If you ever go to the Alamo City Comic Con, 2014, look for Ellie. If you tell me my name, I'll say hi.

The mumbling is worse when he's sleeping.

Back in the beginning, when they spent those first few nights together, it was little words in the dead of night in an apartment ready to collapse. Where he would sleep on a couch or mattress and she'd curl up next to a window, gazing into the dark city and trying to imagine a world where the lights never went out. As if, in the depths of his sleep, he was consciously trying to suppress the sound of his voice, like he was scared she'd hear him. She had found it kinda funny, the way he'd get loud and then suddenly real quiet in this odd chorus. But she had, eventually, given up trying to understand what he was muttering when she repeatedly couldn't discern him, and he refused to talk about it when he woke up.

And now here he was, sick as a dog and practically shouting. Mumbling was coining it lightly. At first it was little words, things like "No." and "Please." He'd twist his head, somehow managing even in this godforsaken snow to sweat a little on his brow. Later on he'd start screaming or moaning, flailing around his small mattress and kicking off his blanket. She didn't do anything when that happened, remembering what he did when he fought against bandits and Clickers and wondering what he might do in his delirious dream-state if she got too close. So she just sat back and watched, hoped he'd settle down, which he always did in the end, and then she'd crawl up and check on his stitches and then crawl back and wait for it to happen all over again.

She found herself, in the spare time when he was quiet after she'd force-fed him and they had too much food and she didn't have anything to do, praying every now and then. Odd little bursts of despair and hope appearing in the form of a quick "Please." directed to the sky. It was strange. Her lifestyle wasn't religious, nor was it strictly anti. It was just not there. And then sometimes it was. Sometimes she'd believe that all the people who were now Clickers were with their families somewhere with lots of food and buildings with not a single piece of trash in them. And then other times, usually more, she believed they were just dead. If it had been another time, a more safer time, she might've made up her mind a lot sooner, but for now she was here, teetering between yes and no, leaning more towards the no than the yes, and sending pleas up to whoever was there right now.

"You'd probably tell me to get me shit straight, right, Joel?" she muttered, looking up at him. He, of course, didn't reply. Too busy shivering his ass off in his sleep.

Speaking of, she just found something to do: she needed to find another blanket for him. Even though she didn't have a thermometer, she could tell his temperature was getting worse, and she worried about what his toes and fingers looked like in this freezing weather. God knew where-

"Aaaa...kaa...aaaaa" Click. Click.

Oh. Shit.

For a moment she didn't move. Then she scrambled up boxes piled against the wall and peeked back the corner of a ragged curtain. About twenty feet away, a pack of four Clickers shuffled through the snow, twitching and clicking amongst the dead trees. They hadn't noticed the house, it seemed, and as long as Joel and she kept quiet, they would probably just walk by them. Okay. She could handle that.

Ellie crouched by the window, paralyzed as she waited for the Clickers to leave. She was prepared to fight back if something did happen, but there were about five of them (one'd been hidden from sight and now dragged its feet in the snow) and she didn't know if she could fight back five Clickers with the limited ammo she had. And there would be no way to protect or hide Joel if she strayed too far from the room and they got in with him.

So she stayed there, watching, and doing her odd praying that Joel would shut-

"Sarah..."

Oh fuck no please.

"...Sarah, baby...no...please..."

The Clickers halted.

She glanced back at Joel. His face was contorted in a mix of agony and fear, and he was starting to violently twist on his mattress custom to what he did when he got into one of his fits. He was getting louder, now shouting out "Sarah, no!", "Gotta keep running, baby!", and when Ellie turned back to check on the Clickers she found them still, heads cocked, listening like deer who's heard a limb snap.

"Oh shit, shit shit shit shit, not now old man." she whispered, quickly climbing down and crawling next to him. She didn't want to touch him, too afraid that, in his dream about Sarah (and she had a pretty good idea what he was dreaming of), he would mistake her for the enemy and snap her neck or choke her to death. But now she could hear the Clickers resume their clicking and moaning in a curious pace, which meant they'd heard Joel and she needed to shut him up right damn now.

