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Previously: The last [fight]of us
PEREGRINE
When they reached Jackson, the sun was already just above the edge of the mountains. Joel seemed to need a moment to understand that this place he called home was really still there. After hours of violence, the quiet, early morning air felt like a sudden brake maneuver. And yet every return was like a new beginning, like clinging to something that was fragile and could break at any moment. Jackson itself lay quietly. The streets were still damp from the night frost, and the sunlight made the thin layer of ice on the wooden fences sparkle silver. The first winter fairy lights were already hanging everywhere. A few houses still bore remnants of Halloween: bleached pumpkins, crooked paper ghosts, a forgotten skeleton on a post, but next to them were already wreaths with red ribbons, warm colors against the cold morning. Marie had outdone herself, as she so often did. The tough woman tried to offer the other survivors as much normality as possible, and even though most of it went over Joel's head, he appreciated it... because he wouldn’t be able to symbolize “normality” on his own. He could only do that in Clint’s presence, and admittedly, the normality of the two men was probably anything but normal for others.
The influence of Thanksgiving was most evident in the market square. Garlands of dried corn, carved wooden panels with turkey motifs, a makeshift stand where hot food would soon be served. Joel parked the heavy truck in a side street, his body still in combat mode, every muscle tense, his shoes still heavy with blood and mud. And yet something of this warmth penetrated him. Despite everything, Jackson had become something of a home to him, and Joel wanted nothing more than to be able to feel that, which is why he allowed himself to do so from time to time. Clint at his side also looked exhausted. They had hardly spoken to each other during the drive, and Joel wanted to give him all the time in the world to comprehend and process what he had experienced. What Clint had to do could not be put into words. He had to do cruel things, and even though the Archer had already been through a lot, it would certainly not leave him unscathed, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. It was in moments like these that Joel felt fear, that his fear of loss returned... that he hoped Clint’s flight reflex wouldn’t kick in and the vagabond wouldn’t decide to flee from everything that had happened and would happen. But he said nothing... When they got out, he nodded briefly to Clint and patted him gently on the shoulder.
“I’ll report to Tommy. Get some rest, okay?”
But Joel was sure that Clint would not rest until he had checked on his horses. After all, one of them was pregnant, which was a small miracle, because even the animals sensed the endless dangers and their natural reproduction was inhibited as a result. Joel met Tommy in the saloon, and Ellie joined them too. Even though Joel didn’t really want her to hear what had happened, he didn’t send her away. At first, Tommy didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic... of course not... but he had to accept that you couldn’t negotiate with a guy like Gray, and in the end, he seemed to show at least a little gratitude. Ellie reported that she had been hunting with the others and, thanks to Clint’s tips, Jackson would be treated to a big Thanksgiving meal. At that moment, Joel couldn’t really show his joy... but Ellie could see that he was proud of her, and that seemed to be enough for her.
A few hours later, Joel returned to his house... well, it wasn’t his house anymore. This house now belonged to him and Clint, and there he took a long shower, threw his blood-stained clothes into a bag, and tried to block out what had happened. He grabbed a fresh pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. His clothes smelled faintly of lavender and lemon, which he also had Clint to thank for, because the Archer knew many tricks for caring for clothes and making them smell nice without being overpowering. While he waited, he prepared some soup, something simple, some chicken, potatoes, herbs, and a pinch of salt. Even though he was hungry, he didn’t want to eat alone, so he sat down at the dining table, spread out a map of Jackson’s surroundings, put on his reading glasses, and made a few notes. He hadn’t forgotten the plan... the plan to create a small, private oasis for Clint and himself. He now clung to that plan to numb the fear of loss a little. The minutes dragged by and he was startled out of his thoughts by every little noise.