like he’s holding on to that thought, letting it settle.

For tonight, you just hold him.

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