Work Text:
Despite the late night, Joel is up early enough that the sky is still soft and purple around the edges, the sun waking up not long after him. His body wakes him before the birds more often than he’d like, regardless of how long it takes him to unwind the evening before. Little by little, here in Jackson, it gets easier to relax, but there are some things you just can't shake out after they’ve been notched into your aged bones by the conditions of the world. Restless old man.
The sounds of the chair creaking over the porch and Joel sipping his coffee join the quiet rhythm of animals stirring, and generators whirring, kicking up their juice to power morning showers and stoves.
String lights and tinsel hang from trees, ugly red and green bulbs strewn about clinking together in the slight breeze. He takes another sip.
They didn’t have much coffee by the time he and Ellie had first arrived—and none of it any better than the shit he could scavenge or trade a couple cards for—but this, this is heavenly. Joel brings the cup to his nose, closing his eyes and appreciating the bittersweet smell wafting through the crisp air.
Tommy had firmly pressed the large tin of fresh grounds into his chest a couple months back on a day in September that he hadn't even realized had arrived, a gentle, yet shit-eating grin on his face in that Tommy way.
“Happy birthday, big brother. How’s it feel bein’ old?”
Joel feels the engraving of letters on the mug keeping his coffee warm, tracing it with his thumb, “World’s Youngest Dinosaur,” a gift from Ellie. He huffs, and smiles. Asshole. She's slow to befriend many of the other kids here but she's mighty enthusiastic about all the youth skills classes, and she’d had a hell of a time making it. He can’t so much as think about using another mug without gettin’ in trouble.
Joel looks down at the cup, dragging his hands over the lopsided rim, and remembers how nervous she was to give it to him. He'd been so proud, and she’d had the nerve to make fun of him for getting teary-eyed. Asshole.
He brushes his hand over the small, soft, crocheted blanket he snagged from the couch on his way out the front door, now laid over his lap as he sits and rocks on his—their—porch. Another product of Ellie.
She's got a ways to go in her crocheting, but Joel can feel the smile on her face and the accomplishment in her voice as he outlines every knot. She had been so excited to learn a new skill, and to put it to real use, like she always is. Her eagerness to learn is one of his favorite things about her, that endless curiosity and drive that he thought had been sucked out of the life left in the world.
Ellie teaches him lots of things these days.
A bird lands on the porch railing next to him, cocking its head to the side, one small dark eye pointed at him. It chirps, in the way maybe a sparrow might.
He’s not sure, he’ll have to ask Ellie.
With the help of some others, and some trading, Joel had collected enough of those fancy national geographic animal identification magazines—in somewhat decent condition—to give them to her as a gift.
She had read through as many avian species pages as possible before falling asleep at the coffee table, worn out from a long day of pelting the other kids with snowballs, and then drooling onto the laminated pictures. Joel had to carry her up to her bed, even though he’s pretty damn sure that she had been awake enough to walk her ass there herself. His back won’t be happy with him, but he doesn't mind, careful to avoid any corners and doorframes as he carries her.
He sits at the edge of her bed with a familiar tightness in his chest for a while afterwards.
Her bookshelf could truly be called a bookshelf now, with the growing addition of magazines, stacked neatly against the few novels and comics Ellie had borrowed from Jackson's own library—along with her own collection she’s finally allowed out of her backpack. She’s got a room now, a house, a place to store her cherished things besides one measly bag.
Joel has placed a few belongings of his own in his room, his watch sitting silent on his bedside table.
A dog barks, stirring Joel from his thoughts. He takes a long sip from his mug, now almost empty, and watches as others flow out onto their own porches, sitting and rocking just as he is. The sun is warm on his face now, having risen further into the sky while he was lost in his thoughts.
Large trash bags are chucked into garbage cans harmoniously as everyone hurries to get rid of the wrapping paper that is no-doubt plaguing every living room on the block—all anyone could find was the ugly patterned kind anyway, no reason to keep the shreds.
How anyone has bothered to keep time all these years to mark a Christmas date with any accuracy is beyond Joel. The days began to blend together in a way he didn't care to fix long ago.
He used to let Tess mind that type of thing.
Joel tips his cup to the bird as it tweets at him again, and takes his final sip.
“Mornin’ to you too.” It flies away.
He hums and rises, with some effort, to head inside and fix Ellie some breakfast.
Some days begin to stand out in his memory now, he thinks.