She put one hand on his side and another grasped his hand, which she noted was too cold to be okay. "Joel, Joel come on." she whispered fiercely, shaking him lightly, "You gotta shut your ass up, they're gonna hear you."

But he was too deep. He couldn't hear her and the Clickers were clicking like hell and she had maybe a couple of seconds to do something before the situation went really, really fucking bad. "Sarah, Sarah come on honey!" he shouted, and she, stupid, stupid Ellie in a split second choice removed the hand from his side and slammed it over his mouth. "Shut up Joel!"

That seemed to catch his attention, because in a second after she did that he grabbed both of her arms-oh shit Ellie now he's going to kill you-and pulled her into a bear hug, smothering her next to him on the mattress so that her back was facing away from him.

"Sarah...Sarah I'm sorry..." he muttered, thank God a bit quieter.

She didn't move. Didn't speak. Above her the Clickers chattered, darting around, cawing out in search of them. She remained absolutely still as Joel awkwardly patted her hair with a shaken, almost needy hand, his other arm wrapped tightly around her. "It's okay baby girl." he whispered.

Emotions and reactions buzzed inside her head, and it was difficult trying to pick the underlying ones. Mostly, she wanted to push back, because the position was extremely awkward (and every other bad thing holy fucking crap this was wrong and weird and goddamn bad) and she didn't like how he kept calling her Sarah-you're not my daughter-and it was wrong. She was cuddling with Joel. Joel, the old man who took no shit and gave none in return and here she was neck to neck with him while he clutched her like a toddler with a teddy bear. What was she doing? If he snapped out of whatever nightmare he was in and woke up with her this close to him, she could but dream the awkward hell awaiting her.

But she couldn't squirm out. He was still active, his breathing rushed and haggard, and he would feel her trying to leave. And she was pretty sure he would make even more noise and then there would be no getting around the Clickers.

"Please, Sarah, I'm so sorry..."

Shitting hell Joel stop calling me that.

She didn't track the time, and the day dragged on slow and tense as the Clickers searched for a long-gone sound (God they're so damn stubborn) in the drifting snow. Joel had slipped off into a sick sleep, muttering a few Sarahs before his grip on her laxed and his breath turned deep and cold, and she didn't dare try and follow him. But the one time she tried pulling away she felt his arm twitch and she stopped, grunting in irritation, and resumed her stiff horizontal pose.

So now here they were, he asleep and she tense and annoyed.

"Aaaaaaa...ka...ka-ka-ka-ka..."

A shiver ran up her spine. Joel had the entire blanket, and, regardless of the fact she was in a loose bear-hug, she just had what she was wearing. Which wasn't cutting it.

Temperature must have dropped, what, ten degrees? Fucking hell.

Well, damn, she'd fallen asleep anyway.

Ellie woke up from a dreamless sleep with a panicked jolt, which did not stir the slumbering Joel who still, her still-waking-up brain noticed, had his limp arm hung around her. But there was little time to dwell on that, for a thought sharp with panic and fear snapped light lightning: Oh shitting Christ. The Clickers.

But there was no clicking, no moaning. The air was still and silent.

She moved her arm a bit, and Joel's arm jiggled, but he didn't make a sound. She flexed her body. He didn't move. Slowly, she shifted her legs forward so that she was halfway off the mattress. Nothing.

Taking note, she wiggled her way out of Joel's embrace and, once assured that he wasn't gonna wake up, she crept over to a corner of the room and sat down. Oh damn. Oh damn, damn. Had his stiches broke in all that twisting? Usually they did. Oh God damn it and she'd been asleep. She crawled to his side and gently pushed him on his back. Pawing through his clothes she found the stiches, still tight, though beads of blood had pushed their way through. She rummaged through her bag, pulled out a bloody strip of cloth, and dotted the blood away.

Satisfied, she pulled his clothes back and returned the blanket. His breath was slow and puffed clouds of white. She needed to go find that stupid blanket. She needed to be out of here. Way too much shit had just happened.

"Fucking hell Joel," she muttered as she stood and adjusted the backpack, and headed for the door.